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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 103: Frozen Helpings
🕑 Added 2025-11-13 14:00:10 +0000 UTCChapter 103: Frozen Helpings
123 AC, The Wall
And just like that, Cregan blinked, and the sorcerer and his wife disappeared completely, leaving Cregan alone just as they had found him. The wind howled across the Wall, and for the first time, Cregan thought he could almost hear it speak.
It took more time than he would have liked for Cregan to convince his men that he would be ranging alone North of the Wall. If he had not made it an official command to leave him be, Cregan was sure that they would have persisted even further. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was especially incensed, likely in the fear that he would be blamed should the Lord of the North die beyond the Wall, and even Bennard had looked at him as if he was mad, since he refused to take any guards with him.
Cregan couldn’t blame them. He knew that it seemed like a foolish decision, as the possible death of the Lord of the North would destabilise the region, especially with the rise of Wildling attacks, but he could feel it in his blood. A Stark was needed in what was to come, and he had seen what the Potters could do. If there were a chance to spare his kingdom, to spare the realm, from another Long Night, then it was well worth the dangers North of the Wall.
A small selfish part of him hoped that should the White Walkers perish, he would be spared from the Builder’s throne, that the trap that was Winterfell would not be needed, and Cregan would have a peaceful death.
He would have asked for a few guards to come with him, were it not for the fact that the Potters’ magic would unsettle them, or Cregan, himself, would end up being looked down on for consorting with witches.
Alas, he was Lord Stark, and they accepted despite their disagreement. It did help that he had put most of his plans in writing and that he allowed Bennard to act in his stead until his return. Of course, that was after he had witnessed the man don the black cloak and swear his vows to the Night’s Watch at the Heart Tree beyond the Wall.
He did not trust his uncle, not for a moment, but he was a recognisable member of House Stark and would manage if any unforeseen issues arose. However, most of his true plans would be done by Sara, whom he trusted implicitly. He had sent a raven to her, telling her to keep an eye on his uncle and to ensure that he wouldn’t attempt to usurp him once more. She would act as his regent in everything but name, while his uncle’s role would be to maintain Winterfell, and act as a rallying point for the Lords of the North in case their Kingdom was attacked, or war broke out. After all, his lords would not like the idea of a woman leading them, no matter how capable she was.
Cregan suppressed a shiver, not fully from the cold, given the expected tongue-lashing from Sara after his return.
And so, Cregan woke up at dawn, and walked away from North of the Wall, and near the Weirwood Grove where his uncle had sworn his vows the previous day.
The Lord of the North stared at the clearing, where nine great Heart Trees grew in a circle, and couldn’t help but feel awed by their sheer presence. Without feeling hurried or without dozens of people around, he found himself enjoying the stillness that they provided.
He knelt down and prayed to the Old Gods, hoping that they would help him with the days ahead, for he knew that they would not be easy ones.
When he was finally done, he stood up, feeling far calmer than he should have, and turned, only to almost jump as he saw the Potters standing near one of the trees, staring at it impassively. He couldn’t help but mutter, “You’re late.”
“Am I?” Harry Potter revealed with a smile, “A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”
The sorcerer’s wife hit him in the shoulder, and he grimaced, “Fine… Fine. We’ve been waiting for you here. Things are… stranger here. This is not a kingdom of men, and it has not been for a long time. The further North we go, the more into its domain we delve, as we lose the protections of the Wall.”
“You claimed that the Wall separates the North and South much like the Builder’s grave.”
“It also muddies the water slightly as we get closer. It’s quite a clever tactical advantage to weaken the enemy before it attacks and create a blind spot to the Night’s Watch’s efforts, should you wish to set up traps North of the Wall. Of course, as I said, the effects fade away as we get further North. Though looking at the Heart Trees, I’d say that they were also used the same way.”
Cregan’s confusion must have shown, as Daphne continued her husband’s explanation, “Do you not feel it? This grove is warmer than outside of it, and it feels less oppressive. You are calmer, less on edge. The Heart Trees North of the Wall use their network to siphon some magic from South of the Wall to create pockets of warded areas all over the True North.”
The Lord of Winterfell would never say that he had enough knowledge of magic, despite seeing Sara use it whenever she Skinchanged into her hound, and even then, the Potters were different. He had researched in Winterfell’s library, trying to find any traces of magic in the North, and aside from a few legends, tales of Skinchangers, Wargs, and Greenseers, he had not found much. Then again, there were magics from outside the North, but even what little records of them there were, he had found very little that compared to the Potters or the Builder’s tomb.
And so, he did not know what the Potters meant by the network of Weirwood Trees or anything of the like, but what he did understand was that the Old Gods would protect those near the Heart Trees, and he was grateful for their mercy.
Neither of his companions said much as they walked away from the grove, with Cregan joining them in their silence as they delved deeper into the Haunted Forest. He understood, then, what the sorcerer had meant when he claimed that the Weirwood grove had offered them protection. He felt his medallion’s humming increase with every step forward, and every breath slowly became harder. There was something oppressive, something that made him feel out of place the further North they walked.
Still, there was a distinct lack of magic from Harry and Daphne on the way, just walking past trees in pure silence. After a while, he couldn’t contain his curiosity: “I thought there would have been less walking.”
Harry snickered at him, “It’s been a while since we had to travel by walking around. Unfortunately, making a portal would hardly be discreet, like shining a bright light in a dark room, and that would defeat the purpose of mimicking the Heart Tree’s protection to hide us from them. Don’t worry, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. If you noticed, we travelled a lot further than we should have.”
Cregan looked back and froze in shock as he realised that he couldn’t even see the Wall anymore. Every part of him thought to question how that was possible, but he decided not to. It was likely some form of magic that he wouldn’t understand either way. At least, that meant that all this walking wasn’t for nothing, and that he would hopefully return to the Wall sooner than he expected.
However, he did have a question that he wanted answered: “You stole the Heart Tree’s protections.”
“No, I only mimicked its signature, like a Blacksmith copying a blade. It’s specifically made to hide from the White Walkers. I’d rather avoid warning them of our presence, especially since there’s a lot that we don’t know about this place. That will probably lead to a massacre of the Wildlings, and I definitely don’t want that on my conscience. I’d say that it worked pretty well, because, trust me, we would have known if they noticed our presence here.”
“So, we do this for the Wildlings’ sake?” Cregan asked in confusion.
Harry turned to the distance and simply answered, “They don’t seem like bloodthirsty savages, do they?”
Cregan followed his gaze and saw a trail of men walking south, following along a river that Cregan recognised would bring them to the Bay of Ice, a common way South of the Wall. There was a reason that he sent reinforcements to the Shadow Tower, as it was a vulnerable way for small groups of raiders to make their way into his kingdom.
He instinctively reached for Ice, only for Harry to stop him, “Don’t worry, they can’t see us. But look at them. I mean, really look at them.”
Cregan did as the sorcerer suggested and couldn’t help but freeze as he saw the desperation on their faces as women and children slowly walked forward, men who barely seemed his age, were wielding weapons made of wood and stone, with the occasional one with bronze blades. They were all so young, and he understood what that meant, that most never grew into adulthood.
Truthfully, he hadn’t thought much of the Wildlings, bar the threat that their migration posed for the North. With the White Walkers’ return, it would make sense that they would try to find refuge south of the Wall. It shamed him slightly that he had all but ignored that these people would perish soon, thousands of them.
He would not allow them into his kingdom. Perhaps if he were older, he could manage to help them. Though the idea of giving them lands in the Gift would have been impossible. His lords would rebel the moment he tried to broach the subject, even if he was the Builder reborn.
Perhaps giving them lands in Skagos could work. The island was part of the North in name only, and its inhabitants were wildlings in everything but name. Alas, there were issues with this solution, even if his lords would somehow accept this. He would give people who shared thousands of years of enmity with the North access to greater resources and thus make them a greater threat to his descendants, something that he wasn’t willing to risk.
Even if people knew of the Long Night, it was just as likely that the Wildlings would get massacred the moment they came South of the Wall. They would need to prove themselves useful somehow for the Lords of the North to be satisfied, and they would need to follow his kingdom’s laws. All in all, it was a mess that he hoped to avoid by dealing with the Long Night ahead of time.
He also remembers every single letter he had received from a destroyed village or another, and he would not see anyone, even one as powerful as Harry, try to justify their deaths in any way.
He could see the point that Harry wished to convey, but he had a point of his own, “You were right, they are afraid. But that doesn’t justify what they have done to my people, nor change thousands of years of enmity.”
“Do you think that they look happy to be leaving?” Daphne suddenly asked.
He turned towards them and shook his head, “No.”
Her husband continued for her, “This is their home, their way of life. These are their lands, and they are being forced to move south. You have to understand what it looks like from their point of view, living harsh lives in the endless cold, on the other side of a giant wall. Eventually, the young end up dreaming of what is on the other side, and you get raiders that attack your kingdom, much like bandits in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Most actual Wildlings are the ones you never see, the ones that never even want to go South of the Wall.”
Cregan couldn’t help but scoff at the man’s naïve outlook of the Wildlings, “You cannot call the Kings Beyond the Wall mere raiders.”
After all, the man had all but insulted every one of Cregan’s ancestors who died fighting Kings Beyond the Wall.
Thankfully for his rising temper, Harry shook his head, “No, a King Beyond the Wall is what happens when someone wants to unite Wildling tribes. I’ve found that a common enemy is a far greater motivator than a common cause, and the Night’s Watch, alongside the North, are their natural enemy. It gives them purpose in their empty lives where they only care about survival. It gives them hope of a better life, cruel as it might be. Perhaps some choose to die in a fit of glory instead of freezing to death here. I am not justifying their actions, Cregan. Some of these people have done horrible things to your smallfolk, maybe even a few nobles. But can you tell me that it means that I should recklessly get them all killed just to avoid having to walk around?”
Cregan looked away and did not answer the question, though the lack of an answer alone was telling. Neither Harry nor Daphne said anything else as they walked for more hours, finally stopping in front of a solitary hill next to a river. It looked quite strange, as if it had risen suddenly from the ground with very steep slopes. It vaguely looked like a giant stone fist, and he immediately recognised the landmark, “The Fist of the First Men.”
It was known as one of the most defensible positions North of the Wall, rumoured to have been used by the First Men during the Long Night. If he had to guess, they had planned on camping at the top of the hill, where the ruins of an old ringfort remained, one whose main outer wall was still maintained occasionally by the Night’s Watch when they needed to send larger ranging parties than usual.
His suspicions were proven to be correct when Cregan followed the Potters as they walked up the hill. He saw the barely standing wall and ruins of the rest of the forts and couldn’t help but wonder if Bran the Builder had once stood where he was, fighting against the White Walkers.
However, his awe completely disappeared when he heard Harry mutter something under his breath.
Cregan turned towards him and asked, “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I was just curious if there isn’t a Heart Tree here.”
“It’s a hill,” Cregan answered, trying, and failing, to keep his incredulity from showing, “It’s mostly rocks and stone, not a good place for trees to grow.”
“Perhaps,” Harry commented, “But that doesn’t explain why this place has similar protections to those of the Weirwood grove.”
The sorcerer slowly palmed the snowy ground, with his eyes closed.
In the meantime, Cregan felt oddly drawn to a small pile of stones. He didn’t know why, as there had to be hundreds of similar piles of stones on the hill, but he slowly walked to it and removed the stones to see what lay beneath.
After he was done, he saw a small hole which he put his hand inside and froze as he found himself palming something other than stone. He quickly pulled it out and saw a familiar black cloak, one that he had seen many times in Castle Black. He unfurled the frozen cloak and found a small cache of Dragonglass knives and an old, broken warhorn with old runes carved all over it, most of whom he did not recognise.
He did recognise one, at the very least, one that signified the word ‘Winter’.
Cregan turned back to the Potters to show them his find, only to freeze as he saw them in front of a giant hole near one of the ruins, some kind of secret passage into the very heart of the First of the First Men.
They turned towards him and motioned for him to follow them. Cregan absentmindedly put the cloak, Dragonglass knives, and horn in his leather pouch and entered after them into the hidden passage after lighting up a wooden torch.
They did not have to walk long, as after a handful of minutes, they were inside a cave, with a Heart Tree rising from it somehow, its roots carved into the very stone that made up the hill, something that he hadn’t thought possible.
But that wasn’t what disturbed him about what he was witnessing; it was that the tree looked… wrong. He did not know how to put it into words, but the white bark was slightly too pale, its red leaves were fewer and almost darker, like a tree that was withering away, something that was supposedly impossible for Weirwoods. The face carved into it also looked strange, its expression colder than any he had seen before, while also being too smooth for it to occur.
Daphne immediately walked towards it, palming it softly, obviously having noticed something strange within the tree as well. Cregan left her to her own devices, choosing to explore the cave slightly. There were strange carvings on the wall, ones that were very different from the first men. They looked almost like spirals of some sort.
He turned towards one of them and pointed his torch near one of them, only to freeze when he noticed that this was not a wall at all, but something almost like glass, no, it was akin to murky ice, through which he could see what was on the other side.
It was a man wearing a black cloak, frozen completely within the ice. He wore a strange black crown and had a Dragonglass dagger in his heart. It was a strange attired to see a brother of the Night’s Watch killed with such a weapon, while wearing a… crown.
Cregan recognised a single man who fit, a figure of legend that most did not think even existed, the Night’s King, the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the one who had declared himself killed and ruled for over a decade before being defeated, the man, who according to the legend, to have had a corpse as his wife.
A faint hum interrupted him from his muttering as he turned around and saw something move behind him. He barely had time to turn as a blue flash came before him, a weapon of ice that looked sharper than any other blade he had seen before.
Somehow, the blade of ice was stopped by a floating Valyrian Steel weapon, specifically, his ancestral sword, Ice, which had unsheathed itself, likely thanks to Harry’s efforts, and a loud ringing echoed across the cave.
Cregan grabbed his floating weapon by the pommel and finally looked at the wide eyes wielding the weapon of ice that had almost taken his life. They were blue. No, in fact, the entire figure was blue, like a creature made completely of ice. He knew without a doubt that, in this moment, he was facing a White Walker.
However, what completely surprised him was the fact that it was not a man that he saw, but a woman. And immediately, he realised who he was facing, for if this was the body of the Night’s King, then this was his Corpse Queen, the creature who almost destroyed the Night’s Watch.
AN: Finally, the pain from my wisdom teeth is getting better. I don’t know if I said it, but don’t try to remove two at the same time. It’s a very bad idea. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I have a few things planned with the White Walkers that fit with the lore I explored so far, so I’m excited for that. I also wanted to portray a bit of the change that Cregan went through as he was slowly getting used to being Lord of the North, which explains his reaction to the Wildlings around him, while also taking into account his age. I don’t know if that part worked as well as I wanted it to. As usual, I don’t mind rewriting this chapter depending on your feedback, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
athass_prkr
I do have a plan for the succession, and it's something that a few people guessed already, but I'll try not to spoil it anyway :)
athass_prkr
Thanks for letting me know. It should be fixed now.
TyrantGod
Have you thought out the Targ succession plan? So far from what I have seen even though it might be unrealistic Heleana seems the most suited for the throne. Baela seems destined for Velaryon Head and Rhaena as an explorer. The Green bros seem not too interested in the throne.
Gr1ffin
It should be The Fist of the First Men, not the First of the First Men. Otherwise, neat.
