Moat Cailin

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Damn, it's been a hot minute. IM SO SORRY 😭

But! In my defense, I took a little vacation for almost a month and the newest installment of this series took way longer to write and post because it's very technical! Like, it took me a month and a half to do the first 2 chapters of A Survivor's Will! But I think it will be easier now that I have a good start on how I want to handle the mechanics of it. And now there are 8 parts to this series and I wrote over 45k since you guys last saw me!

Still… I am sorry 💙 you guys are my dear readers so I feel bad for the wait.

Anyway! I officially posted my walking dead gamer fic, so check that out if you're interested. I know gamer fics aren't for everyone, but it's not a traditional one, so you might enjoy it anyway.

Y'all know how this series works by now, but if you're new, hi! Welcome! Each part of this series can be read independently or in order as part of a soul's journey through the cycle of reincarnation.

Side note, I'm starting school again, so expect a slow down in updates again. So sorry.

As always, thank you guys for showing your love for my work. I hope yall enjoy!

Discord!

https://discord.gg/XhqUDAnbsH

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"We'll be reaching Moat Cailin soon, little one," Ser Cregan states above me, and I peer open one eye long enough to glance up at him in acknowledgment before I let it fall shut again, head against his armored chest as I nap, long since having gotten used to the movement of the horse underneath us and the noise of our traveling companions.

As we'd gotten closer to Moat Cailin, everyone but me able to see its dark towers rising in the distance, Cregan had taken to having me ride with him more often. It was partly so he could keep a closer eye on me, especially in case we needed a quick escape, and partly to teach me to ride better, something about how if I could navigate the swampy grounds of the Neck, I could ride anywhere. The wolves and dragons follow closely by paw or wing respectively and we are currently accompanied by Wyrenna, Lord Wylon Manderly's daughter and Wymen's sister, as well as Sybelle Locke, and her much older brother, Alasdaire Locke, who was the heir of the Old Lord Ondrew Locke, all of which had joined us to learn some magic. I find myself amused by how adamantly each House we passed insisted on joining us for a time as some show of protection and loyalty. It is rare to find people so genuinely devoted to their rulers in any life.

While the Starks are technically only the wardens of the North, it is abundantly clear who rules these lands, regardless of what the south and the Targaryens would like to think. We bent the knee, but the only thing that kept us a part of the seven kingdoms was an oath and a desire not to make war over something as petty as who wore a crown. Like I had told my father the day I retrieved the eggs from the spring, we were only loyal to the dragons as long as they were best for the people of the North. After all, the true nature of the oath Torrhen Stark swore has long been forgotten, even by the Targaryen's themselves.

These days it is remembered as an oath of fealty, even in the North. But the King Who Knelt was a clever man, one that lacked the usual carelessness and arrogance of most monarchs that allowed them to spill the blood of their people without remorse. The oath Torrhen made had very particular wording, and had Aegon the Conqueror been less of a fool, he might have been more wary of a House that had ruled a kingdom for thousands of years longer than the history of the entire Valyrian empire. 

But then again, everyone knew that Queen Visenya was the real brains of their operation. She probably would have noticed if she wasn't busy managing the entire conquest while her brother and sister were fucking. 

Lucky for us, it was Aegon that Torrhen treated with rather than his queen. In reality, Torrhen made no unconditional vow of fidelity. Rather, the last king of Winter swore before the gods that House Stark would 'be loyal to the true Targaryen ruler so long as they do not unjustly harm the people of the North, nor neglect the care of them.' Aegon, in turn, accepted these conditions and swore his bloodline would maintain the oath on their side, while ordering Torrhen to kneel, offer his crown up, and become the Warden of North.

The wording was vague, subjective even. By some measure, you could say it was less of an oath and more of a two way pact, both parties swearing to uphold a promise through their bloodlines. However, it can be argued that the Targaryens broke their oaths long ago, rendering the duty of the Starks null and void.

Queen Alysanne swept in in her dragon, stole the Gift, the most fertile farming land in the North, and demanded the Sharks give it to the Night's Watch, who couldn't even properly use it. The North suffered a famine as a result and was forced to spend most of its available gold on food imported from other kingdoms at exorbitant prices, just to feed our people. This act, one that led to the deaths of thousands of Northerners from starvation in the following winter, a huge source of Northern agriculture having suddenly been out of reach without any thought to how the loss would affect our kingdom, was blatant fucking theivery by Jaehrys and his cunt wife. The so-called Good Queen's naive and careless actions could be considered a most egregious violation of the oath not to neglect or harm the North unjustly.

Another justification we could use should we need to rebel without being oathbreakers is that the Targaryen have broken their vow to marry a dragon princess into House Stark as reward for our assistance to the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons, spurning our marriage proposals at every opportunity for literal generations in favor of other Houses with more wealth or influence in the south.

No, actually, we can consider ourselves free of this oath since some of the earliest generations of the Targaryen rule when nearly every request for aid against Iron Born or Essosi pirates and the like were ignored to this day unless the Greyjoys were trying to declare independence.

"My lady?" I peek a single eye up at Cregan again, unwilling to invest more energy than this at the moment, burdened with the weight of the Siphons in the area tugging at me. It has become harder for me to be without magic in my vicinity, to the point where it is taking a more physical effect on me than any of us had expected, leaving me fatigued and weakened. "We are here."

I grunt, noticing that despite everything, there still seems to be traces of magic in the air, surprisingly thick even. The black basalt stone rises like shadows in the swamp fog to my poor sight and I let Cregan help me down, my hand taken in Brandon's the minute my feet reach the ground. We are greeted by the Master of Arms, the Stark appointed head of the contingent that stays at Moat Cailin on permanent rotation.

Frostbite circles my feet, and I tilt my head up, sensing the dragons glide high above to perch on one of Moat Cailin's remaining tower, the tall and slender Children's Tower.

Letting the dragons roam freely might seem like a reckless decision, but it's not. For one, every vision I've Seen shows that the South does not invest in spies in the North. There is only a few spies in Winterfell, ones that I keep in place deliberately, but most of the other Northern Houses didn't even have that, because frankly, no one expects treachery from the honorable Starks, not even the paranoid King Aerys and the vicious Tywin Lannister. Those spies are easily paid off or manipulated to feed false information countering any tales told about magic in my kingdom, not that anyone is reckless around Southerners travelers in the first place, few that there were. As a matter of fact, merchants, the most likely of Southron visitors, almost never travel past White Harbor, instead trading their merchandise to Northern traders who would take the goods across the rest of the North. 

Furthermore, inside the North, the Starks received a depth of loyalty from its vassals and smallfolk that Southron Lords couldn't even comprehend. Now that word is spreading that Lunarya Stark is a Messenger of the Old Gods, that loyalty had begun to reach exceedingly devout heights. Very few would risk offending the gods or painting a target on me and my House solely on principle, especially the deeply religious smallfolk.

And even if all that failed? The Blizzard Trading Company and my spy network, called Full Moon, a great potion of which are wargs, greenseers, and skin changers, and mages from the newly founded Order of Avalon, a name I'd appropriated just for shits and giggles, are all in place to do damage control. Even now, in the Neck, the closest part of the North to the Southern kingdoms, I'm not at all worried that anything that might be told about the 'tree worshiping savages' will be taken seriously even on the off chance rumors did manage to make it South. 

Naturally, I am not expecting the secrecy to last forever, and eventually, someone will investigate the rumors of magic and or dragons in the North, but we didn't need to hide forever. We just needed to gather more wealth, boost the economy, and train the magic users up first. All I need is less than a decade, and every vision I've had so far has shown that I'll get it.

No, the real threat lay in the Citadel and Faith Militant, who would undoubtedly be the first to move against us, and unlike the Lord in the South, they might not bother to spend time investigating or gathering evidence to see if the rumors are even true in the first place.

"Oi, little menace," Marwyn rumbles, his chains clanking as he glares about. "Sense that?"

"Yes," I agree. "There are not one, but several Siphons located at the Moat, and yet, I can still feel magic."

A squeaky roar has me glancing up once more, furrowing my brows in thought. "The dragons…."

"You think there is magic attracting them there?" Brandon asks from beside me, and I nod, swinging our entwined hands a bit as I think, ignoring the crowd growing around us for a moment.

We were staying at the Moat for a few days, most of the keep not really inhabitable as is. The Reeds are arriving to meet us tomorrow, and our current retinue of Locke and Manderly heirs and guards will leave, but we had plenty of time to explore until then. I decide to begin dispersing our onlookers first. "Lord Alasdaire, Lady Sybelle, and Lady Wyrenna, why don't you join the mages in finding the Siphons? I believe there are around three, perhaps more. It will allow you more practice before you return home."

Sybelle, the youngest and most eager at 7, lights up and immediately drags her brother and Wyrenna to the group of mages who, when Marwyn and I were busy, were in charge of teaching them, and any other Northern nobles who traveled with us with the aptitude, the basics of magic. As soon as we finished traveling through the Neck and returned North through the Saltspear, the mages traveling with us would rotate out with the ones still currently in Wintertown, allowing everyone to get ample experience.

"Let us explore the Moat," I tell Bran, nodding to Nahsa as she appears at my side. "Oh, and Nahsa, please make sure someone gives the master of arms here the Preserver and Freezer boxes we got for the soldiers stationed at the Moat and teach them how to use them."

Nahsa vanishes to do just that before returning and I sigh, satisfied that the Stark men would be getting a higher quality of life while protecting the North. 

Soon enough, Bran, Nahsa, Ser Cregan, Marwyn, and a few guards found ourselves exploring the rubble.

The keep was utterly massive, and like Winterfell, covered in runes. Marwyn, who had actually explored and documented such things at the Moat on a trip here years ago, made sure to point out everything he knew. It didn't take long for Bran to get bored of the in depth intellectual debates Marwyn and I kept falling into about the particular use of certain runes in so and so context, eventually overwhelming even Bran's newfound overprotectiveness, and he very generously decided I'd survive a few hours without him, leaving to pester the Stark men of the Most for some sparring, much to my joy. He had been infinitely better after I talked to him in White Harbor, but it seems his instincts as a protective older brother have permanently awakened.

I pointedly ignore the memory of a haunting vision of my brother strangling himself to death trying to protect our father and the twisting in my gut that says those protective instincts will be the end of him one day.

After a few hours, just after we've eaten lunch, I sense it a fraction of a second before Marwyn does, a wave of magic in the distance from a destroyed Siphon washing over us, meaning the mages managed to sniff one out. The sensation is rather gentle compared to the usual tsunami we feel when destroying one up close. "Well, that's one."

"Heh, that feels fucking odd," Marwyn grunts, and I nod, head tilting. Already, the newly released magic that should be flooding the area seems to be being drawn towards the remaining Siphones. The magic isn't being drained particularly fast, but I can feel these empty, dark, unnatural cavities where the vibrant magic is swallowed. It is starkly off putting, like a field of flowers with a random scorched patch of earth, a distinct and clear wrongness to it. 

Marwyn promptly takes off to observe the phenomenon up close, but I have other plans. "Let's eat before going to the Children's Tower. I need to see what the hatchlings are up to."

"My lady, it might not be safe…" Cregan begans hesitantly, peering warily at the worn stone structure.

"It's fine. Most of the damage is to the battlements and doesn't affect the integrity."

My pseudo uncle stares for a moment. "It's still odd to hear a child say such things."

I shoot him an annoyed look. I know it is disconcerting, understandably so, but I kind of wish they'd get over it already since I'd been speaking like this for nearly two years now. The constant reminders that I was strange to everyone around me were tiresome even though I should be used to it after several lives.

By the time we arrive at the tower, two more siphons are destroyed, the last of them near us from what I can tell, and, as Cregan opens the tower door for me, I feel a shift in the air just as Frostbite and I step through, the tower door abruptly slamming behind me before Nahsa and Cregan can follow me.

I blink, staring at it. I extend my senses and frown, recognizing that the magic inside the tower is dense, perhaps one of the densest areas I've ever felt, the walls so suffused in it that they seem to block my senses of the outside world beyond it.

I try to open the tower door only for it not to budge, the magic coalescing in it, keeping it from opening even when I send a short, disruptive blast of magic through it, explaining why Cregan and Nahsa had yet to appear. I glare, knowing this will scare everyone enough that I won't get any alone time for a while, yet again, due to no fault of my own. Frostbite growls, mirroring my rising agitation. It seems I've been deliberately lured and seperated from my companions. Deciding it's best I go confront the presences I can sense upstairs near my dragons, I face the endless stairs, annoyance increasing by the second. Frostbite, nearly as tall as I am, butts his head against my collarbone, growling quietly in unease. I pat his head softly before gripping his scruff. "Lead on, pup. We've been sent an invitation we literally cannot refuse."

Together with my dire wolf guiding my steps on the stone, I climb the tower. After a frustratingly long time, I reach the top, panting and bracing myself on my openly snarling bond. Even the dragons, perched just outside the somewhat crumbling walls and windows, were hissing and shrieking their displeasure. After a moment, I draw myself up, looking at the small figures that had severely annoyed me by locking me in this tower. "I don't appreciate others trying to impose their will on me."

One small figure steps closer, falling to their knees, quickly joined by the others. "Forgive us, Champion of the Nameless Gods. We knew not how else to speak alone with you."

I glance at them coldly before moving to sit upon an ornate chair, one of the only decently safe looking ones in the room. "And why have you come to see me? Perhaps the Three Eyed Chicken sent you, Those Who Sings the Song of Earth?"

The Children of the Forest startle, caught off guard, but if it is because of my knowledge of their proper names or my dismissal of Bloodraven, I don't know. The main speaker steps forward slightly, attention warily on my angry wolf next to me even as the dragons crawl closer on the cracked stone window ledge, peering into the room, caging the legendary beings in on all sides. "No, Blessed One! Before all things, we are servants of the Old Gods, the gods of nature and balance and magic, and they have sent whispers through the weirwood about you, that you will bring back magic, the Old Ways."

While I am sure that the Old Gods have no ill will towards me, and perhaps even favor me, I don't think I've ever interacted with them directly, even if everyone around me insisted that I was their messenger. The truth was that I paid respect to these gods because I could sense their connection with Magic, Death, and Fate, the primordial gods I knew so well. As such, I recognized them as true, although minor, gods even though I only truly worshiped Magic and Death, (Fate can fuck of as far as I was concerned). While the Old Gods of this world seemed to guide my sight, I don't think I actually qualify as a messenger since I've yet to communicate with them at all. The only god I'd actually met that was of this world was Garth the Greenhand, and I don't think he is actually one of the Old Gods. He is a god of the First Men, definitely, and some say Garth was once a mortal that led the First Men to this continent in the first place, later gaining divinity and becoming a god, but the Old Gods were once worshiped by the Children of the Forest long before the First Men arrived in Westeros, and perhaps before Garth was born. 

Despite that, I know very well that the fact that the Singers were showing themselves after thousands of years meant that they wanted something from me. I grit my teeth, face blank as I process. I don't like this little ambush, but I can excuse it depending on why they are here. I can't feel any malice, but I could tell they were trying to manipulate me for something. That much was clear. The only real question was what their motive was and if I would need to kill the legendary creatures in retaliation.

While I manage to keep my own angry defensiveness under my skin, my bonds give me away, Frostbite crouching dangerously next to me, rumbling with a silent snarl and the dragons hissing and snapping, and it leaves the creatures in front of me on edge, much to my satisfaction. When I next speak, my voice is perfectly mild, though. "So the Old Gods told you of me. But what do you seek from me?"

"We come to serve. All we ask is to bask in the magic you bring back to these lands," the main speaker says hurriedly, all the Children of the Forest bowing before me, clearly able to sense my displeasure at being cornered. I note the concentrated power in their small forms and wonder if they need magic to survive. It would make sense, I suppose. The Children of the Forest disappeared with the magic of this world, and even I, a human, felt weakened whenever in range of Siphons. It might have explained why they sought me out.

"Blessed Wolf, we can aid you!" The leader speaks hurriedly, even as frost, the manifestation of my irritation, creeps along the stone towards them. "We can prove it to you!"

"Hm?" I vocalize almost boredly as I scrutinize them coldly, chin resting on my fist.

"We can show you how to awaken the runes built into this keep. This place cannot be fixed as easily as Winterfell, which just needed magic to reform."

Distantly, I note the confirmation of how long they've been watching me, my anger spiking as I try to appear unruffled. "…I don't think I should fix Moat Calin yet, actually. We can explain away a great deal in Winterfell, so far North, saying we Starks rebuilt part of the keep using our gold and stone workers. But the Most has been in ruins for more than a thousand years. There is no way to explain how we could rebuild it, let alone in such a short time." 

Since the Moat is the bottleneck North, every merchant and traveler will notice and unlike the other things that we have been orchestrating, it's not something that can be explained by the imagination of the small folk. Even the South, with their heads burried so far up their own arses, will notice it's beyond anything but magic.

"We can disguise it," the leader offers eagerly. "Even as the towers straighten and rise once more, no one will see anything but ruble, unless you wish otherwise."

I perk up, intrigued. "An illusion?"

"In a manner of speaking. We will use the weirwood to show them a time when the castle was still being crushed by time."

I resist the urge to pout when I realize I can't resist the promise of new magicks. "… You will teach me everything I ask and.follow my orders. If I get the slightest impression that you have betrayed my trust-"

"We will never do so. You will not regret this, Magic Bringer. Our loyalty is yours so long as you walk this path. We swear this oath to you!" The leader practically sings.

But, I am no foolish Aegon to accept such a vague vow.

"I require more than that," I dismiss harshly. "I want you to swear that you will act in good faith for the North, that you will become true citizens of my kingdom and work for its betterment. That you obey House Stark so long as they follow the Old Way even long after I am gone and that you will never, ever betray me, move against me, or allow others to do so as long as I continue to champion the Old Gods of Magic and nature."

The Children of the Forest, with some discomfort, agree relatively easily and make their oaths, allowing me to relax. My warg bonds calm with me, the temperature in the room warming as my anger melts into smug satisfaction. "Good. Let my people in."

The leader of the Singers, whose name had been shortened to Leaf since the translation of it wasn't very usable, snapped her fingers. No sooner had the sound reverberated through the air that a loud bang came from far below at the entrance of the tower, and running and shouting could be heard. I sigh heavily, rubbing my temples.

"Magic Bringer?" Leaf asks.

I grimace. "You lot are going to have to work hard to make this up to me. It looks like I'm going to be losing my personal time again. Please make yourselves scarce against the far wall for a moment so my brother doesn't try to set you on fire."

The Singers look at me in alarmed confusion, although they do obey, just as Cregan, Nahsa, a horde of guards and mages, as well as Marwyn and Bran come tumbling in. "Hello, friends. Isn't it a lovely evening we are having?"

"Lunarya!" Bran yelps, nearly staggering with relief, oblivious, but Cregan, exceptional level of skill and years of experience showing through, notices the small figures against the wall instantly, second only to Marwen who senses their magic and makes a sharp noise much like a boiling tea kettle in the background. Cregan rips out his sword from his sheathe, sending a 

ripple effect to the others who quickly follow his example, and it's only the sharp tap of my foot on the floor that sends out a short barrier of ice between my newest minions and my alarmed guards that stops the knights short. "Peace, Sers. There is no threat. Here are the ones you know as the Children of the Forest, although they prefer to be called Singers-" Marwyn practically teleports over to my side, gripping my shoulders and shaking me wildly side to side as he looks at the Singers with ravenous curiosity, actually too excited to form words. Meanwhile, everyone else is busy managing their overwhelming bafflement as I struggle to speak straight while being shaken like a rag doll. "– And they have sworn their fealty to me, making them citizens of the north."

Bran recovers fastest, stomping over to me with a dark glare as he sheathes his own sword. "You will be sleeping with me for the foreseeable future, sister."

"Brother I don't think that's-" I click my jaw shut at the unrelenting scowl on his face and give up immediately, knowing I won't be able to dissuade him. "Yeah, alright."

"…You will be responsible for explaining this to your Lord Father as well, child." Ser Cregan says with the sudden tranquility of someone who's realized something troublesome was not their problem after all, and therefore, they would watch the incoming catastrophe from the sidelines with snacks.

I whimper, but nod.

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AN: Not a lot of dialogue this chapter, y'all, but needed the exposition. Sorry guys.

I hope you like it. Anyway, like I said, the chapter ended up split since it was so long, so should I release the second part early or wait for the rotation to finish?