Whispers In The Wind: The First Song
(This chapter is going to contain a lot of cliche strong North tropes but hopefully they'll be executed well)
Chapter Two
Lord Rickard Stark
Winterfell, 272 AC
A short, very mild winter had just passed. Snow had been light and not often but the cold was persistent but that mattered not to the Lord of Winterfell. There was still work to be done and so workers were sent out to farm the sturdier crops. All sorts of craftsmen were sent across the north to fix and build whatever Rickard wished. Twelve years had passed since the north had begun to rise again, still growing to its potential. He could not take all the credit for the rise of his lands, if not for his good-father and mother, many things could have gone awry. Rodrik contributed many things, his knowledge of their heritage as First Men and Starks brought more of the old way back North. It seemed the North didn't remember as they thought they did. Besides knowledge of their past, the Wandering Wolf brought with him his contacts all across the known world, from the Sunset Sea to as far as the Five Forts. The eldest living Stark had indeed done right by his family.
His mother's contribution, while not as large or noticeable as that of Rodrik's, was still beneficial for House Stark and the North. She had done well in protecting her family from the hissing snakes of the south and because of that his family had prospered.
His dear wife was the glue of his family, she held everything together. She knew both how to run a household and how to hold a blade, something that he cursed and loved. Lyanna looked up to her like she was a woman of the stars and their sons still clung to her like they did when they were babes. She was everything he was and everything he was not.
His eldest son and heir was entering the passage of manhood with his tenth nameday having arrived. In true first men custom he was being sent out to learn as a man and as a warrior. Brandon was an exceptional lad, taking to arms and riding as a fish, did swimming and did fairly well with his other lessons as well but he wasn't without problems. The boy had a temper comparable to that of a Baratheon. He had constant dreams and night terrors that woke him through the night that only made his temperament worse and the boy already couldn't stay away from women. But there was time yet to mold him into a proper Lord of Winterfell.
After many hours of thinking, Rodrik had convinced Rickard to bring back another First Men tradition. Rickard managed to convince many of his own lords and a few outside the north with first men heritage to send their sons with Brandon on the expedition. Most notable were Robert Baratheon, heir to Storm's End, who was also his foster son, Willam Dustin, heir of Barrowton, Garth Hightower, second son of Leyton Hightower, Robar Royce, second son of Lord Yohn Royce and Brynden Blackwood, second son of Lord Blackwood and interestingly enough Lord Dayne sent his second son, Arthur. There were even more Stark branches by way of his brother's son, his great uncle Artos' sons Brandon and Benjen, and Starks of the Mountains. The group of boys would be guided by his goodfather and protected by a large retinue of men. Rodrik Stark was as learned as any maester and deadly as any man he knew. The man had knowledge from all over the world and Brandon would inherit it. If all went correctly then upon Brandon's ascension to Lord of Winterfell, the North would be in great hands. But his time was not yet over, there were still things to be done. Firstly he would perform the rites of the passage.
"Martyn." He called out to the captain of the guard and his friend.
The dark haired man appeared, standing at attention.
"Gather all the lads and take them to the godswood."
The knight of House Cassel nodded and left to gather the boys for the ceremony. Rickard went to find Rodrik, who would assist him with the ceremony. But no time was wasted as the elder Stark appeared behind his nephew.
"There's no time for dawdling about, Rickard. Come!"
Even as a man grown and Lord of Winterfell, Rickard could not but feel like a child when it came to his uncle. They arrived at the godswood of Winterfell filled with boys ready to start their path of becoming men and their elders ready to guide them.
It was a proud sight, scions of the First Men, some old, some powerful, it did not matter. Once again had they gathered under the banner of the direwolf. Most were well represented, he saw men of Stark, Dustin, Manderly, Umber, Mormont, Royce, the mountain clans, Dayne, Blackwood, Hightower, Baratheon and many more.
"Today is a new day," Rickard started, his voice booming through the ancient forest, "These boys are ready to begin their journey to become men, First Men!"
A roar of cheer went up but he could see a few faces holding a bit of conflict. He could not blame them, over the years many First Men families had intermarried with Andal ones and learned and practiced their ways but today was a new day.
"In the south they pray to their seven, as do a few of our lords. The Ironborn to their Drowned god. In essos they pray to any and everything. Even the Green Blood have their Mother Rhoyne. They speak their own language, they know themselves and those that came before them but us…"
He paused, looking out at the crowd before turning to look at the grove of trees behind him.
"We have forgotten ourselves." He looked to Lord Dustin.
"Did you take part in a ceremony of this sort as a boy?"
The elder grizzled Lord only gave a silent nod in the negative. He went on to ask each and every lord there and for the most part received the same answer.
"Mar long gun chairtiuil."
Most present looked on silently, lost at the guttural words that came from their liege Lord.
"We are lost. That was the tongue of our people. We have forgotten it and it is time we remember. I will not let the next generation forget as we did, it starts here. Brandon, approach."
The ten year old heir, already tall and wide for his age, took a knee at his father's feet.
"Give me your hand, son."
Brandon did as bid. Rodrik handed Rickard an intricate dagger. Its handle was pure white, aged weirdwood, with runes carved into it. A soft wind tickled faces present as the blade was brandished. With a quick cut he drew blood from his son's palm. Though small, the bronze blade was sharp.
"Place your palm into the soil at the roots of the heart tree and recite this oath to the gods."
Once again he began speaking in the old tongue.
"Gods of earth, sky and everything in between, I come before you today to pledge all I was, all I am and all I'll ever be. I shall honor death, as I do life, darkness as I do light. I am yours and you are mine. I swear it by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire."
As the last word left Brandon's mouth he saw his son's eyes widen before glazing over. It happened so quickly he could've sworn his eyes were playing tricks on him. A quick bone chilling wind swept through the grove, causing a few to shiver even in their heavy furs.
Rodrik smirked next to Rickard, catching the Lord of Winterfell's eyes. Rodrik was a hard man and smirking nor smiling was not something he did often. He shivered as a chill crawled up his spine, but pushed it aside to continue the ceremony.
Rickard nodded, "Robert, step up."
The tall and broad boy of ten years did as bid and took a knee at his foster father's feet. The bronze blade once again bloodied itself with the blood of First Men. Robert froze just as Brandon did and just as before his spine tingled. The same thing would happen with others but not all. The day went on and the sun would fall below the horizon before the final beginning rite was finished. The day was not yet finished, a great feast was being held in honor of the new generation and so he would let the young have their fun, the older generations were gathered in the war room.
Around him sat his most prominent lords. Men who were important to the rise and success of the North.
"May I ask why we are here, my Lord?" Lord Daven Glover asked.
"Far too long have we been looked down upon by not only the south but the world. Savages, tree-lovers, they think less of us. House Stark has prospered."
It was plain to see. Winterfell itself had grown larger, walls now encompassed the former Winter Town and was now transformed into Winter City, the grand capital of the North. If that was not a show of House Stark's recent growth in wealth, then one could look to Blazeford, a city in Dustin lands but personally paid for with Stark gold.
"Houses Manderly and Dustin have grown as well. It is time for us all to grow stronger."
The Lord of Winterfell could see the looks of discontent on the faces of a few lords. He let a smile grow on his face which surprised his lords as he was not for smiling much.
"Lord Ryswell you will partner with the Dustins and begin breeding your horses in mass and do not worry, the funds for all this will be provided but House Stark will expect it back two fold."
This worried some of the lords but they kept silent for the moment as they knew more was to come.
"Lords Faol, Mormont and Flint of Flint's Finger, you all will build small fishing fleets, no more than three galleys a piece at the moment. Ports will be built in your lands to help with the expanded trade. Also you three will make up our western fleet with the main base being at Dark Den, Edderion you will be Admiral of the Sunset Fleet."
His younger brother smiled. Rickard knew he would be up to the task, especially with Genna at his side. She was as close as it got to a female Tywin. Edderion was a decent warrior but his mind was truly his best weapon, he would do well as admiral.
"Master Glover there are roads being commissioned to ensure an easier and faster route for the timber and meats that will be coming from your lands."
The Master of Deepwood smiled, content that his house was included.
"Lords Karstark, Umber and Bolton, you three have extensive lands. Lands big enough to serve as grazing lands for our beast of burden."
While the Umbers and Karstark were happy with their lot, Rickard could tell the new Lord Bolton was not impressed.
"Lord Bolton I have found a merchant in the east that is interested in the tin and bronze in your lands but only if the contract is through House Stark."
Rickard could see the younger lord thinking. He was quite well at hiding his emotions but Rickard could see the tightness in his eyes and the slight downward pull at the corners of his mouth, he was not happy with the arrangement but only a fool would turn it down and Bolton was no fool.
"Many thanks my lord, House Bolton accepts."
The ruling wolf smiled, he raised the glass that sat in front of him, his lords mirrored him.
"To the North!"
"To the North!"
Rickard released a heavy sigh of relief as he sat down. Lately he found himself feeling older. Maester Walys attributed it to stress and lack of sleep and rest. The sleep and rest would come in time but he doubted the stress would be leaving anytime soon. But the day was proven still young and busy as a knock sounded at his door.
"Our plans are coming to a head." Rodrik said as he came into the room.
"Aye, and we have only just begun. What of your part, is everything coming along?"
"Just fine, our kinsmen assured me that they'll be ready before we arrive."
Rickard nodded, but his mind was full of thoughts and Rodrik could tell as his ashen grey eyes narrowed on his goodson.
"What's on your mind, Rickard?"
"Why do you think Torrhen kneeled?"
Rodrik wasn't one to be surprised but Rickard's question certainly caught him off guard.
"No one really knows. It's said that he knew something others did not, others say he wanted peace, then there are those few that call him a coward."
"Aye, I've heard all those. I want to know what you think, Rodrik."
Rodrik narrowed his eyes for a brief moment, keeping his nephew's gaze.
"Torrhen did not see a way out. His vision was darkened by dragon wings. Westeros had seen what dragons could do at Harrenhal and the Field of Fire. The greatest castle and the greatest host meant nothing when at the mercy of dragons. His brother, Brandon Snow offered him a way but Torrhen refused, he didn't have faith in the old ways, not many did, nor do they now."
"The old ways? Are you saying our ancestors had ways of killing dragons?"
"What do you know of Serwyn Mirror Shield, Davos the Dragonslayer, or even Galladon of Morne?"
"They're all men said to have lived during the age of heroes, men who reportedly slew dragons."
"Aye, but they aren't just stories. I've spent my better years traveling the world. I've learned many things, Rickard, things lost to this side of the world. After my stint with the Second Sons I wanted to explore and I found myself in the company of a man known as Pol Qo, self proclaimed first Orange Emperor, though I didn't know at the time. Would you believe me if I told you that a man who commands an army as great as that of the entire Reach feared me just because I reminded him of a legend long dead?"
"I would not." Rickard replied.
"Smart man. But I did learn some interesting things from him. There's a legend of a man named Eldric Shadowchaser. He was the leader of the forces of a great empire, they say he chased every threat known to the empire away with his shining blade."
"What does this have to do with the old ways of the First Men?"
"Pol Qo had an ancient painting of Eldric. Do you know what this man looked like"?
"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me. I hope." Rickard replied, quite tired of waiting for the answers he wanted.
"He had a long face and light grey eyes."
Rickard sat silently, taking in the information he had just received, or at least trying to.
"Are you implying this man was a Stark?"
"No, House Stark had not yet been conceived but this man is likely a progenitor to Brandon the Builder."
"You're still not telling me how Brandon Snow could have killed Aegon's dragons."
"Magic boy, magic. I would think Edwyle's boy would be smarter."
Rickard growled, "Magic hasn't been around for centuries, old man."
"Wrong, magic never left, it has only waned. It is a natural part of our world. It is still around us, you've seen it. Brandon knew that but Torrhen, like many others, did not believe but I do."
The Lord of Winterfell saw the creeping predatory smirk. Rickard wasn't a man that was frightened easily but the look his good-father's eyes gave him sent a cold shiver through his entire being.
"What do you know?"
"Not tonight, you need to rest. But tomorrow we will begin."
The younger Stark nodded, the coming of age ceremony had taken a lot out of him. The next day would be no different, he would not rest until he secured his family's place in the world.
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Rickard loved the northern winds, be it summer, fall, winter or spring. His eyes scanned Winterfell and its surrounding lands from atop the tallest watchtower. It was not as barren as it once was. His lands were improving and would only continue to do so. Looking down into the training yard he saw the newest group of Warden recruits.
"How are the new recruits?"
"They are progressing, most are young and eager. But they are a long way from being worthy of being called Winter Wardens. But Rodrik will whip them into shape sooner rather than later, my lord."
"Good, with all that we have going on we need our men to be at their best. We have too much to lose."
Martyn nodded, "Aye, there are times I still can't believe what you've done with the north, my lord. We have three cities, two small fleets, new roads, and so much more."
Rickard couldn't stop a small smile from coming to his face.
"You've outdone yourself, Rickard. The North has been great before but this, this is something different. You will go down as one of the greatest Starks to ever rule."
Rickard's smile faded. The rise hadn't come easy and not without obstacles. Along with the rising crime, enemies had been made in the south and in Essos. With the new roads goods were easily moved all throughout the North. Rickard had gained the monopoly on iron and many other precious ores and gems. Many types of Timber, wool, and fish also were a large part of the North's income. His merchant fleet clashed with that of his many rivals. In the Narrow Sea it was most often either the Dornish or the ships of the Stepstones. The Ironborn harried his ships in the Sunset Sea. Not to mention the then Prince Aerys grew suspicious of his sudden activity. Many families across Westeros grew jealous of House Stark growing in prosperity, many felt threatened but he knew it would not be easy.
"It is only just the beginning, my friend. I am only getting started. We were king's once, we may not have our crown but we can still be great. But that takes time and work. Which I have much to do, we must head for the docks, gather a score of men."
Martyn did as bid and met his lord at the South gate. Rickard spied the gathered men. These were elite soldiers, veterans of war and the first of the Grey Wardens. Their light grey plate gleaming under the sun. Thick Snow Bear fur cloaks kept them warm and hid the weapons on their persons. Most of them were men he had grown up with, friends, men he could trust. He would need them as he elevated the North to unimaginable heights.
The Lord and his personal guard left the confines of Winterfell and into the embrace of Winter City. The people smiled, cheered and bowed as their liege lord rode by. Rickard knew he had the love of his people, before it was because he was a Stark, now it was because of what he had done for them. He gave brief interactions but kept his path and soon the ironwood docks of Fang Port came into view. The working crew scampered about doing their duty before snapping to attention.
A man dressed in a decent white doublet stamped with the Stark direwolf on its breast and wool breeches stood out the most.
"L'rd Stark." The man bowed his head.
"Wayn," Rickard greeted the man, "Has word come in about our lost transport?"
The lowborn man looked away from Rickard's hardened gaze for just a moment and that told the man all he needed to know but he would let it be said.
"No, m'lord, we've 'erd nothin'."
Rickard suppressed a growl. This was the third merchant ship that had not made it back in just as many days. It was costing him a damned amount of gold and silver. Something had to be done.
"Thank you, Wayn. Please inform me as soon as you get word."
"This is no good, Martyn. We're supposed to be protected on the east coast but it seems it is not so. Before the attacks were few but now these seabags have gotten bold. Something must be done about it."
"What of Lord Wyman's White Fleet, aren't they in charge of protecting our merchant fleet?"
"Yes Martyn, but they can only do so much. The fleet is only but ten ships, our merchant fleet is much larger."
"Well what can you do, my lord?"
Rickard sat stop his destrier in contemplation. He could not build more ships, the crown had limited him to just ten war galleys, anymore would be taken as a threat and he could not afford to make an enemy of the crown. Neither could he afford to keep losing product to pirates.
"It is something I must think on."
The very next day a battered merchant ship made its way into Fang Port. Luckily the crew managed to fend off the pirates who boarded and quickly made it into the safety of the White Knife. Rickard sent a letter to Ser Maren Manderly, the Admiral of the White Fleet. The man knew everything there was to know about ships, he had sailed far and wide, even voyaging with his goodfather numerous times. If something was to be done, he would find the solution.
The days came and went, as did the letters between the two before the two could find an answer to Rickard's piracy problem. It was now that the Lord of Winterfell sat in his solar looking new trade routes that his ships would be taking. They were far more dangerous in terms of natural predators but most did not attack unless provoked. His captains would be given specific orders to make sure things went as smoothly as possible.
"Father." A small solemn voice woke him out of his thoughts.
Looking up, he saw his second son standing in his doorway. The boy was much like he was as a boy, quiet but if roused there was a direwolf beneath the snow.
"The Baratheon party has made it to Rigmor Castle, they shall arrive soon."
Rickard stood, "Make sure you are ready son. With your brother gone on his rite of passage and your mother and sister gone with your grandmother to see my uncle at Summerhall, it is just you and I."
"What about Benjen?" Eddard asked innocently but just as serious.
"He will be with Nan, it is not time yet for him to be a part of this, now go and get ready."
"Yes father." Eddard gave a slight now before going to get ready for his southern kinsmen to arrive.
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The standing stag of House Baratheon fluttered in the cool winds whipping through Winterfell as the stormlander party entered through the main gates.
Lord Baratheon dismounted, walking towards his host. The two massive lords looked into each other's eyes, maintaining silence. The intense moment ended as the Baratheon Lord smiled, clasping hands with his northern counterpart.
"It has been too long, Rickard. How are you?"
Rickard had always enjoyed his cousin's company, they had been thick as thieves as children with Steffon playing peacemaker between him and Aerys. The only thing that separated them was when they became old enough to have responsibilities handed to them. It was always a joy to see his cousin but he could tell there was something wrong.
"I have been well, Steffon. Let's get out of this cold so we can discuss more."
"At once," Steffon chuckled, "Even after my many visits here, I still can't stand this cold. I don't know how you northerners do it."
Rickard turned to his third born and second son, "Make sure young Stannis gets settled in, make him feel at home."
"Yes father," Eddard said, dutiful as ever. He turned to the boy one year his junior, "Follow me and I'll show you the way."
Stannis nodded stiffly and followed after his fellow second son. The two walked in silence, briefly catching each other's corner glances. Ned was the first one to speak as he felt it was his responsibility.
"How do you like the North, Stannis?"
The tall boy pursed his thin lips, "It's cold."
Ned nodded, he figured Stannis was a quiet person and remained silent until they made it to the assigned quarters.
"It is my duty to make you feel at home. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Stannis' eyes wandered, looking at everything he could. There was a curious glisten in them as they scanned the inside of the ancient fortress.
"I've heard many stories about Winterfell. Could you give me a tour?"
"It would be my pleasure."
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"You've done quite the job. Too good some may say. You've raised two cities, a fleet, even improved your hold. The list goes on my friend. Those in the south talk, some are good, most are not."
Rickard knew of the hissing from the south. They did nothing but gossip like servant girls. He wasn't much for intrigue but surprisingly his maester knew things he shouldn't have but his mysterious ways had served the north well.
"There are those that whisper in the king's ear. Luckily you have Uncle Duncan, myself and Tywin to make our cousin see sense but it is getting worse, he speaks of asking the Sealord to cut his contracts with you, he even wants Tywin to reneg on fostering Ned and to stop buying timber from you, and me to back out of our new business."
"I'm not surprised. Aerys has never cared for me. Cousin or not."
Steffon's face took a grim change. Shadows darkened around his face, hiding most of his features except for his shocking blue eyes.
"It's not that anymore, Rickard. There are whispers of rebellion, they say you are preparing for war, cousin. You've my son, Tristan's second son,... the second sons of Lords Hightower and Royce, Blackwood, and even a Dayne traveling with your son and goodfather. There is a small army with two Starks at the head. Aerys is only getting more paranoid with our business in the east. It looks bad and I think it's best you come to King's Landing and speak for yourself."
"I cannot, not at the moment. I have too much to deal with here."
Steffon sighed, running his hand through his midnight hair.
"I understand that, Rickard, I do but something must be done to preserve your name. I fear his reaction when he learns of Robert's betrothal to Lyanna."
"The south has never been kind to my family but I shall send a letter to the king to inform him that I am only bringing my lands up to serve him better."
"That should do well enough for now. Our cousin always liked to get his ego stroked. Now enough about such things. There is good news from the south. The king has announced the betrothals of his children. Prince Rhaegar and Princess Shaena will be marrying whenever Aerys sees fit. After the news was broken Tywin offered his daughter's hand for one of the younger princes but Aerys acted as if he could not hear."
"He's spurned Tywin once again." Rickard stated, his mind moving faster than before.
"He has, I don't know how much more Tywin can take."
"He'll take it until he can't, but enough of that, let us speak of good things."
Steffon managed a small smile, "Yes, let's celebrate the success of our houses."
"Let us, my friend. The cooks are not yet done with the food but I have something to commemorate our joint venture."
Rickard reached under his desk pulling out a bottle with a clear liquid in it, two small cups were pulled from one of the shelves in his solar.
"This is something new, one of my harvesters came up with it. It's called fire water. To the future!"
Rickard quickly tilted the cup, swallowing the entirety of the cup's contents. His lips pursed as he felt a burning sensation in his chest. Steffon followed suit, though he had a worse reaction. The man had a coughing fit but settled down as he drank from a cup of water.
"The seven in heaven, good gods! I've never had anything like that." Steffon looked alarmed, "How can I get more?"
Rickard smiled, he reached into one of his drawers and pulled out another bottle and handed it to his friend.
"The first one is free."
Suddenly the premature celebration was cut short when a knock sounded at the door.
"What is it?" Rickard called out.
"You have a letter, my lord."
It was his maester, "Come in."
The bright haired maester entered and immediately handed a scroll to his lord. He was surprised to see his family's seal on the piece of parchment. It must have been from his mother. Rickard took it and quickly scanned its contents. His entire body was stiff by the end of it and his eyes had noticeably dimmed.
Steffon saw the sudden change in his cousin and looked on with worried eyes.
"Rickard, what is it?" For some reason the Baratheon patriarch felt the ever present pit in his stomach grow.
"Uncle Duncan and my mother are dead."
Steffon stood abruptly, "How?"
"Dragon fire."
Boom! I hoped you guys liked it and the changes I've made. One you might have noticed is the new Targaryens, who are not OCs but two of the royal couple's children that survived. They might not seem significant now but they have their own parts to play later on in the story. Also Rickard and Lyarra had a daughter before Brandon as they got married earlier here. Though we don't know exactly when they got married it wasn't directly after the war (I think) but Rickard is the only Stark of Winterfell so it was prudent he make legitimate heirs. Another thing you guys may or may not like is Brandon and his merry band but like I said, it all serves a purpose, there are more people with him that you know that I just didn't mention but you'll see eventually. Also it isn't just Old Rodrik Stark, who I am immensely interested in, who guides them around the world but they all have their own retinue of man their fathers sent with them.
Hopefully you guys like where I'm going because at this point it can't change but I'm still moving forward. This story and others are just exercises to get me better for my own book(s). Until next time.
