"Bind the deserter. Get ready to return to Winterfell." Ned Stark ordered.
"What about him, m'lord?" The captain asked, pointing at me.
"He will follow us, peacefully. I will render judgement on him once we reach Winterfell." Ned Stark eyed me with a look of warning.
"Remember, if you so much as make a sound, you will be executed right there."
"Got it. Don't worry." I raised my hands in mock defeat.
Ned Stark nodded and turned to the captain.
"Keep an eye on him."
The captain nodded.
Robb gave me one last hateful glare, while Jon looked at me with complicated emotions.
"Come. Follow me." The Captain said, mounting his horse as we set off for Winterfell.
[You just antagonized them for no reason. Is this truly wise?]
Think of it like this. Would the herald of the gods be polite or vassalating towards mortals?
These are medieval people who work in social hierarchies. Anyone who bows down to you is considered below you, and you know what happens to those on the bottom.
[They get trampled.]
Exactly. Still, making an enemy of the local powers was not a wise move, just a necessary one to induce a sense of mystery around me.
Why else do you think Lord Stark decided to spare me for now?
Right now he is wondering who I am.
Am I truly the herald of the old gods?
A spy sent by the free cities to influence him?
Or am I a faceless man, waiting to assassinate someone close to him?
Either way, he wouldn't dare kill me yet.
He is a soldier. He won't work on uncertainty and doubt. He's waiting for me to reveal my true colors before he makes a decision. After all, if what I say checks out, he might have to just believe me, however reluctantly. If only for the sake of his family and their safety.
[Doesn't mean he won't hate you. People can act irrational when angry. Your cardinal weakness.]
Yes. But it's not Stark that worries me. It's their gods. If I have to escape, I can always hold one of his kids hostage.
But the gods? Not only can all the gods of this world see the future, they can also drive men mad.
R'hollor convinced the stalwart Stannis to burn his own daughter with the visions in Melisandre's flames. He drove the Hound to a suicidal mission against the white walkers knowing full well that his death wouldn't be painless.
The drowned god revived Stannis's jester and made him spout prophecies in sonnets.
No doubt the old gods can convince Stark to just kill me if they want. So it doesn't matter if I antagonise the Starks at the outset.
Even if he loved me from the bottom of his heart, one word from the bleeding weirwood trees and he'd behead me.
And there is no way the other gods of this world haven't noticed my entry into their little playground. They can probably sense the Black Barrel within me. They know I will kill them if they don't kill me first.
I have no doubt that the God Of Many Faces has already dispatched a faceless man to get rid of me, and I doubt R'hollor is far behind. Melisandre and her shadow babies are going to be up my ass within months.
[Then why even go with them? Why not just make your own way?]
I don't have any money, dummy.
[You could have gone to White Harbor and sold your spices. That'd have fetched you starting funds.]
And then what? I go to Essos? Try to swindle the eggs off of Daenerys? Start a merchant company on the continent with the faceless men around every corner?
No. At least being here gives me a couple months of headstart before the assassins and shadow babies arrive for my throat. Blessed be the medieval transport, slow as fuck.
[What of the Drowned God?]
The iron islanders are scarcely united enough among themselves. Even if someone received a vision, it's unlikely they'll be convincing anyone anytime soon. And Euron is far, far away. This was the only way.
[That still leaves the old gods. What's to stop Stark from walking into the Godswood and coming out a different man?]
That falls upon me and my actions now. The old gods have little power outside the Godswood. From here to Winterfell is enough time for me to gain some leverage with Ned Stark. And once I succeed here, I will be safe for the next few months. Safe enough to find a way to open my magic circuits again. By then, I'll try and smooth over the bad blood between me and the Starks. Make amends, patch up the relationship.
[And how will you do that?]
Oh, I have a few ways. Let's worry about the three cards in our hands right now. We have to play them before we reach Winterfell. Or at least before Stark receives the bad news and goes to meditate in the Godswood.
Suddenly a voice at the front called out, just as we cleared the forest north of Winterfell and came upon the stream.
"Halt!"
And I smiled. Here comes the reindeer.
I looked ahead between the riders crowding the bridge and spotted an antler.
Yup. Now's my chance.
Jon and the captain soon made their way to the back of the company.
"You. Come with us." The captain ordered.
"Gladly." I said with a smug grin.
They led me ahead, across and off the bridge and down an incline to a patch of mulch by the stream. At the center of the patch lay a snow white direwolf, her body pierced through by a sharp antler, her eyes glazed and dead.
By her side, whimpering lay five direwolf cubs.
Ned Stark fixed a look at me as I walked in and Robb sneered.
"You said there would be six cubs, did you not 'herald of the old gods'? I count five." Robb taunted as I entered.
I rolled my eyes and calmly walked over to a tree by the river. Bending down, I reached into a burrow at it's side, covered by red autumn leaves and pulled out a snow white wolf cub.
"Perhaps you should learn to count again then. I'm sure Maester Luwin will be more than happy to make a place for you beside Arya, Bran and Rickon." I replied with a smug grin.
Robb narrowed his eyes and Jon's eyes twinkled with reverence.
"You could have put it there beforehand!" Robb refused to give in.
"Was it not you yourself who said that there were no elks or direwolves when you passed here earlier? And I was there in the tower with you. If I could conjure a direwolf, six cubs, and an elk from a mile away, then you truly shouldn't have any reason to doubt that I am the herald."
"What you are is a spy! Your associates must have-"
"And what would a spy get from being so finely dressed? Caught?" I chuckled, "What could I or anyone even want from the barren, desolate North? You have nothing in excess, not even manpower."
"Then an assassin-"
"Enough, Robb. I will be the one to decide what he is and is not." Ned Stark intervened.
Robb bit his tongue and scowled at me before swallowing his words.
"Yes, father." He bowed.
Ned turned to me with a complicated expression and I could tell he was beginning to doubt his earlier words.
"Tell me then herald, if the white cub is for me, who should receive the others?"
"It matters not." I replied with an expression of regalia, "Let them each choose which cub they want. The old gods have already done too much. You cannot expect them to chew your food for you as well."
Ned Stark frowned at the disrespect but I could see that his opinion had changed the slightest bit. Just as planned.
"And what of the prophecy?" Jon asked from behind.
I gave him a deadpan look.
"Well, a stag and a direwolf kill each leaving orphans all around. I wonder what that could mean?"
"Is what you speak true?" Ned Stark asked, worry clouding his eyes.
I nodded.
"Uppn your return to Winterfell, you will find Jon Arryn dead and the king marching upon Winterfell with an offer you cannot refuse. And when the time comes, you will have a choice to make Lord Stark. Let us hope you choose wisely. If not.... " I gestured at the dead direwolf on the ground.
His frown deepened and he gave me a harsh look. He wouldn't trust me that easily.
"If this turns out to be a lie or a plot to sow distrust among us ..."
"I know." I nodded.
"Come. We must make haste. To Winterfell." Ned Stark turned and stormed off towards the company of riders on the bridge.
"Jon, have the man ride with you." He ordered as we reached the horses, before turning to the captain.
"Jory."
Ah, so that's his name.
"We will ride ahead. Bring the deserter to Winterfell as soon as you can."
"Yes, m'lord." The captain nodded as I climbed up behind Jon, and we galloped away.
.
Arriving in Winterfell, the guards stood at attention and bowed to us as we entered the keep.
The keep itself was far larger than what I had seen in the show, and even more lively. It was a miniature city, complete with the cacophony of life. People going about their daily chores, pigs grunting, chicken squaking, horses whinnying. The blacksmiths to the side hammered away at their anvils, some making pans, others shovels and hoes. Women carried grain and produce into the kitchens, barricaded with thick doors and the sound of chatter and gossip permeated every corner alongside the crackling of braziers and smouldering torches. The smell was about what I had expected, stamped out horseshit, oil and grease, burning charcoal and soot all mixed with the flavour of the chill in the air.
No sooner had we entered, did a woman come up to us, followed by a man in rough, grey robes and a chain slung around his shoulders like a sash.
Catelyn Stark and Maester Luwin.
"You're back early?" She looked puzzled but happy as she scanned over us.
"Yes. Something came up. Tell me, did a raven arrive after we left?" He asked bluntly.
Catelyn Stark looked surprised and nodded. She raised her hand, showing the rolled up strip of parchment, held firm between her fingers.
"Ned? Perhaps it is best you read it in our chambers. It's... "
"No. Here is fine." He said, gently taking the parchment from her. He unfolded it and poured over it with the intensity of a man possessed.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
His hands shook for the briefest moment, his iron grip crumpling the parchment as he came to terms with what he had just read and turned to me.
"So it is true."
"It is." I nodded, "I'm sorry for your loss." I added with genuine sympathy.
I can understand what he is feeling. It is what I felt the day my grandfather died.
[Not going to insult him?]
I'm not tactless. And I know when to use the carrot and the stick.
The time for insults has passed. Now is the time for sympathy.
Ned Stark was a bit surprised to see me being polite. He let out a turbid breath and I could see his rage simmer down, replaced by decisiveness.
"If...." He lingered on the word, "I were to believe you, what would I need to do? What do the gods want from us?"
"Father...." Robb wanted to say something but even his faith was shaken. He looked between his father and me, and chose to remain silent in contemplation.
"For now? Patience." I replied laconically.
"Patience?" Ned Stark looked at me, confused.
"Ned, who is this?" Lady Catelyn moved closer to her husband and asked softly.
"He is.....the herald of the old gods." Ned finally admitted.
She looked at her husband and then at me, with a tinge of disbelief.
And I smiled.
"I am." I added, assuring her with a bow.
___________________
Tell me if you liked the chapter. Tell me if you hated it too!
Don't worry, I'll appreciate it.
Also, if you wanna read the rewrite of chapter 9 and 10 where MC dies horribly, vote here.
See ya later, skaters.
Bye~
"Bind the deserter. Get ready to return to Winterfell." Ned Stark ordered.
"What about him, m'lord?" The captain asked, pointing at me.
"He will follow us, peacefully. I will render judgement on him once we reach Winterfell." Ned Stark eyed me with a look of warning.
"Remember, if you so much as make a sound, you will be executed right there."
"Got it. Don't worry." I raised my hands in mock defeat.
Ned Stark nodded and turned to the captain.
"Keep an eye on him."
The captain nodded.
Robb gave me one last hateful glare, while Jon looked at me with complicated emotions.
"Come. Follow me." The Captain said, mounting his horse as we set off for Winterfell.
[You just antagonized them for no reason. Is this truly wise?]
Think of it like this. Would the herald of the gods be polite or vassalating towards mortals?
These are medieval people who work in social hierarchies. Anyone who bows down to you is considered below you, and you know what happens to those on the bottom.
[They get trampled.]
Exactly. Still, making an enemy of the local powers was not a wise move, just a necessary one to induce a sense of mystery around me.
Why else do you think Lord Stark decided to spare me for now?
Right now he is wondering who I am.
Am I truly the herald of the old gods?
A spy sent by the free cities to influence him?
Or am I a faceless man, waiting to assassinate someone close to him?
Either way, he wouldn't dare kill me yet.
He is a soldier. He won't work on uncertainty and doubt. He's waiting for me to reveal my true colors before he makes a decision. After all, if what I say checks out, he might have to just believe me, however reluctantly. If only for the sake of his family and their safety.
[Doesn't mean he won't hate you. People can act irrational when angry. Your cardinal weakness.]
Yes. But it's not Stark that worries me. It's their gods. If I have to escape, I can always hold one of his kids hostage.
But the gods? Not only can all the gods of this world see the future, they can also drive men mad.
R'hollor convinced the stalwart Stannis to burn his own daughter with the visions in Melisandre's flames. He drove the Hound to a suicidal mission against the white walkers knowing full well that his death wouldn't be painless.
The drowned god revived Stannis's jester and made him spout prophecies in sonnets.
No doubt the old gods can convince Stark to just kill me if they want. So it doesn't matter if I antagonise the Starks at the outset.
Even if he loved me from the bottom of his heart, one word from the bleeding weirwood trees and he'd behead me.
And there is no way the other gods of this world haven't noticed my entry into their little playground. They can probably sense the Black Barrel within me. They know I will kill them if they don't kill me first.
I have no doubt that the God Of Many Faces has already dispatched a faceless man to get rid of me, and I doubt R'hollor is far behind. Melisandre and her shadow babies are going to be up my ass within months.
[Then why even go with them? Why not just make your own way?]
I don't have any money, dummy.
[You could have gone to White Harbor and sold your spices. That'd have fetched you starting funds.]
And then what? I go to Essos? Try to swindle the eggs off of Daenerys? Start a merchant company on the continent with the faceless men around every corner?
No. At least being here gives me a couple months of headstart before the assassins and shadow babies arrive for my throat. Blessed be the medieval transport, slow as fuck.
[What of the Drowned God?]
The iron islanders are scarcely united enough among themselves. Even if someone received a vision, it's unlikely they'll be convincing anyone anytime soon. And Euron is far, far away. This was the only way.
[That still leaves the old gods. What's to stop Stark from walking into the Godswood and coming out a different man?]
That falls upon me and my actions now. The old gods have little power outside the Godswood. From here to Winterfell is enough time for me to gain some leverage with Ned Stark. And once I succeed here, I will be safe for the next few months. Safe enough to find a way to open my magic circuits again. By then, I'll try and smooth over the bad blood between me and the Starks. Make amends, patch up the relationship.
[And how will you do that?]
Oh, I have a few ways. Let's worry about the three cards in our hands right now. We have to play them before we reach Winterfell. Or at least before Stark receives the bad news and goes to meditate in the Godswood.
Suddenly a voice at the front called out, just as we cleared the forest north of Winterfell and came upon the stream.
"Halt!"
And I smiled. Here comes the reindeer.
I looked ahead between the riders crowding the bridge and spotted an antler.
Yup. Now's my chance.
Jon and the captain soon made their way to the back of the company.
"You. Come with us." The captain ordered.
"Gladly." I said with a smug grin.
They led me ahead, across and off the bridge and down an incline to a patch of mulch by the stream. At the center of the patch lay a snow white direwolf, her body pierced through by a sharp antler, her eyes glazed and dead.
By her side, whimpering lay five direwolf cubs.
Ned Stark fixed a look at me as I walked in and Robb sneered.
"You said there would be six cubs, did you not 'herald of the old gods'? I count five." Robb taunted as I entered.
I rolled my eyes and calmly walked over to a tree by the river. Bending down, I reached into a burrow at it's side, covered by red autumn leaves and pulled out a snow white wolf cub.
"Perhaps you should learn to count again then. I'm sure Maester Luwin will be more than happy to make a place for you beside Arya, Bran and Rickon." I replied with a smug grin.
Robb narrowed his eyes and Jon's eyes twinkled with reverence.
"You could have put it there beforehand!" Robb refused to give in.
"Was it not you yourself who said that there were no elks or direwolves when you passed here earlier? And I was there in the tower with you. If I could conjure a direwolf, six cubs, and an elk from a mile away, then you truly shouldn't have any reason to doubt that I am the herald."
"What you are is a spy! Your associates must have-"
"And what would a spy get from being so finely dressed? Caught?" I chuckled, "What could I or anyone even want from the barren, desolate North? You have nothing in excess, not even manpower."
"Then an assassin-"
"Enough, Robb. I will be the one to decide what he is and is not." Ned Stark intervened.
Robb bit his tongue and scowled at me before swallowing his words.
"Yes, father." He bowed.
Ned turned to me with a complicated expression and I could tell he was beginning to doubt his earlier words.
"Tell me then herald, if the white cub is for me, who should receive the others?"
"It matters not." I replied with an expression of regalia, "Let them each choose which cub they want. The old gods have already done too much. You cannot expect them to chew your food for you as well."
Ned Stark frowned at the disrespect but I could see that his opinion had changed the slightest bit. Just as planned.
"And what of the prophecy?" Jon asked from behind.
I gave him a deadpan look.
"Well, a stag and a direwolf kill each leaving orphans all around. I wonder what that could mean?"
"Is what you speak true?" Ned Stark asked, worry clouding his eyes.
I nodded.
"Uppn your return to Winterfell, you will find Jon Arryn dead and the king marching upon Winterfell with an offer you cannot refuse. And when the time comes, you will have a choice to make Lord Stark. Let us hope you choose wisely. If not.... " I gestured at the dead direwolf on the ground.
His frown deepened and he gave me a harsh look. He wouldn't trust me that easily.
"If this turns out to be a lie or a plot to sow distrust among us ..."
"I know." I nodded.
"Come. We must make haste. To Winterfell." Ned Stark turned and stormed off towards the company of riders on the bridge.
"Jon, have the man ride with you." He ordered as we reached the horses, before turning to the captain.
"Jory."
Ah, so that's his name.
"We will ride ahead. Bring the deserter to Winterfell as soon as you can."
"Yes, m'lord." The captain nodded as I climbed up behind Jon, and we galloped away.
.
Arriving in Winterfell, the guards stood at attention and bowed to us as we entered the keep.
The keep itself was far larger than what I had seen in the show, and even more lively. It was a miniature city, complete with the cacophony of life. People going about their daily chores, pigs grunting, chicken squaking, horses whinnying. The blacksmiths to the side hammered away at their anvils, some making pans, others shovels and hoes. Women carried grain and produce into the kitchens, barricaded with thick doors and the sound of chatter and gossip permeated every corner alongside the crackling of braziers and smouldering torches. The smell was about what I had expected, stamped out horseshit, oil and grease, burning charcoal and soot all mixed with the flavour of the chill in the air.
No sooner had we entered, did a woman come up to us, followed by a man in rough, grey robes and a chain slung around his shoulders like a sash.
Catelyn Stark and Maester Luwin.
"You're back early?" She looked puzzled but happy as she scanned over us.
"Yes. Something came up. Tell me, did a raven arrive after we left?" He asked bluntly.
Catelyn Stark looked surprised and nodded. She raised her hand, showing the rolled up strip of parchment, held firm between her fingers.
"Ned? Perhaps it is best you read it in our chambers. It's... "
"No. Here is fine." He said, gently taking the parchment from her. He unfolded it and poured over it with the intensity of a man possessed.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
His hands shook for the briefest moment, his iron grip crumpling the parchment as he came to terms with what he had just read and turned to me.
"So it is true."
"It is." I nodded, "I'm sorry for your loss." I added with genuine sympathy.
I can understand what he is feeling. It is what I felt the day my grandfather died.
[Not going to insult him?]
I'm not tactless. And I know when to use the carrot and the stick.
The time for insults has passed. Now is the time for sympathy.
Ned Stark was a bit surprised to see me being polite. He let out a turbid breath and I could see his rage simmer down, replaced by decisiveness.
"If...." He lingered on the word, "I were to believe you, what would I need to do? What do the gods want from us?"
"Father...." Robb wanted to say something but even his faith was shaken. He looked between his father and me, and chose to remain silent in contemplation.
"For now? Patience." I replied laconically.
"Patience?" Ned Stark looked at me, confused.
"Ned, who is this?" Lady Catelyn moved closer to her husband and asked softly.
"He is.....the herald of the old gods." Ned finally admitted.
She looked at her husband and then at me, with a tinge of disbelief.
And I smiled.
"I am." I added, assuring her with a bow.
___________________
Tell me if you liked the chapter. Tell me if you hated it too!
Don't worry, I'll appreciate it.
Also, if you wanna read the rewrite of chapter 9 and 10 where MC dies horribly, vote here.
See ya later, skaters.
Bye~
