The North Remembers

Holy crap its been a month. Sorry for that, but well, I've had life, like everyone else, and writing this had become really hard. I've become so obsessed with Warhammer and every other work of fiction that writing this was tough. Also, this chapter has been half finished the day the last chapter was released and I just never came back to finish it. Anyways, thank you to everyone that enjoys this crappy work and keeps coming back to read it, I dont know when the next chapter is gonna be updated. I always say I might do another fanfic, I have ideas, but like no story planned for any of them, So if there is another fanfic that I make it would probably be this off the rails shit show that is just for fun. That's it, for now, have a wonderful day. 

Brandon Stark stood at the docks of Sea Dragon Harbor. 

Sea Dragon Harbor unlike its sister location, Sea Dragon Point, sat on the Bite of the White Knife. Sea Dragon Harbor had been gifted to Brandon's uncle by his grandfather. The once-old King of Winterfell had created a cadet branch of the Stark family, instructing him and his family to create a grand city worthy of the family. And so that is what Brandon's uncle did, he took the name Seastark, created a new artery for the North, and forged the Stark fleet that now ruled the Shivering Sea. 

Now Brandon Stark had been preparing for his unexpected guests tirelessly the day a letter had been delivered to his solar back in Winterfell. 

A massive bat had flown its way across the Narrow Sea. When it had arrived in Winterfell it had nearly killed him when the doors of his home burst open. But as fast as the massive bat had arrived, it transformed itself into a woman of a dark beauty just as quickly.

At first, when Brandon read the letter he dismissed it as some Valyrian trick. But the one part of the letter had caused him to search out answers. The one who wrote the letter had known Brandon would be skeptical and had instructed him should he wish to confirm the authenticity of the letter, he simply needed to take it to the Old Bear or the Green King. 

So that is what Brandon did. He rode hard and fast to the old Bear, for his location was always known, his home deep in the Wolfswoods where he cared for his farm and his cattle, forever wishing to be left out of the wars of men, yet always there to listen to the Kings of Winter when they needed an Ear they could trust. 

As Brandon Stark arrived at the Old Bears home, he had confirmed the letter was true, and that Brandon best prepared for his return. 

And so Brandon stood at the docks ready to welcome the Elder King, a figure who had slowly begun to pass into legend in the south, but the North would never forget, for the North Remembers.

It had been nearly thirteen generations since the Elder King departed these lands, since his ancestor, Brandon the Builder had erected the Wall, the Night's Watch, and the traditions of his house. 

Brandon Stark, namesake of the Builder stood with the old bear to his left and Rickon SeaStark Lord of Sea Dragon Harbor to his right. Approaching from the sea was a massive ship donned with sails of black and wood of night, like a shadow gliding across the waves. 

When the ship arrived the crew began the docking of the vessel. As Brandon watched the crew he realized they were more creature than man. 

Orcs that towered over the average man tied the ship down to the dock. They wore a breastplate of iron with leather shirts and pants, with light plating.

And there coming off the deck was the greatest power ever to grace this world. 

Melkor, Aina, and a boy Brandon could only assume was their son.

As the family of gods disembarked, all those at the docks fell to their knees. Only the lords truly knew who had arrived. The soldiers, the men who worked the ports, and the traders. They did not know the importance of who now stood before them.

Melkor now stood before the kneeling lords, a smile so unlike his cruel self adorned his pale face. 

"Rise, old friends." His words were soft like the meeting of the oldest of friends who had been separated for decades. But for Melkor, it had been centuries.

As the three men rose, they were met with warm eyes and soft smiles. 

Melkor towered over the Starks just as he had always done, but the Old bear was no man. His form towered over even Melkor. 

Where Melkor stood at nine feet tall, Beorn stood at ten.

Melkor could barely recognize his first friend anymore. Where Beorn was once a young burly warrior whose hair was an umber brown, was now a graying man who looked more like a grey beard than the berserker he once remembered when he ran into battle. 

Melkor raised his hand and clasped it in the old bear, "Beorn, it is good to see you old friend."

"Aye, it truly is," Beorn then turned to Aina who stood at Eight feet tall, needing to barely turn her head up to meet his eyes. "It is good to see you as well my lady." 

Aina smiled at the old Bear, "Please Beorn, call me Aina, you protected my family in our time of need, you are another part of our family."

No one could see, but under Beorns great beard, he cracked a small smile. 

"I must assume little Fae did not come," Beorn asked. 

Melkor shook his head. "No, she did not. She did not wish to remember what happened all those years ago."

Beorn nodded solemnly, understanding that coming north, Fae would only be reminded of her memories of the North, and cause great grief within her heart when she had just started to heal.

Beorn pushed the memories aside and brought him back to the present, remembering there was another member of his friend's family that he did not remember. 

Beorn kneeled down, "And who is this." 

Unlike most children who might cower behind their parents, Môrdir stood straight with confidence between his parents. His figure was about four feet tall, still tin compared to Beorn, but growing into a giant like his parents. 

Aina placed her hand on her son's shoulder, pushing him slightly forward."This is our son, Môrdir. He is a bright young boy that is a bright flame in our lives just like his elder sister." 

Môrdir stepped forward. He seemed calm and collected like a lord of the South, but Beorn could sense a hint of fear like that of a child who wished to be with his family. 

"It's nice to finally meet your lord Beorn. I had heard many stories from my Father, Mother, and Sister." 

Beorn looked up to Môrdir's parents. "He's a serious one. I thought he would be just as crazy as his older sister."

Melkor Chuckled "Oh, you should have seen him a few years ago. But now he's our little man, all grown up even though we told him not to." 

Môrdir huffed annoyingly at his parents, crossing his arms and trying to find something interesting in the sky as the adults laughed. 

As Beorn rose and made his way back to the Starks' side, Melkor finally turned his attention to Brandon and Rickon. 

"And one of you I must assume is the Stark Lord of Winterfell." Melkor looked between the two lords. 

Brandon stepped forward, giving a slight bow to the towering figures, "That would be me, your grace. It is truly an honor to meet you."

Melkor chuckled at Brandon, "You do not need to waste your time Lord Stark on the flatteries. My family and yours have been friends and allies since the White Walkers, I know your tendency to be blunt, and I am not so easily offended... well, not when it's my friends."

A loud laugh sounded from behind Brandon. "HAA, who would have thought that the Elder king, the first King of Westeros, who Grandmother would tell us of as tales to scare us asleep, looked like a pompous Valyrian, and better, he acts more like a Northerner than my own son, HAA."

Brandon was staring wide-eyed at his cousin. One of the most important figures in their history stood in front of them, and Rickon was just laughing at him and throwing insults.

Before Brandon's heart could implode out of his chest from the stress, he felt Beorns large hand rest on his shoulder. "Calm yourself Stark, Melkor has grown used to your family's rude outbursts. If anything it is something he enjoys about your family."

Melkor smiled as Rickon compared him to the people he had turned from shepherds to gods among men. "You wouldn't be too far off lord Rickon. We sail from Valyria, for the last thousand years, we have called that land home."

Brandon's eyes widened. "Then you must know of their war with the Ghiscari. Your grace, could you enlighten us on the cause of the war." 

Aina smirked as she side-eyed her husband. "Yes, my love, do enlighten them on the cause of the war."

Melkor chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head. "Boredom, and the threat of the banished gods." 

"You started a war because you were bored?" Brandon asked. 

Melkor sheepishly nodded. "Don't look at me like that Stark, you making me feel like a madman."

"Probably because you are." Beorn Deapanned.

"Enough," Aina exclaimed. "we can talk of war and politics another day. I've been cramped up in that ship for days now and need to stretch my legs."

"Of course your grace, if you follow me we can head to the keep." Rickon offered. 

Aina smiled. "That sounds wonderful Rickon. Please, lead the way."

As the masters of Valyria and the King of the north along with his Cousin entered the keep of Sea Dragon Point, things had begun to stir at the wall with Melkors Arrival.

...

The wall of the North, built by Brandon Stark to keep the great enemy out of the land of the living. 

Within the ice, an old and powerful magic was cast. The powers of the Elder king, his queen, and an elusive figure the Southerners would call the Gardener but to Melkors astonishment on the meeting with this man, he would know him as the First king, the man who led the race of man to Westeros. 

Where the first king roams is his business and his alone, not even Eoghan knows. The one time he did appear was to weave his magic within the walls of Winterfell and within the Wall itself.

Atop the wall of ancient magicks was not the first king though, the first king had vanished just had he had done all those years ago. 

Now, atop the wall stood a man clad in black. His coloring made him more like a crow watching from a branch than a man. 

Atop his head sat a crown of iron.

And at his waist, he held a woman whose skin was so pale one would mistake her for a corpse.