Eddard Stark looked up at Sky's gatehouse, relieved to have a good bed to sleep in tonight as he could see basket lifts from the Eyrie, large enough to hold a direwolf without issue, descending towards the Waycastle. Grey Frost, his gray-and-white direwolf, wasn't quite as happy as they knew that he'd have to go back to the kennels, which had originally been a series of small storerooms before Ned and his retinue, and their direwolves, came south as the Eyrie did not have purpose-built kennels, and thus poor Frost, and all the other direwolves, were quite cramped.
That was one of the things Ned disliked most about living in the Eyrie, that his bonded companion wasn't allowed to roam freely like back home in Winterfell. Well, that and having to hide his skinchanging abilities, he had not forgotten what had happened to the Last Stark Princess, Serena Stark, when she was married to The King Who Flew.
At least he wasn't as isolated as his distant ancestor had been. Between the bastions of the Old Gods in and around Redfort and Runestone, as well as how prevalent it was in the Riverlands, there would be a lot of allies willing to help him get back North if things went bad. Given the long enmity between the faiths Father had managed to extract a further assurance from Jon, namely the eight direwolf knights led by Rodrik Cassel that acted as his personal guard.
Looking ahead to where Ser Rodrik led the convoy Ned felt another surge of jealousy from Grey Frost at Nyx's – the knight's direwolf – black-and-deep-blue painted traveling plate barding, the light fluting – a structural element that increased the plates' resistance to denting or crumpling while looking like a decorative addition – catching the midday sun and setting the glossy metallic paint gleaming, well aware that Frost's plain mail barding was second rate at best. Unfortunately Frost had barely been weaned when Ned bonded with him and the pair went south to the Vale, and none of the Northmen were willing to share the secrets – and thus weaknesses – of their armor with the Vale armorers, to the point that they had trained under the Winterfell armorsmiths to repair minor damage and denting to their armor, and any major damage would see the armor sent by ship to White Harbor to be repaired. And thus there were none in the Vale who could make plate barding for Frost.
But no amount of armor could save Ned's shoulder when Robert slammed his hand onto it, causing Ned to grunt and Frost to let a short warning growl at the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, making his horse to shy away from the direwolf. The steeds belonging to the Gates of the Moon may have become acclimatized to the direwolves over the years to the point that they no longer panicked at their scent, but it was still easy for the horses to spook if the wolves behaved threateningly.
"Quit brooding Ned, we're almost home!" Robert said cheerfully.
Ned grunted.
"Oh cheer up you grump," Robert said, "We haven't seen Jon in almost two moons."
Ned sighed.
"Aye. I'm just thinking about Harrenhal."
"Harrenhal," Robert sighed, "What a shitshow. The tourneys were great, but that can't make up for everything else."
"The king or the prince?"
"Both, though the audacity of the Prince to crownmybetrothed instead of his own wife…"
"Father hasn't accepted your suit yet," Ned reminded him.
Robert frowned.
"Aye. I don't know why he's been giving me the run around. It's not like he's going to find a better match anywhere else. Though him showing up at Harrenhal was a surprise."
For most, that would have been incredibly arrogant. But in addition to looking like a maiden's wet dream, being six and a half feet tall and built with muscles upon muscles, Robert Baratheon was also the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.
And the Stormlands held a lot of high grade coal, which the North wanted for its industry.
"I think he's worried about her becoming a second Serena Stark and wanted to get your measure," Ned said, refraining from mentioning how his father had seemed rather unimpressed with his friend, "The Old Gods have little presence in the Stormlands after all."
Robert scowled.
"If any of my bannermen try anything I'll hit their heads so hard their skulls will be crushed into their ribcage!" He vowed.
"…Vengeance wouldn't bring her back to life Robert."
The Lord of the Stormlands glowered, but didn't dispute his statement.
"…Still want to know what was going on between your father and the Martells," he muttered as they entered the Eyrie's lift baskets and dismounted, Robert handing his horse to a stablehand to be returned to Sky's stables.
"I've told you what Father told me," Ned replied irritably, "It was a trade negotiation."
"You don't need the Crown Prince, his wife, and your sister for a trade deal."
True, and that had been driving Ned nuts as much as it was clearly bothering Robert. But rather than saying that again Ned let the conversation die as the lift lurched into motion.
The trade deal was real though, high quality Dornish sand for tempered glass.
Jon met them in the Crescent Chamber after they left the lift, looking grim. News of Harrenhal must have reached him then.
"Did you have any problems on your trip?" the Lord Arryn asked.
Robert scoffed.
"Jon you know the mountain clans go out of their way to not bother Ned. Saw a few scouts, but they buggered off once they noticed the direwolves and banners."
"There were no issues in the Riverlands?"
The tightness in Jon's voice caught everyone's attention.
"What happened?" Ned asked.
Jon grimaced.
"My solar. Now."
The moment Robert shut the solar door and leaned against it, which would have effectively guaranteed it couldn't be opened even if he hadn't closed the deadbolt, Jon sat heavily in his chair and sighed, briefly rubbing his face with a hand and looking very, very old.
"What do you know about what has happened since you left Harrenhal?" he asked quietly.
Ned and Robert traded worried looks.
"Nothing," Ned answered, "No news has reached us."
Jon took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking.
"Four days ago, I received a raven from Tumbletown. The Prince's party passed through it, heading south to Dorne." Jon looked at Eddard. "Lyanna was with them. The Prince is claiming to have married her."
"What?" Robert exploded, while Ned just stared in disbelief.
"He can't do that!" The Lord of the Stormlands continued, building himself into a proper rage, "He's already married! To a Martell! He can't take another wife! Especially not my she-wolf!"
He abruptly froze, then spun to face Jon.
"Guards," Robert said tightly, "Did Lyanna have any Stark guards with her?"
Ned watched as Jon grabbed a raven message, one of several he had sitting on his desk, and re-read it.
"…Stark guards are explicitly noted to be absent," Jon said.
A pit formed in Ned's stomach as Robert turned to glare out the window.
"What of her direwolf?" he asked, a bit of desperation in his voice.
"There's no mention, but," Jon showed Ned the message, the tiny scroll, small enough to fit onto a raven's leg without over encumbering the bird, was completely covered in tiny script, "there's only so much one can put on a raven message."
"He stole her," Robert snarled, "Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna, then forced her into a sham marriage. By now he's probably forced himself on her too."
"Robert," Jon warned, "Mind your tongue. King Aerys is…unstable, and could make life difficult and…shortshould your words get back to him."
"I'm the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands! He wouldn't dare!"
Jon gave Robert a long look before grabbing a pair of raven messages.
"These arrived this morning from Riverrun. The first is a copy of a message from King Aerys to Lord Rickard, ordering him and Brandon to present themselves to him at Kings Landing immediately to answer for Lyanna supposedly seducing Rheagar."
Ned's mind flashed back to what he had seen and heard of the King during the tourney at Harrenhal, and the pit in his stomach turned into a sense of looming doom. This… would not end well.
"He wouldn't dare," Robert repeated weakly, face paling from its previous rage-induced redness, sounding like he was desperately trying to convince someone, possibly himself, "The North is vying with the Westerlands for position of second strongest kingdom in Westeros. He has to know that if he harms a hair on Lord Stark's head his reign isover. He wouldn't dare."
Jon looked even grimmer at their reactions, picking up the other raven message.
"This is from Lord Rickard. He and Brandon are answering King Aerys' summons and are departing from Riverrun with their entire retinues."
Jon gave Ned a questioning look as he mentioned retinues.
"There's almost a hundred knights between them, all mounted on direwoves," and over half being either wargs or skinchangers Ned didn't say, "and many with blood ties to the major houses of the North. Not counting the retinues the knights will be bringing which will probably total to several hundred fighting me all told. But Father has to know this is will end badly no matter what."
"He doesn't exactly have much of a choice," Jon replied, "Aerys is still the lawful king. In fact given the circumstances one could argue that it should be your father demanding an audience with the king, not the other way around. If he refused he might as well call his banners as the king will absolutely proclaim him to be in revolt. Despite the false spring we are still in winter, now is a horrible time to have armies on the march."
"What if we invoke Aegon's Contingincy?" Ned tried.
"I've thought about it, but it won't work now."
"How?" Robert demanded, "We've got the North, me for the Stormlands, you've made your opinion on Aerys clear so that's the Vale, and I don't see Holster Tullynotvoting against the wishes of Lord Rickard, given Brandon's engagement, so that's the Riverlands as well. That's four. Surely we can get another easily enough?"
Jon grimaced.
"And if this was before Aegon the Unworthy raised the needed votes to five under the pretext of giving the Iron Islands a vote after he barely survived his first no-confidence trial, that would be enough. Unfortunately, we need five.
"The rivalry between the Reach and the North means that Mace Tyrell will always vote in opposition to the North, so he'll vote for Aerys. Before Rheagar ran off with Lyanna the Martells could have easily been persuaded, but now they're undoubtedly feeling slighted, and Elia Martell is in the Red Keep, effectively a hostage. They won't vote for Aerys, but they won't vote against him either. Tywin Lannister is a childhood friend of Aerys regardless of their falling out, and his heir is in the Kingsguard – another de facto hostage – so he'll also abstain.
"Quellon Greyjoy doesn't have a dog in this fight, so he's going to vote for whoever offers him the best…concessions."
"And even ignoring that means dealing with pirates and reavers," Robert said bleakly, "The crown and the Reach can offer the Iron Islands more than the North and Riverlands can, cause there's nothing the Vale or Stromlands can realistically offer given we're on the wrong side of the continent, and they only need Lord Greyjoy to not vote against the king."
"Aye."
One in favor, three abstaining, four against.
Vote failed.
This wasexactlyhow Aegon the Unworthy managed to survive three Contingency votes.
"…Lord Rickard will probably reach King's Landing in a fortnight, give or take a few days depending on the travel and how long it took the raven from Riverrun to reach the Eyrie. Assuming it takes several days for the situation to be resolved and factoring in travel time for the raven, it will take a full moon before we hear what's happened." Jon looked at Robert. "We should take the opportunity to sound out our bannermen to see where their loyalties lay."
"You think it'll come to that?" Ned asked.
"I think," Jon said carefully, "That while your father thinks he can defuse the situation, King Aerys is going to make demands Lord Stark can not or will not comply with. And that Lord Stark has never dealt with Southern politics before, much less the royal court."
Two-and-twenty days later the raven from King's Landing arrived, and Jon summoned Ned and Robert back to his solar.
Ned entered the room with trepidation, and given the black look on Jon's face he was right to.
"What happened?" he asked, sitting in a chair in front of Jon's desk.
"Our worst case scenario," Jon replied, glancing down at the raven message that was so large it had been split across two scrolls, one tied to each leg of the bird, "When your father's party reached the Red Keep it was late in the day and the king ordered them to be turned away." Which was a significant insult… but not an unexpected one. "They found refuge in the city's inns, but that night…"
Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before continuing.
"That night they were attacked by the goldcloaks as they slept. Some are believed to have escaped, but neither your farther nor Brandon were among them. They were brought before King Aerys in chains and he accused them of treason, and that their guilt had already been proven when they arrived with such a large escort. Lord Stark demanded a trial by combat."
"He lost?" Robert asked when Jon paused for a breath.
"There was no trial," Jon replied harshly, "The king's 'champion' waswildfire. It was an execution with a fancy name. It was not quick."
"Brandon?" Ned whispered.
"Was put in a torture device that slowly strangled him the more he struggled. He managed to rip the chain out of the wall, but the device crushed his throat. He's dead too."
Distantly Ned heard Grey Frost let out a long mournful howl, the other direwolves joining in as he began to silently cry.
"I'm sorry Ned," Jon said sympathetically as Robert yanked Ned up into a tight bear hug, "I have to go announce this, but you deserved to hear this first." As he stood he asked "Robert?"
"Go," Robert replied, not moving as Ned cried into his shoulder, "I'll take care of Ned."
Faintly Ned heard Jon open the door and Ser Cassel demand to know what had happened, but all he could think of was that his father and brother were dead.
"First your sister," Robert whispered, "Then your father and brother. They'll pay, Ned. I swear that I'll make the Targaryens pay if it's the last thing I do."
The next day Ned was breaking his fast in the Morning Hall when the Eyrie's maester, Corys Waters, entered, looking pale. As a devout follower of the Seven Maester Waters had never liked Ned, and the feeling was I mutual, but the Maester was professional enough to not let the dislike interfere with teaching Ned, and had been helpful in identifying the poisons that had been slipped into the Northerners' food and drink during their first year in the Vale.
Jon read the message the Maester handed him and swore, catching the attention of the entire hall.
"I have received a message from King's Landing." Ned looked at his foster father in alarm as he continued. "King Aerys has accused Lord Stark and Lord Baratheon of treason, and ordered me to kill them and bring him their heads."
Ser Cassel and the Northerner guard immediately formed up on Ned, but he just watched as Jon rolled up the message and tossed it into the nearest hearth as there were no lit candles in the Morning Hall, lit be the rising sun through massive stained-glass windows. The hall was dead silent as everyone waited on Lord Arryn's formal response, though his burning of the royal letter made his opinion clear.
"Maester Waters."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Send ravens to all of my bannermen. For his gross violations of the feudal contract, including themurderof a Lord Paramount and his heir, ordering me to violate Guest Right and murder my fosterlings, Lords Paramount Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon, and abject incompetence due to insanity, I, Lord Paramount Jon Arryn, declare that Aerys Targaryen is my kingno longer.Henceforth, the Vale is in open revolt against the crown!"
"Aye!" Robert roared, "Maester, send a raven to Storm's End! The Stormlands stand with the North and the Vale in revolt!"
Ned took a deep breath and stood.
"The North stands with the Vale and the Stormlands. King Aerys must be overthrown."
"Death to the Mad King!" Robert toasted.
"DEATH TO THE MAD KING!" the hall chorused.
"Death to the Targaryens!"
"DEATH TO THE DRAGONS!"
The first step of the rebellion was to get Lords Stark and Baratheon back to their kingdoms, complicated by a significant part of the Vale declaring for the Targaryens under the command of Lord Grafton, including the Vale's two deepwater ports of Gulltown and Old Anchor.
Unfortunately the Riverlands was tearing itself apart in a full blown civil war, split mostly along the religious divide with the Old Gods leaning Rebels led by Lord Tully against the Seven favoring Royalists under Lord Bracken, Lord Tully joining the rebels under the condition that the new Lord Stark would take up his late brother's betrothal to Catelyn Tully. But with Darry having declared for King Aerys Lord Stark couldn't slip through the Bloody Gate and link up with Rebel forces in the Riverlands, and with Snakewood and Heart's Home siding against their liege lord, cutting the Eyrie off from the rebellious northern half of the Vale, attempting to escape though the north of the Vale was also non-viable.
More bad news came in from the Vale fleet, which had split mostly evenly between Royalist and Rebel and promptly destroyed itself with infighting, the ships that weren't sunk or burned at anchor being too damaged to go to sea.
However, that did leave the North's eastern fleet in uncontested control of the Sisters and Fingers, and it was rapidly becoming clear that the Bay of Crabs would be the site of the first major battle of the war when the bulk of the Northern and Royal fleets clashed there, which was still several weeks off when the three Lords Paramount left the Eyrie as both fleets had been caught off guard by the sudden onset of hostilities.
The three lords left in different directions after leaving the Eyrie. Jon went north to deal with houses Lynderly and Corbray, Robert went south to link up with the forces of Redfort and Royce as they besieged Gulltown, and Ned went to link up with the Waynwoods on their way to Old Anchor, along with a detachment of the Northern navy thanks to several ravens sent to White Harbor to coordinate the assault.
Old Anchor was a fairly unremarkable port town despite its age, established to control a natural harbor rather than being a conduit of trade like Gulltown. It was also undermanned, as a significant number of the men nominally sworn to House Melcolm decided to declare for Lord Arryn instead.
Capturing it was a rather simple affair. With the defenders completely distracted by the sieging army threatening to launch an escalade the North's ships were able to sail into the port and land troops uncontested, and Lord Melcolm chose to surrender rather than fight to the last when he realized he had been thoroughly outmaneuvered, resulting in less than a hundred casualties across both sides.
-Robert's Rebellion, by Historian Rikard Mullen, 288AC
Ned walked up the gangplank onto theFrozen Merman, one of the lastWolf-class light galleons built nearly a century ago, Grey Frost following behind him and loudly complaining though their bond about how hedid notlike being on something that moved under him, their armor secured in Frost's saddlebags. Ser Cassel and the rest of Ned's guards were still on the pier, observing their equipment and some supplies being prepared to be brought aboard, but Ned wanted to meet the captain and crew that would get him home to Winterfell.
"Welcome aboard, my lord."
Ned turned as he stepped clear of the gangplank to see a man seemingly of six-and-ten with blonde-brown hair and a square face in an officer's vest with the bronze captain's braid embroidered into the collar. He paused in confusion, there was no way for someone that young to make captain, no matter how skilled. Even if one tested out of naval officer collage – which was possible, if rare even for naval-focused houses like the Manderlys – there was a minimum amount of voyages needed before one could even be considered for the rank.
"I'm nine-and-ten, my lord," the captain said with long patience, "I know I look young for my age. I shouldn't have shaved." That last was an aside to himself. "Anyway, I'm Leon Manderly, of the Knifetown Manderlys, a settlement located upriver of White Habor, and captain of theFrozen Merman."
They clasped forearms in greeting as Frost leaned over Ned's shoulder to take Captain Leon's scent. Judging by his lack of reaction other than a twitch of an eyebrow the young man was clearly used to direwolves, unlike almost everyone Ned had met since he went south.
"If you excuse me, my lord, I need to make sure everything gets squared away if we're to sail on the tide."
Ned nodded and let him go.
Several hours later Ned stood at the railing of the command deck, Frost down in the battery deck with the other direwolves to be out of the way, as the light galleon stowed oars and began to unfurl sail as she left port. Anchored in the middle of the harbor was three northern galleons and thePride of the North, half again larger than the galleons in both length and height, sun occasionally glinting off the copper plating sheathing their bottoms.
"She's a big one, isn't she," Captain Manderly said as he stopped next to Ned and followed his gaze towards the North's prestige ship, "Hundred-eighty years old and still the biggest and meanest ship to put to sea."
Ned frowned slightly. There was something about how the captain said that…
"You have reservations?" Ned asked.
The captain leaned against the railing and looked at him, Ned turning to look back.
"…She's old, Lord Stark. Very old. Half again older than myMermaid, and I wouldn't want to take her up against the latest light galleons to leave the Royal Shipyards. Practically every plank on thePridehas been replaced twice over except her weirwood keel. Did you know she was able to make twelve knots when she first put to sea?"
"I assume she makes less than that now."
"Nineknots, Lord Stark. Ten if you're willing to risk the masts and rigging. Which is perfectly acceptable for a ship of her size and class, most southern galleons struggle to make above ten knots, but it's a far cry from when she was once able to run down and overhaul all but the fastest ships afloat. Have you heard of the Royal fleet's new flagship?"
Ned narrowed his eyes.
"Tell me."
"She's only twenty percent smaller than thePride, and she'snothogging or has excessive working."
Ned didn't know what that meant, but he caught the thread.
"They're catching up."
"Aye. The latest generation of southern-built ships are easily the peer to anything we fielded during the Dance of Dragons. Just by comparing how they handle to Northern built ships I'd bet my career that when we capture one of their newest ships we'll find that the southern shipwrights have finally figured out geodesic hull framing and iron strapping. We still have an edge, the metallurgy of our ballistae is superior and the ironwood of our hulls is stronger than their oak, but that edge is much slimmer than when we last clashed with the southern fleets."
"You're leading to something. Spit it out."
"We'll break the Royal fleet, my lord," the captain said grimly, "and the western fleet will break the Reach's. But it will wreck a lot of ships, and when the Westerland and Dornish fleets, or if a significant part of the Stormland's fleet, join the Royalists we'll be hard pressed to justsurvive. You have to win the war on land before the naval theaters become campaigns of attrition, Lord Stark, because if that happens it will only be a question ofwhenbefore Royalist flags are sighted off of the Northern coasts."
Captain Manderly's warning was still echoing in Ned's mind when theMermaidmade port in White Harbor, though a strong southernly wind did delay them. Unfortunately Lord Manderly had left with the bulk of the fleet and so Ned couldn't consult with him, but the retired officers teaching at the White Harbor Naval Academy agreed with the young captain's assessment.
As such Ned only spent two days in White Harbor before heading up the White Road to Winterfell, one of the six major roads of the North, all of which branched from the capital. The others being the Northern and Southern Kingsroad, the Barrow Road, which went through Torrhen's Square – the industrial heart of the North thanks to the hydropower provided by river coming from Torrhen's Lake – and Barrowtown before veering west into the Rills, the Woodland Road, which went northwest through the Wolfswood to Deepwood Motte and then on to Dragon Harbor, and the East Road, heading to the Dreadfort where it spit into the Grey Road – heading to Karkhold – and the Broken Road, which went south through the Hornwood before following the Broken Branch River to Ramsgate.
It also allowed him to view the North with new eyes.
He had been ten when he had gone south and at the time he hadn't thought much of the North's infrastructure at the time, but now, after living most of a decade in the Vale he was pleasantly surprised by what he found.
The White Road, running parallel to the White Knife, was an elevated causeway wide enough for four wagons to pass abreast with a foot of clearance between them, faced with yard-square concrete paving stones and drainage channels. Even many of the capillary roads splitting off to the various small towns and settlements were paved in concrete.
The Vale's High Road and South Road, the latter going from Darry to Gulltown, were not as well built as this, and their capillary roads were almost always packed dirt.
There was also a lot of traffic on the road, far more than he had ever seen in the Vale. Which wasn't to say that there was a dearth of trade in the Vale, but the Vale didn't have twenty wagon long convoys every few hours either.
Perhaps this shouldn't have been so surprising given the war, a lot of those wagons were loaded with military supplies and rations, the latter in tin jars that all armies – even those in Essos – had adopted since the North displayed their usefulness in the Dance a century and a half ago.
A flicker of movement caused Ned to look up from the farmland he and his guard were riding through – the snow-covered trees separating each farm plot giving it an idyllic beauty – to the hundred-foot-tall semaphore tower built into a waystation along the road as the flags began to wave a message down the line. The party slowed as they read it.
NE FLT VIC VS RYL FLT AT CLAW ISLE. STAG DLVRD TO STORM END
"Good to know Robert made it home," Ned said, getting a chorus of agreement before they rode on, not commenting on the expected news of the Eastern fleet's victory over the Royal fleet.
Ten days after they left White Harbor Ned beheld Winterfell for the first time in almost a decade.
The second largest city of the North and the cultural, administrative, and religious center of the kingdom, and as the center of the kingdom's road network it saw a significant majority of the North's trade pass through it as well.
White Harbor may be the Gateway of the North, but Winterfell was its Heart.
The city was divided into three tiers, separated by curtain walls, in turn separated into eight wards divided by their own walls. The outermost ring was known as the Winter City, designed to house the hundreds of thousands who came to shelter in the city during winter for safety in numbers as their farmsteads, holdfasts, and minor settlements were completely buried beneath snow and ice, the outermost wall glittering in the sun like fresh snow thanks to the crushed quartz – of the non-gem/jewel grade – added to the cement casing on the concrete wall.
The use of concrete in defensive fortifications was mildly controversial. Concrete walls were weaker than walls built in a more traditional style – assuming local geology provided decently tough rock – but it was cheap enough that you could build a significantly thicker wall for the same price. Whether the increased thickness offset the inferior material used… well the rebellion would probably answer that one way or another. Admittedly even an anemic concrete wall built on a budget was still indisputably superior to one made of wood and packed earth, while being much more affordable to smaller settlements and nobles.
Case in point, while the outer wall was forty feet high – a respectable size for the main wall of any castle – it was twenty feet thick, twice as thick as most conventionally built walls, with eighty-foot-tall towers every hundred-fifty yards and six gatehouses, one for each of the major roads of the North.
The middle ring was the city proper, designed to house a hundred-fifty thousand – though it only had two-thirds of that number of permanent residents at most – with Winterfell University taking up an entire sector between the university proper and all the associated administrative and research buildings, another sector being entirely dedicated to enormous glass houses, and a third was a public godswood complete with numerous weirwood and heart trees. It was also a very open city, with wide concrete paved streets flanked with trees, which was a major boon when dealing with snow management as it gave locations to pile it without unduly obstructing travel. Its wall was an unusual hybrid of a traditionally built core of granite blocks sheathed in several feet of concrete, sixty feet tall and twenty thick with hundred-foot-tall towers.
And in the center, the Citadel. The great fortress, thousands of years old, that the rest of the city was built around, a hundred yards of open-air markets and parks separating the innermost buildings of the city from the great monolithic gray granite walls of the third largest castle complex in Westeros after Harrenhall and Highgarden.
A castle was considered particularly large if it spanned more than three acres. Winterfell's godswoodalonewas larger than that, the whole complex spanning overtwentyacres, built atop the remains of an ancient volcano whose dying heart powered the hot springs that heated the walls of the two keeps. As a child Ned had never thought much of Winterfell's size, but now, after living and traveling thought the Vale and the Riverlands, he realized that the citadel was enormously, ludicrously huge, until one remembered that Winterfell had been the capital of the North for thousands of years, and needed to house all the bureaucracy and administration of the largest kingdom of Westeros.
Ned and his party attracted a lot of attention, understandably so, as they rode their direwolves through churned and used snow into the city. Winter city was mostly empty despite it still being winter, a testament to how large it had been built as there were was twice the population of Winterfell working the surrounding lands, but future proofing was always worthwhile.
Riding up to the main gates of the citadel Ned took a moment to observe the citadel guards that stood to attention as he approached, and the elderly direwolf that laboriously sat up from where she had been lying across the entryway as an effective furry barrier. The citadel guards were sworn directly to the Starks, as opposed to the Winterfell city watch who answered to the city council who in turn answered to the Starks, and thus were manned by Stark men-at-arms and other members of the family's retinue.
The most obvious aspect was that the guards were provided with semi-fitted (being made to one of several standardized sizes instead of being fitted to the commissioner) travel plate upon joining if they didn't have their own armor – and their pay would be cut until that cost was repaid – and armed with beaked-polehammers with bastard swords and rondel daggers at their hips. And that was ignoring the direwolves in their ranks, along with other beasts the wargs sworn to the Starks brought.
As direwolves aged only slightly faster than humans – the record for oldest direwolf was seven-and-eighty years though the average was five-and-sixty, five years less than the average human in good health – that by the time the wolves were old enough that it was inadvisable to send them on missions their human partners were old enough to prefer a sedimentary posting.
Case in point, both guards were old white-beards, the one on the left with a weirwood-red half-cape, held in place by a chain with a break-away clasp that prevented it being used by an enemy to strangle, that marked him as a warg, skinchangers having a red-and-weirwood-white cape.
"Lord Stark," the guards saluted as the direwolf sat back on her haunches behind her warg and howled to let Winterfell know that Lord Stark had returned.
Ned nodded in tired greeting as he rode past them. He'd barely managed to dismount from Grey Frost once they were past the inner gatehouse when a black-and-grey direwolf tore into the entry courtyard, howling happily and tail a blur as he crashed into, and toppled, Frost.
"Looks like Lord Benjen's here," Ser Cassel commented as Ned watched the wrestling direwolf brothers with fond exasperation.
Sure enough Benjen jogged into the courtyard a few minutes later, unbuttoned winter coat testament to having come from the Great Keep in a hurry.
"Ned!"
"Benjen!"
Ned embraced his brother, relieved to see him again after what had happened to their father and Brandon, only for their hug to get a lot tighter than either liked when their direwolves decided to join in. As Ned was still wearing his travel plate he was merely uncomfortable, but poor Benjen was squished.
"Frost. Blackwind," Ned rebuked, as his brother made a noise like a tea kettle as the air was forced from his lungs.
Whining the two wolves disengaged, allowing Benjen to slide to the ground, making an alarming wheezing sound as he drew air back into his lungs.
"Shall we head inside?" Ned asked, offering his hand to Benjen to help him up.
"Aye," his brother answered, taking his hand.
The brothers took their dinner in what had once been their father's solar, Ned sitting in their Father's chair and feeling more like a child than the Lord he now was.
"Hard to believe they're gone," Benjen said quietly, looking at the massive desk, still cluttered with books, reports, and writing supplies like their father had just stepped out, "I haven't had the heart to clean this or Father's bedroom yet."
Ned nodded solemnly.
"I thought my heart was going to stop when Jon told me," he replied, "but I knew, when Mad King Aerys summoned Father and Brandon, I knew it wasn't going to end well."
"Do you have any idea why he summoned Brandon as well?'
"Best guess is that Aerys noticed him spending a lot of time with Rheagar at Harrenhall after the tournament."
"What was he doing with the prince?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell me and I didn't ask. I assumed that he was trying to charm Rheagar so that the future king would be more favorably inclined towards the North."
"Think it was to do with the whole…thingwith Lyanna?"
"Probably."
Benjen chased the last of his meal with the last of his watered wine before leaning back and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Father was always a bit too clever for his own good but I don't think anyone could have predicted his final scheme to have blown up on him like this," he sighed.
Ned shot him a confused look that Benjen missed before internally shrugging and deciding it didn't matter. Whatever scheme Father had been planning it had died with him.
Once he finished his meal he inquired as to the status of the North's army.
"Everyone's already south of Winterfell, heading to Moat Cailin, including Winterfell's men. The Karstarks were the last and they passed through Winterfell two days ago. The mountain and giant clans have also sent men. The Skagosi haven't, but they did declare that they will help guard the North from banditry or Wildling raiders. All told, about thirty-thousand men."
Ned frowned.
"That's low. Surely we can raise ten to twenty thousand more men?"
Benjen grimaced.
"If this was spring or summer, aye, but with the winter snows and cold our logistics are stretched to the limit. Once you pass south of the Neck the North won't be able to send supplies until you can take Seagard, so we also had to factor in what the Riverlands could support."
At his brother's grimace Benjen added
"Everyone is bringing their best Ned, don't worry. I checked when they passed through Winterfell."
After a long moment of contemplative silence Ned said
"I'm going to have to leave in the morning."
Benjen startled.
"So soon?"
"Aye. The Admiralty don't think the fleets will be able to hold. Oh, they'll make the Southerners payheavilyin men and ships," he added at Benjen's shocked look, "but the South has the numbers to pay that price and press on. We have to take ports as soon as possible to get as many supplies South as we can before the Royalist fleets cut us off. And for that the army has to march." Ned grimaced as he remembered "And I need to finalize the marriage with the Tullys."
Benjen winced in sympathy.
"Aye, you're right. But Ned? Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise."
Ten days later Ned and his guard arrived at Moat Cailin, the twenty towers and keep standing strong and tall, the great stronghold of the Neck having been rebuilt in concrete rather than quarried stone during the reign of Balor the Oathbreaker, in case the North would find itself at war with the South again.
That day had come, and the stronghold was filled beyond capacity, tents scattered everywhere there was a dry spot of land, though the great causeway traveling through the neck, built out of concrete and gravel and wide enough for six wagons to travel abreast, remained clear.
As they rode into the Moat Ned could see that Benjen had spoken truly, there wasn't a single peasant levy in sight, every single fighting man standing to in parade to greet their liege lord in either travel or full plate except for the North's crossbowmen, armed with the North's iconic long-draw crossbows, longbowmen, and scouts who were clad in heavy gambesons. A full quarter of the muster was also mounted, split evenly between horse and direwolf though the latter almost universally had better equipment.
And standing before the open door to the keep were the great lords of the North, except for the maritime focused houses of Manderly, Seastark, and Mormont who manned the North's fleets.
Lords Karstark, Flint, and Dustin had direwolves sitting next to them, Glover a shadowcat, Tallheart his eagle, Bolton a particularly large stallion, Ryswell had a direwolf, hawk, and an extremely fluffy orange fox, Reed – Howland's father – had a lizard-lion that was probably going to be left behind when the host passed Greywater Watch, and behind them stood Greatjon Umber.
Unlike the other Northern lords, the Umbers did not produce wargs – or skinchangers in the case of the current Lord Ryswell – as the magic in their blood manifested in a different way. Turns out that the longstanding rumor about the Umbers having giant blood had some truth to it, shown by Greatjon's eight-foot-tall frame being only somewhat above the average for his house.
"Moat Cailin is yours, Lord Stark," Lord Karstark greeted, leading the other lords in bending knee in fealty, "The North stands ready to extract our vengeance upon Aerys Targaryen."
"Rise, my lords," Ned replied, "we have a war to win.
Notes:
AN: (The technical section is for me as much as you readers, so I can keep things straight)
Travel plate barding: lighter than war barding, Northern travel barding, for both direwolves and horses, only covers the breast, head, shoulders and haunches in steel plates over quilted aketon (also known as an arming doublet, which is a gambeson variant). Mail is not present in this design.
Northern travel plate: a type of partial plate armor suitable for traveling. Consists of an open-faced helm (usually a short-tailed sallet with the visor removed), a cuirass with the articulation over and under the shoulders and armpit removed and modified to allow for it to be easily donned by one person (usually by slipping it on like a shirt then tightening the straps) bracers with leather gloves, and greaves, all on a aketon. Mail is not present in this design. Also popular as a less expensive alternative to full plate.
A note about Northern armor manufacturing. Thanks to revolutions in iron and steel production, mail is extremely expensive in comparison to plate, to the point it is cheaper to have a joint fully covered in articulated plates than in mail (this is often called lobster plating). As such mail is extremely rare in Northern armor designs and is viewed as obsolete and not worth the weight by Northerners.
Differences in armor design: The primary difference between Northen and Southern armor designs in Westeros is that Northern armor has lobster plating over the joints and fluting on the major plates while Southern armors lack the fluting and have mail over the inside of the joints. Northern knightly and noble's armor is also frequently painted with metallic paints to protect against corrosion while maintaining the traditional mirror-bright finish, with heraldry painted onto the breastplates. Southern armorers haven't figured out how to make metallic paints and thus only the richest nobles have it on their armor, importing it at great expense, and mark up, from the North.
The main difference between Northern and Southern knighthoods is that while southern knights swear to the Seven as part of their vows, a northern knighthood is a secular title, one denoting mastery of arms and horse/wolfmanship plus possessing the income to maintain their (female knights are rare but not unheard of in the North) arms, armor, and mount. Most Northern knights are also sworn to major, masterly, or lordly houses and act as their agents and/or representatives.
Nobility ranking in Westeros: Landed, knightly, minor, noble, major, masterly, lordly, great, royal. Some, such as the mountain clans, exist outside of the feudal structure.
Long-draw crossbows: crossbows that use dual cams to have a draw length and weight equal to longbows, allowing them to use war arrows, which are more accurate and longer ranged than crossbow bolts. The North also has a heavy variant that straddles the line between crossbow and light scorpion.
Be advised before you comment that the fog of war is heavily present here. The narration is largely from Ned's POV, and he does not know all the details of things going on