Game of Thrones: Winter's Fire

Steffon Cassel

Autumn had come to the north, and with it had come war and rebellion and treason. Horras Bolton, a man who had a fearsome reputation in the north had rebelled against King Daeron Stark, and with him, several minor houses in the north had rebelled against the authority of Winterfell. King Daeron had called the banners of those houses still loyal to Winterfell, and had sent some 2000 men with his uncles Artos and Beron to Skagos to deal with the rebellion there, he had then marched with some 5,000 men to the Dreadfort to fight and end Horras Bolton and his line, and the rest of the men had been given to Steffon to lead. A great honour for the young man, who at two and twenty was already the head of House Cassel, a house that had served House Stark loyally for thousands of years since its founding long before the dragons had come to Westeros.

Steffon had quickly learnt that it was greed that had encouraged most of the minor houses to rebel alongside the Boltons, no sense of injustice or frustration with Winterfell, just plain greed. The houses that rebelled were minor houses, and from what Steffon had been able to garner from Rodrik Condon when Steffon had questioned him, these minor houses and their lords had been promised a great many riches by both Horras Bolton and the Targaryens should the rebellion end successfully for them. Condon was dead now though, his head mounted on a spike in Castle Cerwyn, his army broken and defeated. His line put to extinction, no children left, they had all been grown sons, his wife had joined the Silent Sisters, and his brother had been slain.

This rebellion was Steffon's first true taste of war, he had been too young to march south when King Daeron had called the banners, his father and brother had gone south though, and they had not returned. Their bodies were buried in cairns somewhere in the south. Steffon's mother had died from a broken heart a few years after the Blackfyre rebellion, se had not been the same since the raven had come announcing in Daeron Stark's hand that Steffon's father and brother had died fighting for a cause they had believed in, and that their deaths would be avenged one day.

For Steffon that time had come, the rebels were fighting for the Targaryens, they had broken their sworn oaths to their king, and Steffon would have his revenge, he would have his justice. At Castle Cerwyn the battle had been bloody and fierce, many men had died that day, even more had made a name for themselves. Steffon knew that he himself had fought like a man possessed, hacking and slashing, and cutting his way through the throngs of soldiers that had stood in his path, till he had come face to face with Rodrik Condon. The two of them had fought a fierce duel, slashing and parrying each other like men fighting for their lives- they were- until Steffon had disarmed Condon, and then had had him questioned before executing him. The man's sons and brother had all been dead by that point, his line had ended with him, Castle Cerwyn was free again, and Condon's keep would be given to a more loyal and deserving house at the end of this rebellion.

Steffon had received word from Winterfell that he was to go to Deepwood Motte and lift the siege there. Ryswell and Tallhart men had the castle under siege, a fierce battle had been fought at Stony Shore before the siege had taken place, and it had cost the lives of the whole of the Stout army and Lord Glover. The Mormonts were unable to get across to help the Glovers due to harsh weather conditions at sea and with the Ironborn away in Qarth, it had fallen to Steffon to lead a full on assault. They had come across an army led by Torrhen Slate that intercepted their march toward Deepwood Motte, and a battle had occurred. There had been much hacking, slashing, cutting and jabbing and at the end of the battle, Slate was dead and his men were either dead or had bent the knee.

After that all they had to contend with before they marched toward Deepwood Motte was the weather, which it seemed to Steffon was doing its hardest to try and ensure that they did not make it to Deepwood Motte. The skies opened up more than once, and gave way to torrential downpours and sleet and even at one point light snow began to fall. Some of his men took it as a sign from the Old Gods that perhaps Deepwood Motte would fall before they could get there in time, Steffon however, did not. King Daeron was the one true king of the North, the king the north needed now, the Old Gods would not deny their vassal his kingdom. And so they pushed on.

Finally after two weeks of solid marching they had reached Deepwood Motte, and they had found the castle surrounded by tents, each with the sigil of the rebel and traitorous houses on them. Word had reached Steffon as he had marched through the rain that the Dreadfort had surrendered after a long siege, three years it had been since the rebellion had begun, skirmishes a plenty Steffon had fought in since then, and now they were so close to ending this damned rebellion but it appeared Matthew Forrester was not.

It came down to battle. Steffon and his men, tired and exhausted from three years of fighting, formed up in their positions, hardened by the experiences of war, and against a foe that after the initial fighting of Stony Shore had simply sat on their laurels for three years whilst the people in Deepwood Motte starved. That was an injustice that Steffon would make them pay for. And so the battle began. Steffon drew his sword and yelled the commands for his men to begin the fighting. Swords were drawn and the charge began a clash of steel on steel. Hacking, slashing, cutting, jabbing, doing all they could to stay alive, Steffon fought and cut his way through the men.

His sword was bloodied, and still he fought, ducking, dodging, surviving, living, breathing, he fought and fought and fought. He littered the ground with bodies, painted his sword red with blood, the blood of northmen. His anger only increased the more men he killed, the dragons had brought this to the north, and they had turned good honest men into traitors, for their pride had been stung during the Blackfyre war. Still he fought on; he fought for his home, for his family, for his king. He hacked and slashed and cut down men twice as old as him, but also men who were mere boys, green as grass.

Eventually the fighting stopped, those traitors threw down their swords, and the siege of Deepwood Motte was lifted. A cheer went up around the Wolfswood as the men heard that they had been victorious. Steffon rode up to the gates of the castle to be presented with a gaunt and almost skeleton looking Ethan Glover, the man who had held Deepwood Motte through the siege for three years. Steffon dismounted from his horse and greeted Ethan, like a long lost friend. "Lord Glover, it is good to see you, alive and well."

"You as well Master Cassel, I am no lord though, and I only did what I was instructed to do by our King." Glover replied, sounding older than his four and twenty years.

Steffon looked around the courtyard and not finding his sister or his nephews in the courtyard he began to feel nerves creep up into his system. "Where are Sybelle and Donnel and Rickon?"

Glover's eyes showed countless amounts of pain then when he looked at Steffon and Steffon felt his heart clench, and break. "We have not had food for the past year now, we have been living off the rats and dogs and cats. Sybelle and the children could not handle the break; Donnel died two moons past, Rickon three weeks ago, Sybelle last night. I am sorry Steffon."

Steffon felt his heart break, his sister and nephews were dead, he truly was alone now. He could not say anything for a few moments. But remained standing in the courtyard as his men brought forth Matthew Forrester the man responsible for the siege in the first place. Steffon glowered at the man as he was brought forth bounded and chained. "You rebelled against your king Forrester; you broke your oath of fealty, and for what? Many men, women and children have died because of your actions. For this you shall be sentenced to death, his grace King Daeron Stark shall execute you himself."

Forrester said nothing, and was taken away from the courtyard to the cells beneath the castle. Steffon still felt numb, even as he walked with his sister's goodbrother back into the castle, he did not listen to much of what his friend said, nor did they truly speak much. Steffon just felt numb, he had fought so hard to get to Deepwood Motte to free his sister and her sons, her husband had been killed at Stony Shore, and yet he had been too late, just as he had been too late to save mother from that bastard Domeric.

Eventually they entered the master's solar in the castle and both men sat down, tired and gaunt and hungry. As they waited for food to come, Ethan spoke once more. "What news of the rest of the war? Has his grace killed those damnable Boltons?"

Steffon swallowed once, and then said. "His Grace broke the Dreadfort, Horras and Jonothor Bolton is both dead. The bastard Domeric fled though, men report seeing him in White Harbour whilst Manderly was occupied in Skagos. Search parties have not found him nor his treacherous friends. Skagos has bent the knee; Gorne Magnar was slain, though Artos Stark is dead. Beron Stark has taken the new Magnar has a hostage back to the Wolf's Den."

Glover was about reply, when the maester of Deepwood Motte came bustling through. "I am very sorry to disturb you Master Ethan, but a raven has just come from Winterfell."

Steffon read the letter alongside Ethan and felt his heart drop once more, they were being ordered to Moat Cailin to help lift the siege there. The war would not end, damn those Targaryens and their cursed pride.

Edwyle

"The Targaryens think they can just march north and starve us out, even though we are a free people now? No, I shall not let this happen. Father has taken Skagos, though Brandon is dead, cousin Daeron has taken the Dreadfort, we have ended this rebellion, we must end this now. Waters won't know what has hit him!" Benjen had said fiercely.

"You can't be serious Benjen," Melissa had said her voice laced with anger and incredulity. "We have very little food and the garrison is beginning to lose hope, with father injured and Brandon dead, should you go out there and challenge Waters to a fight, and lose we shall be lost, and they will surrender this castle to the Targaryens and all of our heads shall be on spikes. No let them starve themselves out there, Waters is getting bored of waiting for us to surrender, he will do something rash and then we can strike."

Benjen had pulled a face then, and had replied in a cold voice. "I will not sit here and let that bastard feast himself to an early grave, whilst our people starve. The Targaryens want us to bend the knee, but we shall not, we shall never bend the knee to those incestuous bastards. They killed cousin Daemon, for nothing more than he had the true claim, they want Daeron dead because, he had the guts to stand up to them, and they tried to kill Barbery and Aemon because they love each other. No so long as I live, Moat Cailin will never belong to the Targaryens. We are Starks and if I die, I want it to be with a sword in hand."

That had been the end of that discussion, Benjen had stormed out of the room, then his face set in a hard stone like expression. Melissa had looked hopeless and as if she was about to cry. The next day Benjen had marched outside of the gates of Moat Cailin with the banner of both the royal winter banner and the banner of Moat Cailin, and had spoken with the man who was laying siege to their home, for the pretenders to the Iron Throne. Waters had expected the parley to be about the surrender that those southerners expected to happen, but instead Benjen had challenged the man to a duel.

Edwyle had stood next to Melissa and their ring of guardsmen- who had had strict instructions that should anything go wrong in the duel, that they were to be helped back inside the castle and then taken north to Winterfell- they had held each other's hands, tension and nerves making both of them silent. Benjen had emerged then, dressed in silver plate and mail, the direwolf of House Stark of Moat Cailin embedded on his armour, his greatsword in his hand. Waters had emerged as well, dressed in black armour, the three headed dragon of his mother's house and the seahorse of his father's house combatant on his armour. Both men had advanced forward, and drawn their swords and the battle had begun.

Benjen had swung first, missing Waters helmet by a whisker. Waters had brought his sword up but Benjen had managed to block the sword with his own. Both men had swung and blocked blows for what seemed like an age, before the first true blow was struck, Waters brought his sword up high and hit Benjen in the chin, drawing blood. Then the fight had passed in a blur of hacking, slashing, cutting, and jabbing, and before Edwyle knew what was happening, his brother and Waters were lying face down in the snow covered ground, their swords buried in the other, blood covering the ground spilling out from both men. Chaos had soon followed as Edwyle and his sister were escorted back into the castle and the gates were shut and the siege resumed. All the while Edwyle struggled to understand what had happened, his brothers were dead, he was the lord now, but he was not ready…

Edwyle snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of a horn being blown. He looked around to see where he was and remembering that he was in the courtyard, he finished putting on his armour and looked around for his sister and for his friend Jon Royce. Finding them he gestured for them both to come over, and once they were standing by his side he spoke. "Banners have been sighted north of here, Osrick reports that they fly the grey dragon and grey direwolf of Daeron, if so Theon has come to help us. Ser Odrick Arryn will not relent in the siege though. It has been six moons since Benjen died, we must end this siege now, Arryn must die, and then I will deal with the Flints."

Royce said nothing, though Melissa did. "You do not have to lead the charge brother, send someone else to." She was pleading with him, Edwyle felt his heart contract painfully at her words, after all they had been through over the past three years, he never wanted Melissa to feel pain at all, and he would kill the man who caused her pain. Still he had a job to do.

"I must Mel, its my duty as a Stark, father and Brandon led men in Skagos, Benjen led the defence here. I am a Stark and I will die before I let a Targaryen ever set foot in Moat Cailin or the north ever again without my leave. No I will end this siege or die trying." And so without further ado he put on his wolf helmet, and mounted his silver stallion and rode forth through the gates with his men. Cries of Stark and Edwyle echoing in the air.

It was as he had predicted the moment he went past the gates, his cousin Theon had come with men sent from the Dreadfort to lift the siege that had plagued them for three years. With him he had brought Steffon Cassel and some 12,000 men it seemed that the Targaryens would be in for a fight. Edwyle roared a primal battle cry and began the fighting once more. He hacked left, he slashed right, he cut in the centre, he fought and fought, the blood was high and he fought with a vengeance, for father, for Brandon, for Benjen, for Melissa he fought. He cared not whether the man in front of him bore the coat of the Targaryens or some other bastard southern house that was fighting for the red dragon, they would take all that was dear from him, and that he could not have and so he fought on.

On he fought, hacking and slashing, the battle madness had overtaken him. He would leave no man alive now, not if they fought for the red dragon, they had taken his loved ones from him, they would pay. Hacking and slashing, he painted the ground red with the bodies that he made litter the ground. Hacking and slashing, his sword was covered red, the fighting raged on. The cries of men, the screams of the dying, all those echoed in his ears and still he fought. Hacking, slashing, cutting, jabbing, dodging and weaving, he fought. He would win; avenge the wrongs done, no other way for justice.

On the battle raged, hacking, death was present fiercely today. After so long, fearing whether or not they would wake one day to find the gates broken down, Edwyle knew he had to have his vengeance now, right now. He cut his way through the men who stood in his way, looking for one man in particular. He slashed a man's throat open, he did not stop to watch the man bleed out, he simply moved on. On he went, cutting a bloody path through the men of the red dragon, his sword covered in blood, the ground littered with bodies and red blood.

And then he saw him, Torreg Flint, the man of the Flint of Flint Fingers, the traitors. "FLINT!" Edwyle bellowed, Flint turned round and when he saw Edwyle the coward bolted, spurring his horse onward to escape from Edwyle. "COWARD, COME FACE DEATH, LIKE A REAL MAN!" Edwyle bellowed once more, spurring his horse to catch up with the man. Cutting down those men who stood in his path, till he found himself cornering Flint. He charged at the man and swung striking the man on his chest plate, he swung again and again, each time hitting the man somewhere new, denting his armour and drawing blood until Flint no longer struggled, and still he swung his sword.

Till he felt someone pulling him off of Flint, he struggled but the man was bigger than he was, stronger too. "Ed that's enough. Ed stop he's dead."

Edwyle turned stopped struggling then and looked up to see himself looking at his cousin Theon Stark, Lord Commander of the Winter's Guard. Blood and dirt coated his cousin's armour, and yet Edwyle could not truly think on that, it was simply relief, that his cousin was here, that he wouldn't have to deal with the war anymore. "Did we win coz?" Edwyle said his words beginning to slur.

"Aye we did. Flint is dead, his son dead, his brothers dead. Arryn dead, the southerners fled the minute they realised Arryn was dead, though some tried to keep fighting, they got massacred as they fought, the cranongmen have killed some of those southern cravens who fled." Theon replied.

Edwyle felt a sharp pain in his side as he moved. "Why does my side feel like it's on fire coz?"

"Because you took so many wounds to the chest and the side you rode like a beast, but an idiot. Come you must rest now, we shall take later." His cousin replied. And soon Edwyle found him walking with his cousin's help back to the castle, where with the help of Melissa he was taken back to his chambers and where he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next few days were spent recovering and dealing with the ending of the siege. Many men and women and children had died during the siege, but Edwyle and his family had done their duty to their king. Moat Cailin had not fallen, the Targaryens had not had a chance to enter the north, nor would they try again. But Edwyle still had nightmares, of the pain and suffering he had seen, of his brother's death, his head on a spike for the world to see, of the men he had killed to live. Sometimes, his sister would have to sleep alongside him at night to make sure he did not delve to deep into the realms of darkness that so often threatened to overtake him now.

The Flints of Flint's Finger were all dead; there had been no females in their line. The house was finished. Edwyle was riding north to Winterfell today with his sister and his cousin to listen to Daeron speak of what would happen next to the north, with the rebellion crushed and the Boltons either dead or fled. Edwyle spent most of his time with Melissa, the siege had taught him the importance of family, they had lost so much of it during this god damned war and siege, that he was determined that he would never lose his sister, not for anyone.

The atmosphere in Winterfell as court was called, was electric, all the houses of the north seemed to be there, including those that had fought for the Boltons. There was tension alright, enough that some of the guards in the hall had to break up several fights that had broken out, and that was all before Daeron had entered the room. When he did, the whole hall went silent, and Daeron walked into the room with his wife and two children- Aegor now nine and Daena now four- the Winter's Guard followed close behind him. Daeron cut an imposing figure, though Edwyle saw the tiredness and weariness on his cousin's features, when Daeron sat on the weirwood throne, all sat down and then waited for their king to speak.

"A terrible thing has occurred. Rebellion based on false promises, and lies. The Targaryens promised many of you things that they had no intention of giving, that, the traitor Horras Bolton had no intention of giving you. But that is past now, war was fought, men and women and children have died because of one man's greed. Enough is enough. We shall have peace in the north now, the south can keep their wars and their petty feuds, we shall have peace. Those who do not wish peace leave now, but you shall not leave alive." Daeron said in a voice of iron, Edwyle felt the hairs on the back of his arm stand up on end, and he shivered. Melissa grasped his hand tightly.

Daeron went on. "Peace shall rule in the north. Those that rebelled with the traitor Horras Bolton shall be pardoned but shall be stripped of their rank and titles. They shall also henceforth give up one hostage each for good behaviour, should they break this peace, they and their child shall die," the silence was deafening. "Those that fought loyally and justly for the North shall be rewarded. Uncle Beron." Edwyle saw his uncle Beron step forward then with a roll of parchment.

"By order of His Grace Daeron Stark, King of the North and the Iron Islands, Lord of the First Men, and Protector of the Old and Drowned Gods, those that fought loyally for the Kingdom of Winter against the traitors' in House Bolton shall be rewarded. To Steffon of House Cassel, the Lordship of Stony Shore shall be awarded, as well as a great castle and port that shall be built using the money taken from the Dreadfort and other traitors. Steffon Cassel shall also marry his grace's youngest sister Lady Bethany Stark. To Ethan of House Glover, the lordship of Deepwood Motte is awarded as well as its lands and titles and incomes. To Jon Royce, for fighting faithfully and loyally with his graces cousins Benjen and Edwyle Stark, the lordship of Flint's Finger, from this day forth to be known as Shadow Point is given. As is with the acceptance of his grace's cousins Edwyle and Melissa Stark, the hand of Melissa Stark in marriage. "

Daeron got up and spoke then. "Finally, Edwyle. You fought through the odds and stuck out against those bastards. You held the Moat and the entrance through thick and thin. For this I give you the whole of the neck, and the lands up to Torrhen's Square."

With this the court session was ended and Edwyle left with his sister, still in a state of shock.