I needed to get moving. A restless energy had stirred in me when I woke that morning, a gut feeling whispering that Benjen would arrive today as he did in previous years from Robb's memories and what I knew from the show. Benjen would usually arrive a month or two before the end of the year to talk about the state of the wall in the north with father, who happened to be the Lord Paramount, and I wanted to be among the first to greet him, to pull him aside and talk. If I could just make him see things my way, I knew he'd understand. A quiet laugh escaped me as I dressed, tugging on my boots. Benjen respected the free folk, grasped the dangers lurking beyond the Wall, and even understood the fragile cooperation possible between them and the North. If I could nudge him—or better yet, let him stumble onto the notion himself—that the surest way to thwart another king beyond the Wall, or to bolster the Wall and the North, was to convince its most advanced clan to cross over and bend the knee to the Starks, it might just work. They'd join us, their swords turned against the other free folk—or at least, that's how it'd appear.
Once I'd secured more footing in the South, when the War of the Five Kings either ended or quieted enough for me to shift my focus back to the North and the Wall—back to the looming threat of the White Walkers—I'd have the prestige and power to demand things outright. The crossing of the free folk to fight the dead would be simpler then when I wore a crown. For now, though, one clan felt manageable, especially one with laws already in place and, most crucially, giants. Those towering figures were a prize I wanted—needed—for what lay ahead.
I hated the thought, but I'd likely have to lean on Benjen's insecurities about himself and our family. I knew why he'd fled to the Wall: guilt gnawed at him, convinced he'd caused his sister's death, his father's, his brother's—all because he'd kept silent about those letters, about Lyanna slipping away with the prince. Maybe I could frame it as me needing him, his nephew, a Stark, to help save and strengthen our family in the North. It'd go smoother if he believed the idea was partly his before we took it to Father.
Lost in these thoughts, I strode toward the gatehouse, my boots crunching on the frosted ground, and passed through into Winter Town. I'd wait there for him. That morning's hunch hardened into certainty as I spotted Hedwig swooping back to me, his wings cutting through the crisp air. He landed on my shoulder, talons gripping gently, and pecked at me, demanding scraps of bread as a reward for a job well done. I'd told him not to return until he'd seen Benjen, projecting an image I'd shaped in my mind. Through our bond, he seemed to catch the gist, though I still felt clumsy wielding such a clever creature—especially one tied to me by magic. Giving orders felt strange, yet he followed them nearly perfectly. Warging was a rare, powerful gift, I mused, fishing out crumbs for him. A pity the show and books hadn't delved deeper into it, sadder still that the North had let the old gods' blessings fade. With luck, I'd revive that legacy, at least a little, in the years to come.
As I stood there, I saw Benjen approaching with a pair of black brothers as escorts, their cloaks stark against the snow. I waved them down. He squinted at me, recognition slow until it clicked. I couldn't blame him—whatever had happened when I arrived in this world had slightly altered Robb's body, my body, giving me a slight edge in growth. I didn't recall his exact height from the books, but I nearly matched Ned in height now, with a year and a half left to grow before the original timeline caught up. My hair and bearing had shifted too. I'd taken to shaving the sides of my head, leaving a wild mop of red curls atop, like some Viking from those modern shows I once watched.
When he realized it was me, Benjen's face broke into a grin. He leapt from his horse, his escorts following suit. I stepped forward. "Hello, Uncle," I said, scratching Hedwig's chin as he preened. "It's been nearly a year since he saw me last. I had a feeling you'd arrive today." With a flick of my wrist, I tossed a small gold pouch to his companions. "Don't worry, brave and loyal men of the Watch. I'll escort my uncle Stark back to the castle. Make yourselves at home in Winter Town." I grabbed Benjen's arm, tugging him closer, and he snatched his horse's reins with his free hand to lead it along.
"Robb," he said, surprise lacing his tone, "I didn't expect you waiting here. You look so much like your mother and father both. I heard rumors you'd been injured—even reached the Wall—but these past few months, you've made quite the recovery. You look strong."
I laughed, a warm sound in the cold air. My relentless training with modern techniques, adapted to the tools here, had paid off in this unforgiving world. "I train nearly every day," I replied, scratching my head with a grin. "So a horse won't best me again. Got kicked in the back of the head, if you heard the full tale. After that, I decided to take things seriously. Though Mother says I'm growing up too fast."
He chuckled. "No mother wants to see her son—even her firstborn—step into his role too soon. You'll always be her little boy, most like."
I nodded. "True," I said simply.
His gaze drifted to Hedwig, still perched contentedly on my shoulder. "That's quite a pet you've got there. Seems highly trained."
"He is," I agreed. "Though I'm sure you've seen folk beyond the Wall with sharper skills over beasts." An idea sparked—if I could use this to hint at my abilities, I might build a stronger rapport with him, easing into my plans for the free folk. "I actually wanted you here to ask you something about that."
He eyed me warily. "About what, exactly?"
I hesitated, then plunged in. "I might regret this, Uncle, but I hope you'll keep it between us. I haven't told Father yet, though I think he suspects—his Vale upbringing might be clouding his thoughts. I'll be blunt: I believe I'm a warg, like the old tales of the free folk, or the Starks of old with their direwolves."
He gasped, his eyes darting from me to Hedwig. "You can skinchange?" he whispered as we trudged up the long trail from Winter Town to the gate. We had time to talk, but I could see his unease even speaking of it here.
"Not yet," I admitted. "But I feel a bond with Hedwig. I can give him commands, sense things around him, or how far he is—like he's a crude spyglass from Braavos. It's growing stronger, so I think it's only a matter of time before I warg into him fully."
He nodded, his face settling into that solemn Stark mask. "Why bring this to me? I'm no scholar of such history, and I don't chat with wargs among the free folk."
"I know," I said, meeting his gaze. "But you've got more experience, more rumors and scraps of knowledge than most. And I think you'd be one of the few to accept this gift from the old gods, at least for now." I leaned on those last words, hoping to stir his old faith from his days at the Wall.
He inclined his head. "It can be a gift—or a curse, depending on who you ask."
"I see your point," I agreed. "But the advantages it could bring—ruling the North, scouting, riding, sending messages—I can't imagine a greater boon, save maybe relearning the Old Tongue for our houses."
He nodded again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Your father mentioned you've been studying the Old Tongue with Maester Luwin. Using it as a guarded tongue for our family and the North's nobles—it's a sharp idea. It'd help with the free folk, too. I know a few words, but I've not studied it as I should."
He ruffled my hair, a familiar gesture. "You'll be a fine lord, Robb. From what you've said—taking your duties seriously, learning all this—you'll make your parents proud."
"Thank you, Uncle," I said warmly. "Speaking of the future, though, I've got some questions and concerns for you."
"Go on, then," he urged.
"I know the Wall's not what it once was," I began. "I've been over the reports with Luwin—Father's permission, of course—and it's losing more men than it gains each year, even with your recruiting from Westeros's prisons."
"Aye," he said, "but don't fret too much. We're still holding the North safe for now. If trouble comes, we'll call the banners, same as always when a king beyond the Wall stirs."
"But I've been mulling ways to slow that—or stop it outright," I pressed. "Have you?"
He raised a brow. "You have? Let's hear it, Robb."
"Alright," I said, steadying myself. "For my plan to work, I need more on the free folk—any clans that might fit. Do you know one with its own laws, beyond just a chief? They don't need to be the strongest"—though I knew the Thenns were—"but they should be advanced in rules, maybe less nomadic. I've only got old reports from Winterfell and the Wall, but you're First Ranger and my uncle. I trust your word."
He studied me. "You call them free folk," he noted. "Not many clans match even half of that."
"But some do?" I cut in.
He nodded slowly. "One or two, maybe. The Thenns, though"—I schooled my face to hide my satisfaction as he named them—"they're the most advanced in laws and craft, I'd say. They've got farms, even a walled settlement, or so I've heard—I've never been. They speak mostly the old Tongue, wield bronze, and have giants among them. That's why they're reckoned the strongest. I'm not sure how you'd weave them into your plans."
"My plan's simple," I said, voice firm. "I want to convince Father to grant them land and a lordship under our house in the North—Stony Shore, maybe. It's ours, sitting idle, and far from the Wall. The noble houses would feel safer, knowing they couldn't threaten it. Free folk shun water and sailing, and even if they tried, we'd spot a fleet. If they bent the knee to us as Starks, leaders of the North, we'd strengthen ourselves, guard the Wall, and weaken the free folk beyond it. It might even open ties with other clans. I've heard tales of old clans crossing for passage—it's rare now, but there's precedent. I needed your insight before I approach Father. With what you've said, the Thenns seem perfect—especially with those giants. Not just for war, but imagine them widening rivers, raising forts, buildings. Logistically, they'd be a godsend. Armored, even—had we giants when the Conqueror came, we might've given his dragons a fight."
He fell silent, his mind visibly churning. Then he spoke. "I see the sense in settling them far from the Wall, Robb. And"—he smirked—"your ambitions with those giants. But I doubt they'd kneel, even to a Stark."
"We could try," I interjected. "Could you arrange a meeting, send word we'd allow passage for talks on our honor as Starks? Swear it by the old gods, even."
He considered me. "Aye, your father spoke of your growing faith in the old gods—that'd carry weight. But there's no guarantee they'd agree, Robb, and I'm not sure we should trouble your father with this."
"Please," I said, my tone hardening. "Don't just do it for the North—think of our family." I didn't shy from his guilt now. "Imagine if we'd had giants during the Mad King's war. That rapist prince wouldn't have dared take Lyanna, and the king wouldn't have touched my other uncle or grandfather with such a threat looming."
I couldn't know if that held true—the Mad King was unhinged, his son a spoiled fool who thought prophecy justified snatching noble daughters. Still, I pressed on. "Please, Uncle, this could shield the Wall, the North, our house. You said the Thenns aren't wanderers—they've got farms, walls. I'm certain we could sway them to join a stronger clan like ours if I could speak to them. But I need you with me to convince Father. Will you stand by me?"
We were nearing Winterfell's gates. He stopped, fixing me with a stone-cold stare, then burst into laughter, ruffling my hair again. "You've got Ned's best and Brandon's boldness. Catelyn's raised you well." I also see you have been thinking about this a lot, and that is probably why you were learning Old Tongue, which shows me how long you have thought of things like this and your dedication. "You've won me, Robb. If you truly believe this plan has merit—and I'll grant it does—I'll back you with your father." He clapped my back. "Now, let's get inside so your poor uncle can rest and eat."
We stepped through the gates into Winterfell, the weight of our words settling between us.