The North — Wolfswood
Oak trees towered overhead, and the gray-green needles of sentinel pines intertwined like layered canopies, cutting the weak morning light into thin fragments.
In the dim forest, distant hoofbeats echoed, growing louder. From between the shadows of the trees, Galon Glover emerged.
He wore hardened leather armor, a long sword hanging at his waist as he rode forward.
Five trained soldiers of Deepwood Motte surrounded him, alert to any danger lurking in the woods.
Yet aside from the occasional distant howl, they encountered no beasts.
By the time dawn finally broke, the six riders reached the edge of the Wolfswood.
Galon spurred forward, exiting the treeline.
The moment he emerged, his view widened.
Before him, beyond the vast northern wilderness, stood a colossal castle of gray stone.
Winterfell. The heart of Northern power.
Galon reined in his horse and stared at the ancient fortress, desire burning in his eyes.
For a long moment, he simply looked.
Then he turned to the guards beside him.
"Brothers!" he called, pointing toward Winterfell. "We're here. Check the gifts and raise our banner."
A soldier unfurled the sigil of House Glover, a silver mailed fist on a field of red. The banner snapped loudly in the wind.
The others checked the horses and the cargo, ensuring nothing had been forgotten.
Only after everything was confirmed did Galon gesture forward.
"Faster," he commanded. "Winterfell stew doesn't wait for late tongues."
With a flick of the reins, he galloped toward the castle.
The rest followed close behind.
Along the road, the captain riding to his right laughed loudly. "Stew? Ha, there's more waiting for you than food."
"Lady Sansa surely waits as well."
The others broke into laughter.
Galon allowed a small smile, neither denying nor correcting him.
This journey had one purpose — to formally propose to Lord Ned Stark and seek an engagement with Sansa Stark.
Just thinking about Ned's letter sent a rush of anticipation through his chest.
Winterfell was close now.
He struck his horse again. "Hyah!"
As the horse sped up, memories surged forward.
Galon had arrived in Westeros half a year ago.
He had awoken in the North as the son of Galbert Glover, the lord of Deepwood Motte — a character who never existed in the original story.
At first, he was stunned.
He had watched the show and remembered clearly: Galbert Stark never married and never sired a child, not even a single bastard besides his adopted son, Lawrence Snow.
Yet here Galon was — an invented heir.
Galbert's lingering injuries from the Greyjoy Rebellion had left him weakened and unable to recover.
And so Galon had become the lawful heir to Deepwood Motte. After struggling with the absurdity, he eventually stopped questioning fate.
He was here. Surviving mattered more than confusion.
More importantly, time was running out. Ned would soon leave for King's Landing.
And not long after reaching the capital, both Ned and King Robert would die in a web of conspiracies. Their deaths would ignite the War of the Five Kings.
At first, Robb Stark led Northern forces to victory after victory.
But that ended when Robb and his mother made disastrous mistakes, losing nearly the entire Northern army — including Deepwood Motte's soldiers — in the Riverlands.
Then, while the North bled abroad, the Ironborn struck, seizing Deepwood Motte and capturing House Glover.
Galon knew one truth:
If he did nothing, he would die — either at the Iron Islands' hands or on some doomed battlefield.
To survive, he needed military independence.
Or he needed to betray House Stark like the Boltons would.
But betrayal was never an option.
So he sought another path.
Sansa Stark.
'If I marry Sansa, I gain legitimacy over Winterfell. With that authority, I can redirect Northern forces and change our fate.'
'With support from Northern houses, I can protect Deepwood Motte.'
'Perhaps… even reach for the Iron Throne.'
With that resolve, he approached his father and proposed the marriage.
Galbert, already at death's door, gave his blessing and ordered a letter to Ned Stark.
But the reply came too late.
Galbert died before the response arrived. At the funeral, Ned promised that once Galon completed his duties as heir, he would give him an answer.
So Galon spent six months learning governance and strengthening Deepwood Motte's forces.
Then, days ago, Ned finally sent word — inviting him to Winterfell.
The meaning was obvious.
Now, with Winterfell in sight, his heart hammered faster.
The thundering hooves startled Winterfell's hunters gate guards.
They spotted the Glover banner and shouted, "It's House Glover!"
"Inform the Lord!"
One guard sprinted toward the inner yard. Moments later, as Galon reached the gate, Robb Stark appeared to greet him.
Galon dismounted at once. "Robb!"
The two embraced warmly.
"It's been too long!" Robb laughed.
They stepped back and looked each other over.
Robb whistled. "You've grown again."
They had first met at Galbert's funeral, both boys of similar height. Now Galon stood a full head taller — broad shouldered, powerful, imposing.
His body had changed rapidly these past months. He felt sharper, stronger, quicker — beyond normal limits.
In Deepwood Motte, he had defeated ten elite soldiers and his uncle Robert at once.
Training only made him grow stronger.
He was about to respond when he noticed the small gray wolf beside Robb.
"Oh? A direwolf?" he asked, feigning surprise.
Robb proudly nodded.
But Galon's thoughts darkened. "If Robb already has his direwolf, then Robert Baratheon must be nearby. The royal procession is almost at Winterfell."
"So Ned wants me present when the king arrives…"
That meant one thing — the marriage was nearly settled.
But the King could still destroy it on a whim.
Without Sansa, Galon would lose everything — Winterfell, the North, and the future.
With a colder thought, he whispered to himself, "If Joffrey becomes a problem… then perhaps I should remove him before he ever becomes king."
Before the idea could settle, the direwolf bristled, baring teeth and growling at Galon.
Robb blinked in confusion. "Greywind?"
Galon froze for a heartbeat — the wolf had sensed his killing intent.
He forced a confused expression as Robb crouched to calm the pup. Only when Greywind relaxed did they continue.
Robb led Galon toward the inner yard.
The castle bustled with preparation — decorations, banners, cooks, smiths, and servants rushing about.
"Seems the king arrives soon," Galon observed.
Passing the kitchens, the smell of meat stew drifted out.
Galon chuckled. "Robb, have someone bring stew for my men. They rode all night and deserve a meal."
Robb agreed immediately and called for servants to prepare food.
Galon pulled aside his captain. "Eat and rest. You've earned it."
Only when his men entered the kitchen did he continue walking with Robb.
"I didn't expect you to care so much for soldiers," Robb remarked. "You've changed."
Galon shook his head. "They swore loyalty to me. A lord protects his own. It's the bare minimum. Compared to Lord Ned, I have far to go."
Robb fell silent, thinking deeply.
After a moment, he smiled with newfound respect. "Come. My father is waiting."
They crossed the yard, passed the forge, entered a long corridor, and finally reached the great hall.
Robb stepped in first. "Father, Galon has arrived."
Galon followed.
At the far end of the hall, seated with quiet authority, sat a man with dark brown hair and a short gray beard.
Ned Stark.