Chương 15: A Gift for a Cousin

As Luwin and I stepped out of Father's solar, I wore what most would call a wolfish grin. We'd drafted the first rough version of the vassal contract weeks back, not long after Benjen and I first pitched the plan to Father. I'd been itching to show it to him right away, but held off, thinking he'd want time to sit with the idea, maybe even work at the Old Tongue himself a while longer first.

If he felt he understood the contract, felt some ownership in it even by association, he'd be more likely to stay steady in his decision once it was made. It seemed to have worked — he'd just finished reading the polished draft, and there'd been an eagerness on his face I hadn't expected to see from the Quiet Wolf. The solar door shut behind us, and the corridor echoed with our steps, Luwin's chain clinking faintly beside me while my mind kept turning over the contract's finer points.

Five years, tax-free, for the Thenns to root themselves properly on the Stony Shore. In return, fighting men whenever we called, same as any bannerman. And buried within it, the quiet matter of the two wargs, bound for Winterfell — one for my own guard, one for the keep, their names kept from everyone but Father, Jory, Benjen, and Luwin. That clause alone had sharpened something in Father's grey eyes, as though he half-suspected a connection between me and Hedwig already. The rest was simpler.

The Thenns would take the Stony Shore, carve farms from its rough soil, fish the coast, no more wildling raids to fear, and any Ironborn foolish enough to go looking for easy timber there would be crushed easily enough.

The giants, meanwhile, would settle nearer the Wolfswood and the mountains where my great-grandmother's clan still lived, both new houses swearing to the Starks directly, the oath sealed before a heart tree and sworn on guest right besides — a knot neither side could cut without breaking something sacred. No Stark would ever draw steel first against giant or Thenn, not unless the contract itself was broken.

That alone, I hoped, would settle the rest of the Northern lords once word of the plan got out — proof we meant to strengthen the North, not endanger it. Luwin and I had worked through the finer logistics together — giant labor for roads and land-shifting canals later, dreams for after the wars were done, if I could keep us all alive that long. I shook off the scheming as we reached his quarters, the tower steps spiraling up ahead.

"Thank you, Luwin," I said, clapping his shoulder.

"Teaching me, Benjen, and Father the Old Tongue, learning half of it fresh yourself while you were at it — your mind's sharper than half the blades in our armory. Thank you for serving the Starks so well." He gave a small bow, adjusting his robe.

"It's my duty, Robb. If this holds, it's two new houses for the North — a rare thing indeed. I'm glad to have helped you get this far. Reward enough in itself. I've watched you grow since you were a boy, and you've made me proud in the teaching of you." After a few more words, I left him with a nod and set off through Winterfell's halls to find Jon. My boots rang against the stone, the air thick with smoke and frost.

Jon could've been anywhere — with Dacey or Arya, or brooding under the heart tree, though he did less of that lately than he used to — but it was near midday, so my coin was on the training yard, blade flashing against Tom's or Bennard's. Sure enough, I stepped out into the open and found him there, sweat beading on his brow despite the cold, sword clashing not against Tom or Bennard, but against Jory himself.

"Jory!" I called, crossing the yard.

"Mind if I borrow your training dummy for a moment?" I asked, smirking at Jon as I said it. Jon rolled his eyes.

"Sure, Robb," Jory said, laughing.

"Was getting tired of him showing off to me anyway." I clapped them both on the back, chuckling. Jon would probably still be counted the finest sword in the North, maybe all of Westeros, if it weren't for me, I thought — he'd earned that reputation here regardless, though I still wondered whether he'd ever have bested Jaime in his prime, or Arthur Dayne.

Jaime had both hands still, at least for now, so we'd likely never know, unless the two of them ever crossed blades themselves — a meeting I'd rather avoid, if I had any say in it. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. I brushed the thought aside and pulled Jon along with me.

"What did you need, Robb — a spar, or were you after Arya?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"I was looking for my favorite bastard, who happens to also be my favorite brother." He punched me lightly in the arm for that, laughing despite himself.

"And what do I owe the pleasure of this visit to?" he asked, as I steered him toward the godswood. I didn't know Jon's exact birthday, but as I recalled it fell right around the turn of the new year, and as luck would have it, his name day in this world landed the same way — only a couple of weeks off now, with 297 AC nearly upon us. That left me a little under a year and a half to prepare for everything still to come.

I had plans for Jon beyond the obvious — a kind of backup, in case my larger hopes for a somewhat different Westeros ever fell through. But now that he wasn't likely to run off to the Wall this time, I wanted him closer regardless. I didn't feel much guilt over any of my nudging where Jon was concerned; whatever I asked of him, his fate in the world I remembered had been so much crueler than anything he'd face here, with me looking out for him.

I wanted a deeper bond with him — as brothers, as family, and as the kind of friend he could always turn to. I wanted, too, to plant the seed of something further: that if my larger plans ever failed, or some emergency demanded it, he might be the one to take up the crown of Westeros in my place. All of that would depend on how the years ahead actually unfolded, of course.

"My real plan today was to give you an early name day gift," I told him as we came to a stop before the heart tree.

"You're a Stark, whether or not Mother's ready to say so outright — and more than that, you're my brother. I've been meaning to tell you something I've only told one other person so far, and I trust you to keep it close, Jon." I could see him about to make a joke of it, unsure whether to take me seriously or just easing the tension his own way, but I pressed on before he could.

"The only one who knows is Benjen, and that's because he had some notion of it already, some experience of his own. I'm a warg," I said, holding out my arm as Hedwig made one of his usual dramatic entrances, landing the moment I called him.

"I believe every Stark carries the potential for it — that it's simply been lost to us these past few generations, cut short by war after war. I'm trusting you to help me keep this quiet for now, and to train alongside me." I knew from the books, the show, and Robb's own memories that despite the life he'd had here, better than most bastards could hope for, Jon still felt like an outsider more often than not — so I knew that trusting him with something this size would mean more to him than most gifts could.

"I need you, Jon. I don't want to worry Father with this yet, and there's no one else I trust the way I trust you. You're my brother, whatever the name says, Stark enough for me with Father's blood in your veins." Even knowing the truth of his parentage already, I kept that for another day — not the time, not yet.

"Will you let me teach you?" I asked.

"We can learn this together, grow stronger together, protect this family together. Like those games we used to play as boys, pretending to be the old Starks — except now we actually can master a piece of our history with the Old Gods' for real this time. Think of it as an early name day gift, from me to you. What do you say, Jon?" I held his eyes, firm and steady, as I finished.

"Will you help me with this, brother?" Jon looked back at me, his face somewhere between shock and disbelief, eyes wide as he gripped my arms, whether for balance or to steady himself against the sheer strangeness of it, I couldn't say. Slowly, the shock gave way to something more resolved.

"Yes, Robb," he said.

"You can always count on me. whether it's my trust or my sword — you're my brother, and you'll be Lord Stark one day. I'll stand with you, even in this. Old magic or not." He said it with such utter seriousness that I laughed despite myself, thanking him for it.

"Always so dramatic, aren't you, Jon," I said, if only to lighten the mood — ignoring how dramatic I'd been myself getting us here in the first place, now that he'd said yes.

"Come, sit. I'll tell you everything I know about being a warg." I meant to tell him everything, straight through until night fell if it came to that. Inwardly, I let out a long breath. This had turned out well — one of Jon's more memorable name day gifts yet, I hoped.