— IN the midst of a gentle summer, as the rest of the realm reveled in the sun's warmth and the mild breezes it brought, a different world existed hidden within the shadowed mountainw valleys. Here, in isolation, loomed the formidable fortress of Silverpeak. Its grandeur rivaled even that of Winterfell.

The heart of Silverpeak, its stone walls seamlessly melded with the rugged mountains, cast a looming shadow over the villages it sheltered. But the fortress wasn't the only spectacle in the north beyond Winterfell. Towering behind it, the snow-clad peaks served as a natural boundary, marking the line between the North and the savage north, lawless wilderness between the realm and the wildlings beyond the wall. It was a realm where chaos ruled, a refuge for marauders and thieves, forever eluding the grasp of the southern crown and even the Warden of the North.

For generations, House Valnor had held sway over Silverpeak, establishing themselves as one of the most enduring noble families in Westeros, second only to those who could trace their lineage back to the First Men. Their origins lay in the remnants of Old Valyria, a heritage marked by the visionary Lord Valarius Valnor, known as the Master of Dragons and the Dragon of the North. A man of unwavering honor, he had ridden his dragon, Sylverscale, hatched from the same clutch as the fearsome Balerion the Dread, side by side with King Aegon the Conqueror and his queens during their momentous conquest.

Although Lord Valarius had vowed to oversee the North and ensure the loyalty of those who had pledged themselves to King Aegon, he harbored no desire to supplant House Stark as the rulers of the region. Instead, he forged a profound alliance with the North, a bond sealed when he took a Stark daughter as his third wife, solidifying their loyalty.

Over the centuries, House Valnor gradually adopted the customs and traditions of the North, leaving behind many of their own ancestral practices. They proudly served as loyal bannermen to the Warden of the North and acted as the vigilant eyes and ears for House Stark, ensuring that nothing, and no one, reached those under the protection of House Stark in the north.

For generations, their dragons soared through the northern skies and roamed the mountainous terrain, a symbol of House Valnor's power and heritage. However, as time passed and the harsh winters of the North descended, a chilling fate befell their cherished dragon eggs—they failed to hatch. The already scarce food supply drove their oldest and largest dragon, Volcanar, to violent outbursts, leading him to attack northern villages and their livestock. This tumultuous period culminated in Volcanar's unprecedented sentence to death in the North, marking the end of dragons in House Valnor's dominion.

Yet, House Valnor remained steadfast in their pride, deeply connected to their northern roots. Their words, "Winters Fire" spoke of the fiery legacy of their dragons that had once safeguarded the North. Even without the presence of dragons, the knights of House Valnor stood as a formidable force, serving with unwavering honor and loyalty to the North, putting their allegiance to the realm before the Iron Throne.

Now, long after dragons flew the northern skies and roamed the mountains, Silverpeak remained as loyal as they had been for generations to the north. Led by Lord Arion Valnor, it served as a northern refuge on the way to the farthest towers on the wall. The men who served him patrolled the mountains and valleys under the command of his eldest son, Caelan Valnor, Heir to Silverpeak.

Caelan was a man of twenty-nine years, exuding a commanding presence that compelled both attention and respect. Unlike the distinctive Targaryens with their pale hair and piercing violet eyes, House Valnor bore a different visage. Their hair often boasted a warm shade of honey, while their eyes, including those of Caelan, were adorned with a rich hue of hazel. His hair was kept neatly cropped, accompanied by a well-groomed beard that accentuated the strong lines of his face, mirroring the features of his father. The warm hazel of his eyes harmonized seamlessly with the deepest strands of his hair.

Ser Jorik Snow, a man of determination and skill, had become one of Caelan's trusted confidants in this pursuit. He was not much older than his commander, a bastard whose background was marred by the stain of his birth but elevated by his unwavering loyalty to House Valnor.

As the sun cast its golden glow upon the mountainous terrain, Jorik returned to Caelan with a report. His voice held a hint of frustration, "No sign of the deserter, my lord."

Caelan, the heir to Silverpeak, glanced at his companion. His features, bathed in the warm hues of the fading day and the small fire he and a few other men sat around. He ran a hand through his honey-colored hair, his hazel eyes searching the thin pine forest around them. "Mormont claims the boy was a good ranger. The lad can keep himself hidden, I'm sure," he replied in his usual gruff tone. "But a mad man won't survive long in these mountains."

"If we're lucky," Ser Willam Stone remarked, his voice edged with a dry, morbid humor that echoed the grim reality, his scared eye piercing through the darkening air "maybe we'll just find what's left of him after a mountain lion gets ahold of him."

His words hung in the air like an ominous and hopeful prediction, casting a momentary chill over the group. Willam dismounted his horse and secured the reins to a sturdy pine tree.

Jorik, as he lowered himself to sit across from Caelan, couldn't resist a retort, "Then we'll have to fight the lion for what's left of him, won't we, Stone?"

"I'm sure Lord Stark would take the mad man's skull as justice enough." William replied, a amused smirk spreading across his face as he ran his fingers through his horses' mane.

"A man who took the black should have to answer for himself." Caelan remarked, "Any other sort of justice would be a coward's way out."

"I don't know," he mused with a thoughtful expression as he moved closer to the fire. "I guess I'd rather face getting my head cut off by Lord Stark than getting ripped limb from limb by a wild beast."

The group of them had been searching for the deserter for a few days. But each day was a reminder that they hadn't seen a trace of him in the mountains. In all honesty, Caelan was beginning to believe that something had come of the poor bastard. Whether it be a mountain lion, a loose rock that sent him falling down a cliff...

But it was that night that a small group of men returned to the camp in a hurry— they had broken off from their larger search party and hurried back to where Caelan and the others who had spent the daylight hours searching were resting for another day on horseback.

"My lord!" a boy, not yet old enough to wear a breastplate with the sigil of House Valnor, but old enough to volunteer for the search, announced his presence urgently as his horse barreled through the trees— flanked by two other boys of his age on their own horses. "We've located him," the boy had sharp blue eyes that were wide with a mixed gaze of the unknown and excitement. "the deserter, not more than a few miles from here. The others are watching him from a distance."

"You've got sharp eyes to see a man in black at this time," Ser William retorted with a bit of skepticism in his voice.

"Better eyes than you," Caelan retorted before putting a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, "take us to him, Elays." he said, his tone carrying a tone of assurance against the formers skepticism.

They boy nodded feverishly as he quickly turned to remount his panting horse and the two boys who had joined him were already turning in the other direction as the men around the fire hurried to mount their own.

The men from around the fire and those who had already turned in for the night of rest swiftly mounted their horses and followed the three boys deeper into the pine forest. Caelan, with his mind focused on the task at hand, trailed closely behind the boys. The rhythmic sound of his horse's hooves on the forest floor provided a comforting cadence, momentarily pushing aside thoughts of what was at stake.

It wasn't the identity of the deserter or the accusations against him that weighed on Caelan's mind. Instead, it was the responsibility he bore. For years, his father had entrusted him with ensuring the readiness of the men guarding Silverpeak. Such search missions were typically led by his father, a seasoned leader. However, this time, it was Caelan who had taken the mantle. He felt the weight of his father's trust, a heavy burden he carried with a mixture of confidence and self-doubt. Compared to his father, a master archer who rarely missed his target, Caelan acknowledged his own skills were not as honed.

As Elays led the search party deeper into the mountains, the forest grew denser, and the trail narrowed. Eventually, they came to a halt at the place where Martyn White, who sat atop his horse, reins slack in his hands, sat waiting. His gaze fixated on a steep hill overlooking a valley through which a narrow river flowed, descending from the snow-capped mountains that encircled them. A glowing fire near the water's edge in the valley drew everyone's attention.

Caelan inquired, his curiosity piqued, "What have we here?" He guided his horse alongside Martyn, leaning slightly to get a better view of the valley below.

"I sent a boy down on foot," Martyn responded, indicating a young man who was still seated on the ground, "quite the hike, wasn't it, lad?"

The boy, clearly fatigued, replied, "Yes, my lord," his posture leaning against a pack filled with supplies.

William Stone, however, voiced his protest at the decision, "You sent a boy to check a bastard man of the Watch? Are you mad, my lord?"

Caelan sighed heavily, his patience wearing thin as he turned to the man, "Would you prefer to descend on foot, Ser Stone, and make a closer inspection yourself?" Irritation tinged his words.

"My lord," Martyn interjected, coming to the boy's defense, "the lad's father was a member of the Night's Watch, and says he's visited Silverpeak since taking his oath. He should recognize their black cloaks as well as you or I. I trusted his surefootedness to get a closer look without raising suspicion."

Caelan's gaze shifted between William and the distant fire in the valley, deep in thought. "You're sure?" he asked, directing his question to the boy on the ground.

"Aye, my Lord," he replied with determination, "I'm certain."

Satisfied with the boy's confidence, Caelan made a decision. "That's good enough for me," he declared, tightening his grip on his horse's reins. "The Dark River runs deep this time of year. If we take him here, he'll have nowhere to run." He glanced at the boy and asked, "You, what's your name?"

"Zacharia, my Lord," the boy replied.

Caelan offered a small, reassuring smile. "Ser Stone, keep the lad company here," he instructed William, a bit of amusement in his voice as Stones face fell into even deeper frustration, he then turned to Jorik. "Jorik, take the boys with you and watch from the ridges. If he runs, I want to know where he goes if he manages to escape the valley. Martyn, you and your men, stay with me."

Without wasting a moment, Caelan continues his orders, "Prepare to ride down, but quietly. We don't want to alert him prematurely."

Martyn nodded in agreement and relayed the orders to the men in a hushed tone, ensuring that they understood the need for a quiet descent.

They began the ride down the steep hillside, each rider skillfully guiding their horse through the thick underbrush and dense pine trees. The moonlight, filtered through the forest canopy, cast eerie, shifting shadows.

As they drew nearer to the valley floor, the faint crackling of the fire became more distinct. The orange glow grew brighter, illuminating the area around it. Caelan could now see a lone figure huddled by the fire, clad in black.

His heart raced, and the tension in the air was palpable. Caelan and Martyn exchanged a knowing glance, and it was without uttering a word the two of them dug their heels into their horse's sides, surging their horses forward, followed by the men who had been a part of Martyns' search party.

The sound of pounding hooves filled the night air as they closed in on the man in black. The man by the fire sprang to his feet, his eyes widening in terror as he saw the shadows of Caelan and his search party racing towards him.

As the horses neared the man, in the glow of his small fire, Caelan saw his thin arms move upwards into the air in surrender. As Caelan began to slow, to stop before him and Martyns' men moved to circle the man— his eyes darted around at each of them.

The shadows from the fire that danced on his face gave him a wild look to his features, or perhaps simply amplified them.

"You're a long way from the wall." Caelan remarked, stopping before him. The man looked no older than his younger siblings, the twins, Gareth and Isolde.

"I was just going home to visit my mother, she's ill."

"Do you take the heir of Silverpeak for a fool?" Martyn questioned, causing the deserter to quickly spin on his heel and look to Martyn before sharply turning back towards Caelan, so quickly he nearly fell.

"No, no, of course not, my lord!"

"Then tell me, what's got your mother so ill that you've broken your oath?" Caelan questioned, briefly playing along with the man's lie.

The deserter's eyes darted nervously in every direction, searching for a way to make his story believable.

"My lord," he began, his voice trembling but suddenly something changed and his eyes were glued to Caelans gaze, "I know it sounds mad, my lord, but it's the White Walkers. They've returned."

Caelan exchanged a look of doubt with Martyn. White Walkers were the stuff of legend, a terrifying tale told to scare children.

"White Walkers," Caelan repeated, his voice heavy with doubt. Caelan exchanged another wary look with Martyn, who mirrored his skepticism. "Bind him," Caelan ordered, his tone resolute. "We'll return to Silverpeak with him. Send a raven ahead to my father, have him send word to Lord Stark."

Once the deserter was securely bound and placed atop one of the horses, the group began the ascent back to where their fellow men waited, curiosity etched on their faces, eager to catch a glimpse of the captive.

However, standing slightly apart from the crowd, Ser William Stone observed the proceedings with a hint of begrudging admiration for the young volunteers who had played a crucial role in the capture.

Caelan couldn't help but chuckle as he approached Stone, his tone lighthearted. "It seems these lads had keener eyes than all of us, Ser Stone."

The knight grunted in reluctant agreement, his usual gruff demeanor momentarily softened. "Aye, my lord," he admitted, "Seems that way."

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note; if there's one thing bout me it's that if the opportunity arises to use charlie as a fc imma do it.
also this story is cross posted on a03