001 - The Lord of Winterfell
The first cry of the newborn echoed through Winterfell, and Lord Eddard Stark welcomed his fifth trueborn child into the world.
Eddard Stark had black hair, gray eyes, a beard beginning to silver, and a face as stern as the northern winter.
"My lord, congratulations. It is a boy." The old nurse beamed as she held out the swaddled babe.
Ned took the child into his arms. The baby cried even louder.
Maester Luwin toyed with the chain around his neck. "Have you chosen a name for him, my lord?"
Luwin was a small, thin man with gray hair and gray eyes. On the birthing bed, Catelyn Stark smiled, her auburn hair spread against the pillows, her blue eyes bright despite her exhaustion.
"Eddard and I decided long ago," she said. "If it was a boy, we would name him Rickon."
Before long, Robb, Arya, Sansa, and Bran came pouring in from the hallway. They crowded around their mother and their new brother, drowning the room in laughter and bright, childish excitement.
Bran, brown-haired and blue-eyed, leaned over to kiss little Rickon. "I'm a big brother now. This is great."
Arya grinned. "Another little brother. Being a sister feels so strange." She had a long face, brown hair, and gray eyes, taking more after her father than her mother. Even now, she was all mischief and restless energy.
Sansa gave her a delicate smile. "Don't get too excited, Arya. When you were born, I was excited too. You were such a sweet little thing then. Now? You make it harder every year." Sansa had inherited her mother's blue eyes and auburn hair, and everyone in Winterfell believed she would grow into a great beauty.
Robb took Rickon carefully into his arms. "Arguing with younger brothers and sisters is half the fun." His auburn hair and blue eyes made him look more like Catelyn than Ned.
Ned's ward, Theon Greyjoy, stepped into the room and lingered by the door with a smile on his face. He was slender, with dark brown hair.
After the Greyjoy Rebellion was put down, ten-year-old Theon had been taken into Ned's household and brought to Winterfell as a hostage to ensure his father, Balon Greyjoy, kept the knee bent. Now Theon was sixteen. Years away from his parents and his home had taught him how to smile when it hurt. Seeing another child welcomed into House Stark twisted something inside him, but he kept the familiar grin in place.
Ned's bastard son, Jon Snow, stood at the threshold and stole a glance into the room. One look of cold dislike from Catelyn sent him fleeing.
Catelyn had never been able to stomach the bastard child Ned had brought home from the war.
Maester Luwin stepped closer. "My lord, now that you have been blessed with another son, shall we invite the lords of the North to Winterfell to celebrate?"
Ned nodded. "Yes. Send ravens. Tell them to come to Winterfell in a month's time for Rickon's birth feast. And send one to Castle Black as well. Benjen should be here."
The castle was full of joy.
Ned could not share it.
He was not truly Eddard Stark.
Three days ago, he had been an ordinary office worker on Earth. Then he opened his eyes in Westeros, within the walls of Winterfell, as the Lord of Winterfell himself.
Even as the Warden of the North, Ned had already learned that he had to wear the mask of Lord Stark. A man from another world could not afford to expose himself.
He did not know whether history would still follow the path of A Song of Ice and Fire. If the story still held, he would have to win the game of thrones, survive the clash of kings, weather the storm of swords, endure the feast for crows, and face the dance of dragons when it came.
Ned understood one thing clearly: the warmth before him was temporary.
As House Stark's words warned, winter was coming.
That evening, Ned climbed to Maester Luwin's tower. The maester was already writing letters.
"My lord," Luwin said, "as you commanded, I have written to lords across the North, inviting them to Winterfell to celebrate young Rickon's birth. At first light, I will send the ravens."
"Thank you." Ned pulled over a chair and sat. "Maester Luwin, I have some plans for trade. Do you have a map of the North?"
"Plans for trade?" Luwin looked surprised. Lord Stark had never cared much for commerce. Most days, he rarely troubled himself with Winterfell's accounts. "My lord, you have never shown much interest in such matters. Why now?"
Ned gave a faint smile. "Rickon's birth means another mouth in the family. Winter is coming. Finding a way to earn more coin can only help."
Luwin brought over a map and spread it across the table, weighing down the corners with tallow candles.
On it were White Harbor, the Dreadfort, Deepwood Motte, Flint's Finger, the Wolfswood, Barrowton, Last Hearth, Karhold, and the other castles and strongholds of the North. Rivers cut across the parchment: the White Knife, the Last River, the Weeping Water, the Fever River. There were mountain clan villages, fishing settlements along the long coast, and lands stretching from the Neck in the south to the Gift in the north. All of them ultimately paid taxes to Winterfell.
Each month, gold dragons, silver stags, and copper pennies flowed into House Stark's coffers. The Starks had never been a family of southern luxuries. Tourneys, courtly dances, and noisy pageantry belonged far away from Winterfell. Generations of Kings in the North had left behind no small store of wealth.
It was still not enough.
Winters in Westeros often lasted for years. When the cold came, House Stark's income would shrink, while Winterfell would have to spend heavily to support the smallfolk of Winter Town and aid its vassals.
Even in summer, Winterfell had enemies to face. From time to time, the stoneborn of Skagos raided the eastern coast. On the western coast, pirate bands were a constant plague.
Most of those western raiders were ironborn from the Iron Islands. After Balon Greyjoy bent the knee to Robert Baratheon, he sent his only living son, Theon, to Winterfell as a ward and hostage, proof that the ironborn would not raid the mainland again. Balon had even executed some raiders himself. But the Iron Islands had never lacked men eager to follow the Old Way.
Wildling raiders were another grave concern. The Night's Watch had declined, and wildlings crossed the Wall more often with each passing year. Once they entered the North, they killed grown men, stole food, and carried off young women and children.
Under their raids, many villages south of the Wall in the Gift had been abandoned, leaving the land nearly empty. Wildlings also harried the lands of House Umber, House Karstark, and the mountain clans, cutting into those lords' incomes. When the lords grew poorer, Winterfell's taxes fell with them.
For the past two days, Ned had turned the matter over and over in his mind. If he wanted to strengthen the North, he had to build its economy. The first step was making Winter Town thrive.
His gaze settled on Winterfell, and then he pointed to the town beside it.
"How many people live in Winter Town now?"
Luwin thought for a moment. "Perhaps five thousand."
Ned frowned. "Too few. I walked through it yesterday. Four houses in five are empty, and fertile land lies untilled. Why do my people not wish to live there?"
Luwin smiled patiently. "My lord, the North is vast and thinly settled. Only when winter comes do people gather from every corner of the North to Winter Town, huddling together for warmth. The hot springs draw them here in the cold. But it is summer now. Many have returned to their own homes. Some come from the Stony Shore, some from Cape Kraken, some from the mountain clans, and others from villages beyond White Harbor."
"For many of them, Winter Town is only a refuge. They have houses and fields in their own villages, and men always long for the land that raised them. If they stay in Winter Town, they pay taxes to Winterfell. If they return home, they pay taxes to their own lord. To them, there is little difference. Do not worry, my lord. When winter comes, they will return."
Ned folded his hands before his chest.
"I want them back now," he said. "I want smoke rising from every chimney in Winter Town. I want children running through the lanes. I want to hear the market alive with noise."
He looked up at Luwin.
"In the letters inviting the lords to Rickon's feast, add one more message. Tell them Winterfell welcomes people from every corner of the North to settle in Winter Town."
Ned tapped the map beside Winterfell.
"I will turn Winterfell into the next White Harbor," he said. "A prosperous city."
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