Alyx V

Very little changed when Alyx found out she was the new Lady Bolton. She'd been sharing the running of the household with Lady Bethany, her goodmother, for some time, and had various irons in the fire that kept her terribly busy. Mourning could wait until her husband returned with his father's bones.

There was the matter of dredging out proper docks and building port facilities at the mouth of the Weeping Water. Harvests had to be brought in, and meat salted away, more than she expected since autumn had proved mild so far. Indeed, the late summer snows had given way to bright sunshine that had chased the carpet of white away, leaving only isolated islands that soon receded like the tide.

Her Braavosi prospector in the Lonely Hills had tidings of iron and rock salt, though they lacked the labor to do much with it since everyone was focused on laying away food and fodder against the winter that all knew was to come.

The year three hundred design for the Bolton bags had been finalized, with many custom orders already down in their ledgers. Dyeing leather was turning into something of an industry all its own with expensive imported inputs. She had to get ahead of it all, shipping the goods before they were properly snowed in. This fair weather could not last. Moreover, their coin could not last. Domeric wasn't regularly riding in tourneys these days. He'd won many a ransom against the Lannisters, and had some plunder from the Iron Islands he'd liquidated, but financing this campaign beyond the wall was not something they could do indefinitely. Alyx had to be thrifty, spending many an evening going over accounts with her steward.

Ravens from the wall grew wilder with every message. Her man faced an army of the dead? Fought the Others, creatures out of myth, or so she thought. What was next, grumpkins and snarks? All the more reason to look to winter preparations, Alyx decided. Domeric would not find the Dreadfort wanting ere he returned.

Ah, and their guests. They had to find places for thousands. This proved easier than one might expect. Most of her lord husband's people were clustered in villages along the river, with some shepherds in the Sheepshead Hills they shared with the Hornwoods. Nobody minded much over the proper border, since the shepherd folk drove their flocks hither and thither as they pleased, and needed little of a lord's justice, managing most matters themselves. Hopefully, more would choose to drive their flocks north to ship their wool down the weeping water. Alyx had spent enough coin to make that happen. The river was swollen and flooded just now with all the snowmelt, but things would return to normal in time. Even so, much of Lord Domeric's land was empty. Ten thousand wildlings could disappear in the gaps between his people's settlements and not meet another living man for five leagues.

Her hand drifted to the gentle curve of her stomach. Yes, and House Bolton has need of an heir. Before he died, Lord Roose thought much of making matches. It was ties to Hornwood, Manderly, and, above all, Stark he coveted. If she had a boy, and Robb Stark a girl with his Dornish bride, Alyx knew very well what her late goodfather's will would be in the matter. This much, she could do for Lord Roose's shade. She would give Domeric as many trueborn children as she could and make many a match. With her husband's fame, surely all the houses of the North and even beyond would be anxious to establish ties.

Other women might've found themselves overwhelmed by all these cares, but to Alyx Bolton they were thrilling. To meet these challenges was more than she could ever have hoped for. Before Ser Domeric Bolton came striding into the Twins, the best she was like to get was marriage to some landed knight. She would languish in a tower house and never travel a day's ride beyond it. Dom saved her from all that. Alyx vowed that she would be a good wife to him in these queer, unprecedented times.

***

Though the sun was shining and there was nary a cloud to be seen, Alyx Bolton heard the booms of distant thunder. The horse beneath her legs snorted and whickered, liking the tremors beneath its hooves not at all.

Giants, she knew, riding their colossal mammoths. The Lonely Hills would be their abode, high remote places where men would not disturb them. She had been well warned, but her first sight of them sent a shock of fear through the woman just the same. It was a shock of the truth, for if giants were as real as her eyes and ears and nose bore witness, then the Others might be as well. An involuntary shiver went through her.

She and her guards waited on the path to receive Lord Domeric, his soldiers, and the wildlings into their lands. It would only be proper for his lady wife to greet such august guests, no?

Her husband's voice carried on the wind, high and clear. "We'll be home soon," he told the wild men who clustered about him. "Ah, and here is my lady wife. Alyx, this is Mance Rayder, his wife Dalla, her sister, Val." He gestured behind him to a squat, hairy man with bare arms banded in golden rings. "You might call Tormund his courtier." Dom made those "finger quotes" he sometimes did to indicate something might be less than it seemed, a queer gesture, but oddly droll.

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"A big beauty!" the bearded man said with relish. "She'll give the Domeric many a strong son."

Domeric smiled placidly. "So it is to be hoped." He turned to his wife. "Are you well, Alyx? I missed you."

Though she was no longer a maid, Alyx found she could still blush like one. "And I you, my lord. We have places picked out for your people, likely places. If they are very fortunate, our friends from beyond the Wall might be able to get some land under tillage and bring in another harvest or two."

"So I hope, my lady," the one called Mance said with grave courtesy. As a matter of fact, all of them looked at her as if in awe, the same way they were looking at Domeric. Sometimes it was nice when your husband's reputation rubbed off on you a bit.

"Would the giants help?" Dom asked. "If I asked nicely?"

"Help how?" asked the bearded one, looking puzzled.

"Well, if you made a great big plow, and hooked it to one of those mammoths with a giant..."

"Har! Now that would be a sight to see! Well, if you asked nicely, might be Mag would listen. Even they heard what you did. Told him myself!"

"Told him lies, no doubt," said Domeric. They bickered like old friends, making Alyx smile. Mance was supposed to be a good singer who knew many a queer, wildling song. That was one manner of music her husband didn't play.

She examined the rest with a critical eye. Mance's wife Dalla was pregnant, and seemed a kind girl. The sister, Val, was a surpassing beauty, with gorgeous blonde hair. Often, in her girlhood, Alyx envied girls with golden hair. With Crakehall blood and a Braavosi mother, her hair was only ever going to be dark and curly, not straight and shiny like that.

Arya Stark, one of Dom's squires, was arguing with Val over something. "Just you wait," the girl said. "You think that old pile of stones we rode by was a castle? The Dreadfort is something else entirely!" she said proudly, as if she were not a Stark at all.

"Winterfell is larger, Arya," Domeric corrected gently.

"But I'd say the Dreadfort is more defensible with fewer men. If you had a garrison of a hundred, I'd be worried about gaps in Winterfell's outer walls, not at your seat," she replied.

Domeric turned to his wife. "We are expanding her education, and Brad's. They need to move beyond individual fighter prowess and tactics into strategy, and eventually, logistics," he informed her.

"Lovely!" Alyx replied. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of time for sums and household accounts. Food and wages for soldiers are a big part of that."

Arya looked like she didn't like the sound of that, but at Domeric's stern look, she nodded. "As you say, my lady."

They rode together back to the Dreadfort, back home. Once it was in sight, Val lost her composure. "Gods above! You built that without giants?"

Domeric shrugged. "Probably. House Bolton is pretty old. Maybe there were giants in these parts in ancient days."

"And returned at last!" added Tormund the braggart. She soon had the measure of him from their talks on the road. "Mag the mighty might agree, you know. His folk like this warm, green land. It will be a fair place to winter."

Her husband nodded. "We can look into making them giant-sized tools. You said there was iron in the Lonely Hills, right, Alyx?"

"That's right," she confirmed. "Rock salt, and coal as well. It's not the silver you found in the Vale, but it'll be useful, I think."

"I think so too. Imagine it: mining giants, plowing giants, building giants, giants digging irrigation ditches. If Mag the mighty agrees, we could make a lot of swift progress. Of all the Free Folk who came south of the Wall, three-fifths will be settling in my land, or land held by my close relatives. The Barrowlands of my aunt and the Rills of my grandfather will get their share. I've already received their agreement."

"We wanted to get further away from the Wall itself, and there is bad blood with the Umbers and Glovers, who are closer," Mance Rayder explained. There was a sardonic smile on his face. "And some wished to be closer to the Domeric."

Domeric sighed in exasperation. "Right, well, that's probably for the best. My kin will heed me, and we'll be able to see your people someplace safe without disrupting the life of those already here. There will be problems, but if we work together, I think we'll be alright. Let's pray the weather doesn't turn."