ARC II: THE ERA OF EXPANSION AND THE ANNIHILATION OF THE GREYJOYS
Chapter 6: The First Foundation Stones
POV: Arawyn Stark (283 – 284 AC)
The return journey to the North was extraordinarily fast, driven by forces that the ordinary Manderly sailors would never dare to comprehend. From the upper deck, I maintained a subtle but absolute control over the elements. Beneath the thick hulls of the ships, the sea currents bent to my will, pushing the vessels with supernatural fluidity, while constant and precise winds inflated the runic sails without letting the fleet lose its rhythm for a single second. My magical power directly accompanied my physical growth; I felt the ancestral energy pulsing with much more vigor in my veins as the months passed. However, the runes I had carved into my own skin when I was younger were beginning to suffocate me. They had not expanded along with my body, acting now like a tight armor that limited the full flow of my essence. I urgently needed to return to Winterfell to update that runic barrier and release my full potential.
I stepped away from the railing and entered my private cabin on the upper deck. Inside, my uncle Eddard Stark paced back and forth, his face contorted in a mask of deep anxiety. I noticed his eyes were obsessively fixed on the dark, glowing lines decorating my arms, which I was mentally evaluating to plan the magical restructuring.
— Tell me what haunts you, uncle — I said, sitting casually before the oak table. — You have looked like someone who has wanted to ask me something for days, but you are choked on your own words.
Ned let out a long, heavy sigh, halting his nervous pacing. He looked at my hands and then directly into my boyish eyes, which carried the wisdom of ages.
— I was thinking about the future, Arawyn. My future children... will they need these runic tattoos on their skin? Will they also carry the burden of this magic?
I raised an eyebrow, amused by the way he structured the question.
— And why didn't you put yourself in the equation, uncle?
Ned blinked, genuinely startled by my provocation.
— Me? What are you talking about? I possess no gifts, Arawyn. Magic chose you, the Greenseer, the King of Winter. I am just a second son trained for the sword.
I gave a short laugh and shook my head at his typically Northern modesty.
— Do you know why magic was considered dead in Westeros when the last of the Targaryen dragons disappeared, uncle? It is because deeply magical creatures function as beacons, releasing and feeding the mystical energy of the world around them. Dragons were the primary global conductors of this force. Well, I am obviously not a dragon, so I cannot carry the shifting weight of bringing magic back to every corner of the known world. But here, in the North, under my presence and the blood of the First Men, it is perfectly possible.
I paused briefly, thinking in absolute silence to myself: with my full growth and total mastery over the secrets of the earth, a day will come when I will not lose to any dragon that dares cross the skies. I refocused on my uncle.
— So, yes, Ned. You have magic running through your veins; the blood of the Starks does not lie. With my proximity and the awakening of the ancient forces, your own latent energy will begin to manifest. And, obviously, your children with the lioness will also be born touched by this power. But tell me... what is the real reason for this question?
Ned looked away for a moment, fiddling with the pommel of his training sword. The worry on his face was palpable.
— I was thinking about the Lannisters. I have been watching Tywin and his retinue since we left King's Landing. I am afraid they are entering this marriage with dangerous ulterior motives, wanting to use my future children for something sinister.
— But of course they have ulterior motives, uncle — I replied bluntly, making Ned's eyes widen in surprise. — Lord Tywin Lannister is the most calculating man in the Seven Kingdoms. He desperately desires grandchildren who possess ancestral magical gifts, because he knows the world is changing. He envisions the possibility that one of these children you will have with Cersei could, in the future, inherit and become the Lord of Casterly Rock, bringing the power of the North into the Westerlands. But you don't need to lose sleep over this. Every marriage between great noble houses is made with ulterior motives. And no, Tywin does not plan something as foolish as trying to take the Northern throne from me through his grandchildren. He is no idiot; he knows perfectly well that if he tried to cross that line, I would turn the Westerlands into a frozen graveyard before he could even blink.
My direct words seemed to lift an entire mountain off Ned's back. I saw immediate relief soften his features; those dark thoughts had clearly tormented him since the betrothal was sealed in the capital.
— Now, if your heart is at peace, let us focus on the business of the kingdom — I ordered, straightening my posture. — You may enter, Lord Tywin.
The Black Guard sentry posted outside opened the doors immediately. Tywin Lannister stood in the corridor with his impeccable aristocratic posture, as if he were about to ask the guard to announce his presence, keeping his pride untouched. He entered the cabin with firm, measured steps, followed by a reverent silence. I poured him a goblet of wine and indicated the chair beside Ned.
— We are approaching White Harbor, Lord Tywin — I began, getting straight to the point.
— There, after participating in a feast that Lord Manderly is preparing to celebrate our victory, we will travel by land directly to Winterfell, where my uncle's marriage to your daughter will finally take place. However, before we set foot on Northern soil, I would like to align a matter of utmost importance with you.
Tywin took a sip of his wine, analyzing me with those sharp, golden eyes that intimidated most men, but remained merely curious before me.
— I am all ears, King Arawyn. What do you wish to discuss?
— The North will undergo an unprecedented structural and economic revolution in the coming years — I explained, leaning my elbows on the table. — To execute all of my infrastructure plans, we will need massive capital. Fortunately, I have located several rich veins of valuable minerals hidden beneath our mountains and hills. The North has the land, but lacks the necessary technical workforce. I need you to send the best specialists, mining engineers, and excavators from the Westerlands to coordinate and execute this service for the Northern crown.
Ned, who until then was only listening, interrupted me abruptly, his brow furrowed in total perplexity.
— Since when have you known about the existence of these mineral veins, Arawyn? And why did I, or any other lord of the North, never know about this before?
I let out a genuine laugh at my uncle's astonishment.
— I discovered them through my green sight and control of the earth when I was training my powers, back when I was smaller — I corrected myself quickly, looking at my own boyish body with a sarcastic smile. — And before you ask why I didn't reveal this to my grandfather Rickard or your brother Brandon... well, I simply did not get along with the late Lord Rickard. He had a mindset heavily focused on southern ambitions and would not understand the magnitude of what I intend to build.
Ned was completely speechless, blinking flabbergasted at my pragmatic revelation. I turned my attention back to Tywin, who maintained an expression of deep economic interest.
— The changes I will make in the North will be terribly expensive, Lord Tywin, because runic magic will be the primary driving force behind every construction, road, and fortress. But I know what is truly crossing your mind right now. You wish to know which castle Ned will inherit, to understand what lands and titles your future grandchildren will possess.
Tywin leaned slightly forward, not denying the statement. Blood politics was his life.
— As my uncle Ned is the supreme leader of all Northern armies — I continued, keeping my voice firm —, he carries a vital and extremely costly defense responsibility for our kingdom. Therefore, the Shield of the North will suit him perfectly.
Ned's eyes widened, immediately understanding the geographical reference.
— So you are giving me Moat Cailin, Arawyn?
— Exactly, uncle. And that is precisely why we will need a colossal amount of gold and specialists from the West. I am not going to hand you a swampy ruin falling to pieces to rule with your new wife. We are going to rebuild Moat Cailin from scratch, turning it into an impenetrable runic fortress that will make the kings of the past look like mere builders of huts. And while the monumental works take place over the next few years, you and Cersei will live comfortably in Winterfell, without any kind of problem.
The conversation extended into logistical details. We discussed the wages of the miners coming from the West, the supply routes, and the exact type of mineral we would extract first. I noticed a glimmer of greed and veiled concern in Tywin's eyes, fearing that the North would enrich itself to the point of rivaling the gold of Casterly Rock. I gave a sideways smile and decided to reassure him with a touch of irony.
— You don't need to worry about losing your position as the richest man in the world, Lord Tywin. The first major vein we are going to exploit is not gold, but rather silver of extremely high purity, ideal for conducting runic energy. We have no intention of stealing the fame and golden glow of the West.
Tywin visibly relaxed his shoulders and gave a rare, subtle nod of approval, satisfied with the terms of a partnership that would benefit both houses without threatening the sovereignty of his coffers.
Our arrival at White Harbor was a grand spectacle. The banners with the grey wolf and the white merman fluttered under the grey sky, while the local population packed the docks to greet the return of the King of Winter. However, my mind was not interested in prolonged festivities; I longed only for my home. After a necessary day of rest and an opulent feast offered by House Manderly at the New Castle, we organized the royal retinue and headed without delay toward Winterfell.
Seeing the colossal and familiar dark granite walls of my home rising in the distance against the frozen horizon filled my chest with an indescribable sense of relief. Finally, we were home. Beside me rode Ned and his bride Cersei, along with the Lannister retinue and the proud lords of the North who had marched with me to the edges of Dorne. Near the great gates of the fortress, I spotted the camps of the Northern troops who had fought in the war; the vast majority of the soldiers had already completed their return journey and were now resting on safe soil.
We entered the main courtyard to the loud and warm cheers of the soldiers and the people of the Winter Town. As soon as I dismounted my horse, a wave of absolute respect took over the place: guards, servants, and nobles bowed in unison before my presence. My uncle Benjen Stark stepped forward, a proud smile crossing his young face.
— Winterfell is yours, my king. The entire North celebrates your return.
I stepped closer, made him rise, and wrapped him in a tight, brotherly embrace.
— You did an exceptional job ruling the castle in our absence, Benjen. Now you can finally relax.
Behind me, Benjen ran to hug Ned tightly. Soon after, he approached the royal litter where Lyanna Stark was settled. My aunt stepped out of the carriage, holding with extreme delicacy a small bundle wrapped in thick blankets against her chest. Seeing his sister alive and healthy, bringing in her arms the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen, Benjen burst into emotional tears, embracing her with a tenderness that pain had stolen from our family for far too long.
I approached the formal reception. A maid held out a silver tray containing bread and salt. I took the food and personally handed it to Lord Tywin Lannister and Cersei, officially welcoming them under the ancient and inviolable laws of Guest Right. I looked at the castle steward and maester and firmly ordered:
— Accompany our guests of honor and ensure they are settled in the most comfortable and warmest quarters of Winterfell.
The castle had changed absolutely nothing in the years I had been away campaigning in the south. Its ancient stones continued to exude the comforting warmth of the hot springs that ran through its bowels. After a necessary day of rest for everyone to recover from the exhausting journey, the marriage of Ned Stark and Cersei Lannister was finally performed. The ceremony took place according to the purest traditions of the North: simple, swift, and devoid of the futilities and ostentatiousness of the southern faiths. They joined their lives before the immense and ancient Heart Tree of the Godswood, under the watchful and eternal eyes of the Old Gods.
At dawn the next day, as I walked through the corridors of the castle, I noticed that the time my uncle Ned had spent in the Vale of Arryn alongside Robert Baratheon had certainly not been wasted. The expression of extreme satisfaction and the restrained smile on Cersei Lannister's face made it clear that the quiet wolf possessed as much vigor between the sheets as he displayed on the battlefields.
But time waited for no one, and the geopolitical winter demanded haste. After a brief period of rest, I began working on the true restructuring and improvement of the North. My first act was to focus on myself: I began the process of updating my own bodily runes. Although they looked like permanent black ink tattoos, my magic allowed me to easily dissolve and remove them without leaving scars. I sat in isolation in the Godswood and carved new and complex runic sequences into my skin, using advanced formulas that would ensure my power flowed without restriction for many years before becoming obsolete. With my magical capacity fully restored and expanded, I turned my attention to the quality of life of my people.
The first and most urgent priority was to drastically increase the fertility of the North's agricultural lands, ensuring our fields could produce food even under the harsh cold. This process proved relatively easy to solve with the right technology. Using the first high-quality gemstones extracted from the new mines we had opened with the help of the specialists from the West, I carved ancient runes of earth, warmth, and growth into each of the jewels. These runic stones were then distributed and buried deep within the center of the arable fields across the entire Northern territory, purifying the soil and ensuring abundant and constant harvests.
Due to the colossal scale of this project, I realized I could not do everything alone. I was forced to found a new and select institution in the kingdom: the Order of the Runeforgers. I gathered talented and loyal individuals, personally teaching them to manipulate mystical energies and carve the symbols functionally—after all, runic magic did not consist merely of copying a geometric design onto stone; it was necessary to channel intention and life force for the power to awaken. Obviously, all members of this order were bound by severe magical contracts and unbreakable blood oaths, ensuring that this supreme knowledge would never fall into the hands of anyone outside the North.
Unlike Winterfell, which enjoyed the natural heat of the underground springs, the other castles of my vassal lords were terribly cold, damp, and uncomfortable places for most of the year. Capitalizing on the knowledge of my new Runeforgers, I began working on installing runic heating systems into the stone structures of fortresses such as the Dreadfort, Last Hearth, and Greywater Watch, taking the opportunity to weave powerful defensive protection barriers that made the castles immune to conventional sieges and mystical invasions.
On the family front, blood alliances showed their effectiveness quickly. Cersei Lannister fulfilled her dynastic role with pride and excellence, bringing her first child into the world at the end of that year. The boy was named Robb Stark, a direct tribute from Ned to his great childhood friend, Robert Baratheon. The boy was born with an impressive appearance: he possessed the bright, golden-blonde hair characteristic of the Lannisters, but sported the deep, stormy grey eyes that belonged exclusively to the Starks. And, to the absolute surprise of all the maesters and the court, just one year after the birth of the heir, Cersei gave birth to healthy and vigorous twin girls, who were named Myrcella and Sansa Stark.
The North was enriching itself by leaps and bounds, infrastructure was advancing like an unstoppable storm, and our royal family was expanding with strong and blessed blood. However, I knew we could not stagnate. We had to strike while the iron was hot, continuing the process of economic, military, and industrial expansion of our kingdom. Fortunately, I had my pack firmly united by my side to face the challenges that destiny held for the world. After all, as the most sacred saying of our blood went: when the winter comes and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.