The days after my quarrel with Catelyn passed in a blur of silence and duty. I buried myself in maps and ledgers, in the endless work of a lord returned to his seat. Yet even as I tried to lose myself in parchment and ink, her words lingered like a thorn beneath the skin. I had spoken harshly, too harshly, but I could not repent of the choice itself. Jon would remain. That much was settled.
Still, I knew I could not let discord fester in my hall. The North needed unity, and so did I. My wife's heart would have to be won back, in time. For now, I turned my thoughts to the greater burden: the North itself.
It was a gray morning when I summoned Maester Luwin and my brother Benjen to my solar. The fire burned low in the hearth, the air thick with the smell of old parchment and wax. Maps of the North lay spread across the table, their ink faded, their edges worn by generations of Stark hands.
Benjen leaned against the wall, restless as ever, his riding cloak still dusted with the road. Luwin sat with quill in hand, eyes sharp behind his chain. I stood over the maps, my fingers tracing the rivers and mountains, the vast empty spaces between.
"The base of our problem is simple," I began. "The North needs more people. But not only more—better. A prosperous, industrious folk, whose labor enriches the land and strengthens the realm. Too many of our villages are so small, so poor, they cannot even keep a smith or a healer."
Benjen snorted. "Too many indeed. I've ridden farther than most, and the farther you go from the great holds, the poorer the folk. Some villages barely scrape enough to feed themselves. No trade, no craft, nothing but mud and hunger."
Luwin dipped his quill, scratching notes. "That is because good farmland is scarce, my lord. What little there is has long been claimed. The rest is forest, mountain, or marsh. You cannot conjure fields where the land will not yield."
I frowned. "I had thought to settle the Gift and the New Gift. Perhaps I still shall. But those lands are poor, and few southerners would come willingly to farm in the shadow of the Wall."
"Then you must make more farmland," Luwin said, his voice calm, measured. "Marshes, once drained, can be fertile indeed. And the North has marshland in abundance. The Neck alone is near as vast as the Riverlands. Drain even a part of it, and you would gain fields enough to feed thousands. And those lands, being southernmost, would be among the most fertile."
Benjen shook his head. "More fields and more folk will not be enough. The North is too vast, too scattered. How long would it take to march from Karhold to the Stony Shore? Weeks. We have no roads worth the name, and our rivers run north and south, not east to west. By sea, our eastern and western shores are nearer to Dorne than to each other. To bind the North together with roads would cost more gold than all the Seven Kingdoms possess. And for what? There are too few cities to link, too few markets to make such roads worth the building."
I listened, weighing their words. Both spoke true. Yet I felt the shape of an answer stirring in my mind, bold and dangerous.
"The prosperity that commerce brings is plain," I said at last. "We must have greater trade, both within the North and beyond it. Look at White Harbor. It thrives on its trade with the Vale and the South, yet even that is constrained. We have no great port on the western shore, and if one were built, it would be cut off from the east. It would serve only a few lonely settlements, and never grow into what it might."
I straightened, my hand falling on the faded ink of Moat Cailin. "But what if east and west were joined? What if the Neck itself became the bridge?"
Benjen frowned. "What are you saying, Ned?"
"I am saying this: I propose to cut a canal. From the Fever River, through Moat Cailin, to the Bite. A waterway wide enough for barges at first, and in time, for ships. With it, we could drain the marshes, open new farmland, and raise two new ports—one at the Fever River's mouth, the other on the Bite. And at its heart, Moat Cailin rebuilt, not only as fortress but as market, as gate, as shield."
The words hung in the air, bold and heavy.
Luwin's quill stilled. "A canal," he murmured. "It would be the greatest work the North has attempted in centuries. It would take years, perhaps decades. It would cost a fortune."
Benjen whistled low. "And men. Thousands of them. Many would die in the swamps before the first stone was laid."
"I know," I said. "But the reward would be greater still. A North bound together, rich in trade, strong in defense. A North that no southern lord would dare to use as pawn again."
Luwin leaned back, his chain clinking softly. "It is madness, my lord. Yet… there is sense in it. If it could be done, it would change the North forever."
Benjen crossed his arms, studying me. "You mean to spend the whole treasury on this folly?"
"Yes," I said simply. "Gold and silver locked in a vault do the North no good. Better it be spent to make us strong."
They exchanged a glance, half doubt, half wonder. I felt the weight of their eyes, but I did not waver. The vision had taken root in me, and I knew it would not be shaken.
"This will be my work," I said. "The work of my life, if need be. The North must never again be weak. We must be strong, so that we may have peace."