Benjen Stark's POV
The hooves of my horse and my companions beat steadily on the snow-trodden path, a gentle crunch accompanying their 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 in my 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 believe he was a warg. What a shock that was! I'd met a couple on my rangings, but to know my nephew shared that gift… Before I left, with Robb seeing me off, he'd told me he'd start training Jon too. He even grinned and said, "Don't be surprised if eventually, all Starks become wargs." I laughe to myself. Wouldn't that be something?
I glanced up at the clear sky. The North stretched out, beautiful and vast—my home. I wished I could see it more, though I harbored no regrets for joining the Watch. Only for what drove me there—what I might have been or, perhaps, had like a family like Ned's. But duty called now. Robb's plan, the one we'd shaped together, still astonished me. Ned had accepted it—Robb must have a silver tongue as well. And even if I saw its the plans merit, of convincing the more civilized of the free folk getting them to say yes That'd be a feat. Still, what Ned and Robb offered was good The Stony Shore as land given to the Thenns, would be a haven compared to north of the wall. And, by the gods, if giants returned to the North, what a sight that'd be. Robb always spoke of their strength—not just in war, but in building and land shaping. he truly did seem to be touched by the old gods. He had grand visions, and his presence made you believe he could pull them off. The guards admired him, the servants too—more than just a future lord. He was kind, teaching everyone Theon with scrolls, Arya with letters, and even Sansa with politics. If anyone could sway the Thenns and giants to bend the knee and come south, it'd be Robb, I thought.
I gripped the letter from Ned to Lord Commander Mormont—instructions for me to lead a good-sized group 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 blood, it showed respect, Robb had said. I marveled at how far they'd come with the Old Tongue. After just a couple of weeks with Luwin and Robb, my own clumsy phrases had sharpened into something diplomatic.
I glanced at my brothers in black riding beside me. I'd hinted at Ned's offer—to ease our burden with the free folk and strengthen the North. They didn't know the details yet, not until I spoke with the Lord Commander. Half the Watch would agree, I reckoned; the other half would fight it tooth and nail. It'd be my duty, as a black brother and a Stark, to sway them. I could see the potential strength for the Watch and the North alike. Robb had shown me scrolls of old trade deals with the free folk for their skins, crafts, and rare furs we couldn't find south of the Wall. Also, records of free folk Clans bending the knee for passage and vasillge or settling rights had grown rare, but Robb had shown me some, so I could know there was precedent for this idea.
I took a deep breath, focusing on the changes ahead and the better North Robb envisioned. His resolute face flickered in my mind, blending with Lyanna's. I'd do my best not to let him—or my family—down again.
## Robb's POV
I took a breath, admiring Winterfell's godswood in the early morning. I'd grown to love the crisp air and the red leaves—it felt like 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.
He sighed, opening his eyes. "When will something 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 great at that because you practice. This takes stillness, breathing, and letting everything else fade. Remember how you teased me when it took weeks to bond with Hedwig? More to sense what she senses or push commands through? It's a process. Meditation now will help when you bond with an animal later. It's incredible—like Old Nan's stories coming alive. Stick with it, and you'll get there."
He straightened, closing his eyes again. I shut mine, reaching for Hedwig's sight. It was strange—not painful, but like stepping outside myself. I hadn't mastered it, but with focus, I could see through her eyes. When she 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 I could now only somewhat anxiously await news of his progress. I trusted him to handle the arrangements—whether the Thenns would travel to Winterfell or we would journey to the Wall, it didn't matter to me. What was crucial was that it happened within three or four months. I needed them to stay in the South for a year, allowing the North to gradually acclimate to their presence while we gathered more information about the giants—knowledge that the show had barely touched on.
Most of the South viewed us as uncivilized barbarians, yet some lords in the Vale and Riverlands, along with the older houses, still held a sense of respect for the Starks. Father had earned that honor and reverence; people considered him as honorable as any Arryn of the Vale, which he largely was. I intended to exhibit the Stark ways in myself, carefully crafting how others would perceive me. In the series, they underestimated Robb until his victories forced them to resort to treachery. I was determined not to let that happen this time. With Ramsay's death, the introduction of fosterlings, and my strengthened bonds with Theon and Jon, I had already made significant shifts in our position. For now, I wanted to keep our actions close to the original storyline—at least until the fat King Robert Baratheon, the overweight ruler, came for father as Hand of the King. I would also ensure that Brain wouldn't succumb to his fate. He would remain in the north and at Winterfell, or perhaps I could get him to foster with the Karstarks at my side. As for the Three-Eyed Raven, he could rot in obscurity for all the worth he showed himself to be in the show man was just a bitter old target who was lucky to be touched by the old gods he would not ruin Brain as he had the potential to be a sharp administrator, not a mere pawn in some grand vision. I considered the idea of fostering him with the Karstarks, but that decision could wait for another time.
Suddenly, Jon fidgeted beside me, his eyes fluttering open. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. "So, you're done for today?" I teased.
He offered me a hand, a playful grin on his face. "You looked too cozy, lost in your deep thoughts as usual. Let's spar—I've found that your advice about a tired body aiding meditation really holds true, my brotherly lord," he joked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
I smirked as I took his hand. "At least you're listening, you stubborn bastard," I responded, playfully clapping him on the back as Hedwig, my loyal owl, perched atop my shoulder. "All right, then. Let's head to the yard, and I'll teach you in a another matter. I said to continue with my quips."
With laughter trailing behind us, we headed outside, eager to embrace whatever the day had in store. It promised to be a fine day indeed.