Cambrian
patreon
[BONUS] Winter Comes Pt. 10 (GoT SI)
🕑 Added 2017-09-27 06:53:41 +0000 UTC A/N: Decided against a pure Rickar interlude, going to keep things going side by side.-x-X-x-
Everything was fine and dandy until Rickar made it to Winterfell. To be fair, everything was fine and dandy up until that point mostly because he quite literally hadn’t run into a single living soul before then. As he approached Winterfell’s gates, a smile plastered on his face, Rickar had no idea how much that was all about to change.
Guards stopped him from entering of course, but then he rather expected that.
“Hail!”
“Halt! Who are you and what business do you have in Winterfell?”
Rickar kept the smile up, even as he saw suspicion in the eyes of the two gate guards. But then of course they were suspicious of him, he was a stranger. Trying to affect the most innocent personality he could muster, the disguised White Walker very pointedly ignored the squadron of reanimated corpses currently surrounding Winterfell from the trees.
“I am but a weary traveler, hoping to find a place to rest. I do not have much, but I had hoped Winterfell’s famed hospitality still stood…”
The guards exchanged a look and then snorted at him, eyeing him up and down.
“Aye, we be hospitable ‘n the like to northerners. But you ain’t a northerner, are ye?”
… They had no idea how wrong they were. Still, Rickar couldn’t technically claim to be a traveler and then turn around and claim to be a northerner, now could he. Letting out a put upon sigh, Rickar reached down to his waist and pulled up a pouch, letting it jingle.
“… Did I forget to mention I had coin?”
The eyes of both guardsmen light up at that and Rickar smiles as he tosses the coin pouch to one of them. They quickly open it up and judging from the sounds they’re making, Rickar has given them quite the sum indeed. He wouldn’t know to be perfectly honest. While he knew how currency south of the Wall worked thanks to father’s little spies, he hadn’t actually bothered to look inside the pouch of coins purloined from a number of places over the decades.
After all, the dead who had accompanied him past the Wall each had several coin bags of the same exact fullness tied to their rotting persons. Ah, the guardsmen were looking at him again. Rickar made sure his smile was back on his face as both Northmen glanced between the pouch and him a few times. Finally, the one who’d done all the talking tossed his head back over his shoulder.
“Alright then, ye can pass. Don’t make any trouble though; just because the Lord of Winterfell ain’t in residence don’t mean Winterfell ain’t protected. Still got plenty of Starks here who’d gladly chop off yer head for makin’ the wrong move.”
Rickar just continued to smile, nodding and murmuring his thanks as he moved past the greedy men, who were already ignoring him in favor of their new wealth once more. It was interesting to hear that the Lord of Winterfell was not here. Intellectually, Rickar had known that the North was being invaded and it explained why he hadn’t seen much life on his way south from the Wall.
Still though, he couldn’t help but wonder where Theon Stark had gone, what battle he was fighting. His father’s Chosen had spoken of the young, untested wolf being rather… sharp and vicious. Theon Stark had a chip on his shoulder and a desire to prove himself a mile wide. He’d only been Lord of Winterfell for a year when the Andals first began to invade after all. Luckily for him, the north is not a forgiving place and the invasions were going slowly here.
As Rickar walked through Winterfell, he found himself smiling genuinely for the first time as he gazed around. It was nowhere near as impressive as the things his father had built, hell, it wasn’t even as impressive as the things HE’D built to impress his father! It couldn’t even measure up to the Wall… but it was still a creation of his Uncle and just being within the walls of Winterfell, a place his mother spoke up with such fondness, was a surreal experience to be sure.
Eventually, he came upon the entrance to the godswood that lay within the castle’s walls. Rickar stared at the pale trees with their red leaves and ultimately, he moved forward. He simply couldn’t help himself. His father might have hated the Weirwood trees and all they represented and Rickar respected the place that his father’s feelings came from.
But he couldn’t share them. These trees were such beautiful things, a source of never rotting wood that were ultimately as lasting as rock and stone. The things he could do with such construction materials… but no, his father had destroyed the last after waging a war against the plant life that had made his mother throw up her arms in exasperation and his sister run off to join the Wildlings for another few decades.
Best NOT to open those old wounds. Still, it was nice to be among the intriguing trees again. Rickar could almost hear whispers as he drew ever nearer to the heart tree. Wait… no, that was a girl’s voice. Rickar blinked dumbly as he came to the edge of the heart tree’s clearing, staring at the back of a hunched over figure dressed in black furs. With his enhanced senses, he could easily hear her praying.
“Watch over my brother. See him home safely. If not for me, for yourself. He fights for you; he fights for all of us. Our ways and our gods are threatened. The foreigners come and they invade and they burn down godswoods and slaughter northmen. We fight side by side in this war. So please… watch over my brother.”
Rickar is beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable, so he clears his throat and coughs into his fist before he can intrude on this very intimate moment any further. Judging by the way the kneeling woman spins around with an actual shortsword drawn in her fist, perhaps he should have just tip toed back out. And yet… and yet Rickar is struck by her beauty and her ferocity. This is no girl as he first assumed. This is a woman grown, with her sharp edged face and striking blue eyes and black, black hair.
Was this… was this what love felt like?
“You! Who are you to sneak up on the Lady of Winterfell? Name thyself stranger!”
Ah, she was very, very angry with him. Rickar brought the smile back to his face and spread his hands wide to show he was unarmed. He opened his mouth to begin speaking, quite sure that once he explained everything, the beautiful young woman would see that this was all just a big misunderstanding.
-x-X-x-
A few hours later, Rickar sat in a cart alongside nineteen other northmen. They were crowded into one of five such carts heading down the road towards the East. He stared down at his hands in shock, still not entirely certain how he’d gotten here. It’d all been a sort of a blur after a point. A nudge to his shoulder pulled his attention to his left and a bearded, jovial man nodded to him.
“Ey there son, you’ve been sitting there silent since we left Winterfell. Look like you saw a ghost.”
“Hah, ghost nothing! I saw what went down! The fucker got caught trying to hide from the war by the Lady of Winterfell herself! She dragged him out of the godswood he’d tried to lurk in and put him right here on the cart where he sits now!”
Rickar supposed it was better to be considered a craven rather than some creep who’d been stalking the ‘Lady of Winterfell’ into the godswood. But still, he felt some need to try and defend his honor.
“Didn’t know there was a war going on gentlemen… I’m not from around these parts and I hadn’t heard about any kind of invasion.”
The jovial look is gone from his bearded neighbor as the man snorts derisively, turning on him as fast as the rest of the cart.
“Likely story. How can ye not have heard about the invasion? It’s everywhere! Ain’t no place to go to run from it boy! Only way to save the North now is to fight back!”
Okay, so he technically HAD heard about the invasion from his father. While the northerners called their enemies foreigners, his father insisted on referring to them as Andals. The Andals invasion, his father had called it. The Night King had gone on to claim that while much of Westeros would ultimately end up under the rule of these invaders, the North would successfully hold them off. His conviction had satisfied a worried Lyanna, but Rickar was now wondering exactly what he was getting himself into. It looked like he was going straight into a war with no way out…
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Rickar still had his ‘guards’ and they followed along at a run through the trees on either side of the road that he was currently being carried down. And yes, Rickar could have used the wights to attack the caravan, slip away in the confusion, and go back to Winterfell. He was fairly certainly he’d already found his future wife. This Lady of Winterfell… she reminded him of mother. Was that bad? Not in his eyes.
Still though, something inexplicable stayed Rickar’s hands and his control over the wights. He didn’t want to attack these men, who had done nothing to him and who were likely quite needed against the Andal threat. He did not want to simply go back and kidnap the Lady of Winterfell, hauling her past the Wall just to be done with the whole thing.
Rickar… didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but what he did know was that he didn’t want the adventure to end like that. Not so quickly anyways. And really, if he truly wished it, he could simply enact such a plan at any time. There was no one here or anywhere else in the north that could stop him. But… that wouldn’t be sporting. Rickar had never participated in the old Free Folk tradition of “Wife stealing” but he at least understood the basics of the practice…
And so, with his head held high and his stature among the men he was supposed to fight alongside already in the shitter, Rickar, son of the Night King, natural born White Walker… went to war.
-x-X-x-
I felt like something was probably happening somewhere. Something I wouldn’t like? Something I would? Eh, who knew right? It was probably fine. Construction of the massive harbor city I intended to make the Free Folk Capital continued, albeit slowly. Not much had gotten done yet and I was starting to wonder how the hell my son had accomplished all his great works with nothing but living souls.
If I brought down even a small percentage of the army of the dead, I could have his plans realized within a few months… but I’d spent quite a lot of time cultivating a sort of complacency among the wildlings about their dead. They truly didn’t understand what happened to their bodies once their souls moved on, or at the very least, they didn’t want to acknowledge that.
That meant no bringing fresh corpses from the north down to the build site, especially ones that might be recognized by living wildlings. I could have still used the other reanimated dead that were all around us, always lurking, but skeletons and the more rotted dead that I allowed to hang out in Free Folk lands didn’t make for the best labors. And of course, there was one other reason I continued to use living labor for the harbor city.
… Quite simply put, I’d inadvertently created civilization up north. And it’d happened centuries ago but I’d been just a teensy bit slow in realizing it. The wildlings just weren’t wild anymore. They’d never called themselves by that title anyways, but even still. Hell, the Free Folk weren’t even truly free anymore either. They’d let themselves get tied down by the trappings of the slightest hint of modern society.
They had a fucking unemployment rate! Though of course they didn’t call it that. But I’d figured it out quickly enough after spending some time working with them in place of my son. Free Folk men and women were making lives off of the construction of this harbor city. Those who worked were promised everything from currency to trade goods and if you worked long enough and could say you built a large enough portion of the place, you were guaranteed a home once it was done.
So yeah, that was a thing. The Free Folk had evolved behind my back, I swear to god. Or, they’d done it in front of my face and I was just that blind… nah, I preferred the second option. Still, I essentially had a duty to the living now, as annoying as it was. Had to give them work to do or they’d probably starve. That didn’t mean I wasn’t working on some… passion projects on the side though.
Grinning, I walked down the stone stairs to the harbor’s edge, coming to a stop feet from a group of Free Folk that knelt before me in supplication. Behind them lay a single dock with a single boat. Closest thing to a galley or a caravel or whatever that I could vaguely describe to their best shipbuilders. Basically, it would hopefully get them across the sea and then maybe back again if they somehow succeeded in their task.
On each of their arms lay my mark, already given. This latest group of Chosen was special though. They weren’t going south of the Wall to infiltrate Westeros. No, if I wanted them to do that, I wouldn’t have made this dock and the boat moored at it one of the highest priorities for the new harbor city. Breathing in a deep breath, I smiled down at my Chosen.
“Please Captain; you and your crew may rise.”
The Free Folk did so, standing and staring at me with reverence and devotion in their gaze. There was nothing quite like cult loyalty. I was God made manifest to them, and to be able to see and touch one’s god does wonders for one’s believe. More than that, through my mark I was inside of their minds. I could only imagine this is what pastors and rabbis and priests back in my old world WISHED their relationship with God could be like.
Chuckling, I walk closer, patting the shoulder of the Captain as I pass by them and they part to allow me to look upon the ship that will be taking them across the Narrow Sea. Without looking back, I ask the obvious.
“Do you understand what I have asked you to do Captain? Does your crew?”
“As best as possible your Grace. You have explained the dragons to us and shown us the drawings. We understand that we look for eggs the size of human heads. They will be covered in tiny scales. We are to gather as many as possible and bring them back to you.”
That’s basically the gist of it. Not that I actually expect them to succeed on this mission. If they did, I would happily give each and every one of them immortality. Might as well tell them so.
“Indeed. And if you succeed in this task, those of you who live will be rewarded beyond your imagining.”
Each and every member of the crew bowed their head alongside their Captain as he spoke for them.
“The only reward any of us need is your love, your Grace.”
Stop, stop! You’re going to make my heart burst from all this adoration and devotion! The irony of the Night King being worshipped as a benevolent god alone is enough that I have to stifle my chuckles. I manage to do it though and I keep my face set in a smile as I finally turned to look at my Chosen again.
“Then know this. Whoever succeeds in this task will be gifted with eternity at my side.”
That gets wide eyes and murmurs from the crew as their discipline shatters momentarily, though I consider it for a good reason. I’ve kept the White Walker transformation thing pretty under wraps, at least among the Free Folk. Oh sure, the Thenn all pretty much know about it, what with Rogund Thenn still walking around, leading them from on high.
But the Thenns aren’t Free Folk anymore and they haven’t been for a long time. The Thenns are castle dwellers now, they live in a number of my construction projects and they serve me, my immediate family, or one of the steadily growing group of intelligent White Walkers that I’ve transformed over the centuries.
So yeah, getting given White Walker-hood is still a pretty exclusive club. But if this crew can bring me even one dragon egg to play with, I’ll fucking ascend the lot of them right on the spot. Smiling, I nod to the Captain.
“Go on then. You lot have quite the journey ahead of you.”
He gives one more bow, as does the rest of the crew. Then they hurry to fulfill my orders, both the immediate one I’d just given and those pertaining to the mission I’m sending them on. Within a half hour, the ship is pulling away from the dock and heading out to the bay and from there out to sea. It was nice, watching them go with the expectation of never seeing them again.
At the very least, even when they failed as I assumed they would, I would gain valuable knowledge on just how far my mark’s magic extended. Given I had Chosen in the lands that would one day be called Dorne even now, I knew it was pretty fucking far. Still, would it reach to Valyria? Time would tell. Ultimately, it was more a Hail Mary than anything else. If this first attempt somehow netted me a dragon egg? Fan-fucking-tastic and honestly completely unbelievably lucky. But I expected it to fail and I expected my subsequent attempts to fail as well.
That was the key to a happy life. Don’t worry about the little things and don’t assume success will follow you into every venture. That way, when you do accomplish a random goal you weren’t expecting too, the victory will be all the sweeter! Chuckling to myself, I turned back to the barely started harbor city and smiled. Time to get back to work!
Hopefully my son was having as much fun as I was, south of the Wall.
-x-X-x-
The aged Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch stared, mouth agape, down from the Wall. Even from here, one could see the construction going on. What must have been the biggest force of wildlings ever assembled were scurrying all over the place like a multitude of ants. Even with his failing eyesight, the Lord Commander could make out the movement and see the distinct shapes as walls were beginning to go up right alongside buildings.
“What… what are they doing?”
The Master-at-Arms grunted from beside him.
“They’re going around us Lord Commander. That’s what they’re doing.”
The old crow’s eyes widened and he spun on one of his oldest comrades.
“What?!”
The Master-at-Arms, a no nonsense type of man, just nodded his head towards the construction.
“It’s a city. But it’s also a harbor. Our men report seeing one ship already sail away from the place. No doubt headed south of the Wall, but it was smart. It went too far out to sea for us to follow and lost itself in the fog. It’ll turn back though, you can be sure of that. It’ll turn back and it’ll attack the North. The Wildlings have grown tired of fighting us as far as I can tell. We’re not worth their time anymore. They’re bypassing us using ships. And if this harbor of theirs is going to be as big as it looks, that first ship will be joined by many, many more within a year.”
“Then… then we have a year to prepare.”
“Aye. Or we could nip this in the bud before those damnable walls go up.”
The aged Lord Commander shoots a look at the Master-at-Arms, who returns it with a level stare before explaining his words.
“The Night’s Watch still has five thousand brothers on the Wall who can fight Lord Commander. The wildlings are playing at civilization, but we both know they’ll never be anything more than a disorganized rabble. This is the best shot we’ve had at them in centuries. Every ranging for the past several hundred years has failed, not because the wildlings are strong, but because they’re craven. They hide and they wait and they stab us in our sleep or burn our provisions or slit the throats of our horses to leave us to die in the cold.”
The Lord Commander is finding it hard to not get just a bit inspired by his old friend’s words. The Master-at-Arms only pauses for a second to catch his breath before continuing on.
“Now they’ve made themselves a target. They can’t slink away into the trees this time, not when they’ve cut down every tree for leagues around their precious little project. This is our one chance to strike and break their backs before those walls are up and they’ve got a defensible position. For the time being, they’re still living in their tents and their huts. But they’re finally doing it out in the open, with nothing between them and our blades but their damn furs!”
Staring at the Master-at-Arms, the aged Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch finds his chest is puffing up at the thought of it. The other man is right! This is it! This is the moment that he’s been waiting for! His chance to leave the Watch better than he found it, a chance to reclaim some of its lost glory and to reverse the decline it’d been in for the last several centuries! Licking his lips to moisten them, the Lord Commander smiles widely for the first time in a long time.
“You’re right old friend. You’re right… come; we need to rally the brothers. Gather everyone at the Nightfort. We must ride within the week or our opportunity will be lost to us.”
The Master-at-Arms just nods simply and the two men move off. The young steward, personally assigned to the Lord Commander, has been completely forgotten. He moves to follow them but then pauses for a brief moment. One hand goes to clasp his arm and he shuts his eyes in concentration as his lips move silently.
Beneath the black sleeve covering his clutched arm, the Night King’s blue handprint glows brightly indeed.
