Frost clung to Winterfell's walls like a second skin, glinting in the pale morning light. I stood in the training yard, my breath fogging in the crisp air, gripping a blunted sword that felt more like my own every day. It was Robb's, not mine, but I reminded myself that I was Erik Haugen—a name that seemed to fade further from my memory with each passing day. Guards milled around, cloaks pulled tight against the chill, their faces ruddy from the cold. Jory Cassel watched from the edge, arms crossed and eyes keen, waiting to see what I would do today. I had been pushing my younger body to its limits, embracing this world and the knowledge of what was to come. I knew I would need to be capable with a sword, not just for my own defense, but to earn the respect of others in this militaristic society. Today, I aimed to impress more than usual.
"Two at a time," I called, my voice carrying over the murmurs. "Let's see what you've got for me today."
Jory smiled at my enthusiasm before calling the chosen guards.
Bennard, broad with a scarred cheek, and Tomm, wiry with a sharp glint in his eyes, stepped forward. They glanced at each other and nodded towards me before advancing, blades raised. I shifted my stance, boots firm in the dirt. Assess, adapt, strike. Robb's instincts flowed through me as my mind calculated my next move.
Bennard swung a heavy blow, trying to overwhelm me. I sidestepped, the blade whistling past, and parried Tomm's quick thrust. Steel clashed, sharp and clear, drawing nods from the guards. I ducked Bennard's next swing, drove my shoulder into his chest, sending him stumbling. Tomm lunged low, but I twisted, caught his strike on my shield, and shoved him off balance.
"Too slow," I said, tapping Tomm's ribs. "You're dead." I turned to Bennard, meeting his charge. Our swords locked, hilts grinding together, until I pivoted, tripping him into the dirt.
"Dead too," I said, stepping back. The guards laughed, rough and approving, as Bennard rose, grinning through the mud.
Jory approached, clapping my shoulder. "You're a terror today, Robb. You've really stepped up since you recovered enough to get back into the yard. What's driving you?"
I lowered my sword, wiping the sweat from my brow. With a disarming, boyish smirk, I replied, "I just don't feel like losing to a horse again I chuckle besides, we Northmen need to stay sharp—especially us Starks." I laughed, adding, "As you know, winter is coming and the North needs us Winterfell men to be strong for her." I glanced at the other guards, their postures straightening as they listened. I could see their growing respect, and with that in mind, I wiped my brow and took a quick swig of water before getting back up. "Let's make it three!" I shouted.
The great hall glowed that evening, tables laden with venison and barley stew. The fire roared, casting shadows across Stark banners as the Stark family gathered to eat together tonight. I sat beside Ned, nursing a watered ale; its slight bite helped ground me in this borrowed life. Catelyn spoke softly with Sansa, smoothing her hair, while Arya had already finished her meal, likely to go play with Jon again or dirty her clothes some more before bed.
Ned set down his knife, his eyes on me. "I heard you were hard on the guards again today and that you were quite impressive."
"They can take it, and they seem to like the challenge. Besides, I enjoy being the one to beat them," I replied, keeping my tone light. "Jory's got them disciplined, but they need pushing. We're too far from the Wall to let them soften."
He nodded, approval in his gaze. "You've had a soldier's mind lately, more than before, Robb. What does it matter to you if the guards are getting pushed harder?"
My chest tightened. Did he sense the stranger beneath my surface? I smiled. "Falling off a horse will do that." I leaned forward, seizing the moment. "I've been thinking about the North—getting it stronger and keeping it more closely bound."
His brow lifted. "You've got my attention, Robb. What do you mean? I feel like you have an idea," he asked as the rest of the table looked to me as well.
"Our bannermen are loyal," I began, "but distance breeds cracks. We need to bind them tighter—bring their blood here. I've been looking more at our records and traditions, and I feel like we need to be more active with our bannermen."
Catelyn looked up, her eyes narrowing. "What are you suggesting, Robb?"
"Wards," I said, meeting her gaze. "Noble children fostered here. It worked with Father and the King, as well as with Theon—he and I have grown close as brothers."
Ned rubbed his beard. "Theon's a hostage too. But there's truth in it."
I pressed on. "The Mormonts—Bear Island is far but fierce. Arya could use a wild friend; maybe one of Lyanna's daughters could teach her that even strong Northern women can be poised like ladies, even if they aren't from the South," I said, looking at my mother for a second. "They'd run the castle ragged, and we'd have their loyalty here."
Ned's mouth twitched. "Arya would take to that like a wolf to the woods."
Catelyn frowned. "A Mormont girl might encourage her recklessness."
"Maybe," I conceded, "but it would channel it. And it's an honor to them." I shifted my focus to her. "For Sansa, perhaps the Manderlys. They follow the Seven, like you. A granddaughter here would please White Harbor and show we respect their contribution as the North's main harbor and lane of sea trade."
Catelyn softened, 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 was intrigued.
Ned leaned back. "And who else?"
"The Umbers," I said, tracing the table's grain. "Greatjon's son, Smalljon," I said with a laugh. "He's a fighter—could train with me, Jon, and Theon, or squire for you. They value strength, and this shows we respect it."
Ned's gaze sharpened. "Smalljon's nearly grown. A handful."
"So is the North," I shot back, grinning. "We can handle him, and it would deepen our bond with a more Northern house without costing us much room or resources."
He grunted, amused. "You've thought this through."
"Winter's coming," I said, wincing at the drama but pushing on. "The North stands stronger together."
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 morning dawned grey and bitter, with the wind howling through the turrets. I was back in the yard, my cloak discarded and my tunic damp with sweat. Jory had rounded up three guards: Tom, who was lanky and quick; Garth, a bull of a man; and Hal, who seemed the most average of the group. They circled around me, their breaths puffing white in the cold air.
"Ready when you are," Jory said, leaning against a post.
I raised my sword, shield strapped tight. "Come on."
Garth charged, his blade arcing like a hammer. I caught it on my shield, teeth jarring, and twisted as Hal slashed at my flank. I parried and ducked Tom's swing. The yard blurred—steel clanged, boots scuffed the ground, and grunts echoed around us. Instinct blended with tactics. Garth overextended; I hooked his leg and sent him sprawling. Hal pressed close, so I slammed my shield into his chest. Tom hesitated—fatal. I feinted high, struck low, and tapped his knee.
"Out," I barked, spinning. Garth roared back up, but I sidestepped, letting him crash into Hal. Quick strikes to their shoulders finished it.
"Done," I said, lowering my blade. The guards groaned, laughing through their complaints.
Jory strode over, clapping slowly. "You're a demon, Robb. Where'd you learn to fight three?"
"Had a good teacher," I replied, nodding to him. "They need work. Garth's strong but sloppy; Hal's fast but reckless. Bennard's got the head—make him lead the drills."
Jory's brows rose. "You're sounding like a captain."
"Maybe I should be," I said, half-serious. "Winterfell's heart beats here, and I don't think Father would mind if I took a few men to train, with his permission, of course."
Jory studied me, then nodded. "I'll see it done."
As they dispersed, I lingered, my gaze drifting north. The Wall was a faint line, a reminder of the threats beyond—wildlings. The Others are coming. And the Boltons are closer. Wards would strengthen us, but I needed more: eyes, blades, trust.
That night, I stood on the battlements, the wind tugging at my cloak. Winterfell slept below, torchlights flickering like stars. My hands rested on the cold stone, my mind racing. Mormonts, Manderlys, Umbers—a start. Roose Bolton's future betrayal gnawed at me. He'll bend until he doesn't and Ramsay's the weed I need to pull.
Ned's voice echoed in my mind: Don't carry it alone. But I had to. I knew the North's fate, Ned's death, Robb's war, the long night. I couldn't save them all, but I'd try.
The stars gleamed, cold and distant. I gripped the parapet. "I won't fail this chance," I whispered to the northern night.