Winterfell, The North
"My Lord, the rookery received three letters this morning. I think you need to see them yourself." Maester Luwin entered the solar holding three scrolls.
"They are from Arthur. One for you, one for Jon, and one for Robb. Sent from White Harbor."
"Arthur?" Eddard Stark let out a soft breath of relief. "It seems he has arrived safely at Starfall."
"Er..." Maester Luwin placed the letters on the desk, his tone hesitant. "Perhaps you should read them first, my Lord."
Seeing Maester Luwin acting so unusually, Ned frowned and opened the first scroll.
> To my dear Uncle, Eddard Stark:
> By the time you read this letter, I will be in Braavos, across the Narrow Sea. Barring any surprises, I will be staying in Braavos for some time.
> There are many reasons for this change of plans. Specifically, a storm caused the Braavosi galley I was on to strike a reef and sink near Sweetsister in the Three Sisters.
> Fortunately, the local lord, Earl Godric Borrell, is warm and hospitable. His men not only rescued me and the crew but also enthusiastically helped the captain salvage the wreck.
> I ate a local specialty called Sister's Stew under his roof. It was delicious. Unlike Old Nan's stories, the main ingredients were three kinds of crab, and there were no sisters in it.
> Lord Godric intended to send me back to White Harbor while keeping the crew as guests on his island until my ship returned. Since I had already planned to travel across the Narrow Sea eventually, I suggested the Earl send me on to Braavos instead.
> The Braavosi captain is named Victar. He specializes in shipping across the Narrow Sea.
> Victar told me about Braavos. He says their shipbuilding industry is highly developed, but logging is prohibited. Even firewood has to be barged in.
> I thought to myself: isn't this the perfect market for the peach wine and lumber produced by the Garden?
> Await my good news!
> —Your sensible nephew, Arthur Snow.
"Arthur went to Braavos?" Eddard's brow furrowed deeply, his solemn face cracking with confusion. "Godric Borrell? Warm and hospitable? What nonsense is this?"
"There is another letter for Jon. I think you should read this one too, my Lord." Maester Luwin gestured to another scroll. "Before deciding whether to give it to Jon."
Skeptical, Ned picked up the second letter and began to read.
> To my dear cousin, Jon Snow:
> By the time you read this, the ship carrying me will have passed beneath the legs of the Titan of Braavos.
> The Titan's eyes burn with fire like stars in the sky. When he roars, the sound can be heard across all of Braavos.
> He is immense. If he could move, he could step over the inner and outer walls of Winterfell with a single stride.
> Besides that, I was a guest in the Three Sisters. A storm brought me there, and Earl Godric entertained me warmly.
> To my surprise, he said he met Uncle Ned during the Usurper's War—er... Robert's Rebellion, as they call it now. But he said everyone called it that back then.
> He said Uncle also encountered a storm while sailing. Just like me, the storm brought him to Sweetsister.
> Unlike me, the fisherman who ferried him across the Bite unfortunately drowned. However, his daughter managed to get Uncle to the Sisters before the boat sank.
> Rumor has it Uncle left her with a bag of silver and a belly full of bastard. She named the child Jon Snow, after old Jon Arryn.
> I don't know if it's true, but I've read many stories about beauty saving the hero and the hero pledging himself to her.
> It's quite romantic. I envy him.
> —Your cousin who tells you everything, Arthur Snow.
"Seven Hells." Ned's face turned a deep shade of purple. He instinctively crushed the letter into a ball.
"What is wrong with the boy? How could he believe the words of Godric Borrell? That bald pirate lord!"
"The rumor is not credible." Maester Luwin tucked his hands into his wide sleeves, eyebrows raising involuntarily. "However, the letter does not mention Lord Godric being bald..."
Ned glared up at him. "Good Maester, pretend you never saw this letter."
"Then what should be done with it?" Luwin shrank his neck slightly but persisted. "You know Arthur and Jon are close. If he wrote to you and Robb but not to Jon, it would raise questions."
"Spare me." Ned sighed, smoothing out the crumpled letter and forcing himself to read it again.
When he reached the line about beauty saving the hero and pledging himself to her, his long face flushed red.
Ned carefully folded the letter to obscure the offending paragraph.
Maester Luwin, sensing the moment, produced a pair of scissors from his sleeve. "Do you wish to read Arthur's letter to Robb?"
"I might as well." Resigned to his fate, Ned picked up the final scroll.
> To my dear cousin, Robb Stark:
> By the time you see this letter, I will be living in a house in Braavos provided by an insurance merchant.
> You have no idea how dangerous the journey to Braavos was.
> Er... I suppose you know it's summer and the Narrow Sea is calm right now.
> I mean the Sistermen traveling with me were dangerous. Because they love wrestling.
> Our ancestor Rodrik Stark won Bear Island from the Ironborn by wrestling. Maybe people who live on islands just love to wrestle.
> On the way to Braavos, I wrestled with them almost every day. Just like how we practiced swordplay every morning.
> But later, they liked wrestling less and less. Especially with me.
> This makes me miss the days practicing swordplay with you and Jon at Winterfell immensely.
> —Your cousin who misses you terribly, Arthur Snow.
"It seems Arthur is doing well in Braavos." Perhaps because the first two letters had been so shocking, Ned didn't frown after reading this one.
"Maester Luwin, do you know what an insurance merchant does?"
"I learned of them during my studies at the Citadel. They exist in the Free Cities and sell insurance contracts to captains," Luwin explained, sitting on a stool as he trimmed Jon's letter.
"If a ship is lost in a storm or taken by pirates, the party providing the insurance guarantees to pay the full value of the ship and cargo."
Luwin pursed his lips. "My Lord, you know well the terror of storms."
"Good Maester, do not speak of storms," Ned said, not wanting to be reminded of the contents of the second letter.
"My point is, risk often accompanies profit." Luwin tossed the trimmed scraps of parchment into the fireplace.
"Braavos is one of the greatest ports in the world. Merchant ships sailing to Braavos often bring great profit."
"We could indeed do as Arthur suggests in his letter." Luwin offered his loyal counsel.
"We can ship the surplus peach wine and the lumber piling up in the three warehouses to White Harbor and see if it can be sold in Braavos."
"Let Vayon Poole handle the details," Ned agreed after a moment's thought. "Send the lumber, peach wine, and surplus furs to White Harbor by boat. I will write to Lord Wyman Manderly and ask him to clear some warehouse space."
---
White Harbor, A Garden Estate
"Sister! Arthur Snow wrote to you!" Wylla Manderly ran through the woods, waving the letter, her long green braid swinging behind her.
"I think he must be in love with you!"
Wynafryd Manderly was inspecting the growth of the peach trees. Seeing her sister nearly trip over a stone, she scolded gently.
"Be careful, you wild thing. No lord will want to marry a girl who runs around like that."
Wylla giggled and handed the letter to her sister like a treasure. "Arthur Snow wrote to you less than a month or two after leaving. He definitely loves you, Sister."
Wynafryd sighed—a rare sound from her. House Manderly had no male heirs in her generation. She was likely to become the Lady of White Harbor in her own right. A bastard like Arthur Snow could never be a match for her.
"Stop listening to those songs about Florian the Fool and Jonquil," Wynafryd said, taking the letter and assuming her big-sister persona.
"Life is not a song, Wylla. If you think it is, you will be bitterly disappointed one day."
Wylla stuck out her tongue and quoted Florian the Fool:
"Sweet lady, when it comes to women, are not all men fools? Are not all men knights?"
"He is ten years old," Wynafryd said, ruffling her sister's hair. "He is just a boy."
"Bastards grow faster than other people," Wylla wriggled free from Wynafryd's hand. "Besides, every man grows from a boy."