The Next Step

He stood at the edge of the training yard near the Stark mansion in Maekarton. The grand structure loomed behind him, an imposing sight with its sprawling edifice, sturdy stone walls, and high, arched windows. Its towers and turrets reached skyward, capped with steeply pitched roofs. Workers still labored on its exterior, adding carvings and other finishing touches.

In the yard, he practiced with a warhammer, a weapon he had been refamiliarizing himself with since the rebellion ended. He swung it with precision and strength, each blow resonating with a solid thud as it struck the large tree stump in front of him.

He had experienced a growth spurt in the last year since the rebellion ended. Now he had the perfect build to easily wield heavier and larger weapons. He swung the warhammer again, his movements fluid—a blend of brute strength and controlled finesse. He spun the warhammer, using its momentum to his advantage, and brought it crashing down in a powerful arc onto the tree stump, which was now all but broken apart.

He paused to catch his breath. As he stood there panting, he heard a voice from behind. "Good, now time to test if you can use it in a fight." He turned to see Jory Cassel, who stood behind him with a friendly smile on his face and a sword in hand.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned. "Yes, let's."

Jory had been helping him train for the entire year. He had been made captain of the guards in Maekarton by Uncle Brandon.

They walked to the center of the yard. He lifted the warhammer and nodded to Jory to start the spar. Jory began circling him, testing his defenses.

"You should have kept training with it," Jory said playfully, feinting a few strikes to gauge his response.

Jory was referencing his decision to stop training with heavier weapons two years ago to focus on using the spear. It was a mistake on his part, as he found out that using the spear was very difficult during the rebellion.

He chuckled. "I know, it was my mistake to focus solely on the spear. But hey, by the end of this, I'll have mastered both the warhammer and the spear."

Their spar then began in earnest. Jory was quick and nimble, using his sword to deflect and parry the heavy swings. He, on the other hand, relied on his strength and the sheer power of his warhammer. He surprised Jory by moving so fast with such a cumbersome weapon.

After several exchanges, he began to find his rhythm. He anticipated Jory's moves, countering with precise strikes. He swung the warhammer in a wide arc, forcing Jory to dodge to the side. Seizing the opportunity, he followed up with a swift thrust, catching Jory off guard and knocking him to the ground.

Breathing heavily, he extended a hand to help Jory up. "Good one. You are learning quickly," Jory said with a grin, accepting the help.

"You've been a great help, Jory," he replied, a smile on his face. "I think I need a few more years to truly master it."

Jory laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "No one can claim to truly master anything, my prince. We learn something new every day."

They heard sounds of applause from the sidelines.

"Looks like we have an audience," Jory said, motioning to a group of men and women he recognized as the Karstark brothers and their sister, who was there with her handmaidens. The Karstarks had arrived two days ago, en route to Winterfell, and had decided to stop by Maekarton.

His eyes were drawn to Alys Karstark. She was tall and skinny, her brown hair neatly braided down her back. She had a small chest and a pale complexion, her face long and her chin pointy. Her blue-grey eyes were striking, set against the fairness of her skin. As their eyes met, he saw her blush and quickly look away.

She had been like that since their arrival here. Her brothers frequently praised her virtues whenever they spoke with him, extolling her beauty, grace, and skills. It was clear what they were trying to do, subtly suggesting a match between him and Alys, but he remained polite. He did not want to offend his uncle's loyal vassals, the Karstarks being among the most powerful.

He walked over to them, acknowledging their presence with a nod. "Harrion, Eddard, Torhen," he greeted them warmly before turning to Alys. "Lady Alys."

"Well fought, Prince Maekar," Harrion Karstark said with a broad smile. "You've always been impressive with a weapon in hand."

"Thank you, Lord Harrion," he replied, his gaze flickering to Alys for a moment. "Your kind words are appreciated."

Alys's blush deepened, and she curtsied slightly. "Your skills are truly remarkable, my prince."

"Thank you, my lady," Maekar said, a warm smile on his face.

The Karstark brothers exchanged glances, clearly pleased with the interaction. He looked over the brothers, noting their attire for training: sturdy leather jerkins, thick woolen tunics, and trousers designed for ease of movement, all in the muted greys and blues typical of the Karstarks.

"So, up for a spar?" he asked.

Harrion answered, "Would be a coward if I said no to that."

"Do you begin this early?" Eddard asked, noting the sun was just coming up.

He laughed. "Yes, I have been training with the warhammer. I stopped training with it two years ago and started again after the rebellion ended."

"We would be honored to spar with the Prince of Winter. I am good with the warhammer myself," Torhen said with a smile.

He returned the smile. "Come then," he said, lifting up his weapon.

They walked off to the yard again and began sparring. It was a good session; the brothers were skilled and gave him a proper challenge.

As the ladies left, he and the Karstark brothers wound down their sparring. They walked towards the mansion, Harrion and Eddard ribbing Torhen for losing all his spars with him.

"Maybe next time, Tor," Harrion teased.

"Yes, you'll get there eventually," Eddard added with a grin.

"Shut up," Torhen said, pushing Eddard away.

As they walked, he reflected on the growing importance of the Karstarks in recent years. They had begun building a fleet in the east with Winterfell's help to protect the ships going north for the ice trade. They had also established trade connections with Braavos. A small rivalry had begun between the Manderlys and the Karstarks, a competition that could have been more intense if Cregan had been a bit older or if both houses had daughters near Cregan's age.

"Maekarton is surely to grow into a large city," Harrion remarked, looking towards the town.

"Yes, it has the potential, but it will take time," he replied.

He had shown them the paper mills and the textile factories the day before, and Harrion had expressed interest in starting something similar in their lands. The lords of the North had noticed the sudden increase in wealth after the start of the textile factories. As they reached the mansion, they went their separate ways, promising to go for a ride in the evening to see the new buildings that were being constructed up the river.

Stepping into his chambers, he began removing his clothes. His chambers were not opulently furnished, but it had a good, sturdy wooden bed, a large oak desk, a plush rug covering the floor, and a small fireplace which crackled softly with the dying embers of the fire from the night before.

He noticed that the maids had already set up his bath. As he entered, he saw one of the maids bending over the bathtub. His eyes were immediately drawn to her large ass, which swayed tantalizingly, her curvaceous form highlighted by the soft light from the small window.

He quickly shook his head, scolding himself internally. 'No, she's married. Stop it,' he thought.

He sighed. It was times like this he missed Ros. It had been a few months since she left for King's Landing to start a high-end brothel on Silk Street. Apparently, it was her lifelong dream to become the madame of her own establishment.

The arrangement was part of his larger plan to establish a spy network in the capital. He had given her a substantial amount of gold and sent trained men with her for security. She was supposed to make contact with him within three months after leaving, so he was expecting a report soon.

The maids finished their tasks and left the room. He undressed completely and slipped into the bathtub, letting the hot water soothe his muscles. He let his mind go blank and relaxed into the tub he had a long day ahead.

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After a long and relaxing bath, he dressed himself and headed to a room he had been using as an office of sorts. The room was in disarray, with papers and parchments scattered across the large table. Most of the parchments were from Euron's ship, which he had been painstakingly going through over months to uncover what the madman's plan was.

So far, he was able to confirm what he already had guessed: Euron was obsessed with binding a dragon to him. The most disturbing detail he discovered was Euron's knowledge of the White Walkers and his belief that he could achieve godhood through them somehow. Euron's writings were often incoherent, but the mere mention of the White Walkers was enough to unsettle him. He had held out hope that they might not exist in this world, considering the changes from what he remembered, but he was still on the lookout for any strange news from the Wall. So far, there has been none.

The others were coming, he was sure of that. Now he needed to find the dragon again or try to hatch one.

No one knew about the dragon from Skagos. So far, it seemed even his brother did not know...or he simply chose not to tell anyone.

The prevailing belief among the nobles and smallfolk was that Euron had intended to sacrifice Aegon to open the doors to the Seven Hells, and that he had bravely stopped the mad Greyjoy, saving his brother in the process. Many songs were being sung about his heroism now, some of which were his own doing, as he paid bards to spread songs about him throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

As he began clearing out his desk, one of Luwin's acolytes entered, holding a stack of letters and a large package.

"This came with the merchant caravan, my prince," the acolyte said.

"Place it on the table," Maekar replied.

The acolyte did as he was told.

"And this was brought here by a rider from White Harbor," he said, placing another letter on the table.

The acolyte bowed and left the room, leaving him alone again. He glanced at the stack of letters and the large package and sat down on the nearby chair to begin reading through them.

One of the letters which caught his attention was from a merchant who worked for the Stark family. It was a request and plea for help. It detailed how the merchant had lost a significant amount of money due to pirates in the Stepstones seizing a ship he had hired.

The chaos in the Stepstones was escalating, with the Martell fleet no longer patrolling the area and the Three Daughters seemingly paying pirates to attack one another. The anarchy in the region was becoming a serious issue for trade.

He sighed, knowing that dealing with the situation in the Stepstones was beyond his immediate control. All the fleets in Westeros were still recovering from the rebellion. Still, this issue needed to be resolved quickly.

After going through the letters, he took the one the acolyte said was brought by a rider from White Harbor.

He carefully unfolded the letter, recognizing Ros's neat handwriting on the pages, and began reading.

My prince,

I am pleased to report that the brothel has been successfully established. I've named it the Scarlet Pearl. The location is perfect, and it has already attracted a steady stream of clients. Business is thriving, and the establishment's reputation is growing rapidly. My main competition is a brothel run by a Summer Islander. They cater to a different clientele, so we are not directly at odds.

I'm running the Scarlet Pearl with all the rules you laid down for me. The staff is well-trained, and we are ensuring that our clients receive the best possible service.

Now, for the news from the Red Keep.

Your sister Rhaenys has returned to the capital, and her arrival has stirred quite a bit of gossip. The most persistent rumors concern Prince Aegon and his health. Some say he is recovering well, while others whisper that his condition is far worse than what is officially stated.

It seems the crown prince is not getting along with his Dornish family.

The court is also expecting your arrival, my prince. I do not know if you have already received the invitation back to the capital by your father, but it seems the court is expecting you back.

Your faithful servant,

Ros

"The fuck," he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

"I am expected back? What does she mean I am expected back?" he said again to the empty room. He had received no message from his father to return to the capital.

'Something is going on,' he thought.

His gaze then shifted to the large package. He picked it up; its weight and size piqued his curiosity.

Opening it, he found an assortment of strange trinkets and a ring. Each item seemed more peculiar than the last. Inside, there was a letter bearing the Targaryen seal.

"Uncle Viserys," he murmured.

He unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Nephew,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been far too long since we last corresponded, and I have much to share about Allyria's and my adventures here in Essos.

Our journey has taken us through Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, Volantis, and now we find ourselves in Qohor.

I trust that you are well and that your endeavors in the North continue to bring you success and honor, especially after that deal I helped you secure in Braavos three years ago.

Most of the letter was about his travels and describing what he saw in the free cities reading this made him want to travel around Essos like his uncle.

Some parts really captured his attention.

From my journey from Essaria to Qohor, I have been accompanied by some red priests and priestesses of R'hllor. Their religion reminds me of Rhaegar's ramblings. They have been telling me and Allyria about the Great Other and the Prince That Was Promised. They are interesting traveling partners, but we are finding them rather tiresome, especially for me as they remind me of my brother, your father.

I write to you now with an invitation. I plan to return to Westeros within a few months, perhaps a year at the most. When I do, I would like to visit Dragonstone, and I hope that you will be able to join me there, as you are now a grown man.

As a token of my affection, I have enclosed some gifts. Among them are a few trinkets that I have collected during my travels. One of the red priestesses in particular gave me a ring that she wanted me to gift to you.

I trust that you will find these objects as fascinating as I have.

Until we meet again, stay safe and strong.

Prince Viserys Targaryen

He set the ring down with a smile. Viserys had been inviting him to Dragonstone since he was eight, especially after his grandmother died six years ago. Apparently, his aunt had been wanting to meet him as well. According to his uncle, she was a sweet girl who he wished had more friends.

It was strange thinking of Daenerys Targaryen as anything other than the dragon-riding, breaker of chains Mother of Dragons he knew. He wanted to meet her as well. He examined the ring that his uncle claimed was a gift from a red priestess. The dark red stone at its center seemed to almost glow, an otherworldly aura emanating from it. He quickly put it away; there was no chance he was putting it on.

He put away the package and sat in the chair for a while, his mind drifting back to Ros's letter, especially the part where she mentioned how some nobles in the capital were expecting his return soon.

'How strange,' he thought. It was then he had a realization.

Uncle Brandon.

He might not have received any messages from the Red Keep, but his uncle would have. It all made sense now—the Karstarks, especially Alys. He knew exactly what his uncle was planning.

"Time to have a talk with Uncle Brandon," he muttered to himself, rising from his seat.

It was time to go to Winterfell.

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