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Book 2: Chapter 10

+++ Robb- Dreadfort +++

Robb Stark, heir to Eddard Stark and Warden of the North looked out across the battlefield to view the Wildling host assembled before them. He had never seen such numbers in his life and they looked as if they outnumbered the Northerners by quite a wide margin. Worse, they had bits and pieces of armor on. Which was generally better than the leather tunics a lot of the Northern soldiers wore.

"Gods, what are those tusk creatures?"

"Are those giants?! Fuck and I thought the Mountain was tall..."

"They're still Wildlings, so that makes them half the men we are!"

The large Northern army, twenty-seven thousand strong, assembled on the north side of the Dreadfort to stare down the opposing army across from them. Both sides had yet to engage, content with watching the other's movements. It had been like this since dawn, and as far as Robb was concerned that just gave the North more time to fortify their defenses.

"So… Jon. You fought these people?" Robb asked his brother with a hint of incredulity and respect.

Robb looked over the "Bastard of Winterfell" and was once against surprised by the changes wrought in his brother, and a little envious if he were truthful with himself. In the time Jon was gone, he seemed to physically take after their father more than Robb ever could. His brother had the hard jaw line of their father. And with the way Jon had his hair pulled back, not to mention the shadow of the beard on his face, he looked like a much younger version of Lord Stark. Robb had let his hair grow out to imitate his father, but it grew out a deep copper-red like his mother's.

"Some, but mostly I fought wights," Jon replied as he stared at the enemy host before them. He looked distracted, but Robb could understand why. The Night's Watch, for all intent and purpose, was gone. The only two known surviving members here with the Northern forces.

Robb memory returned to when his uncle and Jon had ridden into Winterfell with dire news about the situation at Castle Black. Luckily for them, a raven had arrived well in advance from their Maester, so the bannermen were already called. Howland Reed and his bog men were all that remained to guard the Neck in case the war down south made its way toward them. The rest were to gather at Winterfell before marching north.

Jon and his uncle reported on the Wildling army they had seen, how they had met with the Queen Beyond the Wall and her demands. Maester Luwin mused to his father that the odd-looking children Jon described could have been the fabled Children of the Forest. His father, as had most of the household, had been skeptical about that, after all, Wildlings were a known enemy, but giants and legends walking among their army? Wights? Undead? Perhaps it was a wilding trick or just some really big men, like the late Ser Gregor Clegane. Now however, now that Robb have seen with his own eyes the giants and the even larger creatures they commanded, Robb felt ashamed about doubting Jon's report.

"You've not been slacking on your training, have you Lord Robb?" Jon broke the ensuing silence as Robb grew contemplative.

"I can still trounce you, Valyrian blade or no, Snow." Robb retorted with familiar ease to his brother's ribbing. And wasn't that a surprise? Jon had been gifted a Valyrian blade from Jeor Mormont himself! Jon had offered it to Lady Mormont, but the large woman of Bear Island said she trusted in her brother's decision.

"With my Pendragon blade, you'd not find me an easy win."

While the new type of sword did not have the luster of Valyrian steel, it did have similar ripples, and an edge just as sharp. It could also take heavy strikes without dulling for a long period of time.

Before the two brothers could continue, there was a short horn blast all along their battle line, and Robb's father rode out with his trusted bannermen to midfield. Robb, being his father's heir, also had to ride out, but not before he beckon Jon to come with him. His brother appeared reluctant, but he was one of the only two ranking members of the Night's Watch left and deserved to be at the parlay being held. Besides, if what his Uncle told him was true, Jon was to be groomed as the next Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

Robb rode out with Jon in tow and linked up with his father's group, which consisted of Lord Roose Bolton, Greatjon Umber, Lord Rickard Karstark, and his Uncle Benjen. Out of all their sworn houses, the three men with his father was the most affected by the invaders as the Wildlings pushed south. Their armies overwhelmed by the sheer numbers the Wildlings had thrown at them. It was a small miracle that Greatjon's army remained intact for the most part. With Karstark Hold taken, Lord Bolton was the last to face the imminent threat of invasion.

"A good morning for fightin," Greatjon, a large grizzled man standing at seven feet tall, spoke up first as he surveyed the Northern force behind him. "First we destroy the witch. Then we push the fucking savages back beyond that puissant wall!"

"Can't do it fast enough if you ask me," the oldest man in the group grunted. The man was large with long hair falling pass his shoulders. "Knowing these fucking twats are nesting in Karhold makes my blood boil!"

"Patience, good Lords," Lord Roose Bolton of Dreadfort spoke up, his voice carried despite how reedy it was. "I stand to lose as much as you all, but we must make them fight on our terms. If you haven't noticed, they outnumber us by quite a large margin."

"Roose is right," Lord Eddard Stark spoke up and the lord of Dreadfort deferred to his father. "Once we draw them in, we'll slowly make the way back to the shadow of the Dreadfort. There our archers would have a better chance at thinning their ranks."

"Bah! A defensive battle. I hate those!" Greatjon spat in disgust, but huffed.

"Charging headfirst against them did not do you any good at Last Hearth, or have you forgotten?" Uncle Benjen pointed out to the large man, who grumbled under his breath at the reminder.

"Of course, war could still be avoided. We have enough enemies in the South. We don't need any to the North," Lord Eddard Stark spoke up before giving Robb's uncle an apologetic look. "If what my brother told me is true, they are only here because of the White Walkers. If we can get them to agree to stay within the Gift's boundaries then they might be content to stop raiding south."

"You cannot be fucking serious, Ned! Are you really daft?" Greatjon's look of incredulity towards Robb's father made his thoughts clear anyway, but he realized what he had just spoken and looked away in embarrassment.

Eddard the Fool, they were singing in the taverns to the south. A lot of the Northern Lords had not liked that and wanted to go south to fight anybody and everybody for the slight against their pledged liege. But, for once, they did not have a clear enemy. Joffrey had let Robb's father go free, and even returned their family blade while Stannis Baratheon had abandoned his father. The Lord of Dragonstone had written to Ned Stark to apologize, and was quick to point out that he too was in danger at the time. Still, the fact was Stannis, Renly and Brynden had left him behind. There was no guarantee the traitors would not abandon the North on the battlefield if they found themselves in the same situation again.

At the same time, Joffrey had insulted the north by insulting Ned Stark. His father was also not quite convinced that Joffrey was not a product of incest, so the notion of joining him to fight his best friend's brothers had thrown him into turmoil. The Lord of the North had wanted to declare Eddard the King of the North when the war to the South had begun, but his father had rejected that title for now. Not until he was sure, at least.

Unfortunately, his inaction had lead smallfolk to believing Joffrey's slander. It was all but known that Joffrey had paid minstrels to go around the seven kingdom and sing the tale of Eddard the Fool. Even though a lot of their sworn Houses have forbidden it from being sung, it still made its way through the populace. Robb knew his father still commanded respect, at least from the Lords of the North, but from the smallfolk it had greatly diminished.

Even Robb did not know what to think and posed the same question to Jon, who had a lot of catching up to do after his sojourn beyond the wall. But his brother could offer no clear-cut answer. The silence that had fallen through since Greatjon's statement persisted until they saw movement in the Wildlings' line.

"Greatjon, I'm not afraid to fight, but the Night's Watch is gone and with them the only defense against the White Walkers. If this so-called Queen agrees to restricting herself to the Gift, then it would give us more time to plan against the real enemy while using her as fodder."

Robb smiled at his father's commanding tone to his bannermen. They looked reluctant to agree to such terms, but they would follow his father's lead.

"And if they don't?" Greatjon grumbled as he hoisted the parlay flag higher.

"Then we'll fight and push them back beyond the wall like you wanted," Ned Stark replied with an easy grin to Greatjon. Now there was the steel Robb knew his father had in him. Greatjon tipped his head in response, showing just how much respect his father had regained from the lords assembled.

"Here she comes. Remember, don't let yourself get distracted by her inhuman presence and beauty," Uncle Benjen warned, and his brother nodded in agreement.

Robb really doubted that anyone could be so beautiful it was inhuman, although his father had often said Rhaegar and the Targaryen's of old were like that. Then the Wildling ranks parted and Roob saw her. Carried by eight large Wildlings, sitting atop some sort of throne, the Queen Beyond the Wall was carried over to them. Robb felt his breath hitch even as he heard soft gasps as the lords around him did the same. However, she wasn't as distracting as Jon made her out to be, as he noticed that they all recovered rather quickly. Perhaps it was because of the situation that made their minds clearer. Jon did say that he had met her privately.

"Maiden's tits, that's a fine-looking wench," Greatjon muttered as he watched the Wildling Queen approach them at midfield.

As the Wildling Queen got closer Robb could see that she was dressed as his brother told him. It was borderline indecent, Robb had to admit. And while it was not quite as cold here as beyond the wall, there was still an icy breeze blowing through and the woman didn't even shiver. Robb noted that his father seemed to be just as distracted as the bannermen, eyeing the delightful skin on display. Smooth and without blemish or scar, if she knew the men where ogling her she showed no sign of taking offense. In truth, her face had a bored expression on it.

The two sides were silent, until Robb realized his father was showing chivalry by letting the woman go first. Unfortunately, she did not seem interested in initiating their talks.

"Greeting," Ned Stark began, having waited a polite amount of time. "I am Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North and these ar-"

"Stop," the Queen spoke up, her voice husky and commanding just like Jon had warned him. She then stood to her full height, and because she was on the dais, that naturally made it so she was looking down on them. "I am not interested in your names nor your titles. I only need to know if you have agreed to the terms I gave your brother. Yes or no?"

Robb watched his father frown, even as Greatjon and Lord Rickard looked at her with murderous eyes. This was definitely not how you negotiate. But if she was bothered by it, she did not let it show.

"My Lady, what you are asking for is too much. We are, however, willing to concede the wall. And yes, the Gift that comes with it. I'd even be willing to supply you wit-"

"Enough," the Queen interrupted his father once again before she looked at Robb's Uncle and Jon. "You two did a poor job of conveying my demands. But I guess if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."

Before Uncle Benjen could respond the Queen turned back to Robb's father.

"It does not matter what you offer, the map I drew was the least I was willing to accept. If you do not agree then I will take it either way. It will inevitably be mine."

Robb watched his father's expression turn steely.

"Then so be it, Wildling Queen. War it is."

Without needing to be told, the Queen was carried back to her lines even as they headed back to theirs. Robb rode back to his formation. At the center of their battle formation was the Bolton's men, with their large shields and long spears. They could also engage the Wildlings at a longer range and stop any cavalry from coming close. Ned Stark would hold the left wing and gave Robb a small command of a sizable group of Winterfell's men. Greatjon had command of the reserve cavalry, while the Umber's infantry would hold the right wing with the Karstarks. Robb had dismounted, as he would only stand out by staying on the horse, and took up position next to his men.

Robb readied himself as the horn signaled for them to began a slow march forward. Jon was right next to him, round wolf shield in hand, his Valyrian blade drawn. Robb gave him a smile even as they began marching forward. At thirty paces they stopped, Robb heard bows behind the lines being drawn, then loosed, aimed at the Wildling lines.

The Wildlings remained in their initial position, banging their weapons on their shields tauntingly. Robb watched the arrows land a good thirty paces before the Wilding ranks. Then the Wildlings gave their response to the Northmen, in the form of a sky filled with dark objects.

"Arrows!" Robb shouted to his men, the front row knelt down while the second row angled their shields diagonally. Robb himself was in the forth row and held his shield over his head. He saw the Wildling arrows land a good fifty paces ahead of the Northern lines. Robb could not help but smile at the obvious advantage.

The horn sounded again as the army moved up thirty-five paces and stopped.

"Shields!" Robb yelled as his men knelt and assumed their defensive stance, even as he heard arrows firing behind him. He watched as the rain of death angled over their heads, and watched as the Wildlings also raise their shields in anticipation of the incoming volley.

There was a swell of cheers from the Northmen as the Wildling's line was peppered with arrows. Robb saw a few enemy go down, but not enough to make a sizable dent as other Wildlings filled the gaps.

Another horn sounded, this one different, which let Robb know that the army was to slowly retreat even as the Wildlings began to march forward. In an ideal world, the men of the North would be able to keep the five-pace gap and continue to pepper the Wildling lines to their hearts' content. Unfortunately, this was reality, and the army could only move as fast as their slowest members. So after three unanswered volleys by the Northmen, the Wildling's reply volley finally made the distance.

"Incoming!" Robb shouted as his men once more took up defensive positions. The oddest thought occurred to the him when the arrows struck, it sounded like pebbles striking Winterfell's roof. Robb heard several screams and curses from their men. Unfortunately, there were some fatal hits even with all the shields angled to protect their heads. Some of the greener soldiers had been foolish enough to rest the shield on their head for more leverage, not realizing that the arrows could still punch through it.

"Back slowly. Slowly!" Robb heard Jon caution some of the men around their ages. They were fresh, while Jon was blooded. Already he could see another volley sail over their heads toward the Wildlings, who appeared to have lost patience for this game of cat and mouse and moved forward at a quicker pace. Robb almost openly showed a pleased smile, but maintained his demeanor. This was how the North hoped the Wildlings would react.

"Steady!" Jon cautioned as the men tensed up upon seeing the Wildlings start to close the gap, despite the last attack causing some notable casualties.

"Here they come!"

The final horn blared, which let the men know to hold their ground.

"Shield WALL!" Robb bellowed as the men lined up their traditional three-layer shield wall as the Wildlings were upon them.

However, what happened next took Robb by great surprise. The disorganized Wildling that had been rushing toward them slowed as if if they were-

"They're copying us!" Theon Greyjoy, his father's ward and Robb and Jon's childhood friend, shouted in panic. A few paces before the Wildlings have clashed with the Northern lines, with discipline that should not have been possible for their kind, they too formed a three-layered shield wall with great speed and accuracy.

"Fuck!"

"Brace yourselves!" Jon shouted as he stood next to Robb, readying his sword as the two sides clashed.

What followed was the scariest thing Robb ever experienced. Suddenly there was a storm of swords around him. The men in front began to stab through any open gap they could find in the shield wall. While at the same time, the enemy weapons were also stabbing through those same openings or through a weakened shield. After all, not everyone could afford shields made of thin iron.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Theon shouted as Mycah the butcher boy was stabbed in the throat and released his shield. Luckily, Jon rushed to fill in the gap with his own shield while stabbing Longclaw through the gaps.

"Ahg!" Jon shouted as an enemy spear cut the top of his hand. But when he withdrew his sword from the gap, it was tainted red with blood.

Robb knew the shield wall had worked against Wildlings in the past to great effect. They simply did not have the training or discipline, according to the history books. Now that the Wildlings were able to copy their style, the shield wall would become a battle of attrition. Which side would break first? Who had more stamina to hold their shields while avoiding getting killed? He only knew which side had more men.

Worse, he could still feel the Wildling arrows raining down on the ranks behind them.

"Hold steady men of the North!"

Robb heard his father shouting and smiled upon hearing it. Of course his father would be on the front lines. It was to his father's credit that the men yelled back in support. His father had explained that they could not let this turn into a free-for-all melee fight, as much as the Umbers would like it to. That would simply give the advantage to the Wildlings. So Robb stood fast, stabbing at the hands that stabbed in their shield wall gaps while the other side did the same.

One thing that Robb was certain the history book never spoke of was how long a shield wall battle took. Before he knew it, it was already past midday. The sun was over their heads and still there did not seem to be any give on either side. Of course they rotated shield-men, in fact, Jon had just fallen back a bit to rest his arms before he'd returned.

There was another blast from the war horn with a higher pitch that made Jon and Robb looked at each other in surprise. The signal meant the cavalry had just deployed because they found an exploitable opening in the enemy ranks. There was renew vigor from the men on the shield wall, as they realized the battle could be decided any moment now. Had it really been hours since the two sides clashed?

Still, Robb and Jon threw themselves back into the battle, their respective blades stabbing through the openings. Robb was sure he had gotten another one as his blade came back coated in fresh blood. Meanwhile Jon had grabbed a spear that fired through a gap and stabbed his sword back, killing whoever had been holding it on the other side.

"Robb, careful, your cheek!" Jon warned his brother before he gave a few more stabs through different gaps in his area, hoping to catch someone.

Robb was confused until he wiped his cheek on his shoulders and saw blood on it. When had he gotten his cheek cut? This battle was unlike what Rodrick ever taught him. There was no room for pirouettes, or fancy deflections, not even ripostes. All he was doing was stabbing through the gaps and praying he HIT something. This was fighting at its most tedious. But before long it was Theon that brought something to his attention.

"Shouldn't the knights have crushed their flank by now?"

Robb looked at Jon, and the two could sense something had gone wrong. No sooner had they thought it than three horn-blasts made themselves known. Three blasts meant an order to fall back to the Dreadfort.

"Alright! Slow, lift and ease back!" Ser Rodick, the Castellan of Winterfell, bellowed his orders as the shield wall lifted as one and pulled back. Of course, that was when the wildlings took advantage of even that slight opening and stabbed at their feet. They were able to get quite a few men who cried out when their ankles and tendons were cut. Unfortunately, to maintain the integrity of the shield wall, they had to leave those men behind.

"Ease!" the command came and the men slowly retreated back, leaving their crippled men behind.

"What happened to the cavalry?!" Theon demanded. Robb had no answer, even as the Dreadfort loomed closer from behind. He saw the Bolton archers firing from the wall frantically, then became surprised when some of the Bolton men got pierced by a spear with such force that they were thrown right off the wall.

What was that?! Their scouts reported no spitfires or scorpions siege equipment!

"I don't fucking know THEON!" Robb shouted in annoyance and narrowly dodged a crude sword that almost opened his neck. "Just focus on fighting!"

Soon they were in the safety of the shadow of Dreadfort, but that did not deter the Wildlings. Suddenly there was what Robb could only describe as a shudder in the line. From their position, Robb and Jon continue to do their jobs and kept up the attack, but that's when the first cry of panic echoed out.

"The Bolton's line is breached!"

Robb glanced up to the wall and saw the Bolton archers now aiming toward their front gate, firing in that direction. The Boltons, with their long spears, held the center. Which also mean they were in charge of defending their gate.

"What do we do?" Theon asked Robb. From his lessons, a breached line meant that their flanks were in danger of being rolled up.

"The giants broken through the gates!"

"Father!" Robb shouted in real fear. His father would probably go to center to reinforce the Boltons! Jon also shared the same look of fear in his eyes.

"I'm with you, Robb," Jon said without hesitation. The two Stark brothers disengaged from their shield wall, even under protest from Ser Rodrick, and hurried over to the front where a large melee was in progress.

Armored giants were cleaving men in two with each stroke, while archers peppered them from the walls. Their arrows proved ineffective and simply bounced off their thick iron hides. Though some did seem to make it through gaps in the armor, it did little to slow down the large monsters.

"There!" Jon pointed, as he found the Direwolf-head banner fluttering in the melee.

"Let's go!"

And so Jon and Robb waded into the free-for-all melee, the shield wall at the center all but gone. Men were fighting for their lives, both inside the Dreadfort and out by the breached gate. Robb took a moment to take in the destroyed gate as the battle already poured inside.

Then the worst news came. Four long, drawn-out blasts of the horn.

"Full retreat?" Robb looked stunned while Jon looked chagrined.

Some men in the shield wall broke formation and ran. They were easily picked off by the Wildlings. The rest began to move away from the Dreadfort in an easy fashion, though they were slow. Robb ignored it all, he was determined to find his father.

With familiar teamwork, the two brothers fought their way to where the Stark banner lay and witnessed a horrifying sight. Their father was on the ground, clutching the stump of his sword arm. Standing imperiously over him, with blood tinting her golden hair and armor, was the Queen Beyond the Wall. In her hands were blades that looked as if they were made out of weirwood, not sporting a normal edge, but instead seem to be wild in pattern. Then the Queen stabbed through his father's thighs before kicking his chest, making him lay flat on his back.

Robb saw that his uncle was also on the ground with several strange arrows embedded in his knees.

"Father/Uncle!" Jon and Robb shouted as they rushed the Queen, their swords raised to attack.

To say that the Queen made a mockery of of their skill was understating it. Both Robb and Jon had thrown their full strength behind their strikes, only for her to stop both with her own weapon. While they both strained with all their might, the Queen looked bored. Then she relaxed her grip, making the both of them stumble off-balance. It was instinct more than anything that saved Robb, as he brought his sword up just in time to block an attack that would cleaved him in two across the waist. Jon had likewise done the same and the two retreated from her strike.

Just as the Queen was about to attack again, she stopped to tilt her head to the side, an arrow flying past her neck and through her hair harmlessly. Jon and Robb saw that it was the Bolton bastard who had fired the shot, and he sent another toward the golden queen only for her to bat it out of the air with her sword.

'What inhuman reflexes!'

"Robb, get father! I'll get Uncle!" Jon ordered and Robb could not help but agree, as the Queen's attention was no longer on them. Retreat was better than battling a monster like that. Unfortunately, that was not enough as the Queen jammed the hilts of her two blades together and a vine visibly grew to connect the ends, making the shape like a bow. An arrow seemed to grow in her hand, which she fired, effortlessly hitting the Bolton bastard with such force it pinned him to the fort walls. The whole transition happened in moments.

"Now were was I? Oh yes," the Queen simply looked in their direction, even as Robb dragged his father back to the safety of their lines, Jon was likewise doing the same for Uncle Benjen. Thankfully, an enraged Roose Bolton had gathered a small group of men and charged at the Queen, distracting her.

"G-Get Ice, Robb!" Ned commanded his son. Robb quickly searched for the Stark family sword and spotted it near a pile of the dead. Amazingly enough, the blade was still gripped tightly in his father's detached hand. Any pressure to decide between his father's life or the blade was taken out of his hands when he felt a presence behind him.

"Damn you, boy! Your father will have my head for this!" Ser Rodrick showed up with a group of Stark men that were already supporting his father and Uncle.

Robb quickly ran at an angle, keeping away from the Queen, grabbed the sword, arm and all, and rushed toward Ser Rodrik. It cost half of the men Ser Rodrik brought with him, but they managed to reach the relative safety of the Winterfell-held section of the shield wall. That's when the master-at-arms cuffed Robb and Jon harshly.

"You two are the going to be harshly disciplined for abandoning the shield wall like you did! But first we have a retreat to organize," the old grizzled veteran of three wars told Robb.

"Wait, where's Theon? I don't see him," Robb looked around for his childhood friend.

"He took your place on the shield wall and lost a few fingers for it!" Ser Rodrick rebuked Robb, making him feel guilty. "He's getting it cauterized as we speak."

Robb and Jon hung their head in shame.

"Enough of that, keep your wits about you and we'll make it. I swear."

Robb nodded to the grizzled man and looked back to the walls of the Dreadfort, now filled with Bolton men fighting with the Wildlings. He felt bad for abandoning their allies, but the Northern army was broken now. They had lost… and he remembered the Queen had said she would take even more land if they resisted her. After Dreadfort, the next major holdings belonged to the Hornwood, the Manderly...and Winterfell.

Even with Uncle Benjen's warning, nobody could have guessed that the Wildlings were this formidable. How did they get so many resources or became so skilled? More importantly, what could the North do about it?

+++ Varys – Meereen +++

Varys stood next to Jon Connington and Diarmuid, the Captain of the Kingsguard, as they waited for the emergence of Aegon Targaryen. The fat eunuch wiped the sweat off of his bald head. The heat in this city was quite unforgiving, even though he was indoors. Varys took a quick glance out the window and saw the familiar sight of the amassing fleet. Day by day more ships were made to carry the massive army of Aegon the Dragon King, as he now called himself.

Since Varys arrived, Aegon's numbers had tripled, the two sister cities of the slaver bay had been taken and all of the slave masters had been put to death. Morgan and the Golden Knights, as Aegon dubbed the Golden Company, had pulled off the impossible somehow. The Unsullied in their thousands had started training every male of age to fight. The women and childrens were put to work the fields and provide food. Khal Drogo and his screaming riders patrolled the path to the cities, killing all who came near.

It had been six months since Morgan and Aegon disappeared deeper into the Pyramid with the dragon Balerion. Jon Connington did not appear to be worried, and merely sent in large portion of meat on a daily basis. While Kingsguard Diarmuid (Dia for short) oversaw the creation of the fleet. However, today was supposed to be the appointed day, and the sorcerer Morgan have instructed them to wait in the throne room.

The three sat waiting in silence, no one talked, though Jon Connington kept giving Dia a sidelong glance when Dia was not looking in his direction.

Suddenly, a loud bestial roar that shook the entire room echoed throughout the halls. Whatever it was it sounded big and sent chills up his spine. Varys had to check his hearing as he patted his ears gingerly. A half-hour later Morgan appeared. He had a haggard look about him, seemingly exhausted, and was muttering strange things. After all, what could he mean by magics were more difficult here?

Magic, as far as Varys was concerned, was difficult everywhere.

"Lord Morgan, you've returned. Where is our king?" Jon Connington asked, though Varys noted the man's eyes lingered on the beautiful Valyrian a bit longer than necessary.

"First, get me some damn wine," Morgan wheezed before he brazenly sat on the King's throne. If Dia or Jon Connington had a problem with his actions, they did not show it. In fact, the Hand of Aegon moved to pour the silver-haired man a cup without hesitation.

"As for Aegon, I told him to get some rest. The ordeal was hazardous, but he and Balerion are now one body, one mind, and one heart."

"So it worked?" Dia asked the King's Mentor with a curious tone. Now that was a dynamic Varys found intriguing. While Jon Connington seemed to show Lord Morgan some reverence, Dia talked with him as if they were equals.

"Yes, it did," Morgan replied to the golden-armored knight with a pleased smile. "I have just created the greatest warrior in this world. Even above you, dear Diarmuid."

"The world is large," Varys cautiously advised. He did not like the hubris Morgan was showing, empires have fallen for less. Though he had seen Lord Diarmuid in action. He truly had no equal, on Essos at least. The only person that could challenge him was Khal Drogo, and even then the large Dothraki ultimately lost. "Lest we forget about Mordred Waters and Viserys Targaryen?"

Morgan suddenly laughed deeply, as if at some great jape.

"I know Mordred's secret," Morgan's smile twisted into one of malice. "Where I have failed with her, Aegon has triumphed! He is flawless where she is flawed. Stronger where she was weak. All of the imperfection I've overlooked have been corrected. Aegon is the perfect king, the true king. Victory will be ours under him, that I promise."

Varys was confused. To his knowledge, Mordred had never met Morgan before, yet, the man seemed to hold a deep-seated grudge against the girl.

"As for Viserys Targaryen, he is not even worth noting. He is but a tool of Mordred to live out a twisted dream," Morgan growled as he pushed the wine cup away. "Once we get rid of Mordred, Viserys will bend the knee."

"And then Aunt Daenerys will be my wife."

Varys looked up as he heard a voice that remanded him of Rhaegar, and saw Rhaegar reborn. Then the differences showed. True, the Rhaegar before him had silver hair and purple eyes, but the skin was a bit darker, likely of Dornish origin, and the purple was a deeper shade. Not to mention his body was more defined than Rhaegar's own.

"Aegon?" Varys stared in awe at the adult before him. Truly, Morgan was a great sorcerer to age the young man so quickly. He wondered if it could also work in reverse.

"Varys," Aegon gave him a kindly smile, albeit with a hint of exhaustion. "How goes our efforts in Westeros?"

"I thought I told you to rest," Morgan gave Aegon a vexed look. Like one a parent would give to an unruly child.

"How can I when there are so many things we have to do?" Aegon replied, glaring at his adviser in defiance.

"Fine," Morgan said finally before giving up an indulgent smile. "I suppose it is in a dragon's nature to be disobedient."

"Of course," Aegon agreed with a charming grin before turning back to Varys. "Well, my lord Varys? What news of Westeros?"

"The traitor Houses are at war with one another as planned, though there is a slight... hiccup," Varys hesitated a bit continuing. Morgan had now moved off of the throne to allow Aegon to sit. "The North did not join Stannis like I believed they would, though they are dealing with a possible Wildling incursion."

"Perhaps it is for the best," Aegon sat back on the throne and smiled. "I get to personally deal with the wolf whore's family."

The pure venom in Aegon's voice disturbed Varys, but he had heard far worse from Aerys.

"Now tell me the progress of our fleet, Dia."

+++ Epilogue +++

The Dreadfort, once owned by the fearsome House of Bolton, known to skin their enemies alive, had ironically became a charnel house. Corpses sporting the "flayed man" littered the hallway of the fortress. Though the Wildlings did the sacking, they would accredit it all to one person, their Queen. The golden figure was now standing atop the battlements, her golden locks, flecked with red, could be seen swaying in the wind. Her armor was misted with blood, as with her body. Yet her skin remained undamaged, smooth, still flawless.

Next to her was the person that was more personable by all standards, but just as deadly, the Queen's right-hand woman. Culian the Clanless.

"It was a good battle," the woman known as Culian broke the silence as they both surveyed the aftermath. Here and there battle standards from the houses of the North littered the ground, the Wildlings went about putting the survivors out of their misery and relived the dead of their valuables. Waste not want not. "Shall we continue the push south?"

The Golden Queen considered this a moment, before she shook her head.

"No. Let the men rest up, but tell them to burn these corpses quickly," the Golden Queen's mouth twisted in disapproval as she looked down at the dead. "No telling how far His grip reaches."

The Golden Queen's blood-red eyes turned her gaze to the corpses of fifty armored giants being stripped for burial by their kin.

"Tch, well, it has to be done, I suppose," Culian the Clanless shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, message from Temper, the Wall gate is repaired. Good idea keeping those skilled workers alive, came in handy."

"THAT should be obvious." the Golden Queen retorted as she looked up at the sky once more and saw the sun on the verge of setting.

The two women settled in comfortable silence for a time, but it was the spear wielder who broke first.

"Not gonna lie, this stretch of land kinda reminds me of Ireland," Culian spoke in a wistful tone. "The rolling hills, the way the wind blows through the grassy plains. Though their folk remind me of Britons and Scots."

"We are far from that world, no point in missing it," the Golden Queen advised her companion. "Don't forget whose blood runs through our veins now."

"Righto," Culian agreed as she leaned on her spear for a moment longer. "Well, looks like I'll go and tell them we're stopping here. Set up camp and all that other stuff you said, see ya Queeny."

"Call me that again and watch me repeat what my counter-part did to you," the Golden Queen threatened with a soft snarl. Why did all great warriors have to be so quirky or irritating?!

"Yeah yeah, you just watch out for duel-wielding gingers. Apparently they're your Achilles heel." Culian the Clanless gave a cheeky smile before she jumped down the wall.

Gilgamesh, Queen of the Wildlings, had to visibly restrain herself from killing the reincarnated Cu Chuliainn.

End Book 2.

An: So ends Book 2 which I dub A Clash of Kings and Queens. Few Point I would like to run through.

1. The battle was base partly on what I saw from Braveheart, The Kingdom, and Vikings. Sorry but they seem influenced by those lot more. A Shield Wall is an an effective way to deal with savages, not good against one another, but it's not like the romans shield wall either. You don't need that much training for it either but if you do get flanked you are fucked.

2. The scope of the battle. I only showed what Robb saw, in the later series, I might spin multiple pov at the same time to show descending action. So what happened to the Cavalry and why did their line broke, what tactics did the Wildling used? Would be answered through Book 3.

3. Gilgamesh, yes, I spelled out the name. Weapon LOOKS like the one from Fate Prototype. I noticed it kind of look enough like a weird sword and bow combo. As you also noticed. NO fucking gate of babylon! I didn't give ARthur Excalibur and Excaliblast, Nor Lorelei Arondight, why would I give Gil Gates of Babylon?! Gotta have some tension in this story.

Side note: For those that is unfamiliar with Fate Stay Night Gil. THere is three version of him. WHen he was young, he was very friendly and people love him. When he was old, he was arrogant and crueled. The third one is the one that was tainted by the Holy Grail in Fate Stay night. It's long winded but that one is an arrogant dumbass.

This is for the Fate fans, If I did it where Fourth War Saber was reincranted, while Sansa is Pre-War Shirou. Then with the clue given. You should know what I did with Gil and maybe Lancer.

Thanks alot for reading!

As always C+C welcome, reviews appreciated!

Up next!: Book 3, A storm of swords with a slight chance of dragons! GRRM gonna be pissed~~~~!