A/N: Story is begining to move forward now. These next few chapters are going to lead to several time jumps.

Through the Crownlands they rode, passing quickly through plains of lush fertile farmland. Without meeting any significant enemy forces, the horsemen made incredible time. After several hard days of riding the 2 thousand Northmen atop the famed Northern Ryswell bred mounts, 500 Dornish spears on swift sand steeds, and some 500 Rivermen atop Riverland bred horses had soon made it to the Reach's eastern border, along the Stormland's western edge. They were following along the quickest, non-king's road path possible, after crossing near 300 miles from the Trident to Duskendale for which they had resupplied.

Eddard Stark, Warden of the famed 'savage' Northmen, and the largest fiefdom of Westeros at only 19 years old. Though he was considered young, he had gained their everlasting loyalty through his combat prowess during battles, as well as for his strategic mind through the turbulence of war. Some men even whispered that he was the Stark they were meant to have, after all his elder brother was coined the wild wolf for a reason.

From learning warfare by the Honorable and fearsome Lord Jon Arryn, who was veteran of many wars. His father had taught him to temper his mind, for honor is a strength bit also a weakness.

--

Breaking the men into riding groups to keep the force staggered but organized, Lord Stark had specifically spoken to each commander he had chosen, giving advice and orders for the coming journey.

Before setting off from the host's of King Rhaegar, and Lord Baratheon he had seen fit to equip every man under his command with as many waterskins as possible, for the Dornish desert, whether in the sandy dunes or red mountains it was forever unforgiving.

Using the intelligence of the Reacher lords that had followed the Targaryen King, and Lord Wyvn Vaith of the Sandy Dornish, the 'Sand Dog' himself, (as the man had been fostered at Kingsgrave as a young man). Soon they had been able to map out a trail to follow that encompassed nearly a 1,000 miles of hard riding. Estimating travel, to include camp, daily rest breaks for mounts, and hopefully being unmolested by enemies it should take just over three weeks to make it to the Tower of Joy.

By this point, the kingdom would be on its way to a stabilizing peace. Well, hopefully.

Rhaegar Targaryen would be crowned and anointed King by the time they made it, and Robert Baratheon would have lifted the siege of his ancestral home weeks prior as well.

--

Ned:

Keeping a consistent, but practical pace I lead the riding groups down a long neglected country path.

At my side today was Howland and Ser Myles Mooten, who had been the former squire of the new King. Each day I would make it so a set of lords from the North would have my direct ear and full attention. I did this so I could learn these people who now relied upon me as their Warden. Though on other days I would have one of my three commanders at my side with the one Dornish noble or one of the Riverlords to entertain. My wife's family held the title of Lord Paramount of the Riverlands after all. Though the Dornish Lord Vaith had quickly become a welcome friend, he needed no fool in his company. A man after my own heart.

'I swear, Howland is earning himself a position in the Northern court for this' I laughed internally.

He had become my unofficial personal political advisor. Helping lead conversations, and slowly educate me on the men and their personal interests. Hell, after this I should see about gifting him farmland just north of the neck, his people need better land for crops. That had been something he had hinted at since we began the campaign, his people were growing but they needed food to feed them.

'I wonder if I could talk him into coming to court at Winterfell?' I mused, while raising a fist signalling to slow the procession to a crawl for a scout approached.

But knowing Howland he would beg to return to Greywater to be with his wife, and newborn babe.. He would gladly take the land though.

'I'll think of something.' I silently declared to myself.

"Ned, the ford is a mile up!" Howland's voice then informed me, after one of his own Vassals had informed him of this just a moment before riding off again.

I nodded and raised my fist again, returning to our previous pace, Howland and Wyvn silent at my side, lost in their own musing as well no doubt.

I had thought that we might make camp once the company had forded the Blueburn river, though we would carefully be keeping a significant distance away from any of the major holds in the area. Specifically we chose to be west of Grassy Vale, but east of Longtable. Near dead in the middle of the two actually.

Through the last week and a half since we had left the King, I had done my best to be courteous to the southron lords embedded in our forces. We were already halfway to Dorne thank the old gods for that, and I had learnt that the Dornish other than Wyvn were just as hot-headed as my Northern brethren. It was luck to have them so well adjusted to the gruff, rough ways of my people, they weren't as finicky as the rest of the south I had to admit.

The Riverlord's, other than Lord Mooten and his 300 men, were the twin third and fourth sons of House Wayn, Ser Rymer, and Ser Jaeger, who with them brought 200 of the 500 rivermen. They were good men, eager to prove their worth and apparently become direct vassals of house Stark, as their brother was already the Lord of their House with heirs to spare. Every Riverman in their company had requested to join the brothers on their quest to become independent lords. Some were green and young, others fit and married with youngins of their own, hoping to serve honorable men.

I had many keeps stone and wood alike that could be fixed relatively quickly and make fine holds of loyal men. There were two in particular, a set of twin towers at the fork of the Whiteknife. Each protecting a separate branch, one to the Wolfswood that could serve as a prime trading post and way point for exports of timber. The other to the mountains east of Winterfell that comes to the second fork in the river left side lead into Long Lake and the right being fed from the Lonely Hills. Long Lake was rich in fishing, as it could feed many people. The Lonely Hills held wildlife ready to be trapped and turned into warm coats, hats, and bedding.

Long Lake also has two abandoned castles on either of its sides, though a half dozen villages still thrive around it. The river's fork was once a village ruled by a long dead Stark ancestor, a trading post and waypoint as was its southern half. The entire river however led straight to White Harbor, our only Northern City.

If I could get more disgruntled people to migrate north, the North could have a More productive wealthy future. Brandon once told me of his travels across the North, of the Ancient stone forts, and stone built towns that were lightly populated by smallfolk and each in good repair.

I had asked father once, whom those towns and villages paid their taxes to, since there were no local lords to oversee them. Brandon's adventures had peaked my interest of these isolated dwellings.

I remember it well as it had been just days before we left for the tournament at Harrenhal. While sitting in the Godswood under the Weir Tree. Father had pulled me aside for privacy as he had decided that I would be inheriting Moat Cailin after Brandon's wedding.

He laughed at my question and said that we, the Starks were their overseers. That House Stark collected their due whether it be food, supplies, coin, or precious stone from every parcel of land not directly under the northern bannerman. Those bannermen paid their taxes in coin.

Seeing my confusion, my eye's asking 'how' he explained what he meant.

' You have seen the many me with the bronze wolf that Jarl's I appoint wear, and live in the town of Winterfell correct? How they come and go during the harvest, how there are nearly 200 of them but only ever seem to be a few dozen at Winterfell at a time?' He had questioned.

He stopped for a moment and laughed out loud.

'Ah you have been away 9 years, of course you haven't.' He apologized with a smile.

So he gave an explanation, that a 'Jarl' was an outdated term from before the conquest, that roughly meant 'Chief'. That it was now used as an honorary title for someone who had shown great bravery or some feat that impressed the ruling Stark, and were rewarded with Lands and the title. His Jarl's were like taxes collectors in the North, except that they provided the multiple but sparsely filled towns and villages with municipal services, and could act in the Wardens or Lords absents to settle disputes. They were warriors that travelled the North keeping the peace, each Jarl having a company of men with them. They used the holdfast to rest when visiting an area as well, hence their good repair.

Asking how he kept them from being corrupted by greed or being cruel to the people. He sighed and told me while it was possible and that it could be as I said, he always tried to send different sets of Jarls and guards, and demanded written reports for every township. He did this to weed out any ill intentioned men.

He then took Brandon and I to his solar after the mid day meal and slammed a massive leather bound book on his desk with a grin and opened it.

Brandon had looked bored, as he had many sessions like this since coming back from his own fostering that only lasted a few years.

Finding the page he had been looking for, father read it out loud.

It was the pact of the last Northern King and the Conqueror.

Because the North had stood down and not attacked we had been given the most autonomy of all the Kingdoms in our governing of the lands. It said that so long as we provided a set percentage of our yearly revenue to the crown, and answered the call to arms we would be left in peace.

Thought the conqueror thought the Starks too powerful for we controlled what is now the New Gift, our northern breadbasket.

Though King Aegon and his wives took away a large portion of the North and gave it to the Night's Watch, in a move that was both unnecessary and calculated. They knew we wouldn't starve, as the lands south of Wolfswood could be farmed. But the Starks had used that land for exporting Northern Foodstuff, the likes of which the southern kingdoms did not have, food only able to be grown in the cold north. Our coffers had taken a hit, and King Aegon had known that would be the result. It weakened a proud and stubborn honorable house.

The gift was the most fertile and crop producing land In the North. Because of the pact, we had no choice but to relinquish it, and abide by our word of honor. At the time it had been the home of many people and thriving farm towns, but once the Night Watch took over governance it slowly fell to ruin, from so few members of the Watch to actually collect taxes and being left unpatrolled, bandits and wildlings took advantage. So the people there refused to be neglected, after being harrassed they were offered a choice to relocate instead by the former King and had moved to the lands surrounding Winterfell.

But In that pact it stated that land not owned by the Night's Watch or under banners of a vassal, it would be considered the sole property of House Stark. All townships, villages, rivers, streams, forests, mountains belonged to our House.

I finally understood what he had meant.

Even after the New Gift was given away, we still had more paths to gain revenue than any other kingdom, the only problem was that we didn't have the manpower to truly harness those resources from our lands since they required shipping of supplies in large quantities. Thus we could only receive tithes In the form of materials that our Jarls could carry back.

If we had enough people, we could even export to Essos, after all merchant lords ruled that continent.

--

Reaching the site that the crannogman scout had suggested. We immediately began fording the Blueburn, two columns straight through. Luckily the water was shallow, and calm as the day had been cloudless clear blue skies, with a scorching sun.

With just a couple hours of daylight left, we had completed the crossing, thankfully with no injuries or mishaps.

Sighing in contentment for the moment I glanced over at Wyvn, who had gravitated towards Howland and I. Motioning for him to join us, I asked.

"Should we eik out more leagues or allow the men to have an extended night of rest?" His experience and wisdom were not something I would willingly snub. He took a moment to survey the horsemen reforming lines, those refilling skins and others taking their moment of respite to wash sets of clothes.

"Let's set camp a few miles south of here, I know there is an abandoned Great Keep we could utilize for the evening." He eventually counseled.

Nodding in acceptance I called over several of the lords closest to us, to pass the word along.

Wheeling Grim, my warhorse around, I set him at a trot forward. The three thousand horsemen around me began to do the same, they had learned that I would always be at the front, leading.

After another hour we made it to what must have been the holdfast Lord Vaith had mentioned, it was certainly a Great Keep.

It was of Andal design from long before the conquest. It looked to be in Good condition all things considered, though the walls were gapped, and fallen in places, still the large fortress was intact. It had four tall Square towers, arranged at the four points of the Keep which was maybe 30 feet shorter than the towers themselves. Made entirely of granite, it was a mite ostentatious.

Riding towards the deserted courtyard I made out plenty of space for our entire force to shelter for the night, a relief the men would adore.

Dismounting, with my sore and cramped legs protesting, immediately I straightened, can't allow the men to think me weak. I took care of my steed, unbuckled the saddle from Grim, giving him a solid brush and oats for the evening.

With my lords at my side, we pushed through the old but intact grand doors, into the hall beyond.

It was full of old and half rotted furniture, but other than some dust, it was in excellent condition. High soaring ceilings, with paintings clear as day on every inch of it.

The pillars were chiseled to look like winding snakes, colorful stones decorating as scales.

"Many past Kings had used this fortress for shelter over the years, not including the Garrisons that had periodically used this fortress as a waystation in the past." Lord Vaith explained to us as we set out our bedrooms, and cooking supplies, intent on cool drinks and warm chow.

"Why have us come here if there could have been a garrison?" Howland questioned after some time, stirring a pot of simmering stew.

I had been wondering something similar as well.

"When we had come up from Dorne we had came through this region. Once meeting with some of the Reacher Lords who had been planning to join our host north had spoke of troop movement for this region, straight from Mace Tyrell himself." Lord Vaith revealed as he waited for his meal as well, fiddling with a knife and chunk of wood.

"A worthy knight, or even a second son should be given this Holdfast and its land." I remarked, remembering the miles of fertile soil we had past on our way here. " Its nearly wasted only being used as a waypoint."

"Yes, it would be a worthy gift!" Ser Mooten laughed across from us, a drinking horn in hand. Obviously more content to drink his mead than worry for food like the rest of us.

Thinking of all the land I had seen in the past weeks of travel, the majority of it unused, or barely touched by a plow. It caused me to think of the North and our own issues with farmland. The North is capable of growing our own crops, but of only a certain variety. Potatoes, cabbages, leeks, turnips, beets, and some others. Our livestock were mostly goats, oxen, domesticated pig, or sheep. Few cows could live in the harsh North lands and grow as healthy as we would like them to.

Though recently we had seen some shaggy haired creatures, large as a moose, but as burly as a bear.

When I questioned lord Mooten about them days prior he had explained that they were

called buffalo. Some of the Crownlander lords had herds kd them instead of the typical cow we were used to.

I would have to speak with Lord Blackvyne to see if I could have a small herd brought north.

Estel had been commanding the troops in the rear in turn with Lord Bludhaven or uncle Tyne, as he was adamant I call him in private. I found that even though he was stoic just as I was, he had a very dry sense of humor, one that I found to my liking.

They had been helping keep the men on track, and when not at the rear, they had been commanding our scouts with Howland as well.

Speak of the stranger! Uncle and Estel had just walked into the hall. Their packs in hand, making a beeline towards my small group of companions.

"Lord Stark, the watch has been set, the men know to keep quiet, and the quartermaster is rationing the ale as ordered." Lord Blackvyne informed me as he settled down at Wyvn's side, Uncle Tyne next to him.

"Thank you for taking care of the men." I thanked him gratefully. I knew they could handle the camp without my micromanaging. The first few days I had tried to do it all myself, but found out early on it was damn near impossible. The men who sat around me now, minus the Wayn's who were in charge of first shift watch, had stepped up, and taught me a lesson in leadership.

Delegation was not a weakness or a sin. Treat the men under your command with respect. teach them to be attentive and thorough, and they will follow their orders impeccably.

We stayed around our hearthfire for a time, telling childhood stories and various tall tales. Drinking our ale and welcoming the company of the friends we had made.

But as all things do, it came to an end with me begging off to go to sleep. We would hit the trail hard at dawn, refreshed and ready.

--

Four days later..

The skies had finally turned on us. As the day had passed, the sun began to darken, clouds dark as charcoal and ash filled our vision.

We were already nearing the borders of Dorne, the land had become less hospitable. Though, no where near what we would experience in the coming days from what Wyvn has said.

We were a day past Ashford upon the Cockleswent river, and hopefully no one had seen us make that crossing, but it had not been as easy as the Blueburn had been.

Our company was closing in on a series of hill with tall stone boulders dotting the landscape.

This would have to do for the evening. I knew it was going to suck. The men knew it as well.

It was just luck we hadn't run into a storm like this in the two weeks we had been riding together.

Shaking my head to rid myself of those thoughts I lead Grim to a trio of boulders near as tall and wide as some small tower.

The three thousand horsemen around me joined with their comrades, pulling out canvas tarps to cover themselves and other types for their steeds. The Dornishmen and women bargained with their companions to double up under cover with either Northmen or Riverman. They did not have torrential rainfall as often as the people from the other kingdoms, so they weren't entirely prepared for the Stormland weather.

As we settled under our tarp, our mounts as protected as we could make them, we ate dried meats and fruits, bread and cheese. Very few would be able to sleep well this evening.

"Howland, pass me one of the wineskins?" Myles asked, seated on his portion of the canvas the four of us were sharing, wrapped in our wool cloaks as the rains began pounding harder atop us. We each took a corner, used rocks to weigh down the sides, and sat on a portion to keep dry and as low to the ground as possible.

Storms in this region were fierce, and not something we would wish to set up tents in. We were extremely lucky to have found the outcropping of boulders and hills to protect us from the worst of the winds.

"Here we go!" The sound of Wyvn's voice was filled with glee?

"Vaith, you know this is going to suck right"? I couldn't help but ask the man.

"That may be Ned, however this will be my first proper thunderstorm!" He shouted back.

Ohh Sandy Dornish, right.

"It doesn't rain in your lands?" Mooten yelled from across me.

"It does, but nothing like this so far! Most I've ever seen is a steady pour when I was younger during the autumn years." He explained.

Lightning flashed dulled through the canvas, followed by a near ground shaking roar of thunder.

'Yeah real fun this is!' I huff to myself.

Lyanna used to drag us out into the training yard during rain storms as children, so we could run and play in puddles. It would drive the maids mad, mother and father would just laugh and lightly scold us. Brandon, Lyanna, and I. Smiling at the fond memories I laid down and tried to get as comfortable as possible. The storm had only just begun to pick up..

It was going to be a long night.

'BOOM!'

-- --

Six days laterĂ¢

We were only a day from the Tower of Joy, from Lyanna.

I gathered the hundred of men who would join me this last portion of the journey, 60 Northmen, 20 Rivermen and 20 Dornish to guide us.

I left Estel in command, as uncle was adamant in joining me. Many of the Noblemen decided to join us, creating a pseudo 'WolfsGuard' as they liked to joke. William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Mark Ryswell, and Lorn Umber made up my personal guard, and were each close childhood friends of my brother.

Their were many women of Bear Island that would help with the birth if needed, the two Maesters were both on mounts with bulging satchels, filled with the gods know what.

Even several of the Dornish women under Lord Vaith joined our group.

"We are ready! Supplies are stocked and water is replenished!" I said calling out to Wyvn, who would lead us through the mountains.

Giving me a stern nod, he lead us away from the camp. Taking the main road for several hours, we galloped smoothly across the cobbled stone road.

We rode late into the evening, only stopping once the moon had risen far into the sky.

We rested only until dawn, then we were back fully in the saddle, once again at our forced pace. Mountains, small and large the color of rust, and others of dried blood flew by us.

My mind was only on finding my sister, making sure she was safe, and alive.

God's, I am about to be an uncle, if not already one! A little cousin for my First born to grow up with hopefully! They would be the Wolf a d Dragon of the North!.

The day turned into noon, the sun blazing above us making me thankful for the extra waterskins we all carried.

"Lord Stark! We are nearing the Tower!"

I hastened Grim forward, Uncle and Howland joined me alongside Wyvn as we quickly drove around another stony bend until finally we could make out the huge sandstone tower drawing closer.

I couldn't contain my anxiety as we drew closer and closer, until finally we reached a small hill overlooking the Tower, where three men in white stood waiting at its entrance.

"I am going down with Lord Vaith to treat with the KingsGuard!" Myles said urgently, his hand reaching into his jerkin for the scroll given to him by Rhaegar as proof of our authenticity.

Nodding silently, I gritted my teeth in frustration. I need to see my sister. I need her to be okay! Taking a breath I calmed my nerves the best I could as I watched my friends gallop dow towards three of the most deadly men alive.

Myles stopped short and announced himself, and then handed the missive off to Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander. His movements were cautious, measured, and his hands held slightly up, so as to show he was no threat. We could see him read it thoroughly, studying ever word, searching for deception.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wyvn flagged for us to join them.

My shoulders sagged in relief, I had no wish to face any of those men with a blade in hand. Giving the order my company followed me swiftly towards my sisters keep.

--