Blood and Winter

Chapter XVIII

Sifting through the reports, Robb placed them down on the table, reaching across to pour himself a glance of wine. As he did though, the wounds on his side protested at the movement, he wincing slightly, but nonetheless pushing through to pour himself a cup. One that he downed quickly before pouring himself another, resting the jug near him so as to not have to stretch out like that in the future.

'Things are finally looking up.' He thought, leaning back against the chair as he looked upon the sleeping figure of Grey Wind, the Direwolf littered with scars and in need of a good wash to remove the blood and mud stains that matted his fur. A stark reminder of just how much the young pup had changed, a reflection of just how much he had changed as well. 'But there's still one last obstacle in my path to peace.'

It was finally time, after all, that has happened, all the hardship and battles, it was finally time to head north and liberate his home. The news would serve to make the Northmen amongst his army become filled with joy and boost their morale at the thought of getting revenge for the destruction of their homes. Robb intended to feed into those emotions in the message he would spread throughout the camp, he wanted to head north with an army fuelled by rage and righteous anger.

An army that he would unleash to crush all the enemies he had left one after another in quick succession.

An army that would leave its mark as a reminder of why one did not anger the men of the North.

Hearing the part of his tent flaps, Robb looked to see several people entering, Daenerys and Garlan at the lead, each possessing their small group of allies to accompany them. 'Oh.' Robb thought, fighting to make sure the disappointment didn't show on his face. 'This isn't my last obstacle.'

He berated himself for forgetting that simple fact.

Even after he secured the North and brought an end to the War of Five Kings once and for all, it was not the end of his troubles. There was the aftermath of the war, the destruction and chaos it had caused amongst nobility and smallfolk alike. But most dangerously of all, the decision of who would be Queen and all the political machinations that would ensue as both sides fought to place either Margaery or Daenerys upon the throne.

"Yes, what is it?" Robb questioned, tired and drained by the battle he had just fought and the thought of what was to come. Aegon had been a true challenge, an equal that Robb had not expected to come face to face with and one who had very nearly come close to doing irreparable damage to his efforts.

Physically and mentally, he was drained.

The weight upon his shoulders at the thought of what was still to come was even heavier.

"We have come to ask what your next move will be, your grace?" Garlan asked, but Robb doubted it.

More than likely, Daenerys had been on her way to visit him, Garlan having seen this and made a likely excuse to ensure that he was in the same room as Daenerys. Feeding whatever she said and did back to his family, not that Robb couldn't understand his reasoning. Margaery was his sister after all and Garlan wanted to do all he could to protect her.

But he was surprised to see Dacey and Smalljon having joined him., not just Dickon and Randyll.

"I intend to march North and free my home," Robb told them firmly. "That was always my intention when the south had been secured and that has not changed. Lord Tarly, please prepare your host to march with me, we will depart at first light."

"Is that wise, your grace?" Dickon questioned, his father bowing lightly and departing. Robb did feel a little easier knowing that Lord Tarly was no longer present in the room, he was the only one Robb was wary of amongst his court, the only one he couldn't get a read upon. But he was taciturn and efficient, the fact he left straight away despite having just arrived was proof of that, then again, his son was still present and would feed back all information to him anyway.

Smalljon scoffed. "Wise? 'Course it fucking is. The King is a Stark, the Wolf King. If anyones gonna march north and liberate our home, it'd be him." Though clearly in support of Margaery as Queen, Smalljon's loyalty was first and foremost to him, which was a relief.

"I am simply saying that his father as Lord Paramount could lead the army back to the North, meeting with Randyll Tarly on the journey," Garlan suggested. "He should head to Kings Landing and be crowned King there, taking the Iron Throne."

Robb's gaze flickered to Daenerys, noting her pursed lips.

She wished to say something, but he took note of the slightest touch Ser Barristan placed on her arm, a minuscule movement that went largely unnoticed, but served to calm Daenerys to hold her tongue. That little act was something Robb was thankful for, he was far too tired to deal with arguments right now.

"I will do what I wish, Garlan," Robb stressed, the man who had been one of his closest aides and friends recognising his faults and bowing his head in apology. "And I wish to march back home and take my revenge against those who betrayed me. Or have you forgotten about what Theon Greyjoy did to me?"

"I have not, your grace, forgive me." Garlan apologised, stepping back. "I am simply suggesting that you make your victory in the south clear by taking the Iron Throne. Once you do that, marching North will be without worry of your kingdom falling apart."

Was that a threat?

Or perhaps a heartfelt worry?

Robb couldn't say, nor did he particularly care. Becoming King was never his intention nor his desire, so long as the North was secure then the rest of the Kingdoms could fall to ruin for all he cared. He would not waste more time trying to save a crumbling empire that could not stand without a King on its throne. The North had held strong and firm even without a Lord Paramount or its King, against three enemies it held firm.

If the south could not do the same then it was of no concern to him.

"Then I expect that you shall be able to ensure that is not the case," Robb spoke, raising a brow. "Or is that too much to ask of the lords of the south?" He was in no mood to watch his words, if they were insulted then so be it.

"I, yes, your grace." Garlan stuttered, understanding what Robb was hinting at.

Robb then turned to Daenerys. "Is there something you wished to add?"

Daenerys indicated to Ser Barristan who stepped forwards, bowing in greeting. "I understand your desire to return home, perhaps better than most." The sidelined glance to Garlan did not go unnoticed by any. "Which is why I would like nothing more than to help you liberate the North, but I do not believe Targaryens would be welcome there considering what my father did in the past. So, instead, I offer the aid of Ser Barristan, my closest advisor as a show of good faith."

Robb looked to him, Ser Barristan was someone that he held a great deal of respect for, and knew was a skilled commander, not quite on his level, but certainly better than most. However, he knew the real reason Ser Barristan was being offered to him, it was nothing more than a political manoeuvre on Daenerys part, just as Garlan had wanted him to come to Kings Landing.

He was surrounded by political agendas, part of their intricate schemes and Robb did not like it one bit. This was not like war, not the war he was used to anyway and Robb found himself already on the back foot.

Despite that, he put on a smile, as he always did with these false pleasantries. "I thank you for your kind gesture, Daenerys." The omission of the title of Queen did not go unnoticed by any, but Robb refused to name anyone Queen, not even Margaery. "I am well aware of Ser Barristans exploits and he will be of great aid in this final theatre of war. I do wish you well on your journey to Kings Landing, and I do hope you and Margaery get along well."

Garlan had smiled when he heard Robb not referring to Daenerys as Queen Daenerys. The woman herself, frowning deeply, as did her supporters. The omission of the title of Queen for Margaery removed that small smile, as it removed the frowns from Daenerys.

He would not name a Queen, Margaery and Daenerys were his wives and the selection of Queen was something he could not and would not rush. Until the war was done, he was the sole ruler of Westeros, there would be no Queen and even afterwards, Robb doubted he would be able to make a decision that would ensure peace.


Leaning back, Daenerys rested her body against the warm, scaley body of Drogon, looking up to the clear sky above with a frown upon her beautiful face. They were already making their way down the King's Road towards Kings Landing, Robb having begun the long march north. Despite their victory over Aegon Targaryen, there was still much to do and as Daenerys was beginning to realise, the fighting was far from over.

Even though the war might come to an end, Daenerys would then have to battle against the Tyrells. Her position in Westeros was unstable and Margaery already had a headstart upon her, she was disadvantaged and Daenerys had no idea how to turn it around.

Westeros was not like Essos, something she was becoming uncomfortably familiar with.

"Your grace, it is time for us to get ready to depart once more," Tyrion informed her, his diminutive size almost completely dwarfed in the shadow of Strong Belwas.

'And another day of marching begins.' Daenerys thought to herself, rising to her feet. They had suffered many losses in the battle against Aegon Targaryen, he had not gone quietly or easily, he made them all pay for victory in blood. His unorthodox and shocking tactics had resulted in heavy losses for all sides.

Aegon's force was almost completely destroyed, just shy of ten thousand Dornish surviving, many of which were severely injured. The Golden Company faired better than most, coming into the battle with ten thousand men and losing nearly three thousand men throughout the battle. In the aftermath though, many of the survivors were in varying states of injury, not as bad as the Dornish thanks in part to the armour the Golden Company possessed, but they had been bloodied and battered harder than they ever had in recent years. But his army, was riddled with the injured and it was suspected that many more would die on their journey south, many already had.

Daenerys forces had suffered the most, her cavalry was gone completely. Her Unsullied cut down to half of their original number. She had gone in with twenty thousand and come out with just over ten thousand.

Robb had suffered the least when it came to losses, his thirty thousand men still numbering over twenty thousand. However, just like Daenerys, many of that number were severely injured.

As a result of those injuries, it had made their journey south slow going. Their force was made up of her remaining force as well as Robb's, numbering over thirty thousand, accompanied by the near eighteen thousand men of Aegon's forces. In most cases, they would have already arrived at King's Landing by this point, but with the prisoners and the injuries of their soldiers, they had to move carefully and slowly.

"I have been thinking, your grace," Tyrion said, breaking the silence that had befallen them. "On how we might progress from this point on."

Daenerys hummed, indicating for him to speak.

"We will be arriving at Kings Landing tomorrow, I would recommend that the flag to lead our force should not be the Targaryen flag, but House Starks' instead. Certainly, we are the ones arriving and not the King, but if we do display our flag at the head of this army, it could be seen as you taking Kings Landing, rather than Robb Stark." Tyrion explained, knowing full well that it was a minor thing, something hardly to be worried about. However, he knew from experience that the little things like this could be the most important.

"Have the Targaryen flag displayed behind it." He continued. "Show that you and Robb Stark are not enemies, but also show that you recognise him as King. We are disadvantaged, the Tyrells have been allied to Robb Stark far longer than we have. If we are to have a fighting chance, at the very least, we must ensure that the King does not change his stance. So far, he has chosen not to support neither you nor Margaery for Queen. We must make sure that he remains in such a position."

"And displaying our flag at the head or beside him, could be seen as undermining him?" Daenerys questioned, having never thought of it that way.

Tyrion nodded his head. "It is a minor detail, but it is details like those that the lords and ladies will pick up on and use to their advantage, especially the Tyrells. In order to give you the best chance, we need to give them nothing."

Daenerys nodded, seeing the good sense in that. "After that though, we will need to focus on gathering the support of the lords of the realms. You said we had the support of the Crownlands, no?"

"We do." Tyrion agreed. "Though many would not choose you over Robb Stark, they will support you over Margaery. I have even received letters from various lords of the Riverlands, each pledging their support to you." That made Daenerys smile, she knew full well that getting the lords to choose her over Robb would be difficult, especially the Riverland lords. However, the Riverlands had always been heavy supporters of House Targaryen, Robert's Rebellion being a rare exception to the case.

But as Daenerys was beginning to realise, her father had brought such an outcome upon himself. She could not begrudge them for choosing not to serve a mad king, she would not either.

"Right now though, Margaery is in a far more favourable position," Tyrion spoke, repeating something Daenerys already knew. "She has the support of the Reach that is mostly untouched by the war. She also has the support of a few Riverland lords like Lord Marq Piper and some of the northern lords like Lord Smalljon Umber. Yet it is only a slight lead, many lords are choosing to wait and see how things progress. Or simply have no care for it."

The North was one such example of that.

Many were more focused on returning home and securing their lands to care about who was Queen. Nor had Tyrion heard them having much care for any southern woman being Queen, so that was good news. Margaery did not have the full support of the North who only seemed interested in seeing Robb become King.

However, the Vale, the Westerlands and the Stormlands were waiting to see who would take the lead. The Westerlands from what Tyrion could tell leaned more towards Margaery who had been helping to fix the damage Robb's invasion had caused. However, it was not perfect, those in the south who had been hit by Randyll Tarly seemed completely unmoved.

There was an opportunity there.

"No doubt the Stormlands will choose to support Margaery," Daenerys muttered.

Tyrion smiled. "I don't know." He told her. "I believe the Tyrells will be focusing their efforts upon the Westerlands and the Vale. Margaery is already working upon those in the north of my homeland, but the south which was hit by the Reach won't be so happy about her. But in time I imagine they will cave and choose to support her. But I believe the Tyrells will focus most of their efforts upon the Vale."

"The Vale? Why?"

"Because they are rich in iron and quite heavily in debt," Tyrion admitted, it was precisely why Petyr Baelish had been able to become the de facto ruler of the kingdom, manipulating and using the debts of the various lords to his advantage. Many of the Vale Lords had invested heavily in mines, digging deeper and deeper to try and find new iron veins. It cost huge amounts of money, money which they didn't have.

"So, the Tyrells will attempt to use those debts to gain the support of the Vale lords?" Tyrion nodded his head at her words. "But you don't seem overly bothered by that, why?"

"Because despite the Reach's best efforts to hide it, they are reaching their limits." The Imp said simply with a growing smile. "They've been exporting food out to Robb's kingdoms since the moment they bent the knee. While they are certainly rich in fertile land, the Reach does not have an endless supply of food and they are reaching that limit. While you were waging battle against Aegon, I was visiting a nearby village. Funny thing really, the supplies they've been getting courtesy of Robb Stark and the Tyrells have been getting progressively smaller and smaller each time it arrives."

The thought brought a smile to Daenerys lips. "And without food, they can't buy the support of the smallfolk." She deduced, Tyrion nodding. "We should take advantage of that then." Not for the first time, Daenerys made a note to reward Ser Bronn for making her see reason. She doubted that she would feel as confident as she did now if not for Tyrion being at her side, as much as she did not like him.

"I have already dispatched a raven to Mereen. In it, I have requested on your behalf that Darrio begin to prepare shipments of food to be shipped here. As well as some of the riches of Slaver's Bay." Tyrion explained, having already made a move. He knew it was risky to do so without permission, but he couldn't wait.

They would arrive at Kings Landing before the Tyrells who were probably still at Riverrun. There was a lot of work to be done and they had to move quickly before the Tyrells could solve and find solutions to their weaknesses. Luckily for him, Daenerys seemed to realise this and while displeased that he moved without informing her first, was pleased with his plan.

"Allow the Tyrells to set the groundwork in the Vale," Tyrion told her. "Use the food to secure the Stormlands and the smallfolk. The riches to buy the lords of the Westerlands not already in support of the Tyrells and we now have new opportunities available to us." He indicated to the Dornish prisoners. "The Reach and Dorne have never been friendly with one another, and Robb has already helped us by raising doubts about Aegon's lineage. All we have to do is feed upon those doubts."


Stepping forth, Jon parried the downward swing of the blade, coming back around with a slash to the man's back as he spun, grabbing him by the throat and piercing his sword right through the man's chest. Pushing his foe away, Jon watched as Ghost leapt through the air, jaws snapping around the neck of another Bolton soldier, ragging the body around, blood splashing through the air till flesh and bone broke away, head dropping to the ground.

Yet Ghost did not stop, eyes locking onto another target and bound through the battlefield towards its prey. Jon himself moved in and slashed away at a spearman, Valyrian steel blade cutting through the wooden spear, Jon coming back up, cutting deeply into the man's chest who fell back with a cry.

Stabbing his blade down through his chest, Jon was suddenly knocked to the ground when Owen Norrey and Tormund Giantsbane, both men wielding large axes as they fought against the group of Bolton men, but also against one another. The two fought to see who could kill the most enemies and did so with large smiles on their faces. In fear of these two men, the Boltons fled backwards and a few so happened to knock into Jon, many collapsing as a result.

It was a slaughter, just like it always was.

Tormund and Owen continued on as Jon pushed aside the bodies atop of him and rose up. The battle had been won, another in a recent string, but Jon felt no closer to victory. No matter how many Boltons or Ironborn he killed, the war seemed no closer to ending than when it had begun.


Taking the letter given to him by his squire, Ryon Forrester, Jon opened it up as he stood in the main hall of House Mormont. All around him, the Castellans and in some cases, Lords of the North all stood around talking amongst themselves. Each provided possible ideas for their next target or how they could lure out Stannis Baratheon.

The Wolfswood had seen the most bloody of conflicts in the entirety of the northern campaign. It was effectively under the control of neither the Starks, Ironborn or Boltons, but something they all fought over. The vast amounts of land, the largest patch of fertile land in the North as well as the main hunting ground was a valuable resource that would give whichever side claimed it a huge advantage.

It was why the fighting was so fierce and bloody.

Yet Jon's plan was working, certainly, he and the Starks openly engaged with the Boltons and Ironborn at times, to avoid suspicion. The majority of the time that he and his forces engaged the Boltons or Ironborn, it was by dressing up and pretending to be one of them. He fed the hatred that the Ironborn and Boltons shared for one another as they fought for control of the Wolfswood, but he also made his own forces openly get involved. If he didn't, it was possible that one side may grow suspicious and suspect them to be behind it.

Unlikely though it may be, it was a chance Jon would not take, not with how the war had gone in the past. He had been inexperienced then, unprepared and unable to step up when he was needed most, to adapt quickly to the changes of war and the tactics of his enemies. Jon was no longer that man anymore and he would do what was necessary in order to win.

However, while the Ironborn and Boltons fought with one another, he fed that hatred further, it was not enough, not yet. The Ironborn in the north around Deepwood Motte and the Northern Mountains only came down in groups of a few dozen, that was how most conflicts were fought. Setting out in small hunting parties that often clashed with other small hunting groups from the Boltons and those his own men were disguised as. The same was the case for the Ironborn in the south, by Torrhen's Square, their parties larger, but still small so as not to waste soldiers in a failing endeavour.

The Boltons were similar, but they were becoming fewer and fewer by the day, Jon found that the number of Bolton hunting parties they came across dwindled by the day. It was clear that the Boltons were either losing too many soldiers or unwilling to push deeper into the Wolfswood. Today had been the first Bolton party they came across in days and it had been a large one, Jon expected it would be the last one they saw for a while.

Despite all that though, the Ironborn of Torrhens Square were mostly content to remain where they were. They had access to the Saltspear and with it the fish and sea life that they could use to feed themselves, though as his scouts reported, fights were common amongst them. Food was still scarce and the Ironborn were a thuggish rabble, turning on one another for just a few extra scraps of food. A dangerous thing when at this point in the war, the Ironborn needed to be united, not divided.

The problem was, that the North wasn't a prosperous kingdom and so, the Ironborn were fighting amongst themselves over the scraps.

That was good news at least.

But what wasn't good news was the movement or lack thereof from Stannis at the Wall. Despite rising tensions between his soldiers and the Night's Watch, it had not yet devolved into infighting just yet. Nor did Jon expect it would, the Baratheons had too many men and from the letters, Sam had sent him, the soldiers were training every day.

'At least there is some good news.' Jon thought as he read through the letter. 'Robb has defeated the Targaryen, Aegon and is allied with Daenerys.' How those things came about was a mystery to him, but at this point, Jon did not care. Robb was finally coming North and this war would be coming to an end very soon.

Certainly, he would have liked to have presented a unified and free North to Robb, but Jon was no fool. He knew that with Stannis at the Wall, it would be impossible to accomplish such a thing. The Wall was designed in such a way that it could be manned by a few men and still be incredibly difficult to besiege. It was why the Wildlings had failed in the past and still had failed. Stannis with his army was in a position of strength in the North, so long as he remained on the Wall removing him from it would be all but impossible.

However, Jon knew and would ensure that he would present Robb with Winterfell at the very least.

The second letter gave Jon all the hope he needed to see that dream come to fruition. A compiled report of scouts all across the North, containing the information that Jon had desperately been hoping to receive time and time again.

"Lords, Castellans, Chieftans," Jon spoke, the idle chatter continuing. "Lords, Castellans, Chieftans." He spoke louder this time, chatter slowly dying out as they all turned to him, Jon raising the two letters up in one hand. "In these letters, I bring good tidings, the war will soon be over."

There was silence following his proclamation before cheers sprang up, fists banging against the table and goblets were raised in celebration. Jon smiled along with them all, trying to retake control of the room, there was still much work to be done, but it was good to see smiles on their faces again. The room had been filled with dour and downtrodden looks for too long.

"Aye, it's good news, excellent news," Jon exclaimed over the loud cheers, bringing control once more. "My brother, King Robb has defeated the Targaryen King, Aegon and has allied himself with Queen Daenerys." There were some mutterings at that, deep frowns, but it could not quell the overall feeling of joy at the thought of the war nearing its end. "And he now marches North, bringing with him sixty thousand soldiers."

That proclamation brought with it another round of cheers.

Jon himself, smiling largely, kept a close look upon the faces of the Wildlings Chieftans. They were worried, all of them were. As Val had revealed, Jon was right, despite possessing a horde of over a hundred thousand, only around thirty thousand were actual warriors. Robb was now marching north with a force over double in size. Not to mention the near ten thousand scattered across the North, mostly on the eastern coast.

"We could wait." Jon continued. "Let King Robb come North and sweep over our enemies like a tidal wave. But I say we gift him with a prize greater than anything, the seat of House Stark, Winterfell."

Nods and murmurs of agreement sprung up. "Our plan to sow dissent and hatred between the Ironborn and Boltons has finally borne fruit. Right now, the Ironborn in the north, at Deepwood Motte and Ironrath are now marching south, their numbers only a few hundred. The Boltons are abandoning Winterfell and sending troops back to the Dreadfort. And the Ironborn stationed at Torrhens Square are moving south in droves, back to Barrowtown and Goldgrass."

"We will not let this opportunity pass us by," Jon said firmly. "We will ambush the Ironborn still in the Wolfswood and kill them all before they have a chance to get on their boats." They had already burnt or stolen much of their ships, the remainder of them being positioned south of Sea Dragons Point. It would take the Ironborn days to reach them at which point, Jon and his forces would have already ambushed them.

"Then we make haste to Torrhen's Square, we will besiege that city and retake it. All the while Lord Bracken shall retake Winterfell and Lord Manderly and the forces of the east lay siege to the Dreadfort." Here Jon looked to the young Castellans of House Glover and Forrester, Gawen Glover and Ryon Forrester. "In the meantime, we will need to ensure that Stannis Baratheon can not expand his control over the north further than the Last Hearth like he already has. We will need to ensure that the defences of Deepwood Motte and Ironrath are destroyed, do I have your permission?"

The two looked to one another, then at the faces around them before back to Jon. "Yes." The two agreed, though uncomfortable at the choice, that they would rather see the seats of their families destroyed than in the hands of someone else. At least this way, only the defences would be destroyed and they could be rebuilt with time.

"Good, then let us begin."


Looking upon the reports, Ned allowed himself to smile lightly for the first time in a long time. The war was approaching its end, Aegon Targaryen was defeated, Daenerys was their ally, and the south was secure. Robb was now marching north with sixty thousand men, intending to end the war once and for all. Above all else, Arya was safe, accompanying Robb.

It was a relief to him, a major weight falling off his shoulders that allowed him to breathe more easily. His family would never be the same, Ned knew that, but at least this way, those still alive would be safe and united once more.

Even the knowledge of Robb's oncoming marriage to Daenerys and the political strife that he would be exposed to when ascending to the throne was momentarily set to the wayside as he imagined embracing his family outside of war. When peace was restored, and for just a little while, they could pretend to be a family again.

Hearing his tent part, Ned looked to see Willas hobbling his way in. "Willas, how is your sister?" He questioned, concerned about the state of his daughter-in-law. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, soon to give birth to another Stark that would mend the holes left behind by those lost throughout the course of this war.

"Tired, my lord," Willas admitted, leg extending as he sat down, the two cripples sitting across from one another. "The journey was taxing upon her and she has been restless recently. She is sleeping now though, which is good news."

Ned nodded his head in agreement. "That is good news indeed." The smile on Ned's face soon slipped as he asked the question that had been on his mind for some time now. "Are you displeased that Robb has agreed to take Daenerys as his second wife, and denied both her and Margaery the position of Queen?"

Willas did not answer right away, then chuckled humourlessly, nodding his head. "I will not deny that yes, my family and I are displeased by this. But if one is to look at this objectively and the choices Robb had available to him, it was the best decision to make to bring a swift end to the war."

Daenerys had twenty thousand men that had accompanied her from Westeros, many of which were Unsullied whose reputation had even carried across the Narrow Sea from Essos to Westeros. A reputation that had been proven true during the Battle of Wolves and Dragons when they single-handedly disrupted the charge of Aegon's entire cavalry force. One that had quickly become known as one of the most devastating cavalries in Westerosi history, surpassed only by the Vale.

But above all else, she had three Dragons, beasts that ruled the skies and all that lay below them. Beasts that breathed fire and were wrapped in scales that made them impervious to arrows. Who moved at speeds surpassing the swiftest of horses and caused destruction greater than any army. They had been small when arriving, no bigger than a pony, still terrifying, but small and young. But they were still growing and armies did not move quickly and Westeros was a big place. It was that time that allowed them to grow and while exact proportions of the beast were unspecified, ranging from full-grown horses to the size of bears, it was all unknown.

Yet they had proved their devastating power during the Battle of Wolves and Dragons, causing mass devastation that reduced thousands to ash. The only thing that had held them back was the rider, the Mother of Dragons herself.

Aegon himself was a young ruler who had come across the Narrow Sea with the Golden Company, the most dangerous fighting force in existence with ten thousand well-trained, heavily armoured and skilled soldiers. A Sellsword Company that had fought in some of the fiercest conflicts in Essos and possessed a well of experience that no army in Westeros could match. A few hundred had managed to not only fight a few hundred Lannister elites but also Stark and Vale elites and gain the upperhand at the end of the Bloody Antlers.

Yet their secret weapon had been held back, the strange beasts bigger than any horse and just as terrifying as the Dragons that stampeded across the ground that shook with each stomp of its legs. They trampled underneath everything in their path, a large trunk swinging out and sending broken bodies flying through the sky as all was crushed in its path.

They had devastated the Unsullied's valiant defensive efforts, one that had proved hauntingly effective at disrupting Aegon's cavalry charge but had proved ineffective at halting the elephants.

Yet Aegon also possessed the warriors of Dorne, the finest spearman in all of Westeros whose spear wall had proven deadly effective against all foes. All were under the command of the only one that had proved equal to the greatest military genius in Westeros, the Wolf King himself.

Both Aegon and Daenerys made up for the lack of troops with their quality of them. Robb had recognised that and sought to negotiate, not only to bide time but also, at the very least, to ensure that if the war must continue, Daenerys and Aegon would not ally together against him. Victory would be impossible if Robb would face such odds, especially when lords switched sides in order to preserve their own positions in life.

Robb had negotiated, finding that no agreement could be reached, not one that was favourable and succeeded in dividing Aegon and Daenerys apart. Yet that was not perfect, there was nothing to stop Aegon and Daenerys from putting aside their differences and allying with one another in the future.

However, even if they did remain divided, the victory he would gain would be a hollow one. Defeating one ruler would be simple, but he would be weakened, damaged and still have another ruler to contend with. Victory would be gained, but it would be a pyrrhic victory.

Daenerys and her advisors recognised this and used this to their advantage, Willas could admire them for that, begrudgingly so. The Mother of Dragons would accept one of two compromises, Robb or one of his lords. However, that was their trouble arose, Robb couldn't marry her off to another Stark because Daenerys would accept no Stark other than Robb. Nor could he afford to gift her to one of his lords, for they would then be given command of the Dragons.

"So we are in agreement on that then?" Ned noted, Willas taking note of his own displeasure at the arrangement.

"You do not like the marriage either?" Willas questioned.

Ned shook his head. "I always knew that by becoming King, my son would be exposed to all the political machinations that take place in such an environment. I myself have discovered that northern politics is vastly different to southern politics. As Lord Paramount of the North, I fear that my King will become just like Robert Baratheon. As Lord of House Stark, I fear that my Heir will perish and suffer just like every Stark that has stayed in the south for too long. As a father, I fear that my son will not survive to have a family of his own."

"You believe he is not ready?" Willas thought with a hum. "While I understand what you say and can say with certainty that your claims are not unfounded, they are not completely true. Personally, my interactions with your son have been limited, but even to Margaery and Garlan, his ambitions are unknown. Your son is an enigma, one that no one seems to fully understand or be able to predict what he will do. That to me sounds like someone who is more than capable of surviving."

'Though there is a saying, the lone wolf dies while the pack survives.' Willas thought, not voicing such words to the Lord of House Stark. He doubted that was Robb's intention, it just seemed to unlike him, but then again, he didn't fully understand the King, no one did.

"I've seen him in person, he's always watching, listening, learning. He studies everyone, and scrutinises their every action and word." Willas said, then smiled. "He also has House Tyrell at his back, we shall support the King in every way we can."

There was silence.

"You do not have a wife, do you?" Ned asked, surprising Willas at the sudden shift in conversation.

Nonetheless, he shook his head. " I do not, unfortunately, though I do have some suitors to consider when the war ends. Why do you ask?"

"Could you have not married Daenerys Targaryen?"

Willas smiled sardonically, looking to the ground. "I imagine it was considered by Robb for a short while when the Imp proposed that to him. However, things are not that simple. We could certainly contain Daenerys influence for some time, after all, we would not wish for her to take Margaery's position as Queen. But, the Reach does not unanimously follow Robb, not willingly."

"Because of his religion," Ned stated simply, knowing full well of the animosity many lords possessed for the North and their following of the Old Gods.

Willas nodded his head. "Indeed. We have many houses in the Reach that are devout follows of the Seven, they follow your son simply because he is winning the war and we demand it. We, House Tyrell, have no desire to remove Robb as King as they no doubt would wish to see it happen, especially considering he has expressed no desire to convert, continuing to pray to the Old Gods. If I was to marry Daenerys, it would bring her close to those who would wish to see Robb killed and by extension, Margaery."

"There is that risk throughout." Ned pointed out.

"Certainly, that is true. But the impact of the war has not been as harshly felt in the Reach as it has throughout the rest of the realm. I know that there are houses in the Riverlands that are considering or already have converted to the Old Gods, such as House Bracken and House Mallister." Willas imagined it was less out of actual belief but more as a show of good faith and incentive to the King to reward them generously. "The Reach will be able to get back on its feet much quicker than the rest of the realm and when it does, if I was to have married Daenerys, they would make far more overt and dangerous moves before the rest of the realm is ready."

"At least in Kings Landing and married to Robb, it provides more time."

Before things could continue though, the tent parted and in stepped a few guards, accompanied by Lord Beric Dondarrion.


As Lord Beric Dondarrion pushed him up the hill, Eddard closely watched his surroundings, the guards around him, both his own and those belonging to Beric's Brotherhood without banners. He did not know precisely why they were going to the top of his hill, nor who it was that Beric said wished to meet him.

However, despite Willas' protest and his own reluctance, Eddard went all the same.

He did not know if he was walking into a trap, but he could not describe the feeling within him. There was something here, something that made his bones ache, he just knew it. He was possessed by a need to go, and had felt it from the moment he came here, but it was something he could no longer ignore.

"Are we walking into a trap, Lord Beric?" Eddard questioned, never taking his eyes off his surroundings, trying to spot any sign of enemies hiding in wait.

"Do you not trust me, Lord Eddard?"

"It is difficult to know who to trust these days, Lord Beric." He replied simply. "Everyone has their own agendas and whereas in the beginning, the loyalty of some men could be assured, now everyone has changed sides. Their loyalties shift from one King to the next, it is difficult to tell friend from foe these days. So which are you, Lord Beric? Friend or foe?"

"A friend," Beric assured, though Eddard took little comfort from it.

He had trusted Lord Baelish after all and that had plunged the entire realm into chaos, ripped apart his family and forced them all to undergo hardship that he had tried and failed to protect them from. Eddard had always believed in the good in people, working under the belief that by showing kindness and placing his trust in someone, naturally, they would return that kindness and trust.

It was clear to him now, that was not the way this world worked and he could not help but curse himself for being so naive. Because of him, his wife and sons were missing, his daughters, shaken to the core and his son, forever changed and haunted by the decisions he had been forced to make. Sansa and Arya were the only two that resembled their old selves, but it was clear they had been hardened by what they had undergone. Robb was forever changed, the boy he had been, nowhere to be seen and lost. Eddard feared to see what had become of Bran, Rickon and Catelyn. Nor did he know what had become of Jon, would he be the same or different from everyone else?

"So you say." Eddard's response was sharp, Beric frowning lightly as they began to crest the hill.

There, greeting them was an old, short woman, a gnarled black cane by her side as she rested against the trunk of a tree. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, hair as white as snow and eyes a deep red in colour that seemingly stared right through them all.

"Lord Eddard, I must ask that your men stay here while we meet with her." Beric requested, Eddard looking at him, before nodding his head, giving the order to his men as Beric did the same to his own.

Eddard then looked back to the old woman as Beric began to push him towards her. "This is who wished to see me?" He questioned.

"It is," Beric answered. "The Ghost of High Heart, I do not know her real name nor where she comes from. But I know of what she can do, the mysterious powers she wields. She foretold of the War of Five Kings, though at the time, I did not believe her words, not fully. Be careful though, with what you do with the words she speaks. She speaks in riddles, only telling part of the truth and not the entirety of it."

Nodding his head, Eddard clasped his hands together, the two of them coming to a stop before the woman. It was only then that Eddard realise that the woman was not sitting against the tree, instead, she was standing, resting her back against it. She was small, incredibly so, no larger than three feet tall.

"You wished to speak with me, Ghost of High Heart?"

"I did." The Ghost responded, her red eyes unnervingly never blinking once as she stared at him. "Lord Eddard Stark, a man destined to die, yet still alive. Now you wander the world, unbound by the shackles of fate, just like your son. Two destined to die and yet, still alive."

Eddard said nothing in response, frowning deeply as his fingers tightened. He could tell when he was meant to die, in that dungeon of Kings Landing, or perhaps, executed at the hands of Joffrey. The fact he had gotten out of there alive had been a miracle, but what Eddard did not know, was when his son was meant to die.

Nor which son she was speaking of.

"Is that all you had to say?" Eddard pressed, looking at Beric slightly.

"Nay." The Ghost shook her head. "My dreams have changed and it is all due to the father and son that still live."

Eddard scoffed. "Dreams? You had me come to you in order to speak of dreams?"

"I dreamt of a stag, its horns buried into a wolf and shedding its skin to reveal a golden lion. I dreamt I saw the lion and the wolf clashing as a stag upon a field of flowers is struck down by shadows revealing a burning stag." Her words were like riddles, and Eddard beginning to understand what Beric was saying. "A Kraken that rose from the depths to drag a wolf into the ocean. A wolf with its skin flayed, entering into blue towers. That was what I dreamed, but now they have changed."

"Do you know what she is speaking of?" Beric asked, his voice alluding to what he already knew.

It didn't take long though, for Eddard to understand. "The War of Five Kings."

"As it should have gone." Her words were sharp, leaving no chance of a misunderstanding.

"Then my son, Robb was meant to die in the blue towers of House Frey?" Eddard realised, having spent many a time as he scoured the Riverlands for Lord Baelish, familiarising himself with the sigils of each house. The blue towers of House Frey were ones he had studied closely and he knew what she was alluding to instantly, but the flayed skin, that confused him. "And the wolf, killed by the stag that revealed itself to be a lion? That was me?"

Beric nodded his head. "Yes, I believe so myself. But as she said, it was how the war should have gone, things are different."

"Two dead men, still alive in this world," Eddard muttered, looking to the Ghost of High Heart once more. "Then what do your dreams show you now?"

"There is no beginning nor end, only an image, a single moment." She said. "Three dreams I have dreamt and each I awoke from the terror. I dreamt of a crowned wolf devouring the world covered in ice and fire, a girl whose heart was as dark as shadows with a face that forever shifts and changes at his side. I dreamt of crowned wolf wielding two swords of brilliant light that battles against the night. I dreamt of a wolf, with skin as pale as the snow atop his head a crown of ice like the beings that kneeled before him and when his eyes open, the world freezes."

The Ghost of High Heart looked at him and when he did, there was the first hint of emotion that he had seen from the woman, fear.

"You have a choice before you, Lord Eddard." She spoke, the fear never once subsiding from her gaze that never once wavered. "There are two, two who Those That Came Before have chosen to place upon the board. But one must be bound by shackles once more, you must choose, whether to be bound by those shackles or to bind the other instead."


He could feel it upon his cheeks.

The cool crisp air flowed down the Neck and washed over his body. Rain pattered down outside, drumming against the stones of the balcony, turning the thin coating of snow that had fallen into grey slush. It was not a pretty sight, but just the sight of it filled him with a sense of comfort that he had in recent times, only been able to find upon the battlefield.

But he was close now, so very close.

They were still two weeks away from arriving at Moat Cailin, but in three days, they would have finally entered the North. Even from here, in his chambers at the Twins, he could see the thick layer of snow that had slowly crawled down from the North, out past the swamps that acted as the main landmark indicating the beginning of the North and the end of the Riverlands. Once there, Robb knew that the war between him and Stannis would begin in full.

He was the biggest threat in the Northern Campaign.

Though he had made no moves since taking the Wall, his inactivity had caused concern for many. In a situation such as his, any man, fool or otherwise would have attempted something to get themselves into a more advantageous position. The fact that he had not meant he was either the biggest fool in Westeros, or he had something prepared for them all.

Robb did not know which, but he was not about to let himself get caught by surprise either way. Luckily, he had Jon and the Wildings to the North, they were already making moves from what the most recent ravens had said. The information on Jon's plans was sparse, but that was purposeful should they land in enemy hands. However, from what little he had been told, Robb had an idea of what he was planning.

It was a good plan, though in all honesty, while risky, Jon's plans had been good throughout the war. However, his situation had been disastrous and there were too many moving parts and too many good plans from his enemies for it to turn situations around.

Though it was a good plan, Robb did not feel at ease.

But it was nothing to do with the North and the threats there, it was all to do with the Lords in the Twins and outside where his army was camped. He could see the greed in their eyes, they didn't even try to hide it anymore. In their eyes, the war was over and they expected to be rewarded for their part in his victory, no matter how big or small it was.

He had already been approached on numerous occasions on the march North with them not so subtly trying to influence his decisions on the rewards they felt they deserved. If he could, he would remove the head of any man that came to him speaking of reward, but as Joffrey and the Mad King proved, executing lords in such a fashion rarely went well for them. He would be a fool to follow in their footsteps, no matter how tempting the thought of it might be at times.

A knock at his door, brought Robb back to reality, focusing upon Arya standing outside, uncaring of the rain that fell on her, soaking her hair and clothes. "Arya, come inside now, you'll catch a cold." He then turned, opening the door to reveal Olyvar Frey and Robar Royce. "What is it?"

"The feast is prepared, your grace," Robar explained, bowing his head.

"The lords are waiting for you." Olyvar finished, Robb, frowning deeply at the thought.

No doubt he would be bombarded with their attempts to suggest suitable rewards for themselves, no matter how ridiculous they were. "Very well," Robb followed the two outside, turning to Brienne who stood outside. "Make sure Arya gets dried and dressed before she comes down."

"Yes, your grace." Brienne bowed, Robb, walking away with Olyvar and Robar flanking him.


Throughout the war, Robb had been met with many visions and dreams of how the War of Five Kings could have gone and perhaps, should have gone. They started vague, encompassing everything the war had to offer with strange images of stags, lions, wolves, krakens and figurines denoting houses and their actions. Robb had been left to try and decipher what they meant, why they came to be and what that could mean in the long run.

He also had to figure out who they were.

Who amongst the Lannisters represented the lion?

Who amongst the Starks represented the wolf?

Who amongst the Baratheons represented the stag?

It had been easier said than done when houses often had many members and in the case of larger houses, branch families that could also play a role in the grander scheme of things. But as the war progressed, deviating from the visions he was sent, they became clearer and clearer till he saw moments with clear clarity.

None had been more vivid or stuck with him more than his own death, right here in the Great Hall of the Twins.

As men and women laughed and cheered in the festivities hosted by the new Lord of the Twins, Aegon Frey. A fool who was known as Jinglebells, one who lived for festivities and seemingly made a fool of himself as he danced and pranced around like a jester, hardly befitting the status of a lord. The true lord of the Twins seemed to be Walder Frey's second son, Emmon Frey, who was sat across the room, surrounded by his family, or what remained of them anyway.

But as Robb looked across the room, all he could see was the moment of his death. A wedding, a joyous moment that would have seen his uncle, Edmure Tully marry Roslin Frey and secure the Frey's support, turned into a massacre as they betrayed him. Crossbow bolts rained down from the rafters, daggers drawn from sleeves, used to cut down those loyal to him, the King Who Lost The North.

Yet amongst the slaughter, he rose, crossbow bolts protruding from his body as he looked upon the swollen stomach that had held his unborn child, dead in its mother's womb. His death had not been glorious, it had been unceremonious and a cruel twist of fate that resulted from him being an honourable fool.

It was a moment that had left him reeling, even when it had not been him who died, but had been a future, and then a past that had never come to be. The sight of his death, the sight of him pressing down upon the bleeding stomach of his wife in a desperate attempt to save her and the child within her. All of it had been too much, too real for him and he had no understanding of how to handle it.

But what it had done was taught him a valuable lesson.

Honour could only get one so far.

He had allowed his sense of honour, a foolish hope of being like his father to dictate his actions and in turn, died because of it, just like his father. It was not a mistake Robb would make and he would do everything he could to make sure that if he died, it would be meaningful. His death would not spell doom for his family, but instead, allow them to live long and fulfilling lives.

"Your grace," Robb turned, looking to see a nobleman walking up the stairs towards him. He could see the look in his eyes, the shine of greed that was plain to see and Robb frowned. "I was wondering if I might perhaps, ask you something of importance?"

Robb nodded his head, indicating with his hand to say what he wanted to say.

"My family and my holdings have given a great deal to you in your campaigns." The man said a few more noblemen making their way up towards him. No doubt they would hear what he had to say and depending upon his response, either try their luck as well or simply walk away.

Luckily for him, Rodrick, the new Lord Forrester had been around Robb to know precisely where this conversation was going also. "And you wanted to know what rewards you would receive?" He cut in, was Robb was thankful for that, his mood had begun to worsen and he didn't want Arya to see that, he had tried his best to keep some of his thoughts and actions hidden from her. "Do you believe the King so incompetent as to not reward you properly for your actions throughout the war?"

"N-no!" The lord urgently argued, panicking slightly as he bowed deeply. "I meant no disrespect, my King. I simply sought to know what rewards you were considering and wondered if I might be able to offer my assistance."

"Forgive me," Robb spoke, his words confusing many, though his tone made many pay attention. "Your name escapes me, who are you?" The flinch the lord gave showed his words stung.

"I am Lord Jon Lychester, son of Lymund Lychester, your grace."

"Lord Lychester?" Robb murmured, turning to Jason Mallister at his side. "Tell me, Lord Mallister, were House Lychester there at the Battle of Riverrun?"

Jason shook his head. "No, they weren't, your grace."

Robb hummed, Jon, shifting uncomfortably. "And what of their presence during the Siege of Riverrun?" Jason shook his head. "The Battle of the Wolfswood?" Again, Jason shook his head and Jon became more and more panicked. "And what of their presence at the Battle of the Camps?"

"They were not present in any of those engagements," Jason said.

"Then tell me, Lord Lychester, where were you in those battles?" Robb asked.

"We were...I was unavailable, your grace."

Smalljon scoffed. "Unavailable? More like too busy taking Lannister gold." None had forgotten that House Lychester had resisted Robb's ascension to King of the Trident, only brought to heel by Lord Mallister.

Robb ignored Smalljon though. "You were unavailable?" Robb questioned, his voice drawn out and dull. "Then you just as you were unavailable then, you shall find me unavailable to you now." Jon became flushed, suitably shot down and humiliated by this, quickly turning back and returning to his seat.

But Robb's troubles were not over as another Lord stepped up, seemingly confident in his ability to elect a different response. "Lord Vance," Jason warned, looking to the third son of the late Lord Vance, Norbert the Blind.

"Yes, Lord Vance?" Robb's tone showed his frustration with this whole thing. "Do you perhaps have something else to offer? Perhaps because your brother, Ronald fought alongside me at both the Battle of the Wolfswood and at the Battle of the Camps? Or perhaps because you and your brother, Hugo fought with me during the Westerland Campaign and even at the Battle of the Bloody Antlers and the Bloody Fields?"

Lord Vance opened his mouth to speak, seemingly being confident. But the more Robb spoke, his confidence deflated, now uncertain on whether he should continue to speak.

"Tell me, Lord Vance, why is it that you and many others keep coming to speak to me of the rewards you think you should receive when the war is not over? Is it because the south is secure, that your holdings are now no longer under threat?" Robb pressed. "Do you think that your holdings are more important than my own? Is that it?"

"N-no, your grace!" Lord Vance panicked, recognising his mistake instantly. "I would never think such a thing, I just..."

"You just, what?" Robb did not let up, but Lord Vance had no response, simply bowing his head, avoiding looking Robb in the eye. "Sandor, Olyvar." The two men stepped forwards. "Any man, whether they be a knight or a lord, comes to me with an attempt to discuss what reward they feel they deserve again, remove their hands. That and the lesson it imparts should be suitable reward enough for all they have done for me."

"Yes, your grace," Olyvar said loudly, Sandor simply grunting.

"Now, Lord Vance," Robb said, waving his hand in dismissal. "I wish to eat my meal in peace without being disturbed by such infantile things. So unless you have nothing left to offer me; leave."

Lord Vance though stunned, recovered, bowing deeply in apology and leaving. The many lords who had followed him and Lord Lychester, also left, each having come to try their own attempts but knowing now what fate awaited them. Those that had not, simply listening, quickly turned away, trying to pretend that they had not been listening in intensely.

So, here we are, another chapter done and with it, Robb is finally marching North to put an end to the conflict there where he will clash with Stannis the Mannis himself. At the same time, political intrigue begins to become the new area of conflict between Margaery and Daenerys, their respective allies helping them out. But while the Reach are still powerful, their aid in the war has cost them massively and that's something Tyrion is intending to capitalise upon. All the while, we start to see more of the mystical side of Westeros start to come to light with Eddard meeting with the Ghost of High Heart.

Anyway, now that's done, let's get on with the questions:

jelpy1: That's because Tywin is not dead, but to Tyrion he is as good as dead. Tywin's being held prisoner by Robb, alongside Jamie and others, where he will be executed, there is no difference between being temporarily alive and dead already to him.

Guest: That's because the battle is chaotic. It's as I explained in the story, it was impossible to tell men apart due to the copious amounts of mud that formed and caked their figures. The Unsullied were just another group of people that got lost in the sea of bodies. As for Aegon pulling that off, it's something I got inspiration from reading Kingdom, with Riboku and Duke Hyou.

gunzen: Because there's hint in the books, that lead to Stannis setting up a trap for Ramsay in the book that does show he has does have tactical knowledge. That's outside of his naval skills as well, and the Ironborn while often just like pirates, even pirates had excellent naval tactical skills which often goes overlooked. They knew when to strike and how to strike in order to cause maximum damage and the Ironborn are no different, their downfall is in every other form of war.

Black Dragon Master: The reason she's a threat is because no one knows that she is barren, that threat gives her political leverage over Robb and others that can help her improve her position. While Margaery could rub that in Daenery's face, it doesn't change the fact that Daenery's can do the same about her Dragons.

Raider: Oh, you'll have to wait and see as to why Robb goes to Essos, but Daenerys will be involved, though not as a means to appease her.

mike3455: It's not so much to do with Catelyn not being a character that I like as I actually do like Catelyn. The reason that's happened though is because it's exactly what Ramsay has done to others in the book and so, it's not so much a means to hurt Catelyn, but a means to keep Ramsay in-character.

Chris110: Yeah, it should be interesting to see what unfolds and I do apologise how long it's taken to get this out. However, as for what's coming, I'll give you a little sneak peek without actually giving any info. The High Sparrow, White Walkers, Slaver's Bay, Free Cities, Dothraki, Sothoryos, Bone Mountains, Yi Ti, Grey Waste, Ulthos, Valeryian Freehold, Asshai, Ibben and others.

The Advocate7: Nah, I enjoyed it, though Jon won't become Lord Paramount, Eddard is still alive after all. On her own, Daenerys wouldn't be able to do anything against Margaery and the Tyrells, she'd be quickly devoured. However, with Tyrion at her side, Daenerys will have a chance at surviving.

SinisterXP: Glad to see someone recognised Riboku's tactic, Ryuudou and underrated and underused tactic in Kingdom.

Marnold15265: I couldn't either, if you'd have read the original version of this, the battles were shit. Just comes with practise though and a personal suggestion, the right music to set the mood. I'd recommend Seccession Studios on Youtube, or the collabs between Really Slow Motion & Giant Apes. The instrumental music that those put out help to kind of get my creative thinking going into overdrive which makes writing easier.

Hope this clears up any confusion and if not, please let me know and I'll try and answer them as best as I can.