Standing in the training yard, catching my breath after a few more modern warm-ups, I could feel the frost trying to cling to my body like I was Winterfell's walls, a second skin, glinting in the light. My breath was fogged in the crisp air as I gripped my blunted training sword that felt more like my own with every passing day. It had been Robb's, and it still was, but now it was more, a whole other life lived. I reminded myself that I had once been Erik Haugen — a name that was fading further from memory and thought with each passing day, though it still lingered somewhere beneath the surface.
Guards milled around, cloaks pulled tight against the chill, faces ruddy with cold. Jory Cassel watched from the edge, arms crossed, eyes keen, waiting to see what I'd do today. I'd been pushing this younger body hard, leaning into the world and everything I knew was coming. I needed to be capable with a sword — not only for my own defense, but to earn real respect in a society built on strength, old feuds, and older Gods. Today, I meant to push harder than usual.
"Two at a time," I called, my voice carrying over the murmurs. "Let's see what you Starkmen have got for me today."
Jory smiled at my enthusiasm and called the guards forward.
Bennard, broad and scarred across one cheek, and Tomm, wiry with a sharp glint in his eye, stepped up, blades raised. I shifted my stance, boots firm in the dirt. Assess. Adapt. Strike. Robb's instincts and my own moved together as I read their footing, trying to keep them in front of the other.
Bennard swung a heavy blow meant to overwhelm me. I sidestepped, the blade whistling past, and parried Tomm's quick thrust. Steel clashed, sharp and clean, drawing nods from the watching guards. I ducked Bennard's next swing and drove my shoulder into his chest, sending him stumbling. Tomm lunged low, but I twisted, caught the strike on my shield, and shoved him off balance.
"Too slow," I said, tapping Tomm's ribs with the flat of my blade. "You're dead." I turned to meet Bennard's charge. Our swords locked, hilts grinding, until I pivoted and tripped him into the dirt.
"Dead too," I said, stepping back. The guards laughed, rough and approving, as Bennard rose, grinning through the mud.
Jory clapped my shoulder. "You're a real northern terror, Robb. You've really come into your own since the accident. What's pushing you?"
I lowered my sword, wiping sweat from my brow, and answered with a boyish smirk. "I just don't fancy losing to a horse twice," I said a bit louder for all to hear. That drew a laugh from the men nearby. "Besides, we Northmen need to stay sharp, especially us Starks. Winter's always coming, and the North needs its Winterfell men strong for her." I glanced at the other guards, watching their postures straighten as they listened, their pride and respect growing. I took a swig of water from my skin and stepped back into the middle of the yard. "Now — let's try three!"
The great hall glowed that evening, tables laden with venison and barley stew. The fire roared, casting shadows across the old Stark banners as the family gathered to eat. I sat beside Ned, nursing a watered ale, its slight bite helping ground me in this life. Catelyn spoke softly with Sansa, smoothing her hair. At the same time, Arya had already bolted after choking down her food, likely eager to get her clothes dirty by playing outside or to bother Jon before bed — much to Catelyn's future dismay.
Ned set down his knife, eyes on me. "I heard you put on quite a show with the guards again today. Most of them are impressed, Jory, especially so."
"They can take it, and I want to keep pushing myself," I said, keeping my tone light. "Jory's got them disciplined, but they need pushing. We're far from the Wall, true, but that's no excuse to let them soften."
He nodded, approval in his gaze. "You've had a soldier's mind lately, more than before. Why does it matter to you, truly, if the guards are pushed harder?"
My chest tightened. Does he sense the stranger underneath? I smiled. "Nearly losing a fight to a horse will do that to a man, and I have found comfort in the new routine, and the men seem to like their own improvements as well." I leaned forward, seizing the moment. "I've been thinking about the North, and how to bind it closer together."
His brow lifted. "You've got my attention. What's the idea?" The rest of the table looked to me as well.
"Our bannermen are loyal," I began, "but distance breeds cracks, and the north is the biggest kingdom. We should bring their blood here — bind them tighter. I've been reading through our old records and traditions, and I think we need to be more actively inclusive with our bannermen."
Catelyn looked up, eyes narrowing in thought. "What are you suggesting, Robb?"
"Wards," I said, meeting her gaze. "Noble children fostered here. It worked with Father and the King — it worked with Theon and me. We've grown close as brothers."
Ned rubbed his beard. "Theon's a hostage as much as a ward. But there's truth in it."
I pressed on. "The Mormont's — Bear Island's far, but fierce. Arya could use a wild friend, and one of Lyanna's daughters could show her that Northern women can be strong without losing their poise." I glanced at my mother. "It might even keep Arya from running the castle ragged, and we'd have Bear Island's loyalty for it."
Ned's mouth twitched. "Arya would take to that like a wolf to the woods."
Catelyn frowned. "A Mormont girl might only encourage her recklessness."
"Maybe," I conceded, "but it would channel it. And it's an honor to them." I turned to Catelyn. "For Sansa — perhaps one of the Manderlys. They follow the Seven, as you do.
A granddaughter here would please White Harbor and show we value their trade and their harbor both."
Catelyn softened at that, her fingers pausing on Sansa's hair. "The Faith would comfort her. Wynafryd Manderly is near her age."
Sansa brightened. "Would she bring silks from White Harbor?"
I chuckled. "I'd wager she would." Catelyn looked thoughtful, clearly intrigued.
Ned leaned back. "And who else?"
"The Umbers," I said, tracing the grain of the table. "Greatjon's son, Smalljon — older than the others, I know, but a fighter. He could train with me, Jon, and Theon, or fill the role of a squire for you. The Umbers value strength and its acknowledgment above most things. Fostering him shows we respect that."
Ned's gaze sharpened. "Smalljon's nearly grown. A handful."
"So is the North," I shot back, grinning. "If we can handle him, it deepens our bond with one of our strongest houses and costs us little."
He grunted, amused. "You've thought this through."
"Winter's coming," I said, wincing a little at how tired the phrase sounded even to my own ears, but pressing on anyway. "The North stands stronger together, just like any land that trusts its neighbors enough to raise each other's children." I caught Ned and Catelyn trading a glance, and knew the answer before either spoke.
Catelyn tilted her head. "A fine idea. I'll write to White Harbor."
Ned nodded. "I'll send ravens to Bear Island and Last Hearth."
I sipped my ale, hiding my relief. Seeds planted.
The next morning dawned grey and bitter, wind howling through the turrets. I was back in the yard, cloak discarded, tunic already damp with sweat. Jory had rounded up three guards this time: Tom, lanky and quick; Garth, built like a bull; and Hal, unremarkable but steady. They circled me, breath puffing white in the cold.
"Ready when you are," Jory said, leaning against a post.
I raised my sword, shield strapped tight. "Come on, then."
Garth charged first, his blade arcing down like a hammer. I caught it on my shield, teeth jarring with the impact, and twisted away as Hal slashed at my flank. I parried, ducked under Tom's swing. The yard blurred into steel and noise — blades clanging, boots scuffing the frozen ground, grunts echoing around me. Instinct blended with tactics. Garth overextended; I hooked his leg and sent him sprawling. Hal pressed in close, so I slammed my shield into his chest and shoved him back. Tom hesitated a beat too long — I feinted high, struck low, tapped his knee.
"Out," I barked, already spinning. Garth roared back to his feet, but I sidestepped with an ease that surprised even me, letting him crash straight into Hal. Two quick strikes to the shoulders finished it.
"Done," I said, lowering my blade. The guards groaned, laughing through their complaints.
Jory strode over, clapping slowly. "Robb, you keep this up, and I might not have much to teach you. Fighting three at once might not be enough"
"Had a good teacher," I said, nodding to him. "If you don't mind me saying — Garth's strong but sloppy. Hal's fast but reckless. Bennard's got the head to lead the drills."
Jory's brows rose. "You're starting to sound like a captain."
"Maybe I should be," I said, half-serious. "Winterfell's heart beats in this yard. I don't think Father would mind if I took a few men to train personally — with his leave, of course."
Jory studied me for a moment, then nodded. "I'll see it done."
As the guards dispersed, I lingered, my gaze drifting north — a reminder of threats beyond wildlings. The Others are coming. And the Boltons are closer. Wards would strengthen us, but I needed more than that: eyes, blades, trust.
That night, I stood on the battlements, wind tugging at my cloak as Winterfell slept below, torchlight flickering like scattered stars. My hands rested on the cold stone of the battlements, mind still turning—Mormont's, Manderlys, Umbers — a good group. However, Roose Bolton's future betrayal gnawed at me. He'd bend until the day he didn't, and Ramsay was the weed I needed to pull before it grew any deeper roots.
Don't carry it alone, Ned's voice echoed in my mind. But I had to. I knew the North's fate — Ned's death, Robb's war, the Long Night. I couldn't save everyone. But I will try.
The stars gleamed, cold and distant. I gripped the stone with a bit more force before losing my grip and letting out a sigh. "I won't fail this chance," I whispered.