Chapter Two: To War

Robb's POV

He kept getting angry that his sisters were now captive. and Sansa still engaged to Joffrey, a boy who was beating her amongst other things no doubt, and who by all accounts to be born of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Arya had joined their father in the cells. A raven had arrived following the message about his father, detailing their crime. Running a castle was hard. Running a great castle and its lands, harder. Running all of that plus the entire realm of the North, extremely difficult…and he was beginning to believe that calling together and running an army was impossible.

Nobody wanted to work together, everyone wanted to be in charge, everyone looked at him like he was still a boy since he had no experience, the logistics of feeding, arming, armoring, clothing, and sheltering an army of 20,000 men were a nightmare, and somehow, he had gotten them all to follow him to free his father. Jon had been a huge help as well, with his intelligence and reputation. Sometimes, Robb swore the men followed Jon more than himself, despite being the eldest and their Lord.

Jon had organized the army, chosen commanders, and planned supplies while Robb had come up with his plan. He was originally going down with the armies of the North along with their Lords as a show of force to have his father released, but then Lord Tywin Lannister had assumed it would be war and had taken the field with 30,000 men, including around 5,000 in cavalry which made all the difference as he might have about 2,000 cavalry himself.

Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, Former Hand of the King when the Targaryen's had ruled. He had never been defeated on the field of battle, had trained a near unstoppable army, had questionable honor and therefore brutal and dishonorable tactics, and had brutes such as Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain who Rides, and the tallest and strongest man in the kingdoms, but also the most brutal. Vargo Hoat, a Dothraki mercenary and also another savage brute, also road with him.

Robb was surrounded by excellent fighters and strategists, but hardly any of them dishonorable. Things were simply done differently in the north, and they could not afford to mess with one another and play games when winter and snow were always right around the corner. Lord Greatjon Umber, a firm friend of his father, was a large and boisterous man, and a strong fighter, perhaps strong enough to match Ser Gregor in strength or come close to it. Lord Roose Bolton on the other hand, Lord of the Dreadfort, was probably the only dishonorable man he had, having come from a long line of Boltons who wanted to rule the North themselves and had tried rebelling to do so previously, not that Roose had tried himself. The Boltons were also famous for flaying their enemies, and despite it being outlawed in the North by his father, rumors still sometimes came from the Dreadfort about such things. Roose Bolton was also probably his best strategist however, so he and the Greatjon had been placed in overall command despite Jon's protests about Bolton.

The only thing left was for them to set off. He was naming Jon as his replacement officially at a feast tonight, as was right given that Jon was now legally his brother and had inheritance as the second-born son. The commanders and Robb's remaining family of his mother and younger brother Rickon would be there. Bran could not attend as he still lay in a coma, though Robb had already said his goodbyes to him as he lie there.

He made his way to his rooms and quickly bathed, washing the grime of the day from his body. He knew he must look 'Lordly' if he wanted the men to follow him. His father had taught them from a young age that the smallfolk were like children; if you did not look and act like their lord, they rebelled. Leading by example was the only way to rule. Another most important lesson he had learned from the man was that the man who passed the sentence, should swing the sword. If you would be a Lord, would pass sentence on a man, then you owe it to them to deliver the sentence yourself, to look into their eyes as they die and hear their last words. If you could not do that then perhaps they did not deserve to die.

After his bath, he made his way to the Great Hall, taking his father's seat upon making it to the Head Table. The tables were covered in food and drink. There was wine, ale, water, milk, juice, and tea aplenty. On the table was also roasted chicken, slabs of ham, boiled, roasted, baked, and mashed potatoes, buttered carrots, fried onions, small fish rolled in salt and pepper, and warm bread with butter and honey. Everyone had stood when he arrived, and he motioned for them to stay standing as he picked up a goblet of wine sitting in front of his plate and stood as well, raising it.

"My Lords!" Robb began. "I wanted to say that I appreciate you all keeping your oaths to my father, to me, to Winterfell itself and those who rule it. I called, and you came. Tomorrow morning, we leave for the south to free my father. Once before the north has marched south, to remove a king, and succeeded! Now once more I must ask we do so again, this time to free my own father, your Lord, imprisoned by those that defile the kingdoms with their incest and lies, those who expect us to bend the knee to such filth. I know you are all brave men, and I know you will all do your duty and not disappoint me."

"As we feast in here, and our men feast outside perhaps for the last time for some of them, know this; I pledge to you that either we will come back with my father, or we will destroy House Lannister and raze Casterly Rock to the ground! Either way, this will not be in vain, and you will all be remembered by myself and my family in life and in death." Robb continued to rousing cheers. "My brother, Jon, whom many of you referred to as the 'Blessed Bastard', is no longer a bastard! He has been legitimized as my brother! As second-born, I leave to him to take charge of Winterfell, for Winter is Coming my lords and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Jon shall guard our rear, to ensure no one tries to claim the North while we leave to avenge it."

The Northmen cheered long and lustily for their leader as they all drank and sat to eat. The feast was scrumptious, but what really set the mood for Robb was his gambit working. Even Jon had been unsure how the Northmen would react to him staying behind as the Lord of Winterfell. They could have been upset that their greatest warrior stayed behind, laws be damned, or Robb could make them feel secure knowing Jon would be protecting the rear and their families, as he did. A few hours later, the feast ended, and all parted for their beds. Jon, he noticed, took the whore Ros to his room once more that night. Robb did not care. He was not his father and as long as Jon did his duty, he could care less about his hobbies and personal choices.

Robb went to bed that night fully sated, and with the energy and mindset he needed to begin their campaign in the morning. He was one step closer to freeing his father.

Jon POV

Jon was stressed. He hadn't heard from Robb in over a month since he left, though rationally he knew it would take some time for any sort of message to be sent with a progress update. He had tried to take his mind off it with frivolities, since he was now Lord of Winterfell and saw no reason not to enjoy the position as it was only temporary until Robb, or his father, returned. He had the best food, drink, and whores he could find, but even that slowly died down to just Ros on occasion, as he lost interest and worried more.

Since distractions of pleasure failed, he tried being more productive. In case of an attack, he took the townspeople who were unable to serve in the army but wanted to, along with the few hundred soldiers that had been left to him and began to build a militia. He decided to extend it as well and began to allow all in the countryside and in the other parts of the North to join the militia too. At first he trained them himself with Ser Rodrick, having had an idea for a maneuver that they had never heard of before that he instinctively knew was called a phalanx. The idea was to have men stand side-by-side, as wide as he could manage in small or large spaces, and lock shields almost like a shield wall, with each shield covering half the man's left side and half of the person to his left's right side, with spears and people behind them in the same position three lines back. It was near impenetrable, and no amount of numbers or training could save enemies attacking them in tight places. After a few of the commanders had been fully trained he allowed them to take over training. The militia consisted of perhaps roughly 2,000 men, but they worked together well and were decent fighters. This took around three months. In that time, Bran had not yet woken, but his brother Robb sent more than oner letter detailing successful battles, and Jon breathed easier.

He tried to do as his father and sat with different men each night during dinner, to better get to know the people, but it helped little more than morale as he had already worked with most of their people doing their craft growing up. Lady Catelyn had finally seemed to let go of her hatred for him entirely, having come to him for decisions both official and unofficial, and taken his advice willingly.

Jon also spent trying to practice himself as well, but at this stage of his training, he was simply being overwhelmed by numbers. It took seven men to take him on if they worked together. If the men did not work together well however, he knew he could take down a good amount of men before tiring out. He had not shown anyone his full potential, but he did not necessarily know what his full potential was himself either. He spent an hour each day training, and then split the rest of the day between the militia, holding court, and dealing with other day to day needs of the castle and lands.

It was about four months in that Ser Rodrick found him training in the yard. He was in the midst of fighting three of the commanders of the militia, and Rodrick waited patiently for him to finish. Once he noticed Rodrick, he quickly finished off the three men by disarming two of them and knocking them down before spinning around the third man and holding his sword to the man's neck. After he conceded, Jon helped the other two up and sent all three off.

"Ser Rodrick. What news?" Jon asked as he wiped his brow.

"A deserter, my lord, from the Night's Watch."

"I see. Have the men saddle the horses." Jon replied before walking off to clean up a bit. The Night's Watch guarded the Wall for thousands of years, and the oath was for life. Maester Aemon was nearing 100 years old, and stayed true to his oath, living proof that it was for life.

An hour later saw them all at the chopping block. The Night's Watch man was brought to the stone and made to stand in front of him. Jon waited to hear his last words.

"White Walkers…" The man muttered. Jon stared. It was not the first time this came up, in a similar scenario, when his father executed a Night's Watch man several years ago. They dismissed the rumors then, but from two different people, it might mean more. Jon nodded at the guard behind the man, and he was shoved to his knees and bent over the block.

"In the name of the King, I, Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Jon said solemnly. He swung, without hesitation, at the man's neck. The head easily separated from the force of the blow and rolled a few feet away. The guards quickly picked up the body and head and dropped them in the grave they had dug before starting. They filled it with dirt once more and the party left back to Winterfell. Upon arrival, the light had begun to fade. Jon went to his rooms to bathe and sleep.

On Pyke, Iron Islands

Balon POV

Too long…it had been too long since his last male heir had been taken from him in the last rebellion.

"Stark." The name fluttered around Balon's mind. Stark had been the man to take Balon's last living son, the man who had struck down his other sons. Now Stark was imprisoned, and the Young Wolf was embroiled in a war with the Lannisters, the Baratheons building an army to challenge the throne as well. The time for a rebellion was near, the North ripe for raiding. The only thing that stood in the way was the other brother, the 'Blessed Bastard' they called him. Blessed or not, he would die like any man with steel in him, and skilled or not, any large number of men would take him down like any other man too.

He turned to his brother, who stood nearby. Victarion Greyjoy was a very large and muscular man, likely of the same caliber as the Mountain, and probably just as if not more vicious. He had never lost one-on-one combat, and had barely been injured much in battle. He had been defeated at sea once, however, by Stannis Baratheon. Stannis was not here now though. Victarion would lead their forces.

"It is time, brother. Those who brought us to our knees years ago shall be destroyed, root and stem. The kingdoms are at war, and I now don the ancient driftwood crown, and name myself King of the Iron Islands. No more will we bow and scrape to the Greenlanders!" Balon declared strongly despite his advancing age. "Now go! Go forth with our army. Take the ports, the cities, the seaside castles, the women, children, and many slaves. Destroy all else as you cross the lands. Above all else, destroy Winterfell. Ensure they come back to a ruin of a castle and dead family. Kill this Blessed Bastard, and all others who remain. Go, brother. I shall await news here of your success. Go with the Drowned Gods' blessing."

Victarion nodded his head and left the hall, where he saw over 200 ships, ready to sail. 50 would be left in defense of the Islands, while the rest would leave with him. The mainland would not know what hit them.

Robb POV

Robb was in a predicament. He had not heroically managed to march to King's Landing and release his father. He had not managed to get his sisters back. He had fought Tywin Lannister to a standstill in battle twice. An unheard-of feat. Lord Tywin knew what he had to do to win, however, and that was wait and let them unravel.

First, came the disaster at the Twins. He had been delayed by days of diplomacy and politics with old Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossings. For years, the Freys had manned the Twins, a castle-bridge spanning the length of the Green Fork, a river they needed to cross. The river was several hundred foot wide, and impassable with an army except by the bridge. There were two identical castles, one on each side, and a tower in the center. It was one of the most formidable fortresses in Westeros. Robb could take the Crossing, he knew he could, but it would cost him more men than he had to spare.

Walder Frey eventually had given in and allowed use of the bridge, but with conditions. It seemed he was to wed one of the Frey daughters, and Arya to wed one of their sons. He also took a Frey boy as his squire and promised him a knighthood in good time. They were allowed use of the bridge, as well as most of the Frey forces, less what Lord Frey would keep to hold the bridge.

Second came their first big battle. He allowed Roose Bolton to take 2,000 men to sting Lord Tywin's forces enough to make him believe it to be a committed attack, while taking his main force to Riverrun, his mother's home castle, and relieve the great lords there of their troubles. The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, had attacked their castle and was close to overwhelming it. Robb surprised him in the woods and took him prisoner, scattering the Lannister forces. Unfortunately, Roose only came back with 500 men, having lost 1,500 in the attack. It was a win, but a disastrous one as far as he was concerned. He waved off the explanation that the Lannisters lost twice as many. They needed their men more than Tywin needed his.

The third issue was then clear. They had lost a lot of men. Their once 20,000 strong force had been reduced by protecting castles, villages, cities, supply lines, and their recent losses, bringing their army from 20,000 to roughly 12-15,000. He was already outnumbered before, but even if they killed half of Tywin's men, he would simply buy more. It began to feel hopeless to him, but he stayed strong in front of everyone, choosing instead to hide his insecurity. Now, he would plan to march to Harrenhal. It was strategically located in the center of the country and would make a good defensible and supply location.

It was in this moment that he noticed a young healer helping a wounded man who had lost his foot. He bent down to help her and gave her a smile.

"Hello. I am Robb, Robb Stark. What is your name?"

"Talisa." The girl replied quietly, and his heart skipped when her eyes met his.

Jon POV

It was as he began to fall asleep that he heard a loud booming noise. Jumping out of bed and grabbing his sword from beside the bed, he looked around. Strangely, nobody was running or shouting in the halls, and nobody seemed to have stirred. He ran to the door and opened it to check, but still, nothing. Another booming noise echoed, and still nobody else made a sound. The guard on his door gave him a strange look.

"Did you hear something?" Jon asked him. The guard gave him another odd look before replying.

"No, my lord."

"Curious."

Jon nodded to the man before closing his door again. A blue glow outlined the door, and Jon jumped back with a curse, whirling around with his sword at the ready. An electric shock jumped through his sword, and he promptly dropped it to the ground, not expecting the sharp yet quick pain. He swore loudly before realizing he was not alone. In the center of the room stood a large and muscular man, who Jon would swear was still in his prime, and yet he had almost white hair, bushy eyebrows, and aged eyes. When he spoke, he had a deep thunderous voice.

"Jon." Was all he said.

"Who are you?" Jon asked bluntly, grabbing his sword from the floor, but not yet moving to attack this stranger, wary after the last shock and the blue glow on the door. He suspected, correctly though he did not know that, that the guard could no longer hear him.

"You don't recognize me?" The older man asked in his booming voice.

"If I had, I wouldn't have asked."

"Sassy. I don't mind a bit of sass, as long as you keep it minimal. I am Zeus, Jon, the leader of those whom you refer to as the 'Old Gods'. I am the one who decided to give you life, godling."

"Godling?" Jon asked him warily.

"Yes. It is what we call those whom are born of two gods or a god and human. You were born of two gods, albeit two gods who were severely diminished in power at the time, thus making you a minor god, though your power would likely at best match the most powerful demigods at this time. Did you think the one you call father, Ned Stark, had lied to you?"

"I thought perhaps he was mistaken…" Jon said warily, lowering the sword as he did so. The man had to be a god. No windows led to his room, and if what he said was true, Jon had no reason to fear him and could do nothing even if he did.

"He was not. Your mother was the goddess Aphrodite, goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and desire, and your father was Ares, god of war. This is explains your natural abilities in war and your way of attracting those you want to attract, and even some you do not, despite their lesser state of power at that time." Zeus explained, taking a moment to motion for Jon to sit. When Jon sat in a chair by the fire, Zeus taking the other, he continued.

"You were blessed by us all, with affinity for each element, as well as the natural abilities you were born with. You should have been immortal, building a seat of power with us, had we been at full power. Alas, we were not. You are mortal at this moment, though that may change over time if you fully succeed in your mission here and we choose to bestow upon you your full powers. Many of us almost faded. Those remaining of us, are only we major gods. Recently, you have increased prayer to the Old Gods. This may have been inadvertent or intentional, but it has succeeded in allotting some small measure of our power back. If you were to get more followers of the old religion, more prayers and sacrifices, we would grow in power. In turn, we would increase your powers."

"How do I do that?" Jon asked him, eyes wide. He had known most of his life he was special. To hear it from a god himself, the leader of the gods at that, shocked him somehow. He felt as if he were somehow in a story that he used to hear as a child. He had always been dutiful in his religion, but never devout as his father.

"Encourage more sacrifice and prayer, encourage the growth of more weirwoods. I have brought many seeds you can plant as you wish. You'll find these have been blessed and will be much more difficult to simply cut or burn down. Mainly, convert new followers."

"I don't know how to do that."

"You don't have to do anything Jon. You winning battles, building up society, showcasing your abilities and powers, all these things will encourage people to ask you how. Simply tell them to pray to us, to sacrifice part of their food or grain or coin or more, to do deeds in our name, and it will give us power. In return we will ensure your own power grows, as well as giving small blessings here and there to a select few followers, which will in turn cause more to pray to us. Will you do it?"

"…yes." Jon answered. What was he supposed to say? It would increase his own power as well as being asked by a god himself. Supposedly he was one too but he certainly did not feel like it. "Is that all you came for?"

"Actually, no. I did come to ask that, but also because I now feel you are responsible enough to learn how to control your powers. Another reason was your true parents. We can see what is going on in the mortal world but cannot influence it, and in some cases our sight is obscured. They wanted me to check on you and wanted a chance to speak with you. They were denied that until we gather more power."

"Control my powers?" Jon asked in confusion.

"Heavens boy, haven't you been listening?! I can see the Ares in you now!" Zeus exclaimed in exasperation before continuing patiently. "Yes, your powers. You were blessed by all of us. Surely you didn't thing that meant merely being charming and good at war, did you?"

Jon turned pink around the ears. That had actually been what he had thought, but now that he had repeated himself it did sound stupid. Of course there would be more powers if he had been blessed by all the gods.

"Fine. How do I control my powers?"

"I know this will sound ironic and cliché…but by controlling yourself."

"Really?" Jon asked skeptically, rolling his eyes. He stopped when the room rumbled ominously.

"Careful boy. Like I said, I like a bit of sass, but watch yourself and remember who you're talking to." Zeus said warningly. "Yes, by controlling yourself. As if I needed any more proof of this, your sarcasm could get you killed right now, and still you make little comments and roll your eyes."

"I-I'm sorry." Jon replied. "It's just a lot."

"I understand." Zeus simmered down instantly. He was one to talk after all. Once upon a time, he had been known for having a temper of his own.

"So how? How do I learn to control my powers, and myself?" Jon asked eagerly.

"Patience. I will teach you these things, but it will take much time. You will have to devote several hours a day to being alone for some time. I will make sure we are undisturbed. Now, first you must relax. Allow every bad thought to exit the front of your mind and push it to the back. Wall it off…" Zeus continued to speak as Jon paid unwavering attention and thunder rumbled overhead.

Things were coming to the forefront of the world as the gods slowly revealed their presence once more. Not only did Dragons in Old Valyria lift their heads, and Basilisks in the Basilisk Isle come out of their dens, along with Griffins, Phoenix, Chimera in the swamps, Mermaids, and the Kraken come back into the world out of their hiding places and magic-induced hibernation, but an ancient evil fully awakened as well. Long had it slept and waited for revenge, and long had it slowly and quietly built its armies, but now its time had come. The Ice King opened his eyes for the first time in centuries, as his master's divine power re-entered his mind…