Chương 11: Honing Edges

I gave Jon a quick nod of thanks for walking with me and letting me know my men were back.

"Good luck with Arya and Dacey," I said, glancing toward the courtyard where they waited.

"I'll go greet Tom and Bennard myself." As I approached the two brothers, I waved them over before they could speak. I wanted privacy for this conversation — no interruptions, no would-be eavesdroppers — and the godswood was the perfect spot. The other three who usually wandered through there, Jon, Arya, and Father, were all occupied elsewhere just then, so I knew we'd have it to ourselves. We slipped behind the weirwood, their grins already giving away half the story. Still, I needed to hear the whole of it.

"How'd it go?" I asked, keeping my voice low. Tom's grin widened.

"Clean and quiet, my lord. It was as you said, Robb. We tracked Ramsay to a mill he was staying at, just like you guessed — rumors of missing folk and body parts half-chewed by dogs, from the more vocal locals, led us right to him and his group." Bennard dipped his head.

"We watched him for a few days. His group thugs, so-called Bastard Boys, always stuck close, but on the third night, he went hunting alone — just him, Reek, and two hounds, so we took our chance at that moment we followed them, and when they let the girl loose, some poor peasant he'd snatched, he gave her a head start before setting the dogs after her."

"We waited after setting up along her path," Tom picked up, his voice dropping." We set up along the path with crossbows." He looked down for a moment, his face gaining a solemn look before speaking on.

"The dogs got the poor girl. We couldn't stop that, my lord, though we really wanted to; we couldn't risk this chance at Ramsay," he said with a sorrowful tone before continuing.

"But when Ramsay and Reek rode by, we let loose. Two bolts in Ramsay's chest, front and back — he was dead before he hit the dirt. Reek tried to run, but we ran him down and finished him, too. Buried them both in a deep, narrow grave." A shadow crossed my thoughts as I pictured a girl running for her life, only to be torn apart before any of it could help her. Guilt gnawed at me, brief and sharp — I'd sent them to stop Ramsay from ever committing his worst crimes, and her blood was on that choice too, in a way.

But as the weight settled, I found the other side of it easier to hold onto: Ramsay's cruel life was over now, before he could grow into the even bigger monster I knew he'd otherwise become, which meant fewer people would ever suffer that particular fate I would uplift the North's peasantry not just in the stark lands but all of the north with better control and homes so that they would not have to fear people like Ramsay or his bastard boys.

I looked at Tom and Bennard, their faces lit with pride and a smidge of guilt, as I reached out to grip their shoulders.

"I wish we could've saved her," I said, my voice steady but low.

"Her death sits ill with me. But taking him out has spared the rest of the North a great deal of pain down the line."

"And the Bastard Boys?" I asked, eyes narrowing.

"Still at the mill, none the wiser," Bennard said.

"They'll figure it out when no one but the hounds wanders back — but we were long gone by then." A sharp wave of relief hit me. Ramsay was gone, a rabid beast put down before he could do worse, and without a leader of that level of cruelty, the bastard boys would hopefully fall apart. I clapped them each on the shoulder.

"Well done. I knew I could count on you both, and I thank you — as your future lord, and as a friend — for trusting me enough to see this through. But remember, this stays between us." I pressed a small pouch of coins into Tom's hand, coins I'd saved from my own allowance.

"You've earned it." They bowed, grinning, and Bennard asked what was going on with the owl on my shoulder as we left the godswood together, finding myself in a good mood. Later, I spotted Theon at his usual spot on the battlements, where he had been going for his own kind of meditation, arrows sinking into targets with that effortless precision of his. I climbed the steps and called out, "Got time to teach a rusty archer?" He smirked, knocking another arrow.

"Think you can keep up? You've bested me in the yard with sword and axe, but the bow's one skill you won't easily take from me." I gave a mock bow.

"All hail the Kraken of the North, master of the bow." I used the nickname deliberately — I wanted it to catch on with Theon, hoping that slipping it into our talks now would make it stick later, tying him a little closer to me. A small thread, but one that might weave him tighter into my trust, and get him thinking more clearly about which direction he wanted his life to go. He laughed, his ego clearly stroked.

"At least you know talent when you see it." We started training, Theon jabbing corrections at my stance — "Feet wider, Robb, you're not dancing with a lady" — but his pointers sharpened my shots all the same. I'd never rival him outright, but I could feel the bow's promise: a scout dropped mid-stride, an enemy downed before he reached the line or climbed a ladder. Some in this world sneered at ranged weapons, called them craven, a coward's tool.

Lords and knights clung to swords and lances, their honor bound up in steel held close. But I wasn't blind enough to let that chain me. Honor wouldn't stop a charging destrier or a dagger in the shadows. Pragmatism would. If a bow kept me alive, I'd use it — this world's notions of honor be damned. We leaned against the wall to catch our breath. I nudged the talk sideways.

"Been meaning to say — we haven't really talked since you mentioned your grandfather. I've been reading up on Stark history myself, and thought it might give us more to share." Theon's gaze wandered as he spoke.

"Luwin's given me some Greyjoy scrolls. We once ruled the Riverlands, before the Targaryens burned us out. If I ever lead the Ironborn, I'd keep us strong, raiding Essos or their pirates, instead of fighting in Westeros and earning the hatred of every other realm for it."

"Smart," I said, encouraging the thought.

"Your grandfather would've been proud of that. Your uncle too, I'd wager — the reader." I wanted to suggest he write to that side of his family, but held off, hoping it might happen on its own.

"You could guard trade ships as well. Merchants would pay well for Ironborn strength at sea — they'd learn to be glad of the sight of your sails instead of dreading them." His eyes sparked.

"Been thinking that myself. Power without picking fights." If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. As Theon talked, my mind wandered to his father, and a hot little rant boiled up in me before I could stop it. What a bloody fool Balon Greyjoy was. Declaring a second rebellion and striking at the North instead of the undefended Westerlands, or the ill-prepared Reach — what had the man been thinking?

The North was sprawling and poor, a nightmare to hold with winter looming, and the Starks would already be stretched thin fighting in the War of the Five Kings. The Westerlands, though — fat with gold, softer since Lannisport's last sacking, the Lannisters themselves too busy fighting everyone else to guard their own backyard properly.

In the story I remembered, Robb had already broken most of their army at Oxcross, the Whispering Wood, and Golden Tooth, leaving only Tywin's fifteen thousand holed up at Harrenhal — nothing left to defend the Westerlands but green boys and old men who'd scatter at the first sight of longships. If Balon had half the sense he'd shown in his first rebellion, he'd have found some quiet nonaggression pact with us instead, even briefly, long enough to raid the Westerlands and reap the spoils in truth.

Instead, he'd turned on the very family that had raised his son, all over petty pride and a grudge against Ned Stark for a fate that was really of his own making. Strategic madness, more like — the kind of thing that only made sense if the story needed the lion's clawed back into relevance. It still made my blood simmer at the thought. But I swallowed it down. Theon wasn't his father. And I could still use him.

If I played this right, nudged him with a few well-placed words now and again, maybe he'd steer the Ironborn down a smarter path than Balon ever managed — closer to what his grandfather had once tried. It already looked like his own path was shifting a little. After the archery lesson, we kept talking about grandfathers and legacies until Jon, Arya, and Dacey arrived for their own lesson with Theon. I ruffled Arya's hair.

"Listen to Theon — he's good with a bow," I smirked at him, then gave Jon a teasing look, eyebrows raised, as if to suggest he ought to show Theon some respect. Jon rolled his eyes at me, and I wished them all luck before heading for the yard. Coming down off the battlements into Winterfell's sparring yard, I spotted Smalljon Umber hauling himself up on a pull-up bar. He dropped down, grinning as I neared.

"Rematch, Robb? Your training contraptions are doing wonders for me — never seen anything like them," he said, flexing his arms.

"Your guards would put ours to shame. Mind if I show my lads a thing or two when I get back from fostering?" I grabbed a practice greatsword as I answered, knowing I'd need the practice for whenever I finally handled the real Stark greatsword, Ice, which I still hoped to convince Father not to take south with him. I met Smalljon's grin with a nod.

"Of course. You're here to foster, to bind our houses closer. If my methods help, take them back to the Umbers. Every stronger Northman is a boon to the North, and to us Starks besides." Let him carry my methods home, I thought. A stronger Umber force loyal to our banner bolstered everyone and kept Smalljon tied to me as well—a small gesture. But alliances and bonds were built on exactly this kind of thing. He laughed, a deep rumble.

"Aye, that's the truth." We squared off, and he came at me hard, swinging a heavy blow with his dulled axe. I barely parried it, the jolt rattling up my arms. He's got real power, more than most, I noted, circling left. I slashed at his ribs to test him. He twisted, blocking with that ox-like strength of his, but I was already moving, feinting high, then dipping low to tap his knee. He stumbled, grunting, and we reset. Speed's my edge, I reminded myself. Keep him off balance.

Another clash — he drove me back with a wide arc, axe whistling through the air. I ducked under it, slipping to his flank. My blade nicked his side, and I darted behind, hooking his leg with mine. He hit the snow with a thud, my sword resting at his spine. He laughed, brushing snow off as he rose.

"You're still top dog with those fancy feet, but I'm closing the gap."

"Top wolf," I shot back, grinning.

"And you are getting faster." I clapped his shoulder, firm and friendly, and meant it — every strong man was a boon to the North. And every friendly rival's a blade I can aim, I thought besides. His size and power had genuinely surprised me; he matched my own strength some days, despite his bigger build and years on me, though I still had speed and footing on my side—enough for now.

Let him think he was closing the distance — it would push him harder, and the friendly rivalry would keep him loyally engaged with me besides. After a few more rounds, I wiped the sweat from my brow and trudged back to my room to collect Hedwig, who sat on a custom perch by the window — a nicer, more open version of what Maester Luwin used for his ravens. I'd had Mikken strip the top and sides off an old cage to make it.

I'd named the owl Hedwig, a small nod to my old life and a story from another magical world I'd once loved, and it still made me smile every time I said it out loud — especially since Hedwig, unlike his namesake, was a boy. Once at the ramparts, I put him through his training alongside my own. I'd left small items scattered along the far side of the night before for fetching drills, along with wordless commands for my first bonded companion.

I tore a bit of meat from my pouch, fed him, then let him take off, sending commands through our bond as he glided out, snagging each item and swooping back to me. Not yet as fast or precise as I wanted, but useful all the same, and a solid foundation. I refilled his water, left him more bread, and went to find Luwin for the evening lesson. Meeting Maester Luwin again to wrestle with the Old Tongue. The words still scraped at my throat, but I was getting there.

"Skjoldr," he said, tapping the scroll.

"Skjoldr. Shield?"

"Correct. Vargkonungr."

"Vargkonungr. Wolf king?"

"Well done." I echoed the words back, feeling their weight settle into me. This wasn't just history to me — I needed this language to lock in alliances with the Thenns and the giants, the way Brandon the Builder and the old Starks once had, and to earn their trust while I was at it. It would help hide my plans from spies, too, if it ever came to that, and let me teach others to speak or write it in time.

"You've a real gift for this, Robb. Most wouldn't trouble themselves," Luwin said, rolling the scroll shut.

"It's useful," I said, shrugging.

"And I had a knack for languages in —" I caught myself before the slip could land, and covered it with, "— in whatever way a man picks these things up. Difficult, but not impossibly so." He wore a proud face as he smiled.

"A practical mind." My thoughts turned to Uncle Benjen. As First Ranger, he understood the wildlings better than most, respected by some among them, feared by others. He could carry a message to the Thenns and start talks early. It might even keep him from vanishing one day into whatever the smallfolk believed became of the man they called Coldhands — I wasn't entirely sold on that theory myself, but one less dead Stark was a good thing regardless, Father excluded.

However, that particular tangle of guilt could wait for another day. With Jon staying here now instead of the Wall, the Watch would need a new leader eventually, if old Commander Mormont was still fated to fall — and Uncle Benjen would make a fine one. Benjen could be Lord Commander if I nudged him the right way.

Next time he visited, I'd play the eager nephew and heir, ask him about the Wall and the Thenns, and hope I'd already have spoken to Father by then, letting Benjen step in as the knowledgeable expert to back me up. That could wait, though. I still had time. With foresight and patience, I could keep shaping things for the better. As my lesson with Luwin wound down, I thanked him and headed back to bed, reflecting on the day's successes and turning over my plans for what came next.

Hedwig perched nearby as I flopped onto the bed. One day at a time, I thought, grinning, as sleep came to claim me.