I do not own nor claim to own any of GRRM's works and I am not profiting off of this story

Amazing views last chapter guys thank you so much. Kettle is almost boiled, drastic plans are about to be put into place. Enjoy.


Chapter 4- Enough is Enough

Jagare woke up on a soft yet bristly mound of hay. His entire body ached, and his thoughts were blurred as he sat up. The events from last night seeped into his brain, the feast, the godswood…the tavern. His groan grew louder and longer. The calling out by the heirs, the confrontation and shaming by Jon Stark, and the meeting with the King in the Godswood. If he had made a list of all that could have gone wrong…Jagare shook his head and stood up, stretching off his muscles and shaking out the cloak he had been sleeping on. A shiver passed through him from the brisk morning air, and his head thumped from the remnants of the previous night's drinking. He froze suddenly as the voice spoke from the door of the old barn he had slept in.

"Well, well, the bastard of Karhold reduced to a pile of hay. Looks like I won a bet." Jagare turned around wearily to look at the pale face of Rambo Bolton; his thin lips stretched in a tight smirk.

"No no, you bet he would be sleeping in the godswood" came another voice, female.

"Piss off Turania" Jagare growled. Turania Snow was the bastard daughter of Lord Cerwyn, and as such he could say what he liked to her. "The fuck are you two doing together anyway?" Rambo shrugged dismissively.

"We were both sent to look for you. Connie sent me and someone else sent her...might as well join forces." Turania's pale blue eyes were fixed on him with a smirk.

"Jon Stark is very interested to keep you in his eyeline, bastard."

"Not surprising considering you spend every night warming his bed." Rambo laughed but she narrowed her eyes in distaste.

"I do what I do to survive and hold a place at court. Both of which I have done far better at than you."

"You want to climb into bed with the Starks be my guest" Jagare growled, glancing at Rambo for support, but surprisingly coming up empty.

"Don't think I asked for permission" she purred, turning to leave. "I'll give you…an hour before I tell our mutual friend where you've been hiding. Better be gone by then." Rambo turned to let her pass, before focusing back on Jagare.

"Your father wants you."

"My father can fuck off" he snarled, starting to pull on his leathers. A laugh followed and Rambo stepped further into the barn, flicking a dagger between his hands. "Thought you hated them all," Jagare asked quietly, strapping on his leather pauldrons, and tightening his cloak around his neck.

"I do. But she's not one of them, not really. You give her too much grief for trying to stay safe. It's not easy to be a Snow in the North at the moment."

"Everyone has a choice" he muttered, tightening his belt.

"Aye…they do. You look like you found this place in the wee hours. Cold, I'm sure." Jagare turned at that, Rambo's tone of voice had dropped there. He sounded almost empathetic. Almost. He looked back up at Jagare, his smirk gone. "The Starks don't care about you. The North doesn't care about you. If your father didn't command such a large power, they would have murdered you years ago, and then stripped us of all our lands and titles and let us starve in the snow." He looked pensive. "They've done it before, you know. House Greystark, House Ice, House Hoffer. All went to war against the Starks. All dead." He turned and threw his dagger at the barn wall; the wood shook as it lodged itself. When he turned back his face was red and his voice was strained with anger "We are their enemies, and the North remembers. Always. My family has been beaten by the Starks time and time again. You have been living a life burdened by the Starks and their rigid honour." He moved even closer to Jagare, who held his ground silently. Rambo dropped his voice to a mere whisper. "There are many in the North who are tired of their rule, who want the wolves gone. But they need a leader. They need someone who has suffered as they have. Someone whom the Starks have oppressed for no reason but because they believe they can. Someone who-"

"No," Jagare stated simply, removing Rambo's hand from his shoulder. "No. I will not lead the North in some fool's war." Rambo blinked at him a couple of times before glaring.

"I did not expect you to agree outright, but to say no…that is just selfish." Jagare felt his blood pound, anger starting to flow through his veins.

"Selfish to whom, exactly! To me? No. It would be selfish to the people. Leading them to their deaths. We can't beat them, at their game or our own!" Rambo moved closer; his eyes filled with steely rage.

"So, what, you'll just wait until Jon Stark finds a reason to have you killed or send you to the wall. You'll just roll over and submit to the Starks!"

"Stop" Jagare warned, his fists clenched at his side and his eyes brimming.

"Poor Jagare Snow" Rambo mocked. "Born a bastard, lives a bastard, dies a bastard. Because he never had the balls to rise above his shitty birth and make something better of his worthless life. Instead, he just bends to Stark rule!"

"I WILL NEVER SUBMIT TO THE HOUSE THAT TOOK MY MOTHER FROM ME!" Jagare caught his breath. Never before had he let out so much rage at once. Especially to Rambo, someone who could very easily slice his throat and leave him for dead. But instead of growing angrier, he smiled. A cruel, painful, merciless smile. He walked forward and poked his finger into Jagare's chest.

"So, what will you do about it." Picking up his axe, Jagare slung it through his belt and picked up a saddlebag. Without saying another word, he walked out of the barn, flicking a silver coin onto the hay as a thank you. He heard Rambo's voice echoing behind him.

"It's in your head now. You'll never forget it. There will be hell to pay for the Starks." His laughter followed him through Wintertown. Pulling the hood of his cloak up, he joined the line of people ferrying in and out of Winterfell. His breathing was long and ragged as he walked. Was Rambo right? Could he be a figurehead for those oppressed in the North? The more he thought about it, the more stupid it sounded. What was he going to do, become King? No, he would get himself and thousands of people needlessly killed, if he could even find that many. The Boltons would be extinguished, and his family likely with them. Rambo was ruled by his hatred and rage for the Starks. Little help to Jagare.

He walked across the inner courtyard, his eyes scanning those around him. Jagare did not want to run into Jon Stark, not when he was so close. He just needed to get to Lyanna. He turned into a shaded underpass, and his ears picked up the shifting of a cloak. Then a rough hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him against a wall, knocking the wind out of him.

"You got a lot of nerve coming back into the castle boy…I admire that." Jagare looked up through his hood and found the dull brown eyes of his uncle staring back at him. Ellard Dustin. The demon of the Stout and the most vocal Karstark hater in the North. The man who reduced him to a life of misery. His father told him that his uncle might approach him, to appeal to his unhappiness and take him back to Barrowtown. But Jagare knew better. This man was just as responsible for his life as Lord Karstark was. Probably hated him even more as well.

"What do you want" Jagare muttered, attempting to break out of the grip, but his uncle was too strong. Ellard patted him on the shoulder and sized him. "Aye, you're part Dustin alright. My blood. My nephew." Jagare shook off the hand and glared at his uncle.

"Don't claim such shit." Jagare spat at him, sending Lord Ellard back a step. "You might be my blood, but you have no right to call me nephew." Ellard stayed quiet for a few moments, before laughing hard and whistling.

"Well, you definitely have my blood. You look angry, boy. Something pushing you up the wrong way. You want to ask me something, don't you? Well go on, ask away. I will grant you one question." He was toying with Jagare, the same way his son did the night before. Jagare stared at him darkly, but it did not affect him. This man was as indomitable as his own father, only he had more of a reason to hate him. But something was tugging inside him, and he had to ask.

"How…how is my mother" he looked down, in shame almost, for having given in. "Is she well? Does she think of me?" His uncle looked mildly pleased with the question.

"Aye…she does. She wanted to go and visit you, many times." His face darkened. "But she will not go anywhere near that fucking shit bag that rules out east."

"Well, there is something we agree on then." Jagare was testing his words, trying to see what he would be met with. His uncle's expression brightened again. It was hopeful.

"Aye, I don't suppose he treated you all that well eh…you know, I can't let your mother go to you, but I can let you go to her." Jagare's face darkened.

"Oh, so you can drain me for information of my father's plans, take his son away from him." He laughed bitterly. "You think he tells me anything? You think he would care If I left?" Jagare shook his head. "You underestimated my father, uncle. He is a smarter and craftier bastard than all of us." Jagare smirked at his uncle's icy cold mask, similar to his father's. Did they learn it from the same person? "You think you've won? You're just three steps behind, too dumb to even know how much you've already been fucked." With a low roar, Ellard pushed him against the wall once more, drawing his dirk in a smooth movement.

"You aren't as subtle as you think, nephew. I have the power to protect you from the Starks if you would let me. I could keep you safe!" He slammed him against the wall again, and he winced at the rough stones digging into his back. "Or you can attempt to forsake the king's word and be hunted down like a dog!" Ellard shoved him back against the wall once more. "Or maybe I should gut you here and save them all the trouble."

"Do it" Jagare growled. "Save them the trouble." Ellard's eyes burned with fire, and for a moment Jagare thought he might do it. But then a small, polite cough sounded from behind them. They both turned, and Jagare fell to his knee with breakneck speed.

"Princess" his uncle muttered, letting go of Jagare and bowing slightly. "How may I be of service." Allyria Stark, daughter of the king, stood before the both of them, dressed in a dark grey cloaked dress with white fur trimmings. Her dark brown hair tumbled down over her cloak in droves. She glared at the both of them sharply, only fourteen and yet she bore the both of them into the ground with her gaze.

"I wish to speak to Ja- the bastard…alone." She nodded carefully at Lord Dustin, whose face had darkened considerably in colour. "You are dismissed, my lord." He inclined his head stiffly one more and stalked off. Jagare stayed bowed, shivering though not from the cold. He had gotten so close…so close. "Stand" she spoke, in a more tired and relaxed voice. He stood but kept his gaze down. "Ugh, do I have to tell you everything? Look at me!" He slowly rose his head and looked at her cautiously.

"P-princess…I apologise f-for insulting this castle with my presence once more." He spoke submissively, but his eyes flickered around, looking for an escape route. There were guards in the main courtyard, they would hear her scream. He could go to the godswood…no he could never climb the walls. Maybe he-

"You don't have to run you know" she spoke, eyeing Jagare with a sad look. "I won't...I won't tell my brother you're here…or that you plan to escape." He felt his ideas crash to a halt in his head and looked at the princess strangely.

"I wasn't…you…why not?" She shrugged and sighed heavily, her own gaze flickering to the ground.

"I… it's not fair. What they're doing to you I mean." She sounded embarrassed. Looking around to check no one was listening, she leaned a bit closer. "Father talks about Northern tradition. A son is not responsible for the sins of his father. But then, well you."

"Me" he mumbled. She narrowed her eyes at him and stood a little straighter.

"The North is in the shit. I've heard many say that just killing you would solve the problem. I don't believe them." She pointed to the storm clouds gathering above them. "Snow's about to fall. Good time to leave. Jon is looking for you, keep your head down. The stable boy on duty is a spineless one, he'll saddle a horse for you if you sound important." She turned to leave, but Jagare was too stunned by her words to remember who she was.

"Wait…" he grabbed her shoulder, and she drew a sharp breath, her face growing red.

"Let go of me Snow!" she hissed. "Don't forget where you are, and who I am." She shrugged him off then shot him a tiny smile before departing. "Good luck...I hope you survive." He stood shocked for a few seconds before remembering that a murderous prince wanted his head on a spike. He had little time to think of what had just happened, but his uncle's words had unnerved him slightly. Hunted down like a dog…awfully specific.

He snuck past a servant boy in the stables and hid his bag behind a water trough, then walked back into the courtyard. Light snow started to fall, leaving the courtyard more and more deserted. This was good. The fewer people that saw him the better. Jagare slipped inside the castle through a side door and carefully searched the halls, always checking around corners to make sure he was not seen. He had narrowly missed an encounter with Lothar Glover who was striding along with a smirk on his face. He hid in a dark alcove to avoid him, but upon re-entering the corridor, he came face to face with another man. Grey tunic, with fur linings, direwolf sewed onto the front. Long black hair framing a long grinning face with gleaming grey eyes.

"Jagare Snow" chanted Jon Stark, his eyes lighting up with mirth as he looked over him. "Where were you last night, me and the boys had a late-night drinking and sparring contest in Wintertown, followed by a…browse of the town." Jagare had heard all of that last night, making sure he stayed in the darkest part of the barn as possible, so he was not noticed by the drunk, lusting heirs of the North. He might not have made it past the night if they found him.

"Forgive me, my prince. I would not have thought I was welcome." Jon Stark put his arm around Jagare and steered him down the corridor. He wanted to scream. Run away. Put a dagger in the man. But he could not. Not now. Not when he was so very close to freedom.

"Nonsense, you are a son of the North, and around our age. Your younger brother isn't quite old enough to join us." Jagare knew that the prince had no desire for anyone from the east side of the north to join his pack of friends. They reached a large set of oak doors and Jon Stark turned to face him. "My father is holding the council of the lords in a few minutes. After that, we are going for a hunt in the wolfswood. Just us." His eyes sparkled even brighter, and his smile was full and excited. "You should join, Jagare. From what Constantine has told me, you are a strong rider." To anyone else, it might have sounded genuine, but to Jagare, he knew. All those years as a bastard had not gone to waste, and he saw the falsehood behind Jon's eyes. They would lure him out there and kill him, claiming that he got gored by a boar. But how could he say no? A bastard could not refuse a prince. Jagare wouldn't give him an excuse to have him thrown in a dungeon.

"Very well, my prince. I shall retrieve my riding gear." His voice was bland and calm, giving nothing away.

"By the hunter's gate!" beamed the prince. "I look forward to riding with you." He turned and walked into the large room, where he heard many voices clamouring over each other.

"Look forward to hunting me, more like" Jagare muttered under his breath. He turned on his heel and walked swiftly towards the Karstark chambers. He walked into Lyanna's without knocking and saw her shoving clothes into a sack whilst cursing like a Myrish Pirate.

"I've fucking had it" she spat. "Cley Umber thinks we are married already, that pig of a man." Lyanna tightened the bag and threw it at him. Jagare caught it and watched with a surprised look as she stormed out of the room. Slightly scared of his sister, he swiftly followed her out as she stormed down the corridor.

"What did he do to you?" Jagare asked, hurrying to keep up with her strides.

"Do? Nothing. But the suggestions he made, ugh! How could father even dream of marrying me off to him." She paused for a moment. "That's not all. Father made me go to that Ladies of the North fast-breaking, all the daughters, wives and potential betrothals for our generation." Jagare winced, he knew that although not as openly as the heirs had accosted him last night, the other ladies would not let Lyanna sit easily during her stay.

She started muttering to herself "Jorelle Stark, Dacey Mormont, Jemma Ryswell, Holly Talhart; I'll remember all those names, every fucking one of them!"

"Princess didn't seem that bad" he mumbled, remembering her warnings.

"No" she sighed. "I suppose she wasn't as bad. How do you know?"

"She warned me. Helped me even. She isn't like the rest of them."

"Well she sounds like a real saint, but you can't trust a fucking Stark. She turned to him, and her expression changed. "Jagare, we need to leave. Today. I can't stand it one moment longer." She turned back around and started walking again, clearly suggesting that it was not a debate.

"Well, if you must know" he muttered "I do agree. Not that it would matter, you look ready to tie me up and throw me over the horse." Lyanna looked around and smirked.

"Why the hurry?"

"Well, Jon Stark has invited me on a hunt. Most likely so that he can serve me up to the real wolves on a nice silver platter with an arrow in my leg." Jagare shook his head. "Not a chance. We need to leave before they finish their council." The Northern Lords had gathered that morning for the first great Northern Council in years to discuss the state of the realm and how to improve it. After Connie's advice from the night before, there was a clear bargain that might be made. A bargain that most probably would involve him, and not in a fun way.

"Well, that works then" she spoke, looking at the ground. "I've hidden a bow in the godswood, I'll go get it if you-". Jagare grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a tapestry as a northern lord turned the corner ahead of them. Lord Ryswell by the looks of his attire. Red, black, and orange with a horse's head stitched on his tunic. He was speaking to a woman that could have been his wife, sister, or daughter, it was impossible to tell. His voice sounded gruff and irritated.

"That wretch! Ellard really should mind his tongue sometimes, he might be a hero in our parts, but the king is the king, and he cannot speak to him that way unless he wants his tongue out. Then again with that decision, I am not surprised. The fucking rapist Karstark as the king's new right hand! Second most powerful man in the North! Bollocks to that I say. At least that bastard boy will likely be dealt his fate like he should have been all those years ago. Oh, this better be fucking good…" His voice died in the distance and Lyanna gripped his arm tightly.

"Father has been made the king's right hand?" Jagare frowned at her, and she winced. "Sorry. Death threat to you. My bad." He shook his head and looked down the corridors before they both continued walking.

"Seems he has gone a desperate way to reunite the North, one that might just end with my head on the block." The pair reached the exit into the courtyard. The snow was falling fast, producing much-needed cover from whatever guards might already be looking for him. Lyanna pulled away and started walking towards the godswood.

"I'll meet you by the great hall's courtyard, make sure the horses are ready." Jagare nodded and watched her leave, her figure disappearing into the snow. His mind switched back to the mission and he turned towards the stables, pulling his cloak's long hood up as he went. Entering he saw a stable boy lighting the braziers in the paddocks to keep the horses warm. Hopefully, the cowardly one. He pulled his hood up and drew himself to his full height. Putting on his best impression of his father, he rumbled loudly at the stable hand.

"You. Boy." The serving boy snapped around with wide eyes and immediately bowed his head.

"M-milord, w-what can I d-do for you." Jagare smiled to himself and stood even taller. It appeared that his garb was not dissimilar to that of a lord, and his stature and speech said so as well.

"Lord Karstark requires two horses saddled and ready. Finish lighting the braziers after, and then you may go inside and keep warm. But only after you finish the task. Now get to it." The boy grinned for a split second before hurrying off to attend to the task. He didn't even ask who he was. Must be nice, to be a lord. Exiting the stables his heart froze in his chest at the sight before him. Armed men bearing the sigil of Starks and Dustins were running across the courtyard, weapons drawn. Something had gone wrong. Using the snow as cover he paced after the men, catching only a few words of conversation.

"Karstarks daughter planning to leave…got to find her and the bastard…Prince Stark's orders…" They had been found out…he remembered what Lord Dustin had told him earlier 'You aren't as subtle as you think, nephew'.

"Shit," Jagare muttered and trailed off towards the Godswood. He kept his head down and slipped past soldiers. They would never think to look in the Godswood. When he entered, the snow had turned every tree skull white, but the wind was softer here and his vision grew. The red leaves of the heart tree drew his vision, and there underneath the tree were four people, blurred in the blizzard. One of them was Lyanna, his long brown hair visible through the snow. The others were indistinguishable. Pushing her up against the tree, he saw one of them pulling their hand back to hit her.

"NO!" He roared, his voice echoing through the Godswood. Not even thinking about it, he sprinted forward, unhooking his axe as he went. He reached them in a matter of long strides. Jagare bought the flat end of the blade down onto the first man's head and he crumpled instantly. Jagare looked down and saw the pointed bearded face of Lothar Glover staring into the snow. Fuck. The second man turned towards him, the rough, round face of Jorah Mormont. He tried to pull an axe out, but Jagare was too quick, slicing at his leg with the blade before winding him with the hammer end. He fell, but Jagare's gaze was on the other man who had un-sheathed a blade and started pacing around him grinning. He knew those eyes.

"Hello, cousin. Fancy meeting you here." Willam Dustin taunted him. They shared a few traits; dark brown hair, a stubborn jawline. But Jagare was tall and slim, with quick strong grace in his movement. Obviously from his father, not a Dustin trait. Willam was shorter, like his own father. Stocky and wide, he was not overweight in the slightest, but still bigger than most his age.

"Let us go Willam," Jagare spoke slowly, his feet moving carefully to every movement of his opponents. "Let us go and we will not bother you again. You need never worry about my name for the rest of your life." His cousin laughed and struck out with his sword, aiming for Jagare's chest. Parrying with the flat of the axe, Jagare stepped back. Not taking his eye off his cousin he helped Lyanna up whilst Willam continued to watch him with a cruel smile on his face.

"I will not fight dishonourably against my own cousin Jagare. Face me and fight like a man." He dropped into a fighting stance. "You can die a cowardly bastard or a brave bastard. I'd rather you bring some strength to our family name though." He stopped and paused for a moment. "Yes…the bastard fought well against his trueborn cousin but was killed, nonetheless. A true story for the songs!" Willam struck out again, this time faster. Jagare parried the shoulder swipe and then swiftly ducked the cross-body slash, spinning right to deliver a strike at Willam's chest. His sword blocked the strike, but the blade pushed back towards Willam. Jagare pressed for a second before releasing and swinging down at his shoulder. Willam parried and thrust his sword at Jagare's chest, but he was already gone, moving around him like a wolf. Both their faces were hot despite the snow around them, and whilst reverence and determination mixed in Jagare's eyes, anger and disgust shone out of Willam's. The two blades met again in quick succession, parries, and counterstrikes alike. Lyanna was watching with eyes wider than an owl's but didn't dare move away. Jagare felt himself getting tired, his axe was a heavier weapon, and his arm speed was slowing. But so was Willam, his face going red and his strikes less powerful. That would be his advantage.

"I'll give you one last chance" Jagare spat out. "Let us leave." Willam snarled, his eyes alight with anger.

"YOU STAIN OUR FAMILY'S NAME!" He yelled before charging Jagare. Exactly what he wanted. Ducking under his first heavy swipe coming from the left, Jagare aimed a placed swipe at his hip. The sword came underneath his axe to parry, the momentum taking Willam's blade through to his own head. With a fierce northern yell, Willam bought the blade back down towards Jagare's skull. Bracing for the impact, Jagare blocked the blow with his axe, the force shuddering through his shoulder and numbing his arm, but he needed one last bit of strength. Twisting the blade, he forced the sword into the hook of the axe, then with a practiced manoeuvre, twisted the blade around. When he saw the wince in Willam's face, he roared and bought his elbow down on the wrist. It spasmed and he dropped the sword with a look of shock. Not wasting any time, Jagare ploughed the butt of the axe into Willam's gut and as he fell forward, bought another blow onto his head. He dropped down to the floor, unconscious.

"They won't be moving anytime soon." Jagare gasped as he tried to catch his breath. Lyanna ran up and hugged him quickly, her face shining with worry, but also admiration.

"That was…fucking hell Jagare. You…" He smiled slightly and shook his head.

"I was defending you…now come on Lya, we must leave quickly before they find us. Their fathers will not forgive me for this." She nodded silently, then looked distastefully at the bodies before moving towards the exit. Sheathing his axe and shouldering one of Lyanna's bags, he set off after her. When they reached the exit to the godswood, a voice called out in front of them.

"For the record, this is not keeping your head down Jagare." Through the snow walked a figure dressed in half plate. Green and turquoise, resplendent in the falling whiteness. He didn't need to see the face to know who it was.

"Connie" called the voice of Lyanna, pleading and sorrowful. "Please, let us pass. If we stay Jagare will be killed, and I will be confined to Last Hearth till my dying day." Constantine Manderly walked into view, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Around him fanned five Manderly knights, some of the only ones in the North. Well-trained, and very well-armed warriors. Jagare's hopes of escape fell. With Connie on his own, he at least stood a small chance. Not against this many.

"I don't want to fight you, Connie, you're like a brother to be. But If I remain my life is forfeit. As is Lyanna's." Connie pretended like he hadn't even heard him. Instead, he simply looked at the floor, his blonde hair fluttering in his face.

"The prince has made the declaration that the Bastard of Karhold attempted to leave Winterfell's hospitality, kidnap his sister, and break an oath to the King," Connie spoke pensively as if he was saying the words to himself to understand them better. His face looked up at both of them, his cheeks pink from the cold. His face wore an expression of extreme contemplation. He slowly drew his sword, causing Jagare to tighten his grip on his axe once again, but he released it when he saw Connie draw his blade across his head, wincing as he did so. It was a small cut, nothing serious, but the blood fell to the floor and spotted the snow dark red.

"It was a shame that in the blizzard I could not see them until it was too late. The bastard charged me from the cover of snow and wounded me dishonourably. My men could not see where they went and stayed to make sure their lord was not grievously injured." He raised an eyebrow. "Does that sound convincing enough?" Lyanna beamed and ran forward, hugging Connie who returned it with a sad smile.

"And them?" Jagare gestured towards the men, who had not changed their stance or expression.

"They are loyal to White Harbour, not the prince. They will say nothing." Jagare walked forward and clasped his arm strongly.

"I will not forget this. You have saved us both and I will repay you someday." Connie grinned wryly.

"Think nothing of it…brother." Jagare smiled, truly, and Connie smiled back. They embraced for a second before Connie pushed him towards the entrance. "Now go! I don't think anyone else will let you off this easily." Jagare nodded one last time before he and Lyanna left the Godswood into the snowy courtyard. Keeping their heads low and their pace fast, they sped through the castle complex. Upon reaching the stables, they found them blessedly empty of people. Two horses, strong and saddled were waiting with their heads lolling over the stable doors. Jagare handed Lyanna her saddlebags and grabbed his own from behind the trough. Opening the stable, he took a minute for the horse to grow accustomed to his scent. He then hitched up the saddlebags, slung the bow and quiver over to Lyanna and swung himself up onto the horse.

"Are you ready? After this, there is no turning back." Lyanna trotted out and looked at him with confidence and fire in her eyes.

"Aye. I'm ready-"

"JAGARE SNOW!" Jagare whipped his head around at the noise, his horse nickering uneasily.

"Towards the gate, slowly" he hissed at Lyanna. A score of armed Stark men had entered the courtyard. Following them came Jon Stark, his face a mixture of rage and delight.

"Well, well well, it seems my offer for a hunt was taken rather badly, bastard!" Jagare stared at the prince not saying anything. Lyanna had no such inhibition.

"You call my brother a bastard, yet you are the one to torment all those under your rule, to make those beneath you feel even more so!" Her face was contorted in rage. "He is ten times the man you will ever be." Before Jon could retort, another voice spoke up.

"Lyanna! Jagare!" They both knew that voice, and especially that tone. Jeor Karstark shouldered his way forward to the front of the crowd. This time Jagare did speak up.

"You must have guessed it would happen, father! At some point, your cruelty would drive us both away. I pity our brothers for having to stay with you." Lyanna joined in.

"You treat us like horses. Nothing more than something for you to use or sell!" Their father looked murderous, being insulted in front of all the men as such, but he kept his composure and spoke rationally.

"Get off the horses, both of you. Let us go inside and talk. We can sort it all, I am sure." Jagare's face melded into a mask of coolness.

"No father, the time for talk is over. You should have realised that."

"Jagare…I may have not shown as much care as I could have over the years, but I showed you on the journey here. I do care I-"

"You care more for our position in the North than me! Don't lie father, you agreed to have me executed as long as you got given power, making up for all that you lost twenty years ago!" It was a reach, he knew, but when his father's voice caught in his throat, he had his answer.

"ENOUGH!" came the voice of Jon Stark, drawing his blade with a fury. "Take them without harm so my father can try them, but if they resist…well, aim to injure." Lyanna looked at their father once more.

"You would let those men try and harm us, that alone tells us what we mean to you."

"Forgive us, father. We grow tired of being your slaves." Their father's face turned red, and he spoke through gritted teeth.

"You are no son of mine." It was all Jagare needed. His horse rose and he turned, Lyanna doing the same. Before any of them could react and close the drawbridge or throw a spear, the two riders had disappeared into the falling snow.


And they're gone. But how far will they get?

Hope you guys are enjoying and feel free to comment!

Instagram account is Blood_of_the_North3