Chapter 93: Bitterbridge

29 AF

Bran

The dawn sky was a deep crimson, as if the gods themselves had bled into the horizon. It prophesized to all what kind of day it would be, a day of blood and battle.

Bitterbridge loomed ahead, the small castle standing defiantly against the northern host. His target was the eastern wall, the castle's weakest point, and he was determined to take it as quickly as he could. Robb had given him fifteen hundred men to finish the job, and he would not fail him.

The air was thick with tension, the distant cries of ravens mingling with the murmurs of his soldiers, Northmen who had marched from the lands around Moat Cailin, hardened by a life close to the swamps of the Neck, and reinforced by archers and footmen from House Blackwood.

He was clad in darkened steel armor emblazoned with a silver direwolf and stood at the head of his forces himself. A bit further to the left stood his son Brynden. The boy had fully healed from his injuries and only the scars he carried betrayed his close encounter with death.

His son's face was grim, his eyes sharp as steel. He was no longer a boy, but a man grown, his legs strong beneath him as he prepared to lead men into battle.

To his right prowled Shadow, his son's charcoal colored direwolf. Shadow's father, his own direwolf Summer, flanked his boy's other side. Summer would accompany his son's assault against the gate, as he would have no use of him whilst scaling the walls. His companion knew that keeping Bryn alive was more important than anything else.

He himself would scale the ladders on the right side of the eastern wall, while Ser Edmund Blackwood would attack the the other side. His older goodbrother had become a constant companion of him after Alyn's dead and when Edmund couldn't be found with him personally, he could either be found with his brothers, Bryn or Rickon.

Suddenly, a warhorn sounded its low, mournful note echoing across the battlefield. He raised his hand, signaling his archers forward. The men of House Blackwood moved swiftly. In moments, the first volley was loosed, darkening the sky as hundreds of arrows arced toward the eastern wall.

The defenders atop the wall shouted in alarm, shields raised to block the deadly rain. Bitterbridge was a small castle, but the Tyrell king had strengthened it, and it was very well-garrisoned. Dozens of heads were visible atop the stone and wooden walls. A handful of them dying from the arrow fire down below.

After a while, he turned to his men. "To the walls!" He shouted, his words easily carrying over the first sounds of battle.

His soldiers surged forward, a tide of iron and leather, their war cries fierce and familiar. He himself led the charge; his sword unsheathed in his hands. "Bring the ladders!" He commanded, after taking shelter directly under the walls.

The northern soldiers rushed forward, heaving tall wooden ladders into position against the fortification. Bran took hold of one himself, his grip firm on the rough wood. "With me!" He shouted, rallying his men around him.

With a determined roar, he led the charge, driving the ladder into the wall and beginning the climb himself. His soldiers followed, scaling the walls with grim determination. He had put away his sword, now carrying his shield over his head as he slowly climbed up. Heavy stones and other projectiles ricochet off it, straining his arm but he could not let it down. Lowering his shield now meant certain death. At the same time, arrows whistled past him, striking men down below. Their cries accompanying him up step by step.

The climb was harrowing, each rung a struggle against the rain of arrows and the boiling water that the defenders poured down upon them. Luckily, he managed to evade or block it all. Not all were so lucky. Some of his men screamed as they fell, their bodies crashing to the ground below.

As he neared the top, a defender appeared above him, a spear thrusting down toward his face. He immediately twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding its deadly point, and with a swift motion, trust his metal shield against the side of the enemy spear. He caught it between his shield and the wall. The wooden shaft broke in two, its iron tip falling down to the ground. In a big final effort, he trashed his shield around wildly to get the defender away from the battlements. His gamble worked, giving him just enough time to jump atop the parapet.

Immediately, three attackers stormed him. Unable to draw his sword, he blocked their sword and axes until the man behind him managed to join him atop the walls. The grizzled Northman charged two of the defenders with his axe, giving him just enough time to unsheathe his sword.

He slashed back against his opponent, pushing him far away from the ladder. He traded blows with the axe man, both unable to deal a decisive blow. However, he didn't need to deal a decisive blow. He just needed to buy time for more of his men to scale the walls.

His men poured over the battlements, either from behind him or from the ladders next to him, and the battle atop the walls turned fierce and chaotic. The defenders fought with the desperation of men who knew their lives hung in the balance. It was a brutal, grinding fight, the clash of steel-on-steel deafening in the confined space.

He stood side by side with his men, as they tried to establish a shield wall in the cleared space on the wall they had captured. Unable to attack much, he shielded his comrades-in-arms as much as possible. After a while, a few dozen of his men had ascended the walls. Now was the time to make their move.

"Men, we push!" He shouted. "Push, push, push!" He screamed continuously, in a rhythm emphasized by the movement of their shields. Swords and spears clashed against them, as the soldier to his right fell. However, his place was quickly taken in by another. Slowly but surely, they pushed the enemy back and cleared as much territory as they could.

"On three, we break apart!" He screamed again. "Three, two, one! NOW!" He shouted, as he pushed his direct opponent back, slashing his sword in a high feint before going for his leg and cutting the man's femoral artery.

The next defender lunged at him with an axe, but he sidestepped the blow, bringing his sword up with an underhand swing to slice through the man's throat. Blood sprayed across the stones, and the man crumpled to the ground. His last cries uncomprehensible, as blood spat up through his mouth and nose.

But for every man he and his soldiers felled, more seemed to take their place as new defenders ran out from the towers. Still, they managed to cut them back down. Bit by bit, they united the last isolated pockets of their soldiers up the wall. From below, enemy archers from inside the courtyard shot at their men, but they brought their own archers up who shot back at them from inside their established areas on top of the walls.

He could see the fatigue in his men's eyes, the strain of the fight beginning to wear on them. "Rotate! Men from the back push forward!" He shouted, as they now had enough men to start rotating soldiers piecemeal.

"Push them back!" He yelled once more, rallying his men. "We will take this wall, or we will die upon it!"

His words steeled their resolve, and with a unified roar, the northern soldiers pressed forward, forcing the defenders back step by bloody step. Most of the time, he fought at the front, his sword arm tirelessly at work to reach his aim. As the battle raged on, the parapet got slick with blood, while the air thickened with the stench of the dead.

After a long gruesome battle, the enemy ran towards the towers and blockaded the wooden doors. Seven Reachmen were left behind on the battlements with them, and they all quickly surrendered knowing full-well that resistance would simply result in their deaths.

The enemy tried to block them from getting down into the courtyard, but they wouldn't hinder them for long. Already three enormous Northern fighters were hacking at the door with their axes, it wouldn't be long before the wooden door fell under their swings.

In the meantime, his archers shot into the courtyard below, exchanging fire with the enemy archers. He saw archers getting shot down in the courtyard, as men were screamingly shot down from the walls around him. Personally, he stayed away from that side of the wall. His family had no use for him dead.

A loud noise was heard then, and the gates flew open. His son's men surged forward, pouring through the breach like a tide of iron and steel. In front of them Summer and Shadow charged. The great direwolves leaping over the remnants of the wooden beams, their teeth bared in a savage snarl as they started pushing aside the enemy soldiers and breaking up their formation.

A few moments later, another great crack was heard and Umber men started flooding through the second gate on the opposite side. He looked around and he saw the soldiers of House Vance fighting hard on the battlements on the northern side, while Dustins and Flints had secured most of the southern wall.

He didn't have much time to survey the battle, as they broke through the tower door at that exact moment. He turned around and joined his men in assaulting the structure. To his surprise, it was nearly empty, as only four men had stayed behind to defend it. Those four had already been swatted aside by the time he arrived. Their blood painting the inner walls of the tower red.

Together with his soldiers, he rushed down and they burst into the courtyard, where the defenders were scrambling to regroup as they were assailed from all sides. He knew they would need to press the attack quickly, before the enemy could rally.

"Forward!" He commanded, his voice hoarse but resolute. The fight in the courtyard was no less brutal than the one atop the walls. After a short time, the defenders, outnumbered and demoralized, began to break, fleeing toward the keep in a desperate bid for safety.

As the last of the resistance crumbled, he stood in the center of the courtyard, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his sword still clutched in his hand. Summer came up beside him, panting heavily, his fur matted with blood.

Umber men had followed the fleeing defenders into the keep, and now men from all sides were joining them. It didn't take long after that before the message came which they had all been hoping for.

Bitterbridge was theirs. The entrance to the keep had fallen, and with it, the last of the defenders' will to fight. He turned to his men, raising his sword high. "The fortress is ours!" He shouted, his voice ringing out over the battlefield. "For the North!"

A cheer rose from the northern soldiers, their voices echoing off the stone walls. "For Raventree!" Ser Edmund shouted, which also resonated across the courtyard, soon followed by similar chants about the Riverlands, Last Hearth, Barrowton and others.

Shadow trotted over to him, and he scratched his son's direwolf behind the ear as Bryn walked over. He looked his boy over, making sure that he didn't have any serious wounds. When satisfied, he grabbed him in a hug and together they celebrated their victory.

Not much later, Robb rode inside with Rickard. His brother and nephew were wearing their crowns, and their direwolves flanked them. It was quite a sight, and the effect on the soldiers was immediately noticeable.

"BITTERBRIDGE HAS FALLEN!" His elder brother shouted, and their men cheered and shouted in response.

"This great victory is only thanks to you, and it shall not go unrewarded." Robb called out to their men. "Tonight, free barrels of ale will be provided for all those that fought today. You will feast to this victory."

All soldiers cheered loudly, as his brother rode over to him personally. Together, they walked inside the keep to where Lord Ronald Vance was guarding the highborn prisoners. There were a dozen landed knights, but much more important were the members of House Caswell.

Lady Alysanne Caswell, the Lady of Bitterbridge, stood there together with her family. A young girl, no older than ten, was clutching her skirts. Next to the girl stood an older boy and girl in their early teens. Her three youngest children, he presumed. Lady Caswell had born seven children to her late husband. Her two eldest daughters were married off to other houses in the Reach, and her two eldest sons were fighting with the Tyrell army.

However, two more women stood beside her. One carried an infant on her arm, while the other tried to hide two toddlers behind her. These must be Lady Caswell's sons' wives, with her grandchildren. Capturing them was a great victory, and he was surprised that they had remained here instead of fleeing to Highgarden.

Lastly, there was an older man with a grey beard behind her and her immediate family. He was dressed for battle in mail and plate, his tabard undistinguishable as it was cut to pieces and smeared with mud and blood. The knight sported fresh battle wounds, his arm hung in a sling and blood was slowly dripping from a cut underneath his eye. He was clutching an older woman in his good arm, and she was protecting several toddlers grouped around her as well.

The older man was introduced as the commander of the garrison, and a maternal cousin of Lady Alysanne. Robb promised them that he would treat them with respect, after formally accepting their surrender. Not much later, they were all led back inside and held under house arrest until they could be transported to the Riverlands.

After most of the other people had left the hall, he walked over to his brother and king together with Bryn. Robb grabbed him in a hug with a large smile on his face. "Congratulations on your victory, little brother. You executed the plan perfectly. It will not go unrewarded."

He answered the brotherly embrace in kind but waved away his words. "The only reward that I want is for this war to be over quickly and for all of our family to come out of it unscathed."

Robb nodded seriously at that, as Rickard walked over to them. "As do I, Bran." Nevertheless, the smile crept back soon. "Nonetheless, both you and your son deserve rewards, which you will receive in due time. You deserve to live out the rest of your lives as rich and fat men soon."

Now it was his time to laugh. "Don't project your desires onto us, brother. It doesn't become of you." All four Starks laughed, and Bryn walked away with his uncle and cousin as he took it upon himself to check upon his men. Today had been a great victory, but it had come at a certain cost. He would see to the dead and visit the wounded himself. They deserved it, after shedding their blood for him and his family.

(Five days later)

Jon Whitefyre

He had looked upon the arrival of the Vale detachment with interest. The nine thousand strong force was made up of many different houses, but its cohesion was clear for all to see. At the helm of its column rode Princess Berena Stark's husband, Ser Allard Royce. He was the nominal leader of the coalition, in the name of his lordly father who had remained in Runestone to keep an eye on the Arryns, after King Harrold had refused to honor their alliance.

Nonetheless, the presence of Lords Redfort and Templeton could hardly be missed. Both flanked the Royce heir, clearly holding the respect of both the army and that of its young commander.

The arrival of the reinforcements had further bolstered morale, but he hadn't gotten a chance to celebrate with his men. Robb had immediately motioned for him to join the conversation and as such he was now walking towards a secluded council chamber inside Bitterbridge. Once there, he took the seat to the left of Robb, as Rickard lately occupied his right side.

Opposite Robb sat the Royce heir, with Lords Redfort, Templeton and Donniger also in attendance. After the usual niceties had been exchanged, and bread and salt had been offered, the meeting started in earnest.

"I received a letter from your father that your forces number around nine thousand men, is that correct Ser Allard?" His brother asked the heir to Runestone.

The young knight nodded eagerly. "Yes, it is. We even surpass that number slightly. The men are disciplined and well-rested, ready and eager for action."

"That is great to hear, Ser Allard." His brother replied.

"We have of course heard the reports and seen the sea of tents present here, but we are curious to know the exact number that you raised as well, King Robb." Lord Redfort interjected.

It was Rickard who answered. "Our army here now numbers forty-three thousand. Three thousand men remain in the Northmarch under the command of my younger brother, while another thousand are scattered in garrisons in numerous small towns and strategically important holdfasts along our supply roads. All of those can be ordered to rejoin the main host in short notice when news about Tyrell's presence finally trickles in."

"You still don't know where he is?" Lord Templeton asked in surprise.

"It won't be long now. We will know soon." Robb answered stoically.

"The recent fall of Bitterbridge will force his hand. Soon, we will start our march on Highgarden in earnest. He will need to confront us before we ever reach his seat. If I were him, I would prefer to do it sooner than later." He explained, which seemed to satisfy the Valemen.

Lord Jasper Redfort looked at his three countrymen, before hesitatingly speaking up. "We were glad to see that Bitterbridge was spared the fate of Tumbleton. The sights we saw there, and the stories we heard, were gruesome. Was this necessary, King Stark?" The Vale lord asked his brother. It was clear that the Valemen had talked about this amongst themselves, as all perked up immediately.

Robb nodded. "Aye, sadly it was. The Footlys pillaged and burned all throughout the Riverlands for months. They slaughtered my people, burned their holy places and destroyed their homes. Hundreds of traitors from the Riverlands had taken refuge in Tumbleton and to top it all off you had Lord Footly's daughter who claimed the Riverlands for her unborn child." Robb answered the question.

He knew that his brother had had personal doubts about the execution of the operation, but none of that was visible now. He told it as if it had been his own idea. Robb was too smart to ever show doubt in the face of their allies. Rickard looked more surprised at the determination at which his father defended an approach that hadn't been entirely his. Nonetheless, his nephew recovered quickly and regained his cold neutral composure.

"That were just too many slights to accept." Robb continued. "Something had to be done. An example had to be set. Sadly, it seemed that the rest of Westeros needed to be reminded of the grave fate that awaits ones who challenges House Stark. That has now been corrected."

The Vale lords shuffled uneasily on their chairs after the warning that sounded awfully much like a threat. "From your words I can deduce that … no such acts are to be expected in the future?" Ser Allard carefully asked.

"Aye, you can. Our point is made. Pillage and plunder will continue, it is a war after all, but no great examples will need to be made anymore." His brother confirmed, to the satisfaction of most of the Valemen.

Lord Symond Templeton then switched topics. "You mentioned marching on Highgarden. How are you planning to supply such a huge force? Especially now that our men have joined you. Won't Garlan just wait until the army is divided, before striking out of nowhere?"

Rickard grinned at that. "Aye, that would be our plan too, if we were him. Sadly, for him, that plan won't work."

Lord Symond looked questioningly at Ricky. "What my royal nephew is trying to say, is that there is no need for us to divide the army." He explained. "The plunder that our soldiers and foragers have assembled is enough to feed our entire army with your soldiers and the other expected reinforcements as well."

Now all men in front of them raised their eyebrows. "You can feed an army over fifty thousand men?" Ser Allard asked. "Other reinforcements?" Lords Donniger and Redfort remarked.

Robb nodded. "The Reach has been good to us, and its harvests plentiful. None of the troops will lack for anything on our march to Highgarden. My youngest son Jon will join us with his men soon, and a few thousand Stormlanders under Prince Consort Edric Baratheon are also under way." That last part seemed to surprise them.

"The Stormlanders are coming?" Lord Jasper Redfort asked. "We heard that they were having trouble with the Dornish. We hadn't expected any more of their assistance in this war."

All three of them nodded, the same annoyance directed at the situation visible on their faces. He himself answered. "Aye, it seems that Houses Fowler, Wyl and Yronwood have been persuaded by Garlan to align with him and raid the Dornish Marches. No word has come from Sunspear, and it seems like the Martells are not going to join the conflict. Nonetheless, their vassals have taken it upon themselves to attack the unprotected borderlands of the Storm Kingdom."

His nephew jumped in then. "Crown Prince Robert Baratheon had rejoined his father after his victories at Ashford. He is now marching towards the burning lands of Houses Selmy, Dondarrion and Caron with a force of around twelve thousand men. The remaining seven thousand Stormlanders will be joining us in the next few days. Whatever victories Garlan conjures up, we will outnumber him when the inevitable clash comes. All his victories have been achieved by overwhelming his enemies with larger number or the power of surprise. Against us, he will have neither."

This seemed to take the Valemen aback, but they all seemed pleased. A worrying frown soon returned to Lord Donniger's face though. "It is true then? What we heard about the Lannisters?"

Robb's jaw tightened. "Aye, it is." His brother almost spat out. "The Lannisters have concluded a separate peace treaty with Lord Redwyne. Their troops have already evacuated Red Lake. Soon, Garlan will be able to reunite with the thousands of men that he had send west to fight them. The inevitable clash is close now."

Lord Donniger seemed to mull those words over, while he himself thought back at the news they had received ten days ago. The Lannisters had suffered an embarrassing defeat on their own lands at the hand of Lords Hightower and Redwyne. The Reachmen cavalry had ridden across the border into the Westerlands and defeated five thousand Lannister reinforcements that had been headed towards Red Lake. Almost four thousand Westermen had been slaughtered in a battle which had also seen the deaths of Lords Tybolt Crakehall and Jaime Kenning as well as Ser Steffon Swyft, King Willem's maternal uncle.

King Willem had apparently been so shocked by the surprising loss of those men, and some of his staunched allies, that he had made a quick peace with the Reachmen. His forced had pulled back from the Reach, notably accompanied by all the loot they had thus far been able to gather there.

This feat had almost ensured a decisive clash, as Redwyne was now racing twenty thousand soldiers back towards the heart of the Reach after leaving garrisons and sending two thousand men to counter and delay the Ironborn advance.

Ironically, the raiders seemed the most reliable of all their allies. They had by now taken the second fort at the Mouth of the Mander, allowing them to raid upstream. In Bitterbridge alarming messages had been found signaling their longships no more than a dozen miles from Highgarden. Nonetheless, they seemed unable to capture any large keeps on the mainland. A second son of Lord Harras Harlaw had died in a failed assault on Old Oak, after the seat of House Oakheart had been secretly reinforced by the western Reachmen force.

They talked some more about the details of the front, until Lord Redfort brought up another issue. "I have seen and heard that you are sending many prisoners to the Wall."

The three of them nodded, expecting a question to follow this statement. They didn't have to wait long. "Don't you think it is dangerous to send them all north now?" Your lands have been depleted of troops and a rebellion of the Watch could threaten your kingdom and end this war to our detriment."

Robb nodded understandingly. "Aye, it could. That's why we're not sending them all to the Wall just yet. We have sent an early batch of two hundred men to Castle Black at the beginning of the Rebellion in the Riverlands. Afterwards, all captives headed for the Wall have been spread over Moat Cailin, Castle Cerwyn, Winterfell and Last Hearth. They will be held there until we return north. The only men that are still allowed to take their oaths now are craftsmen, because the Watch has a severe shortage of them. New captives from the Reach are send by ship to White Harbor, Oldcastle, Ramsgate, the Dreadfort and Flint's Finger and will be held there as well."

"You will have all those integrated at once after the war? Won't that mean a takeover of the Watch by the Reach and rebellious Riverlander factions?" Lord Templeton asked.

He jumped into the conversation there. "As my kingly brother said, two hundred rebels have already taken their vows months ago. They are being spread out over the castles of the Night's Watch as we speak and will be largely pacified by war's end. The craftsmen will also have been integrated. The rise in new recruits after the war will be a challenge, but they will have to compete with the other existing factions, like the last former rebels from the Vale or the remainder of Tywin's supporters. There is also a very large Northern faction, augmented by volunteers from all over Westeros."

The Valemen followed attentively. "You also have to keep in mind that years at the Wall create a brotherhood and friendships across national lines. Most of the four thousand men at the Wall are loyal to the Night's Watch first and foremost. Old loyalties have largely made place for new ones. For the last twenty years, men who fought on both sides of the past wars have led the Wall together. I don't expect a lot of trouble, but House Umber and the Mountain Clans will keep a close eye on the situation nonetheless." Robb added.

This seemed to pacify the worries of the Vale lords. After a few more conversations about logistical issues, they ended the meeting. He took his leave and went to look for his sons.

He found his youngest at his encampment. He was having lunch around a campfire with a few of his lieutenants and some sons of the local nobility.

Benjen immediately stood up to greet him when he saw him, and his companion Rotri happily waggled over to him. The existence of the animal still perplexed him, but by now it was clear that it would survive.

He scratched Rotri behind the ears, as he inspected the animal for the millionth time. He was snow white, with large spots of dark grey around his left eye, belly and rear. By now, he had reached a height of around five feet, but his growing had slowed down considerably and was soon expected to stop.

For years his sons had wanted direwolves of their own, but Robb had forbidden it. Two years ago, he had finally managed to convince his kingly brother to allow him to try to breed Ghost with the wolfhounds in his kennel. Neither of them had expected it to show any results, and for a long time it had seemed to be that way.

Insemination had been notoriously difficult, but they had made it work. This had only resulted in three bitches dying during pregnancy, all seventeen pups dying within hours of their premature births. The process had cost him a lot of coin, but he hadn't been able to deny his sons their wish and had continued to fund it all against the advice of his kennel master. That had been the way of thing, until weeks before they had left for the Riverlands.

A fourth bitch had successfully been impregnated a while back, and she had carried her pups for much longer than the others. Still, she had died three quarters into her term. Yet, when they cut out the four pups not all had died immediately.

Two had survived the night, to the elation of his sons. His eldest son's pup had nonetheless died a few days later, but against all odds Benjen had managed to keep his own pup alive. He had nurtured him all throughout the campaign, only leaving him out of his sight to fight and attend command meetings.

The direwolf – wolfhound hybrid had grown considerably, and loved playing with both the army's, considerably smaller, dogs and his, considerably larger, direwolf cousins. Robb had been skeptical about the animal at first, thinking it an abomination that defied his ruling. Yet, when it became clear that Rotri would never reach the size or power of Ghost, his brother had relented. His son's wolf licked his hand affectionately, as Ghost protectively stood over his only living son.

In contrast to his father, Rotri wasn't a mute. Nonetheless, all kennel masters agreed that he was very silent. Unlike other canines, he only barked when extremely happy or when feeling danger. Seldomly, he could also be heard whining for food, but only to his son Benjen.

The name Rotri had been Benjen's idea. Rotri was an old, large and friendly wolf in ancient stories from the time of the First Men. Never in the stories was it mentioned that he was a direwolf, yet he was mentioned as very large for his kind. The name had received praise from the boy's Stark cousins for its references to their First Men heritage and the historical distinction that the old Rotri had not been a direwolf, which they saw as a confirmation that Benjen's companion was an entirely different breed on its own that they had dubbed direhounds. The young Stark's praises had been a large factor to Robb agreeing with the current events.

He sat down with Benjen, after greeting him and the other nobles present. "Where is your brother?" He asked his son, after receiving a roasted chicken leg from one of his vassals' sons.

"Edrick is off with his Umber relations. They were last seen going over towards the Vale army, as they started to set up camp to the east." Benjen replied. He silently nodded in response, while thinking the information over. He ate his food and exchanged conversation with the youthful nobles sworn to him, as well as some of his more veteran lieutenants.

When he had finished, he stood up. "I am going to find your brother. You have command of the camp." He told his youngest son, who nodded understandingly before going back to his conversation with Torrghen Flint's youngest son.

After a lot of asking around, he found his heir and four of his young friends, among which was Mors Umber, sitting together with a large group of men wearing Templeton livery. When he saw him, he immediately got up.

"Father! What brings you here? Let me introduce you to some of my new friends, most of them seem to be long lost kin of ours!" Edrick joyfully exclaimed.

He sat down, as his nineteen-year-old heir explained that most of the young knights and squires around him were all relations of Lord Symond Templeton. His two youngest sons were there, together with three of his nephews. On top of that, you had five cousins, from both male and female lines. All apparently descended from Jocelyn Stark, who had married into a junior branch of House Royce, and whose descendants had remained in the Vale. Her youngest daughter had married the knight of Templeton, and all the young men around him were descended from that couple.

He greeted them all warmly, as he silently rejoiced in the ability of his eldest son to make friends so quickly. It was something he had inherited from his mother, not from him. It was also good for their alliance and house to have him befriend some of the young Vale nobles. Edrick had the ear of both Robb and Ricky, him making friends with the Valemen would help to integrate their armies into one. Something that would be crucial, if they wished to beat Tyrell once and for all.

The Templeton nobles asked him a lot about House Stark, Robb, Winterfell and the North. He had to laugh at their curiosity but answered them all as freely as he could. He in turn asked after the health of some of his old battle companions from the Vale and their families.

Many of them had now gotten families of their own, who were now in the process of intermarrying. The young sons of Lord Symond were both engaged already, one to an Lynderly and the other had recently heard from his father that he would marry a daughter of Lord Donniger when they got back.

Even the nephews were subjects of political marriages. Those furthest in line to Templeton vassals, the oldest to cadet branches of other important nobles. He let all the information sink in, as he assessed the political situation in the Vale. These betrothals were an important metric of the relations between the noble houses. He wanted to remember them, as they could give him insights into the divided state of the Vale.

After a surprisingly interesting few hours of conversation, his son and the other Northmen left with him. Together, they walked back to their encampment and reunited with Benjen. He had dinner with his sons then and was later joined by his daughters' husbands Benfred Tallhart and Byam Flint for a few mugs of ale. They reminisced about the North, and their family.

The hot Southern night got to them, and before they knew it, they had all drunk more than they should have. He looked over the four intoxicated young men in front of him. They were laughing, as they jested about how a Flint squire had embarrassed himself a few days ago. These men were the future of his house. The noble family that he had never expected to have in his youth. In silent prayer, he thanked the Gods for the small miracle in front of him. In his prayer, he also lauded his brother. Without him, none of this could have been possible.

This is it for this chapter!

I feel glad to get back to the story, after a crazy couple of weeks. Bitterbridge has fallen, as the Northern army continues its advance into the Reach. Their reinforcements from the Vale finally arrive, and even more are coming.

However, not all is good. The Lannisters have peaced out, and the majority of the Stormland forces had to be diverted to the Dornish Mountains. The Ironborn are making headway, but at heavy costs and with multiple setbacks.

I also added in a lot of world building, especially the decision to have House Whitefyre create some mixture breed (direhounds) between wolfhounds and direwolves (Ghost). Benjen is obviously a warg, and we will see where that brings him.

Thank you so much for all your support!

Fannic

Reviews:

- 27mad97: Wrong and right are moral constructs. That is the whole idea behind the chapter. To bring into question how people view morality in other cultural and worldly settings, even just with slightly different upbringings. I personally agree that it is VERY wrong, but most of the North would probably say that it is perfectly acceptable, albeit a bit of a strong touch.

Osric has a few interesting points, but it is clearly given as an opinion and nothing more. It was inner reflection about a conversation between the Crown Prince and his brother-in-law/best friend. Nowhere did it say that the Northmen are better than the Reachmen. They are different, yes, but still products of their world and time. They are not necessarily better.

- Yeaaaahhhh I read: Hahaha great name, but we'll see. It's not over yet. Garlan is amassing a great army and will not be simply pushed over.

- Force Smuggler: Thank you!

- Freakdogsflare: It might not be that dark, but the human and material cost will be great. Everything that they can raid and steal, the army will. Large parts of the Reach have already suffered massively, and even where the Reach books successes (on the borders with the Westerlands e.g.) its lands have suffered massively.

- Yogurt9928: I don't think that many war crimes exist in Westeros, except for breaking guest right, attacking holy sites and kinslaying. However, it is getting darker, yes. Rickard is only apathic because he sees all the Reachmen as the aggressors who committed grievous offenses (burning weirwoods(!) and slaughtering children) in the Riverlands. In his way, he thinks it is justice and revenge, and many agree with him.

Robb and Jon are indeed more empathic, but past wars have thought them that they also need to do things Ned would have frowned upon to survive. Nevertheless, it will always pain them to a degree. Hoster is vindictive, but understandably so considering his history with his brothers.

Garlan is fighting VERY well. He is a great battle commander and has inherited a lot from Randyll Tarly and Olenna Tyrell. Nonetheless, his initial underestimation of Robb and his alliances has put him severely on the backfoot. We will see how it ends and what costs it will bring with them. Thank you so much for the detailed review.

- Scifiromance: Thank you so much for your extensive review! Osric's take might be correct. Rickard is very capable, both diplomatically and militarily. He is ruthless, but fiercely loyal to the North and his family. LittleJon's grieve will complicate things.

It won't be easy. Of Robb's six children, three married into the North, two to foreign powers and only one to a Riverlander (Mallister). The only thing that made sure that they don't complain is the fact that his two nieces will marry Riverlanders (Darry and Mooton). Pressure will mount on Rickard's children and all Stark related houses from the Riverlands, especially on Jon to remarry. We'll see how they deal with that. The Royce line was female, their descendants are mentioned here with the Templetons.

It's a possibility for Hoster, or he might feel free now that both his brothers are dealt with. A Stark son in Riverrun won't be easily accepted in the Riverlands. Besides, Hoster has a male nephew Edmure that would cause a lot of trouble if he weren't allowed to inherit Riverrun in such a situation. More on that later.

- Rebfan90: Thank you so much for your continued support!

- Supremus85: He is even too ruthless for Robb's liking haha, but he resembles his old ancestors much more than Robb or Ned ever did. Maybe the truth about Elinor will be unraveled, maybe not. That's how it goes in history.

- Haroune601: That's just wrong. Catelyn and Eddard both mention it in their chapters, especially the latter. The term was coined by Rickard Stark for 2 out of his 4 children. It was not just low impulse either. Sometimes it was also anger attacks, irascibility or extreme curiosity.

- Galwidanatitud: War sadly is intense, and cruel. Here it is no different. Thank you so much for the compliment.

- CadetMarshal: Glad that you like it. Too many portray children/heirs as copies of their parents, which I didn't want to do. Yet, they remain similar in many ways.

You are absolutely right. If Robb survives, it will be shown. Otherwise, I might show it through other characters. Edwyle is only six years old. He still has a lot to learn and the time to do so.

- ShadowArxxy: Of course it's not in the long term. However, it does give them a few generations. One of Robb's/Bran's sons, grandsons or even great-grandsons could easily emulate the trip and bring a dozen direwolves south in a few decades. However, for (most of) this story it will be enough to ensure the species.

Rickard urged for the massacre, and it was him who was swinging the metaphorical sword. Everybody in the North will know and respect this. It is also a lesson from Robb to his son: if you want to be cruel, you will need to face the consequences and you will need to be able to sleep at night. Besides, Robb still took the heads of the Riverlander traitors alive in Tumbleton (off-screen).

- Poly19hum: Thanks! You are right. It was boiling water. I have corrected it now. Thank you so much for the correction.

- Randver: Thank you so much! I try to put as much detail into it to make it more realistic. It won't end just yet. I have a long ending planned, don't worry. No, it wasn't a true powerful sacrifice, as most Northmen have forgotten how to do that. They emulate it, based on stories coming from both myths and history, but it has no real magical value. I love your enthusiasm; people like you keep me writing!

- Iacopo Passerini: Glad to see you that you are still enjoying the story! It's not an English saying, but I understand what you mean. They won't win that easily, as the Tyrells managed to knock the Lannisters out of the war. Most of the Baratheon strength has also been diverted towards the mountains. It will be tense.

- Sid055: Thank you so much! I really appreciate your comment, and I promise to keep writing.

- Timdoe: Zeer goed! Het waren zeer drukke weken. Nu is de rust voor een stuk weergekeerd dus het volgende hoofstuk zal niet meer zo lang op zich laten wachten.

- Guest: Wow back at you!