77 AC
Winterfell
After a brief respite in our quarters, a chance to wash away the dust of travel and don fresh attire, we made our way to Winterfell's Great Hall. The hall, though grand, possessed a stark, unadorned beauty, a testament to the North's practical sensibilities. Long tables groaned under the weight of hearty fare: roasted meats, root vegetables, and steaming bowls of thick stew, a welcome sight after the journey.
Lord Stark greeted us with a curt nod, his expression, as always, difficult to read. His family was also present, his wife, Diana, a study in quiet strength; his heir, Artor, serious and watchful; and his daughter, Morgan, with her striking features and a hint of the wild about her. We were seated at the high table, a place of honor befitting our royal status.
The meal proceeded with a measured formality, much like the feast at Moat Cailin. Conversation flowed, but it was carefully controlled, a dance of polite inquiries and guarded responses. The Starks, it seemed, were a people who valued their privacy and their traditions, and they were not quick to reveal their true thoughts to outsiders.
As we ate, my gaze swept across the hall, taking in the assembled lords and ladies. They were a hardy lot, clad in furs and leathers, their faces weathered and strong. They spoke of the land, of the coming winter, and of the challenges of ruling such a vast and unforgiving territory.
Once the meal had progressed to a more relaxed pace, I turned to Lord Stark, my voice clear and steady. "Lord Stark," I said, "I have heard much of Wintertown, your people's settlement outside these walls. I would be most grateful if you would grant us a tour, perhaps tomorrow. I am eager to see how your people live and thrive in this harsh land."
Lord Stark's gaze sharpened, his eyes, the color of a winter sky, studying me intently. After a moment. "It would be my honor, Your Grace," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Wintertown is a part of Winterfell, and you are welcome to see it."
The crisp Northern air nipped at our cheeks as we stepped out into the bustling heart of Wintertown. Lady Diana Stark, our guide, led the way with a purposeful stride, her expression composed but her eyes betraying a hint of pride as she surveyed her domain.
"Wintertown," she began, her voice clear and strong, "is the lifeblood of Winterfell. It is where our people live, work, and trade. It has grown considerably in recent years, thanks to the... innovations we have embraced."
As we walked, I observed the layout of the town. Unlike the crowded, haphazard streets of King's Landing, Wintertown was organized and spacious. The roads were wide and well-maintained, stretching out like long, winding ribbons that connected the various districts.
The houses were a striking departure from anything I had seen in the South. They were built of sturdy timber and stone, designed to withstand the harsh Northern winters. But what truly caught my eye were the windows. They were large and made of clear, unblemished glass, allowing ample sunlight to filter into the interiors.
"The windows," I remarked, unable to contain my curiosity. "They are... remarkably clear. I have never seen glass like this before."
Lady Stark nodded, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Northern glassmaking is another of our... advancements. We have found ways to produce glass that is both strong and transparent, allowing us to make the most of the limited sunlight we receive."
As we continued our tour, I noticed that the houses were not clustered together as tightly as in Southern cities. Each dwelling had a small yard or garden, giving the town a sense of openness and spaciousness.
"The houses are set apart," I observed. "It is quite different from the crowded conditions in King's Landing."
"The North values space, Your Grace," Lady Stark explained. "It is a reflection of our land, vast and untamed. We believe that people thrive better when they have room to breathe."
We passed by several bathhouses, large structures with steaming vents that indicated the presence of hot water. I raised an eyebrow, "Bathhouses? What are these for, exactly?"
"Cleanliness is important, Your Grace," Lady Stark replied. "Especially in a land where illness can spread quickly in the cold. We have learned to adapt and overcome the challenges of our environment."
The market area was a vibrant hub of activity, a stark contrast to the quiet formality of Winterfell. Stalls overflowed with goods from across the North: furs, timber, ironwork, and surprisingly, a variety of fresh produce.
"The market is thriving," I observed. "There is a great deal of wealth here."
The market area of Wintertown was a vibrant tapestry of sights, sounds, and smells. Stalls lined the wide avenues, overflowing with a diverse array of goods. The air buzzed with the chatter of merchants hawking their wares and the lively bartering of customers.
My ladies-in-waiting, Darlla and Rosmund, were particularly captivated by the displays. Their eyes widened as they took in the sheer variety and quality of the Northern craftsmanship.
"The glasswork is exquisite," Darlla exclaimed, her fingers tracing the delicate curves of a hand-blown vase. "I have never seen such clarity and artistry before."
Rosmund, ever practical, examined a length of intricately woven fabric. "The texture is remarkable," she said, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It is both soft and strong, perfect for the Northern climate."
Even the soldiers in our retinue, hardened men accustomed to the rigors of travel, were impressed by the displays of Northern craftsmanship. Their eyes lingered on the finely crafted weapons, the sturdy armor, and the intricately tooled leather goods.
"These swords are a work of art," one of the guards muttered, his hand hovering over the hilt of a gleaming blade. "I have never seen such balance and precision."
"The daggers are just as impressive," another added, his gaze fixed on a set of obsidian-edged blades. "They are sharp enough to shave with, and strong enough to pierce any armor."
I, too, was drawn into the bustling atmosphere of the market. The sheer variety of goods on display was a testament to the North's ingenuity and resourcefulness. I found myself admiring the intricate glasswork, the richly dyed fabrics, and the finely crafted weapons.
"The North is truly a land of artisans," I remarked to Lady Stark, who stood beside me, her expression a mixture of pride and satisfaction. "Your people possess a remarkable talent for craftsmanship."
"We have learned to make the most of what our land provides," she replied, her voice firm. "And we have always valued quality and durability over mere ornamentation."
As we explored the market, my ladies and I indulged in some retail therapy. Darlla purchased a set of delicate glass goblets, their clear surfaces shimmering in the pale Northern sunlight. Rosmund acquired several lengths of the richly woven fabric, envisioning gowns of unparalleled comfort and elegance.
Even I couldn't resist the allure of the Northern craftsmanship. I commissioned a set of finely crafted daggers, their obsidian blades honed to a razor's edge, their hilts adorned with intricate carvings of Northern runes. They were both beautiful and deadly, a fitting symbol of the North's dual nature.
We also passed by several parks, green spaces with carefully tended gardens and sturdy benches. Even in the North, it seemed, there was a desire for beauty and tranquility.
As we walked, I couldn't help but be impressed by what I saw. Wintertown was a testament to the North's ingenuity and resilience, a thriving community that had adapted to its harsh environment and prospered. It was a far cry from the image of a primitive, backward land that I had once held in my mind. The North was a land of secrets and surprises, and I was only just beginning to uncover them.
As our tour of Wintertown progressed, we approached a section of the settlement that was noticeably different. Here, the bustling market stalls and open-air shops gave way to a more industrial landscape. We came upon a set of imposing gates, crafted from thick, reinforced iron, their surface blackened and scarred, hinting at the intense heat they must have endured.
The gates were heavily guarded. More than twenty Stark soldiers, clad in full plate armor and armed with formidable-looking halberds, stood watch with unwavering vigilance. Their faces were stern and impassive, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a keen intensity.
I turned to Lady Stark, my curiosity piqued by the heightened security. "Lady Stark," I inquired, my voice low, "what lies beyond these gates? This area seems... significantly more fortified than the rest of the town."
Lady Stark's expression turned serious, her gaze fixed on the imposing gates. "Beyond these gates, Your Grace," she explained, her voice measured, "lies the heart of our industry. It is where the North's products are made, where our innovations are developed, and where the secrets of our prosperity are kept."
Her words only deepened my curiosity. "Secrets?" I echoed, my brow furrowed. "What kind of secrets?"
Lady Stark hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. "The North has made great strides in recent years," she said, her tone guarded. "We have developed new technologies, harnessed new sources of power, and found ways to thrive in our harsh environment. These advancements have allowed us to prosper, but they are also... valuable."
I considered her words, my mind racing. The North's prosperity was undeniable, but the extent of their technological advancements was becoming increasingly clear. The railway, the glassmaking, and now this heavily guarded industrial complex... it was all far more advanced than anything I had seen in the South.
"Twenty soldiers seems... a rather small force to guard such valuable secrets," I observed, my gaze sweeping over the stoic guards.
Lady Stark's eyes met mine, her expression unwavering. "Those are merely the outer guard, Your Grace," she revealed, her voice firm. "Behind those gates, there are a thousand Stark soldiers, ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the North's treasures. They are a constant reminder that the North is not to be trifled with."
Lady Stark's revelation hung in the air, the weight of a thousand hidden soldiers adding a new layer of complexity to my understanding of the North. I studied her face, searching for any hint of deception, but found only a steely resolve, a quiet pride in the strength and secrecy of her people.
"A thousand soldiers," I repeated, the number echoing in my mind. "That is... a significant force. Even for a royal treasury, let alone an industrial complex."
Lady Stark's gaze remained fixed on the gates, her expression unyielding. "The North has learned to be self-reliant, Your Grace," she said, her voice firm. "We have learned to protect what is ours, to defend our progress from those who would seek to exploit it. Our advancements are not merely a source of wealth; they are a matter of survival in this harsh land. We cannot afford to be vulnerable."
Her words carried a clear warning, a subtle but unmistakable message: the North was not to be underestimated. They were not a backward, primitive people, as some in the South might believe. They were a force to be reckoned with, a kingdom with its own secrets and its own strength, fiercely guarded and deeply rooted.
I considered my next words carefully. I was a queen, accustomed to being obeyed, to having my will prevail. But I was also a guest in a foreign land, a land that had shown me a level of sophistication and power I had not anticipated. I could not afford to be arrogant or dismissive.
"I understand, Lady Stark," I said, my voice measured and respectful. "The North has its own ways, its own reasons for its actions. I did not mean to pry, but merely to express my... surprise at the extent of your defenses."
Lady Stark turned to face me, her gaze softening slightly, though her expression remained serious. "I know you did not, Your Grace," she said, her voice a little less sharp. "But it is important that you understand the North. We are a proud people, and we value our independence. We have learned to survive and thrive on our own terms, and we will not easily relinquish what we have achieved."
She paused, her eyes searching mine. "We welcome you to Winterfell, Your Grace, and we will extend to you the hospitality that is due to a royal guest. But we also expect you to respect our traditions and our ways. We are not a kingdom to be conquered or controlled. We are a partner, an ally, but never a subject."
Her words were a challenge, a declaration of the North's terms for any future relationship with the South. They were a reminder that the North was not a prize to be won, but a power to be reckoned with, a force that demanded respect and recognition.
As our tour of Wintertown drew to a close, and we began to make our way back towards Winterfell, I found myself increasingly impressed by the North. The ingenuity, the self-reliance, the sheer scale of what they had achieved – it was all a far cry from the image I had held in my mind.
"Lady Stark," I said, my voice thoughtful, "I have heard tales of the College of Winterhold, a place of learning and knowledge. Is it far from here?"
Lady Stark's expression softened slightly, a hint of pride entering her voice. "The College of Winterhold is indeed a place of great learning, Your Grace. It is located on the coast, not far from here, but it would take approximately half a day's ride to reach it."
I considered this, my mind already turning over the possibilities. The College of Winterhold... it sounded like a place of immense power and potential, a place that could hold secrets that even the South did not know.
"I would be most grateful," I said, my voice carefully measured, "if you would allow me to visit the College of Winterhold. I am eager to learn more about the North's... academic traditions."
Lady Stark regarded me for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "It can be arranged, Your Grace," she said finally. "We can depart for Winterhold tomorrow morning. I believe it would be... enlightening for you."
With that, our tour of Wintertown concluded, and we returned to the relative calm of Winterfell's ancient walls. The impressions of the town, however, remained vivid in my mind, a testament to the North's unique and powerful nature.
That evening, a grand feast was held in our honor within the Great Hall of Winterfell. But unlike the formal, almost stilted gatherings I was accustomed to in the South, this feast was a different affair entirely.
The Northern lords and ladies, clad in their furs and leathers, ate and drank with a gusto that was both infectious and slightly unsettling. They roared with laughter, pounded on the tables, and sang songs that were both mournful and triumphant. It was as if they were celebrating life itself, embracing the moment with a fierce intensity, as if, as you said, there was no tomorrow.