Disclaimer: I don't own the Song of Ice and Fire series. ASoIaF is owned by George R.R. Martin. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made.
AN: Sorry this took so long (two years). Family, work and other distractions (golf, fishing, beer and the [very] occasional chapter in other stories) are my only explanation. Thankfully, I've had two weeks off for Christmas, my first extended vacation in a long time, and I've been able to get a lot of writing done.
As a reminder, none of my stories are abandoned, even if it looks that way at times.
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Wyman knew Jon Snow was vital if he was to achieve his dream of avoiding the nightmare that was the Long Winter. But he didn't act on his new found knowledge of Jon's hidden parentage.
Instead, he did his best to push it to the back of his mind.
To his shame, he repeatedly latched onto any excuse to delay his second trip to Winterfell. A month passed. Then another, and another. Before he realized it, a year had passed, and he still had not left the safety of White Harbor.
He was busy, he told himself. There was too much to oversee and too much to do. One critical project after another required his personal attention, such as repairing and improving Wolf's Den and Seal Rock.
Now, any fleet seeking to attack White Harbor by sea would be under constant attack from three directions: the harbor walls to the east, Seal Rock to the west, and the Wolf's Den to the north.
Seal Rock was a massive stone island with sheer cliffs that arose from the waters outside the outer harbor. It dominated the seaward entrance to his city. No ship could enter the harbor without sailing past Seal Rock and under the watchful eyes of his scorpion crews.
The ringfort that rested atop Seal Rock had long ago crumbled away to ruins. His ancestors had always manned the rock with crossbowmen and scorpions, but ignored the old fort.
He reversed course. He oversaw the repair of the old fort and then added towers, both to increase the distance his lookouts could spy out to sea and the range his missiles could strike from them. The scorpions that manned the walls and towers had been tested and replaced as needed, and their numbers doubled. No ship passing Seal Rock seeking entrance to the harbor would be out of range of its crews.
He'd ended the Wolf's Den's use as a prison. The original seat of the Manderlys was restored to its previous grim glory. Tied into the city and harbor walls both, it was capable of reinforcing either while at the same time the scorpions and crossbowmen manning its walls and towers would rake the crews of any vessel trying to force entry.
He'd made some modest improvements to the underground passages that linked New Castle - which stood on a tall hill and guarded the landward approach to White Harbor - and the Wolf's Den. He couldn't do as much as he liked, as keeping the existence of the tunnels secret was a concern, but using the Wolf's Den as a hub allowed all parts of his city to reinforce another.
The Wolf's Den previous inmates were given a choice. For minor crimes, they'd lose a hand and be released. For more serious offenses, their heads. Or, if they preferred, they could take the Black with head and hands still attached.
He'd ended his city's comparatively humane punishment of the stocks or lash. Instead, even the most minor of crimes were given the same hard and cruel justice that awaited those held in the Wolf's Den.
He'd then established a small city watch - more as a means of putting more armsmen into Manderly colors without exciting comment, than for any other reason - and instructed Marlon to scour his city clean of criminals. Marlon, as usual, was more than competent in the performance of his duties.
Unsurprisingly, most apprehended criminals took the Black. Men feared the headsman and few wanted to live life as a cripple.
Before his dream he'd prided himself as a merciful lord. Why take a man's hand for stealing a loaf of bread or a drunken brawl that caused an accidental injury? A day and night in the stocks served as a sharp enough lesson in minor cases. The lash was sufficient for most others.
But the Night's Watch needed men and he'd see to it that it had them. Over the last year he'd sent more than two hundred mostly petty thieves, several rapists, and even a handful of murderers, to the Wall.
To his surprise, his unforgiving policy proved very popular with the merchants, tradesmen, craftsmen and others who populated his city. They credited his harsh application of the law with a sudden decrease in crime and a corresponding improvement in trade.
Men reported fewer robberies. It was said that even young maidens felt safe walking the streets at night - though he suspected that was largely hyperbole. What he knew was that a murder had not been committed in months, or at least one had not been reported.
Wynafryd, his granddaughter and likely ultimate heir, had advanced another theory. Property crime was down because work was plentiful and well paid. Even unskilled laborers could earn good coin mining silver, moving the stone needed to repair and improve the city's walls and defenses, or signing onto a fishing vessel.
She also theorized that violent crime was lower as the men who would normally be inclined to violence were risk takers. They'd leapt at the opportunity to sign onto ships, or settle lands to the east, gaining their own farms and possibly being able to support a family of their own.
Wyman thought both were likely true. The unrepentant bad apples had gone to the Wall. Those remaining were smart enough to see which way the wind was blowing and found other outlets for their energies.
Still, he was proud of Wynafryd. She had a razor sharp mind which considered problems from all angles and was diligent in her duties. She would make a fine Lady of White Harbor someday.
He'd taken to including her in the family councils. Wyman was a firm believer that one learned best by doing. As such, it was time to prepare her to rule. He and Wylis would not live forever. Someday, White Harbor would be hers.
May that day be long in coming, he prayed, more for Wylis' sake than his own.
"I think it would be good for White Harbor to send a number of boys to the Citadel," his future heiress was saying. "Oldtown is the richest city in Westeros in large part due to housing the greatest center of learning in the world. We can duplicate some of that here by founding an academy. They could learn in Oldtown and then return to teach what they've learned in White Harbor."
The five of them were seated around the table that dominated his solar: Wynafryd, Wylis, Wendel, Marlon, and himself. While he was Lord of White Harbor, and they obeyed, he'd long ago realized that one man cannot hope to govern a city alone.
Not effectively, anyway. A great lord needed able and loyal lieutenants, and that meant family. And even family had to feel that they had power, that they could influence the outcome of any given issue, which meant weekly private meetings before he held court publicly.
More than half of the business of ruling the city was decided collaboratively behind closed doors. More importantly, as lord, he spoke last, to ensure everyone's voice was heard. He hoped Wynafryd learned both lessons.
He'd spent a tremendous amount of silver over the last year. They'd recouped much of it with their activities, and hoped to recoup even more as time went on. The lands controlled by his family had expanded greatly. His smiths produced arms and armor, his shipwrights whalers, cogs and fishing vessels, at a rapid rate. His food stores were filled to bursting, with more supplies coming in every day.
None of that positive progress changed the immutable fact that his chests of silver were much lighter than they'd been since he'd had his dream - a true nightmare - more than a year ago.
Accordingly, he'd tasked each member of the family council to come up with new ideas on how to improve the prosperity of the Manderly holdings.
As the youngest present, it was Wynafryd's place to speak first. He'd long ago learned that if the juniors spoke last, they'd rarely speak, preferring instead to defer to their seniors.
Her father, Wylis, frowned. "It's been tried before. The Citadel takes a dim view of those who would compete with it."
Many fifteen year old girls would quail when contradicted by their fathers. Not Wynafryd, she was as fearless as she was intelligent.
"We would not compete, father," she said, smiling sweetly. "The Citadel teaches over a hundred subjects which novices and acolytes might study to forge a link in their chain. We would only teach six. The Citadel charges a fee for every novice. We would charge nothing. They grant the title Maester. We would give no title, only knowledge."
Wylis was caught mid-drink by his daughter's answer. He choked when his ears comprehended her words. Wyman reached over and pounded on his son's back, which seemed to help. He was breathing again, anyway.
Before Wylis could speak again, Wendel asked, "What six?"
At the same time, Marlon interjected, "How would we pay for it?"
Despite the flood of questions, Wynafryd maintained her composure. "The six would be only those topics that interest the North: ravenry, agriculture, animal husbandry, engineering, healing, and sums and accounts. And we would have to absorb the cost, but over the long term we'd benefit."
His sons and cousin shared a look. To their credit, they didn't immediately dismiss Wynafryd's words.
By unspoken consensus, it was Wylis who followed up. "How?" he asked his daughter simply.
Wynafryd smiled again, but there was steel in her voice. "Because we would control who has access to the free education we offer. Only our loyal retainers and allies would be allowed admittance, or exceptionally bright commoners who are willing to go into our service. Their people would grow stronger and more prosperous and, as a result, so would we."
"Why would they care? Or if they do, why not simply send their sons to the Citadel?" Wendel asked, not really objecting but more seeking to satisfy his curiosity.
Wyman knew Wendel would support his niece's suggestion. He was always in favor of taverns, ministrals, and other frivolities. A place of learning meant more of those things he liked.
His question confirmed what Wyman had realized for a long while. His son was an intelligent man, but only on the surface level. He was no deep thinker.
"Because, uncle, the Citadel is far away. A weeks-long perilous sea voyage and then another to return. White Harbor is much closer and much safer." She paused, thinking, then continued. "Besides not every lord has a maester; more don't than do. For those who don't, we offer a solution."
Wyman could see Marlon and Wylis grow more contemplative. Wendel, however, pressed on.
"Why those subjects?" he asked. "Why not history, music, astronomy or any of the others?"
"They are the subjects that lords value. Ravenry for communication; engineering for roads, bridges, and defensive fortifications; agriculture and animal husbandry for their crops and flocks; and accounts to ensure they collect what is their due. Healing is self-explanatory. Those whose heirs are educated in these subjects will prosper more than those who don't." This time when she smiled, Wyman might have mistaken her for a shark.
It made him proud.
Sailors talked of mers longingly, as beautiful men and women with a tail of a fish, who would ease the troubles of a lonely sailor. The Manderlys knew better. The Merman was the symbol of their house because it combined the intelligence of man with the deadly cruel appetite of a shark.
If he died, his House would remain strong, he realized. Wylis was diligent and well versed in his duties, even if he lacked Wynafryd's sharp and creative wit. Wendel and Marlon were loyal. And Wynafryd was a true mer.
A weight lifted from his shoulders.
While his family continued to debate the finer points of Wynafryd's proposal, he considered his options. He still had one large task undone.
When he thought his presence was needed to oversee the improvements of White Harbor in preparation for the Long Winter he feared was coming, he knew he was lying to himself. His sons and cousin would do just as well as he if he assigned them those tasks.
In truth, he feared returning to Winterfell with his newfound knowledge and entering another negotiation for Jon. The enormity of the secret he'd uncovered had completely unmanned him.
He'd been in the throne room when Robert had looked upon the battered and bloodied corpses of Elia's children. Rather than rage at the injustice of it, the King had simply smiled and pronounced them, "Dragonspawn."
The King had pardoned their murderers without a second thought.
If Jon's identity became known, many would call harboring him treason. Including, most importantly, the King.
Best case, it would mean war. Worse case, it could well mean the extinction of the Starks.
He trusted Lord Eddard Stark. He was a good man, an excellent soldier, and just lord. He would take an oath that there was none better.
But if Ned learned he'd discovered his secret, Wyman would not put it beyond Lord Stark to have him silenced. What was the life of one loyal man compared to the life of one's family? To the peace of one's realm?
He trusted Ned but if their roles were reserved, he knew what he would choose. If their roles were reversed, Wyman Manderly would sleep with the fishes.
He'd considered various scenarios, how he might approach Lord Stark without risk to his life. He didn't like his odds.
He could be honest. Admit that his pride had been wounded and so he'd investigated and uncovered Jon's parentage. He could drop to his knees, pledge loyalty and offer hostages.
It might work. Unless he missed his guess, it might even probably be successful. Ned was not a man who took pleasure in violence. He could be reasonable.
But it might not. Lord Stark was a man who would war with a King to avenge his father and brother, and rescue his sister. A man like that would not hesitate to kill to keep a secret so necessary for the protection of his blood.
Wyman Manderly was not a man who'd risked his life and, more importantly, that of his family, on maybes and probabilities. He needed more certainty than that.
He had considered approaching Ned and telling the truth, but at the same time letting him know he had an insurance policy. If anything happened to Wyman Manderly, ravens would fly from White Harbor telling the world what he discovered.
He was certain Ned would refrain from violence if he made that threat. Wyman would be safe. Even more, Ned might bend and they could reach an agreement. Wyman could achieve everything he sought to achieve.
The prospect left a sour taste in his mouth. It was a poor way to repay the loyalty that the Starks had shown the Manderlys when they'd been forced from their homeland on the Mander. Without the Starks' generosity, they'd still be gypsies wandering the world.
And that assumed that their House would have even survived the centuries since without the Starks' intervention. An unlikely prospect.
It was also short term thinking. Whether a decade or ten, Jon would pass. Even if he had children and grandchildren, his Targaryen blood would become diluted, his ancestral claim to the Iron Throne less of a threat as the Baratheons consolidated their hold on the realm. In a generation or three, his claim would be of interest only to historians, the same as any noble house who traced their ancestry to ancient kings.
The threat to the Starks if the secret of Jon's birth became known would diminish. And that would spell the doom of his House.
If history documented one immutable thing, it was the truth of the words: 'Winter is Coming' and 'The North Remembers.'
Ned would tell Robb. Robb would pass the knowledge of the Manderly's blackmail onto his son, and so on. Eventually, some future Lord Stark would decide it was time to act against their faithless bannerman. Then Winter would truly come for House Manderly.
No, he would have to do what every reputable merchant, including merchant princes, hated to do. He would have to gamble. If he lost, he'd lose his head but be reasonably sure his House would survive. If he won, then he'd be well on his way to achieving his goal: a North that was able to withstand the Long Winter.
He listened as his family ended their discussion on Wynafryd's proposal. He dreaded the additional expense, but the concept was good.
He was also well aware that maesters were less neutral than they pretended. His own maester was a Lannister through and through, which was why he wasn't not privy to these private meetings. They would not stay private, otherwise.
He remembered his nightmare. If time allowed, more men who could train and use ravens, more healers, more everything, would not be amiss. Armies need all of them to function. And being less reliant on the maesters would be a godsend.
You can't spend silver if you're dead, he reminded himself.
He gave his granddaughter a proud smile before turning to Wylis. "Search out likely lads with quick wits. We'll pay the fee to send a score to the Citadel. Tell them the subjects we want them to study in return for our generosity. Don't tell them that we don't need them to complete their chain. The less the maesters know, the better. We'll recall them home before they take the oaths."
He could see his son struggle not to wince at his orders. They could afford it, but the fee for twenty spots at the Citadel was not inconsiderable.
He pretended not to notice Wylis's consternation and turned to his youngest son. "Wendel, what do you have for us?"
Wendel preened. "The lighthouses are near completion along the White Knife," he said, with a smirk. "We're moving the smallfolk from the surrounding forests on the east bank to villages we've set up around them."
Wendel had offered nothing new, even if the news was welcome. Which wasn't surprising.
He loved his sons dearly. But neither was especially creative, and preferred to stick with the tried and true. More so Wendel than Wylis.
The 'lighthouse' scheme had been months in the making. The erection of lighthouses - in reality tower houses - along the White Knife in the vicinity of water hazards allowed them to solidify their military control over the river while at the same time claiming all that they were doing was protecting the river trade.
The downside, much like Wynafryd's proposal, was that the upfront costs were significant. Any payback in the forms of taxes and increased trade would take years.
But one large upside was the potential adverse impact on Roose Bolton. The Lord of the Dreadfort had a reputation for cruelty and many of his people preferred to brave the dangers of the woodlands and cold rather than rely on the dubious safety of the Dreadfort.
Once Wyman expanded the numbers of Wylis's rangers, they'd taken to increasing the range of their patrols. They'd soon discovered hidden hamlets scattered between the forests bordering the Dreadfort's lands and the river Wyman was tasked with protecting. Uniformly, these villages were populated by smallfolk who had fled Bolton rule.
They were now being moved into newly created villages surrounding each of the lighthouses. They would be safer behind a ditch and palisade and under a Merman banner than not, if Bolton ever sniffed them out.
Overtime, Wendel estimated that they'd gain a thousand, maybe two, smallfolk than they had before. Just as importantly, they'd be settled in an area which had previously been sparsely populated.
If Bolton protested, Wyman was looking forward to being called before Lord Stark. His defense was already prepared.
The fact that the resettlement of his smallfolk enriched Manderly and impoverished Bolton was purely coincidental. And who could blame him if word spread and more smallfolk from Bolton lands decided to flee and make their homes along the river he controlled.
Wyman thought there was nothing better than taking taxes from Bolton's pocket and putting them into his own, unless it was Bolton's head mounted on a spike over his gate. While couldn't have the one - not yet anyway - he could have the other.
"Good," he praised Wendel. "You might want to look over your new people and see if any have an interest in joining your companies."
Wendel was a good knight. He was a better archer. While Wyman was not impressed with his acumen for ruling or business - the 'lighthouse' plan originated with Marlon - he would concede that he was an able leader of men. The four companies he'd formed had been performing very well and adding to their ranks had little downside.
Except for the cost. His stomach roiled at the thought. Silver is of no value to a dead man, he reminded himself for the thousandth time since he'd dreamed his nightmare.
He forced himself to smile. "Marlon?"
His cousin was older than Wylis, and they'd grown up together, but Wylis was his heir. That made Marlon junior to Wylis.
He trusted Marlon as much as he trusted any man. But habits were hard to break. If Marlon was to get into the habit of thinking that he had precedence over Wylis, he might try to make that opinion a reality once Wyman passed.
So as much as he valued Marlon's opinion over Wylis's, on all matters except ships and the sea, anyway, he was careful to always emphasize the difference in their respective ranks, both publicly and privately.
"The farms we surveyed in the west are slowly filling. Our longboats ply the Fever River based out of Martyn's holding. The captains are still training their crews. For now, they fish and the catch is used to keep the workers at Fever Keep fed. When they are sufficiently prepared and can move in force, they will sail the coast and begin trading."
Like Wendel's report, the news was good, though he did question Mattis naming his keep the Fever Keep. While it matched the geography, it wouldn't inspire confidence in its people.
Was it too much to ask that his younger cousin exercise some common sense and name his keep for a flower or some other benign feature of the region?
He squashed his discontent. In a matter of a handful of years, the investment in a fleet to trade on the Shining Sea would pay dividends. Though that hopeful observation did little to alleviate the pressing need for silver now.
He was always waiting for long term profits. What he wouldn't do for some short term gains.
But to act prematurely hoping for short term gains risked losing it all. The sea was unforgiving. Ships manned by inexperienced crews would be lost the first time they experienced bad weather.
And it was only prudent to trade as part of a sailing fleet. The Ironborn were theoretically part of the King's Peace. The reality was far different. A lone vessel would be easy prey to an Ironborn raider.
No, Martyn and Mattis were wise to wait. It was what he would do if he was in their shoes.
"Thank you, Marlon," he said, keeping the disappointment from his voice.
His cousin knew his fears and knew that he was hoping for ready silver, but there was no need to belabor the point. What could be done was being done.
He needed people. He needed farms and he needed trade. And he needed both now.
He calmed his nerves with a sip of lemon water, suppressing his distaste. He dreamed of a cup of Arbor gold, but had pledged that he would not touch a drop until he could last a full day in the practice yard. That day was still far off.
And finally, his heir. "Wylis?"
Wyman was proud of his two sons, his unfair wish that they had the ability to pull silver from the air notwithstanding. They both shared his bulk, though each was a few stone lighter than he. Both had been relatively active these past many months, Wendel in the wild training his archers as rangers and riverboat men, and Wylis spending his days at the shipyards.
Wyman resolved to keep them both busy. He liked seeing his sons in good health and good spirits. They were good lads, brave and dutiful, even if he wished Wendel would stop playing at being a boy and marry. The Manderlys could use a few more in their ranks.
That reminded him. He'd have to see about arranging marriages for Martyn and Mattis. Their nearest neighbors of any strength were the Ryders and the Ryswells. It would be best to start there.
Besides, the Ryders and Ryswells were thick as thieves with Bolton and Lady Dustin. Perhaps he could use Marlon's sons to drive a wedge in Bolton's informal alliance.
It took him a while to come out of his musings and realize that Wylis hadn't answered his unspoken question. Instead, his son's head was bowed and he was obviously gnawing his lip.
He never considered himself an overly harsh father. Yes, he had expectations for his children, but he was not prone to angry fits. He'd never struck his children. They were his flesh and blood and he cherished every one.
Still, he was shocked. Wylis was usually much more confident than this.
"Wylis?" he asked again, gently.
His eldest sighed heavily. "Father, I have no idea how to earn silver that isn't already being done. Our mines are working to capacity. Our ships sail the seas. Our farms produce what they can. More ships can be built and more farms can be assigned, but we lack the people. Even our recruitment of the Skagossons have slowed to a trickle. And my only idea to cure that lack is utterly mad."
Wyman gave his son a reassuring smile. "That's why we have these conversations behind closed doors, Wylis. No matter how mad, we share our thoughts and decide on a course. Now share your mad idea."
Wylis nodded dejectedly and then visibly gathered his courage. "The wildlings."
Wyman blinked. "The wildlings?" he repeated.
Seeing Wylis' embarrassed nod, he sat back and thought. Wylis was right, he realized. He was mad.
Recruiting the Skagossons had been bad enough. At least they were nominally subjects of House Stark. But if the Manderlys started recruiting from among the wildlings, they'd become a pariah House.
He could imagine Greatjon Umber's reaction. He'd gather a host and lead it against White Harbor. Not that he'd be able to breach the city's walls, not after the improvements they'd made.
He didn't want to say what he was thinking. Wylis was his heir. He wanted to encourage free discussion. So he bit his tongue.
It was Marlon who broke the silence and said what was on his mind. "Aye, that's a mad idea, nephew. Why don't we put a pin in it and never ever come back to it."
Predictably, Wendel came to his brother's support. "It's not that insane. Not every wildling is a raider or reaver. I've heard that some even have villages much like we do."
"That was my thought," Wylis said, grateful for his brother's intervention. "If we offer ship space to a few who are trustworthy, then we can keep them out of the North while manning our ships."
Put that way, Wyman thought, it wasn't that bad of an idea, even if too impractical.
"No," he decided. "For only a few it isn't worth the risk. We'd wreck our reputation and might even be driven from the North."
It was Wynafryd who came up with the solution. "If we're recruiting the great unwashed, why not Fleabottom? There are tens of thousands living in abject poverty in King's Landing, and there is no law preventing them from traveling anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms."
Wyman blinked again. He saw the others doing the same as they considered Wynafryd's words.
Her father smiled at her, pride in his eyes. "That would work. In a voyage or two, even a landlubber can become a seaman. We can apprentice out some of the younger, brighter ones to the trades."
Marlon nodded in agreement. "We can offer farms to those who'd rather avoid the sea, if they are willing to learn and labor on an existing one for a year or two."
Wyman was pleased. It wasn't immediate silver. But it was far more immediate than enticing Bolton's people away from him.
It was certainly more immediate than Wynafryd's academy idea, which was more a generational project. Though it would definitely be useful in the coming war - assuming that the nightmare hadn't driven him mad.
"I like it," he said, beaming widely at his granddaughter.
With that the meeting broke up. Wyman took the extra time to embrace each of them, and tell them of the pride he had in them.
After all, he might not have another chance, if Lord Stark decided to take his head.
When they left, his cousin and sons to their duties and Wynafryd to her lessons, he sat quietly and considered.
"Ondrew," he eventually called out to the most trusted of his sworn-swords. "Prepare an escort. We're heading to Winterfell." He checked the notches in his belt. He was still fat, but not too fat to ride a horse. "I'll ride this time."
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AN: Wynafryd's idea is the equivalent of putting a college in White Harbor, though the Citadel would remain the only university in Westeros.