They’ll reclaim what was taken from them, reclaim what has been lost to their bloodline - and then they’ll take the world until everyone cowers upon their knees.
(Winter is Coming, the North Wind howls to all corners)
When the Moon steals the light from the Sun and darkness hugs her surface once again, the Earth cradles the Blood of First Man to her bosom. With the mark of the Old Gods branded upon their souls, she trembles beneath them as they walk upon her surface.
Brothers, the North Wind whispers to them though they can not hear, his voice brushing through their hair.
The Old Gods are waking, Children of the Forest sing in delight. ‘The Old Gods are waking and Old Powers wake too, in the Blood of the First Men - Dragons are not the only creatures to be feared, not for much longer’, they cackle.
The Three-eyed Crow looks upon the sleeping form of the descendent of the First Men - the power within the small frame has him nearly crash to his knees. Though miles away, he can feel the Brother-Wolf who calls himself Rickon storm upon the world, Sister Earth heaves beneath his feet. The Crow smiles.
There are others, the Spirits of the North know and they are strong.
But they will be forged and bent and molded under the realms of other Gods.
They will not bear the mark of the Old Gods like their youngest siblings will.
The Spirits wonder though, when the Brother-Wolf and the Child of Old Powers return to the cradle of the North and sit upon the throne of the First Men and ask - will the other Gods relinquish their claims on the older siblings?
They chortle and snicker and pray to the Old Gods that they don’t.
The Spirits of the North want blood.
They want war.
For the world to become encased by the fury of Ice - and the Old Gods to rise again.
(They bear the mark of the Old Gods and with it, they’ll show the world the fury of the Gods)