[BONUS] Winter Comes Ch. 21 (GoT SI) (Patreon)

-x-X-x-

Staring down into the sleeping face of his newborn son, Theon Stark knew that he was on the right path. He would do anything to keep his flesh and blood safe, even serve a monster beyond the Wall. He would bend the knee a thousand times over if it kept his child from harm.

“My King, there is news.”

Theon looks up at the Maester rather blankly. The old man has just entered the room unannounced, but since they’d become ‘brothers’ of a sort, the Maester had begun to do those kinds of things. Theon was still “my king” and “your grace”, but it was clear that the Chosen viewed themselves as mostly all equal in the Night King’s far reaching shadow. Now that he was one of them, he had fallen into a strange mixed state of being one of them, yet at the same time still the King in the North.

“News from where Maester?”

Truly, there were a number of places that it could be arriving from, though in the end it was the one Theon wished it not to be.

“Our God of course, your Grace. He has seen the wars you will need to fight in defense of the North. He has sent me visions of powerful weapons that will help you in your battles. Guiding my hand, he has crafted a schematic for these new weapons, using me as his avatar. I have them here for you now.”

The old Maester holds a stack of scrolls that only now Theon truly pays attention to. Pressing his lips together, he holds his sleeping baby boy close and nods to the Maester to use the bed at his side. The old man quickly sets the numerous scrolls down and grabs one at random, opening it and unfurling it. Theon moves to stand over the ‘schematic’, eyeing the lines and the drawing within and trying to understand it as best as he can.

It’s a bit beyond him though. The North has used siege weapons before, but he’s not seen anything like this. Finally, he gives up and looks to the Maester.

“What is it? What does it do?”

The Maester looks excited, his eyes lighting up and his tone eager as he begins to explain.

“It is an ingenious design my King, worthy of the Night King’s endless capacity for knowledge. The vision he showed me, of this weapon in action, was awe-inspiring. Over a hundred feet tall, it will throw massive boulders in the same way a man might sling a stone. I confess, I am sure we will need the Night King’s guidance in making sure we are successful in building this device, but I know that with his help, we can succeed. It will allow you to take any keep in the North and it will allow you to begin any battle by flattening dozens, if not hundreds of the enemy’s warriors.”

Theon’s lips curl back a bit in disgust. He does not like the idea of weapons that slaughter indiscriminately. Death should be dealt with a blade, from one man to another. Still, for the exact same reason, the Hungry Wolf has never liked the bow, never liked archers. Yet he tolerated their presence in his armies for the same reason he will be forced to tolerate this now. The safety of his people relies on it. 

They weren’t just facing the death of their culture anymore, not as they had with the Andals. If Theon did not keep the North strong, if he did not solidify House Stark’s rule in Winterfell for generations to come, then nothing would stop the endless tide from descending upon them. In the end, Theon had only one question for the Maester.

“… What is it called?”

The old man smiles and says the name almost reverently. Given that it’s from the Night King, Theon isn’t surprised.

“Our God has named it as a trebuchet, my King.”

Theon nods slowly, his eyes drifting to his son, still held in his arms. The boy sleeps soundly, an impressive feat given he and the Maester have barely held their tongues. Regardless, Theon points with his free hand to the next scroll.

“Continue.”

As the Maester continued to show him weapons that would make close combat between men no longer necessary, Theon reminded himself over and over that in the end, this was needed. The North would thrive under his rule… once he’d conquered it.

-x-X-x-

In another timeline, the Andal Warlord Argos Sevenstar marked the end of the decades long invasion of the North. He would lose to Theon Stark and House Bolton at the Battle of the Weeping Water and then Theon Stark would sail across the narrow sea to the coast of Andalos with Argos’ body displayed on the front of one of his ships. Theon would raid up and down the coast, burning many Andal villages. The Theon Stark of that time would be a harder man, tempered by years of constant war. He would put the heads of his victims on spikes along the coastline in order to deter future invaders.

In this timeline, a certain White Walker had fucked all that up. The Hungry Wolf had been fighting Andals on the North’s eastern shore for a few months by the time Rickar showed up and in his haste to see history made, Rickar had sped things up dramatically. Now the Warlord Argos Sevenstar was arriving on Westeros’ shore not to try and end an invasion that had been going on for too long, but as revenge for Theon Stark’s hit and run raids.

There had been no spiked heads, no warnings. Theon was too young, too new to conflict to even think of such grisly warnings. Argos came with a fleet twice the size of the last one and a smile on his face as he imagined destroying the barbarians on the shore currently approaching before him. He would kill the men, burn the villages and their filthy godswoods, and he and his men would partake of their women. 

The Seven had sent their Champion to Westeros and it was time for Argos to show this heathen scum the true might of his gods.

“Warlord!”

Argos’ gaze moved to above his head as he looked up to the man with the sharpest eyes in the whole fleet. Given his stature, he was able to command that such a man be placed in HIS ship’s eagle nest. The grimy looking man is waving down at him now, calling out to get his attention.

“Warlord they are waiting for us! They are on the beach waiting for us!”

Spinning around to face the beach, the Warlord peers as best he can, his eyesight far worse than the man at the top of his ship’s mast. Yet he thinks he can see what the watcher is talking about. They’re black little blurs from here, writhing about like a mass of barely discernable ants, but he can see them all the same. A wicked grin spreads across his face and he pulls his horn from his belt, blowing it before speaking in a booming tone.

“THE HEATHENS HAVE LINED THEMSELVES UP FOR A BIT OF TARGET PRACTICE! READY YOUR BOWS AND TEACH THEM A LESSON AS SOON AS WE’RE IN RANGE!”

His orders are relayed across the entire fleet and soon they’re being followed by hundreds of eager archers. Their fleet grows ever closer to the shore, ever closer to the point where they’ll be in range to loose their arrows. And then, out of nowhere a massive splash strikes the Warlord’s ship as well as the one next to it. There’s a moment of confusion as Argos tries to keep his balance, his boat rocking side to side.

“What the hell was tha-?!”

Before he can finish his sentence, the next massive rock strikes. The sight of this one isn’t missed before it hits the water, mostly because it doesn’t hit the water. Instead, it strikes the ship next to his and goes right through the wood like it isn’t even there, leaving a massive hole through the deck.

“W-WARLORD! I-IT’S ROCKS SIR! R-ROCKS!”

Argos spins towards the man up in the eagle nest with a growl on his lips. His words die when he sees the wide-eyed man pointing behind him and Argos follows the finger to stare in horror as an entire rain of massive rocks flies through the air towards his fleet. They began to hit and ships began to sink… but the fleet continued to advance and Argos was able to calm his heart as he realized that several more of the rocks hit, than those that missed.

Then the second wave of boulders hit, and the third. And then the arrows arrived, far out past the range which his own archers could reliably land their shots. Argos spun this way and that as he lost men left and right, standing beside him and on the ships around him. The Warlord, horrified, does the only thing he can do as he sees ANOTHER volley of rocks flying through the air towards him.

He leaps overboard then and there, trusting his ability to swim far more than he trusts his ship to stay afloat.

-x-X-x-

Theon stares down at the man confirmed to be leading the fleet. They call him Warlord, but now he is just another water-logged prisoner, a gag in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back. The Stark King stands before him with an iron sword drawn, one of the first to be forged by Northern Blacksmiths. 

“In another time and place, you could very well have been a great enemy, I’m sure. I could have wet my blade on you and your army, developed a desire for more bloodshed.”

Theon stares down at said blade for a long moment, holding it aloft.

“Unfortunately for you, I do not have the time for such trivialities anymore. But, regardless of how he wins, a king should always be willing to swing his blade in defense of his people.”

That said, the Hungry Wolf swings and Argos Sevenstar loses his head. The body flops to the ground as Theon turns and walks away. It takes him a few minutes to arrive at his next destination, but eventually he is there. His men are processing the prisoners. Those with useful skills and knowledge will have it wrung out of them. Those without are just more mouths to feed in a cold and unforgiving North.

Nearby, the Trebuchets are being deconstructed from transport. The men with bows as tall as they are, are making merry and reveling in their victory. And it is their victory. The two weapons that Theon was able to have made and ready in time for this ‘war’ were instrumental in his success. Finally, Theon comes to a stop before a group of unarmed Northerners that are NOT his men.

“My Lords. Before the battle, we discussed the notion of you kneeling to me as your new King. You were skeptical, to say the least, which is why I invited you to watch as I defended your shores… MY shores, in return for nothing. What say you now?”

The Lords, former bannermen of King Bolton one and all who had fallen to infighting when their King and his son had died, look between one another… and then kneel before the Wolf King. Theon stares at them for a long moment and then grunts.

“Rise. This is far from finished. The North faces threats on all sides and for my help in defeating the foreigners today, you lot will help me see the rest of them put down as well. Let’s get to work.”

-x-X-x-

The Andals’ knowledge regarding iron-smithing and what not had reached the North a while ago, but as focused as I was on everything else, I hadn’t noticed there was a problem until now. Essentially, the Free Folk didn’t have access to much iron. Mostly because I may have already mined most of it out from under them over the last thousands of years and filled back in the tunnels with dirt and rock to keep it all from collapsing beneath their feet.

… I hadn’t JUST built castles for centuries straight after all. Plus, some of my castles and palaces and fortresses had needed precious metals to truly match the fantasy structures from my memories. 

Still, once the problem came to my attention, I called the current King-Beyond-the-Wall over to my mountain. Yep, my mountain. It’d seemed appropriate. We were walking along a perfectly carved square corridor now, me a little exasperated by his inability to get two words out, and him star struck to be in my very presence.

And of course, there’s the curious little boy that’s been following us for several minutes now, but he’s just in my head so I’ve been ignoring him. I checked and looked through the King-Beyond-the-Wall’s eyes. Couldn’t see the little brat. The boy couldn’t be older than four or five I figured, and he struck me as familiar for some reason. It didn’t matter, I’d deal with the hallucination later. For now, I led the Free Folk man beside me up to a great big stone door and pulled a lever.

It took a while but eventually the mechanism did its work, the stone door slid open, and the man at my side’s jaw dropped at the sight of what lay within. I’d had to do a lot of digging after all, to build my castles. The Land of Always Winter was literally peppered with structures and while some of them had wood incorporated into them, the majority were made of stone.

I’d treated it like Minecraft and when I’d played Minecraft, I’d done two things. Build and hoard. This was the effect of the latter. I’d long since hollowed out the entire mountain from top to bottom to fill it with this treasure. It was all organized too by yours truly on particularly lazy nights, through puppeted original White Walkers and wights.

Gold, iron, silver, copper to name the most common ones. And then of course there were the gems, the whole array of beautiful colors from across the endless icy wasteland that I’d dug up. Nudging the shell-shocked King-Beyond-the-Wall, I point towards the section filled with unprocessed iron ore, the largest section of all in truth.

“Think that should be enough?”

His eyes bulge out of his sockets and I relish the moment… but the boy is still there, still staring, and he’s kind of ruining it for me.

“Right. Along with you then. Go tell the one in charge of the iron section how much you need and the shipment will be delivered promptly. Obviously, this is a secret. Tell anyone about my mountain and I’ll be very upset. Now get.”

I’m a bit short with the Free Folk man, I know, but I really just want him to move along, which to be fair, he does. Once he’s gone, I turn to the familiar little boy.

“Alright, who are you?”

The boy’s eyes whip to meet mine and he shirks back, suddenly terrified. I realize in an instant that this hallucination is not some ancient powerful evil masked as a child. This is literally a small boy. Maybe. Playing at one perhaps? I sigh and soften my face and tone as best as I can, being who and what I am.

“I apologize if I have frightened you. Let’s start with something else. Do you know who I am?”

The boy shakes his head no. Well, that’s interesting. So why is he following me then? I give him my kindest smile and place a palm on my chest.

“I am the Night King. I am the Winter Cold that you feel in your bones even now, as far beneath the ground as we are.”

The young boy finally speaks, three simple words falling from his mouth as he stares wide eyed.

“Winter is coming…”

Oh dear, now I’m worried I know where the familiarity is coming from.

“That’s exactly right my boy, though Winter isn’t so bad, if you know how to treat with it. Come, take my hand and allow me to show you some of Winter’s Gifts.”

The boy’s eyes flick towards the hollowed-out mountain before us. As I expect, he’s taken in by the shinies. All children are… most adults are as well. His desire to see what I have to offer pushes past his fear. Despite my monstrous appearance telling him to be afraid of me, my jovial tone and smile seem to have put him at ease. He takes my hand, which I’ve held out to him and I pull him gently to my side. It’s strange, he feels solid enough… but if he’s who I think he is, I don’t see how he got here.

As I show him around my hoard, it quickly becomes clear that he can’t pick anything up. He can’t interact with anything but the ground beneath his feet and me. My suspicions are becoming solidified and eventually I turn to the boy with a curious gaze.

“Can you tell me your name now young one?”

He’s suddenly shy as he ducks his head away, but he nods and speaks, confirming what I’d already believed by this point.

“Brandon Stark, y-your Grace.”

My mind races.

“Son of Theon Stark, King in the North I presume?”

Brandon looks at me, surprised. It’s even further confirmation but then he nods, making it essentially fact.

“Y-Yes your Grace!”

“I know your father well young Brandon.”

Though I hadn’t bothered to learn his child’s name yet. Really Theon? Brandon? So many damn Brandons in the Stark family line, I swear to god…

“You d-do?!”

I look to the small boy and smile easily, bobbing my head up and down.

“Indeed I do, just as I know all of my Chosen. He is very important to me Brandon, and as his son, you are too.”

A sudden thought occurs to me, even as he processes this in wide eyed wonder.

“… Brandon, why do you think you are here?”

His reply is immediate.

“I’m dreaming, your Grace.”

I raise my brow at that, impressed by his quick wit. This boy will grow to be an intelligent King, once his father is gone. But this whole thing with him somehow finding me through a dream… it reminds me of someone. And I know what Brandon Stark is, though I have absolutely no idea how the hell he managed to get here to me through just a dream.

How powerful is this boy? I want him. I want to own him. I’m pretty sure that makes me evil, but I can’t help myself.

“… Would you like to take a gift back with you when the dream ends, Brandon Stark?”

The boy looks excited for a moment and then crest-fallen.

“I would your Grace, but I cannot touch anything here but you.”

I grin almost ferally.

“I am all we need. Please, show me your arm and I will give you the same gift that I gave your father and your aunt. You’d like to be like them, wouldn’t you?”

Brandon nods rapidly and quickly pulls back his sleeve, exposing his small arm and pale skin. I reach down carefully and try to make this as painless as possible, expecting it to sever the connection I currently have with the young greenseer, even as I form a new one. My palm closes around the young Stark’s arm and then I push my mark onto him.

He cries out and a moment later, he’s gone.

-x-X-x-

Brandon shouts and hollers as he wakes up in front of the heart tree. He’d fallen asleep slumped forward on his knees beside Auntie Lyanna as she prayed. When he awakens and pulls her from her inner thoughts, she turns to him with a worried look on her face. But the pain is already fading and Brandon’s shouts of agony turn to shouts of joy.

“Auntie Lyanna! Auntie Lyanna! I saw a God!”

The Stark woman stares at her young nephew in shock. But before she can ask him what he means by that, Brandon is tearing back his sleeve to stare in awe at what lays upon his arm. When Lyanna sees it, she screams in horror, startling the poor boy badly.

-x-X-x-

Theon arrives back in Winterfell as a hero at the head of his barely touched army. Lyanna is waiting for him at the gates with a pale look on her face.

“It’s Brandon.”

That’s all he gets and Theon quickly abandons the long caravan of men stretching behind him in favor of rushing to his son’s room. He bursts through the door and finds his son alone with the Maester. The old man is showing Brandon the blue handprint on his arm, holding it up to Brandon’s own, much smaller arm… where an identical glowing blue handprint sits.

Theon distantly hears Lyanna choke back a sob at the sight behind him, even as he takes a step forward, alerting both Brandon and the Maester to his presence.

“Ah, my King, it’s good that you’re here!”

“Father, look! I have been marked by God, the Maester says so! The Night King said I’ll be just like you and Auntie Lyanna now!”

“Yes, Lady Lyanna had a bit of a negative reaction to seeing the young prince’s new marking. Perhaps if you were to show him your own, it would put him more at ease.”

His son doesn’t look like he needs to be put at ease. Regardless of Lyanna’s reaction, Brandon looks ecstatic to have joined them in servitude. As such, Theon does not immediately move to expose his arm. Instead, he asks the obvious.

“How is this possible?”

It’s not the Maester or Brandon or Lyanna who answer him though. No, instead it’s the Night King himself, in Theon’s head.

Your son is the most gifted greenseer I’ve ever met, Theon Stark. He is more than likely a warg as well. He came to me in a Dream. How could I not gift him my blessing? It seems it is destiny that your family serve me.

Theon barks out a laugh in response that probably makes him look mad. His son and his sister and the Maester are certainly giving him odd looks.

Do not fret Theon Stark, for I am a generous God. I will protect your family for so long as it continues to serve me. You have my word. Now please, show your mark to your son. Assuage his fears. Raise him to be as strong and as cunning and as resourceful as you are. Don’t do this for me. Do this for him. Do it for the North.

In the end, what option does Theon have? Plastering a fake smile on his face, the King in the North obeys the commands of the monster in his head, exposing his arm to Brandon, to the boy’s innocent delight and the Maester’s quiet approval. As for his sister… Lyanna ends up sitting beside her nephew as well, her own marking exposed. Theon doesn’t know whether she got the same message as him or not, but in the end, all that matters is she follows his lead. For the sake of their house and the North, he needs her to follow his lead.

Else, all may be lost.

-x-X-x-

A/N: I like to imagine this Brandon Stark existed as Theon Stark's firstborn son in canon as well. Possibly the strongest greenseer ever, he ended up before the Night King in a dream as well. Canon Night King wasn't so gentle or nice and Brandon Stark became insane. His younger brother ultimately had to be made the heir and Brandon the Mad never made it into the histories.

Poor Lyanna though, like for real that woman can't catch a break.

Anyways, just having fun~ Hope you all enjoy!