The man on the roof was the first to die. He was crouched down by the chimney two hundred yards away, no more than a vague shadow in the evening gloom, but as the sky began to darken he stirred, stretched, and stood. Anguy's arrow took him in the chest. He tumbled bonelessly down the steep slate pitch, and fell in front of the wooden door of the holdfast.

The dragon guards had posted two guards there, but their torch left them night blind, and they had crept in close in the blanket of night. Kyle and Notch let fly together. One man went down with an arrow through his throat, the other through his belly. The second man dropped the torch, and the flames licked up at him. He screamed as his clothes took fire, and that was the end of stealth. Thoros gave a shout, and the brotherhood attacked in earnest.

Edric watched everything from his horse beside Lord Beric, from the crest of the wooded ridge that overlooked the wooden holdfast, mill, bakery, and stables and the desolation of weeds, burnt trees, and mud that surrounded them. The trees were mostly bare now, and the few withered brown leaves that still clung to the branches did little to obstruct his view. Lord Beric had left Beardless Dick and Mudge to guard their back and Edric saw their rear guard getting ready for battle behind them swords in the air.

The western horizon glowed gold and pink, and overhead a half moon peeked out through low scuttling clouds. The wind blew cold, and Edric could hear the rush of water and the creak of the mill's great wooden water wheel through the raging battle. There was a smell of rain in the dawn air, but no drops were falling yet. Flaming arrows flew through the evening mists, trailing pale ribbons of fire, and thudded into the wooden walls of the holdfast. A few smashed through shuttered windows, and soon enough thin tendrils of smoke were rising between the broken shutters.

Two guardsmen came bursting from the holdfast side by side, axes in their hands. Anguy and the other archers were waiting from them in the trees. One axeman died at once. The other managed to duck, so the shaft ripped through his shoulder. He staggered on, till two more arrows found him, so quickly it was hard to say which had struck first. The long shafts punched through his breastplate as if it had been made of silk instead of steel. He fell heavily. Anguy had arrows tipped with bodkins as well as broadheads. A bodkin could pierce even heavy plate. Edric was a decent marksman though compared to Anguy it was like comparing a dwarf to the giant. It had been the sword he favored like all the other knights of his House.

Flames were creeping up the west wall of the holdfast, and thick smoke poured through a broken window. A black cloaked crossbowman poked his head out a different window, got off a bolt, and ducked down to rewind. He could hear fighting from the stables as well, shouts well mingled with the screams of horses and the clang of steel. We have to kill them all, he thought fiercely. Kill every single one. Avenge the Starfall massacre, avenge his aunt, avenge his uncles, kill everyone to avenge them.

The crossbowman appeared again, but no sooner had he loosed than three arrows hissed past his head. One rattled off his helm. He vanished, bow and all. He could see flames in several of the second-story windows. Between the smoke and the mists, the air was a haze of blowing black and white. Anguy and the other bowmen were creeping closer, the better to find targets.

Then the holdfast erupted, the Targaryen guards boiling out like angry ants. Two men rushed through the door with the three headed dragon shields held high before them, and behind them came a knight in full armor with a greatsword and a shield with two great curved fangs painted upon it in black, and behind him three more guards came covered in black chainmail. Others were climbing out windows and leaping to the ground. Edric saw a man take an arrow through the chest with one leg across a windowsill, and heard his scream as he fell. The smoke was thickening. Quarrels and arrows sped back and forth. Watty fell with a grunt, his bow slipping from his hand. Kyle was trying to nock another shaft to his string when a man in black mail flung a spear through his belly. "The time has come," Lord Beric shouted to the men behind him. "Now."

He charged his horse through the trees. Edric and the others followed him out of the ditches and trees. When the rest of their band came pouring, steel in hand Edric knew that the Crownlanders were overwhelmed. Lem's bright yellow cloak flapped behind him as he rode down the man who'd killed Kyle. Edric followed Lord Beric closely. Thoros and Lord Beric circled around the holdfast, their swords swirling fire. The red priest hacked at a hide shield until it flew to pieces, while his horse kicked the man in the face. Edric slashed his sword at a man in chainmail and found his sword crunching the ribs of the man through the chainmail. The knight with the fangs in his shield charged the lightning lord, and the flaming sword leapt out to meet his greatsword. The blades kissed and spun and kissed again. Lord Beric knocked the knight off of his saddle. His white shield was burning, the white paint turning dark as the fangs in it. Lord Beric stopped his horse and went to meet him on foot. Edric ran his horse through a man who was coming for the Lightning Lord and cut him down. The knight dropped his burning shield and raised his sword in the air with both hands. He charged at Lord Beric. Edric went to meet him with his horse but Thoros stopped him with a hand on his reins. The red priest smirked at the and halted him to see the fight.

The knight was swinging his greatsword at Lord Beric savagely but lord Beric kept his cuts at bay with his flaming sword. He stopped a brutal backhand swing to his head and punched the knight's helmet with his mailed fist. The knight's helmet flew off and it only made him madder. His sandy brown hair was matted with blood and sweat.

"Darkfang," Thoros muttered beside him. Darkfang slashed at Lord Beric's head, chest and eye and managed to scrape his breastplate and helmet. His thrust at Lord Beric's eye was so strong that it would've buried the entire greatsword in his skull if Lord Beric had not moved aside in time. Darkfang was a skilled fighter, Edric could see that in the way he fought. He was cunning and cruel. Lord Beric stayed away from Darkfang's greatsword and hit his flaming sword at the knight whenever he can. With every hit of the flaming sword Darkfang lost his cool and rushed for Lord Beric. The lightning lord parried a swing at his neck and a slash at his abdomen and when Darkfang brought him greatsword in a massive swing at his head, Lord Beric ducked under his sword and rolled through to stuck his flaming sword in Darkfang's thigh right above the knee through opening in the plate on his thigh and his greeves. Darkfang dropped his sword and fell to his knee as Lord Beric stood up.

The battle did not last very long after that. The dark cloaks still on their feet soon died, or threw down their swords. Two of the guardsmen managed to regain their horses and flee, but only because Lord Beric let them go. "Let them carry the word back to Winterfell," he said, with flaming sword in hand. "It will give the boy prince and his dragon band a few more sleepless nights. If anything the boy might do something stupid and rush straight into our trap."

Jack-Be-Lucky, Harwin, and Merrit o' Moontown braved the burning holdfast to search for captives. They emerged from the smoke and flames a few moments later with eight smallfolk, and a child with a broken limb so bad that Merrit had to carry him across a shoulder. There were four men and four women. Only two men and two women were the adults and the rest were only boys and girls.

"You foul band of rougues," said Darkfang from his knees, coughing up blood. "King Rhaegar will hear of it. That will be the end of you."

Thoros smiled at him. "And this is yours Darkfang."

Darkfang spat. "Do you think I fear death?" he asked. "Go on, kill me and you'll find your answer."

"You'll die if that's what you wish," said Lord Beric. "But not before a trial."

Lord Beric slammed his sword into its scabbard, quenching the flames. "Give the dying the gift of mercy and bind the others hand and foot for trial," he commanded, and it was done.

The trials went swiftly. All of the smallfolk there came forward to tell of things the Targaryen men had done; towns and villages sacked, crops burned, women raped and murdered, men maimed and tortured. There were many villagers hiding in the houses around the holdfast and all of them came as they saw the holdfast burning.

The offenders soon dangled beneath a tall oak, swinging slowly by the neck. One by one all of them were hanged except for Darkfang. A few fought, kicking and struggling as the noose was tightened round their throats. One of the crossbowmen kept shouting, "I was just a soldier following orders." Another offered to lead them to gold; a third told them what a good outlaw he would make. Each was bound and hanged in turn. Tom Sevenstrings played a dirge for them on his woodharp, and Thoros implored the Lord of Light to roast their souls until the end of time.

A dead tree, Edric thought as he watched them dangle, their faces turned purple. Already the crows were coming, appearing out of nowhere. He heard them croaking and cackling at one another, and wondered what they were saying. It almost made him happy to see some dark cloaks dangling from the tree. Aunt Ashara and King Eddard would be avenged soon.

The holdfast soon collapsed in a roar of smoke and flame, its walls no longer able to support the weight of its heavy slate roof. The smallfolk watched with a hint of happiness in their face. "When King Eddard ruled here, this was a prosperous place. We had a dozen milk cows and a bull, a bakery and a mill. But when the dragons came through they killed our lord took all our wine and milk and honey, slaughtered the cows, and put our bakery to the torch. After that . . . our numbers were only reducing."

"How did the eight of you survive in that holdfast?" asked Anguy the Archer.

"They needed someone to do their works," one of the men said. "Someone to cook their foods and clean their things."

They sheltered that night in the mill beside the little river. Their enemies had a fresh supply of food brought from the Crownlands, so they shared a good supper; fresh bread, onions, oaten biscuits and a fine soup with chunks of meat in it. Lord Beric slipped a piece of meat into Edric's bowl. When Edric looked at him the lightning lord was continuing with his soup as if nothing had happened. He put the meat in his mouth and bit into it. It crunched and was rich in the flavor of the soup.

The smallfolk never asked their names. Everyone in the north knew them, Edric thought. How could they not? Lord Beric wore the lightning bolt on breastplate, shield, and cloak, and Thoros his red robes, or what remained of them. The Wolfswood Brotherhood, a ragged band of rogues of the Outlaw King. But it was the Kingsmen they called themselves, fighting for the good and justice in their King's name.

Lord Beric did not eat his bread and oaten biscuits. He never ate anything more often but only took a cup of wine or ale or a good hot bowl of soup. He was still clad in his ratty black cloak and dented breastplate with its chipped enamel lightning. He even slept in that breastplate. A thick woolen scarf was wound up around his neck concealing the dark ring about his throat. A black patch always covered his missing eye.

Of all of the Kingsmen it was Lord Beric everyone in the north seemed to fear the most. He had defied death more than once. Arrow through the eye, Bolton's noose around his neck and everytime he defied death again and again.

Once Edric had been afraid for him. The man was betrothed to his aunt Allyria and took him as his squire. But ever after they came to the north all he had ever done was cheating death with the help of Thoros. The red priest was a fabulous healer. There was no better healer.

Edric had been fighting with them for six years now. When his father died with full of guilt for what happened to his sister and her family, Edric had followed Lord Beric to the north to wipe up all the blood which stained the pale marble walls of Starfall. Never once had he regretted the life he chose. He will do his duty as the Lord of Starfall when the time comes for it until then he is a Kingsman.

It was raining when Lem returned to the mill, muttering curses as water ran off his yellow cloak to puddle on the floor. Lord Beric had chained Darkfang to the oak from where his men hung and Lem was the first one to take guard. Anguy and Jack-Be-Lucky sat by the door rolling dice, but no matter which game they played one-eyed Jack had no luck at all. Tom Sevenstrings replaced a string on his woodharp, and sang "The Mother's Tears," "When Willum's Wife Was Wet," "Lord Harte Rode Out on a Rainy Day," and then "The Rains of Castamere."

And who are you, the proud lord said,

that I must bow so low?

Only a cat of a different coat,

that's all the truth I know

In a coat of gold or a coat of red,

a lion still has claws,

And mine are long and sharp, my lord,

as long and sharp as yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,

that lord of Castamere,

But now the rains weep o'er his hall,

with no one there to hear.

Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,

and not a soul to hear.

Finally Tom ran out of rain songs and put away his harp. Then there was only the sound of the rain itself beating down on the slate roof of the mill. The dice game ended, and Edric went to sleep.

It was Thoros who woke him up in the morning. They had planned to set back at first light. Wyatt and Merrit were putting a bounded Darkfang onto a horse as he came out. When everyone arrived and mounted their horses, Lord Beric gave the command for them to go. Lem and Pate were tasked to keep watch on Darkfang. They rode beside Darkfang on either side and the others fell in before and after them.

They came to their secret base before midday. A huge firepit had been dug in the center of the earthen floor, and its flames rose swirling and crackling toward the smoke-stained ceiling. The walls were equal parts of stone and soil. People were coming from between the stones; edging out from the shadows for a look at the captive, stepping from the mouths of pitch-black tunnels, popping out of crannies and crevices on all sides.

This has been their hideout for years now. An old place, deep and secret. A refuge where no one came to find. Lem and Greenbeard came in with Darkfang, shoving their captive down into the light of the fire.

They had bound Darkfang's wrists with hempen rope, strung a noose around his neck, and pulled a sack down over his head, but even so there was danger in the man.

Thoros turned to the prisoner and yanked his hood off. "Welcome to our humble hall, Darkfang."

Darkfang's mouth twitched. "This is where you lot have been hiding," he said to Thoros. "It is only a matter of time before they find it and burn this place to ash. And you and your silly company will burn along with it priest."

"These are my brothers," Thoros said simply. "And I've seen much and more in my flames and I saw no one burning."

"How long have you been hiding in this hole?" Darkfang asked. "Does the Prince know you're here? I hope not. But soon he will though and when he does he will come here with his dragon. That's why you've been hiding here, aren't you?"

Anguy bristled at the suggestion of cowardice. "Ask your Prince if we've hidden, Darkfang. Ask the lord of leeches. We've bloodied them all."

"You lot? Don't make me laugh. You look more swineherds than soldiers."

"Some of us was swineherds," said Pate. "And some was tanners or singers or masons. But that was before the war came."

"When we left our old life we were men of Winterfell and men of Marches and men of Blackhaven, Stark men and Dondarrion men. We were knights and squires and men-at-arms, lords and commoners, bound together only by our purpose." The voice came from the Wanderer seated amongst the nest of roots halfway up the wall. "Justice and righteousness are hard to find in this world right now." He was descending the tangle of steps toward the floor. "Someone has to fight for them else they will be completely wiped off from the face of this world." A scarecrow of a man, he wore a ragged white cloak sporting a dirty grey wolf of the Starks. A thicket of grey hair peppered with white covered his long face lined with age. "And we will fight for them as long as we live to keep justice and right in the memory of men. We fight on as best we can, for Eddard and the realm."

"Rodrik," Darkfang said in a unbelievable tone.

The Wandering wolf paid him no mind. "You will die soon enough, Darkfang," he promised, "but it shan't be murder, only justice."

"Aye," said Greenbeard, "and a kinder fate than you deserve for all your kind have done. We know what you do to people who don't bend to you, people who defy you. At Torrhen's Square and Stoney Shore, girls of six and seven years were raped, and babes still on the breast were cut in two while their mothers watched. And none has forgotten what happened at Starfall."

"There has been a good number of mistakes you've done, Darkfang," Lord Beric said. "The crimes of you and your kind have commited are uncountable."

Rodrik Stark turned back to Darkfang. "You stand accused of murder and torturing of the smallfolk, Derek Darkfang. In the name of King Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, I, Rodrik Stark sentence you to die."

They hanged the man far away from Ghosthall to lead the men away from their hideout. Worrick and Jenton took Darkfang away to do the execution.

"The others?" Rodrik Stark asked when Darkfang was gone.

"Tried and executed," Lord Beric replied. "We've taken their food and loot and weapons they brought from King's Landing."

"Good," the Wandering Wolf said. "Keep harassing their supplies and men, Dondarrion. The boy might rush out in a made rage and fall in our trap. With the dragon gone we can easily rouse up the north to fight in Eddard's name. It shouldn't take long. Winter is coming"

A/N: So this might raise questions. Where was Rodrik all this time? What was he doing? The answer for that is he was found nearly dead by Beric&co years after he's been thought to be dead. By the time he was strong enough to get into war the Targaryen dragons' might stopped him from doing for reading. Leave a review.

For anyone who don't know who is Rodrik Stark, Rodrik was a canon character. He is Ned's grandfather on his mother's side. In this story he was the Stark in Winterfell when Ned, Ashara and Andrew went south.