I left the kitchen with my morning sausage and bread, a routine the cooks had picked up on without me asking, as I'd been requesting it more often. As I walked through the castle, my mind drifted to the five days since Benjen, and I had pitched "our" bold plan to Father: bringing the Thenns and the last or soon-to-be-last of the towering giants and their mammoths south of the Wall to kneel as vassals. Time had slipped by quickly, and I'd tried not to obsess over Father's decision. He hadn't agreed outright, but he hadn't dismissed us either. Instead, he'd started joining Maester Luwin and me for Old Tongue lessons. His broad hands struggled with the runes, but his calm, patient nature kept him steady. Benjen, too, had taken up my offer to deepen his knowledge of the Old Tongue, joining our sessions. It was a small step forward. With Benjen still at Winterfell and Father showing more willingness to adapt than I'd seen in the show or Robb's memories, I felt a quiet momentum growing, a soothing, happy energy that carried me into the yard.
The morning air stung my skin, though less sharply for me than for others, thanks to my slight gifts. The training yard buzzed with life grunts, the clash of wooden swords, and shouts from men already at their drills. Ever since I'd shared my training methods with the guards and Jory and had taken Tom and Bernard under my wing, the yard had rarely been quiet. Sometimes, it was Smalljon challenging the guards to spar or train with him. I smiled at the sight; it was good to see the place so alive. Then I spotted Benjen leaning against a post, a wooden sword hanging loosely in his hand. He caught my eye and flashed that sharp smirk, his long face so like Father's, though Ned rarely smirked. I chuckled to myself and headed toward him.
"Looking for a spar, Uncle? Tired of testing yourself against free folk or black brothers?" I called out.
He grinned wider. "Of course, nephew. I think you undersold yourself when you said you were good with a sword and axe. Everyone here's calling you the next Hungry Wolf, the way they rave about your skills. You'd think you were the best blade in Westeros," he said, stepping into the sparring yard with me.
We began circling each other, the yard growing quieter as guards turned to watch. Benjen moved like a ranger, quick, sure, every step precise. I kept my stance loose, grip firm, waiting. His first move came fast, a jab at my chest. I deflected it, sidestepped, and swung low at his legs. He parried, but I was already moving, darting around him, my blade cutting through the air.
The spar stretched on as I let him wear himself out. Benjen was strong and seasoned; his constant ranging beyond the Wall had likely thrown him into more fights than most here, save perhaps the veterans of the Mad King's war or the Greyjoy Rebellion. His strikes jolted my arms, but with the edge my reawakening, as I'd begun calling it, gave me, I felt more at ease as Robb. The extra speed, my slightly accelerated growth, and resistance to the cold let me match and then outpace him. I ducked a high swing, spun, and tapped his ribs with the flat of my sword. He grunted, stepping back, eyes wide with surprise.
"Hells, Robb, you've got some speed on you. Those exercises are no joke," he said, laughing. "You move like a shadow cat."
I smirked back. "Now, Uncle, just because I'm better doesn't mean you should compare me to beats. The Old Gods watch us, Starks and me, especially some say, and I won't deny it feels like some days," I said, leaning into the devout image I'd been building. "There's a reason the North still honors the Old Gods: we drove those Andals back time and again. Father may have built a sept for Mother, but that promise won't hold once she's gone, though I pray that's not for a long time." Our blades met again as I spoke, Benjen pushing harder to test me. I twisted my wrist at the last moment on a thrust, catching him off guard, and landed a light tap on his shoulder. By the time we stopped, sweat soaked my tunic, and Benjen was panting, his grin broader than ever.
"You're a bloody natural, Robb," he said, clapping my back. "Fast, smart, and gifted. Don't squander that, and you'll be a Stark history remembers." His breath was short, but his words carried weight.
I nodded, letting the praise settle in. *Gifted.* I'd always known Robb was destined to be a skilled commander and fighter from what I'd read and watched, but hearing it from Benjen, a man who'd faced wildlings and beasts beyond the Wall, lifted my already high spirits. It confirmed I was on the right path with this chance to reshape the Starks' fate and Westeros itself. I thanked him for the spar and started cleaning up to meet with Luwin.
Later, in Maester Luwin's cluttered chambers, my focus shifted from swordplay to strategy. Luwin sat hunched over a table, his quill scratching out Old Tongue runes, while I paced, the vassal contract forming in my mind as we talked. I wanted to get this done so I could meet with them as soon as Father gave the OK to the plan. "It needs to be clear, Luwin," I said, my voice steady but firm. "The Thenns and giants won't trust vague promises, and Father and the North will demand solid terms."
"Agreed," he replied, his quill moving steadily as I stood by the window, gazing into the courtyard below, though my thoughts were on the wildlings. "The giants will break from the Thenns and form their own house, loyal directly to the Starks. They can keep a few Thenns who choose to stay, but they'll have to take new names. I'm thinking they settle near the Wolfswood, close to the mountain clans. The Thenns get the Stony Shore, both Stark land, far enough west to ease the nerves of houses nearer the Wall."
Luwin nodded, writing as I spoke. "And the terms besides loyalty for bending the knee?"
"Five years, no taxes," I said. "They need time to build and grow. But they'll send fighting men, as will the giants when we call, like any vassal. And at least two wargs come to Winterfell, one to join my guard and one for the household's protection. They stay secret, known only to Father, Jory, Benjen, and you."
Luwin paused, tapping his quill, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Two wargs… that's a bold request, Robb. The Thenns might not agree."
"They won't like it," I admitted, crossing my arms. But even amongst the free folk north of the wall, Wargs are powerful but also mistrusted and treated, but they'll see the honor, Respect, and peace in serving the Starks directly. It's non-negotiable. I have needed of their talents here, guarding our home, and helping me. We're also offering the Thenns plenty of coastal land to fish, farm, and thrive on, free of constantly defending what's theirs from other freefolk's raids. Even in the North's milder climate, their farming skills will outyield anything beyond the Wall. We're giving them stability and growth, and they'll learn its value even if I have to knock sense into a few of them."
*Those wargs could mean the difference between victory and ruin for my plans, my family, and the North's future,* I thought, keeping it to myself. Luwin didn't need every detail, though I trusted him completely. I'd seen him die in the show, cut down by a treacherous Theon, a fate I'd never let happen again. He resumed writing, then glanced up. "The giants will need more than land. Mammoths mean big appetites, open fields, and timber or stone for shelters. And they'll need guidance in our laws and customs."
"Good point," I said. "Some Thenns will want to stay with them, and we could perhaps incorporate some willing volunteers from the mountain clans, which will help with communication. I'm thinking of sending some of Grandmother's family to act as peacekeepers and teachers, a rough steward to bridge the gap, though we won't call it that to the giants. I laughed, taught them, and translated if needed. The clans will help if a Stark asks, especially Grandmother's kin. I even considered asking Father if Rickon could foster with them when he's older and of age, as a sign of trust and a reward for their aid in this."
Luwin's eyes crinkled with a smile. "You're picking up the Old Tongue fast enough to manage it yourself," I smirked. "Maybe. But we'll need more than just me. Though I'll be the one to greet them and settle them in their lands when the time comes, or father if he learns it well enough, I want them to know that the Starks speak their tongue well and respect them enough to show up in person."
He added a line to the scroll. "And taxes, five years is generous. Perhaps a clause: if they prosper sooner, they contribute earlier, maybe raw materials or harvest instead of gold, like the poorer villages?"
I frowned, weighing it. "No. Five years builds trust. If they're strong, they'll give more in men and loyalty, that's worth more than coins." I also knew I valued their giants and Old Tongue skills over tax revenue. In less than two years, I'd call the banners; in less than a year and a half, Ned would head south with Robert Baratheon to his doom.
Luwin dipped his head. "Fair enough. And the oath?" "Old Tongue," I said. "Sworn before the heart tree, binding them to us. Include guest right, maybe a blood oath, something the people will honor more than a piece of paper. A translated copy for Father, since he's still wrestling with the runes."
Luwin's quill flew across the parchment, the terms taking shape. I watched him, a quiet certainty settling in of another theory of the world of ice and fire. *He's no spy,* I thought. *Not Luwin.* Fan theories about maesters serving the Citadel over their houses made sense, held water, too much water, but not for him. He'd died for us, bled for Winterfell. I trusted him with this, with the North's future."What about the other houses?" Luwin asked, pulling me from my thoughts. "The Umbers won't like giants near the Wolfswood."
"They'll grumble," I conceded. "But the giants will be under our watch, and the Thenns are on the Stony Shore, far from Last Hearth. Once they see the strength the giants bring, they'll quiet down. The North respects power. I'll remind them that giants are on their house sigil, they fought with the Old Gods and built the Wall with Brandon the Builder. No Stark will turn away a giant who bends the knee."
Luwin gave a faint smile. "You've got your father's stubbornness and his sense." "I'll take that," I said, grinning back. He rolled up the scroll, securing it with a leather strip. "It's nearly done. We'll refine it tomorrow and present it to your father when he's ready." "Thanks, Luwin. You've been a fine teacher and friend to me," I said,
He waved me off, though his smile lingered. "You'd manage, Robb. You've grown so much lately, matured beyond your years. If I didn't know you'd make a remarkable lord, I'd have suggested to your father you earn your chains at the Citadel."
I laughed. "Maybe in another life," I jokingly said, half to him, half to myself. I thanked him again and left, letting my feet guide me.
Dusk was settling as I reached the godswood, the contract's weight humming steadily in my mind. The heart tree stood ahead, its red eyes unblinking, branches rustling in the breeze. I knelt before it, staring at the carved face, and let my thoughts pour out. I'd never been religious in my past life, but something had brought me here. If I were to worship any gods now, the Old Gods felt closest to the Norse ones I'd always found fascinating. Forget the Three-Eyed Raven and his schemes. I'd pray straight to the Old Gods. If I could later revive the Children of the Old Gods and the forest without that three-eyed manipulator, I would.
I prayed, let the North stand tall with giants at our side and wargs in our shadows.* The wind sighed through the leaves, and for a moment, I swore I felt a twinge of magic or something that felt deep, ancient, like earth and stone. Then it faded, leaving only silence and a distant owl's hoot. I stood, brushed off my knees, and smiled. The Old Gods were listening, or so I hoped. That was enough for now.
As I headed back to rest, Hedwig landed on my shoulder just as I left the godswood. I knew I'd have at least one personal confidante in him.