[Chapter Size: 5200 Words.]

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Third Person POV

King’s Landing, 299 AC.

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“So, is my city already protected against the attack of my traitorous uncle, dwarf?” Joffrey asked, while they were in the council chamber — filled by the Hand of the King, the Master of Whisperers, the Master of Coin, Grand Maester Pycelle, and the queen mother.

“I’m doing the best I can, Your Majesty…” Tyrion said with a certain irony, but looking at his nephew with some caution. The king’s arrogance irritated him, as always. While Joffrey played at torturing people and tormenting them, he was racking his brain trying to find a way to save the city from Stannis’s attack with 20 thousand men, while they had only 3 thousand…

“I hope so. I hope you do your job, because if it depended on me, you wouldn’t even be there,” he said, as if he were doing Tyrion a favor by giving him that position, which had been an obligation imposed by Tywin.

“I’m sure the Lord Hand is doing everything possible to save us, Your Majesty,” Varys spoke in a gentle tone, while the queen snorted but said nothing, still quite irritated that her father had placed the monstrous dwarf in the position of Hand.

“I hope so. I hope to see Stannis’s head before he can lay a single stone on the walls of this city,” Joffrey said, turning to Varys with a slightly irritated tone for supporting Tyrion.

Joffrey sat down to play with a knife, spinning it, pressing it with one hand against the table and moving it with the other hand, as if he were trying to kill the boredom of that meeting.

Everyone looked at the king, each with their own thoughts. Even though he was irritating and helped with nothing besides making demands, offering no opinions or solutions to their problems, absolutely no one said anything, knowing how he would react if someone criticized him, and no one wanted to be the target of his wrath, not even the queen.

Joffrey continued playing with the knife until he noticed the silence of everyone in the room.

“What are you all staring at me and waiting for? Go on. How is the traitor wolf? Where is my grandfather? I want to hear these things,” he said in a demanding tone.

It took a while for someone to react, but Tyrion was the first. “My father is still trying to deal with Robb Stark in the North, and your uncle Jaime is under Stark custody, as far as we know,” Tyrion replied. “But I’m sure he will manage to deal with them and come help us against Stannis.”

“I hope so. My grandfather is taking far too long. Perhaps he’s getting old,” Joffrey said, as the mood immediately darkened after those words. No one dared to criticize Tywin Lannister like that, and even the king’s mother looked at him worriedly, knowing that Tywin would not like hearing that at all.

“I’m sure your grandfather is doing his best. There is no one who can stop him, Joffrey. He will defeat them all and come help us,” Cersei said, trying to appease her son. Even she recognized the value her father had, even though she was still marked by hatred for what had happened in Winterfell, her face completely wrapped in bandages.

“I hope so, mother. You are far too soft and too afraid of Grandpa. Do not forget that I am the king.”

“Of course, my dear. You are the king,” she replied, at the same time casting a cautious look at Tyrion, who exchanged a quick glance with her. That arrogance worried even the two of them, despite the fact that they naturally hated each other.

“Now, I do not want to hear about the traitor wolves, who will soon have their heads cut off, the rebel wolf and my traitorous uncle dead. Tell me about the others,” Joffrey said.

“Not only do we still not have a position from the Reach, but I am sure Lord Baelish can say something,” Tyrion said, turning to the Master of Coin, who drew everyone’s attention to the man with the enormous scar splitting his face.

“Lord Tyrion speaks the truth. I have been negotiating on behalf of the Tyrells for several moons, but I do not know all the details now. It seems they are now speaking directly with your grandfather, but I am sure a solution will involve a marriage. The Tyrells are practical people in that sense,” he said with some mockery.

“So I need to marry the Tyrell girl?” Joffrey said, still arrogant. “At least I do not have to marry the daughter of that traitor from the North. I naturally hate her…” He paused before continuing, still playing with the knife.

“This is not the news I want to hear. I also do not want to hear about the fights that are ravaging the North. Let them burn that place and let the Starks crawl back to a ruined home. I want to know about those beyond the Wall, those wildlings who hurt my mother, my uncle, and trampled on my father’s name. The bastard, the wildling, or however you wish to call him, Jon Arctic.”

“We have no news about them at the moment, my king,” Varys spoke up first.

“How not? Nothing about them? They simply disappeared after that story about fighting against abominations that wandered around claiming they had to fight?” Joffrey snarled.

“There is no way for us to know what is happening beyond the Wall, my lord. All search parties were destroyed. Lord Commander Mormont perished because of it along with a good portion of the Watch, and even mercenary ships were sent, an entire fleet, I tell you, and no one returned. We hoped to obtain at least some information about the Arcticans, but there was nothing,” Varys replied, with sorrow.

Joffrey cast him a look of disappointment, as if he were not doing a good job, and Varys merely gave him a gentle smile, like an apology.

“They are my main enemy. Not the wolf, nor my uncle, nor the squids out there. It is those people from the North,” Joffrey declared. “My grandfather had better finish with the traitors soon, so we can prepare to fight them.”

“We will win, my dear, do not worry. You will soon have all your enemies subdued. The Seven Kingdoms will praise you, and you will prepare an army and lead it to face the kingdom of the wildlings…” the queen replied, trying to soften things.

Joffrey looked at her and nodded arrogantly. “Of course. We will deal with them.”

“They are just savages, Your Majesty. There are many ways to deal with that kind,” Pycelle said. Most did not fail to look at him as the bootlicking idiot he was, too blind to see things as they truly were, merely to please his spoiled king.

Tyrion knew that no one in the world would call the Arcticans savages, only in this council, among all places in the world, would they say such a thing.

“I would not deal with them that way, Your Majesty. Remember that this same Jon Arctic has won every battle he has fought around the known world and is invincible at sea.” Tyrion spoke and turned back to the maester who had just said those last words. “I need not remind you of the battles he fought and triumphed in, right? It seems that Master Pycelle’s memory is somewhat affected due to age,” he was the only one to speak up, mocking the old maester for underestimating the enemy.

“How dare you?” Pycelle became irritated.

“Stop!” Joffrey surprised them by ordering everyone to stop before things began to escalate. “It does not matter how many battles he has won, dwarf.” Joffrey turned his attention directly to Tyrion, with mockery. “We will deal with them and kill them all. We will take their riches and the weapons they have. They have ships, gold, Valyrian steel weapons… Very soon, everything will be ours, even those giants. I will create an infinite army with them!” he declared arrogantly, and everyone had their own thoughts about that.

Meanwhile, farther north, Tywin Lannister read some letters in Harrenhal.

‘The wolf is lost, his son escaped your grasp thanks to the trout… and those who supported him in the beginning are no longer so enthusiastic now. He is making mistakes, he has just executed Lord Rickard Karstark and his men have left the army. He will try to seek appeasement with the Freys now that he has lost the North. It will be a chance to strike him.’

The letter ended, and Tywin remained thoughtful, alone in his chamber. He had lost countless battles against the North. His son had finally slipped from his grasp, which at last gave him a chance to strike Robb Stark once and for all.

Lord Bolton had informed him as soon as he learned that the foolish Catelyn Stark had freed Jaime against the king’s orders in pursuit of a false promise.

A dangerous glint reflected in the lion’s green eyes as he took another letter, this time confirming his alliance with the Tyrells. In exchange for his grandson marrying Olenna’s granddaughter, making her queen and binding the Tyrells to the royal bloodline, the lions would form an alliance with the roses.

Tywin was satisfied with this. He needed the Tyrells at this moment, needed their food, their gold, and their men if he wished to pacify the realm, even more so now, with an enemy on the horizon.

Killing Lord Stark had been an unforgivable folly by his daughter, and she had not even seemed to hesitate, driven only by vengeance for what had happened in Winterfell. Now, however, the realms were divided and there was a looming enemy to the north, with the risk of appearing at any moment to seek revenge.

If he had kept Lord Stark as a hostage, he could have used him against the King of Arctic, but now nothing could prevent the enemy from advancing.

At first, he had not cared about eliminating Robb Stark, given Robb’s relationship with Jon Arctic. He did not see him as someone Jon truly valued, but there was still the sister. Perhaps Robb Stark could buy him some time for negotiation against the Arctican forces. A chance to know the enemy and see how he acted.

Tywin treated this with a certain caution. He knew he could not rely solely on the arrogance of his countless men, even with the Lannister-Tyrell alliance.

He did not know the enemy.

He did not know their true strength, only that forty-five thousand men had landed in the Dothraki Desert with five thousand giants among them, a force that could be worth two entire kingdoms.

And perhaps that was not all of Arctic’s strength.

He needed to know the enemy.

And it was far too shameful to find himself in that situation. He had lost a possible hostage of his own blood to use against the Arcticans within his own castle. He had failed to prevent the news from spreading and, quickly, he had become a laughingstock before the Seven Kingdoms.

Tywin Lannister, the man who had lost the Rock for the first time in history. For someone who cared about the legacy of his name more than anything, he deeply hated the Arcticans after that.

His children had been harmed as if his name meant nothing. His house had been invaded, without him knowing how they had managed to enter, and even after all of that, he still did not truly know the enemy.

He could only prepare with the greatest military power possible and hostages. Perhaps he could have two hostages, Robb Stark and Sansa Stark. Or more, the Stark children were still alive in the North… That could help.

Not that he cared about killing them after what had happened in Winterfell, he truly wanted that, wanted to exterminate the entire Stark family to show everyone what happened when someone underestimated the lion and believed there would be no equal response. However, the game was more dangerous than that.

At the same time, kilometers away from where Tywin was, Roose Bolton was eating together with the lords in the main tent, with the army camped a little farther east of Riverrun.

“The scouts have seen Lannister troops advancing on all sides, my lord,” said a man bearing the Umber sigil, a scout assigned to manage a team that watched enemy movements farther south.

“Very well. You are dismissed,” King Robb — or as they also called him, the Young Wolf — spoke in a firm and authoritative tone, a voice that Robb himself would not have recognized a year earlier.

War had transformed him from a boy into a man, from a man into a king — or so his men now called him.

As soon as the scout left, murmurs and whispers began among the high-ranking nobles, who discussed matters between the tables. The king sat at the main table, together with his mother and Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, and other important lords of the Riverlands on one side. On the other side were Lord Umber, Lord Glover, Lord Bolton, Lord Tallhart, and Lord Manderly, the main forces among the Northern army, honored with the right to sit beside the king.

“We are in a bad situation, Your Majesty. We are becoming increasingly surrounded. The Golden Tooth is impenetrable to the Northern army, and Lord Tywin has his forces to the south, preparing a march from Harrenhal to here.”

“Do not forget that Stannis is about to attack King’s Landing. I doubt Tywin is paying that much attention to us here,” said Lord Tallhart.

“Even so, with the departure of the Karstarks and the withdrawal of the Freys, we are in a difficult position, Your Majesty,” another river lord said, while Robb could not stop looking at Walder Frey. He knew that look well; he knew exactly what it meant.

Robb had not kept his word. He had not married a daughter of Lord Frey, not after getting Jeyne Westerling pregnant and marrying her.

The reaction was not immediate, but little by little, the Freys began to withdraw by order of their patriarch, and the support diminished with each passing day. Robb could do nothing, only listen to the Freys’ complaints while trying to appease them.

Then his mother freed the kingslayer, his main hostage, to save Sansa… A single hostage that, in the eyes of all, was worth nothing.

Robb executed Karstark shortly after, and with him killing two Lannister boys, the men of House Karstark also abandoned the army and returned to the North. With that, the situation there grew worse and worse.

He heard about Theon; it had been several moons since he had fled Winterfell, taking advantage of the chaos created by Sansa. The Starks had lost the hostage…

Now, the North was being attacked by the Greyjoys, and Winterfell had been taken by Theon, according to the latest news, with his brothers imprisoned inside. He felt the pain of seeing Theon turn against the very house that had raised him, even enduring his behavior as far as their father had allowed, after all, Theon had become a servant through his behavior.

In any case, Robb’s men were losing confidence in him with each passing day. Their lands and homes were being burned in the North, and their fight seemed more and more meaningless.

As much as he was still fighting to save Sansa and avenge his father, it was not the same as the original purpose: rescuing Lord Stark while he was still alive. Sansa was not worth his father in the eyes of his men. In fact, they spat when they said her name, for she had fled Winterfell, she had delivered her own father into the Lannisters’ trap. She was not worth his men losing their lives. She was not Lyanna Stark, for whom the North had once united to defend.

If it were Arya, Robb could even consider that his men would fight for her. After all, when she returned to Winterfell, Arya had given Robb the idea of visiting each of the houses and went along to visit every lord together with Robb, Bran, and their father. She met every lord, every heir, their other sons and daughters, showing herself to be a true Northerner with beauty and ferocity, inspiring admiration wherever she went, not to mention the political intelligence she had regarding the circumstances of each house, offering her suggestions and opinions to Robb and their father at the time.

She made an excellent impression on most of the castles. In some, she showed that she was tough and did not bow down, standing her ground against anyone. Most loved that, calling her the “She-Wolf,” as her aunt once had been.

“My lords,” Robb spoke, meeting them in the eyes. “I, my mother, and my principal advisers are discussing the possibility of reaffirming our alliances. So do not worry. Our weakened state is only momentary.” Everyone listened after the complaints and concerns, agreeing in the end.

Robb did not see Roose Bolton’s calculating look, with a convincing and perceptive glint.

Later, they met in a more private place, in the command tent itself, while only the principal advisers were present.

“We are winning every single battle, but losing the war,” Robb declared, and all of them took on a darker expression as they recognized the truth of those words.

“That is why I intend to reaffirm our alliances with the Freys,” he declared immediately afterward. Roose Bolton had already said that he needed this more than allies: he needed men, and the Freys would be the fastest way to that.

Edmure stepped forward before anyone could ask. “I spoke with King Robb in private and I am willing to marry one of Lord Frey’s daughters. I will take his place in the agreement. This will bring the Freys back to us,” Edmure said.

Catelyn could not help but show a proud smile toward her brother, while at the same time looking at her son with a mix of boldness and pride. Even so, she could not help but admire Robb with a crown upon his head.

A crown she herself had helped to place there, worthy of her heir. No matter how heavy it was.

‘Look at this, Ned,’ she said in her thoughts, unable to contain the shiver of a certain anger toward her dead husband.

She broke the love she had the moment she heard of her husband’s death. Then she felt hatred for Ned at the same time that she mourned him.

When he revealed the bastard’s identity, he proved that he had lied to her all that time. Even when she wondered, in silence, whether she had regretted hating him, thinking about how she treated the boy out of fear that he would steal Winterfell from Robb and her other children, in a cruel way, the answer came clearly: no.

She still hated him.

She hated her husband as well, even after his death. He had been selfish.

The bastard had turned her daughter into something Catelyn had no control over; she had become an enemy of her own mother. Catelyn loved Arya, but she hated the way her daughter looked at her.

And the damned bastard… he had become grand to the entire world, while her son was only a lord of an isolated kingdom.

She felt envy, and she knew it deep down, even though she did not want to admit it. She had always been envious of him, of the things she heard, of how the son of an unknown woman had become such an extraordinary man, as she had thought many years ago.

Catelyn might be a foolish and embittered woman now, but she shuddered just thinking about the day she would have to face him again; she would not know how to react, and she would not know how things would unfold.

Her son was the king, and he would answer to no one, not even the bastard.

Robb had been afraid at first, saying that it was not right when the North could have a powerful king, but she convinced her son to keep the crown, even as he argued that perhaps the North should support the bastard. She kept whispering in his ear that Jon Arctic had no love for Robb, that the bridge between them was broken, and that Jon might want to eliminate him. It was a matter of survival… Besides, no one knew anything concrete about them. What was the point of waiting for a ghost that had disappeared for 9 or 10 moons?

That made Robb continue marching and protect the riverlands and his family’s lands, instead of returning to the North to form a defensive army. Unfortunately, this did not happen quickly or smoothly; problems arose during Robb’s coronation.

In addition to the Greyjoy invasion, there was also resistance among some of the Northern lords. Lord Glover, in particular, said that they should not seek independence if there was someone to replace the king, that Arctic could provide support, food, and gold to the North, and many agreed. He supported the cause of Jon Arctic, or rather, Aegon Targaryen.

That was because the bastard had been the one who saved his youngest daughter more than 11 years ago, when she was only 6, and many lords had also witnessed his feats firsthand. Lord Tallhart agreed with Lord Glover as well.

Lord Umber, on the other hand, argued that they should not follow something they did not even truly know and from which they had had no news in recent moons. He also disliked the idea of Jon Arctic as king beyond the Wall, for he naturally hated wildlings, not to mention that he was a Targaryen, the Mad King’s grandson, which made the Northerners even more wary, even though some argued that he had proven himself to be more than that since childhood.

The Karstarks were also not very favorable toward Jon Arctic, sharing the same opinion as the Umbers. All of them wanting independence.

Even with Lord Glover, Lord Manderly, Lord Tallhart, and Lord Reed supporting Jon Arctic’s claim, the majority of the North supported Robb’s claim for independence, and all the others were forced to kneel.

Catelyn counted that as a victory. In the end, she believed her son would make the bastard’s feats insignificant — or at least that was what she hoped. She was desperate for that, to prove that her son was more important than the other…

The meeting continued, and Catelyn remained silent; no one wanted to hear her, especially after what had happened with Jaime Lannister and her freeing him while still being part of the council.

Elsewhere, far to the north. Winterfell.

It was a horrific scene at that moment. Bran Stark cried while sitting on the ground, with Rickon held by Maester Luwin, as they witnessed Theon Greyjoy simply strike his sword against the back of Ser Rodrik’s neck on an execution block.

The blow did not decapitate him; it only cut part of the flesh, making the man scream in pain and blood gush onto Theon himself and his sword.

A little embarrassed, Theon raised the sword again and struck him once more, digging deeper, yet still unable to deliver a clean cut.

Without granting a swift death to the poor knight and master-at-arms of Winterfell, Ser Rodrik roared in agony as the sword was raised four more times, until at last Theon managed to cut him down, leaving the head still hanging by the neck, unable to sever it completely, but now with him dead and no longer crying out in pain.

It was not an easy spectacle to witness. It was terrible and agonizing. The men of the Iron Islands were in a different mood; they laughed at the knight’s suffering, praising Theon, who, though he wished to give a clean death, had been incapable of doing so, delivering one of the worst deaths imaginable and horrific suffering to a man of honor. But that was the way of the ironmen, so they amused themselves like the bandits they were.

That had not been an execution, but a man being cut alive with each blow of a sword to the back of the neck, while Theon, who was the executioner, barely had the strength or skill to carry out the task properly. His hand was still twisted from when it had been broken eight years earlier by the bastard, but that was no excuse.

Everyone in Winterfell wept and looked at Theon with hatred. The boy who had been taken in by the Starks, and whom many had already disliked for his behavior, was now seen as someone who deserved nothing but hatred, repaying Stark kindness when he had been taken in, in this way, in the cruelest manner possible.

Torturing the man who had once taught him how to wield a sword, in the cruelest way possible. They saw Ser Rodrik scream in agony and beg for a quick blow while he could barely speak with his neck partially split open.

If looks could kill, Theon would have been writhing on the ground.

The two Stark children cried together, staring at him with rage and hatred. Bran was unable to move, but that did not stop him from exploding in fury at seeing Ser Rodrik there, his head still hanging by his neck, while they laughed at him.

Theon, a little embarrassed, tried to join in the laughter, saying that he had done it on purpose, even though his eyes betrayed his nervousness.

“Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy!” Bran then shouted, drawing the boy’s attention. “You may get out of this alive, you may execute anyone here, but know that you will pay for everything you have done. Jon will come south at any moment, he will destroy all of you. Do you understand? Do you know what is coming for you? Jon will show no mercy. I pray to the old gods that he does not. When you meet him, you will feel the same despair you made Rodrik feel, you damned ingrate! You lying bandit, my father should have executed you from the moment you committed that crime and blamed Jon with my mother and brother! You and all the ironborn have no idea what Jon is capable of, nor the army he commands! Pyke will be destroyed along with all of you!”

Even with the maester begging him to stop, Bran uttered every one of those words, shouting in the middle of the courtyard of Winterfell.

“Listen here, you useless little paraplegic boy,” Theon snapped at Bran’s words and stepped forward, consumed by rage, kicking Bran.

Since Bran was on the ground, unable to walk, the boy groaned in pain and fell backward.

Rickon ran to try to strike Theon and protect his brother, but he was stopped by Osha, a wildling who had been serving the castle in recent moons after being spared. She grabbed Rickon and threw him to the ground.

“Stop. You will gain nothing by trying to hit him, little one.”

Theon merely mocked this and went back to taunting Bran as he groaned with a bleeding nose. “You talk too much. Where is the bastard when you need him? Tell me, where is that whore of your sister? Where are those Arcticans who were supposed to defend the North, whom you talk about so much and boast about? Because I do not see any of them here. Here there are only squids over little wolves…” he declared with a smile.

“Not to mention that your brother took the crown and turned the North into an independent kingdom. Your father said the bastard was the king. Automatically, with your brother being king, they both became enemies. Now listen! The bastard is nowhere to be found. Your father is dead. Your brother will soon die in the war against the Lannisters, and the Ironborn will take whatever they want from the North,” Theon laughed, as a pregnant woman approached Bran on the ground, trying to help him up.

“Walder, please, take Bran inside,” the woman said to one of the trusted servants, making Theon raise an eyebrow and stop laughing.

“I had almost forgotten about you, Lady Cassandra. And in your belly… it seems this will be the last child of the late Lord Stark,” Theon said, watching the pregnant woman, who would give birth in one or two moons.

“Lord Stark will have a second bastard!” he declared, laughing, while Cassandra touched her own belly.

“He is not a bastard! Ned and I were married before the old gods before he went to King’s Landing,” she said.

Theon stopped laughing and stepped toward her, while Cassandra faced him head-on and the others watched, worried.

“You know, you have not lost your beauty even while pregnant. I can see why you enchanted Lord Stark after he had already gone through his wife. I have always wanted to sleep with a pregnant woman,” he said, to Cassandra’s horror, as she trembled. Everyone around also looked on with horror and hatred.

“Theon, please, you are not like this, I beg you!” Luwin said, stepping forward, before receiving a slap from one of the Ironborn.

“Silence, maester. You have no right to speak here. We take what we want,” said the man of the Iron Islands with pride.

Theon opened a malicious smile.

“The last child of Lord Stark… perhaps we should interrupt it. After all, he put me in trouble. Treated me like a servant for years, especially after that bitch Arya Stark returned. That would be quite interesting,” Theon said with malice, while Cassandra stepped backward, frightened for the first time. She had not imagined that such a monster had been in the castle all along. She had always been kind to him, even when he was ill-tempered with his duties after Lord Stark demoted him to that position. She had tried to give him tasks as castellan that would not irritate him so much.

While the turmoil continued in Winterfell, outside the castle walls, a man was approaching from the south.

He had arrived in the North only a few days after leaving White Harbor and was riding at full speed on horseback, a cloak covering his face.

He only stopped when he finally spotted his objective — the Stark castle — lifting his head while within his hood, revealing some of his age-grayed hair and beard, yet with the bearing of a skilled fighter. His eyes studied Winterfell from a distance, focusing mainly on the walls, with no ironborn searching around the castle at that moment. Some event must have been happening inside for there to be no one on the walls.

Taking advantage of that, he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and charged forward, drawing ever closer to Winterfell.

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