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Winterfell: 297 AC
Jon groaned as he woke up, and judging from the light outside he had slept in rather longer than he usually did, 'and with good reason,' he thought as he laid eyes on his wife who had greedily hogged most of the covers during the night. He and Alys had been rather late at going to sleep, far more occupied with enjoying each other's bodies for the first time as man and wife.
Grinning slightly at her rather adorable soft snores he bent his head low to softly explore her neck, there was a sweet spot there somewhere and from the sudden moan and shiver he seemed to have found it. Nuzzling her neck further he was rewarded by Alys squirming away and letting out a soft giggle as she tried to escape.
"That tickles," she said as she turned around to lay a kiss on him that he eagerly accepted.
"Does it?" he asked when she withdrew.
"Yes it does," she said as she scrunched up her forehead in contemplation before tugging on his short beard. "You'll have to get rid of this husband, I'll not have you look like an unwashed barbarian."
Jon affected a look of fake hurt. "But My Lady, haven't you heard, all us northerners are nothing more than uncultured savages."
Alys stuck her nose up in the air in defiance, a look that she held for a few seconds before they both burst out in laughter. "I suppose we have to get up My Lord, breakfast was probably hours ago."
"Oh we'll get up…eventually," he growled before pouncing on her, laughing slightly as her fake scream of panic.
It took them another hour before a much sated, and heavily ruffled Jon poked his head out of the door to request a tub of hot water to be brought up for a bath from the smirking guard who stood in the corridor. Eventually they had to make their way down, and as soon as they entered the hall where luncheon was already well on the way they were met by raucous cheers, wolf whistles and lewd comments. Alys and Jon took it in stride however and sat down next to Robb to break their fast.
"Late night I take it?" Robb asked with a grin.
"Well unlike you cousin I had more than just me to please, and I like to be thorough in my work," Jon shot back, causing Robb to grumble while the King laughed.
"What do you mean?" Bran asked with a confused look on his face.
"Oh just that Robb is content with his hand for now," Jon said without thinking, wincing as Robb kicked him hard on the shin while he got his ears boxed in by both Alys and his uncle while Lady Stark shot him a look that promised a long, slow and torturous death if he was to extrapolate any further.
"Yes well," the King said suddenly as he stood up and clanked his goblet a few times before giving it up as a bad job. "LISTEN YOU SHITS!" he shouted, finally grabbing the attention of the remaining men and women in the full hall. "I'll be leaving today to return to King's landing as my son Joffrey has his nameday, with accompanying tourney in three weeks, and I expect to see some god northern quality down there to teach those fuckers from the Reach and Westerlands how REAL MEN fight," he said, causing a veritable thunderstorm to break out in the room as proud northmen let loose cheers or insults at the 'southern fops'.
Taking a seat again King Robert laughed as he looked at Jon. "You'll be joining me of course lad."
Jon coughed as the ale he was drinking came down in the wrong hole, causing his Robb to pound his back. "Your Grace?" Jon questioned.
"You have to Pick up Edric anyway, might as well come to the tourney when you're there, a little sport is just healthy for a young lad like yourself."
Robbet Glover took that moment to intercede. "Sport Your Grace? If we let the wolf here loose on your southern Knights you'll have to send them home in boxes when he's done."
"That true lad?" Robert asked with a laugh.
"You never heard what he's done to those ironborn fuckers?" Glover asked the King.
King Robert grinned. "Yeah, he gave them a right proper fucking a few years ago, scum had it coming I say."
Most of the men, and a fair amount of the women around the table grinned. "Aye," Robbet continued. "But after that we've been hit more and more by raiders, I think it is fair to say that Jon the Bloody here has put more of them in the ground than any other man in the North."
"HAH," the King exclaimed as he pounded a fist on the table. "Jon the Bloody Wolf, I hear them call you up here, and as long as you continue to lop off the heads of those squiddies you'll never hear a bad word from me," he said, ignoring how Theon almost kicked away his chair and stomped out of the hall.
"Good riddance," Alys muttered at the Kraken's retreating back.
"I suppose since you asked me so nicely Your Grace I have no choice but to accept your invitation south, but I'll have to see my wife and children properly settled in first."
Robert nodded absently, "Of course, of course, just don't be late."
The King left that very same day, along with most of the northern Lords, a fair few of them following him with the intent of coming south for Prince Joffrey's nameday, while a few others stayed, intending to travel south with Jon by horseback.
Jon and Alys themselves stayed another daybefore heading south towards Moat Cailin. While he had certainly said goodbye to his family before it had never been as hard as it was this time. There was a note of finality to the goodbye this time, as Jon was truly leaving to settle down somewhere else, and only the promise of regular visits or perhaps even letting them stay with him from time to time had managed to disentangle a weeping Arya, Bran and Rickon.
Robb had given him a long hug and told him to beat the shit out of the southrons, eliciting a laugh from Jon and a furious 'LANGUAGE' from Lady Catelyn who slapped Robb across the ear.
Sansa had given him a hug and greedily demanded letters and tales from the south, while also warning him to behave (bringing forth contemptuous snorts from the majority of the men and women within hearing range).
With their goodbyes said they left for their new home. They rested at Castle Cerwyn the first night, Lord Medger more than pleased to host their party, though he still kept a rather sharp eye on Jon, and most likely quite deliberately seated his daughter as far away from Jon as he possibly could without disrespecting her.
Leaving early the following morn they spent the majority of the day riding, only stopping for a few meals until nightfall where they made camp. Fortunately it was in the middle of summer so the weather and temperature was quite bearable (for northerners at least), and a roaring fire and warm furs ensured that both little Torrhen and Lyarra both slept fitfully, only waking up once at roughly the same time to demand the attention of their wetnurse. Jon was quite sure that Alys would have indulged them, as she had on more than one occasion, but they were both tired (and if Jon was honest he though his son and daughter demanded too much time from Alys' teats already) so when he and Alys heard the wetnurse start fussing they both went back to sleep without complaint.
The ride the next day started to show that they were getting close as the temperature started to rise slightly, and the distinct scent of the marshland of the neck and surrounding land hit their nostrils. Rolling fields of grass and scattered trees were soon enough replaced with large rice paddies and the men and women working them.
Before long the walls and towers of Moat Cailin revealed themselves and Jon felt a sense of pride bloom in his chest as they closed in on the ancient fort. This was his home. The mightiest fortress besides Winterfell itself in the entire North. Where before a half rotten wooden fort had stood was now an intimidating construction of stone. The layout was simple enough. A central square keep with few windows (for increased structural integrity), the top of the keep was dominated by a sharp pointed round roof that left just enough room for proper battlements where men could shoot down from the top. The round roof and steep angle would help in winter by preventing snow to pile up, meaning that the roof wouldn't collapse under the weight of several tonnes of snow.
Some sixty feet away from the keep, just before the hill started to slope downwards stood four round towers/bastions, stretching almost as tall as the keep itself. Fourty foot high walls connected each of the bastions with a gatehouse allowing entrance to the northern side. Inside the courtyard stood a variety of buildings. A smithy, granaries, two barracks, an armoury and stables were just some of the buildings.
Outside the walls, further down the large hill stood other buildings that looked for the most part to be primarily housing and at the foot of the hill a second curtain wall with accompanying towers were under construction. The lower curtain wall had eight tower bastions evenly spaced apart, each of them with weirwood hoardings at the top. Both the north and the south gates were protectd further with a large barbican containing a number of portcullises, murder holes and thick doors of oak.
The men who had led the work of the re-fortifying of the Moat had certainly known what they were doing as there was literally no room to spare what so ever to walk around the walls. No waterfilled moat had to be built as the natural swampy bog that surrounded it was defence enough. A man could try his luck navigating through the marsh, but chances were high that he would never be seen from again.
Sixty feet from the wall on both east and west side stood a lone tower on a small 'island' of stable ground. Both towers were still under construction, but had reached to a height of forty feet that let them be linked to the main battlements of the curtain wall by the way of a stone bridge that spanned the gap between the tower and wall. Twelve towers and a keep ready. Two sets of walls with gates done, another two towers nearing completion and four more planned, Jon, Alys and their party were in awe.
"Slap me thrice and hand me to me mumma," the Smalljon said weakly as he tried to reconcile the image in front of them to the memories he had of its past state.
"If the old Moat was anything like this in its glory days I'd almost feel respect for the courage of the southerners for daring to attack it," Edd Karstark said with a hint of awe in his voice, only to yelp as Alys smacked him.
"Don't confuse religious zealotry with courage Edd," she chided her brother, "the damn defilers didn't know any better."
If Edd had any reply it was lost as a column of twenty riders carrying Stark Banners rode up to them, their leader was a man perhaps slightly younger than Jon's uncle who bowed his head while holding a clenched fist over his heart.
"Greetings m'lord Stark, I am Halys, the current Castellan and Captain of the Guard here at Moat Cailin."
"Excellent," Jon said. "My Lady wife Alys," he said as he gestured towards his wife.
"M'lady," Halys said once more, repeating the gesture he had given to Jon.
"Let us ride forth Castellan, you can inform me of the affairs of the castle as we ride."
"As you wish m'lord," Halys said as they resumed their ride.
The majority of their wedding gifts had already arrived, having been sent directly to Moat Cailin for the most part instead of being brought to Winterfell. Port towns had been built both at the end of the Fever river about two hours ride from the Moat and near the estuary of the White Knife, both towns inhabited by a few thousand men, women and children. Fishers for the most part, though the town at the Fever river had also started to build ships, with one galley finished so far and another three on the way.
Also within his demesne were six other towns with a population ranging from about three hundred to almost seven thousand inhabitants, with the majority of them working as either rice or potato farmers, with the northernmost town being the one that held the majority of the livestock in the area as they had access to large fields of grass. The Moat (and his remaining towns) had a garrison of a grand total of two thousand five hundred men at arms, more than any other place in the North with the exception of Winterfell and White Harbour having more men dedicated as full time guards and soldiers, though with the six hundred men following him and the men he had been promised from the Vale he would probably field close to four thousand active men, with six hundred of them (so far) being trained horsemen.
Every single one of the towers held a single ballista for long range, as well as a pair of smaller but more manoeuvrable and swifter to reload scorpions. Inside the castle courtyard stood a trio of trebuchets that were aimed towards the south.
"How many more men do we have capable of bearing arms?" Jon asked as they rode up the hill, having passed the lower gatehouse.
"M'lord?" Halys asked.
"The majority of men serving in armies here in Westeros are peasant levies, men and boys who've barely held a pike in their lives. Moat Cailin is the gate to the south, and the military strongpoint in the North, and even though we have more men than most we never know when we need call in more to fight, so how many men, and boys above the age of twelve I suppose," Jon said.
Halys appeared to think hard as he furrowed his brow in thought. "I haven't done a proper survey m'lord, but I suppose another five thousand or so, if we pull in all of them m'lord."
Jon nodded thoughtfully. "Starting from tomorrow you'll be calling in all the men able to fight one town at the time. They'll come here and train hard every day for a period of three months, and then we'll move on to the next town, in addition Every man and boy from age ten and up will spend at least four hours a week practicing his archery."
"F-four hours m'lord!" Halys exclaimed, "I don't think we even have that many longbows."
Jon turned his gaze upon Halys who immediately lowered his. "Barely an hour's ride south of here is an entire forest of yew trees. We have axes aplenty, and we should have enough bowyers in our land to start producing longbows in great quantity as well as arrows."
Halys nodded carefully, it was the truth after all. "But steel m'lord, steel aint cheap."
Jon sighed. "We live in the largest Kingdom in all of Westeros, as big as all the other Kingdoms combined, do you honestly mean to tell me that with all the mountains we have here in the North that there isn't a single lode of iron to be found?"
Halys reddened, in shame or outrage Jon had no idea, "I see your point m'lord."
Jon nodded grimly, "Good, if we don't have miners then we'll find some, either here in Westeros or in the east I don't care, but I want production to get going. I have been appointed as Lord and Master of Moat Cailin, and I intend to make the most out of it, we'll build up a surplus of arms, armour, and food alike. For far too long the North has languished, content at the role and life we've had, but no more, I intend to make sure that our people are deserving of being the largest Kingdom in the realm, we are the last of the First Men, thousands of years of history and tradition, and I intend to make sure it lasts," Jon said, and from the proud and determined looks on the faces of the men alongside him they all felt the same.
"I'll see to it that it is done m'lord."
Dismounting in the courtyard Jon, Alys, Edd, Daryn Hornwood, Smalljon Umber Rodrik Ryswell and the eldest of their party Robett Glover walked into the keep where they were met by the tantalizing smell of roasted boar and potatoes.
The grand hall, while not as large as the one in Winterfell still held room for a good two hundred men. A pair of cast iron chandeliers hung from the rafters and torches flickered merrily on their wall sconces, lighting up the room. It was still sparsely populated, the only real decorations were the Stark banners that hung on the walls, though Jon could spot several hangers and shelves that could be filled with decorations, and he started it at least by hanging Red Rain on the wall behind where he would sit at the high table.
Speaking quickly to the cook who introduced herself Jon spread his arms to his guests and the higher ranking guards and retainers who had entered with him as a quartet of serving boys came in carrying bowls of bread and salt.
"Welcome my friends. I hereby offer you bread and salt according to guest right and meat and mead from my table, let us feast and make merry as tomorrow we ride south to show the southerners that the men of the North will not be forgotten."
"LONG LIVE THE NORTH!" the words were yelled almost in unison by over a hundred voices as men and women raised their tankards above their heads before drinking. The feast lasted long into the night, none wanting to be the first one to leave (opening themselves to mocking of lacking stamina) and Jon and Alys were introduced by the various members of their household.
Most of them seemed competent for their duties and both Jon and Alys felt that they would get on well with them. An exception was the rather surly old man who was the chief smith who had three young buys working for him that he claimed were apprentices, he was not at all pleased when Jon told him that their educations and his own duties would be taken over by Gendry, that was until Gendry made a passing comment about how he had apprenticed under Tohbo Mott in King's Landing, he was rather more subservient after that, and warmed up a bit after he learned that he would still have his hands full with plenty of work.
Maester Rolland was quite young for a Maester (barely one and twenty), but he was quite well learned, having several links on his chain explaining that he had forged his links in: Ravenry, arithmetic's, construction, medicine (and healing), economics and history. He also explained with a laugh how he had been assigned to Moat Cailin as 'punishment' after calling one of the Archmaesters a 'fat whoring pillow-biter', and the Archmaester in question had told him that he would be assigned to the crumbling ruin Moat Cailin as the first Maester to go there in over a thousand years, and Jon shared a snigger with the generally rambunctious young maester.
It was close to the Hour of the Wolf before the feast started to break up, servants and maids already familiar with the layout of the place guiding the Lords to guest quarters while Jon and Alys were led to the top of their keep where their quarters were. A pair of guards stood on either side of the double doors that led into a large room that was evidently a cross between a private dining room and solar. One of the doors led to a small indoor privy, another led to a surprisingly large bathroom, while the last door led to their bedchamber. As with the rest of the Castle it was sparsely decorated beyond the bare necessities, though the grand bed and fine furs and sheets were promising at least, and Jon and Alys eagerly decided to break in the bed proper after hurriedly undressing.
"You better win that blasted tourney or I'll never forgive you," Alys mumbled sleepily as she cuddled his chest.
"Oh?" Jon asked amused as he raised an eyebrow.
"As your wife it is my task to run this household, including the decorating, and we cannot decorate without gold."
Jon chuckled slightly. "What a terrible husband I would be if I was not willing to cater to my wife's desire to add some colour to our new home."
Alys raised her head slightly and grinned at him before closing her eyes and laying her head down at his chest again. "It seems you can be trained after all husband, who would have thought."
Had he not been so tired Jon would probably had enjoyed to continue the verbal sparring but as it was he just wanted to sleep. "Goodnight Alys," he said as he closed his own eyes, but from the soft snores he received in return he knew that his wife was already asleep.