Chapter Text
They had just passed Moat Cailin, when they learned about the newest turn in the Dance of Dragons. Three young boys of the Riverlands had banded together and beaten Borros Baratheon. Now they descended upon Kings Landing, and Cregan Stark didn’t expect much resistance from there, since Aegon II had no dragons in his power and just lost his biggest host. He could sense that the war was nearing its closure, even if none of the southern fools could, courtesy of the powerful bloodlines house Stark had absorbed and that he could feel running through his veins. Some of their gifts were more pronounced than others, he was a strong warg, but had to count himself lucky if he could make any sense of his dreams.
He sighed. It was incredibly unfortunate. Just when his host had finally set himself into march to join the fray, the rest decided that they had enough. And he stood with nearly 30000 men, of those only a tenth had the expectation to return. He would have to find a way to bind them to him and his line, since he couldn’t afford to have such a large host run rampant when they discovered there were no battles to be fought. Most would want to cross the Narrow sea and become sellswords. Some would join the alarmingly deteriorating Nights Watch. But one way or another, they would be of no use for the North that raised them. He would have to sleep over it, since his dreams usually managed to at least clear his thoughts. If not provide him with green dream to give him true guidance.
He was provided with a green dream. Probably the strongest he ever experienced. But it did most definitely not clear his mind.
The dreams was one of the few clear visions of the future. And what a dreadful future it was. The royal line spiraling into madness after the loss of their most precious asset. A man that made everyone glad he did not have dragons. A prince growing up in the shadows of green flames, until they took hold of him as well. Obsessed with prophecies, he would break all oaths and pacts in order to achieve what his slowly twisting mind made him fell necessary. Until he took what others had already laid claim to, his O so proud line, now brittle like an untempered sword, shattering in all directions, sending shards all over the world, many of them brushed aside by a wagging lions tail. His own line only becoming a shadow of itself, as it slowly lost everything that made it stand apart in the first place. The reemergence being to late to change the path the mad dragons had set the world on. All because they couldn’t understand the simplest truths.
Like the reason the wall was built. Not to keep wildlings out, no. The wall was built because winter was was coming, and the Others with it. But instead of supporting the Nights Watch, they invoked their pretty prophecies, never dwelling about the fact that every single one of them was written in the past tense. Unable to fathom the fact that maybe being the lat scion of a society that managed to literally blow themselves up didn’t qualify them as saviors of the world. That was why the Nights Watch was found. To ensure, that people had a rallying point, as there was a simple truth, such simple truth that every somewhat self-entitled family south and east of the Neck seemed to suppress: Princes and kings don’t win wars. Armies do. And Brandon the Builder built the wall not to give the Azor Ahai a better lookout, but to make sure there wouldn’t be another one necessary.
He had to ensure that his legacy would continue to stand, and if he had to defy death itself
The next morning, he knew he had to talk to a crannogman. Their strength in green magic was unparalleled south of the wall, and they knew best if his idea was merely a sign of lack poise or something actually doable.
He wasn’t surprised when a lookout approached him soon after sunrise. He had gotten used to their unsettling ability to predict where and when to be. So when he asked for an audience with the Lord Reed, he was only slightly surprised by the fact that he already stood before him, casually stating that Greywater Watch was to far away for his liege to visit it. The Lord Reed confirmed the feasibility of his plan, but warned him that it would require him to sacrifice most of his humanity, for those who want to grasp at the powers of gods, cannot be filled with the strength of the mortal kind. The Lord Reed explained to him the very core of what observers call magic, although it is only the matter and fuel, not the cast and engine. Stark knew he wouldn’t understand all of it, as his own talents were either hands-on and strengthened by practice or so elusive that he had no chance understanding them. But he came to understand that his plan would work only at a very specific place within a limited timeframe, since the lingering traces of humanity in this world were fleeting and there was only one altar to the old gods that was powerful and large enough to hold the ritual. And ironically, it was nor far of their way. He learned that the highest chances of success were during a moonless night, as the day belonged to the followers of the Fire God in the east, and the moon resembled the strength of the moonsingers. Both groups had a severe interest in disturbing their plans, for it would strengthen the Old Gods in a way never performed since the pact between the singers and his ancestors. During a time where the worship of the Old Gods stood nigh unchallenged, at the peak of their power. And he Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Heir to the Winter Throne, Warden of the North, would recall a small bit of those days long gone.
Now the only major issue was to break it to the Lords beneath him, from his vision to his talk, to his full plan. Especially the few who didn’t follow the Old Gods, but submitted large portions of their men to their army.