5th Month of 300 A.C.

Jon Snow

They came at him when he was least expecting it, their hands grasping swords, and daggers and it seemed whatever they could find. Something was on their lips, he could not quite make out, but it seemed they were insistent. They kept coming, and coming and Jon eventually had to draw Longclaw to fight them off, he swung his sword as many times as he could but they would dart back and more would come to take their place. He was tired, it had been a long day and night. The fires were burning and still they came, swinging their weapons of choice hacking along at his defences.

The thing was it was not just him they were attacking it was his friends as well, it was Grenn, it was Pyp they even dragged Sam and Gilly out of their rooms and began swatting at them. This made Jon and many others around them angry and so the fighting broke out. Slashing and cutting, Jon brought down two of the men and then made his way onto a third, his body was aching from the day's activities, but he was going strong now, they had brought about the first move and he would finish them for that. He suspected he knew what the cause of their deceit was what their betrayal had come from, the free folk were lining up to fight as well. It was chaos and commotion there was no other word to describe it.

His blade was wet with blood and snow, the ground was covered in it. The brothers of the wall were angry and the wall itself seemed to be angry as well. This subterfuge had pushed it to its limits and it wept tears of ice and cracks began to appear. Destruction was the only purpose, and it seemed that this, this was the final nail. His mind was scattered but his body took over, instinct took over. He swung his sword and did all he could to keep their blades from hitting him, sometimes he succeeded other times he did not. There were cuts and scars there, to remind him of that, and still more came to fight him.

Ghost prowling through the ground, snarling and biting, growling and taking those men that Jon could not find or fight at that moment in time. He was stuck between many different places, seeing different things, but on he fought. It was in their nature, determined to end the cycle of freezing on this wall, the excuse that he had been looking for had been given to him now, he knew that perhaps that might mean death, his brother was alive, and Rickon was the true king, that might mean his own death, but he had to try. He would not sit on the wall whilst his brother fought a war, not again. Never again would he allow his damned vows to get in the way of family, family was more important than some bloody vow said in front of a heart tree. The gods, if they existed were cruel and contemptuous of man.

His body ached and yet men continued to come and fight him. It seemed they were intent on killing him, though from the way their bodies moved Jon managed to gauge that this had not been their original intention. Something had changed, between this planned being conceived and it being put into action. Something had changed and now they were all going to feel the effects of it. His body was aching, his mind was tired, Ghost was the only thing keeping him going, and that was where he was getting his strength from. He would not die, he could not die, and Rickon needed him. He needed to get home, he needed to ensure that his brother was safe and secure.

His sword continued to work on its own, slashing through the men who came toward him. Some died some survived, others merely managed to die, and he was not truly paying attention. Not anymore, all he could think of was Winterfell and Rickon, and Robb and father and Arya, the people he had let down by remaining on this damned wall. Anger coursed through his veins, he was determined not to let such a thing to happen once more. He would destroy those who had wronged their family and he would make it so that they knew never to cross the Starks ever again.

Bodies convulsed around him and the ground shook, his mind did not know the clear end from the dark end. He wanted to rest, so badly did he want to rest, and yet his body would not allow him to. He swung his sword and blood began to cover Longclaw, blood and snow, and ice. The walkers were coming once more, he could feel it in the air. He could sense it, it angered him and it frightened him. There was something deeply wrong about all of this, there was nothing right about it. Somewhere a figure groaned and Jon looked down to see more bodies piling at his feet, he had become death. Something was changing inside of him, and he did not know whether he liked it or not. Whatever it was, it seemed that it was guiding him, preventing him from giving into the feeling of sleep that he so desperately wanted.

The next thing he knew he was mounting a horse and riding off, the sounds and scenes of battle still prevalent in his ears. Others were riding with him, and he knew that he needed to say something. They could not just leave things as they were, and yet there was a part of him that did not care. He was wounded and bleeding and the watch had abandoned him. He would not going back to that wall, he was not going to commit to a cause that was clearly dying, and there was something more important waiting for him.

Last Hearth

King Rickon I Stark

Last Hearth was an interesting castle. It was big and broad, like the Umbers that inhabited it. There was a certain grandeur to it, a sort of masculine grandeur to it that made Rickon appreciate it all the more. It was a true northern castle, and of course it would be considering it was the furthest northern castle that was part of his kingdom. That was something he intended to change, with the darkness that was to come, he would not allow the watch to inhabit and waste so much land. Land that would be necessary with death coming. And then there was the fact that somehow the Umbers had been convinced of who he was, though he knew they still harboured some doubt. Whatever it was that had convinced them, he was not willing to chance it.

Hoarfrost Umber the new heir of Last Hearth spoke his voice deep. "There have been many reports coming in Your Grace. It seems that Roose Bolton is more than content to sit in Winterfell whilst the winter does for Stannis Baratheon."

"Where is Baratheon now?" Rickon asks.

"He is currently sat in Deepwood Motte, having dealt the crushing blow to the Greyjoy forces there. Asha Greyjoy is his prisoner, and as such he has a chance to negotiate with the Ironborn at Torrhen's Square." Umber replies slowly, and Rickon knows he is doing that as a way to try and assess just how much understanding Rickon has.

Pushing down on the slight irritation he feels Rickon says. "So he hopes to use Dagmar Cleftjaw's familial connection with the Greyjoy girl to get him to surrender the square does he? In an attempt to show he is not as ruthless as everyone believes him to be. How successful will he be?"

"Not very Your Grace. Stannis Baratheon might have won the gratitude of the Glovers and their bannermen, but his fire priestess is someone who has this power over him. It has been commented on by the spies we have. They note that there is something strange about the woman. She has a hold over Baratheon and that has brought fears that she might try and encourage him to burn the godswood of the north. And that fear itself will not allow the northmen to support him." Umber replies.

Rickon considers this a moment and then says. "Baratheon is not a man to bend easily is he? He is not a man to give away much of what he is thinking."

"Indeed he is not Your Grace. From what our sources say, the man tends to keep himself to himself. Barely speaking with his men willing to delegate authority on minimal matters. When battle comes he might either go toward the square or Winterfell." Umber replies.

Rickon looks down at the map of the north before him, he looks at Winterfell and the Square, and decides there and then what his move shall be. "Your uncle Mors is with Stannis's host is he not?"

"He is Your Grace." Hoarfrost says.

"Send word to him that he should encourage Stannis to go to Winterfell. There is no point in him going to the square, if he wants to truly earn the support of the northmen taking the castle back from the Boltons will do him lots of favour." Rickon says. "Of course Stannis will never take Winterfell, the castle is strong enough to withstand an assault from more men then Stannis could ever hope of getting. Unless one knew the way to enter it."

He looks at Hoarfrost and smirks when he sees the surprised look on the man's face. "A smart plan Your Grace, but what evidence is there that Baratheon will go for Winterfell and not the square. The square is the smarter option after all."

Rickon remains silent a moment and then drawing on knowledge that the old gods gave him during his time in that bloody cave says. "Stannis Baratheon might know that the square is the smarter option, and yet he is desperate to win the same approval his brother Robert did. Robert would have gone for Winterfell, not for the square. It is the bolder option and spurred on by his red whore, Baratheon will go for the bolder option. For the blood of kings runs strong there."

Hoarfrost shivers slightly then. "And what of our own plans Your Grace, where will be when Stannis Baratheon attacks Winterfell?"

Rickon considers for a moment and then says. "We shall remain at Last Hearth. There is no need to exhaust our resources just yet. Baratheon and Bolton will fight and one will retreat and the other will be in Winterfell, weakened and their men broken of heart. That is when we make our move. We shall be the third army when Baratheon comes calling back."

"Is that wise Your Grace?" Hoarfrost asks doubt showing in his voice. "After all there is no guarantee that Baratheon will fail at Winterfell or that there will even be a second battle. For all we know Bolton could kill Baratheon and the resistance could crumble there and then. As of now, the resistance does not completely know of your presence here Your Grace, some are holding out hope on Baratheon, and his mind Seaworth finding you. Should he falter all of us will."

Rickon feels anger well up inside of him then, Shaggy begins to growl. "We shall not falter. That blithering southern fool will not be the deciding factor in this battle. I will be, and as I am not going to be committing my troops right now there will be no outright winner. The resistance movement shall not crumble because Baratheon is dead, even now Manderly is doing his part to ensure word gets around. We must have patience."

He can tell Hoarfrost is getting ready to argue, he can sense it in the way he holds himself, and Rickon is himself readying for a response. But before either of them can form the words they want to express there is a knock on the door and the maester of Last Hearth, a timid old man enters saying. "Forgive me my king, my lord, but there are men outside the walls demanding to be let in."

"Where from and who are they?" Rickon asks immediately.

"They claim to be from Castle Black, and their leader claims to be one Jon Snow." The maester replies.