274 AC, Winterfell
The Great Hall was buzzing with life. Senior lords sat at the main table, discussing politics, weather, and how snow used to be better. And me? I had a more important task. I gathered them all at the side table. The young ones. Potential companions.
I raised a glass of Wolf Whiskey and tapped the table.
"Gentlemen. I won't beat around the bush. I need you."
Wendel, chewing something, raised an eyebrow.
"For what? Surely not for drinking? Because if so, I'm first."
"For an expedition beyond the Wall," I said calmly. "And then, after we deal with the wildlings, we can sail to Lys. Along the way — raiding pirates."
Willam straightened up.
"Finally! How long can one wait for a real fight?"
Howland looked at me carefully.
"...And who will support us?" he asked quietly. "This isn't a game of knights, Brandon. Who will give you men? Who will provide weapons? Who will provide ships?"
I smiled and took a slow sip. Wolf Whiskey burned just right.
"Father has already approved my future expedition to Essos — but only after we deal with the wildlings. This is our chance. The new ships being built in White Harbor are far superior to the southern vessels — each of them armed with scorpions. Sometimes we won't even need to board the enemy ship. We'll shoot — and problem solved. Pirates or slave traders usually have more gold than sense."
Willam whistled appreciatively.
"Scorpions on ships? Too bad we're not sailing tomorrow."
Wendel wiped his mouth and leaned over the table.
"So father supports this? Not just allows, but actively supports?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "Because he knows the North needs gold. And the purest gold isn't in mines — but in the holds of those no one will mourn."
Howland furrowed his brow.
"And what if we return empty-handed? Or... don't return at all?"
I looked him straight in the eyes.
"We're not pawns. We're not sailing for glory. We're sailing for return on investment. Besides... who among you wouldn't want to taste the women of Lys?"
Willam nodded with a smile.
I leaned slightly over the table.
"I have a feeling that in a few years, war will break out in the South."
Willam looked up, no longer as amused.
"Where does this feeling come from?"
Howland also tensed — as if wanting to hear something between the lines.
"Because I see how the world is changing," I replied quietly. "The king is becoming increasingly jealous of his own Hand. After Prince Jaehaeris's death, his madness, which had previously subsided, is beginning to sprout again. And now I hear he's gone on a fast. What if he ends up like Baelor the Blessed?"
Howland frowned.
"Baelor fasted for forty days and nights and starved himself to death. If Aerys follows this path..."
"...then the Council will start looking for ways to 'relieve him'," I finished. "Or Tywin will take matters into his own hands. Not through an assassination. Through... 'constitutional order'."
Willam ran his hand through his hair.
"So we either have a madman in the crown, starving himself in the name of the gods, or a Hand who has everything except the crown itself."
"Or both at the same time," Wendel muttered. "And that's the worst combination."
I nodded.
"And that's exactly why we need to be ready. If the South catches fire, no one will remember loyalty to the North. But everyone will want our wood, our steel, our food, and our help."
"And if we don't give it for free..." Howland began.
"...then maybe they'll finally pay us what we're actually worth. That's why after the expedition beyond the Wall, we can go to Essos and train there. We'll take half the people who are already experienced — this way we'll ensure we don't suffer major losses."
After my words, silence fell. Not an awkward silence — more like one that weighs each spoken word.
Wendel Manderly was the first to break it. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, finished the rest of his whiskey, and said simply:
"I'm with you. Because if we're going to risk our lives... let it be for something that really matters."
Halys Hornwood, usually cheerful, was now strangely calm.
"My house has no fleet, no mountains of gold, but we have people. We've always been loyal to the Starks. And if you, Brandon, see sense in this — then I'm in too."
Willam Dustin slammed his fist on the table.
"You think I won't go? Go ahead and count me in."
Howland Reed looked at me and nodded.
"I'll go. It's a good way to see a bigger world."
Last was Harrion Karstark. He was silent the longest. He stared into my eyes, as if wanting to check if I truly had what I was saying.
"Karstarks aren't afraid of darkness," he said quietly. "Nor wildlings. Nor hunger. But most of all, we can't stand inaction. So... I'll take my men. And we'll move with you."
I raised my glass. After the second toast, stories began. After the third — plans. And then... I don't remember.