Change of Heart #44

Gale shifted his attention back and forth between Tormund and the iceblade, a glint in his eyes as he considered an idea. "You know, I'm having second thoughts," he remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. 

With a casual flourish, he extended the iceblade in the direction of the wildling. "How about you give it a swing? See how it feels, Just for fun. I promise you won't die. Well, probably," he added with a chuckle.

Tormund cast Gale a deadpan look. 

He gave the rusted helmet in his hand a thoughtful knock with his knuckles. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I think I'll stick with my new friend here," he said, referring to the helmet. 

Impatient as she was, Threya opted to be the voice of reason for once, scowling at their banter. "You two... get a tent already," she muttered under her breath, a hint of exasperation in her voice. 

She addressed them more loudly, "Let's wrap this up and get out of this freezing hellhole before more of these blue fuckers show up," Her sense of urgency was palpable.

Gale was about to nod in agreement with Threya and voice out his desire to leave these lands. 

However, his response was interrupted when Melorian's voice suddenly emerged from behind, startling him. "To think you'd manage to slay the white walker... how unexpected," Melorian remarked, his applause filling the air.

Gale swiftly turned to face the source of the voice, a reflexive motion that almost led to him swinging his new iceblade. It was only by sheer willpower that he restrained the instinctual reaction. The sight of Melorian's undead, rotted face staring at him from such close proximity was unnerving, to say the least. 

With cautious composure, he regarded Melorian and spoke, "I thought you'd be long gone by now. Whether we'd killed the white walker or it killed us, we wouldn't be your problem anymore."

Melorian nodded, his decaying features showing signs of contemplation. "More or less... though I must admit, I brought you here expecting you'd all die," he replied in a calm, measured tone. 

He continued, "But now you've slain a white walker, and that changes things." As his hollow eyes bore into Gale, it was evident that Melorian was assessing the situation and its implications with keen interest.

Gale's eyes narrowed as he interpreted Melorian's words with suspicion. "Oh? You think you'd fare better than the white walker?" he challenged, his tone assertive.

Melorian appeared momentarily perplexed by Gale's response, but a dawning realization brought a wry chuckle to his rotted lips. 

"You've misunderstood me. As long as you depart these lands, we'll have no quarrel – or so I'd like to say..." Melorian stated, his words laced with an enigmatic quality. Then, he shifted to an inquisitive tone, "But I must ask, why come here? Why hunt a white walker?"

Gale, cautious but intrigued, furrowed his brow as he considered his response. He couldn't discern Melorian's true intentions, but he decided to offer an explanation, hoping to gleam more from the creature in exchange.

"Let's just say it's part of an effort to forge an alliance between the wildling tribes and the Night's Watch," he replied, his words measured. "With the Night King looming as a common threat, I figured that our chances would be better if we stopped tearing each other's throats."

Finally, he countered with his own question, "What got you so interested?"

"A united front of free folk tribes and the Night's Watch to halt the Night King's march... how unusually reasonable," Melorian remarked with an almost mocking tone, his rotted visage betraying his skepticism. The idea of finding logic in these untamed lands seemed almost ludicrous to him. 

"Indeed... this changes things, it changes a great deal," he added cryptically, further confounding Gale.

Melorian's next words took on a sinister allure as he regarded Gale with a smirk. "Tell me, lad... how would you like to return home with one more souvenir?" Melorian's voice oozed with intrigue. "Granted, you could claim it, that is..." He left the offer hanging in the air, a veil of mystery surrounding his intentions.

...

Winterfell sprawled across several expansive acres, its colossal castle complex characterized by two towering walls separated by a deep ditch, with a bustling village situated just beyond its fortifications. 

The structures within the complex varied in age and condition, with some exhibiting ancient decrepitude and others standing in stately repair.

 According to the annals of legend, Bran the Builder had commissioned the construction of Winterfell some eight thousand years ago. Tyrion gazed in awe at the sheer magnitude of the stronghold, its history palpable in every stone.

His attention shifted to the approaching contingent of soldiers, their heavy armor emblazoned with the sigil of House Stark—a grey direwolf set against a pristine white backdrop, framed by vibrant green. 

At the forefront of the welcoming party rode two men, one in his mid-thirties and the other in his late teens or early twenties. The older man, tall and robust, sported long brown hair and a neatly groomed beard, while the younger had shorter, darker locks. 

The soldiers, recognizable as House Stark's banner-bearers, soon bridged the gap and brought their steeds to a stop before Tyrion, Ser Barristan, Lord Reed, and their accompanying escort. 

The older man, none other than Lord Eddard Stark, advanced on his steed to offer his greetings. "Ser Barristan, Lord Reed, Lord Lannister, welcome to Winterfell," he said in a tone that bore the gravitas of both host and lord, punctuating his words with respectful nods to each of the visitors. 

"I've heard of the trouble you encountered on your journey. Rest assured, whoever was responsible will be held accountable by my own hand. But let's leave that for a later discussion. Once you're all well-rested and nourished."

Tyrion and Lord Reed reciprocated the greeting with solemn nods, while it was Ser Barristan who chose to respond. "I lost some fine men at Moat Cailin... retribution may not bring them back, but their families deserve justice, at the very least," he stated somberly.

"I will ensure they receive the justice they seek," Lord Stark affirmed with a respectful nod. "For now, follow me." He turned his horse, leading the way back to Winterfell, with his entourage falling in behind him and Ser Barristan's party following suit.

The young man in Lord Stark's escort approached Ser Barristan's group, introducing himself as Robb Stark, the son of Eddard Stark, and extending his willingness to answer any questions they might have. 

Lord Reed and Ser Barristan, however, declined the offer, with Ser Barristan's lack of interest being evident and Lord Reed being well-versed in the castle's history, having served the Starks faithfully for many years. 

Tyrion, on the other hand, was brimming with curiosity and took the opportunity to inquire about a multitude of topics, providing Robb with more questions than he might have expected.

After a period of rest, during which Ser Barristan's party was treated to a sumptuous banquet, Lord Stark swiftly transitioned to more pressing matters. 

He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of those present. "So... it seems you believe the men who attacked you were not mere bandits but trained soldiers?" he inquired, his gaze fixed upon Ser Barristan.

"Aye, they moved with discipline and were too well-armed to be some band of brigands. I should know," Ser Barristan replied with a tone of authority. "What's more, there were too many of them... a group this large couldn't have survived for so long in the bogs under Lord Reed's watchful gaze," he added, shaking his head to emphasize the peculiarity of the situation. 

"As for why they chose to attack us, or why they picked such a time... I'm afraid your guess is as good as mine..." He continued, shifting his gaze toward Tyrion. "However, Lord Lannister here seems to have some intriguing theories," he concluded, his expression hinting at his curiosity.

Tyrion could hardly contain the urge to grin at those words. 

Throughout his life, he had been met with disregard and ridicule due to his dwarfism. However, Ser Barristan not only treated him with respect, but the experienced knight also recognized his talents and even sought his advice from time to time throuout their journy. 

He had never experience this level acceptedness from anyone else despite spending such little time with Ser Baristan. It was a strange filled him with warmth. Nevertheless, he quickly composed himself and cleared his throat."Lord Stark... if I may speak candidly..." he began, his tone serious. 

Lord Stark appeared momentarily surprised and cast a lingering look toward Ser Barristan before turning his attention to Tyrion. "You may speak freely, Lord Lannister. If Ser Barristan values your opinion on the matter, I trust it will be insightful..."

...

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