EIGHT YEARS LATER - 142 AC
Shadows darted between ancient trees, swift and elusive. A blur of movement, too fast to track, raced along the forest floor, followed by another larger shadow that seemed to bend the very light around it.
"I win!" Rickon's triumphant voice echoed through the wolfswood, his laughter bright in the crisp morning air.
A deep, rumbling growl answered him, filled with equal parts frustration and amusement.
Rickon spun around, hands on his hips, a challenging grin splitting his face. "Oh, you want round two, is it? Can't accept defeat gracefully?" He raised an eyebrow at his companion. "First one to the lightning oak and back wins. No shortcuts this time."
The fourteen-year-old stood tall and confident among the towering sentinels, his lean frame having stretched upward considerably over the years. Rickon's tousled black hair fell in unruly waves around his face, framing laughing grey eyes that sparkled with mischief. His thin aquiline nose and strong jawline had sharpened as childhood softness gave way to the handsome features of approaching manhood. The grey tunic he wore was damp with sweat, clinging to his athletic frame, his black breeches spattered with mud from the forest floor.
Across from him, Canis Lykaon lowered his massive head, crimson eyes fixed on Rickon with predatory focus. The direwolf had grown to monstrous proportions, his shoulder now level with Rickon's chest, his obsidian fur rippling over muscles powerful enough to bring down an elk single-handedly. The red sword-mark on his brow seemed to glow with internal light as he pawed at the ground, claws digging furrows in the soft earth.
A piercing screech cut through the air above them. Both boy and wolf looked up as enormous wings blocked the dappled sunlight. A snow eagle of enormous size descended through the canopy, talons extended to grip a thick branch that bowed slightly under its weight. Its white feathers gleamed against the dark forest backdrop, its golden eyes regarding the pair below with what almost looked like exasperation.
"Oh, you want to referee, Zenith? Great!" Rickon called up to the massive bird. "This time Canis can't say that I'm cheating." He turned back to the direwolf with a smirk. "Not that you can actually say anything, but you know what I mean."
Canis huffed, sending a cloud of steam into the cool air.
"Don't give me that look," Rickon said, adjusting his stance as he prepared to run. "Just because you're the size of a horse doesn't mean you get to win every race."
The direwolf's lips pulled back, revealing teeth longer than daggers in what might have been a smile or a threat, with Canis, sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.
Zenith let out another screech, this one sharper and more insistent.
"Yes, yes, we're ready," Rickon said, dropping into a runner's stance. "On your mark, feathers!"
The eagle spread its massive wings and gave a single, powerful flap.
"GO!" Rickon shouted, launching himself forward like an arrow from a bow.
He flew through the forest, feet barely seeming to touch the ground as he wove between trees with practiced precision. Years of these races had taught him every root, every dip in the terrain. Behind him, he could hear Canis crashing through the underbrush, the direwolf's massive body somehow moving with surprising stealth despite its size.
Rickon's lungs burned as he pushed himself harder, arms pumping, legs stretching to cover more ground. Above, through gaps in the canopy, he caught glimpses of Zenith's white form gliding silently, tracking their progress.
The lightning oak, a massive tree split down the middle by a storm decades ago, loomed ahead. Rickon touched its scarred trunk with his fingertips and pivoted sharply, nearly losing his footing on the slick leaves.
That moment of hesitation cost him. Canis had already made the turn, his powerful haunches bunching and releasing as he bounded back toward their starting point.
"Not fair!" Rickon gasped, pushing himself to catch up. "Your turning radius is better than mine!"
He could have sworn the direwolf looked back at him with smug satisfaction before accelerating further.
Rickon grinned despite falling behind. Seven years of these challenges had taught him that losing to Canis was no shame, the direwolf possessed supernatural speed and stamina. The real victory was in making him work for it.
Drawing on reserves of energy that seemed to flow from somewhere beyond his physical body, Rickon surged forward. The forest around him blurred, the space between heartbeats stretching as he tapped into that familiar, exhilarating power that connected him to Canis. It wasn't cheating, not really, more like borrowing what was already partly his.
The gap between them closed. Twenty paces behind, then fifteen, then ten. Canis sensed the change, his massive head turning slightly as Rickon drew alongside him.
They burst into the small clearing where they'd started, neck and neck, both skidding to a halt in a shower of leaves and dirt.
Zenith screeched from above, wings spread wide.
"Who won?" Rickon demanded, bent over with hands on knees, chest heaving. "It was me, wasn't it?"
Canis growled, shaking his massive head.
"It was definitely me," Rickon insisted, straightening up. "Zenith, tell him it was me."
The eagle tilted its head, regarding them both with what looked suspiciously like amusement.
"Fine," Rickon conceded, flopping down onto a fallen log. "Call it a tie. Again." He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "That's what, five ties this week? We're going to need a tiebreaker soon."
Canis padded over, his breathing barely affected by their sprint, and nudged Rickon's shoulder with his muzzle.
"Show-off," Rickon muttered, shoving the massive head away playfully. "Just because you don't get winded doesn't make you superior."
The direwolf's crimson eyes gleamed with intelligence as he settled his massive form beside Rickon, head resting on paws the size of dinner plates.
"I think we've had enough racing for one day," Rickon said, stretching his arms overhead until his shoulders popped. His breath had finally steadied, though a pleasant burn still lingered in his muscles. "It's time for our weekly spar."
The direwolf's head lifted immediately from his paws, ears pricking forward with interest. Canis rose to his full impressive height, muscles rippling beneath his midnight fur as he padded several steps away to give them space. Something like a grin spread across his lupine features, revealing those deadly teeth.
A predatory feeling of anticipation flowed across their bond, hitting Rickon with such intensity that his own heart rate quickened in response. This was Canis's favorite part of their forest excursions, the chance to train their unique abilities away from prying eyes.
"Eager, aren't we?" Rickon laughed, moving to the center of the clearing. "Just remember, no actual biting this time. Father nearly had a fit when I came back with those tooth marks last month."
Zenith screeched once more before taking wing, circling higher to watch from a safe distance. The eagle knew better than to remain close during these sessions.
"Don't get cocky," Rickon warned, stepping to the center of the clearing. "I've been practicing."
Rickon stood still, calming his breath and focusing his mind. Over the past seven years, his bond with Canis had grown into something far beyond what anyone could imagine. Through fragments of dreams and whispers from the shadows, he'd come to understand that Canis was something called a Sacred Gear, his true name, Canis Lykaon.
Those dreams still came to him: visions of cosmic battle, of black fire and shadows that stretched across eternity. A wolf's howls intertwining with a goddess's screams. They made little sense, these fractured memories that didn't belong to him, yet somehow did.
Rickon extended his right hand, palm open toward the forest floor. The shadows in the clearing seemed to bend toward him, drawn by an unseen force. From the ground, darkness coalesced, twisting and solidifying until a sword of pure blackness emerged and settled in his hand. The hilt fit his palm perfectly
Rickon had discovered this ability by accident while playing with Canis five years ago in the Wolfswood when they were attacked by a boar. Pushed to his limit, something had broken through and the first expression of his powers had appeared. The ability to mold shadows to suit his purpose. Through practice, he had honed it into a sword that now felt as familiar to Rickon as his own heartbeat.
They had kept it secret from everyone, practicing deep in the Wolfswood where curious eyes couldn't follow. Even his father didn't know the full extent of what Rickon could do with Canis, and the true nature of their supernatural connection.
Across from him, Canis's form began to shift. The direwolf's outline blurred, darkness spreading from the red mark on his forehead until it enveloped his entire body. The mass of shadow stretched, condensed, and then solidified into a second sword. A curved blade of darkness, a katana, according to the knowledge that sometimes floated through Rickon's mind, settled in the direwolf's mouth. The edges of Canis's fur became visibly sharper, each hair a potential weapon.
Come, the direwolf growled, the word forming directly in Rickon's mind.
Rickon grinned, settling into a fighting stance. "Let's dance."
They moved simultaneously, shadow blades meeting in a clash that sent dark flecks flying. The impact traveled up Rickon's arm, but he'd long since learned to absorb it, using the force to spin away and strike again from a different angle.
Canis was faster, stronger, more vicious, but Rickon had cunning and years of training with the finest swordsman in the North. He ducked beneath a slash that would have taken his head had the blades been steel, rolling across the forest floor and coming up with his shadow sword aimed at Canis's flank.
The direwolf twisted impossibly, parrying the blow with his own blade. Their weapons locked, darkness grinding against darkness.
"I'm getting better at predicting you," Rickon panted, disengaging and leaping back. "Are you getting slow on me Canis?"
Canis snarled, shadows rippling across his fur. The direwolf feinted left, then sprang right, his blade a blur of motion.
Rickon caught it on his own sword, the impact driving him back several steps. He channeled the momentum into a spinning attack, his blade whistling through the air.
They exchanged blows for several minutes, moving faster than any normal human and wolf could possibly move. Trees blurred around them as they danced their deadly dance, shadow against shadow, each anticipating the other's moves through their mental link.
Ser Hallis had called him a genius last week after witnessing one of his training sessions with the household guards. "Never seen anything like it," the grizzled master-at-arms had said, shaking his head in wonder. "Not since your father."
The memory brought a smile to Rickon's face as he parried another of Canis's strikes. In all of Winterfell, only one person could beat him consistently now, and that was his father. There was something more to Cregan Stark than other men around him, a quality Rickon had observed in select few others.
Even his stepmother Alysanne possessed it. He had never seen anyone close to her skill in archery and horseriding. He himself was far from surpassing her, despite years of practice.
Rickon spun away from another attack, his mind working even as his body moved. There was a something more, some sort of magical enhancement that select individuals possessed. He'd noticed it in Lord Maren Reed during his visit last year, and in Garrick Umber, the heir to Last Hearth. A supernatural strength and quality that set them apart.
Canis lunged, blade flashing toward Rickon's midsection. The boy twisted, but not quite fast enough, the shadow katana passed through his tunic, leaving a tear in the fabric but not touching skin.
"First blood to you," Rickon acknowledged, redoubling his attack.
He hadn't revealed his own abilities to anyone yet. The shadow blades, the enhanced speed and strength, these were secrets shared only with Canis and Zenith. But the time was approaching when he would have to. He was growing older, and his plans were grand.
Their blades met again, darkness against darkness. Rickon felt the familiar surge of power flowing through him, the shadows responding to his will as he directed them to strengthen his blade, to sharpen its edge.
"Come on, wolf," he taunted, dancing backward. "Is that all you've got?"
Canis growled, the sound reverberating through the clearing. The direwolf crouched, muscles bunching beneath his midnight fur, then launched himself forward with explosive force.
Rickon met the charge head-on, their shadow blades colliding with enough impact to send a shockwave through the clearing. Leaves shuddered on branches, birds took startled flight.
"Now we're talking!" Rickon laughed, the thrill of combat singing in his veins.
They separated, circled, clashed again. Each exchange faster than the last, their movements becoming a blur even to their own enhanced perceptions. This was what Rickon lived for, these moments when he could release the power that constantly simmered beneath his skin, when he didn't have to pretend to be normal.
The shadows around them seemed to deepen, responding to their battle. Darkness gathered, swirled, eager to join the dance of these two beings who commanded it so effortlessly.
Canis feinted, spun, attacked from an impossible angle. Rickon parried by instinct rather than sight, feeling the blow coming through their bond before it arrived.
"Getting serious, are we?" Rickon grinned, sweat beading on his brow. He gathered the shadows, channeling them through his blade as he launched a counterattack.
Rickon's movements grew faster, more fluid, the sword becoming a blur of darkness as he danced through the clearing. Leaves swirled around his feet, disturbed by the passage of the blade through air. The shadow-sword left faint trails of darkness in its wake, like smoke curling through the forest.
Through their connection, Rickon felt Canis's fierce joy, the direwolf's consciousness intertwined with his own. This was what they were meant for, this perfect union of boy and wolf, flesh and shadow, will and weapon.
A memory-dream flashed through his mind: standing on a battlefield littered with strange creatures, the sky above torn open to reveal a realm of endless darkness. In his hand, the sword pulsed with hungry anticipation. At his back, a great black wolf with six tails snarled at approaching enemies, shadows coalescing around its massive form.
"Balance Breaker," he whispered, the words tasting ancient on his tongue.
The shadows around him surged, responding to the phrase, reaching toward him with eager fingers before reluctantly subsiding. Not yet. He wasn't ready yet, though the power simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to be called forth.
Rickon spun, the blade singing through the air as he executed a perfect killing stroke, stopping just short as Canis's katana blocked the strike perfectly. Their weapons met in a thunderous clash, darkness against darkness, will against will. For a moment they stood locked together, neither yielding, the forest holding its breath around them.
Then Rickon twisted his wrist in a move his father had taught him, a subtle shift of pressure that would disarm most opponents. But Canis was no ordinary foe. The direwolf responded with a counter-maneuver that sent both their shadow blades spinning away, dissolving into wisps of darkness before they hit the ground.
His chest heaved with exertion, sweat trickling down his temples despite the cool air.
"Draw?" Rickon suggested, wiping sweat from his brow.
Canis tilted his massive head, considering, then gave a single nod. Draw... for now.
The shadows retreated, the clearing brightening as the natural order reasserted itself. Rickon dropped to the ground, leaning back against a tree trunk as his muscles trembled from exertion.
"One of these days," he promised, "I'm going to win outright."
Canis padded over, settling beside him with a huff that might have been laughter or dismissal. The direwolf's fur had returned to normal, the sharp edges softening, though the dangerous gleam in his crimson eyes remained.
From above, Zenith descended again, landing on a branch near enough to observe but far enough to maintain dignity. The eagle fixed Rickon with a golden stare that seemed to ask if they were finally done with their foolishness.
"Yes, we're finished," Rickon assured the bird. "For today, at least."
He leaned his head back against the rough bark, feeling the familiar post-battle calm washing over him. These sessions with Canis were more than practice, they were a window into his true self, the part of him that most of Winterfell never saw. The clever inventor, the dutiful son, the caring brother, the strategic thinker, those were all aspects of Rickon Stark. But here, in the depths of the Wolfswood with only Canis and Zenith as witnesses, he could be what he truly was, something more than human, something touched by ancient powers.
The sound of hoofbeats broke through his reverie. Rickon tensed, immediately alert. Few people ventured this deep into the Wolfswood, and fewer still knew of this particular clearing. He exchanged a quick glance with Canis, whose ears had pricked forward, crimson eyes narrowing at the intrusion.
"Hide," Rickon whispered to Zenith, who immediately took wing, disappearing into the higher branches where his white plumage would blend with patches of early autumn sky.
Canis cuffed low in his throat, the sound vibrating through the clearing. The direwolf made no move to hide, indeed, at his size, concealment was nearly impossible, but he instead seemed to grow excited at the scent of the approaching rider.
The hoofbeats slowed, then stopped just beyond the tree line. Rickon heard the soft creak of leather as someone dismounted.
"Rickon?" a familiar voice called. "Are you there?"
The tension in Rickon's shoulders eased slightly. "Here, Edda," he called back, rising to his feet in one fluid motion.
Edda Snow pushed through the undergrowth, her dark hair escaping its braid in wild tendrils around her face. At fifteen, she was growing into a striking young woman, petite and growing into her curves. She was wicked with knife, that Rickon had trained her in, but even quicker with her tongue. With bright blue eyes and an easy smile, she had caught the eyes of many across the castle, yet she only had eyes for one.
Rickon was well aware of her feelings, but he had never made any intention to proceed, despite being tempted on occasion.
She immediately went over to pet Canis, who easily accepted her affections, before settling on Rickon.
"Your father sent me to find you," she said, brushing leaves from her riding leathers. "He's called a council meeting and wants you present."
Rickon frowned. "A council meeting? Today?" He'd thought the next one wasn't scheduled until the following week. "Did he say what it's about?"
Edda shook her head. "No, but riders arrived from White Harbor this morning. Lord Manderly's men, by their colors." She paused, studying him more closely. "You look like you've been wrestling bears. What were you doing out here?"
"Just training with Canis," Rickon replied, deliberately vague. Edda was one of his closest friends, but even she didn't know the full extent of what he could do. "Lost track of time."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Training? Your tunic is torn."
Rickon glanced down, noticing the slash across his midsection where Canis's shadow blade had caught him. "It's nothing. Got caught on a branch."
"A very sharp, very straight branch, apparently," Edda observed dryly. She'd always been too perceptive for comfort. "One of these days you'll tell me what you're really doing out here."
Rickon bit back a grin, seeing an opportunity to divert her attention. He struck a dramatic pose, flexing one arm while running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.
"You know, if I didn't know better, Edda Snow, I'd say you were keeping awfully close track of the state of my clothing." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Should I be concerned about you volunteering so eagerly to track me down in the woods? Alone?"
Edda's cheeks flushed crimson, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for water. "I-you—that's not—"
"I mean, I understand completely," Rickon continued, enjoying her flustered state far too much. "I am rather irresistible, especially covered in sweat and forest debris." He plucked a leaf from his hair and flicked it at her. "Very dashing, wouldn't you say?"
Canis made a sound suspiciously like a snort.
"You're impossible," she finally managed, recovering enough to glare at him. "And smelly. And covered in dirt."
"Yet here you are," Rickon countered, placing a hand over his heart, "braving the wilderness just to find me. I'm touched, truly."
"Lord Stark sent me because everyone else was busy with actual important work," she shot back, though the lingering pink in her cheeks betrayed her. "And because I'm the only one who can tolerate you for more than ten minutes at a time."
Rickon clutched his chest as if wounded. "You wound me, Snow! And after I was going to let you ride with me back to the castle."
"On that beast?" She nodded toward Canis, who bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. "I'd sooner ride a shadowcat."
"Canis is a perfect gentleman," Rickon protested, resting a hand on the direwolf's massive head. "Tell her, boy."
The direwolf turned those blood-red eyes on Edda, his tail sweeping once across the forest floor.
"See? He agrees."
Edda rolled her eyes, but Rickon could see the smile she was fighting. "I have my own horse, thank you very much. And speaking of which, where's yours? Don't tell me you ran all the way out here."
"Tempest is grazing somewhere close by," Rickon declared loftily, then grinned. "But yes, I did. Racing Canis is the only way to keep him humble."
"Humble is not a word I'd ever associate with either of you," she muttered, turning back toward where she'd left her mount. "Come on then, Your Highness. Your father's waiting, and I don't fancy explaining why you're late."
Rickon whistled sharply, and moments later Zenith descended from the trees, causing Edda to jump back with a startled yelp.
"By the Builder's bollocks, Rickon! Warn me before you summon your giant bird from nowhere!"
Edda was still not entirely comfortable with the massive bird even after all these years. Nor was anyone really. Zenith had no interest in tolerating others aside from Rickon. "I still don't understand how you tamed that monster," she muttered
"I didn't tame him," Rickon corrected, extending his arm for Zenith to hop onto. The eagle's weight was considerable, but years of training had strengthened his muscles for this exact purpose. "We came to an arrangement. He hunts for himself, goes where he pleases, and occasionally deigns to carry messages for me when asked politely."
"And in return?"
Rickon grinned. "I provide stimulating conversation and a rather comfortable perch on the North Tower."
Edda snorted. "Yes, I've seen the nest he's built up there. The servants refuse to clean that section of the tower now."
Rickon glanced up at Zenith with pride. The eagle had been a remarkable companion these past years. Zenith's growth and weight had stabilized when he was around two years of age at eighteen kilograms, and his wingspan was a massive ten feet. A size that made most falconers stare in disbelief.
Maesters who visited Winterfell occasionally, often requested permission to study him, fascinated by his unusual development.
"The Maester says he's likely the largest snow eagle ever documented in Westeros," Rickon said, running a finger along Zenith's formidable talons.
"Well, he's terrifying enough as is," Edda muttered, keeping a cautious distance. "Does he have to stare at me like that? Like he's deciding which parts to eat first?"
"He's just protective," Rickon replied, though Zenith's intense golden gaze did indeed seem to be evaluating Edda with calculating precision. "Come on, we shouldn't keep Father waiting."
"Where's the fun in that?" he asked innocently, "Besides, Zenith is family. Aren't you, feathers?"
The eagle fixed him with a golden stare that clearly communicated what he thought of that nickname.
"One day," Edda said, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes, "you're going to tell me how you ended up with a direwolf AND a snow eagle as pets."
"Companions," Rickon corrected automatically. "And it's a very boring story involving a lot of patience and dried meat. Nothing mysterious at all."
"Right," she drawled, clearly unconvinced. "Just like that tear in your tunic is from a branch."
Rickon winked at her as he fell into step beside her, Canis padding silently at his other side. "If you wanted to see me without my tunic, Edda, you only had to ask."
The punch she landed on his arm was entirely expected and completely worth the brilliant shade of red that bloomed across her face.
"Keep it up, Stark, and I'll tell your sisters about the time I found you stuck in that tree trying to rescue Bessa's cat."
"You wouldn't dare," he gasped in mock horror. "That was sworn to secrecy!"
"Try me," she challenged, a dangerous gleam in her eye.
They emerged from the trees to where Edda's dappled grey mare waited, tied loosely to a low-hanging branch. The horse snorted nervously at Canis's approach but didn't bolt, too well-trained for that.
"So what do you think this council meeting is about?" Rickon asked.
Edda shrugged, "The riders seemed in a hurry. One of them went straight to your father's solar, didn't even stop to eat or drink first."
That was unusual. Lord Manderly's men were famous for their hearty appetites.
"I'll head back immediately," Rickon decided.
Rickon whistled again, this time a different pattern, and within moments his stallion Tempest appeared through the trees. The massive black destrier with a white star on its forehead, nickered softly at the sight of his master, tossing his head as Rickon approached.
"Hello, old friend," Rickon murmured, stroking Tempest's neck before swinging into the saddle.
"Race you back?" Edda suggested, the challenge in her voice was unmistakable. Despite knowing he would win, he always did, Rickon nodded eagerly. "You're on. First one to Winterfell's East Gate?"
"First one to Winterfell gets the other's dessert tonight," Edda countered, already turning to her horse.
Rickon chuckled "You never learn, do you? I've won the last seven races."
"And I've improved since the last one," she shot back, "Besides, Flint is faster than that shaggy beast you call a horse."
"Tempest isn't shaggy, he's majestic," Rickon protested. "And he's beaten your precious Flint every time."
Tempest shifted beneath him, sensing the impending race.
Beside him, Edda mounted her own horse with practiced grace, gathering the reins in her gloved hands.
"Ready?" she asked, a competitive gleam in her eye.
Rickon nodded, settling deeper into his saddle. "On three. One... two—"
Edda kicked her horse forward before he finished counting, her laughter trailing behind her as Flint leapt into a gallop.
"Cheater!" Rickon called after her, but he was laughing too as he urged Tempest to follow. The destrier responded immediately, powerful muscles bunching as they surged forward.
The forest became a blur around them as they raced along the path, branches whipping past overhead. Canis kept pace easily, his massive form weaving between trees alongside the galloping horses. Ahead, Edda's dark hair streamed behind her like a banner, her body low over Flint's neck as she urged the horse faster.
Rickon could have overtaken her at any point, Tempest was indeed the swifter horse, and Rickon had long since learned how to get the most from his mount. But he held back slightly, enjoying the chase more than the victory. There was something freeing about these moments, racing through the Wolfswood with the wind in his face, responsibilities temporarily left behind.
As they approached the edge of the forest, Winterfell came into view in the distance, its massive grey walls rising from the landscape like a mountain crafted by human hands. Smoke curled from countless chimneys, and the winter town sprawled outside its walls, nearly double the size it had been seven years ago.
Rickon felt the familiar surge of pride at the sight. Under his father's leadership and with his own innovations implemented over the years, the North had prospered beyond anyone's expectations. The four-field crop rotation had spread to farms throughout the region, increasing yields and supporting a growing population. The improved plows had made cultivation more efficient, and the water wheels he'd designed now powered mills along the White Knife.
And that was just the beginning. Rickon gazed at Winterfell with satisfaction, knowing his greatest achievement lay unseen within its walls. Two years ago, he had tentatively introduced metallurgical advancements that had transformed the North's capabilities.
It had started with the limestone. Winterfell sat upon massive deposits that had gone largely unused for generations. Rickon had discovered through his strange knowledge that introducing crushed limestone to iron ore during smelting could remove impurities far more efficiently than traditional methods.
The blacksmiths thought I'd gone mad. Rickon thought to himself, remembering the skeptical faces when he'd first proposed lining the forge with limestone bricks.
The redesign of the furnaces had been the most challenging part. Based on fragments of knowledge that came to him in dreams, Rickon had sketched a pear-shaped vessel that allowed for better heat distribution and more complete burning of impurities. The Stark forge, as it came to be called, had required months of construction and adjustment before it functioned properly.
"Come on," Edda called, pulling ahead on the final stretch toward Winterfell's gates. "Daydreaming will cost you your dessert!"
Rickon urged Tempest forward, easily closing the gap between them. As they thundered toward the East Gate, he couldn't help but smile at how far they'd come. The results of his metallurgical innovations had exceeded even his most optimistic predictions. Steel production had increased nearly threefold, and the quality was superior to anything previously forged in the North.
The guards at the gate recognized them immediately, waving them through without slowing their pace. Rickon pulled ahead at the last moment, Tempest's powerful stride carrying them past Edda's mount just before they entered the courtyard.
"I win again," he called over his shoulder, slowing his horse to a trot as they entered Winterfell proper.
"You cheated somehow," Edda grumbled good-naturedly as she brought Flint alongside him. "I don't know how, but you did."
Rickon dismounted smoothly, handing Tempest's reins to a waiting stable boy. His mind had already shifted to the council meeting ahead, but he couldn't help feeling pride as he looked around the bustling courtyard. The armor worn by the Stark guards gleamed in the autumn sunlight, each piece forged in the improved furnaces he'd designed.
The steel had proven itself stronger and more flexible than traditional northern armor. House Stark's men-at-arms now wore plate that could turn aside most blows while remaining light enough for extended wear. Several trusted houses had been gifted with sets as well, strengthening alliances through steel rather than just words. The Night's Watch had received regular shipments, bolstering their defenses against wildling raids. Even White Harbor's merchants had begun carrying Stark steel to Braavos and beyond, returning with exotic goods and healthy profits.
"Father will want me to clean up before the council," Rickon said, noting the state of his torn and dirty clothing. "I'll see you at dinner?"
Edda nodded, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than necessary. "Save room for my dessert," she said with a smirk before turning toward the stables with her mount.
Rickon made his way quickly through Winterfell's corridors, Canis padding silently beside him. The castle had changed subtly over the years, becoming both more comfortable and more efficient. The wealth generated by improved agriculture and industry had been reinvested in the North's people, just as Rickon had urged his father to do.
New houses lined Winterfell's approach, solid structures of stone and timber replacing the ramshackle dwellings that had once dotted Winter Town. More impressive still was the rudimentary sewage system Rickon had designed after a particularly nasty outbreak of flux two years prior. Stone channels now carried waste away from living areas, dramatically reducing illness throughout the settlement.
"Lord Rickon!" a voice called from behind him. He turned to find Maester Kennet hurrying along the corridor, chains clinking with each step. The years had added more white to the maester's beard, but his eyes remained as sharp as ever.
"Maester," Rickon greeted him with a genuine smile. "I was just heading to my chambers to change before the council meeting."
"The meeting has been moved forward," Kennet said, slightly out of breath. "Your father requests your presence immediately."
Rickon frowned. "That urgent?"
"So it seems. The news from White Harbor appears significant."
With a nod, Rickon changed direction, heading toward the Great Hall instead. "Any hint of what this is about?"
"Something about ships sighted off the eastern coast," Kennet replied, falling into step beside him. "Beyond that, I know as little as you."
Ships off the eastern coast weren't unusual in themselves. Trade vessels from the Free Cities frequently visited White Harbor. But for his father to call an emergency council meeting... this had to be something different.
As they approached the Great Hall, Rickon straightened his posture and brushed futilely at the dirt on his clothes. His father would forgive his appearance given the urgency, but Rickon still felt a twinge of self-consciousness. At fourteen, he was increasingly aware of how others perceived him, especially during formal occasions.
The massive oak doors stood open, revealing the long table where the council gathered. His father sat at the head, deep in conversation with Maester Walton, who had arrived from White Harbor with the riders. Lord Manderly's maester was a portly man whose multiple chins quivered as he spoke urgently, hands gesturing to emphasize whatever point he was making.
Rickon took a deep breath and entered, Canis at his heel. The massive direwolf drew attention immediately, several council members falling silent as the pair approached.
The sight of the tall boy, with his enormous direwolf never ceased to inspire mild awe. Conversations faltered as Rickon approached the council table, a few of the older lords exchanging glances. Even after all these years, the sheer size of Canis Lykaon remained unsettling to many in Winterfell. The direwolf's crimson eyes surveyed the room with predatory intelligence, massive paws silent on the stone floor despite his weight.
"Son," Cregan Stark's deep voice cut through the silence. "Join us."
Rickon studied his father as he took his place at the table. At thirty-four, Cregan Stark remained a man in his prime, lean and fit, with only the faintest touches of silver threading through his dark hair at the temples. The years of relative peace had softened some of the hard edges that had once defined him during the Dance of Dragons, but his presence still commanded the room. His grey eyes, so like Rickon's own, fixed on his son with piercing intensity.
"Forgive my appearance, Father," Rickon said, gesturing to his torn, dirt-stained clothes. "Edda found me training in the Wolfswood."
Cregan nodded dismissively. "Your state of dress is the least of our concerns today." He gestured to Maester Walton. "Tell my son what you've reported to the council."
The portly maester cleared his throat nervously. "My lord Rickon, three days past, ships bearing House Manderly's colors returned to White Harbor badly damaged. They had been attacked while fishing off the eastern coast of Skagos."
Rickon leaned forward, instantly alert. Skagos, the island of stone and legend, home to unicorns and cannibals if the stories were to be believed. House Stark claimed dominion over it, but in truth, the island had always maintained a degree of independence due to its isolation.
"The captains report that they were set upon by Skagosi longships," Maester Walton continued. "Crude vessels, but crewed by fierce warriors. Two ships were lost entirely, their crews..." He hesitated, his multiple chins quivering. "Their crews were taken captive. The survivors who made it back to White Harbor reported seeing the captives dragged ashore."
"For what purpose?" Rickon asked, though a cold weight in his stomach suggested he already knew the answer.
"The Skagosi have ancient... traditions, my lord," Walton replied delicately.
"Speak plainly," Cregan commanded. "My son is not a child to be coddled with gentle words."
Walton nodded grimly. "They believe the captives will be sacrificed or... consumed. The Skagosi ways remain barbaric despite our best efforts to bring them into the light of civilization."
"This isn't an isolated incident," Lord Beron Dustin added, his weathered face grave. "Reports have been coming in for months. Skagosi raiders striking the eastern shores, small fishing villages emptied overnight."
"And that's not all," said Ser Torrhen Manderly, the new Lord Manderly, having taken up the lordship after his father and elder brother passed away from the Winter Fever eight years ago. "The provisions ship sent to the Night's Watch at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was attacked as well. The Watch depends on those supplies."
Rickon processed this information, his mind racing. "Has there been any communication from Skagos itself? Any demands or declarations?"
"That's the strangest part," Ser Torrhen replied. "A Skagosi envoy arrived at White Harbor three days before the attacks. He bore this."
The knight placed a crude stone tablet on the table. Etched into its surface were primitive runes, angular and forbidding.
Maester Kennet leaned forward, adjusting his spectacles. "Old First Men script, but cruder than any I've seen before."
"Can you read it?" Cregan asked.
"Partially," Kennet admitted. "It speaks of the 'Old Way Rising' and 'The Stone God Awakening.' There are references to blood sacrifices and... a darkness beneath the stone."
A chill ran down Rickon's spine. Through his bond with Canis, he felt the direwolf's hackles rise, a low growl rumbling in the beast's chest.
"The Skagosi have always been half-wild," Lord Cerwyn remarked, "but they've kept to themselves for generations. Why this sudden aggression?"
"Because they're starving," Rickon said suddenly, the pieces falling into place in his mind. "The past eight years have been unusually harsh, and Skagos has poor soil for farming. They've always relied on fishing and trading their unicorn horns for grain."
"And with the improvements we've made to our fleet," Ser Torrhen added, "we've been fishing the waters around Skagos more heavily than before."
Cregan's jaw tightened. "So they turn to raiding rather than requesting aid from their liege lord?"
"Perhaps they did request aid," Rickon suggested carefully. "When was the last time a representative from Skagos was received at Winterfell?"
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. It had been years, perhaps decades, since any formal contact had been maintained with the island.
"Regardless of the cause," Cregan said finally, "this rebellion cannot stand. Manderly ships attacked, Night's Watch provisions stolen, smallfolk taken for gods know what barbaric purposes." He looked around the table, his decision already made. "We must respond with force."
The council members nodded in agreement, but Rickon felt a twinge of unease. "Father, before we commit to war, perhaps we should try to understand what's happening on Skagos more clearly. This talk of a 'Stone God Awakening', it could be simple superstition, or..."
"Or what?" Lord Cerwyn asked.
Rickon hesitated. How could he explain his concerns without revealing too much about his own unusual knowledge? The memories of Canis showed battles of gods, of ancient beings, powers that slumbered beneath stone and sea.
Longinus.
The word echoed through Rickon's mind, carrying with it a surge of ancient knowledge. His eyes turned to look at Canis's crimson gaze. The direwolf's hackles rose, shadows seeming to deepen around his massive form.
Canis gave the metaphorical equivalent of a scoff through their mental link. We are born to slay gods.
Rickon's breath caught in his throat. The confidence behind that statement, the sheer certainty of it, sent a shot of adrenaline down his spine. This wasn't the first time Canis had shared such cryptic thoughts, but never had they felt so... relevant.
"Rickon?" His father's voice cut through the moment. "What is it?"
Blinking, Rickon returned to the present, aware that everyone at the council table was staring at him. He'd fallen silent mid-sentence, his sudden stillness drawing their attention.
"Or there could be something else driving them to desperation," he finished carefully. "Something beyond mere hunger."
Cregan studied his son, those grey eyes missing nothing. "You have a theory?"
"Not yet," Rickon admitted. "But I'd like to study this tablet more closely with Maester Kennet. And perhaps we should send scouts to observe Skagos before committing our full forces."
"The boy speaks sense," Lord Tallhart said unexpectedly. "Skagos is treacherous terrain, and winter is coming. A full-scale invasion would be costly."
Cregan drummed his fingers on the table, considering. "Very well. Maester Kennet, work with my son to decipher this tablet completely. Ser Torrhen, please inform Lord Manderly that I authorize him to double the patrols along the eastern shores and to engage any Skagosi raiders defensively."
The Warden of the North rose, his decision made. "I will not rush into war, but neither will I allow northern blood to be spilled without consequence. We will give diplomacy one chance, a single message will be sent to Skagos demanding they cease their raids and return any captives. If they refuse or ignore our demands, we will respond with the full might of Winterfell."
The council members rose as Cregan prepared to depart. He paused beside Rickon, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Join me in my solar after you've cleaned up. I need to talk to you regarding this further."
As the council dispersed, Rickon remained seated, staring at the stone tablet. The crude runes seemed to shift in the torchlight, revealing patterns that triggered something in his memory, something from those strange dreams that had plagued him since bonding with Canis.
"What do you make of it?" he asked the direwolf quietly.
Through their bond, he felt Canis's anitcipation. The beast's crimson eyes fixed on the tablet, teeth bared, as if the ancient stone itself were prey.
The mental impression flooded Rickon's mind: shadowy forms dancing across his consciousness, blades gleaming in darkness, blood spilling onto snow. The primal urge to slash, to tear, to cut through something more substantial than flesh.
Rickon drew a sharp breath. He'd grown accustomed to Canis's predatory nature, but this was different. This wasn't hunger for meat or the thrill of a hunt. This was recognition. Purpose.
Canis's growl deepened, and the mental image sharpened: obsidian blades forming from shadow, cutting through barriers between worlds. The impression was accompanied by a sense of rightness, of destiny.
We are born to cut.
The thought wasn't quite words, Canis didn't communicate in human language, but the meaning was unmistakable. The direwolf was recognizing something ancient and fundamental about himself, about their bond.
"Cut what?" Rickon asked, his voice barely audible even in the silent chamber beneath Winterfell.
The answer came as a rumble.
Gods.
Canis's crimson eyes glowed brighter in the dim light, reflecting an understanding that transcended mortal comprehension.
Rickon suppressed a shiver. Whatever was happening on Skagos, he sensed it was far more complex, and potentially more dangerous, than a simple rebellion. And somehow, he knew he would soon find himself at the center of it.
"A God-Killer," he whispered. "Is that what you are, boy? What we are, together?"
Canis didn't respond with images this time, just a feeling of patient hunger, of potential waiting to be unleashed. The bond between them hummed with energy.
"Well, Canis," he said, rising from his seat. "Looks like we need to prepare. I have a feeling we'll be seeing Skagos for ourselves before long."
x___________X
Let me know what you guys think! Hope you enjoyed the time-skip!
By the way, now that Rickon has aged, I've got some NSFW content coming up in the upcoming chapter. The smut tag is officially being included in our story. For interested readers please head on over to my Patreon to get a sneaky preview.
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