Chapter 49: Act 1: Chapter 39
Twentieth day, Tenth Moon, 250 AC
I followed behind the Castellan as we made our way through Winterfell and started to climb the stone tower that contained Lord Stark's solar. I was the last one to be interviewed and was a bit nervous.
We had arrived late in the day, yesterday, and were individually called today by Lord Stark for meetings. He probably wanted to corroborate everyone's story to make sure they all lined up. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, yet.
Winterfell itself was just as beautiful as it had been when I had last seen it decades earlier. The castle dominated the landscape, and even Wintertown, which was the largest town I had been to in years, was still overshadowed by the castle.
It was interesting, seeing a castle in its prime. Well, maybe not prime, but in active use. Back on Earth, most castles were more mansion or palace than a castle, and the war types were pretty run down – at least the ones that I had seen. They had either been abandoned and fallen to ruin in disuse, or in use but with the outer stones all but falling from the walls. Winterfell was in reasonably good repair even if it hadn't been attacked directly in a long time, though things like the Broken Tower were obviously not in good shape.
It was curious, to me, why the Broken Tower remained unrepaired. I mean, I get that the Starks didn't expect to use the castle in a major war – they hadn't since long before Aegon's Conquest – but after events like Raymun Redbeard coming south of the wall just a year after I started my farm, I figured that ought to have kickstarted some repairs. I know that the North is relatively poor, but funds should have been available for something as fundamental as that. They were even wasting the materials from the ruin. There was plenty of good building rock strewn about the tower that lay unused even after all these years. I had asked the Castellan about it, and he had said that they had only cleaned it up and left it to be reused. When I asked why it was never reused, he had merely shrugged and said he didn't know why that was the case.
Other than that, Winterfell was a vast castle. And not huge as in it has like ten bedrooms in the main keep. Huge as in, it has two monstrous walls surrounding it, the walls spanning several acres, there's a moat in between the walls, and there is a damn forestinside the walls. The legends say that Bran the Builder built all of it, but I think it more likely the main buildings were built by him. It looked like it kept expanding outwards over the centuries – or millennia – especially considering the likely cost of building it. Regardless of its exact origins, it was a timeless design, and it was quintessentially Northern.
I swallowed reflexively as we approached the closed door to the solar. The Castellan knocked and entered at Lord Starks response. The room was a medium-sized room – as in medium in general, not medium in the scale of Winterfell. I could see it being cozy, in another situation, but the people in it made me very nervous. The walls and floor were wood paneled, with decorative paints like my own house and artwork along the walls, accompanied by wolf themed tapestries, and a magnificent looking greatsword was hanging over a large unlit fireplace in the back corner. Lord Stark easily dominated the room, sitting at a large, well-made wooden table in the center of the room. He was a large man, with a long stern face and deep grey eyes, in the likeness of most Starks supposedly. He was surprisingly clean shaven, with long hair, pulled back into a warrior's ponytail. His hair was black with grey overtaking near the temples and the crown of his head. Even seated, I could see he had a very militaristic bearing, and his eyes met mine as I walked in, and I felt judged. It felt as if every out of place hair, that smudge of dirt on my shoes, the slightly frayed hem of my pant leg, and every action I had done or will ever do was examined and summarily judged. After a moment, his eyes flicked away, and he bid for the Castellan to take the remaining seat to his right.
At Lord Stark's left sat an old man. He wore a simple grey robe, with a heavy chain made up of multiple metals around his neck. A Maester then.
The unnamed Maester, looked like he had one foot in the grave, with large bags under his eyes, heavy wrinkles on his face, and a slumped posture. His hands were nimble as he scratched away with a quill on a piece of parchment, likely containing the notes of the trio's previous meetings.
Once the Castellan was seated, I realized I should probably kneel or bow. Damn if I knew which.
I quickly kneeled, figuring the more subservient, the better. I mumbled out, "My lord," in greeting. I kept my head down and waited for permission to raise it.
"You may stand," a low voice said.
I quickly stood and looked to Lord Stark.
"I have heard from the others and talked with the prisoners," he said, "now I would hear from you."
In the aftermath of the raid, Nyra had picked up that the villagers knew that the Ironborn were coming after 'The Golden Farmer' and were essentially chasing rumors of buried treasure. With such a vague reason being given, Nyra and I decided that we needed to spin the situation as best we could to avoid any blame.
After I finished relating the sequence of events to Lord Stark, he asked, "And? What do you think the reason they went to your farm specifically is?"
I cleared my throat. "Well my lord, I think they were after a type of wheat I have. I picked it up from a merchant, who got it from Essos. The merchant must have talked about it in his travels because when it gets wet, it shines brightly – like gold. The tale must have grown taller in passing, and these Ironborn felt it credible enough to warrant a raid."
Stark raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do you have any with you?"
I nodded and passed him a little bag that I had brought with me. He sprinkled some water on it from a pitcher on the desk and watched it sparkle with interest. "And this isn't actual gold?" He absentmindedly asked while he passed the bag to the Maester, who began to examine it as well.
"No, my lord. The merchant said that Maesters and Essosi had checked for it, long ago."
Lord Stark looked to the Maester. "Erwyn, is that true?"
The Maester, Erwyn, looked up from his inspection of one of the grains. "It doesn't appear to have any of the properties of gold. As for previous examinations, I would have to consult my records. I believe something like this may be contained in the Winterfell library."
Stark frowned. "Very well, onto other matters. Unfortunately, the prisoners are not worth any ransom, so they will be sent to the Wall once a Black Brother comes by. At least with their capture, I can send actual complaints to the King and the Greyjoys." At my hopeful look, he continued. "No, don't expect anything. We've long known that it is the Ironborn that raid our shores, but we have never quite been able to confirm it. We have never been able to capture any live prisoners to use as proof. Regardless, the Greyjoys will disavow any knowledge of raiding parties as usual, and King Aegon, a friend though he may be to the smallfolk and the North, won't be able to do anything more than send a letter to the Greyjoys, admonishing them."
"As you say, my lord."
"Wait a moment!" the Castellan interrupted. "I remember you! You are the half-southerner who came up from King's Landing, some thirty years ago, aren't you?"
"Ah, yes, Sir. Yes, I was."
The Castellan shook his head softly and laughed. "That was a long time ago! You were much younger and shorter, while I definitely had more hair! So, other than this unpleasant affair, how has the North been? Excellent, I assume?"
"Yes, Sir. It's been, uh, great," I said, nervously. "The coast has been nice. Quiet and peaceful, for the most part."
"So, in your opinion," said Lord Stark. "raids aren't a frequent event?"
I shifted uncomfortably. Any raids, to me, are unacceptable. But, he is technically asking only about their frequency. I also wasn't too sure about feudal honor and didn't want to offend him by implying the raids were his fault or something. I replied, "Not terribly common, no. Over the 25 years I've been here, I've heard a few stories about villages hit. So, no, I wouldn't say they are common, but they do occur."
Lord Stark leaned forward and looked at me intently. "It's a curious thing, then. How effective you and your village fought. It seemed you were very prepared for something so uncommon."
Shit. "Um, well – we were very lucky, you see. We, um, were able to arm many of the villagers. If we hadn't been able to, or the Ironborn killed them, instead of taking them prisoner while they looted the village, we would never have succeeded as we did."
Lord Stark looked thoughtful. "True, I suppose. But there were plenty of weapons available. Why was that?"
"The village blacksmith had some spears in his forge, my lord. The rest were personal things, mostly wood axes. But as we killed the Ironborn, we armed those that were unarmed."
Before Lord Stark could ask another question, the Castellan interrupted. "Sorry Edwyle, but I must ask the man while I have him here. How is the farmland on the coast? I've never been able to make the trip myself, but I've heard surprisingly good things."
Thrown off by his question, it took me a moment to reply. "Good?" I said, uncertainly. "It varies wildly, but there are some good pockets of land."
The Castellan nodded to himself and leaned forward, intently. "Yes, I had noticed a tax increase since you got there. I assume you work one of these 'good pockets' yourself?"
"Yes, Sir."
Lord Stark interrupted our conversation, and asked, "And why would the blacksmith have all these spears?"
I mentally rewound the conversation and found where Lord Stark and I left off. "Well, he's kept some for a long time now. You never know when a hungry bear or a wild hog comes by."
Lord Stark finally seemed to have been satisfied by that line of questioning and pivoted to another. "So, from your own tale, and from that of your friends, it seems you took charge, quite readily. That is rather unusual for someone like you."
I stared blankly at him, not exactly hearing the question. After a moment of collective silence, I moved to fill it. "Well, my lord, someone had to."
"Naturally. I've had a few reports of you, actually. It seems like you have a lot of respect from your fellows."
Reports? He had reports on me?! "Reports?" I asked, weakly.
"Speaking of," the Castellan interrupted, once again. "My records, from Master Roose Mollen, show that the total tax in your area has significantly increased, more than can be accounted for by your farm alone. How do you explain this?"
I blinked at the constant change of topics. "Err, like I was saying earlier, my farm is on some nice land."
The Castellan waved away my explanation. "No, man. I meant on the whole, what has changed?"
My mind scrambled for an explanation. Damn it all! "Well, some of the others did copy some farming techniques that I learned from down south. That's probably it."
The Castellan looked intrigued. "New techniques, eh?"
"Not really new, but new to the area. Just things like when to plant and the order in which to plant. It's a bit of a different order than what they used in the area before."
Lord Stark changed the conversation, again. "So, would you say that you like your village then?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Why is that?"
"Do you mean, why do I like my village?" I asked. At his nod, I continued. "Well, um, the people there made me feel welcomed when I first arrived, especially seeing as I was young and alone. Err, my wife is from the area. Koryn, one of the men here with me, is actually my goodbrother. I originally felt kind of out of place, having not grown up in the North, and Koryn and his family helped me along and taught me quite a bit. In return, I ended up teaching them a lot of what I knew. People can make or break a place because I think people are one of the most important things in life."
Lord Stark looked genuinely intrigued. "You are very eloquent for a commoner. Quite impressive. Do you happen to be properly lettered?"
"Thank you, my lord, and yes, I am literate along with my wife and children. We are called smallfolk, my lord. Not stupidfolk," I said, with a small smile.
Lord Stark let out a loud laugh along with the Castellan. "No, I suppose not. But few are truly educated to such a degree."
I gave a small shrug. "They just don't usually have the opportunity. People can achieve a great many things if they have but the opportunity to rise."
Lord Stark leaned back in his chair while looking thoughtful. "I'm not sure I agree with that, nor does history. Since time immemorial, there have been nobles, and there have been smallfolk. While the smallfolk provide the majority of labor necessary for these great moments, the nobility is tasked with shepherding their charges forward, lest they stray. Even the founder of my house, Bran the Builder, was a noble. He guided his people through the rise and fall of many a kingdom, building not just The Wall, one of the greatest buildings made by man, but also laying the foundation of my House's legacy, and the very keep you are now in. He might not have swung the hammers himself, but if not for him and his vision, there wouldn't have been anything to work towards in the first place." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I suppose in essence, you are correct. But you seem to place too little importance on the role of nobility as the heads of the proverbial herd."
Maester Erwyn spoke up in a thin, reedy voice. "History itself shows you are correct, my lord. We can see that people achieve much, but only when nobility has the strength, vision, and conviction to see it done."
I surprised even myself when I started speaking as soon as the Maester had finished. "Leadership has always been vital to everything mankind has done, from when men first crawled out of the caves and gazed upon the Sun in Essos to building wonders like Winterfell and The Wall. Was it not The Last Hero, in the Age of Heroes, years before Bran the Builder, a man without even a known first name, let alone a House, that rallied mankind to his side and fought the Others, pushing back the Long Night and saving the world?"
Lord Stark seemed less surprised at my knowledge of Northern mythology/history than Maester Erwyn, as he simply nodded. "Of course, sometimes the smallfolk will rise to the occasion, and act nobly. Leading their brethren, and as you say, providing the opportunity for the people to ascend to greatness."
I had quickly started to look at Lord Stark in a new light. I had only been trying to simply verbalize a basic argument for the education of the peasantry while trying to avoid saying anything about nobility or feudalism in general. But the way Lord Stark was able to organize and illustrate his argument had me almost dumbfounded. If it weren't for the fact that I knew that the feudal system was unnecessary, I would have agreed entirely with him. This man was clearly more than just a mildly educated administrator or some sort of despot; he was a deep thinker, able to think in the abstract and grasp philosophical reflections. I don't think I had ever, in my seventy years of living, met a more perfect personification of a stoic. He was what I had always imagined Marcus Aurelius to be.
He continued, heedless of my thoughts on him, "The Tallharts were the last major house to rise in the North. There have been a few other minor houses since then, but they are the last of my principle bannermen. They had been Ironborn thralls on the West Coast and fled inland after convincing others around them to rise in rebellion. They followed the rivers inland until they met my ancestors. The Starks at the time gave them land and let them raise a castle where Torrhen's Square now resides, to be the vanguard of defense against the Ironborn incursions. Proud and Free are their words. Very apt I think. Of course, there is Barrowton and Flint's Finger on the southwestern coast, but they have always struggled living so close to the Ironborn. Deepwood Motte and Bear Island as well, though to a lesser level."
"Things have been better since the Targaryeans came," said the Castellan. "Ironborn raids have dropped significantly."
"True," Lord Stark conceded. "With the end of the Ironborn occupation of the Riverlands and periodical large-scale conflict between the Kingdoms, there was less need for the nobility to guide the smallfolk. The smallfolk should have been able to prosper, but they haven't." He looked to me and said, "Part of the reason why the West Coast is so empty is a holdover from those times when the Ironborn regularly attacked the coast. Barrowton has significantly improved since then, but the other locations? They have shown that there is little value on that coast."
I moved to interrupt, but Lord Stark waved me off. "Yes, yes. I know you disagree, man. You believe the people hold inherent value in and of themselves. An interesting theory, one I will contemplate on later, but one which has little historical precedence. There are many reasons for my actions, and the actions of my ancestors, regarding the West Coast, but you certainly have given me some food for thought." Lord Stark stared off into the distance for a moment, before saying, "There is much to think on. This business with the Ironborn, for you, is done for now. I will call for you again in a week to see how to best rebuild your village."
He stood and gave the slightest nod of his head and said, formally, "I thank you for your spirited defense of the North and its people. You have become a true Northerner."
Taking that as a dismissal, I bowed at the waist and exited the room. I took a huge sigh of relief.
I was still confused at exactly what had happened, but it seemed to have gone well? The different lines of questions had left me wondering what exactly happened and it was hard to tell what they were thinking.
Alas, another week and then I could rejoin my family.
A/N: Thanks to Luke Mahr for all his help with this chapter! Also, regarding the castle thing at the beginning of the chapter, I am aware that there are examples of castles in good repair; however, Michael doesn't.