Chapter 24

Brandon Stark, Runestone, The Vale.

While hundreds were being massacred on the executioner block at the Three Sisters, Brandon Stark stood on The Great Wolf as it docked in front of Runestone.

Runestone, the seat of the Bronze Kings of the Vale, stood proudly against the splashing waves of the Narrow Sea with its dull black walls that matched the walls of Pyke, a stark contrast again the green valleys and mountains of the Vale behind it, the bronze First Men runes gleaming against the shiny sun.

Brandon descended from his ship to find the Lord of Runestone, a giant man with greying hair and the famous bronze Royce armor, standing patiently with his hands clasped in front of him.

The man bowed, "Runestone welcomes you, Lord Stark."

Brandon nodded, "Thank you, Lord Royce. Have the rest of the Lords and Chiefs arrived?"

At the mention of the Mountain Clans, the man grimaced but nodded nevertheless, "They are gathered at the Great Hall, my lord. I would have delayed the meeting until you have rested, but tension is running high as it is."

Brandon sighed, the hatred between the Vale lords and the Mountain Clans have lessened in the past few years but was still there, "I've wasted enough time as it is getting here. Please lead the way, Lord Royce."

"Of course, my lord," He said.

"Have you spoken to your son, Lord Royce?" Brandon asked the man in an attempt to break the silence, "I've heard he became a Ranger on the Night's Watch."

"Aye," he said, the corners of his mouth curling slightly as his eyes shone in pride, "I'd have hoped to meet you on my way to the Wall, my lord. But we were met by your Uncle Benjen instead."

Brandon frowned, "I apologize, I may have been on business in Azkaban."

"Your uncle has been a most gracious host, my lord," The man waved him off.

As they entered the walls of Runestone, Yohn Royce found the Lord of the North staring intently at his Bronze armor, "Runes of the First Men, my lord."

Brandon nodded, "I recognize them. Does it still work?"

Yohn's face turned solemn, "Magic is gone from the lands, my lord."

"But have you tried testing it?"

"Aye," The man nodded, "It works as any armor would. No magic protection."

Brandon frowned for a moment, "Have you tried recharging it?"

"Recharging….?" Yohn said, clearly confused by the word.

"Yes," Brandon nodded, "Re-empowering the protective spells on it?"

"I have no knowledge of how such a thing is done," He replied, clearly baffled.

Brandon hummed for a moment before stopping the giant man entirely and poking and staring intently at the man's belly, "Next time you execute someone, do it in front of a Weirwood tree, and let the blood flow to the roots of the tree and on the armor."

Yohn coughed awkwardly, "That sounds suspiciously like witchcraft, my lord."

Brandon held back an irritated sigh, "Before the Andals came from Essos into Westeros, and the First Men had traditions, had magic, and had power. If House Royce forgot who his true ancestors were, then we up in the North, in Winterfell, haven't forgotten."

"We're the oldest House of First Men descent in the Vale," He said indignantly.

"Peace, Lord Royce," Brandon said, "I mean no offence, only advice."

The man nodded stiffly and continued to walk, before his body seemed to release the tension and slumped tiredly, "I apologize, my lord."

"What for, Lord Royce?" Brandon asked, seemingly puzzled.

"For my defensiveness," He said looking towards the nearing door, which housed a cacophony of noises and servants scampering in and out, "We were Lord Jon's most loyal bannermen, for his wife to spurn us in such way and pay back our loyalty with throwing one of us out of the Moon's Door as if he was a common poacher."

"But that's not what's really bothering you, isn't it?" Brandon said smirking.

"Whatever do you mean, my lord?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"House Royce should've ruled the Vale instead of Foreigners from Andalos. I believe the title bestowed upon you before the Andals was the High King of the Vale, the Fingers and the Mountains of Moon."

Yohn Royce stopped entirely in his tracks and confronted Brandon, "That is treason to our liege. We only mean to remove Lady Lysa and her madness before she destroys the Eyrie, not usurp Lord Jon's son."

"Of course, Lord Royce," Brandon said, turning around and entering the Hall but not before leaving a parting message to the Lord of Runestone.

"But do you remember?" He said, alluding to the famous words of House Royce, not bothering to check the reaction of the man.

As Brandon stepped through the doors of the Great Hall, it was as if a dam broke and a wave of noise gone through, Brandon had to dodge a pitcher thrown in his way.

"Announcing, Lord Brandon Stark, Lord Paramount of the North and Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King," the herald said loudly with a trumpet to compliment the announcement.

Brandon nodded gratefully and turned to the now silent men of the Vale, "We haven't even fought a single battle and yet, you're fighting amongst each other."

"Why should we let those fucking Andals seat their pretty little arses on our lands?" One of the clansmen said, "These lands were our homes long before they ever set foot on Westeros."

"It was the home of the Children of the Forest as well but you don't see them pressing a claim for the Eyrie," Gerold Grafton snarked from the side.

Timmet spat on the ground and said, "You fuckin' Andal, you come to our homes, take our lands and castles and claim them as your own?"

"I was unaware this was a debate over the Andal invasion that happened six thousand years ago." Lord Royce said.

"Of course you wouldn't want to speak of it," Timmet said, "Your house bend the Knee when we, the blood of the First Men, refused."

"I don't believe Lord Stark has left his newly appointed office in the Capital to listen to us squabble," Benedar Belmore said, missing the twitch in Brandon's eye at the mention of his office. He received a raven at Azkaban that the king has appointed Tywin Lannister as acting Hand of the King in his absence.

"What is it that you want?" Brandon asked the Clansmen.

"Our rightful lands!" One yelled, "To take back our homes and live as Valemen instead of being spurned by those pretty lords."

"And you shall have it," Brandon said succinctly.

"My lord!" the rest of the lords exclaimed astonished.

"Believe it or not, Lysa Arryn is not going to go down easily. We cannot fly our armies into the Eyrie to end the conflict. This is war, my lords, and in war, battles happen, men fall and castles are taken. I propose that the lords who refuse to yield to us are destroyed and their castles and lands given to the Chieftains of the clans."

As the Clansmen broke out in a cheer, "that does not mean that you are free to do whatever you want."

As the cheers fell he said, "My house is one of the purest and oldest Firstmen Houses in the entirety of Westeros, we rule half of Westeros alone and even then we act as any other lord would," He said looking at the clansmen attire, "Not so prissy as the lords of the Reach of course, but nobility has its requirements."

The men broke out in a weak chuckle at the quip at the Reach and Brandon added, "Therefore all of the awarded Chieftains and future lords would have to be educated as any heir would, until a time where they are fit to rule, and a Regent would act in their stead in a lordly manner until they are ready."

Before they had time to refuse, "Also, all the men would be educated by the maesters I would be sending, they would have to pay fealty to the Lord of the Vale and respect their neighbors and lords. The heirs of those future lords would be fostered at Houses of the Vale to strengthen ties and allow them to be raised in a proper way fitting Lords."

"You would have us throw away our traditions and kneel to their Septons and gods?" A man- Shagga was his name, yelled at Brandon.

"I pray to the Old Gods as any of you does," Brandon said with a raised eyebrow, "and at the same time I hold the highest office in the Seven Kingdoms."

He looked over the assembled lords and clansmen. The clansmen looked extremely different from their previous state before the treaty, now dressed in armor, although mismatched, and cloth instead of furs, "You've already started to change after the treaty. You became chieftains of towns and settlements instead of wandering aimlessly through the mountains. You fished, farmed and some of you became blacksmiths and brewers. All that is left for you is to accept that the others are as much men as you are despite their religion."

As the men stood trying to absorb all of this, Brandon stood impassively on the top of the dais waiting for their reply.

"The day that Brandon son of Brandon of Clan Stark carried Shagga on his shoulders and threw him to a tree, we agreed to treat with him, since then we've been living a better life, we don't have to raid the Andals to live, we've rarely fought with one another." Chella, a dark little woman said after a moment of silence, "Chella named you that day Chieftain of the First Men, and you haven't led us astray or broke your word. Chella would follow your word once again Chieftain Stark."

"The Stormcrows and the Burned Men would follow you, Stark."

"As well as the Moon Brothers," Another yelled with a bang on the table.

As the rest of the clans swore their allegiance to Brandon, he couldn't help but look with a smug smile at the astonished faces of the Lords.

"We have a war to plan then, gentlemen." Brandon smiled.

A roar went throughout the castle as the men cheered their agreement.

The Maester interrupted this glorious moment running into the Great Hall out of breath waving a letter, "My lord, a letter from Moat Cailin has arrived."

Brandon frowned, what could have happened already.

Had Robb betrayed them?

No the loyalty compulsion still held.

Were they ambushed?

Before even getting out of the Neck?

Impossible

Thankfully, Brandon didn't have to wonder any more as he practically ripped off the letter from the Maester.

At first glance, it was a normal looking letter, except that goddamned flowery scent that was trailing everywhere after it.

Perhaps his cousin had weird preferences. That was going to prove problematic in finding a marriage though.

He shook his head, now was not the time.

He opened the letter and with every word he read, a feeling of horror and dread settled deeper into his stomach as his face paled, much to the confusion and horror of the assembled Lords in front of him.

My beloved cousin, Brandon,

In turning over my mind over your abrupt departure from Winterfell, I have put myself into great agony, worrying over you every day.

I could only place ink on paper when all I desire is to see you back safely with my own eyes. How do the days find you?

I know that you are definitely busy, defending the North from its enemies, but I also know that you're lonely away from the warmth of Winterfell and I hope that my letter could provide a ray of light in the grimness and darkness of war away of home.

I pray for your return every day to the Seven and the Old Gods, as does my Lady Mother.

Promise me that you'll return to us cousin, safe and unharmed.

I shall be awaiting your return at Moat Cailin with a heavy heart.

Love,

Your cousin,

Sansa Stark.

Brandon stood unmoving staring at the letter in shock for a few moments before Yohn Royce shook him back to the living, "Is everything well, Lord Stark?"

"Uhh… Yes," He shook his head, "Everything is fine, Lord Royce. The long trip must be catching up to me."

"We could delay this to a later time, my lord…." He suggested uncertainly.

"That would be lovely, thank you!" Brandon nearly bolted out of the room, and discretely vanished the letter with an Evanesco, although if he had to be honest, not even Fiendfyre could cleanse that letter from its evilness.

On his way to the chambers however, feeling dirtier than an inferi stuck in the bottom of a lake, he took notice for the first time of the serving girl accompanying him.

She walked in front him, nervously sneaking glances filled with lust and adoration back at him when she thought he couldn't see.

It wasn't out of the ordinary, almost every serving girl and wench stared at him with unhidden lust. He thought about it for a moment in his head, going over it before remembering the blasted letter and with that, any thoughts of resistance crumbled.

He smiled charmingly at the girl causing her to blush and almost stumble in her steps, "Is the room still afar, my lady?" he asked the now blushing maid.

"N-No, Milord, just around the corner." she said, her long -lashed blue eyes flicking up to Brandon face. When she saw he was looking at her with unveiled lust, she blushed an even deeper shade of red, a red that contrasted the deep black color of her hair.

As they walked past the corner, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her in, pressing her against the wall and looking directly into her eyes.

"Milord?!" the girl asked, her voice shocked and yet full of anticipation, almost as if she had been waiting for him to do this.

"I think I should,." Brandon said, his voice heavy with desire. He lowered his hand to her dress, pulling it up and placing his hand upon her thigh, rubbing his thumb gently over her soft skin, eliciting a deep moan from her.

"Milord, we shouldn't!" she began, before being cut off as Brandon pressed his lips to hers, pushing the bile that threatened to get out of his stomach from the earlier letter, slipping his tongue inside her mouth, causing her to moan once again.

"We should." Brandon said grinning, as he pulled away from her.

She nodded quickly after hesitating but a moment, the adoration in her eyes obvious.

He pushed her into the room, closing it behind him with a bit of wandless magic and letting her down gently.

Upon looking at Brandon undressing, the girl's eyes darkened with desire and a blush crept on her face as she tried not to stare at his sculpted body.

When he was undone, she looked back up to see Brandon approached her and put his arms around her and leaning down to claim her mouth back. She moaned as his tongue battled against hers and squealed as she felt his hand groping her rear tightly.

Brandon pulled away once more and unlaced the back of her dress with one fluid pull, causing the dress to pool down at her feet.

As she stood in all her glory, Brandon took her in for the first time. Her skin was creamy and her breasts were just a handful with perky pink nipples, with an hourglass figure. Brandon thought that this would suffice to clean off the dirtiness he felt from that blasted letter.

He pushed her down on the bed and began nibbling down her neck and sucking the soft skin gently, elicting groans and moans from the girl, he continued to trail kisses down her body, taking both her nipples into her mouth until she whimpered from pleasure.

They kept going on until he finally reached her mound which was surprisingly kept bare, "Milord!" She gasped as he licked her, "Lick me there, milord!"

Brandon grinned wolfishly and started whispering softly in parseltongue as the vibrations sent the serving girl into a quivering mess of juices. As her first orgasm ended, Brandon took hold of his already hardening member and with one hand he rubbed his cock against her slightly open channel to gather a little lubrication then slowly entered her.

The girl gasped as her tight sheath gripped his cock and felt every ridge and vein on it, the folds of her pink flower stretching to both sides, the stimulation was added as a mouth engulfed her stiff nipples once more, lapping and sucking at them alternately. A hand sneaked down at her cunt to tease and flick her tiny nub up and down.

Up and down her breasts went covered in sweat and saliva as she felt pleasure like none other she ever felt before, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around her room until a burst of warm liquid that shot up her cunt caused her to orgasm in a scream of ecstasy.

Brandon looked at the gaze who was almost limp from exhaustion and plopped down on the bed beside her with a plop. He really needed that, he thought grinning to the roof.

"May I stay, milord?" The girl asked in a quiet voice.

Brandon raised his head and looked at her, before nodding and patting the place beside him, "Come here."

The girl's eyes lit in adoration and love as she practically jumped and snuggled into his side and placed her head on his chest.

Brandon played absentmindedly with her hair as a thought struck him, "I've never got your name, my lady." He said to the girl who was… purring.

She looked up to him, her face only inches from his, "Sansa, my lord," she said quietly, before laying back on his chest.

A horrible gut wrenching sound echoed from the kennels, as the wolf felt the pain and horror of its master.

Greywater Watch,

Roose Bolton looked towards the assembled lords that accompanied the red-haired Stark to the Riverlands in his usual silence with a critical eye.

It seemed Lord Stark diverted the bulk of the North's professional army to his wayward cousin. Whether because he doubted the effectiveness of Robb Stark as a general in commanding normal levies or because he knew he wouldn't need any of those troops in the Vale, Roose didn't know.

Any man knew that the Vale wouldn't be taken in open battle; it was too rocky and riddled with mountains. Dropping soldiers, no matter how well trained they are, in such a treacherous terrain where the enemy has lived and fought for centuries, was not wise at all.

They may prevail over them with superior training, but they would suffer heavy losses, and the Lord of the North never lost.

He didn't know what to think of the Amethyst-eyed Stark to be honest. His house has lost much during previous rebellions against the Starks in attempt to take control over the North and unless a rock falls from the sky to level Winterfell and the surrounding buildings to the ground, the North would remain in the hands of the Starks for a long… long time.

It wasn't all bad however. While the Flayed Man of house Bolton struck fear in the hearts of its enemies for thousands of years, it wasn't always the most… comfortable houses.

Its land, as any land in the North was hard to farm and not so fertile to yield actual profit, barely sustaining itself. Coupled with the taxes they had to pay… well you get the picture, minor houses in the Riverlands lived more comfortably than his.

"But not anymore," Roose mused, as he gazed at the running grey direwolf banner leading the troops.

Anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms, the revolutionary weapons and advances would be met by no little defensiveness from proud old lords who are too stuck in the old days and content to remain in the past.

But not the North,

While most innovative lords would introduce inventions and such orders periodically and slowly, Brandon Stark didn't.

He literally dumped invention after invention and order after order on them, completely overwhelming them.

And the Lords of the North obeyed.

Roose liked to think of himself as a smart man, and as such believed that there is no such thing as good luck.

It was all planned.

He could have chosen any invention or act to start with, but he deliberately began with proving his worth to the Lords.

It all began on that harvest feast more than a decade ago.

A boy of six name-days, introducing methods that are only known to the Lords of the North, knocking down Greatjon Umber, a man known as a giant in the North, without even moving from his seat, and everything fell into place.

It was at moments like this that he liked that he didn't drink wine. His mind was always sharp, always calculating and looking beyond the obvious.

Increasing the yielded harvest and almost making the North, or its economy at least, independent from the Seven Kingdoms was the first step. Of course, he still made his lords rely on him by providing those steel plows and seed drills.

And everything fell into place.

As soon as the methods proved its worth, more followed, wealth came in, prestige rose, and the North prospered.

All that was needed was that little push on the harvest feast, and everything followed.

At first he thought that some of the older more traditional lords would stand against him and his new world, but that was not to happen. Heirs fostered and men taught and soon everyone saw that when they listened to the Lord of the North, they prospered.

It was inevitable that the older lords would change as well, or die bitter old men alone.

"And now Karstark can't go on without his precious Pomegranates imported from the Summer Isles each week," he thought.

Brandon Stark could tell the lords of the North that should they jump off the Wall, a dragon would rise and lift them and be forever bound to their families, and they would jump before he even mentioned the rewards.

All was not lost however; his liege lord was ruthless in battle and generous in peace times.

He has chosen his heir, Ramsay Snow… now Bolton as his companion in his travels and from Ramsay's accounts the boy was as ruthless as a wolf with nothing of that nonsense Honor attitude of Ned Stark. He was a true wolf of the North.

So while the Boltons wouldn't be the overlords of the North anytime soon if ever, they had a strong leader for the North who wouldn't lead them astray.

Roose was for the first time in a long time, content.

That is if that god's damned idiot in front of him would take the time and think before he spoke.

"We have bridges on the Fork, they cannot block all of them, my lord," Greatjon Umber said.

"How the fuck did we build that many bridges in a few months' anyway. Those blasted Freys took 3 generations to even build one!"

"Cofferdams were built along the river and the foundation of the piers of the bridge were cast inside, my lord," One of the engineers, where did those blasted fuckers come up from anyway, answered.

"I still think we should siege Seagard, from the sea at least, before crossing the Green Fork," Robb said.

"And allow the fucking Riverlords to leave us hanging at the Neck?" Robin Flint, one of the many lords of branches of house Flint said angrily.

"Better than leaving our rear our flank threatened by the Mallisters," Robb argued.

Roose decided that enough was enough, he was here on orders from his lord, and he was going to act as such.

"The young Stark speaks true," Roose said, as the rest of the lords quieted to listen to the lord of the Dreadfort, "They have no hostages. The soldiers we have are just that, soldiers, not men dragged out of your farmlands and holding a sword. Your levies are back in their factories and farming their lands. We have no reason to rush instead of remaining cautious. I vote to send a small fleet to besiege or at least threaten Seagard."

Roose knew from the raven sent to him by his lord that Mallister wasn't going to even think of attacking the North, and his allies and his future family in law, but it was better to give him a reason instead of making him appear as a craven who holed up in his castle while the rest of his neighbors burned.

The Greatjon nodded reluctantly, "Aye, Lord Bolton's words have wisdom in them," he said to the agreement of others, completely ignoring the lock of shock and indignation on the red haired Stark's face.

Roose looked at Robb, reminding him that he was supposed to be the commander of this army. He coughed awkwardly, "Could you please have your Maester send a raven to the nearest Northern port, Lord Reed?"

The crannogman nodded, "Of course, Lord Stark."

Robb nodded in thanks and dismissed the rest of the lords.

Roose sighed; it was going to be a pain in the ass to make a confident man out of the Red Stark. He had a good head for strategy, but most of the lords distrusted him and as such were reluctant to accept any word from him.

He entered one of the dainty rooms assigned to them in Greywater watch by the Crannogmen, he had a letter to write and a son to find.