The sound, deep and terrifying, was a cry of anguish and fury. It wasn't just a howl; it was the voice of the wildness itself, the solitude and loss of the North. The horses shivered, their nostrils flaring, and the riders exchanged glances, a tense silence hanging in the cold air.
The cry echoed through the forests, terrifying the birds that stirred in the trees. Ned Stark's hand, which had already rested on the hilt of Ice, tightened its grip. His eyes scanned the darkness of the forest, a mix of respect and caution stamped on his face. Ser Rodrik also looked in the same direction, his bearded face serious and pensive.
"It was her mate," Willian whispered, his throat dry. The voice seemed to haunt him, but in a strangely familiar way. His skin crawled, and he felt a wave of fear, but also a strange pang of desire. That howl... it seemed to call to him.
Willian looked at the body of the direwolf, the howl seeming like the voice of his soul, the echo of a torment that felt as real as the cold he felt in his bones. His mind began to wander, imagining the animal alive, wild, running through the ice fields.
"We have to go. Now," Ned said, his voice firm and full of authority. He was used to death, to the wildness and to the dangers of the North. But something about this howl was different. "Thank you for helping, Ser Rodrik," he said, his voice now softer.
The soldiers nodded and immediately began to move away from the wolf's body, their strides long and quick. No one dared to question, everyone felt the same weight in the atmosphere. Ned turned to the boys, his expression now milder.
"Let's go home. You have to get ready for the guests," he said.
The return to Winterfell was made in silence. The emotion and joy of having a direwolf, the sigil of House Stark, had been replaced by a somber feeling and a heavy heart.
Jon, with the small, fragile white direwolf in his arms, seemed to be in a trance. His eyes were fixed on the pup, as if one's life depended on the other's. Robb rode beside his father, his expression serious and pensive. The howl was still on his mind, as was the image of the dead direwolf.
Willian felt differently. While everyone was in a hurry, he felt a calling. That howl was not just an animal's lament; it was a promise, a destiny that invited him to go beyond the Wall. He knew that one day he would.
The following hours blurred into a mix of hot baths, new clothes, and the oppressive feeling of formality. Willian looked at himself in the polished metal mirror: his hair short, clean, and well-kept; the tunic of thick, dark, and heavy wool, with the emblem of House Corvinus discreetly embroidered.
For a moment, he felt a pang of longing for his long hair, but he knew it was a small price to pay.
The entrance to the Great Hall of Winterfell was an event in itself. The heat of the fireplaces and the aroma of roasted meat, beer, and spices filled the air.
Long, solid oak tables were laden with food and drink, and the hum of voices filled the room.
The banners of the noble Houses of the North hung from the stone walls, representing bears, moose, axes, and the direwolf of House Stark.
Willian, Robb, and Jon walked together, their steps echoing on the stone floor as they passed among the guests. The ladies, with their dresses and jewelry, smiled openly at them. A young woman with the emblem of House Umber on her dress, with red hair and freckles, looked at Willian and blushed, quickly averting her gaze.
"Look at that, Will. I think you're having some success," Jon whispered, with a slight smile.
Willian smiled bitterly, but tried to ignore it, remaining impassive. Robb came closer, his voice low.
"Jon is right. It looks like poor Jeyne has more competition," he teased, laughing softly.
Willian responded with an irritated look, but a smile formed on his lips.
Well, at least they aren't as young as Jeyne... But still too young to bite.
He knew that Jon and Robb were just trying to make him feel at ease, and he was grateful for that. The three sat at a table near the raised platform, where Lord Stark sat with his family and the guests of honor.
Lord Wyman Manderly, a huge, plump man, with a graying beard and a smile that seemed to cover half his face, was the center of attention. He was known for his love of food and his astuteness in business, and the table in front of him was more laden than any other.
Willian observed the movement around him, noticing the conversations, the laughter, and the movement of the servants.
He thought of Lord Manderly and the proposal. The possibility of a partnership with the White Harbor Trading Company was of enormous importance and indispensable for external expansion. The network of rivers in the North allowed for internal distribution, but to reach the south, his products depended on a merchant fleet, and White Harbor, with its bustling port, was the key to that.
The conversation at the table was lively, with stories of hunts, news from neighboring castles, and the preparations for winter. The boys felt at ease, laughing and chatting, as if there was nothing more important in the world than having fun.
But Willian knew that the world was not just about having fun. He knew the night would be long, and that he had a role to play.
Willian's attention was drawn to the raised platform, where Lord Manderly signaled to a servant. The huge man, with his beard swaying, got up and walked towards the boys' table.
"Lords Stark, the pleasure is mine to meet you," he said, his voice hoarse and deep. His eyes moved from Robb to Jon, then to Willian. "And you must be the young Corvinus. Your reputation precedes you, boy. I heard Lord Tyrell cannot live without your products. And speaking of someone who's attached to them, I heard King Robert doesn't go a day without your drink."
Willian stood up, his hand on his chest, and bowed. "My Lord, it's an honor to meet you. It is an honor to have House Manderly as our ally in the North."
Lord Manderly nodded. "Your humility is admirable, young man. But the honor is mine. I want to discuss the trade in White Harbor, to which your men delivered your proposal."
"We will have the pleasure of discussing this, my Lord. I can guarantee it will be an enriching partnership," Willian replied, his voice firm and confident and a wolfish grin on his lips. He looked at Robb and Jon, who were watching him with expressions of pride.
Lord Manderly's smile widened. "I see you have two great friends. Loyalty is a treasure, young Willian. A rare and valuable treasure."
He clapped Willian on the shoulder, which almost made him sway with the force. "House Manderly and the city of White Harbor will be pleased to become your company's largest trading partner in the North. That is a promise, my boy. But we will discuss the details tomorrow, today is a day for drinking."
Lord Manderly nodded in farewell and returned to the platform, his laugh echoing through the hall.
The three looked at each other for a moment, before bursting into laughter. They knew the night was just beginning.
Robb smiled. "Looks like you're going to have even more coin. You must be happy."
Jon looked at him, his eyebrow slightly raised. "It's surprising to see your expansion, Willian. I thought you were just having fun... but who would have thought... at twelve years old and already rivaling the Lannisters and Tyrells in wealth?"
Willian laughed, a low, dry sound. "More coins, more happiness, of course! But competing with the great noble houses...", he looked at Jon, a playful smile on his face. "That's still very, very far away. You have no idea how much coin they generate in a year."
Jon, curious, leaned in. "But I heard... Lord Stark talking about the income of Winterfell and the North... and your company already rivals that."
Robb looked in shock from Jon to Willian. "That rich? Willian... is what Jon is saying true? Do you already have as much coin as the entire North? How is that possible? It has been a little over a year since your ideas began to take shape."
Willian laughed more heartily, biting into a goat leg and taking a sip of wine. "Well, that could be true if you think about Winterfell before production began... Winterfell's income was precarious because of how harsh the winter has always been, so much so that House Manderly in White Harbor was already richer than House Stark."
Willian looked around. "But after the soap and whiskey started to be produced... things got fun. Gold flows from the Reach with ease and eases the gold/grain trade balance that once massacred House Stark's coffers. Of course, the soap alone was not enough."
Robb, impatient, slapped Willian on the shoulder. "Just get to it, Will. I already understood that part."
Willian swallowed the wine slowly. "Good wine."
Jon, agitated, insisted. "Just tell us, Willian!"
Willian raised his hands in surrender. "...Well, after the soap, which had a beautiful appeal in the southern lands, especially in the Reach, came the whiskey..."
Robb, more agitated, stamped his foot. "Okay, keep going."
Willian continued. "The whiskey changed everything. It wasn't limited to the opulent lands and noble houses. It's a true champion of sales. So I thought: what if I sell a premium version of each?"
Robb seemed confused. "I think I got lost..." Jon nodded, agreeing with the confusion.
Willian explained. "When you make a cheaper and a more expensive version of each product... it's as if each one becomes the object of worship for a part of the people..."
Robb, now completely anxious, demanded. "Stop. Get to the point: richer than the North or not?"
Willian smiled sharply. "It depends, but I'm certainly rich enough to invest in the expansion of the port in White Harbor, buying commercial and military ships for escort, financing merchant caravans by land and providing guards..."
Jon, annoyed, pressed. "Just say it!"
Willian raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Well, probably richer, yes. But don't forget that I don't get rich alone. I have profit-sharing contracts with Uncle Eddard and, now, I will also have them with Lord Manderly. But I'm certainly richer than the North was before we started the workshop."
Robb, surprised, finally smiled slyly. "Wow. I didn't know you made so much coin... and that you made coin for us too. Should I say thank you?"
Willian smiled. "You're welcome."
Jon looked at him, curious. "And what about the mercenaries you started to form... how many men do you have now and what are your plans?"
Robb, beside him, also leaned in, interested.
Willian smiled broadly, showing his white teeth and sharp fangs. "Well, the thing is that a hand that shines needs a strong hand to protect it, you understand? Currently, a little over five hundred, most of them recruits. And the idea is..."
He looked at the hall, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "...how about we go dance with the guests?"
Robb looked at him, incredulous. "Don't you dare stop in the middle of the conversation!" Before he could finish, Willian got up, laughing, and went towards the ladies. Robb and Jon watched.
The young women stirred, whispering and adjusting their dresses. Willian noticed one of them, a young woman with dark hair and lively eyes, who stared back at him with a bold smile.
It was Wylla Manderly, Lord Wyman's granddaughter. Willian stopped in front of her. She raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on her lips.
Willian bowed, held out his hand, and said something that the music muffled. Her face lit up and she placed her hand in his, her dress fluttering as he led her to the dance floor.
The music intensified, and the two moved with the grace of a duet. Willian twirled, his dark tunic expanding, and the young woman followed him with her eyes shining. He smiled.
Jeyne Poole, with her red hair and freckles, bit her lip and gazed at Willian in anguish.
Robb, exasperated, rolled his eyes. "He's impossible..."
Jon shrugged, with a gentle smile. "Well... how about we go too?"
Robb looked at him, surprised. "You? Wanting to dance with women? That's new."
Jon smiled. "Willian taught me a thing or two." He stood up and held out his hand to Robb, who laughed loudly and followed him to the women. "Of course, why not?"