The Lone Wolf

by House Stoneclaw

With his final breath he awaited deaths inevitable embrace, he had done his job as a spartan. He had fought and died on reach with his many brothers and sisters, but he gets an unexpected surprise. Waking up in the middle of a land he has no knowledge of, and thrust into a war for survival. He must find his purpose again if he is to survive The Long Night, but who will help him?

1. Reach

Hey guys, so here is my first crack at a game of thrones x Halo fanfic. I'm just going to forewarn you all that the covenant will not play a factor in this story. So here we go guys, the first chapter of The Lone Wolf.

NOTE: This chapter has been updated and some elements have been added. I am going through some of my other chapters and just making them better without taking away from the story as a whole. I appreciate you guys being patient with me.

Ned Stark-38

Catelyn Stark-36

Noble Six-20

Theon Greyjoy-20

Robb Stark-18

Jon Snow-18

Sansa Stark-14

Arya Stark-12

Bran-11

Rickon-7

Characters will be aged up by 2 years

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Halo, the belong to their respective owners.

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Reach, the one place he'd never thought he'd see again, was burning. Flashes of light all around him as wind flares raged from the constant plasma glassing. Looking back down to his fellow fallen Spartan, and then around him as a sense of sadness came over him. Hundreds of Spartans mixed with dead covenant filled the ground with blood. The last stronghold left between the covenant and earth was now destroyed. The UNSC as always fought to the bitter end, down to the last man. Casualty rate at 98% of previous inhabitants, a far smaller number than usual. Humanity was unfortunately caught off guard once more when a fleet larger than any in previous records shown, appeared on the right side of the planet. The battle was over before the first shot was fired.

As he closed the eyes of the last remaining brothers he had, he looked to his hands for a moment. It was covered in cuts, grime, and blood. But he was also holding the tags of his team. For however long he had left, he'd make sure the covenant fucking paid for what they'd done. Death was certain. Yet he found resolve in it, with his life coming to an end. He wouldn't be the only one joining death. Glaring at the phantoms patrolling the near city he pushed forward. Glancing down at his TAC-PAD and was unsurprised to see his communications flickering in and out.

The occasional blast of plasma lighting up the darkening sky, plums of smoke scattered the horizon. Bodies littered the streets of men, women, and children. Wounds ranging from plasma burns from grunts, smoking wounds of an energy sword, to some having been eaten alive by jackals or brutes. Eyes still wide with terror, his anger boiled almost to the point of unbridled rage.

He would kill, rip apart, or beat them with his bare hands if it came to it. He would not stop, not until he was dead. His thoughts were interrupted by gunfire a few blocks from his location. Survivors? It was unlikely, everything within a thirty-mile radius of the city would have been combed through by jackal skirmishers.

As he slowly trudged forward to a small fortification, a form of resistance if you will. It was made of what looked like a few overturned cars, and whatever else the survivors could find.

"Who goes there?" A voice called out as he stopped walking albeit suddenly.

"Spartan B-312 of Noble Team, call-sign Noble Six." He responded calmly, but his calm demeanor changed when he picked up a lot of covenant headed their way on his HUD. Suddenly a figure popped up of a middle aged man in makeshift armor, looked like he was carrying a battle rifle.

"A spartan, huh? Well c'mon, ain't got all day with these killing all of us. There's some ammo and supplies in the back of that pick-up." As the plasma fire came from the east he quickly cut the distance between himself and the barricade. He leaped over the car as he stuck his back to the front of the car, he took in the inhabitants of their safe haven. There was only thirteen of them, four marines and he was including himself. He could familiarize himself with them later, as he snapped out of cover and unleashed hell on the bastard covenants forces. He stocked up on some ammo and much needed bio-foam as well as a personal defib kit and quickly snagged a duffel bag loaded for Halsey as it had her name on it, slinging it over his shoudlers. He returned to the fight, before pulling the pin on one of his grenades. He saw a small group of grunts trying to flank them on the left side. He popped out of cover and slung it in their direction as he heard the satisfying screams... this was just the beginning and he knew it.

Looking to his right he noticed a squad of grunts trying to flank the already weakened barricade, "Contact right, they're gonna try and flank us!" A few marines that were left scrambled to open fire on the approaching group. The grunts however were prepared and quickly returned fire, a needler round striking one of the marines in the throat. Six popped out of cover and laid down a volley of bursts, sending the bastards into cover. Before he could prime his grenade and finish them off, his helmet lurched forward and felt his shields drop drastically. He spun around and barely dodged another shot. As he dove for a different angle of cover he peeked quickly and determined the shot came from a building four hundred meters to his five O'clock. Damn jackals.

It continued like this for what seemed like hours, but the covenant were relentless as they continued picking off survivors one after another. Until it was down to only him and a small teenage boy, just entering puberty it would seem. He was cradling a dead body that he could only assume was someone close to him.

"Papa! Papa, you gotta wake up!" The boys cries were inhuman as the world around him slowed to a crawl, he made to move the boy from an incoming plasma grenade but the boy was still as a stone. Three feet, that's how close he got to the boy before he watched as their bodies were consumed by the fiery blue hell of plasma. The force of the grenade threw the mighty spartan back as the covenant forces finally began to invade the barricade, Six gritted his teeth through the pain he felt. His shields taking the brunt of the impact but he still felt like he was hit by a gravity hammer.

He flipped over as he narrowly missed being gutted by an elite, ripping his magnum out of the holster he unloaded the magazine into the skull of the feared warrior. Six made it to his feet as his readied himself for the fight of his life, he gunned down two more of them before he heard the dreaded 'click' of the trigger. He tossed his magnum aside and placed his DMR on his back as he was being surrounded by more elites. All wielding energy swords, it was at this moment he knew he wasn't going to make it out. As he watched them cut off all points of escape he gave a small nod to himself before he unsheathed Emile's famed Kukri, and in his left hand was his standard issue serrated steel combat knife.

"Once more into the fray.." Six said to himself as he sprang forward with his newfound strength, and stabbed upward into the elites skull. He twisted the blade violently as the elite fell forward. At the sudden death of their comrade the rest of them roared in anger as they too charged towards the spartan, screaming curses at him. But Noble Six was in his element, and he only had one goal in mind as he made ready to pull the pin on the rest of his grenades.

"Into the last good fight, I'll ever know" He chanted in his mind, like a mantra. One after another they fell to his blades, but they kept coming and he could fell the fatigue building up in him. "Live, and die.. on this day." His armor was now soaked in various colors of blood as he lived up to the name the covenant had given his brothers and sisters in arms. He fought like a demon and killed like one too. "Live.. and die.. on this day." The carnage soon stopped as he felt a massive force impact his left side, his body flew like a rag doll as he skidded to a halt. His visor cracked, and he could feel his chest burn as he attempted to breath.

Ripping his helmet off his head to clear his vision, he back handed an elite as they all made to hold him down. He refused to give them the satisfaction as he tirelessly fought against them, one of them pulled out an energy dagger and slowly walked towards him. Bringing his head back and slamming it into the elite holding his right arm. Only to receive a pistol whip that made him see stars, he fell to his knees. His strength finally leaving him as he spat blood, he could hear the grunts from them. They were mocking him... well he'd give them something to laugh about.

The leader now stood before the spartan, but what he did not expect was to see what looked to be a small amount of respect in the zealots eyes. As they surrounded him he silently grabbed hold of the three plasma grenades he had looted from a few fallen covenant forces. He knew this was the end of the line for him, but he would make sure to go out the way he wanted.

"Demon, you have earned that name respectfully. For that I will honor you with a death worthy of your status." The zealot said as he walked forward and without a second hesitation stabbed the spartan in the chest. As Six could fell the plasma dagger sear his flesh, but at the same time saving his life as the elite had missed his heart. He spat blood onto the ground the elite pulled out the dagger and cocked his head in confusion as he saw the demon give a pained grin.

"Honor? I'll show you what honor gets you!" He roared as he activated the grenades he had behind his back, and grabbed the leader by the shoulders. Sticking them to his chest. The elite widened his eyes as did his comrades, all the while the spartan with his last breath uttered. "For Reach." Then black.

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Noble Six

Wolfswood

296 AC

It was over in a flash. Quicker then falling asleep, and then nothing. No light at the end of the tunnel. No pearly gates or burning hellhole. Just nothing. Then... just barely he could hear a whistle. Like on a calm winters night, but as it grew louder he began to feel other things as well. He could feel his arms, legs, and could breathe. The air sliding down his throat.

He could feel the cold as well, and it bit at his cheeks as he opened his eyes. He was in what looked to be a woods of some kind, as a few snowflakes littered the sky. He slowly sat up, but regretted it immediately as pain shot through him and a shocked gasp left his mouth. He clamped it shut and began to mentally berate himself for forgetting his injuries. Though he was still confused to the fact that he was alive in the first place, he at least had to find out where the hell he was.

Very carefully he patched up the wound in his chest, thankfully his breast plate took most of the damage. It still cut into him enough that it would take time to heal, but not as long as a normal human. Give it a week and it'll be just another scar, to add the already heavy collection that riddled his body. Now that he could sit up without being in incredible amounts of pain, he stood to his full height and took in his surroundings. He saw his helmet lay not too far from him, and quickly scooped it up to place it on his head. A few feet away there was the bag of supplies destined for Halsey, as much as he wanted to rummage through it he had more important things to do first.

Running a quick diagnostic on his suit and helmet, he was mostly satisfied with his discovery. His armor was operating at 91% capacity, understandable considering he just survived a direct plasma grenade detonation. His shields were mostly intact, they could recharge but the time for it to reach its full potential was drastically elongated. Usually it would have taken five to seven seconds. Now, it could take up to an hour. To add to the salt already in the wound, a large amount of his archived footage was damaged.

Slowly letting his arm drop to his side he let out a sigh, 'Well, no sense in just standing here. I need to try and get in contact with the UNSC.'

Nodding his head to himself he started to move forward, looking for any signs of roads or pelicans roaming the area. Though one thing he did notice though was that the weather had completely changed along with the terrain. The temperature on his HUD read it was thirty-eight degrees Fahrenheit, the glassing should have skyrocketed it to the mid 120's. Interesting, a few gusts of snow flew around him and if it werent for his recent brush with death and destruction. He'd call it beautiful. Unfortunately, as always. Nothing ever stays quiet for long, as he heard a distant scream.

Turning his body, he picked up the pace as the screams drew closer, but now he could hear men shouting and what sounded like metal clashing together. He leaped over the creek bed and passed a fallen tree. The sight before was a chaotic one at best, bandits were attacking a small convoy that looked to be carrying goods. The men attacking wore no sigils, but all had worn stolen armor. They were killing everyone they could lay their hands on, but a small contingent of guards were attempting to thwart the attackers. He shot into action as his feet carried him to a bald one with scars across his face, who looked to gut a small little girl with her cowering mother before a loud crack filled the area. The man dropped to the ground dead before he hit the dirt. Six didn't waste any time by grabbing the girl and her mother, stashing them behind one of the wagons at the rear.

"Stay here." He said softly to the child. She gave a small nod as the woman still stared at him as though he were a ghost. He turned from the rounding the corner and shouldered his rifle and began taking single shots at the assailants. The bullets tore through the bandits armor like a knife through butter. He didn't know where he was, but he was not going to just stand by while children were being slaughtered. The image of the boy from before shot through his mind, but he quickly banished it. Hearing the fated click of an empty chamber, he switches to his knife and kukri. Batting a swipe from a long-sword away, he used the mans momentum to bury his knife into an eye socket. There were now only four of the convoys guards left, but the bandits began to disperse at the carnage in the wake of the Mighty spartan's appearance.

"What the fuck are we gonna do now?" One of the bandits said as Six advanced on them, armed with only a knife and curved blade they had never seen before. He tore through them one by one as if they were mere insects, a truly terrifying sight.

Two brave bandits charged him at the same time, one from the right and the other left. Their battle cry's cut off as a large curved knife into the left one's throat, and the other barely able to breathe as a mighty black gauntlet held an iron grip as he dropped the war axe. As he was lifted to meet the golden visor he could see his own reflection as a deep rumble emitted from the spartan. Almost as if it was a growl, the man widened his eyes and began to panic.

"Mercy, please... I'll tell you whatever you want." Came the strangled voice of the bandit, as the spartan continued glaring at the man. As he started to apply more pressure to the man, he could see from the corner of his eye. The little girl peeking from behind the wagon, he turned to glance at her as she was pulled back by her mother. Then he turned to the last remaining guards as they started to gather around the Spartan. Weary looks from them were all it took for him to decide what to do with the bandit, and dropped the man to the ground with a loud smack. He looked to the guards as they began to gag and bind the bandit, 'Hopefully for execution' he thought to himself. No matter the world, mindless slaughter would not go unpunished if he had anything to say about it.

Turning away from the now incapacitated man, he looked to the wagon he had stashed the young woman and her child. He found the mother holding the small girl, whispering sweet words to calm her down.

"It's over." He said softly to them, and the woman gave a cry of relief as she held her daughter tighter. As the tension settled down and the guards began to gather their dead, he noticed more eyes beginning to settle upon him. Turning away from them he began to leave before he felt something grab hold of his much larger hand. He looked to the small child that looked to be on the verge of crying once again, and even though he still had no idea where he was. He was still a Spartan, and Spartans protect the innocent.

Kneeling down to her eye level, he noticed she had a small cut on her chin. Reaching for a bandage from his pouch, he gently wiped the small trickle of blood from her chin. She continued to look at him in what he could only assume was, bewilderment. Once he was finished cleaning the wound, he gave her a small nod and stood to his full height. He was approached by what he could only assume was the leader of the small detachment of guards, the wolf sigil plain on their shields.

"Thank you, for coming to our aid. We'd surely be food for the wolves, if not for you." The middle-aged man said as some of the smallfolk around nodded their heads in agreement.

"I will always fight for those who cannot defend themselves, but your gratitude is noted." The Spartan's deep voice came through his external speakers. Before anything could be said, the man looked to have come to a sudden realization.

"Beggin your pardon, friend. The name is Mathis, I'm commander of the guard here. Or, what's left of it." Mathis said as he turned towards his fallen men. "We were ten this morning, and now we are six less." Mathis bitterly, as his men started to gather the rest of the small folk to continue the journey.

"Spartan B-312, callsign Noble Six." The spartan greeted with a stiff nod. Mathis stared at him in utter confusion, before nodding very slowly. Clearly at a loss as to what to say to that.

"Strange name, but enough of that. We're headed for Winterfell, and if we leave now, we can be there by sundown. You saved our lives and Lord Stark will want to see you; the north remembers." Mathis stated with a respectful nod of his head.

"Lord Stark?" Six raised an eyebrow at that.

"Aye, Lord Eddard Stark is the Warden of the North." This just raised even more questions for Six, but this did present an opportunity for him. This Lord Stark would be able to provide him with answers he sorely needed.

"I am in need of answers so I will accompany you to Winterfell and meet with Lord Stark." The spartan informed him, Mathis nodded and gave what looked to be a sigh of relief. He turned back to his men and they prepared the carriages. Six slapped a new magazine into his DMR before placing it on his back for the time being, he would have to use that in only the most dire situations. Grabbing his duffel bag he slung it onto his shoulder.

As everyone started moving again he stayed at the rear of the convoy, he pondered the days events. The situation itself irked the spartan, he should be dead by all accounts. So why wasn't he? He continued quietly following the carriages as the day transpired, he would still need to find a way to contact the UNSC. If he was alive, he could still fight and the war wasn't over. He would speak with Lord Stark and he dared to hope that there would be a way, he knew his place.

For now, he admired the landscape around him. He could not remember a more peaceful sight, the dark green grass flowing through the wind. An orange sun that blanketed the sky and livestock that littered the vast landscape. For a split-second his mind had drifted to a place he had too few memories of; his childhood. Years of psychological training should have erased any emotions that could have compromised ONI's favorite assassin. Yes... he remembers those days as well. Ackerson was as ruthless as they came, and for years he used Six as his own personal grim reaper.

Some of the lesser known operatives had given him the nickname 'Lone Wolf', based on his numerous missions accomplished alone. He didn't ask for the name, but he agreed that it fit him. He was always better when it was he who was doing the dirty work, but that didn't make him hate the man any less. His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed the carriages had stopped, curious as he was. He made to the front of the convoy and could see why they had stopped, just in the distance he could see the shape of a castle. It wasn't the size that drew his attention, but this had proven one more thing about where he was. It was looking more and more likely that he wouldn't be going home anytime soon, not without a ship or a distress beacon. He had neither.

"That be Winterfell, the home of the Starks. Now, when we reach the gates you stay at the back and let me do the talkin'. Wouldn't want to scare the children now would we?" Mathis attempted to jest with the spartan only to receive silence in return as Noble Six slowly turned to the man. The golden visor staring into the man's very soul, and Mathis murmured a small apology before returning to his men. Six turned back to the rear of the carriages and awaited for them to start moving again.

It appeared to him as they started moving again, that without a way to contact the UNSC. He would be stuck on this planet with only the supplies he had on him when he arrived, which wasn't much. He had seven clips for his DMR and that would be all he could get, unless he could find a way to make his own bullets. He was fairly content with the first aid supplies he had on his person, but he knew he would have to use them scarcely as well.

Six could see the gates of Winterfell and was not surprised to see it well guarded, men on the battlements as well. He could hear Mathis converse with some of the guards and noticed Mathis motion towards him.

"Lord Stark will be here shortly, he's just supped with Lady Stark." The Winterfell guard informed as Mathis nodded his head to Six and the carriages moved through the gates. He stayed put even after it was only him outside the gate, but he needed to make a good first impression. These men didn't know him, and he didn't know them either, but this was their land and their rules. He saw Mathis and his men bow their heads in respect as he saw another man striding forward in a fox fur cloak around a leather jerkin. A grim look on his face as he approached the men before his face broke out in a small smile.

"Mathis, gods be good you look a mess." Ned stated as he took into account the manner of their arrival.

"Yes, my lord. We were ambushed by bandits in the wolfswood and wouldn't have made it at all if not for our new... 'friend'." Mathis explained to his liege lord. He didn't know how to label the Spartan, but if he was their enemy, he would have let them die. But he didn't, and instead saved their lives.

"Friend?" Lord Stark raised a suspicious eyebrow at that.

"Yes, my lord. We were being slaughtered and he came out of nowhere." Mathis stopped as he pondered the right words and leaned closer to the Silent Wolf. "I've never seen anything like him in all my years of serving you." The slight tone change was enough for Ned to nod his head at the unspoken word of caution.

"Very well, bring him forth." Ned commanded quietly, though there were hints of gratitude in his voice. Mathis bowed to his lord once more before departing and approaching Six. Once outside the gate he looked to meet the unreadable expression of the Spartans visor.

"Lord Stark will see you now, if you'll follow me." His only response was a nod from the Six and turned back towards the castle. As Six approached the man who could answer his questions the small folk began to gather as well. To his credit, Lord Stark stood his ground and his eyes remained on the spartan. Six made sure there was a few feet between the two as to not possibly agitate the Lord. It was silent as they both silently sized each other up, the guards around felt uneasy as it was with the stranger.

"Mathis tells me you saved their lives from the bandits, is what he said true?" Ned spoke with an air of authority only earned through many battles and harships.

"I was not going to let mindless slaughter go unpunished, no matter if those lives are people I have no attachment with. I eliminated the threat." Six recounted the events to the honorable Ned Stark.

"You have done the North a great service and we will not forget it; the day is late. I'll have my household guard show you to your rooms, we will talk first thing in the morning." The Lord of Winterfell departed back to his solar as the sky darkened. Most of the small folk departed for their rooms and Six was lead down a small corridor. The guard stopped in front of one of the larger rooms and showed the Spartan in, it was very simple in nature as it had a small desk for writing letters and could see a few rolled up scrolls. A tray of what looked to be bread and salt, along with a pitcher of wine with two glasses. The bed was covered with various furs with feathered pillows.

"If you've need of anythin at all, their will be two guards stationed outside." The man informed Six, he could hear the slight tremble in his voice. Six nodded to the man and he all but ran from the room and closed the door. Now by himself he slowly removed his helmet before setting it on the table closest to the bed, he was still suspicious of this place so he wouldn't be taking his armor off anytime soon so he slid down the wall and propped himself up next to the bed. Sliding his duffel bag underneath his head to use as a pillow, he laid his DMR in his lap and he closed his eyes and let the darkness consume him once more.

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Hey guys! So I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of The Lone Wolf, and I look forward to hearing feedback from you all. See you guys next time!