Hey guys! Another chapter! A couple of you said you wanted to see what was going on in the North, so here's a bit of a snapshot. Also, I need another character – the Lady Stark, mother of Markas and Evalyn. I could also do with a Lord Bolton and some minor Northern lords, who will act as bannermen for the Starks and Boltons.

I could also do with some more low-born people. For instance, some knights or soldiers would be nice. Anyhoo, I'll try to update soon-ish!

Markas Stark – Winterfell

Spring had nearly ended, ushering in summer. After a long five years in darkness, the sun had started to rise, the ice melted away and the townsfolk began to flurry around the courtyard to trade once more.

I stood on the balcony, watching Tadd Reed and Brack Mormont spar under the careful eye of instructors. They were only fifteen, both of them still squires. But, after four years of killing our brothers, our soldiers were getting younger. I found it hard to dwell on this – Evie was their age. They were children.

"Lords Glover and Greystark have arrived, My Lord." Edam informed me.

"Lord Karstark?" Mormont grunted from beside me.

"He sent word that he is to stay in Karhold, for fear of a Bolton attack."

"Wise man…" Mormont nodded.

"It's understandable… Thank you, Edam."

The soldier bowed his head, then turned about heel and left. I straightened up, pulling on my gloves. "No Karstark… That will make things harder." Mormont began to stroke his dark black beard.

"It's just as well," I nodded, making my way to the Great Hall, "Karstark hates Glover."

"As do we all. The cunt…" Mormont growled beside me.

"Lord Glover has over two thousand men," I informed him, "that will make a difference in this war."

"Aye, he has two thousand men – fresh-faced and smelling of daisies." Mormont's fist clenched, "Four years… waiting four years before picking a side."

"It's in the past," I informed Mormont, "they will win this war for us."

"With respect, my Lord, I've been fighting this war for nearly half a decade… I've been fighting Wildlings and Ironmen longer still. You need men that are loyal to you."

"That's why I have you, my Lord." I smiled, placing a hand on Mormont's shoulder. He grinned at me, the great Old Bear, with warm green eyes and jet black hair. That black hair that I had inherited. He was adorned in large black furs, under a large ebony brigandine.

I opened the door to the Hall, but could not find myself to step inside, as I saw someone in there, standing in front of the Lord's chair.

Evalyn was distinctive. In a crowd of a thousand Northerners, I'd still be able to pick her out. The Pale Wolf, some had called her, and it was little wonder why; her skin was faded and washed out, her eyes grey and iced as mine, and her hair, ashen and straight, dropping to the back of her waist. She was clad in black, as she had been for the last month, since father had been struck down in the Battle of Sheepshead Hills.

I held out a hand, keeping Mormont at bay. After a brief look in my eyes, Mormont nodded, and left, shutting the door behind him. The sudden noise made Evalyn look across to me, quickly rubbing her eyes. I saw now, that a great number of tomes had been set upon the table behind her.

"Markas," she sniffled, "I couldn't concentrate in my room…"

"It's quite alright," I assured her, walking in, "take as long as you need."

Evalyn smiled, bowing her head in thanks. She then looked to her right, past mother's chair, to where I would now sit.

"It doesn't feel like he's gone, does it?"

"No," I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat, "it doesn't seem… it doesn't work."

Evie paused for a moment. "Do you remember the feasts we used to have in here?"

"How mother would insist on making sure all my food was cut up?" I grinned.

"I used to beg her to let me sit with Elyse Forrester and the other girls." Evie chuckled with another sniff.

"Finn would sit over there," I pointed at the back, "and get drunk on ale and call Ser Gabrin a milksop."

"And then mother would get so riled…" Evie laughed.

I walked around the table, looking at the Lord's seat. As I rested my hand on the back of the chair, I could still picture father sitting there, clear as day; His long dark curls, tied back behind his head. The dark leathers, the great, heavy Ice in its sheath, slung across the back. Father would sit there, drinking ale, and watching us all with a smile warm enough to keep us all going through the darkest winters.

But, as I sat down in the chair, I noticed my eyes rested on one place – the table where the Master-at-Arms would sit with the Captain of the guards. The table that Finn used to sit at. I could still see him, with his dark hair like myself, albeit lacking in curls. Whereas I still bore the bruises from my brawls, Finn never seemed to get them. No, Finn was a warrior, through and through. I still had the scar to prove it, a jagged crescent mark from where Finn had struck me with a wooden sword when we were no older than six. Mother never let us train together again.

"She'd have father send him to bed without supper." I finished the memory.

"I can't remember him well." Evie said finally, "Can you?"

"Mostly when he sparred," I informed her. "Gods, I can't remember a time where I didn't want to wield a sword like him. Maybe then I…"

I had to catch myself. Matters like those… Evalyn was too young to know about them. About how deadly and evil the Ironborn could be. More to the point, the past had to stay in the past. There was the war with the Boltons that I had to focus on.

"Then you…?" Evie asked.

"Oh… maybe I could have the Boltons fight me in the Old Way."

"I wouldn't trust them…" Evie hissed, closing one of her volumes, "Theadosia Bolton… Raff Bolton… they all deserve to day."

"Thea didn't murder father, Evalyn." I informed her. "Neither did Raff."

"They're Boltons. They deserve to die." Evie stated.

"And I'm sure they think the same about us."

"So you won't fight them?"

"I didn't say that." I ran a hand through my curls. "Mother says they're cold, demented people."

"Their sigil is the flayed man." Evie stated.

"Just because a man's a Bolton, it doesn't mean they're evil." I tried to reason. "Finn is proof enough of that."

"But Finn isn't a Bolton, he's a Snow."

"He's as much Bolton as Raff or Theadosia." There was a pause as I saw Evie's eyes linger on Finn's old seat at the far table, before they drifted back to her tomes. "You've inherited father's loud silence."

"When can he come back?"

I sighed, standing up and walking around the table to face her. "You know he can't…"

"Father sent him away. You're Lord of Winterfell now, you can bring him back-"

"That's not how it works… father had his reasons."

"But he can help us fight the Boltons! You said it yourself, he's the best with a sword ever-"

"I didn't say that."

"-And the Targaryens don't care! Father banished him, so-"

"Evie, even if that were the case, no-one knows where he is."

"That isn't true!" Evie reached under one of her books (Maester Folynd's Collection of Poultices and Poisons), and pulled out a falttened scroll, with our family's seal stamped upon it, unbroken. "Tom from the market said he can deliver this to the next Braavosi trader that comes to the Stony shore!"

"Evie, when has Finn ever replied to your letters?" Evie frowned, her lip quivering gently. "I'm sorry… Evie, I didn't mean to be cruel." I sighed. Father always told me a wise man listens, whereas a bold man talks. "Braavosi?"

Evie nodded eagerly, "You see, he said that he came across a Westerosi Bravo who carried a wolf's head dagger."

"Finn's dagger." I nodded. Finn had always been attatched to his knife, with a roaring ironwood wolf sculpted into the pommel. But there were countless reasons as to how someone possessed this dagger. Finn could have sold it, soured from his exile. Or Finn may have lost it in a game of dice. Perhaps he died and it was taken from him – perhaps someone else just had a wolf's head dagger.

"And- and, they said he's skilled with a sword. They said he's killed a thousand men!"

"I doubt Finn's killed a thousand-" I caught myself again. "What do you say in your letter?"

"I tell Finn to come home. I tell him about the songs that I've learnt, the poems I want, I ask him where he is, and for stories."

I wished I still had that hope. And it pained me to do this, but it was my duty as Lord of Winterfell. I had to do what was best for her, and best for the house.

"Evie… I need more men for this war," I tried to explain, "I can't win unless I find more allies."

"Who?" She asked. "Everyone in the North has picked a side."

"You're right…" I swallowed again, "Every house in the North has." She cocked her head to the side eyes trying to pick apart my meaning. "Evie… I've made a match for you."

"A match?"

"A Baratheon. You'll be the Lady of Storm's End, of the Stormlands-"

"You can't send me away!" She stood up, shaking her head.

"-you'll depart Winterfell within the week-"

"Markas, you can't do this, please don't do this!" I could see her red, stinging eyes begin to water once more.

"I've given my word."

"If- if you need help, ask the King! Or- or, the Queen!"

"I cannot."

"Yes you can!"

"No, I can't!" I leant on the table, "I am the Warden of the North. I cannot- I will not ask a Southner for help! How am I meant to rule the North if I cannot fight for the North?"

"But they're rebelling!"

"Aye, and there'll be more rebellions if I ask for help!" I entangled my fingers in my ringlets, sighing as I tried to find a way to explain this to her. To make her understand. "Our ancestors defeated the Red Kings before, without the help of other kingdoms. I will not go to King's Landing and beg for help."

Evie stared at her feet, arms by her side as she began to sniff and sob quietly. Eventually, her pale hands were brought up to cover her eyes, her weeping becoming louder. I couldn't even bear looking at her, standing there with her gentle mewling. But she was a woman now. This was her destiny. And a Baratheon was a good match for her.

"I know it's not fair," I muttered, "but it's what's best for everyone. It's best for you, it's best for the house…"

"That doesn't mean it's right." Evie sniffed. She looked up at me, eyes burning red. "You sound like father." Before I could try to decipher whether she meant this as a compliment or not, she picked up her copious volumes and stormed out of the room, struggling to keep them all in her arms.

I watched the doors open and Mormont walk past Evie.

"She knows." I clarified.

"Ah… never an easy chat…" Mormont nodded, "Gods willing, it won't be the last."

"Gods willing, this war will end before she says her vows."

"She'll be safer in the south."

"Aye… but she won't be home."

So, please let me know your thoughts! I started writing this at 1am, and it's now 3:30am… Anyhoo, those nice long, detailed reviews are the best! I love getting them and hearing what you like and want to see more of!