Chương 18: At Long Last

I woke as dawn brushed the walls of Winterfell, a faint glow seeping through the narrow windows. Having slept longer than I usually did, I was already stirring when, far too early, a guard's knock echoed through my chambers, followed by his curt voice: "Lord Stark calls for you in the solar, my lord Robb." I murmured something back and nodded, though he couldn't have seen it, and pulled my cloak over my shoulders — thin wool, familiar comfort more than actual warmth.

Boots on, I made my way through the castle, the halls still cloaked in early quiet, and I already had a good guess why Father wanted me so soon. My mind drifted back to what he'd said a few days before, when the raven I'd been waiting on finally arrived from the Wall. Lord Commander Mormont's reply had been cautious but clear: the Thenns and giants had agreed to parley, and if our terms proved truthful, not some ploy, they'd meet with us on neutral ground at a heart tree just past the Wall.

I remembered Father setting the letter down, brow furrowed, saying he'd need time to summon Greatjon Umber and Lord Karstark to Winterfell first. As the two northern lords closest to the Wall, the ones who dealt with the wildlings most directly, this wasn't a decision he could make without telling them himself, not if he wanted to avoid trouble down the line, political or otherwise. He'd also use the chance to offer Karstark Bran's fostering.

He knew he'd lose some trust if he left them out of it, so they needed to hear the plan before we went further — and they'd want something in return for their support besides. Northern lords weren't as vain as their southern counterparts, but every lord wanted something for his loyalty, especially once the status quo started shifting under them. I'd seen the weight of that decision in Father's eyes, the careful trust he was placing in me. We'd worked out together what boons might secure their support.

I didn't know either lord as well as Father did, and he filled in the gaps, particularly around Karstark. Once we offered them a partial understanding of the plan, there'd be no walking it back — after that, it would fall to me to see it through and earn their loyalty properly, for whenever I came to rule over them myself. With that in mind, I made my way to Father's solar. The door creaked as I pushed it open, warmth from the freshly stoked fire washing over me.

Father stood by the hearth, his imposing Stark features framed against the flames, grey eyes fixed on the firelight. The room smelled of him — smoke, old parchment. Maps curled at the edges on the table.

Two figures sat across from him: Rickard Karstark, lean and sharp-eyed, his face weathered by the North's eastern woods — I could see the family resemblance even against the show's version of him — and beside him, unmistakably, Greatjon Umber, a towering bear of a man nursing a mug of ale despite the early hour, looking like an even larger version of his own son.

"Robb," Father said, turning to me.

"Sit. We have much to discuss." I took the chair beside him, hands on the arms, meeting the lords' gazes. Greatjon's eyes glinted with equal parts curiosity and challenge; Rickard's stayed cold, grey, appraising.

"Ned," Greatjon rumbled, his voice filling the room like a drum as he took another swig.

"You've called us from our homes over something that couldn't wait, then made us wait anyway until your son arrived. What's he got to do with the Wall? What's this about?" Father didn't flinch, his face like ice, his tone steady as stone.

"I've decided, after speaking with my maester, my brother Benjen — First Ranger of the Wall — and my son and heir, to find a way to relieve the Wall of its troubles and strengthen the North besides. I propose the Thenns, and the giants who remain with them, be allowed to come back across the Wall, the way it was in the days of Bran the Builder, who raised the Wall with the giants' own hands. Each would settle in the North and swear fealty to House Stark as new vassal houses.

The Thenns would take the Stony Shore, far on the west coast, away from any position to threaten the Wall from within. The giants would settle further still, at the edge of the Wolfswood and the northern mountains, between Winterfell and House Harclay and Flint, though still within my own lands — land and timber enough for themselves and their mammoths both, and close enough to answer for House Stark when called." The air thickened, the crackle of the fire suddenly loud in the silence.

Rickard's fingers tightened on his chair, lips thinning. Greatjon slammed his cup down, ale sloshing over the rim, his face darkening like a storm cloud.

"Wildlings?" he roared.

"You'd let wildlings onto our lands? Ned, have you lost your bloody mind?"

"They're not like the raiders you're picturing, Jon," Father countered, unwavering.

"The Thenns are disciplined, work bronze on their own merit, and keep their own laws and settlements. Do you think I'd let some band of murdering raiders anywhere near my people, my lands, without weighing the risk to my own house first?" He finished with an icy glare and a quiet, firm tone, holding Greatjon's eyes.

"The giants are a strength we haven't seen since the Age of Heroes. This may be our only chance to bring them back into service to House Stark, to strengthen the North rather than weaken it. I've already secured the Night's Watch's acceptance. You were called here to be told, as is your right as lords of the North, and my duty as Warden of the North — and to help ease whatever worries you might have about it." Rickard's voice cut in like a blade.

"Our fathers died keeping wildlings north of that Wall. My uncle bled out on a ranging, his body never found. And now you'd welcome them in? What of your own great-grandfather, William Stark, killed by Raymun Redbeard himself? What of everyone since?" Father raised a hand, gaze steady.

"I know the cost, Rickard. I've fought them myself, and their counterparts in the Vale, and I've thought of everyone who sat in this solar before me and fought them too. But this is a chance to turn foes into allies, bound by oaths sworn before a heart tree, sealed with guest right, since they follow the same gods we do. Just as our ancestors once did with beaten enemies, I'll extend a hand, and crush it if it's refused.

And I'm not asking this without something in return — I'm not taking in every wildling beyond the Wall, only this one clan, bound closely to the giants who remain, the same folk who helped the first Starks raise the very Wall that now keeps the last of them out." Greatjon leaned forward, his bulk casting a shadow across the table.

"What's your price for going along with this madness, Ned?" If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Father turned to him first.

"Jon — if the Thenns ever betray us, yours will be the first strike. Your house will have the honor of leading the charge to crush them, and I'll see to it that at least one giant takes up residence at Last Hearth — a mark of honor no other house can claim, a living symbol for yours." Greatjon blinked, the fury in his eyes flickering.

"A giant at Last Hearth? You're serious?"

"Aye," Father said.

"A symbol of your strength, and the trust I place in you. If this fails, you'll be the fist that ends it." Greatjon rubbed his beard, his growl softening into a grumble.

"That's… something, Ned. A giant under my roof, and the right to smash the upstarts myself if they step out of line. I don't like it, but I'll hear you out." Father nodded, then turned to Rickard.

"For House Karstark — I'd foster Bran at Karhold, if you'll have him. He's ready to learn beyond Winterfell's walls. Your sons are true sons of the North, through and through, and they'll teach him steel and grit, help him shed some of the notions he's built up about southern knights — the kind of honor men like Ser Gregor Clegane, Jaime Lannister, or that slaver Jorah Mormont have made a mockery of. It would bind our houses closer, family forged anew."

Rickard's expression shifted, a flicker of pride softening his edges.

"You'd send your own son to us?"

"I would," Father said.

"And I'll trust you to stand with Greatjon if this goes wrong." Rickard inclined his head.

"You've a knack for sweetening bitter news." Greatjon cut in with, "Bit more bitter than sweet, if you ask me," but Rickard pressed on.

"Old gods, Ned — if you think this could truly bring the giants back under Stark rule, and give the old bear at the Wall some hope besides, I'll agree to see how it plays out." The tension eased, the lords' shoulders loosening as the fire popped in the quiet. I watched them, my mind turning. Ned Stark truly did have a gift for dealing with his bannermen and having the trust they put into him — a pity that same gift had never served him half as well in the South.

In the story I remembered, Greatjon's loyalty had burned fiercely once Robb called the banners; if I could earn that same respect now, ahead of time, by meeting his doubts head-on, it would pay for itself many times over once I led men south. A stronger bond now meant a fiercer army later. Father glanced at me, fingers tapping the underside of his desk — a silent signal.

"Robb will lead the party to the Wall," he said.

"He'll oversee the oaths and see that they hold." Greatjon's eyes narrowed on me.

"You're putting a lot on the lad, Ned. Wouldn't it be better if you went yourself? Your boy looks strong enough, but does he not still piss green?" He shot me a look, a smirk spreading across his face. I could tell he wanted a reaction — testing my honor and control by calling me green, same as any grown man might needle a boy. Lucky for him, I was rather older than I looked, and could weather a bit of needling meant to rile me.

I kept my face straight and waited for him to take another pull of his ale before answering.

"I could piss in that mug of yours, and you could tell me yourself whether it tastes green," I said, doing my best impression of a proper Stark poker face. Father and Rickard traded a startled glance before both men stifled a laugh, looking at Greatjon. Greatjon, caught mid-swallow, spat ale nearly onto my father before dissolving into a coughing fit that turned into a full, bellowing laugh. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he recovered.

"Aye, I see now you've at least got some balls on you, lad like your uncle's both. But we'll see what you've truly got, in time." Later that afternoon, once the earlier talks with Karstark and Umber had wrapped — both having pledged their acceptance and support — the two lords took their leave to rest. Father called a second meeting soon after. I stood by the window, watching the courtyard below as Jon, Theon, and Smalljon filed into the solar. Jon's face stayed calm, his trust in Father unshaken.

Theon, less arrogant than when I'd first arrived, and with more genuine respect for Ned as something like an adoptive father by now, still leaned against the wall with his usual nonchalant smirk. Smalljon filled the doorway, his massive frame tense — likely having already spoken with his own father before resting from the ride. Father stood once more before his desk, hands clasped behind him.

"I've spoken with Lord Karstark and Greatjon Umber. The Thenns and giants will cross the Wall, settle in the North, and swear fealty to House Stark. We now have the acceptance we need on this side of the Wall." Jon frowned but held his silence, grey eyes flicking toward me. Theon chuckled, arms crossed.

"Wildlings and giants? Why not dragons while we're at it?" I smiled inwardly at how close to true that joke might one day be, nearly laughing outright. Smalljon's jaw tightened, his voice rough.

"You're not jesting, Lord Stark? Wildlings, south of the Wall?"

"It's decided," Father said.

"Greatjon and Rickard have agreed. Robb will ride to the Wall to seal it." Smalljon's gaze snapped to me, eyes widening as the pieces fell into place.

"That talk we had, months back," he said slowly.

"You went on about the North needing strength, the Umbers stepping up, what it'd mean if the giants ever came back… You knew this was coming, didn't you? Spun the whole thing so I'd already be chewing on it by the time it happened giving me a heads up." I met his stare without flinching.

"Aye, I did. I couldn't lay it all out plainly — Father hadn't fully settled on it himself yet — but I knew you'd see the sense in it eventually. Smalljon, I trust you, and any Umber, to back me the way I'd back you." He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a deep sigh.

"Old Gods and seven hells, Robb. You're as strong as you are sly. I'll back you — especially if my father's already put his trust in you, so will I. But don't ask me to ride along; I'd probably end up throttling some wildling and ruining it for you. Though I will, if you truly need me to." I grinned, clapping his shoulder.

"Done. I need you here, anyway — keep the guards from slacking while I'm gone." He nodded, a reluctant smile breaking through.

"Don't cock this up, Stark." Father's voice cut in, firm.

"Robb, Jon, Theon — be ready. You ride at dawn. Jory's already got Tom, Bennard, and three dozen more guards prepared. Say your goodbyes to the rest of the family before you go." He looked over each of us in turn, something warm beneath the sternness. As they filed out, I lingered, turning the moment over in my mind.

In the story I knew, Greatjon's loyalty had burned like wildfire, unruly but unbreakable — though it had taken Robb facing him down, Grey Wind taking a few of his fingers to make the point, before Greatjon became his most fervent supporter. This time, I'd won him over with words instead of steel, backed by Father's own authority and my own resolve. If I kept building on that respect and saw this plan through to the end, the North would rally that much harder when I called the banners south.

I was building something stronger for myself and for the North both — something I doubted even the all-knowing Three-Eyed Raven had seen coming. I turned to Father, gave him a final nod, and took my leave.