Chapter 7

Lyanna stared in wonder at what the Night King had created in less than a year. Her babes, born months prior, rested in the crook of each of her arms, swaddled in furs despite the cold having no effect on either of them. She'd been just as shocked as anyone to have twins, though she supposed with just how… ROUND she'd gotten, she should have seen it coming.

Regardless, with a baby boy and a baby girl to look after, Lyanna had been quite busy of late. She'd seen this a few months before when she could still walk around properly, but now…

"It's beautiful…"

The Palace that the Night King had promised lay before them. Made if ice and stone, it stood taller than anything she'd ever seen before save the Wall. It could have fit three Winterfells inside of it and it was twice the height of the tallest tree in the True North. The Night King stood beside her and grunted at her words, turning away from his long stare to face her and their children.

His furrowed brow and stern look melted at the sight of Rickar and Ayla. Lyanna was still surprised that he'd left naming the two to her. Admittedly, she hadn't expected it but given the chance, she'd certainly leapt at it. Even if she would never be welcome in Winterfell, ever again, Lyanna still wished for her children to know where they came from. She would always be Lyanna Stark in her heart and her children would be Starks as well.

It wasn't like their father had a name to go by… she'd asked him what he was called besides 'The Night King' and the damn fool had just stared at her blankly in silence for a moment before shrugging and offering to let her name HIM as well. Lyanna had not… for now. But if she could get away with it she definitely would have labeled him idiot and simply been done with it.

For a monstrosity, the Night King could be seriously thick at times. At others though… he was smiling softly now, reaching out and running his hands through the white tufts of hair atop their children's heads. Each was nursing, but at their father's touch they pulled away from her to stare at him with glowing blue eyes.

Even with her promise to look forward and never back, Lyanna thought about Leaf sometimes. She did not regret what she did though. Instead she found herself wondering how the despicable Child could ever see such beautiful innocent babies as abominations. Yes, her children had been born White Walkers… but that did not make them monsters and she would kill a thousand times over to defend them from any who would do them harm.

She suspected the Night King would too, judging by how taken he was with the babies. She held them so that he could play with them both for a brief moment, then he drew back and directed his attention towards her.

"I don't like it."

Lyanna blinked at what seemed like a non-sequitur. She'd completely forgotten what they'd been talking about before. Her confusion must have showed on her face because he gestured back at the amazing palace he'd built for them.

"This. I don't like this. It's not right."

Staring with wide, glowing blue eyes at what she considered to be the greatest structure she'd ever seen, Lyanna simply gaped and wondered what the actual hell WOULD be right then. But before she could voice that thought, the Night King continued.

"Still, it's livable. You and the children can stay there while I build another one. The Thenns can move in too as long as you're not against the idea. They'll make good servants I imagine and it'll help me grow their population if I can put their pregnant women and children inside something thicker than wooden huts."

"I… that's fine, yes, it's much too big for just me and the babes. But what's wrong with it my King?"

Lyanna was flabbergasted as the Night King turned to glare at his creation and whistled sharply. As he turned back and gave her an answer, the Army of the Dead came out of the woodworks, literally appearing from every direction, though most of them came from the other side of the Palace.

"It's not big enough. Not grandiose enough! I see where I made mistakes during the construction and now I want to fix them. But it'll be easier just to start from scratch."

Not big enough?! Lyanna gaped and looked between the hulking monstrosity of an Ice Palace and the White Walker who had impregnated her.

"Where?! Where will you build something bigger than this?!"

The Night King blinked at that and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll find a spot, preferably close by. The dead can clear the space for me. Not to worry my Queen, I'll make time for the children… and for you."

He waggled his eyebrows at her and Lyanna scowled, even as her frozen cheeks heated up ever so slightly. They weren't husband and wife and they certainly weren't in love… but there was a growing affection there that Lyanna would not have been able to explain even if she tried. Luckily, no one asked her and she remained in willful self-denial to her feelings for the being that had kidnapped her, stolen her humanity, and knocked her up.

It helped that that last one had left her with two bundles of joy, as cliché as that sounded. Letting out a sigh, Lyanna nodded.

"Fine. Go play castle-builder. And get it right this time. You can't just spend years building hulking structures all across the Land of Always Winter that are never going to see any use. That would be ridiculous."

The Night King chuckled and nodded.

"Agreed, what would be the point? One more Palace. This one will be perfect, I'm sure of it."

Lyanna nodded sharply and turned to look at the Palace before her, the one that was already massive, opulent, and probably would never be filled to capacity, even in a thousand-thousand years. She couldn't see anything wrong with this one, but that didn't stop her from throwing one more barb in the Night King's direction.

"It better be!"

Then she began walking forward, her babies still in her arms and a few White Walkers trailing along. Time to take a tour of their new accommodations. Behind her, the Night King took the Army of the Dead, most of them anyways, and headed off in a random direction towards his next build site. Sometimes she really didn't understand that man.

-x-X-x-

Isvir was the second King-Beyond-The Wall. That isn't to say Isvir was Joramun's son or heir or anything like that. While the Wildling revered the first King-Beyond-The-Wall and practically worshipped the ground that Joramun, Giant's Friend had walked on, he was in fact hundreds of years removed from the man's existence.

Joramun had ultimately died the same way he lived. Being a fucking badass. Ultimately though, the Wall had proven too much for Isvir's idol and the army that he led. Joramun had broken against that massive monstrosity, taller even then the structure that Isvir stood before now. And the Free Folk had broken with him for a time, fracturing back into groups and fighting amongst themselves once more.

All but the Thenns. The Thenns had… benefactors. It was an open secret in the True North that the White Walkers still roamed the land. Mothers told their children bedtime stories about the wandering dead in order to keep the more inquisitive ones from exploring alone. In truth, Isvir had seen both White Walkers and the dead. They did not attack unless provoked. It was… odd, to live with the nightmares of the past and have those nightmares pass you by without a care.

In the end though, the White Walkers weren't a threat to the Free Folk, nor were the walking dead. The real threat came instead from the Wall, where a Night's Watch revitalized and reinvigorated since the time of Joramun made annual rangings to kill any and all Wildlings they could find. Isvir assumed they did it to keep another King-Beyond-the-Wall from rising up with an army of Wildlings at his command.

Ironically enough, they'd instead galvanized one into existence. The crows had committed a great dishonor when they'd burned Isvir's village in the middle of the night. Not all of his people had died, but his parents had burned and his heart burned with them. The boy had become a man and with that raging, roaring fire in his chest, he had gone on to unite the Free Folk once more.

Now though, that fire was at its quietest, merely a few embers as Isvir swallowed thickly and looked up at the foreboding, massive fortress before him. His army at his back was the only thing that kept the King-Beyond-the-Wall from turning around and walking away with his head low and his tail between his legs. He had to stay strong… but he also knew he had to go it alone from this point on.

The Free Folk that were arrayed behind him had not agreed to follow him into the Maw of Death itself. None of them were interested in fighting the White Walkers. It was the Night's Watch they wanted. So, if he was to enter the hulking structure before him, it would be alone. The place looked dead, except for the two White Walkers that stood in dead silence at its gates. But then, they looked rather dead too, unmoving and frozen blue. Their glowing eyes stared out at the army before them and there was not an ounce of nervousness to be found in their stances.

They watched. They waited. It was time for Isvir to make his move. There was a rush of murmuring as the King-Beyond-the-Wall started forward, boots crunching through the snow and gloves hands curled into fists. He walked and he walked and finally he arrived at the doors. He looked at the White Walkers ostensibly guarding the entrance… and they turned their heads to stare at him.

Isvir froze up and was thankful that he had not eaten or drank anything for at least a day. It was what the legends said Joramun had done before treating with the Night King, and Isvir had tried to follow in the first King-Beyond-the-Wall's footsteps closely. He even had the legendary man's battle-axe strapped to his back. Not to use mind you, the thing was crumbling even now, but simply as proof of status. His preferred weapons were a pair of one handed axes that he kept strapped to his sides.

The White Walkers did not attack though. Instead, all on its own, the gate opened up and admitted him into the massive fortress before him. Though, in truth this wasn't even the largest one he'd heard about. Why the Night King was here, Isvir didn't know. But when he'd started to ask, this was where he and his army had been led.

The large palaces, fortresses, citadels, and towers that had randomly formed all over the True North for hundreds of years now were not something comprehensible. It was understood that the White Walkers were doing it, that the Night King was doing it, but the reason behind it was not known. And none of the Free Folk besides possibly the Thenns knew exactly how the Night King made the structures so fast. Isvir had a theory, but not one he wanted proven if he was being honest. Nobody had actually stumbled upon one of the massive castles being built quite yet and perhaps it was better it stay that way.

Still, each was reportedly as empty as this one. Isvir walked down a long hall, the two White Walkers that had been at the gate walking alongside him, directing him in a way. Thanks to their steady pace, he did not falter for fear of being left behind, nor did he stray, understanding that his destination was straight ahead. Letting out an explosive breath, Isvir could see a pair of wooden doors coming up in the distance.

As soon as he arrived before them, they swung open as well. He stepped into a strange place, filled with books and equipped with a fireplace and a… bed. The Night King was there, sitting at a table, looking down at the pages of a tome filled with runes and… eating? Isvir was completely flummoxed. The King-Beyond-the-Wall stared in silence at the greatest evil the world was supposed to have ever known. After a moment, the Night King looked up and stared back at him.

Isvir blinked first, finally looking away from those glowing blue eyes after a full minute of staring into their swirling, bottomless depths. He got a chuckle for his trouble and a chair scraped against stone as the Night King stood and stepped away from his surprisingly ordinary looking meal.

"Isvir of the Free Folk, King-Beyond-the-Wall. It's been quite a while since I've talked to one of those. Tell me, how is Joramun doing these days? Retired now I assume?"

"He's… he's dead your Grace."

That was another thing the legends said. You always addressed the Night King as "Your Grace" no matter who you were, no matter what titles you held. Joramun had supposedly done it, and now so did Isvir. The Night King looked pleased, while also slightly surprised.

"Dead? My, my. Time certainly does fly. And now here you are. Another King-Beyond-the-Wall, another army at my doorstep. Are you here to fight me Isvir?"

"No! N-No! Certainly not your Grace!"

"Good. That's very good. Then you're here to ask for my help. I'm not sure what I could possibly give you."

Isvir's eyes slid away from the Night King's feigned befuddlement for a brief second, to the horn that hung over the nearby fireplace. The King-Beyond-the-Wall was starting to think the Ancient Evil was fucking with him. He supposed if anyone could get away with that sort of thing, it would be the Night King. When he looked back at the White Walker, he saw those glowing blue eyes looking to the Horn of Winter as well before sliding back to him as the Night King's smile widened.

It was clear that he was waiting for Isvir to say it though. The nervous King-Beyond-the-Wall felt like a bit of an explanation was in order first though.

"T-The legends are clear your Grace. When Joramun besieged the Wall and slew the Thirteenth Commander of the Night's Watch, he did so with Giants. He succeeded with Giants. And a dozen years later when he tried to take the Wall again, he failed without Giants. Because with the death of the Thirteenth, his pact with you was completed and he returned the Horn of Winter as well as control of the Giants, back to you… your Grace."

The Night King stares for a long moment.

"Well now, that last bit isn't in the legends I've heard. Was Joramun not 'Giant's Friend'? Surely they wouldn't have abandoned him over some lousy horn."

Isvir swallowed thickly and licked his lips. The last bit, the idea of a pact between Joramun and the Night King, one that ended and led to the departure of the Giants from Joramun's army… it WAS entirely guess work. Isvir had come up with the theory all on his own and hadn't shared it with anyone until now. Still, he'd put one foot forward, might as well run the entire trek.

"I believe that Giant's Friend was a fabrication y-your Grace. I believe the Horn of Winter controls the Giants and he who holds it, holds their loyalty. That's why I need you to give it to me, so I can take my army and the Giants to the Wall and crush the Night's Watch and the Lord Commander that sits atop that bloody monstrosity."

A moment of silence and then the Night King chuckles.

"Ah, you are a clever one, aren't you Isvir? Full of fire too, I can tell. You want revenge. A word of advice? Revenge is best served cold, not hot."

Isvir didn't know how to respond to that so ultimately he just swallowed and nodded to show he'd heard and understood. The Night King snorted derisively and walked over to the fireplace. As he stepped closer to it, the fire guttered out and the wood logs that had a moment earlier been burning froze over. The Night King reached out and took the embossed horn from its resting place. When he turned back around, the room was noticeably dimmer than before. One of the only sources of light were those glowing blue eyes.

"Joramun did make a pact with me for my Giants. And when our pact was done, he returned the Horn of Winter as we agreed. If you wish to use this, if you wish to become 'Giant's Friend', you too will need to make a pact with me, King-Beyond-the-Wall."

The Night King's strangely jovial attitude was gone and in the suddenly cold, dark room, Isvir finally felt like he was facing down the Ancient Evil from the histories. Still, he needed the horn. And if Joramun could do it, if Joramun could treat with this creature… so could he.

"I will do it. I will make a pact with you your Grace. What… what did Joramun give you in return for the horn? What must I sacrifice?"

"What Joramun did for me, you cannot do again. However, there is something I want from you Isvir. There is something that only a man in your position can accomplish for me."

"A-and what is that?"

The Night King was only a few steps from him now. The horn was held in his clawed, blue hands as he smiled wickedly.

"There are those among the Free Folk who know how to write the runes of the old tongue. There are cave walls and parchment scrolls, detailing the period known as the Long Night. Tell me, do you know of the Long Night?"

Isvir could only nod jerkily.

"Of course you do. But you do not know the truth. We did not go south to destroy the world or to kill the First Men. The White Walkers descended from the Land of Always Winter for one purpose and one purpose only. We sought to kill the Children of the Forest and destroy their Weirwoods where ever we could find them. The First Men that died at our hand were the ones that got in the way and rose up against us while we completely our righteous and just task."

There was really only one response to something like that.

"What… what did the Children do to earn your wroth?"

It was the most pertinent information after all. Isvir so dearly did not want to anger this being. He did not want the Night King as an enemy. His question startled a bark of laughter from the White Walker.

"Nothing you could repeat, I assure you. The Children of the Forest did terrible things to me and my kind King-Beyond-the-Wall. But the worst they did to us? They created us."

This was not in any of the histories Isvir had been brought up on. This was not a legend he'd heard, nor a story he'd been told. The Free Folk knew nothing of this and his shock and disbelief must have shown on his face because the Night King's smile grew once again.

"Before I was this, before any of my people were this… we were First Men. I was the first of those First Men who arrived on Westeros. I was the first to attempt to cut down a Weirwood tree for wood with which to make fire and shelter. And for that crime, for my ignorance, the Children of the Forest captured me and turned me into this. They made me fight my own kin for two thousand years Isvir. They locked all of us away for another two thousand and then when we finally broke free, they had the gall to paint us as the villains, using your ancestors as living shields against our justified wroth as we descended from the prison they made for us in the frozen wastes. The Children of the Forest were always the true evil of this world. But I feel confident in saying I ended their threat."

It was certainly a tale that changed everything, if it was true. But the authenticity of the Night King's words could not have been farther from Isvir's mind. Instead, he only cared about one thing.

"What… what would you have me do your Grace?"

"Is it not obvious? You are the King-Beyond-the-Wall. The Free Folk stand united behind you Isvir. In return for the horn and the loyalty of my Giants, all I ask is that you use your title to set the record straight. Fix the legends of the past, destroy the lies spread across cave walls and parchment scrolls. Explain to your elders that their oral histories are wrong and if they cannot change, cut their tongues from their skulls so that they at least cannot continue to spread their lies. Do this Isvir, promise me this, and I will give you the Horn of Winter and my Giants. You will have the force you need to march on the Wall and you will teach the Night's Watch a lesson that they will never forget."

Isvir's mouth is dry as he stares into swirling blue irises and the Night King stares right back. The second King-Beyond-the-Wall is no fool. He is clever and intelligent enough to see what the Night King wanted. Whether the story that the White Walker had spun was true or not, this would change the face of the Free Folk, if he did this. And yet… and yet there was nothing more important to Isvir than his revenge. He wondered if the being across from him knew this. He wondered if this immortal creature that had seen hundreds of years could also see into his heart.

It mattered not. Isvir nodded and spoke the words.

"I accept your pact your Grace. In return for the Giants and my revenge… it will be done."

The Night King's smile took on a distinctly predatory edge as he held out the Horn of Winter. Isvir took hold of the beautifully carved thing and swallowed thickly. And then the White Walker's hand was over his, sliding up his wrist and under his furs. Isvir howled, but as fast as the pain began, it ended. The Night King pulled back and Isvir looked down at his exposed wrist to see the mark of a blue hand print there.

"The deal is struck and the pact is sealed King-Beyond-the-Wall. My end is already fulfilled. Now it is time for yours."

Isvir couldn't help but feel like he'd made a terrible mistake, even as he covered up the Night King's mark on his wrist and clutched the Horn of Winter to his chest. A terrible mistake indeed.

-x-X-x-

After my meeting with the second King-Beyond-the-Wall, my conversion of the Free Folk progressed smoothly. Isvir went to the Wall and used his army in conjunction with the Giants to ascend to the forts, where he killed every crow he could get his hands on, including the Forty Second Lord Commander. Then he and his army had retreated as the Starks arrived along with half the North. The Free Folk melted into the True North and no ranging could locate them.

It was during this time of hiding and recuperating of losses that Isvir implemented his side of our bargain. Some had had to die in order to change history, but in the end it was done, my agents, both living and dead, confirmed it. By the time Isvir died, the story of the Long Night had changed dramatically. I considered making the second King-Beyond-the-Wall a White Walker before his death, but ultimately decided against it.

The kind of man who became King had too much ambition for my tastes. Instead, I kept the gift to my ever loyal Thenns for the moment, specifically their leaders. Just the right amount of ambition mixed with devotion and adoration. Still, the rest of the Free Folk weren't too far behind them in worshipping myself and the rest of the White Walkers as deities, over a century after Isvir's death.

Perhaps that's why I shouldn't have been surprised when I stepped into a room in the most lived in of my building projects, only to find my Queen having her way with a red haired Wildling she'd pinned to the floor.

I cleared my throat and the eyes of both women snapped towards me.

-x-X-x-

Kriyah wasn't sure how she'd ended up like this. On the floor beneath a female White Walker, getting kissed senseless and felt up. The creature's hands were everywhere and Kriyah had practically melted into a puddle of non-resistance ages ago. She should have been struggling, the Wildling knew that. Sure, White Walkers weren't that bad so long as you didn't provoke them, but as far as Kriyah knew, she HADN'T provoked this one.

… Unless bathing in a hot spring counted as provocation. That WAS where the White Walker had grabbed her from after all. Still, she'd never thought that she would be carried off by a woman, let alone one like this. The red head moaned as the White Walker, Lyanna she'd called herself, licked up and down the side of her neck. Kriyah was not doing good here. She was in one of the White Walker's palaces, pinned naked to the floor and a stunningly beautiful blue skinned babe was leaned over her, enjoying her immensely.

Whimpering, Kriyah gasped as she suddenly felt Lyanna's fingers betwixt her thighs. The White Walker was stepping up her game and in short order, Lyanna was fingering the red head to a quick climax. Kriyah tried to resist the pleasure as best she could. Who knew what happened if you let a White Walker bring you to orgasm? Would she lose her soul? Would Lyanna gain control over her mind?

She tried so hard to hold back the release, but when Lyanna seemed to realize this, the female White Walker grew frustrated and immediately redoubled her pace, while at the same time sliding her tongue down to Kriyah's chest, where the white haired female began to play with the Wildling's tits. The beautiful spearwife moaned and shook her fiery red hair back and forth in denial. She didn't… she didn't want it… she didn't want to cu-cumming!

Kriyah's eyes shot open as she climaxed hard. All her resistance was for naught, except to make the experience even more pleasurable when she finally lost control of herself and orgasmed all over Lyanna's hand. And yet she didn't feel any different. She hadn't lost her soul, as far as she could tell. The female White Walker above her smirked salaciously as she removed her fingers and brought them up to her mouth. With Lyanna licking Kriyah's pussy juices off of her hand right in front of her, the crimson haired Wildling was left to blush almost as deeply as her hair color at the sight. Her pussy was already growing moist yet again from this living sex goddess.

That's when both women heard a cleared throat and their gazes snapped to the open doorway where the Night King stood. Kriyah's green eyes widened dramatically, while Lyanna's narrowed into slits. The fiery red head abruptly wanted to be anywhere but here. A female White Walker was one thing. The Night King terrified her, even if the myths and legends explained his actions during the Long Night as righteous, if a bit callous.

Though he didn't look angry like she expected. Not even a scowl adorned his face as he lifted his brow and smiled at her and Lyanna.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Kriyah wasn't sure what she expected Lyanna's response to that to be. She knew for sure that she wasn't speaking up, so the female White Walker who'd kidnapped her and brought her here was definitely going to have to speak for both of them. The honeyed words that fell from the white haired, blue skinned woman's lips however, were not what Kriyah wanted to hear.

"You were interrupting the preparation of your gift my King. I was getting this one ready for later, to be shared in our bed."

There was a pause as Kriyah looked at the back of Lyanna's head in abject betrayal. It wasn't like she should have felt betrayed; honestly she should have expected something like this when the White Walker grabbed her from the hot spring in the first place. Still though, it stung a bit, to be reduced to a gift. Then the Night King laughed and broke Kriyah from her sudden bout of self-pity.

"If you want to take a spearwife for yourself, you don't need to make up such shoddy reasoning for why you did it Lyanna. Just fuck the girl and be done with it. Or keep her if she's worth keeping. I care not. Though I do recommend at the very least closing the door, if you do not want Rickar or Ayla to walk in on you like I have."

Lyanna's tone is a bit frosty as she responds. Meanwhile, Kriyah's head spins as she tries to keep up with what's going on.

"There was no danger of that my King. Rickar is off building a tower of his own in a bit of land you haven't already made a monument to your own ego on, while Ayla, in a fit of rebellion that is hundreds of years late, has settled with the Free Folk. They're either in awe of her, terrified of her, or both and its led her to believe they don't even know she's a White Walker. You might know these things, if you actually spent time with either of them."

Kriyah abruptly felt like she had ended up in the middle of something she didn't really want to be involved in. It was like being stuck between an old married couple… who also happened to be a pair of immortal, ageless, monstrous creatures that could kill her as quickly as they blinked. The red head squirmed a little beneath the female White Walker but without even looking, Lyanna snapped her hand out and grabbed Kriyah by her throat, drawing a whimper from the Wildling.

"Tell me how you really feel my Queen."

H-His QUEEN?! Kriyah WAS stuck between an old married couple! Fuck, this was the worst way this day could have gone! At least the Night King sounded more amused then angry as he stood there with a slight smile on his face. Lyanna's reply was rather acidic though.

"I'll SHOW you later tonight 'my King'. I may bring this one with me, I may not. It depends on how well she acquits herself."

That got outright laughter from the male White Walker, even as Kriyah whimpered and squirmed some more, valiantly managing to resist the urge to piss herself. Giving his Queen the last word, the Night King turned and walked away. Lyanna watched him go and then turned her piercing blue eyes back towards Kriyah. Green met blue for a brief moment and then Lyanna was sliding up Kriyah's body.

A pair of pussy lips descended upon Kriyah's face as a blue hand gripped her fiery red hair tightly.

"Lick."

The single command was all Kriyah had to hear in order to begin. Her tongue laced out and she ate the cunt of the White Walker holding her down rather inexpertly, but she ate it all the same.

-x-X-x-

Walking away from the suddenly very noisy room, I smile a bit. Having given Lyanna the option to bring the Wildling to our bed or not, I wash my hand of the matter. Though from the sound of things, the answer was going to be yes. I looked forward to it. I hadn't expected to see someone so close in appearance to the Ygritte I remembered from the show, this early in the world.

An ancestor, obviously, but still, the similarities were very nearly uncanny. Ah, I'd always had a weakness for red heads…

I'd leave it to Lyanna to make the decision though. I had other things I could be doing, in the end.

-x-X-x-

I stared in silence, my glowing blue eyes unmoving from the sight before me. By my side stood my only son, Rickar. By HIS side stood Jorlaf, current King-Beyond-the-Wall. These days, there was always a King-Beyond-the-Wall. It pissed off the Night's Watch and the Northerners to no end, but I'd grown tired of the disjointed and fractured Free Folk. So I'd made them a nation. Now, hundreds of years after the pact that Isvir had struck with me in exchange for the Horn, here we stood with a King-Beyond-the-Wall that worshipped White Walkers just as much as the Thenns.

Here we stood… right in front of something I had never expected to see.

"It's a canal."

That gets a confused look from Jorlaf, while Rickar looks quite smug with himself.

"Aye father, I built a canal."

I sigh and run my hand down my face in exasperation.

"You dug a canal between Antler River and Milkwater without my knowledge."

"Well, you were busy with that Castle up North father. We didn't want to disturb you."

"How?! How did you know to do this?"

"It was in one of your books father. One of your journals. I know you were rather dismissive of the idea, saying it was cliché and overdone, but it will allow the Free Folk to travel by water across the lands, from the Shivering Sea to the Bay of Ice. Surely you can see how useful that will be?"

I pressed my lips together tightly as I stared at the canal before me, filled with rushing water. To be honest, I wouldn't have known how to even start with such a project. I wasn't much of an engineer. It's why I'd always stuck to building structures… the bigger the better. Speaking of which…

"You built this with Free Folk alone?"

That got a chuckle from Rickar.

"Well, I couldn't exactly use the usual labor when you had them all tied up working on your Castle. Yes, this was a joint project between me and the Free Folk's King. Jorlaf did very well to rally his people for something besides another war against the Night's Watch."

At being mentioned, the King-Beyond-the-Wall coughed into his hand and nodded my way.

"Your Grace…"

It was to his credit that he didn't stammer or stutter. His predecessors had done both, far too much. I let out a sigh as I stare at the man-made waterway before me. I really hadn't planned to make any canals… but Rickar was right. It would be useful.

"Well done. Both of you."

My blue skinned son, far beyond the age of the much older looking man beside him, beamed like a child who had just gotten praise from their parent… which technically, he was but he also wasn't a child anymore and hadn't been for a long time. I… might need to give the centuries-old kid a bit more attention. Ayla was a free spirit and had taken to her mother better anyways, as cliché as it was, but it was clear that Rickar still yearned for my approval.

That could be fostered…

"Thank you your Grace!"

"I appreciate that father. I have some other projects planned out as well, if you'd like to take a look at them."

Of course he did. Letting out another sigh, I nod my head and gift my son with a smile.

"Very well, let's hear them. Though, there is one more thing before we depart."

I focus my attention on Jorlaf and the King-Beyond-the-Wall stiffens, standing up straighter as my glowing blue eyes fall on him. Pointing at the canal beside us, I make my desires clear.

"Build a bridge over this thing. Don't use wood, use stone. Rickar can help advise on the project, but I want the Free Folk to make this work mostly on their own. You've done well with the canal. Now build a nice, wide bridge so that people can cross without having to row a bloody boat every damn time."

"Yes your Grace! Right away!"

Hm. Good man this Jorlaf. He might just be the first King-Beyond-the-Wall to earn the transformation into White Walker. I liked the cut of his jib. Leading my son away from the canal, I couldn't help chuckling and shaking my head.

Fucking canals…

-x-X-x-

His name now was Ackon Stone. But before he'd arrived in the Vale his name had been Farrak. Farrak was a Chosen of the Night King and even now as he readied himself for the battle that was to come, he pressed his free hand against the position on his arm where the Night King's blue hand print lay. He sent his thoughts to his lord and master and he hoped that the God of Ice received them.

Farrak had only arrived south of the Wall five years ago, with nineteen other Chosen. They were the latest batch to be given the great honor of serving the Night King below the Wall. As soon as the group had made it past, they'd split off. Each had had their assignments, each had their missions. All lived to serve the Night King and his plans.

Somehow, the young wildling man did not think that this was part of the Night King's great design. Foreigners with fleets of ships and armies of bloodthirsty men had come to the shores of Westeros. They were unlike any men he'd ever seen before and Farrak was sure that today was his last day on this world. If all went well, the Night King would welcome him into his loving embrace and Farrak would be at peace there.

The ships were close now and the men on them disembarking. Archers fired behind him, but not enough. Never enough for the horde that now streamed across the beach towards their lines. Taking his hand from his arm, Farrak gripped his spear with both hands, heart beating in his chest. It was almost time. It was alm-

"CHARGE!!!"

There. Farrak moved with the rest of the men at his sides. He was not surrounded by worshippers of the Night King as he might have wished, but these were still men that he had broken bread with, laughed with, come to know over the last five years. The wildling infiltrator could only hope that the Night King would forgive him for not running, for not betraying these men. He could only hope that the information in his mind, given freely, would balance out the scales.

He had to fight and die on this beach with the men who had welcomed him and called him brother. His honor demanded it. As two armies clashed, Farrak found that his spear would not easily go through the glimmering metal armor that the enemy wore. He readjusted his aim immediately and struck at weak spots, but all around him the story was the same. The men of the Vale were not ready to fight against iron. How could they be?

The battle quickly became a slaughter and Farrak took a sword to his stomach that left him on the ground, slowly bleeding out. He was left staring up at the sky as his vision slowly faded. Even still, it was in those final moments before his death that Farrak felt the Night King's loving embrace. The God of Ice had heard him. The Night King had seen what he'd seen. At least… at least he knew.

Farrak, Chosen of the Night King, died with a smile on his face. And upon his death, the blue hand print on his arm faded away, the magic failing without a living host.

-x-X-x-

I contemplated what I'd just felt, even as a dozen of my hundreds of infiltrators across Westeros faced similar fates. Either death or capture, all at the hands of foreigners from across the ocean.

The Andals had arrived on Westeros. A slow smile spread across my face.

Perfect.

-x-X-x-

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