Chapter 24: And So It Begins
And so it begins, I had thought, as I gazed out of my bedroom window into the courtyard of Winterfell. My hand pressed against the rough hard stone, while my eyes darted from servant to guard, watching the bustling household below. Servants had hurried across the yard, carrying baskets of laundry or buckets of water, the fresh smell of the North in the air. Guards had practiced their swordplay in the training area, their blades clanging rhythmically, a steady beat echoing up to me. A group of the servent's children chased each other, their laughter sharp and bright, while I could hear Mikken while he hammered away at his forge, the metallic ring cutting through the noise. It had been about twenty months since I first realized this day would come. I wondered if I'd done enough though I take comfort now, knowing the knowledge I carry, paired with a stronger, more united North bolstered by giants back among its ranks, will carry me through the war. I hope, with every fiber of my being, that I'm prepared to face whatever threats loom from Essos—or, more likely, Asshai—once the War of the Five Kings is behind me and I hopefully Rule or control a united Westeros.
In that time, I had overseen the strengthening of our Northern bonds by fostering some of the more powerful houses here in Winterfell, as well as the training of our men, and the forging of new hopefully long-lasting alliances with the Thenns and rekindling the alliance with the giants and getting rid of a future problem in Rasmay. The North had grown more united than ever, and I felt a surge of pride rise in me, knowing that my efforts had helped make it so. As I turned to leave my room and head toward Father's solar, memories of the previous day had washed over me. Father, myself, and our armed group had just returned from clearing bandits from the road to White Harbor, a vital artery connecting to the King's Road from Winter Town. I couldn't quite pinpoint why banditry had surged lately though I had some guess that perhaps it was the growing trade or the increased travelers now that the roads were a bit better maintained, thanks to a year's worth of effort. My subtle nudges and clear suggestions to Vayon Poole had paid off more handsomely than I'd dared to hope.
Yet I knew deep down that if I hadn't honed my maturity and skills in the yard over the past year, Father wouldn't have brought me along for the task nor would he have gone himself. It had felt like another test, a chance for him to see me in action. During the whole affair, he had left me in charge of the men, including Jon and Theon, with Jory as my second. Father had stood back, claiming he was there only to observe and step in if needed. Truth be told, I had welcomed the responsibility it was a taste of what was to come, commanding far more than a mere bandit-hunting party.
Tracking the bandits had been almost effortless with Hedwig's help. Through warging, I spotted them from the air; their figures, along with their campsite and fire, stood out starkly against the trees and brush of the North. Below, the world was a blur of green and brown through his sharp owl eyes. It took just days to locate them on their way to the site of their latest ambush. Hedwig's keen vision never fails to astonish me—warging is a power and tool I will never take for granted or forget.
As I walked down the corridor, still lost in the memory, I recalled how our ambush had unfolded with precision. The men, honed by months of rigorous training that I had insisted upon, were eager and ready. I made sure the Winterfell guard drilled daily, practicing with blades in the yard or using bows under Theon's guidance. I even allowed Smalljon to lead the physical exercises I had taught him, as he excelled at them. This not only helped him feel useful but also gave Theon more responsibility, helping him adjust to serving. Over the past two years, it had also improved Theon's reputation within the household, allowing him to act a bit more mature and respectful.
With that coordination and zeal, the bandits never stood a chance. Most had surrendered after our first charge. I had only felled two before a third flung down his axe, shouting, "I choose the black! I'll take the black!" as he begged for mercy. Looking up, I had seen Jon and Theon, with blood staining their armor, standing alongside Smalljon near Father and Jory, who remained untouched by the fighting. After what barely qualified as a battle, Father had agreed to let the surviving bandits take the black and head to the Wall once we returned to Winterfell.
My thoughts drifted further as I walked through the castle, settling on our return journey. A couple of leagues from Winter Town, Hedwig had signaled that he found something of interest for me. I passed the message to Father, Himself Jory, Jon, Theon, and I to investigate while the rest of the men stayed on the road. We pushed through the woods, past tangled thickets, the snap of branches underfoot loud in my ears, until we reached an open clearing.
The sight stopped me cold, a mother direwolf, her side clawed out, laying in the grass with five pups nuzzling her, desperate to nurse. Their tiny whines pierced the quiet. Jory's cautious words echoed behind me as I approached, but my heart sank when I couldn't spot Ghost among them. Relief came swiftly, though a hoot from Hedwig to my left revealed that he had found the runt of the litter, Jon's future companion, safe and sound, his white fur against the earth.
As I looked to the other side of the clearing, I noticed another creature lying dead and giving me a sinking feeling, a shadow cat. Instead of a stag that had killed the direwolf mother, it was a shadow cat, which brought a lot of implications I did not like. It reminded me of the warning that Change had given me about the shadows coming from the east, which would pose a bigger threat than ice, referring to what I knew as the White Walkers. I couldn't fathom what else might be coming from Essos, likely from Asshai, even further east. There was almost no literature or knowledge at Winterfell about that place, except for its dark magic and haunted past. I hoped that I would have years after the war to deal with it, but I had no idea when it would come. For now, I could take solace in the fact that my family and I had the pups, at least.
Knowing that all six pups were accounted for, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I had been plagued with worry that I might have altered things too much; after all, the fated day was approaching, and Father hadn't yet summoned me to deal with a Night's Watch deserter. I feared I had missed our chance to claim these symbols of House Stark for my siblings and me. But as a grin spread across my face, that fear melted away.
I turned to Father, who was watching from the back alongside Jory, and called out, "Father, there are six pups—one for each of the Stark children! It's a boon from the Old Gods themselves, one we should be thankful for." I handed all but the greyish-black pup to Jon and Theon to carry.
Father studied me as Jory hesitated, then remained silent. "These are not hounds, Robb," Father said. "But if you and Jon can get your siblings to swear to care for them and take responsibility, you may keep them."
"Thank you, Father," I replied, my voice firm with gratitude.
"We will," Jon added beside me. "I'm sure Arya and Bran will be thrilled," he said, glancing at the pups in his hands, their soft fur brushing against his fingers.
After rejoining the men and continuing toward Winterfell, a swell of pride rose in my chest as we passed through Winter Town. The earthwork fortifications we had built had shielded the town and protected Winterfell's southern flank. Improved roads and new dugout houses lined the way, their roofs catching the light. It felt like stepping into a fortified medieval stronghold, with Winterfell's massive silhouette looming protectively behind us. This world, with its dark grandeur and magic, never ceases to leave me breathless. Though it was a harsher world than I knew, it was a chance I was determined to seize and make the most of.
Once Father and I reached Winterfell's inner courtyard, he asked me to join him in the godswood. I bid farewell to the men, instructing Jon and Theon to find the rest of my siblings and deliver their pups, then followed Father to the heart of the sacred grove. The godswood was hushed, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth, and the rustle of the weirwood's red leaves whispered softly overhead. Its carved face seemed to watch us with solemn eyes, a silent witness to centuries of Stark history it had surely observed. Father sat on a root, methodically cleaning Ice, the greatsword of our house, its steel gleaming faintly. I settled nearby, cradling my pup and feeling the weight of history and destiny in this quiet grove.
Footsteps broke the quiet as I looked up to see Mother approaching with Maester Luwin, two letters in her hands. My pulse quickened as I thought, This is it—the beginning of everything I've been preparing for. Mother's face was pale as she handed the letters to Father. Luwin stood by, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a furrowed brow, his chain clinking faintly as he shifted. When Father read the first letter, his jaw tightened, and I already knew its contents. "Jon Arryn is dead," he said, his voice low and heavy with the weight of his old mentor's loss—Lord Arryn, who had fostered him in the Vale alongside Robert Baratheon. "And the king rides for Winterfell."
Father suggested we move to his solar to continue the discussion, insisting that I join them. I nodded with a smile as we made our way there. Once settled, we poured over the letters and speculated on King Robert's intentions. I ventured that he was likely to push for a marriage alliance—either me with Myrcella or Sansa with Joffrey. I intended to nudge Father toward suggesting Myrcella and me instead; this would give us leverage to keep her here as a hostage during the war, and it would also help in retaining Sansa instead of sending her to King's Landing.
I also planned to detain Tyrion when he returned from the Wall, though of course, I would treat the sharpest and most likable Lannister with every courtesy. I could also offer him assurances, like Jaime taking the black, and that the Baratheon children would be spared—save for Joffrey, though I would broach that topic later. Even if I had no intention of marrying Myrcella, proposing it to Father and Robert would still irritate the Lannisters and benefit me and the North's war efforts later, which suited me just fine.
With thoughts swirling from the previous day's events, I entered Father's solar, nodding to the guard at the end of the hall. After a light knock, I stepped inside and greeted Father as he sat behind his desk, still mulling over yesterday's letters. He looked up, offered a small smile, and gestured for me to sit. I took my seat and spoke.
"Father, what are your plans for when the king arrives? Will you make any requests, or have you thought about how soon you'd want to leave?"
He chuckled. "Knowing Robert, he'll want to linger—feasting, hunting, and swapping old tales—before heading back to King's Landing. As for what I'll say to him, I'm still mulling it over. But I suspect my bright son has some ideas about what I should ask for, doesn't he, Robb?"
"Yes, Father," I replied, leaning forward. "I've thought about what you might request for your service as Hand, and for my hand or Sansa's if it comes to that. First, we should ensure that the giants remain quiet, except for the Watch and our trusted household. Let the king's party dismiss it as northern nonsense. If Robert asks, you could say we let an organized clan, like the Thenns, similar to our northern mountain clans, settle on the Stony Shore to keep the Ironborn and the Three Sisters in check. That should get a laugh and a dismissal from Robert.
"For your role as Hand, ask him to return the Targaryen gift to the Watch. It was never theirs to give, and the Wall can't use the land anyway, which everyone in the North knows to be true. Given his loathing for all things Targaryen, he'll likely agree, which would bolster the North and make us look good for reclaiming what other houses have lost.
"As for my or Sansa's hand, you could simply ask for coin to restore the moat. I know you took little from the rebellion, and I respect why, based on what you've told me. But we should take advantage of that victory before it's too late."
Father sighed and leaned back. "Those are solid points, Robb, and reasonable too. I'll remind the household to stay quiet about the giants while the king is here, though that secret won't hold long. Most of the south thinks we are nothing more than savages. I'll mention the Gift, but I won't seek war spoils or reparations now. I didn't rebel for gold, son."
"I know, Father," I interjected, "but extra coin for the moat would help the North, especially if the Lannisters did kill Jon Arryn." I pressed again for a Myrcella dowry, knowing I wouldn't marry her, but still craving the gold and anything we could get out of them before the war started.
He shook his head, a faint smile lingering. "I'll think on it, Robb, but I'm glad to have your thoughts. Now, tell me—how are the direwolf pups and your siblings getting on?" I grinned, knowing he had changed the subject on purpose, but I didn't mind. We had discussed what we needed to, and I began sharing stories of my siblings' reactions to their own direwolf pups, savoring the rest of the afternoon with Father and talking about nothing but family.