The tunnel beneath the Wall stretched out before us, a frigid hall of ice to most others, but to me, it felt as if the Wall itself was alive, glimmering with every step I took down its path, flanked by the Giants and Thenns. Behind me, I felt lighter with each step, as if I were a hero from the age of the First Men, leading the procession. My boots crunched on the frost beneath my feet, the sound sharp in the cavern-like passage, while the Thenns and giants followed behind, their steps creating a low rumble that shook the walls. Jon rode to my left, his shoulders stiff, his eyes darting toward the massive silhouettes that filled the tunnel. Theon flanked my right, leaning back against his saddle, looking like he was lost in thought. Ahead, the faint flicker of Castle Black's torches glowed, drawing my attention back to the present North that I had now changed for the better.
We spilled into the courtyard, the air thickening with the scent of pine and the crisp sting of snow. The Night's Watch brothers stood along the walls and yard, their black cloaks forming sharp contrasts against the white landscape, their faces a mix of awe and wariness. Benjen waited near the gate, snow dusting his cloak, his smile faint but warm. Beside him stood Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, his broad shoulders unbent by age, his steady gaze locked on me with a respect that I could feel in my bones. Then the Thenns strode in, their bronze armor glinting under the torchlight and their heavy furs draped around them. They were wildlings, yes, but no mere rabble like the other scattered clans that Mance would soon bind to himself. The giants towered behind, their presence a living myth, and I saw the brothers' eyes widen in amazement.
"Robb," Benjen said, stepping forward, his voice slicing through the murmurs. "You've brought a host straight out of the songs."
I swung down from my horse, every stare pressing on me, and gripped his arm. "Aye, Uncle. A host to forge our future and restore what was lost to us. Stark and North, both these legends of our past, will not be forgotten." The words made me think of a quote from my past that I liked quite a bit, "Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire." I mumbled to myself, and Benjen gave me a look. He didn't speak, but seemed to understand and take some pride in words.
Mormont approached, his heavy footsteps packing the snow, his eyes never wavering. "Stark, you've done what few could—wildlings and giants bent to your will, brought south without blood spilled. I never doubted you'd manage it, but do do so in such a short time and in such a tale-like fashion."
I straightened, meeting his look. "Thank you, Lord Commander. I and father had been planing this for soem time and were working towerds this and to myself it seems like this was nothing so quick though i can see why you would think so I chuckle slightly but they've sworn to me, and I'll see they keep it."
He grunted, approval flashing in his weathered face. "You've got the steel for it, lad. The Watch should gain from this too." A grizzled ranger nearby muttered, "Giants south of the Wall—I thought I'd die before seeing that." His tone was a mix of disbelief and grudging respect. Another, younger ranger piped up, "Those old tales weren't lies after all," only to earn a sharp smack from his older brother, who growled, "Quiet, you green fool! Only a Stark could achieve this, and that's Robb Stark—nephew to our Benjen, as well as heir to the North, son of Lord Ned Stark, the slayer of Arthur Dayne, a man who helped bring down the dragons' rule." I swallowed a grin that almost split my face; fear and marvel tangled together with respect was a brew that would only grow in me, I thought.
Mormont turned to Benjen, his voice dropping. "Your nephew's a rare one, Stark. He has a gift for leading men—foes and allies alike. It seems the North is in good hands, if only my son were more like your Robb," he said, his voice lowering at the end, while I noted him gripping his sword.
Benjen's grin sharpened. "Aye, Jeor. Ned's calm and sense of duty, along with Catelyn's poise and networking, seem he hsd both their strengths."
A grizzled steward, his beard flecked with ice, added gruffly, "The lad's got the Wall talking, that's for sure. I hope he keeps those giants in line." Mormont shot him a look, but the man just shrugged, unrepentant, and wished us luck as we left, with the whole of Castle Black watching us go.
With the Wall behind us, we struck west through the Wolfswood toward the Stony Shore. Father waited ahead. I had given Hedwig a message to him to meet us, a day and a half from Winterfell on our way to the stony shore, to bind this pact. I rode at the front, Manny trotting beside me, his tiny trunk curling as he matched my pace. That bond thrummed within me, a quiet heat I couldn't ignore. The giants numbered 160—more than I had reckoned, with women and children among them, their hulking forms a fading echo of a lost age. Their lives rested on me now, and I was determined to see their kind thrive, not fade.
The Wolfswood closed around us, its pines clawing at the sky, roots twisting beneath the snow. Days into our march, we reached a broad clearing, just a day and a half from Winterfell's walls. Father stood beneath a gnarled pine, his cloak snapping in the wind, Stark banners flapping above. His grey eyes met mine as I led the Thenns and giants forward, their steps a rolling thunder. I dismounted to face him.
"Father," I said, gesturing to the leaders. "This is Styr, Magnar of the Thenns, and Magmar, chief of the giants. They've agreed to swear allegiance to House Stark and follow the contract we previously sent them, sealing it before a heart tree."
Ned's gaze raked over them, hard but fair. He spoke in the Old Tongue, his voice a rough hammer against stone. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. You've sworn to my son, and now you will swear to me. I shall grant you land and guest right. Break faith, and you'll face not just our steel but all the North. Keep it, and no house will ever threaten you."
Styr stepped forward, his bald head catching the pale light. He hesitated only for a moment before dropping to one knee, bronze clinking. "We swear, Stark. The Thenns will serve you, by the Old Gods."
The giants then bellowed forward, kneeling one by one, their furs rustling, heads dipping low. Magmar spoke for them, his voice a slow quake. "Stark... we kneel. The Old Gods witness a forgotten bond made anew by the kings of winters." I watched, breath caught at the sight of 160 giant children, women, and men—legends in the flesh—bowing to Ned Stark. The guards with me and those surrounding my father gaped, and even Father let slip a quiet gasp, his icy mask cracking for a moment. I smirked, pride flaring at the sight of giants kneeling to my father, a Stark, because of my plans—a moment I would etch in my mind forever.
He lifted a hand. "By the Old Gods, I accept your oaths. You are welcome in the North, under my protection, as long as you remain true."
Father returned to Winterfell soon after accepting their oaths and talking to Benjen, leaving me as his proxy to get the new houses settled. Benjen came ot me after father had left and clasped my arm, grinning. "You've got this, Robb. I'm heading back to the Wall—next time, I want to see you riding that mammoth."
I laughed and thumped his back. "Manny's growing quickly, Uncle. I think you'll have your request met. He rode north, while I turned west, guiding the Thenns toward the Stony Shore. As we neared their new lands, Styr fell in beside me, his voice a low rasp.
"Stark, you brought us past Castle Black, no chains, no tricks—just your word. I owe you for that. Now I want fine southern words for my house, something to mark us."
I grinned. "We'll craft something fierce for you. What do you think of 'Blood and Bronze'? Or perhaps 'Bronze and Oaths'?"
He nodded, his eyes glinting. "I like those. We Thenns will prove our worth. We'll fish the shores, hunt the woods, and build strong—we won't be weak friends and shall fight by your side. Our bronze will shine for House Stark; mark my words."
"Good," I said, locking eyes with him. "I'll hold you to that." I smirked. "Perhaps those could be your house words: 'Our Bronze Will Shine'. I think it has a good ring to it."
The Thenns settled in, and before I left, I showed one of their wargs a map with their new boundaries and where the few other villages and settlements were located in their new land. My father had told me he sent riders to inform the new house and lord in the Stony Shore for House Stark. After another round of goodbyes and a few words for them to stay in their land, I led the giants back north, skirting the Wolfswood toward their new lands near the mountains and into a valley by the woods. The peaks loomed sharper each day, snow-capped and fierce. The giants moved with purpose, already discussing pens for their mammoths, their deep voices rolling like storm clouds.
I rode with Magmar, and Manny was beside me, his bulk swelling week by week, his playful trumpeting growing stronger every day. Near their settlement, I slid from my horse and let Manny nudge my hand. His trunk tugged at my cloak, and I chuckled, shoving him back as he trumpeted. "Steady, you oaf," I said, scratching his woolly brow. "You'll flatten me soon."
Magmar watched, a smile breaking on his rough face. "He trusts you, Stark. Strong bond."
"Aye," I responded, feeling a warm affection hum within me. "He's a treasure I'll guard until the time comes for me to keep him permanently." Then, curious myself, I asked Magmar, "What words and house name do you plan to take for the giants?" He replied in a slow, deep voice, "Our house shall be of Vernth, and we shall find our words in time."
That night, by the fire, Theon came and sat next to me. His usual bravado was muted, and his eyes looked distant. "Robb," he said.
"Theon, what's on your mind?" I asked.
"You've been changing and acting differently for over a year now, and I can see it's been for the better. You've helped the North more than I thought possible, especially with getting those giants past the Wall. It's made me think about what I can do for the Iron Islands, like you have for the North, but I just don't know where to begin. I have a few ideas, along with my grandfather's suggestions, to strengthen the Iron Islands so they aren't as hated as we've discussed before."
I nodded, stretching my hands toward the flames more from habit than from the chill. He smirked. "I've also been writing to the Manderlys and the scholars of White Harbor about trade and merchant men, with your father's and Lewin's help. If I can bring that to the Iron Islands, along with your ideas for merchant escorts, we might not need to raid anymore."
I clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the man I see in you, Theon. You're rising to the occasion, and if you need help, I will be here to support you. My brother in childhood, we've lived and breathed the same air for almost ten years. You are as much a brother to me as Jon and Bran."
He looked away, pride and determination mixing in his gaze. "Following your lead, I suppose. If I can achieve half of what you have, I shall make my grandfather proud."
A few days later, I wandered to a heart tree near where the giants had chosen to settle, its red leaves pulsing faintly in the dusk. Huge mammoth pens rose nearby, vast and solid, their low calls drifting on the wind. I knelt, the earth cold and damp when Magmar's heavy tread broke the silence.
"Stark," he rumbled, his voice like shifting rock. "Someone waits for you."
I rose, following his gaze. A small figure slipped from the shadows—its yellow eyes were one of the first features I noticed. It was a child of the forest, its bark-like skin a pinkish-green, with eyes as deep as ancient wells, though this one looked smaller than any I had seen before. Magmar gestured. "This is... new and old. Born anew, it says, like you."
The creature stepped closer, its voice a rustle of leaves. "I am 'Change,' named in the Old Tongue, freshly spawned by the will of the Old Gods. The magic that cloaks you, wolf-child, gifted by the gods, has birthed me from a old tangled root for a new rooting of the world."
I stared, my pulse quickening. "A child of the forest? Here, so near the giants' lands and south of the wall?"
Change inclined its head, eyes glinting. "The roots twist and wake, Stark. The North stirs, and you are its beating heart. Have you not felt it? Your gifts bloom—strength to break stone, speed to chase the wind, a hide that shrugs off the cold. You grow like the First Men of the Age of Heroes, yet more. Your body shifts—faster, stronger, aging slow as the weirwoods. These are the Old Gods' marks upon you, wolf-child, and I am here to speak them."
I swallowed, the weight of its words sinking in. Did the magic that brought me here truly originate from the Old Gods, granting me such gifts? And how would aging more slowly work? What did they want from me?
Change's smile was a riddle, its words curling like vines. "The roots do not demand; they deepen. You are the seed, buried in rich earth. Tend the North, and it rises green. Let it wither, and frost claims all. I watch, as do the gods, to see where your branches reach. There are others, too—an isle of heart trees and a crow with three eyes. I watch as the older gods watch; we are many, yet we are none."
My mind raced. "You say I'm changing. What am I becoming?"
It tilted its head, its voice a whisper of wind through branches. "A sapling of the old blood, and god hero, nothing more but yet more than most remember in this age, wolf-child. Your sinews tighten like bowstrings, your bones harden like oak. Cold bites less, hunger gnaws slower. Yet wear your years lightly as leaves. The magic swells, and you swell with it—a hero remade for a world reborn, unlike anything seen since the creation of the wall. The roots spread," Change murmured. "Giants walk, mammoths tread, and I am born. The red comet nears, but already the earth hums. You are the heartwood, Stark. Bind it, or see it splinter. Do not fail or fall, for though ice is the beginning, the darkness of shadowed land is where the true threat lies."
It faded into the trees, leaving only a shiver of leaves. Magmar's hand settled on my shoulder, firm yet kind. "Old magic, Stark. Heed it... or dread it."
I nodded, my thoughts whirling. What in the world was it talking about? The shadowed land—was it referring to Essos? That was thousands of miles east of Westeros, let alone the North or the wall. Beyond Asshai, the only thing I could recall from any of the books in Winterfell was a rumor of a city named Stygai. What did Change mean when it spoke of the real threat? I always thought the poor writing in the show made the Long Night seem too easy, but if there was a greater threat, one not created by them, I had even more questions. Yet now I also had more resolve. I would win this game of thrones.
I would conquer whatever came next, especially now that it seemed I would live slightly longer than normal. I thought with a nervous laugh that I might as well enjoy some of it. I needed to unify all of Westeros to tackle anything emerging from Essos; I had no knowledge about that land except that it involved dark magic—probably something like the shadow binders.
I sighed to myself, realizing that something like this was bound to happen. Perhaps this was the forces of the world trying to restore balance. On the upside, the North was gaining power, with giants back on the right side of the wall, focused on rebuilding and repopulating. A child of the forest speaking riddles, my own mystic powers unseen beneath my skin, and the magic I felt when warging thrummed inside me, raw and alive. I would wield it, shape it, for my future and my people. With Theon and Jon at my side, I had two strong pieces on the board to help me with my plans. And with the Thenns and Giants growing stronger and forging their place, it was a foundation I could build upon, step by step, and if I couldn't Perhaps I could have Manny fully grown just sit on all my problems I finish my thoughts with a chuckle.