The King's Road.
A heavy fog clung to the hooves of three hundred Crownlands knights, curling around their legs like pale, restless ghosts.
At the front of the column rode Eddard Stark, newly appointed Lord of Winterfell.
A fresh wolfskin cloak—bestowed by royal decree—hung across his shoulders. It should have been warm… yet it felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, crushing down on his still-slender fra.
On his chest, the direwolf sigil, polished bright, glead like a blade.
A blade stabbed straight through his heart.
Eddard's lips were pressed tightly together. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the hilt of the longsword at his waist—the very sword his father had gifted him when he was sent to the Vale as a foster-son.
Now…
It had beco his only remaining connection to Winterfell.
"Hey, His Noble Stark Lordship!"
To his side, Jai Lannister, clad in gleaming crimson armor, tugged irritably at the ornate scarf choking his neck. He kicked his horse forward, drawing closer, his voice deliberately raised and razor-sharp.
"Try smiling for once. You're the Lord of Winterfell now, aren't you?"
"The whole North belongs to you. What—does the direwolf pelt freeze your tongue the mont you put it on?"
Eddard turned his head.
Jai was astride a tall, magnificent warhorse, its coat almost unnaturally golden. His armor was drenched in reds and golds, screaming Lannister wealth and pride from every inch of polished steel.
Yet his handso face wore the sa familiar expression—mocking, taunting—like Eddard owed him ten thousand gold dragons.
And truth be told…
It wasn't entirely Jai's fault.
If Eddard truly had owed him ten thousand gold dragons, as the eldest son of House Lannister Jai could've simply laughed it off.
But only days earlier, in exchange for forcing Lord Tywin to plead for clency—so that Eddard Stark could be spared execution and instead be shipped off to the Wall to gnaw frozen potatoes…
Jai had been forced to accept that cursed betrothal to Riverrun.
Lysa Tully—Hoster Tully's younger daughter.
Jai had seen her more than once during his stay at Riverrun. Her looks weren't terrible… and yes, her chest was impressive, but her expression always carried the unmistakable emptiness of a woman so foolish it bordered on insult.
Seven hells.
To make the future great Ser Jai Lannister marry a woman who looked like she'd smile and drool at the sa ti the mont she saw him—
Gods only knew what kind of determination Jai had needed to muster…
All to save this damned Stark.
And now?
Jai's effort hadn't just been wasted—Eddard had flipped from condemned prisoner to Lord of Winterfell, and still had the nerve to ride around looking like the world owed him an apology.
Jai's anger burned hotter with every mile.
"Move."
Eddard's grey eyes swept over Jai, dull and exhausted.
"Stop pestering . Ride your own road, Lannister."
His mood had been foul long before Jai started barking. And honestly? He had no patience left.
Eddard had felt grateful at first. They were strangers, after all—yet Jai had convinced his father to speak for him before the king.
That alone was a debt beyond asure.
But ever since the journey began, Eddard had discovered sothing irritatingly clear:
Jai Lannister was a child in a knight's armor.
Always looking for trouble, always provoking him—constantly.
And Eddard was sick of it.
That indifferent dismissal made Jai flush bright red.
Not only did he refuse to back off—he urged his horse forward, riding alongside Eddard shoulder to shoulder.
"My road?"
Jai let out a cold laugh, green eyes glaring into Eddard's face as he spat out his accusation.
"My road went wrong because of you, Stark!"
"Seven gods above—I don't even know what the fuck I was thinking back then. I must've had flea-nest sewage shit for brains!"
"Now I've got to ride to Riverrun and marry that Lysa Tully—that brainless cow who does nothing but grin at like a halfwit and drool!"
"Seven hells, Eddard Stark!"
"If anyone should be riding with a funeral face, it's ! It's !"
"And you—look at you!"
"You ride around like a coward, sulking like a beaten dog, too scared to do anything besides feel sorry for yourself!"
"And I paid that price to save you!"
Eddard's grey eyes flickered.
Pain, tightly suppressed, moved beneath them like a deep current.
"I owe you."
His voice was hoarse. He inhaled—and didn't argue.
He simply answered with a low, heavy sincerity:
"I'll repay it soday."
Jai clicked his tongue with disgust.
So boring.
His gaze dropped to Eddard's right hand.
The Stark's fingers were white-knuckled around his sword hilt…
Yet he showed not the slightest intent to draw it.
Jai's expression sank in disappointnt.
Because Jai Lannister wasn't the type who saved soone just to demand repaynt later.
He didn't want gratitude.
He just wanted—
To provoke Eddard into drawing steel and fighting him.
But Eddard refused to bite.
"Tch. You're the dullest man alive, Eddard Stark."
Jai snorted, yanked his reins hard, and spat over his shoulder:
"I swear even Septon Baelor had ten thousand tis your sense of humor!"
"No woman will ever like a man as lifeless as you!"
"Oh—right!"
As if rembering sothing, he slapped his forehead dramatically, and his mouth twisted into an ugly grin.
"You know, we could've been brothers-in-law."
"But your traitor father already sent your little brother to marry Catelyn Tully!"
"Hahahahaha—!"
With a cruel final laugh, Jai urged his golden horse away, riding off alone.
But anyone with eyes could see—
Jai Lannister's mood was rotten enough to poison the entire road.
"Heh… the Lannister brat has energy."
A dozen paces ahead, the tall Kingsguard Commander glanced back with amusent.
Truthfully, money really did make life easy.
Less than half a month after returning to King's Landing, Tywin Lannister had already found him another horse—
One that didn't lose to the one Lance had "borrowed" previously.
The steed was snow-white without a single blemish, its coat shimring silver under sunlight. Its muscles were smooth and powerful, long legs strong and elegant, neck held high with the natural bearing of royalty.
A horse like this could never be bought for less than a hundred gold dragons.
And Lord Tywin?
Tywin gave him whatever he wanted.
Not only had he provided the horse—the saddle was even more extravagant than before, reflecting that unmistakable golden "rich man" glow.
Lance stroked the stallion's mane, lips curling upward.
He truly hadn't expected that Jai—who in the original story would kill and bleed against Eddard—would end up begging Tywin to spare the Stark…
And even accepting such brutal conditions in exchange.
Since Lord Tywin treated him so well…
As Kingsguard Commander, he couldn't exactly be ungrateful.
Jai Lannister's marriage to Lysa Tully…
Will be protected by , Lance Lot.
"Ser—!"
"SER Lance!!"
A sharp, piercing shout rang out through the fog.
A blur of golden hair ca racing down the road—Ser Balman Byrch, freshly healed from his injuries.
"Ser Lance!"
He was riding so hard he looked like he might cough his lungs out.
"Easy, Ser Balman. Breathe first. Then speak."
Lance frowned slightly as he watched the man nearly collapse over his saddle.
Truth be told, the Kingsguard ranks were still undermanned. Lance had once considered recomnding the boy for a white cloak. In Dorne, Balman had already proven his loyalty—his commitnt to honor was no less than any true Kingsguard knight.
But after thinking it over…
Manly had only one daughter. Balman's marriage was solid, too.
Lance couldn't exactly tell a man to divorce his wife just to beco Kingsguard.
"We found sothing ahead… we found…"
Balman swallowed hard—yet the words refused to co.
After a long pause, fear flickered in his eyes. Sothing close to horror.
"You… you should see it yourself."
Then he spun his horse around and charged north, as if lingering a second longer would poison him.
Lance raised his hand and signaled the column forward at once.
Three hundred knights surged after Balman, turning sharply into a branching road.
---
The closer they rode, the more the air changed.
A thick, cloying stench—sweet enough to be sickening—slamd into them like a fist.
Burnt flesh.
Blood.
The fog was torn apart by the sll alone.
Even Lance' warhorse grew restless, hooves stamping, breath snorting in agitation.
Lance patted its neck calmly and pushed forward.
The first thing they saw was at the village's edge—
A massive white ash tree, its branches hung with crimson "banners."
At first glance, they almost looked like torn flags.
Then the n saw what they truly were.
Not banners.
Three flayed skins.
Human hides—ruined, shredded, nailed crudely to the trunk like rain-soaked cLot.
The blood had long since finished dripping.
In the cold morning wind, those ghastly "flags" swayed gently, releasing a soft shhh… shhh…—the dry friction of leather.
Gulp.
Swallowing echoed through the riders like a chain reaction.
But it only got worse.
They rode deeper.
Along the narrow path into the village, sharpened wooden stakes had been driven into the ground every few steps.
And atop each stake—
Skinless limbs, nothing left but dark-red muscle and white tendon.
Arms.
Thighs.
And so…
So were small.
Too small to belong to adults.
The huts and barns had been burned into black skeletons. Embers snapped quietly inside the ruins, mixed with the gagging stench of charred at.
Several corpses lay at doorways—burnt to charcoal, curled like children—frozen mid-crawl, as if they'd tried to drag themselves away at the last second and failed.
The village square—once a place for gatherings and laughter—
Was now a mountain of bodies.
Many were flayed halfway.
The ground wasn't mud anymore.
It was blood-soaked sludge, thick and black-red, churned into a sticky mire by boots and death.
At the center stood a massive double-bladed battleaxe—
A design unmistakably Northern.
It was buried deep into a stone millwheel like a verdict.
And wrapped around its handle was a strip of skin—serrated at the edges, still stained red.
A flaying strap.
The only structure still intact was a small Seven-pointed shrine, made of stone.
A white-haired old woman had been positioned as though in prayer.
Kneeling.
Except her back—
Her back had been peeled open like a butcher opening an animal.
Her skin was spread across the altar like a cloak.
And branded into that hide, perfectly clear—
Was the direwolf sigil of House Stark.
---
"BL—URGH!"
A violent retch exploded behind Lance.
He turned his head.
Jai Lannister.
The heir of Casterly Rock—raised in safety, fed on glorious knightly tales—was doubled over his horse's neck, vomiting uncontrollably.
His beautiful golden hair hung down in a pathetic ss.
His face was white as paper.
And honestly?
No one could bla him.
This scene was too much.
Even Lance' handpicked knights had trouble holding it in—n clapped hands over their mouths, forcing bile down through sheer stubbornness.
---
"This… this can't be real…"
A broken, half-scread whisper rose like a dying prayer.
Eddard Stark slid off his horse and fell to his knees with a wet SPLASH—
Both knees sinking into that sticky, rotting blood-mud.
He crawled toward the square like a man possessed.
His trembling fingers touched the Northern battleaxe buried in the stone.
Then he lifted his head—
And stared at the shrine.
At the flayed skin bearing the direwolf.
Sothing inside him cracked.
The honor he had clung to.
The faith in law.
The belief that the North could still be righteous—
All of it shattered in the face of this slaughterhouse.
---
And then—
"YOU FUCKING STARK!"
Jai finally stopped vomiting.
He wiped sour spit off his mouth with the back of his hand.
For the first ti, his face held no arrogance, no youthfully smug grin.
Only pure, burning rage.
He charged straight at Eddard and punched him hard, then kicked him repeatedly with armored boots, voice ripping through the fog like a blade.
"LOOK!"
"OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!"
"This is what your traitor father did!"
"They're bleeding the Riverlands dry—won, children, no one spared!"
"And you're still hesitating?"
"Still dreaming that Rickard Stark—that cruel bastard with no honor—will 'co back to his senses'?!"
"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT MY FATHER!"
Eddard had taken the beating without resistance…
Until that sentence.
His head snapped up.
His grey eyes were bloodshot.
Years of discipline—and the last thread of restraint—finally tore apart.
He kicked upward from the ground, boot slamming into Jai and forcing him back.
Then Eddard roared as he surged to his feet—
And drew the iron longsword his father had once placed into his hands.
"I don't believe it!"
"This can't be my father's doing!"
"Your father was right," Jai snarled, eyes blazing.
"The wolf's cruelty and filth surpass the lion a thousand tis over!"
Jai drew his jeweled sword in a flash.
The steel sang.
"Don't think being a lord ans I won't teach you a lesson, Stark!"
"This isn't your private Northern business anymore!"
"This is blasphemy against the Seven—an insult to honor itself!"
"I'll put you on the ground—then I'll hunt down those skin-wearing devils and slaughter them!"
"I swear it on the na of Lannister!"
Eddard—only fifteen, shaking with fury—lifted his blade and charged.
"I SAID…"
"This wasn't my father!!!"
The air snapped tight.
Knights around them tensed, hands clamping onto sword hilts, eyes darting—
Not toward the boys.
Toward the one man who still hadn't spoken.
The silent white-cloaked figure.
Their blades were about to et—
When a milk-white flash cut between them like divine judgnt.
CLANG!
Two sharp, clean sounds rang out almost simultaneously.
Jai's sword spun into the air.
Eddard's sword followed.
Both blades flew away as if they had been swatted aside by a god.
The massive pale greatsword plunged into the mud between them.
It stood there like a border marker.
A line neither lion nor wolf was permitted to cross.
Then—
Leather-gloved hands moved.
One seized Jai's wrist with surgical precision.
The other closed around Eddard's throat like an iron clamp—
And lifted him clean off the ground.
Eddard's boots kicked uselessly in empty air.
Fog coiled around his feet.
And in the sudden silence, Lance' voice cut through the world—cold as an ice spike.
"Have you had enough?"
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