White Harbor was the least populated and second smallest of the cities of Westeros at the start of Aegon's conquest. It's population has been estimated to have been mayhaps 30 000 souls.
By the end of the first century, it had risen to become the third largest city on the continent, with a population well over 350 000 and the status as the second largest trading hub of the west after King's Landing and it's satellites.
This dramatic rise in size, wealth and power, can in large be attributed to the increase in the population and wealth of the North as a whole, and the role in which White Harbor played in the province's relationship with the rest of the kingdom.
Winterfell would remain the beating heart of the North, and the internal commercial center of the Grand Duchy, but it was through White Harbor that trade flowed.
Whale meat, blubber and oil from skagos, Bronzework from the Barrowlands, wood from the Wolfswood, and of course that universal Northern product, wool. All flowed through White Harbor and then to the rest of the nation, and in return flowed all the commodities of the south.
Paper, steel, machinery, armor, and of course, the product which was oh so essential for the North's rise as the most populous province of Westeros.
Food.
Extract from "The War of the Faith, Volume 4." By Aegon Freedman Von Oldtown.
---
The Merman's court was a livelier place than it had been in years.
Music, food and good drinks. A hall filled with laughter, jokes, serving women and men of various stations making their way to more discreet places to enjoy themselves.
Brandon had experienced many, many feasts in this hall and this one was little different than any other. Except for one point. His father did not sit in his seat tonight. Instead, he sat on its side.
Seated in the old high seat, sat the King of Westeros, Aenys Targaryen, son of Aegon.
As heir of the city, he was seated on the high table of course, but he sat near the end of it. As far away from the center as was possible without seeming like an insult to the king.
His father sat and seemed to have a good time with Aenys, though that wasn't anything new. Warrick Manderly loved a good feast, and all that came with it.
As his rather portly frame attested to.
He was a warm and open host, whether it be to his vassals, visiting princes, his Lord or his king.
Brandon was generally of a similar mind. One should be a generous host when you had guests.
Of course, there was a critical difference between Aenys and all the rest.
Brandon and Maegor did not have paid spies in their city and court.
His eyes went wandering to the rest of the room and soon enough he found the two miscreants he was looking for.
Arya, a serving wench of no particular note, except she sold her tales from their court to King's Landing, and even more galling, Tom Locke, a knight who also happened to be the son of one of their vassals.
Both of these two should have been hanged, and if not for one single thing, they most certainly would have been the moment their family had uncovered their treachery.
The thing in question was stabled outside in the courtyard.
No matter how galling it was to leave these damned spies alive, as his father had said, they had little choice in the matter.
To execute or remove them would firstly be a direct sign to the crown they knew about the spies in question. Secondly, it would be a direct challenge against the crown itself.
Aenys might not officially respond to it, but it would displease him mightily. And, as his father kept telling him, "We cannot anger the dragon."
So, here he sat at the edge of the long table, along with his son Theomore, the only way he could express his anger at the spies and informants in their court.
And the most galling thing about it was that other than the damned spies, he generally liked what Aenys had to offer.
Increasing Northern Trade, decisive leadership in times of crisis, a flair for style and grandiose without going completely overboard with it.
All of these were things he admired in the king. But he could not judge him merely on the basis of his leadership when he also planted spies and informants in his own home.
And with them being unable to actually do anything about it, the insult stang even more.
At his side, Theomore was chatting with a serving woman some 10 years his elder, and most likely it would end with the two of them skulking off somewhere private. Good for him. He was glad to see the boy growing up to become a man.
Finally, his glowering over the way of things was interrupted as Sam the Maester approached the long table along the walls. He had never been a bold man, and judging by his look he wanted to talk to his father.
Well, that was as good an excuse as any to leave the feast.
He hurriedly rose from his seat and began making his way to intercept Sam.
"Any news Sam?"
The old man did not look too worried, so probably not anything major.
"Yes my lord, we have some new arrivals from the west, house Waterman has just arrived and-"
"I'll take care of them. No need to disturb my father about it at the moment. He and the king are in discussion".
He gave one final glance towards the the pair at the center of the room.
His father was the way he always was, dressed in fine cloth in the light color of their house with the golden trident on the front like a crown.
To his side sat Aenys Targaryen, dressed in a finely made robe of black going down to his knees. The robe was trimmed with red and gold, with a tabard in front showcasing the Targaryen dragon with red-trimmed edges. On each sleeve was fine fur, and draped around his shoulders he had a large piece of fur which seemed to come from a snow bear, fastened to the robe with a couple of circular clasps engraved with the three-headed dragon.
The king wore an assortment of jewelry, from a simple golden belt clasp, to rings of gold, silver and dragonbone, his crown and a splendid amulet on his chest.
The 5 rings the king wore were all an assortment of unique designs, some small, some large.
The largest was a gold ring with a large topaz over two smaller amethysts, whereas the smallest was a simple silver ring with a golden star inlaid with small sapphires overlapping a crescent silver moon.
There was one gold ring with a design like a gnarly tree, and another silver one with a Wolf's head on it.
Finally, there was a Ring made of pure Dragonbone, engraved to showcase a strange rune he could best describe as a stylized crescent moon with a dot where the full moon's center would be.
On his head was a large pure golden Crown, inlaid with dragon imagery. It was in every way the complete opposite of the simple and modest crown the Starks had worn during their time as Kings in The North.
Finally, and most extravagant was the jewel he wore on his chest. In the center was a Massive red diamond cut ruby, encased in a golden clasp, that was in turn inlaid with 8 smaller jewels; A diamond, a topaz, a sapphire, a garnet, an opal, an aquamarine, an emerald and finally a spinel.
It was without any doubt the single most valuable thing Brandon had ever seen in his life, and quite possibly worth more than all the rest of the king's jewelry.
Well, time to go greet the Watermen. The king was to leave Northwards on the morrow and it would not do if their vassals did not get to greet the king before he left.
---
The sight of Winterfell was truly a sight for sore, cold and tired eyes.
I had stayed a bit longer at White Harbor than I had planned(two whole weeks, as opposed to the 3 days I had planned), and finally left after the weather finally let up, and I had expected smooth flying all the way. And I had gotten it, no rains and the wind at my back. What I had also gotten was cold. Lots, and lots of cold.
Holy shit it was cold to fly in the north, and it wasn't even winter. The North apparently had relatively high temperatures in summer, but we were only two years into spring. The continuous spring rains had stopped long ago, but if you dared to venture more than 15 feet of the ground, the air was chilly as fuck, not helped by the biting wind.
Now though, it was finally time to get this abysmal journey over with. When I had crushed the Ironborn, I had had two options. Either I would go to the North first, or last.
I had chosen first. Because of course, I had done so. In hindsight, I should just have sent a damned letter by raven.
But in my infinite wisdom, I had chosen to fly to all my lord paramounts and wardens to talk to them personally for my plans and calling them to the first great westerosi council to deal with tax reforms, law changes and just planning the development of the provinces. Also introducing technology. And new lordly titles. And… Well, there were seemingly endless amounts of shit to do.
And I would need to gather all my highest lords to get it done.
And with any luck, The Warden of The North would also solve the problem of a bride for Viserys.
According to Manderly, Stark's daughter had several northern lordlings who were currently courting her hand, but unless she had gotten engaged or married sometime in the last two weeks, she would still be a possible bride for my boy.
Well, it was merely one of the things I would chat with Brandon Stark about.
Now though was the time for landing. I had originally planned to just land inside the courtyard, but in correspondence with Stark, he had asked me to land by the eastern gate, where he had prepared a stable for Quicksilver, as well as a changing room where I could get out of my traveling leather and into more royal clothing.
---
Walton Stark had not dreamed of the coming of Aenys.
That was strange. Most of the important events in his life had been preceded by a dream of things to come, for good and ill.
His first sign that something was wrong was a brief flash of impending doom as he sat on the privy.
The overwhelming feeling that something was utterly wrong. There was danger, and it was close.
The feeling vanished as quickly as it had come and he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.
After that, he finished up his business and headed back to the world of companionship and warmth that was Winterfell.
A Winterfell in far more chaos than usual. Men at arms and serving folk ran around like ants at work filling the usually quiet and peaceful castle with annoying sounds.
He stopped a serving woman.
"What's going on?"
"It's the King." Answered. "He's finally come."
Then she continued on her way, leaving him to consider.
A feeling of dread and doom as the king finally arrived? He would have to be quite simple not to take that omen seriously.
Either way, he had a place to be.
Alaric was already there with his sons as Walton finally arrived by the eastern gate yard.
"Brother! Finally, joining us are you? Father's out looking for you."
"I was at the privy."
"Good thing you got here before father then, he'd have a fit if you missed the king's arrival because you were shitting."
Another man might have said that with a smile on his lips, but not Alaric Stark. He was as cold and serious as the northern Mountains.
He then barked to a servant to go tell their father that his heir had arrived.
"How big do you think the dragon is uncle?" asked little Rickon.
"Big enough." He simply replied.
Finally, their father, Brandon Stark appeared. He was breathing heavily, a result of having run around for fifteen minutes.
"Everyone's here?" He made a quick overview of everyone.
"Wheres Maege?"
"She's with the babe."
Brandon swore.
"Relax father" Walton soothed. "I doubt Aenys will care much whe-"
And there he stopped.
He turned his eyes to the gate and the drawbridge, and outer gate outside it.
The first thing he saw, was the shadows.
The sun was not yet risen fully into the sky, so coming from the east, shadows would fall west. Not like this, however.
The shadows crept over the drawbridge, like a snake upon the ground. No, like three snakes upon the ground. Uncaring for how they should move, the shadows moved like a mass into the courtyard and then to the sides, moving and circling all around the ground, before finally retreating back to mass from whence they had come.
It was wrong. So damned wrong. The overwhelming feeling which had so briefly struck him before, was back, only now, it was not a moment. It was a constant. It was a center of doom and dread. A center moving slowly, deliberately, across the drawbridge.
As it began to close, the other shadows in the yard, began to move as well. They curved, they moved in bizarre patterns, all away from that which was approaching like the doom of old, yet all shackled and anchored by their origin.
He shook, feeling his very bones rattle. This… This was fear. Pure animalistic fear.
Finally, the source came under the gate and stepped into the yard.
There were 6 men along with him, but Walton could not process them. His eyes were glued to the figure in the middle, stepping into his home like it was it's den.
The figure was tall, dressed in darkness like coal with red blood painted on it.
The drawbridge was raised, the gate was slammed shut, and upon their surface, the shadows moved up along, and took a true form.
Two enormous wings, reaching from one side of the yard to another, an enormous body, yet slim and thin, and from it sprung three heads with long necks like serpents.
Three sets of eyes opened and looked down upon the yard. Red, like burning fire they were.
They stared down upon his family in judgment.
His father, without fear, or any seeming attention to the overwhelming danger, walked up to the source of the shadow.
For a moment every sinew in his body screamed at him to do something, and he almost screamed for his family's soldiers to attack, to kill this monster.
Sanity prevailed against the brief moment of madness, however, and he bit down hard instead to keep himself from saying anything.
Instead, he forced himself to remain quiet and still. His instincts told him to run. His familial duty to protect his father, his mind to do nothing.
Finally, his father knelt in front of the man.
"Your grace. Winterfell is yours."
The dragon heads smiled, and Walton forced himself to look, to truly look at the man.
He finally looked at his face, something he realized he had avoided.
In comparison to everything else, Aenys Targaryen's face was a normal one, but Walton did not look upon his face. His eyes went up instead, to the King's forehead.
There, closed and shut, rested something. He knew not what it was, but he knew it was shut and closed, as much as he knew that the Wall was the end of the World.
"Rise my Lord."
Four voices spoke those words. One from the man, and one from each of the shadow's heads.
It was as if 3 wraiths repeated them, only all the words were spoken in unison.
"Now my lord, after you have introduced me to your family, I shall need to speak with you alone. Mayhaps you may show me your famous crypts as we talk?"
"The… The crypts?"
"Yes. I have not yet visited them on any of my trips here. That is an oversight on my part. An error I shall soon be correcting."
---
Humfrey did not like the crypts of Winterfell.
He did not like the darkness that enveloped every nook and cranny in which their torches did not reach.
He did not like the judging stares from the wolf kings and their hounds staring disapprovingly at them as they walked by.
He did not like the chill, that seemed to permeate through every damned wing they passed ln the journey downwards towards the origin.
But above absolutely everything, he did not like the way it felt. The crypts of Winterfell felt hostile towards them as if it directly accused
Them of being somewhere they were Not wanted.
This place, more than anywhere else he had been had a mind to it, a will that he could feel.
Places should not have minds of their own. It was wrong. Yet here they were.
And like everywhere else, Aenys was talking about all his plans.
"So, you want me to gather over a thousand men that's not coming back, most likely ever, and send them south?"
"Yes. I am aware of the dangers of doing this in the North, so make certain to not take too many men from each province or village. Spread it out. A hundred men from each of the major centers of the North, should be spread out enough.."
Stark didn't like that, he saw, but the king moved on before he could speak.
"As for a matter not related to war, I also wanted to discuss some family matters. Namely, I am looking for a bride for my son Viserys."
The king gave him a smile, as he expectedly let Brandon continue the conversation.
"In that case, I must disappoint you, your grace. My daughter Danny married 9 days ago."
Aenys stumbled in shock before quickly catching himself.
"She did?"
"Yes. She has had several suitors this last year. I must say it was time she settled on one."
Humfrey glanced at the king's face. That was a truly annoyed expression like he had just lost something he had been looking forward to for quite a while.
"I must say your grace if you were that set on a match, mayhaps you should have sent a letter. If I had known you wished to join our houses, I am certain we could have worked something out."
The wolf's voice was a weird mix between annoyance, sarcasm and… Smugness?
The king took a deep breath, then continued.
"Well, too late now in any case. I hope your daughter had a nice wedding."
"Oh, she did, it was quite the grand affair. And I am rather certain she will have a good time at Last Heart with my Goodson."
His tone implied very bad things would happen to his Goodson if she did not.
"Speaking of family… Does your brother plan to return to The North in the near future?"
"Probably not. Why do you ask? Don't tell me you found him to be great company?"
Stark snorted.
"About as much as I would enjoy hosting a pit viper. No, what interests me is his prowess in battle. I visited Barrowton during the great melee 4 Months back. I bet 30 000 dragons on him becoming champion."
"I imagine you went home a richer man then."
"Indeed. 32 bet against me, on various warriors."
"That's quite a number of betters, how many warriors fought in the melee?"
"Oh, some 1100 or so."
"1100." The King Said flatly. "On a melee?"
"I imagine that's quite a bit more than your southron jousting is it not? Anyhow, your brother was a storm on the field, wielding that wicked blunt mace of his."
"You should see him with Dark sister then. He's death itself with that blade."
"No doubt. He killed 27 men wielding only a blunted mace, and he beat countless others"
27...27 deaths? Of a tournament? Gods all mighty that was a high number.
"How many men died total?"
"43."
So Maegor killed over half the men who died then.
They walked in silence after that, for a bit before Aenys continued.
"Speaking of family. Is your son… Alright? He seemed like he would die of shivering when I talked to him."
"I… I am not certain. He seemed fine earlier today. I'll have the Maester look over him."
Another awkward pause set in.
This time it was Humfrey who broke the silence.
"How… How big are these crypts?"
"Larger than Winterfell itself, ser knight."
He motioned with the hand not holding his torch.
"My family goes back thousands and thousands of years. Hundreds of generations are buried down here. Well over a hundred Brandons who bore the crown of winter and a hundred other kings as well."
"I think what Humfrey wanted to ask..." The king interjected diplomatically. "Is how much longer before our destination?"
"Oh, that. 4 more levels down and 3 chambers to the left."
Oh, thank the gods, the trip out of this consuming darkness wouldn't be nearly as long as he had feared.
"Speaking of our destination now is as good a time to ask. How is the Night's Watch doing?"
"Not well. 40 years ago they had 10 000 men. The last time I was there, that number 7 643 men."
"A sharp decline in recruits I'm guessing."
"Aye. Peace down south isn't good for the watch. It never is. In the north, we honor the watch and many noble sons go to join the black brothers of their own free will. Southrons though does not."
It was harsh words. But not untrue ones. Humfrey could count on his hands the number of Lords sons he had seen take the black.
"Yes, that is the gist of it. The black brothers are in danger of their traditional way of recruiting after war to be obsolete. And since they don't have sons of their own, we cannot simply let them be, that way lies extinction. We may need to take drastic action to keep the bulwark against the horrors beyond the wall at bay."
"If I could manage to get dragons beyond the wall, I could send Maegor to do to the wildlings, what I'm sending him to do to the Dothraki, but that seems unlikely."
"...I feel like the rider who forgot his lance. What is Maegor going to do to the Dothraki?"
"He is going exterminate them completely and totally from dragon back."
"You're joking."
"Not at all. The Dothraki are a plague upon the world. And the cure for that is fire from the sky. It might take him half a decade depending upon how well the horse lords adapt, but he will get the job done. He is ruthless and determined enough to do it."
"...Not that I disagree with any of those sentiments your grace, but surely you are getting something in return for this errand?"
"Yes. Many of the free cities should be willing to pay quite the sum to get rid of the Dothraki once and for all."
"Ah. Yes, that makes sense."
He sounded disappointed.
They passed wings that had caved in as they descended further and further down into the bowels of Winterfell.
Countless lords judged them on their march, and countless wolves were there to greet them from the darkness.
"You mentioned not getting dragons beyond the wall..."
"Aye, my father never did manage to get balerion beyond the wall, and I suspect I will have no luck Quicksilver either. If I do manage to get Maegor with Balerion however…" His voice turned cold as ice. "I will turn everything beyond the wall into a barren burned desert, in which no living thing may exist. No bones or corpses shall remain there. Only frozen ash"
Then like, nothing had happened, he went back to his regular cheery tone.
"But most likely, that will not happen. So we shall have to deal with the Wildling threat in more mundane ways. For one, I have been designing a new form of crossbow I shall introduce to the watch. That and the arrows I will begin to send them should make their lives much easier."
Another silence arose. This time though, it was broken not with another conversation, but a statement.
"We're here."
They stood in front of another opening into yet another chamber. No different than any of the others. If Brandon hadnt pointed it out as their destination, he would never have guessed there was anything special about it.
Yet, it was the site Aenys had come down here to see. So as the king entered, he followed, as his oaths required.
---
Brandon Stark the first was laid to rest no differently than any of the countless number of descendants that had followed him.
He had a seated statue overseeing his casket, he had a direwolf by his leg and he wore the same crown as all the rest.
If he had once had an iron sword on him, it had rusted away so long ago that not even the stains remained.
But the part I inspected was his face.
Well, he kinda looked like tv Bran, just with more stark like features.
I wasn't entirely sure why I had come down here.
I suppose part of me had just wanted to confirm that he was real. Whether he truly had been the builder of legend or not, Brandon the First had existed once. Thousands of years ago.
As for the time loop theory, of Brandon the Broken becoming Brandon the First, I had no way of learning the truth or falsehood of it.
The runes on his tomb were not something I could read, but I had checked how to read rune numbers at white harbor.
And the weird I with two smaller // was the old runic sign for 1.
The stone Brandon was dressed in a long robe open in front and back along with a pair of shoes.
Because boots weren't a thing during his age apparently.
"It's been a while since anybody was down here." The living Brandon said. His tone was filled with far more reverence than it was when talked with me. "The last time was… When I took my sons down here. That was over 15 years back."
"So this is the Builder," Humfrey said. "The man who built the Hightower."
Brandon snorted.
"That and so much more."
Suddenly I just felt like a complete idiot. Why had I come down here exactly? Oh, I knew why, but what point did it serve? I was going to build the future on technology, progress, industry and looking to the future. Not on trying to recapture magical wonders of the old world.
I had all the magic I needed. It was called dragonfire.
---
The Royal Eastern Seas Trading Company of Westeros, is a somewhat misleading name, as the organization traded in all directions except for West, not merely to the east. From the coasts of the North on both sides of province, whether it be Bear Island, White Harbor or Skagos, to the southern provinces with their exotic spices, wood, and jewels.
All wealth flowed to and from King's Landing, as the city prospered and grew. The City's rise as the largest and richest city on Planetos however, would not have been possible without the enormous and lucrative trade network, which the Eastern Seas Company was so essential in creating.
The city would finally surpass the free cities in population in the year 52, the great port city Yin, capital of the old empire of Yi Ti in 65. In the year 75, it finally exceeded the city of New Turrani as the most populated city in the world.
It would not be before the year 98 After Conquest, however, that the dream of Aenys the first was realized, as in that year the city finally exceeded Asshai by the shadow in size, though in population it had been superior for almost it's entire existence.
Extract from "The Royal Eastern Seas Trading Company of Westeros - Volume 1" by Company Historian Wylla Manderly.