Reputation Begins to Rise

Outside Winterfell, Winterfell Market, Hearthfire Inn.

The Hearthfire Inn was the largest tavern in Winterfell Market, offering not only food and drink but also lodging and entertainment.

Of course, certain individuals also gathered here to exchange intelligence, fish for rumors, or conduct private business deals.

La-la! Di-da-da!

Inside the Hearthfire Inn, a roguish bard strummed and sang a lively rendition of the classic Westerosi tune, The Bear and the Maiden Fair.

Commoners from Winterfell with a few coins to spare, traveling merchants chasing profit, mercenaries seeking work—all walks of life crowded together, drinking and chatting with fervor.

"Did you hear? Lord Robb of House Stark beat the odds and killed dozens of Wildlings who'd fled into the North."

Full of food and drink, a portly man with bleary, drunken eyes tossed out his tidbit of gossip like a trophy.

"Burp, th-this... who doesn't know that? Anyone who isn't blind could see that pile of Wildling heads at the crossroads."

A middle-aged man dressed like a merchant at the same table belched and mocked his companion for rehashing old news.

"Then do you know about the direwolf that stays by his side?"

"The day Lord Robb and his men rode out, I saw it—a direwolf both majestic and terrifying."

"Hmm, House Stark's sigil just happens to be a direwolf. You think there's some secret behind that?"

"Ahem!"

Hearing his drinking buddies' chatter, the drunken fat man coughed and lowered his voice mysteriously.

"I'll tell you quietly—that direwolf is only a dozen days old, still a pup!"

"Impossible, absolutely impossible! I saw it with my own eyes—it was a full-grown direwolf. Fat Sunny, you're already drunk!"

No sooner had Fat Sunny spoken than the man who'd claimed to have seen the wolf immediately shot back.

"Really! House Stark has six wolf pups in total. It's just Lord Robb's wolf that grows at an unbelievable speed."

Seeing everyone siding with that man, Fat Sunny got flustered, his voice rising.

"My brother-in-law is high up in the Main Keep. He told me all this."

"Hmph, say what you will, I won't believe it. I saw it with my own eyes—how could that be false?"

"Exactly. Plenty of people have seen that direwolf. It's a full-grown wolf. Maybe the other pups are its cubs."

"Yeah! A pup turning into an adult wolf in a dozen days? No one would buy that."

"Fine! If you don't believe me, I can't be bothered with you lot."

Seeing everyone jeering and refusing to trust him, Fat Sunny slumped in defeat, fell silent, and started drinking alone in gloom.

"But I've heard that Lord Eddard has named Lord Robb as his heir."

"I've heard that too. Some say Lord Robb is blessed by the Old Gods—wise, brave, and skilled—a true 'Young Wolf Lord.'"

"Right! Chasing down deserting soldiers from House Bolton at night, winning against odds, zero casualties in a raid on dozens of fierce Wildlings. He fully deserves the title 'Young Wolf Lord.'"

"And that Wolf Guard he formed—every one of them is a fierce fighter, able to take on ten men."

"Right! I heard..."

Though Fat Sunny said nothing more, the topic he'd sparked had set the Hearthfire Inn ablaze. Everyone began swapping their own bits of hearsay.

The North had known no war for so long that even a skirmish involving more than ten men was endlessly rehashed, let alone battles totaling over a hundred.

After all, even some minor noble houses could only afford to keep a hundred or so full-time elite soldiers; the rest were part-time farmers and militiamen.

So Robb's recent exploits were chewed over and spread far and wide by the common folk near Winterfell.

Creak!

The tavern door swung open. A youth with brown-black hair, fair skin, and a clean-cut face strode in, one hand resting on the sword at his hip. He wore a leather jerkin stamped with the direwolf sigil, followed by several young soldiers in similar gear.

"It's Lord Theon! One of the six Wolf Guard captains, Lord Eddard's foster son, Lord Robb's second-in-command."

"Tsk, tsk. Quite the presence."

"I'd love to join the Wolf Guard. Do they take mercenaries?"

Theon paused to listen to the not-so-quiet murmurs in the tavern. A faint smile tugged at his lips as his vanity swelled.

Thump!

As he stood there, one of the squad members behind him gave his shoulder a light punch.

Theon snapped back to reality, remembered his mission, and swept his gaze across the room, searching for his target.

His eyes lit up. He led his men straight to Fat Sunny, who was brooding over his drink alone.

"You're Sunny, right? Lord Robb requests your presence!"

"Burp! Lord Robb wants me?"

Fat Sunny, already tipsy, looked up at the fully armed Theon. His mind flashed back to the secret he'd blabbed about his brother-in-law, and the fear sobered him instantly.

"Help our drunk friend Sunny here."

Theon tilted his head toward his men. The squad members stepped forward, hoisted Fat Sunny up by the arms, and dragged him out of the tavern.

Splash!

Fat Sunny naturally didn't want to go, and in his struggle, he knocked cups and plates off the table onto the floor.

The nearby drinkers didn't want any trouble and quickly retreated to watch the commotion from a distance.

Thud!

Theon frowned and punched Fat Sunny unconscious with one blow, and his men promptly dragged him out of the tavern.

Scanning the now-quiet tavern, he pulled a small pouch from his pocket, tossed it to a waitress wearing an apron, gave her ample backside a casual slap, and announced loudly, "This round is on Lord Robb!"

"Whoop! Long live the Young Wolf Lord!"

"Generous Lord Robb!"

"Little Lucy, get me a glass of Oldtown's golden wine!"

"Sorry, we don't have any."

"Oh, then a mug of fine ale!"

After Theon left the Hearthfire Inn, the bard inside resumed playing music, which mingled with all sorts of chaotic noise.

The tavern crowd seemed to have forgotten about Fat Sunny entirely, continuing to eat and drink as before.

Of course, certain people hidden among them did not forget, slipping quietly out of the tavern.

"So, my stablemaster is an informant for another faction?"

In the study at Winterfell, Eddard looked into his son's eyes, rubbing his right temple with his index and middle fingers, frowning as he spoke.

"Yes, Father. Though we don't know which faction he belongs to, he has indeed been steadily passing on every move we make."

Robb nodded in confirmation and continued, "Father, I want to establish my own intelligence network. Right now, all our information comes through outsiders, and we can't get timely, reliable intel at all."

"Where is the stablemaster now?"

Eddard didn't respond to Robb's suggestion but pressed on with his question.

"He's dead. He didn't survive the interrogation."

"This time, you were a bit reckless, Robb.

Though I know he couldn't have been Robert's man, have you considered he might have been a royal spy?"

"Father, our House has loyally guarded the North for ages. To eliminate an unknown informant, must we worry about whether he's a royal spy?

If the crown decided to slaughter our House, would we just have to die obediently?"

Slap!

Hearing this, Eddard's face flushed with anger as he slammed the table and scolded, "Don't let me hear such words again. House Stark has sworn fealty to the crown, and we must uphold that oath.

Keeping promises and honoring vows—that is the honor our House has earned over these thousand years.

Don't bring up establishing an intelligence network again. The North is peaceful and stable; we don't need such things. Now, you may leave!"

"As you command, Father Lord!"

Robb clenched his teeth inwardly. Eddard's words truly disappointed him.

But he kept his emotions from showing on his face, bowed, and headed for the door.

As Robb opened the door, he suddenly remembered something and turned back to Eddard, saying, "Oh, Father Lord.

According to the female Wildling I captured, they were cornered in the Bolton Territory.

But the encirclement on the side leading toward our lands inexplicably vanished, so they seized the chance and fled over here."

"Father, perhaps... The North isn't as peaceful and stable as you think."

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