The wolf's Return
["Home is not where you were born, but where your strength was forged and your purpose found its voice" ---Words of house Stark]
(Alaric Stark POV)
The first sight of Winterfell's towers rising from the hills ahead felt like drawing breath after drowning. After not seeing those familiar walls for more than three months, I realized just how much I missed this place—home. Winterfell is my home.
It's strange to think that. To Noah, Winterfell was just a fictional place someone made up in a book. But to Alaric… it's real. It's everything.
"We are finally home. Seems like a long time since I saw those walls," my mother said.
My father only grunted in reply—typical Northern behavior.
At the gate, it was my uncle Bennard who welcomed us, standing beside Maester Walys.
"Welcome home, brother. I hope your journey was pleasant," he said. He didn't kneel like the other men. This uncle of mine always struck me as odd for a Stark. Starks are all about the pack—even my father follows that mentality. But him? He doesn't carry a shred of it.
"It was pleasant enough, as snowy treks go. Have someone bring supper to my solar. And my lady wife is tired from the journey—see to her, Maester," my father said.
"As you wish, my lord," the Maester replied.
"And Alaric, come to my solar after you eat. We need to talk—about your behavior in the South."
Of course. He still hasn't let that go. It's not like I gambled away the family's fortune. I only wagered two imaginary gold coins against a thousand. And I haven't even seen a single coin from that wealth yet. Wonder when he's planning to give me that money. After all, I was the one who won it.
"Yes, Father."
Let's see what he has to say now, after an entire journey of silent treatment. Not that I'm one to talk—I was silent too. Thinking the whole way back to Winterfell.
Two hours later, I stood outside his solar and knocked once.
"It's me, Father."
"Come in, Alaric."
I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the cold. The lord's solar is the only room in Winterfell without hot spring piping. Something about how a lord should put others' comfort first.
He was going through some documents—no idea what. After a few minutes, he finally looked up.
"Do you know why you're here, Alaric?"
"Yes, Father. Something to do with my behavior at King's Landing."
"The way you handled Lord Lannister… was well done."
That surprised me. I'd expected to be reprimanded, maybe preached to about honor or pride or some other inane stuff. But praise? That threw me off.
"Thank you, Father."
"But it concerns me."
"How so?"
He leaned forward, his grey eyes—so much like mine—boring into me.
"You lied to him. About having an allowance. About the coins being yours to wager. You lied easily, without hesitation. And you did it to protect our honor—my honor."
"Yes."
"A four-name-day-old shouldn't be that good at lying, Alaric. Shouldn't be that quick to spot traps and sidestep them. Shouldn't be able to choose a champion based on... what did you call it? A gut feeling?"
I said nothing. It hadn't been just a gut feeling. It was the way that knight held himself—quiet, calm, deliberate. Not flashy, not desperate to be noticed. His stance spoke readiness. Not recklessness. Afterall wise men one said 'Patience is a virtue' and he was rewarded for his patience----he won the whole melee.
"You're changing," he continued, voice gentler now. "Growing into something I don't recognize. Your mother sees it too. The way you watch people—like you're seeing something the rest of us miss. The way you speak sometimes, like your words are borrowed from someone twice your age."
He stood and walked to the window, gazing down at the courtyard.
"I'm not angry," he said quietly. "But I need to understand. What happened to my son? When did the boy who asked a hundred questions become the one who sits silent and already knows the answers?"
"I don't know the answers, Father. It was a simple observation. At the tourney, everyone was trying to prove something. Show off. But that one knight... he didn't. He didn't need to, he was sure of himself, you could see it in his stance, the way he handled his sword, even the way he breathed, even the place he was standing at. Everything was calculated."
"All the other knights fought by the book—'don't gang up,' 'don't strike from behind,' 'fight with honor.' He was the only one who didn't chain himself to that. No restrictions."
It wasn't the whole truth. But it was true enough.
Father turned back to me with a look of surprise, as if he'd just found the answer to a riddle. I guess my explanation was enough to ease his doubts.
He went to his desk and pulled out a leather folder.
"Since we're speaking plainly, there are things you should know. About the New Gift arrangement. What was discussed in the Small Council. What's coming."
For the next hour, he told me everything—the King's questions, the taxes we'd agreed to, the thin line we were walking between duty and survival. Politics. Power. Survival.
I listened carefully, fitting each piece into the growing puzzle of Westeros in my mind.
When he finished, I asked only one question.
"What happens if they decide it's not enough? If they want more control over the North?"
He gave me a tired smile.
"Then there's only one path left. You know it, don't you?"
Yeah. I know.
'War'
I had misunderstood him. When he agreed to send taxes to the Crown, I'd thought it was loyalty. Honor. But I was wrong. It wasn't loyalty—it was helplessness. What kind of lord gives away coin when his people need it? Only one with no other choice.
And maybe the King didn't like us, either. Another piece I didn't understand yet. I hate not knowing something.
"You can go rest, Alaric. It's been a long day."
"Alright, Father. You should rest too."
I was about to leave when he stopped me.
"One more thing—you're prohibited from the training yard until your formal training begins. Take that as your punishment for speaking out of turn."
"Yes, Father. I apologize again."
I left without another word. My father is really naïve sometimes, he thinks banning me from the training yard is punishment? Like I want to see those crude training methods. Honestly, it gives me more free time—time I can use to study and research.
Back in my chambers at last, I was alone. The familiar stone walls, the narrow window overlooking the godswood, the plain wooden furniture—more precious to me than any silk and gold I saw in the South.
I sat on my bed and let my thoughts unravel.
The South had taught me more than I'd expected. Not just about nobles and their games, but about myself. About what I was becoming.
When that Lannister lord tried to humiliate Father, I hadn't acted on impulse. I saw the trap, calculated the outcome, and chose my moves with precision. The wager, the champion, even how I spoke—it was all deliberate.
And I enjoyed it. Not the humiliation. The control. The clarity. The ability to see three steps ahead while others were still fumbling with the first.
That should've bothered me more than it did.
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in."
Maester Walys entered, carrying a small wooden chest.
"My lord asked me to give you this," he said, setting it down. "Your… winnings from the capital."
I opened it. Neat stacks of gold dragons—one thousand, just as promised. More wealth than some Northern houses see in a year.
"Maester, Father has barred me from the yard. I'll have more free time. Would it be alright if I visited you during those extra hours? There are some things I'd like to ask."
"That depends, my lord. If I'm free, I'll gladly help. May I ask what you're curious about, so I can prepare materials in advance?"
"Nothing urgent. Just things I saw south of the Neck. Geography of the North. And now that I've won these coins, I'd like to understand our expenses."
"Expenses, my lord? What sort of expenses?"
"Nothing too serious. Just curious what we spend money on—besides food."
"Very well, my lord. I'll see to it."
He left after that.
I can't exactly say I want to know how much money we actually have for projects. And now, I have a lot of it. Noah was a history nerd. He knew about old technologies that uplifted nations—and destroyed them. Some of those things could work here. Not anything crazy. Just the kind of things I could explain away if needed.
I even know new farming methods. But there's no way Father would let me experiment with the North's lifeblood. As a father, maybe he'd humor me. As Lord Stark? Never.
So I'll have to start slow. Earn his trust—and the trust of the North. The people here are stubborn. Change must come quietly.
I'll also begin training my body, learning to use my templates properly. If I want to master the breathing methods, I'll need to condition myself. Otherwise, my lungs might collapse.
Looks like my future is going to be very busy.
I stood up from my bed walking towards the window with whole of godswood visible to me.
The South had shown me what I was up against. The games. The politics. The cruelty behind silk and smiles. They saw the North as backward, frozen, weak.
They were wrong.
Let them laugh at the snow and call us savages. One day, they'll hear the howling of wolves—and realize too late that winter never kneels.
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I had my exams going on, so i was not able to upload. Now that my exams are over I would be posting my chapter regularly now. Thank you all for your support.
Enjoy.