Chapter 66 - The Knights vs The Wolves (Part 1)

125 AC

The Second Day of the first moon

Ulf Pov

I paced restlessly around the dimly lit room, my heart pounding with anxiety. There was no sign of Addam, and each passing moment only deepened my unease. He should have arrived by now. Unless something terrible had befallen him.

"Darn it, where is that boy?" Hugh muttered, his voice tinged with anger that masked his underlying concern. His eyes darted around the room as if searching for answers in the shadows.

"I had dispatched the knights to scour Wintertown for any news," Torrhen interjected, his attempt to soothe the growing tension evident in his voice. "They should have returned with some information by now."

My fingers drummed nervously against my thigh as I struggled to contain my fear.

Just as our anxious discussion was gaining momentum, the heavy wooden door swung open, and a group of knights bearing the sigil of House Manderly entered. They escorted a young girl into the room, her presence sparking a mixture of curiosity and trepidation among us.

"Who is she?" Hugh demanded, his frustration evident in his voice. "What news do you bring of Addam?" He inquired, his impatience unmistakable.

The girl, with a downcast expression that hinted at distress, remained silent for a moment. Her raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her gray eyes bore the unmistakable features of House Stark. She appeared to be around twelve namedays old, her small stature contrasting with the gravity of her situation.

She slowly reached into her pocket and withdrew a sealed letter. Her trembling hand offered it to us, and Torrhen, in his usual confident manner, eagerly accepted the missive. After a brief examination, he burst into hearty laughter, his voice ringing with jubilation.

"We've done it, Ser Ulf!" Torrhen exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Addam has done it. This letter bears the signature of Lord Cregan himself, detailing his unjust imprisonment. With this, Father will be able to gather the men he needs."

The knights of House Manderly joined in our celebration, their cheers filling the room. Torrhen handed the letter to one of his men, instructing him to send it to White Harbour by raven.

My inquiry directed at the young girl before me was filled with a mixture of anticipation and concern. "What is your name?" I asked, my voice gentle and understanding.

"It's Sara Snow, Ser," she replied softly, her words carrying a sense of vulnerability that tugged at my heartstrings.

"That's a lovely name, Sara," I offered a warm smile, trying to provide her with a small sense of comfort amidst the tension that enveloped the room. "Could you please tell me where Addam is?" I inquired, my hope for a positive answer evident in my voice.

Sara's response came with a fragile sadness that settled like a weight upon us all. Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "He was caught," as a solitary tear traced a path down her delicate cheek.

The room fell silent, and the atmosphere shifted from jubilation to somber concern in an instant. The news struck me like a blow, leaving me momentarily shaken. My heart ached for Addam, and the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on my shoulders.

Sara continued, her voice still soft but resolute, "He tried to help me escape and fought against Benjen so that I could get away."

It was a testament to Addam's bravery and selflessness, but it also underscored the danger he now faced.

Hearing Sara's words, Hugh's reaction was immediate and visceral. Without hesitation, he went straight for his massive Warhammer, the determination etched on his face.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ser Torrhen demanded, his voice laced with concern and frustration as he blocked Hugh's path.

"To bring the boy back," Hugh replied, his tone unyielding and matter-of-fact.

"You must be mad!" Torrhen exclaimed, his own anger flaring. "We are outnumbered here, and the only way we can save the boy is to wait for my father to bring his men."

Hugh's face contorted with rage as he pointed a finger accusingly at Torrhen. "So what do you want me to do?" he shouted, his voice reverberating through the room. "Let the boy suffer in those dungeons all alone?"

"Bennard will kill him," Sara interjected softly, her voice carrying the weight of her fear and desperation.

"That is all the reason I need," Hugh declared, his resolve unshaken.

"Come on, men, let us go!" Hugh rallied those who stood with him, his gaze sweeping across each of us present in the room.

Torrhen, however, remained resolute. "It's madness, and I won't sacrifice my men to save one boy," he countered, his voice firm and unwavering.

The room descended into a tense standoff, a volatile silence filling the space as the conflicting wills of Hugh and Torrhen clashed. Sara's fearful eyes darted between the two leaders, while I struggled to think of a plan to save Addam and reconcile the bitter divide that threatened to tear our group apart.

Hugh's fists clenched around the hilt of his Warhammer, his knuckles turning white with determination. "I won't stand by while Addam suffers," he spat, his anger uncontainable.

Torrhen, equally steadfast in his position, met Hugh's gaze with unwavering resolve. "We must act with reason, not blind emotion," he countered, his voice steady. "If we rush in without a plan, we risk not only Addam's life but the lives of all those who follow us."

The tension in the room was palpable, a crackling energy that seemed ready to explode at any moment. The choice between immediate action and calculated patience hung in the balance, and it tore at the very fabric of our unity.

In the midst of our heated debate, the room erupted in chaos as Harlon breathless and frantic, burst into the room.

"That man has Addam and will execute him in the town square!" Harlon exclaimed, his voice trembling with urgency. "I heard it from the men-at-arms who are slowly gathering there."

The gravity of the situation struck us like a physical blow, and the tension in the room escalated to a fever pitch. Hugh, his face twisted with rage, threatened to pummel Torrhen if he didn't commit his men to the rescue mission. Torrhen, equally resolute, issued the same ultimatum.

As the chaos threatened to spiral out of control, I couldn't help but blame myself. "This is all my fault," I thought bitterly. "I shouldn't have sent him." My self-directed anger welled up inside me, fueling my determination to make things right.

"Stop right now!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the tumult like a blade. Everyone fell silent, their eyes turning toward me. "It doesn't matter if I have to go alone and save Addam, not just because he is my squire, but because he is a good kid—an innocent child who believes in the chivalry and honor of knights."

The weight of my words hung in the air, a powerful rebuke to those who had lost sight of their vows and duty. I continued, my voice filled with righteous indignation, "But right now, as I look around, all I see are men scared to uphold the very vows they took. You all should be ashamed to call yourselves knights!"

A heavy silence settled over the room, the weight of my words sinking in. Each of them was forced to confront their own wavering resolve and the shame of their inaction.

"So, anyone who wishes to uphold their vows of protecting the innocent, raise their hands," I demanded, my gaze sweeping across the room.

Slowly, one by one, hands began to rise. Some did so with hesitation, while others did so with newfound determination. It was a testament to the power of conviction and the strength of a knight's duty.

Finally, Torrhen, his face a mixture of reluctance and resolve, raised his hand as well. The room fell into a determined calm as the realization of our collective purpose settled in.

"So, this is our plan to save Addam and end the threat of the Greedy Wolf once and for all," I began, my voice firm and resolute.

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Bennard Pov

I clenched the reins of my horse, my grip almost painful as I led a contingent of fifty men-at-arms toward the town square. My two sons, Benjen and Brandon, rode alongside me, their expressions mirroring my own twisted satisfaction.

The crowd that had gathered in the square was a sea of faces, some fearful, others defiant. I couldn't help but let a malicious grin spread across my face. The traitors, those who dared to oppose the pack, were about to witness the ruthless fate that awaited them.

Behind me, I could hear the boy's futile struggles as he tried to keep pace with the horse. His hands were tightly bound with rough ropes, connected to my own, creating a cruel and painful tether.

As we approached the heart of the town, I reveled in the chaos and fear that hung in the air. The boy's suffering was just the beginning, a taste of the punishment that awaited those who dared to cross me.

The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as they realized the purpose of our gathering.

"Good people of Wintertown," I proclaimed, my voice carrying a hint of cruel satisfaction, "here I bring before you one of the miscreants responsible for the heinous act of burning down your homes yesterday. It is with great pride that I can say I was able to apprehend one of them." My gloved finger pointed accusingly at the bound boy, who stood trembling before the angry mob.

"And now," I continued, my voice rising above the restless whispers of the crowd, "he will face Northern justice!" My declaration was met with a chorus of cheers from my men, their enthusiasm echoing through the square.

Benjen, my eldest son, stepped forward, his face twisted with a thirst for vengeance. "Father, grant me the honor of ending this worthless life," he implored, his eyes filled with a dark resolve.

As any good father would, I nodded in agreement, my heart swelling with paternal pride as I passed the grim duty to my son. The boy's fate was sealed, and the crowd's anticipation grew with each passing moment, eager to witness the brutal finality of Northern justice.

The men-at-arms roughly untied the boy's arms and forced him toward the center of the square, where Benjen stood, his sword eager to fulfill its grim purpose.

"Any last words, you wretch?" Benjen sneered at the boy, but there was only silence in response, a cold and defiant silence that seemed to hang heavy in the air.

Benjen turned to me, seeking my approval. I nodded solemnly, a dark cloud of anticipation shrouding us all. With that nod, Benjen raised his sword high, ready to deliver the fatal blow.

But in that fateful moment, as the sword began its descent, an arrow, swift as death itself, pierced the air and embedded itself in Benjen's head. Time seemed to freeze as I watched, helpless and horrified, as my son's body crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from the gruesome wound.

"No!" I screamed, my voice filled with anguish and despair. My heart pounded in my chest as I rushed to Benjen's lifeless form, his death staining the snow with a dark, chilling scarlet.

The town square, once a scene of grim anticipation, descended into chaos and nightmarish frenzy. The screams of men and the clash of steel filled the air as knights bearing the emblem of House Manderly descended upon us like a relentless storm.

A giant of a man, clad in heavy armor and wielding a colossal Warhammer, became a relentless force of destruction. His blows were swift and deadly, each swing of his weapon finding its mark with bone-shattering impact. Men from my party fell like candles before a gale, their screams cut short by the merciless assault.

Father, watch out!" Brandon's voice cut through the chaos as he stepped in front of me, his courage a fleeting barrier against the impending doom. But it was too late. A blade, wielded with chilling precision, descended upon him, severing his head from his shoulders in a grisly arc of crimson.

My heart was gripped by a paralyzing despair as I watched my own son's life extinguished before my eyes. The white-armored figure responsible for this horrific act wasted no time, picking up the unconscious boy and disappearing into the chaotic melee.

My men, shaken from their initial stupor, rallied to fight back against the onslaught. Swords clashed, arrows whizzed through the air, and the ground was slick with blood.

The chaotic battle raged on, with my men fighting desperately to protect what remained of our party. The crowd, which had dispersed in panic, left behind a scene of unimaginable horror. The once pristine snow was now tainted with the dark crimson of spilled blood, and the wails of the wounded filled the air.

As the battle continued, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of dread and helplessness. The sudden and ruthless attack had caught us completely off guard, and the consequences were devastating. The fate of my surviving men hung in the balance, and the boy, who had been our captive, was now in the hands of the enigmatic figure in white armor.

But just as I began to resign myself to this grim fate, a glimmer of hope emerged on the horizon. I turned my gaze toward the outskirts of the town square and saw a sight that filled my heart with a surge of renewed determination.

Reinforcements from Winterfell, the very ones I had instructed my youngest son Elric to keep in reserve in case of an attack, were now arriving on the scene.

With the arrival of Winterfell's reinforcements, the Manderly knights found themselves in a desperate situation. Many of them attempted to retreat, but the chaos of the battlefield had taken its toll, and numerous knights fell as they tried to disengage.

Filled with a burning rage and an unquenchable desire for vengeance, I mounted my horse and charged after the white-armored knight who had taken the unconscious boy. My voice, hoarse and filled with fury, cut through the tumultuous battle.

"I will kill you!" I screamed at the knight, my words echoing like a curse. 

"Because if you mess with the wolf, you get the pack," I declared, my voice resolute. "And I will kill you, even if it's the last thing I ever do."