AN= Here's chapter five folks. First off a couple of responses to two reviewers.

sam - I'm glad that you are enjoying this so far. In regards to Robb's handling of Ramsey Snow, let's not forget that although he has had a couple of points in the past where he has been left in charge by his father (in my story anyway) he is still young, and not calling the banners to hunt Ramsey down can be seen as a mistake that a young lord would easily make. As for why Robb has done as he has done, there is an explanation later on in this chapter as to why Robb has done so. Anyway I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

Greywing - I'm glad to see Roose dead too. I've hated him for a long time. But still his death will lead to problems in the future (I've yet to plan that far ahead with this story as I'm literally posting chapters as I finish them). I'm glad you liked my ahead joke at the end, I'm bad at making poor jokes like that, as I said last time I could not resist.

Right then on with the story. As always, I own nothing, GoT belongs to GRRM and HBO.

Chapter Five

Eddard Stark

The last few weeks have been hard for Eddard. The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing was long, but seemed pleasant compared to the last couple of weeks spent in the capitol. His days consisted of the same routine; get up before dawn, bathe, break his fast with his children, work in his solar for an hour before holding meetings with his fellow councillors, return to his solar and work some more, have his evening meal, work a little bit more and then rest for the night. Did Jon always feel this exhausted every day for the last twenty years, he thought to himself. Running the Seven Kingdoms was more than hard work. Not for the first time Eddard was glad that he did not take the Iron Throne for himself when he walked into the throne room all those years ago.

Eddard woke up this morning feeling a sense of discomfort. It was only a week until the tourney was to be held. It was a hellishly expensive affair that Eddard tried to make Robert realise was not needed. He would have gotten more luck making peace with a White Walker than talking his old friend down from holding this tourney. Still, Eddard rose from his bed and had a quick bath before he wandered down into the small hall of the Tower of the Hand. His children who had travelled with him were already up and having their breakfast. Bran was not present as he had now gone to work as Ser Lukas's squire. Summer had also gone with him. Eddard's two daughters and his baseborn son were sat at the table with their Direwolves sat nearby.

"Morning father," Sansa said as he approached them. All three of them were tucking into their food. Nymeria and Lady were lying down on the floor while Jon gave a piece of fatty bacon to Ghost.

"Morning Sansa," he replied as he sat down at the table. Jory was sat not that far from them, just finishing his breakfast. Eddard watched as his captain turned in his seat to look at him.

"Pardon me my lord, but myself and a couple of the others were wondering if we would have your permission to enter the tourney," he began. "Harwin and Desmond have voiced their desire to take part, and I wouldn't mind testing myself against these soft Southrons." Eddard held back a small smile at Jory's words. The man who was a friend to Eddard was a proven fighter, skilled with the sword, as were Harwin and Desmond. Eddard cleared his throat before he answered him.

"I see no harm in it Jory," he said. He may have been against the tourney being held with the crown's current financial situation, but Eddard saw no real reason to prevent his men from taking part. "Just remember that it is all a game to these Southrons, so try not to cause them too much harm." Jory gave him a smirk before bowing his head and turning back to finish off what was left of his breakfast. Eddard looked at his girls. "So what are your plans for today then?" he asked them. Sansa was first to answer.

"I have been invited by Queen Cersei to have tea with her and her daughter, Princess Myrcella," she said. "I shall go with Jeyne and Septa Mordane for company. Jeyne adores Lady, so she shall keep her preoccupied while the Queen and I spend time talking." Arya rolled her eyes after Sansa spoke. Eddard was wary of Cersei. She may be Robert's wife and may have kept him sane to a degree after the death of Lyanna when the war ended, but she was still a Lannister, and Eddard did not trust the Lannisters much. Still he kept his thoughts to himself. Sansa has grown up over the last three years, and knows that the world is not like the songs and stories make it out to be. He turned to look at Arya, who shrugged her shoulders as she finished her mouthful.

"Jon and I are planning to look around the Red Keep more," she said. "There is just so much that I want to look at. We'll go where we can go without being a nuisance. I just want to see if we can find any of the dragon skulls, but Jon thinks we'll never find them. Once we are done I want to go down to the Blackwater Rush. It would be nice to look across the water." Eddard nodded his head at this. He knew that if she could then Arya would try to find somewhere to practice her swordplay, and perhaps convince Jon to aid her. While he had hoped that Arya would grow out of her behaviour he knew that it would not be possible. She's just so much like Lyanna, he thought. Gods I should have sent her to foster at Bear Island. Years ago Eddard had considered sending his daughter out to Bear Hall, the Mormont's seat on Bear Island as a ward to Lady Maege Mormont. Arya would have thrived there with Maege and her daughters. If anyone could have taught Arya to practice her sewing and other ladylike activities then Maege would have done it better than Septa Mordane. The women of House Mormont have learned the ways of battle as well as the womanly pursuits for thousands of years, due to constant Ironborn raids when the menfolk of Bear Island went fishing. Women had to learn to fight to prevent them from being taken off as salt wives by the Ironborn, where they would be subjected to a form of slavery that saw them being violated by their captors. The Mormont women are amongst the most fearsome warriors that the North has ever produced, and have somehow found the perfect balance between their warrior skills and the ladylike skills. If only I'd sent Arya there, Eddard thought again.

Still, with Jon around Arya would not get herself into too much trouble, so Eddard gave her his consent. When his breakfast arrived, a plate of bacon with bread, eggs and sausages, he started to eat. He wolfed his food down, washing it down with a cup of water, and then he stood up and left the hall. He made his way to his solar, where he sat down and began to read through some letters. He read the letters, most of them being unimportant, but some had some significance. After examining those of importance he put the letters to the side and made to move. As he did he found a small letter in the writing of Frieda. He took it up and unrolled it, holding it up so that he could read it carefully.

Lord Eddard Stark,

I have looked into a warehouse in the city. The one that Littlefinger had hired through his agents. It seems my efforts were for naught. The warehouse had been emptied before I got there. I shall be available to speak with you the next time I am in the Tower. While my search was fruitless I did learn of one potential problem that could be done with being resolved.

Your humble servant,

Frieda

Eddard read the letter twice. Frieda did not succeed in getting information from the warehouse. That was a problem that would make his enquiries into Jon Arryn's death a lot harder. Still whatever was going on he was confident that Frieda would find out. Silas had spoken of the common girl with nothing but praise. If he trusted her to get to the bottom of Jon's death, the Eddard would trust her as well. Rolling the letter up and placing it in a drawer at his desk, Eddard stood up and left his solar, locking the door as he made his way down to the Small Council Chamber.

The next three hours were long and arduous for Eddard. He was sat at the table with the other councillors. Only Robert and Ser Barristan were absent. To Eddard's right sat both of Robert's younger brothers. Stannis Baratheon, the Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships, had his black hair cropped short, and his face clean shaven. His face was a grim mask. Only a couple of years or so younger than Eddard, Stannis looked much older than Robert does. Beside him sat Renly, the youngest. His black hair came down to his shoulders. He had grown a moustache that he kept neatly trimmed. Renly was in his early twenties, and served as the Master of Laws. He is also the Lord of Storm's End, much to Stannis's displeasure. To Eddard's left were the other councillors; Grand Maester Pycelle, a man in his advanced years who appeared to be dozing off (probably an act); Lord Varys, a eunuch who serves as the Master of Whispers with a vast spy network; and Lord Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, and the man Silas believes to be responsible for Jon Arryn's death. For the last three hours they all sat and listened to matters brought to their attention, discussing what to do and how to do it, with Eddard having the final say. As they finished discussing the last topic Renly spoke up.

"Now then my lords, perhaps we should move onto a more… pressing matter," he said. Stannis grumbled quietly as a man entered the chamber. The man was stout, with a small white beard and a bald head. He wore the armour of the City Watch of King's Landing, as well as their signature gold cloak. "Commander Janos Slynt, what business brings you before us?" Renly asked the man.

"My lords, my lord hand," Slynt began. "We have had a series of problems these last few weeks with an increase of crime due to the upcoming Hand's tourney." Eddard cleared his throat.

"The King's tourney Commander," he said. "I assure you, the hand wants no part of it."

"Call it what you will my lord," Slynt said politely. "But last night we had to deal with several fist fights, one erupting into a full blown brawl, two horse races in the Street of Silk, five reported rapes and one stall being set aflame." The man took a pause to catch his breath. "My men are stretched thin as it is…"

"You are the Commander of the City Watch, are you not?" Renly interrupted. "If you cannot do your duty then perhaps we should replace you with someone who will." Slynt seemed surprised at Renly's suggestion and opened his mouth to speak, but Eddard cut him off.

"We shall do whatever we can to assist in upholding the King's peace within in the city. Lord Baelish will deliver funds for hiring and training more guardsmen," he said. Baelish raised his eyebrows in surprise at Eddard's words.

"I will?" he queried.

"You managed to find the funds for this tourney, I'm sure you can find more gold to hire and train men," Eddard stated as he glared at the man. He then looked to Slynt once more. "I shall also send thirty of my own guard to assist you until the tourney has ended," he said to the man. "When the tourney is done I shall expect them to return to me." Slynt bowed his head low, a wide smile across his face.

"They shall be put to good use, my lord," he said before he took his leave. When he had left Eddard sighed.

"The sooner this blasted tourney is done, the better," he said. Stannis grunted in agreement.

"My brother, the King, will find some excuse to hold another bloody tourney soon," he replied, his voice as grim as his face. Renly shook his head as he leaned onto the table.

"Oh come now Stannis, the Kingdoms prosper when a tourney is held," he said jubilantly. Some of the other councillors voiced their agreement with Renly. After they were done Eddard rose from his seat. All the others stood as well, and Eddard dismissed them for the day.

As Eddard walked away from the chamber he decided to go down to the smithy. He has been in the capitol for two weeks now, but he has yet to see much of the place. He has heard much of the castle blacksmith, who is said to be one of Robert's many bastard sons. Gendry, Eddard believes he is called, is said to be a talented smith, forging steel into whatever shape he desired, focusing on functionality over embellishment. Eddard decided that he wanted to see his work. He walked along the corridors of the Red Keep until he came across the entrance to the smithy. As he passed through the door he saw Harwin standing near a rack of freshly forged swords. The young guardsman, whose father was Eddard's master of horse, was admiring the craftsmanship of the blades. Eddard walked over to him and stood next to him.

"Admirable work," Eddard observed. Harwin jumped at hearing his liege lord's voice and immediately bowed.

"Sorry milord," Harwin said. "I didn't see you there."

"Calm down Harwin," Eddard said to him. The guardsman relaxed and looked back at the swords on the rack. "What brings you here anyway? I thought you already have a sword?" He turned to look at Harwin, who was still looking at the swords.

"I brought my sword down to have it repaired milord," he said. "I damaged it yesterday while training, got a bit too enthusiastic with my slashing and struck the wall behind the practice dummy. Blunted the tip of the sword, so I had to get it repaired. I heard that the blacksmith here is good at his work, so I decided to go see him." Just as Harwin finished speaking a young man walked over to them holding a longsword in his hands.

"Here you go," the man said as he passed the repaired sword to Harwin. Eddard turned to look at him, and was shocked by what he saw. Looking right back at him was a man who looked very much like Robert did at twenty, with a clean shaven face. His hair was as black as black could be, and his eyes a piercing blue. There was no denying it; this was Gendry Waters, Robert's bastard son. He was the spitting image of Robert. Silas was a balance between his mother and father in terms of facial features, but Gendry was the exact mirror image of Robert. "Milord?" the young man asked. Eddard cursed himself internally and schooled his features.

"My apologies, I just came down to inspect your handiwork," Eddard said to him. Gendry looked at him suspiciously for a moment before his eyes widened.

"You're the new Hand, aren't you?" he asked before giving Eddard a slight bow. "What would you like to inspect?" Gendry's voice was respectful, but at the same time concerned. Eddard gave him a small smile.

"No need to be concerned Gendry," he said. "I have heard much from the Crown Prince about your skills in the smithy. I just wanted to see for myself how good your work is." Gendry gave Eddard a slight smile, probably at the mention of Silas.

"Of course milord," he replied.

Gendry spent the next half hour showing Eddard around the smithy. Eddard noticed many fine pieces of work. Swords, axes, arrow heads, spear tips, suits of armour. At the back of the smithy was an impressive suit of steel armour. The breast plate was as wide as Gendry, with simple designs on it; the thigh guards were forged to fit Gendry's thighs with ease, just as the arm guards were forged to fit his arms; the boots came halfway up the shins. On a stand next to it was a shirt of ringmail hanging above a pair of boiled leather trousers. The most impressive piece however was a bull's head helmet that rested above the breastplate. It was the only part of the armour that was forged with some embellishment as well as simple functionality. Eddard was impressed with the effort that Gendry seemed to put into his work.

"You must be proud of this work?" he enquired. Gendry gave Eddard a wide smile.

"It took me years to get this armour done," he answered. "It's for me to use. I intend to train to become a knight one day." Eddard looked at him, surprised at this revelation.

"Intend to change profession?" he asked. Gendry shook his head.

"I'll never stop forging swords and armour," he said. "But I'll never need another blacksmith to repair my own arms and armour." Eddard nodded in understanding. He stood there admiring the armour for a little bit longer before he turned to look at Gendry.

"Well if the day comes that you would rather swing a sword instead of forge one, come find me, alright," he said.

"I will milord," Gendry said. With that Gendry showed Eddard out.

A few hours had passed since Eddard had visited Gendry. During that time he had looked over several letters that he had needed to go over. Much of the time he spent as Hand involved reading letters and giving advice to Robert. It was now only half an hour away from supper, and now Eddard was meeting with Frieda. The young woman had her dark blonde hair tied back in a simple plait. She was wearing basic servant's attire, but Eddard noticed a slight bulge of the sleeve of her left arm, where she hid a dagger. She had sat down on the seat in front of Eddard's desk when he offered her to do so, while he stood.

"So you didn't find anything at the warehouse then?" he asked her. Frieda shook her head.

"No my lord," she replied. "When I got there the whole place was deserted. Completely empty of anything except for a body. A man, who had been stabbed repeatedly it seemed. I got closer and saw that it was Lord Marlon Buckwell, the man I had questioned the previous night." Eddard sank into his seat then, not happy with her news. "I can only guess that whoever killed him must have realised that someone had spoken to him, so they killed him and left his body there to be found. Not long after I discovered his body several armed men came barging into the warehouse, swords drawn. It was a very simple trap, but the fools were not counting on a young woman who could outrun them. I was able to slip past them and lure them back into the city, where I could separate and kill them. The last one I killed I tried to question, but it was just my luck that the man had no tongue." Eddard sighed once Frieda finished talking.

"So for now you are out of leads I take it?" he asked. Frieda nodded her head grimly.

"I'll find something else to follow soon. I always do Lord Stark," she declared. Eddard leaned forward over the table, resting his chin on his hands as he did.

"In your letter you mentioned that there was another problem to deal with?" he asked. Frieda gave him a troubled look as she shifted in her seat.

"As I was being chased by those men I overheard two of them talking about a 'Commander' who had ordered them to kill me," she said. "I dismissed it until a couple of days ago when I listened in to two Gold Cloaks talking about how Commander Slynt was furious that he had lost several of his men who were investigating a warehouse. Can you guess when these men might have perished?" Eddard's eyes widened at this.

"Around the time you looked into this warehouse?" he asked, to which Frieda nodded her head. This was not good at all. Unless those men were talking about something else that had happened it seemed that Janos Slynt was in league with Lord Baelish. This news did not sit well with Eddard. "If Slynt is working for Lord Baelish then it means that the City Watch are unreliable to call upon for dealing with any trouble." Frieda nodded in agreement.

"Half of the Gold Cloaks are no better than sell-swords my lord," she said. "They are loyal to whoever pays their wages. Which just so happens to be our good old Master of Coin." Eddard stood up from his seat, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin.

"In that case we need to take action," he stated. "I'm loath to play these underhanded games, but you know this world of intrigue better than I ever will. Can you look into Commander Slynt's activities and uncover evidence that will prove his corruption?" Frieda stood up herself, a delighted smile lighting up her face.

"That is what I was hoping you'd ask me to do Lord Stark," she said enthusiastically. With a quick bow the young woman left Eddard's solar. Eddard stood in the room for some time, thinking over what he had just learned. It troubled him to no end that the Commander of the City Watch was corrupt, and he was sending thirty of his men to assist the man with his duties. Sighing once more, Eddard left his solar and made his way to the small hall for his supper.

Jon Snow

So far Jon was enjoying his time in the capitol. The only thing that he could not stand was the heat. Still he found that the city was an interesting place. Ghost seemed not too bothered by the place, but like his siblings he preferred the night which was usually cooler. The southern heat was not well liked by the Direwolves it seemed. Sansa was enjoying herself despite her initial discomfort at travelling south. She had spent this afternoon in the company of the Queen, and had brought her friend Jayne Poole as well as her Septa. Jon had wandered around the Red Keep with Arya for most of the day. They had watched the Baratheon guardsmen train along with the Lannister men; they listened in as King Robert heard petitions from nobles and smallfolk; they climbed to the top of one of the other towers of the Red Keep. A few times they were approached by guardsmen who were wondering what they were doing. When that happened it was the same story; Jon was chasing after Arya to get her to a class that she was supposed to have. The excuse seemed to work until the fifth time, when the guardsman, a tall broad-shouldered fellow in Baratheon colours, who approached them offered to assist Jon in escorting Arya back to wherever she was meant to be. Jon had allowed the man to do so as refusing him might have caused trouble that their father might hear about. Once the guardsman had wandered off Jon decided it would be best for them to go down to the Blackwater, with a couple of training swords that Arya had pilfered from the armoury. They had spent a couple of hours training with each other, Arya trying hard to beat Jon and always failing. For every strike she tried to land Jon managed to counter or parry; for every lunge a block; for every slash a dodge. On and on it went until Arya was too exhausted to carry on. When they were done they made their way back to the Tower of the Hand, where they were now.

Jon was tucking into his meal as the girls ate their own food. Sansa was chatting away with Jeyne about their afternoon with Queen Cersei while Arya listened in to Jory and a couple of the other guardsmen. Jon just sat there quietly eating away. While he ate he saw his father walk into the small hall. Eddard Stark looked tired and frustrated until he saw his children. When he saw them he smiled, setting all thoughts aside as he took his seat beside Jory. Jon watched as a servant walked over to him with a plate of food. Jon finished his mouthful of food as Sansa looked over to their father.

"How was your day?" she asked. Father looked back to his daughter as he put his fork into his mouth. He crunched his food while he pondered how best to answer Sansa's question.

"Stressful," he finally answered after he swallowed the food down. "More troubles to deal with in regards to the running of the country, not to mention the tourney causing trouble." Jon only half listened as his father spoke with Sansa about the various crimes and other problems that the City Watch was having to deal with. As they continued to speak Jon thought more and more about Lady Sophia Umber.

When they were still in Winterfell Lady Sophia did not give Jon any peace at all. She had followed Jon wherever he went, chasing after him like a lost puppy. He remained as polite as possible, not finding it in him to be rude to her. She was a nice enough girl, but she was far too forward for Jon's liking. On the night of Robb and Cassana's wedding she continued to pester him, until everyone had gone to get some sleep that night. Jon thought back to that night, when things changed.

The guests made their way back to their rooms, some of the lords grumpy at the bedding ceremony being called off. Jon had quietly laughed as Robb threatened them with becoming the next meal of the Direwolves. After Robb and Cassana had left to consummate their marriage the King told the lords they would get their proof of consummation in the morning. Jon sat at the table, finishing his drink as the others had left. Half an hour after Robb and Cassana had left, the King and Queen left. About twenty minutes later they were followed by Jon's father and Lady Stark, who both took the girls as well as Bran and Rickon to bed too. Soon after that others began to leave the great hall. Jon was just about to get up when he saw Sophia Umber stagger through the doors leading outside. Curiosity made Jon follow her outside. He had managed to avoid her during the feast until it came to the dancing, where she had managed to drag him off to dance with her. She was a little bit tipsy by that point. When Jon found her outside by the stables she looked like she was a bit worse than before. She leaned against the stable wall, her body lowered over as she began to cough. Jon was just down the steps when he saw her vomit onto the floor. Jon hung back then, not quite sure what to do. As he watched Sophia be sick he noticed a man in Lannister colours walk over to her.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?" he said, his tone lecherous as he continued to approach her. Jon took one look at the man and decided he did not like him. Sophia stood upright at hearing the man. "A poor drunk northern whore I'll bet." Sophia was clearly angry at the man's words.

"How dare you, Ser!" she snapped. Before she could talk again the man put a hand over her mouth and pushed her into the stable, moving fast. Jon froze at that, his mind filling with images of a few years ago; a Frey knight who was part of an escort of men taking a son of Lord Walder Frey to the Wall, and Sansa talking with said knight who initially seemed kind and chivalrous, before a couple of hours later Jon had ran into the courtyard upon hearing her scream. When he got there he found Sansa slumped on the floor, her back against a wall and her skirts torn. Lady was sat next to her, her jaws dripping with a dark red liquid. A few feet away lay the Frey knight, his throat ripped open and his breeches down around his ankles, his member bare for everyone to see. It was clear what had nearly happened. Sansa had a lucky escape that night, because if Lady was not there then she would have been raped by the Frey knight. It was that man that had led to Sansa's change in attitude a few years ago. Even though she was never raped Jon still felt he had failed his little sister that night.

As the memory of a few years ago played in his head Jon rushed over to the stable as fast as he could. He got to the door and saw the Lannister man pin Sophia against the wall at the back. Sophia struggled against him, trying to claw the man's face. The man pushed her into the wall and began to pull her skirts up. Jon stomped over to him and slammed his elbow into the man's back. The man cried out in pain, letting go of Sophia who stood there stunned by what was happening. The man turned to throw his fist at Jon, who stepped to the side and punched the man in the face. The Lannister man stumbled to the ground, his face landing on a pile of horse manure. The man spat manure out of his mouth as he stood up. Jon stood in front of Sophia, glaring at the man.

"You fucking northern shit," he spat as he rubbed manure off his face. "You'll be sorry for this, do you hear me?"

"Not as sorry as you'll be when her father hears about this," Jon replied, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke to the man.

"Her father?" he laughed. "As if I'm scared of some northern whore's cunt of a father." Jon gave the man an angry look. Before he could say anything Sophia stepped beside him.

"As I was about to say before you interrupted me Ser," she began, "I am Lady Sophia of House Umber, the daughter of the Greatjon Umber of Last Hearth." At the mention of one of the most feared men of the North the Lannister man paled in fright. "Mark my words when my lord father hears of this you'll be begging for a quick death before you are given one." Jon watched as the man began to shake with fear. He was amazed as the man dropped to his knees and began to beg for his life. Jon and Sophia listened to him for a moment before they had had enough. "Be gone from our sight worm," she spat. The man stood up and ran from them. After a moment Jon turned to look at Sophia, who was now on her knees, shaking like a leaf. Her eyes were filled with tears which began to streak her face.

"My lady?" Jon said as he approached her. Sophia looked up at him and sniffled.

"I'll never be married, will I?" she asked despairingly, confusing Jon with the sudden change in topic. She has come close to being raped and she is more worried about not ever getting married, Jon thought. "The only men who will ever notice me will be honourless curs like that one. No man wants me for a wife." She began to cry uncontrollably. Jon knelt down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. He let her cry a bit more before speaking.

"No one worthy of you will want you if you keep acting the way you do," he said honestly. It was harsh of him to say that, but it was true. Sophia looked at him through her teary eyes. "You are too forward, and that scares many men off I think. They see how you behave and they ignore how lovely you look because your attitude puts them off." Jon's words seemed to have caught Sophia's attention. She looked at him and stopped crying for a time before her sobs started again. This time they were quieter. Sophia shifted so that she was sat down on the floor before she looked at Jon again.

"I was supposed to be married a few years ago," she said when she got her sobs under control. "My father arranged for me to marry a man from White Harbour when I was thirteen. I had just bled, and I was so excited. A minor lordling sworn to House Manderly was to be my husband. When it got closer to my wedding I met him. I fell in love there and then, I even let him take my maidenhead a few nights before we were to marry." Jon looked at her, surprised at this admission. "But then the day of our wedding came, and he left to go to the Wall and take the black. I was so humiliated. I had fallen in love and I thought he loved me back. I told my brother Jon what happened between us. He was shocked but he didn't tell my father that I dishonoured myself. He got a hold of some moon tea for me, which is easy for him as he is forever taking prostitutes to his bed, but he at least has the brains to make sure they don't bring a bastard of his into the world. Since then I have tried to get a husband for myself, but now I… I…" Sophia started to cry again, but this time Jon did not need to hear anymore. He leaned over and wrapped an arm over her shoulder. He let her cry for a bit longer before he stood her up. When they were on their feet Jon looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you, my lady," he said. "You despair when you don't need to. One day you will find a man worthy of you who will marry you and bring you happiness." His words were reassuring, and they seemed to take root with Sophia. She looked up at him and nodded. "Now come on, let's leave these stables and get some sleep." Sophia managed a small smile. Just before they left though Sophia stepped up on her toes and kissed Jon on his cheek.

"It's a shame you're a bastard Jon," Sophia said. "You would be an excellent husband if my father would allow it." Jon smiled at her. As he made to move Sophia grabbed his arm. "I know what nearly happened to me just now, but I also know what I want," she said as she leaned in closer. Jon felt his heart thump at a faster pace.

"My lady," he began but Sophia cut him off.

"Sophia," she corrected before she placed her lips upon his. Jon was stunned by this. He did not want Sophia to cause herself any heart ache, but he did not want to hurt her by breaking off, so he stood there and let her kiss him. Before long their kiss deepened, and Jon was holding onto her arms, leaning down so she would not have to lean up to him. After a minute Sophia broke the kiss. "I know you don't want me due to our social stations, but I wish you would take me," she said in a quiet voice. Jon felt a tightness in his trousers that he had felt many times, but not with Sophia. He shook his head and cupped her cheek with his hand.

"I know Sophia," he said before he leant down and kissed her again. His was a chaste kiss, quick and polite. He broke off quickly, leaning back to look into her eyes. "But I won't risk leaving you with a bastard in your belly." Sophia gave him a small smile and then took his arm as he led her back into the castle.

That night with Sophia had been an eye opener for Jon. He had not thought about Sophia as anything other than a forward woman obsessed with being bedded. Now though Jon understood her behaviour. She was desperate for love, desperate for affection from a man not of her family. That night as he slept his mind wandered to Sophia; he wondered how she would taste, how she would feel around his member. He thought of bedding her that night, but he had stayed true to his own code. But since that night Sophia would not leave his thoughts. He almost cursed the woman for clouding his thoughts at night. She was a lovely woman, but Jon knew he had no chance with her. What highborn woman would ever take a bastard for a husband, he thought. And what father would ever allow his daughter to marry a bastard? Still the one thing that puzzled Jon was why Sophia showed any interest in him when there were other unmarried men from other Houses. It was something that he could not stop thinking about. Why me? Why did she show me more interest rather than one of Lord Karstark's sons? She really is a strange woman, he thought.

As the night drew to a close Jon walked back to his chambers after bidding his father and sisters good night. The place seemed quieter now that Bran was serving as Ser Lukas's squire. It was weird having his little brother away from them and yet not really that far away at all. Jon often wondered how he was getting on with the knight. Jon knew that Bran would not have an easy time of it with Lukas training him, but he also knew that Lukas would take care of him. One thing that Bran would look forward to was spending time with Silas, seeing as Lukas is Silas's sworn shield. Learning to be a knight and spending time with the future king certainly was a dream come true for Bran. The thought made Jon smile. He entered his room, holding the door open for Ghost as he passed, the giant beast padding along the floor to his pen. Ghost looked up to Jon with a sad look in his eyes.

"No Ghost, you're far too big to sleep in the bed next to me," Jon chuckled. If Ghost was not so quiet Jon was sure he would have whined at his words. Instead Ghost looked at Jon with pleading eyes before turning back and walking over to his pen, where a fur rug lay to serve as his bed. Ghost settled down on the fur while Jon closed the door and undressed for the night. Once he was done Jon lay down on his bed and blew out the candle by his bedside. "Good night Ghost," he said to the Direwolf before he pulled the light covers up and closed his eyes.

Torrhen Karstark

The wind howled over the hills as the large party travelled across the cold land of the North. The snow was melting slightly, but it would never completely go away, not in the North. Even though winter had passed many months back the snow would still fall, but mercifully the roads were clear. Torrhen looked over his shoulder at the fifty men under his command. Born the second son of Lord Rickard Karstark, Torrhen was the spare; Harrion would inherit Karhold when father passed away or stood down, and Torrhen would be a minor lordling sworn to his elder brother. Not that he minded such a fate, as he had no desire to go to the Wall like his younger brother Eddard once thought about doing, back when he was still alive.

Eddard Karstark was the youngest son, who now rested in the family crypt after being killed by pirates a year ago. Torrhen's father had called for aid after an unusually large pirate band was sighted off the east coast. Their ships were damaged, so they had nowhere to go until they could repair their ships, but they caused trouble for the people under the Karstarks protection. Most of the men around Karhold were able bodied, but they were scattered with the weather and therefore would not necessarily answer their lord's call to arms as quickly as they usually would, so Torrhen's father sent word out to other lords as well. The Umbers answered Torrhen's father's request for aid, as had Robb Stark. It was Robb's planning that brought the pirates down; and it was due to Robb being endangered that Eddard had died. Robb was pushed to the ground by a big bull of a man while his Direwolf companion was too far off to aid him. Eddard had intervened, hacking at the man and cutting him in half, but another pirate slashed his throat open. The pirate in question was decapitated by Robb, who then stood by Eddard's body until the battle was done. Torrhen and Harrion were saddened by Eddard's death, and so was their father; but their grief was nothing compared to the grief of their little sister Alys, who had wailed when Eddard's body was brought home. Torrhen and his brother and father did not blame the Young Wolf for Eddard's death, but Alys held some resentment towards him. Alys loves all of her brothers without fault. Sure she would pick the occasional fight with them, but she always loved them and could never stay angry with them for too long. But after Eddard's death she became more worried for her remaining brothers, and always got uptight whenever a raven came from Winterfell.

Torrhen and his siblings all had their father's colouring of brown hair and blue-grey eyes, with the boys having beards. Torrhen's beard was closely trimmed while his hair was a few inches long, almost touching his shoulders. Alys, who was riding with them, had her long hair woven into a braid. She was tall, skinny, and had a long face and pointy chin. The long face and hair colouring that the Karstarks had was due to their ancestry, as House Karstark is after all an offshoot branch of House Stark. Torrhen looked back over his shoulder yet again to look at Alys, who was directly behind him. The fifty men were assigned to protect Alys as they travelled to Hornwood. Alys was due to marry the heir to Hornwood, Daryn, and Torrhen was escorting his little sister there to hand her over to Daryn and represent his father who was at the Last Hearth arranging a marriage between Harrion and one of Lord Umber's daughters. Harrion meanwhile was managing Karhold in their father's absence.

Torrhen slowed his horse down so he could chat with Alys, who had been quiet for most of the journey. They were only an hour away from Hornwood now, and the closer they got the quieter Alys got.

"Hey Alys," Torrhen said as he came beside her. "Why are you so quiet?" Alys looked at him, her eyes dark with silent annoyance.

"Next stupid question Torr," she said bluntly. Torrhen sighed.

"Come now sister, you have been far too quiet recently," he said. "Is it the wedding that is making you nervous?" Alys shook her head. "Then what?" Alys remained silent. This was not like her at all. Once she would be talking his ear off all day. It worried Torrhen more than the reason why they had a large escort.

"I just wished father was seeing me off," she finally answered after a long minute. "It would be easier to deal with if he had come as well. And I wish Edd were here too." Torrhen bowed his head low. Of course she would want her whole family there. As they continued Alys gave out a loud huff of frustration. "Oh why must we go at this slow pace? We could have been there days ago. And why so many guardsmen?" Torrhen rolled his eyes.

"You know why Alys," he said. "You heard father when the raven from Winterfell came the other day. Lord Bolton is dead, may the Old Gods curse his soul, and his bastard is running rampant around the North, murdering and raping wherever he goes." Alys wrinkled her nose before looking at him.

"So? Anyway the same message said that Snow threatened his wife, Princess Cassana," she replied.

"Lady Cassana, Alys," he corrected her. Alys shrugged her shoulders. "Despite the little fool's threat towards Robb's wife he could still attack anyone else, be it a common fisherman's wife, a whore, or even a highborn lady like yourself. We just can't take the risk."

"Then why not call the banners to deal with him?" she asked, her voice loud. Torrhen smirked.

"What, call the banners for one man and his band of merry murderers?" Torrhen retorted, trying not to laugh. "An army of several thousand men hunting such a man and his group would be impractical. The bastard would spot so many men before they saw him. Large patrols across the North, while slow, would have a much better chance of finding him and his men. Fewer men can move quicker and more quietly than a large army. If I know Robb, he wants to catch the son of a bitch, not chase him to ground where he can hide." Alys fell silent after that. Torrhen looked back to the front as he spurred his horse to go further forward.

For nearly an hour they travelled along the road, getting closer to Hornwood. The men were eager to get inside a castle and get some warmth in their bones. Torrhen could not blame them. They were going a little bit slower than they had done, making Alys more uncomfortable. She accused Torrhen of making them go slower as a poor jape, which made him laugh. Now they were a few minutes away from their destination, and Torrhen looked forward to settling down for a short while. Not for the first time Torrhen was glad that his father had insisted on a simple carriage to carry Alys's belongings to Hornwood, which was faster than a wheelhouse. Now they were about to pass the trees to see Hornwood when one of the men that Torrhen sent ahead of them came racing back to them.

"Milord!" the man shouted. "There's smoke coming from the castle, and the gate has been broken down." Torrhen's eyes widened, his heart raced.

"What?!" he barked. He looked over his shoulder to his men. "You four," he called to some men, pointing at them. "You are to protect my sister, do you understand?" The men nodded their heads, their hands gripping their swords.

"What is it Torr?" Alys asked, clearly frightened. Torrhen looked at her.

"I'm not sure, but stay with those men no matter what," he ordered. He then looked at the men assembled behind him. "MEN OF KARHOLD, STAND TO! READY ARMS AND FOLLOW!" he bellowed as he drew his longsword, before leading them to Hornwood. As they passed the woods he saw the castle. It looked like it had been sitting idle for years. Its walls were intact, but the gate had been broken off completely, its splintered remains littering the ground. The entire place seemed deserted. Torrhen took twenty men and went in through the gateway, and when he was on the other side he felt sick to his stomach.

The courtyard of Hornwood was littered with the dead. Men in the Hornwood colours lay down, cold and lifeless, blood dried on their deathly pale skin and gambesons. Torrhen dismounted his horse. He walked over to one man who was slumped over something. He moved the corpse with his boot only to find the body of a little girl, her eyes unseeing, and her throat pierced by an arrow. One of Torrhen's men cursed at the sight. Looking around him Torrhen took in the scenes of devastation. A group of men dead with their swords drawn, their bodies bloodied; a couple of servants hanging upside down from the walls, stripped and disembowelled with blood drenching their upper bodies; several horses butchered along the ground, left in a bloody mess; a child swinging from a window, a rope around his neck.

"Sort this fucking mess out," Torrhen growled to his men as he walked back to where Alys would be waiting. As he reached the ruined gate a guardsman approached him.

"Milord," he said. "Some of the men found Lord Hornwood's family." Torrhen turned to look at the guardsman, who looked pale as a ghost.

"Well?" he asked. The man gulped.

"Lord Hornwood is dead. His head removed and placed on his desk in his solar," the man replied. "His son, Lord Daryn, is also dead, having been flayed before being killed. Lady Hornwood however…" The man trailed off. Torrhen frowned as he thought about what could have happened to her. He decided he did not wish to know what became of her, as he knew she would have suffered worse than her husband and son. Torrhen felt sick and angry. He knew Daryn Hornwood, and felt that he would be a decent man who would treat his sister kindly. His death was senseless. But with everything that seemed to have happened, it was clear who did this. Torrhen walked out to where his sister was. Alys looked at him, her eyes wide. It looked like she knew what to expect from him.

"Torr?" she asked. He shook his head.

"The Hornwood's are dead," he said. He explained to her what had happened and what he saw, taking care to give her as few details as possible. When he was done Alys looked horrified. She urged her horse forward, but Torrhen held his hand up to her. "No Alys," he said. "It's best if you don't…" Torrhen was cut off by the sound of steel clashing upon steel. As he turned he saw several men emerge from the nearby woods, readying their longbows. "ALYS GET DOWN!" he shouted just as the first arrows flew towards them. One of the guardsmen was hit in the side of his neck while a second caught an arrow to his eye. Alys screamed in fright at the sight of blood and death and rode her horse into the courtyard. Torrhen yelled at her not to enter, running off after her. As they entered Torrhen stopped in his tracks, and for the first time in a long time he felt fear grip his heart.

The courtyard was flooded with dozens of men who were not there before, all armed and armoured for battle. Their gambesons and the chainmail they wore beneath made them stand apart from Torrhen's men who wore boiled leather and ringmail. These men were fierce, screaming their battle cries and hacking with their swords at Torrhen's men. He watched as his men fought their attackers, watching one of his men slash at an attacker's belly before another thrusts a spear into his back; he sees two of his men overwhelmed as they are pierced by sword blades and spear tips; he sees a man cut down four of the attackers before the man's sword arm is hacked off, and then has his throat opened by his assailant's dirk. All over it was pure chaos. Torrhen looked up to his sister.

"Alys, you need to leave," he barked. Alys looked down at him.

"No, I won't leave you brother," she stated, her voice determined yet laced with fright.

"Now's not the time to argue sister," he yelled at her. He then looked at the six men around her. "All of you, ride hard and get my sister away from here. Take her either back to Karhold or if you can't get there to White Harbour."

"Yes milord," one of them said just as two men ran to them, their swords raised in anticipation of making a kill. Torrhen threw himself at them, charging into one man shoulder first before he slashed his sword down into the shoulder of the other. That man screamed as Torrhen's blade bit into his flesh, the edge cutting down into his chest. He yanked the blade free, blood spraying onto his boiled leather armour, before he thrust it into the throat of the man he downed, twisting it before he drew it back out. He then turned to face Alys and her guards.

"TORR!" she yelped, the colour draining from her face at the violence around them.

"NO TIME!" he bellowed back. "GET OUT OF HERE NOW DAMN IT!" With that Alys urged her horse, riding out of the courtyard surrounded by the six men Torrhen ordered to follow her. He followed them out quickly to see the thirty men he left outside furiously fighting the men who emerged from the woods. He watched as Alys and her guards rode away from the men, fleeing south. "Go little sister," he whispered to himself as he turned to face a group of men come charging out to him.

Torrhen raised his blade to block the attack of the first man to strike at him. The attacker's strike was clumsy and easily deflected. As he pushed his blade to the side throwing the man off balance Torrhen swiped his sword against the cur's belly, opening him up and spilling his guts over the ground. Another man rushed him, but Torrhen stepped to the side and hacked his sword at his back, blood splashing up from the wound as the blade hit the man, sending him down. A third and fourth came at him, the one on the right with a spear while the one on the left had an axe. Torrhen smacked his sword into the spear head, snapping it off from the haft. The axeman swung for him but Torrhen ducked under the swing. As he stood up he grabbed the axe by the handle and yanked it out from the attacker, thrusting his sword into the man's chest as he pulled the axe away from him. Using the momentum from that attack Torrhen swung the axe into the spearman who was just drawing his sword. The axe head smashed into the spearman's ribs with enough force to break said ribs, sending the man sprawling to the ground. Looking over his shoulder Torrhen saw that only three of his twenty men fighting in the courtyard were left, and they were losing ground. Letting go of his sword, Torrhen turned to face the downed spearman. He raised the axe above his head.

"Please, no," the spearman gasped. Ignoring him, Torrhen slammed the axe down onto the man's neck, severing the head from the body. As he stood upright Torrhen noticed that the man soiled himself before he had beheaded him. Craven fool, he thought bitterly. He wandered over to where his sword was, still lodged in the chest of the axeman. With some effort he freed his sword from the corpse before rushing back into the courtyard with sword and axe. One of his men had just been perforated by numerous spears. Looking over his shoulder once more to see his men outside still fighting the men emerging from the woods, Torrhen roared his anger as he charged into the attackers.

"FOR KARHOLD!" he shouted as he swung the axe down into the skull of one man, splitting his head open from scalp to chin and striking with such force that the blade got stuck in the man. Torrhen let go of the weapon and started swinging his sword. He swung to the left, and took half of a man's head off just above his mouth; he swung to the right, and slashed another's throat open spraying blood all over; he drew his arm behind him and made a downward diagonal slash, and cut a man open from his left shoulder to just above his right hip. The two surviving guardsmen fought their way to him. Torrhen blocked and parried the blows of one man who seemed to be more skilled than any other that he had fought so far. As he raised his sword to block another strike he realised his error too late; the man fainted a strike to his right only to pull back and quickly jab the tip of his sword into Torrhen's left thigh. Yelling out in pain, Torrhen struck out, aiming for the man's head, but the attacker swung his sword upwards and knocked Torrhen off balance, leaving him vulnerable. Before he could take advantage of the opening one of Torrhen's men from the fight outside rode into the courtyard and slashed his sword down at the man, killing him as he rode past.

"Milord," shouted another guardsman who rode in with eight others. "We're being overwhelmed. There are over a hundred attackers out there." Torrhen looked at the man, his heart racing as the pain in his thigh flared up.

"Where are the rest of our men?" he asked.

"Dead," came the reply.

"Fuck," Torrhen responded just as another attacker charged at him. Fuelled by his anger, Torrhen swung his sword down onto the attacker's sword, shattering the blade. The man stood stunned before his face grimaced in agony as Torrhen stabbed him in the gut and slowly drew the blade out. "Fuck!" he yelled again as an arrow flew past his ear, hitting one of his men in his leg. He thrust his sword into the side of an attacker who was about to stab one of Torrhen's men in the back. "FUCK!" he shouted out. "LET'S KILL THESE WHORESONS!" he bellowed, giving in to his rage as he slashed and swung at the enemy.

For the next hour Torrhen and his remaining men fought their attackers. They reaped a heavy toll on their enemy, killing dozens of them for every one of their own who fell. Torrhen fought his way to the ramparts on the wall above him to kill the archers that were raining arrows onto his men. By then only a handful of his men remained. As he stepped up to kill one archer who had his back to him he saw dozens more men outside the castle. He hoped that Alys and her guards got away. He turned his attention back to the archers. There were five of them, none of whom had noticed him yet. Torrhen stalked towards the man in front of him, shoving him off of the wall. He then rushed to the next man, slashing his throat open. The third archer saw him and shouted to the others. Torrhen cut his thigh open and sliced the side of his neck, severing the artery there. He ran to the fourth man who was reaching for an arrow. Torrhen smashed his forehead down onto his nose and then grabbed him, moving him between him and the fifth and final archer who loosed off his arrow; the arrow struck the fourth archer in the back of his neck. Throwing the dying man to the side Torrhen charged at the last archer who had just knocked another arrow. As he was drawing the bowstring Torrhen thrust his sword into the man's chest, right through the heart. He pulled the sword back and turned just as an arrow punched into his right shoulder. White hot pain seared through him as he staggered back to the ramparts of the wall. He grabbed the shaft and broke it off, leaving the arrow head in him. He leaned against the wall and looked over to the woods, where he saw dozens of men riding on horseback emerge. All of those men were charging at the attackers assembled outside, their lances levelled ready as they advanced. In the distance Torrhen saw some banners, all with the same sigil; the green merman of House Manderly. Torrhen breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. He watched as the first Manderly knights smashed into the enemy below, trampling them into the dirt or impaling them on their lances.

As he watched a group of men approached him. He turned to see them get closer; nine men with swords caked with blood held ready, while a tenth stood with a longbow in his hand and a quiver of arrows on his back. The bowman had dark brown hair and grey eyes that showed nothing but pure malice, contempt even. Torrhen stood up, readying his sword as three men ran to him. He parried the first man's strike and kicked him in the leg before pushing him into the path of the other two, sending one of them off of the wall and back down into the courtyard. Another ran at him waving his sword like a lunatic. Torrhen stepped to the side as the sword came down to meet him only to hit the stone of the wall. Torrhen thrust his sword into the man's side. Just as he was going to remove his blade he felt pain in his left leg as an arrow hit him. He reached down for the wound, clamping his hand onto it to stop the flow of blood. He looked up and saw the bowman lower his bow, a wicked smile on his face.

"Well this turned out to be a lovely day," he said. "It's a shame that I couldn't get that lovely lady. I'm sure she would've been wonderful to fuck. But never mind." As he spoke his men gathered around Torrhen. He glared at the scum as they raised their swords up. "It was fun putting the Hornwoods out of their misery. They were weak, and this land belongs to us Boltons, not those useless Hornwood cunts." As the man spoke Torrhen realised who he was.

"You'll never win Snow," Torrhen spat. "The Starks will destroy you if my father doesn't first." The bastard smirked at him; it was an arrogant smirk that unsettled him.

"Ramsey, we need to leave," one of his men said to him.

"Oh we will my friend, but first," Snow said as he nodded to the men gathered around Torrhen. "This Karstark shit killed quite a few of our friends. Let our boys get some revenge." With that the men stood in front of him thrust their swords into Torrhen. Torrhen cried out as his entire body was engulfed in agony from the blades that pierced him. One by one the men slowly withdrew their blades, a couple of them twisting them as they did. When the last sword was pulled out Torrhen gasped, and looked down at his body. His entire front seemed to run red as his blood flooded out from his body, splashing onto the floor below. The pain that engulfed him seemed to slowly fade away, along with everything else. Torrhen swayed backwards to the edge of the ramparts and felt his legs hit the wall. With no control of his body left Torrhen toppled over the edge and plummeted to the ground below. As the ground raced to meet him the last thing Torrhen Karstark heard was the anguished screaming of his little sister far off in the distance.

Poor Torrhen. So there's our first proper bit of action then.

The events surrounding what's happening at Hornwood shall be concluded in the next chapter from Alys's point of view.