Marriage Proposal

The North, Wolfswood.

The oaks stood tall, their interlocking canopy of grey-green pine needles from the Sentinel Trees slicing the dim light.

In the gloom, the rhythmic clatter of hooves approached from afar, and Garon Glover emerged from the shadows of the trees.

He was wrapped in leather armor with a longsword hanging at his waist, urging his horse forward.

Five well-trained soldiers from Deepwood Motte guarded him on all sides, remaining vigilant against the beasts of the forest.

However, apart from the occasional faint howl of a wolf, they found no trace of any wild animals along the way.

As the morning light broke, the party of six riders finally reached the edge of the Wolfswood.

Garon took the lead, bursting out of the forest.

In an instant, his field of vision opened up.

On the vast, desolate plain, a magnificent castle stood towering before his eyes.

It was the center of power in the North—

Winterfell!

Garon reined in his horse and gazed at the castle from afar, his eyes filled with longing.

A long moment passed.

He withdrew his gaze and turned his head to look at the guards beside him.

"Brothers!" Garon pointed toward the castle ahead and said loudly, "Before us lies Winterfell. Check the gifts and raise our banners!"

A Deepwood Motte soldier immediately hoisted the banner of House Glover, a silver steel fist on a red field.

The house banner fluttered in the wind, snapping loudly.

The remaining men also checked and organized the gifts on their horses, ensuring nothing was missing.

Once everything was ready, Garon waved his hand to signal their departure.

"Pick up the pace!"

"The delicious broth by the hearth in Winterfell will not wait for a tardy tongue."

As his voice fell, Garon flicked the reins and spurred his horse toward Winterfell.

The other five riders also swung their whips, following closely behind.

On the road, the captain of the guard riding to Garon's right couldn't help but laugh loudly, "Haha, it's more than just delicious broth."

"The lovely Sansa is also waiting for our lord."

The others burst into laughter.

The corners of Garon's mouth curled up slightly, and he did not deny it.

The purpose of his trip to Winterfell, by invitation, was to propose marriage to Ned Stark, hoping to betroth Sansa Stark.

Thinking of Ned's letter, Garon's heart leaped with joy.

Now!

He was one step closer to Winterfell.

"Hyah!"

Excited, Garon swung his whip and accelerated once more.

As the horse picked up speed, the scenery in his eyes blurred, and memories of the past surged forth.

Garon had transmigrated to the North of Westeros half a year ago.

He had become the only son of Galbart Glover, the Lord of Deepwood Motte, a character who never appeared in the original work.

At first, Garon was completely bewildered.

He had watched the Game of Thrones series and remembered that Galbart remained unmarried his whole life, having not even a bastard, let alone a legitimate heir, other than his ward, Lawrence Snow.

Yet, Garon had transmigrated into a character who never existed in the original work.

And Galbart, who originally had no children, had been severely wounded nine years ago while participating in the Greyjoy Rebellion, and his injuries had never fully healed.

Logically, Garon became the legitimate heir to Deepwood Motte.

Faced with such a situation, Garon pondered to no avail and eventually stopped overthinking it.

After all, he was already here.

He decided to be pragmatic and think about how to deal with the coming crisis.

At that time, it was less than a few months before Ned would head south to King's Landing.

And Ned, upon arriving in King's Landing to become Hand of the King, would soon die alongside Robert in a conspiracy.

Centered on their deaths, the War of the Five Kings would erupt!

At the beginning of the war, the Northern army, led by the Young Wolf Robb, would achieve victory after victory.

But the good times would not last.

The series of reckless maneuvers by Robb and his mother successfully buried the majority of the North's soldiers, including those from Deepwood Motte, in The Riverlands.

Meanwhile, taking advantage of the North being left defenseless, the Iron Islands dispatched troops to occupy Deepwood Motte.

The Glover family was captured in one fell swoop.

If Garon did not want to die at The Twins or be taken prisoner by the Iron Islands, he had to win the upcoming series of major battles.

And to win, Garon, who had been a military enthusiast in his past life, clearly realized that unless he gained military autonomy or betrayed the Stark family like the Boltons, his fate would be no different from the original story.

Garon did not consider betrayal; instead, he considered how to obtain military autonomy.

Soon, he had his answer—

Marry Sansa Stark!

"Once I marry Sansa, I will have the justification to control Winterfell, and subsequently, command the armies of The North."

"Only with the support of the Northern lords can I change the fate of Deepwood Motte."

"I might even have a chance to covet the Iron Throne..."

After clearing his thoughts, Garon went to find his father, Galbart, and proposed the idea of becoming betrothed to Sansa.

At that time, Galbart's old wounds had recurred, and he did not have much time left.

Before passing, he agreed to Garon's proposal and had the maester send a letter to their liege lord, Ned Stark, hoping that Ned would consent to the marriage between Garon and Sansa.

Unfortunately, Galbart passed away from his illness before he could receive a reply from Ned.

Upon learning of this, Ned promised at Galbart's funeral that he would give an answer once Garon had familiarized himself with his duties as a lord.

Thus, for the past half year, Garon had remained at Deepwood Motte, familiarizing himself with lordly affairs and training his troops.

It was not until recently that he received a letter from Ned, inviting him to visit Winterfell.

Garon knew in his heart that this must be the result regarding the marriage contract.

That was the reason for his trip to Winterfell today.

At this moment, the thundering of hooves startled the soldiers stationed at the Hunter's Gate of Winterfell.

They leaned out to look, immediately noticing the banner of a silver steel fist on a red field.

The captain of the guard recognized the banner and shouted immediately: "It is the people of the Glover family!"

"Go notify the Lord Duke at once!"

Hearing this, a soldier hurried toward the castle.

By the time Garon and his party arrived before the Hunter's Gate, they saw Robb Stark coming out to greet them.

Garon pulled on his reins to a sudden stop and vaulted off his horse.

"Robb!"

With a face full of smiles, he stepped forward and embraced the approaching Robb.

Robb also said happily: "Garon, long time no see!"

The two released each other and shared a smile.

Robb looked Garon up and down and said with envy: "You've grown taller again!"

The two had first met at Galbart's funeral.

Back then, Garon and Robb were of similar age and build.

But now, Garon stood a full head taller than Robb.

Standing there with his handsome and sturdy physique, he exuded an overwhelming sense of pressure.

Perhaps influenced by his transmigration, Garon could clearly feel the changes in his body over the past six months.

Not only was he full of energy and sharp-minded, but his strength was also far beyond that of an ordinary person.

At Deepwood Motte, Garon had once defeated ten elite soldiers single-handedly, including his uncle Robett.

Coupled with months of rigorous training, his body had developed rapidly, making him look like a completely different person compared to half a year ago.

He intended to offer an explanation, but noticed a grey-white wolf pup following behind Robb.

"Huh, is this a Direwolf?"

Garon's heart stirred; he feigned surprise as he asked Robb, but as he watched him nod with pride, he thought to himself.

"Robb has obtained a Direwolf, which means Robert must have already arrived in The North and is only a few days' journey from Winterfell."

"No wonder Ned wanted me to come; is he hoping I'll make an appearance before the King?"

Garon's gaze deepened as he contemplated the situation.

Although he felt that since Ned had invited him, he likely wouldn't be stood up, Sansa was too important, and he was still worried that the marriage might be ruined by Robert.

Without Sansa, let alone the Iron Throne, Garon wasn't even sure he could secure The North.

If he had transmigrated earlier, he could have slowly bridged the gap through farming and development.

But as it stood now—

Winter is coming!

"Regardless of anything else, I am determined to have Sansa!"

"If Joffrey gets in the way, I might just have to send him to meet The Seven early, right here in Winterfell."

A flash of killing intent crossed Garon's eyes, though his face remained composed in a smile as he listened to Robb boast about his Direwolf.

"Garon, Grey Wind is far more impressive than an ordinary wolf; even the dogs in Winterfell don't dare to get near him."

"Come here, Grey Wind!"

The youthful Robb waved at the wolf pup, Grey Wind, wanting it to show off and earn him some face.

But Grey Wind seemed to scent a dangerous aura, arching its back and snarling at Garon with a low howl.

It looked as if it were facing a formidable enemy.

"Grey Wind?"

Robb was somewhat puzzled; it was the first time he had seen Grey Wind so tense.

Garon felt a jolt in his heart; he hadn't expected a Direwolf to be so sharp, actually able to sniff out his killing intent.

However, he immediately put on a look of astonishment and looked toward Robb.

Robb was equally confused, unable to figure out what had come over Grey Wind, and could only crouch down to soothe it with his hands.

After a moment of comforting, Grey Wind gradually returned to normal.

Not knowing the reason why, Robb shook his head, concluding that Grey Wind must just be shy around strangers.

He stood up and moved past the incident, inviting Garon to head toward the Great Hall of Winterfell to pay his respects to Ned Stark.

Garon readily agreed, and the two chatted and laughed as they walked along the drawbridge toward the inner castle.

On the way, Garon noticed that Winterfell was immersed in a festive atmosphere, with everyone busy at work.

Clearly, they were making preparations for the King's arrival.

Passing by the kitchens, Garon caught the scent of food and immediately made a request to Robb.

"Robb, have the servants prepare some meat broth for my guards."

"They traveled all night with me; they must be starving!"

Robb smiled and agreed, waving over two servants busy in the kitchen and telling them to prepare some food for Garon's guards.

"Go on, take the brothers to get something to eat and look after them well."

Garon gave a few more instructions to his captain of the guard, and only after seeing the five of them walk into the kitchen did he turn back toward Robb.

"I didn't expect you to be so considerate of your soldiers."

"Garon, it seems you have become an excellent lord over this past half-year."

Hearing Robb's praise, Garon shook his head and sighed, "They have sworn their loyalty to me, so I must naturally shoulder the responsibilities of a lord."

"Besides, taking good care of them is merely the most basic requirement for a lord."

"Compared to Lord Ned, I still have a long way to go."

Garon's sigh left Robb deep in thought; he had recently been undergoing training from Ned, learning how to lead.

After pondering for a moment.

Robb gained a deeper understanding of Garon, and his eyes couldn't help but show a greater sense of closeness.

"Let's go, Father is still waiting for us!"

Robb led Garon forward once more.

The two passed the smithy, walked through a long corridor, and finally arrived at the reception hall of Winterfell.

Robb stepped inside first and called out, "Father, Garon has arrived!"

Garon followed closely behind, and at first glance, he saw the middle-aged man with dark brown hair and a grey beard sitting at the head of the table—

Ned Stark!