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Tents around Winter Town had begun to encircle Winterfell.
More and more people poured in.
After the houses in Winter Town sold out, Ned ordered tents raised to shelter the newcomers, but that was only a temporary answer.
Winter Town had to expand.
Ned walked among the crowds, past herdsmen leading cattle and sheep, swineherds driving pigs, and farmers guiding wagons heavy with grain.
Men and women knelt as he passed.
Again and again, he heard the same plea.
“Lord Eddard, please take us in.”
When winter came, Winter Town would be their hope of surviving the cold.
“Do not be afraid.” Ned clenched his right hand into a fist.
“I swear on my honor that I will lead you toward better days.”
Those who had bought houses began repairing them.
Others started clearing the plots they had purchased, planting seed and, with it, hope.
Winter Town was almost entirely a place of wooden houses.
It stood close to the Wolfswood, where timber could be cut close at hand.
Stone was far more expensive.
Lord Eddard recruited a thousand men and sent them into the Wolfswood to cut lumber.
At the same time, he opened Winterfell’s stores of seasoned wood, and the first new houses began to rise.
Very few of the workers had been trained as carpenters or masons, but common houses did not require many skilled craftsmen.
In Ned’s plans, however, Winter Town would one day become a city.
He intended to build stables to raise warhorses, forges to make armor and weapons, and barracks to train men and mounts alike.
Those military workshops could not be wooden shacks.
Wood burned too easily.
Stone buildings were safer and lasted longer.
To complete such plans, Winterfell would need to recruit many more skilled craftsmen.
To celebrate the birth of Rickon, Lord Eddard’s youngest son, the birth feast was held at Winterfell as planned.
Lords from across the North arrived one after another.
The first to arrive was Lord Medger Cerwyn of Castle Cerwyn, only half a day’s ride from Winterfell.
Lord Cerwyn brought a troop of horsemen and a line of wagons loaded with grain and provisions, plus one wagon of battle-axes as gifts for the Lord of Winterfell.
When he saw the crowds in Winter Town, his eyes widened in shock.
“Lord Eddard, has winter already come? Even in winter, I have never seen Winter Town this lively.”
After him came Master Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte and his brother Robett Glover, with horsemen and wagons in their train.
The armored fist of Deepwood Motte flew in the wind.
Among the Glover party were the leaders of House Bole, House Branch, House Forrester, and House Woods, wolfswood houses sworn to House Glover.
House Glover’s gifts included two wagons of salmon and abalone, one wagon of boar meat, and a chest of pelts.
Most of their lands were forested and close to the sea, with little farmland, so their gifts came largely from the woods and waters.
Soft-spoken Lord Roose Bolton arrived with the horsemen and wagons of the Dreadfort, the grim flayed man banner snapping behind him.
Lord Bolton’s gifts were fox pelts, mole skins, deer hides, and several finished fur cloaks.
Theon Greyjoy grinned.
“Lord Bolton, these pelts must be the work of a flayer’s knife. Did you skin them yourself?”
Roose Bolton fixed Theon with eyes like dirty ice and gave a cold smile without answering.
Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor arrived with a great procession.
Six hundred riders in fine steel plate drew the people of Winter Town crowding in to stare.
The hot-tempered Greatjon Umber came beneath House Umber’s giant breaking its chains, leading his people from Last Hearth.
The Greatjon stood close to seven feet tall, almost as tall as Hodor, the simple-minded stableboy of Winterfell.
His son was called Smalljon, though he stood a head taller than his father.
Nearly every Umber retainer seemed more than six feet tall, which made it easy to understand why people whispered that House Umber had giant’s blood.
House Umber’s gifts to Winterfell included beef, seal skins, and ten wagons of grain.
Lord Hornwood sent venison, antlers, and deer hides.
Lord Locke of Oldcastle brought seafood from the Bite.
Maege Mormont came from Bear Island with her daughter Dacey Mormont.
Maege was a short, gray-haired woman, armored like her daughter.
Bear Island’s gifts were fish from the Bay of Ice and bear pelts.
Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold sent boar meat, mead, and grain.
House Karstark was a branch of Winterfell’s own blood.
Lord Wyman Manderly was as fat as a mountain.
Each finger was thick as a sausage, and his belly looked large enough to hold all of White Harbor.
He was a smiling fat man, nicknamed Lord Lamprey.
Since his weight made riding impossible, he traveled by litter, which proved the truth of his other name: Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse.
Lord Wyman’s gifts were dazzling in their variety: fruit from the Vale, honey and melons from the Reach, Arbor gold, Myrish fire wine, Pentoshi perfumes for Lady Catelyn and the lord’s daughters, lobsters, crabs, whale oil, a finely made cradle, and a heap of wooden toys.
The northern mountain clans brought generous gifts as well.
The Wull, Liddle, Flint, and others offered herds of goats, goat’s milk, venison, pheasants, fur cloaks, and amber work.
Lord Rodrik Ryswell of the Rills gave Winterfell fifty warhorses, three wagons of freshwater fish, and five wagons of grain.
His brothers and sons came with him.
Arriving with Lord Ryswell was his daughter, Lady Barbrey Dustin of Barrowton.
At every harvest feast in Winterfell, Lady Barbrey Dustin always seemed to “fall ill” and stay away.
Winterfell had long grown used to it.
The widow who ruled the Barrowlands had come to Winterfell to offer loyalty so few times they could be counted on one hand.
Now she had come to attend the birth feast for the Lord of Winterfell’s youngest son.
Ned had invited her as a matter of form and had not expected her to appear.
Yet here she was.
Lady Barbrey wore a black gown.
In the southern Faith of the Seven, black was the color of mourning.
Her skin was pale, and her cold expression made her look as though she had been wrapped in a shroud.
Her gifts were only one wagon of greens, one wagon of radishes, and one wagon of turnips.
Many of the greens had already yellowed and dried.
It was as poor an offering as could be imagined.
Ned could not help noticing the attendant beside her: Domeric Bolton.
He was a slim young man of middling height, with long brown hair and a courteous air.
He was Roose Bolton’s son and the heir to the Dreadfort.
Barbrey’s gifts drew murmurs from the watching lords.
The Greatjon gave a wicked grin.
“Barbrey, that is miserly even for you. Lord Eddard has been blessed with a son, and this is all you bring?”
Lord Wyman joined in.
“Quite right. It is harvest season, Lady Barbrey. Bringing greens as a gift is a bit much.”
Lady Barbrey’s smile seemed cold enough to freeze the people around her.
“My apologies. My lands suffered ironborn raids, and several granaries were burned. I must also prepare rites in the Barrowlands, to honor our First King and the ancestors of the First Men. Such rites cost a good deal of money. You would not understand, Lord Wyman. You are a southron who follows the Seven.”
Wyman Manderly fell silent.
House Manderly was rich and powerful, which naturally drew jealousy from other northern nobles.
They had fled the Reach long ago, and they followed the Seven.
That meant the old-gods lords of the North could never quite help keeping them at a distance.
Lord Cerwyn said, “Lady Barbrey, you have frightened our Lord Wyman. Besides, speaking of rites for the dead at a birth feast is ill luck.”
Barbrey gave him a contemptuous look.
“The people of Barrowton live beneath the tombs of the First King. We dare not forget those who passed before us. Without death, where is new life? Lord Cerwyn, perhaps you have forgotten the great ancestors of the First Men. I have not.”
The Wull could bear it no longer.
He was a mountain clan chief, and the mountain clans were famed for hospitality and loyalty to Winterfell.
Known as Big Bucket Wull, he had a fiery red beard that hung down over his beer belly.
He snapped, “What is wrong with you, woman? We came today to celebrate Lord Eddard’s son, and you stand here shouting about dead men. Are you the only dutiful one among us, then?”
The Wull’s clan was one of the strongest among the mountain clans.
Once he spoke, the chiefs of House Liddle, House Flint, House Norrey, and others closed in to rebuke Lady Barbrey.
Lady Maege Mormont also gave her a sharp scolding.
Barbrey only smiled coldly, as if she enjoyed being attacked from all sides.
Lord Ryswell hurried forward to smooth things over for her.
Roose Bolton stepped in as well, speaking softly to cool tempers.
Catelyn held baby Rickon in her arms, with Lord Eddard standing behind her.
From a distance, the two watched the quarrel Barbrey had caused.
Catelyn complained, “Barbrey is hateful. That widow should never have come. To speak of honoring the dead at Rickon’s birth feast… and that gown. All black. The color of mourning.”
To northerners, black might more readily call to mind the Night’s Watch.
To southern eyes, however, black clothing often meant the Stranger, the Silent Sisters, and death.
Catelyn had been born a Tully of the riverlands and was devout in the Faith of the Seven, so of course she saw Barbrey’s black gown as a provocation.
Ned murmured, “She is a troublesome widow.”
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