The Lost Stark

Advice from a onion.

~Ryker
I scream in pain as the impact of the ice forces the Night King's spear through my chest before the rest of my body makes contact, causing me to fall through into its frozen depths. Without meaning to, I try to take in a breath as I fight my half-working limbs to swim to the surface, but instead of air, the coldest water I have ever felt in my life fills my lungs, causing me to abandon the hopes of reaching the dimming surface in favor of clutching my freezing throat. Darkness threatens to engulf my senses as I struggle against the relentless pull of the icy depths. My limbs grow heavy, sluggish in their movements, as if weighed down by the sheer force of the freezing water.
Through the dimming light, my eyes adjust enough to make out a shadow moving above the broken ice where my body had fallen through. Desperate for any help, I struggle to extend my good arm out to it in hopes I haven't sunk too deep in the freezing waters. Time passes slowly until I feel a hand take hold of my sleeve and pull with enough force to not only pull me upwards but almost yank my arm out of its socket. Breaking through the water's edge, I try to gasp for breath but end up coughing the chilled water from my lungs, while spewing out the contents of my stomach.
"Easy there, little wolf." I hear through the violent sound of me sickness as strong thud pounds on the good side of my back.
The sound of his voice makes me jerk my trembling body upwards to meet his eye. "U-n-n-cle B-B-Ben-j-j-j-jen," I manage to croak out through chattering teeth. The man my eyes meet is a pale resemblance to the man I grew up loving the second most, next to my father of course. His skin looks as if it is frozen and withering away under the scars that riddle his once lively face. However, what frightens me the most is the once warm brown eyes I used to pout to when father told me no, have been laced with ice-cold blue flakes. "Wh-wh-what h-h-ap-p-p-end t-t-o y-y-y-ou?"
"A story for another time, Ryker," he mutters softly, looking around us nervously before stuffing a piece of cloth in my mouth. "I need you to be as quiet as you can while I remove this," he explains, pushing my shivering form forward until my face almost touches the ice. "Try not to bite your tongue off."
The moment his hands touch the spear, a cold heat spreads from the back of my shoulder, radiating through my chest. Through the bile, the acrid metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, while I feel the frozen tendons in my throat rip from the wail of pain.
"Almost there," I manage to hear Benjen grit out as he gives a final pull.
As soon as the spear is freed from my body, the last of my strength leaves me, and I disintegrate into a lump of an almost-frozen heap of meat onto the ice. Black dots dance through my vision as my mind clashes against the need to close my eyes and sleep until my time to leave this world comes. Through the darkness filling the void, Uncle Benjen's feet appear before my face.
"You need to get back to The Wall," he tells me, pulling my limp form up from the ice and carrying me over to a horse. "Rest, little wolf. I will get you home."

~Daenerys
Lifting my eyes from the flames, I gaze at Jon. The pain and regret etched on his scarred, pale face rival what consumes my soul. Watching him feels as though I can see everything Ryker has told me about him filtering through the cold depths of his eyes. If there was ever a doubt that he truly held love for his sister, the anguish within his almost black orbs settles it. Just looking at him now, I know behind all the anger and jealousy, he still loved her. The longer I stare, the more I realize he is just as lost as I am without her here with us.
"It's more than a two-week journey in fair weather to King's Landing. If we wish to make the meeting, we need to leave by morning," the broken whispers of the man they call The Hound break the empty void I have found myself in for the past few hours since Jon placed me in the warm chair in front of the hearth.
"The Lord Commander gave us two days before he's ordered the men to flood the wall. If we leave now, what's stopping them from flooding it before then?" Ser Davos argues, trying to keep his voice low.
"She had a spear made of ice through her chest before she fell from the sky," the burned man speaks louder. "I don't know about you, but I have yet to meet someone alive who survived that."
"She is our King; we are not leaving her stranded when there's a chance—"
"There is no chance," The Hound yells over Ser Davos, slamming his hand down on the table, causing me to jump. "Those dead fuckers are on their way here no matter when we go. The further we get away from this blasted Wall, the better."
"We will wait until they flood The Wall," Jon says, meeting my gaze and attempting a comforting smile that turns into a grimace. "If she's not back by then, we will have a ship waiting for her just off the coast, out of reach from the dead."
"We need all the ships we have," Ser Mormont says, standing up next to The Hound. "I say we take the dead man and return to—"
"No," I cut him off, shaking my head, feeling a surge of anger start to boil from the emptiness within.
"Khaleesi—"
"I told you not to ever call me that again. In fact, I remember ordering you twice to never call me that again," I say through clenched teeth, rising to my feet. "She is your King. She risked her life to save all of yours. We will wait for her, as Jon suggested. If she doesn't return when it's time to flood The Wall, then one ship will remain for her."
"My Queen, if we could speak in private," Ser Mormont takes a slow step towards me.
The maniacal laugh that erupts from my chest cuts him off the moment I recognize the look in his eye. "Every moment you have requested has been spent trying to wedge yourself between Ryker and I since we met. When will you understand that I am my own person capable of making my own decisions and listening to more then just your words?" I shake my head in disappointment.
"My Queen, we need to think of our people, and that means we have to make it to King's Landing."
"Stop," I spit out in anger. "Just stop. You want to leave her in hopes of her never returning, despite the fact that she just saved your life. You claim to be a changed man, yet here you stand attempting to thwart any plan that might help her, in order to leave her behind for what? What means more to you than your false honor?" I ask, letting the rage take over.
"You and your vision for Westeros," he mutters in slight anger.
I nod my head, looking to Jon. "What you think I want and what I want are two separate things, Ser Mormont. You swore your sword to me twice now, possibly more—I can't keep up with how many times I have exiled you—and you keep ignoring that, returning in hopes of winning my favor once again. I will finally settle this, in hopes you can understand." I let my voice lower into the emotionless mask Ryker once said scared her while I step closer to him. "I will never love you. My heart belongs to Ryker, Margaery, and the family we built. They are my future, you are not. No longer will I allow you or anyone to manipulate me into doing what they think is right. I am the breaker of chains, and no longer shall you, Tyrion, or his spider try to silence me by attempting to put me in yours. Do you understand me?" The silence between us thrums with tension so tangible you can almost see the threads of anger and rage flowing between us.
"Your Queen asked you a question," Jon says, stepping next to me, his hand on the hilt of his sword after a look of defiance crosses Ser Jorah's face.
His eyes flicker to my brother-by-law, then back to mine. "I understand, Your Grace," he answers stiffly, giving me a slight bow, keeping the tension in his frame.
Giving Jon a solemn nod, I move to the table and pour myself a cup of warm cider. "Jon—" My words are cut off by the sound of a loud horn blowing. Looking to Jon's confused face, I see a light of hope bloom, brightening his cold black eyes. "What does that mean?"
"Rangers," he gasps before rushing to the door.
"Jon," I shout, following after him. The men in the small castle move aside as we run through the halls, heading straight for a cage attached to a rope, held up by a grid of metal bolted together that runs from the ground to the top of the endless wall. Getting into the cage, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my palpitating heart and sensitive nerves as the cage ascends into the sky.
"The first time is always the worst," Jon says softly, facing in the opposite direction. "It helps if you don't look down."
"Thank you," I answer just as softly, turning to face the wall alongside him. "You said the horn meant Rangers; what do you mean?"
"It has been the way of communication between those who watch on top of the wall down to the castles that sit on the ground," he explains, letting out a sigh. "One for Rangers, two for enemies, and three for White Walkers. When the horn blows, the men in the tunnels know whether to raise the gates in welcome or arm the men for battle."
"So why are we going to the top and not through the tunnel?"
"We need to be sure of who approaches, also because the only friends beyond The Wall that were left returned on the back of that freezing dragon," he answers as we reach the top. Without another word, he opens the gate and leads us past stilted braziers and worn wooden beams.
"Of all the gods," I mumble to myself, following him to a wooden balcony that looks out to the frozen tundra that is the True North. "It goes on forever."
"You can appreciate the view the next time you visit," Jon tugs on my sleeve. Turning my head, my eyes follow to where he's pointing. "There."
Squinting, I make out a speck of black moving through the endless sea of white. "Are you sure?"
"Aye, the Watchers have the best vision out of all the Nights Watch. If they say it's a Ranger, then it's a Ranger," he states, gesturing to the weathered man with windblown hair and frostbitten cheeks. "Let's go." He tugs my sleeve, leading me back to the lift.
"I cannot believe you chose to live like this," I say once the cage starts to descend once more in a half hearted attempt to distract my mind.
"Believe it or not you get used to it after a while." He lets out a strained laugh. "It was once an honor to give your life to the Night's Watch, before it became a punishment to those South of The Neck. Nevertheless, any man who's sworn his life to The Watch will always be offered Guests Right when visiting houses in The North, especially in Winterfell."
"Your family is very loyal."
"Aye, some more than others," he says, wincing slightly.
"She has forgiven you; you need to forgive yourself. Learn from those mistakes and stand by her, just as I plan to do from now on," I reassure him as the cage comes to a halt at the bottom.
"This way." Once again, he leads me out of the lift, but instead of going back into the castle, he leads us through a rusted metal gate that blocks off a wide circular tunnel, lighted by torches spread apart. Walking through it, a deep, unsettling chill sets in my bones as the air surrounding us becomes more suffocating with every step. "Just ahead."
"You think it could be her?" I ask, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice as we reach the last of the gates.
"Even though the chances are slim, I pray to the gods that it's her." He takes a deep breath. "Open the gates." He calls out to a group of men standing next to a wheel bound in chains.
The minutes feel like hours as four of them grab a spoke and push against the heavy weight of the metal gate. Their movements are slow and steady. I can't stop my fingers from thrumming impatiently with each clank that rings through the tunnel as the links of the heavy chain snap against the wheel. Soon enough, I have to squint against the blinding light that the sun brings, shining off the blankets of lush snow that cover the frozen ground. Yet Jon and his men don't waste another second when the gate is lifted high enough. Swallowing the lump stuck in my throat, I move my feet forward.
My heart leaps in my chest as the once-speck from above forms into a rider with a covered face, dressed in black, on a tall brute horse. "Who approaches The Wall?" Jon shouts, pulling his longsword from its sheath on his hip.
The man on the horse comes to a halt a stone's throw away. In a swift motion, he swings his leg over the horse and pulls what looks like a bundle of frost-covered furs from the horse's back, cradling it in his arms as if he's holding it with the utmost care. "Put your sword away, boy," the man shouts back, coming closer.
Jon drops his sword at the same moment the sun illuminates the bundle in his arms. "Ryker," I gasp, running forward towards the unknown man, brushing off Jon and his men's attempts to halt me. "What happened to her?" I ask the covered man holding my wife in his arms.
"Took a spear through the shoulder," he says, looking me in the eye while passing my unconscious wife to one of the bigger men.
My frozen breath catches in my throat, seeing the icy blue hues mixed in with the cold brown that seem to warm when they land on Ryker. "Thank you, Ser—"
"Uncle Benjen," I hear Jon whisper from behind me.
"Get her warm and patched up," he tells me with urgency, ignoring his nephew.
Taking the hint, I nudge the man forward toward the tunnels. "The ships have braziers in the cabins. It's much warmer than the castle," I order him harshly.