Everything comes down to coin, the idea of a world without the need or concern for finance is one that is but a fairytale and even that, was something hard to believe. A farmer boy stood out in the open. Snow rained down to the earth, yet it was not heavy snow like most winters. It was quite peaceful for a northerner. Snow had been the life that he has always known. And to him there was nothing outside of the north that was worth exploring. Not anymore. Looking to the side of him, to his shoulder, the young man, with deep brown eyes with jet black hair that was cut to the side. A bull came towards him in a slow and careful walk. When winter came, many of the other farmers thought that Carn family animals would die off, so they opted to slaughter their animals and buy them from the reach once summer began. But not the Carm family.
Old men Henrick looked from the inside of his home, he had on a white clean shirt, a rare thing for a man such as he, he was a farmer, a man with callused hands that worked the dirt and helped give birth to new fouls. However, his hands did not hold anything of the sort; they held a cup of good coffee mixed with milk, and sugar was added to the mix. Warmth passed over the wooden walls of the home as the warmth in the living came from the hearth. This is the life he thought.
He was a young man when he married, thirteen. He had not yet even begun his beard. Still, he married the woman of his dreams, a young woman by the name of Mariam, old Henrick as he was called now, worked the oddest of jobs to provide for his wife. He would come home late in the dark with nothing but an empty stomach and copper coins, and all he was led by was a torch about to fail him in the dark. Seeing his young son, Rickard, standing in the open made the man smile. Indeed, this was life. What more could one ask than a life that was filled with stability? The cows and bulls were fed, and people of the north came to his lands to ask favors of him, bringing him gifts like he was lord; however, he was no lord, nor did he claim to be one. However, men and women with their tongues. They would come to him to ask about his bulls, as their small cows had grown old enough to give birth.
His son a young man who by all accounts could be a man of numbers, took to the opportunity and offered a system claiming to be renting, old Henrick was not too keen on the idea of it. But they had more than one bull. Last summer, the coin came flowing in their home as if they were lords, but the system did work, and that earned more than enough to last them a good winter, the same winter that now encompassed them. A sound of cries came from the distance. Both father and son looked to the west, and over the hill came a young man atop his horse, a stick in hand as he whipped it to the side, showing the white sheep where to go. They followed him like ants following the queen.
From behind old Henrick, warm hands, grabbed him from behind, a woman with pale white hair, her face wrinkled with age, her eyes a pale blue. Mariam, his Mariam. Their love was true, and it would last a lifetime, and indeed they had. "I see that Alaric is back with the sheep." She said, her voice smooth and warm, just like her hands. "Hmm," Henrick replied as he drank more of his coffee.
Rickard passed his hand over the young bull and lifted himself his leg swinging to the other side, the bull did not resist, running around as if crazed and taken by madness. With a slight kick to the side, Rickard rode to his younger brother, careful not to distract the sheep as they came in droves. "Finally, back, are you?" he asked. "Any longer, and I was afraid father would have made me come looking for you."
"It was getting dark ." Responded Alaric. He was young, with long hair that covered most of his ears, and a sharp nose that could pierce the air. Snot came down his nose, but he sniffled it back up. His small stubbles of hair began to appear some time ago. Reaching near him. Rickard smelt him, and he stunk of honey and flowers.
"You rode into winter town again?" Asked Rickard, anger laced in his voice, but there was love in his anger, "How many times must I tell you, Alaric, if we even lose one sheep, we lose a coin."
"It is always coin with you, is it not?" Asked Alaric. "Try to live a little will you, besides I didn't lose a single sheep, they grazed around the land eating grass."
"And how far did you take them" asked Rickard, to that his younger brother did not answer, he shrugged his shoulders, as if the answer was known. The next thing Alaric felt a slight pain that came in the form of a light slap at the back of his head. "That far again, Alaric? No wonder you came late." Rickard smacked his lips in annoyance as he lifted himself off the bull. And he slapped the back of its behind as it trotted off to the large farmhouse. The door was wide open.
"Go inside warm your belly, mother has been worried about you, and the old man, you had him staring at me in the window this whole time." Alaric looked away in annoyance, but he was relived his elder brother would speak no more of this, now he could only hope he would keep the information to himself. He dismounted from his steed and began to walk off to their home.
It was a two-story home, the lower levels made of stone and mortar, much like a castle; however, the rest of it was made from wood from the wolfswood. It was no grand thing; their home was a home for five people, and that was all they needed. Soon enough, they would expand, but that would only happen if they had children soon ; however, there was some time before that occurred.
Rickard looked to the sky, and the moon pale as it was, had lifted from the comfort of the heavens and showed its beauty, the night sky was enveloping it, the sun just above the mountains in the distance, to where Winterfell was. Turning around with the reigns of the horse in his hand, he led the Stallion to its stall. They had two horses, and that was all they needed. From time to time, they would ride into town and sell of their milk, and it just so happens that tomorrow is the day they were going to town when he was done with horse. He looked to the sheep, and they had helped themselves to entering the pasture, all he needed to do was close the gate. Then came the counting.
The door to their home was opened and locked behind by a wooden beam. Torches in their scones lined the walls. And light the home. The warmth of the home assaulted Rickard, and he shuddered like a nervous sense had climbed the back of his spine. Removing his coat, he placed it to the side of the home, on the hanger.
Heading deeper into the house, he passed his father's small library, the floors lined with carpets, books from overseas, and ornaments and paintings lined some of the walls. Their home spoke of wealth, yet they lived in a place that did not guarantee their safety. The power of the stark was alone enough. Old Henrick believed that to the core. He had always aspired to become a guard for the castle, but he learned that if he were to do that, the life he wished to have with Mariam would not unfold as it did now.
Rickard rolled up his sleeves, took off his gloves, and placed them to the side of his belt, where his small dagger stayed in its sheath. The one to welcome him first was his younger sister, Alansa. This one was a beauty that could outmatch all the beauties of the realm. A simple wave was enough; her attention was grabbed by the smell of food placed on her plate by her mother. Alaric sat in the middle of the large table, closer to his mother and his father. Rickard, with a small mustache growing in and his beard half-formed, sat by his father, a tired sigh coming over him.
"How is everything looking?" Old Henrick asked, looking at his eldest. "Everything is locked, the fence is reinforced, and there is not a chance wolf can come in and take one of the sheep. To this, Alansa froze up, but a warm touched hers. It was her mother's.
"It had scared Alansa, you know." Said their mother. "One would think a wolf is just like any dog, but that was a large one."
Old Henrick took to his fork and spoon and began to eat. "Well, I remember a time when I was hunting a wolf with nothing but my bare hands." He held both his fists as he shook them with conviction. Alansa was the first one to laugh, more like a giggle as she looked to her father. "You don't believe me, little one? I was young then; muscles filled me to the brim, and I was fighting to get home to your mother. Me and that wolf we fought for two days straight." Alansa, being the child she was, laughed wholeheartedly; she began to hiccup. Her laughter was always weird in how it skipped.
"Speaking of wolves, last month when I went to deliver milk to lord stark, guess who I ran into." Asked Rickard, the young wolf they call him, Brandon, lord stark's oldest. I have to say he is as willful as they say he is definitely a wolf, he ran out of the measters tower, claiming that he is a man-wolf, and man-wolf don't read." To that everyone laughed the dinner went on as everyone shared what they did for the day, and for a small while, a cup of wine was passed to everyone. Alana was only allowed a small sip.
"You know, some years back." Began Mariam, the food was finished, and everyone had cleaned their plate, and all was placed in order to be washed on the morrow. "I used to be a Servant of Lady Lyarra; in that time, the farm was not doing as well, and Rickard had just been born, and we were in that fight with the Malos family. Claiming we stole one of their sheep. It was not safe for me and Rickard so I took him to Winterfell with me, and your father stayed, he told me he would handle it. I needed work, and I was not so low as to stoop myself with the whores, so I took a job as a servant at Winterfell. I cooked. It did not take long for Lord Stark to notice the better taste in his food. I became their head cook, and soon enough, I was controlling half of Winterfell with my food. Good times." She finished off. Mariam was never one to finish a story she always placed it in the middle as to keep your curiosities busy. To allow your mind to come up with the most bizarre idea to a simple ending.
It was soon after everyone had gone off to bed that both father and son sat in the small library, old Henrick had his legs covered with a blanket and a book in his hand, as he read along with what the diary said. The hearth gave him warmth and light, and that was all he needed. To the side of him, Rickard sat in his respective chair, his hand reaching down to the large hound that sat below him, its head on the carpet as it looked at the hearth. A yawn escaped its mouth, Saliva drooling from its lips. It was black as night. Yet soft and kind.
Old Henrick had finished the last pages of the book and sat in silence. He always did this when a book offered profound knowledge. and he wanted to meditate on its words. When he was done, he crossed his fingers and said. "I stole that sheep, and I would have stolen a lot more than that if he had not noticed."
Rickard was not surprised by his father's confession. "Your mother is a beautiful and intelligent woman, Rickard, and she knows me well. She did not say that out of spite, she said it to allow you to know what I have Sacrificed for this family but to also let you know that there is not a line that you have crossed that I haven't. This world is cruel, my son, but to beat it, we must be crueler. I realized this when that fuck had eyes for your mother. She did not go to Winterfell willingly. I led her there, and when she was there, I took care of business like a man. he and his family were gone that night.
With those abilities of yours, you will become a lot more than I could have become. But be careful of that greed. Watch it like the moon watches the sun.' Looking around the chamber. Old Henrick nodded. He stood from his chair and placed the blanket on the chair. The hound stood up at once. "Thank you for this, Rickard; there is nothing an old man appreciates more than stories in his old age." With that said, Old Henrick passed Rickard and climbed the stairs to his chambers.