Chương 14: Stacking the Deck

I left the kitchens with my morning sausage and bread, a routine the cooks had now picked up without my asking, since I'd been requesting it so often lately. Walking through the castle, my mind drifted back over the five days since Benjen and I had pitched our plan to Father — to bring the Thenns, and the last of the towering giants and their mammoths, south of the Wall to kneel as vassals to the starks once more. The days had slipped by quickly, and I'd tried not to obsess over Father's decision.

He hadn't agreed to my plan in the first go, but he hadn't turned us down either with a hard no. Instead he'd started joining Luwin and me for Old Tongue lessons himself. His broad hands struggled with the runes, but his calm, patient nature kept him steady at it. Benjen had taken up the offer too, deepening his own grasp of the tongue in our sessions. Small progress, but progress all the same.

With Benjen still at Winterfell and Father showing more willingness to bend than I remembered from the show or from Robb's own memories, I felt a quiet, steady momentum building in me, carrying me happily out into the yard. The morning air stung, though less sharply for me than for most, thanks to whatever gift I now carried. The training yard buzzed with grunts, the clash of wooden swords, shouts from men already deep into their drills.

Ever since I'd shared my methods with the guards and Jory, and taken Tom and Bennard under my wing, the yard had rarely gone quiet. Some mornings it was Smalljon challenging every guard in sight to a bout or Jory running the lot through drills. I smiled at the sight of it — good to see the place feeling so alive. Then I spotted Benjen leaning against a post, a wooden sword hanging loose in his hand.

He caught my eye and flashed that sharp smirk of his, on that long face so like Father's, though Father himself rarely smirked at all. I laughed under my breath and headed his way.

"Looking for a spar, Uncle? Tired of testing yourself against free folk and black brothers?" I called out. He grinned wider.

"Of course, nephew. I think you undersold yourself when you said you were decent with a sword and axe. Everyone here's calling you the next Hungry Wolf, the way they go on about your skill. You'd think you were the finest blade in Westeros," he said, stepping into the yard with me. I laughed, "Of course not uncle, just the North." We began circling each other, the yard growing quiet as the guards turned to watch. Benjen moved like a ranger — quick, sure, every step precise.

I kept my own stance loose, grip firm, and waited. His first move came fast, a jab at my chest. I deflected it, sidestepped, and swung low at his legs. He parried, but I was already moving again, darting round him, blade cutting the air. The spar stretched on as I let him wear himself down. Benjen was strong and seasoned — years of ranging beyond the Wall had likely thrown him into more real fights than most men here, save maybe the veterans of the Mad King's war or the Greyjoy Rebellion.

His strikes jolted my arms, but with the edge my "reawakening," as I'd taken to calling it, gave me, I felt steadier as Robb than I had any right to. The extra speed, the faster growth, the resistance to the cold, let me match him and then start to outpace him. I ducked a high swing, spun, tapped his ribs with the flat of my blade. He grunted, stepping back, eyes wide with surprise.

"Hells, Robb, you've got some speed on you. Those exercises are no joke," he said, laughing.

"Move like a hell's damned shadowcat." I smirked back.

"Now, Uncle, just because I'm better doesn't mean you ought to compare me to beasts. The Old Gods watch the Starks, most say, and I won't deny it feels that way, some days," I said, leaning into the devout image I'd been building for myself.

"There's a reason the North still honors them — we drove the Andals back time and again with the strength of that faith. Father may have built Mother a sept, but that promise won't hold forever, once she's gone. Though I pray that's a long way off yet." Our blades met again as I spoke, Benjen pressing harder to test me. I twisted my wrist at the last second on a thrust, caught him off guard, and landed a light tap on his shoulder.

By the time we stopped, my tunic was soaked through with sweat, and Benjen stood there panting, grinning wider than I'd seen him grin all day.

"You're a bloody natural, Robb," he said, clapping my back.

"Fast, smart, gifted. Don't squander that, and you'll be a Stark history remembers." His breath came short, but the words carried real weight behind them. I noticed it rang like a true statement of my skills and his true belief that I would go far. I nodded, letting the praise settle in. Gifted.

I'd always known Robb was meant to become a fine commander and fighter, from everything I'd read and watched — but hearing it from Benjen, a man who'd faced wildlings and worse beyond the Wall, lifted my spirits higher still. It confirmed I was on the right path, that I had a real chance to reshape the Starks' fate, and Westeros with it. I thanked him for the spar paired with praise and went to clean up before meeting Luwin.

Later, in Maester Luwin's cluttered chambers, my focus shifted from swordplay to strategy and statecraft. Luwin sat hunched over the table, quill scratching out Old Tongue runes, while I paced, turning the shape of the vassal contract over in my mind as we talked. I wanted it finished before Father gave any formal word on the plan.

"It needs to be clear, Luwin," I said, my voice steady.

"The Thenns and the giants won't trust vague promises, and Father — and the North — will want solid terms besides."

"Agreed," he said, quill moving steadily while I stood by the window, gazing down into the courtyard, my thoughts still out beyond the Wall.

"The giants should break from the Thenns and form their own house, sworn directly to the Starks before they make it to the Stoney Shore. Any Thenns who wish to stay with them can, but they'd need to take new names. I'd have them settle near the Wolfswood, close to the mountain clans and the rivers that flow downhill for their nomadic way. The Thenns will take the Stony Shore — both Stark land, far enough west to ease the nerves of the houses nearer the Wall."

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Luwin nodded, still writing as I spoke.

"And the terms, besides loyalty, for the bending of the knee and following our laws?"

"Five years, no taxes," I said.

"They'll need the time to build and grow. But they'll send fighting men when we call, same as any bannerman. And at least two wargs come to Winterfell — one for my own guard, one for the household. Kept secret, known only to Father, Jory, Benjen, and you." Luwin paused, quill tapping, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"Two wargs. That's a bold request, Robb. The Thenns may not agree to it."

"They won't like it," I admitted, crossing my arms.

"Even among the free folk, wargs are powerful, but mistrusted more often than not. Still, they'll see the honor and the peace in serving the Starks directly. It's not something I'll bend on. I have need of their talents here — guarding our home, helping me. In return, we're offering them good coastal land to fish and farm and thrive on, free of constantly defending what's theirs from other free folk's raids. Even in the North's milder climate, their farming will outyield anything they could manage beyond the Wall.

We're offering stability and real growth, and they'll learn to value it, even if I have to knock a little sense into a few of them along the way." Those wargs could mean the difference between victory and ruin, for my plans, my family, and the North's future both, I thought, keeping that part to myself. Luwin didn't need every detail, even trusted as he was. I'd seen him die once already, in the story I remembered — cut down by a Theon who'd turned traitor. A fate I meant never to let happen again.

He kept writing, then glanced up.

"The giants will need more than land. Mammoths have big appetites and will need open fields with water close by, as well as timber or stone for shelter, guidance in our laws and customs besides."

"Good point," I said.

"Some Thenns will likely want to stay with them regardless, and we could bring in a few willing hands from the mountain clans to help bridge the language gap. I've thought of sending some of Grandmother's own kin to act as stewards of a sort, though we wouldn't call it that to the giants' faces. They could teach, translate where needed. The clans will help if a Stark asks it of them, especially Grandmother's own blood.

I've even thought of asking Father if Rickon might foster with the giants himself with Flint watchers, when he's older — a sign of trust, and a reward for their help in all this." Luwin's eyes crinkled with a smile.

"You're picking up the Old Tongue fast enough to manage all this yourself, it seems." I smirked.

"Maybe. But we'll need more than just me for it. Still, I mean to be there myself when we greet them, settle them into their new lands — or Father, if he learns the tongue well enough by then. I want them to know the Starks speak their words, and respect them enough to say so in person." He added a line to the scroll.

"And the taxes — five years is generous. Perhaps a clause: if they prosper sooner, they contribute a little early. Raw materials or harvest, maybe, rather than gold, same as we ask of the poorer villages?" I frowned, weighing it.

"No. Five years builds trust properly. If they're strong by then, they'll give more freely, in men and loyalty both — which is worth a good deal more than coin." I valued their giants and their grasp of the Old Tongue over any tax revenue regardless. In less than two years I'd be calling the banners; in less than a year and a half, Father would ride south with Robert Baratheon, toward his own doom. Luwin dipped his head.

"Fair enough. And the oath itself?"

"The Old Tongue," I said.

"Sworn before a heart tree, binding them properly to us. Guest right too, maybe a blood oath — something their people will honor more than ink on parchment. A translated copy for Father, since he's still wrestling with the runes himself." Luwin's quill flew across the page, the terms finally taking real shape. I watched him for a moment, a quiet certainty settling into place — one more theory about this world of ice and fire quietly laid to rest. He's no spy, I thought. Not Luwin.

The old fan theories about maesters serving the Citadel over their own houses held some water elsewhere, maybe, but never for him. He'd bled for Winterfell once already, in the story I knew. I trusted him with this, with the North's whole future.

"What of the other houses?" Luwin asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

"The Umbers won't care for giants settling so near the Wolfswood."

"They'll grumble," I conceded.

"But the giants will be under our watch, and the Thenns will sit on the Stony Shore, well clear of Last Hearth. Once they see the strength the giants bring, they'll quiet down soon enough. The North respects power above most things. I'll remind them of the giants on their own house sigil besides — that they fought beside the Old Gods, helped build the Wall alongside Brandon the Builder himself. No Stark will turn away a giant willing to bend the knee." Luwin gave a faint smile.

"You've got your father's stubbornness, it seems."

"I'll take that," I said, grinning back. He rolled the scroll and bound it with a leather strip.

"Nearly done. We'll refine it tomorrow, and present it to your father once it's ready."

"Thank you, Luwin. You've been a fine teacher, and a good friend to me as well," I said. He waved me off, though the smile lingered.

"You'd have managed without me, Robb. You've grown so much these past months, matured well past your years. If I didn't know better, I'd have told your father to send you to earn a chain at the Citadel instead." I laughed.

"Maybe in another life," I said, half to him, half to myself. I thanked him again and let my feet carry me out. Dusk was settling by the time I reached the godswood, the weight of the contract still humming in my mind. The heart tree stood ahead, red eyes unblinking, branches rustling faintly. I knelt before it and let my thoughts pour out. I'd never been a religious man in my old life, but something about this place had taken hold of me all the same.

If I were to worship any gods now, the Old Gods felt closest to the old Norse ones I'd always found fascinating in another life. Forget the three-eyed raven and his schemes — I'd pray straight to the Old Gods themselves. And if I could one day help revive the children of the forest without that manipulator's hand in it, I would. I prayed, quietly, that the North might stand tall one day with giants at its side and wargs not hiding in its shadow.

The wind sighed through the leaves, and for a moment I swore I felt something — a twinge of magic, deep and old as stone. Then it faded, leaving only silence and a distant owl's hoot. I stood, brushed the dirt from my knees, and smiled. The Old Gods were listening, or so I liked to hope. That was enough, for now. As I made my way back to rest, Hedwig landed on my shoulder just as I stepped clear of the godswood. I already knew I'd have at least one confidant in him, whatever came next.