Game of Thrones: The Stark Shard

Author's Note:

Sorry for this, but I needed most readers to see this message, which is why I'm writing it at the top. I'll be honest with all of you—I never expected this fanfic to grow the way it has. I would never have believed it if someone had told me my first fanfic would surpass 1000 collections. Thank you all sincerely for that.

Now, onto the not-so-good news... I've come to realize that writing my first fanfic about Game of Thrones wasn't the best idea. I love the series, but I'm no expert, and to be honest, each chapter is a challenge for me. I need to keep the wiki open to fact-check numerous details, and it takes me a minimum of 3 hours to write, usually more to edit, and post each chapter.

It's starting to feel like a chore, which isn't fair to you or to me. Recognizing this, I've decided that in order to avoid posting subpar chapters (at least in my opinion—some may think they're terrible, but oh well), I need to plan more thoroughly before writing.

I'll be reducing my posting frequency from 7 chapters a week to 5. I'm truly sorry about this, but I don't think I can maintain the quality if I continue at the current pace. Therefore, starting today, I'll be posting chapters from Monday to Friday and taking the weekends off to plan and research for each chapter.

If any of you decide to stop following because of this change, I understand, but I believe it's for the best. I hope you all understand and continue to enjoy the story.

Now with the chapter.

King's Landing

At the small council table, the most influential figures of Westeros gathered to discuss the events unfolding across the Seven Kingdoms.

"My lords, let us begin with the matters at hand. My little birds have informed me of unrest in the Riverlands, particularly among the smallfolk. Ser Barristan, any reports from your patrols?" Varys, the Master of Whisperers, inquired of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"Aye, my lord. The smallfolk are discontent; they speak of rising banditry, especially since many groups are migrating from the North to escape the so-called purge. Lord Tully's men have been vigilant, but the situation grows dire," Ser Barristan replied.

"Oh yes, the purge of the North. Such a marvelous happening," sneered Petyr Baelish.

It had been a year since the purge began in the North; House Stark had initiated a campaign to eliminate any bandit or lawbreaker within their borders. The name "the Ghost of the North" had gained popularity among the smallfolk, who wished for similar peacekeepers in other kingdoms.

Over sixty bandit groups had been brought to justice by Robb Stark and his companions alone, prompting other lords to increase patrols in their lands to win favor with their peasants and the House Stark.

"Such a promising youth, that Robb Stark," commented Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws, with a smile.

"Indeed, he has catalyzed revolutionary change in the kingdom, though his haste may bring unintended consequences. Actions have repercussions, and perhaps he did not foresee the unrest it would sow in other kingdoms," Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, remarked with a shake of his head.

"They don't deserve any better. Ironically, an eleven-year-old started what we should have done long ago. If only Robert had maintained that same vigor after the rebellion. He doesn't even attend these meetings anymore," Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships and the King's younger brother, grumbled.

"Do not speak ill of your King, Lord Stannis," Jon Arryn retorted sharply.

"He brought much-needed change and deserves respect for his actions."

"Yes, he did well in the rebellion, but he is King now and should act accordingly," Renly added, shaking his head.

Jon Arryn huffed in frustration, choosing to drop the topic.

An awkward silence settled over the meeting until Petyr Baelish resumed,

"Besides that, unrest often follows a long summer, my lords. We must ensure the granaries are stocked and inspect the treasury. We cannot afford another economic crisis, especially with our debts to the Iron Bank and the Lannisters."

"How much debt exactly, Lord Baelish?" inquired Lord Stannis.

"Two million gold dragons to the Braavosi bank, my lords, and one million to the Lannisters, who have been quite accommodating with their interest terms, thanks partly to our Queen," Baelish replied.

"And what are the plans to settle this debt, Lord Baelish?" asked Grand Maester Pycelle. "Should we not prioritize repayment to the Lannisters, who have been steadfast supporters of the realm?"

The assembled lords rolled their eyes at Pycelle's customary favoritism towards the Lannisters.

"I have plans, my lord, but they need to be kept secret for the moment," replied Lord Baelish.

"And what about the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea?" Renly inquired.

"No new reports, Lord Renly. Viserys Targaryen and his sister remain exiled in Essos, still wandering. Our focus should be nearer to home as they are no danger for the reign of Robbert. The economy remains fragile after the last tournament held for Prince Joffrey's name-day," Jon Arryn noted.

"We could consider raising taxes in the North temporarily to alleviate some concerns," Baelish suggested before adding with a smirk, "They have seen significant gains with their new vodka, and the Reach has been complaining about declining food purchases from the North. It seems they've found a new means to feed their people, and it shows no sign of stalling."

"That could be a strategy worth considering," Maester Pycelle concurred.

"Absolutely not! The North was a crucial ally in the rebellion; we could not have won without them. As for the Reach, they can bear their discomfort. Over the past three decades, the North endured years of overpriced food purchases without complaint. Now that they stand on their own feet, they suddenly balk? Send a letter to Lord Tyrell telling him to accept the situation," Jon Arryn retorted with a stern frown.

"This discussion is going nowhere. Let us adjourn the meeting here. We

will reconvene when necessary," Lord Arryn concluded.

The North

Since I began implementing my plans for improving the North last year, everything has proceeded smoothly, with only minor hiccups. Bandits attacking the vodka factories were swiftly dealt with as I rounded up their spies and presented them to my father for judgment—most were sent to the Wall.

My initiative to increase food production had the most significant impact and garnered admiration from my family and the smallfolk. Using modified insects as fertilizer, we tripled our crop yield, and my ability to control insects prevented crop-threatening pests.

With crop yields increasing threefold under my watch, rumors spread among the people that I was blessed by the Old Gods, attributing our flourishing harvests to their favor.

The introduction of vodka brought the most significant influx of gold to the North in a century. We focused on scaling up production and improving quality.

Initially, our hired hands experimented with different fruits and flavors, catering to various tastes, including lower-alcohol options for the ladies.

The spy issue was the most straightforward yet most time-consuming problem. Spies from the Middle Ages were often easy to identify, with their nervous behavior and cryptic messages hidden in hard-to-find places. Whenever I detected such behavior within my range, I tagged them with an insect and monitored them closely.

If they persisted, or if I saw someone retrieving the message, I would lead a group of guards to apprehend them, presenting the evidence to my father for judgment—either the Wall or the sword. This method uncovered spies from whores gossiping to loose-tongued guards for Littlefinger, children in orphanages working for Varys, and even guards paid by the Lannisters.

The restriction on vodka factories around Winterfell was due to the risk of the recipe falling into the wrong hands. Our family would lose substantial gold if competitors emerged, and many lords expressed interest.

However, this concern did not extend to the fertilizer, which no one could replicate.

After the northern banners arrive at Winterfell and we prepare to ride for the Dreadfort to confront House Bolton, I will propose collaborating with the other lords to root out all spies in their territories, starting from the closest to Winterfell and expanding outward. This would allow my family to share more about our successes, ensuring the North could flourish under our rule.

With this plan in motion, all that remained was to wait.

Six Weeks Later

With the last of the bannermen gathered—from the Karstarks and Manderlys to the Umbers of Last Hearth—every lord of the North, except the Boltons, assembled in Winterfell. We were ready to proceed with the case against the Boltons in absentia.

Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the council, gathering my thoughts and evidence, preparing to justify the decimation of House Bolton.

Observing the gathered lords, I addressed the assembly. "My lords, we are gathered here to address the crimes of House Bolton against the North. Their treachery and brutality cannot be ignored any longer."

Lord Manderly, a large man verging on overweight, was the first to speak. "What have they done, my lord? I know they are not liked among us, but do they truly deserve this?"

"Treachery of the highest order, my lords," I asserted firmly, hiding any nervousness about addressing the esteemed lords of the North. "They attempted to steal the knowledge of vodka-making to sell to the Redwynes or the Lannisters. Additionally, I have discovered that Lord Bolton and his bastard son continued their flaying practices, killing smallfolk within their territory."

Lord Hornwood continued. "Yes, my lords. When Lord Robb visited my lands during his last hunt, I informed him of rumors among the smallfolk seeking asylum in my domain out of fear for their lives at the Dreadfort."

"Indeed," Lord Stark interjected solemnly, cutting through the quiet in the chamber. "There can be no peace while House Bolton stands. We must gather our strength, rally our banners, and march on the Dreadfort. We will not rest until their castle lies in ruin and their name is naught but dust."

Cheers erupted from the gathered lords, agreements resounding through the hall.

With this, the fate of the House of Bolton was decided, and we would march the moment we were ready.