ASOIAF: Celestial Conqueror - Chapter 5 (Patreon)

The Manderly's

- White Harbour -

POV: Wyman Manderly

“They have been spotted by the gates, Lord Manderly,” a servant reported, bowing low as he delivered the message. The man had been ordered to keep watch for their expected guest, and it seemed his vigilance had paid off.

Lord Wyman Manderly lifted his pale blue eyes to meet the servant’s gaze. His expression softened as he gave a slow nod.

“Good. Find suitable accommodations for his people, and admit him into the castle. Make certain the guest quarters are properly prepared. And ensure everyone shows him the respect he is due. Whether or not he is a natural son of our liege, he remains a Stark—likely a future lord, and most certainly our future neighbor.”

“Yes, it will be done, Lord Manderly.” The servant bowed again before hurrying off, already murmuring orders to the men nearby.

Left alone, Wyman Manderly leaned back in his chair, one hand patting his broad belly as he gathered his thoughts. He had been waiting for this moment with no small amount of curiosity.

When he first learned that his liege lord intended to place a new neighbor so close to White Harbor, he had been intrigued.

Moat Cailin was no ordinary holding. For thousands of years it had served as both the greatest defense of the North and, in its current crumbling state, its greatest military weakness. If the ruin was left to decay any further, the fortress would collapse entirely.

Unfortunately, few knew the truth of the North’s strained coffers better than Wyman Manderly. As the lord of White Harbor, master of the North’s only true city, and keeper of its most active port, he had intimate knowledge of every coin that came and went. House Manderly had silver mines and a wealth of trade flowing in from the sea, but even their resources had limits.

To rebuild Moat Cailin into a proper stronghold again would require a fortune—and in Wyman’s view, there were many other projects across the North that also demanded attention.

So when word spread that Lord Eddard Stark had plans for Moat Cailin, Manderly had been relieved. The Quiet Wolf was not a man known for wasting effort. His reputation for honesty, diligence, and steady leadership was unshakable. If he had a plan for the ancient fortress, then surely it was something sound.

That relief had turned to outright surprise when he learned who was being placed in charge. Jon Snow. The eight-year-old bastard son of Lord Stark.

Wyman remembered the boy well. He had seen him as a babe, carried him a few times in his arms during their march home from King’s Landing after Robert’s Rebellion.

His status as a natural son was of little concern—at least, not to a man like Manderly. His own family had long ago been southerners who have been granted refuge in the North.

Though they still prayed to the Seven, they had adopted the ways of the North fully. He was no zealot; unlike many in the Faith, he did not believe bastards were cursed by birth. To Wyman, nurture mattered more than nature. No child was born wicked, no matter what the septons preached after the chaos of the Blackfyre rebellions.

What troubled him had not been Jon’s birth, but his age. The thought of an eight-year-old boy overseeing the restoration of Moat Cailin—and the settlement that would surely need to grow around it—was absurd.

The burden would crush even a seasoned man, let alone a child. Wyman had even begun to worry if Lord Stark’s health was failing, if his judgment had slipped. Why else would he make such a decision?

But his fears, it seemed, had been unfounded.

From the beginning, he had dispatched scouts to watch Moat Cailin and report on every development. Their updates came regularly, and the details had left him stunned. What they claimed was happening went beyond anything he had imagined.

At first he refused to believe the words, dismissing them as exaggerations or mistakes. Yet his scouts were loyal men, veterans who would not fabricate tales lightly. And still, their reports sounded more like fables than facts.

Even now, he found himself unsettled by what they described.

In the end, Lord Wyman Manderly had gone so far as to send his youngest son, Wendel, to investigate the matter in person.

Reports and scouts could only tell so much, and the story had grown too unbelievable to trust secondhand. If there was anyone who could confirm the truth, it would be family.

Yet even so, how was a man supposed to believe it? A child—albeit an intelligent one, according to every report he had received—had apparently built an entire small town in under three months.

Machines capable of moving enormous stones, digging enormous holes in a fraction of the time, completing work that would normally require hundreds of men with only a handful of workers… it sounded impossible.

The accounts grew stranger still. The boy’s workers were shaping stone, creating entire houses in mere days. Four- to five-story buildings, strong and spacious enough to comfortably house twenty people each.

And even after completing enough homes to accommodate all the settlers brought from Winterfell, they had not slowed. New structures were rising every day, as if the young lord intended to build a full city from nothing.

The only obstacle seemed to be the supply of stone. The surrounding land had been stripped clean, forcing workers to travel farther and farther to gather more. At this pace, they would soon need to open a proper quarry, perhaps several.

And yet, these reports spoke of ambition that went far beyond simple housing. Streets were being paved and plastered, complete with something called sidewalks for pedestrians. Wagons and carriages were restricted to the roads themselves. Below, an entire sewer system had been dug to carry waste water out of the town. Above it, another network of canals supplied fresh water.

The stonework was so precise that the channels leaked nothing. Every house had a hand pump to draw clean water from the system, and several wells had been dug to ensure additional sources.

One detail stood out most sharply: glass. Each home had actual glass windows, all provided by the boy himself, though the method of their creation remained a closely guarded secret. For now, word of this marvel had not traveled far, but sooner or later it would reach the ears of Myr. The reaction of such foreign City State who made Glass their main Export, Manderly knew, would be far from friendly.

Even the town’s waste had been managed with care. Organic scraps, or “compostable waste,” were collected once or twice a week and sent to nearby farms. Nothing went to waste; what one household discarded became fertilizer for another’s fields. Those fields were enormous compared to the number of people working them, yet most of the labor was done by oxen pulling strange devices designed to split the frozen northern soil and plant seeds efficiently.

Animal Bones were sent towards a processing Building led by Jon Snow, were they were grinded down and turned into something called Concrete? Apparently the main Material used for the Streets.

The rest of the Waste, were also recycled as good as possible. Only a small amount of Waste too broken was simply burried at a dumping site a good distance away from the Town.

How could anyone believe such fantastical reports?

Had they come only from scouts, he would have dismissed them outright. Soldiers could report what they saw, but interpretation and understanding were another matter entirely. These accounts were too precise, too consistent, and yet still seemed impossible.

Then Wendel went. He walked the streets, observed the buildings, and received a personal tour from Jon Snow himself. Every structure, every system, every field was explained in detail. His son vouched for it, confirming everything firsthand.

What reason could Wyman Manderly use to not believe it now?

Even the cranes alone inspired new ideas. They could be adapted to load ships faster and more efficiently than ever before. The farming tools were equally impressive, capable of transforming the North’s agricultural output. For centuries, the North had relied on expensive imports from the South, unable to fully develop its own lands. With such innovations, they might finally escape that chokehold and feed themselves.

Wyman leaned back, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. The boy was young, a Stark bastard, yet his vision—and his results—were undeniable. The question no longer seemed to be whether Jon Snow could succeed.

It was how the North would adapt to a Lord who could build wonders while others still relied on outdated ineffective methods.

And then there was the matter of the new alcohols. At that thought, Lord Wyman Manderly took another careful sip from the gift his son had brought back. What were they called again? Vodka, gin, whiskey, brandy… and the sweeter varieties, liqueurs.

Each one felt entirely new, a completely unfamiliar kind of spirit to his palate. It was not just a drink; it was a whole new avenue of trade, a potential source of wealth that had never existed before in the North.

Manderly’s gaze grew calculating. It seemed unlikely that the young lord would freely share his methods of production.

Still, House Manderly possessed resources they currently lacked: ships, trade networks, and experienced merchants who could distribute goods across the North and beyond. Those assets might be enough to turn these new beverages into gold. At least, for now.

Rumor had it that Jon Snow had already begun digging a future harbor with those magnificent Digging Machines called Excavators, which he couldn’t even begin to imagine how they worked, along with a channel toward the Fewer River, connecting Moat Cailin to the western coast. If he continued, if he extended the channel not just twenty miles to the Fewer River but the full sixty miles to the Bite near White Harbor, the implications would be staggering.

The North would control the most important trade route in Westeros, linking the eastern ports—White Harbor, Gulltown, and even King’s Landing—to the western ports like Seagard, Lannisport, and Oldtown. Ships would no longer need to sail around the continent or risk passing the Stepstones, a notorious pirate haven.

Piracy could still occur, of course, but the increased trade and prosperity along this route might tame smaller threats. The Three Sisters, for example, had been troublesome at times, luring ships with false lights to rob them.

Yet for generations they had remained relatively tame. With more legitimate trade, they would grow wealthier and less desperate, leaving piracy unnecessary. And should they misbehave, the North could easily suppress them.

The real threat remained the Ironborn, who had grown unusually active in recent years. But even if they attempted war, it would likely have the opposite effect: uniting the Seven Kingdoms under King Robert Baratheon against a common enemy.

Political loyalty in the South was still fragile, but a shared foe would bring everyone together.

Every move the young Snow made seemed calculated for long-term impact. If he succeeded, the North—one of the poorest regions in Westeros—might become the richest. And Wyman could profit from this transformation. Jon Snow’s harbor, for example, clearly indicated plans to rebuild a western fleet.

That harbor, so close to White Harbor, was not a threat but an opportunity. If the canal truly connected east to west, White Harbor right at the Entrance on the Eastern Coast, could become a central hub, handling far more trade than ever before.

Then there were the inventions: the farming machines, the cranes, the tools that made construction and agriculture far more efficient.

The North needed them desperately. Their application could revolutionize food production, freeing the northern lands from dependence on overpriced southern imports.

Wyman reminded himself he would see it with his own eyes. Jon Snow had sent a letter along with Wendel, requesting a personal visit. Now, it was time to evaluate their new neighbor in person, to understand what the boy was truly capable of.

His thoughts briefly wandered to his granddaughter, Wynafryd. She was the same age as Jon Snow.

———

POV: Jon Snow

With his large, round belly preventing him from riding a horse, one might easily assume that Lord Wyman Manderly posed little threat. Anyone making that assumption would be sorely mistaken.

Manderly was a predator of a completely different kind. Physical strength was irrelevant here; he made up for any lack of mobility several times over with his mind, his craftiness, and his unrelenting ambition.

All he had wanted, initially, was a ship. Something to start his own trade, a modest beginning. Yet by the time his negotiations ended, he had secured far more than a single vessel. Several trade agreements were now in place, each carefully constructed to benefit both parties.

One ensured the North would receive the farming machines developed by Jon Snow’s town, while House Manderly would handle distribution across their networks. Another allowed the sale of the new alcohols—vodka, gin, whiskey, brandy, and the sweeter liqueurs—through House Manderly’s merchant network.

A third agreement guaranteed that White Harbor would send trained shipwrights and apprentices to Jon’s harbor once it was completed, in exchange for several cranes designed specifically for unloading cargo efficiently.

Finally, a fourth agreement established the construction of a road between White Harbor and Jon’s fledgling city.

The name of that future city had required a moment’s thought. Jon totally hadn’t forgotten to think of a Name for his new Town. He had not to come up with something on the spot, but after careful consideration, he had selected the name Armenelos—the name of the former capital city of Númenor, the City of Kings. It was a deliberate choice, not a fluke born of indecision.

Under the agreement, House Manderly would supply stone and raw materials, while Armenelos would handle the labor using their advanced technology.

The deal even included the section of the King’s Road from Moat Cailin until it split toward White Harbor, with Manderly supplying the materials for that as well. This would save Jon a significant amount of coin and allow him to focus on construction and planning.

Roads had always been part of Jon’s long-term strategy. Well-maintained infrastructure would increase trade, wealth, and influence over time.

If other houses could cover part of the cost, why not take advantage of it? It was a practical decision, perfectly aligned with his vision of the North’s future.

All Roads would lead to Armenelos.

“You should try this. Seared salmon with honeyed turnip purée—it’s one of my favorites.”

The voice came from the nine-year-old girl sitting beside him. Without waiting for his response, she plated a portion of the dish and set it in front of him.

Based on his previous experience with Lady Stark, Jon had not expected such a warm reception. House Manderly had deep southern connections, with strong beliefs in the Faith of the Seven. He had anticipated polite tolerance at best.

Instead, he found himself treated as an honored guest. Not as a bastard, not as someone lesser. He was welcomed as if he were another lord, an equal in every sense that mattered.

It was a small gesture, a plate of food and a smile, but to Jon it spoke volumes. He could see the careful thought behind it all—the planning, the strategy, the intelligence of the man he had just begun to understand.

Wyman Manderly was not just a trader, not just a lord; he was a mind that saw possibilities where others saw obstacles. And now, Jon realized, they were allies in the same ambitious vision for the North.

Sure, their negotiations had been difficult, but fair. Lord Wyman Manderly had not tried to take advantage of him; he simply wanted the best deal for his house. Jon respected that. He could work with that.

His inexperience in these kinds of political talks wasn’t the older lord’s fault. The discussions had been a learning experience, and a valuable one at that.

Better to start with one of his father’s bannermen, someone familiar with Northern customs who would treat him fairly, than risk dealing with a stranger with unknown intentions.

Jon wasn’t truly inexperienced, either. Years spent in the modern world had given him knowledge that few in Westeros could even imagine—trade, negotiation, strategy, and human psychology. He had learned how to read people, how to calculate risk, how to secure a deal that benefited both sides while protecting himself.

What he lacked was practical experience in the world of nobility, but he could adapt quickly. The core principles of fairness, leverage, and foresight were universal.

House Manderly simply held the stronger position at the moment. Using them as a distribution network for his farming machines and alcohol made perfect sense.

Even if he did not control one hundred percent of the profit, the majority would still be his, and his risk would be minimal. Trade was the dangerous part, and he was careful.

Lord Manderly, however, was clever. He had immediately recognized Jon’s potential and treated him as an equal in the discussions.

That same intelligence explained why Wynafryd Manderly, his eldest granddaughter, always accompanied him in White Harbor. She was physically his age, but Jon’s mind—older, sharper, and trained in ways she could not yet imagine—allowed him to see the purpose behind it all.

There were no explicit talks of marriage—yet—but the intentions were obvious. It made Jon slightly uncomfortable.

While they were both around the same age, mentally he was decades older. He had long ago accepted his body’s age, but his mind lived in a world very different from hers, he was from a modern Society. These things could wait. There was no rush, and he had bigger priorities.

“Thank you, Wynafryd. This tastes amazing.” He smiled politely as she served him a portion of the dish, careful to leave a good impression. While there was no phyiscal interest in an eight year old Girl, it never hurt to leave an positive impression. Even at this age he could tell she would grow up to be a true beauty.

At least there was one thing he could focus on without navigating social expectations: his first expedition to King’s Landing. By the end of the week, he would put his plans into action, testing trade routes, solidifying agreements, and beginning to shape the North in the way his mind had already envisioned.