Happy New Year! 

Music assisted me in this journey of a chapter. I decided to share the inspiration of each facet of this update with you. The name of the song and composer is below each section POV. 

                                                                              ZIPPORAH

                                                         "Land of Fire" by Peter Gundry

There had to be a clue. Something to indicate where she was. Her blue orbs darted all about, taking in the dark, bland landscape that stretched as far as her eyes could strain to see. Flat, dark soil met her booted feet. Purple, black, and gray swirled to make the cloudy sky. She had to be somewhere.

Not in Westeros.

Had she died? She'd climbed the Wall and even spoken to Jon. Her self assessment had not indicated to her that she was on death's door, but maybe she had deceived herself–to give her mind something to strive towards, to live a little longer.

Her mind flashed to her baby. The perfect combo between her and Robb. He'd be much larger now, and more than likely, he'd forgotten her. She'd failed to check in every morning and evening, especially after the fight with the Night King.

Her mind shifted to that lonely battle. Zipporah could admit that she had been reckless and stupid, taking on an entire army of the undead to make it to the oligarchy ruling below the King. First, she'd set the entire forest ablaze. Fire and the undead did not mix and that had aided her in her attempt to get to the oligarchy before the mass horde had found her. She'd engaged the haunted oligarchs for some time. A true Dejarik match between multiple players. To her knowledge, holochess had always been one and one, and it became clear toward the end that it had been. The brutal, painful fighting had actually been between her and the Night King.

By using multiple players, he had gotten plenty of stabs in while she simply whittled down his number of players down to one.

With fire raging on around them, they engaged in a silent death match. It had irked Zipporah that he was verbally silent and his piercing eyes communicated for him. She'd caught varied emotions–smugness, hatred, determination, and at the end, respect.

How had she won? Well, in hindsight, she did not. They exchanged sword stabbings. Fueled by anger and passion, she had weighed the options and decided that she would risk the exchange.

At first, he had been surprised and then smug until he realized that she had swapped weapons.

Instead of steel, she'd ignited the sword of light. Hers was deadly to the magic that flowed in him while his ice sword administered a chilling blow. He'd shattered into a thousand shards of ice, while she ignorantly shook off the cold wound, never once inspecting it.

Even now, wherever she was, she refused to look at the frigid-feeling wound that slowly grew, consuming small amounts of her flesh.

                                                                                        ROBB

            "Memories Flood My Eyes and Leave as Tears"/ "Vioblainn" by Peter Gundry

He sat dutifully by her side as Maester Luwin slowly inspected and treated her wounds. Her face had grown even more pale, almost a translucent white with a blue tinge settling on her once rose colored lips. Aiden played by his feet, completely unaware or indifferent, which signaled to Robb that his wife was not able to connect to their son.

He could recall how in-tune the two had been, and she'd left to keep him safe. A promise had left her lips, but based on Aiden's countenance, she'd broken her promise to him. A rare occurrence. Actually, a first for her. Had it happened because of the distance? The battle? Her attention? He hadn't forgotten the red haired man and how attached he was to his lady wife. Anger burned in him, and he angrily and silently ranted at her in their normal conversation space.

His wife had been so adamant about her love for him and their son, that he hadn't expected another being to be entertained. Had she given indicators that he was welcome? That she'd fallen out of love with him?

"Self doubt looks bad on you." Her brother's deep voice chastised from the opposite wall of their room. The tall, broad man had given what details he could. Aiden seemed quite happy to be near him, and Ben had murmured, "The force is strong with this one. A new chosen one?"

The reference was lost on Robb, but pride did swell at the notion of his son being chosen to presumably do great and possibly wondrous things.

'He will do great things, just you watch.' She happily teased him after Aiden had thrown up on his armor. His lady wife had found it funny while he had been disgusted and annoyed. Her laughter echoed through the halls. At the time, he did not know that he would take it for granted. Now, he would give a small fortune to hear her laugh again or to give him that look when she knew she was right but never threw him to the wolves.

"I miss her." Robb admitted as he grasped her hand and noted how cold she was. Her heart was still beating, but why was she so cold?

The Maester had finally reached her lower abdomen and gasped, "By the gods."

A large, gaping wound caked in blood and ice. Ben pushed off the wall to inspect it, while Robb pleaded with her to wake up and heal.

"The injury is completely frozen." Ben reported to Robb in a curious tone. "I've never seen something like this. No wonder I couldn't heal her. She was probably stabbed by that ice sword."

Robb shuffled on his feet to look for himself and let out a pain-filled grunt. She was slowly freezing to death or much worse, turning into the very creature that she'd so valiantly fought.

"Maester?" He prompted, trying to be hopeful that they had something to counteract this magic.

The older man sighed, "I must research." Gathering his things, he glanced about and his eyes landed on the fireplace that roared in defiance of the cold outside.

"Try to melt the ice."

                                                                              BEN

                                                    "Fontanarossa" by Julia Kent

'Of course you made this extra difficult.' He mentally huffed at his catatonic sibling. He sensed their father outside, listening in from the hall. The old man took one look at them, gave a conflicted expression, and disappeared. Perhaps it had been too much for the old man. The mambo jumbo had always made him skittish, and now, ironically, he was living in a world where there was more than just the force at work. Other variants of magic warred against one another, while the force remained neutral until one grew too powerful–much like their previous lives. He had simply been too stubborn to see the give and take, the natural flow, but his sister had figured it out.

Trying to think of a way to heat her wound, he reached to touch the ice but warning bells went off in his head to not do that. Heeding the natural caution message, he glanced about the room and a thought struck him, why not use the lightsaber? They were capable of disrupting the magic of those ice creatures.

Withdrawing the shorter blade, he murmured to Robb, "I'm going to try to melt the ice. Take a step back."

His brother in law made no move to stop him, only stepping up to caress her pale face. Ben had not been sure about the guy, but as he watched him watch her, it was clear that he loved her. He was simply young and still learning about literally everything.

His nephew continued to play with the wooden toys on the ground, seemingly unaware of the danger his mother was in. Or did he know and chose to be hopeful? The child was incredibly perceptive and naturally gifted at dealing with others' emotions.

Igniting the blade, he lowered it to hover over the ice, and it melted ever so slightly. Ben concentrated to keep his hand steady as he used the force to pull away the melted magic water. Drop after drop dissolved until the two men could see the wound for what it was—a slow change of matter. The skin was gaunt white with an ice blue lining. Turning off the saber, Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. 'You had to do the battle alone, didn't you?'

"Can you cut it out?" Robb shakily asked, clearly affected by the implications of the wound.

"I can try? It's a large space, and who knows how much the magic has changed?" Ben mused aloud for their father's benefit and then requested, "Aiden needs to go elsewhere. If this goes south, he doesn't need to be here to witness it."

Ben watched as Robb gingerly picked up Aiden who finally glanced at his mother. His blue orbs fixed on her face and lunged for her. Robb fumbled him, and he landed on her upper torso with a loud thud. Knowing time was of the essence, Ben snagged Aiden off her and the boy finally let the room have it. A scream of anger and angst that neither had heard him give. Ben noted that their Dad had entered to help take him off their hands.

"Come on, Aiden. Your uncle and Dad are gonna try to fix Momma. Let's go hang out with your other uncles."

The infant wailed again and reached for her. Ben felt the force tug from him at his mom and was quick to cut it. Aiden's blue eyes fixed on his uncle. A tug of force. If his sister's life wasn't on the line, he'd gladly play and teach his nephew, but now was not the time.

"Go, Han." Robb commanded as he shrugged off his jacket and then ordered, "Greywind, no one in or out."

The direwolf headed for the doorway and planted himself outside as the door was pulled shut by a very nervous Han Solo.

"Vader, this side of the door." The shadowcat plopped down and simply watched.

Robb met Ben's eyes, and the two made a silent pact.

                                                                          ZIPPORAH

       "Bridge of Death"/"Vichnaya Pamyat"/ "Opaque" by Hildur Guonadottir

Pain. White hot pain. Her eyes closed to try to shut it out, but there it was all the same, suffocating her being. Her torso was in a constant state of purgatory: ice than fire. Unrelenting and unforgiving.

After some time, it seemed to build, and the sensation of not being able to breathe properly caused her to panic. It was cold everywhere and then nothing. Numbness.

A small tug in the force caused her to open her eyes. She was still in the strange place, but the small tug beckoned her to roll over and crawl toward it. Whatever it was. The force did not give her a signature. Just a simple tug.

With each new movement forward, her hands noted the soil changed texture and shape. Her old life then Westeros. The final texture had been the frozen tundra of the true north.

Lifting her head up to look at the horizon, her blue eyes fixed on a small figure standing.

Gaining the strength to stand, she took off running for the figure who remained stationary.

Upon reaching the small figure, she took in its features. It was child-like but certainly not a child. Large, expressive eyes surrounded by grayish wrinkled skin. The wrinkles possessed green rather than blue.

"Wha–what's going on?" Zipporah gasped out as she held her abdomen, wishing it would heal.

"Take in the song of the earth." The small woman advised with a serene expression fixed on her face.

Zipporah shook her head, "I need to go home. My son and husband are waiting for me."

"They are. If you still yourself, you'll be able to hear them fret over you."

Zipporah closed her eyes and tried to be calm–to hear them again.

"It's not working. The wound remains the color of that creature. I can't cut anymore, Robb. She'll die."

"She's dying anyways. If she turns, I have to kill her. She'll take Westeros."

"Will you take Westeros?" The small woman questioned with a laugh.

Zipporah shrugged, "I don't think so? I wanted to bring the King in the South to justice, but if that is what Robb fears, I won't?"

Pain ricocheted through her again, and this time, she gained the courage to look at her body. Seeing the white wound, panic coursed about her veins and turning to give her attention back to the small woman, she sadly stated, "I'm turning?"

"The children need protection. You killed him."

Zipporah shook her head, "No, he was killing the living. We were not going to live in a state of ice and fear."

Ignoring her, the small woman smiled, "I was born in the time of the dragon and roamed the world of man to understand. I am returning home. The men are now the children. They need protection."**

Zipporah scoffed, "I can't protect anyone if I'm a white walker. I love my family. Help me be with them."

The woman moved to look at her wound. Her four fingered hand plunged into her abdomen, removed a black rigid blade, and held it up for the woman to see. Dragon glass.

"This is the forest protecting itself from the whims of man."

"Tell me what the forest wants, I'll do it without the change." Zipporah negotiated, noticing that the child-like woman had lowered it back toward her abdomen.

"You are connected to a different source of magic, not ours. This connects us all."

Zipporah stepped back from her and rebuffed, "I am not some means to an end. I have my own plans. Live and love my family. Have more–"

The small woman smiled, "Have more children? No, the one you have is it." She paused and in a blink shoved the glass back in, "You will not have any more children, but the forest permits you loving them."

Tears swarmed her vision and Zipporah pleaded, "I can't look like a white walker. The northerners will kill me. You heard Robb."

Nodding, the woman admitted, "We'll be clever this time, and you will live with the burden of living between the worlds." Her hands closed the wound and halted the discoloration.

"You will let them think the dissection worked. You will live and love them. Rule them. Set them on the course for success, but man is never to return beyond the Wall."

"I'll outlive all of them, won't I?" She sadly stated as she thought about a life without Robb or Aiden.

"That is the burden. The price."

** Ode to Dance with Dragons**