𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐗𝐗: 𝐁𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝: 𝐩𝐭 𝐢𝐢

A/N:

A very quick author's note here, but this chapter is going to be WICKED long. I really hope you guys like this chapter, it took a long time to get down with several rewrites of the entire chapter having been done and so on. Please just note that I tried my best to make the battle as action packed and thrilling as could be, but if at any point things sound repetitive and whatnot it's because battles are really hard to write for me.

Also, be aware of the gore and violence ahead, as there is quite a bit of it. Very difficult themes ahead to include past abuse, severe trauma, and suicidal ideation/temptation and more.

With all of that said, I hope you guys like the chapter!

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꧁ CHAPTER XX ꧂

BY BARE HAND pt ii
301 AFTER CONQUEST

꧁ BENGET ꧂

Along the bogs, forests and fields that stretched for endless miles, scarcely a soul could be found amongst them. Across the vastness of the northern most kingdom, a man alone still had two constant companions: the wind and cold, both poor company to keep. Even in the spring, as it was, the cold bit and nipped at a man's face and settled in his bones. Snow crowned mountains to the far north, patches here in there in the winding valleys and hills, covering farmers' crops that they had planted too early, gambling on the snows fading by this time. And despite all of that, the weather was not what had made him feel cold.

Part of him wanted to turn back, even now. And he nearly did when he reached the Twins again. Not being able to afford the time it would take to find a ford in the river to cross on his own, he needed the old Lord's bridge again, this time, to come back home. But he had reached the Twins too late, and the onset of winter would have made the journey to Winterfell nearly impossible. The weather, the miserable old Lord of the Crossing and his disgruntled daughter had forced him south again, into the halls of Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard to wait out the winter season. All winter he sat in waiting at the castle on the coast, looking out to the sea, ignoring and flatly refusing the offers from the Lord of Seagard to send him home on a ship.

Benget wanted to stay south.

He knew he wasn't ready to come back. If at all, he thought. Part of him wanted to turn back south when the weather cleared, when the roads reopened and he could saddle his horse to leave, lute and sword at his back and side, and never return. He had these thoughts leaving Seagard. He had them on both sides of the Twins. And he had those thoughts now.

The Wintertown was on the horizon. Ten or so miles ahead, he knew, these lands coming back to him through memory. Nothing changed here in the North, yet nothing stayed the same. It'll never be the same, violet eyes closed, and he let out a shaken breath.

He held back his horse's steady trot down to a near snail's pace, taking his time on the approach. It took many a procrastinating hour to travel a lone mile, and by the time he made it to the outskirts of the Wintertown, the sun was already setting.