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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,744Chapter 60
Sorry for the delay in this, I have literally been worked off my feet and exhausted. I also need to write another chapter of the Terran Jedi as my writers block on that is fading.
Robb
He found Father in his solar, hefting the Fist of Winter with a frown. The weapon must have been as heavy as it looked, judging by the way that Father's tendons were straining. After a moment Father noticed him.
"Robert would laugh himself sick if he saw me holding this," he said with a wry smile. Then the smile vanished. "I'm going to have to learn how to use this, Robb. This is important. There will be those who will say that the Stark in Winterfell must wield the Fist of Winter. And if this is… magic, or linked to magic, then I must truly know how to wield it." He snorted. "Rodrik Cassel hasn't taught me how to use a new weapon since… well, I was a boy. Before I was sent to foster at the Eyrie."
Robb nodded and then sat. "So much has changed since I came back," he mused thoughtfully. "I can scarce believe how much has changed. The Hearthstone, The Call, Domeric Bolton, the room by this Solar… so much else. Dacey especially."
"There was never any word of her being on the road in that other time?"
"None whatsoever. Not before the King came, or afterwards, when I led the Banners South to try and free you." He felt his voice quaver for a heartbeat and Father looked at him quickly.
"Do not regret it, not for one moment," Father said softly. "Yes, in that other world you made mistakes. You were too young, too unprepared, you did not know so many things. You did not know of the madness of Balon Greyjoy, or of the ambition of Roose Bolton. You did not know how ruthless Tywin Lannister can make himself be. And you did not know that the Others were coming."
He nodded again. "But now I know. Now we know."
"Aye. And we are preparing. But we must tell Robert." He sank into a chair. "And that is what worries me. He was a little heavier then I was used to when we smashed the Greyjoys, but from you told me of Robert's visit here, along with Jory Cassel's account of what he saw in the Red Keep… how could have sunk so low?"
"He was unhappy, Father," Robb said gently. "The first thing he did when he came here was to ask you to show him Aunt Lyanna's tomb. And his marriage to Cersei Lannister was… poisonous. I think he was deeply unhappy. But you said that his recent messages were different – a new sword? That was new. Mayhaps things are changing to the South as well. The Call."
It was Father's turn to nod, more thoughtfully. "Yes – and we need to think most carefully about that. The Blackwoods have sent me a raven. The Brackens too. The Call has made them set aside their ancient bloodfeud. The Redfort pledges their support… and then there's this." He handed over a message.
Robb took it and read it. And then he read it again, baffled. "'The Runes glow. The Others come. House Royce stands with the Stark in Winterfell. We are coming.'" He looked at Father. "What runes?"
Father drummed his fingers on the table and then shook his head. "I know not. Runestone is an odd place, Robb. House Royce is of the First Men, one of the few major houses in the Vale to keep to the old ways, but they are secretive. Jon Arryn once told me that there are places in the fortress that the Royces forbid people to see, places that are sealed off. Perhaps they have unsealed them? I'll find out more. If Bronze Yohn Royce really is coming then that will be something that will shake the Vale."
"So, more politics then? Lord Arryn will want to know."
"Aye, more politics. I need to meet with Jon and Robert. Every time I pick up a quill to write a letter to them something seems to happen though. I just hope that I have done enough to warn Jon. From what you told me his death was the fault of the Lannisters."
"Father," Robb said slowly, "Two things worry me. First, how can you tell King Robert about his wife and her brother? How can you prove it?"
Oddly enough Father looked smug at this. "Don't worry too much about that, Robb. I have a plan. The Old Keep will be repaired first, the Broken Tower last. Or so it will seem. I'll show you later. What's the other worry you have?"
He gestured at the Fist. "That… worries me. Is it magic? Does it contain magic? I mean, in the tales there are stories of weapons only responding to people of the right blood. We are Starks, Father, but you are not the King in the North. Not in this time. Does the Fist have magic that is activated by Stark blood, or because it's wielded by the King in the North?"
There was a long moment of silence as Father looked at the mace and ran a thumb over his chin. "You raise a good point. One that occurred to me as well. Luwin is consulting the histories. I was wondering as well when the Fist was last seen in public. Torrhen Stark bore Ice when he knelt to Aegon, not the Fist. Who knows when it was hidden from plain sight? And why?"
"Perhaps he was afraid that Aegon would have taken it? Or that the dragons might have melted it?"
The long fingers of his father drummed on the table again. "Mayhaps he thought that. But the Fist fell out of history earlier than that. I do wonder why." Father seemed to shake himself briefly, like a wolf awaking from a nap. "Anyway, this talk of Ice reminds me of something. There will be a formal ceremony later for this, but I want to tell you now, face to face."
Robb sat up straighter. There was a weight to Father's voice now, a depth of solemnity that only Father could convey.
"I will train with the Fist of Winter. It will be my burden, my duty, to carry it. I am the Stark in Winterfell. That leaves Ice. From this day forth it will be the weapon of the Heir to House Stark. It will be yours, Robb. Yours until you have a son of your own to pass it on to, so that you can wield the Fist when I am dead."
He looked at Father and felt his throat close up for moment and he remembered the horrible tide of grief that had washed over him when he had heard of his death, betrayed and all but murdered in that shithole known as King's Landing. "Thank you, Father," he said hoarsely. "I will wield it with honour."
"Be sure you do," Father said gruffly. "As I said, there'll be a ceremony later today. GreatJon put my mind to it."
He made a note to thank GreatJon Umber, when something occurred to him. "Father," he said cautiously, "What do you make of the arrival of Tyrion Lannister?"
His father leant back in his chair again. "Another change from the time that you returned from. He seems a smarter man than his reputation led me to believe. And as he has a reputation as a drunkard with a love of whores, then I wonder if he has been hiding his lantern under a bush. He saw the threat posed by the Wildlings in an instant."
Robb nodded – and then pulled a slight face. "How has Mother taken his arrival?"
"Better than I had thought, given how in that other future she was convinced that he'd given orders that Bran be murdered in his sickbed." Father sighed. "I think that she's trying not to think too much about that, given that her actions started an eventual war. Besides, the more I think about it, the less I think that Tyrion Lannister sent the man with the dagger. The only reason we thought that was the dagger – and Peytr Baelish told us about that. Given his attempt to kidnap Robert Arryn… well let's just say that we don't trust him very much.
"No, we'll trust Tyrion Lannister just enough to let him see that we face a war here. He might be able to convince his very sceptical father. It's Tywin Lannister I'm worried about. The man's a prickly, humourless, ruthless cyst on the backside of Westeros. Unfortunately he's also powerful and rich and sees himself as a great military commander. We must be wary of him. He'll need proof. And from what I have heard he does not like his own son." He shook his head wearily.
Robb nodded and then was about to ask Father why Mother had suddenly started being so civil to Jon, when a fist hammered at the door to the Solar. "My Lord," Maester Luwin shouted from the other side. "Ravens!"
"Come in Luwin," Father said and they both stood as the older man hurried in. There was something in his eyes that told Robb that something had happened and the Maester held out two messages.
"From Kings Landing," Luwin puffed. "I ran to bring these to you."
Father's eyebrows went up – and then he took the first and read it quickly. As he did his eyebrows went up even further. "Lord Petyr Baelish has been arrested and stripped of his titles and positions by order of the Hand of the King. He is accused of peculation and thievery of the King's coin. He is to face immediate trial and all of the Lords of Westeros are to inspect their holdings to see if Baelish owned anything or was tied to anything in their holdings." He looked at them. "Well," he said brightly, "It seems that the problem of Littlefinger has been taken care of for the time being. Luwin, bring the account books. We must search for signs of Littlefinger – there's a list of his false names in business dealings."
"And the other letter?" Robb asked.
Father opened it – and then went quite still. "Baelish was tried by Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon. He was found guilty and then accorded a trial by combat. He lost. He's dead." He lowered the letter. "That was fast. It's good that he is no longer a threat, but that was faster than I thought."
"I think that the raven with the first letter was injured on the way North, My Lord. It seems to have a strained tendon on one wing."
Father nodded absently. "The letter has more information about Littlefingers' peculations. Names as well. Very well – Robb, you and Luwin go through the account books. We have properties and businesses to seize that are now our property. And I… I will tell my wife of this. She will not grieve for the man that he became, but she will weep for the boy she once knew."
Tyrion
The direwolf fascinated him. And he seemed to fascinate her, judging by the way that she would look at him and then look at the other men and then tilt her head to one side. She probably thought that he was a child or something. Speaking of children she looked as if she was going to whelp any day now.
He turned and continued his walk around Winterfell. The place both intrigued and worried him. Oh, it was a place that was preparing for War alright. But it was looking North, to the Wall, not South. He wondered, not for the first time, how he was going to word his letter to Father. Carefully for one thing.
Hearing voices to one side he looked over to see a young Stark – Bran was it? – being patiently mentored by an older boy about the joys of archery. When he finally saw the sigil on the older boys cloak he repressed a scowl. A Greyjoy. Lovely. A squidling a long way from the sea. Probably better not to go anywhere near the lad, 'lest Jaime hear about it and then complain that he stank by association.
So he turned to one side and wandered over to the trees he could see in one corner. A Godswood with actual weirwood trees, how novel. The one in Kings Landing didn't have any. As he wandered through the trees he sniffed the air. The smells of a real godswood were... subtly different. There was a pool to one side, by a Heart Tree and he shuddered a little as he looked at the face carved into it and the red sap that looked like bloody tears. It looked… old. Old and yet there seemed to be something about it that looked vaguely familiar. He looked at the tree carefully. Odd – there was new growth here and there, as if it had started to grow again.
As he approached the carved face a breeze picked up and rustled the leaves and as it did he could almost imagine that he heard a voice whispering something just a fraction too low to make out. And then he froze. Someone was watching him, he was sure of it. He looked around carefully. No, there was no-one there. Imagination? Probably. He'd be imagining snarks and grumpkins next. He reached out and ran a hand gently over the white bark of the tree.
And then he heard the sounds of someone approaching. He turned and then saw a tall young man with distinctly Stark features wandering through the Godswood, apparently lost in his own thoughts. After a moment he caught sight of Tyrion and stopped with a slight frown. "Who are you?"
"Tyrion Lannister," he replied, with a touch of Lannister hauteur. "Of – obviously! – Casterly Rock. And you are…"
"Jon Snow," The young man replied, before seeming to catch himself. "Or rather Jon Stark. I think."
"You think? You don't know?"
"Father has written to the King, asking that I be made legitimate."
Ah, so this was Stark's bastard son. He certainly looked enough like Stark. Father had occasionally wondered about the identity of the boy's mother, although he hadn't wondered so hard that people went out and found out more about it. And now Stark was legitimising him? All very heartwarming, but why? And then a chill ran through him. Stark wanted as many Starks around him as possible. A wise move when faced with war. Father would probably do the same at Casterly Rock.
"A pleasure to meet you, Jon Stark. I was just looking at your godswood here and comparing it to the one in King's Landing."
The lad nodded absently. "Is there not one in Casterly Rock?"
This was a good question. "Yes," he said with a frown of thought. "The Stone Garden, we call it. But it's not like this. This is… very Northern."
The Stark boy looked a bit confused at this. "Just a Godswood. You should see the one in the Wolfswood. Now that's ancient."
Tyrion looked at him. "I wasn't aware that Winterfell had two Godswoods."
Jon Snow/Stark nodded, a faraway look on his face. "We found it on the night that we found the Direwolf." And then he shivered a little before looking at the Heart Tree. "Your pardon, but I need to pray."
"Of course," Tyrion said with a smile. He stepped to one side and then watched at the Stark boy knelt in front of the tree, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Tyrion looked around idly and then started to walk away in search of perhaps a cup of wine, when all of a sudden the boy spoke again.
"Tyrion Lannister."
He stopped dead in his tracks. The boy had spoken in a voice unlike his previous one. Deeper for a start, with a hint of mountains collapsing in the far distance. "Erm, yes?"
The boy turned around and then opened his eyes and Tyrion found himself torn between running, pissing himself in terror and being absolutely fascinated. Jon Starks eyes were… they were… well, there was red fire in them. Or that was what it looked it.
"Descendent of Lann the Clever, Lann Casterly. Loyal to the Stark in Winterfell, unlike his faithless father."
"What?" Tyrion squeaked and then wanted to curse. He sounded as if he had been kicked in the nether regions. "I mean – can I help you? Whoever you are?"
"You must go to the Nightfort, Tyrion Lannister. There you will find the answers that you seek. The Others come. Casterly Rock must be warned." The red fires seemed to intensify in the eyes of the boy. "The lion must shed his pride."
"Jon?" The name was cried by a horrified looking young girl with brown hair, grey eyes and the undoubted look of yet another bloody Stark. "Your eyes…"
Tyrion stepped towards her and held up a hand. "Do you know what this is?"
She stared at him, obviously confused, and then nodded hesitantly. "It… it happened to Father not long ago. On the night he found the Direwolf. It's the Old Gods."
Jon Stark peered at her. "Worry not, young warg. But Tyrion Lannister must be warned. The Nightfort, Tyrion Lannister. You must help the wandering man through the Gate. You will know when." The eyes flared again and then the fire vanished as the grey eyes of the boy reappeared. A boy who blinked at them both, confused.
"Arya? When… when did you arrive? I… was kneeling by the Heart Tree. How did I get here?"
Tyrion took a deep breath. "Well, your eyes turned red for a start. Red fire. It was all most unnerving. Then you told me to go to the Nightfort at some unspecified time."
The young man turned white. "Red fire?" he turned to the girl. "Arya? Did you see this?"
She nodded wordlessly and he sank onto his haunches and then ran his hands through his hair, disordering it. And then he stood. "We must see Father and tell him about this."
"Oh and you said that I was a warg," Arya Stark pointed out. She seemed positively gleeful about it. "Isn't it exciting?!"
Her brother just looked at her for a long moment. "Father's Solar," he said firmly, "Now. You too if you please Lord Tyrion."
He nodded and followed them. As they walked through the trees and back out into the main courtyard of Winterfell the wind rustled the leaves of the trees around them again and once again he seemed to hear a whisper of words too low to make out. He made up his mind there and then that he would return to this place. Something seemed to be calling him.
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