"Bella, horrida bella." Roman proverb.

Wars, Horrid Wars.

Lord Stark had a blank face when Irondove came into view, hiding his surprise that the once ruined castle had most of its walls fixed and sporting more men than he could think of in defense.

From the accounts of the probably dead Lord Flint, these barbarians had at least thirty to forty thousand heavily armed men.

This was going to be a bloody and long battle. There was a need for ending the siege quickly and swiftly.

Battering rams were being made and most of the men knew how to scale a wall if need be.

According to the locals they had helped on the way, the red cloaks had recruited, in force, elders and maesters wherever they could. This was alarming but also quite fortuitous.

This could mean they were learning the language, as the locals described the red cloaks speaking a strange tune of soft and deep growls.

At least, Lord Jason was on his way to the Flint with a force of twenty five thousand blades. Thanks to the idiotic ironborn, he had to make a detour, so four months were added. Those six months were miscalculated by Lord Jason in his missives.

"We shall lay siege and make camp around the castle." Lord Stark ordered. "Beware of raids, take all the food you can from the outskirts, we will starve them."

"At once, my lord." Aldamar had a small smirk and laid his orders to the other lords, who then passed it to the men. Within hours, the castle was surrounded and completely cut off from the outside.

However, one thing that was alarming was the enemy's complete blank faces and lack of panic.

It was indeed something they had gone through, it seemed.

Looking as the sun set, Lord Stark looked at the castle and said, "Winter is coming, red cloaks."

For the next night, they made camp and the men took turns to man the sentries around the castle in case of an outright attack.

Lord Stark knew he could not take any chances with these unpredictable soldiers.

And that is what he feared the most. They appeared to be purely professional soldiers born in fire and conflict. The accounts of people as to how they destroyed several hosts, albeit small, of knights was proof enough.

They would rain down heavy spears, subsequently charging and taking the fight to them. Needless to say, most of the knight forces and levies panicked and fled before they could even cause enough damage among the red cloaks.

In his tent, he was reading missives from other lords and the Targaryen king himself.

They were quite worried and asking what in the seven hells was going on.

Lord Baratheon, despite being somewhat of an arrogant arse, was asking for his health and what was going on.

Then the Tyrells were also interested and prepared to help should the invaders go deep into the Riverlands, who had also inquired on the situation but did not mention any help, thanks to the rivalry currently going on between Houses Stark and Tully.

As usual, the Greyjoys did not send a thing while the Martells were asking permission to send a detachment of their navy with a thousand elite spearmen under Prince Caspian himself.

He smiled at how his friend was sending his most trusted commander and son to the war, so he wrote that he refused to put his son in danger but welcomed any other help seen fit by the Prince of Dorne.

Last but certainly not least was the Targaryen king. Aegon III Targaryen was a serious, well mannered man that carried grief from ages past. Lord Stark liked the man and how serious he took reigning after the civil wars and pretenders trying to seize the throne.

Sure, he sometimes wondered why the Targaryens could rule now without dragons but he would be lying if the dynasty had not provided good kings in the past and now.

Some said he was a broken king, ruling a broken realm. Plots and schemes reigned along with murder.

However, Lord Stark admired the man as the king had endured much and strived to put the realm under peace and prosperity though could not do so in terms of charisma.

The king had asked on the situation and demanded in very civil terms to know what Lord Stark was attempting to do with such a massive force in the Flint.

Lord Stark knew it could look like a diversion to invade the Riverlands but he had no wish to invade that god forsaken land and its idiotic people. He had a land to defend and bleed for.

So in response, Lord Stark wrote the truth as befitting a Stark. No beating around the bush and no excuses.

He explained of a powerful force of unknown origin arriving at the Flint peninsula and wreaking havoc upon the region, going in raids as far as Greywater Watch and a short distance away from Moat Caillin.

However, he immediately wrote that the situation was under control and that his grace should not worry, as the invading force was being besieged and it was only a matter of time before it fell.

He also omitted the fact that these soldiers were so well organized they could rival the sellsword companies and the Unsullied in discipline and fearlessness. That could only bring Targaryen loyalists to the area and who knew what devastation that could be done upon the North.

Lord Stark sighed and shook his head. "May the gods protect us."

Vespasian frowned as he gazed into the enemy camp. They had their fortificationsurrounded and ready to starve it.

Thankfully, he had prepared for such eventuality as soon as Lucius sent a message about the large barbarian force moving swiftly down the region. His personal guards, at the command of Makvar had laid waste to several towns and fortifications, bringing food and supplies to their headquarters in large numbers. Surprising most, Vespasian ordered that women and children were to be spared and some of the men as well.

Some had called him a coward or a soft hearted general without courage. Among those was Aulus, the ever arrogant son of a whore that continued trying to undermine him. His close advisors and friends understood his motives, however.

In a strange land, full of unknown enemies and lacking concrete information, the best way to follow was to not anger the locals and defuse a war on two fronts. This would allow them to fight properly against the barbarian onslaught and most likely go on the offensive.

Nature in this place was similar to some of Rome's possessions, that much was certain when compared to Gaul and possibly Hispania, but the closest to it was Britannia and its mystical lands that Caesar had ravaged a century earlier.

Then of course, the language of this people. Guttural yet effective and somewhat easy to learn if given the time and patience. War gave none of those but Vespasian had his loyal man Marcellus on the task at the double.

Meanwhile, Lucius was drilling the men hard, something that all centurions, particularly Sixtus, enjoyed immensely.

"General!" The man he was thinking of, Lucius of Croton stepped into the tent. "There is a delegation of the barbarians at the gate, wearing white banners."

Vespasian raised his eyebrows.

White banners were not common but at least it did seem this land had some common cultural and military perks with Italia. These banners had been in use for quite a while signaling surrender or diplomatic talks, at the least.

These barbarians, just as he thought, were not so. For the contrary, they were sophisticated in their own way and actually quite diverse.

Things truly seemed to be looking up for them, provided they could communicate with them, which at the moment was almost impossible. Lucius himself, a very intelligent man, knew few words and his growls only came as threatening when attempting to communicate with the locals.

Aulus was also doing the impossible in undermining him and his motives, also trying to sweet talk into Lucius to rid of the so called "Vespasian charm" out of him.

"A distraction, surely." Vespasian answered coldly. "They must be perfectly aware that we do not speak their language, what with all the locals we left behind in our righteous wrath."

Lucius nodded. "Yes, I feared the same." The man seemed to ponder, his eyes narrowing. "If we could send a prisoner to them, one of not great importance?"

"And who would that be?"

The other officer shrugged. "That cunt we captured during our first day of offensives."

"Ah, the barbarian that tried to attack our camp?" Vespasian mused amusingly. "Why not? The leader of this fortress, however, we must keep under any circumstances."

"Of course, sire."

Vespasian smiled at Lucius, his eyes twinkling. "How is Aulus?"

"Drilling the man in his own way, annoyingly I must say." Lucius rolled his eyes. "That man has some military savvy but politics come first to him…. disgraceful dog."

Lucius Sempronius of Croton came from a family of great renown, much greater than Aulus' even. The Sempronia family traced its beginnings to the very start of the Republic of Rome after ousting the kings of Etrusca.

It had fallen under some hard times but most of its male members were highly renowned politicians and military officers, particularly Lucius.

The man was a genius, using any means necessary to win and bring glory to his people. The loyalty he displayed towards Vespasian was not unfounded, either, as the latter had tutored and mentored him to become a military officer of strategy and renown.

Aulus descended from a long line of successful leaders, surely, but his family did not reach the founding of their mother city. He was also an arrogant, greedy and angry man who preferred to sit on his laurels while the rest did the dirty work to get him glory.

He was a fair military officer, suppressing a slave revolt in Apulia, crucifying thousands of slaves and highwaymen that had profited from the conflict. Aulus Plautius was so successful he was immediately spotted by the Emperor, who then commissioned him to the new province of Pannonia, close to the Dacians. He oversaw the construction of roads there and even repulsed an attack on the province by the barbaric tribes over the Danube river.

However, his temper and lack of touch with his men made him a poor leader that only relied on immediate results, short term in time.

The long run was Vespasian's, by far.

If there was anything the man complimented about Vespasian was his cunning and keen intelligence both on and off the battlefield.

"Well, maybe some goodwill will get these barbarians to lay off our backs while we prepare sir?" Lucius pressed to the musing Vespasian, who then looked at him.

"Of course, then send that man to them. Make sure he speaks good graces of us."

Lucius chuckled and nodded, then leaving the tent to attend to his duties.

All the while, the ever watchful Aulus saw the scene, rage overtaking his senses as his objective continued treating with Vespasian.

That disgraceful lowborn needed to be dealt with at the double, or else risk his position as governor or perhaps….

Aulus smirked and left, his thoughts on a throne in a land far, far away from Rome.

Robin the Saddle had been a prisoner for gods knew how long. He was treated fairly, he was aware of that. The heavily armed soldiers that captured him had then taken his daughter out of his reach but he felt that she was safe, at least for a while.

The ungraceful wench was acting against his wishes, rushing into battle and getting captured. He did care, in a way, but the grief and rage that overtook him each time he laid eyes on her pulled a void between them since she was a child.

Her mother, Jeyne, had died giving birth to her. He raged, pillaged and killed out of anger and grief for years after that. His own men whispered that he may have gotten an heir but lost a good part of his soul alongside his beautiful wife.

He was then ignored in the lordship of the Finger and given to that disgraceful cunt that was his cousin. Robert Flint was an accomplished warrior in his youth and had a beautiful wife, who had also lost her life while giving birth to twins. Robert then drank himself into a stupor for years.

It seemed as a curse, really. Only thing was that the council ignored him at the time of succession due to his own grief and named Robert as Lord Flint, overseer of the Finger and parts of the Neck.

"Move." The red cloaked soldier snarled and pushed him towards the gates. "Idiot."

Amusing as it was, these barbarians began to learn insults in the common tongue right away. He did not know whether to laugh at that or rage at his humiliation.

Walking, he then saw the gates opening and a soldier wearing those red feathers but quite different from those in horses, shouting orders in their damnable tongue.

His eyes widened as he saw the grey direwolf banners of House Stark, being carried by riders.

As soon as he was outside the city gates, the soldiers behind him retreated and the gates closed with a resounding thud.

The irony here…

"Robin the Saddle…" One of the riders sneered. "Fancy seeing you here, kinslayer."

Ignoring him, Robin walked straight, head held high.

"Lord Stark will be interested in hearing from you." Another rider spoke, this one with a neutral tone. "Take this horse and come with us."

Not having an option now, the former leader of clans took the horse and began to trot the beast at a good pace towards the main camp of the Northern Host.

Plaguing him were thoughts as to how these men were going to take on the powerful read cloaks. They will be wasting their time if they wished to take them head on.

If they could starve them out, maybe they will have some hope of overtaking their discipline and sheer brutality.

Starvation did wonders, after all.

After arriving to the tent where Lord Stark was, he dismounted and was then escorted by bannermen of House Stark and Glover. The ones guarding the tent, he recognized to his bewilderment, were Boltons and Starks.

It seemed the feud between them ages past was being forgotten.

Well… that could play well in the coming onslaught.

"Robin the Saddle." Aldamar Bolton spoke softly, his blue eyes staring daggers at him. "Please… sit."

Taking a seat close to the table that served for strategic purposes, Robin found himself staring at the Bolton lord.

This man… he was feared and respected but ironically… liked. He treated his subjects fairly with an iron hand and punished crimes severely.

Night rights were taken away from the roster in the Dreadfort and Aldamar prided himself in being superior to his ancestors by upholding the laws suggested by the Starks.

A rumor circulated all around the North that Aldamar and Rickard were very close… as in lovers. However, Robin knew they were only close friends and almost brothers. Around the camp, men drank to their name and listed their accomplishments.

Aldamar was the right hand of the lord and well renowned tactician while Rickard was an excellent strategist.

"When Lord Stark called the banners, the Boltons were the first to march." Robin heard a Forrester bannerman whispering loudly to his drunken companion.

Although some Starks believed the Boltons to be brutal and extremely cruel, Rickard was known to admire their castle and laws.

Rapists were castrated and sent to the wall.

Murderers were subjected to amputation of the left hand.

Thieves were simply heavily fined or sent to the wall.

If it were not for his beautiful and honorable wife, he would have enforced those laws in Winterfell.

It clearly seemed that there was a new kind of Stark rising.

"Lord Stark will be here momentarily, please drink and eat." Aldamar nodded at the table, where a piece of venison and wine were placed by a soldier nearby.

Robin stared at the refreshments in disbelief and outright suspicion. Accepting this from a Bolton…

"I would not waste my time poisoning you, if that is what you are thinking." The Bolton lord spoke with a hint of amusement. "Now, dig in before Lord Stark deems you out of rights for being a kinslayer."

Sneering at him, Robin used the fork to stab at the piece of meat and then placed it in his mouth, praying to the gods that it would not have him choking in agony momentarily.

Aldamar chuckled quietly and resumed his reading.

It was no secret that Aldamar Bolton was a reader. He also loved music and despised parties without music or merriness.

Seeing no negative effects the food had on him, the last Flint lord dug in and began to devour the meat. His wine was finishing.

"Please have it full again, Theon."

"At once, my lord." The loyal guard replied, retrieving the glass without a look towards the man people called the Saddle and left to get a keg.

Lord Aldamar stared at Robin, his blue eyes cold and calculating. "Enjoying the food?"

Robin did not reply, he simply continued eating.

"I hope you are… Lord Stark is not known for being merciful towards rebels and kinslayers." The lord smirked. "Well… neither am I, to be perfectly honest."

'What a fucking cunt.' Robin thought as he finished with his plate.

Hearing the rustle of the tent moving, Aldamar smiled slightly. "Lord Stark, pleasure to have you with us here."

Lord Stark's eyes were cold as the north itself. "Has our guest been treated fairly, my friend?"

"Of course, my lord."

Seeing the Bolton lord smirking merrily and the Rickard staring at him with an unreadable expression, Robin faltered.

"Please, my friends, leave me and Aldamar with our guest."

Theon began to protest. "My lord, your protection…"

"I assure you Theon, me and Aldamar are quite well protected on our own, thank you."

Resigned but still ever faithful, Theon nodded and sent a glare of pure loathing towards Robin before departing the tent.

A silence spread through the three men, two staring at the one sitting.

"Now, rebel, you will speak and tell us what to expect from this red cloaks. If you cooperate, I promise… mercy."

Robin immediately looked at Bolton, to see if the man would provide a clue as to Lord Stark's words. He was stone faced, however.

"What do you wish to know?"

A hard punch from Aldamar sent Robin crashing to the ground. "You will refer to your lord with the proper respect, rebel."

"Now, now… it is quite alright my friend, I am sure our guest is just shell-shocked from the fighting with the red cloaks, is all."

Spitting blood from a bruised lip, Robin sneered. "What do you wish to know, my lord?"

"Staring with why you foolishly attacked them head on would be perfect, I am sure."

Robin snarled. "They had my daughter captured, what would you have done in my stead my lord?"

"Please." Lord Bolton shook his head. "We all know how much you despised her."

"She is my kin!"

"Kin which you slaughtered!" Lord Stark thundered. "You allowed this red cloaks perfect reign over the region with your shenanigans! Now they have the castle you were trying to usurp and a defensive position almost unbeatable!"

"They are unbeatable!" Robin Flint shouted back. "They slaughtered my men like nothing and then humiliated us further by attacking the castle and taking it within hours! You know nothing!"

Another punch from Aldamar sent him to the ground. "You are speaking to our lord and protector!" Bolton hissed like an angry snake.

"That would be our dear Targaryen king." Robin chuckled. "I can imagine his thoughts at the moment… has he written to you already, Lord Stark? How he will send an army to vanquish our foes?"

"He will do no such thing, fool." Lord Stark sneered at him, his eyes alight with disgust. "Lord Jason has called his banners and the Martells are sending an elite detachment of spearmen."

Robin was shocked. "You would allow foreigners in our land?"

This time, Aldamar did not punch him, but still hissed angrily. "Remember your betters, Robin."

"So many banners here… I wonder how the Targaryen dynasty will take it, oh…" Robin smirked. "The Riverlands will be quite preoccupied eh?"

Lord Stark sneered. "Name your price, filth."

"Oh? Price?" Robin appeared to be in shock.

Aldamar simply took a step closer to him. "Weaknesses of the caslte. You knew them well when you attacked. Tell us those and we… will have a new lord here."

"You would name me lord of the Flint's Finger? And why do I find myself dubious?"

"Because it is either you follow our lead or I will chop you to pieces and feed you to the monsters in the Neck."

Robin faltered slightly at such cruelty coming from Lord Stark.

Not even the wall was offered.

"Very well, I accept."

"Start with their tactics, I want to know everything of our enemy and then… please enlighten us on the castle."

A/N: Longbow will make its nasty entrance next chapter, along with the fighting between the juggernauts Lord Stark and General Vespasian.

I assume some of you are shocked regarding the great friendship between Bolton and Stark but hey, it is an AU. There will be other houses next chapter and Lady Jocelyn Mormont will be provided a POV when the fighting starts with a bang.