298 AC
Ned Stark's POV
Standing atop the battlements of Winterfell, Ned Stark observed the courtyard below, listening to the sounds that filled the air. As a sharp northern wind cut past him, he felt a chill deep in his gut, sensing that this year would be colder than the last. The heavy grey sky loomed overhead, and Ned's hands rested on the cold stone, fingers tracing the familiar grooves worn by time and weather. Below, life bustled—servants hurried about, guards trained in the yard, and a hound barked in the distance. But Ned's thoughts were not on the daily workings of Winterfell; they were on his son, Robb.
It had been a year and a half since the accident—the day a rearing horse struck Robb down, leaving him broken on the frozen ground. Ned still felt the dread that had seized him then, the flash of helplessness as terror gripped him at the thought of losing another loved one. He knelt beside his son, praying to the Old Gods for mercy and for the life of his firstborn. He prayed so fervently that he did not leave the godswood for nearly a full day of asking them to not take him and to help him, until his loyal friends Jory and Vayon convinced him to check on Robb and his wife. Robb had been so still, so pale—a boy teetering on the edge of death. But he had survived, and in the time since, he had risen stronger and more resolute than Ned could have imagined for an heir of House Stark.
The change in Robb was startling, especially given the short span of time. He had grown nearly to Ned's own height, his shoulders broader and his frame filled with a strength that seemed almost too much for his years. He had become the best swordsman in Winterfell, defeating men twice or even thrice his age, sometimes fighting multiple opponents at once. His combat capabilities reminded Ned of Ser Arthur Dayne, whom he had seen in person at the dreaded tower of his nightmares. Robb had also devised better training routines that made him look and act like a captain before Jory had even told Ned of Robb's request for personal responsibility and leadership over a group of men. As a result, he stood out in the yard, a figure that drew eyes wherever he went.
But it wasn't just Robb's body that had transformed; his mind had sharpened as well. His words now carried a weight and wisdom that made Ned question his son's age. Robb spoke of the North with a passion that Ned recognized, envisioning a future that Ned could only hope to witness and be part of. He had ideas for fostering the growth of other noble children and for helping his siblings develop in spirit, if not in body. The fact that he could support all his siblings while still learning and training himself was nothing short of remarkable.
Robb's bonds with all the servants and his care for the household and Winterfell even made Ned proud, as he took his duties more seriously than many grown lords who only considered what they could take rather than what they could give. The respect he garnered from everyone in the castle was not solely due to being Ned's heir, but also because of his own reputation. It was heartwarming to see, especially given his studious nature and the wisdom he had gained from Maester Luwin and Ned himself.
Listening to Robb speak the old tongue sent shivers down Ned's spine and made him feel inadequate about his own upbringing in the Vale. Robb seemed to embody the Northern traditions effortlessly, sometimes grasping them more easily than Ned did.
Ned's thoughts drifted back to the day Robb had led the Thenns and giants into the clearing on their way to the Stony Shore. Although he hadn't been present at the gates of Castle Black when Robb first guided them through the tunnel back to the Wall, he had heard Jory's report that it was a sight to behold. Later, as he met them along the rugged path to the Stony Shore, where the Thenns would make their new home, he was struck by the legendary scene before him. Hulking figures with shaggy hair and massive limbs knelt before him as if he were a king of old, like the ones he and his brothers, Benjen and Brandon, used to play pretend when they were kids.
The Thenns, fierce and proud, had also agreed to follow him and obey Stark and Westerosi laws, their bronze axes gleaming in the pale light. Ned was still unsure how or when Robb had conceived the idea for that alliance, though it was most likely before he began learning the Old Tongue. Ned recognized the potential to strengthen the North and relieve some pressure off the Wall. By brokering that alliance, Ned saw the promise in uniting the North with its ancient kin. It was a feat he would never have attempted himself, yet Robb accomplished it with a quiet confidence that left no room for doubt.
"Father," a voice called, pulling Ned from his reverie.
He turned to see Robb ascending the steps, his faded auburn hair catching the faint light breaking through the clouds. Hedwig, the snow owl that had become his constant companion, perched on Robb's shoulder, his yellow eyes fixed on Ned with an almost knowing gaze. Robb's stride was confident, his presence commanding, and in that simple moment, he truly resembled an old Stark king emerging from the crypts of winterfell itself.
"Robb," Ned said, nodding in greeting. "Can I help you."
Robb smiled faintly, joining him at the battlement's edge. "No father Just saw you up here and was wondering why you seemed ot be in such deep thought."
Ned studied his son, noting the lines of determination etched into his young face. " Ive been thinking of a certein heir to a northan house whose abbiltes rival all those before him' ned says.
"Can I take a guess on who it is," Robb replied, his tone steady with what most would call a boyish smirk.
Ned felt a swell of pride, tempered by a father's concern. Robb had always been dutiful, but now there was something more—a fire that burned bright within him. He recalled their late-night talks in the godswood, where Robb outlined plans to bolster the mountain clans, revive the Old Tongue, and prepare for threats like future kings beyond the Wall and food shortages for the coming winter.
On his latest birthday, Robb had even asked to spend all his savings and future gifts on a few ships from House Manderly, intending to travel all the way to Yi Ti for a food he had discovered in a book while with Luwin. He believed it could help feed the North, even during the harshest winters. It was called rice, a long grain that could be referred to by many different names. Robb was convinced that if the North could acquire it, than house Reed could grow it. Ned was unsure what food could thrive in those marshes, but Robb's confidence and determination to help the North made Ned accept his ideas. Each conversation revealed a mind that saw further and planned deeper than Ned had ever expected.
"You've grown, Robb," Ned said, his voice softening. "Not just in height, though the gods know you've shot up like a stalk. You're stronger, smarter more a man than boy now more than I could have hoped."
Robb glanced at his father, a flicker of surprise in his blue-grey eyes. "Thank you, Father. But I still have much to learn, especially from you."
Ned shook his head slightly. "In some ways, you've surpassed what I could teach you. The way you handled the Thenns and giants, as well as the meeting with Lord Umber and Karstark, was impressive. You turned him into an ally for your plan instead of an enemy, and earned a bit of his respect, which is no small feat."
Robb shrugged, a faint flush of pride coloring his cheeks. "I spoke to him as an equal and showed him what we could gain. He's a hard man, but he respects strength."
"And you've shown that," Ned said. "Everyone sees it—the lords, the smallfolk, even the giants. You're becoming a true leader that the North can rely on one day."
Robb looked out over the courtyard, his expression thoughtful. "I hope so. But I couldn't do it without you, Father. Your guidance and your trust are what allow me to make these changes."
Ned placed a hand on Robb's shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath the cloak. "You've earned that trust, Robb. More than earned it."
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind tugging at their cloaks as he watched Hedwig take off from Robb's shoulder. Ned's mind turned to the warging, the secret Robb had shared with him a few weeks ago. It had been a shock—a bond with Hedwig that went beyond mere companionship. A magic that Old Nan would tell them stories about, connecting to the old kings of winter and their direwolves. Ned had seen the truth in Robb's eyes; he had felt the weight of the Old Gods' touch. It was a gift or perhaps a burden, but Robb bore it with the same resolve he brought to everything else. Ned couldn't help but wonder if his own prayers that day of the accident had something to do with it.
"Robb," Ned said, his voice low, "this warging… it's a rare thing. A powerful thing. Does it ever trouble you?"
Robb hesitated, then nodded. "Sometimes. It's like a second world opens up—one I can control but know is not always stable. But Hedwig—he anchors me. Keeps me grounded."
Ned glanced at the owl, who tilted his head as if acknowledging his scrutiny. "He's a fine companion and friend. But if it ever becomes too much, you tell me. Promise me that."
"I will," Robb said, meeting his gaze. "I promise."
Ned nodded, satisfied. He trusted Robb to know his limits and to seek help if he needed it. But that trust didn't erase the quiet worry that lingered in his heart. Robb was changing so quickly, growing into a man of greatness before Ned's eyes. He was proud—gods, he was proud—but he couldn't shake the fear of what that greatness might cost. He did not want to lose any more of his family.
As they descended the steps together, Ned watched Robb move with a grace and strength that seemed almost otherworldly. The boy he had raised was still there, evident in the warmth of his smile and the loyalty in his heart. But the man he was becoming was something more—a leader, a force, a Stark in every sense. And Ned knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and terrified him, that Robb was destined for something extraordinary.