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Edit: Line breaks are now added in appropriate places.

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Chapter 2: Rickard I

The winesink was bustling with the arrival of the armies of both Stark and Lannister. Of course this meant that the smell of piss, shit, and blood was overwhelming, and Rickard wondered, not for the first time, how long it would be before Lord Stark decided to take his forces home.

Home. It had been a year since he had left his family's home to ride south with Lord Stark's forces. He had told them he was leaving for the silver he would receive and that was true, at least partly. No, the main reason he had left was for the adventure; he had grown tired of hunting for food and only finding just enough scrape by. But now, now he longed to return to those simple times, when arrows killed rabbits and axes chopped trees. He tried to picture his family as he had last seen them. His father, Torrhen, with his shoulder length hair the color of dirt and his moss green eyes. His face was sharp as a knife, and, though his body was as large as an aurochs, he was thin from lack of meals. His mother, Alys, whose hair shone like spun gold and her eyes were the color of the sky. She was a small woman made smaller by the lack of food. Wyla, his sweet,young sister, with the hair and eyes of their father, but with their mother's small frame. And lastly Jon, his older brother, again possessing their father's hair and eyes, yet having the lithe frame of their mother. Rickard did not follow the pattern of his siblings, instead of his father's hair and eyes, his hair was black as night and his eyes an odd grey. After joining Lord Stark's host and eating better than he ever had, his frame filled out to a size comparable to his father's. He often thought it queer that his siblings could look so much alike and he look so different.

"Well, there ya are. I been looking for you for a bloody long time, the others was starting to worry." a booming voice startled Rickard out of his thoughts.

"I've been here drinking Theron, you of all men should respect that." Theron laughed, his large frame shaking as he did.

Theron was one of the largest men Rickard had ever seen, only slightly smaller than Greatjon Umber from what he could tell. And Rickard's remark about his drinking was not far of the mark, for Theron, who was a mountain clansman, could, and would, drink more ale than the rest of the Stark host taken together.

"Ya say ya was drinkin', more like broodin' again if I knows anything about ya."

"I don't brood."

"Whatever ya say kid. Hey, tell me why does a boy o' five and ten join an army marchin' south to fight?"

"I told you before."

"I was drunk before."

"You're drunk now."

"Does it matter?"

"No, I guess not. I joined for the same reason you did. They paid."

"Fair 'nough. Now come on, them other two is waiting."

The other two were Byrron and Kean, blonde haired, brown eyed brothers who were also members of the Stark host. They were both slim as a willow and quick as a shadow cat. They were almost impossible to tell apart, save for a scar across Kean's jaw.

"I see you're still wearing that axe, and the bow and quiver too. You'd think the dragons was gonna come out of hiding and kill us all." Byrron spoke first, nodding his blonde head at both of them as they arrived.

The axe and bow he referred to were the two things that had gotten him through the war. The bow was made from yew and shot well. It was strange for someone of the infantry to carry a bow, but ever since it saved his life at the Battle of the Bells he hadn't gone into a fight without it. The axe was a sturdy weapon that he had pulled from the hands of a dead loyalist at the Trident after the handle of his own axe had shattered.

"I bet he's carrying his dagger too. Aren't you Rickard?" Kean asked smiling

"Of course I am."

Rickard's dagger was perhaps his most prized possession. It was not ornate, with only a simple leather wrapped handle and a plain steel blade and only a single identifying feature the word Drayke was engraved in small letters where the blade met the hilt, but it was the last thing his father had given him before he left for Lord Wull's camp. The dagger had been handed down through his family since before the Starks had brought the Boltons to heel. It had saved his ancestor's life in that war, and it had saved another during the Dance of Dragons. His father had hoped that perhaps it would save Rickard's as well, and it had.

"I'm surprised he didn't bring his shield." Kean quipped.

"I'd rather carry my weapons than leave them behind to be stolen. Besides in this shit heap, you might need them." Rickard answered throwing a look at one of the many street rats that occupied the constantly busy streets.

"At least we won't be here much longer. Least that's what I heard." Theron said, obviously sharing Rickard's thoughts on the place.

"How come?" Byrron asked, sounding almost disappointed.

While at the same time Kean gave a loud shout of "Thank the gods!"

"Something about a fight between Lord Stark and the King." Theron answered.

Rickard could not help but smile at that, soon he would be home. He cared little for why he got to leave, so long as he could. Lord Stark could fight with the King until the Others took them both if it meant he could finally go home.

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Rickard was fighting a strong urge to kill Theron. Three fucking hours worth of searching and he still hadn't found the bastard. To make matters worse Lord Pain-in-the-Ass, some second son of a second son of House Harclay, who had led the section of infantry that they had both been grouped into, was demanding Rickard find him before they left in two hours or lose some of his pay. He had checked every winesink and whorehouse they had visited during their stay in King's Landing. Just as he was ready to give up and hope that Theron found his way back to the army on his own, Rodrik saw him exit a woodcrafter's shop up the road.

"There you are I've been looking bloody everywhere for you. Why were you in a woodcrafter's shop?"

"I had to buy something for my sister."

"From a woodcrafter's shop?"

"Well, I couldn't afford nothin' too elegant, so I just had him carve a piece of oak in the shape of a heart. How's it look?" Theron held up the wooden heart for Rickard to see.

The heart seemed rough, and misshapen, with strange bumps and curves on the edges. It had a hole through it so it could be worn as a necklace, but it seemed to be made at an angle, so that it was turned on the leather thong he had run through it. You could easily tell it was not done by the most skilled craftsman in King's Landing, but it was thoughtful none the less.

"I'm sure she'll love it. Now hurry we've got to get back to the camp or we'll be left."

"Wait, where leaving?"

"Yes, now hurry."

They rushed back to the camp that had been set up outside the city. Once they arrived they put on took what few belongings they had and fell into their positions in formation for the long march back home.

"I was beginning to worry about you two. Did you get lost or something?" Kean greeted them when they fell into formation.

"No, we didn't get lost, but Theron decided to bugger off and get his sister a bloody necklace. And since I'm always with him, Lord Pain-in-the-Ass, made me search the entire bloody city for him," Rickard finished his tirade and looked around before he noticed a very peculiar absence.

"Where's Byrron?"

"He's staying here. Says there's more opportunities here than back home."

"He's choosing to live in this shit hole? He's crazy."

"I coulda' told ya' that." Theron spoke up.

"Tell me about it. Once, when we were boys-." Kean started.

"Hey guys, I hate to interrupt, but isn't that the Kingslayer?" Rickard pointed to a man with hair like spun gold, wearing gray plate and no cloak.

"By the gods! It is!" Kean's voice was an excited whisper, all thoughts of childhood mischief with his brother gone.

The man who killed Aerys was coming north with them. Well, it seemed this would be a very peculiar time for the North.