Chapter 54: The North Stirs

Spring, 301 AC

The North had always been slow to change. The mountains stood tall, the rivers ran deep, and the people held to their old ways with quiet, stubborn pride. But now, with word of Aemon Targaryen's conquest of King's Landing, the winds of change swept through Winterfell like a winter storm.

Roose Bolton's Unease

At Winterfell, Roose Bolton sat in the great hall, rereading the message that had arrived that morning. The words were simple, yet their implications were profound.

Tywin Lannister is dead. The Iron Throne belongs to Aemon Targaryen.

He exhaled slowly. His cold, calculating mind immediately went to work.

"A Targaryen with Stark blood," he murmured, fingers drumming against the wooden table.

The North had been fractured since the Red Wedding. The Boltons had taken Winterfell, but they had no love from the people. Fear, yes. But fear could only last so long before it turned to hate. And now, the trueborn nephew of Eddard Stark sat the Iron Throne.

Aemon was no Southern king to the Northerners. He was family.

Roose knew what this meant. House Bolton's hold on the North was slipping.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Ramsay Snow, his bastard, strode in, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "Good news, father?"

Roose handed him the letter without a word. Ramsay read it, his grin faltering. "So the little dragon finally took the throne."

Silence hung between them.

"Should we declare for him?" Ramsay asked, though his voice dripped with disdain.

Roose's pale blue eyes flickered toward his son. "Not yet."

Ramsay laughed. "You're afraid."

Roose's expression remained unreadable. "I'm careful."

The Riverlands Stir

Beyond Winterfell, in the Riverlands, another group of men sat in whispered conversation. The lords who had once fought under Robb Stark gathered again, their faith rekindled.

"He's half Stark," said Lord Jason Mallister, his voice heavy with longing. "He's one of ours."

"He's a dragon," another voice argued. "A southerner still."

"And yet he fights against the Lannisters. He fights against the Freys," countered Ser Edmure Tully, his eyes burning with renewed hope. "The Red Wedding is not forgotten. And neither are we."

The lords of the Riverlands exchanged glances. The realm had changed, but their hunger for vengeance remained.

Aemon's Message to the North

Far away, at Dragonstone, Aemon penned a letter under the glow of candlelight.

To Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch,The war for the South is over, but the war for the North has yet to begin. The usurpers who betrayed my cousin still hold Winterfell. The Boltons have no right to rule my family's home.

I have heard whispers of my youngest cousin, Rickon Stark. If he lives, he is the rightful Stark heir. Find him.

House Stark must not fade from the North. Send word when you have him. I will not abandon our kin.

Sealing the letter with the Targaryen sigil, Aemon handed it to a raven keeper.

"Fly fast," he murmured, watching as the bird disappeared into the night.

The North would rise again.