Black Wolf
patreon
ADS 17
🕑 Added 2024-09-14 18:14:22 +0000 UTCChapter 17: The Red Death
Daemon Snow
I woke with a gasp, instantly moving to crouch, ready to attack anyone who made a move. It only took two heartbeats before pain flared through me, forcing a groan as I collapsed on my ass to the stone floor. My body was a wreck. As I looked around, I realized I was in a good room, nothing like Castle Black.
I connected with my bonded birds and, through their eyes, I saw Last Hearth from different viewpoints. .
I tried to stand, but pain immediately flooded me. My entire body was swollen one big bruise. My memory stirred, bringing the last few moments to the forefront, and sadness enveloped me once again. Still, there was a twisted sense of satisfaction, a pleasure in the slaughter I had wreaked afterward. I glanced down at my hands—they were still stained red. Whoever cleaned me had barely managed to scrape away the blood
Making the pain less with my control, I got up and sat on the bed, grabbing the water pot and drinking it all.
I sighed, thinking over what had happened that night. I wanted to blame myself for incompetence, but I knew deep down it wasn’t my fault. There hadn’t been any Night’s Watch rebellion in the canon timeline, and my birds had been monitoring the Wildling army, helping us prepare. None of us suspected the treachery of the Night’s Watch collaborating with the Wildlings. I couldn’t even use my greenseer abilities to check on my uncle—I had too little time and no idea of the exact day to search the weirwood network. At the end of the day 1000 men ambush against 200 only had one outcome and there was no chance for betrayal to be the reason for my uncle’s death, so I never bothered to see his death.
My eyes still watered, remembering my grandfather's death. The pain was still fresh, gnawing at my insides like a festering wound, and I wondered how I could feel such agony now, when I barely felt anything for my uncle’s death earlier in Winterfell. The disparity haunted me, leading me to comb through my memories in search of any inconsistency. Was someone manipulating my mind, bending my emotions to their will? But I found nothing out of the ordinary—only the strange clarity of my mind's version of Winterfell, pieced together by the likeness of Dragonstone. The vision was more vivid than ever, with the distinct outline of the Weirwood tree becoming clearer. A dragon had begun to form at the center, right where the Godswood stood in the real Winterfell.
Whatever happened that night had changed me. My mind had sharpened, expanded, and in that moment, I understood why I hadn’t felt sadness before. It was my own doing.
My own ability to control my body and mind. It is through which I reduced the pain earlier, it is a part of my limitless potential wish. I was adamant not being a family man from the moment I was born here and suffering the pain of death of loved ones from my childhood, that the control aspect made it possible to hinder any feelings unconsciously. But the death of my grandfather was too much for it and it broke that control, flooding me with sorrow and rage that I had never allowed myself to feel before. I sighed, the exhaustion seeping into my bones, as my healing overworked to mend the spilt muscles and even hairline fractures in my bones.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The door to my room creaked open, and Aethan Reed stepped inside. His face was etched with sorrow as he spoke softly, “Daemon, I’m sorry for your loss. Lord Stark was a good man and a greater Lord of the North.”
I nodded, though my mind was too clouded with fatigue and frustration to fully absorb his words. “What happened after I fainted? And why the hell are we here at Last Hearth instead of Castle Black, killing those traitors?” I asked while grabbing the plate of food from Aethan’s hands. It was piled high with enough food to feed three grown men, as Aethan knew how much I needed after using my abilities. Sustenance was key to healing my battered and broken body.
“The wildlings and Night’s Watchmen were routed, but almost a thousand of them escaped,” Aethan began. “Of our men, only 800 Stark soldiers survived, along with 200 from Mormont, and 100 each from the Umbers and Karstarks. The betrayal of the rangers cost us dearly. After you fainted, the lords argued over who should lead and when to strike the Night’s Watch or chase the wildlings. I made them see reason—that marching on Castle Black with so few men and many injured, not knowing where loyalties lay, was foolish. So, we retreated here.”
I frowned at the thought of the wildlings still being alive, slipping away under the cover of night. “I see. We need information and confirmation. What happened to Ser Noseless? Is he still breathing?”
Aethan grimaced. “Yes, he's in the dungeons, but no amount of torture has made him talk. He grins, satisfied with himself, and keeps boasting about killing two Starks. One of our men lost control and beat him until he was unconscious. The healer says he’s barely alive—he’ll last a day at most. I managed to stop Lord Umber from killing him outright after you fainted and even took command of the remaining Stark men, making him our prisoner.”
I raised an eyebrow, impressed. Aethan was only a young heir, with none of his own men nearby, yet he had managed to hold sway over the two lords, even the fierce Umber. “How the hell did you manage to get Lord Umber to hold back when he was after blood?”
Aethan smiled faintly. “Well, Daemon, it’s only you who ignores my advice. We crannogmen are the bog devils, the ultimate survivors. Our loyalty to Winterfell has never been questioned, and in matters of survival against bigger and better foes, the Reed’s words are always heeded. The Stark men follow me because I was fostered at Winterfell and spent years under Lord Stark’s roof.”
I processed what I heard and could only scoff in reply.
“You never told me why the Reeds are so loyal to Winterfell. The Starks conquered you, married the daughter of your Swamp King for your abilities. I know why the Mormonts and Manderlys are loyal—Mormont was saved from the Ironborn in a wrestling match, and we gave the Manderlys land when they fled the Reach. But the Reeds were conquered like everyone else.”
Aethan chuckled, “And you’ll never find out. But you can always try your luck through the weirwoods to glimpse the past.”
I waved his teasing comment away. “Let’s focus on the present. What do we know about the enemy? And why did so many Night’s Watchmen turn traitor? My hands are itching to kill more of them,” I snarled.
Aethan sighed at my anger and behaviour.
Aethan sighed at my frustration. “I asked around some of the surviving Night’s Watchmen. They were surprisingly talkative. I’ve pieced together a theory. It starts with the man you insulted and discarded as irrelevant—Ser Noseless. He’s the eldest son of Ser Lucamore Strong, the Kingsguard who was gelded and sent to the Wall in 73 AC for marrying three women and fathering many children, all labelled bastards by the Queen.”
I gaped. “Lucamore the Lusty? The hero of that awful song that made the entire realm laugh? How in the name of the Seven did he manage to turn so many Night’s Watchmen against their vows?”
Aethan shook his head, his expression stern. "This is your problem, Daemon. You underestimate people because you believe nothing can truly harm you. But that’s dangerous. For all his flaws, Ser Lucamore was a Kingsguard, and his martial skills reflect that."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing, "From what I’ve gathered, resentment against the King and the Night’s Watch had been festering for years. The men sent here by royal command already felt bitterness toward their fate, and one of them had been stoking those flames for the last decade. The issue was, they lacked a true leader—someone capable of giving them hope, of uniting them in their desire for escape and rebellion. That’s where Lucamore came in. He and his sons were recruited, and with his reputation as a skilled warrior, he quickly usurped leadership. The men were eager to follow a Kingsguard, even a disgraced one."
I narrowed my eyes, processing this unexpected revelation. "And the wildlings?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.
Aethan nodded grimly. "They were already in contact with the rebellious group. Lucamore simply suborned them, offering strength and benefits that they have not seen in decades. As he defeated the leaders of various wildling tribes, more and more fell under his control, especially when he killed any rival who dared to challenge him. This is all the information I've confirmed from the prisoners,"
I was flabbergasted by the information and wondered what happened to Lucamore in canon.
“This is the how, Aethan. Now why?” I asked.
Aethan grimaced, clearly uncomfortable. "Unfortunately, I don’t know the full motive with certainty. But I managed to scry on a meeting between two brothers, and from what I overheard, I can guess the motive. It was plain, honest revenge."
"Revenge?" I exclaimed, baffled. "Revenge against who? The North has done nothing to them."
Aethan hesitated before answering. "Against your grandfather." Seeing my confusion, he quickly added, "The King."
I paused, processing the implications and I could guess their plans immediately.
It was a bold and audacious plan, one built on arrogance and the assumption of things happening exactly as they want.
"That was a risky move on their part, but I can see why they'd do it. Returning the Gift to capable hands forced them to act before their chances of success vanished completely. But even then, killing Lord Stark and his heir might not be enough to drag a dragonrider from the South to defend the Wall. Even if they come, they won’t venture beyond the Wall with an army unless they have their dragon. All this, just to separate a Targaryen from his dragon and kill them," I said.
“Well, you missed something else, Daemon,” Aethan replied. “Ser Lucamore was a Kingsguard, privy to the inner workings of the realm. He knew about your plan to frustrate the king with constant complaints, and he likely concluded that it was an attempt by the North to tarnish the image of the ‘good king.’ Or maybe he overheard the king himself interpreting it that way. Ser Lucamore knew the North despised the Targaryens, and he intended to exploit that. He also knew Bennard Stark would become regent, and that Bennard would stop at nothing to hunt down the wildlings who had slaughtered his family.
There was already a plan in motion for Lucamore to become the Lord Commander. As the leader of the Night’s Watch, Ser Lucamore could stay in the shadows, manipulate events, and become Bennard Stark’s greatest ally in his quest for vengeance. From there, he could deepen Bennard’s hatred for the Targaryens, perhaps by pointing out that the Targaryens had deliberately weakened the North. He might even suggest luring the king or his sons north under the pretense of fighting the wildlings, only to have them killed when they ventured beyond the Wall. If the North grew angry enough, they could declare independence—and Lucamore knew that anger was already festering.”
I was taken aback by his words. “That’s foolishness. Northmen betraying their sworn king without just cause?”
Aethan grimaced. “Yes, it is foolishness from our point of view, but for a southern knight who violated one of the highest oaths? Not really, Daemon. Strong managed to corral the wildlings, even when their hatred for the Night’s Watch is legendary. From Lucamore’s point of view, why couldn’t he recruit a Stark for a plan that would make them kings again? After all, the North was never truly conquered, and the current king and queen have only worsened things with their arrogance. For all he knows, we’re just biding our time. We still keep our distance from the South. And don’t forget the Company of the Rose—a sellsword army led by a Stark bastard. They’re one of the greatest companies in Essos, waiting for the call of a Stark king. They could have gathered untold knowledge on how to fight dragons from their time there.”
I scoffed. "That’s a lot of assumptions for this Lucamore to make, especially regarding the Northmen’s honor and loyalty to their vows."
Aethan nodded in agreement. “But you have to remember this, Daemon—a traitor and a liar always believes that others are just like them, just waiting for the most beneficial opportunity to show it.”
I nodded sharply at Aethan. "That’s indeed true. When did you get to be such a wiseass? Well, anyway, I suppose I should walk and eat now, or we’ll never end this conversation. After that, let’s make sure I personally welcome Ser Noseless back to the land of the living from his deathbed and see whether your guesses are correct."
Aethan looked worried. “Are you sure, Daemon? Even though he’s guarded only by Stark men under my orders, word may spread.”
"It’s a risk I’m willing to take after my own performance that day. No one would believe I’m just a normal man anymore," I said, shrugging off his concern.
When Ser Noseless finally woke up, it took me only fifteen minutes to break his will. He quickly realized he would heal and survive for a long time, thanks to my abilities. He called me a demon, the very representation of the Seven Hells, and other ridiculous names—all while I laughed at his overdramatic yelling.
The information he gave me was valuable, and I ended the torture by taking his other hand as well.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meeting in Great hall
Even though the Great Hall was half the size of Winterfell’s, it could easily pack in hundreds of soldiers. At least 200 Stark men and some of Mormont and Karstark men were present, which irritated the Umber Guardsmen as they struggled to control the other soldiers.
I entered the Great Hall of the Umbers with Aethan Reed amidst shouting between lords and Lady Mormont. I noticed Lyra standing on the sidelines, observing the chaos. The place near the Lords near the horizontal great table was filled with soldiers of rank, and others stood in silent vigil on the side of the room and near my grandfather’s body, paying their respects to my grandfather.
His body had been cleaned and prepared with oils so it could reach Winterfell without decomposing. My eyes watered at the sight of him lying on a wooden structure used to move his body from the cart that carried him. Crushing my sadness, I approached the corpse.
The soldiers seemed to grow more cheerful as I walked forward, although some pointed at my head—my hair was still red, despite bathing twice since I woke. The blood had been washed away, but the redness remained. I reached my grandfather’s body and bowed, kissing his forehead. I stood straight, gripping Ice, which had rested on his chest. For some reason, the scene of grandfather lying with the sword held in his chest, reminded me of Sean Bean’s river funeral in Lord of the Rings.
Everyone in the hall was surprised, their attention drawn by the movement of Ice in the midst of their arguments. I saw Karstark's eyes narrow with anger as he noticed I had taken the sword, but, fortunately for him, he said nothing at that moment.
"Daemon Snow, it gladdens my heart that you’ve regained consciousness and suffered no injuries," Lady Mormont said. "It was as if you were possessed by the old gods themselves with the skill and speed you showed that day."
Before I could respond, a snide voice cut in—Lord Karstark. "Yes, it was the gods' grace that you were unharmed by your foolish actions that night."
The soldiers started grumbling in anger, but Lord Umber's voice boomed before I could say anything.
"Are you mad, Karstark? It was his actions that saved our skins and broke the spirit of our enemies. He was a whirlwind of death that day—the greatest Killer I’ve ever seen. Cheers for the hero of the Battle of Nightfort! The Stark, the Red Death!"
The soldiers cheered at my new nickname, "The Red Death." I guessed it was because of the red mist and my hair. I sighed inwardly at the new nickname, atleast it was not bad like the whoresbane.
"Lords, my lady," I said, turning to face them, "what are you arguing about? Why haven’t our men begun hunting down the scattered enemy?"
"We don’t have the numbers to hunt down the entire Gift," Lord Karstark replied. "The Night’s Watch is 10,000 strong. How can we trust them when so many of their own men just betrayed us? Lord Umber wants to hunt the wildlings now, but I believe we should return Lord Stark’s body to Winterfell and let Regent Stark call the banners. A raven has already been sent informing the North of Lord Stark’s passing, and the North will want to pay respects to one of Winterfell’s greatest Lord Stark."
I frowned at the lords, my own thoughts getting darker and darker. I knew a funeral must be held, but it was clear they wanted to save their own men and money rather than start the hunt for the wildlings. I am already sure their men are patrolling the roads under their control and carefully guarding the borders with the Gift. I had no such limits.
“My lords, my lady," I began, my voice hard with rage, "I agree my grandfather was one of the greatest, and the entire North will mourn his loss. But we will lose precious time if we allow the traitors to regroup. They are scattered, and their leader—the noseless bastard—is with us. I’ve extracted information from him, and he confessed their leader has a entire castle under their control and men. This man has succeeded in his plan—he killed Lord Stark and his heir, leaving a four-year-old as the next in line. Now, he aims to consolidate his control over the wildlings beyond the Wall. We don’t have time to wait for these traitors to escape or betray the Night’s Watch again."
"Snow, I want to hunt the vermin as much as you do," Lord Umber said, "but I can’t call the banners and go to war without the Regent’s order. We are sworn to follow the Starks of Winterfell, and the current Regent is Bennard Stark. You must return with us, and then we can follow you with the banners for war. I don’t have the men or resources to protect my own lands while hunting wildlings. My duty is to my people first. I will avenge Lord Stark, but without the full might of Winterfell, this is folly."
I grimaced, knowing there was truth in Lord Umber’s words, but I could also see his hesitation—he feared losing his life, his influence, and that the new Regent’s Father-in-law, Lord Karstark, was fully behind returning Lord Stark’s body to Winterfell.
I looked around, seeing Stark men angry and even the commanders of Umber and Karstark disappointed. The lords expected me to follow their orders and even before waiting to see what I would they were shouting against each other again. I knew that if I stayed silent today I will then have to shed enough northern blood or wait Cregan to be the Lord Stark to ever have a voice in the North again and I was not willing for either choice. Only my performance on the battlefield earned me the right to speak today and I was ready to make it as solid as the Ice.
"My uncle may be the Lord Regent," I started, and the Lords stopped immediately and they looked very much surprised that I said something after they dismissed me, but the stark men who knew me from my birth were looking at me expectedly, "but Lord Stark is Cregan, a six-year-old boy who I consider my own little brother—a boy who lost his father and grandfather to traitors and wildlings. I was raised by two of the greatest men I’ve ever known—my uncle Rickon and my grandfather, who I consider a father. I will not return to Winterfell until I eradicate every single one who conspired against us. I will only return with the head of the King Beyond the Wall, so that Cregan can sleep peacefully, knowing his father’s murderers no longer draw breath. This is my gift to him, and my vengeance. Soldiers, are you with me?"
"Aye!" they roared. "Vengeance for Lord Stark! Vengeance! Vengeance! The Red Death for Traitors!"
"Daemon, cousin, I understand your fury," Lord Karstark began and started walking towards me, "but this is near treason against the Regent. We cannot make such decisions on our own. I must stop you from this foolishness and from taking Ice with you. It must be returned to Winterfell to the Regent, who will decide its fate." He emphasized his point by placing his hand on the sword’s hilt.
“Ah!” Lord Karstark yelled and withdrew his hands as the skin where he touched the hilt burned.
“What the fuck?” Umber yelled, “this has not happened with Ice before. What is this magic.”
"What have you done to Ice, boy?" Karstark shouted. "You’ve despoiled Ice, our ancestral sword, with your sorcery!"
"Enough!" I shouted. "Lord Karstark, your greed for the sword overwhelmed you. I’ve done nothing to Ice—it finds your blood unworthy of the Stark line. You are not of Stark blood. The sword is now blood-bound to me as its wielder, at least until its need for vengeance is quenched, or Cregan himself takes it from my hand. I’ll tell you which will happen first. You will be my messenger. Inform Lord Cregan Stark that I will return with the killers’ heads and surrender Ice to him then. The Stark line has been reduced to five members—Lord Cregan, Uncle Bennard, and his two sons. It’s time for Bennard to add more to the line with your daughter. I will risk my life to ensure the Starks survive this crisis, and if you try to stop me or the Stark army, I will consider you a co-conspirator to usurp Cregan, to make your grandson the Lord Stark and kill you on the spot."
Lord Karstark, enraged, yelled, "How dare you? I am loyal to the North, boy. You question my honor? My fealty to the Stark?"
"I don’t question it—the magic that binds Ice to House Stark questions it. And it wouldn’t be the first time House Stark had to purge prideful cadet lines that thought themselves better than their parent house."
"Enough!" Lord Umber bellowed. "You’re all under my roof, and this is no time for accusations when our lord lies dead here. Daemon Snow, I know how much Lord Stark’s death has affected you—we all saw it." A chill passed through the hall as everyone recalled the slaughter I had wrought. Even now, my silver-red hair drew glances from everyone in the room. "I want to remind you that Lord Karstark is not a traitor, however, the sword has judged. You may do as you wish, but remember, the lives of the soldiers who follow you are your responsibility. Beyond the Wall is no place for the unprepared."
"Aye, Lord Umber," I said. "I will be careful, and thank you for understanding. Lord Karstark, I apologize for my outburst—my emotions are running high."
Karstark nodded stiffly. "I also apologize for interfering in House Stark’s internal matters. Your use of Ice is to be judged by House Stark alone. But I still maintain it should be returned to Winterfell, to its rightful lord, Cregan Stark. However, as no one here can touch it, and you will not be traveling to Winterfell now, that seems impossible."
I nodded, accepting the apologies, and turned to leave.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Daemon, what is the plan? Aethan’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. We were in the tent that Lord Stark’s men had prepared for me, the canvas heavy with the scent of wet earth and iron. I was seated, slowly cleaning Ice—a way to steady my mind, to understand the strange bond that now pulsed between the blade and me. My father had taught me much about the magic behind Valyrian steel, about how a true warrior could bond with it, making it an extension of their very self. Feed the blade some blood, kill your first foe, and it would forever be like an extension to your arms—sharp, swift, and deadly. I expected it when I bled on Ice and killed my enemies, but this bond was more.
I know Ice was a custom made, using the Ice sword a remnant of Long Night times, bonded to the Stark Line. But even my father couldn’t light the cold fire like I did and cause similar scenes of that night.
Daemon. Aethan's voice broke through again, more urgent now.
I looked up. Aethan stood there, flanked by five army captains and Lyra Mormont, the fierce warrior sent by Lady Mormont herself. She had bought almost all remaining Bear Island’s soldiers to assist me. All eyes were on me, waiting.
“The plan is simple,” I said, setting Ice down beside me. “We know Stonedoor remains loyal to the traitor beyond the Wall. Five hundred men garrisoned there, and scattered across the Gift, another seven hundred wildlings and Night’s Watch deserters. I'll take Stonedoor myself and kill every last one of the traitors before they can cause more harm to the North or the Watch.”
There were nods of grim approval from the captains, but I continued before they could voice their thoughts. “We’ve captured Ser Noseless and his five lackeys. They’ll be delivered to Castle Black. The truth will be extracted before the Lord Commander itself, and I'll behead the traitor in front of a weirwood, feeding his blood to the Old Gods.”
“The most crucial thing is how to find the scattered army and The Old Gods have already blessed me by sending sign. Come and see.” I said with a serene tone.
I stepped outside and pointed to the trees. Every single one had birds perched on its branches, watching the army with careful vigilance. Despite the noise of the camp, there was no panic, just a quiet and steady focus. Twenty of those birds were under my control, ones I had warged into when I awoke. They had been flying tirelessly after I fed them enough blood, along with my own eagles.
In addition to the birds, I had also warged into three wolves, who were essential in tracking down the hiding traitors. The only way I could locate these birds and wolves was by using the Weirwood to scry the present, a breakthrough I had only recently achieved. Even then, it took me hours to find enough eyes and nearly broke my mind to bond with them. The migraine from establishing these new connections still lingered.
Aethan, already aware of my abilities, showed no surprise, but the captains and Lyra Mormont were visibly astonished. Lyra even whispered, "Skinchanger."
"I, along with Lyra and the Mormont men, will head to the Stonedoor to deal with the traitors there," I announced. "The five of you captains will divide our forces into six equal battalions. Aethan will lead the last one. The messenger birds will guide you to the scum who dared to spill Northern blood. Cleanse the North of their depravity and meet at the Night's Watch in ten days—fifteen at the latest. If they surrender, accept their submission. The birds will then lead you to the nearest weirwood, where you will behead them and feed the weirwood their blood. The Night’s Watch traitors have weakened the Wall's magic by breaking their oaths. Their blood will restore the magic to what it was when they first swore their vows."
The captains looked at me as if I were a madman, ranting about magic and ancient gods, but they couldn't deny it—not after what they had witnessed at the Battle of the Nightfort.
"My lord," Lyra Mormont began, her voice uncertain, "I’m not sure the soldiers will be able to accomplish all this within such a limited time and still be ready to go beyond the Wall. They will be tired, and they’ll need rest."
I smiled knowingly. "Do not worry, Lyra. The old gods will provide the strength needed for this task, for they will it to be so. You shall see the results."
I turned to the group. "Let’s rest tonight and set out tomorrow morning to begin our missions."
The captains gaped but nodded, aware of the rumors surrounding me—and of the improved health of everyone in Winterfell and the surrounding lands.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stonedoor
The wind howled through the ancient trees, carrying with it the faint scent of blood and death. The castle stood at the edge of the world, an outpost of the Night’s Watch that had long since fallen into shadow. Its once-proud walls now harbored traitors, men who had forsaken their oaths for greed and cruelty.
Daemon stood beneath the towering weirwood, its crimson leaves whispering secrets only he could hear. The face carved into the trunk seemed to watch him, its eyes following his every move as he prepared for what was to come. He could feel the gaze of the Old Gods coursing through him. The traitors in the castle had no idea what was coming for them.
"Snow," Lyra called as she joined me in observing the castle gate. The gate had been hastily repaired, as there was usually no need for such defenses south of the Wall.
"Lyra," I replied. "Ready your men. I can see ten guards at the gate and along the wooden palisade. I’ll open it for you."
For a moment, Lyra looked skeptical, but she remembered the display of my abilities that night. She nodded. We were 500 meters away, hidden behind the trees.
We moved forward slowly, stopping at the edge of the treeline, 200 meters from the gate. From this distance, we could see the guards armed with bows, standing watch in patient silence.
I nodded at Lyra, and she nodded in agreement.
Without a sound, I broke into a sprint toward the gate. I was halfway there before the guards registered what was happening. I had expected them to laugh at the sight of a lone soldier charging, but my reputation must have spread, for instead of laughing, they panicked and fired their arrows. I saw ten arrows flying toward me, three of which were on target.
Still running, I unsheathed Ice from my back, pushing my speed even faster. One arrow flew harmlessly behind me. The other two came straight for my chest, but I cut them from the air with Ice. Before they could reload, I was within 50 meters of the gate. My leg muscles tensed in anticipation, and I front flipped.
I soared just over the gate and was upside down mid-air, when I reached above the gate. Using every ounce of my strength and momentum, I brought Ice down in a powerful arc, cleaving the crossguard and splitting the gate's middle clean in half. I landed in the courtyard, rolling smoothly to absorb the impact and slow my momentum.
I dashed beneath the palisade, slashing the gate with two swift strikes before kicking it open, the pieces flying in all directions. Running alongside the wooden palisade, I sliced through the supports, causing it to collapse as I moved. The guards couldn’t shoot at me while I stayed beneath the wooden structure. When I reached the end, I turned and ran back, seeing five men who had fallen while trying to arm themselves. They were too slow, and all five were dead within moments.
By now, the commotion had roused the rest of the castle. I finished off the remaining five guards near the gate and was already halfway to the castle proper when the first Mormont soldier entered through the shattered gate. The traitors inside were unprepared, groggy from sleep as they scrambled to arm themselves.
I ignited my sword, its flames casting a flickering glow, and kicked down the entrance door, ready to bring the traitors to justice.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Author’s Note: The lords want to kill the traitors, but not overstep and call the banners. Daemon is unleashed on the traitors, who just wants plain honest revenge. Something everyone in planetos wants to have. Next chapter: Bennard has sent a special letter to the king and a kingslanding chapter which was supposed to be only 1000 words and balance to the north but became 3800 words somehow.. i blame targaryen family drama!!
I have added AI generated images in the middle and plans to add in future chapters too. if it affects reading, comment and i will remove them and upload them separately.
Comments
the batman
thank u !!! glad u enjoyed it !!
avatarjedi
Great new chapter!!!
