Prologue: Fire Thaws Ice

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Nuh-uh, not me.

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Chapter 1: Fire Thaws Ice

"... Why?"

"..."

"... Nissa ...Why?"

"... You know damn well why."

A hoarse and pained voice came out. The cold winds barriers the sky, darkening and biting to touch. A man was silent by the hut, ignoring the chaos and suffering around him. Why would he care? His wife Nissa was unmoving by his left arm and a sword coated with her blood on the other.

Behind him was another man. Raven-hair catching snows in his head, cold grey eyes, and rugged face. Northern First Men never trimmed their beards, nor any hair has grown from their body. All of this was to have a small warmth from long winters. They need it now more than ever since the Winter come and brought the great darkness behind it.

"... We need to stop this. This is your third sword, and it claimed another hundred days of our lives. We can only hope our next life to be more... promising."

A long silence, deafening long silence happened between the two.

"They can have my hundred days... but it will not bring Nissa back." A resounding gulp from his throat, wetting his dried passage. "Now... we will truly stop this." He stood up, his black eyes flashed with fire. He stared at the sword in his hand. Orange... no, more like red. Like blood red. The bronze shimmered with red flames. This was his wife's heart, burning all frost that dare to defy it.

His eyes stayed at the sword, then turned to the other man. "...Brandon."

***

His father told him stories of how blue was the sky, white clouds seems to disappear in the distance.

He did not believe him, even in his death. What a son he is, not even giving his father the benefit of doubt. Well, he cannot blame himself, he was prepared to die at the time.

He accepts death, unlike most people. It would seem pointless to live if suffering was all they have. Better to end it quickly, and snap the neck of the game. (1)

But here he was, many hours staring in the sky doesn't seem to be enough. He was born into the great darkness, lived in it and he survive. And now, he sees the different shades of blue, and at night, he would count how many stars were laid in it. Father would tell him where the wolf star is, as it was the symbol of their House. (2)

"Brandon." Brandon turned to his side, a ragged figure stared with its moss-green eyes. The 'Earthsingers'. (3) In its arms held a great sword made from bronze.

Brandon widened his eyes in recognition. Most people in the battle will recognize it.

"...Eldric's sword."

"Aye, we uncovered it from the snow north of the fertile land." (4)

"And Eldric...?"

Its little head shook in uncertainty. It spoke once Brandon digest the words, "Long time has passed. His body must have frozen from the cold by now." It came closer to Brandon and gestured its arm to receive the sword. Brandon absentmindedly accepted.

Many thoughts ran through his mind. His friend... died? But when he wielded the flaming sword, Eldric seemed unstoppable. Every wight screeched from tasting the metal, slowly dying from the sword's holy burns. He fought the darkness itself, bringing the light and casting a large shadow from the Great Other.

Brandon wept with the sword in hand. He seemed to tear every time someone close to him died. All tears dried now, but his voice conveyed its sadness and grief. Then he stopped and stared at the Earthsinger, saying, "Where is the corpse of the bastard?"

It stared at his eyes for a long time, finally showing a little emotion from its wooden face, "There was none."

"Eldric fought it, he chased it north of here and he died with snow ground as his grave. There must be shards of broken ice from that... that thing!" His heart raging, Brandon felt plagued with emotions, fear mostly transparent in his rugged face. "And there was none? No shards nor body beside the sword. All snow-covered ground."

Fear appeared from Brandon's face. It can't be right. That monster must not survive. It dies from the deaths it claimed and every corpse it rises from the ground. It must be burned right through its heart. Thousands upon thousands of sacrifice. Many First Men's blood were shed to fight its army of wights.

"The only conclusion, wolf, is that the Great Other escaped to the far north, much further from the great forest to the land full of winter." The Earthsinger supplied. Brandon did not want to listen in anything else this time but he could only nod in reply. There was no other choice, nothing else he could think of. The monster escaped while his friend, the savior of the land, has fallen. No other can champion nor be worthy of the sword. Lightbringer, his friend would call it, came from a vision.

Eldric is not a First Men, he came from another land, a shadowed land where blood magic and shadowbinders reside. He practiced their arts, though to a small extent. He was not truly gifted with a talent for feats of magic. Instead, he committed to training his body with the art of the sword, swinging and stabbing from bandits and sellswords on his way westward, to where his vision wants him to go. Then battled pirates and slavers on the salted waters. He landed on where dark winter clouds seem to take any light that dares to defy.

Here, in Westeros, Eldric was an outsider but quickly accepted to their lands. He fought with us side by side, and in the end, we survived for another day. His sword broke from the blade of frost of a Whitewalker. He and his wife Nissa, who he saved from... Norvos, I think, came to an idea in forging a bronze sword. Bronze was the only metal mined in the North, and it was sung by the Earthersingers to weave magic on the material.

Only, it was broken again and again when the final tempering came. First, he tempered the freshly forged into the dirty water of smiths. Then the second was with a mountain lion's blood. The third was the hardest, with his wife's heart was the price. In the end, he made the choice and fought the monster. Never once he mourned, just driven with grief to battle thousands of risen corpses.

When the Battle for the Dawn ended, his sword was the only thing that remained. All other tribes of First Men went back to the still frozen home, mayhaps make a life of their own after the snows thaw from the new sun.

No, he will not fail his memory. Brandon gripped the sword, by the handle and by the edge of the blade. Whitening the knuckles from the right and bleeding palms on the left. The winter will come again, feasibly harder than the first. What they need is a barrier to protect them.

A wall, no, the Wall. With the order of Night's Watch still alive, they can man the structure. It would be a waste of their training to be guards or rangers.

Brandon stood, his thick animal hides and wolf fur fluttering by the northern winds, and spoke to the creature beside him, "Will you help me... Ash?" His stature towers the child-like figure.

A small nod was all he received.

Making the Wall was hard. He had builders marking the three hundred long miles from the Bay of Ice to the Bay of Seals, he had giants and mammoths doing the heavy lifting, and Children of the Forest to help him plan the proceeding and also weaving their magic in every block of ice placed. All in all, he has to make nineteen strongholds to protect the iron gates, the only entrance between the North and the land where Whitewalkers escaped.

It has been already three winters since the idea of building the Wall, and he was nowhere near halfway finished. They need much more men... and gold. Brandon sighed, this problem kept him from the nights.

A whistling sound in the distance, Brandon stopped from his thoughts. He turned from his small solar in his tent to the exit. A rider with a banner of black was approaching the settlements. The closer it gets, the more visible the symbol in the was. A stag — a yellow stag in the field of black.

Durran's banner. What does his friend want now? Once again, Brandon sighed. He came to meet the rider, easing the guards from raising their bronze spears.

The rider recognized the leader and came to him, speaking, "Forgive me, milord, are you the one named Brandon?"

"Aye, I am. I see that you bear my friend's banner. What does Durran want?" Brandon asked. His friend Durran always carries his ale with much vigor. He japed being a mighty stag. Now, he had sewn it in his banner. He remembers his boisterous friend even when parting. Durran has been chasing quite a Lady for a long time.

"Here, my lord. He sends his letters." The rider mounted off the back of his horse and handed a folded animal skin to Brandon. The latter scanned through the letters but there is one line he was so much interested in.

'Build me a fortress so strong, even the gods cannot sweep it of their storms. Do this, and I will pay for your... endeavors.'

Brandon smiled, this was great news. He doesn't have much faith in his friend saying he'll pay the cost of building the Wall, it is much bigger than any coffers of many lords and kings, but a small help cannot hurt. He'll have to speak with the Earthsingers of the Stormland to lend a hand. It would not be possible to build the fortress without their magic.

Brandon turned the animal skin and took his quill and dipped it into the ink. He wrote his answer and rolled the letter. Handing it to the chomping rider, Brandon said, "After eating your fill, take my other horse and ride hard to my friend."

"But... what about my horse, milord? It was given by my father from his father." The rider replied, dumbfounded.

"My horse is well-rested, yours is not. Do not worry, I will return your horse when I meet my friend again." Brandon reasoned before saying again, "But now you need to ride fast and deliver my letter. It is of utmost importance to haste your return."

"A-aye, milord. T-thank you, milord." Here he abandoned his dried jerky and quickly watered down his throat.

Meanwhile, Brandon returned to his tent. In his thoughts — now, how can I cross the land of the kings on the way? (5)

He cannot travel as does the rider did, Brandon will need large processions and it would be a problem for the kings and lords of the land. And they don't take problems lightly. A most likely scenario would be dragged into a Heart Tree and bleed them dry on the roots of the Holy trees.

Now, what to do?

Brandon's thought was interrupted by the sounds of brawling. He sighed, a common occurrence from the camp. Since he is the leader of the settlements, he's responsible for any problems that plague his charge. He saw by the large bonfire was a Northmen wrestling a Northwoman. Another stealing is happening, seeing the man tearing the furs of the woman. Common practices of the Old gods. (6)

What seem to be expected did not happen, the man was punch by the throat and began choking on his bile. The next event happened almost instantly, the woman on the ground swiftly kicked the man on his crotch, cringing was the face of every man witnessing. Even Brandon, quickly covering his area as if feeling the pain of crushing his seeds.

The woman went up on one knee, smiling and not even covering his exposed breast, and held the burning wood on the bonfire. She laugh victoriously and grabbed the man by the hair, forcing his head to look at her bloodied eyes. Realizing her intention, Brandon yelled and held out his hand as if to gesture to stop whatever she is about to do. It came late when the woman forcibly shoved the burning end of the wood in the slacked jaw, opened the mouth of the man. The man let out a silent scream while the woman shouted, "Your cock does not compare to this wood, vermin. Swallow it whole"

Brandon groaned, another day of problems coming his way. He took the arms of the woman and yelled, "That is enough!" The man fell from the grip, and hurriedly, though painfully, went to the snow-covered ground and ate it to extinguish the burning mouth of his.

Brandon massaged his upper nose, groaning in displeasure. The woman, as if nothing happened, smiled at him while covering her exposed skin. She said, "milord."

"Grenda," Brandon replied, deadpanned. He needs a break.

*** End Notes ***

1 — End the suffering of a trapped game or rabbit, in layman's terms. Kind of like mercy killing, but with no remorse.

2 — In Planetos(the world of Ice and Fire), they have different constellations than on earth. Many sailors use it to navigate since lodestones are not yet found to create a compass. There were mentions of the wolf, the rose, the spear. I suspect it was named after the great Houses of Westeros by the Maesters, since they have a chain for astrology, after all.

3 — Children of the Forest. They sing to the trees and ground to use their magic. Most cannot understand, since it was versed in Old Tongue. In this time, the First Men integrated the language with theirs, but it was mostly abandoned when the Andals came. A lost language in Canon.

4 — It refers to the land of Brandon's Gift or Gift. This land was given to the Night's Watch for their supplies and provisions.

5 — Brandon is currently in the Wall. He needs to cross many king's lands, namely Umber King, Barrow king, Marsh King, Riverlander Lords, Buckler King, and only will he arrive at the beach of Shipbreaker Bay(Where Storm's End was built). And there's no harbors, much fewer ships, on this time so no travels by the ocean. And even if they travel by ocean, they are going to land in Shipbreaker Bay, which by the name itself, is not good for sea travel.

6 — In the main story, it was a practice of the wildlings to steal a woman they desire. In simple terms, it's a barbaric 'wedding' ritual. Almost as barbaric as the 'First Night'. Search for the First Night custom of Westeros for further information.

A/N:

You might be wondering why I call them Brandon and Durran still. They still have no last name or House name. Brandon does not name himself Stark at this time yet, maybe in the later chapters because I want him to earn the name in a meaningful way. And Durran is called Godsgrief at this time so no last name and his descendants decided to take his name for their House name. Many Houses were already established in this age, namely Gardener, Casterly, Daynes, Umber, and many more.

And Brandon did not start the Stark conquest of the North, his descendants did. All his life was about establishing the House Stark, building Winterfell, Hightower, and Storm's End. He is also not a king in this time even if many Houses style themselves as one, so you can say he's just a noble Lordling of small land. The North has also many kings, namely the Umbers, the Barrow king, the Glovers, the Marsh King, the Red kings, and many more. Even Skagos has one. Durran is King, but yet to be named as the first Storm King.

Also, there's no 'Lord' in this time, Magnar is their name. An Old Tongue word for Lords, I guess. But I will use Lords here because it might get confusing for you guys.

So, first chapter. Only a prologue, just an overview of whether you guys will like the story onwards. No need to give stones for this story since I'm not doing this for profit. I DON'T GET ANYTHING FROM THIS. LOL, see on the next one. Ciao!