A/N: And so ends book 3, thanks for sticking with me everyone, next part should be beginning in the next few weeks, all going well.

The marauder kicked at the dirt, screaming into the filthy rag stuffed down his throat as the rope was looped tight around his neck.

"Stop struggling you bastard," one of the men holding him grunted, struggling to pin his arms.

Tristan glanced up from where he sat on a rock not far away. The sky was darkening, and the ravens beginning to circle. "Let's finish quickly," he said standing up and lazily pointing to the sky. "The crows want their supper."

The marauder was hoisted up by three men thrashing and kicking, eyes bulging, his face turning a deeper and deeper red. The men stood back and watched their work as the thrashes became jerks, became twitches and fell still. Just like the rest. Perhaps there was something to the southern gods after all, seven of the Mountain's marauders hung from the tree, soiled rags stuffed in their mouths, heads hung. One of them had thrashed so hard he had smashed his head against the branch on the way up, blood trickled down his cheek. No matter. Soon the flesh would be pecked away and only rotten cloth and rattling bones would remain as a warning to anyone else coming north. They'd stripped all the weapons, armour and valuables from the men already.

"Very good men," Tristan said, getting to his feet. "Let's return to the glen, I don't want to sleep under corpses."

Elmar brought his horse over and he mounted the steed, patting its neck softly. In no hurry, he led the small detachment back to the camp they'd used since the previous night.

Everyone else had already returned. Sentries nodded to him as they entered the small cluster of rolled hay and bundled heather that counted for beds. Domeric already sat by the fire in the middle with a number of other knights and riders, warming his hands near the flames. He nodded to Tristan as he approached. "Any luck?"

"Seven," Tristan said, dismounting and leaving the horse to Elmar. "You?"

Domeric held up a hand, one finger raised. "Are you sure you don't want to go further south?"

Tristan nodded. "By now what's left of the marauders will have crossed back into the Crownlands. We didn't come here to invade, only to get them out of our kingdom."

"Smart, given there's only two hundred of us."

"Less now," Tristan reminded him. They'd set out from Maidenpool with two hundred and three riders on four hundred horses. Most were men he'd brought with him to reinforce the town, but others were men of the Maidenpool garrison who desired revenge. For the last week, they'd chased the Mountain's scattered army south. They'd lost five men to marauders who turned to fight. Others had been recalled. Apart from a trio of Maidenpool's garrison, the Brothers Fisch, as they were called, all of Lord Mooton's men had returned home after the fourth day. The day before the men he'd purloined from Harrenhal had turned from the road to rejoin their old garrison. The Knight of Stallhand had returned with his squire to his holdfast yesterday. By his reckoning, nearly six hundred marauders who had escaped the town had been killed. Tristan knew that more would never return to the banners of the Lannisters. Some were probably trying to make their way west, home to the Reach and the Westerlands and away from the war, while the rest were hurrying for King's Landing.

"If that is the case, Prince Tristan," one of the knights around the fire turned to him. It was one of the three who had been hunting brigands when he had picked them up. The other two looked at the man, nodding. "Then we also request leave to depart. With the Mountain dead and his men gone, we should return to our own hunt."

"The brigands?" The knight nodded. "You have it," Tristan replied, "go when you're ready, and good luck on your hunt."

The knight bowed. "Thank you, my prince, we'll prepare at once."

"You won't stay with us tonight?" Domeric asked.

One of the other knights answered this time. "No, we need to move as fast as we can."

"They must be dangerous brigands?"

"More than one former soldier among them, and they know how to hide."

Tristan frowned. This was clearly a problem. "Good luck, ser knight."

"And you also, Prince Tristan." The three knights departed.

"I didn't think brigands would cause such trouble, that they would need to leave so soon."

Domeric pressed his lips together. "Aye. It seems not only the Lannisters are taking advantage of the absence of the army and the chaos of the war."

"When it's over, we'll put it to right," Tristan said.

"Can the people wait that long?" Domeric asked. "They are still suffering, and at the rate the war is going, we may be rebuilding homes with no one left to live in them."

"What can we do about that?" Tristan asked. "We can't just make people."

Domeric raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Do we need to have a talk, Tristan?"

"You know what I mean," Tristan replied, not able to stop the smile curve his own lips.

"What do you mean?" They both turned as Elmar joined them at the fire.

"I mean I just can't magic people out of thin air, Domeric here took it as my saying I didn't know where babies come from."

"Where do babies come from?"

They both looked down at him, suddenly silent. Until Elmar grinned back at them. "Got you," he said.

Domeric laughed as Tristan lightly cuffed the back of Elmar's head. "Careful, you're getting better but best avoid taunting me.

"A year ago I would have been," Elmar said, sitting down in front of the fire. "But you've changed."

Tristan said nothing.

"He's right Tris," Domeric said sincerely. "You are different."

"For the better?"

"Definitely.

He reached out and took Dom's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Thank you."

"Tris, you and I may share different blood, but you're my brother in every other way, and that's the truth."

"You're mine too Dom. Whenever you need me, I'll be there."

"Well it won't be us who need each other," Domeric said, joining Elmar on the ground near the fire.

"No?" Tristan asked.

Domeric shook his head. "Your brother has Winterfell, my father has the Dreadfort, but Daryn and Cley are lords in their own right now."

"Think they can't handle it?"

"Daryn, sure, Cley," Domeric wiggled his hand in the air uncertainly, making Tristan laugh again. "Well they're both with the King now, perhaps they've grown while they've been gone, war does that to people."

"We're going to the King?" Elmar asked.

Domeric glanced up at Tristan. "Are we?"

Tristan shook his head. "Not unless we're called. I have absolute faith that Robb can manage the war in the Reach by himself. But who knows what other forces the Lannisters will send against the Riverlands now that the Mountain is dead. I don't doubt that they'll want revenge and even with Robb and Stannis to deal with, they may still send soldiers our way."

"So we remain?"

"Yes," Tristan confirmed. "We'll return to Maidenpool and wait there, to keep watch on the east."

"And if Robb wins the war?"

Tristan shrugged. "We go home, I suppose," he said.

He frowned, that was an odd feeling. Home, for good this time. How different would it be to walk through the gate of Winterfell, what with everything he knew now? "We should get some sleep," he said, standing up and brushing off his clothes. "Sleep well both of you."

That night Tristan closed his eyes but he didn't sleep, instead, he cast his mind to the west.

The wolf got to its feet, stretching its front legs. Inside Tristan's mind, the wolf raged, angry that its body had been taken over, forcing it to move when it wanted to sleep. But Tristan knew how to handle the mind of a wolf and soothed the beast as he led it out towards the camp of the Green Men.

He waited by the edge of the camp, just out of range of the firelight, knowing that the Green Men would react with weapons if he just strolled in. Instead, he sat back and howled to the sky.

It had the desired effect, immediately a clutch of guards in green and white emerged from the camp clutching spears. The wolf inside him cowered away, but Tristan stood his ground. As the guards jabbed their spears at him he ducked back, when one threw his spear he sprung aside, snatching the weapon up in his jaws he split the shaft. Spitting out the remains he darted back and howled again, more and more Green Men came from the camp, most clutching weapons, many not. When would they come?

There, Cregan shouldered his way to the front of the gathering crowd. "What's happening?" He demanded. Tristan stared at him intently, following him with his movements. Cregan held his gaze, staring hard. "Tristan?" He breathed. Tristan nodded. "Is that you?" He nodded twice.

Cregan cracked a half-smile. "You can all go back, nothing to see here."

Cregan strode forward confidently and rubbed at his head. "To the grove?"

Tristan turned and walked at Cregan's side.

In the grove Tristan stepped up to the tree and raised his paws, pressing them against it.

He waited in the whiteness for Cregan, who joined him moments later. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so quickly, let alone for you to come in person."

Tristan shrugged. "You didn't have to come."

"No I didn't," Cregan laughed, sitting down. "But it's nice of you to check-in."

"I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. What did you want to talk about?"

"A few things," Tristan joined Cregan on the ground. "How is Malissa?"

"Doing well. She misses you though."

He smiled. "Give her my love, won't you."

"Of course," he looked at Tristan expectantly. "What else?"

"I killed him."

"Who?"

"The Mountain, the man terrorising the people of the Riverlands. I killed him and most of his men."

"I see."

They sat in silence. There was no ambiance in this place, just silence. "Was I right to do so?"

"You think they didn't deserve it?"

"No, they deserved it, for everything they did, they definitely deserved it."

Cregan nodded. "I agree. I saw what they did, what everyone did, do not think the Starks are innocent."

"I don't," Tristan said. "I know I'm guilty. But the Mountain has a lifetime of evil behind him."

"Perhaps. But whether it was a lifetime or a day of evil, death lasts only a moment."

"What do you mean?" Tristan asked, confused. "Death is forever."

"But no matter how much someone deserves death, you can only give it to them once."

"What are you saying?"

Cregan sighed. "How long ago did you kill the Mountain?"

"A week."

"Then you have given a week of life to all those he would have killed had you not killed him. But for all his crimes, the Mountain's death took a second."

Tristan felt the echo of a thought, a thought he would have held before he came to the Isle of Faces. He would have thought that he should have made the Mountain's death last longer, that he should have drawn it out for as long as it took to pay back the pain he had caused. But now. "Life is worth more than death."

"It is," Cregan confirmed, "it's why we fight to preserve it."

"That's why the Mountain had to die." But even that thought, something felt wrong about it.

"You're conflicted."

Life is worth more than death, so why was he killing the Mountain, why did he main the Kingslayer, why did he put the Reach to fire and sword? "It wasn't about the Mountain," he said softly, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "It didn't matter who came up the Kingsroad to burn our people, I would have killed them."

Cregan didn't say anything, he just waited patiently.

"It's not that the Mountain deserved to die. He did, but that's not important. It's that the people he was hurting deserved to live." That was it, that was what he was doing. "I could give them that. At the very least I could stand between them and the people who would do them harm."

"Like a shield," Cregan offered.

He nodded. "Like a shield."

The two of them sat back and just waited in the warm whiteness. Somehow a weight already seemed to have lifted from his shoulders. "That was it," he told Cregan, "that's what I wanted to speak about."

"I see," Cregan replied, unmoving. "I can wait for longer if you wish," he said.

"No. I should get back. My mind needs to rest as well as the rest of me."

Cregan smiled and got to his feet, pulling Tristan up as well. "Next time you want to speak, come in person."

"So much trouble," he joked.

"Is Malissa not worth it?"

He laughed. "Alright, next time, I'll visit in person."

"She'll like that." Cregan gripped Tristan's shoulder. "You'll always be welcome here."

With a firm squeeze, Cregan sent Tristan back out of the tree, out through the body of the wolf and returned him to his body, where he fell into a deep, contented sleep.