Game of Thrones:Dawn of Ice and Fire.

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Chapter Fifteen: The Foundation of a Fleet

The solar at Winterfell was warm, the scent of cedar smoke lingering in the air as Ned Stark stood by the hearth. Outside, the morning chill clung to the stones of the castle, but within, the crackling fire provided a semblance of comfort.

Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, settled his massive frame into a sturdy chair across from Ned. His belly strained against his embroidered doublet, and rings glinted on his thick fingers. To most, Wyman appeared every bit the gluttonous, jovial lord who indulged in feasting and fine wine.

But Ned knew better. Beneath the pleasant exterior was a shrewd and calculating man whose loyalty and cunning had kept White Harbor prosperous through wars and lean winters alike.

Wyman took a sip from the cup of mulled wine a servant had brought him, his small, bright eyes gleaming. "You have a fine brew here, Lord Stark. But I must say, the wine from my cellars remains unmatched." He chuckled, his voice hearty.

Ned allowed a faint smile. "You've always had a talent for hospitality, Lord Wyman."

"That I do," Wyman agreed, leaning back with a contented sigh. "But what's the worth of wine without a tale or two, eh?" He wagged a thick finger. "Speaking of tales, I hear Ser Walder acquitted himself most spectacularly during the rebellion."

Ned's expression softened at the mention of the young knight. "He did."

Wyman's face broke into a grin. "A monstrous performance, they say. Tore through the Ironborn defenses like a wolf among sheep. Even saved his own father's life during the siege of Pyke."

Ned nodded, pride warming his chest. "Ser Walder has proven himself beyond anyone's expectations."

The stableboy Hodor with the slow speech and kind heart had changed since Robert's Rebellion. When Ned returned to Winterfell after the war, he had noticed a shift in the boy's demeanor. The once-stunned mind had begun to grow sharper, more focused. Walder had taken to weapons and battle like a fish to water, surprising everyone who had once dismissed him.

Robert Baratheon himself had been so impressed by the young man's valor that he had the man knelt before him on the blood-soaked fields and dubbed him Ser Walder.

"Knighthood well-earned," Wyman mused, swirling the wine in his cup. "It's a rare thing, seeing such strength bloom in unexpected places."

Ned agreed silently, though he knew strength often came from unexpected sources—including the man sitting before him.

Their conversation shifted naturally, Wyman's jovial tone masking his keen intelligence. After the pleasantries faded, Ned leaned forward, his expression turning serious.

"I asked you here, Lord Wyman, because the North needs your expertise."

Wyman's jovial facade flickered, replaced by a look of thoughtful attentiveness. "Of course, my lord. Whatever I can do for Winterfell and the North, you have only to ask."

Ned's voice was steady. "I want you to build a fleet for the North. Not just for defense but for trade as well. Fishing vessels, warships—ships to strengthen us in peace and war alike."

Wyman's eyes gleamed with interest. "A fleet for the North? Now that is ambition worthy of a Stark."

Ned's gaze drifted toward the window, where the winds whispered through the trees. "My father wanted the same, but the time was never right. We lacked the means, the resources. But now, with what we come into some unexpected wealth and the lessons of the Greyjoy rebellion, I believe there couldn't be a better time."

Wyman nodded thoughtfully. "A wise decision. The North needs ships of its own if we're to safeguard our shores and ensure prosperity. And you'll be glad to hear White Harbor knows a thing or two about shipbuilding."

"I know I am placing a great responsibility on you," Ned said gravely. "But I trust you to see it done."

Wyman's smile was genuine, touched by pride. "It honors me that you would entrust me with such a task, my lord. I won't let you down."

Ned studied the man across from him. Wyman's reputation as a feasting, foolish lord was a useful mask, but beneath it was a sharp mind, calculating and resourceful. Ned had seen it firsthand in how White Harbor thrived under Wyman's stewardship. He respected the man's cunning even if others dismissed him as soft.

"And there's one more thing," Ned added thoughtfully. "Focus on trade with Braavos. They're always hungry for timber and northern goods. We can profit from that hunger."

Wyman's brow lifted slightly. "Braavos, my lord?"

Ned nodded. "It was my son Jon who made me consider it. He mentioned how the Free City is always hungry for more timber. He has a strange way of seeing the truth hidden beneath things."

Wyman's grin widened, impressed. "The boy has a sharp mind. Braavos is indeed ever hungry for timber. And if they're willing to pay a fair price, I'll make sure we feed that hunger." His voice took on a note of enthusiasm. "I'll see to it that the first ship sails directly to the Titan's shadow. I'll go myself to negotiate the best price for our exports."

"Your presence will ensure a strong agreement," Ned said, appreciating the man's enthusiasm.

Wyman inclined his head. "It does my heart good to see you thinking not just of war but of prosperity, Lord Stark. Winterfell and the North will be stronger for it."

Ned nodded, understanding the weight of Wyman's words. Too often the North was focused solely on survival, enduring harsh winters and preparing for battles that seemed endless. But strength came in many forms, and trade was a foundation that could ensure lasting stability.

Wyman stood, his heavy frame moving with surprising grace. "You have my word, Lord Stark. The North will have its fleet, and our coffers will grow fat with trade."

Ned rose as well, extending his hand. "Thank you, Lord Wyman. I place great trust in you."

Wyman took the offered hand with surprising strength. "I won't fail you."

As Wyman departed, his booming laughter echoing down the corridor, Ned stood for a moment in contemplation.

The foundations for the future were being laid, both in war and peace. The North would endure—stronger and more prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.

And Ned Stark, ever the quiet architect of Winterfell's fate, would see it done.