A/N: Ten points to Hencojan for guessing correctly! The sigils are from Tyranny. They have one of the best spell creation mechanics I have ever encountered, and the lore is pretty great as well. The endings were a bit meh, though.

On with the show!

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

The Dreadfort, the North (288 AC)

Things had changed in the North these past few years, and Roose Bolton was concerned. As he sat in his solar, reading through the letters and reports brought by Maester Tybald, his mind wandered.

It was less cold in the North, though in some areas one could still feel the chill. The snows no longer came past the Wall and the mountains, unless it was wintertime. Crops, fruit trees, and berry bushes grew plentiful, and more livestock was being sustained as a result.

Other changes had come as well. Once a simple dirt path, the Kingsroad had been made wider and paved with stone. More roads were also in progress, from White Harbor, and the Lonely Hills, all connecting to Winterfell. Roose's spies reported that plans for a connection to the western shore was also being discussed.

The North was flourishing, and it was all due to one person.

Arthos Stark, Roose thought to himself. Such an interesting specimen, much more so than the quiet wolf. The son of Brandon Stark had come from so far south, hidden in the sands, and with him he brought innovation and prosperity to the North. The boy was nothing like his loud, oafish father. Had the boy not resembled Brandon so much, he wouldn't have believed they were related.

The young Stark had knowledge beyond his years; a genius in many fields. Blessed by the gods, the smallfolk whispered. During Arthos' progress through the North, he had introduced many reforms. The North prospered through his new farming techniques, exotic crops and his other ideas. It was as if the land itself flourished in his wake; wherever he went, the harvest increased significantly and the sun shone like the middle of summer.

Well, Roose thought with annoyance, as he read through the reports. Almost everywhere.

Once more, the numbers showed an increase in yield, but it was nowhere near the amount other Houses reported. It confounded Roose, and many of his farmers, he was sure. They followed Arthos' reforms to the letter, like everyone else; they dug deeper to soften the earth for planting, used better fertilizer and irrigation, practiced the new four-field rotation. And yet, they still harvested significantly less than the other Houses of the North. The people had started to talk, saying House Bolton was being punished by the gods for their past transgressions against House Stark. Roose did not appreciate the gossip, but knew the power of hearsay. He had hanged many of those caught with these words, but this did not stop the whispers. In fact, it only increased such gossip.

The lord of the Dreadfort took a sip from his wine cup, finger tracing the rim. He could not deny that House Bolton was not prospering as much as the other Northern Houses, but they had still risen with them. The gem mines in the Lonely Hills, and the increased intake of farming, meats, wool, and fur had helped. House Umber controlled most of the gem mines, while House Bolton was left with the smallest ones. It was not ideal, but the Umbers held the majority of the Lonely Hills, so he could not dispute it without violence.

Roose was no stranger to such base means, but a fight with the Umbers would be costly, especially without support. House Bolton was already thin; it was only him and Domeric. Not quite, he thought distastefully. There was the bastard as well. He could not do it without appearing ungrateful. The wolf pup had foolishly given him the mines without asking anything in return. Maybe his intellect didn't reach the realm of politics.

Perhaps, had Brandon's son not come North, he would've had the backing of House Ryswell and House Dustin, but William Dustin was now fiercely loyal to the Starks after Robert's War, and Rodrik was too busy arguing with his sons about their new gold mine. If that wasn't enough, the fools had also sold large tracts of land on the coast to the Starks. Perhaps for a port? Ironborn would take care of that problem, one failure to look forward to.

Even his Dornish whore of a mother had secured favorable deals with magisters in Pentos, Myr and Tyrosh. More deals were being made with other Free Cities. He had planned to use her long absence against the Starks, but that went to the privy as well.

Lord Bolton let out a quiet sigh, leaning back against his chair. There were a lot of things he could've done before Arthos Stark came. Even more, if that foolish Targaryen prince hadn't made off with Lyanna Stark. He had already tried weakening House Stark's position in the North long ago, having his agents let rats into their food stores. It had been ridiculously easy.

This forced Lord Rickard Stark to look to the south for aid, and made the other northern Houses frown at their liege lord's supposed "ambitions" to connect with the southerners. It did not help that Winterfell's previous maester, Walys, was known to whisper such notions to the late warden of the North.

If things had gone well, he would've continued to undermine House Stark, sowing dissent and gaining the backing of several northern lords. It would not take long after that for House Bolton to supplant the Starks, and the Red Kings would be the undisputed rulers of the North. The south wouldn't have batted an eye while the Targaryens ruled.

But it's all for naught, Roose thought, as he signed a few letters and rolled them up to seal. Robert Baratheon is king, and he holds the Starks in high regard. Any fool who dared to go against the direwolf would not only bring the wrath of the whole of the North down on their heads, but the demon of the Trident as well.

Roose had to reassess and change his plans. It was too risky to be too ambitious. For now, he would watch and play the loyal bannerman. It helped that during Arthos' visit at the Dreadfort on his progress, the Lord of Winterfell had formed a friendship with Roose's heir, Domeric.

He was currently at Barrowton, fostering with his aunt, Lady Barbrey. She reported that the boy visited Winterfell with increasing frequency. This was both fortuitous and not. Domeric had always been quiet and soft, taking more after his mother. The boy was never interested in learning about the family's history and traditions, but he was a dutiful son. He would work for the betterment of House Bolton, Roose was sure. Maybe a betrothal with Ned Stark's daughter was the way to go?

Whatever the case, House Bolton would bide their time. While it was currently advantageous to stay in House Stark's good graces, should an opportunity arise… Well, they could always use more Stark cloaks in the basement. After all, their knives were sharp.

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

Winterfell, the North (288 AC)

As Eddard walked towards the Great Hall, he reflected on the events of the day. The discussions in the solar with his nephew came to mind.

"How are things progressing with the First Cohort?" Arthos had asked.

"Slow," Ned replied, as he held the reports solemnly. "Ser Rodrik has reported that we currently have four hundred fully trained and active soldiers patrolling the roads and the new settlements, and have another two hundred in reserve. A hundred more have nearly finished their training, and the next batch are being prepared. As for the non-combatants, we have a hundred cooks and smiths joining the patrols, with fifty in reserve, and another fifty finishing their teachings with Maester Luwin, Gage, and Mikken."

Arthos merely hummed, not disappointed but not impressed either. They had discussed a few other things of importance, and then left for their respective tasks. Ned's thoughts, however, were now focused only on his nephew and his plans.

The Winter Legion. Arthos had been planning the North's own standing army for close to three years now. They knew it would take a lot of time and resources, but the boy had hoped to at least have three cohorts trained by now. The lack of manpower proved to be a problem, and the idea of asking other Lords to provide men was quickly discarded.

"In theory we can raise more men than the other kingdoms, except the Reach and the westerlands," Arthos had reminded Ned. "More so, now that we have higher population to call upon. That said, the North is so vast that it takes time to gather them all. We are only able to muster around half our numbers in a short time. The roads we are building will help with this, but not fully.

"Now that the North is prospering, it would make it a more tempting target for raiders, bandits, and other such degenerates, especially when all the fighting men are away. We would have to leave more defenders behind than usual to protect our homes; that would reduce our strength further. The only way to combat this would be to have soldiers with better training and equipment.

"My new proposed training regimen has to be kept a secret as long as possible. If our enemies learn of these techniques, they might implement them as well and our advantage will be lost. Involving our bannermen means involving the Boltons, and every instinct in me screams that Roose cannot be trusted. I've already told you about grandfather's suspicions as well. The problem is that the other lords already think they have the best soldiers among them. Their pride has inflated after Robert's War. They won't believe till they actually see better soldiers with their own eyes. So, for now we can only train our men from Winterfell, and maybe some from Goldridge."

So, a training camp had been created deep in the Wolfswood. Access was severely restricted. Ned himself was skeptical of these new methods, and the same was true for other veteran Stark men-at-arms, but it was their duty to obey their liege lord.

Ned and Benjen had provided two hundred men initially, promising to help convince the rest of the North if Arthos' new training regimen and disciplinary improvements showed the fruits of their labor within a year and a half. That was three years ago.

Ned seemed to feel Arthos' apprehension and frustration, as he laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Don't worry, nephew. They'll be ready to perform in the coming deadline. Have faith in your training; it is, after all, showing quite the results."

The statement wasn't false. Although the training initiative had been pushed back several times due to other projects taking precedence, improvement in the soldiers was quick to show. If Ned had to consider which development over others was most impressive, it would be their discipline. He himself was astounded by the amount of control and order these new soldiers showed. He had never seen such a thing in his life.

Their coordination too, was a sight to behold. He had seen the soldiers during a particularly intense training drill. The way they moved was as if they all shared the same mind. Ned hadn't seen or heard of any other group – other than the Unsullied – perform so well in various formations and tactics. There were other things to admire as well, but these two stood out most to Ned.

Arthos was frustrated with the slow progress, and their small numbers. His nephew had confided that the ultimate goal was to train every northern soldier the same way. Ned had shuddered at the thought of the North having tens of thousands well-trained soldiers. Such a force was capable of annihilating most opposition with ease.

His nephew had also given recommendations for Ned's personal training. They were just small notes and suggestions here and there. Ned had humored him at first, but he soon realized that they actually made his skills in battle improve. After that Arthos had recommended a few more things, most of which worked to develop Ned's battle prowess. Benjen too had been given advice. Both Stark brothers could honestly admit that they were much better warriors due to it.

Ned had realized that his nephew was a genius years ago, and he was reminded time and again. He showed prodigious talent in many fields. The way he used the North's resources often left Ned baffled as to why previous lords hadn't considered such things before. One of these ideas was planting weirwood estates. He had created special zones to grow and harvest weirwoods for lumber.

The idea had been resisted at first. It had taken long and detailed explanations to get most on board. It helped that Arthos promised any offender found harming weirwoods outside these zones would not be given the option to take the Black; public execution was the only punishment. Another thing was the astonishing amount of money the Essosi were willing to pay for the unique and sturdy wood, but some were still unconvinced, particularly the crannogmen. That had led to another of Arthos' ideas. Public godswoods.

Generally, godswoods were only found inside castles, and the common folk prayed in front of lone heart-trees here and there. Arthos had decided to create a godswood in every settlement no matter how small. There was half a dozen of them outside near Winterfell alone. They had more or less the same pattern: a heart-tree in the center, surrounded by a few weirwoods and other rare trees. Surrounding those trees was a beautiful garden. The gardens weren't necessarily large, but they were still a grand sight. Ned had received reports that a vast majority of the towns and settlements had adopted this layout.

Whatever reservations anyone had were silenced after Arthos' progress. When Ned had first received the reports, he thought it had been a joke, but after surveying the lands around Winterfell, he had asked his nephew incredulously if he had planted a weirwood with every step he had taken.

There were reports of tens of thousands of weirwood saplings emerging from the ground, and growing fast. Then again, everything grew fast and plentiful since the new agricultural reforms had been implemented. He himself had seen weirwoods beyond count along the Kingsroad when he had visited Moat Cailin to check on its progress. Weirwoods a few meters away on both sides of the road were a sight to behold. When they grew tall in a few years, they would seem like sentinels watching over the roads. Any residual fears turned to smoke when Lord Reed sent his regards and congratulated Arthos for the success of his projects. The Lord of Greywater Watch had included how the crannogmen had rejoiced when they had received word of the massive plantation drive.

Similarly, Ironwood estates had been created, although they were limited to the Wolfswood, Bear Island, Hornwood and Karstark lands. The only ones to protest were the lords of the wolfswood, House Forrester in particular. Arthos had assuaged their fears and carefully explained the need for more ironwood due to ongoing and future projects. He had also created estates for other trees, some for lumber, and others for fruits, dry-fruits, and various other purposes.

It had been an immense help that Lady Ashara had facilitated such good deals for the North with the Essosi. Their main export was lumber at this point, but Arthos had ideas for other products. People had been talking for some time now, of how Lady Stark had never actually been in the North. There had been some nasty rumors of her being a bad mother, typical southerner, but the worst involved her Dornish heritage. The topic always made Ned uneasy, especially when other lords asked about her prolonged absence. All that had thankfully stopped as the news of her contributions reached their ears.

The thought of Ashara reminded Ned of his own wife, and the rather nasty confrontation between Catelyn and his nephew. It had apparently been due to her behavior towards Jon. There had been some disagreements between them in the past, but the last one had escalated to a full-blown argument.

Ned had been in the winter town resolving a few petitions when Maester Luwin had sent a messenger, asking him to return immediately. As he proceeded to the keep, he noticed that the servants were averting their eyes. As he entered the solar to see Arthos and Catelyn, he was barely able to utter a word before Arthos rounded on him.

There were very few things that Eddard Stark feared, but a glare from his nephew made all of his fears seem tame in comparison.

"Good, you are here. Have a seat," his nephew had ordered in a dour tone. "And you too." The boy motioned to Catelyn. After they both had taken their seats, his nephew began to talk.

"Now, I am going to speak, and I do not want to be interrupted. You will listen to me till I am finished. At which point you will be allowed to air all your grievances. Understood?"

Catelyn turned to her husband as if looking for support, but remained silent as the man simply nodded. They both turned back to Arthos, waiting.

"I love my family," the boy began. "And nothing hurts me more than seeing them not getting along. Like it or not Jon is my family, our family. He may not have the Stark name, but he has our blood, which is what matters. Our family was almost decimated in the past few years. We should be united, instead we are at each other's throats."

Arthos let out a sigh, leaning back on his chair as he stared sadly at Catelyn. "None of us are asking you to love him. All I ever insisted is that you not mistreat him in any way. Although it breaks my heart to see you not even acknowledge him, I tolerated your actions. What I will not tolerate is you teaching your children to do the same. Jon and Robb are of the same age, and they have the same blood flowing in their veins. There are no better companions for them than each other. Jon's only mistake is that he was born in this cruel world.

"He has never wronged you, yet you despise him. I do not blame you; I blame the culture and religion you were born in. Your fears that he would usurp Robb are unfounded, because for that to happen, I would have to make a request to King Robert to legitimize him. Do you think me an imbecile that would do such a thing without thinking it through? I will always protect the interests and inheritance of not only Robb, but any other children you may have in the future.

"As to the Faith's and your belief that all bastards are usurpers, not all are born to betray. I assure you that contrary to what the Faith preaches, treachery is not solely the domain of bastards. Andal culture pushes the blame on bastards because they have no voice in our society. You should remember that up here, that culture is frowned upon both by nobles and smallfolk."

Arthos then leaned forward, his voice lowering. Ned and Catelyn leaned back, feeling a creeping chill on their spines and a heavy pressure in the air. "I'll now tell you something that will greatly help you for the rest of your life, Aunt Catelyn. This is the North. You are now a part of the Wolf Pack. The Stark name alone has gained you a lot of respect here, but always keep in mind that that respect was not earned by you. I am not asking you to abandon everything you have been taught; I am only hoping that you would come to accept the culture of the land which is now your home.

"Your actions and beliefs will reflect on your children as well. If you are seen as a southerner, then your children will be seen as half-southerner. Right now, you are acting Lady Stark. You do not yet appreciate the power and authority that comes with that title. It reflects poorly on every Stark when you insist on pushing your Andal ways, while not even considering the customs of the North. Our way is the old way, adopted from the first inhabitants of Westeros. The North is a bastion protecting that culture."

Arthos leaned back, and Ned and Catelyn let out a breath they had not realized they were holding in. "I suggest you learn what it means to be a Stark; your children will do so one day. Learn it so that you don't feel like a stranger in your own home."

Ned let out a sigh at the memory. That had been an intense conversation, but good had come from it. His wife put more effort in learning about the North since then. Thankfully, the relations between the two had improved greatly. Neither of them harbored any negative feelings towards each other. Ned considered it a turning point for Catelyn as she started to be more of a Stark than a Tully.

Arthos had a way of making people change for the better. It was something Ned had noticed in his nephew. The boy had a certain spark that attracted people to him, not only to his status, but to him as a person. He was a role model. He often went to the small city outside and mingled with the common folk. The children there eagerly awaited his visits, not only for the gifts he always brought with him, but also for his company. He somehow inspired loyalty in the people he met.

Ned was brought back to the present as he reached the Great Hall, and saw that rest of his family was already there. He greeted them and sat next to Arthos. His nephew looked around and ordered a maid to fetch his friend, Kiara.

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

A/N: This has been an absolute bitch to write. This was around 8k words, before I decided to just put it in separate chapters. Big thanks to Black Lance! You have made writing this story so much easier.

See y'all in the next chapter!