06-The Bastard Letter

Disclaimer: I don't own HP, GoT or ASOIAF.

Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Cataclysmic Moon. I also want to thank my beta-reader nicknm for helping me bounce ideas around.

Author's Note: I know that so far, I did things at a slow pace but I wanted to establish general parameters. This is the last chapter taking place in Castle Black, with me trying to tie up almost all the loose ends up aside two (left deliberately). We will not see any more of Castle Black in this fic after chapter 7, so rest assured.

As for the magic ideas and other things, I had a thousand ideas fighting in my head, and I had to carefully select a working set of them. Jon Snow would become OP, but it would take time and most importantly effort. While reading a complete steamroll is very entertaining, I want my story to have a certain sense of suspense.

I knew that no matter what I wrote, there would always be those who like it and those who dislike it. So, ladies and gents, if you have a great plot idea for an FF, you should give it a go. Writing is a very entertaining thing to do, and it is also a good way for personal growth and knowledge.

For those who asked, this FF is also updated every Sunday.

Constructive criticism, likes, follows and positive comments are always welcomed and motivate me to write more. Without further ado, enjoy the last chapter taking place in Castle Black.

*

Jon Snow

As soon as Sansa was well enough to go on and about, they had gathered to finally plan the retaking of Winterfell. Ser Davos was there as an advisor and Tormund was present to speak for the Free Folk.

"Aside from the Starks and the Boltons, the most powerful Houses in the North are the Karstarks, the Manderlys and the Dustins." Davos gestured towards the map while explaining. As the former Hand of Stannis Baratheon, the Onion Knight was generally the best informed of the latest events. Sansa had been greatly isolated both in the Eyrie and Winterfell, only getting scraps of news, and Brienne had been on the road. The Night's Watch itself was probably the last place any news in Westeros arrived, so Jon himself knew little.

"The Karstarks betrayed Stannis and joined the Boltons. Lady Dustin was the sister of Lord Bolton's former wife, so they're bound by marriage. And House Manderly's heir is a hostage in the Twins. Greatjon Umber has been held hostage as well. We should not expect much support from those houses. Torrhen's Square and Deepwood Motte were devastated by the ironborn, so no support would come from Houses Tallhart and Glover. Things are not looking good for us," Davos summarised.

"The Free Folk chieftains are gathering near Castle Black. Once they assemble, we'll go speak with them and see who follows. Even if only half the fighters agree to come, we'd have about four thousand men. And while most of them are tough, they have mostly bronze equipment, aside from what they stole from rangers they killed beyond the Wall," Jon calmly added.

"You let us cross the Wall safely and even gave your life for them, Lord Crow! We Free Folk are simple people. Favours like this will not be forgotten. More than half will follow!" Tormund boisterously claimed and slapped his shoulder.

"Before I escaped Winterfell, I heard that the Boltons had around five thousand men. With the help of a few Houses loyal to House Stark, we will crush them," Sansa spoke up rather confidently.

Jon snorted inwardly. As if things were that simple. His cousin was right, but not in the way she thought.

"I beg your pardon, My Lady, but your brother Robb dragged the North in an unwinnable war in the south, and left the North undefended and ripe for the taking for ironborn and wildlings. And now your other brother has let the Wildlings past the Wall, and, regardless of reason, people will mistrust him. You would be just as mistrusted, as you were married both to a Lannister and a Bolton, which are the main enemies of House Stark," Davos countered calmly.

"How well do you know the North, Ser Davos?" his cousin asked neutrally, completely donning her usual expressionless mask.

"Precious little, My Lady."

"My father always said that Northerners are different. More loyal, more suspicious of outsiders," Sansa patiently explained. Jon sighed. Even after all she had been through, his cousin still hadn't fully removed the rose-tinted glasses from her eyes. While she wasn't as naive anymore, the nonsense that Lady Catelyn Stark, Septa Mordane, and Eddard Stark told her as a little girl stayed in her mind. Davos didn't let this statement fly either.

"They may be loyal, but how many rose against the Boltons after they betrayed your family? I may not know the North, but I know men. They are more or less the same in every corner of the world, and the bravest of them do not want to see their families skinned for a House that has let them down and has little chance of victory."

Sansa froze at the onion knight's response. She opened her mouth to retort, but found no words, as she realised that he spoke truly.

"I wouldn't put much stock in their loyalty to House Stark. Our House is considered vanquished, dead. Even we at the Night's Watch begged the whole North for help when the Free Folk were about to attack, yet very few sent any men at all. They all boasted about the Wall and House Stark during those harvest feasts.. But when things got hard here at the Wall, those who did come barely sent half a dozen with them. Only Stannis came in force. Looking back, he came because the North was his only option for turning over the war with the Lannisters. Not to mention that I'll surely be viewed as a bastard oathbreaker that let the Free Folk past the Wall, and you'd be seen as the woman who married the enemies of the North, namely Houses Lannister and Bolton." Jon explained without mincing his words. Sansa blinked at his harsh words. As they began to sink in, he saw her mask beginning to crack at the realisation. He patted his cousin's shoulder gently. "We should still write to every House in the North, to see who is still truly loyal. "

An uneasy silence descended upon the room for a few moments. Then Sansa finally spoke up. "Aye, we should write to them all, but maybe we can visit some of the Houses and convince them to fight for us in person?"

"The problem is, we won't have any supply lines. Any food that we eat, we'll have to forage for, and it's nearly the end of autumn, which would make things even harder. If it starts snowing, all Ramsay has to do is sit in Winterfell while we freeze to death and die from hunger out in the cold. And once the winter snows start falling, moving a large number of troops will become nearly impossible. Even if we wanted to visit only half the houses in the North, it'd take nearly a year to travel around, putting us in a far worse position than now. The more we wait, the worse our chances are. If we wait for my dragons to grow up, all they can do is burn Winterfell and not hold it, which is something I greatly want to avoid," Jon countered.

He kept silent about his other reason. Visiting and trying to convince all the other Houses was too close to begging for his taste. He and Sansa truly had nothing to bargain or promise with, and in his previous life, he had long since learned that relying on others for anything important almost always left you disappointed. Maybe the wildlings would follow him, maybe not. No, Jon would rather push himself to the limit and beyond. Once he grew strong enough he could slaughter Roose and Ramsay Bolton and every man under their command by himself with a sword or with fire. Jon would never go and beg for help from people who would spit in his face for his supposed 'bastardy' or oathbreaking. People who were sitting on their asses when the Ironborn attacked, people who didn't send a single man to help the Night's Watch when the wildlings were attacking.

A few moments later, he moved his hand across the map and pointed at the fields outside Winterfell. "Our best chance is to gather the Fee Folk and move to Winterfell as fast as possible. We'd have less men and we'd be able bait the Boltons for a decisive battle in the field. Any loyal Houses will hopefully join us on the way."

Seeing as nobody had any objection, they moved on to writing the letter to the northern houses. Almost half an hour later, they finally agreed on the content of the letter.

To all the Northern Houses loyal to House Stark:

The treacherous House Bolton has stolen our lands after the death of our brother, King Robb, and his faithful council during the Red Wedding in the Twins. Lord Bolton personally stabbed Robb Stark in the heart with his dagger.

Roose Bolton conspired with Tywn Lannister and Walder Frey and broke sacred guest rights during the wedding of Edmure Tully. He was rewarded with the position of Warden of the North and with Winterfell for his clandestine deed.

But Winterfell and the North is not for House Lannister to give, nor is it for House Bolton to take, not while the blood of the ancient Kings of Winter still lives.

Ramsay Snow himself hunts the northerners for sport and flays people alive. House Bolton only knows terror and deception.

Rally behind House Stark once again, and fight with us to take back Winterfell and free the North.

Sansa Stark & Jon Snow

Controversial topics like Sansa's husbands or Jon's vows to the Night's Watch were completely unmentioned, especially when everyone in the North probably already knew about them. The letter was a general call for loyalty, neither promising nor threatening anything. Those who were loyal would answer the call.

Soon afterwards, copies were being sent by the last few ravens in Castle Black to every house with more than fifty swords to their name, except House Karstark and the Bolton bannermen like House Whitehill. Davos successfully argued that House Karstark could not be trusted, seeing that they betrayed Stannis, and Robb Stark had executed the previous lord.

Afterwards, their group headed towards the nearby Free Folk camp, where the chieftains were gathered. Brienne and Podrick were trailing behind them, and he had asked Ghost to stick to Sansa and protect her, lest anyone got any ideas about stealing her.

Entering the main tent, all the free folk leaders who Jon had made deal with as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch after Stannis defeated them were present, including those who he had managed to save from Hardhome.

Everyone quieted down as Jon entered with this group. He gathered his thoughts for a few moments, deciding how to address the issue and spoke. "Chieftains of the Free Folk, I come here to you with a request. House Bolton has taken my home, and I seek to reclaim it. They have brutalised my sister, killed my brother at a wedding feast, and will not rest until my sister and I are dead. If we lose, they will come for you next. House Bolton will never let the Free Folk stay peacefully on this side of the Wall. Who will fight with me?"

Dim Dalba stood up and spoke. "We said we'd fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes, and we mean it. But this isn't what we agreed for. These aren't the White Walkers. This is not our fight." The tent exploded in murmurs but Dim Dalba continued. "Remember Mance's camp? It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now; we're not even a third of our numbers before! If we join your fight and lose, we'll be gone."

Soren Shieldbreaker stood up and spoke loudly just as the other chieftains were hesitating. "I promised you my axe if you ever needed it. Me and my men will fight for you, Jon Snow!"

"Aye, and you have my spear as well, Lord Crow!" A wildling leader named Blind Doss nodded and raised his spear in salute.

Another chieftain named Howd Wanderer stood up. "You could have left us to face the cold shadows beyond the Wall and die, yet you let us pass. No other crow wanted to talk or even help us! Jon Snow has my sword!"

Sigorn Thenn rose and shouted. "The crow killed my father, and I hate the fucker. But he knows how to fight! In Hardhome, he could have left us to die, but he fought and felled a White Walker! We will follow."

Wun Wun rose up, nodded towards Jon and spoke in agreement "Snow!"

*

Cersei

It had taken nearly three days for the wildfire to die down and the smoke to finally clear. When the fighting began, Mace Tyrell had foolishly rushed outside of the Red Keep to retrieve his vapid daughter and had not returned. Both Margaery and her oafish father had no way to survive in the fires.

It was unknown what had started the fighting, but Qyburn reported that in the end, everyone with a weapon in hand were fighting each other. Somewhere along with the chaos, a building had been set on fire and it had spread. That's when the terror began, as almost all of King's Landing was quickly engulfed by wildfire. Every important square, including Rhaenys and Visenya Hill, had been engulfed in wildfire as well. Every gate was also burning in the jade-like flames, trapping everyone inside the fiery hell that was King's Landing. Cersei knew that everyone in the Red Keep would have shared that fate of the people outside, if not for the accidental discovery and removal of the caches of wildfire below the Keep some time ago.

Seven hells, If the Red Keep hadn't been built on the highest hill, they still would have been drowned in the fire anyway. The smoke from the wildfire itself turned out to be poisonous, as everyone who went outside quickly died. It was a small miracle that it hadn't gotten inside the Red Keep just yet.

Kevan Lannister and Pycelle had been assassinated before this mess had happened. The culprit was Varys, according to Qyburn, as he would be the only one able to sneak in undetected in the Red Keep via the hidden tunnels and passages. She should have disposed of the sneaky eunuch long ago.

The master of laws, Randyll Tarly, had last been in the city when the fighting and fires broke out and was presumed dead.

With Harys Swyft sent to Braavos, she and Qyburn were the only members of the small council left. Cersei easily assumed the regency of her son Tommen without anyone to oppose her again. She cackled inwardly. All those filthy peasants and sparrows that had leered at and insulted her had surely perished in the fires, together with her meddlesome good-daughter. The Starks were history and Stannis had been reported dead just before the wildfire erupted. A majority of the grasping roses in the Capital perished in the fires.

Sadly, King's Landing had become a complete ruin and a deadly trap, and staying in the Red Keep was not safe or wise in the long run. Especially with that pretender calling himself Aegon Targaryen coming from Storm's End with the Golden Company. All the ravens had either fled or died, and they could not get a quick message to the Lannister forces in the Riverlands for help.

"I've found a hidden passage leading directly to the shore, your Grace," Qyburn finally reported. Since the air outside was deadly, their only hope to get out of King's Landing was those hidden passages leading directly out of the capital.

"Prepare everyone to leave for Casterly Rock," Cersei ordered Vylarr, the head captain of the Red Cloaks.

Since they could not use King's Landing anymore, she would move the king's court to Casterly Rock. Its defences were impenetrable and it had never been taken. With Jaime in the Kingsguard and Tyrion a wanted outlaw, Casterly Rock was hers by right.

*

Sansa

Tomorrow they would start marching to Winterfell. Sansa was now dining with Jon, Ser Davos, Brienne, the wildling chieftains that joined their cause, and a dour night's watchman named Dolorous Edd in what they called the Shield Hall. The small feast was a bit rowdy and everyone was devouring the food vigorously. It was not a bad feeling, and she felt the noisy hall relaxing, unlike the contest of veiled insults and hidden barbs that most dinners were in the south.

All in all, after counting, they had little more than three thousand wildlings declaring for them. Some of the chieftains did not want to spare any men at all, and those who did had to leave some behind to protect their tribes. The odds did not look good for them so far, as the Bolton army would outnumber them heavily, and that was only if no other houses joined the side of the flayed man. Her brother however looked completely unperturbed by the number disparity, despite saying that the wildlings had inferior and primitive equipment and their numbers did not represent their strength that accurately.

Sansa remembered watching her brothers spar in Winterfell. Seeing him fight here in Castle Black was completely different. He was bigger, stronger, quicker, and more dangerous as he fearlessly defeated multiple opponents at once. But she knew that one warrior alone could not decide a battle, no matter how skilled or fearsome, especially with such number disparity. Hopefully, the other northern houses would flock to their banner.

Her silent musings were interrupted by the entrance of a hurried brother of the Night's Watch. The black brother handed Jon a scroll and spoke. "A letter for you, Lord Commander."

"I am not Lord Commander anymore, Dalyn." Her brother gave his ritualistic response to his previous title and accepted the letter with a small hum.

The letter had the pink seal of the flayed man. Dread filled her gut at seeing the sigil of House Bolton. The man turned around to leave but Jon spoke up. "Stay for a moment, Dalyn."The night's watchman stopped.

Her brother quickly opened the letter, skimmed through it and asked, "How did this letter get here?"

"A rider delivered it at the gate, Lord ... Snow." Dalyn replied uncertainly.

Her brother blinked and suddenly his eyes were pure white. His body slumped back on his chair like a doll with its strings cut.

"Jon!" She shouted worriedly at her brother's condition. Just as she was about to shake him, a loud laugh stopped her. None of the men around seemed even remotely worried aside from the onion knight, and instead, they looked ready to celebrate.

"I told you Lord Crow was a warg! There's no doubt with this giant direwolf of his!" one of the wildling chieftains shouted in glee. Sansa was looking around in confusion, still unsure what was happening to her brother, or what this warg business was.

"Don't worry, firewalker! Your brother is just skinchanging. Probably in that white direwolf of his." Soren Shieldbreaker spoke to her, and finished by raising his horn of ale and drinking all of its contents in one breath.

"What exactly is this ... skinchanging and why is everyone so happy about it?" Sansa asked Tormund.

"Skinchanger is someone who can share the mind of animals, and wargs are those who control dogs and wolves! When they slip into the mind of their beast, they look like your brother. His body might be here now, but Lord Crow's mind is with his dragons or his direwolf now." The red-haired wildling took a swig of his horn, burped, and continued. "The bond between the skinchanger and their beast is deep and they share each other's minds. Direwolves are one of the most dangerous things you can meet in the true North, and those dragons of yours sound just as strong! Both have strong traits for a leader." Tormund finished his explanation and continued devouring food and drink.

This sounded like some of the stories old Nan told them as children...just like the White Walkers and the army of the dead. Sansa sighed inwardly. If Dragons and dead men were real, why wouldn't the stories about wargs and skinchangers too, be real? Sansa herself had jumped into her brother's funeral pyre and came out unharmed...

As she was looking at her brother in wonder, Ser Davos spoke next to her. "Lady Sansa, could you read us the letter?" Ah, she had utterly forgotten the Bolton letter. She gently removed the letter from Jon's grasp and started reading it out loud.

"To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow,

You allowed thousands of wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind, and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see, your brother Rickon is in my dungeon."

Her voice lost strength for a moment and she felt dread rising in her gut. Sansa took a moment to steel herself and continued reading.

"His direwolf skin is on my floor. Come and see.

I want my bride back. Send her to me, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me, and I will slaughter every wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, and you will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs eat your little brother. Then, I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest.

Come and see.

-Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North

As she finished, the tall form of Sigorn Thenn rose and angrily slammed his hand on the table. "Who does this fucker think he is? I will drink from his skull when I get my hands on him!" He promised with a yell. The other wildling chieftains loudly shared his opinion.

Terror once again filled Sansa, but for a completely different reason. Ramsay was playing with them. This letter was meant to provoke her brother and the wildlings completely and it looked like it succeeded. Ramsay always loved provoking their enemies or playing games with their minds.

The door of the feast hall was once again opened and a wailing figure was dragged in by the giant form of Ghost. The direwolf had his jaws around the man's ankle and effortlessly brought him in. Everyone in the Hall quieted down and looked on with interest.

"Let's see what we can get out of the Bolton's envoy," Jon's voice was heard. Her brother was finally back to normal. He stood up and moved towards the terrified figure of the messenger. Ghost reluctantly released the ankle of his victim, and Jon simply grabbed him and effortlessly lifted him in the air.

"Please, m'lord let me go, I didn't do nothin'!'' the man started struggling and babbling, but it was for nought. Jon's grip was iron-tight and the man was struggling in vain.

"What is your name?" her brother asked evenly.

"Jaron, m'lord. Please..."

"Here's the deal, Jaron. I will ask you some questions and you will speak truthfully. Every time you lie, I will let my friend Ghost," he petted the giant direwolf with his free hand, "Take a bite out of you." Ghost opened his mouth and showed his razor-sharp teeth. Jaron's face froze in terror and he quickly started nodding.

Jon's face was emotionless as if carved of stone as he started asking his questions.

"This letter claims that Ramsay Bolton has Rickon Stark and his direwolf, who were supposedly both killed by the ironborn. How did this Rickon Stark appear in Winterfell if he was even real?"

"Er… Hother Umber brought a young boy with a big black wolf just like yours, as a present to Lord Bolton, m'lord," the messenger hurriedly replied.

"Describe the boy for me."

"The lad was not older than nine name days. He had bright blue eyes and auburn hair and was acting half-wild, m'lord," Jaron explained vividly.

If the man was speaking the truth, then Ramsay truly had Rickon. The description matched perfectly, along with the pure black fur of Shaggydog, which was not a well-known detail. Jon had reached the same conclusion because he grew quiet in contemplation.

"What happened to Roose Bolton?" Sansa asked the messenger curiously. The letter was signed by Ramsay as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Last she was in Winterfell, Roose Bolton was alive and well. He could have died fighting with Stannis Baratheon, but she wasn't so sure.

Jaron froze at her question and began visibly sweating. A quiet snarl from Ghost and the messenger gulped and began speaking. "Ah...Ramsay...he st-stabbed h-his father in the heart. And Fat Walda and her newborn son got mauled to death by his hounds."

"Kinslayer!" and many similar shouts filled the Hall. Sansa knew Ramsay was capable of terrible things, but even kinslaying…Deep inside, she wasn't too surprised. This only showed how much of a monster her husband was.

She looked at her brother's face; for a moment she saw a very cold glint appear in his eyes, which darkened like a deep pool of amethyst. Jon waited for the outrage to die out before asking, "Which Houses were in Winterfell supporting Ramsay aside from the Umbers?"

"D-Dustin, R-Ryswell and K-K-Karstark, m'lord." The messenger could barely speak at this point. He had even shat himself, judging by the smell. Sansa wasn't sure if he was more terrified by Ramsay or Ghost. Or maybe Jon. But Jon was kind and gentle... at least to her.

Jon nodded at his words, completely unperturbed by the smell. "Ghost can smell liars. And you, good man, you have not lied once. But what should I do with you, I wonder?"

"M-Mercy, m'lord, mercy! You said you'll let me go, I have done no wrong," Jaron began to plead pathetically and flail with his arms. But Jon was still effortlessly keeping him with one hand in the air, and still did not look even tired.

"True, you have done nothing wrong. But I never said anything about letting you go, only that Ghost will take a bite out of you for every lie. "Jon hummed in contemplation.

"Jon, we can always use more men at the Night's Watch," suggested Edd.

Jaron began to nod frantically. "Yes, m'lord, please, I will join the Watch."

"That works for me." Her brother shrugged his shoulders carelessly, and finally dropped the messenger who crumpled on the ground like a bag of rocks. "He's all yours, Edd." Jon nodded to everyone and hurriedly left the hall, followed by Ghost.

Sansa could feel something was wrong. After hesitating shortly, she quickly followed after her brother. After a few minutes, she finally found Jon in his room, grabbing his packs and getting ready to travel.

"Jon? Why are you rushing like this?" she asked him cautiously.

"I'm going to see if I can save Rickon, if he's even still alive," Jon replied simply.

Sansa blinked a few times wondering if she heard correctly and finally asked, "You want to save Rickon, alone?" He nodded at her words and she almost exploded in anger and worry. She couldn't lose Jon too. "You're no Barristan Selmy and Winterfell is nothing like Duskendale! And Ramsay will never let Rickon live, Jon. He just wants to goad you into a trap and for you to make a mistake. If you go, you'll get caught and die, so please, please don't go. I can't lose you again!" she pleaded. She felt suffocated and suddenly the world began to spin and the floor was nearing. But before she could hit the floor, a pair of strong hands lifted her and placed her on the bed.

"Breathe in and breathe out slowly, Sansa. It will help you calm down,, "Jon said soothingly. She followed his instructions dutifully and soon the suffocating feeling disappeared. Her brother sat on the bed and started playing with the covers, before speaking up again. "All you said is true, sweet sister. But worry not, I will slip into a bird from outside Winterfell and check if Rickon is still alive, and scout their numbers and position in the process."

If pleading didn't work, she would try with reason. Sansa then asked, "But... can't you warg from here? Or send someone else to do it. It's still too dangerous. A Bolton patrol can catch or kill you..."

"Alas, I wish that was the case. In animals other than the dragons and my direwolf, I cannot move further than thirty miles away without losing the connection. I know Winterfell and the surrounding lands far better than any free folk skinchanger. Most of them have never learned to ride horses either. And Bolton patrols do not scare me, I will have my dragons and Ghost to help me. And last but not the least, I can't leave Rickon in the hands of the flayed man, Sansa. He might be our last brother..."

Jon finished gathering his things, gently kissed her on the forehead and spoke quietly. "I will inform the others on my way out. And I will leave Bloodfyre with you, just in case anyone gets any ideas."

Sansa sighed. Jon had made up his mind, but at least he had thought things through. She felt ashamed and embarrassed about directly giving up on Rickon without even trying anything, while Jon was decisively acting and planning. "Promise me you'll be careful, Jon."

"I promise, Sansa," her brother vowed solemnly, nodded toward her and left. She lay in the bed, hoping that this was not the last time she saw her brother alive.