I do not own nor claim to own any of GRRM's works, nor am I profiting from this story

Back again! Story starts for real now. Hope you enjoy :)


Jagare stalked the straw-filled training dummy in the yard, his eyes never leaving the motionless figure as he walked in slow circles around it. A thin, cold breeze blew through the empty training yard of Karhold, its grey stone walls shielding much of the Northern breeze. Ignoring the slowly appearing goosebumps crawling up his arm, he attacked. His axe sunk into the straw before being yanked out and swung again. Moving the blade quickly, he never stayed still, his strength evident from the force of the blows, but a certain lightness on the feet showed he was no mere brute. Sending a spinning blow towards the dummy's head, it tore, rolling a few feet. He allowed himself a small smile before standing. Jagare had been told he was the epitome of a Northman. Tall, muscled, lean. He didn't believe them of course, but it was nice to be told it at the very least. He ran a hand through his long brown hair, his fingers brushing the new warrior braids he had Lyanna put in to combat the length. They felt…lordly. He felt a tingle in his spine and turned to find his father, brother and sister standing on the balcony. Lyanna flashed him a smirk and mimicked a ladylike clap, and Ben grinned fully at him. His father's gaze was stone. No emotion was etched on that face, not a drop. Ever.

"Boy…" the voice was gruff and stern. "Get to my solar. Now." He flinched at his words, but nodded, and started walking towards the steps. His father turned his cloak and stalked off, with Ben sharply on his heels. Lyanna stayed and gave him a friendly punch on the arm.

"What did that dummy do to you then?" He gave her a small smile, before turning his eyes forward again.

"An innocent lost in the horror of war. He died for a just cause though." She giggled, and Jagare felt his mood lighten a little bit. He and Lyanna had been close since they were children. Always playing in the muck together, chucking snowballs with their tiny hands, and then clinging onto each other in front of the fire later. Then her mother would come, and all would be broken up. He would be sent off cold to muck out the stables or clean the kitchens, and she would be whisked away to be dressed for some special feast and get an extra lashing of lectures about bastards. It was almost a tradition. Lady Hornwood had died a year past though; a simple fever took the woman who made his life a misery. He should have been a tiny bit happy, even relieved. But all he felt was hollow pain for his siblings and his father. Regardless of what she had done to him, she brought some life to Karhold. Now it would become grey and miserable. Well, even more than normal anyway.

"What do you think Father wants then?" She asked quietly as if scared of the answer, which he could understand.

"Not sure" He replied in an equal tone. "But if I'm there it can't be good. He would never willingly talk to me without good reason." They exchanged a look, and it was clear they both knew what it meant. They would stick by each other, whatever their father threw at them. Standing in his solar, Jagare was brought to realise yet again what an imposing figure his father was. Standing at over 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest and strong thickset legs. None would call him overweight, but he wasn't as slim as he used to be. His face looked as if it had been cut from iron. Features sharp and pointed. Thick eyebrows, heavy eyelids, and strained wrinkles around his face, as if it had not truly accepted that he was getting old yet. In a battle between age and his father…Jagare would have a hard time placing bets.

Ben was standing to the side, with a small smile on his face. He had already received his news then, and from the looks of it seemed to be happy with it. His father cleared his throat and turned from looking out the window. Instantly Jagare lowered his eyes.

"Raise your eyes, boy. Or would you rather look at my boots instead?" He raised his head slowly, meeting his father's cold, grey gaze. There was silence for a moment before he coughed and then spoke once more.

"Both of you have reached an age where a new chapter is to begin. Benjen here is four and ten, old enough to be fostered out I believe. While he shall travel to the Dreadfort to squire for Lord Bolton, Jag-"

"But father!" Lyanna spoke up, her face a mix of horror and shock. "Sending Ben to the Bolton's would be declaring yourself a traitor in the eyes of the Starks!" Jagare had enough control to mask his emotions, but he shared the same thoughts. House Bolton was at a low point. They had always hated the Starks and had the previous winter attempted a surprise attack on Winterfell. It was a fool's wish. They had hoped that with the storms and famine, the Lords would simply say 'fuck it' and leave them be. But the North Remembers. His father had no love for the Starks, as all knew. Even though it was Lord Dustin that had declared him the villain, it was the Starks that passed it off as if it was his father's fault and burdened him with Jagare, the greatest crime of all he reckoned. But his father was smarter than the Boltons. He knew that the attack wouldn't work and so had refused the Bolton's offer of an alliance and had secretly advised others to do the same.

His father also feigned a lack of men to the Starks cause due to the snow, as had many houses that supported him on the Eastern side. The Bolton's thought eastern neutrality enough to secure them their victory. However, the snow and the White Knife River slowed down the Bolton approach, giving time for the Starks to muster enough men from House Cerwyn and the Lords of the Wolfswood, along with their own soldiers to meet the Boltons on the Western Shore. It was a slaughter. The Starks fell upon them in the blizzard, led by the young Prince, Jon Stark. With a freezing cold river on one side, and the Starks steel on the other, the men panicked and the battle was lost. The Bolton's had many of their lands and privileges revoked but the greatest loss was the death of almost every member of House Bolton. All that was left was Rambo Bolton, the new Lord of the Dreadfort, and his younger sister Sara.

Rambo Bolton was sent back to the Dreadfort with a tenth of his men and a yearly fine to pay to the Starks until Bolton loyalty could be assured once more. He also bought home a bitter vengeance that would last until the sun disappeared from the sky and snow fell in Dorne. It was a sorrowful and stupid attack from the Boltons, one that their father had been wise to stay out of. As Lyanna was very likely thinking, sending Ben there could very possibly be seen as treason, especially from the Karstarks.

"You speak out of turn, daughter. I am not blind, nor am lacking wits. Ben shall squire for Lord Bolton under the precedence of keeping an eye on them for the Starks. It is the first part of my plan to bring us back into those thrice-dammed wolves' good books. Understand?"

"So we're going to ally with them again?" she asked. He winced as she did, but apparently, their father was in a good mood, and so answered fairly.

"Aye, the west may never like us again, but there is a new Stark king sitting the throne, one that I used to know rather well. We have corresponded by raven and have agreed the…ugliness of the past be put behind us." He glared at Jagare at those words, and he bowed his head quickly. Lyanna nodded, though she seemed doubtful. As did Jagare. Much like Rambo, he doubted that his father would ever want to make peace with the Starks, and this must be some sort of trick or plot he was concocting. But father was not one to be questioned, not when it came to such politically unstable matters.

"As for you Jagare….you are the second part in that plan." Jagare looked into his father's eyes once more. Grey meeting Grey.

"What will you have me do, Father?" He gazed at Jagare for a while, before sniffing and looking at the map on his table.

"The Harvest Feast is coming up. I am taking you with me to Winterfell. Whilst you are there, I shall tell King Stark that you are his to do whatever he likes with, and by that, I mean a trade. Guard, smith, hunter, a fucking cook for all I care, but you are his to do with as he wants. If you have a preference as to what that may be, I suggest that you perfect that craft before you arrive and beg to be put in that role." Jagare's eyes flickered around the room. He saw Benjen's smile fade and eyes flutter to the floor, and Lyanna looked like she wanted to grab the longsword on the wall and run someone through with it. It was a dire command, one that he was sure would not end well for him. Mayhaps though he could simply melt into the background, take a new name even. In fact, he would finally be escaping Karhold. Maybe Winterfell would be a fresh start for him. It was worth a try.

"As you say, father. I am at your service." He nodded and then turned to face Lyanna.

"Daughter, you are to play a part as well. You shall marry Cley Umber and strengthen ties along the east. You will meet and court him at Winterfell and then when we leave, you shall travel to Last Hearth where you shall be wed."

The walls of Karhold shook that night as Lyanna raged. The shouting match with their father lasted many hours, and only at dinner when she sat down silently with a face flushed red did the whispers finally start. Ben and Daryn knew better than to say anything, and Lyanna appeared to have lost her voice. And Jagare would never dare to challenge his father. That night, he went to the stables and saddled a horse. He had learnt to do so long ago, no stable boy would do it for him, that was for sure. Galloping through a side gate, he rode into the darkness of the woods. He wasn't quite sure what for, but anger burned through him, and he needed an escape. The cool, crisp night air flowed silently through the trees, and he found himself shivering from the chill. Fuck. Why didn't he bring a cloak? Unslinging his axe from his saddle, he did the only thing he could think of. Trees shook, as the Bastard of Karhold whirled through the clearing, chopping, and slashing. Slicing and stabbing at the bark. He fought silently, only the sound of the blade on bark echoing through the forest. The unfairness of it all struck him hard. Why? Why him? Why couldn't he have been born true and noble? He would have even been happy with a peasant's life actually. Quiet and simple. Anything but the disgraced bastard son of Jeor Karstark. He roared into the air and fell to his knees, his axe sinking into the cold wet earth. the blade was dull now. He would have to sharpen it. Sucking in dry breaths, he felt some tears form in his eyes. Knowing that there was no one to see him, he let them fall.

A snap behind him made him turn on his knee. A wolf stood in the moonlight, directly in the middle of the clearing where the canopy parted to reveal the blinding white light. Pale grey, with round brown eyes and a fixed expression. The beast stared at him with its heavy gaze, unblinking and silent. Jagare froze under the eyes of the wolf, his arms seized up and the axe felt like a Warhammer. The sleek animal padded forward until it was only a few yards from Jagare. He felt its eyes upon him, like it was…examining him. It then raised its hackles and Jagare was sure he was soon to die, only for it to howl at the moon. Deep and heavy, a sound unlike any he had heard before. The wolf then looked at Jagare once more and turned away, moving silently back into the darkness. His heart halfway out of his chest, Jagare got up from his knees. Blinking a few times, in an awed expression, he trudged back to his tethered horse and rode back to the castle. The wolf's stare burnt into his mind.

The next morning, Jagare lay awake in his chambers staring at the ceiling, still not truly believing what had happened. Not only had he survived an encounter with the wolf, but it seemed….friendly to him somehow. Like an otherworldly respect. But…that was nonsense. He pulled himself from under the covers and let the cold air wake him up. Shaking his head, it came a little clearer now. The wolf had probably just been separated from his pack and had recently eaten. Probably why Jagare wasn't his dinner. But as he thought more, the encounter sparked an idea in him. The freedom of that wolf, to simply come and go through the woods. Travel wherever it wanted and then leave of its own accord. It seemed…blissful, and exactly what Jagare wanted.

He spent the first part of the morning in the Godswood, praying, and thinking. The Godswood had always been a place to escape for him. Not even his father or stepmother could abuse him there, not in the eyes of the gods. Placing his hand on the heart tree, the link to the old gods of the North, Jagare thought about the moons to come. The Harvest Feast of Winterfell was coming up shortly, and with that came lords from all over discussing the politics of the North. That is where he would start his new life, same with Lyanna. But it would not be the life that his father had arranged for him, oh no. No matter how much it seemed better than Karhold, he would no longer be shackled by anyone. He had much to accomplish however, between then and now. His father had given him a choice for a craft. If he did not choose one it would seem suspicious, so lumberjacking seemed a sensible choice. Axes worked for him anyway. He also decided to become more competent with both Archery and Riding. Both would be crucial to survival on his own, he was sure. He would also need to learn some basic survival skills. Lighting fires, skinning game, and making shelter. Opening his eyes, he gazed around the small, secluded grove of trees. The wind whispered to him in words he couldn't understand. That was what the wind was, they said. The whispers of the Old Gods. It was going to be risky, his plan. But it was going to work.

Over the next few moons, he practiced all he needed respectively. Every morning he would go out into the woods of Karhold with the other Lumberjacks. Every morning he would spend the day building his strength, chopping trees for his father. With every swing, his rage grew. But he kept it inside of him, saving it, waiting till the right moment to release it. With the coin he gained from the tree chopping, he would take trips into Kartown. There, he would purchase various items, unseeming to the common eye, but all had their uses. Rolls of cloth, a flint and steel, a whetstone, a hunting knife, a leather quiver. Most of the coin he saved, the final pieces of equipment he would need to purchase in Wintertown after all. In the late afternoons, he would practice his riding and archery, as well as sometimes training with his axe. Riding was simple enough. Taking a horse he could gallop through the woods, over streams, through bracken and in between the rocks. His legs became stronger and his senses sharper. If he couldn't ride, he would be dead.

He and Lyanna often trained in Archery together. It seemed that their father was at least a little sympathetic for her, as for the last few moons he let her have run of the castle and her activities. Immediately she had thrown away her needles and cloth, spending most of her time with Jagare, or their other siblings. Aiming together at the archery line, she broached the topic of his recent activities.

"I know what you're thinking about doing, Jagare, and it won't work." He snorted and let his arrow fly. It hit the inside of the blue, not the best, not the worst.

"You underestimate me, little sister. I am more resourceful than you think." Her face did not change, but she let out a heavy sigh.

"Father is already suspicious of the number of trips you are taking to Kartown, and he knows that both of us would do anything to get out of what he has forced us to do." She let her arrow fly, and it sank into the yellow. A perfect shot.

"Father will have enough on his mind come Winterfell. He will be too busy keeping Rambo Bolton from murdering Jon Stark." Rambo had not let go of his vicious grudge against the Starks. However, their brother had written from the Dreadfort to say that he was smart and calculating, already improving the trade and commerce on his lands as well as keeping his people united. In the past when Rambo had visited, their father had started treating him as another son. In reality, he was manipulating Rambo's hatred of the Starks, bringing his loyalty firmly to their side. Father really was a crafty bastard, more so than Jagare could ever hope to be.

"Jon Stark would relish the thought, I am sure; he wasn't happy with leaving the last two alive. Wanted to wipe them all out." He chuckled at her comment and let loose another arrow. Red this time.

"Typical Jon Stark…Ben has become bewitched with Rambo's younger sister apparently. Adorable little thing I've heard, nothing like the stories that are told of their ancestors."

"Yes well, I do believe Rambo took all the hate and rage the Boltons are known for. I don't reckon he left her anything but the strangely charming and charismatic nature they seem to possess." She rolled her eyes and bought another arrow to her chin.

"Still, my point stands. It won't work." She let an arrow fly, yellow again. After a low whistle, he spoke.

"I will tell you my plan at Winterfell, sister. I assure you that I have thought of everything." She turned to look at him with fire in her eyes.

"Maybe I don't even want to go. Did you think of that?" He regarded her coldly before showing off a thin smirk.

"Whoever said you were invited." He received a whack with the bow for that one, but she couldn't help but smile a little bit.

"Well, if that's the case I suppose I should get to know Cley Umber a little better." That shut him down. He scowled at her and muttered.

"Over my dead body." Looking up at the sky, the sun was being enveloped by Karholds grey stone. "Okay, enough talk. I have…things to do." She frowned at him.

"Things to do? Where do you disappear off to in the evening? You hardly ever eat with us and then no one can find you for the rest of the night." He smirked and winked at her.

"Like anyone but you looks for me. But if you do find me, I'll be bloody annoyed. The spot took me years to find." He heard her huff behind him as he walked off, leaving her glaring.

The truth about where he really went was one none of his family would even guess. For a Northman it was rare, and for a bastard supposedly even more so, but Jagare loved to read. Karhold's library was small, and the books limited, with tomes about winters long passed, and the old heroes of the North. But there was nothing about the rest of the world, and Jagare had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. When he was younger, the Manderlys used to come to visit, and it was often the highlight of the year for him. White Harbour was the only port city of the North, and the Manderlys were the richest bannerman of the Starks, allowing them a certain amount of leeway with their actions. The heir to White Harbour, Constantine Manderly was one of the only people he could call a friend, apart from Lyanna of course. Constantine was a few years older than Jagare and had always amazed him and his siblings with stories from the docks of the city. Short, dwarf-like hairy men from Ib. Tall, slender bald men, with skin as dark as ebony from the Summer Isles. And tales, tales galore from all around the world. The mighty cities, the huge mountain ranges, and the windswept deserts. Jagare wanted to know about them all, but his father was not one to oblique his son's wishes on a whim. After a while, Constantine's promises of taking him on adventures became less and less realistic as the Lord of White Harbour grew sick and didn't visit, restricting his son to the city where he could learn to rule. Jagare thought that he would never know the outside world again.

But then, on a misty summer night, a ship was wrecked on the grey cliffs near Karhold. As was the custom, the common folk took whatever they could carry until the Lord arrived. From a sodden ship's log, they deduced the ship had been heading for Braavos, but the writing was all in another tongue, and they could translate no more. Braavos was an Essosi city across the Narrow Sea and the closest one to the North. In times of a bad harvest, his father would sometimes send ships down to bring up Braavosi wares to eat. Inside the cracked hull were crates of fruits from the Summer Isles, rolls of silks from the free cities and a large chest of hardback leather books. His father had ordered them to the library, in case they would come in use later. It turns out they did, but not in the way Lord Karstark imagined.

Every night after dinner, Jagare would sneak up to the library, and sit in a small alcove in the beams above it. He had a new book each night and would read it until the words floated off the page and danced in front of his eyes. He read about the History of Westeros and Essos, the faraway lands beyond the borders of the North, and great battles that had taken place long before his time. The chest of books had given him something to work towards. Knowledge. His family may have just looked at him as a potential worker or fighter, but Jagare knew more about the world than anyone at Karhold he reckoned. Even the Maester of the castle who was the most knowledgeable and wisest man in Karhold, knew little outside of Oldtown where he had studied. Jagare knew about all 7 kingdoms, the 9 free cities and even further. Slaver's Bay, the Bone Mountains, Yiti and Asshai. One day, he wanted to visit them all. And maybe now that would be possible. With his plan in place, all he needed was to get to the coast and find a ship to work on, and the rest of the Known World would be within his grasp.

Eventually, the Harvest Feast grew near, and the castle started packing and loading waggons for the road to Winterfell. His father had already been in correspondence with the nearby lords to meet them on the road, and soon both he and Lyanna would leave Karhold forever. They would be joining the Bolton party first where they would see Benjen again, something that everyone, even their father was looking forward to. Jagare had spent a lot of time talking with Daryn about the houses in the North, along with their sigils and words. He had tried to not instil too much worry into his twelve-year-old half-brother but had still subtly pointed out which sigils he should avoid in Winterfell if possible. Both he and Lyanna were surprised when their father announced Daryn would be joining them, but with no one in the castle to look after him, there wasn't much of a choice. The castle would be governed by the captain of the guard, a distant cousin of their fathers who although competent at running a castle would know nothing about entertaining a child.

The night before they left Jagare had decided that he needed one more horn of good ale before the journey started. He had been relaxing in the nearby tavern, just him and the drinks for a while, when the barman came up to him looking confused and annoyed.

"A man left this in here for you. Nasty fellow. Drove off half my patrons." He thrust a rolled piece of parchment at him, which Jagare took bewildered. The barman stormed off throwing a dirty glare over his shoulder. Jagare sighed and unrolled the letter. On the parchment, there were several words roughly scribbled, 'Beware the young wolf'.


Hopefully should be updating around once a week, if you have any questions please do ask!

I have created an Instagram account where I will post updates, mood board style pictures for the characters and more.

/a_bastards_tale?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Not sure if links work on this site, so the accounts name is Blood of the North