𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒

𝐢𝐯 𝕿𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝕳𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝕯𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡
_____________

"Mercy! Please, I beg you!" The Wildling
begged as he fell to his knees before the
blood drenched Midnight Wolf.

"Do you know what your revolting savages of a kind did to her? My wife? They slit her throat to the bone and dumped her body in the river. And do you know what I'm going to do to you and your village?"

The Wildling began to tremble under the loathing gaze of Rikson Stark as his fist curled around the
hilt of his, already blood soaked, sword.

"I'm going to slaughter every last one of you."

"No! No, wai-"

The man couldn't finish his plea as Rikson raised his sword and slashed his head clean off his shoulders.

"Every last one-

____ The thunk of an arrow landing on a bucket pulled Rikson Stark from the haunting memory, that occured only a year ago, as he stood beside Robb in Winterfell's courtyard. Rikson watched as Bran stomped his foot on the muddy ground as he missed another shot.

Jon Snow, Rikson's bastard younger brother, placed his hands on Bran's shoulders as he leaned down, "Go on, father's watching." Bran looked upwards, noticing both Lord & Lady Stark were watching from a balcony, overlooking the courtyard. "And your mother."

Bran firmly nodded at his parents, before he loaded another arrow onto his bow and pulled the string back.

Rikson watched with his cerulean eyes as his younger brother missed another arrow. Jon, Robb, and Rickon all laughed, but Rikson distinctly remembered how all of them were just the same at sucking at archery when they were of Bran's age. Even Rikson himself, the best at archery in Winterfell, was that horrible once.

Bran released another arrow, except this time it went over Winterfell's walls and into the Wolfswood.

Robb turned away to laugh as Rikson snickered, meanwhile Jon and Rickon laughed aloud.

"And which one of you was a marksmen at ten?"

All the sons of Eddard Stark looked towards their father as he spoke, silencing themselves.

"Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."

Bran nodded as he loaded another arrow on his bow. Jon leaned down to be eye level with Bran as the boy pulled the bowstring to his red-tinted cheeks.