Torrhen Stark - The Black Wolf

Torrhen rode on ahead of the main party. He gave quiet praises to his stallion for staying calm beside Winter.

The smallfolk took shelter from the onslaught of rain that cleared the muck and smell of the wastes from the empty streets. The rain spattering onto the cobblestones muffled out the conversation Littlefinger and Ned were having about royal bastards. Torrhen had underestimated Robert.

The rain was falling harder, now. The air smelled fresh and of cold rain. Different from the usual smell of shit that Kings landing used to reek of. Winter loved it and the cold bought back the feeling of the North back to both of them.

Halfway to the Red Keep, Winter suddenly stopped in his tracks. He let out a low snarl. Torrhen could feel Winter's caution of danger in his mind, and he felt his heart flutter.

Torrhen stopped and examined his surroundings. He whistled, and Winter let out a howl into the sky.

He felt Lady's response from the Red Keep.

"Come, Winter." Torrhen strode back to the main party. He looked his father in the eye and said, "Follow me. Everyone. Quick!"

The group turned without protest, except for Littlefinger who wanted to say something, but Torrhen didn't give him the chance.

Winter let out another snarl after a few paces from where they turned back.

"Damn it!" Torrhen hissed, halting and turning once more.

Ned moved closer and held onto Torrhen's arm. "What is happening?"

"We are surrounded," he said. "The damn rain hid them from Winter's senses until it was too late."

"They are still hidden, my lord," Jory said quickly to Ned. "If we make a charge for it—"

"No," Torrhen said. "We don't know how many they are, where they are or what they have hidden for us. We need more time until my Pack gets here. We have to delay, no matter what. Keep your swords ready but sheathed until I say so."

"How can they come to us without knowing that something's amiss?" Heward said as the Northmen strode closer to their liege lord.

Torrhen didn't reply for he was thinking. They were four fighting men and a Direwolf, without including Littlefinger. And they were mounted with horses. A small group, but Torrhen had Ice strapped to his back and Winter with him, those two alone significantly increased their chances, not to mention the presence of Torrhen himself. Though he hoped that it would never come to that. Taking the life of a man filled him with such emotions that the darkness in him clamored for more, even as he did everything to suppress it.

Taking another man's life scared him more than anything. Not for what he did to others, but because of what those acts did to him after he had done it. Torrhen had never shown that side to his family and vowed never to on fear that his father might disown him.

That was when Jory called out, "My lord!" his voice hoarse with alarm. In an instant, the street was full of soldiers.

Torrhen moved himself to the front while Winter took up the rear. He glimpsed ring mail over leathers, gauntlets and greaves, steel helms with golden lions on the crests. Their cloaks clung to their backs, sodden with rain. A quick glance told Torrhen that there were twelve men, blocking the street, with long swords and iron-tipped spears. "Behind!" he heard Wyl cry and Winter howled once more. Over his shoulder, he saw ten more men cutting off their retreat. Jory's sword came singing from its scabbard. "Make way or die!"

"The wolves are howling," their leader said. Torrhen could see rain running down his face. "Such a small pack, though."

Torrhen didn't move from where he stood. He removed the cloak and let it fall to the streets, big drops of rain spattering onto him. "Jory. Sheathe your sword." He didn't look back to see whether the captain obeyed the command or not.

Littlefinger walked his horse forward, step by careful step. "What is the meaning of this? This is the hand of the King."

"He was the Hand of the King." The mud muffled the hooves of the blood bay stallion. The line parted before him. On a golden breastplate, the lion of Lannister reared its defiance. "Now, if truth be told, I'm not sure what he is."

"Lannister, this is madness," Littlefinger said, and Torrhen let him talk. A few minutes could be a matter of life and death to them now. "Let us pass. We are expected back at the castle. What do you think you're doing?"

 "He knows what he's doing," Ned said calmly behind him.

Jamie Lannister smiled. "Quite true. I'm looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don't you, Lord Stark? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair-haired, mismatched eyes, sharp of tongue. A short man."

"I remember him well," Ned replied.

"It would seem he has met some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. You would not perchance have any notion of who might have wished my brother ill, would you?"

"Your brother has been taken at my command, to answer for his crimes," Ned Stark said.

Littlefinger groaned in dismay. "My lords—"

Ser Jamie ripped his longsword from its sheath and urged his stallion forward. "Show me your steel, Lord Eddard. I'll butcher you like Aerys if I must, but I'd sooner you died with a blade in your hand." He gave little finger a cool, contemptuous glance. "Lord Baelish, I'd leave here in some haste if I did not care to get bloodstains on my costly clothing."

Littlefinger did not need to be urged. "I will bring the City Watch," he promised Ned and Torrhen. The Lannister line parted to let him through, and closed behind him. Littlefinger put his heels to his mare and vanished around a corner.

Eyes watched from nearby windows and doors, but no one was about to intervene. A charge might win them free but not without a cost that Torrhen was willing to pay. Before the men behind drew their swords, Torrhen spoke loudly, calculating for future consequences, so that even those in the houses could hear him speak. "Your brother, Tyrion Lannister, stands accused of attempting to kill my brother Bran Stark! He sent a catspaw to my bedridden brother to finish the deed. And the vile assassin hurt my Lady mother, Catelyn Stark, when she tried to protect her child. Had it not been for Bran's Direwolf they would have been dead now. The Catspaw held with him a dagger that led to your brother, Ser Jamie." Torrhen lowered his voice, so that only those near could hear him. "Kill me and my father," he warned to the Kingslayer, "and my mother will most certainly slay Tyrion."

Jamie Lannister poked at Torrhen's chest with the gilded sword that had sipped the blood of the last of the Dragonkings. "Would she? The noble Catelyn Tully of Riverrun murder a hostage? I think … not."

"You forget, Ser." Torrhen inched his horse forward. The leather he had worn pushing against the blade. "The Tully words are Family, Duty, Honor. Family comes before Honor. And though I have never boasted before," Torrhen gave a thin smile, "mother loves me most amongst her six children."

Jamie sighed. "I am not willing to chance my brother's life on a woman's honor." He slid the golden sword into its sheath. "So I suppose I'll let you both run back to Robert to tell him how I frightened you. I wonder if he'll care." Jamie pushed his wet hair back with his fingers and wheeled his horse around. When he was beyond the line of swordsmen, he glanced back at his captain. "Tregar, see that no harm comes to Lord Stark or his son."

"As you say, m'lord."

Ser Jamie didn't speak of Winter nor of the men accompanying them. Torrhen whispered hastily to the men behind him. "Be prepared to charge. Winter and I will create an opening. Follow and don't stop for anything."

"Still … we wouldn't want them to leave here entirely unchastened, so"—through the rain, Torrhen glimpsed the white of Jamie's smile—"kill his men and the beast."

"No!" Ned Stark screamed.

"Swords!" Torrhen bellowed, taking Ice from his back.

Winter rushed to stand beside Torrhen. He bent low, baring his fangs to the red cloaks, he let out a chilling bark that scared men and horses alike. Torrhen had to reach out to calm the horses from bolting away in fear of the Direwolf. Winter bluff-charged twice to test their defenses. The men backed away a step but still held their ground, pointing their spears in Winter's direction.

The Lannister men in the rear advanced emboldened by Winter moving to the front, while those in the front were reluctant as Winter threatened them with snarls and growls. Any longer and they would be trapped, behind sword and spear, unable to move.

"Charge!" Torrhen roared out pushing his heels into his horse, enticing the horses they rode on to gallop after the Direwolf.

Winter rushed onto the red cloaks faster than they could react. Torrhen and Ned on either side of the wolf, charging with their swords out, deflecting any blows from swords or spear.

Winter vaulted into the air above the steel-pointed tips. The spears moving too slowly to intercept the Direwolf as he fell upon Tregar. He dragged the body by his jaws latched onto the man's throat as he struggled and failed to slash the wolf with his sword.

Torrhen tasted the red blood in the Wolf's mouth, as he used Ice to sever the arm of a red cloak trying to thrust a spear into Winter's back. Ned charged on ahead as the men gave way for him. Jory Cassel put his heels into his mount and charged. A steel-shod hoof caught a Lannister guardsman in the face with a sickening crunch. A second man reeled away and for an instant Jory was free.

Torrhen felt Winter's heart beat with his as one, as he tore Tregar's throat out. His life flowing away in seconds. And Torrhen knew their lives would never be the same again.

Red cloaks on either side rushed to close the opening, Winter and the charge had created. Wyl cursed as they pulled him off his dying horse.

He could not hold back any longer. Not even for his father, not while men died around him. So Torrhen let the rage consume him. His vision turned blood red as he turned back. Torrhen galloped to Wyl. With a simple tugging in his mind, his horse reared, hitting one on the chest with the hooves as Torrhen took off another's head with a quick swing of Ice. The headless body fell to its knees and slowly tilted forwards onto the ground. Torrhen bought Ice just as quick around to block a spear aimed at his chest.

Heward was hacking at the hands that had seized his bridle, when a spear caught him in the belly. Winter was already upon the spear man, and this time he didn't hold back as he did with Tregar. In an instant, Winter had severed the arm holding onto the spear with his jaws like a savage beast, as his claws raked into the red cloak's chest. Suddenly Jory was back among them, a red rain flying from his sword. He slashed at a man trying to sneak a blow onto Winter from behind his back.

"No!" Ned shouted. "Winter, Jory, away!" Ned's horse slipped under him and came crashing down in the mud.

Torrhen let out a savage shout. He wanted to go to his father's side but men were closing in all around them. Wyl was on the ground struggling to rise as Torrhen held off the men from killing him. And Heward lay motionless with a wound to his belly as Jory and Winter struggled to ward off attacks from both sides as they protected the fallen man.

A spear pierced Torrhen's mount in his throat, neighing as he fell. Torrhen felt the horse's pain as he jumped and rolled just before his legs could get trapped by the falling horse. Ice falling from his hands as he tried to brace for the fall.

Torrhen furiously crawled away as a spear clanged onto the cobblestones where he had just fallen. He held onto the length of the spear and snatched it from the red cloak. His blood lust at a level that he had never experienced before, he swirled the stolen spear in circles deflecting a few blows and aimed the steel tips at the men's faces, driving them back while one red cloak fell clutching at eyes that weren't there anymore. Without a care for his own safety, Torrhen lunged with his entire body behind him and threw the spear onto a red cloak, piercing his heart as he tried to cut Jory's mounts.

He took Ice from the ground, held onto Wyl's hand, dragged him from beneath the horse, and threw him behind breathlessly, as his chest heaved at the exertion. "See to father, Wyl," he exclaimed as he held off the thrust of three men.

Wyl crawled to where Ned fell. Ned's mount had gotten to its feet but he lay where he fell, unable to move.

His arm injured by the thrust of a sword, Torrhen screamed in pain. The darkness in him clamored for more blood and lives but Torrhen pushed it away. "Jory! Winter! Fall back!" But words were useless as the red cloaks pressed on them.

Just a few more moments. Torrhen needed to buy a few more moments.

Torrhen's mind protested as he commanded his father's horse to him. With a swing of Ice he pushed the three red cloaks back, and jumped onto the horse. Torrhen let out a scream and charged at the men who dragged Jory to the earth. He lopped off a head of one of the red cloaks who were upon Jory with a single swipe of Ice, and rode onto a man who had put a spear into Winter's shoulders. A sword bit into his chest from the other side while Torrhen fought off another man. His balance was off as he tried to swerve out of the swords path, and before he knew it, he was on the ground.

Torrhen raised his hand to block the sword, when Winter moved onto its path and took a wound from an angry Lannister man meant for Torrhen. The Direwolf's blood fell onto Torrhen's face, as he stood over him, protectively. A menacing growl on his face regardless of the wounds he had taken.

Only Winter stood.

The red cloaks were making their way to the fallen Northerners to finish them off. Slow and warily for only a wounded Direwolf stood while nine red cloaks remained of what once was twenty-one. Torrhen could not tell if Heward was still alive, while the others struggled to even rise due to their injuries. As they closed in around the wolf, Winter too would fall in time.

Torrhen felt hot tears on his cheek as he staggered to his knees and then onto his feet. The pain of a broken bone in his chest felt like a dagger that stabbed repeatedly under his skin every time he moved. Torrhen raised Ice in challenge and roared, "Come! Die like the rest of them."

The red cloaks advanced. Torrhen took a step forward when a grey blur flew past him, and smashed into the red cloaks standing against him. The Pack mounted on horses, and led by Ser Cleyton Whyte, rode upon the red cloaks advancing towards Wyl and Ned, and Torrhen. The red cloaks fell back in fear.

Though the men bought by Cleyton were only five, Alys and Owen and along with three other of his father's guard. They were enough for him.

Torrhen raged at the sky and danced alongside Lady and Winter, as a pack, with Ice to take down those that remained.

There was no mercy shown to those that surrendered pleading for their lives nor to the wounded. Only cold butchery for they would have done the same to his men and Winter if it were not for the Pack and Lady.

The same fearful eyes watched from houses as Torrhen met out justice on the very street. Owen held them down as Torrhen executed them with Ice. None escaped but Jamie, and he doubted Robert would allow to pursue justice against the Kingslayer.

He recalled the experiences he had felt in the fight. Today was different, Torrhen thought. The darkness had not come with force as it had before, though he still felt its presence. This time, Torrhen was in control of himself throughout the fight, and he had killed men without feeling those wrong feelings that he had felt before.

Maybe Winter had something to do with it. This was the first time he had killed since he had found Winter. They called the Direwolves a gift from the old gods. Did the old gods send him to protect Torrhen from himself. If so, he was grateful for it, but he still held his doubts about the gods. It was more likely that he was a pawn for their grand schemes and machinations.

Lady and Winter were licking each other's wounds sitting beside Ned, on the carriage that Cleyton had found to carry him back to the Hand's Tower where Torrhen could start treating him. In another carriage, lay Wyl and Jory, too wounded to ride and Heward's dead body. The spear was fatal and had likely taken his life moments after.

Torrhen said to the Gold Cloaks that arrived just as they were leaving, "Give the bodies of the red cloaks to the silent sisters. They must have families. Send word to the Lannisters." Though the Gold cloaks didn't want nothing to do with it, they did not protest.

Owen said as they rode back to the Red Keep, "Now what?"

Torrhen held onto his chest and looked to Cleyton. "Get us into the Hand's tower and barricade the entrances with double the guard. Until father is awake and well. We will do nothing but wait. Though the Lannisters ambushed us, all of them are now dead except for Ser Jamie Lannister. The Queen will no doubt twist the narrative. We must be ahead of it."

"What do you have in mind?" Cleyton asked.

"We must spread the word," Torrhen looked to the sky. "By the time father wakes up, I want the knowledge of the Lannister treachery, the breaking of the guest rights when they had visited Winterfell, Brans' fall and murder attempt, and my lady mother's wounds when she tried to protect her son. And how Bran's Direwolf saved both their lives." Torrhen thought for a moment. Then decided to go with it. He would not be the first one to use religion for their own needs. He can pretend however long if it meant the Direwolves were safe. "And spread the myth that the Direwolves are a gift from the Old Gods themselves, sent to the Starks to protect them. I want the smallfolk to see today's massacre as a heroic story of the Direwolves doing everything to save the lives of me and my father. I want public opinion to favor us, if not the Direwolves will never be safe from this day onwards. Not when they can see for themselves what the Direwolves can do."

"It shall be done," Cleyton said. "I will get to it after you are safe behind the walls of the tower. It will not be hard to move public opinion in favor of us. Your free food centers across Kings landing would gladly help us. A few singers bought for to sing in the ale houses and wine sinks. And there are some within the Gold Cloaks who favor the Starks and you. Together, I can have all of Kings landing sing a song. But…"

"What is it?"

"A good story needs a villain. The Imp and the Kingslayer, if we portray them in a manner that benefits us."

"You mean to vilify the both of them?" Torrhen asked.

"Yes," Cleyton said. "The story might be easier to swallow. Or else it will appear forced."

"Do it," Torrhen said, feeling heavy with exhaustion. "After today, I won't hold back if they keep pushing."