Disclaimer! I do not own game of thrones. Waring! This story is NOT edited. Please try to ignore all grammatical errors. Thank you. There is sensitive subject matter in this chapter.

Chapter 20

Later that same day

"The Lannisters have gathered at Harrenhall," Everra said to Robb, pointing to it on the map.

"They have various different troops all over the Riverlands and the Westerlands while keeping enough at Kings Landing. We need to strike again and soon," Everra said.

The other lords nodded in agreement looking at Robb. Robb dragged his finger across the map saying, "There." His finger stopped at the border between the Westerlands and Riverlands.

"You said that the Lannisters have troops here correct?" He asked.

"Yes your grace," a Lord replied.

Robb nodded, his blue eyes flickering over the map, "We attack the Lannister troops which are at Oxcross."

All of them nodded in agreement.

"We slowly make our way over into the Westerlands, eliminating the Lannister troops coming our way. We must continue with the element of surprise," Robb finished.

"Give them another whispering wood," a lord muttered.

"Yes," Robb agreed offhandedly.

That was when guards stalked into the room, a small young man in between them, being dragged by his elbows.

Everra quickly tossed a paper onto of the map, hiding their markings.

"No need to do that my lady, he'll be dead before he leaves this tent," Lord Karstak said, drawing out his sword.

"We found him near the outskirts of the camp, your grace, a Lannister spy," a guard said.

Robb nodded and rose from his chair, taking a step forward, "Put your sword away," he ordered.

"Your grace!" Lord Karstak said, " You can't expect him to walk free, the Lannisters killed you father-"

"My father understood mercy where there is room for it," Robb hissed back, walking to the young man.

"How many men did you count?" Robb ordered coldly.

"40,000" the male replied, his head faced down, "Your grace."

Everra and Robb shared a brief look as they realised that he had counted at least 4,000 more men then they actually had.

"Let him go," Robb commanded.

"Your grace-" Everra broke out.

Robb turned to look at her, his eyes serious and stubborn and Everra knew she could not dissuade him, so she kept her mouth shut, choosing to instead watch observantly.

Robb took a few menacing steps forward and whispered in the mans ear, "Tell Tywin Lannister that winter is coming for him, 40,000 soldiers from both the north and the south to find out if he really does shit gold."

"Your grace," Everra called out as the rest of the lords left the tent.

"Lady Everra," Robb said, surprised. "What is it you wish to speak with me about?"

Everra visbly hesitated, clasping her hands together before saying, "I wish to go with your mother to talk to Renly."

Robb eyebrows rose in slight surprise, "Oh. Why?" He was suspicious of her intentions. He knew that his mother did not like her and that the feelings were reciprocated. They never spoke to one another, and if they did it was with the utmost hesitance.

"As you very well know, I am a young woman who is the head of a great house and eventually I must marry," Everra said, it was sounded forced, rehearsed, the words coming out of her lips.

"And you wish to marry Renly?" Robb asked, "He is married to Margaery Tyrell-"

"I wish to marry Loras Tyrell, you grace," Everra corrected.

Silence.

"Why?" Robb asked bluntly.

"We need an alliance, a strong one. The Lannisters are the wealthiest house in Westeros and arguably the most powerful, with only the Tyrells matching them. The Tyrells are currently allied with Renly but if Renly died, they would most likely ally themselves with Lannisters. They want Margaery to be queen and they will do anything possible to make that happen."

"If Renly does die," Robb said, his confusion evident, "And if the Tyrells are allied with us, Margaery still can not be a queen. I am betrothed to a Frey and if Stannis to take the Iron throne, he is already married."

"Stannis will not rest until he is King of all the seven kingdoms, meaning, he does not recognise or accept you being the King in the North. Therefore, in order for you to win the war, he must also die. When he dies someone will have to take the Iron throne, a male most likely, allowing the Tyrells to wed Margaery off to the King."

Robb understood her point of view, really he did, but that did not mean that he liked it. Still, he was betrothed to someone else, someone he did not even know.

"As my King," Everra said, "Do you allow for me to create this alliance?"

Robb did not want to. By all the gods that existed in the world he did not want to.

"Yes," Robb said finally. Then another thought occurred to him, "Who are you taking with you?"

Jon pushed himself off the ground, a small grumble escaping his lips. Young bird was standing a small distance away, observing him.

Them being at war had not affected his training, and when Youngbird was not needed, he was training Jon for hours upon hours. Somedays with the sword, others with a spear and knives, sometimes it was simply doing tasks, such as running around the camp doing errands but occasionally, he would bring another soldier and they would fight. No swords, no spears, no knives. Just their fists and their legs.

After all, if you had no weapon with or on you, and you could not make one from your surroundings, how were you to defend yourself?

"Obedience and patience," Youngbird had said, "is key."

Jon grabbed his sword once more, positioning himself in the start position.

"Strike!" Youngbird called out.

Jon stepped forward, skilfully extending his sword forward, "Defend!"

Jon quickly brought his sword back into a defensive stance, waiting for his next instruction.

"Avoid!"

Jon brought his sword forward and tilted its angle, so it clashed against the imaginary sword in front of him. His body was tense, and the grip on his sword tight as he listened carefully.

"Roll!"

Jon dropped to the damp ground quickly, rolling over expertly, then jumping to his feet.

"Thats enough practice for today," Youngbird said.

Jon dropped his sword to his side slowly, panting.

He walked over to where a cup of water lay on a table and quickly gulped it down, putting it back on the table. On the table lay equipment that Jon had previously used, which he knew that by now, he was to put it back in the guarded armory. The armoury was a large tent, filled with racks upon racks of weapons, some of which Jon had never even known existed.

However, just as he was about to pick up the equipment Youngbirds voice broke out from behind him, "No, don't do that just yet Jon, you are needed elsewhere."

Jon turned around, slightly confused, but did not ask questions. An unsullied never asks questions.

He followed Youngbird quietly, tempted to ask where they were going. They walked for quite some distance before Young bird finally stopped in front of a tent and then moved out of the way, tilting his head to the side as a way to gesture for Jon to go inside.

Jon hesitated before entering the tent and was surprised when Youngbird did not come in after him. He was tempted to go back outside and ask him, but somehow he knew that he was mean to do this alone.

He turned his head back in front of him to observe his environment and was surprised t find himself in the medway, except it was empty. No healers, no patients, only empty cots.

A muffled cough suddenly filled the air and Jon noticed that he had been mistaken, there was someone in the room in the farthest cot from him.

Jon waited to see if someone would enter, but when no one did, he hesitantly walked forward to the cot, his heart pounding in his chest.

The man lying in the cot had scars covering every inch of his face except his eyes and lips, the scars were large scratch marks extending from the top of his forehead to the bottom of his chin, miraculously missing the lips and eyes. He had blue eyes, that looked more haunted and worn then any Jon had ever seen. They looked defeated and limp, like he was a dead man still breathing.

It was then that Jon noticed the blood leaking from his mouth. He scanned his eyes over the mans body, his eyes lingering on the missing left hand and the missing fingers on his right.

Jon eyes bulged as he noticed the long golden chain hanging from the boys neck, the face of a lion hanging from the end of the chain.

A Lannister soldier, he realised and almost took a step back before stopping.

The man was mouthing something to him and with what little strength he had he was curling what was left of his fingers, beckoning him towards him.

Jon hesitated only a moment before walking forward, his steps loud against the ground beneath him.

The man was desperately trying to say something, but Jon could not make out what he was saying. He leaned down, trying to make out what the man was saying.

"Kkkk-" the man was stuttering, "Kill me!" He rasped out, his voice desperate and tears sprung in his eyes. "Kill me!" He pleaded once more.

Jon heart froze.

"Healer!" He called out, "This man needs help!"

The blood was pouring out of the mans mouth uncontrollably now, a tear streaming down the mans face.

Jon shook his head as he stared at him, his desperation rising in his throat.

He tried to speak, to say something, anything, that could help. But what could someone say to that. How could someone refuse? How could someone go through with it?

The man managed to rasp out one last time, "Please."

Jon looked around one last time, his desperation evident in his voice as he called out, "Someone come help, this man is bleeding!'

No one came.

By now Jon knew that no one would come.

This was his test. His ultimate test that would show whether or not he could be a true warrior.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the man.

Then he closed his eyes, prayed to someone, anyone to forgive him, leaned over, and covered the mans nose and mouth with his hands.

He could feel the mans blood against his skin and the tears that were now steaming uncontrollably from his eyes. He struggled beneath Jon's hands out of instinct, his head trying to shift from side to side and muffled sounds escaped from his lips.

Let it be over, Jon begged.

Almost as if the man could hear him, he began to go limp under his hands, his haunted eyes beginning to dim and his body beginning to relax as his heart came to a stop. When the man had not moved for several moments, Jon lifted his hands from the mans face, a choked sound escaping his throat.

He sat on the cot behind him for a while, staring at the dead body in horrified silence and when he was not looking at the body, he was looking at his hands. His blood stained hands that had just been used to take a mans life.

His shaking, uncontrollable hands.

The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword.

How had his father managed?

Jon had been in battle before, he had killed but it had been different. It was either kill or be killed.

But now. . . he felt like a monster.

He was startled at the sudden touch of someones hand on his soldier, and his head snapped up in surprise as Lady Everra sat next to him on the cot.

"You did well," she said calmly, looking down at the body.

"How could I have done this well?" Jon questioned lifelessly.

The numbness had begun to spread.

"I've been where you are right now, you know," she said, looking at him.

Jon did not look at her and instead continued to stare at the body.

"Is that so, my lady?" He asked numbly.

She nodded, her eyes serious.

"Everyone out there," she said, gesturing towards the entrance of the tent, "at least, the people in my army have done what you just did. Gone through the same test."

At Jon's skeptical expression she said, "You'd be surprised at the amount of people who want to die."

Jon swallowed loudly but still managed to ask, "How old were you when. . ." he drifted off, unsure of her reaction.

"Young," she said vaguely, "younger than most."

"Why?" Jon asked, "Why do this?"

He regretted asking it the moment the words left his mouth. Anna may have told him more about the woman next to him, about her mother, but from all he had seen, she was more like her father.

"Thats a story for another day," she replied, standing up abruptly.

"Your training is complete," she said, "Now you have your first. . . assignment."

"Assignment?" Jon asked.

"You are to accompany me and Lady Catelyn to go discuss terms with Renly Baratheon."

'Why do you want to discuss terms with Renly Baratheon?" Jon asked.

"It is a soldiers job to never ask their leaders questions and to do what they say, even if they ask you to plunge a sword through your heart. You should have learnt that by now," she said, looking down at him.

Jon nodded, and muttered, "Yes, my lady."

She hesitated before leaving, her eyes flickering over his face, "I. . ."

Jon looked up at her curiously, but whatever emotion that had appeared in her eyes quickly disappeared, "We leave at first light," she said, stalking out of the room.

"Fa. . ."' the young girl trailed off, her voice small.

"My lord," she quickly corrected, "I don't want to."

They were in a dark dungeon, the only source of light coming from behind the door. Everra could still make out the bloodied face in front of her, the cracks lips, the haunted eyes. After all, she had been outside listening to him screaming as instructed.

"You don't want to?" her father snarled, grabbing onto her shoulder roughly.

The young girl almost flinched, a natural instinct that came over whenever he was around, especially when he touched her.

"Its either you take care of him or I do."

There was no mistaking the threat in his voice.

The young girl nodded obediently, holding the knife in her palm limply.

Her father stepped back into the shadows, releasing his painful grip from Everra's shoulder.

She took a hesitant step forward, the anguish on her young face evident. No one this young should be doing what she was about to do.

The man in front of her was pleading with her, his dark eyes reflecting the down anguish on her face.

A tear slipped down her cheek and a sob almost escaped from her tightly closed lips.

Her small hands tightened their grip on the knife in her hand and as they began to shake, she lifted it to his neck.

Please, the mans eyes were pleading, please.

Another tear slipped down her cheek and she angrily wiped at it.

Emotions showed weakness. Her father told her that everyday.

She pressed the knife tightly against the mans neck, a sliver of blood appearing.

Just as she was about to press the knife into the mans neck and take them both out of their misery , she was suddenly bombarded with images of her mother. Her smile, her laugh, her kindness, her misery.

The knife slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor.

"Failure of a child," her father muttered from behind her.

Everra could not even hear him and was instead frozen at the sight of the mans wide eyes, filled with betrayal and hurt.

I'm sorry, she pleaded desperately internally, I'm so sorry.

Her lips trembled and her eyes closed at the sound of the screams that had just begun to fill the air.

"My lady?" Catelyn asked from behind her.

Everra whirled around from where she was standing in her tent, startled at the sight of the older Stark standing a small distance behind her.

"I called out a few times, but you did not answer," Catelyn said gently.

Everra nodded and then said, "Apologies, I was just. . . thinking."

Catelyn nodded in understanding, she had been doing a lot of thinking too lately.

Everra then straightened her back, her eyes hardening as it fully occurred to her whom was in her tent, "How may I help you, Lady Catelyn?"

Catelyn hesitated a moment, before a sudden fierceness entered her eyes, "Why are you helping my son?" she asked bluntly.

It had been bothering her for some time, Catelyn could never understand why the younger woman was there, why she was helping.

Everra stiffened ever so slightly and said, "Why. Why do people do this and why do people do that? Its a never ending cycle of questions, one which I've learned never gets answered. I stopped questioning why people do things a long time ago and focused on the fact that they are actually doing things. You should learn to do so as well."

"That is not an answer," Catelyn responded coldly.

Everra shrugged indifferently and then asked, 'Why does it matter to you?"

"It matters because he is my son. My first child and I want to know that he can trust those whose council he takes into account."

Everra regarded the older woman carefully and though it pained her to admit it, she admired the woman's protectiveness over her children, the love she bore them. She had never seen a mother so devoted to her children. It made being around her that much more difficult.

"Let your doubts be put to rest, Lady Catelyn, I have your sons best interests at heart."

Catelyn regarded her suspiciously, her voice laced with uncertainty as she asked, "Why should I believe you?"

"Why shouldn't you?" Everra countered, "Lady Catelyn if there is one thing that you can be absolutely certain about is that I always do what I consider best for the realm. Ro- His grace is the best thing for the realm. He has the potential to be one of the greatest Kings Westeros has ever seen."

The suspicion is Catelyns eyes began to dim as she looked at the woman before her and nodded slowly, "Yes, I suppose you are right."

They did not speak to each other for the rest of the evening.

Everra did not like Catelyn Stark. Mostly because she reminded her of her mother. Not appearance wise, while her mother was tan with waist long raven hair and dark brown eyes and a kind but meek smile, Catelyn Stark was her precise opposite. She was auburn haired, pale skinned and with serious but compassionate blue eyes.

No, Catelyn Stark did not remind her of her mother appearance wise.

She reminded her of her mother because she was the physical representation of everything she had lost. Her mother's misery, her brother's sadness, her mother dying.

Catelyn Starks mere existence was a constant reminder that she was here, was alive while her mother was not. That she married the man her mother loved, not her mother. That she bore his children. At least, his legitimate ones.

Everra could not let go of the bitterness that grew in her heart every time she laid her eyes on Catelyn Stark.

Not that she particularly wanted to for that matter.

She was not helping Robb because she thought he could be 'one of the greatest Kings Westeros had ever seen'. She was helping him because she had once made a vow to her mother to try rid the world of the horrible people that plagued it. The powerful that preyed on the powerless. People like her father.

It was a shame that she became one of those people in order to fulfil her promise.

Everra had not been able to rest the entire night and had simply laid there in bed, her eyes staring blankly ahead. She could practically feel the black circles growing around her eyes, a reminder of her constant tiredness.

She had slowly climbed out of bed, shrugging off her nightgown and wiped a damp cloth across her body, her hand lingering at the scar at the side of her hip.

Everra had been shoved onto the floor, her small body landing with a loud thud on the stone floor beneath her. Her green eyes had widened with fear, as her father stumbled towards her, the stench of the alcohol on his breath reaching her from where she was on the floor.

She scrambled backwards, her back coming into contact with the wall behind her.

"My lord," she said, her voice wavering.

"Shut up!" he snarled mumbling.

The laces of his tunic had come undone, revealing numerous scars. When he was drunk beyond reason, he would take of his tunic and begin tracing his scars with his finger, mumbling 'please father, it hurts'.

Everra almost whimpered but instead shoved her hand in front of her mouth, praying to all the gods for him not to hurt her. She had not meant to upset him. She had simply put flowers on her mothers grave- two days ago. She thought he had forgotten that her mother had died three years ago,her anniversary being two days ago.

Apparently not, if him constantly being drunk the past few days said anything.

'Your the reason why she is dead," he managed to say, his identical green eyes flashing with anger.

"Why should you be alive and happy while she rots in the ground?" He questioned, taking a few steps closer to her.

Happy? Everra thought, her eyes brimming with tears. Her life was a living hell.

"You should be as unhappy as I am," he muttered drunkenly, stepping closer.

Everra's heart began to pound with fear as he stepped closer to her and began to shake. Her bones felt heavy under her skin, so heavy she felt as though she could not move.

"Please, father," she whispered.

There were two guards standing nearby, their heads faced away from them. No one liked what was about to happen, but they were not about to stop it either.

"Just as unhappy as I am," her father said.

But what happened next was not something a father does to his child. Something that no child should ever have to endure.

When it was finished tears were streaming down Everra's face, a large bruise beginning to appear on her cheek. Her. . . father had just walked out of the hall, barely managing to stand on his own two feet.

She heard footsteps coming towards her and curl herself into a ball. If it was her Septa coming to tell her to get of the floor. . .

It wasn't.

"Everra," Lord Edwin said gently, extending out his hand.

Everra looked up at him through her tears and remembered that he and her mother had been close, he had made her mother smile occasionally, even when Everra could not.

So, she gently laid one of her small hands into his palm, and he gently lifted her from the floor, placing her cheek against the crook of his neck.

When they reached her chambers, Everra had fully begun to sob, her small body violently shaking.

He patted her head comfortingly, allowing her to cry for a long time.

"Everra," he whispered, "what did he do to you?"

She froze for a moment before whispering back, "The usual. He hit me, yelled at me."

He did not say anything in turn, what could he say to comfort her? What could possibly make her feel better?

As Everra began to drift off to sleep, loosening her hold around his neck, he finally thought of something. The only thing he could think of that would relieve her from this living hell. Something her mother refused to do.

So as he quietly extracted himself from the girls hold, he left her something.

When Everra eventually awoke from her slumber, she was greeted to the sight of a large glistening knife on her night stand.

That was when the anger and numbness crept into her heart.

Her young innocent heart.

The anger that slowly transformed her into a monster capable of doing anything.

Everra then lifted a simple black dress over head.

She would not apologise for what she did. For what made her into a monster.

After all, no one ever apologised for making her that way.

A/N Hey guys, this has got to be the darkest thing i have ever written in my life. It reveals a lot about Everra, how she thinks, more of her backstory. I realised that Everra has only been slightly developed and due to recent reviews, I figured that it was finally time to give people a little more insight into Everra's childhood and how she kind of came who she is now. Also, your response to last chapter was amazing guys! Sorry that there is not a lot of robb/Everra interaction in this chapter, but there was a lot of Jon in this one. He should be a lot more involved now in the story. Also, I feel as though I may have confused people somewhere, but let me clarify, Everra's mother is dead. Has been for years. I'm not a big fan of those kind of reveals like oh I'm going to let you think this person is dead but in some sort of really confusing plot twist they are revealed t be alive. No. Everra's mother and father are dead. Just to clarify. Anyway, remember to tell me your thoughts, it means so much to me. Also, MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS! All of you are awesome!