Lucas shifted uncomfortably on his mount. The Lannister armor and clothing was not meant for him, and thus the fit was imperfect. The fact that he was wearing the golden lion across his chest emblazoned on his scarlet surcoat made it all the worse. Lucas had hand-selected the men to bring along on the journey. All were excellent fighters, most northerners, but a few men of the Riverlands as well whom Lucas was familiar with. Many of the northerners were rugged men by nature. They sported with long beards and shaggy hair to help endure the winter cold. With much protestation, Lucas had ordered the men to trim their beards and hair, to better pass themselves off as men of the Westerlands. Even Lucas, who preferred his shoulder length dark locks to fly free, had tied his hair back.

They had just entered properly into the mountains of the Vale after meeting briefly with Lord Royce and his men. The bulk of Royce's force was horse, which would enable them to converge on the Gate with haste. Night was quickly approaching, and in the depths of the mountain pass, the darkness seemed to surround all. There was an unsettling quiet too, and Lucas found himself looking upwards for a trace of archers or mountain clansmen looking to fall upon them at any moment. He trotted his mount slowly beside the wheelhouse that sheltered the small Lannister lord.

"You look tense."

Lucas looked over and saw Tyrion staring out at him through the wheelhouse's sliding window. "Not without reason," Lucas replied. "You do realize that once we are inside…if we make it inside…that there is not much I can do to ensure your safety."

Tyrion waived him off. "I have every faith in you, Blackwood."

"No offense, but that means little coming from a Lannister."

"Some offense," Tyrion grinned. "Just think, if you lead us to success, your name will go down in the histories among the other heroes of House Blackwood."

"Hopefully I shall be alive to read them." Lucas looked up and got his first glimpse of the Bloody Gate. The pair of giant turrets towered up to the tops of the surrounding cliffs, connected by a massive bridge, below which was the massive gate. Lucas could not see them, but he knew that dozens of men were inside the towers with arrows trained on their approaching forms. As they grew closer, he saw men scurrying and forming up along the battlements on the bridge and atop the towers. The road itself narrowed as it approached the Gate, forcing most of Lucas' men to fall behind the wheelhouse as it rolled to the front of their line.

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?"

Lucas looked up to the battlements and saw the speaker looking down on them. His tunic was white, and on his chest were the three black ravens of House Corbray, who Lucas knew had aligned with Baelish against the other lords of the Vale. Lucas cleared his throat. "I am Ser Ryland, and knight of House Westerling. We accompany Lord Tyrion Lannister, uncle to his Grace, Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"I am Ser Lyn Corbray, Knight of the Gate," the soldier introduced himself, drawing out his title with flourish. "What business does Tyrion Lannister have in the Vale?"

At this point, the door to the wheelhouse swung open and Tyrion carefully but swiftly made his way down the affixed steps. The second son of Lord Tywin casually walked by Lucas, before practically throwing his head backwards to be able to see up towards the battlements.

"Good evening, Ser Lyn," Tyrion greeted, his tone jovial. "I am on my journey back from the north. As you may or may not be aware, I was tasked as emissary for King Joffrey to discuss matters related to the ongoing war."

"And what does that have to do with your presence in the Vale?" Ser Lyn inquired, clear distaste in his words.

"If you were not aware, Ser Lyn, Robb Stark controls the entirety of the North, the Riverlands and the Westerlands. Lord Baelish and the Vale is the only place still loyal to the Iron Throne within hundreds of miles. I have need to speak with Lord Baelish regarding the negotiations with Robb Stark, and to get word to my Father regarding the same, among other matters of importance beyond your station. I trust that House Corbray has remained loyal to King Joffrey and shall not turn away the King's Uncle, who travels on urgent business at the Crown's behest."

Lucas again had to hand it to the dwarf. He was a smooth talker and the Lannister knew it, if the small smirk on his face was not evidence enough. Ser Lyn had been put on the spot among a crowd. The seasoned knight bristled for several long moments before finally answering. "As you say Lannister, we are loyal servants of King Joffrey. We shall allow you passage and escort you to the Eyrie."

Tyrion smiled, clapping his hands together. "Splendid, Ser Lyn." Tyrion turned, as if to head back to the wheelhouse, but then spun back to the Gate. "We have been traveling straight through since morning. Given the lateness of the hour, would it be possible to take rest within your walls for the evening and continue onwards to the Eyrie at first light?"

"So be it," Ser Lyn responded, already walking away. Lucas inwardly cheered at the man's lack of fight. There was a sudden sound within the fortification as the winch began to turn to lift the steel gate. Lucas waited until the barrier was fully risen before he urged his horse forward. As he crossed into the opening of the passage, his eyes took in every detail before him. The Bloody Gate itself was wide, at least forty feet. Entering into the tunnel opening, the passage was lit by torches, and Lucas could see arrow slits to the sides and murder holes above. Any force stuck within the tunnel would be struck down in bloody fashion.

Lucas saw no sign of the winch to lift the gates, which meant it was likely located above on the bridge itself. There were two sets of stairs on each side of the tunnel, which he assumed led up to the bridge. As he reached the end of the tunnel, he finally glimpsed what laid beyond the Gate. He first saw the Eyrie seemingly extending into the sky in the distance, while closer before him there was a haphazard war camp situated along the High Road. The numerous tents were so packed together that it was hard to get a true sense of the strength of the enemy, though, the narrowness of the pass served to take away the advantage of numbers. A battle on the Pass would be a long, bloody slaughter.

When they were all through the Gate, they were met by Ser Lyn, who had descended from his previous perch. Tyrion, likewise, had abandoned the wheelhouse for the open air. Lucas could hear the sound of the gate lowering behind them.

"You shall be afforded appropriate lodgings within our walls, Lord Lannister," Ser Lyn stated. "I am afraid that we do not have the capacity to house all of your men within our walls, though they are free to make camp nearby."

"It shall not be a problem Ser Lyn. My men shall make camp, though I will take a few to guard my chambers for the evening."

Ser Lyn scoffed. "I assure you, Lord Lannister, you have nothing to fear from within our halls."

"I trust that to be the case," Tyrion smiled. "Yet, you can never be too careful." Tyrion turned to Lucas. "Ser Ryland, bring two more men to stand guard for the evening. The rest of you, settle yourselves."

Lucas, or Ser Ryland as was his alias this night, chose Dorran, a burly northerner from Winterfell, and Bodrin, a scrappy fighter from Pinkmaiden, to accompany him. Lucas quietly gave orders for the rest of his men to make camp by the stables, which were just off of the the left guard tower. As luck would have it, this was the same tower Tyrion was to be housed in.

Ser Lyn led them up a winding staircase, halfway up the tower's height. Lucas made note of each guard position, though it seemed that most of the guards were either on the bridge or at the top of the towers. Tyrion's accommodations were small, but comfortable, one of three small rooms on this particular landing.

"You'll find wine and food within," Ser Lyn noted as Tyrion surveyed the chamber. "It is not much, but we had not expected to play host this evening. We have largely been cut off from trade, so our resources dwindle by the day."

Tyrion was already pouring from the wine bottle as he looked back. "This shall suit my needs just fine, Ser. I thank you. I shall make sure that my nephew, the King, is aware of the plight of his most loyal men."

"Rest well," Ser Lyn responded. "We shall make for the Eyrie at first light." The man turned away and made his back toward the stairs, leaving them alone. Lucas quietly shut the door.

"Well, that went rather smoothly," Tyrion commented, sipping from his wine. "What now?"

"You stay here and bar your door," Lucas answered. "We'll wait outside your chambers for some time while the camp begins to settle for the night. It will give us a chance to observe the movements of the guards within the tower. When we are ready, I will make my way back to our men outside and lead them into the tower. Dorrin and Bordin will dispatch the guards on my way down. We must take control of the bridge over the gate. It is where we will find the means to lift it."

"It seems you have it under control," Tyrion commented. "I may simply drink myself to sleep and hope to wake up to good news."

"It shall be that, or you wake up to your demise and a trip to the executioner's block."

Tyrion shrugged such concern. "It is not my time. I've always envisioned dying in my own bed, an old man, with a belly full of wine and a girl's mouth around my cock."

Lucas shook his head. "I wish you good luck in such lofty goals. Have a good evening, Lannister."

"You as well, Blackwood."

Lucas shut the door, and he, Dorrin and Bodrin took place right outside. The night was largely quiet. The voices of the men from the camp barely penetrated through the tower's thick stone. The waiting in silence was brutal, but Lucas did not want to be hasty in his plans. If they were found out too soon, they would be swarmed and picked apart. They needed to move quickly and take up a defensible position.

All told, they waited about two hours or so before Lucas decided the time was right. He gave a nudge to his men, then slowly began to descend back down the winding stairs. On the next landing down, two archers stood guard. Lucas passed first, the archers giving him a nod. As their attention shifted back to the path outside the tower, Dorrin and Bodrin fell upon them, daggers slipping deep into their necks, blood spilling upon the floor. Down they continued, four more guards meeting their ends along the way. Lucas moved quickly passed where the tower opened to the bridge, continuing down until he was outside the tower once more.

He moved undetected to where his men had setup a small camp for show. He stuck his head inside each tent, signaling the men to follow. Once assembled, they made their way back to the base of the tower. Luckily, there movements were largely concealed by the darkness, though Lucas was forced to slit the throat of a slow moving guard, who looked like he was well in his cups. Lucas, finally drawing his sword, led the men up the stairs where Dorrin and Bodrin both waited.

Lucas peaked out onto the bridge. He counted at least twenty five soldiers. Surprise was still on their side, and they had to take full advantage. He had a dozen men armed with bows in his company, and he hurried them to the front.

"Each man pick a target," Lucas whispered. "As soon as the volley is off, we charge. The winch is three quarters way to the other tower. We must form up lines on each side so that we may raise it. Archers, on my mark. Make it count." The archers were squeezed into the passage, and Lucas gave the order. "Now." A dozen arrows fired off and a dozen men fell. Lucas pushed past the archers and drove his sword into the first man he came upon. The defenders were stunned at the sudden attack, more than half falling in a matter of moments as Lucas and his men rushed them. The remaining defenders were quickly pushed back against the other tower. However, the surprise was now gone, and shouts were sounding all around them.

"Archers!" Lucas called to his bowman. "Set their camp ablaze." His archers rushed to the closest braziers, lighting their arrows and loosing into the camp. Tents began to burn, but then enemy arrows began to rain down from above. Six of Lucas' archers fell within moments.

"Shields!" He yelled to his men. "Incoming!" Lucas picked up a shield from a fallen defender, and just in time as it caught an arrow near his head. His men had done as ordered, forming up around the winch, but now defenders began to pour from the towers. "Turn the winch! Lift the gate!" He trusted his men to follow through, so he joined their lines as the enemy rushed in on them.

It quickly became a crush of bodies, and Lucas shoved outwards with his shield before cleaving his sword down into an enemy's skull. Blood and brain flew off his sword as he brought it down again and again, poking his blade wherever he found an opening. The men beside him joined in his cadence, pushing forward with shield, then hacking at whatever flesh was available. The only benefit to the crush of bodies was the enemy archers were more hesitant in loosing their arrows upon them.

Lucas risked a look back and saw four of his men were turning the winch. He could faintly hear the portcullis rising below their feet. They had lost at least a dozen men now, and the numbers were only getting worse for them. It was now or never. He fell back between their two lines, reaching at his back for where the horn was secured beneath his coat. Pulling it free, he crushed it to his lips and blew with every bit of air that remained in his lungs. The horn blast echoed loudly into the night, carrying down the mountain pass. He blew it several more times, praying to the gods the sound would carry where it was needed.

Lucas grunted as a sword suddenly cut into the back of his right shoulder. The horn dropped from his hand and he turned to see that Ser Lyn Corbray had cut his way through the line behind him. Lucas gripped his own sword with both hands and stood before the older knight.

"You fucking traitors," Ser Lyn growled. He raised his sword, and Lucas realized his opponent was coming at him with Valaryian steel. Not one to back down, Lucas met the attack, his body shaking as the blades clashed. Ser Lyn was skilled…very skilled…and Lucas found himself on his back foot. Another swing and Lucas felt the Valaryian steel slice shallowly above his right eye. Blood began to poor down, and his vision was impaired. He just barely caught another attack by Ser Lyn. Lucas kept his sword locked with his opponent, before he reached back with his left hand and crashed his fist into Corbray's jaw. The knight staggered back, but then kicked his armored boot into Lucas' torso. Lucas felt his breath leave him and dropped down to his knees.

"I'm going to end you, you little bastard," Ser Lyn yelled, approaching Lucas with his sword raised and hate in his eyes. Lucas could still barely draw air into his body, only able come to one knee, sword only slightly raised. But then Ser Lyn was distracted, his attention turned away. Lucas had a good idea why. The sound of hundreds of horses galloping up the mountain pass suddenly filled air and he could feel the ground shake. Lucas looked back, hoping that the gate was still up or at least passable. Half of his his men were gone, but they were still protecting the winch fiercely behind him. Lucas felt a second wind of energy fill his body, and he forced himself to his feet.

Corbray, only just recovering from the shock of the sudden incursion coming upon the Boody Gate he was charged to protect, lunged his sword sloppily straight at Lucas, but Lucas sidestepped, bringing his own sword upwards, forcing Ser Lyn's blade up towards the sky. Lucas brought the pommel of his sword across the man's cheek, gouging into the skin, and also spinning the man such that the whole of his back was exposed. He thrusted his sword clean through Ser Lyn's shoulder on his sword arm, the blade passing right through the other side. The man hissed, dropping his sword and falling to his knees. Lucas pulled his sword free, before circling to the front of his opponent.

Lucas stared down at Ser Lyn, who was panting, his left hand trying to staunch the blood pouring down his shoulder. "Surrender the Gate and you may live, Ser," Lucas offered the man.

"You're no Lannister, boy," Ser Lyn muttered. "Who are you?"

"Lucas Blackwood, son of Lord Tytos Blackwood. Kingsguard to Robb Stark, King in the North, the Riverlands, Westerlands, and soon enough the Vale."

Ser Lyn laughed. "At least I didn't fall to a bloody Lannister."

"Will you not surrender, Ser? There is no need to die."

"Not in me to surrender, boy," Ser Lyn coughed. The man reached down to grab his fallen sword, but instead of raising it in attack, he held the pommel out to Lucas. "There's your prize…Lady Forlorn. I only ask that it be the ancestral sword of my house that strikes me down."

Lucas gripped the sword, dropping his own blade to the side. He's held Ice before, but this Valayrian steel sword is smaller, more manageable in his hands. Deciding to grant the knight's request, he gripped Lady Forlorn with both hands, swinging through a confident strike along Ser Lyn's neck. The steel goes through skin, muscle and bone as if none were there. Lucas stares for a moment as Ser Lyn's head rolls away, lost among the bodies on the bridge. Looking up, the fighting around is at a stand still. Lucas looks on as Lord Royce has led his men through the gate, falling harshly upon the enemy's camp, which is now half in flame and ruin. Dorrin and Bodrin, both bloodied but alive, come up beside him, and the other ten remaining of his men form behind. The defenders on the bridge still outnumber them, but one by one they drop their swords in surrender as their will is broken, along with their commander.

By morning, the Bloody Gate and the mountain pass leading up to the Eyrie was secured. Lucas had sent one of the ravens housed at the Gate with a message to the Eyrie demanding the immediate surrender of Lord Baelish and Lysa Arryn. It would likely take weeks or months to force entry into the Eyrie itself, but the castle was completely isolated. Lord Royce expected hunger would drive the castle's inhabitants to betrayal out of desperation sooner rather than later. After having his wounds tended to, and after removing the objectionable Lannister clothing from his person, he made his way back up to release Tyrion Lannister.

Upon reaching the dwarf's door, Lucas pounded his fist against it. It took a few moments, but the door finally opened revealing a well-rested Tyrion.

"Blackwood," Tyrion greeted. "As you are still alive, it would seem things went well."

"I lost near forty good men, but the night was ours in the end."

Tyrion moved to the table and poured wine into two cups. He handed one to Lucas, before raising his cup. "To your brave men."

Lucas raised his cup in acknowledgement before drinking. It was shit wine, but it was better than nothing. It helped to dull the pain in his shoulder and head at the least.

"Not that I have not enjoyed your company and this wonderful journey, but I think I mean to return to Winterfell to discuss my future with the King," Tyrion stated.

"We shall provide you an escort back," Lucas answered. "You've upheld your end of the bargain, I shall let King Robb know the same."

"And I shall sing the praises of you and your men," Tyrion offered. "A fitting reward should be in order. If not from the King, then from myself when I take my place in Casterly Rock. Though that pretty sword at your side seems to be quite a prize in itself."

Lucas gripped the magnificent sword at his side. "Ser Lyn no longer has a need for it, yet I feel some conflict in keeping an ancestral sword of another house."

"That family tried to kill you. Fuck them," Tyrion shrugged. "It doesn't belong to them anymore. Call it something else, and it shall be an ancestral sword of House Blackwood."

"Fair enough," Lucas replied. "I shall have to think of a fitting name."

"What is next for you?" Tyrion questioned.

"There is still work to be done here. My task is not complete until Baelish has been rooted out and we control the Eyrie itself."

"I have no doubt you will see it done, young Blackwood."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

He had barely spoken since it happened. Robb Stark was at a loss to explain it. One second he was in his tent, infuriated, the next he was in Grey Wind…no, he was Grey Wind. It was as if he had pushed aside Grey Wind's consciousness and taken on the wolf's body. It had been both terrifying and exhilarating all at once. He had run through the godswood, moving swiftly and gracefully as a direwolf. He had felt Grey Wind's desire to hunt as he glimpsed the sight of a deer, wanting to sink his teeth into its flesh and feel the warmth of its blood as it spilled. He took notice as other wolves in the wood seemed to shadow him, following in his wake.

What had felt like hours had only been minutes when he finally willed himself back into his own body. His friends had simply stared at him, wondering what had happened as they watch his eyes go white. Robb had succinctly given them orders and retreated back to Winterfell. Ever since, he had felt drawn to the godswood as never before. His senses seemed to have amplified, as if head taken a piece of Grey Wind with him back into his own body. He felt greater hunger…his temper was quicker to rise…he lusted for his queen as never before…his vision was sharper, his hearing sensitive even to a small rustle of leaves. Said hearing was put to the test as it sensed soft foot falls approaching behind him.

"Robb?"

He looked over his shoulder and watched as Margaery approached, bundled in a cloak of furs. She had a look of concern on her face. She walked over to him and seated herself in his lap. She placed both of her hands over his chilled cheeks. "You've not been yourself these past two days, my love. Does Stannis worry you so?"

Robb leaned into her touch, burying his face into her neck. "I'm sorry for being distant," he answered. "I needed some time to clear my head. Stannis is a worry, but he shall be dealt with."

"The news of this red witch and magic does little to ease me," Margaery confessed.

Robb brushed his lips against her delicate neck. "There is older magic in these lands than whatever this red witch shall bring. Starks have ruled these lands for thousands of years, and I will not allow them to be befouled by by a foreign witch. The old gods shall not allow it."

"When will you leave?" Margaery questioned, leaning further into Robb's touch.

"Tomorrow," Robb answered. "As soon as Lord Glover arrives, we shall ride to join our forces with those from White Harbor."

Margaery pulled back, staring into his eyes, which had heated at her touch. "Then we best make the most our time." Her lips claimed his, and suddenly the lust that had been coursing through him was fully unleashed. He took control of the kiss, his teeth nipping at Margaery's lower lips. His hands gripped her soft bottom, sinking into the delectable flesh as he stood and lifted her with him. He stood for only a moment before he dropped to his knees and laid his wife into snowy forest floor, her thick cloak protecting her from the worst of the cold.

Robb's hands disappeared beneath her dress, gripping onto her small clothes and impatiently tearing them apart.

"Robb!" Margaery gasped, but Robb's lips silenced her, and she shuddered as his fingers fluttered over her heated center. Robb's other hand had already pulled down his own breeches, and suddenly his rigid length was poised at her entrance. They both groaned as he sank into her. They made love below the great heart tree until both of their bodies were spent. They righted themselves quickly, lest someone wander upon them, but remained cuddled together.

"Do you think we've made another prince or princess?" Margaery questioned, her head lying against his chest.

"I hope so," Robb responded, utterly content in his Queen's embrace. "Shall we ask the gods to bless us with such a gift? We are in no better place to do so."

"How can we not?"

Robb helped Margaery stand, and they walked hand and hand to the heart tree. Robb looked into the beautiful, yet haunting carved face, and reached out to touch the ghostly bark. However, when his hand touched, it did not stop. His hand went through the bark, then his arm, and then his whole body was falling. Margaery was no longer beside him, and he was floating until he landed on solid ground, surrounded by swirling mist. He stumbled back as images began to flash before him…an army of thousands of blue-eyed corpses, figures of walking ice at their front, leading them…a pack of direwolves…the Wall under siege…the children of the forest…the Stark sword Ice bathed in fire…a trio of dragons!"