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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 117: The Gathering Storm - The Lord of Winterfell
The Great Hall of Winterfell was cold despite the fires that blazed in the hearths. It felt like the ancient stones were holding the chill of the centuries within their walls.
The lords of the North had gathered from every corner of the realm…from the frozen shores of Bear Island to the rocky heights of the Mountain Clans, from the fertile lands of the Rills to the windswept coasts of the Stony Shore. They filled the hall with their presence, their furs and armor a testament to the harsh land they called home.
Ned Stark sat at the head of the table, his face carved from stone, his grey eyes fixed on the assembled lords.
He had called this council to discuss the future of the North, to determine whether they would bend the knee to someone else or forge their own path. It was a decision that would shape the destiny of his people for generations to come, and the weight of it pressed down on him like an anvil.
"My lords," Ned began, his voice carrying across the hall. "I have called you here to discuss the future of the North. The Seven Kingdoms remain in disarray. Stannis Baratheon is dead, killed by the sorcerer prince Joffrey Baratheon. The Lannisters hold the throne, but their grip is weak. The Tyrells scheme for power. The Martells hunger for vengeance. The Ironborn seek to rebel again, and across the Narrow Sea, the Dragon Queen gathers her forces."
He paused, letting the words sink in. The lords murmured among themselves, their voices a low rumble of uncertainty and suspicion.
"We have bled for the South during Robert's Rebellion," Robb said, rising from his seat. His voice was sharp with passion. "We have lost brothers, fathers, sons! And what have we gained? Nothing but empty promises and broken oaths! The South has never cared for the North. They see us as barbarians, as savages, as tools to be used and discarded."
Lord Manderly, a massive man with a white beard and shrewd eyes, nodded slowly. "Your boy speaks with passion, Lord Stark. But too much of that can be dangerous. We must consider our position carefully. The North is vast, but we are not invincible. We need allies, supplies, trade. Without those, we may starve during this winter."
"Trade with whom?" Greatjon Umber bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "The Lannisters? The Tyrells? They would as soon stab us in the back as trade with us. I say we declare independence! Let the South sort out their own problems!"
A chorus of agreement rose from the assembled lords, their fists pounding against the tables. But Jon Snow rose from his seat, his grey eyes calm and steady. There was a new weight to him, a presence that had not been there before. His voice carried across the hall, silencing the chaos.
"And what of the threat beyond the Wall?" Jon asked, his voice firm. "There is a darkness approaching from the lands of Always Winter, and…we cannot fight a war on two fronts. We must make peace and fight together."
The lords fell silent, their eyes fixed on the young man who had died and returned; the rumors were to be believed.
Many wanted to tell him how crazy his words sounded, but there was something different about him now, something that made even the most skeptical of them pause. His eyes flickered with a faint orange light, a hint of something unnatural that seemed to burn from within.
"If you are talking about the Others…they are nothing more than old stories, Jon." Lord Glover said, his tone dismissive. "A tale to frighten children."
Jon's eyes met his, and for a moment, the room grew colder. "With all due respect, Lord Glover…I have seen them with my own eyes. I have fought them, and I am not the only one in this room. They are real, and they are coming. If we declare independence, we will be fighting on two fronts…against men from the South and against the dead coming from the North. We cannot afford that."
The lords exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence shaken. The Greatjon opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, the doors to the Great Hall burst open.
A young man hurried in, his robes billowing, a scroll clutched in his trembling hands. "My lord!" he called out, his voice carrying across the hall. "News from the South!"
"News?" Ned rose to his feet, his heart pounding. "What news?"
The maester unrolled the scroll, his eyes scanning the words. "King's Landing is in chaos, my lord. The Sorcerer Prince Joffrey Baratheon returned to the city and attacked the King and Queen with his magic. They say he transformed the Iron Throne itself. There are also rumors that the Iron Fleet has returned from the east, half-broken, their leader defeated."
The hall erupted into chaos, the lords shouting over each other in confusion and fear. Ned raised his hand, silencing them.
"Joffrey transformed the Iron Throne?" he repeated, his voice flat. "What does that mean?"
The young man shook his head. "I do not know, my lord. The reports are unclear. But they say the throne is no longer made of swords. They say it is... different. A beautiful, but terrible creation made with dark sorcery."
Robb stared at his father, his face pale. "Father, you know more about Joffrey than any of us…will he be a friend or another enemy?"
Ned went silent, for he did not have a clear answer. He knew that it would depend on their own decision when it came to confronting the Dragon Queen, for he was at her side.
<><>
The council was adjourned without a decision for the time being, the lords retreating to their chambers to consider the news.
Ned stood alone in the Great Hall, his eyes fixed on the map of Westeros that hung on the wall. The North stretched before him, vast and cold and beautiful. His home, and…his burden.
He thought of his family, of his children, of the promises he had made. He had promised Robb he would find a way to protect the North. He had promised Jon he would stand against the darkness. He had promised himself he would not fail them.
And he thought of Joffrey. The golden-haired boy who had come to him in his darkest hour, who had saved his life and the lives of his family. The young man who had warned him of the coming darkness and then vanished into the east.
Ned did not know what to make of him. He was a mystery, a contradiction, a force of nature that could not be controlled or understood. But he was also a reminder that the world was changing, and that the old rules no longer applied.
"Lord Stark."
Ned lifted his eyes and found Jon. He was the only other person who now remained in the hall.
"You can still call me father when the other Lords are not present." Jon knew the truth about his parentage, but to Ned, that didn't change anything.
To him…Jon would always be his son.
"The majority of them want to follow Rob's idea to declare independence. They are willing to go to war for that." Jon said.
Ned nodded. "Aye…I'm afraid that is the conclusion this council will arrive at. And I won't be able to stop them."
"That is a mistake." Jon insisted. "They dont understand the danger we are all in. That the real enemy will come from the North…not the South."
"And what would you have me do, Jon?" Ned asked. "I may be the Lord of Winterfell for now, but…I cannot go against the will of every other Lord here. This is also their home…they have the right to make the decision together."
"Give me a hundred men, horses, swords, and some time…I will bring them some evidence of what's coming…evidence they won't be able to refute." Jon said.
Ned's eyes opened widely. "Are you planning on returning there?. But the wall…Joffrey said there was no way to cross it."
Jon's determination did not waver. "I will find a way."
<><>Part II: Bran Stark
The cave felt ancient and vast beyond measure. Its walls were covered in strange carvings that seemed to shift and writhe under the light of the torches.
Weirwood roots twisted through the stone like the veins of some great beast, their pale bark gleaming softly. The air was thick with the scent of earth and moss and something else, something old that made Bran's skin prickle with unease.
Melisandre stood beside him. Her ruby glowed at her throat, pulsing with a faint light, and her eyes were wide with awe and fear. She had seen many strange things, had walked through fire and shadow, but this place was unlike anything she had ever encountered.
The girl who had led them inside…one of the Children of the Forest, had disappeared into the depths of the cave, leaving them alone with the figure at its heart.
An ancient man who introduced himself as…the Three-Eyed Raven.
He was ancient beyond measure, his body twisted and broken, his skin pale as milk. His eyes were white and sightless, but they seemed to see everything, to know everything. He was bound to the roots of the weirwood, his flesh intertwined with the wood.
"I have been waiting for you for a long time, Brandon Stark," the Three-Eyed Raven spoke with a raspy voice. "And you as well, Melisandre of Asshai. You have both been led here for a purpose."
Bran stepped forward, his heart pounding. "What purpose?"
The Three-Eyed Raven smiled. "You must have experienced some visions already, Brandon. Visions about fire and ice…about the shadow that lies beyond these lands. You must have felt the pull of the old magic, the power that sleeps in your blood. You are the one who will see, the one who will remember. And you are the one who will help the world survive."
Melisandre stepped forward, her voice sharp. "And what of me? I am a priestess of the Lord of Light. I have served Him faithfully, seen His power in the flames. Why have I been brought here?. What purpose could I serve here?"
The Three-Eyed Raven turned to her, his sightless eyes fixed on her face. "This was not your original purpose, Melissandre…it belonged to someone else. But…things have changed… "The Outsider" has interfered too much, so you were brought here to fulfill the role that was left empty."
"What role?"
The old man glanced at Bran for a moment. "He is going to need you…you will assist Brandom after he takes my place, and together…you will work to save this world."
"Take your place?" Bran muttered. "What is th-"
"Did the Lord of Light truly bring me here?" Melisandre asked. "Or…was it you?"
The Three-Eyed Raven shook his head. "The Lord of Light…do you still know about his nature now?. Do you have any idea of what your god truly is?"
"He…" Melisandre paused. "He is a god…the one true god. That is all I need to know. He shows us his will through the flames, and we, the priests, follow his message."
"The flames have shown you much, but they have also blinded you from the truth. You will learn here."
"Learn what exactly?" She asked.
"Excuse me, but…"
Bran opened his mouth to ask something, but before he could do so, the Three-Eyed Raven reached out with an unusually long hand and touched his forehead.
The world dissolved around him.
He was falling through a sea of images, a river of time that stretched to the horizon and beyond. He saw the past, the present, the future, all tangled together in a web of lights and shadows.
He saw the Night King, and his blue eyes that burned with cold fire, his army of the dead stretching to the horizon.
He saw the army of the dead, their shrieks echoing across the frozen wastes.
He saw Joffrey standing on the Wall, his phoenix on his shoulder, transforming the ice around him into an oily black stone. His eyes shone like miniature stars.
He saw Daenerys and her dragons, their flames burning bright against the unnatural cold of Winter.
He saw the ancient being made of shadow and death, a darkness that stretched across the stars, its countless eyes fixed on the world below. He saw it awakening, stirring from its long slumber, its hunger growing with each passing moment.
And he saw the end of all things, the world consumed by ice and shadow, the light extinguished forever.
"No," Bran whispered, his voice trembling. "No, I don't want to see this."
The Three-Eyed Raven's voice echoed through the vision, calm and knowing. "You must see, Brandon. You must understand. The Long Night is coming, and it is much worse than anything that preceded it. The war against the dead is only the beginning. A greater darkness is returning, one that even the Others fear. And this time…there may be nothing to stop it from extinguishing the flames of this world."
Bran gasped, his eyes snapping open.
And he screamed.
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