Warning: Info Dump Commencing

Basic Info of the North General Assumptions: 50% are male. Life expectancy for those who reach adulthood (age 16)= 45. Infant mortality rate= 30%. Boys are termed of age at age 16. Unable to serve in military till 16. Assuming equal distribution from age 0-45 (unlikely, I know), adult males compose 33.3% of population. Assuming 0.5% of population are professional soldiers/guards. Assuming 5% are tradesmen/merchants. Assuming 25% are farmers/fishermen. Remaining 2.8% are misc. jobs. Military Levy= 2% agricultural pop. 1% total pop can be called to war. Assuming 1% are used to fight then Northern population is 4,450,000 (based on military size detailed below).

Assumptions of the General Size of the North: 1500 miles North/South from the Neck to the Wall. Average East/West around 900 miles. Total area= 1,350,000 sq. miles

Military Assumptions: Assume 20 mile/day march speed (10 hours at 2mph) for infantry. Cavalry speed generally twice that at 40 mile/day. Ship speed variable on size. Assuming ship size generally 90 feet at waterline then at best 5.0-7.5 knots (5.75-8.63mph). Assuming sails are up 16 hours/day then 92-138 miles/day. Longships: 30-50 people per ship; War Galleys: 75-90 pps; Cogs: 30-60 pps.

Northern Lords

Stark (overlord) can field 5,000 men. Total army to call upon 42,500. Total navy to call upon 2,000 (40 ships).

Cerwyn (Lord) can field 2,000 men.

Condon (Lord (sworn to Cerwyns)) can field 100 men.

Bole (Lord sworn to Glover) can field 250 men.

Bolton (Lord (Dreadfort)) can field 5,000 men.

Branch (Lord sworn to Glover) can field 250 men.

Cassel (Masterly sworn to Stark) can field 100 men.

Dustin (Lady (Barrowtown)) can field 2,500 men.

Flint of Flint's Finger (Lord) can field 500 men.

Flint of Widow's Watch (Lady) can field 1000 men.

Forrester (Lord (Ironrath) (Sworn to Glover)) can field 500 men.

Holt (Lord) cannot field any men.

Hornwood (Lord) can field 2,000 men.

Karstarks (Lord) can field 3,000 men.

Locke (Lord (Oldcastle)) can field 500 men.

Manderly (Lord) can field 5,000 men (army). 2000 sailors (40 boats) 5 War Galleys, 20 Longships, and 15 Cogs.

Mollen (Lord sworn to starks) can field 50 men.

Mormont (Lady) can field 1,000 men.

Poole (Lord (sworn to Stark)) cannot field any men.

Ryswell (Rills) can field 2,000 men.

Slate (Blackpool) can field 1,000 men.

Stout (Sworn to Dustin) can field 500 men.

Umber (Last Hearth) can field 2,000 men.

Waterman (Lord along the white knife) can field 500 men.

Whitehill (Lord (highpoint) (sworn to Bolton)) can field 500 men.

Woods (Sworn to Glover) can field 250 men.

Woolfield (sworn to Manderly) can field 500 men.

Glover (Masterly (Deepwood Motte)) can field 2,000 men.

Tallheart (Masterly (Torrhen's Square)) can field 1,000 men.

NOTICE: Crannogmen Lords: Blackmyre; Boggs; Cray; Fenn; Greengood; Peat; Quagg; Marsh; together can field 500 men. Reed (Lord of Crannogmen) can field 500 alone. Total Crannogmen force= 1000 men.

Mountain clans: Burley; Flint; Harclay; Knott; Liddle; Norrey; Wull (most powerful mountain clan, 1000 to call upon) all mountain clans total can field 2500 men.

Chapter 1

Winterfell, Sanren 5, 15,367 ABG

Eddard woke to the sound of a door closing shut. Instinctively, he turned in his bed to reach for his wife and grasped nothing but air. Orienting himself, he realized it was his wife who left the room, and yes, she was still angry with him.

'Nothing new there,' he thought sourly.

Their marriage had its rough patches throughout the years, but with patience and compromise, mostly on his part, they were able to maintain an amicable marriage. That was not to say he didn't love her. As was the custom with noble marriages, they came to their bed as strangers, but it was their children that brought them together. He would always love her as the mother of his children. As was her way, though, if he gave an inch, she would take a mile. When he returned from the rebellion and presented his sister's son as his own, not even the building of a sept, one of the only of its kind in the north, or promising to allow his daughters' education be taught by a Septa instead of a northern woman, placated her. Instead, she then asked for southern betrothals, for all their future children. Never mind that it would cause another rebellion, this time in the North. At the end of their row, the castle servants walked with light steps for weeks trying to avoid them.

Eddard winced at that memory in shame. Most of the servants had served his family for generations, and to see them looking warily at him like he was some Southern Lord who beat his servants humbled him like very few things ever had.

Eddard looked out his window and saw the sun begin to rise over the hills. 'At least some things stayed the same,' he thought with a smile.

Getting out of bed, he relieved himself, put on his training gear, and grabbed Ice, his Valyrian steel greatsword. He was looking forward to seeing what sort of hellish training Rodrik had thought of for today. Strapping Ice to his back, he checked himself over once more and then made his way down to the courtyard.

Crossing by the great hall, he saw a drunk Theon Greyjoy passed out on the steps. Deciding to let Jory, who likely already knew of the situation, deal with his wayward ward, he continued until he heard metal striking metal. Passing through the entryway into the courtyard, he watched as Jon and Rodrik sparred. It looked like they'd already been at it for a while, but that was nothing new for the pair. Men-at-arms and the few knights and squires at Winterfell began trickling into the courtyard for the morning's training. Meanwhile, the battle in the middle reached a crescendo.

Rodrik stepped in and feigned a lunge before quickly pulling back. Jon took the bait, overextending in order to reach his opponent and Rodrik made him pay. Ducking while sidestepping to the left and forward, Rodrik was inside his foe's guard and ended the contest by placing his training sword against Jon's throat.

"Good work till the end, Jon! Footwork! We cannot neglect the fundamentals. Isn't that right, men?" Rodrik asked to the courtyard as a whole.

A chorus of assent and well-meaning jibes filled the air as Jon looked over and smiled at him.

'Truly, Jon was meant for the blade,' Eddard thought. 'All of the uncertainty that he seems to carry around on his shoulders fades away when he has a sword in hand.'

"Well done, son," he told him, which served only to make his smile brighter.

"Listen up, lads," a booming voice came from the middle. "I managed to increase both my strength and endurance by one-point last night and this morning you will do the same," Ser Rodrik ordered.

Disbelieving eyes looked at Ser Rodrik, wondering where he even found the time to train after darkness last night.

Rodrik, looking at the disbelief on their faces quietly said, "Believe it, lads. If five hours of pain can gain you a lifetime reward, you would take it wouldn't you?" He asked/threatened them.

Most nodded hesitantly as Eddard watched, amused.

"Good!" Rodrik's face immediately brightened.

"We'll start by pairing off using weighted training blades. When your stamina hits ten out of one hundred you will disengage and begin slowly jogging around the edges of the courtyard. Normally, with an endurance of ten, you would regenerate six stamina per minute. That will not be the case as you jog. If your form is perfect, you will regenerate half of that. Once your stamina reaches fifty percent, you will re-engage with an open partner in the center of the courtyard. We will repeat this exercise until all of you have raised your strength and endurance by one point. Any questions? No? Well, then get to it, men."

Giving him a questioning glance, Rodrik asked, "Shall we, my Lord."

Eddard nodded in acceptance. There was a price to being a leader.

As he thought it would be, it was hell. A fifth of the men ended up passing out at one point only for water to be thrown in their face by well-meaning spouses or significant others. Truly, Rodrik thought of everything. At the end, though, it was worth it. Not only did he manage to stay conscious the whole time, but he also managed to raise his dexterity in addition to the strength and endurance. All in all, a good morning. But duty waits for no Lord.

He took an hour to bathe, eat, and stretch and then met with the Maester.

"Good afternoon, my Lord. Before we begin, you received a letter from Lord Cerwyn by messenger."

Eddard nodded and took the letter and checked the seal; unbroken. Reading through it, he winced as he caught the part about a section of their stables collapsing on some of their horses. That was a sound burned into his memory and one he never wished to hear again. The rest was fairly banal, but it was never a good idea to dismiss a vassal's complaints, especially one within two-day's ride of his own keep.

"I trust our own missive was sent to Medger this morning," he said.

"Indeed, my Lord. I handed each messenger their letter at dawn," Lewin replied.

Eddard just nodded, expecting nothing less from the competent man, before handing the letter back to Lewin.

"Put it with the rest of the Cerwyn correspondence," he ordered.

"Of course, my Lord," Lewin assented. "Shall we discuss your Abilities?"

And so, Eddard told him.

"Most fascinating," Lewin said with brimming exuberance. "I've spoken with Bran and Robb already and they have the same abilities as you do. I imagine Jon will have the same."

"Perhaps," Eddard replied with an even voice.

In truth he was concerned about what the Maester would find on his nephew's status sheet. The only reason he even allowed Lewin to continue was that the rest of the realm, and King Robert in particular, were likely having just as hard of a time as he was. Not to mention the lack of communication at the moment.

'Perhaps it was finally time to tell him', he thought hesitantly, as he felt for the wound that was his sister's death.

When he realized that the wound had scarred over long ago, he felt shame. He should not have waited this long. The boy had a right to know.

Unaware of the internal deliberation that was going on inside his Lord, Lewin asked "Is there anything else, my Lord?"

Brought out of his reverie, he said, "No, Maester. Keep up the good work and let me know if you discover anything immediately actionable."

"Of course, my Lord."

Leaving the Maester's turret, he sought out a guard and asked him to bring Jon to his solar after dinner. Hours later, Eddard looked over and signed off on the last of the reports. It appeared that his master builder was leveling his construction skill at a prodigious pace. He estimated that he would have the buildings in Winter town rebuilt within a month.

Then, there was a knock at the door. He went to say 'Come in' but his voice died as his throat involuntarily contracted.

'Get yourself together, old man,' he thought at himself furiously.

"Come in," he said in a strong voice. As Jon came in there was a look of trepidation on his face.

"You wanted to see me, father?" He questioned.

"Yes, take a seat, Jon. You're here so I can tell you about your mother."

"My mother," Jon repeated, dumbly. "Every time I've asked you always said you would tell me when I was older. Why now?" He asked.

"I realized it was wrong of me to keep it from you any longer," Eddard replied honestly.

"Well, alright," Jon replied as he fidgeted in his seat. "Who was she?"

"Your mother was Lyanna Stark," he said softly. "My sister. Your father," he continued hesitantly, "was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms."

Ned watched his son expectantly and saw some anger, but it was quickly covered with an exhale of relief.

'No, that can't be right,' Eddard thought. 'He should be furious.'

"That actually makes sense now," Jon mumbled to himself.

Eddard watched, confused and utterly oblivious to whatever was going through his son's mind. Then Jon stood up.

"Can I, can I still call you father?" Jon asked, unsure of himself.

"Of course, my son," Eddard said while not even trying to cover his tears.

Jon just nodded and walked to the door. As he went to open it, he stopped.

"Did they love each other, my parents, I mean?" he asked with tension in his voice.

"They were married before the Gods under a Heart tree," Eddard replied honestly.

Jon just nodded his head and opened the door, but as he passed through it, he caught a true smile on his son's face. And that made the deception worth it. It was true. Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen did marry under a Heart tree. What he did not say was that the prophecy-addled rapist had to force Lyanna into the ceremony because she finally realized the man she ran away with was a madman. But that was not Jon's burden to bear. That was his shame, his failure as a brother, and that truth would die with him.

Author's Note: I made a change to canon here. The Cerwyn's are said to be only a half-day away from Winterfell in the books. Based on the maps I've seen of the North online, that number doesn't really work so I changed it to better fit the scale.