Wild Wolf

by Vimesenthusiast

Fed up with life in Nerima, Ranma runs away, only to be followed by Happosai, who has a magic scroll he want to try out. It works but Ranma suddenly finds himself in Westeros replacing the champion chosen by the old gods in a time of great peril for humanity. How will the world change with the Wild Wolf raised in the den of wolves? A lot. Thanks to Naj. P. Jackson for the picture.

3. Chapter 3

I don't own ASoIaF or Ranma 1/2, too much pointless plot twists (and deaths) in one and too much Tsundere in the other.

I have changed a bit of the story going forward thanks to a discussion I had with N0mster: to wit, that Jon, a bastard, as official regent would be seen as both an act of insanity, weakness, or simple stupidity, plus bringing far too much attention down on Jon. I have gone back to correct this in the last chapter, and going forward in this one it will be made clear that he is in charge of the whelming and the logistics of said rather than all of Winterfell.

Thank you for all your reviews, as I stated, I have started to respond to them via PM like in A third Path which might be out this coming weekend, don't quote me. I especially liked the way everyone argued for or against Theon betraying Ranma, but refuse to say yea or nay there. Would also like to give thanks to my proofreader, the irreplaceable Jessolt, for making this chapter far better than it would have been otherwise.

Want to give a shout out to Kiwifan7 for his/her/don't know story A different Path, which is a Bleach story with the pairing Ichigo/Tia haribel/ female Kyoko Suigetsu – it is fantastic and OH MY GOD, why aren't there more stories with Tia as a main character? She is bloody fantastic! If anyone knows any UNMARKED stories with this pairing or with Toshiro/Haribel (still unmarked), I would be grateful. Also, are there any stories off this site that anyone would recommend in this pairing, a Harry Potter/crossover, specifically X-men with a Jean Grey or Emma Frost pairing, that IS NOT Megamatt09 stories? No offense, but those stories have been taken over by the harem. Alas, no other site I've been to is as easy to navigate as , so I don't know many.

Be warned this chapter is a little … boring. Yeah, transport times from Winterfell to King's Landing is irritating, but necessary for the building of the characters and their interactions, though even there that only begins in this chapter. On the other hand there's Jon and a few others…

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Chapter 3 Journeys and Darkening Days

The rest of that first day out from Winterfell was unutterably boring for Ranma. Robert was in an ebullient mood, telling war stories and holding court, as it were, and Ned had quickly indicated to Ranma that he had to stay close and listen. This was about as interesting to Ranma as watching trees grow. Ned, on the other hand, was in good spirits, sharing the tales of his youth with his boyhood companion.

For Ranma, the only amusing thing that first day was his partial attempts to warg with Fenris. It was only partial because he had to keep at least some of his attention on his actual body, ready to respond to a question during the conversation. It was well he had, because he was asked several times by Robert to tell him about hunts he had gone on with his friends.

The large direwolf pup loped at the side of Ranma's horse easily, with Lady by his side. Even as his body continued to sit on his horse, Ranma could sense his bonded direwolf's amusement at how slow and out of shape Lady was. Added to this, Ranma could somehow sense a bit of Lady's irritation with said amusement, through some kind of pack connection he supposed. This was much more interesting than listening to his father and Robert wax on about adventures from their time as wards in the Vale.

Inside the carriage the atmosphere had been rather stilted at first, but eventually Sansa became used to the Queen's presence and Cersei allowed herself to thaw enough to let the conversation move more naturally. After Sansa had finished the tale of how the children came to have such unusual pets, the Queen had mentioned how her father had once had a real lion in a cage at Casterly Rock when she was younger. Sansa then engaged Myrcella and the Queen about life in King's Landing.

Through this discussion, Cersei carefully plied the young girl with questions about her older brother, trying to sift for real information among the dross. Ranma was an enigma, and enigmas were dangerous, she learned that long ago. It turned out that Sansa believed everything she heard about him and, in fact, had seen Ranma perform some of the great feats of strength that local tales attributed to him.

Cersei knew to take those tales with a grain of salt but she remembered Jaime mentioning how Preston had died from having his chest caved in from what looked like a single kick, which also warped and crushed his steel chest plate. She decided, however, that the sister's perception wasn't the best way to figure Ranma out, too colored by a younger sibling's admiration. Cersei also knew that as a young noble lady, Sansa was not kept in the loop about important events outside Winterfell, such being the purview of lords and men, a way of thinking that Cersei despised.

The Spider too, was interested in Ranma, although in Varys' case, it was his his decision-making as well as his general character. What made him tick interested Varys rather than his physical skills, which the master of whisperers felt he had a handle on, though he in no way actually did. Varys went about his investigation with all his normal cunning, first attempting to ply the northern men-at-arms with drink and tales of his own, then listening intently, guiding the discussion with the ease of long practice to the topic of Ranma.

Yet he was unable to find as much information as Cersei had gotten. The men of the North were not the most trusting and all of them knew better than to be loose lipped or even drink that much. Their lord might have been at the head of the column and them near the back at that moment, but that didn't mean they were going to take chances.

What he did get was informative but not really what he was after. He learned more about the rather egotistically named wolf-sworn, the bond between heirs of the Northern noble houses that was so close. The soldiers from Winterfell told him that Jon 'Twinblade' was held in high regard among their number, higher than any save Ranma. He learned that the men of Winterfell trusted Ranma and Jon implicitly; both as warriors and as leaders and that the impression he got back at Winterfell was correct: the bastard born was treated almost like part of the Stark family by practically everyone at Winterfell. This was astonishing to Varys, given the history of bastards attempting to grab power from their better born brothers in the past. Bastards were rightly derided for their origins throughout most of Westeros and Essos and feared for the same reason.

In the North, it was slightly different. Bastards were somewhat more accepted in the North, where life was so much harsher, so much colder than elsewhere, where children were precious. Yet even here, bastards were almost never as welcomed as Jon was by the family. It was even more bizarre to give a bastard the power to direct a whelming like the Stark lands were in the process of doing. Catelyn's reaction in particular was astonishing in the extreme, not just in not protesting his being there at all, but in her treatment of Jon Snow.

For a woman to welcome her husband's bastard like that is unheard of save in cases where the woman is barren, but that is most certainly not the case with Catelyn. Indeed, the number of children she's had while still retaining her beauty is astonishing. It is easy to see why Littlefinger is so taken with her even to this day. Hmm… still, I'd best make certain that the boy and Lord Stark are not making a mistake there. Also, I need to figure out Ranma's place, in particular, in the great game. Lord Stark is predictable; his sense of honor makes him easy to plan for and, in some cases, manipulate. His son, on the other hand, surprised me several times while we were at Winterfell. The humiliation of Joffrey and the other three, the speed with which he responded to his brother's fall, his ease with the two younger brats, and his easygoing charisma; all of these I did not see coming before we arrived in Winterfell. There is nothing more dangerous in the game of thrones than a piece whose moves you cannot foresee, Varys thought.

That night, they were forced to camp out beside the road. Thanks to extra horses and pack mules plus fewer stops, they were making better time than the King's party had made on the way north. They hoped to shave at least five weeks off the trip.

The Queen had her own tent with three of her maids, all women who she knew and trusted as much as she trusted any. Myrcella, Sansa, Septa Mordane, and young Tommen shared one somewhat larger tent right next to hers. Joffrey obviously could not share a tent with his betrothed, no matter either child's feelings on the matter, so he bunked with his Uncle Jaime, an arrangement made by his mother. The King, rather obviously, had a smaller tent all to himself, well away from his family. While the children, the Queen, and Joffrey turned in after dinner, Robert and Ned spent several more hours carousing. In actual fact, beyond his normal carousing, the King was trying to take his friend's mind off leaving his family (the majority anyway) with some success, though not as much as he hoped.

Ranma was all for parties but when two girls who he had thought were maids arrived to join the king he retreated, as did his father. Ned withdrew to a tent with Ser Jory Cassel rather than with the king. Ranma, on the other hand disappeared from the camp entirely, showing a surprising amount of stealth, leaving with no one knowing he was there.

Fenris met him eagerly at the edge of the guard's patrols around the camp. The two of them stared at one another for a moment, as Ranma sat in the lotus position and Fenris sat on his haunches in front of him. "Alright Fenris, we've been circling around this whole warg thing, let's see how far we can go…"

OOOOOOO

Cersei never slept well when they were roughing it, although once she did get to sleep it took quite a bit to wake her. None of her children or Sansa snored and, even more fortuitously, her 'loving husband' never even tried to share a tent with her, so it was peaceful at least.

The morning, however, did not get off to a peaceful start for the septa and the kids in the tent next to the Queen. A maid, assigned to wake the children that morning, entered the tent and almost immediately gasped. "EEEK!"

That woke up Tommen and Myrcella both although Septa Mordane was only groggily aware of what was going on, not being of an age any longer where waking up was a simple process. Sansa woke up quickly then groaned aloud at the sight of what had caused the maid to gasp. "Fenris, Lady! You two shouldn't be in here! Bad dogs!"

Lying on either side of Sansa on the ground next to her cot were Lady and Fenris. Tommen woke up, rubbing at his eyes with both hands for a moment then looking at the large wolf lying there. Right inside the entrance, which was towards the foot of the cots, the maid stood with one hand on her chest as she gasped in air from the fright the direwolf had seemingly given her.

Sansa's Lady wasn't nearly as large as her litter mate, still looking like a largish puppy rather than being almost the size of a regular full grown wolf. She was on Sansa's other side from the maid, facing into the tent from the entrance flap, between her cot and that of Myrcella. The younger girl, too, had woken up at the maid's shout. Now she began to giggle, one hand rising toward the friendly and demure Lady to give her a scratch behind the ears. "Oh Sansa, Lady probably just missed you. Didn't you say she always slept on the floor in your room?" Lady's tail wagged, her head lolling to one side under the scratches, causing Myrcella to giggle even more.

"That might explain Lady's presence but not yours, Fenris." Sansa glared at the large direwolf, inwardly wondering how the wolf had grown so large so quickly. Ghost was larger than the others as well, but Fenris was going to be a giant if his growth didn't slow down soon. Sansa hadn't actually realized how large all of the direwolves were going to grow, but she was right: Fenris was going to be a giant even among his breed.

The direwolf looked at her with a surprising amount of intelligence in his eyes. With his tongue lolling out for a moment, he put his paws up on the cot and leaned in. Sansa gasped trying to back away but failing. "Don't you dare?!" Fenris ignored her and began to lick her face. "Gah, Fenris stop it! Get off you big lug!"

Tommen and his sister both laughed, then watched as Fenris backed away, huffing in such a way that it was clear he was laughing at her. "Grrr," Sansa growled a little, then got up. "I just know my brother is somehow behind this."

The maid had gotten over her initial moment of terror and now shook her head in amusement. "Don't worry about it milady, he seems friendly enough at least, not like the pets this one madman from the Summer Islands brought in once. Lizards, ugh."

Sansa looked interested but didn't ask any questions of the maid, who moved forward swiftly into the tent, picking out clothing for the three children while Septa Mordane finally finished waking up, now glaring at the two direwolves. She had never liked even Lady, feeling that a wild animal wasn't a suitable pet for a proper noble young lady. She had never gotten any headway in convincing even Sansa of that, however. The less said of Arya's reaction to that belief, the better.

With a final glare at the two wolves, Mordane pushed herself to her feet with a groan. When the three youngsters began to change, none of them saw Fenris turn away to stare at one of the tent walls.

Outside the tent, Cersei had finished the laborious process of waking up from the large, specially made, cot she used and, upon dressing for the day, exited the tent. As the cold of the morning hit her, she scowled. She hated being cold and, up here in the North, it was always cold. There was even some snow on the ground even in summer. She scowled further when she saw the Stark boy sitting in some odd pose in front of the children's tent. The sight of him simply sitting there, his eyes closed, taking away his most Tully-like feature, brought all Cersei's old hatred against the Starks roaring back to her mind. She moved forward to ask him what he was doing when his large pet rushed out of the tent, followed swiftly by the young Stark girl who proceeded to take him to task.

Ranma broke out of his warg state as Fenris ran up to him, idly cracking his neck, and, only then, began to tune in on Sansa's harangue, which sounded like she was trying to channel the septa, who stood behind her nodding her head with each word. "And it is utterly unacceptable to have your great wild beast in there with us! I know he isn't nearly as wild or dangerous as he looks, but still! And if you think you are going to simply loom in the background to try to scare the Prince off sitting outside our tent like this, you have another think coming!"

The eldest Stark sibling caught his sister's hand as she waved a finger in his face, kissing the back of her hand with a chuckle. If only you knew dear sister. Fenris's native abilities and the strength he seemed to have taken from their bond had made Fenris a very dangerous direwolf already, so much so he had taken out a medium sized bear last night by himself while Ranma was warging with him. A part of Ranma could still feel his teeth ripping out the bear's tendons, then the taste of its meat as it slid down his throat.

He shook it off however and simply smiled at his sister. "Heh, that wasn't my intention Sansa, but now that you say it…" Sansa glowered at him, fighting back a smile at his affectionate gesture and Ranma laughed. "Forgive your brother, dear sister. I'm not really trying to scare Joffrey off." Not really anyway, that just a pleasant bonus. "I just wanted to sleep out under the stars for the evening, and decided to sleep here, that's all."

Sansa frowned at him but Ranma stood up, rubbing her head for a moment. "Now, may I escort you three to breakfast?" Ranma turned quickly, having sensed someone else moving near his side. He bowed gracefully, smirking at the ground before lifting back up, his face composed. "My apologies, Your Grace, I, of course, would have included you if I had noticed you were awake."

Cersei nodded coldly at the boy, though inside she had softened slightly at seeing the two siblings together. Her eyes drifted over to Jaime, who had, as usual, been guarding her own tent during the morning and who was smiling as well. She scowled a little inside, she didn't want to like the Starks or to see them as people, as individuals, rather than the hated enemy. She knew eventually that it would get in her way and she could not afford that. "Very well young man, let us be off."

Ranma's eyes too, had tracked to the Kingslayer for a moment. His eyes locked on Jaime for a moment, sizing the man up, but the moment passed quickly. The two Baratheon children claimed a hand each when Ranma held them out. Sansa followed, walking alongside Myrcella demurely, looking around for her prince.

However, Joffrey had woken up but had not approached them, having been intercepted by his father, who had ordered him to once more ride over the princeling's objections. He was in a very bad mood because of this. After all he was a prince! He wanted to spend time with his fiancée in the carriage but his father had nixed that idea. He also knew that Ranma was somewhat suspicious of him, for some reason, and didn't want to come anywhere near Ranma until he had gotten control of his temper.

Later, after a rather nice meal, the party began to prepare to move on. This was an arduous process given the number of soldiers and servants in the party but still relatively quick, given how organized the servants were. The majordomo for the royal family was a very organized man and had everything running smoothly, despite Robert and his normal group of drinking buddies/hanger's on getting in the way. The Queen, too, got in the way more often than not, though in her case it was her attempts in trying to control the party. Cersei tried to order everyone around, but she ended up simply messing up the order of the packing and the party's controlled chaos.

Robert needed help getting up onto his horse but despite his habitual hangover his eyes were still sharp enough to notice that Ranma wasn't mounting his own horse. "What's the matter lad? Surely you don't need any help to mount, as young and limber as you are."

Ranma rolled his eyes at the question, looking over at his father, who sighed and nodded. "Yes, Ranma you may run."

"Oh thank god." Ranma actually sagged a little with relief. "My legs were going to atrophy at the speed this lot travels!" With that, he reached out, pulling his blade and sheath from his saddle, and strapping it to his back.

"What's this?" Robert asked, looking over at his old friend. He also noticed out of the corner of his eye that the young Stark also had a short hafted warhammer strapped to his horse's saddle. He resolved to see if the boy could use it later in this trip.

"My son gets bored easily and has rather too much energy, which we let him work off by running alongside us." Ned said resignedly. Of course this will also show my son's physical abilities. A show of force can sometimes dissuade your enemies before they act, and I am not so foolish as to assume that all in this party are allies. Most especially not after what happened to Bran and Catelyn!

Ned was, quite frankly, icily furious at the dual assault Ranma had interrupted. He was also grimly certain there was more going on than just his son seeing Greenfield's assignation with a married woman. He didn't honestly think that the Lannisters had anything to do with it. The Queen had too much to lose if she failed and turned the King against her, for no good reason that he could see. They had no real proof of a connection there, despite Lysa's nigh-on insane sounding letter. But Ned felt there might be something else going on, something he couldn't see, and he wasn't about to turn his back on any of the southerners.

"Hah, well, if you want to exhaust yourself, be my guest lad!" Robert laughed.

"You're joking, at this pace? I might just fall asleep anyway." Ranma shot back. Robert laughed again and set off, with the rest of the party starting off as well.

Four hours later, Ranma was still jogging along, easily moving in and out of the column. The reaction of the others in the party was split in vastly different ways along easily discernible lines. The Winterfell men took it in stride, calling him the Young Wolf and other nicknames, laughing and treating it like an everyday affair.

The men-at-arms from the south and the Kingsguard were astonished and amused in turn. Although as the hours wore on and Ranma showed no signs of tiring - or even sweating at all, that turned to more awe and shock. This amused Ranma, after all they were only traveling at a fast walk, which was a rather slow amble to him.

The knights in Lannister colors, however, scowled and muttered amongst themselves, remembering all too well the humiliation that Ranma had handed out on the training grounds to a few of their number. Even the Hound, a pragmatic, hard bitten warrior with no truck with honor or appearances, still seethed quietly from the memory.

The servants were also amused but they had gossiped with their fellows in Winterfell and simply took it in stride. Many of the womenfolk began to wonder about whether that endurance translated to other things, something that had become a favorite topic of speculation among the servants of Winterfell.

Jaime was amused, but not really interested, after all endurance wasn't everything in a fight. He would take speed of hand and eye over pure endurance any day. He resolved to watch the young Stark more closely, but that was all he thought, secure in his position as one of the best blades in the kingdom, a mindset he had fallen into shortly after the end of Robert's Rebellion.

His superior, in every sense of the word, Ser Barristan on the other hand was more observant. He saw the way Ranma ran, every step sure, every movement controlled. The older man simply added this to his growing list of observations. He wondered once more what it would take to get Ranma into the Kingsguard. It had become obvious over their stay in Winterfell that the youth had a lot to offer not just in terms of skill but also in his sense of honor and general demeanor.

Varys, too, watched this and wondered where the endurance came from but didn't care overmuch about it. He wasn't a soldier so didn't think of any of the implications of Ranma's endurance. After all, no matter how dangerous a warrior was, he could only deal with the physical dangers in front of him.

He moved through the column, moving toward where Ranma and his pet were running along easily along the side of the party. "So tell me, young Stark, are you sad to not get the chance to see if you could fill your father's shoes while he was gone?"

Ranma looked up at the fat eunuch on his horse and Varys started, realizing only now that he was close enough to see, that Ranma wasn't even breathing hard. "Not particularly, Varys, though I am more than a little worried that I won't be there to persecute the campaign I can see coming against the wildlings."

The eunuch smiled blandly, not responding to that. He had long come to the conclusion that the youth in front of him and his fellows at least believed the tale of something stirring beyond the Wall. If there was anything behind that, he had yet to discover it. "You must be jealous of your bastard half-brother then." Varys said, choosing his words with malice aforethought. "After all, he is back there getting experience in leading men that should rightfully be yours as he controls the whelming and even the supplies for the campaign. I hear that your father treats him as if he were almost your equal in any case." That part was a lie, there was no hint that Ned had gone that far, Jon was most certainly the follower of the two. But it was true that Jon was treated like part of the family.

Ranma cocked his head, looking up at the eunuch on his horse trying to understand what the man was getting at. "At this point without any chance of battle in the near future, there isn't anyone else I would trust to organize the logistics effort as much as I trust Jon. He's damn good with numbers, he's got a good grasp of geography, and our friends to help him, if he needs them."

"And you have no concerns or worries about him reaching beyond that scope of responsibilities?" the Master of Whispers asked. "There is no one so ambitious as those who stand close, but yet are not, nobility."

Ranma laughed. "Historically that might be the case, but I trust Jon, besides," he leaned forward a little lowering his voice low so that the soldiers around them couldn't hear. "He's absolutely terrified of my mom, we both are. She does this thing with her voice you know…"

Varys continued to listen, frowning thoughtfully internally at how he hadn't gotten much of an answer there. Yet the boy's relationship to his bastard brother was only a small portion of what he wanted to know. This was the first time he had gotten the boy relatively alone, so with the ease of long practice he moved the conversation back to the topic of what might be going on beyond the Wall.

Yet for all the eunuch's subtlety and probing questions, he didn't learn anything new. There was no hint in Ranma's manner that the buildup of the northern forces was for anything but what Lord Stark and Ranma had said from the very beginning, an attempt to reinforce the Wall against wildling invasion. It almost caused Varys to believe them, but he couldn't quite get over his suspicions, coupling the call to arms across the North with the reinforcement of the moat.

It wasn't as if Moat Cailin needed more reinforcement after all, the Spider thought to himself a little morosely. He was no general, but he had eyes and ears, and had heard Robert, Jaime, and Ser Barristan having a conversation about the Moat before they arrived there. Going by what those three said, I would rather take my chances against Harrenhal than attack the Moat. Harrenhal could probably hold out for far longer without reinforcement, yet that's the point, House Reed can reinforce the Moat no matter what an invading army could do. Harrenhal is designed to defend itself, Moat Cailin is built to slaughter any army attempting to attack the North. Why did they reinforce a position already so perilous rather than reinforce an actual weakness such as Deepwood Motte? There must be more to it than simply transport and money issues.

The Master of Whispers was paid by the crown to be mistrustful and this whole thing made him suspicious. On the other hand, the fact that Lord Stark and his heir were coming south actually lessened his suspicion as did the upcoming marriage to the royal family. Still, it worried him. The North hadn't really changed for so long, neither its power structure nor its people, and now they were changing in many ways.

He turned his attention back to the boy and tried to steer the conversation to topics about the boy himself, trying to get a feel for him beyond the tales, stories, and secondhand information he had gained previously. He came away with the impression that the boy had very little in the way of political acumen but he had a certain guile and cunning. Certainly, the boy realized what the Spider was fishing for and began to respond by changing the subject, not giving away any real, concrete information, save for that he was physically skilled above and beyond the norm by a wide margin.

He didn't talk much about the battle against the Boltons when Varys asked. Of his own part in the battle against the wildling ambush, he gave a very brief account while waxing poetically about his friends. Ranma was so adroit at dodging Varys' questions, in fact, that the Spider didn't even realize that there were very large gaps in the tall tale of the battle or that anything supernatural had even occurred.

Ranma looked up after fielding a question about Smalljon's injuries to see in the distance that Castle Cerwyn was now visible over the trees in the distance. "Excuse me," he said politely bowing his head, "but I have to speak to my little sister."

With that, he turned to race back down the column, moving towards the middle of the column where the coach carrying the ladies was moving in stately majesty, or as Ranma saw it, sloth. Ranma shook his head, if they were going to go at this speed the entire way the Kings Landing, it would take them months to get there. And I'll probably die from boredom about halfway, Ranma thought sardonically. I know armies are supposed ta go slow but, as many of us as there are, we aren't an army.

Ranma hadn't been very interested in, well, anything taught at school in his old world but he knew one thing hadn't changed between there and Westeros: the speed pre-industrial armies could move. A good, well organized, and provisioned cavalry unit this size with accompanying carts, which was what this cavalcade resembled, should be able to do sixty leagues a day. That was, of course, on a road like the Kingsroad for the carts, which here was an actual cobbled road with strips along the edge with soft ground for the horses' hooves, not the bare dirt path that it was from Winterfell up to the Wall.

He knew that speed was probably pushing things, but fifty leagues should have been doable, yet Ranma didn't think they were doing more than forty. Thus, a trip that would have taken him barely two hours had taken them two full days, traveling from before sunrise to just after sunset. He had been to House Cerwyn's seat several times so he knew that for a fact. The sun was going down now and they weren't quite there yet. So their speed wasn't bad but was in no way good for a group this size, a little under five-hundred people.

Ranma raced up to the side of the carriage, easily dodging around horses and carts. He ran next to the carriage for a moment, before reaching out to gently knock on the side of it.

One of the windows opened and the Queen looked out at him, one eyebrow raised in shock at seeing Ranma still on his own two feet and running easily. Before she could speak however, Ranma said, "Sorry, Your Grace, but we're coming up to Castle Cerwyn and I believe that Sansa has a present for the lady of the castle. I just wanted to make sure that she had it out and ready."

The Queen kept her eyebrow raised, then regally nodded and turned back to the interior of the coach. Sansa had heard her brother and reached underneath her seat, pulling out a square wooden box about the Queen's arm's length on a side and a hand's width deep. She opened it, and inside was what looks like a very nicely made and well embroidered dress.

Cersei estimated its worth in a single glance. While there were no gold or jewels involved and despite it being made of wool and cotton instead of silk, the work on it was exquisite, far better than she herself could've done, even better than most of the professional seamstresses she used in King's Landing. It was done in tones of light brown and red with white stripes here and there. It looked both warm and beautiful. "Did you do that all by yourself?" she asked, letting her mask of regal distance fall for a moment.

Sansa looked down shyly, but nodded. "I spent most of the last two months working on it and the month before that working on the design and gathering the materials."

For a dress of that caliber and only a single person working on it that was actually very fast work. Cersei nodded in approval. "It looks magnificent." She said candidly, for once not having any ulterior motive in complementing the girl. She was interested, however, to see how the gift was taken and what it meant. The young Stark girl blushed under her praise. They entered into a discussion on styles and materials with Myrcella joining them. Tommen fought back a bored groan, staring down at the small book of fairy tales he had read so often since this trip began.

Outside the coach Ranma continued on, easily catching up to the head of the column. He bowed his head to the King before taking his place next to his father. On the other side of the King, the Prince sat on his horse, trying to look regal and failing, in Ranma's opinion.

But then again, he wasn't really the best judge of such things and he had yet to see anything to make his suspicions about the boy have some basis in fact. I've heard a story once or twice from a few southern men-at-arms about Joffrey and some furry little demon, but they simply mentioned it once and then clammed up, as if it's a secret. Of course Ranma was still laboring under the mental problems caused by the Cat Fist so he had made tracks as soon as the word 'cat' was mentioned. I need something concrete to go with my feelings and the fact Fenris wishes to rip the boy's throat out every time he smells Joffrey if I want to convince Father to break off this stupid agreement between our families.

"Still going strong, lad?" Robert laughed. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it! We've been going since morning, the sun's nearly down now, yet you're still going on! Where do you get your energy?"

"Hard training, Your Grace." Ranma replied loping along easily with Fenris by his side. He shrugged. "Besides, this whole group is moving about as slow as molasses to me."

Robert laughed. "You best get used to moving slow. Large bodies of men always move slow, even if they can live off the land."

He didn't notice how Ranma frowned at that phrase. He knew that the phrase 'living off the land' meant taking what you could from the people who worked it. He also knew that, despite what the king said, an army living off the land actually moved slower than an army that could carry its food with it or supply itself through other means, such as river barges or partisans. Indeed, he had taken the time to work with the maester about logistics in depth and knew that his father had approved of that greatly, given his own experiences during the rebellion. Ned could only too easily remember the gaunt faces of children and other smallfolk who went hungry while his army fed on their fare.

However, what bothered Ranma most about the practice wasn't just the fact it left so many innocent smallfolk hungry if you practiced it but the atrocities that were committed along the way. Destruction of property, murder, and rape were all part and parcel of what occurred when an army had to forage for its own food, even in allied territory. When it was in enemy territory, it became far worse. Ranma had passed through China and Korea many times, after all, and had heard many tales about what the Japanese army had done during their occupation.

Rape was far more accepted in medieval times, such as the era he was currently living in, than in his previous life. But Ranma had not fallen into thinking in the same way as most warriors here. He loathed that act with all his soul, not just as someone who had once changed gender when he was splashed with water, but as a warrior sworn to use his strength to protect those weaker than himself.

"So how fast do you think you could get to Kings Landing alone, boy?" Robert asked, bringing Ranma's mind back to the here and now.

Ranma scowled at being addressed as 'boy', but let it slide for now. He counted on his fingers for a moment, trying to remember distances and geography. "I could probably get there by myself in about three weeks, Your Grace. As it is, it'll probably take us at best three months to get back. I just hope we can go faster, is all."

Robert guffawed. "Trust me lad, if you think the journey's boring, it's nothing compared to the destination. Too much damn talking, not enough drinking, or hunting in Kings Landing. Though, the variety of prey available to another kind of hunt is greater there than on the road!" Robert laughed again.

Ranma bit his lip to keep from saying what he wanted to say and looked over at his father, who sighed with a shrug. Ned, unfortunately, was far too used to Robert's personality quirks and hungers, so took it in stride rather than condemn him. That didn't mean he was going to watch however and had made himself scarce the moment the camp followers began to move towards Robert the evening before.

About two hours after the sun went down, they were finally in front of castle Cerwyn. The castle's gates were opened and the King and his party were greeted warmly, if formally, by the Lord of the Castle, Medger, his daughter, and grandson. His son-in-law was a Flint of Widow's Watch and was away visiting his family.

As soon as the formal part of the greetings was done, the Lord of House Cerwyn turned from the King, reaching forward clasp his Lord's arm. "Ned!" Medger Cerwyn was a slightly older man, four years older than Ned, and shorter with slimmer shoulders. Despite this, he wielded the axe that was a part of his family's symbol.

House Cerwyn and House Stark were so close together geographically both houses knew their friendship had to be strong and every Lord had made it a point to keep it that way. Thankfully their interests lay in different areas and their lands moved away from their castles in different directions. House Cerwyn was more interested in woodcraft, lumber, and moving into the wolfswood to the west. The majority of their holdings lay south and southwest of their castle while House Stark's land lay north and east of Winterfell. The houses did a brisk trade, which had been showing a marked profit from both houses for centuries. The profit had improved even more lately due to suggestions from Lady Catelyn and Ranma.

Ranma had come up with a few ideas of how to transport goods and a way to use water to power saws that House Cerwyn had grabbed with both hands since it had a tributary of the White Knife River only about an hour away from its castle. They used it to send lumber down to White Harbor, the seat of House Manderly and only real city in the North. House Manderly had built over a dozen new ships with the extra lumber, a fleet they added to their trade fleet as patrol ships and trade caravels.

"Lad." Medger reached out to grasp Ranma's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You're looking fit, as always." He laughed, looking over with a wink at his daughter, Jonelle. "If only you were a few years younger, my dear, all this business about you going south for your bride wouldn't have ever come up, Ranma!"

Ranma blushed slightly but Jonelle came forward, smacking her father on the shoulder. "Enough of that." she said mildly. Jonelle was a comely woman, very much in the mold of a proper lady, with a gentleness about her that called to Ranma, speaking to him of memories of Kasumi. Thankfully, she was also married and happily so. Indeed, she was halfway through her third pregnancy. She had lost her oldest son as a baby to a wasting disease but her second son, Cley, was hale and hearty. Cley was of an age with Bran, and he stood next to his mother smiling widely at Ranma as he came forward to exchange greetings with him and Ned.

When Sansa and the Queen came out of the carriage, all of the lord's people bowed to them, somewhat more deeply than they had for the King. But it was very obvious to the Queen that their admiration and respect was charged with more than a little bit of affection for the Stark girl.

Sansa moved forward, exchanging welcoming kisses on the cheek with the lady of the house, nodding with a smile at Cley, who she had met several times. After greeting the lord of the house, she reached behind her to Jeyne Poole, her best friend/handmaiden, who was holding the box with her gift for Jonelle in it. "A, A gift Lady Jonelle, to celebrate the upcoming birth of your child."

The Lord laughed, looking at the dress his daughter held up, shaking his head in wonder. "I'll never get over how good you are with the needle, little lass."

One of his men, a heavily scarred man, yet, with a kindly smile on his face, laughed quietly. "A scarf from the lady is a treasure worth fighting for, but what should be said about a whole dress?"

Sansa blushed a little at that, even more so when all the men-at-arms from Winterfell and Cerwyn as well as the servants of both genders murmured agreement. It had been an idea of Ranma's to give Sansa something to actually do with her skills, and she had given her scarves and other works to many people as gifts and as rewards for outstanding deeds. These deeds were not just for acts of valor in battle, however, they were given to people of all walks in life for performing above and beyond, and had spread well beyond Winterfell. The men of the North disdained frippery and softness, yet Sansa's work was not only beautiful but practical, making them dearly coveted and her much beloved.

Needless to say, the Queen saw all this. There was honest affection there, both in the eyes of the men at arms and the Lords as well as the smallfolk. She had seen it in Winterfell, of course, that all the Starks were well loved by their servants and the smallfolk in the town about the Castle, but she hadn't thought it had extended elsewhere, believing that tale mere exaggeration.

Now, Cersei moved towards her son, leaning in slightly to murmur in his ear. "You see? The girl is not just pretty, the North seems to love her. Marry her, and the North will love you as well. And look at the smallfolk." She nodded her head towards the servants slightly. "If she can create the connection she seems to share with the smallfolk here elsewhere, then the common people will come to love you far more than they do your father." She had to work to keep the sneer out of her voice when she said that last word. After all it wasn't technically true, and, oh, how she loathed Robert.

Cersei had married the man with hope that the match would eventually be, if not love, then at least affection. She had even felt that, maybe if it did, she would stop sleeping with her brother, who she had loved since they had experimented with one another in their youth. She had even gone so far as to orchestrate Jaime's rise to the Kingsguard, so he would never marry and be available for her. But that dream of a true marriage ended swiftly. It ended on their very wedding night, when Robert called her Lyanna as he fucked her. It curdled further when he broke their vows within a week, and she welcomed her brother back eagerly into her bed in revenge.

That evening, while the others caroused and feasted with the King, Ranma and Eddard sat talking with Medger at his table, going over what Ranma had passed on. Of course, there was no chance of House Cerwyn not sending its troops North with those from Winterfell, as close as they were that just made sense. Medger was sending his right hand man, the landed knight Kyle Condon with them as their commander, though of course, overall command of the Wall's defenses would remain with commander Mormont.

Yet, it surprised Varys, who was listening in, when Medger didn't raise any objection to Jon commanding the logistics aspect. Medger seemed to catch his expression and shrugged, laughing slightly. "The Twinblade is well known to us and he's acted as Ned's voice several times. Not as often as this one," he clapped Ranma on the shoulder, "but enough times for us to be used to listening to him. Regardless of Jon's heritage, we trust him." That last was directed at Ned and Ranma, who both nodded.

The Spider frowned, then shrugged and decided to move on from that line of thought. It was obvious that the Northerners felt they had reason to trust the baseborn Jon. Whether or not they were right to do so was something that they would discover in due course.

Ranma wasn't concerned about that at all, of course. Why would he be concerned about what his brother would do, the person who he trusted with most of his secrets. Hell, almost all of his secrets save for the nature of his past life. No, what Ranma was worried about was whether or not Jon and Theon would get along or if Jon would simply kill the Iron Born if he mouthed off once too often. He'd thought of bringing Theon with him, but when he broached the subject with his father and the King, Robert had shot it down. The King didn't want one of 'those pirate bastards' anywhere near him for any long stretch of time.

He'd also brought up the notion of taking Dacey along, with the idea of leaving her with Sansa as a female guard, but his mother had shot that one down, staring at him with one eyebrow raised in such a way that Ranma decided not to bring it up again. It was obvious that Catelyn at least knew there was something going on between Dacey and her son, even if she had no proof. Bringing her along was in no way in keeping with the reason for Ranma's journey south.

House Cerwyn supplied the group with several more wagons, as well as drovers and teams of horses to pull them, greatly aiding their speed heading south to King's Landing. They would be turning back when they came out of the Neck, since here in the North, carts and the animals to pull them were important commodities.

The next morning the King's party set out quickly, giving their farewells and moving on as the sun was rising. Robert wasn't actually in that much of a hurry but Ned wanted to get to King's Landing as fast as he could, the better to begin his duties and look into Jon Arryn's death.

It was a cold morning of course, it always was in the North, but Ranma didn't seem to feel it, standing next to his horse, which again had his weapons on it. He looked up at the horse thoughtfully, then shook his head. He reached out and patted Fenris on the head, shaking his head again. I might have to ride when we get south of the Neck, I doubt southerners would take me seriously if I simply ran along as I'm wont to do, but before that I'm going to make do with my own two feet, thank you so much.

Robert looked over at him, laughing again as he noticed that Ranma was making no move to get into the saddle. He grunted a little as he himself slipped one leg over his mounds back. He nodded his head at the warhammer that hung from Ranma's saddle. "Is that just for show, boy, or do you use that as well as you supposedly can your sword?"

Ranma grimaced yet again at the 'boy' part in that sentence. Genma had called him that far too often, and there was too much of Robert that reminded him of the fat panda as it was.

Quickly he reached forward, pulling the warhammer loose from its holster and swinging it around. He moved to the side, away from the horses around him, and then he began to move. There was nothing in his motion that told of the weapons weight; there was nothing that showed the normal 'smash and bash' style most men who wielded warhammers or maces used. He almost danced as he wielded it, up, down, around, under, over, the warhammer making the air whistle as it moved through intricate shapes around him. Then Ranma stopped easily with the warhammer outstretched, his arm not even shaking under the strain of holding it there, before lifting it straight up then laying it on one of his shoulders.

He then handed it headfirst to Robert, who took it right behind the head, grunting a little under the weight in surprise. "Yes," Ranma said blandly, "I think I can."

Robert lifted the hammer and looked at it, laughing quietly, and then handed it back. "Hah, interesting display, lad, but there's more to the warhammer then being able to make pretty patterns in the air. Let me tell you, I…"

To the side of this, Cersei had watched, her eyes slowly going wider at the display. Jaime, at her side as always, smiled a little caustically. He had always felt that the warhammer was a weapon for those who couldn't grasp the subtleties of a blade but Ranma had made that thing sing, which gave his thoughts the lie there.

He moved forward, clapping Ranma on the shoulder, leaning in slightly so as to whisper, and not interrupt Robert's tale. "Once we stop for the evening, we might want to test those skills of yours. It might be interesting to have a new training partner."

Ranma looked over at Jaime, one eyebrow raised. Jaime somehow felt that the boy was taking his measure, but simply smirked roguishly back. Ranma eventually nodded. "That might be an interesting spar, yes."

He moved off quickly, however, to help the children into the carriage, grandly bowing in such a way that Sansa began to giggle along with Myrcella while Tommen grinned. Joffrey, who was nearby, once again on horseback, bit back a sneer at the sight. Instead he smiled, moving over as if to listen to his father's story, not saying anything but making it seem by his manner as if he felt Ranma and his antics were childish. Behind him loomed the ever present shadow of the Hound, who glared at Ranma, although inwardly he was hoping he would never have to face the boy in a real fight.

Soon the group set off, with Ranma once more easily loping along like the direwolf of House Stark's banner, waving farewell to House Cerwyn.

The cheers for the King and his family were intermingled with a few cheers of 'Young Wolf', and 'House Stark'.

Varys once more resolved to find out what levers the young boy had. It was obvious he was a symbol for the North and, if it spread elsewhere, he would be a powerful tool in the game of thrones.

Cersei heard all this from inside her carriage and frowned slightly. Legends could start anywhere and Ranma's physical skills almost screamed that he was indeed capable of becoming a legend. It remained to be seen what kind, but there was much she could do with such a legend. If I can somehow suborn him... It might be a long shot given he's a Stark, however, it would be well worth it. But first I need to learn why Barristan is so interested in him. If it's for the reason I think, it could represent both a major opportunity and a major danger.

The party continued on their way for about three hours, going somewhat faster thanks to the added carts and horses along with some rearrangements, but not fast enough to keep Ranma from getting bored with the whole affair. Hmm, if I'm bored, Tommy must be catatonic in there with only the girls and, ugh, Mordane the Uptight, for company. Oh, and let's not forget one of the girls is Jeyne the gossip queen. To cut down the number of carriages, which couldn't travel as fast as carts, they had gotten rid of one of the two carriages. Jeyne and Septa Mordane had moved in with the Queen and the youngsters while the other servants had moved to the new carts that House Cerwyn had supplied.

With that thought, Ranma moved backwards through the column, heading towards the carriage at its center. Once again he knocked on the Queen's carriage. The Queen looked out at him and Ranma grinned up at her. "I'm here to rescue your son."

"What?" Cersei asked coldly.

"Well," Ranma replied with a shrug, "he's the only guy in their after all, and I know my sister and her friend. He must be getting bored."

The Queen glared at him, not liking the idea of her son getting any more involved with Ranma, yet at the same time unwilling to shoot it down entirely, seeing it as a way to bring Ranma closer to her sphere of influence. Still, Cersei shook her head. "Under no circumstances am I going to let my son out of my sight."

"In that case, your grace," Ranma said bowing even as he continued to run along, "I'll stay right here beside the carriage."

Cersei looked over at her son, who had been trying and failing to look anything but bored. The girls had dominated the discussion from the beginning, which the Queen had rather enjoyed, especially since she had convinced Sansa to make a dress for her. The young girl had a true talent for it, and she was wondering what the youngster would do with southern styles. Cersei was slowly convincing the girl that she was her friend, to confide in her, and to listen to her while also gently steering the girl's infatuation with her eldest son. Whatever else she may be, Sansa was not a political animal nor was there much guile in her nature. Cersei fanned her infatuation with Joffrey easily.

Yet, Tommen was but a boy of seven, and he had read and reread the books they had brought with them. He was staring at his mother now hopefully. Eventually she sighed. "Very well, but will you be all right carrying him along while running?" Cersei rather liked the idea of a Stark being a beast of burden to one of her sons. Such was the way it should be, of course.

The door to the carriage opened while the carriage and the rest of the King's company continued to move. Tommen looked a little leery for a moment but Ranma quickly reached his hands forward grasping the youngster under both arms and lifting him easily while still maintaining his running speed and set Tommen on his horse, which he had been pulling along.

With that he swung up easily into the saddle, shaking his head down at Fenris. The direwolf was a little irritated that his bond-mate had once again begun to ride on one of those large edible creatures but Fenris put up with it for now.

"Now, Tommy, would you like to hear a story as we go along?" Tommy nodded eagerly. Ranma smiled then began this story as he did most of them. "In a land far away there lived a pigtailed warrior, whose father was not the most honorable sort…"

OOOOOOO

The moment that Ranma and the others were out of sight, Arya had turned and raced back into Winterfell, heading straight through the keep an up to Ranma's room to find the present he had left her. Jon had seen this and nodded over to Dacey. "We'll be right down, get ready to head out now. I doubt Arya's going to want to wait a single moment." Dacey nodded, sipping at a large steaming tankard of something, possibly some kind of tea, while Jon looked over at Theon. "Are you going to join in?"

Theon shook his head. "I volunteered to go out with the hunting parties to restock our larders." He laughed. "The King might've been fun, but he damn near ate us out of house and home."

Jon groaned aloud. "I know that well enough, I'll have to work with the seneschal and Lady Catelyn most of today to add up the cost of it all."

"Better you than me." The Iron Born said rather cheerfully, enjoying Jon's discomfiture.

To one side, Roger and Osha were on a pair of horses, both of them heavily armed. There had been some mutters about that, allowing a wildling spear-wife to go around armed, but the connection between the two of them was as visible as it was surprising. Osha sometimes muttered about it being against the wildling way for Roger not to have to steal her away but it was obviously a front. She seemed to greatly enjoy being 'romanced' by the younger man rather than ravished.

Jon smiled at the two of them. "So you're leaving now then? I would love to be a fly on the wall when you introduce your new bride to your lord father."

The wildling woman scoffed, muttering about silly soft squatter's ways, but she did so with a smile on her hard, experienced face. For whatever reason, the older woman was quite taken with Roger, possibly his youth and enthusiasm appealed to her, or possibly it was the fact he took the time to please her rather than take his own pleasure. Whatever the case, they were together, and still heading further south, which suited Osha just fine.

Roger laughed. "Ah, but as a second son, I can marry whoever I wish, my father will just have to lump it." He reached down to clasp hands with Jon. "I'll tell my father the tale of what we faced and, also, that our house isn't a part of the whelming. Regardless, if we can convince him, we'll be calling up our men-at-arms and preparing, just in case we are called upon."

House Ryswell was the noble house of the Rills, the somewhat verdant area between the barrowlands and the Stony Shore and they were looked to for protection from both those areas with the decline of House Dustin. With no issue or chosen heir, the future of Dustin had been in flux for years and Ryswell had grown in strength to fill the vacuum, since Lady Barbrey, the widow of House Dustin, was Lord Rodrick Ryswell's daughter.

Ryswell was known for superb light cavalry and decent heavy cavalry, matched in the North only by Houses Manderly and Dustin, the last of which could no longer field the numbers it once could. As such, even if called, they would be of little use on the Wall in the initial stages of what both Jon and Roger felt was going to be an extensive campaign.

"That's good to hear, but keep them home for now, I pray you." He paused, thinking how to put his feelings into words. "There is much opportunity in turbulent times. Ranma and I both got the impression that there might be… something going on down south, although we have no idea what. Keep them at home and ready, just in case, but don't be stuck on the idea of sending your forces to the Wall."

Roger blinked at that, not having spent much time in the presence of the southerners, outside of the nightly feasts. Still, he nodded. "I'll trust your judgment on that, but I don't think my father will be moved by vague warnings and feelings." With a final farewell Roger and his bride-to-be turned and rode out of Winterfell, making first for the town of Torrhen's Square, and then home to House Ryswell's seat.

Jon watched them go for a moment then walked away, entering the central keep. He paused a moment on his way after Arya to check in with Lady Stark in her vigil in the infirmary. Rather than the one guard or two that had been assigned there during the King's stay, they were four men at arms outside the doorway now. This might've been something like locking the door after the horses had all fled but no one was taking any chances with Bran's life or the life of the Lady and her unborn child.

Catelyn motioned him closer, her jaw was still sore so she was barely able to open it in order to speak and even that movement bothered the bruises she had taken to her face. "When you start your work with the seneschal, bring the work here and we will go over it together."

Jon bowed his head. "I'll do so right away." he said correctly interpreting her look as a 'this is something important' look. "I have one small task to do first however."

Nor was the King's stay the only drain on Winterfell's normal resources. They were also home, at the moment, to nearly two-thousand men-at-arms called up from around the family's lands and more from House Cerwyn would be arriving with Ser Kyle and Lady Jonelle tomorrow.

Rickon was looking forward to seeing Cley again, as well as seeing the Lady, understanding that she would be taking care of them for a while as his mother healed from all the bruises on her face. The sight of that had made the youngest stark very angry, which translated into Shaggydog being very angry, snapping at all and sundry, causing the other wolves to sit on him hard, literally, in Fenris's case when he was around.

With a final nod, Jon sped off, wanting to grab Arya before she could race off with her gift.

OOOOOOO

Arya had quickly made her way to Ranma's room, ducking underneath the bed, eagerly looking around, almost immediately finding what she sought. She pulled out a long slim wooden box, a little shorter than a grown man's arm. She almost bounced excitedly in her position on the floor as she pulled it out, opening the top quickly.

She gasped aloud at the sight of what lay beneath. Within was a sword, the style of which she had never seen before. The blade was very long and flexible looking, curved just slightly, and had a wickedly sharp looking edge and point. The hilt was large enough for both of Arya's hands at the moment, but she knew she would eventually be able to wield it in one. She pulled it out reverently, noting the lines on it and the heft, staring down at the barely perceptible swirls of color in the metal of the blade.

The sword was designed from Ranma's memory of the kodachi style of katana from his old life. The name had meant nothing to anyone here and he hadn't used it, of course, but even so the thought of it had often brought a wry smile to Ranma's face, remembering the crazy martial arts gymnast who had dogged his steps so often.

Arya had been doing strength training with Ranma for nearly as long as she could walk and she was much stronger than she looked, almost as strong as a trained man-at-arms. She whistled, whipping the sword around ecstatically, first with both hands and then with one, getting a sense for it, loving how it felt in her hands. "I name you Fang!" she shouted excitedly, looking at it.

"Ranma designed it." Jon said from the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed smiling despite his rather stern demeanor at the moment. "I paid for it, Ranma designed it, and we both chipped in to purchase the various metals for it."

It cost both boys a lot actually, simply because Ranma had been very finicky on what he wanted and how he wanted it done. Ranma didn't know very much about metallurgy or what was necessary for blade, but he had read at one point that the Japanese used a different mixture to create their blades than anyone else did and some of the mixture had stayed with him. All three of them, the two of them and the blacksmith, worked together to create the blade in secret over the last few months, getting it ready for Arya's birthday.

It had taken them that long to get it right, the heat needed, the constant folding and hardening, the fact they had to experiment to get the mix of different metals right, all of it had taken a lot of time. It had been a very interesting experience for the blacksmith and he had taken to experimenting with different mixes of metals to see if he could create broadswords with the same basic premise, although the folding, tempering, and annealing aspects took far too long to make it viable for most weapons. Still, the final result was almost exactly what Ranma had envisioned and Jon had already commissioned him to make two other blades of like size for him.

Jon strode forward quickly as Arya began to swing the blade again, grabbing her hand where it held the blade, his face stern. "It's not a toy. It isn't something you're going to be allowed to whip out and threaten someone with, okay? This is a weapon, a tool for killing other people. So long as you treat it with the respect that task demands, you will be allowed to keep it. But if you do not, if you play with it, brag about it, or otherwise misuse your 'Fang', I will take it from you."

Arya looked a little rebellious, but eventually nodded. Ranma always went on about the duty of the Lord to his people as had their father, and this was simply an extension of that. "So will you be training me?"

"Eventually yes," Jon nodded in reply. "Unfortunately, today I have to do the paperwork for the King's visit." He scowled a little. "No wonder he was so fat, all those damn feasts cost us more than we use in a year in a matter of days. Dacey, however, is going to take you out to the woods on a hunting trip, just the two of you. That shouldn't arouse anyone's suspicions. She'll start training you in this blade this morning."

Arya nodded, that made sense. Dacey had become her confidant in many ways. She was a warrior woman from a warrior clan who knew that she was unusual, yet refused to be cowed, something Arya respected a lot. Besides, this would give me a chance to grill her again about her relationship with my big brother. She smirked a little at that, she wasn't one for gossip but she was dying to know the answer to that one. Although why everyone was so concerned about it, she didn't know. All that mushy love stuff sort of went right over her head, really. "Do you know how many days it will take for a new septa to arrive?"

When she had heard Mordane was going south with those sent with the Starks to set up their household down in King's Landing, Arya had danced a little jig in the privacy of her room. In public, she had tried to keep her elation inside but had failed miserably to anyone who knew her. Luckily, her mother was so busy with Bran that she hadn't even noticed that the septa had left.

"We're not going to bring in another teacher for the time being. Lady Jonelle will moving here in a few days. She'll be arriving with their portion of the force that's going North and will stay here while Ser Kyle takes command of the men we're sending to the Wall. Lady Jonelle will take over your womanly studies."

Arya's eyes glittered at the idea of what was going to be happening soon further north and a part of her desired to go with the army. Jon read her mind however and shook his head sharply. "No! Not only no, but no chance in hell! In point of fact I'm going to check and make damn certain that you are in your room or wherever you are needed to be when the troops leave. The Night's Watch is not made up of honorable, decent people, Arya. Most of them are thieves, cut purses, bandits, and rapists. Remember the song 'Brave Danny Flint'! You're strong, and I'm not saying you can't defend yourself against one person or maybe even two, but what about ten or twenty? Even Dacey had some issues while we were there and her great uncle is the commander of the Nights Watch."

Indeed, Dacey had been accosted several times and, once or twice during their brief stay on the wall, had been cornered by a group of the Night's Watch but her skill with the sword was such that she had been able to fend off the few forceful advances. The fact that her great uncle was the commander had stayed most of them.

Arya looked rebellious but under Jon's stern glare nodded. "Fine," she muttered, "should I go and meet Dacey now?"

"First, figure out a way to hide your sword." Jon said with a laugh. "And by all the gods old and new, please keep it a secret from your mother!"

Arya nodded fervor in agreement that and looked around, wondering if she should grab one of Ranma's cloaks and use it. Jon patted her on the head and walked out, still chuckling.

Moments later, Arya left as well, heading out to meet up with Dacey, who had already readied two horses and was standing giving some orders to Hodor, patting the simple giant on his shoulder. "The horses we rode here from Hornwood look good. One or two of them need their hooves reshod, however, so if you could take them over at some point to the blacksmith and have that done?"

Hodor smiled brightly. "Hodor."

"Good." Dacey smiled, patting his shoulder again and turning to the youngest Stark girl. "I hear you have a new toy you wish to try out? Why don't you grab your bow and arrows, that'll add to the deception. Is that it?" She nodded her head at the bundle of what looked like one of Ranma's cloaks that the girl was carrying.

"Well," Arya responded in a loud voice, sounding a little defensive, "I like it, besides its cold out, and he's not here to object, so..."

Dacey smiled appreciatively at the girls attempt to cover the reality of what she was carrying and simply reached over. Arya seemed a little reluctant to pass her sword along, but eventually did so then ran off to grab her bow and quiver. When she came back Dacey raised an eyebrow in query. "Do you need help getting up onto the horse?"

Arya glared at her, grabbed the saddle and jumped up, swinging herself upwards even further, and into the saddle. She threw her hair back, glaring at the older woman. Dacey laughed, then flicked her stirrups, urging the horse to begin moving.

OOOOOOO

"Ah, there you are, Quartermaster Bastard!"

Jon turned and stared at the man who had just shouted that title, Tyrion, the Lannister Imp. Where in the mouth of anyone else the word bastard would've simply been a curse, coming from Tyrion it was both a curse and a strange sign of respect, for some reason. There were stories about how the Imp had been treated by his father, who apparently blamed him for the death of his mother. It seemed to have given him a more neutral stance towards those of baseborn birth.

Moreover, Tyrion had a sense of humor that was starkly at odds with the contemptuous, cold disdain the rest of the Southerners often times showed those of the North when the King wasn't around and they had to be on their best behavior. Most of his jokes were bawdy in nature, which is probably why Theon got along with him much more than Jon did, but even so Tyrion was a surprisingly likable sharp tongued devil. "Where did you get the rank from, and if I am Quartermaster Bastard, does that make you General Imp?

"Not a rank I would be qualified to, unless of course it was an army of whores. General Whore-master that's me!" Tyrion chuckled then stood in front of Jon, his face becoming serious. "When are we leaving for the Wall?"

Jon scowled. "I won't be going to the Wall, unfortunately, but Ser Condon will be arriving in a few days, after that you all should be leaving almost immediately." John felt he had a right to be angry, he wanted to go to the wall, but he had to stay here thanks to his promise to look after the family. He honestly didn't think that there would be any danger here in Winterfell for them, but a promise was a promise. "I will say you should be prepared to make yourself useful both on the march and on the Wall. Here in the North we don't have much truck with people who cannot do their share."

Tyrion nodded, still far more serious than was his wont. "Oh, don't worry about that, I've thought up quite a few little toys I think the wildlings will positively love to play with." One of Jon's eyebrows rose in surprise, and Tyrion took that to mean he should explain. "You see, I've thought up a few new designs for…"

OOOOOOO

After his discussion with the Imp concluded, Jon spent the rest of the day with Lady Catelyn in the infirmary going over the paperwork and bills from the King's visit. The larder was badly depleted, even though the King had loved to go out and hunt for the evening meals, and the wine cellar was barely a quarter of the size it had been beforehand. This included most of the expensive wines but luckily none of Winterfell's residents were big wine drinkers. The ale was more of a loss, but one they could make good, over time.

That was easy enough, the wages needed for the servants and smallfolk that they had brought in to help out the normal castle's servants was another matter, one that the Lady Catelyn had several very firm views upon in many cases, pointing out many that should have their pay docked for various infringements, and passing on the tale of two thieves that had been caught by the majordomo.

When called in about those, the man replied firmly that the Lady Catelyn had remembered it correctly and also suggested a few others be added to the castle's full-time staff. A few were given full-time jobs, but Jon noted down their names as people that he might wish to have investigated in the future on the sly. He well remembered Ranma's injunction to search out any possible spies and get rid of them.

The job was interminable but thankfully it was finished by the time the sun was going down and Jon was able to greet the returning hunting parties, smiling faintly at seeing the amount of game they had brought in. Rickon stood next to his older brother, absentmindedly leaning on Shaggydog's side, the puppy was growing far faster than Rickon, which the boy thought rather unfair. He smiled up at Theon. "Take me with you next time?"

Theon shook his head, smiling a little condescendingly at the younger boy. He hadn't really made any time for any of the Stark youngsters, concentrating on Ranma almost to the exclusion of everything else. Not, he thought to himself darkly as he looked over at Jon, that it actually seemed to change my position in the pack as it were. "I don't think so, sprog, you're a little short for this work."

"A good hunt." Jon nodded cordially. He moved over to help unload Theon's horse, which bore a dead stag on the back. Jon wondered idly if that was a symbol of anything to come, just like the dead direwolf bitch and the corpse of the stag that had gored it. For the moment however, he put that aside and leaned in to whisper, "I have a little job I want you to do this evening, one that I think you are uniquely suited for."

Theon growled a little, not liking the idea of being ordered around by the baseborn boy. But he knew that Ranma had given him some kind of task plus he was also in charge of the whelming and organizing the logistics aspect. He wouldn't go with the troops of course, that task would be led by Ser Kyle Condon of House Cerwyn, who would command a third of the wall's defenders, under the overall command of commander Mormont. One of the other two commanders would be Greatjon's uncle, an old man with a lot of experience, the patience of a rock, and a hatred for all wildlings. Added to this, Lord Karstark was sending his firstborn son up with his own ready force, a mix of seven-hundred infantry and archers, a powerful force indeed, one which only House Umber and House Stark equaled, or in House Stark's case, exceeded.

As well-known as Jon Twinblade was, they still couldn't put a baseborn son over the command of a seasoned commander from a noble house or the firstborn son of one of the most powerful noble houses in the North. He was still in charge of the logistics, however, at least in Stark land, which had in recent years become something of the breadbox of the North. He had helped both Ranma and Ned set up that portion of the campaign and hoped to receive, in a few days, a positive reply to a message Lord Stark sent the night before to Lord Manderly.

"Tonight," Jon murmured, "I want you to go around and search the rooms of all of the servants that came with the King or that house our new hires. In fact, search some of the older ones as well, if you think you need to."

Theon looked at him quizzically, for once putting aside his dislike for the bastard born to ask quizzically. "Why? What am I looking for?"

"You know that Varys the eunuch is Master of Whispers, we never learned why the hell he was here. Both Ranma and Lord Stark were rather suspicious of that. I don't want any spies here, regardless if they're for the King or some faction of the court."

Theon nodded and quipped, "Never trust a spider."

That evening Theon got to work, moving through the keep as adroitly as he ever did when going out to wench or meeting one of the servants in the castle for a tryst. He knew precisely where he was going, too, seeing as he had flirted with two of the three new servants and knew exactly where their rooms were, as well as their work schedule. Right now, all three of the new servants were supposed to be in the kitchen or the larder so their rooms would be unoccupied. Of course, they shared the rooms with a few of the servants brought in to help with looking after the Kings party, but the locals had mostly already left for home.

Theon opened the first door quietly, looking around the corridor to make sure he was not being observed, then moved in, opening the door quietly and making as little noise as he could. Once inside the room of the first servant he was investigating, Theon looked around, moving swiftly now. He looked underneath the bed and in the one dresser as well as behind it. Carefully he brought up a small thief's lamp that he had taken from the stables. This special kind of lamp only let out a small sliver of light, blocking out the rest of it behind metal sides.

It and the small stream of light given off by an opened murder hole high up in the outer wall of the room, which was on the second story of the keep, allowed him to see what he was doing. Revealed by the light of the lamp, wedged halfway up the back of the dresser between it and the wall, there were a few papers, stuck there by what looked like a tiny bit of wax. He had to actually move the dresser to do anything more than see them down inside the crack which he did reluctantly, moving it as quietly as possible. One done he took his belt knife, peeling off the wax that held the papers there.

Once that was done Theon held up the papers underneath the beam of moonlight, reading them quickly. They were in some kind of code, but the placement of them made them suspicious all by itself, so he reasoned it really didn't matter what they said. He stuffed them into his jerkin.

A sudden thought however made him lay down for a moment on the floor, looking underneath the dresser as he very carefully tipped it back. Revealed underneath was what looked like a large stack of coins, tied tightly in cloth and stuck there by some more wax.

Theon smiled tightly, and reached forward quickly, whistling a little at the weight of the roll of coins as he broke the wax holding it in place. The roll was longer than his two fists pressed together, and by the diameter held gold dragons. Once he put it in his pouch, Theon carefully moved the dresser back to its former position before exiting the room, moving onto his next target, a smile still on his face.

The next target didn't have anything in the room, one of the larger servant's quarters which was the living quarters of eight male servants, all of whom were busy at this point in time. He made a thorough search, and found nothing, or at least, nothing incriminating. Theon found a few amusements, including what looked like the lace pantie of a highborn lady stuffed behind one of the dressers, but that was all.

His third stop, however, yielded the most incriminating results. This room, which four maids shared, was in one of the corners of the keep with two larger murder holes up high on both of the outer walls. This allowed Theon to see much better. They also let in the air, which was probably a good thing considering what he found. Underneath the bed closest to the arrow slits, was a small cage with three doves inside it. Looking at them with the light of his thief's lamp Theon frowned, seeing that one of them already had a small roll of paper stuck to one leg. "Never trust a spider." he muttered, chuckling now as he moved out of the room carrying the cage under one arm, heading straight for the infirmary.

Within an hour, the two servants had been rounded up, and brought to stand before the Lady Catelyn, who nodded at Ser Rodrick, the master of arms. The older, slightly rotund man began to question them sharply with the aid of the majordomo, an acerbic and thin-faced fellow with a very stern manner. Presented with the evidence, neither could explain themselves. After several minutes of being questioned, one of them came clean, saying who had paid them. "We weren't supposed to look for secrets or anything, just general information. Lord Varys just wanted to know what was going on here, you know, keep an eye on things, make certain the whelming was doing well, make certain nothing big happened that could worry the country as a whole." Despite trying to put their spying in the best light, this went over about as well as a lead weight in a swimming contest.

Ser Rodrick moved over, leaning down to listen as the Lady Catelyn whispered into his ear, then turned to them. "Needless to say your employment is canceled. By all rights, we should be taking this money from you and kicking you out with nothing but the clothes on your backs. But we won't do that, if you can tell us if there are any more of the Spider's 'little birds' here."

The woman who seemed to be the spokesperson for the duo shook her head. "Lord Varys tried to set up a more permanent group, but he couldn't suborn any of his normal targets, and your regular servants are extremely loyal."

Jon and Theon exchanged a glance and Jon shook his head slightly. They weren't going to take the woman's word for that and Theon would continue his searches. The Iron Born sighed a little dramatically, unhappy at having to give up his nightly wenching for this.

Again Sir Rodrick leaned in to listen as lady Catelyn whispered to him, manfully ignoring the fact that she was wincing as she did so, as any movement of the mouth or face paining her. He turned back and replied formally. "Very well, I will have two of the guards show you out of the castle. Where you go from there is your own concern and we will be taking two-thirds of the gold we found. The rest you can split between you, we care not how."

After the duo was escorted out, Jon turned Theon. "It's well known the Spider normally uses two groups for his spying normally, whores and beggar boys. We don't have many beggar boys in the North but check with the whores, just in case."

Theon laughed. "I'll do that gladly but I don't think he'll have had much luck. The whores here in the North are mostly Northerners, after all, and they don't have much truck with Southerners." They hadn't liked Theon at first either, even as a client, but the amount of coin he was willing to lay down to lay down with them, had changed their opinions of him.

"Do it anyway." Jon said shrugging. As Theon left with a jaunty wave, Jon turned back to Lady Catelyn. "So, what was that about? Normal politics, the eunuch just doing what he sees as his job, or something else?"

Lady Catelyn frowned, then shrugged, and glanced over at Bran. The boy hadn't stirred even once since the maester had worked on him and seeing his younger brother like that made Jon's eyes narrow in anger. Still he kept a level head. "I'm not certain that there is a connection there, my lady." He continued hastily as Catelyn glared at him. "I'm not saying there isn't but we don't have proof."

The worried mother held his gaze for a moment then sighed and nodded her head, looking away as she began to gently stroke Bran's hair. Jon caught Ser Rodrick's eye, nodding his head towards the door, and the two men made their way out.

Theon had actually waited for the two men outside in the corridor. "I had a thought, it's pretty obvious that something or another is going on down south. Is there any way we could set up a spy network of our own?"

Jon paused, considering. "Honestly, the idea is a good one, but I have no idea how we would go about doing that. We don't have anyone here who has that kind of skill set."

The master-at-arms nodded. "You need to remember, also, that rumors and tales are one thing, sifting through to the truth is a skill that can only be developed by doing. We could contact the Lady Catelyn's father, he could pass on anything he learns, but other than that…" The older man shrugged.

"Maybe Lord Mannerly might have a better idea," Jon shrugged in turn, "but for now there's nothing we can do about that. It's not as if we're suddenly going to meet someone who'd be willing to help us set up a spy network of our own, is there?" The trio of men laughed at that, and moved off in separate directions.

That evening, Jon called Arya into his room, along with Nymeria. He had decided not to have this discussion with Rickon just yet, the boy was so young, his mind and will so unformed, Jon feared what could happen if he warged with his direwolf. "I have something to tell you Arya, something that Ranma passed on to me before he left. You see…"

OOOOOOO

Dominic looked up from strumming his balalaika as Viserys asked him a question. Since he had become part of the exiled Targaryen's 'court', the bard had become used to being asked questions randomly. The fact of the matter was that the Targaryens hadn't lived in Westeros since Viserys was a babe, so didn't really have a handle on how it had changed since their father's death and Robert Baratheon's successful rebellion. And as much as Illyrio had aided them in terms of money, food, and a base of operations, he also, didn't have a good grasp on the people of Westeros or the power brokers, beyond the most powerful. He had been with them over a month now and every day for two hours or so, he would tell them what he knew of Westeros, from its customs to its towns, although most of what he relayed was about King's Landing and the court

They showed an appalling lack of understanding, in point of fact, though Daenerys was quite a bit better at overcoming her ignorance than her older brother. Viserys seemed to be under the impression that what he already knew was always spot-on, so that when Dominic agreed with him it was obviously correct and if he disagreed, it was the bard that was wrong. Thankfully, he also seemed to realize that there were certain areas where he was completely ignorant and in those areas he was willing to listen to actual advice.

This hadn't changed Dominic's initial opinion of him, however. He still felt that Viserys was an opinionated, self-righteous, embittered ass with far too much anger and hate fueling his bursts of rage that were all too easily seen as something coming from the Targaryen line.

Daenerys, on the other hand, had surprised him. Yes, she was mousy, yes, she was quiet, but there was a bright sparkling intelligence behind that and a hard will just waiting to come out. She listened intently and he could see the gears in her head moving sometimes.

That wasn't helping Dominic figure out what Viserys had asked however. "I'm sorry, your grace, my mind was elsewhere. What was the question?"

The boy scoffed, but didn't comment. He had become somewhat used to Dominic saying that line in order to gather his thoughts before answering, although sometimes it was just fact rather than a desire to retain more time. He hadn't yet figured out the trick to tell which it was. "Are there any houses among the Stormlands that we could call upon, any who remember the line of their true king?"

Dominic went back to strumming his balalaika, but his eyes were still locked on his interlocutor. "It would depend on what you mean by 'call upon'. There are a few houses in the Stormlands that are not as loyal to House Baratheon as they should be, though whether or not that is because of lingering loyalty to your house or because they chafe under the somewhat distant and rather… soft rule of Renly Baratheon I cannot say."

"Tell me about him," the boy said eagerly leaning forward. "Have you met the youngest Baratheon?"

"Actually, I have once, during the Iron Born rebellion. I met all three Baratheon brothers really, albeit at different times." Dominic smiled thinly in remembrance. "Renly always struck me as a bit of a popinjay, more concerned with words and appearances, he's no real warrior, nor a general. Mind you, he has access to many such and does have a certain charisma and likable nature that can draw others to him. The upper ranks of the Stormlands nobility are loyal to him, the middle rank and the smallfolk, not so much. When I was there, I got the impression they sort of hold him in mild contempt or dislike, simply for how much time he spends at court and in the Reach. If you can produce a strong enough showing that he can be convinced facing you would be disastrous, he may bend the knee easily enough. I am uncertain how loyal he will be, however, unless you can make it personally profitable for him. As long as Robert is alive even that won't happen."

Viserys nodded thoughtfully, his eyes going to Illyrio. The magister was stroking his oiled and trimmed for a moment, then he nodded, agreeing with what Dominic had said. Viserys turned back to the bard. "As long as we are on that cursed family, what of Stannis?"

"Stannis is a very stern, unyielding sort of man, very much a bitter person I felt at the time. Law-abiding as well, yet I also think somewhat ambitious. Don't quote me on that." Dominic finished hurriedly. "It was just an impression I got. He always seemed angry, I presume because he was shunted aside to Dragonstone. I can see his point really, as the oldest he should have been made the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, not Renly. Dragonstone is small and almost unimportant despite it's strategic position. He is also somewhat unhappy in his marriage, although that is more rumor than most information I share."

He directed his next words at the merchant, looking over at the fat man who was lounging on a divan with a glass of wine in one pudgy hand. He kept a careful eye on the man, wondering how this next part would be taken. "Besides that, he's still the Master of Ships and, if you intend to invade the Western lands, you might have to deal with him one way or another. I would say regardless of what force you bring to bear, meeting him at sea would be a recipe for disaster. If the Iron Born, sailors and raiders all, could not do that, then you would have little chance of succeeding. Dragonstone as well is a tough nut to crack. I am uncertain what forces you have at your disposal but throwing them at such a fortress would be a poor first choice."

"Such talk is months in the future." the master merchant said blandly, sipping at his wine. "I have been discussing where to find a force we can call upon to aid our liege's eventual triumphant return, yet such plans are like wines, they need time to mature. "Now, what of the Reach? It is well known as possibly the most powerful of the lands of Westeros."

"There you will once more have to take my words with a grain of salt." Dominic replied shrugging. "I haven't been there in several years and I only stayed there for a few months. I will say that the noble house that rules it, the Tyrells, are well loved by its people, both of their own house's smallfolk and the rest of the Reach. They have a distinct level of animosity with those of the House of Dorne, however, which could possibly be exploited if the Dornish Marches were not now counted among the Stormlands. I think one or two of their houses along the borders with that land chafe under House Baratheon's rule, but I am uncertain if that is the case. House Swann, for example, is an old and very powerful house, with a very cautious ruler, yet his sons are both known to be personally ambitious, so perhaps some headway could be made there. But in the Reach itself, House Appleton is one, but House Florent is possibly the most important… target. They believe, like House Tyrell, that they are descended from the old Reach kings, and they are a powerful house. Ambitious as well, though a daughter of their house is married to Stannis, her name escapes me at the moment. Still, something could possibly be done there…"

Illyrio nodded understanding what Dominic was saying. Ambition was exploitable and, if nothing else, backing that house might force Tyrell to look closer to home than was otherwise the case. Dominic went on. "I would also tell you to fear House Tarly. Its lord, a man by the name of Rendyll, is known as one of the most dangerous generals in Westeros, and a ruthless one as well. Tarly is loyal to Tyrell, but if you can sway Tyrell…" He shrugged.

"Is House Hightower still the most important of the noble houses of the Reach?" Daenerys asked quietly. She wilted a little under her brother's glare for speaking out of turn but Dominic noticed that she didn't wilt nearly as much as she had when Dominic had first met her.

"I was just getting to that and yes milady." Dominic nodded his head. "House Hightower is very important, as is Oldtown and the Citadel it guards. I think that they can field something like six thousand men-at-arms alone and that is without the manpower of the town. Moreover, their reputation is an honorable one. The White Bull was from that house and they still well remember the honor that he won them. I have never heard any say that Ser Gerold was anything other than an honorable knight, and his example is held in veneration in Oldtown."

"Bah!" Viserys scoffed. "If he was so honorable, why was he not with my older brother at the Battle of the Trident?"

"No one knows my lord, save he fell in Dorne somewhere and had something to do with guarding the body of the kidnapped Lyanna Stark."

"She was not kidnapped!" Viserys exclaimed angrily. "My brother wanted to practice the ancient right of polygamy allowed to House Targaryen! The Stark bitch went with him willingly!"

"Again, my prince," Dominic replied sternly, biting back angry words at the disrespect laid on Lyanna, who was still hailed as one of the fairest of ladies to ever grace the North, "I am simply saying what all men of Westeros know. All the lands know that he was besotted with Lyanna and stole her away in the night. The fact that she died under his care is a mark against Rhaegar your highness, though how that came to be is not known."

"In your opinion," the merchant cut in before Viserys could blow up further, thoughtfully sipping at his wine between words, "would the Reach welcome the Dragon Dynasty back? It's well known that they were loyal until the last, so all this talk about secondary houses is premature."

"To deal with House Tyrell, you must deal with the Queen of Thorns," Dominic said shaking his head. At their quizzical expressions he laughed. "Your pardon, it is a nickname for the family grandmother, Olenna Redwyne, who is ambitious in the highest degree and very active in the political scene. Mace Tyrell is simply a figurehead for her in many ways. You would have to convince Lady Olenna that there was profit in it for the family. I don't believe she is a particularly loyal individual, she looks towards the bottom line as it were."

"So it should be with all people." the merchant replied blandly, the light of the candles in their sconces glittering on his gold rings.

Viserys on the other hand, growled a little angrily, slamming his hand down on the table in front of him setting the cutlery of their nightly snack to rattle. "They should be loyal to my family! All of them should, we were their rulers for centuries. It was our dragons that united Westeros, which created the Iron Throne in the first place!"

"And you did so through fire and the sword, which is how Robert took the crown from you in turn." Dominic said blandly, getting tired of this argument. "Yes, that was a long time ago but you don't have dragons now, do you?"

For a moment, he thought he saw something in Illyrio's eyes, a certain hidden amusement, but whatever it was, he couldn't discern its cause. Instead he turned his attention back to Viserys. "You won't be able to appeal to the righteousness of your rule, not after the mad King did all he could to ruin your family's name.

Both Targaryens stiffened a little at that. Daenerys looked almost sad while Viserys looked apoplectic. Yet, he had learned not to argue with the bard. At the moment, he was still a necessary evil in his mind, having a lot of knowledge that they could use.

Dominic went on, seeming not to notice their varied reactions. "There might be a few houses here or there, even outside Dorne, that would declare for you. You'll have to appeal to their loyalty, personal loyalty. For the rest, you must appeal to their self-preservation instincts or self-interest. Self-interest means you would have to appeal to them and their need for power, although I would hasten to say that friends bought are often times enemies down the road."

"Outside of Dorne, where could I look to for allies?" Viserys asked, looking a little surly but still continuing the discussion. " Allies, I mean, who would be loyal to our house."

"The lady touched on one," Dominic said bowing his head towards Daenerys. "House Hightower is one major possibility. There are a few minor houses of the Reach and certainly in the Crownlands that you could appeal to for loyalty's sake, although how much of a force they would be I don't know. Ambition-wise," he paused thoughtfully, "that is a dangerous road, but several houses minor could be used in such a way. I have already mentioned Florent. In the Stormlands, perhaps the Footes could be interested in monetary gain. House Buckler as well, and more than a few will simply follow the strongest claimant to the throne."

"The Stormlands are the weakest of the lands of Westeros, despite Baratheon coming from there. They don't have the lands or the men the others do. What about the other kingdoms?" Viserys asked.

Dominic turned his gaze to his balalaika, gathering his thoughts, but before Dominic could speak Illyrio replied. "The power structure of the Vale is no doubt in flux. I have no doubt that there are many houses there that chafe under the Lady Lysa, and her sickly, puling son." He sneered a little. "A baby born that far into his father's dotage will never be very strong."

"True, and it is far more open to invasion by sea than it would be from the interior of Westeros." the bard agreed. "I would not recommend it, however, not because of any weakness in the house that controls it, but because of the land itself, which is mountainous, well defended, and with a warlike people. Moreover, there are bandits there, mountain clans, and they would make it hell on any invader even if you won the loyalty of the lowlanders. To put it bluntly, I think that the Vale will follow whoever it is the most powerful. Lady Lysa is a nonentity as far as I know. I don't know anything about her personally one way or another but her dislike for her marriage and for those who forced it upon her is well known."

"We already have agents in the Vale as well as in the Riverlands." the merchant said smiling blandly. "You are correct, of course, that friends bought through ambition are not dearly sought, but they can be useful. My information however on the Westerlands and the North is practically nonexistent, though for very different reasons."

"Not surprising." Dominic replied his voice opaque, leaning back now and looking over at the trio. "My countrymen are not welcoming of any foreign influence. The story of the late Lord Stark and the former heir, Brandon, as well as the treatment of Lyanna has hardened the North against the Targaryen Dynasty."

He raised a hand again to stop Viserys' predictable outburst, sighing internally at the boy who had literally no self-control. Daenerys, on the other hand, was simply gazing at him, her eyes for just a moment carrying a message, commanding him to go on. There's a lot of real steel in that girl beyond her mousy exterior, just waiting to be brought out.

"The North is separated more by its culture than anything else." Dominic continued, pushed by that look in the young girl's eyes more than anything else. "We follow the Old Gods, we believe ourselves to be descendants of the First Men rather than the Andals and, outside of White Harbor, we have no real trading center. We have our own concerns, our own beliefs, and leave the rest of the kingdom to its own devices."

"How likely is it that the North would stand aside if we return and begin a push to reclaim our crown?" Daenerys asked before either of the others could get a word in. Her brother glared at her and she quailed a little, but her eyes kept going back to the bard.

"There, alas, we go back to the personal loyalty question. Lord Stark is personally loyal to King Robert and if King Robert calls, he will answer."

"How important would that be, really?" the magister said, waving his hand rather airily. "Surely, the North doesn't have as many troops to field as the other kingdoms."

"We don't keep as many men-at-arms on hand, if that is what you mean, although we do tend to have more men trained in weapons craft then the other lands, at least in terms of bowmen and those who can swing an axe. Many more families in the North than in any of the other kingdoms need to hunt for their food, after all, since there is so little arable land in comparison to the size of the North. Life is harsh up there, a constant fight against the elements in most places, and if you are not tough you will not survive. And any impact can be a bad one, especially given that as a defensive position the North is practically unassailable from the rest of the continent given Moat Cailin and the marshes. From Essos there is White Harbor, Widow's Watch, Oldcastle, and Ramsgate. All are tough nuts to crack, in fact, nearly any castle in the North is tough to take by siege or assault. White Harbor is a major city, taking it would be an arduous undertaking."

Illyrio was a merchant and, even though he had been a swordsman during his youth in Bravos, had no real understanding of warfare or defensive positions. Viserys, on the other hand, was well versed in the importance of said, along with the general geography of Westeros. So when the magister scoffed at Dominic's assertion, Viserys waved him to silence. "I've heard of the Moat, one of the most dangerous positions defensively in the kingdom. You would need an army to even try to get past it and even then you would probably fail unless you could get behind it or cut off the Moat from the rest of the Neck, which geographically speaking is impossible."

"What forces will you be bringing to the table, anyway?" Dominic asked, cocking his head quizzically. "As I said, you can't expect to be able to call upon any in Westeros to provide you with the majority of your force. Mercenaries and suchlike are well and good but, unless you can employ the Golden Company or those Unsullied in sufficient numbers, they won't be enough."

"Oh, we have a certain plan in the works." Viserys smirked, looking at his sister who looked back at him with her head cocked to one side not having heard anything concrete of their short term plans just yet. "If it goes through, we may have a horde of Dothraki raiders and, with them, we'll be able to ride down any enemy."

Dominic's face blanked at that, and he too glanced quickly at Daenerys then away. He could see where that was going, and he did not like that idea, no, not at all. "What about the Westerlands?"

"Ahh." Dominic shook his head, wincing slightly. "There I don't think you'll find any aid whatsoever. The Lannisters rule that lands with a grip of iron. Or perhaps gold is a better way of phrasing it because they buy so much loyalty with their gold, yet it is also fear that keeps their lands loyal. The 'Rains of Castamere' is a well-known tale everywhere but it's practically a writ of the Seven in the West. Unless you can severely weaken the Lannisters, don't expect to see any aid from that area."

Viserys looked over at Illyrio rather startled by how firm that declaration came out. Oh, he knew how traitorous and vicious the Lannisters were, but surely that should have made their people chafe even more under their rule?

But the magister merely nodded. "That matches well with what my factors have reported. The Lannisters do not rule through loyalty, save in a few cases, but there is quite a bit of fear. And the Lord of that House, Tywin, is among the most dangerous opponents we will face. Do not doubt that, my prince."

From there the conversation shifted, going over the geography of the land once more as well as the different ports. They also discussed the feelings among the smallfolk towards the ruling houses, which the merchant didn't have nearly as good a handle on as he had the movers and shakers. Dominic, as a wandering bard, knew exactly what people thought in all the lands he had moved through. Eventually, the group broke up, with Viserys and the merchant leaving talking quietly to one another heading out the door and away.

Daenerys stayed, along with two maids that Illyrio had assigned to her as chaperones. Whether or not she had such before arriving at the merchant's house was a question but not an important one to Dominic, although judging by the looks that he had seen Viserys occasionally give his sister, he doubted it. Oh, he was certain that the older Targaryen sibling wouldn't have done anything to spoil Daenerys' marriage price but incest was well known in the Targaryen Dynasty after all...

Dominic continued to play with his balalaika, waiting calmly for the girl to speak. Eventually she did, blurting her words out, a mix of excitement and chagrin. "I looked up what you said about our father, Aerys, and about our brother Rhaegar. I didn't believe it at first but the maester here in the mansion and the history books agree that you were telling the truth. I… why did he do that? Why did he burn all those people?"

Evidently the love of fire hasn't yet taken root in this dragon, Dominic thought rather sardonically before replying. "Sometimes madness can grip a person, sometimes ambition can change a person. If you're asking me for the King's thoughts I cannot tell you. As I said, I was but a squire in the Stormlands when the rebellion occurred. I will say there had been signs of madness for years before the rebellion actually occurred, the fact that he refused to let anyone armed with any kind of blade into his presence, not even using a nail file for his nails, as well as other stories. He wasn't the first Targaryen to show signs of insanity, of course. In the Stormlands, it was hoped that Aerys would die soon and hand over the reins of the family to his heir Rhaegar."

He started strumming his instrument's string, then paused, looked up at Daenerys for a moment. "There is a reason why I say 'I know what all people know' about Rhaegar's kidnapping of Lyanna Stark. Before that, there was never even a hint of what everyone called Targaryen madness in him, and possibly if he hadn't done that, the rebellion would never have occurred."

In point of fact, the Rebellion would almost certainly never have occurred, because it was the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark that brought Lord Stark and his heir, Brandon, to King's Landing where they were killed. It was their deaths and the deaths of most of their companions which brought in the North and made Jon Arryn rebel.

He sat silently looking at the girl whose face showed what she was thinking for a moment before closing down. "I see."

"Power can corrupt," the Bard went on, "something to remember whatever your station in life and even a tiny bit of corruption can call to those evil desires and thoughts most men have inside them."

Daenerys abruptly changed the subject. "Why do you think that Magister Illyrio's plan will fail?" At the bard's raised eyebrow, she waved a hand. "I could see it when my brother mentioned Dothraki, your face went blank as if you were trying to stop yourself from saying something you knew we wouldn't like. You do that around him a lot but not so much about my brother, why?"

"I'll answer your second before your first might I?"

At the younger girls nod, of impatience in all likelihood, he went on. "Viserys doesn't control this house, your brother in point of fact has no power at the moment other than what his name can garner him in very limited circles. While Illyrio will probably do whatever he asks, it is the magister who holds the real power. That is why I am more respectful to him than to your brother, who frankly, needs a few smacks upside the head."

Daenerys frowned at that but nodded. It was true after all, they had been alone and friendless for so long that she was used to it, used to being powerless and to her brother's growing rage and fury at their situation.

"In answer to your first question, I've been here in Essos for a while, and I know something of the Dothraki, specifically they are terrified of the ocean. How exactly do you intend to get them to agree to cross the ocean?"

"I don't know." Daenerys murmured, cocking her head as she thought quizzically about it. "But surely the idea of looting Westeros would be enough to get them over their fears?"

"And if you do that, how will you be able to call upon the loyalty of your new subjects? You will not be liberators or returning royalty. You would make it not a thing of nobles battling for a prize but an invasion. A crown bought by the sword needs to be protected by the sword. You'll never be able to let up, never be truly welcome. You'll always have to be looking over your shoulder for the hidden dagger or the poison in your food."

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully and the bard went on. "Also, what does Illyrio get out of backing you and your brother? Remember what I said when I first met you, question everything and everyone."

"Including you?" Daenerys asked, one eyebrow raised.

Dominic shrugged. "I'm here because this looked interesting and I was getting weary of walking on my own two feet. Not so much the travel but my feet were getting worn and its nice to not need to watch my purse or sleep with one hand on my sword. My loyalty is to myself, my house is gone, destroyed by its own hubris, and then its land broken up and added to our neighbors by Lord Stark as was right. My loyalty to Ranma, the Stark heir is solid enough, after all he saved me from an, albeit probably short, life of torture. So if ever you invade the North I will face a tough choice. At the moment, this is all speculation and rather fascinating. It's interesting to hear Illyrio's views, as well as teach you and your brother about Westeros."

What Dominic didn't say was that he knew one way or another that history was going to be made here with the two Targaryens and the fat magister. He didn't know in what manner just yet, which of them would be the one driving that history, but as he watched the intelligence of the young girl and her growing sense of self, he began to think that it might well be Daenerys.

Daenerys nodded, understanding and appreciating Dominic's openness. He was also correct, why exactly was Magister Illyrio, one of the most powerful men in the city, willing to put up with her and her brother? They had nothing to offer him right away, the name might help him eventually, but right now it was more of a burden. She vowed to keep her eyes open, on the lookout for anything that showed he was setting them up for something.

She also resolved to check and see what he was willing to sell the Dothraki for their loyalty. What could they offer, after all, that would be worth the loyalty of such a horde of barbarians? I think I might have to sneak around a bit, something I wish I could have learned to do quite a bit earlier, Daenerys thought to herself, standing up then perfunctorily bidding farewell to the bard before turning and leaving to head to her rooms. I'll also have to figure out how to ditch my minders as well.

OOOOOOO

That evening when they stopped, Ranma helped Tommen off his horse, smiling as the carriage door opened, letting out the ladies within. Sansa, Myrcella, and Jeyne were still giggling about the last story Ranma had told, as was Tommen, though the Queen seemed to be controlling her own amusement far better, if indeed she felt any in the first place. The tale had been about the pigtailed warrior trying to fight off the crazy foreign man with the froglike mouth in an eating contest, something all the younger set had gotten a kick out of. Though Ranma found Varys' interest in it a little strange and oddly disturbing.

"Here you are, Your Grace, your youngest, returned unharmed." Ranma bowed grandly, ruffled the youngest Baratheon's hair, then walked off, searching for an area that was either being set aside as a practice area or simply a clearing, where he could burn off some steam.

Before he could turn away completely, however, the Kingslayer's voice stopped him. "I think, young Stark, you owe me a bit of a spar. Unless of course, telling tales has sapped all your energy for the day."

Ranma turned to find the older man smirking at him, one hand already resting on the pommel of his sword. Ranma smirked, his eyes lighting up with eagerness. "Certainly, Ser Kingslayer, I'll be right with you."

Jaime twitched a bit at the mode of address, as did the Queen, while Sansa merely rolled her eyes and the other children began to plot how to get their mother to agree to let them watch. This proved in vain, however, as the Queen and the septa ushered them away.

As she turned away, Cersei sent one warning glance at her brother, urging him to take this seriously. She didn't have much hopes in that however. Jaime rarely took anything but true life and death situations or threats against his siblings seriously. She was also afraid his ego would get in the way of seeing how much of a threat Ranma really was.

The two men moved through the camp, ignoring the number of men-at-arms who immediately began following them, already making bets as to who would win this bout between the blade of the Lannisters and the Young Wolf of the Starks.

Ranma shucked off his jacket, standing there in plain chain mail down to his waist over a jerkin, a small smile on his face as he held the sword he had been gifted from House Glover loosely at his side. It was a simple blade, unadorned save for a small wolf's head imprinted into the somewhat larger than normal pommel. The blade was battered, the hilt worn, but the way Ranma held it showed how familiar he was with its weight in his hands.

Stepping out of the growing circle of soldiers, the Kingslayer moved to stand across from him, wearing a breastplate with white enamel, arms covered similarly. He held his blade resting lightly on one shoulder, smiling condescendingly, though his eyes were much more serious and calculating, as he stared across at Ranma.

Robert and Ned moved through a hole in the crowd, which opened for them, the King smiling widely. "Ha, this should be good, huh, Ned. Though your son might have bitten off more than he could chew. I might not like his family, or him, but Jaime Lannister is one of the top five best blades in Westeros."

"We will have to see," Ned said philosophically, wondering internally what would be better here: his son pounding the Kingslayer into the ground, thus showing his skill for all to see and become even more wary of, or to have the Kingslayer win, thus making people underestimate him. Still, either way it was out of his hands now.

The two combatants stared at one another, with the Kingslayer bringing his sword off his shoulder to hold in front of him, point toward Ranma. then suddenly he took a quick two step, first thrusting his blade forward, then bringing it into a slash. It was a quick, economical attack, with no tells before the first blow was launched and Jaime had used it to beat several of the current Kingsguard when he felt they were getting to big for their breaches.

It did not surprise Ranma, who dodged back, then brought his own blade up to block the follow on slash, beating it aside and pressing in quickly. Ranma was careful to keep his speed and power down to 'normal' levels, just a little bit more than his opponent. Yes, he wanted to see how good the so-called best blade of the South was, but neither did he want to show off all of his physical skills. Ranma wanted to have people underestimate exactly how beyond the norm he was in ways beyond his endurance.

The two traded blows, Ranma being careful to look a little harried, but not giving ground, pushing back when he could, getting a feel for Jaime, who was indeed as good as Ranma had thought; not quite up to the wolf-sworn's current level, but very good all the same. To Ranma, however, the entire fight was like watching a man move in slow-motion. It was actually tougher to not show how much he was holding back than anything else. As much as he wanted to humiliate Jaime, he wanted to keep his abilities secret much more.

After about ten minutes, the two had danced around one another, neither being able to land a blow on the other, although Jaime had come close to tagging Ranma a few times, and Ranma had come close to Jaime three times. It was enough, Ranma decided, to make the Kingslayer think he was the better of the two, but enough so he would respect Ranma.

With that thought, Ranma backed away, moving Jaime subtly in the direction of a large ice patch on the floor of the clearing where a puddle had frozen. Jaime continued to press his advantage, but then Ranma pushed back, suddenly. When he stepped back to gain some distance, his foot slipped just a little on the ice, and before he could recover his footing, Ranma's blade was gently laying across his shoulder.

Ranma moved back, rubbing his arms as if they were in pain, smiling despite what everyone saw as him being in pain. "My win, I think, Ser Jaime."

Jaime smiled, knowing the youth knew what Jaime did, that Ranma had won through chance rather than skill, and saw Ranma's more respectful address a sign of this. "A good match lad, we might want to do this again in the Riverlands where its warmer. Now go put on your coat Stark, you're making me cold just looking at you."

Around them, cheers and groans began and there was many shouts of 'Young Wolf' at the result of the fantastic match. Robert smiled, slapping his childhood friend on the shoulder. "Your lad got lucky there, the Kingslayer was pressing him hard before that lucky break. Still, a damn good bout."

"I agree completely." Ned replied, though he meant much more than the physical bout itself. All around him, none of the men, even those from Winterfell, could tell his son hadn't given his all, which meant that Ranma's skill would be both respected and underestimated. He gripped his son's hand smiling a small smile of approval at him.

Ranma nodded, seeing his father had noticed what he had done, though he didn't think anyone else, other than perhaps Ser Barristan, standing like a white-cloaked shadow at the King's back, had noticed. "So, what are the cooks charring for dinner tonight, that actually worked up an appetite."

OOOOOOOO

Three days later, Jon greeted Kyle Condon. Kyle was a tall, handsome man with thin shoulders, black hair, who wore a very good suit of chain mail armor, his surcoat blazoned with the axe of House Cerwyn. He arrived with eight hundred spearmen, joining the two-thousand infantrymen, a mix of archers and swordsmen that House Stark had raised, organized into ten companies of two-hundred.

This was neither House's full complement. If push came to shove they could both field upwards of six-thousand if they called in all the men of their minor Houses and pulled men from the fields and crafts. But it was the amount they could field and still retain a decent enough force at home and not rely on levies. With the defensive position of the wall multiplying every man by a factor of 100, this plus the other forces moving north should be more than enough.

After getting their men situated, Lady Jonelle and Ser Condon paid their respects to Lady Catelyn. Both of them came out of the infirmary rather grim faced, despite the good news about her pregnancy. Jonelle immediately went off in search of Rickon with her son, intending to take over looking after the boy as long as Bran was still comatose. It was obvious Catelyn wasn't going to leave the boy's side until he recovered, or passed on.

While he needed a workspace to do all the paperwork necessary to direct the whelming and everything that entailed, Jon had not taken over his father's study, thinking that was a sign of disrespect. Instead, he had taken over a table in the dining hall, with Ghost lounging on the stone floor beside him. He and Ser Rodrick were there now, putting together a final tally of the men going north as well as how much they would be paid during the trip. The party would also be carrying supplies for both itself and for the group from Hornwood, which would meet it on the road up to the Wall.

House Stark was the bread basket of the North these days, the only Noble House that actually had a surplus of food to sell beyond its borders, so it made sense for it to send a large amount of the supplies up. Though this would only be the supplies the companies would be using on the first leg of the trip, the second half would be supplied by Umber and Hornwood. Moving as many men as they were sending over such a long distance, it would take them months to get to the wall, possibly as long as half a year.

The castle's larders would once more be emptied when the army left tomorrow, especially of things like breads and cheeses, but they would be able to make do for a time until they could bring in more from the surrounding farms and holdfasts. Jon was determined to both send as much supply as they could up North and, also, bring in as much food as they could. Something, some instinct at the back of his mind, was telling him it would come in handy.

Ser Conton's handsome face was thunderous as he sat down across from Jon. "I didn't realize Lady Catelyn's injuries were so... nasty. I hope her face heals up soon. Lord Stark was worried for her, but you know how your father is, his face gives nothing away at times." Jon nodded and the older man went on. "It's good that you have men guarding her and young Bran, my instincts, and those of my lord, are telling me that there might be more going on there than we think."

"You and Lord Cerwyn are not alone in that supposition," Jon replied dryly, leaning back and smiling faintly. "Southern politics and the motivation of those who thrive on it are murky at best to us here in the North. We still don't know what Bran really saw so I am willing to think there was something else involved there. Still, we can only defend ourselves against the enemies we can see in front of us. That means sending more troops up to the wall."

Kyle nodded, then began to question Jon closely about the ambush that he, Ranma, and the others of the wolf-sworn had run into. After that, they turned their attention to the order of the march and went over the logistics aspect of it. While House Umber had sent up the first group of its soldiers and a large group of peasants to move into the Gift, Houses Stark, Cerwyn, Glover, and even House Flint of Flint's Finger would be sending up groups of settlers to repopulate the Gift. The other major Houses and those minor Houses sworn to them wouldn't be, either unable to or using their sparse excess manpower for other things.

Jon's tale of the emptiness of the Gift brought home to Kyle the seriousness of what was going on even more than his discussion with his Lord, Ranma, and Ned. While the Gift was as underpopulated as the rest of the North, what population there was centered itself along the Kingsroad. The fact that it was so empty was disturbing. That plus the fact that it happened so quickly, within a year, since that was how long it had been since the last time a Nights Watch recruiter had been sent south, was astonishing. "So once we get to the Gift should we prepare for ambushes? That will slow us down some."

"I would advise it, but I honestly don't know," Jon replied. "I think given the size of the force you will be leading by that point, with some of the mountain clansmen joining you, the group from Hornwood, and possibly even from the Flints of Widow's Watch, you should be far too large for any groups of wildlings that could've gotten around the Wall to attack. My advice would be to use some of the mountain clansmen as skirmishers around your main force to sniff out any trouble."

Ser Conton nodded, sipping at a glass of wine that a servant had given them halfway through the discussion. "And I'll be taking the runt of the lion's pride with me? He's higher born than me, will he try to push for command?"

Jon nodded again. "I doubt it, besides, I think Lord Hornwood is sending Daryn up with his force, so he will assume overall command, with you as his chief advisor, I would say. I would also advise you not to judge Tyrion by the rest of the lions, he's actually a pretty amusing fellow. And much more intelligent than the tales speak of, he's not just a jester." Jon reached over to a piece of paper and brought it over, urging Kyle to look at it. On it was a large ballista and a trebuchet of advanced design. "These are some siege weapons of his that he basically thought up, all with numbered parts and plans to actually build the things. Put him in charge of that aspect when you get there and I doubt you'll be disappointed. I will say from my own experience up there that some knowledge along those lines is needed. The siege weapons along the Wall are either frozen in place, defunct, broken, or simply so old I wouldn't entrust the timber of them. Most of the time it's all of the above, frankly. You get away from Castle Black and that's just the way it is up there."

Kyle scowled. "I hadn't realized it had gotten so bad. It's been what, a hundred and fifty years or more since the last major wildling incursion, so I suppose it makes sense that the upkeep has fallen behind."

Jon shrugged his shoulders, not mentioning the fact that the Wall wasn't there to block out the wildlings, or at least, not primarily. No, the Wall was there to block out the White Walkers. He wasn't certain if the Wall itself was weakening or if they had figured out a way around it but Jon knew that the White Walkers were the real enemy. Still, unless you see them with your own eyes, see the wights coming for you, even men of the North will have trouble believing they still exist. On the other hand, once we do see they exist, our lore and legends will make us able to combat them. Fire is your friend, and so is Valarian steel, and, what was it, some black rock or other? Must remember to look that up.

"And you don't think Tyrion's a spy or anything like that?" asked Kyle, pulling Jon's mind going back to the original topic of discussion. "I'll admit that if he can actually help us build siege weapons like this he'll be useful, it's not an area I know anything about, nor do I know anyone who does outside of simple siege towers or battering rams. But if he's going to also spy on our forces or make trouble in other ways, is it worth it?"

Jon paused for a moment, thinking about the conversation he'd had with the Imp the evening after his father's departure. "There is a… a hunger in him, a hunger for recognition. Not from anyone in particular, but just the world as a whole." Something I could see myself sharing with him had my life been different. "I think he wants to be recognized as something more than the youngest Lannister or the Imp or the whore master or anything like that. He wants to be known for something real, something meaningful in his own right. And I believe he is earnestly sad about what has happened to Bran and the Lady Catelyn. All I can advise, is try to get to know him as a person rather than an extension of the Lannister family."

Ser Conton nodded his head, deciding to try to put aside his bias against those from the Westerlands and that house in particular. It would be tough, but he would try at least.

The very next day the troops left, with the Imp going with them, heading north to the Wall to face whatever threat was gathering beyond it. Jon watched them go, then turned back to reenter the main keep. He might feel a connection to the Wall, but he knew his duty, and right now his duty pinned him in place, here in Winterfell.

OOOOOOO

"The pressing of the wild humans goes well. Is the expedition prepared to do its part?" The voice coming from the depths of the cave was cold, colder than the bite of winter, cold as death. This was in keeping with the location, a cave deep in the Land of Always Winter, so far north that no human would survive outside no matter how much clothing they had on. Even giants would die swiftly outside this cave, and few indeed were the animals that could live here.

"A few of the lower orders are in position to begin work on temporary domiciles already and our magics have begun to work, though both tasks will take a full moon at least. The lower warriors are uneasy of course, but they will do their duty."

"Their feelings matter not." another voice replied, sounding somehow deeper, older, and with a bit of contempt leaking through the words. "It is unusual, yes, but it is only through the use of the ocean that we can get up round the cursed barrier the cursed Stark put up so long ago. For all the ages that have passed since the Builder raised it, the cursed barrier has lost only a little of its power. It was only because we are able to go around it via the water that we were able to lay the trap that nearly caught the Weir-gods' Chosen. That, and our human agents."

"It has always confused me about them." A fourth voice sounded out from the darkness, this one sounding almost quizzical. "They are always so easily blinded by the shine of the yellow metal they call 'gold', as if the base metal has some magic all its own over them. It is incomprehensible."

"A mystery, but one that makes them easily control. Our agents have nearly reached the cursed house of the Builder. The creature of changed fate has left. We have an opening there, which they can exploit."

"And even if that gambit does not succeed, there is nothing there that will indicate our involvement." another voice murmured, chuckling in tones that sounded like ice cracking. "It will also force them to keep some of their forces at home."

In point of fact, it was too late for that to work. The race whose leaders were speaking at present, those which the Northmen knew as White Walkers, had never gotten used to how quickly humans could react as a group to dangers directed at them, nor did they have any idea about siege weapons, logistics, or really making war, as most humans thought of it. They were masters of skirmish, of small unit tactics, and sleight of hand, but full on warfare wasn't something they understood as well as humans, who had, on every world they propagated, made it their second favorite pastime.

That didn't mean the White Walker's couldn't learn of course. That was the problem with throwing a boulder into a stream to divert it, you could never truly control how the water flowed afterward.

"And while they look within and towards the Wall, while the wildlings are pushed by the lesser orders towards it, the island will fall. We will have a secure base of operations around the cursed barrier's side." The first voice spoke again, its tone showing amusement and triumph in equal parts.

"Agreed," said several voices. Cold laughter rebounded around the cage.

OOOOOOO

They came out of the forest, tall and thin, their faces impossibly fair to look upon. That was almost impossible to tell at night with no moon in the sky, the only light coming from the being's slightly glowing blue eyes. They wore armor, looking like a strange mix between frozen ice and a black kind of metal, molded and shaped to have spikes and cruel hooks on it in different places, as much weapons of terror as it was a defense against harm. Their ears were pointed, their faces almost fox like from what could be seen, and their fingers inhumanly long as they rested on the hilts of weapons.

Most seemed ageless and yet young, speaking quietly from one to another while following the two who seemed to lead as they moved out of the forest and onto the endless ice. Farther south this area would become an ocean, but here in the dead, frozen Land of Always Winter, where no human could dwell, the salty sea froze, kilometers thick ice in places even where it became water once more.

A gesture from one of the apparent leaders and they all fanned out, moving around the huge mountain of ice and snow that was in front of them, putting themselves between it and the land. Others came out of the woods carrying bags and other items, and they began work on the massive mountain of ice, carving out caverns and crevices. It would be the work of many moons but that would allow the winter to move south, freezing and making their craft even stronger. Soon this mountain of ice, which would have eventually become just a random iceberg, would be habitable. After that, it would be sent south with a force to attack their target.

OOOOOOO

"They're pushing us harder than they have in the past, far more." Mance Ryder, the King beyond the Wall said, frowning as he rubbed his face, closing his eyes briefly. What the hell is going on? Before this past month, there'd only been a sighting every few months of the Others, enough to terrify and to make me think of going south, but now? Fifty sightings of their wights and four of the Others themselves?! They're trying to exterminate us piecemeal. Nothing made by man can harm them and fire can only do so much to keep them at bay with winter coming on.

He opened his eyes, staring thoughtfully at the map on the table before him and his closest advisors. It wasn't very detailed, wildlings didn't have much use for maps, but he had been raised from a young age on the Wall, a babe taken after a group of raiders had been put to the sword. He'd even been to Winterfell as part of the escort for the former Lord Commander. That was over a decade ago now, before he turned his coat over the infringement of his freedom to wear a coat that had colors of his own choosing.

Mance was a middle-aged man of middling height, long legged and lean, with broad shoulders. In the light of the cooking fire his sharp face and brown eyes were visible, though his long brown hair was now mostly gray. He wore black ringmail, a holdover from his time as a brother of the Night's Watch, shaggy fur breeches, and wore a cloak of black wool and red silk, the same cloak he gave up his life in the Night's Watch to keep.

"Tormund, how many men have we lost since this push of the cursed Others began?"

"A little over 300 scattered over the last few weeks. They're getting more and more open in their assaults, Mance." said the man so addressed, whose gray beard reached his chest. He was taller as well as broader across the shoulders than the other men in the room of the longhouse and his face was creased with smile lines as well as signs of age. On his arms he wore golden bands marked with runes of the First Men.

Yet, for all his apparent toughness, there was fear in his face and eyes. "None of the survivors of the attacks can tell us anything about what they look like but one thing is clear, their powers are getting stronger despite the fact that winter isn't on us completely. When the dead fall, it's usually taken them longer to revive as wights, now it's almost instantaneous. The night belongs to them, Mance. Not even the boldest of our men will leave the light of the fires any longer. It's not just here at our main base either, every clan is probably falling under the same attack. The ones allied with us have passed on reports of that, including," his eyes cut to another man, equally tall but bald and earless, "The Thenn."

"I had hoped to wait until winter reached the Wall at the very least." Mance murmured thoughtfully. "Allow a few more of the clans to fall under our sway, and get our logistics, such as they are, to be set up."

"We'll have to take the chance of moving now." said another man, who didn't have a beard on his face and was much shorter than the other two. He had a knobby chin, thin mustache and pinched cheeks, with a widow's peak and dark black hair. What really set him apart, however, was the fact his armor was made of loosely tied bones, which rattled with every little movement. At his side he wore a thin bladed bronze longsword. No wildling, certainly no wildling of the power of these men, would go anywhere unarmed, even here in the longhouse of their King.

As Mance turned to him, the shorter man went on. "We do have more clans joining us even now, including a few that I would never have expected. They're all terrified of the Others and they think you're the best chance to get through the Wall and away from their influence. But at the same time, the more time that goes on and we don't move, the more they think that you're too scared to attack the Wall."

Mance frowned thoughtfully, but didn't otherwise respond for a moment as he considered options. After a moment he nodded. "We'll have to move in stages. Get the word out to the clans now to get them moving, but we'll take a force straight south ourselves to set up a small forward base, take that old bastard Craster's Keep maybe. It's not much, but it's near a river, and it can feed and house the first group of raiders, and we can then start to ambush the rangers and scout the Wall's defenses. Pity, I wanted it to be set up directly in front of the center of the Wall. That way we could feint at the center while sending troops around the edges at the weakened sides, then take each of the still manned castles one after…."

Mance looked at their blank faces and shook his head. "Never mind. The Wall should be barely manned according to our last reports. If we can sweep aside the rangers before they know we're there and have the element of surprise, we can probably overcome the squatters with one good push anyway." All three men, even the one with no ears, who had a man next to him signing the words at him, cheered at that.

While Mance had some reports of the Wall itself and, indeed, a few observers close by the Wall who were good enough to evade the rangers, he didn't have any spies beyond the Wall. Else, he would've known that this was a very bad idea and that the Wall wasn't going to be 'barely manned' for very much longer. In fact, House Umber troops had already arrived and the first shipment of supplies was on their heels. Smalljon was leading the group of settlers for now, with orders to join his granduncle on the Wall after. House Karstark's troops would arrive in three more weeks, well before the wildling's larger clans could get there, with Lord Karstark's oldest son and heir, Harrion.

OOOOOOO

As the King's party traveled south along the Kingsroad over the next few weeks, covering the distance from House Cerwyn's castle through their land and along the borders between the barrowlands of House Dustin and the lands of House Manderly, moving toward Moat Cailin, the days fell into a routine, besides the movement of the party, that is. Ranma would wake up, spend time with his father for a few hours, trotting alongside his horse and the King's at the front of the column, then move back through the column to 'rescue' Tommen from the carriage, and then would tell stories to the young boy for the rest of the day. They alleviated the boy's boredom from the trip plus the servants and men-at-arms nearby liked them as well. Even the Queen did to a certain extent, certainly the ones about the Ice Queen. They were amusing at least, plus had the added benefit of keeping Ranma in close proximity to the carriage which allowed her to speak to him whenever they stopped.

They also served to completely disarm Varys. For some reason, the eunuch was particularly fond of the stories of the warrior cursed to change genders with a splash of water and turned his attention for those weeks to plying Ranma for more stories of that character rather than trying to analyze what impact he would have on the game of thrones.

Despite the stories, however, there was still a bit of tension in the air between the Lannister supporters and the heir of House Stark. All of the southern knights had heard about the humiliation Ranma had handed out to the Prince, the Hound, a Kingsguard, and even a Lannister knight. None of them were willing to forget it, the Westerlands knights especially, not with Joffrey subtly fanning the flames.

The Prince also warned them not to do anything to redress the issue until they had left the North. No, better to wait until they were in the Riverlands, at the very least, possibly in Frey lands, before starting to make trouble for the boy. After all, no matter how good he was, Ranma wasn't proof against a knife in the back, now was he? Or, perhaps, an attack while he was asleep? Maybe some kind of attack on the boy's pet at some point?

Joffrey had to stretch his mind rather than simply order his hangers-on to attack the other boy. He had to be clever, because for some reason Joffrey didn't understand, his mother had forbidden him to order any direct action against Ranma. It was obvious there was a lot of familial affection between Sansa and Ranma, so any overt attack on him or his character might offset the work that Cersei had done in gaining the girl's confidence and inflaming her interest in Joffrey.

This was not only because of his impending marriage to Sansa, but because Cersei's determination that day in Castle Cerwyn hadn't wavered. This boy had skills far above the norm and, despite the fact that her brother was a little too egotistical to see it, Cersei could see it easily. It was like watching someone out of the Age of Heroes, seeing him race along day after day, not even much sweat on his brow as they covered hundreds of leagues over the past few weeks. Such skill was dangerous, especially allied to an enemy house, and not just as a blade to be used against the enemies of his house, but as a rallying point, a gods-touched champion for the people. Every time they saw anyone on the road or at the very infrequent inns, there were calls of 'Lord Stark and 'Young Wolf', even from the smallfolk they passed or saw in the distance.

Unfortunately for Cersei, she hadn't figured out what levers to use on Ranma. He didn't drink, didn't seem to have any hidden vices in the form of drugs or lust for money she could manipulate. That left only the obvious and, while Ranma was a young boy, the Queen had yet to see any of the sort of glances sent her way that such a young man would normally send a beautiful woman. Either he was much more subtle in that manner than she would've expected given his normal attitude or, perhaps, his interests lay in an entirely different direction. Yet, he didn't give off any of the signs that such a man or boy would give in that case. She had long known about Renly and the Rose Knight for example.

Now, as they passed the halfway point between Cerwyn and the Moat, Cersei had decided that either she just wasn't the boy's type, which was unusual but not entirely unbelievable, or he was one of those very few men that didn't feel immediate lust for a woman. Still, she had several months to go before they reached Kings Landing, and Cersei knew she would eventually find some way to control Ranma.

For his part, Ranma enjoyed the trip, a little anyway. It wasn't like it was a big deal for him. Running all day at this speed was easy. Spending time with Tommen was okay, but rather boring. After all, he didn't get much enjoyment out of the stories and, even when he began to let the boy ride on his horse alone while running beside him, it was boring.

Ranma had also not gotten any more of an impression of Joffrey than he had when they set out. The Prince was very careful to not be around him for the majority of the day and, when he was, Joffrey was always with his mother or surrounded by others, along with his father.

Every day the column halted for a few hours at midday to change out the horse teams, have the midday meal, and let the men at arms have some time to exercise. Robert refused to travel as quickly as they could. He wanted to stop and carouse on his way back to Kings Landing as he had on his way up. Eddard nixed most of this, but the King put his foot down on stopping for long lunches, which took chunks out of the day that would've been better spent moving.

The men-at-arms, for the most part, took this time to train amongst themselves, with Ranma joining in exuberantly, training with those from Winterfell, along with Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Barristan and including his father at times. Jaime had exercised with them a time or two, but his sister demanded he attend her whenever he could, which cut into his training time and had halted any chance of another full match between the Kingslayer and Ranma. Cersei knew deep down who would win such a match and had no wish to see her brother so humbled.

Ser Arys was a brown-haired, brown-eyed man with largish shoulders and an easy going manner which did more than any mask to hide what he was really thinking. He had taken to Ranma due to the way he treated the younger siblings of the royal family, treating them like children rather than pawns, noticing them over their older sibling. It was obvious that the young Princess was quite smitten with Ranma but he had yet to even notice it. It was very clear that Ranma had swiftly put Myrcella into the 'sister zone' as it were (and not her mother's sort of sister).

Today, however, Tommen came to Ranma. The older boy turned from facing three of the Winterfell guards as the youngest Baratheon sibling called his name. "Ranma, do you think you could train me like you did back in Winterfell as we travel?"

Ranma cocked his head, handing the practice sword that he had been using to illustrate a parry back to a smiling Stark man. "I don't think your mother would take kindly to it, Tommy. We didn't bring any of the practice vests, after all. I suppose I could walk you through some exercises to increase your strength and dexterity, if you want?"

Tommen nodded eagerly. "I want to be as good as you are when I'm older."

The Stark heir winced as the men-at-arms around him chuckled. "That would probably take much more time than your family would be willing to let you give to the arts, Tommy, but I'll see what I can do. Did you ask your mother, the Queen, about this?"

Tommen paled a little, causing Ranma to laugh. "Let's go, if she agrees to it, I'll train you, if not then we'll figure something out."

They found Cersei holding court around one of the mealtime campfires. Ranma scowled when he saw that Joffrey had taken the opportunity to sit next to Sansa. He was telling her some story, probably made up, of a hunting expedition he had been on where he had killed a wild boar with a single thrust of his spear. Ranma doubted Joffrey had ever killed a wild boar, leastwise, not one that hadn't been tied down first.

Cersei turned, looking up as her Tommen and Ranma came close. One eyebrow rose interrogatively, wondering what the boy wanted, while inwardly cursing, not having noticed that Tommen had wandered off, concentrating as she was on Joffrey and Sansa.

Ranma bowed from the waist. "Your pardon your grace, but Tommy came to me and asked if I could train him as I did back in Winterfell." He hurried on as the Queen's eyes narrowed angrily. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Joffrey scowling at him as well as Sansa, who probably had heard something of what had happened but almost certainly not the full story. "Er, anyway, I was thinking that I could just give him some exercises to do rather than go straight to training as we don't have the practice pads." He reached out unruffled the younger boys head affectionately. "It'll probably tire him out for the part of the day spent in the carriage."

Before Cersei could respond the King's voice boomed from behind them. "That's a fine idea lad, and you Joffrey, you join them too." They all turned to look at the King, who had approached them from the edge of the scrub on horseback with Ned and several men-at-arms behind him, the ones who were in charge of hunting for the party, along with his group of Kingsguard. Between two of the hunters they carried a spear below which was tied a boar.

Robert flicked one hand somewhat contemptuously at his older son. "Take this one with you as well, Ranma." he said looking back at Ranma. "See if you can make something of either one of them."

Cersei interjected. "Surely my love, it is more important for Joffrey to get to know his fiancée at times like these. It isn't as if they can have a conversation if you are going to have him ride all day outside the carriage." As the king's face began to redden with anger she went on smoothly. "Perhaps, if Joffrey can exercise with Ranma during our stops like this, he can ride in the coach after the midday break?"

While his younger sister smiled hopefully, Ranma fought back a scowl. He hadn't seen that coming, though Joffrey joining them had been a possibility. He did not like the idea of giving Joffrey more time with Sansa, his sister was besotted with the Prince enough as it was. Ranma still hadn't gotten more than impressions and feelings to back his instant dislike of the older Baratheon child, but neither had his feelings of disquiet eased.

Robert growled a little but decided to go with it. "Fine, your little brat can rest his ass in the afternoon, if that's what he wants." He laughed loudly, as did the men at arms behind him them though Ned shook his head, sighing faintly, sending a plum of breath into the cold air.

The rift between Joffrey and Robert was becoming more obvious the more time Ranma and Ned spent with them. Most importantly, it was becoming obvious in comparison to Ranma and Ned. Ned had yet to find out why the King was so contemptible of his firstborn son nor why he was so distant with all of his children. Surely the man had some fatherly feeling in him somewhere, even if his wife wasn't Lyanna?

The Crown Prince scowled for a moment but at a glare from his father subsided. Joffrey wanted the man's attention and affection, but at the same time he feared his father like fire.

Cersei got up as Joffrey did, exchanging seats with him to sit down next to Sansa, but before she did she murmured into Joffrey's ear. "Just wait my son, put up with it for a few days and the King will forget his silly desire to 'make a man out of you' or whatever he calls it. Then you'll have more time in the carriage with me and your bride-to-be, won't that be nice?"

Her son nodded, but still looked irritated.

Ranma led Joffrey and Tommy over to a patch of flat ground nearby, shadowed by the Kingsguard who always followed Joffrey around as well as a few others, including Sandor Clegane. The Hound smirked. "So you'd rather spend your time teaching children than exercising with real soldiers, boy?"

Ranma grinned a little challengingly at him. "Why not? It's not as if the 'real soldiers' on this trip it can really challenge me, after all. Or are you saying you want another go-around?" He held the Hounds gaze for a moment, staring the older man down.

The Hound was not someone who would take such a challenge lying down, normally, but there was just something in Ranma's eyes, a challenge that for some reason Sandor found he was unwilling to take up. He also remembered, just as well as Joffrey did, the manhandling the young man put them through. He was not used to being so handled easily, Sandor wasn't among the top ten blades in Westeros, but he was a damn good fighter despite that, so it had been a sobering experience for him.

About a minute later, Ranma walked Tommen and Joffrey through the exercise he wanted them to do, mainly sit-ups and pushups for now, then running in place and some limbering exercises. While Tommen took to them with a will (yet no skill), Joffrey was not exactly enthused about the exercises, yet did them all the same, scowling all the while. With Cersei and Robert so close by there was no chance of him making any trouble or even complaining verbally, so the rest of the stop passed uneventfully.

About three hours later the group got ready to go. Tommen was once more placed on Ranma's horse near the royal carriage. He looked at Ranma, who was trying to not glare at Joffrey as he got into the carriage after Sansa. "You're so good Ranma, do you think you would ever join the Kingsguard?"

Ser Barristan was standing by Robert's side close-by. Hearing this question he perked up his ears.

The question worked to grab Ranma's attention from his attempt to discreetly burn a hole in the back of Joffrey's head via his stare. He turned, reaching up to ruffle the younger boy's hair with a laugh. "Not a chance!"

Tommen pouted. If Ranma was a King's guard then maybe Ranma would be assigned to him and, maybe, actually being a prince would become fun. Myrcella, getting into the carriage after her mother, also seemed a little sad at that, but it was Tommen who spoke up. "Why don't you want to be a King's guard? It's a great honor!"

"For one thing, I'm the heir of Winterfell and I'd have to leave that behind, something I've been trained to be since I was younger than you. And for another…" Ranma shook his head. "Never mind."

"Is it the abstinence?" Jeyne blurted through the open door of the carriage from her position by Sansa. The girl flushed as the Queen looked over at her from where she was standing by the carriage door, glaring in censure. Mordane, who was getting in the carriage from the other side, also glared at her, smacking Jeyne on the arm.

Ranma however simply laughed. "Not at all, little Miss Gossip, there are other reasons, most of them being bound by the words duty and honor."

The Queen ushered Jeyne in then looked at Ranma quizzically moving to stand closer to him. "Truly, why are you not interested? It is indeed a great honor. You're father is still a fit man, you have younger brothers who could take over as heir while you go on to make a name for yourself, rather than merely wasting your life waiting for your own opportunity." Here she was simply sifting for information, trying to see more of Ranma's character, the better to figure out his handles.

Ranma looked over at the queen. "The responsibly of an heir is not something one should set aside, not if you are actually worthy of it." Ranma paused, then nodded his head slightly towards the head of the column where Robert sat on his horse now, then murmured in a low voice so that Tommen couldn't hear. "And let's just say that if I give my personal allegiance to a King, he'd have to be worthy of it."

That comment brought a small smile to the Queen's face, and she leaned forward just slightly enough to let a bit of her décolletage be seen. "I would agree with that sentiment young man, but perhaps eventually there will be one such."

My son will be a better king than Robert has ever dreamed of being and with this boy at his side, they could do magnificent things together. I must figure out how to control him or, if not that, marginalize him in some fashion. With that she turned, flipping her hair expertly behind her in such a way that the special soap she used in it wafted under his nose. she ascended into the carriage.

Ranma turned again to face his horse, Fenris right beside him. The large direwolf looked up at him and Ranma looked down at it, shrugging a little, unable to get the impression the wolf was trying to send him as the smell of the Queen's shampoo hit the direwolf. Smells, especially the memory of smells was one area where their bond was very weak.

Soon enough they were on the move and Ranma put the odd exchange out of his mind, never noticing that Ser Barristan had moved away, sighing sadly. The old man knew for a fact that if Ranma felt like that already, there was no chance of him convincing the boy to take up the White while Robert was on the throne and certainly not Joffrey, either. Unlike the rest of the Kingsguard, Ser Selmy was not blind to the boy's faults and growing issues.

No, I will have to set aside the idea of Ranma joining and helping me cleanse the Kingsguard of its current taint. Unless, he thought to himself his eyes moving towards Tommen and then from Tommen to the carriage and back again, something surprising happens. But that isn't likely to happen, is it. NO, I am a Kingsguard, not a king-maker. I must deal with the world as is, not as it should be.

OOOOOOO

Life in Winterfell had also fallen into a new routine over the past few weeks. Standing in for the wounded lady Catelyn, Jon, with Rickon accompanying him sometimes for the look of it, would meet with farmers, landowners, and merchants, gathering supplies to be sent to the Wall, though he'd yet to receive a reply from Lord Manderly about the way they wished to do this. After all, you could send a lot more supplies by ship in a shorter amount of time then you could by land, and the Manderlys did have a trade fleet, after all, which had grown in size over the past ten years, built from wood coming down from House Cerwyn's land. They could transport goods up to Eastwatch much easier and from there it could be distributed along the wall.

Getting the food and other goods from Winterfell or Cerwyn or Hornwood down to White Harbor would be bothersome, but even there, Jon had plans. After all, House Stark and House Cerwyn had used the White Knife River and its tributaries, why not expand on that? It would take time, and possibly wouldn't be used for the first shipment down to the White Harbor, but eventually he hoped to have a system much like that found in the Riverlands to ship goods down river. Lord Stark, with Ranma and Jon's aid, had been planning to work on that for the past year and the men, mostly pulled from two minor houses along the river, were ready to get to work on it.

While Theon continued to go out with the hunters to bring in more game for the larder, Jon's work cut into his training time, so he wasn't actually able to train with Arya like he had said he would and what little training he did was mostly getting to know how to warg.

Many a night Jon stayed up late, his mind riding along with Ghost as the direwolf went out on its own to hunt. Ghost was larger now than he had been when Ranma and the others left, although he wasn't quite as large as Fenris had been when they left, but he was more than large enough to escape the kennels whenever he wished. His trick of moving unseen had also evolved to the point where he could get out of the keep and out of Winterfell from Jon's room without being seen.

Jon was getting better at directing him, at riding and controlling their connection, analyzing the direwolf's senses and using them almost as well as his own. Arya, too, was getting better and Nymeria often joined her pack-mate to hunt. Though Arya had yet to learn as much as Jon, simply because she couldn't stay awake at night long enough to warg with Nymeria as long as Jon did nightly with Ghost, she was still learning quickly.

Here Jon was lucky. Ranma had yet to figure out a way to bring up their family skill to Sansa in such a way that wouldn't terrify her, but Arya had no such fear. Even with the tales of Old Nan about skin-changers and how evil they were, Arya was confident in herself and her siblings to discount them. But even as fascinated as she was with warging with Nymeria, Arya couldn't concentrate on it, due to how much other stuff she was doing.

Arya exercised for half the day with Dacey in the mornings, then was forced by the Lady Jonelle to take etiquette lessons with her. Unlike the 'old prune' Mordane, however, Jonelle actually made the lessons interesting by putting in anecdotes of history and little humorous moments she had seen in her father's halls, or heard from further south. Rickon also liked Jonelle, who also made his own lessons fun, interspersing them with games for him and for her son, Cley.

Still, Arya made no bones about the fact that she was always eager to get away from the castle and exercise with her new sword, Fang. Dacey obliged easily enough, having been asked, between bouts of lovemaking that last night with Ranma, to take Arya under her wing. When the frost was still covering everything and the mist was still billowing, the two would ride about two hours from Winterfell, deep into the words to a clearing, where they exercised until midday.

Every day would start off the same, with Arya going through various strength and dexterity exercises, then she would move through some other exercises meant to heighten her mobility that Ranma had trained her in, including, though she didn't know it, several of the first katas he had learned as the basis of the Saotome School of Anything Goes. If Ranma continued to train her, Arya would be able to jump and fight in the air as well as he had when he was younger, though the addition of a sword made her slightly slower. Still, it would certainly take the ground-bound fighters in this world by surprise.

Dacey didn't make use of those, since she was larger and stronger than most men she had no need of them and had honestly started training with Ranma too late in life to really get the most out of them. Still, even Dacey had gotten some aid from the katas that Ranma had integrated into their training. Indeed, all the wolf-sworn, though only a few people had realized it yet, were deadlier warriors by far than most.

After that, however, came the part that Arya loved best, full on sparring. Arya didn't wear the padded armor like Bran did when he had been training. Dacey forbade it on the grounds that it weighed the girl down and did nothing else. Instead, Dacey had Arya wear personalized leather armor and use a small light buckler, which gave her some defense but didn't weigh her down.

While Arya was built for speed, light on her feet, and always mobile, Dacey was simply a mountain. She would stay still in one place, her sword and large shield flicking out fast as lightning at the younger girl, who could only barely parry a few blows before she was thrown back. In this manner, Arya was learning how to use her speed to the greatest advantage and building up her strength further. She was already surprisingly strong for her size but she couldn't rely on that strength against a grown man or a group of enemies to see her through. Arya would never be a big woman, she took after her mother in height rather than her father, and she would never have the massive muscles or the reach that a woman like Dacey had.

Still, Arya was learning how to fight at a frightening rate. Unlike Bran, Arya had a real talent for the blade and her instincts for fighting were incredibly good. She was also ruthless, taking any advantage she could, using her hands, shield, feet and anything else to gain an advantage, something Dacey praised. She was teaching Arya how to fight, not prance around. Every day Arya improved, never falling for the same trick, always building up her base skills.

Today, however, their first spar was interrupted. Dacey paused for a moment, holding up a hand to warn Arya away. She stared off into the woods, her eyes narrowed as she concentrated.

Arya stopped, looking at her quizzically, as Nymeria, laying on the ground by the edge of the clearing, perked up, her ears upright. Arya frowned trying to get a sense of Nymeria had heard, but not being able to. Instead she turned her attention back to Dacey. "What is it?"

"I thought I heard something over that way." The Mormont warrior pointed away from the direction that would take them back to Winterfell, deeper into the wolfswood. "Sounded almost like jangling of a harness and voices in the distance."

They paused, and in the silence Arya was finally able to get a read on what Nymeria was hearing. Voice of two legs, four legged not-for eating things the man things use, those odd things they had on them, moving and stamping. Arya came out of her short trance with a grin and raced off, Nymeria nipping at her heels. "Let's go see what it is!"

"Arya, wait!" Dacey shouted then cursed luridly before racing after her.

Arya had gained some of her older brother's endurance, and could run through the woods for hours on end. Dacey had some endurance, but little of Arya's speed so she had fallen well behind the younger girl by the time Arya neared the source of the noise enough to make out what it was with her own ears.

On the other hand, she had also gained some of her half-brothers sneakiness, so she knew how to be quiet in the woods. Sliding into a small area between a snow pile and a tree trunk, she motioned Dacey to move up behind her. Looking around the side of the tree they could look down the side of a very small hill in the forestland looking down at a largish clearing that was full of stamping horses and men.

The men and horses were all ragged, looking as if they had traveled for a long time. The men were caked with mud, their clothing was torn, patched and simply dirty along with their bodies, not a one of them looked as if they had as many meals as they should. They looked like a band of down on their luck mercenaries more than anything else.

Arya wondered what the heck they were doing in the wolfswood at all, let alone so close to Winterfell in such numbers. Dacey was wondering the same thing, and she glared down at the men from their hiding places. "Move back a little," she whispered. "Let's get further back out of sight."

Even Arya knew when to be serious and she moved back with her mentor past several trees, back towards the edge of their hearing range. They hunkered down again, hiding behind a downed tree out of sight. Dacey reached into a pouch, bringing out a small viewing glass, which had been a gift from Jon on her last birthday. He and Ranma had pitched in for it, though Dacey had at the time been a little miffed that her gift from Ranma hadn't been at least a little more romantic. Still, it was useful and had been expensive to pay for the glass in it plus have it shipped up to Winterfell.

She looked through it at the men, who were moving around and talking amongst themselves. She was looking for some identifying mark, something she could use to figure out where these people had come from. After a few minutes, Dacey hissed in surprise. Arya looked at her but Dacey merely shook her head, staring at what looked very much like the remnants of a flayed man mark on one battered shield.

The men sworn to House Bolton had been broken up and separated into different houses both major and minor. But Dacey knew that a few of the minor houses that had sworn to Bolton hadn't been happy about their lord's house being erased in such a manner. Greatjon had crushed two such houses when they joined together to try and force the issue, but it looked as if he had missed more than a few of their troops. How the hell did they get this far south without being seen and what the hell are they planning?

"Can you hear what they're saying?" Dacey asked her young charge. Part of her wanted to send Arya back to Winterfell, to take word of what they had found and to get the girl away from danger but she knew Arya wouldn't go without a fight. As good as she had been so far about being quiet, Dacey had no illusions that would last if they began to argue. Best not to have an argument with her this close to men who might have fell intentions.

She turned back to the man grimacing as she noticed another warrior whose shield bore the image of several frogs on a yellow background. "House Marsh." she muttered. "Evidently some of their men at arms survived when Greatjon crushed them."

Arya looked at her in surprise and Dacey explained. "When your father ordered the dissolution of Bolton you know that some houses took it poorly? Well Marsh was one of them. Greatjon crushed Redflag and Bloodtaker while Lord Hornwood crushed another one when they all tried to take to brigand's ways. Well, Marsh, the family Hornwood put down tried, anyway. The other two tried to band together behind one of their lords and force the issue, wanting to be raised to noble status and given control of the former Bolton lands in their entirety. Lord Umber did not have much truck with that."

"Huh, so, what, they're here to raid something or other? But surely a force this large should have been seen at some point before this." Arya muttered. Once more she tried to connect to Nymeria, to use her partner's senses, but the wolf couldn't relay the words the 'two-legs' were saying, not understanding them.

"I don't know. They could've moved into the mountains and followed that route down through the wolfswood but I would've thought the mountain clans would've stopped them."

Arya shrugged. "Maybe they did, maybe this is just the remnants of a larger force or maybe they broke up into smaller groups and snuck in that way.

In fact, the brigands had broken into groups of four or five and made their way south through various means, coming together at an abandoned tower several days travel deeper into the wolfswood before making straight for Winterfell in two groups of sixty.

A sound from behind the two girls made Dacey turn, her sword already flashing out of her scabbard to meet the rush of two men with spears, who had come out of the woods behind them. One of them shouted loudly. "Alarm, alarm! Two Wolf bitches on the southern side of caaa-!" That man died with Dacey's sword in his throat, his words ending with a gurgle of blood.

Arya unwound from the ground like a coiled spring, her small buckler pushing the spear that had been about to take her in the back to one side, competing her turn by slicing her sword into the side of the man who had wielded it.

She gaped for a moment as the blood gushed out from the heavy gut wound but Dacey, knowing they had but moments before the band was roused, smacked her upside the head. "Don't freeze on me! Let's get out of here!"

Arya shakily nodded, but it was too late. The men of the camp reacted with all the speed of the desperate and jumpy. Five more men had rushed toward the sound of the shout, while behind them Dacey could hear the band rousing in its entirety.

"Surrender wolf bitches, you may live!" One man demanded, his eyes staring at both the girl and the woman hungrily. It had been over a year since any of this band had dared to pillage and the sight of two females this close was making them all nearly blind with lust.

Dacey shivered a little but pushed Arya behind her, raising her bastard sword in one hand, her heavy shield in the other. "If you think only five of you are enough to take me, then come ahead and try."

The speaker stared into her eyes and flinched away but his fellows charged forwards. "Guard my back!" Dacey whispered, then moved to meet them. Her shield smashed out, catching one attacker's blow with such force it actually pushed the attacker back, opening him up to be sliced from crotch to chest by her blade before Dacey turned, blocking the next man's strike with her sword as her shield's bottom edge lashed out to the third man's face as he tried to get around her.

"AGH, You gah!" Arya took that man with a deep slash that caught him right below his chest plate, spilling his guts to the forest floor and ending his curse before it could begin. Her buckler whipped out, redirecting the sword of the fourth man before her sword ripped out of her first victim to sink deep into his thigh, causing him to scream and fall to the ground.

The final man tried to thrust his spear into Dacey's chest, as her sword was still blocking his fellow's blow. Nevertheless, she deflected the thrust to the side and into the ground with her shield. The man then screamed and collapsed to the side as he felt the back of his knee be ripped out from behind him. "AGHHH!" Nymeria's jaw then clamped down the back of his neck, ripping and tearing.

With the last man down, the two women raced away through the woods back the way they came. But by this point, the reavers were fully aroused and men were rushing towards them through the woods, many trying to race around the two interlopers to get ahead of them.

The men also had horses and, because Arya refused to leave Dacey behind, they were able to encircle the pair again, though the noise had surprisingly brought aid. Three men, who had somehow maneuvered their horses around the women, fell from their saddles in rapid succession, arrows sticking out of their chests.

Theon burst out of the woods, leading seven men he had been on a hunting expedition with. All eight of them knelt on the ground, firing one arrow after another from their bows. Men fell all around the two racing women, who skidded to a halt in front of the archers as Theon calmly pulled back his own recurve bow, sighting his target for just a second, before letting fly. The one man he had seen with his own bow fell with a gurgle, Theon's arrow having taken him right through one eye.

"Lucky for you, little wolf, that we were in the area!" Theon shouted, a bright, almost hungry smile on his face as he picked out another target, a man coming around a snowbank, another bow raised. Before the man could aim, he too fell, an arrow through the neck, his blood staining the snow around him bright red. "Get going, I have no idea what's going on here, but I think Winterfell should be warned!"

Arya looked at Dacey, who nodded. Arya looked at Nymeria for a moment, a wild idea forming in her mind. Wordlessly the two raced on, but they didn't go back toward Winterfell. Behind her Theon, Dacey, and the hunters broke off, moving away from the direction Arya had just run toward, trying to keep the attention of the brigands on them while keeping their distance from the main band, and picking off the frontrunners.

After running about ten minutes, the noise of combat now muffled by the woods all around them, Arya and Nymeria stopped in a small glade with grass visible in the center, the sun having melted the snow away in this place for now. In the middle of the tiny glade, Arya went to her knees, staring into her Nymeria's eyes. This was something beyond anything she had heretofore tried, using her link to try to command the wolf, not with instincts, but with an actual mental command, even if it was couched in terms that a wolf would understand. Pack in danger, pack in danger, call for aid, call now, HOWL!

The howls of wolves were devices of communication, almost like an army's bugles, and could tell pack members a lot more information than humans could ever truly understand. It took Arya a moment to get her intentions across to Nymeria, to forge the connection to her so that she was controlling the wolf's actions, distilled through the instincts of the wolf, rather than merely riding along her partner's mind. But soon, Nymeria opened her mouth, then threw her head back and howled, the noise echoing all around, heard for leagues in every direction.

OOOOOOO

Jon had finally been able to get away from the cursed paperwork. He had decided to spend his day out hunting with Ghost, just the two of them, although he had left Winterfell along with a band of ten hunters. He was just aiming his bow at a doe a hundred yards away when the sound of a howling wolf in the distance reached him and Ghost, who was laying belly down in a snowbank downwind from the doe, his white coat letting him blend in with ease.

For the first time, Ghost broke into their connection, pushing thoughts and feelings into Jon. Danger, pack mate calls, danger! With the thoughts came an image, the image of Arya kneeling by her wolf, her sword by her side, as well as a direction.

Jon bolted upright, instantly turning to race in that direction. As he ran, he raised his hunting horn to his mouth and blew an alarm. This was to summon the band of hunters, which had broken up into teams of two. Not five minutes later, the first of the hunters came into view and he raised a hand, pointing ahead of him.

As fast as Arya could move, Jon could move even faster, though he didn't have the endurance of his brother. In the space of twenty minutes, he covered enough ground to begin hearing the sound of combat in the distance. By this time, four other hunters had heard his horn and moved through the woods to meet up with him. Jon looked at them and the two he had first seen, smiling grimly as the two, visibly winded, came into range of his voice. "Alright, I have no idea what's going on, but it seems we might be running into some trouble ahead, so here is what we're going to do…"

Moment's later the hunters were on their way, and Jon raced through the woods to where he could hear Nymeria sending up her howl. He found her and Arya in the clearing he knew his sister and Dacey used to practice. He raced up to her, catching Arya in a hug before she could turn from staring into her wolf's eyes, evidently warging with Nymeria. "Well done, Arya! Are you hurt?"

Arya came out of her trance when her brother's arms went around her, and was almost surprised that he had come up on her without her feeling it. To one side she noticed Ghost, larger and stronger than Nymeria, standing and staring out into the distance towards the faint clangor of battle through the woods. It was only when those sounds hit her that Arya finally broke out of her momentary stupefaction. "Jon, we need to go, Dacey, she and Theon and few others they…"

"I know, and I will handle it Arya, I've already made some plans, but you need to get back to Winterfell to warn them. I can't take you back into that." So saying, Jon stood up, moving in the direction of the battle. "Go!"

Arya however had other ideas and moved with him, Nymeria moving to Ghost's side, her fangs bared in anticipation. "Oh hell no, Jon! You may be my brother, but that doesn't give you the right to order me out of this. I'm a Stark too, and my Fang will strike against the enemies of our family!"

Jon growled, but after looking into her fierce eyes, so much like their father's, without even a hint of their mother's softer nature in them, he realized the futility of arguing. As they raced on he chuckled, shaking his head. "Well said sister, just make certain you protect yourself well, I don't want to explain to anyone I let you get hurt." Arya laughed aloud, and the quartet of direwolves raced on, both the two legged and four legged now moving as one pack.

OOOOOOO

The battle in the trees had become close far too quickly for the hunters' liking. The men they were fighting pressed forward, using their shields to guard themselves from the Stark hunters' arrows, but never falling back. Instead they surged forward desperately, anxious to wipe out this band and move on to Winterfell before the castle of the Starks could be roused against them, knowing that was their only chance to pull through. They had been promised much and they wanted to make the Starks pay for what happened to their Lord four years ago.

Theon was armed with a heavy short sword, sort of like Jon's, only broader, with a jagged cutting edge along one side and a broad, heavy point, good for punching through armor. But the hunters were only armed with their longbows and skinning knives, which was a poor match for armor and melee weapons. They fell back as the men around them rushed to try and close with them.

One hunter died with a gurgle as a man wielding an ax came around a tree, slamming the single blade of the axe into the hunter's stomach, nearly slicing him in two with the force of the blow. The axeman died, however, with Theon's arrow right through his eye.

The Iron Born turned quickly, pulling his sword out of its scabbard to block a blow from a longsword, pushing the man off balance before grabbing his arm and pulling him close. The tip of Theon's blade took the man under his chest plate, then as he ripped it out, pulled the man's intestines out when they caught on the notched side of the blade. As the man screamed, Theon left his sword in the soon-to-be-corpse, calmly picked up his bow, then fitting a shaft to his bow, shot another man down. "Die, you stupid fuckers!"

Dacey was holding off three men at once, her blade flashing out to smash their swords this way and that. Her shield was now dented and buckled but still deadly, both for defense and as a weapon, which the Mormont clanswoman proved by ducking underneath one man's blow and smashing the edge of her shield into the inside of the knee of another man. As the man began to scream and fall to the ground, all the fight gone out of him, her blade came up to cut into the unprotected side of the third man, who had lunged at her former position.

A mace crashed down onto her back and she grunted in agony but her armor held, despite the fact that the impact threw her to the ground. She rolled, bringing up her sword desperately to block a spear thrust from another man, smacking it aside, and kicking out to catch the man right in the crotch. "AGHHHHHhnhhhh…."

Dacey rolled again, as the man went down screaming with his hands clutching his family jewels, which the she-bear had ruptured with her kick. She finally got her feet under her and pushed to her feet, blocking two more strikes and pushing both men back with a roar. "Here we stand!"

Theon grunted irritably as he ran out of arrows. His last arrow took a man armored in full plate armor, taking the man in the small opening between his gorget and helmet. He grabbed up his short sword from where it was imbedded in the guts of the corpse he had killed earlier and raced forward to join Dacey. They worked to keep the brigands away from the archers, who were once more pulling back, ducking around trees, and trying to use the trees and snow mounds as cover. There were over thirty of the invaders down already, their bodies scattered through the woods. The wooded terrain didn't allow the attacking force to bunch up and use their numbers to their fullest advantage, allowing the defenders to pick them off as they attacked. Moreover none of them were armed with bow and arrows, and the hunters reaped a deadly toll.

The battle began to go against the Stark loyalists, however, when more enemy arrived from behind the archers having circled through the woods, killing three of them before they could pull back. The remaining trio of hunters moved away from the two sides converging, deeper into the woods. This unfortunately left Dacey and Theon isolated, facing at least forty, possibly more men. "Pull back, move with me." Dacey ordered, making her way in the direction of the glade she and Arya used for their sword-practice.

Then suddenly, Arya, Jon, and their direwolves were there, snarling. "Winter is Coming!"

Ghost went for his usual subtlety, leaping towards a man and ripping out his throat with fangs that approached the size of knives. The force of the blow sent the man's corpse skittering backwards with Ghost still on it, then the large animal leaped off its kill, ripping one man's leg out from under him.

"AHH, getitoff!" The man screamed while he tried to bring up his blade, but Jon slew him almost absentmindedly leaping over Ghost's first victim to engage two men who were trying to circle around Dace and Theon, his swords flashing.

Of all the wolf-sworn and the Stark siblings, Jon had trained the most with Ranma by a wide margin. His speed and strength were quite frankly inhuman when compared to normal soldiers. There were stronger men out there even so, but there was no-one, save Ranma himself who was faster, and his blade smacked the blades of his opponents aside, almost contemptuously, before slicing out their throats so fast the men didn't realize they were dead until their bodies hit the red-tinted snow at their feet. Five men died as Jon moved through the woods, his swords moving in perfect control, smashing blades aside, cutting open weak points, slashing through armor, all with equal ease.

Theon grabbed the haft of a spear thrusting towards him, sidestepping to pull the man close enough for his short sword to ram through his throat, the blow punching out the back of the man's neck while shattering his spine. Then he pulled the spear out of the dying man's hand, wielding it for a moment against another man before Jon was there, cutting the man down and joining Theon. "Took you long enough, Snow!" Theon shouted over the cacophony of battle, stabbing with his short sword at a man who had played possum behind him. The man's blood joined the rest that had been spilled out onto the forest floor and the patches of snow around them.

"Don't complain, I had to set something up!" Jon returned, ducking underneath an axe and slicing open the stomach of its owner, before burying his other sword's tip into the eye of another man.

"Set what up!?" Dacey queried, now wielding her blade in both hands, her shield discarded due to being too smashed and bent out of shape to be anything but a hindrance. She frowned at the sight of Arya, who was now fighting beside her once more. Nymeria was working with Ghost at the outskirts of the battle to rip and tear at men and take attention away from the quartet of hard pressed humans.

Arya, however, ignored her trainer's frown, concentrating on the here and now. She blocked and parried blows from several men who seemed to think her an easy target, falling back toward Dacey for a moment. Suddenly, she jumped to the side, leaping halfway up a tree trunk, kicking off it over a massive two handed swing from a man wielding a greatsword, Fang flashing out to cut the front of his neck open in a welter of blood while her buckler flashed out, smashing into the bridge of another man's nose. She landed on the ground rolling as she hit, kicking out to destroy that man's knee with a satisfying crunching noise before standing tall, her eyes wild and Fang flickering in her hand.

Suddenly, arrows began to fall among the men around them and Jon smiled grimly. "That."

Jon had taken the time to hunt up the men that he had initially left from Winterfell with. Before he met up with Arya, Jon had sent them toward the battle on an angle, intending to have them attack the group making all the noise from the side. Now, their arrows whizzed through the heavily wooded area to take the attackers from the left side of the battle around Jon and the others.

Even so, the invaders were stubborn and there were more of them then Dacey had first thought, a little over a hundred at the beginning of the battle, in fact. She and Arya had only found one of two areas being used as a final gathering point, and the others had all rushed toward the sound of battle rather than trying to go around it to make for Winterfell. The soldiers kept coming forward, pressing the quartet hard. It was touch and go for the next twenty minutes or so, with more men coming out of the woods to try and close with the archers, forcing the hunters to retreat through the woods.

The attention on the archers took more pressure off the quartet of close combatants and they broke away, breaking out into a large clearing next to a path, having forced the attackers off their course toward Winterfell and down toward the road leading eventually to Hornwood and beyond. The hunters joined up with Jon and the others, pulling out their few remaining arrows to aim back at the edge of the woods. Arya wiped her forehead wearily, while her brother, Theon, and Dacey simply stood, waiting for the rush of men to pursue them out of the woods. They didn't have to wait long and, soon enough, their attackers charged out, their faces grimly determined.

Before battle could be rejoined, however, a jangle of harness from around the bend of the road through the trees spelled the end of the battle. "For the Seven and White Harbor!" A familiar voice shouted, accompanied by several others. Around the bend came a force of twenty armored knights, their shields showing the white merman on a blue-green field of House Manderly, their lances lowered

Before the attackers could pull back into the woods, where horses would lose their mobility, the knights were on them. This was the final straw for the attackers, who finally broke, most of them trying to escape rather than fight now, running in every direction. The knights split off, trampling attackers underneath their hooves, their blades flashing down and out, their lances lost in that initial rush. The heavier two-handed blades they used cut through the infantrymen's sparse armor easily, killing or maiming with every blow.

Arya fell to her knees, gasping in breaths, more exhausted by that short amount of real combat than she ever was after a half day of exercising with Dacey.

Jon reached down and ruffled her hair, leaving his hand on her shoulder as he looked up at one of the knights who was moving towards them. The visor lifted and a familiar face looked out at them all. Hathan smiled grimly. "My Lord Manderly sent myself and Ser Wendel to discuss the plans of using his fleet to transport supplies up to the wall." He waved at a somewhat portly knight who was moving through the woods with more difficulty than the others, but his sword was flashing out with vigor and strength. Wendel was the second son of Lord Manderly, a belted knight and one of his father's better field commanders. "Our timing seems to have been impeccable."

Jon and Theon barked laughter, while Dacey merely nodded, letting her sword drop to the ground as she knelt by Arya, gently bringing the young girl into her arms. She thought that Arya would have to be consoled about having killed men, but she was shocked to realize that there were no tears in Arya's eyes, only the aftershocks of her first battle working her their way through her body as the adrenaline left her.

Theon looked down at Arya too and groaned aloud. "By the Drowned God, what are we going to tell Lady Catelyn?"

"Absolutely nothing!" Jon replied firmly. "Arya wasn't here, she was never here. Dacey," he glowered at the woman, "did what she should have done and sent Arya through the words where she found me, so she stayed far away from the battle." One eyebrow raised, he looked down at Arya, wordlessly asking if the young girl understood that saying anything about this was a bad idea.

But the girl, who was now really feeling all the aches and pains of her first combat and who was trying to figure out what she felt about killing men, simply nodded, with Nymeria's bloody jaw pressing into her side. "We'll have to stop somewhere where I can clean up at least, maybe get a servant to bring me out a new set of clothes, but I really don't want to have that conversation either."

Wendel had joined them at this point and began to laugh. "No matter how big a wolf pup gets, I suppose he or she will always be afraid of his mother!"

OOOOOOO

The aftermath of battle was always hard but in this case the Stark forces had gotten off relatively lightly. While Arya was sore and exhausted, she hadn't actually been hurt. Her small buckler had been ruined, but Fang had come through it without even a nick on the blade. Jon, too, was uninjured, though one of his short swords had been broken by a sword-breaker (a short weapon with two heavy tines, which the user could use to capture and snap the blade of a sword).

Theon, however, had taken several blows, in point of fact his ribs on one side were cracked from a barely redirected blow from a mace, and had taken a cut above one eye, the blood of which had nearly blinded him before they retreated out onto the path, where Hathan and the knights following him had joined them. Dacey was wounded as well. The armor she had been using had been buckled and rent, exposing several wounds to her side and chest. Luckily, none of them were major and the maester was well able to deal with them when they returned to Winterfell.

Of the seventeen hunters that had left the Castle that morning, six returned. They had fallen in the woods to the swords of the attackers before they could retreat, or had been circled and cut down. Hathan had lost one knight, who was pulled from his horse by a desperate band of seven brigands who had banded together deeper in the woods. They had been ridden down by his vengeful fellows.

When they returned to Winterfell, thankfully for Theon, Jon, and Dacey, the ruse about Arya worked. Catelyn was too appalled that the brigands had come so close to her daughter (who she knew spent her mornings out in the woods with Dacey, and was ambivalent about it, not knowing what they were doing) to take much notice of the somewhat faraway look in Arya's eyes or the fact that Nymeria, who routinely did not bathe, was almost fresh smelling. Arya spent the rest of that evening in the infirmary with her mother being fussed over, something she put up with easily enough.

With the aid of Ser Rodrick, Jon and Theon questioned the few survivors closely, and they were all very vocal, trying to save their own skins. It didn't work obviously, but alas, none of them had much information to share. They simply told Jon and Theon they had been a part of House Marsh, before that House had been smashed by Hornwood for taking to brigands ways after the fall of House Bolton, as well as some House Bolton soldiers who were more loyal to their dead liege than most.

They had been led by a man called Gorson, the man who had worn full plate armor that Theon had killed with his last arrow. Gorson had found someone, he refused to tell the others who, that was willing to pay them to assault Winterfell. He had moved the men in small lots south towards their target, mostly through the mountains. Why they hadn't been bothered by the mountain clans, especially the Wull clan, who was the closest and most firmly allied with House Stark, was a mystery. Jon sent a messenger out that day to see if the Wull, the leader of that clan, knew how the men had snuck by him. It would take weeks for that messenger to find the mountain clans, however, and weeks more for him to return.

Later that evening, Jon, Theon, Hathan, Wendel, and Rodrick had dinner together, and the bastard born exchanged news. "It seems as if this was holdovers from the fall of House Bolton, wanting to strike out at us. There might have been someone else behind it, but the only man who knew who it could be, died during the battle." Jon said.

Hathan nodded, but he was frowning contemplatively. "Would a force that size have been able to break through? There were some six score of them all told, going by the number of bodies we found scattered throughout the woods, not enough, I would think, to take Winterfell."

"No," Jon replied, while at the same time Theon said "Yes."

The two looked at one another. Jon waved a hand for Theon to speak. "If they had taken us by surprise they might've won through into the castle itself before an alarm could be raised, surprise is everything in an attack like this. If they could have gotten into the winter town, then they might have been able to do it. The bastards could also have taken Arya hostage, if they had even an idea of who she was."

Jon frowned but eventually nodded his head in agreement. "That is possible. We'll have to heighten the guard's alert levels, though after this they shouldn't have to be told to be more alert, hmm?" Rodrick nodded grimly, having already passed on that order. "And send out patrols to make certain that that was the only group. I've already sent a messenger to the Wull clan, warning them of small parties trying to move through the mountains. I would've thought that no force however small could've moved through their land without the clan's knowledge, but it looks as if that was the case." Jon exchanged a glance with Theon and Hathan, trying to convey the fact that maybe their enemies from the ambush up north had a hand in that.

"Still," Wendel's voice rumbled from deep within his wide chest out from under a walrus mustache. "I believe it is time for us to move past this momentary excitement and to the matter at hand."

After that, the conversation delved into what Wendel was here to actually speak to Jon about, and if he felt any irritation about having to speak to the baseborn Jon about this rather than Lady Catelyn or anyone else from the family, he did not show it. The show that Jon and Arya had put on this afternoon against the raiders had impressed him and the knights with him, even more than the details he had heard of the wolf-sworn from his own baseborn family member.

The plan for the logistics aspect of sending supplies up to the wall was that Houses Stark, Cerwyn, Dustin, and Hornwood, along with the initial shipment by House Umber, would be supplying the majority of the food and other goods for a time. House Mormont would be sending a small troop of three hundred men, via the Bay of Ice, to the Shadow Tower, although that would be all the Mormonts would be sending.

House Flint of Flint's Finger, Glover, Reed, and Tallhart would not be sending any supplies, though they would be sending settlers instead. Indeed, in the case of Glover and Flint's Finger, the settlers would be eager for the chance to move, the lands of those houses being tougher and harder to work than even the rest of the North. House Ryswell, the Lockes, and Flints of Widows Watch would eventually be providing supplies and men as well but their supplies would not travel by road like the first group.

Instead, the majority of those supplies would be sent first up to Winterfell and then to White Harbor via the White Knife, whose tributary was already being used by House Cerwyn to send lumber down to the only true city in the North. The supplies would be taken by ship up to Eastwatch, the easternmost castle of the Wall, which protected a small port. It would be an almost constant stream of supplies rather than just one major drop off, but provisions would be getting up there even faster than the force under Ser Kyle Condon could arrive.

To that end, House Stark, with the aid of its minor Houses Mollen and Poole, would be sending men to clear and control the waterways as much as possible, to ease the trip down. House Poole controlled a holdfast by the river about two days journey from Winterfell and had been working on the project for years, with decent results on their section of the river, including coming up with ideas based off pulleys and elevators to get shipments down several small waterfalls. House Mollen was located near where the White Knife split, with a tributary heading off toward Castle Cerwyn while the main river continued down from Long Lake to the sea. If the river could be controlled enough, the goods would only take a bare week to get down to White Harbor, carried by riverboats with paddlewheels powered by mules. This was far faster than overland, a trip that would take more than a month for a caravan of any size.

House Manderly was willing to go even further, however, by not only sending up the supplies for free, but protecting those ships with their burgeoning navy, a navy that few had a hint that it was growing, just yet. That force had been building for the past several years. It was nowhere near the size that the Stormlands or the Iron Islands boasted, or even the King's Landing, but it was growing, fed by the wood and supplies from House Cerwyn sent down the river, which in turn was fed by Ranma's ideas of the river transportation and water driven saws.

After about an hour, the conversation finished and the two older men retired, leaving only Theon and Jon at the table. The two sat in silence for a time, as Jon simply sat there staring at the far wall and Theon drank a stein of ale. "It's a good plan." Theon muttered, his own eyes rather far away, his mind filled with ideas of the ships that would be sent north. This daydream was interspersed with memories of the crash of waves and the darkness of the depths of the ocean from his earliest years, a memory that had dominated him in many ways for his entire life.

"True." Jon said, now turning back to him and frowning thoughtfully. "The only problem is, that while White Harbor has a navy, it isn't a very good one just yet. Experienced sailors and captains, yes, but not a lot of experienced ship-to-ship fighters and no master-of-ships. Jon cocked his head thoughtfully, staring at Theon. "Would you like a job?"

Theon's eyebrows both shot up as his face, which had been darkly contemplative, now registered shock instead. "What kind of job are you talking about here?"

"I wouldn't be able to make you master-of-ships down there or anything like that, but I could send you down as House Stark's representative. You could give advice and go out on some of the ships as they head up to the Wall."

"You mean I could go up on one ship. It's not like changing horses or something," Theon replied automatically, but his voice lacked the tartness that it normally would when delivering a jibe like that. "What exactly would be my role?"

"Combat specialist." Jon said with a shrug. "You can't say you haven't noticed that you and the other wolf-sworn are simply better trained and better at combat than anyone else."

Theon nodded, he had realized that, both in the fight against the wights and in the fight earlier that day. Four against how many had attacked us in the woods, we should have fallen quickly, even with the hunter's aid. Even with the woods working in our favor as well as the wolves, we should have all died today. Instead we slaughtered more than half a hundred men! Legends have been made of worse fights than that! Ranma's training has made us all more than normal men. Perhaps there is something to the smallfolk's belief that he has been touched by the old gods.

Jon went on. "Well, couple that with the lessons you've done with Maester Luwin about naval warfare, your general skills, and what you can remember from your time among the Iron Born and you might know more about ship to ship combat than anyone House Manderly employs. Prove yourself and maybe Lord Manderly and his representatives will trust you with more authority."

Of all the northern houses, the Manderlys had the least amount of antipathy toward the Iron Born. Having their holdings on the other side of the continent from the Iron Born and the rebellion had protected them. Hathan and all the other Manderly men that Theon had met with had treated him appropriate to his station, with no condescension in their manner.

The fact it also got Theon away from Jon before he or Theon attempted to kill one another need not be said. The past few weeks been relatively quiet save at meal times when they were both there at the same time because their duties had kept them away from one another. Yet there was no way that was going to continue.

"So I would be a kind of advisor on naval combat?" Theon asked skeptically. "That's rather vague."

"Which means it will become what you can make of it." Jon replied, nodding. "So, will you do it?"

Theon actually paused for a moment to think about it then nodded firmly. "I'll do it."

OOOOOOO

That night, after spending nearly all evening with her mother in the infirmary, Arya snuck out of her room with Nymeria joining her quickly. She made her way unseen out of the keep and over the grounds, entering the small enclosed area containing the godswood. Like a shadow, she moved through it following Nymeria now, heading deeper into the woods to the heart tree.

The duo came out of the woods into the tiny clearing in front of the heart tree, staring as the moonlight gleamed off the deep pool of water by its roots. Arya noticed that with the moonlight overhead, the face of the old man, carved or somehow grown out of the wood, looked somewhat different, yet was still welcoming rather than scary like it should have been.

Arya sat down in the roots, Nymeria crowding into her side as she pulled Fang out of its sheath, laying it on her knees and looking up at the face above her. She wasn't very religious but she had been brought up to believe in the old gods and she hoped that they could help her now. "My Da always comes out here whenever he needs to think or after he, he hands out justice. I never, I never really knew the, the weight, I guess, of that until now. I, I killed today, I don't know how many men. Twelve, more maybe, I don't know."

She paused for a moment then went on. "I, I know Dacey and by brother were worried about my reaction, but I just, it was just a thing you know. I didn't enjoy it, I didn't, after that first one it became easier, but I never really felt sadness about killing them or anything like that. I was angry, really angry during the fight and after, I was just, numb maybe, something like that."

The youngest Stark girl laid her head back against the trunk, the warmth of her brother's cloak wrapped around her and Nymeria pressed into her side keeping the cold of the night at bay for now, though she knew it wouldn't last for long. "I know I'm supposed to feel remorse or something, but I don't, not really. They attacked us, I had to kill them to defend myself and my home, that was it. That, um, I've never been good at, you know, feelings, but that bothers me. Should I be feeling something, or am I still numb, I, I just don't know…"

Arya fell silent, simply leaning against the tree for a moment. Nymeria's head came up, pressing into her own, the female direwolf's eyes locked with her bond mate, as if saying 'this is what you are'. Wolves don't kill unless they have to, but nor did they shirk from it.

Arya's hands rose, rubbing Nymeria's chest, then her neck and ears. A feeling of contentment and belonging filled her, a sense of welcome and approval somehow, coming through to her from the woods all around.

The girl smiled and sat there until her fingers and toes began to feel a little numb from the cold. Arya stood up, then on a whim leaned up on her tip toes to kiss the side of the wooden face coming out of the bark of the tree. "Thank you." With that, Arya raced off through the woods, Nymeria at her heels, all her inner doubts at rest for a moment, not knowing that this moment solidified all the changes that Ranma had made in her, which would infuriate certain parties once they learned of it.

OOOOOOO

Ranma's decision to train Tommen and Joffrey didn't have an impact on the way the king's party traveled. Just as before the group would get up and head out, covering about 25 leagues or so before stopping for a midday meal, after which they would continue. But now, even Ranma was hard-pressed to come up with new stories to pass the time, forcing him to make up some rather than rely on the memories of his life as Ranma Saotome.

There was still a bit of tension from Lannister supporters towards Ranma, but it had simmered to a low boil, waiting eagerly for the time when they left the North behind to come out.

Joffrey's own hatred of Ranma had solidified into a burning force, though he was careful to keep it under wraps, more because his mother seemed to have her own plans moving forward for the Stark heir. How dare Ranma have his father's approval! How dare Ranma choose Tommen over Joffrey to befriend! How dare Ranma show him up every day with his endurance, good humor and skill! How dare he always show him up and force him to do these demeaning exercises! How dare this jumped up wild boy from the North act as if he was the prince's equal! In Joffrey's mind, now the idea of marrying Sansa was not just to have a pretty little toy to play with, but so that he could eventually break that pretty toy in front of the young man he had come to hate with every fiber of his being over this trip.

He was able to keep a lid on it while he was out on his horse for the first portion of the day by simply staying away from Ranma or staying near his father. If there was one place Ranma would not be, it was near the drunken carousing that was how Robert began each day. The young Stark heir was quick to leave the King's presence as soon as he could, politely or not.

Inside the carriage was another matter. While on the surface Joffrey kept his cool, he did little things to irritate and hurt both of his younger siblings, things that he could get away with even when sitting right next to his betrothed or across from his mother. Kicking them 'accidentally' while stretching, elbowing Tommen hard in the ribs as he got up out of his seat, or pulling on Myrcella's hair when Sansa and his mother were looking out the window. These very small things, to him, did not truly go far to appease his anger, but it was enough for him to keep control, for now.

Myrcella knew that Joffrey was being his usual horrid self, though he was showing a surprising amount of cunning in hiding it in plain sight from Sansa. Not so much their mother, who never bothered to notice such things. Still, Myrcella put up with it as she always had when she had to, though she was proud of how Tommen put up with it.

Tommen didn't realize what was going on and as days passed he began to ignore these little blows more and more. Thanks to Ranma's training, he was becoming a little tougher every day. Unlike Joffrey, who only did them begrudgingly and stopped the moment Robert, a few days later, stopped watching, Tommen threw himself into the training eagerly. Though he really wasn't very good at it yet, he was enthusiastic at least and soon noticed something that spurred him on even more.

His father was actually showing some interest in Tommen! The dedication and time he was putting into the training exercises of his idol had gone quite a ways to making him seem more like what Robert felt a son of his loins should be like. It wasn't anything big, just a smile here and a nod there, but that was better than the scowls and glares that any of the royal children normally got, if the King noticed them at all.

Thankfully, Joffrey hadn't noticed this yet nor had Cersei. Her normal sharp senses for such things dulled by 'that time of the month' a few days after Ranma began to take Tommen under his wing. This was not a pleasant time for anyone in the coach. Even with the chance to be next to his betrothed plus the chance to needle his younger siblings, Joffrey jumped at the chance to escape the carriage while his mother was in such bad humor. The Queen knew this, so allowed even her daughter out of her sight during this time. The two young children spent five days out on Ranma's horse, with Myrcella holding her brother in front of her, next to Ranma as he ran along with Fenris telling them tales, while Joffrey rode at the front of the column as was his right, with Robert.

During this time, Sansa joined Ned on his horse as she had a time or two on trips to White Harbor, Castle Cerwyn, or even once to Castle Hornwood. The two talked quietly, blocking out the rest of the world as the two of them spoke as a father would with a daughter who he was going to be giving away all too soon.

Once Cersei's time passed, she went back to her project of figuring out how to influence or handle Ranma, with limited success so far. Varys, on the other hand, had given up his interest in the Stark heir for now, instead trying to analyze Ned and the impact the older Stark would have on King's Landing or vice versa. Varys really didn't understand Ranma or the impact he could have as a symbol or as a warrior. He dealt with shadows, money and politics, not warfare or symbology. Cersei, however, knew that symbols, such as a gods-touched warrior, could be dangerous if not harnessed. She was waiting for them to get down where it was warmer, so she could truly begin her campaign to do just that.

Two more weeks passed thus while they crossed the side of the barrowlands until they were within sight of the Moat. As the massive towers (each of them larger by far than any tower in Winterfell and able to house at least three-hundred people comfortably) came into view, Ranma looked up at his father riding next to Robert at the head of the column. "Do you think Lord Reed will be there?"

"I hope so," Ned responded, a small smile appearing on his granite-like face, "though I am uncertain, the Moat is not House Reed's seat after all."

Robert barked a laugh, as with him as he sipped from his wine. "Hah, maybe the bentback won't have been able to find his own damn castle, Greywater moves, after all! What say you lad, want to run ahead and see if Howland's there?"

"Don't tempt me, my Lord." Ranma replied, shaking his head. "It wouldn't take much, trust me. I'm getting mighty bored with the pace this group sets. Maybe if you quit drinking half the morning away before we set off, we would make better time?" Ned looked at his son sharply, but Ranma merely shrugged back, after all it wasn't like he had really attacked the King, was it? Ranma was just getting tired of the King and of the Queen, in her own way, as well. The King wore his vices on his sleeve. The Queen tried to hide her feelings under a veneer of hauteur but Ranma could tell there was a lot of hate plus a lot ambition underneath. Some of the looks the Queen had sent his way freaked Ranma out.

Robert laughed again, not taking the boy's jape as an attack on him but as a sign of Ranma's boredom. He'd been amused the entire trip with the way that Ranma just kept going day after day, sprinting along with the horses and not even seeming to be very effected by it.

It took them another four hours travel to actually reach Moat Cailin, but they had timed this portion of the journey very well. The Queen, her ladies, Sansa, and the children stopped with twenty guards at an inn within an hour's ride of the Moat. The rest of the party continued on and stayed at the Moat, welcomed by the men of a few of the Neck's minor houses and House Reed.

Lord Reed was indeed waiting there, although neither of his children was with him. After firm, brotherly hugs exchanged with both Ned and Ranma, Lord Reed explained their absence, his voice rasping as it always did, a holdover from a childhood disease many crannogmen suffered from. "Meera was with me here but she's out hunting now, along with several others. There was a report of a lizard lion nearby. A full grown one, not one of the adolescents or young males."

Lizard lions were sort of like crocodiles or alligators back in the world Ranma had come from initially and, yet, in many ways, weren't. For one thing, they were stronger and heavier than crocodiles or alligators normally were and, for another, their skin was even tougher. In fact, many marsh warriors used their skin for armor. It worked almost as well as half-plate without being nearly as heavy. Their arms were also much longer and more flexible and, after reaching their full growth, they developed a poison that they secreted from the spines along their backs. The females were also able to exhale a noxious gas from their mouth, at need. Also, unlike crocodiles or alligators, their jaws were heavily muscled both for opening and closing.

The breeding adults were also somewhat more intelligent, enough to know to stay away from humans for the most part. The adolescents hadn't developed the intelligence to stay away from humans, making the younger lizard lions range from nuisances to real dangers. However, none of the adolescents were ever large examples of their breed. They were a danger certainly, but they hadn't yet developed the poison nor were they so large. They did not have much in the way of animal cunning, which seemed to develop even more slowly for lizard lions than it did for humans. A fully grown lizard lion could weigh, at a minimum, as much as a knight in full armor along with his horse. An adolescent could weigh as much as an unarmored human. It took several years for them to move from their teenage years, as it were, to full adulthood. Keeping their numbers down was a major, long term occupation of the Neck's Noble Houses.

Ranma frowned, looking over the marshlands abutting the eastern side and almost the entire frontage of the Moat, save for the causeway, a road, twenty feet wide at this point, leading on south under the watchful eyes of all three towers. He was worried about Meera, who was a good friend of Arya's, despite being older. He looked up at one of the towers, shuddering as he saw the ballista on the roof. That thing looks like it would smart like one of Lime's punches. "What about your son, how is he doing?"

"Jojen is doing well, in the main." Howland answered, frowning faintly. "He collapsed about a month and a half ago, but he seems to be recovering his strength well enough. His mother is keeping him close to home, however, since he has had some fever dreams ever since, muttering about how fate has changed, and other incomprehensible things. 'The eyes have closed' was one, and something about three eyes."

Ranma and Ned both frowned, offering their condolences and well wishes for the boy to get better. Ranma remembered Jojen as a bit of an odd child, with wide staring eyes and an almost musical voice, yet, he was also surly and detached, sometimes giving the impression that he wasn't all there when you were talking to him.

He much preferred Meera, who was an older version of Arya in many ways. The girl was wild and cagey, a very skilled hunter even though she was only fourteen, and somewhat passable (high praise from Ranma) with a spear. She and Arya had met a few times and had got along splendidly, though she and Sansa had not. Sansa was most definitely a girly girl and Meera was the ultimate tomboy.

Howland clasped his old friend's shoulder affectionately. "Come, we've put up a bit of an outdoor meal for you all, not a feast, my lands don't produce enough to fully feast you as you should be, Your Grace." Ned smiled, eager to share news with Howland, whose advice he always respected, wondering if the man would see the same dangers Ned saw ahead of him down south. Robert grunted, but didn't really care one way or another so long as the wine was flowing freely.

Once they started to traverse the Neck, there would be no stopping, no midday meal, and no hunting. The only way through the neck was by the Kingsroad on its causeway. There was nothing in the Neck but marshes as far as the eye could see on either side of the road, so no way to hunt. They would be pushing through as quickly as possible, exchanging horses and mules as they could to push on. The trip through the Neck going up had taken a little longer than three weeks. The trip going down would hopefully take them a shorter amount of time.

Ranma followed after his father, frowning faintly as women he could tell were whores moved to join with the 'camp followers' that were a permanent part of the King's party, moving towards the men-at-arms, two of the better looking ones moving toward the King. He shook his head, suddenly not very interested in partying. Later that evening, Ranma was able to excuse himself, then moved off to talk to a few of the soldiers of House Reed before moving away from the light of the many campfires.

He found Fenris, who was now almost as large as a pony and showed no signs of reaching his full growth, moving toward him almost immediately. The direwolves eyes were gleaming in the faint moonlight, eager to hunt with his bond-mate. Ranma chuckled but shook his head. "Sorry pal, but hunting around here isn't anything you're going to be good for. There's not nearly enough solid ground out here for you, sorry."

Fenris huffed, his breath puffing out in the cold air for a moment, causing Ranma to frown a little, remembering his house's motto, making him wonder if winter was coming soon, and if Jon was handling things back north, preparing the Wall to defend against the White Walkers. At the moment however, there wasn't anything he could do about that.

He came back to the here and now, looking out over the marshlands to the east. "I just gotta get away for a bit. Stay out of the way of the southerners while I'm gone, alright?" Fenris couldn't really understand human speech, but the images Ranma sent along their link got through and the direwolf padded away into the night.

Ranma smiled at that, then moved to the edge of the solid land along the eastern edge of Moat Cailin, marked by a small, chest high wall. It's opposite number along the western edge, facing toward the Fever River, was among the defenses being rebuilt, but this one, facing the marshes, didn't need that. Ranma hopped onto the wall then, without further ado, leapt forward, grabbing the limb of a tree about twelve meters away, flipping himself into the canopy and away, a wide grin on his face as he left the party well behind him.

OOOOOOO

While the noise and bustle of the party went on around them, Ned and Howland had retreated to the large, flat-bodied marsh boat that Howland used to traverse the marshes of the Neck. Robert had gone off with three girls at once, mumbling something in his drunken stupor of wanting to break his personal record. Ned had sighed, smiled, and let him go his way, though inside he was beginning to be worried about how much ale his old friend consumed. Then Ned and Howland had made their escape from the carousing, leaving Ser Jory and a few of Howland's men in charge to make certain that nothing violent happened.

Now, alone with a single candle the two exchanged news or, at least, Ned told Howland about the news from Winterfell. He told him everything, the stirring of the White Walkers and their attack on Ranma's party, the attack on Bran, Ned's growing concerns about what might be awaiting him down south, everything.

Howland took it all in, simply sitting there, saying nothing as was his wont. Howland rarely spoke about anything until he had time to work it all out in his mind. Finally he spoke, his voice low and rasping, yet still a welcome sound to Ned's ears. "You are right to be concerned about what might be going on in King's Landing, Ned. Here in the Neck, we hear a little more news than the rest of the North, thanks to our tradesmen selling our medicinal ingredients in the Riverlands. There are rumors of discontent, of the growing reach of House Lannister and the corruption of the court. Robert was an excellent general and a warrior, but he has not been a good king. He has not really tried to rule the kingdom, it is the council that rules in his stead, and there, Lannister gold buys many votes."

He looked at Ned's face and chuckled, the rasp in his voice making the chuckle sound very odd. "You are too much the honest Northerner, my lord. Politics is about power, money, and prestige, as well as appearances. That is where Robert has faltered. Jon Arryn helped him navigate those waters somewhat, but could not control them. The court is a cesspool, where the shit rises to the top."

Ned grimaced, but nodded. "I just wish I had a real idea of what I was going to find when we get there. As the King's Hand it will be my duty to... drain that cesspool, I suppose you could say, but what am I going to find at the very bottom?"

"That I cannot tell you, I can only say that which you should already know. For one, do not assume that the people you deal with will be honorable or even rational. When someone becomes used to wielding power, they will do everything they can to keep it when threatened. Watch your back and keep that lad of yours close, if you can. He tends to react in a very… blunt manner and that might earn you more enemies than it frightens away. On the other hand, if things do become physical, young Ranma can be a force none will be ready to match."

"True enough," Ned nodded, smiling faintly. His son was indeed a force to be reckoned with, though as unsuited as he was when it came to politics and the sort of back alley deals he feared he would all to soon be forced to deal with.

The crannogman paused, one hand moving over his closely shaved scalp for a moment as he thought. "I cannot give you any more precise advice there. You have already been in contact with Lord Tully. He may know more or, at least, send an advisor you can trust with the men you requested. As for your other bits of news, I cannot think what your son saw, but my gut is telling me it was important, more important than simply a illicit meeting between a White Cloak and a married woman. On the other hand, the White Walkers…" He frowned deeply. "That is worrisome, far more worrisome than whatever is going on down south. They haven't been seen in over eight thousand years, far longer than any notes or histories I would trust. I wish I or the houses owing mine fealty could aid you but your idea to send a whelming up to the wall is a good one. Yet, they come with the winter. I trust you have also told the other houses of the North to prepare for that."

After Ned nodded, Howland looked at him sharply. "But the whelming will have brought some attention to the boy. Did you think of that?"

Ned shrugged. "I had to leave him in charge. Ser Rodrick doesn't have the head for numbers to handle the logistics and he isn't well known beyond my family's lands to speak for my house. Jon has the one, and is known well enough for the other. I trust him to handle it and, while this might bring more attention his way, none in the North will look too deeply at things."

Howland hummed noncommittally, staring at one wall as he remembered a day years ago and the toughest fight he had ever been in. He was more than a little concerned about any attention being paid to Jon but his baseborn status defended him from such scrutiny or did, if you didn't really know Eddard Stark and his sense of honor. He shook it off, what's done is done. "I wish I could aid you more my friend, something material, some advice to help you steer this course other than simply telling you to be very careful but it is outside my realm of knowledge. I'm sorry."

"That's alright, old friend. Simply talking about it made me feel better." Ned smiled, and the two moved on to other things.

OOOOOOO

Ranma leapt from one tree to another, smiling faintly at the chance to do something more physical than just running along. He zoomed through the night of the marsh, lit by the stars above and the faint gust of luminescent gas rising from the marsh below, which hid the lower areas of the trees he was traversing through, hiding many threats beneath its ever moving surface. He was almost silent for all of his speed, a mere rustle of leaves in the night, not even his sword, strapped to his back, catching on branches or giving any indication of his presence.

Beyond the needed physical exercise, this was also a mental release. Out here there was no hidden agendas swirling around him just outside of his ability to grasp, no drunken king not worth his crown, no queen with her odd glances and cold ways, no Joffrey, no worries about his family or the coming troubles he could see, both from the White Walkers and whatever the hell was going on down south. Nothing but him, the marsh around him, and the night air whistling around him.

About thirty minutes after he left Moat Cailin, Ranma's enjoyment was shattered by a loud roar, accompanied by the cracking of wood in the distance and someone cussing like a sailor in a voice of mixed anger and fear. It was a female voice, a voice he had heard before. "Huh, sounds like little Meera is in trouble."

Ranma moved rapidly in that direction, passing through the branches of the trees as easily as someone else would over level ground, arriving on the scene swiftly. Below him, a small hunting boat, a coracle about as long as a man was tall, thin, flat-bottomed, yet, made of thick wood to stop hidden branches or, more importantly, the claws and jaws of a lizard lion, had been capsized. A young girl, visible by the moonlight and some marsh lights coming off the waters among the trees, was now balanced precariously on the prow of the boat, both hands holding a short hafted trident, whose tip was pointing down at the reason her boat had capsized.

A huge lizard lion had come out of the marsh's water, its fangs gleaming in a mouth opened as wide as Ranma's arms would stretch, its red eyes gleaming with hunger or blood lust. The thing was longer than the height of three men, wider than the coracle it had capsized, and apparently, judging by how Meera's thrusts were skittering along its back, its skin was harder than chainmail. The thing was ignoring the girl's futile attempts to wound it, simply clawing it's way up the coracle's flat bottom to get at her.

"Winter is Coming!" Ranma howled, pulling his sword free from it's scabbard. He leaped down from the tree he had been in to land right on top of the lizard's snout, forcing its jaw closed. One foot raised in an attempt to smack him away but, by this point, Ranma was ready with his sword and the armor of the lizard's arm wasn't as tough as it's body. Ranma's thrust burst through the back of the things foot and the monster lizard retreated, trying to bring its jaws to bear on him.

Ranma turned quickly, grabbed Meera, trident and all, and leapt up into the treetops. "Hey Meera, ran into a bit of trouble, did you?"

"Oh shut up! I was following the thing, it's bleeding from some old wound, making tracking it relatively easy, but I lost it when it hid under some quicksand under the water. How was I supposed to know it had enough strength to overcome the quicksand's pull!?" Meera yelled in his ear, hyperventilating a little at both how close she had come to death and Ranma's sudden arrival.

The girl was tough, though, and got over it quickly, staring down as the injured beast began to slam it's massive tail against the tree trunk that supported them. "The forest folk must have sent you, Ranma Stark, but what do we do now? That thing is going to keep attacking us and it's already killed ten hunters in the past two days, along with three family boats disappearing. It's my duty as a Reed to kill it before it can do more."

"Then we better finish it now. Get your trident ready and make your way down the tree to that low branch down there," Ranma indicated a large branch about three feet above the water's churning surface. "Then wait for your shot but remember to aim for the eyes."

Without further ado, Ranma once again leaped downward, laughing aloud now at the chance to vent some of his frustration about the journey he was currently on. He landed feet first on the things back, slamming his sword down point first. With his strength Ranma was able to plunge his sword's tip through the powerful back armor of the lizard lion, but it didn't penetrate very far before stopping.

This gave the cagey old lizard time to roll in the water, which it did, taking Ranma and his sword with it. Ranma cursed as he slammed into the water, but kicked out, his foot glowing blue for a moment, when the thing turned to try and close its jaws around him.

The blow caught it on its upper teeth, shattering them and actually throwing the thing a little up out of the water. Meera, shaking off her shock at the power of the kick, stabbed quickly, aiming for the giant lizard lion's right eye. Her trident skitter across the armor plate surrounded the thing's eyes and skull, but one of the tines of the trident smashed into the monster's eyeball.

"RAAHH!" the lizard lion roared, turning away to try and bring it's tail to bear on Meera while concentrating on Ranma. Meera dodged as much as she could but she still caught a glancing blow that lifted her off her perch on the low slung branch, throwing her through the air into the water a few yards away. Luckily, like all crannogmen, she could tread water and climb like a monkey, so that was what she did, climbing up the trunk of a nearby tree as quickly as possible.

With Meera dealt with and Ranma now weaponless, and in the water, the lizard lion pressed it's advantage. Ranma, however, didn't retreat, simply moving to meet the creature. Its jaws once more tried to catch him, but Ranma, quicker than lightning, grabbed the upper jaw and flipped himself up and out of the water into the air above the beast.

The lizard lion actually shook its head in stupefaction for a moment before pushing out of the water, trying to catch its attacker in midair. Ranma merely changed direction by grabbing a hanging branch, reaching with his other hand to his sword still stuck in the beast's back. He pulled it out, grunting slightly, then, flipped himself over to land in the water right under a tree, standing on the roots hidden in the water.

The beast charged once more, jaws open to bite him but Ranma stood his ground. When the thing came close enough, he stabbed his sword deep into its mouth with as much force as he could, slamming through the lizard lion's upper mouth and deep into its brain, killing it instantly.

Ranma had to let go of his sword and leap into the tree as the thing went into its death throes, watching as the thing thrashed and died. He looked over to where Meera was clinging like a drenched koala (not that anyone else in Westeros would call her that) to another tree and said dryly, "Well, that was exciting, wasn't it?"

Meera gaped at him for a minute, then barked a laugh, before moving up into the branches of the tree. She sat there, staring down at the massive lizard lion, not even looking up as Ranma made his way over to her while, in the distance, lights from other coracles began to appear, the other hunters who had been out searching for this monster making their way toward the sound of the disturbance. Meera had lost her lantern when the boat capsized, but since it had been a choice between her trident or her lamp, she didn't mind. "That lizard lion is a real monster, it must be at least as old as my father. What in the name of the old gods was it doing around here, we never see any lizard lions that old this far from the center of the Neck, nor do ones that old normally bother to come close to humans."

She felt more than saw Ranma shrug ignorance and she looked up at him now, pushing her long brown hair back out of her eyes from where it had matted across her face with swamp water, shivering a little in the cold nighttime air. Ranma looked just as wet and bedraggled as she did but still had a smile on his handsome face and didn't seem to feel the cold. Meera smiled, smacking her shoulder against the boy she knew as a somewhat wild, chaotic cousin more than as heir of the lordship of the North. "So, what brought you to my rescue, Ranma, besides the obvious I mean?"

"Going south with my father, who has agreed to be the King's Hand, though why anyone would want the job is beyond me. Anyway, I'm going south to meet my prospective bride. Someone from House Tyrell down in the Reaches, ugh. Frankly this bit of fun here was probably the last I'll have for a while."

Meera gaped at his morose expression, then, as the lights of her fellow hunters came close enough to see them, began to laugh again. She was still laughing when the other crannogmen arrived.

Ranma left her to it, suddenly noticing that the tree they were on had no moss on it, nor was it rotting. He looked down at the trunk and saw a face jutting out of the trunk. He smiled faintly, leaning back and closing his eyes, allowing a feeling of rightness and wellbeing to wash over him, while below the hunters began to make plans to transport his kill.

Suddenly a small vision came to him, a roar, fire, and the beat of wings. He opened his eyes, wondering what the hell that meant, but shook it off for now, staring down at the giant lizard lion. "I wonder what it would take to make a suit of armor out of that thing?"

End Chapter

---

Okay, so first a major rant, then a minor one. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I loathe David Eddings' work, not just because they all have all powerful gods (hate that idea) in them leading the people around like obedient dogs on a leash, but because they assume that humans do not progress. 1500 years from one war to another, and nothing has changed but what armor and metals are used in warfare?

Martin is guilty of the same thing, only on a much smaller scale. Technology IS NOT STATIC! Even in the middle ages there was a difference between one century and another. Also, Martin doesn't make enough use of river power. The White Knife should have been mastered and controlled as much as possible, fueling trade and growth between Houses Stark, Cerwyn and Manderly. Jon is going to push that aspect.

I also realized while writing this that Mr. Martin has only a vague idea, or is being deliberately vague, about geography or how land was normally broken up in a feudal system. Having the seats of two prominent houses, and Cerwyn is one of the most powerful in the North, apparently, so close together is weird as hell. Had to scramble to reason out how that would work, where the borders would be. So consider the two castles sort of being at the points of triangles facing one another but not overlapping. House Cerwyn's triangle is open face moving somewhat down toward the Rills to encompass that town, and a large chunk of the wolfswood below a straightish path to the seat of House Glover. The Stark's widens to include a bit of the wolfswood before reaching the mountains, and down toward the White Harbor including much of the White Knife and some land beyond. I also went back and changed it so that Hathan's new holding is North of Winterfell rather than in what I describe here as Cerwyn territory.

And he also seemed to have forgotten about Flint's Finger for a time or is he saying that their land can't be invaded, then used as a stepping stone, troops being ferried over the Saltspear into the Rills to get around Moat Cailin? Does the Neck really stretch that far west to prevent that? Since it looks as if it becomes forest near the shoreline near the Twins, and while an army has trouble moving through forests, it isn't impossible, for infantry troops in particular. If anyone knows a better map than the ones on: images/e/e7/Map_of_ and images/c/cd/The_ , please tell me.

In this chapter, Ranma sort of got bogged down in the blah of the journey, while interesting things happened at home with Jon and Arya getting a chance to shine. Next chapter might have Ranma travel the Riverlands and to Kings Landing or just the Riverlands, we'll see. Unless I decide to concentrate only on Ranma and the King's party for a chapter, Arya too will become more of a central character. Theon and Tyrion will wait a time, to allow them to reach their disparate destinations, (maybe) though I will be honest and say making dialogue for the Imp is a major challenge.

A question I am certain someone will ask, does Arya's blade have the same characteristics of a Valyrian one? No, Valyrian blades were made by magic and with a heat Ranma and company could not reproduce – dragonfire - her sword is simply an exceptionally well-made blade in a new way that sets it above of most others. Why didn't Ranma have one made? He already had a blade, gifted to him by House Glover. Why not Jon? The ore for the blade was too expensive given all the false starts for them to make more than the one for Arya.

I also regret to inform Gendrya fans (is that how you write it) that this particular pairing will probably not happen. Sorry.

I will not be going into the minutiae of the other realms more than I have here unless it directly impacts the story (such as when war breaks out), I wanted to do it for the North here to show what Jon was up to and what the composition of the force sent to the wall was, as well as how Dominic was wheedling his way into the trust of the Targaryen exiles

Oh yeah, how would Theon's family react to him leaving behind the Greyjoy name? – Gaining a new name through a heroic dead and given a lordship? Not saying what I have planned for him, but I am just asking everyone's opinions.