I woke in my chambers at Winterfell, the familiar weight of the furs pressing against me as I stirred. Two weeks had passed since I'd set my plan in motion, and as I lay there, staring at the stone ceiling, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. Things were starting to align—slowly, yes, but steadily. Today might bring news of whether my gambit with Ramsay Snow had paid off. Slipping out of bed, I pulled on my tunic and boots, the floor cool beneath my feet. Even with the warm water pipes running through the walls, the servants still stoked the hearths, their efforts a quiet hum in the morning stillness.
The stone corridors of the castle were silent as I made my way to the mess hall, the early hour keeping most of Winterfell asleep. When I reached the hall, it was nearly empty—only Father, Maester Luwin, Jory, and a lone servant breaking their fast at this hour. I slid onto the bench beside Jory, giving him a quick nod as I grabbed a hunk of crusty bread. Across from me, Father sat with his porridge.
I tore into my bread, chewing slowly as my thoughts drifted to Tom and Bernard. Two weeks ago, I'd sent them off on a camping trip—a chance to get used to riding and sleeping rough outside Winterfell's walls, good practice for when they'd join my retinue on travels through the North. That was the story, at least. Their real task was to hunt down Ramsay Snow, quietly and cleanly. I'd described him to them: pale, watery eyes, dark hair, that twisted smirk he wore like a mask. I'd warned them he might not be alone—could be with a gang, maybe even that foul creature Reek trailing after him. Tom and Bernard were good men, brothers from a loyal Stark-serving family, and I'd been pushing them hard in the yard, slipping them extra coin for their trouble They also weren't the type to be squeamish about using live steel or getting bloodied in the yard which is one of the reasons I chose to have them closer with me still, doubt gnawed at me. Had they found him? Had they finished it?
Father's voice cut through the haze of my thoughts. "Your guards should be back soon, Robb. A training exercise, you said?"
I swallowed my bite of bread and met his gaze, keeping my voice even. "Aye, Father. They've been keeping up with their swords against me in the yard lately, so I figured a few days in the woods would give them a bit of Experience riding and camping to round them out. They'll ride in today or tomorrow, I'd wager."
He gave a short grunt, the sound of approval I'd come to recognize, and went back to his porridge. I saw my chance to nudge things further. "Father, I've been thinking about the Boltons lately. They've held faith since the days of the Red Kings, but we don't know them—not truly. Maester Luwin was telling me about Roose's son, Domeric. He's fostering in the Vale, same as you did."
Father's brow lifted slightly, a silent prompt to go on. "And?"
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "I've been studying with Luwin—House Stark's older history and their ways. The first Starks married into rival houses to bind them closer, didn't they? I was thinking—what if we invited Domeric here to finish his fostering? Get another northern lord under our roof, we can also see what he's made of. If he's half as honorable as the Vale made you, he might even be a match for Sansa someday."
Father's mouth quirked into a rare half-smile, his spoon pausing midair. "A match for Sansa? You're weaving plans years ahead, Robb."
I grinned back, shrugging one shoulder. "Just a thought, Father. He's been raised in the Vale—there's honor in that, isn't there? And it'd tie the Boltons to us tighter."
He let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm in the cool hall. "Aye, there's honor in the Vale, I'll grant you that. I'll mull it over." He took another bite, then tilted his head. "And how's that Old Tongue coming? Luwin says you've taken to it."
"Slow going, but I'm getting there," I said, tearing off another piece of bread. "Bran keeps begging me to teach him, though he's more interested in the sounds than the meaning. It's mostly me and Luwin puzzling it out by candlelight. I want to know it well—could be useful one day."
Father studied me for a long moment as if trying to read something deeper. Then he nodded and returned to his meal. I didn't tell him the real reason I was learning it for obvious reasons. Wouldn't want them to think I'm insane by telling them I really wanted to Learn old tongue to recruit, giants, or The thenns who were the most advanced clan of free folk north side of the wall.
I threw the rest of my breakfast down, and I pushed up from the bench, grabbing my cloak from where it hung by the door. "Fancy a spar, Jory?" I asked, swinging the light wool over my shoulders.
He smirked, brushing crumbs from his hands. "Aye, but don't expect me to go easy on you."
We stepped out into the courtyard, the air sharp and biting, snow crunching beneath our boots. The sparring yard wasn't far—just past the stables—and by the time we reached it, a few other guards had gathered, their breath fogging in the cold. I picked up a blunted practice sword, testing its weight, while Jory grabbed one for himself. We squared off in the center of the yard, the packed snow slick underfoot.
Jory moved first, lunging with a swift strike. I parried, the wooden blades clacking loudly, and stepped to the side, swinging back at him. He blocked it, grinning as he circled me. "Faster every day," he said, his tone teasing.
"And you're slower," I shot back, ducking under his next swing. I darted forward, tapping his ribs with the flat of my blade before he could recover. He laughed, shaking his head, and came at me again, harder this time. Our swords met in a flurry—block, thrust, parry—until I caught his arm with a quick twist and sent him sprawling into the snow.
Before I could catch my breath, Hammond stepped up, his broad frame looming as he hefted his practice sword. "My turn, little lord," he rumbled, swinging without warning. I spun to meet him, our blades crashing together with a force that jarred my arms. He was strong and built like an ox, but I was nimble. I feinted left, then struck right, catching his wrist and forcing his sword down. He pressed harder, trying to muscle me back, but I sidestepped, hooked his leg with mine, and sent him crashing down beside Jory.
"Yield," Hammond wheezed, raising a hand as he lay there panting.
I offered Jory a hand up, pulling him to his feet. "Good bout," I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Too good," he replied, brushing snow from his cloak. "I'll be sore tomorrow, and it's your fault."
Hammond lumbered up, grinning despite the fall. "You've got a devil's speed, Robb. Keep that up, and no one stands a chance."
I laughed, feeling the ache in my muscles as I shook out my arms. After a few rounds of pull-ups on the wooden bars I'd rigged near the yard—something to keep us sharp—I headed to the kitchens. The cook handed me a fresh loaf, still warm from the oven, and I tucked it under my arm as I made for the godswood.
The path twisted through the trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the grey sky. Snow dusted the ground, muffling my steps, and the air carried the sharp scent of pine and wet earth. By the time I reached the heart of the godswood, my breath was steady, the quiet wrapping around me like a cloak. The weirwood stood stark and pale, its red leaves trembling in the faint breeze, and there, on a low branch, sat the snow owl. Its feathers were white as the drifts around us, its yellow eyes bright and unblinking.
I'd been coming here for days, trying to bond with the creature. Bread, patience, sitting still beneath its perch—it was a slow dance, but I could feel it working. Today, I tore off a chunk of the loaf and tossed it into the air. The owl launched from its branch, wings cutting silently through the cold, and snatched the bread mid-flight. It landed a few feet away, talons sinking into the snow as it cocked its head at me.
I settled cross-legged beneath the weirwood, the bark rough against my back, and closed my eyes. Reaching out with my mind was like groping in the dark—frustrating, fumbling, nothing at first. The wind whispered through the leaves, a crow called somewhere far off, and I pushed harder. Then, a spark—a faint tingling, like a thread brushing my thoughts. I held onto it, coaxing it stronger until it tightened into something real. The owl let out a sharp hoot, wings flapping as it rose and landed on my shoulder, its talons pricking through my cloak.
I opened my eyes, a slow grin spreading across my face. The bond wasn't fully skinchanging—not yet—but it was there, a quiet hum tying us together, a new edge worth making. I tore off another piece of bread and held it up; the owl nipped it from my fingers, its beak brushing my skin.
Snow crunched behind me, and I turned to see Jon striding through the trees, his dark cloak dusted white. He stopped a few paces off, eyeing the owl with a faint smirk. "Spent the last week trying to get that owl to like you, have you?" he asked his tone light and teasing.
I grinned but didn't answer, letting the silence speak for itself. The owl shifted on my shoulder, its weight a strange comfort.
Jon stepped closer, his boots sinking into the snow. "Thought you'd want to know—your guards are back. I saw them riding up from Winter Town just now. They looked pleased, laughing even. Training must've gone well."
My chest loosened, a rush of relief washing over me. If Tom and Bernard were in high spirits, it wasn't just a successful trip—it was a victory. Ramsay was gone, cut out like a rot before he could fester. I kept my face calm, nodding as I stood, the owl shifting to stay perched. "That's good to hear. I'll head down and meet them."
Jon fell into step beside me as we left the godswood, the owl riding my shoulder like a sentinel. We walked in companionable silence, the castle looming closer with every step. My plan was working—Ramsay dead, the Boltons none the wiser, and now this bond with the owl humming in my blood. The future was shown to me once on the TV as well as pages on a book but with every change I made I wouldn't know for sure what would happen but if I didn't change anything it would all be the same,though I think I was doing decently, especially with Ramsey and my newly bonded pet.