Blood and Winter

Chapter V

Looking out the window in the Great Hall of Riverrun, Robb's face was blank. None of the emotions he felt as he listened to his uncle, Lord Edmure Tully explain the decisions he made that had resulted in the first real defeat in his campaign, the Battle of Tumbler's Fall. Or as many were calling it, the Slaughter of Tumbler's Fall.

Edmure had five thousand men under his command at the Stony Steps, incurring nearly a thousand losses in the Battle of the Stony Septs before giving chase to the Mountain. There at the Tumbler's Fall, the remaining four thousand men had all but been annihilated, barely a hundred made it back. The rest either killed in the river or rode down by the Lannister cavalry.

"I saw an opportunity!" Edmure eventually exclaimed, glaring at his uncle, Brynden Blackfish who had returned to Riverrun upon hearing what had happened. Lord Blackwood and Bracken being left in charge of the besieging Harrenhall which had no more than a thousand men remaining behind as garrison.

The remnants of the forces of those that engaged Lord Blackwood, Bracken and Ser Brynden.

"An opportunity for what?" Brynden mocked.

"Glory! Incase you haven't noticed, Robb has been invading the Westerlands while we've been stuck at the Fords, there's plenty of glory to go around." That was it for Robb, who angrily turned round to glare at his uncle.

"It's not about glory." He snapped and Brynden stepped away from Edmure intent on pouring himself a glass of wine as he watched the proceedings with a smirk on his face. "I didn't march south for glory and I didn't march west for glory. You were out in charge of the defences of the Riverlands because you are the acting Lord Paramount of the Trident. I thought you'd understand that."

Edmure's face became flushed with embarrassment.

"How many men did you lose?" An unnecessary question, Robb already knew the losses but he hoped by realising how many men died because of his actions that Edmure would start acting like a Lord.

"Nearly the entire force." Edmure reluctantly admitted.

"Nearly the entire force." Robb repeated and the tone of his voice caused the flush on Edmure's face to grow. "Nearly five thousand men of the North, who marched south to free my father and the Riverlands, are sent to die for your quest for glory. And you disobeyed my explicit orders to remain at the Stony Septs."

"I saw…"

"You saw nothing. It was a trap." Edmure went silent. "I gave you the orders to stay at the Stony Septs unless given orders from either myself or great-uncle. You received no orders to move away from the Stony Septs and due to your actions, we very well could have lost this war. Luckily, the Tyrells have allied with us and not Stannis or Tywin."

His plan after Tywin moved south to fight Stannis was meant to make their already strong position in this war, stronger. With Tywin gone, he would have seventeen thousand men ready to be redeployed, ten thousand of which would remain to act as a garrison at Harrenhall, ensuring that Tywin could not enter the Riverlands without leaving himself exposed.

The remaining seven thousand men could have then been split, three thousand joining him in the Westerlands and an additional four thousand heading north to beat back the Ironborn. With the Tyrells as his allies, he could have sent all seven thousand battle hardened Northmen back home. Each eager to get revenge against the Ironborn invading their homes.

Now he only had two thousand men to spare.

The situation in the south wasn't bad, it was the North Robb worried about. Despite Lord Mallisters overwhelming victory south of Moat Cailin, he had since been stuck defending the ruined stronghold which had stubbornly beaten back any attempt to take it much like it had when beating back the Andals. Further north, reports indicated that things were proven to be more difficult.

Jon's forces were spread thin and Rodrik had suffered heavy casualties in reclaiming Torrhen's Square.

"Great-uncle, I want Lord Bracken to lead two thousand men North to join with Lord Mallister." As Robb spoke, he never removed his gaze from Edmure who shifted uncomfortably. "As for your uncle, you'll be stationed at the Golden Tooth, overseeing its defence and logistics. Ensuring that there is a constant flow of supplies to our troops in the Westerlands."

Edmure opened his mouth to argue, but Robb raised a brow. There was a moment in which he opened and closed his mouth, very much looking like a fish before Edmure eventually his lips thinned in displeasure.

"This is not meant as an insult uncle, but you are not a military commander." Robb said bluntly. "Your skills lay in logistics and therefore, I believe you would be best served overseeing the supply lines of the Westerlands. Especially considering we will be receiving additional supplies from our new allies, the Reach."

Still displeased, Edmure stormed out of the room leaving Brynden and Robb alone.

"How long will it take for you to take Harrenhall?"

"No more than a few weeks at most. They're forces are small and those that are injured will be high. I'd wager that out of a thousand men, only half that are in any position to fight. However, to avoid unnecessary losses I believe it would be best to avoid storming the keep." Brynden explained, finishing off his cup of wine.

Nodding his head, Robb grabbed his cloak and wrapped it round his shoulders.

"If Harrenhall does not surrender within two weeks, storm the castle. I cannot afford to have the Riverlands divided much longer. Not if we are to hold off the victor of the battle for Kings Landing." With his orders given, Robb exited the room followed by Grey Wind.


Pulling the cloak tighter to her, Margaery withheld the shiver that wracked her body. The day was cold and she could feel it in her bones, it didn't help that most of her gowns and dresses were designed for the weather of the Reach. Many said that when Robb marched south he brought winter with him, Margaery was inclined to agree.

Luckily, today was one of the few days in which it wasn't raining.

Entering the Godswood, Margaery temporarily admired the beauty and peace it held. It was different to the Septons in which she usually prayed in. Unlike the lush gardens at Highgarden which looked plain in comparison to the colour that the rest of Highgarden held. The Godswood at Riverrun was bright and airy garden, full of chirping and birds and beautiful flower.

There was a number of small streams and trees scattered around, but in the centre was the Weirwood tree, carved with a sad face.

And before it, sat Robb. His back was rested against the tree, one hand holding the handle of his blade a piece of cloth held in the other, no doubt from where he'd been cleaning it. Quietly, Margaery moved closer, unwilling to disturb Robb who seemed to be deep in prayer, his eyes closed.

That was when she heard the snapping of branches and looked to see Grey Wind appear from her side. Smiling, Margaery extended one hand and the Direwolf moved forwards, sniffing it before pushing his head against her palm.

"He makes grown men cower in fear, yet for you he is like a harmless pup once more." Robb's voice made her turn to see the King staring at her, yet she never stopped running her hands through the soft fur of the Direwolf, scratching the large beast behind the ear in a way that she knew he enjoyed.

"I imagine it is because he has fallen for my charm, your grace." She said with a beautiful smile.

Robb smiled, slowly rising to his feet. "I imagine it has more to do with the treats you feed him." Margaery's innocent face could not have made her look more innocent and to her pleasure, Robb chuckled lowly and Margaery found herself pausing. In all the time she had been with Robb, the King had rarely smiled. The stress of the war and all the other responsibilities on his shoulders seemed to have robbed him of such a thing.

A shame, he looked more handsome when he smiled.

But a chuckle, now she did feel honoured. If a smile was rare, a chuckle let alone a laugh was all but an impossibility, or so she had thought. And again, it was such a shame. It was hard to remember that she and Robb were the same age of six and ten, both born in the year 283 AC. Yet, Robb acted and sounded far older than her, almost like he was the same age as her brother, Willas.

It was surprising to her that she found the sound of a simple chuckle made him seem…younger?

Ridding her head of such thoughts, Margaery allowed the beautiful smile to once again return to her face. "Forgive me, your grace. I did not mean to disturb your prayer."

"It's fine, I only came here to rest. It's quiet here, allows me to think clearly and forget about all my responsibilities and duties. Is there something I can do for you, my lady?" Robb asked and Margaery smiled.

"I admit, I was curious to see what the Godswood was like here compared to Highgarden."

"And what do you think of them?"

"I think they're beautiful. The Godswood at Highgarden is beautiful, but I find that the gardens are much prettier. But here, the Godswood stands out to me more." Slowly, the two began walking, Grey Wind moving behind them. "What about the ones at Winterfell, what are they like?"

"Well…"


Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Jon panted heavily, his breath short and his lungs burning demanding oxygen after the battle he has just thought. His body felt heavy and the various wounds he had suffered ached, but none of that mattered as he looked up at the sky through the canopy the trees formed.

Suddenly he was thrust back into reality when he felt a hand clasp onto his shoulder and looked to see Owen Norrey beside him. "It's a victory." Jon nodded his head quietly, looking back around over the battlefield, hundreds of bodies lay dead, the men of the North moving round and stabbing swords and spears into the still alive Ironborn.

Just like had been planned, the northern army had moved south through the Wolfswood in order to intercept a force of fifteen hundred Ironborn moving north to retake the Deepwood Motte.

However Jon had set a trap with the help of his commanders and ambushed the unsuspecting Ironborn led by Aeron Greyjoy, he having expected Jon and his army to still be at Deepwood Motte. The sudden strike caught them completely by surprise and despite having more men, the Ironborn were quickly finished off. The terrain giving an advantage to the warriors of the Mountain Clans.

Even so, the losses on both sides were heavy.

Jon had lost around five hundred men, leaving him with only half of the men he had marched down into the Wolfswood with. Still, the Ironborn had only escaped with at most, two to three hundred men.

"We should probably return back to Deepwood Motte, we don't have the men necessary to stop them in a land battle." Jon noted and Owen nodded.

"Probably, but I don't think we should just yet. The Wolfswood is a good place to set ambush points. The North with Mormont Keep now secure is already preparing their defences for another potential Ironborn strike. If we keep the Wolfswood secure and ambush any Ironborn army that comes in here then we could very well win this much sooner." Own pointed out.

"We have just over five hundred men, a third of which are injured and in need of aid." Jon argued.

"Send them back then, have Deepwood Motte send enough troops, fresh troops to replace those who go back. It'll take at least a week sure, but the Ironborn won't be able to stage another strike for another few days. Most of their forces are being kept occupied in the south at Moat Cailin or Goldgrass."

As Jon thought on what Owen said, he eventually relented. As much as he would like to return to Deepwood Motte and prepare for a siege, securing the Wolfswood could be the correct move to make.

And like Owen also pointed out, the Ironborn wouldn't have the troops to spare in order to march north into the Wolfswood again for a while. Plenty of time for them to get replace the injured with fresh men and set up a proper camp.


Rodrik Cassel kept his gaze vigilant as he walked along the walls of Torrhen's Square. Over a week had passed since he had secured the seat of House Tallhart and since then things had been quiet. Outriders would follow along the river leading down to the Saltspear. He knew that Victarion was besieging the seat of House Stout which valiantly held on.

But Rodrik knew that he couldn't just think that everything would be okay forever. There was a high possibility that Goldgrass would fall soon and when it did Victarion could either sail his ships west and break the siege of Moat Cailin or sail north and take Torrhen's Square.

Even so, he would not allow Torrhen's Square to fall because once it did, Winterfell would be exposed. That was not something Rodrik would allow to happen, even if it cost him his life.

That's when he picked up sight of a number of riders rushing towards the gate at great speeds. He didn't even need to know what news they brought as he saw at least forty ships sailing up the river in single file. All of them baring the flag of the golden kraken of House Greyjoy.

"Sound the alarm." Rodrik ordered to one of the men by his side, but none had to move, someone had already rung the bells. "Move archers to the keep walls, I want spearman positioned on the docks. The Ironborn won't take this city from us!" His cry was met with a resounding cheer from the men around him before they all rushed into positions.

Rodrik himself turning to look at the ships, each packed to the brim with men and a frown came onto his face.

He knew that this would not be easy.

Putting that out of his mind, Rodrik rushed down with the rest of his men and moved to the public docks where lines of spearmen had formed. Each of them watching as the ships got closer and as they spilled into the lake, they no longer having to move in single file, instead spreading out in a swarm.

Anxiously, the men waited, watching as the longships rapidly got closer, almost gliding through the water.

And as they did, without him ever needing to order, hundreds of arrows, each on fire flew through the air and struck the ships. Many missed, but some struck true, but other than the sails being burned, the wood of the ships remained fine. Again another volley rained down and again nothing happened to the ships and Rodrik found himself worrying.

It was on the fourth volley that one ship finally caught fire and the sight was met by a cheer from the Northmen.

But it was only a single ship.

And the others were still closing in on them quickly.

"Get ready!" Rodrik ordered, drawing his sword in preparation as the spear men marched forwards a few meters.

As the ships drew into the port, Ironborn jumped off the boats with a battlecry. However the soldiers positioned there thrust their spears forward killing many. Some spears were thrown like javelins from the back row and upon impaling men launched them backwards.

But for every Ironborn killed, two more would take his place.

Even with arrows continuing to rain down on them from above, the horde of Ironborn never seemed to end as they jumped off the front ships and rushed at the ranks of the defenders. Then the port was filled with sound of battle, of clashing steel and cries of men dying.

While at first the defensive lines held, Rodrik could see his men being pushed back by the sheer number of Ironborn coming off the ships.

"Hold the lines!" He cried.

But it seemed that despite their best efforts, despite giving everything they had, the northern defenders were being pushed back inch by bloody inch.

Gritting his teeth, Rodrik considered whether to send in his reserve forces. Yet that decision was made for him when he saw Ironborn break through the centre in droves. With a quick order, the reserves rushed forwards to meet the Ironborn.

The fighting was long and bloody, Rodrik remaining behind and surveying the battlefield.

"M'lord! M'lord." A soldier cried as he rushed towards Ser Rodrik.

"What is it man?"

"The Ironborn, they've broken through the House Docks and our lines are breaking." Clenching his fists, Rodrik studied the battle here, they had managed to halt the Ironborn, the reserves serving to plug up the gaps and help in pushing the Ironborn back. But it seemed that the defence on the east side of the city was failing.

"Fall back to the Market Square." He ordered quietly, then rose his voice. "Fall back to the Market Square."


Robb remained quiet as he and his personal guard made their way back towards the Westerlands to continue the campaign there. Things seemed to be falling into place, but he felt worried, as if something was going to happen. He didn't know why though or what made him feel this way.

Ser Brynden was besieging Harrenhall with the aid of Lord Blackwood.

Lord Bracken was marching north with two thousand to join with Lord Mallister.

Jon had secured the victory necessary to that made his risky gamble pay off.

Lady Mormont and Lord Bolton had finally taken the Crag.

And his mother, according to the letters had just arrived at White Harbour and was taking a boat up the White Knife and should arrive at Winterfell in less than three days time.

Everything seemed to be falling into place.

Yet he was still worried, and so were the Old Gods. He could feel it as he prayed to them, they were worried about what was to come, but something was seemingly stopping them from communicating to him about what.

Putting out of his mind, Robb instead focused on the here and now. As much as he could stress about what could happen, he had already done that at Riverrun. No, now it would be best to do as Margaery had advised, and focus on what he could do to win.

And that was another matter that worried him.

Margaery Tyrell.

The woman was intent on seducing him, he had knew that much. Even if his mother hadn't told him about it, he could figure it out plainly. The soft touches, the beautiful smiles, the dresses, everything she did seemed to draw his attention and it was driving him wild. There were many times in which he would be in his war room or in his chambers thinking deeply when she would arrive.

Dutifully knocking and waiting for him.

He could claim ignorance that he didn't know it was her, but he did. It was only she that knocked quietly and never said who it was, everyone else was loud. And Grey Wind would always look up, his tongue lolling out as he panted heavily, no doubt expecting treats.

And like every other time, Robb would open the door and let her in.

Her revealing dresses and gowns were gone, the cold, dreary weather of Riverrun at this time of year did not suit such clothing. Now she instead wore simple dresses and a fur cloak, as if she were from the North. And as much as he hated to admit it, he loved her dresses in those clothes, even more so considering they were in the colours of House Stark.

The worst part was, even when dressed in those conservative and modest clothes, it only served to conjure up images of her dressed in the gowns she wore when he first met her.

And it only further served to drive him wild.

Part of him wanted to as Smalljon said, claim her, especially when she moved close, her hands and body brushing against him. Even more so when she looked up at him with those doe eyes, acting almost as if she was innocent and unaware of the affect she had on him.

Robb wanted so badly to take her, every night his blood would pump furiously as his eyes followed her around the room, watching her lips move as she spoke. Sometimes he couldn't even remember what she said. Just intent on committing the sight of her lips moving in such an alluring way as she spoke.

But each and every night, just when he was about to take her, he would force himself to stop. Somehow, he imaged that when the Old Gods told him to forsake his honour, he doubted they meant it in that way.

"Grey Wind!" Margaery called out as the large Direwolf rushed off into the foliage.

"It's alright, my lady." Robb said as they continued to move along the River Road. "He's probably found a deer or some rabbit that he wants to hunt. He'll find us when we make camp."

"And when will we be setting camp?" Margaery asked, shifting uncomfortably on horse. She had ridden a horse before, many times in fact. Never as often or as long as she had since joining Garlan on his journey to meet Robb Stark.

"Why, are you uncomfortable, my lady?"

"I admit, I'm not quite used to travelling for so long on horseback. I was quite a…spoiled child growing up." Her teasing words seemed to make him smile which she was glad for, Margaery quite liked making him smile, even if it was only a small one.

"Perhaps, you should go riding more often."

Margaery smiled. "Is that an invitation, your grace?"

"It could be."

"Then I of course would be honoured."

The moment was broken when they heard the howling of wolves, followed by a deeper, stronger howl. The latter being one they were all familiar with.

As he heard the howls, Robb brought his horse to a halt and looked towards where they had heard the howls. "Your grace?" Ser Robar Royce asked, questioning why they were stopping. They had heard the howls as well, but they had also seen Grey Wind in action, they were more than confident that the Direwolf would be okay.

Tugging on his reins, Robb dug his heels into the side of his horse and started galloping in the direction of where the howls had come from. He rushed through the forest, the trees blurring past him as he focused on the connection he shared with Grey Wind, his personal guard struggling to keep up with their King.

Eventually he burst out into a small clearing to see Grey Wind staring up at another large wolf stood on a boulder with a number of smaller wolves surrounding it. Yet, Grey Wind was not growling or snarling, instead he whining as if recognising a long lost loved one.

It was when Robb took another look at the large wolf that he realised that it was not a wolf at all. But instead, it was as he realised with dawning realisation. One that despite being much bigger than he previously remembered, was one he recognised.

"Nymeria?" He muttered his voice carrying over the clearing and drawing attention to him.

The other wolves, including Nymeria snarled and growled at him, some moving forwards to him. But Grey Wind put an end to that, moving round and releasing a deep growl that caused the wolves to move back with whines of fear.

Not surprising because as big as Nymeria was, Grey Wind was bigger.

"Your grace!" Ser Emmon exclaimed as his personal guard burst in after him but Robb raised one hand.

"Stay your blades." He ordered firmly, dropping down from his saddle. To match him, Nymeria jumped down from the boulder, growling at him threateningly. As to appear less dangerous, Robb unbuckled his sheath letting it and his sword clatter to the ground.

He then took off his right glove and extended it out as he moved forwards slowly.

"Your grace, I must protest, it's not safe." Brienne spoke, warily looking at the wolves before her, one hand resting on her blade.

"Ah, it'll be fine. Don't you recognise what the big wolf is?" Smalljon asked.

"Feral?" Garlan quipped earning a few smiles.

"It's a Direwolf." Dacey spoke from beside Margaery. "And the only recorded Direwolves in Westeros south of the Wall…"

"…belong to House Stark." Margaery finished, turning back to look at the King to see him fearlessly walk forwards, not even flinching as the unidentified Direwolf snapped its jaws down, mere inches from Robb's fingers. The act caused many of Robb's personal guard to grip their blades anxiously, Margaery could even her the sound metal scrapping against the sheath as if they were about to unsheathe it fully.

"Nymeria, you recognise Grey Wind." Robb said to the she-wolf before him. "You must recognise me as well?"

Nymeria didn't growl, which Robb took as a good sign and as his hand landed on her snout, the she-wolf sniffed his hand. There was a few moments in which all she did was smell him, as if trying to recognise his scent once more and when she did, there was small whine that escaped her throat.

Smiling in relief, Robb reached round and took her large face in his hands and leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. It wasn't his sister, that much he knew, but just like Grey Wind it was a part of her and that felt like a victory to him. He was reunited with something connected to his sister and that elevated some of the guilt and sadness that had rested on his shoulders.

Then he found his mind elsewhere.

He didn't know where he was and it also passed too quickly for him to realise what was happening. But when it passed, Robb pulled his head away and stumbled back. He ignored the panicked shouts from his guard as he raised one hand to his face, eyes looking wide at Nymeria.

"Arya?" He whispered in shock.


Willas Tyrell moved calmly through the halls of Highgarden his cane tapping against the ground as he made his way out into the open gardens. Passing by the numerous servants and guards that stood vigilant, he eventually came out onto a small open space with a fountain in the centre.

Beside it, sat comfortably at a small table under a canopy was his grandmother, Olenna.

"Grandmother." He greeted, one Olenna returned with a smile she reserved for her grandchildren. "How are you?"

"Don't start with that, Willas." Olenna rolled her eyes and Willas smiled as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "What news do you bring for me then?"

"Well, it seems our plan to seduce the Young Wolf is taking far longer than we anticipated." Olenna paused as she went to take a drink, though she quickly resumed her task. "His honour and other responsibilities seem to keep him distracted to act on the obvious desires he has for Margaery."

"Hmm, it seems Robb is more honourable than his father. At least that man was capable of fathering a bastard despite having a wife already." Olenna muttered with a frown.

She was displeased with this news, but she was also displeased with herself more than her granddaughter. Olenna had thought that Robb would act like any young man and the moment presented with a beautiful, young woman would take her. His Stark honour would then force her to take her as his wife.

As it seemed though, the Young Wolf was actually capable of resisting Margaery's charms.

"There is some good news however." Willas continued. "Both Margaery and Garlan do say that Robb Stark has been spending more time with Margaery, she even visiting his chambers nearly every night, though it is simply to talk."

"Yes, but my dear granddaughter needs to move quicker. All it takes is for a more favourable option to come along, one that all his lords approve of and our plans will be ruined." What went unsaid was that it was highly unlikely that a better option would come along compared to Margaery. But Olenna's main concern was the lords of the North, they were prideful and the Starks had already married outside of the North once, they'd be very unwilling to accept another Stark marriage to a southern woman again.

Let alone the King.

"Well, it does seem that Margaery did think of that. It seems she has been spending a great deal of her time helping the injured soldiers of the North, including the lords." At Willas' words, Olenna paused once more as a smirk came across her face.

She had taught the girl well.


News of the Lannister's triumph over Stannis Baratheon had already spread over Westeros and with it the morale of the Westerland lords which had slowly been eroded over time, seemed to be boosted. Their fear of the Young Wolf had been once again overtaken by their fear of Tywin Lannister and so they fought back fiercely.

As a result, taking Banefort had proved especially difficult for Robb and his army.

Despite outnumbering the defenders ten-to-one, they had fought back ferociously and for the first time since their invasion into the Westerlands, caused heavy casualties for the invaders.

"Overall, the losses come to near fifteen hundred, your grace. Though I suspect many of our severely injured will succumb to their wounds." Lord Bolton calmly recited as he rode beside Robb as they trotted through the bloody streets of the seat of House Banefort. All around injured men groaned out in pain as physicians moved round to provide them aid.

"It was a costly victory." Robb noted, his eyes moving to watch as some of his men worked to lift the dead corpses onto wagons. They'd be loaded out and put onto large pyres so that on the morrow they could be burned. There was no time to dig a mass grave large enough for all the dead so burning was the most simple and the only way of disposing the bodies with some measure of dignity and pride.

"Indeed, your grace." Lord Bolton agreed. "I would suggest we hold off our plans to besiege Lannisport. If the last few days have been an indicator, it is that Tywin Lannister's victory at Kings Landing has revitalised the defenders. If we are not careful, we may found ourselves attacked from behind the Old Lion."

Robb shook his head. "Ser Garlan has already informed me that the remaining fifty thousand men of the Reach will be standing guard along the Mander to keep Tywin Lannister at bay. If the Old Lion does attack he will have to come North and with Harrenhall now under our control and with Lord Blackwood overseeing the defences then I am sure we can keep him occupied long enough for us to turn and meet him."

"Even so, the promised Reach reinforcements have not yet arrived, nor have they been spotted coming north to our aid at all." Beside Robb, Garlan tensed up in anger at the slight insult dealt to him and his people.

However, seeing this Robb gave a slight look to Garlan that kept the knight of the Reach silent despite his displeasure and anger. "You speak out of turn, Lord Bolton. The Reach have already reinforced our army with five thousand men and plenty of food."

Food that was being distributed all across the Riverlands, up to Lord Mallister's forces at Moat Cailin and all over the newly conquered lands of the Westerlands. When the food had arrived, Robb had made sure to give plenty to the smallfolk of the Westerlands just as his army received a large portion as well.

The people loved him for it and that was Robb's intentions.

Even so, he doubted it would be possible without Edmure's logistical expertise. The man was a subpar commander, but the mans new position of overseeing the supply lines were providing them with the necessary supplies had meant that Robb's army and growing kingdom was never without food.

'I will have to reward uncle for his work on that front. As important as winning battles are, making sure an army is well-provisioned is just as, if not more important.'

Beside him, Lord Bolton bowed. "Forgive me, your grace. I spoke out of turn. I did not mean to doubt the Reach's integrity I am simply pointing out the fact that as we are now, we will be unable to safely take Lannisport as we originally planned. The losses suffered at the Battle of Tumbler's Fall has meant we are now stretched thin."

As much as Robb hated to admit it, he could not deny that Lord Bolton was correct. They were stretching themselves thin. He had hoped with reinforcements from Lord Bracken that Lord Mallister would have been able to take Moat Cailin, but the fortress was living up to its reputation.

The castle had kept the Andal invasion at bay and had never been conquered. Even in its ruined state, the stronghold continued to keep any force from the south from passing.

Because of that, Robb was now suffering from a lack of troops and he couldn't take troops from anywhere else without leaving his rear dangerous exposed. But he also couldn't afford to halt his Westerland campaign for too long. While Robb had focused his attention on securing the northern half of the Westerlands, the south had fully secured itself and each castle had nearly a thousand men defending each.

Admittedly most were fresh recruits, but those recruits would become more dangerous and more disciplined with each passing day. Eventually it would be impossible to take the southern half of the Westerlands without a full army and it would take years. Even now Robb couldn't see a full conquest being done with the men had in a time span of less than at least a year.

But he couldn't afford to take so long to secure that part of the Westerlands as the main targets of Lannisport and Casterly Rock would continue to grow stronger and more secure till it would be impossible to take.

And all the while that happened, Robb would have to keep an eye on Tywin Lannister who would be waiting for that one moment to strike while replenishing the missing ranks of his army.

No, Robb's greatest advantage was speed and right now, things were looking like they were about to get more difficult unless the Reach arrived. He just hoped that nothing bad happened until that time arrived.

"Your grace," Robb turned to see Garlan looking at him firmly. "I promise you that my father and the Reach army will be here as promised."

"I do not doubt it, Ser Garlan." Robb responded. 'I just hope they arrive in time.'

As his mind thought on this, the group continued to make their way towards the Keep.

"Hold him steady!" A woman's voice ordered and Robb found his gaze turning to see a young woman, covered in blood ordering a group of soldiers to hold a struggling man down. His leg wound looked grievous and Robb wasn't blind, he knew that the leg was beyond saving.

But his gaze was not focused on the leg, but on the woman treating the soldier. She was a pretty girl, Robb could admit that, yet not the prettiest girl he had seen. No that honour went to another woman entirely.

However, despite that he found it difficult to take his gaze off her as he continued to make his way up to the Keep. 'So she is the one you showed me. The one who I lost a kingdom for. The reason you advised me not to go to the Crag.' And as he looked upon her, Robb found that he could not understand why he did so. 'Does love truly make us act like such fools?'

Turning away, Robb continued to move on, never once looking back.


The memory of the battle still rang clearly in his mind.

The sound of horses and men dying.

The clashing of steel.

The burning of ships.

Even the sight of the green flames of Wildfire burned vividly in his mind.

With a gasp, his eyes opened, his visions was blurry at first, but as time ticked by, he could make out the figure of Maester Pycelle. "Pod." He muttered quietly, his throat still sore and dry. "Pod!" He cried out louder, ignoring the almost unnoticeable smirk that came across the Maester's face.

The door opened and in-stepped Podrick Payne.

"Find Bronn, or Varys. Tell them I am here with Maester Pycelle." Laying back down, he looked up at the old Maester. "Tell them I am very much alive."

"Yes, my Lord." Podrick agreed easily, the sound of his shuffling feet sounding in the room as he left.

Maester Pycelle never once took his gaze of Tyrion who returned the favour. "Would you like something for the pain?"

"What happened?"

"The murder and traitor, Stannis Baratheon suffered a stunning defeat at the hands of your father." Tyrion looked around the room as the man spoke, looking around the room. Even so, the news that the victory was going to his father and not even a mention of him, irked something within Tyrion, a part of him he had thought had long since gone.

"Where am I?" He demanded.

"These are your new chambers. A little cramped perhaps, but you don't need much room do you?" Maester Pycelle took a great deal of pleasure when he said that and took even greater pleasure when he spoke next. "You are no longer Hand of the King." And as Maester Pycelle moved across the room, he paused. "Huh, for your trouble."

Reflexively, Tyrion caught the coin that was flicked at him as the Maester left the room.

Time passed by in which he waited silently, even when Varys arrived with Podrick, Tyrion was still silent as he considered over everything said to him. Varys spoke, seemingly taking no pleasure as he talked of how everything he had worked to achieve in Kings Landing had been undone by his father and sister.

The defence of the city and the glory that came with it was gifted to his father who arrived just in time to cause devastating damage to Stannis's rear, forcing the man to retreat. Bronn had been removed from his command and the Gold Cloaks were now in the hands of his father, the new Hand of the King. And the members of the Vale tribesmen had all returned home after being paid handsomely by his father.

Besides Podrick and Shae, he was well and truly alone in this city.

Even Varys had abandoned him, the Spider working had to secure his own position and in doing so, would need to distance himself from Tyrion.

"And what of the war?" Tyrion eventually asked as Varys was about to leave. "Surely father doesn't believe he can beat the Stark boy now that he has secured the Riverlands. Having Harrenhall was the only reason we still had a chance to win."

"Robb Stark suffered a terrible defeat at the Slaughter of the Tumbler's Fall. Lord Edmure Tully and his force of five thousand gave chase to Ser Gregor Clegane and were almost entirely annihilated. Since then, Robb Stark has been stuck at Sarsfield after his recent conquest of Banefort and the losses he suffered." Varys informed, temporarily shocked Tyrion, but the Imp doubted that would stall the Young Wolf for very long.

They had already received news of the Reach allying with Robb Stark. Very soon if not already, Robb Stark would be reinforced with tens of thousands of soldiers from the Reach and he'd back to waging war.

He said as much to Varys who simply gave the same, discerning half-smile he always gave.

"Your father has already been conscripting thousands of men from across the Crownlands and the newly subjugated Stormlands who have declared Joffrey the true King. Already your fathers army has doubled in size and more Smallfolk are coming in from all over to join the army, all lured with the promise of land to farm in the Westerlands and Riverlands. He has also hired a number of Sellsword companies from Essos, including the Golden Company." Varys listed.

It was the last one that surprised Tyrion the most. "How did he manage to get the Golden Company to agree, let alone all the other Sellswords? We're not exactly rich anymore."

"Your father promised plenty of riches that they could take from the Riverlands, Reach and the North." Varys said and Tyrion nodded his head, knowing full well that appealing to the greed of a Sellsword was a good way to earn their favour. Look at his 'friendship' with Bronn.

"And how many men is that in all?"

"In all? Over forty thousand." Varys answered after a moments deliberation.

Tyrion shook his head, despite being a large number, it wouldn't be enough. "The Reach have twice that number and don't forget Robb Starks own army which numbers over over twenty thousand should he choose to abandon his campaign in the Westerlands and to aid the North. We'll need far more men than that, especially with men like Robb Stark, Randall Tarly, the Blackfish and Jason Mallister. We are outmatched in both numbers, resources and also the quality of our commanders."

"Perhaps that would be the case if it wasn't for your plan to ally with the Dornish coming to fruition." Varys' smile grew wider this time. "Last I was aware, twenty thousand Dornish warriors were marching up the Princes Pass. The Reach have been forced to deploy fifty thousand of their soldiers to defend their borders against a possible combined attack on the Mander."

"That still leaves twenty-five thousand men unaccounted for." Tyrion pointed out.

"Indeed it does, but we are in a far more favourable position than before." Varys replied easily and Tyrion has to concede that it was the truth. Compared to their position before now, they actually had a chance at victory.


His breath was short and his body ached as he continued to rush back west up into the south eastern section of the Wolfswood. Resting momentarily against a tree, Rodrik took in deep heaving breaths as he looked down at the various light injuries he had suffered in the defence of Torrhen's Square.

Around him, the remnants of the Northmen under his command rushed by, barely five hundred in all. The rest all dead or captured by the Ironborn that now sat in the newly conquered castle of Torrhen's Square.

Taking another deep breath, Rodrik pushed off the tree and started moving through the woods.

With his army gone and Torrhen's Square now under the control of the Ironborn, that meant that Winterfell was dangerously exposed. Luckily, he had one thousand men still remaining at Winterfell and with those men, he should be able to defend against an Ironborn attack long enough for Lord Mallister in the south or Jon in the north to come to his aid.

And as Rodrik continued to move through the forest, he started to pick up the sound movement. Around him, men came to a halt as they too listened to the sounds and as they got louder and closer, they realised that it was the sound of galloping hooves.

'Reinforcements!' Rodrik internally exclaimed, a smile coming onto his face, turning to see in the distance as a group of cavalry men rushed towards them. The flag of House Bolton raised in the air. 'Are the east finally starting to move? If they do then this will become much easier. But those bastards should have come sooner.'

The western part of the North had been completely ravaged, hundreds of men, women and children killed or captured by the Ironborn. The east on the other half was untouched and with it, Rodrik had attempted on many occasions to raise another host.

There were hundreds of soldiers yet to have being raised simply because they were on the edge of the respective lands of their lords. It would have taken weeks for them to simply get to their lords castle and just as long to make sure that they were all properly trained and armed.

But Rodrik had hoped to hold the Ironborn long enough for the east to raise such an army, only for no reports or signs of the east doing so.

'But it seems I was wrong. The Bolton's, they came to our aid. There's still hope.' And as the smile on Rodrik's face grew and his men cheered at the sight of reinforcements, that's when he heard more galloping closing in on the sides.

He went to look in those directions only to hear a horn sound and watched the riders charging towards them, lowered their lances.

"Form ranks, the Bolton's have betrayed us!" Rodrik shouted, but it was too late as from the flanks, riders burst free and cut through what remained of Rodrik's army. The Bolton men charging from the front smashing through them.

It was over in a matter of moments, the already weakened and tired force under the command of Rodrik Cassel stood no chance against the fresh, mounted warriors of House Bolton.

And in the centre of the slaughter that was taking place around him, one Ramsay Snow watched on with a smile, a crow sat on his shoulder releasing a caw as its beady eyes watched on.

-X- Line Break -X-

Ducking under a swing, Jon slashed his blade at the Ironborn raiders stomach. Longclaw easily cut through the mans stomach and disembowelled the man as he dropped to his knees, Jon continuing round to parry a strike and lash out with a cut along another mans neck. Temporarily closing his eyes as blood squirted from the deep cut on the Ironborn's neck and got into his eyes.

Stumbling back, he wiped his eyes clear of blood just in time to see Ghost knock a man to the ground who had attempted to take Jon out in his vulnerable state. He heard more than saw the sound of Ghost tearing apart the man as he was once again busy defending himself against the never ending stream of Ironborn.

They had been occupying the Wolfswood for a good few weeks, scouts watching and reporting Ironborn movement. Then Jon and his small force of five hundred men would ambush the unsuspecting forces and slaughter them.

They did of course, did suffer losses, but they were few in comparison to the losses suffered by the Ironborn.

Even so, as Jon killed another man with a downward cut, he spun round to point his sword threateningly at the five others that had come up behind him. This force of Ironborn they had ambushed was by far the largest and it seemed, they had come prepared.

Originally, scouts reported an Ironborn force of one thousand moving into the forest as well as another two small forces of five hundred each moving up on either flank. The Greatjon had pointed out that it was obvious that they were baits and that they should fall back to Deepwood Motte.

That had been the plan and they had been making their way back to Deepwood Motte when suddenly they found themselves surrounded.

It was no more than a few hundred men, less than their own force. But it was enough to keep them occupied long enough for the rest of the Ironborn army of two thousand men to catch up.

Jon had seen how devastating ambushes could be, his smaller force of five hundred having annihilated enemy forces two times his number. But he hadn't quite appreciated just how nice it was to be the ambusher rather than the one being ambushed, at least not until he found himself in that very position.

He had quickly he realised that this battle was no longer one for victory, but one for survival.

As the five men in front of him rushed forwards to take him out, Jon centred his breathing and met the charge with one of his own. Outnumbered he may be, but Jon was a far better warrior. Even before fighting in a war, he was capable of beating many seasoned knights at Winterfell, now that war and battle had honed his skills and senses, Jon would not lose to men like these.

Especially not when he was defending his homeland.

Finishing off the last man with a thrust that pierced through the mans back, Jon pulled his blade free and took a quick survey of the battle. It was already lost with many attempting to flee.

But there were still many pockets of resistance, northern pride rearing its head as the men of the North fought with everything they could, even to their dying breaths. Just the sight alone was enough to make Jon forget his feelings of fatigue and continue fighting, just to match his men's determination.

However, that was halted when an arrow struck his shoulder and Jon collapsed to one knee. His eyes looking at the arrowhead peeking out of his right shoulder and reached round, snapping the back of the arrow.

As he did, he turned to see where the arrow came from and he needn't look far, his gaze instantly landing on the sight the smarmy face of a boy he grew up. A boy who had learned played, hunted and fought by the side of his brother and betrayed him.

With a snarl, Jon clutched Longclaw tightly and rose to his feet charging towards the Ironborn who was preparing another arrow. "Theon! I'll kill you, you bastard!" He roared in a way that was uncharacteristic for the usual solemn bastard son of Eddard Stark. But Jon didn't care, all he saw was red and charged towards Theon.


Theon Greyjoy looked around the battlefield with a slight smile of triumph, it was his plan after all that was unfolding before his eyes. He knew that it was Jon and the Greatjon leading the northern defence here and he had been raised alongside the former and fought by the side of the latter. He understood the way they thought and they way they'd act.

Jon was inexperienced, unlike he and Robb, Jon had never been taught to lead men. No doubt the entirety of his success was down to having experienced commanders like the Greatjon by his side.

As for the Greatjon, 'he's a simpleton, an oaf who only ever thinks of attacking, but at least has the sense to retreat when things are too difficult.' Theon scoffed.

It had been entirely too easy for him to come up with this plan.

And now, he was watching as one of the biggest obstacles in the path of his fathers conquest of the North being destroyed. And it was all thanks to him.

But as his eyes panned over the battlefield, he picked up sight of Ghost moving around and Theon knew from his battles by Robb's side that the Direwolf never strayed too far from their owners. And lo and behold, his eyes picked out the sight of Jon Snow, or would it be Stark now killing Ironborn.

Smirking, Theon notched an arrow into his longbow and pulled back the drawstring. Closing one eye, Theon took careful aim and after taking a deep breath released the arrow at the same time as he exhaled.

His aim was slightly off, the arrow only hitting Jon's right shoulder rather than piercing through his head like he had hoped.

Even so, as Jon looked to him, Theon prepared another arrow in preparation.

"Theon! I'll kill you, you bastard!" There was a moment in which Theon blinked, temporarily shocked by the outburst from Jon, but his usual cocky smirk came back to his face as he took aim.

The arrow was released and struck Jon in the left leg.

Preparing another arrow, he fired, but Jon had the sense this time to avoid it, diving into the mud to one side, just barely avoiding the arrow.

Clicking his teeth in annoyance, Theon fired again, and again, and again. All the while he moved backwards, he having positioned himself just at the far edge of the field in order to be away from the battle and safely pick off people one by one.

It was on his sixteenth arrow that Theon once again struck Jon, the former bastard just a little too slow in avoiding the arrow as it struck his side.

The cocky smirk that had slowly been dropping from Theon's face came back once more. This time, it was not Theon forced to fall back as he fired arrows, but Jon, the bastard having to keep dodging the arrows despite his culminated injuries making it especially difficult.

Another arrow was fired and struck Jon's left shoulder and knocking him to the ground in the mud.

But before the Ironborn could swamp the downed man, Owen Norrey burst forwards, breaking through a clump of Ironborn along with a number of tribesmen. He helped Jon to his feet and began fleeing the battle and Theon watched with a scowl, preparing another arrow in preparation to fire only to hear a battlecry to his left.

Eyes flickering that way, Theon saw the Greatjon and a small clump of his men that still lived fighting their way towards him. They were making excellent progress and as he looked back to where Owen and Jon were, he realised that they were too crowded for him to effectively kill the latter.

Instead, he turned his attention to the Greatjon and as soon as the big man burst through the line and stared murderously at Theon, an arrow struck the mans stomach.

Flashing the Greatjon a smirk, Theon pulled out another arrow.

At the same time, the Theon snapped the arrow with one hand and charged forwards intent on cutting him down. "Yer dead meat, you traitorous squid!" The Greatjon roared, uncaring as another arrow struck his chest and instead carried onto the charge at Theon who looked to be a little panicked at this point.


Catelyn struggled desperately in the grasps of the Bolton men dragging her through the halls of her home and into the Great Keep. There, at the head of the table sat the man who had attacked Winterfell, Ramsay Snow.

He had come unexpectedly, offering aid to the Starks and she had foolishly believed him, ordering the gates to be opened. And as soon as his men entered the keep, six hundred in all started slaughtering the unsuspecting men defending Winterfell.

Catelyn upon seeing this had turned tail and ran, trying to reach the Godswood where her sons, Rickon and Brandon were with Hodor and the Wildling woman, Osha. Only to be soon cut off by Bolton men and so, Catelyn had ran hoping to draw them away from the Godswood.

She didn't know if she had succeeded.

And as she was dumped on the floor, she looked up to see Ramsay looking at her with a smirk on his ugly face as he looked at her with ambition and hunger. "Lady Stark, welcome." And there was something in the way he spoke that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

The crow that had always sat on his shoulder, now on the table and looking at her with one beady black eye.

So another chapter done and with it, the war is heating up. Robb's campaign in the Westerlands has come to a halt with the troops he has been focused on defending the newly conquered lands and not enough troops capable of properly attacking the well-defended castles left. Not only that, but Tywin has started recruiting Smallfolk and Sellswords to replenish his ranks while the Dorne make their move.

And back in the North, Rodrik has been killed, Ramsay has taken Winterfell and Catelyn is now a captive. The fate of Rickon and Brandon is unknown while Jon has been forced to retreat after a crushing defeat at the hands of Theon.

Things are not looking good and the war is far from over just yet. Also, just want to clarify the ages a little. At the start of the War of the Five Kings, Robb and Jon are 15, Sansa is 12, Arya is 9, Bran is 8 and Rickon is 3. Now at this point in the war, Robb and Jon 16, Sansa is 14, Arya is 11, Bran is 10 and Rickon is 5. So they're all still very young.

Now for the army compositions as of the end of this chapter (also, this ~ means that they haven't been seen, are unaccounted for or are on the move).

Robb's Army (Total – 78,000 men ~ 25,000 men unaccounted for).

- Westerland Army (King Robb Stark) – 9,500 men.

- Harrenhall Army (Lord Tytos Blackwood) – 10,000 men.

- Moat Cailin Army (Lord Jason Mallister) – 4,500 men.

- Army Marching North (Lord Jonos Bracken) – 2,000 men.

- Deepwood Motte Army (Lord Brandon Norrey) – 500 men.

- Mormont Keep Army (Alysane Mormont) – 1,500 men.

- Manders Army (Lord Mace Tyrell) – 50,000 men.

- ~ Westerland Reinforcements (Lord Randyll Tarly) – 25,000 men.

Tywin's Army (Total – 40,000 men).

- Kings Landing Army (Lord Tywin Lannister) – 10,000 men.

- ~ Smallfolk Recruits (Ser Adam Marbrand) – 10,000 men.

- ~ Sellsword Reinforcements (N/A) – 10,000 men.

- ~ Golden Company (Harry Strickland) – 10,000 men.

Stannis' Army (Total – 19,000 men).

- Remnants of Main Army (King Stannis Baratheon) – 9,000 men.

- Stormlands Defence Army (N/A) – 10,000 men.

Balon's Army (Total – 13,000 men).

- Wolfswood Army (Theon Greyjoy) – 2,000 men.

- Torrhen's Square Army (Victarion Greyjoy) – 8,000 men.

- Most Cailin Army (N/A) – 2,500 men.

- Stony Shores Army (Asha Greyjoy) – 500 men.

Ramsay's Army (Total – 600 men).

- Winterfell Army (Ramsay Snow) – 600 men.

Dorne's Army (Total – 20,000 men).

- Princes Pass Army (Prince Oberyn Martell) – 20,000 men.

Now for the questions:

Stargaryen: Yes, that's the main problem. Some fics like to make Jon perfect and capable of anything when in actual fact, he can't. As much as I hated his character in the last season of GoT, they did an effective job at showing that he was a flawed character who didn't want to be a King. He never learned to lead men and he's been thrust into a position where he needs to lead men. Most of the time he's relied on the Greatjon for aid.

And thank you for understanding the vagueness of what I tried to convey. There was enough in the prophecy to act as a warning for Robb to allow him to prepare for that outcome. However, not enough to you know make him stop it all together. One thing I've gotten from the books is that these 'Gods' or otherworldly entities have limits in how much they can interact and influence people. This is why Robb could prepare for the Greyjoy Invasion, but not stop it entirely.

Blackstriker94: Yea, Dany/Jon pairing is overdone and as much as I love Ygritte/Jon as a pairing, with the current situation and political world that Jon finds himself in, such a pairing will no longer be viable. Also had no idea about that fan theory and I may or may not include it. If I can and make it work, I will but I won't try to over complicate things too much. Though it's definitely something I will consider, if you have any other suggestions do let me know, I'd love to hear them.

Freakdogsflare: Ah, yes Ned, forgot about him. Just kidding, Ned's appearance will be coming soon but his lack of appearance is for a reason other than suspense. As for the Reachmen, Robb's army would be around 100,000 but his army is spread out. They've taken heavy losses in recent engagements and bare in mind like I said before, they're spread out on three different fronts. He has the largest army by far, but he can't commit that full army to a single front. So his army while being large, can't be used to its full extent.

saint21: Not gonna lie, your comment got a laugh out of me.

miguelgiuliano. co: Can't do that I'm afraid, Jon is in the North and he's gonna stay there for a while because let's face it, the North is in bad shape right now.

Anyway, hope that cleared up any questions and if not, don't be afraid to let me know. Same with suggestions, I love to hear them and I love it even more when I can incorporate your suggestions into my story. But I won't be making promises as I don't want to overly complicate or convolute my story with so many plot points and ideas. I know how creative people can be.

Once again, thank and hopefully another chapter should be done and edited in the next few days.

Also, prepare yourselves, that's the only word of warning I'm giving you.