Hello everyone!

Thank you so much for al the follows and favourites and especially all the reviews! I'm so happy with the positive response that this story has gotten. I have added a few things to my profile, namely my goals in regards to updates and posts. Additionally, as stated on my profile, if anyone has any requests regarding the story please feel free to contact me and I'll let you know if it's possible. Already requested was the inclusion of the Company of the Rose from Essos, the migration of the Wildlings south of the Wall and a Robb/Margaery pairing.

Regarding the first, this was something that I had not thought about but will definitely be included, so shoutout to 246vili for that suggestion. The Freefolk will indeed be heading south, but I'm not quite decided on the timeline and this may not be included in this story but rather the sequel. Finally, regarding Robb/Margaery, it is one of my preferred ships, however I am not 100% decided yet and in any case, I do want to keep ships a surprise.

Additionally, I just wanted to shoutout a few authors as well because their fics are the ones that inspired me to write this and that made me want to improve my writing (I used to have a different profile with more fics... you do NOT want to read them, they were awful). Please everyone check out The Mountain's Range by Th Passionate Admiral (SI into Gregor Clegane who actively works to improve Westeros. An epic length fic that I have honestly read like 6 times and my inspiration for the whole Elia/Rheagar/Lyanna situation and the Northern/Dornish friendship) and Dragonstone by danivat (Robert just showers Ned and his family with presents because of their argument over the Targaryens. My inspiration for the whole Ned/Robert feud.)

Sorry for the long note, thank you all for your patience, I hope you enjoy the rest of the story! :)


The massive fortress that loomed before them had been visible across the plains for hours, and all anyone in the procession could talk about was how large and formidable it was and how quickly it had been built. Oh, it was nowhere near done of course, but the sight of it was still enough to take the men's breath away.

Moat Cailin stood proud and tall, the large seven story keep made of dark stone encasing a pristine courtyard completed. The insides were bare of course, no furniture, no decorations, and no glass adorning the windows, however looking from outside one could be forgiven for thinking that no more work was left to do on the main castle. The outer walls however were another matter. Before its destruction, the great edifice had been surrounded by twenty towers, all linked together by thick and sturdy walls, completely impregnable and indestructible if not for the existence of the dragons that had originally destroyed the northern holdfast almost three centuries previously.

As the Northern army made their way south towards Riverrun, only the two topmost floors of the keep were visible over the incomplete walls, and Ned rejoiced at the progress that had been made. After five years of construction, they were just over half way through; with the final plans having the walls reach ten stories tall and the twenty towers reach another five floors higher. This would be one of the largest forts on the continent, made to house not only a Lord's family and household, but also the thousands of soldiers that would patrol the Northern borders. Only Harrenhall - a ruin that had also fallen victim to the Targaryens' conquest of Westeros - and Casterly Rock - a castle built upon and within a great cliff - could ever hope to hold a candle against Moat Cailin once it was complete.

Hundreds of men milled around the construction like ants, rushing to and fro, carrying materials either by hand or by cart, lifting great rocks larger than any of them through the use of pulleys that Master DeLorne had introduced, and almost the same amount of men milled around the sea of tents that had cropped up around the castle. This was just a skeleton crew, Lord Stark knew, and somewhere among them hid another thousand men, dressed in their furs and armour, carrying their belongings on their back as they prepared to join the war effort.

The gates to the fortress had already been installed, and a small path that lead to the Kingsroad had been beaten to allow easier passage for the incoming carts full of materials imported from the various Northern lands that were aiding in the construction effort. The canal was not far either, just a hundred yards north of where Cailin's Path and the Kingsroad joined together, a good source of income for the future Lord of the castle. It would not be surprising if a few villages cropped up on either side of the artificial river within the next few years. In fact, as Ned and his troop of men trotted across the great bridge that the Essosi had built over the canal and made their way closer to the multitude of tents, he was sure he could see a child or two running in between the canvases and various women out spreading clothes on washing lines. It seemed some of the builders had already decided to bring their families to them, unwilling to be so far from them for the period of time that such a project would require.

Shouts and cries accompanied them as the civilians saw them approaching, rushing to the side of the path and waving emphatically. In rows of 4, the Northern army marched past, smiling and waving at those surrounding them. First came the cavalry, led by Lords Stark, Bolton and Dustin; 5,000 men in gleaming armour atop the highest quality steeds the North had to offer; strong and large creatures with shaggy fur, bred for the harsh cold. Then came the 15,000 infantry, split into smaller groups of equal number, all led by one of the other Lords. It took a whole hour to get the entirety of the army inside the gates, and that was not even the full Northern force; no, another 15,000 men led by Lords Mormont, Flint, Ryswell and Manderly would be making their way via ship, making up their brand new navy.

Almost a decade earlier, when Lord Stark had led his men to war for the first time, 20,000 land troops had been all that they had. Now, with the great influx of wealth that had hit the North in the past six years, the population of the North had practically doubled due to the exodus of families moving on to the northern lands. The workers that Prince Oberyn had petitioned on behalf of Ned had come with their families and households, and smallfolk had flocked from the more southern kingdoms of Westeros in the hope of work when they had learned of all the changes. It was enough that Ned could afford to leave men at home, working on his projects, while still having a large enough army to be a major player in the war.

Nevertheless, he hoped it would not be a long one; just as short as Robert's Rebellion - which had lasted 10 months in total - or even less. Even with men left behind to continue his plans, work productivity would of course take a hit with such a reduction in workers. Then there was also the money it would take to fund the war effort, the food that would have to be shipped in droves to feed the hungry soldiers, and the second considerable decrease in pregnancies (and increase in deaths) in a decade. No, war was never a profitable venture, at least for those fighting in it, but it was a necessity. The Iron Islands had thought to attack their lands, burn their houses, steal their hard earned money and take their women. Now Ned would return the favour tenfold.

"The castle is already defensible, the landscape of course playing a large role in this, but with the small workforce left to me, I estimate another five years before the full fortress is complete, and another half year at least to make it habitable - furnish it and the like."

Shaking his head slightly to clear his errant thoughts, Ned turned back to Master DeLorne and gave a tight smile. Another year had been added to the construction due to the war, but it was better than expected; still within his schedule.

"And the next project?" He asked, prompting the Essosi to shuffle the papers on the table and pulling out new blueprints.

"Yes, the plans are almost complete, just a few more details to add here and there, though it is mostly aesthetic and this point, gardens and the like. All the necessities have been covered and drawn up." Receiving an encouraging nod in return, the master continued. "As per your specifications, it will be much smaller than Moat Cailin or even Winterfell, as simply the seat of the Lord of a major House, and with enough men I estimate that we can get it done in three or so years. Barring, of course, an interruption such as another war."

"Gods be good." Ned muttered. The North had already seen enough war in one man's lifetime and he was already planning another major war within the next decade or two. He spared a prayer to the Old Gods for peace to grace the North during his lifetime.

"The docks will take less time." Master DeLorne continued. "As you saw with White harbour, ships can be built quite quickly when one knows the correct techniques and I daresay you have found one of the few men in the world who knows the best one."

It was true, none had been more surprised than Lord Stark when Denton Matadorne - grandson to the great shipwright Darabono who was world famous for inventing a technique to build a trading cog in a day and a war galley in three - arrived in Winterfell with a large entourage, announcing that he was there as a favour to Prince Oberyn. Ned could have kissed the man, then ridden all the way to Dorne and kissed Oberyn too.

"Just another eight years." The Lord murmured, stroking his hand across the intricate designs that lay on the table. These were the last of his major plans for the North. The rest simply consisted in helping his country grow strong and happy, swelling his kingdom's population and wealth. Once they were free of Robert the child-slayer and the Iron Throne - even if it was a nephew of his that would sit upon it one day - the North would be equal to the Seven Kingdoms and most of the remaining work to get to that point was passive.

"That is the hope, yes."

"You have done well, Master DeLorne. Truly I am grateful for all of the work you have done for me. The North is forever in your debt and you and yours will always have a place here."

Holding the man's gaze to show his gratitude, Ned received the expected response: a small smile and a dismissive wave of a hand. They had had this conversation dozens of times over the years and the Essosi would always respond the same: he was being paid for the work he was doing and so no debt existed, and in fact it was he who was grateful to have been given such an important and challenging project after decades of the same old requests. As always, the Northerner simply gave a wry smile.

Dipping his head, Lord Stark retreated for the night, returning to the main hall on the ground floor where he had set up his sleeping pack. With completely empty rooms, the men had had no choice but to set up their packs on the ground wherever they could find space and huddle together to keep warm, but there were no complaints. It was still warmer than outside the thick castle walls, and the fortress was large enough to accommodate all 20,000 men.

With the men from Moat Cailin joining the army, they would be ready to continue on the road at dawn the next day. It would take another three weeks at a fast pace to reach the King's army and they were all eager to pay retribution to the Iron Rapists.


The courtyard was absolutely teeming with activity. Servants ran from one door to another, cutting straight through the yard carrying clothes, crates and baskets of food; guards milled around, hand on their swords and eyes surveying their surroundings; Lords stood to the side, drinking and laughing or in the centre sparring.

A flash white drew Ned's attention right to the middle of the space, where three men in golden armour and pristine white cloaks stood slightly apart, forming a triangle around a pair that were dancing around each other. One of the men was older, had grey hair and a strong build, his movements quick and precise, his own white cloak identifying him as the famed Ser Barristan. The other was larger. Much larger, with a drenched and stained tunic that bulged around his protruding belly. While incredibly strong, this second man's hammer was much slower than Barristan's sword and as Ned dismounted from his horse, he watched as the guard managed to point his weapon straight at the larger man's throat in just a few moves, ending the bout.

Rather than throwing his hammer to the ground and stomping away in a fury as Ned had come to expect after years of his own spars against the man, the loser simply threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh that echoed throughout the courtyard, drawing all attention to him for a moment before the watchers returned to their business.

Ned absently noted a young boy come and take his horse and that of his companions as he continued to watch the scene, taking a deep breath and steeling himself. Straightening his back and raising his head, he took a step towards the small group, and another, until he was confidently striding towards his target, who was still unaware of his presence and instead dumping a bucket of water over his head.

Finally, it seemed someone noticed him.

"Your Grace." Ser Barristan called, bringing his sparring partner's attention to him and nodding in Ned's direction.

A great smile lit upon the fat King's face as he turned and saw his oldest friend for the first time in almost a decade.

"Ned!" He called, bounding towards the Northerner with his arms open.

Plastering a smile on his face, Lord Stark simply continued on until they collided, wrapping their arms around each other in a brotherly embrace. For all the weight he had put on, Robert hadn't lost a bit of his strength, squeezing until the Northerner was sure his eyes would pop out of his head. Finally, thankfully, Robert decided to release him, holding his shoulders and taking a step back to take a proper look at his friend.

"Ned, you've not changed a bit!"

"Nor have you." He quipped back with a wry smile that he did not have to fake at all.

In response, the King let out a loud laugh once more and clapped him on the shoulder. "You liar! I have mirrors, you know, I've gotten fat! I look a decade older than you!"

"The cold does wonders for one's skin."

Once again, Robert simply laughed and began shepherding Ned towards the main doors of the castle where he had been introduced to his new-born son all those years ago. As they walked, the King prattled on about the old days, about how much had changed in such a short amount of time, about how much he missed his dour foster brother. It was all Ned could do to hum along in agreement. Thankfully, Robert had always been the boisterous one and Ned the quiet one; as such the King kept talking, not expecting or allowing the Northerner to respond.

Finally, they arrived at what Lord Stark could only assume were the rooms set aside for the King's use during his stay in Riverrun. It was a large bedroom with intricately carved wooden furnishings and silk sheets on the bed, colourful tapestries and paintings adorning the walls. A large desk sat near the window and where one would expect it to be full of papers, quills and ink pots, instead it seemed almost the entire surface of it was covered in trays of steaming and sweet smelling food, two pitchers of some beverage - alcoholic most likely - and two cups. To the other side of the room was another door, that likely led to a private washroom or a twin bedroom for any family members.

Robert did not even pause his stride as he entered, leaving Ned to slow his pace and hover by the door as he made his way straight to the desk and began pouring them both a cup of what seemed to be Arbour Gold.

"Here you go, Ned." He said, pushing a cup to the opposite side of the desk to where he sat, indicating for the other to take a seat.

The Northerner approached and sat obediently, though the cup remained where it was.

"Thank you, but I'll abstain from the wine for the moment."

"Hmmph." Robert grunted. Lifting his own cup to his lips, he downed half of the drink before setting it back on the table with a thud. "So! You must tell me what's been going on up North!"

"I'm sure you've heard most of it." Ned shrugged.

"Aye, but I want details! That canal! It's true you had Master Guillem DeLorne come all the way from Braavos to work it?"

"And on rebuilding Moat Cailin."

"Moat Cailin!" Robert smacked his hand on the wood, a great smile splitting his face as he regarded the Northerner. "Such an ambitious man you have become, Ned! To think you hid it from me when we were boys!"

A mirthless smile formed on the Stark's face at those words. The King had no idea how ambitious Ned truly was. "I had no need to be ambitious." He responded. "I was but a second son at the time. Circumstances have changed and now I must take up the burden of working towards my people's future myself."

The happy expression on the stag King's face faded and he reached once more towards his cup, emptying it and refilling it before he spoke, his voice softer and more subdued than before. "Aye, well. You're still a grim bastard, at least that hasn't changed."

Realizing that he had perhaps not been giving the impression of a man delighted to be reunited with his brother in all but blood, Ned's heart skipped a beat as he mentally berated himself for his stupidity. He needed Robert to believe they were still as close as they had been in their youth, even though the subterfuge went against everything that had been ingrained into him during his stay at the Eyrie with Jon Arryn. But he was not a Valeman. He was a Northerner with different priorities. This was about vengeance; it was about justice, family and life. His plans had to go ahead for the future of his people and his family and Ned would lie, steal and cheat to ensure that it went ahead. He may have forgotten what it was to be a Northerner during his eight year stay in the south, but Lyanna's tearful pleas for forgiveness as she laid on her deathbed had enough to remind him.

Starks were pack. Harm one, you harm them all. Fiercely protective and stubborn, vicious to their enemies. Northerners had long since been brutal to those that slighted them.

Hiding his thoughts, Ned sighed and slumped in his chair slightly.

"I'm sorry Robert. I fear I won't be much pleasant company until the Ironborn are dealt with." he said, drawing a grim smile from the Baratheon.

"Aye, I heard of their attempts at Bear Island and Flint's Finger." Robert responded, fist clenched on the desk as he leaned forward, the same intensity in his eyes as he had when talking of the Targaryens. "I promise you, Ned, they will pay. We will march our troops straight to their gates and send them to their damned Drowned God!"

Now this - war - was one thing Ned would trust Robert Baratheon with. Even as boys, Robert had always been a formidable opponent, an excellent strategist and an inspiring army leader. Sometimes Ned thought himself mad to wish war upon him one day, but he had the might of Dorne and Highgarden behind him, and none of them were slouches in the art of war either. The Tyrells had over 80,000 men to call upon and Dorne was the only nation to not be completely massacred during the Targaryen conquest other than the North.

Nodding his head in thanks, Ned absently picked at the honeyed dates on the platter before him.

"But you are right." Robert pronounced, a single nod accompanying the stern setting of his face. "We can catch up once this is over. For now we'll focus on giving those bastards what's theirs."

"Is there a plan?"

"Aye - at least the makings of one, but that will wait until everyone is here."

"Who is missing?"

Refilling his cup for the third time and downing in one go, Robert took a moment to respond. "The Stormlords arrived just days ago and are still situating themselves, as I assume your own men are. Only Dorne is missing but my scouts say they'll be here within the week."

The Northerner was not surprised to hear the distaste in the King's tone when talking of the Dornish. Any who had fought on the Targaryens' side during the Rebellion was low on his list of friends and the Tyrells only avoided outright disdain due to their willingness to bend the knee once they had been defeated. The Dornish were not given that luxury.

"Actually, speaking of those snakes," Robert continued. "now that the Iron Islands have rebelled against me, I will be demanding they officially swear their oaths of fealty to me." He paused, peering intently at his friend but Lord Stark knew what was coming next. "I will need the same from you, Ned. I know you are absolutely loyal to me, brother, but I can't be making exceptions. Even Renly and Stannis had to bend the knee, and though I know what you went through during the war - why your priority at the time was to get back to Winterfell, I'm afraid I can no longer leave the situation as is."

"I know, Robert." Ned reassured the man. "I understand and I anticipated this. It should have been done years ago, really."

And the Northerner had anticipated this. He had spent the past month travelling south, running over in his head the multitude of oaths he could say and how exactly he could phrase them so as to not damn himself in the eyes of the Old Gods. In the North, the worst name one could earn for themselves was oathbreaker. It was why deserters of the Night's Watch were executed with no mercy, no exception, no trial. It was why Jaime Lannister would never be welcome past the Twins. It was why Ned had spent sleepless nights on their journey, trying to think of a vow that would pacify Robert and the southerners, without jeopardizing his plans for the North.

A promise uttered aloud was a vow to the Gods themselves, and to break that promise was to damn yourself and any involved in the crime. If the Northerners ever had reason to accuse him of oathbreaking, he would lose his life and his family would lose their position, their wealth, their home. The days of the Starks would be over and another Lord would take over as Lord Paramount of the North - likely the Boltons considering they had attempted to declare the Starks oathbreakers and claim their place in the North a multitude of time over the last 8,000 years. Harsh, but it created a safe space where one needn't worry about knives in their back like they would in the south.

After much thought, Ned was only partially satisfied with what he had come up with. With men like Tywin Lannister in attendance, subtlety would not be enough and so he had decided to apply a time limit to his oaths. It may postpone his plans, however seeing Robert's state after just six years on the throne, Ned doubted that it would delay them drastically.

"Would you like my vow now, or would you prefer it in public at the same time as Prince Oberyn's?"

"It would need to be public, Ned." Robert responded quietly, almost apologetically.

"Not a problem, Your Grace." Lord Stark dipped his head in obedience.

Rising from his seat with excuses of needing to see to the settlement of his men outside the walls of Riverrun, Ned bade his goodbyes to the King, bowing elaborately and letting out a sardonic grin when the fat man let out one of his signature bellowing laughs.

Just one more week and the first steps towards making the Ironborn pay for their sins would be under way.