AN1: Sorry for the long wait! I had a bit of writer block for my main fanfics (still have some). I update my profile so you will know where I 'm as well and updating my story ideas (1st chapter)

AN2: I don't own game of Thrones or A song of Ice and Fire. I don't gain any money from wriiting this. I do this for entertainment only.

AN3: This fanfic was inspired by the Son of the seven Kingdom by RantingRyuu728. It will be severely different. he made it into a high fantasy setting which i want to avoid. There will be a very slight Wicther crossover but mostly just names.

AN4: I know that most of these fics will never be finished (hell, most likely don't get a second chapter) so if anyone want to write something similiar or continue it feel free after PM-ing me!

Chapter I

Orys Baratheon, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms gazed over the North surrounding him. The small patches of snow on the ground, the large trees of the Wolfwood and the mountains over the forest.

It was not even half a year since Orys have last seen the North. On his tenth nameday his father decided to have him fostered at Winterfell, the home of Robert closest friend Ned Stark. Orys's mother, Queen Cersei was against it, but Robert could be stubborn as a mule when he was in the mood. And he was most of the times.

After being away for four years he returned to King's Landing. He could hardly settled back in the South when Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died. Orys liked the old Lord of the Vale. He was a father figure in Robert's life and was akin to a grandfather or uncle in Orys's own. He mourned his passing more than most at the court.

With one of the only man he ever respected being dead Robert could only think the other man as the next Hand, Ned Stark. Orys found it a smart and stupid move at the same time. There was no question about Lord Stark's honor, but Orys knew the Lord of Winterfell and he was not ready for the snake pit King's Landing was. He decided when he first heard of the possibility of Lord Stark being the new Hand to help him when he could.

"Orys are you listening to me?" Came the voice of one Robert Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Seven Kingdoms as he rode next to his second son.

"I'm sorry, father. I was remembering my time in the North." Orys apologized with an embarrassed smile. Usually he was observant enough to notice if someone asked him something.

"Aye. I did as well, when I visited the Vale a few years ago." Robert laughed, his booming voice carrying far easily, "Oh, how I want those years back! I was young and strong, boy. You can't imagine how strong..."

Orys heard this more often than not. His father loved talking about the past, be it battles, whores or his mischief-making with Lord Stark in his youth. Orys only cared about the later. Whores didn't piqued his interest in the slightest. He found the thought of a woman needing to sell her body for coins disgusting. Not that he didn't know that most didn't had any choice.

His father's battle tales were often grand tales, but after a while it always turned to Rhaegar Targaryen and the battle at the Trident. It was a bittersweet memory he could tell. His father hated no man more than Rhaegar, yet even if the Targaryen prince was killed and the war ended with his victory, his reward was only a throne but not the queen Robert wanted.

Orys glanced at the large carriage behind them by about a hundred yards. They were separated by at least a hundred rider as well. He knew that his sibling were in there with their mother. Queen Cersei Lannister was one of the most beautiful woman in the Realm, yet Robert's love for Lyanna Stark never wavered.

"What did you ask me?" Orys asked before his father could start one of his tales.

"Ah, yes, I wanted to ask if you want to ride for Winterfell with me? Let's just leave this idiotic parade and go there! I haven't met Ned in years!"

"I understand your feelings, father." Oryss glanced back again at the carriage, "But I fear that mother would have our heads on spikes if we didn't follow proper protocol."

"The f'cking gods give me patience with that woman!" Robert cursed, heaving before nodding, "Alright , give your mother what she wants, I have no patience to deal with her today. And if she really wants to do this way than tell Joffrey to get in the saddle as well." He turned to one of the Kingsguard behind them, by coincidence the Queen's brother Jamie Lannister being it, "Tell her that if she don't want me to race Orys here to Winterfell, than Joffrey better get out of that blasted carriage."

"I Orys go, father." Orys said, before Jamie could reply. The prince knew how much his uncle hated when Robert used him as a courier to bring bad news to his mother. Being a mediator between his family members was Orys main activity these days. His uncle gave him a barely noticeable nod, while Robert grunted.

Orys led his horse to the edge of the road, looking at the riders passing by as he waited to her mother's carriage to pull by. First came the rest of the Kingsguards, arguably the greatest a most skilled knights in the entire Realm. Maybe when the likes of Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne were alive. Now? It was only Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime, Orys's uncle who uphold the reputation, both being called the finest swordsman in the Realm.

Then came a group of warriors sworn to Orys himself along with a few advisors to the young lord. They were members of the Grey Warden. It was an ancient order, destroyed by the Mad King and restored by Orys.

First was the Grandmaster of the Order, Catherina the Queen of Swords. She was a cold beauty, with golden hair reaching the small of her back, her eyes a piercing set of ice. Ser Barristan granted her moniker after being bested by her.

Next to her rode her second in command Master Gareth. He was a quiet man, more inclined to just watch an argument than to voice his own thoughts unless necessary or prompted to.

Then came a trio of younger men, Coen, Lambert and Tristan, all around twenty namedays. They were all handsome and skilled with the sword, but arrogance often reared its ugly head with them. Thankfully either Elaine or Gareth was there to teach them a lesson in humility.

They were followed by the twins, Ser Emrys and Ser Amrys of House Swann. They were older than the trio by a few namedays, but that doesn't showed. They enjoyed playing with people using that they were near identical.

Last of the Order was Zoltan Chivay, a middle aged man, with great thirst for women and wine. He wasn't taller than most men, but was so muscular that some member of the Order wondered if he could match the Hound or even the Mountain. He was bald except a single line of hair in the middle of his head, with a thick beard. He was one of the few of the Order who favored warhammers and greataxes to swords.

Behind those warrior rode two, a lady dressed in green and gold and a man wearing a simple brown tunic and cloak. The man was the oldest of the entire royal party with a graying beard and hair well past his prime being nearly twice as old as Catherina. Officially he was Orys's personal maester.

Triss Merigold was a woman of nearly unmatched beauty and grace. Long waves of chestnut hair fell to her shoulder and down to her cleavage, her green eyes glinting with mischief as she rode past Orys, winking at the prince. Orys still flushed much to her amusement even as it was years since she first teased him. It seemed a favored pastime of hers.

Then came a dozen or so knight in Lannister and Baratheon color. The first two fixed their eyes on Triss. Orys decided not to call them on it. Triss undoubtedly knew the stares on her ass and could do something about it if she wanted.

At last, his mother great carriage arrived. It was pulled by six white horse. He trot next to it and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" came the old voice of Septa Eglantine as she pulled away the curtain of one of the carriage's windows, "My prince!"

"I want to speak with my mother, Septa Eglantine." Oryss said, knowing that everyone Orys hear him.

"Orys? What can I do for you? Do you want to ride with us?" Cersei was next to the window a few second later, looking at her son with worry in her eyes.

"We Orys be at Winterfell in a hours mother." Orys said, "Father said that Joffrey should ride with us when we arrive. If he doesn't he says he Orys ride there alone not waiting for the others." The young Baratheon tried to beg with his eyes. He truly didn't want to arrive at the capital of the North with his father and mother both angry. He wasn't a fool to think that their entire stay Orys be pleasant, but wanted his father and Lord Stark reunion to be a peaceful.

"I see. Joffrey, love, I think you should abide to your father's wish." Cersei seemed to at least understand a part of his plea.

"Why should I? I don't want to ride now." came Joffrey bored voice.

"You Orys be the king, darling. Kings ride into their towns. It Orys be good to remind these people who Orys be their king one day." If nothing else Cersei knew how to influence Joffrey.

"Well, at least they Orys see the crown-prince, not just my brother." Joffrey said. Orys could imagine the nasty smirk on his face just by the voice.

"Joffrey, Orys is your brother." the queen reprimanded her eldest.

"Of course, mother. I only wanted to say that my brother was there for four year. The northerners surely know him well enough." Joffrey defended himself. Everyone could see it as the lie it was, but none wanted to argue at this point.

The carriage stopped and soon the entire royal party followed until Joffrey was up on his horse. Joffrey and Orys were like day and night. Orys was tall, muscled from his regular sword training with dark hair and blue eyes. He was said to be the near replica of the young Robert Baratheon, though the King said that he would be more handsome than him with a laugh. Joffrey had far less of the King inside him. He looked like a Lannister with his blond hair and pale green eyes.

Sandor Cleanage, the Hound, Joffrey's sworn-shield followed him. The Hound was an immense man, easily above six feet. One side of his face was horribly burned, making him twice as fearsome as he should look. Despite of being rumored to be just as good at battle as he was fearsome he wasn't a knight.

"Orys?" Now there was Myrcella, Orys little sister. She was only two-and-ten nameday old, yet showed the signs of the beauty she Orys once be. Orys already knew that there would be dozens proposal to their father for her hands, even if she wasn't a princess.

"Yes, Myrcella?" He asked gently. He knew that Joffrey was often cruel to Myrcella and Tommen, the youngest of them, but his mother's presence should have curbed most of it. Never the less he also knew that

"Was it here where you fought the wildings?"

"No dear sister. It was named the Second Battle of Long Lake for a reason." Orys smiled down at her gently, "It is still a hundred or so miles north to Winterfell itself."

"Could you tell me of it?"

"Mother said you two shouldn't hear that tale, little sister." Orys replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Please? I want to hear it! Mother," she turned towards Cersei pleading with her, "I want to hear about Orys's victory!" The queen looked at her daughter eager eyes then her youngest son's. She sighed before nodded her head.

"I suppose you are old enough for it. You heard your father's tale of the Battle of the Trident already, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Orys was surprised that her mother agreed to it. Usually she was so protective of them. Too protective some would say, but never to her face. No men dared to anger Queen Cersei save for her father, Tywin Lannister, Lord of the Westernland and her husband, King Robert.

So, with heavy hearth Orys started recounting the tale of his first battle.

Eight moons before before

"My prince, my lord!" Robb Stark and Orys stopped their spar as both turned to the approaching Maester Luwin. The training yard was empty save for them, Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy. Usually Rodrik Cassel would be there to oversee their training, but he accompanied Lord Stark, who was away meeting with the Lord of White Harbor. The old man stopped in front of them, giving a quick bow to both before speaking up, " A letter sent from the Wall."

He handed it to Robb, who carefully read over it. Orys's curiosity only grew as the older boy's eyes widened in disbelief. The two other Jon and Theon ran to their side with the same feeling written on their faces.

"What does it say, Robb?" Orys asked.

"A Wilding army passed the Wall."

"So? Send out some riders to deal with them." Theon said with a shrug.

"It isn't as simple as that!" Robb replied, "They are at least twenty thousands strong, maybe more."

"That's impossible!" Jon said, "We would have known if there was a King-beyong-the-Wall."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Orys said, "The Night Watch is a shadow of its former self, even with the Grey Warden aiding them now. More important is how we should deal with it."

"You, my prince. Lord Stark..."

"My father isn't here, Measter Luwin." Robb said. Lord Stark was away meeting Lord Manderly over the matters of the newly built fleet of the North, "We Orys need to call the banners."

"And the legions." Orys added. The legions were the start of the Royal Army that King Robert envisioned, made reality by his son. "The two legion should be enough against twenty thousands wildings."

"I hope you two don't think of leaving us behind." Jon said to them as Theon nodded from the side. Orys looked at his three friend in front of him. All of them were older than him, but he could see the fear in their eyes, the same he felt.

"Maester Luwin, please write to the Night Watch. I want to know everything about the wildings leader and how they usually fight."

"At once, my prince." The older man immediately left to do so. Robb sighed as soon as he was out of earshot.

"I can't believe we Orys going out to fight with an army of wildings."

"Do you feel fear, young Stark?" Came a female voice behind them. Turning towards her they realized it was only Catherina. Robb was silent for a moment before nodding his head slightly. The swordswoman looked at each of them before speaking up again.

"It's good." Causing the four young men to look at her taken back. They expected some kind of reassurance or scolding for fearing the upcoming battle. The Grandmaster just sent a slight smile at them, "Only a fool wouldn't feel fear at facing an army. In a duel you can meassure your opponent. In a battle? Everything could happen. Some Orys hide their fear, some try to conquer them and a few master it."

"Mastering your fear?" Jon asked puzzled at the thought of that. The three other leaned forward as well.

"Of course. Fear is nothing more than a natural response of your mind when your body is in danger." Catherina shrugged, "You need complete mastery of yourself if you want that. Knowing what you can and can't do. It is one of the hardest thing you can do." She turned to Orys, "I Orys inform my Battle-Brothers and -Sister of this development." With a small bow she also left the trading yard.

Orys looked around the command tent. There were Lord Umbert and Lord Karstark with some lesser lords and knights along with Marshall Alistair Mormont of the First Legion and Marshall Edric Rivers of the Second. Of course Robb, Theon, Jon and Catherina stood beside him.

"We have two legion, twenty thousand man with two thousand riders of House Umber and Karstark." Orys started the meeting, "We face at least just as many wildings."

"We would have more men if you didn't send our men on foot to the west, boy." Greatjon Umber was a bear of a man, both in size and manner. He looked at the young lord with his dark eyes, "I say this: we shouldn't follow a boy who is not even half my age."

"If you want you can leave Lord Umber." Orys replied, as he quieted down both Robb and Marshall Dan, both looking eager to tear the Lord Umber a new one, "We can win without you. If you feel no need for you to be here then leave." He said gesturing towards the entrance, "But if you stay I expect you to follow my orders."

Orys was tall and powerful lad for his four-and-ten namedays, nut compared to the Lord Umber he seemed as much the young boy as he was. Greatjon looked at him for a minute before throwing his head back with laughter.

"Haha! The young stag sure has his fury!" He clasped his large hand down on Orys's shoulder nearly causing him to be headbutt the table in front of him, "Alright, boy! Tell me your battle plan!"

"Thank you Lord Umber." Orys said as he pointed at the Long Lake, "The troops are at Last Hearth because the enemy could change its course and attack it. I won't allow more people to die because of them."

"What's your battle plan, my prince?" Rickard Karstark asked.

"From what the Lord Commander could tell me, these wildings don't have much tactics or strategy. Tough it has been many years that anyone fought an army of them." Orys replied, "The two legions Orys defend this hill. " He pointed at a point on the map, "The wildings Orys most likely just charge at them. When the time right our cavalry Orys attack their flank along with the cavalry of the legion."

"Won't they expect something like that?" Marshall Edrick asked. Both he and Derick Dan was dressed in the regular armor of the soldiers of the legions. A chain-mail with an almain rivet over it with a simple helmet. His commanding rank was showed by the golden shoulder plate.

"Foot soldiers at worst." Orys replied, "From what I heard they don't have horses over the Wall. I don't know if they could even survive there. They don't know what is a cavalry charge let alone to be used against them."

The wildings horde appeared at the edge of the forest looking at the plain before them. It was a mile or so before the ground started to rise into a small hill. On there stood twenty thousands men and women in neat order.

It may discouraged the levies of the southern lords, but for them it mattered little, least to their leader. He was a large men wearing furs and bones, with a steel sword in his hands. He lead them on without hesitation and they followed him.

The legion watched the approaching army motionless. Jon stood next to Marshall Alistair with the first regiment of the first legion in the armor of the legion, but declined the use of spear that all soldier used.

"Twenty thousands? I think they might be twice as many as that!" Jon said to the man next to him. Alistair was tall man with brownish red hair similar to Robb's and goatee.

"No, not that many, but they are more than thirty thousands." Alistair replied. The walking army stopped at about three and half hundred yards away. There was silence for a moment before they started shouting and stomping. The soldiers didn't moved. The leader held up his fist. The horde fell silent within a minute. Them he thrust the fist forward and the army of wildings started charging at them.

"Shield wall!" Alistair shouted, which was picked up the different captains of the regiments. The soldier at the front put their shield up and thrust their spears forward the ones behind them preparing for the impact also. "Archer! Fire!"

Each legion had nine hundred archers, six longbows and three crosbowman. Nearly two thousand arrow flew into the charging enemy behind the heavy infantry of the regiments. Hundreds fell instantly and three other wave came before the wildings were able to reach the front lines.

The clash was nothing the front regiments couldn't handle. The wildings tried to push forward but found unable to break through the regiments line. They were ferocious warriors, but both in discipline and equipment fall short compared to the regiments.

That was when with a loud yell more than two thousands rider of the legions appeared at the left flank of the enemy with the northern cavalry appearing out the forest about five hundred yard or so to their right.

The wildings were overcame by fear they tried to run far from the cavalry charge, clashing with their own comrades.

For Orys it was a blur he slashed and thrust his sword at the wildings. The first, the second... after a while he knew not how many he had slain. That was until one of the wildings' spear connected with his chest unsaddling him.

There was a faint pain at his right side but nothing more as he laid on the ground. The wilding, after the first hit, was encouraged by this. He was just a boy who laid there as if waiting someone to thrust him through with a spear. Maybe he thought he dealt a fatal blow already to Orys, maybe he hurried before the young prince got up. He jumped next to the boy with his stone spear high in the air. What he didn't except from Orys to thrust his sword at him. The wilding essentially run into his blade.

Standing Orys looked over the battlefield. The legions started their attack as soon as the cavalry charge was seen. He could see Theon and Jon fighting two of the better equipped wildings, most likely lesser leaders. Zoltan was near them, six body around him and fighting two other at the same time. Robb was still on his horse fighting beside Lord Umber and Karstark.

It was when Orys noticed one of the wildings looking at him, Rattleshirt. The two leader met each other at halfway their swords meeting with a clear clang. The Lord of Bones was taller than him, but Orys was by no mean weak. The man was wild, slashing at Orys's direction, his stance and grip on his sword was that of an amateur. Well, there wasn't many fencing coach over the Wall to teach every single chieftain. But that 'amateur' survived many fights to command such host, while Orys had his first duel to death that moment.

Orys faked a strike at Rattleshirt right side but with a half circle aimed at his left. The wildings battle instincts were honed by countless fights. He stepped back and slid Orys's blade away with his own, then tried to elbow the younger man in the face. Orys turned around to the left using his momentum from his strike.

Both toke a few steps back, eyeing the other warily. Orys knew that the man would be the toughest son of a bitch in the entire horde just not how much. The Lord of Bones obviously thought that a Kneeler couldn't put up a hard fight let alone one so young.

They charged at each other their blade meeting at every turn. That was when the Lord of Bones sliped on the wet ground. Orys quickly thrust his sword at his opponent. A moment later he felt pain errupt from his side. Looking at it he saw Rattleshirt's blade halfway into his mail. Turning his gaze was captured by the unseeing pale gray of his enemy. It was the first time he saw the face of those he killed so close he could see their eyes.

His strike easily cut through the fur and bones Rattleshirt wore.