The North, Winterfell
Under the first light of dawn, Winterfell revealed its unique charm. Shrouded in a light mist, the ancient castle looked like something from a dream.
Winterfell was the oldest and most mysterious stronghold in the North. According to House Stark, this castle had stood upon the continent for thousands of years.
Although many southerners did not believe this claim, the colossal heart tree within Winterfell—already as immense as a castle—seemed to prove that the legend was very likely true.
The towers of Winterfell appeared intertwined with the massive heart tree, creating a scene that was both realistic and surreal.
Ding-ling...
Just then, a crisp and pleasant sound suddenly rang out, thoroughly breaking the silence of the morning.
As the jingling of horse bells gradually grew louder, a massive caravan slowly emerged from the small forest far down the Kingsroad. With its appearance, the mysterious veil surrounding Winterfell was slowly lifted before everyone's eyes.
The caravan consisted of more than a dozen wagons, each horse adorned with exquisite harnesses. Bells tied around their necks swayed with every step, producing a series of clear, melodious chimes.
The wagons were filled with all kinds of goods—from silk to spices, from gold and silver jewelry to rare medicinal herbs—everything one could imagine.
The caravan's leader seemed to be heading directly toward Winterfell. On the last few wagons, the merchants had already begun removing the waterproof canvas coverings.
With the caravan's arrival, the residents of the Winter Town outside Winterfell were immediately drawn by the sudden commotion.
People walked out of their homes one after another, curiously watching the caravan from afar.
Children pointed excitedly at the horses, while the merchants of Winter Town began thinking about how to trade with these visitors from distant lands.
Thus, accompanied by the echo of horse bells, the morning in Winterfell was infused with fresh vitality by the arrival of the caravan.
Winter Town outside Winterfell was a very large settlement. Although the seasons in Westeros were not particularly distinct, in a place like the North...
By the end of the year, the snow here could freeze a person to death. It was precisely because of this that Winter Town existed.
Thanks to the unusually long summer, the coldest months had become much shorter. Even so, Winterfell was far from deserted.
While Winter Town celebrated the arrival of the caravan, on the second floor of a certain tavern, a weary-looking Theon Greyjoy slowly closed the door to his room.
The red-haired Ros's skills were truly exceptional, and Theon could always find satisfaction with her. However, his mood had not been good these past few days, so he had been coming here much more frequently.
The reason was simple—Theon felt slighted.
Robb Stark had led an army to attack the Vale, yet he had deliberately missed the opportunity because he did not want to see Jon.
Theon occupied a unique position in Winterfell. Although he was nominally Eddard Stark's ward, everyone knew he was actually a hostage.
Because of this, Theon had never truly found a sense of belonging in Winterfell. That was why he had always been so harsh toward Jon. Only by looking down on Jon could he find even a trace of comfort for his own loneliness and humiliation.
But everything was different now.
That bastard Jon Snow, whom Theon had always despised, had somehow become Aegon Targaryen and won the loyalty of the entire North.
Had anyone else said such a thing, Theon would have thought them insane.
But the one who had spoken those words was his foster father, the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark.
When Robb marched south, he had invited Theon to accompany him. Yet Theon refused outright because he could not swallow his pride. Serving under someone he had once looked down upon was something he simply could not accept.
"What's going on?"
Walking into the tavern hall in a foul mood, Theon immediately heard the commotion outside and curiously asked the bartender behind the counter.
"A caravan claiming to be from the Riverlands has arrived outside. Everyone is buying things from them. Would you like to take a look, Master Theon?"
Theon was a regular customer at the tavern, and for such a generous spender, the bartender naturally treated him with great respect.
"Oh? Really?"
Hearing they were southerners immediately piqued Theon's interest.
Before King Robert Baratheon died, southern caravans often came to Winterfell to trade. But after Eddard Stark pledged his allegiance to Jon and stationed troops at Moat Cailin, very few caravans had been able to reach the North.
"Although I heard that the people of the Riverlands have already sworn allegiance to His Majesty Aegon, I just hope these fellows don't cause any trouble."
Unlike the ordinary residents of Winter Town, the bartender often dealt with nobles, so he was relatively well-informed. He also knew that they now owed their allegiance to the House Targaryen regime rather than House Baratheon.
"Mind your own business, boy! Those matters aren't something you need to worry about!"
The moment Jon's true name was mentioned, Theon's already sour mood became even worse.
After throwing out those words, Theon strode out of the tavern.
Watching him leave, the bartender muttered speechlessly,
"These young nobles are impossible to please. Isn't everyone in Winterfell saying the same thing? What's wrong with me saying it?"
"Hehe, there was nothing wrong with what you said. It's just a pity you picked the wrong person to say it to."
Just then, a lazy yet enchanting voice came from the top of the stairs.
The bartender looked up and saw the red-haired Ros, looking somewhat disheveled.
"Uh... I shouldn't have said that to Master Theon?"
"Of course not. Our Master Theon simply can't accept His Majesty Aegon's true identity. Oh my... what a pity. If I'd worked a little harder back then, perhaps I could have had a taste of the Dragon King's gold."
After speaking such an ambiguous sentence, Ros fell into her memories. For some reason, merely recalling those events made her body grow warm.
After leaving the tavern, Theon's attention was quickly drawn to the lively street.
Inside Winter Town was a main road leading directly to Winterfell's southern gate.
Now, the road that had once been muddy had been transformed into a broad avenue paved with a strange material.
Ever since the North had sworn allegiance to Jon, the sanctions and decline Theon had expected had never appeared.
Instead, both the North and Winterfell had undergone tremendous changes under Jon's rule.
Every month, enormous quantities of supplies crossed the Narrow Sea, were processed at White Harbor, and then distributed throughout the North.
All of the Stark children, except for Theon himself, had already departed for the Stepstones. Rumor had it that, apart from Robb, they would all become governors or councilors under Jon in the future.
So every time Theon walked upon this paved road made from stone slabs called "concrete," he felt as though he were accepting Jon's charity—a feeling that made him deeply uncomfortable.
"Young master, would you like to sample some of our special Riverlands wine? Although it cannot compare with the wines of the Reach, it has a unique flavor of its own."
Today, Theon wore a brown leather outfit beneath a gray cloak.
The direwolf sigils on his cloak and belt were unmistakable, allowing the wine merchant to recognize him immediately.
Wine had always been hard currency in this world, though many fine vintages remained far beyond the reach of common folk.
Hearing himself addressed respectfully, Theon was not surprised and walked directly to the stall.
Within Winter Town, House Stark had built small wooden booths specifically for foreign merchants to conduct business. Occasionally, the mountain clans of the North also brought furs here to trade.
"Young master, please try my wine. I am 'Sweetwine' Amy."
"Mmm."
Taking the cup from her, Theon finished the slightly bitter wine in one gulp.
"Your wine truly comes from that godforsaken Riverlands. Only Riverlands wine has such a peculiar taste."
"Young master, you're truly impressive. You must be one of the young lords of House Stark."
Hearing the latter half of that sentence, the pride on Theon's face immediately vanished.
"Is this all the wine you have? I can afford something better. Bring out your finest vintage. I don't drink commoners' wine."
Unable to vent his anger directly, Theon simply changed the subject.
A sharp glint flashed through Sweetwine Amy's eyes when she heard those words.
"Young master, then please try this instead. It's a wine acquired from across the sea. I'm sure you'll like it."
As she spoke, Sweetwine Amy removed a wineskin made from cowhide from beneath her stall.
"Mm... Ah... Not bad! Now this is real wine. I like it!"
Taking the wineskin somewhat skeptically, Theon uncorked it and took a small sip.
"Not bad. What's this wine called, and where is it from? It doesn't taste like wine from the Arbor or Dorne."
Hearing Theon's question, the wine merchant carefully glanced around before lowering her voice and saying seriously,
"This wineskin came from the Iron Islands."
"Its name... is Home."
"Wha... what!?"
Upon hearing those words, Theon almost cried out in shock, but he quickly clamped his mouth shut.
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