"Jon. Robb wants me to find you. He's got something to discuss with us."
Theon spoke without expression, looking oddly like he'd just swallowed a grievance.
He used to love needling Jon—cheap, smug little jabs whenever he could.
But after Jon's baiting worked on him, Theon had gone straight to Robb and asked to be sent to the Iron Islands. Maybe he could bring back ships—maybe even an army.
Luwin had shut the idea down behind Robb's back.
Theon's status was that of a ward—hostage, really. If he went home, Balon Greyjoy would have nothing holding him back.
Who knew what those lunatic pirates might do?
With no chance to "show his face" and prove himself, Theon's mood had only gotten worse.
So when he heard Robb wanted to consult him, he got excited again. He and Jon headed to Robb's study together.
Robb was already talking with Maester Luwin, looking irritated.
Robb was the de facto Lord of Winterfell now, but it was obvious the job didn't sit easy.
"Don't rush, Robb," Luwin was saying. "Your bannermen are still loyal to House Stark, loyal to Winterfell. They're just—"
He broke off as Jon and Theon entered.
"Jon. Theon." Robb took a breath, visibly steadying himself, then said, "I need you both to help me think."
Robb sounded tired, and Luwin filled them in on the bind the Young Wolf had run into.
Just as Jon expected, the North's hardened veterans didn't automatically accept a boy lord.
One of them complained Robb was too young to tell him what to do—and then, unbelievably, tried to push a granddaughter on Robb as a bride.
For a vassal to meddle in his liege lord's marriage was outright insubordination.
But Robb couldn't afford to crack down too harshly yet, so he could only brush him off.
Others were trying to squeeze out favors.
One lord kept showering Robb and Bran with gifts as if he wanted nothing in return—except he did. He wanted exclusive hunting rights in a particular area.
And the most notable thorn of all was the one Jon had been wary of from the start: Roose Bolton.
Bolton had gone straight to Robb and argued that he should be named commander of the entire host.
Robb had sent them away one by one, but it was clear those lords hadn't given up. They'd simply realized the young lord wasn't easy to play.
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Jon knew that soon Robb would have his first real "moment"—letting Grey Wind bite off Greatjon Umber's fingers.
After that, Greatjon would become fiercely loyal.
But it was also a sign of what happened when Robb didn't assert control early enough.
For a bannerman to openly threaten, in council, to march his troops home… Robb would be forced to make an example.
Luckily, Greatjon had the kind of pride that responded to pain. He'd lose two fingers and offer loyalty anyway.
With anyone else, it might not have ended so neatly.
Back in the original timeline, Robb had no one he could truly talk to. Now that Jon had returned from the Wall, Robb finally had someone to vent to.
But before Jon could speak, Theon cut in, eager to show off.
"On the Iron Islands, we keep unruly bannermen simple," Theon said. "You beat them. Or you duel them."
"Kill a few, and the rest fall in line."
After Jon's "you've gone greenlander" jab, Theon had started overthinking how to look like a "real" ironborn.
He'd even asked Luwin for books about the Iron Islands.
It had made Luwin wary—though he'd still loaned them out.
Luwin said calmly, "Theon, if you rely on violence alone, you lose people's loyalty. Westeros is far more complicated than the Iron Islands."
With Luwin saying that, Theon couldn't really argue. He just shot Jon a sideways look, unconvinced a bastard had anything useful to offer.
Jon's big change after coming back had stuck with Theon—then Jon had gone right back to grinding away at sword practice like always.
Same old Jon, just with better posture.
Then Jon smiled and said, "This is actually a good thing."
"What?" All of them looked at him.
A good thing?
How was Robb getting pushed around by his own bannermen a good thing?
Theon almost snorted.
Even Luwin didn't understand what Jon meant.
"It's a good thing," Jon repeated. "The best horses are always high-strung. But once you break them, they're a knight's greatest asset."
"These bannermen keep testing you. Fine. If you bring them to heel, their strength becomes yours—and rescuing our father becomes that much more certain."
Luwin's eyes lit up.
He liked the metaphor, and he found Jon's optimism unexpectedly compelling.
"Then what do you think Robb should do?" Luwin asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.
Robb looked at Jon the same way.
Even Theon finally turned his head fully toward him.
With everyone watching, Jon gathered his thoughts and said, "Basically, we take Theon's idea… and add steps."
"Force equals authority. But authority can't stand on force alone. So what happens when you pair fear with reward?"
Jon suggested Robb give him a detachment of men—enough to patrol the lords' camps.
If a common soldier broke rules, punish him under military law—straight to the lash. If a noble broke rules, then treat him like a noble… and punish him anyway.
Pick one or two of the loudest troublemakers and hit them hard, so the rest think twice.
"Then they'll come running to you to complain that I went too far," Jon said. "And all you have to do is punish me—right alongside them."
"That way they feel the weight of military law, and they also feel your mercy. They'll fall in behind you—or at least stop testing you so openly."
As Jon laid it out, Luwin's expression kept brightening.
It really was a strong plan.
Jon would take the blame, and Robb would take the goodwill.
And you didn't do that for just anyone.
Luwin looked at Jon with open approval, thinking, How did I never notice he could play politics like this?
Robb seemed convinced too—only he also looked troubled, like the plan was unfair to Jon.
"Jon, I… I don't know. That's not fair to you. I—"
Jon cut him off. "Robb, I only care about getting Father and the girls back. I don't care about anything else."
"Jon…" Robb's nose stung, the way it did right before tears.
After a moment, he said, "All right. When we march south, I'll give you men of your own. You'll command a unit."
Hearing that, Jon felt a quiet thrill.
A common soldier had a low ceiling. But with troops under him, everything changed.
Even with eight hundred men, if the timing was right, you could smash an army ten times your size.
Until he had real footing of his own, working as someone's blade-for-hire was normal enough.
History had plenty of examples of ambitious men starting out that way.
But Robb's decision made Theon anxious.
Winterfell's total strength was only around six thousand.
If Robb started handing out commands, there wouldn't be much left to hand out afterward.
No. He couldn't let Jon take his chance.
Theon forced out a worried tone. "And what if you lose? Those lords keep sworn men and guards around them. They can fight. If you get beaten instead, doesn't that make Robb look weak?"
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