The Shape of the North
"Winter may shape men hard and quiet—but it is men who shape the North."—Old Northern Saying
(Third POV)
Rickon Stark, Warden of the North, was having a problem.
A problem known as paperwork.
Before the North had started its ice trade, there were fewer ledgers and less work for him to manage. He could sit in his chair, settle the smallfolk's minor disputes, and worry about the coming winter, and managing his holdfasts. Now? Now he had to concern himself with the whole of Winter City and its new residents, the logistics of trade flowing in and out of the North, the trade routes, the warehouses, and counting taxes from his bannermen. He knew these men would not cheat him, but still he had to count those coins like some common copper-counter.
These troubles were already giving him headaches, but then his son—his brilliant son—had another brilliant idea: to send word to all his bannermen, inviting their children, whether male or female, for wardship in his halls. The notion had merit, so he'd had no choice but to agree. Since the day the Starks had returned from King's Landing, something had been wrong with his son. Alaric had grown quiet, started observing more, and then made that promise to his mother. This endless paperwork was the result of that promise.
It seemed another day would be spent entirely in his solar. It had been quite some time since he'd lain with his lady wife.
Rickon Stark was about to lose his mind when there came a knock at the door.
"'Tis Walys, m'lord. There's a raven from King's Landing."
Sensing another headache coming his way, he beckoned the maester to enter. Walys stepped into the chamber, bowed once, then handed the letter to Rickon. As he read, the darker his expression became. When finished, he set the letter aside and said simply, "Is someone out there?"
A guard entered and bowed before standing still.
"Find Alaric. Tell him I've summoned him, and it's urgent."
The guard bowed and left at a run to find Alaric Stark.
(Alaric Stark POV)
Ah... life is finally good.
There's a different kind of peace in seeing all your hard work finally pay off. For the past four years, the North has been under renovation, and I can safely say it's well on its way to becoming a powerhouse.
It all started with the ice trade, and man, what a hassle it was getting Father to agree. I spent a whole week drafting a working plan. Presented it with a confidence and Father didn't even look at it before rejecting it. According to him, it was a waste of time and not something the heir to Winterfell should be doing. No matter what I did, no matter how many reassurances I gave, didn't listen to persuasion, or logic, no matter what I did I wouldn't budge.
So I had to bring out the big guns—I told on him to Mother.
Mother may follow Father's lead and call him "my lord," but she's still Lady Stark, the ruling lady of Winterfell. To this day, I don't know what she did, but the next day Father agreed to my proposal. After that, it was smooth sailing—literally smooth sailing, since we used ships to transport the ice.
First, we sold it to Braavos. When it started showing results, even Father had to admit my idea worked. With that money, we rebuilt our navy for the first time in thousands of years. I still can't believe it took us thousands of years to rebuild our naval power.
Father wanted to save those coins for harder times. I had to fight tooth and nail to get him to invest that money in our ventures. He hadn't even realized that this ice business was temporary—once winter truly comes, no one would need our ice. So I convinced him to invest in other ventures, like food production, which could actually be grown here to make us less dependent on southern mercy.
The farming reforms were harder.
The pushback when I introduced those techniques was immense—even Mother wasn't sure about them. I had to use my own personal funds to experiment with these methods. The thousands of gold coins I'd won from the Lannister were gone. I still feel that sting of losing that money.
I bought a small plot of land near Winterfell, commissioned iron tools from blacksmiths who were honestly impressed, then hired farmers' second sons to work those fields. Even those farmers were unsure of my crop rotation methods, but in the North, when a Stark gives an order, you follow it. This holds especially true for all smallfolk, so they did as they were told.
Honestly, even I was unsure at that point. I mean, who knew when it would start snowing here? You never know in the North. But those methods worked, thank the gods. It took me a whole year of data collection before presenting the results to Father. Maester Walys was honestly impressed—according to him, it was a much better method than the Reach's three-field system.
After that, we started implementing these methods on a larger scale. Even some neighbouring lords began adopting these techniques—not all, but it was still progress.
Then came my magnum opus: Winter City.
Still under construction, but already beautiful. A dream of stone and fire and steam. When it's complete, it'll be the pride of the realm. An architect's wet dream, frankly.
"What are you thinking about, m'lord?"
I was pulled from my musings by Maeren. He's the biggest boon I have—not my templates, but him. I can only thank my lucky stars that he literally fell into my lap. He is a second son of a second son too far from being an heir. So he did only logical thing a person in his standing could do. He decided to become a maester and joined the citadel but he never got to be a maester.
According to him, he'd been on his way to becoming a maester with ten links to his name, but he never got to completed his vows because he committed the most heinous crime according to the Conclave—he fell in love with a lowborn woman and married her. He was cast out by the seneschal, and his family disowned him for wedding beneath his station.
He was a farmer before coming here without much success, it's hard for a learned man to become a farmer. He'd heard about all the changes the North was making and took a gamble by coming here with his whole family. He was sharp enough to immediately understand some of the projects I was working on at the time, so I took him into my service. That was the best decision I ever made. He's the one who made my dream of the greatest city ever built possible. After all, what do I know of construction, city planning, or—most importantly—plumbing?
"Nothing, Maeren." I said smiling. "Just admiring our hard work."
"Yes, milord. It truly makes for a beautiful sight."
"You don't say. So how are your children faring? And your lady wife—is she well after the birth?"
"Aye, m'lord. It's because of you that they're well. I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity you've given me by welcoming me into your service," he replied, smiling softly.
"You can repay me by working your arse off," I said with grin.
He laughed, and we bantered back and forth until a guard ran up, out of breath.
"M'lord, Lord Stark has asked for you. He said to come to his solar urgently."
"Understood." I turned to Maeren. "We'll continue this later. Take care."
He simply bowed.
I reached Father's solar and knocked once before entering. "You wanted to see me, Father? Is everything all right?"
One look at his face told me it wasn't. His expression was grim—more serious than I'd seen in years.
"Prince Baelon is dead, Alaric. His belly burst open. Once again, the King is without his heir."
"That's bad," I said slowly. "He would have made a great king. Is there any other news, Father? About the succession, perhaps?"
I didn't know what else to say. My knowledge of Targaryens was old and second-hand.
"The King has called for a Great Council at Harrenhal. Every lord from the Seven Kingdoms has been summoned. According to this letter, the lords themselves will choose the next ruler."
"When do we leave?"
"I'll send word to our bannermen. We'll depart within the moon, since the Great Council won't convene for another two moons. We'll have plenty of time to reach Harrenhal and return before winter sets in."
I simply nodded and took my leave. From what I've gathered, all the royal children are dead save for grandchildren. What a pitiful existence the King must have—a parent burying his children.
"Oi, Stark! Where were you? I was looking for you in the training yard. Let's go—today's the day I'm finally going to beat you!"
A loud voice called out. I turned to see Hother Umber striding toward me.
"If it isn't my best friend Hoth. How are you doing this fine morning?" I replied with a soft smile, waiting for his reaction.
"You, Stark—don't give me that! Let's go to the training yard. If you're a man, you'll fight me right now!"
"But Hoth, I'm still a boy. I can't fight you."
"Ahhh... you make me so angry! You know what I meant!"
"How would I know what you meant? I'm not a mind reader."
The more I spoke, the redder his face became. It's always fun messing with him. It's been two years since I started this game. The first time, he caught me during one of those moments when I was bored out of my mind, so I started needling him. It was entertaining, but then he began challenging me continuously, so I kept messing with him in return. I have to say, since he started living here in Winterfell, I've never been bored.
"You do realize he only messes with you because you keep rising to it,, Hother," said Edrick Glover calmly.
"Don't spoil the fun, Edrick," I said with a smirk. "That's half the joy of it."
He simply smiled at that. I like him. Unlike the other children here, Edrick actually prefers reading to swordplay.
"Stop messing with him, Alaric. Let's just go to the training yard. Unlike you, some people have other things to do," said Bennar Karstark, second son of Harrison Karstark.
I don't know what else he plans to do after this, but I don't particularly care. He's a hot-headed sort. I wonder what his elder brother will be like—he's supposed to arrive next year.
I simply nodded and went with them toward the training yard, where other noble sons and some daughters were waiting, all looking eager to challenge me.
Looking at these young lords and ladies who'd come to call Winterfell home, I felt something I hadn't expected—responsibility. Not just for the North, but for them. Whatever came from this Great Council, I'd make sure they were ready.