A lot of people here are saying how their lives have been ruined because of the war, but theirs is no match to mine. It is as ruined as thinking blue and orange look good together. My son Bran, crippled at such a young age by falling off a tower. My husband Ned, killed for treason by the devilspawn Joffrey Baratheon. My daughters, Sansa and Arya, captured as hostages. Good luck to them getting Arya to shower, though once a week. Or month. Later on my youngest children, Bran and Rickon, burned to death by Theon Greyjoy. If I couldn’t trust my husband’s bastard, what more of his ward, who is in no means blood-related to him? Now, what was the name of that bastard? Joe? Joey? Jobert? Whatever. And now my eldest son, Robb, has been slain. But do you know what I really hurts the most? What keeps me up every night? It is the fact that I look so much older than they intend to in the books. That’s the most painful thing. Ever.
Being a wildling is fun. Campfires, killing crows, doing whatever you want. There are no attachments, no law to abide, no leader to dictate to you. It’s all according to your choosing. But do you know what’s not fun about it? Lack of color. We always wear fur, with lots of grey, and more fur. It does not look well with my hair. Where is the freedom? Speaking of freedom, Lord of Bones has let Jon Snow join us and turn his cloak to become a wildling. I could not be any happier. Jon Snow tells me of huge castles that we can live in. I can’t wait to see one with him, my sexy turncoat wildling prince. He’s handsome, with or without the black on, if you know what I mean. All those nights under the cloak, those mind-blowing, earth-shattering nights. Not to mention all the quality cave time we had. It just gets me wet just thinking about it. Come to think of it, I’ll go find Jon Snow and we’ll do it right now.
The moment I knew that my father was beheaded, I knew I had to be strong for my mother, my siblings, and for Winterfell. In a blink of an eye, in just one swig of a sword, I received a great responsibility, to be a ruler and to take charge after what my father has left. It was bound to happen, but I did not expect it to be so soon. I was merely a man grown when it happened. I felt bad for my mother, for all the pain she’s been through. For the people of Winterfell, to those who died and are at loss due to the hands of Theon Greyjoy. I declare Friendship Over, as King of the North. No backsies. The past is the past, and I now have to look onward. Now I not only have a land and people to protect, but also a wife. Jeyne has been the only good that has happened so far in all of this. We weren’t supposed to happen, but I’m a guy, and there are… forces more powerful than duty. I hope that doesn’t cost us the Freys. They seem nice, they’re not the type of people who invites guests and then kills them, right?
You know what’s fun about being the underdog? They can undermine you, call you all the names that they want. Like, for example, Littlefinger. I just ride with them, but there’s a part of me that is in no ways little. (wink) I have several women who can attest to that. They can belittle you, thinking that you do not deserve any more than you have. They can leave you in a corner, be the useless furniture that you are. They can forget that you even exist. But in reality, without us, the bigger men are nothing. They are helpless without their little helpers. We are the important pieces to this war. And the most fun of all, when you make smart, diabolical, intricate plans for the possible disaster of a kingdom, or seven kingdoms, you are never ever suspected. That, or everyone else you’re playing with are completely stupid.