Chapter 136: The Kingsroad Inn
The Stag and Lantern stood a short distance from the Kingsroad, where two smaller trade paths met before continuing north toward the Neck.
It was not a famous inn.
No great battle had taken place within its walls. No king had ever been born beneath its roof. No song had been written about its ale, though the owner frequently claimed otherwise.
Yet that evening, every table was occupied.
The royal procession had passed through the region earlier that day, turning the normally quiet road into a river of soldiers, servants, wagons, merchants, knights, and curious villagers.
Many travelers had been forced to wait until the procession passed.
Others had followed behind it, hoping to profit from the enormous demand created wherever the royal court traveled.
By nightfall, the inn was filled beyond capacity.
Merchants sat beside hedge knights.
Farmers shared benches with sailors.
Royal soldiers drank beside men who had spent the entire afternoon complaining that the king's wagons had blocked the road.
Wet cloaks hung near the fire. Mud covered the floor. The air smelled of roasted onions, horse sweat, smoke, spilled ale, and stew thick enough to stand a spoon upright.
Behind the counter, the innkeeper shouted orders at his two exhausted daughters.
"Three bowls to the corner table!"
"We already sent three!"
"Then send three more!"
"They only ordered three!"
"They'll eat six once they smell them!"
At a table near the hearth, three merchants sat around a half-empty jug of ale.
One was a thin wool trader named Harbert, whose narrow face seemed permanently offended by prices.
Beside him sat Olyvar, a broad-bellied merchant dealing in pottery, lamps, and household goods.
The third was a younger man named Renn, who had returned from White Harbor only weeks earlier.
Harbert stared suspiciously at Renn.
"You expect us to believe you made more coin in White Harbor than in Gulltown?"
Renn lifted his cup.
"I did not ask you to believe me."
"You said it loudly enough for half the inn to hear."
"That is because the other half is too drunk to understand."
Olyvar laughed.
Harbert leaned closer.
"What did you sell?"
"Oil lamps."
Harbert blinked.
"Oil lamps?"
"And glass cups. Metal hooks. Two wagons of southern spices."
"To northerners?"
Renn nodded.
"Very observant."
Harbert looked unconvinced.
"The North has lamps."
"They do."
"Then why buy yours?"
"Because White Harbor has more people with coin than it did last year."
Olyvar took another drink.
"That part is true."
Harbert looked toward him.
"You have been there?"
"No, but my cousin trades salt fish along the eastern coast. Says the harbor is changing."
"Changing how?"
Olyvar shrugged.
"More ships."
"That is what harbors are for."
"More merchants."
"That is what merchants do."
"More warehouses."
Harbert frowned.
Renn smiled.
"More buyers."
That silenced him briefly.
Renn tore a piece of bread and dipped it into the shared bowl of stew.
"White Harbor used to feel like the last proper city before the world turned into snow and wolves."
"Still does," Harbert muttered.
"No."
Renn shook his head.
"Now it feels like the first city on a new road."
Olyvar leaned forward.
"What road?"
"A trade road."
"To where?"
Renn smiled into his cup.
"That is the question everyone asks."
"Winter's Heaven," Harbert said.
Several nearby men glanced toward their table at the name.
Renn noticed.
"Speak that name loudly in any tavern, and suddenly every man becomes a scholar."
Harbert lowered his voice slightly.
"You dealt with their merchants?"
"Not directly."
"Then who bought your goods?"
"White Harbor traders."
"Using whose gold?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"It did not matter when they paid me."
Olyvar laughed again.
Harbert scowled.
"You always were careless."
"And you always returned home with unsold wool because you argued over every copper."
"Profit is made by careful bargaining."
"Profit is made by selling."
The two stared at one another.
Olyvar lifted both hands.
"Before you duel with ledgers, tell me about the cement."
Renn looked toward him.
"What about it?"
"Is it truly harder than stone?"
"No."
Harbert smiled triumphantly.
"I knew it."
"It becomes stone."
Harbert's smile faded.
Renn continued eating.
"They mix grey powder with sand, gravel, and water. At first it looks like thick mud. Then it hardens."
"How long?"
"I do not know."
"You watched them?"
"I watched men pour part of a warehouse floor."
"And?"
"I returned three days later. Wagons were rolling across it."
Olyvar whistled softly.
Harbert remained doubtful.
"Wooden floors work."
"Wood burns."
"Stone works."
"Stone takes longer to shape."
Harbert folded his arms.
"Everything sounds wonderful when merchants are trying to raise prices."
Renn laughed.
"You think I am selling cement?"
"Aren't you?"
"No. I tried to buy some."
Olyvar raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"
"A storage yard near Maidenpool."
"And?"
"The White Harbor merchants refused."
"Why?"
"Too many orders already."
Harbert's eyes narrowed.
"So demand is higher than supply."
"Yes."
"And you still say White Harbor has changed?"
Renn stared at him.
"That is exactly why I say it has changed."
At the next table, two hedge knights had been listening.
One was an older man with a crooked nose and a faded blue cloak. The other was young enough that the scratches on his shield looked carefully added rather than earned.
The younger knight turned around.
"Do they hire swords?"
Renn looked toward him.
"Who?"
"The merchants from Winter's Heaven."
"I would not know."
The older knight snorted.
"They do not need hedge knights."
"How do you know?"
"I saw their soldiers."
The younger man's eyes widened.
"At White Harbor?"
The older knight nodded.
The conversation at several tables grew quieter.
The man lifted his cup and drank slowly, enjoying the sudden attention.
Harbert turned in his seat.
"You were there?"
"I was."
"When the great ship arrived?"
"Yes."
"You saw the giants?"
"Yes."
"How tall?"
The knight pointed toward the ceiling.
"Taller than this inn."
A farmer laughed.
"That means little. My barn is taller than this inn."
The knight glared.
"Then taller than your barn."
"You have never seen my barn."
"I do not need to."
Renn smiled.
"What impressed you most?"
The older knight considered.
"The soldiers."
"Not the ship?" someone asked.
"The ship was too large to understand."
"Not the giants?"
"Giants are large men."
A sailor near the bar shouted:
"Tell one that to his face!"
The room laughed.
The hedge knight continued.
"The soldiers moved together. No pushing. No shouting. No wandering from formation to chase tavern girls."
Several royal soldiers nearby looked offended.
The knight ignored them.
"Ten thousand men came ashore, and they made less disorder than fifty sellswords entering an alehouse."
The younger hedge knight leaned closer.
"Did you see them fight?"
"Some."
"How good?"
"Better than you."
The young man frowned.
"You have never seen me fight."
"I have seen you hold a spoon."
Laughter erupted from the surrounding tables.
The young knight flushed.
"I heard one of their men could defeat ten knights."
"I heard one could defeat twenty," a farmer added.
"I heard their king defeated thirty alone," another man said.
The older hedge knight shook his head.
"I saw no king fight."
"But did you see him?"
"Yes."
"What was he like?"
The knight took another drink.
"Young."
"How young?"
"Fourteen, perhaps."
Harbert laughed.
"A child."
The knight's gaze shifted toward him.
"No."
The laughter died.
"He looked young," the man said. "He did not feel like a child."
"What does that mean?" Olyvar asked.
"It means every man near him watched him before moving."
"Fear?"
"No."
"Then what?"
The hedge knight thought for a moment.
"Certainty."
The word lingered.
The younger knight asked:
"Did he pay his men well?"
The older man looked at him.
"That is what interests you?"
"Giants do not buy horseshoes. Soldiers do."
Renn laughed.
The knight shrugged.
"I heard workers at the docks were paid extra for unloading their cargo."
"By Lord Manderly?"
"By Winter's Heaven."
"How much?"
"Enough that half the dockworkers wanted the Titan to remain forever."
The younger hedge knight nodded approvingly.
"A king who pays on time may be worth serving."
The older man snorted.
"You would swear loyalty to a goat if it offered silver."
"A goat that pays on time is more honorable than many lords."
Several men raised their cups to that.
Near the bar, a thick-bearded sailor had finally grown tired of listening.
"You lot talk as though the ship was merely large."
Every head turned toward him.
His face was red from ale, but his eyes remained steady.
"You saw it?" someone asked.
The sailor laughed without humor.
"I saw the horizon disappear."
Harbert rolled his eyes.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The drunken sailor's tale."
"I had not been drinking."
"You are drinking now."
"Because I saw it."
The innkeeper placed another cup before him.
The sailor pointed toward it.
"This man understands mercy."
The innkeeper held out his hand.
The sailor sighed and paid.
Then he turned toward the room.
"We were fishing east of White Harbor when the fog came."
"What fog?"
"Sea fog."
"Very mysterious," Harbert muttered.
The sailor ignored him.
"At first we thought a cliff had appeared."
"A cliff?"
"Dark. Wide. No end in sight."
"You thought a cliff appeared in the sea?"
"We were confused."
"You were drunk."
"I will throw you into the fire."
Harbert raised his hands.
"Continue."
The sailor took a drink.
"Then we heard it."
"What?"
"A deep sound beneath the water."
The room grew quieter.
"Like thunder," he said. "But steady. Rhythmic."
"The engines," Renn said.
The sailor looked toward him.
"That is what they called them."
"What happened next?"
"The fog opened."
He paused.
"The cliff moved."
A few men laughed nervously.
The sailor did not.
"Our fishing boat was nothing beside it. Less than nothing. A splinter floating beside a castle wall."
"How high was it?"
"High enough that men on the upper decks looked like insects."
"And the length?"
"I could not see the end."
"You expect us to believe that?"
"No."
The sailor lifted his cup.
"Belief changes nothing."
That answer silenced even Harbert.
The sailor continued.
"It passed us without slowing. The wake nearly overturned our boat from leagues away."
"Did you follow it?"
The man's face changed.
"Not after seeing what happened to those who tried."
The inn became very still.
"What happened?"
"Several ships followed when it left White Harbor."
"We know."
"Most vanished."
"Storms," someone said.
"Yes."
The sailor nodded.
"Storms larger than anything I had seen."
"You think the ship summoned them?"
"I think men should not follow vessels that clearly do not want to be followed."
Harbert leaned back.
"That is superstition."
"Superstition keeps sailors alive."
A royal soldier near the door laughed.
"So does knowing when to turn around."
The sailor pointed at him.
"A wise soldier."
The man raised his cup.
The room relaxed again.
Conversation returned in waves.
Men argued about the ship's size.
Others debated whether giants could swim.
Someone claimed Winter's Heaven used sea monsters to pull the Titan.
The sailor threatened to strike him with a stool.
Before the argument could become physical, the inn's door opened.
Cold air rushed inside.
A man in a heavy northern cloak entered, followed by two guards carrying travel packs.
Snow had dried into white crusts along the edges of his boots.
The room quieted slightly.
The newcomer removed his gloves.
The innkeeper approached.
"Food?"
"Yes."
"Drink?"
"Something warm."
"Room?"
"If you have one."
"I have floor."
"That will do."
The northern man sat at an empty place near Renn's table.
Harbert looked at the white harbor stitched upon the clasp of his cloak.
"Manderly man?"
The newcomer glanced toward him.
"Merchant."
"From White Harbor?"
"Yes."
Half the nearby tables immediately began listening.
The man noticed.
He sighed.
"Ask."
Harbert blinked.
"What?"
"You all want to ask something. Ask before my food comes."
Olyvar leaned forward.
"Did you see the giants?"
The merchant closed his eyes.
"Everywhere I go."
"What?"
"Giants. Always giants."
The room laughed.
The northern merchant rubbed his face.
"You people keep asking about giants."
"They are giants," the younger hedge knight said.
"Yes. Very large. Very armored. Very difficult to ignore."
"Then why are you annoyed?"
"Because the giants are not the miracle."
That drew silence.
Renn smiled.
"What is?"
The merchant looked around the crowded inn.
"Grain."
Several men groaned.
The sailor laughed.
Harbert leaned closer.
"Grain?"
"Yes."
"We have grain."
"Not enough in the North."
"You purchased from the Reach."
"At whatever price they demanded."
Mace Tyrell's merchants were not present to defend themselves.
The northern man continued.
"Every autumn, northern lords counted sacks. Every winter, smallfolk wondered whether the stores would last."
"And now?"
"Now the warehouses in White Harbor are full."
"From one shipment?"
"Several shipments and new agreements."
"How cheap?"
"Cheap enough that merchants complain and smallfolk smile."
Harbert frowned.
"Merchants are important."
"So are smallfolk."
"What happens when prices fall too far?"
The northern merchant looked at him with greater interest.
"Finally, a useful question."
Harbert sat straighter.
The man accepted a bowl of stew from the innkeeper before continuing.
"Prices are being controlled carefully. Too low, and northern farmers suffer. Too high, and families go hungry."
"Who controls them?"
"Lord Manderly's men negotiate with Winter's Heaven."
"And King Jon?"
The merchant began eating.
"I have never spoken with him."
"You have seen him?"
"At White Harbor."
"Handsome?" a serving girl called from behind the counter.
The room erupted with laughter.
The merchant looked toward her.
"Too young for you."
She placed one hand upon her hip.
"That was not the question."
He shook his head.
"Yes."
The girl smiled triumphantly.
The merchant returned to his stew.
"But the grain matters more."
"Not to her," the innkeeper muttered.
The northern man ignored him.
"Food prices have steadied. More laborers are finding work at the docks. New warehouses are being built. Roads near the city are being repaired with cement."
Renn nodded.
"I saw the construction."
"More traders arrive every week."
"From where?"
"Gulltown. Braavos. Maidenpool. Even a few from Oldtown."
Harbert looked doubtful.
"All because of grain?"
"No."
The merchant counted with his spoon.
"Tools. Preserved foods. Timber. Cement. Metal goods. Livestock trade."
"Any weapons?"
"None sold publicly."
The older hedge knight nodded slowly.
"Wise."
The merchant looked toward him.
"Very."
Olyvar asked:
"Can anyone travel to Winter's Heaven?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because no one knows where it is."
"Surely the Manderlys know."
"They know ships carried twenty envoys there and returned them."
"What direction?"
"Sea."
The room laughed.
The merchant shrugged.
"That is all most people know."
"Did the envoys describe it?"
"Yes."
"Glowing suns?"
"They described lights inside glass."
"Iron beasts?"
"Trains."
"Giants living in houses?"
"Yes."
"Schools for common children?"
"Yes."
"Hospitals cleaner than castles?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe all that?"
The merchant took another mouthful.
"I believe Ser Marlon."
"Why?"
"He is not a man given to drink or fantasy."
"Perhaps they bewitched him."
"Perhaps."
"You do not sound concerned."
"If they possess magic powerful enough to turn twenty sensible men into convincing liars, worrying will not help."
The room laughed again.
A farmer from the corner table lifted his cup.
"What does all this mean for people like us?"
The merchant looked toward him.
"What do you grow?"
"Barley."
"Then very little, for now."
"For now?"
"Trade spreads."
The farmer frowned.
The merchant explained.
"More northern grain remains in the North. Southern grain prices change. Merchants seek new markets. Shipping routes shift. One good sold in White Harbor affects another sold in Maidenpool."
Harbert nodded reluctantly.
"That is true."
The farmer looked dissatisfied.
"So kings and merchants become rich."
"Sometimes."
"And us?"
The merchant looked at him.
"If food becomes cheaper, your children eat."
"And if my barley sells for less?"
"You earn less."
The farmer spread his hands.
"Then which is good?"
"Depends whether you are buying food or selling it."
"That is a poor answer."
"It is an honest one."
The room quieted slightly.
The merchant returned to his meal.
At another table, several men had begun discussing the royal procession.
One wore the badge of a minor Riverlands house.
"The king is already three days behind schedule."
"Because of the wheelhouse," someone replied.
"Because half the court packed as though moving to the Wall permanently."
"Why is he going north?"
"To see Stark."
"To name him Hand."
"That has not been announced."
"It does not need to be."
"Why Ned Stark?"
"Because Jon Arryn is dead."
The words dampened the room's mood.
The old Hand's death had reached every village along the Kingsroad.
A potter shook his head.
"Good man, they say."
"Old man," another answered.
"He kept peace."
"Kings keep peace."
The northern merchant laughed softly.
Everyone looked toward him.
"What?"
He wiped his mouth.
"Kings receive praise for peace. Hands usually do the work."
The royal soldier near the door frowned.
"Careful."
The merchant lifted his hands.
"No insult intended."
Harbert looked toward the soldier.
"Do you know why the Hand died?"
"Age."
"So the maesters say."
The sailor snorted.
"Maesters say many things."
A hush followed.
The innkeeper looked toward the door as though expecting Gold Cloaks to enter.
The royal soldier drank slowly.
"Do not speak treason beneath the king's road."
"No treason," the sailor said. "Only questions."
"Questions become accusations after enough ale."
"Then buy me water."
The soldier laughed despite himself.
The tension eased.
The younger hedge knight looked around.
"What happens when Stark becomes Hand?"
"Taxes," someone said.
"War," said another.
"Less corruption," a northern trader offered.
"More executions," the sailor added.
Harbert looked toward him.
"Why executions?"
"Honorable men enjoy removing dishonest heads."
"That is not honor."
"It is when the head belongs to someone else."
The inn filled with laughter again.
Hours passed.
Bowls emptied.
Cups were refilled.
Some travelers left for whatever sleeping space remained in the stables. Others lowered their heads upon tables.
The royal soldiers departed before midnight, ordered back to their camp.
The older hedge knight slept upright against the wall.
Tommen and Joffrey existed only in rumors among the travelers, their procession already becoming larger in every retelling.
Near the fading fire, Renn, Harbert, Olyvar, the northern merchant, and the sailor remained awake.
The inn had finally grown quiet enough for individual logs in the hearth to be heard breaking apart.
Harbert looked into his cup.
"Funny world."
Olyvar yawned.
"How so?"
Harbert counted upon his fingers.
"The Hand is dead."
No one laughed.
"The king rides north."
The sailor nodded.
"The richest lords in Westeros are studying grain prices."
Renn smiled.
"And?"
Harbert looked toward the northern merchant.
"All I care about is whether the next shipment arrives before I invest in another wagon."
The sailor laughed quietly.
The northern merchant did not.
"That is because grain matters more than kings when your children are hungry."
The words silenced the table.
Even Harbert did not argue.
Outside, the Kingsroad stretched through the darkness.
Somewhere ahead, Robert Baratheon rode toward Winterfell.
In castles far away, lions and roses studied reports, calculated losses, and prepared their next moves.
Beyond the Wall, a young king continued ruling a kingdom none of the men inside the inn had ever seen.
But inside the Stag and Lantern, none of that seemed as important as tomorrow's meal, next season's prices, and whether honest work would keep a family fed.
Kingdoms rose through battles.
Thrones changed hands through blood.
Yet for most men and women, history was measured differently.
By the weight of a grain sack.
By the price of bread.
And by whether the road ahead offered work.
The fire faded.
The conversations ended.
But the changes they discussed continued moving quietly across Westeros, carried not by ravens or royal commands...
But by merchants, wagons, ships, and ordinary people searching for a better price.
End Chapter 136
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Author's Note
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