Chapter 8 - Dealing with the Bandits

The next morning, the cold air carried the scent of pine and damp earth as Robb Stark and his company rode into the dense Wolfswood, the towering trees closing around them like ancient sentinels. Robb winced slightly as the motion of his horse sent a dull ache through his skull—drinking the night before may not have been the wisest decision. Still, the trap was set, and now all that remained was to wait.

The decoy wagon rumbled ahead, laden with sacks meant to resemble valuable goods—grain, pelts, and iron tools. Four guards in simple trader's garb rode on it, playing their parts well. Hidden in the woods, watching from a distance, Robb, Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy, and Lyanna Mormont lay in wait, along with a dozen of Winterfell's guards.

Theon nudged Jon with his elbow, a smirk playing on his lips. "You should have come with me last night, Snow. The company I kept was much warmer than an ale-filled belly."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Drunken company that you paid for? Hardly something to brag about."

"Ah, but she was worth every copper," Theon retorted, stretching lazily in his saddle. "And I, my friend, am worth far more than that to the ladies of Winter Town."

Jon scoffed. "Until your coin purse runs empty."

Robb shook his head, suppressing a chuckle. "Keep your voices down. If the bandits don't take the bait, we'll be the ones caught unprepared."

Jon adjusted the strap on his cloak, glancing at Robb. "If they strike, they'll come from the trees. Bandits prefer ambushes."

Robb nodded. "That's why we keep our eyes sharp and our swords ready."

Theon smirked, flexing his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. "Let's hope they're foolish enough to take the bait. I'd hate to come all this way for nothing."

Lyanna, crouched beside her horse, gave him a sidelong look. "If they don't show, it means they've moved on. Either way, we'll know more than we did before."

The woods remained eerily quiet except for the creaking of the wagon wheels and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush. The tension stretched with every passing moment.

Fenrir's ears twitched first, followed by Ghost, both direwolves lifting their heads in unison, sniffing the air. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled from Fenrir's throat, his green eyes locked on the dense brush ahead. Ghost remained silent, but the fur along his spine bristled. The wolves had sensed something—long before any of them had seen it.

Robb held up a hand, signaling the others to stillness. Theon tensed beside him, and Jon's hand went to the pommel of his sword. A shift in the underbrush, subtle but distinct, drew their attention—just a whisper of motion among the trees. Lyanna's sharp eyes locked onto the shifting shadows beyond the road.

From the underbrush, figures emerged—ragged men with hardened faces, weapons glinting under the dappled light filtering through the canopy. Eight, ten, no—fifteen. More than expected, and better armed than mere desperate thieves.

One of them stepped forward, a wiry man with a cruel grin, his leather armor patched but sturdy. He raised a hand, calling the wagon to a halt. "Well now," he drawled, "looks like fortune favors us today."

The disguised guards hesitated, feigning uncertainty. One stammered, "We have no coin—just supplies for the holdfasts."

"Oh, we'll be taking those supplies," the bandit leader said, stepping closer. "But if you're lying about the coin, we'll take your lives too."

Robb exchanged a glance with Jon and Theon. This was it.

Robb locked eyes with Fenrir for a brief moment, and something unspoken passed between them. The direwolf, as if understanding his intent, slinked away into the shadows, Ghost following close behind. The two wolves moved silently through the underbrush, circling around the bandits unseen. Only once the wolves had positioned themselves behind the outlaws did Robb raise his sword and give the signal.

With a cry, the hidden Stark men sprang from the underbrush. Arrows flew, striking true as startled bandits scrambled for cover. The trap had been sprung.

Jon was the first to engage, parrying a clumsy strike before driving his blade into his attacker's chest. Another bandit lunged at him from the side, but Jon spun, dodging the blow and slicing across the man's arm. The outlaw cried out, falling to his knees before Ghost leaped onto him, knocking him to the ground with a savage bite to the throat.

Robb met a pair of bandits head-on, his sword flashing as he parried their desperate swings. He drove his knee into one's gut before pivoting, slashing downward and cutting the man down. The second attempted to flee, but Fenrir burst from the underbrush, tackling the outlaw and pinning him with his massive paws before sinking his teeth deep into his shoulder. The man shrieked in terror before going still.

Theon moved like a shadow, ducking under a wild swing and driving his dagger up into a bandit's ribs. He twisted the blade before ripping it free, spinning to block another attack. "You're too slow," he mocked, sidestepping another foe and kicking his knee out from under him before slashing his throat.

Lyanna fought with precision, weaving between the larger men and striking with ruthless efficiency. A burly bandit swung a crude axe at her, but she ducked low, slashing across his thigh before driving her sword into his gut. Without missing a beat, she whirled, blocking another attack and cutting her opponent down with a clean, practiced motion.

The battle was over in moments. The remaining outlaws, seeing their comrades fall so quickly, turned to flee—but they didn't get far. The Stark soldiers, already anticipating their retreat, closed in swiftly, cutting off their escape. Within moments, the outlaws were either slain or forced to surrender.

The bandit leader snarled, turning to escape—only to find himself face-to-face with Fenrir. The direwolf's green eyes glowed in the dim light, his teeth bared in a fearsome snarl. The bandit barely had time to react before Fenrir lunged, knocking him to the ground with a bone-rattling impact, his massive jaws snapping inches from the man's throat.

Robb approached. "Surrender, or you'll wish you had."

The bandit choked out a bitter laugh, but nodded. He knew he was beaten.

Robb looked around at the fallen men, his chest heaving. They had won. The outlaws had been dealt with, their threat extinguished. With the danger passed, Robb exhaled, signaling his men to begin securing the prisoners. 

*****

The captured bandits were marched back to Winterfell, their hands bound and heads lowered in resignation. The Great Hall was already filled with lords that were still in winterfell for the court session along with guards and other onlookers when they arrived, the murmurs of the gathered crowd falling into silence as Lord Eddard Stark stepped forward.

Ned's eyes met Robb's, and a rare flicker of pride passed over his usually stern features. "You handled this well, Robb. All of you," he said, nodding toward Jon, Theon, and Lyanna. "You carried out your duty to the North, and for that, you have my thanks."

He then turned his gaze to the prisoners, his expression hardening. "You chose to prey upon honest men, stealing what was not yours and shedding blood in the process. Justice in the North is swift, and it is final."

The hall remained silent as Ned Stark passed judgment, sentencing the bandit leader to execution while the remaining outlaws were given a choice—take the black and serve at the Wall, or face the same fate as their leader. None dared protest.

With the court session discussions concluded and justice served, the gathered lords began making preparations to depart Winterfell. Lord Manderly spoke quietly with his retainers, already planning his journey back to White Harbor. Greatjon Umber clapped Robb on the back with a hearty laugh, praising the young Stark's leadership. Roose Bolton remained characteristically silent, merely offering Ned a nod before departing with his men.

Lady Maege Mormont, however, lingered for a moment, pulling Lyanna aside. "You've done well, daughter," she said, her gruff voice carrying an undertone of pride. "But there is much you can still learn here."

Lyanna straightened, eyes full of understanding. "You want me to stay?"

Maege nodded, then approached Ned Stark. "Lord Stark, if you are willing, I would have my daughter remain in Winterfell. She is strong, but she can grow stronger here, alongside Robb and the others."

Ned regarded her thoughtfully before offering a firm nod. "Winterfell will be her home for as long as she wishes."

Robb, standing nearby, fought to keep the grin off his face. Having Lyanna remain in Winterfell was something he hadn't expected—but something he was more than happy about.