Walder Frey sat in the Twins, old and spiteful, chewing on the end of a chicken bone while listening to yet another messenger drone on about "Northern pride."
He spat.
"The Starks think they rule the North unchallenged," he grumbled.
"They ignore the Freys. Mock us. Treat us as lesser."
His sons glanced at each other nervously. When Walder was insulted, someone always suffered for it.
"Father… what do you intend?"
Walder grinned — a thin, rotten smile.
"I intend," he hissed, "to make the North so chaotic, so unsettled, that Eddard Stark must split his forces. He must leave villages unprotected."
He pointed a crooked finger.
"Take one hundred of our men. Dress them as wildlings. Burn small villages, raid farms — only enough to spread fear. Then retreat north and vanish."
His sons hesitated.
"But… if the Starks discover—"
"They won't," Walder snapped. "And if they do…"
The smile returned.
"…they will blame wildlings, not Freys."
A month later, the North was restless.
Smoke rose from isolated homesteads.
Farmers fled to Winterfell for safety.
Rumors whispered of wildling bands sneaking past the Wall.
Ned Stark had no choice.
With a heavy heart, he gathered two to three hundred men and rode out to hunt the so-called wildlings. Winterfell became stretched thin. Villages were vulnerable.
Exactly as Walder Frey intended.
LEO'S DISCOVERY
Leo caught the scent of danger long before anyone else.
For five weeks he had shadowed the forests, listening to travelers, watching burned houses from afar, noticing details the average northern villager never would.
Tracks too disciplined.
Raids too coordinated.
Slaughter too clean.
Not wildlings, he realized.
Soldiers. Trained ones.
The final confirmation came when he ambushed a small scouting pair near the Wolfswood border. The fight was swift, the Winter Soldier's skill overwhelming.
One was unconscious within moments.
The other lay dead in the snow.
Leo dragged the living one into the shadows and used the calm, clinical interrogation skills buried in his inherited memories.
No gore.
No cruelty.
Just cold efficiency.
It took only minutes.
The soldier broke.
And Walder Frey's plan spilled out.
The disguise.
The raids.
The hidden camp of one hundred Frey soldiers posing as wildlings.
If they continued… dozens more villages could fall.
Leo stood silently.
Then he made a decision.
No survivors.
No witnesses.
No more Frey plots in the North.
THE MASSACRE IN THE WOODS
Leo moved at night — silent, deadly, unstoppable.
The Winter Soldier's body made him faster than any man in Westeros could imagine.
Stronger than a seasoned knight.
More durable than any armored soldier.
His vibranium arm cut through shields.
His enhanced senses tracked the camp even in blizzard winds.
His training allowed him to dismantle group after group without raising an alarm.
He attacked like a shadow.
Swift.
Quiet.
Precise.
One by one.
Two by two.
Then larger clusters.
The Frey camp never stood a chance.
Within hours, one hundred disguised raiders had fallen.
Not a scream echoed.
Not a survivor crawled away.
When dawn finally touched the fresh snow, a cold wind brushed across a field of silent bodies — the Frey banners hidden beneath stolen wildling furs.
Leo stood above them, breathing steadily.
He had killed entire Hydra squads before.
A hundred men meant nothing.
What mattered was this:
The North was safe.
The villages protected.
And Walder Frey's plot had died in the snow.
No one would ever know.
Not Ned Stark.
Not the Freys.
Not the North.
Only Leo — and the silent forest — understood what had happened.
WHAT THIS CREATES
Leo's actions trigger massive ripple effects:
✔ The expected raids suddenly stop
Ned Stark becomes suspicious — he feels something else is in the woods.
✔ Walder Frey notices his men never returned
He grows paranoid, believing the North uncovered his plan.
✔ Rumors spread among travelers
Stories of a specter in the snow, a silent killer, a ghostly warrior.
✔ Jon Snow dreams again
This time the shadowy figure in his dream is covered in frost… and blood.
✔ The Stark children sense a tension in Winterfell
Something unseen is moving pieces on the board.
And Leo?
He returns to his forest vantage point, calm and calculating.
This world was cruel.
This world was dangerous.
But he was far more dangerous than anything Westeros had ever seen.