Important:
I had the minecraft scene written before I started the polls. I will from now on only write minecraft scenes for major milestones / events since a majority of you wishes a less detailed minecraft arc.
And really guys? Like half of you really want Torrhen and Lyarra to end up together? Ugh ._.
Never realised how popular the Jon/Dany pairing must have been in the fandom. But then again the second most popular pairing for Jon is Sansa so I guess I should not be surprised.
I will leave polling open until Sunday Evening.
Third Moon of 284 AC, 0 AR – The Overworld:
pov Torrhen Snow
They started with fists.
It was humbling, in a way — to go from commanding northern bannermen and trading with lords to punching trees and kicking rocks. Still, it was oddly satisfying. The trees fell with the ease they had been familiar with in the game, and within the hour, they had the beginnings of tools: wooden axes, pickaxes, and shovels. Crude, but better than bare hands.
"Stone age again," Torrhen shouted with a laugh as he chipped away at a gray vein of rock near the edge of their chosen clearing.
"Speak for yourself. I'm aiming for bronze by supper," Lyarra shouted back, breaking tall grass to gather seeds a dozen blocks away. Occasionally she paused to grind one beneath her boot or mutter angrily when a blade of grass gave her nothing.
Actually living in the overworld was... interesting but strange. It wasn't a complete copy of what they would have experienced in the game. They felt pain (they had punched eachother a couple of times) from hits but the pain didn't last and faded quickly, they felt hunger but that feeling disappeared instantly they ate enough of the little bread they had managed to craft yet.
By midday, they had a modest pile of planks, cobblestone and other types of rock in their inventories and a small field tilled beside a creek. More wheat would take time to grow, but it was a start. Torrhen found a trio of sheep grazing on a nearby hill, and despite a small pang of guilt, dispatched them with his stone sword. Wool, mutton, and the makings of a bed — brutal necessities in a brutal world.
The cave they later stumbled across wasn't deep — more of a crack in the hillside than a true cavern — but it was rich in promise. Coal glittered near the entrance, and deeper in, veins of copper and a small pocket of iron shimmered in the firelight of their hastily-made torches.
They smelted the iron that night over a crude furnace built from cobblestone. The first pickaxe of iron glinted in the torchlight like a promise.
Torrhen held it up, weighing it in his hand. "You know, I wonder what we could use the copper for. I don't really wanna build with it."
Lyarra wiped her forehead with her sleeve, cheeks streaked with soot. "True. But we could gather it and bring it back home. It wouldn't sell well in Westeros, and we've no use for minting copper coins, but—" she gestured to their surroundings, "—whatever we do here, once we're rich beyond belief, we'll want a proper home. With plumbing."
Torrhen grimaced. "Yeah, I could use a proper toilet again." Adjusting to Westerosi standards of hygiene after regaining the memories of a modern teenager had been… unpleasant. "I swear I'll never take toilet paper for granted again."
Lyarra chuckled, then sobered. "While we're talking about back home… shouldn't we at least let them know we're fine?"
Torrhen hesitated. He glanced up toward the darkening sky. Stars above, pixel-perfect and sharp. "I would agree with you. But my paranoia's screaming that the portal disappears once we go back."
Lyarra frowned. "Losing our chance at becoming rich and helping our family forever... and be prepared for the Long Night even better.."
He nodded. "Exactly."
"Hmmm. Right then," she said, less convinced. "Well, I hope they won't be too mad when we come back with mountains of riches." She smirked.
Torrhen winced. "Gods. Rhaenys is going to be furious."
He could already imagine her tiny arms crossed, her pout, the way she called him "To'en" when angry. The toddler had wriggled her way into his heart more easily than he liked to admit.
"Anyway," he added, turning back to the copper pile. "Now that I think about it, we can use copper for spyglasses. They're rare in Westeros. Would fetch a good price."
"Right," Lyarra said dryly, "and how many ancient cities would we need to loot to make enough amethyst shards?"
He sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Copper pipes for plumbing it is, then."
They split up as the moon rose higher.
Lyarra took torches and her iron pickaxe, carving a diagonal tunnel into the depths below their camp, hunting for riches buried in the dark — redstone, lapis, maybe even diamond if she got lucky.
Torrhen stayed above, plowing rows, laying seeds, lighting up the area with torches and dealing with the mobs that got too close. He started sketching the frame of their cottage in his mind. A proper roof. A chimney. Maybe even a second floor. He also built a small wall around what they had decided would be their home.
For the first time since awakening in this strange world, it felt a little like home.
**Scene Break**
Fourth Moon of 284 AC, Castle Black:
pov Christen Corgyle
At first the reports of the rangers were taken with amusement but when letters both from the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch by the Sea started arriving about these mysterious monsters that had started appearing and a grim faced Jeor Mormont came to him showing him a chestplate made out of pure gold aswell as a purple glittering leather helmet well at that point Lord Commander Qorgyle had sadly no reason to disbelieve these supposed rumours any longer. It dawned on him when he finally looked down from the wall at night that he realised, Westeros had entered a new age.
"Gods dammit" he swore, before looking at his master at arms and Aemon Targaryen, the maester of the wall.
"I take it, there is no possibility of this being a mummery, is it?" he asked with a sigh as his old bones groaned.
"Sadly not, Lord Commander" said Maester Aemon "As glum as it seems to be it is definetely the new normal. The only not confirmed monster beyond the wall is this tall, slender, purple being with glowing purple eyes but I fear it is only a matter of time before we see even that becoming confirmed"
Mormont sighed again, "I guess we can be really glad that the wall seemingly prevents them from appearing in the Seven Kingdoms... I fear that these monsters would wreak havoc amongst the smallfolk."
And he was right, Christen knew immediately. Westerosi smallfolk, largely untrained and unequipped to deal with these things, would be slaughtered by the hundreds of thousands if these things ever managed to bypass the wall.
Only the martial culture of the wildlings and the fact that basically all of them wielded weapons (as crude as they were) at all times from a young age had allowed most of the clans to survive and even the wildlings were concentrating in larger numbers and fewer camps to survive in greater numbers.
Problem was, that the appearance of these monsters had sent many of those from the southern kingdoms into a frenzy, with the more devout believing that either the end was nigh and that the gods were finally punishing the heathens of the Far North.
He had gotten reports about mutterings that there was a sizeable number of watchmen that were secretly hoping the monsters would manage to find a way south of the wall.
Fools he thought As if they would stop just with the North
Anyway, a few decisions he had made needed to be spread.
"Spread the news. From now on further rangings are only made if absolutely necessary while nearer rangings to cull the number of the ones that don't die at dawn will be made daily. Henceforth, any spoils recovered from the green-skinned or skeletal undead may be claimed by their slayer — save for golden armor, which is to be smelted and stored. I will offer Lord Stark the gold we get from these monsters in return for more recruits, food and weapons. Also try to capture some of these massive spiders during the day since the others either burn at dawn or blow up once you come too close. I have no doubt atleast Lord Stark will send someone to verify these reports."
"Shall I send the necessary letters, Lord Commander?" asked the Maester to which Christen nodded.
"Yes, please do so and don't forget to include the general report about the situation here. Oh and before I forget it send letters to Riverrun, the Eeyrie, Pyke, Casterly Rock, Highgarden, King's Landing, Storm's End and Sunspear about what is happening here."
"Maester Aemon, could you also please send a letter to Bear Island? I want to make sure they know what to look out for should these monsters make it to my home" said Mormont softly, the grim bear understandably concerned for his people.
"Of course, my Lord. I will do so once the meeting is adjourned" said Maester Aemon with a smile.
"What should the rangers do with the other things the monsters leave behind after dying?" asked First Ranger Randalf Wull.
"... Burn the rotten meat, gather the bones at the castle and bury them later, find a way to use these handfuls of grey dust the green creepy ones leave behind and collect the eyes and strings from the spiders. The eyes could make decent trophies to sell to the South while we can use the strings as bow parts."
**Scene Break**
Fourth Moon of 284 AC, Castle Black
POV: Benjen Stark
Benjen had not been thrilled to ride north again, but he had never shirked his duty. The letter from Lord Commander Qorgyle — seconded by Maester Aemon's seal and signed in his weathered hand — had left his brother grave-faced. Even Elia had read it twice before nodding gravely and turning to him and Ned.
"You think there is any chance, Torrhen and Lyarra have something to do with this?" she asked making the two men think. It seemed preposterous but then again these monsters had never been documented before...
Just like two dead returning to life with everything intact
Torrhen's and Lyarra's continued abscence had left a deep hole in Winterfell and he knew that many of the guards and servants were already mourning the twins with Rhaenys by now having accepted that Torrhen might not come back to play with her again, leaving the once so cheerful small girl quite melancholic lately.
Ned, Elia and him however were convinced that the two were still alive and seeking to discover whatever it was that was pulling them eastwards while Ser Arthur remained skeptical.
Anyway it seemed like these monsters were also an interesting business opportunity if the Lord Commander's remarks about the sets of gold armor being smelted down at Castle Black were any indication.
So here they were, the two of them, Benjen and Arthur (who had decided to tag along), riding through the gates of Castle Black escorted by a score of guards and being greeted by Jeor Mormont.
"Ah finally, my lord, Ser Arthur, I welcome you to Castle Black. I am sure you want to confirm the contents of our letters and we have captured a few specimen that I am sure would convince you" the former Lord Mormont said with a grin motioning for them to follow.
He lead them down to the prison cells of the Castle which were unusually heavily guarded.
Their confusion must have shown because he sighed and said, "Well, in there are a couple of these things that have harrassed the wildlings lately and some of the more devout followers of the seven here tried to massacre them, saying they are demons, an affront to the seven and so forth and so on. The usual, am I right?"
Benjen and Arthur shared a glance but didn't comment and simply stepped through one of the doors when it was opened upon the order of Mormont. And indeed, inside they found two gigantic spiders that seemed docile enough however at first glance.
"Don't let their calmness fool you, the spiders only attack at night while they merely fight back during the day" Jeor Mormont said with a grim face, "But I have something even more pressing to show you."
Another cell was opened and inside was what Benjen would have imagined a wight was supposed to look like next to a clearly living bare skeleton. Both were heavily shackled and bound for the wall which was immediately proven to be a good thing since once the door opened both the undead and the skeleton tried to attack Benjen and Arthur.
An hour later, after a good meal and a small rest, Arthur and Benjen stepped into the training yard. Their world had changed today and they had prayed to their respective gods that these monsters would never be allowed to step a foot south of the wall. The Seven Kingdoms would crumble under their onslaught.
At the training yard they found little competition, most of the brothers here were quite obviously recent recruits, many of whom had no idea on how to hold a sword.
This changed when a woman that proved to be one Dacey Mormont rode into Castle Black with her own set of guards and dismounted with confidence, her axe strapped across her back and her dark eyes scanning the grim fort with wary appraisal.
"So where are these monsters that supposedly started to terrorise the wildlings recently?" she asked with a grin. When she came back from the prison cells that grin was wiped off completely and instead a grim faced Lady Mormont seemed hell bent on making sure none of the recruits went to bed without bruises that day.
Within an hour of arrival, Benjen and Dacey had each disarmed half a dozen black brothers. Dacey fought like a force of nature — precise, brutal, and unrelenting — while Benjen moved like the wind across ice. Even the First Ranger Randalf Wull found himself panting hard after his turn with each of them.
"You look like someone ready to wrestle a bear" Benjen called out.
"I'd rather wrestle a bear than share stew with crowboys who wet themselves at ghost stories," Dacey replied. Then she grinned. "Why don't we see if you can fare better than the rabble here, Lord Stark?"
It proved to be a good matchup though it was clear that despite her skill, Dacey was still a young woman of ten and four years and as such was no match to Benjen's strength. She still gave him a couple of good spars regardless after which they clasped forarms.
"I think I like you," Dacey said between gasps, wiping sweat from her brow.
Benjen smirked. "You'd like me better if I let you win."
"We'll see about that."
"Hey my lord, want to take on the Sword of the Morning together?" she asked with a grin.
The sparring yard would rarely see such a spectacle.
**Scene Break**
Three days later, Benjen, Arthur and Dacey rode east beneath grey skies and a sun that rarely pierced the heavy clouds. Two dozen black brothers escorted them, led by Randalf Wull. They moved with caution, weapons always drawn, eyes flicking toward every shadow.
The monsters came at after sunset, two brothers died screaming when they were shot by a pair of skeletons. The third was dragged into the snow by something with glowing red eyes before anyone could loose a bolt.
The rest of the journey was cold and quiet. The trees themselves seemed to watch them.
**Scene Break**
Craster's Keep stank of filth, smoke, and something fouler still. The man himself met them outside with a crude axe in one hand and a leering grin on his face.
"Well, look what the crows dragged in," Craster rasped. "Another Stark, eh? And what's this?" His gaze lingered on Dacey. "A woman in armor. Bold, or mad. I like that."
Benjen stiffened, but Dacey simply crossed her arms.
"Let's keep it civil, old man," she said flatly.
Inside, they ate little and drank less. Craster spoke as he always did — with smug superiority, grumbling about his "wives," and lording his knowledge over them like a man with one eye among the blind.
"Lost quiet a few," he muttered. "Monsters come from the woods, take what they will. Heard the Howlers gone, same with the Thin Skins. Ice Rivers are running scared, and the Fens, they're grouping together with the Hornfoots and some of the Claw."
"You've seen them yourself?" asked Randalf.
"Seen 'em? I buried three girls who wouldn't stop screaming after one of them purple-eyed things came close. No blood. Just... dead."
Benjen's jaw clenched. "And you didn't warn anyone?"
Craster scoffed. "Ain't my job to warn fools too stupid to stay put. Besides, I ain't got much to trade with these days."
Then, eyes gleaming with something far uglier, he turned back to Dacey. "But maybe we can strike a deal, eh? Got plenty of beds, and a real woman would do better warm than cold out here."
Dacey's fist cracked against his nose before the sentence had finished leaving his lips.
He staggered back, bleeding, shouting. "Bitch! You think you can—?"
Before Benjen, Arthur or Randalf could move, Dacey had drawn her axe and driven it through Craster's gut in one smooth, brutal motion. The old man gurgled and dropped, dead before he hit the frozen mud.
Damn, what a woman thought Benjen with quiet admiration.
There was a long silence.
Then one of the women — no older than sixteen — stepped forward, eyes wide and teary. "What now?"
Benjen looked to Randalf. The old ranger nodded slowly.
"You come with us," Dacey said, wiping her axe clean. "You're free now. You can come back to Bear Island with me, I'll make sure you will find a place there"
No one argued.
They returned to Castle Black with nearly twenty women and girls trailing behind them like shadows. The gate opened slow, and Lord Commander Corgyle awaited them at the top of the steps, his face grim but unsurprised.
Benjen dismounted and glanced toward Dacey. "Well," he muttered, "that could have gone better."
She shrugged. "Could've gone worse too, besides the bastard deserved it. Never knew there were people even more into incest than the Targaryens were supposedly."
**Scene Break**
284 AC - Castle Black, Three Days After Craster's Death
POV: Ser Arthur Dayne
Snow drifted lazily across the yard as Ser Arthur Dayne followed Lord Steward Bowen Marsh toward the forge. It was a still morning — the kind that muffled sound and made the world feel half-dead. He found it fitting. Three days had passed since Craster's death, and yet the air still carried the stink of his vile keep and its secrets.
"Apologies for the short notice, Ser Arthur," Bowen said, pulling his cloak tighter. "But I thought you'd want to see this with your own eyes."
"I'd rather see it than hear it exaggerated a dozen different ways, Lord Steward."
Bowen offered a nod, neither smiling nor offended. The man was practical. He'd make a fine gatewarden — though Arthur thought he lacked the spine for the politics ahead.
The smithy was warm, oppressively so after the bitter wind outside. Inside, the black brothers had gathered around two long tables. On them sat gold — shaped, oddly enough, into armor.
No. Not armor.
Shoes.
Boots, to be exact. Heavy, jointed like greaves, but clearly designed for human anatomy.
How in the seven hells did these boots fit on the mere bones that the skeletal archers call feet?
Arthur stared for a long moment. "These were taken from the… skeletons?"
"Aye," Bowen said. "Stripped from the corpses after they were put down. Oddly brittle to the touch, but not a scratch on them from our steel."
Arthur stepped forward, laying a hand upon the helm.
"What else did you find?"
"Some wore gold chestplates too," Bowen said, motioning to a pile of cracked golden shards near the furnace. "But most had only helmets or boots. No sigils. No signs of forging. One of the maesters thinks the gold isn't native to Westeros. Called it 'too pure' and harder than standard castings. But still it's gold so it is way too valuable to be wasted on armor."
One of the black brothers lifted a pair of boots and approached the forge. A moment later, the first boot was lowered into the coals. Gold hissed and sputtered as it softened — slowly, reluctantly — until it lost shape and began to run like wax.
Arthur folded his arms and watched it melt.
There would be consequences.
If word spread — and it would — the Far North would no longer be a forgotten corner of the realm. Gold alone would bring scavengers, nobles, sellswords, even entire houses northward in search of fortune.
He let out a quiet breath, watching the last of the helmet collapse in the flames. "You'll regret melting it down," he said at last. "Better to keep one intact. If not for the maesters, then for the lords of the realm."
Bowen stiffened. "We're not fools, Ser. We've kept two pieces intact. But gold speaks louder than warnings, and we need new blades. Food. Roofs that don't leak."
Practical again.
Arthur couldn't argue. But the sense of dread in his gut remained.
The gods were silent in the Far North — too far from the Sept, too far from Starfall's sky-washed towers. But Arthur Dayne felt something stirring all the same.
**Scene Break**