"If we only do this, it should already be enough."
Seeing that Robb had managed to sort out his thoughts in such a short time and handle the matter so properly, Maester Luwin also nodded in satisfaction.
After all, given the current situation in the North, it was truly not suitable to stir up major unrest, and this matter itself did not warrant such drastic action either.
So now they only needed to accomplish these two things, and they would more or less be able to deal with everything concerning the Night's Watch.
As for the smokescreen released from Winterfell—if Tywin Lannister really had muddled his wits and raised rebellion, it would stabilize him while preventing the grass from being rustled and the snake alerted.
And under this arrangement, so long as there were no unexpected incidents at Castle Black, they would not be doing anything unnecessary.
On the contrary, it could even serve to remind the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont, prompting him to become wary of Tywin Lannister in advance.
Besides, it was certain that Winterfell was not the only one sending a letter to Castle Black for confirmation. The order coming directly from King's Landing—straight from the king—would surely arrive sooner than their message.
On the basis of all this, regardless of whether Castle Black faced trouble or not, once paired with the Umber family's on-site investigation from Last Hearth, it would already be enough to handle the entire situation.
If Tywin remained steady and quiet, all would be well.
If he did not, then what remained was simply suppressing a southern convict force exiled to the North—one that lacked food and proper equipment.
But when faced with Maester Luwin's affirmation, Robb shook his head.
"No, Maester Luwin, we must do more."
Hearing this, Luwin did not quite understand what he meant and looked at him doubtfully.
Confronted with his maester's confusion, Robb Stark's smile was filled with confidence.
"Because if all the events are truly as Kal St— cough… as His Majesty Kal has said—"
As he spoke, Robb raised his hand, placed the letter from King's Landing onto the bed beside him, and turned to look at Luwin.
"Our current response is not enough to deal with the worst-case scenario."
"Or to put it more accurately—we would lose the chance to extinguish the flames at the very first stage."
Originally, Luwin had already been quite satisfied with how Robb was handling things, but when he heard these words from Robb Stark, he was slightly taken aback, and then he understood what Robb had in mind.
A smile could not help but appear on his face as he asked, "What other ideas do you have?"
Facing the first military action of his life—and also the first time he was exercising authority—Robb could not help feeling a bit excited.
The cold night made his blood boil.
"It is neither advisable nor necessary to stir up a great commotion. Even if we plan for everything according to the worst case, all that Tywin Lannister can do right now is still not enough to make it worth my going all out."
"So my thought is that, if we can handle this crisis at the smallest cost, then we should act with that in mind."
"In my view, this is not doing something unnecessary."
His hand was trembling slightly, so he subconsciously reached out and stroked Grey Wind's head.
Grey Wind narrowed his eyes, as if he could feel the surging in Robb's heart; in the dim shadows, he too bared his sharp teeth.
But excitement was excitement—Robb's thoughts remained calm.
Seeing that Robb not only considered matters thoroughly, but that his thinking was also meticulous and ahead of the curve, Luwin no longer felt tired; the more he looked at Robb, the more satisfied his gaze became.
This was something he had never seen in Lord Eddard Stark.
Perhaps this was the so-called running wolf blood that flowed in the Stark family's veins.
"I am very interested in your idea. Tell it to me in detail—I will write it into the letter and then tell your father," Maester Luwin said with a smile. "I think the lord and the lady should both be very happy with your growth after you left their side, young lord."
Faced with Luwin's praise, the high-spirited Robb gave an embarrassed little smile.
But the confidence on his face only grew more composed.
"Because the North is not a summer like Casterly Rock. The wind, snow, and cold here will make that lion of his learn how to lie down obediently and tuck his head into his own body. If he cannot do that, then the only thing awaiting him will be death."
"So aside from the Umber family's vanguard, I also plan to mobilize the Karstark family's forces from Karhold and the Bolton family's forces from the Dreadfort."
"Together with our own, if all three houses each send out an appropriate force, then it will be enough for us to make this lion tremble."
"And doing this will also not affect the North's current preparations for winter—everything will remain as it is."
"All of it will be quietly drowned in the wind and snow; no one will know what happened. Only one more tale will be added to the stories in Old Nan's book."
The acting lord of Winterfell spoke at ease in his own chamber, facing the maester who had delivered him at birth, educated him, and watched him grow up—calm and confident.
He dissected the entire situation completely, leaving not the slightest gap.
Whether it was their own advantages or the enemy's weaknesses, he saw all of it with clarity and thoroughness.
At the same time, as Maester Luwin listened to his words, he also constructed in his mind a rough map—and, if things truly developed in the pessimistic direction, how their actions would shape the course of events.
The final answer he reached was—perfect.
He could not help thinking that, were he Robb's opponent, he might not gain even the slightest advantage before him.
"Young lord Robb, a truly perfect strategy and plan."
Maester Luwin clapped his hands. His gaze shone brightly in the night as he looked at Robb; watching this child he had seen grow up become mature and capable filled his heart with admiration.
He regarded every one of the Stark children as his own.
Seeing Robb—just past fifteen—turn out so excellent, he felt proud beyond words.
"I only wish to do everything I can, Maester Luwin."
Having received his elder's approval, Robb could not help feeling happy.
In Robb's view, given the current situation—letters being sent from King's Landing and Winterfell to Castle Black—even if Tywin's rebellion was only speculation, it would not affect any of their preparations.
As the vanguard, the Umber family of Last Hearth was the one he truly trusted, and only they were the force capable of bringing back accurate information.
Then, following the Umbers, the three great houses—House Stark, House Bolton, and House Karstark—any one of them alone would be enough to handle the hypothetical rebellion at Castle Black. Not to mention that all three would be moving at once.
With the timing and terrain both in favor of the North, each house would only need a few hundred to a thousand men, and it would already be enough to complete the suppression.
And with the four houses—including the Umber family—handling this matter in divided portions, it would also not affect each family's preparations for winter.
Nor would it disturb the peaceful lives of the smallfolk within their lands.
Because the war would never even reach their side.
And what was most crucial was that, together with Winterfell, the locations of these four castles would be able to exert geographical encirclement over the territory of the Wall.
If Tywin Lannister truly did what he ought not to do, then with just Robb's arrangements alone, the other side would be doomed beyond recovery.
By then, House Lannister would truly disappear from the long river of Westerosi history.
But as for Maester Luwin's praise, Robb was not incapable of modesty—he chuckled twice and looked at the thin old man before him.
"Maester Luwin, you and my father have taught me no small amount."
Although his words were humble, his tone remained one of strong confidence.
Maester Luwin merely felt very satisfied with Robb's choices, so he only shook his head with a smile.
"Doing this will, I imagine, give both the king and the lord a proper explanation."
Saying so, Luwin also glanced at the sky outside.
"Then, young lord Robb, you should rest first. I will return now and tell His Majesty Kal and the lord about your ideas."
"All the letters that need to be sent must be dispatched as soon as possible—we now have to inform House Bolton, House Umber, and House Karstark of your orders."
With that, Maester Luwin prepared to take his leave.
But Robb laughed lightly and stood up as well.
"I'll go with you. How could I simply watch you work for House Stark?"
Robb no longer felt any drowsiness. He first picked up the letter he had placed on the bed, folded it again, and handed it to Luwin, then took up his clothes and put them on.
...
King's Landing, the Tower of the Hand, Bran's chamber.
Summer was curled up beside Bran, guarding him.
But in his sleep, Bran's head was moving slightly; the beads of sweat on his forehead slid down his temples and soaked the pillow.
Beneath his eyelids, his eyeballs were rolling wildly.
In the dream, Bran returned to Winterfell.
This time, he found himself standing by the window of the broken tower—exactly where the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, had pushed him down back then.
No—he should say that he was exactly in that place.
And once he realized where he was standing now, terror made him instinctively reach out and grip the cracks between the stones beside him, pressing himself tightly against the wall, far away from the howling wind outside.
But instinctively, he still wanted to lean out and look downward.
Yet as his view moved down, all he faced was pitch-blackness—an endless abyss with no bottom in sight.
A sudden surge of fear struck him. Faced with this depth that seemed able to swallow even a person's soul, Bran hurriedly pulled his head back in fright.
But just then, the sound of flapping wings suddenly reached his ear—the sound only heard when a bird takes off or lands.
Bran instinctively turned toward the source of the sound.
He saw that on the stone carving just outside the broken tower wall, a raven was standing.
It stood atop a ferocious, terrifying gargoyle statue.
The raven seemed to have come specifically for him. As Bran looked over, the raven turned its head and met his gaze.
The raven's eyes were entirely pitch-black, bottomless, and its feathers were the same.
Yet in the center of its two night-black eyes was another vertical eye, blinking from time to time as it tilted its head, staring at him.
Suddenly, the raven spoke.
"Jump!"
The raven shouted in a raspy voice, but it sounded as though it came from across a valley—faint, hollow.
Even so, its voice made Bran's heart contract sharply in fear; he felt even more terrified.
"Jump!"
The raven kept screaming, its voice hoarse and tearing.
Seeing Bran pull his head back, the raven shouted even more fiercely.
"Only by jumping can you learn to fly!"
"Only by facing the abyss can you open your eyes!"
"Jump! Jump!"
There was an indescribable urgency in its voice—so much so that even its "face" seemed to show a kind of "anxiety."
Hearing the raven's urging, fear made Bran bury his head.
His fingers clung tightly to the cracks in the stone blocks, as if trying to fix himself in place by force.
"No, I won't jump! I don't want to fly! I have eyes—I can see!"
"But I don't want to look down! I don't want to!"
The lingering fear continued to assault Bran's heart; he wanted to leave and did not want to keep looking at the raven.
But for some unknown reason, he could not leave the window that had once made him fall.
Because behind him was no longer the empty room where he had once seen those Lannister siblings entangled together—not the dust, the cobwebs, the scattered broken stones covering the floor.
When the thought of turning away from this place arose in his mind and he looked back, there was only a solid stone wall blocking him.
This left Bran no choice but to painfully balance himself with his feet on the window ledge, his fingers gripping the cracks between the stones as tightly as possible to keep himself from falling.
The raven saw Bran shrinking back, avoiding it, refusing to face this.
It seemed to grow even more anxious.
It flapped its wings and flew up, beating against Bran's face as it continued shouting in its harsh voice.
"Jump down! Jump down! You will grow wings—you will rise!"
"Only when you rise can you see—you can see!"
"No! I won't!"
Bran shook his head desperately.
But at that moment, Bran suddenly realized that the place beneath his feet where he could stand was becoming narrower and narrower. The wall behind him felt like the same hand that had once pushed him from the broken tower, constantly forcing him forward.
How could his small body resist the pressure of the bricks? Bran's eyes widened. He wanted to shout, but before he could make a sound, there was no place beneath his feet for him to stand anymore.
The cracks between the stone blocks also slipped away, squeezing his fingers until they lost all purchase.
So his shout became a scream as his body fell.
The raven also dove after him, rushing toward his falling form.
"Woof!"
But just then, a sudden bark rang in Bran's ear, pulling him back from the nightmare.
Summer had sensed its master falling into a dream-terror; its ears shot upright as it jerked its head toward Bran, who was thrashing with his eyes squeezed shut.
Bran's expression was twisted, his fingers gripping the bedsheets as if trying to tear them apart.
Summer suddenly stood and leaped onto Bran's body with a powerful bark; its howl jolted Bran awake from his sleep.
But when Bran snapped his eyes open, his gaze was as white as frost and snow.
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