Chương 12: An Uncle’s Backing

A restless energy stirred in me the moment I woke — a gut feeling that Benjen would arrive today, same as he had in previous years, if Robb's memories and what I remembered from the show held. He usually came a month or two before year's end to speak with Father about the state of the Wall, and I wanted to be among the first to greet him, to pull him aside and talk. If I could get him to see things my way, I knew he'd understand. A quiet laugh escaped me as I dressed, tugging on my boots.

Benjen respected the free folk, understood the dangers waiting beyond the Wall, and recognized the fragile cooperation that could exist between them and the North, better than anyone else at Winterfell. If I could nudge him toward the idea — or better, let him think he'd stumbled onto it himself — that the surest way to strengthen the Wall and the North both was to convince its most advanced clan, and the giants who'd once served the Starks alongside them, to cross over and bend the knee, it might just work.

This world ran on tradition and the old ways, especially in the North, and it seemed likelier that I could bring the giants through peacefully before I ever managed the wildlings at large. With Benjen's backing, this plan stood a real chance, which would strengthen my hand later when the time came to convince the rest of the North to let the wider mass of willing free folk cross to bend to the Starks, once we had proof of the White Walkers to and a year or so of the giants and thennes good will to show for it.

Early integration like this would smooth the way and let people see that the idea was workable before the stakes got any higher. They'd join us in time, their swords turned against whichever free folk refused to come south, and eventually against the dead themselves, when that threat finally arrived.

Once I'd secured more footing in the South, once the War of the Five Kings had ended or quieted enough for me to turn my attention back north to the Wall and the White Walkers, I'd have the prestige and power to demand what I needed. Bringing the wider mass of the free folk across to fight the dead would be far simpler with a crown on my head, a string of victories behind me, and giants at my back.

For now, though, one clan felt manageable — especially one with laws already in place, and, most importantly, giants of their own. Those towering figures were a prize I wanted and needed for what was coming. I hated the thought, but I'd likely have to lean on Benjen's own guilt to get him there. I knew why he'd fled to the Wall in the first place — the belief that his silence over Lyanna's letters, over her slipping away with the prince, had cost him his sister, his father, and his brother all at once.

I can frame this as his nephew needing his help to protect what was left of our family in the North. It would go down easier if he believed the idea was partly his own by the time we brought it to Father as well. Still, I really did need at least one adult on my side to bring up this crazy plan. I built a strong foundation early for my other ideas, and to keep things running smoothly, I'll need more than my own support on this.

Lost in these thoughts, I made my way through the gatehouse and into Winter Town, boots crunching on frost, meaning to wait for him there. That morning's hunch morphed into certainty when I spotted Hedwig and saw him swooping back toward me. I tore off a strip of salted meat and tossed it into the air; he caught it mid-flight and landed on my shoulder, talons gripping gently, nudging his head against my cheek in thanks.

I'd told him not to return until he'd spotted Benjen, projecting the image as best I could through our bond, and he seemed to have caught the gist of it well enough, though I still felt clumsy wielding a creature this clever, tied to me by whatever magic this was. Giving orders with nothing but a thought still felt strange, and yet he followed them nearly perfectly. Warging really was a rare, powerful gift, I mused.

A pity the show and books had never dug deeper into it — sadder still that the North had let the Old Gods' blessings fade this far. With luck, I'd revive at least a little of that legacy in the years to come. Sure enough, I soon spotted Benjen approaching with a pair of black brothers as escort, cloaks stark against the snow. I waved them down. He started squinting at me for a moment, recognition slow to click into place.

I couldn't blame him — whatever had happened when I arrived in this world added a bit of an edge in my growth. I didn't recall my exact height from the books, but I nearly matched Father's now, with a year and a half still to grow before the timeline started. My hair and bearing had shifted too — I'd taken to shaving the sides of my head, leaving a wild mop of red curls on top with a Viking braid down the back, something out of one of those old shows of Vikings I'd once watched in another life.

When it did click for him, Benjen's face broke into a grin. He swung down off his horse, his escort following suit, and I stepped forward.

"Hello, Uncle," I said, scratching Hedwig's chin as he preened on my shoulder.

"It's been nearly a year since you last saw me. I had a feeling you'd arrive today." I gave a nod to his escorts, tossing a small coin pouch enough for a few drinks in Winter Town.

"Don't worry, brave and loyal men of the Watch — I'll see my uncle back to the castle myself. Enjoy the town." I took Benjen's arm, tugging him along, while he caught his horse's reins in his free hand to lead it beside us.

"Robb," he said, a surprise plain in his voice.

"Didn't expect you waiting out here. You look so much like both your mother and father. We'd heard you took a bad knock to the head — heard it even up at the Wall — but it seems you've made quite the recovery. Grown a fair bit too. You look strong." I laughed, warm and easy. My relentless training, modern methods adapted to whatever tools this world offered, plus whatever gift had followed me here, had clearly paid off.

"I train nearly every day now," I said, scratching the back of my head with a grin.

"So a horse won't get the better of me twice. Took a proper kick to the skull, if you heard the whole tale. After that, I decided it was time to take things seriously — came a bit too close to losing it all before I'd really gotten to live at all. Mother says I'm growing up too fast for her liking, though." He chuckled.

"No mother wants to see her son, firstborn or not, step into his role too soon. You'll always be her little boy first, I'd wager." I nodded.

"True enough," I said. His gaze drifted to Hedwig, still perched contentedly on my shoulder.

"That's quite a pet you've got there. Looks well trained."

"He is," I agreed.

"Though I'd wager you've seen folk beyond the Wall with sharper skill over tamed beasts than mine." An idea sparked — if I used this the right way, I might build a stronger rapport with him and ease my way into the rest of what I wanted to say.

"Actually, I wanted you here to ask you something about that." He eyed me warily.

"About what, exactly?" I hesitated, then plunged ahead.

"I might regret this, Uncle, but I hope you'll keep it between us. I haven't told Father yet. I think his years in the Vale might've kept him from some of the older Northern tales that would make this easier to believe, so I'll say it plain — I believe I'm a warg, Uncle. Like the old tales of the free folk, or the Starks of old with their direwolves." The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. He gasped, eyes darting from me to Hedwig.

"Can you skinchange?" he whispered as we started up the long trail from Winter Town toward the gate. We had time to talk, but I could see his unease even just speaking of it out here.

"Not yet," I admitted.

"But I feel a bond with Hedwig. I can give him commands, sense roughly where he is and what's around him, like a crude spyglass out of Braavos. It's growing stronger by the week. I think it's only a matter of time before I can warg into him properly." He nodded slowly, his face settling into that solemn Stark mask of his.

"Why bring this to me? I'm no scholar of such things, and I don't exactly keep company with many wargs among the free folk."

"I know," I said, meeting his eyes.

"But you've got more experience with this than most, more rumors and scraps of real knowledge. And I think you'd be one of the few willing to accept this as a gift from the Old Gods, at least for now." I leaned into those last words, hoping to stir whatever faith he'd carried back from his years at the Wall and being born a Stark and of the north. He inclined his head.

"Gift or curse, depends who you ask. Though I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me, and I'll keep it quiet until you're ready. You can trust me in that, Robb. Some don't care for it — think the gift's more a curse than a blessing — though the clans on your grandmother's side tend to take a more reasonable view of it."

"I take your point," I agreed.

"But think what it could mean for ruling the North — scouting, riding messages, coordinating men across a battlefield, large or small. I can't think of a greater boon, save maybe reviving the Old Tongue for our houses." He nodded again, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

"Your father mentioned in his last letter that you'd been studying the Old Tongue with Maester Luwin. Using it as a guarded family tongue, a court language for the North's lords — that's a clear-headed idea and a wild one, both at once, he laughed. It helps with the free folk, too. I know a few words myself, though I've never studied it properly." He ruffled my hair, an old, familiar gesture.

"You'll be a fine lord, Robb. From what you've said, and how your father's described you in his letters, I can tell you're taking all this seriously. You'll make your family proud."

"Thank you, Uncle," I said warmly.

"Speaking of the future, though — I've got a few questions and concerns for you."

"Go on, then," he urged.

"I know the Wall isn't what it once was," I began.

"I've been through the reports with Luwin, with Father's blessing, and it's losing more men each year than it gains, even with most of your recruits still coming out of Westeros's prisons."

"Aye," he said.

"But don't fret too much. We're still holding the North safe for now. Trouble comes, we call the banners, same as always, if a king beyond the Wall ever stirs again."

"But I've been turning over ways to slow that, or stop it outright," I pressed.

"Have you?" He raised a brow.

"Let's hear it, Robb. I can see you want to tell me badly."

"Alright," I said, steadying myself.

"For my plan to work, I need to know more about the free folk — any clan that might fit what I have in mind. Do you know one with real laws, beyond just a chief's word? Doesn't need to be the strongest," though I already knew the Thenns were, "but they should be advanced — organized, maybe less nomadic. I've only got old reports from Winterfell and the Wall to go on, but you're the First Ranger, and my uncle besides. I trust your word over any of it." He studied me.

"You call them free folk," he noted.

"Not many clans earn even half that courtesy from Southerners, let alone Northmen."

"But some do, don't they?" I pressed. He nodded slowly.

"One or two, maybe. The Thenns, though" — I schooled my face to hide my satisfaction the moment he said the name — "they're the most advanced in law and craft, I'd say. Farms even have a walled settlement, or so I've heard — never been myself. They speak the Old Tongue, work bronze, and keep giants among them. That's most of why they're considered the strongest of the lot. Not sure how you'd weave them into your plans, but if you could win them over, they'd be your best bet by far."

"My plan's simple," I said, voice firm.

"I want to convince Father to grant them land and a lordship under our house, direct vassals to Winterfell. We could give them the Stony Shore — it's ours by right, sitting idle, far enough from the Wall that the other lords would feel easier about it. The free folk shun the water besides; even if they tried something foolish, we'd see whatever ramshackle fleet they scraped together long before it mattered.

But if they bent the knee to us, we'd strengthen ourselves, guard the Wall better and as well as our shores, and weaken the wildlings left beyond the Wall, all in one stroke. Might even open the door to other clans down the line. There's precedent for it, old tales of clans crossing for passage and bending the knee to the Starks and our laws when they couldn't keep pace with their rivals. Rare now, but not without precedent in our own history.

I just wanted your view on it, and your support, before I ever brought it to Father. And from what you've told me, the Thenns sound perfect — especially with those giants. Not just for war, either — imagine them widening riverbeds, raising forts, laying roads. Logistically, they'd be a godsend. And if we armored even a handful of them, gave them proper giant-sized bows, well — if the Conqueror or something like him ever came again, his dragons might find a real fight waiting."

He fell silent, eyes wide, clearly turning it all over. Then: "I see the sense in settling them far from the Wall, Robb. And" — he smirked — "your ambitions where those giants are something out of old Nan's mouth. But I doubt they'd kneel easily, even to a Stark."

"We could try," I said.

"Could you arrange a meeting? Send word we'd grant safe passage for talks, on our honor as Starks — and the Old Gods, if it comes to that?" He considered me.

"Aye. Your father's spoken of your growing faith in the Old Gods — that'd carry some weight with them. But there's no guarantee they'd agree, Robb, and I'm not sure we ought to trouble your father with this yet."

"Please, Uncle," I said, my tone hardening.

"Don't do it just for the North. Think of our family." I didn't shy from his guilt now.

"Imagine if we'd had giants during the Mad King's war. That prince never would've dared take Lyanna. The king never would've dared touch my grandfather or my other uncle with a threat like that standing over him. Our family would never have been broken the way it was. It was only you and Father left of the Starks, after all of it. I never want our family broken like that again, Uncle." I finished softly, but with a look of real resolve.

I couldn't know for certain any of that would have held — the Mad King had been unhinged, his son a spoiled fool who thought prophecy excused snatching another lord's daughter. Still, I pressed on.

"Uncle, this could shield the Wall, the North, and our house all at once. You said yourself the Thenns aren't wanderers — they've got farms, walls. I'm certain we could bring them in as a stronger clan in their own right if I could speak with them myself. But I need you beside me to convince Father. Will you stand with me for our family's sake?" We'd nearly reached Winterfell's gates. He stopped, fixing me with a long, still stare — sadness, grief, regret, and something calmer all passing behind his eyes in turn.

Then he burst out laughing, ruffling my hair again.

"You've got Ned's heart and Brandon's boldness both. Catelyn's raised you well besides. And I can see you've been thinking on this a good long while — probably half the reason you took up the Old Tongue to begin with. Shows me just how much thought and dedication you've put into it." He clapped my back.

"You've won me over enough for me to think about it, Robb. If you truly believe this has merit, I'll back you with your father. Now — let's get inside so your poor uncle can rest and eat." We made our way further into the castle, and I turned the talk to easier things — Jon, Arya, Sansa, the wards — a smile on my face all the while, another piece of my plan now well and truly in motion.