*! ! ! ! Warning... this is a really dark fucking chapter. Mentions of SA, of murder, torture, flaying... real fucking crazy shit. TBH, I wrote this in a very dark moment. Thing's have not been great already this short year. I'm not in a good place, and I think that added to this. I had always meant to write this, but maybe not to this degree. Some very personal shit is going on and if you dislike this chapter, I understand, but please don't tell me, I really felt that writing this saved me. Dark fucking place man.

310 AC

Robb Stark

He was in a forest. That much he knew. But the pines… they were all farther away from each other than normal. Most of the North's forests were very dense, not this one.

He heard a howl on the wind. He turned. He couldn't see anything. The whole forest was covered in a blanket of fog, so thick he could barely make out the trunks of the pines only an arms' length away.

Another howl. He felt a feeling of fear? Trepidation? He did not know.

Then, out of the fog, he saw a figure close in. A man, from what he could tell. It was stomping forth with nefarious purpose.

Robb felt the urge to run. The primal part of his mind telling him to flee. He couldn't help but to listen. He turned once more and started running.

But why did he keep tripping on roots and rocks? Was he so clumsy? Another howl. He turned – the man was still following him. With wide eyes, he noted that the figure was clothed in all maroon. A dark red.

He had seen that red before. That was the red of a man that was slain, blood. The life force given by the Old Gods.

No matter how hard he ran, he kept tripping and stumbling. Why couldn't he get away?! The figure was gaining on him.

But then, facing forward again, he saw a break in the mist.

Safe, safety. Warmth. He would be able to see.

But he was still losing time. Where was that howl coming from? And gods the man was nearly on him!

He tripped one last time, he thought he was a goner for sure. Robb felt light on him from his front, however. Looking up, he saw the most beautiful woman he ever knew.

Dacey.

And gods she was fierce. She bore her full battledress. Mail and leather and steel. Axe in hand, mace at her hip.

He felt relieved, she was going to save him. Save him from what?

The figure!

He felt a hand on him. Looking back, the red man had grabbed his leg and was pulling.

Robb tried to grab roots and rocks to resist being pulled. Looking up, he saw Dacey's face turn with fear. Fear for him!

Why! Why was this happening!?

She reached her hand out to him. He reached for her.

Their fingers brushed each other.

Then nothing. The man was too strong. As he was pulled further into the mist, the light began to disappear. He heard Dacey call out his name in terror.

He lost sight of her. And a terrible pain tore through him.

And he awoke.

"Mi' lord, ya 'right? You's been sweating you 'ave. Tossing and turning in your slumber." A guard in their camp looked at him worryingly.

Taking note of their camp, Robb noted that a number of men were looking at him in worry. He grabbed a small handful of snow next to his furs and rubbed his face. Terribly cold and sudden, but effective way to wake yourself quick.

"Aye. Do not trouble yourself. Horrible dream."

Torrhen Karstark, sitting only a small distance away, nodded. "Aye Robb, I know. The memories of the dead never truly leave." Some of the other, bloodied men, also nodded.

Robb disagreed, however. Not about the dead, ever since the Lion's War, he had developed those same dreams. There were times that he would awake and weep, and only Dacey, holding him close, could calm him.

No…this dream was something else. He felt a great evil had descended upon him.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he stood and stretched. He had slept in his traveling garments. Tying his scabbard to his belt, he walked and sat on a stump next to the fire. Karl Cassel handed him a piece of camp bread.

Camp bread was a thing of the North. It was similar to the hard bread of the south, and the tack of sailors, yet different.

Where those were simply flour and water, baked hard. Northern camp bread was slightly different. Here in the North, a man needed his energy. Their camp bread was made from oats, more energy than grain. Oats and berries and nuts. All this was mixed together with honey in a great big pot. Then, it was all mixed with melted animal fat. Once the mixture was thorough, it was poured out flat, and put out in the cold weather overnight.

The result? A hard, slightly sticky… gruel… bar.

But between the fat and oats, a man was able to live on that. Not comfortably… but he'd live. The berries and nuts and honey were there to add flavor. Not that they particularly helped of course. He had a bar once, made only form oats and the fat.

He'd prefer not to think about that food.

So, he had the camp bread given to him. Of course it wasn't particularly good, or tasty. But it would keep him moving, no time to hunt at the moment.

"This is the last place the villagers pointed us to. If there is nothing telling here, I fear that we'll need your Grey Wind, Robb." The Smalljon commented.

"Aye, perhaps." He huffed with humor. "But first we'd have to get him to come out of the Wolfswood. Since the War, that wolf has earned his rest. Perhaps he may have even found a bitch, and a whole new litter for the new generations of Starks?"

"Ha! If only. Great things those direwolves. I've half a mind to chomp me own balls off and marry your brother just to get me own wolfy!" Smalljon replied.

Harlow rolled his eyes at his brother's comment. "You always take things too far Jon."

"Aye, perhaps I do Harlow, but than who'd remember me? My name shall live on forever!" He shouted triumphally.

"Oh, have no fear of that Jon, I think no one will be able to forget you, even if they wish to." Karl muttered in teasing.

The two gave each other kind-hearted sneers before breaking out in laughs. "Are there any women out there that have caught the Smalljon's eyes?" Robb asked. "Any woman willing to give you sons and daughters to remember you?"

Harlow laughed. "Don't ask, he'll get grumpy. Our Lord father has already started looking for matches."

"Shut it Harlow!"

"Oh don't be too mad Jon, first father will need to find a woman willing."

All the men laughed while Smalljon stared daggers at his younger brother.

"Perhaps Beth Cassel? She is still a maid, and a more dutiful and able woman you'll not find." Robb offered. He was neither her blood, nor her father, but the Cassels were loyal vassals of the Starks for generations. If he could assist them, he would.

"She knows of the North, and unafraid to tell down any man or woman who she knows is wrong, wicked thing with daggers she is too."

Smalljon looked uncomfortable. "Many thanks, mi' lord, but must decline, my father will be choosing." Looking much less like a man of his third decade and more of a boy embarrassed by the notions of women.

"I know that Lord Medger Cerwyn's sister is also unwed. If I remember Aregelle Flint is unmarried as well. Or even Gwyn Whitehill is a possible-"

"Yes, yes, yes! Thank you very much!" Smalljon stopped his talk. Snapping his reins, Jon moved faster to get some distance between the rest of the party. This only made Robb and the others chuckle to themselves.

The rest of their party, and the men and Hunters that joined them were all in good spirits. But Robb could see under it. Their time in the village had hardened them. They knew that soon enough; the smiles would be hard found.

It seemed sooner rather than later.

It was not much longer when the party heard a great cry. All the smiles and laughter died away. "Come! That was Smalljon!"

They rode through the small paths and into another clearing.

It would've been a great clearing to make camp. Had it not been for the bodies. Smalljon was off his horse, with a look of horror on his face. Robb had to keep the bile from coming up. It seemed that Torrhen, his uncle, and Karl could not. All of them leaned and emptied their stomachs on the forest floor. A number of the guards also joined them.

Before them…was hell. The Seven of the opened up on Westeros.

It was a small clearing, only the size of perhaps two or three tables of a great hall across. In the middle, there was a stone slab. Long, but not long enough for a full person to be completely rested on. Robb knew this because there was a… a… a woman already on it.

Long dead. Her throat was torn open. It was not from a blade, literally torn open. She was… bare, on the stone. Her torso was opened up. Her face held her final thoughts. Of fear and pain. Robb could only hope that it was quick for her. To join her ancestors with the Old Gods.

And she was not the only one.

In piles all around the clearing, were piles of bodies. Eviscerated, tortured, flayed, and destroyed all around. All of their bodies were bare. All of them had experienced unimaginable cruelty.

On the other side of the clearing, other bodies were lined up, not piled, but next to each other. They had been… been… better left unsaid.

"Robb!" Karl, still wiping the bile from his mouth, pointed in terror to a section of the clearing had not yet noticed. It was a wooden cross, in the shape of a large 'X.' Robb clenched his eyes shut, hoping it was just an apparition.

Opening his eyes, his hopes were let down.

It was a woman. The only way he could tell was because of the long hair, and the slightly wide hips. He only knew this… because the rest of her skin was… flayed.

Incredibly, he heard breathing. Karl and he approached. Both flinched when the woman's eyes snapped open. Tears permanently marking where skin once was.

"Pleeeeaase." She groaned out. She begged.

Robb froze. All in a moment, his mind wandered. It wandered to his own sisters. To his mother. To Dacey, and his daughter. He began to weep, his skin began to tingle, his own bile began to rise up from his throat. No, no, no. Such pain and horror, such terribleness.

His mind was snapped back to the present when he felt a weight in his hand. He looked at Karl. He had placed a small dagger in his palm, then gestured to the woman on the cross.

"Make it eeeeeend." Were she not so weak, she would have shouted it, he knew.

He nodded to Karl in understanding. Gently, so as to not cause her any more pain, he swiftly plunged the dagger into the woman's heart.

With the last of her strength, she actually smiled at him. "Thank you."

With those words, she closed her eyes.

"Go." He murmured. "Be at peace." Robb heard Karl sniffle and wipe his eyes. He turned and the rest of the men were not better. Smalljon, who had caused death on the field of battle, stood where they had found him, still. A ghostly look in his eyes. Torrhen and his uncle were also crying.

Then, a rustling. One of the elite Hunters entered the clearing. Speaking softly, as befitting the area, he reported to Robb. "Mi' lord, a track had been picked up."

"Not yet." He spoke with finality.

"Mi' lord?" Karl and others also looked at him.

"We will spend the time that it required to give each and every one of these women the burial they deserve."

If any man present had objections, they didn't voice them. they all nodded and began to stake the horses, grabbing axes and any other tools that could be used to dig holes, however crudely.

It had taken the better part of two days. By the end, the entire clearing had been turned into a burial ground. It had meant to be, Robb had wished each girl to have their own space, but as the true numbers were uncovered, individual graves began to be put so close together, that they all turned into one.

The soil had been replaced on top of the bodies. The stone slab had been cleaned off, they had used snow and water to clean it, had been engraved. A small message of peace, of goodness. In a pitiful attempt to counter the unthinkable cruelty of this place.

All the men, nobles and low soldiers alike, stood around, in purpose united. All were the same in this circle.

"May the Gods welcome you with warm arms. May you see your family and friends again. May you be at peace. On earth and water, on fire and ice, on iron and bronze, I swear that I will bring the man who did this. To give final judgement." Robb spoke to the silent clearing.

His words echoed. And more silence. The dead can't weep, they did that enough before. But the living can. And as Robb and all his troops stood, many cried, wept, or stared off into the distance with horror. They thought of their own sisters and daughters. Of their own women.

One of his men stepped forward into the clearing. He forgot his name, he berated himself. But this lowly guard, with tears on his eyes, spoke mournfully.

"I promise no tomorrow

For today will always last

And since each day's the exact same way

There is no longing for the past."

They all knew this poem. It was a mourning one in the North. So in a great chorus, but in gentle tones, dozens of men joined in.

"So when tomorrow starts without me

Do not think we're apart

For every time you think of me

Remember I'm right here in your heart."

As their voices once more quieted, the man stepped back into the circle. Clearing his throat, Robb stepped forward. Nodding to each of the men, he spoke. "Remember this. Remember this moment. We will find this bastard. And when we do… we will make the gods applaud in justice."

It was not a speech of battle, with great roars and cheers to follow. It was a simple message. One that each understood. Each man nodded, renewed vigor in their hearts.

This bastard will fucking pay.

If he knew anything, Robb knew that.

*The poem mentioned is called "When Tomorrow Starts Without Me."