Chapter 4: The Gatherlng

The tents of Winter Town now surrounded Winterfell.

More and more people flooded into Winter Town. After the houses were completely sold out, Eddard ordered tents to accommodate the newcomers, though he knew this was only a temporary solution. Winter Town needed to expand.

Eddard walked through the bustling streets, where shepherds with their flocks, swineherds driving pigs, and farmers hauling carts of grain knelt to show their respect. The phrase he heard most often was, "Lord Eddard, please, you must take us in."

When winter came, Winter Town would be their only hope of survival.

"Don't worry," Eddard said, raising his right fist. "I swear on my honor that I will lead you to a better life."

Those who had bought houses began repairing them, while others cultivated the land they had purchased, planting seeds and sowing hope.

Winter Town was mostly made up of wooden houses. Being near the Wolfswood, timber was plentiful, while stone was costly and scarce.

Eddard recruited a thousand men to cut timber from the Wolfswood and used Winterfell's stored lumber to start building new houses. Few among the workers were carpenters or stonemasons, but constructing simple homes didn't require many skilled laborers.

However, Eddard envisioned Winter Town growing into a city. He planned to build stables for warhorses, forges for crafting weapons and armor, and barracks for training soldiers. These essential military structures couldn't be made of wood—wooden buildings were too prone to fire. Stone was safer and more durable, but to realize his plans, Winterfell needed more skilled craftsmen.

To celebrate the birth of his youngest son, Rickon, Eddard hosted a grand feast at Winterfell. Lords from across the North soon began to arrive.

The first to arrive was Lord Medger Cerwyn of Castle Cerwyn, a half-day's ride from Winterfell. He brought a contingent of cavalry and wagons filled with grain, corn, and a cart of battle axes as gifts. Lord Cerwyn looked around in astonishment at the bustling streets.

"Lord Eddard, have we already entered winter? Even during winter, I've never seen Winter Town this lively."

Next came Lord Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte, accompanied by his brother Robett Glover and a retinue of cavalry. The fist of House Glover fluttered on their banners. Alongside them were leaders of the Wolfswood clans—the Forresters, the Woods, the Branchs, and others—all vassals of House Glover.

Their gifts included wagons of salmon, abalone, wild boar meat, and furs. Their forested and coastal lands offered little farmland, so their tribute consisted mainly of game and seafood.

Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort followed, his cavalry riding beneath the flayed man banner of House Bolton. His gifts included fox pelts, mole pelts, deer hides, and finely crafted fur coats.

Theon Greyjoy couldn't resist a jab. "Lord Bolton, these pelts must be the work of your flaying knives. Did you skin these yourself?"

Roose Bolton fixed Theon with his pale eyes and smirked without answering.

Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor arrived with an impressive entourage of six hundred cavalry clad in steel, drawing curious stares from the townsfolk.

The Greatjon Umber of Last Hearth came next, standing nearly seven feet tall—almost as tall as Hodor, Winterfell's simple-minded stableboy. His son, Smalljon, was even taller. The Umbers' party consisted of towering men, fueling rumors that they carried giant blood. Their gifts included beef, seal pelts, and ten wagons of grain.

Lord Halys Hornwood brought venison, antlers, and deer hides. Lord Locke of Oldcastle presented seafood from the Bite.

Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island arrived in armor, accompanied by her daughter, Dacey. Their offerings included bear pelts and fish from the icy waters surrounding their home.

Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold came bearing wild boar, mead, and grain. House Karstark was, after all, a cadet branch of House Stark.

Lord Wyman Manderly, as rotund as a mountain with sausage-like fingers and a belly that seemed to hold all of White Harbor, was known as "Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse." His gifts were lavish: fruits from the Vale, honey and melons from the Reach, golden wine from the Arbor, fire wine from Myr, perfumes from Pentos, lobsters, crabs, whale oil, a finely crafted baby carriage, and wooden toys for Rickon.

The mountain clans were equally generous. Chiefs like Wull, Liddle, and Flint brought goats, goat milk, venison, pheasants, fur coats, and amber ornaments.

Lord Rodrik Ryswell of the Rills gifted fifty warhorses, freshwater fish, and grain. His daughter, Lady Barbrey Dustin of Barrowton, accompanied him—a surprise, as she often "fell ill" whenever invited to Winterfell's festivities.

Barbrey wore a black gown, the color of mourning. Her pale face and cold expression made her seem shrouded in death. Her gifts—wilted greens, yellowed turnips, and shriveled parsnips—drew disapproving whispers.

The Greatjon scoffed, "Barbrey, this is all you bring for Lord Eddard's son? Stingy as ever."

Lord Wyman added, "It's harvest season, and you bring greens? Truly disappointing, Lady Barbrey."

Barbrey smiled icily. "I apologize, but Ironborn raiders recently burned some of our granaries. Besides, we must prepare for the Barrowton rituals to honor our First King. Lord Wyman, you wouldn't understand—you're a southron who prays to the Seven."

The jovial Wyman turned red. House Manderly, though Northern in loyalty, remained isolated by their faith in the Seven.

Lord Medger Cerwyn interjected, "Lady Barbrey, you've scared poor Lord Wyman. And it's bad luck to speak of the dead at a celebration."

Barbrey's smile didn't waver. "We in Barrowton live beneath the First King's tomb. We never forget the dead. Without death, there can be no life. Lord Medger, perhaps you've forgotten the First Men's ancestors, but I have not."

Chief Wull, a large, red-bearded man, growled, "What's wrong with you, woman? We're here to celebrate Lord Eddard's son, not talk about graves!"

The other mountain clansmen, along with Lady Maege Mormont, echoed his frustration, until Lord Rodrik Ryswell stepped in to calm the tension.

Catelyn Stark stood beside Eddard, cradling baby Rickon. She shook her head in disgust. "That widow is insufferable. Speaking of the dead at Rickon's feast—wearing black like a silent sister."

Eddard sighed. "She's a troublesome widow indeed."

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