The North, Winterfell – 121 AC
The North was indeed a chilly surprise. I had always known it to be cold, but nothing could have prepared me for the bone-chilling frost that greeted us, even in the midst of summer. White Harbor, with its biting winds and icy air, was a shock to my system, sending shivers down my spine from the moment we arrived. I had thought Driftmark experienced cold weather during the winter months, but it was nothing compared to the bitter coldness of the North. The temperature seemed to drop with every step further north we took, and no number of layers could shield me from its relentless grip.
As we journeyed deeper into the heart of the North, I found myself marveling at the rugged beauty of the landscape, even as I struggled to keep warm. The snow-capped mountains and frozen lakes painted a picturesque scene, but it was a beauty tempered by the harshness of the environment. I could understand why my granddaughter spoke so fondly of a region she had only ever read about, when until a moon ago Lucerys had only been interested in learning about trade and ships.
Arriving at Winterfell was like stepping into another world. The sheer size and grandeur of the castle complex took my breath away, momentarily distracting me from the biting cold that seemed to permeate every corner of the North. Winterfell sprawled across several acres, encircled by towering granite walls that spoke of centuries of history and strength. Outside the walls, the bustling winter town hummed with activity.
We were greeted warmly by Lord Stark and his young son Cregan, whose eager curiosity reminded me of my own grandson Jacaerys back home. They were even around the same age, maybe I should discuss it with Laenor too foster Jace here at Winterfell. Strengthening the crown's bond with the North was always a good idea. And what is better than to have a future king and future Lord Paramount of the North grow up as a foster brother.
Stepping foot into Winterfell felt like stepping into a legend come to life. My son Laenor and I exchanged glances, our awe mirrored in each other's eyes as we tried to conceal our surprise beneath polite smiles. Despite the biting cold that nipped at our skin, the warmth of their welcome eased the chill in the air, and we were soon swept away on a tour of the castle grounds. This was unlike any castle we had ever encountered before, a sprawling fortress that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. The godswood itself was a sight to behold, ancient and mysterious, its towering weirwood trees casting long shadows over the surrounding landscape.
As we ventured deeper into the heart of Winterfell, I marveled at the intricacies of its layout. Dozens of courtyards and open spaces dotted the landscape, each serving a specific purpose, from weapons training to archery practice. The inner ward, with its ancient tower and bustling activity, felt like the beating heart of the castle. And then there was the inner castle itself, a marvel of architecture and design, with diamond-shaped window panes added a touch of elegance to the fortress's rugged exterior and the natural hot springs, their warm waters flowing through the castle walls and chambers, offering a welcome reprieve from the harshness of winter.
As the evening descended upon Winterfell, Laenor and I made our way to the Great Hall. I had impressed upon Laenor the importance of dressing modestly, mindful of the Northern preference for practicality over extravagance. So, we arrived clad in attire befitting the occasion, our garments a reflection of respect for our hosts' customs.
The Great Hall loomed before us, grey stone walls and wide oak doors, weathered by time and use, welcomed us into the heart of Winterfell's hospitality. Inside, the hall stretched out before us, rows of trestle tables flanking a central aisle like soldiers standing at attention. Banners adorned the walls, their colors fluttering in the torchlight. And at the head of the hall, the high table, where once used to sit the throne of the Kings in the North. The Northerns were simplistic and practical, but they sure knew how to make an impression with a few details. No wonder they were so feared, this hall on its own was more imposing than anything Viserys had ever tried.
The banquet was a raucous affair, filled with the hearty fare and robust spirits favored by the Northerners. The air was alive with the sounds of music and revelry, the thrumming of drums mingling with the laughter and chatter of the guests. As I sat amidst the jovial crowd, sampling dishes of roasted meats and savory stews, I couldn't help but be swept up in the infectious energy of the celebration. This was a far cry from the refined elegance of courtly gatherings in the South; here, the feasting was hearty, and the merriment unbridled.
Beside me, Laenor leaned in close, his eyes bright with excitement as he took in the spectacle before us. "Father," he remarked with a grin, "Laena and Daemon would love it here, wouldn't they?"
"Indeed, they would, my boy." I chuckled in agreement, casting a fond glance at my son.
The night wore on with laughter and good cheer, but as the festivities began to wind down, Lord Rickon Stark proved himself to be a man of few words. Nevertheless, I found myself engaged in conversation with his son, Cregan Stark, whose youthful curiosity and earnest questions kept me entertained well into the night. As the banquet drew to a close, we bid our hosts goodnight and retired to our chambers, weary but contented from the day's events. Sleep came easily, and I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and eager for the day ahead.
Gathering in the solar of Lord Rickon Stark, we were joined by Lord Desmond Manderly. The solar itself was a marvel of craftsmanship, connected to the armory by a covered bridge that afforded a commanding view of the castle yard below.
"Thank you, Lord Rickon, for welcoming us into your home," sitting before Lord Rickon Stark, I began, my voice measured yet sincere. "I understand that our meeting might have come as a surprise, but I assure you, it's with the best intentions and a shared vision for our regions' prosperity."
Lord Rickon nodded, his gaze fixed on me with evident curiosity. "Of course, Lord Velaryon. Please, proceed. I'm eager to hear what brings you here."
Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I continued, "Well, my lords, it's no secret that our lands face challenges," I explained, my tone reflecting both concern and determination. "But I believe we also possess great opportunities, ones we can seize together. My plan is to establish robust trade agreements between the North, Driftmark, the Stepstones, and Essos."
"Trade agreements?" Lord Rickon echoed, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "That's ambitious. What do you propose, Lord Velaryon?"
"I propose leveraging our respective strengths," I replied, my words carefully chosen. "House Manderly's expertise in maritime trade, House Stark's resources in the North, House Targaryen's influence in the Stepstones, and House Velaryon's connections in Essos."
Lord Rickon nodded thoughtfully, showing signs of intrigue. "And what do you seek in return?"
"Access to the resources we need to thrive," I asserted, my conviction growing with each word. "The North requires more glass houses to support our agriculture, and we need glass from Essos. House Velaryon's contacts can provide that. In return, we offer our Northern steel, renowned for its quality, to the free cities of Essos."
As Lord Rickon pondered my proposal, he voiced his skepticism. "It's a bold plan, Lord Velaryon. But why should we trust you?"
"Trust is earned, my lord," I replied, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. "And I understand the skepticism. But I assure you, my intentions are sincere. Together, we can build a future where our regions flourish, where our people benefit from our collaboration. "
Lord Rickon nodded, his expression thoughtful yet open. "Very well, Lord Velaryon. Let us explore this further."
Lord Manderly then raised an important point, one that struck a chord with the room. "Even if the North wanted to join this business," he began, his voice carrying weight, "the region has some issue about manpower. We possess a lot of territory but not enough people."
As I listened, a memory stirred within me, a conversation with my granddaughter Lucerys. Her unwavering desire to help those in need echoed in my mind. It was then that an idea formed, a solution to the North's manpower issue.
"Lord Manderly," I interjected, my voice steady yet filled with conviction, "you raise a valid concern. But I believe there may be a solution. King's Landing has more people than they know what to do with, and many of them would jump at the chance of a better life."
I could see the Northern Lords exchanging curious glances, intrigued by my proposal. "Flea Bottom especially," I continued, "is overcrowded with people looking for a better chance in life. They could always be invited to move up North. As long as there's an offer of a job and money, they will travel."
The room fell silent as the Northern Lords contemplated my suggestion. It was a bold idea, but one that held promise. With the right incentives and opportunities, we could address the North's manpower issue while providing a brighter future for those seeking it in King's Landing.
Lord Stark and Lord Manderly exchanged uneasy glances, a subtle tension hanging in the air like a heavy cloak. Lord Stark's voice broke the silence, his words measured yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. "Lord Velaryon, Ser Leanor," he began, his gaze shifting between us, "forgive our hesitation. However, our lands are steeped in tradition, and the faith of the Old Gods runs deep in our people."
I nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. The North had long been known as the last bastion of the Old Gods. To introduce many followers of the Light of the Seven into the North would be to disrupt the delicate balance that had endured for generations.
Lord Manderly, despite his allegiance to the Seven, echoed Lord Stark's sentiments. "Indeed, Lord Stark speaks true," he affirmed, his expression somber yet resolute. "In White Harbor, everyone is a follower of the Old Gods," he explained, his gaze meeting mine with a sense of earnestness. "With the exception of the members of House Manderly, and even then, there are some members of the household who convert to the ancient ways."
"I know of someone who will select only the ones who would not mind converting into the faith of the Old Gods or were not that religious to begin with," Laenor interjected, his voice carrying a note of assurance.
His words caught me off guard for a moment, until the realization dawned upon me. The White Worm. Of course. Daemon's clandestine network of spies and informants had proven invaluable in the past, and I had no doubt that she would be willing to lend her aid once again.
I nodded in agreement, a sense of relief washing over me. The Mistress of Whispers of the Black Faction would undoubtedly possess the discretion and discernment necessary to navigate the delicate intricacies of religion and belief.
I might have not been her greatest fan at once, especially since I've learned that Daemon had kept in touch with his ex-mistress even after marrying my daughter. But I trusted Laena to know if her husband had been unfaithful or not, and to deal with Daemon if needed. Lady Mysaria had long since proven herself and her expertise in such matters was unrivaled, honed by years of clandestine dealings and covert operations.
Moreover, the memory of Rhaenys's intervention in the children's fights in Flea Bottom served as a method of earning her alliance. Lady Mysaria did not care much for who sat on the throne, other than surviving and possessing their favor. However, if she trusted that the person on the throne would care for the well being of the smallfolk, the White Worm would do what's necessary to aid them.
With the White Worm's assistance, we would be able to identify individuals who were open to embracing the faith of the Old Gods, thereby alleviating the concerns of Lord Stark and Lord Manderly while ensuring a smooth transition for any newcomers to the North. The hesitant yet eventual acceptance from Lord Stark and Lord Manderly filled me with a sense of relief and accomplishment.
After wrapping up our discussions and bidding our Northern hosts farewell, I wasted no time in getting in touch with the White Worm once we made it back in King's Landing. There was a sense of urgency driving me, knowing that every moment counted for those seeking a fresh start with the North.
As the plans fell into place, I couldn't shake the feeling of optimism that washed over me. Without hesitation, I rallied the resources of House Velaryon, offering up some of our ships to transport the residents of Flea Bottom to their new home. It might have seemed like a small gesture, but I knew it would mean the world to those whose lives it would touch.
