Nerd In the North: Season 3, Ep 14 Outline (Patreon)

the march toward the dreadfort continued in a grim, tense silence. the losses they’d already suffered weighed heavily on greg’s mind, each step forward feeling heavier than the last. the men around him, a mix of hardened fighters and terrified recruits, wore their exhaustion openly. they whispered among themselves, their voices laced with doubt, frustration, and fear.

greg halted in the middle of the column, his instinct tugging at him to address the growing unease. he turned, climbing onto a crumbled stone outcrop at the side of the road. ash padded after him, his massive red eyes glowing faintly in the encroaching dusk.

"listen up!" greg’s voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and commanding. the men turned to him, their faces pale and worn but attentive. “i know what you’re thinking. that this march has already cost too much. that the dreadfort’s walls are too high, too strong, and its lord too cruel.”

a few heads nodded, others glanced away, their shame palpable. greg let the silence stretch, his eyes scanning the crowd. “but let me ask you this. what’s the alternative? go home? back to lives under the thumb of men like roose bolton? back to being hunted, exploited, and cast aside like you’re worth nothing?”

a low murmur ran through the group. ash let out a low growl, punctuating greg’s words. “if you think i’ve dragged you into this blindly, you’re wrong. i’ve seen what he’s done. i’ve seen the bodies, the mutilation, the fear he uses to control you. and i’ll tell you this: i’m not marching to the dreadfort to die. i’m marching to end it.”

greg’s voice dropped, the intensity sharper for its softness. “you have my magic, you have our strength,” he gestured at Ash and Guts,  “and most importantly, you have each other. you’ve already proven you can fight. you’ve already shown me what loyalty and bravery look like. the boltons don’t expect that.”

the men shifted, some standing straighter, others murmuring agreements. greg stepped down, nodding once. “rest up. we move again at dawn.”

the men dispersed, their spirits somewhat lifted, but greg couldn’t shake the gnawing doubt in his chest. no amount of magic could erase what they’d lost. he wondered if he was leading them toward a victory—or just a slower death.

as he walked back toward his tent, a faint prickling sensation crawled up his spine. his instinct flared, sharp and unrelenting.

"greg," guts’s voice rumbled from where he stood, at the other side of the crowd, low and wary. but it was already too late.

the first blade slid between his ribs, sharp and deliberate. 

greg gasped, staggering forward as pain lanced through his body. he twisted, his magic flaring instinctively, but another knife found his back, followed by two more stabbing into his stomach.

he collapsed to his knees, vision blurring as the traitors revealed themselves—four men from his own camp, their faces twisted in desperate rage. one of them, a lean man with wild eyes, stepped closer. “you’ve led us to ruin,” the man spat. “you think we’re going to die for your delusions? for your... tricks?”

before greg could respond, a deafening whoosh filled the air, and the man’s words ended in a wet gurgle. guts’s massive blade cleaved through him and two others in one swing, the sheer force of it spraying blood across the ground. the last traitor froze, babbling as his knife trembled in his hand, before guts swung again, cutting him down without hesitation.

the camp fell into a stunned silence, the remaining men staring at the scene in horror and awe. guts stood over greg, his blade dripping crimson, his expression unreadable.

greg, his breath ragged, gritted his teeth and gripped the hilt of the sword still embedded in his stomach. his hands glowed faintly with golden light as he muttered a healing spell, his voice low but firm. “oh radiant light, mend what has been torn, seal this flesh and banish the shadow of death.”

the light intensified, flowing through him like liquid fire. the pain dulled, his wounds knitting themselves back together. as the sword clattered to the ground, greg stood, his chest heaving but his expression calm.

he glanced down at the bodies of the traitors, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “they didn’t have to die,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

guts snorted, wiping his blade clean with a practiced motion. “they stabbed you, kid. what did you think was gonna happen?”

greg didn’t answer. he turned to the rest of the camp, the men staring at him with a mixture of fear and reverence. “bury them,” he said firmly. “they made their choice, but we honor the dead all the same.”

the men nodded, moving hesitantly to obey. greg watched them for a moment, his heart heavy. he knew the cost of leadership, but that didn’t make it any easier.

as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, the dreadfort’s imposing walls came into view. greg stared at them, his face hard. there was no turning back now.