Chapter 37 - Chapter 26: The Old Gods Send Their Regards

Winterfell 304 AC.

Rickon Stark.

Bran's mind was a maze, an unwelcoming one, and it took a lot of Rickon's will to stay in it. The unease he felt for doing something prohibited by the Gods didn't help either, but he could not go back on his mission. Not after the glimpse, he had caught slipping from Bran's mind when he'd touched him.

This monster he had called brother once, had known of Theon's death and of the Faceless Man's treachery long before the moment, it happened. Not only had he not warned their sister who had been the assassin's target from the beginning, but he had used the opportunity of the war to allow them to strike and kill Arya.

' You're a good man. Thank you.'

He saw Arya's pleading gaze, saw the realization dawn on her face when Bran hadn't come to her aid. Lived the moment she got pierced by her former master's blade. She had fought hard, as he knew she would, and seeing her undeserved death fueled Rickon's anger and need for revenge.

When he'd asked Bran why he had betrayed his family, he saw the answer in a fleeting image.

He wanted to be king. Not of the North, but of all the kingdoms he could lay his hands on.

The doors inside Bran's mind were unlike those Rickon had seen when warging. Mostly they resembled the doors he saw in the crypts. He couldn't sense any living being behind them either. The wooden ones were worn out, and ancient, some of them surrounded by roots as white as the Heart Tree and carved with sigils from all over the Seven Kingdoms. He recognized those from the North and others from his lessons with the Maester and Lord Davos. As well as some symbols he deciphered as runes from the First Men.

" History. Every moment of history witnessed in Westeros is here. From the creation of the Children of the Forest to the end of times." Bran's voice rang around him.

"Where are you hiding?"

"I'm everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. You're in my mind, after all."

"Come and face me, you coward!" Rickon yelled before feeling a growing pressure on his mind.

"As you wish, brother. It might be a little painful, but I won't say I'm sorry about it."

The pressure On Rickon's mind increased until he couldn't bear it anymore. Panic swept through him as he thought this would be the way he would die and he understood why the Gods frowned upon such practices. Was it how Hodor felt the first time Bran warged into him? Had his incursion into the raven's mind had the same effect on his former brother?

"It hadn't. It's harder on the being when he fights it. I felt you brush my mind, so I let you in. There was no point in denying you entry after what happened with Arya. I won't give you the satisfaction of hurting me. Not anymore." Bran's voice resounded all around him.

"When did I ever hurt you?"

"We've talked about this already. Your very existence hurts me. It goes against my destiny, but no more. Today, I will reclaim what is mine."

"Even though you end me, you will never get the Iron Throne," Rickon stated painstakingly.

"The Iron Throne is no more. I've already seen to the end of that monstrosity."

"Still, you will not get the crown. Not with Jon and Dany alive."

"I would not be so sure of this." Bran retorted with a hint of amusement in his usually emotionless voice as a door appeared right in front of Rickon. "Behold the future of House Targaryen. The least I can do is to show it to you, as you will help me fulfill my destiny."

The boy king didn't want to do his brother's bidding, but he could feel his energy wavering and he hoped the respite of the vision would be enough to make him regain some of it at least. With trembling hands, he reached for the door handle and instantly regretted it.

He saw his body lying in front of the heart tree, next to Arya's, and Jon's heartbreaking cry echoed through the Godswood.

Time passed, and their bodies were long gone, yet Jon remained in the same spot, his eyes void of any emotion. It was as if he had lost any desire to live and it broke Rickon's heart even more.

Sansa and Dany relayed themselves at his side, but Jon ignored their presence. Rhaegal flew over the Godswood, his laments echoing his rider's inner turmoil.

"I lost my brother and my sister. I cannot lose him too." Sansa declared stubbornly, making Rickon's heart swell with pride and love before it burned with hatred when he glanced at a smirking Bran.

"There must be something we can do to help him," Dany said pleadingly. "I cannot bear to see him this way."

"Only time will help mend his broken heart."

"Time is a luxury we don't have as rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. We cannot push our people away when there is so much to do."

"You can leave if you want, Your Grace. We will take care of our brother while you take care of your precious throne." Sansa angrily retorted.

"Sansa, that's not what -"

"I understand, Your Grace. Truly I do. Your priority is to care for the throne, as mine is to care for my remaining family."

"You're being unfair. Baelon is my family too. He's my husband."

"And he will still be your husband when you come after sorting out the realm's affairs. Do your duty, give him some time, and come back to him when you are done." Bran intervened, making Dany frown.

She seemed to struggle with what to do, but Rickon saw her gone as time seemed to accelerate, and Jon remained broken.

To think he was the reason for his brother's state made him want to cry. This broken hull of a man was what Bran would have Jon become. All so he would not follow Dany and claim what was rightfully his.

Time still passed and Rhaegal's frail body stood in the Godswood with Jon, their bond preventing the dragon from feeding and feeling anything other than pain. Ghost was also lethargic, only staying near the dragon and their bonded until both of them had no more strength to leave even should they wish it so.

"My child is dead because of you! Because you didn't try enough!" Dany said to an unmoving Jon.

"My brother was mourning, Daenerys!" Sansa's voice was cracked, her emotion clear for all to hear and see.

"I gave him all the time he needed to do so, and look where it gets us. He didn't even realize all the people he was bringing down with him! Rhaegal is dead! Dead! My son!"

"You were supposed to help him too. It's been two years, Daenerys. Where were you to support your husband? Your only family?" Sansa yelled back, her anger matching Dany's ire.

"I had to put the realm to right, as my husband couldn't do so."

"She's right…" Jon's hoarse voice shocked them all into silence and prompted the bickering Goodsisters to his side. "I am sorry. For Rhaegal. Ghost. Tormund, Brienne, Melisandre, Jaime, Rickon. Arya. I failed them."

"You did not fail them, brother." Sansa countered, caressing his cheek. "You saved us all!"

"At what cost? I… Bran was right. I was so focused on protecting one part of my family that I sent the other to its doom."

"Do you wish I would have died rather than Rickon, then?" Dany asked, visibly hurt, and Jon shook his head.

"No. I'd rather be dead than any of you. I wish Melisandre was here still. I wish I could trade my life for theirs."

"What about me? What about Sansa? What about those who are still with you? Do you still care about us, at least a little?" Dany cried.

"I do… I'm sorry. I do." he replied to everyone's relief, however short it was. "This is why you must end it."

"End… End what, Baelon?"

"This… My life…"

Jon's words shook Rickon to his core. To see him broken was one thing, to hear his brother wish he was dead was another. Rage soon took over as he saw Jon kneel to caress his weak direwolf's fur.

"Have you no heart at all? Do you hate us so much? If this is the power you want, take it, but do not make your family suffer for it. Do not make Jon suffer for it!" Rickon shouted at the thing that had been his brother once.

"This is not how things work, Rickon. Would that I could, Arya would still be alive."

"I won't let you do this to Jon. I won't!"

"The river of time is already in motion. Jon's fate is to be killed by Daenerys, and the North will rise against the kinslayer who took their king's life. You cannot fight against it."

"I can and I will. I messed with your plans once, didn't I?"

"You can't," Bran said, and Rickon could hear the tension in his brother's voice.

"You're not the only one who can change history." Rickon retorted, glaring at the boy in the wheelchair.

With a prayer to the Old Gods, he used the anger he was feeling as fuel and focused on Ghost. He was not in his element, but he felt something there, a small spark that he held onto.

Little brother… he heard the familiar voice and happiness surged through his heart as he walked through the open door.

Ghost was weak, truly, and Rickon knew he would probably have a few days to live, yet his presence inside his mind seemed to strengthen his frail body. He managed to lift his head and lick Jon's hand.

"Ghost?" Jon asked softly.

It's me, brother. It's Rickon. I'm here. Do not give up, please. I'm with you.

"Ghost, you should rest, you…" Jon stopped and stared at his friend intently, making Rickon hopeful. "This can't be…"

"What? What is it, Baelon?" Dany enquired, frowning.

"Rickon? Is it truly you? Are you truly in Ghost or am I going mad?" Jon asked, his voice full of hope and eyes shining with tears.

"I am, brother. I am and I am sorry for not having been here sooner. I'm sorry, I will never leave you again. Never. I swear it to the old gods." Rickon said, hoping that his bond with Ghost would suffice to convey his words to Jon.

"He's here! Rickon is here!" Jon cried happily, hugging his companion and brother with all his might.

"Baelon…"

"He's warged into Ghost. He found his way back to us, Sansa!" Jon sobbed while Sansa tentatively approached.

"How… How can we be sure?" She questioned and Rickon turned towards Bran and growled at him. "Bran?"

"No." the wheeled-chair-bound boy growled in turn, glaring at him.

"Bran?" she insisted, seemingly puzzled by his attitude, yet he kept his stare on Rickon.

"You cannot do this! You cannot! Damn you! Damn you to the seven hells!" Bran suddenly exploded and Rickon smirked internally.

The river of time swirled again and Rickon saw Jon back to Daenerys' side, leading the seven kingdoms as Ghost stood near his brother. Their family kept growing, as did Sansa's, while Bran was nowhere to be seen.

"NO! THIS WILL NOT BE MY FATE!"

Rickon's joy was short-lived as he felt something yanking him out of the river he was in. He struggled against the root that was coiled around his midsection, to no avail. Bran was once again fully in control of his mind and Rickon could sense his anger.

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST STAY PUT AND LEAVE THINGS BE? WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO MEDDLE IN OTHER PEOPLE'S FATES?"

"I can't stay idle when I know things are not right. The path you chose is not the right one, Bran. If the gods wanted you to become king, they would have done so without your interference."

"The Gods chose me to hold the Three-Eyed Raven's power. Me! Not you! Not Baelon! Me!"

"And you used this power for your own gain. For your ambition. Not because the gods willed it."

Rickon's words triggered something in Bran's mind, and the king in the north could see a memory of a conversation between the last Raven and his pupil.

" Brandon, I understand your anger."

" Look at what we did to Hodor! It means that we could act on events! I could have helped them! I could have saved them all! You could have saved them, yet you did nothing! My family is dead because you did nothing!"

" I could have saved my family too. I tried to help them get to the path I thought was right, but it caused more damage than what should have happened. I saw what would have happened had I not slain Aenys Blackfyre. I saw the union between Blacks and Reds thanks to my grandnephew Aegon and through it, the end of the Blackfyre Rebellions. So many lives would have been saved, and my family would still be leading the seven kingdoms to this day, had I stayed my hand and not condemned my kin to die. Power and hatred blinded me, as it blinds you right now. Do not chase this path, Brandon Stark, for it will lead you to your downfall.

" What use of this power if we can't change things?"

" Power is a means to test a man's heart. The first of the Three-Eyed Ravens was given his to maintain the Pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest. To intervene, to use it to help one party or the other would have disastrous repercussions for both of them. We are only made to serve."

" I don't believe it."

" You will see when the time comes. For now, you only need to accept what I say."

" But the Night King…"

" You know now why the Night King became the Night King. You saw how his fears of the powers given to the Ravens being used nefariously got the best of him and how it turned into an obsession."

" Aye. He told me he was coming to end me."

" And this is why you must learn everything about being the Three-Eyed Raven. You must learn everything about the responsibility given to us and show him how mistaken he is for believing men so weak-willed."

" But I thought -"

" The strength required not to use this force is more important than whatever you can receive by using it." Blooraven cut him off. "Moreover, there is already someone blessed by the Old Gods to take care of the Night King should he continue on his path of destruction."

" Who? Who is it?"

" The Song of Ice and Fire. Both my kin and yours. The one they call Jon Snow." Bloodraven said, making Rickon gasp.

" Jon? But he…"

" You will soon learn of his origins, his true ones, but 'tis not important for now. He is the one who will rid the world of the Night King, and you will help him do this by telling him what should be done. While the fate of the world depends on Jon Snow, you will also have your part to play. Though I know you wished to be the hero of this story, being the Three-Eyed Raven is much more than that."

" I understand," Bran said, and Rickon being in his mind knew that he was lying.

He could feel this conversation as being a turning point for his brother.

"Weak. They were weak, all of them. The children fear the Raven as much as the Night King, and they cursed him thinking he would help them survive, but he turned on them and the gods they worshiped turned a blind eye when they were decimated. I will not mourn them, nor will the world when they'll know they were the cause of their suffering. I've lost everything, my family, my legs, all so I can become this being, and for what? For Jon to be lauded as the hero? No, this will not happen."

"Jon didn't ask for this either!" Rickon retorted. "You've seen all he's suffered! He's been killed for God's sake! His parents are dead too!"

"But he's the one being blessed and I'm the one who should be holed up in a cave for the rest of my days. Alone and waiting for a replacement like Bloodraven did?"

"The Children are dead Bran. The pact is void."

"And now my existence, my meaning has disappeared and I shall give back my powers without a say in this?"

"You could help Jon and Dany to build a better world."

"Or I can do it myself, without anyone to challenge me."

"You know I won't let you do this."

"So we are back to where we started." Bran sneered.

Rickon couldn't answer as he felt the intense pressure build once more inside his mind and he had no doubt that Bran was trying to crush it or access it. He remembered his brother's words and prayed that his decision was the right one.

"You want to come in? Be my guest…" he said as he opened the door for his foe to enter his mind for true.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Melisandre.

She'd be a liar if she said that she didn't fear it the closer it came. Nor that she didn't wish to find some way to avoid her fate. Seeing what Baelon and Daenerys had done, watching as her god's work and true purpose were finally revealed, she longed to be part of what came next. As she felt the power course through her and played her part in seeing the Great Other's minions fall, she had no wish to do as she must. But ever since she'd accepted R'hllor into her heart, Melisandre had known that this day was to come.

Her end had always been known to her and was always to be on shores far from those she'd named her home. Melisandre had taken comfort in knowing that before that death was to come, she'd see her God's chosen and play her role in defeating the Great Other. After her mistakes and when she'd been at her lowest ebb when she had been certain that she'd failed and had almost sought a blade to end the life that belonged not to her, R'hllor had once again shown her the truth of his light. It was Jon Snow and not Stannis Baratheon that she'd been sent to seek out. Dragonstone was only meant to be the beginning and not the end of her search. That mistake had cost her much indeed and she only hoped that in her final act, she wiped the slate, titled the scales back in her favor, and would find peace in R'hllor's warm embrace.

Looking out on the battlefield, watching as the tide had been turned and as his chosen rode to face the Great Other's, Melisandre gave one final gift to the men who fought by her side. Closing her eyes, she began to chant and felt the fire when it left her. What it looked like to those around her, she knew not, what it felt like to her was as if thousands of tiny flames had come from her fingers and now found flew through the sky like arrows of light. It would give those around her some respite and would hopefully mask her departure from the field of battle.

"May it be enough to see the Dawn," she whispered as she feigned tiredness and was helped to a horse.

Alone and with no escort, she rode not to safety but instead even more into the field of death. She felt them as they reached out for her. Their dead fingers tried to grab her and make her one of them, yet each time they found no purchase. At what point she passed the now-risen blacksmith, she knew not. Though the fire she sent his way was enough to end him she felt. Melisandre was close now, close to the walls of the Great Keep and close to her final moments in this world, but hopefully not the next one.

Her path was blocked and then it was not. The fighting came so close to her that she feared her horse would bolt and yet it did not. Gates were closed in front of her and then they were not, and before she knew it, she was inside and not outside of the walls of Winterfell. She looked around to see who stood and who had fallen. Happy to see the young girl from Bear Island standing resolutely and looking as fierce as ever, though it worried her to not see a sign of the boy king.

Though his power came from a different place and god than her own, Rickon Stark fought the same fight she did, and were he to fall this day, then his brother would take it much to heart. She offered a prayer to R'hllor for him and for the willowy redhead who moved through the yard with a pack of wolves alongside Sandor Clegane. Both of them brought true death to any Wight they faced. It was an awe-inspiring sight and one she welcomed seeing. Though the next one she saw was very much not.

"And so it is true," she said as he climbed down off her horse and moved to where he lay.

When she was a girl, owned, used, and abused, she'd have welcomed death. At the Wall, after she'd returned there and the truth of Stannis' and her own failures finally began to take hold, she'd almost sought it. Now, looking at where her path was always to lead her, a part of her wished to turn and take her chances elsewhere. To ride far from here and hide in the darkness that the world could soon be bathed in.

" Melony Lot Seven." she heard the voice whisper from where she knew not.

" Melisandre of Asshai." a different, more powerful voice said.

" I chose you."

" I choose you still."

She resolved to do what she needed to do. Dismounted from her horse and made her way to the body of the Onion Knight. They had never been friends and in truth could best be described as enemies. He'd done all he could to thwart her and she'd hated him for it. Yet for some reason, even at the time when the one who she believed was the prince that was promised served it to her on a silver platter, she had never sought his death because of it. It was a strange thing to ponder now in her final moments. The question she'd never sought an answer to, now finally finding one.

Melissandre had never sought him dead because her path led her to him. It was one of the few doubts that never truly entered her mind. How that path came about or what she was to do once she got there, she had known not. Only that her path led her to his body here in Winterfell and her death was soon to follow. Looking down at him, she knew then that he had always helped steer her on the right path, the true path she was always meant to walk. The mistakes she made were all ones he'd tried to stop her from making and the thought comforted her greatly.

' For who better to ensure that in the future, others would make fewer mistakes as well?'

Kneeling down beside him, the world around her seemed to still. Even the fighting that was going on around her appeared to slow down, lost its urgency, or even stopped altogether. As she let the flame take hold in her hand and brought it to her mouth, she opened her lips and welcomed it inside. Then she leaned forward and brought her lips to those of the Onion Knight. She had no doubt that this would work. Not only had she brought back Jon Snow but she'd done so for his brother too. Yet unlike with them, she'd share little time with the man she brought back this time.

"What the…" Davos gasped and Melisandre felt herself grow weak as she helped him rise to his feet.

"This is not your time to die, Ser Davos. A gift from my god and me for past mistakes," she said as he looked at her confused.

His hand went to his side where the bleeding had stopped. The wound was as open as the ones that both Jon Snow and Rickon Stark bore. He looked at her with a look she couldn't name. Not quite gratitude, thought there was a little of that too, more relief she'd wager. She felt it then, the need that almost overwhelmed her and she put her hand to her neck and removed the ruby and the chain. Should they win this day then it wouldn't just be Ser Davos Seaworth that the king and queen needed to usher in a new age. No, they'd need another by their side just as much.

"My lady?" Davos asked even more confused by the sight of her true self.

"For Lady Olenna, Ser Davos. They will need you both in the years to come." she said as she handed him the chain and her ruby.

"I don't understand…..this makes no fucking sense. I was dead and now… You were young and now…"

"My time is done, Ser Davos. You may take my head if you wish?"

"I….no… I cannot."

"The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors, Ser Davos. Yet, we all walk in his light."

The fighting grew lesser. One side now held the advantage over the other and in the sky, three dragons roared as they loosed their flames on the army outside the walls. Though she didn't see it herself, she felt it the moment it happened. Falling to her knees, she looked to the sky and saw night turn into day and as she breathed her last she smiled a true smile.

"Welcome home." she heard the voice say and finally Melony Lot Seven was dead and Melisandre of Asshai was truly at peace.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Jaime Lannister.

He'd never known a battle like it before. Every single one he'd engaged in had been mere skirmishes compared to it. The Whispering Wood now almost seemed like a stroll whereas the dead were relentless. No matter how many fell for true, they just kept coming. He'd ended more of them than he could count and compared to the dragons, his tally was tiny. Yet still, they came and still he swung Widow's Wail.

When the king had landed and mounted his horse, Jaime had rushed to his side. He may not be a Kingsguard as such, but it was what he'd always thought of himself as. The truth of things was he was never cut out to be a lord's son or somebody's heir. To rule over a keep, wed, and father children who'd rule after him. It had never been the life he'd sought and now thinking of his father, he'd never been the man he'd wished to emulate.

It had been Gerold, Oswell, Lewyn, Jonothor, Barristan, and Arthur, always Arthur. He'd dreamt of them long before he'd worn the white cloak and served alongside them. Then for many years, he'd worn that white cloak and felt shamed in doing so. Today, he wore none. Yet never had he felt truer than he did right now. Never had he felt more worthy of being named as one of them and as they rode, he swore he'd make them and his king proud.

"To Your Left, Your Grace!" he shouted out and Baelon slashed Dark Sister down and the dead thing which had moved to take him fell to the ground.

They'd been joined by who knew how many. A full charge that cut through the line of the dead like butter. Ahead of them, the three dragons cut a fiery swathe to clear their path, and yet any who were lucky to avoid the flames found no respite. Sword, spear, lance, and arrow, they were hit with it all and Jaime swung his sword just as truly as the king swung his own beside him. All too soon, however, the charge was brought to an end. Horses were set loose and it was on foot that he found himself.

Jaime took up a position by the king's right shoulder and be it the gods or some other force he knew not, he was soon joined by mayhap the only man who could stand at his left. Ned Dayne wielded Dawn and though he was not as proficient with it as his uncle had been, it was still a sight to see. The three of them had moved from those around them. Their skills were far more apparent than any of the men with them and while they all cut through the dead, they did so much more quickly.

At what point he saw them, he knew not. He felt the ice almost as if it was creeping up his arms and he looked to see the White Walkers as they moved toward them. Ahead of them, some distance away, Jaime could just make out the seven figures who watched on with eager blue eyes. Though he couldn't be certain, he'd name the one in the middle as the Night King himself and while there were others to beat before they would ever get to face him, beat them they would.

"For the Dawn." he heard Baelon say and he and then Ned Dayne both repeated his words.

"For the Dawn."

"For the Dawn."

He heard the cheer ring out and wondered if Ned or the King had taken down a White Walker only to see the arrow as it fell to the ground onto the pile of ice it had just struck. Around them, dead fell in their hundreds and those who fought with them now gained ground. Jaime soon found himself face-to-face with one of the White Shadows. Its icy sword and the look in its blue eyes showed him that he wasn't the true target it wished for. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Ned Dayne facing off against another while Baelon kept two at bay. Angered, worried for his king, and filled with resolve the likes of which he'd never known before. Jaime moved as quickly as he had ever done. His sword was like an extension of his arm and though he was far from the swordsman he had been before he'd lost his hand, he swore it would stop him not.

All his skills, all the years he'd spent honing them and training to be the very best he could be, now came truly to the fore. For so long he'd been a lesser man than he'd once been. The loss of his hand had taken all his instincts from him and made him easy to beat. No more. He felt it as he moved, as he dodged in and out of the strikes that were aimed at him. It was as if he was a boy once more and crossing blades with Barristan or Arthur as they trained of a morn.

The White Walker was as skilled as either of those men and yet he was a poorer swordsman than them both too. Speed, strength, and agility he had in spades, knowledge, experience, and will, he had less than Jaime himself had. When he felt the strike hit him, he smiled a true smile and turned to help his king and his fellow Kingsguard. Though like him, Ned was not a true one of those either. Baelon had taken down one of the White Walkers and Ned was still facing his own, yet it was to the former and not the latter that Jaime moved to.

" The King first, Jaime. Above your brothers, above even yourself, the king first." Arthur said.

Jaime heard the voice as if it had just been whispered in his ear and as he brought Widow's Wail down against the White Walker's back, he saw the gratitude in the king's eyes. There were to be no recriminations. No words that what he'd just done was dishonorable. Protect his king and keep him alive, he knew it, Baelon knew it and as Ned Dayne took down his own White Shadow and then moved to join them, he knew Ned knew it too.

"Are there more of them?" Ned asked breathlessly.

"There." Baelon said and Jaime looked to the seven who seemed torn between coming to them or moving away from them "We end this or we meet our ends. Are you with me?"

"To the death, my king," Jaime said, and never before had he heard his voice speak with such resolve.

"To the death," Ned said and Jaime caught the small shake of the king's head.

"We fight for the living. The only thing we say to the god of death is, not today." Baelon said and both he and Ned nodded as Baelon continued "I thank you both, truly. I can name none I'd rather have with me here this day."

It choked him up a little. Not just the words but the sentiment behind them. Looking at Ned, he could see that he too felt the same and yet they had little time to do anything more than move. The seven had decided that it was a fight they now wished for. Their number advantage was one that they sought to bring to bear and while he'd just helped the king and Ned Dayne take down four, none of those had been the Night King himself.

Another arrow flew through the sky and another White Walker fell, though this one had come from behind them and was not one of the seven they were moving to. Jaime looked on as one each moved to him and Ned while four moved towards the king and the last stood and simply watched. It enraged him, infuriated him and the fight he had against the one he faced was over quickly because of it. A duck, a parry, a slide, and then a thrust. Four moves and a White Walker was no more.

The Night King stood no more than ten feet in front of him. There was nothing between them but empty ground and Jaime believed he saw some concern in those blue eyes. Behind him, running as fast as they could, was a large force of Wights, yet to the Night King's dismay, they'd never be in a position to offer him the aid he sought from them. Rhaegal and Viserion may have both been riderless but they flew beside their bigger brother Drogon who was As one, all three unleashed their flames on the dead before flying towards Winterfell.

" The King first, Jaime. Above your brothers, above even yourself, the king first."

He heard the voice in his head once more and turned away from the Night King and back to the fight that was going on to his left. Baelon had taken down a White Walker while Ned still fought his own, three now moved on his king and Jaime raced to Baelon's side to even up the odds. Another fell just before he got there and it left them two on two with Ned Dayne falling to the ground wounded after beating his own.

Jaime saw Baelon look to Ned who shook his head to tell them that though he was hurt, he was breathing still. He saw it, the moment that would have ended his king. The spear had been thrown by the Night King and while Baelon had managed to dodge it, it had cost him his advantage in the fight he'd been having with the White Walker that faced him. Dark Sister wouldn't block the strike in time and though he was in his own fight, it was that one and that alone that Jaime was fully focussed on.

Widow's Wail flew through the air and he prayed that his aim was true. The gods, his former brothers, sheer good fortune, it mattered not. He looked on as Widow's Wail struck the White Walker deep in its chest and it then exploded into a thousand pieces. The sword that would have struck his king was no more, the danger to him had passed and as Jaime felt the Icy Blade cut deep inside him, he found he cared not.

" I name you good and true, a knight of the Realm."

" You are now one of the seven, Ser Jaime."

" Aye, I'll sup with you Lion"

" You're even prettier than my sister."

" We serve the king, now so do you."

Gerold, Barristan, Oswell, Lewyn, and Jonothor. Jaime remembered the words they'd spoken to him when he'd been given the White Cloak and how they'd made him feel. He'd been ten feet tall, as honored as he'd ever wished to be, and more excited about the days to come than he'd ever imagined he could be.

" I was right about you, Jaime. I am proud to name you my brother."

He saw him standing there, Dawn in his hand and his white cloak fluttering in the breeze. Six wraiths awaiting their seventh and he knew the time had come for him to follow them. Yet, his work was not yet done and so closing his eyes, then opening them quickly, he felt the hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Ned Dayne staring down at him with tears in his eyes.

"The King?" he asked worriedly, his wound causing him pain to speak aloud.

"Is ending this, thanks to you," Ned said and Jaime looked to see Baelon and the Night King crossing blades, the fight not one he was equipped or able to participate in.

"I…"

"He knows," Ned said and Jaime coughed, spluttered, and then begged a favor.

"Don't let me…"

"I'll not," Ned said sadly.

Over his shoulder he saw the king and the Night King engaged in a fight for the ages and yet it was the six wraiths whose call he could no longer deny. He swore he felt Arthur's hand as it reached out and lifted him up and then he and his brothers faded away and Jaime Lannister would no longer be known as the man who killed a king. In years to come, songs would be sung instead of the man who saved one.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Dany.

Dany had lost count of the number of passes she'd made. More than once, she'd needed to allow the dragons to rest and seek some food and water, both for them and for herself. Flying in a never-ending night was tiring. Though her eyes had become accustomed to the light provided by the dragons' flames, it played havoc with her vision too. Yet, again and again, over and over, she bid her children loose their flames, and not once did they falter.

They'd cleared the path for Baelon's charge. Had flown and relieved the pressure on their army's lines more than once. Dany had needed to avoid ice spears and had looked on relieved as both Viserion and Rhaegal did so as easily as Drogon managed to do. Through it all there were only two constant things. The dragons loosing their flames and her worries for her husband. One of which she was somewhat in control of, the other was something that would not be relieved until this battle was done and she held him in her arms once more.

She knew that down there, Baelon no doubt felt the same way about her and it brought her some comfort. To not be alone in this, to not have to face this and whatever was to come afterward alone was all she had ever wished for. When they'd been able to comfort each other after what they'd seen in King's Landing, it had truly hit home for her. Dany was not alone and now she only prayed that when the Night King met his end, and meet his end he most certainly would, she'd not be alone when it was done.

"Dracarys," she said as she saw a large group of the dead move toward their lines.

Drogon once again proved himself more than up to the task, as did his brothers. While at times she'd sent both Viserion and Rhaegal some distance from her to offer up more aid, more often than not, all three dragons flew almost within touching distance of each other. If Baelon was still upon Rhaegal's back then it would more than likely be just two, she'd wager. So it was the one good thing she took from him fighting on the ground, the only good thing mayhap.

Dany felt the call and bid Rhaegal and Viserion follow her. How they knew what it was she wished from them, she could only put down to Drogon. Her oldest child would do as she asked and she believed that he relayed her wishes to her two youngest children too. That he did so almost instantly was something she understood not and for wiser minds than hers to figure out the how of.

They flew and loosed their flames before she saw what it was that had called out to her. Her husband, what looked to be Ned Dayne and Jaime Lannister, moved against a group of White Walkers, and ahead and behind them, dead men sought to swarm them.

"NO, YOU Will NOT!" she said determinedly.

It took her a few moments to judge which group was nearest to where Baelon fought and another to fight down the urge to attack the White Walkers themselves in some futile attempt to aid her husband. Once she was sure she was right, Dany bid the dragons fly to the group coming in from behind Baelon and swore she felt Rhaegal's eagerness to do just that. They were upon them in the blink of an eye. Dany barely got the word out before Rhaegal and Viserion loosed their flames before Drogon did.

"Dracarys," she said loudly, angrily, her voice full of rage for them daring to seek harm to the man she loved.

Drogon felt and fed on her rage and the flame that came from him reflected that. Where normally his flames were almost black shot with red, now they were the other way around. The red from them lit the sky up in an unearthly color that was beautiful in its own way. Beneath that color, the death it brought to these things that had somehow denied it once was a true and instant one. They exploded as not one, not two, but three waves of flames hit them at once. Each of them was as fierce as the other.

With that threat dealt with, it was to the one which came from the front that she bid her children fly to next. Again, her rage reinforced Drogon's own and their waves of flame took care of those who sought her husband out. Dany bid the dragons to fly, to seek out any way to make Baelon's task easier. She saw a White Walker explode and Baelon dodge out of the way of an ice spear. Looking at him, she believed he was unharmed and yet the same could not be said about those with him.

Were someone to ask her, then she'd say Jaime Lannister had fallen and she knew not how that made her feel. Baelon had accepted him and forgiven him, while Dany had done likewise, or tried to at least. The truth of her father may now be known to her, however, but he was still her father and so her forgiveness was not as fulsome as it may have been. Knowing he'd fought by her husband's side, had more than likely fallen by it. Dany finally felt the last bit of anger that remained in her heart when it came to Jaime Lannister, now falling away.

Ned Dayne seemed injured but not seriously and Baelon was not only unharmed but he moved to face off against the Night King himself. Dany could see the icy sword held in the Night King's hand and the thin one in Baelon's. Around them, the only thing that moved was Ned Dayne and it was not to offer her husband another sword but to make sure that none were offered to the Night King. She felt his eyes upon her and then felt something else deep within her heart. A voice rang out in her head and whether she truly heard the words or they were just what she wished them to be, it mattered not.

" I have this, help those who need it more than me. I love you."

After making certain there was no other force laying in wait to ambush Baelon and Ned, she flew firstly to where their army fought. It was lesser, there were more gaps, and after but two flights over the dead, she felt there was little else she could do here. Looking to the grey walls in the distance, Dany believed that was where she was needed most of all and so once again, it was to offer them what aid she could that became her goal.

They flew over a fight that she longed to stay and watch and yet one she knew she could not. When they reached the back lines of the dead that pushed their way to Winterfell, she bid the dragons loose their flames once more. Then Dany bid them fly closer and closer, not close enough so they could harm the living, but enough so they could relieve the pressure the living were being put under.

Once, twice, thrice, she lost count of the number of times they flew around the great keep's walls. By the time they were done, it was only the front gates that truly had any dead remaining at it. Or to be more precise, it was only there that the dragons hadn't loosed their flames. From atop Drogon's back, she pondered whether or not they should, eventually deciding that they'd do more harm than good. In truth the fight of the dragons was over, their battle had been won. It would be Baelon's fight that brought this war to an end and that was not one that Dany or the dragons could take part in.

"ñuha riñar, īlva vīlībagon iksis gaomagon. Aōha kepa kessa sagon lēda īlva aderī." (Come my children, our fight is done. Your father will be with us soon.) she said.

They flew to where she knew there was water and where she hoped there was some food for her hungry children too. Her eyes though were locked in the same place that her heart was. Far off in the distance, Baelon and the Night King fought and she believed with all she was that her husband would Bring the Dawn and return to her and her children.

Winterfell 304 AC.

The Night King.

It had not gone as he'd expected. The magic that his kin possessed had proved itself much stronger than he'd imagined. He felt it as he marched and saw it shine like beacons in the darkness of the Long Night. Two of those beacons were off in the distance and the third one was stopping him from reaching them. They should be on his side, fighting with and not against him. Yet, it seemed that he was the only one who saw things clearly.

He ignored the voice in his head which told him that he did not have to do as he was doing. The one that screamed that he was wrong and his kin would do what was needed. For too long he had sat and waited for them to do so. His warnings were ignored and his words had been forgotten. They had allowed the Three-Eyed Raven to be the corrupt thing that he could sense even from where he now stood. Had allowed him to grow ever more powerful and though the voice and they themselves may think they could stop him, he knew they could not.

Still, they frustrated him at every turn. The dragons proved to be harder to deal with than he'd ever expected they would. They took more and more of his army from him and though he had the numbers, his army wasn't limitless. His kinsman led from the front, first atop the dragon and then riding through his lines on horseback. All the while, he watched and waited and though he wished it not, he knew that in the end, it would come down to them both.

" Why do you resist me?"

" Why deny me?"

" Why force me to end you?"

He asked questions with no answers. Words spoken both aloud and in his mind and not a single one of them replied to. The Stark from Beyond the Wall fought and though it had pained him to do so, he'd sent many to end him. Ice Spears flew through the air and yet the dragons had thus far proved their match. Far off behind the walls built by his kinsmen, two of them faced off and though a part of him wished for one to win, another hoped for the other. For it was to him to end the Raven and no one else.

Still, he came. The Dragon who was a Wolf. He came and cut through his army as if they were no obstacle at all. More fierce on horseback than on a dragon and though he wished it not, it reminded him of his brother and he felt his anger rise because of it. Brandon the Bloody Blade, the fiercest most terrifying warrior of his day. A truer sword than his own and a fool just like the one who would soon come face to face with him and would then finally understand.

"I do what I must. Not what I wish."

"I save you all, even at the cost of your lives."

"I have long accepted the curse that was to be mine."

"I hate you for what you've turned me into."

As the Dragon who was a Wolf drew ever closer to him, he began his preparations. With a longing look at the grey walls and the fight that was going on inside them, he sighed. To go there, he must win here and so win here he would.

He sent them, his generals, the strongest and oldest of them. Each of them moved to the dragon who was a wolf and other than the six who were with him, he was now alone. In time he'd rebuild his army. He'd spend his magic and make more generals to command. The Dragon who was a Wolf would be one of them and he'd place him highest of all, as he would the Stark from Beyond the Wall. His kinsman who'd fall to the Raven would be another, and finally, they'd be together as it was meant to be.

For now, he'd do what he must. Failure was not an option or even a consideration. Yet the closer he got to facing the Dragon who was a Wolf, the closer it seemed that failure crept too. When he saw his first line of generals fail, he'd been annoyed. So much so that he'd sent the six with him to see the task was done and done right. Yet even as the fight was taking place mere feet from where he stood, he felt the defiance come off the Dragon who was a Wolf in waves.

Closing his eyes, he readied the ice spear. It had not been the end he'd wished to bring, but an end was needed. He watched it as it flew through the air and waited for it to strike home and then to his dismay, he watched as the Dragon who was a Wolf simply stepped to one side. Angered, he called his army to him. One more, then another of his generals fell and then the dragons came once again. Looking on in disbelief, he watched as first those from behind and then those in front of the Dragon who was a Wolf fell too.

To his great relief, they were not the only ones who did so and the dragons it seemed had flown to seek other targets for their fiery rage. Where it had been seven against three, he'd lost his six and the Dragon who was a Wolf had lost one with the other out of the fight as well. It had been as he'd always known it would be. One on one, the two of them facing off and only one of them would walk away from this fight. He'd rebuild, gather more forces and once he'd won this fight, he'd then face the Raven and bring about his end. First, he had to bring about the end of the Dragon who was a Wolf and while he may have wished it was not so, he'd never been granted a single one of his wishes before now. So why would today be any different?

"Now it begins," he said as he formed his sword and moved forward.

"No, now it ends." the Dragon who was a Wolf said as the two blades collided and the fight for the Dawn began for true.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Baelon Targaryen.

The fight to reach the Night King had proved one thing to him, he feared him. For as fierce as the fighting had been since he'd left Rhaegal behind and had joined his men on the ground, it suddenly became even fiercer. More and more White Walkers headed his, Jaime Lannister and Ned Dayne's way the moment he'd caught sight of the Night King. Each of them tried to stop him from reaching him and Baelon resolved that they would not.

In the sky above him, Dany and her children laid down their flames upon the dead who tried to come up from behind him and those that the Night King called to come and block his path to where he stood. He felt Rhaegal's worries for him and did all he could to let the green dragon know that he was well. Baelon couldn't tell him nor his mother he was safe, however, as neither would believe the lie and so he simply told them both he was unafraid. What bonds lay between each of Dany's children would be enough for Rhaegal to pass his message on to Drogon, Baelon believed. and what the black dragon knew, so too would his mother.

Looking at the seven White Walkers atop the small hill, he smiled inside. They were all that stood between him and ending this war once and for all. Six was all that the Night King had left to guard him, six and himself. Baelon, Jaime, and Ned may be outnumbered, but he vowed they'd not be outmatched. At what point the thought struck him, he knew not. Mayhap it was when the six left the one and moved towards them. Or mayhap it was when four of them split off and came at him while the other two made Jaime and Ned their targets. Whichever it truly was, in the end, it mattered not. The thought and image came to his mind and as Baelon readied Dark Sister to be swung against more skilled opponents than it had faced before now, he was transported to another time and place.

The tower loomed large and the three men in their white cloaks and Kingsguard armor faced off against seven men from the North. His uncle had the numbers but the look on Ned Stark's face showed that he knew they were outmatched. Fierce and proud as the Northmen were, the men they faced had them beat in skill. Yet given who his uncle believed was being held hostage in the tower behind those men, his resolve was even stronger than theirs.

Baelon still had mixed feelings about that day when he thought about it. He had no wish for his uncle to have fallen. Yet he'd not lie and say he did not wonder what his life would have been like had his uncle simply lost the fight. Were it not that he believed that loss could only have come with his uncle's death, then he might have wished for that to have been the outcome. Yet for all his still remaining issues with his uncle, he loved him still. Even were that not to be true, he'd not have ever truly wished for a world where his brothers and sisters were not born. With a quick glance to Ned Dayne, whose own uncle had paid the steepest cost that day, Baelon shook such thoughts from his mind and focussed it completely on the task at hand.

Four White Walkers moved to him and his own fight now took precedence over one fought more than twenty years earlier and even the large and smaller fights that were going on around him. Moving as swiftly as he ever had, Dark Sister cut through the air in the blink of an eye. Baelon had thought that Longclaw made him a better swordsman. He'd resolved that to wield Valyrian steel, he needed to be better than he was and so had intensified his training. While some say it was the man who made the sword, some swords made the man too, or so Baelon had believed. Longclaw had a storied history and yet compared to Dark Sister's, it was a poor story indeed.

Blocking the strike aimed at his head, Baelon redoubled his efforts and to the White Walker's great surprise, he caught him with a slash down the chest that ended him. When he took down the second one, Baelon felt worthy of the blade he wielded. From Visenya to Bloodraven. Daemon Targaryen to Aemon the Dragonknight. This sword had helped to write the history of his House and it was only right that it now helped to write the future of Westeros too. A glance to his left showed that Ned Dayne was down on the ground. Injured, though not seriously given the nod of his head that he gave him when Baelon looked his way.

He'd been joined by Jaime Lannister and the two White Walkers in front of them seemed almost irrelevant to him now. Between them both they'd taken down three White Walkers already and while Ned lay injured, he'd taken down the fourth. Two on two seemed unfair odds to Baelon and so they worried him not. Even the spear when it flew through the air towards him was no true danger and he easily stepped away. Only to then lose his footing and see his end before it came. The explosion of ice stunned him and was it not for the sound of Widow's Wail as it fell to the ground, then he'd not understand what had just happened.

"Kingsguard," he whispered as he regained his footing and turned in time to see Jaime Lannister fall to the ground.

The White Lion had saved his life, even at the cost of his own. He'd left himself unarmed to ensure that Baelon did not fall and he had no words of gratitude that would even begin to be enough. So it was not words that he offered him. Moving to the White Walker that had taken Jaime's life from him, Baelon ended him and turned to face the last remaining obstacle to them all and the dawn they fought for. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ned Dayne as he moved to Jaime and offered him whatever comfort he could in his final moments. Then he left them both behind and soon enough he was face to face with the Night King himself.

"Now it begins." the Night King said as he moved towards him.

"No, now it ends."

Were he not now involved in a fight for the ages, he'd have wondered why he'd said those particular words. Had he more time to think about it, he'd have known they'd been uttered once before in a far different fight. That they were his uncle's words outside a tower in a desert and that not long after he'd uttered them, it too had come down to a one-on-one fight. His uncle against a swordsman who put both Baelon and the Night King to shame.

There was no time for such thoughts. Far off in the distance, Dany and her children were relieving the pressure on Winterfell's walls. Somewhere behind him, his army was fighting against a far weaker force than had started this battle. A few feet from him, Jaime Lannister breathed his last, and Ned Dayne shed a tear for the death of a man who had anyone but asked him mere weeks ago, he'd have said he'd have celebrated such.

All of that just faded away. Baelon moved and matched the Night King blow for blow. He felt him in his head, trying to get him to put down his sword and telling him that he was in the wrong of things. That he should be fighting with him and not against him. They were kin and belonged on the same side and those words angered him greatly.

"You are no kin of mine."

"We are not on the same side."

"I fight for the living while you seek to bring only death."

His words fuelled him and yet in truth he needed none. The stakes should he lose this fight was enough to give him the strength not to. His family would fall should he do so. Dany would fall, her children would fall and whatever children they would one day have together would never be born. Dodging a strike that was aimed at his face, Baelon almost landed one of his own and he swore he saw the worry rise in the Night King's icy blue eyes.

How long the two of them crashed their blades against each other, would take a better man than him to say. An hour, two, or mayhap just a few moments. He didn't tire, didn't fade and for as skilled as the Night King was, Baelon would dare say he was more so. Mayhap it was confidence or cockiness which almost cost him the fight, his life, and the lives of everyone he cared about. Or mayhap it was simply that whatever magic the Night King possessed made him stronger than those he'd sent against him thus far. Either way, when Dark Sister struck home, Baelon almost celebrated prematurely and it was only by the grace of the Old Gods that he did not.

" Never stop fighting until the fight is done, Snow," Jory said as he picked him up from his arse.

" A harsh lesson it is that you be learning here today, Snow." Ser Rodrik chuckled.

Ripping Dark Sister from the Night King's chest, Baelon moved backward and managed to dodge the strike that was aimed at him in retaliation. The Night King had not fallen. His strike had not slowed him and when Baelon composed himself and landed another and then another, he wondered if anything could truly take the thing in front of him down. He felt himself begin to tire and swore he saw a half smirk on the icy face in front of him. There was certainly mirth in those icy blue eyes, where not more than a little while ago there had been naught but fear.

" The heart, brother."

" The heart is the key."

The voice in his head was Rickon's, it was Robb's or so he believed, and hearing his brother's voice after so many years brought a tear to his eye. It made the Night King laugh to see him shed that tear. A foolish notion that Baelon was wallowing in despair when it was anything but that he was truly feeling.

"I told you this would happen."

"My victory is inevitable."

"It was always to end this way."

"You should have been by my side and now instead you'll die at my feet."

Baelon ignored the words that resounded in his head. His strike surprised the Night King and as Baelon began to move Dark Sister with more force and purpose, he saw that mirth begin to disappear. His first attempt came up short. As did his second. His third however hit home and he felt it when Dark Sister's tip crashed against something solid. The Night King felt it too and his own attacks increased in intensity because of it. That fear that Baelon had seen earlier was now even more apparent and at one point the Night King even backed away from him. It would help him not.

Thrust, parry, thrust again. Small chips of ice fell to the ground where Dark Sister had hit home. Each thrust of the thin blade landed no more than an inch or two away from where the last one had. Over and over Baelon chipped away at the area around the Night King's icy cold heart. When he saw it, he smiled and then moved in for the kill. The Night King fought even more vigorously and it took Baelon a long time to line up the final blow.

A dodge, a ducking out of the way, and a backing up of his feet. Parry followed by parry as heavy blows rained down upon him and Dark Sister proved herself equal to the task of stopping them. A block pushed the icy sword to one side and there it was waiting for him. Time seemed to slow as he thrust out hard and drove Dark Sister in deep. The thin blade was beneath the black stone and as the Night King brought his icy blade around in an arc, Baelon turned his hand and Dark Sister's blade moved as he did so.

There was no cry in pain or agony from the Night King. A look of resignation came over his face and for a brief moment, it was no longer an icy figure that Baelon was looking at. Instead, it was one that was familiar to him somehow. Dark brown hair, grey eyes, had he seen it for longer then Baelon would have sworn it to be his uncle's face. Yet it was but fleeting and as Dark Sister dislodged the black stone and it fell to the ground, the Night King was no more.

Baelon shielded his eyes from the sun as it beamed down upon him. Other than the black stone that lay a few feet from him, there was no sign of the Night King or any of his White Walkers. No Wight remained standing either and Baelon heard the cheers go up. Focussing his eyes as best he could, he looked to the grey walls in the distance and to the dragons that flew overhead. Smiling, he turned and looked to see Ned Dayne standing on his feet, his hand upon his side. Wounded but he would recover, unlike the unmoving figure on the ground.

They had won. Yet it had not come without its costs and while he, they, and others wished to celebrate, there would be much mourning to come too. Baelon however was unaware of just how much.

Winterfell 304 AC.

The Three-Eyed Raven.

It was true, what they said about a Northman. None wore their true self as much as they did.

The inside of Rickon's mind was like his brother's exterior, a jumbled colorful mess. Each of his memories was tainted by an emotion. The more anger Rickon felt about something, the more bloody the memory looked. In contrast, his peaceful memories were clear as a crystal.

Bran noticed that some of the things inside Rickon's head weren't his, yet he couldn't understand how these elements of the past came to be in his brother's mind.

Did the Gods truly mean to replace him with Rickon?

"They did not" Rickon answered, though it seemed to take a lot of his strength to do so while sharing his mind. "But I needed to learn how to defeat the Night King since you lied to us."

"So they let you look into the past? They let you swim into the river of time?"

Before you can run, you have to walk. Before you can dive, you have to swim. And to understand the how you must know the why. Take my hand, Rickon, the Stark of Winterfell. Look closely, and protect them. Old Nan's voice rang out as if in answer.

"So she was the one to open your third eye?" Bran chuckled. "I should have known that the old she-wolf would have tried something. I had felt her presence ever since I came back to Winterfell, but she always kept evading me. How did you two…"

Images of the crypts came in front of Bran and he shook his head. It was much too easy to extract an answer from his brother. There was almost no challenge apart from the fact that Rickon's mind hadn't crumbled to his will, or hadn't yet.

He sought his brother out, knowing that a representation of his physical body would be hidden in his memories as his own had been inside his mind. Using the weirwood surrounding him, he grabbed its roots and warged into it, hoping to find his hiding place.

Luck was on his side for once, as he stumbled upon Rickon quite quickly. Why he had chosen this specific memory to hide was a mystery to Bran. Did he hope it would elicit something in him that could probably save his life?

"I just love being with Shaggy." Rickon retorted as he cuddled the pup, his small happy voice grating on his brother's nerves. "Aren't you glad to be with Summer once again?"

"He didn't have a name then," Bran responded sharply, looking at the bundle of fur that had been his companion for fewer years than he should have been.

"It must have been hard for you to ask him to sacrifice himself so you can live."

"Hard? He did it without me telling him anything. He knew his purpose." Bran said dismissively.

"Is that why you're avoiding him? Did I strike a cord?"

"Barely. I had to stop being a wolf to become a raven. His death so that I could ascend to my true powers was inevitable." Bran answered, his former familiar now growling at him and making him frown. "What is happening to him?"

"He knows. He knows now that you do not mourn his death and that you were never as loyal to him as he always had been to you. He said he wished he had let you die when the catspaw came for you."

"You lie," Bran said, tensing.

"He's your familiar. Look into his mind."

He frowned and felt the door on Summer's mind open for him, as it had always been, only to feel the door closing behind him when he went inside and to be assaulted by an unending rage.

"You… You little piece of shit…" Summer's voice insulted him. "You wanted me to buy you time, did you? So you could leave this fucking cave and live while I would die?"

"How… How is this possible?"

"I trusted you. We trusted you all, and you used us!"

"This… This is not really happening."

"Do you want to know how I suffered? Do you want to experience it?" Summer said as the scenery in front of them changed and they found themselves back in the Raven's cave beyond the Wall. Bran's unease grew as he seemed surrounded by Wights.

"It can't be! It's impossible!" he said as he saw himself being dragged away by Meera and Hodor.

"Feel it! I want you to feel the pain as I felt it!" Summer yelled while jumping on the Wight closer to him.

Bran felt as if his body was ripped apart and instantly forced Summer to let go of his mind. It should not have been possible for the pup to remember its death, yet it seemed that Rickon had managed to bring Summer's consciousness back into his younger self.

How? How could he do that?

Mayhaps it had something to do with the fact that Rickon was a warg. After all, his demonstration with the hundreds of ravens when Bran had tried forcing them to attack their brother and the way the latter's intervention literally burned the birds' minds was enough for Bran to know they were on par when it came to warging into animals.

He needed to get out of this memory quickly, or else Rickon would manage to destabilize him once again through Summer. Searching through the flow of images, he settled on one that would probably shake his brother to his core.

It was dark inside, but Bran could still see the ground upon which Rickon lay unmoving.

"You bastard! Is that what you want me to remember? Do you want to break me with my death? Then perhaps I should make you relive it with me!" Rickon growled.

Rickon? Brother? Is that you?

"Shaggy? You're here too?"

"As I am, little Lord." a familiar voice said and Rickon rushed to the woman Bran once knew as Osha.

"How? You…"

"You are in the realm of death, sweetling, but now is not your time."

"I know. Jon needs me. I can hear him."

"More than Jon, child. More than him. The North depends on you to fulfill your purpose. The Old Gods have other projects for you."

"So I cannot join you yet?"

"No, not now, little Lord. But I promise Shaggy and I will be waiting for you when the time comes. Now go. Be with your brother. Be with your family. Be the one you should have been long ago. But beware of the one with a thousand eyes and one." Osha said, her voice filled with longing and pride.

"What projects do the Gods have for my brother?" Bran inquired, curiosity getting the best of him as he saw his brother being guided by his dead direwolf.

Osha turned to him and sent him a deadly glare.

"You are not welcome here! BEGONE, YOU MONSTER! Else I will not hesitate to end your life." She said, grabbing a blade from her belt

He knew he would obtain no answer from her, yet he still needed to weaken his brother so he could control his mind. His encounter with Osha only furthered his strength, and he would need a different memory to fuel his emotions and destabilize him. Thinking long and hard, he soon found one he was certain would do the trick, especially with the people who were in it. He quickly grabbed Rickon's shoulder and brought them both to that fateful day, the one when they got their direwolves, but only to the part before the announcement of the deserter from the Watch.

Seeing his young self trying to shoot arrows almost moved Bran too. As he now remembered the feeling of the strings between his fingers, and the ground as he moved across it before he was confined to a chair and now useless legs. He cringed seeing himself miss his mark and felt anger when his former brothers snickered at him.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Ned Stark said from the battlement he oversaw them from and he saw Rickon gasp at their father's voice before looking longingly behind him.

Good. he thought, knowing that Arya wouldn't be far away.

"Go on, Bran. Keep going." Their father encouraged him, and Bran took it to heart to aim at the one he'd name as his cousin to cause Rickon more harm.

He never got to loose his arrow, for a piercing pain on the shoulder took his breath away. He could hear the distress of his mother and her desperate call for the maester, but he was too stunned by the reactions of the others to reassure Catelyn Stark.

Around him, two of his family members were glaring at him, whereas his younger brother kept giggling and his father's icy gaze sent shivers down the nape of his neck.

"I should do more to you, you fucking kinslayer." Arya spat, another arrow in her bow now aimed at his heart.

This can't be! Arya is no wolf or bird Rickon can control! Does he control them in his memories?

"What you did to our sister, to our family, was shameful and unbecoming of a Stark," Robb added, applying some force over the arrow in Bran's shoulder, making Bran scream out in pain. "You betrayed us."

"I didn't. Arya's death was for the greater good. Ned Stark is the one who betrayed his family by hiding a Targaryen in our midst."

"What I did, I did it to protect Jon." Ned intervened, and judging by Rickon's reaction, his brother was not putting a single word in their father's mouth.

How is this possible?

"You robbed Jon of his true name, of his origins. You may have thought it the best thing to do, but look at him now. He will be the king of the seven kingdoms, while you tried condemning him into a life without titles, marriages, and lands." Rickon spat at their father, his own anger now directed at another in their midst.

"I already got an earful from Lyanna over it, and when the time comes, I will beg Baelon for his forgiveness. Right now, this is about the Three-Eyed Raven who has weakened our family instead of uniting it. Cursed be the Kinslayer Brandon Stark. You are no son of mine." his father said angrily, glaring at him as he did so.

"You are dead. You stupidly thought people were as honorable as you were when everyone told you to be careful in the pit of vipers. I do not care to be your son, since you stopped being my father the day you abandoned me to my fate with no regard for my health." Bran exploded.

"Whatever I say to you, to Rickon and Jon, will never express how deeply sorrowful I was to leave you behind."

"Were you? Were you truly? Did you even think of us when you were imprisoned? You thought about Sansa, about Arya being safe, about your promise to aunt Lyanna, you prayed to the gods for Robb to not get himself trapped in Lion's teeth, and you thought about Mother, but not once, not once have you thought of Rickon nor I." Bran bristled.

"You were already safe, my boys. At least I thought you were. But does it truly justify your lack of honor?" his father asked.

"Honor gets you killed, Ned Stark. Survival is what matters. I thought that you would have understood this by now."

"Survival doesn't mean to kill your sister, to try to kill your brother, and to usurp your other one." Robb intervened harshly.

"Jon is not -"

"He is to me, no matter what his blood names him as. I would have laid my crown to his feet and supported him as Rickon did. That is what true brothers do." Robb shouted.

"Instead you tried to use me to weaken him," Arya growled, advancing menacingly towards him while Robb came behind him so he couldn't escape. "Do you know how it feels to be betrayed by your own family?"

Bran tried seeking help from outside of the yard, but a look at his mother showed that she was frozen in this memory, as were the servants and, strangely enough, Jon.

Why? What was happening?

"I… It's needed to be done, Arya. Rickon had changed the path I was meant to walk on, and -"

"You killed me, Bran!" Arya retorted, and Bran's anxiousness grew as he saw an arrow in her hand. "Your own sister. You may not have stabbed me, but you could have prevented it. What did I do to deserve such a fate? What had I ever done to you, huh?"

"You chose Jon. You all chose him over me."

"He is as much family as you were to us."

"Were… You reject me, your son, your brother, when Jon is but a distant relative of ours."

"This is on your own doing, Brandon. I named you for my brother whom I loved very much, I should have known that like him, you would get ruled by your emotions. You have shamed me more than I have shamed myself with my handling of Baelon's parentage. I would have never thought of the day that I would have to disown one of my sons, but if this is what I need to do so the Pack survives, then I will name you in front of the Old Gods as no son of mine."

"You have no power over me! I am the one with the power here! Your word means nothing!"

"To the Old Gods, they do. And they are not the only ones angry at you." Robb whispered in his ear and Bran finally understood what was going on.

Eddard, Robb, and at the end of her life, Arya. All of them were followers of the Old Gods. All of them were dead before their time. And as all faithful servants of the Old Gods, they had been granted the honor to remain inside the sacred trees.

Rickon warged into the Weirwood trees more than once, to spy on him, which meant he had found the power of summoning them through to the Heart Tree.

"Arya, do it now!" Rickon yelled, putting Bran on edge once more, ready to find a way to get out of this memory, but what he thought would happen was completely different from reality.

Instead of feeling the arrow piercing his body, he found himself brought into Arya's mind, as Summer did before in the precious memory they were stuck in. He saw himself and his slight smirk as she called for his help and panic settled as he realized that she meant for him to witness her death.

"You're fucking right. Feel my pain, my emotions, the deception your betrayal caused before I lost my life."

"I can't…"

"You will though. I know what happens to a warg when he stays in the body of a familiar when they die. You lose part of yourself, part of your power, and I will bring you down with me as you did."

To Bran's horror, she turned to her fellow master of death and put her weapons down. The Raven tried to act quickly to find a way out of her mind, only to find her blocking the door to his exit.

"I accept my fate this time. Valar Morghulis, you bastard."

He felt the dagger piercing his side as if he was the one being stabbed and it scared him beyond measure. Rickon's stern face, looking so much like their father's at that moment, let him know that this was what he wished. He quickly turned to Robb and reached for his mind, pleading for him to let him share his instead, only to realize later that he had just fallen into another trap.

Their surroundings had changed and yet he knew where he was, as he could hear her mother's pleading for her son's life.

"Why? Why do you do this?" Bran turned to see the image of Robb standing in front of the exit.

"You claim Jon is not family, but I saw him, through the Heart Tree beyond the Wall, where he swore his vows. I saw how distraught he was after hearing of my death, and how he still sought reports of our siblings' wellbeing. How he tried to get to you beyond the Wall, only to be stopped by his friend. I saw the joy he felt when he got you all back, even you Bran. He wanted the pack to be united, and you wanted to be part of it only to use their bonds against them. He has been more of a Stark to our siblings than you've ever been, and more of a brother to me than you ever were."

Bran tried without success to control Robb's mind to stop him from getting himself killed, to have him react to the moment Roose Bolton came in front of him, knowing full well what that would mean.

"Mother…" was all he managed to utter before Robb fought back.

"Remember, little Raven. The ink is dry."

The Lannisters send their regards.

The pain wasn't real, it wasn't, he knew it wasn't for Robb was already dead. Yet he felt the blade pierce his heart and the agony took his breath away. He knew what would happen if he stayed in Robb's mind.

What happens to any warg who dies outside of his body?

Was that Rickon's plan? To make him lose himself inside the mind of someone who had long since passed?

Ignoring the excruciating pain and drawing into his remaining power, he managed to push Robb and cross the threshold of his dead brother's mind.

Never had he been so glad to feel the cold of winter. He was back in the Godswood, back in his chair, alive and well, though he felt the after-effects of the experience he'd just lived.

So many questions jostled inside his head.

How did Rickon manage to do what he did to him?

He was supposed to be the one in control of his brother's mind. He was the one who controlled his surroundings, so why…

"She told me to let you in," Rickon said, gesturing at the black direwolf standing protectively next to him.

She was as huge a Direwolf as she ever depicted in her tales that were not tales. He could feel her power, her commanding presence, and the streaks of white in her fur indicating her old age. Làthair, the gift of the gods to Bran the Builder and the first true She Wolf of Winterfell. Seeing her close to his replacement made him almost boil with anger. She was meant to support him, not Rickon. Bran was supposed to be the Old Gods' choice, that was why he had lost his legs and never been taken south with his family. Yet now that Rickon had come back from the dead, his suffering meant nothing?

"Your kin died so I could live and this is how you repay their sacrifice?" Bran spat. "By trying to end my life? By making my brother a kinslayer? Is this how your Gods work, turning brother against brother and cursing them afterward?"

"They were your Gods, too, or did you forget who you served before your greed consumed you?" Rickon said.

"They forsook me, as they did with your namesake when he warned them about the taint in our line."

"I've seen it in your head! It was you that he foresaw so long ago! You're the taint in the Stark line!"

"I am the future of our House. The future of Westeros. They wouldn't have made Jon come back from the dead if he was meant to kill me."

"You're right…" Rickon said, to Bran's surprise. "This Rickon Stark was not meant to stop you. That is why I am here. That is why the Old Gods brought me back, for it was them and not the Lord of Light who saved me back then."

"They're trying to make you do their dirty work, but make no mistake Rickon. The burden they will give you will feel like a curse to you. It did to Bloodraven, and to the one before him. It did to me."

"I have been dead and brought back as King in the North. There is no burden I cannot bear after dealing with the Northmen."

"No matter how many times you will denounce my blood, this is still kinslaying."

"I do not plan on killing you."

"So what? You wish to save me? I thought you hated me?" he asked confused while trying to figure out how best to use Rickon's reluctance to do what needed to be done against him.

"I do. You killed our sister, you tried to usurp our brother, and for your crimes against our family, you shall pay. Remember the promise I made to the Old Gods?" Rickon asked sternly, making Bran gasp when he started talking in the Old Tongue. "I, Rickon of House Stark, the descendant of Brandon the Builder, first king of Winter, of Bael the Bard, King beyond the Wall, of Cregan Stark, the king who knelt for the good of his subjects, will sentence you today."

"You cannot -" Bran protested, but a gentle caress in his mind made him shiver.

The scenery changed to another familiar one. They were back in Winterfell courtyard and he shook his head as he saw himself near Bloodraven. His eyes traveled around as he saw his father saying their farewells to his aunt Lyanna and uncle Benjen.

"It can't be… How did you… Have you stolen my memory?" Bran blubbered, astonished.

"I simply went through the door you inadvertently left open," Rickon answered, making the older sibling realize his mistake.

"I never invited you! Get out of my head!"

"No, brother, it's time for you to do so."

Bran felt it, like a rope tied around him it pulled him and though he pulled back against it, he hadn't the strength left within him to fight it. Still, he tried. With every inch of him, he tried, and then just when he believed he'd escaped, he found himself looking out with eyes that were no longer his own.

Bloodraven almost seemed to smile at him. Bran saw it as it faded away. The shadow of who he had been was standing beside the man he had replaced. It was now all that remained of him.

"The time has come. Leave me." Bloodraven's words rang out across the courtyard and yet he was not himself when he heard them.

"Hold the Door."

"Hold the Door."

The words sounded different than how they once had. No longer were they coming from around him and it took Bran more than a moment to realize why that was. He could hear them, hear them in his head. They were being spoken not at him, but to him.

Bran could no longer see the courtyard. No longer was he in Winterfell. Instead, it was the cave and he was leaning against the door. He heard them behind it, crashing against it. Felt them as they began to break through it. Leaning back against it, Bran tried to do as the voice bid him. He tried to hold the door though every instinct he had inside him told him to run and leave this place.

His body was not his own. He was no longer in charge of its movements. Looking off in the distance he saw Meera as she struggled with the sled and he tried to leave the body he was trapped in behind so he could join her. As he felt the pain of the fingers, teeth, and crude weapons dig into his skin, he heard the words once more.

"Hold the Door."

He ran through the keep and towards the Great Hall, his feet moving as swiftly as they ever had. Ahead of him, he saw Arya and knew he could catch her, and then he heard her laughter as she shut the door behind her.

"Hold the Door."

Robb and Jon were looking for him but his hiding place was a good one. Bran laughed as they passed it by more than once and then he felt the hand reach in and grab him. Laughing still, he pressed his feet against the door while Jon tried desperately to take a hold of his collar. Besides the dark hair of his brother, he could see his other brother trying to get his own arm inside. Robb wearing a smile that did not bode well and would no doubt lead to snow in his breeches once more. He didn't hear what words they spoke to each other, only that Jon moved his hand from his collar and to the door.

"Hold the Door."

Sansa and his mother walked out of his room. The candle had been blown out and he liked the darkness not. His sister walked behind their mother and in a small and frightened voice, Bran bid her to not leave him in darkness.

"Hold the Door."

His father, mother, and Uncle Benjen. Arya, Sansa, Robb, and Jon. Bran saw them all and then he was in the crypts with his brother, Jojen, Meera, Osha, and Willas. He was himself once again and he breathed in relief. Turning his head, he saw Summer and wished to reach out to stroke his fur, and yet when he tried to, the wolf growled loudly. Shaggy Dog was even louder and then Bran looked on in horror as each person with him glared at him before leaving him alone.

Jojen.

Meera.

Osha.

Willas.

Summer.

Shaggy Dog.

Each of them walked away from him and out of the crypts leaving him behind.

"I am no kinslayer, brother. Your fate was never to die at my hands." Rickon said as he too moved away from him.

He saw him, saw the light behind him as the crypt door was opened. Bran tried to move to his brother, to the safety that he knew lay behind Rickon. Yet it was soon clear that he could not. As Rickon began to close it, the words came to his lips unbidden.

"Hold the Door."

"Hold the Door."

"Hold the Door."

"Hodor!"

"Hodor!"

"Hodor!"

In the Godswood, Rickon looked to his brother as he sat in his wheeled chair. He rubbed his hand down onto Nymeria's fur and the two of them turned to face the light of the new day that had dawned. As they walked to join those who had won them their victory, he allowed the word his brother said to fade away.

"Hodor!" was the only sound that Bran made as Rickon and Nymeria left him alone in his chair by the Weirwood tree.