Chương 24: And So It Begins

And so it begins, I thought, walking out into Winterfell's bustling courtyard. My hand ran through my hair as my eyes drifted from servant to guard, taking in the activity around me. Servants hurried across the yard, balancing baskets of laundry and buckets of water, the fresh scent of Northern pine filling the air. In the training yard, guards kept up their sword and axe work, blades and grunts falling into a steady rhythm that carried all the way up to me.

I could hear the servants' children laughing as they chased each other or helped their parents with chores, bright against the metallic ring of Mikken's hammer at the forge. It had been about twenty-two months since I first knew this day would come. I often wondered if I'd done enough to prepare, though I took comfort in the knowledge I carried and the actions I'd already taken.

The North felt stronger and more united than I'd ever thought to see it, bonds deepening among our people, bolstered by the giants' return to Stark lands and a renewed respect for the Old Gods and our ancient tongue. I hoped my preparations would carry me through whatever threats loomed — whether from Essos, or more likely from Asshai, once the War of the Five Kings lay behind me.

I dreamed of a day when I might rule, or at least influence, a united Westeros, where I could finally slow down enough to explore this whole world from Manny's back, see its sights through the eyes of all my creatures, build real bonds with the people around me, and perhaps even find time for a family of my own. Though I knew that even if I did marry, likely for reasons of politics more than anything else, I'd need my position secured well before I felt safe bringing any children of my own into it.

Through all this time, I'd worked diligently to strengthen our Northern alliances, building relationships with the greater houses right here within Winterfell. I trained my men hard, nurtured our new partnership with the Thenns and giants, and saw to the matter of Ramsay Snow along the way. The North was more united than it had ever been, and I felt real pride knowing my own efforts had helped bring that about — at least as far as I could tell, without too much slipping past Moat Cailin to reach me.

Turning to head for Father's solar, memories of the previous day came back to me. Father, our men, and I had only just returned from clearing a band of bandits off the road to White Harbor — a crucial route connecting the King's Road from Winter Town to what was now the biggest city in the North. I couldn't quite say why banditry had grown so much lately in certain stretches, though I suspected it was tied to the increase in trade and travelers, thanks to a year's hard work upgrading and maintaining the roads.

My subtle nudges and plain suggestions to Vayon Poole about the road project had paid off far better than I'd dared hope. Deep down, I knew that if I hadn't honed my skill in the yard, built a reputation as a dutiful son and heir, and become perhaps the finest warrior in the North this past year, Father wouldn't have brought me along for this, let alone chosen to come himself. It had felt like another test — a chance for him to watch me in action personally.

Throughout the whole affair, he'd left me in charge of the men, Jon and Theon included, with Jory as my second. Father held back, claiming his role was only to observe and step in if truly needed. In truth, I welcomed the responsibility. It was a taste of the command I'd wield one day, on a scale far beyond hunting bandits. Tracking them had been almost effortless, thanks to Hedwig. Warging let me see through his eyes, spotting their figures and the signs of their camp against the green and white of the North.

Below, the world blurred into shades of green and brown and white, and it took only a few days to find them, fresh from their latest ambush. Hedwig's keen sight never stopped amazing me whenever I warged into him — a constant reminder of just how useful, how powerful, this gift truly was. A tool I'd never take for granted. Walking the corridor, still wrapped in the memory of the ambush, I recalled how I'd planned it out.

The men, sharpened by months of training I'd insisted on, were eager and ready to prove themselves. I made sure the Winterfell guard drilled daily, in the yard or with bows under Theon's watch, and let Smalljon foster a bit of friendly competition in the physical training, where he excelled. It gave him purpose and added more responsibility for both him and Theon, helping them settle into listening and serving properly.

Over these past two years, it had done real well for Theon's standing in the household, nudging him toward a mature, more respectful reputation. With that coordination and drive behind them, the bandits never stood a chance. Most surrendered after our first charge. I'd only downed two myself before one of the others threw down his axe, crying, "I choose the black! I'll take the black!" begging for mercy.

I looked up to see Jon and Theon, blood staining their armor, standing near Smalljon, who hadn't been touched by the fighting at all. After what barely qualified as a battle, Father agreed to let the surviving bandits take the black and head for the Wall once we returned to Winterfell. I sighed, my thoughts drifting further into the return journey. A couple of leagues from Winter Town, Hedwig signaled he'd found something else worth our attention.

I passed the message quickly to Father, Jory, Jon, and Theon, and we pushed into the woods while the rest of the men held the road. Branches snapped loudly underfoot as we worked through the tangled thickets until we broke into an open clearing, and I froze. The sight before me stole my breath. A massive mother direwolf lay in the grass, her side clawed open, five pups nuzzling at her, desperate to nurse, their thin whines the only sound in the stillness.

Jory murmured something cautious behind me, but my heart sank as I searched for Ghost and couldn't find him. Relief washed over me a moment later, when a hoot from Hedwig marked the runt of the litter — Jon's future companion — safe nearby, his white fur stark against the dark earth. Turning to the other side of the clearing, a sinking feeling gripped me at the sight of another creature, dead — no stag, unlike the books or the show, but a shadowcat, the likely cause of the direwolf's death.

The implications of the bad omen sat heavily on me. It brought back the warning Change had given me, about shadows out of the east — threats greater even than the ice, greater than the White Walkers. I couldn't guess what else might be stirring out of Essos, out of the dark reaches of Asshai. There was precious little written about that place anywhere in Winterfell, beyond its dark magic and haunted past.

I'd hoped to have years yet, after the coming war, before facing anything like that — but there was no telling when it would actually arrive. For now, I found what comfort I could in the fact that my family and I had the pups at all. Omen or not, this changed things. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Knowing all six were accounted for, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

I'd worried, more than once, that I might have altered our fate too far — the fated day was close now, and Father hadn't yet summoned me to deal with a Night's Watch deserter. I'd feared I might have missed my chance to claim these symbols of House Stark for my siblings and myself, a trade-off for the giants we already had. But that fear melted away now. I turned to Father, watching from the back with Jory, and called out the line I knew Jon was meant to give.

"Father, there are six pups — one for each of the Stark children. It has to be a boon from the Old Gods themselves, companions and guardians for our family, something we ought to be thankful for." I handed all but the greyish-black pup to Jon and Theon to carry, my chest full of hope and excitement. I watched Father study me while Jory hesitated, looking as if he might speak, then thought better of it.

"These are not hounds, Robb," Father said.

"But if you and Jon can get your siblings to swear to care for them, and take real responsibility, you may keep them."

"Thank you, Father," I said, my voice steady with gratitude. Jon stood beside me, eager.

"We will," he said, glancing down at the pups in his arms.

"I'm sure Arya and Bran will be thrilled." As we made our way back toward the men and on toward Winterfell, pride swelled in my chest, passing through Winter Town — the earthworks we'd raised to shield it, protecting Winterfell's southern flank, the improved roads and dugout homes catching the fading light. It felt like stepping into a proper fortified stronghold, Winterfell's massive silhouette looming protectively ahead of us. This world, dark and grand as it was, never stopped leaving me a little breathless.

Harsher than anything I'd known before, but I meant to make the most of every chance it gave me. When Father and I reached Winterfell's inner courtyard, he asked me to join him in the godswood. I bid the men farewell, sending Jon and Theon to find my siblings and deliver their pups, then followed Father to the heart of Winterfell's sacred grove. The godswood was quiet, the air thick with pine and earth, the weirwood's crimson leaves whispering overhead.

Its carved face seemed to watch over us with solemn eyes, a silent witness to centuries past. Father settled onto a broad root, methodically cleaning Ice, though the blade hardly needed it — it always gleamed. I sat nearby, cradling my pup, feeling the weight of history pressing down in that quiet grove as I stroked my newest companion. Footsteps broke the peace, and I looked up to see Mother approaching with Maester Luwin, two letters in hand.

My pulse quickened at the sight of this scene, so close to one I remembered from another world entirely. This was it — the start of everything I'd spent so long preparing for. Mother's face was pale as she handed the letters to Father. Luwin stood beside her, his usual calm replaced by a furrowed brow, his chain clinking softly as he shifted his weight. Father's jaw tightened as he read the first letter, and I already knew its contents.

"Jon Arryn is dead," he said, voice low and heavy with the weight of losing an old mentor — the man who'd fostered him in the Vale alongside his foster brother, Robert Baratheon.

"The King rides for Winterfell." He opened the second letter, his face going cold, then filled with anger.

"They wouldn't," he said.

"Even the Lannisters wouldn't dare to do something like this." Father suggested we move to his solar to continue, and insisted I come along. I nodded, forcing a smile, and followed. Once settled, we went over the letters together, speculating on King Robert's intentions. I offered that he'd likely push for a marriage alliance between our houses — either me with Myrcella, or Sansa with Joffrey.

I meant to steer Father toward proposing Myrcella and me instead of the original pairing, since it would give us leverage to hold her as a hostage of sorts through the coming war, and would help us keep Sansa here instead of sending her to King's Landing. I'd already planned to detain Tyrion when he returned from the Wall.

Sharp and charming as he was, I knew having his niece here, well cared for, would keep him from scheming too hard about escaping — better to have him close, watching over her, while the war played out. I could offer him assurances too — that Jaime would take the black, that the Baratheon children would be spared, save for Joffrey. That could wait for later.

Even with no intention of ever actually marrying Myrcella, proposing it to Father and to Robert now would still needle the Lannisters and work in my favor either way. It would suit our coming war just fine. With those thoughts still turning from the day before, I made my way to Father's solar, nodded to the guard at the end of the hall, and knocked lightly before stepping inside. Father sat behind his desk, still turning over yesterday's letters. He looked up, offered a small smile, and waved me to a seat.

"Father, have you thought more on your plans for when the King arrives? Will you make any requests? Have you decided how soon you'd want to leave?" He chuckled softly.

"Knowing Robert, he'll want to linger — feasting, hunting, swapping old tales — before heading back to King's Landing. As for what I'll ask him, I'm still turning it over. Though I suspect my eldest and brightest already have some thoughts on what I should request. Don't you, Robb?" A knowing fatherly grin crossed his face.

"Yes, Father," I said, leaning forward.

"I've thought about what you might ask for, both for your service as Hand, and for my hand, or Sansa's, if it comes to that. First — the giants should stay quiet, known only to the Watch and our trusted household. Let the King's party write it off as Northern nonsense. If Robert asks, tell him we let an organized clan, much like our own mountain clans, settle the Stony Shore, to help keep the Ironborn and the Three Sisters in check. That should earn a laugh and nothing more from him.

"As for your role as Hand, ask that the Targaryens' old gift to the Watch be returned to the North. It was never truly theirs to give, and the Watch can't work that land regardless, as everyone in the North already knows. Given how he feels about anything Targaryen, he'll likely agree readily enough, and it would strengthen the North besides, make us look good for reclaiming what most thought lost for good.

"As for my hand, or Sansa's — simply ask for enough coin to restore the moat. I know you took little from the rebellion, and I understand why, from what you've told me. But we should take what we can from this while the chance is still open." Father sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Those are solid points, Robb, and reasonable ones. I'll remind the household to stay quiet about the giants while the King's here, though that secret won't hold forever, even with most of the South still thinking us little better than savages. I'll mention the Gift, but I won't ask for war spoils or reparations. I didn't rebel for gold, son."

"I know, Father," I said, pressing my point anyway.

"But extra coin for the moat would help the North, especially if the Lannisters truly did kill Jon Arryn." I pushed once more for a Myrcella dowry too, well aware I'd never marry her, but eager for whatever gold or advantage we could pull from them before the war began. He shook his head, a faint smile lingering.

"I'll think about it, Robb, but I'm glad to have your thoughts. Now — tell me, how are the direwolf pups and your siblings getting on?" I grinned, knowing full well he'd changed the subject on purpose, though I didn't mind. We'd said what needed to be said, and I was glad enough to share fresh stories of my siblings and their new pups, spending the rest of the afternoon with Father talking of nothing but family