Comments and Reviews would be welcome as always. :3
Third Moon of 285 AC, The Weirwood Cave:
pov Brynden Rivers
Beneath the weirwood roots, deep in the hollow caverns of the ancient tree, the old man watched.
His one red eye was open.
The ravens clustered in the canopy above him, silent for once. Outside, the wind howled across the frozen forest. But within the roots, there was only stillness—and the flickering light of fire seen through ancient eyes. After the return of the abominations he had shifted his attention to the ancient castle of the Starks because where else would the two return to after whereever they had been?
Winterfell.
He watched through the eyes of a pale-faced raven perched in the solar's high rafters, its gaze fixed upon the Lord of Winterfell and the boy who was not truly a boy.
"I saw the Wall," the abomination said. "Heard the horn blow three times. Saw dead things walking. A blue-eyed king beneath the stars..."
Bloodraven listened in silence. At first, he had dismissed the rumors—resurrected bastards they may have been but whispers of prophecy where prophecy did not belong? How could he who usually knew everything have believed that? But now… he felt the chill that was not from snow.
This one—Torrhen Snow no Skywalker—knew. Not guessed. Not wondered. Knew. He spoke of the Night King as if he had met him. Knew the timing. The place. The nature of the coming storm.
That knowledge could not have come from dreams alone.
Greensight? Perhaps. It would have indeed allowed the boy to gain knowledge this precise. But then why could Bloodraven not sense the boy in the weirwood network?
Bloodraven had glimpsed fragments of the Long Night to come—too many shadows, too many screams—but not like this. This was clear. As if someone had told the boy the ending to a tale yet unwritten.
Or... had lived through it.
A shiver ran through his wooden flesh. Not fear—not quite. But the ache of something ancient turning in the dark.
Was he from the future? Was his successor and humanity even with all of Bloodraven's plans and preperations unable to defeat the great other?
Had his successor—grown so desperate in the last hour that they had… defied the rules of reality itself?
It would not be the first time someone had bent the weave of time. But it was only to manipulate the flow of time itself and then it was restricted to lets say a small island but sending someone back?
And yet…
This boy—this creature—he did not speak of thrones or dragons. He had no designs on power. He warned of doom, prepared for war, gathered people not for conquest, but for survival.
That was what unsettled Bloodraven most.
He isn't fighting to change the story for himself. He's trying to save it.
Bloodraven leaned deeper into the roots, the weirwood's tendrils crawling further into his decayed flesh, anchoring him to memory and myth.
He thought of pride. Of vengeance against the family that had sent him away after all those years of service and sacrifice. Of all the years he had spent whispering through leaves and bone. Waiting for prophecy to resolve itself with fire and blood.
But what if the fire that would save them had already come?
Not in a dragon… but in a phoenix? A strange and to him unknown animal it might have been but the symbolism and the irony wasn't lost on him.
He felt the boy's blade's power through the trees. Fire-born. Reforged. A blade from another forge entirely. Not Valyrian. Not Targaryen. But sharp. Dangerous. And not of this world.
He was wrong. He had to be. Nothing this unnatural should be allowed to shift the song.
And yet...
Bloodraven's lone red eye blinked once. Slow. Thoughtful.
Perhaps it was time to look past old griefs and older loyalties. The North remembered. So must he.
The song was changing.
And perhaps—just perhaps—he had found someone he could work with. But with everything still so far away he would see and wait what the boy and his sister would do next. Maybe Bloodraven was overthinking everything. Maybe.
**Scene Break**
Fifth Moon of 285 AC, Skane:
POV: Lyarra Skywalker
They had left Winterfell after finally giving Ned a few final gifts. A book with explanations and designs about the water wheel, wheelbarrows, the hierapolas saw mill, soap making, boiling water and surgical instruments and finally germ theory and a design of the microscope.
Alongside that they gifted him sacks of potatoes and wheat seeds. They figured that if those could be grown even in the tundra regions of the overworld than they should fare better than normal Westerosi crops.
Sure, Ned would not be able to keep such improvements to life and productivity secret for too long but the twins had agreed that their combined nerdy knowledge from their (past?) life in the modern world should be put to use to improve life in Westeros.
They had literal gold farms in the overworld, now the approval of the king to mint coins and plenty more ideas on how to make more coin. No even if they would not bring enough coin in through exports at first then they'd increase mint. For that a mint would have to be built first of course and the builders for that were still on their way from King's Landing.
Lyarra was brought out of her thoughts when the fishing village near Frostgate could be seen in the distance. It was growing, wooden homes already ringed with simple gardens and farms further to the side, and a small shrine to the Old Gods freshly carved near the center. It extended from the stone port that had been built by Steve and Lyarra before they had left and judging by it's size roughly 200 people should now be living there.
The wind howled as the ship pulled into the sheltered bay at the village but Lyarra stood at the prow, unmoved by the spray of sea and snow. Behind her, ships carrying a hundred guards who stood at respectful attention. Dozens of servants, a scribe, and hopeful smallfolk huddled together, eyeing the looming keep in the distance.
And loom it did. Even Lyarra, who had seen it drawn and built with her own eyes, felt a jolt of awe. The obsidian and deepslate-colored fortress rose like the spine of some ancient beast, its towers crowned with black and white glass.
Elia stared in open shock as they passed through the massive gates. Ashara blinked up at the ramparts. Rhaenys tugged at her mother's sleeve.
"I... how long has this been here?" asked Ashara with a confusion that was mirrored on her companions. None of them had ever heard of such a grand castle being vacant on Skane. Then again none of them knew anything about Skane itself.
"Was this here when you arrived in this state or did you have to repair it?" asked Ashara confusedly.
"Oh no, the Craftsons, my brother and I built this all ourselves" said Lyarra with a lot of pride.
"But but... this castle is almost as big in scale as Winterfell... how many Skagosi did it take to built such a fortress in just a year?"
"No you misunderstand me. Frostgate was built entirely by us four, noone else was there to help at the time. Took a long time too.. like 2 weeks I think it was." Lyarra said before remembering that this was a ridiculous time span in Westerosi terms.
"You built this in two weeks?" Elia asked faintly.
"I don't believe it, that's impossible.. Unless you used some of that strange magic you are said to have." said Bronn. In response Lyarra sighed and said, "Believe it or not, you better accept that this will be our home from now on."
Inside, the castle was bustling. Banners bearing the inverted colours of House Stark flapped above the inner court. Armored guards drilled but their movements betrayed their severe lack of experience with Bronn already groaning on about how much time he would have to spend actually getting these novices to any kind of readiness. Thoros was quickly roped in to help with that task.
"Right we'll have to replace those with House Skywalker's actual banners now" Lyarra thought, looking up at the banners bearing the white wolf on a dark background.
(Banner of House Skywalker since I actually got around to making it properly lol)
Lyarra handed off Elia and the others to Captain Arnold of the Diamond Guard who reassured her that they had expanded their numbers and had things well in hand, then made her way through the inner bailey towards her chambers in the central tower. Before she could ascend the steps, a familiar figure intercepted her—Nicole Kidman, master of farming and one of the earliest faithful.
"My lady," Nicole said with a respectful nod, "welcome home."
"Thank you, Nicole," Lyarra said warmly. "I've been reviewing the reports. Why are the second ring farms empty?"
Nicole smiled. "Because we no longer need them. The Overworld provides far more efficiently than manual labor here. With the portal active and the food preserved in storage, our efforts are better spent elsewhere."
Lyarra blinked. "Wait… you've been producing food in the Overworld and stockpiling it here? How much?" Lyarra and Torrhen had planned to abandon the farms at Stark Manor to give
"More than we can eat. Wheat, baked potatoes, carrots, sugarcane. We studied the automated farms your brother built in Stark Manor. We've replicated them—expanded them. The faithful have been… industrious."
"I can see that." Lyarra narrowed her eyes, half impressed, half wary. "And how many faithful are we talking about now?"
Nicole's grin turned sly. "Every villager who steps through the portal gains sentience. And once they return, they keep it. So we've… expanded our workforce by well looking for other villages around Stark Manor. Quietly. Obediently. Productively."
Lyarra thought about this, worrying about the amount of food they already had. Sure on first glance it was a good thing but they wanted to settle more and more people on Skane... wouldn't their automated food production (even if it was limited to a few things) not make the smallfolk farmers essentially... obsolete?
She voiced her concerns to Nicole who only shrugged in response "It would make them basically obsolete in terms of economic importance but is that such a bad thing?"
After thinking about this for some more Lyarra came to the conclusion that no, it would actually be a good thing. Income would be completely independent from Skane''s normal farmers, all taxes on farming could basically be forgotten about which could lead to more smallfolk choosing industrial jobs and attract more people to Skane.
Lyarra exhaled, half laughing. "You've exceeded my expectations."
Nicole dipped her head. "You gave us purpose. A cause. We serve the messiah—and his friends"
Lyarra felt a faint flutter of unease at the title, but let it go. There were worse cults than one obsessed with the long night and loyalty to her friend Steve.
"One thing though," Nicole added. "Before you formally take up your duties, I suggest you speak with one of the faithful—Scrooge McDuck. He's been co-managing our storage and coin operations… and the gold farms."
Lyarra frowned. "The… gold farms?"
"Oh yes." Nicole smiled with amusement. "He's a bit obsessed. With gold, minting, vaults, ledgers. Once you intend to begin crafting a proper northern currency, he might be your best candidate for overseeing the mint once you assume stewardship fully."
"I assume he's reliable?"
"Oh, fanatical. He treats every gold nugget like a newborn pup. You'll see."
Nicole offered a final bow. "Welcome home, Lady Lyarra."
As the master farmer walked off towards the tunnel leading to the portal chamber, Lyarra looked up at the spires of Fortress Skane. It would soon be time to introduce things like guitars, pianos, drums, chess, football and other things. The future was coming quickly now. But for once, it looked like they might be ahead of it.
**Scene Break**
Fourth Moon of 285 AC, Castle Black:
POV: Torrhen Skywalker
Snow crunched beneath boots as the gates of Castle Black opened, creaking against the cold wind. The King's party entered in solemn procession, black-cloaked men watching from atop the Wall and from the courtyard below. Ser Barristan rode just behind Robert, who looked bored already. Beside them rode Torrhen, flanked by Steve and Alex, followed closely by the seven members of their newly-formed Honor Guard.
The wind off the Wall was sharp, but the atmosphere within Castle Black was surprisingly warm—at least in spirit. The men of the Night's Watch stood straighter than expected, many even smiling beneath their hoods.
The Lord Commander—an older, grizzled man with streaks of white in his beard but clear eyes and a kind mouth—stepped forward. "Your Grace," he said with a bow, then turned to Torrhen. "And the new Lord Skywalker. We've heard much of your travels. You're welcome at Castle Black."
Torrhen inclined his head. "Thank you, Lord Commander. We hope we're not too much trouble."
"Not at all," the old man said. "Castle Black has seen worse. And better but that was a long time ago. Right now, we've settled for tolerable."
The warmth of the greeting surprised Torrhen. The Night's Watch—so often grim in tales—seemed stable here. There was even laughter echoing from the common hall as they were led inside.
At the feast, the fire roared in the hearths and the smell of roast mutton, onions, and strong ale filled the long hall. Brothers of the Night's Watch mingled awkwardly with courtiers and guardsmen. Robert Baratheon drank deeply and loudly, while Barristan stood at the head table in reserved silence, speaking only occasionally with the Lord Commander.
Torrhen found himself between Steve and Alex, picking at a trencher of thick stew and exchanging comments about the hall's draftiness.
"I like it," Alex said, tugging her fur-lined collar tighter. "It's honest. Stone, fire, food, steel. No frills."
"It is very Skane," Steve agreed, nodding toward a support beam that looked like it had been hastily reinforced with blackened driftwood.
At the far end, the Honor Guard huddled awkwardly over their food, trying to appear disciplined while clearly terrified of eating in front of the King having been told the importance he had in Westeros.
The next morning brought pale sunlight and biting cold. In the yard, the seven Honor Guards stood stiffly in their mismatched armor, facing a row of new recruits from the Watch.
Swords were drawn. Staves clacked. Boots slid in the snow-packed dirt.
Torrhen stood with arms crossed, watching as two of his guards tangled over footwork and another tripped trying to parry a straightforward swing.
Alliser Thorne, watching from a nearby bench with a cup of warm wine, let out a long-suffering sigh. "Seven gods, I've seen better swordsmanship from dead squirrels."
Torrhen glanced over. "They're raw, yes. But teachable."
"These are the ones you've entrusted to guard your lives?" Thorne asked, incredulous. "The compatriots of the infamous Torrhen Snow—well, Skywalker—decided these nitwits should be their Honor Guard?"
Steve shrugged. "It was either that or naming the cows."
Thorne didn't laugh. "They've no rhythm. No edge. If this is what passes for elite guards in Skane, gods help us if the wildlings come south."
"Then help them," Torrhen said mildly. "We're not asking for praise. We're asking for training."
Thorne muttered something rude in response and stormed off. But he didn't stop watching. The next few days the Targaryen loyalist spent a lot of his time teaching the Craftson guards. Torrhen figured that the knight felt gratefullness towards Torrhen for saving a lot of the royal family.
Three days later, the courtyard was full again—this time with pack animals, supplies, and cloaks drawn tightly against the wind. The King's retinue prepared to continued northeast towards Fort Craster then northward into the dark—he still hoped to "see one of these monsters himself," despite every sensible warning.
"You sure about this, your Grace?" Ser Barristan asked quietly. "We do not have to travel so far if you just want to see the monsters"
Robert chuckled. "I want to see if all these ghost stories are worth losing sleep over and I am sure the more north we go the increasingly formidable these monsters are."
Torrhen stood beside Alex and Steve as they prepared their own departure. The trio would not follow the King further along the Wall. Their path first lead along the wall and then northeast towards Hardhome.
Lyarra and the others had reached Skane safely days before. It was now Torrhen's time to begin the next phase—mapping, rebuilding, and preparing the eastern coast for the future he saw in the show.
Torrhen mounted his horse, looking back once toward the high black wall behind them. "Time to walk into the frost," he muttered.
Steve snorted. "Better than more court dinners."
And together, the Honor Guard following behind, they rode along the edge of the world—toward the dead city at the end of the sea.
**Scene Break**