Beyond the Wall
Ice hissed and cracked, snow made crisp crunch under foot. What had long lay dormant, tucked away in the forgotten caves filled with ice and bone waking to a new dawn. Summer had roared with life for many years, claiming the hand of power and the throne of kingdoms that be. But the North remembers, and Winter is coming, waking from its long rest with a hunger to reach even the most southern lands.
Those who chose this place, who called it home and warred with others. The people who knew the true struggles of life and death. Savages, cannibals, traitors and rapists. Warriors, lovers, spear wives and sons or daughters. Tough women and men, creatures of myth and mystery, all trickle by ones, twos, and clans towards their last preceded hope. Banners, sigils, and lords be damned, long live the King beyond the Wall. Let any God who would listen stand by their side as they dared cross the ice wall for Winter is coming with cracking ice whispering in the wind.
Below the Dunes
In a quiet barely lit room, silk drapes hanging from the ceiling and winding about casting a secure feeling comfort, two bodies sat. They neither looked at one another nor spoke, but in each of their hands rested a letter of intrigue. The older figure clutched a letter in gnarled fingers, a frown laced an aged yet majestic face. The younger leaned back, more relaxed. Slender fingers traced the words inked across the small scrap of paper over and over again.
"The dragons have become horsemen," the older figure spoke out in a gruff voice, harsh from the struggle of life and the pleasures of addiction. Slamming the letter down in distaste.
The younger figure glanced at the older this time, their eyes connecting. A smile was traced on plump whimsical lips. "The lions roar as the stag goes north. Little egg glows in the winter winds."
Both figures picked up goblets of Dornish Red, the sweet but thick fluid slipping past their tongues and filling their belly with warmth. One day all would know what it was like to inquire the wrath of vipers and snakes.
Across the Seas
In violet silk, a pale-fleshed princess stands. Violet eyes with the flame that should be inside them cast down. Empty of nothing but smoldering embers like a village left after being set fire to burn to ash. Weak, docile, and completely at the mercy of the stranger who gazed her way.
Danny felt gooseflesh rise as the Khal stared at her, his form from when she glanced terrifying her more. He was a savage and larger than any man she had laid eyes upon. His body was thick ribbons of muscle and his hair hung in a rich long braid on display for her to see.
A hand fell on her wrist, her brother's grip a harsh bite. She wouldn't know it, but in his eyes burned animosity and jealousy. Perhaps he didn't even know it himself, that feeling that ate away at his mind and made his body break out in a cold sweat under his silken tunic. Fear. The Dragon was afraid.
Viserys was more a ball of emotion than his younger sister, terrified of what lay before him, hating he had to hand over the one thing he had absolute power over, absolute control. With Danny by his side, Viserys was king even if he didn't have a kingdom. He had never had that thought before, not until he saw Khal Drogo sitting atop his black stallion looking every inch the warrior king he was. It was like he was giving away his own lands to the barbarian.
The grip tightened on Danny's wrist as her gaze caught the Khal's, their eyes connecting in a strange dance of fear and suppression. She was afraid, he wanted to suppress that fear.
"Do you see how long his hair is? When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids so the whole world can see their shame. Khal Drogo has never been defeated. He's a savage, of course, but one of the finest killers alive."
Danny trembled, fear tingling through her even stronger now. Viserys leaned closer in a mocking tone, "And you will be his queen."
Danny was called forward so that the Khal could look at her closely, her feet shuffled and her heart pounded. Viserys let her go, pleased he had gotten under her skin but knowing he needed the brute on a horse to like her.
The Khal watched as the young woman walked towards him, his eyes tracing over her exotic appearance. He was the greatest of Khals, never lost a battle and never fell from his horse. Many horse lords would have dozens of beautiful women for their tent by now, but he sought after something that was as unique as himself. He wanted the best, though he cared little for bloodlines and titles. The Dothraki only needed the Khal and the Great Stallion.
The woman who stood before him had the innocence of a girl, pure and frightful. She was clean and held a beauty he had seen only in imitation before. Her silver hair and pale flesh was in stark contrast to his own. Paired with her small-framed body, she was something to behold. Above all else, her eyes were the most beautiful shade of violet that seemed to transform the more he looked into a deeper, richer color.
He would need to find the best gift for her. With one last look, the Khal drank her into his memory and turned his horse around. His blood riders followed suit as they left their future Khaleesi behind.
Viserys panicked when the horselord left, afraid Danny had ruined everything. "Where's he going?" His tone was a bit high pitched with worry.
Magister Illyrio Mopatis sighed inside, but never let his irritation show. "The ceremony is over."
Viserys gripped his sword hilt, his eyes wild as he looked to Illyrio. "B-but he didn't say anything at all, how do we know if he liked her?"
Illyrio stared at Danny's back in thought, knowing Viserys wanted an answer. "Trust me, your Grace. If Khal Drogo didn't like her, we would know."
Danny turned to trail after Illyrio and Viserys, her mind on the horselord. She was frightened by him, though he sparked an interest in the back of her mind. A brute, a barbarian who was to be her husband. All conversation between Illyrio and Viserys was drowned out by her thoughts of the Khal.
Hadn't she been meant to be Queen of Westeros beside Viserys? That would never happen if she became a savage's bride.
Welcome of Winterfell
The Starks waited in hush, all save one who darted to and fro, a soldier's cap upon her head. Little Arya was filled with too much curiosity to stand still with the rest. She wanted to see the King, but even more she wanted to see the Kingslayer and the Imp. Jumping onto a cart, she climbed, her eyes peering towards the gates with enthusiasm.
Her absence did not go unnoticed by her family, her mother practically scolding Sansa for her sister wondering off. The girl's brothers just gave cheeky smiles, knowing their little sister simply couldn't be tamed. A wild one, she was, so unlike her elder sister. It was the Stark blood, Ned said when Caitlyn complained.
Ned stood tall, his eyes overlooking everything. In his mind, he replayed the conversation he and his wife had had that day the raven came. The crushing blow of Jon Arryn's death, a man who was a father to him and Robert both. A man who committed treason for them, refusing to deliver their heads to Kingslanding all those years ago. The war may have been named Robert's Rebellion, but it was born from Jon Arryn's love for his wards.
Caitlyn Stark was at a loss this day, her mind trying to only focus on the future task of hosting the royal family. It was a daunting one, something she should feel all pressure from. However it wasn't the most pressing thing on her mind. No, due to Ned's sudden revelation of what could only have been guilt-inducing agony, Caitlyn Stark had something else weighing down on her mind. Her heart broken again after sixteen years and this time all due to her own selfish misgivings. Would there even be enough time to reconcile, to grow a fondness and show a mother's love?
Now was not the time for such thoughts, they would be brushed aside for time in the night when the wind would be the only answer she would hear. Up ahead of them the King's party entered the gate of Winterfell.
Soldiers came firth, spilling into the courtyard with banners of lions and stags alike. Gold cloaks, red cloaks, black... Men of the south freezing their neathers off in a land they were unfamiliar. Arya watched them all, her face filled with wonder at the knights. Her mother again asking her whereabouts from her elder sister, though she had no care.
Then came in a sight that drew Arya in, her eyes tracing that of a man in pristine armor with the helm of a dog's head. It left her giddy with interest and she found herself rushing back to her family. Ned chuckled, reaching out to grab his youngest daughter, taking the metal cap from her Stark trait main.
The girl frowned at her father, but moved to fall in line with the rest of her siblings, shoving Bran out of the way after rudely telling him to move. The boy gave his sister a scowl that matched Sansa's who was doing the same. Robb, Ned's eldest just gave a light smirk in his father's direction.
Sansa's attention was pulled from her siblings, however, when a gold cloak entered followed by a young man astride a dark horse. Her eyes glanced over him, taking in his dark hair and intense serious eyes. He looked rugged from the travel, facial hair covering his chin and jaw in black like the hair on his head. He looked like a wolf almost, reminding her of Robb and Jon.
Averting her eyes from him, she found herself next staring at a young woman astride a red Dornish mare. The woman was lovely, beautiful like northern snow. Her crown of flowing silver blonde main appeared well-kept and smooth to touch. It contrasted with the golden flesh of her face, though pale but still holding a natural earthy undertone. She gave off an otherworldly beauty Sansa was not accustomed to in the north.
A blush touched Sansa's cheeks and she turned her gaze once again. Yet this time they fell on a youth near her age for sure. Golden mantel and a fresh handsome face, he was like any prince she had thought of in her mind. Her eyes connected with his and she felt herself smile as he smirked her way, her heart pounding a little faster.
Robb followed the direction of Sansa's gaze, his eyes landing on the golden prince who no doubt was a Lannister. He saw the smirk on the lad's face and felt an instant dislike for the boy a few years younger than himself. The boy was full of arrogance, Robb was sure. And unlike Theon, he couldn't beat it out of a royal child.
Suddenly a flash of silver separated his view from the prince, a young woman astride a red mare moving as a shield between the frowning Stark heir and the smirking Baratheon prince. Robb's eyes widened as he took her in, but he couldn't drink his fill before the soldiers all moved and kneeled. King Robert Baratheon, the man of Robb's namesake had entered.
Robert Baratheon climbed down from his horse, his page boys making sure he could get down without fail by bringing him a step. Not something Robert was proud of, however he was thankful for not sprawling out on the ground in front of his old friend and most of the North's house ambassadors. It would have been a sight to see, the King of the Seven Kingdoms on his back in the mud.
He moved forward, his head held in regal position. The gold cloaks stayed behind him at a good pace and the carriage that held the rest of his brood and lovely lady wife came to a stop beside his horse. He didn't wait for her, continuing towards his target.
With a wave of his hand, Winterfell stood up straight. Robert looked them over, all Ned's brood bearing Stark expressions and Tully eyes. His friend had done well, protecting this frozen dirt beneath their foot and growing a half dozen little direwolves. Robert almost felt outdone by his friend, only sporting four children of his own.
However those were only his legitimate children. Robert was well aware of all his bastards running about Flea Bottom. Can't fuck that many whores and not spawn a bastard or two. Though he spared them no mind nor coin save what he paid their mothers for a night. What was a bastard or two to him anyway? Bloody Stark being noble and taking his in.
He and Ned sized one another up, their faces giving away nothing of their lifelong friendship.
"Your Grace," Ned bowed his head.
"You got fat," Robert growled out in his gruff voice.
Everyone held their breath, the two lords giving nothing away. Then Ned glanced down at the thick girthy gut that Robert had attempted and failed to hide behind leather armor. He gave Robert a slight eyebrow twitch with a small tilt of his chin.
Both men broke out in loud robust laughter, their faces for a moment seeming to lose years of stress and sorrow as they clasped one another into a brotherly embrace.
Breaking apart, Robert enthusiastically called out 'Cat' with a fondness one would have for a sister, his meaty arms dragging her in before she knew what was what. When he let go, he ruffled little Ricken's hair with affection.
Retuning to Ned, Robert still held a cheeky grin on his bearded face. "Nine years, I have not laid eyes on you!" His voice almost sounded accusing. "Where the hell have you been?"
Ned gave his old friend and king a gentle smile. "Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."
At the same time, the Queen and her two other children dismounted from the carriage. Cyra and the two princes by her side also got down from their horses. Jamie Lannister pulled his golden helm from his head and moved to stand near his daughter as he watched his sister walk with a queen's authority towards the Stark family.
Robert moved to stand in front of Robb, taking his forearm and giving him a good shake. "You must be Robb."
Robb nodded his head, though he didn't feel particularly blessed to meet the man of his namesake. He had grown up hearing the stories of a great warrior, yet all he saw before him was a wastrel king. A man grown fat with inner court instability and a heavy banquet of whores and wine. For a moment, Robb envied his half-brother, Jon. At least that man had been named after a powerful leader.
Robert moved past the boy, a year older than his own oldest. His eyes catching sight of Tully red, a sight to see in the north. "My, what a pretty one you are," Robert cooed at the girl, though it lacked his natural flirtatious charm. After all, the girl was barely thirteen years and Ned's babe to boot. Robert may be a many things, but he wasn't a barbarian.
Sansa glanced down shyly, her face red from the complement though it was more embarrassment due to who the king was rather than embarrassment to the complement itself. Robert chuckled and leaned down to look at the next child, another girl but lacking that Tully auburn. No this one was all Stark like his Lyanna.
"What's your name little wolf?" Robert gazed into the eyes of the girl, momentarily wishing he didn't have to sew royal lines into further houses.
"Arya," The girl mumbled, her eyes flickering around behind the king and catching sight of the Kingslayer and queen.
"Arya huh," Robert muttered, glancing Ned's way before continuing on to another Stark boy. "Well show us your muscles," Robert said with mirth to the skinny twig of a lad.
Bran attempted to flex his bicep as he had seen the men do. Robert chuckled and patted his head. "You'll be a soldier."
Bran didn't know what to think of that, his interest in weapons and war play lower than his sister Arya's. He wanted nothing more than to be free really. To climb anything and see the world, yes, that was a splendid dream. No soldier business for him, Bran was sure.
Arya couldn't contain herself anymore, eyes on Jaime Lannister. She pointed him out with a nod of her head to Sansa, saying his name and connections. Yet still she hadn't seen the Imp or the Silver Lady Knight.
The Queen had reached the Starks, Cersei stretching out her hand to Ned with a look of disinterest on her face. The Lord of Winterfell hesitated, seeing his sister's face briefly in place of the Lannister woman before he kissed her knuckles and bowed his head.
"My Queen," he spoke, his wife echoing him with an even greater bow.
"Take me to your crypts, I want to pay my respects," Robert interrupted rudely, his eyes hardened with regret and sorrow.
Cersei felt her insides burn like touching a hot poker from the fire. Already the ghost of a dead woman was on her husband's mind, driving him forward. Though at this point in their marriage there was truly no love to be lost between them, Cersei still felt the prick of jealousy brought on by a memory.
"We've been riding for a month, my love, surely the dead can wait," She tried to reason with her husband. Her eyes reflected the pain and embarrassment he was putting her through at this time.
Yet Robert would have none of it, least of all from the woman who held a place that hadn't ever been hers. Giving her a stern look briefly in return before nodding and calling to Ned, Robert walked away from them all. Winterfell wasn't a place he didn't know, but he wanted Ned with him in the crypts. They had things to speak on, plans to discuss.
Cersei couldn't bare the brush off. It was a blow not only to a small part of her heart but also a dagger to her ego. She was a proud Lannister and though she had married a Stag, she would never see herself as one. The final swing of the emotional blade was when the youngest female Stark inquired where her beastly little brother was.
"Where's the Imp?" Arya questioned, her child mind not contemplating that of the current atmosphere like the adults and older children could. Sansa snapped at her in return and Cersei spun away on her heel returning to her brother's side.
"Where is our brother? Go find that little beast before he makes me look like a fool."
A scowl set to Cersei's lips as she saw the look of disappointment on Cyra's face at calling the girl's uncle a beast. Another thing Cersei felt jealous over and hated her monstrous brother more for; his unique bond that was unshakable with Cyra.