The North
Arywn Frey was not as appalling as he had feared. The girl had a forthright, blunt manner but none of the late Lord Walder's querulous nature. And she was pretty, with long reddish brown hair, wide hips and an amiable smile. She got along well with her sisters, treated and was treated by the Northmen with respect. Robar could have done worse, Lord Royce admitted.
Bronze Yohn had always seen Frey women as sad pasty creatures, barely human, dressed in drab colors, locked away in a dingy castle to breed until they died. To the shame of House Royce, his great aunt Perra had fallen victim to that fate, with four children and two stillborns in the short time she was the first wife to Lord Walder. The men were not much better, with a slovenly weaselly look : he remembered one in particular in a tournament melee at King's Landing, a rat-like knight who wore a leather skullcap with a crow's peak and long sides dangling down over his ears. Yohn wasn't certain if the Frey had been a miser or had no gold for proper equipment.
Six moons had passed since the Fall of the Twins, and the survivors were greatly changed. The ladies dressed in lighter colors - whites, blues, oranges, and yellows. Time spent outdoors in fields, pastures, and farms made them stronger and healthier. To be awarded a fief, the Starks required assurance that the land would be well managed. That meant lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic - instruction that was eagerly sought out and taught to nobles and smallfolk alike. Yohn was not sure how he felt about that. But in the North, everyone worked - even if that work was simply learning how to better manage a farm or household.
The Royces sat down in the Great Hall of Winterfell for a hearty breakfast - porridge with hot milk, soft boiled eggs, rashers of bacon and pork sausages. Arwyn spread butter, honey and blackberry preserves on freshly baked bread. She handed the first slice to Lord Royce, and then served Robar and his siblings, before giving a large hunk to Shirei topped with a cracked egg, the yellow yolk oozing out.
"Who is that beauty?" Andar gawked at a lean woman with tousled dark hair and dark eyes. She wore an unlaced sleeveless leather jerkin over a quilted brown tunic. A smirk crossed her face as she stretched out, revealing thick iron manacles connecting her right wrist to a shapely left leg. An unsmiling blond giantess in armor stood guard, her hand clenching a padded morning star.
"Asha Greyjoy. When Snow drove the raiders out of Deepwood Motte, her ship, the Black Wind, was captured with all her men. Her brother Theon escaped." Arwyn said.
"Balon's daughter? Her father declared himself King of Salt and Rock, Lord Reaper of Pyke." Yohn said. It seemed like the Greyjoys were always revolting.
"Is she a princess, then? Will House Stark marry her off, so the North can claim the Iron Islands in her name?" Ysilla examined Asha with great interest.
"Robb Stark wants nothing to do with shitty islands full of shittier thieves." Robar snorted.
"Then why is she here? Wouldn't a king ransom his daughter?" Andar asked.
"Snow dispatched the Ironborn prisoners to various ports in the North - Eastwatch, Bear Island, Sea Dragon Point, White Harbour, Widow's Watch. So long as her men help with the building of new ships, she will be treated well as a hostage." Arwyn said.
"But if they make trouble, Lord Snow will chop off her hands and feet. For every man who tries to escape, they will snip off a finger or a toe!" the little Frey sister said.
"Shirei." Arywn said with a bemused tone. "Where did you hear that?"
Shirei pouted. "Eddara told me. She heard it from her brother Benfrey who heard it from his uncle Leobald."
"Well, you shouldn't believe nonsense, particularly from the Tallharts. A few Ironborn have tried to run and were hunted down. No harm came to Ashara. As far as I know, the Ironborn like her enough that they are willing to help with the construction. House Stark is building a large fleet with many new ship designs. Some have triangle sails and multiple masts." Arwyn said.
"Ships? Is that why the Starks are so busy?" Bronze Yohn was mildly disappointed. Yesterday, Sansa and Robb greeted him with great respect, and the Lord of Winterfell personally offered bread and salt. His family had taken rooms in the Great Keep, an honor and sign of trust. And yet, he had barely seen any of Ned's children. The crippled Bran and young Rickon stayed in the godswood, with their dire wolves. Lady Sansa was busy with endless planning for weddings and Robb was deluged with requests by the nobles on a mountain of matters, great and small. But it was the last two that were ghosts. Neither Arya Stark nor Jon Snow had made an appearance at dinner last night. Yohn gathered that their absence was not unusual.
"The Starks are very active with many things, Father. They do not mean to slight you. Lord Robb is assigning fiefs for new lords and knights. And Snow is even busier." Robar said.
"And what is Snow working on?" Yohn asked.
"We would all like to know that." Asha Greyjoy walked closer and sat down. She favored the Royces with a brassy smile, ignoring the chains rattling against the wooden table and her scowling guard. She was less a beauty and more a warrior, fierce and proud as the sea.
Shirei hid behind her sister's skirts. Arwyn glared back, while the men were momentarily stunned by the Greyjoy's blunt manner. "And why should we tell you? You are a prisoner."
"I won't be one forever. It only takes two months to build a ship, even these fancy new ones. Give us enough wood, iron and sails, and my men can build a fleet quickly. And copper too."
"Copper? How are they using copper on a ship?" Yohn asked.
"Snow sheathed the bottom of the hull and the keel with copper plates. I have never seen such a thing. It protects the ship from worms and barnacles. He believes that ships with copper plates will not need as much pitch to protect the wood. If that is true, then the Northern fleet can travel further and stay out longer at sea."
"But if that is true, won't Snow build hundreds of ships? I am afraid my lady, that you will be a captive at Winterfell for a long time." Andar said.
Asha rejected any gallantry. "I am no lady. I am a captain. Snow will only build so many ships, before he runs out of captains. Might be, he needs a kraken to sail the fourteen seas."
"And why would he trust you?" Arwyn said.
"Because I am the best captain he has. Better than these fat mermen. And far far better than Glovers or Flints or whatever idiots live on top of mountains. If he can trust Freys to bear the North suckling babes, then he can trust me to crew a ship." Asha said.
"Snow has been locked in the library tower for many weeks. The servants say that he takes meals and sleeps there. Only the Starks and the Winter Town boys are allowed in his workrooms. Who knows what he has created?" Robar said.
"Perhaps catapults, or fire weapons. Surely the Starks are preparing for war." Yohn said. That was the question on many in the Vale. When would the next war begin? What would the North do? How would the Young Wolf get revenge for House Stark?
"He is not building catapults or siege equipment. He would need more space to test such weapons. I see smallfolk delivering barrels, crates and metal. He is working on something else." The girl turned back to her table, leaving the curious Valemen to ponder her words.
Robb woke up at the rapping on his door. He had barely closed his eyes before falling into a dark slumber. He dreamed often of the ambush and the deaths of Talisa and his unborn child. He had failed them, and Grey Wind. It was only because of the dire wolf's sacrifice, that he had managed to survive the treachery of the Lannisters and the Freys.
"Lord Stark, it is Bran." a boy called through the door.
Robb hastened to put on a gray wool tunic. He limped past Hallis Mollen and the other Winterfell guards, the reminder of crossbow wounds suffered at the Twins. Bran's room was only a few doors away. Robb dispatched a servant to find Jon.
Bran had thrown off his furs. Maester Luwin pressed a wet towel on his brother's pale face. Two small figures stood outside the door, and Robb recognized them as Howland Reed's children. They had become good friends with Bran. Robb motioned the guards to let them in.
"Another vision, brother?" Robb said softly. Sweat dripped off Bran's forehead.
"Cold blue eyes on a field of ice. Dragons flying over the sea. And a cowled rider on a horse." The boy cried, still in the throes of hallucinations.
The last was new. "A rider? What did he look like?" Robb said.
"A black cowl. A dark robe. A bony arm with a scythe. He had no face and rode a pale mare." His brother woke up.
"Just bad dreams, Bran. Try to forget them." Luwin poured a cup of water.
"It was real, Robb, as real as you or Winterfell." Bran pushed away the maester's hand. "I saw the rider. He is coming, for everyone."
"Your brother has the greensight. He has a greater gift than mine. He dreams of things that may come to be." Jojen Reed said in a strange, distant voice.
"But they also may not come true." Jon made his way into the crowded bedroom. He took the cup from Luwin and pressed it into Bran's hand. "Prophecy is a tricky thing."
"I have to go North. The three-eyed crow is calling. He will teach me how to fly. I have to go beyond the wall." Bran cried out. Maester Luwin shook his head but Jojen nodded in agreement.
Robb was annoyed. His father valued Lord Reed greatly as a loyal friend but Robb thought the crannogman's children could be more forthcoming with their secrets. "No, Bran. Seven Hells, you are not going. You can't walk. The only way you go North is with me or Jon and an army behind us. It is freezing at the Wall. I will not have you traipsing around in the cold and snow."
"The three eyed crow can teach Bran many things. The last greenseer can look through the eyes of the weirwoods and see the truth that lies underneath the world." Jojen said.
"A crow has wings. Why can't the three eyed crow teach Bran here?" Jon replied.
"He says that he can teach me how to fly." Bran said. "You believe me, right Jon? You believe my visions mean something."
Jon nodded. "I do. But a creature that can speak in your dreams can teach you there as well. I don't want you or any companions to die beyond the Wall. One day, perhaps, we may go North and meet the three eyed crow. But not today."
Robb bit back a sharp retort. He wanted to yell that Bran would never go north but words spoken in anger would not help. He took the furs from the ground, knocked off the dust, and covered Bran. The boy closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
"I will stay and guard him, Lord Stark." Meera Reed piped up.
He had seen the short slim girl spar in the yard. She fought well with a woven net and a three prong frog spear. "Thank you, Lady Meera. We all need rest. That includes you, Maester Luwin, and everyone else here."
Robb waved away the guards, fighting his exhaustion. He had not seen much of Jon the past few weeks.
"What do you think of Bran's dreams?"
"He believes them. And who is to say that he does not see the truth? The sailors say Daenerys Targaryen has birthed dragons in Essos."
"Then she will cross the Narrow Sea to claim the Throne. So that explains the dragons. But cold men with blue eyes. I thought the Others existed only in Old Nan's stories. This dark rider on a pale horse seems more a nightmare than a vision." Robb replied.
"Nightmares and visions can come true. Do you remember when you found the dire wolf pups?"
Robb nodded. He was happy that day. He remembered Grey Wind's eyes, still closed as the wolf pup nuzzled against him, seeking warmth and milk. "We found them coming back from the execution. The body of a dire wolf mother as large as a horse. We thought it was only five pups until Ghost came out of hiding."
"Arya told me that the dead dire wolf had a broken antler lodged in her throat. Killed by a stag so that the pups needed to fend for themselves."
"You think it was a sign. That the Baratheons would do House Stark harm and Father would die in King's Landing."
"Yes, a warning of the future. Just like the shattered antler was a bad omen for the Baratheons. Two brothers dead, the last one a kinslayer, and the male line extinguished, except for Gendry." Neither Jon nor Robb believed that the royal children came from Robert's seed. As for the Baratheon bastard, he was in the Riverlands, smithing at the Inn at the Crossroads.
"I wish Father heeded the warnings. I wish we all had." Robb said bleakly. "But if Bran's visions are true, we may be in grave danger. But how can we fight what we do not know?"
"We do what we are doing now. Grant land and domains to new lords and knights. Feed the small folk. Construct roads and harbors. Find trade partners. Build what we can. Whatever happens, the North will be stronger and ready. We cannot predict what will happen. We can only prepare for the winter. Get some rest, Robb. Worrying does not much good."
Arya woke up before the sun rose, the better to avoid the interlopers at Winterfell. Sansa badgered her to get to know the other nobles, including a flock of soon to be married Freys. Her sister told her to take meals in the hall, attend lessons with Luwin, even play the harp with the other girls. Arya's fingers were about as well suited for music as they were for knitting.
She was the first of her brothers and sisters in the Great Keep to awaken. Rickon slept a great deal, and Sansa and Robb were often busy into the night, speaking with visitors. As for Bran, her broken brother could not rise from his bed. So he had to wait until others arose. She stopped and overheard the servants preparing breakfast.
"Master Bran woke up again in the middle of the night. The poor boy has nightmares."
Arya stole a small loaf of hot bread. She slipped out of a door and made her way across the courtyard to the library tower. As she approached, she felt many eyes. The library tower was packed full of little birds, children rescued from King's Landing. At Winterfell, Jon had arranged that they be provided a safe home with as much food as they could eat. The bell tower near the rookery was converted into a giant kitchen. Servants delivered warm meals to the library at all hours of the day and long into the night.
The little birds were wary at first but urchins used to begging for crumbs could hardly resist steady nourishment. Lamb and venison stews, beef and bacon pies, roasted onions, smoked fish, baked apples and honey cakes. Ample food, warm clothes, a hot fire, thick blankets, and beds stuffed with straw and down - it was not that much, but the children were thankful. Her brother Jon asked for nothing, but the little birds returned a fervid devotion. They patrolled the library, attended lessons, built canals and water wheels, herded the flocks, spun wool into cloth, worked at Goldenfields, and ran countless errands, almost equal to the Winter Town boys. And they kept her brother's secrets.
Jon had secrets. The most important one was that he was a Targaryen. Arya had wanted to confront her brother about this many times since the Twins. When had he known? Who were his true parents? Arya guessed that he must be her aunt Lyanna's child. That would mean he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon. That would make Jon the rightful king. That secret, if uncovered, would shock the world.
Arya could not find the words to ask. True, as commander of the North while Robb recovered from injuries, Jon was busy and often surrounded by others. She knew that it would be both wrong and dangerous to allow others to overhear her questions. Time passed, Robb got better, and still, Arya could not face the truth. What if Jon denied everything? Or worse, what if he just nodded and agreed. "I was never your brother, Arya. I am only a cousin."
She made her way up the stairs. The lower floors were cold, as she passed storerooms and cellars. As she rose, so did the temperature and the noise. Wooden slats and staves were everywhere and even at sunrise, apprentices were making and cleaning barrels of all shapes and sizes. Most were aged white oak, bound together with steel hoops and rivets. Open barrels were placed for a short time on flames to char and toast wet wood. The barrels were rolled away from the fires to cool down and be sanded and measured. Arya wiped away a bead of sweat. It would only get hotter.
She opened the door to her brother's workroom. A blast of heat from the many metal coils passed over her face. Giant copper pots, sitting over peat flames, were connected by a network of pipes. Winter Town boys monitored the pots and pipes, watching carefully as barley mash and water were converted into a liquid that dripped into jars. Arya knew that much of it would be thrown away with the best parts reheated and recooled again and again.
She found Jon at the corner near an open window. A strong breeze blew over the furnace and Jon dipped a hollow clay tube into molten liquid. With great care, he took the tube out and placed the white hot end into a metal mold. He rotated the tube with gloved fingers, blowing steadily. Chett opened the mold, revealing a translucent square with an elegant rounded neck.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying and failing to make glass." Jon frowned as he examined his work. Then he placed it with several others of the same shape, all white but streaked with pale green, blue, and orange.
Arya stood away from the heat. "Pretty." The light sparkled through the bottle, and the colors seemed to dance with hints of a rainbow.
"Too pretty. I want clear glass. In Myr, the artisans can make lenses for far-eyes to observe the stars. This glass has too much color." Jon said grumpily, putting down his gloves and tools.
"But maester, the glass will make excellent bottles. We can add colors and draw shapes. We can even enamel and decorate the glass with different powders." Chett added eagerly.
"So can the craftsmen of Myr. Adding color is easy. Making glass clear is hard. We're missing some metal or material that can take the color out. Blast the magisters for keeping their secrets. Chett, keep trying. Use the rocks from the Wull mountains or the ash from Ironrath." Jon left the workroom behind.
Arya accepted a cup of lemon water in the observatory. Maester Luwin's bronze far-eye looked out the small window over the walls of the South Gate.
"You are up early, Arya." Her brother fiddled with the far-eye.
"I heard that Bran woke up last night."
"Aye. His dreams are troubling. Cold eyes on a blue field, dragons, a rider on a pale horse. This three eyed crow keeps calling to Bran."
"What does it all mean?"
"The cold blue eyes are the Others, and the dragons are clear. The rider on a pale horse carried a scythe in a bony hand."
"Death, then." Arya said.
"Probably, but how? There are many ways to die. Bran wants to go North to meet the three eyed crow. He believes the crow can teach him how to fly."
"That's crazy." Arya exclaimed. Bran had changed from a young boy dreaming of knights to something far more bizarre.
"Perhaps. Robb forbade him from going but it is not that simple. Jojen Reed believes that Bran has greensight. The crannogmen have their own ways. In the Age of Legends, they grew close to the children of the forest, and the children could use magic. They carved faces on the weirwoods, and they had visions of the future."
"So, do you think Bran's dreams are true?"
"I believe his dreams may come true." Her brother hesitated slightly. "I have dreams too, Arya. Many I do not understand."
"Like Bran's dreams?"
Jon shook his head. "No, not quite. Often I dream of the past or places far away. Sometimes I see battles yet to come. On the boat in the God's Eye, I saw Grey Wind wounded in the crypt. Once before a battle, I dreamt I would win victory and die."
"But you didn't die, stupid."
"Not yet. But there are wars yet to come."
Arya glared. "You are not going to die, Jon. I won't let that happen. You won't leave me behind. I will stay by your side and make sure you stay alive."
"Some dreams come true. Other visions may be false and lead us astray. But all men die, Arya. One day, Bran may have to meet the three eyed crow. And one day, there will be battles that cannot be won. We cannot avoid our destiny."
"Promise me, Jon. Promise me that you will fight." Arya was more angry than sad.
"I will, little sister. I will not go gently into the good night." He mussed up her hair, just like when they were children playing in the courtyard. "Besides you are my squire. I need to make sure you become a knight before I die."
Robb Stark was tired. His father had made ruling seem so easy, dealing justice and commanding the respect of the Northern Houses. From morning to noon, he had no respite. There was always a lord or heir clamoring for attention, requesting special rights or judgments in their favor. House Glover asked for gold to compensate for the Ironborn incursion on Deepwood Motte, House Manderly sought more ships and a charter for a new town of Dunstonbury on the White Knife, and the Umbers and Karstarks grumbled that their lands benefited the least from expanded trade, even as they wanted harbours and bridges built. So far, the knights and lords from the Valemen and the Riverlands had made no demands, but Jon said that was only a matter of time. The newcomers were too busy pestering Sansa.
He dismissed the guards at the ironwood door. Ser Alyn looked concerned but the Hound merely shrugged, and called for a servant to bring meat and drink. The entrance to the crypt was long and narrow with pillars two by two along the length. The stone statue for Grey Wolf that would guard Talisa's remains had been commissioned but not finished. Robb realized that Lady's bones, buried in the lichyard, should be dug up, and placed in the crypt.
He descended further down into the cavernous vault. The air became cooler, and the halls wider, as he passed the statues of dead lords. His father's bones were still missing, although the stonecutters had finished chiseling the likeness, so that Ned Stark could join his brother and sister. As he turned the corner, he saw a light and a white dire wolf taller than his chest. A black cat with a torn ear lurked in the shadows.
Robb placed his torch down. "Jon, what are you doing here?"
His brother had placed a garland of blue roses on the statue of Lyanna Stark. She resided between her brothers, Brandon and Ned. The empty tomb beyond was reserved for Robb, but next to the resting place for the ashes of Talisa and his unborn child.
"Mourning the dead. Winter roses were her favorite." Jon kneeled next to Ghost, red eyes looking at the long face and gray eyes of a girl who died too young.
"Can I have a few? For…"
"Of course." Jon searched his face for a moment, and then handed over two pale blue roses, the largest of the bunch.
"Then you know why I am here." Robb knelt down on the cold hard earth, placing the flowers gently on his dead wife's tomb. "Talisa was three moons pregnant when she died. It has been six more moons since the Twins. Our child would have been born, perhaps today. If it had been a boy, I would have named him Eddard, and he would be heir to Winterfell. Now the babe is just ashes, just like my wife and Grey Wind. I failed them. Had I been smarter, or quicker."
"Robb…"
"No, Jon, it is true. The lords whisper that I am a Wolf King, hoping I will take the throne and declare the North independent. How can I be a wolf king when my dire wolf is dead because of my stupidity. And the War in the Riverlands - I made a botch of everything but the battles. I thought the battles would be hard but it was everything else. The IronBorn, the Freys, Jaime Lannister, Tywin's plots. Look at the cost. My wife. My dire wolf. My son or daughter, dead in their mother's body. I am not fit to be king."
"You never wanted to be king, Robb. And yes, you bear some blame. We all do. If Jaime Lannister was a captive, Tywin Lannister would have not conspired with the Freys. Everyone makes mistakes in war." Jon said.
"Father didn't. He, Jon Arryn, and Robert Baratheon called their banners and defeated the Targaryens."
"That's nonsense, Robb. History is written by the victors, and most of it is lies. I have read the accounts of the Rebellion. Robert Baratheon was wounded and fled to Stony Sept. Connington arrived there first. He should have burnt the entire town down. If he killed Robert, the Rebellion was over. The Stormlands would yield, and Rhaegar would have won at the Trident."
"Would you have burnt down Stony Shore?"
"To win the war? Yes. If we killed Tywin, Joffrey's reign would end. The Lannister army would break apart, and no one could stop us from marching on King's Landing. Tywin never gave us a final battle. At the God's Eye, he was not on the field. But we made plenty of other mistakes."
"I made mistakes. As the commander, the fault is mine. I should have kept Jaime and Theon under closer watch."
"That would have made a difference. But our problems were more basic." The black cat came out of the darkness, and purred as it brushed against Jon's arm. "We needed allies. In the Rebellion, the North joined the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Stormlands. The Rivermen had already lost before our army passed the Neck. The singers make wild claims about the knights of the Vale, but we saw how Ser Mychel fought at the God's Eye. If we had seven thousand Valemen, we might have won decisively at the Red Fork."
"How could we have gotten more men?" Robb asked.
"Gold. Bribes. Marriages. You met with Renly Baratheon at Bitterbridge. He had an army of seventy thousand. You came back with three swords and a healer. Good men and women - to be sure - but not enough to change the outcome of a battle. "
"Renly was wounded in the attack by Stannis's shadow. Tarly would not have allowed me to take any troops." Robb protested.
"That was a decision for the Tyrells, not Lord Tarly. It is unfortunate that Renly didn't die immediately. If he had, you could have fallen into Lady Margaery's arms. We would have destroyed Tywin Lannister on the field. Even a few thousand could have cut off their escape."
"The Valemen could have provided those forces. A single house from the Reach has those numbers. I should have wooed a Hightower or a Redwyne but I didn't meet any in the South."
"You met the Rose of Highgarden. You would make a good match for her. In return, she and her grandmother could help you deal with Southron alliances."
"Lady Margaery was married - and I was unconscious for a week. I lost another week in useless feasts. Bad luck. I think I would have convinced Renly and the Tyrells that I was no threat. But I never understood why he preferred to act as a king, rather than just march his army to King's Landing. There was no need to waste any time on a meaningless siege of Storm's End."
"We all make mistakes. Renly's errors cost him his life."
"And mine cost me dearly. I see Talisa in my dreams. I cannot forget Sevenstreams."
"Then don't. That which does not kill us makes us stronger. But only if we learn from the past. Honor your wife and child by ruling the North well."
"I will try. For those we lost in the Riverlands. For Father and Mother. For Talisa and the babe." Robb said.
"That's all you can do. The lords respect you."
"But that is not enough - not if we have to fight again. We should find more allies through trade. Is your work ready to be revealed?"
Jon smiled. "Aye, just in time for the weddings."
Robb laughed. That would make the castle more festive. After many moons of hard work, they would begin to see the fruits of their labor.
House Stark gathered in the solar. The Citadel had sent a white raven, announcing the arrival of autumn and the timing was excellent. The preparations were almost complete for the Harvest Feast, which would be followed by three days and nights of weddings. The Great Hall of Winterfell was packed full with long tables and a multitude of chairs. Servants decorated the walls with fresh flowers and wreaths festooned with pinecones and holly berries. The smell of delicious cooking wafted through the entirety of the keep - roasted venison and boar, goose-in-berries, salmon, and even lobster. Singers, musicians, acrobats and jugglers were ready to perform their songs and feats. Every house and highborn in the North, even Lady Dustin of Barrowton, had come for the celebration. Robb's biggest problem was his siblings.
"I am sorry but that is the seating chart." a frustrated Sansa said of the array of names that had taken her the better part of a day.
"I don't want to sit next to any Freys." Rickon howled. "They killed Mother. Why can't I stay with Jon and Robb?"
"Rickon, you are with the other boys under ten namedays. None of those here knew about Lord Walder's plots." Sansa's explanation received a derisive snort from Arya.
"I want Shaggy at the dinner table." Rickon said mutinously.
"Sweetling, your wolf scares the other children." Sansa replied.
That was true. Shaggydog turned feral after Rickon had learned that mother and father would never return to Winterfell. The wolf had bitten the head cook Gage when Rickon was denied a steak pie. Shaggy only behaved well in the godswood with his brothers, and that was because Summer and Ghost could curb his anger.
"Ghost will come to the feast. He can keep Shaggy and Summer company." Jon said. Robb was glad that his brother had not mentioned Nymeria. She was the fiercest of them all, and the terror of the courtyard.
"Bran, I placed you next to Jojen and Meera Reed and House Cerwyn." Sansa's words barely registered as Bran just stared off into the distance.
"As for you, Arya…"
"I am not sitting next to any stupid girls. If I have to go, I will stay with Jon."
Robb hid his smile before putting on a more serious face. "Arya can sit at the High Table, and so should you, Sansa. The North must know that the Starks are united."
"And what if Arya throws food at me, again?"
"It was just one blood orange on your fancy dress. And pigeon pie. And some mashed turnips.."
Robb sighed. "Arya, don't throw food at your sister tonight. Do that when our guests are not around. Sansa, I really don't see why I need to sit so close to Ysilla Royce. I would prefer to speak with Lord Yohn."
Sansa opened her mouth surprised. "But he clearly wishes for closer ties between our families. Ysilla is friendly and ready to be wed. You need an heir."
"I have an heir. Jon is my heir. Talisa only died six moons ago at the Twins. I will marry again, but not soon." Robb snapped back.
"Lord Royce brought his daughter here for a reason. Ysilla is kind and sweet. One day, her father might be Regent of the Vale."
Robb shrugged. "I am thankful for the knights that came with Ser Robar to fight. But the Vale still follows the Iron Throne."
"Things can change. Lord Yohn was great friends with our father. He is well respected. And he clearly has no love for the Lannisters if he comes North to see his son married and become a Northern lord." Sansa said.
"That does not mean he will rebel though. Oaths matter a great deal in the Vale. Thanks to Lady Lysa, Baelish is regent of the Vale. We would need Baelish to die, and House Royce to break ties with House Arryn. What will he do that if another war breaks out? " Jon said.
"Lord Royce is the most likely lord to support House Stark. He was knighted at the Eyrie when our father was fostered with Jon Arryn. Courting him weakens Baelish. In the Vale, they respect strength and bravery. House Royce has a long history of both." Sansa argued.
"This doesn't matter." Words came out in a rush from Bran. "None of this matters. Not the harvest feast, not Yohn Royce, not the northern lords. When the snows come and the white winds blow, our allies will fall away like wheat before a scythe. The cold ones are coming. The center cannot hold. When Death comes, only fire and ice will matter."
"Bran, the Others are a story. No one has seen them for a thousand years." Robb said.
"The white walkers will return. I have seen this in my dreams. Tell them, Jon. You have visions too. Tell them what is coming." Bran said in a fevered voice.
"Winter is coming. And terrible things may come with it. But it is not winter yet." Jon said. "It is autumn, Bran. We may still have time to prepare."
"Have you seen the Others, Jon?" Rob asked.
"I have seen shadows that disappear in mist and pale blue eyes underwater." Jon said cautiously. "But I wonder if I dreamt of the past."
"Bran, I want to believe you." Robb added. "But I can't do much with a legend from the Age of Heroes. I can't even tell my Lords. They will not believe me until a real threat appears."
"By then, it will be too late." Bran said bitterly.
"Maybe. But until then, life goes on. Many lords have come to Winterfell for the feast. Robb must honor them and keep their loyalty. There are marriages to perform and lands to grant. These may be small things but they matter. The smallfolk, the visitors from the Vale, the soldiers that fought bravely in the Riverlands - they all matter. If the winter to come is as deadly as Bran believes, this may be the last harvest feast they will ever see." Jon said.
"I hope that is not a true prophecy, Snow. Maester Luwin says this summer was ten years and two moons and sixteen days. Who knows how long the winter will last. I will sit near Lady Royce. I will be courteous and respectful. I will dance with her if asked. But I cannot promise my hand when we are unsure of the situation in the Vale. But you have my thanks, Sansa. The North needs allies and Winterfell needs to keep our lords loyal. I know that now. And the North needs to celebrate. Let us enjoy this harvest feast." Robb said.
At the Citadel, the maesters claimed that the North was a hard and cold place, haunted by the spectre of winter. Most of these supposed experts had never passed the Neck. The few that had wrote of harsh justice, fearsome storms, strange legends, and terrors from beyond the wall. No wonder that Southrons thought Northmen a grim and merciless bunch. To be fair, that might be true in the long winters, where older men often left home to preserve food for their younger kin.
But today was the harvest feast, and thoughts of hunger and famine did not cross the minds of the people at Winterfell. In the Great Hall, a warm fire crackled and wisps of fragrant wood smoke mingled with the rich smell of fresh bread and roast meats. The long rows of trestle tables had been jammed to the sides to create a wide open space for men and women to mingle and chat. The floor was swept and watered, the lamps trimmed, and the chamber was snug, warm and dry, decorated with flowers, wreaths and banners. The grey dire wolf of House Stark dominated the walls but many sigils were given a place of honor, including new ones from the riverlands and the Valemen.
The feast at Winterfell lacked the majesty and pageantry of celebrations at the Red Keep or Highgarden but that was inconsequential to the attendees. The food was hearty and filling rather than dainty and luxurious - roast venison, honeyed chicken, racks of lamb, hard boiled eggs and sausage, melted cheese with mushrooms on hot bread, smoked ham steak, onion soup, fried potato cakes, fish pies, mince and pork pies, stuffed squash - all washed down with tasty nut brown ale. There were no pigeons flying out of pies, covered with spoonfuls of lemon cream. That sort of gaudy display was best left for Southerners.
Jon sat with the older Stark children, between Arya and Robb at the high table. On Robb's left, Sansa chatted with Lady Ysilla while Bronze Yohn sat next to Arya. Behind them, stood their guards - Sandor Clegane, Brienne of Tarth, and Beric Dondarrion. The Lightning Lord, unlike his friend Thoros of Myr, had no need of any sustenance. In the tables nearest to the Starks, the greatest of the Northern lords - the Greatjon, Rickard, Maege, and Wyman - made ribald remarks to the knights waiting to be married. In the center of the hall, a few brave souls danced to singers playing harps and reciting ballads. Jon smiled at the sight of Ser Wylis cutting a jig with his wife, Leona Woolfield, a plump blonde with a round pink fleshy face. The fat knight was surprisingly graceful on his feet. Their daughters, brown haired Wynafred and green haired Wylla, hooted loudly at their parents' antics, and the Mormonts slammed tankards in approval.
Jon stood up when Robb gave the steward a brief nod. He handed a note to Chett, who nodded and rushed to the rear exit. The music halted and as Robb rapped a spoon on a goblet, the floor slowly cleared as men and women returned to their seats.
"Lord Mychel and Lady Mya, you may approach."
The young couple rose and walked hand in hand. They were garbed plainly but with elegance - a red and white surcoat for the knight and a blue and gray dress that matched her dark hair and deep blue eyes. They knelt with respect before the high table. "Lord Stark, we ask that before we are wed, that Mya and I take a new name to start our house."
"And what name have you chosen?" Robb asked.
"Whitestone, my lord." Mya replied, gazing at her betrothed with adoration.
It was a good choice. The words of House Redfort were "As Strong as Stone." So stone honored Mychel's history as well as Mya's bastard heritage. And now that they lived in the North, white was more fitting than red.
"Your wish is granted, Lord Whitestone. Are there any others who wish to take a new name?" Robb asked.
"I am happy to be Ser Royce of the Weeping Water." Robar chimed in. Many of the Valemen agreed, simply adding a new place name to create a cadet branch. Ser Tollett asked if he could name a town after himself, so he could be the Tollett of Tollettown.
"Very well. As you marry, I will grant the new fiefdoms. House Stark is pleased to host these weddings at the godswood and the sept so you can pledge faith to the North before the old gods and the new. I thank you for your loyalty and service, in the past battles and the wars yet to come. And House Stark has a gift." Robb announced, before turning to Jon.
Jon raised his hand, and the great doors of oak and iron opened. Wintertown boys rolled forward a dozen casks. They were half the size of an average wine barrel. Chett brought forth several bottles full of a brown liquid darker than amber.
A dozen glasses were placed on the table. Jon began to pour one bottle out. "Lord and Lady Whitestone, please join me." He handed each of them a half full glass.
Mychel gulped it down, and then coughed, his face turning slightly red. Mya eyed the dark brown, and then sipped it slowly, letting the liquid linger over her red lips and tongue. She rubbed Mychel on the back as the knight recovered and looked at the bottle in wonder.
"That is like nothing I have had before." Mychel said.
"It tastes like liquid sunshine." Mya said as she savored her glass.
Jon smiled. "Who here enjoys a strong drink? Come forth." Harrion Karstark jumped up, as did the Smalljon. Both waited sheepishly as their lord fathers got up in a more stately fashion. The Manderlys bought a full cup to their seated patriarch and Chett discreetly poured drams for the Tullys and other Rivermen. More and more knights made their way over, as did Asha Greyjoy and the Mormont ladies, and the leaders of the mountain clans
"What have you created? This is nectar for the gods." Thoros of Myr asked. Jon stifled a smile. Before he had dedicated himself to the Lord of Light, the red priest could outdrink even King Robert. As Gendry said, they were prodigious sots and gluttons.
"I call it whiskey. Be careful, this is ten times stronger than ale and five times more potent than strongwine." Jon cautioned.
"That makes it strong enough for me." The Smalljon chortled as he emptied the glass in one guzzle. When he finished, he looked around hopefully for another. No one, certainly not his father or the Karstarks, was willing to share.
"It burns pleasantly in the throat. But Snow, you have only poured out from a single cask. What do the other barrels hold? Have you only served us the good whiskey, and are hiding the weaker brew?" Asha Greyjoy demanded, brandishing her empty cup like an axe.
"There is no bad whiskey. There are only some whiskeys not as good as others. But these are very good." Jon pointed to the different barrels as he spoke. "Bourbon made primarily from corn. Whiskey from Malted Barley. Some were triple distilled with a mix of malted and unmalted. These were aged in an ironwood barrel, rather than white oak. Others have honey added or have been distilled with wine or fruit. Each has its own flavors."
"This is a splendid gift for our new house, Lord Snow. Mychel and I are grateful for something so new and different. We will remember these drinks as an excellent beginning." Mya said.
"This is not your gift. Robb would not give you a niggling prize of a few barrels of drink for your wedding." Jon said to her surprise. He made a sweeping gesture to the Wintertown boys. "This is the gift - the art of making whiskey, so that you and Ser Robar and the other new lords can produce bottles and barrels of whiskey for trade. Clydas, tell her how this was made."
The boy beamed at Lady Mya. "Three parts corn, with one part a mix of barley and wheat. The finest pure water from Long Lake. Distilled twice where we throw out the first parts and keep the mids. Normally we age the good runs straight into charred oak barrels. What makes this special is that the maester showed us how to filter before the barrel. I took young sugar maple, soaked it in whiskey, then set the wood on fire to become charcoal. I filtered the whiskey with the pellets. That is why it is so smooth. And then we age the whole lot in white oak!"
Jon took pity on Lord Mychel's stunned expression. "You do not need to know all the details. Clydas will come with you to the Dreadfort and serve as master distiller. Other Wintertown boys will join the new lords in the holdfasts and castles along the Weeping Water."
"Maester Snow, how large could this trade become?" a shrewd Lord Wyman asked.
Gerry, prompted by Jon, spoke. "We believe each carrack can hold three hundred barrels. That would take less than half of the storage space. Each barrel is the equal of 300 bottles. So a trading ship can start with 90,000 bottles of whiskey. As to the price of a bottle.."
Jon held up an unopened bottle to the crowd, and the setting sun glinted through the dark yellow. "The Arbor is the richest land of the Seven Kingdoms. They have grapes and we do not. But this libation is stronger than wine, and richer in taste. I believe men would pay a dozen silver stags, perhaps more, for a single drink. Each bottle may be worth a gold dragon. That means a ship can carry 90,000 gold dragons of whiskey and still have room for more trade."
The great hall turned silent. The Vale of Arryn and the Riverlands exported fish and grain with a bit of marble and beeswax. Neither had the gold and silver of the Westerlands or the wine and rare fruits of the Reach and Dorne. Contrary to popular belief, the North had resources - sheep, furs, stone, iron and possibly even silver in the mountains, and an abundance of timber, particularly ancient oaks and valuable ironwood. But with such a vast expanse of land, few people and almost no roads or ships, the North was a poor place. A lord - even a Manderly - might not see so much gold in their lifetime.
Asha Greyjoy broke the silence. "Snow. A single ship could carry a hundred thousand gold dragons of trade? Is that truly possible?"
"Not yet. It will take time. This whiskey was aged in small barrels. A proper barrel would take longer, a year - maybe two. But then, the drink might taste better with greater age. And on the first voyages, we would need to find markets and convince merchants and lords the value of whiskey. Braavos, Pentos, Ibben, the cities on the Summer Sea. When the Lannisters no longer rule, we may trade with Oldtown and Sunspear. The sea captains may have to sell the barrels more cheaply to begin. But yes - one day, a single shipment of whiskey may be worth close to a hundred thousand dragons. And our fleet will profit from that." Jon said.
"Why give such a great prize to the Valemen? What about the lords who have served you in battle?" Robett Glover cried, conveniently forgetting that Mychel and his kinsmen had acquitted themselves far better than any Glover in the Riverlands.
"MY LORDS." Robb held up his hand. "Jon and I have spoken. We will share the secrets further with those we trust. But let me make this clear. House Stark could have kept this knowledge. We could have brewed all we wanted at the castle. We chose to share. Another reason is that the whiskey depends on the water and wood. Jon believes the Weeping Water will produce a fine drink. It may be that Bear Island, Karhold, or the Last Hearth may suit. We do not know. And finally, whiskey will be taxed by the barrel. That gold will flow to Winterfell."
Jon Snow continued. "And the gold will flow through the North. Making whiskey requires white oak, ironwood, hickory and sugar maple trees. The distilleries need barley, corn and wheat. And we will have ships and those ships require even more - iron from the mountains, rope, canvas. The ships that pick up barrels will dock at White Harbour. And those ships will not be full. There will be plenty of room for furs, wool, timber, iron, steel and most importantly, cloth. All of the lords will benefit." Jon now held the attention of the entire room. "When winter comes, the North cannot sow and reap. But everywhere that men and women drink, they will pay for whiskey. That gold will buy grain and meat and feed us when it is cold."
"At the last battle, my brother promised that he would reward you. And he has. In time, our lands will become rich. The North will never starve again." Robb said solemnly. Then the Lord of Winterfell smiled. "But tonight, the Harvest Feast is upon us. Let us give thanks and welcome those from the South. And let us -" He paused dramatically. "Finish all the whiskey!"
The cheering that followed was raucous indeed. The guests made merry long into the night, until the lamps had lost all their light and all the food was consumed. The Greatjon and Karstarks sang Northern ballads, the Manderlys and the Flints danced to the fiddle, pipes, and drums. The Winter Town boys tried their best to distribute the whiskey evenly among the lords and knights. Everyone drank - even Sansa was persuaded to have a few drams. Robb, as Lord of Winterfell, danced with Roslyn Tully, Mya Whitestone, Arwyn Royce and Ysilla Royce.
Jon gifted the Royces a dozen casks for the cellars of Runestone. He promised Big Bucket Wull that the Starks would build a distillery in the mountains along the Bay of Ice to use the pristine, pure snowmelt for the clans. He pledged to Lord Wyman that samples of many different bourbons and whiskeys would be sent to White Harbour for a Manderly tasting. Jon spent much of the night in pleasant talk with Arya and Lord Yohn, laughing at the antics of others, as the revelers sang and capered the hours away.
Only one thing marred the happiness of the Starks that night. After dessert, Gerry brought Jon a raven that arrived from Dragonstone. Stannis Baratheon demanded that the Starks bend the knee to the rightful king of Westeros. Robb Stark grimaced and tossed the letter into the fire.
Author's Notes
I want to address my last footnote on the Order of Assassins. One sharp eyed reader noted that the Assassins belonged to Nizari Isma'ilism, a branch of Shia Islam. That group is thriving today, and an accepted part of Islam. I was talking about the Order of the Assassins only, considered heretical by the Seljuk Turks. The Seljuk Dynasty lasted two centuries before being overthrown by the Khwarezmian Empire. That empire provoked Genghis Khan into an invasion, one of the worst ideas in history, which also ended the Assassins forever.
A lateen sail, a triangle set at a 45 degree angle to the mast, was most likely invented by the Greeks in the 2nd century BC and used by Romans in the Mediterranean and Arabs in the Indian Ocean trade. The Vikings though had square sails, even when they crossed the Atlantic Ocean to Vinland. By the Middle Ages, Norman explorers travelled to Spain, North Africa, Southern Italy (Sicily) and Byzantium. Lateen sails combined with rudders and rigging offer better maneuverability, and was a major innovation of 14th and 15th century Europe.
Benfrey Tallhart was one of the casualties of the Ironborn Invasions. He was drowned by Aeron Greyjoy which is absurd since the Damphair is such a lunatic. He was always a bit silly, and foreshadowed that the North was too naive and over their head, like Book Robb.
In the books, Asha is very good at shifting allegiances. She is adaptable and cunning, and quite funny. Book Asha is more perceptive than show Yara, and I never understood why they paired her with Ellaria Sand. What was the point? I like Asha's chapters more after I reread them.
Copper sheathing was used first by the British in the 1750s. Interestingly, the ancient Greeks used lead plates to protect the hulls. Copper plates not only protected from corrosion and marine animals but were also quite effective in war, and made ships faster and easier to turn. There is a side issue where copper plates had issues with iron bolts, but that is a bit too much science. In real life, they solved this with copper alloy bolts. Copper sheathing definitely contributed to the triumph of the British navy over the French.
Jojen Reed is kind of creepy. Those are his words paraphrased. I always found it dumb that he saw visions but nobody acted on them at all. They just let it happen. On the other hand, I think Meera deserved a better role for hauling Bran's ass around a thousand plus miles.
The history of glass blowing is a long one and innovations were discovered in Egypt, Rome and Persia. From the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, Venice became the center of glass in Europe. To prevent other cities from stealing the secrets, Venice moved all furnaces to the Murano, a nearby island, in 1291. Those glassmakers improved old processes and invented new techniques, becoming extremely rich.
Jon has met Brynden Rivers in his dreams but not as the Three Eyed Crow. So he hasn't made the connection from the Three Eyed Crow that Leaf mentioned in the dream to Bloodraven. What he knows is that greensight is real.
Robb's quote in the crypts, "I made a botch of everything but the battles." comes from the Storm of Swords conversation with Catelyn. Needless to say, things deteriorated from there. I still think had Grey Wolf not been chained, Robb would have had a chance of survival. But GRRM always planned a Red Wedding, given his knowledge of the Black Dinner. (Scotland, 1440)
Robb is tactically brilliant but strategically weak. Jon is better at strategy, but not as good at inspiring troops as a battle leader. Jon spends his time training his students, and building things.
"That which does not kill us makes us stronger" was written first by Nietzsche. The phrase has been translated and quoted in slightly different forms. The chapter culminates in the drinking at the harvest feast. Jon has produced whiskey and bourbon - distilling it in multiple ways. I researched the way Tennessee whiskey is made - the Lincoln County Process where whiskey is filtered through charcoal chips before being aged in casks. "Whiskey is liquid sunshine" is a George Bernard Shaw quote. Raymond Chandler said "There is no bad whiskey. There are only some whiskeys that aren't as good as others." Whiskey and bourbon have inspired many writers. As Westeros is based on England, history shows alcohol is a good way to drive trade. The French have their wine, but the North has scotch (and other liquors.) Scotland exported a billion bottles of whiskey in 2020. It is a big industry, and an easy trade item.
Clydas is describing the actual way of making Jack Daniels. The secret is using sugar maple charcoal as a filter and is known as the Lincoln County Process. Lincoln County is the home of the original Jack Daniels distillery, started in the 1880s. Jack Daniels sells over 100 million bottles a year! All branded alcohol is a great business but the economics of whiskey - US, Irish, Scottish or Japanese - are especially good. Brown Forman, the company that owns Jack Daniels, is valued at thirty five billion dollars. Most of that is from American whiskey.
How much is 90,000 golden dragons? It sounds like a lot but the prize for the joust at the Tourney of the Hand was 40,000 gold dragons. The crown is six million gold dragons in debt. I have two thoughts. One is that GRRM's numbers are fluid. When Ned Stark first learns about the debt, the Small Council doesn't even mention the Iron Bank. The second is that the transition from an agrarian feudal society to a mercantile trade economy results in an explosion of wealth. The free cities of Essos are rich for a reason. 100,000 dragons seem shocking to Asha Greyjoy, coming from the poor Iron Islands. But once Europe begins trade with the colonies, shipments of tobacco, cotton and sugar are quite valuable. Say the North has 20 ships out there with 100K+ dragons of cargo. That is two million gold dragons in circulation. More importantly, Winterfell will levy a decent tax - say 10%. That is a lot of gold controlled by the Starks, just like the Roman Empire got enormous revenues on import duties from trade with India.