Support me on patreon.com/c/Striker2025
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
POV: Arthur Snow
Location: Winterfell – Lord's Solar, then training yard
The raven came just before dawn.
It bore the seal of the Shadow Tower—wax cracked, parchment damp with northern chill. Maester Walys placed it in Rickard Stark's hand without a word. The Lord of Winterfell read it in silence, his breath steady but his fingers tightening around the message with each line.
When he finished, he folded the parchment once, carefully, and set it on the desk beside him.
"Summon Arthur Snow," he said.
Arthur entered the solar a quarter-hour later. The air was still, the only sound the faint clatter of snowmelt dripping from the eaves.
Rickard looked up from the hearth. "Sit."
Arthur remained standing.
Rickard gave a brief smile. "You're more like me than you think."
Arthur said nothing.
The lord of Winterfell leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
"A ranger from the Shadow Tower was found dead near the Frostfang trail," he said. "Throat cut. Carrying a shattered horn."
Arthur waited.
"They captured the wildling responsible. Sent his confession by raven."
He reached for the parchment, eyes scanning again.
"The wildlings were given dragonglass weapons. Supplied by Ironborn. Promised safe passage south."
Arthur's jaw tightened slightly.
"And their leader—Hrok—never intended to honor the pact. His goal was Winterfell. Not to burn it. To take hostages. Leverage, he called it. Said kneelers bend faster when you hold their young."
A long silence passed.
Rickard studied him. Then leaned back.
"There's something else." He tapped the parchment.
"Dagmer Black-Tide—one of Dagon Greyjoy's captains—believed this plan was divinely inspired. Said he saw the alliance in a dream. A vision sent by the Drowned God."
Arthur's face didn't change. .
Rickard noticed.
"You've fought them both now," Rickard said. "You've seen what they were willing to risk. And what they believed in."
Arthur gave a slow nod.
Rickard let the fire fill the silence before continuing. "It's not just the wildlings or Ironborn anymore. There's something deeper beneath this."
Arthur's voice was quiet. "I know."
Rickard's gaze sharpened. "That's not all I summoned you for."
He rose, crossing to the window that overlooked the training yard below.
"Lyanna," he said simply.
Arthur joined him.
Below, Lyanna stood alone with a training dummy—light armor, sword in hand. Her strikes were quick, deliberate, not flashy. She moved with balance now. Measured breath. Precision instead of anger.
"She's grown," Rickard said. "In discipline. In judgment. Since you returned, she listens more. Watches. Asks sharper questions."
Arthur nodded once. "She chose the work."
"I know. But others are watching too." Rickard turned. "Your group isn't just a curiosity anymore. It's becoming a legend."
Arthur looked out again, saying nothing.
"Men call her the Wolf Blade. Garron the Giant-breaker. You—" Rickard paused, "—you are the one they fear most. The Pale Reaper. The Demon of the North."
Arthur's eyes remained fixed on the yard.
"I didn't choose the name."
"No," Rickard said. "But it chose you."
He stepped away from the window.
"You've saved this house twice over. You've trained my daughter into something half the realm would beg to be taught. And yet—"
He stopped.
Arthur turned toward him.
Rickard's voice dropped.
"Power like that draws eyes. And not just from Pyke or the Free Folk."
Arthur nodded. "The Iron Throne."
Rickard sighed. "Aerys has not sent ravens north in months. That makes me nervous. He watches. He waits. And if he suspects we're grooming a threat…"
"He'll send fire," Arthur finished.
Rickard met his gaze again.
"If your group marches south for war, I need to know it's for the right reason. Not because some old king's paranoia put us all in chains."
Arthur's answer was immediate. "They won't leave Winterfell's shadow without your leave."
Rickard studied him. For a moment, he almost looked relieved. Then he nodded once.
"Good."
He turned back to the fire. "I'll give Lyanna one more moon here. Then she must return to noble duty—at least in name. But the others, your group… let them train. Let them grow. But Arthur—"
"Yes?"
"Walk carefully." Rickard's voice turned colder. "You've built something the world has never seen. But if it starts to look like you've built something it can't control, it will try to break you."
Arthur didn't flinch.
"Let them try."
Rickard gave the faintest smile.