Rickard POV

The Stone Wolf. That's what they call me. Probably because only a few people outside my family ever saw me show any emotion. It's not like I wanted to be like this. That's just how my father, Edwyle, raised me. Always strong. Never showing any emotion that can be used against me. Though most lords are loyal to House Stark, there's no need to make it harder for me by showing any weakness. The North is already a harsh to live in.

I'm standing on Winterfell's highest battlement. From here, I can see Wintertown, Wolfswood, and a good portion of Winterfell itself, including the yard.

I could see my children playing in the yard under the watchful eye of my wife, Lyarra, and a few of my house guards.

Brandon, my heir, is already ten-name days old. The wolf's blood is strong in him—the same with my only daughter, six-name days old. There's Eddard, or Ned as we like to call him, nine name days. Ned is the most like me. Quiet and rarely emotional, even in his infancy. Benjen, five-name days old, is the perfect mix of Bran and Ned.

However, I didn't come here just to watch my children play. I came here to see the smallfolk's exodus out of Wintertown since winter just ended.

From here, I could see the problem that only a few Northern Lords noticed. The North is dying. Slowly but surely. Every winter, there's a slight but noticeable decrease in the number of people moving to Wintertown. And it's happening all over the North, especially in the northernmost villages and towns.

The smallfolk are either dying, the number of births is decreasing, or they're just leaving altogether. Most likely all three.

There are a few things I could think that could stop or reverse it entirely. But only one thing could work for sure—the reclamation of the Gift and the New Gift.

The Gift and the New Gift are some of the most fertile lands the North has, and it's standing there unused by the Night's Watch. At less than 3000 members, how could the Night's watch even use all that land? The crown signed the North's death warrant with that decision.

The Targaryen's, those inbred fuckers are slowly killing, not just the North, but Westeros as a whole. That's why we're in the talks with Jon Arryn and Holster Tully. Maybe with our combined forces, we could force the crown to give us some concessions. However, we need one more kingdom for this plan to work.

"My Lord..." Brynden Cassel, Head of the Guards, approached me. "A man is asking for a meeting with you. Bayn Poole is holding him in one of the receiving rooms. I already personally checked him, my Lord."

"Why would he attend to this petitioner?"

"He got a bag with a lot of stuff, my Lord..." Brynden looked a little nervous. "There are three bars of gold inside. Maester Walys already checked if they're real. He says they're the purest bars of gold he ever saw."

My eyes slightly widened hearing Brynden's report. No smallfolk or ordinary merchant would have that much gold on his person. Aside from being almost impossible for them to acquire that much gold, they're just asking for trouble carrying that around.

Maester Walys' appraisal of the gold bars. Considering he has three platinum links for metallurgy and two red gold links for mining, saying that those are the purest bars of gold he has ever seen, well, that's saying something.

"Let's not keep him waiting then, whoever he is."

A short walk through Winterfell, and we finally reached my solar. I made sure that nothing important or compromising was on my table before instructing Cassel to call the petitioner in.

I didn't wait long for Cassel to return. Behind him is a man wearing a full cloak with its hood down—crimson red hair, slightly tanned skin, and a decently built frame. Just one look at him, you could see that he's a well-off man on par with a high noble or a wealthy merchant.

Most likely a merchant since I don't know any house that has crimson red hair. Like the color of freshly spilled blood. A different shade from the Tully's fire red.

"Lord Stark." The man said with an accent I never heard before.

"Take a seat..." The man nodded and sat on the chair in front of the table, placing his bag at his feet. "Before we start, it's only fair to introduce yourself, don't you think?"

"Of course. I'm Shirou Emiya. Most call me Shirou. A weird name for you to hear, I'm sure. You could call me a traveler from a far-off land. So far that it would be almost impossible for me or anyone else to go there." A peculiar name indeed. It sounds Yitish but not quite.

I stared at him for quite a while, trying to unnerve him, but it looked like it wasn't working.

"Let's start with something simple..." I gestured to Cassel to bring the gold. He places the three bars on the table and walks back to his spot. "Why do you have these?"

"I need a private audience with a great lord, so I need to stand out. Judging from the result, I'd say it worked."

"Any Southron Lord would have you flogged or at the very least tossed out the gate. What makes you think I wouldn't do the same?"

"Because we're not in the south, Lord Stark. We're in the North..." It looks like he really knows how we Northerners are. "And more importantly, you wouldn't know who's slowly poisoning your wife."

I stood up, walked around the table, and loomed over him, using my considerable size to intimidate him. I may not love Lyarra like she should be loved, but I care for her nonetheless. I could even see Cassell reaching for his sword.

"That's a serious accusation."

"A year of observing your family and everyone in Winterfell will show a lot of information which would still be hidden otherwise. I need something to stack on my deck in negotiations..." I walked towards the wall and retrieved Ice. The man practically confessed to spying on his family for his own gain. Beheading would be a kindness. "All I need is half an hour of your time to convince you to hire my group and me in your service."

I collected myself for a moment and thought about what he said. The Tully's family words are never more exemplified than here in the North. Family. Duty. Honor. We never cared much about Southron politics, and if we did, it's only for something honorable and the betterment of the North. That's why Torhhen knelt, or Cregan helped in the Dance.

That is also the mentality that hindered the North from making a reliable spy network. They say there's no honor in spies. I say you can't protect your family without knowing what's coming after you. Now, I've got no choice but to depend on Jon and Hoster's spy networks to keep me updated on what's happening outside of The North.

If the man in front of him was really able to spy on everyone in Winterfell without anyone knowing about it, then he might just be the guy he needs.

"You got your meeting. If I'm not satisfied, I'll behead you myself."

"And I'll fight my way out if it comes to that..." Shirou reached for his bag and pulled out a whole roll of parchment. "The gold is just something to get me through the door, and I'm not parting with it since I need all the funds I can get..." He placed the parchment on the table. "It's two years since I have arrived on the North, but it was only a year ago that it's better to be employed by a Great Lord than doing things alone. It all started with this."

Shirou unrolled the parchment and saw the most accurate map of the North he had ever seen. Even more accurate than the map gifted by King Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysane currently hanging at the side of the room. While crown's gift show's every major keep in the North, the parchment in front of me shows every single city, town, village, border, river, forest, hills, mountain, lakes, and everything that matters from the edge of the haunted forest all the way to the Twins.

"It took six months to make that beauty while still spying on everyone in Winterfell..." I ran my hands over the map and compared it to the one gifter by the crown. "Imagine what we could do with your money, reputation, and support."

"We?"

"Haven't I mention that we're a group of seven? Seven very unique individuals that could push House Stark to the top..." That's a bold claim. "Even the Targaryens..." Very bold and treasonous claim. "Each of us specializes in different fields. Swordsmanship, archery, horse riding, economics, stewardship, diplomacy, spycraft, lordship, science, smithing, mathematics, and other areas."

I narrowed my eyes and stared at Shirou, still a weird name, and tried to assess how valid are his claims.

"What you're saying sounds too good to be true. If you're looking for someone to back you, you should've gone South. Too much money thrown into tourney's and feasts."

"There's one thing the North has, or rather lack, that prevents us from going south..." Shirou turned around and looked towards Cassel. "I know you trust this guy, but how much do you really trust him?"

Brynden is understandably insulted by the question.

"I trust him with my life and my family's." That placated Cassel somewhat, but his hands are still on his sword.

"The Faith of the Seven is practically nonexistent in the North. Even the Manderlys have a hybrid of the Seven and the Old Gods." Shirou answered.

"What's wrong with the Seven?" It looks like Cassel couldn't help but ask.

"One word. Magic..." Huh. It looks like I shouldn't have taken him seriously. That is until a sword slowly formed on top of him. Not just any sword. It's Ice. House Stark's ancestral sword. "You would have already sentenced me to death if we're in the south..." It looks like my mind stopped for quite a while. With Cassel staring at the floating sword, it seems like I'm in no danger of losing my mind. "Want to test it out?" The sword turned around and slowly moved towards my hand. I held onto the hilt and gave it a few test swings. As far as I can tell, this is entirely identical to Ice. "Valyrian Steel, huh? A hard metal to create."

"You know how to make Valyrian Steel?" Cassel asked, also noticing Shirou's peculiar statement.

"No..." That was expected. "I can make something better."

Are the Old Gods giving their blessings to the people of the North once again? Or is this just an elaborate scam meant for him to siphon of money out of us? Either way, this is an opportunity I can't pass up. If what he's saying is true, it will make the North unimaginably powerful. And if not, it's all to see to toss him and his group out of Winterfell.

"Bring your group tomorrow. You have one month to create your supposedly better Valyrian Steel."

"Of course. I would need three men who are of to the block. Magical fire for forging, a magical catalyst, and freshly spilled human blood is required to quench the steel." Of course, that's how Valyrians created Valyrian Steel. Dragons and With an army of disposable slaves. However, have no idea what in the seven hell is a catalyst.

"I could arrange the men..." Cassel's sudden intake of breath was all I needed to know how he felt. "As long as you give me the person who's poisoning my wife and all the spies you found in my keep."

"How could I forget..." Shirou reached for his back again, but this time was pulling out two pieces of paper held together by some type of metal. Two white, clean, smooth pieces of paper. How did he create that? "The first column is the name of the spy, followed by the name they're using here. Third column is the person they directly report to. Fourth is the person who owns the network. Fifth is for the stuff they have done in the past year. The final one is if they're willing or unwilling. If it's written in red ink, we're unsure if it's correct."

I quickly took the paper and scanned through it. Thirty-four names. Most of them are not even aware they're leaking information. But at the bottom of the list just confirmed the idea that has been plaguing his mind for quite some time.

"Shirou Emiya. Return tomorrow. Bring your group."

"Sure."

I felt the copy of Ice disappear in my hands, but I was too focused on the name on paper to care. I took a deep calming breath as soon as the door closed.

"Brynden. Call for ten more men..." I ordered without particularly looking at him. "We got rats to catch."

AN

I think this is a step better than the previous opening. Right?