An Uncle's Musings

Brandon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, stood silently, his gaze fixed on the training yard where his young son and heir, Cregan, learned the sword from his master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik. The boy, barely eight, handled his practice sword with an earnestness that filled Brandon's heart with pride. Cregan's arms swung with determination, his small frame maneuvering with agility that belied his youth. Across from him, Ser Rodrik, the master-at-arms, watched closely, his experienced eyes catching every slight misstep.

"Adjust your footing, lad," Ser Rodrik instructed, his voice stern yet encouraging. "Left foot back, not to the side. Remember, balance is key." He demonstrated the position, his own stance wide and stable. Cregan nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration as he mimicked the movement, correcting his posture.

Brandon watched the exchange for a while, a smile tugging at his lips as he observed his son's progress. Yet, as the chill of the morning air bit at his skin, he decided it was time to retreat indoors.

He was dressed in a finely crafted tunic of deep gray. Over the tunic, he donned a heavy, fur-lined cloak that fell in rich folds to his knees, providing warmth. The cloak was fastened at the throat with a silver clasp shaped like the direwolf of House Stark, its eyes set with small, smoky quartz stones that caught the light as he moved. Even this was not enough to escape the morning's cold.

Turning from the yard, he walked further into the castle, where the coldness of the outside was replaced by a warm atmosphere, a comforting embrace found only within the sturdy walls of Winterfell. This warmth was no mere accident but the result of a clever design, with hot water piped through channels in the stone walls, spreading heat in a silent, steady breath across the halls.

As he made his way to his solar, Brandon's thoughts shifted from his son to the duties that awaited him. The room was as he had left it, with a large stack of paper towering on his desk. He paused, correcting himself mentally—no, not parchment, but paper. One of his nephew's many ventures, though paper was already known to many it was always seen as less durable than parchment, his nephew had found a way to make it stronger and more durable, which was now making its way across the kingdoms, earning significant wealth for their coffers.

The thought of his nephew Maekar brought a smile to Brandon's face.

Once, the mere sight of the boy had been a painful reminder of Lyanna, his sister, whose spirit seemed to live on in her son. But now, years later, any ache had given way to immense pride and admiration. The boy had grown into a man of formidable intellect and ingenuity, becoming his greatest asset.

Sitting down, he began to read through the reports. They showed the profits made in the last three months by selling ice to the south and to the Free Cities. This venture was also one of his nephew's grand ideas. Who would have thought one could make a coin from selling ice?

'Apparently, his nephew,' he thought with a smile.

When peace was signed after the rebellion, his greatest demand was for Maekar to be sent to Winterfell, and the rapist king had promised to send him on his sixth nameday.

Maekar barely made it to the north; Brandon remembered the day he received word that the ship carrying him had sunk. He had flown into a fit of rage, cursing the southerners for taking the last bit of his sister away. Then, a miracle happened: Maekar was found alive, washed up on a beach near the Manderly lands. The gods had saved him, and it seemed the gods had blessed him as well.

At first, he had not taken the boy and his outlandish ideas seriously, but when Luwin had informed him of the value of the paper the boy had managed to make, he decided to hear out more of his ideas. In five years, Maekar had helped him increase the wealth of his kingdom threefold, allowing him to finally work on his ambitions of strengthening the North.

Ned and his family were already settling well at the Stony Shore, where he was building a fleet. Finally, the western coast would be free of the pests that were the Ironborn.

The moat was being rebuilt, and new farming techniques and trade with Essos had made sure no one in his kingdom would go hungry; he was even confident that they could survive the next winter with fewer lives lost than the last.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Maester Luwin.

"My lord, may I come in?" Luwin requested.

"Yes, come in, Maester," Brandon said, granting the request.

Maester Luwin entered the solar, his robes rustling softly against the stone floor. He was dressed in the traditional attire of a maester of the Citadel: a long, grey robe bound at the waist with a chain of many metals that clinked with each step, signifying his scholarly achievements. Each link, from Valyrian steel to copper, represented a different field of knowledge he had mastered.

"Lord Stark," Luwin began with a respectful nod, "I have the latest reports on the road construction."

This was also something he was able to do with the wealth he had amassed in the last five years; he was able to fix old roads and build new ones. It was also necessary as trade was increasing between White Harbor and Winterfell.

"The road to White Harbor is nearing completion," Luwin continued, his voice holding a note of satisfaction. "However, the road connecting Winterfell with Torrhen's Square, the Rills, and ultimately to Starkport is progressing slower than anticipated."

Starkport was Ned's new fief in the west where a new fleet would soon be active, a thousand years after the Burner burned the old Stark fleet.

Brandon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his interest piqued. "The new roads are made in the Valyrian style that you and Maekar rediscovered. How are they? Are they better?" he asked.

Luwin's eyes brightened at the question. "Yes, my lord, they are much better indeed. They have significantly reduced travel times and are less susceptible to damage from weather and wear. It's proving quite effective."

A smile spread across Brandon's face, his chest swelling with quiet pride. "That's excellent to hear, Luwin. Things are looking good then," he mused aloud, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction at the progress they were making.

His thoughts shifted to what Maekar and Luwin were crafting in their workshop. The workshop, as his nephew called it, was formerly the broken tower which he had torn down and made into a whole new building. Maekar and Luwin had made it their own, and he was not complaining as they showed great results.

"What are you and Maekar crafting in the broken tower?" he inquired, his eyes narrowing.

Luwin's smile turned secretive, and he adjusted his chain slightly. "Prince Maekar asked me to keep it a secret for now. He's preparing for a grand reveal."

"A secret, then? Very well, I shall wait for this grand reveal," Brandon responded as he bellowed with laughter.

"I must take my leave now, my lord. There is much to do," Luwin said before bowing and walking out.

Alone again, Brandon decided to get some work done. He worked diligently until noon, poring over ledgers and correspondences that required his lordly attention. As the sun reached its peak outside, casting bright light through the narrow windows of his solar, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders. He was tired but in good spirits, a rare enough state these days with the myriad responsibilities that weighed upon him.

Perhaps a visit to his wife might lighten his mood further, he pondered momentarily. But no, he quickly dismissed the thought; she was still cross with him over some matter or another. The corners of his mouth twitched downwards, a brief shadow of frustration passing over his features. Instead, his mind wandered to lighter, more pleasurable pursuits. A particular memory surfaced, bringing with it a sly smile—Mary, that was her name, the one with the huge tits, he had spent a few enjoyable evenings with last month.

'Also the reason Cat was angry with me,' he thought with a sigh.

But it would make the afternoon more fun; his mood lifted at the prospect. Energized by the thought of another rendezvous, he rose from his desk and strode to the door. Before exiting, he caught the attention of one of the guards stationed outside.

"Tell Maekar to meet me here before supper," he instructed. The guard nodded in acknowledgment and bowed.

Brandon left the solar, his step light and expectant as he anticipated the evening's diversion with Mary.

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