The King in the North

Robb stood atop Winterfell's battlements as the morning sun crested over the eastern horizon, casting shadows across the landscape below. Fenrir sat beside him, the massive direwolf's black fur rippling in the crisp northern breeze. The beast's emerald eyes followed Robb's gaze toward what was once called Winter Town, but now deserved its new name—Winter City.

One year. Just one year since they had broken ground on the ambitious project, and the transformation was staggering. Where once stood a haphazard collection of buildings and muddy streets now rose an organized city encircled by a thirty-foot wall that gleamed with fresh-cut stone. The morning light caught the frost on the battlements of that wall, making it shimmer like a crown around the city.

"Hard to believe it was just a collection of ramshackle buildings a year ago," Robb murmured to Fenrir, who tilted his head attentively. "Look at it now."

The distinct districts were visible even from this distance—the military quarter with its training yards and barracks where soldiers drilled from dawn to dusk, their armor glinting in the morning light as they practiced sword forms; the smiths' quarter where smoke already rose from morning fires, the rhythmic clanging of hammers on steel echoing across the frosty air; the merchants' district with its covered market that buzzed with activity regardless of weather, colorful awnings and merchant cries creating a tapestry of commerce that made Robb's chest swell with pride. Each sector of the city functioned like a well-oiled machine, exactly as he had envisioned when he'd first sketched out the plans on parchment all those months ago.

Gone were the muddy tracks that turned to slush in spring. In their place lay wide cobbled streets, properly graded and drained. No longer did sewage flow openly—the new system had proven its worth already during the last heavy rains.

What filled Robb with the most pride wasn't the buildings or walls, but the people. From his vantage point, he could see them moving purposefully through the streets—not the desperate, huddled masses of before, but citizens with dignity and purpose. Children ran to the community kitchens for morning lessons, merchants arranged their stalls, and off-duty soldiers practiced in dedicated training areas.

Fenrir nudged Robb's hand with his massive head, and Robb absently scratched behind the direwolf's ears. "We changed it, boy. Actually changed it."

The wolf rumbled in agreement, his green eyes following a patrol along the new wall. The city had grown to accommodate nearly 1.2 million people, with proper stone and wood houses replacing the seasonal shelters of old. When word had spread by raven of work and shelter, the masses had flocked to their gates. Even now, travelers continued to arrive at Winter City, seeking to plant roots and forge their lives anew.

Robb watched his direwolf with a smile, still marveling at how the pup he'd found in the snow had grown into such a magnificent beast. Footsteps approached from behind, and he turned to find Jon walking toward him, Ghost padding silently at his heels.

"Sometimes I still can't believe how large they've grown," Jon said, nodding toward Fenrir. "He's nearly the size of a small horse now."

Robb chuckled as Fenrir bounded over to Ghost, the massive black wolf lowering his front legs in a playful stance before the two direwolves darted off along the battlements, chasing and nipping at each other.

"Aye, but he still acts like a pup sometimes," Robb replied, watching as Fenrir rolled onto his back, Ghost circling him cautiously before pouncing. "Especially around family."

Jon leaned against the stone parapet beside Robb, his expression turning serious. "Father received another raven from King's Landing this morning."

"What do they want this time?" Robb asked, his eyes still tracking the playing wolves.

"They're asking questions about our 'unusual activities' in the North," Jon said, lowering his voice despite there being no one else nearby. "The ice trade, the army... seems we've drawn their attention."

Robb scoffed, unsurprised. "It's not the king who's worried about us. Robert Baratheon has never concerned himself much with the North unless he needed our swords, and he and father are too close to be worried about our activities." He turned to face Jon fully. "This must be the other southern houses, watching our new wealth and wanting it for themselves."

"You don't seem concerned," Jon observed.

"Why should I be?" Robb gestured toward the frozen landscape stretching beyond Winter City. "Our main trade is ice. Let the southerners try to steal that from us." A smile tugged at his lips. "The Lannister's may shit gold, but they can't make winter. Everything we've built here is for the North's protection and prosperity. We've broken no laws, threatened no one. We're simply... improving our position."

"The demonstration," Robb remembered, straightening from the battlements. "We should head down. Ser Rodrik will have my head if we're late."

Jon nodded, and they whistled for their wolves. Ghost and Fenrir bounded back, falling into step beside their partners as they descended the tower stairs and crossed the courtyard toward the army barracks.

*****

The sight that greeted them at the training grounds stirred something deep in Robb's chest. Thirty-five thousand soldiers stood in perfect formation, their armor gleaming in the morning light. The ranks stretched further than he could see, each soldier standing straight and proud in the Northern army's uniform. 

Robb spotted his family already gathered on the viewing platform - his father stood tall and dignified, with his mother sitting beside him with Rickon fidgeting in her lap. Sansa, Arya, and Bran occupied the remaining seats, all watching with wide eyes as Ser Rodrik barked commands from his position at the front of the formations.

"My lords," Ser Rodrik acknowledged as Robb and Jon took their places. Fenrir settled at Robb's feet, his green eyes scanning the assembled troops.

At Ser Rodrik's signal, the demonstration began. The formations moved with precision that made Robb's chest swell with pride. Shield walls formed and reformed in perfect synchronization, spears bristling outward like the spines of some great beast. The soldiers moved as one entity, their footsteps thundering across the packed earth.

Robb watched as nobles and commoners worked in seamless unity - the result of months of rigorous training. There was Smalljon Umber, massive in his armor, leading his section with the same dedication as Henry, the former refugee turned soldier. 

Robb caught sight of Arya bouncing on her toes, her eyes wide with excitement as she watched the formations. She tugged at Bran's sleeve, pointing out different maneuvers and naming the soldiers she recognized from her frequent visits to the training grounds.

"Look, that's Henry leading the third squad! And there's Lyanna with her unit!" Arya's voice carried across the platform.

Sansa sat straighter in her chair, her usual composure briefly forgotten as she watched the impressive display. Even she couldn't hide her amazement at how the ragtag group of nobles and commoners had transformed into this unified force.

"They move as one," his mother remarked, genuine pride in her voice. "I never thought I'd see Northerners so disciplined."

"They're magnificent," his father murmured beside him. "You've built something remarkable here, Robb."

The army transitioned into their march formation, banners unfurling in the wind - the direwolf of Starks. As they began their procession through Winter City, Robb and his family moved to the lead position.

The cobblestone streets echoed with the rhythmic stamp of thirty-five thousand boots moving in perfect time. Citizens lined the streets, cheering as their army passed. Children perched on shoulders pointed excitedly at the impressive display of Northern might.

Robb walked proudly at the head of the column, Fenrir matching his stride. The direwolf's presence seemed to add an almost mythical quality to the procession, his black fur and green eyes drawing gasps from the crowd. 

Through the merchant's quarter they marched, past the smiths' district where the forges had gone quiet as workers emerged to watch. The new walls of Winter City rose before them, a testament to how far they'd come. This army wasn't just a fighting force - it was a symbol of the North's transformation, of its people united under one purpose.

The citizens' reactions warmed Robb's heart. A group of children near the front mimicked the soldiers' movements with wooden sticks, while merchants and craftsmen stood in doorways, nodding approvingly at the display of Northern strength. He spotted Old Nan among the crowd, tears in her eyes as she watched what must have reminded her of armies from the stories she used to tell.

"The Young Wolf's army!" someone shouted from the crowd, and the cry was taken up by others until it echoed through the square.

Rickon squirmed free from their mother's grasp and ran up to Robb, his young face beaming. "Can I join when I'm older, Robb? Please?"

Robb smiled at his younger brother and picked him up.

Ser Rodrik's voice rang out, calling the formations to a halt in the city's central square. The troops moved with practiced precision into their final positions, shields locked and spears raised in salute. The sight of so many trained warriors, standing ready to defend their home, filled Robb with a sense of accomplishment he'd never known before.

As the demonstration drew to a close, Robb stood with his family as they watched the formations perform their final maneuvers. With precise timing, the army units pivoted and marched into place around Winter City's central square. What had once been a muddy gathering place was now a grand plaza, paved with smooth stones and bordered by newly constructed buildings.

Long tables lined the edges of the square, laden with food and drink. The scent of fresh bread, roasted meats, and mulled wine filled the air. At Ser Rodrik's command, the formations broke, and soldiers removed their helmets as they headed toward the feast with disciplined excitement.

Robb watched with pride as nobles and commoners sat together, sharing benches and passing plates without regard for birth or title—exactly as he had envisioned when forming this army. There was Smalljon Umber, clapping Henry on the back as they shared a tankard of ale. Nearby, Dacey Mormont leaned against a table, laughing with a group of Bear Island women and men from White Harbor.

"Go on," Robb told his soldiers, raising his voice. "You've earned this feast ten times over."

Fenrir pressed against his leg, the direwolf's green eyes fixed on a platter of roasted venison. Robb chuckled and nodded, and the massive wolf trotted over to where kitchen staff had prepared special portions for the direwolves.

Commoners and warriors alike wove through the celebration, passing cups and trading tales. Young ones scampered around the feast tables, wielding imaginary swords or simply reveling in the joyous mood. As he made his way through the crowd, an elderly woman offered a steaming pastry to Robb, tears of pride gathering in her eyes.

"Your Grace, my boy fights beneath your banner," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Makes my heart soar to witness the North united like this."

Robb offered a gentle squeeze of reassurance to her weathered fingers.

*****

As he moved through the celebration, Robb caught sight of Lyanna Mormont speaking animatedly with his father. Her eyes met his across the square, and a smile bloomed across her face. Even amid thousands, her gaze found him unerringly, and the rest of the crowd seemed to fade away for that brief moment.

Robb made his way toward her, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from soldiers and citizens alike as he passed. Fenrir padded beside him, clearing a path through the crowd without effort.

"Lady Mormont," Robb said formally as he approached, though his eyes sparkled with familiarity.

Lyanna turned to him with a slight bow. "Lord Stark. Your father was just telling me how you used to draw city plans in the dirt as a child." A teasing smile played at her lips. "Though I doubt they included proper sewage systems back then."

His father clasped Robb's shoulder with pride. "I'll leave you two to discuss the finer points of urban planning," Ned said with a knowing look before moving away to join Lady Catelyn at a nearby table.

"Walk with me?" Robb asked, offering his arm.

Lyanna took it, her small but calloused hand resting confidently in the crook of his elbow. "Lead on, Young Wolf."

They moved toward the edge of the square where the crowd thinned, Fenrir trailing a few paces behind them. The black direwolf's emerald eyes remained vigilant even during celebration.

"A year ago, I would never have believed this possible," Robb admitted, gesturing toward the bustling city around them. "Sometimes I still wake up thinking it was all a dream."

Lyanna's grip on his arm tightened slightly. "Not a dream. Your vision, your determination." She looked up at him, her fierce eyes softening. "Remember when we argued about whether to prioritize the sewage system or the walls?"

Robb laughed. "You insisted we needed defenses first."

"And you insisted we needed healthy people to man those defenses," she finished. "You were right."

"As were you," he countered. "We needed both. That's why we make a good team, Lyanna. You see what I miss, and I see what you overlook."

They stopped at the edge of the celebration, the sounds of music and laughter creating a backdrop to their conversation. Fenrir settled nearby, his massive form a dark sentinel in the fading light.

"The ravens from King's Landing worry me," Lyanna said after a moment of companionable silence. "The South has never understood the North. They'll see threats where there are none."

Robb turned to face her fully. "Let them worry. Every stone we lay, every soldier we train, every coin we earn through honest trade makes us stronger. The North remembers what it means to stand alone if necessary."

Lyanna reached up to brush a lock of auburn hair from his forehead, her touch lingering. "And its lord remembers what it means to lead with both strength and compassion." Her gaze held his, serious and measuring. "The people aren't just following the Stark name anymore, Robb. They're following you."

The weight of her words settled on him, but instead of feeling burdened, Robb felt a surge of resolve. He took her hand in his, the warmth of her skin a contrast to the cool evening air.

"Not just me," he said softly. "Us. The North. Together." He glanced over at Fenrir, who had raised his head at their prolonged stop. "Even the direwolf approves."

As if understanding, Fenrir rose and padded over, pressing his massive head against Lyanna's side. She laughed and scratched behind his ears, earning a rumble of pleasure from the beast that had once terrified hardened soldiers.

"He's grown as much as you have this past year," she observed.

"We've all grown," Robb replied, his voice low as he drew her closer. The sounds of celebration faded further as his focus narrowed to her face, to the strength and vulnerability she showed only to him.

Her hand came to rest against his chest, above his heart. 

When their lips met, it wasn't the hesitant kiss of uncertain youth they had first shared in the godswood, but something deeper—a promise between equals, between partners who had built something together and would continue to build more.

Fenrir circled them once before settling nearby, his green eyes reflecting the torchlight as he watched over his partner and the woman who had earned not just Robb's trust, but his own.

From across the square, Robb caught sight of Jon watching them, a rare full smile on his brother's face as he raised a tankard in silent toast. 

As Lyanna's hand found his again, he knew that whatever challenges came from the south or beyond the Wall, they would face them not as scattered houses, but as one North.

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With this, the first half of volume 1 or the prologue is over. The second half will start the main story and introduce the main other characters. So far the world outside the north and their reactions, motivations etc were not mentioned. this does not mean that nothing happened in the background. Robbs world was focused entirely around the north, and as the raven comes in from Kings landing with the news of the kings hand, his world will slowly expand as well.

Hope you guys liked the story so far :)