Chapter 6 - Winter Town

The morning air was crisp as Robb Stark strode through the stone halls of Winterfell, the lingering cold nipping at his skin. He had risen early, restless with thoughts of what more he could do for the North. His father's court session had revealed many of the struggles faced by the people—grain shortages in certain regions, roads in need of repair, the price of goods rising with each passing season. Winter Town, the settlement that lay in the shadow of Winterfell's walls, was the heart of the North's commerce, its lifeblood. If he was to rule one day, he needed to understand his people.

The castle had begun to stir; servants bustled about, maesters and stewards moving to start the day's tasks. As Robb rounded the corner toward the main hall, a familiar voice called out.

"You're walking with purpose this morning," Lyanna Mormont remarked, stepping into stride beside him. She was dressed in a dark grey tunic and riding leathers, her brown hair pulled into a simple braid. Though she was younger than him by a year, she carried herself like a seasoned warrior.

Robb found himself caught off guard by Lyanna's sudden appearance. The morning light streaming through the castle windows caught her features in ways he hadn't noticed during their sparring match. Her emerald eyes sparkled with intelligence and determination, matching the confident set of her jaw. She moved with the grace of a trained fighter, yet there was an undeniable elegance to her movements that spoke of noble breeding.

Her height surprised him - she stood nearly as tall as he did, her athletic frame carrying both strength and a natural poise that many ladies of the court lacked. The simple braid that contained her dark waves seemed to emphasize rather than diminish her beauty, drawing attention to her high cheekbones and full lips.

Robb caught himself staring and quickly looked ahead. This wasn't the delicate, demure beauty of southern ladies - Lyanna embodied something fiercer, more striking. Like the North itself, there was a wild majesty to her that demanded respect rather than mere admiration.

He found himself struggling to maintain his usual composure. The memory of their sparring match took on new meaning - her fluid movements, the flash in her eyes as their swords had met, the way she'd stood fearless before him despite his reputation with a blade. Beautiful and deadly, like the winter roses that bloomed in Winterfell's glass gardens.

Robb replied. "That obvious, is it?"

Lyanna shrugged. "You're not heading for the training yard, and you're not rushing to break your fast. So where are you off to?"

"Winter Town."

That caught her attention. "On your own?"

"I want to see it for myself," Robb explained. "Not just hear about it in court or through reports. I need to understand what our people face."

Lyanna considered that for a moment before giving a firm nod. "I'll come with you."

Robb raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"Because if you're going to talk about helping the people, I want to see if you actually mean it," she replied with a challenging grin. "Besides, I'd like to see Winter Town myself. I hear the blacksmiths there are some of the best in the North."

Robb chuckled. "Very well. But if you slow me down—"

"I won't."

They made their way toward the stables, passing through the courtyard where stable hands were tending to the horses. The scent of hay and damp earth filled the air, the sounds of snorting horses and clinking metal ringing around them. As they reached the stalls, two familiar figures leaned against the fence, deep in conversation.

Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy turned at their approach.

"Leaving without us, are you?" Theon drawled, crossing his arms. "That hurts, Robb."

"Figured you'd still be in bed, Greyjoy," Robb shot back with a smirk.

Jon, ever observant, eyed the horses being prepared. "Winter Town?"

Robb nodded.

"I'm coming," Jon said simply, already moving toward his mount.

Theon exhaled dramatically. "And here I was hoping for a day of peace, but fine. Might as well see if they've got any decent new wine in town."

"You do realize it's still morning?" Lyanna asked, unimpressed.

"And?"

She shook her head, muttering something about "Ironborn and their habits."

Within minutes, they had their horses saddled and ready. Robb mounted his stallion, Storm, while Lyanna took her own black mare. Jon rode beside them on his usual grey destrier, and Theon followed, grinning like he had nothing better to do.

As they set off through the gates, the town lay ahead of them—a vast settlement sprawling beyond the walls of Winterfell, its streets bustling even at this early hour. Smoke curled from chimneys, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meats mingling with the crisp northern air. Merchants were already setting up their stalls, blacksmiths hammering steel, and townsfolk going about their daily lives.

As they rode into Winter Town, Robb Stark took in the sight before him—the bustling heart of the North. Unlike the grand keeps of noble houses, the town was a living, breathing place, filled with craftsmen, traders, hunters, and laborers who called it home. Smoke curled from chimneys of timber and stone houses, and the streets were alive with the clatter of wooden carts, the calls of merchants hawking their wares, and the laughter of children darting between stalls.

The settlement, nestled just beyond Winterfell's walls, had swelled in population over the centuries, nearing 450,000 souls—a mixture of Northerners, hill clansmen, and even some Free Folk who had settled under the Stark banner. Unlike the southern cities, where gold ruled above all, Winter Town was held together by kinship, honor, and necessity.

As Robb and his companions passed through, people paused, eyes widening at the sight of the Stark heir riding among them. A few inclined their heads in respect, while others, recognizing Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy, called out with familiar jests.

"Good to see the Young Wolf among his pack!" called a burly man from his stall, offering a nod of approval.

Theon, ever the showman, flashed a grin. "And what about me, eh?"

"Keep your hands out of my coin purse, Greyjoy, and maybe I'll greet you properly next time," the merchant shot back, prompting a round of laughter from those nearby.

Lyanna, riding beside Robb, smirked. "You're popular."

"Better infamous than forgotten," Theon quipped.

Robb, however, was focused on the town itself. His gaze swept over the wooden homes, noting how some bore signs of needed repairs. The roads, while well-traveled, could use reinforcement before the next heavy snowfall. Though trade was lively, he could see that some stalls had fewer goods than others, likely due to the ongoing grain shortages in the outlying villages.

"Do you see it?" Jon asked quietly beside him.

Robb nodded. "The town is thriving, but it could be better. Roads, grain supply, housing—there's much to improve."

Lyanna gestured toward a group of children chasing one another near a well. Their clothes were thick, but some were patched and worn, a sign of the harsh northern life. "The people get by, but I wager many of them rely on trade from the holdfasts. If the shipments slow during winter, they'll struggle."

"We should speak to the merchants," Robb decided. "See where shortages are hitting hardest."

Theon exhaled. "Business already? At least let us find a decent drink first."

"Later," Robb said with a grin. "First, we learn."

They dismounted near the town's central market, handing their horses off to a stable boy who eyed Fenrir warily. The black direwolf padded close to Robb's side, his presence enough to clear a path as they walked. The other direwolves had been left behind, though Jon's Ghost was never far, lingering in the shadows near his master.

The market was alive with activity. Fishmongers sold freshly caught trout from the White Knife, bakers peddled warm loaves of honeyed bread, and blacksmiths displayed fine steel blades and hunting knives. There was a steady flow of trade, but Robb could see that some merchants had fewer goods than usual—a troubling sign.

They stopped near an elderly woman selling wool cloaks and furs, her wrinkled hands deftly stitching as she spoke with another customer. Robb stepped forward, offering a polite nod.

"Good day, my lady," he greeted.

The woman looked up, her sharp eyes widening as she recognized him. "Lord Robb? Ah, I should have known. You have your father's presence."

He smiled. "And I hope his patience, as well."

The woman chuckled. "That remains to be seen, my lord. What brings you to the market?"

"I wanted to see the town with my own eyes," Robb admitted, glancing at the rows of fur-lined cloaks. "How has business been?"

The woman exhaled. "Steady, but not as strong as last year. The trappers from the mountains are bringing in fewer pelts. They say the roads near the Wolfswood have been difficult—something about bandits near the northern passes."

"Bandits?" Jon frowned.

"Aye. They raid travelers, mostly small merchants. The watchmen have done their best, but the roads outside the holdfasts aren't always safe."

Robb absorbed that information. "And the grain supply? I've heard there have been shortages."

"Aye," she said grimly. "The river shipments have slowed, and what does arrive costs more than it should. Folk grumble about it, but what choice do we have? We endure."

"Enduring isn't the same as thriving," Lyanna muttered beside him.

Robb nodded. "I'll speak with the holdfasts and the watchmen. No Northerner should suffer while we have the means to help."

The woman smiled. "You are your father's son."

Robb felt the weight of her words settle on him. If he was to lead one day, he had to earn the trust of these people—not as a lord behind castle walls, but as one who understood their struggles.

Nearby, Theon eyed a passing vendor selling roasted meat skewers. "Are we allowed to eat now, or is this still business?"

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "You think of nothing but food."

"And drink," Theon added, grinning.

Robb laughed, shaking his head. "Fine, let's eat. But afterward, we speak with the watchmen. I want to know how bad these bandit raids truly are."

The four of them moved toward the food stalls, their purpose clear.