A/N: There are a few changes in the first chapter. The change is I moved the timeline by 10 years, so Aegon Conquest starts in 15 years.
Ten years had passed since Alaric Stark, second prince of the North, unveiled his Winter Steel blade to his father and brothers in King Artos Stark's solar. Now twenty-one, Alaric had reshaped the North with innovations drawn from the Library of Knowledge. His changes touched every corner of the kingdom, earning both admiration and wariness from the lords of the North, while cementing House Stark's dominance in a land once bound by tradition.
The four-crop rotation method, first tested on a small plot near Winterfell, had revolutionized Northern agriculture. King Artos, convinced by the trial's bountiful yield, summoned his bannermen to a grand moot at Winterfell to present Alaric's idea. Every lord of the North attended, their faces etched with skepticism as Alaric, then a boy of eleven, explained the cycle of wheat, turnips, barley, and clover. Lord Beron Umber, a giant of a man, scoffed, "A lad's fancy won't feed my smallfolk when winter comes." Yet, when Artos offered to subsidize trial plots, even the gruff Umber relented. Within two years, the results silenced doubters: fields produced double the grain, turnips sustained livestock through harsh winters, and clover-enriched soil promised long-term fertility. By the fifth year, every major house had adopted the method, and by the tenth, even minor holdfasts followed suit. The North, once heavily dependent on food imports from the Reach and Riverlands, now imported only specialty goods—fruits, wines—while exporting surplus barley and smoked meats. Lord Glover, once a skeptic, toasted Alaric at a feast, declaring, "The boy's crops have made us kings of our own tables!" The smallfolk, too, prospered, with fewer starving winters, and whispers of "Prince Alaric's miracle" spread through villages.
Winter Steel, Alaric's layered metal, became a legend in its own right. After presenting the first blade to his father, Alaric gifted swords to key lords—Umber received a greatsword, Karstark a longsword, and Bolton a set of daggers. The blades' rippling patterns and unmatched edge sparked awe; Lord Bolton, ever calculating, tested his dagger on a mail shirt, slicing it clean through, and murmured, "This steel could carve empires." Alaric refused to share the forging process, training only Martyn and three handpicked smiths in the art. This secrecy frustrated some—Lord Ryswell hinted at disloyalty—but Artos's firm support quelled dissent. "My son's steel is the North's steel," he declared, and the lords accepted Winter Steel blades as marks of favor, strengthening their loyalty. By year ten, Winter Steel armed Winterfell's elite guard and key bannermen, giving the North a military edge unmatched by southern iron.
Alaric's other innovations reshaped daily life and commerce. He proposed importing rice from Yi Ti for the Neck's marshes, meeting with Lord Mark Reed to plan paddies. The crannogmen, wary of outsiders, warmed to Alaric's respect for their ways, and within three years, rice became a staple in the south of the North, with House Reed gaining wealth from trade. Lord Reed, a quiet man, sent Alaric a frog-shaped jade pendant as thanks, a rare gesture of trust. Cement, introduced through alchemical recipes, transformed construction; Winterfell's walls thickened, and new holdfasts like Deepwood Motte's rose in half the time. Lord Glover, overseeing his keep's expansion, marveled, "This grey sludge hardens like stone!" Roads, paved with gravel and cement, linked every holdfast from Last Hearth to the Neck, speeding trade and troop movements. Lord Manderly, whose White Harbor thrived on new trade routes, dubbed Alaric "the Roadmaker" at a council, half in jest, half in awe.
Alaric introduced windmills and water mills, ensuring every village had at least five. These towering structures, their blades catching the North's fierce winds and water, ground grain faster than hand mills, boosting flour production. Lord Manderly, visiting a windmill near White Harbor, clapped Alaric's shoulder, saying, "Your windmills turn our winds into wealth!" The smallfolk, initially wary of the "spinning giants," soon celebrated their bounty, with villages like Hornwood boasting surplus flour for trade.
Maritime advances followed. Alaric designed sleeker longships with reinforced hulls and larger cogs for trade, equipped with compasses for navigation. House Manderly's fleet doubled, and even inland lords like Dustin invested in coastal ventures. At a ship launch, Lord Manderly clapped Alaric's shoulder, saying, "Your compasses make my captains bolder than Ironborn!" Hygiene improved with soap and shampoo, distributed through Winterfell's markets; Lady Dustin, known for her vanity, praised the rose-scented soap, gifting Alaric a silver comb. Alcoholic drinks—whiskey, vodka, gin, rum—spawned a distillery industry, with Wintertown's "Stark's Fire" whiskey fetching high prices in southern ports. Lord Karstark, a notorious drinker, joked, "Your spirits warm us better than any hearth!" For winter travel, Alaric's sledges, drawn by horses or dogs, became indispensable. Lord Umber, testing a sledge in a blizzard, roared, "This beats trudging through snowdrifts!" The lords, though initially resistant to change, embraced these innovations as their wealth and influence grew, though some, like Bolton, watched Alaric with calculating eyes, wary of his growing influence.
Winterfell itself had transformed. Artos, recognizing Alaric's genius, built him a workshop—a sturdy stone building beside the forge, with shelves of books, alchemical tools, and a small greenhouse for rare herbs. Now, Alaric stood within, his sleeves rolled up, stirring a potion over a low flame. The air was sharp with the scent of crushed nightshade, moonstone powder, and essence of weirwood sap, drawn from the Library of Knowledge's alchemical tomes. His goal was audacious: a potion to triple an animal's size, enhance its strength, and bind its loyalty to his commands.
The potion bubbled, turning a vibrant emerald. Alaric decanted it into a vial, checking its clarity against the light. "Perfect," he murmured, wiping sweat from his brow. He stepped outside to a caged wolf, captured in the Wolfswood at his request—a lean, grey-furred beast with piercing yellow eyes. Mixing the potion into a slab of raw venison, he slid it through the bars. The wolf sniffed, then tore into the meat, its jaws snapping. Moments later, its eyes drooped, and it curled up, asleep.
Alaric crossed his arms, studying the beast. "Hope this works," he muttered. "A pack of giant, loyal wolves could guard the North better than any army." He planned to treat more wolves, envisioning a force to rival dragons in the coming conquest. His status panel, unseen by others, reflected his growth:
- **Name**: Alaric Stark
- **Age**: 21
- **Race**: First Men
- **Bloodline**: Stark
- **Swordsmanship**: Sword Master
- **Archery**: Advanced
- **Blacksmithing**: Advanced - **Alchemy**: Intermediate
- **Notification**: None
As he turned to brew more potions, the workshop door burst open. A guard stumbled in, panting, his face ashen. "Prince Alaric!" he gasped, clutching his side. "Your father… King Artos…"