The North, the Wolfswood.
Ancient oak and pine trees stood tall, their gray-green canopies interwoven high above, blotting out most of the pale northern sunlight.
Within the dim forest, the sound of galloping hooves gradually approached from afar.
Soon, Garon Glover erged from the shadows between the trees.
He wore dark leather armor lined with fur, with a longsword hanging at his waist as he rode steadily forward through the Wolfswood.
Five well-trained soldiers from Deepwood Motte rode around him protectively, their eyes constantly scanning the forest for lurking beasts or wildlings.
However, throughout the journey, apart from the occasional distant wolf howl echoing through the woods, they encountered no danger.
As dawn slowly broke across the North, the group of six riders finally reached the edge of the Wolfswood.
Garon took the lead and rode out from beneath the dense forest canopy.
In an instant, his vision widened.
Across the vast northern plains stood an ancient and magnificent castle, towering proudly against the cold morning sky.
The heart of the North.
Winterfell.
Garon slowly reined in his horse and stared silently at the castle in the distance, his eyes filled with complicated emotions and deep longing.
After a long mont, he withdrew his gaze and turned toward the guards beside him.
"Brothers!"
Garon pointed toward Winterfell and said loudly, "That's Winterfell ahead of us. Check the gifts and raise House Glover's banner!"
One of the Deepwood Motte soldiers imdiately lifted the Glover banner high.
A silver ironwood tree with scarlet leaves upon a white field fluttered fiercely in the cold northern wind.
The remaining soldiers quickly checked the gifts tied to their horses, making sure nothing had been forgotten along the journey.
Only after everything was prepared did Garon wave his hand.
"Move faster!"
"The at stew by Winterfell's hearth won't wait for n with slow tongues."
As his words fell, Garon pulled the reins sharply and urged his horse toward Winterfell.
The other five riders followed closely behind.
Along the way, the captain of the guards riding beside Garon could not help but laugh loudly.
"Haha! It's not just the at stew our young lord is eager for."
"Our lord is also eager to see the lovely Lady Sansa."
The others imdiately burst into laughter.
Garon rely smiled faintly and did not deny it.
The purpose of his journey to Winterfell was indeed to propose marriage to Eddard Stark and seek Sansa Stark's hand.
Thinking about the contents of Ned Stark's letter, Garon's heartbeat quickened slightly.
Now, he was only one step away from Winterfell.
"Hyah!"
Excited, Garon whipped the reins again, causing his horse to speed up even further.
As the scenery blurred past his eyes, mories from another world surged through his mind.
Half a year ago, Garon had unexpectedly transmigrated into the world of Westeros.
And not as so famous figure from the story.
He had beco the only son of Galbart Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte.
At first, Garon had been utterly bewildered.
He had watched Ga of Thrones and rembered clearly that Galbart Glover had never married in the original story. Aside from his adopted son, Larence Snow, there was not even ntion of a bastard child.
Yet sohow, Garon had appeared in this world as Galbart's legitimate son.
Even more strangely, Galbart himself had been severely wounded during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion nine years earlier, and the injuries had never fully healed.
Thus, Garon naturally beca the heir to Deepwood Motte.
After spending days fruitlessly trying to understand what had happened, Garon eventually gave up thinking about it.
Since he was already here, there was no point dwelling on the impossible.
What mattered now was surviving what was to co.
At present, there were only a few months left before King Robert Baratheon traveled north to Winterfell and Eddard Stark departed south for King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King.
And once Ned reached King's Landing, both he and Robert would soon perish amidst conspiracy and betrayal.
After their deaths, the War of the Five Kings would erupt across Westeros.
At the start of the war, Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, would lead the northern army to victory after victory in the Riverlands.
But those victories would not last long.
Robb's political mistakes, combined with Catelyn Stark's reckless decisions, would ultimately destroy the strength of the North.
Most of the northern lords and soldiers, including the n of Deepwood Motte, would perish in the Riverlands.
At the sa ti, Balon Greyjoy would launch another invasion of the North.
Deepwood Motte itself would fall to the Ironborn.
House Glover would suffer devastating losses.
If Garon wished to avoid dying at the Twins or becoming a prisoner of the Ironborn, then he needed the power to influence the coming war.
And as soone who had studied military history in his previous life, Garon understood one thing clearly.
Without military autonomy, he would never be able to change anything.
Unless he betrayed the Starks like Roose Bolton.
Otherwise, his fate would remain exactly the sa as in the original tiline.
But betrayal was never among Garon's choices.
Instead, he thought about how to gain enough legitimacy and influence to command the North itself.
Soon, he found the answer.
Marry Sansa Stark.
"Once I marry Sansa, I will possess the legitimacy to influence Winterfell itself."
"And with the support of the northern lords, I can change the fate of Deepwood Motte."
"Perhaps…"
Garon's eyes darkened slightly.
"I may even have a chance to covet the Iron Throne."
After reaching this conclusion, Garon had imdiately spoken with his father, Galbart Glover, and proposed seeking a marriage alliance with House Stark.
At the ti, Galbart's old injuries had already relapsed severely.
Knowing he did not have much ti left, Galbart agreed and ordered the maester to write to his liege lord, Eddard Stark, proposing a marriage between Garon and Sansa.
Unfortunately, Galbart died before a reply from Winterfell could arrive.
At Galbart's funeral, however, Ned Stark personally promised Garon that he would give him an answer once Garon had beco familiar with the duties of ruling Deepwood Motte.
Thus, for the past six months, Garon had remained in Deepwood Motte, governing the castle and training soldiers while waiting for Winterfell's response.
Until recently.
A letter from Ned Stark finally arrived, inviting Garon to Winterfell.
Garon imdiately understood.
There was finally an answer regarding the engagent.
Thus, he began his journey northward today.
At that mont, the thunder of approaching hooves startled the guards stationed at Winterfell's Hunter's Gate.
The guards looked outward and quickly noticed the banner of House Glover.
"The Glovers!"
One of the guards imdiately shouted.
"Quickly! Inform Lord Stark!"
A soldier hurried into the castle at once.
By the ti Garon and his party reached Hunter's Gate, Robb Stark had already arrived personally to greet him.
Garon pulled his horse to a stop and quickly dismounted.
"Robb!"
Smiling broadly, he stepped forward and embraced Robb warmly.
Robb also laughed happily.
"Garon! It's been too long!"
The two separated while smiling.
Robb looked Garon up and down with surprise.
"You've grown taller again!"
The two had last t during Galbart Glover's funeral.
At the ti, they had been similar in height and build.
But now, Garon stood nearly a head taller than Robb.
Combined with his broad shoulders and powerful physique, he naturally gave off an imposing presence.
Perhaps due to the transmigration itself, Garon could clearly feel the changes in his body over the past six months.
Not only had his mind beco sharper and his energy greater, but his physical strength had also beco astonishing.
Back in Deepwood Motte, Garon had once defeated ten elite soldiers by himself during training.
Even his uncle, Robett Glover, had been shocked by his growth.
Combined with months of relentless training, Garon now seed like an entirely different person from the young man who had arrived half a year ago.
Just as he was about to speak further, Garon suddenly noticed a gray-and-white direwolf pup standing behind Robb.
"Oh?"
Garon feigned surprise.
"Is that a direwolf?"
Robb imdiately nodded proudly.
At the sa mont, countless thoughts flashed through Garon's mind.
"Robb has already found Grey Wind."
"That ans King Robert must have already reached the North and should arrive at Winterfell within days."
"No wonder Ned summoned now."
"Does he intend for to appear before the King first?"
Garon's gaze darkened slightly.
Although he felt Ned Stark would honor his promise, Sansa Stark was simply too important to his plans.
He could not help worrying that Robert Baratheon might interfere with the marriage arrangent for Joffrey's sake.
Without Sansa, Garon would never gain enough influence over the North.
Much less the Iron Throne.
If he had transmigrated years earlier, he might have slowly built his strength through ti and preparation.
But now?
Winter was coming.
"No matter what…"
A trace of cold determination flashed through Garon's eyes.
"I will obtain Sansa Stark."
"And if Joffrey Baratheon stands in my way…"
A faint killing intent erged briefly within his eyes.
"Then I may as well send him to et the Seven right here in Winterfell."
Yet despite the murderous thoughts in his heart, Garon's face remained calm as he listened to Robb proudly introducing Grey Wind.
"Garon, Grey Wind is far stronger than ordinary wolves. Even the hounds of Winterfell are afraid of him."
"Co here, Grey Wind!"
Robb waved toward the direwolf pup proudly.
However, Grey Wind suddenly froze.
The direwolf pup's fur stood upright as he bared his teeth and growled deeply at Garon.
His posture resembled that of a beast facing a deadly enemy.
"Grey Wind?"
Robb looked confused.
This was the first ti he had ever seen Grey Wind react this way.
Garon's heart tightened slightly.
He had not expected the direwolf's instincts to be so terrifyingly sharp.
Even his hidden killing intent had been sensed.
Still, Garon imdiately revealed a puzzled expression and looked toward Robb in confusion.
Robb himself was equally bewildered.
After crouching down and gently soothing Grey Wind for a while, the direwolf finally cald.
Unable to understand what had happened, Robb eventually assud Grey Wind was simply nervous around strangers.
Soon afterward, Robb skipped past the matter and invited Garon to et Eddard Stark in Winterfell's Great Hall.
Garon naturally agreed.
The two crossed the drawbridge together while chatting casually along the way.
As they walked through Winterfell, Garon quickly noticed the lively atmosphere surrounding the castle.
Servants and guards hurried everywhere carrying supplies and preparing rooms.
Clearly, Winterfell was making preparations for King Robert's arrival.
Passing near the kitchens, Garon imdiately slled the rich aroma of stew.
Turning toward Robb, he said:
"Robb, have the servants prepare so at stew for my guards."
"They rode with all night. They must be starving."
Robb smiled and nodded before imdiately instructing nearby servants to prepare food for Garon's n.
"Go with them."
Garon turned toward the captain of his guards.
"Eat properly and rest."
Only after watching all five guards enter the kitchens did Garon continue walking beside Robb.
Robb glanced toward him with admiration.
"I didn't expect you to care so much for your soldiers."
"It seems you've truly beco a capable lord these past six months."
Hearing the praise, Garon rely shook his head softly.
"They swore their loyalty to ."
"So naturally, I must shoulder the responsibilities of a lord."
"And caring for them should only be the most basic duty of any ruler."
"Compared to Lord Stark, I still have much to learn."
Garon's words caused Robb to pause thoughtfully.
After all, he himself was currently learning from Ned Stark how to rule Winterfell one day.
As the two continued walking, Robb's attitude toward Garon unconsciously beca even warr.
"Co."
"Father is waiting for us."
Robb led Garon deeper into Winterfell.
The two passed the blacksmith's yard, crossed a long stone corridor, and finally entered Winterfell's reception hall.
Robb stepped inside first.
"Father, Garon has arrived!"
Garon followed behind him.
The first thing he saw was a middle-aged man seated at the head of the hall.
Dark brown hair.
A trimd gray beard.
Cold gray eyes filled with authority and exhaustion.
Eddard Stark.
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