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Clop clop clop!
A troop of riders bearing the banner of a merman wielding a trident escorted a luxurious carriage, along with more than a dozen transport wagons, as they approached Winterfell's south gate.
Having received word in advance, Lord Rickard, who had been placed in charge of the reception, spotted the party from far away.
Mounted on his horse, with his son and the welcoming guard at his side, he rode out to meet them.
"Hahaha, isn't that the carriage of the famous 'fat man who can't even mount a horse'? Aren't you coming out to greet an old friend?"
Blunt and boisterous as ever, Lord Rickard had barely come near the luxurious carriage before he was already shouting at the top of his voice.
"Stop!"
Hearing the crude yelling from outside, the person inside the carriage ordered it to halt and opened the door.
Dressed in bright noble clothes made from expensive fabrics, the plump and prosperous Lord Wyman stepped down from the carriage.
Without missing a beat, he snapped back irritably,
"And Lord Robb really put you in charge of receiving guests in Winterfell? You ill-mannered barbarian! Isn't he afraid you'll offend every house in the North?"
Hearing the familiar taunt from his old friend, Lord Rickard grinned from ear to ear and dismounted.
He took a few steps forward, and the two men opened their arms for a heavy embrace befitting the two of them.
"Hahaha, you great fat fool, it's been too long!"
"It's been too long, you crude barbarian!"
After a round of friendly punches and the usual greetings between men, Lord Rickard simply left his son holding his horse and, well pleased, climbed into Lord Wyman's luxurious carriage, accompanying him into Winterfell.
"You nearly came too late. White Harbor isn't even that far from Winterfell. What took you so long to get here?"
Now settled inside the carriage, Lord Rickard reached without ceremony for a cluster of grapes from a tray and began eating as he asked the question.
Lord Wyman, of course, did not mind the old friend's rough manners. Smiling, he answered,
"I was waiting for a shipment Lord Robb had ordered. It's what's in those transport wagons behind us."
"Oh."
"Eh? Why aren't you even a little curious about what it is?"
Seeing his friend's uninterested response, with his attention already returning to the grapes, Lord Wyman asked in surprise.
"Since I started following Lord Robb, I've learned one thing: do more, ask less.
When it comes to his plans, I'd rather not know."
Lord Rickard first shook his head as he answered. Then he set aside the grapes, leaned a little closer to Lord Wyman, and spoke in a lowered voice:
"He is completely different from Lord Eddard, who liked to face everything head-on. Even Roose Bolton, who is a master of twisted schemes, was manipulated by him all the way to the end, with the Dreadfort falling and Roose himself being captured.
As your old friend, let me give you a piece of advice. Winterfell is no longer even remotely what it used to be. Don't entertain any strange ideas. You'd better be content with your place."
Lord Wyman listened with full seriousness. He knew the old friend's rough exterior well, but he also knew there was some shrewdness beneath it.
If even Lord Rickard showed a certain degree of wariness toward the Young Wolf, then Winterfell truly had changed a great deal in this span of time.
"Haha, you know me. I only want to do business in peace."
"Yes, that much I know. You were always very loyal to Lord Eddard. You probably don't have any crooked ideas after all."
"Of course. By the way, I heard that both your sons are now among the wolf guard and have become important officers in Winterfell's army."
"Hehehe, and why shouldn't they be? Have you seen who their father is?"
While the two old friends talked inside the carriage, they went deeper and deeper into Winterfell.
Since so many northern nobles and representatives of noble houses had arrived over the past few days, the guest rooms in the main keep were already all occupied. Because of that, Lord Wyman and his party were lodged in the guest building to the left side of the yard.
That building had been constructed specifically to receive large numbers of guests, and had enough rooms to house everyone. Of course, the conditions there were far inferior to those in the main keep.
But Lord Wyman knew Winterfell's rules very well and had come prepared. With a simple wave of his hand, he had a crowd of servants carrying all sorts of things enter the rooms and redecorate everything from top to bottom.
In the servants' hands were fur blankets, fur rugs, lamps, gold and silver utensils, as well as wines and delicacies.
In no time at all, the simple quarters were transformed into luxurious and comfortable rooms.
That left Lord Rickard, who had never been especially wealthy, green with envy.
If one of Winterfell's servants had not come to inform them that it was already time for the banquet, he probably would still have remained in Lord Wyman's room, enjoying the wine and food.
...
Inside the banquet hall, the decorations that had previously been arranged for the victory dinner had still not been taken down, so they ended up being reused this time.
When Lord Wyman and Lord Rickard entered the hall, they saw that the long tables were already crowded with northern nobles talking loudly among themselves.
Lord Wyman spotted several old acquaintances.
One was a graying middle-aged woman, short but powerfully built. She was Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island and mother of Dacey, captain of Robb's personal guard.
He also saw a huge man, nearly seven feet tall, with his upper body bare and his body covered in thick muscle.
He had a fierce and frightening face, but at that moment he was grinning broadly as he loudly praised his own son.
It was Lord Jon Umber, Lord of Last Hearth, known as the Greatjon, father of Smalljon, commander of Winterfell's cavalry.
There was also a small old man wearing a leather jerkin embroidered with the sigil of six thistles, with unruly hair, a face lined with wrinkles, yet eyes exceptionally sharp.
That was Lord Norrey, chief of Clan Norrey and uncle of Owen, commander of Winterfell's infantry.
Watching everything carefully, Lord Wyman noticed something interesting.
Among the nobles present, aside from those houses whose sons held high military office in Winterfell and whose lords had come in person, there was only one other lord who had appeared personally: Lord Medger Cerwyn, whose holdfast stood only half a day's ride from Winterfell.
The rest of the northern houses had, for the most part, sent only representatives.
In a sense, that showed that some of the northern lords still harbored many doubts about the story of Robb taking the Dreadfort and capturing Roose Bolton.
Before Lord Wyman could reflect further on it, Lord Rickard dragged him along and more or less forced him into a seat at one of the long tables.
While speaking cordially with the affable and courteous Lord Cerwyn, who was seated there as well, the banquet was finally about to begin.
On the raised dais of the hall, Lady Catelyn appeared accompanied by Bran and Rickon, who were being carried by others.
"Lords and ladies loyal to House Stark, in the name of House Stark, I offer you House Stark's sincerest welcome.
The organizer of this banquet was the lord regent, Robb Stark, but as he is now in the camp outside the town preparing tomorrow's military review, unfortunately he could not attend. For that, I ask your pardon in his name.
But that will not prevent us, tonight, from drinking heartily and enjoying food in abundance.
Now, the banquet officially begins!"
The moment Catelyn finished speaking, the doors of the hall were opened, and lines of servants began entering, carrying dishes of food no one had ever seen before.
Lord Wyman's mind was still caught on the phrase "military review" that Catelyn had just used, but in the blink of an eye, it was completely captured by the delicacies being served at the table.
That banquet made even Lord Wyman, who had already tasted foods from every corner, redefine what true food was.
There was a whole roast chicken sealed inside a clay crust that, once broken open, released an irresistible aroma.
There were slices of pork covered in pepper, over which boiling oil was poured at the very end.
And there was even a kind of hot pot in which the ingredients were cooked on the spot, leaving the guests sweating as they ate.
According to Lord Rickard, who was swallowing everything in huge bites and speaking with his mouth full, all those creations were Lord Robb's work.
With his own mouth equally full of food, Lord Wyman came to the conclusion that Winterfell truly had changed a great deal.
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