The Wolf Of The North

Walking into the tower, Ned realised that the pressure seemed to increase more and more. After walking up 5 steps, it was as if someone was sitting on his shoulders. After 10 more steps, it was as if he were carrying a heavy load on his back.

He turned around to see how Jory and the others were doing, but they were already stooped over, finding it difficult to even stand up. Beads of sweat ran down their faces and veins were visible on their foreheads. They were all gritting their teeth and they seemed to be experiencing a great deal of pain.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"M'lord, how are you doing this?" Jory looked up at Ned with a look of astonishment.

"All of you return and seal off this tower. No one is allowed to come near this place. And find Torrhen. I didn't see him earlier and he may try to come here when no one is looking," Ned said.

"But m'lord-" Jory tried to speak, but Ned wasn't having any of it.

"Enough. I will go alone," Drawing Ice from its scabbard, he continued to ascend the flight of stairs.

"""Yes, m'lord,""" With a slight bow, Jory and the castle guards all made their way back down to the door.

Ned kept ascending, sword in hand, towards the library. His surroundings grew colder and darker, and the air had a stale smell to them.

The pressure on him continued to mount as he climbed up, to the point where he had difficulty standing on his feet by the time he reached the door.

'But why were the others having such a hard time downstairs? What's different?'

He truly was baffled by the difference in pressure experienced by him and the guards. The pressure he was experiencing right now is the pressure the guards felt downstairs. He wondered why it was so difficult for them and relatively easy for him.

The wooden door was already ajar, so he lightly gave it a push. It slowly swung open, creaking very loudly as it did so.

Upon opening the door, he was bombarded by a sense of dread and doom. Looking within, he found a large face in the wall made of weirwood. It looked aged and had the features of a wizened man. It had a pair of very pale blue eyes that shined faintly in the dark room.

"Leave," It spoke. "The covenant is fulfilled."

'Covenant? What covenant!?'

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what covenant you speak of, but I shall leave regardless. I apologise for my rudeness in coming here."

Ned slowly backed away, Ice still pointed in front of him. A cold sweat broke out on his back. His eyes darted around, searching for any signs of a threat.

He was scared. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling front deep within him that his life was at risk, that he could very well die any moment now.

"Speak, Stark," It said. "Who are you."

"I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell," He replied.

"Lord? Are you not a king?"

"No, I am not," Ned said. "There hasn't been a Stark king for almost 3 centuries."

"Disgraceful," It said.

It's eyes suddenly became red and Ned suddenly had difficulty breathing. The oppressive feeling had been magnified to extreme levels, and he was already on his knees.

"Leave."

It's voice was lined with disdain and hate. Ned knew he was no longer welcome, so he crawled out of the room and dragged his sword behind him.

Upon leaving the library and closing the door behind him, all the pressure that had been mounted on him disappeared completely.

He collapsed onto the floor. His sweat dripped from his face and his clothes were stuck to his skin. His muscles felt utterly powerless, unwilling to move even a single inch.

He was thoroughly terrified by what he had just faced. He'd rather face a thousand charging knights than walk back in there with that. It seemed insidious and horrifying, giving him the sense that his death was all but certain. He felt small and powerless. He was unwilling to experience any of that again.

After a while he managed to stand up and fumbled his way down to the bottom of the stircase. Before leaving, he looked back at the staircase and shivered involuntarily.

--------------------

Unaware of what was going on outside, Torrhen was in a state of fear, confusion and amazement.

You see, he was falling through a black abyss.

He couldn't see anything except his own body. He didn't know where he was, how he got here or how this was even possible. He wasn't even sure if he was going up or down. He had been falling endlessly for an unknown amount of time. He had no sense of time here, and didn't even bother trying to count out the time anyway.

It shouldn't have been possible for him to be here. According to the knowledge he had, the weirwood gates were only doors that required specific oaths. They shouldn't have been able to teleport him anywhere. Granted, he had very little knowledge on them as only one appeared in the books and very briefly.

That was another point that confused him.

'Isn't this world meant to follow the TV show's progression? Why are there elements from the book here? Have the two been mixed together?'

This was a terrifying aspect for Torrhen. This was because he would now be unsure how the future timeline would progress. There were many events that were different, the timelines were different, appearances were different and even the characters were different. If the two plots merged, he had no guarantee if there would even be any similarity in the future's timeline to the timelines he already knew about.

He came to three conclusions. Either the world was already like this and the two plots were already merged, his existence had caused a butterfly effect so huge that everything changed or that this was one of many things that wasn't explored in either version of the story.

He grew bored of all the falling, so he began to go over the complete plot that he remembered in his head to pass the time.

After a while, he began to see his surroundings suddenly change and a landscape blurred into existence from beneath him.

He landed face-first into what felt and smelt like grass. Lifting his head up, he found himself in the middle of an endless plain. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky and the sun was burning him from above.

Looking around he found nothing for as far as his eyes could see. Nothing but an old man on a rocking chair.

He had a long, grey beard that reached halfway down his c.h.e.s.t. His face was covered in wrinkles and his head was bald, covered in liver spots. His dark, pearl eyes glistened in wisdom.

He sat with a a wooden staff across his l.a.p, probably for walking. He wore a loose linen shirt and trousers with nothing on his dirt-covered feet. He gave the aura of a humble sage of some sort.

"Why are you here," he said. "Nobody should be able to come here."

"I don't really know why, either," Torrhen said, scratching the back of his neck. "I just somehow got here."

"No. If you're here, it means you are qualified. But you look weak," the old man said. "You will likely die."

'What!? What's this about dying!? This is too soon! The plot didn't even start yet!'

"Never mind. Now that you are here, you must complete the test. Try to succeed," the old man said.

"What test am I doing?" asked Torrhen. "What consequences are there for failure."

"Don't fail." The old man said. He lifted the staff from his l.a.p and softly tapped the floor with it.

Then the whole world around him seemed to be torn apart.