Jon Frost, Robb Stark, and Samwell Tarly sat in the Steward's Hall of Frostmore, the room lit by the soft glow of the hearth as the cold Northern winds howled outside. Opposite them sat Lord Hoster Tully, the aging Lord of Riverrun, and his son, Lord Edmure Tully, Robb Stark's uncle. Though the Tullys had traveled north for the Harvest Festival, this was not merely a social visit—it was a meeting of great importance.

Hoster Tully, once a robust and commanding figure, now sat with the weight of years pressing heavily upon him, his face pale and tired, though his eyes still gleamed with the sharpness of a lord who had seen the rise and fall of many throughout the years. Next to him, Edmure Tully sat with a more vibrant energy, though his posture betrayed the tension of the negotiations that were about to unfold.

The Steward's Hall was a room of stark simplicity—typical of the North. Stone walls, dark wood, and fur-lined seats dominated the space. Yet despite its humble décor, there was a sense of power in the room, a weight in the air, as Jon Frost presided over the meeting. Jon sat at the head of the table, his dark eyes scanning the Tullys, his expression unreadable.

Robb Stark, seated to Jon's right, showed no sign of his relationship with the Tullys in this moment. His loyalty lay firmly with Jon, as did his respect, but the presence of his grandfather and uncle stirred a mixture of emotions within him. On the surface, he was the image of composure, but inside, the tension of family ties and political intrigue gnawed at him. He had been raised with the Tully words in his heart—Family, Duty, Honor—but the North had changed him, molded him into something more practical and focused on the realities of power.

Samwell Tarly, seated to the left of Jon, fidgeted slightly. Though he had grown stronger and more confident since his time with the Mountain clans, he still felt somewhat out of place in such high-level meetings. Yet, he was Jon's trusted advisor, and Jon had insisted on his presence.

Lord Hoster cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "Lord Frost," he began, his voice rough from age but still commanding attention, "it has been some time since the Riverlands and the North have sat together as allies. We've come to discuss matters of trade and mutual benefit, as well as... family."

Edmure Tully, always more impulsive than his father, leaned forward, eager to speak. "The Riverlands and the North share a long history of friendship, Jon. With the rise of your influence in the North and the prosperity you've brought to Moat Cailin, there is much we can offer each other." His gaze briefly flicked to Robb before returning to Jon.

Jon's face remained impassive. "I appreciate your journey here, Lord Hoster, Lord Edmure. But let's not speak in vague terms. What is it you wish to propose?"

Hoster glanced at Edmure before speaking again. "The Riverlands have always relied on trade with the North, and the loss of that trade has been... difficult for some of our lords." His tone softened. "But we are family, Jon. We've come to propose the restoration of that trade—under terms that would benefit both our regions."

Jon leaned back slightly, his hands steepling as he considered the offer. "And what terms would those be?"

Edmure's eyes lit up, sensing the opportunity. "We propose a trade agreement between the North and the Riverlands, exclusive to our two regions. Your rice, honey, and coffee in exchange for our grain, wine, and river fish. Together, we could control a significant portion of the food supply in Westeros."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Exclusive trade?"

Edmure nodded eagerly. "Yes. It would strengthen the bonds between us. The South is already reeling from your decision to stop buying their grain. This agreement would not only stabilize our economies but also give us leverage over the southern lords."

Robb watched the exchange in silence, his mind racing. He knew that Jon wouldn't be swayed by familial connections or half-baked promises. The North was thriving under Jon's leadership, and any agreement would have to benefit them first and foremost.

Jon's expression remained cold, calculating. "And what would the Riverlands gain from this deal, aside from economic stability?"

Hoster, sensing the need to sweeten the offer, spoke again. "The Riverlands would gain not just stability, but the support of the North. In these uncertain times, alliances are more important than ever. We face threats from the Ironborn, the Lannisters, and who knows what else. A formal alliance with the North would ensure the safety of our people."

Jon's dark eyes flicked to Robb for a brief moment, as if silently weighing his thoughts, then back to the Tullys. "The North is strong enough to stand on its own," Jon said, his voice measured. "But I do not dismiss the value of alliances."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "However, I am not one to give away power easily. If the North enters into such an agreement, it will be on our terms, not out of desperation to aid the Riverlands."

Edmure shifted uncomfortably. "Of course, of course, but we are offering—"

Jon Frost's laughter echoed throughout the Steward's Hall, reverberating off the stone walls and causing a moment of tense silence. Hoster and Edmure Tully looked bewildered, their expressions frozen in shock as Jon's demeanor shifted from measured negotiation to something darker, edged with both humor and menace.

"Family!" Jon exclaimed, his voice dripping with irony. He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with intensity as he stared down Lord Hoster. "We are not family, Lord Tully," he declared. "Your daughter made sure of that. But I am the family of the Starks. The well-being of the North is what matters to me, and let me make one thing clear—it is not my place to buy your grains."

The Tullys shifted in their seats, but Jon pressed on, his voice rising. "Moat Cailin wasn't buying grain from you before, and we won't be buying from you now. The grain I grow in my land, it is my right to sell at my own price, on my own terms. I will not raise the price of my rice just so you can gouge the North with your overpriced grain."

Jon's gaze hardened, and he continued with a biting edge, "You have sold your grain to the North at exorbitant prices for years, never once lowering them despite the so-called alliance between the Starks and the Tullys. And when my father—desperate for aid—came to you, you did not help out of kinship. You forced him to marry your daughter, to secure passage and aid. What did you give him in return? Nothing."

Hoster's face flushed, but he remained silent as Jon's words hit their mark.

"You have your grandson as the future Lord of Winterfell now, but even with that, there was no generosity from you. No discounts, no aid to the North," Jon added, his voice laced with disdain. "Now that we are self-sufficient, now that the North no longer buys from you, you come here speaking of 'family' and 'alliances.' It's disgraceful, Lord Tully, and we both know it."

Jon's words carried the weight of a long-held grudge, and though they stung, there was truth in them. The Tullys had relied on the North's dependence on their grain for years, and now the balance of power had shifted. Hoster's eyes flickered with something—regret, frustration, maybe even shame—but he said nothing.

"And let me tell you this, Lord Hoster," Jon continued, his voice steady but cold. "Even if you went to Lord Eddard Stark, you could do nothing. You think you could convince him to force his lords to buy your grain at higher prices? It would look bad for him—very bad. The rumors already swirl that his wife holds too much power, that she is the one ruling the North, not he. If those rumors grow, Eddard will lose the respect of his lords, his people. He won't risk that. Not for you."

Hoster and Edmure exchanged glances, their unease growing by the second. They had come seeking Jon's help, but now they found themselves at his mercy."

But since you are here," Jon said, his tone softening slightly, "and since you are family to my siblings, I will help you a little bit. I'll introduce you to a friend of mine—a merchant from Yi Ti, Tai Lung. He can help you sell your grain across Essos, for a reasonable price. You can make a small profit from it, better than the nothing you'll get if you stay here begging for the North's coin."

There was a glimmer of hope in Edmure's eyes, but before he could speak, Jon raised a hand. "But even for that service, I need one thing from you."

The room went still. Jon's gaze bore into the Tullys as he let the suspense hang in the air.

Jon Frost leaned back in his chair, an easy smile curling at the edges of his lips as he watched the confusion wash over Lord Hoster and Edmure Tully's faces. The Steward's Hall of Frostmore had grown quiet, the weight of the conversation sinking into the stone walls like a cold wind. The flicker of the hearthfire cast shifting shadows across the faces of the Tullys, their expressions a mix of frustration and curiosity.

Lord Hoster Tully cleared his throat, his voice raspy with age but laced with an edge. "What do you want, Jon? We've agreed to your terms, so what more could you ask from us?"

Jon tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. He let the silence hang in the air for a moment longer, building the tension, before finally speaking. "I want a large piece of land," Jon said, his voice calm yet resolute. "A stretch of land north of the Mallister's holdings, on the riverside."

The Tullys exchanged a glance, clearly not expecting this. "Why?" Lord Hoster asked, his brow furrowing. "What need do you have for that land?"

Jon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Because I plan to build a bridge there," he explained. "A bridge that will successfully connect the North and the South. It would make travel between Seagard and Greywater Watch far easier—an unbroken passage that could serve as a strategic asset for both trade and military purposes."

Hoster's eyes narrowed as he processed Jon's words. "A bridge," he repeated, more to himself than anyone else. "And you want that land for this bridge?"

"I want it for my brother, Brandon Stark," Jon clarified. "He can rule that land, manage the construction, and oversee the territory. You won't need to worry about it, Lord Tully—because it'll remain in the family. Bran is of Stark blood, and with him there, the North will have a secure foothold on the riverside."

Hoster blinked, clearly taken aback. Even Robb Stark, sitting beside Jon, seemed shocked at the revelation, his eyes widening in surprise. The idea of giving Bran land hadn't been part of any previous conversation. Robb looked at Jon in disbelief but remained silent for the moment, waiting for his turn to speak.

Jon continued, unperturbed by the reactions around him. "To make it smoother for everyone involved, I'd suggest a marriage alliance between House Mallister and the Starks," he added. "Perhaps a daughter of the Mallisters could be wed to Bran. That way, the land is firmly secured by family ties."

There was a long pause as Hoster Tully and his son processed the offer. It was bold, certainly, but Jon knew it made sense. With Bran in control of the land and a bridge linking the North and South, they would never be at the mercy of House Tully—or anyone else—again.

The Freys, who controlled the crossing at the Twins, had long held a chokehold on passage between the North and South. Jon had no intention of ever depending on them again.Finally, Hoster nodded slowly, glancing at Edmure before turning back to Jon. "You make a compelling argument, Jon Frost," he admitted. "I'll speak with Lord Mallister about it and discuss the marriage alliance. I'll inform you of the decision once we've come to an agreement."

The Tullys stood and left the hall, their footsteps echoing as they disappeared through the doors. The moment they were gone, Robb turned to Jon, still looking as though he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard.

"Why did you do that, Jon?" Robb asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. "Why give Bran land? Why now?"

Jon let out a long breath, his expression hardening as he shifted from his earlier joviality to something more serious. "The last time the North needed passage to the South, we were blocked. Held hostage by the whims of others. We were at the mercy of House Tully, and now, the Freys. I won't allow that to happen again."

Jon's eyes darkened as he remembered the insult Walder Frey had thrown at him the last time he'd crossed through the Twins. "Walder Frey insulted me, and I know exactly what kind of people the Freys are. We can't rely on them for anything, least of all for safe passage. This bridge, this land—it ensures that the North is never beholden to anyone else again. If we need to move south, we will have our own way."

Robb, still surprised but slowly understanding Jon's reasoning, nodded thoughtfully. "And Bran?" he asked. "You really want to give him land? A seat of his own?"

Jon's expression softened slightly as he spoke of his brother. "Bran is the second son. He's got no real prospect of ruling the North with you as the heir. But this? This gives him a future, a legacy of his own. He can build something here, something lasting. A seat of power that connects the North and South. It's a good position for him."

Robb's face lit up with realization. "It's a good match," he said, nodding. "Bran will have something of his own, and it's a smart move politically."

Jon smiled faintly, the tension easing as his brother finally grasped the larger picture. "Exactly," he agreed. "And if the Mallisters agree to the marriage, Bran will have a strong ally in the South. It's good for him, and it's good for the North."

Robb was silent for a moment, then he grinned, his earlier confusion giving way to admiration. "Father will like this plan," he said. "He'll be proud. Bran's getting a good future, and we're securing the North's independence at the same time."

Jon nodded, the weight of the decision lifting slightly now that Robb understood. "It's about making sure we're never at the mercy of anyone else," Jon said quietly. "The North is strong, and we'll keep it that way."

Author Note:

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