The Wolfs Den Ceremony

At daybreak the next morning, Robb had already eaten a hearty breakfast and dressed. He headed from the Main Keep toward the Training Ground.

As soon as he stepped through the stone gate into the Training Ground, he saw a group of soldiers standing motionless amid the archery targets and weapon racks, silently watching him. They wore matching leather armor.

His father, Eddard, and Ser Rodrik, who was also fully armed, were waiting for him on a wooden platform at the far end of the Training Ground.

Seeing the scene before him, Robb quickened his pace and reached the foot of the platform in just a few strides.

"These warriors are the sons of many of my bannermen in the North. From today onward, you will live, train, and fight alongside them."

As soon as Robb came to a stop, Eddard spoke to him in a solemn tone, his expression grave.

Robb quickly surveyed the ranks and saw that most of the men were indeed young.

Eddard pointed at Robb with his right hand and continued, facing the warriors.

"Robb Stark, the next Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. You were born in the North, and you will be buried in the North.

"From today onward, he entrusts his life to you, and in turn, he will bring you honor and glory.

"You will all be brothers, worthy of sharing your deepest thoughts with, and comrades worthy of entrusting your backs to in battle.

"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives!

"You are his wolf pack!"

"Loyal to Lord Stark unto death!"

As soon as Eddard finished speaking, a shout rang out from among the soldiers. The others in the Training Ground quickly joined in.

"Loyal to Lord Robb unto death!"

"Loyal to him unto death!"

"Loyal to him unto death!"

As he listened to the shouts gradually blend into one, Robb felt his blood surge. He was overcome with excitement.

Westeros followed the traditional law of primogeniture, but Eddard could also name one of his other children, such as Brandon or Rickon, as heir to his lordship.

Today's ceremony, the Wolfs Den Ceremony, was Eddard's way of explicitly naming Robb as the heir to the North.

Even if Robb later proved foolish, incompetent, and debauched, no one could challenge his right to inherit—not unless he committed an unforgivable crime like patricide or regicide.

The Wolf King should have a wolf pack of his own!

The Wolfs Den Ceremony was an unwritten tradition of House Stark.

It was a personal guard formed by the current lord for his successor.

Of course, when the Mad King had burned Eddard's father and brother without warning, Eddard had been living in The Eyrie. He had naturally inherited the title, but had never gone through this traditional ceremony.

A strict adherent to tradition, he had long since begun seeking suitable sons of his bannermen for Robb's ceremony. It was just that, for certain other reasons, he had moved up the date.

"I'll leave the rest to you, Ser Rodrik."

Eddard looked at the excited soldiers on the Training Ground, nodded to Rodrik, then turned and left.

Once the excitement had begun to settle, it was time for Rodrik to carry out his duties as master-at-arms.

At his signal, the thirty soldiers on the Training Ground began pairing off to fight.

This was a mock battle, so they all wore leather armor and fought with blunted swords.

A blunted sword couldn't cut through leather armor, but a powerful blow still hurt like hell.

Robb was the only one left without a partner, so his opponent was naturally Rodrik, a man rich in combat experience.

After their swordfight, Rodrik praised Robb warmly, saying he had done very well.

Robb, however, paid no heed to the praise. He was dissatisfied with himself.

When it came to fighting, the original Robb had been something of an all-rounder. He was good at tactics, swordplay, archery, horsemanship, and hand-to-hand combat. He had a natural talent for all of them.

But his pursuit of versatility and the breadth of his training had kept him from reaching the pinnacle in any one discipline.

Take the "Kingslayer," Jaime Lannister, for example. He was poor at everything else, but when he had a sword in each hand, he was among the finest swordsmen in Westeros.

Jory Cassel, Eddard's Captain of the Guards.

Earlier, Jory had followed Robb in pursuit of the deserters from House Bolton. At the time, Robb had been focused on fighting and had paid no attention to what was happening around him.

But Theon had mentioned in passing that Jory had ridden straight into the deserters' defensive formation and cut down several men as easily as chopping vegetables.

Yet a warrior like that had been killed with a single move by Jaime Lannister in King's Landing a few months later, after cutting down several Lannister soldiers.

Jaime might have had the advantage of being fresh, but the main reason he could kill Jory with one strike was that he was simply that strong.

After Rodrik moved on to instruct the other warriors, Robb practiced his daily sword drills alone.

When he finished his routine, he felt that his swordsmanship had hit a bottleneck.

Ordinary practice could only reinforce his fundamentals. It was unlikely to bring any real breakthrough.

His real fight against the captain of the deserters, on the other hand, had taken his swordsmanship from raw to mature and helped him improve considerably.

But opponents suited to that kind of fight were few and far between.

Since his sword practice was yielding so little, Robb decided to rest where he stood and observe the personal guards who were supposed to watch his back.

Even though they were loyal warriors chosen by Eddard, Robb wasn't about to entrust his back to them so easily.

In the world of Game of Thrones, betrayal and selling people out were commonplace. He would only trust those he had personally approved.

At first glance, the most striking figure was a female warrior at least six feet tall, about 183 centimeters.

Like Brienne of Tarth, she was a female warrior, but her style was entirely different from Brienne's burly, more-than-a-match-for-any-man physique.

She was tall and slender, and in her swordfight with her opponent, she moved with swift, graceful steps, as if performing a sword dance.

Her fighting style was nothing like Westerosi swordplay. It was more like the Water Dance of Braavos.

Another figure who stood out from the crowd was a huge man with a full beard, about seven and a half feet tall—around 228 centimeters.

He was the very image of a Westerosi warrior. The standard blunted sword looked rather small in his hands, and as he gripped it in both hands and struck with all his might, his opponent could do little but defend himself.

Still, it was clear that the sons of the Northern bannermen were all capable fighters. The warrior was on the back foot, blocking blows from every direction, but he managed to hold off the giant's fierce attacks completely.

Once he got used to the onslaught, he occasionally slipped in a counterattack, gradually throwing off the giant's rhythm.

Robb understood. If he held out, he would eventually win.

The result was just as Robb had expected.

The giant couldn't break through his opponent's defense. In the end, his rhythm fell apart completely, and his opponent struck him across the left hip with a sword. Pain twisted his face, but he gritted his teeth and refused to cry out.

Unlike the usual basic drills, this training session went on for a long time.

It was nearly noon when Ser Rodrik loudly called for a break. The soldiers, who had been training on the grounds all morning, finally let out a collective sigh of relief.

They crowded around Robb, some to pledge their loyalty, others to get to know him.

Robb didn't disappoint them. Smiling, he answered each of them in turn, chatting and exchanging greetings.

He also learned that the female warrior was Daisy Mormont, a daughter of House Mormont of Bear Island.

The giant was Littlejon Umber, a son of House Umber. His opponent was Owen Norrey, a son of Clan Norrey.

Aside from Littlejon Umber, Robb recognized none of their names.