Brandon sat there on the bed, holding Brannella as she cried.
Crying was the only thing that could be heard down the hall.
Just as suddenly as the crying had started it had abruptly stopped, replaced with a quick gasp of air.
Slowly Brandon pulled away from Brannella, and there in her heart was a knife, blood leaking down her mouth as she stared at the young Lord, tears pouring down her cheeks.
Brandon stood up, glaring at Brannella with searing hatred.
Brannella looked at Brandon, and tried to speak "You... you said we... we would kill him together."
"Aye, I did, but that does not mean you have to be alive for my plan to work. I need you, but not alive."
Branella slumped over onto her bed as the light from her eyes was finally extinguished, forever to be haunted by the cloaked man and his crimson-red eyes.
Brandon looked down at Brannella and spoke with an icy tone. "For my father."
Brandon swung the door to the room open and began to march his way down the hall swiftly. He was soon flanked by two of his housecarls.
"Did you find out what you wanted to know Lord Stark?"
"Aye. There's a body in that room, have the body sent to the Great Bear Beorn."
"Of course." He turned and began walking to the room Brandon had just left.
Brandon marched his way into the rookery, an old man was taking care of the ravens. He had only a few whisps of pale white hair, he was hunched over and slow, a man who should not be alive in these times.
"Elder, I'm in need of you today." Brandon addressed the old man.
The elder smiled. "And what does the young Lord require?"
"I need you and you acolytes to write to my uncles."
The old man wobbled over to the parchment and a stub of graphite.
"And what shall I be writing to your mighty uncles my lord?"
Brandon's icy façade began to break slightly remembering his fathers passing before it hardened again, stronger than before.
"Inform them that my father has been slayed by the great demon bear Beorn. I am in need of their aid. Write that should they accept my call to march to the tower of Cailin. We shall strike the children at one of their most sacred places."
The elder looked to Brandon confused "Why march on the tower of Cailin, are you not going to march on the Bear's home for revenge, the Great bear does not venture to the tower often."
"He will be at the tower."
"Are you certain my lord?"
"I have a plan to lure him there, the elder of the green men aided Beorn in the battle, he shall not leave the tower defenseless and charge south to meet us there."
The elder chuckled to himself
"Apologies my lord, for doubting you and not believing you had a plan."
"I take no offense elder, all I ask you to do is write."
"Of course."
The elder began writing down what was asked of him, as he finished he called his acolytes to start coping the scroll and ready them for the ravens.
Brandon watched the ravens fly from the keep, sent to call his extended family to war against their enemies since they first arrived on this continent eight thousand years ago.
His grandfather Garth Greenhand first arrived, he had brought men to the continent to expand and call someplace their home, later he had declared war against the children, and for eight millennia they had fought, many hundred years later Garth had many sons of great importance that took up titles of lords and kings, one of those sons was Brandon the bloody blade, who lived a many hundred years.
Brandon hoped that his uncles shall answer his call for revenge for their slain brother. But they have not had contact with his father for a hundred years. Hopefully, the drive for revenge garners the call.
...
Brandon Stark stood atop Winterfell's great curtain walls, gazing out upon the gathered men leal to the Stark family. Two thousand levies had gathered below, along with another seven hundred housecarls of House Stark.
Behind Brandon stood a grizzled old man, his face scarred, a beard of white, he stood a head taller than Brandon with a great bronze sword held tightly on his shoulder.
"Are we to expect your uncle's aid in the coming battles lad?"
" Aye, I've received ravens back from my uncle's Garth the Gardner, John the Oak, Bors the Breaker, and the twins Harlon the Hunter and Herndon of the Horn. Combined our forces would be seventeen thousand strong."
The grizzled veteran was greatly surprised by such numbers. "A force that large has not been seen since your Grandfather first marched upon Westeros, truly a sight to behold."
"Aye Mathias, and when the green men lay sight upon the army they shall finally know defeat."
Brandon turned to the old warrior. "Ready the men to march, we shall leave at the morrow at sunrise."
"Right away my lord." Mathias bowed to Brandon and turned to walk away to ready the men for the march south, but as he began to leave he stopped and turned back to Brandon. "Your father was a good man, my lord, someone I called friend, and the ones who killed him shall face the boiling rage of those he called a friend, a brother, and a son." Brandon didn't have time to respond before Mathias descended the wall to ready the men.
Brandon turned back to the gathering men, his eyes traveling across the growing numbers till he looked up to the setting sun, as he stood upon the ramparts gazing at the mesmerizing sight of the lowering celestial ball of light, the truth finally came crashing down upon him, his father died, trying to aid the children of his old friend, only to die because of a stupid little girl.
His father had hoped to improve relations with the green men and the children. Because of Brannella, those negotiations soured, now, Brannella's head had been sent to Boern as a warning of the coming attack on the Tower of Cailin. But Brannella was not slain only out of revenge, but to respect the old friendship Beorn and his father used to have, for Brannella had caused an unavoidable war of catastrophic proportions.
.....
Brandon Stark rode at the head of the mighty host of two thousand seven hundred men atop a beautiful white stallion.
His host had taken a moon to gather and march to where they are now, the tower of Cailin, already around the tower was an even larger host of fifteen thousand strong.
Mathias rode next to Brandon "Mathias, ready the men for a siege, prepare the ladders, get the archers in position, but don't attack, I must speak to my uncles before any battle begins."
The grizzled veteran bowed with a fist against his chest. "aye my lord." Mathias turned and began shouting orders to the army setting up the camp for the coming battles and long nights ahead.
Brandon descended to the encampment, riding down atop his horse he passed countless tents, and for every tent, there was a battle-hungry glory-seeking man. The men watched Brandon as he passed them, bowing or kneeling as he rode passed them. but every man said three words that resounded within Brandon's heart, for the North.
As Brandon watched the men go about preparing for the coming battle he came upon a tent larger than the others, he had reached the command tent, and at least one of his uncles would be inside.
Brandon swung off his steed handing it off to a nearby stable boy, as he prepared to enter a giant hand clasped his shoulders. "Well if I had to guess your little Brandon." A great boisterous joyful voice spoke from behind him.
As Brandon turned he had to crane his head so high it hurt just to look the giant man in the eyes, whoever he was, he was massive, taller than the great bear. He had a well-kept, trimmed black beard.
Brandon turned fully to face the man "You would be correct I am Lord Brandon Stark, and who would you be" Brandon's curiosity had been peaked by the man close to a giant's height, for surely he was not a normal soldier.
The giant man let out a great boisterous laugh "That's right, we haven't met yet have we, excuse my manners then." The giant man did a half bow with his hand sung under his chest. "My name is Lord John of Old Oak, many call me the Oak, I'm your uncle lad." He had a great smile on his face.
Brandon's eyes grew, he had never met any of his uncles before, and he would never imagine one of his uncles to be the giant of the man that stood before him.
Brandon extended his hand to his newly met uncle. "I'm happy to finally meet you, lord Oak, are my other uncles here, I would love to finally meet them."
"Aye, I was just coming to see them before I found you, there in the command tent there." John pointed to the great tent Brandon had found earlier.
Before Brandon could enter the tent, John pulled Brandon into a tight hug. "I'm truly sorry for what happened to your father. My brother did not deserve such a fate."
Brandon did not know what to say, the last person he had hugged he had killed, but unlike last time, he reciprocated the hug with love.
The larger of the men broke the hug, he turned to the tent and opened the flap for the young Lord. "After you, Lord Stark."
Brandon entered the large tent only to meet smiles and joyful faces. At the center of the tent was a great table and around it sat four men filling in the six seats, the two extra seats left vacant for John and Brandon.
The man at the head of the table greeted John, he was older than the rest, with a wreath-like crown adorned atop his head. "Welcome nephew, may I be first to say how truly sorry I am about your father's death."
Brandon nodded. "Thank you, uncle?"
Garth, Garth the Gardner is what many call me, eldest son of Garth Greenhand, and a loving brother to your father."
Brandon chuckled "Thank you, Uncle Garth, but I must confess you were not the first. My dear newly met uncle John was first to apologize."
John responded to Brandon's confession "It does not matter, for we all mourn our brother's death, and that is all that matters, for whoever said what first is not important."
Garth nodded "John is right Brandon, but enough of who was first, you should meet your other uncles." Garth motioned for a great large and wide-chested man, not as tall as John, but taller than the average man, but his most alarming feature was the pair of bull horns sprouting from his head. "This is your uncle Bors the Breaker." Bors nodded to Brandon
"Good to finally meet you, lad, you remind me of your father when he was younger."
Brandon nodded back. "thank you but, the horns?"
Garth chuckled "Bors here is an odd one. When he was younger and to this day, he only drinks bull's blood, it's given him the strength of twenty men, and a side effect is, as you see, the horns."
Garth then motioned to the last two men. "And these two twins are your uncles Harlon the Hunter and Herndon of the Horn."
Both the brothers nodded to Brandon, one spoke but Brandon could not tell the difference between the two. "It is good to finally meet you, nephew, I and my brother have heard great tales of the master architect that had built the mighty Storms End for Durran Godsgrief and the Great fortress of Winterfell.'
Brandon bowed to the twins. "thank you, uncles." Brandon turned back to Garth and the rest of his uncles. "And thank you, all of you, for answering my call."
Everyone nodded to Brandon as Garth spoke up. "Of course Brandon. We did not simply answer the call because our Brother had died, but to aid our dear nephew and son of our beloved brother."
"Now, I'm sorry to cut this short and rush into things, but we must discuss the coming battle."
Brandon nodded "Agreed, how many men in total do we have, including my two-thousand-seven hundred men?"
John decided to answer "Including your force, we now have eighteen thousand men, in total, more than enough to crush the tower and its defenders."
Brandon was more than pleased with those numbers. "And how many catapults?"
"We have twenty made with another twenty being made," Garth answered.
"Do we have an estimate on their numbers? Do we know if the Bear is there, or the elder Green Man?" Brandon needed to know if his plan to lure Beorn through Eoghan worked.
Bors answered this time. "Aye, before we all departed we had sent scouts to watch the tower. When we first arrived they reported Beorn along with Eoghan the elder along with a strange man clad in black entering with a great force of children, giants, and green men, more forces to bolster the unknown number they have in the tower. " The horned man voiced his displeasure
Garth was confused with Bors. "Are you displeased, brother? I couldn't understand why, this is good news. If we kill Eoghan and Beorn it would scatter the giants the children and the green men and end this perpetual stalemate of a war."
"No, I'm not displeased with ending this war once and for all. I'm displeased that the tower may hold a much greater number of enemies than we have foreseen."
"I understand your worries and concerns uncle, but we can not dwell on the uncertainties and think about the facts. Those facts being we outnumber them ten to one and that if we win this battle it may end the war."
Bors grunted "And what if they win, what shall happen to us? Do we lose the war, do we scatter and bow to the forest men? I believe this battle must happen, but should we all die the race of man would lose their greatest defenders, I only fear for our people should the worst happen."
John understood Bors's fears. He feared should they lose this battle that their people would be left unprotected. "I understand brother, but if we die many more would rise to do what we are doing here now, avenging a fallen warrior."
"The what-ifs do not matter now, we are here and must begin the siege, the sooner the tower breaks the sooner we end the lives of those who took my fathers." Brandon stated with conviction
Garth nodded "Brandon is right, it is far too late to stop now, the siege shall begin at the morrow, the catapults shall pelt the tower walls, and soon a large enough breach shall form for us to storm the tower, and slay all those within, for now though, we need rest, Brandon has had a long journey, so go get some rest, we shall discuss any concerns tomorrow."
The brothers nodded and began to leave till it was just Brandon and Garth left in the tent. "Is there anything else, Brandon?"
"I just wish it didn't come to this uncle."
"And why is that?"
"My father was friends with the great bear Beorn, they wished to end the stalemate we have been locked in for the past eight millennia."
"I have received letters from your father about how he wished it. He told me about Beorn, and from what he says, he is not a naturally violent man like some tend to believe. A shame it has come to this, I loved your father, and I wished the same, and Beorn was the doorway to peace, but it seems those plans have soured. Do you know why Beorn killed your father?"
Brandon nodded "Aye, a dear friend of his had been slain when hunting in Beorn's lands. The Old man of the wailing Trees. His daughter looked for him when he did not return to her village, eventually, she found her way to my father and informed him of the death of the old man, why he chose to kill Beorn still evades me, but before the battle, Beorn had tried to negotiate with father, the old man's daughter angered by my father for even speaking to her fathers killer drew an arrow and took aim at the great bear, and thus all chances for peace between the race of man the people of the forest was snuffed out by an angry little girl."
Gath, deeply troubled by the story Brandon had just told seemed lost in thought. "Thank you, Brandon, for telling me, apologies but if you can I have much to think about, please get some sleep you must be exhausted."
"Of course uncle, take care." Brandon turned to leave the tent but before he could Garth asked him one last question. "And the girl, what has happened to her?"
Brandon turned to Garth, Eyes as cold as Ice. "Her head now lies in the cold iron Earth. "
"Good."