Games of Thrones: The Heavenly Demon of North

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POV: Maelen – Dreadfort Skies, Night

High above the Dreadfort towers, Maelen's bond with the raven sharpened. Once he sensed only shadows, but now he saw through the bird's eyes: the grey spires, the cold sky, the emptiness between torches. When the raven landed near a crooked pine beside the eastern hall, his fingers tingled with awareness.

A lone rider dismounted below—hooded, cloaked, horse moving too quietly. The guards made no move. Maelen watched through the raven's gaze as a pouch changed hands. The man knelt, head bowed, then straightened.

A single word entered Maelen's mind without sound: Sorrow. It thrummed like ice under the bird's feather—not spoken, but named.

With a wrench of will, Maelen ended the link and snapped awake in the watchtower chamber near Wolfsblood Ridge. His heart pounded, and his wolf whimpered beside him.

He wiped sweat from his brow. "Arthur must know," he whispered.

POV: Arthur – Hollow Vale, Stone Grove

Arthur sat with Vaeren across from him, breathing with synchronized steadiness in the pine-carved chamber deep in the mountain. The air was still. Cold seeped into bone.

Vaeren struggled to maintain the rhythm. His breath came harsh.

"You're forcing what you don't understand," Arthur said quietly. "You're listening for echoes, not finding the source."

Vaeren exhaled sharply. "It rebels."

Arthur placed fingers on the pine floor. The grain shivered faintly. "This mountain is alive. The North keeps every broken oath beneath its footing."

Vaeren watched him. "How much longer?"

Arthur looked to the carved pine basin. "Until no more assassins come."

POV: Maelen Arrives

An hour later Maelen appeared beneath the lantern pines, his cloak crusted with frost, Branr padding behind.

"I found something," Maelen said without preamble. "Or someone."

He told of the raven's vision, the silent rider, the single word.

"Sorrow? A code name?" Arthur asked.

Maelen shook his head. "It wasn't a name. It felt older. Like doctrine wrapped in threat."

Arthur turned and looked at Vaeren. "They spoke of assassins in old texts—'Walkers of Death' who moved without breath, without weight."

Vaeren frowned. "The Silent Pulse. They didn't kill bodies. They erased lineages."

"If the South has their version," Arthur said, "then we aren't fighting regimes—we fight beliefs."

POV: Arthur – Hidden Chamber Strategy Meeting

Later that night Arthur convened his core group—Redna, Vaeren, Garron, Lyanna, Thom, and Maelen—in the secret chamber beneath Hollow Vale. Fires cast churning shadows.

Arthur rolled out a map marked with recent caravans, minor temples, and quiet arrivals in northern keeps.

"They're not armies," he said. "They're test marks—souls meant to be swayed quietly."

He pointed to a spot near Last Hearth. "This is where Maelen saw the judge."

Then to White Harbor. "Here, they spread books, artifacts, sermons—soft power."

Redna crossed her arms. "They're baiting us—creating pressure we didn't expect."

Arthur looked up slowly. "But we reject the bait. Not yet."

Thom cleared his throat. "So what is the plan? Do we simply wait?"

Arthur met his gaze. "No. We prepare without spectacle. The South expects war by banners and fire. They forget silence is stronger."

Arthur leaned over the table, his eyes sweeping the map as he spoke with quiet precision. Redna would extend her Web deeper into the South, embedding agents not only among merchants but into the smaller trade hubs where coin moved freely and rumor moved faster. Garron, ever the builder beneath his bulk, would begin carving hidden weapon caches and cold-forged safehouses along seldom-watched roads—places no southern scout would think to mark.

To Vaeren, Arthur assigned the colder task: the training of three stealth units in qi, each with a single purpose—one to scout, one to neutralize, and one to vanish without a trace. Lyanna, despite the pressure mounting around her, would continue her training in Winterfell. This time, it would be done in full view. The sight of women and low-borns learning the sword would serve a broader purpose—it would draw attention away from what the rest of them prepared in silence.

To Maelen went the furthest reach. He would return to Wolfsblood Ridge with three ravens and his wolf. The Boltons were quiet now, but if the figure known only as Sorrow appeared again, they needed to know—before the blade ever rose.

Before Maelen left Hollow Vale, Arthur gave him a single sealed scroll and a marked raven.

"This goes to Maester Walys," he said. "Use the cord with red and brown. Let them know we've seen Sorrow—and we are listening."

Maelen nodded and vanished into the pine.

POV: Arthur – Mountain Cliffside, Night

Later, Arthur stood alone at the western cliff of Hollow Vale, snow drifting below him, dark hills framing the horizon.

He closed his eyes and felt nothing but ice—ice under root, ice beneath stone. The land's breath slowed around him. The tensions beneath northern fields pulsed faintly.

They would come. Not to conquer. But to silence.

He opened his eyes and let the wind howl for him.