"Oh Ned," I sighed, shook my head, and gave him a wry smile. "It wouldn't be appropriate if anyone else was in here, but it's just us, and the guards won't let anyone else in. It's totally fine."
He huffed, but reluctantly nodded. "Fine. But if anyone dares peek at you…"
"Then Ice will get their heads!" I joked. Ned looked startled for a moment, then let out a chuckle that was only slightly strained. "Don't worry about it, Ned. Just relax and enjoy the baths, alright?"
"Fine," he reluctantly agreed.
Once we were starkers, I led him into the main bathing chamber. Concrete benches with polished red-brown slate seats lined the lower level. Each bench had a wooden bucket on each side. The baths were separated into two levels; the upper level, where the steaming water from the hot springs poured into a raised soaking pool, and the lower level. The water spilled through a notch in the pool's wall into the lower pool, which was almost the size of a small swimming pool. Another notch in the wall of the lower pool let excess water from the lower pool drop into a trough embedded in the floor, where it flowed toward the wall and disappeared to the outside, eventually winding up in the moat. The walls and floors of both the upper and lower pools were lined with the same red-brown polished shale that lined the benches. Such a smooth surface was much more comfortable than the rough textured concrete.
"Take one of those buckets, Ned," I instructed. I grabbed one of my own and walked over to the lower pool, dipped it in, and brought it back to one of the benches.
"What are we doing?"
"Washing off first," I replied. Then, I dumped about half of the bucket over my head.
Ned followed suit and copied me as I put a bar of soap to a wash rag and lathered it up.
"We'll scrub ourselves here on these benches," I explained, "And rinse off the dirt and soap. Oh, would you like me to wash your back?"
"I… suppose," Ned replied, his cheeks pink.
"I lined the baths with polished shale," I explained as I scrubbed his back for him. "That way, sitting or even swimming would be pleasant. The concrete floors are rough on purpose, to make it more difficult to slip when it's wet and soapy."
Ned hummed, though I wasn't sure how much he was actually paying attention, given the way he leaned into my scrubbing. "There, all done. Would you mind getting my back now?"
"S-sure…"
"Oh, that feels nice," I crooned. He was scrubbing a bit rough, but overall it wasn't bad at all. As he worked, I continued to explain. "The hot water flows into the upper bath from that pipe over there. That one is hotter than the lower one, of course, and is intended for longer relaxing soaks. The lower bath is warm, but not hot; it's better for rinsing or a bit of swimming if it's not too crowded."
"All… all done," Ned stammered.
"Hold on, I need to get my hair," I replied. After thoroughly lathering my hair, I dumped the rest of my bucket over my head. "Now, how about we rinse off in the lower pool? And maybe we could relax in the upper pool for a while?"
"I think… I think I'd like that."
There wasn't enough natural hot spring water to supply a second bath down in Winter Town. Besides, unless I buried the pipe, it would quickly cool down or even freeze in the winter. Instead, I set up a basic piston pump (a combination of leather washers and flax packing generated an adequate seal for pumping water) that pulled water from a well. The water was fed into a cast steel tank with a copper lining to prevent rust, and a coke-fed fire kept the water warm. A spout fed the water into a tube, which kept the upper pools full.
A small windmill, one of those old-west steel types, kept the pump running, but on the off chance that there was no wind on a particular day, a lever could be attached so the pump could be operated by hand. While the water temperatures were a bit less consistent, it was usually a bit on the warm side. In that case, a second hand pump could introduce cool water to the baths.
Aside from being fed by hot springs, the biggest difference between the two baths is that the one in the castle had tile mosaics on the wall depicting moments from the Stark's family history. Even though construction had started on the castle's bathhouse first, the tiles had added to the construction time, so the two bathhouses were finished at around the same time.
The baths were a major hit with the residents of the castle but took a while to catch on with the smallfolk in Winter Town. It was only after I started offering the 'courtesans' at the Smoking Log free baths (to hopefully improve cleanliness in the brothel business) that business started picking up. If the whores praised my baths, people would be interested, even without mixed bathing. I considered running some kind of 'Adult Night' once a sennight where I'd pay some of the courtesans to bathe in the men's side, flirt with the male patrons, and maybe even wash their backs (though nothing more than that, obviously). But I'd decided against it for now. Maybe some other time.
Working with Mikken to add a copper lining to the boiler got me thinking, though. Copper was used in the distillation of alcohol. While I still wasn't much of a drinker, with the surplus of grains I could make some hard liquors. Rye whiskey, brandy, schnapps from the different fruits of the North, gin from juniper berries… there were even some peat bogs in or near the Neck that I could use to make good scotch whiskey.
And if I made something akin to Everclear, I'd have an effective disinfectant.
And so, I started brewing and distilling liquors.
"Oof!" I half hissed as I took a sip of brandy. "That's strong!"
"Stronger than ice wine, milady," Clynt, a man from Clan Wull, who had experience with brewing beer, mead, and making ice wines, told me with a grin. "It's a right kick in the teeth!"
"Aye, that it is," I said. "But the flavor could use some work."
"I suppose," he shrugged.
"How about the scotch?"
"Still aging, my lady," he replied. "I don't see why, though."
"It'll give time for the smokey peat flavor to mix into the whiskey," I reminded him. "Trust me, it'll be much better."
"The other whiskey, the rye whisky, doesn't need to age as long," he countered.
"That's because the rye already gives it a unique flavor," I told him. "Same with the gin. But trust me, even those liquors will taste much better after they've aged."
"I'll have to take your word for it," he shrugged.
"Welcome to Winterfell's newest glasshouse," I cheerily said as Ned and I entered.
Despite the excessive use of glass, I'd intentionally built it with a double-pane setup. The extra air gap between the inner and outer panes would help insulate the glasshouse, even without warm water piped in from the hot springs. Sunlight in the visible and ultraviolet spectrum would enter, be absorbed by the ground and the plants, and be radiated back out as infrared. Glass, fortunately, reflected infrared. As such, the heat from the sun would be trapped inside the glass house, and the air gap would prevent the heat from leeching out. As a bonus, the heat would help snow and ice quickly melt off the panes, at least enough for light to enter and get trapped. The glass houses should remain snow-free even in the coldest of the long winters. And if the faint yellow and green panes gave a magical, ethereal quality to the light, well, I certainly wasn't complaining.
"Cat, this is..." Ned said, shaking his head as he stared around. There were both raised and ground-level garden beds, already filled with rich dark earth. Though we hadn't begun the planting process yet, so all the dirt was still bare. Each of the planned glasshouses would have a small well and a hand pump, so that the 'farmers' I hired to tend to them could keep the plant well watered even in the winter. "This is amazing! How did you figure out glass? The Myrish jealously guard the secret..."
"Winterfell had glasshouses long before the Myrish started making glass. I found an old recipe in one of the ancient books in the Library," I half-lied. It was true that Winterfell's glasshouses predated Myr's glassmaking, but I was lying about finding the recipe there. But only Maester Luwin would be able to call me out on it, and Ned wasn't likely to ask him about it. "It turns out, the wood ash I was using to make soap can be used in place of the soda ash that the Myrish glassmakers use."
"Cat, do you know how many Houses in the North will bend over backwards to get their hands on glass?"
"All of them," I replied. "And, as soon as I get the first two glasshouses built here in Winterfell, I'll start offering to sell the glass to the other Northern houses at prices the Myrish will never be able to match."
"Oh Cat," he said, eyes suspiciously wet. "You've already managed to feed the entirety of the North; now you offer us glasshouses as well? You... you truly were a gift from the Old Gods..."
"Ned..." I murmured, both taken aback and deeply flattered by his compliment.
Just like the last time I'd made a major contribution to Northern agriculture, Ned closed the distance between us, pulled me close, and kissed me. This time, though, I was far more welcoming of his affections. And if the guards outside the glasshouses had to avert their gaze for a while, well, I'm sure they'd find something to keep themselves occupied with.
"Who comes before the Old Gods!" Ned called out to the assembled crowd from his spot just in front of the Weirwood heart tree. He was dressed in his finest tunic, doublet, trousers, boots, and cloak. He held Ice's handle between his hands with the tip resting in the soil at his feet.
Benjen stood in front and to the side of him, also dressed in his finest. A white cloak with the gray Stark direwolf was draped across his shoulders.
However, all eyes had turned to the sight of Dacey Mormont. She was resplendent in her white dress, and a fine silk veil partially obscured her face. In deference to the traditions of the Mormonts, though, even in her wedding gown she wore a belt with her mace hanging from a loop. Also, even though Jorah was her head of house, given the political aspects of the marriage, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was the one presenting her.
"Dacey, of the House Mormont, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble," he called out, his commanding voice ringing through the Godswood. "She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"
"Benjen, of the House Stark, claims her," Benjen replied, stepping forward. "Who gives her?"
"Jeor, of House Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, her uncle," he replied, following the ancient traditions.
"Lady Dacey, do you take this man?" Ned demanded.
"I take this man," she replied, her voice calm and clear.
"Then kneel before the Old Gods," Ned commanded.
Dacey took the final few steps until she was at Benjen's side. They clasped hands, knelt in the soil between the roots of the Weirwood tree, and bowed their heads. Everyone in attendance bowed their heads and gave a brief prayer.
After a moment of silence, Ned commanded, "Rise, and drape this woman in the cloak of her new house."
Dacey unclasped her cloak bearing the Mormont's colors and sigil, and Benjen replaced it with one bearing the white and gray of the Starks.
"These two have wed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the eyes of man," Ned declared. "Let none contest this union."
"Aye, or Lady Dacey will show them how well she can use that mace!" Greatjon heckled from the crowd, breaking the solemn atmosphere and startling more than a few chuckles from the crowd.
"Then if you want to have any teeth before the feast," Dacey called back good-naturedly, "I suggest you shut your gob, Umber!"