A/N Here it is folks, the finale of the war of cities. I just found this really detailed map of Westeros and Essos which is awesome, and I can add in more geography in the right places, so hooray. It this chapter we get to the final showdown and how the war ends. We will also get to see Tywin and Jon and Varys and Jon scenes, so buckle up.

Chapter 11:

The War of Cities: Part 4

290 AC

Lorath

The city had fallen to them just days ago and now Jon stood in the Magister's Palace staring out to the west, where beyond the Shivering Sea, his home shores lay. Hearing footsteps he glanced over his shoulder to see his uncle Benjen limping towards him. He had taken an sword to the leg while storming the gatehouse and the Maester's had forbidden him from fighting until his wounds had healed.

"I was too focused on the war I never asked about your wife. I haven't seen Darla since you were wed at Winterfell two years past." Darla Stark, nee Umber was the cousin of the Greatjon and they had met and discovered feelings for each other as Benjen spent time at the Last Hearth while Snowguard; Benjen's keep was built.

Benjen smiled at the though of his wife, "She is well, we think... We think she may be with child..." he said with reserved hope.

"I wish you and Darla well," Jon said smiling, "And the babe, should it be true."

"Though, I fear I will not see my child, once Darla hears of my wounds no doubt she will be waiting with a large mace to kill me once I return for being so reckless," Benjen said smiling wistfully at the thought of his wife. "But what of you nephew, did you meet your betrothed at White Harbor," Benjen said with a teasing smirk.

Jon laughed for a movement, then punched his uncle in the shoulder, "Yes, though not for long, there was too much to prepare. We spoke in the Godswood of New Castle, as I waited to depart with the fleet." The Manderlys had converted to the Old Gods not long after Robert's Rebellion was won, turning their backs upon the Seven.

"And was impression has she made upon you dear nephew?" Benjen asked.

Casting back his memory Jon remembered her spirit and quiet wisdom, coupled with her sense of humor and her kindness. Benjen's smile only grew as he watched his nephew.

"It is a shame of this place, " Jon said, knowing the avoiding of his questions not lost on his uncle, "Lorath was once a place devoid of slavery. Under the priest of Boash, Lorath was a haven for freedmen and escaped slaves, but all things end with time. The priests dwindled and their numbers became corrupt and the and settlers rose against them. Those who survived fled to the great maze temple on Lorassyon," he said pointing across the water, "The isles descended into chaos and slavery at last grasped Lorath with its horrid grip. Even now you can see the scars it has left."

Benjen looked out and as he looked he could see that his nephew was right. The great plaza that was the place where families were torn apart and men a woman were bought and sold was visible even from where they stood together, in the place of the men who profited from the pain and suffering of others.

Suddenly the smile fell from Jon's face, and the mask of stone he wore with the lords returning. Benjen cast his gaze out to where his nephew looked out to sea. Sails had appeared on the horizon, as they grew closer he saw the gray sails and the Direwolf's woven into the sails, "Our fleet?" he said in confusion looking at his nephew, "But why? They were meant to make land at Braavos, and we were meant to meet them there?"

"No uncle, this was the plan, we took Lorath not just for supplies, but for another reason. Come we must meet the arriving lords," Jon said in his lordly voice.

The galleys entered the harbor under oars, throwing ropes to the dockhands; who quickly lashed the galleys to the docks. The Manderly flagship, the Merking docked as close to Jon and Benjen as possible and Lords Hornwood, Bolton, Flint, and other lesser lords stepped off to greet Jon. "Lord Jon, I have brought our army safely from White Harbor as I was bid." Ser Wylis said as the lords of the North came to a stop before him.

"Very good Ser Wylis. Welcome to Lorath my lords, you have traveled far, accommodations have been readied for you all." Jon said. The lords present nodded their thanks and moved to the horses that had been readied for them.

A council of war was called at midday, after the lords had time to bathe and rest. A map had been spread across the long table, and pieces of ships and armies belonging to both Braavos, the North and Pentos and Tyrosh. The ships of the alliance clustered around the bay of Pentos, while others lined the Braavosi Coastline. The pieces of their army were present all throughout the Braavosi Peninsula, with a large portion resting near the Lagoon.

The Braavosi army remained in the lagoon with the Company of the Rose, who had entered the lagoon as the army approached. "You are sure of the location of the cities forces are true?" Jon asked.

"Yes Lord Jon, our scouts reports were confirmed by the Braavosi." Lord Hornwood said.

"Very good," Jon said. Outside, the ever present rains of Lorath and the cold north winds from the Shivering Sea blew across the city. But the cold was nothing to them, "Were there any attack on our longships?" he asked turning to Ser Wylis.

The Manderly shook his head, "No major attacks Lord Jon, several galleys and longships attacked the fleet, but they never got close to the longships," he said with a deadly smirk. "How many men did you lose in the storming of Lorath?"

"We lost only two hundred against the six hundred that guarded the city. We caught them with their breeches down, and it cost them," Jon said sly smirk.

"Pah, the Magisters should be put to death, all of them, for dealing in slaves," The Greatjon spat in disgust.

"The will die Greatjon, but first they must be tried. And once they are executed their families will be banished and forbidden from returning."

Lord Bolton turned his ears back as Jon finished detailing what would happen to the rich and the magister's, "...We do not wish for revolts, so by eliminating those who are most likely to resist us with success in the future; the rich, we can ensure the continuation of order in Lorath. My uncle will command the garrison, while we land on the shores of Essos."

Roose was taken by surprise by the cunning of the plan, by executing or banishing the rich, the top of the social hierarchy was removed and those who were banished lost their base of power, and by the time it was rebuilt, Lorath would be firmly under the control of whomever the Braavosi chose to hold the city. "You say we shall land here Lord Jon? Why not at Braavos as was agreed with the Sealord?" he asked in his whisper silent voice.

Jon fixed his eyes on Lord Bolton, we could see that he had gained some of the man's respect, but Lord Bolton was a man who acted for his interests, "The enemy waits just beyond the lagoon waiting for our armies to land, then they will attack and drive us into the sea. They will have had outriders scour the coast for any points that a host as large as ours could land. With the cliffs along the peninsula they are few in number. They will be waiting. We have secured a position of strength, and from here we control the seas north of Braavos and Lorath Bay."

Lord Karstark stepped forwards from where he stood by Lord Hornwood, "But if they will be waiting, how will our host land and drive these cunts from the Braavosi lands?"

Jon smiled wolf-like, "We control Lorath Bay, but they do not know that Lorath was fallen. We shall sail into Lorath Bay, and make land where the Braavosi peninsula meets the Hills of Norvos. From there we will cross the Upper Rhoyne, and march into the Hills of Andalos, and Pentos will fall."

The Greatjon belched then roared with laughter, "We march through their lands unopposed, and catch Pentos with their breaches down just like we did Lorath," he roared.

"They will be forced to withdraw from Braavosi lands, allowing the Braavosi to take back their homes." Jon said, "I spoke with the Sealord about this. While we march, the Braavosi navy will clear the galleys from the Narrow Sea and be able to supply our forces by sea."

The other lords look at each other eager to spill slaver blood, "Lord Jon, they will outnumber us, if we meet them in open battle... We may be overwhelmed..." Lord Hornwood said.

"We do not need to meet them in open battle. We can defend the walls of Pentos with our host. The Lorathi and sellswords will dessert as they move south to face us. The sellswords will see no profit in fighting for a cause that has lost two of its strongholds." Jon said with cold intensity.

"What of the Golden Company?" Rickard asked.

Jon paused for a moment, thinking, "True, they have not once broken a contract, but, without the Lorathi and other sellswords they will face us with little over thirty thousand men. We can hold the walls of Pentos until the Braavosi sail to our aid after their lands are safe. They will be given terms, if they refuse, they will die to a man."

Pentos

The march across Andalos and the fording of the Upper Rhoyne had gone smoothly. The march had been silent and fast, the Stark host crossing Andalos and reaching the Flatland's around the city of Pentos within a week. Jon pulled back on the reigns, stopping his horse. The walls of Pentos were weak, that was as clear as the stars in the sky. The magister's had foolishly believed that the war would remain far from their city. The walls of Lorath had been more of a challenge than these.

"Make the preparations, send outriders to range north. We attack at dawn." Jon said to Rickard.

"We should raze the city once it falls. Too many years of slavery have passed behind those walls."

Jon shook his head, "It would serve no point. We need the walls to resist the enemy until Braavos marches to our aid. Besides most of the soldiers of Pentos have been levied from the Flatland's, Velvet Hills and Andalos. Only the commanders are from Pentos. Knowing that we hold their city will enrage them, and they will make mistakes."

Rickard nodded, seeing the logic in his lords words, "Of course Lord Jon."

"Send patrols to scour the land around the city. We don't want any of the Magister's escaping to start a vendetta." Jon said. Already they had sent parties to burn the magister's palaces in the Flatland's.

Lord Bolton rode up from where the men of the Dreadfort were making camp, "Lord Jon, one of the raiding parties have returned. They captured one of the Magister's staying outside the city, one Illyrio Mopatis."

Jon kept his surprise hidden behind his cold mask. He had heard of this Magister, a powerful and rich man, but a sensible and savvy man. But one with a reputation... "Very good Lord Bolton. Oversee the preparations Lord Karstark. Come Lord Bolton. Order your men to bring him to me in my tent. And summon the Greatjon as well," he ordered Lord Bolton.

Roose nodded and dispatched one of his retainers to fetch the man. A short while later Jon stood in his tent with Lord Bolton and the Greatjon. Two Bolton guards appeared dragging a fat man between them as a few other Bolton men followed. As they neared the tent the Magister began struggling and managed to pull one arm free before the leader slugged him in the stomach and threw him on the ground in front of Jon and Roose. "Well done Locke," Roose said.

Locke sneered at the wheezing man that lay on the hard earth floor of the tent "Eh, cunt needed some respect, I could..." he said in a cruel voice while gesturing he could kick him again.

"That wont be necessary Locke," Roose said in his cold tone, "Locke was the one who lead the party that captured him Lord Jon," he said looking at Illyrio.

Turning his gaze to the man, Jon saw the look of a man who liked to hurt, rape and burn in Locke's eyes. He had seen it in the eyes of Rodrik Greyjoy before he cut him down. He did not trust Lord Bolton, nor the men under his command. But in the North, you kept your friends close and enemies closer. After all, when winter came, the North had to be united, "You have my thanks." he said coldly.

Sensing that he was dismissed Locke left the tent with the Bolton guards. Two Stark guards entered and dragged Illyrio to his feet before returning to stand guard at the tent flaps.

Illyrio looked at his captors. He had been enjoying his time in his summer palace, far away from the foolishness of his fellow Magister's. He had thought he would be safe from both his enemies in Pentos and the vengeful Braavosi once they inevitably arrived. But he had not known Lorath had fallen and so the armies of the North had marched through the land unopposed. The two men opposite him, well one man, the other looked little older than a boy. But that boy carried himself in a way that commanded respect from all whom stood in his presence.

"I never thought you would be so bold as to march on Pentos, but clearly we all underestimated you. Now shall we treat?" Illyrio said to Lord Bolton.

"Lord Bolton is not in command here," Jon said stepping forwards, "I am, and you shall treat with me."

Illyrio stares for a moment before bellowing with laughter, "You expect me to treat with a boy? Have you seen battle before, boy?" he said condescendingly, "Who are you?"

The Greatjon growls with rage and punches Illyrio in the face, "You stand before Jon Stark, grandson of Rickard Stark. Defeater of the Ironborn and slayer of Rodrik Greyjoy. He has lead this host since we arrived and you will show him respect."

The Magister looked at Jon in shock. His spies had not told him who commanded the Stark host when they broke the blockade of Braavos, "I apologize, Lord Jon," he said, deciding to praise this Stark and use his vanity to ensure good treatment and gain something in exchange for what he knew. After all, the Westerosi nobles of the south he had met had been vain and prideful of their knighthoods and legacy, "I had not idea a warrior as distinguished as yourself was leading this army."

Jon simply looked on with a faced of cold stone, "You and your fellow Magister's have declared war on Braavos, our ally with no provocation. Your petty attempts to appeal to my vanity will gain you nothing. You and your fellows have sold free men into slavery which is a sin that we will not abide. Hereby I Jon Stark, sentence you to die. Take him away." Jon heard the Magister yell in protest and anger as his men dragged him away.

Lord Bolton frowned at his direct approach, "Lord Jon, wouldn't it have been wiser to question him? He might have had information."

Jon moved to the table set up in the middle of his tent and poured some ale, before offering some to the Greatjon and Roose; who nodded in thanks, "I do not plan to execute him. I played that mummery for his sake. Let him sit, with nothing but the thought of his coming death. That will loosen his tongue much faster than threats."

Roose nodded slightly, approving of this Stark's cunning, "What do you think he will know?"

"No doubt, many of the Magister's will have ways to escape the city. But where there is a way out, there is a way in. This shall save many lives. Lives we shall need."

Within an hour one of Jon's guards returned to inform him that Illyrio wished to trade information for his life. Again Jon watched as the Pentosi Cheesemongerer was brought before him. "Now, you shall speak with truth and I shall insure your head remains on your shoulders." he said.

The young Stark had outwitted him, this Illyrio knew. Idle courtesies would gain him nothing. The men of the North were simple folk that had no use for the normal falsities that was expected in the south. Illyrio sighed, "What do you wish to know?" he asked dejectedly.

"Your fellow Magister's have ways out of the cities. Where are they, and what is their proximity to the gate?" Jon asked, "If you speak false, I shall let Lord Bolton have free reign. No doubt you know what his family is famous for..."

Illyrio gulped, quickly glancing at the flayed man that adorned Lord Bolton's armor. He knew very well what the Bolton's did to their enemies...

"Are you sure you can trust the word of this Magister?" Lord Hornwood demanded.

"I trust his instincts of self preservation." Jon said, "He knows what will be done to him if he deceives us. Lord Dustin, are you willing to lead the party to open the gates?"

Lord Theo Dustin stood turning to Jon, "It would be my honor Lord Jon." Jon nodded in thanks, Lord Theo had proven himself a loyal and reliable man. He, with Lord Bolton had kept the

"Remember my lords, keep control of your men. Until the battle is over, they may not loot, and if they rape, they die. We must prove that we are better than those we fight against," Jon said looking at each of his lords. His gaze lingered on Lord Bolton for a moment longer, ensuring that Roose knew he would be watching. "Very good. Our Magister friend has told men that two thousand men guard the city, with a thousand of their number being the Unsullied slave soldiers of Astapor."

Curses rank out through the tent. They knew the story of the three thousand Unsullied that stood against twenty thousand Dothraki at the battle of Qohor, and how they were trained. All of Jon's lords found it disgusting and horrid, an affront to the Old Gods.

"The rest are the city watch and sellswords. Once the gate is opened the city will fall. I want the Magister's alive and the forty families of Pentos. The Magister's will die by my hand. They will be a message to all that slavers that their ways will not be tolerated. Ensure your men know that while slavery was outlawed in Pentos by the Braavosi, it exists in all but name. We are hear to free the slaves and give them a better life. Not one slave is to be harmed." Jon ordered.

All the lords firmly agree, "Very well then, we attack as soon as Lord Dustin opens the city gates."

Jon stood on the plains, waiting. Clad in leather armor he watched the walls. The fur that normally adorned his shoulders gone as heat lay heavy around Pentos. Lord Dustin had left before dawn with his best men to open the gates from the inside. As a distraction the Hornwood archers had been positioned behind large wood shields that were lifted to allow them to fire, before being lowered to protect them. Slowly, man by man, they bled the defenders.

Drawing back his bow, Jon looses with the latest volley, the Weirwood bow; a gift from Daryn easily punching through the leather armor of the Unsullied that stood silently on the walls. He watched the body of the slave fall with a pang of regret as they had no choice in who they fought for. The Greatjon rode up to Jon, "Not sure how much longer we can wait, they might think somethings afoot. Theo better get that damn gate open soon."

Jon ground his teeth together as he looked at the wall. The archers had killed perhaps a hundred but many still held the walls, "Order the advance, move our army forwards slowly. Make sure they remain in the shield wall. They will move men to the walls and focus their sight away from the gate. I will command the cavalry as soon as the gates are open."

"Don't kill all the cunts until we get over the wall my lord," the Greatjon bellowed before shouting orders to form up and advance.

All across the lines of Northmen, men locked their shields and began shuffling forwards, boots stamped across the hard baked earth of Essos. Arrows rattled the locked shields, glancing of shields and helms and on occasion finding their way through to strike the flesh beneath. Ladders were raised and men climbed as arrows and stones fell around them, some striking home and knocking men from the ladders.

But above the din of battle, the clash of swords and the screams of men a horn sounded, and horn of the North. Slowly the gate opened and Jon raised his sword, "For the North! For Winterfell!" he shouted wheeling his horse and spurring it towards the gate. A great cheer rang out and the thundering of hooves send great clouds of dust into the air.

Too late did the Pentosi realize they had fallen into Jon's trap. Some tried to retake the gates, but before they could the Northern horse charged through the gates, smashing the line of defense. Nothing lay between them and the city. Infantry poured through the gate in a great torrent as the cavalry charged along the base of the wall.

Men charged up the walls and attacked the Unsullied from the rear, finally silencing the slaves that for so long had hampered the men climbing the ladders. Soon the walls fell before the Northmen and men marched into the city, clearing alleys and streets before marching on the palaces of Magister's and the forty families of Pentos.

Jon watched as one by one the palaces fell and his army smashed through the last thin lines of defense around the Magister Hill; the large hill where all the palaces of the Magister stood. The Greatjon rode up, shoulders heavy from the exhaustion of battle, "The last palace has fallen. Pentos is ours!" he said triumphantly.

The block was soaked red, red with the blood of those who had been made kneel before it. The heads of the Magister's and the heads of the patriarchs of the forty families lined the North walls of Pentos. Where the army that marched upon them could clearly see. Jon had taken their heads personally, despite his lords protests.

He was glad that it was done. The men were all slavers and they all had joined in the effort to destroy Braavos. Jon turned as a rider came, "Lord Jon, former Magister Illyrio requests an audience." Nodding, Jon mounted his horse and rode towards the large palace that looked over the bay. Ships bearing supplies from Braavos and Lorath.

Jon rode his horse up into the courtyard of the palace and quickly dismounted with his small entourage and strode through the open doors. "Wait here, I will speak to the Magister alone." Illyrio's servants brought him to a large terrace that overlooked the sapphire waters of the Bay of Pentos. Trees and ivy grew all along the terrace.

It was a truly beautiful place, but the warm winds were not for him. He belonged in the North. "A lovely view, isn't it?" a voice from behind him asked in a light voice.

Preventing himself from starting Jon turned slightly to see a bald man wearing silk robes that trailed along the ground. His feet made no sound as he moved to stand beside Jon. "I am Lord..." he began.

"Varys. I know. My grandfather told me of you. Your are the Master of Whispers to King Robert."

"Indeed," he said smiling, "I have heard tell of your accomplishments on the battlefields of both land and sea. And now Pentos has fallen before your men. Northerners are no doubt fearsome warriors."

"Does this idle flattery have a point? My time is valuable, after all. I must prepare the city to withstand a siege." Jon said turning to face Varys, "How do you know Illyrio?"

"Ahh, the history we have shared is a long one. With my help, he built himself up to become a Magister and marry a princess of Pentos. But, seven years ago, myself and a group of like minded men and woman came together to plan the restoration of the Targaryen's. Once we had seen what kind of king Robert Baratheon would be..."

"You speak treason..." Jon said, the fact that the eunuch that stood beside him supported the Targaryen's, "How do you know I will not inform King Robert? I do hate the Targaryen's for the murder of my uncle..."

Varys chuckles for a moment, "If you want to play, you'll need to do better than that," he said, easily seeing through Jon's bluff, "Your family doesn't care about the south, not since your uncle died so horribly. Besides, Robert Baratheon is king of the North in all but name thanks to your grandfather."

"True," Jon admitted, "But why tell me this, why would I support a Targaryen?"

"Because you care for your people. The people you protected when you destroyed the Ironborn. The people that suffer under despots and prosper under just rule," Varys said passionately. "King Robert is not the king the Seven kingdoms need."

Jon let out a bark of laughter, "And you think the Targaryen's are? Aerys was the Made King for a reason."

"Aye, I was there at the end. When his madness drove him to burn your uncle alive." Varys saw Jon flinch slightly at the memory of the loss, "Let another be crowned," he said imploringly, "Let the people prosper under the Targaryen's again."

"I don't care who's ass sits on the Iron Throne, or the people of the south. The North is my responsibility and my home. I will protect it from any who seek to bring harm to my home. That includes the Targaryen's, after how we suffered under them, we will never bow to a Targaryen again. Remember those words eunuch," Jon spat angrily before striding off the terrace.

Varys watched him go, well, the North would not aid the Targaryen's, but perhaps they would not stand against them. As quietly as he had come, he slipped out of Pentos to where his ship waited. As the ship rose and fell on the waves he pondered planting the seeds of doubt in the minds of the Northmen so that they would rise up against the Stark's, but it was ignored. In the south, among the suspicious and prideful lords of the south it was done with ease. But the winters of the North gave the northmen a great strength. They all looked too and trusted the Stark's to guide them. Without them, the North would be lost. 'As they say; there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.'

Jon sat astride his horse, looking out at the great host that waited a short distance away. His ten thousand foot and fifteen hundred archers stood behind a great trench. Cavalry anchored the flanks with a reserve behind the foot and archers. He had wished to remain behind the walls of Pentos until the Braavosi arrived but several northmen had been murdered and he feared citizens would throw open the gates to the returning army, and so made the choice to meet them on open ground before the walls of Pentos.

As he had predicted, the sellswords and Lorathi had deserted. But the Dothraki had grown. Six thousand screamers stood against his five thousand heavy horse. "All is ready?" he asked Rickard.

"Yes, let us hope we last." he replied.

"Aye," Jon said as the Dothraki charged the flanks, Jon watched the infantry which simply remained stationary. A relieved smile crossed his face. They had not wanted to charge the infantry over the trench and had given up their advantage in numbers. No doubt counting on the fearsome Dothraki to win the day for them. Jon watched as his heavy horse was pushed back by the relentless force of the Dothraki.

The heavy horse on each flank, commanded by Theo Dustin and the Greatjon were driven back. Cries rang out from the Pentosi infantry and the enemies flanks charged around the trench to join the whirling melee, forcing the Northmen back, past the trench and front lines of the northern army. That was what Jon had waited for... With Martyn and Jory Cassel at his side Jon lead half the reserve and crashed into the rear of the melee, cutting down all that opposed him.

All around men fought alone, trying to cut their way out, but alone they fell one by one. Quickly Jon looked to the other flank and saw that the horse commanded by Roose Bolton had crushed the attack on the right flank and was wheeling to attack the now exposed enemy flanks. "Charge! For the North. For Winterfell," Jon yelled out, leading the horse under his command to charge into the other flank of the demoralized infantry and Golden Company. The center, commanded by Rickard Karstark charged over the trench and attacked the army head on.

Order collapsed, the leaders were dead or had fled and the cohesion, of the army broke. Men fled in all directions and were ridden down by vengeful Northmen.

Past the battle, horns sounded and the Braavosi army charged over the hills and into the rear of the already breaking army. Slowly men threw down their weapons and surrendered to the victorious armies. The day was theirs, and the war was over.

After the Battle Jon had been told of the arrival of three ships in the harbor. One of the captains wished to speak to him on a matter of importance. And so Jon walked easily across the harbor and stepped onto the large galley. A large escort waited on the docks nearby. Jon of course did not know who it was and took precautions.

Following one of the sailors Jon entered the main cabin. Red painted walls and golden lions greeted him as he entered. A man stood in front of him, clad in red leather with golden lions across the front. Tywin Lannister stood before him. Jon knew that without a shred of doubt. The man was aged but still held a powerful figure that commanded respect.

Jon held Tywin's gaze a a silence stretched on between them. "You know who I am." he said. Jon simply looked on, knowing it was not a question, "Your message to the Ironborn was impressive, they have been a nuisance for far too long."

"They attacked my people, and I responded. They will not return for a time," Jon replied evenly, sensing a trace of mutual respect. "Why have you come to see me? My grandfather is Lord of Winterfell."

"Your grandfather, has refused many suggestions of marriages and fostering for you and your siblings. I would see Stark and Lannister blood rule together. Together we command two of the strongest kingdoms, a match between my grandson and your sister would be arranged if you cease your grandfathers ways. The south has much to offer the North. Your sister could be queen... And together we could create a dynasty greater than the Targaryen's that would last for a thousand years." Tywin offered.

"My grandfather has the right of it. The south have brought the North naught but ruin and death. My sister's nor brother shall ever marry in the south." Jon replied, as he moved to leave.

Tywin's mood darkened, "You will not refuse a Lannister."

Jon smiled as he stopped at the door, "I already have, my father has, and my grandfather has. Your name means nothing in the North, and it never shall."

Roose Bolton walked towards his chambers, soon they would return to the North victorious. Victorious thanks to Jon Stark. He had watched this young Stark since White Harbor. when he had arrived and taken command. Of course he had heard of the Stark boys victory over the Ironborn, but thought that it was luck and the inferior skill at arms coupled with the arrogance of Rodrik Greyjoy, the so called prince of the Iron Islands, that had given Jon Stark the victory.

But he had watched, as his ancestors had watched for weakness. Yet, he saw none, the wolf pup had been blessed with a mind for war, humbleness, and a ruthless streak as great as Tywin Lannister. He was his ancestors come again. The Kings of Winter had united the North by blood and sword. Their strength and resolve were unparalleled.

Roose saw in Jon Stark the ruthlessness that the Kings of Winter once held, a strength that had nearly been extinguished by the dragons. His father had thought that Rickard Stark had lost the legendary strength of the Stark's through his constant dealings with the South. Until his son was burnt alive. Rickard's fury had been quiet, but that near gone strength had returned to the Stark's. And that strength had been been the driving force behind the rebellion that brought down the greatest dynasty Westeros had ever seen.

That strength was more apparent in his grandson. His skill at arms, cunning mind, capacity for ruthless and merciless action, made him a great threat to any that opposed him. His father had often told him that one day, the Bolton's would take their rightful place as sole rulers of the North. He had hoped he would be the one to bring down the Stark's, but perhaps it was fated not to be... Not without aid...

Roose opened the door to his chambers and froze. The Old Lion stood before him, "Lord Bolton, we have much to discuss..."

To be continued...

Right,sorry that took so long but I've been busy. Hope you liked the chapter and I will try to post chapters move frequently now that this arc is done. Who liked Tywin and Varys? I really want to do their character's justice so PLEASE, let me know if they can be improved.

See you next time, review and PM with suggestions or if you have questions.