(POV Elias)
The ice had been sitting in the chests for three days before I approached my father. Any longer, and I'd be the fool who let an opportunity melt before my eyes.
Ned Stark was in his solar, the table before him crowded with maps of the Neck and troop rosters for the garrisons. His eyes lifted when I stepped in.
"Not training today?" he asked.
"I have something better to propose."
That earned a raised brow. "Better than keeping your sword arm steady?"
"Better for Winterfell. For the North."
I set one of the smaller oak chests on the table and undid its iron latch. A breath of cold rolled into the warm solar. Frost rimed the inside of the lid. Beneath the layer of sawdust, the slab of ice sat clear and solid as the day I'd cut it.
My father leaned forward, frowning. "You've kept this since winter?"
"No. I cut it this month."
His eyes flicked to mine. "And you kept it frozen how?"
"In a place where cold doesn't fade," I said carefully. "You don't need to know the where — only that I can provide more."
He didn't like that, but he didn't press. "And what would you do with it?"
"Sell it," I said simply. "The Braavosi will pay for ice in summer. So will merchant captains carrying fish or game. Every gold dragon we earn this way is one less we need from southern grain merchants."
He sat back, rubbing a thumb along the map's edge. "You'd need ships. Which means Manderly."
"I was hoping you'd give me leave to speak to him in person."
Ned's gaze was steady. "And if this trade stirs trouble? If the South hears of Northern magic and thinks we've found some weapon in the frost?"
"Then we keep the truth quiet. We tell them it comes from deep cellars near the Wall, or ice cut from the Frostfangs. No one needs the truth, only the product."
He was silent a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "One shipment. If it turns profit without trouble, we'll speak again. I'll send a raven to Lord Wyman to expect you."
The overland journey to White Harbor was as slow as I'd expected. Two wagons, each carrying four iron-banded chests, moved at a steady twelve miles a day in the thawing spring mud. Alpha and Shade ran ahead on the drier stretches, circling back whenever they spotted something that might be trouble — a fallen tree across the road, a pair of traders loitering too close to our path.
We made camp early most nights, keeping the chests under heavy canvas and watched by two guards at all times. At a village by the White Knife, I let one elder woman touch the ice. She gasped when her fingers met it, and I caught that same flicker of hunger in her eyes I'd seen before.
White Harbor rose before us on the twelfth day, its high white walls and green banners bright against the sea. The smell of brine and tar filled the air as soon as we reached the docks, where gulls wheeled overhead and sailors shouted from rigging.
Lord Wyman Manderly received me in the New Castle's audience chamber. He was as the rumors painted him — massive in stature, draped in green and silver, his rings flashing when he gestured for me to sit.
"I hear you've brought something unusual," he said, his voice warm but curious.
I signaled to the driver, who brought in one chest. When the lid opened, the cool air spilled into the room, and Manderly leaned forward with the same disbelief I'd seen in my father.
"This isn't from your cellars," he said.
"It's from the far North," I replied smoothly. "Places where winter lingers. I've found a way to cut it and keep it."
"And you think the Braavosi will pay for snow?"
"I think they'll pay for what snow can do," I said. "Preserve fish, chill wine, keep meat fresh on the voyage from Lys. In summer, ice is rarer than gold to the right buyer."
He chuckled. "And you want my ships to carry it."
"You control White Harbor," I said. "No foreign ship sails without your say-so. And I'd rather deal with a man who keeps his word than a dozen merchants with none."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "What's in it for me?"
"Half the profit," I said without hesitation. "And first refusal on all future shipments."
He studied me for a long moment, the room quiet save for the distant cry of gulls. Finally, he smiled. "Half the profit, and you tell me if the South starts asking questions."
"Agreed."
We walked together to the docks to see the Silver Eel, the ship chosen for the trial. She was a broad-bellied cog with green-painted hull and a crew of twenty, capable of making the 1,100-mile voyage to Braavos in a week under good wind.
The ice chests were stowed low in the hold, near the waterline for the natural chill. Furs and smoked fish were loaded above to mask the true cargo.
I watched her sail with the tide, her white sails catching the wind. It would be three to four weeks before I had an answer.
(POV Benjen)
I found Elias on the harbor wall that evening, his eyes on the horizon where the Silver Eel had vanished.
"You've set something in motion," I said.
"That was the point."
"You'll need to watch it. Men will want a piece. And some will come for the whole."
He didn't look at me, but his jaw tightened. "Then they'll find my teeth sharper."
I let it go. But in my gut, I knew this was only the beginning of something too big to hide forever.
Three and a half weeks later, the Silver Eel returned. Lord Manderly's courier brought me a sealed letter:
Sold the lot. Braavosi paid double our guess. Demand exceeded supply. They want more before summer's height.
Manderly's closing line was simple: If you can keep the ice flowing, we can name our price.
I burned the note in the harbor wind. Some things needed to melt away before they could freeze into gold.