The Ties that Binds Us

An ache shot through the prince's body. He rose to his feet and they touched the ground. He could not believe the stalled this long, all because of a snowstorm at the worst possible time. The prince looked to his right see Maester Williem, the maester who saved his life and dedicated much of time to helping his recovery. Jacob wanted to strangle the life out of Harald Karstark for trying to kill him and his brother Cregan for stealing his bride from him. It didn't matter to him, as his father King Stannis was going to deal with Harald and the rest of his family. It was another blow to him, to have another bride lost away from him yet again.

The man was bitter, being addled on milk of the poppy for so long. The effects were wearing off and Jacob was able to think straight. The first person he saw when he woke up from his unconscious state was Asha Greyjoy, a terrible surprise and he never wanted to see her face. He didn't care she saved his life; she was scum and he was going to enjoy seeing her locked behind bars in Winterfell forever. He rubbed his hand against his forehead, remember how great of a sleep he had, whilst on milk of the poppy. It was no wonder Uncle Robert wanted the milk of the poppy dose before he died, because it numbed the pain and addled his mind onto other things, rather than focus on the pain he was experiencing from the stab wound.

Jacob was helped by the maester to put on his clothes and his furs, but his muscles were stiff. He never thought being out cold would make him lose strength, but he will need to retrain himself at some point before the war began. The fact of the matter was, things were getting worse since the Karstarks turned cloak on his father, but they were never loyal to him anyways. He knew at the back of his head, the Karstarks were no good and he was right about them. Arnolf Karstark promised his father men for the war and a bride for Jacob to marry; the army was delivered to the rightful king, but the bride was about to be stolen away, had Alys Karstark not had the senses to run away from Karhold.

The prince was getting used to moving his body parts again; there was an emptiness within him, almost black and sucking everything he liked about himself down. Jacob never thought, he would be foolish enough to allow himself to be stabbed. As a man grown, he should have been more careful, but there was no use in dwelling about the past now. He needed to recover, in order to be at his father's side, as he should be as a son of House Baratheon and the rightful prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

"What was I thinking? Allowing Harald, the drunk to gloat me into a fight, knowing he was just as much of snake, as the rest of his family. I almost died as a result and Shireen would have been burdened with being father's true heir to the throne had I died. It was something I never wished on her. I only take the burden of my father's expectations, just so Shireen doesn't have to and can be a child, for as much as she can, before she is grown up enough to know about the cruelty of the world."

Jacob was pacing back and forth in the tent, as a way of exercising his legs and the muscles in them. He didn't like being stuck in one place, as a Baratheon he didn't like being cornered or trapped in one place, as he needed to roam and to express some form of freedom. The prince sees the maester is doing his work, but he never knew what to say to him, even though Maester Williem wasn't a part of his father's retinue, as he rode in with the Forrester procession led by Lord Asher, one of the last of his family with his younger siblings Ryon and Talia being looked after by Lady Sybelle at Deepwood Motte, whilst their brother went to war with whatever remained of the Forrester armies after the decimation of the Ironwood by the Whitehills and the Dustins.

The man was more revised in northern politics, as he was the southorn because of how long he has been in this region for. He knew the northmen wanted their fair share of Bolton blood, as well as skinning the remaining Whitehills alive to, as that house were the lapdogs of the Boltons and Karstarks led by Arnolf. Jacob considered himself lucky not to marry Alys, as it was impossible now, since she ran away and is at the Wall under protection of the Lord Commander. It might leave room for other loyalist houses in the north to come forth to the table, House Umber had maiden daughters ready for marriage and so did the Cerwyns and Flints, but the traitor houses also had unwed daughters, who are likely to be sold to the Bolton's northern allies and the Freys.

"I'm glad to see you walking again," Maester Williem said, in a hoarse tone of voice, whilst his chains of office were dangling against the metalwork. "I was afraid the wound would kill you."

"I am a Baratheon, we don't die so easy." Prince Jacob replied.

"I'm glad you are alive."

"My father will be grateful for all you have done for me."

"You know the Greyjoy woman came to visit every day."

"Never thought of it."

"She was most saddened of what happened to you, but that unpleasant knight was always with her. Always smiling in a way that would scare children."

"Ser Justin, not easy on the eyes, but obedient and loyal, just what my father wants in men."

"The Karstarks will never live to see the winter, when your father is done with them."

It was what Jacob wanted, to see the heads of all the Karstarks roll, even the young grandsons of Arnolf to be eaten alive by the big guard dogs brought east by the mountain clans. He didn't care at all, even when Asha came to see him, but what was her aim in all this. She was a prisoner for life, but a married woman. She wasn't allowed to marry anyone else, unless she could change religion and that marriage would be null and void, if she converted to the Seven rather than worship the Drowned God. Who was Jacob to be japing? Why did Asha's life affect him so much, even when he was going to confront Harald about what he heard him and Maester Tybald say to each other? It was something at the back of his mind, which was the darker voice in his head, telling him of all the forbidden things he desired, but could not act on because of his loyalty to his father Stannis and their war campaign in the north.

The prince was miffed, how the Greyjoy woman was one of the only visitors he had, since he was injured. Sorrell Grimm nor his father paid him a visit at all. Jacob's gritted, like his sire, but not loud enough for Maester Williem to hear it. He was thrown to the side, as if he didn't matter to anyone at all. Jacob was a Baratheon, the king's son and the next ruler after his father. He was no common knight to be thrown away to the side, after an injury. From the things Maester Williem told him about how he came along; it was because the previous maester of the Forresters was murdered by Whitehill men, days after the Red Wedding and members to House Forrester were scattered, until Lord Asher returned from exile to restore order and secure his remaining siblings from Highpoint with the help of Jacob and his father's armies in the battle to restore House Forrester to their rightful place and to control an advantage point in the Wolfswood to then battle the Ironborn in the forests.

He never stopped and think of the battles he has been through, one after another and never had time to grieve for his dead uncles. It didn't matter to Jacob because he was taught grief was a woman's outcry and not for men, but it was not true. His father grieved for his brothers, the tatters of his house and being nowhere near close enough to be on the Iron Throne. Jacob fought for his father's cause and for his own glory at the same time, it built his reputation for being a formidable warrior on the field and a shrewd politician outside of the battlefield. The Iron Bank were just another advantage he and his father had over the Lannisters and with the bank's support, they could be on the throne without even fighting the Tyrell and Lannister backed armies anyways, but a debt will have to be paid to the Iron Bank, during the start of his father's reign as the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.

The prince's eyes always widened, at the sight of Ser Justin, a knight who believes himself attractive, but he is average compared to most men. Even that pretty boy Loras Tyrell was pleasant to look at for the girls of the south, but Jacob hated the Knight of Flowers. It pleased him to know the pretty knight is close to death on Dragonstone, through letters and whispers through the mouths of the men, in his father's army, the leftovers from Dragonstone, the Stormlands and the Reach. To outlive Loras Tyrell and the Kingslayer is Jacob's only motivation in living through the war, to live while is enemies are dead is the great pleasure Jacob can cherish from the demons of war.

The maester was cleaning his work station, because of the cold and the easy spread of infections. There was nothing worse than the maester seeing soldiers, who were getting frosted fingertips and their feet were discoloured from sleeping in the freezing tents for many nights straight. It was gruesome to see, but Jacob was fortunate to be the king's son and to be highborn to never suffer from anything to this level. He noticed himself through the only hand-held mirror Maester Williem had with him on the journey. His beard had grown around his face, but the prince had to cut off some of the overgrown facial hair from his face to make it look as if he had never been wounded and was still the same great warrior on the battlefield. His eyes, sapphire blue, but steeled and were unrelenting. The optimistic man was dead, and this new man rose from the maester's work station and was hungry, starving for the blood of his enemies and to kill Harald Karstark by his own hands.

Prince Jacob picked up his sword, the jewelled dagger and found his letters were still in his cloak pockets. He was glad to have his property back to him, as it would have made him more anxious about not being comfortable with anything in this frozen wasteland. The prince clutched onto his pendent of the seven-pointed star, knowing the Faith of the Seven never left his side at all, even at his time of need. The stranger could have taken him away at that moment, but it was the other gods, who spared his life and to bring him back to fight the war for his father if he wanted to. He was tired of being stuck inside the tent and wanted to go outside and breath in the cold, winter air. Jacob never liked the north at all, with its cold climate and its Stark loyalists; he was only here to fight a war and then leave the north in the hands of the people.

The man decided to take the first few steps, by pulling the curtains of the tent, to be hit with a chill only heard in northern stories. It was colder than before, and he kissed his pendant for luck to still be alive in these bad times. He didn't care, unless he was fighting the war, but more important politics had to be played. The Karstarks needed to be punished for their crimes and there was going to be dissent in the ranks because of what happened to him, but he was treading through the snows. Wondering what happened to Sorrell and why his sworn shield was not at his side, during his dance with death and maybe find his cousin Luthor.

Jacob needed his redhead cousin, all because something wasn't right in the camp, and no one was telling him anything. Maester Williem told him what he wanted to hear, not wanting to upset him or set him off balance, it was his job as a healer and a medicinal man to do so. The man wanted to see a familiar face, rather than see the smiler every day with the ironborn scum he brings with him. Jacob was alone, but there were men potting around the war camp, not noticing the prince back from the dead. It did not matter, when the camp seems to be in high alert, more than usual since he was stabbed by Harald Karstark. He held onto the hilt of his sword in caution and his eyes were analysing his surroundings. It was to be aware of danger happening at any time.

"Where could this bastard be? Luthor must not have gone far, with my father wanting him at his side. Luthor was an Estermont, therefore it meant he was family, no matter how distant of a cousin he was to my father, Shireen and me. He could be in the longhall but would not be there anymore because of the high alert. I wonder where father keeps the prisoners that are not Asha Greyjoy; I know he keeps Gwyn Whitehill under the guard of the knights of House Follard. That girl is a bargaining chip to lead Lord Whitehill and his sons out of the Boltons range, if he wants to see his only daughter again."

The prince looked to see an orange-haired man, coming towards him with a smile on his face. Jacob had always mistaken Luthor's hair colour one too many times; Luthor's mother was from the Riverlands, his hair was too bright to be of distant Tully relation, but it made him stand out from other knights. He grumbled of how his cousin is coming now and not visiting him when he was awake. Jacob did not hold it against him because his father nor Sorrell never visited him either. All he wanted was an explanation why was that the case? Or what was happening in the war camp had the soldiers on high alert.

"Jake…..I thought you were dead." Ser Luthor said, in a mocking tone. Not realising it was a jape in poor taste to the prince.

"I'm good now." Prince Jacob replied.

"I'm glad to see you back on your feet, cousin. A lot has happened, since you were out."

"What do you mean?"

"Theon Greyjoy is alive and looks like a haggard old man. Could barely recognise him."

"Why is he here?"

"Mors Umber brought him and some frozen girl to your father; he said they jumped out of the window of Winterfell to escape the Boltons."

"I don't believe it. It's impossible to think he would try to get himself killed."

"You are cold, cousin. Did dancing with death make you bitter?"

"I know better now. No one will be spared; all enemies will die, starting with the Karstarks and Theon himself."

"What happened to you?"

"I saw the other side, Luthor. The world between life and death, and where the stranger almost took me away."

"Are you better or are you claiming madness now?" Luthor said, in a concerned tone.

"I feel better than ever. I can't wait to start retraining again with Sorrell."

Luthor had a saddened look on his face, tucking his hands under the sleeves of his bear-skin furs. "Did anyone not tell you what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sorrell Grimm was expelled, as your sworn shield. Your father's orders, since he was getting drunk, when you got stabbed by Harald Karstark."

"He should not have made that decision. I hired him as my sworn shield, and I should have expelled him on my own."

"The king's orders, he said. I agree on that perspective. You almost died and your sworn shield, the man who is tasked to protect you goes drinking with common soldiers. If I was your father, I would have done the same thing and good riddance to him."

"How can you say that?"

"Look, I know it's upsetting to hear this news, but think of it this way. Your father can rest easy knowing he is not around you anymore."

"My father never came to see me, the maester told me."

"That's rough, your own father leaving you to the wolves."

The prince rolled his eyes at what Luthor said. The knight tolerated Sorrell for his sake and defended him in the war council against the Queen's Men, who wanted to discredit his contribution to the northern war effort, but he saw it from a common perspective of what happened. The reachman failed at his duty to be Jacob's sworn shield and his father dealt him the consequences needed. It was a shame not to see Sorrell any more at his side, but it was for the best. The man failed and was just another knight of the King's Men, which meant he would see Sorrell on the battlefield, but not in the watchtower anymore. Jacob knew Sorrell will be subjected to sleeping in frozen tents with the rest of the men, as a great way for his father Stannis to punish him further for his failure to protect him.

Jacob and Luthor began trekking through the mounds of snow on the ground, little clusters of snowflakes falling on their faces, signalling a harsh winter to come. The two cousins didn't speak after their conversation, but the prince was guilty of chastising his cousin that way, but he could not help it. His feelings were compressed when he was comatose and never had a chance to express his true anger, anger at his father for not visiting and dismissing his own knight when he was the one, who gave Sorrell his title in the first place. Jacob never understood how callous his father was in not seeing his own son in his time of need, why could he not spare a minute or a day to be with him.

The prince departed from his cousin, whilst Luthor was needed by the king. Jacob began to stumble on his feet, as it took him some time for him to walk normally again. The muscles in his legs would have stiffened when he was unconscious, but he was getting around fine and no one needed to question his ability to function, as he did before. He wrapped himself within the furs around him. Jacob did not have an easy time recovering from his wound; hot flushes through the night when he woke up from his comatose state and the loud rants spewed towards the maester, who healed him. He apologised to Maester Williem every time those rants happened; he had a lot of pet up anger inside him. It was a Baratheon flaw passed down through the generations. His father Stannis's anger was more simmering and silent, Uncle Robert's was more expressive and louder, but Uncle Renly never showed any anger, unless his pretender plot for the throne was in danger.

Jacob was never the man to be angered easily, but it just erupted days after he woke up. He kept his feelings inside because it was inconvenient to him and his father. The prince's anger was directed towards his father and the patriarch position he held in what was left of House Baratheon. There was no excuse for a father not to visit his own son in the healing tent, he didn't care if his father was busy or not; he needed him at his side through the trauma he was dealt with at the hands of Harald Karstark. The man laughed at the thought of his mother, Queen Selyse. His mother would have stayed by his side through everything, because a mother would never abandon her child, no matter how ill they are, but it made him miss her.

He had sickened thoughts in his mind, darker thoughts of strangling some minor lord to death with his own hands. With blood trickling down hands and a smile painted on his face, when the man was crushed to death in his own clouded dreams. Jacob would shut those thoughts from his head before, but they were coming up from the surface and he strangely liked it. The emptiness within him was a result of something dying inside him when he was stabbed. He was changed, more cautious and less sentimental in his thoughts. The prince wanted to be alone, isolate himself from everyone else. He remembered wanting to recover fast enough for him to get back to sword training, but Maester Williem never gave into his demands, which would have made things worse to Jacob. As a Baratheon, he was stubborn as hell, even his mother told him so, but there was a time for him to grow up and mature, and the war did its job for him.

"I never read the other letter from my mother. I didn't want to because I was busy recovering from my injuries. The situation didn't get any better, but at least I will see justice done with the deaths of the Karstarks by the chop, as the northmen would do so. Killing their own enemies, instead of having someone else do it for them. It's something father hopes to take to King's Landing when he is finally crowned, to be his own king's justice rather than give the job to someone else."

The prince sees the bones of dead horse parts littered in the snows, but to Jacob, he was fortunate he still had his horse. He missed his horse, the horse he had since he was eight and was looking forward to seeing her again. He could not believe Ser Sorrell was dismissed but be understood why his father expelled him. The reacher knight failed Jacob in his hour of need, and it was for the best to never be around him again. He had his cousin Luthor Estermont for company, so he was not alone again.

Sorrell has been nothing, but a good sworn shield to him. The man helped him escape Oldtown and out of the lands of the Tyrells. He never would have gotten back home, if it had not been for Sorrell Grimm, but he did nothing to deserve being humiliated by his father, who always disliked him. The man was almost like a friend to him, even though having friends in the game of thrones was not allowed because attachments were a weakness and the easiest way to the grave. He made a mistake of turning his back on Harald Karstark, but he will never make that mistake again. This was war and there was no time for second thoughts or even thinking of getting out of it. A deserter can run away under the guise of the night, but not Jacob, the king's son and a leader in his own right. His face was too familiar, his look was too, and his last name was as well.

The man trekked through a big mount of snow, as its snowflakes coated his fur cloak. Jacob was growing used to the cold weather, but it was not getting easier for the remains of his father's host. Southorn men could not handle such temperatures, as they account for the deaths of the men, who came with them south from Deepwood Motte. The ones, who were still alive were lucky and could keep up with the northmen, when the great march towards Winterfell started. He never saw any of the soldiers loyal to his father for some time, as he was sick from a bad fever and trying to heal from being stabbed. The prince was usually healthy, and nothing happened to him, until he was vulnerable, and Harald Karstark took advantage of it.

What was left of the cavalry was pulling carts towards the longhall, as it was the only place, where it was warm enough to stay in. Jacob visited the longhall once, and never again because it was for other men to enjoy and his father needed him at the time. All he did in those times was read letters from frightened northern lords, who refused his father's rightful claim to the Seven Kingdoms and professed loyalty to Robb Stark and his memory. These northmen made him angry, how dare they when their precious King of the North is dead with his body attached to a wolf's head. Prince Jacob and his father were their last hope in deposing the Boltons and Freys from Winterfell and they refuse their help because of northern pride.

The prince had respect for the clansmen of the north, whom were only small in their numbers, but had more heart than the rest of their kin. He looked old enough to be one of them, but he was happy enough with the dysfunctional family he has already. Jacob sees a bone, must be the bone of a guard dog that perished moons ago. he was not used to seeing things perish, but it reminded him of how the north is a cold and harsh place and only the toughest of people can survive here. As a southern man, Jacob needed to survive here for the sake of his life and the lives of the soldiers fighting for him and his father's northern war.

He did not like waiting for a battle to come, but he knew his father will need him to lead on the frontlines. Jacob only tolerated some of the northerners for the sake of the war and for the sake of having the honour of slaying Roose Bolton himself. The Mormonts, the Umbers, the Cerwyns, the Hornwoods and the Forresters were all Stark loyalists, whom Jacob could not give less of shit about, but he needed their soldiers to fight for the freedom of Winterfell and the rest of the north from the stranglehold of the Boltons and Freys. As a man grown, prioritising was a lot easier at manhood than it was at boyhood, to think of the more important things rather than the minor tings, which didn't matter to him in the long term.

The man saw someone coming towards him from the distance, and he could barely see them. The harsh blows of the snowflakes falling got in his way; he pulled out his sword as it could have been some renegade Karstark ready to finish him off. It was a reaction expected of someone, who was attacked and did not trust his surroundings. The war camp was filled of soldiers, warriors and cavalry ready to fight the men behind the walls of Winterfell, but only so few commanders and leaders to lead the rabble into victory. He wanted to work with the northmen in liberating Winterfell, but not become too friendly with them, as they were the same people, who rebuffed his father's fealty like a bad jape.

The prince saw the person coming towards him more clearly, a woman to be exact. He thought it was the She-Bear, as she and her soldiers were some of the only women in the war camp, but there was another woman around, whom he did not want to see. The ironborn scum herself, and the queen of nothing, Asha Greyjoy. She was the queen of hardly anything, since her father fell from a bridge. The only metalwork she has worn were iron chains through the first few miles from Deepwood Motte. As terrible as she was, Asha was not the worst person there was, since Roose Bolton and Ludd Whitehill were the ones, he wanted to kill, and Asha was the lesser of three evils in his mind.

The ironborn woman was alone, which was strange, considering she always had an escort with her, whether it was Ser Justin or Lady Alysane. Someone must have lost sight of her, but having her in his grasp was better than allowing the king's prize to wonder around the camp on her own, looking for a way to escape. The prince had a grim look on his face, as he always had when meeting with one of his enemies, it did not matter, if she saved his life. She was still the enemy and he was the righteous man, who won Deepwood Motte back for House Glover and won Highpoint and all it's riches to give to the Forresters, for their loyal support towards his father in the war.

Prince Jacob grumbled to himself, thanking the Greyjoy will not hurt him too much, just an easy gesture to get out of the way. He didn't like seeing her face, as the rumours of ironborn women being ugly was untrue, as Asha Greyjoy and other women of her kind were more attractive than the women of the Stormlands, especially when the ironborn have been stealing salt wives from the Westerlands and the Reach for centuries, as those two places were where the more commonly beautiful women of the south came from. He once fancied himself a Westerlands woman, only to spit in the face of the uncle, who punished him for the crime of being young and in love with a girl at the time, even though Uncle Robert was dead, he still had not forgiven him for the things he did to him long ago.

The man looked like a brazen northman, to the Greyjoy's point of view. He liked the look, as it made him as unrecognisable as possible to those, who knew him before. Only his father, Sorrell and Luthor knew what he looked like underneath the growth of beard and long, shaggy hair. Jacob did not want to be too close to Asha, or else he would have found a way to kill her, but as much as he wants to kill her, he could not, as his father wanted her alive for the northern lords to do away with. Better to see the Greyjoy rot away in prison for the rest of her life, rather than her having an easy death, as a way to escape the consequences of her crimes in the north.

"I'm glad to see you up and walking, green prince." Asha said, in a cold tone.

"Better to shove you under the burrows of snow." Jacob replied.

"Are you not going to thank me for saving your life?"

"You may have done a great deed, but it still doesn't change you for the criminal you are."

"How harsh of you?"

"What do you want from me?"

"A little gratitude."

"Do you truly believe saving my life, separates you from your crimes, Lady Greyjoy. The same pirate, who took a mother and her small children hostage from Deepwood Motte to stuff in your mother's castle." The prince gritted between his teeth.

The two had their arms folded, and it made Prince Jacob think about what he said. He wanted to be just as uncompromising as his father and model himself after him, but was it what he wanted or was it expected of him, as his father's son and heir. Pride is another fatal flaw of a man, especially a Baratheon, he was just as prideful as his uncles and never lied about it. It made Jacob feel great to have the upper hand in a situation that called for it. Asha saved his life, but it did not excuse her for the crimes she committed, and she needed to answer for her wrongdoings, as well as her brothers and the ironborn as well. No one was coming to save Asha Greyjoy and that was what she knew, no one was coming to free her, as a woman, she was nothing to her meddlesome uncles, who commanded the Iron Fleet and the rest of the scum of the islands.

"A stiff, just like your father. Are going to be at his beck and call?" Asha said, in a mocking tone. Almost eager to antagonise Jacob, and it was not going to work this time.

"I can change my name, if it pleases you." Jacob replied.

"A man cannot do that. He keeps his name and passes it onto the next generation, unlike a woman, who must give up her name and take her lord husband's name."

"A pity for you."

"My husband will have your eyes out, greenlander."

"What husband? The reaver two years close to death, lucky he did not bed you or otherwise would have died of exhaustion."

Asha did something Jacob did not expect, a laugh left her lips and his eyes widened at the thought, he thought ironborn only laughed at the misery and death of others, but this one seems to have a sense of humour, and it did not come from that corpse she called a father. "The Ironmaker will not have an enough time to lift his axe, before you open his throat clean." She said, calming down from the fit of laughter.

"You know what happened to the shit king? Poisoned at his own wedding feast." Jacob said, to continue the conversation between them.

"At this rate, only the two of us will live." Asha replied.

"Not concerned about your uncles."

"No…..I expected them to abandon me, as I am a woman to them. Not a legitimate threat to the salt throne."

"My uncles are dead, if it makes you feel better."

"It does."

"What happened to my sworn shield?"

"He was dismissed because you were almost killed, sweet green prince. Such a man, cannot protect you, your father said in bitter words."

"What happened to you after I was stabbed?"

"Those Follard knights took me from my bed to face your father. His Grace hates me, but did not condemn me, unlike the Queen's Men."

"They are only small fry, since the rest of them are at the Wall, with my mother and sister."

Jacob didn't like the truth, lying to himself was a lot easier than facing it. He caught Asha Greyjoy smiling for the first time, since the two duelled each other in the Wolfswood. The prince thought her smile reminded him of Desmera Redwyne and the happier times in his life, where he had no immediate responsibilities and could be a naïve boy. He never thought of Desmera once, and it was for the best. She was caught in the middle of a heated dispute between three powerful houses and did not know what to do. Desmera only did what she did to survive and to preserve her honour and take Dickon Tarly as her lord husband. Strangely, Jacob had no resentment for either Desmera nor Dickon, as it was not their faults, but the faults of their fathers and Paxter Redwyne. Lords and ladies should stay out of the business of their children, especially when they are young and ignorant to the world.

Asha was stuffed in big furs, as it kept her warm, but she must have thought of her brother, who was the prisoner of King Stannis. Two Greyjoys for the price of waiting was good for his father, and it gave him more leverage, as Theon was a man and the last son of his house, no matter how broken he was. He knew he was going to face Theon sooner rather than later, Jacob needed to see his father and tell him how he was still a capable warrior and was ready to fight the war for Winterfell.

"You are lucky, greenlander. To still have your sibling safe and no harm come to her, while my brother is the shadow of the man, he used to be." Asha said, with her voice trembling with fear and wiping a tear from her eye. She still loved Theon, even though all his crimes and flaws, she was his big sister and his protector.

"As far as I am concerned, Theon deserved what he got, invading Winterfell and allowing the Boltons to take over." Jacob said, in a biting tone. He meant it, as the Boltons and Freys may have committed crime of the Red Wedding, but Theon was the one, who gave Roose Bolton and his bastard a foothold in the Winterfell and gave the castle to them on a silver platter.

"You will never forgive anything, just like your father. This place is not your home and why make it so."

"It's because a crime is still a crime, my lady. You and your brother are criminals in the eyes of the law."

The prince was more lenient towards Asha, but was harsher than he was. He needed to be cruel because there was a war going on. There was no time to slip up, even for a moment because every mistake could mean the end of his life. Jacob could never make Asha a willing ally, knowing he will be the son of the man, who will kill her brother for his crimes. Things will be a lot harder, as he liked talking to her, even though she was still the enemy. He needed to do what had to be done, to secure the greatest victory in his life and to finally settle down with a wife. It has been too long, too long to remain unmarried, during a war. He blamed his father and his mother for not settling him down sooner, since both could be the worst good parents there will be to his future bride.

Jacob looked at Asha once more. She was a woman alone, no allies or family around to help her, she seemed to cope with loneliness better than the prince could. She was a rare breed of woman, the kind the lords of Westeros liked to snuff out or oppress until their rebellious ways are corrected. He turned his away to now show the vulnerability on his face, his lips trembled, due to the cold weather being in full force. Jacob never thought of the possibility of liking her, but his feelings were always in conflict with his morals and principles as a man. It was something Jacob had to figure out, before he walks his chosen bride down the aisle, to the sept of the Seven or the weirwood tree of the old gods to be with someone for the rest of his life.

The man made his long, but cold journey towards the watchtower, where he, his father and cousin slept in for the duration of their stay. He was wrapped warm in his furs, even though the stench of blood was still there, reminding him of the stabbing. It was as it was when Jacob last saw it, tall and foreboding. He was sure he was fully recovered, even though he wanted to hide the scars of what happened to him. His father King Stannis needed him, even though the man never visited his son when he was injured. A boil of anger went over Jacob, as it was a foreign feeling to him, he was never the man to be expressive of his anger, like Uncle Robert, but was more towards keeping his emotions inwards, as most of the time, they were of inconvenience to him.

He glimpsed the Follard knights standing guard around the tower, these knights were a regular sighting for him, as they did a lot for him. They protected him from the burning man, who tried to attack him and kept guard in his tent, whilst he rested and recovered from the stabbing. He wanted to thank the men of House Follard for all they have done for him, but not yet. Jacob had unfinished business to deal with and a war to prepare for, but he would be facing his father for the first time, since he last saw him when his father was hosting the envoy of the Iron Bank. The prince did not trust the banker one bit, but the man had offered a great deal with equal payments on both sides. The support of the Iron Bank could change the motions of the war and could bring Jacob and his father closer to the Iron Throne, which meant less battles and more focus on gaining political support in the Seven Kingdoms.

The watchtower was old, and Jacob knew it had been built, since the times of the Kings of Winter. He knew moons could change everything, and his appearance was a testament of it. It was forever changing, and he kept the growth of beard on his face and the long hair he allowed to grow for moons. The scars on his face were less noticeable with the growth of hair on his face, but the one on both sides of his left eye can be seen and know the story of how that scar was begotten. The warmth of the watchtower will be most welcome to Jacob, as he spent moons in a cold, but unelevated tent and was happy to be somewhere warm and back to the duties he was doing before he got stabbed.

Jacob climbed the steps of the tower, and the guarded knights took one look at him and allowed him to pass. They knew who he was, even though his hair growth made him look like the average northman. He took a deep breath in and out, as a smart man he had no idea how the reactions of his loved ones will be when they see him again and no idea how Jacob himself will react to seeing Theon Greyjoy again. It will be hard to contain the rage in killing him with his bare hands; it was the perfect punishment for a turncloak and child killer. The Greyjoy man was punished enough, to know his masters killed Robb Stark and the men at the wedding and the northern lords and ladies were forced to pay fealty to a cutthroat to save the lives of their families and their holdings.

It was survival that kept the northmen going, it was survival that made the northerners patient for the chance of revenge on the architects of the Red Wedding and it was survival, which made some betray their oaths to the Starks and took sides with the Boltons. Jacob knew what survival was, as a boy of six and ten drifted out into the Uplands and had to crawl his way out of Reach territory, unless he wanted his head to ornate the Red Keep, alongside Ned Stark and others. He was still standing, as a testament of what a soldier, a man and a prince should be, fighting against the enemy on the battlefield, but the war was not over and he needed to fight even harder, now he is back in the fold.

"What if I get pushed out of the fold? What if father thinks I am not ready to be at his side again? It will mean, all the hard work Maester Williem did helping me recover was all for nothing. Better if Luthor had a bigger role, since he must have been sleeping in my bed, in my absence. I will have to speak to him about Sorrell sooner rather than later, because it's important to get it out of the way. I know Sorrell failed as my sworn shield, but it was my decision to put him in that position, which means it was my responsibility in dismissing him."

The prince entered the watchtower, and for the doors to close behind him. The northern storm had not defeated Jacob, but the snowflakes coated on his furs proved otherwise. He caught his eye on Ser Justin and Ser Richard, his father's most loyal knights standing to one side, with the two knights eager to see him and breathing a sigh of relief to not bury him or to be ruled by a little girl when the war ended. The men were Queen's Men, but Jacob was told by Asha, Ser Justin was having conflict in whether believing in the Red God was right. It was the same battle Prince Jacob went through when he came back to Dragonstone and questioned everything he believed in when it came to the Faith and whether belief all together was one big lie to him.

Jacob sighted the Braavosi, Tycho Nestoris and his father sitting with each other on the table, reading through letters and parchments. He cleared his throat, as his eye caught on an old and haggard person standing close to his father. The haggard old man was familiar to the prince, even though he did not know many old men, apart from Uncle Alester or great-grandfather Gerold. He never figured it out, but he must have been of value, if the Umber men brought him here under great secrecy. He examined the man standing behind his father, noticing his whitened hair and frail appearance. It was not the common look of a starved man, but of someone, who has endured days upon days of torture in the hands on the Boltons and he knew exactly who he was.

The prince could not believe it, seeing someone he knew look youthful years ago to end up looking older than his dead father. It was astounding how things would end this way, but this haggard look was Theon's punishment for his crimes, and he paid for the consequences of his actions, as it was right in front of him. It was all too tempting to Jacob to send the Greyjoy to his grave early, but his father needed him, even though it was hard to swallow in his mind. He knew small details of how Theon and a frozen girl he was with escaped from Winterfell from jumping from a window, and how Mors Umber and his men saved their skins from being taken back to the Boltons or freezing to death in the cold.

He glared at Theon, as if the two were the only ones in the room. Jacob would be glad to hear of the ironborn's death at the hands of the Boltons, it would be justice as far as the prince was concerned. Did he feel any sort of remorse when he allowed Rickon and Bran to die on his watch or rob the Stark girls of their home? Anger was almost a shadow to Jacob, as fighting was the only way he could express it, but he was stuck between his own desire for revenge or doing what was best for the war campaign. The prince steeled himself, when he was caught out by his father Stannis, knowing he would not recognise his own son from the growth of hair on his face and the length of his hair grown from the short cut from moons ago.

It was not the return Jacob wanted. He thought he would be welcomed by his father with open arms, but that was just the thought of a naïve boy. All he had was his mother's unconditional love and she loved him no matter what, but his father was a different beast all together. All he had to do to earn his father's love was to prove something to him, whether it was of scholarly talents or talent in the training yard. He did not waste all those years in Horn Hill training to be a great warrior, just for his father to ignore him like an unwanted street dog at the edge of Flea Bottom. The Baratheon man was empty inside, and there was nothing anyone could do to make him feel any less unwanted by the world.

"I see your son has returned, Your Grace." The Braavosi was the first to speak out, nevertheless the man was not his friend, but he said something, which did matter to Jacob. "I'm glad you are on your feet and ready to fight the war."

"My son living matters to me more than the war, unless you and the Iron Bank can buy me a highborn bride." King Stannis said, in an iron tone.

"We cannot, Your Grace. It is a shame, another bride lost to you."

"You will watch your tongue with that, foreigner. You should leave this place, you will not want to be caught in the fighting." Jacob said, in a similar tone like his father. his eyebrow was raised, and a snarl curled up his lips and folded his arms.

"I should be on my way, and I will call upon you and your father again, when he is seated on the Iron Throne."

"You hope to have a return on your gold. Save your pleasantries. It is coin I need from Braavos, not empty courtesies."

"It would be my pleasure. The Iron Bank is always glad to be of service to you." The banked bowed, as he should. The sooner he left the better for Jacob, as his body will be the next after he killed Theon, if he was not more careful with his words.

The Braavosi envoy left the watchtower, escorted by one of the king's knights, and then Ser Richard the Stout came forward towards the king. Prince Jacob was only too happy to sit on the seat to his father's side, as the banker made the seat warmer, even though the man was thin without any meat on his bones. There was a sense of comfort and amazement within the prince, it was as if he never left his father's side and was always there, even in his own absence from the king and his cousin. The prince removed the fur hood from his head and exposed himself to his father and two knights in the watchtower; Jacob knew what he looked like after moons away; long shaggy hair tied up and a beard on his face, which resembled Uncle Robert in his prime when fighting off the loyalists of the Mad King.

His father Stannis was a strange beast. Jacob was only a spring child and did not know things, when he was young. As Jacob got older, he began to understand his father a lot more than he did. It gladdened his heart to know his father cared about him in some way, with the arrest of all the Karstarks and the dismissal of Sorrell Grimm. He may not agree with his father's choices but understood why he did what he did. It was the difference between his father and Ser Davos when it came to fathering sons; Davos would give affection and love to his sons in a way, Jacob envied. The Seaworth boys were well adjusted, knowing both their parents loved them equally, but Jacob would look on with envy and sadness, wishing his own stern-mined father could give him a share of that love.

Jacob's stomach turned at the sight of Theon Greyjoy in his broken state; it was expected, not because he had any pity for the bastard. The true reason was he hardly had anything good to eat, since he woke up. He hoped his father or Ser Richard knew where the food stores were he could eat or may be Luthor ate everything like the pig he was. The only food stores available in the entire camp was brought by Arnolf Karstark, but Jacob Baratheon would rather starve than ate anything from the man, whose son tried to kill him.

The king turned to Ser Richard, his third in command as the second belonged to Jacob. "Send in Justin Massey, I have a need for him."

"Of course, Your Grace." Ser Richard replied.

The prince winced at the thought of Ser Justin. The smiler was not his favourite of his father's knights, but Jacob appreciated Ser Justin and Ser Richard coming to visit, unlike his father who would leave him to rot in a tent, if it pleased him. If Jacob's father Stannis could command the winds of the storm, then the storm would have bent before Stannis Baratheon, and not a single snowflake would appear in the sky. The man was bitter, bitter at the thought his own father not welcoming him back after almost dying, maybe he should have died and then his father would have expressed a small amount of emotion, out of grief for his only male heir being dead. He was fortunate Luthor was around, being the new mediator between the two stubborn men in front of him and not wanting to pick a side between the cousins he came to support in the war.

The smiler entered the tower with haste, as a true loyalist of his father. Ser Justin was a man, who conflicted with his belief in the Red God, but he was a queen's man and should not be trusted. His jovial look was only to cover up the fact he was unpopular, amongst his fellow knights and whispers of traitor between his own fellow Queen's Men. The knight stuck to Asha Greyjoy like a sad dog, begging for her throw him a bone, but the woman was married and ironborn. Jacob would have a better chance with Asha than the lowly knight, because of status and looks. He had some pity towards Ser Justin, may be a Frey wife would do him well and make him forget of his ambitions towards Asha and the Iron Islands.

"I was told, Your Grace needed my service." Ser Justin said, kneeling in front of the king and the prince.

"You will escort the Braavosi banker to the Wall. Choose six good soldiers and take twelve horses."

"To ride or to eat."

"I want you gone before midday, ser. Lord Bolton will be on us any moment and it's vital the banker returns to Braavos before the battle. You shall accompany him across the narrow sea."

"If a battle is to come, my place is with you and the prince, Your Grace."

"Your place is where I say it is. I have five hundred swords as good as you, or better. You have a more pleasing manner and a glib tongue, and those will be of more use to me in Braavos then you are of use here on the field. The Iron Bank has opened its coffers to me. You will collect their coin, hire ships and sellswords. A company of good repute, if you can find one. The Golden Company would be my first choice, if they are free of contract. Seek them out in the Disputed Lands, if need be. But first hire as many swords a you can find in Braavos and send them to by way of Eastwatch. Archers as well, we need more bows."

"The captains of the free companies will join a lord more than a mere knight, Your Grace. I hold neither lands or titles, why should they sell their swords to me?"

"Go to them with both fists full of golden dragons," The king said, in a biting tone. "That should prove persuasive. Twenty thousand men should be enough. Do not return with fewer."

"Sire, might I speak freely?"

"As long as you speak quickly."

"Your Grace should go to Braavos instead with the banker."

"Is that your counsel? That I should flee?" The king's face turned with brittle anger. "That was your counsel on the Blackwater as well, as I recall. When the battle turned against us, I let you and Horpe chivvy me back to Dragonstone, whilst my son went missing and the battle was over."

"The day was lost, Your Grace."

"Aye that was what you said. 'The day is lost sire. Fall back now, that you fight again.' And not you have me scamper off across the narrow sea."

"…To raise an army, sire. As Bittersteel did after the Battle of the Redgrass Field, where Daemon Blackfyre fell."

"Do not prate history at me, ser. Daemon Blackfyre was a rebel and a usurper, and Bittersteel a bastard. When he fled, he swore he would return to place a son of Daemon's on the Iron Throne. He never did. Words are wind, and the wind that blows exiles across the narrow sea seldom blows them back. That boy Viserys Targaryen spoke of return as well. He slipped through my fingers at Dragonstone, only to spend his life wheedling after sellswords. 'The Beggar King,' they called him in the Free Cities. Well, I do not beg, nor will I flee again. I am Robert's heir, the rightful king of Westeros. My place is with my men. Yours is in Braavos. Go with the banker and do as I have bid."

"As you command." Ser Justin said.

"We might lose this battle," The prince's father said harshly, knowing it could be the reality for Jacob and his father. "In Braavos, you may hear that I am dead. It may even be true. You shall find my sellswords and archers nonetheless."

"Your Grace, if you are dead."

"You will avenge my death and seat my son on the Iron Throne. If Jacob and I perish on the field, seat my daughter on the throne, or die in attempt."

"On my honour as a knight, you have my word." Ser Justin declared, with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Take the Stark girl with you. Deliver her to the Lord Commander on your way to Eastwatch." King Stannis tapped on the parchment before him. "A true king pays his debts."

The prince's eyes were looking down and was biting his lip; the reality was real, and the possibility of death was a reality and not some fantasy he had in his head, as a boy. Jacob didn't want to be killed, as it would be selfish to leave his little sister to hold the burden of being a future queen. He only stuck this far in the war because of Shireen and his mother Selyse; he knew how much his mother wanted grandchildren and how happy she would be with an abundance of grandsons, to replace the noring sadness of not being able to have any more sons, since his father stopped visiting his marital chambers years ago. It was not the example Jacob wanted to follow at all; he will be the husband, who visited his wife's bed regularly and be a better father than his own. He wanted to be the father Ser Davos was to his sons and to give his own children the love he never received at all.

Ser Justin was loyal to his father, without a question, but sending him to Braavos would be better for everyone. He was a man in deep conflict of his faith and needed to have his ambitions towards Asha Greyjoy to be stopped, even though the woman was married. Asha's old reaver husband could be dead for all Jacob knows, but the ironborn woman found the idea of being a southorn queen to be more attractive. He thought more of Asha lately, since her haggard brother was staring at him, with a piercing look his eyes, which made Jacob turn away from him. He did not like how his father was unfazed by the possibility of dying, but he knew he would carry on the Baratheon cause of the throne and revenge if his father died.

"The brothers of the watch will accompany you as far as Castle Black." The king continued. "The ironmen will remain here to fight for us. Another gift from Tycho Nestoris, even though my son is against it. Better to take our men instead of those will slow you down. The ironborn were made for ship, not horses. The Lady Arya should have a female companion as well. Take Alysane Mormont with you."

"And Lady Asha too?" Ser Justin asked.

"No." Prince Jacob said, in an acid tone. He never liked the idea, since he would lose someone to antagonise and the thought of the smiler bedding Asha sickened him within. Better the knight faced Asha's old husband than for him to take her away.

"One day, Your Grace will need to take the Iron Islands. It will be easier with Balon Greyjoy's daughter as a catspaw, with one of your own men as her lord husband."

"You forget yourself, ser. The Iron Fleet and majority of the ironborn strength is commanded by a madman with an eyepatch."

"The woman is wed, Justin."

"A proxy marriage, never consummated. Easily set aside. The groom is old and likely to die soon. She would be a good bride for the prince, if the northerners turn on us."

"Facing death is simpler than to imagine, the idea of an ironborn queen." King Stannis said, with disgust in his tone.

"All eligible highborn girls are either dead or already married. The prince is not getting any younger, sire."

The king was unamused by Ser Justin's sentiments, it wasn't like Jacob was older than he was. "Serve me well and bring me the sellswords, and you may have what you desire. Until such time, the woman remains as my captive."

"I understand."

"Your understanding is not required. Only your obedience. Be on your way, ser."

It was quiet when Ser Justin took his leave, it was better with an extra person, to hold over the tension and to prevent Jacob from killing Theon Greyjoy where he stood. Why was he here being the question? Better he saved his anger and fury for Roose Bolton on the battlefield than killing this lowly being. The sword was one of the only battles Jacob understood; he was good at killing, and it was why Theon was less fearful of the thought of Bolton's bastard coming back to get him. From what he heard from Arnolf Karstark's grandsons, being tortured was depravity and he saw the results of it. The turncloak was fearful of the prince's father and he should be, but he saw men worthy of fear in his eyes. Jacob was afraid of Randyll Tarly's bullish septon, when he was young, but he had grown up to be braver and stronger throughout this war.

The only reason why the turncloak was still alive was his information; he saw everything in Winterfell and knew a lot. "How many men does Bolton have at Winterfell." The king said, pacing the floor and directing his stern look towards the Greyjoy in his sight.

"Five thousand. Six. Or more." The turncloak said, giving the king and prince a ghastly grin, all shattered teeth and splinters on show. "More than you."

"How many of those men is he likely to send to attack us?" Prince Jacob said, in a stern tone.

"No more than half. The castle was too crowded. Men were at each other's throats, the Manderlys and Freys especially. It is them his lordship has sent after you, the ones he is well rid of."

"Wyman Manderly." The prince's father said, with his mouth twisted in contempt. "Lord Too Fat to Sit a Horse. Too fat to come to me, yet he goes to Winterfell. Too fat to bend the knee, swear me his sword and marry one of his granddaughters to my son, and yet he wields that sword for Bolton. I sent my Onion Lord to treat with him, and Lord Too Fat butchered him and mounted his head and hands on the walls of White Harbor for the Freys to gloat over. And the Freys….has the Red Wedding been forgotten?"

"The north remembers. The Red Wedding, Lady Hornwood's fingers, the sack of Winterfell, Deepwood Motte and Torrhen's Square, they remember it all." Theon said, with certainty, "The Freys and Manderlys will never combine their strengths. They will come for you both, but separately. Lord Ramsay will not be far behind them. He wants his bride back. He wants his Reek." His laugh was a cross between a whimper and a titter, which Jacob raised his eyebrow at.

"Let him come anyways. Is he afraid to face a real man, rather than beat broken things and girls?" The prince said, pulling out a dagger from his furs, as it was the ruby and gold jewelled one Uncle Alester bought for him for his fourteenth nameday and it would look nice between Theon's eyes. It didn't matter because the blade will look good between the eyes of Lord Bolton, his bastard and murdering shit Wyman Manderly.

"Lord Ramsay is the one, Your Grace and his son should fear."

King Stannis bristled at that comment, and Jacob himself put his hand over his mouth to keep the laughter from coming out of his mouth. "I defeated your uncle Victarion and his Iron Fleet off Fair Isle, the first time your father crowned himself. I held Storm's End against the power of the Reach for a year and took Dragonstone from the Targaryens. I smashed Mance Rayder at the Wall, though he had twenty times my numbers and my son defeated your sister in the Wolfswood. Tell me turncloak, what battles has the Bastard of Bolton ever won that I should fear him?"

"You must not call him that!" Theon said, sounding like a crying scream, "You do not know him."

"No more than he knows me."

"I should face bastard on the field, save you the trouble of dealing with him?"

"Go ahead, do it if it brings you glory."

Jacob sensed a shiver down his spine, not at the thought of battle, but his father's comment instead. The thought of killing Bolton's bastard was for reasons for himself, to establish himself as a dangerous warrior not to be tangled with, since the Kingslayer is pottering around the Seven Kingdoms a dead man. Theon was terrified of Ramsay Snow and it showed in the way he defended him, every time Jacob or his father named him bastard or Lord Snow. He was only afraid because the other man had been his captor and master torturer in the Dreadfort, but Theon got himself in that situation, when he decided to sack Winterfell and thought no consequences would come from it. His betrayal of the Starks paid a price and he paid for it. The only pity Jacob had was towards the innocent household servants and guards, who were murdered by the Boltons and Freys, when they intruded into Winterfell, not a man who killed two highborn boys and the reason why this war continued, until Winterfell and the North was free.