Light the Way

CHAPTER 4. between frost and ivy

ROBB

Winterfell stood steadfast against the icy winds of the North. Robb Stark, now thirteen, had grown into the solemn responsibility that befell the eldest son of Ned Stark. The crisp air of the courtyard resonated with the rhythmic clashing of steel as Robb sparred with the castle's seasoned sword master, Ser Rodrik.

The sun painted the training grounds with hues of silver and blue as the young Stark honed his martial skills. The echoes of steel meeting steel reverberated through the yard, a testament to Robb's commitment to his training. His movements were swift and calculated, a reflection of the lessons imparted by Ser Rodrik.

As the practice session came to an end, Robb wiped the sweat from his brow and exchanged a respectful nod with his tutor. Winterfell's master-at-arms had become a mentor, instilling in Robb not only the art of combat but also the honour and duty that befitted a Stark.

With the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the courtyard, Robb sought the company of his brothers - Bran, Rickon, and his bastard brother Jon Snow. The sounds of laughter and playful banter filled the air as they engaged in friendly sparring matches, their bond as siblings strengthening with every clash of wooden swords.

As the day unfolded, Robb joined his family for the evening meal in the Great Hall. The warmth of the hearth enveloped them as they gathered around the long wooden table. Robb's father, the Lord of Winterfell, presided over the feast with a solemn grace. His mother, Catelyn, offered gentle smiles and guidance to their children.

The bountiful spread featured dishes sourced from the fertile lands of the North - roasted meats, fresh vegetables, and hearty stews. The Stark children engaged in lively conversations, sharing tales of their day and dreams for the future.

His lord father's eyes, watchful and proud, observed his children with a mixture of paternal love and duty. Robb, seated at his father's right hand, listened attentively as his lord father spoke of the responsibilities that would one day rest upon his shoulders. The North, with its vast territories and ancient traditions, demanded a leader of strength and honour.

The candles flickered, casting a warm glow upon the familial scene. Robb found solace in the familiar embrace of Winterfell. As the night settled in, the Stark family retired to their chambers.

The following morning, the sun cast a golden glow upon the towers of Winterfell. Robb having finished his morning practice, was summoned to his lord father's study. His father sat at his desk, the weight of responsibility etched into the lines on his face.

"Robb," his father began, his voice measured, "I have received a raven from Lord Baelor Hightower. His oldest daughter is to be sent to Winterfell to live as a ward."

Robb's brows furrowed in contemplation. The arrival of a highborn girl as a ward in Winterfell was not an uncommon occurrence, but the gravity of his father's tone hinted at something more.

"As the eldest son, it is your duty to extend the hospitality of our house to Lady Alina," his father continued. "House Hightower is one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. This arrangement will strengthen the ties between our two houses."

Robb nodded, his mind racing with the implications of this decision. The responsibilities of leadership weighed heavier on his shoulders.

Later that day, Robb found himself in the courtyard, the crisp air invigorating his thoughts. Theon Greyjoy, his childhood friend and ward of the Starks, joined him. Jon Snow, standing at the periphery, observed the interaction with his usual quiet intensity.

"Theon," Robb began, "we have a new ward. Lady Alina Hightower is to arrive soon. Her father has entrusted her to Winterfell."

Theon's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "A highborn lady, eh? This should be interesting."