Game of Dragonborn.

Chapter 156 - Winterfell is mine.

[Chapter Size: 2000 Words.]

Third Person POV.

Winterfell.

...

...

"Mother..."
The words felt strange coming out of the Dragonborn's mouth as he kept his gaze fixed on the statue of Lyanna Stark.

Her body was buried beneath that pile of stones.

That look was hesitant, but even so, it shimmered, seeing her bones through the small coffin... He had confirmed it was her just by seeing the mortal remains, there was a connection.

That was good... After all, for what he intended to do... He would need them.

"Should I intervene, mother?" Daemon spoke softly, looking at the bones and ignoring the statue.
"Maybe it's better to talk to you first. Not everyone would want to come back..."

Daemon had decided some time ago to cross the line between life and death.
He couldn't do it alone. He would need a place... a certain Daedric... princess for that.

This would not be cheap, especially with the condition that those dark gods cannot intervene in this world — he would be breaking some natural laws established in this plane.
After all, gods don't walk with mortals here, the world has too little magic for that.

As he watched her a little longer, he sighed and took out a few things from his dimensional space, many blue flowers — none other than winter roses — for Lyanna Stark, her favorites.

He covered the ground, placing them at the feet of the statue.

"First of all, mother... I've waited so long to do this... I hope you weren't disappointed with your ignorant son the first time he was here, after learning the truth after so many years..." Daemon spoke in those crypts alone.

"You knew what I went through in this place... You knew I was sent to another world and became a force in another plane, when I was most needed, a dragonborn?
Did you see me in that place, see my trials, my challenges, my victories... My joys and my sorrows?"
He received only silence in return.

He looked a little frustrated.
"Look at me, talking to a statue, what would Paarthurnax say about this..."
He laughed, his laughter echoing through the place.

His gaze returned to the statue once more.
"I hope to finally meet you soon," Daemon said with a rare sad tone, before placing the torch into a bracket on the wall and beginning to leave.

His eyes looked over the crypts before climbing the stairs.
He could feel the cold, eerie air, could hear the howls of direwolves and men screaming for battle.

There were many ghosts in that place, and Daemon only mocked them.
There were some Starks who didn't seem to have found peace after their deaths, souls that do not rest and cannot detach from this world, never having the right to enter the halls of Sovngarde.

He simply continued climbing the stairs after that, after taking the first step.

Back in the courtyard of Winterfell, he saw that it was quite bustling.
The men who had tried to greet Daemon earlier, or at least the maester, were lost while Daemon's men were still checking every place, trying to find any Bolton to throw out.

And there were indeed many hidden, while Daemon had left his wolves to sniff out each one — anyone with bloodstains was caught, even among the servants.

They were taken to the old nurse, who would say whether or not they were true servants of Winterfell, especially since the Boltons had placed torturers among their staff.
They didn't need to fight in battle — just serve as assistants in the tortures that took place at the Dreadfort.