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Chapter Twenty-Six: A Storm on the Horizon
The scent of salt and freshly baked bread filled the morning air as White Harbor stirred to life. From the high walls of New Castle, the waters of the Bite stretched endlessly, glistening under the sun's early light.
Ned Stark sat in Lord Wyman Manderly's solar, the rich aroma of spiced wine lingering in the air from breakfast. Across the table, Wyman sat comfortably, his great belly resting against the polished wood as he smiled warmly. Despite his size, there was nothing sluggish about the Lord of White Harbor. His mind was sharp, his gaze keen as he assessed the company before him.
To Ned's left sat Robb, silent and observant. Ned had told his son to watch and learn—diplomacy was just as important as battle, and today's discussion would teach him more than any sword lesson ever could.
Behind Ned stood Ser Walder, the man now known as the Hammer of the North. The knight was still as stone, his presence a quiet reminder that Ned did not travel without protection.
"Lord Stark," Wyman said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I regret not offering my congratulations at the harvest feast, but let me do so now." His smile widened as he turned to Robb. "Alys Karstark is a fine match, young lord. A Stark and a Karstark—there is no stronger union in the North."
Robb inclined his head respectfully, though he remained reserved. He was still growing into his role as heir, learning to listen rather than speak. A lesson Ned had often drilled into him.
"Thank you, Lord Wyman," Robb replied.
Wyman chuckled. "I daresay White Harbor will be honored to host the wedding when the time comes."
Ned smiled faintly but did not commit to anything. His mind was already elsewhere.
The pleasantries could only last so long.
Ned set his cup down and leaned forward. "Lord Wyman, let us speak plainly. The pirate attacks—how bad is it?"
Wyman's expression shifted, his warm demeanor fading into something more serious.
"The first attacks began about a moon after the harvest feast," he explained, fingers drumming lightly against the table. "At first, they were scattered, easily dealt with. Our northmen are no soft merchants—they are hardy, well-trained, and properly armed. The pirates found that out soon enough."
Ned nodded. Northern sailors were not like those from the Reach or the Westerlands. Most had fought in battles, hunted in the wilds, and knew how to defend themselves.
"But the attacks have only grown worse," Wyman continued, his hands settling into his lap. "More pirates have appeared, and they are only targeting our ships. That is no coincidence."
Robb shifted slightly at that, his sharp blue eyes narrowing in thought.
"The only reason our trade has not suffered is because I have been sending warships to escort every northern vessel that leaves White Harbor," Wyman said. "But that comes at a cost. It stretches our fleet thin, leaves our city vulnerable."
Ned frowned.
White Harbor was the lifeblood of the North's growing trade, the hub through which wealth flowed in from the Free Cities. If pirates disrupted that, the entire North would feel the effects.
"Who benefits from this?" Ned asked, his voice quiet but firm.
Wyman sighed, his expression turning grim. "Someone jealous of the North's rise. Someone who sees our warriors growing strong, our coffers filling with gold, and does not like it."
Ned's jaw tightened. "You suspect someone is paying them."
Wyman nodded. "Pirates would not dare attack northern ships so boldly otherwise. They fear our steel. But if someone is paying them well enough…"
There was silence for a moment as they considered the implications.
Then Wyman added, "I have also received troubling reports. A few moons ago, Euron Greyjoy was seen in the Stepstones, gathering a pirate fleet under his command."
That caught Ned's full attention.
Robb's hands clenched into fists. "Euron Greyjoy?"
"Yes," Wyman confirmed. "An exiled Greyjoy, cast out by his own brother. A man who has no love for the North, and even less for the man who crushed his house's rebellion."
Ned exhaled slowly.
A pirate fleet, led by a vengeful Greyjoy, attacking only northern ships…
Coincidence? No.
Before he could speak, the sound of bells rang out across the city.
The bells of White Harbor.
A warning.
Ser Walder's hand went to his sword. Robb was already on his feet.
Wyman paled. "No."
They rushed to the balcony, stepping out into the open air. From their vantage point, they could see the city below, the bustling streets now filled with confusion as people turned toward the harbor.
And there, on the horizon, were sails.
Dozens of them.
A fleet of black ships, their banners unmarked, their hulls cutting through the waves.
Ned's heart tightened. They were at best a few hours from landing.
His thoughts immediately turned to Catelyn and Sansa.
After breakfast, they had gone out to see the famous White Harbor market, to browse the wares and experience the growing prosperity of the North's greatest city.
Were they safe? Were they—
Then he breathed out slowly, steadying himself.
Jon was with them.
Somehow, that fact alone reassured him.
Jon would keep them safe.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Ned turned to Wyman, his voice calm but commanding. "Call your banners. Prepare for battle."
The North had been threatened.
And the wolves would bite back.