Interlude Part 6: Tales of Confinement

A/N: So, I was originally going to make this a part of the next planned chapter but then I realized the way I was writing it didn't work that well, timeline-wise if I were to place it in said chapter. More importantly, it occurred to me that we hadn't gotten an actual chapter from Rickon's point of view in all this time. Between that, and this scene getting much bigger than originally expected as I tried to compensate for that by giving a wider perspective into his inner feelings while under Ramsay's captivity, I realized that the extra-long scene simply worked well as an Interlude, so I decided to post it as such.

So, hope you enjoy it. And if all goes well, I plan to post the next chapter within the next 48 hours assuming I don't have too many interruptions, so wish me luck! But in the meantime, read on.

Epigraph:

If anything I have said makes a glimmer of sense to you, I trust that you'll call them off. Or maybe you could astound me and ask them to do something productive for once.

The Void is ultimately a more dangerous threat to existence than Sargeras’ armies, after all, and as I said, the Great Other is finally stirring.

Rickon Stark was starting to feel hope again. And, unfortunately, that made him worried.

Ever since so much of his friends and family died and his remaining siblings didn't come back for him in the past 2 years, it had been hard not to feel sad and abandoned. And the longer he had stayed as a captive of that monstrous traitor, the harder it was to remain optimistic, even if Ramsay had never dared to physically harm him until that point.

But then, a few weeks earlier, he started learning that his siblings Sansa and Jon were beginning to raise an army to retake the North. Ramsay had taunted him then, telling him not to get his hopes up since he intended to take his half-brother's head so that Shaggydog could have some company. At the time, Rickon had spit on his face, his anger still raw over the **** of his direwolf companion. But then, the glaring face of the new Lord of House Bolton turned into an amused grin and said that since the "Little Lord" was tired, he was going to take him to rest in a different room.

And when he had crossed the door Rickon couldn't help but cry out in anguish, as he saw his constant friend and caretaker, Osha, lying dead and bloodied on the floor.

He had watched, shocked, as tears fell from his eyes and before he knew it, Ramsay had dragged him kicking and screaming to the chair in front of her and then had his men chained him to it. Then the murderous sadist had told him that he should pay his respects before he fed her to his hounds and that he will be back for him in the morning.

That had been a long night and he couldn't help but sob for most of it.

But then, as the days passed, he could see Ramsay and his men becoming increasingly agitated as the Bolton-held Winterfell seemed to be bursting with activity. And whilst they tried to keep it from him, eventually, he learned what had them so worried: it seemed that as hard as it was to believe, his brother Jon had somehow managed to become the rider of one of the legendary Ice Dragons of the Lands of Always Winter and the Shivering Sea.

It was at that moment that Rickon started to feel hopeful for the first time but then, Ramsay glared at his first sign of defiance and assured him that he was going to accompany him as a hostage when his army came to clash against Jon's and that if it actually looked like his side was going to lose the battle, then he had given orders for his men to kill him as quickly as possible. The youngest trueborn son of Ned Stark had swallowed then and was **** to march on to the Wolfswood as they approached Ironrath, his each and every move watched by rough and nasty men.

Then, the day of the battle had arrived and he was feeling beyond anxious, knowing that it could very well be his last day alive if things did not go well for his family's army. And as much as he wanted to be defiant and fight to his last breath if it came to that, he also didn't feel ready, as much as he hated to admit it. He wanted to see his mother, and father again. He wanted to see Robb and Shaggydog once more. But he didn't want to meet them on the other side without first having felt like he had accomplished something important with his life. And if Ramsay snuffed it short, that wasn't going to happen.

But after the Bolton army had halted near the front lines of the Stark forces, Ramsay informed him that he was going for forward for one last attempt at negotiation with the "Lords who had lost their way" and then made him frown when the current Lord of the Dreadfort and Winterfell handed him an object made of clear, refined glass that he actually recognized. If he recalled correctly, Maester Luwin had called it a Myrish Far-eye and said that it helped him see distant things up close. The treacherous man that held him hostage then grinned at him and told him that he could use it to see his sister for the first time in a long while, from his position at the entrance of the tent...and the carnage that was soon to come.

With that, he left for the parley and Rickon had swallowed as he looked at the far-eye in his hands, thinking. But then he nodded to himself and realized that cruel taunt or not, if this really was his last day on earth then he would like to see his still-living family members one last time. And so, Rickon allowed one of the guards to carry him on his shoulders without complaint and then used the Myrish far-eye.

He couldn't help but tear up a bit when he saw his dear, eldest sister for the first time in so many years.

She had grown up a lot since last they met. And she was scowling at the "diplomatic" delegation that approached them, but then again, he could hardly blame her. Ramsay tended to have that effect on people, especially those that knew what he was capable of. More to the point, she was actually riding a grown direwolf herself; an impressive feat that certainly made her look like someone worthy of respect. Unfortunately, it made him think of Shaggydog and he blinked back more tears, as the sight reminded Rickon that he will never ride his companion again.

Behind Sansa, he noticed a highborn lady that looked around his own age but her face was such a mask of seriousness that he had a feeling she was not someone you wanted to mess with if you could help it. Squinting his eyes, Rickon had looked at the banner close to her and realized that she must have been Lady Lyanna Mormont, the young ruler of Bear Island.

Then, he looked around them, recognizing some of the faces and sigils but not all of them. And then his jaw dropped when he realized the rumors were true and his brother Jon had managed to convince the giant tribes from Beyond the Wall to ally themselves with him. Problem was, this increased the potency of his mixed feelings. After all, if half the stories he had heard about the strength of giants were true then they might be able to help the Stark army win. But a shiver went down his spine with that realization as the guard finally put him down and told him to get back to the tent; for even if the Starks won, he would not live to see with those menacing guards close by.

Sighing, Rickon paced frantically across the otherwise lonely tent; feeling helpless and hating the feeling with a passion.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't so alone anymore.

"Do not speak your words aloud, just think what you want to say and I will hear it for now," A voice abruptly said inside his skull.

Rickon Stark froze, shocked. Then he shook his head after taking one glance at the guards outside the entrance of the tent and did as bid.

"How are you communicating with me within my head?" He demanded to know. "Are you a warg like my brother Bran?"

"No," The otherwise silent and definitely male voice replied. "But I am using a Glass Candle, still brimming with mental magicks from Old Valyria to send you a message."

The lordling tried to digest that for a moment before answering back just as silently, at least as far as the tent was concerned.

"Why would you want to contact me like this? And who are you?"

"I am contacting you like this because the wellbeing, both physical and emotional of your brother Jon is extremely important to the...leader of my order," He thought to him after a bit of hesitation. "That means your continued survival is also important for us by extension. So, while I had another mission to take care of, I have decided to take on the initiative now that this opportunity has presented itself to help secure your escape. As for who I am, my name is Skrel of House Magnar. I am from the island of Skagos and we have pledged our swords and more to your brother."

"I see..." Rickon replied, his thoughts slow and analytical. "So, what's the plan then?"

"I released a handful of venomous snakes nearby that I had originally brought with me for...research purposes," Skrel began. "They won't last long now that they are exposed to the snow but your brother's army has gained the support of several wargs and after pointing them in the direction of the snakes, one of them is going to send them after the guards escorting you; once the battle begins. After that, the tall and skilled female warrior and the warging familiar of another skinchanger, a large Snowbear to be precise, will come to finish the poisoned guards and rescue you. Make sure you go with them with haste so that you can get to safety and watch your back. Your brother will arrive on his dragon soon but until then, Ramsay could cause a lot of trouble with his numerical advantage."

Rickon started to feel true hope surge within him but he still had more questions. "What will you do in the meantime? And how exactly did you get a magical glass candle? I don't know much about them but I heard they are very rare."

There was a pause in the mental communication as if the Skagosi was contemplating his answer. But soon, the stream of thoughts resumed.

"I was originally sent to the Iron Islands as a spy due to some...very troubling reports involving their new king, Euron Greyjoy," He went on. "And after following him to Deepwood Motte just in time to watch him turn Lord Glover against House Stark, I made a snap decision to follow the Bolton reinforcements to Ironrath. I was wary, you see. The sorcerer-king gifted the Bolton forces a magical weapon of sorts to aid their cause against the Ice Dragon so I have been trying to find out more in order to intervene when needed. So far, I hadn't been able to figure out what it is but I feel I am getting closer so I will focus on that while our brother flies his way here," Skrel explained.

Then there was another pause and Rickon could almost feel him hesitate.

"As for how did I get a Glass Candle, well, it actually isn't mine," He admitted. "I will explain more later; after the battle is over and I can speak to your brother as well but for now, know that the order I belong to has been collecting ancient, valuable, and magical artifacts for...well, a very, very long time."

"Hmph," Rickon hummed, his tone barely audible in the tent. "If I make it out of here then I expect a better answer later."

Then he genuinely smiled for the first time since getting captured. "But thank you. I needed true hope again. I hope we can meet in person soon."

"You're welcome, Little Lord," The member of House Magnar responded. "And likewise. So, take care of yourself."

And with that, the connection broke.

Rickon took a deep breath and focused on listening to the outside. Yet he didn't have to be patient for long, for he started hearing a cavalry charge advance at full gallop in a matter of minutes.

The youngest son of Ned Stark swallowed once he realized that the battle had begun. And so, he waited, keeping his eyes open toward the entrance of the tent for those that would try to save him.

As seconds became minutes and the clang of combat echoed across the field, however, Rickon found himself speaking to his old caretaker, hoping that the Osha's spirit could hear his words.

"I miss you," He admitted, his lips trembling. "And I am so sorry you got killed while trying to keep me safe. But I am going to make you a promise now."

He organized his thoughts for a moment before inhaling deeply and looked at the floor, still remembering the bloodied form of his dear friend pooling all around her.

"You proved to me that the Northerners and the Free Folk could coexist in peace," Rickon began. "More, you showed me we could be friends if we actually tried. Well, I have heard that most of the infantry in my brother's army is made up of Free Folk that chose to ally themselves with him. So, I swear to the Old Gods and the New that if I make it out of here alive and we manage to defeat Ramsay's forces, I will work hard to honor your memory and work with the rest of my family to give your fellow Free Folk a better place to live," He vowed. "Somewhere they can grow to call home while we strengthen the bonds between our peoples. After all, the blood of the First Men flows through us all, even if the Wall separated our lands."

Then he bowed his head in respect and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Thank you for everything, Osha," He whispered. "I hope you can find peace in the hereafter."

Rickon sighed and sat down on a nearby chair, placing his hands over his face. He wasn't sure how long he stayed in that position as he contemplated the future he would like for himself and the risks that could ensure it never came to pass.

But then, the guards at the entrance of his tent screamed in pain and terror.

Rickon bolted to his feet and focused on the ground before him. And then his eyes widened when he saw venomous snakes lashing at the soldier and biting them where they could, like the Skagosi that got inside his head assured him they would. Then, he heard a furious roar that could only have come from a large bear and he couldn't help but smile as a vision of white fur approached them and tackled the enemy soldiers to the ground before slashing and biting.

Soon, only one guard was left standing and he stumbled into the room before unsheathing his own blade and glaring at him. Rickon froze in fear and thought that that was it but then, like an answer to his prayers, a tall, blonde woman followed him to the tent and stabbed him in the back before the guard could get close enough to hit him.

The armored warrioress grimaced for a moment as she looked at the killing blow she inflicted upon the man's back before turning to him and giving him a small smile.

"Rickon Stark, my name is Brienne of Tarth," She told him. "And your sister Sansa sent me to rescue you. Let's get out of here."

The youngest living Stark was mute as he took her hand but only because he felt so grateful and relieved that he didn't even know what to say. So, he inhaled deeply as he exited the tent and spared a glance at the direction of Ironrath, where it Weirwood tree would likely be. And then, he bowed his head.

"Thank you," Was all he said.

And with that, Rickon run faster, as a large Snowbear and a formidable warrior tried to keep him safe.

A/N: Well, I imagine the contents of the chapter could have seemed a bit unexpected given the flow of the last few chapters but well, it somehow felt right to me as I was working on this. And honestly, we were kind of due for a Rickon-centric chapter.

Regardless, I plan to update as soon as possible so please, let's feed the creative muse with some reviews, shall we? That should help me out.

Have a great week everyone.