Chapter 12

They'd barely sat down to eat when a horn sounded and Theon immediately jumped to his feet, the piece of meat he'd taken one bite from forgotten at his feet. Rickar stood as well, his hand immediately going to the pommel of the iron sword that the Hungry Wolf had gifted him. The disguised White Walker had managed to avoid the gifts of armor. Theon had seemed pleased with that and only belatedly had Rickar realized the King also forewent Andal armaments. Though that did not stop him from wielding a particularly wicked looking iron pole-axe he'd apparently pulled from one of the foreign leaders.

"What does the horn mean your Grace?"

Theon spun to face him, a feral grin on his face and a wild light in his eyes.

"Enemies Rickar, it means enemies. The foreigners have been landed on our shores for weeks now, each force larger than the last. They have a fleet of ships, bigger than anything I've ever seen, just out of range of our archers' farthest shot. After we arrived and crushed their first army while it was still setting up camp, they've sent their forces at us in waves. This will no doubt be the biggest yet. Come! To battle!"

… Rickar's new 'friend' was a bloodthirsty man indeed. Rickar didn't exactly have the same appetite for killing humans that the King in the North did, but at the same time, he also had no qualms about it. Pulling his sword free, he followed Theon Stark away from the small fire they'd been sat eating around. Within moments, they were on the beach and amidst the fighting.

Theon hadn't been wrong, it was as he said, Andal men in all assortments of armor had landed from a dozen rowboats and were currently engaging the Northerners with a ferocity only matched by their opponents. In some cases, even exceeded. The Andals fought for conquest and reward and land, and all those things were good for motivating a man to kill.

But the Northmen fought for far more and there was nothing like love and hate when it came to motivation. Rickar watched as Theon charged into the melee without a care in the world, swinging that massive pole-axe around like a demon. After a moment, he moved to follow. Of course, with the King in the North's weapon of choice being what it was, there was no 'fighting back-to-back' like Rickar had read in some of his father's tales.

Rather, Theon was his own back-to-back, a whirlwind of death as Rickar stayed close but not too close, cutting down any Andal that got within reach of him. The fighting was fierce and the disguised White Walker saw many a Northman fall to iron… but not nearly as many as the Andals who died on that beach. While the first rush had gone to the invaders, the tide was quickly and decisively turning against them. There was just no way for the men to match the ferocity with which the Northerners fought.

The desire for riches did not outweigh the desire for blood and vengeance, nor the desire to protect those the North cherished most of all. Each man on that beach who fought for the Hungry Wolf also fought for the women and children they'd left behind, for the families that had lived on these lands for generations.

It was inspiring to watch, an awesome sight in the most literal definition of the word. It was also why Rickar got so distracted. That and Theon's little dance of death was a beautiful thing. Either way, the disguised White Walker grew lax… and the next thing he knew, an iron sword was shattering across his chest.

There was a moment of stillness. Not across the entire battlefield, but between Rickar and the Andal man who had tried to slash at him. The human's eyes were wide and Rickar let out a sigh, before grabbing the man by the top of his skull and sliding his sword swiftly through his neck. Looking around carefully, Rickar let out a sigh of relief as he found no one watching him. It didn't look like anyone had seen.

From that moment on, Rickar did not let himself be distracted. He continued to fight until the fighting was done, focusing on any and all who stood in his way with a single-minded focus that saw each and every last Andal dead in his path. In the end, both Theon and Rickar stood side by side on the beach, having fought all the way to the rowboats. There wasn't a living man anywhere near either of them, even as Theon thumped a hand on Rickar's back, leaned his pole axe in the crux of his shoulder, and pointed out at the horizon.

"See 'em Rickar? See those bastards waiting right outside of our arrow range. The fuckers seem endless, but I know that's not true. We must have killed hundreds of them by now. Those ships of theirs are big motherfuckers and they sure have a lot of them, but they'll run out of men long before we run out of drive to kill them."

Rickar could see them, without even squinting. His enhanced eyesight let him pick out the ships and even the men captaining them. More than one was staring back, directly at him and Theon. Rickar pressed his lips together before a realization caused his eyes to widen. He spun, grabbed Theon by his furs, and threw the man to the ground.

A moment later, a half-dozen arrows thudded into his back, sticking in his clothing but not piercing his skin. Cursing up a storm, Rickar manhandled a wide-eyed Theon further up the beach, the Stark King only having the time to grab hold of his pole-axe and not let go as the much stronger White Walker forced him back. Arrows continued to fall and more than one found its mark in Rickar's clothing, until his back was fully riddled with the things.

Eventually though, they were far enough away that the arrows stopped thudding around them and started thudding only behind them. That was where Rickar stopped, panting a bit, not from exertion but from adrenaline.

"Rickar?"

The King in the North sounded a little lost, so Rickar shared the realization he'd had moments before.

"They're out of YOUR arrow range… but that doesn't mean you're out of theirs. They've got better weapons and armor… stood to reason that they have better bows too, these Andals."

"… Andals?"

Rickar stiffened at his misstep and that was the same moment that a dozen Northmen arrived to drag him off the King, taking hold of him as if he'd been the one to attack Theon, rather than save his life. They had to hold him from the sides though, as his back looked a bit like a pincushion. Only now that he was up on his feet again did Rickar realize how many wide-eyed men were surrounding them. Most of them were staring at him too, rather than their King.

Well shit.

He was being looked at as if he was a demon incarnate. Some men even had their weapons grasped tightly in hand as they shifted from foot to foot and stared at him. Rickar was just about ready to break free and call his wights to battle, but Theon was rising to his feet and Rickar figured he could at least find out which way the King was going to come down on before making his move.

Theon stared at Rickar in the same way many of his men did. Then he looked around, as if just noticing the audience they had himself. Pressing his lips together, the Hungry Wolf looked back to the man he'd become something akin to a fast friend with.

"Rickar… I think we need to have a talk."

Well, a talk was good. Rickar could hang around for a quick 'chat'. Letting out a low sigh, the disguised White Walker just nodded in agreement and allowed himself to be dragged away for the 'talk'.

-x-X-x-

"Magic? I suppose I believe it… nothing you just did could be possible otherwise."

In the face of Theon's half-incredulous tone, Rickar simply shrugged his shoulders and spread his open palms wide. The White Walker sat in a wooden cage, one of the few hastily constructed to house deserters or rapists or the like within the Hungry Wolf's army. They didn't take foreign prisoners, so they had no need for bigger cages.

The arrows were gone from his back, pulled free from where they'd stuck fast in his thick jerkin and furs. It was just him, Theon, and a couple of guards. The rest of the men were celebrating their victory, both to keep up morale and to rub it into the faces of those fuckers out on their ships. The revelry was loud and the fires roaring high into the air, but the cages were slightly removed from such celebration, leaving Theon and Rickar able to converse quietly.

"It is as you say. My magic is the only reason I still live. It is also the only reason YOU still live."

Theon snorted derisively at that.

"You don't have to remind me that you saved my life Rickar. I was there, I know I would have been covered in those arrows within seconds if you hadn't reacted in time. Still… magic. Only ever heard of it in myths or legends. Don't think magic has been seen in Westeros for a long, long time… kind of like the Children of the Forest. We know they carved the heart trees, but if any still live, they're long gone, hidden away in places we do not know to go or cannot reach. So to have you here, wielding magic… makes a man wonder where you came from Rickar."

Straightening his back, Rickar did his level best to stare down the King in the North. Theon didn't look too impressed, until he heard what Rickar had to say.

"Doesn't matter where I'm from your Grace, if you don't mind me saying that. All that matters is that I'm here now. Might be true that those with magic hide and stay away from those without out of fear of what a jealous man will do to satiate his dark thoughts, but doesn't mean we won't stay hidden when the time comes to fight against a foe we all need to defeat. The Andals come for us all."

Theon nods slowly and then catches that last bit, just as Rickar had hoped. He's an amateur at leading conversations where he wants them to go compared to his father, but he can manage this much at least.

"Andals… you used that word back at the beach too. See, you giving a name to these foreigners makes it all even more suspicious. Surely you can see that. I don't know WHY a foreign spy would save my life from his own people, but I need to be sure. I need to know why you call them Andals."

It was Rickar's turn to nod slowly… and then he proceeded to try and lie his ass off.

"Where I'm from… there are stories. Not just of the past, but of the future. The Andals' arrival on these shores was prophesized as long ago as the legends and myths that you talked about. My people have had the knowledge, but not the will to use it. Until me. I know who the Andals are, yes. I know where they come from too. The sea that they cross is not vast, nor is their homeland beyond our grasp."

There's a spark in Theon's eyes as he stares into Rickar's.

"What are you saying?"

Rickar cannot believe he's going to do this… but he also can't seem to help himself.

"The prophecies speak of you too Theon Stark. They speak of the King in the North at the times of the Andals Invasion. South of the neck, the Andals WIN. All across the bottom half of Westeros, they will conquer the First Men and assimilate them into their culture. But it is YOU who holds them back in the North, you and your children and your children's children. There will come a time when the Andals are neighbors rather than foreigners. But that time is not now. No, now is for another time."

Theon looks almost entranced.

"… What time is that?"

Bearing his pearly whites in a savage grin, Rickar went for the kill.

"Now is the time that the Hungry Wolf sails across the Narrow Sea and lands on the shores of Andalos. Now is the time that Theon Stark, King in the North, leads his armies to take the fight to the foreigners on the lands where they are not foreign. You will defeat them here and turn their boats around on them. The Andals across the sea will not expect a thing until it is too late. Their own ships will prove their undoing."

There was the Hungry Wolf. Rickar could see it in Theon's face, in his gaze, in the way he was licking his lips like a dire wolf would lick its chops. He could almost see the wolf's head, superimposed on Theon's own for a long moment. Then, the King in the North leaned forward and his true face moved through the mental image as he stared at Rickar with those piercing blue eyes of his and asked a single, simple question.

"How?"

Luckily, Rickar had a plan.

-x-X-x-

I was reading one of my tomes when I felt it. Lyanna's rage was… incandescent. That was a nice word for it. Eyebrow raised, I carefully set the book aside so that it would not end up a senseless victim in what was about to happen. I stood and as I did so, Lyanna came into the room like a barely contained hurricane.

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR SON IS?! WHERE HE'S PLANNING ON GOING?!"

… I did, but somehow, I felt like the truth here would only set me back in this instance. Instead, I merely lifted a brow and stayed silent. In the face of my stoicism, Lyanna let out an impotent cry of rage.

"THAT FOOLISH BOY is on a boat right now you bastard! He's crossing the fucking sea! AND HE CUT ME OFF WHEN I TOLD HIM TO TURN HIS ASS BACK AROUND!"

Ah, there was the main issue. Lyanna did not like the fact that the bond between us and our children was… two-way, unlike mine with her and the other White Walkers. Rickar and Ayla could slip the leash so to speak, any time they wanted. I could not control them in the same way I controlled the others, in the same way I COULD control Lyanna if I so chose to.

It sounded like Rickar had done the equivalent of hanging up on Lyanna, only to leave the phone off the cradle afterwards. As a result, the beautiful White Walker was beside herself with fury, unable to do anything from this far away to punish the boy.

"… He IS centuries old Lyanna."

"HE IS MY SON! I DON'T CARE HOW OLD HE IS!"

Oh, NOW he was her son again, instead of simply mine. I valiantly manage to resist the urge to roll my eyes even as I step forward and reach out to place my hands on her arms. Lyanna jerks away from me and snarls.

"Don't touch me you bastard. This is all your fault! You're the one who let him go south!"

… I stare at her for a long moment.

"As I recall, someone wanted grandchildren."

"WELL I CAN'T VERY WELL GET THEM WITH HIM ON A BOAT FILLED WITH MEN, CROSSING THE SEA TO GO KILL OTHER MEN! GRRAAAAHHH!!!"

Hear the mama she-wolf roar, heh. This time, I wasn't able to keep the chuckle from coming out and I stiffened when her attention immediately focused on my slip up. A moment later Lyanna had launched herself at me. I let her take me to the ground, secure in the knowledge that she could not truly hurt me and willing to let her do some superficial damage if it got it out of her system.

My eyebrows lifted however, when Lyanna's hips began to gyrate against my crotch and I noticed an emotion besides impotent rage in her glowing blue gaze.

-x-X-x-

The female White Walker's hands moved swiftly as she practically dragged my rapidly hardening cock out of its confines with one hand, and exposed her pussy lips with the other. My own hands moved to her waist as she swiftly impaled herself on my cock with a grunt. It reminded me of fond memories of our early days in truth. Hate sex was one helluva drug after all.

The way Lyanna rode my cock was not slow or gentle or sensual. It was rough and fast and primal and I was there for it, one hundred percent of the way. Once she'd gotten a good bounce going, I thrust my hips up into her in time with her downward motion, driving myself even deeper into her amazingly tight cunt. The room was filled with nothing but the sounds of our grunts and other exclamations for several minutes, before suddenly Lyanna reached out and grabbed me by the neck.

She did not squeeze down, but she did lean in, something indiscernible in her eyes even as she continued to impale herself on my cock.

"You better knock me up this time you fucking bastard."

That sounded like more than dirty talk.

"What, you think I don't know? We fuck nearly daily and you leave your seed in me at least half as much. And still it took nearly two centuries for it to take. More than that, you only impregnated me with the twins AFTER I went to the Wall… AFTER I betrayed you and then came back begging for your forgiveness. Do you think me a fool my King? Because I am NOT."

Ah, she is cleverer than I've given her credit for. Lyanna's pace increases again and she's snarling into my face as she rides me harder and harder. Any human man would probably break under this sort of onslaught, but we're both made of hardier stuff.

"Eighteen hundred years. Eighteen HUNDRED YEARS! Put a fucking baby in my belly NO-OOF!"

I took control at the end there and Lyanna ended up in a rather uncomfortable position as I rose from the floor and took her with me. Her body weight was mostly supported on her neck and her shoulders, her head at an odd angle as she glared at me and her legs spread wide by my hands suddenly on her thighs. My shaft never left her cunt and as I plowed her from above, I gave her a toothy grin.

"As my Queen commands."

She didn't stop glaring at me of course, my words all but a confirmation of her suspicions. After all, she was right. I had control over Lyanna Stark and that transcended far beyond the mind. It was MY choice whether my seed reached her eggs. It was MY choice whether or not she got pregnant. Was it wrong that I'd essentially kept my Queen on birth control for over two thousand years, only 'letting her off it' after she'd run off with a human man, solely so that I could assert MORE control over her through our children?

Yes, it was undoubtedly wrong. But I was never a nice guy to begin with. I liked to think kids had mellowed me out some though, but I'd still not let Lyanna have any more after Ayla and Rickar… until now. True to my word, I'd make sure she got pregnant from this. She had earned that much from this little outburst.

I so did love when my she wolf showed her fangs. Forcing a reluctant orgasm from the blue skinned, white haired beauty beneath me, I let out a snarl of my own before finally cumming inside of her rapidly clenching pussy, depositing my seed right inside of her womb. The deed was done and I'd make sure she got pregnant from it… but that didn't mean I was done.

Lyanna found herself pinned face down next, forced prone as I laid out over her and thrust my cock, still hard, into her wet cunt once more. She grunted and snarled and clawed at the floor, but ultimately, she took my length as she always did, and in the end I melted her into a pool of pleasure, her anger and rage forgotten, light mewls falling from her lips.

My Queen would not be walking easy tomorrow. And in a few weeks, she'd be feeling the effects of what she'd demanded I do for her. I wondered if time had let Lyanna forget the… 'joys' of pregnancy. I supposed I was going to find out.

-x-X-x-

They came in the night, but there were still scouts to notice their launches and alert the Captains. The Andal Fleet was soon on high alert as a hundred darkened rowboats slowly made their way out towards the ships that were waiting out in the water. There was no possible way it was their men. There would have been signals from the beach if this latest wave had been victorious and there would be torches on the rowboats.

Captains across the Andal Fleet made the individual decisions to have their archers shoot the rowboats full of arrows. The result was a thousand arrows arcing through the air, the majority landing on the rowboats and turning them into pincushions. Yet still they kept coming. A slow burning fear began to build in the hearts of the Andal sailors. What kind of men kept rowing with arrows in their flesh?

Those still on the Andal ships had yet to face the First Men. Barely any had returned from the beach alive, perhaps one in a hundred making it back. As such, the horror stories had cropped up as one might expect and at this point, they weren't fighting heathen savages, they were fighting monsters from legend.

This merely added to the disarray in the fleet as sailors began to panic left and right. The Captains tried to keep order, but it was difficult to do so when they too were confused and uncertain as to what was happening. How were they doing this? How were the unarmored, uncultured heathens STILL rowing? In the darkness, it wasn't until the rowboats were right alongside the Andal Fleet that they finally understood, and by then it was too late. Courageous sailors, expecting to prove their fellow seamen cowards by exposing that the boats were full of dead men and had simply drifted this way by chance, shown torch light down on the rowboats as they arrived.

They did not see men filled with arrows. Instead, they saw a sheet of shields, painted with the sigils of Andal families and houses. On every rowboat, it was the same. The First Men had had no use for the Andals' shields until now. But now, under Rickar's advice… they were using them to great effect indeed. The Andal Fleet had only a second to react to this horrifying revelation, staring down at their own sigils from between the arrow shafts sticking out of them… and then the First Men MOVED, rising up from the rowboats, tossing the shields away, and leaping up onto the ships, climbing them and making their way to the main decks.

All across the fleet, this repeated itself. There were casualties of course, and one Andal ship even managed to repel the invaders… the first invaders anyways. The next came from one of their neighbor ships, as the First Men plowed one vessel into the other and sunk both in a roar of fire and a splintering of wood.

By morning, the back of the Andal fleet was broken and the Andals themselves were sleeping with the fishes. Meanwhile, Theon Stark stood at the helm of the biggest ship in the fleet with Rickar at his side. There was a wide, wolfish smile on the King in the North's face.

One might even call it hungry.

-x-X-x-

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