Clegane's Keep, Westerlands
The guards at the gates were drunk, as they often were. No one ever dared to attack the Mountain in his own keep.
But tonight was not like other nights.
The plan had been in motion for months. A Faceless Man had infiltrated the keep, taking the place of a servant who had been killed in one of Mountain's infamous fits of rage. He had learned the layout, the guards' patrols, the habits of the men who served under the Mountain. Their weaknesses, their vices—everything had been studied and exploited.
Mountain himself had three weaknesses—his temper, his arrogance, and his size. Tonight, all three would be used against him.
No one in Clegane's Keep questioned why everything the Mountain owned had to be custom made. His armor, his weapons, his bed—each was built to accommodate a man of his size. And that gave them the opening they needed.
In the night, a merchant's caravan arrived at the gates, claiming to bear a shipment of new furnishings for the Mountain's chamber. All meant for Mountain's size. Along with it came barrels of vodka, a favorite of the keep's men.
"Ser Gregor did not order new furniture," one of the guards muttered as they inspected the cart.
"It's from Lord Tywin," the merchant replied smoothly. "It is a gift."
The name of Tywin Lannister ended most arguments before they could even begin.
The gates opened and the cart was wheeled inside.
Among the goods, sat an ordinary looking, medium size storage chest. But inside it sat two Faceless Men with a corpse.
The disguised servant wheeled the chest into Mountain's chambers. The guards paid it little mind. They had long since learned not to question Mountain's possessions. Once the door was shut, their work began.
Mountain lay sprawled on his massive bed. Hours earlier, he had unknowingly swallowed a poison which was mixed into his drink, given by the disguised servant. He would not wake up until he is given the antidote.
They moved quickly. They heaved the Mountain's body into the chest. Once Mountain was inside, they retrieved the other body—a perfect copy of the Mountain. It was created by their master by transfiguring another man, and later killing him, then it was made sure that the body would not rot. Before the corpse would reverted back to its true form and start rotting, it would be buried deep in the earth.
The fake Mountain was placed carefully onto the bed. When the maester would examine him, they would find nothing amiss. To him, Mountain simply died in his sleep due to a sudden stroke.
The disguised servant burst into the great hall where Mountain's men were drinking.
"Fire!" he screamed. "Their is fire in the stables!"
The guards, the servants, all went toward the stable, desperate to save the horses, the supplies—anything to avoid Mountain's wrath next morning.
In the chaos, no one noticed two hooded figures keeping the chest back onto the merchant's cart. No one questioned why the merchant was leaving so soon. No one thought to check inside.
By the time the fire was revealed to be nothing more than a haystack burning in the stables, the cart was already rolling down the road, vanishing into the night.
The servant who had lived among them disappeared that night as well. Never to be seen again.
By the time Tywin Lannister suspected foul play, it was too late.
Lannistport, Westerlands
It was just another night inside the Dwarf Lion Inn, a modest but well kept establishment in Lannisport. It was owned by Tyrion Lannister. But the day-to-day running of the inn fell to Titus Hill, one of the many Lannister bastards. He had impressed Tyrion with his intelligence.
Today though there was an underlying tension in the crowd tonight. An occasional glance toward the far corner of the room. A man gripping his drink tighter than usual.
The source of their unease sat loud and brash, surrounded by a group of loud men. But it was not the rowdy men at the table that truly unsettled the inn's patrons—it was their leader.
Ser Amory Lorch.
A portly man of average height with a pale piggish face, small dark eyes, and a high thin voice. He was no great knight. But men still feared him.
They did not fear him for his looks. They feared him for his deeds.
During the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion, he had thrown the last Tarbeck—no more than a boy of three—down a well. He was most infamous, however, for the murder of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen who was four years old, and he stabbed her dozens of times during the sack of Kingslanding.
"The farmer had a small house," Amory was saying "But it was his daughter that made me stay. She was a pretty one with a tight pussy." He took another gulp of his drink.
His men chuckled.
"When was this, Ser?" one of them asked.
"Last week," Amory answered "After they fed me, I gutted the father and mother, then took my time with the girl. Kept her for a week. The way she screamed—" He grinned. "It was music to my ears."
The same lackey grinned. "And where is she now?"
Amory waved a hand. "Ask Polliver."
Polliver was once one of Gregor Clegane's men. He had joined Amory Lorch's band after Mountain's death. He looked up from his drink at the mention of his name.
"What?"
"The girl," the lackey said. "Ser Amory left her with you last week. Think I can have a go at her?"
Polliver snorted. "I tore her cunt her open with my sword when I was done with her. I left her down by the docks. You can find her there."
The lackey groaned "What use is she to me without her cunt?"
Amory said "She still has an ass, doesn't she?"
It was then that a serving girl approached with more drinks.
She was young, with golden hair and green eyes, wearing a pretty dress. She set the mugs down on their table, offering a coy smile.
Amory's gaze fixed on her immediately. He caught her wrist before she could step away.
"You're a pretty one," he asked. "Are you new here?"
She giggled "Yes, my lord."
She shifted in closer, pressing against his lap.
Amory's grip tightened. "Ha! This one clearly wants it, boys!" He reached up, kneading one of her breasts.
The girl leaning in closer. "Perhaps, my lord, you could give it to me upstairs. In private."
Amory's eyes gleamed with lust. "I like you, wench. Lead the way. Find one for yourself boys."
The girl took his hand and guided him toward the stairs, giggling as she went. Amory followed eagerly.
She led him to the farthest room on the upper floor. If he had been less drunk, less consumed by lust, he might have noticed the shadows in the corner.
But he noticed nothing.
The girl turned to a small table and poured a cup of wine. "One more drink, my lord," she said sweetly "It's on the house."
Amory grabbed it without hesitation, draining the cup in one long gulp before tossing it aside. He reached for her, shoving her toward the bed, hiking up her skirt. His own breeches fell to his ankles as he climbed atop her.
But something was wrong.
His cock had gone limp.
He blinked in confusion.
"What the fuck?" he muttered. His words started slurring. His arms felt sluggish. His legs weak. His stomach twisted. His bladder emptied.
He tried to speak, to shout, but the words would not form. His limbs refused to obey.
The girl sat up and she stared down at him. Then, slowly, she reached for her face, and peeled it away.
The golden hair, the green eyes—all of it was gone. Now it was pale skin and dark hair.
Amory Lorch stared into the cold, unreadable eyes of the girl.
"Secure him," the woman said flatly. "Master wants him unharmed."
From the shadows, two figures emerged and heaved him in a chest.
The woman stood, adjusting her cloak. "I'll create the distraction."
Some time later, fire erupted in the Dwarf Lion Inn.
In the chaos, no one noticed three hooded figures slipping away toward the docks, carrying an ordinary looking, medium sized chest.
Shivering Sea, The True North
The icy wind blew on their faces as their faces as the Northern ships sailed through the frozen waters of the Shivering Sea, beyond the Wall with one destination—Hardhome.
Few months ago the Lord Commander had written to him that almost all the Free Folk had assembled in Hardhome ready to come South. Aryan was ashamed to say that he could not give much time to the transportation of the Free Folk as he was busy ruling his Kingdom as well as organising the Northern Games, which had proved to a great success. But just a month ago Bloodraven had alerted him that the Others were on the move and the Night King had finally given an appearance. No doubt attracted by the huge concentration of the living at Hardhome, it was anybody's guess where their destination was. And Aryan had immediately hurried and ordered all the available ships in the North to Hardhome.
"I never thought I would ever go to Beyond the Wall." Wilas said with a small shiver. Being a Southerner he was more susceptible to the cold than others. Wilas had more fur wrapped around him than the others. Qyburn had operated on his damaged leg and had restructured his ankle back (With some discrete magical assistance from Aryan of course). Wilas had to stay back for some time, while the rest of the Tyrells returned back after the Spring Festival. And now that his leg was fully healed, Wilas showed an interest in accompanying them. Aryan also felt it was a good idea. 'Let the world know that the Others are not just a myth.' He thought.
Aryan nodded absentmindedly. Seeing a lack of response, Wilas looked closely at Aryan's face and asked, "You look worried?"
"Yes, I am worried. We might be late." Aryan answered.
"Late for what?" Wilas asked.
"You will see." Aryan answered, holding back the suspense. Aryan then walked towards the front where Benjen Seastark was standing along with Greatjon Umber. They stopped their conversation as he approached.
"Everything is fine I hope?" Aryan asked.
"Of course it is." Benjen said. "Though I must ask, nephew, how are we going to deal with the giants and mammoths which you are interested in? They may be too big for the ships."
"Fear not, Uncle. Why did you think I sent Uncle Ned to Castle Black?" Aryan told him.
"Still, is it not dangerous for them to travel alone?" Benjen asked.
"From what the Bloodraven told me, the Others are more interested in men than Giants. Besides, most of their journey will be through the Haunted Forest, and the Children are helping them." Aryan said. "Though I hope you brought the Valyrian Steel weapons with you."
"I have come prepared, nephew." Benjen said, gripping the hilt of his sword. "You think we will be attacked?"
"Such a large gathering of the living will definitely attract them. Bloodraven has confirmed that the Others are on the move. I just hope we have enough time to evacuate them. No need to give the Others more fodder." He replied.
"Even if they come, we will just smash them apart, Lord Stark." Greatjon roared as he hefted his new Valyrian Steel axe.
"Let us hope so." Aryan said as they waited. His cloak shifted a bit, which resulted in giving the others a display of his armor.
"Is that Valyrian Steel armor, nephew?" Benjen asked, fascinated.
"Oh, this..." Aryan said as he removed the cloak. "Yes, it is. I found it at the same source where I found the swords. Had to make small adjustments to fit me."
The pale gray armor with the Wolves' insignia. With Boris's help, Aryan had recast the original suit to fit him. With Valyrian steel plates to protect all vital parts and Valyrian steel chainmail for non-vital parts and joints for easy movement and a Spartan helmet. It had taken Boris almost a year for this, but the result was worth it.
Soon it was noon. It was difficult to tell the time, but Aryan had magic. And soon, Hardhome came into their view. Aryan could already see several of his ships. He was greeted by the sight of thousands of tents and fires here and there. People were moving between them.
Aryan scanned the area.
Soon his ship docked, and he stepped down. He walked forward, followed by Wilas, Benjen, Jorah, Greatjon, William, Lord Ryswell and Lord Flint. A few of the Mountain clan chiefs had also come with him. He walked forward.
"I think we should go there." Jorah said, pointing in a direction.
Aryan looked there and saw Jeor Mormont walking towards them. He was accompanied by a few black brothers and a few others whom he assumed were the Free Folk. Soon both parties neared each other and finished the usual formalities. Aryan already knew Mance Rayder while Jeor introduced him to Cotter Pyke.
"These are the Chieftains of the Free Folk we have gathered." Jeor told him. "I have gathered a few here. The rest are elderly and are ready to follow you to the South of the Wall. These are Tormund, Dalla, Val, Karsi, Harma, and Varamyr Sixskins. And that..."
"I am Magnar Styr of Thenn." Said the man, introducing himself.
Aryan nodded back, looking at him. Unlike the others, Styr was dressed more finely, with a copper armor beneath his fur. "I am Aryan Stark. Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." He replied back in Old Tongue. This was a simple way to earn their respect.
He then analyzed each of them. Tormund was huge with red hair. There was nothing special about the others. Val looked striking with her blonde hair and baby blue eyes. But it was Varamyr who gained his attention. The man was diminutive. But he had an eagle sitting on his shoulder. Aryan asked, "Are you a skinchanger?"
"Yes." Varamyr replied proudly.
"The Lord Commander called you Varamyr Sixskins. I assume you could warg into six animals." Aryan asked.
"You are right." Varamyr said. He then pointed to some distance away. "Those are the others."
Aryan saw three wolves, a snowbear, and a shadowcat sitting near each other comfortably. "Interesting." Aryan said.
"I thought you Southerners..." Val began haughtily, but a sharp gaze from Aryan made her change her tone. "...You people would be against wargs and wood witches. The Crows hate them."
"You will find that most of the Crows are fucking criminals from the South who do not understand the North." Aryan told them. Then, looking at Varamyr, he said, "You can freely practice your abilities in the North, though you must comply with the laws. This is a special gift, and I would loath to waste it."
Varamyr said. "I have an offering for you."
"Offering?" Aryan asked, looking at Jeor, who shrugged. Varamyr's eyes rolled back into his head. The others looked alarmed, but Tormund said, "He is warging."
Aryan saw one of the wolves coming forward with something in its mouth. He saw William about to draw his sword, but Aryan shook his head.
"Be careful, nephew." Benjen warned, ready to attack.
The wolf came near and dropped what appeared to be a furball near Aryan and went back. It was a wolf pup with pitch-black fur.
"You should take it." Varamyr said, startling them all.
"A wolf. What could I do with it?" Aryan asked.
"It is a direwolf. I heard it was your sign." Varamyr said.
"A direwolf." Benjen said excitedly. "They had not been seen south of the Wall for years." Benjen started to touch the pup, who snarled back at him. Benjen moved away.
"It does not like you, Benjen." Greatjon laughed.
Aryan knelt before the pup and brought his hand forward. The pup snarled again, but Aryan did not move. The pup slowly came near him, wobbling, and started to smell his hands. Then it started to lick him. Knowing it was safe, Aryan lifted the pup into his hands. This time, the pup did not show any resistance.
"Is it truly a direwolf?" Jorah asked. "I see no difference between this and a regular pup."
"They are small when they are born. But they will reach the size of a horse when they grow up." Varamyr said. "This one I found a few days back wandering around. The lone survivor. His pack must have left him."
"I will call you Remus." Aryan said.
"Do you not feel cold?" It was Val who asked that question.
"Of course we do." Benjen said.
"Then how do you stand in those clothes? We wear fur to warm ourselves. Your clothes do not look that thick." She asked.
"These clothes are made of threads made from fur. Not only does it protect us from cold, but it is also more manageable and presentable." Aryan told them. He saw the Free Folk looking at the Northern Party's dress with interest. "You can buy these when you come with us."
"Now, let us get to the matter at hand. How many Free Folk do we have here?" Aryan asked.
"About a hundred thousand." Mance answered.
"Just a hundred thousand! I thought there would be a couple of hundred thousand." William asked.
"Most of them had already gone. When I went to gather the Free Folk, I saw deserted villages with signs of slaughter but no bodies. The Others had taken them. And as for the rest, many had refused to come south of the Wall, led by Weeper. And we lost a great deal of people on the way during clan fights." Mance told him.
"Don't they realize they do not have any chance to stand against the Others? Only united we can fight them." The Old Bear asked.
"If I may, Lord Stark." Styr began. Aryan was surprised. From what he heard, the Thenns were very proud. To easily accept him as their leader, they must be really desperate. "You should not worry too much. Those who have not come here are cannibals and true savages. You will suffer more problems if you take them with you. Today they will get killed by the Cold Ones. If they came south, they will get killed by you."
"While I appreciate your statement, Styr, the more people we leave for the Others means we are giving them more power to their army of undead." Aryan said.
"We cannot do anything for them, Lord Stark." Karsi said, agreeing with Styr.
"The Thenn is right. Those who are not here are true savages who kill each other and eat themselves. I say we leave them and go south." Tormund said.
Well, I cannot force those who do not want to come down. Besides, if what they say is true, then it is better I leave them here rather than having to deal with them later He thought. "All right. Let us make haste. I don't feel very comfortable staying here with danger not far from us."
The Free Folk went away, leaving only Styr left with them. "Know this, Lord Stark, we are submitting to you because of desperation, not for cowardice. I have seen what the Cold Ones can do and the horrors they leave behind. Against the advice of many of my confidants, I am seeking asylum."
"Fear not, Styr. From what I have heard, the Thenns are the most advanced in the Free Folk. You can live peacefully among us." Aryan assured him. They both shook hands, and Styr left.
"I hope they do not steal women anymore." Greatjon grumbled.
"I have explained everything to them and the consequences of what will happen if they break the rules. It will take some time. But I am sure the Free Folk would adjust to life in the South." Jeor said.
"How are things at Castle Black? I hope it is going well with the Giants and the Mammoths?" Aryan asked.
"Bowen Marsh is there to handle them. I have met a Giant on the way while coming here. They are near the Wall and safer. They can travel longer distances compared to men." It was Mance Rayder who replied.
"Can we put all these Free Folk in our ships, Lord Stark?" Jeor asked.
"I believe so. It would be cramped, but yes. We will drop most of them at Eastwatch, from where they will be led to the Gift, where Uncle Ned is waiting."
They then started to walk around. Aryan decided to mingle with the Free Folk, as per Mance Rayder's advice. After all, the Free Folk should know who their leader is. So Aryan walked around with Mance and Tormund accompanying him, while the rest of the Lords went towards the ships. The ships that were full started to sail away. Now only about a thousand were left behind.
"Well, we are almost finished." William said as he saw the people slowly moving towards the last few ships.
"I would be more comfortable when I am on the ship." Aryan said. "Wilas, how is the True North?"
Poor Wilas was shivering, not accustomed to long hours in the cold. It was colder than it was at Winterfell. "I think I had enough cold and snow for a lifetime."
Before Aryan could mock him he felt a familiar presence in his mind. "They are coming," came the voice of Bloodraven.
Aryan stood stunned for some time, then quickly gathered his wits. "Lord Umber, go and push them quickly into the ship. They are coming. Wilas, go with him. And those who have Valyrian steel, stay with me. We need to buy time. Lord Dustin, prepare our men. I want them each to have fire with them. Aim for the limbs rather than the head. A headless wight is more dangerous than a limbless one. Light the corpses."
The Lords looked at him blankly. Then Greatjon nodded quickly and started to run, pulling a stunned Wilas with him.
"How do you know they are coming?" Benjen asked as he drew his sword and started to gaze in the direction Aryan was looking.
"Bloodraven," Aryan told him. And to prove his words, the temperature started to decrease rapidly as it became colder. A sudden unnatural fog started to form. A distant thumping sound could be heard, and it was slowly coming near. Aryan took a small mud pot from his pocket, opened it, and poured it over Frostbite.
"Is that Wildfire? You carried Wildfire in your pockets? Are you mad?" Benjen asked.
"Don't worry, Uncle. I know what I am doing," Aryan said as he finished coating Frostbite with the glowing green liquid.
And then indistinct shapes started to appear out of the fog. Aryan beckoned a soldier who lit his sword. As Frostbite glowed green in Wildfire, it gave an eerie look.
"I hope Frostbite will not melt away, nephew," Benjen asked, looking fascinated at the glowing sword.
"It won't, Uncle," Aryan assured him as they waited for the army of the dead to come. And soon, the dead were upon them. Men, women, and children—some looked freshly dead, some were long decayed, others were only skeletons, and there were also headless or limbless ones. The Northerners sprung to action. They hacked and slashed. The soldiers worked as a team as it was drilled into them. Some of them slashed while the others burned the corpses.
Aryan was busy himself. At the frontline of the battle, he looked like Azor Ahai himself with a glowing green sword attacking the dead. Each corpse that Frostbite touched burst into flames. His enhanced physique helped him very well. After some time—though it felt like a few hours—everything was silent again. The fog was gone. All the corpses were down, burning. A few of the Free Folk had the presence of mind to light fires with whatever was available and formed a barricade where they were boarding the ship. They seemed to look at them in a new light.
"Is that all?" Jorah asked, looking around.
"You shouldn't have said that," Aryan shouted back.
Jorah looked at him, puzzled. And as if to prove Aryan's words, it started to become cold again. And they came again. But this time, they were led by the Others—three of them, to be exact. Tall and gaunt, with flesh pale as milk and cold blue eyes that were burning like ice. Unlike the dead, the Others were riding on horses, which were obviously dead, with flesh missing here and there and cold air coming out of their nostrils.
"By the Gods, I cannot believe my eyes," William Dustin gasped.
Jorah looked stunned to see them and seemed to be stuck on the spot.
The Others looked at them with their expressionless faces. They then started to advance forward with the army of dead surrounding them.
"Okay. Everyone retreat slowly to the fires. Do not engage the Others unless it is unavoidable," Aryan shouted at them as the fog started to surround them.
He heard the panicking Free Folk shouting as they saw the Others. Some of them assisted in burning more fires as the Northern army retreated back. But again, the White Walkers were upon them. But unlike last time, now the dead were in greater numbers. And they realized it soon. They came in endless numbers as the Northerners destroyed them. More and more came, and it was starting to tire them out.
"This is too much. We must retreat back," William Dustin shouted behind Aryan. It was then Aryan saw one of the Others advancing towards Benjen. Alarmed, he started to hurry towards Benjen, but he was slow due to the dead engaging him. He looked on as the Other started to attack Benjen. Benjen tried to retreat, but he was too far. So he started to fight back, but Aryan could see it was a lost cause. The Other was too quick, too strong, and a better fighter. And soon, Aryan saw the Other stabbing Benjen. Benjen kneeled down, clutching his stomach.
As the Other raised its sword to deal the killing blow, Aryan closed his eyes and Apparated behind the Other, sure that the fog would mask him. The Other realized his sudden presence behind it and quickly turned, but it was too late as Aryan slashed the burning Frostbite into its face. And it exploded into ice crystals. He then hurried towards Benjen.
"Uncle, are you all right?" he asked, holding Benjen.
Benjen groaned and started to mumble about Dacey and their children. Aryan cast a stasis charm on the wound. By then, Tormund had reached him.
"You killed it? It is the first time I had seen one," Tormund said. "You are not a green boy."
"Yes, Valyrian Steel can destroy them," Aryan answered.
"What is Valyrian Steel?" Tormund asked.
But then his gaze went to Aryan's back, and his eyes widened. "There are two cold ones coming here."
Aryan turned back and saw the remaining two Others coming towards him on their horses.
"Quick. Take my Uncle towards the ships. I will buy you time."
"I could help," Tormund offered, lifting his axe.
"You could help me in taking him to the ship. I can deal with them," Aryan told him.
Tormund patted Aryan's shoulder and said, "Don't die, Lord Stark." He then lifted Benjen and ran towards the ships.
Aryan stood up and watched as the two Others came near him. He was far enough from the other Northerners, and there was fog too. "Let us play."
He then took his wand and pointed at the Other who was in front and casted Reducto.
The blasting curse struck the Other, who looked surprised as he was flung from the top of his horse. Aryan repeated the same with the next one too, who also, due to the spell's speed, could not avoid the curse. As the two riderless horses approached him, he slashed them hard, and they were set on fire, starting to run wildly. Having dealt with that, he walked towards the Others, who were getting up. One had a sword, while the Other had a spear made of ice. The one with the sword came towards him and attacked, which Aryan blocked, and the contact started to produce a small wailing sound.
The Other looked surprised at that and stared at him. By then, the other one too joined the fight. Both of them started to attack. The Others were stronger and faster than a normal human. It was only his enhanced body that allowed him to parry or block their attacks. After some time, Aryan realized that he was tiring. The Others did not give any such indication as they attacked him continuously with precision.
'I must use my magic, or I am done for. But first, I must separate them he thought as he dodged another attack. As he fought, he looked around until he found a suitable spot some distance away. So then, he jumped backward when they attacked next, cast a banishing charm on one of the Others, who was pushed back a few feet. Seeing his chance, he quickly grabbed the nearby Other. Even through his gloves, Aryan felt a chill reaching his body, so he quickly disapparated, taking the Other with him.
On reaching the destination, he released the Other, who looked a bit stunned at what happened, but it quickly regained its bearings and started to attack Aryan. Aryan saw the other one coming towards them. So when the Other attacked him next time, he immediately bent down and slashed its legs, and it exploded. Seeing its kin falling, the remaining Other let out a shrill, unholy sound and ran towards him. Aryan disapparated and reappeared just a few feet in front of the running Other with Frostbite pointed towards it and plunged it into its chest as it was unable to avoid it due to its momentum. And it too joined the rest in ice crystals. As soon as the last Other was destroyed, all the dead went down like a switch, and the weather went back to normal.
As soon as visibility returned, Aryan looked around. He heard someone calling his name and walked in that direction. He had not realized he was quite far from the others. He realized the voice nearing him, and soon he realized it was Greatjon, whose loud booming voice he now identified. When Greatjon saw him, he hurried towards Aryan. He was followed by Wilas.
"Lord Stark," he said, gasping. "Are you all right?"
Aryan looked at them. Both looked thoroughly banged up. Greatjon looked wounded here and there, while there was a noticeable scar on Wilas's cheek. "I am fine. The fight was more difficult than I imagined. What about you, Greatjon? You are wounded."
"These…" Greatjon said, pointing at the wound, "… are just small flesh wounds, Lord Stark."
"And Wilas, how about you? I sent you towards the ships," Aryan asked.
"I may not be a knight or warrior like you all, but I was born in a noble house in the Reach, which is the heart of chivalry. I cannot just run away from a battle like that," Wilas said.
"I appreciate your help, Wilas. But I did not want you dead or injured while you are my guest. Especially against enemies about whom we have only heard stories," Aryan told him.
"Lord Stark is right, Lord Wilas Tyrell. Who knows? Your father may declare war on the North," Greatjon added, though anyone could detect the mocking tone towards the end of his dialogue.
Wilas ignored that and replied, "Truthfully, I forgot all about that when I saw everyone else fighting."
Aryan nodded and started to walk towards the ships. There were many corpses lying around. He even noticed many of his soldiers lying dead along with many wildlings.
"How many of our men died?" Aryan asked.
"Almost half, My Lord," Greatjon said. "It was the Others that did the most damage. Our men did not have a chance against them."
That is almost five hundred men Aryan thought as they reached the other Lords.
"We lost Lord Wull. Jeor Mormont is heavily wounded. I don't think he has much longer to live. And we are yet to find Benjen Seastark," Greatjon told him.
"Uncle had been stabbed by the Other. I had to send him back towards the ship," Aryan told him.
They reached where he saw the others gathered around a wounded Jeor with his head on Jorah's lap. When the Old Bear saw him, he rasped, "Lord Stark, my watch has ended."
"You performed your watch perfectly, Lord Mormont," Aryan told him, kneeling in front of him.
Jeor then gave his sword to Jorah. "Take this. It rightfully belongs to you now." He said as he passed on Longclaw, the ancestral sword of House Mormont, to his son. Jorah tearfully grasped his sword. Soon the Old Bear breathed his last. Jorah started to cry while the others started to comfort him. Aryan left them and walked away from them, William Dustin following him. By now, all the ships had been loaded with only a handful of Free Folk left, comprising mostly of the ones whom he had met.
"We need to burn the bodies," Aryan said to William.
"I will tell the men," William said but stopped as he saw a few Free Folk approaching, led by Mance and Tormund with Val following them. He also saw Karsi with two children whom he assumed were her daughters.
"Lord Stark," Mance said as he reached them. "I am sorry for your losses."
"I appreciate your concern, Mance," Aryan told him. "What are you here for?"
"I wanted to say that you have gained the respect of the Free Folk after seeing you all fighting the Others," Mance said, speaking in the common tongue.
"As they should be," William grumbled.
"And they feel that we must not stay here anymore. We barely survived this wave," Mance said.
"For once, I agree with them, My Lord," William said.
"We must get away from here, Lord Stark," Karsi spoke.
"They respect you, My Lord. You have proved your strength to them. So they will easily submit to you," Mance said.
"Why did you not go in the rest of the ships?" Aryan asked Karsi.
She was about to answer when Aryan raised her hand and silenced her. He is coming Bloodraven's voice echoed in his ears.
And we cannot deal with him now Aryan thought. He shouted loudly, "Get back to the ships. Now. They are coming."
They started to hurry towards the ships. William asked, "Another wave of attack?"
"Yes. Led by the Night King himself," Aryan told him. "We have done what we could do for now. We will deal with them when we are prepared."
As they neared the water, they felt the weather changing. It became colder, and fog started to surround them. They boarded the boats and started to row. Within a few moments, even the coast was covered in fog. After some time, they were a few hundred meters away from the coast.
"Finally, now I can take a respite. For almost a year beyond the Wall, dealing with these Free Folks and watching out for the White Walkers has taken a toll on me," Mance Ryder said, standing up. He was on the same boat as Aryan. "I am going to drink myself to death when I return back to the Wall."
Aryan was about to reply when he heard it before he saw it. He heard a gurgling sound coming from Mance. He looked at him and saw a long and thick spear made of ice stuck in his chest, piercing it to the other side. Mance looked at the coast and pointed a finger there before he fell into the waters.
Aryan followed Mance's fingers and saw a lone solitary figure looking at him. A bald head with cold and cruel eyes was looking at him.
"Another Other," Tormund said, joining Aryan.
"It is not just an Other. It is their leader, the Night King himself," Aryan told him as he looked back defiantly.
"How do you know that? We had never heard of him," Karsi said, where she was sitting with her daughters.
And it was then the Night King raised his hands. And all the corpses came to life with icy eyes. This time they were joined by the fallen Northern soldiers and the Free Folk. The seawater started to freeze around the Night King.
"We had known about the Night King for quite sometime," Aryan answered Karsi. He looked on as the fog completely covered the coasts and their boats reached the Marauder.
We will meet again later. That day will be your and your kind's last Aryan promised.
Kingslanding, Crownsland
It was just another Small Council meeting. And like always, it was filled with insults, bickering, and pointless arguments rather than actual decision making. Varys wondered how much longer he had to endure them.
Robert Baratheon was drunk, as usual, slouched on his chair with a half-empty goblet in hand. Cersei had invited herself, no doubt to amuse herself by insulting the others. Stannis Baratheon sat stiffly, grinding his teeth—he clearly did not want to be here. The same could be said for Lord Commander Barristan Selmy, who was sitting in silence with a stone face.
Jon Arryn, ever the dutiful Hand, was actually trying to accomplish something, but the old man lacked Tywin Lannister's iron grip to force the council to listen. The Master of Laws, Renly Baratheon, had once again abandoned his duties, having ridden off to the Reach for yet another tourney. That left only Varys and Littlefinger as the only ones who are truly engaged.
And who knows what schemes the Master of Coin is brewing? Varys thought.
He had discovered that it was Baelish who had orchestrated the revolt of the Faith, a ploy to use the Faith Militant to perhaps kill Eddard Cailstark, and create a rift between the North and Kingslanding. It was a good plan—on paper. Had it been any other lord, they might have cowered before the Faith's demands. But the Bloody Wolf of Winterfell was not one of them. Aryan Stark had lived up to his name again. He slaughtered the Faith Militants and then mutilated the High Septon before retreating to the safety of the North, leaving the rest of the Seven Kingdoms—save for Dorne—to deal with the fallout.
The protests had simmered down since, but it had been a useful crack in the realm's unity.
One might ask why Varys had not revealed Baelish's treachery. To Varys, anything that fractured the realm further, played into the cause of the dragons. Robert Baratheon was a bad king—of that there was no doubt. But his 'son' Prince Joffrey Baratheon—or rather Joffrey Waters—would be worse.
"Lord Varys, is there anything we need to know?" Jon Arryn asked.
Varys smiled. "Lord Hand, I don't know. But my little birds have brought me some songs."
"Then sing quickly, Varys. I'm out of patience," Robert grumbled.
Varys said "As you command, Your Grace. You may find this particular tidbit of interest. Ser Gregor Clegane is dead. He died in his sleep, Your Grace. His heart stopped beating."
Robert said nothing, but Varys saw the satisfaction in his eyes.
"That's horseshit," Cersei snapped.
Varys said "I am only sharing what my little birds whisper to me."
Jon Arryn asked "And you are certain?"
"As certain as one can be," Varys replied. "Though it seems fate has not been kind to the men who followed Lord Tywin into the Red Keep that day."
Jon Arryn asked. "What do you mean?"
Varys replied "There was a fire at an inn in Lannisport, one owned by Lord Tyrion. It was an accident. But the sad part is that Ser Amory Lorch was there that night. He has not been seen since then. It is presumed that he perished in the fire."
"That's not chance," Stannis said flatly.
Cersei asked. "And who, exactly, do you suspect of orchestrating this convenient turn of events?"
"It must those sneering Martells," Cersei sneered. "That viper has been waiting for this."
Jon Arryn asked "Do you have any proof of that, Lord Varys?"
Varys smiled. "I don't know anything else, Lord Hand."
Varys knows that it was not the Martells. Prince Doran had not left the Water Gardens, and Prince Oberyn had been staying in Sunspear for months. They have done nothing suspicious—his little birds had confirmed this much.
Before Cersei could press further, Robert waved a hand dismissively. "They're dead, and I won't waste my time dealing with this horseshit. Anything else, Varys?"
Cersei looked as if she wanted to argue, but Jaime Lannister, seated beside her, shook his head. With a scowl, she held her tongue.
A pity,more infighting would serve well. Varys thought.
"The next bit of news comes from North, Your Grace." Varys said.
Robert perked up. "What about them?"
"My birds have learned who will be the next Lady Stark." Varys said.
Robert became interested. "Well? Who is the Bloody Wolf being saddled with?"
"Princess Arianne Martell." Varys informed
"Ned didn't tell me anything about it," Jon Arryn admitted.
"Ned didn't tell me about this either," Robert grumbled "But who cares. I will go to Winterfell for the wedding."
"The King does not attend the weddings of his subjects," Cersei quipped.
"Silence, woman. No one can stop me." Robert's roared.
"Robert, there is time to discuss that later," Jon said firmly.
"Perhaps because it was not his choice," Littlefinger mused "Perhaps Aryan Stark made this match himself."
"And why the hell would he do that?" Robert asked.
Varys, of course, knew the answer. He knew of the careful negotiations between Stark, Martell, and—most crucially—the dragons in exile. But that was not a truth the Small Council needed to hear.
"Perhaps the Martells saw an opportunity," Jon Arryn murmured.
Cersei scoffed. "The Starks are fools. What could they possibly gain?"
Stannis exhaled. "It makes no sense."
"Doesn't it?" Jaime Lannister spoke for the first time "His mother is Dornish. Maybe she created the match"
Jon Arryn inclined his head. "Ashara Dayne is indeed Dornish, yes. But it alone does not explain this. The Starks have mostly married within their own kingdom. With Brandon Stark's marriage with Ashara Dayne, Aryan Stark would have been expected to wed a Northern lady."
Varys merely listened They are asking the right questions. But they were drawing the wrong conclusions.
"A better question," Littlefinger murmured, "is what the Martells gain from it."
"Only the Starks would be desperate enough to wed those snakes," Cersei said.
Your whole family is their target Varys thought, smiling to himself.
Robert said "Bah. Let them marry who they want. As long as they aren't causing me trouble, I don't care."
"Anything else, Lord Varys?" Jon Arryn asked.
"Lord Aryan Stark and his northern lords have gone beyond the Wall—to bring the wildlings south" Varys informed.
That caused an uproar.
"The savages are bringing even more savages!" Cersei hissed.
"They intend to allow the wildlings into their lands?" Stannis asked.
"Yes, Prince Stannis." Varys replied.
"Why would they do that?" Jon Arryn frowned. "Ned never mentioned this to me. Did he tell you, Your Grace?"
Robert scratched his beard, thinking. "Now that you mention it… he did. He said something about it when he was here."
"And you did not think a matter of such importance warranted discussion?" Stannis asked.
"How can they make such a decision without consulting the King?" Cersei demanded.
"It's an internal matter of the North," Robert shrugged. "Not something I need to meddle in."
"There has always been hatred for the wildlings among the Northerns. Why would they suddenly seek to bring them south?" Jon Arryn wondered.
"My birds tell me that they intend to seal the Wall permanently once they are done." Varys hesitated, then added, "There is also talk of the Others."
"Others?" Pycelle scoffed. "They are children's tales."
"Perhaps Grandmaester," Varys said smoothly. "I only relay what my birds whisper."
"You must summon the Warden of the North for an explanation," Cersei insisted.
"I agree," Jon Arryn said, surprising many. "We need clarity on this."
"I'll think about it," Robert said.
"And when would that be?" Cersei pressed.
"When I damn well decide," Robert growled, rising on his feet.
The Small Council meeting was clearly over. Varys stood quickly. There was a message he needed to send.