Robb Stark and the party from the Reach finally arrived at Wintertown, a far cry from the modest settlement it had once been. Wintertown had grown fivefold in size, now a bustling, lively town filled with new settlers and families who had moved closer to Winterfell under Jon Frost's reforms. As they rode through, the Tyrells couldn't help but marvel at the improvements. Just like Moat Cailin, Wintertown had been carefully planned and expanded. There were brick roads, a well-organized drainage system, and clean, sturdy houses that sheltered the growing population. The Tyrells noticed the absence of poverty that was often visible in other large towns.
Margaery, always observant, whispered to her grandmother Olenna, "Jon Frost's influence is everywhere, even here. Everything is so… orderly."
Olenna nodded thoughtfully. "This Wintertown is far more advanced than I had imagined."
As they passed through the bustling streets, traders and townsfolk greeted Robb warmly, recognizing him as the heir to Winterfell. His presence seemed to bring a sense of pride to the people. It wasn't long before they reached the gates of Winterfell, the ancient stronghold towering over the lands like a fortress of old. The grey walls, tall and thick, were a stark contrast to the Reach's more fertile and sunlit landscapes, but they held an undeniable strength.
The guards at the gate welcomed Robb and his party, allowing the Tyrells and their retainers to enter the castle. The majority of the Reach guards and servants took accommodation at one of the inns in Wintertown, where they would wait out the Harvest Festival. Meanwhile, the nobles were escorted directly into the heart of Winterfell.
Eddard Stark was already waiting in the courtyard when they arrived. His face, usually serious and reserved, broke into a rare smile when he saw his son. He embraced Robb tightly, the bond between father and son clear to all who watched.
"It's good to have you home, Robb," Eddard said, his voice filled with pride. "Your journey was long, I imagine."
Robb nodded. "It was, Father. But the roads are much improved thanks to Jon. The Tyrells were impressed with the work being done across the North."
Eddard turned to the southern lords, his expression respectful but firm. "Lords and ladies of the Reach, welcome to Winterfell. We are honored by your presence. You have arrived just in time for the Harvest Festival. It begins in a week's time, and we hope you will join in the celebrations."
Mace Tyrell, ever the gracious guest, bowed his head slightly. "Lord Stark, we are grateful for your hospitality. The North is truly remarkable, and we look forward to the festival."
Olenna Tyrell gave a polite nod, though her sharp eyes were already scanning the courtyard, taking in everything with a strategist's eye. Margaery, for her part, offered a warm smile, ever the embodiment of charm and grace.
The Tyrells were quickly shown to their quarters, with each noble settling into Winterfell's guest chambers. The ancient stone walls were thick and drafty, a far cry from the luxurious castles of the South, but the rooms were well-appointed and comfortable enough for even the most particular lords.
As the group settled in, the atmosphere in Winterfell was one of anticipation. The Harvest Festival was one of the most important events in the North, a time when the people gathered to celebrate the bounty of the land and honor the Old Gods. It was also a time for alliances to be strengthened and business to be discussed among the lords.
For Mace Tyrell and his party, the week leading up to the festival would be a chance to meet the Northern lords and secure the trade deals they had come for. For Olenna, it was a time to carefully observe the North's power dynamics, especially when it came to Jon Frost. And for Margaery, the coming days would give her the opportunity to begin her subtle dance of influence.
Robb Stark stood at the center of the room, surrounded by the southern lords and nobles, his expression serious as he addressed them. His tone, usually warm and inviting, had taken on a more solemn edge.
"I know you're all here for trade," Robb began, his blue eyes sweeping across the gathered nobles. "And I know you're confident that you can convince the Northern lords to buy your goods. But if you want to succeed in the North, you need to understand something very important."
The room quieted as the nobles turned their full attention to him. They had been expecting this journey to be about brokering deals, but Robb's words carried a weight that made them pause.
"You need to start with Jon Frost," Robb continued. "He holds more influence than most of you probably realize. Jon can make or break your business in the North."
The southern lords exchanged skeptical glances, especially Mace Tyrell, who seemed to think Robb was overstating things. Olenna, however, remained silent, her sharp eyes watching Robb with careful consideration.
Robb's gaze settled on each of them. "I know many of you—especially the wealthier lords—don't think highly of baseborn children, and you might be tempted to dismiss him or worse, insult him because of his birth. But I'm warning you now, that would be a mistake. A grave one."
Margaery raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Surely, Lord Robb, we all know how to conduct ourselves in the presence of Northern lords. Why would this Jon Frost be any different?"
Robb's expression darkened slightly. "Because Jon isn't just some upstart. He's dangerous. Even before he was legitimized, no one called him a bastard—not to his face. He earned his respect the hard way, and anyone who insulted him paid the price for it. There are stories of Jon beating noblemen who dared call him a bastard when he was still Jon Snow."
Some of the lords in the room scoffed at the idea of a baseborn man laying hands on nobles, but Robb's stern expression didn't waver.
"He's Lord Jon Frost now," Robb continued. "And if you come into the North thinking you can treat him like an outsider or dismiss him because of his birth, you'll regret it. The North respects strength and loyalty, and Jon has both in spades. He's built Frostmore, he's revitalized the land, and the people trust him. Cross him, and you'll find your trade deals dead in the water—or worse."
The skeptical lords looked at Robb as if he were exaggerating. To them, Jon was still nothing more than a bastard with some newfound power. They didn't understand how the North worked, and Robb could see it in their faces.
Olenna Tyrell, however, narrowed her eyes. She knew that Robb wasn't one to exaggerate, and she had seen enough to understand that Jon Frost was not a man to be taken lightly. She had heard the whispers about his rise to power, about the prosperity he had brought to the North. A part of her had already recognized that Jon was no ordinary bastard, but Robb's warning made her reconsider her strategy.
Olenna leaned in slightly, her voice calm but firm. "You're telling us this Jon Frost is the key to securing our success here?"
Robb nodded. "He is. Jon's influence spreads far beyond Frostmore. Many of the Northern lords listen to him, and they trust his judgment. If you gain his respect, the others will follow. But if you insult him, they'll turn their backs on you, and your business in the North will suffer."
Mace Tyrell, still doubtful, spoke up. "And how, exactly, are we supposed to gain this Jon Frost's respect? He's still just the son of—"
Olenna cut him off with a sharp glance. "That's enough, Mace."
Mace fell silent, knowing better than to argue with his mother when she used that tone.
Olenna turned her attention back to Robb. "I understand your warning, Lord Robb. And I believe you. Jon Frost is someone we will need to take seriously. But I intend to meet him myself, and I'll judge for myself the kind of man he truly is."
Robb gave her a respectful nod. "That's all I ask, Lady Olenna. But remember, he's not a man to be underestimated."
As the meeting came to a close, the southern lords left the room with mixed feelings. Some still held their skepticism, convinced that they knew how to navigate the politics of any region, while others, like Olenna, were more cautious.
As they dispersed, Olenna turned to Margaery, a thoughtful expression on her face. "We'll need to tread carefully, Margaery. Jon Frost may be the key to securing our future in the North. But we'll need to be smart about how we approach him."
Margaery nodded, her mind already turning to the subtle ways she could charm and influence the young lord. But something in her grandmother's voice gave her pause. Jon Frost wasn't just another lord to be manipulated. He was something more, and Margaery would need to find the right approach if she was to win him over.
The southern lords settled comfortably in Winterfell, the ancient and vast seat of House Stark. Its many rooms could accommodate a small army, and even now, Lord Eddard Stark was restoring the old keep to its former glory—a symbol of the newfound prosperity spreading through the North. The southern visitors marveled at the scale and strength of the fortress, impressed by its resilience and the ongoing improvements.
The Tyrells and other nobles had already grown familiar with Robb Stark, having traveled with him, but they now had the opportunity to meet the rest of Lord Stark's children.
Lady Sansa Stark stood out as a perfect embodiment of southern grace. With her delicate features, auburn hair, and poise, many thought her more beautiful than Margaery Tyrell, though still young. She had inherited her mother Catelyn's beauty, charm, and refinement, mastering all the skills a highborn lady should possess—dancing, singing, needlework. She was the picture of elegance, the ideal northern counterpart to the lords of the Reach.
Then there was Brandon Stark, a lively boy with the same Tully red hair and Stark blue eyes as his older brother Robb. Though young, Bran had an adventurous spirit and an affinity for climbing. He had an impressive collection of climbing gear—gifts from Jon Frost, who had encouraged Bran's hobby, warning him to take care and climb safely. Bran's free-spirited nature reminded everyone of his older brother's early years, and his daring was only growing.
Arya Stark, however, was a different matter. Unlike Sansa, Arya defied every southern expectation of a lady. Outspoken, fearless, and unrestrained, she spent her days in the yard, practicing swordplay with the boys and running wild with both noble and common children. Arya was a force of nature, and her bond with Jon Frost was well-known. She was his favorite, despite—or perhaps because of—her refusal to be anything but herself. Arya had no patience for the idea of being a proper lady and saw herself simply as Arya Stark. The nobles learned, with some surprise, that should anything happen to Jon Frost, it was Arya who stood to inherit Frostmore and Moat Cailin, a testament to the deep trust and bond between the two. She was, as many said, the very image of her father, Eddard Stark, in both appearance and spirit.
Rickon Stark, the youngest, was still a child, full of energy and often seen running through the halls of Winterfell with his direwolf, Shaggydog, by his side. All the Stark children had been gifted direwolves as pups—another gift from Jon Frost. These companions were never far from their sides, a symbol of their northern roots and bond with their wild homeland.
As the southern lords became acquainted with the Stark family, one name remained noticeably absent: Jon Frost. Stories about him had already begun to circulate among the guests, tales of his rise, his dangerous reputation, and his influence over the northern lords. Yet Jon himself had not been seen. He had left for Wolfwood, a sprawling and untamed forest where he was said to enjoy hunting—just as he had done when he was a boy. The guards of Winterfell mentioned that Jon often disappeared into the woods during his visits, but what few knew was that Jon's frequent trips to Wolfwood weren't just for sport.
Jon was overseeing his growing maple syrup business, one of the many enterprises he had fostered as his influence and wealth expanded. The syrup, a rare and valuable commodity, was harvested both beyond the Wall and in Wolfwood. With business booming, Jon took every opportunity to check on production, ensuring that it met the demands of his growing clientele from all over Westeros and beyond. The lords from the Reach had no idea that the so-called bastard, now legitimized as Jon Frost, was not only a skilled warrior but also a shrewd businessman with influence that extended far beyond the North.
For now, the Tyrells and other nobles would have to wait to meet him.
Author's Note:
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