The fire crackled softly in the solar, its warmth battling the Northern chill that seeped through the stone walls of Winterfell. Lord Eddard Stark sat at his desk, quill in hand, his mind heavy with matters of the realm. Reports lay before him/
A knock at the door broke his thoughts. Before he could answer, the heavy wooden door creaked open, and one of his guards stepped inside, his breath still visible in the cold air.
"My lord, the riders from House Manderly approach. They will reach Winterfell within the hour."
Ned nodded, setting his quill aside. "Very well. Have the hall prepared to receive them. And see that their men are given food and rest. It is a long road from White Harbor."
The guard bowed and exited, leaving Ned alone once more. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. Wylis Manderly.
The boy—no, the man—was coming to Winterfell.
Ned closed his eyes for a brief moment, recalling the last time he had seen Wylis, years ago, before the lad had transformed into something else entirely. The change had been so sudden, so profound, that many had whispered of sorcery, of a man who had glimpsed the Stranger and returned with newfound purpose. But Ned had never believed in such things. Change could come swiftly to a man, especially one who had seen the failings of his past.
And change Wylis had.
White Harbor was no longer just the North's only true city—it had become a force of its own. Its shipyards bustled with constant work, its docks crowded with merchants from across the Narrow Sea, and its warehouses filled with goods that once never reached the North. And the navy… gods, the navy.
House Manderly now commanded the strongest fleet in Westeros. No one, not even the Redwyne Fleet, could boast of ships like the ones Wylis had built. Faster, sturdier, armed in ways others had never considered. More than once, Ned had heard whispers of how the young heir had studied the fleets of Essos, learning their strengths and weaknesses, adapting, improving. Now, White Harbor could hold its own against any force at sea, Ironborn or otherwise.
But it wasn't just warships.
Wylis had spread his influence carefully, not through conquest, but through gifts—clever gifts, placed where they would do the most good. The distilleries had started it, their spirits flowing southward, making allies instead of rivals. But it had been more than that. Knowledge, innovations, methods of farming, shipbuilding, and even warfare—Wylis had shared these freely, ensuring that the lords of the North profited alongside him. There was no jealousy, no resentment.
The Night's Watch had been one of his greatest projects. Even now, as Ned sat in his solar, he knew that White Harbor sent grain and barrels of White Fire to the Wall every moon without fail. More men had joined the Watch in these last years than in decades before—three of Wylis's own cousins had taken the black, as had many from the smaller houses.
More than that, Wylis had done something unheard of. He had traveled across the Narrow Sea, into the Free Cities, and bought men—not as slaves, but as free men willing to serve upon the Wall. Former slaves, men who had known nothing but chains, given a chance at a new life in the cold North. The Watch had once been filled with the unwanted, the criminals, the disgraced. Now, it had warriors from Essos, men who had known war, hardship, and suffering far beyond the green boys sent from the South.
And it was not enough for the Merman of White Harbor.
Now, he wanted to go beyond the Wall.
Ned exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. The petition had come weeks ago, but only now was Wylis here in person. He wanted an expedition north of the Wall. He wanted to send soldiers, ships, supplies into the haunted lands beyond, to scout, to prepare, to test his forces against an unseen enemy.
Madness.
And yet, the North was with him.
Almost every major house had declared support. Karstarks, Umbers, Ryswells, Glovers, Dustin, Mormont… even the Bolton in the Dreadfort had given his approval. It was time, they said, to bloody the troops.
Bloody them? As if they were untested? As if House Manderly's forces had not already bloodied themselves in Essos.
Ned knew well enough what Wylis had done across the sea. He had hired men, trained them, and sent them to fight in the Disputed Lands, among the Stepstones, against pirates, bandits, and mercenaries. He had tested his weapons, his strategies, his new methods of war in lands far from Westeros, learning what worked and what failed.
And now, it seemed, he wanted to bring that war to the far North.
Ned let out a slow breath, staring at the crackling fire. What was he to do?
Beyond the Wall… there was nothing there but death, but wildlings, but endless frozen wastes. Yet Wylis was convinced there was something more. Something worth risking the lives of Northern men.
Did he approve? Did he allow this madness?
Or did he put an end to it before it even began?