77 AC
Winterfell
Three days had passed since our return to the familiar stone walls of Winterfell. The journey south on the train had been quieter, each of us lost in our own thoughts about the imposing Wall and Silverwing's inexplicable refusal to cross it. The warmth of Winterfell, though welcome, couldn't entirely dispel the chill memory of the icy barrier and the vast, unknown lands that lay beyond.
Life within the Stark stronghold had settled back into its usual rhythm. The training yards echoed with the clang of steel, the great hall buzzed with the daily business of running a vast Northern territory, and the libraries held their silent vigil of accumulated knowledge. Yet, for me, the experience at the Wall lingered, a perplexing enigma that I couldn't quite shake. I found myself often gazing northward from the castle ramparts, imagining that colossal wall of ice and the secrets it guarded. Silverwing, too, seemed more restless than usual, his powerful form often seen circling high above Winterfell, his golden eyes frequently directed towards the distant north.
"Lord Theon," I began, my gaze thoughtful, "what could possibly be the reason for Silverwing's refusal to cross the Wall? He has flown to the far corners of the known world without hesitation. Why would this barrier, however immense, deter him?"
Lord Theon Stark, his face etched with the wisdom and weariness of the North, considered my question for a long moment, the flickering firelight dancing in his grey eyes. "Magic," he said finally, his voice low and resonant. "The Wall is an ancient thing, Your Grace. Built not just of ice, but of spells and powerful enchantments woven into its very fabric by those who came long before us."
He continued, his gaze distant, as if looking back through the mists of time. "The stories say that the Wall was raised to keep something out, something dark and ancient. It is possible that there are still wards and protections woven into it, energies that a creature like your dragon, with his own inherent magic, can sense and perhaps cannot, or will not, cross."
"Magic?" I echoed, the word carrying a weight of mystery and power. While dragons themselves were creatures of legend and perhaps magic, the idea of such potent enchantments still existing in this world was something I had only read about in ancient texts.
Lord Theon nodded slowly. "The North remembers, Your Grace. And the Wall... the Wall remembers most of all. There are forces at play here that even we do not fully understand. Perhaps Silverwing senses something, an ancient power woven into the ice, that dictates where he can and cannot go."
Lord Theon shifted in his seat, the warmth of the hearth doing little to ease the deep concern etched on his face. "Speaking of things we do not fully understand, Your Grace," he began, his tone turning grave, "there is a matter that casts a long shadow over the North, a burden that has grown heavier with each passing decade."
I raised an eyebrow, my attention fully captured. "What troubles you so deeply, Lord Theon?"
"The taxes levied upon the Northern territories, Your Grace," he explained, his voice carefully measured but laced with a palpable frustration. "Over the past four decades, we have seen these impositions increase not once, but five times. Each increase, while perhaps appearing incremental in isolation, has collectively placed a crushing weight upon the North. And that is without considering the taxes levied upon goods only north can produce."
He continued, his gaze meeting mine with a plea for understanding. "The North, as you have witnessed firsthand, is a land of vast distances and unforgiving winters. Our harvests are often meager compared to the South, and the cost of transporting goods across our sprawling territories is substantial. These repeated tax hikes have pushed many of the houses struggle to maintain their lands and support their people."
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Fivefold increase over four decades? That was a significant and potentially devastating burden. "Five times?" I echoed, my voice reflecting my surprise and growing concern. "I was not made aware of such a drastic cumulative increase."
"The decrees often came piecemeal, Your Grace," Lord Theon explained, a hint of weariness in his tone. "Each time, framed as a temporary measure or a small contribution to the realm's needs. But the 'temporary' has become permanent, and the 'small contributions' have compounded into an unbearable strain."
He leaned forward, his gaze earnest. "The North has always stood by the Iron Throne, through times of peace and times of war. We have bled for the realm and offered our unwavering loyalty. This ever-increasing tax burden feels like a betrayal of that loyalty, a disregard for the unique hardships we face in this harsh land."
"What has been the stated reason for these repeated increases?" I asked, my mind racing, trying to understand the rationale behind such a potentially damaging policy.
"Various reasons have been given over the years, Your Grace," Lord Theon replied, a touch of cynicism in his voice. "Funding for royal projects, bolstering the defenses of the realm, supporting the costs of war in the South. Each time, the North has shouldered its share, believing in the greater good. But this cumulative burden is now threatening to break the back of our economy and the spirit of our people."
"The whispers grow louder with each passing winter, Your Grace," he continued, his voice grave. "Whispers of discontent, of feeling forgotten and exploited. The loyalty of the North, though deep, is not inexhaustible."
I listened intently, the weight of his words pressing down on me. This was far more serious than a simple tax increase. This was a matter of the North's very survival and their relationship with the Iron Throne. "Lord Theon," I said, my voice firm, "you have my solemn promise. I was unaware of the extent of this injustice. Upon my return to King's Landing, this will be the first issue I raise with the Small Council. We will examine the records, understand the reasons behind these increases, and I vow to find a solution that rectifies this burden and ensures the prosperity and loyalty of the North."
Lord Theon's stern features softened slightly, a flicker of hope in his grey eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace. The North has endured much, but your understanding offers a beacon in a long winter." The conversation continued, Lord Theon providing specific examples of the hardships faced by various regions and houses within the North due to the cumulative tax burden, painting a stark picture of the urgent need for redress.
The conversation then meandered to other topics of mutual interest. Lord Theon inquired about the health of my family in King's Landing, and I, in turn, asked about the well-being of his younger children. We discussed the changing seasons and the preparations being made for the coming winter in the North, a topic always at the forefront of Northern minds. He shared some local news and spoke of recent developments in the surrounding territories, while I offered a brief overview of the current political climate in the capital.
The atmosphere remained cordial and respectful, a sense of newfound understanding having blossomed between us during my visit. The initial formality had eased, replaced by a more comfortable and open exchange. We spoke of shared histories and the potential for future cooperation between the North and the South, finding common ground in our hopes for a stable and prosperous realm.
As the afternoon wore on, the demands of our respective duties began to beckon. Lord Theon mentioned the need to attend to matters of his lordship, and I, too, felt the pull of reflection and the preparations I needed to make before my departure. With mutual nods of understanding and polite farewells, we concluded our conversation, each of us retreating to attend to the tasks that awaited us within the vast and bustling stronghold of Winterfell. The shared moments by the hearth had further solidified the bonds forged during this Northern sojourn.
Four days passed swiftly, filled with final farewells and the meticulous packing of our belongings. The sturdy Northern trunks, now holding not only our own possessions but also the valuable gifts and insights gained during our stay, were secured and ready for transport. The atmosphere within our chambers was a blend of anticipation for the journey ahead and a touch of wistfulness at leaving the unique character of the North behind. Our farewells to the Stark family had been heartfelt, a genuine connection forged through shared experiences and mutual respect. Theon Stark had reiterated his hopes for a swift resolution to the tax issue, and I had reaffirmed my commitment to addressing it upon my return. Now, with everything prepared, we awaited the signal for our departure from Winterfell. The train, our mode of transport southward, was scheduled to depart from Wintertown in the early morning hours.
As the first light of the fourth day touched the Northern sky, we commenced our journey southward. The carriages, carrying our retinue and belongings, made their way towards the Wintertown railway station. The familiar rhythm of the Northern rail system soon enveloped us as the train began its long trek south. The landscape outside the windows gradually shifted, the stark beauty of the far North slowly giving way to the more familiar sights of forests and rolling hills.
After a day and a half of steady travel, the train pulled into the small station near Moat Cailin. The ancient ruins, a formidable marker of the North's southern border, loomed in the distance, a silent testament to centuries of history and defense. We disembarked, the air feeling noticeably milder than in Winterfell. Arrangements had been made for our overnight stay within the somewhat restored sections of Moat Cailin, offering a strategic and historically significant resting point.
The following morning, with the first rays of dawn, our party mounted horses and carriages once more. The railway journey had concluded, and the Kingsroad stretched before us, the well-trodden path leading directly south towards King's Landing. The change in pace was palpable, the rhythm of hooves and carriage wheels replacing the steady chugging of the train. With a Northern escort riding alongside us, we began the final leg of our journey, the miles to the capital slowly beginning to diminish with each passing day. The experiences of the North, the imposing Wall, the innovative College, and the earnest concerns of its people, traveled with us, shaping my thoughts and informing the decisions that awaited me in King's Landing.
The journey south along the Kingsroad unfolded at a more measured pace than our swift train travel through the North. The days were long, filled with the steady rhythm of horses' hooves and the creaking of carriage wheels. We passed through small villages and bustling market towns, the landscape gradually transforming from the rugged terrain of the North to the more verdant fields and forests of the Riverlands and the Crownlands. The weather grew warmer with each passing day, the crisp Northern air replaced by a more humid climate.
It was a month and a half after our departure from Winterfell that the familiar, overwhelming aroma of King's Landing finally assaulted my senses. The pungent mix of unwashed bodies, overflowing refuse, and stagnant waterways, a stark contrast to the clean, crisp air of the North, hung heavy in the air as we approached the city gates. Despite the years I had spent within its walls, the unique and unpleasant olfactory signature of the capital never failed to make its presence known. The sights, too, were a familiar assault – the teeming crowds, the narrow, winding streets, and the ever-present bustle of a city far larger and more chaotic than Winterfell. We had returned to the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, and with it, the myriad of duties and intrigues that awaited.