ASOIAF/GOT: Minecraft in Essos.

~~~Third Person, Tenth Moon, 277 AC~~~

~~~ Winterfell, The North~~~

"My lord, it is a relief to know that you are well," Rodrik Ryswell, Lord of the Rills, and head of House Ryswell in the North, greeted Brandon warmly, the relationship between the two stretched back some years ago when Brandon was raised in Barrowton, which gave him a certain closeness with the Ryswells, so much so, that Lord Rodrik enjoyed hosting the Northern Heir whenever Brandon came to his home.

And that closeness could be noticed the moment the Lord of the Rills greeted Brandon with a tight hug. " Thank you, my lord," Brandon thanked him, as a servant offered bread and salt to Rodrik. " To turn out to be almost dead according to the cards, I see you well, better than well, judging by how the scar on your cheek is gone."

"Hahahahaha," Brandon laughed mirthlessly, reaching up and touching the skin of his chin and cheek where a scar had once been from a brush with a branch while riding, "The Xandarians are the answer, their potions to be precise, I don't know if they will make them relying on the blessings of the Seven or the Elder Gods, but they are very effective."

Rodrik's face lit up when he heard about the Xandarians, he had wanted to travel to Westerland with Lord Rickard to meet Azrael, but due to the Greyjoy raids, he had to stay to protect his land, "Now that you mention it, my lord, what do these Xandarians look like, are they the same as the rumors tell them? I mean, long hair, bells, giant ships, and ill-tempered."

Brandon laughed, and this time, it was real: "Yes, they are. Although they are very good riders, I couldn't win at any riding. It's like their horses are an extension and not a mount." Brandon had no bad things to say about the Xandarians. Others may have seen them as rough, temperamental, rooted to their land, and very proud, but the Northerners were like that too, so it was like seeing neighbors rather than outsiders.

Rodrik nodded, "Do you have much respect for them?" he asked with a somewhat instigating sound, as his gaze sharpened.

"My Lord," but their conversation was cut off by a harsh authoritative voice, causing them both to look at the source of the voice. "Lord Stark."

Rickard Stark was in all his glory, and he had several years under his belt, which did nothing less than encourage Rickard's presence. His grayish-gray hair, his tired but attentive gaze, and his calculating, steady eyes provoked a strange feeling in the people around him.

"I welcome you to the Harvest Feast, my lord, you must enter the Great Hall now, the other lords are waiting there," Rickard said to Rodrik, urging him inside the castle. "My lords." Lord Ryswell took his leave and continued walking.

"Father, what are you doing here?" Brandon asked once Lord Ryswell left and they were alone, "I'm waiting for someone." It Was Rickard's flat reply, causing Brandon to become confused, and look towards the entrance to the bastion just like his father.

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait that long, because minutes later, a group of people entered through the castle gates, in total there were eleven people, and the moment they entered the castle courtyard, their identity was exposed.

Starting with their mounts, huge war horses trampled the snow and mud of the courtyard, beautiful and strong beasts predisposed for war and the most extreme conditions, their riders on the other hand, were not far behind in terms of appearance.

Ten men with armor composed of plates, armed with two swords each, reckless appearance, and threatening demeanor, and at the front of the ten men, a woman rode, dignified, neat, and proud, so rode Gabriela, the Minister of Commerce.

If the long hair of the ten guards, and the bells that hung from their hair and jingled with each step of their horses were not proof of knowing who they were, then the banner that was raised on a tall pole was; A four-legged purple dragon with a crown on its neck, pierced by a sword across its chest, on a golden colored field.

"My lady," Rickard greeted Gabriela politely the moment she stepped off her steed and approached Rickard, "I am not a lady, My Lord, you may refer to me as Minister," Gabriela replied respectfully, "Minister," Rickard corrected, "if you like, you may accompany me."

With Rickard's approval, Gabriela began to walk towards the Great Hall, the iron and oak doors opened to the castle courtyard, and these were already open awaiting her liege lord, "Minister, I ask that you dismiss your guards to this point," Rickard said as they reached the doors, as a servant brought bread and salt and offered it to Gabriela and all of her guards.

"Bread and salt Minister, once ingested, he who violates the Right of Guest will be cursed a thousand times, I assure you he will be in no danger under my roof," Rickard explained to Gabriela, who without thinking, accepted the bread soaked in salt water. "Very well, let's go in." Rickard nodded and entered the room.

Rickard soon reached his seat, the high seat of the ancient Kings of the North, an imposing seat of cold stone, with huge arms decorated with carved heads of great snarling direwolves. The ancestral seat was located on a raised platform, behind a long oak table, right in the center, with other chairs arranged on either side.

In addition to the Stark ancestral seat and the seats parallel to it at the great head table, there were at least eight large and long tables arranged in the Great Hall, being occupied by lords, knights, and important upstarts from all over the North.

The same who stood up the moment Lord Rickard Stark entered the Great Hall, and only sat down as a show of respect once their liege lord was seated.

Stares and murmurs were not long in coming when Gabriela entered moments later, with the doors to the Great Hall closing behind her, the North was very secretive, something only Xandar could beat them at, they were very dubious and not fond of outsiders, so seeing a woman, dark-skinned, curly-haired and already advanced in age by Westerosi standards, was something new.

Especially because of her rich, peculiar, and somewhat strange attire for Northerners, accustomed to duller colors like black, gray, or brown. And while Gabriela's attire was black, it was decorated with gold threads, which covered much of her clothing. The most extravagant part of the case was that she had no coat to protect her from the northern temperature, which made it even stranger.

(Image)

"My lords, my ladies, it is a pleasure and an honor to have you here in the halls of Winterfell, celebrating the Harvest Fests," Rickard Stark, as Lord of Winterfell, called the Harvest Fests to order, as he beckoned Gabriela to approach the head table on the raised platform.

"My lords, with you, is Gabriela, Minister of Trade for Xandar, a woman highly respected by me, and someone who has traveled to the North to discuss a matter of utmost importance," it was then that Rickard gave Gabriela the voice so that she could tell the great news.

"My lords, as you heard, I am the Minister of Commerce of Xandar, I control one of the seven most important sectors of Xandar, and that is why I am here before you today, my king, has come to an agreement with Lord Stark, and that is the sale of Moat Cailin, along with twenty kilometers around it, not only that but depending on how this meeting ends, it will be decided whether to employ the construction of the North Channel, a river running through the North in half, located south of Moat Cailin and intended to connect the Narrow Sea, with the Sunset Sea."

"Silence."

That was what could be heard at first after Gabriela spoke, and then the Great Hall was filled with shouts, curses, and insults the Northerners did not like the idea.