The scent of smoke, pine, and wet earth lingered as the sun broke over Bogwater. Levi stood at the edge of the half-built structure, watching the morning light stretch across the budding settlement. The walls were rising, the people were working, and for the first time, the village no longer felt like a dead end—it felt like a beginning.
The return of a traveling merchant the day before had changed something in him. The man, grizzled and always with half a barrel of ale strapped to his mule, had recognized Levi from Winterfell. Over salted meat and cheap beer, they talked of roads, of trade, of the North's hunger for reliable goods.
"You've got food, tools, building stock. Even cheap ale," the merchant had said, shaking his head with amusement. "You may be tucked in the swamps, boy, but you've got the bones of a trade post."
That line had followed Levi into his sleep.
Today, he wrote it down.
Bogwater: A trade post.
He didn't know if it was possible. He didn't know what the great lords would think—or worse, if they'd crush it beneath some tax or claim. But the idea had taken root.
After breakfast, he found Mae tending her herbs behind the house. "Mae," he said cautiously, "what would it mean… if someone tried to make Bogwater into a real trade stop?"
She gave him a look that could sour milk. "It means someone's looking to get noticed," she muttered. "And not always by the right folk."
"So… bad idea?"
"Not if you're clever. Not if you make it useful to the right folk." She wiped her hands on her apron. "Ask Harwin. Or the old paperman—he knows things about lords and lands. Better still, keep your head low until you've got something real to offer."
That didn't discourage Levi—it grounded him. He needed advice. Allies.
He found Harwin later in the day near the wood pile, helping his son Jory saw through thick pine beams. When Levi brought up the idea, Harwin straightened with a grunt.
"You're thinking bold," the man said, nodding slowly. "That can be dangerous… or it can be what saves this place."
"You think the lords would mind?"
"Depends. If they see taxes from it, they'll call it wise. If they see trouble… well, they won't bother asking what you meant."
Levi laughed dryly. "So I need to make it profitable before they notice."
"Aye."
Later, with the fire low and the camp mostly asleep, Levi sat in the records tent. The old man with the papyrus—Maester Walys, though no one had called him that in years—was scribbling slowly in one of his ledgers.
Levi laid out the thought carefully, respectfully.
"I'm not asking for permission. Just… what might happen if I keep growing this?"
The old man looked at him over the rim of his cracked spectacles. "You make a post here, traders will come. That invites roads. Roads invite soldiers. And soldiers? They invite lords.
But sometimes… a single road, done right, can build a town."
Levi let that sit for a long time.
He stepped outside to find the stars had come out.
He looked toward the swamp's edge, where the stranger had vanished nights ago—silent, dusty, and likely more dangerous than he let on.
The thought stayed with him: This place is changing.