Chapter 14: Audience at Winterfell
The caravan advanced along the main road leading to the ancestral fortress of the Starks. As they drew closer, Winterfell revealed its true nature: it was not the largest construction Ethel had ever seen—the palaces of Volantis and other Free Cities surpassed it in extension and ornamentation—but there was something imposing about its granitic sobriety, in the way it seemed to emerge from the northern earth itself as a natural extension of the landscape.
The double walls embraced the complex of buildings like protective hands, with the outer wall nearly eight meters high and the inner one reaching almost twice that height. Between both, a deep moat added an additional layer of defense to a structure that had withstood centuries of sieges, storms, and the merciless northern winters.
"Impressive, isn't it?" commented one of the drivers with evident pride. "Built by Brandon the Builder thousands of years ago. They say he used magic from the First Men and the Giants to raise these walls."
Ethel nodded, maintaining her neutral expression despite the excitement bubbling within her. For any fanatic of Westeros tales, contemplating Winterfell was like seeing a legend materialize before one's eyes.
Upon approaching the main gate, two guards attired with the direwolf emblem intercepted the caravan. Their faces, weathered by the northern climate, showed the characteristic suspicion toward strangers.
"Halt!" exclaimed the one who seemed of higher rank, a sturdy man with a grizzled beard. "Identify yourselves and declare your purpose."
Ethel gently spurred her mount to advance ahead of the group, adopting the confident but respectful posture she had mentally rehearsed during the journey.
"Greetings, good men. I am Ethel of Volantis, principal merchant of the Dragon's Gold Trading House." The invented name sounded exotic enough to be credible. "We bring valuable merchandise and commercial proposals that might interest House Stark on the eve of winter."
The guard maintained his impassive expression, studying the retinue with a critical eye before responding.
"Merchants from such distant lands are rare here," he declared with certain distrust. "Do you have any documents or letters of introduction?"
Anticipating this request, Ethel extracted from her tunic a parchment sealed with red wax bearing the impression of the emblem crafted for her fictitious trading house.
"A formal letter requesting audience with the regents of Winterfell," she explained. "We also have the testimony of Lord Cerwyn, in whose house we had the honor of staying five nights ago."
The mention of one of the most loyal vassals to the Starks seemed to slightly soften the guard's attitude, who examined the document attentively before returning it.
"Wait here. I'll send a messenger to inquire if Lady Stark will grant you audience."
After what seemed an eternity, but was actually no more than twenty minutes, the messenger returned accompanied by a man of severe appearance whom Ethel immediately recognized as Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's master-at-arms.
"Lady Catelyn and Lord Robb will receive you," announced Ser Rodrik with formality. "You may enter with two of your companions. The rest of your retinue and merchandise will be directed to the outer courtyards."
Ethel exchanged a meaningful glance with Melisandre. It was exactly as they had planned: he and the red priestess would participate in the audience, while their guards supervised the security of the carriages and their valuable cargo.
"Your weapons," added Ser Rodrik, extending an expectant hand.
With a fluid gesture that denoted he had anticipated this request, Ethel unbuckled the belt holding his sword and handed it over respectfully. Melisandre, who carried no visible weapons, simply bowed her head in acknowledgment.
"Northern custom is honorable," commented Ethel with an affable smile. "In Volantis we would do the same with unknown visitors."
The comment seemed to please Ser Rodrik, whose expression relaxed slightly as he guided them through the main gate into the interior of the fortress.
The passage through Winterfell's courtyards was an overwhelming experience even for someone who knew these places through meticulous descriptions. The ordered bustle of daily life unfolded in every corner: blacksmiths hammering at the forge, stable boys tending horses, servants carrying wood and water, all under the watchful gaze of guards strategically positioned on walls and towers.
But what most impressed Ethel was the almost palpable sensation emanating from the place. Something ancient and powerful permeated every stone, every wooden beam. It wasn't merely the impression caused by a historic building; there was a real presence, a latent magic that vibrated at frequencies almost imperceptible to ordinary senses.
A sidelong glance at Melisandre confirmed that she too perceived it. The red priestess maintained her serene expression, but her scarlet eyes gleamed with increased intensity, as if contemplating something beyond the physical reality of the castle.
"The ancient spells," thought Ethel. "The protections that Brandon the Builder wove into these walls against the forces of winter." She knew, from the series, that these were not mere legends. Winterfell was protected by ancestral magics, similar to those that preserved the Wall, defenses against the horrors that lurked beyond civilized lands.
Ser Rodrik led them through the main building until stopping before the imposing oak and iron doors of the Great Hall. Two guards opened them in unison, revealing the spacious interior where the Starks had held councils, feasts, and trials for millennia.
The hall was surprisingly warm despite its dimensions, thanks to the ingenious system of pipes that channeled hot water from the thermal springs beneath the fortress through the walls. Banners with the gray direwolf on a white field hung from the ceiling beams, and torches arranged in iron holders projected a golden light that contrasted with the natural light filtering through the narrow windows.
At the far end of the hall, upon the raised platform, stood the lordly seat of the Starks: an austere structure of dark oak and iron with a high back, designed for functionality rather than ostentation. Seated to the right of the empty seat—deliberately left so in Lord Eddard's absence—was Catelyn Stark, and to the left, her eldest son, Robb.
Catelyn maintained her back straight and chin slightly elevated, projecting the dignity proper to a woman who, though born Tully of Riverrun, had fully assumed her role as Lady of Winterfell. Her reddish-brown hair showed barely a few silver strands, and her blue eyes—characteristic of House Tully—studied the newcomers with evident caution.
Robb Stark, for his part, was the living image of a young northern lord in training. At barely fifteen years old, his face already showed the defined features that characterized the Starks, though his reddish hair and blue eyes recalled his Tully heritage. He visibly strove to project the gravity that his temporary position as Lord of Winterfell required, though the tension in his shoulders revealed the pressure he felt.
Beside him, almost like a shadow, an enormous gray-furred direwolf observed the visitors with disturbing intelligence. "Grey Wind," Ethel identified mentally, remembering the descriptions of Robb Stark's animal companion.
"Lady Stark, Lord Robb," announced Ser Rodrik with formal voice. "I present to you Ethel of Volantis and his companion, representatives of the Dragon's Gold Trading House."
Ethel advanced three measured steps and performed a precise bow: deep enough to show respect, but not so much as to suggest servility.
"It is an honor to be in the presence of the noble House Stark," he declared with a clear voice that resonated in the ample hall. "I bring you greetings from Volantis and proposals that could benefit Winterfell in the times to come."
Catelyn Stark inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.
"Winterfell welcomes honest travelers and merchants of good faith," she responded with measured tone. "Though I must confess it is unusual to receive merchants from such distant lands, especially when summer comes to its end."
Ethel perceived the subtle inquiry behind the apparently casual observation. Lady Stark was probing his motives.
"Precisely the change of seasons is what brings us before you, my lady," he responded with calculated frankness. "Northern winters are legendary even in Essos, and with them come particular needs that your traditional markets might have difficulty satisfying."
Robb Stark leaned slightly forward, his interest clearly awakened despite his evident caution.
"And what could Volantis offer that we cannot obtain from the other houses of the Seven Kingdoms?" he asked directly, his youthful voice striving to maintain the gravity proper to his position.
The direwolf, as if reflecting his master's distrust, emitted a barely audible guttural sound, its amber eyes fixed on the visitors.
"Allow me to formally introduce my associate before answering your very pertinent question, my lord," requested Ethel, making an elegant gesture toward Melisandre. "Lady Melisandre, expert in alchemy and medicinal herbs, whose knowledge has been crucial in developing products that can withstand the most extreme conditions."
Melisandre stepped forward and performed a graceful bow. She had deliberately moderated her appearance for this first impression: her usual scarlet attire replaced by garments in more sober burgundy tones, and her ruby collar partially hidden beneath the folds of her cloak.
"It is a privilege to be received in the ancestral seat of the Starks," she pronounced with that melodious voice that seemed to float in the air. "Your house's reputation transcends continents."
Catelyn Stark studied Melisandre with greater intensity than she had dedicated to Ethel, as if intuiting there was something particular about that woman with copper hair and unusual bearing. However, she maintained protocol courtesy.
"Be welcome as well, Lady Melisandre."
Ethel took advantage of the moment to signal one of the guards who had accompanied them, who immediately left the hall to return minutes later carrying a carved wooden chest with silver inlays.
"With your permission, I would like to show some examples of the merchandise we propose," explained Ethel as the guard carefully deposited the chest before the raised platform.
After receiving a nod from Lady Stark, Ethel opened the chest revealing its contents: various sealed containers, small waxed cloth sacks, and minutely elaborately decorated boxes.
"This," he said taking one of the containers, "is long-grain rice cultivated in the high valleys of Yi Ti, preserved through a special method that prevents its deterioration even after years." He partially opened the seal so they could appreciate the contents. "Unlike wheat or barley, it maintains its nutritional value intact during exceptionally prolonged periods."
He then extracted one of the sacks.
"Beans, known for their capacity to grow in conditions that other crops would not tolerate. They could be cultivated in your greenhouses even during the darkest months of winter."
"And this represents perhaps our most valuable offer: rare spices not only to enhance food flavor, but with proven medicinal properties. This particular mixture"—he opened the box releasing an intense and exotic aroma that expanded throughout the hall—"strengthens the body's resistance to extreme cold and prevents winter fevers."
While describing each product, Ethel attentively observed both Starks' reactions. He noted how initial interest gave way to more serious consideration, especially when he mentioned medicinal and preservation properties.
"Impressive articles, without doubt," acknowledged Catelyn after an evaluative pause. "However, exotic products usually have prohibitive prices, especially when they have traveled from so far."
"A completely understandable concern, my lady," nodded Ethel, anticipating the objection. "Allow me to address the cost question directly."
With a fluid gesture, he extracted a parchment from his tunic and unfolded it before him.
"I have carefully studied the prices that Winterfell traditionally pays for similar supplies to houses like the Manderlys, the Karstarks, or even merchants from the Free Cities like Braavos." He pointed to columns of meticulously annotated numbers. "Our proposal represents a twenty percent savings in comparison, with guarantee of superior quality and extended durability."
The figure visibly captured Robb Stark's attention, who exchanged a meaningful glance with his mother.
"And how can you offer such prices transporting merchandise from much farther away?" asked the young heir, his tone mixing curiosity with persistent skepticism.
"An excellent question that reveals your commercial acuity, my lord," responded Ethel with an appreciative smile. "The answer is simple but little known outside specialized merchant circles: Volantis maintains a commercial network that eliminates multiple intermediaries. We supply ourselves directly from producing sources in Yi Ti, the Summer Islands, and other territories, unlike Braavos, which typically acquires these products through longer chains of resale."
The explanation, carefully crafted to sound plausible without being easily verifiable, seemed to momentarily satisfy Robb. Catelyn Stark, however, maintained a more cautious expression.
"Your offers merit serious consideration," finally conceded the lady of Winterfell. "However, establishing new commercial routes is not a decision that can be made precipitously, especially in Lord Stark's absence."
Ethel bowed his head in sign of understanding.
"Of course, my lady. We would expect no less from the prudence for which the Starks are justly renowned." He made a strategic pause before continuing. "If you would permit me to suggest a course of action: we could leave samples of our products to be appropriately evaluated by your maester and your steward. Meanwhile, if your generosity would allow it, we could await your decision housed in Winterfell or its surroundings, until you can consult with Lord Eddard by raven."
The proposal was reasonable and difficult to reject without seeming discourteous. Catelyn Stark briefly consulted with her firstborn through glances and subtle gestures before responding.
"Your samples will be evaluated by Maester Luwin and our steward," she finally agreed. "And we extend Winterfell's hospitality while we await Lord Stark's response regarding your commercial proposal."
Ethel performed another respectful bow, now allowing himself a more open smile.
"The legendary northern hospitality honors us, Lady Stark. I assure you we will not abuse it and will strive to be discreet and grateful guests."
"Ser Rodrik," called Catelyn, "please see that our guests receive appropriate accommodations in the guest wing."
The master-at-arms nodded, though his expression revealed he would maintain attentive vigilance over the strangers, as befitted his position.
"One last matter, if you permit me," intervened Robb Stark suddenly. "In Winterfell we respect the customs and beliefs of all our visitors." His gaze directed specifically to Melisandre's neck, where the ruby occasionally revealed itself between the folds of her clothing. "Is there any particular consideration we should take into account regarding your religious practices?"
The question, apparently innocent, demonstrated a perspicacity that Ethel had not completely anticipated in the young Stark. He had noticed the distinctive symbol of R'hllor and sought additional information with diplomatic tact.
Before Ethel could respond, Melisandre stepped forward, her serene voice filling the hall.
"You are very considerate, Lord Stark. I honor the Lord of Light, as many in Essos do, but my faith is a personal matter I would never impose upon my hosts. A simple flame in my chambers for my private prayers will be more than sufficient."
Her measured response seemed to momentarily satisfy Robb's curiosity, though both he and his mother exchanged a glance that suggested the topic might resurface in the future.
"You will be provided with everything necessary," assured Catelyn, formally concluding the audience. "We dine at nightfall; your presence at the high table will be welcome."
"The honor is ours, Lady Stark," responded Ethel.
While following Ser Rodrik out of the Great Hall, Ethel maintained his calm and commercial expression, but internally experienced a complex mixture of emotions. The first contact with the Starks had been successfully established. Now began the true test: gaining their trust sufficiently to be able to influence coming events and, perhaps, alter the tragic destiny that awaited this noble house.