"Mama! Mamamama!" He repeated through bouts of laughter. "Mamamamamamama!"
"Aha! The evil goodmother Catelyn has triumphed over Ser Jon once more!" I play-acted with him.
Little Jon squirmed until I reluctantly set him on the ground, where he crawled across the carpet as fast as he could towards Benjen.
Looking up, I caught Ned looking at me with such passion in his eyes that my breath hitched in my throat. He mouthed 'thank you' at me, and it was all I could do to merely nod in return.
"How is the camp at Moat Cailin, Alyn?" I asked.
"A bit restive, but not too terrible," the household guard turned immigration agent replied. "We've put the troublemakers to work sorting through the rubble of the broken towers. If they don't settle down, we'll put them to work rebuilding the walls."
"Hah, perhaps I should toss a few handfuls of silver stags into the camp to spark a riot," I chortled. "Maybe Ned will feel better if we get a head start on rebuilding the castle!"
"Perhaps so, milady, perhaps so," he replied with equal mirth.
"In other news, I have had the blacksmiths working day and night to churn out the tools they'll need," I continued. "There won't be enough reapers and seed drills to go around, though, so they'll have to share until more can be made."
"That's good news, milady," Alyn said with a mild grin.
"When you get back to Most Cailin, start sending a few scores at a time out to their new villages," I told him. "The worst of the snows are behind us in this part of the North, but it'll be another moon before those assigned to Queenscrown can make the journey, let alone start building houses and barns."
The refugee camp in Moat Cailin had been drawn from displaced smallfolk from the Riverlands. Some seven thousand had jumped at the chance to be granted land, even if they had to build their homes and farms from the ground up, and pay increased taxes until our initial investment is paid back.
Nearly ten thousand had left King's Landing, taking ships to White Harbor and residing in overly cramped hastily adapted warehouses until the spring thaw. Speaking of which…
"Ser Wendel, how are things going in White Harbor?"
"Following Alyn's example, my father and I have been putting them to work constructing new warehouses and expanding the docks," he answered. "Troublemakers are sentenced to a term of hard labor, while others are enticed by a small bit of coin here and there. Serious crimes, though, are punished accordingly."
"And their vouchers invalidated, I hope?" I asked.
"Of course," he nodded. "The threat of losing their land grants has kept trouble to a minimum, especially compared to Flea Bottom."
"That is a relief," I sighed.
"There is one issue that has come up," Alyn interjected. "There's been a lot of talk about building Septs wherever they end up. It's making some of us Northmen… uneasy."
"I can see why," I nodded in sympathy. "You may tell them that they may build Septs in their new towns and villages, but must also help their neighbors construct a Godswood. Both followers of the Seven and the Old Gods will be permitted to practice their faith in peace. Any actions violating this peace will be harshly punished; there will be no religious strife in the North!"
"Aye, milady," Alyn said, surprise and respect shining in his eyes.
"Despite being a follower of the Seven, I fear this may be a problem in the future," Wendel muttered.
"The Septons in White Harbor have learned how to coexist with the Old Gods," I pointed out. "We should make it a point to require that their Septons be trained in White Harbor."
"That may help, but it wouldn't prevent all problems," he warned. "That many followers of the Seven, in isolated villages? It's likely to encourage fanaticism, especially if there is strife with their neighbors."
"If enough Southern smallfolk were concentrated in a single area, I suspect you'd be right," I told him. "However, we are spreading them around House Stark's lands. We're putting them in existing villages and holdfasts, where Northern ways may rub off on them. And as for the new holdfasts, Dorren's Bridge and Queenscrown, we found second and third son smallfolk who were unlikely to inherit any land from their family and offered them farms there. When the Southrons arrive, they'll find a ready population of good Northmen to guide them."
"Spoken like a Northern lady, milady," Alyn chortled.
"I may have come from the South," I replied with an easy smile, "But I think I prefer being a Northern lady."
"And you make a very fine one indeed," Wendel said, beaming at me.
"I'm going to miss you, Benjen," I murmured, folding the lad into a tight hug.
"It won't be forever, Cat," he replied. "I'll be back for the Harvest Feast, and maybe even for the Solstice."
"Aye, but that's half a year away," I replied. I pulled back and rested my hands on his shoulders. He had certainly grown in the year since I had taken over this body. His shoulders had broadened, his muscles had grown, and the beginnings of a proper beard were starting to come in.
"Time will pass before you know it," he replied and gently smiled at me. I patted him on the shoulder and stepped aside.
Ned pulled his younger brother into a tight, backslapping hug. "Queenscrown is yours, Ben," he murmured, using the nickname I'd started using. "I'm sure you'll make a fine Lord."
"I'll do my best, brother."
"Before you go, I received a letter from the Mormonts," he began, prompting Benjen to softly groan.
"Not another one," he muttered.
Ever since Ned had announced that Benjen would receive Queenscrown, Houses from all over the North with women anywhere close to Benjen's age were sending proposals of betrothal to him. Benjen wanted nothing to do with the entire idea, but Ned was trying to convince him otherwise. I was, mostly, staying out of it.
"Dacey Mormont is only a few years younger than you," Ned told him.
"Aye, and she'll be a she-bear in the furs as well as on the field," he grumped. "I'd rather not get ridden like a stallion at night."
"Oh, I don't know," Ned said, turning just far enough that he could send a wink at me. "Being ridden has its merits…"
I flushed; as I had grown closer to and more comfortable with Ned, I was… introducing some more modern concepts. Ned was, for the most part, receptive. The dog.
Benjen chuckled. After a minute, he said, "I… am willing to meet with her, though I won't make any promises beyond that."
"That is all I ask," Ned replied with a gentle smile. "Now off with you; it's a long ride north, and the day is wasting.
"Fine, fine," Ben replied with an easy grin. "Until next time, brother."
"Until next time, Benjen."
Standing at the edge of one of the fields at Yan's farm, I watched with a swell of pride as the man pushed his seed drill back and forth across the freshly plowed field.
"Those really are useful," Ned murmured at my side.
"Aye," I agreed. "And Yan isn't the only one who has one anymore, either."
Following Vayon Poole's suggestion, I financed a loan program of sorts, explicitly for the purchase of reapers and seed drills for farmers in House Stark's lands. Since farmers weren't the only displaced smallfolk that had come north, more than a few skilled craftsmen had settled in Winter Town or in other holdfasts. More than a dozen newly resettled carpenters and blacksmiths constructed reapers and seed drills as fast as they could. Other farming tools and craft tools were being churned out as well, to help the resettled smallfolk, and to offer the Northern smallfolk as a part of the loan program.
The loans were relatively long term with very low interest rates. As Vayon had put it, 'one part in fifty added to the remaining debt each year', or in more modern terms, '2% interest compounded annually'. I wouldn't see much profit from it, but it wasn't about profit; it was about improving food production. Besides, it's not like I couldn't afford it; my weaving workshop was earning me more than 1000 dragons per moon now, and the amount would likely go up.
With many of the other Houses in the North establishing their own workshops, and with the end of the war in the South, I'd expected the price of yarn and cloth to drop. However, with the increased supply, the woolen cloth had finally made it across the sea to Braavos and Norvos, and it might soon reach some of the other Free Cities. With the bright colors and interesting patterns my dyeworks and weavers were making, my workshop's products were all the rage in Braavos. Every bravo, from the First Sword down to the youngest beginner, wanted a tunic or scarf made from my colorful cloth. And, of course, my hats.