Chapter 71 - Become a Lord.

[Chapter Size: 4000 Words.]

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Third Person POV

North, 105 AC.

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Lord Stark passed through the gates of Winterfell a few days after the incident.

He had already received reports through a rider sent by his brother and sighed in relief upon learning that, despite the eight casualties among Winterfell's guards, Rickon and the others were well.

He would certainly have to compensate those men's families in some way. His brother had been quite competent in sending detailed information about everything that had happened.

He knew that Jon had managed to track the wildlings after they created a distraction to the north, while the direwolves kept their eyes on them. After discovering where the group was heading, the men of Winterfell had gone around the forest and prepared an ambush before the wildlings could reach the southernmost village.

Rickon had taken his first life. Jon had killed two men. The direwolves had been unleashed upon the wildlings at the right moment and turned the rest of the battle into a massacre.

But there was another part of the report that had particularly caught his attention. Jon had spoken with the last prisoner in the Old Tongue.

The boy had already been questioned about it by his mother and Rickard, revealing only part of what he had discussed with the wildling. He had spoken about the White Walkers and about a death that would come from north of the Wall.

Lord Stark still did not know exactly what to think about it, but it had sent a chill through him when he read his brother's letter.

For now, however, he pushed those concerns from his mind when he found his family waiting for him in the courtyard.

Alys was the first to greet him. Lord Stark dismounted and approached his wife, taking her into his arms before giving her a kiss.

Then came his mother, who received him with the same firmness as always, yet still received a kiss on the forehead from her son.

His gaze then found Rickon. Lord Stark approached his heir and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in a silent gesture of support. Rickon held his gaze and nodded.

"The first kill is never easy, son."

"I'm fine, Father."

"That's what your uncle wrote."

"..." Rickon remained silent.

"I heard it was a woman."

"She was a wildling trying to kill me," the boy replied. "I didn't think much when it happened."

"Then continue not thinking of her as a woman. At that moment, she was someone with a weapon trying to take your life." Lord Stark squeezed his shoulder again. "But don't become too accustomed to death. A man who begins to enjoy killing usually does not remain a good man for long."

Rickon nodded solemnly.

After him came Bennard. The second son had not taken part in the battle. Although he too trained in the yard like any son of House Stark, Bennard had never shown the same inclination toward combat and adventure as Rickon.

Lord Stark knew that Bennard lacked some of his brother's reckless courage, but he possessed other qualities. He much preferred conversations, political games, and observing people. For his age, he was already proving better at it than Lord Stark had expected.

Perhaps that was exactly what Rickon would need in the future. When his firstborn became Lord of Winterfell, having Bennard at his side to advise him could be as valuable as possessing a good sword.

Then came his little flower of twelve name days, his winter rose. Lyra let out a small laugh when her father embraced her.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"A little."

"A little?"

"A lot," she corrected, laughing.

Lyra quickly began talking about the past few days, recounting everything she considered important before mentioning, with evident pride, that she was continuing to practice with the bow.

No Stark daughter of his would be spared from learning how to wield a weapon. After all, Lyra was a woman of the North. Alys might not be as inclined toward handling weapons, but Lyarra was a Mormont she-bear, so she also encouraged her granddaughter to learn as well.

More than that, she was a she-wolf.

Jon was the last to be greeted in the front row. Lord Stark stopped before him and extended his arm. Jon grasped his forearm, receiving the same firm greeting.

It was then that Lord Stark once again realized just how much the young man had grown.

Jon was already taller than Rickon. Height had always been common among the men of his family. His brother was tall as well, and even his mother possessed considerable height for a woman, despite her more slender build. Lyarra was not as broad as her brother, Lord Mormont, but she remained a true she-bear, and perhaps that mixture explained why Lord Stark, his brothers, and his sons all seemed destined to grow quite tall.

Even so, Jon was surpassing them all.

For now, at least. Perhaps it was those potions he had been taking for years. His development had accelerated considerably since he had begun making them. Jon had even offered some to the others, and although Lord Stark still did not know exactly what to think about those mixtures, they had made him and his sons stronger and healthier.

In any case, Lord Stark left the group and gave a brief speech before the people gathered in the courtyard. He spoke about the wildling attack, praised the men who had fought bravely to protect Winterfell's lands, and paid tribute to the eight who had lost their lives during the confrontation.

"The families of those who died serving Winterfell will not be forgotten," he declared before them all. "Your husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers gave their lives protecting our lands and our people. As long as there is a Stark in Winterfell, their families will have a roof over their heads, food, and the support of this house."

His words were met with approval, followed by applause and shouts of support among the people gathered in the courtyard.

After that, Lord Stark finally entered the castle, accompanied by part of his family. He went to his solar, where he first spoke privately with his mother and brother to learn more about everything that had happened in Winterfell during his absence.

Only some time later did he send for Jon. The boy opened the doors to the solar and found Lord Stark waiting for him.

"Lord Stark," he greeted.

"Jon. Come in and make yourself comfortable."

Jon showed a small smile and entered. After so many years living in Winterfell, he already felt quite comfortable in that place.

"I heard you've been making some interesting tools while I was away," Lord Stark commented.

Jon nodded. "You've already heard about it?"

"My mother told me."

Jon immediately understood.

"Something for working the land, from what she explained to me. A... different plow?"

"Ah, yes. A better plow," Jon explained. "It can break the soil more easily and requires less effort from the animals, but it will still need a good animal to pull it. I'm still making some adjustments."

"Interesting. I'd like to see it working when it's ready."

"Of course."

Lord Stark was not particularly surprised. Jon was always coming up with strange ideas and, quite often, surprisingly useful ones.

Years ago, the boy had presented him with an even more unusual proposal: dividing the cultivated lands and establishing a four-stage crop rotation, alternating what was planted in each area to prevent the soil from losing its fertility so quickly.

At the time, Lord Stark had been quite skeptical. Even so, he had authorized the method to be applied to some lands to test its results, and even Jon was willing to pay for any lost crops, which would not amount to much.

Three years later, there was no longer much to argue about.

The results had been exactly as Jon had promised. The lands subjected to the new system continued producing good harvests, while the soil remained in better condition than in areas cultivated in the traditional manner.

Naturally, the small landowners and peasants who began benefiting from the method came to regard Jon with considerable esteem.

Lord Stark still wasn't sure where the boy got half of those ideas, but surprisingly, he did not question it much. His greatest suspicion lay with the dreams and the knowledge Jon had gained at the God's Eye.

In any case, whatever plans the gods had for Jon, he had already learned that it was worth listening to his ideas.

"In any case, I hear you have a new project. The maester had told me about it before I left for the southeast of the realm," Lord Stark said as he picked up some papers from the table.

Among them was a detailed drawing of a tower with large blades attached to the top.

"This is a windmill," Jon explained. "It uses the power of the wind to move the stones and grind grain. If we build several of them, they could greatly help the North turn cereals such as wheat, rye, and barley into flour or crushed grain, making them much more useful for food and storage."

"Help the North or help the common people?" Lord Stark asked as he examined the drawing.

"Both. Making life easier for the common people also strengthens the North by making the grain more valuable."

Lord Stark could not disagree with that. He turned his attention back to the drawings, examining each of the notes made by the boy.

"I've never seen a structure like this. Do you truly believe it will work?"

"It will work. As long as it's built properly and in a place with strong enough winds," Jon replied. "It will reduce the amount of work required from the common people. It will also help with the storage and distribution of flour."

Lord Stark remained thoughtful for a few moments before nodding.

"I believe you, Jon. Or, at least, I believe you enough to find out whether this thing actually works." He placed the papers back on the table. "So, we'll start with three of them built on the farms closest to Winterfell. You'll help the blacksmiths and builders with the project. Can you do that?"

"I can." It was not the first time Lord Stark had decided to take a chance on one of Jon's ideas.

Ever since he had begun introducing new tools and establishing a rental system so that the farmers of the region could use them, making the most of the summer months, the production of the lands near Winterfell had increased dramatically. On some properties, it had risen to more than two hundred and twenty percent of what they had previously produced.

Part of the money generated by his inventions also ended up in Jon's hands. Lord Stark held the rights to some of them, while Jon received a percentage for the designs and improvements he created.

Over the last four years, his personal fortune had grown from around a thousand gold coins to approximately forty-three thousand.

It was an absurd amount for a boy of 14 namedays, with no name or title.

It was still far from the wealth of House Stark, whose coffers held hundreds of thousands of gold coins, and even further from the great houses of the South, some of which possessed fortunes in the millions when their coffers, properties, and deposits in the Iron Bank were taken into account. There were also houses like the Velaryons, whose wealth was surrounded by stories that spoke of even greater fortunes.

Even so, forty-three thousand gold coins placed Jon in an extraordinary position. His personal fortune already exceeded the coffers of some lesser noble houses in the North.

Naturally, that was not public knowledge. Only 3 people knew exactly how much Jon possessed. Lord Stark and his mother were two of them, mainly because much of the money remained protected within Winterfell's own vaults. And the third was Jon himself.

Jon had also withdrawn a considerable portion of his earnings to invest in his family's farm.

At his request, his parents began setting aside part of the new lands for the cultivation of certain herbs, no longer focusing the entire property exclusively on food production.

The farm itself had changed greatly since the plans Jon had made four years earlier.

It had been expanded considerably. Where there had once been only two areas devoted to crops, there were now eight. Parts of the forest had been cleared, while other areas had been filled in and leveled to create land suitable for cultivation.

Everyone had expected preparing those new lands for cultivation to be much more difficult. The uprooted trees had left large roots scattered throughout the soil, and it would have been natural for some areas to take years before becoming truly suitable for planting.

Strangely, however, the exact opposite happened. The land became extremely fertile.

That had surprised even Jon's family. His parents took advantage of the long summer months to plant in the new areas and, before long, began harvesting results far better than they had expected. The farm's production increased tenfold, generating around 80 to 90 gold coins per year, depending on the winter months.

Now, Jon had other plans. Plans to make his family prosper even more, which he intended to put into practice over the next two years.

He had not given the design of that windmill merely to help the North. He would also profit from the increase in production and, consequently, from the taxes paid by the farms that adopted his inventions.

And, just as had happened with his other ideas, he would begin with the Stark lands. If the results were good, it would not take long for the system to spread throughout the rest of the North, exactly as had happened with his four-stage crop rotation method.

"Lord Stark, I also wanted to ask you for something related to Braavos," Jon said after a thoughtful moment.

Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"I want to arrange a meeting with a representative of the Iron Bank."

Lord Stark's expression immediately became more curious. "The Iron Bank? What do you intend to do with them? Not even Bennard has the courage to involve himself in matters like that."

"I have a business proposal to present to the Braavosi." Jon paused briefly. "I've created some fragrances, and I believe they'll be quite popular in Essos."

Lord Stark stared at him for a few seconds. "You created... perfumes?"

"Fragrances."

"Perfumes," Lord Stark repeated. "And now you want to sell them in Essos."

"Exactly." The confusion on the man's face almost made Jon smile.

Jon knew the tastes of the people of Essos very well from his memories. Even after centuries, certain cultural preferences had barely changed. For that reason, he had developed an entire line of fragrances with the people of the Free Cities specifically in mind, ranging from simpler, more affordable scents to exotic and expensive combinations intended for the wealthy.

He was certain he would find a market in Braavos. He could begin with the courtesans and establishments frequented by the elite and, if he won over the right buyers, spread his products throughout the city before reaching other parts of Essos.

"Are you sure there's a market for this?" Lord Stark asked cautiously.

"Absolutely."

"And why do you need the Iron Bank?"

"Because I need to reach the right people. Merchants, investors, and men with contacts in Braavos, as well as a permanent trade agreement. The Iron Bank can put me in front of them and establish stable trade." Jon leaned slightly against the chair. "I only need to secure a meeting with a representative. After that, I'll handle the rest."

Lord Stark still looked curious. "Perhaps the Manderlys can help. They have far more contacts on the other side of the Narrow Sea than we do."

"That's exactly what I thought. A letter to the Manderlys would already be enough to get started."

Lord Stark nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll ask the Manderlys to make some inquiries and try to arrange that meeting for you." He paused briefly. "But do you truly believe this is a viable business?"

"Yes. And I believe it will earn me many gold coins."

"So a few tens of thousands are no longer enough for you?" Lord Stark asked, now more curious than amused.

"No." The answer came too quickly.

To Jon, forty-three thousand gold coins truly were not an impressive fortune. In his previous life, he had once controlled wealth so absurd that, at one point, it represented a considerable portion of all the wealth that existed on the planet.

Compared to that, forty-three thousand gold dragons were almost nothing.

Lord Stark, obviously, had no way of knowing that. For a few moments, he studied the boy carefully. Perhaps he was searching for some sign of greed. After all, Jon already possessed a fortune greater than what many men would spend their entire lives trying to accumulate, yet he continued looking for new ways to increase it.

Even so, that glimmer of greed he expected to find never appeared. He looked at Lord Stark as though all of this were perfectly natural.

"I'll do it, Jon," he finally said. Then his expression became more serious. "But there's something else we need to talk about. And with you bringing up this subject, perhaps this is no longer something we should postpone..."

Jon immediately noticed the change in his tone.

"You've been becoming quite well known. Though you were already well known before. And that could be a problem." Lord Stark rested his arms on the table.

"First it was your direwolf, that bear. Then Harrenhal and everything that happened during the Great Council. Now it's your inventions, new tools, changes to the crops, and ever-larger harvests."

Jon remained silent.

"The North is producing more. Winterfell is collecting more. Men who once could barely feed their families during certain winters are now storing surpluses." Lord Stark kept his eyes on him. "Do you think no one south of the Neck has noticed?"

"I imagine they're asking questions?" Jon said.

"In the capital, especially. Over the last year, the increase in the North's taxes and production has already drawn attention at the king's court." Lord Stark paused. "And now they're beginning to ask why."

Jon nodded slowly. He understood perfectly well what that meant.

"The North is beginning to grow too quickly..." Lord Stark said.

"And many people don't like that," Jon concluded.

"Exactly."

Jon knew why Lord Stark seemed so concerned about it, he just didn't know where that conversation might lead.

"Jon, you are a blessing to House Stark, and I have never regretted bringing you to Winterfell. You gave us the direwolves after centuries without them, our gold has increased greatly thanks to your proposals, and I know how good you are for Rickon in a way Bennard has never managed to be, he considers you his true brother. And this perfume business in Braavos, only the gods can say whether it will succeed or not, but I truly believe you will achieve great success with it..."

"You won't remain hidden for much longer, Jon. You cannot continue without lands or titles forever," Lord Stark said after some time.

From the way he spoke, it seemed he had thought about it quite a lot.

And Jon's eyes widened slightly. "What are you trying to say, Lord Stark?" he asked, though he already had a suspicion of what those words meant.

"I've been thinking about this for moons."

Lord Stark picked up another parchment and placed it on the table. Jon immediately recognized a map of the North, one he had altered to be more accurate than the versions from this era. Several regions were marked, lands that had long been without a lord directly responsible for their administration.

Jon certainly had not expected something like this. "You want me to take over a fief?" he asked.

Lord Stark stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. "Yes." He paused.

"I don't know exactly what that vision you had years ago was. I don't know what enemy we'll face when those White Walkers come, nor what this Long Night truly means," Lord Stark continued. "But I know what I've seen from you over these past years."

"You proved long ago that you deserve to be more than merely a ward of Winterfell. And I'm not talking only about your skill with a blade." Lord Stark gestured toward the documents spread across the table. "You've improved our lands, increased our production, and created things not even our maesters knew about. If even half of what I believe about you is true, you're destined for much greater things."

His eyes returned to Jon. "I want to grant you one of the vacant fiefs under Winterfell's authority. I have no doubt that, with your ability to govern, you'll be able to make it prosper."

Jon took a few seconds to respond. "I would become a noble..."

"A lord," Lord Stark corrected. "With lands, men, and the right to found your own house."

That made Jon look at the map again with much greater attention.

"There are two possibilities I consider suitable. Moat Cailin or Sea Dragon Point. Both regions are without a ruling house."

Jon barely needed to think. "Sea Dragon Point."

Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. "You decided quickly."

"Moat Cailin is an extraordinary fortress if the goal is to prevent someone from entering the North. But it isn't where I'd want to build my future if I had a choice." Jon pointed to Sea Dragon Point. "I prefer this region."

If he possessed an entire fief in the North, he could establish a much stronger foundation for his plans. Until then, he had imagined that he would need to cross the Wall and spend years building something in the lands of the Free Folk.

Now, perhaps he would not need to start from nothing.

Sea Dragon Point could give him lands, resources, ports, and a position from which he could expand his businesses. More importantly, his family could prosper and remain protected under his own authority.

"Then Sea Dragon Point," Lord Stark said. "But there is another matter." That made Jon turn his eyes back to him.

"I imagine you know that if you intend to found a house and rule lands in the North, you'll need to think about heirs."

"A marriage."

"Exactly. And it would be prudent for your wife to be a Northerner."

Jon considered that natural. If he intended to become a lord of the North, marrying a woman from a Northern house would be the most logical decision.

Even so, the word marriage brought another memory to his mind.

Laena Velaryon.

Even after all those years, before his memories, he still remembered her beauty perfectly. From what he had heard recently, however, she was about to be betrothed to the son of the Sealord of Braavos, although apparently the negotiations had not yet been concluded.

Jon pushed the thought aside. "I hope you're not thinking of a Ryswell," he said, deciding to lighten the mood. "I heard one of the lords found his own daughter in bed with a guard."

Lord Stark could not hide a smile. He had known that story between his son and Jon for years.

"Don't worry. Her own father was tired of having an unmarried daughter. From what I heard, he got the poor man drunk and practically put him in her bed."

Jon let out a small laugh. Lord Stark's humor, however, disappeared soon afterward.

"But the marriage I have in mind is far more important than any arrangement I could ask of one of my vassals."

Lord Stark held his gaze. "I want your family and mine to be united."

Jon went still. Then his eyes widened. "Lyra..." he murmured.

Lord Stark did not look away.

"You want me to marry Lyra?" he finished.

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