Chương 16: Changing Outlooks

Benjen Stark's POV The hooves of my mount and my companions beat steadily on the snow-trodden path, a gentle crunch accompanying every step. Winterfell had left my mind heavy. Ned and Catelyn had brought more joy to that castle than I could ever recall; it bustled now, more than it had in my own childhood. And Robb — what a fine lad he'd become. He had Ned's honor, Brandon's fire, Lyanna's wildness, and Catelyn's poise. I still couldn't quite believe he was a warg. What a shock that had been.

I'd met a couple in my rangings, but to know my own nephew shared that gift — the future lord of Winterfell, no less — still sat strangely with me. Before I left, with Robb seeing me off, he'd told me he meant to start training Jon too. He'd even grinned and said, "Don't be surprised if eventually all the Starks turn out to be wargs." I laughed to myself. Wouldn't that be something? I glanced up at the clear sky. The North stretched out, beautiful and vast, my true home.

I wished I could see more of it, though I harbored no regrets for joining the Watch — only for what had driven me there, and for the family I might have had, something like Ned's perhaps, but grief and now duty called and Robb's plan, the one we'd shaped together, still astonished me. Ned had accepted it.

Robb must have a silver tongue in him somewhere, because even I, who saw the plan's merit, hadn't expected convincing the more civilized of the free folk to say yes would be anything less than a hard road yet to come. Still, what Ned and Robb offered was good. The Stony Shore, as land given to the Thenns, would be a haven compared better to anything north of the Wall. And by the gods, if giants returned to the North, what a sight that would be.

Robb always spoke of their strength — not just in war, but in building and shaping the land besides. He truly did seem touched by the Old Gods. He had grand visions, and something in the way he carried himself made you believe he could pull them off. The guards admired him, the servants too, more than just as a future lord. He was kind — teaching Theon with old scrolls, Arya her letters, even Sansa a bit of politics.

If anyone could sway the Thenns and giants to bend the knee and come south into our North, it would be Robb, I thought. I gripped the letter from Ned to Lord Commander Mormont, my instructions to lead a good-sized party to meet the Thenns, offering guest right and requesting a meeting between them and the Starks of Winterfell, old kings of the North, and their leader. Written in the Old Tongue, smeared with Robb's and Ned's own blood, it showed respect, Robb had said.

I marveled at how far the two of them had come with the tongue already. After just a couple of weeks under Luwin and Robb both, my own clumsy phrases had sharpened into something almost diplomatic. I glanced at my brothers in black riding beside me. I'd hinted at Ned's offer, at easing our burden with the free folk and strengthening the North besides. They didn't know the particulars yet, not until I'd spoken with the Lord Commander myself will I let it out in the open.

Half the Watch would agree, I reckoned; the other half would fight it tooth and nail. It would fall to me — as a black brother, a Stark, and First Ranger besides — to sway them. I could see the potential strength this held for the Watch and the North alike. Robb had shown me old scrolls of trade deals with the free folk, for their skins, crafts, and the rare furs we couldn't find south of the Wall.

Records, too, of free folk clans bending the knee for passage or settling rights in ages past — rare, but not without precedent, which Robb had made sure I knew. I took a deep breath, focusing on the changes ahead and the better North Robb envisioned. His resolute face flickered in my mind, blending somehow with Lyanna's. I'd do my best not to let him, or the rest of my family, down again. Robb's POV I took a breath, admiring Winterfell's godswood in the early morning light.

I'd grown to love the crisp air and the red leaves; it felt as though the Old Gods murmured with every rustling gust. I exhaled and turned to Jon, sitting cross-legged beneath the heart tree, eyes closed, struggling to focus. His breath fogged as he fidgeted, frost dusting his cloak. We'd been at this for three days running. He sighed, opening his eyes.

"When will something actually happen?" he asked, annoyance sharp in his tone.

"You can't rush it, Jon," I said.

"It's not like swinging a sword — you're good at that because you practice it. This takes stillness, breathing, letting everything else fade. Remember how you teased me when it took weeks to bond with Hedwig? To sense what he senses, to push commands through? It's a process. Meditating now will help once you actually bond with something. It's incredible, like one of Old Nan's stories come alive. Stick with it, and you'll get there." He straightened, closing his eyes again.

I shut mine too, reaching for Hedwig's sight. It was strange — not painful, but like stepping outside myself. I hadn't mastered it, but with enough focus I could see through his eyes. When he soared, it was breathtaking. I let the connection fade and opened my eyes. Benjen had left days ago to deliver Father's request for a meeting with the Thenns, and now all I could do was wait, somewhat anxiously, for news of his progress.

I trusted him to handle the arrangements — whether the Thenns would travel to Winterfell or we'd journey to the Wall didn't much matter to me. What mattered was that it happened within three or four months. I needed them settled in the South for a year or so, long enough for the North to gradually get used to their presence while we were still at peace, so they'd feel more comfortable fighting alongside us when war came.

It would also be a good chance for them to prove themselves to the rest of the North — and nothing would bind them to the North faster than a war against the South. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Most of the South viewed us as uncivilized barbarians, though a few lords in the Vale and the Riverlands, along with the older houses, still held respect for the Starks.

Father had earned that honor; people thought him as honorable as any Arryn of the Vale, which he essentially was. I meant to carry the Stark ways in myself, carefully shaping how others saw me. In the story I remembered, the South had underestimated Robb until his victories forced them to resort to treachery instead. I was determined not to let that happen again. Between Ramsay's death, the fosterlings, and the bonds I'd strengthened with Theon and Jon, I'd already shifted our position significantly.

For now, I wanted to keep our actions close to the story I knew, at least until the neglectful King Robert Baratheon came calling for Father to be his Hand. I'd also make sure Bran never suffered his fate. He'd stay in the North, at Winterfell, or perhaps foster with the Karstarks near the Wall instead. As for the Three-Eyed Raven, he could rot in obscurity for all the worth he'd shown in the show — just a bitter old Targaryen who'd gotten lucky enough to be touched by the Old Gods.

He wouldn't get his hands on Bran. My brother had the makings of a sharp administrator, not a pawn in someone else's grand vision. I turned the idea of his fostering with the Karstarks over once more, then set it aside for another time. Jon fidgeted beside me, his eyes fluttering open, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.

"So, you're done for today?" I teased. He offered me a hand so I could pull him up, a playful grin on his face.

"You look a bit too cozy, lost in your deep thoughts as usual. How about another spar? I've found there's some truth to your advice about a tired body helping the meditation along, my brotherly lord," he joked, eyes sparkling with anticipation. I smirked as I took his hand.

"At least you're listening, you stubborn bastard," I said, clapping him on the back as Hedwig settled onto my shoulder.

"All right, then. Let's head to the yard — I'll teach you something you still need practice in, though we both know that if it weren't for me taking things more seriously, you'd still be the one teaching me." With laughter trailing behind us, we headed outside, eager to embrace whatever the day had in store. It promised to be a fine one.

Jon Snow's POV The packed summer snow in the yard still crunched softly under my heel as I circled Robb, who stood opposite me grinning, the same grin he used to wear when we were boys sneaking honey and lemon cakes from the kitchens for Sansa and ourselves. Only now he stood taller than me by a fair bit, nearly taller than Father — the months since his head injury had seen him grow and change in ways I still found hard to fathom, and so did the rest of the household.

His fire-kissed hair was shaved close on the sides, the top left a short, tight mass of curls and braid that caught the sun. The Tully blue in his eyes looked almost mirthful when he smiled like that — wolfish, sure of himself, like a man who knew everything but was always willing to share.

"Ready, brother?" he called, spinning the short-handled dull war axe in his right hand as though it weighed nothing. A round shield of oak and iron hung easily on his left arm. I answered by stepping in, bracing my dull practice bastard sword as I raised my own shield, rimmed with iron, and settled into guard. We met in the center with no more warning than that. Robb came low and fast, axe already whipping toward my knee. I hopped back, felt the wind of it kiss my greaves, and slashed down at his extended arm.

He caught the blow on his shield, the impact jarring up my arms, and spun inside my guard before I could recover. The top of his shield slammed into my chest, driving the air from my lungs. I staggered, swung blind, caught only the rim of his shield, and glanced away. He laughed, short and bright.

"Too slow, Jon." I found my breath and my feet again. He was always faster than I remembered him being, even from just a spar ago — faster than anyone I'd sparred with. I feinted high, dropped the point, and lunged for his thigh. Robb twisted at the hips, impossibly smooth, and the axe head thudded into my shield so hard the wood split along one of the iron bands, splinters stinging my cheek. I shoved the ruined shield into his face, trying to make space.

He slipped aside like water, hooked his axe behind my ankle, and yanked with a strength I didn't remember him having. The world tilted as I hit the snow on my back with a grunt, my sword flying from numb fingers to stick upright a pace away. A few of the watching guards clapped at the end of the bout. Robb's shadow fell over me. The axe rested lightly against my gorget — not hard enough to cut mail, just enough to remind me it could.

"Yield, Snow," he said, breathing only a little quicker than when we'd started, a hand held out to me. He was never nasty about how much better he was, not like some others might have been. I took his hand and noticed his cheeks were barely red, his breathing barely quickened — same as always, the cold never seeming to touch him, though I knew by now it wasn't just the Old Gods watching over him, or some blessing, the way some of the other guards and servants liked to say.

I saw what all the others saw: that Robb trained harder than anyone, myself included. One day he'd be a good lord, and Catelyn be damned if I didn't mean to stand at his side, exactly as he wanted me to.