A/N: So, just throwing this in between my DBZ fic updates, since I've got some of my writing mojo back xD. I hope y'all enjoy it, as always! There's an awesome reunion in here that I promise you'll love! This is easily my best chapter so far! :D
Chapter 4: The Wolf and the Lion
Moments after the Northerners, under the guise of Freys, secured the entrance gates of East Tower, a column of blistering light cavalry galloped forward with an undying vengeance, cutting down their unsuspecting foes one after another, whilst suffering minimal losses on their end. A throng of archers charged in thereafter, firing at the Frey bowmen positioned along the wall-walk. Hundreds of Freys attempted to flee back to the West Tower, but found that the postern gates wouldn't budge, much to their horror. They were trapped and at the mercy of the Northmen. Within minutes the enemy forces were vanquished and their Keep was under siege.
"What the fuck do we do?!" A deeply dismayed lieutenant frantically paced around the upper floor. "We've less than a hundred men left and we're surrounded on all sides!"
"Are they offering terms?" Asked the stony-faced castellan.
"I- I don't know."
"We'll ask them for terms."
"But we cannot let them have the keep!" The Frey lieutenant insisted. "The Northerners hate us! They'll butcher us like lambs!"
"If we stay here, we're dead anyway." The castellan rejoined. "It won't be long before they break through."
Dithering for just a moment, the lower-ranking man grudgingly nodded, hoping against hope that he'd live to see another day.
The opposing parties met outside the keep and unbeknownst to anyone besides the two commanders, this parley was nothing more than a mummer's farce.
"Whatever men you have left, will be thrown in the dungeons, until the war is over." Jon decreed. "If we defeat the Lannisters, we'll spare your lives. You have my word on that."
"Why would you spare us?" The gaunt general raised a curious brow, playing along with the pre-battle script. "We betrayed and murdered your brother along with most of his bannermen."
"We're Northmen." The Wolf King narrowed his eyes, in fierce fervor. "We're not cowards. We don't execute prisoners or unarmed civilians. And unlike you lot, we hold honor above everything else."
Lord Royce couldn't help but smile at that. For the first time in his life since Jon Arryn died, he felt as if he was serving a true leader.
"I suppose I can't argue with you there." The castellan sighed. "You Starks would stick a melting candle up your frozen arses, if honor called for it." He promptly nodded. "Very well then. The Keep is yours."
"My Lord, you can't-"
"Quiet!" He cut off his subordinate. "Lord Ryman left me in charge and you will do as ordered. Have the men to throw down their weapons and surrender, else I'll have you gelded and hanged!"
"Y-Y-Yes s-sir."
Once the remaining Freys were rounded up, disarmed and put in irons, their general turned towards them and took off his face mask, unveiling his true identity- only he was a she. Both sides were rendered speechless, not knowing what to make of the anomalous occurrence, taking place before their incredulous eyes.
Jon cleared his throat and delivered the big reveal.
"This is my sister, Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell."
Barely resisting the urge to wince at the title, the wolf girl instead smirked complacently at the looks of horror, rage and indignation on the faces of her former underlings. They'd been so stupid. They should've picked up on the sudden deviation in the so-called General's mannerisms a day or so ago, but they hadn't thought much of it. Now they knew better. This little Stark bitch must've been the one behind the late Lord Walder's death. She'd fooled them good. How she was able to survive King's Landing, let alone acquire such uncanny abilities, they didn't know.
The Northerners lauded their Princess, after overcoming the initial sense of shock. So many questions hung in the air, but for now, they revelled in the knowledge that not only was another Stark alive, but she'd avenged the demise of their once-King.
Soon afterwards, Jon led a thousand infantry along the bridge, headed straight for the Western Tower, where only forty men were left behind to defend. Shocked and petrified at the overwhelming force coming their way, the remaining Freys unanimously decided that surrender was for the best, knowing that there was no way they'd be able to stave off their enemies long enough for Ser Jaime and Ser Ryman to relieve them. It was all over.
The last time the Northerners had been inside the walls of the West Tower, they'd been slaughtered like sheep, along with their prodigious young King. Now said King's successor strode in proudly as a conquerer, with Ghost by his side. At last, fortune had turned in their favor.
Edmure Tully was released from his captivity and brought over to Jon. With little time to spare, the King briefly informed the Lord of Riverrun of his plans to defeat the Lannisters and the Freys, however Edmure never said a word and simply glared at him in disdain. Jon had seen that same look in the eyes of so many others and understood the tacit meaning behind his silence. As far as Lord Tully was concerned, he was nothing more than an jumped-up bastard and not a true King.
Jon left a garrison of two thousand men behind, under the command of Lord Hornwood, while he gathered the rest and headed towards Seagard. Twelve hundred heavy cavalry rode at the forefront of his army, the hooves of their armoured destriers leaving a marked, muddy trail, as they cantered southwest. Behind them were four thousand foot-soldiers. The Northmen blazed with vigor and unwavering resolve, determined to crush the Freys and the Lannisters, once and for all.
As was the case before the conquest of the Twins, the King led the outriding force, with Ghost by his side. Unsurprisingly, they came upon several enemy outposts, but were able to deal with them in a quick and efficient manner, ensuring that no one was able to escape and report the incoming incursion. Soon afterwards, they saw a vast alignment of red flags in the distance, bearing the fearsome sigil of House Lannister: a salient gold lion that had mauled it's way through countless foes, one after the other: the Reynes, the Tarbecks, the Targaryens, the Tyrells and yes, even the Starks. But no longer. The lion would be driven to its knees once and for all and the wolf would rise up to take it's rightful place, as the Lord of Winter.
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Archers fired away from the merlons, crenels and loopholes of Seagard, persistently holding out against the invaders and refusing to capitulate, despite being chipped away bit by bit. The Lannister-Frey army had already lost at least fifteen hundred men, against less than three hundred from the Riverlands. Even so, the situation was dire. At this rate, they wouldn't last out the day. Where were the Northerners?
As if on cue, a mounted figure was spotted from afar and shortly afterwards, a sizeable host came into view, growing larger and larger by the second. Eventually, hundreds of horsemen were visible to the naked eye, thousands of footmen behind them, carrying an assortment of Northern banners. They saw the commander whirl around and address his battalion.
"Brothers." Jon said grimly, sat firmly astride Ghost. "You are the men of the North. You are the men of Winter. Ice runs through your blood. Steel runs through your blood." His mouth pressed into a hard line, as his soldiers listened intently, a boiling surge of adrenaline and bloodlust pumping through their veins, morale soaring with each ensuing word. "Let us show these Southerners that the North remembers and we will never forget!" He roared.
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" The Northerners bellowed aloud with a single voice, raising their fists into the air, as they repeatedly chanted. "THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
"MEN OF THE NORTH!" Jon unsheathed longclaw and his men followed suite, readying their weapons. He swivelled around and aimed it at the enemy. "WITH ME!" The White Wolf bounded ahead and his men raced behind him, driven, determined and out for blood. Their collective cries transformed into thunderous crescendos that tore right into the heart of the enemy, making their blood run cold and plaguing them with unabated horror.
Ser Jaime hurriedly rushed to try and assemble his forces into a proper shield formation, but before he even had the chance, another two terrifying sets of resounding hooves were heard in the distance. Dread engulfed the Lannisters and the Freys, as they observed an array of white falcon banners emerge, armoured Valemen cavaliers charging in at deadly speeds from either side.
However, it was the sight of the snarling direwolf blitzing straight towards them with Jon at his back, which made them quiver more than anything else. That bloody thing was the size of a stallion and a hundred times as frightening, with its alarming speed, razor-like fangs and blood-red irises. The soldiers desperately scrambled about in an attempt to escape the incoming, sabre-toothed canine. Daunted, dismayed, disarrayed and drastically unprepared for the three-pronged attack, the Western lines were quickly broken and their centres were overrun with swarms of enemy horsemen and footmen.
Moments later, the sally port of Seagard burst open and a surging storm of Trident men shot out, assailing their adversaries from the rear. Under attack from all directions, the Lannister-Frey forces were quickly being mowed down, with not a single avenue left for retreat.
The Wolf King lost count of many foes had fallen at his hands. The enemy horses shied in fright, whenever his feral beast drew close, while the panicked footmen scampered for their lives. But it was all for naught. Whether Ghost mauled them to bits, whether Jon sunk his Valyrian steel-sword into their pounding, petrified hearts or whether they ran into other battle-frenzied enemies, the bottom line spelled doom for the Lannisters and the Freys.
"YIELD!" Jaime frantically yelled over the gut-wrenching screams of his dying men. He placed his hands on either side of his mouth, as he roared in his loudest voice. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS! YIELD! YIELD!"
The battle was over. The Northerners had won and for the second time in his life, Jaime Lannister would find himself captive to a Stark boy- only this one was a Snow and not a Stark, which made it all the more ignominious. He couldn't fathom how the Northerners had been able to move so quickly and yet so discreetly, at the same time. He'd underestimated the wolves once before and paid the price for his arrogance. But this time, he was sure he'd been prepared for anything. By all accounts, he should've known about any enemy troop movements well in advance, given the Lannister outposts that had been strategically set up between Seagard and the Twins. Were his men really so incompetent or was this bastard King as good as they said he was? It didn't matter either way. The Lannisters had been soundly defeated, suffering over ten times as many losses as their enemies.
But it was the Freys who were more afraid than anyone else of the Northern reprisal for their sacrilege at the Twins, not so many years ago. With around four hundred of his men left alive, many of them wounded, Lord Ryman got on his knees, shamelessly begging for mercy and even urinating himself in front of everyone, when the white direwolf snarled at him, a sight that made the Northerners laugh at the pitiful, portly pig of a man.
"Easy Ghost." Jon soothed, whereby the beast quietened. He turned his attention back to the whimpering, fat Lord. "I am the son of Eddard Stark." He proudly proclaimed. "It's not my way to execute prisoners."
"Th-Thank you, my L-Lord- uh I mean, Your Grace." The drunken lecher went down on all fours, prostrating before the Wolf King. Jaime pressed a palm to his forehead, exhaling in mortification. How could he have been allies with such a useless, undignified, faint-hearted and fickle craven?
"Instead you are to be exiled." Jon issued his royal decree. "For your treason against my brother and your King, Robb Stark, all your lands, wealth and possessions will be seized. You will board a ship from White Harbor that will take you to Braavos. Anyone of you that sets foot in Westeros ever again will immediately be put to death."
The porcine Lord gulped and vehemently beseeched for a lesser punishment, but the unwavering Wolf King refused to have it.
"Call it divine justice." Jon looked down disdainfully at Ryman.
It was Essos for the Freys, where they would be dropped off without a single penny in their purses, where the people would spit upon their faces and fling refuse at them, where they would be shunned, cursed and reviled as amoral, ungodly heathens who'd murdered unarmed guests, beneath their roof. They would traverse the lands forever, begging at every doorstep they crossed for a morsel of food, a sip of water or a bed to sleep on, but they would receive naught. They would spend cruel, agonizing months watching their household crumble piece by piece, until nothing was left and their memory evanesced into the cold, merciless winds. It would be a punishment far worse than death, for those who violated the oldest and most sacred of laws, without remorse. It would be, as Jon called it, divine justice.
"Ser Jaime." The King dismounted and approached the defeated commander of the Lannister forces. "We meet again."
"Yes." The prisoner nodded, blonde hair matted with blood and grime. He was surprised that this boy King had the decency to address him with a respectable title, rather than dub him Kingslayer, as his brother and so many others had. "As I recall, the last time we met, you were preparing to join the Night's Watch. I never imagined that someone so feeble-minded would end up becoming Lord Commander of such a noble order, let alone sovereign to the largest Kingdom in Westeros. Yet here you stand, a King and a conquerer."
"I'm no conquerer." Jon sneered. "These lands don't belong to me, anymore than they belong to you. The men here chose to swear allegiance to my brother, when they had no cause to. I never came here to conquer. I came here to free these people from invaders and usurpers."
"A true Stark you are." Jaime smirked. "Your father would be proud."
"Don't talk about my father." The Wolf King hissed back, grounding his teeth together.
"Alright then." The Lannister commander nodded, his smirk faltering. "What shall we talk about then? My head on a spike? Are you going to take it yourself or have your beast rip it right off?"
"Neither." Jon answered, whereby Jaime's brows shot up in surprise. "Not yet, anyway. First of all, you're going to order your men at Riverrun to give up the castle and march back to the west, where they belong."
"Am I?" Jaime chuckled, earning a glare from Jon that told him he was playing with fire. "Well, I suppose it's for the best. I don't have much use for it now." He nodded. "I agree, so long as the garrison holding it are granted safe passage to the Westerlands. Anything else?"
"Yes." Jon continued. "But we'll discuss it later, in private."
"What is to become of my men?" The Knight asked and for the first time, Jon saw a genuine gleam of concern, within his emerald eyes, something he really hadn't expected.
"I haven't decided yet." He answered, after a moment of silence. There were around four thousand Lannister prisoners and something had to be done about them.
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A while later, the troops feasted vigorously within the walls of the Mallister stronghold. Capons, fish, bread, cheese, venison stew and a smorgasbord of other items were copiously served to the victors of this great battle. No efforts were spared to be frugal.
"Thank you for coming to our aid, Your Grace." Lord Jonos Bracken nodded at the Wolf King. "We are your loyal subjects henceforth, as we were your brother's. We shall be greatly honored to be a part of the Northern Kingdom."
"I thank you, my Lord." Jon smiled gratefully. "But we can't celebrate yet. There's a lot you don't know and still many battles to be fought, in the North."
"Oh?"
The Wolf King explained everything about what he'd seen at the Fist of the First Men and at Hardhome and why he'd chosen to ally with the wildlings, for the greater good.
"Mance Rayder never came to conquer our lands, but to hide behind our wall, from the horrors that lurk beyond." He recounted. "But his dreams were never realized. Most of his followers are now pawns, under the command of the Night King and they mean to head South."
"Hmmm, we shall have to go North and see for ourselves." Lord Bracken puckered his brows, not knowing how much truth there was to these obscurities of White Walkers and undead soldiers. Yes, the man before him was a Stark by blood and hadn't a reason to lie, but it still a hard tale to swallow.
"We also need to gather up harvest from the Riverlands and set up supply wagons to take them North, before winter freezes everything." Jon said. "We haven't much time, before our own resources run out."
"Of course, anything you need, Your Grace." The Lord of Stone Hedge readily agreed.
Once Riverrun was liberated, Jon left the Trident garrison behind to defend it along with a thousand of his own men, all under Lord Bracken's command. As punishment for their invasion of the Riverlands, the surviving Lannisters were to engage in the foraging, fishing and farming operations, alongside other smallfolk and when the time came, they would take the black, as would their middle-aged commander.
"I don't understand." Jaime frowned dubiously. Though constantly under guard as a prisoner, he'd been given adequate living quarters, as befitted a man of his rank. "Robb Stark would've snipped my head, had your sister not been in King's Landing. I'm afraid I no longer have that kind of leverage, so why am I still breathing?"
"It seems of me that you don't value your life." Jon noted.
"My life has no purpose anymore." The former Kingsguard muttered back, face abjectly downcast in dejection. "Not that it ever did."
An awkward pause ensued.
"What about when you saved Brienne of Tarth from the Boltons?"
Surprised flashed across Jaime's face as he stared wide-eyed at Jon.
"How did you-"
"What about when you saved King's Landing from Aerys Targaryen?"
Rendered speechless, the notorious Knight gaped at the black-bearded monarch before him, visibly moved, as his heart hammered against his chest. The masses had looked upon him with the bitterest revulsion: the Kingslayer, the oath-breaker and the godless coward, doomed to rot in the deepest pits of hell. But a saviour? No one had ever seen him that way before and no matter how often he told himself otherwise, the ceaseless aspersions had taken a hefty toll, perniciously eating away at him and transforming him into a different kind of monster than Aerys, but a monster nonetheless. How could this naive boy look upon him with any semblance of admiration, where everyone else had damned him?
"What my family did to yours-"
"No man is guilty for the crimes of his family." Jon ardently interjected. "My father taught me that."
"Your father." Jaime's chest tightened, as a strange surge of sensations stirred through him. "My whole life, I wanted to be someone like him: honorable, righteous and always true to my word. Nothing hurt more than the look on his face, when he saw me standing over the Mad King's body, with my sword plunged through his back. Ever since that moment, that look has followed me everywhere I go, haunting me during the day and keeping me awake at night." He let out a droll laugh, as his green eyes glistened with unshed tears of their own volition, face contorting with unyielding pain and resentment. He'd never been so open and vulnerable around anyone, not even Cersei or Tyrion, but now this strange boy whom he hardly knew was resurfacing years of inner turmoil that he'd kept bottled up deep inside, for as long as he could remember. "Of all the people who hated me for what I'd done, it was Ned Stark's hatred that hurt me the most."
"You should have told him." Jon said gravely. "He would never have hated you, if he'd known the truth."
Jaime's breaths became rasped, as an overwhelming wave of emotions washed over him, so profound that he nearly collapsed where he was seated.
"I don't deserve your mercy." The captive Knight fervently insisted. "You don't know the things I've done to your family."
"I do know." Jon replied, lips curling up in resentment for the first time. Brienne and Sansa had told him everything. "I know what you did to my brother Bran. I know you killed my friend Jory and attacked my father in the streets of King's Landing."
"Then you know that I deserve to die." Jaime vociferated.
"You do." The King agreed, features taut. "And there was a time when I would've executed you, without a second thought." He let out a restless sigh. "But that time's gone now and winter has come. The Night's Watch needs men like you."
"You mean cripples?" The Lannister captive scoffed.
"I mean commanders." Jon rectified, to Jaime's utmost surprise. "Your men are loyal and once the real war comes, we'll need every last one of them up North, with someone to lead them. That someone is you."
Before Jaime could ask what he meant by real war, the White Wolf had already exited his quarters, leaving him behind with a jumbled batch of meandering thoughts.
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The Brotherhood without Banners: thugs, outlaws and bandits to some, but champions and heroes to others. To a certain young wolf girl, they were nothing more than a double-crossing band of traitors who used religion, for their own personal gain. She vowed that one day she would have wreak vengeance upon them for what they did to Gendry. Arya saw the two men she deeply loathed: Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, both making for Riverrun at the head of a decent host, to seek an audience with the King in the North. The agile assassin was shrouded within a dense thicket of bushes, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. Placing her palm atop needle's hilt, she lunged towards her treacherous targets, but ended up colliding with what felt like a walking brick wall.
Arya fell on her behind and bore her teeth at the encroacher, only to gasp in shock as she recognized the half-burnt face of the giant man, glaring right at her.
"Look what we have here." The Hound distastefully curled his lips. "Little Stark girl, all by herself."
"Y-You're alive?" She stammered, clambering to her feet and gaping at the ghost of a man before her. She rubbed her eyes just to be sure that they weren't playing tricks on her. Sandor frowned, having expected and somewhat hoped to see at least a smidgeon of fear, on this eccentric child's face.
"You seem surprised." He snorted, in disdain.
"My Lady." Beric approached, with Thoros by his side. Arya growled, as she turned to face them and tried to unsheathe her ever-faithful rapier, only the large hand that wound itself around her slender wrist, wouldn't allow it.
"Let me go!" She demanded.
"Or what?" The Hound laughed. "You going to cross my name off your list? You had your chance and you didn't take it."
"We owe you our deepest apologies, Lady Stark." The one-eyed brotherhood leader solemnly bowed his head. "What happened to your friend, the Blacksmith, was most unfortunate-"
"Don't talk about him!" Arya cut him off, with an incensed snarl. "You're scum, every last one of you!" She shifted her furious gaze back to her once-captor. "What're you doing with them, anyway?! They tried to kill you or have you forgotten about that?!"
"I don't like these fire-worshiping cunts anymore than you do." Clegane sneered. "But they're useful when it comes to battle and from what I hear, there's a great war up North."
"What he says is true." Thoros affirmed, his grim disposition antithetical to the normally jovial, drunk priest. "That's why we came to talk to your brother. He was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and he knows better than all of us, what lies North of the wall."
"Jon would never trust the likes of you!" Arya spat, vainly struggling to wrench her arm free from the Hound's vice-like grip. "I'll make sure he kills every last one of you!"
"Well until you do that, you'd best keep those angry little paws to yourself." Sandor warned. "If I let go of you now, I trust you won't try to do anything stupid."
After a moment of hesitation, the petite assassin grudgingly nodded.
"Good." With that, he finally released her. Arya rubbed her throbbing wrist, shooting a withering glare at her sworn enemies and tacitly vowing that she would have her revenge, one way or another.
Later…
"How can you trust these people?!" The Stark girl fumed at her older brother, as she burst through his chambers, following the meeting with the Brotherhood. "They're monsters!"
"The real monsters are out there, beyond the wall." Jon rejoined. "I know you don't like it, but we need every last man. The Night King is more dangerous than anyone you've ever seen and he has over a hundred-thousand soldiers behind him. You've heard the stories before, but I've lived them. We can't win this war, on our own."
"Yes we can!" Arya stubbornly insisted. "We don't need men like that! For all you know, they'll sell you to this Night King, if he offers them the right amount of gold!"
"He doesn't offer gold." Jon replied, hardly resisting the urge to chuckle at her innocence. Gods, no matter the changes she'd gone through over the years, some things about her still reminded him of the naive girl he'd left behind, at Winterfell. He would've found it endearing, had the situation not been so dire. "He only offers death, nothing else."
"Then let them die!"
"Why, so they can join our enemies and we have to kill them all over again?" The King let out a weary exhale. "I know it's difficult, but it's our only choice." He walked over and clasped her firmly, by the shoulders. "Arya, I need you on my side, okay?"
"I-" The wolf girl's vindictive resolve began to crumble, at the imploring gleam in her brother's grey eyes. "I'll always be on your side, but- Gendry was my friend and they sold him like an animal, to that red witch."
"I know." He still hadn't told her that said witch had brought him back from the dead.
"Just promise me that if they make it through the war, you'll do something." She pleaded. "They can't go unpunished."
"I promise." Jon nodded with a smile, pulling her into an embrace she readily returned.
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"Would you fuck off already?!" The Hound snapped, growing tired of the bothersome girl following him around like a stray kitten and persistently asking questions about how he'd survived and what he'd been up to, following his brush with death.
"I just want to know." Arya prodded, refusing to back down.
"What do you care?!" He finally turned around to face her, bitterness and indignation smeared all over his stern visage. "You left me there to die like a fucking dog, after everything I'd-" He cut off his sentence midway, afraid that he'd said too much and Arya immediately understood that despite the stoic mask he always wore, he'd been deeply wounded by her actions- or lack thereof.
"I'm sorry- I- I shouldn't have- I mean-" She garbled, stumbling over what to say, before taking a deep breath and looking up at him sheepishly. "I'm glad you're alive." She murmured.
Sandor's eyes widened a fraction, his icy heart melting, as he saw the gleam of remorse in those big, grey eyes of hers and the faint smile that followed. Just seeing her that way, he found that he couldn't be mad at her no matter how hard he tried. He cursed himself and this darn girl, for turning him into a goddamn snowflake!
"I'm sorry about the butcher's boy." He sighed in resignation. "And your sister- I- I shouldn't have said that about her. I'd never have-"
"I know." Arya interjected, her smile broadening. "I know you wouldn't."
Deeply astounded by this bizarre sense of trust she seemed to have in him, the Hound decided that it wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"So what now?"
"I guess we fight together." The Stark Princess grinned. "Like old times."
"Yes, old times." He rolled his eyes and walked off. Arya eagerly trailed after him, only this time he didn't object to her presence and the inane blather that came with it.
A/N: Aw Sandor, you big softy haha. Hope you all enjoyed, especially the awesome battles and Jaime's convo with Jon etc. Let me know what you thought and leave a review! As always, thanks for reading. :D
p.s. Lovelykotori: I tried to squeeze in some BrieMund stuff, but there just wasn't enough room, but I hope the Hound/Arya scene made up for it. In any case, the next chapter promises some serious BrieMund goodness hehe. :D