-scene break-
The First Men were said to have crossed the arm of Dorne, the land bridge that spanned the Narrow Sea, over eight thousand years ago. It was a period of time known as the Dawn Age. What had followed had been the Age of Heroes. It had been during that primordial time those men, the First Men, would spread across Westeros. A massive Earthquake, and likely subsequent flood had broken the arm severing the land bridge between Essos and Westeros. Those men had been only early users of tools, and he questioned how much metalworking in bronze and copper that those first men would have had.
His ancestors had likely first began the process of scraping the Hills of Dread bald before they had even been the Red Kings. Sometime in the distant reaches of the Age of Heroes. Thousands of years of continuous in-habitation and wars between the first men had turned wooden hill forts to hardier stone bastions. That had taken centuries, and the last major permanent expansion of the fortress had been after Torrhen Stark had bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. That had entailed ripping up part of the outermost curtain wall. That demolition had followed by reconstructing the border down as a wider formation to incorporate part of the town. Since then of course the moat had been replaced by the growing town on one side, and that had been that.
After that though the Seven Kingdoms had had to deal with the Faith Militant, which admittedly had not overly effected the North per se save their involvement to contribute troops against the Faith Militant, and then along had come Jaeharys. Of course he had had a dragon and a predilection towards journeys so he'd been able to track taxes imposed during his reign, but with his death. Many of those taxes had lapsed or been rescinded. Baelor the Befuddled had tried to reimpose it over a century later, but he had been ignored by basically all lords outside of the Crownlands. In particular he had especially ignored by those of the Stormlords and the Reach, and with good reason. The attempts at licensing and prohibitions had lapsed with the idiot's death. His uncle Viserys had taken a much more sensible course of action to enrich the kingdom's coffers by tasking the royal mint with recalling and reminting the kingdom's coinage, and in the pursuit of trade; such a pity he had died soon after.
Viserys had likely poisoned by some supporter of Baelor's, Alaric suspected, though the rumors of his successor Aegon IV weren't so unreasonable. The North though had largely found Aegon IV rather harmless. That opinion might have been inaccurate given how it had later progressed... and then that whole Blackfyre business... so the North's opinions of Aegon the Unworthy had likely been shaped by their distance from the Southern court. Whatever the case Aegon IV had never attempted to tax fortifications, certainly not of the Reach, and Stormlands given tensions with Dorne. Then of course had come the Blackfyre rebellions, the Anvil had actually ordered his lords to reinforce fortifications given the threat of the Blackfyres and other rebels. Aegon V's generosity to the North had been repaid with Northern swords against the third and fourth Blackfyre rebellions that rose against him, and Aegon the Unlikely never had cause, or likely means, to extract taxes on fortifications.
Of those Kings of the Iron Throne the chance to levy taxes on fortifications was not practical, and even so he would have paid the taxes to do so according to Jaehaerys rates. He wouldn't have been happy about it, but he would have done it.
Roose had been sulking the entire week he'd been back from Overton, and thus returned from the Tourney. "I would remind little brother," Alaric reproved, "That those sailing journeys are precisely what allows me to provide you the allowance to raise your hold fast." From a purely traditional standpoint the First Men had moved away from dividing estates between all sons. However it was generally expected that a portion of inheritance be used to secure the futures of at least true born sons. Noble born bastards were a trickier subject, but Roose need to worry about such.
"I did not deny that." Roose retorted churlishly. "However it also does cause trouble."
Which was true of course, "I am aware, and the disputes in Overton, and Ethering, and the guilds were something you handled."
"They have appealed my rulings as soon as you returned."
Of course they had, Roose should have expected them to, "Yes. I am aware." He replied, "They do this on the assumption I will find you have made some mistake, and that is why I asked you to document these things." It would have been nice if all Roose had had to contend with during Alaric's absence in the south had just been tax rents, and receipts. He had introduced double book keeping when he had been five and ten after having returned from a stint at Winterfell, and during a period his father had been more heavily in his cups than usual. There had been a few complaints of its introduction that had largely terminated when Donnel Bolton had in a drunken rage smashed a protesting vassal across the face with a tankard of ale, which had sent the other man careening to the floor. Alaric had only heard the story second hand, he had not been present at the Dreadfort for it as he had been preparing to sail for the Disputed Lands. He had only been told by Roose of it after he had returned. "I will review their claims because it is required of me. They are entitled to make the petition Roose." He reached out clinked a few of the golden dragons. A part of the down payment from the Second Sons for their siege weapons. "Has the surveying been done?"
"It has." Roose finally sat down, "I'll need to borrow stone masons." Out of six hundred ninety nine people he had one master stone mason in the near thirty acre core of his fief.
This wasn't thousands of years ago, but the basics hadn't really changed. Human effort, and natural surroundings together in concert made the best fortifications. The most important facet both for defense, and governing was location. It was a question that had been answered years ago. There was no need to construct a motte though, and with available funds they could proceed to raise a stone hold, and thus the need for masons to come from elsewhere in the domain. "Which of course is why Ethering's dispute is worrying you." There was some teeth grinding in response from his brother who was barely out of his teenage years. "I will see to it, but you should also recognize Overton, and the mason's disputes are much older than whatever tiff they have decided is a good enough excuse to complain about." They had been going at this for longer than Roose had been alive. It wasn't likely to end anytime soon either. "However it also doesn't really harm the domain." Much as the noise probably annoyed Roose, and his idyllic notions of how a domain should be.
"What will you do besides that?"
He stopped playing with the golden coins, and shrugged. "The new town expansions, I suspect. That will keep me here, and not in Overton at least." Alaric smiled, "I expect truthfully someone word from Winterfell, perhaps even that the youngest Stark son may come and visit with us for a time, but that is not yet definitive. There is the matter of the union of Wolf and Fish as well. There is your wedding."
Roose's head jerked upwards, "The betrothal with the Karstarks," Alaric's betrothal, "Has been defunct for years now."
"I am aware of that." He had not taken leave of his senses, and he wasn't in morning, but he also had had no reason to rush either. "I will accept Lord Stark's counsel on the matter, but it may be another few years before I make a decision."
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There was still the matter of Volantene trade, "This will let me assuage my brother's complaints, even if it won't be quite as profitable as travelling to Volantis this season to come," He knew truthfully that marriage, and a true born heir would have more thoroughly reassured Roose. Another year or two wouldn't really hurt him.
"That will set us back with the Old Bloods."
Didn't he know that, and certainly it had already been discussed with Lord Manderly "I know it was great trouble to get inside the old city." Alaric replied staring up the Red Road. That outermost wall of the Dreadfort stretched to a maximum extension of almost eight hundred meters. It made for an imposing sight, even discounting the triangular crenelations. It was decidedly worse in the light of day given the stone of local quarries coloring. Aesthetics were only part of the reason he was considering brick work for his new town. Though town was probably technically inaccurate given his intentions. Pure fortresses though was also inaccurate. When he'd ascended to the coronet in the year 277 by the reckoning of Targaryen conquest he had know that the only fortifications that were to be those on his frontiers. The like of the Umbers, and perhaps coastal fortifications.
No, this fifty acre expansion and linking to the side wall would likely largely be dismissed as merely a display of wealth. In truth though if had just been to display wealth he could have refurnished the keep of his forefathers. He knew that such interior refurnishing were what House Darry frequently did with their incomes. There were practical reasons for a wizard to raise a tower, but the addition of a centrally planned town would give him greater control over the guilds. He could hardly impose of House Overton, and building a fortification as such a tower would be thought would stifle his vassals. As important as the yards were there were reasons plenty to build as an expansion of the Dreadfort. Land was wealth, in order to be productive one had to do something with the land, that was the way of things... besides he'd need his potters depending on how available lime proved... if there was a conflict across the narrow sea he'd have to source from his own quarries. He would have to do that anyway, but shipping it from other sources would reduce construction time, even if it might cause cost problems. "So the second sons?" The Essosi captain, wasn't actually Essosi ironically enough, one more second son of Dorne, though that was probably nothing. He had come a few weeks ago, and they had hashed the details.
"Well, we'll ship their order down the river to Overton," They could load them aboard ship there, and then it would be the mercenaries problem. He wasn't abundantly interested in whoever the second sons were contracted to fight, at least he wouldn't have been normally, "I'm rather curious as to who they're set against this season." Still, Pentos was prohibited from retaining sellswords, trying to go against treaty with Braavos... well they wouldn't be able to do that quick enough.
"Probably not Lys, or Tyrosh. Myr?"
It was of the disputed lands trio the only one on the continental mainland. Then again it wasn't entirely unreasonable for a prepared mercenary expedition to threaten Lys via invasion of the island, and of course there were settlements... lesser towns... in the disputed territories that might need to be threatened. Not really his problem either way.
The conversation stopped as one of the Walton brothers flagged them down, it seemed Roose was getting impatient with their meandering course. He joined their party, and the conversation rose as the pushed up the Red King's road, "Why the second sons, what happened to Martell's other company,"
"Last I had heard they had taken some cushy garrison contract with one of the minor princes up along the Rhoyne, but its been half year since that reached me." Alaric conceded, "Either way they don't have the reputation of the second sons, or the finances, especially given changes to command." He had done the sensible thing and not take up the mercenary life in Essos. Not that there wasn't profit there, but he had better options with his knowledge. Of course that same knowledge wasn't something he readily advertised, not the sum of it in any case.
"So what will you do?"
He shrugged, "Arasmes is at Rider's March," A small long held manor estate of the Bolton's used... as the name implied to raise horses, "I might visit there," He gave another shrug, "Overton an option there are ships to raise, and see to, fitting out even if I don't. Visiting Karhold," If he wanted to go beyond the boundaries of his own lands. "Strictly speaking though, with the new town work as it is, probably best I stay here, and-"
"Loom menacingly,"
He wouldn't have put it like that, but perhaps it wasn't untrue. His father never would have, but he and Roose both were much more hands on. Roose for mistrust of anyone doing anything right, and he... because most of all it kept his hands busy to mind his own projects. "Roose will need to see to his own holds if we are truly in spring," And even if they weren't there were winter crops who would need to be planted. That was hard enough work but it would keep the smallfolk busy, and fed... fed peasants meant less would turn to rustling and banditry. "And if we are in spring than," He waved his hand back to the work camps, "Then there is a lot of work that we can do."
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Alaric Bolton leaned his jaw against his palm, with his elbow resting on his desk, and resisted the urge to stretch and yawn. The heavy parchments of maps and cartographer's artistic renditions of his land were cluttered further by the tallies of rents, and other matters of the domain. He had a half dozen pages of missive from Roose, and never mind the minor squabbling besides. Five years with the coronet and he was still overseeing the resolution of disputes that had lingered throughout his father's time as Lord of the Dreadfort. Then of course there were other disputes... those with other Houses sworn directly to the Starks... and of course to their bannermen.
Of course while there were grievances in the mountains interior shared with the domains sworn to Last Hearth's Umbers. There was also the Flints, specifically those of Widow's watch. The old grudges with the Umbers, and the quibbling over mines, and such would likely not be settled even if he lived to old age. Five hundred years hadn't settled them, and the Starks of Winterfell had no reason at all to pick one side or another. The Flints though... that was... he had more concerns besides just them.
"Word from Overton," The man who entered came bearing a pair of reinforced scroll cases that likely contained more than just 'the' word, "And pushed on from White Harbor, this one bears from Lord Manderly." Most would be tallies and arrears, and by the moon's turn he expected recordings of trade from Braavos's court.
"Just set them there, I will get to them shortly." The prospect of the domain though... well he had guilds to contend with, and market day was coming... which meant complaints a plenty. The door closed with the man's departure, and he skimmed them to their contents to sort them. Even in unfavorable winds a galley from White Harbor might make two or three knots, which was a plodding pace to be sure for an hour, and it would take them three weeks to make Lys, never mind Myr, or Volantis. That was the problem for galleys going against the wind, even with oars... though three decks of oarsmen did help, but you could only do so much for hull geometry, and sail plans when it came down to it.
Karstark was still too inclined to complain about his distaste for the sea to visit the port of Overton, though he had suggested a hunt for elk if he could ever get away from the duties of Karhold. It was easier to send such letters though by sea despite it only being about a hundred leagues, or a bit over three hundred miles, overland. A product of that was lack of good roads. No faster to take the river to the sea and up to Overton where the weeping met the sea, then up the weeping. Mundane it might have been but it was practical. Last River formed the practical boundary between Karstarks, and Boltons, but technically speaking it wasn't that clean. There were dozens of villages apiece on either side of the river who owed fealty and taxes to the other side. Not that it really mattered... if Rickard's sister had survived to womanhood it would addressed a more permanent solution, but the fever had ruined that plan. No other plans had been made, and Donnel Bolton's death had left to tend to the affairs of the coronet, and other personal ambitions. It was the concourse of rivers that mostly divided the domains of the North, though there were instances where it was other features that divided them. Bear Island was, obviously, an Island. The domains sworn to the Flints of Flint's Finger... that was the peninsula and the cliffs had hill, mountain, and forest demarcating it from the lands of the Neck. The boundaries of the barrowlands to west and south were likewise neatly marked by the nature course of the likes of the fever, and another river which ran from Torrhen's square formed its western boundary into the salt spear as well. It left all the great houses of the North was abundant land, the smallest of those, understandably, was Bear Island, and it compared in size to Great Wyk further south. No, the Northmen could be said to have land plenty, even if most of it was untamed forest and hill.
There was a wailing keen and a bang on his door, "My lord, may I enter?"The guards outside, posted largely for traditions sake were doing all they could to keep looking forward and not at the maester...
"You can let him through Wade," He looked towards a free chair, that Maester gratefully plumped down into a mix of shivering, and sweating not helping his posture. "Does this relate to the arrears or has something knew come up." He hardly wanted to hear about the... countless or night close enough.. shoemakers of the domain.
He swallowed, and shook his head, "The copyists at Overton are in a frightful state,"
It had been bound to happen eventually, even the Maester hadn't been thrilled with the block printing press. It would have been worse south of the neck where he would had to fight every seven damned septon seven times about proliferating words. "I have been codifying the record of tax arrears for six years," Technically longer since he had started even before Donnel Bolton had died, but he had started it, as proof of concept, for Lord Overton; that was Braxton's older brother. "What has he been printing?"
"A codification of the laws, my lord." Seeing no forthcoming interjection he pressed on, "But, that isn't the problem. He has other plans. The, the" The reachman scowled, "The dispute with the stone masons for example."
Of course he did, with Overton on the sea it probably had the most use of copyists in the entire demesne certainly more use for them than the Dreadfort had during his father's tenure as overlord. It had to be hitting their incomes. Most likely they had annoyed Overton enough that he had had his scribes take to making the ink... maybe the town illuminators... regardless it had probably made them even more shrill. No, manuscripts, with their propensity for illustrations and color weren't something a simple press could replicate, so really the copyists could only be complaining about the loss of income from official documentations. Taxes, tolls, licences... yes that was probably part of what it had been that had caused, "And what are those plans?"
The reachman's jaw went slack... having clearly been caught off guard. He probably hadn't expected the question "Ah, well I, that is Lord Overton seems to intend to take traditional tasks away from the copyists beyond simply copying the tax arrears, and now the laws. I don't think he has announced what is next." He said sitting up.
Alaric grudgingly straightened in his high back chair, and resisted the urge to rub his neck at the shift in his own posture, "And when Lord Overton makes that decision I will weigh it then," If it got to that point though, most likely they would do this in the Dreadfort's throne room, or the court itself. That would require one or the other to appeal to the Dreadfort proper, either directly to him or through his circuit judges; though the later would likely quickly be appealed by Lord Overton to Alaric himself if he didn't like the result. Ultimately though this was civil case, not criminal, "No crime has been committed, regardless of disruption to the town." He remarked, before reaching for fresh parchment. "I will however dispatch one of my Advocates to Overton to examine matters." That seemed to assuage the maester, and departed without much more complaint, and without waiting for the drafting of the orders... thankfully. He contemplated the half written missive, and crumbled it up... he wasn't even sure which of his advocates were otherwise engaged. Most of the business of feudal administration was not something one brought to the Lord of the Dreadfort immediately... that was the entire point of village headsmen to some extent. Mediating such disputes, or failing that meant going a run higher on the feudal ladder. Technically the judicial powers of lesser lords... landed knights, and those with only manorial estates... were very limited... but the Overtons held a city... well town really calling it a city was an exaggeration surely. While there was a charter which might come into play for the merchants none of them really wanted to immediately upset the way that these things normally ran. A single guild needed to go to the town first, even if they were complaining about their liege lord... if they came right to Alaric... well firstly he wasn't likely to side with them anyway, but it would also aggravate the feudal aristocracy. He suspected further south this might have been a larger danger, but towns were where the confluence of rich merchant ran most thoroughly into the aristocracy vying for temporal power. Sending someone to watch was something he was willing to do... just not yet.
Ethering south across the river had a town charter but none of the more developed commercial enterprise of Overton that required so many copyists. It was after all much closer to the seat of Bolton power, which left the copyists here to worry about whether they'd try and stir up trouble on behalf of their guildmates. This would normally be the part where Roose would have invited them into the Dreadfort for Dinner... and told them to keep their mouths shut. The problem there lay in that... had Alaric not been present it would have held... no Alaric was home, and thus Roose's actions were more prone to being challenged. Of course with him home any of his officers were more prone to having their actions questioned, because of the ability to appeal directly to him.
Directly countermanding his brother wasn't wise. It would cause unnecessary discord in the domain and that was always undesirable. There were various things he had done to insure a lack of problems to merit with. The whole point of bricks was its utility for defense without actually having to concern oneself over certain responsibilities. Of course now that Tywin Lannister was no longer hand he doubted the reach of the royal coin mongers... attempts to restrict raising permanent fortifications, or expand or rebuild would fail. It still took time to raise those, and he had only half a decade to really work, and even that was stretching it. That brought him back to the copyists... it'd take weeks to get a complete picture of what was going on. Those would be weeks spent having to listen to Roose's unsolicited advice.
Still it really would have helped things, if Eamon would stop needling the guilds, yes he had said the work for port was important, but all this antagonism was getting out of hand. Roose had complained about it already, but then Roose didn't really like Eamon, Lord Overton, all that much if one wanted to be honest. He was going to have to take Roose aside though. It was a practical matter of labor.
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Winterfell was a welcome respite. Rickard enjoyed being the Stark in residence it was comforting to be here, and not abroad. In any other situation though it would have been quieter, but his first born needed to be prepared for what was to come, and that was complicated. Brandon refused to get it through his thick skull the concept of nuance. Part of that was his delusion that a noble heart and a strong sword arm was enough to fix everything, and that if only it were still a thousand years ago... never mind that that hadn't been true back then either.
He hadn't expected this much trouble though. Part of it was Harrenhall. The king showing up probably had exasperated this... but Rhaegar's actions most definitely contributed. "Enough," the Wolf Lord snapped, "It does not matter." It didn't. The North might have been the largest of the seven kingdoms. The most diverse in lands... though admittedly Dorne had variation as well from the seashore, to sands, and to the mountains that rose in the far west, and north of those sun broiled lands. "you will wed the Tully girl. One day you will be Lord of Winterfell." Hopefully that was distant enough in the future that his son would be mature enough to bear the weight. Maturing sooner was preferable to later. "That makes the problems of her house your own. We knelt to the threat of dragon's fire, that was the oath we made." And when they had made it they had endured the mistakes of the Targaryens in good humor, even when they were painful... not the least of which was the practical reality of their having dragons. Had Baelor not quietly been dealt with, as was the most likely explanation to his convenient demise, the realm would have likely fractured then, or any of a near dozen other points throughout the nearly three hundred years of rule.
The thought occurred to him that while the King, and his Heir dickering about had probably in theory strengthened nominal support for their cause... it hadn't given them the breath at length to hammer out true details. Without details there was no way to act in a unified manner. In that, well the Defiance at Duskendale came to mind. House Darklyn had been beyond the pale, but that they had stood alone had also had obvious results as well. So that was that, Rickard Stark decided, Brandon would marry and that would be that. The wedding assembly would be sufficient to discuss the finer points of a charter to address the realm's situation.
The majority of the smallfolk lived in the countryside. Four in Five perhaps, less obviously when it came time to hunker down in the winter towns, but the North's smallfolks raised herds of cattle and sheep and those drives insured that there was food to feed that many when the towns swelled. That was part of the reason the Winter Wolves had been such a powerful force, it was significantly easier to rally men when you had a much greater body of them together, than having to send the sheriffs out to martial the levies.
It was a mild winter by northern standards of course. While certain Winter Town was busier than it had been when he had made for the cost, there were other factors than the light snows. Everyone knew that Brandon was going to marry, even if the boy was still dragging his spurs about it. That wouldn't do, and the sooner they were wedded the better.
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The year was far more than half done. He looked at the device on his desk, and then to the horizon. It had been a mild winter by northern standards , so the slight warming really shouldn't have been enough to get anyone hoping it was spring. Still it would have been nice. Alaric really did suspect that somewhere north of the wall was a planar gateway, or something of the like. Still he could hardly go harrying off into the lands beyond the wall. Maybe sail north, and stay off the coast in Harrier or Eagle, or Raptor. It would be probably be best to put that off longer still, at least until he had more ships. It would be nice to have a minimum of three ships always in port, and three more at sea on trade missions. The greater barrier there of course was the lack of qualified seamen not the process of building ships.
He put the arcane instrument away. There was still the upcoming wedding of Brandon Stark to the Tully girl the following year. It would also be the twentieth year of Aerys the Second. Ordinarily that would have been something for lords to celebrate. Having seen the King at the Tourney, having seen the King's erratic behavior Alaric had no interest in celebrating it. With any luck Rhaegar was simply just young and stupid... or maybe he had simply read too many accounts of House Stark's support for the Iron Throne such as during the Blacks and Greens and thought it was a noble gesture. He doubted it, but maybe it was so.
Regardless if he did sail in the following year he doubted he would chance any Westerosi port south of the Neck if he could help it. There was a rap upon his solar's door, which he had been expecting. "Open." He replied. "Your brother's squablings are getting out of hand."
"Not much I can be expected to do about Eamon," Braxton replied stepping inwards. "He is my older brother as he is so inclined to remind me. The Second Sons have arrived from down the river."
"Have you adopted Rickard's position?"
"No, just that they're asking us to take sides, without specifying who they intend to lob these rocks at."
At least they could presumably source their own ammunition. The Second Sons had gotten this idea into their heads because two trebuchets had been used to hurl incendiary bombs in the disputed lands. Those had been alchemical concoctions. Still the Second Sons were not asking for lathe turned projectiles, so either they believed they had a suitable replacement, or more likely though simple stone would work. He thought of Sea Wolf, and other ships. He stood up and made his way towards one of the walls. This had been the solar of the Lords of House Bolton since before the Stark's had bent the knee to House Targaryen. In perhaps a year it would likely be superseded by his new tower, certainly in a few years it would be replaced by that newer residence. It hadn't been used overly much by Donnel Bolton though. There had been no bookshelves in it during his reign. "It takes a few men to carry the pieces of a well made trebuchet. That handful can set it up, and operate on the field." He glanced back, and then pulled a large drafting book from the shelf. "and that is why I've ordered some extras of the siege weapons that Oberyn wanted. The best case scenario that I can envision is that some prince has hired the Second Sons to remove some pirate stronghold in the vicinity of bloodstone." He had considered of course that the Second Sons might have been retained farther east, "Its possible the First Daughter might have hired them, but I doubt it. Certainly siege weapons suggest a hostile city. That could be in Slaver's bay or one of the cities like Mantarys." He shrugged, "and if it is that far east so be it."
"But you are going to ask them?"
He laid the draft of the siege weapon, "I think it prudent. It could be Myr, or Tyrosh. I'd like to know their response to the question in any event." He shook his head, "But more than who they might wish to lob rocks at, I'm curious as to who across the sea was brazen enough to send someone into the fair ground. The ships at sea, well Pentos is a possibility I'll admit that." If that was the matter, then so be it. "More than all of that though Braxton is that I would like to be able to deal with the pirate dens in the Stepstones in the year after Wolf's launch." Hiring mercenaries was an imminently practical solution to sourcing additional fighting men.
"It will be well into next year before she's fitted out."
"I am aware of the delays." It was unfortunate, but the ship would be able to sail by this time next year. "I am also aware that in that time frame the stepstones are quite likely to be back to a haven of scum and villainy, which is non conducive to trading." He wanted little more than to be able to send his ships far and wide and profit from those voyages. The profit could then be reinvested in the domain, and addressing some of the other issues of it.
Regrettably for Alaric, the year of the False Spring as it would come be known was to be the lead into what would come to be called Robert's Rebellion. Within a year Alaric Bolton would be at war. On the plus side, as such things could be considered, war against the Iron Throne meant that Royalist shipping was fair game for plunder not just for the Iron Born, but for other enemies to House Targaryen.
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Notes: and we're back. Again as I mentioned in the opening note prior to the prologue this story has underwent several changes to timeline, and chronology of births. A portion of this 'Part C' of Chapter 3 was written using that old series of notes so I had to go pull an assorted bunch of material out. Because Robert's Rebellion doesn't actually start until into 282 the actual war wont' be for a while, I believe I've said something to this effect.
To touch on some plans: Chapter 4 is mostly centered on the North eastern shore of the North as a realm. Alaric and the Dreadfort, Rickard and the Karstarks, Lord Manderly and White Harbor. Chapter 5 touches on other parts of the North as a kingdom or feudal entity with Lord Stark, his heir and his family and aspirations, but also the North's nearest foreign neighbor Braavos. From that 6 touches on some of the cities across the sea, but also the Vale of Arryn with some return of Robert Baratheon, and Ned. The Ironborn and House Tully and the Riverlands may also get touched on sometime between 6 & 7, especially due to navigable rivers. Now is probably the earliest that story will transition from 281 to the following year, with canonically the major events being Lyana is abducted by Rhaegar, Brandon running off to King's Landing, and then a whole lot of murder, followed by the Rebellion.