As Cregan extended his awareness through the Great Keep, he watched the castle stir with the quiet rhythm of daily life. Servants bustled about their duties, the faint hum of activity filling the halls. In Benjen's chambers, his brother sat by the window, gazing out over the training yard with a distant, thoughtful expression, lost in some private reverie.
"It's the damn puberty!" Cregan expertly blamed to cover his inherent horny nature.
Not wanting to linger on the feeling, Cregan turned his attention elsewhere. His thoughts found their way to Ned's chambers, just to take a quick glance as he couldn't find him anywhere in the castle. But as his awareness settled within the room, he froze, startled by the scene unfolding before him.
There, in the soft morning light, Lady Catelyn knelt on the bed, her pale skin glowing against the shadows of the room, her auburn hair spilling in fiery waves down her back. Her breasts moved in time with her breath, each motion slow but filled with urgency. Ned pressed into her from behind, his hands gripping her waist as though she were the only thing grounding him in this moment.
For a brief moment, Cregan's instinct told him to look away, to respect their privacy. But he just couldn't, and was rooted to the spot. Once again he cursed his puberty.
The way Catelyn's red hair cascaded over her shoulders, the graceful curve of her back, and the faint flush of her lips as she bit down in quiet pleasure—all of it drew him in against his will. It was captivating in a way he hadn't expected, the scene too hot and impossible to ignore. Much better than seeing porn. Cregan chuckled at seeing the young couple go at it first thing in the morning. It seems they were admanant in providing another sibling to Robb and Jon as soon as possible.
Ned, like a true Stark, moved with strength and control, his body taut, his rhythm fierce as he pounded his wife. He was as commanding here as he was in the field, showing dominance with every movement,
Cregan tore his thoughts away from the scene in his brother's chambers, his breath unsteady, though he masked it with a calm exterior. His chest tightened briefly as he exhaled, slowly regaining his composure. He had seen enough, more than enough.
Turning his attention to something less intimate, Cregan's thoughts drifted to the Wintertown just beyond Winterfell's walls. During autumn and winter, it would swell with life, bursting with people as the cold drove them from the surrounding villages. But as summer began, the place would empty again, leaving behind only the quiet and the mud of its streets.
The Wintertown, with its small, neat houses of logs and stone, had a charm all its own. The market square, filled with wooden stalls selling goods and produce, centered around a well that served the entire town. Cregan thought of the Smoking Log, the local inn where the scent of ale and firewood clung to the air even in the warmer months.
Beyond the town, the kingsroad stretched toward the distance, past the sprawl of the castle, with the Wolfswood lying only two miles away. Hunting parties from Winterfell could bypass the Wintertown altogether, taking the Hunter's Gate and leaving the small settlement to its daily rhythm.
Spring and summer left most of the homes in Wintertown empty, as four-fifths of the residents returned to their villages. But when autumn arrived, the town would be filled with the hustle of farmers, villagers, and mountain clansmen, all gathered for the long, harsh winter ahead. At its peak, the town's population could swell to nearly fifteen thousand—a bustling hub of northern life that Winterfell depended on.
By now, at least half of Wintertown's temporary residents had left, and the rest would soon follow within the month. The sight troubled Cregan more than he cared to admit. Though the warmth of the hot springs beneath Winterfell gave some comfort, the smallfolk found little reason to stay. Their livelihoods depended on farming and cattle herding, and neither was of much use in a town built for sheltering the North through the coldest months.
Cregan's thoughts wandered. If only he could establish some profitable industry in Wintertown, something to draw people to settle here all year round. But the North could not turn its back on farming—not when food was so vital, and the land already yielded so little compared to the more fertile regions of Westeros.
He sighed, knowing that convincing King Robert to return the New Gift to the Starks would take time, if it ever happened at all. And even if Robert agreed, there were others who might stand in the way. There were many obstacles yet to overcome before that land could be reclaimed. Ned had agreed to send the letter, but Cregan sensed his brother's uncertainty. Ned and Robert had parted on bitter terms over the killing of the Targaryen children, and old wounds were slow to heal.
Still, something had to be done. The North could not thrive on farming alone, but neither could it abandon its fields. He needed to find a balance—a way to make Wintertown more than just a refuge from the cold, while ensuring the North's strength in food and resources remained secure.
The northern commoners—or the smallfolk across Westeros, for that matter—used simple, often crude tools passed down through generations. Wooden ploughs, pulled by oxen or hardy northern horses, struggled against the stony soil. Seeds were scattered by hand, uneven and wasteful, with much of the crop lost to birds or poor planting. Harvesting was done with sickles and scythes, slow and backbreaking work. Threshing grain was no easier, done by hand with flails, beating the wheat or barley until the grain separated from the chaff. Every task was a labour of sweat and time, with little in the way of refinement.
Cregan, observing the way the North's farmers toiled, felt the weight of how far behind they had fallen in their methods. The land was hard, the winters brutal, and yet the tools they used were relics, unsuited to the challenges they faced. The North needed every advantage to survive, let alone thrive, and Cregan could see ways to improve these old practices, even with the limited resources at hand.
He thought of the wooden ploughs struggling through the rocky northern soil. Replacing the wooden blades with iron-tipped ones would quicken the work, deepen the furrows, and make the soil more fertile for planting. Winterfell's blacksmiths were skilled enough to forge these improvements, though it would be costly. But, with more crops, the expense could be recouped, making the investment worthwhile.
Even so, it might not be enough for the heavier, stubborn northern soil. Then, Cregan remembered something from his past life—the use of wheeled ploughs in northern Europe. The addition of wheels made the ploughs easier to pull, reducing the strain on horses and oxen, and smoothing the work. Such a simple change, yet it could revolutionize farming here in the North.
Cregan's mind raced as he dug deeper into his memories. There had to be more, something else to help. And then the word came to him—moldboard. That was it. The moldboard plough was simple but ingenious. It had a broad blade, the share, that sliced cleanly through the earth, but it was the moldboard that set it apart. It turned the furrow with ease, creating a cleaner, deeper cut, while the landside absorbed the pressure from the soil. It was perfect for the heavy soil of the North.
With a moldboard plough, not only could they break through the rocky ground more efficiently, but the furrows would be more uniform, allowing crops to grow stronger. It was a small change, but like the wheels, it had the potential to change farming in the North entirely.
If Winterfell's blacksmiths could craft one, it would be the first step in a great improvement for their lands.
Then there was the matter of sowing seeds. The way they were scattered by hand was wasteful, leaving too much to chance. Cregan imagined a simple seed drill—a box with holes that dropped seeds evenly into the soil as it was dragged by horse or ox. The North could not afford to waste any seeds, and this would give every one of them the best chance to grow.
Harvesting, too, was painfully slow, but with small changes, it could be made easier. He thought of improving the scythes, giving them curved handles, which would make them easier to swing for longer without exhausting the workers.
Finally, the grain. Threshing it by hand was the most time-consuming task of all. Cregan envisioned a hand-powered thresher, with rotating flails to beat the grain mechanically, speeding up the process by days, if not weeks. It would take ingenuity, but he was confident the blacksmiths and carpenters of Winterfell could craft such a device.
These improvements weren't impossible. They required iron, wood, and skilled hands—things the North already had. If introduced gradually, these tools would ease the burden on the smallfolk, increase their yields, and help them endure the long winters without fear of starvation.
Cregan's thoughts buzzed with possibilities. If he could put these ideas into action, the North could become more efficient, more self-reliant. The land might be hard and unforgiving, but the people were strong. With the right tools, they could turn the land to their advantage—not merely survive, but thrive.
After exhausting his magic and finishing his training, Cregan returned to his room, where his mind remained focused on the task at hand. He gathered parchment and ink, carefully drawing the improvements to agricultural tools he had envisioned: the iron-tipped ploughs, the seed drills, the scythes with curved handles, and the thresher.
Once satisfied with the sketches, he stacked them alongside the designs for processing wool and textiles he had drawn the day before. Today, he would take them to Ned. These innovations could change not just farming, but the way the North provided for itself, and Cregan was determined to see them put into action.
OOO
Patre_n.com/mrcarson - Unlock 20 Chapters Early!
Can't wait to see what happens next? Join me on Patreon to get 20 chapters ahead of everyone else, plus a say in the story, early access, and more!
Your support helps keep the story alive and growing, and as a thank you, you'll get first dibs on every new twist and turn.
Become a Patr_on today!