Author's noted: The names of the new settlements: Wolfhold, Eddardtown, Jon's Clearing, Robb's Range, Volstown

I don't own GOT or ASOIAF :(

A New North

When the caravan of volunteers, Vols as the Northmen had taken to calling them, came North, it was to an unexpected healthy and hardy looking landscape. Roads were in better conditions than most other kingdoms could provide, the towns were more populous than expected, and all at once many began to think that the North was not as desolate as it was made out to be.

"Is this not the North that we are told starves itself during the cold, and lives in near poverty in the summer years?" several Vol leaders asked of each other.

"Is this not the North that we are told is just barbarians and beastlike people?"

"How then do we see them employ better roads, enjoy many foodstuffs, and live more heartily than many of our own countrymen?"

The burgeoning prosperity took many by surprise, and all at once Vols began to see something that was very rare in Westeros: Chance. A chance at a new life, a chance at prosperity, and a chance for their life to improve: the Vols saw all this and more. The younger sons of Lords of the kingdoms saw this as well, and they knew in their bones that the North could very well be their chance to leave the shadows of their forebears and be more than what destiny meant for them to be. Or, more accurately, to pursue what destiny had always had in store for them.

When coming upon Winterfell and Wintertown, it was with a heavy heart they witnessed the long rows of skulls on pikes. It seemed the birds had picked clean the heads that were posted on these stakes that led for many rows. Oddly, there was no stench. The typical smell that would come from the dead did not seem to be present.

What they did not know was that Lord Robb, in an inspired move, had collaborated with his brother in the most efficient manner of burying the dead. The bodies had begun to stink, and the vast amount had been too much for the assembled host to dispose of in an easy fashion. A mass grave, while crude, was highly effective in ridding the battlefield of the many Iron Born bodies that plagued the Northern fields. Jon, using his skills as a warg, had worked many carrion animals into ripping the flesh off of the skulls that were meant to be placed on pikes as a warning to all who meant harm to the North. Even so, he was weary of leaving the skulls up for a long time as he feared disease would spread from the handling of them.

Beyond this, the Iron Born that hadn't been killed on the field were immediately brought forth for judgement. While Jon was charged with their defense, he let Robb take whatever role he wished to fulfill. The judgement of their enemies was one where he refused to budge. He had decided, also, that he would carry out their punishments himself.

It would have been gory had Jon not offered to create a contraption for Robb to execute those who refused to take the Black. A guillotine, it seemed, would be known widely in Westeros.

There were only a handful who refused the Black, but those that did were swiftly dealt with. The war had hardened everyone, Jon and Robb more than most. When the heads hit the floor, no one flinched. It was simply justice, nothing more, nothing less.

As the news of their victory spread, Jon had pushed for stories of Robb to be accepted without question around the North. While it was widely understood that Jon had been the one in charge of defense, it was also known that Robb was a boy with much courage. Many stories had been spread of the way the two collaborated, talked, and worked through plans. Robb, it seemed, had also had his fair share of glory from this ordeal.

That being said, not many of the stories were actually true. Though, not many of the stories regarding the Siege of Winterfell were true at all. In Jon's mind, this was all fine and good. Legends, he knew, would cement his and the Stark's place in the minds of everyone else.

When the Volunteers began to arrive in droves, he had a new idea for his plan of a better North.

"By the Gods," Robb began with wide eyes. "What should we do with a host of three thousand?"

It was a pressing question, and while Jon saw it for the challenge that it was, he also saw a unique opportunity. With every crisis comes a unique opportunity to rise above, and he would not let this chance escape his grasp.

"Robb," Jon began thoughtfully, "I have many ideas, but what do you think we should pursue with them?"

Robb was silent for a moment.

"Well," he began haltingly, "I think it is only prudent to take stock of their stores, ensure we have enough food for everyone here, and then put them to work."

Jon remained silent in a bid to encourage him to continue.

"I" Robb paused for a second time, "I would then disband the Northern host to return home. Maybe instruct them with some new implementation of yours that would give immediate benefit, then use the volunteers to rebuild here."

Jon smiled broadly. Yes, Robb would be a good Lord one day.

"Very good," Jon said proudly. "As good a start as any could offer, I'd argue that we use this time to also recruit the able bodied men into the North as permanent workers and begin working on our shared goal of new cities across the North."

He paused for a second, then looked at the map showing the progression of their roadworks in the North.

"We could even offer them an outpost position, let them be their own settlements and invite them to bring their families North. They came here expecting glory, but there is none to be gained anymore. Let us offer them, instead, a new home."

It became more problematic than either had predicted, though, as the host of three thousand was not the last arrival. No, in fact they were simply the first arrival of volunteers. Three thousand quickly swelled to six thousand which quickly swelled to twelve thousand.

The Northern host was disbanded with orders to take the spoils from the Iron Born and sellswords that each part of the host acquired after the battle home with them to be used for the building of the towns in their domains.

Meanwhile, Robb had taken to presiding over the food situation as his own project with the help of maester Luwin. Jon, on the other hand, began moving the volunteers around like his personal retinue of workers. It was incredibly inefficient as the majority were not skilled labor, but there was around fifty that were builders, and an awkward one thousand that were in a different profession that wasn't farmer or something relating to food production.

Jon quickly set up divisions for the builders. The fifty builders were to supervise all the building of structures and they would have a good four thousand unskilled men under them to build structures. The large amount of timber that the Wolfswood could allow them was hauled in and used for any and every useful building that Jon could think of. Storehouses and mills to house food and create bread were the immediate priority, and with so many men working on these structures it was an easy job to produce the timber, set the frame, build the structures, and move on to another one in simply hours. Every day for a week six or seven of these structures were created. The jobs for each building were then filled by another few volunteers per building.

With the food storage issue having that stopgap added, Jon felt more comfortable in turning toward other pursuits: roadwork and production buildings.

He had felt incredibly lucky when he learned of a few masons in the Vols group. He quickly used the same tactics for the building and split the host to work on laying road. Eight thousand stayed around Winterfell, and four thousand moved to work on the Wolfsroad. Teaching the masons how to lay the road hadn't taken long when Jon asked Luwin to show them, and Jon hoped that it would be easy for the rest of the volunteer roadworkers to work with.

With a newfound ability to throw bodies at a problem, Jon employed the remaining volunteers with creating windmills and smithies near each other, workshops, butcheries, and even a large building that would one day be a factory. Every production building Jon could think of, he had made in Wintertown and Winterfell. Every day the landscape was filled with more and more buildings that were laid out meticulously by Jon. As each building was created, there were new job vacancies. With each vacancy created, a vol felt more inclined to make a new life for themselves in this burgeoning place. By the end of this project, there were nearly a thousand new job vacancies in Wintertown and Winterfell.

With every production building, a new house was erected in Wintertown, and a new job was filled. A vol would soon become a Northman, and Wintertown continued to grow.

A new smithy meant that Mikken had to train more workers to build all the metalworks that he would normally put off as the work wasn't what his skilled hands needed to work with. The change meant that Jon could begin employing him to make all the complex metalworks that he really needed to progress this society.

New butcheries and bread production facilities meant that other monopolies on these commodities had competition to work with and would hopefully one day bring prices lower. Currently, with the vast amount of people, food was at an all time inflated cost. Something that would quickly change as thousands of vols were also used to plow never before used farmland along the Wolfsroad. The food production in the North was reaching a point that it had never before achieved, and Jon felt proud that he was bringing that change.

More than this, with all the jobs created in Wintertown and Winterfell, it meant that this could become a proper city that can export more than its typical lumber, food, and furs. Now, they could produce cloth, metal workings, and even pursue creating exotic luxuries. Jon even had multiple breweries made, now the North could be a major producer of exotic alcohols that it had not had before. Gin, vodka, whiskey, rum, all of it and more would quickly turn profit for the North.

More than the jobs existing, Jon had taken to giving each business funds to begin their production and start with instructions to follow until they found better practices (Jon knew a lot about most things, but he was by no means an expert in anything but logistics). While he did have plenty of gold to do this through his share of the gold he brought to the North from all his innovation, he actually furnished most of this project with the gold freed from the sellswords that attacked with the Iron Born. The gold was dealt out to everyone who aided in the defense of the North, but the great amount Jon received in his and Robb's share (for it was only fair that the acting Lord receive a large cut, and Robb was also more than happy to help with his brother's ideas) was plenty enough for him to begin a trial for many of these businesses near Winterfell.

It was a trial, and if they were successful then they owed Jon a base of five percent every year (of which he would split with his brother), but if they were not then the workers could stay and work it another year until success was had. Jon was patient. He knew it would work, but it would take time.

Winterfell and Wintertown both swelled quickly, and Jon knew that the growth was reaching an unsustainable rate. A representative from each faction took to living in Winterfell, and so they had to renovate the Old Keep to have enough room to host them. The time for them to leave and take their work away from Winterfell was coming, though. So, Jon had purposed in his heart that he would push the Vols along the Wolfsroad and build buildings at each clearing. He hoped to have a specialty outpost that would grow into a city in each strategic area.

Deep down, he wanted nothing more than a college town to one day be built in the North. It would take time, but he believed with Robb and his father's help, it could be done. A lot could be done, and he wouldn't rest until the North was reaching a height that was unreachable by the rest of the kingdoms.

It was strange to many of the volunteers that a young boy would have so much ambition to do what was done in the North. Sure, many still thought it was the maester working through the boys, but some weren't so sure. The maester had given the first instruction to many, but it was the young lord and his brother that positioned them, told them which building went where, and so on and so on. Strange, but it seemed to work so why should anything change?

Then came the offer for jobs and training for each of those jobs as well. Who were they to turn down such a generous offer? Already over a thousand of them had found jobs here. The vols had purposed to stay until the food ran out, but as jobs began to become a real possibility they found a new purpose. Why shouldn't they get a job of their own? If the North was a place to build a new life, then they'd happily move here permanently.

Many of those that found jobs began to send messengers south towards family, and in a few weeks time more families would arrive. It was almost too good to be true, and when the young lords told them they needed to leave it seemed it may, in fact, be too good to be true.

The offer that came after the words "leave Wintertown" though, were very welcome.

"My goal is to make settlements, cities even, along the Wolfsroad. I give you an offer, if you wish to stay and become Northmen you can find employment, coin, and perhaps even glory in being the creators of cities. If you wish to leave, then know that the goodwill of the North goes with you."

The young Lord Robb had said that, and his brother followed him up with encouraging plans laid out for how they might create such wonders. Their confidence, as well as the confidence of the maester, bolstered the vols. How could they leave when the job wasn't finished?

The idea of city building had been something Jon had toyed with for a few years now. There were many things that needed to be accounted for, urban sprawl being a large one. After the necessary buildings were made (housing, food storages, protective outposts for a small guard in each city, and many more necessary structures), they would have to find what each settlement can specialize in for the short term returns. He had talked with Luwin and Robb and had come up with the idea of tax breaks for each settlement for the first three years for any member that lived in the city for longer than an entire year. Meticulous methods would be taken to ensure that citizens at large wouldn't use this to simply escape taxes. This would give the settlements an opportunity to grow and then be active members of the North in a short time period.

The leaders of each settlement would be appointed, and they would come from the pool of third and later sons of Lords that were educated and willing to listen to instruction. Many of the sons had decided, with the approval of their fathers, to make a life for themselves in the North. The leaders of cities, many would become.

The move to the first clearing in the Wolfsroad took a long two weeks, but when the Vols had arrived they made short work of building all the necessary buildings and outposts for the welfare of the new settlement. Each settlement took a longer time, but the skill that the laborers had gained made them more efficient and effective. In all, five settlements were created, and even more would come later. But these five had taken months to make. In fact, it wasn't until the Lord of Winterfell had returned from the war that the final settlement was erected.

It was shock and pride that filled the Lord when he looked upon the beginnings of the new North. A more powerful North was coming, and his sons would be the leaders of it.

It had taken months longer than Lord Stark would have liked for him to reach Pyke, but with the news that his sons were successful in holding the North he was more than ready to end this war and return home the victor. The entirety of the North seemed ready.

Many reports had come from home of new tidings and new glories to behold. Jon and Robb spoke often of their plans, and while they were ambitious he fully approved of them. They had seemed to take full advantage of the opportunities in front of them and done more than he could have imagined children their age would have. Settlements, Gods, the very idea filled him with pride. Five new settlements, a more robust Wintertown, more fields for grain, more production buildings, many chicken houses being built in every settlement, new hunting lodges, and much more. So much was being accomplished by his sons, and he would express his pride in them every moment he could when he returned to them. Still, they couldn't just poach citizens like they were without consequence. Luckily no problems have arisen yet, but he feared if they weren't careful then issues would come quickly.

A rattle of the ship cabin's door interrupted his musings.

"Blast it Ned!" he heard the blustering of his friend. "Those blasted Tyrells show up now after all our fighting! They think they can steal our glory in the final moment, well I won't have it. They'll be in the back, the very last line like the cowards they are."

Robert Baratheon had come into the room full of fury. Ned understood his anger, truly. The Tyrells only now showing up with a lackluster force was more than suspicious. Ned had long wondered where the Greyjoys received the gold to begin their rebellion, and while he couldn't prove it, the lack of attacks the Tyrells had faced by Iron Born in recent years made him wonder if there was something nefarious occurring.

"Oh?" Ned responded to his friend, "and who would lead us into battle then?"

Robert rolled his eyes, "oh, come off it, Ned. The Stormlands and North will lead us! That's obvious to anyone. We outnumber them 10 to 1, the time has come to end this!"

And so, that's what they endeavored to do.

The Tyrells, it seemed, were well and truly done. Stuck at the back of the host as the combined might of Westeros fell on the Iron Born, they could only hope that Balon was killed before speaking and they had a chance to sneak through the castle at night to be rid of any damning documents there may be.

It was less than what they wanted, Mace thought as he readied his armor for the coming battle, but it was better than nothing. With some luck, maybe, just maybe House Tyrell wouldn't be totally ruined.

With an anxiousness, he threw his armor on, grabbed his sword, and made ready for what may be the most important moment of his life.

Gods he wished he would have consulted his mother first.

The battle for Pyke was a clash that seemed to end almost as quickly as it began. The Iron Born were vastly outnumbered and without any clever defenses aside from their walls and men that manned them. Both sides waited with bated breath, one waiting for the enemy to advance and the other waiting for the order to storm a castle.

Many would die, but many more would live to tell the tale of the fall of Pyke. With a sound of a horn, the thousands of mainlander Westerosi began to move towards the castle. The siege engines that were built from the timber brought by some of the ships of the Royal fleet allowed for a safer, but still dangerous, advance towards the enemy.

Within twenty minutes the first stormlander had reached the top of the walls only to be stabbed in the slits of his helmet and thrown down the siege ladder he had climbed. The solution to men lining the walls for the mainlanders was a brutal one: throw men at the walls until the Iron Born faltered or the walls collapsed under the siege engine's assault.

Luckily for the mainlanders, there was a huge numbers advantage in their favor, unluckily this also meant more people could be thrown at the problem until the issue was resolved. A thousand stormlanders later, the men manning the walls were finally being overtaken. The Northmen quickly bolstered the forward unit and moved to break open the gates and let the flood of reachmen, crownland, and westerland troops into the castle.

It was a crude tactic, but it worked. The castle was overwhelmed and the Iron Born simply couldn't fend off the numerous siege ladders and engines enough to stop the mainlanders from being successful. Within hours, Pyke was taken. Balon Greyjoy fought and fought, but he was captured alive in the end. His sons, with the exception of the youngest, were long dead. His daughter was weeping over her older brother's corpse as some soldiers pulled her off and placed her with the rest of the Greyjoys for the King's judgement. The Northmen had kept the rest of the host in check, not allowing them to rape or pillage as they would have liked. Ned Stark was clear: this would not be another sacking like they had done to Kings Landing years ago.

Standing in the courtyard as the battle finally died, it occurred to Ned that this was the second war he had been victorious in. Maybe he really did have a knack for warfare?

"Balon Greyjoy, I give you this only option," the King of the Seven Kingdoms began, "you will take the Black or you will be gelded in front of a thousand Iron Born witnesses before being stripped of your title only to serve as a castellan of your own castle. Your son and daughter shall be taken from you and given to people of my choosing, and you will not see them until they come of age. At such a time, one of them will lead the Iron Born."

For Balon, it was a painful but obvious decision. The Black would always be superior to the public humiliation that Robert would have for him. Though, already this war was a massive public humiliation.

First his brother, being unsuccessful and dying with his son, then the surprising efficiency of the royal fleet even without the Tyrell support, now he had lost everything. He grit his teeth as he thought of any last options he could pursue. The flower in the back of the room gave him pause.

A vicious thought ran through his mind. If you're going to go down why go down alone?

"My king," he began, almost choking at his bitterness when he said the word "king."

"I would ask that you listen to my only request. I will not take the Black, but listen to my words and in return I," he choked a little at the next word he used, "beg that you spare me the public display and allow me to remain Lord of Pyke."

The audacity of Balon intrigued the Baratheon king. He listened. Seconds later, his fury was known by a different target.

Mace felt lucky, honestly, that this entire ordeal would not end in death. That much he was sure of when he and Garlan found the letters he was looking for in the drawer of Balon's desk. He had been able to sneak away, and even now he and his son had finished burning the last of the letters in Balon's solar that he could find. The Lord of Pyke may have lived, but that didn't mean that Mace couldn't still turn the table on him.

With burning the written documentation of their dealings, it was now Mace's word against his. Still difficult, but no king could kill one of their Lord Paramount's (or really even strip him of his paramountcy) on hearsay alone. No, his House was as secure as it could be, and hopefully it would stay secure for a long time. Parting from his son who went back to join the Reach host, he moved towards the main hall.

The King's enraged shout of "BRING ME TYRELL!" didn't make him feel any better, but he resolved himself to meet the Baratheon and do his best to not muck this up anymore.

He would try, at least.

Ned would like to say he was surprised. He would say it, even, if it wasn't a lie. He had expected that the Tyrells had been holding back for a reason. Now the dealings between them and the Greyjoys had come to light.

When Mace entered the room, in a fidgeting sort of manner, it was all but confirmed in his mind. When Robert began interrogating him, Mace had stood firm that the Tyrells had done more than agreed to new trade deals for cheaper iron from the Iron Born. He claimed that the vast amounts of gold that Balon claimed to have received were only because the Reach had need of newer and better iron ore for many of their fields as they were being proactive in replacing broken equipment such as swords all the way to common farming equipment for the smallfolk.

Bullshit, Ned thought. There was no way that was what the deal actually was. Balon claimed to have written documents of his dealings with the Tyrells.

"You better hope they return with nothing Tyrell, or it'll be your head." Robert had told Mace quite threateningly.

The man didn't budge. The gleam in his eye spoke of something that Ned could not place, but he feared they would find nothing in their searches. He was right.

They found nothing.

"Blast it all!" the enraged Baratheon said as his hand tightened around his hammer. "Let's just kill the man and be done with it."

He arose as if he meant to make good on his threat. Mace was appalled. Ned was as well, in a way. Robert, it seemed, still jumped to violence first and reason second.

"Robert you can't be serious!" Ned said as he maneuvered himself in front of Robert and Mace.

"You need solid proof before just accepting the word of a traitor! If you kill Mace Tyrell, the entire Reach will rise in rebellion." Ned didn't really know this to be the entire truth, but a bit of embellishment was due for now. He wanted this war to end. The last thing he wanted was another to start up right after. Jon, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and his newest little Rickon were waiting for him.

"He's a traitor too, Ned! Mace Tyrell deserves the King's justice!" more blustering. They were getting nowhere.

"Then punish him!" Ned said in a fit of exasperation.

"Just, Gods, Robert don't kill him!"

Robert was silent for a moment. For a second, it seemed he didn't know whether to be mad at Ned or Mace. His gaze shifted over to Mace again, yes, he was definitely more infuriated with Mace.

Silence reigned in the room for nearly a moment. Mace had been quiet, his gaze not locking with anyone's but his head held high.

Robert contemplated for a while. What would bring the Tyrell's low? What did they want more than anything and how could he ensure they don't receive it? Money? No, they had that in droves. It also wouldn't do to cripple the Reach entirely. Land? They had no need for expansion. Power? Well, everyone wanted that. That was entirely one of the reasons he took the crown for hims-

That was it! The Crown!

All at once a smirk broke across his face. Well, if they wanted to go after the Crown he'd make sure they never touched it in this lifetime.

Oh, but how to do it? What way to make it an obvious slight while also effectively keeping their children or grandchildren off the throne? Obviously he would just ignore any marriage betrothal between Tyrell children and his children, but he wanted something more than that.

His eyes drifted to Ned in silent contemplation. His friend seemed stressed. Gods, he needed to find a woman to drown his sorrows in. That brooding look of his was too much to look at. Strange he never touched a woman on this campaign like he did. Ha! That would have made the whole campaign a touch more comical if the dutiful, honorable Ned had strayed from his-

Oh. He had though, hadn't he? Years ago, he had that young boy. The same one who had sent that letter out, how had that slipped his mind in his rage? A young boy that was brave. A young bastard boy that was brave. Yes, yes that would be perfect.

He had to reward his loyal subjects, right? Ned had been the most loyal, and his son had held the castle for his father while he was at war. Yes, Robert thought, this would be the perfect humiliation.

The smirk on his face promised pain for the Tyrells. Pain and humiliation.

"I've decided" Robert said after minutes of awkward silence. "Mace Tyrell, your House will not see any rise in power in your lifetime. Ned," Robert said as he turned to Eddard for moment. "You have a son of an age with Lord Tyrell's daughter. Correct?"

Lord Stark had no inclination as to where this was going. But he knew that he wouldn't let Robb be married off to a traitorous Tyrell.

"Yes, Robb is a young boy. Bu-"

"No."

What?

"Not him."

Promise me Ned.

"I-" Ned couldn't respond. He looked physically stricken.

Promise me Ned.

"You have another, do you not?" Robert asked. His gaze piercing, daring him to disagree.

Promise me Ned.

"Ha, Your Grace," Ned began, his throat feeling like dry parchment. He forced himself to laugh, to pass it off as a jest. "My son Bran is only two namedays, he would not-"

"Gods Ned!" the King exclaimed.

Promise me Ned.

"And the new babe, Rickon, his mother-"

"The other one, the bastard. What was his name again?" the King interrupted, no longer allowing his rambling to continue.

Promise me Ned.

"Jon," he said weakly.

"Jon." The king said, testing the name of the boy on his lips.

PromisemeNedpromisemeNed

"I've decided," the King began again.

PROMISE ME NED!

"Your boy, Jon, and Mace's daughter. They are of an age."

Horror began to fill Mace's face as he realized what the King was implying.

PROMISE ME NED.

"You've been nothing but loyal, Ned. Your sons too, such valor for ones so young."

PROMISE ME NED.

"Jon and Mace's daughter will be married when they're of age. Mace's line will not sit the throne in my or my son's lifetime." Robert said with a tone of finality.

"WHAT!?" Mace exclaimed in an enraged shout.

"You expect my family to accept a bastard for my daughter?!"

Robert smirked.

"Yes."

PromisemeNedpromisemeNedpromisemeNed

"Don't worry Tyrell," the King mocked. "The boy will be legitimized. Jon Stark, my what a lad he will be," and with a laugh he began to walk out of the ruined hall. Not a single look back at Ned for approval nor an acknowledgement of the encroachment he just committed on him. Ned had thought they rekindled their friendship. He had thought Robert wouldn't pull something like this on him.

Yet, it seemed Robert thought he was doing him a service. The notion made Ned sick.

You promised.

Damn you Robert, and damn you Rhaegar.

"I promise," Ned spoke quietly to himself after Mace was led away still in a fit of rage but coming to accept that this outcome was set in stone.

"I promise, Lya."

"I'm sorry, sweet Margaery" Loras had said to her when Grandmama had broken the news. It was shocking, to be sure. A daughter of the greatest House in the Reach married off to the bastard boy of a Northern Lord? Unthinkable.

Yet, the unthinkable was going to happen.

Margaery found that she cared more about the fact that her many plans now lay in shambles. Still, though, there was security in the North if she could keep the Starks from going south. Her family may actually survive, and she may live through this all.

Yes, it could definitely be worse. She could be married off to Joffery or Tommen again. Ugh, the thought was enough to make her stomach churn.

"Oh, Loras," Margaery began as she hugged her brother to her. She cherished these moments with him. Her last life she had loved him dearly and they had been close, but he had been much to busy to be with her as much as he was now. If she ended up going North, she'd not have near the time with her family as she did now.

"I know it's not ideal, but we'll be okay." She bit her lip as she thought for a moment. "Father wouldn't dare let me come to harm. He'll ensure that everything is taken care of for me."

Loras looked at her queerly, "but Margaery, he-he's not a prince and there's not anything royal about him. You should be marrying a king, one day!"

She hugged him again. How does one tell their family that this is probably better than marrying a brat spawned of incest or his brother who was incapable of ruling?

"Truly, Loras, I'll be okay. The Starks are said to be good people. Mother even said that the boy would have been legitimate if not for the need of Lord Eddard to marry for an army. A Bastard of Love, they say." Of course that was a lie, but no one actually knew that. Sansa had told her that her father had begat him on a wetnurse. Jon Snow- Stark, now she supposed- was not of importance. But he would bring a type of security to herself and maybe even her family.

He was capable, that much she knew of in her last life. He had become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and in this life he was nothing if not able to motivate people to do what needed to be done for the protection of his home.

Yes, Jon Stark would bring some sense of safety that she may have never had otherwise. She felt this certainty, though why she was so certain she didn't know. One day she might, but for now she let the thought of seeing snow chase away her fear of blistering green fire.

It was a furious wife and mother that awaited Mace at home. His Lady had refused to speak with him, and his mother only continued to mutter "idiot" anytime she saw him. He was humiliated by the king in public, and he was humiliated in his castle as well, it seemed.

Margaery took the news well. As well as a child could, anyways, though it was surprising how much she already knew of the Starks. His child seemed to be excelling well in her studies, it seemed. He promised her she'd be cared for, of course. A Tyrell would never live in the modest ways of the North. He'd grant her all the gold she wanted.

Mace knew they couldn't escape this. The casual attempt at bringing forth an idea to kill the boy was met with harsh denials by everyone, most especially by Olenna. Any attempt on his life would look like their doing, she promised. Everyone knew she was right.

Lord Stark wrote a week after Mace arrived home. He asked that Margaery and Jon meet soon, so they could acclimate to each other well. Mace wanted to refuse, but how could he?

He couldn't bear to go with Margaery. He couldn't bear to see what he forced upon her. His mother. She'd be his substitute. Margaery, Loras, and Olenna. And a retinue of men to protect them, yes, that would do.

So, with a heavy sigh he went about making the arrangements for his children and mother.

Gods, if only he had listened to his mother.

The joy that Ned felt when he returned to the North was almost the same as the joy he felt when he held little Rickon in his hands. Almost, but not quite. Rickon was a tiny thing, but his lungs were strong. He'd grow to be a strong Stark, Ned was certain. He was only glad that Catelyn had given birth outside of the siege, and that it was not too hard on her.

"I'm glad to have you back Ned," Catelyn said as they laid together with Rickon in between them.

"Aye," he said. "I'm glad to be back home."

Cat smiled at him.

"The boys did such a wonderful job, Ned. Oh, you should see how Robb gets when he and Jon come up with a new idea to test. Really, it'd be more adorable if it didn't work out so well most of the time."

She gave sigh.

"Oh, they're so smart Ned. It worries me, truly. They're so young, yet they are trying to take the world by storm."

"We'll protect them." Eddard promised her.

Catelyn paused for a second and began cooing at Rickon again.

"Aye," she said after a moment, "we will."

This was nice, Ned thought. Home, with his wife and new child. No thoughts of war, no thoughts of Robert or bloody Tyrells, or stupid betrothals or promises or-

"Ned, my love," Catelyn said as her hand came to caress his face. "What troubles you?"

He sighed, "I need to speak with Jon tomorrow. I have much news for him and us as a family. It does not bode well."

"Ned," Catelyn began as she pulled her hand back and held it to her heart, "you're scaring me. What has happened?"

Her eyes widened, "does he- does the King know?"

"No!" Ned forced out quickly in a quiet harsh whisper.

He softened a moment later when Rickon began to fuss.

"No. The king does not know."

Her hand returned to his check, "then what is it?"

"The Tyrells were found to be traitors to the Crown, though we don't know to what extent."

Her gasp and confusion allowed him to pause for a moment.

"The King has declared that, in order to humiliate the Tyrells and," here he clenched his teeth hard, "reward House Stark's loyalty, Jon shall be legitimized and made to marry the only daughter of Mace Tyrell."

Catelyn's shuddering breath and whispered "oh" was enough for him to know she thought it was as dangerous as he did. The Tyrells were a wily bunch, and they would know if things were amiss. Jon played the part of a Stark well, but his ambition and drive were a rare thing for many of Westeros. Even the Dragons weren't so industrious. It was a dangerous game, but one they were resigned to playing.

He dreaded breaking the news to Jon, though. There was no telling how he would take it.

"Okay. Sounds good to me."

"Jon, you can't be serious!"

"What?" Jon had asked confusedly after his father came to him with the news he'd be marrying a highborn lady from the Reach. Sure, it was unordinary, but marriage would just be a means to an end if there was no love in it. He could live with that. As long as he had some children to teach and show how to make Westeros a more advanced civilization, he'd be happy.

His father looked at him in exasperation.

"I tell you that you're to be the humiliation of an entire House, that you'll marry a girl a year your senior in only five years time, and you respond with 'sounds good'." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "you'll be the death of me Jon. I swear it."

Jon frowned as he looked up from the plans of the expansion of the five settlements he had built. The road had progressed tremendously with his ability to throw bodies at the problem, and now it would near completion in less than a year's time. His hope was that there would be many more settlements along the Wolfsroad. Already chicken houses and farmland were built all around the Wolfsroad, and many of the Vols had taken well to being owners of new farmland and poultry producing for the North. The clearings had turned into burgeoning cities of their own, and soon he reckoned that they'd have five new cities the size of the old Wintertown. Within a few years, they may even have five new major cities of Westeros!

"Father, Robb and I just fought back the Iron Born while you were away, we handled thousands of volunteers and not only settled them but built our own cities for them, we progressed the Wolfsroad an unprecedented amount, and we built so many production facilities for Wintertown that it has reached close to 20,000 residents in the near eight moons that you have been absent. Beyond that, the rest of the North is taking on their own building projects as well," Jon recounted quickly with a quirked eyebrow.

"Not to mention I've been personally training some 300 youth of an age with me on how to think as I do, innovate, and invent like I do, and even fight like I want them to. That's been slower, I admit since I've been doing it in what little free time I have available and I've only been able to motivate them with the promise of my own coin, but I have made minimal progress."

He paused for a moment, trying to remember where he was going with this. Ah, right.

"I know you're worried, father, but I think I've proven myself capable."

Ned sighed, "you have Jon, you have."

He looked at the table with all the plans. A proud feeling raised up in him.

"You and Robb have been exceptional, Jon."

Jon smiled at him.

"But," Ned continued, "you have also been somewhat careless in your expansion. I've had to cover for much. You and Robb have been simply taking younger sons of Lords and making them rulers, essentially poaching citizens and nobility of other kingdoms." He pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"It'll be okay, but it's not so simple as to just take people and build a city. There's a process. One that you've circumvented well, but not one that you'll be able to continue to circumvent."

Jon frowned. He hadn't thought of that.

"I-"

"No," Lord Stark continued, "let me finish."

Jon nodded.

"Jon, I worry for you." Lord Stark sat down in the chair across from Jon after he said this. He pulled at the plans, looked at ones that would work and ones that likely wouldn't. They were all dreams, but dreams that should be chased.

"You know so much, and you're the brightest boy because of everything you've been through before this. But-"

But? Jon thought. What was that "it" factor that Jon was missing? What was it that his uncle thought was holding him back?

"Jon, you're not cautious."

"Oh." He hadn't thought he needed to be, honestly.

"You look at those around you as lesser beings. You see yourself as untouchable, and while you are strong and your sword arm will only grow stronger, you put yourself at a major disadvantage."

Jon frowned as he let his uncle continue.

Had he really been so arrogant?

"There are people in this world, Jon," Eddard continued with narrowed eyes, "who would be more than happy to rip you apart for no other reason than to kill. There are people who will spend days, weeks, months, years, to bring you down. With every level of greatness you achieve, there will be another on the bottom of the ladder seeking to cause enough chaos to climb over you. You are nothing more than a steppingstone for some, and if you don't accept that reality then there is little I can do to protect you."

Ah. Vicious. But it was probably true. The more that there was success, the more the unsuccessful would hate him. It was human nature, he knew that. Really, it was kind of surreal to have this moment with Lord Stark. It was dumb of him to not realize the truth of this warning before it was ever given.

"I'll temper my arrogance, father."

Ned shook his head.

"No," he said, "I don't think you will. Nor do I think you need to, in truth. Instead, instill within yourself a healthy suspicion of everyone. What does each person have to gain, why would they wish to be close to you, what do they want from you, if there was one thing they wanted, what is it and how would they get it? Ask yourself these questions, know your enemies and know your friends."

Of course, and then you'll have won half the battle.

"Right." Jon agreed with a nod.

Knowledge is power, after all.

In a sense, Margaery was excited to leave the Reach and head North. The Starks, she knew from experience, were a good people. She hoped they would be received well, and while she hated to leave her mother and brothers so soon in this life, she knew it would be necessary eventually.

"Do you think he will love me, Grandmama?" she remembered asking her grandmother in a past life regarding a different man. A disgusting prince who treated everyone around him with disdain and hatred. He was a pig in every life, she supposed, as the stories of him were just as awful this go around.

"No." was the simple response as they boarded the same carriage they were in now. "But he may tolerate you, one day."

No, Margaery thought, he never tolerated anyone. It was only a shame she did not poison him on her wedding day. All the better to not have suffered through his tortures on her person in bed the first few sennights.

She was less concerned with love, now. As long as Jon Stark treated her well, she'd be happy. She may even come to love Sansa's brother (if there was one thing she would be happy of, it would be that she could now truly be family with sweet Sansa). She may not ever love him. She may not ever know what romantic love truly is, but she felt that anything was better than Joffery. Yes, anything was better than him, even a bastard.

No, Margaery corrected herself, especially a bastard if that bastard carried the name Jon Stark.