A Shadow and a Wolf

Asher II

Everyone held his breath as Jon Snow rode to save his brother. It had to be Rickon Stark. Who else could it be? Asher didn't know who was the other rider who followed Ned Stark's son. He bore the arms of the Cerwyns. After he broke the ranks, the smuggler and the other commanders ordered the men to keep their lines. Asher, atop his horse, gave the same order to his own men. Beskha was the only one with a mount aside from him. All the others were on foot, including Bloodsong. Even for Asher, it was strange how a killer like him could turn into the most loyal man after you defeated him in single combat. He wished Amaya was still alive.

When Rickon Stark fell on the ground, pierced by an arrow, the silence that followed was thick as mud. Asher saw Jon Snow stop at his brother's side, then he saw the other rider arrive where they were and dismount. He leaned over the dead boy's body. Even from afar, Asher could imagine how the boy looked, probably like Ethan. He stared straight towards the bastard, Ramsay Snow, holding a bow in front of his army. He had killed his brother, and now he killed someone else's brother.

Asher knew what Jon Snow would do. He would do the same in his stead. He turned to Beskha.

"Are you with me?"

"To the end, Asher."

With that answer, he turned to his men. They were only a hundred, but he would fight Ramsay and his entire army by himself if necessary.

"The one who brings me Ramsay's head will have enough gold to never need to fight again in his life. The one who brings me Ramsay alive so I can kill him myself will have so much gold he won't be able to spend it through his entire life."

His declaration was followed by a general uproar from his men. All around, men were already preparing to charge. Asher unsheathed his sword, the sword that had belonged to his father and to his brother before it went to him. The Boltons and the Whitehills had Forrester blood on their hands, and he would soak his family's sword with Bolton and Whitehill blood. Asher knew what to do. He saw Jon Snow charge the enemy, and the other rider too. He roared and joined the charge.

Asher could hear roars all around him, on his sides and behind, but he didn't care. He would kill Ramsay. He would kill Torrhen. He would kill Ludd. He would kill every Bolton and every Whitehill until none of them was left. He looked at the place where he saw Ramsay for the last time. He wasn't there any longer, but Asher was sure he hid behind his lines. He would gut this coward and feed him with his own balls. He charged straight where the bastard had last been seen. He saw the two riders before them fall, and then a wave of cavalry from the other side charge them. Asher hurried his horse. He would kill them all. If they fought for Ramsay, they were his enemies. If they were his enemies, they would die.

The shock came quickly, and Asher was ready for it. He avoided a spear that a man with a white sun on a black field on his tabard destined to him. Instead, he thrusted his sword into the man's heart, knocking him off his horse. He held the pommel firm as the body fell on the floor. The sword went to another man on his left. His horse evaded all attacks and Asher killed all the men who attacked him. He turned left when he saw a Whitehill banner. He killed another horseman on his way, then a second. He rode towards the hill with a star over it. Torrhen was in the vanguard. Asher would kill him. He would end what started years ago.

He felt a wave of wind close to his cheek, and then his mount whinnied. Asher was expelled from its back. Looking around, he noticed a few men and horsemen with arrows in their bodies. Asher looked at where the white hill had been a moment ago, but it wasn't there anymore. A man with the flayed man on his armor ran to him. Asher raised his sword and swung it so hard at his opponent that he lost his. Asher only had to swing his father's sword to his throat to end his miserable life.

Asher hacked, smashed, punched, cut, hit, crushed, killed. The heat of battle was on him, and all he could do was kill. He killed for his father. He killed for his mother. He killed for Ethan. He killed for Rodrik. He killed for Gared. He would kill them all. A volley of arrows hit them and killed several people around him. Asher noticed a Whitehill rider among the victims on the ground. He walked to him.

"Where's Torrhen?" he shouted at the man still barely breathing on the ground.

"Fuck you!"

Without hesitation, Asher ended his torments by plunging his sword through his eye. He went back to the battle and fought everyone he met. Sometimes he wasn't even sure of the side they fought for, and he couldn't care less.

Then he saw him, on a white stallion, his family's sigil on his breastplate. The bastard hadn't been knocked out of his horse yet. Asher would remedy this in no time. He seized a nearby lance that was planted into a dead body and threw it at the heir of Highpoint. The lance plunged into the neck of his horse, and Torrhen Whitehill fell on the ground. Arrows fell all around again and Asher saw a man with the hill on his breastplate fall at his feet, two arrows in his back. He looked around for another enemy and ran at a Karstark who was about to kill a wildling on the ground. He slashed his back before the man could finish his opponent. Asher never thought he would kill a Northerner to save a wildling.

He looked where he last saw Torrhen and saw him fight, along with two or three Whitehill soldiers.

"Torrhen!"

Asher yelled in his direction, but Gwyn's brother didn't seem to hear him. He walked heavily towards his enemy, the man who had his own father exile him, who ruined his relationship with Gwyn. He would kill him. He came upon one of the Whitehill men and dealt with him without difficulty. Then he found himself face to face with Torrhen. They looked at each other for a moment. Then they started to spar. Attacks, blocks, counter-attacks, feints succeeded. Asher tried to hack his head with a powerful blow, but the heir to Highpoint blocked it easily. Asher had to step back to avoid the next blow. Torrhen was a much better swordsman than he remembered. He hadn't been able to stand before Asher when they fought years ago, but now he managed and stood his ground. Their swords kept meeting. It was only the two of them and the rest of the battle didn't matter at all.

Again, arrows fell on them. Distracted for a moment, Asher couldn't completely stop his opponent's next blow. He felt a pain in his leg, and Torrhen attacked him. Asher could deflect his blows, but not without losing ground. He was falling back each time Torrhen attacked. His brother-in-law had a huge grin on his face. Then the Whitehill delivered a huge blow from over his head, and the force was so great that Asher fell on one of his knees, the pain in his leg, unbearable.

"Finally, you understand where your place is, Forrester. On your knees!"

Torrhen sent another attack over his head. Asher only used one hand to hold his father's sword and waved his sword to deflect Torrhen's. Once it was done, he threw his fist right in the face of the arrogant man. He thought he heard something break. Then Asher was standing again on his two legs and launched series of blows. Now it was the Whitehill who was falling back, barely able to counter Asher's attacks. He kept hammering and smashing Torrhen with his father's sword until one of his blows was so strong that Torrhen almost fell back. He held his sword only with his left hand, and he was defenseless. Asher rushed forward and cut the hand holding it. A scream tore up the air.

Asher hit the heir to Highpoint with all the force of his left fist and heard something else crack. Torrhen Whitehill was on the ground, screaming and holding the stump of his missing hand. A missing hand cut by House Forrester's great sword. Now was time to end the work.

He raised his sword. "Give my regards to Gryff." Then Asher plunged the sword in the throat of his opponent. He gargled for a second, and then he was dead. Two sons for two sons. Torrhen and Gryff for Rodrik and Ethan.

Asher looked around him. Piles of bodies were to be seen everywhere. There were almost no horses left. Asher ran to the nearest man he saw with the Bolton sigil and killed him easily. The work wasn't over yet. He kept fighting as long shields with the flayed man on them appeared not far away.