Chapter 10: The Wolf Takes Command and the march south

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Meeting the Main Host

The Northern host moved as one.

After weeks of marching, the war banners of House Stark finally appeared on the horizon, standing tall against the morning mist. Thousands of men were gathered on the open field—the main force of the North, commanded by Eddard Stark himself.

The air was thick with the scent of horses, steel, and damp earth. As Steve rode alongside Rickard Karstark, Roose Bolton, and Wylis Mollen, he kept his eyes on the heart of the Stark encampment. There, beneath the direwolf banner, Eddard Stark waited.

Steve had heard much about the Warden of the North—a man of honor, duty, and quiet strength. He had led men in Robert's Rebellion, had stood against the Mad King's rule, and now, once again, he was at the center of a war.

Let's see if the man lives up to the legend.

Eddard Stark – A True Commander

As the riders dismounted, Eddard stepped forward, his grey eyes calm but piercing. He was a man who commanded respect without demanding it, his presence alone enough to silence those around him.

"Lord Stark," Karstark said, bowing his head. "We bring the last of the Northern banners to your command."

Eddard nodded, his gaze sweeping over the assembled lords. "You've all come far," he said. "But we have further still to go."

His tone was steady, not boastful or dramatic—just a man stating facts.

Steve watched as the power dynamics shifted instantly.

Before now, Karstark, Bolton, and Mollen had each tried to assert their own influence over the march. But here, before Eddard Stark, they all stood as soldiers before a general.

Steve had seen it before.

True leadership wasn't about force. It wasn't about power.

It was about trust.

And these men trusted Eddard Stark.

Steve's First Meeting with Eddard

As the lords spoke of troop numbers, supplies, and strategy, Eddard's gaze fell on Steve.

"You are Ser Steven Rogers," he said, studying him. "I have heard much of you from Lord Mollen and his men."

Steve met his eyes. "All good things, I hope."

Eddard gave the barest hint of a smile. "You've earned their respect, which is more valuable than any title. You march with the soldiers, yet fight like a knight. That is rare."

Steve dipped his head. "I go where I'm needed, my lord."

Eddard nodded. "Then you will ride with me."

It wasn't a request. It was a decision.

Steve saw the reaction from the other lords—Karstark and Bolton exchanged glances, and Mollen simply smirked knowingly.

Steve had expected to remain among the common soldiers, but Eddard had placed him at the center of command.

Smart move.

A leader like Eddard Stark would know the value of loyalty. Steve had earned the respect of the men, and bringing him closer cemented that respect under Stark's command.

Steve had no objections.

After all, being close to Eddard meant he could guide this army more effectively.

Discipline Begins

With Eddard in command, things changed immediately.

Orders were clear and decisive. Supply chains were reorganized, scouts were sent ahead, and proper formations were established for the next march.

But most importantly, discipline was enforced.

Steve watched as men who had once argued over camp placements now moved efficiently, following a single command structure.

That night, as the men ate around their fires, Steve walked among them, listening.

"Lord Stark runs a tight camp," Thom Greysteel muttered as he passed Steve a waterskin. "Good. We were starting to feel more like wandering clans than an army."

Steve nodded. "An army fights as one. Anything less, and we lose before the battle begins."

Dain Mollen grinned. "Starting to sound like Stark himself, Ser Steven."

Steve smirked but said nothing.

The North had discipline now.

And that meant they had a chance.

The Mission – A Larger Battle

As Steve stood outside the commander's tent that night, staring into the darkness, he let himself think beyond this war.

Yes, they would fight against the South. Yes, he would ensure these men survived.

But the real war, the one no one here knew about yet—that was still coming.

The North was strong, but strength alone wouldn't be enough against the things that lurked beyond the Wall, or in the depths of the sea.

If he was to fulfill his mission, he had to ensure humanity survived the coming storm.

And to do that, he had to start here.

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The Weight of the North

The Northern host stretched for miles.

Thousands of men, steel-clad knights and hardened warriors alike, trudged through the swamps of the Neck, their banners fluttering despite the heavy mist that clung to the land.

This was no easy march. The terrain was treacherous, the air thick with humidity, and every step into the murky waters of the swamplands threatened to suck a man down like quicksand.

At the vanguard, Eddard Stark rode in silence, his expression unreadable as he led his men through the narrow, overgrown paths. Beside him, Howland Reed moved with the ease of a man who had walked this land since childhood.

Eddard Stark – A Leader's Burden

Eddard's thoughts were heavy.

They had already lost time rallying the banners. Now, they were one of the last rebel forces to march south. The Riverlands burned, and Robert Baratheon—his closest friend—fought for his life against the royal army.

Moat Cailin loomed in the distance.

A fortress of stone and ruin, it had stood as the North's first and final shield for generations. The South had never conquered it from the front, only through treachery.

Eddard glanced toward Howland Reed. "How much longer?"

"Through the Neck? Another week, at least," Howland said, his voice quiet but sure. "The swamps will slow you. But that will slow the enemy as well."

Eddard nodded. Time was against them, but the terrain was on their side.

Still, he could not shake the feeling that every moment wasted was another moment closer to disaster.

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Rickard Karstark – The Need for Battle

Further back, Rickard Karstark rode with his sons, his eyes scanning the land with thinly veiled impatience.

"This march is cursed," Harrion muttered. "The swamps stink worse than a battlefield."

Rickard scoffed. "You complain of the stench? Think of the fight ahead. The real battle will be in the Riverlands, where we strike down those who dare to take arms for the Mad King."

Karstark was a warrior, not a man of strategy. He longed for the clash of steel, the glory of victory.

Yet, Eddard had ordered caution. The army must remain disciplined, no reckless raids, no unnecessary skirmishes.

Rickard gritted his teeth. "The North was made for war, not waiting."

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Roose Bolton – A Silent Observer

Roose Bolton rode near the rear of the column, his pale eyes watching everything and nothing.

He was quiet, as always, but his mind was never still.

The North followed Eddard Stark, the honorable wolf. And yet, war was not won by honor alone.

A part of him wondered—what if Stark failed?

Would they still follow him then? Would the lords still swear fealty when war turned against them?

Roose watched the men march, sweat glistening on their brows, exhaustion settling into their bones.

Fatigue led to mistakes. Mistakes led to defeat.

Stark had to lead well. Otherwise, the North would need another kind of leader.

One willing to do what was necessary.

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War Council at Moat Cailin

As the army reached the ruined fortress of Moat Cailin, the lords gathered inside the crumbling hall for a war council.

Eddard sat at the head, Howland Reed standing beside him. The other lords—Karstark, Bolton, Mollen, Tallhart, and Umber—took their places.

Steve stood near the edge of the room, silent but listening, his presence acknowledged but not yet important.

A crude map of Westeros lay before them.

"The South bleeds," Howland said, pointing to the Riverlands, where battles raged. "The royal army pushes Robert further west. If we do not reach them soon, the war may be lost before we even join the fight."

"We should push forward at speed," Karstark argued. "Every day we waste is another day our allies die!"

"And risk losing half our men before battle even begins?" Roose Bolton said coldly. "If we march recklessly, we invite death."

Lord Umber banged his fist against the table. "Then what? Hide in the swamps? Let the Mad King's forces crush Robert before we arrive?"

Eddard raised a hand, silencing them.

"We march south," he said. "But we march wisely. The Neck is treacherous, and the Crannogmen know it better than any of us." He turned to Howland. "We will rely on your people to guide the way."

Howland gave a small nod. "My men will see you through the swamps. No southern army will move through without our knowing."

A murmur of approval rippled through the lords.

"Then it's decided," Eddard said. "We make haste, but we do not falter. We fight together. No rash charges, no reckless raids. We hold our strength for the true battle ahead."

His words settled the tension.

Discipline. Patience. Strength.

That was the way of the North.

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Steve Rogers – A Soldier's Perspective

As the meeting ended, Steve lingered by the doorway, watching the lords disperse.

This war was not his.

He was here to ensure humanity's survival, not play politics. Yet, to do that, he had to keep these men alive first.

He had fought wars before. He had seen good men die for bad leadership.

But Eddard Stark?

He was a man worth following.

Steve's mission remained the same—prepare Westeros for the coming storm. But first, he had to make sure the North made it to the real war intact.

And that meant ensuring the right people led them there.

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