The snowfall eased slightly, but heavy gray clouds still hung in the sky, offering no sign of clearing.
Outside the Winterfell stables, Edmure watched as his men loaded crates onto wagons bound for Winterfell Town.
Recent blizzards had disrupted trade routes, making supplies scarce.
While holding onto the goods a few more days would yield higher profits, Edmure wanted to build a lasting reputation for his business.
This decision was as much about politics as it was about trade.
Releasing the supplies now would stabilize prices, demonstrate goodwill toward the North, and build prestige for House Tully.
“Our profits are already generous,” Edmure instructed his merchant.
“There is no need to anger the locals just to make extra money.
Make sure these goods do not fall into the hands of greedy hoarders.” Edmure had considered going to the market himself, but he decided against it to avoid unnecessary attention as a noble.
His head merchant, Anfo Lian, took charge of the operation.
Once a small-time peddler, Anfo was a sharp man in his thirties with a constant, pleasant smile.
Having spent years trading across the Riverlands, he was skilled at handling all types of customers.
After joining Edmure’s service two years earlier, he worked tirelessly and even spent a year studying under a Citadel maester.
The trade goods consisted mostly of food from Edmure’s private estates and surplus supplies from other great Riverlands houses.
Given the high cost of land transport, they focused on valuable, compact items: energy-rich white and brown sugar, butter, lard, honey, sharp hard cheese, salted beef and pork, dried poultry, and cheap, strong spirits.
They also brought local linen and wool for commoners, as well as a small selection of luxury items like silk and spices for wealthy buyers.
Edmure had brought personalized gifts for the powerful lords of the North.
Any items delayed by the weather were left with his sister Catelyn, who would present them as Lady Stark at a later time.
Along with the merchants, guards from Riverrun joined the trip into town.
Ser Brynden Blackfish had given these hard-working soldiers rotational leave to rest and relax.
Edmure handed a heavy pouch of gold coins to Bronn.
“Distribute this among the men.
Give one gold coin to every guard, whether they serve our house or another.” He then handed Bronn a second, smaller pouch.
“This is for you.
Planning to spend it at the Smoking Log Tavern?” Bronn grinned as he accepted the gold.
“You know me too well!” “Do you remember what the maester warned about diseases like the pox?” Edmure asked.
The tough mercenary shuddered, his smile fading.
“Did you really have to remind me of that?” “Just make sure you remember.
Watch over the younger guards traveling with you.
Most of them are inexperienced, and I don’t want them making foolish mistakes.” Edmure sounded wise beyond his years, prompting Bronn to give him a skeptical look.
The mercenary’s eyes seemed to mock Edmure for acting like an expert despite his own youth and inexperience.
Still, Bronn nodded.
“Fine, fine.
I’ll keep an eye on them.” After watching the group head toward town, Edmure walked to the library tower.
With Maester Luwin’s help, he made a list of books he wanted to copy.
However, copying them all by himself would take until summer, so he needed extra help.
Since most noble youths preferred swords to books, Edmure had to rely on his well-educated friends and the local septons to copy a few pages each day.
“My wrist is about to break,” Tristan complained as Edmure entered the room.
“I swear a quill feels heavier than a spear!” Robb Paige nodded in complete agreement.
Edmure patted his friends on the shoulder.
“Reading is good for you.
You can take the afternoon off.” Callis and Brynden, being slightly older, worked patiently.
Ronald and Hugo wrote silently with miserable expressions, while Patrick, Marko, and Hendry huddled around a single desk, whispering excitedly over a book.
Edmure walked over and checked the cover: The Tale of Red Chamber Awakening.
The three young men grinned sheepishly as Edmure flipped through the pages.
The book was the life story of a noblewoman who lost her virtue to a stable boy, had a bastard child, and fell into a life of scandal.
Her travels took her across the world—serving as a queen’s attendant, a knight’s mistress, a maid, an actress, a pirate’s plaything, and a brothel madam.
Eventually, she returned to the Faith as a septa in Oldtown, writing her life story as a warning to young women.
Over two centuries, scribes had constantly altered the book.
Religious leaders cut out explicit scenes, while popular writers added crude details to make it more entertaining.
To Edmure’s surprise, the Winterfell copy had been transcribed by a Citadel maester, who had carefully researched and preserved the original historical text.
He flipped back to the page his friends were reading.
“If you enjoy it, feel free to copy more pages.
Just make sure you don’t change a single word—the historical details about the King’s court in this book are rare and valuable.” His friends ignored the historical part, exchanging knowing smiles instead.
“I’ll do my best,” one said.
“Understood,” another added.
Edmure assumed they agreed and picked up a book titled War Engines to begin copying.
He quietly wished he had the time and resources to invent paper and printing presses, as copying everything by hand was exhausting.
By late afternoon, dark clouds blocked the remaining daylight.
Even with bright tallow candles lit, reading became difficult, so Edmure stood up and stretched.
“That’s enough for today,” he said.
The young men cheered and rushed out of the room.
Shortly after, the group gathered in the Godswood of Winterfell.
They drove wooden stakes into the frozen ground, tied strong ropes, and set up six large leather tents along the edge of the hot springs.
Each tent covered a section of the warm water.
Servants under Vayon Poole brought in low tables, couches, and heating stoves.
When Edmure had first asked to use the hot springs, Lord Stark advised him that Winterfell’s indoor pipes already provided warm water, warning that bathing outdoors in northern weather could cause a cold.
However, after seeing Edmure’s warm tent setup, Lord Stark admitted the idea was clever and gladly joined them.
Each tent had a top opening for ventilation to allow stove smoke to escape.
The heat from the fires reflected off the leather walls, blocking the freezing wind.
Warm steam rose from the water, filling the tents with comfortable heat.
Once steam began floating from the tents, Edmure invited everyone inside.
Lifting the tent flap revealed a wave of cozy, moist air that felt as warm as spring.
The six tents were connected by inner curtains, allowing guests to visit one another without stepping into the cold.
The young nobles gathered in different tents based on their friendships.
Brynden Blackwood refused to sit with Hendry Bracken, choosing to stay with Patrick Mallister instead.
The two members of the Vance family stayed together, while Marko Piper joined Hendry, as their family lands were close to one another.
The fourteen-year-old Edmure took off his clothes and stepped into the water.
Thanks to proper nutrition and training, he had an athletic, well-built frame.
Ser Brynden Blackfish joined him in the water.
Though in his forties, the veteran warrior was fit and lean.
He swam underwater for a long time, only popping up in the next tent to startle the younger men with laughter.
For Edmure, the hot spring bath was both a luxury and a chance to observe his host.
Yet, watching the Lord of Winterfell revealed very little.
Lord Stark kept his emotions hidden.
While legends described House Stark as cold as ice, Edmure felt his brother-in-law was truly composed and unreadable, no matter how kind he was on the inside.
Still, Edmure confirmed that Lord Stark was a skilled warrior.
He had a strong frame, calloused hands from years of sword training, and powerful arms.
True to northern tradition, Ned executed condemned men himself, using his Valyrian steel greatsword to deliver clean strikes.
Edmure knew Bronn was right to call him inexperienced; unlike Ned, Edmure had never seen real combat or taken a life.
Two northern vassals had also joined them: Lord Haris Hornwood and Ser Wylis Manderly, the heir to White Harbor.
Both were friendly and easy to talk to.
Lord Hornwood was cheerful and optimistic.
He had brought gifts for Lord Stark, bought supplies from Edmure’s trade wagons, and quickly struck up a friendship with the young Tully lord.
Wylis Manderly attended in place of his father, who was too heavy to ride a horse.
House Manderly frequently sent fresh seafood to Winterfell, and Wylis had brought a fresh catch of crabs, lobsters, shellfish, and fish.
Large, bald, and sporting a thick mustache, Ser Wylis looked like a walrus in the water, but he was polite and soft-spoken.
Edmure had arranged the gathering to build relationships with Houses Hornwood and Manderly through Lord Stark.
Both families owned lands along the White Knife River—the Hornwoods upstream, and the Manderlys controlling the river mouth and sea trade.
While light, high-value goods like furs could be shipped overland, heavy goods like high-quality timber were far cheaper to move by water down the White Knife River.
Edmure knew that once he secured the passage at The Twins, trade between the Riverlands and the North would grow significantly.
Building connections with river lords now was essential for his future plans, though it also required House Stark’s approval.
Edmure picked up a copper pot and poured warm water mixed with a little salt and sugar into wooden cups for his guests, offering a healthy way to stay hydrated in the hot spring.
As snow drifted through the tent opening and melted into steam, Edmure took a slow sip of his drink, fully enjoying the warmth and comfort of the hot springs.