Moat Cailin, The North
"By the Seven!" The words slipped from Margaery's mouth as the awe-inspiring structure of Moat Cailin came into view.
Even from this distance, the ancient fortress commanded respect. The sheer size and presence of the fortifications made her feel small. She had not seen it upon arrival the previous night, as she had been asleep and had not stepped out onto the deck until now. But now, in the pale light of early morning, she saw it in its full, imposing glory.
She had glimpsed the lighthouse on the western side of the Northern Canal as they sailed in, and she was certain it dwarfed even the Hightower of Oldtown.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Garlan said as he stepped beside her, his eyes also fixed on the towering stronghold. "This is what stopped the Andals. And now that the Northerners have restored it to its former glory, no army can enter the North from the Neck."
Margaery shivered slightly in the cold morning breeze. Snow dotted the ground in patches. The docks were still mostly empty, save for a party approaching to greet them.
"It seems they have come to receive us," Wilas observed as he joined them. He started walking towards the docks, and the others followed.
Margaery's eyes fell on the welcoming party. A woman with auburn hair stood at the front, flanked by a young boy of seven or eight. Another boy, round-faced and fat, stood beside them. She recognized him instantly.
"Samwell Tarly?" she murmured in surprise.
"What is Lord Tarly's son doing here?"
"Didn't Grandmother tell you?" Wilas said quietly. "Samwell is squiring under Sir Brynden Tully, and he maybe here."
"Oh." It was all she could say. She did not like being left uninformed.
As they reached the Northern party, the young boy stepped forward and spoke "On behalf of Lord Aryan Stark, we welcome you to the North." He paused, glancing toward his mother for reassurance before continuing. "I am Bran Cailstark. Welcome to Moat Cailin."
"Thank you, my lord. We are grateful," Wilas replied warmly before introducing their party.
The red-haired lady then took charge of the conversation. "I am Catelyn Cailstark. Welcome to Moat Cailin. Your rooms have been arranged in the castle. Please, follow us."
With that, the Tyrells fell into step behind their hosts.
The path led them through Starkhaven, the settlement surrounding the great fortress. Margaery and her family took in their surroundings with quiet curiosity. Unlike King's Landing, there was no stench of unwashed bodies or overflowing chamber pots. Unlike Oldtown, there was no dust and filth. The streets were cobbled, the buildings well-maintained, and everything seemed orderly, meticulous.
Margaery recalled her lessons with Archmaester Gormon. He had spoken of the North's planned construction efforts, but she had never imagined it would be like this.
Beside her, Lady Alerie had struck up a conversation with Catelyn Cailstark.
"My husband has already left for Winterfell," Catelyn was saying. "That is why he is not here to receive you."
"I heard it is time for the Spring Festival, and that all the Northern lords will be attending," Alerie said.
"You heard correctly," Catelyn confirmed. "It is one of the few grand celebrations in the North, and this year, it will be bigger than ever. Aryan has constructed a grand arena for the occasion. For the first time, the Northern Games will be held."
"The Northern Games?" Margaery asked curiously.
"I am afraid even I do not know all the details," Catelyn admitted. "But there will be competitions spanning five days. Lady Ashara is still in Dorne, so my husband has gone ahead to help Aryan with the preparations. As you may know, Lord Aryan had been away in Essos for a long time. Now that he has come of age, my husband is no longer the Regent of the North."
Wilas, walking a little ahead, spoke up. "Lord Aryan invited me here to see if my damaged leg can be healed."
"And we decided to accompany my son to see the North," Alerie added.
Catelyn nodded graciously. "I am sure you will be healed soon, my lord. The prowess of Healer Qyburn is well known. And you are all most welcome in the North."
Wilas hesitated for a moment before asking, "Pardon me, my lady, but is Robb Cailstark not Lord Eddard's heir? Is he not here as well?"
"Robb is being fostered at Barrowton by Lord William Dustin," Catelyn explained. "But he will be at Winterfell for the festival."
Wilas glanced at the road ahead. "How long will it take to reach Winterfell by the Kingsroad, Lady Cailtark?"
"It would take more than two weeks," she answered. "But we will not be taking the Kingsroad." She smiled. "My nephew extended the White Knife. We will be sailing. It is faster, safer, and far more comfortable."
Margaery was already looking forward to her time in the North.
Winterfell, The North
The preparations for the Spring Festival of the North were in full swing. Aryan stood on an elevated platform, watching as people hurried along to complete their tasks. All the Lords had already arrived. This year, the Spring Festival was set to become a grand event, unlike anything the North had seen before.
Aryan couldn't help but enjoy the gobsmacked expressions on people's faces when they laid eyes on the Colosseum for the first time. It had been a year since his return, and he had wasted no time. One of his first major decisions was to organize the Northern Games during the festival.
Modeled on the Olympics, the games were intended to be a yearly tradition. Sprinting, jumping, throwing, chariot racing, and horse-riding events would be held in the Colosseum, while swimming and boat races were to take place in the White Knife. Jousting was also included, but what truly set the event apart were Aryan's innovative war games, such as capture the flag and tug of war.
Most competitions were open to the smallfolk, a decision which was initially met with skepticism. However, the generous prizes Aryan had promised—funded by the interest from the Iron Bank—quickly silenced any doubts. Now, even the Lords had embraced the idea, enthusiastically training their own teams for the competition.
The kingdom itself was thriving. All major projects had been completed, except for the University, which would take another year. However, one thing that had always bothered Aryan was the poor quality of clothing available to the smallfolk. Nobles had fine fabrics, but the smallfolk often wore the same tattered garments repeatedly. With a steady supply of cotton from Essos, Aryan had established cloth mills in Lord Cerwyn's lands, ensuring a new industry for the Cerwyns, who had been left without a distinct economic advantage. Lord Cerwyn had been very grateful.
Meanwhile, the Pyromancers had successfully developed gunpowder under Aryan's guidance. He was aware of its destructive potential, so he had decided that it will never be used in wars, in case someone else get ideas.
At the moment, Aryan had a meeting scheduled with his Lords to discuss future plans for the kingdom. However, another pressing issue was his marriage. As the most eligible bachelor in Westeros, he was constantly bombarded with proposals. The Lords had seized the festival as an opportunity to parade their daughters before him—Alys Karstark, Jonelle Cerwyn, Rhonda Umber, Eddara Tallhart, Wynafryd Manderly, Meera Reed, and many others. Some had even attempted to approach him directly, but he had gently rebuffed their advances. He had a plan to deal with this, but it wasn't the time yet.
In moments like these, he missed Ros. His bed-warmer was currently unavailable, having been sent to King's Landing. The last incident there had made Aryan cautious, perhaps even paranoid. To counter future risks, he had begun building a safe house and establishing a potential escape route in case of crisis.
His spies in King's Landing had identified the city's primary exit points: the River Gate, the Dragon Gate, the Iron Gate, the King's Gate, the Old Gate, and the Gate of the Gods. Maegor Targaryen's hidden tunnels also existed, but Aryan had no reliable way of locating them. Instead, he had discreetly purchased a small mansion near the Dragon Gate, which was strategically positioned in the nobility's quarter—where Goldcloaks wouldn't question its presence—and close to the sea.
With Jaqen's assistance, he had acquired a Braavosi merchant to act as the estate's front. Ros had been tasked with discreetly purchasing shops in Flea Bottom, businesses that would soon fall under Aryan's control. Additionally, a tunnel leading to a hidden cove outside the city walls was under construction. His operations in King's Landing would take time—after all, the city was filled with spies and schemers. Aryan needed to move carefully, ensuring that neither Varys, Littlefinger, nor Cersei caught wind of his activities.
He intended to be ready the next time he visited the capital, with his own forces present to prevent unpleasant surprises. Patience was key. This kind of game required careful planning and long-term commitment.
_____________________________________________________________________
"I must say, my lord, this place puts the Throne Room in King's Landing to shame," William Dustin remarked, a sentiment echoed by several others.
All the Northern Lords were assembled in the Great Hall of Winterfell. Aryan sat on his newly crafted chair—though it looked more like a throne. It was a masterpiece of magic and craftsmanship, made entirely of Weirwood. Inspired by Bloodraven's entanglement in the Weirwood roots, the Throne of the North was a seat formed from intertwining roots, with branches extending in various directions. Two snarling direwolves, sculpted from silver with ruby-red eyes, stood guard on either side.
With mirrors adorning the ceiling and parts of the walls reflecting the glow of beautiful candelabras, the Great Hall of Winterfell looked truly magnificent.
"Thank you, Lord Dustin," Aryan replied.
"I agree with William, my lord. You have excellent taste. Perhaps I should do something similar back home," Lord Ryswell added, raising his glass of mead.
Several other Lords voiced their agreement before Aryan rose from his seat. At once, the hall quieted, and all attention turned to him.
"Thank you all for coming here," Aryan began. "Seventeen name days ago, when I was born, I knew nothing of the world. I never met my father, Brandon Stark. My mother used to tell me stories of how he would return one day and take us back to the North."
Several Lords raised their glasses in a silent toast. Aryan's uncles, Eddard and Benjen, offered him sad smiles.
"But he never came," Aryan continued. "What did come was the news that he and my grandfather had been killed."
"If it had been anyone else, they might have declared me a bastard and my mother a lier, and claimed the North for themselves. But my uncle did not."
He let his words sink in before continuing.
"Imagine if it had been someone like Tywin Lannister—would I have even lived past four name days?" Aryan's voice was calm "But my Uncle Eddard did not do that. He brought me here, gave me my birthright, and guided me to where I stand today. For that, I wish to thank you, Uncle Ned."
The hall erupted into cheers. Some, like Greatjon Umber, clapped Eddard on the back, while others raised their drinks in his honor. Eddard, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, gave an embarrassed smile.
A servant approached with a long box. Aryan took it and presented it to his uncle.
"I know this is nothing compared to what you have done for me, but please accept this humble gift," he said.
"You didn't have to do all this, nephew. You are family. What I did was simply the right thing. Still, thank you," Eddard replied as he accepted the box. He opened it and pulled out a greatsword. Made of Valyrian steel with a dragonbone hilt, the blade gleamed with a faint green sheen.
"It is beautiful, nephew," Eddard murmured in admiration.
"You've seen Frostbite, haven't you?" Aryan said. "I thought it only fair that your sword have a touch of color as well."
Many of the Lords leaned in, eyes fixed on the weapon. Eddard swung it experimentally. No sound came. The usual whoosh of a blade cutting through the air was absent.
"Silent as the wind itself," Benjen Seastark commented.
"Then I will call it Silencer," Eddard declared.
Once all talk about Ned's gift and Aryan's speech died down, he stood up again.
"Next, I want to thank you all, my lords, for supporting me until now and—if I may be so bold—I expect that you will continue to do so in the future." They better do it Aryan thought.
"You are being too humble, Lord Stark," said Lord Robin Flint. "You have earned our respect rightfully. The North has changed for the better. We are rich. We are powerful. All because of you. Even the smallfolk speak highly of you. You care for them, and they love you."
"Exactly, Lord Stark. We pray for your health and hope that you continue to guide us," added one of the Mountain Clan leaders.
Aryan had a small smile. "Still, I would like to reward you all for the continued support you have shown me and for your help in the development of the North."
He clapped his hands. Immediately, servants entered the hall carrying weapons—each one made of Valyrian steel. Gasps spread across the room as everyone saw them.
Many of their eyes bulged, and even his uncles looked taken aback.
"Are those made of Valyrian steel?" Lord Flint asked in disbelief.
"Yes, Lord Flint," Aryan replied, enjoying the stunned looks on their faces.
On the long table before them lay a collection of longswords, bastard swords, maces, war hammers, and spears—all made of Valyrian steel.
One by one, Aryan distributed the weapons. The lords eagerly accepted their gifts, eyes gleaming as they examined them.
"Thank you, Lord Stark," one of them said, and soon the hall echoed with similar expressions of gratitude.
Ned, still staring at the weapons, finally said "How did you acquire all these, Aryan? Valyrian steel is rare—I can count the number of such weapons in Westeros on my fingers."
"You are right, Uncle. But that is not the case in Essos," Aryan explained. "As you know, the Valyrian dragonlords ruled most of Essos for centuries. There are plenty of Valyrian steel weapons there—hidden away in secret stashes belonging to magisters and merchant princes. It is simply a matter of knowing where to look."
"I never imagined there were so many left in the world," Lord Cerwyn murmured.
Aryan chuckled. "You would be surprised, my lord. There are merchants in Essos in front of whom even the Lannisters would seem like peasants."
"I once could not even imagine someone richer than the Lannisters," another lord muttered. "Now, the Starks are wealthier than them."
"Exactly. Westerosi nobles have a poor and backward way of thinking," Aryan said, his spoke with criticism. "We never innovate. We sit in our castles, making the peasants work for us, and believe that is enough to sustain wealth. We do not think beyond that. We do not seek ways to grow richer, nor do we invest in new ventures. We are complacent."
He let his words sink in before continuing.
"But I did. We Northerners sat upon vast but underutilized resources for centuries. All we needed was a change in mindset. I studied the strategies of Essosi merchants and learned how they amassed their fortunes. That is how I planned our expansion. I sent men to explore our lands properly. With the help of Grandmaester Marwyn and Maester Luwin, I created detailed plans to utilize our resources—not just for House Stark but for all my lords."
He swept his gaze across the hall. "I devised ways to sell our products across the world. And none of you can deny that you are far wealthier than before. Why should only the South enjoy the pleasures of life while we struggle against nature just to survive?"
A chorus of agreements filled the room.
"Aye."
"You are right."
"We have never prospered as we do now."
Aryan nodded, satisfied. He had been shaping the North into an economic powerhouse, and now, his lords fully recognized the benefits of his efforts. But there was still more to discuss.
"Now that we have settled this," he said, "we need to talk about the Free Folk."
The room fell into silence. The matter had been discussed many times before, yet resistance remained. Even now, Aryan could see the reluctance in the eyes of several lords. The Free Folk had long been viewed as savages, raiders, and lawless men. Their way of life did not inspire trust.
He could not fault his lords for their apprehension. The Free Folks are undisciplined, and their hatred of kneeling made them difficult to control. But Aryan knew that if they were left beyond the Wall, they would only serve as fodder for the Others. And once the Others had them, they would eventually turn south in numbers greater than the North could handle.
The risk of integrating them was great. But the risk of leaving them out there was far greater.
With time and the help of his army they can be changed.
It was William's idea which everyone liked "If we are to take them in, let us put them to good use," he proposed. "Most of them should be settled along the western coast. The Free Folk are warriors. Everyone here knows the Ironborn will never stop being a threat, until they are wiped out. Even with our fleets growing, we still need men to hold our shores. If the Free Folk are settled along the western coast, they will be the first line of defense against the Ironborn. They will be our shield and will give us more time to retaliate."
It was a brilliant idea. If the Ironborn ever dared to raid the North again, they would face a far more brutal resistance than they had ever known.
Lords still hesitated, but they could not deny the logic behind Aryan and William's plan.
It was settled.
The Free Folk would be granted land along the western coast, where their battle-hardened nature would serve as both a shield and a deterrent.
_________________________________________________________________
"Well, now I think we are finished. Is there anything else any of you wish to discuss before we disperse?" Aryan asked, glancing around, fully aware of what was about to happen.
A few lords exchanged looks before Lord Cerwyn finally spoke.
"My Lord, it is also time to think about marriage. We would like to know if someone has caught your eye. There are many fine ladies who would make a good wife for you and give you heirs."
Aryan was already secretly betrothed to Arianne Martell. She had thanked him for bringing her mother back, and though the mother-daughter relationship had been rocky at first, things were improving. However, before announcing the betrothal, he had to ensure there were no eligible ladies left for him in the minds of the Northern Lords. Since both his father and his uncle Eddard, had married Southern women, the North would expect him to take a Northern bride. His mother had once advised him not to interfere too much in other houses, but now he had no choice.
"As a matter of fact, I have spent a great deal of time considering this," Aryan said, pulling out a stack of parchments and passing them around to the Lords. "You will find that I have outlined potential marriage alliances among all the heirs and daughters here in the North."
What the others didn't know was that the parchments were enchanted with compulsion and confundus charms. The Lords would accept the alliances without question, believing them to be in their best interests. But he had made sure that the pair was almost of the same age.
As expected, they studied the documents and started nodding in agreement.
Lord Manderly sat beside Uncle Eddard, speaking in hushed tones. Aryan had already discussed betrothing Robb to Wynafryd Manderly with his uncle. The match would be beneficial—House Manderly controlled much of the Northern navy, and keeping them close was essential. Similarly, Uncle Benjen's son was betrothed to Alys Karstark.
Uncle Eddard had mentioned that Aunt Catelyn wanted a southern marriage for Sansa. But with the coming storm, Aryan could not allow any of his cousins to wed in the South. He would have to arrange marriages for them soon. Maybe except Arya.
"This is well done, my Lord," Rickard Karstark said, pleased with the match for his house. "I can see how everyone benefits from these unions."
"Then, if no one has objections, we can make these betrothals official soon," Aryan said.
"Agreed, my Lord," many voices echoed.
"Now that we have settled that, nephew, that still leaves you," Benjen said.
Aryan could not reveal his plans about the Lannisters and Baratheons yet. He would just tell them what he could, and with the aid of magic, ensure no objections arose.
"We will come to that. But first, there is something else you all need to know," Aryan said "As you know, in the summers, we grow food in the North. Whatever else we need, we buy cheaply from the Reach and Riverlands, take what we need, and sell the rest to Essos at a high price. But in the winters? In winter, we cannot grow food here. And I refuse to rely on the Riverlands and the Reach during that time. I refuse to let the North be exploited as it was in the past."
He let them process his words.
"I have found a solution. The Disputed Lands. If you have not heard of it, Lys is on the verge of gaining total control over the Disputed Lands. Soon, they will no longer be disputed. While I was negotiating with the Lysenes for opening a large trading center in Lys, I was able to secure vast tracts of fertile land there. We can grow food even in winter there. With these holdings, combined with our stored reserves, we will never have to rely on the Riverlands or the Reach again during winter. In the summers, we can also grow cotton and oilseeds—things we cannot grow in the North."
That caught their attention. Independence from the South during winter was a dream they had never dared to hope for.
"But there is a matter of security," Aryan continued. "The Disputed Lands are far from us. Many will try to seize or destroy our holdings there. That is why I made a deal with the Company of Rose, and they have agreed to defend our holdings in Essos from other sellsword companies and other large forces. They have also agreed to never to take a contract against us, but that is not enough. We need people there to protect our holdings from bandits and small group of men, which will undoubtedly be send to destroy our holding, throughout the year. The Dornish have agreed to provide security in the region for small profit. However, Prince Doran Martell has requested we seal our agreement with a marriage alliance."
Though he didn't tell them about the assistance he gave to the Company of Rose.
He again let them process his words.
"So," Aryan said, his voice calm, "do any of you object to this alliance?"
No one objected.
He had succeeded. Even if the Lords reconsidered later, they had already signed the agreements under magical influence—they would not raise any objections.
"One more piece of news," Aryan said, looking around. "While in Lys, I met a certain individual—the Captain of the Company of Rose. As you all know, the Company of Rose was formed by Northerners who refused to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. They are now a respected sellsword company in Essos. I spoke with many of their members. You will be pleased to know that many of our long-lost kins still live across the Narrow Sea."
The Lords reacted instantly, asking questions.
Aryan explained his meetings in detail, allowing them to process the information. He made it clear that bringing these lost Northerners back was not feasible—it would create conflicts over inheritance. But they took comfort in the knowledge that their kins had survived across the Narrow sea.
"Now that we are finished, I wish you all luck in the games. May the best among us win."
With that, the council dispersed.
____________________________________________________________________
"My Lord." Rodrik Cassel approached Aryan "Lord Cailstark's family has arrived. And they are accompanied by the Tyrells."
Aryan was about to nod in acknowledgment when something registered "Did you say Tyrells?"
"Yes, my Lord." Rodrik confirmed.
Aryan hummed "I had asked Wilas to come here to see to his leg."
"It would seem he has been accompanied by his mother, his sisters, and his brother." Rodrik said.
Aryan exhaled softly. "Then we will welcome them."
As they neared the gates of Winterfell, Aryan spotted his uncle, Eddard Cailstark, already waiting. Robb stood beside him, having arrived just a couple of days prior.
Aryan turned to Rodrik and cautioned, "Ser Rodrik, keep an eye on everyone accompanying them. Knowing Olenna Tyrell, she will try to use this opportunity as well. I don't want to take any chances."
Rodrik huffed in amusement. "You don't need to remind me, my Lord. I've learned enough in my time with you to expect these things."
By then, they had reached Eddard and Robb.
"Uncle, Robb." Aryan greeted them "You must be excited to see the others."
Eddard nodded. "Of course, my Lord."
Aryan sighed. "How many times must I tell you not to call me that, Uncle? We are family."
Eddard's lips quirked "Until you get used to it, nephew."
Knowing it was a pointless battle, Aryan let it go and turned to Robb. "And what about you, Robb? It has been almost a year since you saw them."
Robb nodded eagerly. "Yes, cousin. I missed them. I'm looking forward to meet everyone."
"How has your time at Barrowton been?" Aryan inquired.
"Exciting," Robb admitted. "Unlike at Moat Cailin, where everything is peaceful, Lord Dustin sometimes sends me to deal with bandits alongside his men."
Eddard looked at Aryan. "William has been exceptional in fostering him. A few more years, and Robb will be ready to bear the burden of administration." Then he turned back to his son "Just don't tell your mother about the more dangerous parts of your fostering. You know how she is. She will worry unnecessarily and start asking me to call you back."
Aryan nodded "And that would defeat the purpose of fostering."
Robb grinned. "Of course, Father."
Rodrik interrupted them. "They are here."
They turned their attention to the small procession approaching them. The White Knife had been widened enough for Marauder to sail through and dock with ease. The small river dock of Wintercity was bustling with activity. The use of boats for both travel and transportation of goods had been a great success.
The Tyrells had come all the way in houseboats—Aryan's idea, inspired by what he had seen in his past life. He had commissioned one for himself at Winterfell, and soon, every Northern lord had ordered one. It had been such a success that even merchants in Essos had begun placing orders.
The approaching group came to a halt, and Aryan stepped forward to greet them.
"I welcome you all to the heart of the North. Welcome to Winterfell. The hospitality and pleasures of my home are yours to enjoy."
After the customary pleasantries, they were led inside.
As they were walking, Aryan felt Margaery latch onto his arm. He turned to her, arching a brow.
"I had hoped after our last meeting that you would stop your attempts at seducing me."
Margaery flushed, clearly caught off guard, while Garlan who was walking beside her, burst into laughter.
Composing herself, she replied with a teasing smile. "A lady can try. Perhaps you would have changed your mind."
Aryan replied "It has only been a year. I don't see much change in you that could change my mind."
Perhaps to save his sister from further embarrassment, Garlan changed the subject. "The whole place looks rather new for one of the oldest castles in Westeros."
Aryan inclined his head. "We renovated and expanded Winterfell. Our ancestors designed it with minimal vanity—just the essentials. But times have changed, and so must we. With mother's help, I redesigned it."
As they passed through a garden, Margaery's eyes lit up. "I love these blue roses."
The gardens of Winterfell had been specially designed with plants that could survive the cold. In times of snow, detachable glass walls protect them.
"Ah, the blue winter roses," Eddard spoke from behind them, his voice softer. "A true Northern beauty. Sadly, they cannot grow in warm climates. You can only enjoy them here."
Aryan looked at his uncle, knowing how much he cherished these flowers. They were a reminder of Aunt Lyanna.
Near the guest wing of the castle, his castellan's wife was waiting. She led the Tyrells inside, while the other Starks continued toward the Great Keep.
As Aryan lagged behind, his High Steward, Jaqen appeared just long enough to murmur, "It has been done. The men are on the way." Without waiting for a reply, he melted into the shadows.
Arya accused him "You didn't keep your promise."
Aryan spoke innocently "What promise?" Though he knew exactly what she meant.
She scowled. "You promised to find me a swordfighting instructor."
Aryan smirked. "Who said I didn't?"
Her eyes widened "You did! Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was amusing to see you pout," he admitted with a laugh.
Arya glared at him playfully.
"Go with Uncle," Aryan instructed. "He will take you to Syrio Forel—your instructor."
Arya let out a whoop and hugged him before grabbing Eddard's hand. "Come on, Father! I want to start right away!"
"A lady should not use weapons," Septa Mordane interjected, her tone disapproving. "A lady's armor is courtesy. Lord Stark, I urge you not to encourage this behavior. She will not find a proper husband if she continues this nonsense."
Aryan gave her a flat look. "Your opinion is duly noted. And completely discarded. If she is attacked, courtesy will not save her life." I didn't threw this septa out of the North due to Aunt Catelyn, but my patience is growing thin.
"But how will she find a husband?" Sansa chimed in.
Aryan resisted the urge to sigh. Clearly, her beauty is inversely proportional to her brains. Or maybe this is this septa's doing. I will have to talk with uncle.
He told her simply, "Not everyone's goal in life is to get married, have children, and spend the rest of their days managing a household. As for Arya, I'm sure she will find a husband who accepts her for who she is."
Eddard decided to lead them inside before the situation could deteriorate further.
____________________________________________________________________
Margaery was walking through Wintercity towards the Stadium. She could see a large number of people going the same way. The sun was setting. Even though she wore warm clothing, she still occasionally shivered. She really liked the new clothes. They were not the usual fur. Instead, they were made of threads woven from fur, which the sellers were calling sweaters.
While she enjoyed her time here, she was also frustrated. She had tried to gather information. She had many ladies-in-waiting, and on the instructions of her grandmother, many of them had tried to use their feminine charms on the people here. Their prime target had been the High Steward, Jaqen, to uncover the wealth of the Starks and the secrets of the castle. But they failed. In fact, they failed to get even a reaction from him. Next, like many others, they had tried to uncover the secret of glass, but they were not even allowed inside.
"Still disappointed that you could not find anything here, little sister?" Garlan teased.
"Stop it," Margaery said with a pout. She herself had tried to get close to Robb Cailstark and get something out of him. But like all the everyone she had met here, even Robb proved to be very guarded.
"Give your scheming mind a rest, sister. I know Grandmother wants the best for us. But you know those methods have not succeeded here. So why don't you stop trying and enjoy the night? I heard there is going to be a surprise today," Garlan said.
"I don't like surprises anymore. I may not know much about wars and strategy, but after coming here and seeing these castles, I suddenly fear how inferior the castles of the Reach are," Margaery admitted.
"That does not surprise me, sister. I remember Lord Tarly visiting Cider Hall when I was being fostered by the Fossoways. My goodfather has great respect for Lord Randyll Tarly. Even though Father has never given him enough credit, Lord Tarly is still loyal to our house. Lord Tarly once said no outsider has ever held the North. At that time, I was young and more like Loras. I had asked him why. With enough men, we can take even the most well-defended castle. Perhaps if we had enough men—say, the rest of the six kingdoms together against the North—we could easily defeat them."
"And what did he say?" Margaery asked.
"He told me that unlike the other kingdoms, the North is secured from all sides. The naval forces of the Seastarks and Manderlys guard the western and eastern coasts. The Wall protects them from the north. Then there is Moat Cailin. You must know it was the Moat that stopped the Andals. Perhaps the North could have been defeated before the King Robert's rebellion, but the first thing the Starks did was to secure the North from all sides, and they succeeded. Perhaps we never told you this, but Wilas and I, from the day we arrived, have been trying to determine the military strength of the North," Garlan revealed.
"Why do you want to know that? I think the North could field at most forty thousand men," Margaery guessed.
"But that was before the King Robert's rebellion. It was after that the North started to grow and mass migration began. That means the North can surely muster a larger host," Garlan reasoned.
"Oh. I didn't think of that," Margaery admitted.
"Exactly. Good thing Lord Randyll thought of this and told me. Along with Wilas, I have been trying to learn about the military strength of the Northern lords. Normally, the lords I have seen are too happy to boast about their military strength, eager to show how powerful they are. But here, everyone seems guarded, not at all interested in boasting, unlike the Reach lords. It is as if something big is going to happen in the coming years," Garlan said.
The siblings walked silently toward the stadium, where Wilas was waiting. The sky was darkening as they reached their seats, which were quite close to the Starks themselves. Wilas was sitting near Aryan, talking. When he noticed them coming, he called out, "Brother. Sister. Come sit near us." He indicated two seats near him.
Both of them first bowed to Aryan Stark before taking their seats. Wilas said, "I was just congratulating Aryan on his betrothal."
"Lord Stark is getting married?" Margaery asked, unable to hide the surprise. She almost slapped herself when she saw Aryan looking at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Do you have any objection, my lady?" he asked with a smile.
She shook her head quickly. "No, my lord. I was just surprised."
Further conversation was halted when Benjen Seastark approached Aryan. "Everything is ready, nephew."
"I will be back in a moment," Aryan said and followed his uncle.
"Who is he going to marry?" Margaery whispered to Wilas.
"You would be surprised," Wilas said.
"Come on, tell me. The most eligible bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms is getting married. I want to know who she is," Margaery pressed.
"Princess Arianne Martell," Wilas revealed.
"But why is Lord Aryan Stark marrying Princess Arianne Martell? We all thought it would be either Princess Myrcella Baratheon or some northern Lady." Margaery wondered.
"I don't know. You tell me. Or better yet, when you go back, ask Grandmother," Wilas said. Then he whispered, "Aryan is coming back."
Both siblings recomposed themselves.
Taking back his seat, Aryan announced, "We are about to begin."
"What?" She heard Arya Cailstark shouting from her seat. Margaery also wondered. In fact, she could see all the people confused as a horn blew. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she saw a shooting star. But something was not right. Instead of falling from the sky, here it was rising from the ground into the sky. What? she thought. And then the star exploded with a small boom.
"By the Seven," she said aloud, clutching her chest as she saw the colorful scattering of light. The whole crowd was silent, and soon they exploded into cheers.
"Is this the surprise you were talking about, nephew?" she heard Dacey Seastark asking Aryan.
"It is. Did you like it?" Aryan asked as more stars rose from the ground and exploded in the sky in different colors.
"It is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life," said Dacey.
"I agree," said Catelyn.
"What is this thing?" Wilas asked Aryan.
"Fireworks," Aryan answered.
"I can see that," Wilas said with a laugh as more followed. The fireworks continued well into the night.
"LET THE GAMES BEGIN."