If you're reading this then I suppose you want to hear about the war of the five kings, and the return of the House Targarian correct?

Most won't hear the tale correctly, listening to stories and half truths told by drunken slobs that had never seen a battle in their life. I don't know the history that came before, only what I saw and heard. The fights I experienced, the people I met, and the things I did along the way. If you don't care to hear the tale, then fuck off.

Anyways.

My part in the war began when I first met Eddard Stark, long ago, deep in the dark depths of the Winterfell crypts. The poor bastard didn't deserve the end he received, especially not for the reasons he did.

I do not remember how I emerged from the fires, only that the result was me tumbling out of the flames onto the cold and wet floors of the crypt. I groaned, rolling on the floor made dizzy and sick by whatever force had pulled me from Drangleic. The last thing I could remember is sitting upon the Throne of Want, and the stone slabs sealing me in to begin the cycle again. I don't know what changed and stopped the process, but I would be damned if I said I wasn't grateful when I woke up somewhere besides the empty cavern of the Things Betwixt.

The grinding of steel being drawn from the sheathe was my only warning. My blade was in my hand as if placed by magic, barring the foreign steel's path to my skull. A ringing of metal on metal and the tremble of conflict ran across my palm, and I swung wildly. My swing was unfocused, my disorganized mind unable to properly aim. I heard the swirl of air as my blade missed it's mark. My attacker wasn't as off target, the sting of a blade's edge nicked at my arm. It was a shallow cut, but allowed my foe to make a second strike. He slapped me alongside my head with a massive blade, a greatsword from the feel of it, and the blow knocked me off my feet and into a wall.

As I lat there on the cold stone of the tomb, my head spinning like I had just been struck about by a giant's mace, I felt the press of a sword point upon my throat. Even knowing that something was different, that something had changed, I expected the familiar sensation of a sword to pierce my throat for what seemed like the thousandth time of my existence and instead I heard the deep growl of a natural-born leader.

"Who are you?" he questioned, little more than an outline to my eyes, "and how did you get in here?" he added.

I dared not move, instead trying to clear my spinning eyes and scrambled brains with will alone, "You're not hollow are you?" I had asked in return.

"Answer my question." My captor commanded. I felt the edge of his blade cut into the flesh of my neck.

"I don't know how I got here." I told him honestly, "Last I knew I was at the castle. I was at rest and then..."

The edge pressed in again, "Then... what? I saw you appear in a burst of flame, coming from my sister's memorial pyre."

"I must have traveled here instead by accident!" I spat back, annoyed, "Either let me up to clear my eyes and gather my thoughts or kill me already and I will just come again later."

The point of the sword was removed, and I could hear the disbelief in the man's voice, "And just how are supposed to come back if you are long dead and cold?"

I stood, my legs still feeling weak from whatever had gone wrong with the traveling magic of the bonfire. "Death has never stopped me for more than a moment." I said wiping my eyes, "How do you not know about the undead?"

The sword point returned, this time over my heart, and this time I could see the main who kept his blade trained on me. His hair was long and brown, with an unshaven and rugged beard. His eyes were somewhat sunken and weary, but as he stared at my face I could see a lethal sharpness to them. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if needed. The man's voice was steel, "You are not mindless nor blue eyed." he observed, "You cannot be a servant of the white walkers."

"What nonsense are you talking about? What does blue eyes have to do with going hollow?"

The man frowned, "What do you mean by 'hollow'? Is it some sort of sickness?" he questioned, sword still gripped in his hand.

I still recall the shock I felt at those words. The curse had been all I knew for so long, that and fighting. "Do you not know of the curse? The Darksign? How do you not know of these things?" I yelled at him, desperate for answers.

"What curse?!" he yelled back, enraged. The words echoed in the chamber.

I tugged down the collar of my armor, pushing aside the heavy leather and furs, exposing a black scar on the skin of my neck in the shape of a perfect circle. "This is the Darksign!" I stated bitterly, "The mark of my burden, the curse! This marks me as what I am, an undead!" I ended up bellowing at the end.

I must have made a fearful sight, the man before me faltered for a moment. "That looks like a brand, but it appears to have healed smooth..." he murmured.

"You have eyes." I pointed out bitterly, "Now who are you and where am I?" I questioned.

The Man looked at me, clearly annoyed, but I was too worked up to care. "I am Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell., and you are in the Crypts beneath it." He answered.

"Where is Winterfell? How far is it from the Isle of Dranglaic?"

Stark's frown returned, "Dranglaic? That's a tale from the Iron Islands, unless I miss my guess. I remember some of the eldest tell stories of an Iron Keep hidden by a mountain filled with molten rock."

I snorted, holding back a hollow laugh, "I've been there, fought there, and died there more times than I can count. I tell you now, it is no legend. It is a cursed land, one filled with monsters and demons and cursed beings aplenty."

"Prove it." he challenged calmly.

"How? I doubt you know how to traverse using the flames!"

"You claim to be undead, surely your appearance should have some marking to reflect that."

"Just don't attack me." I asked, sighing. I knew there was one guaranteed way to prove my claim. With calm and patience I wasn't really feeling I removed my mask and cowl to reveal my face and head. Next, I pulled off my steel gauntlet, plucking a silver band embedded with four tiny yellow gems from the middle finger of my left hand.

At once Eddard Stark gasped, "By the gods..." he whispered, horrified, "What foul magic is this?"

My once glowing healthy skin had become a mix of ashen gray and mottled green, my golden orange hair had become absent or long, white, and gray. The moment the ring was off my finger my living looks faded away, revealing my true appearance as a cursed immortal.

"This is my curse Stark." I spat, disgusted at his expression as much as he was disgusted with my looks. "I cannot die. Each time I do, I revive at a bonfire with a little more of myself taken away."

Stark was silent for a time before he finally asked, "How did you look so alive a moment ago?"

I held up the ring I pulled from my fingers, letting its yellow jewels shine in the torchlight. "This is the ring of the dead. As long as I wear it, I will appear human. As alive and well as I did before the curse claimed me." I explained.

He didn't take the ring from my fingers, I could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "So what do you plan to do now that you're here?" the lord asked cautiously.

"I plan to go back to Drangleic." I stated, "Where is the fire you said I came from?"

"Its over here." He pointed at a familiar sight in front of a statue. A pile of unburning bones, sheathed in flames, with an upright sword piercing the pile at its center. It sat in a great steel basin as a shrine of sorts.

I looked at the flames, mildly perplexed, "You claim to know nothing of the undead curse but this a bonfire... This is what binds me to my endless life." I stated.

Stark eyed the bonfire with unease, "These are the remains of Rhaegar Targaryen and the monster's sword burned in tribute to My sister, whom he unjustly slaughtered." He explained, "You mean to say this flame keeps you alive? How?"

I looked at the bones, the pale orange flames, and listened keenly to the crackling noises it made. The heat of the flames caused me to shudder from a deep spiritual pleasure, "How long ago was this flame lit?" I asked softly, staring deep into the heart of the flames.

It was Stark's silence that finally allowed me to pull my eyes from the flame. I watched Eddard Stark's face as it shifted across a variety of emotions. First a pause of thought, then paled shock, and finally realization. "Seven and Ten years... It has been Seven and Ten years since I last saw the fire kindled, and even then, it was not needed..."

"It is a bonfire." I insisted, "The one you named? Rhaegar. He must have been undead. A Hollow like myself. The bones of an undead are what is required to make a bonfire like this."

Stark's grip tightened around his still drawn sword, "Is there any chance he will rise again?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Not that I am aware of. Without having touched a bonfire, the curse can only revive him if he is still whole." I explained.

"And if he had touched a bonfire?" Stark pressed, voice urgent.

"Then the bones would not exist." I told him, "When an undead passes that is touched by the bonfire, they fade away, becoming little more than smoke and vapor."

Stark's expression was grave, and begging to unnerve me. "How do you kill an undead, touched by your bonfires?" he questioned.

I was suspicious at once, and slowly my hand shifted to my favorite sword. "I thought you said you did not know of the curse. Why would you want to know how to slay the undead?" I asked calmly.

Stark was open and honest about it, more blunt than I was expecting, "There are Targaryen survivors out there in the world, any one of them could be cursed with this 'Darksign' of yours. The last Targaryen king was mad, and was well known for his obsession with flames."

"Sounds like an undead on his way to becoming fully hollowed." I stated dryly.

"Exactly! The mad king may have been afflicted by your curse, and if his son was too-"

"Then his children or others may be as well." I finished. In my head, I was swearing up a storm across the ages. I had seen what the spread of the curse could do. I traveled the ruins of at least four kingdoms that had fallen pray to the curse. I had no desire to see any other land become another Drangleic.

I could see Lord Stark's unfocused eyes staring at me. His mind was a flurry of thought as he pondered the revelation I laid before him.

"Oscar."

The name snapped Stark out of his thoughts, "What?" he asked taken aback

"My name is Oscar. Oscar of Drangleic." I told him again.

"I suppose I should know how to address you." the lord mused with stale humor.

"Is there any place that we can continue our talks?" I asked, "Not meaning to offend or presume, but if you're a lord and this area is in fact civilized then I would like to have something I haven't done in quite some time."

The lord Stark looked at me with curiosity, "And what is that?"

"A bath."

It had been ages since I heard such laughter.

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Let me tell you, after centuries of wandering muck filled caverns, pitch pot loaded royal tombs, and ruined castles... a hot bath is better than fighting, food, or sex.

Still trading minor details of life, lord Stark showed me to one of his servants, introducing me as something called a 'sellsword' and bidding her to bring me to the baths. I spent two candles worth of time in the hot waters. The woman serving me had to add fresh water to the bath twice during my stay. After purging decades of filth from my body and bones, I finally mustered the will to meet with lord stark a second time.

I gathered my belongings, ensuing that every precious item was still present before I left the room. I kept some things, like my weapons, around because of necessity. Others, like my stash of soulgems, I kept because they were useful. If my journeys across Drangleic taught me anything it was this: Expect nothing, and prepare for everything.

I pulled my armor on slowly, not exactly eager to wear it again after having worn it for longer than most men live. It was a mismatched set of sorts. To protect my head I wore a two piece set comprised of a penal mask I took from the corpse of a monster called the lost sinner, I covered the rest with a Black hood gifted to me by a fellow traveler. The chest piece was part of black leather 'Llewellyn' armor, a gift from a ghost of all things. The armor covering my hands and wrists was another two-piece I strapped together from arm bands worn by a lion garbed mage and the armored gauntlets of a royal aegis named Velstadt. In comparison, my trousers were little more than heavy leathers that I got from a cartographer.

I liked to think that the combined image was rather impressive. It was lightweight, let me move freely, and most importantly, covered me from the filth that I usually found myself rolling in to dodge some attack or another.

The weapons were strapped onto their usual positions. The various pouches containing my tools or medicines placed into their familiar spots. With one bath the Lord of Winterfell had won my gratitude, but he was still miles from earning my trust.

Winterfell was blanked with a stiff chill, something that I was reminded of the moment I stepped into the halls. The servant girl escorted me, leading the way as I followed from behind. The chat in the crypts was still on my mind. I had to wonder about the possibilities. Was I in a new kingdom about to suffer a plague of the undead?

I didn't like the thought.

Lord Stark was in his main hall of the castle, siting behind a long oak table. Beside him sat a distinguished looking redheaded woman, and several children of various ages were seated along the table. "No doubt his family." was my first thought.

Eddard Stark stood, gesturing to welcome me into his hall. "Welcome, Oscar of Drangleic," He called out, "Come, have a seat and a cup of wine." I couldn't help the grin that crossed my lips. Keep in mind, the last sip of wine to cross my lips had been before the curse. I only had the memory of a memory of the taste.

I sat in the offered chair across from my newest friend, taking a bountiful gulp from the cup placed in my hand. I shivered at the taste of sweet and chilled liquid. "I do believe that we are in for a long and fruitful friendship, Lord Stark." I said respectfully.

The children eyed my garb and weapons with interests. What looked to be the second youngest son had a question that he couldn't hold back. "Why do you carry so many weapons? Most fighters carry a sword or two and a dagger."

Still hidden behind my mask, I smiled. "It helps to prepare for anything." I told him. "You never know what threat you may encounter one day."

A young man in light armor scowled at me, from his soft looks and brown hair I could tell at once that he was no son of Stark, "You don't look like you could use any of those weapons properly." he stated arrogantly, "That mace you carry looks too frail, it even has a bell inside it!"

I pulled the weapon in question from my hip, "Boy, what's your name?"

"Theon Greyjoy." He said the name like he expected me to bow. Pity for him I didn't know the name, nor did I give a damn.

"Well then boy," I said, "This is the mace of the Insolent, and I suspect that it is far too heavy for your arms to lift." To illustrate the point I let the mace lay on the floor with the heavy clattering of metal on stone.

As I expected Theon did not resist the challenge, moving forward to grasp the handle with one hand and failing to lift it. "How is it so heavy?" he asked, voice hinting his amazement. Even under his strongest pull, the weapon would barely move.

"Layered and folded steel." I said, raising the weapon easily. "It was four stones heavy when I found it, but since then I've been layering it with metals to reinforce it." My grin held no ill will in it, but Theon scowled with wounded pride nonetheless.

The second smallest had another question, "Do you name all your weapons?" he asked. I looked at Eddard, curious to his reaction. He nodded.

"All five have names to them." I stood, moving to an empty space on the table. I placed the mace on the table, "This is the Mace of the Insolent." Next I pulled my straight sword from its sheath on my hip. "This is Blue Flame." The sword had a soft blue glow to it in the torchlight.

"What about the others?" the same lordling from before asked eager.

I lay my shield, bow and greatsword on the table. I kept the greatsword in its sheathe. "The Shield is the slumbering dragon. The Bow is called the Bow of Want, and the greatsword is called the Ruler's Sword."

The four youngest looked at my odd assortment of arms with open interest. Two boys and two girls crowded, examining the smooth carvings on my shield or the awkward bell attached to the bow. The eldest of the group looked from a difference, their own eyes wandering the weapons with feigned disinterest. I could see the two boys with black hair eyeing the greatsword with greater interest than in the others.

The Lord Stark grasped hold of the handle of Ruler's Sword. "May I?" he asked.

"If you'd like." I told him.

Eddard Stark pulled the blade from its sheathe with experienced skill, the silver sword instantly reflecting the torchlight as if it was lit ablaze itself. "Magnificent." he murmured, "This looks like Valyrian steel!"

"It is made from twinkling titanite and petrified dragon bone." I told him. I never bothered ask about Valyrian steel, something that I would regret later on.

"Dragon bone?" Theon opened his mouth again, "Where did you find dragon bones?"

I gave him an exasperated look, "They are not uncommon where I came from." I stated, I purposefully did not clarify if I meant dragons or the bones. "Any more questions, or can I put my weapons away?"

The youngest girl was the next to speak, "Why does your sword look blue?" she was pointing at Blue Flame.

I remember my eyebrows arching in surprise, "A question for a question then, what is your name little one?" I asked politely.

"Arya Stark." she replied.

I nodded, "Well then little Arya." I leaned forward like I was telling a great secret. "Blue Flame can be used to cast great spells when held by one who knows magic."

Most of them scoffed, but Both Arya and her father looked at me with keen interest as I took another gulp from my cup.

"Magic isn't real." The eldest redhead denied.

I gave my critic an amused look, "My lady, trust me when I say I can make great bursts of fire, waves of poison, or even arrows forged from souls if I so wished." I told her honestly. Eddard was watching me carefully at that moment. I knew he suspected I wasn't just telling tall tales.

"Prove it." Arya challenged.

I looked at Lord Stark, grinning with amusement. I wondered how these folk would take to the sight of a pyromancy flame. "May I?" I asked, mimicking the lords words from earlier.

Lord Stark nodded, and I held up my left hand.

Sitting in my palm was a bright red flame the size of an apple, floating freely.

The room went silent, amazed disbelief was written on each of their faces.

The Lord of Winterfell was less shocked than the rest, having seen my true face in the Crypts. He looked at me, once more deep in thought. "What other magics can you do?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I only have the knowledge and means to cast some spells." I told him, being vague out of caution, " I can make healing lights, magical arrows, blasts of fire and poison and other spells."

The redhead asked, "Why are you a Sellsword with such talents?"

"Pardon my asking, but who are you?" Some of the children frowned at my question, obviously annoyed by it.

"I am Lady Catelyn Stark." She told me coldly.

"Pardon my lady, but I am unfamiliar with these lands and its people." I told her, I was still unsure of the title I was given and thus answered by guessing by its meaning, "To answer your question, I am a sellsword by necessity. I come from an Island kingdom. I left after the fall of the fourth king, setting sail looking for a new life. My ship sank and I became lost wandering the land until arrived here in Winterfell."

"How does one travel by sea and end up lost in the North?" Lady Catelyn asked. I could tell by the look in her eyes and the tone of voice that my tale raised many questions.

"The North? I do not understand." I told her.

"Winterfell is the capital of the northern lands. You are in Westeros, also known as the seven kingdoms." she explained.

"Well, I didn't know that." I told her bluntly.

I was never one for courtly curtsy. It showed.

"How can you be uneducated but know magic?" Theon asked. By this point he was beginning to annoy me.

"I am not uneducated, brat." I scolded, "Not knowing the geography of a foreign country doesn't make me uneducated, but not knowing to be respectful to your father's guest does make you uneducated." Theon's scowl deepened, but he didn't lash out like I expected. I knew at that moment that the boy had more bark than bite.

"He's not my father."

"More's the pity, he might have taught you better manners."

"Have you any more surprises, Oscar of Drangleic?" Lady Stark asked me.

"I am stronger than any man you know, and it is not skill in combat that is needed to bring me down, but numbers." I told her, "There is not a man alive that can defeat me in single combat." I neglected the number of undead who had done just that. Or the monsters. Or the demons. Or the Ancient Dragon.

Stupid flaming lizard.

The Lady's eyes bore down on me, I had done something to raise her suspicions but to this day I don't know what. "If that is the case, then why are you here? What do you want?" she questioned.

I faltered. The question is something I have wondered for a long, long time. I journeyed to Drangleic long ago to break the curse, only to learn to live with it as I traveled those hellish lands. The unexpected question made me pause, it always does. "I don't know." I told her slowly, honestly, "I suppose if you would have me, I would serve your family. Your husband has welcomed me in, and offered comfort I haven't known in years. I cannot serve a king I do not know, nor do I wish to wander the roads looking for a fight like some bandit." I faced Eddard Stark, "But I think... I think I could serve you... For a time at least."

If any look could accurately describe the look on Eddard Stark's face I suppose it would be called gratitude.

"Well said, Oscar of Drangleic." he remarked.

"So, should I call Winterfell home, or should I make my way to another settlement?" I asked.

"Unless any of my family can think of a reason we shouldn't, I say you are more than welcome at Winterfell." he told me honestly.

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It was nighttime before the second youngest Stark boy showed up again.

Somehow, someway the boy had climbed the castle walls, sneaking into the room I was given. Apparently the slick nature of Winterfell's stone walls were not enough to dissuade him from scaling their heights. To this day I'm not sure how the brat found me, but I do remember the eager look in his eyes as he stared down at me from the window's edge.

"What's your name boy?" I asked him softly.

"Bran." He replied.

"So master Bran, what are you doing here?"

"Can you show me more magic?" He asked eagerly.

I sighed, the boy was too...innocent, he didn't know the cost or understand how you gain the powers, he just wanted to see it. He reminded me of puppies that discovered a new toy. I suppose his reaction would be cute to some but to me it was just annoying.

"Boy," I growled, "you should be in bed. I'm not getting into trouble with your father because you want to see something new."

Bran's expression was disheartened, but there was still a determined look in his eye. "You have something better to do?" He asked smartly, "I'm already going to be in trouble for being out of bed, why can't I see some magic?"

I rolled my eyes and pathetic attempt to persuade me, "do you really think I'm going to risk trouble with my new Lord just to entertain you?" I asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you going to risk upsetting your new lord's son to prevent a chance of other trouble?" he said daringly.

I laughed, caught of guard by his rebuttal, "Well said lordling. Fine, you may ask for one display of magic. But choose wisely."

"I want to see the magical arrows."

I drew Blue Flame, "Move away from the window then."

The boy, Bran, shook his head, "Not here." he said, "We can use the targets where my brothers and I practice."

The boy led me to a small courtyard beside the castle proper that had numerous targets and weapons racks. An outdoor training hall of sorts. Bran pointed at the archery targets and repeated his request, "Can you hit one of those with your spell?"

I grinned, "A child could strike that." I held Blue Flame to my face, as the sound of displaced air emanated from the glowing blue blade. I pointed the blade at the center target and the sound like the cry of an enormous bird came forth as well as a ray of piercing blue.

A needle like lance of cerulean power struck the target, shattering it upon impact and searing the straw and cloth that covered it. "The Great Heavy Soul Arrow, my teacher once called it." I told him.

Bran looked at me with amazement and awe. "Can you teach me that?" he asked, full of excitement.

The child's enthusiasm was contagious, I had spent too many ages in Drangleic alongside the downtrodden and hopeless. Compared to my old friends and their depressing attitudes, the boy's cheer was a bright star."Perhaps one day," I answered, "But right now you are far too young to handle, much less need, such a spell."

"Please?" He begged, "I swear to be a good student!"

I smiled, unseen behind my hooded mask, "That's not the only problem child. I would need to make you a catalyst to cast the spell with, and you would need to strengthen your soul before you could handle any spell at all, much less a soul arrow of that power."

I could see the disappointment on his face. "Go to bed child, speak to me tomorrow. Depending on what your father thinks of the idea, I see no harm is teaching his children of the soul arts." It was a lie, but there was little reason to tell him as such.

The young boy returned to the castle and hopefully to his room. As I watched him go I wondered what I was going to do now, I wanted to know more of the white walkers that Eddard Stark had told me of. I returned to the castle interior, searching for Lord Stark and hoping the hour wasn't too late. I may not need sleep but I was certain he would.

Despite the chill of seasonal air, the halls of Winterfell were far more comfortable than any I had found in Drangleic. Pitch capped torches kept the halls lit and kept the coldest winds from freezing the halls. It was more of a comfort than I had seen in many years, having grown used to resting beside a bonfire at my worst moments and little else.

It took some time to traverse the halls, until finally a maid was kind enough to point the way. The Lord's bedchambers were in the upper levels of the castle, and the door slightly ajar. I could hear Eddard speaking to his wife inside.

"...You know nothing of him! Apart from displays of his magic there is no proof of his stories! I know you feel loyalty to Robert and seek to help him, but you're trusting a stranger with tales of undead curses!"

"You have yet to see his face. His true face. He bears a ring that hides his dead looks with magic."

"You say you met him in the crypts, those tunnels are dark, it was a trick of the torchlight. Nothing more."

"You cannot explain it all away. What about the fire he conjured in his hand? Can you explain what trick that would allow a man to create a naked flame that floats above his flesh?"

I could hear the stubbornness in her voice, "It is a trick. It has to be. The possibility that those old legends are true is too wild to be considered, but to say that there is a different curse that is out there and that the mad king may have been under its sway is as inconceivable as it is intolerable."

"And if he is telling the truth? What if he is key in stopping a new plague from taking the Seven Kingdoms? Even then, do you want someone of Oscar's make wandering the Kingdoms? What could come about if he makes his way to the Iron Islands seeking the source of the legends we spoke of? Or worse yet he makes his way to Kings Landing to become a pawn of the lords of court..."

I knocked loudly upon Eddard's door to announce my presence, cutting off their conversation.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Oscar of Drangleic, my lord. I wish to finish our talks from this morning." I called through the wall.

"You may enter." Neither Eddard nor Catelyn seemed pleased to see me. They were still fully garbed to my relief. "You really wish to continue the conversation now?" he questioned, meaning the late hour.

"You're both loud enough to be heard in the halls." I looked at Catelyn, "And it seems your wife doesn't believe my tales."

Catelyn glared, "It is rude to listen to conversation behind closed doors." she stated.

"How rude is it to talk about a guest in your home behind their backs." I returned, "But that is a different matter. I need to know more about the monsters you spoke of before. The 'white walkers'. Can you tell me more about them?"

"The white walkers are a race of cold monsters that came from the north, beyond the wall eight thousand years ago." Eddard began, "The old tales say they killed all in their path, and those that fell to their blades of ice became wights. The undead in service to the walkers."

"How were they stopped?" This didn't sound like how the kingdom of Drangleic fell, Eleum Loyce perhaps, but either way an army of undead was a fearful thought.

"Legends say that it was the children of the forest who helped the most, using magic and weapons made of dragon glass to slay the walkers. The first men supplied the army, the children of the forest supplied the weapons. Together they pushed the walkers and their army of the dead back to the north then created the wall to keep them back."

"Has there been any sign of the walkers since?" I asked insistently, "Sightings of the Wights? Anything at all?"

Eddard shook his head, "Nothing. Most think that even if the legends are true that the walkers all died. It has been thousands of years since the wall was raised after all."

I thought on it. Eight thousand years was a long time, perhaps it was not a pressing matter at all. "I suppose that the two of you have your own questions for me then?"

Given the opportunity, Catelyn's curiosity wouldn't be denied. "My husband says that your real face is hidden under an illusion. I want to see it before I believe anything else."

I sighed, annoyed but understanding. I pulled off my mask, hood, and gauntlet. "I told your husband this as well, but I am not a pretty sight." I pulled the ring from my finger again, revealing the scarred and decayed appearance for the second time in a day.

"By the old gods and the new..." Catelyn gasped, horrified. She took a step back from me, as if I were a monster poised to strike.

I replaced the ring with a grimace, reminded once more of how wrong my life was. "Believe me now?" I asked, somewhat bitterly.

"How did you come to be cursed is such a way?" she asked me.

"Truth be told? I do not remember. I remember a pain where the mark was made, so great it felt like a poisonous flame was placed inside me. When I awoke, the mark was there, and I had begun hollowing. I fled from my home before the curse could take hold and I lost everything."

"Do you have family? Friends, perhaps?" Eddard asked me.

"If I do, I have no memory of them any longer."

"How is that possible?" My new lord asked, "Surely you remember something of them? Or perhaps a trinket to remind you of those you hold dear?"

"It is the cost of the curse." I explained. "No matter how many times you kill me, I will revive from the bonfire as whole and healthy as ever. The cost is that with each death, the curse progresses a little more taking with it my memories and health. Without a means of restoration those cursed will become hollow. Husks of their former selves without memory, who attack all things living that they encounter."

"So... The reason you look like that behind the ring's illusion is that you've run out of your means to restore yourself?"

I looked at the floor. "No. I have in my possession an... artifact... that can hold the curse at bay indefinitely. As long as I wear it the curse will restore me from death but take nothing more from me. Another of the rings I wear halts the progression of the curse as well, but only after it has progressed so far. I choose to stay like this as a form of... penitence I suppose."

"Penitence for what? What crime did you commit?" Lady Catelyn asked, her eyes narrowed with a damning accusation.

"A... friend... of mine was succumbing to the curse. She had forgotten all but her name and her goal, to find her brother. She was a knight, one who helped me survive a dozen trials beforehand. She was a wretch at the time I found her last, the curse had taken everything it could from her, and she was almost completely hollow."

I cast my eyes to the floor of the room, "I killed her, but not before she... Before her mind was lost. I intended for my strike to behead her and spare her, but the swing missed as the life faded from her eyes and a hollow swung her sword at me in her place. My next cut did not fail and she died before the curse could bind her forever."

"I had a portion of the medicine we used to restore ourselves at the time, human effigies we call them. I had but one left. I chose to end her misery rather than prolong it, and to atone for my sin I have allowed the curse to progress this far."

I know it was in my head, but I could feel their eyes upon me as they judged me.

Finally, after an age of thought, Eddard told me, "I cannot forgive you." I felt condemned, until he added, "But. I am sure your friend doesn't blame you either."

I nodded, having heard the words from other mouths before. "You might be right, but until I have a need to banish it I'd prefer to suffer under the curse for now. It reminds me of the monster I have the potential to become."

Catelyn was still staring me down, "What do you intend to do now that you are in Westeros?"

"I am unsure." I stated honestly, "I want to investigate these tales of undead in the north... Despite knowing many tales of Drangleic and explored most if not all its ruins, I do not know how the curse took hold on the land. I am afraid that I have arrived before the curse has taken root, and that it is here preparing to strike."

"You make it sound as if this curse is alive." Lady Stark noted.

"It is like a living plague. It infects the land, its people, and is born from the dark. Once it takes a hold of a land there is no escape, no cure to stop it from ravaging everything. The world changes, monsters are born, the dead rise to kill the living and time ceases to flow in the natural order. The Kingdom of Drangleic and those that came before all thought to fight the curse, but all fell to it in the end."

"And what do you think you can do about it?" she questioned.

"I know how to permanently kill those touched by the darksign, even if touched by the bonfires. I have slain those that spread the curse, and I will do the same here. If the undead are to take root in these lands they will have a leader. They always do."

"What can lead such creatures?" Eddard wondered, pouring himself some wine to ease his unnerved stomach. "What type of monster could lead the evils you describe?"

"A fragment from the Father of the Abyss." I told them, "Someone who appears human, but with the darkest of natures. Not necessarily evil, but with a feeling about them. Something wrong in the world, something that fills you with disgust with their very presence."

"You've met these creatures before?" Catelyn asked me.

I nodded, somber from the memories. "I met four of them. Alsanna, the silent Oracle. Nadalia, the bride of ash. Nashandra, queen of Drangleic. Elana, the Squalid Queen."

"What became of them?"

"I collected the fragments of Nadalia after killing her ashen idols, severed Elana's head from her shoulders and ran a blessed spear into Nashandra's black heart."

Eddard noticed that I did not state the fate of one name, "What about Alsanna?"

"Last I saw of her she was still vigilant over her frozen kingdom, keeping the kingdom covered in ice by producing an enchanted blizzard. She stands vigil over a pit, leading into the old chaos."

"What is the old chaos?"

"Imagine a pit filled with molten rock and fire, flowing about you in a swirl of never ending rivers. Now, imagine a series of great tree branches coming from the roof of the pit and dipping into those rivers but never burning. That is the old chaos. It is guarded by the burnt hollows that were once Eleum Loyce's elite knights, they come from a series of stone arches that the chaos fills with magic, forcefully raising them again and again to protect it."

"And this Oracle guards this pit alone? How does she do it?"

"She is one of the fragments of the abyss, filled with powers of the dark that mankind cannot understand. She has outlived kingdoms, using the same spell to freeze anything that emerges from the Chaos. There are four knights that stand guard with her, cursed ones like me, but prolonged by her magic rather than the curse."

"She can do that? How?"

"The few who have studied it extensively believes the curse comes from the abyss. It stands to reason that her kind would have some control over it."

"How did you defeat them if these fragments are supposed to be so strong? Your weapons? Or your magic perhaps?"

I grimaced, accepting that I was undead was one thing, accepting the secret of my strength was another matter that I had no doubt they would be less welcoming of. "I had aid." I told them, only telling half the story. "Friends who fraught beside me and fell in battle. You should have seen the battle against Nashandra. It was a fight for the ages. Five of us against the witch-queen and her spells. Vengarl with his whirling red blades, Benhart and that massive greatsword of his. Bradley and Ray were members of the old guard, cursed soldiers loyal to the last King, Vendrick." I was cheerful as I recalled their names, but my grin faded quickly.

"Bradley and Ray fell first. Their skill was never the same as ours. They spent all the time guarding the main halls of the old castle out of duty, unlike us who spend our time hunting the monsters of Drangleic. Nashandra's weapon was a scythe made out of flesh and bone and the dark. Her swing cleaved them in two with an unlucky strike."

"Vengarl was next to fall. He was strong enough to block her strikes you see, but muscle is useless against the abyss. She placed her skeleton hand upon his chest, and there was a cloud of darkness and a roar like the sound of thunder. When my vision cleared, his torso was missing, and his swords broken upon the ground."

"I kept my distance after, trying to pierce her body with arrows and spells while Benhart kept her annoyed with that large gemstone he called a sword. His blade was as tall as him, but he moved like the wind, even in his heavy armor. It was thanks to him that we wounded her as much as we did. She summoned a set of black orbs that affected the curse in both of us. The closer we got, the worse our afflictions became. Benhart rotted away like all the time that would ever be aged him at once. It was thanks to the artifact I spoke of that I endured, he dark magic unable to effect me."

"Alone and desperate, I shot the orbs with my own magical arrows, their power breaking them somehow. With no other option, I charged her with the spear I took from the body of an old dragonslayer. The spear was an artifact of some power, filled with the might of a thunderstorm. I stabbed her again and again, forsaking my shield and spell, hoping that the length of my lance would be enough to finally put an end to her. She grabbed me, and held me aloft, intending to end me like she had Vengarl. I shoved the spear into her chest and forced every bit of magical power I had left into the spear. She thrashed about, but I held strong until she lit ablaze from the lightning lance's power. She collapsed to the floor and I rammed the spear into her body again and again until her form faded to nothing."

Lord Stark placed his emptied cup down, his face more than enough to express his disbelief. "Incredible."

"Unbelievable." Lady Catelyn added, her face pale. She stood and walked away from me, as if my presence now unnerved her.

"Looking back, it does seem impossible." I agreed, "I'd think it a lie too if I had not been in the battle and seen the scars." I pulled up the leathers that covered my torso, exposing a jagged scar that was above my left hip. The hand sized scar was made of pale flesh, even over the illusion. As if to emphasize the power of the witch who gave it to me. "She managed to slice me with the tip of her scythe before she grabbed me. The wound was easily healed with magic after she fell, but the witch-queen's mark has remained ever since."

"Surely such a wound was fatal!" Eddard proclaimed, staring at the scar. He cleared his throat, "I understand you revive upon death, but why did your friends not return? Surely the bonfires can revive them too?"

I frowned, and I could feel my face becoming downtrodden. "I don't know. I've lived for a long time, and even though I learned many varieties of magic I haven't learned everything about how the curse works. The best I can guess is that Neshandra's magic ended the curse for them."

"So one of these fragments could end the curse for you?" Eddard asked kindly.

"Perhaps...I've never given it much thought." I laughed morosely. "When I was first afflicted, I despaired and searched for a cure." I explained to the lord and lady, "Now I have the closest thing to a cure, and I don't care to use it. I've grown used to never staying dead, as horrible as that sounds."

Catelyn was looking out a window by this point, facing away from me. "It is late. We should retire for the night, continue this conversation later." she suggested.

I recognized the dismissal for what it was. The way her body moved, it was plain as day that she was having difficulty bearing my presence. "Lady Stark is right." I said, showing the appropriate level of respect. "We can talk later on your request."

I left the room, closing the door behind me. I was not ten steps down the hall before I could hear murmurs of their talk renewing. I stood for a moment, pondering that perhaps leaving Winterfell would be for the best.

I thank the old gods and the new I wasn't stupid enough to make such a hasty decision. Who knows how the House Stark would have turned out.