68 Chapter 67 - The Knights vs The Wolves (Part 2)
125 AC
The second day of the first moon
Harlon Pov
"Fall back, Fall back!" Ser Torrhen's orders echoed through the chaos of the battlefield. I watched as the reinforcements from Winterfell surged forward, and the Manderly knights fell like leaves in a storm. The battle had turned into a gruesome affair, and I couldn't help but feel a knot of dread tightening in my chest.
Among the chaos, I saw my good friend, Hugh, retreating with the other Manderly men. The eyes of House Stark's soldiers bore into me as I swiftly mounted one of the horses we had commandeered. It was a pivotal moment, the second part of our plan about to unfold. I knew my role was crucial, but uncertainty gnawed at me.
As we thundered away from the battlefield, I stole a glance over my shoulder. The determined men of House Stark were in hot pursuit, their shouts of vengeance ringing in my ears. I spotted a solitary figure leading half of their forces away from us, Ulf, a loyal friend and warrior, mounted on a horse. Beside him, the fierce girl Sara rode, her determination matching that of any seasoned knight. They were leading Bennard Stark and his forces on a daring chase, buying us precious time. I hoped Ulf and Sara would be victorious in diverting the Starks.
With half of House Stark's forces still hot on our heels, I could feel them closing the gap. Arrows whistled through the air, and some of the knights around me fell, their last moments filled with agony. The ruthless soldiers of House Stark showed no mercy. However, as we pressed deeper into the Wolfswood, the trees began to multiply, creating a dense and bewildering labyrinth that would help conceal our tracks.
My thoughts raced as the pounding of hooves echoed around me. The Wolfswood's dense canopy swallowed us whole, muffling the sounds of pursuit and casting eerie shadows.
"It is better if the White Knight dies," a sinister voice whispered in the darkest recesses of my mind, a voice that seemed to emerge from the shadows themselves.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the insidious thoughts that clawed at my conscience. "No," I murmured, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
"Remember what Princess Rhaenrya promised," the voice persisted, its tone dripping with treacherous allure. "Land, gold, and finally, the Tarly name you've always yearned for. To shed the stain of bastardy that has clung to you like a curse."
My fingers tightened around the vial of poison that the princess had entrusted to me. It gleamed malevolently in the dim light, a vessel of doom that seemed to promise a swift and silent end to the White Knight.
"You should hope that he survives against the wolf, for then you will have the chance to end his life and claim all you've ever desired," the insidious voice whispered, its words dripping with a venomous allure.
"He's a good man," I muttered to myself, trying to drown out the sinister counsel that had taken root in my mind.
"So what if he's good?" the voice hissed, its tone growing darker and more menacing with each word. "He knows nothing of the pain you've endured, the depths to which you've sunk. His virtue means nothing in the grand scheme of your ambitions."
I felt a chill course through my veins as I grappled with the malevolent thoughts that threatened to consume me. The path I was treading grew darker with each step, and the line between right and wrong blurred into a twisted, nightmarish landscape.
The notion of betraying a good man, one who had fought alongside me, who had shown me kindness and camaraderie, should have been abhorrent. But the allure of power, of a name untainted by bastardy, whispered promises of a brighter future that threatened to eclipse all reason and morality.
I clenched my fists, battling the darkness that threatened to engulf me. The forest's eerie silence seemed to mock my internal turmoil, as if nature itself bore witness to the moral decay that had taken hold of my soul.
The weight of my impending decision pressed down upon me, a suffocating darkness that threatened to consume me entirely. The White Knight's fate now rested not only on the edge of a blade but on the precipice of betrayal, and I was poised to tip the scales toward damnation.
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Ulf Pov
As I scooped up Addam from the chaos of the battlefield, I couldn't help but wonder if he was fatally injured. The din of battle raged all around us, a relentless bloodbath that had descended into sheer chaos—just as I had planned. Harlon's shot had pierced through Bennard's son, and Hugh had led the charge with the knights of House Manderly. I had my own brutal encounter, killing another of Bennard's sons who had foolishly interposed himself between my blade and his father. Yet, I had spared Bennard himself; Addam was my top priority.
Carrying him swiftly away from the mayhem, I finally found refuge within one of Winter Town's humble houses. Mushroom, ever the loyal companion, was waiting for me, his eyes filled with concern. Sara Snow, the brave girl who had chosen to stand by my side, was there as well. I gently placed Addam on the nearest table, my heart heavy with worry, and examined his injuries. His face was battered, and a wound near his head was a grim testament to the brutality of the battle.
"Ser, Ulf," he whispered, summoning the last of his energy.
"Addam," I murmured, trying to soothe his pain.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks.
"I'm proud of you, Addam," I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead.
"I will return," I promised as I carefully laid him down again and made my way to the door. Mushroom called out to me, concern etched across his features.
"Be careful," he said, his tone deadly serious. I nodded in acknowledgment, knowing the dangers that lay ahead.
"Are you sure you want to come with me?" I asked Sara, the young girl who had agreed to help me distract the Stark forces, allowing our allies to retreat safely into the Wolfswood.
"Of course, I am," she replied with unwavering confidence. With that, we mounted our horses, adrenaline coursing through our veins, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The fate of Addam and the success of our daring plan hung in the balance as we spurred our horses into action, determined to do whatever it took to ensure our mission's success.
Soon, Sara and I galloped into the town square, a scene of chaos and devastation. The men I had led earlier were strewn lifelessly across the ground, their blood staining the cobblestones. It was a grim reminder of the cost of our daring escape.
Bennard Stark's eyes locked onto me, and with a determined fury, he spurred his horse into action, charging after us. His men quickly followed suit, their war cries echoing through the square as they divided their forces, some giving chase to Sara and me, while others pursued Ser Torrhen's remaining troops.
The clatter of hooves and the thunderous beat of our hearts filled the air as Sara and I rode for our lives. The streets of the town were a maze of uncertainty, and our every turn was a gamble. It was a race against time, with the lives of our comrades and the success of our mission hanging in the balance.
Bennard Stark's forces were relentless, closing in on us with each passing moment. Arrows whizzed past, narrowly missing their mark, and the ominous thud of hooves grew louder. We were like hunted prey, desperately seeking any advantage to evade capture and continue our diversion.
As we weaved through the streets, I couldn't help but wonder if our audacious plan would ultimately succeed or if we were racing toward an inevitable confrontation with death itself.
"Ser Ulf, look there," Sara urgently whispered, pointing toward Winterfell. My eyes followed her trembling finger, and to my astonishment, I beheld a scene of chaos unfolding within the very heart of the Stark stronghold. It appeared that a mutiny was underway against the usurper, Bennard Stark, and the North Gate lay wide open, as if beckoning us to seize the opportunity.
"The godswood, we can hide there," Sara suggested, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.
I nodded in agreement, recognizing the wisdom in her words. The godswood, a sacred place in Winterfell, was a natural sanctuary, a haven amidst the turmoil. It was a place where the Old Gods were said to watch over the North, and its dense canopy of ancient trees offered a shroud of concealment.
Without wasting another moment, we guided our horses toward Winterfell's entrance, dodging the skirmishes and clashes of steel between the mutineers and Bennard Stark's loyalists. The very heart of Winterfell was in upheaval, as if the very foundations of the castle were quaking from the mutiny.
As we entered the castle, chaos reigned supreme. The cacophony of battle surrounded us on all sides, men locked in mortal combat, their desperate cries and clanging swords filling the air with a symphony of violence. We were like ghosts, moving silently and swiftly through the pandemonium.
Bennard Stark's determined pursuit was relentless, and he was closing in, his gaze locked onto us like a hunting wolf. Sara and I knew that every second counted as we raced through the castle.
At last, we arrived at the godswood, a place of tranquility amidst the storm. Sara and I exchanged a brief, worried glance, acknowledging the gravity of our situation. We were fugitives within Winterfell's very walls, hunted by the Stark forces.
"What the hell is happening in the castle?" I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, my mind struggling to comprehend the chaos unfolding within the walls of Winterfell. Sara held my hand tightly, her grip unyielding as she led me deeper into the godswood.
"Cregan tasked me with talking to the men loyal to our father," she explained, her eyes filled with determination.
As I considered her words, it became clear that Cregan had used this very strategy to outmaneuver his uncle in the original timeline. My interference had only added to the complexity and peril of the situation.
"What if Bennard has harmed him?" Sara's voice trembled with fear, the fire in her eyes flickering with doubt.
Seeing the young girl before me, her courage waning in the face of uncertainty, I couldn't help but pull her into a gentle embrace. She clung to me, seeking comfort in the midst of the turmoil.
"It will be fine," I reassured her, my words soft and soothing as I stroked her dark, black hair. "We'll find your brother, and we'll make sure he's safe."
Tears welled up in her eyes, reflecting the anguish she felt. She looked into my eyes with a plea, her voice trembling. "Please, save my brother."
"I promise," I began, but before I could finish my sentence, the distant sounds of pursuing men drew near.
"Sara, listen to me," I whispered urgently, realizing that our footprints in the snow would inevitably lead our pursuers straight to us. "They will catch up with us if we continue together. I need you to go in a different direction. If they find us together, I won't be able to focus on the fight while worrying about your safety."
Sara nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of determination and fear. She understood the gravity of the situation, and without a word, she swiftly turned and ran in the opposite direction, her footsteps fading in the distance.
I watched her disappear into the snowy landscape, a heavy weight of concern for her well-being pressing upon my heart. But it was a sacrifice that had to be made to ensure our chances of success and survival. Now, I could concentrate solely on the imminent confrontation with our pursuers, unburdened by the constant worry for Sara's safety.
I stood before the ancient weirwood tree, its haunting presence casting a solemn spell over the godswood. In the heart of the grove stood the venerable weirwood, its bark carved with the mournful visage of a face, a heart tree that stood sentinel over a pool of cold, black water.
"It seems I finally caught up with you, you fucking Knight," a young man's voice shattered the eerie stillness of the grove.
My attention snapped away from the weirwood, and I turned to face the source of the voice. Before me stood a figure, his eyes burning with a fierce determination that mirrored the Stark bloodline. The resemblance between him and Bennard Stark was unmistakable.
"You're his son," I declared, my voice heavy with disdain. "Where is your cunt of a father?" I continued, goading him, hoping to stoke the fires of his anger.
"I thought I had killed him. Oh no, I suppose I killed your brothers," I taunted, a sardonic grin playing on my lips. The young man's rage flared, and without a word, he lunged at me with feral ferocity. The men he had brought with him followed suit, a maelstrom of violence erupting in the shadow of the heart tree.
I moved with a dancer's grace, each step a fluid dodge, each parry a testament to my skill. The Stark men closed in, their strikes fast and furious, but I was a whirlwind of steel and determination. One by one, they fell, their bodies hitting the snowy ground like a grim testament to their failure.
As I fought, I couldn't help but notice the mounting frustration in Bennard's son. He had expected an easy victory, and with each fallen comrade, his anger burned hotter. His strikes grew wilder, more desperate, as he tried in vain to land a blow on me.
With each dodge, each counterattack, I felt a surge of confidence and power. It was a dance of death, a battle where I was the maestro, and they were mere instruments in my symphony of combat. The godswood bore witness to our clash, the heart tree's melancholy eyes watching the fierce struggle unfold beneath its branches.
I continued to evade their attacks, my movements a blur of precision and grace. The stark contrast between their wild, uncoordinated strikes and my calculated defense only served to fuel their frustration.
With a final, masterful strike, I disarmed one of the Stark men, sending his weapon clattering to the ground. It was a small victory, but it further
emboldened me. As he fell to his knees, defeated, his comrades hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.
But it was all the opening I needed. With a swift and precise series of strikes, I incapacitated the remaining Stark men one by one. They crumpled to the ground, their fight drained from them.
Bennard's son, his face twisted with fury, was the last one standing. He lunged at me with one final desperate attack, but I deftly sidestepped, sending him tumbling to the snowy ground. With a swift and measured motion, I disarmed him, my blade at his throat.
He lay there, defeated and humiliated, his anger reduced to a smoldering ember. The godswood stood in eerie silence, the heart tree's melancholy face carved into the weirwood bearing witness to my triumph.
He reached for his fallen sword, desperation etched across his face, but in one swift, merciless motion, I severed his hand from his arm. He cried out in agony, tears mixing with the snow beneath him.
"I will kill you!" he shrieked, his voice filled with pain and rage.
I didn't respond with words. Instead, I raised my sword, poised to deliver the final strike that would end his pathetic life. My anger burned like a white-hot fire, fueled by the memories of Addam's suffering at the hands of Bennard and his sons.
"Stop!" a voice called out from the distance.
I turned to see Bennard Stark himself, his face contorted with fear and alarm. My gaze shifted, and I noticed Sara struggling against his grip, her eyes filled with terror.
"If you kill him, I will kill this bitch, even though she may be of my brother's blood," Bennard threatened.
I hesitated, my sword hovering in the air. The rage inside me battled with the instinct to protect Sara, and in that tense moment, a chilling understanding settled in. Killing Bennard's son might have been a swift act of vengeance, but it would endanger her life.
"Ulf, don't do it! Kill that bastard!" Sara struggled against Bennard's grip, and he responded by pulling her hair even harder, causing her to scream in agony.
"Very well," I muttered through clenched teeth. "I'll release your son if you let go of the girl." Bennard nodded in agreement and for some inexplicable reason, there was a sinister gleam in Bennard's eyes as he looked on with satisfaction.
Then, suddenly, I experienced a sensation I had never felt before. Pain coursed through my body, and when I looked down, I saw a sword protruding
from my side, blood gushing forth.
"Elric, well done!" Bennard's triumphant cry filled the room, his voice dripping with glee. I staggered backward, struggling to maintain my balance, while Bennard wore an expression of cruel satisfaction.
As I fell to my knees, the sword still impaled in my side, a wave of pain and despair washed over me.
Elric's gaze bore into me, a seething hatred emanating from his every pore. He approached with slow, deliberate steps, savoring the impending victory.
Summoning the last reserves of my strength, I seized my fallen sword from the ground. With a lightning-swift motion, I drove it into Elric's neck. He crumpled to the ground, a hateful glare in his eyes fading into lifelessness.
"Noo!" Bennard's agonized cry echoed through the godswood as he collapsed to the ground. I, too, tumbled backward, my vision blurring as the world spun around me. Sara rushed to my side, her face etched with concern and relief.
I lay on my back, gasping for breath, the searing pain in my side intensifying with each passing moment. The wound throbbed as blood continued to flow, staining my clothes crimson.
Sara knelt beside me, her hands trembling as she assessed the damage. Her voice quivered with worry, "I tend to your wound, Ulf. Hold on, please."
I nodded weakly, attempting to rise, but then, I saw Bennard hurtling towards me like a relentless storm. With a surge of adrenaline, I pushed Sara away just as the massive man crashed into me.
He slammed me down with brutal force, the agony in my side intensifying as he forcefully yanked the sword from my body. My scream of pain reverberated through the godswood , a guttural and primal sound of torment.
Bennard's once cold, gray eyes had turned into twin pools of unrelenting cruelty. Spittle flew from his contorted mouth as he relentlessly pummeled my face, each punch delivering waves of searing pain that blurred my vision and left me gasping for breath.
Bennard's relentless assault continued unabated, each brutal blow sending shockwaves of pain through my body. Blood filled my mouth, the taste of iron serving as a grim reminder of my dire situation.
"You did all of this to save Cregan, a boy you barely knew," he taunted between punches, his voice dripping with malice.
"And what did you do to save this bastard's life, taking my son's life in return?" he sneered, his voice a venomous hiss as he referred to Sara.
"What can this worthless bastard do for you?" he bellowed into my battered face. "She is worthless," he spat with contempt.
Dazed from his relentless assault, I struggled to find my voice, but I managed to croak out a defiant response. "No one's life is worthless, be it a trueborn, a bastard, nobility, or the smallfolk."
With a defiant grin, I continued, "The only life that is truly worthless is yours and that of your sons."
I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable blow, feeling my body weakening with each relentless assault. But as my strength waned, a sudden shift in the room's atmosphere made me cautiously reopen my eyes. There, protruding from Bennard's chest, was a sword.
It was Sara, her face a portrait of determination and vengeance, who had driven the blade into him.
He fell back, crashing onto the ground, gasping for air, his life ebbing away. My gaze turned to the sky, where the heavens stretched out in all their breathtaking beauty. But just as I marveled at the serene expanse, Bennard's voice pierced the moment.
"I curse you," he rasped, his words filled with bitter malevolence, "you will know the searing agony of losing your own child. I swear this on the Old Gods."
With those ominous words, Bennard Stark, the Traitorous Wolf, drew his final breath, and the weight of his curse hung heavily in the air, casting a shadow over the beauty of the world around us.
"Ulf," Sara rushed towards me, tears streaming down her cheeks. She gently cradled my head in her lap, her trembling hands desperately trying to stem the flow of blood.
"Why did you do it? You could have easily killed Elric and Bennard," she implored, her voice quivering with emotion. "Why did you save me? I am nothing more than a bastard."
"Because that was the honorable and right thing to do," I managed to murmur as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness. I gazed into her eyes, my vision fading, and saw a sad smile form on her face.
My weakening gaze shifted to the ancient Weirwood tree nearby. In that fleeting moment, I perceived something eerie and mystical – blood falling from its eyes like crimson tears.
As everything faded to black.
