Cambrian
patreon
[BONUS] Winter Comes Pt. 14 (GoT SI)
🕑 Added 2017-10-03 07:09:44 +0000 UTCA/N: All good things come to an end and sometimes, words don't make everything better. In which Rickar tries to skate by on the seat of his pants like he's been doing since he got caught peeping on Lady Stark in Winterfell. Unfortunately, there's an end to every journey and every friendship.
History ends up repeating itself in the oddest way imaginable. (Even I didn't see this coming...)
-x-X-x-
On some level, Rickar hadn’t expected to open his eyes again. He really didn’t have that much time to contemplate or expect anything. It had all happened so fast, the iron dagger piercing his leather jerkin and digging into his belly like no other man-made weapon had ever done before. He was so used to being impervious. Even weakened as he was, he hadn’t thought himself that vulnerable. It had very nearly ended his life.
When he finally DID awaken, he was on land but feeling surprisingly good. There was a cool, crisp breeze in the air and he was in some kind of cart that was rolling down a road. The trees told him he was back on Westeros somehow, the wooden bars told him he was in a moving cage of some sorts. Rickar grimaced and wince as he slowly rose from where he lay and placed a hand to his head. That’s when he saw the blue out of the corner of his eye and remembered the OTHER thing that had happened.
Staring at his very blue hands and sharp claw-like nails, Rickar gaped in horror. Well shit, that explained the cage. Didn’t explain his survival though. Bringing his hand down to his belly, he found bandages… and nothing else. He was stripped of everything but his breeches, his blue toes wiggling and his torso exposed to the world.
What… what had happened? Where was he? How had he gotten back to Westeros, to the North?
“He’s awake… HE’S AWAKE!”
Rickar’s glowing blue eyes widened and his gaze snapped around as he saw the guard that had been plodding along next to the cart this entire time staring at him in horror and terror. He’d missed the man at first, but to be fair, he had more important things to worry about. The Northman promptly freaked out when Rickar looked at him and broke into a dead sprint. The caravan that Rickar was part of and had also missed until now, stuttered to a stop as the guard’s screams filled the air.
“THE WALKER IS AWAKE! THE WHITE WALKER IS AWAKE!”
… Fuck.
-x-X-x-
Theon Stark wasn’t one for crying. But he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d leaked tears more than once on their way back to Westeros, to Winterfell. It was the only place he knew for sure held dragonglass. Theon had been conflicted, after what happened in that bloody blasphemous sept. Not over what needed to be done to the woman who almost killed him, nor over what needed to be done to her fellows and their place of worship. It had ALL burned. The men and women, the Sept itself, even the gold. Theon hadn’t felt much like looting after Rickar took a knife for him and became… what he became.
There had of course been a few moments in which Theon demanded answers. How?! How had the foreigners managed to turn one of his own into a White Walker straight out of the legends?! A single knife had somehow done it, but the blade was made of nothing but iron. It was not a material that the First Men had much experience with, but even under heavy torture, the Septons and Septas hadn’t been able to explain what happened. They all had burned for their treachery.
To say Theon was conflicted would be an understatement in actuality. He was fucking confused as hell and questioning himself at every turn. In the end, he’d settled on a compromise. Rickar, or the thing that he’d become, had been granted treatment, as best they could manage… and then he’d been tied up in rope and chains. Five men guarded him at all times as they made their way back to Westeros, back to the one place where Theon knew he could kill the White Walker, if it woke up and proved hostile.
It had not woken up on the return voyage, though it’d tossed and turned and sweated and groaned just as Rickar had done the first time across the sea. Theon had half-expected it to die at some point. He’d half-hoped it would so it stopped being his problem. But no, when it reached land it had not been dead and instead, it’d actually grown calm. The Northmen had continued on their way back to Winterfell, back to the Stark stash of dragonglass that still rested in the crypts, hidden with Brandon the Builder, first of them, best of them.
Now though, now the creature wearing Rickar’s body was awake and staring at him. Theon had ridden back along the caravan the moment word reached him, to find the White Walker sitting cross-legged in the middle of his cage. A hundred Northmen surrounded him, weapons drawn and eyes flighty as they all squirmed like women.
Theon didn’t reprimand them. The moment those glowing blue eyes turned to regard him, he felt a bit like a woman as well. The King in the North steeled himself though and slowly dismounted his horse, moving to stand before the cage on its cart. His hand rested on the pommel of a particularly fine iron sword sheathed at his sword and he pressed his lips tightly together, before asking a question he felt he already knew the answer to.
“Rickar… are you in there?”
He was surprised to see… well, surprise on the White Walker’s face. The emotion blossomed across that blue skinned, blue eyed countenance and it made the inhuman monster look slightly more human, for all of a moment.
“… Yes? Theon, your Grace… I’m right here.”
It sounded a little like Rickar, but there was a strangeness to the voice that hadn’t been there before. Theon wanted to believe, even as his men all grew even more nervous, more antsy at hearing Rickar speak their King’s name.
“Rickar, look at yourself. Surely you see what you’ve become. What THEY turned you into.”
The White Walker did as he was told and glanced down at his body. But when he looked back up, there was confusion in those glowing blue eyes. As inhuman as Rickar’s appearance now was, the myriad of emotions that kept appearing on his face was making it hard to reconcile him with the cold, expressionless monsters that Theon had heard about from the myths and legends of Westeros’ past.
“I… who is they Theon?”
Now, the Hungry Wolf was beginning to get a bit annoyed.
“The fucking foreigners! The Andals as you call them! That woman stabbed you with her damn dagger and you… you became this! I don’t know how they did it, I don’t know what foul magic they used, but we burned them and their fucking Sept to the ground, I can assure you of tha-!”
Theon stopped talking, eyes wide. It was rare that the King in the North cut himself off. But then it was also rare for anyone to have the audacity, the balls to laugh while he was speaking. Rickar, or the White Walker he’d become, was laughing, had started laughing in the middle of Theon’s little rant. The new lilt to his voice made the chuckle unnerving to all those within earshot.
“Quit it! Quit laughing! Rickar!”
It was his name that finally calmed the monster down. He finally stopped and held up a blue, clawed hand, palm out.
“S-Sorry… sorry, I apologize your Grace, I apologize. Theon… the Andals did not turn me into this. This is my true form.”
Theon is physically taken aback. As in, he literally takes a step back, he’s so shocked by the bold declaration. His men are even worse, gasps and shouts and weapons being waved about. Rickar ignores them though, staring only at him. The Hungry Wolf has never felt cornered before, until now. But no… no Theon does not believe it. He chooses not to. Which leaves only one option. He speaks and his voice carries, silencing those around him as they listen to their King.
“No! No. You… Rickar was not this. You are not him. You are the monster that they turned him into, attempting to trick me into believing that you-.”
Yet again, Theon is forced to cut himself off. The King in the North is strong, as all men who hold the title have to be. That doesn’t stop him from getting just a tad choked up when the White Walker shifts right before his eyes, shadows reaching up and gripping blue skin, white hair changing to black, glow fading fading from strikingly blue eyes. In moments, Rickar sits before him once more, completely renewed and seemingly human.
“I am he Theon. I am Rickar. I wish you hadn’t had to find out like this, if I had my way, you never would have found out at all. Unfortunately, this seems to be where fate has led us. My secret is revealed.”
There’s a clamor all around him. It’s even worse now. His men want to kill Rickar right there on the spot, as if they’ve already forgotten he’s a White Walker under that seemingly human guise. Before Theon can act, can say anything else, one over eager Northman rushes forward with a spear in hand. It slides through the bars of Rickar’s cage and Theon can only watch in wide eyed horror as it plunges towards the imprisoned man’s heart.
And then it strikes Rickar’s chest and the bronze blade atop the spear shatters, even as the man’s hand snaps up and he grabs the haft, pulling it free of its owner’s grasp and breaking it into two right there. Rickar never moves from his seated position, but the attempt on his life is a complete failure nonetheless. There’s an undercurrent of fear now as the Northerners surrounding the cart stand frozen in the face of an invincible man.
Theon can tell that his men are a hairbreadth away from either attacking en masse or running away. He speaks up before they can decide.
“ENOUGH! I said that’s enough! Stand down! All of you! Rickar! Explain this! Explain ALL of this!”
There’s a pause as silence once again reigns over the clearing. Theon glares daggers at the man, the White Walker who’s saved his life twice now. Rickar stares back for a moment, before letting out a long sigh.
“I am my father’s son.”
More vague answers. Theon could practically hear his own teeth grinding together as he responded.
“What. Does. That. Mean?!”
Another pause as Rickar tried to find the right words. Theon’s patience was growing thin, but eventually an answer came.
“You would call him an Old God I suppose. You and your people think that you worship him and his kin at the heart trees in your godswoods. The truth is far worse of course, but that is what he is. My appearance, my strength, my power, it all comes from my father. As I said, I am my father’s son.”
There’s some confused murmuring going on now as Theon tries to process this.
“You are a White Walker, you are not a God of the Forest.”
Rickar just nods his head.
“That is what the Children tried to label us when they attempted to rewrite the histories, when they succeeded in filling the heads of your ancestors with lies that have been passed down from generation to generation.”
“What?”
Theon’s tone is incredulous, but the one-word question affords Rickar the chance to elaborate. As he does so, only then does the King in the North realize that the man WANTS to talk, that Rickar wants to be heard by those all around them.
“You knew my father and his lieutenants as White Walkers, monsters that came during the Long Night and were eventually repelled by legends such as Brandon the Builder and the Last Hero. That is the history you have been taught. It is not entirely wrong, but it IS missing quite a bit of context.”
Rickar’s voice was strangely hypnotic as he continued speaking, and the hundred Northmen surrounding his cage were silent, hanging onto every word he said.
“Before the First Men came to Westeros, there were the Children of the Forest and their Gods. The Children worshipped my father and his fellows. Gods of Rivers and Mountains, Gods of Snow and Sand, and yes, Gods of the Forest that the Children were tied so close to. And then your ancestors arrived from Essos and the Children found themselves fighting a war of survival.”
Another pause, yet still no one spoke.
“At first, my father and his kin helped the Children. The First Men were attacking not just the Children of the Forest, but their very way of life, which the Gods themselves were intrinsically connected to. However, the wars between First Men and Children dragged on for hundreds and then thousands of years. Those who came across to Westeros in the first place died off, replaced with generation after generation born in this land.”
Rickar smiled slightly.
“These later First Men were the ones who adopted the Children’s religion as their own. Even as they fought the Children of the Forest for the right to live and thrive on this new land they’d found, they turned to the spirits of nature that resided on it and began to pay tribute to these new Gods. And of course, when tribute was paid, my father’s kin pulled away from the conflict. It became less a war for survival, and more a battle between their worshippers. It was no longer their problem.”
Rickar’s smile slips away as his tone becomes dark.
“The Children of the Forest did not see it that way. They felt betrayed and they turned on their Gods with a vengeance. The Gods of the Forest fell first. The Gods of the Rivers and Plains soon followed. Those of the Mountains and the Sand went last, until all that remained was one. My father.”
Despite himself, Theon finds a single word slipping through his lips.
“Snow…”
Rickar’s smile is filled with sharp teeth as he nods.
“Precisely. The Children of the Forest called my father the Night King. He is a Spirit of Ice and Cold and Snow. He is the freeze, he is the winter. Your house words speak of HIM when they say Winter is Coming. The Children took their time destroying their Gods and by the time they finished, they no longer cared to war with the First Men. Ironically, an accord was struck and peace between your ancestors and them was had for a time.”
Shaking his head, Rickar flares his nostrils as he blows out a breath.
“My father does not forgive or forget so easily though. His is a cold rage, Theon. It does not burn hot, nor does it burn fast. But if you attract his ire, he will have his revenge. The Long Night was not a battle for the Dawn or a fight for the salvation of the World. The Long Night was my father, last of his kind, coming down from his realm too rain damnation on the Children of the Forest. He chased them where ever they hid and he slaughtered them until they were forever broken. Your heroes did not push him back. He simply finished what he started, turned around, and left your ancestors in peace.”
Rickar was done, judging by the way he leaned back, his striking blue eyes no longer drilling into Theon’s skull. It feels like his head is pounding, but the King in the North still manages to find a question in the mess of words he’s currently trying to process internally.
“You say… you say he was the last. What are you, if not evidence that that is not true?”
Rickar doesn’t look surprised or taken aback as Theon had hoped. Instead, the man simply shrugs.
“As I said, I am my father’s son. But I am no God. When the Long Night ended, the Night King took a bride and began a family, to replace those kin he had lost to the Children of the Forest. I am a product of that union and while I am certainly not human, I am still young, still mortal.”
Theon’s brain was STILL trying to catch up, though at least he was doing better than the men all around the two of them. And yet, even as he struggled to process it all, he kept finding little nuggets within Rickar’s explanation that sent his mind in interesting directions.
“He took a bride… he took… Rickar. What is your mother’s name?”
For the first time, Rickar looks taken aback. For the first time, the other man, the man who has always felt familiar to Theon in this human guise of his, looks sheepish and a bit worried.
“My mother? She’s not any different than me if that’s what you’re askin-.”
“Rickar! Damn you, what is her name?!”
“… Lyanna.”
“Lyanna Stark.”
It’s a statement, not a question. Rickar answers anyways, hanging his head, knowing as well as Theon what it means.
“Yes.”
Finally, something for Theon to latch onto. Something that he understands, that apparently the histories he’s been raised on got right. And as he connects the dots, he comes to another realization as well.
“Your father kidnapped Brandon the Builder’s sister, raped her, and created you.”
“It wasn’t rap-!”
Its Theon’s turn to cut the other man off.
“And you! You came to Winterfell to repeat your father’s crime, didn’t you?! You were after my sister this entire time you damn bastard! And to think, if you hadn’t been revealed, if your secrets had stayed secret, I would have given her to you gift wrapped, proud to call you my good brother!”
Rickar let out a sigh, his eyes squeezing shut and his hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose as he simply sighed.
“Theon, I had no intention of kidnapping your sister. YES, I came to your lands looking for a bride, but at my MOTHER’s request, not my father’s. You are twisting things. My mother and father have had their differences these past two thousand years, but my father did not rape my mother to beget me and my sister.”
“… How can I believe a word you say Rickar? Everything I know tells me that you and those like you are evil. And now you confirm your father’s crime against House Stark, not even mentioning all the First Men he and his killed in their pursuit of the Children of the Forest!”
“A crime perhaps, but a crime committed two thousand years ago Theon! My mother is happy where she is! If anyone exists that can forgive my father his trespass, it is HER and she has forgiven him!”
“Once again, we come back to the simple truth that you have lied to me about everything up until this point. How can I believe a word you say, when you wield words like a weapon?!”
A moment of silence passes. Theon is breathing hard while Rickar sits motionless. Eventually, the caged man speaks.
“You will not be swayed.”
“I will not.”
“Then what now?”
Theon pauses briefly and gives the question serious thought.
“… We will continue on to Winterfell. I will decide what to do with you when we arrive. You saved my life twice, but to what end, I know not. I must think on your fate.”
“No.”
The King in the North’s eyes widen in outrage and then surprise when Rickar answers with that simple word, before standing up. A moment later, the wooden cage hastily crafted to hold him is no more and the disguise that hid his true nature melts away. There is nothing between the White Walker atop his demolished cart, and the hundred Northmen surrounding him. Yet… none of them are armed with dragonglass.
“No?”
Theon inwardly curses the slight undercurrent of wariness in his voice. He’d hoped to sound commanding, forceful. He’d hoped to sound like his father when the man lifted an eyebrow and repeated a particularly foolish statement from one of his children back to them, as if he was incredibly disappointed with their idiocy. Staring into those glowing blue eyes, he’d failed to capture that essence.
Rickar’s lips curled into a smile, but there was no happiness in it.
“No, I think not Theon Stark, King in the North. You have no authority over me. You do not even carry dragonglass, with which to put me down. None of you can stop me from leaving if I so choose.”
Rickar is right and Theon knows it. And yet, in the end there is only one thing the Hungry Wolf can say, even if he says it without a trace of hunger in his voice. Instead, his tone is resigned as he speaks and his men instinctively obey.
“Take him.”
The battle is short and by the end of it, Rickar has Theon pinned to the ground with a simple knife to his throat, stolen from the belt of one of his men. The groans and whimpers and moans of pain from all around him speak to the White Walker’s mercy, but that doesn’t truly help when Theon is staring up into those fathomless, swirling blue eyes.
“… I’m sorry Theon. I wish things could have been different.”
And then Rickar was gone, faster than Theon’s eyes could track, disappearing off the road and into the trees to who the hell knew where.
Theon would find out exactly where Rickar had went when he reached Winterfell a week later, only to find it in a panic over an abrupt White Walker attack… and a missing Lady Stark.
-x-X-x-
I sit up, blinking dumbly as the connection with my son that has lain dormant for months now suddenly flares to life from his end. I ‘listen’ for a long moment before letting out a single sound.
“Huh.”
It’s enough to stir Lyanna beside me. The ethereal beauty sits up, her hand going to her slight baby bump. My Queen has just started showing.
“What? What is it?”
I look to Lyanna, internally questioning why my son has not contacted her as well, instead leaving me to deal with his mother’s wrath. Ah, and now I’ve answered my own question. Well…
“… Our son is returning home my Queen. He will reach the Wall in a matter of days.”
Lyanna’s face lights up with a bright smile, pure and honest joy filling her glowing blue eyes.
“That’s wonderful!”
Then her face does a one eighty as she frowns deeply.
“… Why is he not telling me this himself?”
I let out an explosive sigh, knowing my Queen’s reaction already, yet giving her the information Rickar has relayed to me all the same.
“Because he’s coming North with King Stark and his entire god damn army chasing him.”
“What?! WHY THE HELL WOULD THEY BE DOING THAT?!”
“Besides the fact that he is the embodiment of their greatest nightmare made flesh? Well, it seems in his quest to gain your approval and bring you grandbabies, our son… may have chosen the current Lady Stark as his new bride.”
Lyanna’s face is blank, emotionless and expressionless. But I’m not done.
“He also may have kidnapped her and is currently bringing her North with him against her will.”
I wait a beat and then I say something that will direct much of Lyanna’s anger and fury and rage towards me and off of our wayward son. Because I’m a good father, even if I’m not a good man by any stretch of the word. Plastering a smile on my face, I give Lyanna a devil may care shoulder shrug and speak the fateful words that will redirect her ire solely to me.
“… Like father like son, hm?”
The blow up begins a moment later. Luckily, my Queen cannot kill me, or I’m quite sure she’d try.
-x-X-x-
A/N: I don't normally do end of chapter Author's Notes, but I kind of feel like this has to be said. I did NOT sit down to write this Chapter. I sat down to write a Chapter where Rickar told his story and Theon listened and eventually, once again, Rickar managed to talk his way out of shit, leading to the bromance continuing and some victory celebration at Winterfell that would in turn lead to Rickar and this generation's Lyanna getting together.
But as I was writing this, Theon Stark, Hungry motherfucking Wolf that he is, grabbed me by the shoulders through the computer screen and shook me silly, as if to say "Do you see how DUMB that is?!"
And so this was born. The bromance dies unfortunately. Theon Stark is marching on the Wall, with no idea of what he's going to face in the North. The Night King's plans to try and keep canon looking slightly like canon are fraying even further.
This is the nature of the story. Even I don't know what's going to happen WHILE I'm writing each chapter. My best work has always written itself though, flowing from my fingertips but seeming to come from some place other than my conscious mind.
... Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. =)
Comments
KnightofMor
The beast has taken on a mind of it's own and all you can do is cling to it for dear life.
