𝐽𝑜𝑛 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘
299 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡
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The place named Craster's Keep was not a very nice looking place by any means, Jon believed. But it looked like it were built to last through any winter. But the last one had been many years ago, nine exactly. But Maester Aemon said before that the Great Summer was coming to an end.
And winter is coming.
But either way, whether it's winter or summer, the man that is no better than a Wildling, Craster, seemed to be doing just fine. As Jon rides alongside his friends towards the keep, he sees many things: animals including a cow, chickens and hogs. But more than just fresh meat, he sees women. Glancing at Ben beside him, he found that Ben was already looking at him, seemingly expecting him to do so as Jon smiles nervously, and Ben just shakes his head amused.
Jon glances to his left as he and Ben come to a stop beside the sledge, an amused smile on both their faces as they see Sam annoying Grenn yet again. But a lot of things annoyed the farm boy.
"Having a rough time of it?"
He asks as Sam stumbles to his feet off of the sledge.
"Nothing's killed me yet."
"Your ass killed the sledge."
Grenn grumbles and Sam looks at him offended.
"You offered me a ride!"
"I just wanted you to shut up about your damn blisters."
Sam rolls his eyes as Jon chuckles, turning away to look at the keep before them. Large wooden stakes sharpened to cruse points stick out of the frozen ground seemingly everywhere. And on them, Jon notices animal skulls. From hogs to cattle. And Jon grimaces when he noticed that a few of the skulls were human.
"I don't trust this place.."
He muttered as Ben stood beside him, shrugging his shoulders with a sigh.
"You're telling me."
"Are those girls?"
Yes, there were women walking around. A lot of women. Sam stands beside Jon along with Edd, Grenn and Ben, with only Edd looking away from the lot.
"I haven't seen a girl in six months."
"Oh, I would keep on not seeing them girls."
Edd mutters as Grenn chuckles, smiling as he looks at one of them across the way.
"The old man doesn't like others messing with his daughters?"
"Gods only knows with the Others and his daughters, but others with his wives?"
A collective look of disgust washes over all their faces as they each turn to Grenn, seeing not a lie upon his face. Jon nearly wants to puke as Ben only looks away, closing his eyes for a second, being better at hiding his disgust for that.
"He marries his daughters, you see. And they give him more daughters, and on, and on it goes.."
"That's foul."
"It's beyond foul."
"All the Wildlings for over a hundred leagues have disappeared."
Edd muttered, moving along as though this was just a regular day. And perhaps it was as a Ranger. But Jon still grimaced when he thought of what those girls had to do with an old man, their father.
"Craster's still here. So he must be doing something right."
Edd moves along, leaving Sam, Grenn and Ben to stand beside Jon, all a little in shock.
"That's fucking sick. And not the good kind of sick, no, the disgusting kind of sick."
Grenn spits at the ground, the mere thought of daughter-wives seemingly turning into a poison in his mouth.
"What happens to the boys?"
Jon glances at Ben, his voice coming out of the blue and making Sam nearly jump as the three of them nearly forgot he was standing there.
"What?"
"The boys. His sons. If he keeps his daughters, what does he do with his sons?"
His voice is that of suspicion, and Jon could see the gears of thought turning in Ben's head constantly. And then that worried shine in his violet eyes looks right at him.
"Don't trust anyone here. Not the women, not the old bastard, no one. Got it?"
Jon chuckles, smiling as he shrugs.
"I can manage taking care of myself, Ben."
He remarks, and yet Ben only raises a brow, shaking his head.
"Jon, you were pissing your pants until you were eight, I don't want to hear it."
Grenn snickers as Jon looks at him with an annoyed glare, but Sam and Grenn only continue to chuckle. Patting his shoulder, Ben walks by him, amusement swimming in the eyes of worry.
"Come on."
꧁~~~~~~꧂
"-he said he was going to stop here on his way to the Frostfangs."
"People make all kinds of plans they don't follow,, promises they don't keep. I haven't seen Benjen Stark in three years. Haven't missed him. Always treated me like scum."
He walks alongside Ben, entering the wooden keep and standing towards the entrance. Jon's eyes linger on a woman on the second floor for a moment, but he feels Ben slap his side to make him stop. But looking at Ben, Jon only rolled his eyes when he caught Ben looking as well.
"Haven't had any good wine for a long time. You Southerners make good wine, I'll give you that."
"We're not Southerners."
The man, the old man, Craster, suddenly looks at Jon, eyes wide with a glare.
"Who's this little girl?"
Craster mocks as he looks as Jon.
"You're prettier than half my daughters. You got a nice wet twat between your legs? What's your name?"
"Jon Star--"
"Benget Stark."
Ben cuts in, pushing in front of Jon with his eyes narrowed at Craster.
"This is my brother Jon. I've caught him plenty of times to know he does not have a twat, unlike you, old man."
The whole keep goes silent. The daughter-wives all freeze and stare as Jon nearly snorts with a chuckle. But Craster... Oh, he was pissed. Staring at Ben, he spits at him.
"Benjen Stark, Benget Stark, Jon Stark, Ned Stark, all the same. All the same punk ass, cheating, coward cunts who treat me like scum. You best not speak another word, Stark, for I'm eyeing this little boy's axe here and I'm eyeing your hand. I think the two would look nice together."
"The lad meant no harm."
Jon glances to the Old Bear, seeing him nearly standing from his seat, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Craster turns to the Lord Commander, a calm and deadly glare in his eyes shown as clear as day.
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"I catch a one of these pretty fucks eyeing my daughters, going near my wives and trying to mount them like damn, dirty dogs, I'll skin them like a stag."
"No one will touch them. I swear. Right?"
Jon catches the glance from the Lord Commander before his eyes travel to Ben. But Jon noticed how Ben did not even look away from Craster. He didn't even blink. Craster glares for a while longer, the silencing eating away at the room before looking away back to Mormont, smirking.
"So... You bring any of that good wine with you?
"We did. We passed through six villages on the way here. All six were abandoned. Where have all the wildlings gone?
The conversation starts to get back on track, but Craster only chuckles.
"I could tell you, but I have a thirst."
Jon watches the annoyed look on Mormont's face. He sees the patients wearing quite thin like fine silk from the Reach. But Mormont relents, motioning for a Watchman to grab one of the barrels from the sledge, bringing Craster to satisfaction.
"You want to know where they've all gone? North! To join up with Mance Rayder... Your old friend."
"He's no friend of mine. He broke his vows, betrayed his brothers."
"Oh, aye. But once he was just a poor black crow. And now he's King-Beyond-the-Wall."
Jon had heard many stories while at Castle Black of the man they call Mance Rayder. Some say that he was a good man once. Once is the key word.
"He's been calling himself that for years. What’s he king of? A frozen lake somewhere?
Craster looks at the Watchman sitting next to Mormont, ignoring him as he grins. Without saying a word, Craster motions with his fingers to hand over the axe he had his eyes set on. With a huff, Jon watches as Mormont snatches the axe, shaking his head before passing it to Craster.
"Oh, that's some lovely steel."
He grins before bringing it down hard, embedding it deep into the wood beside the fire in the center. And then the old bastard glances to his left, eyeing up Jon with a raised brow and a bigger grin. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even have to.
Looking back around Craster only cackles slightly.
"You want to know what Mance Rayder is doing? Gathering an army. What I hear, he's already got more men than any of your southern kings."
"And where does he plan marching this army?"
And Craster only looks at Mormont like he were stupid.
"When you're all the way north, there's only one direction to go."
"These are bad times to be living alone in the wild. The cold winds are rising."
The Lord Commander warns, but Craster shakes it off as though the winter means nothing to him.
"Let them come. My roots are sunk deep."
And then to Jon's disgust, Craster reaches to his side as one of his daughters passes by. He grabs her arm, and the girl immediately tenses up, something Jon nor Ben like one bit.
"Wife. Tell Lord Crow here how happy we are."
"Um..uh...T-This is our place. Our husband keeps us safe. Better to live free than die a slave.."
The girl mutters nervously, frightened and with a stutter.
"Don't it make you jealous, old man, to see me with all these young wives and you with no one to warm your bed?"
Mormont scoffs.
"We chose different paths."
"Oh, aye, and you chose the path with no one but boys on it."
He shakes his head before standing.
"You'll be wanting to sleep beneath my roof, I suppose, and eat me out of pigs."
"A roof would be welcome. It's been hard riding. We've brought our own food and good steel for you. This is your house, your rules."
Jon felt that that comment was meant for him. Glancing beside him, Jon sees Ben leave the keep, mumbling something to himself as he starts to follow.
Leaving the small keep, Jon tries catching up, but a gloved hand shoves him forcefully, making him turn to raise his fist but immediately drops it when he sees the Lord Commander.
"Who am I?"
He questions in a calm sort of anger, and Jon is only confused as Mormont presses him harder against the post.
"Who am I?"
"Lord Commander.."
"And who are you?"
"Jon Stark.
"Who are you?"
Jon sighs as he looks away to the ground, finding the rocks and dirt under the snow more interesting.
"Your steward.."
"Unlike you, Stark, your brother is a leader. He has sense, and knows when to raise or when ti fold his cards. You do not."
Mormont let go of Jon, sighing heavily as he looks at him.
"I chose you for my steward because I can see what you could be. The Wall and the Watch have run out of men, proper men that is. Benget Stark is one. And I need you to be a proper man, not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now. Do you understand, Stark?"
The Lord Commander mutters, and Jon slowly nods, understanding that he is still in his brother's shadow, no matter what.
𝑇𝑦𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟
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Oh, Tyrion was happy. Today was a day of reckoning. A day the whole damn world would be put into order. His order. Oh, how Cersei lose her mind, he knows. And so, Tyrion struts through the grand halls of the Red Keep, catching many astranged and confused looks as the Imp continues along as though their looks of insults were but dummy arrows clinking off his chestplate. They meant nothing to him.
Bronn walks alongside him, his hand resting gently on his sword at his side, a habit he had picked up through life's teachings. The strange pair of business partners come to a stop to the door to the Small Council Chambers and Tyrion turns to him.
"Do be kind as to guard the door. I really do not wish for her Kingsguard enter. I never really liked Ser Meryn or Ser Mandon."
"Sure. I'll guard you, Little Lore, from Ser Whosey and Ser Whatsey."
Bronn remarks and Tyrion nearly grins, shaking his head in amusement as he pushes the doors open to the hall. He could hear voices in the short distance, and Tyrion smiles even brighter, his voice beginning to fill the hall.
"Oh, dead..oh, dead..oh, dead..."
Tyrion's musical voices call out throughout the hall and into the chambers as he enters, the Small Council having stopped talking as they all turn to look at him with surprise. For being some of the most secretive and manipulative people in Westeros, they sure did look surprised to see him. Oh, but Tyrion grinned as Cersei saw him, and immediate fire was lit in her eyes.
"If the Boar had know his whore,
She'd be dead.
Oh, very, very dead."
He continues walking before coming to a stop at the table, looking at it as he puts his hands on his hips in mock thought.
"I ought to make all tables the maximum hight of three feet. That seems only fair."
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"What are you doing here?"
His sister seethes angrily, but calmly as Tyrion only chuckles, walking towards her.
"Not even a hello to your favorite family member? I'm hurt, Cers. But, you look more ravishing than ever, big sister."
Tyrion places a kiss on her cheek as Cersei internally grimaced as he only grinned. Tyrion walked with the confidence of a lion who was to take over the pride by force. And his claws were long and sharp, ready to dig in.
"Do continue, Small Council. Counsel."
"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"
Cersei demands, a glare in his eyes as Tyrion sits at the other end of the table, plopping himself right next to the Master of Whispers himself and the Mockingbird as well. Looking between Varys and Petyr Baelish for a moment, Tyrion mocked a look of confusion, looking as though the question offended him as he smiles.
"Dear sweet sister, what ever do you mean?"
"You heard what I said."
"I have. But I'm simply confused as to why you bring up a question that has such an obvious answer?"
Cersei does not answer, but Tyrion could care less. The way her fists are more than likely clenching under the table in pure anger were enough for now. It was such fun to get back at her.
"Is this the Small Council Chambers? Oh, goodness me. I swore that this was it. Seeing how Littlefinger, Pycelle and you are here, I think I've mistaken this for the local whorehouse."
"Enough!"
Cersei finally snaps, slamming a fist onto the table hard, but Tyrion only grinned. Janos Slynt nearly jumps out of his seat in fright as the other Lords grimace from the reaction. Cersei now stands to her feet, her hands leaning onto the table as she glares daggers coated in the most painful of poisons towards her brother.
"What makes you think you have the right to he here?"
"Four questions."
"What?"
"Five, now. Five questions since I've walked in here five seconds ago. Some day, Cersei, you will need to be the ones with the answers and not the questions."
"Wha-"
Cersei bit her tongue as Tyrion had gotten her to slip. Oh, the fun.
"So I was correct, this is the Small Council. And as such, I do believe that the Hand of the King has every right to attend such meetings of said council."
Tyrion reaches into his breastplate, a grin on his lips as he takes the parchment and passing it to Varys without so much as breaking any eye contact with Cersei.
"You are not Hand of the King. Our father is. How are you the Hand?"
"Six."
Tyrion replies simply as Cersei growls, her hands gripping the beautiful carved wood of the table that will surely take more abuse from Cersei in a few moments. Varys opens the paper, reading the golden ink forming the words, seeing the seal of Lannister marked next to the name signed on the bottom.
"Your father has named Lord Tyrion here as Hand of the King in his stead until her returns from--"
"OUT! ALL OF YOU, OUT!"
Cersei screams as Varys and the other stand, moving quickly to the exit to escape Cersei's wrath. But Tyrion did not move an inch. He only smirked. She could not touch him. She could not lay a finger on his equally gold locks without having the finger that lays be removed from her hand. She knew that. Tyrion knew that.
Cersei moves towards Tyrion. He looks at her with amusement as she stands before him with her fists at her side. She looked so ready to take a swing herself. This would've been the one time she'd get her hands bloody herself. And that thought only makes Tyrion even more happy as he motions to the seat, and Cersei inevitably sits down.
"I'd like to know how you've managed to trick Father into this?"
"I suppose you did not listen to me just now about questions."
Tyrion chuckles as Cersei scoffs, not saying anything more. And so, Tyrion continues on.
"I heard you've come quite remarkable in the arrt of ripping up papers in my absence. It's good I gave that decree to Varys and not you."
"Barristan Selmy was a traitor. Ned Stark was a traitor--"
"You chopped ones head off and banished another. And because of that, the entire Northern Kingdom has risen up against our House, and the Old Knight is traveling east."
Tyrion mutters, and Cersei only scoffs yet again.
"Are you afraid that the old man will find some magical arts in the desert and come back with fire and blood?"
"The fire and blood part, yes. Magic, maybe not. But I'm concerned more of the current game. The game of thrones you seem to love playing but make the worst moves in."
"I've been playing it since the day I was born."
"Marrying Robert was probably the cheapest move you could've made. Killing him was even cheaper. And here I was thinking Lannisters had a taste for extravagance and pricy things."
Tyrion chuckles, reaching forward and grasping the handle to the wine as he begins pouring some into a glass. After, he holds the wine out to Cersei, seeing her green vindictive eyes staring at it for a long moment, but she shakes her head. Tyrion just rolls his eyes as he passes it to her.
"Poison would be the last way I'd kill you."
"I didn't kill Robert... The boar--"
"Oh, yes, how everyone loves to blame the pig. Only many seem to blame the pig with claws."
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Tyrion remarks, looking her up and down just for a moment and Cersei grits her teeth, shaking her head in disgust as she looks away from him.
"Was that what you were just singing? A song to mock me?"
"Well, it does play on you mostly, but does mock old King Robert a little as well."
"And who made this song?"
Tyrion was waiting for that question. He lead the conversation that way in order to get it. It would be a kick to Cersei's teeth, and he reviled in it.
"Haven't you heard? The song is a hit. Why, the entire Realm from Dorne to the Wall is singing it!"
"Who. Made. This. Song? Was it you?"
Cersei growls, her nails digger into the table in front of her as Tyrion leans forward, the most amused grin on his lips as he stares into eyes of evil with a chuckle.
"Who else but Benget Stark?"
𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑏 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘
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"But there I lept up to my feet with a shout,
"I detest, Your Grace!"
Oh, you should have seen her face!"
Robb smiles as he walks through the war camp, listening to Northmen cheer and sing after another good victory. The war was going well. For every Northman killed, the statistics were showing him that they were killing ten Lannisters before going down. At that rate, the war would be over soon. If things kept going as they have been, maybe the Realm might know peace by next year or sooner.
But there was no peace. Not yet, at least. He taught Robb that people needed to die. A horrible truth, but the truth nonetheless. It will end, but before it does, a lot more people have to die. He just wished it could be different.
"King in the North.."
Robb approaches the cage, his warm breath showing in the frigid air as Jaime Lannister lies tied to a pull in a great many chains and ropes. The man was filthy, covered head to toe in mud, his own piss and shit. They had not given him anything to survive aside from food and water. Robb honestly could not care for how he lived or felt. The other prsioners were treated well, their wounds tended and their bellies properly filled. But the Kingslayer? Oh, the winter winds could nip at him for all Robb cared.
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"Come to see me off or am I to stay in this cage forever? I would have figured figured would have left me in some castle with one of your bannermen. Perhaps the Greatjon, probably the only Northman that could possibly beat me."
"Ben beat you."
Robb replies simply and with a smile. Jaime only scoffs as he spits at the ground as though he were spitting at Benget himself.
"As though he is of the North."
"He might've been born in Dorne with my other brother, but he was raised in the North. It runs in his veins just as well as it does mine."
"Does it? In his veins?"
Robb looked at him with confusion, but Jaime only shakes his head, the thought he wanted to push leaving his mind as it did not matter in the end. The thoughts and feelings of a caged man would never be heeded anyways.
"That song you hear is a bard to your very sister, you know."
"I know. Your men haven't stopped singing it since Benget Stark ran away back to the Wall to live out his days with nobody but a bunch of Wildlings, White Walkers and little boys sent away by there fathers just like him.
"Mm. Better than where you live though."
Robb says, ignoring the Kingslayers comment as he enters the cage slowly, kneeling to the ground to be at eye level with the Kingslayer. Jaime narrows his eyes as Robb only smiles.
"As you might've heard, my oldest brother has a..reputation here in the South. My men are calling him the Lionsbane, among other things. But the reputation of war pales in comparison in his reputation of bedding women...your sister included."
"Fuck you.."
Jaime growls, and Robb only shakes his head with a chuckle.
"So you do believe it. From interpretation, I don't think he went all the way with the Red Queen, but got her pretty damn close on purpose...and that's why she went to you, isn't it?"
The humorous demeanor was gone from the Young Wolf has he glared at the Oathbreaker before him.
"The Red Queen went to you for a fuck because she was left hanging...that's where my little brother found you. That's when you pushed him from the window to hide the truth."
"And what truth is that?"
Despite Grey Wind not being present beside Robb, Jaime could see the sheer and utter bold confidence and anger in the Stark's eyes. And that alone felt more threatening than a wolf, as the boy before him was no longer green. He was a wolf. Robb stands back to his feet, the glare never waving.
"Stannis Baratheon has sent ravens to all lords high and low in Westeros, from Sunspear to Eastwatch by the Sea. Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true King, nor a true Baratheon. He's your bastard son."
"If that's true, then it makes Stannis the rightful King, how very convenient for him. You want to gossip about it like a couple of fishermen's wives?"
"Oh, the words we speak here, Lannister, are truth, not gossip. You know it, and I know it. Go ahead. Hide behind that clean smile and green eyes, pretend your claws are long and sharp, but in the end, you know it is the truth. And it is the truth that damns you and your House to Hell."
Robb turns away, clenching his fists as he leaves the Kingslayer in his pen, trapped like a hog waiting for the inevitable slaughter. Waiting to die, waiting to live. Waiting for an absolution that was a long ways away.
𝐵𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘
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The night was at its darkest. And with the deep and thick forest surrounding the keep, it was even darker. Not even the moon nor the stars could shine bright enough to shown through. The only thing that could let a man be granted sight here was the white snow that littered the forest. But in contorted the sight, was blinding in the darkness. A man could get lost in it.
But not Benget Stark.
His violet eyes glowed in the darkness, his warm breath like fire in the cold night. The cold felt good. It felt nice to freeze in a way. It was relief to him. His dreams had him feeling like he was afire. But in reality, the reality he lived in, he was ice.
His father visited again in his dreams. And again, Ben chased after him. But no matter how fast Ben always ran, he could never catch him. Nor any of the figures that cursed him in his nightmares. They were always so close, and yet so far out of reach. Last night's dream was no different. And yet that dream hurt more than the others. He saw his lute burning. It broke his heart. The cords snapped under the pressure of the heat, the engravings of wolves and stars burned to ash, blowing away into nothing, mixing with the snow.
Ben shakes his head as he waits on the tree branch high up above. He waits. He listens. Towards the keep, he could hear one of Craster's wives still crying. She had been so upset when she had birthed a boy earlier in the day. It was strange to him. In the South, or what Craster would say is anything on the southern side of the Wall, a boy would be a blessing. It's something that he doesn't understand. A son, a daughter, it did not matter to Ben. If he had a child to call his own, he would not care what it was, as it would he his. And that's enough. But to the poor woman, the boy was like a curse. And that night, Ben waited to find out why.
He had known this place was off from the start. From the start, when he saw so many women but not a man or boy in sight, he felt off. Even just the stories before even setting foot from the Wall were off putting. This place was wrong. It was eerie and it was wrong. All of it.
And then, the muffled cry of a child calls out and Ben snaps his head in that direction. It came from the keep. Ben narrowed his eyes and focused up as he saw Craster walking with a bundle in his arms. His eyes widen as he saw the old bastard make his way out into the forest beyond his domain, walking into the darkness.
And so, Ben decided to follow.
He walked along the snow covered tree branches of the forest, having to jump from limb to limb on occasion, but he managed to keep his balance. He left his cloak behind at the keep, having put it around Jon as he slept. He stupidly left Dawn there, too. He should've brought something other than the gloves he wore on his hands. But he wouldn't manage.
Following Craster closely and yet silently, the old man had no idea he was there. It was getting harder to see and to move the further they went into the forest, but Ben kept following.
But then, Craster comes to a stop. He halts in his tracks as his eyes look around in the darkness for a moment. Ben held his breath for a moment, knowing he was good at sneaking but wondering if the old man had seen him. There wasn't any way. And it seemed he had not as the man places the wrapped bundle down into the snow, turning around and walking away. Ben's eyes widen in shock as he just walks away as though he was not abandoning his child. But it does not shock him as much as it should have considering exactly what he does with his other children.
When he could no longer see Craster, Ben began to climb down from the tree carefully. Branch after branch, he climbed down from the tall tree. He was close to the ground before he froze as though he were a statue. A branch snapped in the distance, and it wasn't coming from the direction Craster went back to, but from the opposite direction of where he was. The soft sound of snow crunching came to his ears as he still froze in place on the tree.
Slowly looking towards the silent baby boy, Ben's eyes widen in absolute shock as...something stands before it. Be could see skin that looked like ice, hair long but silver as though they were Valyrian. It looked like a man made of ice and snow. But the thing that caught his eyes were the glowing of the pure blue eyes of cold.
Ben stared in shock as the thing takes the wrapped up baby in it's arms, looking as though it gives no more care to the boy than Craster, but the baby is silent. And just as Ben was going to make a move, the thing takes the baby and disappears into the night, the sound of crackling following as though whatever the thing was, was talking. Or it was laughing. It was not real. It was so wrong. This place is wrong.
Ben finally slides down from the tree, eyes wide as he stares into the direction the thing disappeared in. But it was gone. It had not not he was there.
"Damn Stark."
Ben turns sharply and a sharp blow meets the side of his head, and his ears ring. He stumbles to the snowy ground as a swift kick connects with his ribs.
"You were not meant to see!"
Craster bellows, and swiftly brings a fist down on Ben's face yet again, hitting the same spot and making a cut where blood leaked out, seemingly smoking. Ben felt pain again and again as two more blows game, and he tasted blood in his mouth. But growling, Ben reached up and snatched the third blow in his hand, stopping it as he glares at the old man.
"What the fuck was that?"
Craster tries taking another swing, but Ben was back and he twisted out of the man's grip, and uses his speed to his advantage as he spins around him, wrapping his arms around the man's chest and lifting him off the ground before throwing him, slamming him into the ground.
"You child murdering asshole! What the hell did you do!? What did you do!?"
"You aren't meant to see, bastard!"
Ben swiftly brings a fist down, spitting out a little blood from his mouth as he snatches Craster's arm with his hands, tugging it into an angle that Craster knew would snap it if he did move in the wrong way, or his next words were not careful. But Ben could not care as he punches Craster in the face and begins to drag him forcefully, angry beyond words.
"Let's go have ourselves a chat, shall we?"
Craster struggles as Benget drags him through the snowy dark forest.
꧁~~~A/N~~~꧂
Howdy, folks. Well, there's another one done for you all. It's somewhat short, only around 5,400 words give or take. But I really hope you all enjoy it. Ask any questions if you've got them, and I shall answer you! And thank you so much for all of your support on this story! It means the world to me!!
Thank you so much! Much love!! ❤❤