Jon rode at the front of their group, Lord Wull next to him. They had left a day later than expected, but with the added benefit of a few hundred extra men bolstering their strength. Their numbers were closer now to fifteen hundred men (and quite a few fearsome mountain women). The trip through the Wolfswood was quick, despite the poor weather conditions. The mountain clans were hardened to these conditions, moving through them with little bother or complaint.
As they reached Long Lake, Jon could see the smoke from numerous fires where his men had set up a makeshift camp. Jon ordered several of his men to get the new additions settled into the camp, while Jon and Lord Wull made their way to the command tent, where his two fellow commanders were secluded. Helman Tallhart and Robin Flint sat on tree stumps that had been repurposed into chairs, a fire crackling between them.
"Welcome back," Lord Flint greeted. "I trust your journey was successful."
"Very," Jon responded, taking a knee beside the fire to warm his hands. "Lord Wull has added another fifteen hundred to our number."
"That's good because we're very well like to need them," Lord Flint stated, his face grim.
"Has something happened?"
"Our archers intercepted a raven from the Dreadfort. Your intuition about the situation was spot on. Roose Bolton has sold himself to the Lannisters, in exchange for power in the north."
Jon simmered inside at the confirmation of the betrayal. "Do we know of their plans?"
"It seems they mean to attempt to weaken the resolve of King Robb's army by taking the castles of his lords, then holding their families as prisoners," Hellman answered. "They mean to march on the Umbers first, then move to the other nearby castles…Karhold and Hornwood."
"If Roose takes control of Last Hearth and Karhold, he'll effectively control half of the northern territories, with the exception of White Harbor," Flint added. "The Lannisters, or even Baelish in the Vale, could land thousands of soldiers on our shores unimpeded. Not to mention the more immediate threat to Winterfell, with the King still in the south."
"Has there been any movement from the Bolton forces yet?" Jon asked.
"Not yet, though our scouts report it to be clearly evident they're preparing for a march," Tallhart noted.
"The other castles won't be able to withstand a siege by the Boltons for long," Jon stated. "Too many of the men are south with Robb. The Boltons will only become harder to beat back if they secure more castles to defend. Do we know the whereabouts of Ramsey?"
"Still at the Dreadfort according to our latest report," Hellman responded.
"Shall we march on the castle?" Lord Flint asked. "Our numbers may be closer to even now, but I don't know that we'd survive an attempted siege of the castle. We're not outfitted for it."
"No, you're right," Jon responded. "We'd be decimated in a straight attack on the castle. But what if we turn the tables?"
"How so?" Hellman questioned.
"We ride hard and march fast to Last Hearth and surprise the Boltons with a rigorous defense of the castle. They're expecting the Umber defenses to be made up of household guards and old men, not a thousand men on the walls, ready to repel their attack."
"It's good ground to mount a defense," Lord Wull made his presence known. "The castle sits high in the hills. We should leave half the men inside to defend the walls, while the other half lay in waiting behind the castle to mount a surprise charge. My men would be up to the task. We will skewer the Boltons on our spears."
"The plan is sound," Jon agreed. "We'll need to move quickly to make sure we are prepared before the Boltons arrive. Lord Flint, ride with an advance party to Last Hearth to warn them what's coming. The Greatjon and Smalljon are both with Robb, so it's likely that the Greatjon's uncles are managing the castle. Take control of the rookery, Robin. No ravens and no riders are to leave the castle, by my order. Be delicate about it. Mors and Hother Umber are difficult, and will be quick to take offense, but I won't risk word carrying of our arrival."
"We'll secure the castle," Lord Flint assured, rising from his seat. "If you should be looking for your two wildling friends, they're shackled in a tent next to us. That woman put a dagger through one of the men's cock when he made an attempt to lay with her. Thought it was best for everyone to keep them segregated."
Jon shook his head in frustration as he watched the man leave. Gathering himself, he turned back to the other two men. "Let's get the camp packed. We need to travel fast, so keep baggage to a minimum, weapons and provisions only. We can send riders back later for anything essential." The two men left, leaving Jon alone. He rested for only a moment, listening to the sudden bustle of activity outside as the men began to organize. Eventually, he made his way to where the two wildings were secured. As he entered the tent, their eyes found his, surprised at his sudden presence.
"We are leaving. We're traveling north to Last Hearth."
"To continue on to the Wall?" Tormund asked.
"Not yet, unfortunately. The Boltons have betrayed my family and are marching on our bannermen. We are going to mount a defense of Last Hearth to stop the Boltons from taking it."
"You're wasting time, Stark," Tormund scoffed. "You should be looking to the north, not squabbling with other kneelers."
"Those kneelers would not have given you a second thought before removing your head from your body," Jon countered. "Any hope your people have is gone if Roose Bolton takes control of the north. Your words about white walkers and night kings would be nothing but wind to his ears, and he'd see the bodies of your kin flayed bare and mounted to spikes. If you want to survive, then Roose Bolton must fall. So this is no fucking squabble, Tormund Giantsbane."
The red-bearded wilding simply grunted, sufficiently muzzled for the moment. Taking advantage of the silence, Jon moved forward and cut the bindings on their wrists. As he stepped back from Ygritte, he looked at her intently. "Please don't stab anymore of my men."
"No promises. They touch my arse, I take their balls."
Jon just sighed, his head beginning to ache. "Fair enough." He sheathed his knife and made to exit the tent, but was stopped by the wilding woman."
"Can you beat the Boltons?"
Jon, not completely sure why he was wasting time on questions, answered, "our numbers are similar, though some of our strength is made up of mountain clansman. We're not likely outfitted as heavily as the Boltons, but our plan is to make them attack us from a position of strength."
"Then you could use two more fighters," Ygritte stated. She looked over at Tormund briefly, but the wildling man simply grunted with indifference. "Arm us and we'll help you kill the kneelers. I'm good with a bow, better than most of your soldiers, I'd bet."
"You want me to give you both weapons?" Jon questioned. "You've already emasculated one of my men, how am I to trust you would not plot your escape and kill us when our backs were turned?"
"You just said it yourself, Stark. Our fates depend on the Boltons dying. Might as well see the job done right."
"I cannot believe I'm saying this, but I'll think on it," Jon sighed. "Come, we need to move. See if you can make yourselves useful with the preparations."
xxxxxxxxx
They'd broken camp remarkably quickly, and were fortunate enough to make it to Last Hearth just as the last of the daylight faded away to the darkness. Jon rode out front, Ghost beside him. His initial thought was that Lord Wull was correct in his assessment. The castle was perfectly situated to mount a defense. The only potential point of weakness would be an attack from behind, but such an attack would require climbing miles of jagged, rocky hills, which was anything but logistically practical.
The walls of the castle were already well-manned, and Jon expected that Roblin Flint had done enough to encourage the Umbers. As he passed through the gates, a small contingent was waiting for him. The eccentric brothers, Mors and Hother Umber stood in front of the pack. Other than there long white beards, they were completely opposites in appearance. Mors was a typical northman, built large and powerful, even in his advanced age. His appearance was made all the more striking by the fact that he was missing an eye, the hole covered by a white eye patch. Hother, on the other hand, looked every bit his age, gaunt to the point of looking sickly.
Jon dismounted and approached the two men, each of whom dropped to a knee in front of him.
"Welcome to Last Hearth, my prince," Mors Umbers greeted him.
"Please rise," Jon requested, still uncomfortable with the reminders of his new royal status. "Events are in motion, and there is no time to stand on ceremony."
Both of the Umber brothers rose up. "Lord Flint has told us that those Bolton cunts mean to come and take our home. I'll be damned if I let a single Bolton step foot in this castle, unless it is so I can remove his head and mount it on the walls."
"We don't mean to let that happen," Jon promised. "For now, we still have the element of surprise, and we can use it to our advantage to lure them in. How many defenders do you have left?"
"We can muster at least three hundred," Hother answered this time. "Some of them are boys, but they've had bows in their hands since they took their first steps."
"We'll put them to use, even if it is to just give the Boltons a false impression of our strength," Jon stated. "I don't mean to take advantage of your hospitality, but we'll need to fit as many men within your walls as we can. It is imperative that the Boltons not know we are here. Lord Wull will take his men into the hills to scout the best path to mount an attack on the Bolton attackers."
"It will be tight, but we'll make it work," Mors answered. "I'll fit twenty men in my own bed if I must."
"Your commitment is to be lauded, my lord," Jon grinned.
Mors approached and placed a meaty hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come now, we'll see you well fed. And while we feast, you can tell me of my nephew's exploits down south with King Robb."
xxxxxxxxxx
After a long evening of being interrogated by the Umbers, Jon stumbled into the room that he had been provided. He had declined the offer of better quarters, instead taking a small guest room that was sparsely furnished, though he sighed with relief when he saw that he had been left a basin of warm water. Jon nearly tore the clothing from his body until his torso was left bare, leaning over and splashing the water over his face and into his hair. The stress of the past days slowly left his shoulders as he scrubbed himself free of the accumulated dirt and grime. It wasn't a bath, but it would do for the time being.
Clad in only his breeches, he say on the small bed, thinking of the letter that he would draft to Ser Rodrik on the morrow to put him on notice to secure Winterfell's defenses should things go poorly. He thought briefly of writing to Robb, but in truth he knew not where his brother was, and it would not do to have news of strife in the north getting out to fuel Lannister propaganda. Unable to contain a yawn, he fell back into the bedding. He stared at the ceiling, feeling consciousness slowly leaving him…until a knock at his door brought him back. Concerned that the Boltons had already made the march north, he shot up, practically leaping to the door. However, when he pulled it open, the sight that met him momentarily had him at a loss.
"You're a bit skinny for a Prince," Ygritte smirked, admiring his chest.
Jon, still momentarily stunned, shook himself from his stupor. "What are you doing here? How did you get in here?"
"Wasn't much of a challenge. You best find some guards…could have gutted you in your sleep if I wanted."
"Why didn't you?"
"Killing a northern prince wouldn't make many sympathetic to our cause."
"Whether you do or don't, I don't know that many will be sympathetic to your cause," Jon admitted, retreating back to sit on his bed.
"You're willing to listen. Can't ask for much more than that," Ygritte responded, all too casually closing the door, leaving them alone together.
"I'm still not sure I understand what you are doing here at this moment," Jon stated, his cautious mind calculating how long it would take him to get to his sword, if necessary. While it didn't look like Ygritte was armed, there was no telling what she had hidden in her furs. A traitorous part of Jon's mind thought that he might like to see everything she had hidden under her furs.
"You really know nothing, Jon Stark." Before Jon even had a moment to comprehend, Ygritte had removed her furs, and was slowly pulling her borrowed tunic over her head. Inch after inch of pale skin was slowly revealed, until Jon was staring intently at a modest set of breasts. Her top now removed, Ygritte smirked at Jon's amazement, but continued on and slowly kicked off her boots. Without a second thought, she lowered her breeches, exposing her thin, but muscled thighs. Jon's eyes immediately drifted to the patch of thick red hair between her legs.
He had to consciously remind himself to breathe as Ygritte almost stalked towards him, as if he were her prey. Her hands rested on his shoulders, then crawled up his neck, into his hair. With a gentle tug, he was suddenly staring into mischievous eyes. "North of the Wall, we take the things that we want," she drawled out. "It just so happens right now I want a prince." All of a sudden her hand left his hair and found its way to the hardened length between his thighs, wrapping around it tightly. "It feels like the prince wants a wildling woman."
Every thought in Jon's head was telling him that this was an awful idea, that nothing good would come of it. However, the rest of his body was intoxicated by the redhead, and he let himself be pushed backward on the bed. Ygritte crawled onto his thighs, her hands tugging down his own breeches and his cock jumped free. Things were moving fast, and Jon had to stop himself from crying out when Ygritte seated herself in his lap, his cock suddenly surrounded by indescribable warmth and pleasure he had never experienced.
Jon was almost content to allow the wildling to have her way with him, feeling her move herself up and down. However, he looked into her eyes and saw a sense a smugness there that grated slightly at this pride. Gathering his strength, he gripped her hips and flipped them over. The look of smugness was gone as Jon leaned down, softly biting a breast as he thrust into Ygritte. The wilding grunted in what Jon hoped was pleasure, but he was so lost in his own that he could not tell. He lasted only several more minutes before his entire body jolted as he spilled inside her fluttering heat.
Overcome by the moment, he fell forward and crushed his lips to Ygritte's. They attacked each other until both were breathless, and Jon felt his softened member slip from her. He fell to his side, breathing hard as he stared at her. Ygritte looked back, the smugness having returned. "Does this mean you'll let me fight the Boltons?"
Jon stared back at her blankly. "Did you lay with me so I would give you a bow?"
Ygritte rolled over so she was laid on top of him again. "I figured it would be an added benefit."
"Benefit of what?"
Ygritte leaned down and carefully bit his bottom lip. "You're mine now, Jon Stark. And I'm your woman."
The firestorm of bad things that were likely to come from this played through his mind, but as Jon's hands slowly descended down Ygritte's naked back and lower, he told those thoughts to fuck off elsewhere.