If there was one thing he realised in the last few months, it was how much he really fucking hated the North. From the cold, from how deserted it was, to the sheer amount of snow and ice. And it certainly did not help he was with a companion who hated it equally as much as he did and for the same reasons and more. Harrold wasn't stupid, he knew the man with him held more than a little fondness for the same redhead he did. Well, fondness for the position she could give them more like, not that he'd ever speak those words aloud.

The first night had been the hardest. Having to stick to the Wolfswood which he had no idea how to navigate and instead trusting he was going the right direction from the position the moss grew on the trees. Always listening for anything that could be out here yet moving as fast as he possibly dared as he knew a search party would be coming their way either already or very soon. There was no doubt in his mind that damned wolf would be a part of the party. The more distance put between their destination and where they had come from, the better.

He'd thought it was cold in Winterfell itself, but now he was cursing he didn't have the boiling water from the springs underneath warming the walls. The North was already cold as is, in the shade it was colder, and it didn't bloody help that snow was falling so much his legs sunk in knee deep and got inside his boots when it turned back to water upon touching the warmth of his skin. At least he'd grabbed a couple of fur cloaks, so they weren't totally freezing. There was nothing to do other than grit his teeth together and bare it as much as he could.

The second day was no better. Waking up in a cave that somehow the snow had gotten inside. How it was even getting through the thicket of the trees was unknown to him. This place was unnatural. The people were dull, the weather a mess, the food edible at best, not to mention the worship of those heathen gods that his own ancestors had worked to stamp out. The Seven who are One were the true gods, the only gods. Everyone knew such a thing otherwise most Kingdom's would not worship such deities. The fact the Northerner's dared to use the Sept in Winterfell as a storehouse was an insult of the highest accord. The Sept was a holy place for holy prayer, to desecrate the gods in such a way was atrocious.

There would be many things he would change, that was for certain. But first, he had to make it to Moat Cailin and get word to his cousin to send forces to help him across the border. Then once settled back in the Eyrie, he could carry out what needed to be done. No one could deny it, Robyn made even the weakest man in existence look weak. Such a man did not deserve to be Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Paramount of the Vale. Heck, even getting to say he was of House Arryn was not deserved. House Arryn had a history that spanned centuries, they had produced some of the best Knight's of the realm and had even provided a Queen who had been extremely well loved until she had died in childbed like many women did.

But not him. No, he would not be weak. He would be respected as Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Paramount of the Vale. He would name Petyr Baelish as his Lord Protector openly and together they would work to get vengeance for what had been done to him. He was betrothed to Sansa Stark, yet she refused to do her duty by wedding him and because of this there was an opening that by all rights was his ripe for the taking. Aye, she was raped and had been tortured mercilessly. But she was only a woman, and it was a woman's duty to wed and give her husband heirs.

He wondered then what it would be like. To see her beautiful face looking up at him and those bright blue eyes staring at him, red hair sprawled all over the pillows as he reached his end and his seed spilling deep within her warm cunt. Harrold groaned a little at the thought but quickly shoved it aside as he continued on his journey. On the seventh day, they were finally free of the damned trees and were heading directly for Barrowton. With luck, Lady Barbrey would aid them as there was no love between her and the Stark's. But would it be worth the risk? In the three days further it took to reach the small town where all buildings were made from wood, he decided it was not worth the risk. Instead using some coin to get access to an inn with bathing facilities so they could get clean and fill their bellies. The sight of the questionable meat almost made him gag but he ate it all the same, it would be his last proper meal for at least another few weeks.

Alas, things could not last. Pulling on their cloaks again and leaving after stocking their bags with salt beef to nibble on the remainder of the journey. This was the dangerous portion because now they were in the open. In theory, they could go to the Stony Shore and hope to come across a fishing village where someone could take them by boat to somewhere in the south. But that would waste unnecessary time. He also considered heading directly south into the Neck before heading east but at most that had been entertained for a matter of minutes. There was a reason no one dared cross the Neck without a Frog Eater to guide them through the swamps that were filled with lizard lions and who knows what else.

No, they had to head straight south-east. In a direct line for Moat Cailin. And pray to the Seven they would make it in time to be ahead of those after them. If only he'd thought to steal a horse or two before fleeing Winterfell. Because they would be there already. Yet on foot they were.

Luckily, the plains were mostly level from where they were until they got to where the Kings Road met the Neck. The less time they spent in the swamps the better, and sticking to the road that went directly to Kings Landing would be the smartest thing to do. Recalling the journey up through it when they had rode straight for Winterfell to aid in the battle for the heart of the North. The battle which should've won the Vale favour yet those filthy heathens saw it more as a repayment for sitting out the war until then. The Vale had wanted to sight, it was his idiot of a cousin through marriage who refused the call. By duty they had to sit on their arses and twiddle their thumbs whilst everything else went to shit.

How dare they. Those three words were spinning in his head and the more time went on the angrier he got. They should be thankful they even helped because without them joining the cause was lost. They secured the victory for them, yet all they got were scowls and people who held grudges worse than Stannis fucking Baratheon had. Which in itself was saying something.

It took a further week to reach the Kings Road and they wasted no time in heading down it. Keeping their eyes on the road as they entered the beginning of the Neck. It had been a while since he had last been through here, but if he remembered correctly the swamps weren't as dangerous in this section. Granted, they still were, but in comparison to the rest of the area it was nothing. The water being a murky green-brown colour from the mud that got washed away, seeing frogs leaping from leaf to leaf and almost gagging that the people who lived in this area of the North actually ate those as a meal. If he had the choice of eating frogs or eating nothing, he'd rather go hungry. They were filthy animals, and it was fitting filthy people consumed them.

How long they had travelled through the Neck, Harrold could not tell. The trees were even thicker here than they were in the Wolfswood to the point there was no sunlight coming in. And without knowing the position of the sun there was no way of telling whether it was day or night, and therefore, could not tell how many days it had been. But eventually, they walked into an open plain whether the northern side of the ancient fortress that now stood in ruin was visible.

"When we arrive, I shall send a letter to my son by marriage. Men will arrive to help us cross the border in a matter of days."

Hearing such a sentence was music to his ears. Entering the castle still had that horribly eery feel to it much like Harrenhal did. Except one had fallen into disrepair from not being kept up and the other had been melted by the flames of Balerion the Black Dread. The men they had left behind greeted them warmly as a raven was sent within the hour to Strongsong where his cousin was staying as an honoured guest. The raven would arrive by nightfall and with luck men would be sent on the morrow. If they rode fast enough they would be able to meet them halfway in around three days. The more space they had between themselves and who was undoubtedly after them, the better. Not until they crossed the border would they be safe, and even then they might not be safe.

They had to work quickly.

With Robyn still alive, the Vale would be loyal to the North through him being cousin of Sansa and Brandon. Yet he was the heir to the Eyrie as his cousin was unwed and Lord Jon had no other heirs who could take the mantle. With him in charge, he would be able to take control of the Vale and as a result, call everyone in Winterfell back to the Eyrie. If the North wasn't going to give them gratitude for their aid, then they weren't getting any aid. Now, how to remove the piece that stood between what he wanted and where he was? Discussing late into the night with Petyr as they had discussed doing exactly this. The Vale was a strong Kingdom, it was an insult that it was being ruled by a weakling.

"The easiest way, poison."

"Poison is a woman's weapon, Lord Protector."

"Exactly, Lord Harrold. It is a woman's weapon."

It took a few moments for it to click in his mind and when it did, a smirk danced across his face. If he used poison, no one would suspect it was him. He was a Knight, his vows held him above such dishonourable acts. Plus Kinslaying was seen as one of the biggest sins there was. He almost laughed at that as there had been plenty of that over the years. The only reason King Robert was named such was because his grandmother had been King Jaehaerys II and Queen Shaera's sister. This making his father Steffon cousin to the Mad King and Queen Rhaella, and consequently cousin to Prince Rhaegar whom he had slain himself in the banks of the Ruby Ford.

Their meal that night consisted of roasted grouse and his mouth watered at seeing it. When was the last time he'd had a decent meal? He couldn't say with certainty. Having his fill and then some with ease. Sleeping in a comfortable bed was like he were walking through a cloud after having walked for weeks. The next morning they had bathed in a spring and were given clean clothes which he was also grateful for. Now, they just had to wait. Two days later they received the raven from Strongsong confirming three hundred men were riding directly for Moat Cailin to help them cross over and with the confirmation the two saddled horses given to them and riding towards them.

"What do you plan on doing when it is done?"

Harrold huffed at the question, believing the answer to that was obvious. Perhaps the man beside him just wanted to have it confirmed.

"I will secure the Vale, and I will call the men back. If the North refuse to show us the slightest bit of decency by honouring us for what we did for them, then they will receive no further help."

"And then?"

And then what? He hadn't thought that far ahead yet, but he supposed it was something he would need to think about and soon. If he was going to do this, he'd need to do so with a strong plan that was achievable given the current political climate of Westeros. One thing was for certain, he wasn't going to recognise Jon Snow as his King. The fact a bastard was even considered to become King was a huge insult, bastards were creatures of sin, it was a known fact. The man didn't even so much as know the name of his mother. Which left two options. Cersei Lannister, or Daenerys Targaryen. Neither of which were exactly worthy to be leaders. He'd never met Cersei himself, but enough about her seeped out of the capital that it left a sour taste in his mouth. Then there was the little time the Dragon Queen had been in Winterfell, believing oaths spoken hundreds of years prior would have everyone bending their knees and kissing her toes like she were the most incredible thing to walk the world.

"Remember the Dragon Queen's uncle resides in Winterfell as an honoured guest, Lord Harrold."

That he had not considered. Muttering under his breath because that small piece of information set it in stone what needed to be done. If he sided with her, she could easily send information to Winterfell and have him seized as a traitor alongside Petyr.

"Cersei Lannister isn't exactly palatable, will she even accept us given we did aid the North?"

"When she finds out the Vale were burned by the North? Probably not. But when she finds out we can add thousands more men to her cause to aid in taking down her enemies? Perhaps."

Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

That's all everything was, a possibility. Even the most experienced players of the game could accurately predict everything that would happen. At least he had an experienced player on his side, which meant he had at least had a chance to succeed. By all rights the Vale was his and his it would be. They met the men three days after they had ridden out, and it took them four days to reach Strongsong where his cousin greeted them openly. Gods, what an embarrassment he was to the name Arryn. Remembering him still suckling at his mothers teat when at that age he should've been learning how to fight. He couldn't even hit a target with an arrow never mind hid the centre of the target. This wonderful Kingdom did not deserve such an insult to its name.

They remained in Strongsong for one day before riding towards the Eyrie. Breathing in the sharp clean air and watching the bright green grass and the myriad of different flowers. When all he had seen for months had only been white, green, and grey, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. When they finally got to the Bloody Gate was when he allowed a true smile to come onto his face. Being allowed through without hassle and meeting Mya Stone to take a mule each to begin the treacherous journey up the mountain. It was late at night when they finally reached the top of the mountain and the white stone of the Eyrie was in front of them.

Home.

And soon it would be his.

Much to his surprise, he found out Petyr had a small stash of the Strangler hidden within the castle. Confirming he had used it once before with aid of a friend, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who he had used it on. So it hadn't been Tyrion Lannister that poisoned King Joffrey after all, wondering to himself who had aided him in doing so because that could come in handy for when everything goes up in flames so he could walk out unscathed.

The days passed, and the more time that passed, the more nervous Harrold got. Robyn had taken to holding court with the Castellan and the Maester yet never once inviting him. Even more of an insult. He was his heir, he deserved to be notified of everything that was occurring. Not for long though, for soon his cousin would be dead and he would be the one in that position. Having already drafted ravens to a handful of Lord's of the Vale to offer marriage but send them yet he dared not. All it took was one person getting suspicious and shooting down the raven for it all to fall apart for him.

It was five days later that Petyr gave him the signal, nerves bubbling up within him but quickly masking them. Dressing as befit his status and walking to the main hall where they ate together. A feast had been arranged for their return, which provided the perfect place for their plan to be put into motion. Sitting down beside the Maester three chairs away from his cousin at the high table as servants began bringing the food out until the entire table was filled.

It was a feast fit for the Seven themselves. From freshly caught salmon, to wild boar, to pigeon. Pork cooked to perfection with the skin so crunchy it could be audible from outside dripping in honey and spices. Lemon cakes, ginger soaked sponges, creamed rice, to an array of fruits that were native to where they currently were. Looking down to his own loaded plate of peppery potatoes, venison covered in a sauce made from Arbor Gold, with a cup of Dornish Red to wash it all down. He'd missed this, Harrold mused to himself. Whilst the food in the North was satisfactory, no one in their right mind would say the food was good. Never indulging in the finer things in life, or maybe it was all they could afford as the North was considerably poorer than the other Kingdom's. Well, aside from the Iron Islands.

Soon, it would all be his. Eyes catching Lord Baelish's eyes and seeing the faintest smile dance across his lips. For too long, the Vale had remained out of the wars, and the side the Vale men were on currently was not the one he wanted to be on. Sansa Stark was supposed to be his and his alone. By wedding her, he would be Lord of Winterfell, Lord of the Eyrie, Lord Paramount of the North, and Lord Paramount of the Vale. Such a sweet image it was, he could almost taste the sugar at the tip of his tongue. But it never touched, because the North had spurned him. The woman he was supposed to take to wife despised him, her older brother had legitimised his bastard half-brother who was now King in the North tolerated him at best, and the return of Brandon Stark all but crushed his dreams into nought but words in the wind. His aunt had turned traitor to him in favour of the heathens.

So close he had been, oh so close.

He was heir to the Vale, he deserved to be treated as such. But not all was lost, watching Robyn turn away to dance with one of the younger daughters of a Lord so low he didn't know his name and shouting for his cup to be refilled. Smiling to himself as he brought his own cup to his lips and drank deeply. It was so quick he wouldn't have noticed unless he was looking for it, a tiny bead falling into the cup that had been on the servants dress a moment before. She didn't even notice what had happened as the second the bead would've touched the wine, it would've dissolved in a little more than a second.

Any moment now, the Vale would be his as the only remaining heir to the Eyrie. The first thing he would be doing was calling for the banners to leave Winterfell at once and to pledge to him. The second thing he would be doing would be severing all ties with the heathens and instead joining someone who was against them so he could get what he deserved. Before long, his own cup was drained and he beckoned a servant over to refill it too. Eyes catching the roundness of her breasts and wondering what it would be like to see them bouncing up and down when bare.

"What's your name?"

"Stella, my Lord."

A smile came onto his face again as she done her duty before running off, enjoying the sight clothed but wishing he could see them free from the confines of cloth. Mayhaps by the end of the night he would be able to win her into his bed for the night. By now, his weakling of a cousin was seated at the centre of the table again, wasting no time in tucking into stuffed pigeon in a sticky sauce that shone like a mirror. Any moment now, simply awaiting on the cue for the plan to be set into motion. Soon, it would be his and his alone. He would be in the position he deserved and he would be the one everyone in the Vale would be looking up to. And then he just needed to work on winning Sansa Stark to his side. Once he had bedded her, he would be Lord of Winterfell and because he was trueborn, he would outrank the bastard who called himself King.

King Harrold of the North and Vale, it had a ring to it. A ring so close he could almost feel it in his body like the bell was right beside him.

"I would like to make a toast to my son in marriage and by extension my cousin in marriage. Whilst my dearest love Lady Lysa is in the Seven Heavens, her death still pains me. A thank you to Lord Robyn Arryn for sending aid quickly to get me into the Vale, and a similar thank you to Lord Harrold Hardyng for doing what was just by freeing me from my imprisonment by the bastard who calls himself King in the North. Let us raise our cups to these two who whilst not family by blood, they are by oath."

Harrold had to fight to keep the smile from his face at what was about to happen. They'd taken steps, it would not fall back to him at all. Whilst many would suspect it, without proof there was no confirmation, and without confirmation no one could say so aloud as it would be high treason. Raising his cup towards his cousin who raised his own as did Lord Baelish. A glint in his accomplices eyes alighting a fire within him that almost made him giddy. Bringing the cup to his lips and draining the remnants. Victory had never tasted sweeter when he saw Robyn put his cup down after following suit. How long did it take for the poison to kick in again? He forgot the words. Sitting back down and reaching over for more peppery potatoes before he coughed. Hand covering his mouth as he felt his throat beginning to tingle. Then a second cough, and a third cough. Every time he coughed, his throat got sorer, yet the more his throat got sore the more he wanted to cough.

He was soon followed by Robyn beginning to cough too, eyeing him for a moment before realisation dawned on him as he turned to Lord Baelish. Where were all the servants? They must've been sent out silently by the Lord Protector right as the toast ended. Opening his mouth intending to yell for help but no matter how hard he tried, no words would come out. Only more coughing. Yet it was only him and Robyn, the other person who had toasted was looking to the two of them with that same sly smirk on his face he knew so well. Anger burning bright within him. How could he? They had sworn to help one another to get vengeance on those who had wronged them and to elevate themselves into positions they deserved. The next time he coughed, his hand came away sticky with warm blood. Falling to the ground and shoving his fingers down his throat to try and force himself to wretch up the poison. But it was to no avail, it had already ran its course with him. Petyr Baelish walking over just as Robyn also collapsed with his hands covered in blood and chuckling deeply.

"Victory is only sweet when the taste lingers, Lord Harrold. As Ned Stark found out the difficult way, trusting me was the stupidest thing you ever did."

He could feel his lungs giving out now, the coughs barely above a whisper as he desperately tried to breathe.

"You traitor."

"A traitor of a traitor is a friend. Such a pity you were never taught that lesson. Sleep tight, I am sure my dearest wife may just kill you again for plotting to kill her son to take his position when you arrive in the heavens."