The King in the North

The crack of ice echoed across the frozen lake near Last Hearth, a sharp, ringing sound that carried on the biting wind. Lord Greatjon Umber, his massive frame a silhouette against the grey sky, watched his men swing their axes. Each blow was a precise strike, honed by days of practice. They were learning to score the thick sheets of ice, to coax the frozen water into manageable blocks without shattering the whole. The air was frigid, the wind whipping across the lake, stinging exposed skin. The men's breath plumed out in white clouds.

"Smaller blocks!" Greatjon bellowed, his voice booming across the ice. "The Stark boy was specific – three feet by two feet, no larger! They need to fit in the storage houses!" He rubbed his gloved hands together, stamping his feet against the frozen ground. A shiver ran down his spine, even through his thick furs. He thought of the warmth of his hearth fire back at Last Hearth, and then of the gold that would soon be flowing into his coffers. He glanced over at his son, Smalljon, who was overseeing a group of younger workers. Smalljon had been grumbling about the "Young Wolf's" orders, but the Greatjon knew his son secretly relished the responsibility – and the chance to prove himself.

A rider approached from the south, snow spraying from his horse's hooves. "My lord! Word from Karhold. The Karstarks have already begun shipping their first harvest to the White Knife!"

The Greatjon's beard twitched with a smile. "Have they now? Well, we can't let Rickard's men outpace us. Double the workers on the lake! And tell them to watch out for thin ice near the north shore – we don't want any accidents."

At Karhold, Lord Rickard Karstark observed his own operation with stern satisfaction. His men, their faces ruddy in the cold, had already mastered the technique of layering sawdust between ice blocks in the newly constructed ice houses. The structures, smelling of fresh pine and damp earth, dotted the landscape, their thick walls insulated with straw and pine needles. Harrion Karstark stood beside his father, his expression mirroring his own.

"The Umbers may have bigger men," Rickard remarked to his son, his breath misting in the air, "but we have the deeper lakes. The ice here is clear as glass." He lifted a freshly cut cube, examining its transparency. "This is what the Braavosi are paying their gold for. And it's this gold that will strengthen Karhold."

Harrion nodded, his eyes fixed on the workers. "The Umbers won't like being outpaced, Father. They'll try to find a way to get ahead."

"Let them try," Rickard said, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Competition is good. It keeps us sharp. But Karhold will prevail."

Along the White Knife, boats specially fitted with ice compartments made their way south. The river had become a highway of activity, with teams of workers, loading and unloading at the newly constructed docks. The rhythmic creaking of the boats and the shouts of the dockworkers filled the air. House Hornwood's men managed the transfer points, ensuring no ice bolck was lost as it made its way toward White Harbor.

In White Harbor itself, Lord Wyman Manderly, his many chins quivering with excitement, supervised the transformation of his port. The air buzzed with activity. Shipwrights hammered and sawed, their tools ringing against the hulls of ships being modified for the ice trade. Merchants, their faces etched with shrewdness, haggled over prices, their voices rising above the din of the harbor. Crowds of people, many of them newcomers hoping to find work, thronged the streets, their eyes wide with anticipation. The smell of salt, fish, and fresh timber hung heavy in the air.

"Three more vessels completed this week," his son Wendel reported, consulting a ledger. "The new ship designs are proving… mostly effective, Father. We've had some minor issues with the insulation on the third vessel, but nothing that can't be quickly remedied."

"Good," Lord Manderly nodded, his eyes gleaming with avarice. "But we need more. Send word to the shipwrights – double pay for completed conversions. When the ice starts flowing in earnest, I want twenty ships ready to sail. And make sure they're well-guarded – word has reached me that pirates are becoming bolder in the Narrow Sea." He turned to his advisor, a grizzled old sea captain named Torvin. "Torvin, I want you to personally oversee the security of the first few shipments. Choose your men carefully. We can't afford to lose a single block of ice."

Torvin, a man of few words but considerable experience, nodded. "Aye, m'lord. I'll pick the best. And I'll keep a sharp lookout for any trouble."

He turned to gaze at the harbor, where workers were loading the first regular shipment onto a newly modified vessel. The Braavosi merchant, Tycho Vhassaros, watched the proceedings with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. He had invested heavily in this venture, and his future depended on its success. 

"The Starks have given us a gift, Wendel," Manderly continued. "Now we have something the South and the Free Cities cannot easily replicate. This is just the beginning. And it will make House Manderly richer than ever before." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the bustling harbor. "But remember, Wendel, with great reward comes great risk. We must be prepared for anything. The Ironborn are always a threat, and now these rumors of pirates… We must protect our investment."

On Bear Island, Dacey Mormont led a training session for the guards who would protect the ice shipments. "The cargo is valuable, but slow-moving," she explained, "Raiders will try to take advantage of that. We need to be ready." The clang of steel on steel echoed across the training yard.

Her sister Alysane nodded toward the practicing warriors. "The men are learning quickly. We've already caught two groups of bandits scouting the new road to Deepwood Motte. They were asking questions about the ice caravans."

"Good. Let word spread that the ice routes are well-defended." Dacey sheathed her mace. "This trade will work only if it's reliable. The North must show it can protect its interests. And we must be ready for any bandit or Ironborn foolish enough to try their luck."

In the Wolfswood, House Glover's lumber operations had expanded dramatically. Teams of woodcutters moved through the forest, the rhythmic swing of their axes echoing through the trees, selecting the strongest trees for the specialized ice wagons and storage houses being built across the North. The air was thick with the smell of pine and freshly cut wood.

Galbart Glover inspected a newly completed wagon, running his hand along the reinforced bed designed to carry the heavy ice blocks. "The Tallharts sent word that their first convoy of wagons is already in use," he told his brother Robett. "We'll need to increase production if we're to keep pace with demand."

Near Torrhen's Square, Lady Dustin, her face hard as granite, oversaw improvements to the road network. Teams of workers, their muscles aching from the constant labor, laid gravel and built drainage ditches, preparing the routes for the heavy ice wagons that would soon traverse them regularly.

"The Ryswells report similar progress on their lands," her steward informed her as they watched the work. "The main route to White Harbor will be ready before the month's end."

Lady Dustin nodded, her sharp eyes evaluating the construction. "The Stark boy's initiative has merit," she admitted. "Though I wonder if he truly understands what he's begun. This will change the North forever. And not all changes are for the better. This much wealth… it will attract vultures. We must be vigilant."

As the sun set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, ravens flew between the keeps of the North, carrying progress reports and requests for resources. The massive machinery of the ice trade was grinding into motion, powered by the collective effort of every major house. From the frozen lakes of the far north to the bustling port of White Harbor, the North was awakening to a new purpose.

*****

In Winterfell's ravenry, Maester Luwin collected the day's messages for Robb Stark – who was, at that moment, overseeing the opening day of his community kitchen in Winter Town. He smiled as he read the reports of progress from across the North, but a shadow crossed his face as he read Lady Dustin's words. The young lord was busy with his kitchens, but it was this trade, and the potential it held for both good and ill, that would truly secure the North's future. "The North remembers," Luwin murmured to himself as he sorted the messages, "but it also adapts." He gathered the missives, a thoughtful expression on his face, and made his way to Lord Stark's solar.

Lord Eddard Stark sat at his desk, quill in hand, reviewing some documents. He looked up as Luwin entered. "News from the North, Maester?"

"Indeed, my lord," Luwin replied, offering the stack of messages. "Reports from all the major houses. The ice harvesting is proceeding smoothly, the ice houses are built, the ships are being prepared. Lord Manderly is particularly enthusiastic, though he expresses some concern about increasing pirate activity in the Narrow Sea."

Ned nodded, taking the messages and scanning them quickly. "Manderly is a shrewd man. His concerns are valid. And what of the other houses?"

"Lord Greatjon is eager to prove his worth, as always," Luwin chuckled. "Lord Karstark is equally driven, though I sense a certain rivalry developing between the two houses. Lady Dustin… her report is more reserved. She acknowledges the potential of the trade, but cautions against complacency, warning that such wealth will attract unwanted attention."

Ned's expression turned thoughtful. "Dustin is wise to be cautious. She has seen enough of the world to know that prosperity can be a double-edged sword. This ice trade… it's more than just a business venture, Luwin. It's changing the very fabric of the North. It's bringing us wealth, yes, but it's also bringing new challenges, new rivalries, new threats."

"And what of Lord Robb's… kitchen?" Luwin asked hesitantly.

Ned smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I visited it myself this morning. It's… remarkable. He's converted that old granary into something truly special. The people of Winter Town, even those who were initially skeptical, are embracing it. It's not just about the food, Luwin. It's about the sense of community Robb has fostered. It's about giving people a chance to contribute, to maintain their dignity."

Luwin nodded. "It's a noble endeavor, my lord. But…"

"But?" Ned prompted.

"But it's the ice trade that will truly secure the North's future," Luwin finished. "The kitchen is a fine gesture, but it's the wealth generated by the trade that will allow us to invest in our defenses, to strengthen our position."

Ned leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. "You're right, of course. The ice trade is vital. It will provide the resources we need to face the challenges ahead. But… Robb's kitchen, as you call it, it's important too. It shows the character of the young man who will one day lead this region. It shows that he understands that true strength lies not just in wealth and power, but in compassion and in caring for those who are most vulnerable." He picked up one of the messages, a report from Galbart Glover. "Glover writes of the increased demand for lumber, of the new roads being built. He mentions that some of the workers he's hired are men who were struggling to find work before, men who might have turned to desperate measures if not for this opportunity."

Ned sighed. "Robb… he has a good heart, Luwin. He sees the bigger picture. He understands that the North is more than just its lords and its armies. It's the common folk, the farmers, the craftsmen, the people who work the land and keep the wheels turning. And if we don't take care of them, if we don't give them hope, then all the wealth in the world won't save us."

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the courtyard. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the snow-covered ground. "I'm proud of what Robb has accomplished, Luwin. Both with the kitchen and with the ice trade. He's shown that he has the vision and the compassion to lead. He's not just a Stark. He's a good Stark."

Luwin nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "He reminds me of you, my lord."

Ned chuckled softly. "Perhaps. But he's also his own man. And that's a good thing. The North will need a strong leader in the years to come. And I believe Robb is ready."

He turned back to Luwin. "See to it that a message is sent to Lord Manderly. Tell him we'll have Mormont guards on each ship. And tell him… tell him that the Starks always protect their investments."

Luwin bowed and left the solar, leaving Ned alone with his thoughts. The ice trade was underway, the North was mobilizing, and his son was proving himself worthy of the mantle he would one day inherit. But Ned knew that the challenges were only just beginning. The true test would come not just from pirates and rival houses, but from the long winter that was coming.