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Chapter 7: Rage, Rage Against the Inequities of this World

Summary:

We see Ned, Margaery, and Jon all in one chapter. Each have their own thoughts and actions they must take. Their burdens are not light.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The Revolution of Westeros: How an Engineer Views Plebeians

Rage, Rage Against the Inequities of this World

It had been an easy campaign until it wasn't. Ned knew that the Iron Born were fated to lose, but that didn't mean he took to the field of battle with any arrogance or anything other than strategies he had worked meticulously on. Caution paired with a resolve to end this foolish rebellion led him.

After the Northern host met with the royal fleet led by Stannis Baratheon, Lord Stark began to see their first battles of this war. It was on the sea, where their enemy was strongest, that they had their first loss.

"Archers, loose!" came the cry from the Greatjon.

His grizzled appearance clear at the front of the archer lines on the ship Ned was on. Their archers were making short work of the Iron Born on the enemy ships, but the Iron Born sailors were too fast, too elusive for the Royal Fleet to truly crush them. It was no surprise to Ned. The Iron Born were born to be on the sea. For them to have the upper hand on the open waters only made sense.

It was a battle of attrition. For every Iron Born that was felled, one to two of their own would be taken as well. It wasn't like the Iron Born were using bows as powerful as the North, no, it was their ships that caused the damage. They rammed into the Royal Fleet, destroying ship after ship. Men had to jump off the boat, but having any type of armor on the open waters would prove to be their doom. The North, though largely in boiled rough leathers, had many a man drown. Ned wondered how the other armies faired, many of the men in other armies chose to forgo safety and still wear some plate armor to protect their vital areas. That would prove fatal for them.

They soon disengaged, and while it wasn't a resounding victory for the Iron Born, Ned could tell this campaign would be harder than he thought.

It was several days later when the King's army had their first success. The battle at Blacktyde proved that the Iron Born, though hardy people, couldn't counter fighters when on land. For all their skill on the sea, it had little success on land.

The Northern archers easily pushed the Iron Born back. For every volley from the North, twenty to thirty would be killed. Their armor proved to fail time and again against the Northern army. It wasn't long before the holding at Blacktyde was surrendered into Ned's hands.

It was the first good news from this rebellion. The King, who was with the Northern host for the first inland battle, was overjoyed with their success. He spoke with Ned at length that night.

"Gods Ned!" Robert said with a massive grin splitting across his face. "Look at your Northmen, killing Iron Born left and right. Gutting them like the cowards they are!"

Ned wished he could share in his friend's enthusiasm. He never liked war or killing. He just wished it would all end.

But for his King, he kept a small smile on his face, "aye, the Iron Born seem weaker than I ever remembered them. Mayhaps we'll be done with one or two turns of the moon."

The King let out a bark of laughter, "with the way your men fight, I think we might be done in two sennights!" He gave Ned a slightly puzzled look, "I keep hearing tells of the Iron Born armor failing after each shot from your archers. Have you any idea what caused such imperfections in their armor?"

"Perhaps they need better armorers?" Ned jested with a small grin. "Not much has changed with my archers, I only started asking them to use slightly stronger bows so that the men could be better trained in endurance. I know not what truly causes them to be felled so easily." Ned said. Though, he did know why, but he wasn't quite willing to give away Jon's ideas so quickly.

That was something that weighed on him even now. When Jon first told him these fantastical things of him coming from another world, his first thought was that he was mad like his ancestors. He feared, still, that he was mad. But he had proved himself, to an extent.

The boy was arrogant, true, but he also could back up his words with results. As long as he continued to get results, he would support him. He would support Lya's boy, even if it meant hiding some things from his friend.

That was another thing that had changed recently. After the first meeting with Robert, he seemed intent on rekindling their friendship that had dwindled from what Robert did at the height of the Rebellion. Ned still hadn't forgiven him, but this was their start. It was a path forward for them.

Ned only wished it didn't take the death of thousands for it to have happened.

Robert laughed aloud booming laugh, "Ha! That they do, Ned, that they do."

They were interrupted when they heard a knock on the cabin's door. A man came forward with a letter, he said it arrived from White Harbor. The King read the letter. He turned to Ned, his eyes full of quiet pity.

He told him the news. Ned gripped the table tightly. It was all he could do to not rage against the inequity of this world.

The Lords of the North were all gathered, at least, the Lords that were there. In fact, a representative of every House with the exception of House Bolton was present. It was understandable, Roose had recently lost a son. He couldn't, in good conscience, force him to the Iron Islands after he surely had to go through the grief of losing someone so important to both continuing his line and him personally.

It was Jorah Mormont and the Greatjon Umber that had the most visceral reactions to the letter. After it was read aloud, they demanded to return home to protect the North. It seemed even they were moved by Jon's call for help. It was powerful, he couldn't deny. It would pull at any man's heart, he thought.

So, it was with great difficulty that he informed them of the King's decision. The Northern army would stay. They would end the war as quickly as possible and return to Winterfell to liberate them if they had not already been liberated by then.

This didn't sit well with the Northern Lords who hated even the thought of their own people being forced to live in fear. The thought of a child having to overcome such odds, Gods, even the Boltons, known for their evil acts, would have thought it cruel.

They each promised to themselves, they would take Pyke as soon as possible. From here the King's host would split, and each army would begin hopping from island to island. This war would end, and then they could go home.

'Home,' Ned thought, 'to Cat, Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and my babe that I have not yet met.'

Yes, it was the sweet promise of home that gave Ned purpose. The faith that Jon (for Jon was much more than just a boy) would be able to overcome his struggles gave him hope. Things would have been much different, Ned realized, if Jon was not who he truly was.

It was then that Ned truly became thankful that the Gods saw fit to bring him into their lives. For better or worse, he was theirs, a Stark.

Robert sighed as he watched his friend leave the ship's cabin. His face was ashen with worry, his shoulders slumped. He looked almost defeated.

He recalled the letter. Aye, he recalled it quite vividly. A boy able to scrounge up such emotions from him truly piqued his curiosity. He hoped, a bit childishly, that the boy was capable enough to give Euron Hell.

After all of this was over and the Gods were kind enough to keep Ned's brood fully intact, he wanted to meet the boy. Perhaps he'd gift him something for his service, his passion for both his country and his people?

A sudden flash of thunder that accompanied the storm outside roused him from his musings. His mind quickly turned to something else. There was something quite suspicious with the Tyrells still not sending their full force to fight the Iron Islanders. Even if they went under the guise of protecting their own cities, he knew that they could spare plenty more men and ships.

He had no proof, but he had a suspicion from where the gold Euron used to buy sellswords came from. That said, even if he couldn't prove it, their slow actions needed punishment after this war was over. Something clicked in his mind.

An idea had sparked, and it was just devious enough to be a slight to a great House and a reward to another all in one go. Oh yes, he hoped dearly that Jon Snow survived the coming battles and proved himself competent. The more his renown grew, the more he could gift the North.

He'd have the Reach dancing in the palm of Ned's hand.

He awoke with a frown. The dream told him what was outside the walls before any servant or guard had told him. He knew. It was time for the real fight, soon.

The trained archers were the ones with the orders of lighting the barrels when the enemy had halfway scaled the first wall. While they could retreat to the second wall, Jon didn't think it prudent. No, he would used the barrels to knock the ladders out from under the enemy while the gas incapacitated them. With luck, it would be strong enough to take their breath and knock them unconscious. If that was the case, then his men should have no issue surviving. Either way, he knew that what he planned would bring much death to either himself or the enemy. Likely both.

They numbered nearly 4,000. That was the last count Vargo Hoat had of the entire host. He thought, with some satisfaction, that this would be possible. They could win, have their gold, and take the women of the North for themselves. Any others left alive would be pressed into his service or sold to the masters of Slaver's Bay. It was a chance for incredible profit. One he wouldn't pass up.

So, when the sudden order to attack was given, he and his entire company advanced with the rest. They were to take the wall whether by siege engine, ladders, or by sheer numbers. Many would die, but they would have the castle.

It was going well. The men were climbing, volleys were being returned to the archers on the wall. The defenders, though, seemed more than happy to take ten of their enemies with them for each of the defenders that died. That was all and well. Even if they did that to the last man, Vargo would have his reward.

The key word to focus on is that it was going well. For when Vargo had arrived to the ladder that men were climbing up, he himself four to five feet off the ground, there was a loud and sudden bang. A strange rotten egg smell filled the air, fire scorched the ground. Everywhere he looked, men fell where they stood. His breath came in short gasps, and soon, he too fell to the ground.

The plan had worked perfectly, Jon saw with a strange mix of satisfaction and sadness. Even from here he saw how his enemies fell from the ladders all around the castle. The siege engines as well were stopped in their tracks, once again.

It wasn't the small fire and explosion from the Hydrogen Sulfide that truly caused the destruction. It was the gas. The awful, rotten smelling gas. His enemies fell left and right.

The guards wanted to go down and kill them with the sword. Jon knew better. He refused them. If they went down there, they too would pass out from the toxic fumes.

Based on where it happened, he expected it to linger for a couple days. He had bought them some time, but that likely wouldn't be enough. He needed another plan. Something to help them overcome the next wave. It wasn't likely, though, that the Iron Born would come for some time. This gave him some respite.

"Continue to launch volleys at those that seem to be felled," Jon said to a nearby commander. "I want an arrow in the heart or skull of every one of them. When the smell has lifted, we will go and behead each one. Keep the commoners away from the walls. Stay atop the walls until the enemy fully retreats back to their camp."

The commander nodded and went to relay his orders.

Jon sighed. He had survived another battle through his knowledge. Was he doomed to add more and more to the warfare tactics of this world rather than progress society like he wished? He only hoped for this to end. He'd rather build up, not tear down.

As he looked at the destruction he had caused, the death that happened under his orders, he wanted to cry. He wanted to rage, scream, and demand that the world changed from its iniquitous ways. But he didn't. How was it fair for such death and destruction to be necessary?

It wasn't fair, he knew. But the hearts of men could be full of much evil. That, more than anything, told him that this world was no different from the old.

If that were the case, then he'd break the back of this evil. He'd beat back every enemy, and he would create a society where each person could find peace. Yes, that sounded quite inviting to Jon. He would love to live in such a nice world.

With one last look at all the dead both on the wall and down below, he turned away. He had much planning left to do.

After it was all said and done, they had counted more than 1,000 dead. Jon only lost 30 defenders, but even then that was too many for him. 370 could repel the enemy if necessary, but the Iron Born bolstered by sellswords by his last count still numbered nearly 2,700 men.

It had been one moon's turn since that battle, the battle that gave him several new monikers. "The Trickster Wolf" some said, others were fond of "The Bloody Wolf," and a few had even given him the name "The Weeping Wolf," for when he looked at the destruction he had wrought, there were reports that he cried.

Still, there was no true sign of help. There was hope, but he couldn't be sure that anyone was truly coming.

Euron still continued his daily pestering. The enemy's forces were quickly whittled down from 3,000 to a more manageable 2,700. It seemed that the Iron Born were wary now of sieging Winterfell. The mere thought of them potentially being felled by the strange smell as their comrades were was enough to give Jon the time he needed to continue scheming.

Even so, he needed a breakthrough.

It was in the middle of the night, in the form of a wolf that he learned of the enemy's next move. With the hearing of the wolf he was in, he could easily hear Euron's blustering. He was angry. Angry at the garrison of Winterfell, angry because his plan was failing, angry at everyone.

His anger fueled him. He meant to continue to try to find weaknesses in the defenses for one more day, then they would turn their eyes south, towards Castle Cerwyn.

Jon drew in a breath, they meant to continue to raid the North now that they realized Winterfell couldn't be taken. If they took castle Cerwyn, then they could continue on to wreak havoc in other parts of the North. That, Jon thought, may be worse than Winterfell being taken. So much innocent life would be lost. No, Jon knew he had to stop them. He just didn't know how.

At least, he thought he didn't. That all changed when he heard quite clearly in the wolf the sound of marching. Up north of Winterfell, there was an army. Who's, he didn't know. But he would find out.

So, he urged the pack to move north.

Heed the call, the Call of the Wild. Go North my wolf, go North.

It took all of Wendel Manderly's cunning to figure out how to move his troops around the Iron Born's without being found out. His first course of action was to not get close to Winterfell. It was an obvious move, but it still took constant vigilance to make sure they never wandered too close to where the Iron Born were camped. They moved oft under the cover of Darkness when not in the woods. After much time ahorse and through many days of the troops marching at a quick march, they had made their meeting with the mountain clans. Now, they would rest for the night before marching to Winterfell and lifting the siege.

He only hoped they were there in time.

His thoughts shifted, quickly, when he saw a wolf standing in their camp. In its mouth was a letter. Curious.

All it took was him seeing the Manderly colors for Jon to quickly realize their salvation had come. Even greater was the presence of the Mountain Clans. With them, they could win. His heart soared once more with hope.

Now, how to tell them to march south tomorrow and camp slightly away from the Iron Born so they could catch them unaware at night?

As a wolf next to him sneezed, he knew what needed to be done.

It was late at night, the moon light plentiful enough for Robb to see something most peculiar. His brother had gone out late at night to walk to the gate. He ordered them to open it slightly, and then a wolf trotted in. The men were frightened, reaching for their weapons, but Jon held his hand up to calm them.

He stepped forward, and the wolf seemed welcoming of him. He put his hand out, in it a letter. The wolf took it in its mouth. Then, it turned and left.

Robb swore he must've been seeing things. Surely, his brother didn't just… just give a letter to a wolf?

He decided he would go to bed. There wasn't much point dwelling on it. If Jon had something to tell him, then he would share it.

Best that they all got some rest.

It wasn't the wolf that really intrigued Wyman. It was the letter. The wolf, for all of its interesting qualities (why was a wolf willing to stand in an encampment of thousands of men? How did it make it this far into the camp?) was only a harbinger. A harbinger of what Wendel didn't quite know. But he knew it was more than coincidence that a wolf showed up as the Mountain Clans and the Manderly men came together with the rest of the Northern Houses that answered the call.

Even more peculiar when the wolf trotted over to him, dropped the scroll, and waited. Keeping his eyes on the wolf (though he felt no fear. His archers or men near him could easily kill the beast before it had a chance to truly harm him) he bent down and grabbed the piece of parchment. Upon opening it, he felt his eyes go wide.

Directions, orders, from the boy Jon Snow. It was… astounding. Did he tame a wolf so greatly that it could be his courier?

One thing was clear, they knew where to go. They would kill these Iron Born scum.

"He is a warg," Hugo Wull said with full confidence. "Of this, I am certain."

It took Wendel some time to understand the term, but after he understood he found himself in awe of the boy Jon Snow. That he could do such fantastical things, he knew the boy had a good future. That he used it for the North only gave Wendel more hope for the North's future.

If the boy were to march with any army, having a scout in the skins of animals would be incredibly beneficial. However, it would be less helpful if everyone knew.

No, he would keep this secret. So, he vowed to not speak of it. He asked The Wull to also hold the same oath. He looked at Wendel with a curious look. "Southerners not like wargs much. Best if none know The Ned has a warg for a son."

That was good enough for Wendel. So, he decided to turn in for the night. Tomorrow, they would march towards Winterfell. That night they would take the Iron Born by surprise and kill as many as they could.

Margaery was close to manic with worry. Ever since she heard of what Sansa was facing from her brother's letter, she couldn't rest. The fact that her family played a part in all this chaos and death gave her both guilt and anger. Her father was to blame. The Iron Born would most definitely not have had the gold to hire sellswords if not for their family.

She could only hope that Jon and Sansa won, and that their family was not found out. Her grandmother, Margaery knew, would do her best to take care of that. However, she doubted that her family's actions would go fully unnoticed. She only feared what the punishment would be for this folly.

Would this keep her from the path she had in her old life? She didn't know. If it did, though, if she were used as a bargaining chip or some hostage to satiate the cry for justice that would inevitably come, she wondered if she would even care.

For so long she had wanted to be queen, but she had been queen. It had killed her. Is that what she wanted? No, if not being queen kept her away from the unnatural green of wildfire she'd gladly never touch a crown again.

She could help the realm in her own way, be benevolent in her own way. She would figure it out. She felt lost, but one day she'd find her way.

But that day wasn't today. Today, she would talk to her father. She would tell him just why his actions had doomed them.

"Father," Margaery's sweet voice carried into Mace's ears as she poked her head into his solar. His mother, Olenna, was sitting in a corner of the room. It seemed as if she were about to dress him down once more, but his daughter, always his savior, seemed to come to the rescue.

"My sweet rose, please dear, tell me what troubles you," Mace said as a smile bloomed across his face.

It died quite quickly when he saw the scowl his daughter had aimed at him.

"You've made a major mistake, father," Margaery began as her voice started low but began to increase in fervor as she spoke. "Please tell me, father" the way she said father dripped in venom reminded him much of how Olenna spoke to him. He could tell his mother enjoyed this by the slight smirk she wore on her face. "that the Iron Born do not have the gold to buy sellswords because of us." His daughter finished, her voice at the end going to a silent whisper.

He said nothing. What was there to say? He thought he saw an opportunity. What was a little gold to a Tyrell? How was he to know his actions would lead to something so dangerous. It seemed a good plan at the time.

Every plan is shattered at the first encounter with the enemy, Mace. Especially your plans.

"My dear…" he began. Her glare stopped him.

There was a pause in their conversation. He said nothing as he looked from her to the ground. It was all he could do hide his shame.

Margaery sighed, "father, the Starks are considered to be good people." She began using a tone as if she were speaking to a toddler or someone who was simple minded. "Do you know how terrible it would be for our House, our reputation, if people were to learn that they were only in danger because of us?"

He had thought of that. It was all he could think about since that damn letter was sent to every major House in Westeros. It seemed even a bastard of the Starks could be loved by the people.

"Then there is the letter," Margaery spoke as if reading his thoughts. "If people were to learn that children were fighting battles only because the Tyrells had some sort of pact with the Iron Born, father, we'd be ruined."

Margaery took a breath. She looked at the floor, and gathered her thoughts. Then, she looked at her father once more.

"Father, if any of the Starks were to die, do you have any inclination as to what the King would do to our family?"

A pang of fear went through Mace. No, no he couldn't let that happen. If such a thing were to come to pass… it would be the end of them.

"But what am I to do?" Mace mumbled. "The deed is done."

At this Margaery looked to her grandmother.

Olenna, ever the schemer, had a plan.

"I'll tell you what needs to be done, Mace," Olenna said, her words full of commanding force.

"You kill the Greyjoy brothers, and you destroy any of our records so that this will not fall on us. Send our men to join the King, and ask for them to be put at the forefront. Kill Balon Greyjoy, and we must also move to kill Euron. An assassin, if we must. Then, we send men North. By the time they arrive, the fighting will likely be over. However, that is not why we should send them. We send them to help rebuild. Show the North that the Reach is on their side." Olenna looked content with that plan. Mace seemed to ponder it.

Margaery had her own thoughts.

"Grandmama," Margaery began in her sweet voice. She would need to play up her sweetness if she were to get what she wanted. "Since it shall be safe at that time, what say you to sending some of us North as well? Surely, seeing Tyrells in the North would show them that the Reach is willing to help in ways that few Houses would."

To Mace's horror, Olenna seemed to think it a good idea. He would have objected his daughter going to that barbaric land, but he knew that when his grandmother had a certain idea it would not be let go of.

"A beautiful idea my sweet girl, sending you and your brothers North with a large escort to help rebuild what was torn down would certainly help to soothe any ill will the North may have for the Reach if any rumors were to come out about our dealings," Olenna said smiling at her granddaughter's idea.

Margaery held back her triumphant smile. She would get to see the North, something she had never truly done before. She would also see her friend Sansa once more.

New things for a new life, yes, Margaery was happy that some things had changed.

Maybe being in a cold place would drive away the feeling of incredible, unnatural heat that had plagued her for so long.

She could only hope.

Jon moved quickly that day. He knew another skirmish would be had at the walls, but he was more interested in speaking with the garrison. The wall and those that manned it would keep the enemy out.

He moved quickly to the commanders that surrounded one of the tables in the barracks. It was still unsettling the way they looked at him in awe, the way they deferred to him. Unsettling, but it was helpful.

He wasted no time, "tell the men," Jon began, "to be ready tonight. Every man to their horse, their sword in their hand and a bow strapped to them as well. I have received word that the Manderlys, Mountain Clans, and other minor Houses of the North march just outside the view of Winterfell. Tonight, the Iron Born will be in their tents fast asleep. When the screams begin, we will ride out and wipe out the last of the Iron Born."

The men had become accustomed to his strange way of getting word from sources he shouldn't have. It would have been troubling if he wasn't right nearly every single time. So, they didn't think much about it and instead spread the word.

Tonight, there would be rivers of blood.

It had happened suddenly and without warning. Euron was asleep one second, and then the next he was awake with his sword in his hand. His men were being slaughtered left and right. A retreat, he knew, was what they needed.

He tried to get the men together and form them into some semblance of order. He was largely unsuccessful. Men were being felled left and right. If it wasn't swords, then it was arrows when they tried to run.

He heard a loud sound, all at once. A loud howl. Wolves, many of them. They had taken to the field, and they were chasing down his men as they ran away.

He also heard something else. A voice. The voice of a boy.

"The Old Gods! They are with us!" a dark-haired boy on horseback said as he chased down one of his men and stabbed him with a dagger through the neck.

Chaos, Euron saw, chaos that he knew he needed to escape from. So, he grabbed a horse, threw off the Iron born that was on it and rode away as fast as he could.

Pandemonium, Jon knew, was a dangerous thing. The utter chaos that occurred as soon as the Northern Army led by Wendel Manderly and Hugo Wull descended on the Iron Born was disorienting and intoxicating all at once. For every Northman that died, 10 Iron Born fell. It was a slaughter. So surprised were the Iron Born that they were largely unarmored and unarmed.

It was him that brought the pack here. He had warged into the alpha, the wolf he typically dreamt with, and led them to the Iron Born camp. It was calculated. Now that Jon had victory in his hands, he had an idea as to how he could increase the solidarity of the North at large. The lesser being of their House animal (for a direwolf was truly their animal) attacking with them would make them think the Starks were favored by the Gods. With the help of nature, he'd build upon the legend of their House in this current era.

Whether there was magic in his family's blood or not, Jon would make the realm believe that the Starks were, essentially, demigods amongst men. Favored by the Gods, and loved by nature. If he were to succeed, then the realm at large would think twice about ever attacking his family again. After all, what would the Gods do to them if they saw fit to set a larger than normal wolf pack on their enemies? No, if they were favored by the Gods then let their House continue in peace. Why would they go against them and bring a curse onto their own House?

So, with a heavy intake of breath, Jon shouted as loud as he could, "The Old Gods! They are with us!" As soon as the words left his mouth, the wolf pack descended on the Iron Born. Many of the wolves died, but they had served their purpose. Jon felt a sense of pity for them, but the wolves helping him would go a long way to helping his House secure their peace and prosperity.

Jon continued to fight. Not closely with any Iron Born that could potentially kill him, but he would act along with the rest of the horse riders and chase down those that tried to run away.

After he stuck his dagger in one of the fleeing Iron Born, he saw, to his left, Euron Greyjoy throw a man to the ground and take his horse. He meant to flee.

Warging into one of the wolves for just a moment, he sent the signal to the Alpha for the pack to chase after him.

And so they did.

Euron continued to flee, but a pack of  40 wolves were on his tail. He wouldn't survive the night.

He hadn't been riding long before he heard it behind him. Wolves, many of them. He looked back and his heart beat faster. A whole pack, it seemed, was after him. Was this his punishment? Was House Stark so loved by their Gods that they would protect them even when he had done all he had done for his Drowned God and never got anything in return?

He turned forward, he had to keep going. It wasn't long, though, before his horse began to falter. He took his sword and stabbed the horse in the hind. He forced it forward. Either he outran the pack or he died. He did not want to die today.

Shortly after he had stabbed his horse, it gave out beneath him. He heard no wolves.

He thought he was safe for a moment. He closed his eyes and found a short, peaceful rest.

When he opened them, he saw the eyes of a wolf baring down on him.

Euron tried to grab his sword, tried to grab anything, but the wolf was faster. Much faster.

His throat was ripped out.

Euron died as he lived his life. Worthlessly, and without purpose.

They had won, Jon realized, as the wolves returned dragging the corpse of Euron Greyjoy.

They had the resounding victory he had dreamt of, the resounding victory he was chasing.

The first words he remembered after his realization came from Hugo Wull.

"Don't cry boy, we have won," The Wull said to him with slight confusion in his voice.

Jon touched his cheeks. He didn't even… When did he begin to cry? All he could feel was relief. Relief that the nightmare had passed, relief that he was successful, relief that his siblings were safe, and relief that no more men would have to die from his orders anymore.

He dried his tears and turned to the remaining men from the garrison.

"Gather the dead. Give ours a proper burial." His eyes took on a dark glint, "every Iron Born and sellsword, I want their heads on spikes all around Winterfell's walls. When that has been done, create a path of skulls for each of the gates. Let it be known from the sands of Dorne to the Wall, if any try to take Winterfell, they forfeit their life." Jon gave his orders with steel in his tone. The men nodded, and with that Jon's shoulders slumped. He was tired, so very tired. Finally, he could rest easy.

A few days later, the Vale knights and many other volunteers arrived to see skulls on spikes lining the roads and the Stark banners still hanging from the walls. The Iron Born nowhere in sight.

They resolved themselves, then, to rebuild. If they could not fight, then they would help where they could. Victory had come for House Stark, but death had also come for many. So, these volunteers purposed to stay and help. The young Lords wanted to meet this Jon Snow, while the rest simply made themselves content with the fact that there was still work to be done. They had not, in fact, missed out on the glory.

It was a different type of glory they now sought.

So, the world would know of the Weeping Wolf, the Trickster Wolf, and the Bloody Wolf. All one boy, one man, so complex yet so simple in his purpose. A boy who's only wish was to protect his family.

And protect them he did.

Notes:

Okay, I don't think I'll ever write two chapters in 24 hours again haha.

It was fun though. Both chapters were fun to write, and I think this chapter does a really good job of wrapping up the Iron Born siege of Winterfell.

Euron had to die for the future of the story. He's too dangerous to live, and he would have been hunted down one way or another.

That said, I think the way it went down was pretty good. It's hard to beat an army when they have a warg giving out orders. The North was meant to win.

Now that the Southerners are coming North, Jon's focus will now switch to rebuilding houses pillaged by the Iron Born, resowing the fields that were burned and used, etc. The Reach will bring plenty of food to refill their granaries.

Also, if it wasn't clear, the riders from Deepwood Motte met with the northern army outside Winterfell. In a way, they were the final supply depot for the army. Once rebuilding is done, everyone will go home. The fact that Jon will be viewed as a competent person will definitely help in the future, hint hint.

As always, let me know what y'all think! I thought it was a good resolution and had some fun points to it. The last chapters may not have been as moving as Jon's letter, but I can't put that in every chapter. It'd be hard for one, and it would also make momentous moments useless for provoking emotions. So, these plot moving chapters are quite necessary to get us to the next point of the plot.

Oh, and don't worry. Ridir and Jonas will both be in the story again. They're not going to be majorly important, but they will be present every now and then.

Anywho, peace! Have a good Sunday my dudes and dudettes!

P.S. Props to you if you know what game Jon screaming "The Old Gods! They are with us!" is inspired by.