Games of Thrones: The Heavenly Demon of North

Support me on patreon.com/c/Striker2025

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Redna – Gulltown Caravan Route

The cold wasn't natural—not just winter's bite. It clung like something watching.

Redna adjusted her veil and pulled her hood lower. She rode atop the second wagon in a six-cart caravan inching west through the spine of the Vale. To all eyes, she was Issra of Tyrosh: widow, silk trader, harmless foreigner. The role had been practiced, refined, used before.

She kept one eye on the man two carts ahead.

Grey robes. No house colors. No weapons. His steps were careful, deliberate. His silence held a tension most wouldn't notice.

But Redna wasn't most.

She didn't need to see a blade to know where it would strike.

That night, as the caravan made camp in a frost-ringed hollow, she used the usual excuse—checking inventory—and ducked into her covered stockpile.

Two coins stacked beneath an orange silk bolt. The signal was there.

She peeled back the hidden lining.

Inside: a bundle of brittle parchment. Stolen without alerting the robed traveler. Redna didn't want to know how. She only wanted to read fast.

The documents weren't maps of trade or terrain.

They were maps of people.

The map didn't name enemies. It categorized thresholds.

Winterfell was marked in terse script: "Structure compromised. Influence no longer recoverable."

White Harbor bore a colder phrase: "Potential pressure point. Subject to soft disruption."

The Dreadfort's note was brief: "Viable for redirection under monitored compliance."

And The Hollow Vale—

That one had a red underline through its name and a dense block of writing beside it:

"Doctrinal deviance identified. Spiritual distortion present. Assets active. Priority classification: elevated. Prepare doctrinal correction."

Redna stared longer at that part.

It wasn't a scouting report. It was a precursor to something worse.

These weren't strategy plans. They were purge orders. Southern. Faith-sanctioned. And close.

She rolled the pages tight again and burned the edges into her memory.

The robed figure wasn't here to watch.

He was here to begin.

POV: Arthur – Winterfell

Arthur stood at the edge of the table as Redna laid out the documents. Garron stood behind him, arms crossed. Sarra leaned on her cane near the hearth. Lyanna remained silent by the door.

No lords, no banners. Just the core.

Arthur studied the paper.

"These marks," he said quietly, "they're not about defense."

Redna nodded. "They're targeting infection. Not opposition."

He tapped the red-inked note under The Hollow Vale.

"'Spiritual breach.' Not rebellion. Heresy."

Redna sat across from him. "The man carrying this walks with priest envoys. But he doesn't pray. He doesn't speak."

Arthur looked up. "Is he trained?"

"No weapons. But he moves like someone who doesn't need one."

POV: Arthur – Same Room, Minutes Later

She called him a "Silent Judge."

Arthur listened as Redna laid out what little was known.

No name. No command chain. Just a function.

They didn't speak sermons. They didn't recruit or warn. When they arrived, the sentence had already been passed.

Sometimes they worked in pairs. Sometimes alone. Sometimes they disappeared after one strike and were never seen again. No official record existed outside whispers.

"None in the North before," Redna said. "Until now."

Arthur didn't blink. "What do they judge?"

Redna met his eyes. "Faithlessness. Deviance. Threats to dogma."

POV: Arthur – Continued

Arthur pulled another map from the stack. His own. Less polished. More useful.

Old hill passes. Forage paths. Forgotten keeps. Dotted with notations made by Maelen and Thom on their last survey run.

He marked four points far from known roads.

"If we shift drills to these sites," he said, "they won't track us through banners or roads."

Sarra raised her head. "They'll still come."

Arthur nodded. "Then we shape the path. Let them chase the wrong movement. If they strike, it'll be where we're ready."

Garron finally spoke. "You want to bait them."

"I want to control where the first blow lands."

POV: Redna – Same Room, Final Exchange

Redna leaned forward. "There's a second option. I stay embedded. Stay close to the Judge's movement. I won't be able to send word. But I might learn more."

Arthur hesitated. "You'll be cut off."

Redna gave a shallow nod. "I've been cut off before."

"If they mark you—"

"I'll vanish."

Arthur's voice was flat. "Do not finish the job if it'll finish you."

She allowed the smallest grin. "You've started to sound like Rickard."

Arthur didn't smile back. "He's still alive. I take that seriously."

Garron muttered, "This is a quiet war, and we're losing the right to stay quiet."

Arthur replied, "Then it's time to make noise they can't trace."

POV: Redna – Three Nights Later, Vale Border

Redna rode out again as Issra.

New papers. Old clothing. Same cart.

The Silent Judge was still ahead, in the same grey robe. He didn't look at her. Not once. But the air seemed different where he walked. Stilled.

She left behind a single note, sealed in cipher.

"They don't just intend to stop Arthur.

They intend to sanctify the strike."

POV: Arthur – Godswood, Late

Rickard stood with him beneath the bare branches of the godswood.

The heart tree was still. The snow, undisturbed.

Rickard spoke without preface.

"Faith sends assassins. Maps label your students as corrupted. And now the Citadel is asking questions with sharpened quills."

Arthur didn't deny it.

"They feared revolt," Rickard said. "Now they fear something quieter."

Arthur answered, voice low. "They fear a threat they can't name."

Rickard turned slightly. "You mean truth?"

"No," Arthur said. "I mean proof."

Rickard waited.

"Proof that discipline doesn't belong to the highborn. That tradition can be rewritten in silence. That the cold doesn't need the South's permission to survive."

He looked to the heart tree.

"They don't fear war. They fear irrelevance."

Rickard let the silence settle.

"If you stay," he said finally, "they'll escalate."

Arthur looked him in the eye.

"I know."