WHAT IS IN THE DARK...

SAM

Samuel Tarly was afraid.

No, he was terrified, an almost primal fear seeping into his bones as brutally as the night's chill wind. Who could blame him? His world suddenly changed one day on his father's whim and he was carted off to the Wall to either make something of himself or die, his father did not much care which. It had been disheartening to see his own father do such a thing to him, but not surprising. He had finally been coming to terms with it, had finally been…after a fashion, getting used to his life and how things would be from then on.

Then it changed…again…even more suddenly than before. He didn't have the constitution to handle these happenings. He was, for as long as he could remember, what most would call a craven. He didn't mind them saying it, 'cravens keep sound bones' he always said. Yet here he was, walking towards the most mind numbing and dangerous situation imaginable, or unimaginable? Who would have even imagined this?

So yes, he trembled with fright as he helped Maester Aemon to the hall to find Jon and... the King. Was he not in his right to have fear? If asked, he would say that he seemed to be the only one with his bearings about him. How were they so comfortable in the presence of a god? How could they approach him so callously?

If he was such a failure to his father, what a sorry excuse for a man he must be to the god among them. He has been avoiding being anywhere near him, knowing in his heart he wasn't worthy. How could he be? He was no great warrior, nor was he a lord anymore, and he knew nothing of the North. He had no skills and nothing to offer.

He was intrigued of course, he read many a book on what the Citadel thought gods were and there have been those who had even dismissed their existence altogether. However, there was living proof, not far from where he slept, and he couldn't bring himself to face him.

He had no choice now in any case, and even resignation offered little comfort to his heart, as it hammered against his chest.

"I can feel you shaking like a leaf Samuel. What have you to fear?" Maester Aemon asked him, his nonchalant, if weary voice cutting through the silence of the empty corridors.

Sam swallowed then replied. "We are heading towards a god, Maester. How am I to keep my nerves about me?" His tone carried a minute trembling as he spoke, as if weighing his every word.

"You fear him then? His stature is quite menacing I'm told, but he is neither actively hostile nor aggressive. A shame my sight deserted me in these interesting times." The old maester opined, some amusement in his voice.

That…was true if he were to be honest. Since his assimilation of the Watch, there had been no fighting, no desperate acts of revenge, no form of open hostilities whatsoever. The Wil-Spartans were behaving themselves. In fact, a few connections he could dare describe as friendships have formed between the two groups. Months of shared enclosure could do such, he supposed, but that did little to settle him. Men are fickle creatures, after all.

"While true, it does not take away the fact that he is a god…and I'm barely even a man." He said the last part under his breath, to himself almost.

"Ahh, so you believe yourself unworthy? Barely a man you said. I agree-" The maester's statement left Sam in despair. He knew it, even the maester thought less of him. His heart sank and his feet became heavier.

'Father was right about me'.

"-That you think yourself as 'barely a man', tells me that you are still a boy. That you think you can be worthy enough to stand before a god, tells me that you're still a boy. He is a divinity, Tarly. Man, or no man, you will never be worthy of his presence. But he does not ask you to be worthy, does he? No, he asks you to be integrous and true." The old man spoke with the ghost of a smile on his face, the wisdom and understanding brought by age and experience untarnished by his frail state.

Sam remained silent as he absorbed the maester's word, contemplating his words and trying to find solace in them.

"Come, get out of your head and let us make haste." His fears were not forgotten, but as he looked up and saw that they were nearing the entrance to the Hall, he knew he didn't have time to dwell.

LINE BREAK—-

GENERAL POV

"Robb did what!?" Jon exclaimed after hearing the news from the raven the maester just brought to the Hall. He was sitting by the table listening to and weighing in on the plans being made to retake the north from the Ironborn. The Northern Lords had just agreed to accept the help of the Spartans in doing so, and details were being debated on, under the topics of liberation and settlement.

He was battling internally with keeping his vows to the Watch and asking to be a part of the fights to come when Sam came in escorting the maester with shocking news.

"He disinherited the former lady Sansa Stark, who is now Sansa Lannister, and has named you as next in line for the Northern throne upon his death, if it were to ever come to pass. You would also be named Jon Stark in such an event." The maester reiterated for him.

"Lannister? Who did they wed her to? And Arya? What of my little sister?" He asked these four questions in a blind rush, the unease in his heart leaving him impatient and restless.

"I'm sorry my boy, there was no mention of the Lady Arya Stark. And Lady Sansa was wed to Lord Tyrion Lannister." Aemon shook his head as Sam helped him drink some water.

"...It could be worse, Tyrion's not so bad." Jon tried to console himself.

"Still a fucking Lannister." Smalljon said while folding his arms at his chest. "King Robb made the right choice, I say, can't have her Lannister babies trying to claim the North."

"Aye, though I weep for the little lass. Lady Stark must be having a rough go of it." The lord commander added.

"Don't imagine she's very happy with Robb. She always worried I'd steal from my trueborn siblings, is this not bringing truth to her suspicions?" he said, then shook his head and walked away from the table to a far side of the hall, to brood no doubt. Those at the table watched him leave with something akin to pity in some of their eyes and confusion to those of the Spartan camp.

Val watched him with a pensive look before turning to the rest of the Northern Lords at the table and questioning. "This brother of his, he is your king?"

"Aye, my lady, Robb Stark is king in the North."

"Will he be a problem? You kneelers are sensitive about your authority." she pointed out and waited for an answer.

"...King Robb is Northern, Lady Val. The head of one of the oldest houses in all of Westeros. It is Firstmen blood that runs through his veins, the Old Way and the old belief is every Northman's way. Once he knows what is happening and who is here, there'll be no problems." Lord Glover vowed, placing his honour on the line.

Val gave him a hard stare, to make sure he understood the weight of the words he had spoken and when he didn't so much flinched, she nodded and finally looked away. "Good. So, the pretty crow's next in line to lead you kneelers then? Think he's prepared for that?"

"Jon has a good head on his shoulders, he's smart and he's bloody great at fighting. Ned Stark raised him, so he has honour falling off of him, but…he is still just a boy, he has the potential, but he is no leader, not yet." Lord commander Mormont pointed out. He sighed and glanced in Jon's direction.

"Still, he may be a bastard, but if he were legitimised… A Stark could rally the remaining houses and men, get the people to fight." Lord Karstark reasoned.

"We do not need extra fighting men, we are enough." Sigurd insisted.

"Aye, I don't doubt that, but it isn't about fighting men. The North needs to be a part of the fight to liberate the North, or else they would feel indebted, and they wouldn't want that."

Sigorn thought about it and nodded. He could understand, being the last of the Firstmen, the Thenn had their pride like all true Northerners should. So, a people wanting to free themselves with their own hands, so as to not incur any life debts from others was something he respected.

Val took note of the byplay and felt a pride in herself for the changes she could see, clear as day in the young Thenn. He was still a pompous arse, but he gained some humility and did not so readily dismiss others as his father would have. The Great Father's influence had changed many of what used to be the FreeFolk. No longer as free as they were, but being beholden to their god, they've been made better for it.

"So…we will use the boy then?" Karsi asked through the silence.

"We can't make that decision." Val answered and turned to her Lord who up until then, just stood back and allowed them to discuss among themselves. His presence alone was enough to cause everyone to keep a levelled head and he had made it clear that any fighting that would take place in the near future, would be them relying mostly on each other. He was making them work together, for better or for worse.

When she turned to him, Kratos did not immediately react to the unspoken question, not that anyone there expected him to. The ever-present Raven on his shoulder, cawed and its grip got tighter. He grunted after seemingly staring at nothing for a moment, then turned to Jon Snow and approached him steadily.

"Boy, attend me. We will hunt, bring the wolf." and he left the hall with Jon Snow on his heels.

LINE BREAK—-

THE TWINS

'Be on your guard.'

That is what the message from the King had said. He has been warning her for moons now. Vaguely yes, but anyone with any brain whatsoever could deduce he spoke of treason. Who all did he risk giving these messages to? Who all could be trusted? Surely house Manderly could be counted upon? They were more southern than any other Northern house, but they owed the Starks a great debt. If the king had risked it to be secretly corresponding with her, then clearly house Mormont was counted among his most trusted. But who else?

The Umbers? Karstarks? Glovers? All this guess work was making her head spin and irritated. Damn these traitors and their southern mind games. She knew one thing for certain, whatever was afoot, the Freys were somehow involved. Old Walder damn near insisting that they took rest and refuge behind his walls and making a grand show of offering guest rights was suspicious. That mildewed, lice infested chamber pot of a man did nothing out of kindness, a plot was at play. Her king's message started to make more sense when looked at from such an angle.

Most of them had been assigned rooms on one wing of his little castle. All in one location and they weren't allowed to bring arms inside. Tough shit, she had her people sneak steel under their furs and hid them in the chambers she was afforded. They'll not be caught unawares if something were to happen.

Hopefully, they'll be able to discern who is an ally or foe in the chaos. From what she has gathered from the king's discussions some time ago, Lord Bolton was a traitor or soon to be. He will be watched thoroughly by herself. The Boltons should have been wiped out from their days of rebellion, they were never satisfied without someone to torture. The Starks and the rest of the North wouldn't allow that.

A large part of her prayed to the Great Father for the chance and the excuse to end their line all together, one could only hope. She trusted the Dustins about as far as she could throw them, so it was natural that she suspected them of treason. Barbrey was a spiteful woman with a grudge for house Stark.

For now, she would observe what she could in the chaos, that was the feast Lord Frey claimed he prepared in their honour. He was being too generous; the offer immediately raised the hairs on her neck. But she'd play along for now, see what the young wolf had up his sleeve. He had become a good leader over the course of the war, gained his footing, so to speak. If he continued to grow and learn, he would be well on his way to escape his father's honourable shadow.

They just needed to take back the North and rebuild. They were not finished, not quite, much has happened, and the North remembers, there will be a retribution. The young king was a table away from her, doing his part, playing the naive young royalty. That Talisa girl was never far from him. Not close enough to be obvious, but she kept her eyes on him still.

Men had their trysts, highborn men even more so and he was a king to boot. She wouldn't judge him for taking a mistress, but he needed to be smart about it. Especially here, where a promise of marriage was made and was yet to be fulfilled. Walder hadn't brought it up, but she knew he wouldn't let it go, she just didn't know his angle.

Was he waiting to see if Robb brought it up himself and if not, was he planning to use the king's dismissal as grounds to demand even steeper terms, as a play on his honour? Aye sounds like something the little weasel would do.

She'll not permit them the chance to use his weakness of honour to chain him by the balls, not while she still drew breath. It was what worked against his father in the end, and she won't let something the North treasures be used to hurt another Northerner.

The feast was over, thank the Great Father. He didn't know how much of that prancing about he could have endured. It was late into the night and after a feast, one would expect most men to have fallen into their cups. Not his, he had cautioned the ones he brought into the castle with him.

'Make a show of drinking, make a show of the drunkard, but keep your wits about you.'

They had asked no questions, all were subject to the discomfort of this castle, all felt the unease. Now here he was, almost halfway into the night and nothing had happened… yet. They would leave on the morrow; he had gotten his correspondence with Lord Reed. His men searched and searched and got lost as they told it, only to be found on their last prayers. Their eyes were covered, and they were brought to Greywater Watch, where they relayed their message after being fed and watered. They said Lord Howland had already expected them, that he knew they were coming.

They said he knew why they were there, and he had already made plans to help and all they had to do was approach the gates, his men would have already cleared it out by then.

With such news, how could he dally? No, they needed to be in the North as swiftly as could be managed, so only one night would be spent at the Twins and hopefully, it was a night without any acts of treachery.

So lost was he, in thought that he didn't notice lady Maegyr slip into his chambers.

"Your mind is in the North, your Grace?" she asked him lightly, but frightened he was, nonetheless.

"Great Father, my lady! Do you wish me death?" he said in surprise.

She giggled lightly and sat beside him on his bed. He chuckled at his own outburst for a time then settled. He looked at her face and saw her gnawing at her bottom lip, something was bothering her. The mood became all too sombre, all too swiftly for his liking, but he didn't voice this. She had something to say he could see, so he waited for her to state her piece.

"...Run away with me Robb." she said in a quiet, timid voice, and closed her eyes tightly. He wasn't sure he heard correctly so he asked her to repeat, and she did.

"Why would you ask that of me? I thought I told you what I was able… before this had gotten out of hand… I thought you had understood." he said, getting to his feet and began his pacing.

Her voice came out a bit more heated on her reply. "Well I don't understand, I tried to, for you. But I can't keep hiding my affection. All this pretending, this subterfuge, it isn't you! Night after night you lament to me about having to deal with the weight of the crown. Throw it away and let us leave this place, we could be married, and safe." she wavered on the last word, sounding more desperate than anything. Tears now wet her eyes.

"You would have me abandon my people? When they need me most?" his voice dipped as incredulity coloured his words.

"No! Haven't you already named your brother your heir? You've always said how he was smarter than you. Let him rule, just…has your love for me gone?"

He observed her for a long moment of silence before shaking his head and sighing.

"Why do we live? The very act of living is to consume, to take. We take from the land around us, we take from the animals…from each other. When do we give?" he asked and watched her face pull together in confusion. He did not expect her to answer, so he didn't wait for her to. "What do we leave behind when we die? If we only live for ourselves, while taking from everything around us but never giving anything back, how can we claim to feel suffering and sorrow? How can we complain when we've never tried to change anything?"

More tears started streaming from her eyes as the conclusion of his monologue became clearer to her the more he talked.

"I will not abandon my duties, my lady. Not many have the ability to do anything but complain. Not many have the power I do, to make the changes that will impact the world. What kind of king, nay, what kind of man would I be if I ran away when I have such an ability, such a privilege?" he tried to make her see, to understand just why he was refusing her.

"So, you'll not come with me then? You'd make a whore of me? You'd rather stay here? your father is dead, your sisters, hostages, and someone you considered a friend betrayed you. How much more of this can you stand Robb? How much more do you have to lose? How much more pain? How can you continue?" she pleaded with him, she was just as adamant to show him her reasoning as he was to show her his.

"...That is exactly why I must continue. If I break now, if I run, then all that would have been for nothing. It is not I alone who have suffered, how many wives have I left widowed? How many daughters, sons, have I left without a father…or a brother? You think I could live with myself if I abandoned them now?" he shook his head to get his mind free of his past failures as they flit across his consciousness. "Don't ask it of me. I cannot, I will not."

Tears ran unbridled from her eyes as she listened to him. She fiddled with her fingers and then smiled through her crying and wiped at her face. "It is this passion that made me fall in love with you in the first place, I suppose I cannot begrudge you that. But… I cannot continue like this, in the shadows. Never being able to love you in the light, is not the life I want, always worrying after you. You disappear into yourself you know? Loving you as a man is easy, but I don't believe I can love you as a king."

"What will you do?" he asked her quietly after absorbing her words and coming to terms with them…in his own way.

"I will leave. I cannot stay, I would not be able to bear you marrying some lady or other, watching her give you children and take your name."

He nodded his understanding without being able to meet her gaze. She spoke the truth, he knew. He would have had to do all those things and soon. It was not fair to expect her to endure that, Great Father knows he couldn't have, if the roles were mirrored.

"Aye, that's the truth of it. Just know, I do love you, me I mean. Robb the man." he chuckled a dark chuckle, no humour in it. "…But Robb Stark is a king and love is too selfish a thing for a king to covet."

The tears had stopped running from her eyes now and a look of grudging admiration replaced the pain that was dominating her face earlier. She got up from the bed and made to leave but turned and fell once more into his arms and he held her. They each enjoyed the other's warmth for what they knew was the last time. She tore herself from him finally.

"You are strong, Robb. Your people are lucky to have you as their king." Then she exited his chambers and his life, he knew.

He was exhausted, from all the mummery and from the crown. He rarely allowed himself to dwell on this, but this night, he sank into the lake of despair his heart was home to and fell backwards onto his bed and didn't stop himself from slipping away. He slipped away into a familiar mind of freedom and simple primal instincts, and he just ran.

LINE BREAK—-

KRATOS

He and the boy were deep into the woods. They had hunted and they now sat on the trunks of fallen trees with their bounty bound and at their feet. The boy had said sparsely a word the whole hunt and he allowed the silence, he knew what it was like to feel you did not deserve anything better than what you had. On that, he would afford him some sympathy, especially with the knowledge Kratos had that the boy did not.

Incomplete knowledge as it was, courtesy of the oracle and his need for vague information, but it was more than the boy had. He remembered what the old bird had told him.

'Release the boy and allow them to use him, but do not allow him to take the Stark name.'

'You would have me refuse him something he must have wished for all his life?'

"I Apologise for my presumptuousness my Lord, but I must insist. The boy has always wanted the Stark name, yes, but that is because he thinks himself no more than a Stark bastard. He is neither a Stark nor a bastard. He has a name, and it carries a great power within it alone, but he is not ready to know of it, he wouldn't accept it, despise it even".

He thought over the words and about how he hid his own son's nature from him, and it only caused more pain. He had vowed to both Atreus and the old Gods to be better and keeping the boy's lineage from him did not feel better. Perhaps the Raven knew he would think this way and that is why he had refused to give him the boy's true name.

A part of his blood sung to him, so he was sure he was at least half Northern. It was apparent in his appearance as well, but there was a side even he could not see, a side that felt to him almost as his blades of chaos. Ice and fire, he was indeed more than he thought of himself, but that was no fault of his own.

His people needed him to lead and that is why Kratos had brought him here. The boy, like his brother in the south, doubted himself something fierce. Like his brother, Kratos would see that change.

He was a god, they may call him king, but he was too far removed from mortals to ever be a king to them. These two boys were young enough to be taught how to lead and become the mortal leaders this world needed. They were Northern and his most recent changes saw him become partial and biased to this fact alone. So, he would mould them with his own hands, in his own image, he would play the god he was.

First though, the boy would have to speak at some point and the Spartan was not a patient being.

"Boy, speak, what is on your mind?" he said, prodding the fire he had started.

His eyes widened in surprise, clearly lost in thought. "What do you wish for me to say, Great Father?" he asked timidly, unsure.

"Kratos, that is my name."

"My Lord, I could never presume to-"

"You will use my name." It was not a request and the boy seemed to have understood that. Though he understood why it would have been hard for him to address Kratos so familiarly.

"Yes…Kratos."

"Hmmmm, now. Say what you want to say, treat it as if you are thinking aloud." His words brokered no room for argument. He needed to know what the boy was thinking.

"...All my life, all I wanted was to have the same name as my siblings. To be more than just the single stain on my father's honour…a mother. I was raised at his side, but I never got the same teachings as my brother. I was never taught how to lead men, I was taught how to fight, and I once thought it was so I could fight by Robb's side in his later years. But the more namedays passed, the more I came to realise that I could not stay there. So, I came here, to the Wall and swore off lands, a wife and children because…I never thought I could have those things either way." The muscles in his jaw flexed from him biting his teeth. His body was tense and seemed fit to burst at the seams.

"I had made my peace with living out my life here, dying at the edge of the world, alone. Is it selfish of me that now there is a way, I wish for nothing more than to run with it? Is it selfish of me to take the first opportunity to leave this place so many others who have sworn the same vows as me will have to adhere to for the rest of their lives?"

"You are alive boy, the very meaning of life is selfishness. To live is to take from everything around you, do not dwell on it. Yes, most at the Wall would trade places with you at this moment, but that is because they do not know that you are leaving to become more of a servant than any of them are. To lead is a responsibility, one not to be taken lightly." Kratos relayed his counsel, in hopes it was helping the boy.

Jon laughed to himself after hearing what He said. He gained a far off look in his eyes. "My father, Lord Stark always used to say, being Lord was like being a father to his people, and it was a father's duty to look after his children. Here I am, sitting before the actual Father of the whole North and he is saying the same thing…kind of."

"Ned Stark was indeed wise then." Kratos observed him over the fire. His mind was made, he would make the boy aware of himself and make his decisions based upon the truth, rather than live his life not knowing who he was.

"You have a task to do. You have been chosen to lead your people from this end of the North while your brother makes his way back. But you doubt yourself, as he doubted himself. He had forgotten who he was, but you do not know who you are." Kratos said. He was not one for delivering any form of information in pieces or with any care. But after years of dealing with his own son, alone, without the presence of his mother. He had learned the importance of allowing them to prepare themselves for harsh truths.

"Aye, lord Stark said to me the last time I saw him, that the next time we met he would tell me of my mother. He is now dead, and he brought that secret to his grave."

"He did not. I do not know the full of it, but what I do know, I will tell you, ready yourself." His eyes lit up with hope and an inkling of disbelief, but he waited, and Kratos could see him physically steel himself.

"You will not take the name Stark because you already have a name. You have always had a name, you are no bastard. What your actual name is I cannot say, for I do not know. I can sense the North in you, half of your blood is familiar to me. The other half is like liquid fire. That is all I know, make of it what you will." He relayed the information as efficiently as he was able, not delicate but it was done.

"M-my name is not Jon Snow?"

"No, it is the name Ned Stark gave you, to hide your true name. He must have had his reasons, but those reasons died with him. I tell you this, for It would have only served you ill to not know yourself, I know the truth of this. I will learn more and what I learn you will learn."

Silence permeated the open air between them and only the crackling of the fire could be heard for a long while. As if sensing his master's need for consolation, the wolf bounded from the trees and snow nearby, to attend to the boy. His surprise at his companion's sudden arrival knocked him off the log he was sitting on, and he laughed, forgetting the peril that Kratos had seen in his eyes.

"Thank you boy." he whispered to the animal and rubbed his fur. The boy's connection to the beast reminded him of Atreus once more and his heart contracted ever so slightly. His Transformation into the sole Northern god had brought many changes to him and one of those changes was that he felt more than he had allowed himself to in many a century.

That shrine he had seen at the end of Ragnarök seems to have been accurate. He indeed became a worshipped god, but he was alone here as he was alone in the drawing. He never thought he would long for the head's need to fill every moment of silence with his voice or Freya's need to teach him compassion. She would have made a better god for these people than himself, but he would perform the task that is before him, as he had always done.

"Thank you." The boy's voice pulled him out of his mind. "For telling me, I mean. I am still not sure who I am, but now I know who I am not."

He got to his feet and let rest his weapons against the fallen tree. "Good, on your feet. You will need that resolve to lead, I will teach you the rest." and teach him he did, they were out in the forest for days and days became weeks.

When they finally re-emerged from the woods and walked into Castle Black, all his captains, the Northern lords, Mance and the old commander were waiting for them. They all had eager looks on their faces, waiting for the conclusion of their time away.

The boy, who had asked him to call him Jon, looked to him for consent and he gave him a nod. He was leaner, his hair was longer, his eyes firmer and there was no longer doubt in his stride as he stepped forward to address the gathering.

"...Let's go kill some fucking squids."

The captains gained savage grins all around and the Northern lords nodded their heads in agreement with proud smiles on their faces. Progress is to be made at last.

"Har! I say this calls for drink and food, aye?" Tormund suggested to no one in particular, but everyone there wholeheartedly agreed. Afterall, it only made sense to feast before going to any battle, it might just be your last one.

The way they drank, the way they laughed, the way they argued, even the way that got into small tussles over a point of view, and just wrestled it out on the floor while no one paid them any mind. Anyone, from anywhere else would not have been able to tell you the difference between these people. They sang made up songs as one, they cheered and raised their cups as one. To anyone else, this would look like a real feast between the same people.

And ultimately, they were one. Ultimately, they were all children of the Great Father of the North. That alone, was enough to make them put aside any differences and look to the future, a future their God was paving for them.

A promised tomorrow.

No Spartan has forgotten what was really at stake, what was really coming. No Northman doubted the words of their God, that would be Blasphemous. But still, none truly feared, none wavered in their faith, so they drank and made merry.

Tormund was sitting at a table with his fellow captains, the North lords, Jon Snow, Mance and Lord Crow. He was once more regaling them with how he got the name 'Giantsbane'.

"Pull the other one, you red haired fucker. There's no way you got your tiny little pecker into a giantess!" Smalljon exclaimed his disbelief and somewhat offence, seeing as the Umber's were always said to have giant blood in their veins.

"I did too! Fucked her real good, I did, like only one kissed by fire, such as myself, could. And my pecker is plenty big! want to see?" he asked then stood suddenly and motioned to undo his furs.

There was a collective uproar of disapproval from the entire table, as no one was willing to be subjected to that. "Ahhhh, it's your loss you cunts." he said in disappointment, then sat back down with a huff.

"Tormund…I'm not even sure 'Tormund' is your actual name, or just one of the tall tales you tell!" Val said after taking her mug from her head.

"Oi!"

Smalljon found her statement very laughable and laughed at Tormund's expense. Big belly laughs while everyone else chuckled, amused at the affront and betrayal on the man's face.

"Snow! Why has Ygritte been looking at you like she wants to gut ya this whole time?" Val turned to Jon with her question. She seemed to have been under the influence of the ale.

"The Pretty Crow has been avoiding our little flame, hasn't he?" Karsi answered with a rhetorical question, for she already knew the answer. She just wanted to see what he would say for himself.

Jon looked into his cup and swirled the contents to collect his thoughts before answering. "I have alot on my mind, I can't be around her right now. She wouldn't understand, she wouldn't try to."

Val nodded at his answer and glanced at Ygritte. "Aye, I get that. If things are headed the way I think they are, you'll not have time for distractions, and she will most definitely be a distraction."

Jon observed her for a moment, a look of gratitude on his face before he nodded and went back to his cups. Lord Mormont cleared his throat and piped up with a question. "Well lads, lasses, besides Tormund here, anyone know any good tales?"

Tormund was about to answer again, when they all felt as if a hearth was lit in the hall, and they all knew that Lord Kratos had graced them with his presence. He was walking towards their table, his trusted three eyed raven on his shoulder. Everyone in the hall at first paused at his entrance and watched, before the revelries continued with vigour. Their Lord and God's person among them, brought joy to their spirits more than anything else.

A light came on in Tormund's eyes and he shouted over the others. "Great Father! Give us a Story!" Everyone at the table perked up in interest. A story from Lord Kratos himself? Imagine the wisdom they'd gain from it. They felt like green boys and girls again, skins abuzz with excitement for a story by the fire from their Nans.

"A story? Hmmm. I do not tell stories." He got a contemplative look on his face before he started a slow pace around the table. He was not looking at any of them, but in the past, the distant past.

"But, as you want to adopt their name, I will tell you of them, gather around children" Most couldn't believe their ears, was this really happening? They quieted down, and soon the whole hall became as quiet as a burial ground, all were listening with reverence and attentiveness.

"Once, in a land called Greece. There was a kingdom, called Sparta and while every kingdom in Greece was known for many things, culture, art, philosophy, Sparta was known and revered for its military prowess. Spartan children were raised to be weapons first, and men second. Warriors, from head to feet, they were trained from the time they were able to hold a sword and never stopped learning." He made sure to meet the eyes of all he could, so that his words had more of an effect. He needn't have done, they were having a greater effect than even he was hoping for.

"They were taught to never retreat, never to surrender, such was Spartan law. Taught to make spear and shield as much a part of them as their own beating heart. Each man protected the man beside him and killed for him, a brotherhood like no other. To them, finding death on the blades of a worthy opponent, was the highest of honours. Dying a warrior's death was the way to Elysium, the beautiful Afterlife."

'Elysium'

unbeknownst to him, that word would be planted in the mind of every person present and soon it would be known in the entire North. The great afterlife, reserved for all children of the North, all the faithful.

That night, he told them of the battle at Thermopylae. How king Leonidas and his strongest three hundred soldiers, held back an invading force of thousands, for three days and three nights. How if they were not betrayed, it was likely they would have won many more battles.

"It is not always about numbers, but conviction. A warrior who has no fear of death, cannot be intimidated, a soldier who is confident in his skills, not by hubris but by honing it to perfection, cannot be bested. Yes, the Spartans were the greatest fighting force. They were my people once, I was their God of War, the most important. But that was ages ago, and Sparta is no more." He fell into a melancholic mood, remembering how his need for revenge had destroyed his home.

"I disagree, my Lord. respectfully, we…are Sparta now." Kratos appreciated the confidence he saw and heard from this statement. But he was not so sure the old Spartan mentality was something he wanted these people to adopt.

"No, you are not, not quite. Do not strive to be like them, strive to be better. War is a truth of all worlds, but it should not consume you." Pride bloomed on Tormund's and the other captains' faces, along with the birth of an unbridled determination. They would become great and rounded warriors but good people as well.

The night dwindled as it did and all soon took to rest for the day ahead, a day that was the beginning of something truly great.

"SPARTANS!"

"AHHOO!"

The captains stood before the army, it was not their full might, but it was enough for the task ahead. The Northern lords and their assortment of soldiers were not far from them, observing. They would leave a protection squad to help oversee the exodus of the non-fighting folk from the other side of the Wall. They were finally leaving the True North, finally going to settle. Over time, they would become a proper community and would have a firm footing to become what the Great Father had foreseen for them.

Tormund was pacing in front of the men, giving them a few words, he had slept on, after hearing Lord Kratos' story the night before. "You stand on hallowed ground, these are our first steps toward our future. But what is to become our home, has been infested with craven cunts! The people who would become our own, have been suffering, that cannot be made to stand, aye?"

"AHOO! AHOO!"

"That's what I thought, you bunch a goat fuckers."

Jon Snow came out beside the Great Father, and they all stood at attention, Northmen and Spartans alike. When they eventually got to the head of the two fighting forces, they stopped, and Kratos motioned for Jon to step forward.

"If you wish to lead, you will have to learn and there is no better teacher than experience. This is now your army, command them."

The first site of Ironborn savagery they came across was a small farm, with the occupants lying about dead. Their throats slashed, a man, what looked like his eldest son and heir, his wife and two daughters. The wife and two girls looked as if they had tried to run, but it wasn't enough to save them and it was obvious they had taken more than just their lives. They were also covered in bite marks, from some sort of hound?

"Not even we would have done this, if we stole a woman, we stole her, and she would be our woman from then on. This? … this was pure barbarism." Sigorn expressed his disgust for the scene. The others observed, but no comments were made. Jon had a troubled look on his face and it seemed he had to force his gaze from it.

Scenes like these were a recurring theme the entire march down the King's Road. They made a stop at Last Hearth, where Smalljon distributed whatever arms he could find among the soldiers in the Spartan army. This was not ideal, but they hadn't the time to properly arm themselves, so they made due. The solidarity, and unison in which the Spartans moved, had surprised and intrigued the Northern lords and soldiers alike.

How could these people look so much like an army was supposed to? coming from beyond the Wall, a desolate and brutal place, by all accounts, they should not have been able to achieve this level of civility and togetherness? There was only one answer that came to all their minds, the Great Father.

They had gained his favour and his patronage. People who they would have dismissed as less than themselves not a few moons ago, and they had. It was a humbling realisation they came to, but one that was ultimately for the better.

What they found further south was troubling, for it made much sense and none at the same time. It was Dacey Mormont who posed a question that had made everyone reflect on the scenes they passed.

'Why would pirates come so far inland?'

This question had raised suspicions considerably and led to more questions. Why would Ironborn abandon their ships and a swift escape? If they did, what made them confident they could hold these lands? weren't they known for taking salt wives? Why kill the women? Where did the hounds come from?

These questions would plague them more and more, the further down the king's road they went. A clearing by the Long Lake was used to make a temporary camp while they rested, collected their barings and had further talks of the march south.

"What the fuck have we been seeing?" It was Karsi who raised the question that was no doubt on most of their minds.

Lord Glover sighed and put his face in his hands. "None of us know, my lady. The more we see, the less like Ironborn raids these scenes look. Firstly, I don't know if you lot have noticed, but nothing was truly raided."

"Aye, saw that too. Everything was thrown about and made to look like a raid, but nothing was taken." Harold Karstark agreed.

"...What's that mean?"

"It means…it means that something else might be at play here.. Something we're not yet aware of. It doesn't make sense for Ironborn to be this far inland and the things we've seen? they are inbred swines but…they don't kill women and children so carelessly. They would have brought them to be salt wives, next to slaves really, but alive." Lord Glover stated, with certainty.

"Hnng. Your lands were captured by these Ironborn, yes?" he received a nod. "So, you know of their ways. There is an unknown enemy on the field, those are the most dangerous kind." Kratos observed. His eyes glowed a molten gold and he looked off into the distance, east, then south, then west. "I can feel them, like dirt upon my skin. They are familiar to me, but not truly known."

Everyone thought about what that could mean, but Smalljon Umber gained a contemplative look on his face and frowned as his head turned to his left, across the Long Lake. he seemed about to say something when they heard shouting and looked to see horsemen fast approaching the camp.

"Scouts."

"They look to be in a hurry."

"They bring news." Kratos informed the group. The horses galloped to a hard stop not far from their group, the men upon them breathless.

"G-Great Father! … a settlement, we saw them heading toward a settlement. Half days march south and to the west. There's a small holdfast, a small gathering of houses and farms."

"Ironborn?" Jon asked in fury.

"No, prince Jon. They didn't look like Ironborn, they looked…Northern?" the unnamed scout said in confusion as if he still could not understand what he saw.

"They wore no house crests?" Smalljon asked.

The man shook his head. "None that we could see. They had hounds with them, and crossbows."

"Hounds? These the fucks that we've been hoping to find then?" Val asked, her blood warming up at the prospect.

"Mayhaps they could just be common bandits?" Glover suggested, something akin to hope colouring his voice.

"No, my lord, there were too many of them."

"How many?"

"Two hundred." It was Kratos who answered the question. The scout's eyes widened before he swallowed and nodded.

"Aye, Great Father. That is the estimation we had made, based on what we saw."

"...where in the hells did two hundred bannerless men come from? Butchering their way through the North unimpeded!" Harold exclaimed in outrage.

"I have a suspicion about that, Karstark, but it is just a suspicion. I would like to be certain before I make it known."

"Then we will get that certainty. Gather the men, we will go to this settlement." Jon ordered immediately. Kratos gave him an approving nod after he made this decision and walked off into the camp.

There were men who were obviously Northern but wore no house paraphernalia. Who were they? It was late evening, the sun had already gone down, so they had the cover of night to hide them from the men in the village. For the sake of speed and given the not so large number of enemies they were going to face, they decided to bring only ten thousand. The rest of the army were to hold their position until they knew more of what was happening.

This was Smalljon's request. He had said, if his suspicions proved true, the army would need to be split.

"We need to get down there now!" Karsi exclaimed when she saw the mayhem that was taking place at the small village.

"Aye!"

"The village is small, surround it, give them no route for escape." The Northern God suggested, while staring at the scene.

They did as they were ordered and the ten thousand men, Spartan and Northern, encircled the village. It was right off the King's Road with a holdfast, which was the largest of the buildings, that was made of stone and had its back toward the Northern mountains.

They used their advantage of low lighting and the surrounding forestry to create a perimeter, just outside the last houses in the village, and then advanced steadily toward the centre. So lost were the men in their, pillaging and plundering, that they took no notice of the noose that was tightening around their necks.

The Lords of the North, Jon Snow, their new prince, and the Spartan captains all took different routes and entered the village proper. They would cut down all they found, and the legion would take care of the rest.

They took them by surprise and made short work of them. The few Northern lords that got to see the Spartans in action, were shocked by the forces of nature they became. Moving through the village, weapons blurred, they dismantled and dismembered any opponent foolish enough to cross their paths. A pit formed where their bellies should have been; what if they had fought these people? it was obvious now that the fight would have been a lot more challenging than any of them were willing to admit.

Seeing the slaughter of their antagonists, those in the village who were not yet dead or suffering from wounds, slowly crept out of the crevices they had been hiding. The unnamed men were being herded to the village centre. All those who ran, met their ends at the ever-closing wall of soldiers surrounding the village.

"Who are you! I'll not ask again. Why are you attacking small folk throughout the North?" Dacey Mormont was interrogating one of the unnamed men at the edge of her mace. She had blotches of blood and muck about her but did not seem to mind.

"I'll tell you nothing, Bear Bitch, ha-ha. Kill me now, before I get loose and fu-."

She didn't wait for him to finish whatever vileness was spewing from his mouth. Stepping over the lifeless body she was searching for another opponent when someone attacked her from behind and knocked her down.

"Where'd you come from lassy?" the man asked while straddling her and using his hands to hold hers to the ground. She spat in his face, and he seemed to only get more excited.

"Ahh, A fighter, are we? That's good, make it fun."

She let out a growl of frustration, for he was a bigger man, and she couldn't exactly overpower him. The man let out a full laugh of excitement after she growled and licked his lips. It seemed as if he was about to make another disgusting statement but was interrupted by a spear appearing through his mouth.

Blood drained from the wound onto Dacey's face as she got loose and pushed the dead man off of her. She got up to see Val wringing her spear free of the corpse and spat on it when she was done.

"My thanks, Lady Val."

"Don't thank me, you should not be fighting alone. Two or more, always." Val replied then stalked off toward the centre of the village. She stopped and called over her shoulder. "Follow." And Dacey did.

"What have you got there, Umber?" Harold Karstark asked as he saw Smalljon approaching them with a man, bound and thrown over his shoulder. Most of them were now gathered at the village centre, cleaning their weapons. Villagers were standing about, observing the carnage and the death.

"The certainty I needed." He said and dropped the bound man on the ground in front of the group.

Everyone got interested after his statement. All were eager to hear what his suspicions were. Before saying anything though, he looked around in confusion. "Where is the prince?"

"He separated from us, no one's seen him."

"...and no one's looking for him? Is he still alive?"

"Aye, it'll take more than these cunts to do Snow in. The little fucker can fight." Tormund piped up from where he was sitting down, drinking.

A young village girl with her clothes gathered up in her hands to stop them from falling off, must have overheard them, and approached them timidly. "Pardon, mi lords. But the man you are looking for, is, is he a Stark? Does he have a white wolf with him?"

"Aye? He's Stark enough, and that bloody beast doesn't leave his side."

"H-he's gon' into the forest, to find the Weirwood. He was dragging a m-ma-, a man behind him." She informed them, almost coming to tears.

"Which direction?" She pointed and all the lords and captains went there. Seeing their liberators heading towards their Weirwood, the villagers decided to follow. On their way, they saw a trail of body parts strewn across the path. They saw dead hounds and footprints and paw prints. This only served to intrigue everyone more. They went deeper into the woods and as they fast approached the place where the girl was showing them the Weirwood, they heard footsteps and saw Jon come out of a path, covered in blood and saying nothing to anyone, he walked past them as if they weren't there, his giant wolf walking after him.

They heard whimpering and turned to see the village girl trembling and fell to her knees, staring into the clearing beyond the path of trees.

"Great Father." Was the collective whisper when they saw what Jon Snow had done to the man. He was bound to the trunk of the Weirwood, rope connecting his arms and legs. His insides were outside and at the base of the tree and blood ran down from his neck. The blood dripped over the face on the tree, making it cry actual blood. It was a gruesome scene, and the villagers that saw it became frightened.

"Do not fear. A good was done here, a good for all the children of the North. As the blood of those who would do you harm, soak the earth and nourish the Weirwood. Know that your harvests shall be bountiful, your rivers teeming with fish and forests with life." Said a voice that came from deep within the people who were there. And all trusted in the voice, and all knew it to be true.

Only those who have witnessed his presence first hand, knew who that voice belonged to. Only they were familiar with the warmth and safety that it brought.

From then on, every man that died was given to the nearest Weirwood and their blood was drained at the root of the tree. This had become a routine after every skirmish, but all remembered it was Jon Snow who dragged the first one there. Barely alive and pleading for his life, he begged as cravens did. Just as the girl was begging as he took her innocence away from her, where Jon Snow had found him.

He had told them the reasoning behind his display and all agreed that it was well deserved on the scum's part. The Whitewolf, the North had named him after that day and as he marched to liberate them with an army, larger than any they've ever seen at his back and his Direwolf at his side, they were reminded of the stories about the Winter kings of old, his bastardry be damned.

Now though, they had only more blood on their minds, a specific flavour of blood, Bolton blood.

"I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise, but to harass the North so blatantly? Commit these atrocities? You'd think they weren't Northern themselves." Lord Glover said through the silence after Smalljon Umber relayed his confirmed suspicions to them.

"They are not, not truly. They are more creatures than men, never men." Smalljon replied.

"This complicates our advance. We do not know how many more groups like this are scattered across the North, killing small folk and burning villages." Dacey pointed out to the group.

"There is no complication. You have the numbers, dispose of all your enemies at once. Give them no time to move, no room for escape."

"Aye, as the Great Father said, we do have the numbers…and we know where the enemy sleeps."

"We still have Ironborn to kill."

"Can do that too. There are many capable leaders here, split the army into smaller bits. One Lord and one Spartan to a legion, we'd get it done."

And so went the beginning of a plan. The army was divided into four main legions and smaller companies to comb the country and take care of any small groups they found.

Of the large parties, one went to Deepwood Motte to take back Lord Glover's family and his pride. Led by Robett Glover and the Spartan captain Karsi.

One to bypass Winterfell through the Wolfswood and liberate Torrhen's square. Led by Harold Karstark and Val.

One to cross the Whiteknife, navigated by Smalljon Umber and accompanied by Sigorn of Thenn, to purge the Dreadfort of its treacherous inhabitants and uncover what secrets lay there.

One of the smaller splinter companies headed to the western coast, led by Dacey Mormont of Bear Island, where they were to follow a simple, single order.

'Take their ships or burn them.'

The largest battalion went to the seat of house Stark itself, which descended like judgement south on the winds. Judgement for the foolish squid who was raised by wolves.

Jon Snow's skin itched to look upon Winterfell again, to see what had become of his father's Castle. There had been talk that it was torched. He heard folks talk of how his brothers were killed, burnt, and were hung in the middle of the yard for everyone to see. No mention of the wolves, but hopefully they at least ran off into the woods.

He prayed that Dacey decided to keep the ships on the coasts. If he had his way, at the end of this conflict, there would be no house Greyjoy to speak of, if he had his way, all of the Iron Islands would sink to the bottom of the Sunset Sea.

Hearing that they had an army of Wildlings and Northmen fighting side by side had apparently attracted the attention of the Mountain Clans, who came to see if the rumours were true. Jon had honestly forgotten about them, they were of the North, so they were technically Stark vassals and as he was now heir to the Northern throne, they were technically his vassals.

They called him 'the Jon' and referred to his father as 'the Ned', they hadn't known he was dead, but offered their condolences in their own way. They were wild looking men with no use for a great many words, but they seemed loyal and that's all he cared for.

He was standing some ways away from where they had stopped to make camp, near the Whiteknife, gazing in the general direction of Winterfell. The Sun was just rising at his back and Ghost was asleep at his feet, a testament to how long he had been standing there. He heard footsteps but didn't turn to look who it was. No one nefarious could sneak up on him with Ghost around, he would have ripped them to shreds.

"Mind on your home, Snow?" Mance's gravelly voice asked, as the man came up beside him on one side and Tormund on the other.

"My brothers' home, my sisters'. It was never mine, I know that now, but even then…" He paused and turned to Mance who had a knowing look on his face. "I was raised there, ate, slept, laughed, and cried… and they have defiled it. I cannot lie to you Mance, I am contemplating genocide."

"Good." Tormund chimed in with his opinion on the matter. "The best way to solve a problem is to get rid of it."

"That a personal philosophy Giantsbane?" Mance asked him in incredulity.

"It is now. Something the Great Father said, and I agree."

"...well Snow, I doubt many would mourn if we killed every Ironborn there." He stated after giving Tormund a pensive look.

"I don't just mean them. I want to kill all of them, give them their Iron price. They say what is dead may never die, I wish to find out." Jon's voice was steady and there was no doubt in his words. Mance's eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

"You are speak of wiping out a Great house of Westeros Snow!"

"Aye, but not only the Greyjoys, all the Iron Islands. I want to kill every one of those pirate scum and burn the islands to the ground."

"There are women and children on those islands too. What of them? Will they die as well?" Mance tried to see if the boy was just feeling murderous or if he still had his head about him.

"They will be relocated, somewhere here in the North, mayhaps, away from any coasts. We'll not raise another generation of seafaring bandits. Don't think me a monster, Mance, but it would be better off. Look what happened to Robb, the moment he stopped paying attention to the North, they took it as weakness and a chance to pillage and reave. The fight we are preparing for, we won't be able to mind both the dead and Ironborn if they decide to try their luck again, and they will."

Mance wasn't sure if these were the reasons the boy thought up before or after he decided to wipe out the islands. But he wasn't going to dissuade him, crazy as it was, he agreed with him. They couldn't fight the Whitwalkers while having to worry about being fucked in the arse.

"You are a dangerous man, Snow."

"Aye, the pretty little fucker's got balls almost as big as mine!" Tormund exclaimed while gently patting Jon on his back, almost knocking him on his face.

Jon laughed. Trust Tormund to find something to laugh about even in the dullest of moments. They suddenly felt warmer than usual, a warmness that was quite familiar to them. So, it didn't surprise them when they saw Kratos approaching them.

His stride was as confident and purposeful as ever. "Jon. This enemy you face. Will they meet you in open battle?" he asked after finally getting close enough.

Jon couldn't help the snort that came from himself. "These men are cravens, cutthroats, and thieves. They'll hide behind the castle walls for as long as they can, killing small folk to hurt us."

"Hmmmmm." he was never one for words, actions were better. He approached a pile of dirt a few steps before them and took a fist full. He brought the fist to his face and spoke.

"Snjóstormur"

It was meant to be a whisper, but somehow, they had no doubt the word resounded the whole North over. The dirt in his hand blew away and away, and drifted up to the sky, which darkened a great distance. From the darkened sky fell snow…snow? In the middle of the longest recorded summer?

They were awed. How could they have forgotten that The Great Father was much more than just a powerful man. He was Winter itself, the True God of the North. He controlled the lands, the very sky and everything else around them as if they were just extensions of himself. What else could he do?

Almost like an answer to the unasked question, Kratos removed his Axe from his back, Leviathan, their God's primary weapon. The runes in the axe glowed and the blade was covered in ice. He stretched his left arm as if to aim, then threw the axe into the snowing clouds.

These clouds were not close, by any stretch of the word, so to throw an axe that far would require strength unimaginable. By now they should not be surprised by what the Great father does, but they are like children watching their father do amazing things.

All they could see was white. The light snow had become a storm like no other, a blizzard. The snow was thick. Kratos raised his hand, and his Leviathan came crashing back into it.

"That will occupy their attentions and their sites. When you march, the snow will not be an obstacle." he said before walking away, back into the camp and they could only stare at his back, then at the storm, then at his back again.

LINE BREAK-

He was free. Free from all the expectations, all the enemies and responsibilities of the Crown. He was free and could lose himself in the feeling if he was being true. Coming back from a successful hunt, mouth dripping with blood, adrenaline still rushing through his body and instincts taken over his other senses.

He could see in the dark and hear the snap of a twig from many leagues away. His sense of smell was truly magnificent, truly, if he could and in simpler times, he would wish to become a wolf. But these were not simpler times, and he could not.

Using the shadows and little holes, he re-entered the castle and came upon some soldiers in the dead of the night, hiding by the gates.

"Did they find the wolf?" One unnamed soldier asked the other.

"No, the damn beast seemed to have run off." The other answered, spitting on the ground.

"I hope it stays away, wouldn't want to get bit the arse by some fucking huge dog."

"You worried about a missing wolf, when you should be worrying about a man with a sword." He scolded his companion.

"At least I can see the man with the sword coming! And besides, old lord Frey made sure all the other Northern soldiers were piss drunk. It'll be like killing green boys!" The first soldier burst into a fit of laughter. The other knocked him in the head with his gauntleted fist.

"Quiet, idiot."

Robb didn't stay to hear any more; he needed to get Greywind to his mother's chambers and wake up. He moved swiftly through the shadows and up the castle proper, hiding from guards and such. Passing by a door that was ajar, with what sounded like shouting voices coming from inside the room. It was unguarded for some reason and the hall was not lit, the only bit of light came from the room itself.

He got close to the door, but not into the light, so as to hear clearer, the words being shouted. With his increased hearing, that was not so hard.

"There's no more time to dally Frey! It is now or we lose our chance. The King is getting cautious, and he won't want to stay here another night." He heard a voice that made his blood boil.

"How sure are you that you can go through with this Bolton? Guest right means nothing to me and mine, but you Northmen worship such nonsense." The withering voice from the old weasel grated against Robb's will and he almost burst into the room and rip the man apart.

"Don't worry about me, I'll do my part, so will the Dustins." He heard enough and took off up the stairs and towards the wing of the castle they had given him and his lords. Once there, he decided to leave the shadows and scratch at every door he came upon until someone answered it, then moved to the next. His mother was fully clothed when she opened the door, and Robb was relieved that she had taken his words seriously.

The time for pretence was over, blood was to be spilt tonight and everyone needed to be alerted. So, before he removed himself from Greywind's mind, he howled. A loud, harrowing howl, a warning to the enemies. Right before jumping to his own mind, he heard shouting and the beginnings of struggle.

He woke up, feeling a part of his wolf lingering on his instincts. His anger at the betrayal was a lashing beast, searching for traitors to rip into. He immediately grabbed Ice from where he had left it and strapped it to his back. It was too large to be practical in battle for him, but he wouldn't just leave it there, thankfully Valerian steel was very lightweight.

He grabbed his long sword and a dagger and got himself ready. Someone pounded on his door. "Your Grace! An attack, the Bolton's and Dustins have betrayed us, my liege!"

He rushed to the door after getting himself together and dragged it open. "Rouse everyone! we kill all these traitors tonight."

"Aye!"

He turned the corner to see Greywind flashing what looked to be a Bolton soldier by the neck, while Maege Mormont was protecting his mother by holding off another one.

"Mother!" He shouted and drew all of the attention to himself. One soldier who was distracted by his arrival did not recover in time to stop the mace that crushed his face in.

"Robb! We've been betrayed!" Lady Stark shrieked frantically when he got close enough.

"Aye, we have." he replied simply.

"You knew this would happen, didn't you young wolf?" Lady Maege asked him, sounding as if she had already decided an answer.

"I suspected something of the sort. It happened sooner than anticipated, but this presents an opportunity."

"And what opportunity would that be, your Grace?"

"...the extinction of house Bolton." He then stalked off down the passage to deliver more justice.

"Where are you going Robb?" His mother asked.

"To find Lord Bolton." he said over his shoulder but kept moving. His wolf did not follow him, for he knew he'd be better off protecting the others in the pack. So, he stuck by Lady Stark's side.

"We must follow him, my lady. We can't stay here, we'd be isolated and left to the slaughter." She nodded at the logic and made after her son. "soldiers! With me, protect the king!" Lady Maege shouted and took off down the passage as well.

They fought their way down the steps and came upon the main hall, where they saw a chaos of a battle ensuing. Lord Umber was locked in a struggle with multiple opponents, Lord Karstark was hacking away at some poor Frey sod, who could hardly defend himself from the angry man's blows. Looking around to find Manderly but he was nowhere to be found, hopeful he had made himself scarce.

Greatjon got just about done with the lot he was facing. The man looked a savage, covered in blood and a grin on his face, as he was. "Your Grace! Come to wet your sword on traitor's blood, have you? Can't leave the fun to the rest of us." the man laughed then harrumphed from being tackled by a soldier. He was knocked a little off balance, but he was too big a man to be felled by a single soldier.

"The Freys are below scum, but to break Guest Right? it doesn't matter what god you worship; none would stand for such vileness!" Lord Karstark exclaimed, coming over to them.

"The Freys will get there due, same as the Boltons and the Dustins. But we need to get everyone together, we're too scattered, we'll be picked off."

"Aye, your grace, you have the right of it."

"Where is Lord Manderly?"

"Mayhaps he's still in his chambers? Great Father knows the man has no martial ability."

"Greatjon, take some men, fetch him. We must get out of the castle." Lord Umber nodded his ascent and took off to the wing of the castle Lord Manderly and his guards were most likely held up.

More soldiers were just now entering the hall and the chaos of the battle continued. "The rest of you, let's gut these fuckers."

"AYE!"

Robb moved forward and had to duck a swing from a Bolton soldier and used his sword to pin his foot to the ground. The man screamed before his chest was caved in by a mace.

"Come on you treacherous fucks!" Lady Maege yelled after pulling her mace from the man's chest, and stepping back so she was in front of Lady Stark. Karstark threw a wooden stool at an incoming soldier to discombobulate him, then rammed his sword down through his collar bone.

"Good riddance, rat." He intoned. They fought their way through the hall, slowly getting to the other side. Their soldiers fanned out at their sides, clearing those who are too far away from the group. There was shouting and screaming coming from outside, letting them know that the fighting had spread to everywhere.

The Boltons, Freys and Dustins had planned for this to be a slaughter. Robbs paranoia and the Raven's warnings made it so that they were more prepared than they would have been. He mentally shuddered, thinking about how it would have gone differently, if he was still naive…and bound by chains of his own making.

"Robb!" he heard his mother scream for him. He turned and saw her, and Lady Maege being overrun by multiple enemies.

"Greywind!" The wolf had blood all over its maw when it appeared and jumped one of the soldiers. You could see that he had just made a fresh kill. Knowing that his mother and the Lady were now better protected, he turned back just in time to make a wide slash and take out the person approaching him.

The fighting continued with Robb and his group making their way steadily to the other side. A similar group, in size, as Robbs came through the door with someone shouting. "Where is he!" as the people moved about and he got a good look at who it was he realised that it was Roose. He had never heard him sound so desperate and frantic. Good.

"BOLTON!" he shouted, drawing the man's gaze to himself and his group. Roose's eyes hardened when they landed on the young king.

"Should have ran away when you had the chance, your Grace!"

"We don't run from craven oath breakers. As the Great Father is my witness and the Raven is his eyes, I will make you rue the day you decided to betray the North! Since you're so fond of your house sigil, Bolton, why don't I make you, it's living representation?"

"Betray the North? I'm trying to save the North from your incompetence, boy." The man seemed to ready himself, preparing to attack with his men and the Dustins'. Just as the two sides were going to engage in melee, footsteps were heard coming from the stairs behind Robb and his companions.

"Hurry up ya fat cunt, at this rate the fighting will be over when we get there!" Greatjon's vulgarness could not be hidden. He came lumbering into the hall, his men on his heels and Lord Manderly, gasping for breath behind them, his men were also with him. "Ha! Good it seems we didn't miss much."

"You're right on time, Lord Umber. Was just about to carve up Bolton here." Robb said darkly, but in somewhat of a jeering way.

"Aye, would hate to have missed that." Greatjon said, with a large grin on his face. Roose, who by now realised that he was outnumbered, slowly worked his way out the doors of the main hall, trying to escape to the outside.

"A craven to the last, eh?" Karstark asked and shook his head. Roose's men tried to cover his retreat, but they were swiftly cut down by the lords and their men while Robb gave chase to Bolton. He came up on a few obstacles but made short work of them, for some reason, he felt stronger than he ever did.

He wondered if it was his wolf bleeding into his physicality or mayhaps the heat of the moment. Either way, the regular soldiers he encountered were not much of a challenge. He was sure he should have been tired by now, his stamina seemed to be unmatched.

"You can't run away from consequences, Lord Bolton!" Eventually they were outside, Roose was already standing in the courtyard, amongst the chaos that was the battle between traitors and faithful Northhmen. The fights were turning out how one would imagine, given that the Freys were morons and collectively, there were more faithful Northmen than traitors.

Roose realised that he would have to hold his ground as there was nowhere to run. He steeled himself and held his sword at the ready, he was a good warrior as all men in the North ought to be. But the sword was never his forte, he was more for strategy.

Robb wasted no time in rushing the Leech Lord and trying to take his head off in one blow. Of Course, that didn't happen, as Bolton was not some green boy, but a hardened, tested and tried, Lord of the North. The young Stark may have been the better sword, but Roose had more experience.

And so, the fight was not as clear cut as one would imagine, Robb was stronger, and more skilled, but Bolton was more honed and had muscle memory. Robb would slash and Roose would parry instead of blocking, he would step back out of range before countering head on. He was avoiding a direct clash of strength with the stronger boy.

The more Robb swung his sword the angrier he got, and the angrier he got, the less of the world he could see in his periphery. He stabbed, and the man stepped to the side, he slashed, and he stepped back, he was tired of it so he made a faint slash and when Roose leapt back in haste, he took a leap and tackled him to the ground.

He threw his sword aside and held the man by his collar and head butted him, breaking his nose. He had foregone all the lordly training he had done with master Rodrick in the yard. Every part of his body was used as a weapon to beat maim and hurt Roose Bolton. He didn't kill him, not yet.

"Lord Bolton! Have you any last words?" he asked, getting to his feet and reaching over his back, to unstrap Ice. he was breathing heavily, stumbling a little, and had to wipe the blood from out of his eyes. But his conviction never wavered. By now, most of the fighting was finished and the Lords and soldiers were approaching where Roose Bolton was trying to crawl away.

"Fools! You're all fools, the lot of you!" He screamed his throat raw. "You think this boy will help the North? I was trying to save us!"

"By getting into bed with the Lannisters? Plotting with fucking Freys, Breaking Guest Right!" Lord Karstark was a staunch believer in the Old religion and the Old ways. The breaking of Guest Right must be grating on his sense of what the Great Father would allow to stand. Jaime Lannister had also killed his son, that could never be forgiven.

"Tywin! ... offered peace! And help to rebuild the North, stronger than it ever was!" There was a cacophony of general disgust on the mention of receiving help from anyone.

Greatjon seemed to have taken the most offence, however. "Fuck your help!" he shouted, spitting to the ground. "All that means is that we'd be Lannister pets. The North remembers, Bolton and the Lannisters have taken much from us. There will be a reckoning."

"A reckoning you say? Aye, I agree!" No one had noticed him slowly approaching a downed soldier, or that this down soldier had a crossbow on him, which Roose grabbed quickly and took aim at the young king before he could react.

"Robb!" His mother screeched, realising what would happen before anyone else. There was no time for thinking, no time to waste, only actions. Before anyone else could react, Lady Stark threw herself in front of her son. The crossbow bolt went right through her chest, and out her back. There was silence as the weight of what had happened slowly, but heart shatteringly descended upon all who were present.

The blood rushed through Robb's ears and his vision became dark red at the corners. He rushed Roose with ice still in hand, feeling as light as air as he swung it and took the man's foot off at the knee. Lord Bolton screamed, but Robb cut the next foot at the knee.

"I will not beg for my life!" he exclaimed, his eyes shut tight in pain.

"Beg? BEG?!" Robb asked. He got closer to his downed opponent. "You won't have a tongue in the afterlife Bolton, there will be no more plots from you. You won't have eyes, those awful, cold eyes. You won't have a face, for your ancestors to recognise you. I WILL WIPE YOUR HOUSE, AND YOUR HISTORY FROM THIS WORLD, AS THE GREAT FATHER GIVES ME STRENGTH!"

He went to work, fulfilling his promise to the leech. He used his bare hands to pluck one of his eyes from his head, and then the next. He was about to take his tongue when Maege Mormont called for him.

"Your Grace!" he heard her say, and vaguely realised that she had been calling him for a while.

"What!" He shouted in frustration. He waited for it, waited for them to tell him what he was doing was cruel, that it was vile and evil. But no one did, they all stood with surprised looks on their faces…but not at him. He followed their gaze and stopped breathing when he realised what it was.

Here he was, covered in his enemy's blood, looking the savage. His hands messy with the grime from his task of taking out Lord Bolton's eyes. And stood…not ten and five steps from him, with horror on her face. His little sister…Arya Stark.