A/N: There will be subtle hints as to what the Romans will do if things go well, or their way I should say. You may notice here the constant tribulations and tense atmosphere back in Irondove (Segesticum) for Vespasian and Aulus.

Also, language barriers will be realistic in the coming future.

Finally, to let you guys go and enjoy, slavery will play a key role in this chapter. You will see why Vespasian is doing what he is doing. All I am saying is that he is a very cautious military officer by nature, very cunning.

Lord Tremon had to give it to these men. They were well organized and led.

The arrogant enemy officer, Lucius, who he identified as such due to his barking towards the men and the strange and idiotic helmet he wore, was all smiles.

That was until less than a few hours ago. He had gotten a message from a rider and frowned.

Without preamble, he barked some more orders and went inside with more officers and soldiers, probably to have a meeting.

Abel was not complaining about their hospitality, at his own home, since they had let him be without much fuss but not without pestering him with questions in their own language.

He just sat there and gave them a blank stare, then shrugged.

The main officer of their army then helped himself with some old women and took them to his quarters.

Abel did not know whether to be more horrified of some fetish of his or the fact that they were teachers, and as such he was demanding to know the language.

'I think I would settle for his strange fetishes.' He thought with an amused smile.

If the enemy got wind of their language they would surely be even more efficient in intercepting messages, talk with the townsfolk and subsequently raze the region even more.

Shrugging, he got up and walked towards his personal balcony, where he saw the red cloaked soldiers standing at attention on his walls and small streets.

Surely, his castle was small for a host of over five thousand, that much was certain.

Even then, they managed by raiding around his lands and taking food away from his own people.

Right then he felt guilt and shame.

His people were starving, being beaten and raped at the moment and he was amusing himself with bland stupid tales.

Not anymore.

Abel needed to find a way to help them as fighting them was completely out of the question.

"A host of over thirty thousand moving down the region?" Centurion Cassius raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

Lucius nodded. "Indeed. If they are better armed than the fools we have bested here, then we need to retreat."

"What about that strange fortress? If we take it, then we can stall them long enough for General Vespasian to get here."

Lucius almost smirked at the fact that his legionaries were also loyal to Vespasian and not Aulus. Cassius said so himself for the rest of the people inside.

"We would need at least twenty thousand men to take that monstrosity. With our five thousand we would be massacred." The general shook his head. "No, we need to move to Segesticum. We will be able to defend it as Vespasian has seen to it that it is prepared for incursions."

The men nodded in approval of the plan. "What about this fortress, sire?"

Staring at Cassius' brown eyes, Lucius smirked. "Rid of the food and anything useful. We shall leave nothing for the barbarians here."

Cassius approved of the plan with a smile of his own.

Scorched earth policy was not unknown to the Roman military. It was duly needed in cases of hordes rampaging through a region. They were truly demoralizing to the enemy and subsequently made them fight against one another or desert the cause, and then the legions swept in to utterly destroy them.

"What of the governor of this… fortress?" Legion Commander Cornelius Dilius asked.

Lucius paused and stared at the desk where they were all seated around.

The little shit could be useful and in case of… dire circumstances he could provide a valuable hostage. The old women and men were also useful and would take priority as high privileged prisoners of war.

Abel though… Lucius smirked. "We shall take him with us. He could provide a valuable hostage. If not, we will slit his throat and be done with it."

Orders given, the officers made their way outside and began shouting orders.

Roman soldiers then rampaged through stables, taverns and houses in search of supplies. The townsfolk were smart and did not provide resistance though a knight stabbed a legionary in the face, killing him.

In response, he was crucified for all to see before the legion departed the fortress, their lord taken captive along with the wisest people.

And from there, history unfolded even more, ever changing and drifting.

"My lord." Lord Bolton frowned as he entered his superior's tent. "There are urgent news from Lord Lannister."

Lord Rickard Stark raised an eyebrow. "What are they?"

"I believe is disrespectful to read messages with your name in it, my lord."

The grey eyed lord smiled. "Come now, Aldamar." Lord Stark japed, for the first time in months. "You are one of my most trusted advisers; I think it is fair to say you should be more involved with what is going on. Your counsel is always appreciated."

Aldamar gave a small yet genuine smile to his overlord. "Very well."

After reading the missive twice, Lord Bolton frowned again and this time the Stark lost his smile too. They were probably grim news.

"The ironborn are blocking any of his attempts to pass through their sea." Lord Bolton sneered. "Pirate scum."

Rickard sighed. "Scum they may well be, but this gives us a dire disadvantage. A war on two fronts is now out of the question."

"These strange people were spotted retreating from Lord Tremon's holdfast, scarcely close to Moat Cailln."

"They must know of our march already by now…"

A grim feeling began to settle in the tent, one even Lord Bolton was uncomfortable in.

"What do you propose, Aldamar?"

Lord Bolton simply looked at his overlord and, dare he say it, childhood friend. "Half the garrison of Moat Caillin, get it for the war and then march to the Flint in full strength. Intimidation may work for these…. individuals."

Nodding, the other lord replied, "A sound plan. Our riders have reported that Irondove is now serving as their main headquarters. The walls are being reinforced as we speak and the city accommodated to house thousands of warriors."

"A direct assault is our best and only choice, Rickard."

Said lord smiled grimly at his friend for using his name. "Only option, yes. Maybe we can stall and delay them inside that damned castle before Lord Jason arrives with his host. He will take at least six months, but I believe our bannermen can do that."

"Never forget that our blades are sharp, my lord."

"Winter is coming, Aldamar. We shall bring the full might of the North and make this people regret the choice of rampaging through our lands."

Aldamar nodded with a very small smirk. "I will send my best riders to scout ahead of our march."

It was odd, some said. Lord Rickard Stark was already an anomaly for having friends within the South in the forms of Lord Jason Lannister and Prince Olario Martell. The latter was too far to even be considered to send help for, but funds he could provide.

Lord Stark was a proud investor of the Martell Navy, and Olario never forgot to remind him in their missives. Their ships were slowly but surely venturing north now with their products and spices.

A match had been in the works between his son Darick Stark and Julianne Martell. He was a second son and a man to be watched in the future due to his martial prowess.

His first son, on the other hand, was betrothed to Lady Eleana Bolton. Arton was bright, studious and cunning, not to mention very charming though lacked martial prowess. Eleana was said to be smart and charming, not to mention beautiful.

It was all a game, some said too. Keeping the Martells and Lannisters close for they were powerhouses in the south and could provide wise allies should they were needed in the future.

House Stark, of course, had some enemies. Wildlings, House Baratheon at times and fierce rivalry with the Riverlands. The Reach was also a place of upstarts he did not like in the slightest while the Martells shared the old blood of his ancestors and were the fiercest fighters in Westeros.

People then wondered about his friendship with Lord Aldamar Bolton.

The man had been a ward in Winterfell and both played as children. Once they reached seven and ten, they parted ways but not before swearing to keep each other in contact.

Aldamar had been quiet, shy but sharp as a child while Rickard was brash, loud and obnoxious, with a big cunning side, which was probably why Aldamar established a friendship with him in the first place. His friendship with the Bolton lord quieted much of the loud nature, much to his father's approval.

His friend was also an excellent governor and bright commander, much like he was. Finally, Aldamar was his Lord Hand in all but name.

Oh, his ancestors were probably tossing and whining in their tombs, perhaps the heavens too. He did not care, though.

House Stark needed revolution to survive and adapt in a land where those who did not, perished.

Of course, House Bolton was also the second most powerful house in the north and the one who produced the second fiercest fighters in the whole region. Only the Starks and Umbers were able to match that fierce determination and, somewhat, the discipline.

Only time would tell if his ideas that had some lords revolted and others intrigued would be beneficial in the long run.

Friendship with Lannisters, Martells and Boltons. Who could have thought such a future for House Stark?

Lord Rickard gave a small smile and continued to talk with Aldamar about battle tactics and the situation at hand.

It was refreshing to talk to a lord that was not only loyal but also intelligent and sharp.

"Lucius is coming back." Aulus stated with a sober look. "An army of barbarians is on their way to us, it seems."

Vespasian nodded. "They have not taken kindly to us taking this region, clearly."

Preparations had been made even before the missive was sent.

Once the fortress had been taken and the pitiful militia reduced to nothing but smithereens, Roman legionaries, engineers and builders began construction of defences and reinforcing the weakened walls as fast as they could.

Aulus constantly complained about the progress being too slow as he had wanted to leave the newly named city Segesticum heavily reinforced before launching an assault on the region Lucius had claimed was scarcely defended but quickly changed his mind as more than thirty thousand barbarians were descending upon them.

The locals had been silent and mostly cooperative, though the language barriers had slowed progress of integration and assimilation, as Romans liked to do once conquering.

Of course, while Aulus complained and whined, Vespasian had been learning the language with the wench they captured close to the coasts.

Prisoners were mostly well fed but kept to themselves and only accepted nourishment, never trying to integrate conversations with the Roman soldiers.

It was obvious for the languages being so different.

Vespasian supposed these barbarians spoke harshly and gutturally while Latin was beautiful and fluent, softer than their barbarian type of dialect. He supposed he would visit the wench and maybe bed her if he was in the mood to let steam go. He could get a slave from the locals but that was out of the question. Angering was not an option at the moment, not with Rome quiet.

However, Aulus and Vespasian seemed to be even more at odds with one another. Makvar had sensed the rift and often avoided Aulus as the sneers of contempt and ridiculous snaps of anger were targeted towards him for some strange reason.

"I have sent out hunters and raiders to pillage the farms. Our slaves are proving rather hard to lead, though."

Aulus sneered. "I do not care, increase the whips and floggings. If not, set the example."

The other man was internally angered. This was a land not supposed to be landed upon and he wanted to increase the folk's anger upon their new conquerors.

With that army fast approaching, they could revolt and create a war on two fronts. That would end Roman supremacy.

"Have you looked into their smiting? I am rather curious." Vespasian commented. "Their swords are strong, and ours sometimes break upon impact. We could take unnecessary casualties should it continue in the future."

"I know." The other general replied quietly. "Alexius and Marcus have been capturing blacksmiths and treating them fairly to see if they can produce it for us. Only one has been cooperative and that was after they showed him Roman coins."

Anything made out of gold would entice any man, regardless of allegiance, to do as bid.

"Then it seems we should provide incentives to the others. We need blades for the coming battle."

Aulus regarding Vespasian with a slight sneer of contempt. Born in a simple village to unimportant parents, barely scrapping by compared to his own illustrious family with a great past.

Of course, Vespasian had proven to be an incredibly bright military officer and leader, much to his rage. The men looked up to him and admired the way he pranced around the camp like he was the overall leader.

To make matters worse, the barbarian auxilia also admired him, thanks to his bribes no doubt.

After this mess was over, he was going to have to deal with a possible usurper.

The word was strong, yes but Vespasian was a peasant that was given too much power for his own good. He would have made a fine centurion or perhaps a low legate, but no they had to give him a legion.

He almost laughed at the irony. They gave him a legion yet he commanded the whole army in all but name.

Lucius also admired him and that was one of the last things to convince Aulus that he had to get rid of Vespasian quietly.

Or… he smirked at the idea. Perhaps an accident…

In a battle, there was confusion and rage going all about.

Vespasian would have an honourable death and he would be revered in name for years to come. He supposed that he was actually being fair, giving Vespasian a good death for memories of years to come.

Aulus would assume overall leadership like he was supposed to and then take on these barbarians and see what he could plunder.

He could even establish a dynasty here, with Lucius as his second in command. That man, despite his allegiances, was of royal blood and did his duty as asked, regardless.

He was also the peace keeper between Vespasian and himself. Lucius resolved several disputes among them and even encouraged cooperation for the sake of the campaign.

Changes were needed, truly.

And Rome… he frowned. She had not replied to any of their missives and he already feared what Vespasian had mused a little while ago.

That Rome was not in their reach any more that the gods themselves thought of ridding them of their beloved mother and pitting them into a land that was strange and frightening.

Woe to those that tried to stop Rome's right to conquest.

Roman civilization was going to take these savages, despite their impressive technology in weapons, to all time heights.

After this host was taken care of, he would launch an assault, take that massive fort leagues away and then decide where to go. Most likely north despite the bitter cold they would find there.

Cold meant scarce defences while warmer climates…. Well, it was a null point, since the northern region had assembled a huge army but it was probably to their highest capabilities.

From their scout's observations, temperatures decreased rather dramatically north of the massive fortress in the region Lucius was raiding and exploring.

"Have you thought of what to do with that royal prisoner of yours?" Vespasian asked rather innocently as he continued sipping wine in the table.

Aulus wanted nothing but to end these slights against him, but all in due time. "Once we gain their language, we may begin to interrogate him."

"And you have anyone learning it?"

Suppressing the urge to growl, he nodded. "Marcus and Alexius are bright men, they have been forcing our new-found slaves to teach them. From what Lucius mentioned, he has done the same and brought selected elders to teach us as well."

"Very well." Vespasian stood up and glanced at his supposed superior. "I will start preparations for proper rations and supplies. A siege could be problematic with all of our men and no food, don't you think?"

Feeling his ire rise, Aulus sneered. "Just get out of my tent."

Nodding with a slight smirk, Vespasian left.

That fool had been getting rather abrasive as of late, too much indeed. Aulus contemplated to simply murder him in his tent but he knew Vespasian to be a good soldier with all their instincts and cunning.

He was likely trying to get a raise out of him hoping to kill and rid of him.

Aulus nodded to himself and summoned Alexius, plans beginning to pop into his mind. He could talk to Marcus but the man was probably going to disagree. He was a foolish honourable idiot, intelligent but a fool all the same.

"This town and situation are bonkers." Severus shook his head. "The slaves are uncooperative and Vespasian has ordered us not to harm them. How can he expect them to work? We are the slaves here! Doing all this construction while they sit there and watch us!"

Marcianus groaned. "Would you shut up! The centurion will make us clean the latrines if you don't stop your fucking whining!"

"And you two, with your recent racket, have gained us the attention of dear lovable Sixtus." Antoninus sneered as their centurion looked at them with rage engulfing his face. "Get to work and shut the hell up!"

Grumbling, the three began to work while the so called slaves just passed food and supplies among the troops while others did cooperate once gaining somewhat of a companionship with legionaries.

Severus had gained some enraged locals when he tried to put on his so called charm and kissed a young woman.

He got punched in the face by an impressive looking boy who, much to Antoninus' amusement, began to shout in their guttural language towards Severus, who was up and already punching back.

The brawl ended when Sixtus came in and broke his wooded staff on Severus' back. "Vespasian's orders you idiots! No fucking with the locals, no trying anything funny, stop this shit already!"

"Yes sir!" The three shouted and saluted, with Severus sporting a broken lip. He then had the audacity to glower at the young boy that punched him, gaining a one eyed glare. The other eye was shut thanks to Severus' surprising punching power.

Sneering, Sixtus just shook his head and grumbled, "Fucking cunts."

They had breathed in relief before Antoninus punished Severus with a fist to his head, sending him tumbling about.

"Do that shit again and I will personally see to it that you are castrated!"

Marcianus sneered. "Would do a favour to these people, I am afraid."

The boy that had punched Severus had looked at them strangely, though his eyes began to twinkle in amusement.

He was probably enjoying the fact that his captors were fighting amongst each other and providing some amusement.

Going back to present, Antoninus looked around and saw that most of the slaves in all but name, as that was the norm nowadays with a so called land, so called enemy, so called leader etc. etc. were simply going by their business as if they were guests.

"Stop your shit!"

"Fuck off!"

Antoninus groaned as his friends started to bicker and probably getting into another fight.

Getting as far away as possible and using his dalabra to start working on another section of the wall, he saw Sixtus going towards them with rage radiating off his body.

Smiling in amusement, he proceeded to continue working, oblivious to the changes going around him.

As he thought that, he heard a shout and saw General Lucius entering with his legion, a blank look of determination in his face. He immediately landed on his feet from his horse and was escorted to Vespasian's tent by his personal guards.

Things were chaotic then.

Finally, some action was going to happen.

"Who in their right mind would do this?" Lord Stark was horrified beyond recognition.

They had reached Lord Abel Tremon's castle after two weeks of constant missives from several lords.

Lord Manderly had reported that White Harbour was safe and clear of any enemies though the Neck had been crawling with them.

"Punishment, it seems." Aldamar stated rather coldly. "Make an example out of him for the rest to follow."

There was a cross and a young man already in stages of decomposition. He was nailed to the cross at his feet and just above the wrists.

By his body's state, the poor lad had been dead for quite a while.

The fortress was deserted with only a selected few out of the original one thousand that lived there before the invasion of the red cloaks.

His men had heard from locals that they wore red cloaks and so the nickname became norm among his ranks.

"Just one, though." Jocelyn Mormont remarked quietly. "At least it was only one."

Aldamar looked at his leader and friend. "It does appear that these red cloaks are fond of setting examples out of people to ensure…. peace."

"Peace." Lord Stark snarled. "Peace using such frivolous acts! Barbarians they are!"

"That may be so, my lord." Lord Wyman looked down, showing emotion for the lad. "He will be given a proper burial."

Lord Stark had been on edge since that sighting. It was haunting his dreams, provided he could sleep a few scarce hours.

Aldamar made him company along with the obnoxious Lord Umber.

"This is a war on the mind, my friend. Remember our lessons with the Master at Arms?" Lord Bolton told his friend with a somber look.

While the Boltons had been extremely brutal, cruel and deadly, Aldamar was an exception to the rule. Despite his father's sneers, beatings and rebukes, he had grown into a proper young lord thanks to being a ward at Winterfell.

During their younger years, they had attended war lessons with the Master at Arms and Lord Theon Stark.

War on the mind was played to instil fear and disarray in the enemy ranks. The Starks scarcely followed it but Lord Theon had been the exception and encouraged his son to learn how to win a war through playing with the minds of the enemy.

Of course, he would only use that in moments that required it.

He was not a Baratheon usurper or a Targaryen bloodthirsty king.

He was a wolf, one to care for his pack and place of birth.

One to always put his needs second place in order to protect the North and his family.

Aldamar was much the same, though probably more capable of cruelty given the order or incentive.

He was a Bolton, after all.

"We shall make camp and resume marching tomorrow."

Lord Bolton nodded. "We will reach Irondove in less than two weeks."

On the side, Lord Umber just nodded with a smirk, eager to battle these red cloaks.

With that, they parted ways to see to their men and needs.

The men needed to be in good spirits before the coming battle.

Lord Stark did not know it, but he and his men were going to change history forever.

He says Baratheon usurper because he remembers how Orys Baratheon took the region, standard and daughter of the original Storm King during Aegon's Conquest.

War on the mind would be psychological warfare, naturally.

Things are finally settling in. There will be two chapters before a timeline begins to start the official story with a bang.

It is official, also. Jon Snow will be a POV character in the story to follow this one. That is the only thing I will say.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter and please comment, rate, subscribe.

To the reviewer reminding me of the English longbow, thank you for that tip. You will see that I am working on it in the next chapter. Thanks!