Dearest Catelyn,
Unfortunately, I had previously accepted an invitation to attend a tourney in King's Landing this year. As the tourney will take place at the same time as the Harvest Feast, Edmure and I will not be able to attend. Your Uncle Brynden has accepted a post as a Knight of the Bloody Gate in the Vale, and likely will not have the time to attend this year either.
As for the drawings of the devices you sent with Edmure, I have put them into use. Riverrun is producing linen at an astounding rate, much to our benefit. We have never been a poor House, but the extra coin this is bringing in has bolstered our standing in the Riverlands. Due to this, and to the reaping machine and seed drill (which is a very odd name; how did you come up with it?), I have been in talks with several Riverlander lords who wish to join their daughters with Edmure. With any luck, we may have a wedding in the next few years. You are, of course, invited, as are your husband and children.
I am pleased that Lord Stark has been an excellent and indulgent husband, and that you are pleased with your match. I can only wish that I had been half as indulgent as he has been; perhaps the Riverlands would have reaped the full rewards of you brilliance instead!
Your steward is a clever man and a shrewd negotiator. He will, of course, carry the specifics of the agreement we have reached to you, but in short, the Riverlands is in dire need of iron. The Iron Islands are not selling as much as they used to, and the price of iron throughout the South has risen accordingly. The mines in the Stormlands and the Vale can't quite keep up with the demand; should you be able to increase your smelters' output, you will find markets eager to buy from you.
With love,
Hoster Tully,
Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.
"My lords, my ladies," Ned called out to the once again crowded hall.
This year, the lords in attendance looked nothing like they did the first year after I'd woken up in Cat's body. Unlike the grim men and women dressed in earthy colored cloth, furs, and leathers, this year they were dressed in brightly colored tunics and dresses. Many wore gold or silver jewelry, though not quite as ostentatious as was common in the South, and a beautiful felt hat of some design or another rested on every head. Lord Manderly even had one of the most ostentatious Braavosi-style hats in blue, green, and aquamarine, with a huge plume of trimmed peacock feathers. A silver bauble in the shape of his House's sigil, a merman, was pinned to the navy blue silk hat band. Despite being incredibly ostentatious, the large man wore it well. Most of the Northern Lords looked at it askance, but I could see one or two that regarded it with envy…
In addition to dress, everyone's health looked better, save for the bruises on the lords who had participated in this year's tournament. Skin was cleaner and clearer thanks to my soaps and skin creams, hair and beards were smooth and neatly combed, and the unfortunate stench of body odor was entirely absent from the hall. All in all, the room looked less like a gathering of medieval lords and more like a gathering of Renaissance lords or wealthy merchants. And, in my opinion, it was a very good thing.
"Today, we honor the Iron Bears, the winners of the Team Battle tournament," Ned continued. "Jorah Mormont, as it was your team, please come up and accept your reward!"
To a mix of cheers and jeers, the formerly near-destitute lord of Bear Island stood and proudly marched to the High Table. House Mormont had taken my gift of the knowledge of salt ponds and run with it. In the two years hence, they'd began producing enough salt not only to supply the entire North (or at least the noble houses) but also began exporting to the South. Pickling had also taken off in a big way; this very feast was loaded with pickled goods, from pickled cucumber to sauerkraut.
House Mormont had profited from this development. Between their salt, their salted fish, their pickled vegetables, and wood imported from House Glover, they had started to attract a modest but significant number of ships from the Riverlands, Westerlands, and even a few from as far south as the Reach. Goods purchased from those lands was resold to the rest of the North at a modest markup. And the docking facilities were expanding to accommodate the traffic.
'In another few years, they'll be large enough to host a squadron of warships,' I thought with pride. 'It would seem my plan is working out…'
"As the winners, the Iron Bears are awarded a grand total of one thousand dragons," Ned called, gesturing grandly at the small chest sitting on the high table. This year, given the increased tax revenue and the good harvests, Ned hadn't needed to pay the tourney purses with my coin. I had, however, matched his contributions to make the competition more… enticing. "Lord Mormont, take your prize!"
"And you better enjoy it, Mormont!" An already drunk Greatjon called out, grinning in mirth. "Next year, my Giants won't lose to you again!"
"Then perhaps you should practice more and drink less, Umber!" Jorah chided back with good cheer, much to the hall's general amusement.
"Well?" I asked. "Do you like it?"
"It's fantastic!," Ned enthusiastically replied. "How did you come up with the idea?"
For the Solstice celebration, I had given Ned a new suit of armor. Forged from the high quality steel coming out of Clan Harclay's refractory ovens, it was a set of plate armor easily the equal of anything available in the South. But Mikken, using my descriptions and sketches, had made something less restricting and more flexible without sacrificing protection. I had based my ideas on the designs of early Renaissance armor styles, copying design elements from the Milanese and Gothic armor styles native to Italy and Germany respectively. I was especially proud of the helm; it was based on the Gothic style of helmet, but the visor was the upper half of a snarling wolf's head. When the visor was down, it locked into the gorget, which formed the wolf's lower jaws. When down, it presents a terrifying snarling face for the enemy to cower at.
"Mikken did most of the hard work," I modestly answered. "I just described some of the armors I'd seen in the south; he was the one who made it work. Though the helmet and gorget was my idea; I thought it appropriate for the Quiet Wolf…"
"I love it," Ned replied. Finally tearing his eyes away from the mannequin on which the armor was resting (and which I'd had the guards carry out when it was time to present gifts), he turned to me and, with shining eyes, said, "I love you."
"I…" I hesitated. While I had grown very fond of Ned, and had grown to enjoy our intimate moments together, I wasn't quite sure I was ready to say those words back to him. So, I deflected. "I have another gift for you, but it isn't ready yet."
"Oh? What is it?" he asked, looking eager.
"Ned…" I said with a small, gentle smile. "I'm pregnant."