I AM A STARK OF WINTERFELL

Author's Note: This is a non-profit fanfiction based on A Song of Ice and Fire. It is part of a larger story world I plan to adapt into an original novel. All names, places, and affiliations may change in the future.

ROBB

It had been a moon's turn since Princess Ruyan had left him in the Royal Rest House, a moon of more lessons and what he sometimes bitterly labelled as brainwashing. Ruyan hadn't visited him since then, and Robb suspected this was another form of psychological manipulation—her presence, though representing everything he resented about his situation, had at least been a familiar presence in an utterly foreign world.

Robb paced the polished wooden floors of his quarters, pausing occasionally to gaze out at the immaculate water gardens that surrounded the pavilion. Golden koi fish swam lazily beneath floating lilies, and distant musicians played melodies that still sounded alien to his Northern ears. A servant stood silently by the door, ready to attend to any need he might express. The man had been assigned to him personally, and though he spoke the Common Tongue adequately, Robb had begun responding in halting Yi Tish, determined to master the language of his captors.

Knowledge is a weapon, his father had taught him. Sharpen it whenever you can.

Never in his life had Robb experienced luxury of this magnitude. His chambers in the Royal Rest House made even the Lord's quarters at Winterfell seem austere by comparison. The bed was carved from fragrant wood he couldn't name, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and draped with silks so fine they seemed to float rather than hang. The bathing chamber contained a sunken pool that could fit five men comfortably, with pipes that delivered hot water at the turn of a golden dragon-shaped valve. Every meal was a parade of dishes he couldn't identify, served by silent attendants who anticipated his needs before he could voice them.

A diplomatic guest, they called him. But he knew what he truly was—a prisoner being slowly seduced to cooperate, to surrender to their ambitions.

He missed home with an ache that sometimes felt physical. He missed the honest cold of Winterfell, the familiar smell of pine and snow, the sound of steel against steel in the training yard. He missed Jon's quiet solidarity and Theon's irreverent jests. He missed Arya's wildness and Sansa's songs. He missed his father's steady presence and his mother's warm smile.

Theon. The thought of the Greyjoy heir gave him pause. How had he never truly considered Theon's position until now? His friend, who was a hostage in Winterfell, had been treated like family, always at the high table, afforded more privileges than even Jon. Theon had grown up as their companion, laughing and training alongside them, and Robb had never once thought of him as a prisoner. Yet he was—a hostage for his father's good behavior, his life forfeit if Balon Greyjoy should rebel again.

Robb frowned, his reflection troubled in the polished bronze mirror. Was he now like Theon, but in a gilded cage halfway across the world? Would time soften his resentment as it seemed to have done for Theon? The notion disturbed him deeply.

At times, uncertainty gnawed at him. What if, one day, he found himself enticed by what Yi Ti offered? The thought of marrying Ruyan still repelled him—her unfeeling, coldly efficient attitude seemed the antithesis of what he wanted in a wife. He desired what his parents had: a peaceful union with affection and respect, not a political arrangement with a woman who viewed him as merely a means to an end, a source of Northern blood for her family's magical ambitions.

And yet...

Over the past weeks, his education had focused increasingly on Yi Ti's present rather than its past. Master Wei had introduced him to concepts utterly foreign to Westeros—bureaucracy and meritocracy chief among them. The idea that even a former slave could rise to high government office through ability alone had astonished him. It was so fundamentally different from Westeros's rigid feudalism that he found himself mentally comparing the systems, sometimes to the detriment of his homeland's traditions.

The army of Yi Ti had particularly captured his interest. They maintained military academies where children learned the arts of war from their earliest years. Unlike Westeros, where lords led their men regardless of talent, here they had professional generals who rose through ability and training. There were entire military families where men traditionally became soldiers and officers, creating a distinct social class dedicated to the art of war.

Yi Ti was rigid in its class divisions, yet there seemed more mobility between those classes than in Westeros. The scholarly class, the military, merchants, commoners, and aristocrats—all wielded different types of power, yet all answered to one emperor who held absolute authority. Their administration far surpassed anything in the Seven Kingdoms, with ministries dedicated to war, justice, public works, health, agriculture, and more. Compared to this, the Small Council in King's Landing seemed like children playing at governance.

The planned educational tour filled him with a confusing mixture of anticipation and dread—especially the prospect of meeting the imperial family. Master Wei had told him how Emperor Tianlong had come to power. Originally the crown prince and only son of Empress Mei Lin, he had seen his position usurped by his half-brother through the schemes of a consort who murdered his mother and became the new Empress. Tianlong had rallied his supporters, waged war, and seized the throne, executing his enemies in a ruthless purge.

Most tellingly, he had vowed to take no harem, ensuring no future succession battles—a promise that won him crucial support from factions tired of bloody succession crises. Now there was only one imperial family, with each prince and princess deeply valued rather than pawns in courtly intrigues.

This had made Robb realize that the marriage offer was not as simple as it appeared. If he agreed, he would marry the first daughter of the emperor, a princess revered for her gifts which had manifested after being lost for generations. Though Robb had yet to witness these supposed abilities, the emperor clearly believed that their dormant magical blood, combined with Ruyan's talents, would produce children of extraordinary potential.

As a noble, Robb had always known his marriage would likely be a political alliance, but his father had assured him that he would still have some choice in the matter. That was why he had been allowed the final say in rejecting Ruyan's offer. He simply hadn't expected they would go to such extremes to secure that marriage.

He couldn't help but wonder if Ruyan fully agreed to be married to him or if she was simply doing her duty to the imperial family. Duty—that was not a foreign concept to him as the future Lord of Winterfell. But Ruyan, if Master Wei's words were to be believed, lived solely for her obligation to the imperial bloodline.

Was she, in some ways, like him? Trapped by the circumstances of her birth beneath all that power and luxury? Was her coldness merely armor against the weight of expectations placed on her shoulders?

These thoughts troubled him as he stared out at the tranquil water gardens. The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold that reflected on the still surface of the lake. In the distance, temple bells began to ring, their sound deep and resonant, calling the faithful to evening prayers.

A part of him—a small, treacherous part—had begun to see beauty in this strange land. The food, once challenging, now tantalized his palate with its complex spices and textures. The language, with its tonal complexities, had begun to make sense to his ear. The customs, initially bewildering, now had a logic he could follow.

Is this how it begins? he wondered. Is this how one forgets who they are?

"I am Robb Stark of Winterfell," he whispered to himself, a mantra against forgetting. "Son of Eddard Stark, heir to the North, blood of the First Men."

But even as he repeated the words, he found himself adding silently: And perhaps the first Stark in eight thousand years to truly see the world beyond our borders.

The realization was as disturbing as it was exhilarating.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63782263/chapters/163541347