The Harvest Festival was fast approaching, and with each passing day, the streets of Frostmore became more alive with the bustling activity of merchants, travelers, and curious visitors. Frostmore, a thriving hub under Jon Frost's rule, was now overflowing with people from all corners of the world, drawn by the promise of the festival and the prosperity it symbolized.
The inns were packed, with every room occupied by traders and travelers eager to find a place to stay. Outside, the streets were filled with laughter and the sounds of haggling as merchants set up their stalls, showcasing their finest goods. Farmers from nearby lands brought their harvest to display, while craftsmen from far-off cities showcased intricate works of art, tools, and clothing. The air was thick with the scents of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and spiced wines, and the colors of banners and flags flying in the breeze gave Frostmore a vibrant, festive atmosphere.
In the heart of the city, traders were eager to present their wares to the Northerners. Exotic spices from the Free Cities, silks from Lys, furs from the deep North, and even rare gems from the mines of Essos found their way onto the market stalls. The city's inhabitants mingled with the visitors, their faces full of curiosity as they admired goods they had never seen before.
Robb Stark and Samwell Tarly walked the streets of Frostmore, taking in the sights and sounds of the festival's buildup. Robb was struck by the diversity of people, from the highborn nobles of the South to the rough-and-tumble sailors from the western coasts.
"It's incredible, isn't it?" Robb commented to Samwell, as they passed a stall selling Essosi trinkets. "All these people, all this trade. I never thought I'd see something like this in the North."
Samwell, carrying a bundle of books he had picked up from a trader, nodded. "It's like the whole world has come to Frostmore. Jon's influence is spreading far beyond the North. People want to be part of what he's building here."
As they passed by a group of traders from the South, Robb noticed something that piqued his interest. The southern merchants weren't just here to sell their goods; they were seeking new opportunities. They were eager to establish trade agreements with Jon Frost, hoping to gain a foothold in the North's growing prosperity.
One merchant, a well-dressed man with a sharp look in his eyes, approached Robb and Samwell. "Excuse me, sers," he said with a bow. "Are you by any chance connected to Lord Jon Frost? I come from the Reach and represent a group of traders eager to discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement with him."
Robb exchanged a glance with Samwell, his curiosity piqued. "You'll need to take that up with Jon himself," Robb replied. "He'll be making rounds at the festival soon enough."
The merchant gave a sly smile. "Of course, but a good word from his closest allies could help smooth the way."
Samwell, who was not one for political intrigue, shifted uncomfortably but remained silent. Robb, however, took a more measured approach. "Jon isn't one to be influenced by flattery or favors. If you have something of value to offer, he'll listen."
The merchant's smile faltered slightly. "I understand, young lord. It's just that… the South is very interested in what the North is becoming. There are those who would offer Jon Frost the riches of the Reach if he were to agree to certain alliances."
Robb narrowed his eyes slightly. "You're not just here for trade agreements, are you?"
The merchant chuckled nervously. "Trade and alliances often go hand in hand. Let's just say there are powerful people in the South who see the potential in what Jon is building here, and they'd rather be his friends than his enemies."
Robb's expression remained neutral, though inwardly he considered the implications. The South was watching, and Jon's rising power was drawing interest—and perhaps concern—from powerful factions. It was a testament to how quickly Jon had transformed the North into a force to be reckoned with.
"We'll see how things unfold," Robb said, before turning to walk away with Samwell at his side.
As the day wore on, the city grew even more crowded. Soldiers kept a vigilant eye on the streets, ensuring that order was maintained amid the revelry. Jon himself remained in his office, receiving reports from his Barons and keeping a close watch on the flow of visitors. He knew the importance of the Harvest Festival, not just for the people of Frostmore but for the reputation of Moat Cailin itself.
When the Southerners came to meet him, Jon would be ready. Trade agreements were important, but Jon was careful with alliances. He had no intention of becoming beholden to the South, but if the Southerners brought something of real value to the table, he would listen.
As the sun set and the city's inns filled with songs and laughter, Robb and Samwell made their way back to Jon's keep. The festival would begin soon, and with it, the real negotiations would start. Jon's reputation for fairness and strength preceded him, and the merchants, traders, and lords from across Westeros would soon learn that the North under Jon Frost was a place of power—and mercy for those who earned it, but harsh justice for those who crossed it.
Jon Frost had been meticulous in his planning. For months, he quietly observed the economic dependencies between the North and the South, and he had seen the potential in a key resource the North had in abundance: rice. With the fertile lands of Frostmore yielding far more rice than the North could ever consume, Jon decided it was time to turn this surplus into a weapon, one that would strike at the heart of the Southern economy.
The meeting with the Southern merchants was held in one of Frostmore's grand halls, where Jon had prepared to unveil his new trade strategy. The merchants, expecting another negotiation over timber, furs, or other Northern goods, were surprised when Jon introduced the idea of selling rice—something the South had never considered importing from the North. The South had long dominated the grain trade, with wheat, barley, and other grains flowing northward to feed the large Northern population. Now, Jon was reversing that dynamic.
"We have an excess of rice," Jon stated calmly, looking over the assembled merchants with his piercing gaze. "Enough to last us through the harshest winters for the next twenty years. And I'm offering it to you, for a fair price."
The merchants exchanged glances, some intrigued, others suspicious. One of them, a stout man from the Reach, spoke up, "But the South grows its own grains, Lord Frost. What need would we have for rice from the North?"
Jon smiled faintly. "Perhaps you should ask your smallfolk that question. Already, they're finding that Northern rice is cheaper than the grain you sell them. I offer you a chance to buy it at a reasonable price before they turn to us directly."
There was a murmur of unease among the merchants. Jon had done his research. He knew that Southern lords were accustomed to charging exorbitant prices for their grains, squeezing the smallfolk for every copper. Rice, on the other hand, was not only more affordable but also more versatile, and with Jon's supply, it would flood the Southern markets at a price the common folk could actually afford.
Jon continued, his voice steady and calm. "For years, the North has been dependent on Southern grain, paying a high price for food that barely sustains us through winter. But no longer. We produce our own rice, enough to feed our people. We no longer need your grain."
The implications of his words hit the merchants like a hammer. The North, a massive consumer of Southern grain, was now out of the market. Worse still, the North was about to start selling rice in the South, directly competing with Southern lords for the smallfolk's coin. The merchants knew what this meant: the Southern grain trade, once a lucrative business, was about to take a severe hit.
One merchant from Oldtown spoke up, his tone laced with frustration. "This will devastate the Southern lords. They rely on the North's purchases to sustain their estates. If you sell rice at a lower price, the smallfolk will stop buying their grain."
Jon didn't flinch. This was exactly what he intended. "The North has suffered long enough under the weight of Southern prices. Consider this… a correction. I'm offering you a chance to make up for it. You can buy my rice and sell it in the South. If you refuse, the smallfolk will simply come to me directly."
The merchants, caught between their loyalty to the Southern lords and the potential profits Jon was offering, hesitated. They could see the writing on the wall: Jon's plan was going to work. The North would stop buying Southern grain, and the Southern smallfolk would start buying cheaper Northern rice. There was no stopping it.
After a long silence, one of the merchants finally spoke. "We'll take your offer, Lord Frost. But the lords of the South won't be pleased."
Jon's expression didn't change. "That's not my concern."
For Jon, this wasn't just about trade. This was personal. The South had always treated the North as an afterthought, a rugged land full of savages who could barely feed themselves. They had charged outrageous prices for food, knowing the North had little choice but to pay. Now, the tables had turned.
As the merchants filed out, murmuring amongst themselves about the deal they had just struck, Robb Stark and Samwell Tarly stood by Jon's side. Robb, who had been silent during the negotiations, finally spoke up. "That was clever, Jon. You're not just selling rice; you're turning their own system against them."
Jon glanced at his brother, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They've been bleeding us dry for years. It's time they felt what it's like to be on the other side."
Samwell, ever the strategist, nodded in agreement. "It's brilliant, really. The Southern lords won't know what hit them until it's too late. By the time they realize what's happening, the smallfolk will already be buying Northern rice, and their grain sales will plummet."
Jon turned to the window, looking out over the bustling streets of Frostmore. The Harvest Festival was approaching, and with it, the full implementation of his plan. The streets would soon be flooded with merchants and traders, eager to strike deals and secure their share of Northern rice. But Jon's true victory was not in the coins that would flow into Moat Cailin's coffers; it was in the quiet revenge he would exact on the South, for all the years of exploitation and neglect.
"We've only just begun," Jon said quietly, his eyes cold and determined. "The South will learn to respect the North. One way or another."
Jon's treasury was rapidly filling, his wealth accumulating faster than even he anticipated. Despite selling his rice at a lower price in the North and a fair, average price in the South, his business model was working perfectly. The steady demand for rice and the sheer volume of trade made him a small fortune. However, rice was only a small part of his success. His major products, the ones that truly brought wealth flooding in, were Northern honey and a unique coffee he'd invented.
Five years ago, Jon had discovered how to create a syrup from the sap of the hardy Northern trees, similar to maple syrup. This syrup, rich and golden, became known as Northern honey, a delicacy that no other region could replicate. Its taste was so unique and luxurious that nobles from across Westeros and even Essos were willing to pay vast sums for it. It wasn't just honey anymore; it was a status symbol, something only the wealthiest could afford to indulge in. And Jon had perfected its production, carefully regulating the supply to keep demand high and prices even higher.
His coffee, made from the wild berries found only in the harsh northern terrain, was another major hit. The berries, once thought to be inedible, had been transformed by Jon into a rich, robust coffee that even the most discerning Essosi merchants craved. It became a morning ritual for the wealthy across both Westeros and Essos. From Braavos to Oldtown, the demand for Northern coffee was insatiable, and Jon had no intention of letting anyone else get their hands on his trade. He controlled every aspect of its production and export, refusing to sell off parts of his business no matter how high the offers from wealthy merchants became.
The influx of traders coming to Moat Cailin for the Harvest Festival only added to his growing wealth. Every trader who set up a temporary stall to sell their wares had to pay a fee, and with so many merchants eager to profit from the festival crowds, Jon was collecting more money by the day. From food sellers to artisans and performers, they all contributed to Jon's ever-growing coffers.
Taxes were another significant source of income, but Jon was cautious. He had no desire to follow the example of Southern lords who bled their smallfolk dry with oppressive taxes. Instead, he collected taxes fairly, ensuring that his people could still afford to live comfortably while contributing to the wealth of the North. The money he took in was used wisely. Roads were improved, communal granaries were built, and wells were dug to provide fresh water to the smallfolk. The people of Moat Cailin and Frostmore saw their tax money being put to good use, and they were content.
This balance between taxing and providing for his people ensured that Jon's rule was stable and his treasury continued to grow. He was building something more than just wealth—he was creating a prosperous, self-sufficient region that could thrive without relying on the South. The Southern lords might have been reeling from the loss of their grain trade with the North, but Jon was making sure that the North would no longer have to rely on them for anything. Instead, the North was selling to the South, reversing centuries of economic dependence.
The world was changing, and Jon Frost was at the forefront of that change. With his treasury filling and his people thriving, he had the power and the resources to continue his plans for the North, ensuring its dominance for generations to come.
Author Note:
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