Chapter 9: A Letter from Winterfell
Two days later, Maester Rosmund approached Saelen, who was training relentlessly on the practice grounds.
"My lord," the maester said, holding a letter, "a raven from Winterfell has brought Lord Eddard's reply."
Saelen sheathed his twin swords, took a towel to wipe the sweat from his face, and stepped away from the yard. He accepted the letter—the wax seal had already been broken, so the maester had clearly read it first.
The letter was brief.
Eddard wrote that he had taken note of the matter and instructed Saelen to personally escort the wildling woman, Osha, to Winterfell upon receiving the message. He wished to question her himself.
The letter also inquired about glass production and requested that whatever quantity was currently available be sent to Winterfell at once. Workers there were already preparing to expand the glass gardens.
Saelen let out a soft sigh.
Because of the widespread rumors that Saelen was Eddard's bastard, people had begun whispering that he had been "legitimized," raising unsettling questions about who would ultimately inherit Winterfell.
Those rumors had driven Catelyn into emotional collapse, leading to her miscarriage. His relationship with her had grown tense—though Saelen himself had not taken it too personally.
Later, however, Catelyn became pregnant again.
Saelen guessed this child would be Rickon.
That realization eased his heart.
Though he had altered some events, willingly or not, the broader timeline still seemed largely intact.
Yet Catelyn now guarded against him like a thief. Influenced by her, Sansa also distanced herself from Saelen, looking at him with the same cold, guarded eyes she reserved for bastards.
The other children, however, remained unchanged.
Robb and Jon often brought Bran and Arya to Castle Edd to spar and train. Jon, in particular, had grown closer to Saelen, openly and subtly trying to comfort him.
Robb had even gone so far as to say—without hesitation—that he would be willing to give up his claim to Winterfell.
Seeing how Saelen had transformed this barren, uninhabited land into what it was now, Robb felt both shock and admiration. He believed Saelen was far better suited to inherit Winterfell and even thought that, under Saelen's rule, Winterfell could one day grow into a great city like King's Landing.
Saelen had been both amused and exasperated.
Left with no other choice, he swore before the Old Gods that he was absolutely not Lord Eddard's bastard.
As for why he resembled the Starks so closely, Saelen could only improvise—perhaps some distant ancestor carried Stark blood. As for which generation? Regrettably, too far back to trace.
That explanation finally satisfied them.
Given the tension between him and Catelyn, Lord Eddard had reluctantly advised Saelen not to visit Winterfell unless there was an urgent reason.
Saelen did not mind.
He was content to remain in his territory, quietly accumulating strength. Whether he went to Winterfell or not mattered little to him.
When he had captured Osha, Saelen had immediately sent a raven to Winterfell. That the reply had taken so long troubled him.
It seemed he would need to place a few informants in Winterfell soon—otherwise, any major events there might reach him far too late.
After thinking for a moment, Saelen turned to the maester.
"You've read the letter as well," he said calmly. "Lord Eddard needs glass. How much have we produced so far?"
Maester Rosmund thought for a moment before replying,
"Some glass has already been produced, my lord. As for the exact amount, you'll need to ask Steward Marcus—he's in charge of the glassworks. Shall I summon him to report to you?"
Saelen waved a hand.
"No need. Go directly to him and tell him this: whatever glass has already been produced, load it all onto wagons. Make sure to pack plenty of dry straw between the panes—wagons jolt badly on the road."
"I'll come by shortly to take delivery."
"My lord," Rosmund said hesitantly, "are you planning to go to Winterfell in person?"
"Yes. I'll go myself."
"I'm afraid Lady Catelyn won't be pleased to see you in Winterfell," the maester reminded him carefully.
Saelen shrugged and joked lightly,
"It's fine. The lady has already given birth and is in good health now. I promise she won't miscarry again just from seeing me."
"And besides," he added casually, "Lord Eddard explicitly asked me to come in person. Winterfell answers to the Lord of the North—not to Catelyn Tully."
Rosmund stared at him, momentarily speechless. A vassal joking about his liege lord's wife was hardly proper.
"My lord," he pressed, "she is still Lord Eddard's wife… and Robb's mother."
"All right, Maester. I know where the line is," Saelen said, waving him off.
After dismissing the maester, Saelen bathed and changed into a suit of leather armor. Lamellar armor was far too cumbersome and reserved for wartime; he never wore it casually.
He then summoned Gendry.
Yes—Saelen had "borrowed" Robert's bastard from King's Landing and taken him in as a squire.
After Saelen had won several tourneys, Robert had personally knighted him—but only after confirming Saelen was not Eddard's bastard. Even as king, Robert had no desire to disrupt the fragile wolf–stag–trout–falcon alliance.
"My lord, everything is ready. We can depart at any time," Gendry said respectfully.
Saelen nodded and led Gendry, a dozen cavalrymen, and the bound wildling Osha to the gates of the glassworks.
There, Maester Rosmund and Steward Marcus were overseeing workers loading crates onto wagons—twenty wagons in total.
When they saw Saelen, both hurried over.
"My lord," Rosmund reported, "five hundred panes of glass have been packed according to your instructions. Straw has been placed between every pane, wooden braces reinforce the crates, and straw cushions the glass from all sides. There should be no damage during transport."
Saelen nodded in satisfaction and inspected a wagon himself.
"Everything secured?"
"Yes, my lord. Ready to depart at once," Marcus replied.
"Good," Saelen said. "Marcus, continue producing the remaining glass as quickly as possible. Winterfell is our first customer—we must serve them well."
"Rest assured, my lord," Marcus said. "The new workers are already in training. Once they're fully up to speed, output will rise quickly. I only worry that after finishing this order, we might not receive another."
Saelen waved off the concern.
"Lord Eddard's expansion of the glass gardens will require far more than this. And even if Winterfell doesn't need that much, we can sell to White Harbor or the southern lords."
"We're right beside the White Knife—transport is easy."
"And I plan to build a glass garden of my own as well," he added casually. "You won't need to worry about surplus. I'll be worrying about shortages instead."
Marcus felt his heart settle. With stable demand assured, he could finally produce without fear.
Only Rosmund frowned.
Winterfell's glass gardens had taken House Stark centuries to build. For Saelen to construct one of his own… the cost would be astronomical. Even the porcelain profits might not cover it.
"My lord," Rosmund began cautiously—
"That's enough, Maester," Saelen interrupted. "I know what you're about to say. It's only an idea for now—we'll discuss it another time."
"I'm setting out immediately. You all attend to your duties."
Rosmund sighed helplessly.
"Yes, my lord."
Saelen said nothing more. With a nod, he spurred his horse forward, leading the convoy toward Winterfell.