Winterfell, once a humble stronghold of the Stark family, was now a city of splendor and towering ambition, the administrative center of the Northern Westeros state of Eden. Bran Stark, now a cardinal, looked over his office in awe. The Stark family legacy had changed dramatically since the revolution. Where once his ancestors worried over icy winters and sporadic skirmishes, Bran now handled matters of population growth, healthcare, and defense, as well as the spiritual well-being of a Northern population that had ballooned to nearly 900 million. Eden's Uplifting Protocols Act had ensured that the North was no longer a barren frontier; it was a thriving, futuristic region where even the smallest village had glass towers, immaculate parks, and medical facilities that rivaled anything in Eden's central cities.
The North's transformation had been astounding, though not without growing pains. Bran's siblings had all found their own paths within the new Edenite structure. His older sister Sansa was a military official overseeing border defenses against the still-independent Reach, a state clinging to the remnants of feudalism. Arya, ever the wanderer, had chosen a more unconventional route, working as an agent of Edenite intelligence, her reports on the activities of the Ironborn coming in almost as frequently as the navy's latest reports on the annihilation campaigns against them. Meanwhile, his brother Rickon had taken to the clergy with surprising zeal, overseeing several large parishes.
Bran's parents, however, had struggled to adjust. Though they had officially converted to Catholicism before the revolution, they maintained certain Northern traditions, stubbornly clinging to their old ways while, thankfully, adapting enough to not be entirely out of place. The Stark family had profited handsomely from these changes; their lands, once wild and underutilized, were now home to thriving businesses, including an alcohol distillery exporting to Eden's capital. The family also held extensive land with oil fields that supplied Eden's energy infrastructure, though much of the revenue was donated to the revolutionary cause, in keeping with the times.
Bran, however, found his calling in the Church. The faith brought him a sense of stability in the otherwise chaotic tide of change sweeping across the North. Though he oversaw a domain that spanned thousands of miles, from the farmlands of the Riverlands to the towering spires of cities on the frontier, he was unshakeable in his devotion. His office was grand, with dark wood furniture and walls adorned with various sacred relics. His most prized possession, however, was a photograph on his wall depicting Saint Clara, the Supreme Leader's mother, fighting alongside Eden's navy against the Ironborn. The picture captured her mid-battle, leading the charge in a clash of steel and fire, an angel of war and deliverance. The image inspired Bran daily, reminding him of the epic struggle between good and evil.
Today, however, was not a day for reflection. Bran had a critical meeting with his Edenite counterpart, Administrator Walden Winslow. The man was a peculiar figure, dressed in what the locals called "warcore"—a mix of military and civilian gear, looking every bit the modern revolutionary. Walden had a plain face, though there was something striking about him, an enigmatic charm that felt out of place for a man so deeply embedded in the bureaucracy. Yet his most curious feature was his perpetual scent of strawberries, which seemed to cling to him no matter the occasion. Rumor had it that even after a five-day campaign in the rain, Walden would return smelling like a field of fresh berries.
The meeting room was dimly lit, with a single giant glowing cross on the wall casting its light over the table. Bran sat at the head, dressed in his ceremonial white cardinal robes, his mind focused on the latest news from the Crownlands. Walden entered briskly, carrying a stack of documents.
"The Crownlands are ours, Cardinal Bran," he announced, setting the papers down with an air of finality. His voice was calm but tinged with excitement, his eyes gleaming with the implications of this latest victory.
Bran raised an eyebrow, flipping through the documents. The Crownlands had been a thorn in their side for years, contested by various factions and plagued by loyalties that shifted with every passing breeze. The battles had been brutal, with reports of gas warfare and siege tactics. And while the victory was certainly a cause for celebration, Bran couldn't help but feel a pang of unease as he read about the Edenite casualties. Chlorine gas, it seemed, had been used extensively—by Eden's forces.
"There are… substantial casualties on our side," Bran said, choosing his words carefully. "I'm to understand we were the ones deploying the gas?"
Walden nodded, unfazed. "Yes, Cardinal. Our soldiers did what they had to in order to secure the region. Of course, the public cannot know the specifics. That's where you come in."
Bran's eyes narrowed as he continued reading. It would be his task to craft a narrative, something more palatable for the people of Eden and the North. The documents he held, with their frank descriptions of casualties, were damning. The truth would have to be buried, rewritten, and reframed into something the populace would rally behind. Walden, sensing Bran's hesitation, gave him a reassuring smile.
"I recommend collaborating with the other cardinals to align the narrative," Walden continued. "Make sure the story highlights the valiant efforts of our soldiers and emphasizes the barbarism of the aristocracy's forces. Once you've prepared the account, send a report to the Inquisitor's Office. They'll ensure it remains consistent across all channels."
Bran glanced up at the cross on the wall, the light casting a solemn glow over the room. "And the true casualty numbers?"
"Burn them," Walden replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand, as if erasing lives from existence was as simple as discarding an unwanted draft. "The story of our triumph will inspire the people. Truth, as you well know, is a tool in the hands of the faithful."
Bran nodded, though a part of him was conflicted. As much as he believed in the Edenite cause, there were times when he felt the weight of his duties pressing down upon him, a burden that seemed heavier with every new conquest. Yet, he was a cardinal of the faith, a servant of the people, and he knew that the larger picture required sacrifices.
Outside the North, Westeros was still a chaotic landscape. The Reach clung to its independence, with Edenite forces poised at the border. The Vale remained closed off, a strange and insular land ruled by the unstable Lady Lysa, her paranoid grip keeping even Edenite agents at bay. The Stormlands and Westerlands remained under the influence of the old monarchy, though rumors hinted at uprisings stirring in the shadows. The Iron Islands, of course, were an ongoing battlefield, with Eden's navy waging a campaign to eradicate what remained of their culture.
Bran found himself wondering if the price of unity would be too high. The North, however, was a different story. Under Eden's rule, prosperity had come to the once-frozen wilderness. Medical technology had brought an end to the once-deadly winters, child mortality was nonexistent, and even the poorest citizens lived better than the wealthiest lords of old. Yet he couldn't ignore the lingering doubts, the questions that crept in during the quiet moments.
Walden's voice snapped him back to the present. "We're on the cusp of a new era, Cardinal Bran. You, me, the entire North—we're all part of something monumental. Let's make sure we're remembered as the architects of Eden's legacy, not just pawns in someone else's game."
Bran forced a smile, nodding. "Yes, Administrator. The story will be crafted, and the people will know of our triumph."
As Walden departed, Bran looked over the documents one last time before pulling out a lighter.