The Battle Of Ice I

The prince was making his way towards his father in the king's war tent. He needed to see him, to finalise details for the battle and was sure to see Richard Horpe and Luthor Estermont at his father's side, since Ser Justin left for the Wall. The heavy storm slowed, as it was clearer to see the land than it was three days ago under the snowstorm, but the prince was glad because it would make fighting the battle easier and he will have the chance to secure victory, noting the death of the prominent lordlings, who will be on the field. Jacob was in black furs, underneath his gold antler engraved armour, as it was the same armour he wore when he took Highpoint and Deepwood Motte in two battles. The stag helm was on his head, with the antlers made of metal sticking out and causing a lot of the army men to stop and stare at it, especially the northerners, who have not seen such armour before since his Uncle Robert fought his last battle on the Iron Islands.

"I'm back, and in the thick of things. I wish my father didn't treat me like an invalid, as I am recovered, and I can fight this battle. I get he worries for me because I almost died from the stabbing, but the camp was straightened into order by me and Ser Richard, since Ser Justin went to the Wall to deliver the imposter Arya Stark to Jon and then head to Braavos. I could have gone to Braavos to get father the coin and the sellswords he needed for the war, but he needed me here to be on the frontlines and to marry me off as soon as possible. Arranging a marriage or a betrothal seems like a chore to father, but I hope Shireen has an easier time and gets betrothed soon and not end up like me."

The man brushed the snowflakes from his coat, but the thoughts of Asha plagued him, and he could not avoid it. The ironborn pirate was seeing her brother one last time, before King Stannis takes his head himself, to appease the northern lords and for him to pay for what he did to the Stark boys. Jacob could barely look at Theon, without wrenching at the sight of him, it was the price he paid for rebelling and allowing Roose Bolton and his bastard to take over the north. He was not a man for pity, but he learned not to be weak and to be more hardened than what his father expected him to be. It was in his blood as a Baratheon, and he was not going to allow anyone to stand in his way of reclaiming Winterfell.

A flock of crows were scattering in the sky, ready to feed on the first of the dead. He was reminded the bodies need to be burned, because of the threat of the White Walkers. Jacob never believed it, until the Lord Commander told his father, it was vital for the bodies that perished in the battle of Castle Black to be burned, before the dead returned with ice blue eyes. The prince was born in the middle of spring to the elation of both his parents, as they have been waiting a son for a long time and they got one. Jacob did not want to think about, how miserable the marriage between his parents would have been, if he had not been born and only Shireen lived. It reminded Jacob why his mother Queen Selyse of House Florent treasured him so much, and how she wanted to keep him in her arms and not let him go to the war again.

Deep inside, Jacob blamed his father for delaying the war effort, but it was the fault of the storm. He wanted to fight and was eager to be on the frontlines, leading half of his father's host from the south and be with the northmen and women, who fought wars longer than he had been living. One day, the prince will end up like the war veterans in his life, bitter and broken and will not have the compacity to be empathetic or feel anything at all. He didn't want to be like that. He wanted to be the best big brother he could be for Shireen and be the best son he can be for his mother and father. All he wanted was to be better than he was and elevate himself into becoming a legend at an early age.

All he will feel is anger, pain and sorrow.

The prince saw the war tent in front of him, as knights and lordlings were leaving, as they were preparing for war. He tied his hair back, even though it has grown a lot, since he left his mother and sister at Eastwatch and the Wall; it was a trait Asha Greyjoy liked and found attractive about him. That woman should have left him alone or made him her enemy, but she chose flirtation and hopes of a southorn crown, since her own was stolen from her by her uncles. She was a fascinating creature to him, even though he named her scum and pirate publicly and to her face, but he could not stop himself from having these feelings and he could not hide them for long, even if he settled down with a wife of his own.

He will still have feelings for that ironborn heretic.

The banners of the red and yellow burning heart, of the Lord of Light were flapping in the cold winds. Jacob hated that banner and wished for it to be destroyed and replaced with the Baratheon banner of black and gold. He was embodied with the true symbol of his house; from the armour he wore to his appearance being compared to Uncle Robert in his prime. As a man of eight and ten, he was still the insecure boy he was, when he tried to rebel against his father, but it almost cost Ser Davos his life. He loved Davos, like a friendly uncle and he was gone. His teeth seethed at the thought of tearing Wyman Manderly apart with his bare hands for what he did and the citizens of White Harbor will beware of the lord of storm and fury coming for their lord and defender of the White Knife.

"The banner of the flaming heart stag is a curse, and father doesn't know it yet. He is too stubborn to even turn his course, even if it's a mistake and will cost him in the future. I want father to be here, to live to see the throne be taken back for our house again. Father's face and hands are getting skinner than when I last saw him closely, it was those shadow demons he created with the Red Woman, which is the cause of this, and he has aged ten years more than his actual age. I have to see him, in all his gaunt glory and I have to mind my words."

There were men leaving the war tent, but Jacob entered through them, being the prince and the heir to his father's tattered house. He pulled the folds of the tent, to enter and see his father King Stannis, with the flamed crown on his head, even though it was the only thing that provided his sire any warmth, especially in these dire conditions. Jacob cleared his throat, as his eye catches Ser Richard leaving his father's side and exiting the war tent, after seeing the prince at first glance. He was warm enough in his furs, but he knew the coldness his father radiated, and it was the reason why they were in this situation and with no vital allies on their side. Scrapping the last of Robb Stark's loyalists was not good enough in the eyes of King Stannis, as he expected the north to accept him as their king, even though they declared to be independent from the iron throne with the Young Wolf as their king.

He was finally going to get the war he wanted, in the form of the enemy behind Winterfell. It had been moons, since Jacob and his father arrived in the northern settlements and no sign of war, but letters and false alliances thrown at them. The Karstarks were dead men, and so was Theon Greyjoy and there was nothing that can be done. It didn't matter to Jacob, as his attention was on winning the battle that will be upon him and his father, and he hopes to survive long enough to make it to the sept to marry someone. He fidgeted with the seven pointed star pendant around his neck, even though he always clung onto it and blessed it with a kiss every time he went to bed at night, as a way of appreciating the gods, the same gods his mother Queen Selyse abandoned in favour of the red god.

The prince stood by his father, as it has always been this way. He looked over the detailed map his father was staring at, as if he has been looking for hours, looking for an unchecked area, in which passage through the north will be made easier without losing men on the field. There was one thing Prince Jacob never wanted to be in life; it was to be as bitter as his father. He was young and had time to get to the age, where bitterness set in and he would have lived his life, to be happy and stable in himself, before he gets to the age his father is. The prince vowed every day, since the war began to never be as bitter and as short-minded as his father, in his quest for the iron throne, which was failing until the Iron Bank's envoy came through for them.

"I know you want to prove yourself, only fools and glory hogs crave glory." King Stannis said, in his usual brittle voice, at least his teeth were safe for now.

"Why should I, I am a proven commander and leader of men. It was me that ended the battle of Deepwood Motte, while you lingered with the northern host at the gates." Prince Jacob replied, bitterly with his arms folded.

"What is it you want from me?"

"A little concern that is all. You never came to see me, when I got stabbed. Ser Justin and Lady Asha made better visitors than my own father."

"I had other matters to attend to."

Jacob could sense the fury rising within him, not wanting to believe his own father left him for the crows. "Better than acting like a father for once."

Jacob never thought he would see his father angry with him again; he knew his father's anger was slow cooked in comparison to Uncle Robert's explosive anger and Uncle Renly's quiet anger. The stone blue eyes of the king glaring at him made him pray for the Crone to make him change his bull-headed words. He was prepared for punishment, as he had his entire life. Jacob was never punished by the Tyrells or Randyll Tarly before, as he was always on his best behaviour for them, being a ward for both houses. As the male heir, Jacob was never punished harshly by his father, until the incident with the Redwynes and Tarlys started and escalated to the point of Uncle Robert getting involved to make the Reach lords heel as he should have done at Storm's End. It was as if he was reliving his uncle's punishment all over again and was back to the boy of five and ten and frightened of the cruel world.

"You are right, Jacob. As much as I hate to hear it, if any other man said that to me, they would have been executed. I should not have neglected my only heir."

"I understand, since you needed to punish the Dreadfort maester and the Karstarks."

"Are you afraid of dying Jacob?" The king asked.

"I am, a man who is not afraid of death is not human at all. I was lucky to survive the Blackwater and not be killed, but this battle is different. Everything we have worked for has to be proven here, and it will set our path for the throne again."

"You fear for your mortality, your mother fears for your life too. I would never put you in the frontlines, unless I was certain you would fail me."

"I don't want to fail you again father. I had to take Edric Storm away, or otherwise you would be cursed a kinslayer by all gods and men." The prince declared.

"You have always opposed the Red Woman, whether it was for a genuine cause or was it because of your loyalty to the Seven."

"She is one of the reasons why you struggled to get allies, whom worship the Faith and the Old Gods."

"I don't like them, these rebel northmen and women, who came to our banners after Deepwood Motte. The leftovers of Robb Stark's decimated forces, but I have a use for them. We both do." The king whispered harshly, in quieter tone, so only the prince could hear him.

"Better to have them as allies than our enemies, since we have enough of those already."

"If Lord Manderly truly did kill Davos, then I shall be looking into Mors Crowfood's offer for one of the Greatjon's daughters for your bride. Time is running out and we need to solve this crisis."

Jacob understood his father's urgency in marrying him off, as time was running out because more people will know he didn't die at the Blackwater years ago. If the Manderlys knew, then everyone else in the south will know because of their cowardice and the murder of Davos in front of those damned Freys. He didn't mind the idea of marrying one of the Crowfood's great nieces, but his mother Queen Selyse and the other Florents will not be happy about the thought of their future queen worshipping the Old Gods and not being the subservient southorn lady in court. The prince could see it, with his new Umber wife behaving in a way that would cause southorns to think northerners as savages with no courtesies, the woman lacking in any of the womanly manners taught in the south and the sour faces of Uncle Axell and his mother pleading to the Red God to kill the Umber woman before she becomes an uncontrollable queen of seven fractured kingdoms.

The man knew his mother was better suited to handling a marriage negotiation than his bitter father, as it was more a woman's area of expertise than a king, who was better suited to commanding men on the battlefield than speaking to lords. Jacob was less excited of the idea, the older he got because he knew the missed opportunities as it chipped away his self-esteem. As the son and heir of the most hated man in the Seven Kingdoms, he knew being wed was going to be a struggle. He would have been married already, had his father not taking up with the red priestess or allowed half of the court to be converted into worshipping R'hllor; to the alienation of potential allies whom worshipped the Old Gods and the New Gods. He stared at the northern map, as it showed more of Winterfell's details and how most of the corners and gates will be shut and manned by Bolton and Ryswell men outside of the castle.

"The gates of Winterfell will be secured, but there are other ways to get into Winterfell without people knowing. There were secret tunnels built into the castle, raised by Bran the Builder, in case the Long Night returned, and the people could have ways to escape the dead things beyond the wall and to gain access to places, which were long abandoned. For a man like Roose Bolton, he would be a fool not to use the passages to his advantage, but then he sent his brother in law and a crop of Manderly and Whitehill soldiers to deal with me and my father, as if he was too craven to come face to face with his own doom."

Prince Jacob was ready for battle, even though he was too young to be considered a seasoned warrior. He was there when the stormlords abandoned his father for Uncle Renly, he was there when his father lost the Blackwater and returned to him, and he was there to secure Deepwood Motte and depose the last of the ironborn invaders from the north. Jacob will always be the main councillor to his father, and will never be replaced or deposed, unlike Uncle Alester who paid for his crime and Ser Imry with death in the green smokes of wildfire burning on the Blackwater. He never forgot the rotting corpses around him, every time he fought a battle and even his first, as he was lucky not to have been sick on his first. His first war was going on for at least three years, and there was no getting out of it, until Winterfell was liberated, and the storm cleared course for the Riverlands, so he and his father could liberate the Riverlands as well as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I was blind, in wanting to appease the Karstarks and put you in danger. The Greyshield knight is not the only one to blame for what happened." The king spoke, in that same quieter tone, which scared Jacob more than his regular brittle tone.

"You should have allowed me to expell Sorrell, you had no right to." The prince replied.

"The knight failed his duty, and I had to do what must be done, to stop dissent in my ranks. I would have banished him, if I had more men on my side and not have to rely on the Iron Bank to buy sellswords from across the Narrow Sea and have Ser Justin bring them."

"I hired Sorrell as my shield, and he was my responsibility."

"The Karstarks will be punished, alongside Theon Greyjoy and his sister, when we reach Winterfell. Let the northern lords see what happens to traitors and those, who refuse my rights as their king."

"I have to marry one of the north's daughters, unless you have forgotten. To secure the alliance long term, and I'm not sure if mother would approve of an Umber good-daughter soiling the royal court."

"Stay away from Asha Greyjoy. Ser Richard has informed me of your regular interactions with her, she cannot be trusted, since I will put her brother to death myself."

"Uneasy alliances have to be made, you allied us with the Karstarks and look what it did. Asha wants revenge on the Boltons, and we can use it to our advantage."

"You understand the consequences, if we follow your plan. That woman wants to bed you and steal a crown for herself. I cannot blame her, as I blame myself for not marrying you off sooner into the war, and I have to contend with my prisoner attempting to seduce my heir." King Stannis said bitterly.

"She will be disappointed. I don't want her, but I know she can be useful in this war. Her name is the only thing that gives her value and her axe, which is a shame, but that's how the world is."

The man began to think, but knew he was one of the only people, a part from Ser Davos, who can hold his father accountable for his failures and mistakes in this war. If it had been another man, then he would have been banished or killed for his words. He was lying when he said, he didn't want Asha, but he had a war to focus on and one woman did not matter to him. Jacob knew his plan could end in failure at the cost of his life and the lives of his men, but it could mend whatever hostility there was between greenlander prince and ironborn woman. The prince was not a man for accepting defeat or otherwise, but he knew the war was his last chance in creating a lasting legacy for himself on the battlefield, as it could be his last time he will be on a battlefield, with his life and the lives of his men on the line.

A man with antlers on his unburnished gold helm trekked through the fields, whilst taking the reins of his grey mare, as the man's armour stood out from the snow fields. The storm was interrupted, and not a single snowflake fell from the sky a day after. The prince thought the northern gods were good and true to stop the storm, just for him and his father's armies to crash through Winterfell and reclaim it in the name of House Stark again. He was not alone on the field, riding beside him was his cousin Luthor Estermont, with hair as bright as the nightfire the Queen's Men would light up for prayers to their god, days before the battle and for the safety of the king and the royal family that remained on the Wall.

Jacob realised this could be his last battle, and he did not want it to be. He was his father's second in command, after Ser Davos, and was there when his father needed him. He was never going to abandon his king, not for anything, not even for a fleeting chance to get Desmera back to him. The prince shook his head, at the thought of his first love again, there were moments when he thought of her when he was freezing in the north and it made him warm inside, as he thought of the buxom strawberry-blond haired lady of the Arbor. He still loved her, even though she was lost to him a long time ago, but Uncle Robert never forgot about his Lady Lyanna, and never would Jacob forget about his Desmera, since loving her has shaped him into the man he was and made him open his eyes about the world.

If Jacob Baratheon truly had a choice, then he would have rejected his father's northern offers and wait for the love of his life, but his love for Desmera had eroded away and a new face replaced her. She was a woman with an axe and haughty voice, which made his bones shivered within. He was not sure what he felt towards Asha was real, but it was real enough to replace the face of his first love out of his mind, but she was a hostage for life and was going to spend the rest of her life in a Winterfell cell. The prince and his men were marching through the snows, but from the distance, little figures moving forward from the great castle itself; it could be the enemy being set upon the prince and his father. Jacob and his father separated with two halves of the host, and halves of the northerners who took their own sides and led themselves.

"It's better this way, since Luthor has Asha with him. I am responsible for her, and I am trusted to keep her from escaping her situation. I can't look at her, with those noring eyes of mine, whilst I am fighting on the field, but I can use her and her axe for my advantage against Bolton's bastard and allow her revenge for her brother. I heard a lot from Ser Justin, a man Asha socialised with apart from the She-Bear that she was in love with me, even though I rejected her twice. I cannot be responsible for her feelings, but I have some affection for her, not out of love or hate, but out of a shared hatred for the Boltons and their rule."

The prince rode away on his horse, with Ser Luthor and the host following behind. He began to wonder the silence of the field, was a distraction for him. Jacob was trained in this sort of thing, as it was like hunting with the Tarly party and looking for game in the season. He never wanted to miss everything, even if it put the lives of his cousin and his men in danger, but his instincts told him to look at every possible factor if men from Houses Ryswell, Whitehill or Dustin were coming to attack, even though most of them were trapped by Bolton rule to rebel or do anything about it. Prince Jacob was looking forward to seeing those cowardly Whitehills, who fled from him at Highpoint, but they have no choice to stay in Winterfell with their castle in the hands of his father.

Jacob Baratheon rode in front of his half of the royal host, mixed with southorns left over from Dragonstone, the Reach and the Stormlands, proud with a confidence, as Misty trotted at his command. He held the warhammer to his waist, as he looked at the men willing to sacrifice their lives for their king, their prince and the liberation of Winterfell and the North from the Boltons. The prince was conscious, he would never see Luthor or Sorrell again, and they could be dead by the time the battle ended, and he needed to prepare for that outcome and to honour their deaths as best as he can. Jacob's sword was in it's place, even though the hammer was his primary weapon, his eyes were steeled with a determination to fight to the end.

"Men of the king, tonight shall be out last fight in the north before we clear out Winterfell of oathbreakers and kingslayers. On our way, will be thousands of men from northern houses, who aim to see us dead and my father's cause lost. As your future king, I vow to lead you all to victory and through death and beyond." The prince declared, with the roaring cheer of the men and cousin Luthor raiding the air, and it made Jacob feel a sense of power only a king or a high lord could experience, and he liked the feeling of such power.

The prince rode away on his horse, with Luthor and half of his host by his side. He wondered about the silence, as it could be a distraction for him. Jacob was trained in this sort of thing, as it was like hunting with the Tarly party on some days looking for game in season. He never missed anything, even if it put the lives of his cousin and his men in danger. His instinct told him to look at every possible factor of men from Houses Ryswell, Whitehill or Dustin were coming to attack, as most of the powerful northern houses were trapped under Bolton rule to truly rebel or do anything about it, unless they found one of the long lost Stark boys, the turncloak was supposed to have killed.

A quake in the ground shook at the rush of horses trampling the ground on a winter's night. Jacob had the warhammer of his uncle at his side, he still had his sword in its place, in case he heeded it on the field and it did not hurt to have an extra weapon. He still had the dagger, the traitor Alester Florent gave to him for his fourteenth nameday. The sound of the northern warhorns were sounded from his side and from afar, where his father was with the rest of their host and some of the northern forces from houses Umber to Cerwyn. It made the prince wish he had his own warhorn, but the northerners will give him one on his next nameday or on his wedding day, as a celebration of the new alliance between north and south.

Jacob witnessed a barrage of northmen on their hardy, big horses coming through with various familiar banners flapping in the winds. The prince motioned his men to go forward, with him at the helm of the host with the warhammer raised in the air and the shine of his armour seen by all. The adrenaline rushed through his blood, as he was ready to fight and to spill blood of his enemies, but he knew the northmen and women were not as excited because they did not want to spill the blood of their fellow northmen, even though they betrayed the memory of House Stark to kneel to the Boltons to survive. Jacob never knew northern loyalty, until he saw it because they stick together, unlike southerners, who play the game of thrones to stab each other in the back to win their plots and schemes against each other.

The warhammer received its first taste of blood in years, with the strike against a man wearing Bolton cloths, with the clash of metal and axes against the swords of established northern cavalry. The white snows were stained in blood, for the first time since the northern civil wars centuries ago, but the drops of red turned parts of the ground pink, with the bodies of the fallen dropping of their chaos of it all made their steeds flee from the area, and leave the men at risk of being trampled upon by the horses of the enemy, or cut to pieces by the enemy too. Jacob was glad to give the warhammer a taste of blood, it has been thirsting for and there were enough Freys and Boltons to quench its thirst for traitor's blood. The men of those houses were cursed, and as the Seven's most faithful servant, Jacob wanted to see the work of the gods be dished out by him.

From the corner of his eye, Jacob struck the warhammer against another adversary, as the battle cry of the northmen rung in the air and the men called out as well. He held onto the reigns of his horse, even with the warhammer that will not be lifted by a skinny or a small man, but a man strong enough to wield it. The prince rode like the wind, with Cousin Luthor behind him with Asha on his saddle, to make sure she does not fall from the horse and escape in the mist of the chaos. With the northmen advancing from the way of Winterfell, there was another cluster of men coming in from the east with the banner of the twin towers of House Frey being carried, as there were many Freys on the field, due to them being aligned with Roose Bolton by kinship vows of godless marriage.

The man clutched onto the warhammer, as tightly as he could, even though Misty was startling at the advance of the Frey men, even though most of them were being hacked to pieces by the few mountain clans men that rode with the lord of the storm and fury, out of respect for Prince Jacob for what he did in Deepwood Motte and beneath the Wall. He never knew how much the clansmen, the most hardened of northmen, who lived in the western boundaries of the mountains began to like and respect him for being the warrior Uncle Robert was. The prince sees the stain of the ground, as snow white begins to turn blood pink, as more Frey men were dying, but the ones in more elaborate armour were still riding their steeds and advancing towards the prince himself. Jacob realised the ones in better armour were Freys, in command of the armed forces sent out by Lord Bolton himself.

"The blood-stained snow was what disturbed me most, knowing damn well those Freys were sent to kill me personally. Why not Ludd Whitehill or Rodrik Ryswell? Better men could have been sent to kill me or did Roose Bolton want the humiliation of me, the son of Stannis Baratheon to die at the hands of a godless Frey. He will not get the last laugh. Where is his bastard? I have many bones to pick with him, and I will send Asha his way and he will learn not to anger an ironborn woman, who loves her little brother so much that she would see him die at the chopping block."

A gust of black wind blew in the prince's way, as a shadow of the snowstorm was returning as men died around him. Jacob motioned his horse to strike his hammer towards one of the sniggering Freys, who were not protected by their heads, which made bashing their heads with the hammer easier and killing them indefinitely. The man's horse stirred again, as Misty was not used to this chaos and his hands were slipping away from the control of the saddle, and he tried to whisper reassurance to his frightened horse, but it failed as it worked in the past. He turned around to see his men were advancing onto the Freys and the northmen, who were fighting by their side by brutal force and not by loyalty. All Jacob needed was to kill Roose Bolton himself, and the rest of the northerners will rebel against the Boltons and the battle will end.

The fright of the horse sent Jacob toppling onto the ground with his helm falling out of his head, but he picked himself up, even though his armour weighed him down. He carried the warhammer with a dignity, it has never been seen, since the Greyjoy Rebellion, but this time it will mean the permanent death of House Bolton, unless Lord Bolton's Frey wife complies with King Stannis in the end. The man paced through the snows, battering every man he could see coming towards him with swords, held in such a weak way as the hand of the swords were shaking. A snarl appeared on his face, with his face seen by the men on the side of the enemy, so they could remember the man, who ended their pitiful existence in this world.

A battlecry was heard in the distance, as more men on cavalry horses were motioning the field, instead these men carried the banner of the blue-green merman. The men of House Manderly had finally come to fight him, even though he was off his horse, and was trotting to survive. The prince licked his blood-stained lips in satisfaction, as the rush of blood was running through his veins and he liked it. As a man, known for playing the game of thrones, killing and fighting was thrilling to him and it gave him validation as a man and a warrior. It was the broken society he lived in, where men would sacrifice their lives in battle and songs would be sung about the wars they died it, but it was lies to him, shattered by Randyll Tarly, who taught him that war was a man's duty, not a province for glory but to serve your liege lord and your king.

The prince was trekking, even though he lost sight of his horse Misty and could not find her. A stream of warriors carrying flaming swords rode through the field, shouting "For R'hllor and his Light upon us." As the men with the swords of fire were the Queen's Men, led by Ser Godry Farring, the ringleader with Ser Richard being at his father's side with Ser Justin on his way to Braavos. The Queen's Men advanced onto the Frey soldiers, but he could see the Manderly men did not want to fight against the prince and his forces, as they knew who the true enemies were, unlike their lord and master. He was fazed, becoming dizzy with the warhammer in his hand, but a man came towards him with a sword, and the prince ended his existence with one strike against his chest, and the blood sprayed onto the prince's armour and his face. Jacob had seen his fair share of blood in these wars, but this one was going to make him, as the Greyjoy Rebellion made his father.

Another victim fell to the might of the hammer, as the red sprayed on the prince's face; the gold on his armour was covered in blood. The cry of men dying was ringing in his ear, and Jacob never thought to know if his father was amongst the living or the dead. He was not concerned, even though his father was an experienced battle commander and will be fine, but the chaos of the battle with at least five armies being split up to attack the rear ends of where Jacob and his father's forces were. The main factor was the northmen on the side of the Boltons, none of them wanted to be there on their own freewill, apart from the Whitehills and the leftovers of Arnolf Karstark's forces, even though the leaders of that army were imprisoned by his father in the lower barracks.

The prince gazed at the bloodshed on the field, caused by the warhammer, even though his boots were covered with snow and struggled to move forward. He looked to see men falling from their horses and being hacked to pieces with rival swords. Jacob was worried, as Misty has not returned yet, as she did the last time he fell from her saddle in battle. As a horse man, Jacob had never lost control of his horse before, only in the heat of the battle or when the chaos was too much for his easily scared southorn steed. He was stumbling his way, as Winterfell was miles away from where he and his men were, but he never forgot his goal or his aim, not for a second will he forget his purpose in this war.

Men and few women were dying, from the sight of the corpses littered around, even though most of the dead were from the Frey and Whitehill side of the field. He didn't care because he was only on the field to kill the more important commanders and captains on Bolton's side. A neigh was heard in the distance, with the prince turning to see his grey mare trotting towards him, whilst tramping a few Frey and Ryswell soldiers in her way. Jacob wiped the tear that fell from his eye, and his heart was levitated at the sight of his horse living. The steed stopped where he was, and he was able to get back on the saddle, with the warhammer at his side. From the saddle, he saw the piles of corpses from the side of the enemy, whilst the bodies of his own men were minimal in comparison, as the flaming swords of the Queen's Men save Jacob an advantage. He hated to think of such men, he viewed as heretics against the Gods.

The man sounded a battlecry out of his own lips, with the men raising their swords to follow their prince through death and beyond. Jacob motioned Misty in the direction of the north, as he wanted to keep her away from the stench of the dead. A roar of victory radiated through the crowd of men and women, as a few more were grouped with the prince with them coming from his father's half of the royal host of southorns, and the question that floated through his mind was what happened to his father, and where was he and the northern soldiers led by Mors Crowfood, the Umber with one eye. He did not know where, and he had a feeling this battle between liberation or defeat was far from over.