3rd Month of 230 A.L. Winterfell

Lord Donnor Stark

Winterfell echoed in the emptiness of dread and war, winter had taken a firm hold over his childhood home, leaving the grounds white with snow and bleak with cold and rain. Donnor Stark, Lord of Winterfell by conquest sat in his solar and brooded. The whole war had been something that he had not wished to do, but he had thought it his duty what with Artos dead, had he not rebelled, Melantha Blackwood would have seen to it that his nephew Edwyle grew up to be a southern puppet, kowtowing to their every beck and call. The north had suffered enough from the south since the Targaryens had come to the throne, as far as Donnor was concerned it need not suffer anymore. Had he not so strongly believed that, he knew he would have been content remaining the mountain castle he had built for himself from the wedding present his father had given him. He would have ruled those lands well, and would have ensured that the mountain clans did not kill themselves, and he would have been more than content to spend time with his wife and daughters seeing that they were safe and happy.

Speaking of his family, Donnor worried over how they were adjusting to their lives as the ladies of Winterfell. He knew the people of the castle and the nearby lands did not like him, nor had he given them cause to do so. His taking of Winterfell had been bloody, men and women he had grown up with had been put to the sword for refusing to surrender or tell him where Melantha and Edwyle had gone, and so he had made many corpses of the people he had once called friends, though in truth he had none. He hoped that his wife Lyanna and their daughters Serena and Randa were faring better than he was, they only deserved the best and he worried that perhaps he was not going to be able to provide that for them. Lyanna was a strong and smart woman who knew her way around the minefield of politics and knew how to make people like her, a gift that Serena their eldest daughter and Donnor's heir for the time being seemed to share, Randa was quiet and reserved , and though both his daughters were young Serena being only four and Randa three, he knew that they would do themselves well and proud when they grew up.

The clearing of Maester Lomys' throat brought him back to reality. The man had been the maester of Winterfell since the time Donnor was a boy, and what he thought of Donnor, he did not truly want to know. "Yes Lomys what is it?" Donnor asked somewhat tiredly.

"Rodwell Wull and Lord Harmond are without my lord, as are Lords Karstark and Bolton." Lomys replies.

Donnor nods and says. "Very well, send them in and shut the door behind you." Lomys nods and soon enough his war generals are in the solar where Willam and their father sat once. "My lords," he says once they are all seated. "I would have the news from the north and how our campaign is doing."

Harmond, ever faithful and loyal Harmond speaks first. "My son Jon reports that the wildlings who were causing trouble near the gift have been dealt with sufficiently. They shall trouble us no more. He also writes that the men of the Night's Watch have chosen a new lord commander. Ser Arthur Butterwell has been elected Lord Commander and has promised to keep a much more effective look out for the wildlings."

Donnor nods, and then Rodwell his goodbrother speaks then. "There has been word from the south as well. Brandon has taken Moat Cailin, slaughtering the garrison that held it and battering Torrhen Reed's host to bits. He controls everything from Widow's Watch to Flint's Finger now. And he also has mercenaries coming in from Essos, who rumour have it are actually men from the Golden Company."

Donnor's ears perk up at that and he asks. "Where do these rumours come from?"

Rodwell looks at him and then says. "From men my scouts have captured, who say that Ser Rodrik Stout is amongst the men who are fighting for your brother my lord."

Donnor is silent for a moment contemplating this. "So it must be true then. For Rodrik was always Brandon's confidant, and if the man is here and not with the Golden Company then it must truly mean my brother has sold himself off to the dragons, and not even the good kind. A shame, but not one that will change the course of this war."

Lord Jonnel speaks then. "You believe that you can still win this war my lord? Even with the Moat fallen and our numbers significantly lower than your brother's?"

Donnor nods and says. "The Riverlords and the Valelords have finally mobilises themselves. Brandon made an error by having White Harbour open its ports completely, and now he will be mobbed by angry Valemen determined to seat my nephew by Artos on the Winter throne. He will also face the Riverlords who are being led by men who now know the way through the swamps, and without the cranongmen there to help him he will be stuck between a rock and a hard place. I do believe he will lose this battle with the southerners."

Lord Karstark speaks then and asks. "What would you have of us my lord?"

Donnor looks at his generals one at a time and says to each of them. "Lord Harmond I want you to return north, and aid the night's watch in dealing with the wildlings once and for all." Harmond nods. Donnor then turns to look at Lords Karstark and Bolton. "I want you two, to head south and begin raiding the strongholds Brandon has under his command, draw him out from where he is and break him against his own walls." The two men nod.

Rodwell speaks then and asks. "And what of me my lord? What would you have the mountain clans do?"

Donnor looks at his oldest friend and says simply. "Give me Torrhen's Square."

Sixth Month of 230 A.L.: Riverrun

Rodrik 'The Wandering Wolf' Stark

The war in the north still raged from what reports they had heard and received. Donnor and Brandon were at a stalemate with one another, but Brandon was fighting a war on two fronts now, for the Riverlords under Lord Brynden Tully had finally navigated the swamps of the neck and had begun attacking the Moat, according to the reports, a very bloody battle was raging between the two sides. Meanwhile Donnor remained in Winterfell and sat and brooded likely planning some form of new treachery or cruelty for the people of the north. Sometimes there were times when Rodrik regretted not taking up arms in this damn war his brothers had insisted on fighting, and then there were other times when he would look at his nephew Edwyle, and all he could see was Errold lying there broken and dead, and he would shake his head and say to himself that he was better off alive where he could protect his nephew from any harm that could come to him. More than he could say for his nephews Brandon and Benjen who had thrown themselves right into harm's way, just like Artos would have done.

Life in Riverrun was at times boring and at times interesting. He despised having to wait around all day, for news and for more information. He was not greatly trusted by the men who had been left behind to guard Melantha and Edwyle by Ronald Blackwood, and he found that insulting, considering it had been him who had held her tight when she had been scared in Winterfell and it had been he who had seen her back to Riverrun safely. And at other times Riverrun could be very interesting, he enjoyed sparring with the southern knights who thought themselves better than him because of some letters in front of their names, he enjoyed sparring with and beating them, taking out his frustrations by beating them to a pulp. He also enjoyed training his nephew Edwyle, turning him into as fine a fighter a boy of seven could be. There was also other company he enjoyed greatly, though he had entertained a few serving women since being in Riverrun, he had never found quite so great a company as he did in Sharra Rivers, the bastard sister of Lord Brynden. The woman was a fiery lady both in and out of bed, and he loved sparring with her both verbally and in bed. She set his soul on fire and as such was someone he greatly enjoyed being with.

Of course just now he could not think on all that, he had come to meet Melantha in Riverrun's godswood, a pathetic thing it was really but still he had come and he found her sat by the heart tree waiting for him. He bowed before her and sat on the opposite facing rock, waiting for her to speak, when she did her voice was quiet. "There has been word from the north, from my brother Ronald. They captured a man from Brandon's army, who had been sent out scouting. He told them that Brandon had gone north to White Harbour to fight the army of the Vale and that rumour had it that he had killed Lord Rodrick Arryn as well as your nephew Brandon. They say he is marching back now with full force."

Rodrik felt as if he had been slapped in the gut and for a moment he could say nothing until the words finally came out choked. "What more did your brother's letter say?"

Melantha was silent for a moment until she replied. "Brandon has indeed sold himself to the Blackfyres. The man they captured was working for the Golden Company and says that Ser Rodrik Stout a man who we all know joined the golden company is leading their faction in the north. Why would he do it Rodrik? Why betray all Willam stood for?"

Rodrik was silent for a moment and then he said simply. "Because he was pragmatic Melantha. Because he has always been that way, he knew what would happen had he allowed Edwyle become Lord of Winterfell uncontested. Donnor would rise up and so would Errold and the north would be even more damaged than it is already."

"And what he has done is truly what your brother would have wanted? That is the biggest load of nonsense I have ever heard Rodrik. I know you did not wish to fight them, but can you honestly defend them, knowing what they have cost the north and your nephew?" Melantha retorted.

Rodrik sighed and said. "Melantha, please can we not go over this again. You already know why I did not wish to fight my own kin, I would rather not have to go over this with you again when you already know the answer, and what my answer will be."

Melantha snorted then and said. "Oh don't give me that Rodrik. You have never told me why you refused to fight for Edwyle, you never told me why you refused to honour the oath you swore to my son when he became Lord of Winterfell. All you ever said was that you would not and could not fight. If you had perhaps we would still be in Winterfell and your brothers would either have seen sense or would be dead right now. Either way had you actually been man enough to stand up and fight, none of this mess would have happened."

Rodrik felt anger boil up inside of him at his goodsister's words, and Melantha seemed to have realised she had gone too far, for she began to speak up in apology, but Rodrik held a hand up and silenced her. "Do you truly wish to know why I refused to fight Melantha? Truly?" His goodsister nodded then and he said. "Very well then I shall tell you. I am no coward despite what these southern idiots might think, I could very well take my brothers on and win this war for your nephew. I could, and sometimes I wish that I had, but I will not. And that is because my father always taught us that brothers stick together no matter what, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives that was what he always used to say. To fight against my brothers is against all that my house stands for, and it would only add further shame to my father and brothers' memories, and that is something I will not stand for."