Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 51 (Patreon)

As the Tyrell party crossed into the true North, they were met with a sight they had not anticipated. The road beneath their feet was wide and well-maintained, a clear sign of careful management. But what caught their attention most was the landscape itself—fields stretched out in every direction, the horizon painted with the vibrant green of rice paddies as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of smallfolk worked diligently in the fields, their hands skillfully tending to the crops that seemed to thrive in the cool Northern air. The sight of rice paddies in a place so far north was surprising, and the industriousness of the people even more so.

Margaery, her brow furrowed in curiosity, leaned over to whisper to her grandmother, Lady Olenna. “I never imagined the North to be so… fertile.Farming here, of all places?”

Lady Olenna, always sharp-eyed and quick-witted, narrowed her gaze at the bustling workers. “It seems young Jon Frost has brought more than just fear to these people. There's order and prosperity here, much to my surprise.”

As they traveled further, they noticed something else. Alongside the fields, groups of soldiers patrolled the roads at regular intervals. They were well-armed and disciplined, wearing the dark colors of Jon Frost’s household. The sight of such order should have made the Tyrells uneasy—after all, this was the land of a man known for his brutal punishments—but instead, they saw something unexpected.

The smallfolk did not shy away from the patrolling troops. They greeted the soldiers with nods and smiles, even offering them water and food from the fields. The soldiers, in turn, showed respect to the people, making no threats or harsh demands. The atmosphere was one of mutual understanding and peace, far from the terror the Tyrells had expected.

Robb Stark, riding at the front of the party, was greeted warmly by nearly every villager they passed. Children waved at him excitedly, and the adults bowed their heads with respect. It was clear that Robb was a familiar and well-loved figure in these lands.

Mace Tyrell, who had remained skeptical of Jon Frost's rule, was the first to break the silence. “I expected the people to be cowed, living in fear under a man who uses such harsh methods to maintain order,” he admitted, glancing at the smiling faces of the workers. “But they seem… content.”

“They are,” Robb replied, his voice calm and assured. “Jon may be harsh when it comes to punishment, but he is also fair. He protects his people and ensures they prosper. They have enough food, work, and safety—things that many other lords in the Seven Kingdoms fail to provide.”

Samwell Tarly, riding beside Garlan Tyrell, added his own thoughts. “The North has always been a place of hardship, but Jon has brought innovation here. These rice paddies, for instance—they were his idea. He found a way to irrigate the lands and grow crops that would feed the people through the long winters. It’s why they respect him.”

Garlan nodded thoughtfully, looking out over the fields. “It’s remarkable. And the soldiers—they’re not here to oppress, but to protect. There’s a difference.”

As the party continued northward, they passed more small villages and trading posts. At each stop, the reaction was the same—people working contentedly, soldiers on guard, and villagers eager to greet Robb Stark with warmth and affection. The stark contrast between what they had imagined and what they saw left the Tyrells somewhat perplexed. There was no sign of rebellion or unrest, only the peaceful hum of a land that was thriving under Jon Frost’s rule.

Margaery, still trying to reconcile the stories of Jon Frost’s brutality with the happiness of his people, turned to Robb. “How does he do it? How can a man known for such harshness inspire this kind of loyalty?”

Robb smiled faintly, his eyes fixed on the distant mountains. “Jon cares for his people. He believes in making the North stronger, and he gives them what they need to survive the harsh winters. He protects them from outside threats, and they know he’ll always keep his word. That’s why they follow him.”

Lady Olenna, never one to be easily impressed, gave a rare nod of approval. “It seems Jon Frost is not just a brute, then. He has the wisdom to know that a content people are a loyal people. That, more than anything, makes him a dangerous man.”

The Tyrells fell silent as they continued their journey, each lost in their own thoughts. The North, with its stark beauty and brutal justice, was nothing like they had expected. And as they drew closer to Frostmore, they began to realize that Jon Frost was a far more complicated and formidable figure than they had ever imagined.

The journey northward had not just shown them the land—it had shown them the true strength of Jon Frost’s rule. A strength built not just on fear, but on prosperity, protection, and the loyalty of a people who trusted their leader with their lives.

After a long and tiresome journey, the Tyrell party finally arrived at the gates of Frostmore, the city they had heard so much about. What met their eyes was nothing short of astounding. A massive city stretched before them, one that had seemingly sprung up in record time. The architecture was strikingly different from anything they had seen in the Reach. Every street was paved with carefully laid bricks, and the houses—uniform yet elegant—were all constructed from the same sturdy material. Unlike many other cities in Westeros, where streets were cramped and disorderly, Frostmore was meticulously organized. There were designated footpaths for pedestrians, wide roads for carriages, and even alleyways for quick access between buildings.

Margaery, who had been riding at the front of the party, couldn’t help but marvel at the city’s layout. “It’s as if the entire place was designed by someone who knew exactly how to build a city from the ground up,” she said, her voice filled with admiration.

“Jon Frost’s doing, no doubt,” Robb replied with a faint smile. “He’s always had a mind for planning. And much of the building materials—those bricks—came from Moat Cailin. They’ve been producing them for years now.”

The gates of the city opened easily for them, especially with Robb Stark leading the way. The guards at the entrance, who were all well-armored and disciplined, greeted Robb with the same respect and warmth that they had seen throughout their journey. The Tyrells were allowed into the city without any delay, and as they passed through the gates, they were met with the bustling activity of Frostmore.

Frostmore was unlike anything the Tyrells had expected to find in the North. There were no signs of poverty or neglect. In fact, there wasn’t a single beggar on the streets. People moved about with purpose, from merchants hawking their goods in the marketplace to townsfolk walking along the clean, brick-lined footpaths. The market was a thriving hub of activity, filled with goods from all corners of the world. Margaery gasped as she saw rare fabrics from Yi Ti, shimmering silks and delicate embroidery that she had never thought she would find so far north.

“This city is a wonder,” Mace Tyrell admitted, his voice tinged with awe as they made their way through the busy streets. “How could they have built something like this in such a short time?”

“Jon has always had a way of getting things done quickly,” Robb replied. “He knows how to inspire loyalty and hard work. The people here believe in him, and they’ve built this city from the ground up, brick by brick.”

The party decided to stay in Frostmore for the night, as the Tyrells were exhausted from their long journey. Robb made his way to the Mayor’s office, where Voran, the head of the city council, was waiting for them. Voran was an older man with sharp features, and he greeted Robb with a respectful bow before informing him that Jon had already left for Winterfell to attend the Harvest Festival.

The Tyrells, eager for rest and comfort, made the decision to stay an extra day in the city before continuing on to Winterfell. As they settled into their accommodations, they found that Frostmore was not only secure, but also beautiful. The streets were clean, the people well-dressed and happy, and trade goods from across the world were available in the market. Even goods from the far-off Empire of Yi Ti were being sold—items that were both exotic and rare in the Seven Kingdoms.

Margaery, who had developed a taste for fine clothing and luxury, couldn’t resist the allure of Frostmore’s market. She purchased several outfits, all of them made from thick, stylish fabrics designed specifically for the Northern climate. The clothes were both warm and elegant, a combination she had never seen before. As the chill of the North grew more intense with each mile they traveled, she was thankful for the opportunity to buy such practical yet fashionable garments.

“I never thought I’d find such fine clothes in the North,” Margaery said, inspecting a luxurious fur-lined cloak she had just bought. “It’s almost as if they were made for the Reach, but with the cold of the North in mind.”

Olenna Tyrell, always shrewd, looked around the bustling marketplace with a calculating eye. “There’s more wealth here than we anticipated,” she said quietly. “Jon Frost has not only built a city—he’s built a thriving economy. The North is not what it once was.”

As the day came to an end, the Tyrells retired to their quarters, impressed by the city and the strength of Jon Frost’s leadership. Margaery, who had initially come to the North with low expectations, found herself increasingly intrigued by what she had seen. The North was no longer a cold, desolate land ruled by harsh winters and harsher lords—it was a place of order, prosperity, and power.

As the Tyrell party continued their journey along the King's Road, Robb Stark was deep in thought. He had hoped to visit Moat Cailin, where he had made friendships with some of the warriors stationed there, but Jon Frost's instructions had been clear: only the most trusted individuals were allowed within the walls of Moat Cailin. Even many of the North's own lords had no idea of the fortress's full scope or its secrets. Moat Cailin was more than just a military stronghold; it was the foundation of Jon’s power in the North, a place steeped in history and carefully guarded from outsiders.

Still, as they passed Moat Cailin in the distance, the Tyrells couldn’t help but be awed by its sheer size and imposing structure. Though they saw it only from afar, the fort dominated the landscape, a towering symbol of strength and authority. Mace Tyrell, in particular, looked impressed as the shadow of the great fort loomed behind them.

“That’s quite the sight,” Mace muttered, his voice tinged with admiration. “I’ve heard stories, but they don’t do it justice.”

Robb nodded. “Moat Cailin has stood as a shield to the North for thousands of years. Few have ever breached it, and even fewer leave alive.”

Olenna, ever the strategist, raised an eyebrow. “And Jon Frost commands this fortress, I presume? It’s quite the asset.”

“Yes,” Robb replied. “Jon has turned Moat Cailin into more than a military post. It's central to trade, defense, and our alliances. From here, he can control much of the North.”

As they moved further along the road, the Tyrell party noticed something that caught their attention—the seemingly endless expanse of rice paddies stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was a surprise to see such agricultural abundance in the North, a region known for its harsh winters and unforgiving climate. Farmers worked the fields, soldiers patrolled in regular intervals, and small village centers were scattered across the landscape. Every so often, the group passed a road branching off from the King's Road, connecting to ports, farms, and other critical areas.

Robb explained the various routes as they rode. “That road leads to White Harbor, our largest port and a major hub of trade. And over there, those roads connect to fishing villages and other key settlements along the coast. Jon’s been overseeing the construction of roads that link all parts of the North. It’s been a massive undertaking.”

Olenna, always quick to understand the larger picture, nodded thoughtfully. “He’s making the North into more than just a defensive region. It’s becoming a power in its own right. A wise strategy.”

“Yes,” Robb agreed. “With these roads, trade and communication have improved significantly. It’s allowed us to move goods and troops much more efficiently.”

As they continued their journey toward Winterfell, the Tyrells could feel the temperature steadily dropping. The further north they traveled, the colder the air became. Even wrapped in their newly purchased Northern garments, they couldn’t fully escape the biting chill. Still, the prospect of the Harvest Festival in Winterfell buoyed their spirits. The festival would be the perfect opportunity for them to meet many of the Northern lords and, hopefully, strike the trade deals they were seeking.

Mace Tyrell’s mind was focused on his primary goal—convincing the Northern lords to buy grain from the Reach. The Tyrells were wealthy, but even they could benefit from expanding their markets, and the North’s growing population and Jon Frost’s influence made it an ideal opportunity. Olenna, ever the political tactician, knew the importance of subtlety in such matters. The North was not like the Reach or the South, where politics was a game to be played in courts and palaces. Here, people valued honesty, strength, and loyalty above all else.

As they neared Winterfell, Olenna leaned closer to Margaery and spoke in a low, calculated tone. “Robb Stark may be out of reach, dear. He’s already betrothed to that Karstark girl, and it’s clear he won’t be swayed. But Jon Frost... he’s a different matter. He’s unmarried, and from what I’ve heard, he holds significant sway over the North.”

Margaery glanced at her grandmother, already knowing where this conversation was heading.

“Lord Frost may be more pragmatic than Robb,” Olenna continued. “He’s built this power base from nothing, and he’s not blind to the advantages of a good alliance. If you can capture his attention, it could open many doors for us. We need him on our side, and sometimes men need a bit of... encouragement to make the right choice.”

Margaery smiled knowingly. “You want me to charm him.”

“Charm him, yes,” Olenna agreed. “But be subtle. Jon is not a fool. He’s a man of the North, and that means he values loyalty, strength, and integrity. You can’t sway him with mere flattery. But you’re beautiful, smart, and if anyone can win him over, it’s you.”

Margaery considered her grandmother’s words. She had always been able to use her beauty and wit to influence powerful men. But Jon Frost was different. From what she had heard, he was more like a king than a mere lord—a ruler with the loyalty of his people and a mind sharp enough to navigate the complexities of Northern politics.

Still, Margaery was confident in her abilities. If Jon Frost was the key to securing their place in the North and ensuring the Tyrells' success, she would find a way to win him over. After all, she had always been adept at playing the game of thrones, and Jon Frost, for all his power, was still just a man.

As they approached Winterfell, the towering walls of the ancient fortress came into view. The Harvest Festival would be in full swing, and soon, Margaery would have her chance to meet Jon Frost face to face.