After approximately four to five hours of a hard ride, Alaric and accompanying guards finally reached Winterfell just before the dark.
The moment They reached the stables, The guards carried him down from the horse; the guards behind him in tow as he bolted to his father's study.
Ned kept tapping his index finger as he sat on his chair, his face and the room is brightened, by a new kind of lamp, the Argand Lamp, with light comparable to six candles, yet he had six of them lit to illuminate the entire room. He had been in the room for half a day.
The first thing that greeted Alaric inside the study was red-eyed grim-looking Ned Stark, Maester Luwin, and Wills stood behind him.
The moment he saw Wills, he understood the last puzzle of the riddle. This Steward Wills, the former subordinate of Vayon Poole, had betrayed his slavery plan.
For Luwin, he had only one sentence, "incompetent old town gray rat." He took three years for a simple experiment and claimed the credit for himself when he gave all his discoveries to the citadel; winter will come for this decrepit bald gray fool.
"Sit," his father's voice, no Ned Stark the warden and the lord of Winterfell's Voice as cold as winter sounded his ears as he looked at his father's eye's sparkling with burning cold anger.
"So, son, tell me about your business activities. I heard something today, something that kept me in this room for an entire day."
"It's Flourishing—."
"—On slave trade!" Ned snarled as he stood up and smashed his fists on the table.
Alaric's forehead wrinkled as his silver-grey eyes narrowed at Wills, who stood on the left side behind Ned.
"Don't look at him! Look at me."
What followed was a long rant like Bruno Ganz from downfall on the evils of slavery, the cultures of seven kingdoms, the laws of seven kingdoms and the moral lessons on honour and principles.
"I need shipbuilders!." Alaric finally uttered. "I am sure father this turncoat Wills would have told you about it," he pointed at Wills, who stood on the right side of Ned Stark.
"How many?" Ned questioned.
"Enough to build six hundred in next few years, at least twenty thousand workers."
Ned's eyes widened in shock. "Lad, have you gone mad!"
North has had no ships for hundreds of years since Branden the Burner torched the last ships and all shipyards belonging to House Stark in his grief.
"We don't need a navy," Ned said again.
"We need ships to trade and navy to protect that trade," Alaric replied. "I will pay for its construction and its upkeep."
After all, whoever commands the sea, commands the trade; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself.
After a little more persuasion, Ned finally relented.
But the old goat finally stepped in. " My lord, I believe lord Manderly can handle the trade and protect it in the White Harbour," Maester Luwin interjected, his hand still in his large pockets.
"If looks could kill, Alaric would have killed this short-sighted grey fool right here. "What about Bear Island? Maester Luwin, Ironborn still raid upon that poor island, and they keep increasing every month," he asked the Maester in grey clothes. "Should we leave that problem to White Harbor?"
Ned rubbed both his temples, "I won't Invest in your naval plan, do as you wish. But I have winter to prepare for it, which may come at the end of this year," Ned Interrupted. "You are all dismissed, and you," he pointed at Alaric, "follow me to the great hall."
Ned can't spare any more gold for Alaric's ventures for the winter may come, and he will need that money to feed the North in case they ran out of food.
Alaric and Ned walked silently to the Great Hall in eerie silence in the light of fire torches mounted upon the walls to do away with darkness. "Discuss such things with me next time, son." Ned broke the silence.
"Yes, father," Alaric replied.
"Why the haste?" Ned asked. "You can slowly build the navy."
Alaric stopped his footsteps, "There's another bloody war brewing in the south, and I can smell the blood in th air."
"What bloody war?" Ned frowned.
"Balon Greyjoy is keen on restoring their old ways., and they are building ships day and night."
"How do you know that?" His voice trailed off as he glared at the boy, " unless you have spies." It would not take a genius to put two and together after all the Information; he revealed is too much for him to know unless he has spies.
Ned didn't bother to ask further questions. Even if he did, he would only get one answer for the trade.
The hall brightly lit as the rest of the Stark family was already upon the table when Ned arrived with Alaric behind him.
Caitlyn Stark sat on the chair beside the empty great chair the baby Bran clutched in her hands and two-year-old Arya on her left, her ginger long hair the same as Sansa and Robb sitting opposite her.
Alaric's eyes trailed towards Jon sulking in the corner of the hall.
Ned took his seat, and so did Alaric.
After small talk, everyone began to devour the food as soon as it arrived.
Alaric grabbed his food and strode towards Jon under the burning, livid gaze of Caitlyn.
No one reacted, not even Jon; Ned only looked raised the corner of his eyes to take a peek.
Alaric placed his food on the table beside Jon and gave his shoulders a hard slap, "Stop! Brooding like a moron, live a little while you eat," Alaric shouted, earning him more glares from Caitlyn. "Dine in peace," She said from across the room, a deep cold frown carved on her face. She had never liked it when her children associate with Bastard of Winterfell an insult to her honour. Robb would still control his brotherly love for Jon when Caitlyn is there in order to not drive her tamper blazing high to save Jon from unnecessary scoldings and glares.
On the other hand, Alaric never cared about her temper; he had already branded this woman as raving Tully. In all the books he had read on the History of North, Stark bastards are more loyal to Starks and the North than Starks themselves.
Torrhen Stark's two sons and a bastard brother Brandon Snow the fiercest Northern warrior of his time, sailed towards Essos with other self-exiles to form the company of rose after the former bent the knee to dragons. To this day, Self-exiled and exiled in the North would go to Essos to join the company of rose.
After dinner, everyone left to their rooms. Jon, sandwiched between Robb and Alaric in their room, would have their legs pressing upon his legs, holding them in a place rendering him unable to rotate in sleep.
...
Alaric stood at the Shores of White Knife River. Shipyards sprawled on both sides of the river, a grand combination of yards so huge.
A young man in black fur laden clothes, charcoal coloured long hairs, a sharp face with a heavy black beard and Sharp steel grey eyes burned with grief as he gazed at the yards, an addition to his grief, a great sword identical to Ice rested in his left hand. "Think about it again, Your Grace!" A short man in a raspy voice beseeched.
"No son of winter will ever lose his father to the seas." Yong man lamented.
After a candle's worth of time, a fire arose in the sky, brighter than Dragonfire. The fire illuminated everything Across the land as it swept Ships and Shipyards in burning fury, leaving only smoke and charred remains of a great shipyard that once stood there.
"You will forever be known as Brandon the Burner, Your Grace."
Brandon the Burner ignored the man; He gazed at Alaric With his now emotionless steel grey eyes, "You should be in the Crypts; why did you leave?" his voice icer than coldest of the Northern winters.
....
Alaric woke up covered in sweat, surrounded by darkness, still layed on his bed with his brothers beside him.