And we're back folks! Back to a four-week schedule unfortunately, but this will more than likely be the new norm. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure just how long this story is going to end up being…but man oh man. It is getting long already, and I still have a fair amount I want to go over and accomplish before we even get into the start of the ASOIAF books. So, like I've said before, buckle up folks, because this is gonna be a long one lol.

Huge shout out to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. The help has been invaluable so far. And another huge thank you to everyone who has favorited, alerted or reviewed this story so far. Your support is what keeps me going! So if you feel so inclined to leave a review, please do! They really do help me get my mojo going and get the next chapters rolling on.

Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; so I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!


Chapter 17

Four days after the attempted coup of the Northern Kingdom of Westeros, Warden of the North Lord Eddard Stark found himself once more forced behind his desk was, he worked tirelessly trying to return Winterfell to some semblance of normality. A task that he found infinitely harder as with the death of Vayon Poole, he found himself without a Steward. And without his Cat, he was without a Lady of Winterfell. Which meant that the workload that would normally be shared amongst three was now resting fully on his shoulders. His children had been trying to help where they could, but they were still but children with Robb and Jon being the eldest at three-and-ten. Jon aided where he could with the guards while Robb tried to handle some of the more mundane Lordly activities and Sansa was doing what she could as a pseudo Lady of Winterfell. But their contributions were unfortunately minimal compared to everything that needed to be done. And unfortunately, he couldn't ask for Nox's help either as his friend was alternating between his ongoing questioning of the rebellious nobles and some odd project that he wouldn't speak of to anyone. Not even his own wife.

'I was at least fortunate that I was able to pull him away from whatever it is he is working on to attend the gathering of the Northern Lords this morning,' he thought, signing off a request for reimbursement from one of the establishments of Winter Town as he reflected on the talks he'd had with his bannermen right after the morning meal.

The first topic of discussion was the one that everyone in the North wanted to know about. Just who, if anyone else, was responsible for the tragedy that befell Winterfell during Nox's wedding celebration. No one was surprised by the Lords and Ladies that Ned named off, after all they were quite literally caught with the daggers in their hands. But when he'd revealed that the true mind behind the plot were the maesters of the Citadel, well, suffice to say the North and her people had never taken an insult on this scale laying down. Almost every highborn in attendance started demanding for the immediate execution of every maester in the North, as well as a march south to route the grey-rats out of their tower and string them up like the traitors they were. Fortunately, Ned had been able to quell their anger, at least for the moment, by vowing to his bannermen that they would be heading south as soon as they could reach Torrhen's Square. And they would be bringing the wrath of the North with them and delivering it upon the maesters who were responsible for the attack.

That had perhaps been the easiest of the topics that'd been discussed that morning. The next was a joint telling by himself and Nox, and it revolved around the threat amassing north of the Wall. He and Nox had held nothing back from the Lords of the North. They told them everything; from Nox's vision to the impending march of the long-forgotten Others. Naturally, few of his Lords believed them at the start. Hells, he was even still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that a creature from legend was still alive and coming to end all life as they knew it. But he had faith in Nox. Faith that his friend, who had yet to show himself false or try to lead him astray, was not lying through his teeth. And it wasn't just his faith in Nox that had him convinced. There was something in his friend's voice whenever he talked about the Others that Ned never heard from him at any other time. Fear. Genuine, yet will hidden, fear. His friend, the Northern Sorcerer and the Stranger Incarnate, was fearful of what was coming. And that, more than anything, convinced Ned that Nox was telling the truth.

It took till nearly midday, but eventually he and Nox were able to at least get his bannermen around to the idea that they needed to keep their eyes trained on North of the Wall. He wouldn't delude himself into thinking that he had managed to truly convince them of the threat that was coming. No, that wouldn't happen until the day came that he could provide actual physical proof of the Others existence. But at least he had planted the idea of the Others returning into their heads.

Unfortunately, that was the easier part of the talks he'd had with his bannerman this morning. The second announcement he'd made that morning dealt with the fact that, because of their growing threat and the possibility of the Others approaching, that he intended to treat with the Wildlings and the King-Beyond-The-Wall. To say that that went over well was akin to saying that the Mountain-Who-Rides was a decent, law-abiding Knight of the realm. The uproar that'd broken out after he revealed his intentions was such that he was sure that those in Winter Town could hear his bannerman. It'd taken a combination of Ned shouting, Winter howling and Nox setting off some sort of sightless explosion inside the hall to get his bannerman under control once more.

Once his bannerman were finally under control, Ned had laid out the reasoning for why he was willing to treat with the Wildlings. He had no intention of allowing the Wildlings south of the Wall and had reiterated that only those who were sworn to House Stark and the North would be allowed south of the Wall when they returned. But he also stressed the fact that legends spoke of the Others, in particular the White Walkers, being able to raise the dead to create their army of Wights. He then posed a simple question to his bannermen. Would they rather face a hundred thousand strong freshly turned Wilding corpses on the field of battle? Or would they prefer those hundred thousand fighting side by side against the onslaught of the dead. Thankfully, that thought had quelled the dissenters, or at least given them something to think about. So, while his bannerman were not pleased with him going North to treat with the King-Beyond-the-Wall, the fear of what could be made them hold their tongue for now.

Mercifully, by midday his talks with his bannermen were done. But that was just the start of his day. After dismissing his bannerman he was then faced with his task of the day which, while not as draining as the talks had been, were certainly taxing. And that was rewarding those amongst the small folk who had contributed in the aid of Winterfell either during the actual coup attempt, or afterwards in the recovery efforts. In truth, he remembered very little of what transpired over the next few hours as he handed out rewards and boons to those who'd earned it. The only individual who'd truly stood out to Ned, though he couldn't figure out just why, was the bard who'd been responsible for knocking Lord Ludd unconscious and had also apparently saved Robb and himself from another crossbow bolt earlier in the scuffle. When asked what reward he wished for, the man replied that Ned had already given him more than enough, though he wouldn't elaborate further on just what he meant. In the end, he'd all but forced a Valyrian steel dagger into the bard's hands in recognition of his services to House Stark and the North.

"Lord Stark, Lady Nox is here to see you milord," the guard stationed just outside his door announced through the closed door.

"Send her in," Ned replied, dripping hot wax onto a letter that would soon be sent to Kings Landing and pressing the sigil of House Stark onto it.

Hearing the door open, Ned briefly looked up as the newly named Lady Nox entered his solar. Despite not having been born as a daughter or a serving girl with no noble family, she carried herself with the air of a refined noble woman that demanded respect and attention. Both of which she had earned through years of hard work; first as a chambermaid and then later as Nox's right-hand woman and now as his wife.

"Have a seat, Lady Nox," he said, motioning for her to take the seat directly across from him.

It was a testament to both Nox's and his own daughter's unprecedented ability to heal another that Lady Nox could move as well as she was considering that she had not only been run through a few days' past, but she had also given birth.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Lady Nox said as she gently took the seat across from him.

Setting aside the scroll he'd just finished sealing, he gave Nyra his full attention. "I would ask how you are holding up Nyra, but that would be an insulting question, I think."

Nyra was keeping a strong face, but he could see and feel the pain hiding beneath the surface. "I – Thank you, my Lord. I – I suppose asking you the same question would be insulting as well, my Lord."

Sighing, Ned slowly nodded. "Aye. The pain…It will take some time to pass, if it ever does. Cat has been a constant in my life since the Rebellion. Her absence…It will be difficult to manage. And Rickon – no parent should ever have to bury their child my Lady."

"If – If there is anything I can do to help, my Lord, I'm willing. No, not just willing. I need to help." Nyra said, her grief disappearing slightly as a strength he often saw in Cat shown through.

"Actually, Nyra, that is exactly why I asked to speak with you today," he said, reaching into his desk and pulling out a folded-up piece of cloth. "I wish I could give you the time to grieve your loss, Nyra. I truly wish I could. But you are now a Lady of House Nox. And I – I need your help. I have lost my wife, the Lady of Winterfell, and my Steward of Winterfell, Vayon Poole. My children are doing what they can to help, but they are still but children."

Opening the cloth, he revealed a golden pin in the shape of a howling wolf. "Lady Nyra Nox, in the wake of Vayon Poole's death, I would have you take up the mantle of Stewardess of Winterfell and aid both myself and my children in the ruling of Winterfell and the North."

The former serving girl turned Lady, soon to be a Lady of a Great House should Nox continue down the path he was, stared speechlessly at the gilded pin laying between the two of them. "Lord Stark…" Nyra breathed, her eyes locked on the pin. "I – I don't know…I'm honored – but –"

"You should know the Northern saying better than anyone, Nyra. That everything before the word 'but' is horse shit." Ned replied not unkindly as he gave the girl what he hoped was a warm smile. "I know that your place is with your husband, Nox. And I am not fool enough to think that Nox will stay here in Winterfell one moment past the time when he feels he has completed what he set out to do. For all that he has done, not only for the North but for the Realm as a whole, he more than anyone deserves to be a landed Lord. Perhaps even on par with the other Great Houses, if you ask me. In fact, I plan on writing to the King personally and requesting that House Nox be elevated in the nobility and I plan on granting your House Moat Cailin and all the surrounding lands. And because of this, I know that once Moat Cailin is repaired and habitable once more, the two of you will leave. So, while I ask you now to be my stewardess to aid myself and my children, I also do so with the knowledge that it will be on a temporary basis. But recent events have shaken me greatly. I need someone I can trust completely and know can do this job well. And that is you, Nyra. Now, will you take up the duties of the Stewardess of Winterfell? Or shall I have to ask another, far less qualified individual?"

Despite everything that'd happened, Ned was able to find some amount of amusement in the rather impressive imitation of a fish that the newly made Lady of House Nox was making towards him. "Well, I – I suppose I cannot say 'no' then, my Lord," she finally managed to say after taking several deep calming breaths. "I accept the duties of Stewardess of Winterfell Lord Stark. I swear on the old gods and – and on my son. I shall not fail you or the North."

"I know you won't, Nyra," he responded, giving the woman what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he felt a slight bit of the burden that'd been placed on his shoulders lift with the knowledge that he would be getting help. "And, when we are in private, you have my permission to call me Ned."

Nyra's eyes widened almost comically as her jaw dropped. "I – I don't think I could ever call you by – by your name, Lord Stark."

"Why?" Ned asked, finding a slight bit of amusement in playing with Lady Nox. Though where his amusement was coming from, he would never know. He blamed his childhood with Robert and recently Nox for this. Those two, as different as they were, seemed to find great enjoyment in bending what was considered proper and making others squeamish. "I doubt you call your husband by 'Lord Nox'. Try it. A simple word. Ned."

Licking her lips, Nyra looked around as if trying to see if anyone was in the room with them. "If – If that is what you wish…Ned."

"Good," Ned nodded, leafing through the papers on his desk trying to figure out just where he had left off before she'd come in. "I suggest that you take the rest of the day familiarizing yourself with your new position, Nyra. As good of a Steward as he was, I am afraid that Vayon was not the most organized of people."

"I am sure that I will manage…Ned." Nyra replied slowly, still clearly uncertain about using his name so easily. "There is one thing that I would ask, though."

"Name it," Ned replied without hesitation.

"I ask that you allow me to instruct Jayne personally. And, if she should prove herself worthy, that she would be my replacement as Stewardess of Winterfell."

The request was not one that he'd been expecting, and he wasn't entirely sure just how to respond to it. He'd been planning on taking wardship of Jayne now that she was an orphan and finding a place for her either with Sansa or here in Winterfell. But to set her up to become the next Stewardess of Winterfell? The people, and most importantly those seeking advancement, could accept Nyra's elevation to the position not only because of just who her Lord husband was, but also because she'd spent years making a name for herself as Nox's right hand well before she became his lover and wife. There was a possibility that Jayne could follow the same path. But it was not one easily walked. And it would be a path made significantly harder due to her being a woman. But, on the other hand, it would give the girl purpose and potentially relieve Ned of yet another task of finding a place for the young girl in either his House, or his Sansa's future House wherever she ended up.

"Very well," he said. "Should she wish it, Jayne will learn directly from you. And when the time comes that you must abdicate your position to follow Nox, then I will make my decision on whether she is capable of taking up her father's former position as the Steward of Winterfell."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Lady Nox said, reverting to his title as she rose to her feet and picked the pin up off the desk. "If there is nothing else you need of me, my Lord, then I would see to my new position and get to work."

"Of course, Lady Nox," Ned replied, rising to his feet and bowing his head. "I thank you for taking on this responsibility given recent events. And should you need my aid, ask and I will do what I can."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Lady Nox bowed back. "I will see you on the morrow for the trials. Good day, my Lord."

Seeing Lady Nox out of his solar, Ned was just barely able to sit back down at his seat before the guards once again announced a visitor. "Milord, the wild – Osha…is here to see you."

"Send her in," Ned replied loudly, trying to find where he was in the piles of paper before him.

"Ya wished to see me…Lord wolf?" The former Wildling woman said the moment the door closed behind her, leaving only the two of them together.

"Aye," Ned nodded, pushing himself away from his desk as he realized that he would not be getting any of the work on his desk done anytime soon. "I heard that you played a significant part during the attack in not only protecting my daughter, but in also protecting some of the servants of Winterfell as well."

Osha merely shrugged. "Was more protecting me-self at first Wolf Lord. I was a spear wife north of the Wall, and I wasn't about to let no man touch me or kill me without a fight. And truth be told, those bastards talked big but didn't fight worth shit. After I killed 'em, I was gonna stay put until the fightin was over. But then I heard ye daughter's scream. Though probably all this castle heard that scream. And I went runnin to find out what it was. It just be merely chance that I found the young little wolf and the Sorcerer's woman. Plus, it wasn't right what those fuckers did. Breakin the laws of the gods like that…and you kneelers call us Free Folk monsters. Well, we ain't never attack one another in violation of the laws of the gods."

'At least she's honest,' he thought before saying out loud. "Regardless, you have done House Stark, House Nox, and Winterfell a great service during the attack. And after consideration, I feel that your talents are wasted down in the kitchens. A feeling that my daughter Sansa shares. As such, I would name you as my daughter's sworn sword."

The wilding woman just blinked dumbly at him. "'Sworn sword'?" she questioned. "What the fuck is that?"

"It would mean that you would be free from the kitchens for a start," Ned answered, folding his hands under his chin as he observed the woman. "But you would be responsible for my daughter's protection. Should anyone attempt to harm her, you would be expected to deal with that person."

It might've been a trick of the light, but he could've sworn he saw a smile forming on the woman's face. "So, if I become this 'sworn sword' person, then I can not only get out of the kitchens, but I get to fight again?"

"Aye," Ned nodded. "Of course, I expect the best of those assigned to my family, especially now. So, you will be required to attend the same lessons that my children are undergoing under the watchful eye of Lord Nox."

Osha's eyes went almost impossibly wide. "I – I get to learn from the Sorcerer?"

"Aye. Though it is unlikely that you will be able to utilize his magic at all. If you had any aptitude for it, he would've mentioned it and you would already be learning from him. But still, even without his magic, he is still the best blade in the North, perhaps even all of Westeros and beyond. You will be expected to learn everything you can from him so that you will be able to better protect my daughter from harm."

This time, Ned knew it wasn't a trick of the light as Osha's grin threatened to split her face in two. "I get out of the kitchens, get to fight, and learn from the fucking Sorcerer himself? I'll be your daughter's sworn sword. And I won't let another sick bastard like that pretty fuck Cobor, Crabey…whatever the fuck his name is, near her again. I swear it on the gods of the North."

Taking her oath, Ned got up from his seat and went to the far side of his solar where several Valyrian steel swords were laid out in a row. Picking up what he considered the strangest weapon, Ned carefully looked over the weapon. The sword-spear had a blade much like a sword that was nearly a man's arm in length but only half a hand in width. And the hilt, bound in woven fabric and animal hide, was as long as the blade. Walking back over to Osha, he hesitated for a moment. On some level, he still could not quite believe what he was about to hand over to a Wilding. "If you are going to be protecting my daughter, then I will ensure that you have the best to do so."

The former Wilding's eyes went even wider as she stared at the blade. With an almost agonizing slowness, Osha reached out and took the weapon from him, turning it around in her hands to get a feel for it. "This…I ain't ever seen a spear like this," she remarked, her attention solely on the blade in her hands.

"It's Valyrian steel. Special magic steel made by the Dragon Lords of Valyria. The technique of which to create was lost when Valyria fell," Ned explained, taking a step back as Osha continued her examination of the sword-spear.

"Well, you certainly know how to make sure your offer can't be refused, Wolf Lord," Osha smiled, sheathing the blade and holding it off to her side. "So, where be your daughter? Can't be protectin her if I don't know where she is."

'Good. She's taking this seriously.' "At the moment, she is resting in her chambers," Ned informed Osha. "I will have the servants set a room for you near the family wing so that you can be nearby whenever she may have need of you."

"Right," Osha nodded as she began shifting her feet. "Well…Is there more? Or can I go teach those green boys ya got trainin in the yard what it truly means to fight?"

"No, that was all. You are free to go to the yard if you so wish. But once my daughter is up and about, you will be expected to be by her side."

"Right, right, I won't let nothin happen to the little wolf lady, Wolf Lord." Osha bowed once before all but bolting out of his solar and leaving him alone once more.

Shaking his head, Ned resumed his spot behind his desk and flipped through the papers on his desk once more. 'Naming Nyra to the position of Stewardess was the correct thing to do. But naming Osha as Sansa's sworn sword…a Wildling guarding the daughter of House Stark…gods…I can't help but think I've just created another headache for myself. But, knowing my daughter as I do, she won't let Osha's more rough edges remain for long. Though I can't see that woman sitting through etiquette lessons. But given her reaction to what will be expected of her, I expect that she will fight like the hells themselves not to go back to the kitchens. I guess, if nothing else, it will be interesting to watch who breaks first. Sansa or Osha.'

"Milord," his guard called out once more just as Ned was about to pull over another sheet of paper.

'Gods…now what?' "Yes?"

"Your brother, Benjen Stark of the Night's Watch is, umm, well, he's standing right –"

"Let him in, now." Ned ordered, rising to his feet. The last raven he'd received from his brother he mentioned that if he was able, he'd try and make it down from the Wall for Robb's name-day celebration. But with everything that'd happened, he'd honestly forgotten about his brother's potential arrival.

Before Ned had even managed to get to his feet the door was already opening, and his brother was all but running in. "Ned, gods what the in the name of the gods happened he—?"

Benjen's words were cut off as Ned grabbed his brother and pulled him in tight. "Ben…gods…It–It's good to see you, brother."

Benjen returned the embrace with more than a slight awkwardness. "It's good to see you too, brother," Ben said as the two pulled back from one another. "What happened here Ned? Was Winterfell attacked? Is everyone okay?"

Catelyn's and Rickon's face flashed before his eyes as a heavy weight returned once more upon his soul. "It – There was an attempted coup, brother. Led by Roose Bolton and supported by the Dustins, Ryswells, and Whitehills. Cat…and Rickon, they – they're with the gods now."

Ned watched as anger and sorrow washed over his younger brother's face. "Gods, Ned. I'm so sorry. If only I'd gotten here sooner, then–"

"Then there is a chance that you might've been amongst the dead as well, brother," Ned countered, not wanting to let his brother berate himself for something he'd had no control over. "This – plot – There was and is far more to it that just a few Lords trying to seize power."

A hardened look entered Ben's eyes. "Tell me everything, brother. I might be a man of the Night's Watch now. But I am still a Stark of Winterfell and a wolf at heart."

Turning around, Ned ignored his desk and made his way to the infrequently used wine cups. "This…will not be an easy nor a quick talk, brother," he said, pouring a glass for himself and his brother before returning.

"I'm not going anywhere any time soon, brother," Ben replied, taking the offered cup. "Let's hear it out, Ned."


Sitting along the edges of the great hall of Winterfell, Nox sat quietly next to his wife Nyra along with his Apprentice Jon and the rest of the Stark children as they all watched the prisoners being brought into the hall while Ned, Lord Royce, and Ser Brandon Tully sat at the front of the hall waiting to act as judges for the accused. As they were marched in, whispers began running through the hall as everyone took in the clearly damaged state of the prisoners. Curtesy of their time spent under Nox's questioning.

"Gods, Master," Jon breathed as some of the prisoners had to be dragged into the hall as they were unable to even walk upright anymore. "Was this…necessary?"

"It's no less than they deserve," his wife almost snapped at the young lad, making Jon flinch.

Taking hold of Nyra's hand, Nox gently squeezed, trying to give her what strength he could as he turned his attention on Jon. Sensing his attention now on him, Jon wisely kept his mouth shut. 'He has come a long way, but he is still soft,' Nox thought with a frown as the ringleaders of the attempted coup were brought to the front of the hall and forced onto their knees before the three judges. 'He can kill when he needs to. But causing pain to another is something he still avoids. A weakness that others will try to exploit in the future. The next time I need to question someone I will have to bring him and Robb with me to observe and participate. Ideally, one should not revel in the opportunity to cause pain to an individual. But a Sith cannot be squeamish about such things.'

"Roose Bolton. Barbrey Dustin. Ludd Whitehill. Rodrik Ryswell. Harwood Stout. Lyn Corbray." Ned began, listing off their names while neglecting to mention their titles. As clear a sign as to what the outcome of this 'trial' would be to any who cared to notice. "You six stand accused of attempting to assassinate myself and the entirety of House Stark, as well as the assassination of House Nox, in order to usurp control of the North. Not only were you all caught in the act, but under questioning you all admitted your guilt."

From his kneeling position, Rodrik Ryswell scoffed before spitting on the ground. "Is there a fucking point to this Stark? Your pet has already told you everything we told him. Just get this farce over with."

"Watch your tongue, Ryswell," Ser Tully growled from his spot next to Ned.

"Or what? I'll lose it? Ha! What a fucking joke, you southern twit!" Rodrik laughed.

The Blackfish made to get out of his chair, only to be stopped as Ned held out his hand to block his path. "Your guilt is undeniable. But, unlike you lot, House Stark will maintain its honor and reverence to the laws of gods and men."

"Honor? Ha, another jest, Stark," Barbrey Dustin said, shaking her head. "You Starks are now nothing more than common dogs parading as wolves. You long ago traded your 'Northern honor' for southern cunts!"

The hall erupted as nearly all of those who were watching the trial shot to their feet and began hurling insults and accusations at the kneeling conspirators.

"ENOUGH!" Ned shouted. With his voice being empowered by the Force, it brought about an immediate end to the other voices in the hall. "You have not been brought here today so that insults can be traded. This is your last and only chance to explain yourselves before myself, the people of the North, and the gods. If you have anything to say in your defense, speak now. Or our verdict will be rendered."

None of the kneeling Lords or Lady said anything for a moment.

"If you are expecting us to beg, Stark, then you are sadly mistaken," Roose Bolton said calmly, his aura never wavering even with his death looming over his head. "We knew full well what we were doing. And we all knew the cost of failure. The Starks have ruled the North for far too long, change was needed. We took the opportunity that was given to us. And our only regret is that we failed to succeed. Render your verdict and end our lives. But know that our deaths will not be the end. We are just a few of many who wish to see House Stark brought low. You will never know a day of peace."

Nox had to hand it to the man. As far as last words went, they were some of the better ones he'd heard. And what was even more impressive was the fact that Roose was able to say them with complete calm and certainty. There wasn't even a fluttering in his aura to betray him. The man had no remorse whatsoever for his actions. And, honestly, Nox could respect that strength from him. All too often, Nox had seen men and women in his same position crumble into blubbering, hysterical messes as they tried to beg for their lives. It was fairly refreshing to see a man who knew he was defeated and about to die still be able to face his death head on without fear.

Leaning back, Ned gave the kneeling man a hard look. "Very well. Lord Royce, your verdict."

"Guilty, Lord Stark," the lord from the Vale answered without hesitation.

"Ser Brynden Tully. Your verdict."

"Guilty!" The uncle to the late Lady Stark responded almost before Ned could even finish speaking.

"And I, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, do hereby find you six guilty of attempted sedition and assassination of no less than two noble houses of Westeros. The penalty is death, to be carried out tomorrow at sundown. Guards, take them away and bring forth the next of the accused."

The guards immediately stepped forward and grabbed each of the kneeling former Lords and Lady by their bound arms before forcing them to their feet and then marching them out of the hall. Once the first round of prisoners was gone, the guards started forcing the rest of the prisoners forward and to stand, or kneel, before the three Lords to receive their judgement. While Nox could appreciate the need for Ned to uphold the law, the entire process was incredibly tedious and Nox found his attention wandering further and further as the process dragged on for several hours. More than a few of those that'd been captured had tried to beg for their lives by pleading either ignorance of their actions or by trying to giving some sob story about how they were 'forced' to participate due to their Lord ordering them to do so. Some even tried to buy their freedom by offering that their Houses, or those they were sworn too, would pay a ransom for their return.

Their pleas, sob stories, or offers of ransom might have worked on a few Lords or Ladies, but the Starks were not amongst those that could be so easily swayed. Ned did let each man say his peace, but the result was always the same. The prisoners were given the choice between one of two outcomes. The Black or the block. Unsurprisingly, almost all took the block with only a few exceptions amongst those that were not originally of Westeros.

As the trials began to stretch beyond midday, Nox had pretty much completely stopped paying attention. 'Force…This was so much easier back in the Empire. If someone had tried to pull some shit like this back then, I could simply kill everyone and leave either Imperial Intelligence or someone else to clean up the bodies or deal with the paperwork. I miss that simplicity.'

Hearing a commotion from the crowd, Nox finally started paying attention to the proceedings once more as three young men were dragged into the hall and forced to their knees before Lord Stark. 'Oh? This should be interesting,' Nox thought as he saw through the Force that all three were barely even able to keep themselves upright even a full day after Nox was done questioning them. Unlike many others who bent almost immediately to his questioning, these three held strong in their conviction that they had not truly committed a crime, but rather a service to the North.

"Roger Ryswell. Rickard Ryswell. Roose Ryswell, sons of Rodrik Ryswell, you three have been brought before us today accused of crimes against the North," Ned said loudly and clearly, letting the entirety of the hall know just who was kneeling before him. "Under questioning by Lord Nox, you three have admitted to the rape and murder of Septa Mordane as well as the destruction of the Sept that had been constructed for Lady Stark's personal use. Do you three have anything to say in your defense before you are judged here today?"

"Crimes against the North?" the eldest son, Roger Ryswell, growled as he spat upon the floor. "The only one here who has committed crimes against the North here is you, Stark! For thousands of years, we have repelled the Andals and their false gods from the North! We kept to the true gods of Westeros! Yet, you, a man who has never even been fully of the North, spat upon our people and your own ancestors when you ordered the creation of that accursed Sept in the middle of Winterfell! The heart of the North and seat of the true gods! All because you didn't want to upset your cunt of a southern wife!"

Jumping out of his seat, the Blackfish glared down at the three kneeling men. "Have a care how you speak! That is – was – my niece and the Lady Stark you are disrespecting!"

"Doesn't change the fact she was a cunt that couldn't accept the ways of the North!" Rickard shouted back, coming to his brother's defenses. "Just ask any of the ladies here! They were under constant pressure from 'Lady Stark' to abandon our millennia of tradition and bring Septas into the North to 'properly' raise our daughters! She never gave two shits about even trying to learn the ways of the North and instead expected us to match her! And our weak-willed southern-raised new Lord Stark bent over backwards like a pathetic cuckold to his bitch of a wife!"

The hall exploded in an avalanche of noise as people either came to the defense of Lady Stark or voiced their agreements with what the young Ryswell lad had said. Though, the latter was being drowned out by the former by a wide margin and largely went almost completely unheard save for by Nox who could just barely pick them up with his Force enhanced hearing.

"Silence!" Ned finally yelled at the top of his lungs after several failed attempts to bring order back to the room. Once the noise finally died back down, Ned brought his attention back to the three kneeling before him. "Religious differences do not justify rape and murder. Regardless of whether you believe your actions were in service to the North, or your feelings towards myself and the way I have acted as Lord and Warden of the North. The fact the remains that you brutalized and burned a woman to death in the home of another after receiving guest rites. You have confessed to your crimes both under questioning and here today. Should you have anything else to say, say it. Otherwise, we will hand down our verdict."

"Verdict, ha!" Roger Ryswell laughed. "We all know what you will say. This whole 'trial' is just a farce. And I will not be subject to your whims any longer! I will put my fate in my own hands and demand a trial by combat as is my right by the laws of the gods!"

If he were being honest, Nox was more than a little surprised that it had taken this long for anyone to try and use such a method to escape Ned's judgement. Considering that the perpetrators had literally been caught with the daggers in their hands, it was pretty much the only hope they had of escaping without punishment. Of course, it was akin to a snowball's chance on Tatooine. But it was still a chance. Though, Nox was more than a little curious as just how Ned would proceed from this point.

"That is your right," Ned agreed, his face set. "Will you champion yourself, or name one?"

Roger scoffed, "I'm a true Northerner, Stark! I will champion myself! And we all know just who you will choose as your champion. So, prove your cowardice before the entirety of the North as you name your pet as your champion!"

'So that's his angle,' Nox thought, derisively. 'Even now with his head all but on the block, he's trying to prove to the North that Ned is incapable of ruling these lands like a 'true northerner'. It could've been a good ploy, but at this point it is far too little too late. If they truly wanted to discredit and erode Stark's hold on the North through this route, they should've started years ago by using expendable assets that would fall into this situation. It could've worked. But still, far too little and far too late now to try and convince these people that Ned is not the man for the job of ruling the North.'

Standing just before his seat, Ned stared down at the kneeling prisoners. His aura fluctuating wildly between a barely contained fury and a righteous rage. "Very well," Ned said calmly, despite the war of emotions battling within him.

"Lord Stark!" The Greatjon shouted, rising to his feet. "There is no need for the Sorcerer to stain his hands with this filth! I'll deal with him myself!"

"You can't even grab your cock correctly yet, Umber, let alone your sword," Maege Mormont laughed, rising to her feet as well, her one good eye turning towards Ned. "I will stand as champion for the North."

One by one, the Lords and even some of the Ladies of the North stood up and voiced their wish to represent the North in the trial by combat. Even Robb and Jon attempted to throw their lot in with the rest of them. Attempted being the keyword of course, as Nox had forcibly pulled both boys back down to their asses the moment they began to rise. It wasn't that he didn't believe that either boy could take the Ryswell lad, he knew that both would be able to firmly hand the young man his ass on a platter. But now was neither the time nor the place for them to show off their abilities. A challenge had been laid down. And while Nox, and even the other loyal Northern Lords and Ladies, knew that Ned had nothing to prove to them, Nox knew that his friend's sense of honor would demand that he meet the challenge head on.

After a moment of holding up his hand, Ned silenced the crowd. "Your offers of championship have been noted and are appreciated. But a man of the North does not ask of others that which he is unwilling to do himself." Reaching up to his neckline, the great hall stayed completely silent as Ned began to loosen the ties and undo the buttons on his doublet. "You wish to fight as a man of the North? Then that is exactly what we will do. As men, in the old ways of the North. No weapons. No armor. No magic. Man to man. Guards, unbind him. The trial by combat of Roger Ryswell will begin now."

Tossing his doublet and under shirt aside, Ned calmly stepped down from the dais bare-chested and waited as Roger was hoisted up to his feet by two Stark guards and set free of his bindings. Beside him, Nox could sense the spikes of fear coming from the Stark children. Though, he did note that the only ones who were truly afraid were Sansa and Bran. Jon and Robb were both confident in the outcome but still concerned nonetheless. Only Arya lacked any fear. If anything, her aura was screaming excitement for what was about to transpire before them.

Walking to the center of the room, Ned waited as the younger man by at least a decade was stripped down to his pants only, leaving him bare-chested just like the Warden of the North. Once both were confirmed to be unarmed, a ring of men circled around the two, separating them from the rest of the crowd.

"I'm actually surprised, Stark," Roger said, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders. "Didn't think a want-to-be southerner like yourself would have the balls to stand up like this. But it won't do you any good…old man!"

Launching at forward, Ryswell cocked his arm back and launched a wild haymaker towards Stark. But Stark merely sidestepped the wild attack and pushed it aside with his right hand before following up with a quick jab from the left right into Ryswell's floating ribs. Just as Nox had shown him how to do countless times before. While certainly not a master of the art, Ned had taken to the Sith style of unarmed combat almost naturally.

"Fuck!" Ryswell cried out, backing off and holding onto the spot where Stark's fist had landed. "Not bad for an old man!"

The fight, if it could even be called that, proceeded exactly as Nox had anticipated it to. The Ryswell lad had obviously thought that because he was at least ten years Lord Stark's junior and very physically fit meant that he would be able to easily beat Ned in a straight on fight. But the Warden of the North was quickly and thoroughly disproving that. Every move that the younger man launched, Ned calmly countered with a parry or grapple before hitting back with an attack of his own. Within ten minutes of the start of their fight, Ned was still standing tall and calm, his breath only slightly labored. Roger, on the other hand, was bent over gasping desperately for breath while trickles of blood ran from the corners of his mouth and down from his nose.

"Fucking summer bastard!" Ryswell shouted, throwing another haymaker only to have Ned deflect the attack and retaliate with another fist to the side of the head.

"This fight is over, boy," Ned said coldly as he stared down at the kneeling Ryswell. "You've lost."

Spitting out a wad of blood, Roger slowly rose to his full height, his aura screaming with a murderous intent. "Like hell it's over, bastard! This fight will only be over after I bash your fucking skull in! Then I'll take your daughters and do to them exactly what we did to that fucking bit—!"

Ned moved so fast that Nox doubted many even saw him do so before he struck, his fist colliding with the young fool right at the base of his throat. Roger staggered back, clutching at his throat and coughing as he tried to regain his breath and recover, but Ned didn't give him the chance. His friend's aura had shifted completely into a rage that he had rarely, if ever, seen him in. Rushing forward, Ned put his shoulder into the younger man's gut and tackled him to the ground. Now straddling the young Ryswell, Ned raised his fist and brought it down with a bone breaking force right into the young man's face.

Then he brought it down again. And again. And again. Within a few hard strikes, Roger had stopped even trying to defend as his body reached its limit and all he could do was lay there and receive the beating that was being rained down upon him by Lord Stark. After several moments of continuous punching, Ned grabbed the lad by the hair and picked his head up before slamming it down hard against the stone floor. Then he did it again. Then again until finally the back of Rogers head gave out and painted the floor beneath him in blood and gore.

With the bloodlusting rage finally leaving him, Nox watched along with the rest of those assembled as Lord Stark climbed off the now nearly headless corpse he'd been straddling. While Nox couldn't see in the conventional sense, he knew that his friend's face and chest was covered in blood spittle from the Ryswell lad. All in all, it was quite the statement and showing from his normally reserved friend. And one that he full heartedly approved of.

Without a word spoken, Ned then stepped over the freshly-made-corpse and stood before the remaining two Ryswell brothers. "You two have two choices," he said, his voice low and steady and as the torrent of rage within him began to settle. "Gelding and the Black. Or the block. Decide. Now."

What little courage the two brothers had left had disappeared along with their elder brother. Even the one who had spoken so brazenly was now a single harsh word away from pissing himself. "The – The Black," the elder of the two remaining stammered, which was echoed shortly thereafter by the younger.

"Very well. Guards!" Ned shouted, prompting two of the awestruck guards to snap to attention. "Bring these two back down the cells. They're to be gelded before they head North with my brother to take the Black."

The two guards quickly nodded and grabbed the two remaining Ryswell boys by the arms and half-lead half-dragged the two out of the hall. Turning his back on their departure, Ned almost made it back to where he'd left his clothes when he finally seemed to realize just what state he was in.

"We will be breaking for the midday meal," he called out to the hall while gathering his clothes and holding him in his arms. "Someone see to it that Roger Ryswell's body is removed and disposed of. Dismissed." And without even waiting to see if his orders were being carried out, Ned walked out of the great hall towards with his clothes in his hands and his head held high.

"Gods," Robb breathed as the various people of the North began to disperse from the hall as two guards picked up Roger Ryswell's body. "I – I never thought I'd see father in such a rage."

Gripping Nyra's hand tightly, Nox turned his attention towards the Stark children. All of whom were in varying degrees of shock. "Everyone has their breaking point, Robb," he explained, rising to his feet and helping Nyra to hers. "And when that fool threatened your sisters with a fate similar to the one that'd fallen upon Septa Mordane, your father reached that point."

"Wh – What can we do?" Sansa asked, the young girl clearly shaken up by the brutality that she'd just witnessed.

"Go to your father, children," Nyra answered before he could, his wife making sure to meet each of the Stark children's eyes as she did. "He may not seem like it, but he needs you now."

The children didn't need much more convincing as Sansa pretty much all but dragged her brothers and sister out of the great hall after their father. Even Jon had been dragged along as well as Sansa had taken the time to grab him by his arm and pull him along with the rest of them, which only seemed to deepen his slightly shocked state of this happening.

"Well," Nyra breathed, seemingly lighter now in both her physical appearance and her aura. "At least that's over now."

"No," Nox replied, shaking his head and taking her hand. "It has only just begun, my love."


Settling back into the routine of the ongoing trials was rough for Ned, especially after spending the midday meal with his children. To many, this simple event would've been trivial at best. But for him, and especially now given the tragedy they'd suffered only a few days past and what'd just transpired with the Ryswell lad, the meal with his children was a waterskin of ice given to a man dying of thirst amidst the sands of Dorne. He hadn't wanted to return to the great hall to conclude the trials. But, again, as Lord and Warden of the North, he was not allowed such luxury. He'd been forced to end his time with his children far sooner than he would've liked and returned to his duties of dispensing justice upon those who'd wronged the North.

Mercifully enough, after the trial by combat and the display he'd put on, everyone who was brought before him admitted their guilt and volunteered to take the Black without hesitation. Which in turn lifted the burden of having to decide their fates off his, Lord Royce, and Ser Tully's shoulders. Within no time at all, the last of the perpetrators, Gryff Whitehill, was brought before the three of them. And just like all the others that'd been presented, the youngest son of House Whitehill immediately dropped to his knees, admitted his guilt, and all but begged to take the Black. But despite the trials of those who'd been caught in the act being over, Ned knew that his day was just truly beginning. And unfortunately, he could no longer count on the aid of Lord Royce or Ser Tully for what needed to occur now.

After Gryff Whitehill was removed from the great hall, Ned stood up and raised his voice for all to hear. "The North thanks Lord Yohn Royce and Ser Brynden Tully for their aid in dispensing justice this day. Your aid and services to the North shall be remembered, my Lords. But now that we must deal with matters pertaining only to the North, I ask that you join your men in the hall."

Lord Royce and Ser Brynden both nodded and with nary a word between the two of them got up and left him alone upon the dais. Hardening himself, Ned made sure he had the attention of everyone in the hall. "The fate of those who betrayed the North with their actions has been decided. But now we must deal with the fallout of those who remain. I call for the last remaining child of Ludd Whitehill, Lady Gwyn Whitehill, to stand before me now."

A young woman, perhaps only five years or so older than his son Robb, rose to her feet from the stands and made her way before him. The girl showed spirit, he would give her that much. Despite the heated looks being sent at her, she held herself with the composure of a seasoned Lady with her head held high and her back straight without an inkling of fear on her face. A true northern woman. Arriving before him, the only daughter of Ludd Whitehill dropped into a deep curtsey, her eyes never leaving his own, "Lord Stark. I am Lady Gwyn Whitehill."

"Lady Whitehill," Ned returned the greeting. "Your father conspired against myself, House Stark, and the North to violate the laws of gods and men in an attempt to elevate his position. Your brothers were part of this plot as well. Yet during the questioning of your father and after listening to the testimony of those who were with you during the attack, I am inclined to believe that you had no knowledge of your father's intent. Yet still, I must ask, and I do so only once. Did you, Lady Gwyn Whitehill, have any knowledge of your father's and your House's involvement in the plot that sought to put an end to House Stark and several other Northern Houses?"

Gwyn did not falter as she stood tall before him. "No, Lord Stark. I had no knowledge of my father's or my brother's intentions when we set out for Winterfell. Nor did I know of their actions until the morning after their failed attempt on your life and the lives of so many here today. And I can only thank the gods old and new that they failed."

"Fucking horse shit," the Greatjon spat from his spot near the front of the hall. "Your father, your brothers, and your fucking bannermen all knew what was going on, yet you say you don't? A fucking lie if I ever heard one."

A glint of steel appeared in the young woman's eyes as she turned and faced down the large Lord of Last Hearth. "Believe what you will, Lord Umber. But I speak only the truth. Due to…recent events, my father did not trust me to sew his tunic, let alone provide knowledge of an attempt against the lives of Lord Stark, Lord Nox, and their families."

As she spoke, Ned listened carefully to every word that left her and paid close attention to her faint presence in the Force. She didn't hesitate and neither did her voice or her presence waver in the slightest as she spoke. Every word was she spoke was the truth.

"We do not place the sins of the parent on their children, Lord Umber," Ned said, clearly surprising nearly everyone present. "I believe you, Lady Whitehill. And I find you personally not responsible for the actions of your father or your House. Yet, the question remains: what shall be done now?"

Taking a breath, Lady Gwyn faced him full on, her face once again set in stone. "With your blessing and aid, Lord Stark, I would return to Highpoint and see it set to rights. I would find any and all who had any knowledge of my father's actions and have them brought to justice. I would seek to right the wrongs my House has committed against House Stark, House Nox, and the North. And I will spend the rest of my days showing that your faith in me was not misplaced."

It was a monumental task, and one that he did not think would be accomplished in his lifetime or in his children's. And judging by the look in her eye, she knew that what she'd just laid out before him was an impossible task as well. The name Whitehill would be forever more cursed by those of the North. Just as the name Bolton, Ryswell, Dustin and Stout would be. But she was determined to walk the road, regardless. And yet…perhaps there was another way. Not to recover what House Whitehill had lost, but rather to be reborn anew. "I heard tell that some moons ago that you had an affair with a son of House Forrester, Asher if I am not mistaken. Is this true, Lady Gwyn?"

The sudden change in topic clearly unsettled the young lady. "Aye, Lord Stark. Asher and I – we – "

"There is no need to go into details, Lady Gwyn," Ned said, raising a hand to halt her from revealing too much. "When your affair became known, your father demanded retribution. Which resulted in Asher being exiled from the North, is that correct?"

Again, Lady Gwyn looked clearly unsettled and embarrassed. "Aye, my Lord. You have the right of it."

"Lord Forrester," Ned called out, turning his attention to where he knew the few Forresters that had come to Winterfell were gathered.

"Aye, Lord Stark?" Gregor Forrester, the Lord of Ironrath, said rising to his feet.

"Have you had any contact with your son since he was sent into exile?" Ned asked.

Gregor shuffled in place, clearly uneasy with the topic of conversation. "No, Lord Stark. Once his affair with Lady Gwyn became widely known and Ludd demanded blood, I – I ordered Asher into exile in Essos to stop the bloodshed. But I have yet to hear from him since he left the North."

"Then you two have quite the task before you then," Ned stated before turning his attention back to Gwyn. "I admire your strength, my lady, and your desire to bring your House back from this. But I fear that such a feat will be impossible. And you know that as well. But while House Whitehill will never return to its status, there is a chance for a new House to be born here today. I am hereby lifting Asher Forrester's exile, effective immediately. Lady Gwyn Whitehill, Lord Gregor Forrester. I am charging the two of you with finding Asher and returning him to the North. Upon his return, he and the Lady Gwyn will marry. And from their union a new House shall be formed, neither Forrester nor Whitehill. Do either of you have any objections to this union?"

Gregor, his wife Elissa, and their eldest son Rodrik all seemed elated by the decision. And though she hid it well, Ned could sense the joy emanating from Gwyn Whitehill as well. "I – I have no objections, Lord Stark," Gregor stammered after receiving a discreet elbow in the side from his Lady wife.

"Neither do I, Lord Stark," Gwyn added quickly.

"Then the matter is settled," Ned said with a note of finality. "Lady Gwyn, Lord Gregor. Once you two have returned Asher Forrester to the North, he shall wed Lady Gwyn and the two shall create a new House which shall hold Highpoint as their seat."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Lady Gwyn said, curtseying low and lowering her eyes. "I promise you: you shall not regret this mercy and faith you have shown today."

With that matter settled, Ned dismissed the girl while mentally preparing himself for who he was about to see next. "Domeric of House Bolton. Step forth."

When the young lad, only a few years older than his sons, stepped forth it was all Ned could do not to leap out of his seat and attack the boy. He looked exactly like Roose had when the two had fought together during Robert's Rebellion. He had the same pale eyes and pale skin. Hells, they both even wore their hair in the exact same manner.

"Lord Stark," the young Bolton heir said as he went to a knee before him, his head bowed in submission.

Ned knew that this was perhaps going to be the most difficult of his decisions today. He knew what he wanted to do. Gods knew what he wanted to do to the boy who so resembled the man that was at least partially responsible for the death of his wife and son. But he knew that while he might gain a moment of satisfaction, and hells it might be the safest of options to take, it was simply not right. He could not and would not hold the sins of the father against the son. If he did…then he would be honor bound to end Jon's life here and now. And that was definitely something that he would not do.

Folding his hands under his chin, Ned carefully observed the young man kneeling before him. Nox had informed him that Roose had purposefully left his son in ignorance as a failsafe incase things went wrong. The Leech Lord was counting on Ned giving the heir to the Dreadfort a simple slap on the wrist and send him on his way, as the Starks had done in the past. Unfortunately for Bolton's plans, Ned was also a student of history. This was not the first, nor the second, nor even the third time the former Red Kings had tried to overthrow the Starks from their position. In the past, the only reason the Starks had allowed the line to continue was to make sure that the ruling Starks never grew too complacent. But Ned was not his ancestors. And he would not be making the same mistake as them.

"Domeric Bolton," Ned began at long last. "While under questioning, your father admitted that he kept you in ignorance of his plans. There were those present at the feast that spoke of the way you jumped in to fight against the assassins that your father and his allies brought into Winterfell. And as I did with Lady Gwyn, I will now do the same with you and ask you a single time: did you have any knowledge of your father's plot against myself and mine?"

The young heir to the Dreadfort raised his head as pale eyes met the eyes of a wolf. "No, Lord Stark. I knew nothing of what my father intended to do until the moment the attack began."

"And tell me, Domeric," Ned pressed. "Had you known of your father's plot, would you have informed myself or Lord Nox of the attempt in order to prevent the attack?"

At this, the young man froze. "Lord Stark, I am a son of House Bolton and yet you ask if I would betray my father. So, let me ask you, my Lord: would you have betrayed your father in a such a manner?"

'Answering without actually answering, but the meaning is clear. Even if it does not sit well with my bannermen.' "Your honestly is appreciated, Domeric," Ned replied, not bothering to answer as they both knew what it would be. "I have said many times here today that I will not hold the sins of the father against his children. But I fear that the history of House Bolton and House Stark make that decision difficult. House Bolton has revolted against House Stark more than once since House Stark claimed lordship of the North. Each time, my ancestors allowed yours to retain their seat only for House Bolton to immediately return to plotting the fall of House Stark. I cannot and will not allow this pattern to continue. I, Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, do hereby banish House Bolton forever more from the lands of the North on pain of death. Domeric Bolton, you will be allowed to return to the Dreadfort under guard and collect whatever you can carry. You will then be escorted to White Harbor and placed upon the first ship out of port to live out the rest of your days as you see fit. Or, if you so choose, you may take the Black. But, from this day forth, House Bolton will no longer be of the North, nor welcome in the North."

The simplest option would have been to either have Domeric executed or to have him serve out the rest of his life at the Wall, but that would put him on the same grouping as Tywin Lannister. And while he was forcing five Northern Houses into extinction in the North, he would not stoop so low as to kill those who did not deserve it.

"I – I will take exile, Lord Stark." Domeric said after a long, drawn out silence. "And I will find new fortune in Essos."

"So be it," Ned nodded, motioning towards some of his guards to stand beside Domeric. "On the morrow, you will be escorted to the Dreadfort to collect whatever you can carry and then you will be escorted to White Harbor until a ship is ready to sail."

Not saying a word, the young Bolton nodded his acceptance of his fate before disappearing once more into the crowed with his two Stark guard escorts. "Lastly, I would hear from Mychel Redfort of House Redfort and squire to the false knight, Lyn Corbray."

The youngest son of Lord Horton Redfort of the Vale was pushed out from the crowd and made to stand before Ned. The boy, for that was what he was as he couldn't have been more than year older than his own sons, was visibly shaking before him. "Y–Yes, Lord Stark."

Leaning forward, Ned fixed the boy with a hard look. "During the night of the attack, you were seen to have been encouraging the younger guards, heirs, and even my sons to drink as much as they could. Because of your actions, those who perhaps could have aided when the attack began were unable to do so. During your questioning by Lord Nox, you admitted that you did so under the direction of Lyn Corbray. Yet claim that, despite your actions, you knew nothing of the attack before it began. I want you to look me in the eyes, boy, and answer me honestly. Do you swear on the old gods and the new, and on your family honor, that you knew nothing of what your master had planned?"

The young squire all but collapsed to the ground in a heap as he lowered his face to the point where he was near kissing the stones beneath his feet. "I – I swear, Lord Stark," Mychal began before pausing as he seemed to remember what Ned had demanded of him as he raised his face so he could look the boy in the eye. "I swear on the gods old and new, and upon my family honor, Lord Stark, I knew nothing of what Se – the false knight had planned. Please, my Lord… Please have mercy."

The boy was petrified. Yet there was no lie in him. He truly did not know of the attack before it happened.

"Lord Stark?" Domeric Bolton called out from his spot near the back of the crowd. "While I am no longer a man of the North, I would ask that you allow myself to speak on young Mychal's behalf."

Leaning back, Ned nodded towards Domeric. "Speak."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Domeric nodded before stepping out from the crowd. "My Lords, I speak now not as a son of House Bolton, but rather as the squire for Lord Horton Redfort, father of young Mychal here. I've known young Mychal here for several years, well before he entered the service of Corbray. He is a good lad, kind and faithful to the laws of gods and men. I truly believe that, had he had any inkling as to the true intention of his master or the others involved in the attack, he would've done everything he could to inform yourself beforehand. Even if it cost him his life."

It was a powerful testimony, only hampered by the fact that it was Domeric who'd delivered it. "Thank you, Domeric," Ned said, motioning for the former heir of House Bolton to step back. "Are there any others who would speak in young Mychel's defense?"

"I would speak on his behalf, Lord Stark," Lord Royce spoke, moving quickly to extract himself from the crowd and step out into the middle of the great hall. "I may not know young Mychel here, Lord Stark. But I know his father and I know his elder brothers. And I agree with young Domeric Bolton. Had Mychel had any inclination of the plan to assassinate yourself, Lord Nox, and your families, I believe he would have done everything he could to inform you of the plot well before it could take place. I have no hesitation in vouching for his innocence, my Lord. And I will take responsibility for any actions he might commit during his remaining time here in the North."

"Very well," Ned nodded, turning his attention away from Lord Royce and back to the still-shaking squire. "Mychel Redfort, I hereby find you innocent of the crimes of attempted assassination and sedition against House Stark and House Nox. However, you are hereby prohibited from ever stepping foot onto Northern soil again. Is that understood?"

Mychel nearly collapsed as his relief shown through on his face. "Yes, my Lord – Thank you, my Lord! I swear, I will do whatever I can to make this up to House Stark and House Nox!"

As the young squire was dismissed, Ned felt a great burden being lifted from him as he realized that that was the last of the trials to be held. Yet with that release came a new burden. The fact that he would now be tasked with carrying out his sentences. Rising to his feet, Ned waited as the rest of the Lords and Ladies present in the hall rose with him.

"The court of Winterfell is hereby adjourned for the day," he announced. "At sundown, the execution of the traitors to the North shall commence. Until then, you are all dismissed."


Sitting perfectly still atop the child-sized stone he'd spent every spare moment of the past few days working on within a small garden situated next to the Sorcerer's Tower in Winterfell, Nox waited in a meditative trance as the sun slowly began to descend towards the horizon. It was nearly time for the moment he'd been waiting for ever since the attempted coup a few days prior. The moment when he would have his first true taste of vengeance against those who'd tried, and failed, to take everything from him once more. He would've preferred to extract his vengeance upon every one of the conspirators, but he knew that was simply not possible. Well, it was. But he wasn't about to deprive the man he truly considered a friend his own vengeance. Plus, there was going to be quite a bit more bloodletting soon. Soon, all would learn just what it meant to try and take that which a Sith holds near and dear to themselves.

Sensing the soothing presence of his wife entering the small garden, Nox pulled himself out of his trance just as his wife and light reached his side. "Alim," she called out gently.

Getting up and moving over to her, he brought one of her hands up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. "You don't need to be here for this love."

Her normally cool aura spiked with anger. "Yes, I do," she responded, her voice as iron as her will and as cold as the Wall. "These bastards took our son away from us and would've done far worse had their plan not failed. I don't know just what you are planning to do to him. But there is no way that I am missing the chance to see the life leave his eyes as you send him to the hells where he belongs."

It was moments like these, when Nyra's passion and her resolve shown like a beacon in the Force, that she reminded him so much of Ashara. "Don't worry love," he said, giving her a half grin as he felt two large groups of people emerging from the dungeons and the main keep before combining and making their way towards the Sorcerer's Tower. "You will get your wish and more. After tonight, people will volunteer for the Wall just for thinking of doing anything to us. I promise you that."

"Good," Nyra smile, raising on her toes and pressing her lips to his quickly before breaking off and taking her spot by his side as the group of people came close enough for her to notice them.

Ned was leading the procession with Robb and Jon flanking him on either side and just behind them it seemed as if the entirety of Winterfell had come out in mass to watch what was about to transpire. The only ones that Nox noted were not present were those who would be deemed too young watch the spectacle.

"Lord Nox, Lady Nox." Ned greeted the two of them before turning and standing beside them.

Once the Lord of Winterfell had taken his place before the mass of people, the six prisoners that were to be executed were brought forth. Though only one of them would meet their fate right now. Signaling to his guards, the two that were holding onto Lyn Corbray pushed the man forward and forced him to his knees before Stark and Nox.

"Ser Lyn Corbray of House Corbray of the Vale," Nox said out loud so that all could hear him. Normally Ned would be doing this, but as Nox would be the one to 'swing the sword', as it were, Northern tradition demanded that he be the one to pass the sentence. "You have been tried and found guilty of attempted sedition of the North. Of the attempted murder of my wife, Lady Nyra Nox, and for causing the death of our unborn child. For these crimes, in the name of King Robert Baratheon the First, I, Lord Alim Nox, a Lord of the North, do hereby sentence you to die. If you have words to say, say them now."

From his kneeling position on the ground, Corbray glared menacingly at the three of them before spitting at the ground next to their feet. "I may die here today, but I die knowing that I will be embraced by the Seven-Who-Are-One for doing their work in removing the hellspawn that'd been growing in that whorish heretic's womb. But while I will be embraced by the Seven, you will rot in the Seven hells for your blasphemy! So, take my head, but know that in the end, I will have the last laugh!"

Shaking his head, Nox stepped forward until he was right in front of Corbray and squatted down. "I never took you for a devote and a theologist, Corbray. Especially with your preference towards young boys rather than women in your bed."

That little tidbit, which he'd plucked from Corbray's mind during his interrogation, drew quite a bit of murmuring as Corbray's aura spiked in anger. "Fuck you heretic hellspawn!"

Ignoring him, Nox began talking while motioning with his hands. "You see, I find myself quite the scholar of theology myself. Or rather the theology and beliefs across differing cultures. It's really a fascinating subject if you investigate it. Especially with how consistent they are with one another with some of their beliefs even as they decry each other for not being the 'correct' belief. And one of these reoccurring themes throughout most theologies is the idea of a hell, or a place for those who have done wrong in life and deserve punishment. Now the specifics might change, but the general idea of hell seems to be repetition. Having the same thing happen to you repeatedly for eternity. Usually some sort of torture, be it physical or mental."

"Is this how you plan on executing me, sorcerer? Lecturing me to death?" Corbray scoffed.

Smiling, Nox patted the man atop his head as if he were nothing but a pet. "Keep that bravado going, Corbray. You're going to need it." Rising, Nox lifted his hand and summoned the stone he'd been sitting on just before Nyra came to him. Setting the stone down before him, Nox rested his hand atop the waist high obelisk. "You won't die from my lecture, Corbray. In fact, you won't be 'dying' for some time yet. Death is quick. Final. And you…you made the grave mistake of taking away something that I loved. My son. Thus, you won't be dying until you fully learn just what it means to anger a Dark Lord of the Sith."

Motioning away the guards, Nox walked around Corbray so that he was behind the kneeling man as he rested his hands on his shoulders. "You see, this right here is what is known as a Rakatan Mind Prison. It took quite a bit of work on my part, mostly because I've never made one before and I was doing it completely from memory of the one that I saw before. What's going to happen is that I'm going to take your mind, your essence, your soul if you will, and transfer it into this obelisk here. You'll be kept alive and conscious of everything going on around you, yet you will be unable to interact with it at all. I've also modified it slightly to do a certain task. And that is too make your worst nightmares into a reality. Your reality. And one that you will repeat over and over again over the course of a thousand or perhaps even several hundred thousand years, pending on my rune work. I'm afraid I was in a bit of a rush to complete it, so I can't be entirely sure on my arithmetic."

Leaning over, Nox could almost smell the fear coming off Corbray as the man fought a clearly losing battle to keep his composure. "You see, I don't know if your Seven would send you to what you consider hell or not. And I am not one for taking chances, so I decided to build a hell for you to suffer in. Interesting, isn't it?"

"You're bluffing," Corbray hissed, trying and failing to keep his fear from getting the better of him.

Smiling, Nox patted the man on the shoulder one last time. "I don't bluff. Something that I assure you, you will have plenty of time to learn after I rip your soul out of your body and lock you into your new home."

Moving around so that he was once more standing between Corbray and the obelisk, Nox let his anger, his hatred for the piece of filth before him, to run rampant through his being. Holding his hands before him like he was holding a sphere, he drew heavily on the dark side of the force in preparation for ripping the man's consciousness out of his body and transferring it into the Mind Prison. Small wisps of manifested Force energy began forming between his hands as small arcs of Force lightning ran across his fingers and arms.

"Lord Stark!" Corbray yelled as his composure fled as he tried to move but found himself unable to do so as Nox held him in place with the Force. "You – You can't allow this! The block! Give me the block! Take my head! Don't–! You can't! Lord Royce! You can't just – no! No! Nnnnoooo!"

Corbray's voice broke into an unintelligible wail of agony as Nox pushed his hands forward. The tendrils of dark Force energy spread out from his hands and encompassed the condemned man. Gritting his teeth, Nox began breaking the man's very being away from his physical form.

It wasn't just the breaking away that was difficult. It was making sure that his consciousness couldn't slip away from him, which was like trying to hold onto a wet eel with his bare hands. If he'd had more time, there were rituals he could've performed to make this process easier. But that would've required not only delaying the execution by several weeks, but he would also have to find a spot that was secure and infrequently traveled to properly prepare just as his former Master Zash had done, or had planned to do, to him. But, while this particular method he was using was more difficult, it had the added benefit of being far more painful for the one whose mind was being removed.

Feeling the last feeble grasp on Corbray's mortal coil give way, Nox immediately shifted his feet and moved his hands. A sphere that had formed over Corbray and which now contained everything he was floated across the small distance. It collided with the obelisk and dissipated the moment the two touched as it was absorbed into the stone. Releasing his hold, Nox let the now lifeless body that'd once been Lyn Corbray fall face first to the ground.

The entire yard was silent as Nox approached the obelisk and rested his hand on the cold the stone. He could feel Corbray's spirit within the obelisk, and even though he had only just been condemned, he could sense the despair and agony coming from within the Mind Prison. "And so ends Lyn Corbray, the fool who thought he could bring harm to the loved ones of a Sith Lord and live to tell tale."


Leading the procession from the Sorcerer's Tower to the godswood, Ned found himself in a stupor as he tried to fully wrap his mind around what he'd just witnessed. His friend was many things; powerful, caring to those he loved, a teacher, a mentor, a scholar, and a man that routinely made the impossible seem possible. But as many positive qualities Ned knew that his friend possessed, he was not ignorant enough to overlook his friend's faults. He could be arrogant at times, condescending. But he had more than those, he could also be incredibly ruthless and vindictive to those who dared to cross him. Ned just never truly realized just how ruthless Nox could truly be until tonight. Creating a literal hell for an individual and then ripping their soul out of their body and trapping them in said hell. Even after all he'd seen and learned from Nox up until tonight, he would've thought such a thing impossible. But that was exactly what had happened here tonight. And it was a fate that did not sit easily with Ned.

But as unnatural as the execution was, Ned would not and could not fault his friend for what he'd done. Especially considering what Ned himself was about to do to the treasonous nobles. Executions were not just about simply killing. No. They were about making a statement to everyone else about the consequences of certain actions. And Nox had just made a very, very powerful statement. Just as he was about to do.

Coming into the clearing before the weirwood, Ned's heart began to beat wildly as he saw that his orders had been carried out. Five stakes, each taller than a man, had been erected in the godswood before the reflecting pool opposite of the weirwood. 'Father. Brother. Sister. Ancestors… Give me strength to do what must be done here tonight,' he prayed as he made to stand before the reflecting pool in front of the five stakes.

As he turned around, he saw that those who'd gathered to watch the execution had all begun spreading out, the light from their newly lit torches the only source of light in the godswood as the guards roughly positioned each of the five prisoners before a stake. Everyone, from his sons to the Lords and Ladies to even Nox knew what was about to happen here. And by the look on at least two of the condemned Lords faces, they were obviously not expecting to meet their end this way. And if he were being truthful with himself, this was perhaps the last thing Ned wanted to do. But his wants did not matter. The laws of the North were old and unforgiving. And this was the cost of betraying the North and breaking the laws of gods and men.

"Roose Bolton. Barbrey Dustin. Ludd Whitehill. Rodrik Ryswell. Harwood Stout." He began, making sure to meet each of them in the eye before moving on. "You five have been found guilty of attempted sedition and assassination. In the name of King Robert Baratheon the First I, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, do hereby sentence you to die by the Traitors Death. If you have any last words, speak them now for all to hear. For while you will meet with the gods tonight, you will not stand with them nor will you be able to reach for them. You will be with the gods, yet you will not hear them, see them, nor speak to them. And until the end of time, all will know of your transgressions against the laws of gods and men."

"Please, my Lord…I beg mercy!" Harwood Stout whimpered, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I – I didn't mean…I was forced –!"

"Had our roles been reversed as you and your cohorts intended, Stout, would you have granted my family and I such mercy as you are asking for now?!" Ned demanded of the man, making him whimper further and fold in on himself.

Next, Ludd Whitehill met his eyes, but his fear betrayed him as he took shook with fear of what was to come. "My family will live on…through my traitorous daughter…but they will live on. And one day, this will be revisited upon you a hundred-fold."

Ned didn't bother gracing the man with a response as he turned his attention to Rodrik Ryswell. "You killed my eldest son. Unmanned my two younger sons. Widowed my eldest daughter before she could ever have children of her own. My only regret standing here today, is that I did not get the chance to gut you like your fish of a wife before I died."

Glaring, Ned forced himself away from Rodrik and onto the next in line; Barbrey Dustin. The dowager Lady of Barrow Town was standing tall and looking at him with something that he had never seen from her before. Something almost akin to respect. "I didn't think you would have the strength to go through with this, Stark. But I can see that you have finally decided to shed those antlers and feathers and become a wolf once more." Barbrey said with a definite edge to her voice. "Too bad it took all this death for you to actually become a wolf of the north instead of a southern pretender wolf."

"I have always been a man of the North and a wolf, Barbrey," he countered, meeting her gaze head on. "Your hatred of me merely blinded you to that fact."

Moving over to the last of the condemned, Ned met the cold grey eyes of Roose Bolton for the last time. "You think you have won just because we failed? You are a fool Ned Stark. This is not the end. Merely the beginning of the end for the Starks."

"Perhaps, or perhaps not." Ned replied, forcing himself to remain calm. "As I have often been told by a friend, the only thing certain about the future is uncertainty. The time of the Starks may end in my time or perhaps a hundred lifetimes from now. But you, Roose, you will not be there to see it happen. Bind them."

Stepping back, Ned watched with a racing heart as his guards stripped the five condemned of their shirts, leaving the men bare chested and Barbrey in only her chest bindings. Without a single word spoken the men of Winterfell then forced each of them against a stake and raised their hands above their heads before tying them off onto a hook at the top. With their arms secured a second roped was then wound tightly around their chest to make sure that they could not move away from the stake. Not that they would be able to do so soon enough. Finished with their task, the men of Winterfell stepped away as Jory approached. A large two-handed war maul in his hands.

Taking the maul from his captain, Ned stepped forward once more. "Not since before the time of the dragons has any dared to violate the laws of gods and men in such a manner." He said loudly and clearly so that all could hear him. "The North is old and harsh. But we are a people who stand united. We were one while the rest of the southern kingdoms were still squabbling for control of one another. And for those who would seek to destroy that which we have built upon centuries of blood, there is only one fate awaiting them. May the gods have mercy on you. For I cannot and shall not."

Gripping the handle of the maul tightly, Ned made his way towards the end of the line of stakes and stood before Harwood Stout as the rest of those in the godswood remained completely silent. The man was shaking violently, and the front of his pants were soaked with his own piss. "My lord…" Stout moaned, "please…mer—AHH!"

Swinging the maul around his head, Ned brought the heavy blunt instrument down hard onto Stout's left knee. The former Lord from Barrow Town cried out in agony as the bones in his knee shattered under the weight of the maul. Part of Ned wanted to stop then and there. But he couldn't. The law wouldn't let him. And a much larger part, the part that remembered holding Cat's and Rickon's bloody bodies, was actually enjoying the sight of the man's suffering. Reversing his swing, Ned quickly brough the maul back around and struck down on his other knee, shattering it just the first before delivering two follow up swings to each of his arms. With his arms and legs broken, Stout went limp, the rope around his middle and the rope securing his arms above his head the only things keeping him upright.

Forcing himself to ignore the wailing of Stout, Ned pushed himself onto the next and went to stand before Ludd Whitehill. The former Lord had his eyes close and was shaking nearly as bad as Stout had been. Not giving himself time to think about what he was doing; Ned brought the maul down hard onto each of the man's knees and both of his arms. The man's bones shattered like they were nothing more than dry kindling. He repeated the process with Rodrik Ryswell, the only difference there being the Lord of the Rills didn't shake nor piss himself. He merely stared at Ned with hatred even as Ned shattered his legs and arms.

When he came to Barbrey, he involuntarily found himself pausing. She was a woman. Doing this to a woman was just… It was different than a man. Yet still, she had committed the same crime as the others. Her punishment had to be the same. So, with a heavy heart and forcibly blanked mind, Ned methodically brought the maul down on her legs and arms just as he had the others.

Lastly, Ned stood before Roose Bolton. The man who was the leader of the attempted insurrection. Pale eyes met the eyes of the wolf, yet despite staring his very death in the face the Leech Lord had no fear. Nor acceptance. He just stayed there, emotionless as if this were just another day for him. And that, more than anything, infuriated the Warden of the North more than anything else. The apathy Roose showed towards Ned's family, his own family, and his fellow conspirators. His anger fueling him, Ned swung the maul around with far more strength than he had the others. Roose's knees and arms didn't simply break under the force of the maul, they shattered. Each blow wrenching screams of pain from the Leech Lord that only served to make Ned want to hit him harder.

Dropping the maul, Ned held out his hand. Wordlessly, Jory deposited a dagger into his waiting hand. Forcing Roose's head to the side, he grabbed hold of the man's ear and placed the flat of the dagger against the side of his head. Pulling on his ear, he brought the dagger down and removed Roose's ear with a single swipe. Dropping the bloody appendage on the ground, he forced Roose's head the other direction and repeated the action to remove his other ear. The task done, he moved down the line removing the conspirator's ears one at a time without hesitation or mercy. By the time he'd finished with Stout, the five prisoners were hanging limply by the rope around their chest as the pain from their broken bones and severed ears kept them conscious and in constant agony.

Handing the dagger back off to Jory, Ned kept his mind empty as he was handed a metal poker with the end heated to the point where the metal glowed brightly. Without him needing to say so, his men moved up so that there were two next to each of the condemned and forced their eyes open. Leveling the poker at Stout's eyes, Ned didn't give himself time to think of the pleading look in the man's eye before he pressed the searing metal into first his right eye and then his left. Within mere moments, Ned had made his way down the line of the prisoners and each were blinded much in the same manner his friend had been when he was still but a child.

Handing the poker back off, he took the dagger back from Jory as his men worked with wedges of wood and tongs to force the prisoners' mouths open and pull their tongue out past their teeth. Ned's mind was completely devoid as he methodically removed the tongues of each prisoners, not caring as their blood got on his hands and clothes. Only after removing Stout's tongue did he allow himself a moment to collect himself. The five prisoners were little more than a collection of broken, bloodied bodies that were barely hanging onto life and consciousness. But their ordeal was not yet over. Pressing the edge of the dagger against Stout's stomach Ned drew the blade quickly across the man's middle. This cut was just deep enough to render the flesh and muscle, opening his stomach and allowing his guts to fall freely from his body onto the ground below. Then, just like he had done with the bones, ears, eyes and tongue, Ned walked down the line slicing each prisoners' stomachs open just enough to spill their guts out onto the ground.

After slicing open Roose Bolton, Ned handed the dagger back off and stepped away from the five still slowly dying prisoners. Despite having just brutalized the five condemned, an act that he knew Jon Arryn would never have approved of, Ned felt no shame nor remorse. In fact, he felt nothing. There was no satisfaction. No horror at what he'd done. Just…calm.

"Not since before the time of the dragons has such a crime warranted the Traitors Death," he said, speaking loudly over the dying moans of the condemned. "Remember well what you have seen here tonight. For the North remembers! And we have no mercy for those who break the laws of gods and men. Now, to bed, all of you. We have an early start in the morning…for we have more traitors to deal with in the south. And we will need to move quickly if we are to catch them all."

Not a single word was spoken as Ned marched away from the stakes that were holding onto the five still dying prisoners with Jon and Robb quickly falling into step beside him. There were no further words that needed to be said. The message given tonight spoke far louder than any words he could've uttered. And now…now the wolves would make sure that their message was delivered to the south once more.


The morning after the executions of the traitorous Northern Lords and Lady was a somber affair for everyone in Winterfell as most were still trying to come to terms with what they'd witnessed the night before. Add to the fact that most of the nobles had sent their families home that morning, and Winterfell suddenly felt a lot quieter than it had been in some time. The only sound within Winterfell was the steady knocking of training blades as they bashed against one another as the men of the North trained. And amid the dozens of training men, and even a few women, overseeing their training was Nox. The training regime that morning had been a rather impromptu affair that had begun with just Nox, his Apprentice, and his Acolytes. But soon enough word got out about their training and seemingly within minutes the entire courtyard was full of guards, Lords, and Ladies, all hoping to garner some attention from the famed Northern Sorcerer.

And he had granted their wish, though he was sure that many of them now wished they had not as Nox's form of 'encouragement' was usually demonstrated with a swift bout of Force lightning to motivate those he felt were lacking. But despite the brutal pace he set and his encouragement to not screw up, not one of those who came to the yard had left. Their anger at what had transpired and the thought of vengeance against those who had wronged them driving the men and women of the North to push themselves harder and harder.

As he passed by the Greatjon, who was struggling badly with getting used to fighting with only one arm, Nox's hand shot up as if he were making a motion to swat a fly. A high-pitched squeal came from behind him, followed quickly by more than a few choice words and the sound of several bodies hitting the ground. Turning around, Nox faced towards the pile of bodies, though mostly he was staring at the smallest member of the pile who was trying desperately to disentangle herself from the limbs of those she'd collided with.

"Another failure, Arya," Nox sighed as most of the training around them paused to watch what was going on. "You know the punishment. Fifty swings of the sword and two laps around the yard. Then, you will try again. If you fail again, then I will have you doing embroidering for the next three training sessions instead of training. And the rest of you, back to what you were doing unless you want to be made an example of as well."

Wisely, everyone immediately went back to their training as Arya quickly scrambled to her feet and ran off to start her punishment for failing once again. Unlike Jon, Robb, and Theon, who were currently sparring off to the side of the yard in a Robb and Theon versus Jon match, and Bran who was under the careful tutelage of Ser Rodrik Cassel, Arya's training for the day did not include sparring. Instead, he'd decided to focus on having her refine her rather unique Force ability. To that end, he'd given her a single task for the day. That task being to get within five paces of him without him noticing her. So far, she'd made five attempts at the seemingly simple task, and she'd failed on each attempt.

As Nox started to make his way back towards his Apprentice, he slowed his pace as he felt another presence enter the yard. Or rather, two presences. After several long moments, all movement in the yard stopped and stared in open disbelief at what they were seeing. Standing just outside the training yard, looking more than slightly uncomfortable in the breeches and leather padding covering her body, was Sansa Stark. Standing just behind the eldest daughter of Lord Stark was her newly named sworn sword, the former Wildling woman Osha wearing leather armor complete with her newly acquired sword-spear sheathed but held in her left hand.

"Sansa," Nox greeted the young girl. "You're late. Training began hours ago."

The young wolf girl looked more than slightly uncomfortable as she stood before him shifting her feet back and forth. "I – I'm sorry, Lord Nox. But I – I wasn't sure how I shou – ah!"

Hands covering her head, Sansa ducked out of the path of the wooden training sword that Nox had sent spiraling her way. But the wooden blade never even got close to the young girl as Osha quickly stepped in its path and snatched it out of the air.

"Tomorrow," Nox said flatly. "You will catch it. Not Osha."

"Um, yes, Lord Nox." Sansa stuttered, taking the wooden training sword from Osha and holding it awkwardly.

"For being late, you will work with your sister today, Sansa," Nox ordered, motioning towards where Arya was practicing her down strikes with her training sword. "You'll start with fifty swings of the sword, then follow along with your sister's current regime before coming back to me. Understand?"

Sansa frowned as she looked over at where Arya was located. No doubt she thought that he would be training her directly from the start. And while he had every intention of doing just that, he needed to test her first. See if she truly was ready to learn.

"As you will, Lord Nox," Sansa responded, awkwardly bowing to him before making her way over to Arya.

"And what 'bout me, Sorcerer?" Osha asked, staying in place even as her charge walked away. "Lord wolf wanted ya to train me to make sure I was capable of protectin his little wolves."

"He did, did he?" Nox asked, slowly approaching Osha with his hands at his sides. "Then, let us see what I'm working with."

Summoning another tourney blade to his open hand, Nox spun in a tight circle as he used the Force to propel himself up and over Osha while simultaneously striking down at her exposed neck and shoulder. But Osha proved quicker than he'd anticipated as she dropped into a roll across the ground to avoid his strike and coming back to her feet just as Nox himself landed. Her excitement peaked as the sheath left her weapon, revealing the Valyrian steel for all to see as she charged at him. Tossing the tourney blade aside, Nox summoned his lightsaber into his hand and activated it just in time to parry Osha's well controlled thrust.

Instead of locking blades with him, Osha turned with the parry, spinning around in a tight circle and building up momentum as she adjusted her grip to the end of the sword's hilt to increase the strength of the coming blow. A blow that struck nothing but air as Nox slid his feet back just enough to let the tip of the blade pass within a few inches of his face. As soon as the blade was clear, he shifted again and lunged, stopping the tip of his lightsaber but a hair's breadth from her exposed throat.

"Solid form and footwork," he summarized, stepping back from Osha. "But your tendency to overextend will be your undoing. The spear, and your sword-spear, have the advantage of reach. Yet you must not let that advantage become a disadvantage. Again."

Osha took his words to heart as their next round began with her being far more cautious than the last as she tried not to overextend herself this time around. But that caution proved to be her undoing as Nox went on the offensive with a flurry of attacks using ataru and knocking her on her ass within a minute.

"Too cautious," Nox chided, waiting for Osha to get back to her feet.

Snarling, Osha went on the offensive with a series of quick thrusts to varying parts of his body. Each thrust was met with either an equally quick parry or simple move by Nox to avoid the blade completely. The bout went longer than the previous two, but quickly enough Osha began to get frustrated at not even being able to come close to landing a blow and her movements started to become far more forced and erratic.

"Use and control your anger and frustration," Nox growled, stepping in close to Osha and driving his fist into her midsection, dropping her to the ground. "Do not let them use you."

Gripping her weapon, Osha slowly got back to her feet. Her anger and humiliation were such that she was shaking trying to control them while around them the men and women of the North chuckled or outright laughed at her.

"They think you're nothing," Nox said, quietly enough so that it was only the two of them who could hear. "They think you don't deserve the honor and respect Lord Stark has bestowed upon you. They think you're nothing more than a barbarian who doesn't know her ass from a hole in the ground. Show them that they're wrong. Show them what it means to be a spearwife, Osha. Show them that Lord Stark's and my own faith in you is not misplaced."

His words seemed to do the trick as her anger and humiliation lessened and her focus steadily increased. Slowing turning his lightsaber, Nox started to circle, to which Osha matched his every step. Her hands were as steady as rocks and her demeaner gave away nothing as the two circled one another. Abruptly stopping his movements, Nox launched a series of probing attacks at the wildling woman. Each of which she was able to fend off as she focused solely on him and not those around them.

Back and forth, the two traded blows with neither truly gaining the advantage over the other. Though, in truth, Nox was handicapping himself by not using the Force. If he had, the fight would've been over before it could even begin. And that would simply defeat the whole purpose he had in sparring with her in the first place. But even with Nox handicapping himself, he was still very impressed with the woman's prowess. She wasn't Oberyn's level of skill, but he had no doubt that she could easily reach the Prince of Dorne's level in no time at all.

The two continued to trade blows for nearly half an hour or more before Osha began to reach her limit. Her movements were starting to become sloppy and her breathing was ragged as she tried desperately to keep pace with him. Deciding to end things there, Nox slipped within her reach and wrenched her spear-sword out of her grasp before kicking her feet out from underneath. Her breath left her lungs in a rush as her back hit the ground and Nox had his lightsaber pointed at her throat, all within the blink of an eye.

"Well done, Osha," Nox congratulated the woman, deactivating his lightsaber and clipping it onto his belt. "Lord Stark has chosen his daughter's sworn sword well."

"Fuckin shit…" Osha groaned, rolling over onto her front and slowly pushing herself up to her feet. "Flattery words… Ya kicked my fuckin arse."

"As is often the case with those who try their luck against me," Nox replied, holding out his hand for her to take. "But you managed to last far longer than most have. Granted, I was holding back, but you still did well."

Nox could feel her glare as she tightly gripped his offered hand and pulled herself up. "Cocky shit, ain't ya, sorcerer?"

"No, just confident. There's a difference."

Letting go of his hand, Osha's frustration shifted into a slight amusement coated with a touch of what he recognized as arousal. "That pretty little lady of yours is a lucky woman to have stolen you, sorcerer, or else I would be makin my move to steal ya. But I ain't no poacher like that."

"Good," Nox smiled, feeling his spirits lift as they always did whenever he found a decent opponent to spar against. "What are the rest of you looking at? Back to work, or I'll start making examples of you all."

The men and women in the yard immediately got back to what they were doing. Nursing several sore spots across her body, Osha picked up her weapon and went to join with everyone else in their training regime. As the day moved on, Nox made sure to watch over his newest addition carefully.

Sansa was, well, she was not her brothers or sister, that was for sure. She had the Force potential to match her siblings, perhaps even drawing close to Arya's level now that she wasn't holding herself back for reasons that were frankly beyond Nox. But what she clearly lacked in was the physical aspect of training. She was struggling to even keep up with even the most basic of exercises and her work with a blade was beyond appalling. A fact that Arya seemed to revel in as she time and time again disarmed and smacked her sister. But despite lagging everyone in the yard, Sansa did not give up. She kept pushing herself back up no matter how many times she got knocked down. By the time Nox had finally called for an end to the day, Sansa was barely keeping herself upright and looked ready to collapse right there and then.

"Sansa," Nox said, walking up to the young girl who was currently peeling herself out of her leather padding with Osha's aid. "Let's talk."

Sansa looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and clearly exhausted, but she nodded and followed him towards the small garden area he and Nyra had planted near his tower after he'd waved Osha off from following them. Leading Sansa over towards a small stone table and seating area, Nox motioned for her to sit down while using the Force to pull over a large box that contained a full cyvasse set.

"Have you ever played cyvasse, Sansa?" he asked.

"Umm, no," Sansa replied, shaking her head.

"Then I'll teach you, here. You can take the white pieces and I'll take the black." He then went on to explain how each piece worked as the two set up their sides of the board. "Tell me, Sansa, why did you come here today?"

Sansa's hand stilled as she set down the last of her pieces on her side of the board. "I – I want to get strong. Like my brothers and – and Arya. If – If I'd been stronger – If I hadn't ignored this gift that's been given to me by the gods, then perhaps…perhaps my mother…and Rickon wouldn't – wouldn't…and Lady Nox – and your son –"

"Enough," Nox chided the young girl. "It does no good to dwell on what you believe could have happened. Instead, learn from what had happened, so that it will not happen again."

Sansa looked on the verge of tears, but she nodded and sniffed loudly as she tried to hold herself back. "I – Yes, Lord Nox."

Humming, Nox leaned back and motioned for Sansa to make her first move. "You still haven't answered my question, Sansa. Why are you here?"

Placing her fingers on a piece, Sansa moved it a few squares and leaned back. "I – I want to be strong."

"Strong?" Nox questioned, making a motion with his finger to move a piece on the board without even touching it. "And what do you think being 'strong' means? Do you think that one is strong simply because they can kill? Or are they strong because they know how to wield a blade or whatever weapon strikes their fancy? Because if so, you might as well stop trying now. Because you will never become a warrior like your sister or your brothers. You simply do not have the temperament nor the skill to do so. No, you do not want to be 'strong,' Sansa. You want power."

"But strength and power… Are they not the same?" Sansa asked, clearly curious as to where Nox was going with the conversation.

Shrugging, Nox made a move to counter Sansa's on the board. "In some context, they can be used interchangeably. But most of the time, the two have drastically different meanings. A strong individual could change the outcome of a battle. But one with power and the knowledge to use said power will be able to choose where and when each battle will take place. A clear example of the difference between these two can be shown in Lord Tywin Lannister and his bannerman Gregor Clegane. The latter is far stronger than Tywin could ever hope to become, yet it is because of Tywin's own power and the way that he wields it that he is able to control the man. That, Sansa Stark, is what I will be teaching you. Not to necessarily be a leader like Jon, or a general like Robb, or a warrior like your sister Arya. None of those will suit you. Instead, I will teach you how to become a true player of the great game."


Standing within the wooden covered bridge overlooking the yard below, Ned Stark watched as his children, all his children, trained under Lord Nox's watchful eye. While he was watching all his children, in truth he was mostly paying attention to his eldest daughter, Sansa. His little red wolf was trying so desperately to match her brothers and sister now, to the point where he could tell even from this distance that she was near the point of collapse from pure physical exhaustion. But despite her obvious lacking in skill and sheer exhaustion, his little red wolf refused to stop as she forced herself to keep pace with the others.

By the time Nox had called an end to the day and dismissed those he was training, his eldest daughter was barely able to move faster than a slight shuffling of her feet. Her newly named sworn-sword Osha helped her out of her training gear and made to help her towards the keep, but Nox waved the former wilding off and instead led Sansa over to a small sitting area in the garden beside the Sorcerer's Tower. Once they were in the garden, Sansa all but collapsed into the seat Nox had offered her before the sorcerer took one across from her and began setting up what he recognized as a cyvasse board.

A not-so-small part of him wanted to march over and hear what the two were speaking of, but he held himself back from doing so. He trusted Nox. While it was more difficult than he cared to admit watching his friend essentially break his children in the yard, he knew that Nox was doing so with a reason. He could only hope that Nox truly knew what he was doing when it came to Sansa, his precious daughter who was so different from her siblings. She would never be a warrior woman, that much was certain. But there was a strength in her. A strength that, honestly, he hadn't even known existed in her until this very morning when she arrived at his solar at the break of dawn to begin learning everything she could from him so that she could handle being the Stark-in-Winterfell while he, Robb, Jon, and Nox went south to deal with the errant maesters.

'The maesters.' Hearing the creaking of wood, Ned forced himself to rein in his temper as he let go of the railing, which had cracked like dry kindling in the palm of his hand. Ever since he'd learned the truth of the plot against he and Nox, just the mere thought of the grey-rats of the south was enough to drive Ned to a height of anger he had never experienced before. Even his hatred for the Mad King and Rhaegar paled in comparison to what he felt towards the maesters now. There were a few exceptions, Maester Luwin being the only one so far. But the aged maester of Winterfell was wise enough to keep his presence around Ned to a minimum these days. And he was trying, gods knew he was trying, to keep in mind what Maester Luwin had told them about the plot more than likely coming from a small group of maesters. But it was hard, so very hard.

He tried to tell himself, again and again, that the only reason he was going south to deal with the maesters was for justice. But that was a lie. Or, at the very least, only a small part of the truth. In truth, he was going south for one very simple reason. And it was the same reason he went south to depose the Mad King and his equally mad son four-and-ten years ago, and that was revenge. Plain and simple revenge. Plus, this time, there would be no Jon Arryn to rein in the wolfsblood. Quite the opposite in fact, as he would instead be with Nox, who would no doubt be encouraging Ned to follow his wolfsblood.

Feeling a presence approaching down the length of the bridge, Ned forced thoughts of vengeance to the back of his mind as Asha Greyjoy slowly made her way towards him.

"Lord Stark," she greeted him once she was within arm's length, her tone betraying her nerves as she no doubt was wondering why he'd asked to speak with her.

"Asha," Ned greeted her in return, trying to find where to begin. "Six years ago, you were taken from your home and brought here as my ward. And while your position, and that of your brother's, could well and truly be considered a hostage, I have truly come to find a new son and daughter in the both of you."

Asha was clearly uncomfortable with being reminded of just what her true nature here in Winterfell entailed. "Aye, I remember all too well that day… The day my father's idiocy finally caught up to him. And don't give me that look, Lord Stark. I've long ago realized that my father truly was an idiot with what he did. And it was his idiocy that cost my family and my people so much…"

Now Ned felt more than slightly awkward with where the conversation was heading. "That is not why I asked to speak with you today," he tried to gently correct her. While he honestly agreed with her on the subject of her father, he did not wish to speak ill of her family to her face. "You have been in Winterfell for six years now. My son and heir has reached the age of three-and-ten. By the King's decree, you are free to return to the Iron Isles."

Asha could do little more than stare at him as she came to terms with what he was saying. "Oh," she said, blinking and turning so that she was looking out over the courtyard with a look of longing. "I – I guess I'll be sending a raven to my father then. And returning to the Iron Isles as soon as he can send a ship to collect me."

"Not necessarily," Ned countered, drawing a sharp look from her as he handed over a decree that he had written that very morning with Sansa's watching over his shoulder.

Taking the piece of rolled paper, Asha quickly unfurled it and read its contents. Then she blinked, looked up at him and then read it over once more. "Lord Stark – ?"

"The galleon is yours, Asha," Ned said, answering her unasked question. "You've more than earned the right to claim it with your actions. A crew will be loaned for your use to return to the Iron Isles, and all I ask is your word of their safe return."

Excitement and joy started rolling off the young lady as she carefully rolled the decree back up and gently tucked it into her belt for safe keeping. "And…is that all you're asking? A ship and a crew until I can put together one of my own back on the Iron Isles? Surely, there is more to this than just a gesture of good will, Lord Stark."

'She caught on quick.' "Honestly, Asha, I truly wish that this was just a simple gesture of goodwill towards the young woman I've found another daughter in. But there is always a price. Though, this is a price that I pray you are willing to pay." Pausing, he turned and faced her full on to make sure he had her attention. "The price is this. Remember. Remember what you have seen during your time here in Winterfell and use what you have learned to lead your people towards a better future. Remember, as well, that should the Iron Isles try a repeat of the past…then the North will not be as merciful as we once were. And even if I find a daughter and son in you and Theon…I will do what is necessary to protect the North."

Asha's face went slightly pale as kept her eyes on his own. "I understand, Lord Stark. And trust me… After seeing what the two of you can and are willing to do, the last thing the Iron Isles can afford is to piss off the North and the Sorcerer once more."

"Good," Ned nodded. "There is one more thing, Asha. Should you choose to not simply be a Lady of House Greyjoy and instead succeed your father…then know that you will have the full backing of the North in your choice."

That seemed to bring Asha up short. "You'd support…? But what of Theon?"

Frowning, Ned stared down at the young Greyjoy lad down in the yard talking adamantly with Robb and Jon as the three practiced their archery. "Theon is a good lad, and while I feel he has the makings of a good future Lord, he will have known the North far better than he knows the Iron Isles by the time Robert allows him to return to his home. You, however? You know your people. You know how to earn their trust and respect. And I believe that it is through you that the people of the Iron Islands will find a way forward, away from the Old Way of paying the Iron Price."

"And what if I don't?" Asha asked in an almost challenging but still inquisitive tone. "What if I return home, make a crew, and return to the Old Ways of paying the Iron Price?"

Turning back to her, Ned allowed his anger at the thought of Asha raiding Northern soil to take hold, knowing that as he did his eyes changed to the wolf eyes. "Then you know very well where that path will lead."

Asha recognized the threat for what it was. "Aye, that I do," She nodded. "Well, I suppose that I'll be leaving with the morning light along with the rest of you? Only I'll be heading in the opposite direction."

"That is up to you," Ned replied. "Your time in Winterfell may have come to an end, but I will not force you to leave if you do not wish to do so yet."

Asha seemed to consider his offer for a short time before slowly shaking her head. "No. I've spent too long here in the North as it is, Lord Stark. No offense intended."

"There is no offense, Asha," Ned waved off her concern. "I understand the longing to return to one's home. I would ask that you spend one last night with us before you take your leave. My daughters, Arya especially, will not take your leaving well. They have grown quite attached to you, especially in light of recent events."

"And I them, Lord Stark," Asha smiled. "They're the sisters I've always wanted but never had. Just…one thing, Lord Stark. The grey-rats…? Make them pay for what they tried to do."

"I intend to, Asha," Ned promised the young woman, his fist tightening once more. "I intend to."


Moving quietly through the darkened roads wearing through the great keep of Winterfell, a lone bard moved swiftly from shadow to shadow as he made his way towards the Hunter's Gate and his long road back towards the north. While some might question his caution, even himself to an extent, he knew that he'd already overstayed his welcome here in Winterfell. Well, that might not be particularly true considering the Valyrian steel dagger roughly the length of his forearm that he now wore at his side. But he knew that long he stayed here in Winterfell the greater the chance of his façade failing. And if that happened, well, he didn't really want to think of the consequences. Especially now that he had a hope to look forward too.

Reaching the Hunter's Gate, the bard was more than slightly confused to find the gate unguarded. He had specifically decided on this time to leave because he knew that this was when the guards rotated. And Lord Stark was planning on leaving to head south at first light. But still, neither of those could explain why the gate that lead into the Wolfswood was unguarded. Especially with what had just transpired a few days ago. If anything, the guards should be doubled. Not missing. And even more curious was the fact that the gate was wide open.

Keeping a weather eye on his surroundings, the bard slowly approached the opened gate all the while preparing himself for the ambush that he was sure was about to come. "No need for such caution, bard. Had I wanted you dead, you would be dead."

The bard nearly froze at the voice. A voice he recognized, and one that he'd come to well and truly fear. Keeping a tight hold on his new dagger, the bard turned and found himself face to face with the Northern Sorcerer himself. "Lord Nox," the bard said, lowering his head but not going to a knee before the famed sorcerer, "I – I was just leaving, my Lord."

The sorcerer's head tilted to the side. The cloth covering his eyes making it impossible for the bard to even guess what the man was thinking. "Leaving? In the middle of the night during the timing of the guard's rotation? If I didn't know better, I would say that you didn't want anyone to make a fuss over your leaving, bard."

"That is exactly it, my Lord," the bard said, eyeing the gate and keeping a firm hold on his dagger, though he doubted it would do any good should the sorcerer press the matter. "I'm not used to such attention from Lords and Ladies but—"

"Not used to such attention. Yet, you are a bard, and a good one at that. Surely, Lords and Ladies from across the realm pay you good coin and fawn over your abilities. Yet, you say you are not used to their attention?" The sorcerer chuckled, taking a step forward, which prompted the bard to take his own step back to try and keep the distance between the two of them. "I do enjoy these games, bard. But recent events have soured my mood. So, let us drop this little charade, Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall."

Mance acted without thinking, drawing his dagger and letting it fly from his fingers in the same movement the moment he was named. But, true to his first thoughts, the dagger never reached its target. Instead, it just…stopped. Hanging in the air between the two of them. A fact that Mance realized he shared with the dagger as he found his body unable to move as some sort of invisible force seemed to press upon him from all sides. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to keep him from moving even a single muscle.

"Now that wasn't very nice," the sorcerer sighed, walking forward and plucking the dagger out of the air. "Is this what is considered a proper greeting north of the Wall? If so, then I can understand how your people have earned such a bad reputation."

Mance eyed the dagger warily or, more accurately, the one now wielding the dagger. "Is this where you kill me, sorcerer?"

If anything, the sorcerer looked offended by the question. "Why do people always assume that I'm going to kill them in situations like this?" The man sighed. "While I have no qualms on killing, or a lot of things to be honest, I am not a wasteful man, Mance. And you? You are far more valuable alive than you are dead. So, we can either have a quick chat and you can be on your way. Or you can try and fight me again, in which case I'll fold you in half, shove your head up your ass, and leave you to suffocate to death. Your choice."

Mance felt whatever holding him disappear as his earlier motion now caused him to take a now involuntary half step towards the sorcerer, who was holding his valyrian steel dagger hilt first towards him. "Not much of an option, sorcerer," Mance sighed, taking the offered dagger and sliding it back into its sheath.

"True, though you would be amazed at the number of idiots who don't see it that way. Now, come, let us walk and talk," the sorcerer said, nodding towards the Hunter's Gate and setting a slow pace towards Mance's freedom.

The unease Mance felt upon first being caught by the sorcerer did not lessen in the slightest, even as his way of escape drew closer and closer. "So, what is it that the famed Northern Sorcerer wishes to speak with me about?"

"The Others. The White Walkers and their army of the dead." The sorcerer said, not hesitating in the slightest. "That is why you are working so hard to gather the tribes of the Wildlings, or Free Folk, together is it not? Don't bother saying it's not. Osha has already confirmed that aspect of your motivation for us. And before you ask, no, she did not betray you. I'd be surprised honestly if she even recognized you. But I've known about your presence here since the moment you stepped foot into Winterfell."

Mance had nearly missed a step at the start of the sorcerer's speech. "You're not one to beat around the bush, are you, sorcerer?"

"Don't let this conversation fool you, Mance. I can talk in circles around anyone and probably convince half the population the sky is green instead of blue if I truly wanted to. But such conversations have their time and place, and this is neither. Now, what do you know of the White Walkers and their army? Any texts that Winterfell has on them can be considered mere conjecture at best."

Frowning, Mance slowed his pace as they reached the Hunter's Gate. "In truth, I know very little about the White Walkers, and even less of their motives. I only know the stories I've heard and the results of their presence after they've long left. They bring the cold. A biting cold that can make even the worst winter storm seem like a warm breeze in comparison. They kill everything yet leave no bodies behind. Instead, they turn those they kill and add them to their ranks of dead that march beside them."

"And have you seen them raising the dead before?" The sorcerer pressed.

"No, I have not. And nor have any others. The White Walkers are…efficient. They leave no witnesses behind to tell the tale of their presence. The only clue as to where they've been are the empty settlements with nothing missing besides the people who called it home. But I have seen them before. Near the lands of Always Winter. I saw their army of the dead, stretching out farther than the eye could see. As soon as a I saw them, I knew that I had to get my people south of the Wall. It is said that there is ancient magic within the Wall that can keep the dead from crossing into the south. I'm not gathering the Free Folk and looking to raid the south Sorcerer. I'm gathering my people and running with my tail tucked firmly between my legs to hide behind the Wall and weather the storm that is coming."

Mance wasn't entirely sure if the sorcerer believed him or not. But at the very least, he seemed to be considering his words. By his own admission to the Northern Lords, the sorcerer truly did believe in the White Walkers, though why and how Mance wasn't sure. But he supposed that didn't matter. All that mattered was that perhaps the most powerful being besides the King south of the Wall believed in the White Walkers. And, more importantly, he had the ear of the Warden of the North, the primary obstacle to the Free Folk crossing the Wall because, in all honestly, Mance knew full well that his former Black brothers would not be able to stop all of the Free Folk from crossing the Wall should they actually try.

"You know of Stark's plan to go North and treat with you," Nox said, breaking the silence between the two of them. "While he trusts my word about the White Walkers, without actually seeing them, he cannot just open the Wall for your people. In fact, even if you did provide proof, Stark cannot and will not allow the Free Folk south in mass unless the Others are right on your heels. There is simply too much bad history between your people and the North."

"Then what is the point of coming to the True North and treating with my people and myself if not to open the Wall?" Mance asked, wondering just where this conversation was going.

"First, to start trying to build some form of communication between our people. And second, Stark was adamant that he would not be allowing any Wildlings south of the Wall. However, he said nothing about those who are sworn to House Stark and the North."

The sorcerer's meaning was not lost to Mance. "The Free Folk do not kneel."

The sorcerer sighed and shook his head. "Such a narrow view of things. Tell me, Mance, the Free Folk have declared you their king after you earned the right to lead them, no? They follow you and take your orders, yet you also must appease them at times to keep their loyalty. And then there are the Thenns who, by what I've heard, have a system of nobility all their own that mirrors the noble Houses south of the Wall. Your people have their own laws that they follow and punishments in place for those who break them. So, tell me, Mance, outside of the fact that your people do not physically go to a knee to show respect and reverence for their leaders, what is the difference between those north of the Wall and those south of the Wall?"

Mance didn't want to admit it, but the man had a point. It was one that he had noticed himself some time ago. And, in truth, the Free Folk did not entirely hate the Northerners as much as the Northerners hated the Free Folk in any case. The Free Folk saved their hatred primarily for the Crows. But that didn't mean his people would willing sit down and feast with the Northerners with ease. "Regardless, my people will not bend the knee to Stark."

"Not all of them, no. But ask yourself this question, Mance, what is more important? Your people's pride or your lives?" Nox asked, making Mance more than slightly uncomfortable. "There is without a doubt many who would simply not be able to adjust to life south of the Wall. But there are over a hundred thousand of your people stretched across dozens, perhaps hundreds of clans. Can you truly say that there are not at least a few clans that would take the offer and swear allegiance to House Stark in return for safe passage south of the Wall and land of their own?"

It was a fair question. And as he thought about it, he was sure that he could perhaps one or two clan leaders who would swallow their pride and swear themselves to Stark if it meant being allowed to live safely south of the wall. The problem was the moment he advocated for such actions there were those who sought his position that would act. Harma Dogshead, the Lord of Bones, the Weeper, and Alfyn Crowkiller being chief amongst those who would be looking to usurp him of his position. The Thenns might be interested, but they had no want of anything south of the Wall and preferred their home in the Valley of the Thenn. But, perhaps, at the very least, an arrangement could be made between the largest group of Free Folk and the Northern Lords.

"I suppose that the reason you are letting me go is to use my position amongst the Free Folk to push a few of the more lenient clan leaders to take Stark's offer when he comes North to treat with us." Mance stated rather than asked.

"Yes," Nox nodded. "All it takes is one or two to take the offer and the others amongst your people will start to see the benefit and become more open to the idea of coming south and swearing their loyalty."

"Perhaps," Mance nodded, seeing the logic. "However, this will cause a break amongst the Free Folk. It's taken me near twenty years to get the tribes North of the Wall united. There are as many cultural differences and grievances north of the Wall as there are south. And several differing tongues. As it is, my position as King-Beyond-the-Wall is hanging on by a thread. If I advocate for the Free Folk to swear allegiance to the wolves, there are those who will see it as a betrayal and will not hesitate to break off and go back to the way things were as warring tribes."

The sorcerer didn't seem in the least bit perturbed with the idea. "You're at a crossroads, Mance. You can either try and save most of your people here and now, which will cause those who wouldn't be able to live south of the Wall to break away from you. Or you can stay as a whole, stay north of the Wall, and then pray to your gods that you can keep two steps ahead of the Others as they begin hunting your people down. The choice is yours and your peoples. Your 'freedom' or your lives."

"Fuck," Mance sighed, shaking his head and taking a few steps away from the sorcerer. "You're not making this easy, sorcerer."

"Times like these are never easy, Mance," the sorcerer replied with a shrug.

"Aye, that is for sure," Mance nodded as the sorcerer's words went through his mind. 'Save as many as I can, or force my people to take their chances against the Others.' "Alright, sorcerer…You and Stark ain't leaving me much choice. I'll ready my people for talks with the wolves. And I get a chief or two ready to accept Starks offer. I just hope you realize this will more than likely lead to war amongst my people."

"Hold up your end of this ploy, Mance, and I will use my power to aid you and yours if and when the time comes," the sorcerer stated with a note of finality.

"I'll hold ya to that, sorcerer," Mance nodded, knowing that there was no backing out now as he held out his hand. "May your gods be with ya, sorcerer."

The sorcerer nodded and took hold of Mance's arm. "And may the Force be with you, King-Beyond-the-Wall."