'Where am I?'
The feeling of endless suspension enveloped him. He tried to open his eyes but it was useless. He tried to sense the world around him, yet felt nothing. That moment stretched on forever, a void without beginning or end.
He wondered if he had fallen into one of the Council's traps, cast into this place by their deceit. Those wretches were never to be trusted — he knew that all too well. Yet there had been no other choice. At least, not then.
He tried to remain conscious for as long as possible, but it didn't last. His thoughts faded… and faded…
When he finally sensed the return of the physical world, War stirred. He opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar sky — unlike any he had ever known. A single glance told him what had happened: the landing hadn't been gentle.
He lay at the center of a crater, in a strange land. But what mattered most — his beloved greatsword was nowhere to be found.
A dull ache of absence ran through him, like a missing brother. Annoying.
He could also feel the presence of a group of mortal beings nearby. They were not a threat. Even unarmed, he could tear them apart with his bare hands should they be foolish enough to attack.
War reached up, adjusting the hood of his cloak, and slowly rose to his feet. His towering frame loomed above them, and the sight alone was enough to make the strangers tremble in fear.
'They look human… or perhaps they are human. But what world is this?'
He studied them carefully. Every detail resembled the weak, fragile species he knew so well — small, soft, easily broken.
A single punch would reduce them to nothing but pulp. Yet that was not War's way. Despite his name, he did not always seek violence. He preferred to speak first — conflict could always come later.
His glowing eyes swept across them. Most were trembling, some already on their knees, performing gestures he did not understand.
'"Two of them look alike — one old, the other fat."'
War wondered if they even spoke the same tongue. Tired of guessing, he finally spoke.
"Who are you?"
.....
The men of Lord Stark's company stared at the figure rising from the crater. His form was majestic — the plates of his armor vast as pillars, his gauntlets the size of shields. Just imagining a blow from those fists made their skin crawl.
Behind the King, the knights' prayers grew louder as they beheld the stranger's glowing eyes — twin stars that seemed to pierce straight into their souls.
Ned felt a flicker of fear when those eyes swept over him. Even Robert Baratheon — the mightiest man in the Seven Kingdoms, who laughed in the face of gods — stood silent, words frozen on his tongue.
Ned began to believe that this being was a god, though whether of the Old Gods or something far older, he could not tell.
After a long moment, the stranger spoke. His voice was deep, ancient, filled with command.
"Who are you?"
No one dared respond. Ned hesitated, praying silently that what was about to happen would not end in blood. He stepped forward.
"I am Eddard Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell. This is King Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms," Ned said.
"We saw you fall from the sky and came to investigate. We mean you no harm, O mighty one. Tell us, is there any way we might be of service to you?"
A strange name. Strange titles. A strange land.
War searched his vast memory for any clue of this world, but found none.
He sensed no ill intent from these mortals — they had mistaken him for some kind of deity. It was understandable; he was above the beings they called gods. Still, caution was wise.
"I am a wanderer, lost in a foreign realm," War replied. "Your aid would be… appreciated. And I do not forget my debts."
"Before you fell from the heavens, a great sword crashed before the gates of Winterfell," Lord Stark said. "Would that blade belong to you, O venerable one?"
That caught War's attention immediately. That could only be his greatsword.
"I fear that it is indeed mine. May I see it, to be certain?"
"It has been taken inside the castle. It would be our honor to welcome you within our walls," Ned replied.
"Very well," said War. He began to climb out of the crater.
The nearer he came, the more violently the horses reared and snorted. They feared him — and their riders, too. Prayers and murmurs rippled through the soldiers like wind through dry grass.
Only now could they fully see the enormity of the being before them. He was larger than even the Mountain — though to compare a god to that butcher was blasphemy.
Robb Stark tried to compose himself, not wanting to appear a frightened boy before their divine guest.
King Robert turned to Ned, whispering:
"No offense, my friend, but surely our guest can't walk to the castle?"
Ned had to admit, the King was right — there was no horse in the realm large enough for such a being.
"Forgive us, O mighty one," Ned said. "But we have no steed mighty enough to bear you. Have you… another means of travel?"
War snorted.
"That will not be a problem."
A ring of fire erupted behind them. All turned to look. Robert swore aloud, and Robb could only stare, mouth agape, at the miracle before him.
From the circle came a sound — part neigh, part roar. Then emerged a creature shaped like a horse, yet vastly more — a beast of the flame.
Its body was carved from muscle and fire, its eyes burned red as molten iron, and flames danced along its legs, searing the ground beneath. It reared, bellowing, hooves striking the earth with the force of thunder.
Truly, it was a steed fit for a god.
War strode toward his companion, Ruin, as the men fell back, parting to let the deity pass.
...
The gates of Winterfell swung open to welcome the young lord's return.
Robb had ridden ahead to bring word and prepare for their guest.
Lady Catelyn waited anxiously in the courtyard. When she saw only her son return, her heart clenched.
Fear rippled through her — had something happened to her husband?
She rushed toward Robb, demanding answers.
"Robb, where is your father? What's happened? Why isn't he with you? Where are the others?"
The young wolf barely knew where to start.
"Don't worry, mo—"
"Something's happened, hasn't it, Robb?" she pressed.
"Calm down, Mother. Everything's fine," he said quickly. "Father and the King are right behind me. He sent me ahead to prepare."
"Prepare? Prepare for what?" Catelyn asked.
"For a god, Mother. A god is coming to our castle."
She blinked, frowning. Surely her son had hit his head.
"A… god? Robb, what in the world are you talking about?"
"I know it's hard to believe," Robb said firmly, "but it's true. The second ball of fire that fell from the sky — it wasn't a star. It was a god. He fell to earth among us. Father and the King are bringing him to Winterfell. You'll see soon enough — but we must prepare to welcome him properly."
Catelyn could only stare, half in disbelief, half in dread. She decided to question it later. For now, she would prepare.
....
The procession of Lord Stark and King Robert passed through the gates under the watchful eyes of hundreds of townsfolk. Everyone had seen the twin fireballs fall from the heavens, and knew their Lord and King had gone to investigate.
Now, curiosity burned hotter than the flames that had scorched the northern sky.
When the people saw the towering figure upon the monstrous, fire-breathing steed, they fell to their knees in awe.
Whispers spread like wildfire:
"The Old Gods have sent the Fire One…"
"The God of Flame descends to protect the North…"
The faithful of Winterfell, their devotion buried deep over generations, felt it flare to life.
They believed the gods themselves had come down to guard them.
In the godswood, the ancient weirwood stirred.
Its blood-red leaves shivered though no wind blew.
From the carved eyes in its pale trunk, a trickle of red sap — thick as blood — began to weep onto the snow below.