The morning broke clear but bitterly cold, the kind of sharp chill that seemed to cling to the bones no matter how many furs a man wore. The camp stirred early, smoke rising from cookfires as the workers prepared for their long day. Horses snorted clouds of steam, guards tightened their belts, and miners checked their picks and shovels. The mountains loomed above them, silent and watchful, as if daring the intruders to try and prise their secrets from stone.
The survey had begun.
At the base of the largest ridge, Omero crouched low over a stretched map of the terrain, his eyes narrowed. Beside him, Meiyun Dao and Yueru studied the parchment as well, their fingers tracing the ink lines that marked valleys, ridges, and rivers.
"The terrain here," Omero muttered, tapping the eastern flank of the first mountain, "is steep but not impassable. Hard ground, perhaps too hard for easy work. But hard stone sometimes guards great wealth."
Meiyun nodded. "The geography suggests fault lines running here, here, and here." She tapped three jagged lines. "If veins of ore exist, they will lie along these breaks. It will not be easy. Granite resists."
Yueru's voice was softer, thoughtful. "But where granite holds fast, strength is hidden. It is a test of endurance. We should mark it for thorough inspection."
Not far away, Corlys and Tomaso barked orders to the miners and smallfolk. Under their direction, wooden frames were raised, pulleys assembled, and workers began to chip at the softer outcroppings where Omero had pointed. Shovels scraped, picks rang against stone, and the sound of human determination filled the cold air.
Meanwhile, Shen Zhenwu stood with a small band of men near the river that poured down from the mountainside. He knelt by the bank, running a handful of wet gravel through his fingers, his dark eyes studying the colors of the stones. One of the younger workers asked him what he saw, but Shen only shook his head and continued testing, his mind weighing more than he revealed.
Others worked to establish the camp more securely. Guards and smallfolk together cut trees for shelters, built fires against the creeping cold, and hauled water from the river. By midmorning, the camp was alive with labor—miners striking, guards drilling, and smoke rising into the thin mountain air.
From a slight rise, Theon stood watching it all. His eyes scanned the work—every swing of a pick, every rope hauled taut, every spark of iron on rock. He said little, but he observed everything. The boy who had once played in Winterfell's yards was gone; in his place stood one who weighed men, work, and worth like an old commander.
"Do you think we will get something from these cold rocks?" Rickon's voice came at his side, deep and steady.
Theon turned, meeting his father's gaze. "I don't know," he admitted. "But as I've said before, we can try. Our ancestors never sought wealth in these mountains—they hunted, they fought, they endured. But we… we will look. If even a hint of promise lies here, anything to strengthen the North, then we must try."
Rickon studied him a long moment before giving a single nod. "Spoken as a Stark should."
The day passed in hard labor. Tools rang on stone, notes were scratched on parchment, and small samples were taken from riverbeds and outcrops. By evening, when the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the valley, a horn was blown to call the leaders back to the lord's tent.
Inside, warmth radiated from a firepit at the center. A long table had been laid, and around it sat Rickon, Theon, Lord Manderly, Medrick, Roderick, Omero, Meiyun, Yueru, Shen Zhenwu, Corlys, and Tomaso. The workers ate outside; here, it was time for reports.
Rickon leaned forward, his face half-lit by firelight. "So," he said simply, his tone carrying the weight of expectation, "did you find anything?"
Meiyun rose, unfolding the map upon the table. Her slender finger tapped the ink marks she had added. "Yes, my lord. Two mountains show promise from today's work."
"Then tell us," Rickon urged.
She pointed to the first mountain, eastward. "The eastern face is hard granite, dark and heavy. Granite often hides veins of iron, though it will test our backs and tools to reach it. Five days, perhaps more, to probe it properly. If we find iron, it could serve the North well—stronger weapons, stronger tools. But the work will not be easy."
A murmur of interest passed through the tent.
She moved her finger westward. "The western slope is softer—limestone and shale. Easier to cut, though less promising for iron. Still, such ground sometimes hides silver or salt. Silver could enrich coffers, salt could preserve food for winters to come. Useful, yes, but no sword nor shield is forged from silver."
Theon leaned forward. "And the second mountain? You marked it as well."
Meiyun's lips curved slightly, and she gestured to Shen Zhenwu, who stood.
Shen's voice was calm, deliberate. "The second mountain shows little on the surface. At first glance, it gives us nothing. Yet… the waterfall that falls from its heights leaves signs. We tested the banks where its waters strike the earth. In the gravel, in the sand, we found traces—gold."
The tent stirred with sharp intakes of breath.
"Gold?" Rickon repeated, his voice edged with disbelief.
"Yes," Shen said simply. "But only traces. Enough to tell us that the mountain may hold veins of it. Whether a handful of dust or a river of treasure lies within, we cannot yet say."
Lord Manderly leaned forward, his bulk creaking the chair beneath him. "You say the mountain showed no promise, yet now you suggest it may sit on gold? How can this be?"
Shen met his gaze without flinching. "Because gold rarely shows itself willingly. It hides, deep and silent. But rivers do not lie. The water carries what the stone conceals. The banks whisper of it."
Rickon's eyes narrowed, half in awe, half in caution. "If what you say is true, this could change the North forever. But how should we proceed?"
All eyes turned to Omero, who rose with the authority of a man used to giving answers. "We divide our efforts, my lord. First, we work the eastern mountain. Iron is the backbone of strength—it will arm our soldiers and shape our plows. At the same time, we set a smaller team to probe the second mountain, near the waterfall. If the gold is real, the gods have blessed House Stark indeed. But we cannot risk all on a whisper. We work both, carefully."
The tent fell silent, the fire crackling. Each man and woman weighed the words. Outside, the mountains loomed, ancient and indifferent, holding their secrets in silence.
Rickon finally spoke, his voice low but resolute. "So be it. We begin with iron, but we do not ignore the gold. The North was built on stone, blood, and honor. If the mountains mean to give us more, we will take it—not for greed, but for strength."
Theon nodded in agreement, eyes still on the map. Strength for the North, he thought. And perhaps, in time, for the world beyond.
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