Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9599357.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Jon_Snow/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Jon_Snow, Roose_Bolton, Ramsay_Bolton, Walder_Frey, Sansa_Stark, Brienne
      of_Tarth, Podrick_Payne, Original_Female_Character(s), Original_Male
      Character(s), Davos_Seaworth
  Additional Tags:
      R_plus_L_equals_J, Blood_and_Gore, Torture, Ramsay_is_his_own_warning,
      Threats_of_Rape/Non-Con, War_Of_The_Five_Kings, Original_House, POV
      Original_Character, Explicit_Sexual_Content, eventually
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-06 Chapters: 1/? Words: 3010
****** Of Blood and Fire ******
by Leosnow
Summary
     House Draton is a minor house vassal of house Ryswell of the north.
     Despite being small, the house is known for their superb and rather
     large cavalry. But like the rest of the Northern houses, the Dratons
     are thrown into disarray during the War of the Five Kings.
     The Dratons must cope with the political intrigue and battles or be
     extinguished. In the game of thrones you either win or you die.
     *Author's note: This fanfic is a mix of the books and the tv show*
     P.S. I am so sorry. I suck at summarizing.
     I do not own the rights to GoT or ASOIF books.
Notes
     So this is my very first fanfiction and it is not beta read. I would
     really love some comments and some feedback on it!
     Also, like I said in the summary, this fanfiction will be a blend of
     the books and tv shows. And by blend I mean I mostly use the book
     character's personalities/descriptons with the tv show's plot. Hope
     that makes sense.
     Also if anyone wants to beta read this fanfiction. Please shoot me an
     email and let me know! Would really love it!
     Anyways, enjoy!
See the end of the work for more notes
Over the sounds of owls, bats and other creatures of the night, merry songs
vibrated the cool air over the tents of the encampment. The camp stretched well
over a mile and yet it was still cramped with many tents, bonfires, and bodies.
Flags were proudly displayed, flowing in the cool breeze that drafted from the
river. Of the flags that were strewn about the camp, Roland could see three
that were the most prominently displayed. One bared the Stark sigil of a gray
direwolf on a white field, another displaying the white trout on a red and blue
background of house Tully and finally the last flag showed the twin towers of
House Frey.
By far the worst house in the Riverlands, Roland mused, no, that is too
generous. More like the worst house in Westeros.
He sighed and ran a hand through his chestnut hair. He needed to focus, needed
to check the supplies, the rations, and the soldier’s morale.
Too many things to do than get distracted by tonight’s festivities
Roland got up from the stump that he was occupying next to the campfire. His
laughing companions, drinking and already far down into their cups, barely
noticed his leave. He made his way to his tent, a rather big one than most that
were raised but it was by no means exuberant, at least not like how some of the
other, more prestigious, lord’s tents were. Roland weaved about the campfires,
and the celebrating soldiers. All around him, they were drinking, joking,
singing and enjoying the night. And a quite a bit of them were hollering the
name of their great Northern king.
King Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, Roland thought, the King of the North. Or as
some would call him, the King that lost the North. He chuckled bitterly at the
thought. Roland can sympathize with the rest of his fellow northern lords. He
would rather be back north reclaiming the lost holdfasts and territories than
occupy the south. Yet at the same time, they couldn’t ignore the threat of the
iron throne either.
Well, the Greyjoy rebellion isn’t as taxing on House Draton. Father hasn’t sent
me any word that any of the squids has reached Mistfall.
Roland had finally reached his tent and had just opened his flap when a
familiar voice called out to him.
“Milord! Lord Draton!”
Roland turned around and found himself in front of a young gangly lad of ten
and four. He had a short crop of dusty black hair and despite his being four
years younger than Roland, he was already of equal height. He grinned at the
lad, who was struggling to catch his breath.
“Easy Rick, catch yer breath.”
“Milord something is about to happen!” Rick exclaimed. His small dark beady
eyes darted about warily.
Roland laughed merrily. “Aye, something is about to happen,” He draped his arm
over the boys shoulder and lead him into the tent. “A wedding between our
magnificent king’s uncle and a blushing Frey bride” he said dryly.
Rick shook himself of Roland’s arm and looked exasperated. He flailed his arm
around. “Not that, milord! I’m not a lackwit!” He looked out the tent on guard
and then lowered his voice so much so that Roland had to step closer and lower
his head to hear “Milord, the Freys, they are not drinking”
He brought his head back and raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing his squire. Rick
squirmed under his gaze and lowered his head, avoiding to look at Roland in the
eyes.
Roland laughed “And Rick?”
So the Freys are not drinking? What am I to assume from that? Bugger them if
they are not, it’s more ale for the rest of us.
“If anything, the Freys are saving their ale. You know how the bastards are.
They cut costs on everything, bum everyone because of that stupid toll to cross
the river. If anything, I’m surprised they gave us any ale at all, for being
the cheap bastards that they are,” said Roland. He went to his desk and set
down the mug of ale that he was carrying till now.
Rick straightened and a gleam went into his eyes. “See, but that’s it! The
Freys, a group known for being selfish and exuberant of themselves is now all
of a sudden being generous and not drinking a drop of ale! It’s very
suspicious” he said with renewed fervor.
Roland frowned and crossed his arms. Now that he thought about it. When he was
walking around the camp, checking on his soldiers, all the Frey soldiers were
indeed sober. None of them were drinking or even partaking in the festivities.
They were huddling close to their tents, distancing themselves. And the Frey
lot was known for their rambunctious drinking habits… but even with the unusual
behavior, Roland couldn’t see anything of it, any rhyme or reason to it.
“And Rick? I will admit it’s unusual, especially for them. But I have no idea
the reason to it.” He sighed exasperated, “And as suspicious as it may be. What
am I supposed to do? Force ale down their throats?”
“Milord,” He fiddled nervously with his thumbs. “I assume” He paused and bit at
his lip. He then spoke slowly as if making sure what he said was understood.
“What I am trying to say is to be careful milord. Stay away from the Freys.
Before you generously gave me the position of squiring for you, I had my fair
share of time in the bad corners of Westeros. If I had learned anything in my
life it’s that people are creatures of habit. Anything out of habit needs to be
taken with a grain of caution. At least until you know why it’s being done.” It
wasn’t until after he had his say that Rick finally looked Roland in the eyes,
with a stare that was imploring him to so…. Something. As to what, Roland did
not have a clue.
“Thank you Rick” Roland said with a slanted grin. “For your words of wisdom.
They shall forever be in my heart and mind” For emphasis, he placed his hands
over his chest lovingly.
Rick narrowed his eyes and straightened his back “Just be careful, milord” He
went to the flap of the tent and looked back at his lord, to have his leave.
Roland waved his hand, ushering him out.
Maybe Rick had one too many mugs of ale, Roland mused, from the way he was
acting, I would be expecting a coup and all because the Freys are to sour to
partake in the fun.
He uncrossed his arms and settled onto his desk seat. In front of him was a
pile of letters, ranging in length. Roland reached for the longest one. On it
could be seen two forms of writing.
No doubt from the twins. Gods I miss them so much, I’ve been gone from home for
too long. I haven’t even seen Cerlina yet.
Roland’s lady mother Arenna, was carrying her fifth child, when Roland left for
the war. Her stomach was still flat indicative of the first months of
pregnancy. And now just a few nights ago, he had received a raven carrying the
letter that informed that his mother delivered safely a new healthy baby
sister. The news was the most joyous he had received in recent time.
Well other than the Frey wedding we’re having now. But it’s not so joyous
considering it was supposed to be the King that was to be the groom. Ah seven
hells, I shouldn’t let the other northern lords’ views touch me. As long as we
cross the bridge we shouldn’t care who marries the Frey girl. But then again,
the King did marry a Westernlander instead of a Northern girl….
Roland shook his head. He shouldn’t be delving into politics tonight. Tonight
would probably be one of the only nights for a while that would give him
reprieve from all of the madness. He grabbed his mug to drink and found that he
was on his last drops.
“Damn it,” Roland muttered, “Just when I need Rick” He sighed, Agh better get
it myself.
He got up from his desk and walked out of his tent. It was well into the night
by now and the wedding ceremony should have ended. Assuming it was just a
traditional light of the seven wedding, the feast would be underway. Lost in
his thoughts, he stared at the towering twins whose shadows fell on the camp
while working his way to the ale stations. In his path was an assortment of
Tully and Stark bannermen.
Not a Frey in sight
While passing by a particular campfire, a brash Tully soldier stood up and
grasped Roland by the shoulder.
“Hey lad!” He guttered out slowly, “Be kind, and get your elder a mug of ale
would ya?” He shoved his mug into Roland’s hands before Roland could respond to
his lack of respect.
“Excuse me?” Roland exclaimed. Anger started to boil under his skin. A lad?
Roland was anything but a lad. These past few months had him leading house
Draton’s men. He was in battle where he had fought and killed his share of men.
He had responsibilities that this Tully man, his elder, would never have on his
shoulders. He was about to reprimand the soldier, when a Stark man, a Hornwood
specifically, stood up quickly realizing his fellow campmate’s mistake. He
grabbed the Tully man and pushed him aside.
“Forgive him, Lord Draton,” the soldier responded hastily, bowing his head low
in respect, “he has had too much to drink, as you can see.” Both men turned
their heads to the Tully man at his side who was wobbling unsteadily on his
feet.
Roland nodded, his anger quickly cooling. He saw no reason to lash out at a
soldier too drunk to even regain balance.
He probably won’t remember this moment on the morrow morning.
“As you were, gentlemen” Roland stated to the soldiers. He was about to leave
but then turned back to the Hornwood man. “Once that fellow turns sober enough,
do properly inform him who are the lords residing in the camp” The man nodded
hastily and the other followed suite. Roland, satisfied, nodded his farewell
and returned to walking to the ale stations. And yet again he was distracted
but this time by his own self.
What are Bolton men doing with the Freys?
Over at a tent, Roland could see a crowd of Frey men talking amongst each
other. Yet among them were one or three Bolton men, the flayed man cross
emblazoned on their leather armor. Unlike the Freys, they were not
participating in whatever conversation was occurring. Instead they were focused
on sharpening their swords on whetstones. Like the Freys, there was no wavering
in their movement and without a mug in sight.
Northern men not celebrating? Have the seven hells frozen over?
Roland frowned at the strange sight. Bolton men were the bannermen of the
Starks. Northernmen. And Northerners like most of Westeros in fact, hated the
Freys. He looked over at the section of the camp where Lord Bolton’s men
resided. Even from the distance, Roland could see the men lounging about in
their chainmail or standing to talk amongst themselves.
But not drinking, Roland thought. The Freys and now the Boltons? Mayhaps they
are nervous for the battle that will follow once we cross the river? No, the
Bolton men are anything but craven. The freys, yes. But the Boltons? Not a
chance in seven hells.
Roland’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud baritone horn that vibrated
ominously strong through the air for a good couple of seconds. The horn was
loud enough to hear over the camp noise. Roland would think it to be a signal
that riders were approaching, but each horn had a distinctive noise. And this
one did not belong to the camp guards’ usual horns.
Very queer Roland thought. His feet started to lead him to the entrance of the
camp to investigate but was stopped in his tracks by the high metallic sound of
swords being drawed out of their scabbards all at once. The next second men’s’
screams rang out drowning out the sound of the music and laughter. Roland spun
on his heels and was met with the sight of a battlefield.
Seven hells, one second it’s a camp and the next it’s a battlefield.
Roland looked left and right. And all around him, men were falling, too drunk
to even grasp their swords while their stomachs and throats were slit. Horns
were now blowing on and off, Stark and Tully horns. There was shouting, lords
trying to rally their men, trying to get them to follow directions while the
Freys hacked their swords and bows at any man that did not have their sigil.
Fucking Freys! Roland thought. He turned sharply and ran towards his tent with
all his might, dodging swinging swords and notched arrows whistled past him.
Roland screamed at his soldiers and Northern men to draw their weapons and to
follow him on his way. He need to organize his men quickly and try to regain
some order in this chaos.
Need to get my sword too, he thought as he swung his body to the right as
another Frey clumsily tried to hack at his side. I’m easy prey without my
fucking sword. He let out a sigh of relief when the Frey man was stabbed in the
back by one of his men. He swiftly nodded his appreciation to the man before he
charged into his tent. In a flurry of movement, Roland grabbed and unsheathed
his sword that was laying on his bed and ran back outside. He was met with a
few of his men that followed his command or at least sober enough to do so.
Luckily for them, House Draton was at a distance from any sizable amount of
Frey men. Right now, his men were staring at their lord with wide eyes, faces
twisted grotesquely in fear. Around them, screams were now accompanied by
clashing steel and the smell of burning flesh and wood. In the distance, Roland
could see a huge blaze growing in the east side of the camp.
This is a fucking slaughter. Not even a battle.
“What do we do milord?!” shouted a man at Roland’s front. His knuckles bone
white as he clenched his bloody broadsword.
Fuck! What do we do? Roland’s eyes scattered about the battle. Damn it! The
hell do I know, the fucking King is at the wedding. The King!
“Men! Take a spearhead formation. We’re cutting our way to the twin towers. We
must reach our King!” Roland yelled over the screams and slaughter. Roland
hoped that the mention of the Young wolf would raise their spirits and
strengthen them. He was relieved to see that some had their faces and back
straightened in resolve at the mention of their king. Reaching the King was the
only idea that his mind brought forth. The King would know what to do. He
raised his sword in stance and started to charge into the mass of people
clashing steel. The first of the Freys that was met were easily cut down by
Roland and his men.
Cheap armor and steel they’re wearing. Lord Walder Frey does not waste his
expenses, not even on the lives of his men, Roland’s mind added.
Emboldened by the ease of cutting down the first of the Frey men. Roland
shouted “Faster! We must reach the twins!” A Frey man lunged, arching his sword
over Roland’s head but he was too slow and his front was left defenseless.
Roland blocked the path of the sword before sliding down its length into the
man’s neck. He dislodged his sword and the body slumped down lifelessly. He
marched onwards cutting more and more Freys in his path. In the midst of the
battle, more Tully and Northern men noticed and joined his small band of able
fighting men. He yelled at them to move faster, they needed to reach the twins
and they were close too. Only a couple more tents they needed to pass. Roland
could already see the entrance gate but with that visibility, he could see that
there was fighting in the twin towers as well. Roland cursed inwardly.
No, we need to get to the twins. The king is there and so are most of the
lords.
As they worked their way to the front gate, cutting down more Frey men, Roland
could see a group of Bolton men approaching them from the right with their
swords and crossbows drawn.
Thank the sevens, Roland thought,more help.
With that thought, six Freys lunged at the group from the left. Roland was
quick enough to block one of the Frey’s attack but from the corner of his eye,
one of his compatriots was not as lucky as he was gutted He pushed back the
Frey sword and hacked at his front where a spray of blood erupted from his
enemy’s face. Roland quickly cut down the man. He looked at his men who were
still fighting off the others, and they were struggling too, struggling to
raise their swords to block quickly enough.
They’re tired Roland realized, Fuck! Where are the Bolton men I saw? He turned
his head to his right where he saw the Boltons. They were aiming their
crossbows in their direction.
Finally, Roland thought, what are they, green boys? Shoot the damn freys al---
Roland cried out in agony as a sharp excruciating pain erupted from his right
side. He looked down to see an arrow lodged deep in his flesh. He looked up,
eyes widening in realization.
The fucking Boltons…
But the thought was cut short by another sharp whistle of an arrow. There was a
flash of pain in his left eye and then Roland felt and saw nothing.
End Notes
     Please comment and give me some feedback.
     Also if anyone wants to beta read this fanfiction. Please shoot me an
     email and let me know! Would really love it!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!