Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, I do however own the non-canon character(s) of this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so I ask you to not expect anything worthy of the great GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful feedback/thoughts about the story.

Notes: I've made my stories GoT/Asoiaf Crossovers in order to reach both categories and by extension a larger audience, we'll see what effect it has, if any. Meanwhile our two bastards sail into the Port of Ibben and lay eyes on the Winter Fleet, but not all of it, there are naturally other sections of the fleet in difference ports elsewhere on Ibben like at Titan's Point where Brandon no doubt sailed with a number of ships, not to mention Lord Titan's ships that he originally landed with etc.

Reviews: Lyarra and her order doesn't listen to anyone but the gods and would see 'assassination' of some king as below them unless that king happened to be actively hurting the gods, nothing in any of my stories is ever 'push button to win' levels of OP. Who would win a duel with Robb vs Rodrik? Rodrik. Easily. Robb becomes a skilled commander thanks largely to his advisers while Rodrik is a veteran of leading men and is better than Willam with a blade. It would be the same outcome as Jaime vs Robb. Lyarra's green eyes are the side-effect of whatever ritual the order does when they take away gifted children into the forest, haven't made the details up yet, but we'll learn them.

Chapter 14: Shields of Winter

Jon stood wide-eyed at the sight of well over a hundred ships anchored in the bay as the docks were seemingly full and bursting with activity. The first thing he noted was the sails, he recognized some of the sigils, the bear of Mormont and more importantly the direwolf of Stark standing out prominently on the sails of ships larger than anything White Harbor had boasted. The smallest and most numerous vessels had two square rigged masts and were impressive enough on their own but what stood out was the monster in the heart of the anchored fleet, a ship with three masts and unlike the smaller vessels it boasted not two but three decks. Jon stared in awe at the sight as their ship, pathetic by comparison, pulled into the Port of Ibben. "The Shipright." Cregan said, having walked up beside Jon whom was still looking out at the anchored fleet.

Jon practically jumped out of his skin as the fellow bastard land a hand on his shoulder. "What?"

"The huge bastard in the center." Cregan explained with a grin, motioning out at the largest ship in the fleet. "He's called the Shipwright."

"He?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

"Don't name your ships back home?"

"We do." Jon paused, he knew little and less of ships. "I- I think we do."

"Admittedly, most of them have feminine names." Cregan shrugged. "That handsome bastard however is named after our founder, Brandon the Shipwright. Flagship and Father to the Winter Fleet." The pride in Cregan's voice was clear enough, he'd always liked the sea and his families fleet was the envy of those that saw it, although in truth it's design and construction was aided greatly by supplies and knowledge from the empire. It had taken time but over the years the fleet grew stronger and more refined as the old was discarded and replaced by the new. The fleet numbered at around two hundred during times of peace, not counting merchant and fishing vessels that could be called into service nor the number of new vessels that could be constructed for war given enough time and warning. Cregan had no doubt that at least a portion of the fleet had remained at home too encase any civil strife happened to arise on the Islands. One of his brothers, he knew, would be there to keep order.

"The double-decks are called Snows, the largest of the breed." Cregan began to explain, thinking it best that Jon understand some of the basics concerning the fleet. "The sails and rigging on the main mast of a snow are exactly similar to those on the Shipwright; only that there is a small mast behind the mainmast of the former."

Jon kept a blank expression as the elder bastard continued to speak, most of the information beyond him.

"The Shipwright is a class of ship we've named wolf-of-war, or wow for short."

"And you've how many of those?" Jon asked, snapping himself out his his trace as the crew of their ship all did the same and prepared to dock.

"Shipwrights one of a kind." Cregan replied, turning his gaze away as their ship pulled up to the docks.

The docks were separated into groups that clearly represented the dominant naval strength of the Winter Fleet, those of Mormont and Flint being overshadowed by the banners of Fisher and the numerous Starks. Jon now stood on the pier taking in the sights as their ships crew disembarked, eager to see the sights for themselves.

"House Seastark," Cregan began to explain as he noticed Jon's confused expression at the various differences between the Stark banners that were flying proudly above the docked ships. "a chained anchor inside a black direwolves head on a field of white. The black sun in splendour on white is House Sunstark and the grey wolf rampant on white is the Greystarks. And lastly we've the running grey direwolf on an ice-white field, the ruling House of Stark, but you knew that already."

"The Greystarks died out a thousand years ago." Jon muttered, Ghost sitting patiently beside him gaining more than a few curious looks from passersby. Animals were hardly a rare sight, countless birds of various sizes could be seen flying above and resting on the ship masts, but none had been a direwolf in the flesh before today. "They sided with the Boltons in a rebellion and were wiped out as punishment."

"You best keep that little fact to yourself lad," Cregan warned sternly. "the Greystarks are not the strongest cadet branch and would happily cut you down to defend their honor and more important their reputation. Although they would hesitated to strike down kin assuming they believe own little tale, but Ghost ought to convince them."

"And the others?" Jon asked as the pair began walking slowly down the pier.

"Seastark is arguably the strongest, controlling the second largest section of the fleet besides the Starks themselves, they pride family above all else so the moment we announce you as Eddard Stark's son any ill-thoughts they may harbor against you will vanish with the tide."

"And the Sunstarks?"

Cregan sighed. "Sunstarks a cold one, lost his faith in the gods after last winter nearly wiped out his line. It's best you avoid him."

A large column of men paraded down the cobbled street that lead from the city to the docks, flying the banner of Stark at it's head with the rampant common grey wolf of Greystark flying proudly beside the direwolf of their founders. Shouts of "make way for the prince" could be heard, causing Cregan to halt and prepare himself for what would no doubt be numerous questions, the Mormont escorts from before meant Rodrik would no doubt be aware of his arrival.

At a glance a stranger would no doubt have failed to tell the difference, it was not Rodrik but his twin that had come to greet the wandering bastards. "Cregan!" Prince Edric shouted as he closed the gap between them, guards flanking him like shadows, two grey wolves following their masters and taking particular interest in Ghost whom had moved forward to inspect his smaller grey cousins. Edric pulled his brother in for a hug, exclaiming "by the gods it is you," as he pulled away to get a better look at his wayward brother.

"Edric." Cregan smiled, his relationship with his brothers had always been a warm one. Bastards were hardly looked down upon as much as he'd experienced back in Westeros, a bastard to bury, as they said. His father had treated him well even if he was the 'spare' son and acted as nothing but Willam's personal bodyguard.

"Snow." A man with the classic Stark features offered his hand. He was barely a few years older than Jon by the looks of him, with a well groomed looking grey wolf sitting vigilantly beside him as the two other wolves began mock fighting with Ghost. The smaller wolves looked no different than those that inhabited the Wolfswood back home.

"Greystark." Cregan took the mans hand.

"Is that what I think it is?" Greystark raised an eyebrow at the picture before him, one very large wolf playing roughly with two smaller wolves in the middle of a cobbled street, the other guards with smiles on their faces as the wolves enjoyed themselves. Ghost clearly had the upper paw. The Islands had plenty of common wolves and taming such a beast was a Greystark coming-of-age tradition, but none were so large as Ghost, a direwolf had not been seen in the history of the islands.

"It is. And this is Jon Snow." At the mention of his name, Jon stepped forward and called Ghost to his side.

"My lord." Jon lowered his head.

Greystark smirked. "I'm no lord."

"Jon," Cregan began. "this is Ethan Greystark, eldest son to Lord Greystark and second in command of the Greyguard."

"An honor." Ethan bowed politely and the wolf beside him lowered it's head to mimic his masters show of respect.

"Jon here is the second eldest son of Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell."

At that Ethan blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Jon shifted uncomfortably, unused to the attention as the eyes of everyone that heard the words 'Son of' and 'Winterfell' seemed to glue themselves onto him.

"An even greater honor then, it seems. Lyarra failed to mention the boy." Edric broke the silence and lightly punched Ethan in the shoulder to cease his staring, much to the amusement of the other grey-cloaked guards present. "If there is nothing else we should go see Rodrik, he and the lords have numerous tiring questions for you brother."

It was a short ways up the cobbled streets to the large palace Rodrik was using as his seat. Entering, the guards bowed their heads as they passed before returning to hushed whispers. The ceiling was high, the dais big enough that a good thousand could be feasted on the high table in comfort, the banners of various houses hung proudly on the walls with the various Stark colors closest to the great golden throne that Rodrik sat on, his lords gathered around the steps to the uncomfortably looking chair, Lyarra getting up from her seat on the steps as she moved to lean in and whispered something in Rodrik's ear that caused him to grin widely.

"Cregan!" He beamed from atop his seat and moved to embrace his bastard brother.

"Rodrik." Cregan replied, trying to ignore the impatient look of the gathered lords. The only faces seemingly happy to see him were those of Stark relation, kin returning from the dead was only a good thing to any Stark regardless of what other news they brought. "I heard about father..."

Rodrik sighed. "He left sometime after you and Will, made me promise I'd find you both and bring you home."

Cregan shook with head, a thin smile gracing his lips at memory of his father. "He never was one for easy tasks."

"No," Rodrik replied with a sigh. "he wasn't. Lyarra claimed Willam was alive?"

"Last I saw him."

"Good." Rodrik gave a nod before return to his golden seat and putting on his princely voice as opposed to his brotherly one. "Lyarra claims you bring news as to the fate of the Kingdom of Winter, brother, we are all anxious to hear it. What has befallen our kingdom?"

Cregan cleared his throat and explained the details from what Willam had told him, having not read any of the books himself while at Winterfell, but before he departed Willam gifted him with several copies that covered the recent and distant histories of Westeros and it's houses. "Will meant these as a gift for father," Cregan explained with no small hint of sorrow. "they were always the readers in the family. Perhaps if the fool spent more time with his sword and less with paper..."

Edric could be seen smiling in the crowd of gathered nobles, flanked by the Greyguard and numerous wolves.

"So," Rodrik closed shut one of the old books his bastard brother had handed him. "the Kings of Winter are no more." The look on Prince Rodrik's face was one of concern as the gathered nobles began bickering among themselves. The question of what this meant for the islands was on everyone's mind, while the various cadet Starks shot warning looks towards those more ambitious lords in the room. They would be damned if anyone but a Stark rose to the title of King.

It was Lord Fisher that stepped forward first. "My lords!"

The bickering softened as Fisher grabbed their attentions, the man commanded a sizable portion of the fleet and with that came a natural respect or at the very least, authority. "We've been sworn to absent kings all our lives, rarely complaining, we remembered where we came from and kept our oaths to the Starks." He paused for effect. "To the Starks, my lords, I for one intend to keep my oath the same as it's been since the Shipwright founded the islands."

"Aye." Lord Ryder stepped forward. "We swore to the Kings of Winter and kept that oath, but with them gone the crown by law passes to the next of kin." He drew his sword and bent the knee, keeping his head held high as he spoke. "Rodrik's kin, the blood of King Brandon and those that stayed behind in Westeros. The King of Winter!"

Cregan stepped forward and knelt beside Ryder. "The King of Winter!"

Fisher and Mormont knelt, followed by Greystark, the other cadet branches and eventually every noble in attendance as the words "King of Winter" filled the air as the wolves howled in agreement. Jon Snow knelt among the nobles, out of a sense of respect if nothing else, refusing to kneel wouldn't have gotten him far in way of making friends.

Rodrik noticed the young bastard knelt, his snow white direwolf sat vigilantly at his side staring at him with blood red eyes. "Your continued loyalty is enough to felt my frozen heart." Rodrik jested, holding a hand over his heart dramatically as he slowly walked towards the direwolf as the nobles responded with laughter. "I count you all as family, my lords, but it seems there is one here that I do not know by name."

Jon Snow was frozen at that, lost for words entirely, a king standing in front of him seemingly unaware or uncaring of Ghosts warning growl.

It was Cregan who spoke, getting up with his knee and moving beside him. "This is Jon Snow." Jon remained knelt and silent as Cregan spoke. "Second eldest son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Another gift from Willam, in a manner of speaking, he thought it best Winterfell have a voice. In the event that we actually found you... that is..."

"Jon Snow." Rodrik weighed the name. "Rise," he turned his head to the knelt nobles. "all of you. Your kin through blood or battle, and you've spend enough time on your knees for one lifetime I think. My family has gone a few thousand years without people kneeling and I don't see a cause to start it now. King or no."

The lords began bickering once more as they rose to their feet, mainly concerning Jon and Winterfell. "Your Grace," Lord Ryder spoke. "if the Starks of Winterfell stand then... would they not inherit the crown first?" Ryder looked concerned, the thought was on everyone's mind but few dared speak it. Ryder was a loyal one however and sometimes loyalty meant telling hard truths. "Forgive me, but I-"

Rodrik held his hand up. "There is nothing to forgive, my lord."

"Y- Your Grace?" Jon summoned the courage to speak, straightening his back in an attempt to seem taller.

Rodrik raised an eyebrow and waited for the bastards words.

"As I trust Cregan will tell you, my family bent the knee to House Targaryen and their dragons some three hundred years ago." Jon began, hardly news as Cregan had announced as such but failed to go into detail. That could come later. In a less public setting. "As such, Winterfell is sworn to the Iron Throne. We forsook our crown..."

"We have our own crown, Jon Snow." Rodrik explained with a grin as Ghost had seemingly calmed.

"The boys words are enough to settle that matter, no?" Cregan asked. "I saw the King of Westeros with my own eyes, then saw the Lord of Winterfell bend the knee and embrace him as a brother. Prince Willam and I found no cause to doubt the history told to us by Lord Stark."

Ryder gave a nod in agreement. "I believe that settles it. There can be no doubt, Your Grace."

"The gods will it." Lyarra gave a nod, her face expressionless as her eyes fell on Jon and remained there for an uncomfortable time as Rodrik ordered a feast prepared and the gathered lords moved to their separate corners as the servants prepared the tables, drink, food and other such necessities. With the hour the table was set with strong ale, bread and meats. Rodrik sat the the end closest to the throne, Edric to his right and Lyarra to his left. The air filled with the sounds of merriment as the nobles celebrated.

Jon sat beside Cregan and Ethan Greystark, having been allowed the honor of sitting at the Stark related end of the table. It was a surprise to Jon as he expected being put aside during such a feast, as Lady Stark would do whenever lords visited Winterfell. "So, Jon." Ethan began, swallowing a mouthful of food and tossing the bone to his wolf that sat beside his chair. "How'd you come across Ghost? We've never seen a direwolf before..."

"Nor had we," Jon explained, putting down his tankard of ale. "his litter is the first seen in the north in a thousand years, as far as we know."

"Litter?" Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You've more of them?"

"Four others." Cregan answered, taking a gulp of his ale.

"A blessing from the gods, to be sure."

"Willam thought it convenient, aye." Cregan said, recalling how Willam had muttered about how unlikely it was that the bitch happened to whelp pups enough for all five Stark children. "He complained that, said if the gods did send them, he'd have liked one too."

Ethan laughed. "Aye, that sounds like Will."

"Sad you didn't come with us now, eh Greystark?"

"I'd likely have drowned with the others." Ethan said without thinking. "Shit, I shouldn't-"

Cregan waved it off. "Not your fault, we'll put it down to the drink."

"Aye," Ethan took another gulp. "the drink."

Jon caught Lyarra staring at him again, still emotionless. "She's staring at me."

"Who?" Cregan asked.

"The Princess."

"She's no Princess, lad."

Jon looked back across the table, Lyarra had ceased looking at him and return to her brothers.

Cregan continued. "She forsook any such title a long time ago, it's just Lyarra now."

Ethan muttered something along the lines of "stare at me" and returned to his cups. Jon found the women curious, and oddly scary, her green eyes setting her apart from the steely grey eyes of her kin. Not to mention the odd mood swings, one moment she'd be skipping through the streets and the next she'd be silently staring into the distance.

"Her eyes." Jon spoke aloud, not meaning to.

"A part of her gift." Cregan explained. "Or her curse, however you wish to look at it."

"She wasn't born with-"

"No." Cregan looked over the table at his sister. "She had the same steely eyes as a child that you or I have, until they found out about her abilities and took her away to the middle of that grim, grey forest. The next time we saw her she boasted those emerald eyes and was... different. It's hard to explain."

"Who took her?" Jon asked, looking over the table also.

"The mossovy, a darn creepy people if you ask me."

"Green skin," Ethan added, now on his fourth or fifth tankard. "took us a good long time to-"

Ethan belched.

"-befriend shem." He slurred the last word.

"They worship the Old Gods." Cregan stated, knifing a piece of meat from his plate. "That's the only reason they didn't ignore or kill our scouts, they knew us, or the gods did. Again it's all quite difficult to explain. Lyarra would do it better." He shoveled piece of meat into his mouth as Ethan smiled to himself.

"I bet she does lots of things better." He said aloud, grinning.

*Thud* Cregan hit him over the head, causing Ethan's tankard to spill over the table.

"Hey!" Ethan growled as the table of lords laughed at his misfortune.

"Something to say Greystark?" Cregan asked mockingly.

"I-"

"Lya!" Cregan called to his sister, gaining her attention and the attention of everyone else at her end of the table. "Ethan has something he wants to tell you!"

Lyarra tilted her head in reply and awaited the boys question.

"I-" Ethan stuttered, wide-eyed, embarrassed and suddenly very sober. He slammed his forehead onto the table with a thud.

The table laughed heartily as Lyarra returned to her food unfazed, Cregan gently patting the young Greystark on the back of his head saying "that's enough ale for you lad" before moving his tankard away and handing it to Jon whom was struggling not to join in on the laughter. The feast went on for some time and Jon found himself answering many numerous questions directed by various sons of lords that Cregan would later claim had been sent to 'befriend the son of winterfell' and 'learn his intentions'. The last Jon saw of Ethan he was passed out and being practically carried from the hall by his fellow Greyguards, an order commanded by House Greystark that Cregan explained as being the equivalent of the kingsguard back in Westeros, only much larger and without the celibacy. Cregan taught Jon the words of House Greystark. "The Shield of Winter."

The sound of hooves thundered through the trees as Prince Brandon gave chase to his prey, having been hunting those responsible for the death of Lord Titan's scouts for quite some time and finding nothing, until now. The young prince rode atop a white destrier ahead of Lord Titan and a handful of guardsmen that had joined in Brandons chase when one of the locals was spotted fleeing deeper into the trees, and only the guilty flee, a flawed concept perhaps but one Brandon was tired enough to take to heart in his growing boredom. The fleeing man tripped over his own feet and Brandon dismounted, those behind him either doing the same or moving their horses past the prince to cut off the suspects retreat as the man backed up to a nearby tree and began speaking what were no doubt curses in his native tongue.

"Why did you run?!" Brandon demanded, sword draw with steel against the mans throat.

More alleged curses, in the rush to ride out and bring justice to the slain nobody had through to bring a translator. Brandon cursed under his breath.

"Tie him up," He spoke in his most authoritative voice. "we'll question him back behind our walls."

"You heard the prince!" A man with Stark features spoke from atop his horse, a silver clasp in the shape of a rampant wolf holding his grey cloak in place. Osric Greystark, second eldest of Lord Greystark and Prince Brandons childhood friend. The young man also acted as captain of Brandons personal guard.

"Where's Mors?" One of the guards asked Osric whom processed to look around, only now noticing that at least two of the rearguard were missing.

The howl of a wolf gripped everyone's attention, followed by a whimper and then by silence.

Brandon's eyes immediately shot to Osric, atop his horse, wide-eyed and looking physically hurt as he stared blankly in the direction of the cry. "Ric!" Brandon yelled, snapping his friend out of his trance. As Osric turned his head Brandon saw tears threatening to brake Osric's usually stoic nature. "We're under-"

An arrow cut through the air and struck Osric's horse, making the beast rear and throw it's rider to the dirt.

"To arms!" Lord Titan bellowed, pulling his greatsword from the sheath on his back as numerous locals rushed from the trees with cruel weapons, some hanging back with bows firing rather inaccurate shots from a distance. Osric was stuck with one leg under his fallen horse as his fellow Greyguard had rushed to aid him.

"Leave me!" Osric practically screamed as his guardsmen attempted to move the horse. "protect the prince you fools!"

Brandon had been frozen at the sight of his friends cry of agony when the horse fell on his leg with a sickening crunch. "A cripple." He thought, knowing how Osric would despise that life, coupled with the loss of his wolf Brandon could practically feel his friends pain. "How did this happen?" he asked himself as Osric shouted something at his guards, whom processed to rush towards him and leave Osric in the mud. "This is my fault," He realized. "I lead us into a trap." Cold steel snapped Brandon out of his thoughts as a dagger was pressed against his throat from behind. "Shit." He thought and cursed himself, having forgotten about the savage that was by the tree behind him.

Brandon's eyes darted around the battlefield before him. Lord Titan could be seen cutting down savage after savage practically in haft with his greatsword. Osric was still pinned under his horse, a look of worry on his face, not for himself but for his prince. The few archers in the trees were being easily dealt with by the crossbowmen under Titan's command and the battle seemed won. "Release him!" One of the Greyguard commanded. "Release him and your free to go!"

That was a lie, Brandon knew, hoping that the savage didn't know the same.

In response his captive utter some curses and pushed the steel harder against Brandon's throat, causing a trickle of blood to fall down his neck.

"You've lost!" Lord Titan stormed over to where the greycloaks were standing, swords drawn and bloodied, hesitant to move forward least harm come to their prince. The giant of a man stood with his equally large blade gripped with both hands as crossbowmen flanked him and moved slowly, aiming at the savage, unable to get a clear shot.

The savages eyes darted dark and forth, noting the fallen corpses of his friends before uttering more curses.

Lord Titan was wide-eyed as multiple bolts filled the savage whom went limp and fell to the ground with a thud. "Was the ground always so close?" Brandon thought, failing to realized he'd fallen to his knees. He felt numb as his vision faded, the last thing he saw was the sad angry face of Lord Titan, and in the distance, Osric Greystark was crying.