Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

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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

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

”Dialogue”

’Thoughts’

-Author notes-

Chapter 133: The Terrifying Truth

Ned Stark sat alone in his bedchamber, the fire in the hearth burned low, and the room had started to get cold.

It was still the middle of the day, but it was becoming difficult to keep any room warm.

The cold didn’t affect him too much, but the servants and the other Lords were starting to complain.

”Winter is here…and it may be the worst one we have ever experienced,” Ned muttered to himself. 

”Sigh…” He sat down at his desk, feeling exhausted. 

He had not slept in three days. He could not sleep. His mind was a churning sea of worry and doubt, and sleep would not come to him.

’It has been nearly a month,’ he thought, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. ’A month since Jon took my men and traveled beyond the Wall. A month since I last saw my son.’

And still no news. 

He had tried to keep himself busy, to throw himself into the work of ruling, of managing the Northern lords who had gathered in Winterfell. But the worry gnawed at him constantly, a persistent ache that would not fade.

’Where are you, Jon? What have you found? Are you even still alive?’

The Northern Council he had called was near its conclusion. The lords had come to Winterfell expecting answers, expecting action, expecting their Lord Paramount to declare the North’s independence and march south to war against the Lannisters. A month of waiting had frayed their patience to the breaking point.

Ned had tried to explain his motives. He had spoken of the Others, of the Night Queen, of the battle that had nearly claimed Winterfell itself. He had told them of the dead rising from the crypts, of the magic that had saved them, of the threat that lay beyond the Wall. 

But the lords had not been there. They had not seen the dead walk. They had not watched their own ancestors claw their way out of their tombs.

Even his own son, Robb, was opposing his side by now.

”Father,” Robb had said to him just the night before, his voice tight with frustration. ”The lords are growing restless. They came here for a war, not for sermons. They need to see action. They need to see the North stand for something.”

”What they need is to see the truth,” Ned had replied. ”And the truth is…that if we cannot unite Westeros, we may be doomed. Jon went in search of evidence. Something that could prove to those stubborn lords that I speak the truth.”

Robb had not been convinced. He had paced the length of Ned’s solar, his fists clenched at his sides. ”And if he doesn’t return? If he’s dead, or worse? What then, Father? Do we wait forever?”

Ned had not had an answer. The one who seemed to have all the answers was not here anymore.

’Joffrey,’ he thought, the name bringing with it a complicated tangle of emotions. The boy-king who had become something else. The sorcerer who had saved his home. The man who had transformed the Wall into something new and strange.

’Where are you now, Joffrey? What are you doing?’

Ned sighed again and rested his head against his hands. ”I’m so tired…and I dont know what to do anymore.”

’I wish Luwin were still here,’ he thought, the grief a familiar ache. The old maester had been his advisor, his confidant, his friend. He had known how to read the lords, how to manage their egos, how to guide them toward wisdom. Without him, Ned felt adrift, alone.

A knock at the door of his solar pulled him from his reverie.

”What is it?” Ned called, his voice sharp with exhaustion.

The door opened to reveal the new maester’s apprentice, a young man named Pylos who had been sent from the Citadel to replace Luwin. His face was pale as milk, and his eyes wide with terror.

”My Lord,” Pylos said, his voice trembling slightly. ”Forgive the intrusion, but there is news. Important news.”

Ned was on his feet in an instant. ”What news? An important letter?”

Pylos shook his head. ”No, My Lord. But Ser Harwin has returned. He and the men you sent north. They…ehm…brought something back with them. Something strange. Something that moves on its own”

Ned’s heart leaped in his chest. ”And Jon? Is Jon with them?”

Pylos hesitated, and Ned felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. ”No, My Lord. Jon Snow was not with them.”

Ned’s blood ran cold. ”Where are they?. I’ll go see them immediately.”

”They have arrived at the gates. They are in the courtyard, my Lord.” 

Ned grabbed his cloak and strode toward the door. ”Tell the cooks to prepare the feast. Tell the lords to assemble in the Great Hall. I want every man, woman, and child of importance in Winterfell to be there when I arrive.”

Pylos bowed quickly. ”Yes, My Lord.”

The Great Hall of Winterfell was filled to the brim with the lords and ladies of the North. The feast had been prepared, the food laid out, but the mood was heavy. 

The lords had come to Winterfell expecting a resolution to this long meeting and wanted to hear a solid response from their Lord. A month of waiting had left them restless and impatient.

Lord Karstark was already drunk, his voice carrying across the hall in a loud, belligerent rumble. 

Lady Dustin was picking at her food, her eyes cold with impatience. 

Roose Bolton sat in his corner, his pale eyes watching everything with an unreadable expression.

Robb stood near the high table, his jaw tight with frustration. He had been arguing with his father for weeks, demanding action, demanding a declaration of independence, and bringing war to the Lannisters for everything they had done to their family. But his father had refused him at every step.

Sansa sat beside her mother, her hands patiently clasped in her lap. 

Arya fidgeted beside her, her eyes darting around the hall, her curiosity barely contained. ”Where is father?” She asked for the third time.

”he will be here soon. He had called for everyone to be present.” Said Lady Stark. ”It seems he has something important to say.”

Rob frowned. ”LLet’shope so. Or we may have to deal with a rebellion.”

Just as the food was being served, the doors to the Great Hall swung open.

Ned Stark strode in, carrying a grim expression, his eyes fixed on the high table. Behind him, Harwin and the other men entered. And behind them, something was being dragged.

A figure, humanoid and bound in chains, its pasty white skin was glistening in the firelight. Its eyes burned with an eerie blue light, and it hissed at the gathered lords with a sound that was not quite human.

The hall fell silent.

”I call this meeting to order,” Ned said, his voice carrying across the hall. ”The Northern Council will now hear the evidence of the threat that lies beyond the Wall.”

He gestured to Harwin, who stepped forward, dragging the creature with him. The lords shrank back, their faces pale, their hands reaching for their weapons.

”What is that?” Lord Karstark demanded, his voice trembling. ”What in the name of the Old Gods is that thing?”

”A wight,” Ned responded calmly. ”A creature of the dead. The servants of the Others. The enemy that has been gathering beyond the Wall for centuries. They are real. They are here. And they are coming for us. This one here is only one of many.”

The lords stared at the creature, their faces a mixture of horror and disbelief. 

”This is merely a trick,” Roose Bolton said, his voice cold. ”A wildling dressed in disguise. A mummer’s farce to frighten us into submission. Do you take us for fools, Lord Stark?”

”A mummer’s farce…is it?” Ned turned to one of his men. ”Give me your sword.”

The man hesitated, then handed over his blade. Ned took it, a simple sword of castle-forged steel, and walked toward the wight.

The creature hissed, its blue eyes fixed on him, its claws scraping against the iron chains. Ned raised the sword and drove it through the wight’s chest.

The blade sank deep, piercing through white flesh and frozen bones. The wight convulsed, its body thrashing against the chains…but it did not die. It did not even slow. Its blue eyes blazed brighter, and it lunged at Ned, snapping its jaws.

Ned stepped back, pulling the sword free. The wound in the wight’s chest did not bleed, even though the cut was clearly visible. The creature continued to thrash, its claws scraping against the chains, its eyes fixed on Ned with a hunger that was beyond anything human.

”By the gods,” someone whispered. ”It’s still alive.”

”There’s more.” Ned gestured to Harwin. ”Cut the head.”

Harwin nodded, drawing his own sword. He approached the wight cautiously, waiting for the right moment, then swung with all his strength. The blade cut through the creature’s neck, severing its head from its body.

The head fell to the stone floor with a wet thud, rolling to a stop at Lord Karstark’s feet. The body continued to thrash, its hands clawing at the air, its fingers scraping against the stones.

And then the head opened its eyes.

It hissed at Lord Karstark, its jaws snapping, its blue eyes blazing with fury. The body reached out blindly, its fingers searching for the head, crawling toward it across the floor.

Lord Karstark screamed, stumbling backward. The other lords scrambled away, their faces pale with terror.

”It’s still alive!” someone shouted. ”The head is still moving!”

The body found the head and tried to reattach it, its fingers fumbling at the severed neck. The head hissed and snapped, its blue eyes fixed on the terrified lords.

Harwin raised his sword to strike again, but Ned stopped him. ”No. Let them see.” He glared at Lord Bolton. ”Are you convinced now?”

The lords watched in horror as the wight’s body and head struggled to reconnect, the blue light flickering in its eyes. It was grotesque, impossible, a violation of everything they believed about life and death.

Lord Karstark stared at the creature, his face filled with fear. ”Then how do you kill them?” 

”Steel cannot kill them,” Ned said, his voice cutting through the chaos. ”Fire kills them. Dragonglass kills them. And Valyrian steel kills them. That’s it.”

He walked to the high table, where Ice rested in its scabbard. He drew the greatsword, its Valyrian steel blade gleaming in the firelight, and walked toward the wight.

The creature sensed him coming. Its head turned toward him, its blue eyes blazing with hatred. Its body rose, lurching toward him with outstretched hands.

Ned swung Ice in a wide arc. The Valyrian steel blade cut through the wight’s chest, cleaving it in two from shoulder to hip.

The creature let out a final shriek…a terrible, piercing sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within its frozen chest. And then, the blue light in its eyes flickered and died. The body crumpled to the floor, and this time, it did not move.

The hall was silent.

Ned stood over the fallen wight, Ice still in his hands, his breath coming in heavy gasps. He looked at the lords, his eyes burning with intensity.

”You have seen the truth,” he said. ”The dead do not stay dead any longer. They cannot be killed by steel. They cannot be reasoned with. They are the enemy of all living things, and they are coming. That creature was merely one of thousands, perhaps millions, that are gathering beyond the Wall. And when they come, they will not stop until every living thing in the North is dead.”

He turned to face the lords, his voice ringing with authority. ”You have seen the evidence. You have heard the truth. The war has already begun. We must unite before it’s too late. We must prepare for what’s coming. We must fortify our castles. And we must be ready when they get past the Wall…Winter is already here, and it may be the worst one in the entire history of Westeros.”

The lords stared at him, their faces pale with fear. But in their eyes, Ned saw something else…belief.

”The North will declare its independence,” Ned said. ”But we will not march south. Not yet. Our enemy lies to the north, and we will face them together. Or we will fall.”

Robb stepped forward, his face flushed with emotion. ”Father, you’re right. I’ve been a fool. I’ve been so focused on the South, on the Lannisters, on what they took from us, that I forgot the true threat. Forgive me.”

Ned placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. ”There is nothing to forgive. We will all do what is necessary to survive.”

The lords spoke among themselves, their fear slowly giving way to determination. They had seen the truth. They could no longer deny it.

Ned walked to his wife’s side, his face weary, his heart heavy.

Catelyn looked at him, her eyes filled with questions. ”Ned, what happened? What is this creature? Where did it come from?”

Ned sat down heavily beside her. ”Nearly a month ago, Jon asked for my permission to take some men beyond the Wall. He wanted to find proof of the Others. He wanted to show the lords of the North that the threat was real.”

Catelyn’s eyes widened. ”Jon? Beyond the Wall? But where is he then?”

”He went to find our son,” Ned said, his voice soft. ”He found evidence that Bran is still alive. He went to find him.”

Catelyn stared at him, her face pale. ”Bran? Our Bran? He’s alive?”

”We believe so. Jon is searching for him beyond the Wall. He said he would return when he could.”

Robb stepped forward, his face a mixture of shock and hope. ”Bran is alive? Truly?”

”Yes, Robb. Truly.”

Robb’s face broke into a smile. ”By the gods... I thought he was dead. We all thought he was dead.”

Arya and Sansa had heard the news. They rushed forward; their faces became filled with hope.

”Bran is coming home?” Sansa demanded. ”He’s really coming home?”

”We don’t know, Sansa,” Ned said, his voice gentle. ”Jon is looking for him. We must pray that he finds him.”

”Is Jon going to be okay?” Arya asked. ”Is he alone up there??

Ned shook his head. ”From what I heard, he got some wildlings to help him search. So he is not alone. But dont worry, I know that Jon can take care of himself. It’s not the first time he is north of the wall. He’ll come back soon…you’ll see.”

Arya was about to speak when something strange happened.

The doors to the Great Hall were still open, and a crow flew in.

It was a large black bird, its wings beating against the smoky air. It flew over the heads of the startled lords, circling the hall once, twice, before descending to perch on the high table, directly in front of Ned.

The bird looked at him, its head cocked to the side.

And then it spoke.

”Stark,” it said, its voice rough and strange. ”Stark. Stark.” 

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