Chapter 14: Revelations part 3

Seeing a man nearly the size of Hodor run up towards Robb with the clear intention of unhorsing him, Jon went to intercept him. But his intervention was unnecessary as Robb seemed to know he was coming and expertly moved his horse around in a tight circle to avoid the charging man before slashing into the back the man's head. Unfortunately, the strike didn't go clean through and while the man was undoubtably dead, Robb's sword was pulled free from his grasp as dead man fell. His brother didn't hesitate, however. Instead of trying to scramble to get his sword, he pulled his horse around to dodge a thrust from a spear, only to grab the shaft of the weapon and pull it free from the one wielding it. The now weaponless Wildling, a woman he thought though it was hard to tell, didn't seemed phased about losing her weapon as she pulled a dagger from her belt and lunged at Robb. Only to receive an arrow right through her eye courtesy of Theon who was already notching another arrow to let loose.

Pulling his feet out of the stirrup of his saddle, Jon effortlessly swung his leg over his horses' neck and slid down to his feet. While fighting atop horseback gave one a distinct advantage, Jon wasn't nearly half the rider that his brother was. And one of his strengths was his mobility, which was severely hampered atop a horse.

Digging his feet into the ground, Jon rushed towards the nearest Wildling he could see while holding his lightsaber in a low guard. The Wildling, either not expecting Jon's speed or any challenge, didn't even get his weapon in time to block as Jon cut clean through his chest with a single swipe of his lightsaber. Breathing deep, he let himself be immersed in the Force as around him men and woman fought and died. Ducking in time to let an axe pass over his head, Jon twisted and thrust his lightsaber through his would-be attacker's heart, killing him instantly before using a kick to knock his corpse away. Using the momentum of his kick, Jon pivoted on his supporting foot while leaning down to avoid another clumsy thrust of a spear point. Coming out of the pivot, Jon buried his lightsaber into the Wildling's throat nearly up to the hilt. This brought him face to face with the Wildling, a woman with blood covered yellow teeth who could only stare at him in disbelief as he twisted his wrist to turn the lightsaber in order to completely remove her head.

Breathing deep, Jon turned to find his next opponent, only to find the battle to be winding down. Only a few Wildlings were still standing, but they weren't standing for long as they were being ruthlessly and effectively cut down by the men of House Stark and Manderly. All save for one Wildling who was larger than even the one who tried to de-horse Robb early in the battle. The man was wielding a club with a large stone imbedded into one end and in his other hand he was wielding a very crude curved sword. His face was painted with black markings around his eyes with streaks running down his cheeks. When the beast of a man finally realized he was alone now, he started turning slowly, observing the men surrounding him while the Northmen kept just out of reach of his club and sword.

Stopping midturn, the Wildling pointed his sword directly towards Jon's father. "Stark! I challenge you! Stand and fight me, you spineless coward!"

Everyone stopped whatever they were doing as Lord Stark nudged his warhorse forward, Ice dripping blood of the Wildlings that he slew. "You know me?" Jon's father asked, staying just outside the ring of men surrounding the Wildling.

"Aye I do!" the Wildling spat, "In the true north, we know all about ye and yer family! We used to respect ya, hated ya, but respected ya. The 'Kings-of-fuckin-Winter'. But then your pathetic cockless ancestor threw away his crown instead of fightin and dying. Now all you fuckin Starks are nothing but pathetic kneelers in our eyes! Now stand and fight, ya fucker! Or prove you're a fuckin cockless coward just like the rest of yer family!"

Jon didn't need to see his father to know that his eyes had turned color, the eyes of the wolf as they were now known throughout Winterfell and most of the North. Extinguishing his lightsaber, Jon and the rest of the men of the North watched in silence as Lord Stark slid easily from his saddle and onto the ground. The Wildling, either not knowing or not caring about what he'd started, merely grinned as he settled into a wide stance with both weapons held out at his sides. "Finally! A challenge! I'm going to gut you like a fish, Stark! Then I'm going to eat your fuckin heart right in front of your whelps!"

His father didn't say anything as he held Ice aloft in a two-handed grip and settled into a stance with his right foot back and his left foot forward. Letting out a bellowing war cry, the Wildling charged at Lord Stark, his steps heavy and his arms held wide as he tried to put as much momentum as possible into his swings. But his father simply sidestepped and used Ice's length to deflect the wild strong strikes with little to no effort. It was obvious, even to Jon's limited experience outside the training yard, that the larger Wildling was used to brute forcing his way through fights and had therefore cared little to learn the finesse of a proper one-on-one fight. The Wilding, in a fit of rage at not being able to even come close to landing a blow, had unleashed a powerful overhead strike with his club, which his father calmly sidestepped. The force of the strike was enough to bury the clubhead into the ground. Before the Wildling could recover, his father used the flat of Ice to break the man's exposed elbow before calmly sidestepping and hamstringing the Wildling. Then, without saying a word, the Quiet Wolf calmly and mercilessly removed the downed Wildling's head from his shoulders without uttering a single word or even grunt of exertion.

While his father remained calm and quiet as the last of the Wildling's fell to his blade, the rest of the men did not. The moment the last Wildling lost his head, a great roar of triumph spread quickly through the soldiers and smallfolk as many began chanting 'Stark' over and over. Feeling more than seeing Robb step up to his side, the two brothers watched as their father quietly took a piece of cloth that'd been offered to him by one of the men wearing Stark livery before he started the process of cleaning the blood off of Ice.

"Start seeing to the wounded and dead," his father intoned, tossing the bloodied cloth on top of the dead Wildling before sheathing Ice. "I want a count of both. And send out runners to see if any Wildlings fled the field before the battle ended."

The chants of victory quickly ended as the men quickly began to disperse and begin the task of sorting through the dead and injured. As much as Jon wanted to go with them and lend a hand, he found that he couldn't move as he found himself locked in his father's eyes. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one as Robb also seemed to be immobilized right next to him as their father approached them both, his yellow eyes not fading in the slightest despite the battle having passed.

"You two rode into battle," their Lord father stated, staring hard at the two of them. "I am disappointed in the both of you that you would so readily place yourselves in harm's way. Yet…I am proud of the men you two are becoming. Neither of you hesitated to act when faced with sudden adversity." Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Jon's back straight with pride as his father placed a hand on both his and Robb's shoulders. "Well done, my sons. Well done."

As his father let go of the both of them and left, Jon shared a quick glance with his brother, whose grin Jon was sure was mirrored on his own face. And as one, the two all but ran after their father to catch up with him as he made his way through the aftermath of the battle towards the column. Unsurprisingly to Jon, his father made directly for one of the lead carriages that he knew contained his sisters, Lady Nyra, and Lord Manderly's granddaughters.

Moving around the shuttered carriage to the side opposite of where the battle had occurred, Lord Stark knocked gently against the door before opening it. "Sansa, Arya? Are you all alri—?"

"Father!" A red streak shouted as Sansa lunged out of the carriage and grasped desperately onto their father's shoulders. "Wh – What happened?"

"A battle, of course," Arya deadpanned, though Jon could sense the fear and excitement coursing through her. "Father…can – can we—?"

"No, you cannot come out. Nor can you open the shutters of the carriage." Lord Stark ordered as he carefully removed Sansa from around his shoulders and set her back into the carriage.

"But—" Arya sputtered. "But Robb and Jon—"

"Are both older than you." Lord Stark finished for her in a tone that brokered no argument. "You will all stay in this carriage and you will keep the shutters closed until you hear otherwise. Nyra, please keep an eye on my daughters and Lord Manderly's granddaughters."

"Of course, milord." Lady Nyra answer immediately, placing her hands upon Sansa's shoulders and guiding her back into the carriage. "Please, Lady Sansa. A battlefield, especially the aftermath, is no place for one as young as you. Lady Arya, listen to your father and leave it be."

There was no shortage of grumbling from his youngest sister about life not being fair, but mercifully enough she didn't protest further as their father shut the carriage door and turned to march back towards the battlefield with Robb and Jon almost racing to keep up with him. Once they passed by the carriages and wagons, his father immediately made for a small group composing of Lord Nox, Lord Manderly, and Ser Jory. As they approached, all three men stopped talking to one another and turned towards them.

"What's the damage?" his father asked without preamble.

"More than a dozen dead and more than twice that injured," Lord Nox answered immediately. "Three horses are dead and two more are now lame and will need to be put down. And one of the wagons snapped an axel. But it could've been far worse."

"It was bad enough as it was, Nox," Lord Stark replied without any real heat in his voice, but more like he was just stating a fact. "What of the Wildlings?"

"We're not entirely sure, my Lord," Ser Jory answered. "Those that stayed on the field are dead to man and woman. However, there are a good number that fled into the woods."

"How many?"

"At least a dozen or more, my Lord," Ser Jory winced as he stated the number. "And that's not all Lord Stark. Lady Mormont, she recognized these Wildlings as belonging to the Ice River clans. And, well, they have a reputation for being…"

"Cannibals." Lord Stark finished for his Captain, making Jon flinch at the mere thought of the disgusting trait. "And now there are still over a dozen still roaming our lands free."

"So, when are we leaving?" Lord Nox asked pointedly, drawing looks from the two Lords and Captain. "What? You all were not seriously considering staying here with our thumbs up our asses while cannibals raid your lands even more so than they already have, were you?"

"No," Lord Stark stated immediately. "Lord Manderly. I'm leaving you in charge. Load up our dead and wounded into the wagons and head a few hours west towards the Kingsroad before making camp. Ser Jory, Nox, my sons, and a dozen volunteers will come with me into the forest to rout out the Wildling survivors. If we don't meet up with you by dawn two days from now, continue North to Winterfell."

"It will be done, my Lord," Lord Manderly responded almost immediately, clasping a closed fist to his chest.

As the large Lord waddled back towards the column, Jon's father turned back towards him and his brother. "I don't suppose it would do much good to tell the two of you to stay with the column and your sisters?"

Robb and Jon shared a look with one another before turning back towards their father. "You said it yourself father," Robb stated, "it is the duty of a Lord and his Heirs to ensure the safety of their people. What kind of son of yours, of the North, would I be if I didn't see to the threat of Wildlings loose on our lands personally?"

"And you'll need my Force Tracking, Lord Stark," Jon added. "I'll be able to find them far faster than any other tracker we might have with us." Keeping his head up, Jon didn't let any of the nerves he was feeling show as he stood tall before his father.

"I often wondered what my father felt like when dealing with your uncles and aunt and I when we were younger. Now I know," their father said with a sad shake of his head. "Ready your horses, my sons. We leave immediately."

Jon and Robb didn't need telling twice as they took off immediately to find their horses. Quickly enough, they found them since they were being held by some of the smallfolk and met up with Theon who insisted on coming along with them. In the end, the group that were heading out after the Wildlings consisted of Jon, Robb, their father, Lord Nox, Asha, Theon, Small Jon, Dacey and a few other Stark men at arms. Within no time at all, the group was riding into the trees and Jon was searching through the Force for any trace of the Wildlings that attacked them.

It wasn't very hard if he was being honest. The Wildlings that fled the battle did little to hide their movements and it was mere child's play for Jon to pick up their trail and begin hunting them down. As dusk began to settle in on them, Jon brought a halt to the tracking party as he sensed a sudden increase in the trail they'd been following. Hopping off his horse, Jon knelt and placed his hand against a footprint that'd been left in a soft dirt pile and closed his eyes.

"They're close," he said, leaving his hand on the footprint and letting the Force guide his other hand to point in the direction he felt the Wildings had gone. "Their presence is stronger here… They passed through here just a short time ago."

"We go on foot from here," his father order, sliding off his horse. "You two, stay with the horses. The rest of you with me."

Getting up from the ground, Jon kept his focus on the trail, which led them towards a small ridge.

"Don't think we need your magic anymore, Snow," Theon grunted, lifting his chin in the air, "I can smell the bastards from here."

"Quiet." Lord Stark ordered, crouching low to the point where he was almost laying on the ground and edging closer towards the edge of the ridge.

Following suit, Jon and the rest who'd come with them all lowered themselves to the ground and peered over the edge of the ridge. Sure enough, just a short distance from where they were hiding was the remnants of a large camp. There were dozens of tents, shoddy wagons, and even a few mules for pulling the wagons. But instead of the camp being heavily populated, there were only perhaps about two dozen men and women that Jon could see frantically running back and forth between the tents as they scavenged the camp for anything of value.

"Smell that?" Small Jon mumbled, sniffing at the air. "Smells like they're cooking meat so some kind. Figure after we kill these fucks, they won't mind us taken their meal off their hands."

"Wouldn't trust any of the meat you see in the camp, Umber," Dacey hissed back. "These fucks belong to the Ice River Clans. Fucking cannibals. I can guarantee any meat you find down there didn't come from any animal."

For not the first time, Jon felt a wave of bile rising in his throat, which became almost impossible to keep down as he spotted a spite with still bleeding meat skewered on it over one of the low burning fires.

"Vile fiends!" Robb cursed. "Have they no respect for the dead?"

"They're Wildings, young wolf," Small Jon shrugged. "They don't know the meaning of respect."

"Quiet," Lord Stark shushed, holding a finger towards his lips. "Nox?"

Looking over his shoulder, Jon found his Master laying on his back with his sightless-covered eyes facing skywards. "Jon and I will get their attention by approaching from the east," Nox stated. "Everyone else head west towards the wagons near the back of the camp while they're distracted in order to cut off their best route of escape. Once they start running, you can cut them down."

"And how do you expect to get their attention, Sorcerer?" Theon asked, shooting a quick glance towards Lord Nox. "And how do you know they'll flee?"

"Simple," Nox shrugged, rolling over onto his front. "Jon and I will just start killing them until we get their attention. Once enough of them are dead, those still alive will turn tail and run. These aren't exactly the bravest of fighters we're dealing with here. If they were, they would've kept to the field instead of running at the first sign things weren't going well for them."

Turning away from his Master, Jon found his father staring directly at him. No words passed between them, but Jon could tell just by the look in his father's eye that he was asking Jon if he was ready. Palming his lightsaber, Jon gave but a single nod to his father before backing away from the edge of the ridge towards his Master.

"Lord Nox is right," Jon said quietly. "We can create a distraction enough for everyone else to get behind them and pincer them between us."

"Then that is what we'll do," Lord Stark stated, pulling himself back from the ridge and standing up. "Be careful, son. And stay close to Lord Nox when the fighting begins."

"Aye…father," Jon replied after a moment's hesitation.

Giving Robb and even Theon a nod of encouragement, Jon took off after his Master who was already making his way towards the eastern end of the camp far enough away from the edge of the ridge to not risk being seen by the Wildlings below.

"Keep your mind focused on the here and now, Jon," Lord Nox ordered him as the two turned back towards the ridge and stared their descent on the far eastern side of the camp. "You want to protect your brother and father? Then make sure none of these bastards are alive to pose a threat to them."

Letting out a breath, Jon closed his eyes and drew on the Force just as he always did before a spar or the few true fights he'd been in. As they descended the ridge towards the camp, Jon felt a familiar surge of excitement, his hands practically shaking in rage and excitement as they drew closer and closer to the Wildling encampment. He fingered the ignition button of his lightsaber eagerly and restlessly.

"Do not draw your blade just yet," his Master commanded as they approached the camp. "Do not give away your advantage until your opponent over commits themselves. Only then show them their folly as they lay on their deathbed."

Finally noticing their approach, one of the remaining Wildlings gave off a cry of alarm before grabbing a spear and running towards Jon and Nox. The cry went through the camp quickly, and by the time the man was almost upon them, the rest of the Wildlings had grabbed whatever weapons they could and were heading towards the two of them.

"Idiots," his Master sighed, holding up his hand. The first Wilding that'd been rushing towards them stopped cold as Nox gripped the man tightly with the Force. And then with a simple twitch of his wrist, the man's neck snapped as his head turned completely around. Seeing their fellow die so quickly and in such a manner brought the other Wildlings skidding across the ground less than a few paces away as realization dawned in their eyes.

"Fuck!" a woman with rotten teeth screamed. "It be the fuckin sorcerer! Run!"

Twin hisses sounded through the camp as Jon and his Master both drew forth their lightsabers simultaneously and charged after the fleeing Wildlings. A few of the Wildlings turned to make a stand, but they didn't last long as Jon lost himself in the Force and cut a path through the few that tried to make a stand against them. But as quick as Jon was, Nox was even quicker and far more ruthless. As dangerous as he knew these Wildlings to be, something about cutting a man down while he was running brought a pause to Jon. His Master however didn't have such hesitation as he cut down both those who were fleeing and those who tried to stand and fight in equal measure.

As they passed by the low burning fires, Jon saw something that caught his eye and made him hesitate. Next to the fire, there was a woman a naked woman with a gag in her mouth and her hands bound above her head with a rope that'd been slung over a tree branch directly above the fire. He wasn't sure just why the woman was there or what was about to happen to her before they arrived… No, wait, he did have a pretty good idea of that. He just didn't want to think about it. But as he moved to free her, another Wildling ran out from behind the tree the woman was tied too with a club held in his hand.

Spacing his feet, Jon brought his lightsaber to bear, ready to cut the man down. But he needn't have bothered as the moment the Wildling stepped past the woman, she used the rope that was binding her hands to lift herself up off the ground and wrapped her thighs around the man's neck. Then, with a twist of her hips, she threw the Wildling onto the fire before her. The Wildling screamed as the fires ate at his furs. Though, he was quick to roll out of their grasp and further across the ground trying to put the flames out. Not wanting to give him a chance to recover, Jon was on him in an instant, his lightsaber cutting through the man's neck, severing his head and leaving his body to smolder on the damp leafy ground.

Turning to the woman, Jon saw fear in her as her eyes flickered between his lightsaber and him and back. Stepping towards her, Jon slashed at the robe above her head, freeing her, before taking off his cloak and offering it to her all the while trying to keep his eyes in appropriate places. "Stay hidden till it's over," he told her as she slowly took the offered cloak so that she could cover herself until she found new clothes.

But his concern for her wellbeing turned out to be unnecessary. By the time he got back to the fight, his father and brother along with the men with them had sprung their trap and were in the process of ending the last few remaining Wildlings that'd decided to go down fighting rather than surrender. Sheathing his lightsaber, Jon motioned for the woman to follow him as he made his way over towards his brother and father, all the while keeping a close eye on the downed Wildlings just in case one wasn't entirely dead.

"Well, well, Snow," Theon called out, his bow in hand and an arrow ready to draw. "Quite the find you have there. If he's not enough for you, pretty lady, let me know and you'll see what a real man can do."

"If she wants a 'real man' Greyjoy, then she's better off sticking with Snow rather than you!" Small Jon bellowed from nearby, drawing more than a few laughs from the men around them and a scowl from Theon.

One who wasn't laughing with the others though was his father, who was finishing cleaning off Ice and sheathed the ancestral sword before making his way over to Jon and the woman. His father wasn't the only one who wasn't laughing at the Theon's expense as Dacey was staring at the barely covered woman beside Jon with a suspicious look in her eye. "Are you alright, Jon?"

"Aye," Jon nodded, feeling more than a little proud of himself for having gotten through the skirmish without a scratch on himself.

"Good," his father nodded as his attention shifted to the woman who was clutching his cloak around her bare shoulders. "And you, lady? Are you injured?"

"Aye," the woman said simply, her eyes moving across everyone before they landed on Lord Nox, which caused a spike of fear to emanate from her. 'Why would she fear Lord Nox? We just saved her?'

"Show proper respect, woman," one of the Stark men at arms growled. "You are standing before Lord Stark, Warden of the North! And the Northern Sorcerer, Lord Nox!"

"The Sorcerer," the woman breathed. "And Benjen Stark's kin?"

Jon nearly jumped as Dacey was immediately in front of him with her spiked Valyrian mace pointed towards the woman. "I knew it," Dacey growled. "She recognized Lord Stark as 'Benjen Stark's kin. She's another fucking Wildling just like the rest of those here."

All the attention shifted to the woman, who'd taken a half step back away from Dacey and her mace. "I ain't no fuckin Ice River Clan shit!" the woman spat. "But I am a Free Woman, southerner."

"Southerner?" Small Jon growled, as he too stepped forward with his sword drawn. "We're in the North, you Wildling fuck. Not the south!"

Impressively, the woman did not back down despite the fact she had Dacey's mace in her face and had the Small Jon closing in on her. "We be south of the Wall. That makes you all southerners."

Snarling, the Umber heir kept his eyes on the Wildling woman, "Ice River Clan or not, she still a fucking Wildling south of the Wall. Let me deal with her, Lord Stark. I'll make it quick, more than the likes of her deserves."

"No, not yet," Jon's father ordered as he moved past Dacey and Small Jon to stand before the Wildling woman who, to her credit, did not back down from his father's gaze. "What is your name?"

The woman's head flickered, mimicking that of a cornered cat looking for a way to escape being caught. "Osha."

"Osha," his father repeated with a nod. "How did you get south of the Wall? Were there any others with you? And where are the Black Brothers that helped this group cross the gorge?"

Licking her lips, the newly named Osha seemed unable to look away from Jon's father. Frowning, Jon concentrated on the two standing nearly toe-to-toe, and felt a strange sensation coming from the Force that seemed to be passing between his father and Osha.

"Two crows helped me and two others of me clan cross gorge long before these ones crossed," Osha stated, her voice gaining a strange almost dream like sound to it. "They be nice enough for crows. Both wanted a tumble with me, but neither was strong enough to claim it. We be hidin and makin our way as far south as south goes, but we didn't get far. These Ice River fucks surprised us in the night. They turned the two crows with us in ta meals. Cooked em slow on a low fire while they still be alive. After they ate the crows with them as well, they ate my clansman as well. I…They was savin me for some celebration feast they said this morn. Then almost all left to fight. But only a few came back. And – what? Fuck! …What did ya do to me, Stark?!"

"Impressive, Lord Stark," Lord Nox stated as he stepped up beside Jon's father. "Usually, one has to train for years in order to do what you just did on a whim. Either you've been holding out on me or we need to reevaluate your Force sensitivity."

"Sorcerer," Osha whispered fearfully.

"Relax, woman," Nox said dismissively. "If I wanted you dead, you would be dead already." That didn't calm the woman down, though she no longer looked ready to run at the first opportunity.

"Who cares why she came south?" Umber growled once more. "She's a fucking Wildling! Let's just end her already."

Osha's hair whipped through the air as she looked between Jon's father, Lord Nox, and the Umber heir. "Give me my life, milord, and I'm yours," Osha cried, surprising just about everyone as she dropped to her knees before Jon's father.

His father's face remained impassive as he stared down at the Wildling woman prostrating herself before him. "Swear it upon the Old Gods," Lord Stark demanded, surprising everyone as Osha looked up at him, hope welling within her.

Osha didn't hesitate. "I swear upon the Old Gods, milord. I am yours if ye spare me life."

"And I accept your oath, Osha, formerly of the Wildings and now a subject to House Stark," Lord Stark spoke clearly and loudly for all to hear, making sure that everyone knew that this woman was now under House Stark's protection. "Find some clothes. And when we return to Winterfell, I shall find a use for you."

Osha nodded quickly before scampering off to scour the camp in order to find proper clothing. "You two," his father said, pointing towards two Stark guards standing behind him without even looking. "Return to where we tied our horses off and collect them. Everyone else, scour the camp for anything that might prove useful and load it up onto the wagons with the mules. We'll be taking what we can back with us to Winterfell and put it to use."

Though a few didn't look too terribly pleased with recent events, especially Small Jon, the words of Jon's father were absolute in the North. And with nary a word said, the men and Dacey began to search through the camp looking for anything that might be of use. The only ones who didn't were Jon, Robb, their father, and Lord Nox.

"Father," Robb said cautiously, his eyes seeking out the Wildling woman who'd managed to find some furs and was currently in the process of changing behind a wagon. "Why did you take that woman in? She's a Wildling. She'll betray us at the first opportunity."

"No, she won't," their father replied, surprising Robb and Jon. "There was no lie in her and she meant her oath. If she does betray the trust of House Stark, she will not only die, but she will be forever cursed by the gods as an oath breaker."

Robb seemed to mull that thought over in his head. "But why even take the risk, father? She's a Wildling. They're all savages."

"What have I told you about generalizing a group of people, Robb?" their father asked in a tone that both boys recognized easily. It was the tone of voice he took whenever he was lecturing the two on the art of ruling. "Are all Northerners the same? Our people range from those who reside in the Mountain Clans to the Skagosi and the people of White Harbor. Are they all the same? Are all southerners the same? The people in the Riverlands and the Vale are as different from those in Dorne and the Stormlands as night is from day. In the south, there are many that consider us in the North to be little more than barbarian heathens who're only a step above the Wildlings. Are they right? No. I have always told you boys that the sins of the parents are not carried by their children. And the same can be said for a group of people. The many are not beholden to the sins of a few."

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