"Dire news from the North, your Grace," the Master of Whispers announced, although he wasn't addressing the King as much as his grandfather. "It seems as if the Young Wolf did name his baseborn brother as heir before his demise, and that Ned Stark's bastard took up his brother's crown to avenge what the realm started to call the Red Wedding. He is gathering a force from their mountain clans and his northernmost Lords."

"The boy took the black, did he not?" Tywin Lannister asked in an almost bored tone, not even looking up from the letter he was reading.

"Yes, he did. We received word from Castle Black that one Jon Snow was considered an oathbreaker, together with thirteen other men," Varys explained. "At that time it was of no importance, but - "

"Then he sealed his own fate. No Lord would follow a man whose word is meaningless. Send a few ravens north and hopefully, their foolish Lords will find their wits again if offered a reward. And a reminder that we hold their lords and heirs as hostages."

"You would pay them? Why should they get even a single copper from me?" the King snarled and Tywin sighed, slowly putting his letter down.

"A knife in the dark is cheaper than an invasion. And with any luck, the Northmen will begin to kill each other afterwards, wasting their strength even more."

Ygritte looked at the group surrounding her, and then back at their prey. A pair of outriders, struggling to find a path through the snowdrifts. The camp of the Bolton host lit up the entire valley in a dull glow, its countless campfires making it easier to stalk their unfortunate scouts.

It was strange that these men were following her, not even due to her parents as kneelers did, but because of whom she had wed. Marriage was already a weird idea, but not that different from how things were done north of the Wall once the ceremony was over. But her scouts were following her because they knelt to the man who had stolen her.

They waited patiently until they could see the boredom in the rider's eyes. Ygritte knocked an arrow and her men readied their own weapons. Her arrow sang and without a word, her companions unleashed death. Before the two poor sods realised what was happening, they were pelted with arrows and javelins. Two Wulls ran forwards and took hold of the horses. Another clansman grabbed his shovel and began to dig a shallow hole in the snow. It wasn't a proper burial, but it only had to make do for a few days. Lighting a pyre was out of the question, even if every bone in her body screamed that this was wrong, that the dead must be burned.

"You, you and you, return to the King and tell him about this camp," Ygritte barked, singling out the worst of her scouts. They were too loud and clumsy to be of any use, but compared to her, most were a rampaging herd of aurochs.

"Winterfell is not far from here," a Wull suggested, patting his new horse while the trio shuffled away, relief written on their faces. "We ought to take a look while we have the opportunity."

"You do that. I will cause a distraction here," the old Flint announced and grabbed one of the unlit torches he carried on his belt. He had seen many winters, his beard grey and skin crinkled.

"The camp is guarded too well, even if they haven't bothered with stakes," a man carrying the six thistles of Clan Norreys threw in.

"I will not see the next spring, so I might as well make the best out of it. And if I can burn a score of tents or two, that will be a mighty fine song."

"Aye, we shall sing in in Winterfell," a Liddle said and passed a sealed horn to the old chief. He drank half of the mead before giving it back, his eyes roaming over the camp to pick the best spot.

Just like the free folk had banded together under Mance, these men put their feuds aside and marched for House Stark. To avenge Jon's brothers, to repay the traitors. Ygritte had been surprised how deep their loyalty ran, how a land unfathomably large could be united by the fire of vengeance. It had taken the Others to do the same to the free folk. But the Starks had been their overlords for longer than she could comprehend, and they must have done something right that people were willing to die for them by the thousands.

It was a great legacy. One that she had to live up to now. All because her crow had been unable to kill her and later refused to set her aside, no matter how much the kneeler Lords begged him to.

And she had learned that mountain clans were not that different from the free folk after all. Jon had to convince the major chieftains in contests of arms or other skills, but all had been ready to march as soon as the contests were over. And no matter how much they hated Wildlings, she had always been welcomed just because Jon had stolen her.

The Flint had been especially strange, just using the custom as an excuse to feast Jon. His father's mother's mother had been an Arya Flint, and that meant that the difficult "challenge" to convince the Flints had been a drinking contest. The chieftain had retold tales of his clan's achievements and of great Starks, Jon greedily lapping up every word. Thinking back to that meeting, she began to march through the fresh snow, her men just one step behind her. She was a hunter and not a shieldmaiden, but she could still do her part.

Three hours later, the eastern sky lit up blue, with just a hint of orange, when they reached the edge of the forest. Before them, small farms and villages covered the lands, buried under the last summer snows. It was a frosty morning, yet one structure stood defiantly in the face of the cold. With two rings of walls and what had to be thousands of houses surrounding it, Winterfell dominated the landscape. But only after half an hour where they rushed through the twilight, snow crunching under their boots, Ygritte began to realise how huge the castle truly was. Last Hearth had been a mighty stronghold, but it was all but a tent compared to Winterfell. Even with the burns clearly visible, the fortress was simply majestic. Compared to the few Free Folk villages she had seen - she hadn't believed that men could build such a marvel.

"There are no men at the walls and just a pair at each gatehouse. The castle is ripe for taking," the son of the Liddle reported, looking for further weaknesses.

Ygritte eyed the walls of the famed castle. They looked formidable, but they were just rough stone, not smooth ice. And less than a hundred feet high. They were just supposed to scout ahead, but it would be possible -

"What are we waiting for then?"

The next time the Master of Whispers mentioned the North, more than a moon later, Tywin was very surprised by the content of the report, although no one could have told by looking at him. If not for the imminent Royal wedding and the need to reign the King in, he could have afforded to pay more attention to the wayward Kingdom.

"More troublesome news from the North. Jon Snow had raised a host of ten thousand and retaken Winterfell."

"How is this possible? Three weeks ago you said that he is gathering a host and now he has marched them 500 miles and won a siege?" Cersei Lannister demanded to know, her eyes dangerously narrowed. The Master of Whispers tried to explain himself, but was cut off by the third Lannister in the room.

"The North must have been raising new levies when Robb Stark was slain - With the losses we inflicted upon the Starks and the Ironborn at their shores, it would have been prudent to raise a second force, just as Steffron had attempted at Oxcross. And because the North is vast, information is hard to come by and often outdated or unreliable. By the time Varys received news about the army assembling, they might have been at the gates of Winterfell already," her brother pointed out. "What else do your little birds tell you?"

"The tale is a strange one, and I have heard at least five variations of it, yet they all agree on this. The boy was tasked to spy on the wildlings and took one of them as his mistress. They exchanged vows in front of a heart tree north of the wall and he chose to uphold those vows. The bastard King and, most curiously, his Wildling Queen. The Northern smallfolk believe it to be a legend of old returned to life."

"Pure superstition. And the North has been fighting wildlings since the dawn of time."

"Obviously my Lord Hand, but didn't the spectre of Renly Baratheon break Stannis' host beneath the walls?" Varys threw in before Tywin could say more about the chosen bride. "People believe what suits them, no matter how far-fetched. The boy has the might of his North behind him, simply because he is the last one who can claim a link to the Starks, even if he was born on the wrong side of the bed or has taken a wildling girl as his wife. And according to rumours, Robb Stark had his brother legitimised before he died."

"He can't legitimise anyone, that is my privilege," the King pointed out.

"It seems enough for the Lords of the North."

"They would rather follow the oath-breaking baseborn son of Ned Stark, who wed their mortal enemy, than Lord Bolton?" the Queen Regent asked sceptically. "Has the snow finally frozen their wits? They are defeated, and after my son marries the Tyrell girl, we will outnumber them six to one. They should be on their knees begging for forgiveness!"

"His bannermen rose as one to free the late Lord Eddard, despite his treason, and it seems as if this loyalty lasts beyond the grave. Snow's host is now marching on Barrowtown, from where a raven was sent. They beseech the Crown for aid."

"Lord Bolton is the Warden of the North, he will deal with any Stark loyalists."

"Yes, my Queen mother. However, there are more peculiar rumours floating around for everyone who is willing to hear them."

"And what are those?" Lord Lannister asked dangerously.

"That the Dreadfort was taken, sacked and put to the torch. The smallfolk believe it to be a sign of divine favour, much like during a trial by combat."

"Lord Bolton will be less than pleased with this."

"Lord Bolton has joined the Young Wolf in losing the North. He is stuck at the gates of Moat Cailin. The crannogmen and, somehow, a few Mormont levies have taken the fortress from the Ironborn. They now hold it for the Stark pretender and have poisoned the wells along the King's Road. The army loyal to the Crown wastes away by the hundreds each day."

"Surly Lord Bolton has a plan for dealing with the ruin and a bunch of men smaller than most children," the King said in another attempt to get into the discussion which, so far, had completely flown past him.

"Oh, he did. He intended for his baseborn son to lead an army south to strike the weak northern fortifications of the Moat, reinforced by Houses Dustin and Ryswell. But if the Dreadfort was lost and the Stark Bastard is marching on Barrowtown, Bolton cannot unite his armies - "

"They will be defeated one by one. And if this army is scattered, they cannot take Moat Cailin from the north, which leaves Bolton on his own in the Neck."

"What about the Riverlands?"

"Houses Mallister and Blackwood are still in rebellion, but it is unlikely that Snow will care about them, much less be able to help them."

"Why wouldn't he? They are half his Kingdom?"

"Unlike his half-brother, Jon Snow has no claim to the Riverlands. And without Tully blood, they have no reason to follow him. They would probably be amenable to terms from you, your Grace, but they are dead-set against the Freys. Yet the Freys are also the reason that no Northern army will be able to enter the Riverlands."

"Lord Walder Frey is the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands," the Queen Regent pointed out with finality, mirroring what her son was thinking. "Either they submit to the representative of the Crown, or they will be branded as traitors!"

"Yet he lacks the strength to move against them. Lord Frey wrote that Mallister had no forces at the Twins and one son might not be enough leverage against them. Blackwood managed to break out and marched half of his men away in good order. I had Raventree Hall sacked, but it can be repaired in time to require a siege or a costly storm. With Stark and most of his host slain, the deadlock is broken, but it will take time to put the last remnants of their rebellion down. And Riverrun requires a proper army to invest since the Blackfish thinks his nephew dead, himself Lord and will, therefore, fight to the bitter end," Tywin Lannister summarized before his daughter could spread more of her wisdom. "And we cannot take Seagard until we have dealt with the Ironborn and Dragonstone. Seagard must be cut off by sea. The Lannister fleet could deal with Mallister's, but Lannisport's safety is paramount. I will not have a repeat of the last Greyjoy rebellion."

AN:

This continuation went through a few iterations before I settled on this, hence the long wait. Rather than just an "aftermath" chapter as originally planned, there will be 2 more (for a total of 4 chapters).

I had to add a month or two between the Red Wedding and rest of the canon plot, but it won't matter in the grand scheme of things.