The "Prince" of the Iron Islands

Winterfell, the capital of the North, had a history almost as long as The Wall.

Rumor had it that the Starks had ruled the North from Winterfell for eight thousand years.

The vast Winterfell sat south of the Wolfswood like a black crown.

Yet at this moment, Winterfell was steeped in tension and anger.

Its lord had merely gone south to serve as the king's Hand, only for word to return half a year later that he had been sentenced to death for treason.

Everyone in Winterfell knew Eddard's character. They all believed the false king Joffrey was spouting nonsense.

House Stark was even less likely to accept such a claim.

Within Winterfell, the craftsmen worked harder than ever to forge weapons, while the guards drilled with greater diligence, rubbing their hands together as they waited for his son's command.

At that moment, Robb stood before a map of the North, listening to Maester Luwin's plans.

Beside him stood a lean, dark-haired young man older than Robb, practically itching for action.

He was Theon Greyjoy, Eddard Stark's foster son.

He too wanted to do his part in clearing his foster father's name.

"...House Karstark is expected to raise between two thousand and twenty-five hundred men,

House Bolton is expected to raise around four thousand,

Last Hearth... and the mountain clans should also join the war..."

Maester Luwin had served Winterfell for nearly thirty years. He did not even need to consult his records to recite such important figures at once.

He had even delivered every one of Catelyn's children.

Luwin was small in stature, but he wore many pockets.

Whatever information Robb needed, he could produce it at once. He was a dependable helper.

In this realm of feudal lords, when a liege summoned his vassals, the vassals had to provide their own provisions.

But settling and coordinating them would likely prove troublesome.

Most of these men were hardened veterans who had followed Eddard during Robert's Rebellion.

Robb had only just come of age, with no impressive record or experience to speak of. Truly leading these men would likely take some effort.

Yet Robb's mind did not seem to be on that. His eyes burned as he stared at the map on the wall, one bold battle plan after another taking shape in his mind.

Only to find that there was one place he simply could not avoid.

Just then, an assistant maester came to Robb's study carrying a letter.

"My lord, Maester, a letter from The Wall."

"The Wall?"

Robb found it strange. He had only recently ordered supplies sent to The Wall. Why would they send a letter now?

He took the letter and began reading. Luwin, standing beside him, first frowned, looking disappointed and displeased.

Yet as he read the next page, his heart eased.

"What is it, Robb?" Theon stepped forward and asked cautiously.

He had little impression of The Wall. He only knew that Eddard's gloomy, taciturn bastard had gone there.

"Jon escaped... He came back from The Wall," Robb said, handing the letters in his hand separately to Theon and Maester Luwin.

"He actually deserted! How could he do that?" Theon gave Robb a quick glance, then spoke with feigned surprise, as though fanning the flames while taking a little pleasure in Jon's misfortune.

The letter in his hand had been dictated by Aemon and written by Sam, while the one Luwin held was Jon's "farewell letter."

After thinking for a moment, Luwin said, "Robb, although Jon left The Wall without permission, he did it for Lord Eddard. What fault is there in a son worrying for his father?

Besides, he is not yet truly a man of the Night's Watch."

Every child in Winterfell had grown up under Luwin's watchful eyes.

Jon and Theon were slight exceptions.

He felt a measure of pity for Jon, the bastard.

Once Jon realized he was a bastard, a certain distance had formed between him and his other brothers and sisters.

It was a protective shell called inferiority.

He had curled himself up in the shadows, longing for warmth from the mother he had never met.

He even rarely called Eddard Father, instead calling him Lord Stark.

Now that a son wanted to do his part to save his father, Luwin decided to help Jon.

Of course, there was another, more important reason: over the past nearly three hundred years, The Wall had been flooded with criminals.

Outside the North, it could even be said that aside from the Starks, who considered joining the Night's Watch an honor, everyone else saw The Wall as a "place of exile."

"The Wall sent Jon's farewell letter back with their own letter. They should be hoping that he joins the effort to rescue Lord Eddard," Luwin said.

He had keenly noticed this, and it eased Robb's mind considerably.

If the Night's Watch itself held this attitude, why should he refuse?

He had two younger brothers, but one had become crippled, and the other was only three years old.

Having a grown brother his own age to help him now could not have been better.

His mother Catelyn had gone south and had yet to return.

Suddenly faced with such an enormous burden, Robb felt somewhat overwhelmed as well.

"Then we'll bring him back."

Robb made up his mind, and Luwin gave him an approving look.

Robb turned to Theon and ordered,

"Theon, it will probably take Jon some time to get back. He left The Wall without permission, so he likely did not bring much food. Go meet him for me when the time comes."

Theon was somewhat displeased upon hearing Robb's order.

Does a bastard like Jon deserve to have me go meet him?

"But the letter says the Night's Watch has already sent men to capture... to find him. What if he doesn't make it back?"

"He will," Robb said, shaking his head firmly. "He will definitely make it back."

Robb's attitude made Theon somewhat jealous—or perhaps resentful.

In Winterfell, Theon occupied an awkward position: beneath some, above others.

Jon was one of those beneath him, the one he used to find a sense of worth.

Though he was Eddard's foster son, he could not compare to Eddard's own children.

But he was the heir to the Iron Islands!

His father, King Balon, had once rebelled after Robert took the throne and declared himself king.

Though the rebellion had been quickly put down, he himself had, in a sense, been a prince for a time.

Theon had been too young then to remember anything about being a prince.

Yet whenever he thought of his time as a prince, even though he was a foster son in name and a hostage in truth at Winterfell, he would proudly straighten his chest.

No matter what, he was far superior to a bastard like Jon.

And now that they were about to march to war, he would undoubtedly become Robb's right-hand man, his most important support.

If Jon suddenly returned, he would surely take his place.

After all, they were both Eddard's sons, and they seemed closer to each other.

But on second thought, perhaps this was a good chance to play a trick on Jon.

Having left The Wall without permission, Jon would surely be anxious throughout the journey.

He would give him a proper scare, tell him that Robb had decided to chop off his head or something.

At that thought, Theon's expression shifted. Then he assured Robb, "Don't worry. I'll make sure to bring him back safely."

Seeing Theon say this, Robb smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

Feeling the force of Robb's hand on his shoulder, Theon felt comfort seep into the very cracks of his bones.