Game of Thrones, Halo 1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin. Halo is property of Bungie, 343 Industries, and Microsoft... or something like that. Look, I don't own them, okay?

This idea of a crossover has been festering like a bad case of dysentery inside the bowels of my mind for about a month or two. I know, it's weird, but I do this for the purpose of indulging my imagination and also to see everyone's favorite Spartan opening five cans of whoop-ass. Be warned, however, as Master Chief is obviously going to make mincemeat of entire armies, throw the game of thrones completely wabbajack, and generally making every Lannister (hint hint) in Westeros brown their trousers when they realize the aforementioned cans of whoop-ass he will open.

Why? Because he can.

Anyway, we'll start our story just before the canonical start of the series...

* * *

The _Forward Unto Dawn_ had been adrift in uncharted space for nearly three years, by Cortana's estimates-time had little meaning in the darkness of the ship's battered hull. The distress beacon slowly gnawed away at it's already waning power supply as they floated through the abyss, with no clear destination in sight. All the while, Chief was silent, slumbering in that coffin of ice and stasis, leaving Cortana alone to her thoughts, with but all the summed knowledge of humanity to occupy her time.

Until fate, chance, (lack of) luck, some combination thereof, or something else entirely, changed that. Like a ripple breaking the surface of a long-still pond, the monotone was broken.

The ship was being pulled into the gravitational field of a planet. The smart AI could have tried to change the wreck's course earlier, perhaps avoiding the pull altogether-but that was just the problem. The ship was a wreck. Even if she could revert their power supply to fuel the rear thrusters, Cortana knew that even to fire up the engines could drain the last reserves of power they had, silencing their distress beacon and leaving them adrift in the darkness of space.

By all accounts, the planet itself seemed hospitable enough. Cloud formations, vast bodies of water, three visible land masses from the ship's vantage point... honestly, it looked a lot like Earth, except for the formations of said continents.

"Sadly, no time for sight-seeing," Cortana sighed, "From what I guess, this'll be one of those close encounters."

Indeed, while the pull of the planet's mass was slow at first, momentum was building and soon the pull would become harder, their course running faster. She wagered they had perhaps less than an hour before they entered the planet's atmosphere. And if they were to be ready, to salvage what they could of their sorry situation... well, it was time.

"Time to wake up the sleeping beauty," She said with snark in her voice, but not without a smile on her face as she turned towards her long-dormant friend.

It was time for John to wake up.

* * *

Arya had managed to smuggle herself and a decent horse out of the castle without a hitch. It had been close, and only possible because she'd caught Harwin doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing, and had been all too eager to allow her to run off in exchange for her silence. It was actually rather funny how he was so flustered over some pretty little woman from the winter town, but Arya didn't care as long as she got her little moment of adventure.

She'd wondered off after Sansa and Jenye Poole had been particularly nasty to her during another of Septa Mordaine's dreadful sewing lessons, and was all too happy to distract herself-her mother's inevitable scolding be damned. She wasn't a lady, and wasn't going to let any of them make her try to be one. She'd ride, wear boy's cloths, and get dirty as much as she well pleased.

Sadly, it wasn't to last, because it seemed she had someone in pursuit. Jon was riding fast behind her, covering ground much more quickly on his black charger as he called out her name. A wicked smile broadening across her face, Arya turned her horse to gallop, hoping to out-ride her favorite brother.

For several minutes, she did, until it became clear Jon had both the better skill of riding as well as the sturdier horse. She puffed her cheeks as she slowed her poor, wheezing horse into a low trot, frustrated she'd been caught so quickly.

Once he caught up to her, she could see Jon had a quizzical look on his face. "Aren't you supposed to be sewing with the septa?"

To that, Arya lowered her gaze, finding her saddle to be quite interesting. "It's boring there. And everyone knows I stink at being a lady."

Jon only smiled. "Right, you are a little wolf," He laughed, reaching out his hand to her ruffling her hair. "One of the Starks of Winterfell."

She laughed, as she always did with Jon. Of all her siblings, only he didn't try to make her be a lady, encouraging her to do the things she liked. "You're my brother, so that makes you a wolf, too."

Jon's eyes became bitter at her words as he simply looked forward. "No, I'm not a Stark. I'm a Snow, nothing more."

"But why? You look more like father than all of us!"

"We've already talked about this, Arya," Jon said in a voice which brokered no further mention of the topic, guiding the both of them to a nearby pond along the road. "Let your horse drink and catch it's breath. Then we ride back for Winterfell. You're mother will be worried about..." His voice trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration, as though he'd discovered something amiss.

"Jon...?" Arya blinked at her brother, wondering what was wrong.

"Can't you hear that?"

She looked at him oddly. "Hear what?" But she didn't have to wait before her own ears picked up a most peculiar sound. It was distant, yet distinct-like a a low, far-off, but intense wind galling high in the air. All of a sudden, the horse became afraid, neighing and whinnying in increasing volumes of distress.

"I don't like this," Jon said uneasily. "We should head back."

Arya blinked, confused at that. "Wait, what is it? Is there a storm coming?" She looked up into the sky, trying to find dark clouds...

"Not likely. Winter may indeed be coming, but Maester Luwin says it's still a while off before fall. I think-"

"Jon, look!" Arya's eyes were wide now, her gaze fixed upwards.

Following her gaze, Jon looked queerly upwards-and his eyes widened. "By the Old Gods...!"

For up in the sky, it looked as though a terrible, fiery star-or perhaps a part of the sky itself-was falling fast towards the earth. And as it fell further down towards the earth, the noise intensified. And although she was scared, although she feared that it could fall down on her and Jon, or at their home in Winterfell, Arya couldn't help but gaze at it in awe. She'd never seen something like it before.

* * *

"Well, we can at least take comfort in the fact this won't be our first emergency landing," Cortana quipped within the confines of the recently-awakened John-117's helmet, her data crystal feeling much safer within the Spartan's armor than on that derelict ship, even as the _Forward Unto Dawn_ breached the planet's atmosphere, set on a course for the northern part of the western landmass. "Didn't you go through this before?"

"Admittedly," John replied dryly, "I only had a flimsy piece of metal, not half a ship."

"Well then, this shouldn't be a problem for you. We've got less than a minute before we hit ground level, and we can't use any of the escape pods."

"We'll make it," He assured her in his simple yet sincere confidence.

"...I know I said this before, but I sure know how to pick 'em." If she had a mouth, Cortana would have smiled at that moment. Even with the ship's hull burning as it ripped through the sky, even as the ground came upon them closer and closer, she could take comfort in this one man's presence.

It was just the kind of man John was.

* * *

On that day, when the wreckage of the _Forward Unto Dawn_ landed in the North, midway between Torrhen's Square and Winterfell, was like a mountain crashing into the sea. For though the earth's shaking when the colossal mass of metal impacted the land could be felt and heard for miles around, it would pale in comparison to the waves which would ripple throughout Westeros in the coming months and years.

For on that day, the mightiest hero Westeros would ever come to know arrived, and this stranger from another world would make the realm tremble before him.


	2. First Contact

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, and Halo is property of Bungie, 343 Industries, Microsoft, or some combination of those three. Bloody split from Microsoft complicated everything, and then 343 got in on the action-anyway, I digress. Look, I don't own them, okay?

Hm. Well, that worked out better than expected. No one's ripped my head off yet. I will admit, this is my first fanfic outside of Beast's Lair, as well as the first one having nothing to do with F/SN, but I guess being relatively familiar with both of these series helps. Thanks for the positive reviews thus far-I hope I don't %# &amp; this up.

To clarify for those curious, John and Cortana land about a month or two before Robert comes North, just before Jon Arryn dies and the Starks find the direwolf pups. Needless to say, the crash landing of the Dawn has garnered **_quite_ **a bit of attention.

On an unrelated note, I have to admit another idea came to me before I decided to stick with them landing near Winterfell-where the Dawn actually lands beyond the Wall and John starts kicking Other arse left and right before the free-folk name him King Beyond the Wall. Then I remembered my chronic sympathy for all things Stark, and decided to simply land him in the North instead.

Anywho, let's get to it.

* * *

"Cortana," John asked plainly as he opened his palm, the image of a young woman appearing in his hand. "How damaged is the ship?"

"All things considered, not too badly," Cortana replied crisply tinted with some slight relief. "Even as banged up as the _Dawn_ was from that freak slipspace jump out of the Ark, the outer hull still held up against the atmospheric pressure. Plus, we managed to just skid across the surface. Sure, she's shaken pretty badly, but these ships are designed for going through the skies as much as they are in orbit. The power grid is still operational, thanks to us cutting the power beforehand."

John nodded. "Supplies?"

"Enough to last us for a while, but not for any longer than a few months. And I'm not sure exactly how much we could salvage after the fall the _Dawn_ took. And before you even ask, _yes_, the armory on-board is still intact, as well as the hangar. Frankly, I think we should just be grateful we somehow managed to pilfer off of your good luck yet again, head outdoors, and fancy a look at the new neighborhood."

"And if the neighbors aren't friendly?" The Spartan inspected his trusty assault rifle, it's weight in his hands as though their mad escape from the Ark had only happened yesterday. Cortana had told him before they had entered the planet's atmosphere that it did not register in any records by UNSC, nor from any she'd hacked from the Covenant. Heck, not even any of the Forerunner codes so much as glimpsed at the planet's existence. To make things even more interesting, before they had hit the ground, Cortana and he had even seen a structure in the distance-a stone fortress or castle, by the looks of it. It even _looked _like something humans would have built a more than a millennium ago. The planet was inhabited, of that there was no doubt.

But John had been through far too much to be naive enough to let his guard down. Even with the Flood defeated, even with the last of the Prophets slain, the Covenant sundered and the hope of peace and salvation for mankind a very real and likely thing, there were always dangers lurking in the shadows. Even if there had been no sign of any of their former enemies, there was no way of knowing just what inhabited this mysterious world, or how they would respond to their arrival on the planet.

"Now, now," Cortana chided to him in a motherly tone, "Manners, John. Besides, you've handled anyone with untoward intentions just fine before. Just make sure to keep your toy down unless they don't play nice, okay?"

"Right," He remarked dryly, more than familiar with the AI's scoldings. He put the rifle on safety, but kept it handy nonetheless. "Let's go meet the neighbors."

As he took his first steps out of the Foreward Unto Dawn's wreckage, and onto the grassy soil of this strange world, he remembered the last words of a man he had once called friend: _Don't... **ever**... let her go..._

Even if he had done all he could to fulfill his duty to humanity, to finish the fight and stop those who would see mankind destroyed, what had not changed was his job to look out for Cortana, regardless of circumstance. Even if all his other obligations were bereft of him, he would not fail Dr. Halsey nor Johnson's faith in him... nor Cortana's, either.

* * *

The wilderness seemed to stretch on for miles around as John made his solitary march eastward, towards the castle they had seen in the distance prior to landing. For the most part, there hadn't been the barest hint of civilization since they left the _Forward Unto Dawn_.

The flora and fauna they encountered was certainly familiar enough-birds, rodents, pines, oaks, moss... there were a few unfamiliar plants, sure, but aside from that, the Spartan would have thought himself back on one of the UNSC's more hospitable colonies-perhaps even Earth itself.

Despite all it's uncanny resemblance to home, however, John couldn't help but feel that something was... _off_ about this planet. For some reason, the cold clung too tightly in the air, permeating more thickly than what he'd expect back on Earth. It went beyond simply as a matter of their location so far north; It felt unnatural.

But whatever other observations he could have made were cut short when he heard the sound of multiple sets of hooves clattering against the ground some distance off. He readied his rifle as they sounded coming closer.

"Well, looks like the locals have decided to pay us a visit. How nice of them," Cortana quipped.

John was stunned at what happened next. Riding over the eastward hill came more than a dozen riders mounted on horses, all wearing furs to evidently combat the cold climate, and for some reason, archaic armor, spears, and round shield with the image of a wolf emblazoned upon them. Some of them carried white flags which bore a similar embroidery.

But what had caught him off guard wasn't the fact that there was indeed intelligent life, nor the fact they were armed in something that belonged more than a thousand years in the past.

What took him by surprise was the fact that these natives were unmistakeably _human_.

The riders quickly homed in on his location, the soldiers encircling John from all sides. They all looked warily at him, but they did nothing which indicated they'd attempt to attack him. After a moment of strained silence, four riders approached him, three being youths. One had dark hair and gray eyes, his face solemn and grave. Another had auburn locks and bright, blue eyes, looking warily at John. The third youth, carrying a bow had sandy brown hair and dark eyes, likewise looked at him suspiciously, but had a sort of cocky look on his face.

But the three seemed to defer to the fourth rider, and older man, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, with dark hair and gray eyes like the first boy except peppered with signs of old age. On his back was strapped a massive great-sword poking over his shoulder. John could see he held and aura of authority over the whole group, indicating he was their leader. He stared at John for a long moment before he spoke, to John's surprise, in perfect if a bit archaic English. "In the name of King Robert of House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; I, Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell ask that you identify yourself, stranger."

"Castles, medieval armaments, kings and lords?" Cortana asked quizzically inside John's helmet, none but the Spartan being able to hear her. "Toto, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore."

John couldn't help but agree. All his life, the only government he'd known was the United Earth Government, which was most certainly not anything remotely like a monarchy. But he supposed that he had little harm in complying. After all, they probably didn't know enough to threaten him.

"Master Chief Petty Officer of the United Nations Space Command Navy, SPARTAN-117."

Judging from the confused looks the riders shared, he guessed right.


	3. Jon and John

Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, fan-based fanfiction. I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, and Halo is property of 343 Industries, and probably Bungie. I'll also throw in Microsoft, just to be safe, because if I hadn't made it clear before, I honestly don't know how the whole thing worked out on the Halo franchise's ownership. Anywho, please support both the Game of Thrones live-action show, as well as the Halo franchise of games.

Geez, if I had know that that last chapter was gonna end up so friggin' short, I would've expanded on it. If I ever have the laziness and impatience to turn out such a short chapter again, please feel obligated to deliver a left hook to my ever-so delicate cheekbones. Also, am I the only one who was a littler weirded out that in two chapters, I hit EXACTLY three-thousand words? Totally unintentional, honest to God.

Anywho, thanks again for your support for this series. I think I'm on a roll here thanks to you guys! Now, we finally cut to... wait, am I also the only one when it comes to predicting that there'll be some confusion between John and Jon? That sounds like pure sitcom material. Agh! I digress, now we go to Jon Snow's point of view! We may be seeing a great deal of these two together! (hint hint) Also, if John seems to be doing something weird, it's more than likely Cortana's talking to him.

* * *

As the company of Northern men broke camp that night, Jon Snow continued to eye the stranger whom they had discovered earlier in the day. In all his life, he'd never seen such an individual. He was tall, taller than anyone Jon had ever seen-perhaps as tall as the Mountain that Rides, from the way his father spoke of the monster. His armor was a suit of dull green plate overlaying a strange suit of black, odd symbols and numbers unceremoniously decorating it. It looked strong, no doubt, but it seemed to not be made to repel swords. His helmet completely concealed his face, no sign of a visor other than that queer orange-yellow surface covering his face.

The man, identifying himself in a strange accent, spoke rarely that day, and not at all since they stopped to rest for the night, staying at the edge of the campsite away from prying eyes. The soldiers Jon's father had accompanying them were openly wary of the stranger, but the lord of Winterfell had instructed them to give him no trouble.

He did claim to have come from the fallen star, after all.

Still the image haunted Jon. The giant, fiery shape tearing through the sky, making the wind itself scream like a woman in labor, the earth seeming to rumble beneath his feet soon after. It was the reason they had gone out in the first place, to find whatever had fallen out of the sky. When he and Arya had managed to calm the horses and rode back to Winterfell to tell all they had seen, they were not too surprised to find the castle ablaze in commotion, having see the sight themselves. Most thought it was an terrifying omen, to be sure, but merely passing through the heavens. But Maester Luwin confirmed what Jon had seen-it was something that had fallen to the earth. He had heard tale of similar occurrences during his stay at the Citadel, he had told them, but had never before witnessed such a thing.

Immediately, Jon's father gathered a party of men-himself, Robb, and Theon included-to investigate the matter. Though Lady Catelyn was understandably fearful for her husband, and wished for him not to go, the lord of Winterfell refused to stay. As Warden of the North, it was his duty to guard it from all threats, lest he fail in his duty.

Arya had wanted to come, too, but both Lady Catelyn and his father adamantly refused to allow her to accompany them. And as much as Jon endorsed her wild ways, he had to agree. The whole matter could prove to be extremely dangerous, and as much a fire-spit as Arya was, it was still no place for a girl. She was very sullen about not going, but ultimately complied to her parents' wishes.

They had rode out hard and swift, following the path of the fallen star's decent, skirting along the southern edge of the Wolfswood towards Torrhen's Square. They had just crossed over the White Knife when their party discovered the strangely-clad, giant figure making his way out of the forest. Upon first glance, all of the men were suspicious of him, a man so odd yet so obviously armed for war. He had wanted no quarrel, which all were slightly relieved by, but when Jon's father questioned where he had come from, his answer that he had a vessel which had crashed half a day's journey into the Wolfswood shocked them all-if he was telling the truth, then that 'fallen star' was not a star at all, but a great ship which did not float on water-_but flew through the skies_. That this man before them had come from the heavens themselves!

Lord Stark, though shaken at this otherworldly implication had asked for the stranger take them to this vessel, having rode out to investigate the very same anomaly. After a moment of silence, the armored figure agreed, stating he would lead them to the crash site. By that time, however, it was late in the afternoon, and after only a few hours of riding through the Wolfswood, they had to stop for the night. Now, well past dark, Jon, his father, Robb, and Theon all sat around one of their camp's three fires.

"Do you really think that man is telling the truth?" Robb wondered, catching Jon look out to where the newcomer sat just outside camp, silently keeping watch.

"What he said _does_ sound like something only a drunken mummer could concoct," Theon added, chewing on a strip of bacon. "And judging from the way he holds that thing he's carrying, I'd say he's armed."

"We can do little else but trust him," Jon's father replied gravely. "He is willing to take us to whatever fell there, which would likely save us a great deal of time."

"But what if it's a trap?" Robb asked his father. "What if there truly is danger there, and he only leads us to kill us at his leisure?"

"If he meant to kill us, he would have done it before we encircled him," Jon spoke up. "Theon's right. He carries a weapon, I think. And as much as I don't understand it, just from the way he carried himself, it felt like he could've taken us all on without much trouble."

Theon snorted at that. "He's only a man. No matter his size or armor, he couldn't take us all on."

"Careful, Theon," Ned warned, but not coldly, "We still no not of his capabilities. It is wise we remain wary of him, but Jon is right to trust in his instincts-the man has thus far done nothing to give us cause to fear him." Then Eddard turned to his natural son, handing him a wineskin and some bread with bacon, along with a cloak of fur. "Take this to him, John. We should at least offer some hospitality to him."

For a moment, Jon felt hesitant to go, but he trusted his father, and nodded, taking the food over through the camp, towards the lone figure scanning the trees. When Jon approached him, he tilted his head up at the nearly-of-age lad, his head still encased in that strange helmet, the gold visor still concealing his face. Jon was a bit embarrassed that he was feeling awkward as he assumed the stranger was staring at him. "...My father asked me to bring you these. Something to help stave off the cold."

"It's fine," The man replied simply, almost dismissively. "I'm not cold, or hungry."

Jon eyed him oddly, confused. "But, you're only wearing that armor of yours. And you need to keep up your strength."

"Trust me, I'm-" For a moment, the man cut himself off, as though he'd head something, and then put a finger to the side of his helmet. Then, after a few moments of silence, he strangely became more compliant, extending his hand. "Fine." He accepted the food, and, after another odd moment of him silently putting his ear to his helmet, he also accepted the cloak.

Satisfied, if a bit smarted by the man's rather calloused tone, Jon turned around to head back to his family, but was stopped when the stranger spoke up again. "Kid," he said aloud, sounding somewhat uneasy saying the word, "Thanks."

Turning around to face him, Jon inclined his head. "The name's Jon."

To that, the stranger just nodded. And yet Jon felt some happiness at that.

* * *

After what felt like a short night of sleep, Jon was awoken by his father and soon the others woke as well, dawn's light just peaking out through the trees. The party quickly packed up and continued their way through the woods, following the stranger in green armor-now with a cloak, who seemed to have been awake before anyone else. If he had fallen asleep at all. All the while, he simply walked, never bothering to ask for a ride on any of the horses, nor tiring as he led them through the wood.

For the next few hours they made their way in silence, rarely stopping or even bothering to speak. And then, when the stranger says they've arrived, there is an irregularity in the otherwise uniform trees of the Wolfswood. A great, terrible clearing laid the ground bare and torn, like a great plow had rent the earth. Trees great and small were uprooted, overturned, shattered and splintered, indicating destruction even the most terrible of storms could not inflict.

And, looking down this terrible, unnatural gap in the forest, Jon's eyes widen alongside everyone else as they behold what lay there. It would be a sight Jon would never in all his years forget.

A great, gigantic hill of metal, it's dull steel hull shimmering in the sunlight. Upon it's side was emblazoned in great letters, '_FORWARD UNTO DAWN_'.

"By the Old, the New, and the Drowned..." Theon gaped.

"So it is true," Lord Stark swallowed, looking at the colossal monstrosity of steel and iron. "So... Spartan," He asked the tall warrior, "This is what you came in...?"

"It sustained mild turbulence coming through the atmosphere, but the hull was strong enough to hold until we landed."

"And you say you... _fly_ in this thing?" Robb asked in awe of it.

"Flew, to be accurate," The stranger admitted. "It had already sustained a significant amount of damage, and our landing was more or less an accident. It's in no shape to fly anymore."

"And just what in this world could have possibly damaged such a massive structure?" Eddard asked, eyebrows raised.

"...It's a long story," The green-clad warrior stated enigmatically, before moving into the clearing, beginning his approach towards the great vessel of steel, Eddard and his company following after him.

When they reach the base of the structure, the riders dismount, but see no way inward. Their guide quickly solves the problem by placing his hand on the wall, before strange noises emit from within. Then, like some sorcery of the Dawn Age, the vessel seemed to acknowledge him, a wall of metal gives way with a low hiss, revealing the darkness within. Jon the soldier marches in undeterred, but turns and waits just inside for them to light torches and follow inward. He does not need one, for when he enters the darkness, his helmet emits bright white light from either side, illuminating the hall of metal within with a what seemed to have all the concentrated light and intensity of the rays of the sun.

Yet one more thing for Jon the bastard to marvel in the wake of the man dubbed Spartan, the mysterious giant leading them deeper into the darkness of the great ship of metal.


	4. What the Wolves Dragged In

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, and Halo is property of 343 Industries, Bungie... #$% it, you know the drill by now. Please support the official release!

...Blast these discrepancies between documents and published chapters. They always seem bigger when you're making them, but this is just getting silly. I am sorry that these chapters being so short, but I'm nowhere NEAR as versed in the books as I am the show. SoIaF POV's go on WAAAY longer than the few minutes we get for each POV in any given episode show. I'll try to make them longer from here on out.

Rapture93: Thanks for that nitpick. I forgot that John's the secretive sort, and that SPARTANs are rather partial to who they give out their names to. I've edited the chapters to follow suit more accordingly to John's character.

I'm glad people liked my last chapter with Jon totally in awe of John. But, rather than bore you with the details of what happens inside the Forward Unto Dawn (Because I'm cool like that mwahahaha) We're now cutting to Catelyn, the only sane upper-class mother in Westeros... even if she hates Jon Snow. I was admittedly wanting to do Arya as the next chapter, but Cat's narrative can carry a very long way when (spoiler warning) trying to reconcile the crap-ton of exposition that's about to go down in Winterfell. And we haven't even gotten to the canonical start of the plot yet!

Anywho, let's get to it!

* * *

Catelyn prayed fervently in the sept of Winterfell, Sansa and Mordane kneeling alongside her. They implored the Seven for her lord husband's safe and swift return. Praying that Robb, their eldest son and heir to the Starks' ancestral home, would be unharmed and untouched by whatever awaited them following that dreadful, horrible sight that had filled the sky. She shuddered at the memory of it tearing through the clouds, a great screech filling the air as it fell.

Nearly four days had past since the party had set out to follow after the fallen star. Catelyn did her duties as Lady of Winterfell in her husband's absence with dignity and grace, though she truly could not help but feel helpless inside. There was no telling what awaited him on that fool's errand, but she knew his duty was to guard the North, and by extension, the realm, from such possible dangers. In a bittersweet way, she admired it.

Soon, their prayers were done, and Catelyn sent her eldest daughter to go back with Mordane for another sewing lesson. She herself had more matters to attend to managing the castle, faithful Rodrik and Maester Luwin at her side. For a while, they tended to the affairs of Winterfell as best they could. Then, to her exasperation, she saw Arya and Bran high up on one of the castle walls, both frankly far too high up for her comfort. Luwin and Rodrik shared looks tiredness and bemusement, respectfully.

"Arya! Brandon!" She called out to them, to which her children realized they had been caught, and both began to climb back down.

"It's Father, Mother!" Arya said excitedly when she made her way to the ground, running towards her. "He's on his way back with the riders!"

To that, Catelyn crossed her arms at her children. "What have I told the two of you-no climbing."

"But we were keeping an eye out for Father, we promise!" Bran said, now alongside his sister. As though to confirm the truth in her children's claims, one of the watchers sounded a horn from the nearby tower.

"Aye, milady," Rodrik nodded, "The little lord and lady speak the truth. That'd be the lord returning now."

Catelyn allowed herself to sigh in relief, the look on her face as she looked back to her children softer at the knowledge that her husband was coming home. "Both of you get yourselves cleaned up, and be ready to receive your father. Arya, go find Sansa and tell her to do likewise. Brandon, go and fetch Rickon."

Arya and Brandon seemed relieved to have evaded her further wrath, and scuttled of quickly to their appointed tasks. Gathering herself, Catelyn turned to Rodrik and Luwin. "Come. We must go and meet my husband."

And so they did. Her children gathered along with her and the rest of the castle's residents to meet their returning lord. Ned rode at the front, with Robb at his side, both looking grim. She smiled, truly at ease that both were well, though concerned at their discomfort. She was less pleased at the riders behind them, her smile lessening at Theon and her husband's bastard, Jon Snow, both as equally grave as those in front of them. Following after them were the soldiers, all of them safe as well...

And that was when Catelyn heard it. A low, strange cross of a noise, like a hum interwoven with a growl. And the sight which followed not a moment after sent her eyes wide. Some strange, huge carriage seemingly wrought of metal unlike anything she had ever seen, passed through the gates. Yet is was drawn by no horses or pulled by any men. It's black wheels made strange, intricate tracks behind it in the dirt, the low noise she had heard before intensifying as it drew closer into the castle, before the great thing came to a halt, and the humming noise stopped as it became utterly still.

The rider who emerged would be a sight she would not soon forget.

A giant of a man, clad from head to toe in a strange suit of dull green armor, so tall she thought the Mountain would feel challenged by this enormous creature. His-it had to be a man, how could a woman be so massive- queer helmet completely concealed his face, that strange visor of orange-yellow without any eye-slit for him to see through, and yet he seemed to bear himself just fine. She felt some sense of foreboding from this enigmatic stranger, but aside from his armor, he bore no indication he meant trouble.

However, she returned her attention to her Ned, approaching him gracefully. "Welcome home, my lord," She said gently, embracing him.

"It is good to be home, love," He replied in turn, wrapping his arms around her, before he stared around. While most of the folk were relieved to see their lord's party return in full and in good health, all eyes seemed to be upon that strange soldier. Quickly, her husband dismissed them back to their duties and allowed the soldiers to retire for food and rest. "Cat," He continued, "We must speak in more discreet halls than here. There's much to be told."

* * *

The story would have been unbelievable to hear, preposterous to the point of it being a mummer's farce but for Ned, Robb, Theon and Jon all confirming each others testimonies of the journey within the audience chamber, only them, herself, Lewin, and the stranger within. How they found the man called Spartan just outside the Wolfswood, of him guiding them to the fallen vessel of steel and iron which had flown through the sky and crashed within the woods. Of their trek deep within the cold metal halls of the colossal structure, until their guide had led them to several rooms filled with strange wonders which he had not disclosed to what they were, but one of which being that great carriage he had arrived in.

"So..." Catelyn said slowly, trying to process it all in her head, "It was his vessel which fell through the sky. Where did it come from?" She looked between the four of them, trying to look for an answer.

"...It is not easy to explain, Cat," Ned said in little more than a whisper.

"...Hold on a moment," The green-clad figure finally spoke up after a long moment, his voice having been silent throughout the whole retelling of the past few days. Then, he opened the palm of his hand armored hand. And if Catelyn thought the man extraordinary before, what she saw next would have been something only out of tales of ages past, of a time when magic was said to have been strong in the world, and not an old tale long deprived of legitimacy. For from the man called Spartan's hand, a light bloomed, and suddenly she realized why they had needed to speak alone.

In the man's hand was a small, glowing image of a young woman, her body luminous with blue light. She seemed beautiful, with short hair a darker shade of blue than the pale of her body, which was without clothing yet concealing her of indecency.

"_By the Seven!_" Catelyn gasped. Luwin, beside her, seemed to fare little better.

"What manner of sorcery is this...?" The maester asked in wonder.

"Now you see why I didn't want them seeing you," The green-clad man regarded in a dry tone to the small figure in his hand, before tilting his head up to apparently look at Luwin. "And it's not magic."

"Now, now, Chief," The little figure chided him, "You've been getting to talk to the big boys ever since we got here. And after three years wandering in space, I'd like to speak to a member of my own gender, thank you very kindly."

"Fine," He replied in a resigned tone.

The small image regarded Catelyn again, and as she looked closer at this strange little thing, she could see a warm smile on it's face. "Salutation, Miss... Catelyn, was it? You people have some strange names, I must admit."

Seeing as the little figure had no intention but to speak, Catelyn recomposed herself as best she could. "Y...yes, that is my name. And you...?"

"Cortana, at your service," She replied. "Now, I suppose you want an explanation as to why myself and the big guy here have decided to drop in to your neighborhood, so to speak?"

The lady of Winterfell hesitantly nodded her head.

"Well... it's something of a long story. A _very_ long story. And most of it will probably sound very confusing to you so I'll just explain the last few bits. Me and Chief here were... I guess you could say we've been lost for a while. Our ship was damaged so badly, we couldn't get home ourselves, so we were hoping our friends would rescue us. Sadly, no one came, and soon we lost control of our ship. The rest, I wager, you can piece together."

The story sounded reasonable enough in Catelyn's eyes, but she was still wary of the small creature. "And from where did your great ship come from?"

"Hmm... I suppose you could say we're from a land very far from here," Cortana replied with s shrug, though the words still sounded cryptic. "So far, in fact, that you could sail your ships as far east and west of your land, and you'd never be able to find it. Hence, the reason our ship sailed through the air."

"I must confess I've never heard of such a place," Luwin commented curiously. "No ship we have ever heard of matches that of yours, nor would I think anyone of this world capable of such a wonder."

"You'd be right in that line of thinking, I suppose. We aren't from this world." She was quick to continue, before they could put the implications together. "And before you ask, no, we are not gods or demons or anything supernatural, I assure you. It took these four here a few hours to get that through their heads."

Astonished beyond words, Catelyn could only gape at the tiny figure. Indeed, it was Lewin who spoke next, very slowly. "Then... what manner of creature are you, milady? And your companion? If you say you come from beyond our world, yet not come from realm of the gods..."

"Well..." Cortana replied, as though trying to explain to them in words they could understand. "I suppose it would be hard for me to explain just what I am, so for the sake of your understanding, I'd have to explain just how different our world is from yours. Where we come from is much more advanced than your land, though we'd have been pretty much identical to your level of civilization a little over a thousand years ago. Science and technology have advanced and evolved within that time that..." She trailed off for a moment, looking uncertain.

"Cortana," The man called Spartan said to his companion, before she spoke again.

"It's alright, Chief," She assured him, still looking up at them. "...I am actually a creation of mankind, made through the ingenuity of on of the most brilliant of our race."

"Y...you're saying men can become so enlightened that they can form such wonders... without the aid of higher mysteries...?" Luwin was absolutely incredulous.

"Believe me, I may look like a little fairy to you, but there wasn't any hokes-pokus involved in my making. We're simply that sophisticated."

Catelyn could still only look at the pair in astonishment. To think that there was another land out there where men lived, far beyond the reach of the strongest armies, the most learned maester, or the richest of merchant-lords. Where they lived in levels of wonder and splendor the likes of which she could not even dream or imagine. Where great vessels of steel flew across the skies, among the stars, and beyond.

"...Wondrous," the Maester uttered. "Incredible. What I would have done to have been born in such a marvelous realm."

"Believe me," the green-clad warrior spoke up, "It wasn't a paradise."

Cortana seemed to sigh at that. "Yeah, he's right. The people of our world may be able to travel through the stars, live longer, healthier lives, build great structures which stand the test of time and be able to accomplish what is considered impossible, but you shouldn't be so quick to write us off as all sunshine and flowers. If there's one disease which humans have never been able to kill off, it's their lust for conflict. Just as our race has become more enlightened, so too have we become more deadly. Our ways of waging war against both ourselves and others has marched side by side with the walk of technology, medicine, and ideas. We can destroy things so terribly, so utterly, so _easily_, that your worst nightmares couldn't begin to suggest it's full devastation. It's gotten to the point that if we aren't careful, we can easily destroy ourselves." She then turned to her armored compatriot, a look of regret in her eyes. "...That's why men like him were made. Why they were _needed_."

"And just what is your friend, lady Cortana?" Eddard spoke up suddenly, surprising Catelyn. He eyed the small maiden with those cold gray eyes, but she could see uncertainty-even fear in them. "And what are your intentions here?"

To that, Cortana looked at her lord husband in the eyes, before she said with both clarity and mystery, "The greatest soldier you will ever meet. And we're just trying to find a way home, as impossible as that seems to us." She allowed the words to sink in, letting the silence following her statement permeate in their minds. "I'm done, Chief."

And, like that, the figure vanished into thin air, the light from which she bloomed fading away, and the Spartan closed his hand, before leaving the room himself in utter silence.


	5. Discovering Truths and Reconciliations

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, while Halo is the property of 343 Industries and Bungie... I think.

...Holy carpfish, you people really seem to like this! I must admit I'm enjoying all your positive reviews and hopes that I'll keep doing a good job. I can only try to live up to at least those expectations, so don't be shy to strike some criticism into me if something is wrong!

I will admit, this chapter's kinda weak, and yet again, short, but I'd like to remind everyone that some semblance of canon is still here and that there are other people than the Starks who know about what happened up North. I'm trying not to have too many of these multiple viewpoints per chapter, but if I just stopped at Varys' viewpoint, I'd be stuck, since we have little idea what he was doing after Ned arrived. I have to admit, I honestly have no idea what he'll think of Chief once he sees him. And Baelish... geez, I really wanna have MC burst his head like a grape, but I'll hold back for the sake of avoiding OCC behavior... for now.

Anywho, let's crank this thing up!

* * *

Jon Arryn was dead.

As he entered the Sept of Baelor in his silk slippers which allowed him to move with utter silence, Varys had to admit it a pity to see the former Hand of the King laying there, cold and unmoving, the burial coins over eyes which would never open again. The Lord of the Vale had ever been a bulwark of stability and order to the realm during his tenure under their noble king, Robert Baratheon. The Master of Whispers admired his righteous, just administration, though that same honor and virtue did little to warn him of the danger to his life-him brushing aside Varys' council on the very matter had made that abundantly clear. And thus, sadly, they arrived at their current predicament.

King Robert was by his former Hand's side as the Silent Sisters prepared his body, already drinking heavily, even for so early in the day. No doubt, he grieved greatly for the man he'd known as his surrogate father. Approaching the king, Varys bowed deeply. "Your Grace," He said softly, "If I may offer my condolences to you, for the terrible loss of your closest counselor-"

"Dammit, you bloody eunuch!" Robert growled, turning to face his spymaster, "How do sneak up on people like that?"

"An art I have crafted over many years, your Grace," Varys replied simperingly.

The king snorted. "Yeah? And why have your arts brought you here? Can't you see I'm grieving?!"

"Of course, your Grace," Varys replied carefully, "And I grieve in my own way for the loss of Lord Arryn. Yet, for the sake of the realm, we must find a new candidate for Hand of the King to see to the matters of the small council."

"Seven hells, Varys! Jon's corpse is barely cold and you're so quick to throw away his memory?!" Robert's face was flush with a moment of his house's words.

"Not at all, your Grace. Would Lord Arryn not want you to swiftly find a man worthy of his position, and ensure the realm's stability?" To that Robert's anger waned, his gaze cast down sadly to the lifeless body of his former guardian.

Robert grumbled, "Yes... it'd be like old Jon to think of the greater good before all else. But who have I to consider my Hand?"

"There are several options available to you, your Grace," Varys assured him, folding his hands into his sleeves. "Several of which are within your own family. There are either of your brothers to consider, to begin with."

"What?" Robert looked at him incredulously, "Gods, no. Stannis is as prickly and uncomfortable as that damn throne I'm forced to sit on. If it were up to him, I'd get no wine or whores to keep me company! And Renly! The prancing fool's just a boy! I saw him bloody near faint just 'cause he saw a man's eye come out of it's socket!"

Varys winced at the queasy image. "Then, may I suggest your father-in-law, Lord Tywin? He served under the Mad King, to be sure, but during that time, he made the land prosper, and filled the royal coffers. Not to mention that he secured your throne for you."

"Hmm," Robert muttered, before shaking his head. "No, not that scheming lion. I'm already surrounded by enough of those smug, satisfied Lannisters as it is! No, there's only one man left I know I can rely on in this whole damn country."

"And that man is...?" Varys asked, curious to know who could better fulfill the duties of the King's Hand.

"Eddard Stark. I trust that man more than anyone else in this world. He'd clear out this den of vipers and rats and keep me sane while I eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave."

While Varys' face gave no indication otherwise, he grimaced inwards. He had no qualms about Eddard Stark, oh no. Truthfully, from the sound of his reputation, he took honor, justice, and responsibility very seriously-something Varys admired. However, while such qualities were well suited as a leader and administrator... well, they did little to avert the death of the previous Hand. Honorable men did not last long in King's Landing. He would hate to see another good man fall to the machinations of the plotters and schemers here in the city.

And besides, something told Varys that the Warden of the North would have an affair of his own that needed dealing. "As fortuitous as it is to already decide your Hand so quickly, your Grace, I must confess it may be unwise to elect Lord Eddard, at least at the present moment."

At that, the king's eyes became as dark and stormy as his homelands. "Oh? And why is that?" He asked menacingly. "You think my Ned's not good enough?"

"Not at all, your Grace," The Spider replied, "Eddard Stark is a fine choice. Only, my little birds in the North have informed me just recently of a most foreboding rumor which the Starks have gone to unusual lengths to keep quiet. One which, while rather fanciful, is a persistent rumor nevertheless. Persistent enough that Lord Eddard has already found himself compelled to act upon it."

"What? You're saying the North's threatened? By what? A horde of wildlings a hundred-thousand strong, laying siege to the Wall?"

"Not threatened at all... though it is not a matter to take lightly nevertheless."

"And what rumor is this, Master of Whispers, that my best friend would deny my request of him as Hand of the King?" Robert asked almost mockingly, drinking into his glass of Arbor gold.

"Tell me, your Grace, have you heard of the Fiery Star which appeared in the northern sky some weeks ago?"

"What of it? It was striking, I'll confess, and it was funny how the maesters were in an uproar over it, but it's just something in the sky."

"Yes, something that _was_ in the sky," Varys emphasized. "Something that fell to the earth, just near Winterfell. Something which ha caught the attention of the Starks to the degree that Lord Eddard deemed it prudent to investigate."

"And, what did they find? Some rock the gods decided to chuck down upon us?"

"More than that, your Grace," The eunech replied cryptically. "The tale varies from one to another, but there are some things which remain uniform throughout it all-of a great vessel made of steel, larger than any ship and many a castle, which fell from the sky. The words, 'Forward Unto Dawn' are spoken among my birds' whispers, yet I cannot discern as to what it means, nor of where such a ship could come from."

"Hmph. Nonsense. A drunken mummer couldn't have come up with such malarkey," Robert grunted, before hoarsely calling out for more wine.

"But... there is another song on my birds' lips," Varys said carefully. "Something which frightens me. They say that not but a few days after the Fiery Star fell, Lord Stark returned to Winterfell... with someone unlike anything they had ever seen. Tall enough to rival the Clegane brothers, clad head-to-toe in strange gray-green armor, and riding a great metal carriage with strange tracks which is not pulled by horse or man." As he confided in the king all his birds had told him, Varys saw with satisfaction that Robert was listening with increased intent at each passing description, a look of curiosity and realization on his face. Perhaps now, he would be more open-minded to the topic.

"And you think these rumors are true, then?"

"Again, your Grace, we cannot know the truth unless we see it for ourselves; after all, it is but a rumor... but a persistent one. And persistent rumors, as I stated earlier, may often have a grain of truth to them."

The king seemed to ponder on this, before downing the rest of his glass. "Then I'll head north and kill two birds with one stone. Ned'll be my Hand, and we'll see about these rumors of yours."

"Forgive me, my King, but is that wise?" Varys asked, "Would it not be more prudent to await a raven from Winterfell to explain what has-"

"I'll decide what is to be done, Spider!" Robert roared. "I stand by my decision, and you'd do well to not question me again."

"Of course, your Grace- a thousand apologies. With your leave, I would return to other matters in need of my attendance."

Robert waved him off with a slur, becoming deeper in his cups with each glass he emptied. But while the king drowned his concerns away, Varys' mind was working at a break-neck pace, the cogs in his mind turning at the news he'd relayed to Robert and the latter's choice to head north. While the Baratheon king's decision to elect Eddard Stark as Hand was something Varys had foreseen, the matter regarding the stranger in the North was something to ponder on. Varys may not have been one to take to idle fancy, but neither was he the sort to ignore viable information.

This man who allegedly came from the Fiery Star, Varys had a sinking feeling, may have some role to play in the coming months. But whether it was as the greatest boon to his cause, the most dire threat to those very plans he had strove for years to bring to fruition, or something else entirely; he could not say. Mayhap it was just a rumor, something he need not pay heed to. But if, as he had said twice over, there was truth to the tale...

Then the game could very well take courses the spymaster couldn't begin to fathom.

Time was of the essence. Events across the Narrow Sea deemed it necessary to ensure there were no unknowns in this plan. He'd need to send one of his birds to Winterfell to investigate... perhaps the king's party northward?

* * *

"This is one of those moments where you look back on all of those technological commodities you always took for granted and only now realize just how much they meant to you, isn't it?" Cortana asked smugly, her projection looking bemusedly from his empty armor as John sat in the tub of scalding hot water.

"..." John simply looked blankly ahead, not minding the nearly blistering bath, but was somewhat agitated that he couldn't just take a shower.

"Now, tell me that water doesn't feel good for you," The AI continued, this time sincere. "After almost three years in cryostasis, a nice hot bath surely does wonders for the human body."

"I really don't see why it's necessary," The Spartan replied, "And besides, as long as it took to get all of this heated up properly, all of it ends up getting dirty anyway."

"Chief, how long were you in that suit, exactly?" She asked rhetorically. "I don't care if the armor absorbs moisture, you stink! You need to clean yourself for both our sakes, even if in-door plumbing doesn't exist here. Besides, this gives me enough time to spruce up your armor a tad."

John begrudgingly had to admit Cortana was right, but he still wished he could just take a shower. He took a look around the small hut he and Cortana occupied over the last few weeks. The Stark family had offered him lodging within the castle, but he had only asked for one of the houses in the outlying town. It took him several trips-and consequentially, nearly another week-to haul the cargo he'd brought from the Dawn back there, and had garnered more attention than he felt comfortable with, but it was worth it in the end. Foodstuffs, medical supplies, munitions, and, via Cortana's direction, something to help her keep his armor in good condition and her own personal database to inhabit.

"Plus, the locals aren't too bad. Sure, they're... simple, so to speak, and they're a little afraid of their new, big mister space-man, but it sure beats being alone in the middle of space. I think those children of theirs seem particularly curious of you." Cortana giggled.

"Yeah," He deadpanned sarcastically, "They just love me."

"Aw, don't be such a sourpuss. You're just naturally good with kids is all. That little fire-spit of a girl... Arya, I think? She seems particularly eager to try and spy on you."

"And she needs to listen to her parents and _stop_ spying on me. Why does she find me so curious, anyway?"

"Oh, I dunno, you fell out of the sky in a giant metal tin can, show up with hyper-advanced technology this world can hardly dream of, act all dark and mysterious, show on several occasions you're superhumanly strong and fast..."

"I get it." John continued scrubbing himself of the sweat and grime on his skin until it was pink. The quiet in the town and castle was rather foreign to him. As a soldier, he was almost always either training or on duty, with little time for leisure or relaxation. With no enemy to face other than the elements attempting to conquer his gear, he felt rather redundant.

And yet, despite that, his uselessness wasn't the biggest thing that bothered him.

"It feels strange," The Spartan commented.

"What's strange?" Cortana asked curiously.

"I still don't understand how there are humans here. The fact that we've never encountered them before all this is one thing, but how has the Covanant not found them? And how did the Halo arrays miss this place?"

"Who knows," She shrugged, "For all I can tell, we could have jumped to an unexplored end of the galaxy, somewhere outside the Milky Way entirely, an alternate universe, maybe even traveled back in time. Doesn't change the fact we're pretty much stuck on this rock unless someone picks up the beacon. So why so tense? The point of a bath is primarily to clean yourself, sure, but it's also supposed to be therapeutic. Just relax and enjoy the peace and quiet while we can. For once, we've got no Covanant, no Flood, no Forerunner super-weapons..."

"At least not yet," The Spartan retorted.

"Oh, for crying out loud, you're just being paranoid. If they were here, do you think they'd have just let us mosey on down to the planet like we did?"

"It never hurts to be cautious."

Cortana looked at him incredulously, tilting her head. "After all we had to go through; you know, saving humanity a dozen times over plus all sentient life in the galaxy **twice**, destroying the Flood once and for all, making peace with the Covenant, and frankly all the other lovely craziness we got out of, you can't even think you might deserve a _liiiittle_ bit of R-and-R?"

"And how do we know that our fight's over? They might still need us back home."

"Well, I don't see any UNSC ships launching through the sky, so no one's picked up the beacon yet. And, no offense to our hospitable hosts, but they seem to lack the knowledge or resources to help put the _Dawn_ back together."

To that, John had no counter-argument, so he stayed quiet.

When Cortana spoke again, her voice was softer. "You've been fighting for so long... can't you realize you might not have to fight anymore?"

"..." He turned to face her. Cortana seemed fine now, but he knew what happened to smart AIs after a set number of years. And with what the Gravemind put her through, with all the information she had gathered over the years... "I have to find Dr. Halsey. She can-"

"Don't make a girl a promise you know you can't keep," She said with a resigned tone, her eyes sad. "Just... relax for a while. Rest. You've earned it, John. I'd like what time we have left to..."

For a moment, there was an obvious, painful silence between the two, like a gaping wound bleeding for all to see. Then, the water ruffled noisily as John finally decided to lean back into the tub and relax his muscles, giving in to Cortana's request."...We'll find a way to fix you, I promise."

To that, her lips formed a melancholic smile, but he could also see hope in her eyes.

Because when John made a promise, even if it seemed impossible... he kept it.


	6. Curious Arya

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones and Song of Ice and Fire are property of HBO, George RR Martin, and George RR Martin, respectively; Halo is property of 343 Industries, and, just to be safe, Bungie, because I'd rather be paranoid about being banned rather than just being banned.

Now to cut to everyone's favorite little BAMF Stark, Arya! I have noted that Arya would have a chapter soon, as well as the fact that John got very little screen-time so far to interact with the Stark household. This is my (first) response to that. This is about a week before the raven announcing Robert's ride north.

* * *

It had been roughly a fortnight since the stranger had come to Winterfell with his big, giant carriage, and since then, Arya had made it her mission to try and figure out as much about him as she could. Of course, her father had ordered everyone in the castle as well as the winter town to not disturb the queer individual, but that just made Arya more curious and more determined to figure him was the talk of the whole castle, from the gossiping washer women to her father, mother, and older brothers whispering behind closed doors. She got the impression that they were rather afraid of him, but Arya found him fascinating. Certainly more than those boring and horrid lessons with Septa Mordane.

She'd thus far managed to sneak into the town in her boy's cloths and breeches relatively undetected thus far, and over the first week since he arrived, the man called Spartan had made trips in that giant metal wagon apparently back to his supposedly even bigger ship which flew through the sky, each time returning with some odd baubles or another which Arya couldn't at all recognize.

She was about to sneak out into the town again-she always timed it right when the guards on the gate were eating lunch and made sure no one watched her go, when all of a sudden, she heard her little brother Bran's voice above.

"I knew it!" He said aloud, his head poking out from the ramparts of the gate. "You're going to go see him, aren't you?"

"Shh! Shut up!" She hissed back at him as he began climbing down the portcullis to the ground beside her.

"You know father and mother told us not to," Bran accused her.

"And what are you going to do, tell?" She crossed her arms at him, raising an eyebrow. "Hasn't mum told you ten-score times not to be climbing about the castle?"

"Well..." He peered down guiltily, muttering.

Arya decided to pity her brother, a mischievous grin on her face. "Besides, you want to go see him, too, I bet. He's the only interesting thing that's happened around here in a long time."

To that, Bran peered up at his sister, a glint in his eyes.

"C'mon, we can go together. The guards aren't looking right now, so we'd best hurry." Without another word, she started running out the gate, not waiting on Bran either way.

Clearing the castle and the guards entirely, Arya and Bran made their way carefully through the town. Much of it was unoccupied, as it was mostly meant for the smallfolk in the outlying land around Wintefell during, well, winter, but the brothel was active as ever. And just when she thought they'd make it through without trouble...

"Well, if it isn't the little lady and her lordship brother," Came a voice like honey from the upper floor as they crept along. Arya grimaced as she peered up to see the red-haired Ros looked down from the window. "Going to gander at that tall, dark, strapping soldier who fell from the sky again?"

"Yes, and for the last time, I'm not a lady!" Arya blurted back, before she shook her head. "Look, don't tell Theon we were here, please? He doesn't want us going near the Spartan anymore than my other brothers."

"Hmm..." The pretty woman drawled with a smile. "Aye, I'll keep my lips pursed like the Iron Bank, little lady." Her smile broadened when Arya stuck her tongue out at her. "But since it's the both of you I'll be keeping a secret for, I'll need to ask a favor in turn."

Arya grunted. "Fine. What is it?"

"Tell the man, if you see him, that some of us ladies here are worried about him. Always making those long trips, carrying all that heavy cargo by his big, muscular, quiet lonesome..." Ros's face seemed queer at that moment, her eyes closed with a deep breath. "We girls just think a man shouldn't be such a stranger, you know? We sure would appreciate if you let him know he's... welcome, in our house."'

"Fine, fine," Arya rolled her eyes, before pulling on her brother and striding towards the end of town. "We'll do it. C'mon, Bran."

* * *

"I... think he's not here, Arya," Bran whispered as he peeked into the house through the high window.

"Of course he's not here, stupid," She replied curtly. "That big wagon if his is gone, so he's off on another of those trips to his ship. If he were here, he'd catch us and then where'd we be?"

"Well, we can't get in, the door's bound to be locked."

"Yes, we can get in. We're just not going to use the door." She led him to the back of the hut, rasping her knuckles across the wall. "I used to have hiding places all over the winter town whenever I wanted to get away from Mordane's lessons, and if I recall rightly... Aha! There it is!" A section of the wooden wall sounded hollow at her tapping, and she knelt down to the ground, digging up the dirt with her hands until she uncovered a hidden door-bar, then pulled back with all her strength to open a secret door into the hut.

After both of them crawled through into the hut's relative dark, both look in wonder around them.

All within the hut, there were strange baubles and odd contraptions, tools and equipment than put Maester Luwin and Mikken's stores to shame. Everything the Spartan had brought from his great metal ship, Arya wagered. "Woah..." She uttered with awe, a smile broadening across her face.

"Okay, we've seen it, Arya," Bran pleaded behind her. "Let's head back before we're caught..."

"Stop being such a milk-drinker. He shouldn't be back for another hour or so from his trip, and no one else is in this house but him..."

"A-hem."

Both of them suddenly gasped at the sound of a woman's voice, wheeling around to the source-and were utterly stunned by what they saw.

The small but otherworldly image of a woman was looking at them with her arms over her chest. Arya would have instantly thought her to be a very pretty lady, but her whole body seemed to glow with a blue light, strange patterns seeming to hide her modesty and otherwise utterly without a hint of clothing. The woman spoke again, and by now, both Bran and Arya had fallen right on their rumps onto the floor, gaping in fear, wonder, and awe at the strange creature. "Alright, you've definitely gotten your hand caught in the cookie jar this time, little missy. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to be trespassing into other people's homes? Peeking through windows and sneaking glances on multiple occasions is one thing, but breaking and entering? Definite no-no."

"Y...you saw that...?" Arya gaped, incredulous. She thought she had been perfectly stealthy all those times before!

She raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course I did. I thought it was kind of cute, how Chief had some curious little admirer. But I don't think he'll be happy to hear how you sneaked in here without permission-and I doubt your parents will be pleased, either."

"We weren't going to steal anything, we promise!" Bran defended the both of them, though he seemed rather scared of the lady.

"We just wanted to... well, have a look," Arya added. "Your big friend always brings these queer things, but other than that big wagon of his, we never got to see what they were, or what they do."

"I will admit Chief tends to put people off on a... need-to-know basis. But in your case, I'd say it's justified. There are dozens of things in here which you could easily hurt or even kill yourself with. Suffice to say, this is all big-boy stuff."

Arya bowed her head in defeat. "Fine, we'll leave, but... could you please not tell anyone about this? We didn't mean any trouble."

"Well, I suppose as long as you've both learned your lesson, I can let you off the hook just this once," The glowing lady sighed. "But no more sneaking in here, understand? Just knock from now on if you want to come in."

"But, our father said we couldn't..."

"Hm? Oh, that explains it," She replied with comprehension in her eyes. "Mister... erm, _Lord_ Stark wants Chief to have some privacy." She then brought her hand to her chin, as though thinking on something. "Well, if your father says you shouldn't come here on your own, there's little else you can do, is there?"

Arya and Bran both shook their heads. Their father's word was law in Winterfell, even to his family.

"Well, if that's the case, you three hurry on back now."

"Yes, my lady," She and Bran said gratefully, "Thank you, my lady."

"Please, you don't need to call me 'my lady'," She said with an amused chuckle. "Cortana's just fine. Now hurry up and skit, before Chief decides to come back, okay?"

Both nodded furiously, scuttling back to the secret door, then crawling back out of the hut.

Unknown to Arya as she and her little brother dashed their way back to the castle, the lady known as Cortana had a contemplative look on her face, as though the children had brought something to her attention.

* * *

The next morning, when Arya was breaking her fast with the rest of her family, the youngest Stark daughter's thoughts were filled with the events in the hut, with the blue lady, Cortana. She looked very pretty, and also looked human, but Arya knew no human glowed with a luminous blue light, nor had those strange symbols which seemed to streamed across her skin like drops of rain on a glass window. Bran had thought she was one of the Children, like from Old Nan's stories, but Arya didn't think so, since the Children were from the forest, not the stars. She paid little mind to her food, which caught her mother's eyes.

"Arya, you've hardly touched your meal," She said with concern in her voice. "Does something trouble you?"

"Maybe she just swallowed some nasty bug and now it's making her sick," Sansa sniggered to Arya's outrage.

"Shut up! I did not!" She yelled, causing both her father and Robb to feign rolling eyes but truthfully trying to hide their grins. Their mother was less amused, by the look of her.

"Well," Her father spoke, continuing the conversation, "Something is clearly on your mind-after all, you not stuffing your face with bacon and eggs is as much a sight as the Wall falling." At that, all of them shared a chuckle.

"It's just..." Arya started, looking up at her parents, "It's about that stranger, father-Spartan." She noticed all too well at the sharp change in her mother and father's eyes, as well as Robb's. "He's been here going on a fortnight, coming back and forth from the castle with his odd stuff. But since he talked with you when he first came, he hasn't even bothered coming up to the castle."

"He's a foreigner, Arya," Sansa said with a distasteful look on her face. "Not even a noble. He has no place here in the castle unless father or mother calls on him."

"Sansa!" Their mother scolded, "You mustn't speak so coldly of him. He keeps to himself and his tongue is foreign, yes, but that does not mean you should be disdainful him as though he were a common street urchin. He is our guest for the time being, and thus is a man you will treat with respect." She then turned to face Arya herself. "We are rendering him the privacy he has respectfully requested, and unless he asks of us, we shall not disturb him." She then looked at her younger daughter with a raised eyebrow, a tone of finality in her voice, "And I will hear nothing of you sneaking off to do that very thing."

Arya looked down to hide her blush, not wanting her mother to suspect her of what she had just been accused of. "Well, I know we have to not bother him, but..." She muttered, "Why is it when you speak of him, you all seem so... scared? Is he dangerous?"

"He's thus far done nothing to wrong us, but he is from a land we are by no means knowledgeable of," Robb replied carefully, as though he had chosen the words as one would pluck a flower from a field. "And as mother said, he has asked to be left to his own devices."

"Do you know how long he intends to stay, father?" Bran piped in, curiosity in his voice.

"He has not said of yet," The lord of Winterfell looked into Bran's eyes as he spoke, "But he has promised to not be a burden to us. Regardless, you must respect his desire to be left in peace until..." Her father looked behind them, towards the door to the dining hall, as though something had caught his attention. When Arya turned to look, she saw Lewin, Rodrik Cessel, and the latter's nephew, Jory, enter the hall with a shared look of slight apprehension on their faces. Her father, mother, and elder brother's eyes grew worried at the sight of all three of them.

"I ask your pardon, Lord Eddard," The aged maester said apologetically, "We did not mean to disturb you breaking your fast before your day's start, but you had asked I come to you posthaste when the matter concerned..."

"The Spartan," He finished gravely. "What has happened?"

"He's requested an audience with your family, my lord," Jory explained. "Simply walked up to the castle and asked for your presence."

Arya's parents and Robb exchanged worried glances, before her father answered with a nod, "Send him in. And shut the door after him."

With a bow, Jory left the room, and not long after, an odd noise could be heard, about at the pace of one's footsteps, becoming slightly louder and louder, before the armored figure appeared through the doorway, actually ducking down to get in due to his immense height. Even Ser Rodrik seemed short in comparison, his full height not even reaching his armored shoulder blades. The armor itself, a dull gray tinted with the slightest pinch of green, was stranger than suit Arya had ever seen, thick and strong, intricately yet unceremoniously patterned, with that queer black suit beneath. His helmet completely hid his face, the only indication he was looking towards them was that odd orange visor over his face. He wasn't holding any of the weird objects he was always carrying, the things which Jon, Robb, and Theon had told her were his weapons. And then, for the first time, she heard him speak, his voice deep and slightly gravely. "I apologize for interrupting," He said politely yet frankly, his voice surprisingly clear from beneath his helmet.

"'Tis no trouble, we were just finishing," Her father replied. "You have asked for myself and my family, and here we are. Is something wrong?"

"No, your hospitality has been and still is appreciated. My associate would wish to speak to you, if she may."

Arya knew he likely meant that Cortana lady, but she didn't see her anywhere in sight. Her father nodded nevertheless, glancing between her older sister, herself, and her little brothers. "She may."

Extending his hand, the Spartan opened his palm, before, to all the children's amazement, the blue lady appeared in a flash of light, Sansa gasping in shock while Bran and Rickon both looked in wonder at her. With an inclination of her head, the lady spoke. "Sorry if I surprised you, Mister and Misses Stark," She said in an apologetic tone. "I hate to interrupt, but I felt like me and Chief here needed to speak to you."

"Concerning what?" Arya's mother asked, and although she still sounded worried, she seemed less so since her children didn't react badly to lady Cortana.

"Well, like big guy here just said, we've been staying under your care for a while now, and we certainly aren't complaining. Chief here really likes the food you've given us-particularly the venison stew."

"Cortana," Spartan started, but was cut off by his little friend.

"Oh, hush, now Chief," She chided like a mother to him. "Like I was saying, you've been wonderful hosts for us, despite our not-so-subtle and rather abrupt arrival. Granted, we did ask for some privacy, and you've been more than generous in that regard, but... well, I for one think it'd be rude if we just keep ourselves hidden away like a bunch of cooky hermits while you worry yourselves over wondering just what in the world we're doing by our lonesome. And, no, don't worry; we understand you're still uneasy around us."

At that, Arya was surprised to see a slight look of shame in her parents' and Robb's eyes.

"Truthfully," She continued, "To a certain degree, we don't wholly understand you, ourselves. True, your civilization is remarkably similar to our own centuries past, but we still don't know much of anything about your lands, who rules them, and the customs you follow. To that end, I would like to have an... exchange of knowledge, so to speak. Your history for our history."

Lord Stark looked warily at the blue lady. "You mean... you wish to share such a precious thing, all for the knowledge of our land?"

Cortana raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, if Chief and I are going to be here for a while, I'd like to know a little more about where we're staying before we start asking around for help rebuilding our ship. Plus," Here, she turned to look at the younger Stark children, Arya included, a conspiratorial smile broadening across her lips, "I think your little ones might just pass out from curiosity otherwise."

"Cortana... are you sure?" The Spartan asked his companion.

"Chief, don't you remember our discussion last night? About our duty to the whole of mankind?"

"...I do," He relented, nodding.

To that, Arya, Bran, and Rickon's eyes all turned to their parents, excitement and child-like wonder in their eyes. Lord and Lady Stark could only glance at each of their, children, before sighing. Luwin interjected after a long moment of silence, saying diplomatically, "My lord and lady, I believe we should indulge our guests in this venture. I believe there is much that can be learned from their knowledge; much that can be used to the betterment for your people, if not the whole of the realm."

Sharing a glance, Arya's parents seemed to ponder it between the two of them, before her mother seemed to nod at her father, perhaps in acceptance, and then he looked back towards Cortana, an uncertain yet determined gleam in his gray eyes.

"So be it. In exchange for our knowledge of the land, you shall offer the knowledge of yours, in both the betterment of future relations between us, as well as the betterment of my people."


	7. From My World, To Yours

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Otherwise, why the wasabi sauce would I have bothered putting up this disclaimer, why is my writing ten times less descriptive and food-porny than Bad Santa's, and why haven't I made a reference to crouch-humping? Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, while Halo is property of 343 Industries. There, I finally said it, because I'm getting sick of always having to say Bungie and Microsoft and I am just defeating the purpose of this whole narrative aren't I?

Well, f***.

* * *

"So... let me get this straight," Cortana said in an incredulous manner as she spoke with Maester Luwin, her hologram sitting atop her projector within her and Chief's hut. "Your seasons last... _**years**_?"

Luwin nodded in confirmation, sitting down adjacent to the smart AI in a wooden chair; quill, parchment, and ink bottle right nearby as he scribbled down notes. "Yes, though the span of those seasons tends to fluctuate, and is usually difficult to accurately predict. But summers have been known to last a decade at a time, while a whole generation of men could be born, grow, and have children of their own before they see the end of our longest winters. Autumn usually takes around a year to pass between summer and winter."

It had been several days since she'd convinced John to open up more to their hosts. As always, he was rather reluctant, on account of 'revealing vital UNSC operations,' or 'jeopardizing strategic intel', but she knew damn well Chief was only coming up with that kind of horseradish because he was about the most socially awkward person on the planet. Of course they weren't going to reveal that kind of information-these people could hardly understand anything from the twentieth century, much less use it against them. Besides, regardless of the fact the UNSC was here or not, John, and by extension, her, had a responsibility to help humanity in any way they could; especially if they didn't possess the same level of civilization as theirs. With both of their efforts combined, they could help plant the seeds of progress and enlightenment, so that, one day, perhaps far in the future, should the UNSC discover that world, their efforts will have yielded the fruit for a brighter future between the two long-lost branches of humanity. And they would know that it was by their hands that, for once, rather than destroying something for the sake of humanity, they had managed to _make_ something which would benefit the countless millions from that moment onwards.

After that, it had all been a matter of encouraging Chief the next morning to speak to the Stark family.

At the present, John had taken Lord Ned, his eldest son, and that cocky guy named Theon back to the wreckage of the _Dawn_, along with an albeit smaller cadre of men following. In the meantime, Cortana was having a frankly enlightening experience with the elderly scholar, as he helped her to understand a growing number of discrepancies which made her initial impression of the planet's similarities to Earth seem a bit too hasty.

Luwin's knowledge was limited to say the least in comparison to her own; but the fact remained that, for men of their time, Luwin and his fellow 'maesters,' as they were called, were extraordinarily knowledgeable. They spent years gathering and perfecting their arts, forging chains whose individual links signified what they had gained a level of mastery of. In comparison, during Earth's Dark, Middle, and even Renaissance eras, such levels of omnidiscipleship were almost unheard of, save for the greatest of minds of those days. Of course, maesters only possessed general-but advanced-knowledge of those academics, and usually nothing revolutionary, but the fact remained that they were a highly sophisticated order for their time.

And, by the sound of it, they needed to be. Westeros, for lack of better terms, sounded _brutal_ in comparison to Earth.

"A winter that can last decades on end, yet can fluctuate without warning..." Cortana placed a hand on her forehead. "But how is that possible? I've honestly seen many worlds just as inhabitable, and even if their rate of climate change is different, there's always a sort of stability to the time-frame for each season..."

"Curious," Luwin muttered, writing away on his parchment. "So, do the seasons of your world change at a different pace than ours, Lady Cortana?"

"By a long shot," She sighed. "A single year will see spring, summer, fall, and winter all in rapid succession, with winter basically fringing at the beginning and end of each year."

"Incredible..." He mouthed in return, continuing to write. "While that would mean your other seasons do not last nearly as long as ours, and thus are unable to yield as many crops over a long time period uncontested, your winters are only a few months long, making that small window of time more than likely enough. Doubtlessly, I would say that it would be remarkably easier to live on your world."

"I'd have to agree. How exactly has your kind survived for so long on this freakish planet, especially this far up?"

"I will confess, the winters here in the North are exceptionally harsh. The snowfall that builds up out here have been known to become so high, entire men could be lost beneath them."

Cortana was still shocked at how obscene the planet's seasonal changes were. It just seemed too erratic to be natural. She found it highly doubtful that the planet's peculiar climate was the result of pollution-there was no Industrial Revolution. _Yet_, if she had anything to say about it. "And how, pray tell, do you store up enough food and supplies to last for such a long time?"

"By using our summers as best we can," Luwin replied gravely, yet simply. "We store our foodstuffs in vast quantities to last as long as possible, rationing our stores until we may sew new crops when winter gives way to spring."

"...I think I've gained a new respect for your people, Maester Luwin," Cortana admitted.

"You honor us, Lady Cortana," The aged man smile humbly. "Perhaps the knowledge you choose to grace us with shall guide us to a brighter future-at least, if my colleagues at the Citadel deem my notes to not be the stuff of madness."

"Oh, my! Such a wonderful compliment," The smart AI beamed. "For that, I'll give you... this!" In an instant, she dissipated her holoform, replacing it with the the schematics of a construct of the Renaissance period.

The maester narrowed his eyes at the blueprints, tilting his head to the side in a slightly confused fashion. "My goodness... what sort of contraption is that?"

"Oh, a little something called the printing press. It's only the most important innovation in our civilization's earlier transition from your period."

"A... printing press?" He blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

"It's a device which was used to evenly print ink onto a medium such as paper or cloth. By using a system of fixed pieces of metal letters, it would be pressed in ink, then onto the paper, thus allowing for the rapid and mass production of texts."

"Hmm..." Luwin seemed to think on her words for a moment, before his eyes widened in comprehension. "Wait... you mean, by using this apparatus, a man would only have to carve the letters from metal, place them in the order he desires, then... by the gods, it's ingenious! Books and articles could be produced over and over again at a mere fraction of the time it would take to write!"

"Bingo, my fellow intellectual," Cortana said with a smirk as her holoform replaced the schematics. "A single one of these could produce more than than three-and-a-half-thousand pages in a single day, at full pace. Compare that to the amount of time necessary to copy or write works by hand, and... well, you do the math."

The poor man looked like he had just about suffered a heart attack, from the way he sat-stunned, his eyes widened even further, his mouth agape at her. Not that she could blame him, really; discovering what led to Earth's modern era wasn't something minor, even to an intellect as advanced as Cortana. "Would you like to have a sketch, Lewin?"

The question seemed to bring him back to reality as he shook off his shock, a disappointed look on his face. "I must ask your pardon, Lady Cortana," He said apologetically, "But while my hands are capable for writing, I'm afraid my craft in drawing has had little practice. And even were it so, I doubt I would have had the capacity to draft such an intricate design, nor find the resources to construct it." After a moment, however, he raised an eyebrow at her, a sort of curious expectancy dancing in his eyes. "Unless, however..."

To that, Cortana grinned conspiratorially at him. "I love it when people place faith in my abilities. Yes, as a matter of fact, I can."

With a snap of her digital fingers, a nearby device mechanically whirred to life, as sheets upon sheets of paper landed neatly in an underlying tray, Luwin all the while looking at it like he had for pretty much everything else they had brought in. It had taken some time for her to assemble-in no small part thanks to John's big, clumsy soldier hands-but she had been able to produce a sort of... what was the word? MacGyver. Right, she'd made a sort of MacGyver printer, made up from various remnants from the _Dawn_. "You'll find everything you need all in there. Lists of materials necessary plus instructions to follow for assembly and repair, guidelines to follow in how to format texts, formulas on the mixtures of ink you'll need, diagrams of the measurements on which to scale the entire machine as well as individual intricacies, and of course a manual explaining how to actually use it."

She saw the maester pick up the papers in an almost reverent manner, looking back at her as though he were asking for her permission to take them. "This... I cannot properly express my gratitude for this... blessing, my lady."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic-I'm happy to help," She chuckled. "You can just make it your little project to work on, if you want."

"Nevertheless, I am grateful. When I have finished reading these, I shall send a raven to the Citadel. Doubtlessly, this will constitute a great deal of attention from my order. If we can reproduce these marvels, our ability to share and reproduce knowledge will..." He shook his head in disbelief. "It is almost unreal to think of the possibilities."

"It'll do more than that, I can tell you," She assured him. "With this will come an increase of ideas. Those you consider illiterate would have the chance to possess books and letters of their own to read, more ways in which they can conceive and describe the world around them. With the spread of knowledge and ideas will come the enlightenment of your species. Take time to ponder that, my friend."

Not a moment too soon, both heard the shuffling of feet just outside the hut. "It seems the children have arrived," Cortana sighed. "I best brace myself, shouldn't I?"

Luwin nodded sagely. "The three youngest of Lord Stark's children can be regaled easily enough with tales and histories, I assure you. They're quite taken with the stories Old Nan would tell them, so I can imagine their excitement of hearing about your land, especially from such an individual as yourself, Lady Cortana."

"Oh, then that shouldn't be a problem," Cortana laughed. "I may not have a lot of experience with them, but I have a certain affinity for children."

And like that, Arya, Bran, and their little brother Rickon practically knocked down the door as they burst in.

* * *

Much to Cortana's delight, the three little ankle biters were just as polite as they had been the day before, if more than a little excited and quite a bit more curious towards her. Fortunately, one of the older boys, Jon Snow, she remembered, was watching over them, making sure their curiosity didn't give them cause to go touching anything they weren't supposed to.

Arya, the oldest, was a fiery little thing, and quite the tomboy, just from the dirty boy cloths she wore. Bran was a sweet, very thoughtful boy, his eyes shy yet curious as he looked at her. Rickon, who couldn't have been more than six, had eyes wide with wonder, laughing and giggling all the same.

"So, what is your land like, Lady Cortana?" Bran asked as he and his siblings sat down in chairs around her, all keenly focused on her holoform.

"Well, you could say it's a lot like yours, but it'd also be right to say it's also very different," She told them patiently. She dissipated her holoform to show them a projection of Earth, at which they marveled with those adorably wide eyes she'd come to enjoy. "There are quite a few continents here, with two areas roughly at the top and bottom where it's extremely cold. As you get towards the middle, it gets warmer."

"So it's round where you come from?" Arya wondered oddly. "I thought it was flat, like here."

"Actually," Bran interjected, "I remember maester Lewin telling me that our world's also round." He looked up to the aging wise man, who nodded in approval.

"I'm glad to see you've been paying attention to your studies, Lord Bran. While we have not been able to confirm it, my order has found evidence leading to that conclusion."

To that, Arya simply scowled and harrumphed, Bran looking at her triumphantly.

"Lady Cortana?" Little Rickon asks with a tilted head, his little voice curious in the way only small children could be.

"Yes?" The smart AI asked him with a smile. "What's on your mind, Rickon?"

"What are you? Are you one of the Children?"

The question was so innocent, but Arya, Bran, Jon, and Luwin all shared nervous glances, thinking that she had been offended. In truth, Cortana wasn't; she was, however, curious about what 'Children' meant. "Well, that depends. What are the Children?"

"The Children of the Forest," Bran clarified. "According to legend-and Old Nan-the Children were a mysterious, magical people who inhabited Westeros thousands of years ago; long before it was called the Seven Kingdoms, before the coming of our ancestors, the First Men. They sang the song of the earth, and the earth listened-they were strong with the power of magic. They held the weirwood trees sacred, and were the ones who carved the strange faces into their trunks."

Jon, who had been silent ever since he'd come in, finally spoke as well. "When our ancestors crossed over from Essos to settle here, they came into conflict with the Children, starting a war which lasted twenty centuries, and changed Westeros forever. Twice did the Children use their magic to turn back the First Men: the first shattering the Arm of Dorne, the second creating the swampy Neck."

With each description that they gave, Cortana became all the more fascinated and intrigued by these fabled 'Children of the Forest'. From the sound of it, they were likely the original inhabitants of the planet, or at least of Westeros. She still didn't know how humans would have come to live here outside of the knowledge of the UNSC, or away from the wrath of the Covenant... perhaps it was from some ancient, space-faring human civilization, predating known history, during or even before the time of the Forerunners? Maybe mankind's grasp was more far-reaching before the Halos fired, yet were reduced to both this planet and Earth after the Forerunners sacrificed all life in the galaxy to stop the Flood... She probably would never know for sure.

She wasn't so sure about the magical bits, but if they had the capacity to wreak such terrible havoc... No. That couldn't be it. An advanced race with such capabilities would never have lost to a humanity still trapped in a time where castles and horses were the norm. "Interesting..." Cortana muttered as she thoughtfully put her hand to her chin. "So, these... Children, do you know if they still exist?"

"I mean no offense to the stories Old Nan fancies you with," Luwin interjected, "But I would recommend you not confuse Lady Cortana between what is fact and fable. If the Children did exist, they're long since gone from the world, only alive in story and song."

"You shouldn't be so quick to dismiss them as fiction," Cortana suggested, a smirk on her face. "After all, me and the Chief came from a far away world, and how is that any less fanciful?"

To that, Luwin had no retort, and to the children's evident amazement, he actually seemed rather humbled by her words.

"So, to answer your question, Rickon," The AI continued, "I'm probably not one. But, if you look hard enough, and look in the right places, you might just find one."

Rickon smiled excitedly at her, but then Arya spoke up again. "When you say 'Chief,' do you mean the Spartan? Is he a leader of sorts among your people?"

"Perceptive yet curious, aren't you?" Cortana said with a chuckle. "Technically, when I say 'Chief,' I'm referring to his rank; Master Chief Petty Officer."

"Master Chief...?" She blinked confusedly at her. "What does that mean?"

"It's the highest rank an enlisted soldier in the Navy can reach-think of it kind of like a commoner rising through the ranks to become a field commander. Though, to be fair, he does have a knack for leadership, and is considered to be the leader of the Spartans."

Arya's eyes widened in something between surprise and excitement. "There's _more_ like him?"

And just as suddenly, a pang of regret ran through Cortana's though process, reflecting in her eyes. "There... were more like him."

"What happened to them?" Jon asked curiously, but before Cortana could answer, a distant, high-pitched droning noise came in earshot of all of them, followed by the shouting of the apparently panicked people outside.

"Oh, dear," Cortana sighed, "Looks like that giant tin can decided to bring one of _those_."

"Bring what, Lady Cortana?" Luwin asked worriedly, beginning to follow the Stark children now bolting outside.

"A pelican," She hollered as they left the hut, "Now, I know it may shock you, but please try to remain calm!" She meant what she said, but she still wished she could see the look on every one of their doubtlessly slack-jawed, eye-bulging faces outside, and not be confined to the small projector within.


	8. the Most Enduring of Human Practices

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin. Halo is property of 343 Industries and Microsoft Studios, because I FINALLY looked it up on Wikipedia, and we all know the Wiki is always right! ...Right?

Now, I'm sure some of you have questions/ideas in your heads the more I progress into this fic. Should I make Jon and/or Arya MC's sidekick instead of sending him to the Wall and train him/her/them how to use firearms? Should Cortana and Bran team up so they become the supreme magitech duo? Should I include a Sgt. Avery Johnson expy somewhere in Westeros, and if so, who should have this cigar-chompingly awesome dude? Should someone become a Spartan? And just where and when is Dany gonna show up?

Truth is... I dunno. I do apologize for the delay-I've been on late nights at work and it's kicking my sleeping schedule in the arse. On the plus side, behold! A chapter more than twice the size of the last one! Exposition! More of Cortana and Chief wowing (and potentially traumatizing) the people of Westeroes! Surely you can forgive my delay now, right...?

Anyway, onto the show!

* * *

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, veteran of two wars and stoic lord of the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, was genuinely nervous.

It was his second visit to the great vessel of steel which the Spartan and his... companion called the _Forward Unto Dawn_, and despite the knowledge that there was no ill will meant for his people from these otherworldly travelers, the cold, unbelievably clean halls felt unnatural to him. The humming and other strange noises he heard as he, his eldest son, and Theon again followed the Spartan through the ship's hull, going through doors which hissed and opened with no help save the soldier's hand touching strange, glowing panels, felt so beyond the scope of his understanding that, had the Spartan and Lady Cortana not repeatedly reminded them otherwise, he'd have considered them something akin to the divine.

Their sudden appearance had certainly made events in Winterfell more exciting, to be sure. All the smallfolk could talk of were these new strangers, with their queer baubles and, of course, that great carriage he rode in, more fleet-footed than any horse and roaring like a bear, with no beast to pull it. Robb's stomach apparently wasn't strong during their uneasy yet incredibly swift journey, to his embarrassment and Theon's abundant amusement. It still amazed Ned of the marvels the Spartan possessed... but to think that, some day, many centuries in the future, his own people might be capable of replicating these wonders?

It was unimaginable.

"So," Theon spoke up, "This... vessel of yours, I take it it's the finest of your realm? Run aground as it is, this thing is probably more impenetrable than Harrenhal in it's prime. I'd wager it would be unstoppable at it's peak."

"No, it's not," The Spartan replied in his militaristic, stoic tone. "The _Foreward Unto Dawn_ is only a light frigate. It's primary utilization was for the transporting of soldiers and vehicles, not as a primary warship."

"So you say there are... other ships like this one, ones that are even larger and stronger?" Robb asked, curiosity and guarded awe in his voice. "I am glad we do not consider you an enemy, Spartan. I think even this monstrosity would be enough to smite any and every army of our world."

"...It likely still can," The soldier said cryptically. A collective chill ran down the spines of the three Westerosi men, all staring at the back of the Spartan.

"Master Chief," Ned finally chose to spoke, his voice wary as he addressed the Spartan by his self-proclaimed rank, "Your... what do you call it, UNSC? If we were to meet the peoples of your land, would they truly mean us no harm?"

To that, the Spartan stopped walking ahead of them, turning around to look the Stark patriarch face to face."They'd be more than a little surprised that another branch of mankind existed outside their knowledge, but I can assure you that our government would only want to protect and help your people. Though, it's unlikely that they'll locate this planet."

Eddard felt some relief at the Spartan's words. He was enigmatic, to be sure, but from what interactions they had together, the Master Chief was honest with what he told him, with all the candid professionalism of a disciplined soldier. And yet, for some reason, something the Spartan had told him unnerved him even more than he had been before. "And what is it, that they would deem is necessary to protect us from? What is it that your people, who are so much greater than our own, fear enough to warrant them to guard us, as though we cannot defend ourselves?"

For a long moment, there was an unbearable silence between the four of them, the Master Chief and Eddard's gazes never wavering. Then, the soldier spoke once more-and the words would haunt him long afterwards. "Something your people have no defense against."

Without another word, the Spartan turned back around, continuing his way through the halls of his vessel, leaving the trio to follow after him in stunned silence.

After some time traversing deeper into the vessel's bowels, they came to another wide, metallic door, this one larger than most of the others they had seen. The Spartan placed his hands on one of those glowing panels yet again, and again the walls parted with a hiss, revealing a chamber whose white lights flashed to life as they entered, brightening the room. The soldier approached some sort of metallic table, and with several clicking noises, an otherworldly image seemingly made of light suddenly appeared, numbers and unknown symbols blinking and flashing across a great sheet of blue. The strange, monotone voice of a woman echoed through the room, yet there was no woman visibly speaking. "_Access code, accepted. Compiling data files..._"

"Wait," Theon said, wheeling his head left and right, "I thought you said there was no one else on board."

"There isn't. That's a computer automated voice," The soldier replied evenly.

"Computer...?" Robb uttered confusedly.

"...Ask Cortana," Master Chief uttered in a dry, immaculately deadpan voice.

"What, does it talk the more things you press?" Theon wondered aloud, looking like he was about to test his theory-

"Don't. Touch. Anything," Came the icy voice of the soldier, colder than usual. Theon meekly pulled his hands back to his side.

"_Compilation complete. Please remove console._"

Without another word, the Spartan took something from the pedestal, and the images vanished as quickly as they appeared. He then lifted some bulky-looking metal object, but despite it's heavy appearance, he handled it with ease. Without turning back , he motioned for them to follow him. "We're heading for the hangar."

Ned remembered that place, where the Master Chief had procured the great metal carriage. It felt odd how familiar the walk became once they got back on track, reaching the wide metal door which opened for them to enter the massive corridor near the end of the ship, so spacious it made his own keep seem small in comparison. He realized that there were other monstrosities which this mysterious warrior traveled within this cavernous chamber, ones he had seen before. In their first venture here, all of them had been steadfastly silent as the grave as they passed through what the Master Chief called the 'hangar', where these vehicles had come from, each and every one of them slack-jawed and in wonder at the things they saw. To a degree, they still were, but familiarity to the Spartan had rendered them less worried and more curious over time.

A number of the strange means of transport seemed damaged-doubtlessly from when the great vessel had fallen, but there were a number of them that were still more or less intact. The smallest had four wheels, like the one he had brought, but was only about as large as a large pack mule. Another one, larger than all the rest, was some sort of massive hunk of metal with a great pole or tube protruding forward out of the top, looking heavily armored. There were also more of the carriages as well, but these all had some sort of platform on the back rather than the seats the first did, each having something vaguely resembling the great metal tubes on the larger vessels. But by far the strangest of all these otherworldly vessels were a number of great metal constructs, which had no wheels, sails, legs nor any other indication that it went by land or sea...

It was then that realization came upon Eddard like a pale of icy water.

"Those... vessels there, hung up from the walls," He asked, indicating them with an inclination of his head, "Do they... go through the air?"

At his words, both Robb and Theon's eyes widened, casting their gazes between him, the Spartan, and the great objects in question.

"I'd like to try and get back to your home as carefully as possible," He replied simply. "The cargo I brought on board is somewhat fragile; we'll experience less turbulence this way. Climb in and find a seat, or grip one of bars on the top. We'll be able to bypass the woods entirely and make a literal bee-line for your castle."

The Lord of Winterfell seemed passingly confused at his words, before he realized the meaning behind them, a small grin forming on his face as he and the two young men climbed up a flight of narrow, metal stairs up to one of the overhanging vessels. "You're worried for Lady Cortana." It was not a question.

"..." The Master Chief went eerily quiet at the comment, and although Ned wagered that he shouldn't press the issue, it was strangely comfortable know that the soldier had something he fretted over. He couldn't blame him for being suspicious, either. His people, while good and decent folk, were doubtlessly more superstitious of the Spartan than he was.

"Are we seriously about to fly?" Robb asked, something between worry and wonder in his voice.

"If we do," Theon quipped with a smirk, "Lets hope you can keep your stomach better than you did on the way here."

Robb glowered at him menacingly, but Ned himself couldn't help but chuckle. As the three of them began climbing in from the rear, the Spartan was already at the helm of the vessel, a strange set of flawlessly clear glass windows in front. Further back, where they had climbed in, there were a number of rudimentary yet strange seats lining the wall. All of them having done nothing but walk ever since first entering the great fortress-vessel, they graciously decided to sit-and to Ned's surprised, they were actually quite comfortable. Most chairs were made of stone or wood, with only the old throne of the Kings of the North back in Winterfell having something like it. And even then, it didn't allow him to get a feeling of actually sinking into the cushion.

"I suggest you all fasten yourselves in. You'll notice a harness above each of your seats. Pull them down until you hear a clicking noise."

Deciding that their driver was infinity more familiar with the what he was doing than they were, the three Westerosi wasted no time to do as they were told, and awkwardly slipped the harness-like structures down over their chests.

After about two minutes of the Master Chief doing... whatever it was at the head of the supposed flying machine, more strange noises emitting therein for him doubtlessly staring the metal goliath. He then said, as though to precaution them, "This might feel a little... strange."

And with a sudden jerk, Eddard felt the vessel move, he, his son, and his ward braced themselves with anticipation, awe, and fear as they felt the unfamiliar, unusual, and rather scary sensation of riding through the air. The rear opening they'd entered the vessel in was shut now by a great wall of metal, and could not see from the front windows abiding at the helm of the ship, but all could tell they were now on their way back to Winterfell. Robb looked somewhat queasy, but was composing himself admirably, while Theon himself was taking turns between smirking at Robb and trying to compose himself in a likewise manner.

Ned, for his part, felt uncomfortable as they depended on the Spartan to guide them, but he knew that at that point, they could do little else but trust his experience with this machine.

"Spartan," Eddard asked aloud, "Exactly how fast does this vessel go...?"

"What system do you use to measure distance here in Westeros?" The soldier asked.

"Leagues. What of it?"

"...Around little under four-hundred and thirty-four leagues an hour, at top speed. With no additional cargo to weigh it down, we should reach Winterfell within a few minutes."

"_What?!_" Robb nearly yelped, gaping incredulously. "That... that's..." He suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

"...You know," Theon deadpanned, "If it were anyone else saying that, I'd have thought you mad. But considering how many expectations you've already blown out of the water like a cask of wildfire, I'm honestly not all that surprised. I am curious though-do not misunderstand, being one of the first three men in more than a century to fly through the skies, I'm quite excited-but why do you name these contraptions after animals? Like that... what did you call it? The metal carriage you brought us in."

"...Warthog," Chief replied simply.

"You mean those piggish creatures found off of Sothoryos?" Robb blinked. "Well, I suppose that thing on the front vaguely resembles tusks..."

"A walrus has tusks," Theon argued back. "That thing more resembles a mountain lion than anything else."

"Don't they call them pumas down in the Free Cities?"

"That they do. Strange, I know," Theon rolled his eyes. "And this flying machine-you call it a pelican, Spartan? I've seen those bloody birds back at Pyke when I was young, and I can in no way, shape, or form understand any kind of resemblance to this metal... _thing_ other than the fact they both fly through the air. The wings on this thing don't even flap!"

"Enough, the both of you," Eddard finally chose to speak, hearing them chatter for long enough. "The Spartan has decided to allow us the privilege to transport us in a manner not seen since the Targaryans ruled Westeros atop their dragons. Do not give him reason to regret it by tormenting him with base banter."

* * *

For the next few minutes, Ned, Robb, and Theon all waited in their seats as the Spartan piloted the vessel back towards Winterfell, though they had to admit that the apparent, sheer swiftness that their journeys aboard the Spartan's vessels, combined with the the comparative lack of action or sight-seeing when scaled against riding on horseback, made what they thought should be an incredible, amazing experience to actually be awkward and, truthfully, boring. Not that they'd dare voice that opinion to their driver, but it was one Ned believed they each three shared.

Thankfully, and rather surprisingly, the Spartan finally spoke up from the front. "We're back. I'd ask you all to remain seated until we've come to a total and complete stop."

Ned swallowed. This would doubtlessly be a moment of truth. He hoped the smallfolk weren't panicking outside, but if they were, he'd need to calm them before they did something everyone would regret. In hindsight, he would have rather liked to have returned by way of the great carriage, as they had come in that fashion-his people would have at least been familiar with that. After a few more moments, Ned felt a sort of slight jerk seize the vessel, before it became utterly still. With a groaning hiss, the wall of metal at the pelican's rear opened, and low and behold, they had arrived at the the outskirt of the winter town, with Ned's three youngest children, Jon, maester Luwin, and practically all of the smallfolk and Stark guards looking at them, slack-jawed, unashamedly awe-struck, and furiously babbling.

Not that the Lord of Winterfell could blame them. They must have thought a dragon had come to them.

Unfastening their harnesses, the three marched out of the flying machine, and Robb immediately ran to a nearby thicket of bushes, and all immediately heard him gagging. The poor boy must have been holding it in the entire trip. As undignified as it was, the display, alongside Arya and Theon immediately bursting out laughing at Robb's misfortune, helped to defuse the uncomfortable looks in the smallfolk's eyes. Even Luwin gave a small grin, but his amusement was quickly replaced by the marveling look at the great monstrosity of metal.

"You _flew_ in that thing, father?!" Arya rushed up excitedly to him, his fiery daughter practically beaming in excitement, her younger brothers, Jon, and Luwin not far behind. "Is it a dragon? Did the dragon eat you?!"

"Calm yourself, Lady Arya," Luwin said patiently. "I believe this is no living creature, but rather one of the Spartan's otherworldly vessels. Given that he and Lady Cortana came to us in a great flying ship from the sky, I should have known similar methods of riding though the air could be achieved by a smaller medium..." He shook his head. "But it is nevertheless unbelievable for me to see it. To be able to fly, without the aid of any beast..."

"And before any of you ask, no, you may not ask the Spartan to take you on a ride in it," Ned spoke up to his younger children, eying them intently. Each cast their gazes away, as though trying not to reveal their disappointment. "Otherwise, you may end up like your elder brother."

Robb, by now having emptied his stomach of his lunch and regaining his composure, blushed furiously at the comment, all of them chuckling at the thought.

"What on earth is all this commotion about?" Came the voice of Ned's wife, and coming from the castle's direction was Catelyn and Sansa in tow, the Stark matriarch looking perplexedly at the Spartan's newly arrived vessel. Ned saw with a resigned sadness as Jon quickly backed away, out of Catelyn's sights. Sansa was eying the Spartan warily, the latter having already made his way back into his hut. Ned felt troubled at his eldest daughter's discomfort towards the soldier, finding that Sansa regarded him almost like Cat did Jon.

He would have to speak to her on it later, he supposed. For the moment, he had a more pressing duty of setting his people back to their everyday tasks. With the lordly voice he'd honed since the death of his father and brother, Ned spoke to the smallfolk, saying, "I know that what you all have seen here today is something we have not seen before-not even since the days the Targaryens ruled over us. But you all need not fear or be troubled by our guest or his marvels. Continue about your business, my good people, and remember to not disturb our guest, nor turn to gossip of him. That will be all."

The Lord of Winterfell's command was straightforward and curt, but the authority in his voice was absolute. His people, even in the face of things he himself could only wonder at, were quick to obey their lord, and though they cast wary glances at the great flying machine, they otherwise returned to their daily doings.

"So," Catelyn started, looking at the newest transport the Master Chief with a mixed look of curiosity and caution, "I trust your journey was safe, my husband?"

"Boringly yet blessedly so, I must confess," He said with a small smile.

"Truthfully?" Catelyn raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought being the first lord of the North to soar through the air a more memorable experience."

"There was nary a window for us to watch the land pass beneath us, nor the feel of the air whipping through our faces. To be honest, it was actually rather tedious."

"Tedious? The journey between here and that... vessel's landing took you three days to get there and back again atop a horse, and yet you have come back before the sun has even set."

"And the journey was still tedious. We did little more than sit idly as the Spartan drove us."

Robb groaned. "Swift as it was, I'd rather stick to riding a horse unless entirely necessary. My stomach didn't quite agree with the rides."

Theon sniggered at that. "He took to the Spartan's transports like the Dothraki take to the sea."

"Theon!" Catelyn hissed, appalled at the rude jest.

"My lord," Luwin decided to speak, the elderly maester holding a bundle of snow-white, very fine looking parchment, "If I may, I would like to return to my chambers to study these insights Lady Cortana has graciously bequeathed unto me. As fascinating as this flying machine is, there is always another day in which I may inspect it closer, with our guests' permission, of course. I believe she was entertaining your children before your... rather unsubtle arrival, Lord Stark."

Inclining his head, Ned allowed his trusted adviser to go about his business. "If anything should come up, be sure to tell me. I have my own inquiries to make of the Spartan and his companion."

"Can we come, too?" Arya asked with new excitement in her eyes. But Ned wouldn't let his little wolf's enthusiasm overtake him. The matter he wished to discuss with their guests was not something to trouble children with.

"No," He said with a shake of his head. "The three of you have already been entertained by Lady Cortana enough today. I must speak with only she, the Master Chief, and your older brothers." He turned to each of his four younger children. "Go with your mother back to the castle. You each still have lessons to attend, no?"

Arya, Bran, and Rickon looked varying levels of sullen at their father's command, but they complied all the same, heading back for the castle, reluctantly following their mother and Luwin. To Eddard's pain, he saw Cat turn back to give one last, cold stare at Jon, who merely looked to the ground.

Turning to face Robb, Jon, and Theon, the Lord of Winterfell said with a simple inclination of his head towards the Spartan's hut, "Come."

Jon muttered quietly, "Are you certain Lady Catelyn would not mind me attending these matters?"

"I've discussed it with her already," Ned assured him, his visage becoming grim. "You are as much a part of this as Robb or Theon, Jon. You were there with us when we first met the Spartan, and when we entered his steel vessel. And... I'm not sure I'd want her or the younger of your brothers and sisters to be here for what we're discussing with our guests."

"And those matters are...?" Robb asked, concern on his face for his father's grave change of mood.

"We're going to find out what the Spartan meant when he said there was something he believed we could not defend ourselves against."

* * *

"Did you _have_ to use the pelican?" Lady Cortana asked her larger companion in an almost exasperated tone. The way she lambasted the towering, heavily-armored soldier unafraid seemed like how a mother would scold her child. Or how a highly competent wife handled her more bumbling husband. It seemed rather odd to Ned as he and the three younger men watched them bicker, but it was also somewhat humerus.

"The console was already fragile after the _Dawn's_ landing," The Spartan replied evenly, "Transporting it via the Warthog would risk further damage due to the lack of roads."

The blue lady's image seemed irritated at his argument. "Oh, so scaring the poor folks here even more isn't a problem? You do realize that the only thing these people have to compare the pelican to is... I can't believe I'm saying this-dragons?"

"..." The Master Chief merely humphed, and that was probably all he was going to give them.

"There is no need to be troubled, Lady Cortana," Eddard assured the luminous figure, interrupting their argument. "Though my people were and still are more than a little intimidated by your... pelican, I believe we all should know by now you both are rather full of surprises."

"Well, for what it's worth, we didn't mean to scare you. As much of a lumbering, unsubtle rhino as he is, intentionally hurting or frightening another human being is the last thing Chief would want. Can I at least be happy knowing the ride wasn't bumpy?"

"For most of us, at least," Theon commented. "Robb here didn't seem to take to flying much better than he did to riding in your 'warthog'. His lack of lunch can attest to that."

"Will you ever let that go?" Robb asked sharply.

"Nope." Theon's smirk broadened into a grin, a grimace forming on Robb's face.

"It's just a little bit of car... er, flight sickness. It's the same for when you're on a ship. Certain types of motion causes your stomach to react in certain ways. It's not anything to be ashamed of, Robb," Cortana said in a reassuring voice. Ned saw his son's cheeks go red at the comment, a sheepish smile on his face. A beauty like lady Cortana assuring Robb-and she was quite the beauty, Ned understood, her diminutive size and otherworldly luminescence did not diminish that-would doubtlessly lift any young lad's spirits.

But this was not the time for such lightheartedness, Ned realized. Choosing to speak, Ned ended the conversation as he spoke to the glowing figure, "Lady Cortana, I must admit this light banter is not why we are here. When we were aboard your vessel, there was something your friend spoke of which, even now, concerns me."

"Hm?" The feminine figure blinked, as though in confusion, before she seemed to realize something. "Oh, dear," She sighed. "Chief?"

"He asked about the possible reactions the UNSC would have to the discovery of this planet being inhabited by humans," The Spartan stated matter-of-factually, "I told him they wouldn't mean any harm towards them."

"He said that there was something that your state would wish to defend us from. Something he said we had no defense against."

Any humor or casual lightheartedness in the luminescent maiden's composure turned to ice as she looked between Ned and the soldier, before she asked very carefully yet very simply, "How much did you tell him, Chief?"

"Nothing else, yet. But I think they should be informed."

With a reluctant sigh, she nodded. "You're right," She admitted, turning her attention back to the four Westerosi men. "All of you have a right and a need to know just what dangers lay out of your sight. Chief, plug me into the holo-projector."

Without another word, Cortana's image vanished from her pedestal, the light which previously illuminated it fading away like a dying fire as the Spartan removed a small, glowing object, almost like a crystal ringed by a rectangle of metal, before inserting it into the larger device. Then, the whole top of it flashed the same color as the smaller, before the luminous maiden's image again appeared, facing all three of them. "Now, this may take a while to get all the way through... and I'm not going to lie to you, some of what you see will be... hard. Very hard for you to take in. Anyone out?"

Ned turned to glance at each of the boys he considered his sons. Theon put on his usual cocky grin, but he could see that his bravado was merely a mask to hide the uncertainty in his eyes, yet he seemed too stubborn to remove himself from the room. Robb's face was more honest in that regard; he made no move of confidence to hide his wariness, but his eyes showed the will to stay, as well. And Jon, always steely-eyed, looked as grim as Ned was, but whatever fear he held was covered beneath that icy stare.

Ned spoke frankly for all of them, "I believe in seeing the danger before it comes rather than merely await it. We will listen."

"Alright, then," Cortana replied, seeming satisfied with their answer. "To start from a point you remember, under the UNSC, our race was able to tap into a power to allow us to travel through the stars from our home world of Earth." The 'projected' showed an image of a spherical shape, one that Ned realized must have been a world. It had seas, clouds, and continents, just like the world they inhabited-but not the same one. The continents' shapes were unfamiliar to him, and he also realized that it must be the one that Cortana called Earth. Then, the image of the sphere fell away, revealing strangely shaped ships which seemed similar to the great ship of iron their visitors first arrived in Westeros in. "Over the next few centuries, we expanded our sphere of influence until we held colonies on more than eight-hundred different worlds." More spheres flashed across, all vanishing to show the strangest shape Ned had seen yet; a sort of swirling, spiraling cloud with a bright light emanating from the center, with dust-like specks flickering all throughout it's curling arms. _Stars_, he realized, flabbergasted. It showed worlds where, he supposed, the UNSC had settled.

"Eight... hundred...?" Ned said, more than simply astonished. "That's..."

"Difficult to take in?" Cortana offered, a sympathetic look on her face. "I understand. All you've ever known is this one planet you've inhabited. To imagine even going to one other world must be even outside the realm of fantasy for you, I'd wager." The projector now gave way to a new image-one that took place over a great period of time. A bay which had been previously uninhabited quickly gave way to the rise of a burgeoning settlement, which even in it's infancy looked unlike anything Ned had ever seen. He watched in awe as great structures of steel and metal were raised up from the ground, with such massive scale and complexity that even the greatness of Old Valeryia seemed little more than primitive in comparison.

"Across many worlds, similar yet different all in the same, mankind flourished, as we reached out into the stars to find new homes to inhabit, to find refuges from the vices and hardships which had plagued them since time immemorial. And for a moment, it seemed that mankind had finally found it's peace..." Her voice seemed melancholy now, as though the wondrous prosper which she spoke of was not but a fleeting, inconsequential thing. "But it was not to last. For if there was one disease, one plague which humanity never managed to rid itself of... it was war."

War. A thing that the Lord of Winterfell was begrudgingly familiar with. Twice he had ridden off to battle, first when his family was brutally murdered at the hands of the Mad King, and the second when Balon Greyjoy rebelled against the Iron Throne. Neither time did he take any joy in the fighting, for Ned saw no glory in war-only hard necessity at times, and senseless blood-letting in all the rest. No matter how just or righteous the cause, war was war. Good men died, often ignobly, on some foreign soil, far from home, hearth, and family. And evil men scourged the land, terrorizing the defenseless in pursuit of ruthless means or the simple satisfaction of their monstrous desires. But for all he felt he knew of war... he had a feeling he was in for something far, far different.

"Old resentments and ancient squabbles long dormant emerged from their slumber. Those who believed in their own freedom, instead of being governed by some distant planet thousands of light years away, made their voices heard in the same manner so many other had over the thousands of years of human history-conflict." A terrible blast, like wildfire, or a dragon's flame, or perhaps something worse, tore in the city of iron, as men in strange armor came in to conflict with one another, all wielding the strange armaments the Spartan did, and for the first time, Ned realized just how deadly those weapons were. They looked as thought they shot like crossbows, but fired at an unimaginably faster rate, and spewed forth not bolts... but storms. For it sounded like thunder, flashed like lightening, and when their terrible shots struck home, their target fell dead to the floor in an instant. "Like a virus it was always lurking in your race; no matter how hard you tried to suppress your desire for destruction and fighting, it only fought harder to get out."

The fighting intensified on the ground, more explosions tearing the once proud city apart. Soaring high in the sky, flying vessels like the pelican seemed to drop huge shapes of metal, falling to the earth as though to crush the enemy below, as one would hurl stones from the rafters of a castle at siege. But, to Eddard's horror, it was no weapon meant to merely crush an enemy. For when they hit the ground, a blinding, terrible light flashed with a fury which no dragon or wildfire could ever hope to even match. When the light faded, and the smoke cleared, a whole part of the city was simply... **_gone_**. Nothing remained, not even the tallest or strongest of the great metal structures. Only a great, fiery, terrible gash in the earth, as though the gods themselves had hefted some unthinkably huge hammer and had beaten a dent in the earth itself. Turning to see his sons, he saw a similar horror written on all of their faces. They were all equals in the face of such devastating power.

It was not a weapon to smash the enemy, he realized with unashamed horror. It was a weapon of absolute annihilation. Was this what Cortana had meant when she had cryptically spoken to them when they first came to Winterfell? That they could wage war on a scale only the gods themselves could match? That alone was enough to haunt him for the rest of his days, but... Did they have such weapons on-board their ship? The Spartan had said aboard the _Dawn_ that very morning that, even in it's grounded state, it could still likely triumph against all the armies of the world.

Now, he knew why. And he knew that from this revelation, three matters of paramount import were now before the Stark patriarch. First, that he would ever afterwards profusely thank the gods that their guests did not come as conquerors and with no desire for war, but at simple wayfarers lost amidst the stars. Secondly, they should not be given cause to go to war, lest Westeros witness devastation and destruction unlike any it had ever experienced before. But perhaps most importantly, he would need to ensure no one would discover the implications of the Dawn's power, lest wars be waged over it, and that no one, not himself nor those he trusted, be allowed to use such weapons. The consequences of such folly were too terrifying for him to imagine.

"So..." Ned uttered dully, swallowing hard, "It seems no matter how far men go, war still plagues us." He turned to the soldier, who had been silent since Cortana began her tale. "Is this the war you fought in, Spartan?"

"...The first one," The Spartan admitted. "We Spartans were originally commissioned to quickly end insurrections throughout UNSC territory. It's not something I relished, but it was necessary."

Ned could understand that, though grim as it was. He knew first hand what it was like to be on both sides of a rebellion. Chaos and discord would spread quickly if a rebellion went on for too long. "...Some seventeen years ago," He began, "I and my friend, Robert, as well as our foster father, Jon Arryn, revolted against the Iron Throne for the crimes that the royal family had incurred against my family. The war lasted for a year before we triumphed, but in that time I saw much butchery and horror in war. Then, some years later, I was again called to war, this time to put down a rebellion instead. Was your war anything like that, Spartan?"

"No," The Spartan said bluntly.

Cortana chose that moment to continue. "Chief is correct. He and his compatriots were initially intended to swiftly quell uprisings and restore order to the UNSC before it spiraled out of control. And they were efficient in their duty. Soon, the Insurrection was nearly all but gone... but all of that changed when we had our first contact with our next enemy."

"But who else was there to fight?" Robb asked confusedly. "You've told us that your peoples were united under one banner before your rebellion. If you united under that banner again, who remains to threaten you?"

"...Something from beyond the realm of men," Jon spoke gravely. "Such a thing has happened before, Robb. During the Long Night, did our ancestors not drive back the White Walkers? Wasn't the Night's Watch established to man the Wall, and guard the realms of men from another such invasion?"

"How can you say that old legend was true?" Theon accused him. "The Others, the Children-they could be all myths. Even if they were true, who's to say where they are now?"

"Don't be so quick to write them off as fiction," Cortana chided cryptically. "Few weapons are as potent as ignorance. You see, Chief was correct when he said he was originally... conscripted to quell human rebellions. But, he's also correct in that those rebellions were not the only fighting he had seen. Jon here was right on the money-the enemy came from beyond our borders. They were a threat we never expected, a disaster we never prepared for. A deeply alien menace known as the Covanant."


	9. War Stories

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, while Halo is currently property of Microsoft and 343 Industries. Please support both franchises!

Initially, I thought that I couldn't drag my feet around much longer, and was thinking of just skipping over Cortana and Chief browning Ned and the boys' trousers over the Human-Covanant War in favor of actually getting around to the plot.

Instead, I've decided to actually humor you insatiable dudes and dudettes with more exposition, AND starting to put a soundtrack in! So be grateful! I do apologize for it's comparative shortness in relation to the previous chapters, but I'd like to just get it out of the way before you all rip me apart and finally get on with the plot. On a side note, if anyone knows a good fan-artist who I could request some sort of cover image for the fic, I'd appreciate it if you let me know!

* * *

The image of the great city of steel, marred by the terrible weapons used in the conflict Lady Cortana called the Insurrection, now seemed to be regaining some semblance of order, as the denizens slowly tried to rebuild from the fighting which had devastated it. Robb could see the figures of people trying to return to their lives before they warred with each other.

But, if what Lady Cortana had told them, that there was yet another enemy to face, it would not last. The nightmare of war would continue-and if the so-called Covenant were, as Jon suggested, as the Long Night was so long ago...

"Lady Cortana," Robb spoke then, finding himself strangely scared to ask what he was about to say. "What is this... Covenant, as you called them?"

The luminous figure looked intently at him, her strange, otherworldly eyes staring at him. "Before I answer your question, I'd like to ask you something. What is the Long Night Jon here just spoke of?"

Robb furrowed his brow at the remark, confused. Jon had cryptically concluded a moment before that the so-called Covenant was no threat from other men, much as the legendary War for the Dawn was in ages past. "What does that have to do with this matter?"

"It is the great irony of every given war in human history in that bloodshed and strife always reveal the true nature of those who fight," Cortana mused. "Through understanding your wars-your reasons to fight-we may be able to garner a further understanding between each other."

The words hung in the air like an icy wind, Robb, his father, Jon, and Theon all feeling affected by the words. It was no small secret their father had little love for war and destruction. He'd lost nearly his entire family as a result of one conflict. Yet the words seem to strike a cord for each and every single Westerosi in the room. Their land's very history was mired in war after war, struggle after struggle. A grim and depressing thought, in that such bloody business was so deeply ingrained to the ways of men. Certainly, peace was also known to men, and Robb had known nothing but peace in his life... But no peace, he knew, was ever eternal. It could last for a thousand years, but there would always be war to end the peace.

"Winter is Coming," Theon quipped. "Those are the words of your house, Lord Stark."

[**BGM: Game of Thrones OST - _The Wall_**]

Robb's father nodded towards his ward. "Aye, they are. They're meant to have a double meaning; as a grim portent of things to come, and a reminder of our family's beginning during the Long Night."

Robb looked back towards Lady Cortana, a grim look in his eyes. "Some eight-thousand years ago, when our ancestors, the First Men, and the mythical Children of the Forest lived side by side in Westeros, a terrible winter was said to have descended on the land, more cold and long and dark than any winter before or since. Through famine and terror, our lands were devastated and left desolate for an entire generation. The sun's light failed, and men were born, grew, lived, and died within the darkness of night. Kings froze in their castles, while mothers smothered their babes rather than see them starve, their tears turning to ice on their cheeks."

Robb's father continued the story. "In the midst of this terrible darkness, a race of icy demons, known as the White Walkers, emerged out of the utmost north from the Lands of Always Winter. Wielding razor-thin swords of ice, flanked by giant spiders, and commanding the power to raise the dead to do their bidding, they waged war against the First Men and the Children of the Forest. Our ancestors and the Children fought with great courage, but were nevertheless incapable of defeating them, and driven south by their advance. According to legend, the Others, as they were otherwise called, could not be slain by mortal means-steel and bronze and all manner of metals shattered against their frozen forms, and thus were made invulnerable to the arms of men.

"As the war against the White Walkers became ever more hopeless, it was said a man, known simply as the last hero, sought out the Children in hopes that their magic could aid what strength remained in men, in a desperate final resort to drive back the demons. The journey was fraught with peril, and cost this brave soul the lives of all his companions, even his faithful hound... but it was worth it. Narrowly escaping the wrath of the Others alone, he found an enclave of the Children, and discovered that their magic could turn the tide against the Others, but the Children had not the numbers to prevail against the Others and their hordes of wights alone."

Jon then chose to speak. "Armed with this knowledge, the last hero managed to unite the dispirited First Men and the Children in an alliance of nessecity, as mistrust of one another had made them fight alone, uncoordinated. It was said that the first brotherhood of the Night's Watch was founded at this time, perhaps led by the last hero himself; wielding dragonglass, fire, and steel, the two races rallied behind them. Through the Children's magic and the First Men's valor, they fought in the Battle for the Dawn, where they triumphed against the White Walkers, driving them back into the frozen wastes from whence they came. What became of the last hero is unknown, but after the war had been won, the Long Night finally came to an end, and spring came at last to free the land from the cold. Seeking to ensure that the Others would never again threaten their lands, the founder of House Stark and first King of Winter, Bran the Builder, oversaw the construction of a massive structure of ice and stone, inlaid with the magic of the Children's greenseers to bar the White Walkers passage south of the great structure. From that time forward, the Wall was manned by the Night's Watch, standing vigilant against all the threats from the far north."

Lady Cortana and the Spartan had been silent throughout the entire telling, and even as they finished, the two remained observantly quiet. The Master Chief's face was still encased beneath his helmet, so Robb could not see what he made of their tale. Cortana's eyes, however, were... calculating. Analytical. Almost unimpressed, in fact. Finally, after the long silence following Jon's account indicating their account of the Long Night was finished, she spoke. "So, at least in legend you understand what it is like to be the hunted. To fight for your right to live in your world. Is it really so difficult for you to work together, that you have to wait until something bigger than you starts bullying you?"

Her casual lambaste of their kind irked Robb greatly, but he kept his peace, as a pit grew in his stomach as to what Lady Cortana was getting at.

"If you understand war to be such a large part of our way of life," Theon spoke up, "Why do you chastise it? War, as you said, defines us. It makes us strong, thinning out the milk in our blood and leaves only hard iron. It gives men the chance to earn glory and renown-"

"There are only two kinds of people who find war to be glorious, honorable, or in anyway enjoyable," The luminescent lady interrupted cryptically. "Those who have not experienced war for themselves, or those who can hardly be called human to begin with. Chief here?" She turned her head to indicate her larger companion, "He never enjoyed war at all. The _only_ reason he fought was because it was necessary. And even that necessity could do little more than justify what he and his comrades had to do. There was no glory or fame or fortune which could change the brutality of the war. And, in the end? It took the same thing to bring mankind together-the same unifying force which has echoed throughout human history. One call that will always unite you: the emergence of a common enemy. For us, the UNSC, that enemy... was the Covenant."

[**BGM: Halo Legends OST - _Machine and Might_**]

The same device which had shown the images of the great city of steel now showed a strange vessel suddenly hovering over the still wounded metropolis. Was it another great flying ship? It seemed utterly stranger than the Spartan's vessel, all grey and rigid, all too apparently wrought of steel and meant for war. But this vessel had a sleek, thoroughly strange design, seemingly violet or pink in color. Blue and green lights bloomed from their hulls, yet their brightness did not seem to comfort Robb. Then, all of a sudden, countless smaller shapes swarmed out from the ship, like hornets flying from their hive in a fury. They swarmed over the city, and soon blasts again filled the streets. The smaller flying machines were attacking indiscriminately, shooting what appeared to be light or fire or some other terrible thing Robb could scarcely describe, tearing through the heart of the great city of steel with almost contemptible ease. People ran in terror, screaming as their attackers-in an act of horrific inhumanity, loosing their terrible armaments against those innocent, helpless people. Robb could only watch, his blood running colder and colder, as men, woman, and children were torn apart in the explosions, or simply so utterly destroyed by the blasts of fire-light that there wasn't even ash left of them. Those that could escape were either being crushed beneath their own shattered architecture, or fleeing in a desperate mass.

But even they were not safe.

For from one of the streets, a wave of truly monstrous creatures swarmed upon them. They were horrid, ugly looking beasts of many different shapes and sizes, all wielding smaller but no less terrifying weapons which shot more light-fire. A great number of them were diminutive beasts on short, stubby legs, with gray skin and strange masks. Others were thin but taller creatures, seemingly part bird and part lizard, wielding shields seemingly wrought of light. Roaring in some dialect Robb had never even heard of, another, taller, far more imposing creature, perhaps a leader among those demons, ran forward with a strange, two-pronged sword made of light, which he used to mercilessly impale a helpless father as he and his two daughters tried to flee. When his children cried out to their fallen parent, the creature let out a horrible, cruel cackle, and Robb saw that the monster had not the jaw of a man-but a strange set of four toothed mandibles, two on each side of it's mouth. Without pity or mercy, it ruthlessly struck the first child; a girl no older than Bran, slicing the poor thing in half with one swing of it's terrible sword. Then, seemingly to relish as it did so, the creature plucked the smaller girl by the neck with it's long hand, roaring before it drove the two-bladed sword the small child's body, then callously tossing her beside the corpses of her father and sister, running off to cut down the next human it could kill.

Robb was horrified beyond all words. He fearfully turned his gaze, and he saw Theon's composure to be little better. Even his father and Jon, both usually grim and stoic, were wide-eyed and stunned at the monstrous butchery they watched.

This was no war. It was eradication.

"...Where are your soldiers?" Robb asked in a trembling voice. "Where were your warriors who shot thunder? Who rent the earth with their terrible weapons and had ships which could soar through the skies-why were they not their to defend those people?!"

"They were busy fighting for their lives," Cortana said simply. "As powerful as our armies may seem to you, even they were rendered overwhelmed by the Covenant. A single one of their warships would have taken three of our own, each equal in size to that one warship, to match it." The projector's image now changed, and more of those monsters were there, in another part of the city. But so too were the men, the soldiers clad in strange armor and wielding the weapons of lightening and death. The soldiers fought valiantly, with grim determination and bravery Robb did not know existed, but they were outmatched. The monsters' arms left even their might obsolete, as they lost more and more men to light-fire as they desperately tried to fight back these nightmares. In the clouds above the now-burning city, Robb saw several of the great gray, flying war-vessels of the UNSC surging through the sky, doubtlessly hoping to rescue those caught in the nightmarish crossfire below. But before they could approach and save their ground-bound allies, a terrible column of blue light flashed from far in the sky, striking at the great heart of one of the ships, and causing a violent explosion to rend the mighty vessel in two fiery pieces, falling to the earth. Then, with terrifying swiftness, another column of light hit a second ship, causing it to meet a similar fate.

"Our enemies were ruthless, swift, and unrelenting. The Covenant was an empire who had been traversing the stars for nearly three thousand years, and only grew stronger over time. When they became aware of our existence, they declared war against our entire race, vowing to exterminate us from the galaxy. There was no reason given, no warnings or declarations-only destruction, fire, and death. Wherever they found us, they left nothing but scorched earth and vast expanses of glass. They did this-all of this-for nearly thirty years."

"_Thirty years?_" Robb's father exclaimed. "How did your people survive? How is it your people managed to _fight_ these things for so long a time?"

"You humans, as a general given, are a rather stubborn species," Cortana quipped. "You have a tendency to eventually overcome or get around whatever gets in your way. There were a multitude of reasons why we persisted for as long as we did despite our numerical and technological disadvantage, that tenacity of yours being a prime suspect... But, if you had to pin the blame on somebody, you need look no further than Chief here."

[**BGM: Halo Legends - _Halo_**]

For a moment, the four of them looked confusedly at the Spartan, but Jon spoke up, his eyes wide with realization. "You mean to say... you and your ilk were your people's champions."

"We did our duty," The Spartan said simply, "Nothing more."

"Jon, you say that as though there's more than one of the Spartan," Theon commented, looking between the two of them, before realization dawned on them all.

"There are... more like you, Spartan?" Robb gaped at the soldier. The Spartan alone was an imposing enough a fire. To think that there were others just as fearsome as he...

"The Spartan program Chief belonged to was originally meant to put down human rebellions," Cortana continued, "But when the Covenant began laying waste to our colonies, they took on a new mission-to act as the bulwark against the roaring tide. To be the sword and shield of humanity. And they embraced their new role with swiftness, courage, and strength. For they became all that stood between humanity and extinction."

The projector now showed another street within the city of steel, all aflame and filled with running, panicking people. A brave group of soldiers seemed to be trying to buy the civilians time, preparing a noble but hopeless stand to hold back an incoming horde of demons. He watched as more of their small flying machines were preparing to close in on those gallantly selfless soldiers, set to doom them to a fiery death-only for them to be suddenly shot out of the sky in a terrible explosion, it's charred frame crashing into it's own allies below. Robb saw, to his awe, great figures falling headlong to the earth. Armored and tall like the Spartan, they touched to the ground as though they were eagles, their heavy forms smashing into the stone pavement of the street, and all of them brandishing those strange thunder weapons. The soldiers who saw these armored titans land spared only a moment to gaze at the figures in awe, before they recomposed themselves, and they and the supposed Spartans each opened fire into the approaching horde of monsters. Light-fire and thunder rang and crashed as the battle raged all throughout the street, and Robb rejoiced as he saw the xenos tide held back, even breaking against the stalwart wall of men, and more of the UNSC warships appeared in the sky to fight the Covanant's own.

The silent, hulking figures stood like a wall against the monstrous tide, and the light-fire seemed to practically roll off of them as they continued to shoot their thunder weapons. For a few moments, he thought he saw a golden, yellow light flashing across the Spartans' strange yet undoubtedly heavy armor when they were hit, but whether it was a trick of his eyes or something else entirely, he could not say. The Covenant lines broke as soon as one such titan shot down the monster with the twin-pronged light-sword, the smaller creatures beginning to panic and rout as the armored soldiers and their lesser compatriots advanced with furious vengeance. Within but a few minutes, the men with thunder weapons had at last wiped out the last of the stragglers, and above, the xenos ship had at last been destroyed.  
Throughout the scarred city, cheers arose from the soldiers as all became aware that the day was theirs.

"But," Lady Cortana relented, something between grimness and sorrow in her voice, "For all their selfless courage and fierce valor, even the Spartans could not turn the tide-only hold it back. Delay the inevitable. The Spartans did give mankind the hope that they could win; that through sacrifice, valor, and determination, mankind could survive. But it was not a turning point for us. For, each victory we claimed was costly, and each defeat crippled us further and further. And each blow the Covenant suffered were only temporary, to be quickly replaced by their superior war machine and overwhelming numbers. For every world we managed to save, two more were burned and turned to ash and glass."

The image of the city changed entirely again, and instead showed what Robb presumed was a different world. The first image of the great sphere was that of a foreign yet familiar planet, with blue seas and great continents spanning it's surface. But then, that image was replaced by more of the Covenant's vessels flying towards the surface, invading the planet's skies nearly unopposed. The humans fought bravely, but they were simply too outmatched and too outnumbered. Then, as their ships were still in orbit, the xenos ships massed together before great columns of blue, green, and red light erupted from the underbelly of each ship.

And when they touched to the earth, Robb became absolutely stunned, his horror just about giving way to terror.

For of all the destruction that Robb had seen the Covenant rend unto their foes, none could compare to what he saw. The columns of light rent terrible, burning gashes into the earth, the smouldering, white-hot trenches so deep that one would have easily engulfed Winterfell. Entire cities were turned to ash amidst the vast fires which raged, the skies turning dark and thick from the smoke and ash.

It looked like the end of the world had come to that place. That the gods had finally grown weary of the vices of men, and chose to put an end to all life in the world.

"Old gods keep us..." Robb uttered, trying desperately keep his composure. Theon, beside him, uttered not a word, though he did nothing to hide the fear in his eyes now, the bravado and cockiness gone. Jon's eyes also showed fear, but that fear was seasoned by the grimness framing his face. And their father... he looked far older in that moment than Robb had ever seen of him. The heir of Winterfell chose to speak after a long silence followed the terrible display, the young man barely managing to hold back the tremble threatening to stutter his speech. "But... if that is true... if those you called the Covenant were able to inflict such... monstrous power on you... what is there left for you to return to?"

"We didn't lose the war," The Spartan said resolutely, and for some reason, Robb could feel hope swelling in his chest at the soldier's words, driving back the feeling of helpless despair and terror. "I was there when the Covenant was finished."

"But... how?" Robb's father asked in a weak voice. "How could you have triumphed against such a terrible foe?"

"That, I'm afraid, is a story for another time," Cortana admitted. "You four look like you've heard enough for one day. You should head back to your castle and take some time to ponder on what you've learned here."

"But, what if they come here?" Theon asked, anger in his voice, "How exactly are we supposed to just go back to our lives fearing every day that those monsters might come for us?!"

"By knowing that if they could have found you," The Master Chief said plainly, "They'd have glassed your entire planet by now. And even if they do come here, I won't let that happen."


	10. Second Chances

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, while Halo is currently property of Microsoft and 343 Industries. Please support both franchises!

Alright, finally to the actual plot! A nine-chapter introduction wasn't too long, was it? I will admit, the start of this chapter is EPICALLY weak, but there wasn't much else for me to go on here, so sorry if I botched it.

Also, concerning the Pelican speed, I do apologize for the mistake. I went back and fixed that bit, just so ya know, so that now it's top speed is 1500 mph. Damn, that means they could go from Dorne to beyond the Wall in, what, less than a day? Hope that doesn't sound too overpowered. I actually don't know it's exact top speed, so thanks for the clarification.

On a sadder note, you all may have heard Mr. Robin Williams has died, evidently via suicide. I may be sounding like everyone else on this, but I really didn't see that coming. It's just... tragic. Tragic that such a good, funny, nice man had to go out so sadly. No one deserves an end like that-especially someone who brought smiles to the faces of so many. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to his memory, for whatever good it'll do. You will be missed, Mr. Williams. *sniffle*

* * *

Will didn't put up a fight as the Stark soldiers on horseback surrounded him, and didn't try to run when they dragged him up into the hills, neither. He knew he'd done wrong when he ran from his post, deserting his brothers. It was cowardly, what he did.

Just... after what he had seen... could any man have not fled, scared out of his wits? The blue-eyed demons of ice and snow, the things which he thought had been a story his mother told him to behave as a child... how could any man see the things he had, and not run? They were but three men, alone and with no aid to face the dark terror which had killed his black brothers. He knew he should have gone back-warn his brothers at Castle Black of what he'd seen.

But flying through the dark forest, alone and without even his horse, he just didn't have the sense to do what was he should have done-just getting away as fast as he could was all he could do, so overwhelming the fear was.

Now, being dragged atop a hill, the former scout turned deserter saw the block at the top, and in his gut he knew it'd be where they'd chop his head. But Will was ready to accept his death. Just because he was afraid didn't mean he thought it wasn't right. Soon enough, a group of men approached them from the south, one of them a small boy, three others young looking men, and the leader, as he thought, was an older man... but it was the last which caught his eyes the most. This one was a large fellow, larger than any man Will had ever seen. He was clad head to toe in some strange, greenish-gray armor, so he guessed he was some sort of knight. But he carried no sword, nor any other weapon Will could recognize. He did see some odd black shape poking over his shoulder, but that was it. But even unarmed, Will thought he was a right intimidating sort.

The older man approached Will, looking at him with those steely gray eyes. "What's your name, son?" He asked in a solemn, tired-sounding voice.

"Will, milord," He admitted. "I know I broke my oath. I know I'm a deserter. I know I should've gone back to the Wall and warned them, but..." He looked the lord straight in the eyes. "But I saw what I saw. I saw White Walkers." Will saw the lord look at him oddly, and he knew he probably didn't believe him. But he couldn't let that stop him. "They need to be warned. When..." He swallowed, taking a deep breath. "When you do the deed... could you get word to my family? Just... tell them I'm sorry. For being a coward."

The lord seemed surprised by his willingness to accept his fate, and turned his gaze to the soldiers holding Will. But before he could give them his leave, suddenly the green knight put one of his armored hands on the lord's shoulder, and began to speak in a deep, gravely voice. "Sir, hold on."

"The law is the law, Spartan," The lord said, seeming to be adamant on the matter. "I will not subject you yourself to the rules of our land, but this is our way. He is a deserter to the Wall, and must be punished for his crime."

"I know. But I still need to hear this," The man called Spartan replied. Will didn't understand it. Why was this man trying to save his life? He was grateful that such a strong warrior was listening to him, that he didn't think him mad, but Will knew he deserved his fate.

"Spartan, do you believe him?" The lord looked at his strange companion with near disbelief. "The White Walkers haven't been seen for thousands of years. A madman sees what he sees, but-"

"And who's to say they won't come back?" The soldier asked bluntly, and the question seemed about as effective as a slap to the cheek for the lord, whose face suddenly became pale. "After everything I've shown you, you're really going to just shrug this off?"

Will didn't know what the soldier meant by that, but he saw the three young men and the lord all suddenly become grim at his words. The small boy seemed confused at why they were reacting the way they did, just as Will was-but he could also see fear in the boy's eyes. After a long, painfully long moment of silence, the lord then turned to Will, looking at him with solemness on his eyes. "Explain your reasons for deserting. I want the whole story, boy."

[_BGM: Game of Thrones Season 1 OST - North of the Wall_]

Will glanced between the lord and the soldier, baffled. But if this could warn the others of what was to come, Will was willing to cooperate. Whether it would save his life or no, at least the lord looked as though he might believe him, now. And so, Will began his tale.

"We were comin' out of Castle Black, investigating reports about a group of wildings close to the Wall, in the northern forest. Me, Gared, and Ser Waymar Royce went out into the woods together. I rode out away from the rest to scout the area before 'em... but what I saw..." Will almost didn't want to remember. He almost wanted them to just chop off his head already so what he saw wouldn't haunt him no more.

But the Spartan and the lord were both eying him, the latter actually deigning to put a hand on his shoulder, and the gesture actually managed to comfort Will somewhat. It was almost like... like he understood Will, why he was so scared. "What did you see, soldier?" He asked very simply, his tone aloof, but not unkind; forward, yet patient.

Will didn't feel it right to waste the soldier's time, not when he was taking Will's warning seriously. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "The wildlings were all dead. Ripped apart like... something had gotten 'em. Some of their heads was stuck on sticks and such, but the rest-arms, legs, whole bodies, guts... they was all set into some kind of... pattern. There was this girl I saw, just a little one... She stuck to a tree, a spear holding her through the gut. Her eyes... they was still open, but..." Will shook his head, taking a moment to recompose himself, looking at the Spartan and the lord both. "I went back and told them what I saw. It weren't like anything I'd saw before. Me and Gared both knew we should've just head back to Castle Black... but Ser Royce, he said we had to go back and see what it were that happened to 'em.

"So, I showed 'em where it were, except... when we got there, the clearing was empty. Nary a trace of the whole scene was left. Gared told me to go and look where they might've gone, so I walked a ways out, back towards the horses, tryin' to see if the bodies were moved or such... but then I heard Gared scream. I saw the horses up and panic, racin' down south back to where we'd come from. Then... I saw... _**her**_..."

"Who?" The lord asked in but a whisper, so that only Will and the tall soldier could hear.

"The girl..." Will said, trembling. "The girl who were speared to the tree. She were dead, I swear it! I still remember that stick holdin' her there like a gutted boar, here eyes empty and dark... but there she were, standin' like a shadow in the forest snow! And her eyes... those _eyes_... there weren't dead no more. They were... blue, like deep, cold ice. She looked at me, and I... I got more scared then I'd ever been in my life."

To that, the lord could say nothing, his gray eyes boring into Will, and though his face bore no fear in them, Will could see in his eyes a sort of deep dread.

"I ran, then," Will admitted. "Just kept headin' south for a long while, towards the Wall. To where it might've been safe. But no matter how hard I was goin'... I felt something cold, cold like I'd never felt, like some horrible wind from up the far north was at my back. I... heard things, in the trees around me. Some like ice crackling, growls from some beast I'd never heard of. I kept runnin' 'till I had no strength in my legs, hitting the ground. I looked around, thinking those things I'd heard would've been on me... but they weren't. When I looked behind me, Gared was there, just as out of breath as me..." Will shuddered again, his chapped lips trembling more than before at the memory of what happened next. "But... he weren't... alone, neither."

"Who was with him?" The Spartan asked calmly.

"Not _who_, ser..." Will said fearfully, "**_What__._** It had blue eyes, like the girl I saw, but it was different, like. The girl's eyes were... empty. Just blue, like her eyes had been coated with ice. But that thing... it's eyes had black in the middle, like that glow in it's eyes was always part of it. It's shape was dark in the night, but I saw... blue skin. Hair as white as snow. T'was just like what my mum used to tell me when I was little; about the White Walkers, from the Land of Always Winter. It had a thin lookin' blade, looked like some kind of crystal, or hard ice... used it to cut off Gared's head like a hot knife through butter, it did-right in front of me. It tossed Gared's head to me, then looked to me... but then, right when I thought it was going to do me in like the rest... it just turned and walked away, vanishin' like a shadow in the woods.

"And that's... that's when I ran, milords," Will concluded. "I didn't even bother goin' back to Castle Black. I was just too scared. Too... cowardly. I just wanted to run from there, as fast as possible." The deserter bowed his head in shame. "I kept runnin' south, past the Wall, 'til I was caught by these men here. And that... that's all, milords. I know I did wrong by doin' what I did, desertin' and all... and I'll take my punishment."

Will was, in a strange way, more at peace than he was before he'd come there. Telling them his story had perchance been good for him to get off his chest. Now, he wagered he could go to the gods with some dignity.

But, instead of feeling the soldiers pull him down to the chopping block, the lord and the strange knight shared a silent glance between them. Then the lord spoke. "I had thought your words as the utterance of a madman, Will. And under other circumstance, I'd likely still. But... my companion here is a man of sound judgement. He is not be one to take to idle fancy or rumor." He turned to the tall warrior. "What would you do with him, Spartan?"

Will looked up at the Spartan uncertainly, unsure of what exactly this stranger would have of him.

"...I need him to show me where he found these White Walkers are, sir."

* * *

When Will had heard the Spartan say what he intended of him, the chopping block suddenly became all too tempting to the deserter. He never wanted to set foot north of the Wall after what he'd seen, much less near that damnable place. But he had little other choice, what with the lord having accepted the Spartan's request and leaving him in the giant knight's custody. He was half-tempted to try and make a run for it-escaping or dying at that point sounded better than what was in store for him-but the thought that mayhaps this could help keep his family safe stopped him.

His dread was somewhat lessened when he saw the mount the Spartan came on-except it wasn't a mount at all. It looked... sort of like a big metal cart, or a small wagon, he reckoned. It was a massive thing for someone to get on, but the huge soldier escorting Will easily fit into that strange main seat. He bade Will to climb in on the back seat, which Will did with both reluctance and unfamiliarity. But soon the whole party mounted up and prepared to leave, and Will was amazed to hear as the strange carriage roared to life, and, to his awe, began moving of it's own accord, with no steed pulling nor man pushing it along. The Spartan guided the vessel at a slow pace along the course with the Stark men, though Will somehow got the feeling it could outrun any if all of the horses, even the lord's.

"Erm... milord?" Will bade the Spartan cautiously, ducking his head to avoid a branch.

"I'm not a lord," The Spartan replied. "Or a knight. Master Chief or sir will do."

"Wait," Will blinked in confusion. "You're not a knight, but you want me to call you ser?"

"...Where I come from, 'sir' isn't used to denominate someone as a knight. It's used to address a superior officer. It's also spelt with an 'i' instead of an 'e'."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense," Will wondered aloud, not really seeing much of a difference, but tried experimenting it nonetheless. "Well... sir... isn't we goin' in the wrong way? The Wall's north, ya know."

"I know where it is. We're just heading back to Winterfell to a different ride."

"A different... ride?" Will blinked in confusion. "What about this thing? It looks plenty fast enough to get us north just fine."

"It'll take us days to get that far in this thing. What I have in mind will make the ride... shorter."

But before Will could ponder on the words, the company of men with them came to a halt. The lord dismounted, alongside the three young men, the Spartan stopping his transport just by them. There in the road lay the rent carcass of a stag. Flies were already buzzing noisily over it, most of them crawling atop it's ripped open belly, hoping to feast on the entrails and exposed meat. It gave off a strong, almost nauseating stench, but though he nearly felt like retching, Will noticed that a good bit of one the stag's horns was missing, and a trail of blood was spattered on the ground beside it, leading away from the corpse.

"Mountain lion?" One of the young men asked the lord.

"There are no mountain lions in this forest," The latter answered, looking grimly at the animal's corpse. Suddenly, the Spartan rose from in front of Will, walking up to the felled stag, then knelt beside it, seeming to examine the carcass.

"It was big, though," The soldier commented. "It'd have to be to leave a wound like that. Judging from the fresh breaking point on that horn, it's likely there was a fight." He then looked off, and to Will, it was like he saw something. Standing up once more, the Spartan took hold of that strange object on his back until he held it with both hands, almost like the way Will saw men holding crossbows, and right there Will realized that it must have been the Master Chief's weapon. The rest of the company seemed unnerved that the strange soldier was so ready to use his weapon, and the lord and most of his company then drew their own swords. Then, the tall soldier called Will, beckoning him to follow.

Warily yet compliantly, Will did so, as the two of them, the lord, the three young men, and the small boy all walked off the path, following the trail of blood down the hill, leading to a brook which flowed nearby. And the minute Will could glance at the water's edge, his eyes widened.

They had found what had gutted the stag, alright.

There, laying in the grass, was a massive form of bloodied fur, still as fresh-fallen snow. At it's belly, to everyone's surprise, was a litter of little pups, trying to feed from what Will assumed was their mother's milk. But they would likely never know their mother's warmth again-the horn stuck fast at her neck looked as though it was what killed her. Much as with the stag, Will saw gnats and flies flying about the creature as well.

"Now we know what killed that stag," The Spartan said, standing beside the lord as he knelt down beside the felled creature.

"It's a freak," One of the lads, the sandy-brown haired one, spat.

"It's a direwolf," The lord corrected him, though he did little to hide his own surprise. "Tough old beast," He grunted, ripping the horn from the beast's neck, the deep hole and the red on the horn showing that the wound had indeed been the blow which killed the wolf.

It was definitely a direwolf, Will knew. He'd only seen one once, back when he was still a scout in the Night's Watch, but that wasn't the sort of thing a person could just forget. As big as small horses when fully grown, they were little known south of the Wall, but the black brothers guarding the North had long known of the terrible beasts which roamed the Haunted Forest.

"There are no direwolves south of the Wall," The red-haired youth said, looking to both the lord and the dark-haired youth, the latter now joining the lord, scooping up one of the pups in his hand.

"Now there are five. Do you want to hold it?" He uttered, handing the pup to the young boy, who looked pitifully at the tiny little bundle of fur he now held in his arms.

"Where will they go?" He asked worriedly to the dark-haired older lad, looking to the slain direwolf. "Their mother's dead."

"They don't belong down here," Said one of the soldiers, an old man with a braided beard.

"Better a quick death," The lord sighed. "They won't last without their mother."

"Right, give it here," Said the sandy-haired lad, drawing a dagger from his belt, before he walked up to the boy and took the pup by the neck, causing it to yelp in pain.

"No, please!" The boy cried out in horror.

"Put away your blade, Theon," The red-haired lad hissed at the sandy-haired one.

"I take orders from your father, not you," He replied curtly.

"Please, father!" The boy implored to the lord, looking to him with a pleading look in his eyes. Will could almost pity the young lord, not wanting to see those pups cut down like that, but they'd die without their mother, from starvation, exposure, or a predator of some sort. A quick death would be a mercy.

"I'm sorry, Bran," The lord replied sadly, but then, something caught the lord's eyes, as he stared back at the fallen mother.

[_Halo Legends OST - High Charity Quartet_]

There, Spartan himself had knelt down on one knee, laying a hand on the beast's bloodied neck. With his helmet concealing his face, Will couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he could see from his bowed head and silence that something was turning inside the soldier's head. As though the death of that direwolf mother had... almost reminded him of something. He then turned away from the beast's face, and with a surprising gentleness Will would not have expected of such a giant, scooped up another of the pups, but used both hands to grasp at it from beneath it's forelegs. The pup, in turn, looked wide-eyed at the giant soldier, who merely stared at the little bundle of fur before he turned to the lord. "Sir, these pups are still too young to take care of themselves. So it's likely they can be trained and tamed without much trouble."

"You would have us rear these beasts as pets?" The lad, Theon, asked incredulously. "They're wild!"

"The earliest form of domesticated canines was in humans taming wolf pups," The soldier replied.

"Lord Stark?" Asked the dark-haired youth to the lord, who turned his attention to him. "There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is your sigil-I think you were meant to have them."

All now looked to the lord, who seemed to have a look of deep ponder on his face. He then looked to the Spartan, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "This is the second time today you've helped to save a life, Spartan. I cannot tell whether you're a hero or a meddler."

"I try, sir," The soldier replied with a plain tone.

The lord then looked to the small boy, his face stern. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."

Theon sheathed his dagger at the lord's judgment, handing the pup back to Bran, who looked relieved as he held the small animal in his arms again. The former and the auburn-haired youth both took two of the other pups under each of their arms, the Spartan handing one of them the pup he had picked up. Will said nothing as the whole thing happened, not feeling it his place to speak on such matters.

As the group was preparing to leave the edge of the brook, however, the dark-haired youth seemed to stop, as though his ear or eye had caught something. Walking a distance away from the direwolf mother's still body, he reached down his hand to the ground... and when he stood back up, he held a sixth direwolf pup in his hand, by the scruff of his neck. It's fur was as white as snow, it's eyes red as blood.

"The runt of the litter," Theon quipped, a grin on his face. "That one's yours, Snow."

The dark-haired boy, whom Will assumed to be some high lord's bastard-perhaps the lord of Winterfell's-gave Theon a hard stare, but said nothing. Will himself felt that he should only start heading back up the hill once the Spartan did, but oddly, the Spartan had again been looking at the dead direwolf mother. "Master Chief?" He asked carefully.

"...It's nothing," He uttered plainly, and yet Will almost heard the slightest sliver of contumely in the soldier's deep voice. "Let's go. We have a lot of work ahead, and that starts at Winterfell."

The Spartan began walking, then, and Will followed him without hesitation. It still felt odd, he had to admit. This stranger, whom he'd just met that morning, who'd saved his life based on only his own account, with no doubt or hesitation. The way he seemed to radiate a kind of reassuring trust, which Will felt so unfamiliar even among his brothers in the Night's Watch. He couldn't understand why this Spartan did the things he did, but despite his uncertainty, Will felt like he could trust this man more than any other he'd ever met in his life.

Will, former scout to the Night's Watch, did not know what fate the gods had in store for him. But as he rode along with the towering, silent soldier... he felt something which had abandoned him in the Haunted Forest, something which fled from him when he saw the White Walkers slay his brothers...

Hope.


	11. Winter Contingency

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin, while Halo is currently property of Microsoft and 343 Industries. Please support both franchises! Oh, and just in case, I also do not own any of the witty humor or quotes made by Red vs Blue. That's all Rooster Teeth.

I apologize for the hiatus on this fic. Like, REALLY apologize. I've been going through some personal issues, and have admittedly been taking a break from my fanfic writing. That, my terminal writier's block, a chronic case of your typical American attention span, and the sheer difficulty of keeping up between this and the other fics at the level I'm attempting to write is, as you can imagine, pretty hard. Just know I'm not giving up on this lil' gem yet. As much as it is one of those 'think up in a moment of crazy' idea which usually tend to die out suddenly, this has grown on me, and some naive or utterly insane part of me says I can somehow pull this off. I sincerely thank those who've been patient with this and hope you'll bear with me.

* * *

The Wall was damnably cold that late afternoon, even with no snow or harsh winds bearing down on the black brothers manning it. Two men were huddled around a fire atop the ramparts, looking down at the vast field of white north of the Wall, a great open plain stretching for more than a mile before it gave way to the Haunted Forest.

Theirs was a thoroughly dull and boring post. Both deemed too incompetent to be rangers, the two of them were left with manning the Wall on a nearly constant basis, leading to long, miserable days, and even longer, gloomy nights.

"Oi," One of them uttered, hoping to break the silence and pass the time without going mad from the cold and boredom.

"Yeah, what is it?" His companion replied dully.

"You ever wonder why we're here, mate?"

"Seven hells' kind of a question is that?"

"Just a question," The first shrugged. "Don't have to answer it."

The second sighed, looking out into the north. "That, like, a big mystery, innit? Why are we here? I mean, if them gods do exist, ya think they really care about us? Or like, maybe they don't at all, and all this is just some... accident or something. I dunno mate. Sure keeps me up at night, though."

For a long moment, there was an almost awkward silence between the two of them, The two Watchmen staring at each other. "...What? No, I meant, why are we up here, on the Wall?"

"Huh? Oh, erm... yeah, right."

"What was all that there stuff about the gods and all?"

"Oh, nothin'."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Nah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

The first shrugged. "Seriously, though, why are we up here? As far as I can tell, we're guarding some really high, really long wall in the middle of some frozen wasteland and such, right? And we've got all the entrances blocked off so only us can use it, right?"

The second nodded. "Well, yeah. We're just making sure no wildlings try to climb over the Wall. Ya know, 'cause we're fighting each other."

"Didn't they make this thing to keep out White Walkers, and such? I mean, as far as I can tell, the only difference between us and the wildlings is that we're a bunch of people stuck south of a giant wall in the middle of a frozen wasteland, and they're a bunch of people stuck north of a giant wall in the middle of a frozen wasteland. And if they climb over the Wall, they'll be south of a giant wall in the middle of a frozen wasteland. Real swell, that."

"Well, I didn't ask to come here, I can tell you. I's just minding me own down in King's Landing, right? Then some stupid lord comes complaining I got his daughter a big belly, and have to come up here and take the black, fighting a bunch of fellas wearing pelts."

Unbeknownst to the two lookouts, far down below, and hidden well within the snow with ice bear furs, were a pair of wildling scouts spying on them. One of them held up a Myrish spyglass-a tool which Mance Rayder himself had stolen from the Night's Watch, and had personally given it to them from that exact mission.

"What're they doin'?" One of them asked in a whisper.

"..._What_?" the one with the glass uttered, annoyed.

"I said, what're they doin' now?"

"Bloody hell, I am getting so sick of you askin' that!"

"Look, you're the one with that thing Mance got you, I can't see shit. I'm not gonna just sit here and wank, so don't get pissed at me."

"Okay, you wanna know what they're doing?" The second wildling asked, putting down the glass to look to his comrade. "They're just sitting there, yapping. That's all there be. That's all they _ever_ do, is just sit there and talk. That's what they was doing the last time we was here, that's what they was doing a while ago. So in a little while, when you ask me, 'What are they doin',' my answer's gonna be, 'They're still just chatting, and they're still just sitting there.' Now will you stop asking me that?" He then put the glass back to his eye, hoping that those two crows hadn't spotted them or done something else than talking. But after a moment's peace...

"...You think you know what they're talkin' about?"

The second growled. "You know what? I fucking hate you."

Back atop the Wall, The two Watchmen were continuing their discussion. "Talk about a waste of good men," The second lamented. "I mean, I say we could just let the wildlings man the Wall, and we could just go about our merry way and not cause trouble. That way, they finally leave us alone, and if they act up, the Starks can just punt 'em back to teach 'em a lesson."

"Yeah, no joke," The first scoffed. "That's why they should put us... hey, you hear that?"

"Hear what?" The second asked, before he began to pick up a strange noise in his ears; a kind of loud, droning sound, almost like the sound the wind would make so high up. At first, neither of them could put their finger on where it was coming from, but as it seemed to get louder and louder, they slowly turned themselves around-

And saw a gigantic shape rush right over them, it's deafening roar sounding as though a dragon had lain with the bitter winter gales. The two guards and the two wildling spies ducked down to the ground in rather understandable fear, the massive dark shape shooting across the sky northward with a blinding speed.

And as all of them got their footing back, all four of them had the same words uttered on their lips.

""""**Son of a bitch!**""""

* * *

[**_BGM: Halo Reach OST - New Alexandria_**]

The first time Jon had rode upon the Spartan's flying machine had been awkward and, rather ironically, actually somewhat boring. Certainly, it had been an unusual event, being among the first in all the world to fly since the Targaryens still had dragons, and likely the first among all those with the blood of the First Men to have flown at all, but the entire trip had lasted for all but a few minutes, and in all that time, Jon and the others had merely sat in the back of the vessel, with no windows by which to view the land rolling beneath them in their flight.

When his father had decided to send Jon alongside a small cadre of Stark men under the command of Jory to go with the Master Chief and Will to act as a witness for whatever lay beyond the Wall, the boy had conflicting feelings about why he'd been chosen to go above all others. The more bitter part of him believed that, as he was a bastard, he'd certainly be more expendable should something happen to him-he had little doubt Lady Catelyn would not feel too unhappy at his passing. But that notion had little credit when the Spartan had actually recommended Jon above more experienced or skilled men. Above Robb, Theon, and Rodrik Cassel, or other men at Winterfell. In the Spartan's own words, Jon had the best mind for such a task, with a level of stoic composure that neither Robb nor Theon possessed; the perfect mentality for facing the unknown, he'd said.

It was the first time Jon had ever been chosen by anyone before all others. He did not know why the Spartan thought him the best choice, nor how he'd come to that judgement... But he felt honored nonetheless. To be recognized by a soldier as experienced and mighty as he.

And when he had gazed out onto the vastness of the North from the head of the pelican, when he had seen the Wall for the first time and watched as they flew over it, flying further still into the lands beyond... he knew he'd never forget this venture. The view was absolutely breathtaking. Not even the tallest mountains could offer so grand a sight, with the whole of the land laid out before Jon; all the North and beyond the Wall, in it's harsh, rugged, beautiful landscape. A great sea of trees stretched all upon the horizon, and Jon recalled the stories of the Haunted Forest that his uncle Benjen told him; dwarfing all the forests of the Seven Kingdoms, going all the way into the farthest reaches northward, to the valley of Thenn, and the fabled Lands of Always Winter. Many miles away to the west, he could make out the barest pinpricks of shapes jutting out into the sky-the Frostfangs, he realized. He made a small smile, thinking at how everyone back home-or at least Arya, Bran, and Rickon-would be eager to hear what he'd seen.

"There," Came Will's voice from beside Jon, bringing the latter out of any thoughts he may have had, and he reluctantly chose to end his sight-seeing. The bastard and the deserter both sat behind the pilot seat, letting the Spartan guide their course. Will was to show them where he and his former black brothers had supposedly encountered the ancient foes of men, to see if there were any traces by which they could learn the truth of the matter. The place Will had pointed to was a small clearing in the great wood, barely large enough for the pelican to land. But land they still managed to do, as the great flying machine lowered down into the clearing, until Jon felt the familiar jerk which seized the ship as it came to ground.

Wordlessly, the Spartan rose from his seat at the helm, the thunder weapon in his hands as he strode towards the back of the pelican and out into the snow through the now-opened rear hatch door; Jon, Will, Jory, and the Stark men right behind him.

Once all of them were outside, the tall soldier turned to the group, and began to speak. "Alright, you all know why we're here. We search the area for any evidence of what Will here saw. Stay together and don't stray too far from the pelican-we may just need to make a break for it, so be on your guard."

[**_BGM: Halo Reach OST - Nightfall_**]

Jon nodded wordlessly to the Spartan, clutching the hilt of the castle-forged steel sword his father had bequeathed to him. Beside him, Will also nodded, though he could see the man warily shooting glances into the nearby trees, the grip on his own sword more shaky, but not in a craven manner. For the next few minutes, they searched the empty clearing, never straying far from the rear of the pelican, each eying the ground for anything which caught their gaze.

After a few minutes of such, Jon spotted something out of the corner of his eye; a small, unusual form laying on the ground as he trudged through the snow. It was a pink, blackened, shriveled and frozen thing the size of his hand. Nearby, a dark crimson stain blotched the white snow on the ground-blood, he realized. Kneeling down beside it, he gingerly scooped the cold, yet somehow still slimy object up into his hand, a foul smell managing to permeate from it despite the bite of the cold. When he cleared much of the snow from it, to his disgust he realized it was the remains of something or someone's entrails. Calling the Master Chief and Will over, the thee of them huddled around the scene.

"It's human blood, alright," The Spartan stated, before turning to Will. "But it's lack of congealment doesn't seem to add up to the state of deterioration on the remains. Ring any bells?"

The deserter shook his head grimly. "No... but I think I know what happened. Back when I was searchin' near the horses, I'd heard Gared screaming. I... think Ser Royce must've been killed by... you know."

"And your friend didn't even have the courage to warn him? Are you not sworn brothers of the Night's Watch?" Jon asked critically, but was shot down by the Spartan turning his head to his direction-though Jon couldn't see the disapproval in his eyes, the glacial slowness of his head turning was more than enough to humble him to silence.

"Night's Watch or no," Came Jory Cassel's voice, the captain of Winterfell's guard approaching the trio, "We are all but men, Jon. Even the best of us can feel fear. And if what this lad says is true-do you think you could've fared better?"

To that, Jon had no reply, though Will did, the deserter looking to Jory. "You... believe it?"

"Can't say," The captain shrugged. "But the Spartan seems to. And Lord Stark listens to him enough to warrant this trip. That's enough a reason for me."

"Your cooperation is appreciated, Captain-" The Master Chief affirmed as he stood up, only for him to suddenly stop, as though he'd heard something. It was a subtle gesture, but from the way both Jory and Will looked at him, Jon realized something was very, very wrong.

"...We're not alone out here," Will uttered, swallowing hard amidst the cold.

"Wildings?" Jon asked quietly, his hand reaching for the sword at his side.

"Not likely," Will replied. "If they were, we'd have heard them by now..."

"Spartan?" Jory questioned the tall soldier, before turning to look at Will, who was now whipping his head around, fear in his eyes. "Calm down, lad!" He hissed lowly. "Don't give them away, or they'll likely charge us!"

"What if it's **_them_**?!" Will asked, barely whispering, his voice beginning to rise in panic, before the Spartan suddenly broke his frankly frightening silence.

"Not likely," He began. "Judging from what Will's told us, as well as what I've heard from the rest of you, these White Walkers have the ability to reanimate corpses. The dead give off far less body heat than living people do, and what I'm picking up has heat signatures reading within humanly tolerable levels."

Jon looked at him incredulously. "Master Chief... are you saying you can feel the warmth of other people's bodies?"

"Technically, it's the suit and Cortana doing the feeling," He corrected. "Though my experience helps. Also, given the fact that transportation via flight is presumably nonexistent everywhere else on this planet, it's a likely assumption that our arrival could have alerted any locals to our position. Will, are there any nearby settlements which could've spotted us?"

"A few are around here, sir," Will replied as he nodded, his nerves seeming to return to him. "But they're miles away. They couldn't have been fast enough to get this far so quickly, though-no horse can run that fast."

"...Cover your ears," The Spartan spoke plainly, pulling his weapon from his back and into his hands, and without further warning, aimed it into the air and-

And then Jon's ears nearly burst. The term that he, his father, Robb, and Theon had coined to describe the master Chief's armaments suddenly seemed all too unworthy of what assailed his ears. The only way the bastard could describe it was like raging thunder joined with all the roaring of some terrible beast, except tenfold times louder. From what little he could gather from the ringing in his ears, it was a rapid repetition of the noise, too. Most of the other Stark men were similarly stunned, Jory and Will included. When the Spartan had mercifully stopped firing the damn thing, he spoke aloud in a voice which everyone in the clearing could hear. "This is Spartan-117 of the UNSC _Forward Unto Dawn_, acting under the jurisdiction of Eddard Stark of Winterfell. To whoever is watching us, I am issuing one warning and one warning only: Come out of your hiding places and identify yourself immediately. If you do not comply, I will assume you are hostile and begin opening fire on your positions, t-minus ten seconds."

For several agonizing moments, Jon could hear commotion from the surrounding trees, no doubt the fellows who had been watching them. The crunching of snow here, the rustling of leaves and shifting of bushes there, but no voices to speak of. Jon's grip on his sword tightened, and he began to pull it from his sheath, when just before the Spartan's countdown ended, a strangely familiar voice shouted from nearby.

"Hold your fire! We are not your enemies!" The voice said, as a group of around ten rose out from their hiding places and came into the clearing. All of them were covered in black furs, which Jon realized was the trademark grab of the order he'd long admired-the black brothers of the Night's Watch. At this, Jon and the rest of the Stark men relaxed the grip on their weapons, though Will still seemed uneasy, for reasons obvious to them. The tallest among them, likely the leader, came forward and removed the black cowl from his face. It was then Jon readily recognized him.

"Benjen?" Jory asked, blinking. "Is that you?"

"It's been a while, Jory..." The man replied with a similarly incredulous look on his face, which only grew more confused when his eyes fell on Jon. "Nephew? What in seven hells are you doing here?"

"I've been sent alongside Jory on my father's orders," Jon replied, glad to see his uncle of all the men they could have encountered deep within these woods. Turning to the Spartan, who had by now lowered his thunder weapon, Jon explained. "Spartan, this is my uncle, Benjen Stark-First Ranger of the Night's Watch."

"...Apologies, sir," The soldier stoically replied, now fully returning his rifle behind his back, to everyone's relief.

"None taken," Benjen replied with a nod. "You do well to keep your guard up in these woods. I am curious, though, as to what kind of man you are that you bring Stark men nine days ride north of the Wall... to say nothing of **_how_ **you got here." He looked warily at the pelican, before he shook his head. "Old Gods keep me, if I didn't know myself how little we Starks hold to folly, I'd half a mind to have thought my brother mad when he sent the raven all those weeks ago. I take it you're the Spartan, then?"

"Affirmative," The tall soldier confirmed.

"Wait, what raven, exactly?" Jon asked confusedly. He was under the impression his father was rigorously trying to keep the news of the Spartan's existence a secret. "And how do you know of Master Chief?"

"If you're referring to your father's policy on secrecy," Benjen began, "He sent ravens to the high lords of the North informing them of just what was going on down in Winterfell. He ordered them to maintain and enforce the secrecy of the Fallen Star and of all it's... contents, so as to choke any rumors or reports both within and without of the North. If he'd just tried to not tell anyone, sooner or later the other lords would have found out of their own volition, regardless. He even sent a raven to Castle Black, as I'd said before, for my hands as well as Commander Mormont's only."

Although Jon couldn't read any of the Spartan's facial expressions beneath his helm, he could visibly see the man stiffen at the revelation. His uncle must have seen the gesture, and gave him an assuring look. "Worry not, Spartan. My brother gave only a general, brief description of you and yours to both myself and presumably the rest of the Northern lords. It's what he wrote in the letter, at least. "

"...Understood," The Spartan replied in his steely tone, though Jon could see some tiredness pinching at it.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Benjen continued. "Now, I do not mean to be rude to a guest under my brother's roof, but I believe I must ask again what brings you north of the Wall. What is it that is so important up here for you that you'd bring both the captain of my brother's guard as well as my own nephew to accompany you?"

The next person to speak was not the Spartan, to Jon's surprise, but Will-his voice meek and his shoulders slumped. "I can explain, ser. I's the one who brought them here."

"...Will?" Benjen asked after turning to the deserter, eying his former comrade in confusion. "Seven hells, lad, what's happened to you? I hardly recognized you for a moment. Where are Ser Royce and Gared? The Old Bear sent you out nigh on three weeks ago, and we hadn't heard any word of you since..." His words faded on his lips as he turned to look between Jory, Jon, and finally the Spartan, before turning his gaze back to Will, his face hardening into something only a Stark could muster. "What have you done?"

Will's eyes, though filled with fear, did not falter in the face of his superior officer. "I... broke my oath," He admitted remorsefully. "Me, Gared, and Ser Royce... when we found those wildlings... we found somethin' else." And so Will told his tale to the First Ranger; of the mutilated corpses of the wildlings, the noises in the forest, and the encounter with the Other. To his credit, the deserter told it exactly as he had when he'd told the Spartan the first time. He didn't shirk from the fact he had deserted his post, though there was clear regret in his eyes as he spoke. "I... I know I must sound mad to you, milord... but that's what I saw. And I won't be changing it to save me own skin."

When Will had finished, Benjen's gaze did not fall from his former comrade. His eyes were still hard and grim, Jon could see-but they were not utterly unforgiving. "Aye, you did break your oath, but you've a stock above most who desert, Will. You were brave to tell me all this, and... in light of what you've told me, I can imagine why even you would run."

"You believe him, then, Uncle Benjen?" Jon asked.

"It's hard to say what there is to believe, but I've known Will too long to think he'd desert his post lightly. I know he's a good and loyal lad, a sadly rare thing among our numbers." Benjen admitted. "You and Gared were right to think of turning back-and Royce was a young, bloody fool to not have thought the same. I think the Old Bear would regret having put him in command. And if my brother is willing enough to send you out on this venture to confirm it... well, Ned isn't a man to take stock in fancies. Not to mention we've strange enough goings on out here as it is."

"Strange how, exactly?" The Spartan asked in his stoic monotone.

"Well, there's Mance Rayder gathering the wildling tribes under his command as the King Beyond the Wall, firstly. Then there's reports of whole wildling villages being deserted. The direwolf packs in the Haunted Forest are moving strangely, and we've word from Shadow Tower that there are huge fires in the Frostfangs, blazing from dusk until dawn. And, as my family is so oft to say-winter is coming."

Jon thought for a fleeting moment on the dead mother whose pups they had taken to Winterfell not long ago. No direwolf had been seen south of the Wall for at least a century. That one could have come so close to Winterfell was unnerving, and not just to Jon. It had actually helped influence his father's decision into allowing the Spartan to take Will past the Wall to investigate anything which could enlighten them of the situation beyond the Seven Kingdoms.

It seemed they'd stumbled onto something, alright.

"So, both Royce and Gared met their ends here..." Benjen muttered as he looked to the ground, noting the blood spattered on the snow, and the shriveled gore when the Spartan showed him it. "Not a trace left aside from this. But we've other concerns beyond these, I fear. We are not the only folk near, you understand."

The words hung in the air, before Will spoke. "Wildlings? But... I thought you said they was all leavin' the villages?"

[**_BGM: Halo Reach- Lone Wolf_**]

"They were. We've been tracking a rather large group of free folk-fifty, or so-coming from the west, out of the Skirling Pass from the Frostfangs. Armed to the tooth, and they seemed to be looking for something."

"Are they close by, sir?" The Spartan asked automatically. "Can you confirm they're hostile?"

"More than likely, they're still half a day's march from us, I'm afraid," Benjen replied grimly. "As for if they're hostile... well, the Night's Watch and the free folk have never been on amiable terms. Armed as we'd seen of them, that alone would've been cause for worry. But the man leading them? He won't be giving us a warm welcome."

"The King Beyond the Wall?" Jory guessed, to which Jon's uncle gave a dark scoff.

"If it were, I might have actually risked attacking them head-on if it meant I could kill him. No, 'tis not Mance. Mance wears a cloak of black furs and red silk, and is clad in black mail. This man, I fear, girdles himself in only brown furs and is layered in armor he fashioned himself with bones-with a giant's skull for a helm." Benjen spat in the snow at his feet. "Rattleshirt. A treacherous and blood-thirsty beast if ever there was one. More than one of my brothers' bones adorn his armor."

"Do you think he'll have seen us landin'?" Will asked, worry-but not fear, Jon noted-in his voice.

"If I were a summer child, I'd have said no and be done with it. Sadly, I don't think the gods will give us such a mercy."

"Then come with us, Uncle," Jon spoke up and offered. "With the Spartan's vessel, we can carry you and your men back to Castle Black. Master Chief, can you carry this many?"

"It'll be a tight fit, but I think it can manage," the Spartan affirmed, then turned back to Benjen. "Sir, if I may, I second your nephew's suggestion. You and your men are outnumbered. My pelican can extract you back to your stronghold in around an hour or two, with all your men on board."

"A generous offer," The First Ranger admitted, before slowly shaking his head. "But I'm afraid I can't. The Old Bear tasked me with finding out just why the bone-covered bastard is out here, leading a war-party as he is. I can't fall back now with my mission unfulfilled."

Jon could not help but admire his uncle for his dedication to his oath-sworn duty, especially in the face of such bleak odds. But it was precisely because of those odds that he feared for him. Wildlings or no, if fifty armed men were to assault the small band of black brothers... he'd be outnumbered more than three to one. Jon turned to the Spartan, wondering what the soldier would do-he had not yet ordered them back into the pelican. "What should we do, Master Chief?" He asked.

"...You said they were about half a day from here, correct, sir?" The tall warrior asked after a short silence.

"Perhaps less," Benjen confirmed.

"Then we best make sure we're ready to roll out the red carpet for them."


	12. Strange Bedfellows

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin, while Halo s property of 343 Industries and Microsoft Studios. Please support the official releases!

A/N: ...Still wondering if I could commission some fan-art. In any case, I've decided to make Spacebattles the debut point of my next chapter-possibly future chapters as well. In slightly unrelated news, anyone else PUMPED for Season 5 this year?!

The journey out of the Frostfangs had been a perilous one for their group. Each night had given no comfort for the fifty free-folk making their way through the snow, as all knew of the dangers of banding off from Mance's army of thousands. With winter-_true _winter-on it's way, the icy gales from far north bit a man to his bones, even when laden with furs. And with the enemy they faced, they had to keep fires burning all throughout the night. And yet... not once had they encountered those demons in the dark.

Ygritte didn't like it. Each night they had journeyed through the endless sea of forest, they'd been shooting their eyes all around, waiting and knowing that a dark shape would come out of the shadows of the trees in the misty night. But not once had they done so. Each night was just only filled with unbearable, utter silence. She felt that mayhaps those damned monsters were simply stalking them, waiting for them to let their guard down.

Had it been any other of their folk, the girl kissed by fire wagered they'd have all gutted the man ordering them on this fool's errand. But all knew Mance had good reason to ask it of them to find the Horn of Winter. They knew the bloody crows would likely never let them past their Wall without the threat of something toppling it down. ...Given how desperate their situation was, Ygritte figured they might just have no other choice. At least, no choice which didn't involve some crow-slaughtering.

For more than two weeks they searched, in the old burial grounds and the abandoned villages, trying to find anything vaguely matching the tales of it. Fruitless they were, but the Lord of Bones pushed them on, further and further southeast... until they'd caught sight of that shape flying in the sky.

She'd been up in one of the tall pines, getting their bearing straight as they looked for the next spot, when she had seen it coming from the south. A great, massive shape coming from the horizon like some great fowl of the air, landing in the woods further south. She'd all but free-fell to the ground as she rushed down like a squirrel to tell them what she saw.

The Lord of Bones had scoffed. "You're mad, girl. Has keeping watch in the night finally gotten to ya? 'Haps if you'd have had someone to warm you up at night, you'd be less of a frightened thing." He leered at her from beneath his skull helmet with a disgusting glint in his eyes, to which Ygritte scowled.

"I know what I saw," She insisted. "You think I'd lie about something like this out here, with Mance counting on us?"

Their leader merely snorted at that. "If he brings that thing down, how do you reckon we hide from the Walkers? Besides, our 'King' don't need some bloody horn to topple the Wall. We'll just march over there and gut them fucking crows if they don't let us over."

"And if that fails?" She argued. "He doesn't need to topple it-just convince the crows he'll use it if they don't let us by. We try to just brute force it, the kneelers from south'll march to help the crows, and then we'll be done."

"And what do this flying thing have anything to do with it?" The Lord of Bones asked derisively. "You think it has the horn?"

"Course not. But if it were something of ours, don't you think Mance'd tell us? If them crows have something like that, we need to know what it is if they decide to use it against us. And if it don't belong to the crows... all the more reason."

The words did not need to be spoken. They were the only ones this far out, and for whatever it was, if anyone other than them had that thing, there was no telling what kind of trouble it could be. The Lord of Bones grunted. "Fine, we'll go. But if this whole thing ends up a waste of time, I'll have my way with you before I slit your throat as red as your hair."

"You can try, surely," She shrugged.

That was hours ago, though, and now it was nearly dark as they moved further and further south, towards the place she'd seen the great shape descends into the trees. She reckoned it was close now-close enough that she and the rest thought it best to scout ahead before moving. A wiry fellow was picked for the task, and all of them readied their weapons as they waited for him to return. The sun had almost completely set over the horizon when he made his way back, his footsteps as quiet as the falling snow.

"Well?" The Lord of Bones asked him the moment he'd caught his breath, "Was it there?"

"Aye," The man nodded. "Don't know what the 'ell it is, but it's bloody 'uge. Looks like it's metal, or sumthin'."

"Metal?" Another wondered. "How can metal fly?"

"You think... you think it were a dragon? Like the ones the wise women keep talkin' about?"

"'Course not, you bloody fool," Another spoke up. "Them stupid kneelers went and killed 'em all years ago."

"Shut it!" The Lord of Bones hissed, before turning back to their scout. "Were there anyone there?"

"Just one, by the looks of it," The man replied, though there was an unsure look in his eyes. "Looked strange, that one. 'e 'ad a fire going all by 'is lonesome in the clearin' nearby, that metal 'eap right by him. Was warein' some strange armor."

Just one man this far north the Wall? Something sounded off to Ygritte. But the Lord of Bones had other ideas. "Just one, eh...?" Their leader said with a cruel look on his face. "Right, then. Let's get this over with before dark. Gutting one man don't seem too much trouble."

"Something's not right," Ygritte voiced. "A man doesn't journey on his own out in these woods."

"You're the one who said we should come out here, and now we are," He retorted with a snort. "You afraid of one man, Ygritte?"

[**Halo Wars OST: _Best Guess At Best_**]

She glared daggers at him for that. "No. But if we want that thing he has, we'll need him alive." She knew with something that could fly through the air as big as that, Mance could take the Wall form the front of the Wall and the back much easier than otherwise. With not another word, she strung her bow, and all fifty of their band brandished cold iron as they strode towards the tree-topped hill which separated them from the clearing.

* * *

"You _really _think this is a good idea?" Cortana asked within Chief's helmet as the two of them-well, one of them, technically-sat just outside the pelican, a faux camp fire blazing beside them. The suit John wore would have of course rendered the Spartan all but impervious to the cold, and his augmentations had given him perfect night vision, but she could wager he was going for authenticity. After all, he was going to the trouble of actually negotiating with the quote unquote 'savages'.

"These people will likely know much more about the situation up here than not," John replied plainly. "And if my hunch is right-which, for once, I'm really hoping it isn't-we'll need intel to counter whatever made Will turn tail and run."

"I suppose you're right, but I doubt the Flood would be here," Cortana's voice sighed. "If it were, it would have already spread and assimilated everything on this planet long before we got here. And I can say with confidence none hitchhiked a ride with us from the Ark, so that possibility is out. Add the fact that the Gravemind blew up along with said Installation, and I think we can rule out the Flood."

"Point taken," Chief conceded.

"...Ugh, you're still not convinced, are you?"

"On the Flood, yes. But whatever is out here, these people have allegedly faced before, thousands of years ago. And if those stories have any truth to them, then we need to know just what we're-"

But then Cortana felt the need to cut him off. "Chief, fifty-two heat signatures coming north-by-northeast."

The Spartan's attention turned to his HUD, and lo and behold, dozens of figures came out from the high hill, approaching straight towards his position.

"Well, let's hope these guys are more friendly then Benjen said they were," Cortana sighed.

"That's what the contingency plan is for," John replied.

Laying on the ground in the snow and hiding in amidst frost-covered shrubbery was nothing new for Will, having gone on hundreds of rangings in his time with the Night's Watch. But considering he would have thought himself dead at this point, he didn't think he'd be doing it ever again. Then again, he still had no clear idea what he was in for following this Spartan fellow around. Now he and his former black brothers were all hiding in the thickets south of the clearing, watching with trepidation as the large group of wildlings stepped out slowly towards the great flying machine and the Spartan. The Stark men were positioned inside the flying machine-both groups waiting in total silence to catch the wildlings unprepared.

Apparently, the strange soldier had actually wanted to avoid an outright fight with the wildlings, instead saying he'd want to talk with them and see if there were truth to what Will himself had said. Of course Lord Benjen had protested, stating Rattleshirt would have killed the Master Chief before talking to him, or perhaps try to take him prisoner-which, Will realized, might have been terrible for the Night's Watch. Yet somehow, the Spartan had convinced them he was more than capable of handling himself, and in a move which made more sense to Will, had come up with a rather clever strategy. If the wildlings proved hostile, which Will undoubtedly though was certain, the Stark men would rush out and surprise them, and once their attention was focused on them, the Night's Watch would burst out from their spots and add a second ambush to the chaos so they could bugger the savages in their bear-pelted arses.

If the plan worked, then their out-manned numbers could force the larger group into retreat-perhaps even surrender.

Lord Benjen beside him, both eyed the scene unfolding out in the open. Several of his former brothers gave him dark looks, but the First Ranger had warned them not to cause trouble-t'was the Spartan who would ultimately render justice to Will. That, too, depended on what the soldier could learn from the wildlings. By peace or force, if they told the Spartan of the Walkers... he doubted his brothers would give him those dark looks for long.

* * *

John did not so much as move from his sitting position by the fire as the band of wildlings strode towards him, not charging, but with their weapons out. Spears, axes, and even a few swords were what most carried, though there was at least one who had a bow slung over her shoulder. Apparently, they were under the impression he was alone, and that simply showing him their numbers and weapons were enough to cow him.

[**Halo 3 ODST OST: _We're the Desperate Measures_**]

Oh, how woefully wrong they were. He honestly thought that it would take less than half a minute for him to eliminate the lot of them; but the killing of human beings, even if necessary at times, was neither something he took lightly nor something he relished. Which was why he'd changed out his Assault Rifle for the M90 Shotgun now in his lap. Or, more specifically, he changed out the firearm which he'd loaded with blank rounds to the one he'd loaded with rubber buck-shot.

Given the grossly archaic level of technological sophistication that the inhabitants of the planet were stuck with, John had come to the conclusion that the outright use of lethal ammunition in all but the most necessary of circumstances was absolutely out of the question. With no foreseeable rescue or resupply, the Spartan was under no delusions that his resources were, while miraculously sizable, still lacking in any method of replenishment. Every shot he took had to count, because it was extremely unlikely he could get more.

Which was why he'd loaded his weapons primarily with non-lethal rounds. The blanks he'd used in his Assault Rifle did not actually fire bullets, but had still replicated the thunder-like noise and flash of standard fire. Which had worked like a charm bringing Benjen and his men out into the open earlier that day. Now, however, he'd need something a little more physical in case these so-called wildlings got... well, wild. The M90 Close Assault Weapon System was one of the UNSC's staple firearms for front-line fire-fights, to be sure, but it also had extensive use in law enforcement, being especially effective in riot situations. It's spread range made it an ideal weapon for close-quarters combat, capable of taking down multiple enemy infantry in a single shot in the right circumstances. As John considered using the Soellkraft 8 Gauge Shell both unacceptable and blatantly unnecessary in this situation, he'd instead loaded it with what law enforcement were more than likely to use when dealing with civilians-the aforementioned rubber buck-shot. Each round was loaded with tiny rubber balls which were specifically designed not to break the surface of the skin, making them ultimately negligible in their capacity to cause someone harm.

Which in no way shape or form lessened the fact that they hurt like foxtrot hell.

So, as he was being approached by the newly arrived guests, he didn't feel worried-he didn't even tense up at the sight of them. The fact that he was a trained soldier who had to be prepared for anything had little bearing-he knew that he was simply in that much control of the situation that it did not warrant being overly aggressive. He just sat there, tuning his head to meet their gazes at him, until all of them were in the clearing. One of them, a man covered in what appeared to be a crude and ugly suit of armor comprised of bone, strode towards him with a heavy one-handed axe in his hand, until he stood in front of John, looking down on him. The latter guessed this was the one Benjen had called Rattleshirt. He began speaking to the super-soldier in a rough dialect, "Well, well. A hunter out in the woods by his lonesome. Brave of you to be coming out here this far of the Wall, kneeler."

"Oh, joy," Cortana invoiced within John's helmet so only he could hear. "This guy already sounds like a barrel of laughs."

Chief simply chose to reply to the brute in his usually formal tone. "I get that from time to time. You can put away your weapons-I don't want any trouble for either of us."

Rattleshirt snorted. "Then how about that thing you've got in your hands?"

"I will admit, it's a weapon, but you don't need to worry about that. As I said, I'd like to avoid hurting any of you. If possible, I'd actually like to speak with you."

"Ha! Doesn't want to hurt us, he says! Seems to me, you miserable fucking cunt, you don't quite know how much shit you're in. We free-folk don't do things the way you southerners do. When we see something we want, we take it. And that big thing of yours," He pointed towards the pelican with his axe, "That'd seem mighty useful if it can really fly. I think I and my lads would like it."

"Really?" John asked in a dry tone. "Can you pilot it?"

"The fuck you say?" The ruffian hissed at him.

"Can you. Make it. Fly?" John clarified, truly like he were trying to explain it to a child. "I'd think a person who wanted something would at least know how to use it."

"You piss-blooded bastard!" Rattleshirt spat. "You fucking kneelers think your so damn clever, don't you?!" He shook his axe right in front of Chief's face, to which the Spartan didn't even flinch.

One of the wildlings, the woman with the bow, seemed to be more noticeable to John's calm in the face of Rattleshirt's threats, as well as how he gripped his shotgun. "Lord of Bones..." She said in a warning tone.

"Shut it, bitch!" The bone-covered lout sneered before turning his attention back to John. "Well, let's see if your clever enough to reason this: I and the rest of these folk are rather weary from our hike through these woods, and last I checked, there's fifty of us here, and only your lonely, sorry arse. So how about you show us how it works so we can be on our fucking way? Maybe, just maybe, I won't gut you like the shit you are."

For a moment, Chief was silent, before he decided to finally stand up, making sure he was slow so as to both not startle them with sudden movement, but also to accentuate the effect of how tall he was compared to them. And by the looks on their faces, as they began to widen their eyes at his sheer height, it was working. "...On account of ignorance on your part, I'll let that much go. As I had stated before, I don't want any trouble. What I need is information on the White Walkers."

A deathly silence fell over the wildlings-the kind of silence which told him that the subject was something they did not wish to speak of, as though it were some kind of boogeyman.

Which told Chief quite a bit already.

"And what concern are they to you?" The woman with the bow asked cautiously.

"That depends if they're real or not. A deserter from the Night's Watch has told me he's encountered one here in the forest, and while I'm willing to believe him, I need proof that he's telling the truth."

"So a crow went stray after seeing one?" She said neutrally. "Perhaps if you know them crows, you'd know of the fires we burn in the night, of how we've been forced from our homes, and of how the beasts of the wood are stricken with fear."

"I have heard of them," He acknowledged with a nod.

"And what do you believe?"

"What I believe is not important. What is important is understanding if they are a threat. My duty is to protect mankind from the forces which would threaten it. If the White Walkers are deemed as such, then it's my duty to fight them. And the best way I can understand that is if you can tell me if it's true or not."

For another long moment, there was silence again amongst the wildlings, all eyes upon John, with varying levels of uncertainty, caution, and fear in their eyes. Finally, the woman approached him as well. "So you fight for the side of the living, then, is that it?"

"I'd like to think so," John said dryly.

"If you expect us to trust you, you must be one of us. Come with us back to Mance, and I think you'd be welcome to see for yourself."

John shook his head. "No. This intel would be vital for everyone south of the Wall, as well. If I can get proof to the south, they can fight alongside you-"

"Will you listen to this bloody idiot?" Rattleshirt growled. "Them crows and the kneelers of the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't help us, and we ain't going to bend and scrape even if they could." He raised his axe once more. "I've wasted enough time with you, kneeler."

To be honest, John's patience with the man was growing thin, as well. "And I won't warn you again-put the axe down, or I'll be forced to assume you mean trouble."

"Really, now?" He asked mockingly. "What about me having fifty and you having only one do you not understand, you freak?"

"If you choose to strike him, Lord of Bones, I won't be helping you," The woman said. "Strange though it be for me to say it, but something tells me the man speaks the truth."

"Damn coward, you are, Ygritte," Rattleshirt sneered. "Are any of you cunts man enough to help me gut this bastaAAURGH-!"

But he didn't get the chance to finish his sentence, as the Chief had shot one hand out to grab the man by the throat, making sure not to exert too much force. Easily lifting Rattleshirt up into the air with legs flailing, arms dropping the axe and fruitlessly trying to pry the Master Chief's almost literally robotic grip on his neck. The Mjolnir Mark VI multiplied John's already superhuman capabilities to the point he could easily tear through various metals. Had he been seriously trying to kill the man, he could have exerted more than enough force to snap the man's neck, crush his trachea and jugular, or possibly outright decapitate him. "Now, I'm going to let go of you three seconds after I'm done talking. When I do, I suggest you be a little more cooperative. Got it?"

Rattleshirt could only gurgle and vainly wheeze for air in response. John waited exactly three seconds before unceremoniously letting him drop to the cold ground, which Rattleshirt spent gasping for precious oxygen to his lungs.

"Now," John continued, "Are you going to tell me about the White Walkers or not?"

"As I'd said before," The woman called Ygritte continued, "You want our trust, you'd have to earn it. How do we know you won't betray us to the crows when we let our guard down?"

"Because if I wanted that, I'd have already done it," He said in a plain but nevertheless potent tone, before he stepped back to the pelican, knocking on the hatch door, and then suddenly whistling in the air. With an audible hiss, the door opened, and to the shock and apprehension of the wildlings, out stepped the detachment from Winterfell, Jon Snow and Jory Cassel amongst them. Their faces would only darken further as they saw the black-cloaked men appearing from the thicket, Benjen Stark and Will front and center. Both parties had responded to the Spartan's specified signals.

"Starks and fucking crows!" Rattleshirt bellowed furiously, now having regained his footing as well as his breath. "You're all bloody dead, you hear-?!"

"_**HOLD IT!**_"

Coming to the conclusion that simply firing his shotgun in the air to drown out any hostility would have likely only make the wildlings panic, Chief had chosen a rare approach. Very seldom did John-117 speak up beyond his usual stoic monotone, but whenever he did, he would always look back to the example of Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez; the man who had forged John and the rest of his fellow Spartan-II's into the most disciplined, capable, and tough-as-nails soldiers the UNSC had ever produced. The man had been an unshakable rock in John's childhood, and even now, decades since he had last heard of his former mentor, he looked to his instruction and example for guidance.

Because when Mendez barked out orders to any soldier, that soldier did as he was goddamned told. There was no exception, even out here in a backwards planet stuck out in the middle of God-knows-what end of the galaxy. The wildlings and men of the Night's Watch, who were about on the verge of roaring to draw first blood, had all stopped dead in their tracks, all eyes upon the Chief.

"As I have stated several times," He continued in a calm voice which nevertheless commanded authority and brokered no argument, "I'm not here to cause trouble. I had these gentlemen waiting in case you proved hostile. The fact that I chose to hold them back this long as well as prevent them from ambushing you should be proof enough that I'm not doing this for them. I highly suggest you not make me regret this act of goodwill."

With their cover blown, the Night's Watch men's had lost the element of surprise, leaving them exposed and vulnerable to the wildlings' superior numbers. Even with the Stark men, they were outnumbered more than two to one.

Now, Chief knew, would be the moment of truth. If the wildlings would stand down, then negotiating an exchange of intel could finally get under way. But if they wouldn't...

He was going to have to do more than just get them with rubber buck shot. As uncomfortable and reluctant as he was to do it towards fellow human beings, if lethal force was necessary, he would not shirk from the task at hand.

The air was think with a long, painfully silent tension, before Ygritte lowered her bow slowly, though her arrow was still knocked on the string. "I still don't trust you... but Mance would've listened, were he here, I suppose."

"Are you daft, woman?!" The Lord of Bones screeched. "You bloody mad?! These bastards need killing, before they kill us!"

"I've half a mind to agree with you, Rattleshirt," Came the voice of Benjen Stark, sheathing his sword but giving a glare at the thug which was just as sharp. "But if my brother can trust the Spartan, so shall I-and if what Will here said to me is true," He gestured to his former comrade, who, with fear in his eyes but bravery in his stance, stood beside Benjen, "...Then the enemy I dread will not be you."

The rest of the Night's Watch men as well as the Stark guards warily put their weapons away, though the truce John had somehow managed between them seemed to hang on a razor's edge. When the wildlings likewise seemed to calm down, John ushered Will, Jory Cassel, and Benjen Stark over to him. It now all depended on the deserter's testimony for the entire operation to succeed. Slowly, but without hesitation in his step, the young man stepped forward, as did the captain of Eddard Stark's guard and the First Ranger.

"Alright, Will," John said in a firm but not harsh tone, "Tell them what you saw."


	13. Kill the Crow, and let the Eagle be Born

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin. Halo is property of 343 Industries and Microsoft. Please support the official release!

A/N: Almost _six-hundred favorites_, and MORE than **_seven-hundred followers_**. Holy shitaki mushrooms, I could not have dreamed of having this story become so popular. Thanks for the support, guys-for your support, a new chapter dished out in record time!

Now, I know I'm being repetitive here, but does anyone have any idea for what I can use for cover art for this fic? Maybe something like a banner, or some fanart of Chief in a honkin' huge fur cloak with a huge sword on his back? Or Jon Snow with an Energy Sword? 'Cause that would be friggin' AWESOME.

* * *

The flight back to Castle Black was vastly slower for the party of Northmen, what with Benjen Stark's men also aboard the so-called 'pelican'. True to the Spartan's word, it was a tight fit in the back of the Spartan's flying machine. The rangers, who had been out in the Haunted Forest for more than a week, were offered the seats for the ride back-while the more fresh and able Stark soldiers stood in the space between the two rows-to which they were grateful. The strange, comforting warmth within the vessel was a welcome change to the long, cold marches that was their usually only means of traversing the cold north.

Not all of Will's former brothers were there, though, as some remained afoot to lead their horses back to the Wall. The garrons and Lord Benjen's war horse were too many and too large to fit in the flying machine, and Will had a distinct feeling the Spartan would not appreciate their droppings soiling the otherwise unworldly clean, metallic flooring. To hasten their march home, the Spartan had proposed to Benjen and the Stark captain that their joined company should take turns shifting men to steer the horses, giving the more tired men time to rest within the warmth of the pelican, while fresher men could replace them aground. They gave their horses only enough time to rest and to eat, the Spartan pressing their group onwards even in the midst of night. Will and the others had thought him daft, as even with a full moon out, it was a fool's errand to march in the dark. The enigmatic warrior had merely flicked a switch of sorts at the helm of his vessel, which caused two great lights to flash to life on either wing. They proved to be sufficient to lead the horses even in the dark, but between the noise, the strange movements caused by their flying in the air, and the nervous tension which gripped them prevented them or the horses from getting much sleep.

Indeed, it was not a pleasant trip for any and all, between their uncomfortable lack of familiarity to their situation... and what had transpired in the clearing.

After Will had told his tale to the wildlings, all were perturbed by how grim they had become at the mention of his encounter with the supposed Other. While the free-folk had not chosen to directly answer the question upon everyone's lips, the fear evident in their eyes was more than enough to dispel the dark looks the men of the Night's Watch had given him prior.

But even the Spartan's miraculous power to negotiate that uneasy truce with the wildlings had its limits. They had refused to take him to wherever it was they were marshaling at, to which the Spartan consented, saying he reluctantly understood their mistrust. He had instead offered to meet them on their own terms.

"Talk with your King Beyond the Wall," He had said simply. "Tell him what you've seen, and I'll do the same for Jeor Mormont." He then handed something to the girl whose hair seemed kissed by fire. "Should you decide to, find someplace you consider neutral ground. Use this when you need me, and I'll arrange a meeting. Bring as many as you deem necessary-you'll see me coming."

After that, the wildlings left without causing trouble. Though Rattleshirt had given dark looks, one glance at the green giant was enough cause for him to turn around with only a cursing mutter. After that, the Spartan insisted they begin heading south to the Wall, to which Lord Benjen agreed. Master Chief's idea had worked, alright-the ride south took hardly four days. They were all tired and more than a little agitated, and the horses were run near ragged by the end of it, but the Spartan's help made the somewhat forced march much more bearable, as the warmth of the vessel, the somewhat comfortable chairs, and the chances to rest and eat at ease had given them the energy to accomplish it.

Once they were within a league of the Wall, Benjen insisted he and his fellow rangers continue the rest of the way on foot. Will figured a part of the reason was because Lord Stark's usual penchant for honor, as they had burdened the Spartan's vessel long enough. But he wagered also that the sight of the Spartan's flying machine would be slightly less terrifying to the brothers at Castle Black if it were accompanied by a group of returning rangers. What had surprised Will was when Benjen asked if he would join with them.

"So..." Will asked with a resigned tone, though he found himself at peace as he spoke. "I'm to be brought in as a deserter, then?"

Lord Benjen shook his head. "I said before, Will-your judgement is the Spartan's task. It is true, you broke your oath. However..." He did not need to finish. What they had heard in that meeting with the wildlings had blunted the judgment in the eyes of Will's former black brothers. "It would seem the gods still have use for you. And if your tale is indeed true... we may need you as well."

[**BGM: Game of Thrones Season 1 - _The Kingsroad_**]

So Will rode behind Lord Stark upon the latter's courser, and once more Will heard a sound he'd thought he'd never hear again-the single horn blow signaling those upon the Wall and those down at Castle Black of returning rangers. The Spartan's pelican flew close by, but not so close that it would frighten the horses. The great iron gates mounted upon the base of the Wall's icy, stalwart curtain rose up, and the band rode their horses under the Wall, in the tunnel Will had passed through so many hundreds of times over the last four years. And when they came out the other side, Will almost wanted to cry as he saw the familiarity of the place he'd called home since he first swore his vows-Castle Black.

A number of those he once called brothers were there awaiting them, though he'd noticed how more of them were more frantically focused on the massive shape flying down at the southern fringe of the castle grounds, the Spartan's flying machine far too large to land in any part of the castle grounds. When the Spartan had taken him to Winterfell in what he realized was less than a week ago, he'd been just as in awe, and likely just ask fearful, of that wondrous contraption. But such could be said of all things the Spartan had shown him-from the man himself, the strange armor he wore, the deafening, roaring weapons of thunder he wielded, and the four-wheeled contraption he had called a mongoose.

"See?" One of his brothers hollered aloud. "I told you it came right over us! Me and Sims both saw it comin' right over the Wall! 'Course, then he went and fainted..."

"Oi!" Another snapped, "I did not faint! Something knocked me out!"

"Cut the yappin', ladies!" An older, gruffer brother barked. "First Ranger's back!"

Benjen dismounted from his horse, Will and the rest of the rangers not far behind him. Several of the gathered brothers took charge of the horses, leading the tired mounts back to their stables. Meanwhile, the hatch to the pelican's rear door opened once more, and Will watched as the denizens of Castle Black marveled at the Stark men filing out, and seeing the Spartan follow out behind them.

"What's all this, then?" Came a voice of stubborn authority, one Will recognized all too well. The courtyard became silent as the imposing figure of Jeor Mormont descended from a flight of stairs, and eying both the Spartan's group as well as the rangers under Lord Benjen's lead... and then his eyes were on him. But the Lord Commander spoke to the gawkers, shouting at them to return to their duties, to which they obeyed, though it did not stop them from eying the Spartan or his flying machine. The Old Bear then approached Benjen, clasping the First Ranger's forearm in greeting. "'Tis good to see you back, Benjen," He said gruffly, but not unkindly. "You look as though you've had an ill night."

"Several, actually. It's been a less than pleasant journey, Commander," He conceded. "But it was worth it, all things considered. We encountered our flying friend over there out in the haunted woods. Mysterious though he may be, he came to be a great boon for us."

The Old Bear turned his attention to the Spartan, now approaching their group alongside the Stark captain and the lordling Jon Snow. "Is that so?"

"Commander Mormont, I presume?" The Master Chief asked simply yet formally.

"Aye, I am he. You must be the Spartan that Lord Eddard sent a raven here for." The Lord Commander extended his hand to the soldier. "While your arrival was certainly unannounced, I do thank you for rendering my men aid. Welcome to Castle Black, Master Chief."

"Thank you, sir," The Spartan replied, extending his own hand and shaking the Commander's in a respectful manner. The gesture seemed to somehow lessen the mystery to the towering figure. Despite how different he seemed to any man Will had ever seen, he was, at heart, a soldier. Perhaps he and others could come to understand him in this light.

Lord Benjen chose to speak once more, introducing the Spartan's companions. "Lord Commander, this is Jory Cassel, captain of my brother's household guard. The lad beside him, as you can gander from his look, is my nephew, Jon Snow."

"Anyone from Winterfell is a welcome face amongst the Night's Watch," The Old Bear said with an approving look to both Jory and Jon Snow. "Now come, you must all be weary from your journey. We'll have warm meals ready for you in the common hall." His eyes became hard. "And I imagine a great deal to tell."

* * *

"So you confess to deserting, then?" Came the harsh, accusing voice of Alliser Thorne, one of many of the senior officers of the Night's Watch present in the hall. While the Lord Commander had indeed offered them a warm-if simple-meal of salted potato stew and some greasy poultry, it became abundantly clear that his true intention was to have a report from beyond the Wall. It had been primarily meant for Benjen, at first, but that all changed when their accounts came together.

"Aye," Will admitted. Though he'd dreaded this moment for a long time, admitting his oathbreaking to his sworn brothers, there was now only a sense of acceptance, even relief, as he told his tale. "I ran. I know it was wrong, but I'm not going to lie to the Old Bear."

"And you think this little act of honesty will help you avoid the headsman's axe, is that it?" Thorne asked harshly.

"It's worked so far," The Spartan dryly quipped to the humorless master-of-arms. "Eddard Stark's men captured him in the hills near Winterfell. When he was to be executed, I heard out Will's story, and managed to convince them to let me take custody of Will."

"It's true, Lord Commander," Jory confirmed. "Afterwards, Lord Stark tasked myself and Jon here to accompany the Spartan beyond the Wall, to see if we could find any evidence which could support Will's story. Unfortunately, we found nothing. At least, at first."

"And I assume this is where you met their group, Benjen?" Mormont asked, his tone more reserved, yet not accusing.

"Aye," The First Ranger nodded. "Like you asked of me, I led a ranging northward to shadow Rattleshirt's movements. He had been leading some fifty wildlings to many of the old burial grounds, and each time he'd been searching for something-what, I cannot discern. We'd been following him for little over two weeks when we saw the Spartan's flying vessel coming a nine days' ride north of the Wall. I thought it prudent to investigate, and the rest I gather Jory and the Spartan here have already said."

"So we're to take the word of a confessed oathbreaker?" Thorne sneered. "Perhaps Lord Stark's judgment is to be questioned to permit a traitor's tale and a foreigner's word to sway him so." The slight towards Lord Stark instantly gave him dark looks from both Jory and Benjen, and Jon Snow looked about ready to draw his sword in his father's defense.

"Thorne," Mormont said warningly, "I suggest you leash your tongue better, lest these men be tempted to remove it." He turned back to the Spartan. "I would ask why you are so willing to believe him, Spartan."

"Because I've fought an enemy who can reanimate the dead, sir," The soldier replied plainly, yet the words set everyone in the room to silence. "And if these White Walkers exist, if they have even the most remote similarity to the enemy I faced before, then the importance of stopping them cannot be understated."

For a long moment, the silence which filled the room was almost deafening. The Old Bear's eyes were grim and serious as he stared at the Spartan, whom while still wearing that helmet of his, did not so much as flinch from his gaze. He then turned to the man at his side, Maester Aemon, whom had been silent throughout the entire conversation. "You've been quiet for some time, Maester. What have you to say on the matter?"

The shrunken old man of more than a hundred years had a pondering look in his otherwise blind eyes. Finally, in a voice that was soft yet nevertheless wizened, he spoke. "What can be said of a man who has come to us from the heavens? If the raven sent from Lord Stark is true, the Spartan came from the Fallen Star. And whilst I cannot pretend to know the affairs of such a man, I will say this-he speaks with more truth and conviction than any man I have ever met. He does not mean to deceive us. And neither does Will, I fear."

"And how did you gain this ability to know men, maester?" Thorne asked with skepticism.

"I grew up in King's Landing," Aemon replied simply.

"Will would not have abandoned his post lightly," Benjen added. "He and Gared were some of our best, and loyal to boot."

"Indeed," Mormont nodded ruefully. "And I was a fool to have Royce's son in command of the both of you. Lordling or no, he was as green as southron summer grass. Had you or Gared the choice, you would have known the danger, and would have done the wise thing by returning to the Wall."

"You believe me, Commander?" Will asked, an almost incredulous look on his face.

"I cannot say I entirely do, but Benjen is right in that you would not have fled because of mere wildlings. And if Aemon says you're telling the truth, I am willing to believe him. Further, considering the reports we've been hearing of late..." He shook his head, not finishing his sentence.

"The Starks are always right in the end," Aemon said. "This summer has lasted nine years-the longest Westeros has known. And yet, already I've received word from the Citadel; my fellow maesters tell that the days grow shorter. Winter is coming-and if there is any stock in the belief that a long summer yields to a longer winter... then this one shall be unlike anything we have ever known. Colder and harsher than all in living memory, where men may be born, grow, and come of age within the darkness. Who can say what may appear from the dark shadows from such a time? Perhaps the Fallen Star was a warning to us from the gods, to remind us of what is to come. Perhaps this Spartan has been brought to aid us in these strange times. After all, there are not many from south of the Wall who can treat with the free-folk in the manner you described."

"I thought they might know more about whatever Will saw than most others would, sir," The Master Chief replied evenly, though there was an evident amount of respect in the soldier's voice towards Aemon's wisdom.

"What reason is there in treating with savages?" Thorne asked with an unpleasant look. "Those wildlings want only to gut our throats, and this whole farce could be meant just for that."

"All due respect, sir, but compared to where I come from, you'd hardly be called civilized yourself." The Spartan's word were as dry as wind-licked ice, and the master-at-arms sneered venomously at the soldier, though the jape did not seem to offend much anyone else. Indeed, if anything, it only caused the others to ponder on his words, and how little seemed different from the free-folk and the men of the Seven Kingdoms when measured against the Spartan.

"Thorne does give a good point," Mormont conceded. "How can we trust the wildlings to meet us in peace on this?"

"I'll be the one transporting you to their agreed-upon location, as well as be there to ensure negotiations can be established. What is important is confirming whether or not the White Walkers are real. If they are, and prove hostile to humanity, it's my duty to stop them. As it may be your duty to stop this senseless fighting with the free-folk and unite in order to help me do that."

"Fight beside the wildlings?" Thorne snorted. "They can't be put in the same room without slitting each others open. And we've been fighting them for centuries-what makes you think we're to treat with them?"

"Aye, there is hatred between us," Benjen countered, "And we've neglected our true purpose because of it. We've manned the Wall since it's founding eight-thousand years ago, and yet we've all but forgotten why we watch upon it-lost sight of the true enemy we were meant to man it against."

"We've defended the Wall for a thousand generations and more, and you expect us to simply let those barbarians past the Wall, when our order's already weak as it is, all on the word of a traitor?"

"I do," The Spartan stated flatly. "Your entire organization equates to less than a thousand men, and there are even less men capable of actual battle. And all due respect, Commander, but the quality of those men are comparatively lackluster compared to what I've been told the Night's Watch once held."

Mormont had a look of begrudged conceding at the Spartan's words. "Yes, it's true we are but a shadow of what we once were. But Eddard Stark would call his banners to aid us if need be. From what I know, he is close friends to King Robert as well. If the Seven Kingdoms can be rallied to the Wall-"

"It may still not be enough," The Spartan cut him off, though not rudely. "You have no way of knowing how strong the enemy is, to begin with. And the sheer logistics of marching an army of such a size would be monumental given the lack of sophisticated roads or uniform supply trains, to say nothing on the political and economical cooperation required to make such a military campaign possible. Even then, if somehow that massive army were to successfully mobilize, the aforementioned lack of roads will hinder the speed in which they could come from so far south. And then, if they arrive in time, you then have to help feed them, garrison them into the castles along the Wall-all but three of which I understand to be derelict-and then coordinate them if an enemy attacks. Lastly, if the free-folk march on the Wall, you will not only be expending valuable resources in beating them back, but you also risk letting them be killed and possibly brought under the control of the White Walkers.

"So I'll ask you this, sir: are you more concerned with maintaining tradition, or are you more concerned with fulfilling your duty?"

The Spartan's words hung heavy in the air, and they seem to hit the Old Bear like a hammer, his eyes once more hard upon the Master Chief. He then rose up from his chair, standing upright. "Our order was founded thousands of years ago for one purpose and one purpose only-to guard the realms of men from the threats which lie beyond the Wall. We vow never to take wives, hold lands, nor father any children. We vow to never wear crowns nor win any glory. All this we do so that we may do our duty in protecting the Seven Kingdoms. Are you to say that allying ourselves with the wildlings is our duty?"

[**BGM: Halo 3 -_ Arrival; Luck_**]

"Sir, if the White Walker threat is real, letting the free-folk south of the Wall is the quickest and most inexpensive way to bolster your defenses, as well as helping to reduce casualties between your two forces and conserve your strength for the real threat. Hearing them out and understanding what is really going on up north is your first priority."

"And how is it we shall know where and when they would talk with us?" Mormont asked.

"I've given them the means to contact me when they wish to meet. I'll figure out their location and escort you there myself, as I've previously stated, sir."

The Lord Commander gave a sigh. "Very well. We will consider it, Spartan. But we will still need the Starks and King Robert's aid if all this is true. First Men, Andal, and Rhoynar must come together as one to have our best hope at stopping them... and we will need your aid, as well, Spartan. I know this is not your land, but we will need you still."

Without hesitation, the Master Chief stepped forward until he stood across from the table, facing Mormont. Extending his hand, he said simply, "My duty as a soldier is to defend humanity. Whether or not you and I are from other worlds make no difference to me."

"Then you are a man among ten-thousand, Spartan," Aemon said solemn voice. "Mormont is right-we will have need of your strength in the days to come. Though, there is still one matter that I feel should be addressed at this very moment. If Will's account for what has befallen his brother beyond the Wall is true, it is most fortuitous you managed to convince Lord Stark to not remove his head. What he saw may indeed be the key to stopping whatever is coming from the shadows far north. However..."

"It don't change the fact I broke my oath," Will finished. "If I was to be pardoned for that, then brought back into the Watch... then who's to stop someone else from doin' it? When'll be the next time someone screams of seein' White Walkers to escape the Wall?"

"Sorry as I am to say it, you speak truly, Will," Mormont said reluctantly. "I can't be giving men of lesser mettle cause to shirk from their duty. I wish it could be different, but if I bring you back in now, when our order is more of green boys and tired old men than anything else, there will be those who try to desert. We will need every man we can muster when winter truly comes-and we cannot afford our resolve to crumble before the enemy has even move. And yet despite this, we will still undoubtedly need you; the chopping block is a place I do not want you."

"So... what's to become of me?" Will asked, genuinely confused. "I can't come back to the Night's Watch, and yet you want me alive? I can't say I'll fair much better south of the Wall, and I'll not go over to Mance."

"True," Aemon admitted. "Even if you evaded the headsman's axe before, if you attempt to strike out on your own south, they will not show a deserter of the Night's Watch such a mercy again. Perhaps the Starks could take custody of you, but that is not for them to decide. Your fate, as Benjen and Jory Cassel has told us, is ultimately in the hands of the Spartan. The question is... where does that fate lead?" The question was not directed at Will, for he knew not the answer. Instead, all eyes were upon the Spartan, who seemed to ponder on the question for a moment, before he spoke the words that would change Will's life forever.

"If Will is my responsibility, then I will put him to good use on my own terms. As the acting presence of the United Nations Space Corps on this world, I hereby conscript Will as a member of the First Westeros Auxiliary Corps."


	14. John-117, Destroyer of Woods

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones nor Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin. George RR Martin is also the owner of the book series A Song of Ice and Fire, from which the TV series is based off of. Halo is property of 343 Industries and Microsoft. All subsequent characters, settings, concepts, lore, and other materials belong to their respective owners. Please support the official release!

Also, if you're wondering why I'm changing point of view within the same chapter again, I'm experimenting in how well I can do it to see if I can use it in the future. Beware, though-there is food porn. And... other shenanigans. Whelp, here we go... *deep breath*

* * *

"Fascinating..." Lady Cortana uttered as she examined the four direwolf pups in front of her. Arya watch in unabashed wonder as blue lines of lights ran across little Nymeria's body. The pup seemed a bit frightened by them, but Arya knew Lady Cortana would never harm the little thing. "These little guys can't be more than two weeks old, but they're already this big…?"

"Direwolves are said to be vastly large in size when full grown," Luwin offered her as he watched alongside herself, Bran, Rickon, and even Sansa. "It is likely that, like many animals of notable size, their offspring is comparatively larger than their more common cousins."

"Well, that I have no doubt, but from where me and Chief come from, direwolves were still smaller than this."

"Smaller than…?" Luwin blinked at her for a moment, before Rickon suddenly spoke up in excitement as he clumsily held his pup, Shaggydog, in his arms, the little fellow's hind legs dangling in the air, his forelegs poking straight forward where they met Rickon's arms.

"You have direwolves where you come from, Lady Cortana?!"

The luminous woman smiled at Arya's littlest brother. "Well, we did, but only a very long time ago. They sadly died out thousands of years ago."

The words seem to make Rickon deflate. "Oh… I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Rickon. You asked a very good question, and I simply answered."

"But… Old Nan tells us direwolves are so huge and strong," Arya asked in confusion, "How could they die out?"

"Likely the same reason they've been reduced to residing north of the Wall," Luwin advised. "They were purportedly hunted down in great numbers when the First Men came into Westeros."

"Actually, it was a bit more complicated than simply hunting them into extinction," Cortana amended. "See, on Earth-the world our direwolves lived on-we have something called glacial periods. They're vastly long periods of time in which the world's surface and atmosphere becomes colder."

Bran tilted his head at Cortana's funny word. "Atmos...vear?"

"Hm?" Cortana blinked, before laughing in an embarrassed tone. "Oh, sorry about that. We haven't gotten that far yet. Well, the atmosphere is basically the air and the clouds and such. It lets you breathe, it keeps you warm by catching the sun's light, but also protects you from getting too burned by it. And it's also what makes it blue when the sun's smiling down at you."

"So, it is the sky?" Sansa asked demurely, a shy look in her eyes as she looked to the blue lady. Arya was still amazed her sister had finally decided to join her and their younger brothers in their meetings with Lady Cortana. Up until then, she had avoided the blue maiden and her giant companion like the plague-for what, Arya couldn't for the life of her fathom. Apparently, it was actually their mother who had suggested it, which had surprised her a great deal. Perhaps all the new things and stories she and her younger brothers regaled to her had left an impression upon her mother. The fantastical tales Cortana humored them all with seemed to certainly help.

"Not exactly," Cortana replied to Sansa with a shake of her head. "It's a part of the sky, yes, but only the closest part of it. Beyond that is… well, we can talk about it another time; we're getting a little bit off topic here. Back to what I was saying earlier, these long periods of cold greatly influence what animals can thrive there. Direwolves thrived in this time of great cold, as the had less competition to deal with. However, after a long while, the world started to get warmer and warmer. Other predators could now impose on their land, and, inevitably, the warmer climates led to early mankind to come to their land as well. Between the new predators and the humans hunting both them and their own food, the direwolves soon sadly went extinct."

"That's… very sad," Bran said, looking to his own little pup with soft eyes.

Lady Cortana gave Arya's brother a reassuring smile. "It's all in the past, Bran. Besides, the direwolves of your world haven't died out yet. Not to mention, they seem far tougher than any direwolves there were on Earth. If the people of your world play their cards right, these puppies can have generations of children after them."

"But, how?" Sansa asked. "Aren't they very dangerous when full grown? I know we'll be able to train ours to be good, but if all the wild ones came south of the Wall..."

"Well, you do have a very good point, Sansa. If these direwolves get as big as me and Bran saw, they'd be very dangerous indeed. So I think the best thing you can do is give them a place just for them, where they can live in peace. For example, you could give them a forest to live in where there's plenty of game for them to eat. Make hunting them and any animals living with them expressedly forbidden, and also anyone trying to live in their land. Where me and Chief come from, that's what we call an animal conservation."

"It does seem plausible," Luwin added, continuing to write down notes upon his parchment even as he spoke. "But it would require a great deal of effort to enforce such a policy. You would need to arrange the locale of this 'conservation' with the local lord, then send men to guard it from poachers and squatters. Furthermore, reserving game for the direwolf population would inevitably burden any locals which rely on hunting to eat. Then, there is the obvious risk of the direwolves likewise threatening the locals by venturing beyond their designated grounds."

"Which is why you have men guarding the place-to keep undesirables out, and dangers, in. As for any food problems, well…let's just say I'll show you how to compensate for that," Lady Cortana said in a matter-of-factly tone. But before the Maester's eyebrows had time to even rise up at the implication, however, she raised a wagging finger at the Stark childrens' scholarly mentor. "One project at a time, my good man. You haven't finished that printing press I showed you, I wager."

Arya, Bran, and Rickon giggled as they watched Luwin clear his throat in an avoiding gesture. It was then, however, that something curious crossed Arya's mind. "Lady Cortana?" She asked the blue maiden, "Where is the Spartan?"

"Chief?" Cortana asked. "Hm. Considering it's already mid-day, I'd say he's done giving poor Will PT. He's probably talking with your father at the moment."

"They've been doing that a lot lately," Sansa noted. "Father always seems to be so deep in conversation with him. Robb, Theon… even Jon."

"Especially Jon," Arya frowned at her sister's implied insult. "He's the one who went with the Spartan north of the Wall."

"And he got to ride the dragon again!" Rickon said in a petulant tone. "I want to have a ride in it, too!" His pup, Shaggydog, seemed to yip in agreement.

"It's not a dragon, silly Rickon," Bran said, before his eyes became sad. "She is right, though. Ever since they came back, Father's been meeting with the Spartan so early before dawn. We hardly see him when we're breaking our fast, and when he does, he only eats very lightly. And he… I'm scared to say it, but… he's so grim whenever I see him, he almost looks afraid."

Sansa then asked softly, "Please, Lady Cortana, would you know why? Father nor Mother, nor anyone else would tell us."

"I am sorry, my young lords and ladies," Maester Luwin said with a truly apologetic tone, "But this is a matter in which-"

"No, Luwin, it's alright," Lady Cortana spoke with a sigh. She had been silent throughout Bran and Sansa's words, but Arya could see a sympathetic look on her luminous, heart-shaped face. "I should have known that this whole situation would have affected you in some way. I'm sorry about that; truly I am."

"What are you apologizing for?" Arya asked queerly.

"You see, children, your father didn't really want you figuring out about what's going on until we had something solid but…" She turned to Bran. "Do you remember that man Chief saved from being executed?"

"That Night's Watch deserter?" Bran asked. "What about him?"

Maester Luwin continued Lady Cortana's words. "Purportedly, he encountered something dark when he was ranging north of the Wall."

Bran's eyes suddenly widened. "That's right. He'd said he had seen White Walkers." He now had a look which was fascinated, but even more frightened. "...North of the Wall."

"Chief and I felt we had to investigate, which was why we intervened when your father was to execute him. While we weren't entirely sure what to believe, we've never been ones to leave things to chance, and considering the things me and him have seen..." She shook her head. "Anyway, we went north of the Wall with him in tow to try and find any proof on his story. When we arrived, however, we couldn't find anything which helped his testimony.

"However, we soon ran into a group of rangers, who were tracking some free-folk north of the Wall. Me and Chief then decided that if anyone knew the truth about what was really going on, it would be the locals. We managed to talk to the wildlings, alright, but they gave us nothing conclusive. But they did tell us they'd be willing to speak with us when they wished to do so. We still don't know what exactly is going on, but we do know something is going on up there. Me and Chief have been flying north of the Wall ever since in the night, trying to see if we could find anything which could lead us in the right direction, but so far we've found nothing."

Maester Luwin glanced between each of the children, and Arya knew he could see the evident fear on all of their faces. "Lady Cortana," He cautioned, "Are you certain you wish to divulge any further into this matter? Lord Stark did not wish for them to know so that they would not be struck afeared as they are now."

"That is true, but they need to know in case things go south. I'd rather them be afraid now and know what to do later, rather than keep them in the dark only for them to panic when things really go bad." The luminous maiden then turned her head to all of the children, a determined yet kind look in her eyes. "No matter what happens, children, I'm going to promise you this-Chief and I are going to do everything we can to keep you all safe."

Coming from her, the promise actually seemed to truly set them all at ease. Even Luwin's previously grave face broke away into a small smile.

"Now, this conversation's been a little heavy, so how about I lighten up the mood by telling you all a new story, hm?" Cortana gave them all a motherly smile.

And like that, all of them promptly began shouting and insisting on what fantastic story from Lady Cortana's land they should hear. At once, Arya spoke out, "I want to hear about the red-haired princess with the bow!"

Sansa implored next, "Please, Lady Cortana, can you continue the story about the sister princesses in a frozen kingdom?"

"I want to hear about the boy who pulled a sword from a stone!" Bran said excitedly.

"I want to hear about the monsters behind all the doors!" Rickon shouted.

Lady Cortana laughed. "Now, now, all of you settle down. I'm telling you all a new story. It's about when the people of Earth first went to the moon-and believe it or not, this is actually true!"

* * *

At their midday meal, Arya had learned from her mother and father that Lord Jon Arryn, the man who had fostered her father when he was young, had passed away not long ago, far in the south at King's Landing. On a more exciting note, she also heard that the King and Queen were coming, along with their children as well as the Queen's two brothers. Her father said that many of their House's sworn bannermen were coming as well, though they would doubtlessly arrive before the King's party would.

And so, over the next fortnight, Arya had to dress proper and attempt at being proper as the great banners of the North came to Winterfell. Her uncle, Benjen, had come from Castle Black, bringing her a new yew bow-much to her mother's disapproval, but to Arya's own joy. She was glad also to see Lord Greatjon Umber there, as he laughed and cheered at her wild ways. "She's the wolf's blood in her, Ned!" He guffawed, "By the time she comes of age, she'll be Lyanna come again!" The comment had earned the humored smiles of both her father as well as her brothers, but the look her mother had given silenced that. She was less happy to see the flayed man of House Bolton, as Lord Roose seemed far too quiet and far too creepy for her liking, remembering the tales Old Nan said of their legacy of flaying men alive and wearing their skins as cloaks. More came besides them-Lady Mormont of Bear Island and her daughters, all as big and tough as the bear on their House's sigil, Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte, their centuries-distant kin Rickard Karstark and his sons, as well as one of Lord Manderly's own boys, fat and big, though not nearly as big as Lord Manderly himself was, if her father was right.

But the meeting Arya found most peculiar of all was from one of the lesser Houses which had come-House Forrester, to be precise. Lord Gregor had come at her father's invitation, apparently because he was requesting a new chair, of all things. The Forresters' seat at Ironrath was right on the boundary of the largest grove of ironwood in all of Westeros, which gave their family great power in the North despite their standing as a minor house. They were unrivaled in their crafting of the precious timber; furniture, shields, ships-if it could be made from wood, no one in the North could make it better than House Forrister. But what was most interesting was that the request was not for Arya's father, or even for any of House Stark.

It was for the Spartan.

When Arya had thought on it, she realized she had never seen the Master Chief sit down. He was always standing, and never idle. According to Lady Cortana, the armor he wore was very special-and monstrously heavy. "If you put Chief in any ordinary chair, he'll break that poor thing like a twig," She told them with a giggle. "And before you ask why he doesn't ever take his armor off… well, I guess you could say he's just shy. Or paranoid. Or both."

Arya recalled another time, when the Spartan had attempted to climb up into one of the higher floors of Winterfell. He himself was a bit cautious when her father had asked him to follow him upstairs. The stone stairwell served him well enough, but by the deep, aching creaks she could hear with each step he took upon the wooden floor above sounded more and more suspicious-until suddenly in a thundering crash, a giant section of the whole floor collapsed down, the Master Chief slamming into a table below, and literally shattering it into splintered kindling. Her father was still upstairs, gaping at the massive hole the Spartan had made in his fall.

Somehow, Arya was not surprised when she saw the Chief stand up, completely unharmed and without even a scratch on his armor. She had burst out laughing, her sides seeming to near burst at the hilarity of it all. And while at first her father chastised her for laughing at his expense, the Spartan merely shrugged, looking up through the hole at her father. "Apologies, sir. I think you'll need another floor."

At that, even her father laughed, and for a while, the grimness which had settled over the past few weeks faded from his face.

"It's finished already?" Her father had asked in the Great Hall of Winterfell when Lord Forrester arrived, and after following the usual welcoming customs of one Northern lord to another. "You're men work the wood quickly, Lord Gregor."

"Aye, Lord Stark," Gregor said with a nod, "But I can still assure you my people have put our hearts into it's crafting." He turned to two of the lads-boys perhaps of an age with Jon and Robb, who together were carrying a great chair between them. "Right, Gared, Bowen, set it right here."

"Yes, milord," One squire said with a strained voice, before they carefully placed the ironwood chair before her father and the Spartan, who had silently been watching. The chair itself was hewn from thick, black ironwood, all riveted together with steel. It was beautifully carved and painted; adorned upon it was a great tree in the likeness of an weirwood, with many red leaves crowing it's branches, the intricately carved face etched into it's white trunk bleeding dark red sap from it's eyes. At the base of the tree sat a pack of grey wolves surrounding a lone, large eagle-but the wolves were not looking to feast upon the great bird, oh no. They were carved to look as though they were sitting around it, as young children would gather around a wizened man. The eagle's wings were stretched upwards, and with it's talons it seemed to be drawing something into the soft dirt for the wolves to see.

"'Tis magnificent," Arya's father appraised, before turning to the Spartan at his side. "Is it to your liking, Master Chief?"

"...It's very well-made, yes. But my expectations were for something a little more… economical. I mean no offense, sir, but you didn't need to go through this much trouble. A stool would've been just fine."

"We were more than happy to finely craft it for an honored guest such as yourself, Spartan," Lord Gregor said with a smile. "And I can assure you of this-my family has spent fifty generations honing and growing our ironwood into the hardest in all the world. This here could seat an ox if need be. Give it a try, if you'd like."

"I hope you're not exaggerating," The Spartan said dryly, before he approached the ironwood chair. He was hesitant for a moment, before he turned himself around, and lowered himself to sit. To Arya's surprise, she could hear the ironwood groaning for a moment under his weight. Very few were the things which could cause hardened ironwood to even creak, and for a moment, she thought the beautiful chair would be smashed into splinters under his weight. However, after a silent pause in which even her father and Lord Forrester had become nervous, the Spartan gave a short nod. "It'll do. For now, at least."

After that, her mother had sent her to go with Septa Mordane for another horrid sewing lesson. Sansa went on to the other girls attending the lesson about the Prince coming to visit, flushing demurely about how handsome they'd heard he was.

Arya, for her part, wanted to gag.

* * *

The sound of Tom's razor running over Robb's jaw was a low, slick noise to Jon, as he and Theon stood waiting for their turn to be shaved and trimmed as well. The three of them were barechested, wearing only their trousers. Robb was quiet and still as Winterfell's barber trimmed away his beard, making him seem as a boy rather than a young man.

"Why's your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the king?" Jon voiced in confusion at it all. All three of them kept themselves clean-shaven-why in the seven hells did they have to be sheared like sheep?

"It's for the queen, I bet," Theon said. "I hear shes a sleek bit of meat."

"I hear the prince is a right royal prick," Robb muttered as Tom ran his hands over his cheeks and jaws, looking for any hairs he might have missed between the cream and the blade.

"And think of all those southron girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick," Theon snorted, causing all three of them to snigger. Tom clapped his hands against Robb's bare, broad shoulders, signaling the heir of Winterfell he'd finished. With a grin, Robb got up, before pushing a reluctant Jon to the barber. "Alright, Tom, shear him good. He's never met a girl he likes more than his own hair."

Robb and Jon laughed as they watched Jon try to look stoic as Tom sat him down, and the shears began cutting away at his dark locks of hair.

"Ohh la la~" Came the unexpected voice of Lady Cortana, all three boys glancing to no avail to try and find out where she was, but heard her voice deeper within the shop. "You boys are looking nice today. Getting ready to meet the king?" Perhaps it was the words which implied her spying on them, but Jon became immensely aware of how indecent all three of them were-especially when he recalled the blue maiden's odd situation. On every occasion she had made an appearance, Lady Cortana had no clothing on her body, save for perhaps those strange, dark shades of blue streaming from either side of her neck, covering her breasts, before pooling together down between her legs. They were so tight against her brighter blue body that Jon wasn't sure if they were clothing or not; though they did, in the barest terms, conceal her indecency. Inspite of her otherworldly nature-indeed, he thought it mayhaps have only made her more alluring-Jon could not deny she was perhaps the most fair woman he's ever laid eyes upon. She had a heart-shaped face, with short hair so dark Jon thought it more blue than black. Her breasts had the ever slightest sag in them, but even Ros' teats had some as well, he embarrassingly recalled, and he realised they had perhaps the same size. Her hips were gently flared on either side, and Jon thought that, were she not the construct she claimed she was, but an actual woman, she could well give birth to strong, healthy children. And he had no doubt were that the case, that she'd have no small amount of men to court her for the very chance to do so-though he had the distinct impression the Spartan would crush the hand of any man attempting to lay any hand upon her. And like that, Jon was suddenly finding himself shaking away the thoughts coming into his head, much to the gruff protest of Tom, who had to pull away his shears before he made an errant cut into Jon's head.

Robb and even Theon seemed a bit uncomfortable by Lady Cortana's presence, as well. "Forgive my asking, my lady," Robb asked after he shook the red flushing his cheeks away, "But have you been here since before us? Have you been watching us the whole time?"

She laughed. "Guilty as charged. Chief decided he should get trimmed up as well, so he decided to shave just a bit before you boys got here."

"Wait, the Spartan's in here?" Theon asked.

"Even he has to shave now and again." Towards the back of the shop, there was a small chamber there with an open door sill, with a curtain reaching down close to the floor so as to provide privacy. It was not too close to the ground, however, that Jon could not see that it was occupied. An imposing pair of large feet almost poked out from the small chamber, covered entirely by strange tight-looking black leggings of a sort, which seemed to vaguely cling to the form of it's wearer. Judging from the size of the feet and the silhouette of the man's utterly gigantic frame, it had to be the Spartan, indeed, since the only man Jon had ever met who ever came close to such a height was the Greatjon. They could hear the sound of a razor running over wet skin, the slight bristle noise of the blade shaving away the shadows of a beard. Jon, Robb, and Theon were utterly silent as they listened and watched without a word, the only other noises present being Tom's shears cutting away Jon's locks, and the commotion outside the shop.

After a few moments, they could hear the splashing of water and the smacking of wet skin-likely the Spartan rinsing his face off. He then stepped out from the room, evidently having finished his shaving. He wasn't wearing his gray-green armor as he usually did, instead wearing just the black suit always beneath it. It clung to his body much like at his feet-just enough to make out the base shape and mass of the Spartan's tall, herculean figure. Just looking at the man made Jon feel an immense sense of lacking; while Jon's frame was impressive, lean yet wiry all the same, and while Robb was broader of shoulder and Theon taller than either of them, all three were utterly dwarfed by the figure emerging from the back. The Spartan was built like a maiden's deepest fantasy, with immensely broad shoulders, deep barrel chest, flat and firm stomach, and arms and legs thick with muscles beneath the bodysuit. He seemed the very paragon of manhood, and Jon doubted much of any unmarried woman would resist him-probably more than a few married ones as well. But to the consternation of Jon, Robb, and Theon, his head was hidden beneath a white towel which he was using to dry himself with, leaving no room to put an end to the Spartan's elusive features. With a small thanks to Tom for letting him use the back room, to which Tom merely nodded, the Spartan quickly left the room.

"...Seven hells," Robb uttered. "I knew he was a giant of a man, but for pity sake, does he have to make our manhoods so cheap?"

"He's just a lot older than us, is all," Theon retorted, though Jon saw a scowl lining Theon's mouth.

"Beggin' your pardon, milords," Tom commented in his gruff voice as he snipped away at Jon's hair, "But you'll need to be more than men grown to be that huge. You do recall how he sent Lord Umber to the ground in that arm-wrestling a few nights ago?"

Jon swallowed hard at the memory of it. It had happened when the Lord of Last Hearth had arrived at Winterfell, around half a fortnight past. After greeting his father with a boisterous laugh and a near bone crushing clasp of arms, Lord Jon Umber was introduced to the Spartan. The Master Chief himself had shown him his usual reserved courtesy, referring to him as ser… or rather, 'sir', as he so oft insisted. The enigmatic soldier had stood taller than even the Greatjon when clad in his armor, and even without it, Jon thought he'd at least be just as tall as the large Umber patriarch, if not slightly taller still . The Greatjon had scoffed at the title of ser-knighthood, after all, was a rare thing in the North, as it was the Andals who had brought the practice to Westeros in their conquest of the South, not the First Men. As usual, the Spartan clarified that the title was not to denote knighthood, but rather as the recognition of one of superior rank within the Spartan's society. Lord Umber merely laughed at the notion.

As with all of the Starks' banners gathering for the king's arrival, Lord Umber was received with a hearty plate of spiced pork, a soft loaf of warm bread, carrots dipped in a vinaigrette sauce, a wedge of sharp orange cheese, and a flagon of honeyed ale when he supped in the Great Hall with the Starks and the rest of the Northern lords, though Jon himself had noted it was not quite a feast. T'was understandable, as the real feast was to wait until the king had arrived. In a surprising turn of events, Lady Cortana had supposedly made a small but unique contribution to their meals in the weeks before the royal entourage was expected to arrive. Lord Manderly's son had brought in an order from White Harbor, on the request of Jon's father; spices, herbs, and other exotic substances from Essos, Dorne, the Reach, and the Summe Isles. Such commodities would have been seen as something of a luxury, but such things were somewhat expected when preparing to host a king. However, what was truly intriguing was when the Master Chief brought the cooks some strange recipes to use for the meals. What those recipes entailed was beyond Jon, but they made the food served deliriously scrumptious. The pork was marinated in a dark red sauce, which was slightly spicy on Jon's tongue, yet also sweet in taste. The bread was topped with butter supposedly mixed with garlic, with a sort of herbed sauce made from tomatoes kept at the side for the bread itself to be dipped in, adding a peculiar zest to it's taste. The carrots were given a thoroughly odd substance, looking like a sort of white paste with tiny black spots. He was wary of eating it at first, but when he saw everyone else outright enjoying it, he dipped his carrot in it, before giving it a cautious bite...

And thus Jon Snow experienced the rapture of what Lady Cortana would later call 'ranch'.

"Seven hells, Ned!" The Greatjon bellowed heartily. "You've come across some sorcery here! You've got to let me borrow these cooks of yours!"

"The Spartan is the one you should ask, Lord Umber," Jon's father said, wiping some of the red sauce from his lips with a napkin. "I'm as delighted and surprised as you are."

"Indeed?" The Greatjon said, turning his gaze to where the Spartan stood alone and silent away from the lords and ladies, seeming more a guard than a guest. "Say! Spartan! Why do you not partake in the meal you've helped to provide?! It's bloody good!"

The room grew quiet at the Greatjon's bellowing, all eyes in the Master Chief. It had struck Jon as strange that the Spartan hadn't eaten yet, though as he recalled, the soldier had always taken his meals to the house their father had bequeathed him. "The cooks are the ones who prepared the food, sir. I just gave them some recipes to follow."

"Oh, come now! Lord Stark warned me you were a shy bloke, but this is too good to pass up! Do I have to come over there and baby feed it to you?"

"I must decline, sir," The Spartan said. "I have a meal at my own quarters in the town."

Lord Umber stared at the Spartan before he downed the rest of his flagon. "You sure you're not just shy to be taking off that helmet of yours? From what I hear, you've not even deigned to take it off in front of Lord Stark!"

The room was now almost deathly silent, and Jon's father now spoke in his distant, lordly voice, "Enough, Greatjon. The Spartan has his reasons for not revealing his face, but I assure you he is as much a guest here as you are."

There was a moment of long silence in the great hall, as the Greatjon and the Master Chief stared at each other with silent intent. Surprisingly, it was the Spartan who spoke next. "...You seem to be someone very loyal to Lord Stark, Jon Umber," He said with stoic sincerity. "I'm glad to see he has someone like you he can rely on. If you're really so interested in seeing my face, I could humor you-provided you beat me."

That last sentence certainly caused a stir amongst everyone else in the room, though Jon could see a look of exasperation on his father, his face now being planted in his hand. Lady Catelyn sighed, an expression shared by Sansa; though he could see a look of excitement in Arya, Bran, and even little Rickon's face, and both Robb and Theon certainly seemed intrigued. No one at Winterfell had ever seen the Master Chief's face-that he was offering to put an end to the mystery of what lay beneath his helmet was poised to bring a conclusion to one of the most hotly debated and speculated gossips spoken amongst the Winterfell's smallfolk. From the way Theon had told, the ladies at the brothel thought him to possess a face as ruggedly handsome as the King's in his youth. The farmers and hunters around Winterfell thought him the child of a giant, with an appropriately savage and brutal visage. The scullery maids, coal boys, and kitchen staff had been the worst of the lot, gossiping so much as to say he was a bear who could speak, or some exotic beast from Essos, or other such nonsense Jon could consider neither decent nor believable at all.

"At what?" Lord Umber asked the Spartan, answering his challenge.

"Pick your poison," The Spartan replied with something approaching a shrug.

Umber's bushy eyebrows went up at the queer expression. "Pick my _**WHAT?**_"

"It means come up with whatever you want."

Without a word, Lord Umber stood up. For a moment, Jon was afraid he'd actually draw his sword, but before anything else happened, Umber looked to Lord Stark, who sighed. "Spartan, are you sure you should be so willing to answer the challenges of others?"

"I understand this is likely going to be the fastest way to earn his trust, sir," The Chief said simply. "I don't care for it much, but if it'll calm him down, I'll do it."

"I'll warn you, Spartan," The Greatjon bellowed, "I've been making corpses out of men for thirty years, and while I mean no offense to any of my fellow Northern lords or my good Lord Ned, I've been called our greatest fighter for just as long a time."

"So I've been told," The Spartan said nonchalantly. "Again, it's your call."

For a moment, the Greatjon merely grinned, before he called for the servants to clear away his table. When it was done, he wordlessly put up his arm on it. "I hope you're ready for me to pry off that fancy mask of yours, boy. There's no arm in the North stronger than mine!"

So it would be an arm-wrestling contest, Jon thought, a strange sense of excitement filling him as the Spartan wordlessly stepped across the hall, two squires bringing the ironwood chair Lord Forrester had gifted to the soldier upon arriving some time earlier. His own armored forearm now upon the table, the Spartan and the Greatjon clasped their hands together, all eyes within the great hall now up them.

The Greatjon groaned as he began to try pushing the Spartan's arm down with his gigantic arms and meaty hands, his teeth tightly clenched as he strained to make the green-gray-armored soldier budge. The prime parts of the latter statement being **attempting **to make him _budge_. The Chief himself didn't seem to even be moving at all, his arm not even trembling against the Greatjon's strength. In fact, he didn't even seem to be exerting any kind of force on his own. Could the Spartan have even not even begun yet...? The thought caused a shiver to run up Jon's spine.

With another push of his arm, Umber tried again to push the Chief's arm down to no avail, his groaning now a full, ferocious growl. His eyes were blazing with a passionate determination, his whole face becoming pink from the sheer amount of strain he was exerting into his arm.

"Should I start yet?" The Spartan asked dryly.

"I'm just getting warmed up, ye cheeky fuck!" The Greatjon seethed, his face now utterly red. With something nearing an outright roar, he made a third push, his whole body trembling as he put every fiber of his being to make the Spartan give-

And then, in one simple, sudden, terrible movement, the Spartan outright slammed the Greatjon's arm down without the barest hint of resistance, and the moment it did, the whole bloody table broke in two, collapsing under the sheer force of the movement.

All gathered gaped in shock and awe as they saw Lord Umber slam into the ground, his now limp arm still held in the still-sitting-Spartan's iron grip. "...Apologies, sir," The latter suddenly quipped in his usual dry monotone, "I think you'll need a new table."

Jon's father sighed heavily at that. "That's the second time this week you've broken something of mine, Master Chief. At this rate, I'll have to ask Lord Forrester to refit the whole of Winterfell with ironwood." At that, many of the other lords began to laugh at the small grin appearing on their Lord Paramount's face.

"Hol... hold up!" Came the bellowing of the Greatjon, now miraculously rising to his feet, the Master Chief releasing his grip on the Lord of Last Hearth. "Fetch another table! I want another go at him!"

"Another time, Lord Umber," The Lord of Winterfell said with a full smile now on his face. "I will sorely need your sword-arm in the winter to come, and I'd rather not have it broken as with my table."

And with that, the matter was finished. Lord Umber grumbled, but he had accepted to lay the matter aside for the night, and Jon thought that a sort of peace may have come between them when the Master Chief examined his arm to ensure it was not injured. The burly lord had sworn, of course, to challenge him again so as to reclaim his honor as well as unmask him, and to that, the Spartan merely nodded in silence. Many of the Northern lords thereafter began to speak to the Spartan in earnest, and more than a few were keen to introduce their daughters to him-all of which amounted to the Spartan quietly, almost awkwardly, excusing himself from the Great Hall back to his cottage.

By the time Jon had finished recollecting the events of that night, Tom had finished shearing away what locks he'd deemed too long for the King's arrival, and proceeded to apply the shaving cream on his face to make him seem more a boy than a man.

* * *

"That'll be all for today." John stated as Will stood at attention in front of him-admirable, given how exhausted the young man looked. "Return to your quarters and rest up. Cortana will continue your lessons once you've recuperated. Dismissed, Private."

"S-sir, yes sir," He said with a firm voice, before he started hauling his PT gear back to the hut. Though he was trying his best to seem as composed as possible, John clearly saw how Will nearly limped back into town. It hadn't surprised him at how difficult it was for Will, but John still found himself slightly disappointed.

"Poor kid," Cortana voiced in his helmet. "He's working hard, alright, but I have to admit I'm worried for him."

John shook his head. "Considering we're all but starting from the bottom up, it's little wonder."

After having returned from the Wall, John had immediately reported what had transpired far up north. Eddard Stark immediately proceeded to have his maester send out ravens all across the North, to summon his subordinate lords to Winterfell and convene a council on what course of action should be taken. He also informed Stark of his enlisting of Will as the first Westerosi to be trained as a UNSC marine.

While the very legitimate reason to intervene on Will's behalf was out of his possibly vital intelligence of witnessing the White Walkers, he would have been lying to himself had he denied some small part of him had wanted to save Will's life. While it was true that he didn't know Will, or know what exactly he saw, John knew a good soldier when he saw one... and he knew fear-_true _**fear**-in a good soldier's eyes. Those were the eyes Will had that day in the hills north of Winterfell, when he was to be executed. It was those same eyes of men watching as their whole platoons burned and died at the hands of the Covenant, the same eyes as those who watched their friends and loved ones were twisted into screeching abominations by the Flood. He was well aware many were skeptical of Will's claims, but John was far too experienced to look past it.

So, with every hour he had to himself, he began the grueling process of training Will into a Marine-which was proving to be quite tedious. While Will was an experienced member of the Night's Watch, as well as a surprisingly good tracker and scout, his lack of any formal education was proving to be a very real obstacle for them. To begin with, he couldn't read. Will had wondered why something like that was important, but John was quick to remind him that a soldier's mind was just as important as his skill with a weapon. During the day, John would instruct Will in the routine Marine drills, testing Will's physical strength, stamina, speed, and agility with a plethora of obstacles John had set up. There was no PT gear on board the Dawn, so John and Cortana had to come up with a makeshift collection of gear, giving him an empty rifle and pistol, as well as some spare armor from Mikken's workshop, among all the rest of gear a Marine was expected to carry.

Given his past as the child of smallfolk, Will wasn't an exceptionally strong kid, actually being below the average physique of a typical citizen enlisting to the UNSC; a fact which John had begrudgingly expected in a feudal society. Though Will's time in the Night's Watch had toughened him up to a degree, it was clear that they spent more time drilling with weapons than they did actually exercising. Subsequently, Will struggled during physical training, and he'd seen the kid collapse right in the middle of an exercise more than once-but he persevered, and that was what mattered to John. Each night, Cortana would oversee his basic education, but also show him everything a Marine was to be taught, such as rank structure, how one was expected to take care of their gear, an introduction to the equipment of a Marine, and every tactic and skill a Marine could use in the field. It was a long work in progress, to be sure, but what Will lacked in actual education and physical prowess, he more than made up for in how hard he tried and how willing he was to learn.

And in his own quiet way, John couldn't help but admit he was impressed by that. Though it would be a while before he'd admit it-he was Will's impromptu drill instructor after all, and drill sergeants held certain reputations which John felt obligated to uphold-though he didn't yell at Will nearly as much. He did make sure he got three hearty meals a day, however, to make sure he kept up his strength and with the hope he'd get more meat on those bones of his. It was some time after returning from the Wall, and in the middle of training Will, that Lord Stark had approached him to inform him that the King's chief officer, the Hand of the King, had recently passed away, and the king himself was on his way to Winterfell.

Which, in hindsight, complicated things.

John had at first thought convincing Westeros' sovereign of the situation in the North would be a no-brainer, especially since the king himself was coming north. If there really was a threat up beyond that wall of ice which he and Cortana could still not wrap their heads around, Eddard Stark's childhood friendship with this Robert Baratheon could well convince the latter to give them much-needed support; reinforcements were one thing, but supplies and equipment were the topmost priority. However, Stark clarified that it was the same friendship he had with Robert which was bringing him up north-chiefly, to name him Hand of the King.

From what Cortana had learned from Maester Luwin, the Hand was the second-most powerful person after the king in Westeros. It sounded vaguely like a sort of prime minister, except that the prime minister was still subject to the king. And while Stark's position as Hand sounded tempting, John knew that the North needed Ned to lead them; his son, Robb, while brave and capable for his age, was still young and inexperienced. Eddard Stark's position as Warden of the North made him supreme commander over all Northern forces, and his experience in both peacetime and war cemented the loyalty of his troops. And while his family's name would likely be enough to ensure their loyalty, some among Eddard's men could question Robb's leadership if his father accepted the position of Hand and went south.

And there were very few things more dangerous in war than an army who doubted their general. John had seen it before, and the cost had been more than one world.

Thus, every hour John and Cortana were not training their new recruit, they busied themselves between consulting Eddard Stark and his maester on a variety of matters, making trips back to the Dawn to continue their ongoing investigation of the singularities up in the north, learning more of the planet they had landed on, and, to John's own reluctant consent, allowing Stark's children to attend regular meetings with Cortana. John himself was particular to letting any unauthorized human being so close to someone as important and vital as Cortana was, to say nothing of actually communicating openly with her. That wasn't to say he suspected the children as spies, and especially not because he didn't trust Cortana, but John in general was always protective of Cortana on some level, and old habits died hard. It had been her own wish to communicate to the young ones which had convinced him in the end. While John did not and would not give up on finding a way back to the UNSC and to Doctor Halsey to fix Cortana, he begrudgingly admitted there had been no signs of any way to do so.

The slipspace drive on the Dawn had been damaged too badly in the jump from the Ark to be safely used, and nothing which had survived the landing was even remotely capable of traveling through slipspace. Even if the Dawn were capable of flying, to say nothing of being structurally sound enough to attempt a jump-in which case, it most certain wasn't on either fronts-given the drive's damaged state, even attempting to do so with such a compromised unit could have had any number of backfires if it were ever activated again, and nether he nor Cortana had any equipment whatsoever to repair a slipspace drive.

"If we have to be stuck out here," Cortana had said, "I'd like to use what time we can spare to help these people, John. Help them along the path of the future. Once we can get our bearings straight, we can go on whatever wild goose chase you want; but for now, let's calm down and stay put."

In the end, John consented, and accepted Cortana's wisdom. With the Dawn grounded, the pelican too small to fit their otherwise unstable slipspace drive, and their own location in the universe unknown, he knew they had no way of reestablishing contact with the UNSC-much less find a way home on their own.

But... they had something. Something so small and unlikely, most would not dare to place their hopes on a lead so frail. Because when Cortana had guided the Dawn onto the planet, somewhere along the way, the Dawn's instruments had picked up a weak, fragile signal. So vague and miniscule many would have not noticed, but it was there, and to him and Cortana, it's nature was unmistakeable.

Forerunner.


	15. Green Dreams, Black Powder

**_Disclaimer_**: I do not own Game of Thrones nor Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin. George RR Martin is also the owner of the book series A Song of Ice and Fire, from which the TV series is based off of. Halo is property of 343 Industries and Microsoft. All subsequent characters, settings, concepts, lore, music, and other materials belong to their respective owners and publishers. Please support the official releases!

And, yes, I'm sorry for the delay. Stuff came up, writers block stubbed my progress, yadayada.

* * *

_It was a dreary, cold day, Bran saw. The sky was overcast with dark grey clouds, seeming to almost drown the world in every direction as it covered every inch of the heavens. It was almost as though he were underwater, peering upwards to the surface of a bleak sea, as the clouds seemed to bear such a likeness to shifting waters as it showered down a thick fall of snow so silent it awed him._

_High in those clouds was a raven, beating it's black wings through the cold winds as it flew through the sky, the chilling breeze rolling down its feathers. For a while, it continued on, alone in the monotony, and Bran could only hear sound of its wings flapping in a still, icy air. But then, from it's ebon beak came a dry, loud caw as it suddenly began to descend through the thick snowfall._

**[BGM: Diablo 3 OST - _The Eternal Conflict_]**

_He saw it flying towards a colossal shape of bluish white, which went high into the air and stretched onwards into the horizons on either side-the Wall? It had to be. His father and Uncle Benjen often told him of how it rose hundreds of feet in the air, and that it went on for hundreds of miles east and west. At the base of the Wall, there were the barest pinpricks of light clustered together-lights emanating from a castle nestled beneath the Wall's sheer height. More lights could be made out along the Wall's top, and the raven flew towards it. Coming closer to the lights, Bran could begin to hear something. It was faint at first, but as the raven flew nearer and nearer to the Wall, it became louder and louder, more chaotic and maddening and utterly confusing. The cawing of many ravens, the snarling howls of wolves, the roars of a great bear or lion, and the screams of creatures Bran had never heard before, nor wished to learn._

_The raven flew down into the rancor, joining many, many more of it's kind as they fought some unseen enemy with beak and talons. Many wolves were upon the Wall with them, all snarling and howling as they too battled with fang and claw. He could not see much from how high he was, but Bran saw some some distinct figures caught in the middle of it. A huge bear, a fat stag, direwolves, and even two lions, all fighting with fang, claw, and horns. All of them fighting with the crows and the wolves against… what was it? Bran's gaze was going over the Wall now, and a horrific, bizarre sight awaited him._

_Climbing up in huge piles upon the Wall were great pillars of dead flesh, all frozen, rotten, shriveled, and pale. The crows and wolves and other things pecked and bit and clawed away at the pillars, only to be seized by cold, stiff hands blackened with pooled blood and pulled into the fleshy towers, becoming dead and rotted themselves, and adding their strength to its own._

_Then, when it seemed the pillars of dead flesh were to overtake the beasts, a great crash of thunder filled the air, and from the sky, a bolt of blindingly white lightning pierced through the dark gray clouds like a spear through water; smashing into one of the pillars with its light, and setting one of the deathly towers falling to the snowed ground, the dead flesh set ablaze with searing flame._

_From high in the clouds, a second noise was heard-a terrible, mighty screech of some bird of prey. Swooping down from the clouds came the greatest of all the beasts Bran saw. It was a giant eagle, vaster in size than all the beasts upon the Wall. It's feathers were like steel, it's beak shimmering as though it were gold. Beating its massive wings against a rising wind, the eagle screeched aloud once more, and thunder rumbled and roared from it's beak as a bolt of lightning surged from it's mouth, striking down another pillar and sending it crashing to the ground._

_As the wolves howled and the crowed cawed at this triumph, however, Bran saw something from the far north coming down upon the Wall-white shadows with eyes like blue stars, shifting out from a darkened, unfathomably thick fog poised to swallow the world. They filled him with an alien dread, as they strode towards the army of the beasts, and with them was an endless sea of death which stretched onwards into the approaching night blanketing further north. They were were without number, and despair and terror began to seep into the Wall's defenders._

_But just as the others were upon the approach, the great eagle, ever brave and steadfast, flapped its wings, screeching to the heavens in defiance._

_And the heavens, to Bran's awe and terror, answered. With a fire so great as to cover the world._

-

Bran awoke with a fright, shooting upright with a gasp as his body seized him from the nightmare's hold. A cold sweat caused his smallclothes to cling to his skin, and he realized he could not remember much of the images he had seen in his dream. He remembered the raven at the beginning, and the cacophony of beasts and fowl, but the more he tried to recall the rest, the harder he found it to describe, or even remember. Still, he could at all forget the amount of fear he felt throughout the dream.

Barn's pup padded across the furs of his bed, the little thing whining at him slightly, as though worried for him. He then proceeded to lick his face, his tongue tickling Bran's cheek. "Oh, stop that, already!" Bran giggled despite himself, petting his new pet fondly, which produced a wag from the pup's tail. He was so very happy he and Jon had managed to save the pups. And the Spartan, too. He was a bit ashamed that he had not yet thanked the tall soldier for his part in convincing his father to take the pups in rather than allow them to die. Though, then again, he was always busy talking with his father, or away in that… pelican, Robb had called it? How did that thing look anything like a bird from the coast? It was almost as odd a choice of moniker as Rickon having named his pup Shaggydog.

Admittedly, Bran could not help but feel some fright by the Spartan whenever he did see him. The man was as tall, perhaps even taller than Hodor or the Greatjon. He never took off that strange armor of his, and always carried that thing Jon had called a thunder-weapon. He had once seen the giant soldier haul the great trunk of a freshly felled oak tree over his shoulders when the woodcutter Galon had taken a bad step, and carried it for the man back to the mill, all the while everyone else had watched in awe approaching fear as the Spartan tossed it down with a casual effort.

Yet despite his otherworldly strength and endurance, and the intimidating appearance his armor bore, not once could Bran recall a moment where the Spartan had ever been unkind, nor done anything to truly scare him. In fact, in every moment he had seen the Spartan, he had seen… almost a gentleness in him. Ever since the pups had been brought back to Winterfell, they always seemed strangely drawn to the Master Chief, yipping and wagging their tails at him. The Spartan had looked awkward when they did come, but he nevertheless always had something to feed them with if they did stumble into him.

Bran had also remembered the words Lady Cortana had told them some days ago-of the promise she made that the Chief and her would protect them with everything they had. It had certainly brightened his spirits, but it also made him feel guilty about feeling the way he had in the Spartan's presence.

Shaking his head, Bran became aware of the commotion going on outside. His father had told him that the King was expected to arrive within two days. Looking at his pup gravely, he resolved to talk with the Spartan before all the festivities truly began.

* * *

"Saltpeter, rot-rock, and... charcoal?" Maester Luwin wondered as Ned and he gazed at the small pouch of dark powder the Spartan presented them.

"Technically, we call rot-rock 'sulfur' on our world," Lady Cortana nodded, before she placed a luminous hand to her chin. "Hmm, should probably introduce you to the Periodic Table sometime in the future..."

"Focus, Cortana," Chief reminded his companion, before turning to Ned. "It may seem like an odd combination of substances, but this material is what changed the nature of warfare on Earth more than a thousand years ago."

"How?" Ned asked curiously. "Aside from wildfire or tar, I've never heard of a substance being of notable use in war."

Cortana gave him acknowledging nod. "It is true that the powder itself doesn't appear all that harmful-well, unless you're stupid enough to actually ingest it, in which case it could very well kill you-but the key to its lethality isn't so much the substances which it's composed of, so much as _how _those substances **react **to one certain condition: when exposed to even the smallest spark, this stuff will explode. Rather violently. First developed some sixteen-hundred years ago on Earth, this compound-which we call gunpowder-found one of its earliest uses as, rather ironically, a form of recreation in the form of fireworks. We can go over that another day, perhaps, but I'd like for us to not get side-tracked here. Like any new innovation relative to its time, gunpowder was, at first, unrefined to the point it was merely highly flammable rather than being outright explosive. Eventually, though, it was discovered that with a high enough concentration of saltpeter in the mixture, that the powder could explode with a level of force nothing at the time could match."

Ned began to feel fairly more unnerved at the pouch of black powder.

Luwin was likewise somewhat nervous, he could see, but the maester had a curiosity in his eyes as he studied the substance. "Remarkable," He uttered. "How potent is this mixture? More so than wildfire?"

"Actually, no," Lady Cortana remarked. "From what you've told me of the stuff, it sounds a great deal more volatile than gunpowder. Is it true that it actually becomes more potent as time passes?"

"I fear I only know what I was taught in my time at the Citadel," Luwin admitted. "The Alchemists Guild in King's Landing has claimed as such, and as they are the only known order to produce the substance, they could be correct. However, I must ask you take their claims with a grain of salt-they do fancy themselves as sorcerers, after all."

"Duly noted," The luminous woman said reservedly.

Ned found himself somewhat confused. "But, if it isn't as deadly as wildfire, how could this 'gunpowder' change the course of warfare?"

Lady Cortana snorted. "Of course you'd judge a weapon based on sheer destructive power. Why is it all men think the same...?"

"You're not really one to talk," The Spartan quipped dryly.

"_Shut up, you barbarian,_" She hissed back, before she cleared her throat and turned back to Ned and Luwin, composing herself. "While wildfire may indeed be more deadly than gunpowder in terms of explosive potential, there's a reason you don't use it much at all-it's unwieldy. Dangerous to use, and not terribly reliable as an option on the battlefield. Gunpowder is dangerous, too, if handled improperly. But there's the kicker; it can be handled properly. To a much, much better degree than wildfire, I'd imagine. Not only that, but it can be used as more than just something to blow up an adversary with. That is how it can change warfare forever."

Her bodily form disappearing, Lady Cortana conjured an image of two men. One was a knight in full plate armor, astride a mighty destrier with a lance and shield in hand. The other was a common looking man, little more than a peasant from the levies which constituted the vast majority of an army. In the common soldier's hands was a long, odd looking thing. It seemed a wooden staff of some sort, but it had a long, hollow metal rod running along more than half of it. Towards the half which didn't, the wood flared out, and he saw on the opposite side a sort of switch or… trigger mechanism? Was it a crossbow of sorts? No, he saw no bolt being loaded. The common soldier instead had a small, round piece of metal which he dropped down into the metal pipe, using a smaller metal rod to ram it down further. Then, towards the back of the metal barrel, the soldier then began pouring a small amount the black powder into an equally small chamber.

"Imagine for a moment that you're a common soldier, and that you have an enemy knight barreling towards you, wearing full plate armor on horseback. A crossbow might work, but those things can get inaccurate the farther the target is, and nothing short of a direct hit can ensure a fatal shot. A longbow requires years of training and conditioning to use to any level of efficiency. Fighting in close quarters is likely not going to work out well, because he's much better trained, armed, and armored than you are. Now imagine having a weapon which can harness the explosive properties of gunpowder down to a very fine point-by channeling it down a narrow metal barrel."

The knight was now charging at the common soldier, shield up and lance down to gore through the unarmored opponent. But the soldier seemed undeterred, and raised the rifle up to his shoulder, taking aim at the foe with the weapon as he pulled a small lever of sorts on the back of his weapon. Then, the soldier pulled back the trigger which his finger clutched at, and all of a sudden he could see some violent force exploding from the barrel, and the metal ball was sent flying out in little more than a blur. The image seemed to slow, and Ned saw the metal round shooting straight towards the knight, before it ripped a hole through his chest, penetrating the plate cuirass with more force than a bodkin point.

"By igniting the gunpowder in the barrel, the weapon can propel a small piece of metal at incredibly fast speeds. With its path funneled by the barrel's narrow passage, that small piece of metal will shoot out of the weapon with a massive amount of force, and punch through the knight's armor in an instant."

Eddard attempted to imagine the scenario in his mind, and as he understood the concept of such a weapon in his mind, he could not help but recall what the Spartan had shown him of the arms his people had used in their wars. And then a stark realization struck him. "...It's a thunder weapon!"

"Exactly!" Lady Cortana said, a pleased look on her face as she dissipated the image and reformed herself. "Admittedly, they wouldn't be nearly as sophisticated or accurate as the guns Chief here has, but they are the ancestors of his weapons, so to speak."

Luwin continued furiously writing his notes. "This… this is utterly incredible," The maester whispered, part in awe and part in fear. "Harnessed correctly, this could render much of any present form of armor obsolete."

"That's not even the half of it," Cortana continued. "Now imagine what would happen if you scaled it all up-a vastly larger barrel, firing a giant ball of stone or metal, using even more black powder. At a certain point, even the walls of your castles would be made nearly useless. Let that sink in for a moment."

"It is… certainly a great deal for me to grasp. Do you intend to show it to His Grace once he arrives?" The gods only knew what Robert would do if he got his hands on such a terrible weapon. Probably use it for hunting, he thought humorously.

"No," The Spartan said with a shake of his head. "All due respect, sir, but I don't think you fully understand the possible ramifications this weapon could introduce."

Eddard looked at the Spartan queerly. "What do you mean? This weapon could give power to the smallfolk, could make them into more than just fodder for knights to ride over. It could give the lords of Westeros reason to value them!"

**[BGM: Game of Thrones OST -_ Season 1 - A raven from King's Landing_]**

Lady Cortana was the one to clarify. "You're very noble to want to give the power to help change the common people's fortunes, Lord Stark. The entire reason we're even sharing this knowledge with you is because we know you have the integrity to not abuse this power for yourself. Believe me, we want to bring this kind of change to your world as well, but even the most wonderful reforms and innovations in the world can backfire horribly if it comes at the wrong time and/or too quickly. Warfare isn't the only thing which gunpowder would change. Think about it, Lord Stark. Your society is based around a feudal system of common folk answering to lords answering to more powerful lords answering to kings. And this system basically relies on the higher members of society being able to reign in the lower classes through sheer strength, superior training, and highly expensive gear.

"But what if you suddenly introduce a concept which places power in the hands of the common people rather than the small elite? What happens when a single shot can negate all the advantages of the ruling class? In a society like this, the risk of political and social upheaval would be far too dangerous, especially with how divided you've said the Seven Kingdoms are. If gunpowder were allowed to simply be made available to everyone, how quickly do you think some noble would get it in his head to buy up as much of it as possible, raise an army, and decide to seize power for himself? War would spread like wildfire as men with the wealth to afford these weapons would scar the landscape in petty power struggles. Or, perhaps even worse that that scenario, is the possibility that the common people would get it in their heads that with their overlords no longer quite as superior as they thought they were, and rise up in revolt. This would lead to absolute chaos as the social order is violently ripped down, with the nobility being usurped, if not outright annihilated. All of a sudden, these people who've lived their entire lives being governed by others, the vast majority of them having not had even the barest form of formal education, suddenly find out the very thing that's given them order and safety is now gone. It would be pure and utter chaos, where the strong would prey on the weak, and any sense of order powerless to stop the bloodshed and anarchy sweeping the country."

Ned was stunned to silence, the scenarios playing out like waking nightmares in his mind. He remembered the brutality of Robert's Rebellion he had been a part of many years before, and of the siege of Pyke years after that. Two wars he had witnessed, seeing countless men die on soils far from home, the names of loved ones whispered in their last breaths. Fearful peasants, arrogant knights, and uncaring lords. He had seen the atrocities of the Sack of King's Landing, how countless innocents were murdered, raped, and robbed by blood-thirsty Lannister dogs. The images of Elia Martell and her two children, wrapped in cloaks of Lannister red before Robert. And now, with a threat far more grave possibly lurking beyond the Wall… as much as he thought that such a weapon would give them an advantage, he realized the gravity of keeping it from those who would abuse its power. Too much could be at stake to threaten the fragile peace he and Robert had preserved these last seventeen years. And once more, he was grateful-if not in words, but in thought, that the Spartan and Lady Cortana likewise desired to preserve that peace rather than bring change upon the realm through force.

"I understand," He said solemnly. "Then what has been spoken in this room cannot leave it. Not until this weapon can be harnessed in a fashion which will not threaten the peace. Luwin?"

"I understand, Lord Eddard," The maester inclined his head. "Whilst I must confess myself curious to this substance and its possible applications, I will also admit it would be wiser to keep it hidden from those seeking to exploit it."

"We appreciate your understanding," Cortana said with a relieved smile.

"But… may I ask but one thing?" Ned asked somewhat warily. "If Will is right, and if there truly is something out beyond the Wall..."

"If it could be useful to fighting the enemy?" The Master Chief asked. "If it can give you an advantage, then we could. We'd need to keep an extremely tight control over it, to make sure it's used only where it's needed."

"Keeping the powder's ingredients a secret would be paramount in such a situation," Lady Cortana said. "And to make doubly sure, the concentrations of its compounds as well. Remember that it's not nearly as potent as it could be if they get the wrong amount of what should go in there. Ensure it's production is overseen by people you both know and trust." She paused for a moment, seeming as one struck by a moment of cautious brilliance. "Come to think of it..."

Before she could continue, however, the sounds of small but hurried footsteps came from the outside hall, accompanied by the yipping of a pup behind it. Jory, whom Ned had placed outside to guard the door and make sure there were no unwanted ears, soon opened the thick oak door of Ned's solar. And, to Ned's own surprise, his son Bran was there as well, with his pup at his side. "My lord," Jory said, "I apologize for interrupting. Your son bid me to let him see you."

"It's alright," Ned nodded to his guard. "We were just finishing in here, regardless." Turning his gaze to his middle son, he bade the boy to enter. "Come, Bran. Is something amiss?"

With a shy nod, Bran did so, approaching his father. "Mother sent for me to find you, father. The King is almost here! I saw him with hundreds of people!"

"Ah, joy," Ned sighed. It figured for Robert to show earlier than expected. With an entourage of such a notable size, he'd have thought his old friend to be a bit slower on the way to Winterfell. But evidently Robert's usual impatience had driven them to be faster. Few were the voices which could match the King's bellowings in a rage. Shaking out of his thoughts, he smiled at his son. "Thank you for the word, Bran. I suppose we'd best get to the courtyard. Luwin?"

"At once, my lord," The maester said beside him, vacating the room along with Jory. Wordlessly, the Spartan removed Lady Cortana from the pedestal of light back into the back of his helmet. Ned still could not understand how the luminous lady worked in such a manner, but he put it aside. He noticed that Bran had not moved, however, and was looking shyly at the Spartan. The direwolf pup of his padded up to the Spartan's foot, yipping excitedly at him.

"Something wrong, Bran?" The Lord of Winterfell asked his son.

**[BGM: Halo Legends OST - _Out of Darkness_]**

"Well… I..." The boy began, but could only mumble. He was clearly still intimidated by the Spartan, Ned sadly noted.

"It's alright, sweetie, you can tell us," Lady Cortana's voice came from the Spartan's helmet, her words kind and soft, as though it were Cat herself speaking to him.

"I… wanted to thank you, Master Chief," Bran said innocently.

The Spartan merely looked at Ned's son, silent at first. "...Me?" He asked. Ned almost swore he heard hesitation in the soldier's voice that day, but he wasn't about to say it. The enigmatic man had always been particularly reclusive from his children, which was truly saying something of the already solitary figure; but from all reports, he had always been careful when they were around. Bran's pup, meanwhile, just sat in front of the Spartan, wagging it's tail and panting happily.

"For… for my pup. For all the pups. You helped convince my father to let them come with us. Jon did too, but... I never thought to thank you before, and..."

Again without a word, the Spartan slowly knelt down to the pup, before using one of his gauntleted hands to effortlessly scoop it up. Ned had seen the Spartan easily lift things of much greater size than the giant himself, and had on more than one occasion seen the Master Chief's inhuman strength. Bran, like he, knew this, and looked somewhat fearful at the bundle of fur now in the soldier's hand, knowing that he could easily harm the poor little thing. But though his hold was awkward, Ned also saw that the Spartan was paying great heed to be gentle in his hold of the pup. Standing back up again, the soldier walked forward until he was right in front of Bran. Bending down low so as to reach his much smaller son, the Chief extended his hand to the boy, holding out the pup for Bran to take, which he did.

"He's your responsibility now," The Spartan said in a solemn voice, but Ned could again swear he heard a certain softness in there as well. "Take care of him."

Bran looked awestruck by the gesture, and Ned had to admit he did as well. With a shy smile, the boy nodded to the Spartan, whom then wordlessly removed his hand, straightened up, and left the room.

"Come, Bran," Ned said after a moment, "We'd best go greet the King." Still Ned did not want to believe that the ancient enemy had returned, that the words of his house would not be truly fulfilled in his lifetime. But the Long Summer was nearing it's end, if Luwin's raven from the Citadel was to be believed. Benjen spoke to him of strange happenings north of the Wall, of Mance Raydner gathering the wildlings as their King. And direwolves, south of the Wall for the first time anyone alive could remember. Winter is Coming. The words of House Stark. If what Will saw was real, if the Spartan's suspicions were true… then everything depended on what courses of action would be taken in the coming months. Robert needed to be informed. Ned could not act as Hand of the King when he needed to be Warden of the North. The only assurance he had was this: no matter the peril, no matter the cost, the Spartan seemed poised to stand with him against it. And for Ned, it felt as though a hundred thousand men could not give him such relief. A man with the power to rival the gods themselves, yet the humility and hidden kindness of the most pious of septons… such a man seemed to stand taller in Eddard Stark's eyes than any king or lord he had ever met. He only hoped that, when winter truly came, he could be half as steadfast as he had come to know the Spartan to be.

* * *

_'Aww, Chief that was so sweet of you!'_ Cortana prattled on in John's helmet as he strode through Winterfell's halls, towards the castle's courtyard. Lord Stark had said earlier that they were to greet the king there, along with the rest of the castle's inhabitants.

"Will you drop it already?" John asked, a very slight amount of annoyance in his voice. "I was just giving him back his pup." Seriously, what was the big deal? Those little furballs were getting a little too attached to him, and he wasn't the one responsible for raising them. So what if he gave them some leftover stew from time to time? They were just puppies, and he figured helping them have good food would help them get stronger as they grew. And if they got as big as Cortana estimated, they could prove very useful as attack dogs, or at least as guard animals for their owners.

_'Oh, c'mon, Chief, you had to admit the gesture was cute at least. I mean, the way Bran was just beaming at you-'_

John merely made a small grunt. It was clear she was teasing him.

_'Alright, alright, grouchypants,'_ Cortana finally relented. _'...So, today we get to meet the king?'_

"Looks like it." John saw Brandon running past him, his pup scampering behind the small boy. Hearing heavier footsteps behind him, the Spartan knew Lord Eddard was following, and so slowed his pace, until they were walking side by side together down the hall. They did need to discuss something before meeting this Robert Baratheon. "Sir, if I may?"

The Stark patriarch seemed confused. "I never imagined you needed my permission to do much of anything, Spartan. You are neither from my land nor sworn to me in any regard."

"While it is true you do not technically have authority over my actions, I feel it prudent to recognize the fact that you do technically outrank me, given the integrity you have displayed thus far. As a soldier, I feel it is only fair to show you the respect your station deserves, sir."

"I'm honored that you would think me worthy of such deferment," Eddard said with a scoff, though his smile seemed genuine. "Very well, what is it you wish to speak of, soldier?"

"I would ask that you refrain from mentioning Cortana or the finer details of our capabilities to anyone in the King's entourage. Including the King himself, sir."

"What?" The Stark lord looked shocked. "But… why? Should Robert not be informed at once?"

"I understand that you'd be reluctant doing so, sir" John admitted. "But all of our equipment are military property of the UNSC, and Cortana in particular is extremely important to our people. We've been able to entrust you with a tremendous amount of information because we needed to gain your trust, sir."

Cortana chimed in only loud enough for John and Eddard to hear her. "Look at it from our point of view, Lord Stark; we've been here for, what, two to three months? During that time we've gotten to know you a great deal better than we did at first, and are therefore much more inclined to trust you. But the people who we're about to meet are people we've never met before, and are the leaders of a foreign political entity. We simply can't trust them with something they may be tempted to take for themselves, much less something as high-priority as I am. You remember how we said a lot of people would want to get into gunpowder when they realized how important it could be? Now imagine someone figuring out how important I am-the very source which has been supplying you with all this knowledge."

From the way he looked at them, the point was made clear to Eddard. "...Very well. In truth, you likely have good reason to hide yourself from those arriving today. Robert is a good man, that much I know. But he's always been fond of drink, and sadly drink can make a man say many things he shouldn't. The Queen, and both her brothers are with them. All three Lannister children. Any one of them hearing of Lady Cortana is enough to give me fear-but if their father, Tywin were to?"

"Appreciate the heads up, sir," John said with a nod. He had heard of the Lannisters' infamous reputation from both Luwin and Eddard during the many hours they had spent exchanging their known histories.

Tywin Lannister, the patriarch of the family, sounded half like an ONI executive, and another half like a Insurrectionist leader; both of which seemed to make John genuinely feel the need to consider him dangerous. A highly capable military commander, politician, and administrator by all accounts, but also ruthless, arrogant, and obsessed with consolidating as much power for his house. If Lord Stark's account of the Sack of King's Landing was accurate-which, given the details and the time period this planet seemed stuck in, probably was-Chief had little intention of aligning himself with the man. Queen Cersei was reputed as a cold, vain woman, with her chief interest seeming to be securing power and authority for herself and her family; with bribery, intimidation, and the sheer power of the Lannisters as her main tools. Definitely not someone John thought trustworthy enough to disclose much of anything beyond what he thought prudent. Jaime Lannister was… a little too muddled a figure for John to judge as being necessarily right or wrong. As a member of the Kingsguard-the bodyguards to the King-Jaime's moniker of 'Kingslayer' originated from his betrayal and assassination of the former sovereign, Aerys Targaryen. From the sound of the latter, John didn't really see much of any reason to condemn a man for putting down a piece of work who was labeled 'the Mad King'. He himself had killed less deranged men in his days of fighting the Insurrection, though he never at all liked it. Though, Jaime's reputed arrogance and narcissism didn't rub John the right way. The last one, Tyrion Lannister, seemed the most enigmatic out of all of them. Although he was reputed as a binge drinker with a habit for brothel mongering, Cortana had taken an interest in his apparent love of reading. And while there was plenty of talk of people despising him as an 'Imp', John figured it was simply the result of living in such a backwards society which despised deformity. Yet another thing he hated about medieval society. Aside from that, there really wasn't much of anything else bad said about him, though again, John decided he'd be the judge of this Tyrion when he met him, as he would with the rest of the Lannister family.

**[BGM: Game of Thrones OST - _Season 1 - King Robert's Arrival_]**

"Alright, boys, enough glowering," Cortana chided. They were just emerging out into the courtyard now, and most everyone else was already ready and waiting. Lord Eddard fell in line front and center, next to his wife, Lady Catylen. Chief, who was never really a person who enjoyed the spotlight, would have normally just went into the crowd behind Lord Stark's family; but the latter had requested he at least stand next to his brother, Benjen, who stood at the end next to young Brandon, as he was considered 'an honored guest'. The Northern lords were gathered on either flanks of the Stark family. Will was standing behind them in the contingent of the Starks' household servants, standing next to Jon Snow. The minute the young private had seen him, he immediately went into an attention stance, to which John allowed him to stand easy. He could see Will was still sore-the morning PT session he had the boy go through that day _had _been somewhat harder than usual.

"...Where's Arya?" Came Lady Catylen's voice as she glanced around for her youngest daughter. "Sansa, where's your sister?" The elder of Stark's daughters merely shrugged. Chief had noticed her absence, but he figured the girl wasn't far. Indeed, not a minute later, he saw a small figure wearing a helmet running up past them.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Lord Stark stopped the girl, removing the helmet on her head. "What're doing with that on?"

John watched Benjen, Robb, Theon, and Jon all grin at the girl, and he had to admit, to himself at least, that he had to suppress the slightest upturn to his mouth as well. He didn't really know when he had come to the comparison, but Arya's defiantly tomboyish nature and adventurous tendencies seemed to remind him of Kelly or Linda when when they were kids. With a groan, Arya did as she was told and got in line next to her brother Brandon, whom she pushed (read: bullied) out to the side to fit in line.

Not a few moments later, the entourage began filing into the courtyard.

The first one to canter his horse in was a man wearing the gold-plated armor of the Kingsguard, riding an almost archetypal white destrier. The armor itself was heavily gilded, as was the sword at his side, making Chief wonder as to its practical use in battle, though Cortana also registered into his helmet that it was nevertheless finely crafted, with gold scales protecting the neck, shoulders, and thighs. The rider after him was a young, blonde-haired boy riding a brown stallion. From the boy's features, the ridiculously huge satin cloak of crimson he wore, and the absolutely, condescendingly smug look on his face, that would have to be Crown Prince Joffrey; a boy which John had heard of some, but none of it good, and all of which were more reasons he distrusted the system of hereditary monarchy. Evidently, Robb had come to the same conclusion as he watched the blonde little brat staring at Sansa like a piece of meat. Behind the boy was a massive man layered in dark armor, atop a huge black charger. He had a massive sword poking out from over his shoulder, and wore a helmet fashioned in the likeness of a snarling hound. When he lifted up his visor… Huh, John thought. So that's Sandor Clegane. He'd heard of the prince's bodyguard in passing, being the younger brother to Gregor Clegane. Called the Hound for his house's sigil and his steadfast watch over the prince, John saw the horribly burnt right side of his face.

Following these three men was a massive horse-driven carriage, with two red-robed men at the driver's seat. Filing behind them was a contingent of guards and servants, and then another knight of the Kingsguard… and then came King Robert Baratheon himself.

Eddard Stark had told John much of his childhood friend, the man who overthrew the Mad King some seventeen years ago. A charismatic leader and great soldier when he was young, Robert had rebelled against the Iron Throne when Aerys Targaryen called for his head as well as Eddard's, after he had unjustly and horrifically executed both the latter's father and brother. Then, after seizing power, Robert managed to unite the Seven Kingdoms during the Greyjoy Rebellion by leading an alliance from all across Westeros to throw down Balon Greyjoy. Ever since, he had managed to keep the realm together between himself, his two brothers, and Jon Arryn, the former Hand of the King and foster father to Eddard Stark and he.

So while he wasn't exactly disappointed at Robert's appearance, John did admit he felt the King wasn't nearly as impressive as the man Stark had hailed him to be. The King was an obese, unhealthy looking man who had a flushed look on his face, a likely indication of copious alcohol consumption or exertion. His beard was long and frayed with black hair turning gray, and seemed to hide at least one double chin. Two servants came beside his great horse, carrying a wooden step-ladder. Was he really so out of shape he couldn't even dismount his own horse? Evidently yes, given the fact he used it.

When the king strode forward, all present in the courtyard knelt before him, including the Stark family. Given the feudal society they lived in, it was expected of them.

But not John.

This land wasn't his. As Lord Eddard had told him, he was not subject to the laws of Westeros. And while he had respect for obeying the laws of any land, John was not going to compromise and kneel for this Robert Baratheon. Doing so would give them the impression he would obey the laws of a society so backwards compared to his. He wasn't about to say that the UNSC was a perfect system, and he wasn't necessarily looking down upon the people of Westeros; but compared to the implied inefficiency, capricious, and ultimately archaic nature that was expected of a social system where lords and kings fought for power and the common man was little more than a serf, it was magnitudes superior in both its order, sophistication, and the quality of life for it's average citizen.

And in the UNSC, men did not kneel.

But despite this, John felt it necessary to respect Robert as the functioning supreme commander over the armies of the Seven Kingdoms. So, as everyone else knelt, Chief stood at sharp attention, and raised his hand to his helmeted brow in salute. Everyone else seemed strangely dumbstruck by the gesture. They weren't expecting him to kneel along with everyone else, did they? The king seemed to note this, but he only spared a moment to stare at him, before standing in front of Lord Eddard, and ushering him and all else to rise.

"Your Grace," Stark said quietly, and the two old friends alongside everyone else were quiet, waiting for the king to speak.

"...You got fat," King Robert uttered, seemingly in disapproval at Eddard. John felt there was more than a little hypocrisy involved here. As though thinking the same thing, Eddard made a short glance down to Robert's stomach.

Then, after another moment of silence, the king started to chortle at Ned, which caused the two of them to both start chuckling, before embracing.

Great. It was one of those types of soldiers. The gregarious loudmouth who, while good to be in company with, was more than a little too boisterous, boastful, and unprofessional for John's liking. Releasing his hold on Lord Eddard, Robert then turned to Lady Catelyn, smiled as he embraced her. He then patted little Rickon's head, the boy standing next to his mother. Then, Robert turned back to Ned. "Nine years. Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace," Eddard smiled. "Winterfell is yours." Coming out of the carriage was a woman wearing rich red robes trimmed in gold, with a large pelt of fox fur slung about her back. Judging from her looks and her robes, John figured that would be the Queen. The cold, scornful look she gave practically everything was already annoying him. Behind her came two small children, also golden of hair and green eyes. The younger two of the royal siblings, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen. Myrcella had a curiosity in her eyes as she shifted her eyes around Winterfell, and John didn't see scorn in her eyes like her mother. Tommen seemed far more shy, and when the boy's gaze fell on him, he shied behind his sister.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya whispered to her older sister, who only hissed at her to shut up.

Robert turned his attention to the rest of the Stark children, pacing to Robb first. "What have we here? You must be Robb," He said, smiling as he shook the young man's hand. Sansa blushed as he called her 'a pretty one,' before looking hard at Arya for some reason. "And your name is?"

"Arya," The girl replied after some hesitation.

His attention now on Brandon, the king seemed amused. "Ooh. Show us your muscles." The boy stuck out his arms, flexing it as best he could. The king laughed in approval. "You'll be a soldier." He then looked to see Benjen beside the boy, and barked heartily as he embraced Eddard's younger brother. "Benjen, you little weed! Seven hells, did you get big at the Wall!"

"It has that effect," Benjen said with a grin. "It's been a very long time, Your Grace."

The Queen came forward then, approaching Lord Eddard, before offering her hand to him. Ned Stark kissed it before uttering "My Queen," his wife doing likewise.

And then, King Robert turned his gaze to John. 'Moment of truth', Cortana voiced his his ears alone. 'Please try to be just a bit tactful, Chief.'

"And who have we here...?" He asked warily, eying John from head to toe.

Having assumed an at ease stance when the king told the others to rise, John replied as he would to any superior officer. "Sir. Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117 of the UNSC Forward Unto Dawn.


	16. First Impression

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones nor Halo. Game of Thrones is property of HBO and George RR Martin. George RR Martin is also the owner of the book series A Song of Ice and Fire, from which the TV series is based off of. Halo is property of 343 Industries and Microsoft. All subsequent characters, settings, concepts, lore, music, and other materials belong to their respective owners and publishers. Please support the official releases!

I am sorry for the hiatus. A lot of things happened over in the RLz, including but not limited to my dog dying and my mom breaking her knee. I appreciate you all for being so patient. Happy holidays, everyone.

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**[BGM: Game of Thrones OST - **_**Season 1 - The King's Arrival**_**]**

Tyrion groaned as he rode atop his mount, his stunted legs more sore than that one time he bedded a Dornish woman. Cursing to both the Old and the New, he dearly hoped honorable Eddard Stark had plenty of the North's famous great mead-fermented for years with its sweet honey, juices of blackcurrant, apple, or mulberry-all waiting in a tall, frothing mug at Winterfell for him. He'd thought the damnable, freezing cold would have had the decency to have numbed the aching in his body, but all it really did was bring it to the forefront of his already tender nerves.

A month it had been since Robert had set out from King's Landing to travel to Winterfell, bringing a massive entourage of guards, servants, and supplies for the journey. _Either Cersei had insisted she bring her entire train of handmaidens and attendants, or she'd brought a greater part of the court. Possibly both._ Either way, added to the wheelhouse his sister rode in, the veritable small army with them only proved to slow their already lengthy journey to a near crawl. It was frankly amazing they made it to Moat Cailin in a fortnight, but Tyrion still thought the trip would have been far shorter had they all just gone ahorse along the Kingsroad.

Still, he supposed it wasn't all bad. Tyrion wasn't the most well-traveled Lannister in the world. He found going along the Kingsroad through the Riverlands was surprisingly good for him-while it did present the opportunity to see new places and meet new people and fuck new women-the most immediate benefit hit him once they were a league from the capitol. Namely, the lack of piss, shit, brine, and smoke laying siege to his nostrils. And despite the hundreds following them, the drone of half a million people and the cawing of countless gulls were no longer assailing his ears. It was almost therapeutic to get away from the city.

But while the Riverlands' hills and woods and rivers were kissed by the warmth of summer, the road past the Neck proved that the North was just as damnably cold as maesters said it was. Sure, the whole contingent was properly outfitted for the cold, but it did little to diminish the fact that, even with the South still stuck in summer, there was damn frost on the ground, and even a small shower of snow somewhere along the road. What warmth there was was limited to around campfires, and in the clear mornings-and in the latter case, that in itself was shackled by the chill of the North. To make matters worse, the North was likewise just as sparsely populated as it was said to be. There were few if any inns along the road, and fewer settlements still. And camping out in the wilderness, watching the stars and moon in the night sky, while romantic in concept, was far more brutal than one might think so far north. Still, Tyrion had to admit there was a certain rugged, untamed, brutal, horribly uncomfortable beauty to the land. It's vast wilderness, forests, pine-covered hills and snow-capped mountains, speckled with tiny villages and holdfasts, all seemed to draw a certain sense of adventure, and an appreciation for the nature of the world.

Were that he had a belly full of wine, a warm bed to sleep, and a pretty Northern girl's mouth around his cock, Tyrion would have found the trek to Winterfell most appealing. But alas, he had to contend with the company of the royal entourage, his own wineskin, and no pretty Northern girl to swallow his prick.

Jaime made the trip more bearable beyond the bottom of said wineskin, at least. That Myrcella and Tommen were there were a boon as well, his royal niece and nephew _far _more preferable company than their sadistic, moronic cunt of an elder brother. How in the seven hells Robert had sired that little ingrate… it almost beggared belief. Though, considering just _whose _cunt Joffrey had passed out from, Tyrion honestly wasn't very surprised he'd turned out more like his sister Cersei. The Seven Kingdoms were in for a miserable time the day Robert would finally drink, eat, and whore himself into an early grave. Sure, Westeros had seen its fair share of both vicious kings and idiot kings, but with the way Tyrion had seen Joffrey develop, he was becoming increasingly worried they'd wind up with a cruel, confounded moron for a king soon sitting on the Iron Throne.

Not that the state of the realm wasn't already capricious. Just because Tyrion was a dwarf didn't make him daft. Jon Arryn was dead, Stannis had fled to Dragonstone, Renly was garnering an amount of popularity which was coming close to being called concerning, Varys and Littlefinger were scheming and plotting gods-know-what, and if this trip was going where Tyrion thought it was going, they were about to have a Hand which… might not be the best prepared for the politicking of the capitol. All on top of Robert himself outright neglecting the responsibilities and duties he himself was supposed to be resolving. The only reason the poor, fat oaf hadn't been bitten by the plethora of vipers plaguing King's Landing was because he happened to be a poor fat oaf who was very popular, and happened to be wearing a crown on his head. Though for how long, Tyrion couldn't say. Something was brewing in the South, and frankly, the Seven Kingdoms were not prepared for what was to come.

"And what are you contemplating now, dear brother?" Jaime's voice was right beside him, pulling Tyrion from his thoughts. He turned to face his brother, who was now riding beside him in his white charger, tall in his stirrups and his smirk piercing through his helm. Jaime wore the enameled golden armor of the Kingsguard, the crown emblazoned on his breastplate gilded in whited steel. A cloak of similarly pure stark white (gods that was terrible) trailed behind him, draping his destrier's flank. At his hip was a luxurious sword of castle-forged steel, gilded and jeweled in the elegant Lannister style. His pale white shield, whose bare field of ivory was only permitted to be worn by the Kingsguard, was strapped to the side of his saddle.

"Only on the contents of Ned Stark's meadery," Tyrion quipped with a smile to his dear brother. "And the contents of his brothels. As honorable as his reputation precedes, he must have a whorehouse somewhere in the winter town."

"He does have a bastard, I hear," Jaime pointed out. "Mayhaps he keeps the one whom he sired it on close at hand?" Tyrion knew Jaime had always wanted to briar Stark with insults, ever since their spat at the foot of the Iron Throne whenever the chance allowed, and Robert was out of earshot.

"I sincerely doubt Lord Eddard is like Robert. He brought the boy… Jon, was it? Back from the war." Not likely for him to have sired the boy upon arriving home at Winterfell before wheeling back south to wed Catelyn Tully with his army in tow. _In any case, I suppose, brothel or no, there must be at least one comely Winterfell girl willing to spread her legs for me. Gold dragons are such pretty things to these northerners._

"Please tell me you won't leave me alone with those people," Jaime asked, a trapped, almost pleading look on his face. "My stabbing of Aerys has garnered something of ill repute among these damnable northerners."

Tyrion grinned. "Forgive me, dear brother, but I must confess there is so much to look forward to at Winterfell. So many lords and ladies awaiting our arrival. Though, I must confess it's not their company I crave most of all-it's something I've been hearing of late. The Fallen Star."

His brother looked at him queerly. "That nonsense? It was a bloody light in the sky. What of it is so interesting? You act as though it's the first thing the gods decided to spit down on us."

"The charms of the North are entirely lost to you," Tyrion lamented. "Surely you know by now how fond I am of curiosities. And it is most certainly not the first, though I think it was less spit down and more shit down." That made Jaime laugh, which was enough for Tyrion to be happy that moment. "The Daynes' ancestral sword was said to be wrought from the heart of a fallen star, was it not? Wouldn't you like a sword forged from such a divine metal?"

That piqued Jaime's interest, a nostalgic look on his face. "I remember seeing the greatsword Dawn. White like milkglass, and just as sharp and strong as Valyrian steel. Arthur Dayne used it to cut down… I'd lost count of all the men he'd slain. Slicing through armor, bone and flesh like so much cloth. It would be nice to have a sword like that. But I doubt it'd be enough to satisfy Father."

_As if anything short of dominion over the world would satisfy Father. _Long had Tywin Lannister bartered with houses across Westeros for a Valyrian steel sword their family could call their own. But the gold of Casterly Rock could not convince even one to part from their precious heirlooms. Uncle Gerion had gone off to the Doom in search of Brightroar, the Lannisters' original Valyrian greatsword, lost centuries ago when the Lannisters were still the Kings of the Rock. Nine years it had been since Tyrion saw his favorite uncle leave Lannisport, leaving behind only a baseborn girl, Joy Hill, as his issue. And like all those who had sought after the Freehold's fabled treasures, he was never seen or heard of again.

Tyrion shook his head. Uncle Gery was gone now. Lost to stonemen or pirates or worse. "Still, it is worth investigating. If nothing else, it would give me something other than the Wall to look forward to."

"Don't tell you intend to take the black," Jaime looked at his brother incredulously.

Tyrion himself gave his brother an almost offended look. "And go celibate? The whores would go begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock! No, I just want to stand on top of the Wall and piss off the edge of the world."

The two of them laughed at that, and Tyrion chose to let that small happiness overtake his discomfort in the saddle. And as though the gods were granting him some shred of mercy, when he looked forward again, their horses had crested over the hill, and Tyrion saw a castle in the distance. "Oh, gods be good," Tyrion sighed. "I don't think I'd handle another night in the cold."

**[BGM: Halo Reach OST - **_**From the Vault**_**]**

The entourage, eager for the prospect of rest and warmth, pressed on as fast as permitted, horses being pressed from a leisurely trot to canter. As they neared the winter town, however, Tyrion slowed his horse back to trot, his attention fixed to a strange, unusual shape loitering at it's edge. A grey-green, imposing mass of dull metal, larger than all the hovels and houses of the winter town. From a distance, he thought it to be some strange building amidst the town, perhaps a small holdfast or a barracks. But as they neared it, he realized he couldn't discern what at all it could be. As they came closer, with the denizens of Winterfell lined on either side of the road leading into the keep, Tyrion eyed two more strange shapes beside it, parked beside the outermost hut of the town. One appeared to be some strange wheelhouse or wagon, wrought of pure metal and with wheels of a strange, black substance. The other, while smaller-roughly the size of a large cart or a pony-was similarly wrought and no less intriguing. He wagered they must have been carriages of a sort, though he had to admit that nothing but a train of horses would have the strength to move such hulking masses of metal, much less at any reasonable speeds.

"Strange, for Lord Stark to build carriages from metal," Jaime admitted at his side. He had been utterly silent ever since they'd lain eyes on those gargantuan contraptions, and Tyrion would have commented on that, had he not been struck dumb himself.

"I don't recall Lord Stark having such extravagance. Are you sure they're his? Where could he have acquired so much metal to make such a carriage? Much less in the manner it was built?"

"Let's ask him," Jaime said with a shrug, urging his mount forward to catch up with his king. Tyrion opted to stay at his slow pace, letting his brother leave him behind, favoring to further behold the three strange, massive forms of metal. Whatever they were, Stark had them guarded well. Nearly a score of guards stood around the three of them, as well as the hut it stood beside. _Now _that _is intriguing. What on earth could Stark be hiding in that unassuming cottage?_ He had to agree with Jaime. If they were to know just what tale lay behind those strange devices, it would be best for them to ask the man hosting the things within the confines of his castle. Reluctantly tearing his gaze from the contraptions, Tyrion made his way up through the castle grounds, following the rest of the entourage.

By the time he had made his way to the main courtyard, King Robert had already dismounted from his black charger. The whole of the courtyard was kneeling to him, as was expected…

All except one.

Standing at the very end of the line of Starks was beyond a shadow of a doubt the single most peculiar looking man Tyrion had _ever _seen. He was, at the very least, at a height with Sandor Clegane, the brooding, savage guard of Joffrey whom men called the Hound. Tyrion would think that even the Hound's elder brother, the Mountain, would not seem so tall in comparison to the figure. He was clad head to toe in strange green-grey armor, and beneath it was a layer of some black material, perhaps mail of some sort, and a fiery gold visor completely obscured his face. And although the armor was thick and heavy, Tyrion could see that the black suit beneath framed a powerful, sinewy frame, with no trace of flab or pot belly. But Tyrion could not begin to comprehend what kind of material the armor was crafted from, nor who had made it. It seemed so foreign, so… _alien _to him, that it did not seem of the world. It was certainly not fancy, not gilded or patterned as knights were so oft to do when they could afford it. By Westerosi standards, it could have seemed dull, perhaps even ugly. And yet… _I've never seen such designs as I see on them._ He could not help but admire its craftsmanship. Not for the life of him could he begin to understand what purposes all the different patterns and intricacies and contours grafted onto it served, but Tyrion did not think even the master smiths of Qohor could make such fine work.

But what truly caught Tyrion's eye was the man beneath the armor. He stood at a strange stance, which reminded him of a soldier standing at attention. But where soldiers were expected to kneel or at least bow to kings, this one was as unbent as a Martell, and merely raised his straightened hand to his brow, in what Tyrion assumed was a salute of some kind. Even as all those around him, including Lord Stark and all his family and household, he stood tall and utterly still, never moving or shifting in his stance. Robert seemed to have noticed this, but only spared the individual a glance before he approached the still kneeling Eddard Stark. Yet Tyrion's eyes were still on the figure standing still and silent at the side, who only moved when the Starks rose, and changed his stance; spreading his legs slightly apart and tucking his hands behind his back. He showed no signs of impatience or discomfort, making not a single utterance as Robert shared greetings with Stark and his family. Finally, however, the king turned his attention to the unyielding giant. "And who have we here?"

At this, the soldier deigned to at last speak, his voice deep and tone professional. "Ser. Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117, of the UNSC _Forward Unto Dawn_."

Tyrion's thoughts whirled in his head over the man's words. For one, the fact that, not only did this man not only not kneel to Robert, but only deemed to address him as ser? Then there were the words he described himself as. Clearly, they were not his name, but rather a rank bestowed on him. What manner of office it was was unclear to Tyron, as the armies of the Seven Kingdoms were not so sophisticated to have such ranks in their hosts, mostly having levies being commanded by their local lords. The sellsword companies of Essos were known to have more organization and hierarchy in their structure of command, but if there were a sellsword company with the rank this man possessed, he had not heard of it.

But the most truly striking and haunting to Tyrion was the words he had said after that. While he could not for the life of him discern the meaning of the anagram 'UNSC', the words Forward Unto Dawn were words he had not heard, but seen. He had wanted, so desperately wanted to believe it was coincidence, that there was no such thing as prophecy, but he was filled with too much dread to ignore it.

It had happened the very night after the Fallen Star had flown across the sky, blazing white and silver as though it were the brash child of the sun and moon itself. The whole of King's Landing had watched it soar through the eastern sky, blazing a trail of white fire behind as it roared northward, until it fell past the horizon. When he had fallen asleep that night, he dreamt himself falling to the earth, and as he did he saw the Fallen Star pass him by, and Tyrion could still remember the heat he felt from it's white flames. He feared he would burn to death, so hot the blinding star was; but the fires kissed him not, and he continued to fall as it continued to fly its course. Instead, he still dared to gaze upon it's blinding brilliance, and to his terror, he saw great words smouldering across the Star's side-_FORWARD UNTO DAWN ._ He then heard the screech of a great bird of prey. _A falcon? A hawk? An eagle?_ He knew not, only that the beast's cry seem to roar through the heavens and into the very depths of his mind, filling his heart with a terrible dread. He became so filled with terror that he woke up then and there, shooting upwards with a gasp, sweat all on his body and his heart thundering in his chest.

He had only dreamt that dream once, but once was enough to remember, and no amount of wine or whores would drown or smother the memory of it. And as he remembered his dream, he reasoned in his mind what this Master Chief's words could mean. _He… is of the Fallen Star...?_ It seemed all too terrible to consider. What manner of man could come from the heavens riding a fallen star? A man who bowed to no king or lord. A man arrayed in otherwordly armor. _Is he a god? A demon? Both? Something else? He seems the part of the Warrior._

"Ser?" Robert asked. "You address me as just ser?"

The one known as the Master Chief clarified. "Ser. Where I come from, it is standard conduct for a soldier to address a superior as his station is due, and thus address a superior officer as 'sir', with an 'i' rather than an 'e'. It does not in and of itself denote knighthood, as is the custom of this land, but merely the due fact you are an officer of superior rank, and thus should be addressed as such. You are, as the Protector of the Realm, the supreme commander of all armed forces within the Seven Kingdoms, correct?"

For a moment, Robert only stared at him. The whole courtyard was silent as the grave as the two men stared at each other. Then, Cersei spoke, eyeing the soldier with disdain, contempt clear in her voice. "You are addressing the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. That you dare to not kneel to him as is proper is insult enough to remove your head from your shoulders. Yet you also have the brazen gall to not even address him his proper station?"

The giant's reply was simple. "I'm a soldier, ma'am. I merely feel it proper to address him as a man of superior rank rather than any fancy titles."

Boros Blount and Meryn Trant, the other two of the Kingsguard who had traveled with their entourage, stepped forward with their hands at their swords, both looking and sounding incensed at the Spartan's lack of deference to both Robert and to Cersei. Jaime did also, but seemed more lax than his two sworn brothers, his fore and middle fingers casually touching against the pommel of his own blade. If anything, Tyrion's brother seemed intrigued that a man lived who held such little regard to station. _We are of a mind, Jaime and I._ Though Tyrion might have thought part of his brother's lack of offense might have been his own dislike of Robert. "Lord Stark," Ser Trant sneered, "You would do well to tell this dog to kneel before the king, lest we-"

"Enough, you two," Robert cut him off, never turning his gaze from the soldier. "From the looks of it, you're not of the Seven Kingdoms anyway, are you?"

"Correct, sir."

Lord Eddard spoke up, looking uneasy. "Your Grace, allow me to introduce the Spartan. He is currently an honored guest abiding under our care. As stated before, he is not from Westeros, and therefore not wholly familiar with the customs of the land. I apologize for his lack of deference, but he means no disrespect."

"No need, Ned," Robert said with a chuckle. "If anything, I actually admit I'm glad someone has the balls to stand tall before me. You've no cause to feel you've wronged me, Spartan."

"Thank you, sir," The Master Chief said with taciturn respect.

"Now, how about you take off that helmet of yours, my good man? I admire any who opts for armor over silks, but it must be damn stuffy in that thing."

For a moment, the Spartan was silent. "Very well, sir." Strangely, the whole Stark family and all their household, and all the northern lords present seemed surprised, perhaps even shocked at that. As the northerners whispered and muttered around them, the Master Chief put his fingers at the base of his strange helmet, which caused a hiss of air to emit from it, small pieces of his helmet suddenly pushing out where his fingers had been. The Spartan then took his helmet in both hands, and effortlessly removed it.

The muttering around them turned louder and more surprised as they saw the face that lay beneath the helm. The man had painfully pale, almost translucent skin, sharply contrasting his short, dark brown hair, cropped to the point that Tyrion could seen the shadow of his scalp, and eyebrows that stood out likes dark streaks on his otherwise pale brow. Of greatest interest was his face, by far. His age was difficult for Tyrion to wager, seeming to be of an age with Robert and Lord Stark one moment, and yet younger than thirty at another angle. Small lines radiated from his eyes, but there was not a trace of time's ravages on his otherwise powerful features. While Robert had a beard growing over his double chins, the Spartan's jaw was powerful and strong, without a trace of facial hair or plumpness. His mouth was firm and serious, reminding Tyrion of Robert's brother, Stannis. But over all else, what truly seemed to stand out, were his eyes. A deep, stormy blue, they seemed so sharp and piercing that Tyrion could only liken them to Valyrian steel.

_Between the build of the man, his hair, and the eyes, he could be mistaken for Robert in his prime. If Robert had the scowl of Stannis. And were as pale as milk of the poppy. And had a stare which would put even father's to shame. _Though Tyrion couldn't deny his rugged features, however worn, had a primal handsomeness to them. _Many an unmarried wench would gladly spread their legs and bear him bastards. Likely more than a few married ones, as well. _

"Gods, man!" Robert said, himself sounding slightly intimidated, but more than anything looking fascinated by the Spartan. "Seven hells, Ned, where'd you find him?"

"Halfway between here and Tohrren's Square," Stark admitted, himself seeming stunned by the Spartan's face. "Forgive me for gawking, Spartan… It's just this is the first time you've removed your helm."

"You never asked, sir," The Spartan replied simply.

At that, Robert guffawed. "He's been wearing his armor the whole damn time, helmet and all, you say? How the hell do you piss and shit in that thing?" Tyrion couldn't help but chuckle at that. The Starks, however, seemed uncomfortable at the joke, Lord Stark looking worriedly at the Spartan.

The Chief did not seem offended by that, though, and actual answered with utmost matter-of-fact. "Actually, the armor does take care of that. It's complicated, but it basically breaks down waste to allow the wearer to remain focused in combat for long periods of time."

Robert only laugh more. "Ha! A suit of armor that doubles for a privy! What a godsend that would be!" Shaking his head, Robert quieted, before extending his hand. "But enough of that. On behalf of the Seven Kingdoms, I welcome you to Westeros, Spartan. I can't say I've ever heard of what land you've hailed from, but any good soldier is welcome in my country!"

"I appreciate your hospitality, sir. Lord Stark's proven more than adequate as a host."

"Indeed," Lord Stark said with an empathetic nod. "We'll discuss the details later, Your Grace. For now you should rest and ready for the feast tonight."

Robert shook his head again. "I'd like you to take me to your crypts, first. I want to pay my respects." Tyrion almost groaned at that. Robert never did stop muttering about Lyanna Stark, no matter how many drinks they shared together. _I almost pity my sister._

"We've been riding for a month, my love," Cersei said coldly. "Surely the dead can wait."

But Robert ignored her, merely inclining his head to Stark. "Ned," He insisted. At his king's command, Eddard led Robert away from the courtyard, though he did spare Cersei an apologetic glance before doing so.

_What a riveting move, Robert. Still, this trip may turn out more intriguing than hoped._

* * *

"...Did you have to bury her in a place like this?" Robert asked sadly. Ned watched behind him, looking at the stone face of Lyanna, beside the likenesses of Brandon and his father. A feather was in his sister's stony yet smooth palm, newly and tenderly given by Robert. "She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her..."

"She was my sister," Ned replied solemnly. "A Stark of Winterfell. This is where she belongs."

"She belonged with me." But that was a long time ago. Lyanna had lain seventeen years at peace with the Lords of Winterfell and the old Kings of Winter. And Robert was now married to another, with three children by her. "...In my dreams, I kill him every night."

"It's done, your Grace. Rhaegar is dead. The Targaryens are gone." Yes. All gone. None were left in Westeros who bore the name of the dragonlords of Old Valyria.

"Not all of them," He replied darkly. To that, Ned did not reply. The last of House Targaryen, Viserys and Daenerys, had fled to Essos in the twilight of the rebellion seventeen years ago, ultimately sparing them of being met with the same fate as Elia Martell and her children. But by all accounts, it seemed that Robert's hatred for the blood of the dragon had not been quenched with the passage of time. A fact which haunted Ned from the day he saw the Targaryen children laid before Robert in cloaks of Lannister red, and every day hence.

For a long while, Robert was silent, only looking at Lyanna's image. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he removed himself from the tomb, turning back to Ned. "But we've other things to speak of, Ned. Come on." He motioned with his hand, and the two of them walked through the crypts. "With the bloody Lannisters out of earshot, we can have words undisturbed. Tell me of this Spartan fellow."

"At once, Your Grace," Ned replied. "We happened upon him near three moons past, three days ride due west to southwest, near halfway towards Tohhren's Square. Had you heard of the Fallen Star?"

"Heard it? I heard it as it flew through the skies above King's Landing. A silvery-white, terrible thing, it was. Like the sun had birthed a bastard and sent the unruly thing to the earth. The noise was the damndest thing I'd ever heard, I swear."

"It was the same here, as well. But it was closer to the earth when we saw it coming from the south. It fell to the west of Winterfell, and when it passed from sight, we heard a terrible crashing in the distance. At once, I set out to investigate. That was where we found him."

Robert stopped in his tracks, and Ned could see the implications were already forming in Robert's mind, his mouth agape and eyes wide. "Ned… are you saying...?"

"Aye, your Grace. He came from it. He led us to where it had fallen to the earth himself, deeper in the wolfswood."

"And? What did you find?" Robert sounded almost impatient for the answer, but there was fear and wonder in his eyes.

"A ship, Your Grace. A great, massive ship. Wrought of steel and iron and metals we have never seen or heard of. One, he told us, that did not sail upon any seas-but through the very heavens themselves. ...He told us that he came from beyond our world, Robert. That his ship had been lost adrift far in the skies before he came to us. He calls it the _Forward Unto Dawn_."

Robert was stunned. For a long moment, he did not utter a word, before he glanced to the floor, a worried look on his face. "...Seven hells. The eunuch was right."

"Your Grace?" Ned asked, furrowing his brow.

"Right after Jon Arryn had died, my Master of Whispers told me of rumors in the North. Something about the Fallen Star, something about the words Forward Unto Dawn, and of a man who had come from it."

Ned did not like the sound of that. He had ordered his lords and the people of Winterfell to not speak of the Spartan's connection to the Fallen Star, the better to ward off any panic or gossip his people might have had. "How did he come to learn this, Robert?"

Robert merely shrugged. "The Spider is a crafty thing, he is. Has spies crawling from Sunspear all the way to the bloody Wall, to across the other side of the world. I'll admit he knows nothing beyond that, though. What can you tell me of his intentions? What does he want, Ned?"

"I cannot say," Ned replied. "Thus far he has been content to remain as my guest, and he seems keenly interested in sharing the knowledge of his lands to us. But… there is something else he's been keen to learn. Something that has had me worried, Robert. Weeks ago, we had captured a deserter from the Night's Watch. Half-mad and haggard besides, he spoke of White Walkers north of the Wall. The Spartan seemed afeared of this, and intervened to save his life."

Robert had listened intently throughout his explanation, but his face was skeptical. "Which is what the bugger _wanted_, no doubt. He can't have been the first man to spout nonsense like that, Ned, and not certainly the last. I know your northerners are superstitious, but you can't seriously be duped by a bloody deserter, Ned! Or do you suppose we should prepare the realm against a horde of grumpkins and snarks?"

"I only wish I could share your reservations, Your Grace. But the Spartan is not one to take to idle fancy, nor am I. He has… shown me things, Robert. Things which I cannot forget." Still the images of fire and death haunted Ned's dreams. The smoke and rubble of once great cities, the thunderous roars of great ships crashing through the sky, of entire worlds obliterated at the hands of those monstrous creatures. "Things which you must see to believe."

Robert at last seemed to take heed of his worry, and for the first time, uncertainty and concern seeming to shift his features. "Dammit, Ned, I'd wave this off, but you've always got to be right about these damn things. I know you wouldn't have gathered all your banners at Winterfell unless there was a real threat at hand. I'll speak to this Master Chief of yours. The deserter as well."

Ned bowed his head gratefully. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Robert sighed. "Still, Ned… there's a reason I came here. I need you, down in King's Landing." And here it came. The moment Ned had dreaded since Cat first told him of the raven from King's Landing. The one thing he dreaded. Leaving home to go back to the South. Where he had lost his father, brother, and sister. "Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you Hand of the King."

Ned knelt before his king. "I am unworthy of the honor."

"I'm not trying to honor you-I'm trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave. Dammit, Ned, stand up."

Though Ned, complied, he insisted. "I truly am, Your Grace. My duty as Warden of the North is too important to abandon now, not with the possibility of danger threatening the Wall."

"All the more reason you should come, Ned!" Robert huffed. "If you're right about this, the North's going to need support from the South! What better position is there for you to rally the Seven Kingdoms against an outside threat than beside me? We took down the Targaryens, Ned, and the Greyjoys, but we had to work together to do it. And don't worry about the North. That son of yours, Robb-that a strapping man full grown. Far more capable than that ingrate son and heir of mine. Your boy will do just fine in your boots."

"Capable he is, of that I've no doubt, Robert. But he's just a boy," Ned reminded him. "He has not the experience to command the whole of the North on his own. And he's not earned the respect of my bannermen as I have."

"Bloody hell, Ned, you did just fine when you sailed to rally your lords behind you when we rebelled against the Mad King. Me and Jon Arryn had to knock our banner off their horses before we go them to fight with us-but you? All you had to do was stride up to Winterfell, and your men rode south without a second thought. That's honor and loyalty if ever there was. Who is to say they cannot show the same for your children?"

Robert was right in that, at least. But while Ned had appreciated the loyalty of his banners after his perilous journey from the Vale to the North, he had half a mind to think that their eagerness to follow him to war had been to avenge the deaths of his father and brother, and all those who followed them to King's Landing, all of whom the Mad King had executed. But Ned was not about to force his position onto Robb. His eldest son was flourishing into a strong, brave, decisive lad; a fact Ned had nothing but unending pride for. But there was still much he needed to learn, and Ned did not feel eager to lay such a burden upon his son's unprepared shoulders. "This isn't Aerys Targaryen nor Balon Greyjoy we may be facing, Robert. I do not wish to leave my family nor my people if my fears have even the slightest kernel of truth to them."

To that, Robert sighed once more, his shoulders laxing. "Alright, alright, stop being so worried, Ned. We'll take care of this first thing tomorrow. Just let me enjoy the feast and a good night's rest before, will you?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Ned replied, relieved to have at least avoided the issue of becoming Hand of the King, for however short a time. "I've prepared ten kegs of good Northern ale to help warm yourself tonight, and we've prepared roasted boar and smoked duck for the evening."

"Aah, roasted boar and Northern ale!" Robert laughed. "That's damn near worth the whole trip of its own!"

It seemed Robert's fondness of food was part of the cause of all the weight he'd gained. "There is more, Robert. The Spartan has made his own contributions to the feast, as well."

"Oh? Do tell, Ned. Is it an exotic dish from his homeland?"

"Not precisely a dish, no. They are sauces of sundry kinds, which do greatly to compliment the flavors of many a dish. Condiments, he calls them."


End file.

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