Games of Thrones: The Heavenly Demon of North

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POV: Arthur Snow – The Hollow Vale, Dawn

The brazier's embers glowed white in the innermost chamber. Arthur sat cross-legged on cold stone, surrounded by his inner circle—Redna, Thom, Vaeren, Sarra, Garron, Maelen, and Lyanna. Behind them, Benjen knelt, steady and alert.

No words were spoken until Arthur opened his eyes and said plainly, "It is time."

Benjen rose without hesitation and knelt before him. Arthur placed two fingers at the base of his spine, and delivered the cue: "Breathe in."

Benjen inhaled. A hum pulsed through his back. His breath caught—not in pain, but in recognition. The air around him seemed to still. He stared upward.

"You've opened the second gate," Arthur said softly. "Not with force—but with awareness."

Benjen's voice trembled. "It's like... listening with my bones."

A faint smile from Arthur. "Then you're ready."

POV: Lyanna Stark – Winterfell Yard, Afternoon

Snow drifted over the training yard in silent spirals. Lyanna practiced alone—swift arcs, smooth footwork, the precision she'd come to prefer. Her short sword moved not for spectacle, but for purpose.

Arthur had taught her that a blade is meant to decide—not to display.

She paused, breath fanning out in frost. Recently, Arthur's lessons had shifted. Less teaching. More observing. A retreat into shadow and strategy.

Lyanna carried the weight of silent tension. She recalled seeing Rickard's letter bearing black wax and the King's Hand's seal. A message meant for war more than diplomacy.

But even as the King began to stir—somewhere, across the Narrow Sea—Lyanna stood firm in the yard, embodiment of calm before the storm.

POV: Arthur Snow – Godswood, Nightfall

The godswood was still beneath the pale weirwood branches. Arthur stood beneath the heart tree, the wolf-pendant Lyanna had carved tied at his belt.

Without speaking, Redna approached and placed a sealed parchment in his hand. He broke it open and scanned the contents: a summons demanding clarity on "military restructuring, forbidden philosophies, and unrest in the North."

Arthur took the parchment and set it ablaze at the base of the tree. Flame licked up the root—it curled into bark, then died out. The tree did not burn.

Rickard arrived without announcement.

"I can delay them," he said at last. "But not forever. The Citadel has renewed its court pressure. The Faith sends hidden knives with ledgers. The King dreams of dragons again."

Arthur nodded. "I won't let Winterfell burn."

Rickard's voice was steady. "You've built more than swords or strategy. They'll remember."

Arthur looked away. "They must build beyond it."

They clasped hands—not goodbye, but understanding.

POV: Benjen Stark – Northern Road, Dawn (Later)

Benjen stood just outside the ridge with Garron and Vaeren. Snow fell quietly. Together they watched the high road, empty and waiting.

Arthur was not there. His saddle prepared, his efforts concluded—he remained unseen, present only in his teachings. The moment passed without formal farewell.

Benjen carried silent resolve. He looked north toward Winterfell and held himself steady. It felt wrong—this pause before the storm—but it was the first time he'd truly felt in charge of his own station.

POV: Lyanna – Winterfell, Two Days Later

The raven came at first light, wings dusted in snow. Its seal bore the mark of the Hand of the King.

Lyanna received it at the rookery herself. She thanked the maester, then broke the seal without ceremony.

She read the letter once. Quietly. Fully.

Then she left the rookery, steps steady on the stair, the message folded once in her hand.

South had moved.