Chapter 11 – Warg
I understood now why my vision had begun to shift — it was Snow's eyes I had been seeing through. A strange sensation, but the answer came easily.
I was a Warg.
I had heard the old stories from Old Nan a thousand times before, dismissing them as tales for childrens. But the moment I felt the connection, the clarity, the instinct — there was no doubt. I could see what Snow saw. I could feel the world through him.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
The battle was nearing its end, and the North had seized an undeniable momentum. Yet rage burned within me. Their betrayal. Their arrogance. Their audacity. I had only just begun to deliver the carnage they deserved.
Snow arrived, white and ghostlike amidst the blood and mud. I climbed onto his back, shouting with fury across the battlefield:
"TAKE NO SURRENDER! KILL THEM ALL! WINTER IS COMING!"
The call echoed and multiplied, taken up by thousands of voices like a storm wind through a pine forest.
"WINTER IS COMING!"
The battlefield trembled with the roar. I spurred Snow forward, grabbed a broken spear from the ground, and charged. I fought like a man possessed — no, like a beast. Every enemy before me fell, their blood spraying across Snow's once-pristine coat. My rage became the only thing that guided me — hot, savage, and blinding.
Alone, I carved a path through the Reach lines. No allies by my side. Just me, Snow, and death.
Northmen, seeing their commander unleash hell itself, were swept into a frenzy. Something ancient awakened in them. They surged forward like wolves in a blood-haze, unyielding, unstoppable.
The Reach soldiers began to break.
I was killing them with no mercy on my mind. Just a single thought of killing and I didn't stop my rampage.
Terror gripped their hearts as they fled. I could hear them screaming:
"Demons of the North!"
"Demons of the North!"
And still I rode. My armor soaked red, Snow's coat now crimson. So terrifying was the sight that some Reach soldiers dropped their swords and stood still, as if to embrace death rather than flee from it. Others wept, soiling themselves as they ran.
I cut down dozens more, until I reached a cluster of Reach lords surrounded by their knights. They were shaking in their gilded armor, eyes wide like startled children.
Behind me, the rest of the Northern host arrived — Lords Jeor Mormont, Stig, Manderly, Bolton, Karstark — the full fury of the North gathered around.
Even the Northern lords stared at me with a flicker of awe… and fear. I dismounted Snow, whose flanks were drenched in gore.
One Reach knight stammered, "We surren—"
I drove my blade through his throat before he could finish.
There would be no surrender.
One by one, I began to butcher the knights, ignoring the cries and pleas. The Northern lords had no choice but to follow my lead.
I advanced toward Lord Mace Tyrell, the swollen Lord of Highgarden himself. He looked ready to faint.
Lord Jeor Mormont stepped forward, concern in his voice.
"My lord, it would be wise to keep him alive. He's valuable as a prisoner."
I growled, "People like him isn't worth the air he breathes. The North has no use for him."
Mace fell to his knees, blubbering. "Please, spare me! Highgarden will pay you richly. Gold, lands — anything!"
I raised my sword to end him.
"My Lord, stop!" came a shout.
Lord Rogar, bandaged but on his feet, limped into view, supported by his brother Mors Umber.
I turned in shock. "You should be resting, not on a battlefield."
Rogar's face was grim. "And let you kill a prize like this? Think, Artos — remember what your father words. Reason over Rage. This man is worth more alive than dead."
The other Northern lords murmured in agreement. Even Stig and Bolton nodded.
I exhaled sharply, then lowered my blade. "Fine. Take them prisoner."
Already, our soldiers were dragging the Reach lords away in chains. The rest of their army had broken completely, scattering across the fields.
Lord Karstark approached. "Shall we pursue them? Kill the stragglers before they rejoin any remaining Reach host?"
I shook my head.
"No. Let them go. Let them carry their terror and fear with them. Let them spred the dread. It will create a psyche of fear among enemies camp. It will prove us good in coming war."
The lords understood. Nods passed around.As they understand seeing thier Lord and his Horse fully covered in blood terrified even the.
I mounted Snow once again and rode to the heart of the army.
"MEN OF THE NORTH!" I roared.
"THE REACHMEN FLEE BEFORE US! THEY CALL US DEMONS — DEMONS OF THE NORTH!"
Cheers erupted. Thunderous and wild.
"THEY CAME WITH 35,000 MEN! WE HAD 20,000. BUT WE TOLD THEM — WINTER HAD COME! AND WE SHOWED THEM WHAT IT MEANT!"
"THE NORTH REMEMBERS!"
"THE NORTH FIGHTS LIKE WARRIORS!"
The Northmen roared back, bloodlust still burning in their veins. Something primal had taken hold of them. They weren't men anymore — they were beasts, howling for more war.
Northern army both in awe and fear seeing thier Commander stood stop his horse both in red hue of blood fully covered.
"Demon Wolf!" someone shouted.
The name spread like fire.
"Demon Wolf! Demon Wolf! Demon Wolf!"
And I let them chant. I didn't care what they called me. I had become exactly what the North needed right now and What South will fear.
---
Aftermath
"In total, 2,700 dead," reported Lord Glover, reading from a bloodstained ledger. "Less than we feared, thanks to the sheer ferocity of our assault. Most were Greybeards. The loss, while painful, is bearable."
I nodded. "And the wounded?"
"Over 6,000. But," Lord Jeor Mormont interjected, "most will return to fight. They're recovering fast — some refuse to rest. They want to return to the front, to finish what they started."
I couldn't help but smile. "True Northmen, through and through."
"And Lord Rogar?" I asked.
"Alive," Jeor said. "No life-threatening wounds, but he won't be fighting again soon. Internal damage. He'll need time."
"Let him command from the rear with Glover when he recovers," I said.
Lord Glover grinned. "He'll complain like hell."
"He can mumble all he wants," I replied. "He'll follow my command regardless."
Laughter followed — the first true laughter since before the battle.
I turned serious again. "We'll rest and regroup near Harrenhal, but keep distance. Let's not expose ourselves. We are unaware of thier loyalties.We'll position near the Isle of Faces. We don't yet know all our enemies' plans."
"Preparations will begin immediately, my Lord," said Lord Wyman.
Then Stig, quiet until now, smirked and spoke. "You should visit my sister, Stark. You almost lost your mind in rage out there. Maybe a night with her would calm you down."
Laughter burst again, this time at my expense.
"You should enjoy your youth while you have it, my Lord," Wyman added, barely keeping a straight face. "Leave the boring matters to us."
Even I had to chuckle.
---
At Riverrun
Ned Stark and Jon Arryn had made their alliance official — Ned wed to Catelyn Tully, Jon to her younger sister, Lysa. Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, had taken command of 15,000 Riverland soldiers to support our cause, while others stayed behind to protect the region.
Lord Hoster Tully entered the chamber with fresh news.
"The battle has occurred near reach and Riverlands border. The North met the Reach in the field. Thirty-five thousand Reach soldiers. Twenty thousand Northmen."
Ned's face paled. "What happened? Who won?"
Jon Arryn's expression was equally grim — a loss here would shift the war dramatically.
Hoster gave a smile but it was complicated. "The North won. And not just won — they slaughtered the Reach army. Survivors speak of demons— of monsters. They call the Northern host 'Demons of the North.' Your brother'The Demon of the North' "
Jon Arryn scoffed. "Fleeing cowards always tell stories to justify their failure."
But Ser Brynden Blackfish added, "Perhaps. But even Northern men now call your brother the 'Demon Wolf,' Lord Stark."
Ned sat silently, then said, "Call him whatever. What matters is this — my brother won. And with it, the North has given us the advantage. It gives us momentum especially after Robert defeat. It was dangerous for them to go there. "
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