Chapter 53: Death and Life

Ned Stark held the message from King's Landing in his hands nervously. King Stannis had agreed to the visit to Moat Cailin and would try to be there two months from now. The news worried the Lord of Winterfell, as he knew that what would happen at Moat Cailin could either solidify the armies of the living or tear them apart so close to the time that they will be needed. He knew he had been the one to ask for this though, and so Ned placed the letter down and began to think on who would stay in Winterfell during all of this.

His first thought was Sansa, and so he pushed himself out of his chair and made his way out into the courtyard, ready to cross it towards Septa Mordane's lessons, where his eldest red-headed daughter would be helping the younger redhead. On the way he noticed both Robin Arryn and Rickon sparring in the middle of the courtyard, grinning as he saw the wooden swords smashing against one another. He also noticed Robb in the corner of the courtyard, helping little Beron into his first set of padding. Ned grinned at the sight and almost went over towards them, but he shook his head and continued on to interrupt the Septa's lesson.

It was dancing today, and Ned stayed in the doorway for a moment as he watched Sansa whisk Sara around the dancefloor gracefully, teaching her where her feet should go for the basic dances. Ned smiled fondly, although he wished for his second youngest daughter to stop growing for a few years. She was the first one to see him, and Ned crouched down to catch the 6-year-old as she leapt into his arms.

"Sara Stark!" Septa Mordane cried out from behind the harp. "That is not a way for a Lady to behave."

Sansa rolled her eyes as Ned stood up with Sara in his arms. "Oh hush, Septa. Father rarely comes down to see our lessons, we can take a break." She scolded the old woman. "Hello, Father."

"Did you see me?" Sara asked brightly, her blue eyes shining up at him.

"I did." Ned nodded. "You looked very good." Sara grinned, and Ned noticed a tooth missing. He placed a finger to her mouth and said. "And I see your grown-up teeth are starting to come in."

Sara nodded. "Mother says I'm growing too fast." She told him

Ned chuckled. "Your Mother is right." He placed her back on the stone floor. "Run back to your lessons now, little one. I must speak with your sister."

Sara looked slightly disappointed, but she nodded and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before running off into the room. Sansa watched after her happily. "I can't believe how like Arya she is in some ways." She told him.

"Yet in more ways, she's like you." Ned added, before his face became more serious. "I need to speak to you about something."

Sansa looked up at him questioningly. "Of course, what is it Father?"

"The King has agreed to travel to Moat Cailin with Bran." Ned explained. "I must go of course, and I think the young ones should meet their brother. I would like you and Domeric to stay and take charge of Winterfell's affairs while I am away." He expected a number of different reactions from Sansa at this request, but if the Lord of Winterfell was totally honest, he had never expected nervousness. Sansa wrung her hands together and bit her lip awkwardly. "What is it?"

"It's…" Sansa began, before sighing. "I don't think we can, Father. Dom received a raven from the Dreadfort yesterday, Lord Bolton wishes for us to move their permanently."

That threw Ned slightly, but as his mind worked out what her words meant, he realised that stood before him wasn't his little girl anymore. Stood before him was his 18-year-old daughter, with a husband of her own. He smiled down at her and brought her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. "While I wish you could stay at Winterfell forever, you are ready for this Sansa."

Sansa nodded. "I am." She told him, and those two words told Ned more about the growth of his eldest girl than most other things could. He remembered the stage where she was terrified of the Dreadfort. The emotion must have been clear on his face because Sansa looked up at him. "Don't be sad, Father."

Ned smiled at her sadly. "I'm just realising how grown up you have become." He reassured her. "It doesn't seem that long ago that I saw you and Torrhen wrapped up in the same blanket together having just been born. Now you are off to become the Lady of the Dreadfort, Torrhen is thousands of miles away trying to reforge an alliance that has been broken for over 20 years. I will likely always miss the children you were, but I cannot help but be overwhelmed with pride at the adults you have become."

Sansa looked like she was tearing up and she crashed into him with a tight hug, which Ned happily returned. "We will always be your little twins." She whispered. "Only from afar, and not causing trouble underneath your feet."

Ned chuckled as he looked over at Sara, who was doing her own clumsy interpretation of how to dance to whatever Septa Mordane was playing on the harp. "I think I have enough troublemakers in the castle as it is anyway." He commented, pulling away once more. "When do you need to leave?"

"Within the week." Sansa surmised. "I think Domeric is stalling so we can spend longer here, but if we stall for too long we will never want to go."

Ned agreed with her logic. "I'll prepare a strong guard for you." He told her.

"10 men at most." Sansa said warningly. "I will be fine, Father. I can handle Lord Bolton."

"Just be careful." Ned said quietly. "He may be getting what he wants, but ambitious men always have another plan."

Watching the Unsullied board the Meereenese ships was a masterpiece in organisation. It had been decided that the Frostfang would also take both Dany and Jon back, so it was to be the last ship to be boarded. Dany was currently giving last minute instructions to Varys, who was travelling on a different ship.

"I can't believe I'm going home." Jory Cassel sighed peacefully. "I've enjoyed my adventures here, but nothing beats home."

Torrhen grinned. "Well I know there will be a lot of people eager to see you once more." He explained before looking at Jon. "Both of you."

Jon nodded. "I just hope Stannis is amenable." He said cautiously. "I don't want to fight."

"We won't." Torrhen said optimistically. "I am sure of it."

At that moment Dany walked over towards the gathered Northmen. "The Council of Dragon's Bay is now completely in control." She said with a grin. "It's time."

"Are we sure that they have a handle on it?" Torrhen asked with a raised eyebrow. "I still have nightmares about the Sons of the Harpy." He shuddered.

Dany shook her head. "Daario is under strict instructions, as are the rest of them." She grinned up at the dragons flying overhead. "Slavery will never return."

Torrhen clapped his hands together. "Good!" He exclaimed. "Now, let's get ourselves out of this unbearable heat and over to Westeros." He led them all onto wooden rowboats that sailed them out into the bay towards the Frostfang, and once they were on the Stark flagship the Lord of the Causeway showed them all to their respective cabins, before he made his way to his own one where Mira was already trying to settle Asher down.

"Are we ready?" She asked him once she had kept Asher quiet with a book, turning to Torrhen as he took off his fine clothing and went to put on his signature black Stark armour.

"Almost." Torrhen answered. He allowed Mira to tighten the straps as he stared past the table in his chambers and over to the locked chest. Once his wife had finished, he kissed her quickly before making his way back out to the deck, where the captain was barking out some final orders. "Captain, are we ready?"

"Aye My Lord!" He barked. "OARS AT THE READY!" He screamed to the crew. "BRING THAT SAIL DOWN!"

Torrhen stood up by the wheel staring down at the host of activity going on, and he felt himself smile as the ship lurched forwards away from Meereen. He turned back at the Great Pyramid, silently praying that he would never have to come back to this part of the world in his lifetime.

King's Landing was abuzz with activity. As the servants were preparing the food, drink, clothing and everything else that the small party that were travelling North would need, the King was ensuring that he had a fully functioning council in his absence. Bran knew that the majority of the council were staying, and that only the King and Ser Barristan would travel out of the 7. He was a bit saddened that Shireen wasn't coming too, but Bran was still excited about going home.

He and Summer arrived in the Throne Room to see Stannis talking with Grand Maester Yandel quietly. He stood awkwardly away from them for a few minutes before the adults stopped their conversation and Stannis walked over to the Stark.

"Your Grace." Bran bowed.

"Come, Brandon." Stannis called, passing Bran without stopping. "We must pay my brother a visit."

That excited Bran. The Lady Margaery had been in King's Landing for a while now, and the celebration when she announced her pregnancy was the largest that Bran had known. The evening before he had been told by Shireen that the birth had begun, so Bran could only assume that this meant that Storm's End had a new heir. "Is the baby here?" He asked Stannis.

The King nodded curtly. "A healthy boy, the Maester told me."

Bran could see the faintest hint of a smile on Stannis' lips. "That's wonderful news."

"It is." Stannis commented. "I must see the baby first though, I don't want to go through the same thing twice…" He trailed off. "Forget I said that, Brandon."

Bran had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded anyway and followed the King up to the Lady Margaery's chambers. Two Tyrell guards were on the door and they immediately knocked and announced Stannis when they saw him approach. The door swung open and Renly appeared. His eyes were red as if he had been crying, but he had a wide grin on his face. "Brother!" He exclaimed.

"I came as soon as I heard." Stannis explained.

Renly nodded, and then he saw Bran and Summer. "Ah… could you tell the wolf to stay here…" HE trailed off.

Bran nodded. "Of course, Lord Renly." He answered, turning to Summer. "Summer, go to my rooms." He told the Direwolf. Summer just blinked and turned, walking away.

"So obedient." Renly chuckled. "Anyway, come on in you two. Shireen is already here."

So was Olenna Tyrell, Bran noticed as he walked into the room. He took his place over by Shireen who was beaming as well. "He's so cute." Shireen whispered.

Bran looked over at Margaery sat in the bed. Her hair was askew, and she was red and sweaty, something that Bran knew for a fact she would hate to be seen as. In her arms however was a tiny bundle. The room was silent as Stannis moved over to the bedside, and he took one look at the baby before the impossible happened. The King smiled.

"A healthy Baratheon." He declared.

"Well of course he is." Olenna rolled her eyes. "My daughter is no Cersei Lannister."

"Grandmother." Margaery warned, although she sounded tired.

Shireen was bouncing on her toes. "Have you thought of a name?" She asked.

Renly went to sit beside his wife. "Robert." He said quickly. "I can think of no finer name for the future Lord of Storm's End."

Stannis stood very still for a moment before he nodded his approval. "I like it." He said fondly. "Congratulations, the pair of you."

"Once you are back from the North, we want to go back to Storm's End." Renly explained. "The Lords should meet the new heir."

"Of course." Stannis agreed. "But for now I will need you to aid Lord Davos with the running of the Realm." Renly just nodded, before his attention returned to the baby. Stannis walked over to the youngsters. "I need you both to go to the ravenry. The birth of Robert Baratheon, heir to Storm's End must be sent to the entire realm."

Bran nodded formally, whilst Shireen smiled brightly. "Of course Father. Come on, Bran." She grabbed his hand and jolted him away, giggling as they ran down the corridors together.

Wintertown was slowly filling up as the snows began to become more frequent in the North, and with a long Winter expected, Robb had had the idea of expanding the town. He walked through the slushie streets with Grey Wind looking around as the occupants went about their daily business, hearing the chatter of the smallfolk mixed with the hammers of the builders.

His reasons for visiting Wintertown had changed over the years. Gone were the days of frequenting the alehouses with Theon and gone were the days of standing awkwardly in the brothels waiting for the Ironborn to finish up with whoever he had paid for the night before, usually Ros. Now the heir to Winterfell was walking to a fancy little house by Northern standards in order to have one last night of revelry before he was placed in charge of Winterfell again. His Father had told him that when the King arrived in the North it would be his job to be the Stark in Winterfell, and if he was being honest Robb was looking forward to it. He loved his family, but he knew that one day they wouldn't be here, and the chance to see what Winterfell would look like with just him, Wylla and his children was an intriguing one. His thoughts on the future came to an abrupt end when he noticed his destination in the distance, where a banner of a golden circle on a field of black flew from the small wooden walls. He grinned when he saw it, remembering the wedding that had led to the banner.

Theon had grown fond of Jeyne Poole, who with her childish infatuation had insisted on being one of his carers as the Ironborn recovered from having his arm removed. Things had gone from there, and a couple of months ago Theon had wed Jeyne in front of the Heart Tree, taking her sigil in his colours and changing his name to 'Greypoole'. Ned had happily given the pair some land in Wintertown and an allowance to let them live comfortably, but Theon was still constantly training hard to get used to his one arm.

As Robb entered the small courtyard he noticed Theon whacking a dummy with both his sword and what looked like a metal arm. He grinned at the sight and called out. "I see Mikken finally finished it."

Theon turned, panting, and smirked at his friend. "Aye, it fits like a charm." He held out the metal limb and allowed Robb to come up to him and feel it. "Strong too, Ser Rodrik reckons I can use it like a shield."

Robb could see the benefits of that. "When you feel up to it we'll spar again." He said, stroking the smooth metal surface. He looked around the house. "Jeyne not here?"

Theon shook his head. "Sansa told her that she was soon to leave for the Dreadfort so she's up at the castle doing whatever it is those two get up to."

Robb snorted. "Good. It gives you some free time then." Theon raised an eyebrow to query that, and Robb held up a couple of money pouches. "The children are with Wylla, everyone is either fussing over Sansa or preparing for the King's visit… let's go to the alehouse for the first time in forever."

Theon laughed aloud. "Aye, it's been a long time since I've had a good drink." He admitted. He went over to place his training sword away and grabbed a cloak, wrapping it around himself. "I bet I can still outdrink you…"

"As if." Robb rolled his eyes, putting his arm around Theon and dragging him away from the house and into the town. They went to their favourite alehouse and were given a private room, and soon enough they were drinking their drinks and laughing together like old times.

Torrhen waited until the Frostfang had made it past the Isle of Cedars before he invited Daenerys and Jon into his personal quarters. Mira had taken Asher to a different part of the boat so that Torrhen had the space to talk to them properly. He sat them down at his dinner table with the pair of them looking at him expectantly.

"What is it?" Daenerys asked.

Torrhen took a deep breath before he walked over to the windows that looked out on the water behind the ship. "Stannis Baratheon was crowned over a year ago as you know, and I'm sure somewhere you've been wondering why it took us so long to arrive in Meereen." He didn't wait for their responses, but the glare in the mirror showed that their reflection was agreeing. "The truth is, we first travelled to Braavos and stayed there for a week to replenish our stores and make sure that the Frostfang was as defensively capable as we possibly could, before heading down to Volantis to restock once more before we left."

"That still wouldn't take that long." Dany commented.

"Aye, it didn't." Torrhen admitted, still staring away from them. We sailed from Volantis 5 months after the coronation, but we made one last stop, in Valyria."

Dany sucked in a breath as her eyes widened. "You went back?" She whispered.

"Back?" Jon exclaimed, horrified. "You've been there before?"

"Not in this lifetime." Torrhen explained. "But yes, I went back." He pulled a key from around his neck and held it in his fingers for a moment. "I thought that because I've been there before I could simply be in and out of the ruins in a day… I was wrong." He placed the key down on the table and sighed before he went to pull his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" Jon asked.

Torrhen didn't say anything as his shirt was removed, and Jon gasped. Whilst his front was relatively unscarred, as soon as Torrhen turned around the charred skin and burning was evident. "I was unlucky, I got caught in the raging fires that still burn to this day. We quickly left for Elyria where I was kept bedridden for weeks upon weeks."

"I've not seen these before…" Jon noted. "We've sparred in the heat regularly…"

"I keep them covered unless I'm with Mira." Torrhen shrugged. They do not hurt me, whatever the physicians of Elyria did ensured that, but it's a reminder of why Valyria is so dangerous."

"Why did you go there?" Jon looked angry as Torrhen pulled his shirt back on. "Why risk your life like that?"

Torrhen smirked. "That is an excellent question." He moved over and grabbed Winter's Bite, placing the sheathed sword on the table. "This sword is from the other reality. It was forged from half of the blade of Brightroar, the Lannister sword. Riversteel is the other half, yet the Gods blessed me and granted me the sword, promising me that the original steel still exists." He then picked the key back up and moved over to his chest, unlocking the wooden object and opening it with a loud creaking. He pulled out another sword, one sheathed in a black casing with red and gold vines weaving around it. The hilt made it obvious however, as the wavy gold cross guard with the ruby in the middle along with the golden flame pommel gave it away.

"Dark Sister…" Dany gasped.

Torrhen walked back to the table and handed it to Daenerys. "A gift, from my Father to you, Dany." He explained.

"How did Father have it?" Jon asked.

Torrhen smirked. "It was yours." He explained. "Rhaegar had it and took it to the Tower, to prove your legitimacy in case of his death I suppose, but with Robert on the Throne Father knew it was too dangerous, so Howland Reed hid the blade in the Neck and you became Jon Snow, bastard son of Ned Stark."

"It's mine?" Jon was trying to process the information.

Torrhen nodded. "Originally, but I think it's better suited to Dany. Don't worry, I have a gift for you too." He moved back to the chest and this time pulled out a great sword that was only slightly smaller than Ice. He placed that on the table too, and Jon stared down at the golden lion on the pommel that was poking out of a sheath that had been made quickly in Elyria whilst Torrhen had been bedridden. "Brightroar." He answered the unspoken question. "Gerion Lannister found it but died before he could retrieve it. I'm taking this back for Jaime Lannister. For you however…" He trailed off, before he pulled out one final blade. "Your ancestral sword."

The ruby in the pommel was still as shiny as ever, and the dragon headed cross guard still gave Torrhen chills. He handed Blackfyre, the sword of King's, over to Jon who took it nervously, pulling the blade out of the second hastily made sheath. The ripples of Valyrian Steel shone in the candlelight, and Torrhen felt deju vu once more as he watched Jon hold Blackfyre in his hands. "Is this real?" Jon asked cautiously.

Torrhen grinned. "Aye, in your hands you hold the blade of Aegon the Conqueror, of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, of Daeron the Young. For years it's been lost in the hands of the Blackfyre's, but because a portion of the Golden Company died in Valyria and allowed me to find it, the sword is now yours, Aegon." He used Jon's Targaryen name for effect.

Jon gulped nervously as he placed the unsheathed weapon down on the table before turning to Torrhen. They hugged fiercely, and Jon whispered. "Thank you." Torrhen said nothing, but both the thought of Jon wielding Blackfyre while riding on a dragon as well as two more Valyrian Steel swords added to the side of the living gave him hope that they would win this.

The cold winds were blowing ferociously as a dozen mounted figures slowly entered the port town of Hardhome. Visibility was low as the snows whipped around fiercely, but the figures stood firm in the face of the howling winds. As they arrived at the hastily erected wooden gates, it was already clear that something wasn't right. Hardhome should have been the location of thousands of living souls to add to his army, and yet the only footprints pressed into the snow were that of horses and himself.

Unemotionally, he placed his hand upon the wooden gates and let the magic flow through his fingers as wood became ice. When a large amount of the gate was frozen he silently commanded one of his brethren to break through the barrier, and soon enough he was inside the empty town.

Knowing something was wrong, he slowly made his way out of Hardhome and walked towards the nearest Weirwood Tree. He knew the old man would be watching as soon as he touched the sacred white bark, but he had been hiding for 8,000 years, that was long enough.

He pressed his palm to the bark and his mind left his body. He saw his creation, as the Children of the Forest enticed him to consent to being experimented on in order to overthrow his brother. He saw the fear in his own eyes as he realised what that experimenting was going to be, and he unemotionally watched on as his human form mutated and adapted into the icy figure he has known for millennia. He saw both the war against the First Men, and then the war against the living, watching as he faced his brother again twenty years after his creation before being forced to retreat and hide for 8,000 years.

The visions then changed as he saw Hardhome, but this time it was populated with thousands upon thousands, all but a few ended up joining his army, and he saw himself facing a man with his brothers features sail away. The scene turned, and the fields surrounding the Weirwood Tree that he had faced off against Brandon in was now a gigantic castle, the Weirwood Tree now part of a vast wooded area, where he saw himself fighting against a different man, but he again had the same features as his brother. Fires burned around the tree and his brethren were destroying the living around a different boy in a wheelchair. He watched on as he stabbed the Stark through the stomach, dropping him to the ground barely alive. When it all seemed too easy however, he saw himself shatter into a million little shards of Ice as the Stark thrust a blade into him.

His vision went white, and he saw the Old Man in his little tree throne. "You were unwise to seek this sight, Jonos." The Three Eyed Raven warned. "Only death shall come of this." His ability to speak had been taken from him millennia ago, but the Night King cocked his head to show how uncaring he was. He had to know the truth, he had to know what had changed. He used all of his will to break through the barriers that the Three Eyed Raven had put up, and he saw the same Godswood inside the castle, and his killer as a child, asking why he had been brought back.

That gave him the clarification he needed. The living were prepared for him and had obviously made moves to counter him. For the first time in centuries he felt true anger, and he pushed himself away from the Weirwood Tree, ceasing the visions. His hand had left a flaming print on the Weirwood, right beside the open eyed and staring face that had been carved. If the living had made plans, then so would he.

A couple of hours later, he and his brethren were outside a long-abandoned cave. He alone walked inside, only taking three steps on the stone before he stopped and knelt down, letting the magic seep into the stone. Moments later, he knew that his plan had worked, as he heard the scurrying of multiple arachnids rushing towards him.