A/N: I know this is yet another story that I have started, but I've been on a Game of Thrones binge lately and this idea just wouldn't get out of my head. I'm hoping by writing this my creative juices will start flowing again for when I return to my HP fics. For those of you who are expecting a canon re-hash...I suggest you leave right now. While certain events will still be hit, they will ALL have different twists to them. This story has a slight(very very very slight) crossover with BtVS and Wheel of Time series. In both cases it's mostly lip service, which is why I don't have this in the crossover section. Hopefully you all enjoy my version of this incredible universe. I write it cause I just can't take all the death Martin forced me to endure in the books. I'm all for drama and tragedy, but only if the good guys end up winning in the end. If that is something you are also into, than I hope you will enjoy!

At the bottom of every chapter you will see my casting for this story. Some of you might call it a wank-fest and frankly you would be right. I just don't care. In my version of Planetos all the important people are better looking, taller(several people have had their heights altered to fit the books) and buffer. If that upsets you...than you're free to imagine whoever you want for each role or not read this story at all. Also...I have changed the ages of certain people and the dates of certain events, so I don't have to deal with twelve and thirteen year olds killing each other and/or having sex.

Finally... a few people have complained about the casting and timeline I put up with the story, so I have taken them down. Instead I added both to my profile. For those of you who are interested in what I came up with, you can check there. Unfortunately, due to the changes I made, the story is down to one chapter right now. So those who saw three chapters earlier, now you know why. Thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoy the story.

MA: Violence, Profanity, and Sex

Chapter 1: The North Re-imagined

259: Winterfell:

As he made his way towards his father's Solar, Brandon Stark thought about how strange his young life had been so far. Barely six moons away from his fifth Name-day, Brandon was born self-aware.

At the time he still thought of himself as Xander Harris, but thankfully with each passing day that feeling changed. And if he were being honest with himself, Brandon liked the change. For as much as he respected all that Xander had accomplished in his life, Brandon wanted to be his own man.

While he would always be grateful for the other man's memories and abilities, Brandon wanted to forge his own path in the world. He didn't want to be beholden to his other selves failures or successes, but at times that was easier said than done.

When Xander died and was asked to be reborn in a new world to protect the people from the return of the Others, Cordelia Chase, his former girlfriend turned higher being, gave him a Kingly gift when he agreed.

Since Magic always worked oddly around the former Demon hunter, his previous possessions of the Primal Hyena and the Soldier from Halloween were never truly expunged from his body.

Cordelia allowed him to not only retain the full knowledge and skills of Alexander "Alex" Harris the Soldier, but she also removed the Primal Hyena spirit that Xander hated so much and replaced it with a Primal spirit that he was actually connected to. Oddly enough given the House he was reborn into, the spirit was that of a Direwolf and the benefits that Brandon now reaped from the union were three fold.

The first benefit was that his bones and musculature were easily twice as dense as that of a normal person. This in turn made him stronger and faster than he would have been on his own, but Brandon was well aware that his abilities would never extend into the realm of the Supernatural like the Slayers. At best he could hope to reach the pinnacle of what the human body was capable of, but only after years and years of hard work.

The second benefit came in the form of two enhanced senses. On the surface having the smell and hearing equivalent to that of a Wolf might seem like a wonderful gift, but in reality it was not so. Brandon was constantly having to train himself not to react to the numerous putrid smells that permeated throughout Winterfell, or even even grimace at the sound of random loud noises that occurred all around him.

This past year he tried different ways to blunt the two irritating senses, but so far he had little luck in doing so. He truly hoped that at some point in the future, he would either find a way to adapt to his enhanced senses or at the very least find a way to buffer against them when they weren't needed.

The third and final benefit that Brandon received from the Primal Direwolf, was a limited connection to the spirit itself. From his memories of Xander's conversation with Cordelia, Brandon knew in times of need he would be able to tap into the strength and speed of the Primal, but it came at a great cost.

The longer he used the Direwolf's power, the greater the strain would be put on his heart. If Brandon used the boost for too long, his heart would burst and he would die. Unlike with Slayers, Brandon's body wasn't built to handle that type of power on a regular basis, so he knew he would have to be careful as to when and how long he could use such a gift.

Along with these enhancements, Brandon's mind also contained two sets of memories. The first was that of a twenty-nine-year-old Demon hunter named Xander Harris and the second of a twenty-three-year-old Navy Seal named Alex Harris.

While both men were, in fact, alternate versions of himself, they were also very different from one another. Xander was a chronic underachiever who didn't reach his full potential until much later in his life. Meanwhile, Alex was the complete opposite. Gifted with a stellar intelligence he graduated at the top of his class from Annapolis and was considered to be one of the best recruits on his SEAL team.

At only four Name-days old, there were times Brandon felt himself being overwhelmed by the memories and experiences of the older men. But with each day that passed, he built his own memories, made his own mistakes and had his own successes. Through a daily reminder, the young boy promised himself that one day soon he would become his own man and no longer be overshadowed by the ghosts of his alternate selves.

When he finally arrived at the Lord's Solar, Brandon knocked twice and heard his father call out, "Come in."

Opening the door, the heir of Winterfell walked into the Solar and immediately saw his father, mother and Maester Walys sitting at the large table in the center of the room.

In the Lord's seat sat Rickard Stark. At nine and twenty, the 6'4" Head of House Stark had the classic black hair, grey eyes and strong chin that had become synonymous with the Stark name. Even while sitting, his broad shoulders, barrel chest and trim waist portrayed an intimidating aura that was evident to any who looked at him.

To his left sat Anna Stark. At four and twenty, the Lady of House Stark was formerly a Karstark of Karhold, a cadet branch of the Stark family. The 5'9" beauty had long silky black hair that rested just below her breasts at the back, and beautiful blue eyes that could glimmer with mischief one minute and blaze in anger the next. She was considered by many to be the most beautiful woman in the North, as well as one of the most desirable women in all of Westeros.

The last person in the room was Maester Walys. At 5'4" the thin, frail-looking man had hunched shoulders and was easily as wise as he was ancient. Walys first came to Winterfell when Brandon's grandfather took up his Lordship, and over the years he had grown to love the North just as much as any man born in the lands of Winter.

The past two years Brandon spent countless hours learning from the Maester. Be it reading, writing, numbers, history or languages, Walys always marveled at the young boy's ability to assimilate new information and quickly proclaimed Brandon as a once in a lifetime prodigy.

The first time the Maester had done so, Brandon felt a brief moment of guilt at his unfair advantage, but he quickly squashed those feelings down. He was given these gifts by a higher power for a reason and if that meant the world saw him as the next Bran the Builder, then he would gladly accept the accolades. In the future, Brandon would have to prepare the North and the rest of Westeros for the return of the Others, and it would only help him if he was thought of as a genius.

"Mother, Father, Maester Walys," Brandon called out in greeting.

While Anna and Walys smiled happily at Brandon, Rickard's face could have been made out of stone with the lack of expression that could be found upon it. He merely nodded his head at his heir and said, "Sit down, Brandon. Maester Walys has brought to my attention your wish to go to the Citadel, and I would hear your thoughts on the matter."

At first, Brandon was puzzled by his father's cold demeanor, until he realized Rickard thought he meant to give up his title as heir to Winterfell and become a Maester. Wanting to put his father's mind at ease, he quickly replied, "Yes father. I wish to continue my education at the Citadel and forge my links before returning to my duties as your heir."

As soon as he saw his father begin to relax, Brandon sighed softly in relief.

"And when do you think you will be ready to go to the Citadel, sweetling?" Anna asked curiously.

"I'm ready now, mother," Brandon answered. "If I can get there before my next Name-day, I'm confident I can forge my chosen links and return within three years."

Both Anna and Rickard blinked in surprise. While they had each been informed numerous times by Maester Walys about their son's intelligence, neither one was quite prepared for such a response. They assumed Brandon wanted to go to the Maesters when he was several years older. Most novices were at least six and ten when they entered the Citadel, yet here was their son, barely older than four name days, wanting to go now.

"Absolutely not, Brandon," Anna replied with a small glare. "You're much too young to go now. You will stay here, continue to learn with Maester Walys, and in a few years we can talk about your leaving again."

Before the young heir could respond, Maester Walys did it for him. "My apologies, Lady Stark, but I assure you that your son is ready for the Citadel right now."

Walys flinched when Anna's piercing gaze was directed towards him. "This is ridiculous, Maester. My son is still a child and you would send him away from his home? His family? Why can you not continue to teach him here at Winterfell?"

"Because he has already learned all that I can teach him here, my Lady."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at the answer. "Explain."

"Though I have remarked numerous times on young Brandon's intelligence, I believe, Lord Stark, that you and your Lady wife may not have understood how remarkable your son truly is. As of now his ability with letters and numbers already exceeds that of most novices entering the Citadel. This past year, not only has he learned to fluently speak and write in High Valyrian but now he is close to mastering Qartheen as well. I do not jest when I say that I don't have much left to teach him here. The books needed to further his education can only be found at the Citadel, and for that, he must go to Oldtown."

Once again the Lord and Lady Stark were baffled by the response and admittedly the pair felt a little guilty that they hadn't noticed their son's full potential.

"Are you sure this is what you want, my son?"

"Aye, father. It is. The quicker I can forge my links, the quicker I can return to Winterfell and use the knowledge I've gained to help the North."

"And how many links are you looking to forge, lad?" Rickard asked curiously.

"Six links in total," Brandon answered with a confident smirk. "Gold for math and economics, Iron for Warcraft, Silver for medicine and healing, Pale Steel for smithing, Red Gold for animal husbandry and Brass for Geography and Cartography. If things go as I plan, I may even forge one in Valyrian Steel for Magic."

Rickard leaned back in his chair and contemplated his son's future plans. Minus the one for Magic, the links his heir was looking to forge would certainly help the North in the long run. As much he respected and valued the council of Maester Walys, the old man only had links forged in Ravenry, Weather, and Politics.

What stopped Rickard from agreeing to all of this, was the look in his son's eyes. Though he may not have noticed or accepted Brandon's full potential, as a father he was confident he knew when his son was hiding something from him.

"Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Maester, but I would have words with my wife and son in private."

The aged scholar bowed his head in acquiescence and made his way out of the Solar. No sooner did the door shut behind him, did Rickard turn towards his son. "I will have the truth from you now, my son. Your mother and I may have failed you by not noticing the extent of your intelligence, but as a father, I can tell that you're hiding something from me. I'm certain your desire to go to the Citadel includes more than just learning and I wish to know what it is."

For a brief moment Brandon thought of denying any secondary reasons, but he quickly discarded the idea. His dreams for the North and its future would rely heavily on his father's support and he would not ruin their relationship with a needless lie.

"You are correct, father," Brandon replied. "As much as I desire to learn from the Maesters, my true reason for wanting to go to the Citadel is to gain access to their vast library. According to Walys the Citadel boasts around forty thousand books and tombs and I aim to bring back as much of that knowledge as I can."

Anna gasped softly when she heard her son's response. "You would steal from the Maesters and become a common thief?"

Brandon shook his head in reply. "Not in the manner you are thinking of, mother. Currently, it takes anywhere from a few weeks to a few months to copy a single book. Over the past few weeks I have been working on an idea and if the device I have created turns out as expected, I will be able to copy dozens of books in a single day."

For the third time that day, Anna felt amazed at her son's intellect. "Truly? Is such a thing really possible?"

Thanks to his memories from Alex Harris, who was an avid history buff, Brandon knew the printing press he was talking about could, in fact, do exactly what he claimed. At thirty-six books a day, it would take him roughly three years, give or take a few weeks for the tombs already found in Winterfell's library, to copy all forty thousand books and tombs at the Citadel.

"If father would allow me the use of Winterfell's blacksmith for a week, I'm certain I can create my device and prove it to you."

Much like his wife, Rickard was amazed by his heir's claim, but what he didn't understand was why it was necessary. "For what reason do you want all these books, lad?"

"Because knowledge is power, father, and I aim to give that power to House Stark. As of now, the Maesters hoard all of that information for themselves, thus forcing the realm to be beholden to them. They tell us when Winter is approaching. They tell us what things can and can't be done. They hold the secrets of treating the sick or the wounded and even for growing bountiful crops. But most of all they know truths that have long since been forgotten by the rest of the world, and I want to know what they are."

The Lord and Lady Stark shared a brief look and in the end, they reluctantly came to a decision.

Rickard nodded at his son and said, "Very well, lad. I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow you will start working with Mikken the blacksmith and at the end of the week if this device of yours does what you claim, then I'll arrange things with Walys to send you to Oldtown. But if it doesn't, then you will wait a few years before going there."

Brandon grinned and nodded his head in agreement, knowing full well the printing press would work. "That sounds more than fair, father. However, should my device work, I would like to make a request of you."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at his heir and then motioned with his hand for him to continue.

"While I'm in Oldtown I wish to begin my sword training and I would like for it to be done by Syrio Forel."

Rickard was initially confused as to who this Forel person was until he heard his wife say, "Isn't that the boy my sister and good brother are sponsoring as the next First Sword of Braavos?"

"Aye, mother. It is."

"But why would you want to learn Water Dancing, sweetling?" Anna asked, surprised by the request.

Brandon didn't actually care about learning Water Dancing. What he needed was an excuse as to why he knew the Jinsei Odori or the Dance of Life. From Xander's memories, Brandon knew it was a sword style that was taught to him by Faith Lehane, the Dark Slayer. The style took his other self seven years to master, but when he did, many of the Slayers often joked if it weren't for them Xander would be the greatest swordsman in the world.

By having Syrio with him in Oldtown, Brandon planned to use him to "create" the style for himself. Besides, Jinsei Odori and Water Dancing both required speed and phenomenal balance, which he could easily relearn with the Bravo's help.

"Because I'm too small to start the training the Master at arms does here at Winterfell," Brandon lied, knowing full well the increased density of his musculature would allow him to start such training right away. "Water Dancing requires speed and balance more than it does size and strength. Even if it's not the sword style I will end up using in the future, at the very least I can begin to learn swordplay. Having good speed, balance and footwork would only be beneficial to me once I return to Winterfell and start training with Ser Rodrik."

"And how exactly do you expect us to get this Syrio boy to teach you?" Rickard asked.

Brandon thought carefully how to answer the question, not wanting to offend either one of his parents with his idea, especially given the contentious relationship they currently had with his Aunt and good Uncle.

"By asking Aunt Aria for help," Brandon answered with a grimace.

"You know how things are with her right now, sweetling," Anna replied with a pained smile. "I doubt my good brother would be willing to help us, even if my sister asked it of him."

Once more Brandon took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. When he was ready, he said, "I realize this dispute is over the debt that is owed House Stark by Nuncle Joridos, but what I have in mind may be a way for the debt to be cleared without money actually exchanging hands."

"How so?," Anna asked, silently praying to the Old Gods for a way to end the feud.

Brandon could see the hope flitter across his mother's eyes. Anna Stark was a woman who believed deeply in the bonds between family and he knew that the loss of her sister hurt her something fierce.

Though his idea was born purely of selfish reasons, the silver lining to it would mean a great deal for his mother's happiness and for that alone Brandon hoped it would work.

"Aunt Aria owes you a debt, mother, because without your support not only would grandfather Alric never have allowed one of his daughters to marry a simple merchant like Joridos Dirrah, but father would never have lent the man money to start his business."

Rickard snorted in disgust. "Damn I right I wouldn't have."

Brandon had to fight not to roll his eyes at his father's response.

"Since Nuncle has been Syrio's sponsor for the past few years, the Water Dancer will be obliged to take his request seriously and by doing this for me, it can cancel out the debt they owe us. This way everyone wins."

As much as Anna loved her sister, the outstanding debt her good brother owed her husband had soured their relationship in the past few years. It was only for her sake that Rickard hadn't been more forceful in getting the money back, but maybe this way things could finally get better for her and Aria again.

When she looked towards her husband and saw him reluctantly nod his head at her, she couldn't help but smile at the man she loved. Hopefully, Aria could convince her husband of the same thing, and this horrible debt could finally go away.

"I'll send a Raven to my sister tomorrow, sweetling," Anna said with a smile. "It will depend on her and your good Uncle, but we should at least know their answer before you head off to Oldtown."


260: Training Grounds(Oldtown):

At 5'6" Syrio Forel was a clean-shaven bald man of average height and a slim build. At one and twenty name days, he was dressed in the colorful finery commonly seen amongst most Bravos, with a single silver earring attached to his right year.

The inexpensive piece of jewelry was one of Syrio's dearest possessions because it was a reminder of the day he truly became a Water Dancer. At the tender age of two and ten, with barely a year of training behind him, he came across a group of thugs threatening a lone merchant.

Unable to stop himself, Syrio jumped to the man's rescue. The thugs he fought were all men grown and experienced in their line of work. But still, he refused to back down. Though his opponents were all stronger and faster than him, the young Bravo used his guile and cunning to dance around their blows until he could defeat them.

That random act of kindness on his part changed Syrio's life forever. The man he rescued was Joridos Dirrah, an up and coming member of the Merchant's Guild, that was quickly making a name for himself all throughout Braavos.

Joridos was so grateful for his life and goods being saved, he even agreed to sponsor Syrio's dream to become the First Sword of Braavos. Suddenly the young Bravo had access to the finest teachers, the best equipment, and the most nutritious foods. He seized this golden opportunity with both hands and never once looked back.

After seven long years of back-breaking hard work, of pushing himself to and then past his limits, again and again, Syrio finally made a name for himself that rivaled that of the current First Sword of the Sealord.

It was common knowledge in Braavos that Orbelo Diega was not long for this world. The only reason the sickly man still claimed the title of First Sword, was because he was married to the Sealord's favorite cousin.

There was no doubt in Syrio's mind that when Orbelo finally met his end, he would be the one the Sealord sent for. It's why he was so hesitant to accept Joridos' request to teach his good nephew Water Dancing. He had no desire to be so far away from Braavos at this crucial time, but when his friend assured him that if Orbelo passed he could come back right away, for the debt he owed the man Syrio reluctantly accepted.

Now as he stared at the sweaty and panting boy of five name days in front of him, Syrio couldn't be happier with his decision. The boy was a wonder of wonders.

Three moons prior, when he first laid eyes upon the child, Syrio was surprised by his age. Most children didn't begin their training till their eighth Name-day, but here he was being asked to train a boy several years younger than that. The fact that the child was specifically here to learn from the Maesters at the Citadel, Syrio knew the boy was intelligent, but he never once imagined that his martial skills would be as impressive as his mental ones.

That first day he thought the child would lack the stamina for a prolonged spar, but the boy impressed him time and again. His balance was exquisite, his strength and speed far beyond what a child his age should be capable of, but what drew Syrio to the boy was his situational awareness.

No matter how he struck him, his little apprentice was somehow aware of the oncoming blow. Most times he lacked the strength and speed to properly block the inevitable attack, but without fail he knew it was coming. The young wolf claimed he could hear the whistle of the blade as it cut through the air, and to his surprise, Syrio believed him.

Since that day he pushed his student to his limits and not once did the little boy complain. He worked diligently at every exercise that Syrio gave to him, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, often times exceeding what was expected of him. To be honest, the young Bravo couldn't have asked for a better first student. He had high hopes the boy would one day soon join him as a fellow Master of the Blade.

"Enough child. We are done for the day. Syrio is pleased with your progress and as a reward tomorrow he will teach you a new step to the Dance."

Stripped to his waist, Brandon wiped the sweat from his eyes and took care to sip slowly from the canteen his teacher just threw at him. After three excruciating months under his new "Dance partner", Brandon believed he finally earned enough of the man's respect to mention the Jinsei Odori.

Once his breathing was back under control, Brandon looked towards the Bravo and said, "Master Syrio, I was wondering if you would consent to help me with a sword style I've been working on."

Syrio arched an eyebrow at his student. "You have created your own style, young one?"

Brandon nodded once and replied, "Yes, master. For the past year, I have been constantly thinking about sword forms at night and then practicing them whenever I get a chance. I would like to see what you think about the style I am creating."

Syrio laughed loudly at the audacity of his student. Creating a style from scratch was difficult to do, but nigh impossible for a child who was still learning the basics himself. Despite his misgivings, the Water Dancer decided to humor the boy in front of him. "Very well, boy. Syrio will see this new style of yours. Defend yourself."

The brief warning was all Brandon needed to flow into his first stance and embrace the void. The Flame and Void was a technique where one visualized a flame and all thoughts, emotions and even concerns over life and death were fed into it. A true blademaster in the void could become one with his sword. Every cut, every thrust, every parry and every strike, perfectly in tune with the next.

It had taken Xander months to learn how to embrace the void and years to maintain it for long periods of time. With his other self's detailed memories to call upon, Brandon had been diligently practicing the technique since his third name day. And while he could now reach the void with ease, maintaining it for long stretches was still difficult for him to do.

As soon as he saw his teacher rush towards him, Brandon blocked the downward strike of Syrio's sword with The Swallow Takes Flight. His body blurred into motion and he attacked with The Wood Grouse Dances, Ribbon in the Air and Stones Falling From the Cliff, each form flowing seamlessly into the other.

Student and Master moved around the courtyard in a deadly dance, their music composed of wooden sword against wooden sword.

Syrio's face was a mask of perfect concentration, as he twirled through his steps, his sword arm a blur that blocked every attack that came his way. Though he had yet to use even a half of his true strength and speed, the future First Sword of Braavos was amazed at what his apprentice had created.

This new style was as deadly as his Water Dance but different in its own way. It seemed to be a perfect blend of the hack and slash style used by the Westerosi and the precision based attacks he himself used. From what little he'd seen of it so far, this new style relied on balance and footwork just as much as his own dance, while still allowing strength to play a pivotal role in the fight. It was a marvelous creation and one he looked forward to learning more about.

Suddenly he saw his student falter while making a peculiar attack and with a move born from countless hours of repetition, he easily sidestepped the fatal lunge meant for his chest and slapped the flat of his blade against Brandon's wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. His blade instantly glided up the arm, until the tip of the sword rested against the boy's neck.

"Do you yield, child?"

"I do, master," Brandon replied, disgusted with himself for losing his grip on the void at such a crucial point. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he had done enough to impress his teacher, Brandon heard the sound of a slow clap getting steadily louder.

"Well done, little wolf," Syrio said, still clapping loudly. "At first you surprise, but now you impress. Syrio likes your new dance very much, and he will gladly help you to give it shape. What do you call it? A dance like that should definitely have a name."

The young lord nodded his head in answer. Though he couldn't call the style by it's given name on Earth, he did have an alternative that fit the world he now belonged. "I call it...Ilysis Abra."

"Is that Valyrian, little wolf?" Syrio asked with a surprise. "What does it mean?"

Brandon smiled proudly at his teacher and replied, "It is, master, and it means...the Dance of Life."


261: White Tower Inn(Old Town):

As he waited patiently for his father to arrive, Brandon took a sip of the water in front of him and thought about how exhausting the past year had been. At first, the Maesters had been so awestruck by his knowledge, they continuously hounded him everywhere he went.

As irritating as the situation was for him, by impressing the numerous Archmaesters he studied under, Brandon was granted special privileges that few were ever offered at the Citadel. One of these privileges extended to him the honor of taking a select number of books out of the Citadel itself. Since everyone knew he was also receiving sword training from Syrio, when he asked to keep a few books with him at the inn he was staying at, he was given special permission to do so.

Thanks to that wonderful gift, the seven servants Brandon trained to use the printing press, were slowly copying every book and tomb he could get his hands on. At the rate things were going, it wouldn't be out of the realm of impossibility for him to finish his given task even before the three years was complete.

During this time his relationship with Syrio had also grown by leaps and bounds. As a result of their friendship, Brandon learned of his teacher's numerous connections throughout the Free Cities and one in particular caught his attention.

A few years back Syrio did an errand for his good uncle in Pentos and became friends with a well-respected surveyor. At Brandon's request, his teacher readily agreed to contact his friend and hired him to check out several plots of land in the North that Brandon was curious about.

Ever since he read up on the House of Lannister, it always baffled Brandon why the Starks weren't shitting as much gold as the Lions. The North had twice as many mountain ranges as the Westerlands, and they were all twice as big in size.

At first, he thought that the previous Stark Lords had looked, but hadn't found anything of worth. However, when he asked his father about it in a letter, it turned out there was no mention in the Lord's Journals of a survey ever being done of the North. So with his father's permission, he used Syrio's connections to hire one for House Stark.

That was six moons ago. Six weeks ago he received a Raven from his father, with a copy of the report given to him by the surveyor. As it turned out, the previous Stark Lords were all idiots.

The mountains that stretched North from the foothills of the Stony Shore, all the way past the bogs of Sea Dragon Point to the Wolfswood and stretched East to the lake that forms the northern border of the Rills, was full of thick veins of Gold. Veins that had never been tapped into, and ones that could easily last for the next several thousand years.

Then there was Long Lake. It lay between the Clan mountains on the West and the Lonely Hills on its Eastern border and it was full of precious gems. Gems that once again had never been discovered in the eight thousand years the Stark Family held dominion over the North.

The final area Brandon asked the surveyor to check was the mountains where the various Clans lived and surprise surprise they were rich in Iron ore.

Over the past year, there were several instances where Brandon had to control his anger after hearing a joke made at the expense of the North. Southerners liked to mock his people as savages that were too stupid to leave the lands of Winter.

It angered him how these southern cunts looked down at northerners, but after reading the survey report, he almost wanted to agree with them. He was disgusted by Northern stupidity. They were literally sitting on a mountain's worth of wealth and not one person had ever discovered it.

A flurry of Ravens was immediately exchanged between Brandon and his father and he was able to convince the Lord of House Stark to come speak to him at Oldtown. With the vast wealth now available to them, Brandon had a plan for the North that would make both House Stark and it's vassals richer together. He just needed to sell the idea to his father first.

When the door to his private room suddenly opened, Brandon looked up to see the imposing figure of his father walking in. Despite his arrival late last night, the heir of Winterfell was surprised at how refreshed the older man looked.

"Good morning, father. I take it you slept well."

"Morning, lad," Rickard grunted back. "Aye. I slept well. Your mother sends her regards."

Brandon grinned at the mention of his mother. He missed her dearly and looked forward to the day he could see her again. "I'm pleased to hear that. How is my new little brother doing?"

This time it was Rickard's turn to let loose a pleased smile, as he thought of his recently born second son. "He's doing well, lad. Mark my words, he'll be a strong one when he grows up. The boy has a wail that can wake the entire Castle."

Brandon laughed at the news and then told his father about his time with the Maesters and Syrio. After a few minutes, once the pair was all caught up, the discussion turned to the real reason behind Rickard's presence in Oldtown.

"Alright, lad. Now that we've had our fun, tell me why you were so insistent that I come down here and speak to you."

Since the day he read the surveyor's report, Brandon had been preparing himself for this meeting. Under his father's watchful gaze he pulled out a large map of the North and extended it down the length of the table.

"As of now, other than Winterfell, the House of Stark has no other holdings," Brandon began. "Your primary source of income, father, is the tax you collect from your vassals at the end of each year."

When he saw Rickard nod his head in agreement, Brandon continued, "With the resources we now have available to us, we can easily change that. I mean for us to build five new holdfasts and keep all of them under Stark control."

"And where exactly would these new holdfasts be, lad?", Rickard asked curiously since the majority of the viable lands in the North was already divided between the various vassals that were sworn to House Stark.

Brandon flashed his father an eager smile and replied, "The first one is in the Wolfswood west of Winterfell and it's called Crofter's Village."

Rickard stared down at the map for a moment and said, "But that land's already taken, boy."

"Says who, father?" Brandon asked back. "Unlike the other holdings, this village has no one designated by our House to hold these lands. The mere hundred and fifty people that live here don't send us any taxes and yet according to the surveyor's report, they live on the best farming lands in the entire North. That includes both Brandon's Gift, as well as the New Gift near the Wall."

When he realized his son's words were true, the Lord of House Stark shook his head in disgust at this lack of foresight. The number of innocent lives lost during countless Winters could have easily been saved if not for his and his predecessors' failure. He was ashamed that he hadn't thought of these lands before, but now that he knew of their value, that would certainly change.

"What do you have in mind, son?", he asked.

"My plans for these lands are twofold. First, we cut down several miles of trees on either side of the two lakes that the village currently sits between. This way we can double the amount of farmable land that we have available to us. Then I want to build Wolfswood Port here, at the easternmost tip of the larger of the two lakes."

"And why exactly is there going to be a port in the middle of a large forest?"

Brandon pointed his finger further down at a particular point on the map and said, "The White Knife river comes up from White Harbor and splits right here. One branch empties into the Long Lake, while the other branch empties into the larger of the two lakes at the village.

I plan to extend a canal from that lake all the way to the coast of Sea Dragon Point and into the Sunset Sea. The new port will not only be responsible for delivering goods meant for Winterfell and Cerwyn, it will also act as a deterrent for any unauthorized ships that come down the canal. As an added bonus, this will also boost trade for Lord Manderly and White Harbor, since it would allow them quicker access to the western coast."

When he looked up towards his father, Brandon could easily see what the man was thinking. "I know that you're worried about the Ironborn taking advantage of this canal, father, but the next holdfast I plan to create should deal with any concerns you may have."

Not waiting for his father to respond, Brandon quickly continued, "Since the fall of House Frost in the second Bolton revolt, no family has laid claim to these lands in the past nine hundred years. Which to me is surprising, because according to the reports the Maesters have on it, Sea Dragon Point is teaming with Otters, Seals, Clams, Oysters, Lobsters and numerous types of Fish. Further away from the coast, the lands attached to the Point are full of hills and wide pastures, which are perfect for grazing animals. But it's greatest value comes from the hundred hidden coves dispersed throughout the area.

"And exactly what value do these coves hold?"

"They're perfect for ship-building," Brandon answered with a smirk. "Centuries back, in a fit of grief over the loss of his father, Bran the Burner destroyed the last Northern Navy and this Bran intends to bring it back. By the time I'm done, we'll have a Navy that will be more than a match for anything found in the South."

"So you want to build ships here?," Rickard asked with a chuckle, still not believing a child as young as his son had planned all of this out.

"Not just ships, but a city," Brandon replied. "The Black Harbor will be to the west coast what White Harbor is to the east. Only this city will be far larger and grander. I intend to make it twice the size of Lannisport, but still smaller than King's Landing. The entire city will be enclosed with eighty-foot walls and separated into three sections. The front half will be for the businesses, while the back half will be for the people to live in. And right in the middle will be Sea Wolf Castle."

"Sea Wolf Castle? Shouldn't it be called Sea Dragon Castle?"

Brandon shook his head in response. "Dragons died out long ago and with the Direwolf as the sigil of our House, it only makes sense to change the name. We're going to rename the point to Sea Wolf Point, and the Northern Navy will become the Sea Wolves that strike fear into the hearts of those Ironborn cunts."

Rickard let loose a loud bellow at this, reveling at his son's plans for the raiders that have plagued his lands for centuries. After his brief moment of levity, he motioned for his son to continue.

"The Castle will extend almost to the wall on both sides, protected by large iron gates that when raised, will leave just enough room for ten men walking abreast to pass through. Should there ever come a time the city walls are breached, the small folk can be sequestered in the residential district, while the defenders bleed the invading force slowly down the front half of the city, only for them to end up in front of the Castle's hundred foot walls."

As he ran his fingers through his slightly greying hair, Rickard blinked in surprise at the thought of such a magnificent city. Unfortunately, he couldn't think too long about it, because his son drew his attention to the next point on the map.

"The third holdfast I want to create will be a Fortress in the foothills of the mountains near Stony Shore. And we'll call it the Golden Fang."

Rickard was bemused by the familiar sounding name. "Doesn't the Golden Tooth protect the mountain pass leading to the Lannister mines?"

"It does, but a fang is far more intimidating than a mere tooth and so too will be this fortress in comparison to the Lannister castle. However, the key to building this holdfast will mean we can't start on the gold mines until after it's finished."

"And why would we have to wait?"

"Because of House Ryswell," Brandon explained. "When House Ryder was still in power, they claimed the lands from Stony Shore all the way to the branch of the Saltspear west of Barrowtown. When House Ryswell took them over, they only claimed The Rills, which extends from the Saltspear on the east, to a no-name river just before the mountains on the Shore.

Over the years they've complained often enough of having to deal with Ironborn raids coming from the Shore, that if we explain the Fang as a deterrent for such attacks, they would gladly cede the territory to House Stark. Once it's done and the Gold mines become known, it will be too late for them to complain about it."

For the second time that day the Lord of House Stark let loose a bellowing laugh at his son's cunning. The Houses Ryswell and Dustin in Barrowtown may be sworn vassals of his, but due to the numerous marriages between them and House Bolton, the Starks were always leery of trusting them too much.

House Bolton was easily the second strongest House in the North and every Lord Stark knew to be wary of the former Red Kings. While their loyalty hadn't been tested in several generations, the Starks were raised knowing the Boltons would attack at any sign of weakness. Should that ever happen, there was no doubt in Rickard's mind which side the Houses of Ryswell and Dustin would support.

Brandon laughed briefly along with his father and then pointed to the next spot on the map. "The fourth holdfast I want to make is at Long Lake and it will consist of two small castles called the Twintails.

The first castle will be placed at the southernmost tip of Long Lake, where the branch of the White Knife empties into it. Then I intend to extend a canal from the northernmost tip of the Lake, all the way up to the Last River that drains into the Clan mountains. The second castle will be placed at the merger of the canal and the river.

Between the two of them, not only will they be able to harvest the precious gems found in the Lake, but they will also be able to collect and dispense goods to and from the Mountain Clans, Last Hearth, Karhold, Castle Black, Dreadfort, and Winterfell."

"Your words are pleasing to my ears, Bran, but truth be told there aren't exactly a lot of goods that need trading in the North. Especially not for the amount of work that you're suggesting."

"As it stands, you're right, father. However, we can change that within a span of six months."

"How so?" Rickard asked, intrigued by the idea of the new trade.

"A few months back I met one of Syrio's friends, who also happens to be a successful Qartheen Merchant. He spoke a lot about his travels to the distant lands of Yi-Ti and with his help, we could bring in a number of new crops, spices and even a new horse species for us to trade. If we split up some of the incoming goods between the various Houses, everyone can get rich together."

Rickard shook his head at the idea. "As nice as all of this sounds, lad, if these goods come from so far away, I doubt they would survive in the colds of the North."

"They would if we grew them in Glass Gardens," Brandon replied.

"In case you haven't noticed, boy, there's only one of those in the whole of the North. Even if the gold mines were active right now, the cost it would take for Myr to produce enough of them for what you have in mind would make sure we didn't see any of our gold for the next several decades."

Brandon was prepared for his father's response. "What if I told you it would cost you less than a single gold dragon to make a Glass Garden."

"I'd go find the nearest Maester and have him check you for madness," Rickard answered with a grunt. "I know what you're thinking, lad, but you can't just use any old glass to make these types of gardens. Only Myr has the secret to the clear panels that we would need."

Brandon left the table and made his way to the small nightstand next to his bed. On top of it, there was a roughly bound object and a thin piece of paper, which he shoved into his trouser pocket. Gently picking the wrapped bundle up, he took it back to the table and handed it to his father.

Rickard was confused by the action, but nonetheless, he unwrapped the bundle. What he found inside was a small glass panel exactly like the ones used for the Glass Garden in Winterfell. "How do you have this, Bran? It must have cost a small fortune."

Over the years Xander did many things for the Scoobies, but it wasn't until he went to Africa that his hobbies were truly appreciated. Always good with his hands, he was just as skilled as a blacksmith, as he was as a carpenter or construction worker.

At times Xander and his Slayers would stay in a village long after they killed whatever Vampire or Demon they were hunting. During those stays they would also help in whatever way they could. Sometimes that involved farming, while other times it may be with help building something. But the times where Xander got to work in a forge were always his favorite.

It was thanks to Xander's memories, that Brandon knew how to make the glass panels he needed for the Gardens. All it took was a few coins for the blacksmith's apprentice to let him use the forge at night and now that he was certain how to make the panels, he could easily mass produce the Gardens for all the future Stark holdfasts.

"I made it, father. It took me some time, but I was able to figure out Myr's secret for the glass panels."

"You made it?" Rickard asked in awe. "Just like that?"

"It wasn't quite as easy as you're imagining, but yes, I figured it out. And once I return to Winterfell, I can make sure that all our new holdfasts have multiple Glass Gardens."

"Why just our holdfasts?"

"Because it gives us power," Brandon explained. "During winter Winterfell takes in hundreds of small folk and thousands more flock to Winter Town for our patronage. At times we even send food to those Houses that have emptied their stores too early during winter and we do all of this with a single Glass Garden.

The extra gardens will make sure we can supply everyone with plenty of food, but still, keep them beholden to us. Besides, with what I have planned for the strongest Houses, they should make more than enough profit to not be too envious of House Stark's good fortune."

"Tell me more, boy," Rickard said eagerly, his expression indicating he was more than pleased with the idea of the North prospering as a whole.

"Well, the first House we can help are the Reeds of Greywater Watch. One of the crops I want to import from Yi-Ti is called rice. Once it's harvested, as long as it's kept dry, it can keep for several years without going bad. And the best thing is, the ideal place for it to grow is the swamps and marshes controlled by House Reed. With just a little bit of effort, Greywater will hold a monopoly on a major cash crop and their coffers will grow well from it."

Rickard nodded his head in approval. The Crannogmen that lived in the Neck were not only one of his most loyal Vassals, but sadly they were also one of the poorest Houses in the North. He was more than pleased that they would benefit so greatly from this endeavor.

"To the west of House Reed reside the Flints of Flint's Finger. The House makes its money off a handful of fishing villages they have along the coast of Blazewater Bay, but currently they give us little in the way of taxes. I plan to change that by helping them create Vineyards on their unused lands. By bringing in high-quality grapes from Essos, with a little help, we can have them making money in no time."

Unlike his son's previous suggestion, Rickard was bemused by this one. "While this sounds nice, lad, why would anyone want to buy wine from the Flints?"

Brandon wasn't surprised by the question. Between the Arbor and Dorne alone, Westeros had plenty of vintages available to the Nobility. When you add in the wines imported from the Free Cities, it was easy to assume a new vineyard would have little to no appeal to the masses, let alone the Nobility of Westeros. The answer to this dilemma came in the form of his Alex Harris' memories. Not only was his family known to be elite wine connoisseurs, but thanks to them having a small vineyard of their own, Brandon was well aware of the modern practices associated with winemaking.

"Because I plan on using an alternate form of fermenting for the grapes," Brandon replied. "By using this method in conjunction with the new farming techniques I plan to implement, the Flints can produce better quality wines, that are cheaper to make and still have a high yield on the grapes grown."

Rickard stared at his son, not knowing what to think. If anyone other than his blood promised him such results, he would have scoffed at their wild boasts and banished them from his presence. But his heir was different. So far Brandon had achieved everything that he set out to do and he had faith this endeavor would be yet another one of his successes.

"The next House we can help, are the Umbers from Last Hearth," Brandon continued. "Right now the House is known for raising sheep, but only a little of the wool they produce is sold for profit. Personally, I think it's a poor use of their resources. With their close proximity to Last River, their lands have excellent grazing grounds. What I want to do is buy cows in bulk from the South and Essos and give them to the Umbers. All they would need is some guidance to get them started, and they could easily become the major distributor of milk, cheese, butter, beef and leather for the North."

For yet another time that day, Rickard shook his head in disgust. His son's suggestion was simultaneously so brilliant and simple, that he was surprised no one had thought of it before.

Meanwhile, Brandon in his excitement was already moving on to the next House on the map.

"Another House we could help is the Dustins in Barrowtown."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at the news. While he may not trust the members of the House too much, they were still one of the wealthiest families in the North, second only to the Manderlys from White Harbor. He wasn't sure how he felt about helping them get even stronger. Unlike the Reeds, the Flints and the Umbers, Rickard didn't feel like he had the full loyalty of the House.

"Right now the House of Dustin is the leading producer of Wool for the majority of Westeros. This has definitely kept their coffers full, but in my opinion they are still underutilizing their lands. I would like to help them build several chicken, pig and turkey farms. Between the selling of these meats, and the eggs from the chicken, while also continuing their Wool production, they could easily double their yearly income. This, in turn, would mean more tax revenues for our House."

And once again, a simple suggestion drastically improves the lives of one of his Vassal Houses. As proud as Rickard was of his eldest child's vision for the future, he was equally embarrassed at his own inability to address these deficiencies for himself.

For far too long the North had remained stagnant. After thousands of years of doing the same thing their forefathers did, they had become so accustomed to the old ways, no one ever thought to try something new. But now the winds of change were blowing at his son's urging and it was time for the North to change with them.

Rickard was pulled from his musings at the mention of yet another House he wasn't too fond of.

"My plans for House Ryswell could actually be a huge boon for the North."

"How so?" Rickard asked curiously.

"Currently the Ryswells provide the whole of the North with horses," Brandon answered. "The problem with their mounts is that while they have excellent endurance, they lack the size and strength of the southern Destriers. In any kind of Cavalry battle between the North and the South, the southern War Horses would overwhelm our mounts with ease."

The Lord of House Stark grimaced at the harsh truth. Several times in the past the Ryswells tried to bring in Destriers from the South, but they either died early on or the harsh environment of the North quickly sapped future generations of their strength and speed.

"True enough, lad. The whole of the North is aware of this discrepancy. The Ryswells have tried breeding southern horses before but to no avail. It seems the only type of mounts that can live in the North, are the ones that we already have."

"Maybe not, father," Brandon replied with a knowing smirk. "According to the Maesters, there is a type of War Horse in Yi-Ti called a Zorse. It's bred solely by the Jogos Nhai Clan and Syrio's Qartheen friend is on very good terms with them. With his help, we can easily gain a few Stallions and Mares to breed for ourselves."

"Why would these mounts survive in the North, any better than the southern horses we tried before?"

"Besides the fact that these horses are capable of surviving on weeds and devil's grass for months at a time, all the while traveling long distances without water or fodder, it's because of the way they were made."

"What in the name of the gods are you talking about, boy?"

"In the journal that I read this," Brandon explained eagerly. "A Maester was sent to Yi-Ti centuries back, and while there he witnessed a Magic ritual where the size and strength of one horse was merged with the speed and ferocity of another. The new breed that was born that day had a grey coloring, with black stripes covering its entire body. An exact description of what a Zorse looks like. It's said that even the Dothraki admit that Zorses are on par with their own mounts."

Rickard snorted in disgust at his son's naive proclamation. "Magic doesn't exist, lad. These are just tall tales told to children to pass the time."

Brandon rolled his eyes at the remark because it was one he'd heard countless times in some form or another since his arrival at the Citadel.

The Maesters were quick to say that Magic wasn't real, but never once did they mention that it did in fact exist in the past. Their own eyewitness accounts told them that Dragons were real, and things like Valyrian Steel and the Wall in the North were proof that Magic still existed in some form even today. If Bran was right, the Magic used to make the Zorses still existed within them and not even the cold of the North would sap future generations of this.

Perhaps it was Xander's memories of dealing with Magic on numerous occasions, but unlike the majority of Westeros, Brandon wasn't so quick to believe it was gone. As far as he was concerned, even if it were true and Magic no longer existed in the world, who's to say it wouldn't come back the future. After all, he was sent here by the Gods to deal with the return of the Others.

"I'm sorry to say this, father, but you're wrong," Brandon replied with a hint of irritation evident in his voice. "Maesters that are sent out of Westeros are specifically trained to detail everything they see for the Citadel. The ritual I speak of was described vividly by a Maester that was there in person. Just because everyone likes to pretend that Magic doesn't exist, doesn't mean we should ignore the fact that it once did.

Regardless of that fact, it doesn't matter if you believe in Magic or not. Zorses are naturally hearty beasts and I'm confident they will grow well in the North. If I'm right, we will soon have the best mounts in all of Westeros and House Ryswell's coffers will grow like never before. If I'm wrong, at worst it will only cost us some gold and a little bit of time to try."

Rickard was surprised by his son's passionate defense of Magic, and for the first time since he was a child, did he wonder if he were mistaken about its existence. Back in Winterfell Maester Walys often joked that Brandon was actually Bran the Builder reborn. If Magic were real, perhaps it was true. It would certainly explain how his son was able to come up with these incredible plans at such a young age.

"Alright lad," Richard said to appease his son. "We can give it a try when the time comes."

Brandon nodded gratefully, pleased that he had his father's support. "The next House that would benefit from these changes, would be House Glover of Deepwood Motte. As of now, the Glovers provide oat, barley, and hay for the North, but they only use a quarter of their lands to do so. With the changes made to the other Houses, they would have to increase their production of all three products, which indirectly on our part leads to more money in their coffers."

Rickard grinned at the thought of another poor, but very loyal House, that would prosper with these changes.

"Well done, son. Galbart Glover is a good friend of mine, and I'm pleased to see that he will benefit from all of this."

"Thank you, father," Brandon replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "I just wish I was able to help every one of our sworn Houses in such a manner. Unfortunately, other than the Karstarks and the Forresters, I don't have any more ideas for the rest."

Rickard leaned over the table and gently patted his son's shoulder. "What you've done here, Bran is already more than anyone from our House has done before. In this past hour I have never been more ashamed of myself or our ancestors, but thanks to you we can finally make the North what it should have been long ago. I promise you, lad, given enough time all of our people will be enriched by these changes."

When he saw his son look up at him and smile, Rickard couldn't help but grin back. "At least your mother won't be upset that you left out her father's House from your plans," he joked.

"Mother has nothing to fear," Brandon replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Grandfather and Lord Forrester from Ironrath are key cogs in my plans for the Northern Navy."

"I assume they will be providing the wood for the ships," Rickard remarked.

"Yes, but only in the case of Lord Forrester. I plan on having grandfather provide wood for Braavos.," Brandon answered.

"Why would Braavos need to buy wood from us?"

"They wouldn't. We're going to give it to them for free."

The Head of House Stark blinked at the response. "I'm sorry, lad, but did you just say we're going to give Braavos the wood for free?"

Brandon nodded his head, his grey eyes flashing with mirth at the idea he was about to reveal.

"When talking with Syrio, he often boasts that Braavos has the greatest Navy in the entire world. According to him, in times of war the shipyards of the city can build a war galley in a single day. The sheer knowledge and ability their shipwrights possess to be able to do that is something I want for the North.

I plan to offer them five years of free wood and then another five years of wood at half the price they would normally pay, for fifty shipwrights and a hundred and fifty workers for a period of seven years. During that time, the House of Stark will supply these men with food, lodging and whatever wages they would have earned had they stayed in Braavos. "

"And you think Braavos would willingly agree to such a deal?"

"When I suggested this idea to Syrio, he assured me the Merchants in charge of the shipyards would jump at the chance to reduce costs to such an extent. Their shipyards are literally overflowing with workers, so they could easily give us the men that we want. And with the right bribe to the right person, we can ensure that most of the men they send us are their best and brightest."

"Will seven years be enough to build your Navy?"

"Not at all, father," Brandon answered. "The ships made during these years will all be considered practice ships. Their sole purpose will be to give our own burgeoning shipwrights the experience they will need to build the real Navy once the Braavosi are gone. At that time, if any of the ships that were already made are good enough to keep, we can turn them into cargo ships later on."

Rickard was momentarily taken aback at the thought of wasting all those years with the Braavosi shipwrights.

"Why wait till the seven years are done? Wouldn't it be better to have the experienced shipwrights there when we build the Navy?"

Brandon shook his head in answer. "No, and I have two reasons for that. The first is because I don't want anyone to know how big our Navy will be until it's done. And the second is because I want to use Ironwood to form the hull of each ship."

Rickard hissed through his teeth at the idea. Ironwood was a black wood that is considered to be the strongest wood in the world and nearly impervious to flame. In truth the wood could still burn, but not with ease. The largest Ironwood forest in Westeros was located in the Wolfswood adjacent to Winterfell and it was completely under the control of House Forrester."

"Damn boy. When you dream, you sure as hell dream big. Do you know how hard it's going to be to get that much Ironwood from the Forresters?"

Brandon just shrugged his shoulders in response. "I'm not saying it will be easy, or that we won't pay an absurd amount to get the wood, but it can be done. The Forresters are a sworn House of Deepwood Motte, so between you and Lord Glover, you should be able to get Lord Forrester to agree. Along with whatever monetary compensation you decide upon, we can even promise to plant saplings to replace the trees we cut down."

Rickard massaged his head, as he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Just how big is this Navy that you're planning, lad."

"A hundred and eighteen ships to start with," Brandon answered. "They will be divided into fifty Longships, twenty-two Dromonds, thirty-six Galleys and ten Carracks."

"That's a very specific number and type for the ships."

"Every plan that I have shared with you today wasn't done on a whim, father. I've researched and thought it through to the best of my abilities. If everything goes according to plan, our Navy will have twenty-five Longships and five Dromonds patrolling the west coast from the Cape of Kraken to Bear Island. Another twenty-five Longships and five Dromonds will patrol the east coast from White Harbor to Skagos Island.

Furthermore, a squad of five Galleys and one Dromond will be permanently anchored at both Black Harbor and White Harbor for their protection. The remainder of the Galleys and Dromonds under our control will be used to guard the ten Carracks that will carry goods to and from the North.

In the end, our numbers may not match up to the other Navies in Westeros and Essos, but I guarantee you our ships will be better built and our men better trained."

"What of Karhold?" Rickard asked. "Even if he is your grandfather, I doubt Alric would agree to give his wood away for free."

"He won't have to," Brandon replied. "With the gold mines under our control, we can pay him the full amount for the first five years and cover the remainder for the second five. The entire deal will cost the House of Stark a pretty penny, but having Braavosi trained shipwrights of our own will be well worth the price."

Rickard ran his fingers through his hair and then sighed. "I'm not sure how we'll do it, but Galbart and I will get you the Ironwood you need."

Brandon grinned happily at his father and then pointed to another place on the map. "The final new holdfast I want to create is the one at Moat Cailin."

Rickard didn't need to look at the map to know the value of Moat Cailin. Surrounded by miles upon miles of harsh swampland, even now, with only three of the once mighty twenty towers still standing, a handful of men could defend the North against almost any assault from the South.

"Aye, lad. That one is a must. For centuries our family has wanted to rebuild Moat Cailin, but we never had the resources to do it before."

Brandon nodded his head in agreement, knowing full well the importance of the place. "My plans to rebuild the Moat will be different from its original design. Instead of having twenty towers, I plan on only having nine, but each one will be twice as big as the original towers."

In his excitement, Brandon reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out the sketch he picked up from the nightstand earlier and handed it to his father.

While the older man viewed the drawing, Brandon continued, "The first thing we'll need to do is tear down the three existing towers in the ruins, so we can start anew. The new walls surrounding the Moat will be a hundred and fifty feet in height.

"What? That's even bigger than Winterfell, Bran," Rickard exclaimed.

"I know, father, but that's only because I haven't told you my plans for Winterfell yet."

Before Rickard could ask him what he meant, Brandon raised his hand to stop him and said, "I have every intention of telling you my plans for our family home, but I ask that you let me finish this first."

Rickard was reluctant to wait, but after a moment he caved to his son's request and motioned for him to continue.

"The northernmost section of the Moat will have three towers in a half circle and they will all be facing south. The middle part of the Moat will have three towers going in a straight line, while the southernmost section will have another three towers in a half circle, but this time facing north."

"The eight outer towers of the Moat will each be two hundred and fifty feet in height, and a hundred and fifty feet in diameter. They will all be connected by a circular bridge made of stone, that itself hangs a hundred feet in the air. At the center of this will be the Lord's Tower, which at three hundred feet will be taller than the rest and connected to each of them by a series of individual stone bridges that will also be a hundred feet off the ground."

With the bridges connecting the towers in the air, the grounds of the Moat are left completely bare. Against the North wall there will be a small garden, in the middle of which will rest a large Septa for any followers of the Seven that stay at or visit Moat Cailin.

On either side of the Septa, there will be five Glass Gardens that will be the sole producers of Cocoa and Coffee beans in the North. Both are products that I want to bring in from Yi-Ti and if I'm right about how to use them properly, they will also make the future Lord of Moat Cailin insanely rich.

Against the Eastern wall rests a small Godswood that was already there. It's not as large in comparison to the one we have at Winterfell, but it's more than enough for a man to pay his respects to the Old Gods.

The entirety of the Western wall will be taken up by a two-story Stable, that can easily house eighteen hundred horses. As for..."

"That's enough," Rickard interrupted. "This...this is all unnecessary, Brandon. At even half the size of what you're planning, Moat Cailin would be more than strong enough to protect against any threat that came from the South. The rest of this extravagance is completely unneeded."

The moment he heard his father's response, Brandon wanted to scream in frustration. He knew his father was a pragmatic man, one who didn't understand or didn't care that the southerners valued wealth as much as they did physical strength.

"But this is necessary, father," he tried to explain. "If we ever want the Seven Kingdoms to know how far we have grown, then a show of wealth is as important as a show of strength."

"No it's not, Brandon," Rickard shouted at his son. "Perhaps you've spent so much time in the South that you've forgotten that in the North we don't..."

"Because I'm sick and tired of these fucking southerners looking down at us," Brandon shouted back, interrupting his father's tirade. "Do you know how they speak of us? Savages that are too stupid to leave the North for the comforts of the rest of Westeros. They use the sigil of our fucking House as a slur against our people. Wolves they call us. That's part of the reason I had every new holdfast bear a wolf theme. I aim to shove that slur so far down their throats, that one day when they call us Wolves they do so in either respect or fear."

"Watch your fucking tone when you speak to me, boy," the Lord of House Stark barked back angrily. "I am still your father and the Lord Paramount of North. I will not be spoken to in such a manner."

Brandon instantly knew he'd gone too far with his passionate plea, by disrespecting his Head of House. Taking a deep breath to control his whirlwind of emotions, he quickly admitted to his fault. "My apologies, father. I didn't mean to cause offense."

Rickard slowly nodded his head at the apology. "You are forgiven, my son," he replied, his entire demeanor significantly calmer than before. "As smart as you are, lad, you need to remember that you aren't Lord Stark just yet."

When he saw his son nod his head in agreement, Rickard asked, "Why do you care so much what these people think of you?"

"I don't give two shits what they think about me, father, but I refuse to let them mock our people and our family name. Though it pains me to admit it, these southerners aren't weak. They can all field armies comparable to ours. Hell, the Reach and the Westerlands can field an army thrice as big as the North. If we ever want them to see us as equals, we have to show them that we aren't the savages they think we are."

"And you think flaunting our new found wealth will suddenly earn you their respect?"

"I know it won't," Brandon replied with certainty that surprised his father. "But it sure as hell will shut their mouths up. One day soon the South will take notice of what's happening in the North. They will hear the rumors of what our House is doing and they will want to see these changes for themselves. On that day, when these southerners see a Stark holding for the first time, I want them to be both intimidated by its strength and awed by its beauty. I want our family name to finally be spoken with the same deference as the rest of the Great Houses in the Seven Kingdoms."

Rickard leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath to calm himself. There was a time in his youth when he dreamed of humbling the South, just like his son. But the burden of ruling the North didn't leave much time for fanciful thoughts.

It was a harsh land that required hard men and women to live in it. With the ever-present threat of Winter approaching, he'd long ago given up caring what the rest of Westeros thought of his people. But now, as he stared into his son's piercing grey eyes, he thought maybe it was time to try something new.

"I won't lie to you, son. I'm a man already set in his ways. Try as I might to change with the times, I'm not sure how much I will succeed. But you do not have this failing. With your intelligence and drive, I'm certain you will be the one to bring about this new North. I will support you to the best of my abilities, I just hope it's enough to do what needs to be done."

"It will be, father," Brandon answered with such conviction, that any who heard him at that moment would believe his words to be true. "I swear by the Old Gods and the New, that I won't let you or the North down. I promise you we will soon have the respect our House and our people deserve."

"All right then, boy, we are of the same mind when it comes to your dream. Now tell me about your plans for Winterfell."

Brandon grinned happily at his father's words and then leaned back into his own chair, before saying, "As the seat of power for House Stark, Winterfell needs to be greater than all our other holdings. At first, I was uncertain how to accomplish this, until I was inspired by Harren the Black?"

Rickard whistled softly at that. "You aim to re-create another Harrenhal?"

"Not exactly, father," Brandon replied. "Harrenhal is roughly four times the size of Winterfell and I have no desire to defend a place that vast. However, that doesn't mean we need to leave Winterfell as it is. Currently, the enclosed space of the Castle is roughly twenty-four acres, three of which are taken up by the Godswood. If we push back the walls to where I have in mind, we can easily increase the enclosed size to fifty acres."

Rickard blinked once, twice and then a third time. Once he was sure he heard his son correctly, he asked, "Correct me if I'm wrong, boy, but you want me to tear down the walls that have protected Winterfell for thousands of years?"

Brandon grinned sheepishly and nodded his head. "Well, yeah, I do, but if it's any consolation we won't tear down the old walls until the new ones are built first. And with the Skag stone we will be using, the new walls will actually be a lot stronger than before."

Though he was still in shock at the very idea of tearing down Winterfell's walls, Rickard was quickly drawn to the new wall's supposed strength. "What exactly is Skag Stone, Bran?" he asked his son curiously.

For the second time that day, Brandon got up from his chair and made his way to the nightstand. When he came back, he placed several small black, grey and white pieces of stone down on the table.

"This is Skag stone."

Rickard was momentarily taken aback by the sight of the rocks. "Isn't this just Marble?" he asked.

Brandon shook his head and said, "They may look like Marble, but these stones can only be found on Skagos Island."

"I don't understand. They're certainly shinier than the ones we have at Winterfell, but what's so special about them?"

"A few months back I came across a Maester from the Citadel that has been studying these stones. According to his research, while these stone may look like Marble or Granite, they are almost as hard as diamonds. As an added bonus, they can also regulate temperature well. Which means, in the summer they will remain cool to the touch and in Winter they won't warp when we pump water from the hot springs through them."

Rickard felt his jaw almost drop at the thought of walls as hard as diamond. "Why the hell aren't the other Lords trying to get this stone for themselves?"

"Because no one knows that these stones even exist," Brandon answered with a smirk

"How is that possible, boy?"

"The Maester doing the research is very far down in the Citadel hierarchy. So far he's been unable to present his results to any of the Archmaesters and with the current War of Ninepenny Kings taking up the majority of the Conclave's time, I doubt he will get a chance anytime soon. I'm pretty sure the only reason he even showed me his research was because I have the ear of the Archmaesters."

"So you lied to him?" Rickard asked, not sure how he felt about the deed.

"I assure you I haven't done any such thing," Brandon replied. "I have every intention of getting him the meeting he wants, I just plan on doing it after you've had a chance to make a deal with the Skagossons."

Rickard winced at the thought of dealing with the Islanders. While technically the Houses of Crowl, Magnar and Stane were sworn vassals of his, the North had very little interaction with their people.

The Skagosi call themselves Stoneborn, and as a people they were large in size, hairy in body and slow in the mind. Due to their poor hygiene and raider-like lifestyle, the majority of Westeros saw them as no better than the Wildlings that lived across the Wall. As a result of this hate, the Skagosi kept mostly to themselves.

"At least tell me the Skaggs don't know what these stones are worth."

"They don't," Brandon answered with confidence, though he seemed hesitant to continue."But I doubt monetary compensation will be enough for us to get the stone from them. The Skagosi still live in caves, so gold would have little to no value for them."

"Than what else could we give them?," Rickard asked curiously.

Brandon winced at the question, knowing full well his father would be furious at his suggestion.

"Their freedom," he answered with a grimace. "Despite what many think about them, the Islanders are a proud people and even now they chafe at serving another House. I'm confident the Skagosi will give us all the stone we need if we promise to grant them their independence."

When the thunderous refusal never came, Brandon looked towards his father in surprise and saw the older man calmly contemplating the idea.

"That could work," Rickard replied, still thinking through the suggestion. "We could throw in some supplies, maybe give them an offer of steady trade or just provide them food to sweeten the deal, but it should be enough to get us what we want."

"Really?" Brandon asked in surprise. "You would be willing to grant Skagos it's independence?"

Rickard snorted loudly at his son's startled expression. "I'm not stupid, lad. The Skagosi may be considered part of the North, but I know it's nothing but lip service on the part of the Houses that control the Islands. They don't send us any taxes and since I doubt they would ever answer a call to banners, we lose nothing by granting them their sovereignty."

Much to his father's amusement, Brandon fist pumped several times in the air. "If you're done celebrating, lad, perhaps we could get back to what you have in mind for Winterfell."

Brandon nodded his head quickly and said, "Of course, father. The new walls of Winterfell will measure a hundred and fifty feet for the outer walls and two hundred feet for the inner ones. The enlarged interior of the Castle will now give us the room we need to make significant changes to every building.

Since the previous builders never gave thought to flatten the land, that's the first thing we will do. The even terrain will not only make sure that all the new towers are of equal size, but it will also allow us to properly use every square inch of the inner grounds.

Once the grounds are clear, at the very heart of the Castle there will be five towers that form a large X facing the Hunter's gate in the west and winter town in the east. The four towers that make up the top and bottom of this formation will each be three hundred and fifty feet in height and three hundred feet in diameter. The Lord's tower that sits in the center, will be the largest at four hundred and fifty feet in height and three hundred and fifty feet in diameter. Much like with Moat Cailin, each of the outer towers will be connected by stone bridges to the Lord's tower, a hundred and fifty feet off the ground."

Rickard whistled loudly through his teeth at the thought of such buildings. Having been to Harrenhal in his youth, he knew what his son was planning would easily surpass any of the towers that could be found there.

"Damn. You're not trying to recreate Harrenhal, you're trying to surpass it."

Brandon grinned proudly at his father and said, "That's exactly what I aim to do. The largest tower in Harrenhal is the Lord's tower at three hundred feet and all of Winterfell's towers will be larger than that."

"I don't know whether to be impressed by your audacity, lad, or worried about having to climb that many steps every day."

Thanks to Alex Harris' engineering degree and historical know-how, Brandon already had an answer to this problem. Though electricity didn't exist in this world, with the right utilization of counterweighting and hydraulic power, he could easily create elevators for each tower. They would be nowhere near as fast as the modern day counterparts he'd seen in his memories, but they would definitely be better than walking up that many steps every day.

"I've already taken care of that problem, father. Each tower will have three elevators that can hold ten men each, so you won't have to worry about the stairs."

Rickard stared at his heir in disbelief. The longer this meeting went on, the more he was beginning to believe that Walys was right and his son really was Bran the Builder reborn. "And what exactly is an elevator?" he asked.

"Think of an elevator as a transportation vessel that will take you to every floor in the tower. I won't get into the technical details since it would take too long to explain, but once you enter the vessel, there will be a number of pulleys that correspond to each floor. Pulling down on a specific one will cause the elevator to rise or fall to the correct floor."

"And every tower will have one of these...elevators?"

"Yes, father. The same will hold true for the towers at Moat Cailin since it's the only other holdfast that will have buildings tall enough to require them."

While Rickard was certainly impressed with the new device, the existence of the elevators made the stone bridges superfluous to him. "Then why do we even need to make these bridges, lad? Wouldn't it be easier to just walk to each tower and take the elevator?"

When he pictured the bridges in his mind, Brandon knew exactly why they were necessary.

"Besides the fact that they would be able to provide us with several snow and ice-free walkways during the winter, the bridges are not only aesthetically pleasing to look at, but their presence is an excellent example of House Stark's ingenuity and wealth. As an added bonus, whenever someone uses them, the glass panels that make up the upper third of the bridge wall on either side, will give the person an excellent view of the entire Castle grounds."

"You intend to use that much glass on a bridge? Is that even safe to do?"

Brandon snorted in amusement at the question and replied, "Glass is nothing more than overheated sand, father, so we don't have to worry about how much we use. As for it being safe, as long as the panels are thick enough, everything will be fine."

When he was certain his father didn't have any more questions, Brandon continued, "With the remainder of the space that we'll have available to us, a two-story Stable will be built against the south-west wall, big enough to house eighteen hundred horses. Adjacent to it there will be a covered track, that will be used to exercise the horses during the Winter.

In the south-east corner of the Castle, a new Grand Hall will be built. The three-story structure will have a roof made of glass and will be capable of holding fifteen hundred people on the ground floor and another five hundred each for the second and third stories. Directly above it, there will be room for a kitchen that's easily twice as big as the one we have now.

Against the north-east wall where the entrance to the family crypt is, we will build a small garden full of Winter Roses, Frostfires, Lady's Lace, and Nightshades, at the heart of which will be a small Septa. Around the garden there will dozens of apple, pear and plum trees, all of which will grow well in the cold weather.

Directly across from the garden and next to the Godswood, the dozen Glass Gardens I plan to create will rest against the wall. With the farmable land we now have in use at Crofter's Village, these Glass Gardens will be repurposed to solely grow the various crops and spices we import from Yi-Ti.

The final building I plan to create for the refurbished Winterfell will be a large theatre that will be placed along the western wall.

In all of the Stark holdings, the walls and towers will be made of black Skag stones, while the interior of each building will have white Skag as the floors. The outer courtyards of our new holdfasts will no longer be made of dirt, tiles and stuffed hay, but of proper stone bricks made of grey Skag."

For the most part, Rickard was thrilled with the new changes and it showed with the grin that now adorned his face. What threw him off was the final building his son mentioned. "A theatre, Bran?"

Brandon could see the surprise on his father's face and replied, "Yes, father, a theatre. Once Winterfell is rebuilt, I aim to bring in musicians, playwrights, and even mummer groups to live in Winter Town. Once a month they can take turns to entertain the residents of the Castle, while the rest of the time they can use the theatre in the town to entertain the small folk."

"There is no theatre in Winter Town, lad."

"There isn't one now, but eventually there will be."

"I still don't understand. Why do want to spend so much time and money on a theatre of all things?"

"For entertainment and public morale," Brandon replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Just because we live in a harsh land, doesn't mean we can't take the time to enjoy life every once in awhile. A thing as simple as this will bring a small measure of joy to the smallfolk and the happier they are, the harder they will work at their jobs. This, in turn, will benefit the economy of the North, which directly leads to more money in our coffers."

Rickard shook his head at the thought of people just sitting around wasting the day at a theatre. This was a perfect example of why he believed his son was the right person to lead the North to a new life. He was too set in his ways to see the benefits of a change such as this, but thankfully his heir was not.

Once he stopped thinking about the frivolous, or at least in his mind they were so, changes his son wanted to make, the Lord of House Stark returned his attention to the new layout of Winterfell.

The walls alone were enough for him to eagerly wish the construction of the Castle was already complete, but sadly he didn't believe he would live long enough to see it done. Harrenhal took thirty years to build, and that was just one Castle. With all the other projects his son had in mind, he would be grateful to see even one or two of his heir's plans come to fruition.

"So where do we start, lad? I doubt I'll live long enough to see everything you have planned get finished, but I would wish to see as much as I can before I pass."

This time it was Brandon's turn to blink in surprise. "You have nothing to fear, father because I aim to see everything finished within the next twenty years."

"That's impossible, Bran," Rickard exclaimed. "Winterfell and Black Harbor alone would be enough to take several lifetimes to finish."

Brandon knew his father was thinking of Harrenhal when he said this and he couldn't help but snort in disgust at the thought. Harren the Black had a vision to build the greatest castle the world had ever seen, and while there is no doubt that he succeeded, as far as Brandon was concerned the execution of his dream was poorly done.

Between the small folk that were loyal to him and the slaves he acquired to serve under his banner, all told Harren had close to three hundred and fifty thousand people working to make his dream a reality. Unfortunately, he did little to keep his workforce fresh and strong.

According to what Brandon was able to find at the Citadel, Harren worked his people to death on several occasions and lost many more due to the poor sanitation around the campsites. His belief in replacing the dead with even more slaves was but a placeholder for the larger problem, which was the lack of food and rest the people needed to remain strong throughout the construction process.

His rising cruelty in the response to the perceived inefficiency of his workers, only made things worse. Had the idiot provided proper rest and sustenance for his workers, Brandon was sure he could have reduced the construction time by two decades.

"It can be done with a judicious use of resources and manpower."

The answer was vague enough for Rickard to question it. "I don't understand, lad."

"The North has roughly six million people that live in it, the majority of whom are small folk. If we plan things right, by the time we're ready to begin construction, we could easily have a workforce large enough to cover every holdfast at the same time. As long as we provide the workers with proper lodging, full stomachs and pay them on time, they will gladly do the work we need for them to do."

"Do you even realize how many people you're talking about, son? We would never be able to feed and house them properly."

"We will if we start planning for it right now, father," Brandon answered confidently.

"Then, by all means, boy, tell me how you will do it."

"First, I have a question. How do you plan on getting back to the North? Considering how quickly you arrived here, I assume you came by ship."

Rickard nodded his head and replied, "With the war still going on between the Ninepenny Kings and the Iron Throne, I didn't think it was safe to travel down the Shivering Sea at this time. I came by horse from the North and then took a ship from Lord Mallister in Seagard. I plan to take the same route back."

"That works out perfectly for what I need you to do," Brandon said with a smirk.

"What exactly would that be?," Rickard asked, slightly amused at taking orders from his still knee-high heir.

"While you're at Seagard you will need to make a deal with Lord Mallister to find as many Aurochs as he can and ship them to Sea Wolf Point."

Rickard stared at his son, unsure what he was supposed to be making a deal for. "What the hell are Aurochs, boy?"

Brandon wasn't surprised by the question. Despite being a native animal of Westeros, Aurochs were hunted to near extinction long ago. Nowadays most people in the Seven Kingdoms confused the domesticated cows for their wild ancestors.

In truth, Aurochs were a full hand taller than a normal cow and easily twice as strong as an ox. Unfortunately, the only place still inhabited by these wild beasts are the lands between the Green Fork of the Trident and the Hags Mire near Seagard.

Considering Seagard's close proximity to their grazing grounds, Brandon was hoping Lord Mallister would be willing and able to capture these beasts for the North.

When he saw Rickard patiently waiting for his answer, Brandon replied, "Aurochs are the perfect beasts of burden we will need in the North. With their strength and endurance, they will be ideal to move the stones and other equipment we need them to, at each construction site. Eventually, when their current purpose is done, they can be sent to the Umbers and with their tougher hides, be used to make leather armor."

"Alright, lad," Rickard said with a hesitant nod of his head. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"The second thing you will need to do is go to Skagos Island and make a deal with them. The amount of stone we will require for each holdfast means the Skagossasans will need every day of the next two years to get us enough stone to start construction at all sites."

Rickard sighed deeply at the thought of dealing with the three Houses that ruled over the Islands. "That will be harder to do, but I'll get it done, lad."

Brandon sympathized with what his father would need to do over the next few months, but sadly as the Head of House Stark, only he could make all of this happen.

"Once you get back to Winterfell you will need to take control of Crofters Village. If we can clear out the trees around the lakes quick enough, we can start farming the land right away and stockpile what we grow for when the small folk eventually arrive."

Rickard's face took a hard edge at the thought of the unused land and he quickly nodded his head in agreement.

"The next step will be to invite grandfather Alric to Winterfell and get him to start gathering wood for the Braavos trade."

"Alric will be expecting the money right away, Bran. Without the gold mines our coffers will take a hit."

"I know, father," Brandon reluctantly agreed. "But if I'm right, we should have enough money saved up to pay for everything we need for at least ten years. We just need to dip into our reserves for half that time and by then the Golden Fang will have been built. Once the gold mines become active, we won't have to use our reserves anymore."

After a moment's hesitation, Rickard grudgingly agreed to the timeline."As long as we don't have to wait for more than five years for the gold mines to become active, using what's in our coffers won't be too bad. Anything else you need me to do?"

Brandon shook his head in answer. "With those tasks complete, we won't need to do anything until just before things are ready to begin. If you send out Ravens to all the Northern Houses six months before construction begins, that should be plenty of time for us to send out teams to set up tents, temporary kitchens and dig up latrines at each site. As soon as the small folk start trickling in, we send them straight away to one of the sites.

I'll make sure to finish my work at the Citadel around the same time, and with Syrio's help, I can hire extra blacksmiths, carpenters and other craftsmen we will need from Pentos and Braavos on my way home."

While Rickard nodded his head eagerly at the plan, he noticed his son was still hesitant about something. "What aren't you telling me, lad?"

"The craftsmen we hire won't be enough, father," Brandon replied with a sigh. "Twenty years is a long time and with how little the world thinks of the North, I doubt we will be able to convince many to move there for good. Presently Syrio assures me he can convince three Master Blacksmiths, each with two apprentices a piece to permanently move to the North, as well as a dozen Stone Masons and half that number in Carpenters. That still won't be enough to teach the unskilled small folk what they need to know for the construction process to run smoothly."

As he thought of his son's words, Rickard couldn't help but agree. No matter how many men they had working at each site, if they weren't properly guided on what to do, their presence may as well be useless. "I agree with you, lad, but what else can we do?"

Brandon took a deep breath and replied, "Buy the extra craftsman we need from Slaver's Bay. While none of the men or women we purchase will be Masters of their craft, they will at the very least be trained to apprentice level in their given field. It will be expensive, but I would like for us to buy at least four hundred slaves spread out evenly between stonemasons, carpenters, blacksmiths, and farmhands. As well as a dozen winemakers, fifty artisans, and fifty tutors."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at his son's casual suggestion to purchase slaves. "You want me to buy over five hundred slaves, boy? You do realize slavery has been abolished in the Seven Kingdoms for quite some time, right?"

"Yes, father, I want you to buy slaves and I'm well aware Westeros does not allow for slavery anymore. As soon as they reach the North, we will free them and offer them the same lodging and wages we will be giving the small folk that arrive for construction. By freeing them and then paying them fair wages, I have no doubt these men and women will remain loyal to our House and readily agree to start their new lives on our lands."

Once he was assured his heir hadn't suddenly lost his mind, Rickard leaned back into his seat. "I understand the need for most of the slaves you want to buy, but why do you want tutors?"

Brandon matched his father's gaze with his own and thought about how he should respond to the question.

"Are you familiar with the Unsullied, father?"

"Aye, boy," Rickard answered with a growl that easily portrayed his disgust. "They are warrior-eunuchs, trained and sold by Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen at Slaver's Bay. I haven't fought any of them myself, but they're said to be some of the greatest fighters in the world."

Brandon nodded his head in agreement. "Syrio told me about them awhile back, and he admits they are some of the most skilled people he's ever fought. They start their training at five name days and for a full decade they work themselves ragged from dawn to dusk every day, learning multiple forms of combat. It's said their training is so brutal, only one out of five makes it out alive."

Rickard was well aware of this and despised the thought of anyone, let alone children being forced to live such a life. In the North, where honor was valued more than anywhere else in Westeros, the thought of treating a child in such a manner was revolting to most.

"What's your point, lad? Do you want to buy and free these Unsullied too?"

Is much as he would love to do so, Brandon shook his head and said, "No, father. At any given time, there are anywhere between eight and ten thousand Unsullied at Slaver's Bay and as much as I would like to help those men, the cost to do so would be beyond what are coffers could afford right now. Instead, I want to buy the recruits who have begun their training, but have yet to be cut."

Rickard gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. "That means we'll get them before they lose their manhood, right?"

"Aye. Unlike with Astapor and Yunkai, the bastards in Meereen don't do the cutting till the boy's tenth name day. If we target the ones that are close to but haven't reached that age, since their training is only partially complete, we should be able to get a significant reduction in their price. If I'm not mistaken, we could easily purchase up to a thousand of them, for the same price we would pay for the craftsman."

"By the gods, boy. Why a thousand?" Rickard exclaimed.

Brandon couldn't help but smirk at his father's shocked expression. So far this conversation had gone far better than he'd ever hoped for. Not only did Rickard not hesitate at the thought of granting the Skagossans their independence, but now he was willing to purchase slaves. Granted they were going to free them the moment they reached the North, but he still expected his father to balk at the thought of even buying them in the first place.

"For two reasons," Brandon answered. "The first is because you can only purchase the Unsullied by the thousand. In rare cases, the slavers at Astapor have made exceptions for preferred clients, but for the rest, it's a thousand or nothing. Now this may not hold true given the slaves we are buying are still considered recruits, but it's safe to assume the greedy masters will stick to their second reason is because I hope to use these recruits to train the others."

"What others, boy?"

"With the number of new holdfasts we are creating, we will need more men to guard them than the five thousand we currently have at Winterfell. Because of this, I plan to create a new fighting force for our House, one that's separated into three distinct units. The Wolf Guard will become the new men at arms for each Stark holdfast. The Sea Wolves will be trained specifically for the Northern navy. And a heavy cavalry unit, called the Wolfpack, will be split between Winterfell and Moat Cailin.

Once construction begins at each of the sites, I want to recruit children between the ages of eight and twelve and train them myself. In return for food, lodging, and steady pay, they will be taught sword fighting, riding, hunting, tracking, geography, as well as their letters and numbers. Depending on what they are good at, they would eventually be split into one of the three forces. Every few moons these recruits will be evaluated on their progress, and only the best of them will move. Those that fail to improve will be dismissed and allowed to return to their former lives as small folk."

"I understand the need for new men at arms, but why waste money teaching them to read and write? And why are you training these kids? Shouldn't Ser Rodrik being doing that?"

Brandon just barely managed to prevent himself from growling at Rickard's short-sightedness. "Because, father, a single well-trained soldier that can think for himself when needed, is worth more than a dozen idiots that only know how to swing a sword at the enemy. As for why I want to train them, do you recall the letter I sent you about the sword style I am working on?"

When he heard Rickard grunt in confirmation, Brandon continued, "It's complete. According to Syrio it's the perfect blend of the Westerosi style we currently use and the precision based attacks seen with Water Dancing. The only reason I'm unable to win our spars right now is because Syrio is a man grown and I lack the strength and speed to match him."

"What's to become of Ser Rodrik and our current men at arms in your new army?" Rickard asked, not wanting to dismiss men who have been loyal to him for so many years.

"That would depend on you, father. Would you be willing to grant Martyn Cassel a Lordship?"

Rickard was taken aback by the question. House Cassel served his family without fail for countless generations and he would gladly trust any member of the House with his life. "Aye. I would, lad, but where would he be a lord of? I thought all the new holdfasts you were creating would be for House Stark alone."

"The five I already mentioned are for our House alone," Brandon replied. "But there is another one I have in mind that could be given to House Cassel. Unfortunately, the time it will take to build the holdfasts for our House, will mean we couldn't start on this one until the others are mostly completed."

"Where exactly would this new holdfast be?," the Lord Paramount asked curiously.

Brandon pointed a finger down at the map and said, "Right here, before the White Knife splits in two. We have Black Harbor and Wolfswood Port to prevent any incursions from the west coast, but in the east all we have is White Harbor. This holdfast would act as a second deterrent, and if we give it to House Cassel, we can send three thousand of our current men at arms with them. Of the two thousand that we have remaining, we keep five hundred to act as guards for the new Winter Town, while the remainder can be sent to Lord Manderly to fill out the Wolf's Den, with our pledge to help renovate it for him."

Rickard's eyes widened in surprise at the suggestion. He knew Wyman Manderly would be thrilled to have a castle like the Wolf's Den back at full strength, and with House Cassel boasting so many men at arms, he would have yet another loyal vassal available for House Stark. The only thing that gave him pause to this plan, was how House Cassel would be able to afford the upkeep of so many men."

"How the hell is Martyn supposed to support all those men?"

As much as he didn't want to lie to his father, Brandon couldn't explain why he knew how to make Whiskey, Vodka and assorted types of beers. The first two spirits didn't even exist on Planetos and it would take him time to "invent" them in the future.

In the end, he replied, "I haven't come up with anything yet, but I promise you I will think of something by the time we start building this holdfast."

After everything he'd seen from his heir today, Rickard grudgingly nodded his head. "I trust you, boy. I know you will think of something for Martyn and Rodrik."

"Thank you," Brandon replied, the pride he felt in his father's trust evident to any who could see him.

Rickard spent a few minutes staring down at the map, trying to imagine how his son could possibly complete all the holdfasts in such a short time. "Exactly how many small folk are you expecting to show up, lad?"

Brandon thought about the question before answering. Though it pained him to say it, work for small folk was even harder to come by in the North, than it was in the South. It's a major reason why despite being a third the size of Westeros, there were several kingdoms that could match and even surpass the North's population.

For all that he was planning, soon enough there would be work aplenty for everyone. They just needed to make sure the small folk were aware of these new opportunities.

"With the promise of steady food and coin for several years, we should attract at least five hundred thousand workers at the start of construction."

Rickard whistled softly at the number. "That's a lot of people, boy. Wouldn't they just get in each other's way?"

"Not if we separate them into groups of twenty thousand and limit each group to an eight-hour shift," Brandon replied. "That way the workers are constantly fresh, and construction can continue without any stoppage."

Father and son soon became lost in their own thoughts. For the first time in several millennia, the North had a chance to become something special and the pair would do everything in their power to make that dream become a reality.


262: Quill and Tankard(Oldtown):

As he sat at his private table, with the curtains open, Brandon sipped on the watered down wine in his hand and watched from around his guards as the rest of the tavern's guests partook in song and drink. As of late, people watching had become a hobby of his and there was no better place to do it in Oldtown than the famous Quill and Tankard tavern. And best yet, after years of practice, the foreign scents and sounds no longer a hindrance to him.

Normally he would not have wasted his time in such a manner, but today was a day of celebration. Not only did he forge the last of his chosen links with the Maesters, but the true reason for his being in the South was finally complete.

Less than a week ago the last of the tombs he'd taken from the Citadel had been copied by his servants. Much like he promised his father when Rickard made his visit, Brandon was ready to depart Oldtown a full six moons ahead of schedule.

Though it irked him that he wasn't able to copy everything like he wanted, Brandon was thankful to at least be able to read through the select tombs he was missing. Not only was he able to make notes on any relevant information that he found in the Archmaesters private library, but one of these treasures even mentioned the Long Night and the battle with the Others.

According to the ancient tomb, the army of man that stood against the creatures of Ice, did so with the power of the Children of the Forest at their backs. While the tomb was written centuries after the fact, it did mention two things that turned the tide of battle against the Others. Wildfire, made more devastating by the Children's Magic, and Obsidian.

With the absence of the Children more than a millennia back, Brandon wasn't sure how effective wildfire alone would be. Briefly, he wondered how the White Walker's ice magic would have dealt with dragon fire, but with the death of the last Dragon long ago, that thought was fairly useless. In the end, Obsidian was the best chance for man's survival and it could still be found in large quantities at Dragonstone. Once his plans for the North were fully underway, Brandon would have to consider how to trade for the material from the King.

Luckily Syrio was also pleased with the early departure. Ever since he showed the Bravo his Ilysis Abra, the two spent all their time giving it shape. All though Brandon already knew all the katas associated with the sword style, he still had to take his time revealing them to his master, so that Syrio would believe that he was actually creating the style on his own. This, in turn, gave the Bravo a chance to suggest his own additions to the forms, which truth be told made the style even better in Brandon's eyes.

Once Brandon showed his teacher the completed Ilysis Abra, the past year was spent only sparring with Syrio. The two gave up all pretense of him learning Water Dancing and much to Brandon's delight, used their time together to give him the experience he needed to master the style for himself.

Though he had yet to beat his master in a single spar, the future First Sword assured Brandon that was only due to his age. While his words were a source of comfort for the young Lord, it didn't mean he was happy with his continuous failure. He looked forward to the day he was a man grown and could challenge his master on the basis of skill alone.

Still, his rapid advancement with the "new dance" was enough for Syrio to declare he no longer needed his teachings. The Bravo would have already returned home, if not for his promise to help Brandon hire the men he would need for his plans in the North.

Thankfully the pair would not have to wait too much longer for their departure. In two days they would finally depart Oldtown on the ships his father hired from Lord Manderly. If all worked according to plan, in less than four moons Brandon would be home with his family.

The Stark heir was pulled from his reverie, as soon as he noticed a commotion with one of his guards. Jensen Cassel was the eldest son of Martyn Cassel and someone Brandon had come to trust during his time at the Citadel. The young guard was preventing a robed figure from approaching his table.

Before he could think to ask what the problem was a woman's voice called out to him, "Please, my Lord. I only wish a moment of your time."

His curiosity made Brandon nod his head towards Jensen. "Release her please, Jensen, and draw the curtain to give us some privacy."

"My Lord, she is a stranger," the boy of nine and ten replied, while still glaring at the robed woman. "Please let me stay with you."

Brandon almost rolled his eyes at the guard's over-protectiveness. Young though he may be, much like the rest of his family, Jensen took his oaths to House Stark seriously. While he did not wish to insult such devotion for some random stranger, based on his recent experiences with the various Houses sworn to House Hightower, the woman was most likely a daughter of some minor House.

"That will not be necessary, Jensen. Please remain outside and warn the others that I am not to be disturbed until this conversation is over."

No sooner were the curtains drawn, did the robed woman pull down her hood. With shoulder length hair of silver and gold and eyes as bright as the sea, the woman could easily pass as a Targaryen bastard. A breathtakingly beautiful one.

The opening of her robe allowed Brandon to see the translucent nightgown she wore beneath it. If it weren't for the fact that he hadn't even reached his eighth name day yet, he might have appreciated the site of the woman's creamy white breasts and perky nipples.

Barely a moon into his arrival at the Citadel, Brandon had been inundated with requests for dinner from several minor Houses, all in the hopes of creating a betrothal between him and one of their daughters. While he'd been forced to endure the awkward advances of these girls, even some who approached twice his age, none had come before him so brazenly as the young woman in front of him.

"How may I help you my Lady?" Brandon asked, suddenly curious as to which house she belonged to.

"My apologies, my Lord, but I am not a Lady," the blonde replied. "My name is Alys and I am a slave from Lys. I arrived here with my master three nights ago."

Brandon arched an eyebrow at her reply. The presence of a slave peaked his curiosity even further. Though slavery no longer existed in Westeros, slaves could still be found in port towns like Oldtown. However, they almost never roamed free without their masters. "Very well then, Alys, what can I do for your Master?"

When the woman didn't answer right away, Brandon quickly realized why. The reason was evident by the tightening of fists upon her skirt and the brief look of fear that flashed across her cerulean eyes.

"I see. Your reasons for being here must not serve your master's interests. I admit you've peaked my curiosity. Speak freely, Alys. I would know why you have come to me."

Alys' heart raced as she thought of what she was about to do. If her master ever learned of this night, she wouldn't be the only one who suffered his wrath. Her two boys would also pay the price for her failure and that was something she would not allow to happen.

A slave she may be, but she would do anything to protect her children. But it wasn't until her recent arrival in Oldtown, did she find a way to change her family's future. And it all hinged on the young Lord in front her.

"You...you are correct, my Lord," Alys replied with a worried stutter. "I am not here for my master, but for myself and my children. I have recently learned of your plans to buy craftsman from Slaver's Bay and since you are a Stark, I assume you will free them once you arrive in the North. I would ask that you do the same for myself and my children. In return...I can offer you my former master's greatest treasure."

Brandon was instantly alert by the blonde slave's knowledge of his plans. He and his father had gone through great pains to keep their actions a secret from the south. They'd even spent a substantial amount to hire Syrio's Qartheen friend to act as a middleman, so no one could connect the purchased slaves to the North.

While father and son were well aware they couldn't keep their secrets hidden forever, that didn't mean they wouldn't try to do so for as long as possible. For now, the North was all but forgotten by the rest of Westeros, but should any of the Great Houses learn of the changes the Starks wanted to bring to their lands, it wouldn't take long for them to draw the Mad King's attention. For good or ill, that was something Brandon definitely wanted to avoid.

"I find it curious, Alys, that you are aware of plans only a handful of people even knew about. I wish to know how you have this knowledge."

Despite the young wolf's age, Alys couldn't help but shiver at the boy's ice-cold tone. Even without saying it, the threat to her life hung in the air and she prayed to the gods her offer was good enough, or else she'd doomed both herself and her children.

"I have lived my whole life as a slave, my Lord," Alys answered calmly. "Though not one of his bastards, my mother was a frequent bed warmer of my former master. For some reason he saw something in me and purchased me at a young age from the brothel I was born in. At first I thought I was to replace my mother in his bed, but instead, he used me for other purposes."

"And what purposes would those be?" Brandon asked, still unsure whether he could let this woman live.

"In his youth, my master dreamed of one day joining the Conclave of Magisters and becoming one of the ruling elite of Lys. Though a highly successful and influential merchant, his wealth wasn't impressive enough to draw the attention of the Magisters. Over the years he spent most of his profits building a spy network that now spans all throughout Westeros and Essos. He hoped to one day barter his knowledge for a seat on the Conclave and if not for his heart failing on him half a moon ago, he very well would have succeeded in his dream. My master's spy network may not be as extensive as the one controlled by the Master of Whispers at the Royal court, but his people were much better placed, allowing for a greater detail in the information they provided."

"While this is certainly an interesting tale, why bring this to me?" Brandon asked warily.

"Because, my Lord, my former master kept his network a secret from everyone, including my new master, his son, and heir. In my youth, I helped recruit many of the spies that work for the network, and now I alone know of its existence."

As he leaned back in his chair and stared at the beauty in front of him, Brandon didn't know what to think. On one hand he was being offered a gift that could help the North in ways he couldn't even imagine right now, on the other this could be a trap that ruined everything he hoped to accomplish."

"If what you say is true, why tell me? Why not tell your new master about the network?"

Alys took a deep breath before replying. Her whole future and that of her children relied upon this gamble.

"My current master...is not a smart man," Alys answered hesitantly. "Unlike his father, he's never had a good head for the merchant life. In the past three years he's already lost several of the businesses his father gave to him as a gift and now his debts have been called due. Unfortunately, due to the large fortune his father spent on creating the spy network, his inheritance was not what he was expecting. In the half moon since his father's death, my new master has already begun to sell that which he deems unworthy of being in his possession. From what I was able to learn from the whores I provide to warm his bed, this now includes my children. Before returning home, he plans to sell my children to the slave master's at Astapor and I do not wish for them to become Unsullied."

As she paused to gather breath, Alys' fear and anxiety grew in leaps and bounds. Even with the training she received during her own brief turn as a spy, the slave woman was unable to discern any of the thoughts or feelings the young Lord had to her tale. Given how expressionless his face was, it may as well have been carved from stone.

"Up until two nights ago, I could not see a way to save my sons from their fate," the blonde slave continued. "Even revealing the network's existence would not have helped me to save my family. My master's debts are many and he is not known to be a patient man. It was only by the luck of the gods did I overhear a Braavosi inform some Qartheen merchant of your plans. It took some time for me to find the young Lord they were talking about, but here I am, begging you to help me save my sons."

As he gathered his thoughts, Brandon idly tapped his fingers against the wooden table. "Pray tell, why do you think I would have need of your services, Alys?"

Alys took a deep breath before answering truthfully. "While searching for who you are, my Lord, it didn't take long for my people to learn about the boy genius studying with the Maesters at the Citadel. Your intelligence alone marks you as someone of importance, but your being the future Lord Paramount of the North makes it doubly so. Based on the fact that you are intending to purchase so many craftsmen, I can only assume you have plans to change the North. The fact that you have hired a Qartheen merchant as a middleman, means you want to keep these changes a secret for as long as possible. I can help you do just that."

Brandon arched an eyebrow at the claim. The blonde's deductive skills showed a remarkable intelligence, but if she could truly keep his secrets from the south, the woman would be worth her weight in gold. "And how exactly can you do that?"

Almost instantly, Alys withdrew something from her robe and placed it on the table. Nearly six inches in length, the wooden device had intricately carved runes on it and was without a doubt an exquisite piece of woodwork. "With this, my Lord."

"What is this?" Brandon asked as he stared down at the mahogany piece of wood.

"In his youth, my master found this during one of his trips to Volantis," Alys answered. "At the time the merchant claimed it was a dragon whistle, so he bought it as a lark. I have no clue if it can actually summon dragons, but I do know that no Raven can resist its call."

Brandon picked up the whistle in his hand, his fingers caressing the smooth wooden finish. If the claims were true, the device he held was the key to keeping House Stark's plans a secret from the South. Any Raven coming into or out of the North would have to pass through the Neck to do so and with this whistle he could ensure only those messages that he wanted would pass through.

All that remained was deciding if he could trust the messenger. With a final glance into the blonde woman's worried eyes, he came to a decision. "I don't trust you, Alys."

The moment she heard those words, Alys felt her world begin to crumble around her. Just when her fears over her children were about to overwhelm her, they were stayed by the words that followed.

"I don't trust you. You willingly come before me and admit to betraying your master. However...I do understand a woman's desire to protect her children. What you have offered me is not something that can be cast aside easily. So I will agree to your terms and give you the chance to earn my trust. Know this though, for as long as you remain loyal to me, I will gladly return it in kind. But the day you fail to do so..."

The threat may not have been finished, but the look in her new Lord's eyes was enough to make Alys beware such a fate. "I swear by the Old Gods and the New, I won't betray you, my Lord."

"Very well," Brandon replied with a smirk. "On the morrow, you and your children shall become the new servants of House Stark."


Casting:

Rickard Stark: Karl Urban

Anna Stark: Jamie Alexander

Maester Walys: Woody Allen

Brandon Stark: Chris Hemsworth(young)

Syrio Forel: Ben Kingsley(young)

Jensen Cassel: Liam Aiken

Alys: Scarlett Johansson