Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or ASOIAF.
AN-1: I have a P*T*R*N, where you can read the NEXT SEVEN CHAPTERS right now! Follow the link on the profile!
AN-2: I understand that some of you didn't really like or get behind the whole Targaryen-Stark magic thing, but it has an important part in the story I have planned. And no, They won't be whipping the magic out to defeat armies or burn down castles.
"What in the Seven Hells?" Robert muttered as shouts reached his ears, pausing midway in biting the juicy boar before him. He turned around slowly, daring anyone to interrupt his feast as his blue eyes glared out at every single soldier before him. "Who is the cunt that is making so much noise, and why the fuck are you all standing here?! Go and find out whose mother died!"
The soldiers wordlessly turned around and jogged toward the hysterical shouts, and Ned watched with confusion on his face, wondering what in the name of the gods could have resulted in such an uproar. The piece of roasted animal in his hands forgotten, he stood up and followed after his men, picking up a sword from one of the horses in case it was wild dogs again.
However, before he could move more than a few feet, he saw the soldiers stationed at the edge of the camp walk towards him, one of them tugging a horse along. His eyes widened as he saw the body upon the beast, and even though they were several feet away, Ned could make out the red and gold of the Westerlands shining clearly upon the dead knight's horse.
"What in the…" he mumbled, walking closer to the incoming group, already knowing that with how few of the Westerland's knights owned that filigree-laid muzzle, there weren't a lot of names for the body lying upon the horse. His expression hardened as he saw the blood dripping down the saddle and limp arm hanging off to the side.
He had held a small hope, that whoever the person was, he might be alive, just so they could know whoever did this…but it seemed it was not to be. He walked towards body, the soldiers parting from his way as they saw him, already knowing the shitstorm that would erupt in a few moments. Ned's eyes widened as he came within a few feet of the horse, seeing the crest emblazoned on the saddle, as well as the shield that was hanging on to the saddlebags.
Taking a deep breath, he turned around, once again cursing his luck as he looked at the soldiers before him. "Move out into the woods and begin a search. Look for the spot where this happened, and find any trails leading out from it," he barked, the resting man gone to reveal the Lord of the North beneath as his fingers tightened on the sword, "And if you find anyone in the woods, you capture them and bring them to me, alive. Also, who found his body in the forest?"
"I did m'lord," one of his men came forward, and Ned frowned, an unspoken command that was followed as he continued. "He was lying by a cave choking on his blood. Stabbed by ice hanging from the mouth of the cave mi'lord, and there were prints of a shadowcat nearby. "
Murmurs spread through the whole camp at that, and Ned just blinked dumbly. Of all the things he had seen over the years, a man dying due to getting speared by falling ice was probably a first. Before he could even think anymore about what the fuck was happening around him, he heard the sound of footsteps from behind him, and the telltale sound of Robert's grunts along with the worried question of Jon Arryn.
"What has happened here, Ned?" The Hand of the King spoke, coming to a stop beside him, the aged Lord's eyes moving towards the horse before them. Ned didn't need to look at the man to see the horrified face he was making as the gasp flew from his lips, and a part of him wondered how the man had ever fought in the War of Ninepenny Kings—he certainly didn't remember the Lord of Arryn ever using his sword in Rebellions, either of them, "Wh-What in the name of the Father's name happened here?!"
"What is the matter with you both," Robert grunted, pushing them both aside as he walked towards the horse, looking at all the blood coating and dripping down the saddle before he looked at the bloody corpse upon it, "Fucking hell! Who the fuck went up and got their face broken in by a lance like that?!"
"That is…Amory Lorch, Robert," Ned answered a moment later, feeling the weight of the words press down on him even as he uttered them. Besides him, he heard the sound of Jon gulping shortly, and all around him, he heard the soldiers murmur as a wave of fire seemed to spread through the hunting party. Tywin Lannister didn't care much for his soldiers, but everyone knew that the Mountain and the Manticore were his two favorites, a go-to to any solution that needed to be killed off.
And the Old Lion was not going to be happy with this. But did Ned care?
No, Tywin Lannister's unhappiness mattered little to him. What would the man do, rage against the gods for punishing the child-killing cretin that was Lorch?
"-eard that he died to falling ice of all things."
"-nister was not happy, and wanted to call the Stark a murderer but the King stopped it."
"-itting me thinks. Stabbed a girl half-a-hundred times, got stabbed by in return half-a-hundred times."
Robb sighed, wondering just how had the day come down to this. Last morning, they had headed out on a hunting trip that was to last three days—because god forbid Robert Baratheon return to Winterfell without having tried the famous Northern Stags and the Bears that roamed the perpetually cold lands. But Robert Baratheon was also the King of the Seven—soon to be six kingdoms—and a King's orders must be followed.
Therefore, the hunt had been extended, and Robb had smiled at the thought of two-three days of short peace.
Then his sister had walked up to him, her barely there frown deepening at the sight of him arm wrestling with Jon, and she had sat beside them, looking at their interlocked fists with her violet eyes. "Father is calling you back," her soft voice echoed between them, right before she dropped the wildfire upon his peace, "Amory Lorch is dead, and he wants you there to carry it back to Winterfell along with the Westerland guards."
Now here he was, striding through the clearing as the Heir of the North, hearing the mutterings of the soldiers all around him. He had never personally met the infamous Knight, and even though Amory Lorch had been staying in Wintertown—or rather its brothel—even since he came North, Robb had never seen him aside from several times he had been walking around behind the Old Lion.
And it seemed like no one remembered The Manticore fondly, based on the mutterings from the soldiers from each kingdom—except for the Westerlands obviously. Understandable, considering there were rumors and tales of the Lorch being nothing but a raping plunderer under the aegis of Tywin Lannister, and of course, one could never forget the murder of Rhaenys Targaryen at the hands of the barbaric animal.
"Robb," his brother began, making his turn from the muttering soldiers towards the dark-haired man, Jon's eyes flickering all over the place once before they met his own, "Permission to come with you upto Winterfell? Lyanna and I don't really feel like staying here anymore, especially with how…loud it is."
"Since when have you asked my permission for anything brother mine?" he shot back, narrowing his eyes as he stuck his nose up in the air, "Last I checked, you certainly didn't ask my permission before telling Alys I was bathing alone in the springs."
"The rather…passionate sounds that came from the springs for the next hour would disagree with your whole 'angry with you' attitude."
"You swore to never tell anybody about that," Robb hissed, throwing a punch at his smirking, entirely too smug brother, his eyes flicking all around them to make sure no one ahd heard Jon. Heat rushed to his ears as he looked at the glittering, mirthful eyes of Jon, punching him once again for good measure, right before a matching smirk came on his face, "Besides, Alys is my betrothed…what say you about a certain Mormont, eh?"
"There is nothing between us," came the straight-faced reply, and Robb snorted, shaking his head as he turned his eyes to the front. While he had certainly never seen Jon and Dacey engage in any activities—or heard them—Robb wasn't a stupid man, who could not see unresolved tension when there was one. And Dacey and Jon seemed to carry a mountain full of it between them.
But his brother was a man-grown, and Robb knew that he would deal with any problem by himself. And currently, there were far too many things going on for them to stop and share a mug of ale over a fire. The only reason that his marriage was even going ahead at this time was that the North was to go to war, and he needed to produce an heir to his name before that. But that was all a matter for later, Robb sighed, looking at the circle of onlookers standing a few steps ahead. Right now, he needed to deliver a very dead knight to the Keep, and make sure that his body was preserved properly.
"Never thought I'd see someone die by falling icicles of all things," he commented after a few moments, shouldering through the throng of men to arrive at the body kept on the ground, suppressing the bile rising in his throat at the sight of the gaping, bloody holes that had completely shredded the man's face into a pulp, bits of bones and brain sticking out over his bloody skin. The rest of his body was no different, with what seemed like dozens of holes of various sizes at seemingly every single spot.
"What a way to go," Jon muttered softly, kneeling down by Lorch's belly, and Robb winced as he saw the bits of his insides outside his bloated gut. Jon hummed for a moment, knocking his finger against the armored boots the man was wearing, standing up slowly, "Almost makes you think he should have avoided coming here, maybe he would have lived longer. Definitely wouldn't have died with fifty holes in his body though."
"Seems true," he shrugged. Amory Lorch being alive or dead affected him in no way, and Robb didn't give a single flying fuck whether the man was supposed to live more or not. For him, it was just a faceless man dying due to a dumb reason, "bring the horses, Jon, we should get back before the Sun falls completely. Foxes and bears will come looking as soon as we move away from all these people."
His brother hummed as he nodded, moving toward where they had tied their stallions. Robb looked at Jon's back, a small frown on his face as he watched him move away. For a moment, he had felt like Jon was satisfied by the man's death, the smile on his face somehow a lot more genuine than anything Robb had ever seen on his brother's face. Or maybe it was just because they could finally get to eating that deer his brother had killed in the morning?
I hummed a little tune, tying the deer I had killed more securely to the back of my mare, petting her neck affectionately as I walked towards my sister. Visenya herself was already sitting atop her horse, looking at the soldiers tying the wrapped-up body of Lorch on one of the horses.
"Why the hell do we havta carry this shit back ta Winterfell," one of the men grunted, kicking a stone of his way as he hefted up the corpse, "Bury or burn the body and be done with it!"
"Something bout the Hand not wanting to anger the Faith or some shit," the other one responded, shaking his head as he fastened the rope, and I snorted at the words. Jon Arryn was as much a stickler for religion as he was for peace, and I didn't know which one was more laughable. The man had argued for an hour, screaming his feeble lungs out as he had demanded the body be sent back, instead of just burying it in a ditch somewhere, or burning it.
Apparently, the body will be tended to a Septa, and buried with all the rituals befitting of a Noble and a Knight of the Faith—and certainly not the in the land of… well he had used politer terms, but he had called the land fo the North unfit for Lorch's death and burial. Gods, if dealing with a Valeman was so tedious, just how worse was someone from Oldtown going to be in terms of religious fanaticism and rigidity?
"So…how was it?" Visenya asked, turning her head to look at me, her silver-golden hair done in a braid over her right shoulder, a small knife threaded through the leather. I stared into her violet eyes for a moment, the afternoon sun making them shine like bright amethysts, and once again, my mind flashed back to our kiss on the voyage back to the mainland. After that, me and Visenya really hadn't gotten the time, and the space away from everyone to even talk about it, the fear of being heard or seen too great with all the people in the Winterfell—and the little time that we got together, it went away training and just talking normally.
Thought it wasn't to say that we were ignoring whatever was between us at the moment. We still slept together—our adjacent rooms always made it easy, and we had grown…even more physically affectionate than before. A touch there, a longer hug there…and sometimes a quick grope. But right now, all of my free time was being taken up by Father or the other Lords of the North, who had made a point to make Robb and I sit with them. Tales of battles and skirmishes were told, as well as the folklore of the North each and every time, and we both listened with rapt attention along with the other Northern Heirs—and the Lord and Heir Blackwood, a welcome addition to the evenings.
And finding a way to kill either Amory Lorch or the Mountain slowly.
As I looked away from Visenya's eyes back to Lorch's covered body, I thought about her question. I had thought of killing Lorch and Gregor for quite a time, whether just for whatever kinship that I felt with Aegon and Rhaenys, or just because they would eventually be my enemies and were a stepping stone in the long journey towards power. Pondering upon what actually doing was making em feel, my mind flashed back to this morning.
It was the third day of the Hunt, courtesy of the King's desire to eat the Northern animals that were never seen south of Winterfell's northern edges, and I decided to start my work. I looked towards Lorch, the heavy Knight riding at the back of the group. I was waiting for us to pause for a day before I would begin my plan, and I looked towards Visenya, a part of me wondering whether I should have gone with her idea or not.
I fingered the hilt of my sword, looking down at Nightfall's golden pommel. On my other hip, a short dagger rested, while two smaller ones were strapped to my foot. The King rode at the head of the party, jovially talking with my Uncle and a couple of other Northern Lords, all of them retelling the Battle of the Bells, and I saw the charismatic leader Robert Baratheon had been in the Rebellion, his voice, and vigor capturing the attention of all. I glanced at every name in the Hunt, my eyes trailing over Tywin Lannister first, before they slid over to the Golden Lion.
Till now, I hadn't talked or met with either of them, the Lannister party keeping its distance with everyone, either in Winterfell or out of it. The only other Lord present was of course Jon Arryn, the old man barely keeping himself from shivering, and somehow not dying due a sneeze by now. The others were the various Lords of the North, with soldiers from all three kingdoms riding around us.
"Alright, we stop here!" Robert shouted suddenly, turning his horse around to look at the small clearing we were at the edge of. He grunted with what I assumed was satisfaction, and pointed at the forest, "Alright, for those who want to hunt alone. Whoever gets a buck earns five dragons. The one with a boar gets ten, and if you bastards get a bear to feast on, well you get its head, and fifty fucking dragons for each of you that took it down!"
"All right I am off," I called out to Visenya, slowly trotting my horse around to move inwards into the forest, touching her shoulder briefly as our eyes connected. She looked at me sharply, her violet eyes seeming to hold me as I saw the morning sun reflect off her eyes, and make her hair shine more than usual. A moment later, the spell was broken, and we both turned away from each other. I pulled on the reigns of my horse turning it around and leading it into the forest.
After a few minutes of trotting aimlessly in the woods and just letting my mare move through the trees on her own, I decided enough time had passed for the plan to be enacted. And for that, I just needed to do one thing. I jumped down from my horse once I felt I was sufficiently far away from the camp, and just patted it twice—the horse already trained to know that it meant she was free to graze and roam around. However, the equine had a more pressing matter than eating the barely there foliage around us.
Namely, getting to Amory Lorch's horse.
I practically skipped my way through the forest behind my mare, feeling my blood sing in my veins as I watched her trot. By the gods, this was going to be so, so beautiful.