𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐫

[ CHAPTER VIII ]

_________________
"DEALBROKER"
301 AFTER CONQUEST

꧁ BENGET ꧂

He had hoped someone would have come after him. Not from his group, his army, Sansa or any of them, but someone who would try their luck and try to kill him. In a dark, disturbing part of his heart and soul, he longed to let it all go, though he buried those feelings deep. But really, he was disappointed at the fact he had not seen anyone, friend, enemy, potential ally, anyone.

He were not sure if the Winter Wolves were all dead, or if Edward was dead or not. He could only guess, with the fact of the matter of having Umber and Bolton spies trying to track them that Stannis might not have won Winterfell, which was disappointing. Ben would never kneel to a southern king, not again, he knew. But Stannis would have served his purpose. Regardless of Ben's distaste for the man, he would have fought to put him on the Iron Throne for the simple fact it would relieve him of the responsibility of taking it himself.

But the world were not so simple as it once was, and one way or another, Benget knew he'd have to take it all.

The area they rode through was far west, almost hugging the coastline of the Bay of Ice. He figured already that Sansa and the others made it to that port village, but he had wondered off maybe two or three hours ago to be on his own, to find if they were being followed, or in search of others.

He peered across the vast, empty landscape. Hardly any trees in that area, and nobody truly claimed this part of the North. It belonged to the Hill Tribes in every way but name, being that the land was wild and untamed.

Her pale mare, the half-blind beauty slowly came to a stop without him even pulling the reins to make her, and Ben was confused. But frankly, he didn't care if she stopped or not, he needed a break. In the saddle he leaned forward, and rested his forehead on her neck and closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

Love..

The wind whispered, and he froze. Eyeing every which way around himself, he tried finding the source of the word. He even looked down to where he wore "Longclaw," but the sword it seemed did not speak it. The blade and its last users had a tendency he knew to belittle and condemn, not speak such things as love or any comforting words for that matter.

Come back, love..

Climbing down from the half-blind mare, he patted her nose softly for a moment before taking several steps ahead of her, eyes squinting as he circled the landscape around him, vast open endless fields of snow.

"Where.."

Stopping in his tracks like a deer frozen in place by a sound, spooked, he saw a woman in the wind, and her hair was the same color as his own.

"Val?"

The woman did not turn to him, though it was clear by the way her shoulders shook in the distance that she was crying.

"Val!"

It was a little out of the way road that more than likely led to no where, and Ben took off down it, following the barely beaten path as he ran as fast as he could, without a care of consequence, how tired he'd be, how far he'd run, he had to reach her.