The Alpha Wolf

by Wyvern03

His will is the blade in which the coming tide shall fall upon. His duty, the armor that gives him purpose and strength to fight on. His blood the unbreakable shield against the coming darkness. His soul, the last bastion, forged in the furnaces of war. So beware enemies of the North, for the Alpha Wolf has arrived, the North never forgets, and Winter is inevitable.(Indef-Hiatus)

5. V - The Howl of The Wolf

Enjoy!

4 Years Later…

Tywin Lannister was an unhappy man. Scratch that, he was always unhappy. His days of joyful expressions died the day his wife, Joanna, had. It only seemed that today his mood was soured moreso than usual.

He had received word that the Regent Ned Stark had rejected a meeting to discuss a betrothal for the young Lord Stark. The Quiet Wolf determined that his nephew would most likely take a wife from and of the North unless it benefitted them greatly.

Tywin figured that it was because the majority of the prior generation of Starks had or were supposed to be married to southern ladies or lord. To do so again would be akin to political suicide with your own vassals.

But that didn't mean that Tywin had to like it at all.

The Old Lion had poured himself a rather healthy amount of wine before his thoughts turned into more reminders of where he went wrong in making an enemy of the North.

At first nothing changed. The North being stagnant has always been nothing of note and, until Robert's Rebellion as many had taken to calling it, the North had always been the reclusive child of the Seven Kingdoms.

Then it all changed, beginning with the changing of the Northern climate.

What used to be covered in summer snows and sleet, year in and year out, was now a miles upon miles of fertile land and forests that have been untouched for millennia. It didn't take long for the Starks and just about everyone else north of the Neck to turn the fertile soil into farmland that had already churned out eight harvests from the land, where the Reach could only turn out half that.

Maesters claimed this as a sign of a incredibly long and hot summer.

The more devout and ignorant septons had claimed this as the work of the Seven as a blessing for their sacrifice in ridding Westeros of House Targaryen. It escaped their notice that hardly, if any, of the North practiced their religion.

The North took this as a sign from the Old Gods that they were pleased with Hadrian Stark and the Stark family as a whole.

In Tywin's opinion, he could give two shits if this was the work of the gods regardless of which pantheon. What he did care about though was that this abundance of food was costing the Westerlands who had grown complacent on their earnings from selling their extra crop to desperate Northmen.

The Northmen who struggled to turn out most harvests had all but stopped purchasing food from elsewhere but the Riverlands and even then it was in minimum quantities to sate the temper of the arrogant Hoster Tully.

Then the rumor that over a dozen untapped gold mines were being brought to bear by the newly made House Goldstark. Tywin had personally ordered several spies to see if they were true and if they were to see how far they went.

Needless to say Tywin had ordered those same spies to death when they returned with news that the mines ran very deep and producing vast sums of the precious metal.

He had then sent saboteurs to disable the mines but to only find out, from the single survivor of the raid that is, that the Goldstarks were guarding those mines quite heavily and regular but random patrols were carried out. The Goldstark guards, whose sigil was a gold Direwolf on a grey field, had caught them before they could enact any significant damage.

Not only that, however, but the Starks had created a standing army under the pretext to combat any significant wildling threats but Tywin wasn't known as the most feared and cunning man in Westeros for no reason.

The Warden of the West saw it for what it was. A show of might to deter the other kingdoms from making too much of a fuss that the North was finally prospering and given that Moat Cailin and its twenty towers were rebuilt with the hardened battle commander that was Ned Stark controlling it, any land invasion would take significant losses or may be outright repelled before it could even cross into the previous wasteland.

That is to say if King Robert even allowed such an invasion to take place.

Then began the massive undertaking of building a port city on the west coast. Not only was Sea Dragon Point in a strategically viable position but it effectively closed off the North from any invasion by sea. Not to say that one wouldn't be successful matter as it was a relatively small fleet of fifty galleys built there to deter Ironborn, but it would delay the invading forces long enough for the North to respond.

The new city of Northpoint was already garnering an astounding amount of citizens that came from below the neck in search of work as had many farming settlements dotting the land and Winter Town becoming a major hub of trade activity.

Tywin suppressed a grimace at the thought of actually being challenged in might but it was coming to that.

The elder man had the misfortune of being the Lannister Lord to receive the news that Casterly Rock was being mined dry and in a few short years they would be.

But in order to keep the status of being the most powerful house in Westeros, the Warden of the South had to buy the fine steel weapons the North was producing, they had to buy the finest steeds of Westeros the North was breeding, they had to buy that strong whiskey the North was making, they had to buy the strong ironwood timber the North was selling.

If Tywin didn't know better, he would've assumed that the young Stark Lord that was Hadrian, knew that the rivers of flowing gold beneath Casterly Rock were about to be bled dry and was attempting to milk them for all they were worth.

But Tywin, of course, knew better. He was safe in that regard as he had the letter that told him the information burned.

He would've executed the head miner but he was smart enough not to come himself. 'Good, allow him to live a little longer and so long as his mouth doesn't open, he will live until after they have gone dry.'

He sipped a little more on his wine as he thought further on what to do about the growing North. Perhaps he could, arrange a marriage with one of the future lords of the North? Maybe begin paying pirate kings to raid White Harbor? He had maester Theomore already in Winterfell, though he wasn't giving any meaningful information other than that the fact that the throne of the past Winter Kings had been found before he had arrived and that wasn't anything of note.

Both had their drawbacks though that seemed to outweigh the possible benefits that would come from such arrangements and while one would be seen for what it was and not at all discrete, the other was a lot less reliable and would have to come from the pocket from the house that shat gold but would need laxatives to keep doing so.

He sighed in complete dismay though it did not show across his features. He set the cup of wine down and crossed his fingers underneath his chin. He pushed the thoughts of undermining the North for another time. Right now, he needed to travel to a particular nuisance of a minor house and remind them the history behind the song that made him a legend.

Hadrian Stark dove forwards underneath the slash of a spear, while twisting his body so that he missed the thrust of a sword just barely. The buckler in his arm turned into an impromptu spring as he launched himself from the ground while simultaneously grabbing the longsword that had been dislodged from his grip moments prior.

With his knees bent and the round shield facing his two opponents with his longsword at the ready, Harry circled the two opponents as they stood defiantly and readying themselves. The man with the spear lunged forward while the other stood back waiting for an opening.

Harry responded with a lunge of his own. The longsword's blunted edge snapping the wood of the spear with a strong strike while Hadrian, using his own momentum to bash the unsuspecting swordsman with his shield causing the man to fall to the ground while the confused spearman found the longsword at his neck.

"Well done, my lord!" Rodrick Cassel proclaimed from where he was standing beside four men that that were in various states of injury. Harry had gone against six at once this time and from the constant training and sparring he had been able to come out on top for the first time.

Harry allowed a small smile on his features as that had been the first win when going against six simultaneous opponents. He had made it a point to gradually go against as many as he could and until he could consistently win against a set he wouldn't add another.

He went to go get cleaned up and found the First Keep empty save for the Throne of Winter that currently sat unoccupied, most of Winterfell castle as well when his uncle took his retinue to Cailin. Ned quickly made the seat of Cailstarks, with the sigil being a red Direwolf on a white field.

Harry had to quickly fill the household with people. He sent a raven to the Citadel for a maester since, even though he very much rather not have a maester at all, he needed the medical expertise for others and the need for someone to man the ravens until he could figure out how to magically enhance birds.

It pissed him off to no end that they sent the bootlicker and obvious spy that was Theomore who, in Harry's personal opinion was about as useful as a horse with no legs. Hadrian had excluded him from important matters regarding the North but wouldn't hold him back from attending court and 'advising' the young Stark Lord.

There were several times when the maester had refused to teach to the young Jon Snow and had invited himself to private meetings between Hadrian and other Northern lords. Harry was quick to force compliance with the blonde haired man for the former while he couldn't prevent the latter without completely overriding his mentality.

The last of which meetings was when Lord Karstark and Lord Manderly were at Winterfell and discussing the rebuilding of Skagos, now called Winter Isle, and planning a small naval fleet of ten galleons, a mainline warship of thirty oars and two masts that Hadrian designed, with the help of Lord Manderly and Maester Luwin, to fortify the strait between the mainland and Winter Isle.

Theomore had intruded the private meeting by attempting to advise them not to build any more ships as that would anger many lords south of the Neck and then had the gall to attempt to take over the rebuilding efforts.

Needless to say Hadrian was none to happy about that and all but expelled the maester from Winterfell at that and only the repercussions of doing so had stayed the order from being carried out. Theomore, from then on, had been subdued and had taken to only speaking when being spoken too. That didn't stop him from trying to get his hands on the collection of Stark journals and Harry had been forced to post a guard at the solar on a twenty four hour basis to deter that notion.

That still didn't stop Hadrian from adding security wards to the painting that stood vigil over the precious information.

Hadrian sighed as he finished getting on cleaner clothes and went towards the great hall for supper with Tobho Mott, who had moved to Winterfell when word had spread to King's Landing that the North was building a standing army, Rodrick Cassel and several of the household guard.

Hadrian's thoughts drifted towards the runic array that turned the North into the lush and actual decent climate that had rid the North of most summer snows. Each one was similar to the other with many other different touches. For example, the Bolton array was the one that was the one that was responsible for all the extremely fertile ground.

The irony felt good in Harry's mind.

He had used the volcanic nutrients that the Dreadfort stood upon and with a rather complex runic scheme had dispersed the nutrients throughout the land to make some incredible farming land.

All arrays connected to the Throne of the Winter Kings, and was keyed to the Stark blood and intent based wards. Should anyone other than a Stark sit upon the throne the arrays would go dormant and the land would decay and revert back to what it once was.

Should any with ill-intent towards the people and the Starks, the throne would actually kill the one sitting upon it overtime. Hadrian estimated a week for the effect to take place directly after they sat upon the sacred seat. He would only activate this if he ever needed too. It wouldn't do for someone to sit upon such as a steward.

Should any Stark be unworthy to be Lord of Winterfell, the throne would reject them and the land would decay.

It was one of Harry's more ingenious schemes. One which he was rather proud of, more than the array he had created actually and had applauded himself and clapped himself on the back on more than one occasion.

"My lord!" Theomore rounded the corner his chain of various metals clinking annoyingly as he waved a small parchment that usually came by way of raven. Hadrian internally grimaced as he sat down in the lord's seat atop the dais. At that many of those that typically joined him for supper did and the evening's meal was served, this time a thick stew of pheasant meat and potatoes with a loaf of bread and ale to was it down. Harry had taken to only drinking water and only drank the alcohol on occasion.

Harry had grown used to the unimaginative foods of the North.

"My lord." Theomore all but begged.

"Tell me Maester," Harry sighed. He was beginning to regret not bribing Maester Luwin to stay. He could've cast a heavy compulsion on him and just mind-raped him of everything he knew but in the grand scheme of things Theomore was a pawn and a nobody. Granted a rather annoying pawn but one nonetheless. Harry's ultimate goal of getting rid the world of these false gods didn't require the death of Theomore as much as he wanted to strangle the blonde man, but the second Theomore gave Harry that excuse, the young Stark would not bat an eye if push came to shove. "what could possibly need my attention that I am disturbed at supper of all places?"

"The Greyjoy's my lord." Stuttered the blonde man. "They declared rebellion against the Throne and Balon Greyjoy has declared himself King of Iron Islands."

Hadrian knit his eyebrows together but was not surprised at all. He was waiting for history to repeat. The young warden would've spoken but Theomore looked like he had more to say as he slipped out several more parchments from his robes.

"My lord, news from several villages along the shore have been raided but the majority have been repelled with minimal casualties as they weren't ready for the patrol parties you have sent. Moat Cailin has also repelled an assault from Maron Greyjoy." Theomore continued. Hadrian nodded but Theomore continued to look apprehensive about something.

"Out with it Maester." Hadrian already barked. The young Stark may have been ten name days old but he had the stature of one who had reached five and ten name days and carried himself like a confident and fully adult lord.

He would not waste time when pressing matters needed to be carried out.

"During one of Maron Greyjoy's raids on the surrounding lands of Moat Cailin, it is widely believed your mother Ashara Dayne was taken hostage so the North and Dorne stay their hands." He quickly said and added. "Right now she is missing however."

One could hear a pin drop in the great hall and there was a slight visible trembling in the blonde haired grey rat.

Hadrian who had his tankard of ale in one hand looked absolutely at peace as he blankly stared at Maester Theomore. A second later the simple wooden tankard was splintered and crushed in his hand, instantly causing his hand to get several deep cuts with splinters whilst dripping blood.

Several guards moved to get up and help their lord but he held his uninjured hand up, staying their bodies.

In an deathly calm voice, and with Hadrian's foreboding and commanding aura at full, the Stark of Winterfell spoke up. "Maester Theomore, call the banners and tell them to each assemble two thousand men and march to Moat Cailin. Have Northpoint send what ships they have available to the Moat as well. Rodrik assemble what men we have now and a general order to have another thousand ready by week's end. We march to the Moat at first light and while Rodrick remains as my castellan. Jon will be the Stark of Winterfell in my absence. Inform Lord Commander Devon to continue patrolling the west coast."

Theomore sputtered. "Surely, you can't wait till morning, my lord!"

"Maester Theomore." Hadrian's multicolored irises glared a hole into him. "You will send those ravens tonight and you will continue to teach Jon Snow whilst I am away or you will find yourself traveling back to the Citadel and never finding yourself welcomed above the Neck again."

There was several moments of silence and no one moved a muscle. "Go!" Hadrian barked and the young Stark had seen no people move as fast as everyone in the great hall. Tobho quickly nodded to Hadrian and bowed slightly. "I will have the boiled leather armor you requested ready at once." To which Hadrian nodded silently before heading towards the Theomore quarter's to get his hand stitched up. His armor was nothing special only that the shoulder pauldrons were slightly more ornate than normal. He would get steel plate when he was older.

He could've used magic to heal himself but since a ton of servants and guards having seen his bloodied hand, it wouldn't do to have a hand that was devoid of injury.

It was a week and a half later when Hadrian received word that King Robert had called the banners to war against the Iron Islands.

The North had already assembled the ten thousand men-at-arms that were awaiting their rotation and the various other lords having joined Hadrian's own march towards Moat Cailin. Already, given the improvement of paved roads, the Boltons, Umbers and Manderlys had joined him with the Karstarks and Goldstarks playing catch-up not too far behind.

The Mormonts, Glovers and Glovemonts, whose seat was still being manned by Galbert Glover as castellan until the newly birthed Lyanna Mormont and Deric Glover came of age to take over, were being kept as defensive forces as well as House Ryswell, who with their expert cavalrymen could respond to threats in a timely manner.

With the ten thousand combined with the three powerful houses they had an estimated force of twenty thousand as well as many minor houses joining in and combined with the two others and Moat Cailin's own troops they would have another five thousand at least.

The Manderly fleet of a hundred war galleys was already rendezvousing with the Royal Fleet at Dragonstone before Hadrian had gotten the raven to call the banners. The young Stark estimated that they would at least be halfway there if not more, given Hadrian's personal runic schemes to allow the galleys to move faster in water and if they had good wind it would be even faster.

It was miracle that he had thought of an area of effect ward, the idea behind it that only the flagship would need to be around for the ships to be faster. The wharfmen would only need to carve certain runes into the hull of the galley and the runic array he created within the flagships would then activate those carved runes once they got within a certain distance so long as the object in question was in direct contact with water.

So long as the wharfmen built the ships to the specifications, all northern ships near one of the three flagships would be faster and a hell of a lot more durable than their Westerosi and Essosi counterparts.

Hadrian was interrupted from staring at the battle map that had formed before him when Lord Karstark and his uncle Benjen Goldstark stepped into the command tent that was erected a few dozen minutes prior. With a bellowing laugh, Karstark greeted Harry and shook hands with him while Benjen was a little more subdued in his greeting, offering only a slight smile and bow.

Lords Roose Bolton, Greatjon Umber and Wyman Manderly were quick to also enter the command tent as well making it a bit crowded as it was small already.

"My lords." Hadrian stated while nodding to each of them as a gesture of respect. He looked down and placed the four more Direwolf figurines on the outskirts of Moat Cailin. His uncle Ned was going to meet them there momentarily.

They were all gathered around the table when Ned came in. "My lord." Hadrian nodded to him as well. As much as the young Stark wanted to not stand on formality only when in the security of privacy would they do so. To show that type of favoritism wouldn't buy him any points with the other Northern lords despite the familial relations.

"King Robert has barely called the banners the day's past and yet we have assembled a mighty host already with no target. Lannisport is in ruins and Redwyne fleet has been caught off guard along with the Royal fleet." Hadrian began. "Currently we are the only force capable of retaliation at the moment and Balon Greyjoy may believe that we will all regroup at the Golden Tooth to launch an offensive, where he can disrupt supply lines with inland raids and further delay any response from the Royal fleet." And with a predatory gleam in his eye, Hadrian stated. "I intend to take advantage of his pride and ignorance."

They all murmured their agreement while Ned and Roose Bolton looked skeptical. To them, only overwhelming force and superior numbers won the day with strategy to further guarantee a victory.

Hadrian continued. "Balon may currently rule the seas and raid at will and will not expect an attack for sometime so here is what I have in mind." He said as he moved over the battle map. "The Manderlys, Boltons and Karstark men with the ships of Glovemont will come with me to attack . The rest of the Northern army will go on towards the Golden Tooth with Lord Cailstark as commander. The plan is to relieve pressure off of the Royal Fleet and the west coast long enough for the rest of Westeros to rally and attack Pyke. The distracted forces returning to the Iron Islands to repel us will be caught in the ass when half of Westeros is knocking on their door." He said while moving the figurines across the map to display the movements of troops.

"Daring but highly risky, a single mistake and your entire force will be destroyed." Ned stated with a hand naturally resting on the pommel of Ice. Hadrian had gifted it to him and his house when Euron Greyjoy was disarmed whilst raiding the beginning stages of Northpoint, he had escaped though. The Ironborn man had been wielding a Valyrian steel longsword. Galbert, in a move to keep the peace between the two feuding Northern houses presented the sword as a gift to Hadrian.

Harry had to hand it to Galbert, who while not an expert fighter was a mediator through and through. According the former Glover lord, he didn't want young Lyanna to be pressured into giving the sword up to her uncle and the same with Deric. Given that the Glovers had already their own Valyrian sword, Galbert felt right gifting it to the young Stark who finally solved the dispute over Sea Dragon Point.

"I am confident it will work." Hadrian stated with finality but the other Northern lords could see the two feuding wolves both attempting to get the other to back down with, in Eddard's case a stormy grey stare while the other multicolored stare bore a hole into the Regent of the North's eyes as well.

The other lords silently determined that Hadrian's stare, even though cold and aloof, was a lot more uncomfortable and held more authority than that of Ned's. Hadrian spoke but his hard glare at his uncle told all that he would not be swayed from this plan. "I will be carrying this out, this is the only way for this squabble to be taken care of in a timely manner so we can all return to our lives. The sooner the King takes Pyke, the sooner Balon is dealt with."

Ned stare did not relent.

Hadrian met his stare on his established high ground as he spoke to the other lords. "Lord Bolton, Lord Karstark and Lord Manderly, have your men ready to move to the mouth of the fever by first light. The rest of you will be placed under," He put a little emphasis on his uncle's name. "Lord Cailstark's command."

The Northern Lords did not need to be told twice about obeying the young man's word but Roose Bolton did linger a little longer than necessary before he too stepped out of the command tent.

And in a few moments the two were alone.

"I do not like this." Ned stated. "And I did not want a raven to be the bearer of bad news."

Hadrian had a dreadful feeling welling up in him as his uncle spoke those words.

"Harry." Ned spoke, his tone grim and sorrowful. "Your mother is dead. Her body was found washed up on the shores of the Fever river. The Silent Sisters are transporting it here as we speak."

There was nothing but truth as Harry read his uncle's surface thoughts.

It was several long moments before the words his uncle said registered with the reborn wizard. "Leave me." Hadrian said.

"Harry-"

"I said leave me!" He barked as he felt tears well up in his eyes and the instinctive nature to draw upon his magical abilities were suppressed.

It was a long minute as Ned stared with absolute self-loathing and sadness in the elder Stark's eyes as his nephew stared at him with tears slowly streaming down his cheeks. Ned nodded solemnly and made to head out, but stopped and gave Hadrian a parting thought. "Know that others have felt the same as you do."

And with that the elder Stark left.

Hadrian let the tears fall freely for the first time in his life in Westeros.

But the young Stark determined one thing whilst he cried himself to sleep that night.

The Drowned God would be the first of the pretenders to be thrust back into the void.

Maesters, devout Septons, nobility and smallfolk alike, later claimed that the Seven were displeased with the Greyjoy's Rebellion and that it was the Smith, himself, whilst hammering the swords that would put an end to the conflict was what had caused the earth to quake and tremble below them and what caused the Neck to split open causing Blazewater Bay and The Bite to connect through the Fever, a league North of Moat Cailin.

However many of those North of the Neck, specifically those within the army camp of the twenty-five thousand that were in Moat Cailin at the time, came to call the night as the Howl of the Wolf, which would later be recounted as a gloomy song.

In response to the heartbreak that overtook the young wolf, the Old Gods had felt the anguish that tore at the Stark's heart and wept with him and in their mutual sorrowful embrace caused the heaven's to fall with hailing rain and the earth to tremble with a powerful force.

Knowing the Northern cause was now a matter of vengeance for their loyal subject, not a single Northmen was killed that night during the tremors and floods that broke the Fever and their supplies and equipment remained undamaged by the rains that poured on them.

When the young Stark emerged from his dry and unharmed tent, he did not look surprised at the muddy ground nor the newly made canal that appeared during the night.

He did not shed anymore tears at when his mother was laid to rest within the crypts of the Moat.

He did not heed his uncle's pleas for him to remain in the North to properly grieve.

Hadrian Stark had only a single thing in mind as he boarded the flagship, The Wolf's Call, and stood at the prow like a conquering warlord as his wolf pelt cloak billowed in the rushing sea salt wind, his Valyrian steel longsword, Winter sheathed and belted at his hip.

Revenge.

And Hadrian would not be kept from it.

Until Next Time!