6 Greyjoy Rebellion

Third POV

North, Winterfell, 289 AC

Winterfell hummed with the clamor of preparation as bannermen from across the North converged in response to their liege lord's summons. Stark soldiers, a steadfast presence, were stationed outside the castle walls, while other Northern lords had also brought their forces, ready to march south with the Starks. The remaining forces were to rendezvous at Moat Cailin.

Inside his chamber, Ned Stark was a pillar of solemn strength as he consoled his wife and children. He knelt before Robb, his heir, and with a grave yet hopeful tone, imparted his instructions, "Robb, you must lead in my absence. Listen to your advisors, learn to govern. Make me proud—I'll return soon." Robb, struggling to mask his apprehension, puffed out his chest and nodded firmly, "Don't worry, Father. I will keep Winterfell safe until you return." Ned offered a reassuring smile before departing to join the other lords in their final preparations.

In the forge, Cregan was a blur of productivity, skillfully repairing chainmail and crafting arrows. His rapid mastery of blacksmithing had not only impressed but also stunned Mikken, who proudly proclaimed him as his apprentice. Mikken's voice boomed across the clamor, teasing his own son, "Are you still struggling with that armor? Even an eight-year-old outpaces you!" Beren, focusing on a sword, retorted, "Father, he's making arrows and fixing mail. I'm forging swords and shields!" Realizing his harshness, Mikken softened, acknowledging his son's talents, though they paled in comparison to Cregan's.

Mikken had noticed Cregan's curious experiments with leftover scraps of low-quality steel. The boy had crafted a knife, calling it a "chef's knife," with such skill that it rivaled the work of seasoned smiths, its balance and sharpness sending shivers down Mikken's spine. He mused, "This boy could one day mend and reshape Valyrian steel if he continues to grow at this pace."

Reflecting on Cregan's previous words, Mikken now understood the boy's earlier claims of leaving the North if he wanted to seek his fortune as a blacksmith. The limited and inferior steel supplied to Winterfell hardly matched Cregan's burgeoning talent. The real opportunities for a smith of his caliber lay in the richer, more bustling forges of the Reach or King's Landing, where tourneys and royal patronage could bring fame and fortune.

As Ned prepared to depart, and with the forge's fires casting long shadows into the evening, the men of Winterfell readied themselves for the uncertain times ahead, each carrying the weight of their duties with the resolve born of Northern grit.

—-----------

MC POV

As I rose from my bed and surveyed my chamber, I reflected on the profound changes of the past two years. Today, Ned Stark and his men would march to war. Surprisingly, I felt neither fear nor sorrow—emotions that seemed to consume Jon. To me, Ned was a decent man, but not without his weaknesses, which I found distasteful.

Hoster Tully, the head of House Tully and Lord Paramount of the Trident, had sent "gifts" for the celebration of Ned's second daughter's birth—curiously, all young women. It struck me as odd. Was he trying to distract Ned from his daughter through temptations? These southern women were different; unlike the rugged northern women, they had a softness and a cunning use of their voices and bodies to get what they wanted.

The arrival of these women marked a significant shift in Winterfell's dynamics. Under Catelyn's influence, many longstanding servants were dismissed to accommodate these new faces—a move that displeased many, including me. One evening, I caught one of these newcomers attempting to send a raven with a letter that could have seen her executed. It contained mundane details about Catelyn's routines and some high-quality undergarments presumably belonging to her.

Seizing the opportunity, I involved Duncan and his brother Beren as witnesses to her treachery. After verifying the contents of the letter, I confronted her with a choice: work for me or face dire consequences. She chose the former, revealing she had been coerced into her actions by her previous employer, a brothel. This explained much about the unrest and the declining standards at Winterfell.

The ramifications of these changes weren't lost on me. They influenced not only the staff's loyalty but also the strategic dynamics within Winterfell. With these women manipulating the guards, my plans needed adjusting.

I struck a deal with the maester that benefited us both. In exchange for arranging a private room for his nightly visits, he would assist me in accessing rare books from the Citadel—particularly those on the old tongue, which I was determined to master. Old Nan's oral translations had piqued my curiosity about the ancient texts that predated even the Wall. These books spoke of warging and magical rituals that could bind creatures, even potentially humans, to a bloodline—a notion both fascinating and terrifying.

The most practical knowledge I gained was the recipes for potions, like "Warmth Potion," which promised warmth for three days—a crucial advantage in the harsh northern climate.

As I dressed and made my way to the courtyard to bid farewell to Ned and his bannermen, I was drawn into the somber gathering. Ned, spotting me, complimented the quality of the weaponry I had helped produce. "Good job, Cregan. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. Help your brothers and stay out of trouble," he advised, a warmth in his smile that almost reached his eyes.

"I will behave, father," I replied, maintaining a stoic facade. As he mounted his horse and rode off with his guards, I knew the real trials would soon begin. With Ned gone, the true test of my resolve would come—not from external enemies, but from within the walls of Winterfell itself, under the watchful eye of Catelyn Stark.