If you want to help me financially, you can do it on https://www.patreon.com/NeverluckySMILE
Holding his cloak tighter around himself with his left hand while keeping hold of his horse's reigns in his right, Robb Stark grit his teeth as he fought against the biting cold wind of the North as he rode west along the southern side of the Wall with Grey Wind keeping pace at his side. Granted, the cold wasn't nearly as bad as it was north of the Wall, and the Wall itself acted as a buffer against the worst of the wind. It was still cold. Far colder than he could ever remember Winterfell being. For not the first time after spending two days at a near breakneck pace on his horse, he began regretting his decision to leave Castle Black and head west, especially without company besides Grey Wind. But as soon as that regret came it immediately fled. He was doing the right thing. This was something that he needed to do. And it was something that he needed to do on his own.
Hearing Grey Wind whine beside him, Robb turned his attention off the snow-covered path before and towards the dire wolf that was now coming up to his horse's stirrups. "I know, boy," Robb said, trying to reassure both his friend, and himself, that he knew what he was doing. "I know we've already passed by two of the ruined Night's Watch castles…but those places weren't what we're looking for. But I promise you, boy…It won't be much longer now. The…pull from the Force I felt back in Castle Black. It's back. And stronger now than before. We're close, boy. I know it. And once we're done with whatever it is I need to do, I promise you an entire buck to gorge yourself on."
Grey Wind's large head turned up towards him as his tongue rolled out of his mouth and he felt a wave of acceptance seemingly roll off of his beast friend. Smirking, Robb turned his attention back to the road ahead of him, and nearly fell off his horse as he saw the ruins of yet another Night's Watch castle come into view. Only this was no ordinary castle along the Wall. This castle was one of legend, and not of the good kind. 'The Nightfort,' Robb thought, taking a breath to steel himself as he pulled his horse to a stop so that he could stare out over the ruins. 'This place…Old Nan would tell us all stories of this place. None of them pleasant. It was here that the Rat Cook served an Andal King his son in a pie. It was here that Brave Danny Flint was raped and murdered by the men of the Night's Watch. This place even unsettled Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen to the point where she all but commanded the place be abandoned when she 'suggested' that the Night's Watch should consolidate into fewer castles along the Wall. And it is here…where my trial shall take place.'
If he'd had the choice, Robb would bypass the Nightfort even if it took him out of his way by a day or so. But he knew that was not an option. Master Nox told him that the Force would guide him to where his trial would take place. And he could sense the Force leading him to this place. 'Steel yourself, Robb,' he told himself, hardening his heart and readying his courage as he tapped his horse's flanks with his heels to get the steed moving forward. 'A Sith, a Jedi…a Lord Stark does not show fear in the face of the unknown. For my father. For my house. To show Lord Nox that I am worthy of continuing my training, I will face what lies ahead without hesitation.'
Passing through the ruined gates of the fort and staring around in wonder at the small forest that was growing between the few structures still standing, Robb felt a shiver pass through him as a wave of cold struck him. A cold he recognized. A cold that came not from the air, but rather from the dark side of the Force. But it was…different than what he'd felt before. It was…tempered with a feeling of strength, of warmth…of light. 'What… What truly happened in this place to be so saturated in both the light and dark sides of the Force?' He thought as he brought his horse over to one of the few structures that was still standing, though that fact was probably more attributed to the trees growing through the structure than the actual structure itself. Dismounting from his horse, he tied the reins off onto one of the trees and gave his horse a drink of water and an apple before leaving the horse and moving towards the largest of the buildings that had a weirwood tree of all things growing out from its roof.
"Keep close, Grey Wind," Robb called out to his companion as he drew his sword while approaching the entrance to the building, which was just a single door that was hanging on by only a single hinge.
Not even bothering to see if he could move it by hand, Robb raised his hand and reached out with the Force. A single jerk of his hand and a pull with the Force, and what was left of the door was ripped off the doorframe and thrown across the overgrown courtyard. Keeping his sword in front of himself, he cautiously entered the ruined chamber, keeping his eyes and senses through the Force on high alert as he tried to find something, anything, that could tell him where the strange sensation in the Force he was feeling was emanating from. But there was nothing in the room beyond. Just the base of a weirwood tree with a carved face and tears of blood running down from its eyes.
"Nothing," he cursed, turning back around to Grey Wind. "Come on, boy. We have a lot of ground to cover he—!"
The sound of cracking was the only warning he had that something was wrong. In the next instant he felt the floor give way beneath his feet. His body felt weightless as he plummeted, his hands losing his sword as he tried desperately to slow his descent. But he was helpless to stop his fall, until he stopped naturally as his back struck the ground hard enough to drive all the air out of his body and leaving him a coughing mess.
Rolling over, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. "Hells," he groaned as he tilted his head back to look up at the hole he'd fallen through. "Gods…How far down did I fall? And – And where the hell am I?"
Squinting against the light coming in through the hole he'd made, he could just barely make out the head of Grey Wind peering over the edge. "Stay up there, boy!" he called out, getting to his feet, and dusting himself off. "I'm not going to be able to climb this…I'll need to find another way out. Grey Wind! Stay close to the fort, boy! And for the love of the gods… Don't eat the horse while I'm down here!"
Grey Wind barked as he could feel something like amused acceptance come from his friend before he disappeared from where he'd fallen. 'Alright,' he said to himself as he looked around trying to find if there was anything that might have fallen off his person during his fall. The only thing missing though was his sword, which had thankfully fallen far enough away from his person so that he didn't accidently fall on the blade. 'Small mercies, I suppose.' He thought, picking up his sword and squinting off into the darkness before him. He was in a tunnel of sorts. Which made sense. Castle Black had dozens of underground passageways that connected the various buildings to one another. It would make sense that the other forts the Night's Watch called their own would have something similar to protect the Brothers of the Watch from the weather. There were three paths before him, each one just as dark and foreboding than the others. But there was one that just…felt slightly different than the others. 'I suppose that's my way forward then. Let's just hope whatever passageway leading to the surface hasn't collapsed since this place has been abandoned.'
The light from the hole slowly faded as he went into the darkness of the tunnel, his sword held out and at the ready for anything. He wasn't sure just where he was going, but he just knew that he was going the right way. But as he went further and further along the path of the tunnel, he noticed something. He'd taken several turns along the way, and he'd seen no other breaks in the tunnel to allow light in. But for some reason, he could see just fine as if he were still in the area where he'd fallen. And the strange sensation that'd brought him to the Nightfort in the first place was steadily growing in intensity with each step forward. And just as he was about to turn back around and try to find another path, he came upon a door that completely blocked off the tunnel.
'This…This isn't right,' he thought, glancing behind him before examining the door further. 'This door…It looks like it's fresh from the carpenter.' Reaching out his hand, he placed his palm against the surface of the wood. 'And…And it's warm. How can that be?'
Pressing against the door, he was surprised when it opened without much effort. And even more surprised when he heard raised voices coming from whatever room laid beyond. Walking through the opening, he blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself near the rear of a great hall he didn't recognize. But the hall was filled to near standing room only with grown men, almost all of whom were wearing a combination of furs, armor, and weapons. 'What…What is going on?'
"I say we tell that sister fucker and his whores to shove their offer right up their asses!" one of the men shouted, rising to his feet and making Robb near fall back in surprise as he got a good look at him. If not for the completely snow-white hair, Robb would've sworn this man was the GreatJon Umber's twin brother if he had one. "Yer grace…the Dragon Lords gave us an offer! Made a pact with us! A Daughter of Winter to rule alongside one of their Archons. And in return the North is recognized as a separate sovereign state in perpetuity with no fear of conquest by the Dragon Lords. And these…sister-fucking-dragons, they have forgotten the promises made by their ancestors, just like any other southern cunt!"
"They haven't forgotten the promise made, Lord Umber," another man said, rising to his feet and making Robb reflexively reach for his sword as he noticed the sigil of the flayed man on his chest. "Lest you forget, his grace did send a message to the dragons reminding them of the promises made by the Archons. Their response was that Valyria is gone. Thus, so too are any promises that were made between the North and the Dragon Lords."
"Then we should fight!"
"Fuck the dragons!"
"Fuck the Andals!"
A heavy fist falling against the high table brought an end to all the voices as a man in thick furs rose from behind the table. Robb's eyes widened as he recognized not the man himself, but rather the sword that was resting against the side of his chair. 'Ice. And…And he's wearing the sigil of House Stark. The others are talking about the Dragon Lords…and they referred to him as 'his grace'. Could…Could this be…?'
The large man of House Stark took his time in speaking as his eyes slowly moved over the assembled crowd before him. It was a tactic that Robb knew well was one that his father often used to make sure that he had the attention of everyone in the room before speaking. "Lord Bolton speaks truth. We did send a raven to Aegon reminding him of the promise made by his ancestors. And his response was exactly as Lord Bolton said. He will not honor the agreement that was arranged because Valyria fell before the pact could be completed on our end. And he will not entertain the idea renewing the pact here in Westeros by having a Daughter of Winter marry his eldest son when he produces one."
"Then to the hells with them!" the large Umber man shouted, banging his fist on the table and making the wood groan and crack. "I say we take the fight to them! The Andals have been trying for thousands of years to take the North from us! Each time we bloody them and send them running home to their mothers' skirts! Sure, these Targaryen's have their dragons, but we have our own tricks to take those beasts away from them!"
There were more than a few that shouted their agreement with the statement, which confused Robb greatly as he'd never heard of a way of taking away a dragon before. And if the North had such an ability, why wasn't it used? The Stark at the head of the table raised his hand, bringing and immediate end to all talk in the hall. "Our 'tricks', Lord Umber, do not work on dragons that have been bound naturally. Just as they do not work on the direwolves of old that bound themselves to House Stark in the past. And as for the past wars against the Andals…this time is different. Moat Cailin and our keeps are designed to keep out invaders and force them to wither and die in the cold. They were not designed to repel dragons. And as the Targaryen's demonstrated at Harrenhal, even the greatest of keeps, if not built to counter attacks from the air, are basically defenseless against the might of a dragon."
"Then what is your decision, your grace?" a smaller man that was seated near the high table and wearing the sigil of a lizard-lion asked. "Aegon, his sister-wives, and their army have set camp well to the south. A smart move as they are forcing us out into the open field if we wish to fight them. And if we hold up, then as you said, they will use their dragons to burn our keeps and force us out into the open."
The Stark at the table folded his hands before his face and leaned his forehead into his hands. Robb could almost feel the weight of the man's decision even from clear across the room. "We have no choice. Aegon was wise in his conquering. He let us believe we would be safe behind the accords that'd been struck with the Dragon Lords of Valyria while he conquered the southern kingdoms. Now he comes North with an army numbering greater than anything the North has ever faced and three dragons with naturally bound riders. They have made their position clear. Kneel. Or our keeps, our families, our people. Our very way of life will end in the flames of dragons and by the blades of the Andals. As your king, it is my sacred duty to protect my people, even at the cost of my own life and pride. And that is what I will do now. I will swallow my pride…and I will kneel to the dragon boy to save the North."
The room was dead silent for all of a few moments before it exploded in pandemonium as almost all the lords rose to their feet and begged, or shouted or threatened the Stark, who Robb now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was Torrhen Stark, not to kneel to the dragons. The last King of Winter let his men rage for a few moments before once again slamming his fist down, this time breaking the table under the force of the strike as he shot up to his feet. Robb nearly took a step back, and several of the Lords did, as they saw Torrhen's cool-grey eyes turn dark yellow for a moment before immediately turning back. 'The eyes of the wolf.'
"I have not come by this decision lightly, my lords," Torrhen said, his voice heavy yet firm. "Yet it is my decision. We can fight, perhaps even take down one of the dragons. But what will be the cost? Our keeps burned. Our people put to the sword, or flames or worse. Our very way of life destroyed before our eyes. If it means sacrificing my pride…even if it means I will be remembered in ill manner for the rest of time…then I will do whatever I can to prevent such destruction. And I do not mean to simply bend over for the dragon boy. I will wring more than a few concessions out of him that will see that the North, and our way of life, will never be threatened by the Andals or their wretched Faith of the Seven. That is my decision, men. And you will honor it. Now to bed, all of you. We ride at first light to meet with the dragon boy and his sisters."
The men grumbled, yet their loyalty to their king won over their disappointment as none raised any further arguments as they left the hall. In no time at all, the hall was deserted save for Robb, Torrhen Stark, and one other young man who was sitting beside Torrhen and did not look pleased at all. Deciding to get a closer look, and confident that he could not be seen for some reason, Robb stepped forward to hear what was about to pass between Stark and the other man.
"You don't agree, brother." Torrhen said once the three of them were alone.
The other man huffed. "Of course I don't agree, brother. You're throwing away your crown, the crown of Winter. For eight thousand years, the Starks have split blood, done deeds that would make even the Boltons shutter in disgust all to unite the First Men under the banner of the Wolf. And now, now you're giving it away to some arrogant sister-fucking dragon shit. You fear their dragons…Understandable, as all men fear them. But that is the backbone of their power. Give me a dozen of our best and a few days head start. We'll cross the Trident, sneak into the dragons' camp and end their greatest asset. And without their dragons, the 'conquered Kings' will not stay loyal for long. Their camp will descend into chaos, and they'll kill each other without us ever having to raise our blades."
Torrhen sighed and shook his head. "Your plan is indeed one that I considered already, brother. But last night, when I went to the godswood seeking the guidance of the old gods, I was granted a vision of two possible futures. The first: we fought. We sent men south to try and assassinate the dragons, led by yourself, before the battle, but you failed. Your charred corpses were held up as examples as the dragon's army moved to meet us in battle. The battle was…brutal. We fought to the last man and even managed to kill one of the dragons and its rider. However, doing so cost the people of the North. Even though the battle was over, the remaining two dragons took their beasts North and unleashed their rage onto every keep between the Neck and the Wall, including Winterfell. Man. Woman. Child. It mattered not to the dragons. They simply burned everyone, turning each keep into smoldering piles of ash."
Pausing, Torrhen let the weight of his vision settle in before he pressed on. "The second: I knelt to the dragons. In return, House Stark retained our position as rulers of the North, only under the title of 'Warden of the North' instead of 'King'. We were able to get an accord with the dragons that stated that the Faith of the Seven would never have a hold of the North."
"So, you intend to just roll over like a bitch for the dragons then."
Torrhen didn't answer, preferring instead to turn around and pick a winter rose out of the vase that was sitting behind him that Robb just now noticed. "The gods also showed more than just the immediate aftermath of this path, Brandon." Torrhen stated, holding the rose in his hand. "The Targaryens will never sit easy upon the throne they will build. Their reigns will be plagued with distrust. Unrest. Fire and blood. Through it all, House Stark and the North will remain whole and largely untouched by the unrest. When the time comes…the gods have shown me that this here shall be the end of House Targaryen. They will be brought low by a rose from the North. And while it will be bloody and painfilled, House Stark and the North will have their vengeance upon the dragons for disregarding the accords created by the Dragon Lords of Valyria before their demise. We merely need to have patience brother. This will not happen in our lifetimes, nor in our children's. But one day, the Targaryens will meet their end here in Westeros."
Torrhen's brother, Brandon, didn't seem pleased by the thought. "As long as that bloody red and black dragon flies in the North, I will not be here, brother."
"No. No, you will not," Torrhen nodded, surprising Robb. "You, and those who have a similar mindset to your own, will leave as soon as you are able to do so."
Brandon leaned back and narrowed his eyes at the King in the North. "And where will we be going?"
"To Essos," Torrhen answered, holding the rose out for his brother to take. "There, you will build your strength and form an army that will wait for the day to return. You, and your descendants, will learn everything you can about the dragons and how best to bring them low. And when the day comes when House Stark calls you home, the army you raise will come home and put a wolf on the throne built by the dragons."
Brandon seemed to think on the idea for a moment before nodding. "Very well, brother. Then I will take those of like mind and depart for Essos and build our strength while you play nice with the dragons. The North Remembers, brother."
"Aye, the North Remembers," Torrhen replied, before both men and the hall disappeared, leaving Robb once again alone in a cold dark underground pathway barely wide enough to fit three men through side by side.
"Wh – What in the hells was that?" Robb wondered, turning around in place, trying to find any sign of the room he'd just been in, yet finding nothing. "Wait, Jon told me he saw…illusions during his trial. Was that – Was that what that was? An illusion? But it felt so real. Like I was there in the flesh and not a memory. And – And was that what really happened? The story said that Torrhen knelt to Aegon…but no one has really explained why. Did he – Did he really foresee the downfall of the Targaryens? And what about this Brandon Snow…where did he go? And why did they not come back during the Rebellion? And why the hells was I shown this?"
Shaking his head, Robb searched through the Force to find the pulse that'd led him here. Finding it quickly, he set on down the tunnel once more in search of whatever it was. He'd figure out just why he'd witnessed that illusion later. Right now, he had a trial to complete.
Making his way down the hall, he came to a stop once again as he was face with yet another closed door. Only this time the door was in incredibly rough shape. And there was no heat coming off its surface. Though, when he got closer, he swore he could hear something on the other side. 'No helping it, I guess,' he shrugged, placing his hand on its surface, and pushing his way through – and immediately finding himself knocked over as someone ran into him.
Picking himself up off the dirt, Robb could barely register the sounds of screaming and the clashing of steel as he tried to get his bearings. 'Where in the hells am I?!' he wondered, trying to look around but finding only small buildings surrounding him and the scent of salt in the air. 'I'm near the sea…I think. And there's fighting…but what is going on?'
Feeling a pair of hands grabbing him and pulling him to his feet, Robb found himself facing an older man who was bloodied and had a wild look in his eyes. "Run, boy!" the man yelled at him, shoving him in the direction where the other villagers were running to. "They be comin to kill us all! Get out of here before they ca – ah!"
Warm blood splattered across Robb's face as a sword tip pierced through the old man's chest, killing him instantly. As the man fell, Robb found himself face to chest with a large man equal on size to the GreatJon. Only this man was wearing the sigil of House Stark. His own house. "Here's another one!" the man yelled, grabbing Robb roughly by his arm and throwing him in the opposite direction of where the villagers were fleeing. "Bring him ta Lord Stark. He's deciding what to do with these Andal fuckers."
Feeling another set of hands grab him, he quickly found his hands bound behind his back and a length of rope shoved into his mouth and tied around his head before being thrown up on a man's shoulder and being hauled away like a sack of grain. As he was being moved, Robb was able to look around, and felt no small amount of horror and disgust fill him as he took in the scene around him. Buildings were being burned as men and women were being killed without hesitation or mercy. Homes were being ransacked before being put to the torch. And worse yet, it was all happening at the hands of men of the North.
Hearing a woman scream, Robb craned his head back, and felt his disgust grow. A man of the North had forced a woman onto the ground and was in the process of tearing off her dress while she tried desperately to fight him off. And all around him, other men of the North were either watching or laughing at the sight. He wanted to fight the man, to stop what was about to happen. He tried to throw the man off with the Force, but to his horror he found nothing when he reached out to the Force. And with his hand tied behind his back and slung up like he was, Robb was powerless to do anything but watch as the man exposed the woman before beginning to work on loosening his belt.
His vision was suddenly blocked as another almost impossibly large man wearing leather armor marched past him. All the men who saw the giant immediately moved aside as the man marched through them and towards the scene. Without saying a word, the large man brought his foot back and kicked the would-be rapist in the head hard enough to throw him off the woman, who quickly made to cover herself. Looking at the man, Robb felt his blood run cold as he saw the sigil of House Stark on the man's leather armor, and a set of wolf-yellow eyes that was staring down at the rapist in contempt. "Don't…touch their women." The man growled as if he were a wolf. "We don't mix with these Andals. Think of what kind of offspring that would bring. Half breeds. Weaklings. I will not have the blood of the First Men watered down with Andal filth."
The rapist angrily got to his feet, a snarl on his face. "These…Andals raided our lands, King Theon! They killed our brothers and sons! Raped our women and daughters. And now you would protect them! I demand the right to do with these whores as I see fit!"
Robb felt his blood grow cold as he made the connection. 'This…That is King Theon…the Hungry Wolf. And this…this must be one of his raids across the Narrow Sea! And – And I'm apparently on the wrong side!' "Lord Greystark speaks truthfully, King Theon," another man said, this one wearing the sunburst sigil of House Karstark. "These Andals did far worse when they reached our shores. Why should we not indulge ourselves while we are here?"
King Theon Stark stared first at the Lord Greystark before turning towards the Lord Karstark. Almost quicker than Robb could follow, King Theon drew his sword and mercilessly removed Lord Greystark's head. "Anyone else dare to question my orders?!" King Theon yelled, turning in a slow circle with his bloodied blade pointing towards his men. No one stepped forward.
"Yer – Yer grace! Gods, thank you!" the woman who was about to be raped shouted, grabbing hold of King Theon's boots, and groveling at his feet. "Thank you – Thank you, yer grace."
The King of Winter sheathed his sword before reaching down and gently cupping the woman's face and raising her to her knees. His hand almost gently caressed her cheek before moving down to her neck. Then with no words and nothing more than a quick jerking of his hand, King Theon Stark broke the woman's neck with a single hand and let her corpse fall to the ground. Robb couldn't help but shake at the brutal display, especially as Theon Stark approached the Lord Karstark.
"You challenge me, cousin?" King Theon asked with a hard look in his eye. "You challenge me, you'd better have a sword in your hand. As long as my heart beats, I rule. My orders are absolute. And you'll keep your tongue behind your teeth. Or I'll rip it out through your throat."
Lord Karstark immediately backed down and bowed. "As you say…your grace. The village is ours. Only a few villagers managed to get away. The men are all dead, along with most of the women. Those who aren't are captured are waiting your judgement along with the children. What do you wish to be done with them?"
Robb felt his heart thunder in his chest as he awaited the decision from King Theon. "When the Andals came to our lands, they killed our people without hesitation. Men. Women. And children. We will repay blood with blood. Kill them all and take their heads. They'll be our message to those fucking Andals should they ever think of invading the North again."
Robb wanted to scream that he was a man of the North, but the rope in his mouth prevented him from saying a word. Even as he was forced to his knees and his neck placed against a wooden log, Robb could do nothing but watch in horror as men of the North began butchering women and children like they were nothing more than cattle. Hearing a sword behind him drawn, Robb craned his neck enough to watch as Theon Stark himself stood above him, sword raised and ready to take his head. Then everything was gone, and Robb was once again back in the tunnel beneath the Nightfort, his arms and mouth unbound and his connection to the Force restored once more.
Rubbing at his wrist, he could swear that he could still feel the biting of the rope as he got back to his feet. "First, a vision of the King Who Knelt. Now, the Hungry Wolf. Gods of the North…what are you trying to show me?"
Pushing himself onwards, Robb was more than slightly wary as he reached yet another obstruction in the tunnel after only a few more twists and turns. This time, however, it wasn't a wooden door. Instead, it looked to be more of a tent flap that was draped across the tunnel. And as he got closer to it, he noticed that the flap seemed to be made of animal hide instead of cloth. The moment Robb pushed the hide aside, he immediately had to shield his face and eyes as he was assaulted with cold and snow blowing into his face. Peering around his hand in front of his face, Robb felt his jaw drop at what he was seeing. He was at the Wall. Only…the Wall was perhaps less than half as tall as he knew it to be. And there were hundreds…No, thousands of people working on the Wall. And not just people. He also spotted dozens of giants and – and some other creature that looked to be the result of a mating between a man and a tree of all things. 'Are those…Are those the Children of the Forest?'
Taking a step closer, Robb gazed in wonder as he watched man, child, and giant work together to build the greatest structure ever created in the history of Westeros. And his jaw dropped even further as he watched a piece of the Wall that was on the ground roughly the size of five carriages sitting side by side was lifted off the ground by a seemingly invisible force before floating towards the building site and settling in place on a section of the Wall. "Stark. You need to rest. You're no good to us dead. We can work on this monstrosity of yours while you rest."
Turning quickly, it took everything he had to not gape openly at the man who was standing less than a few paces from him. Seeing the King Who Knelt and the Hungry Wolf in these visions of his was extraordinary. But seeing Bran the Builder, the founder of House Stark…was something else entirely. The founder of his House looked…almost exactly like his father. Yet he was…old. Far older than Robb would've thought for a man who accomplished so much. His hair and beard were both white. Yet he held himself like a man younger than Robb's father. And yet, even though he held himself well, Robb could see the exhaustion written clear across the man's face.
"Not yet, Azor," Bran the Builder said, shaking his head as he reached out with his hand and twitched his fingers, causing yet another several-carriage sized brick to rise into the air as if it were lighter than air. "There's still a lot of work that needs to be done here."
'Those…That's a Force technique! But – But how? There was never any mention that Bran the Builder could use magic, or rather the Force. Well, I mean…History does say that the Wall was built with magic…but I guess it never said 'whose' magic it was that built it.'
The second man, Azor, shook his head and turned towards the Wall. "This monstrosity of yours won't be finished for years, decades even my friend. I'm sure that the workers can go a few days or even longer without your unique help and guidance. Though I must say, there are more than a few who are seriously considering that you've lost your mind given the scope of this Wall."
Lowering his hand as the brick settled into place, Bran shook his head almost sadly. "It's my fault in the first place that we are in this predicament, my friend."
"Horse shit," Azor spat. "If not for you and your timely arrival, we would all be done for. Your skills, your mind and your magic turned the tide of this war in our favor. All of us, both on this land mass and from my own homeland, owe you a debt we will never be able to repay."
"But it was my fault," Bran replied, looking down at his open hand. "I had a chance to end them all. But when it mattered most…I faltered. I was weak. Unable to do what needed to be done. And because I faltered, the enemy escaped into their domain and erected a barrier that not even I can penetrate."
The man, Azor, shook his head before forcibly turning Bran away from the construction. "You won't make amends for any perceived fault of yours by killing yourself, Bran. You need rest. You've been going for twenty days with practically no sleep. Now get your ass back to your tent, or I'll hit you over the head and drag you there."
Lowering his shoulders in defeat, Bran turned away from the Wall and began following Azor towards the largest tent, which just so happened to be the same tent Robb had emerged from just moments before. Following the two men back through the flap, Robb was expecting to find himself back in the tunnel beneath the Nightfort, but instead he found himself inside a spacious tent that had two large beds piled with furs and a table that was littered with pieces of parchment and a crude model of the Wall. Staying near the entrance, Robb watched as Azor all but forced Bran towards one of the beds in the tent.
"I'm not to the point where I need you to guide me to my own bed, Azor," Bran scoffed good naturedly as he dropped down heavily onto the bed. "My wife is more than capable of that…and far better than you."
"And you're nowhere near pretty enough to tempt me into following you into bed, Bran," Azor chuckled, shaking his head. "Besides, I doubt our wives would appreciate it much if we did. Speaking of which, have you given much thought to my offer? Your wife is now with child. And once I get a child upon my own wife, a union between our children would bring forth a new generation of magic users that would know no equal. My fire magic, and your Force powers. They would be unstoppable."
"Perhaps," Bran nodded. "But my wife is of this land, Azor. I will not be able to convince her to leave, no more than you will be able to convince your own wife to stay in this land."
"Very true," Azor nodded, grabbing a waterskin and pouring them both something dark into a pair of wood carved cups. "My Nissa does not fare well in this cold. Honestly, none of my men do. We yearn for the warm sands of our homeland, even if it will take months to return there. I don't know how you stand it, to be honest. But it is good to know that you will be settling down somewhere at least. I know these people offered you your choice of land. I take you have decided then where you are to build your home?"
"Aye, I have," Bran nodded as he took the cup and leaned back on his bed. "There is a natural hot spring in the middle of this land, between the Neck and the Wall. I plan on using that to help keep my future home warm enough so that the people can thrive despite the cold."
"Well, if anyone can build a fortress that will last, it is you, my friend," Azor said, raising his cup to Bran and taking a drink. "How long do you think this Wall of yours will hold against them?"