Chapitre 3: Chapter 2: The Period of Prosperity
Winterfell
Year 292 After Aegon
The sound of cold steel clashing, like a winter's song, echoed throughout the training yard of the majestic castle.
Two figures stood facing each other. In their eyes sparkled the spirit of rivalry, their swords danced through the icy air with grace and skill.
Robb and Aegon were sparring playfully, competing in skill but without intent to harm each other. Their heavy swords sliced through the air, leaving behind shimmering light, sparks, and traces of metal.
Snow swirled beneath their feet. The breaths and exhales of the men, whose blood was spilled first, blended with the rhythmic clash of steel.
Nearby, servants enjoying the spectacle applauded the skilled movements of the two sons of Lord Stark. It mattered little to them that one of the boys was a bastard.
Even though the swords were specially sharpened for training and posed no danger of serious injury, it was impossible not to notice that both displayed remarkable skill with their blades.
— Robb, you've clearly improved your swordsmanship, but maybe it's time to end today's bout? I promised to train Arya and can't let her down, or she won't give me a moment's peace, — Aegon said wearily.
— Jon, you know what happened last time you trained Arya with a bow, — Robb replied skeptically, lowering his sword.
The last time, the youngest sister had looked so dirty and disheveled that Lady Stark nearly lost her composure. Only thanks to Lord Stark did Catelyn manage to calm down in time.
At that moment, the young Lady decided to make her presence known right after Robb's remark, giving Jon no time to respond.
Little Arya Stark burst onto the training yard, dressed in warm but very dirty clothes suitable for an ordinary or somewhat warmer winter day in the North. She arrived just as her brothers were finishing their sparring.
The girl took a deep breath, and as Robb and Aegon noticed her, she shouted with confidence and a hint of indignation:
— Hey, you two! I think it's time someone finally started training me! You promised me, Jon!
Little Arya Stark was always different from her older sister Sansa, with her wild and tomboyish appearance and behavior. Her short black hair stuck out in all directions, refusing to conform to "silly hairstyles of equally silly Ladies," as she often put it. Her large gray eyes, like striped clouds over Winterfell, looked vigilant and perceptive; ready for any challenge that life might throw at her.
The girl's face was angular, with pronounced cheekbones and full lips that, despite her young age, gave her an air of mystery. Every part of her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, was a direwolf of House Stark.
— Arya, you're all dirty again. You know Lady Stark won't be pleased and will definitely forbid you from training. Father barely managed to persuade her as it is, — Jon said sternly.
— It's not my fault! Bran started it; he called me a "Lady" and said I'd never be a warrior like Princess Nymeria, — she muttered resentfully, looking down.
— Alright, give me a couple of minutes, and we'll go practice archery, — Jon said more gently.
Suddenly, Arya's eyes lit up with indescribable happiness, and forgetting her brother's reprimand, she hugged him tightly. Everyone in the castle knew that Jon was her dearest brother.
This unbreakable bond not only united them but also left room in Jon's heart for Robb, which didn't make him jealous but rather strengthened their family ties.
Under the blue sky of the North, Jon Snow took up the task of teaching his younger sister how to shoot with a bow.
Jon patiently adjusted the bow and whispered wise words, paying attention to every detail.
— Hold the bow steady and aim, — Jon instructed, guiding her hands to the taut string.
Arya felt the tension as she released the string, and the arrow flew through the air, striking the target with surprising accuracy, almost hitting the bullseye.
Her eyes sparkled with joy, and Jon smiled.
— You did great. Now let's try again. Remember, watch your breathing and focus on the target.
With those words, the children continued their lesson, and the wind seemed to whisper approval through the pines, bearing witness to their bond.
For days, Arya diligently practiced archery, and each moment spent became more precious.
I watched Arya hone her skill and couldn't help but think about the time when I realized I was in this world.
These snow-covered landscapes, messengers in black cloaks, and the mysterious customs of the North had become part of my new reality.
I felt foreign among my own family, but at the same time, closer to them than ever. This world, despite its harshness, had become my new home, and I couldn't forget that there were people here whom I loved and who loved me.
Now I was twelve, and for all these years, I had tried not to miss a single opportunity. Each day I learned, studying the laws and everything I could about the world around me. After all, books and shows from my past life were far from the most reliable sources of knowledge. I strove to make the most of my advantages and understood that knowledge was the most powerful weapon.
I tried to act as naturally as possible, not drawing attention to myself, so as not to be labeled as obsessed or something similar.
It was astonishing how people in this world matured faster in every way: morally and physically.
So, apart from the residents of Winterfell, no one showed much interest in me, even after I began "accidentally" inventing things that changed the lives of the entire North.
I wasn't foolish enough to make such significant changes to lands that had been in a terrible state for centuries and to do so in my own name, which could lead to my death. So all the credit went to Lord Stark, which was well-deserved.
Of course, many understood that the Quiet Wolf couldn't be the initiator of all these innovations, but such an announcement sounded far more plausible than attributing the achievements to a twelve-year-old child.
Only the family knew who the true innovator was; and though I tried to hide my maturity, sometimes it was inevitable.
So, I had to pretend to be a devout follower of the Old Gods. This was done in the hope that if rumors spread about an unusually intelligent child with significant abilities that children of his age shouldn't have, it would be better for me to be considered a blessing of the Old Gods rather than something demonic. At least it was some form of insurance.
Lord Stark spread rumors about his bastard's piety, which improved the townspeople's attitude towards him. In the North, illegitimate children might be treated differently than in the South. But there are still noble houses that don't look kindly on them, even if the bastard is their Lord's.
However, every Northman holds the Old Gods in great respect, which gives me a slight reprieve.
I passed on knowledge from my past life to my father, cloaked as gifts from the Gods. For Lord Stark, hearing about information previously unknown to him was strange, so it took me several months to convince him to try to implement some of the knowledge.
It all began with improving the soil in the North. I had to spend a long time explaining the principles and nuances of agriculture in the harsh climate. Soon, Lord Stark decided to test the method on a small piece of land and instructed the locals to follow my instructions. The farmers started adding organic material to the soil, managing moisture properly, and rotating crops.
After all the tests and receiving an abundant harvest, Lord Stark joyfully extended the knowledge to other parts of the North. Thanks to this, the harvest increased to incredible sizes and quality, helping the northerners gradually reduce, if not entirely eliminate, their need to buy food from the southern lords.
And then, watching the running children with hands full of local vegetables, I realized how my advice had transformed agriculture in the North, making it more successful and sustainable. It was the first step towards prosperity in such a harsh region.
Also, hygiene products. The first thing I introduced to these lands was the creation of soap. The process was laborious, but after many attempts and hard work, soap production in the North became possible.
Making soap from deer fat was a meticulous process involving: collecting fat, preparing an alkaline solution, mixing various ingredients, and the final stages of pouring into molds with the Stark house sigil.
The Stark family invested a great deal of effort, gold, and patience to create this unique product, which continues to bring a substantial amount of dragons to Winterfell's treasury. And this sum grows daily due to the soap's popularity in the South among noble ladies. After all, only aristocrats can afford it there, while even peasants in the North are content with it.
The creation of a toothbrush didn't take long to follow. Its design featured a wooden handle and soft bristles made from northern deer wool, providing an ideal means of dental care in all the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.
Even with knowledge from the past world, creating what seemed like the simplest items for modern times was not easy.
I had to painstakingly work on toothpaste, experimenting with different plants and herbs.
However, thanks to these efforts, the main ingredient became a special herb, the best substitute for mint from Earth and some other plants not found in the 21st century. This herb added pleasant taste effects and aroma, and was also used in soap-making for sale to wealthy clients.
All this progress required years of serious effort. It was not as easy as writers from my past world tried to depict. Everything was created through numerous trials and errors, with many golden
For years, we have been struggling to create a strong alcoholic drink, an alternative to wine. Unfortunately, knowledge from the old world about creating anything does not always work here due to some unknown analogues of ingredients, but we have made significant progress, which will soon bring even greater profits.
I was pulled from my thoughts by Arya's voice.
— Jon, I'm tired and hungry. Let's continue tomorrow.
— Yes, it's indeed time to eat. Let's hurry, everyone is already at the table. We don't want Father to make us clean the stables again, — Aegon replied with amusement.
The crypt in the Stark house is a hidden corner shrouded in a grim atmosphere. The walls of the dungeon are made of thick stone blocks, creating an impression of impenetrable solidity.
In the pitch darkness, the young dragon, with a torch in hand, ran towards the place that had been beckoning him for years.
Since the moment Aegon realized that fire did not harm him but merely warmed him, he had been searching within himself for other unusual abilities. However, apart from being fireproof, he discovered nothing.
This continued until he turned eleven. He began to have dreams. At first, they were completely chaotic and devoid of any sense or logic.
Over time, they became clearer, allowing him to discern at least some sequence.
Suddenly, enormous emerald eyes with vertical slits appeared in the darkness. Their glowing gaze, accompanied by inhuman growls, approached ever closer, making him freeze, unable even to blink.
But just before this happened, the scene abruptly changed, and he felt as if he was soaring in the skies. He was overwhelmed by an indescribable sense of freedom.
At one point, Aegon found himself above an unfamiliar castle, where a large group of knights trembled in fear.
And the world froze in trembling anticipation, and it was then that the merciless command "Dracarys" would sound. Everything was engulfed in green and intensely hot flames, causing the castle to collapse and melt away before his eyes under the relentless breath of the dragon.
Desperate screams and pleas of the burning people seemed to echo throughout the world. The repulsive smell of burning flesh filled the air. But there were those who did not die immediately, experiencing unbearable suffering before death.
This was when Aegon usually woke up, but today was different.
He heard a call: a soft whisper, enticing him to something so important. To something that was a part of him, desperately trying to reach him.
Finding himself in a familiar but cold place, he felt that the cold began to seep straight into his bones. It was the crypt, where members of House Stark had rested for generations, statues of past lords and winter kings. He walked deeper and deeper, and at some point, began to run desperately toward what was calling him.
And then, after a while, as he approached his goal, he noticed something round and small. Something that lay on one of the statues. Due to the darkness, even the torch could not illuminate it well. Reaching out, Aegon felt that it was an egg covered with scales.
— Un nouveau chapitre arrive bientôt — Écrire un avis
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone