Im alive, who would have thought? This chapter has been an on-and-off kinda chapter. Don't expect another chapter for some time. who knows, maybe I'll get another one out soon.
It's also very short compared to my other ones. I can't think of anything right now, and I figured posting it would keep y'all happy. Have a nice day.
...
"You'll have my help, Brandon."
A wave of relief washed over Brandon, and a weight he hadn't known lifted off his shoulders as the dark monolith that was Melkor offered his help.
"You have my utmost thanks... your Grace." Brandon stumbled to address Melkor's proper moniker, unused to calling others 'Your Grace.'
Melkor couldn't help but chuckle at the Stark. "I've told you, Brandon, address me as simply Melkor. Should that be too troublesome for you, then I'll just have you thrown into my dragon's maw."
Brandon froze. Fear spread like wildfire across his very being.
A soft laugh and a slap across the back from the Elder King broke the Stark from his Paralysis.
"Lighten up Brandon, I only kidd."
Brandon let out a soft laugh, but the fear plastered across his face told another story. "How am I supposed to lighten up when I hear you start wars because you were bored," Brandon grumbled.
BAHAHAHA
A gruff hearty laugh erupted from another legendary figure who the first men respected just as much as Melkor.
"He's got you there you pompous snark."
Melkors blood red eyes bored into the Old Bear.
"Remind me why I don't gag you for eternity."
Melkor's threat would have shut up any other, but the Old Bear only Laughed louder.
BAHAHA
"You really haven't changed after all these years you pointy-eared git."
Melkors sneered at Beorn. He had forgotten the crass attitude of the Old Bear. The thought of it brought back old memories of his daughter growing up in the Old Bears home.
Melkor took a deep breath, straightening out his thoughts, " Brandon, I must insist we act immediately, for we do not want that threat to turn into what we faced all those years ago."
Beorn took on a more serious form as Melkor spoke of the looming threat, remembering all the deaths that they had faced when the Others turned south.
Brandon nodded, "Then we depart in the morning for Castle Black."
"And what of Môrdir?" Aina asked, worried that her son was not ready for the horrors of battle at such a young age."
"Môrdir has already asked if he could travel south and see the great keeps," Malkor said.
That only raised more concerns for Aina, "And who will watch over him when we travel to the wall?" Aina asked, her voice full of worry.
"Carcharoth will stay with him, and should they run into trouble, I've instructed Lungorthin to help, but only should Carcharoth deem it absolutely necessary. These lands are different, but I am still the Elder King of Westeros, and my control shall not waver."
Aina sighed and smiled. "Thank you, my love. I worry too much sometimes."
Melkor smiled back, "It is only natural for a parent to worry."
As the husband and wife stared into each other's eyes, Brandon let out an awkward cough, drawing the god's attention away from each other
"Oops", Aina said, somewhat embarrassed.
Surprising everyone, Melkor rose from his seat. "Excuse me, I feel it's time for Aina and me to get some rest."
Melkor grabbed Aina's wrist and began to pull her away, "We shall see you when the sun rises."
"My love, what do you mean you're tired?" Aina asked, confused about how her husband, a being who did not need rest, was tired.
Melkor stopped walking for the door and looked Aina in her eyes. A deep fire was burning inside Melkor that had somehow ignited, and it needed quenching.
"Oh," Aina now realized what had happened and was all too happy to go along.
"My husband is right. Well, see you all in the morning." And just like that, the two gods were off to their quarters.
And in the room the gods had just left, sat three men, dumbfounded and lost for words, for they were too scared to voice their thoughts, fearing that should a single sound be uttered, they would wind up without a head.
All that was left was the wide-eyed starks and the mouth-agape old bear, waiting for the sun to fall from the sky.
...
The night had passed, and after an awkward meeting for the starks a moment Melkor and Aina had completely ignored, a party had formed.
Stark and Sea-Stark men marched north to the wall. Beorn and Aina marched North along with Brandon, and the Elder King was nowhere to be seen.
Melkor had decided his full power was not needed to deal with this enemy. In truth, the main reason why he helped Brandon was out of curiosity.
Melkor knew the Great Other was still recovering, so whatever was at the wall was no true major threat like those of old.
But a threat to the Starks was a threat to his family, and he thought now was the perfect time to bring about a boon for the Stark kings, for they would not fall under his watch.
Melkor stood atop a hillside, gazing below at the hundreds of tents that many called home.
The camp was alive and active; none below noticed the dark monolith gazing down, blissful of the power the figure could unleash upon the camp.
Melkor took a step, letting himself plummet below, landing at the edge of the camp. A cloud of dust and debris exploded from where he landed, drawing every eye to him.
As dust began to clear, Melkor noticed a large number of the camp inhabitants had begun to surround him, drawing their bronze and obsidian weapons.
He raised his hands, hoping to show he was no threat to them. "Im not here to draw blood; I only wish to speak with your Magnar, Joramun."
Those that surrounded Melkor kept their weapons drawn, weary of the stranger that dwarfed them in height, wore armor they had never seen before, and had dropped from the hillside that should have killed any mortal man.
"Sheasth your blades ya fucking Twats! Do you not see who stands before us!" A powerful voice rang out from the back of the scrambling camp goers. It was a taller than normal man that would have intimidated the average man, but he only made it up to Melkor's chest in height.
The man wore thick Bronze scale armor, wielded a Bronze double-bladed axe twice his size, and wore a circlet of Bronze on his brow.
Joramun, the king beyond the wall. A fearless leader who had united the descendants of those who had migrated North after the long night. He was feared by his enemies and respected by those who called him King.
"So, you're tha' one?" Joramun asked. He pointed his axe at Melkor, pushing aside the others that had surrounded him.
"I would greatly appreciate you elaborating, Joramun, for I don't fully understand your question," Melkor asked, a playful look making it more than obvious for Joramun that Melkor did understand the question.
"Bah." Joramun turned and waved his hand in disregard at the towering monolith. "You're him, and that means you're here to help."
Joramun begun walking away, leaving Melkor to watch his form disapear into the crowd. But even among the crowd, Melkor could keep track of the king.
"If yor' not going to follow me, then go ahead and leave!" Melkor heard Joramuns voice ring out from the mass of people.
Melkor chuckled to himself. "Northerns."
And quickly followed after the Northern King.