Two Months Later

Lady Bellegere of House Stark stood above the gates of Winterfell, watching her enemy emerge from the treeline.

Warden of the North, Ramsay Bolton, came to discuss the terms of surrender before the battle began.

"The time has come, my lady," Ser Royce said quietly. "Lord Ramsay awaits."

The look on his face was stern and, in his eyes, she saw a determination that she often recognized in the mirror.

A loyalty that knew no bounds.

This was the reason she trusted him with her life and the heart of the woman she loved.

"Thank you, Ser Royce," she said, nodding curtly. "Ready my soldiers outside the walls and tell them I will be down shortly."

"Yes, my lady."

She gazed out at her enemies with her one eyed glare as the sound of horns echoed in her ears.

Behind her, Runa stood at attention, sensing her mother's anger.

Outside the gate, Lord Brynden Blackwood and Jon Snow sat atop their horses. Along with a few of their men and the lords and ladies of the houses that supported Bellegere.

Brynden sighed as Ramsay continued his long winded insult of of his wife.

A hand gripped his the hilt of her sword tightly.

"I find it difficult to believe that your men would go to war for a half blind, half Braavosi witch, solely because she's too prideful to obey my command," he said with his signature condescending smirk.

When the Stark soliders did not budge, Ramsay rolled his eyes. It took a level of strength Brynden did not know he had to keep from attacking him.

"Where is the blind bitch now?"

As if on cue, the formation of Stark soldiers parted to make way for their lady.

A calm voice rang out over the crowd.

"Here she is."

Ramsay Bolton blanched as the Lady of Winterfell arrived.

She sat upon a massive, ebon warhorse.

The drooling direwolf beside her stood eye level with the stallion, big enough to be ridden as well.

It wasn't the menacing snarl of the direwolf, nor the eager look on the woman's face that caused the Warden of the North to lose feeling in his legs.

"You're rather pale," she said inquisitively. "As the new Leech Lord, I assumed you would enjoy our similar practices."

As Bellegere's horse came to rest in front of her men, it reared onto it's hind legs.

Around the stallion's throat, a necklace of half decomposed heads jostled to and fro. Their expressions frozen in unimaginable horror.

All the while, Bellegere never took her eye off of him. That silver eye never blinked a lash.

She was rather tall for a woman, and her eye patch gave her exotic features a less feminine touch, but she did not look threatening.

It was the aura she carried that did the intimidating. The confidence, charisma, and utter lack of fear that followed her wherever she went.

When Jon Snow came to stand next to her, his expression remained stoic.

"My lord, these are some of the men who dared to betray my house," she gestured towards her horse. "I would hate for you to join them."

Ramsay sneered, well aware of their audience.

He would not appear weak before his men.

"That does not pertain to me. I have come to take what is mine. As Warden of the North, I find it necessary to claim Winterfell as my own, and I will have it whether you like it or not."

"In doing so, you have betrayed my house. Not to mention the Red Wedding," Bellegere said, clasping her hands behind her back.

"You've come to discuss terms of surrender, but as the Lady of Winterfell, I cannot allow an outsider to take my seat for himself merely because he desires it. I am blood of the Kings of Winter. What would my ancestors think of me?"

Ramsay tilted his head, smirking at the woman who stood before him so fearlessly.

She was naive to think she could best his army and superior military tactics.

Regardless of how intimidating she was, she could never best a man.

"I doubt they would fault a crippled woman for bending the knee as Torrhen Stark once did," Ramsay quipped, gaining amused smiles from many of his soldiers.

"Get off your horse. Kneel."

Bellegere pursed her lips.

"Torrhen Stark bent the knee to a dragon, my lord," she said, raising a brow. "What are you compared to a dragon? A pig?"

Lord Ramsay Bolton's face transformed from a condescending mask into a visage of rage as the men behind her chuckled at his expense.

He glanced at Lord Smalljon Umber briefly.

"I have your brother."

Although Bellegere knew this information already, it still angered her to hear him say it.

When Smalljon tossed the head of Shaggydog onto the ground in front of her, Jon and Brynden glanced at her worriedly.

Runa growled and bared her teeth while Bellegere stared at them, not blinking.

"If you surrender and leave Winterfell, I will give your brother back and you may leave peacefully," Ramsay said, smirking.

His eyes, oddly pale like two chips of dirty ice, focused on the lords who allied against him.

"I will pardon every lord and lady who conspired against me, and this ordeal will be forgotten. But if you choose war, Rickon will die. All who fight for you will die, and you will wish you did, Lady Stark."

Bellegere leveled Ramsay with a critical gaze.

Everything she knew about this man told her that he would never let her go free. Most of all, she knew that she would never leave Winterfell.

Even if that meant she, her brothers, and her husband might die.

Ned Stark's words echoed in her mind.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

Bellegere locked eyes with her foe, prepared to declare war once again, but her brother interjected.

"We have the edge," Jon said simply. "This battle could go either way. Why lose thousands of men when you and I could finish this the old way? Man against man."

Deafening silence reigned for a long moment as Ramsay stared at her brother blankly.

"I've heard about you, bastard," he chuckled, pointing at him. "The way people talk, you could be the greatest swordsman there ever was. Perhaps it's true. Maybe not."

He paused, smirking to himself.

"It is likely I wouldn't win. But what I do know is my army is superior. You may have more men, but you don't have as many horses or archers. The odds are in my favor."

Bellegere rose her hand.

"Fight me instead, Lord Snow," she said. "The blind bitch, as you coined me."

Ramsay stiffened, his jaw flexing at her blatant disrespect.

His eyes narrowed at her as he scoffed, but she could see the surprise on his face. His men stared at him, waiting for his response.

"That would be unfair to you," he said condescendingly. "What would my men think about me fighting a crippled woman? That is beneath me."

"What will they think when they learn you wouldn't dirty your hands for them," Jon asked pointedly.

"You may have more resources at hand, but our men are more loyal than yours will ever be. They are fighting for an honorable cause. While yours are traitors and oathbreakers."

Ramsay's nostrils flared, but he didn't answer.

There was no disputing his statement.

"If that is all you have to say, then I believe it is settled," Bellegere said, clasping her hands.

"I hope to see you on the battlefield."

Lord Ramsay's eyes were filled with malice as he stared her down, promising her a world of pain. She held his gaze without flinching. Her gray eye frosted over with ice.

He was the first to turn away.

As they watched him and his entourage retreat, Jon brought his horse alongside her.

"You plan to fight with us?"

"Of course I do," Bellegere chuckled dryly.

He looked at his sister with a heavy heart.

"Belle, I know you want to show the people you will fight for them, but I'm certain they don't need anymore convincing," he said quietly.

"When you and Robb won your battles at Whispering Wood, Oxcross, and Yellow Fork, the North lifted your names in praise. Let Lord Brynden and I lead the armies without putting your own life at risk."

Bellegere placed a hand on her brother's armor clad shoulder and sighed.

"Jon, this sorry excuse for a man wants to rip our home from us and take me as his bedslave," she said, scowling.

"I don't know how that makes you feel, but I've taken it personally."


Bellegere and her army stood across the field from their enemies.

As she paced back and forth on her horse, Runa followed closely behind.

Lord Brynden approached cautiously, noticing her extreme focus and the anger in her eyes. Not far behind them, Jon Snow prepared himself as well.

"Beloved," he called out to her. "How are you feeling?"

Bellegere sighed, forcing a smile.

"I'm ready," she said honestly. "And you, husband?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Bellegere paused for a moment, seeing the nervousness in his slate blue eyes.

"I forbid you to die."

He could see the intensity behind her words.

"I've ordered Runa to protect you," Bellegere said quietly. "When the battle begins, I want you by her side or at her back no matter what. Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Understand?"

Brynden nodded to her, wanting to embrace her one last time, but knowing he couldn't.

"And remember," she continued. "The men on the other side of this field are not men anymore and you are not either. They are enemies and you are the weapon that will cut them down. There is no space for empathy. You have to make it back to our son no matter what."

When he didn't respond, she narrowed her eyes.

"Answer me," Bellegere whispered harshly.

"Promise me."

Brynden bowed his head to her, smiling faintly.

"I love you, too, and I promise."

Bellegere sighed quietly.

"Thank you."

Jon came to her side just as Ramsay appeared across the field. They shared a glance with one another, but did not speak. They didn't have to.

The siblings nodded to each other solemnly.

When a young boy was brought to stand beside Ramsay, Bellegere stopped breathing.

This was her baby brother.

The one she held in her arms the day he was brought into this world. The one who always clung to her leg when their lady mother was preoccupied.

Rage seethed within her.

When Rickon began to run, her heart skipped a beat in her chest. Before she could kick her horse, Jon had already taken off at full speed.

Bellegere cursed under her breath as Ramsay nocked his bow.

Instead of running to him, she chose to remain in place. Her eye lifted to the sky, finding a flock of crows.

Remembering nights spent within the body of her direwolf, she summoned the power that her ancestors passed down to her.

An ivory film covered her eye, and she entered the body's of the crows all at once.

Bellegere flew down as quickly as she could. Every white eye of the flock focused on the bastard who aimed his bow at her brother.

When, suddenly, a rogue flock of birds visciously attacked Lord Ramsay Bolton, his men looked on in shock. There wasn't much they could do.

Once Jon lifted their little brother onto his horse, she continued her assault on the bastard as he cried out for help. She did not stop until Rickon was given to another soldier.

While her little brother was taken to safety, she met Ramsay Bolton's gaze across the battlefield.

Her lips twitched when she noticed the fear glistening in his wide eyes.

He was only just beginning to realize his error.

With a bloodthirsty smile adorning her lips, the Lady of Winterfell unsheathed her sword and lifted it into the air.

The sound of nine thousand men shook the ground as they charged behind her.

Each one of them were just as prepared to die for their lady as she was for them.

As Bellegere ran toward the massive wall of men, her only objective was to turn this lush field crimson, and she would fulfill it.


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"Are you sure she isn't dead?"

"That's not her blood, idiot."

"But her face. We need to find a horse so can get her to the maester."

"What the bloody hell do you think we're doing right now, boy?"

From the blissful void of unconsciousness, Bellegere's senses came back to her all once.

The smell of horseshit, blood, and burning flesh.

The screams of men who were bound to die from fatal injuries. The whining of wounded horses.

A familiar chaos.

When her eye opened, she was being carried by a group of men.

She only recognized one.

"You look like hell, champion," Tormund said, eyes as wide as saucers. "Still stunning, though."

The group of men argued amongst themselves as she began to struggle.

She grunted, holding in a wail of pain as a myriad of injuries gained her attention.

"Unhand me," Bellegere ordered.

"Why aren't you fighting?"

The men tried to calm her, but it was no use.

She was confused and obviously impaired.

They reluctantly set her back on her feet, and steadied her when she nearly collapsed. Her head swam from what might have been a dozen blunt force traumas and loss of blood.

Her right knee cap felt like it was swimming under her flesh. No doubt, it was dislocated.

"M'lady, don't you remember," Tormund asked, smirking. "It's over. We won."

Bellegere frowned deeply, looking around.

In the distance, she could see flags.

The banners of House Arryn.

"What?"

She gripped her head as a sharp pain struck.

"At first, it was an even battle, m'lady," another solider said, grinning. "But over a few hour's time, we massacred them. Once the Knights of the Vale arrived, it was a done deal."

"The Vale? Why?"

When Bellegere swayed on her feet, Tormund steadied her.

"You took a blow to the head not long before the bastards admitted defeat," he chuckled. "They got you good, champion."

She glared at him.

"But I saw you fighting. A valiant shield-maiden, if I ever saw one. Every where you went, a trail of blood followed. A long one."

Bellegere swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste of iron in her mouth. She glanced around the battefield frantically.

"Where is my husband," she demanded. "Is he okay?"

The men argued over where he might be.

Until, a young soldier pushed through the crowd.

"You were attacked by two men and Lord Brynden came to your aide, milady. He killed them after you went down, but he took a good bashing. A group of soldiers carried him off the battlefield with your wolf in tow. We rushed to your side soon after."

Bellegere would've collasped if it weren't for the soldiers keeping her upright.

"He was certainly alive! A-and the wolf, too," the young man said, blushing. "Apologies, milady. I should have said that first."

She exhaled shakily.

"And Jon?"

Another soldier spoke up.

"Ramsay ran for the hills, milady," he said. "Jon Snow and Lord Glover chased after him. I saw the bastard being carried on horseback. Hogtied."

Bellegere nodded to herself and exhaled a breath that she had been holding.

"Thank you, soldiers," she said. "It's coming back to me now."

The faces of the men she killed were blurry, but she could still see and feel her blade slicing into them. One by one.

There were too many to recall.

Once or twice she'd slipped into her direwolf's body to protect her husband from afar.

Bellegere faintly remembered the banners of the Vale appearing over the hills.

She was so focused on killing her enemies that she didn't pay it any mind. There was no time for a celebration when the fight was still on. As long as her foes held weapons in their hands, she would continue to attack.

The last moment she recalled was the two men who nearly killed her, and then her stubborn husband rushing to her side.

After that, everything went black.

Once her wits came back to her, she pondered what steps needed to be taken next.

"Bolton's army. How many are left?"

"If I were to guess, I would say three thousand, milady. A good amount of them deserted," Tormund answered dutifully.

"We have them rounded up by the gates, waiting for your orders."

She nodded to herself.

"You all will come with me to speak with them. After that, I want you to gather the rest of the army and begin moving these bodies from the battlefield to the godswood."

"It'll be done, milady, but you don't look well," the young solider said, frowning deeply. "You've a gnarly gash on your face. You should see a maester."

Bellegere touched the left eye side of face and winced at the sting that followed. When she attempted to open her eye, the pain returned and it would not budge.

She sighed to herself.

At least it was her blind eye that was taken.

Perhaps, this was the payment for her victory. The gods always find a way to reclaim the debts owed to them.

"I appreciate your worry, soldier, but I will be fine," she said sternly.

"Now. Follow me."

As Lady Bellegere approached the gates of Winterfell, she noticed the shocked expressions on the faces of her men.

Looking down at herself, she understood why.

She was drenched in blood.

When she licked her busted lips, she could taste it. The smell of it filled her nose.

Many of her soldiers were, but she appeared as though she'd bathed in it. Her hair was clumped together by congealed blood, and it clung to every inch of her skin and her armor.

The gorey, but obvious consequence of her preference for slitting her opponent's throats.

A well known fact among the northmen.

Lady Bellegere dismounted her horse with much effort and began limping toward her enemy's army.

Her men parted for her. Each one, bowing their head respectfully. She frowned, but did not stop.

Her mind remained focused as she drug her broken body forward.

Each step was a league long.

When she finally stood before Bolton's army, her jaw clenched tightly.

A bloodshot, gray eye traveled over the men's faces. The long, swollen gash and the blood covering her face only made her more intimidating.

She was death incarnate.

"This army is comprised of men from houses Umber, Manderly, Karstark, and Dustin," Bellegere said, shaking her head.

"Houses that swore oaths of fealty to my own. Oaths that went unbroken until honeyed words were whispered into the ears of your lords. Where are they now, I wonder? In their keeps, praying on my downfall. Hoping for my death."

She locked her glare onto Smalljon Umber and he looked away immediately.

"Cowardice traitors, all of them."

The lords and ladies that allied with House Stark came to stand behind her.

One of them being a member of her family that she had not seen in years.

However, she did not notice.

"It pains me to stand here," Bellegere said exasperatedly, holding the gash in her stomach.

"It hurts my heart to be forced to deal with oathbreakers and betrayers when my only wish is to be with my son, my brothers, and my husband. My family. The people I would have proudly died for today. The people you marched here to murder in cold blood for some sadistic, cowardly bastard who wouldn't fight for you."

Many of them lowered their heads in shame.

Bellegere turned her head to see Jon hurrying to her side. His expression was worried due to her gnarly appearance, but she waved him off.

Justice would be held above her personal needs.

"For taking up arms against your liegewoman, you know that you deserve to die," she said, nodding slowly.

A chorus of voices murmured their agreement.

Jon placed his hand on her shoulder, and she gave him a stern glance. He knew that she wanted to inact vengeance on these men.

However, even in her anger, she could still see the larger scheme of things.

"If I were not the daughter of the wise Eddard Stark, I would open your throats one by one before my heart tree," Bellegere said, nostrils flaring.

She released a deep breath to calm herself.

"However, I will not let my emotions rule my judgement. Here and now, I am giving you a second chance. No matter how deeply it irks me to do so."

All could see the hope on the men's faces. No one fathomed that she might spare them.

"Bend the knee to House Stark and I will send you home to your lords. You will inform them of my infinite mercy and urge them to swear fealty to my house once more," she said quietly.

Her gaze became cold as she continued.

"If you refuse, you will stand trial and be hung as oathbreakers in my godswood. Afterwards, I will march my remaining army to each of your houses and rip them out, root and stem."

It did not take long.

As the opposing army bent the knee, one by one, Jon Snow glanced at his sister with immense respect.

He expected her to execute them all, and part of him wouldn't have begrudged her for it.

However, this display of mercy would send a stronger message throughout the north.

Unity and loyalty was more important than seeking vengeance.

Especially, now that a new title had been established for Bellegere without her knowledge.

The sound of a sword being drawn caught her attention, and she turned around, grimacing in immense pain.

Lord Robett Glover lifted his blade into the air proudly. His gaze wandered over their massive audience with purpose.

"Bellegere Stark avenged the Red Wedding," Lord Glover proclaimed.

His voice boomed, deep and confident.

"She is the Butcher of House Bolton. She is the Black Wolf. The Queen in the North!"

Bellegere lifted her chin, watching as thousands of swords unsheathed. The satisfying sound they made would never be forgotten.

Every lord and lady, and every soldier kneeled before her, their blades digging into the dirt as they chanted repeatedly.

"Queen in the North!"

Once the opposing army joined in, she knew that her life was changed forever. There was no turning back from this moment.

Her gaze was cast over an audience of over seven thousand as they proclaimed her new title.

"Queen in the North!"

The earth shaking sound rattled Bellegere's eardrums as she leaned against her brother for support. Shocked by this display.

The pressure, as well as the danger of this title, settled on her shoulders like it belonged there.

For, there was no one she trusted with the safety of the northern people and her house more than herself.

Bellegere would do anything her family, and that same loyalty would be given to her people as well.

The former Lady of Winterfell bowed her head to the massive crowd and mounted her horse.

As she reentered the gates of Winterfell, she did so as the first Queen of the North.


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Instead of going directly to her husband, Bellegere kneeled before the weeping heart tree.

She owed this to her gods after they answered her plea for victory against her foes.

As her soldiers carefully lifted the bodies of the Ramsay's men into the branches of the weirwood trees, she spoke to her gods.

Bellegere prayed for the compassion to be the leader the north needed. Despite her ever present desire to seek blood.

She prayed for the strength to defend them against the threats that would certainly come their way, and guide them toward prosperity.

Most of all, Bellegere prayed for them to heal her wounds, and for the health of her husband and her family.

From the shadows, Melisandre watched.

Mesmerized.

The lady, now a queen, stood with much effort, refusing help from her guards.

She was covered from head to toe in the thick, sticky blood of a thousand men and half a dozen injuries. The pain alone should have kept her from walking.

But still, she rose.

Her soldiers whispered in astonishment.

Belle the Butcher, they called her in hushed tones.

The evidence was apparent.

However, in this moment, she was so peaceful.

A vision of righteous wrath and ethereal beauty.

She was the answer to a question as old as time.

What would you do for love?

The people of the north found out firsthand that their new queen would fight on the battefield with zeal and unmatched bloodlust.

They now knew that she would lay waste to any man or house that threatened those she cared for, and she would risk it all to do so.

She displayed the level of loyalty and honor that earned her forefathers their notoriety, and allowed House Stark to rule as kings for thousands upon thousands of years.

Bellegere stepped into the dark pond beside the heart tree. She trudged forward slowly, until her entire body disappeared beneath the calm water, turning it maroon.

Simultaneously rinsing herself clean, as well as offering up the blood of her enemies to quench the thirst of the demon trees.

Forever honoring the oath she made to her gods.

Melisandre smiled faintly from the shadows.

Another bloody pawprint appeared in the snow as the wolf's reign began.