*! ! ! ! ! ! ! Fair warning! During Robb's POV, there is heavy mention of SA and r-pe! It is only the mention of it, some characters discussing their thoughts on it, no explicit scenes of it occuring!

**This note is specifically for here on FanFic...for some reason for over the last two months, I have not had any updates to reviews, comments, or anything. The only reason I know that people still read here is the occasional PM mentioning chapters that, according to FanFic's statistics, have had zero viewership. I have connected with some other authors and they are also experiencing the same troubles. THUSLY, if you have a comment or a review or anything, PM me, I have not seen any thing since like the second chapter was posted. I am simply assuming that people are still reading this, as for the stated reason above.

310 AC

Robb Stark

The Stark-Umber party met with the party from Karhold. They met at the southern end of Last Lake. Said lake was a small lake on the Last River. Ironically, while Last River was the northern-most river south of the Wall, Last Lake was not the most northern lake. Long Lake held that distinction.

True to Robb's assumption; Lord Karstark sent his men under the command of his second son, Torrhen Karstark, though, Lord Karstark's cousin Cregan had also joined. Prior to their departure from Last Hearth, Lord Umber warned Robb. Cregan Karstark apparently gave Northerners a bad name. He was known to be ambitious, greedy, unnecessarily mean, and altogether rude. Lord Umber warned him to keep an eye on him.

Speaking of House Umber, Smalljon did join their party along with his brother Harlow. Robard had also wished to join, however, at both Robb's and Lord Umber's argument, stayed. After all, life in the North was harsh. Lord Umber needed to ensure that he had at least one heir. There was of course Wil, yet Robard was more experienced than he.

Alongside Karl Cassel, Robb brought over half of his original guard. Many of them had served with him during the Lion's War. Accounting for such a force, as well as the Umbers and Karstarks, the party numbered over sixty riders. fifteen from Karhold, twenty-two from Last Hearth, and the rest from Winterfell.

"So-" Torrhen began. "-what is the plan? Has Lord Bolton been made aware of our plans? Do we have reason to fear reprisals?"

"Lord Bolton was not expressly told of our investigation. My father had wished to, but at my urging, he did not. It would be dishonorable to accuse a Lord in their own demesne of Breaking the Peace without solid evidence. That being said, I am not convinced that he would attempt to impede our objective should he know about it."

He heard Karl behind him grunt in approval. He knew that even if his father and he had made such an accusation, the taboo of House Bolton was such that many other houses would freely allow House Stark to continue with such an inquisition. Yet both he and his father would not sacrifice his father's well-earned reputation.

"Despite this, ravens have been sent to every house in the North, high and low. To every city, town, village, and hamlet that is expedient. The North knows of my appointment as the Lord Depute of the North…"

Karl finished for him. "…a position whose primary right is to have the assistance of any lord that is requested of. To deny or oppose would be considered a crime against a liege lord."

"Undoubtedly. However, Roose Bolton is not most men. He is above all, intelligent. He is not a mad fucker like that bastard Joffrey was. You must still be very wary of him."

Robb wanted to ensure them of their counsel but wished against being seen as dismissive. "That is true. With the assistance of good and true bannermen, I know I have nothing to fear."

All the lords and warriors around him nodded affirmatively. None wishing to be seen as less loyal than another.

Robb decided to lighten the conversation. "So Torrhen, how's it feel to be an uncle?"

Torrhen's face almost instantly curled into a smile. "Bennard's a strong babe. He will bring honor and glory to our house. I will gladly follow him as the future Lord of Karhold. I only wish…I only wish that Ed was still here. He was always the best when it came to children."

The mood around the fire grew silent. Finally, much to Robb's relief, Smalljon raised a horn of ale. "To Eddard Karstark! A finer man there never was!"

"To Eddard!"

All the men around the flames rose their own drinks. Torrhen nodded appreciatively.

Robb privately noted how Cregan Karstark was far less audible in his cheer. Strange considering Ed was family to him.

"Torr, how is your father doing?"

"He's doing well Robb. He sends his apologies. He wished to join the party; but between his duties, his first grandson, and-"

"No worries." Robb waved him off. "Besides, it gives us time for the true men of the North to see things done!"

All laughed. Robb had a feeling…a gut feeling, that sometime in the future, laughter would be but a forgotten memory. He tried to savor it as best he could.

South, across the Last River and associated lake, they found themselves. They were in wooded areas, east of the Lonely Hills. Here, they entered a small unnamed village. It was only about four major dwellings, though there were a number of mounds. Difficult in the wooded area, but if a man was able to dig out a mound-home, the roots of trees only made it that much stronger.

As such, the four 'major' dwellings, those out of timber and nails, housed not people, but other priorities. One was the house for the local alderman and his family. Another was the village's meeting place, where minor disputes and community gatherings could take place. The last two were used primarily for winter storage, to hand out at the needs of the different villagers.

The concept of an alderman is relatively old. The North is large…large enough to fit the rest of the Six Kingdoms into it. As such, out of basic necessity, it became apparent under the suzerainty of House Stark, that a united Northern kingdom required a degree of power diffusion. Although great crimes such as murder, rape, and other such issues are still reserved for the authority of the local lord, matters such as civil disputes, minor financial matters, and these sort of matters, can be given to the alderman.

The alderman is granted the authority by the local lord to address these issues. Usually, the alderman is the longest-residing individual of the village…usually. They are regardless chosen by lot, much like the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. However, unlike the Watch, this election does not hold power. An individual may receive the necessary number of supporters but may still not exercise the power of the title until the lord that rules the land that the village is in approves it. Normally, an alderman serves for their life, yet, as all power is in a lord, the local lord may revoke an alderman's commission.

Despite this, Robb learned in his studies with his father when he was younger, that alderman are not lords. They do not have inheritable titles or lands, they cannot pass serious judgement, and they may not collect taxes. Simply, an alderman was an individual who could handle the minor matters of the villagers, so as not to crowd the local lord with unnecessary work.

Regardless, the meeting house was where they found themselves now. It was small, the smallest of the four buildings. In it, at the opposite end of the door, stood a makeshift podium, and on either side, benches to sit and listen. Robb stood at the podium. His men and compatriots stood and sat to the right of him, on those benches. The villagers sat on his left.

"My lord." An old man croaked out. "I have long served in your house's armies. I served during the War in the east, on the islands in the sea. I served in the King's Rebellion."

"Calm yourself man. House Stark thanks you for your service." Robb's strong voice invigorated the man, who was shaking from either old age or nervousness. "How many people live in this village?"

"In the village itself, only seven and ten. However, over forty families from all over the wood travel here usually once a fortnight for trade and disputes."

"So together, about hundred people?"

"Aye, mi' lord."

"And of the about forty or so families have daughters…or sisters?"

The old man who served as the alderman turned and spoke with a young man. He held some clay tablets. This old man nor any here may have been able to read or write, but they weren't simple enough to not understand how to make simple marks.

"Of about forty families, half of them have…or had, daughters or sisters."

"Of these families, how many of them lost their women?"

The man was prepared. He gestured with a shaky outstretched arm. "These families here, mi' lord."

In front of Robb stood six men. Robb knew he had to take control of the room. He pointed to the first man, who flinched at the sudden movement and attention.

"You, what is your name?"

"Corse…mi' lord." He mumbled.

"What happened Corse?"

"Moons ago, mi' lord, me daughter was out fetching 'shrooms. She…well…she knew that we needed them, well it helped with the lack of game, and well-"

"Peace Corse. Stay alert. What about your daughter?"

"Apologies…apologies mi…mi' lord. Me daughter was taken. Her brother heard her yelp he did. He ran into the wood to try and find her. I ran after. She was…she was gone." The man started to tear up. "And me boy…me good boy! He was bleeding 'e was! I 'eard howling I did…but I know these wood have no wolves m' lord!" At that, the man began to break down. The alderman motioned for the young man-assistant to help escort Corse out of the meeting house.

Robb cleared his throat. His men, who were all battle-hardened in war, shifted uncomfortably. Robb looked at the other five men.

"Are your stories similar?"

The room was silent. A man seemed terrified and whispered something to the alderman.

"Alderman?"

"Apologies, mi' lord. What does 'similar' mean?"

Robb scolded himself. "Same. Are your stores the same, or close to it?"

A number of 'ayes' could be heard from the men. One stepped forward.

"Aye, me too! 'cept my sister was already dead! Marks of a beast on her body! And her face! Her face was unrecognizable!"

The rest of the men mentioned the same thing. Robb stood from the small step before the podium and straightened himself out. Coming to his full height, even the villages suppressed a gaze of awe. He was a scion of House Stark, and he would bring justice to his people.

"I must apologize good men. I have let you down. I give you my word that I will find the bastard that did this and bring them to justice."

He allowed his men and the alderman to escort the rest of the villagers out. He wished to use the meeting house as a sort of council-of-justice.

Karl was to the right of him. Smalljon and Harlow to the right of Karl. Torrhen was to the left of Robb and some other older warriors from the guard stood too.

"So, what is our evidence so far?"

"That this isn't someone who is careless. This person knew to leave the scene as soon as they heard others coming. Four of the men never found their daughters and sisters. The two who did both arrived when they heard screams. Obviously whoever our murderer is…they know to leave before someone sees them."

Karl continued for Torrhen. "Hounds."

"Hounds?" Harlow echoed.

"Aye. Robb knows of what I speak of. With the Wolfswood so close. These villagers have lived their lives in this wood for centuries. If they say there are no wolves in this area, I am inclined to believe them. If they heard howls, it could only mean one thing."

"They're using hounds." Smalljon deadpanned.

"They're hunting these girls like animals." Torrhen growled out. They all had sisters. They had mothers. To think there was a man out there who would do this…

They were also old enough. All of them knew that if the other girls were taken…that could only mean one thing.

Gods…Robb sometimes wondered whether or not the gods should just smite down all of man. The cruelty…madness… Sometimes, it was just too much. Murder is one thing. Terrible, aye, doubtless. But there was a finality to it. The only benefit if there in fact could be one.

But…rape? That was worse in Robb's opinion. That was taking away someone's dignity. A person can die with dignity, but no one can live, truly…fully live, without it.

His father, he raised him right. Robb swore then. That when he found whoever did these terrible things, he would unleash the hatred and anger of eight thousand years of Stark history onto this person.

Karl cleared his throat. "Mi' lords…perhaps we should rest of the day. Let's start on the 'morrow."

All the other men 'round the room nodded. They all thought the same thing that Robb did no doubt.

Ser Barristan Selmy

Another day, another council meeting.

"I will not sit here and be accused of such slander!"

"And I do not appreciate being made a fool of in front of the High Septon."

"You made yourself a fool in front of the High Septon!"

"Enough!" Stannis Baratheon, the Prince Regent, Stannis the Stern, slammed his palm down on the table. "You will silence yourselves before I throw each and every one of you off the walls of the Red Keep." He growled out.

Ser Wylis, the first counselor, let out a breathe. "Apologies, Prince Regent."

"It's done. Move on. Grand maester, a new scroll?"

"Yes, my prince." The grand maester opened a scroll. "Word from Lord Stark of Winterfell."

"What does Lord Stark report?"

"Lord Stark reports that he has called a portion of his banners."

"A portion?"

"Yes, my prince. He reports that the Night's Watch requested assistance to send a search party for the First Ranger and some other senior rangers."

"Very well. It is well within Lord Stark's rights to order such a thing. Write to him after this. Send word that the Iron Throne recognizes the North. Tell him that Lord Stark need only send a raven, and I will send some of the Crown's forces to assist. Does he write who he has given command to?"

"Yes. He reports that his heir, Robb, is currently out of Winterfell conducting a secret investigation into kidnappings and possibly a lord. As such, he has given command to his youngest son, Rickon Stark."

Ser Wylis looked alarmed at this.

"Something to add, Ser Wylis?" Lord Seaworth questioned.

"Apologies, my prince…but Rickon Stark's reputation is known in the North. We call him the Wild Wolf come Again or Rickon of Skane. He is as unruly as his late uncle."

"Otherwise, a man who you wouldn't want leading men north of the Wall?" Stannis finished in an even tone.

Ser Wylis didn't respond. It was almost as if he didn't wish to speak ill of his liege lord's son. But Stannis took the silence as the answer it was. He nodded to himself.

"For now, we will allow Lord Stark to handle this. He is neither foolish, nor overexcitable. If he has given command to this…'Wild Wolf' then so be it. We shall wait for more information. Varys, I want a report soon."

The bald and freshly bathed eunuch bowed from the neck. "I shall attempt so, my prince. Though the little birds I have north of the Wall are practically non-existent."

Stannis ground his teeth together. "Do what you can." He snapped.

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Any other news?"

"Yes, another raven from Starpike."

Every one 'round the table groaned. Ser Barristan could see that even Stannis the Stern let out an almost imperceivable twitch of annoyance. The man's face was stone at the very least.

Ever since the end of the Lion's War, Titus Peake, the previous Lord of Starpike was attainted. He was attainted for crimes against his liege lord as well as Treason against the Iron Throne. During the war, Ser Barristan successfully ended the siege of Starpike by allowing a message to be sent to Titus' undervalued bastard son.

The bastard opened the gates in the middle of the night and avoided unnecessary carnage.

But…

"I swear to the gods Ser Barristan, part of me wishes that His Grace the King just executed the bastard along with the rest of them."

Armen Peake, formally Armen Flowers, was not a pleasant man. He has since already found a woman of middling noble blood to cement his position and has already sired a daughter or two, not that he loves them of course, all his father that one. If Titus Peake had only opened his eyes, he would've seen how alike he and his bastard were.

Which in turn made Armen Peake ever more grasping, always sending ravens, trying to get this, attempting to curry favor there… 'Twas exhausting.

"What does he wish for this time?"

"He writes that he expects his license to be delivered to him soon?"

"His what?"

Stannis, in all his confusion, actually allowed an emotion to show on his face.

"My prince, we received another raven from him earlier this year? He wished to have rights to the lands to the west of him, the land that Lord Tarly currently holds dominion over? Remember?"

I had thought that we sent him a letter of refusal." He growled out.

"Apologies, my prince. I must not have been clear enough in my raven." Grand maester Gormon reported.

"Evidently." He retorted coldly. "The gall of this man. He 'expects' this?! Grand maester, write to Armen Peake; write to him that he may demand and expect nothing from the Small Council and the Iron Throne, and that we may expect anything in return. Write to him that if it weren't the misplaced mercy of Ser Barristan he'd be rotting in the same hole in the ground his worm of a father lies in. Write to him that if he insists on continuing this farce, I am more than willing to have him treated the way his father was."

The chambers were silent as the last echoes of Stannis' order rung off the walls.

"Of course, my prince. I shall clean it up a bit and-"

"You shall not."

"My prince?" Other counselors were also turning to look at him confused.

"Did I lie?"

Some of them looked between each other. "Apologies, my prince…I don't understand?"

"Did. I. Lie?"

"Um… no?" Gormon offered.

"You were fairly in the right." Tarly tersely commented.

"His words are ridiculous; your message is indeed wise." Ser Wylis added.

"Then I shall not have a raven affixed with the seal of a council that I lead, with false words. you will write out every single word that I spoke."

"And if he takes umbrage with that?"

"I am the Hand of the King and the Prince Regent of the Realm, what he does and does not take umbrage to, is of none of my concern. If he is foolish enough to thwart royal command, than he may consider himself sentenced the same as his late father. Send. The. Raven. As. Stated."

Grand maester Gorman bowed hurriedly.

"Good. What next?"

"Another conflict between Lords Velaryon and Chyttering-"

"Something about a port or quality of such?" Stannis interrupted Ser Wylis.

"Aye." Ser Wylis twitched. "How…how did you know, Your Grace?"

Stannis let out a sigh. "This very matter arose years ago. Even at the time, your predecessor, Tyrion Lannister resolved the issue, but we all agreed that it was only dormant, not settled."

And once more, the Small Council put their heads together and discussed solutions to the next problem.

If only a peasant or a minor noble realized the issues that were brought before the Small Council…perhaps than they'd have an appreciation for all the work they do; Ser Barristan thought to himself.