Chapter Five: Reclaiming A Homeland

Jon POV-Next Day

Jon finished dressing in his best warm fine clothes the next morning and gathered his militia commander and two other men on his way to interrogate the prisoners they had captured. Lady Catelyn had eyed him oddly the night before, but none had approached him to discuss his decision to change the septs. He was considered a gift of the gods, and she knew him to be the child of the gods, so perhaps her religion was changing with the proof right in front of her.

Jon walked to the cells, shivering as he stepped into the area. He'd forgotten how cold it got down here. One of the men they'd captured, Theon, was shivering badly. It was one area of the castle he had not seen fit to update, aside from checking the bars and locks. Drawing up a chair from the corner outside the cells where he could be seen by Theon and Victarion, he had the guards bring out the captain they had captured and tie him to the chair.

"Well, there are two ways this can work. You can answer my questions, or I can torture and kill you. I prefer this to be easy, with as little mess as possible, but it really is up to you. How many of you are there, where else in the North are you, and how many at Moat Cailin?" Jon asked the man, stepping in front of him. The man resolutely shut his mouth and looked away. Iron born to the end it seemed, though Jon expected no less out of the first one. He stepped aside and nodded to one of the guards he had brought.

The guard stepped forward, raised an armored hand, and smashed the man across the mouth hard. Several teeth broke free, scattering across the floor while blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and where he split his lip in the middle. Two more hits to the ribs, and Jon halted the man with a raised hand.

"Anything to say?" Jon asked airily as if discussing the weather. The man spit blood onto the floor.

"Fuck you, Stark!" He said. "I'll not betray them to you."

"Admirable, but stupid." Jon nodded to the guard again, who began punching the man in the stomach, ribs, and face repeatedly. Bruises, cuts, and lacerations began appearing all over the man. Soon, the swelling began as well. After a short time, Jon repeated his questions, and once more the man refused to speak.

"Very well, onto another tactic." Jon said roughly. He took the dagger from the guard that was resting on his hip and put it in his hand. "Cut him until he answers us."

"My lord…" The guard began before realizing this was an order, and likely one he should never speak of again as well to anyone. Swallowing, he made a cut along the man's chest slowly, eliciting screams from the man. Seeing the discomfort of the guard, though the second one remained quiet, Jon halted him.

"You're excused. Speak of this to no one or you'll hang."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord!" The guard said and left in a rush, cleaning his dagger as he went.

"Soft, you Greenlanders." The Iron born captain spat. "In the Islands we'd have cut a man for fun, and you think this is torture boy?"

"Some men have stronger stomachs than others." Jon shrugged before backhanding the man savagely. "Let me show you."

Jon did many things to the man, things he didn't even know he was capable of, but they were necessary. They needed information and quickly. Knowing the man wouldn't break, he finally ended it, slicing the man's throat open and letting him bleed in front of Victarion and Theon. Theon had whimpered a time or two, but Victarion had yet to utter a word. Jon had left without another word, stopping at the guards stationed outside the cells.

"Not a word of what either of you heard." Jon said, passing a small pouch of silver to his commander and the three guards remaining. "See to it they are given enough water to survive, but that warm food is consumed in front of them daily. They are to receive none."

The guards quickly nodded, and Jon left, heading to his rooms for a quick bath before attending his other duties for the day.

Three days later

It was three days before Jon went back to the cells, with the same three people tailing him. The pressure to rout the Iron born from the North was mounting. As he entered, he noticed both prisoners were far weaker in will and body now that food had been withheld and the body had been left for them to look at. Jon had the guards take the body to burn it discretely, and ordered the blood cleaned at once as well as a hot bowl of stew, fresh bread, and a cup of ale brought to him. He sat in the chair and waited.

Around ten minutes later, the requested food and drink arrived. It steamed, warming him through as he held the bowl, the heady aroma filling the cells. Theon moaned in misery.

"Answer my questions. Whenever someone does so, the food will be given. The other dies."

Victarion grunted and turned his head, as expected. Theon looked at the food pitifully for a moment, then acted as though he would do the same. It lasted but a moment before Jon stood, and Theon shouted.

"Wait! Please, I'll tell you."

"Speak. Tell the truth, or what I do next will be so painful that the gods themselves shall tremble."

"There are none left outside the Moat. We raided some fishing villages, but the ships that bore us were ordered to depart if they had not heard from us in three days. There are three hundred of us at the Moat. One hundred per tower, with plenty of arrows and supplies. My sister, Asha, had ordered that another three hundred men join her there with several more shiploads of supplies. I do not know if they came. My father has not been giving of late, though he favors Asha." Theon spoke quickly, as if to make the betrayal less so.

"I see. Your father would not pay for you either, I assume, so you are useless as a hostage. Would your sister?"

"I don't know." Theon answered quietly, depressed. "I was not supposed to attack Winterfell. My uncle, Victarion, convinced me it would show that I am Iron born. That it would prove myself to my father."

"I couldn't have been more wrong. You are nothing but a sniveling coward, Theon Greyjoy, unworthy of being Iron born." Victarion spoke for the first time, venom in his voice. "We were both to die here either way, you stupid boy. Now we die and you have given up the others as well."

Jon held up a hand to forestall Theon's reply. "Warriors understand one another well. You are a coward, Theon, and had the option of facing your impending death with dignity. You turned traitor once more, as I knew you would. Your people would never have accepted you, and you turned your back on those of us who did."

"You were never my people! I was a prisoner!"

"In a golden cage, no less. You are a prisoner now Theon, can you not see the difference?" Jon asked him scornfully. "Nevertheless, you gave what I asked for. Now food shall be given, and a life shall be taken. I know which of you is worth more now."

The food was placed in Victarion's cell, and Theon was taken from his and forced to walk out of the cells. They brought him outside, protesting the entire way. He begged, pleading with all he had, and screamed as he tried to break free of the guards. He cried, pissing himself and losing all dignity. Soon enough, they had him kneeling in front of the people of Winterfell, raised on a dais Jon had erected earlier that morning.

"This man, Theon Greyjoy, has betrayed us all! My brother Robb had sent him to his father to make a pact, one that would win us the war. Instead, he betrayed us, bringing the Iron men to our doorstep!" Jon shouted as the people watched. "I have no doubt what he would have done to not only our men, put to the sword or made slaves, but imagine what he would have done to the women and children! Raped, beaten, enslaved for the same for as long as they were suffered to live! This man grew up around many of you. This man knew you all, and still he attacked us. A Prince of the Iron Islands he is known as now. What say you all? What shall happen to him? Shall he be given mercy, or shall he face Northern Justice?"

While he spoke, Catelyn, Bran, and Rickon had taken the stage with him. They stood quietly in the background, and he could feel their anger simmering. They remained quiet however, knowing this show of strength was important, as was ensuring the low-born folk felt they had some control. The crowd murmured angrily at first, but whispers turned into hushed tones, which became yelling in short order. Fists were shaking, things were thrown at Theon, fruits, vegetables, even stones. Jon quieted them all with two raised hands.

"My good people, I believe we have our answer. Theon shall face Northern justice." With that statement, Jon turned and strode over to stand before Theon, changing his weapon over to his two-handed sword, right in front of everyone just to inspire a little more awe though most now knew he was blessed by the Old Gods.

"In the name of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, I, Jon Stark, acting Lord of Winterfell and acting Warden of the North, sentence you to die a traitor's death for the crime of betrayal. Do you have any final words?"

"I am sorry, Jon. Please." Theon begged once more. Jon said nothing in return. He swung the sword and cleanly cut through the neck of the traitor who had once been as a brother to him. Theon's head fell, rolling a couple feet before coming to a stop.

"May the gods have mercy on your soul, Theon Greyjoy." Jon whispered before turning to the crowd. "Justice has been given to the traitor. Send the word, I want the militia, and all men who can be spared readied by the end of the week. We march for the Moat. It's time to reclaim the North!"

Cheers followed Jon's exit from the stage, including from his own family. He left orders for the guards to ensure Victarion stayed warm, fed, and watered, but guarded day and night with fresh rotations every six hours. He took off to his rooms to relax a while before dinner that night and to spend time with his family both mortal and divine before he would leave next week. There was much to do, and eh was sure this would increase prayers somewhat as well, especially now that nearly all septs in the North were being converted into temples to the Old Gods.

One week later

"You'll be Lord of Winterfell while I'm gone, little brother. Make fair decisions and listen to your mother. She'll know best." Jon said to Bran as he readied his horse. The boy looked scared but nodded as firmly as he could. Jon chuckled and ruffled his hair fondly. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough."

Catelyn nodded to him with a hint of warmth. Slowly but surely, their relationship was bettering. He nodded back and mounted his horse. The army he was leading was only three thousand strong, but was more than enough to retake the moat, especially given their advantages in armor, weapons, training, and Jon's growing powers. The gods had gained much power recently due to development of the temples and an increase in prayers due to his encouragement, and so he had grown in power as well.

The army marched out. It would take about two months to reach Moat Cailin by Jon's best calculations, maybe three depending on how long it took winter to truly hit. If they kept a good pace, marching around eight hours each day, then they would make it in under two months. If it began to snow, or obstacles presented themselves aside from the normal difficulties of an army on the march, then they would be delayed by a further month or more and may need to wait out the worst part of the first snows in Moat Cailin, a prospect Jon dreaded. It was with all haste in which he marshalled his army and soon had them marching with all possible speed down the kingsroad.

He had three thousand good men, all armored and ready, and all of them trained to fit any position in the army needed except cavalry. They could all work as archers, swordsmen, spearmen, or shock troops, but to work as a member of his cavalry or knightly class, they needed more horses that simply weren't available. He did have about five hundred available mounted men who served as cavalry, though Jon knew they lacked true battle experience on horseback to be truly effective against a trained army. For the iron born, they would do.

They traveled, marching during the day and stopping as the sun set. Jon ordered plenty of rests, ensuring the men had time to rest and eat something small before resuming the march. He wanted them to be battle-ready upon arrival and to arrive quickly, but not overly weary or resentful by the time they got there. Jon also saw to it that they had daily hot meals for breakfast and dinner and had time to eat them. Though this slowed the march somewhat, it did ensure they had high morale throughout his small army. They avoided all castles, cities, and what villages they could. No doubt news had leaked that he was on the move, but he did not want rumor of their progress to reach the iron born if at all possible, nor anyone else for that matter. He had left two hundred good men defending Winterfell, but it would be better if no one had any ideas until they were on their way back at the very least.

True to his original thoughts, it took them almost exactly two months before the three towers were spotted in the distance. Jon sent the cavalry to all sides of the tower to hide in the woods and pick off any fleeing iron born and orders to regroup at the Moat once the signal of a fire arrow was shot into the air at night three days from then. After they left, he gathered his second in command of his army and outlined his plan.

"We will rest here for the night. Tomorrow, the men will cut down wood for our fires as well as to make a battering ram for the tower doors, as well as three ladders for the final tower. Three rams we will need. Only five hundred of us will leave for the first tower. We will sneak there under cover of night and batter down the doors before taking the tower. Once we are in position, you will command the men to shoot at the next tower, taking out any archers that may try to aim at us as I lead the rest of our force to the second tower. Then, we will all regroup at the second tower, less one hundred archers you will leave with some supplies at the first tower to guard our flank and to keep the road clear. We will have no choice but an all-out assault on the third tower as they will be ready. They have what remains of the curtain wall as well attached to the tower, and most likely have more men inside than the first two towers. We will take the ladders for this one. Two hundred archers will support us from the second tower as we make our way over and into the third tower, moving as a group under a shield shell, just as we taught the men, shields in front and the rear covering above us while the last line walk backwards with their shields covering our other side. Once we reach the tower, we employ the ladders and ram and take the tower. Any questions?"

"No, my lord." The commander said with a shake of his head. That was what Jon liked about him. He was down to business and always ready for every situation Jon put him in and knew how to follow orders even if he disagreed with them, yet just enough backbone to question the commands if they were flawed.

So, it was two days later at night after multiple meetings to determine readiness and go over strategy again that Jon stealthily crept toward the first tower with five hundred men. They moved slowly, unwilling to let the glint or noise from their armor give them away. Jon had his full suit of armor unleashed including his helm and had changed his normal sword to a short sword for this battle. Long swords were bad options in close quarters after all, and he doubted the iron born had been smart enough to realize that. Not to mention his other option had been a dagger, and that was out of the question given how many they would likely face, all armored too though for his particular godly weapons he doubted that would matter.

He knew Theon had said there would be 100 men per tower and given that there was no great bustle of activity he doubted Balon Greyjoy had sent any more men to hold it. It may have been strategically important but not to Balon, whose power came from his ships. They reached the tower surprisingly easily and crept to the doors. In a flash, the men had the ram at the door and Jon himself took the lead, knowing they needed in this tower quickly and that his godly strength would make all the difference. With a great boom, the ram knocked on the door and it dented the center. Another boom and the door cracked. With a third mighty slam, the ram busted the doors down, and Jon ducked on instinct as a spear stabbed through the air where his head had just been. It missed him but connected with the man behind him and through the front of his face where the Valyrian armor did not protect him.

Jon cursed and grabbed the spear, whirling it around as he stabbed forward. It stabbed through the chest of the man who had wielded it. As he died, Jon readied his sword as his men all rushed forward and into the tower. Sparing a glance to the man on the ground, he followed. A short bloody battle ensued, but within twenty minutes his men had killed all the iron born in the tower, and Jon had taken six of them himself, though he held back so he could direct the men rather than jumping in himself. His father, Ares that is, had taught him that a commander should only fight when necessary, risking himself little so someone remained in command at all times.

Taking a torch, he signaled the rest of the men forward, leaving the men in the tower as the commander ordered them to ready their bows. He took up a position in the front of the men as they readied their shield wall and began marching toward the second tower. The men in the tower clearly weren't ready fully, but a few arrows did strike their shield wall and spin off into the darkness. More arrows began raining down on them bit by bit, but none found their mark and Jon thanked the gods silently for all of the lessons on tactics. Soon enough the arrow fire lessened as his men in the first tower began to fire back, covering them as they marched the distance. They had to pause to rest once, slowly lowering themselves to the ground and quickly swapping the overhead and front shielders.

After a very brief respite, they continued making their way slowly to the tower doors. When they made it, the men in the middle broke from the shield wall and began to ram the tower. Arrows whizzed down around them, most bouncing off their armor, but a lucky few hit gaps in the armor or got in a shot to the face as someone looked up. The men quickly learned not to do that. Jon had set a few wards around himself using battle magic taught to him by his father, and any arrows aimed at him curved slightly to just miss him. These wards took power though, and the more arrows deflected, the more power they drained from him. He soon deactivated them after the doors were broken and led his men forward into the tower.

He entered the tower swinging left and right, using his inhuman speed and strength to overpower his opponents. He slaughtered around ten men before he let his men rush ahead of him. It was at that moment he was grabbed from behind and pushed at a hole in the tower. He steadied himself and turned just in time to deflect a strike aimed at his neck. Giving credit where it was due, the man before him knew he wouldn't win head on and had given it his best shot. It had nearly worked if Jon wasn't as fast as he was. As it was, when he deflected the strike, it still came close enough to cut his nose and down his cheek, knocking off his helmet which immediately returned to his belt. His ears were ringing but he stood his ground as his enemy swung again. This time Jon couldn't swing or deflect for fear of hitting his own men that were milling around them holding back for fear of hitting or distracting him. Instead, he charged at his enemy and hit him with his shoulder hard enough to knock him down. As he landed, Jon slashed down at him and rent his armor nearly in two as his sword cleaved him from his shoulder to naval.

Jerking his sword free, Jon spun around to see that the tower was theirs. He knew there couldn't have been more than fifty men here, which meant the remainder was waiting in the final, more protected tower. As before, he waited for the other men to catch up from the previous tower less the two hundred left inside it. When they did, he waited for them to take position and the men split into groups to cover the ladders and ram with shield walls. The archers began to fire immediately this time, covering them as they marched the distance. Many arrows rained down on them, some finding gaps, but most bouncing off of the shields or armor. Jon knew his decision to outfit everyone in the Valyrian armor had saved more than one life this night. It took them nearly twice as long to reach the final tower, and when they did they set up the ladders and ram. Jon took to the ladders, leaving the commander with the ram force.

They climbed the high walls, some men falling to their death as rocks crushed them or spears hit them with enough force to knock them off the ladders. After a moment, Jon mounted the wall, and immediately came under attack from three iron born. He parried, ducked, slashed, blocked, and stabbed as his mind went on autopilot defending himself. He dispatched his three attackers and beheaded another before whirling around to parry yet another attack from behind.

"Where are they all coming from? There shouldn't be this many here!" Jon thought to himself in a panic. Most of his force had made the top of the wall by now and were in a battle for their lives as iron born swarmed the wall. Arrows rained down on them occasionally as well and sounds of fighting could be heard inside the tower. There had to be several hundred men here and yet the amount of activity they saw from their scouting indicated no such large force.

"Look over the wall." Zeus' voice sounded in his head, deep and strong. Jon looked over the other side of the wall and saw a large camp, with perhaps a thousand tents, with iron born all moving to group behind the wall and some moving into the tower and onto the wall itself. "Ready your men and regroup. It is time to showcase some of your powers."

"Regroup! Fall back behind me! Phalanx!" Jon shouted. He repeated the command twice before hearing it repeated down the lines of men. Slowly but surely, they formed a phalanx as they had been drilled to do many times. This time unfortunately it was only half-effective as the enemy was on both sides and in front of them with their backs to a huge fall. "Give no ground, and no mercy!"

Jon fell back in the formation, letting the men protect him for a moment as he focused his powers over the sky and water both for the first time in a large battle. He first made the water in the swamps rise up, gathering together until the iron born were beginning to all swim toward the wall rather than forming behind it. They were panicking, but not much. They were iron born after all, and lived on the sea. Nobody could have prepared them for what came next. A mighty lightening bolt crashed from the sky and hit the water, electrocuting all inside. Over five hundred men died immediately. Not a moment after, the waters crashed back to where they belonged, splashing wildly, and Jon collapsed in the midst of his men, having used much of his strength to power such an attack. A difficult enough feat during the height of the gods' power, a near impossible one now even with their power on the rise.

His men crowded around him, defending him on all sides and refusing to give an inch to the remaining enemy. Their leader was a god in human form to them, and they would defend him to the last man. Fortunately, their training paid off in spades. The enemy could not break their wall, nor could they run as their other force finally seized control of the tower, raining arrows down on those who tried to flee. Sensing their only way to victory was to kill the god-like man unconscious behind his men, a woman with two axes rallied her men and charged the lines. They nearly broke through, but again and again they were repelled, unable to make it past the spears and shields. After around five minutes, Jon awoke.

He was groggy, dizzy, and slightly dehydrated, but alive. He stood on wobbly legs, and his men supported him as much as they could. The front line continued to repel assault after assault and Jon knew he must finish this.

"Front line, forward!" He ordered as loudly as he could. His assigned guards heard him and shouted the orders.

The front line moved forward, throwing their spears and drawing their swords. They began to hack and slash at all who came forward. For each man that fell, few though they were, another stepped forward and took his place. They soon backed the enemy into the tower wall. Around 100 remained. Jon pointed his sword at the girl.

"Kill them all, but take her alive."

His men quickly and efficiently took down the rest of the enemy army, and despite her best efforts, the woman had her axes taken from her and was forced to her knees. Jon strode over to her. The men grinned, thinking he was about to have some fun with her, but his higher ranking men knew better, knowing where he stood on such things, though she did help take over some of their lands so who knew their lord's mind on the matter.

"Asha Greyjoy, I presume?" Jon questioned her harshly.

"Yes." The girl bit out, eyeing him angrily. "Go on then. Think you can hurt me?"

"Yes, but I won't. I doubt your father cares enough to pay for you, but I can't deny I want to see his face as you and your uncle and dead brother are presented to him as we destroy the iron islands for what you have done. Besides, why should I harm you, when my men here have worked hard today?" Jon answered her in a hard tone. "Take her to a room in this tower, near where I will be staying. She is not to be permanently maimed nor killed. Whoever does so will be executed. Am I clear?"

"Yes, my lord!" Came the resounding answer. Knowing what he did not forbid, Asha paled somewhat as she fought the men that carried her off. Jon's commander came out from the tower to stand beside him.

"Was that wise, my lord? She is a valuable hostage."

"No, she isn't. Her father doesn't care about her enough to pay for her. He may, however, care enough to break upon seeing her clearly defiled body as I execute her in front of his castle."

"You need to rest, my lord. What you did…I've never seen anything like it. You truly are blessed by the gods. This will incite prayer in every corner of the land when others hear of it."

"It will incite assassination attempts as well. Prepare me a room and post some guards. I will eat with the men, then turn in early tonight. Tomorrow there will be much to do, as we begin to repair the Moat."

Six months later

Jon scratched at the beard that had formed on his face as he led his army, the two thousand one hundred men that remained that is, through the gates of Winterfell. They had repaired the Moat to what it had once been, twenty strong towers and a curtain wall with a gate made of valyrian steel. It was now truly a defense for the North and was unlikely to fall again as it now had a western, eastern, and northern wall as well. He had left behind all supplies they could spare as well, with requests from all Northern houses to send more as they were able.

He had also stopped at each castle on his way North and had seen for himself the temples installed at each place. He rewarded each Lord or Lady who had built and encouraged this religion with one hundred gold apiece, denting the treasury at Winterfell quite a bit but also building upon the power of the gods as well, who all swore to see it returned a hundred-fold.

There were no trumpets, no shouting, cheering, nor any other joy upon the return of the army except wives and children excited to see their loved ones again as they were all dismissed to their regular duties. This confused Jon, as he had expected a heroes welcome. News of his deeds, and those of his army, had spread ahead of them throughout the North. Then he saw them. Bran, Rickon, Maester Luwin, and Catelyn Stark all staring at him. Lady Catelyn had tears in her eyes and the boys both looked as though they had cried recently.

"What is it, my lady? Is Robb-?" Jon couldn't finish the sentence.

"It's your father. They've executed Ned." Catelyn said in a strangled tone as she tried bravely to fill him in. "The Northern Lords have fully rebelled now, naming Robb 'King in the North', and have all sworn revenge on the Lannisters. It isn't just a show of force anymore. They still have the girls."

Jon's world tilted on its axis. Ned Stark…dead? It didn't seem possible. Surely they weren't that stupid, especially with Robb winning every battle. Maybe he had misheard. One look at her face told him he had not. He hugged her, for the first time in memory, and she hugged him back.

"We will kill them all." He said in a hard tone as a tear fell. "I swear it."

Something cold hit the back of his neck, followed by another. Pulling back when he heard whispers from the others, he followed their gaze upward. Snow was lightly falling all around them. Winter had finally come, and who knew how long it would last.