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Sean Bean Saves Westeros - Book 1: Sean Lends a Hand by High Plains Drifter
 A song of Ice and Fire & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Eddard S., Words: 109k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 737, Published: Jul 22, 2014 Updated: Feb 1, 2015  423Chapter 7 - Robb (I)
Robb (I)
Robb trudged along with only his squire Wendel Frey for company to the small herd of horses picketed nearest his and Roslin's tent, the source of his lateness and public shaming. The young man hid his petulance at the ignoble task his father had assigned him behind the traditional Stark mask, an icy glare. He felt like a boy back in Winterfell again; being sent off to run the bellows for Mikken or helping Hodor to muck out the stables for Hullen or counting the number of barrels of salted meat in the underground storage vaults for Vayon Poole as punishment for some childish prank gone awry. Resentment bubbled up inside of him, despite the fact he knew he'd erred. 'Wasn't I the King of the North?' he told himself. 'Even if only for five scary, exhilarating days.' And now he was relegated to scouting for shit. It chaffed at his soul.
"Maester Vyman," Olyvar muttered close to his ear.
Robb looked up from the maps and sheaves of parchment spread across the high table he shared with his Uncle Edmure in Riverrun's Great Hall. The old maester was working his way through the bustling crowd of lordlings, knights, and stewards men at work, a slim parchment roll held in the man's age spotted hand.
"Raven," the King of the North, uttered, causing his uncle to stop in midsentence and follow his new liege lord's gaze to see what had distracted him from their deliberations.
The six days since his forces had broken the castle's siege and freed his uncle from the Lannisters had been almost as hectic as the battle itself. The remnants of the dozen thousand Westerlands army were either fleeing west towards refuge at Golden Tooth or east in hopes of joining Tywin Lannister's even larger army. Regardless, the scum were raping and pillaging the smallfolk on their way and needed to be stop. And that was only a small problem compared to the much thornier one of what to do about the Old Lion himself. Ravens flew and messengers rode constantly all across the Riverlands to discover whose castles and holdfasts remained intact and capable of tithing supplies and men-at-arms, or better yet knights, to the army Robb was trying to gather here. The North could no longer free his father, murdered by that vile wretch Joffrey, but they howled for vengeance which could only be succored by Lannister blood; as did his grandfather's banners for their homeland shattered beneath the weight of the Lion.
"Hopefully Maester Vyman brings good news this time, your Grace," Edmure commented dubiously. So far the response to the Tully's call for aid from their banners had been stifling slow.
The King of the North's mind echoed his uncle's gloom. The day after the Battle of the Camps, as the men were calling it, the effective forces left to confront the enemy should they return were four thousand mounted Northerners, near eight hundred mounted Freys and Mallisters, and from within Riverrun itself: fifteen hundred Tully men-at-arms and a mixed bag of four hundred predominantly Tully, Blackwood, Piper, Bracken, and Vance knights and mounted men-at-arms. Luckily in defeat the Lannister army had coughed up over two hundred captured knights and lordlings, as well as a thousand turncoat Tyroshi free riders. The next day Ser Marq Piper, Lord Vance, and Lord Bracken had each returned leading two hundred, three hundred, and four hundred men a horse respectively. Over the next five days another two thousand men-at-arms, routed weeks back by the Kingslayer in the battle which had captured the heir to Riverrun, had straggled back in, most devoid of arms and armor; as had another four hundred riders. The young man currently had plenty of cavalry, seventy seven hundred of it, but sore lacked for pikes, shields, axes, and bows with less than four thousand total a foot.
Many eyes in the Great Hall glimpsed up from their work in anticipation, watching the maester slowly climb the stairs to the high table. The only being in the long room who seemed disinterested was Grey Wind, who laid curled up beneath Robb's feet gnawing at a bone.
"From the Twins, your Grace," the old man said respectfully, bowing as he reached out with the sealed missive.
"Lord Bolton?" Edmure gasped.
Robb too caught his breath. The fate of the northmen he'd placed under the quiet, clever Lord of the Dreadfort's command had been the unspoken grumkin in the room to all their planning. 'Do I still have a second army?' he wondered desperately. With a surprisingly steady hand the King of the North took the parchment and slid a rough edged fingernail beneath the pressed wax to discover what it said. Immediately, a second, smaller parchment roll fell out, landing on the table. "Tallhart," Robb muttered, seeing three sentinel trees pressed into the wax, before he started reading.
Lord Robb,
'Lord Robb? Did that greedy, old wretch send the raven before mine own arrived proclaiming my victory and kingship?' As he began to read further, the King of the North could hear Walder Frey's evil cackle in every word.
Six days ago I gave audience to your father, the Lord of Winterfell. Yes, 'twas the Lord Eddard Stark. I may be old and my legs crippled, but my eyes and ears work just fine.
'What?!' Robb couldn't believe the words leaping off the parchment at him. Stunned, he nevertheless continued, but now with shaking hand.
While your lord father already knew and approved of your plan for Riverrun, I waited for word from your raven before sending this news and my congratulations to my future good son on his martial success.
'How did father know? Where did he come from? We heard they'd killed him, the Lannister whoresons.'
Lord Stark quickly left me to take command of the rest of you Northerners and mine own men-at-arms elsewhere. He intends to draw the lions closer before bringing them to battle. A clever plan he has, but more I cannot say; ravens have been known to fly amiss. If you doubt my words, read your banner Ser Tallhart's letter. As we await word of Lord Stark's victory, there is another matter …
"What does it say, Ro … your Grace?" Edmure asked urgently.
Robb threw Walder Frey's letter down on the table and snatched at Hellman Tallhart's note, all the while blurting, "He lives. My father lives."
"What?! How!?"
"Lord Frey doesn't say!" He grabbed the smaller scrap of rolled parchment and broke the seal. "Just that my father is taking command from Roose Bolton and means to best the Lannnisters in battle!"
Edmure scooped up the fallen letter to read for himself the incredible turn of events proclaimed by the 'late' Lord of the Twins.
The Great Hall began filling with shouts of wonder and confusion as Robb started reading his loyal banner's brief message.
Lord Robb, 'Twas the happiest day of my life to see your great lord father ride into the Twins with a Manderly escort. His arrival is a miracle of the Old Gods. He knew of yours and your lady mother's shrewd plans, as if he'd sat in our very councils during the march south and bargained alongside Lady Catelyn with Lord Frey. What's more, he prophesized your victories and the capturing of the Kingslayer. Now he plans to beard the Lion. With the Old Gods by his side our victory is assured!
- Ser Helman Tallhart, Master of Torrhen's Square
Relief, joy, and love flowed through him all at once. Tears sprang from his eyes. But in a loud clear voice, cutting through the growing din, Rob Stark proclaimed, without realizing it meant his own demise as King of the North, "My father lives! Lord Eddard Stark has returned!"
A roar swept Riverrun's Great Hall. Many of the Northmen started chanting "Stark! Stark! Stark!" as they clapped hands and stomped feet.
Robb felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see it was his Uncle Edmure's hand. The fingers of the man's other hand grasped Walder Frey's letter.
Edmure leaned close to his nephew, so he could be heard over the growing tumult. "And your about to become a husband too," he said.
The beaming smile on Robb's face faltered slightly and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
Edmure nodded. "Yes, your father has amended the marriage contract Catelyn made with the old snake. Walder's already sent the daughter Eddard chose for you. You're supposed to marry her as soon as she arrives here."
Robb's jaw dropped.
"Her name's Roslin. Lord Walder thinks she'll prove quite fertile."
The young man turned away from his uncle and towards his squire. "Olyvar, go find my lady mother!"
Well he hadn't really wanted the title anyway; except that damned Greatjon had gone and opened his big fool of a mouth during the first grand council inside the freed Riverrun. And then all his other fool banners had added their voices to the cry. He'd seen the surprise on his mother's face as they'd chanted 'King of the North! King of the North!' at him. A surprise matched equally by his own. Finally, even Uncle Edmure's banners had joined in too. What could he do? He'd had to accept or lose their allegiance, and so he had. 'Most men look to be led,' his father had frequently explained to him. 'Make the best decision in the time you have, but there's little use in worrying over much about it after, just get on with it. You'll find that acting on even a poor decision almost always beats dithering. Besides, men stop looking to a leader who won't make a decision or hold to one.'
"Which mount would you like today, my lord?" Wendel asked as the two of them approached the line of tied up destriers, quarter horses, and hunters grazing at the sparse grasses within their tethered reach.
"Night's Sky," he answered, identifying his black hunter; a decision that set Wendel to scamper off in search of some idle hands to help him carry, set, and fasten two saddles. Robb found the boy to be not a bad squire, far from it; his failure to wake him on time this morning aside. The twelve year old knew his duties and performed the more difficult ones doggedly enough. But the lad was a far cry from the companion and clever counselor Robb had had in his last squire, the boy's older half-brother Olyvar. Well, possibly not Olyvar and his wife's half-brother, if Roslin's gossip that Walder Frey's seventh wife, Annare Farring, spent more time bedding her husband's great grandson Black Walder than she did him held any truth.
Admittedly, even with Olyvar knighted and acting as the senior deputy of his father's newfangled 'staff,' Robb still saw his friend often. And Olyvar, along with his other two full blood brothers in the army, Sers Perwyn and Benfrey, did frequently stop by the tent to spend time with him and their full blood sister Roslin.
In fact, since Darry, where Robb had formally handed over his victorious army to his father and finally wedded Roslin (fool him for waiting so long), a plethora of Freys regularly called on him and Roslin, usually unannounced. He supposed before, when he was their warlord and only contracted to marry any one of the large number of his now good father' many eligible daughters, it was proper that his dealings with House Frey only went through Ser Stevron, Lord Walder's heir. Now, even though he was a Stark, the Freys were his good family through Roslin and happy to have them as such, regardless of his earlier obstinacy towards the idea.
"Ready, my lord," Wendel called out from beside Night's Sky.
Robb quickly climbed up, instinctively checking that all was right with both his horse and his gear. Satisfied, he stared off into the distance over the seemingly endless rows of tents, waiting for his squire to mount too.
"Where to first, my lord?" Wendel asked.
"An excellent question," Robb muttered to himself.
"Do we abide by the command?" the Blackfish asked.
The flames blazing in the fireplace kept the chill of summer's longest nights at bay inside the small audience chamber above the Great Hall. Four chairs were pulled together beneath the high seat so two Starks and two Tullys could discuss the latest missive from the Twins. Just three days earlier, Robb as King of the North would have automatically taken his place on the high seat. But now it sat vacant, leaving the young man with an odd sensation.
"It could all be a trick," Edmure suggested. "Have us move our reconstituted army to where Tywin Lannister can smash it in one fell swoop. End the war once and for all without bothering to siege every castle and holdfast that choose to honor their oaths to our house.
Robb kept his face still. The Riverlands were already broken, and by the slow response of his grandfather's banners in heeding the call to rally at Riverrun, he doubted many would refuse to bend the knee should a pack of Westerlanders arrive at their gates.
"T'would be an overly elaborate trick at that, brother," Catelyn countered. "We've been over this before. No doubt Walder Frey is a wily snake, but for such a ruse to've worked, he'd need to murder all the Tallharts we left his own castle, conspire secretly with the Old Lion, ensure Roose Bolton's decisive defeat, and be willing to let us have half his sons as hostages. Oh, and apparently a daughter too, not that he'd care much about her, I fear. No, odd as all this seems, Eddard has returned and broken the Lannisters along the Green Fork." Her smile as she spoke those last words gave the clearest indication of the depths of her conviction.
The Young Wolf frowned. "Still, I like it not. Why such a brief message from father? And where was his sigil on it?"
The Blackfish chuckled. "Escape he must've from some black cell, but I doubt the Queen and her minions let him keep his signet ring, nor Ice either, for company there. T'was clever of him to use the next best thing and have the marks of Houses Bolton, Cerwyn, and Hornwood on his parchment. Or are you thinking all three lords have foresworn you along with the Freys?"
"No, I suppose not," he replied, though he truly didn't know what he was supposed to think. "I still don't like the idea of marching right away for Darry."
"Nor I," Edmure echoed. "We've not enough men-at-arms or supplies yet, and still too many prisoners to guard."
"And there may be more Lannisters gathering at Golden Tooth," the Blackfish added. "I'd hate to walk out the front door and leave the back unguarded."
"Aye," Edmure agreed quickly
"So send Marq Piper and Karyl Vance back to their lands with orders to keep a westward eye on things," Catelyn proposed.
Brynden Tully nodded sagely. "They could drive off any garrisons still in Pinkmaiden and Wayfarer's Rest. Start repairs. Hopefully send us a few supplies if they can spare them. Drive off any bandits or still fleeing bands of Lannisters. It would be a sign to the banners that the Tullys care about their lands as much as we do our own."
Edmure pursed his lips. "I'd lose close to a thousand horse and foot. We need more men, not less. And what of our other houses? Will Tytos Blackwood and Jonos Bracken then not ask for the same?"
"Then what do you propose, brother?" Catelyn asked, frustration showing in her tone.
"I know not," Edmure replied grumpily.
Unlike three days ago, Robb could no longer order his uncle what to do. And truth be told, he empathized with him. He didn't like being told what to do either. According to scouts, his bride, this Roslin creature, would arrive on the morrow; and then he'd be forced to marry her. While he'd accepted the need for ties with House Frey, he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. From the first, he'd secretly hoped something, anything would happen to render the betrothal moot. He liked his squire Olyvar very much, and old Ser Stevron seemed a bluff, hale enough fellow, but most of the rest of Walder Frey's lot seemed … he shivered, words failing him. He could only imagine what a shrew this Roslin must be. Desperation now aided inspiration. "Uncle, how soon until you think you could march to Darry as my father … requests?"
"The earliest?"
"Yes."
"The very earliest?" Edmure frowned, then pursed his lips again. "Well … perhaps a week. What say you, uncle?"
The Blackfish's eyes wandered a moment as he thought, then he slowly nodded his head. "Yes. That would be better. Just, though."
"And when did father say he'd arrive at the Ruby Ford? Ten days after the battle, so six from today?" Robb asked.
The other's murmured their agreement with his calculations.
He smiled. "Mother, if Uncle Edmure can arrange a suitable boat, I want you to meet father at the Ruby Ford."
A knowing and happy smile split Catelyn's lips. "To ensure it's really him and thus gain Edmure an extra week's preparation?"
Robb nodded.
Edmure smiled.
"You've a sly son, niece," the Blackfish commented with approval. "Darry's only a half day away. You could send us a raven, if they still have any."
As she imagined seeing, touching her husband again, Cat's smile widened. "If it's agreed, I'll go then," she declared.
'And you won't be here to order me to marry that hag, Roslin,' the Young Wolf thought. He had gained himself two weeks. 'A lot can happen in two weeks,' he told himself.
"Bofors," Robb said, greeting the tough Umber captain.
"Milord," he answered back respectfully enough. This one hadn't ridden with him to Riverrun, but fought alongside his father at the Green Fork.
"Any problems, Bofors?" he asked casually while purposefully looking around to see what the unchained giants of Last Hearth were doing. And in particular, where they were shitting.
"Nay, milord. Men're happy ta not be marching. Be t'happier once we got stuck into them cowardly lions yonder," and the man gestured towards the city walls. "Sooner we get a new King, the sooner we can go home. Winter is coming."
If the ugly man sporting an unlanced boil on his neck thought repeating the Stark motto to Robb would earn him any appreciation, he was wrong. While marching south from Darry, the army had received word from some middling castle along the way that the Maesters of Old Town had sent out their white ravens announcing autumn. Winter was in fact coming. The nights were getting colder and he was stuck sleeping in a chilly tent all so that a man who wasn't even here could claim the Iron Throne. Robb had been a King, and he'd won that crown on the field of battle. Where was this Stannis? 'At least I have Roslin to keep me warm,' he thought.
"Lord Robb," Ser Stevron protested, "the agreement struck between my lord father and your lord father was that you were to marry my sister Roslin as soon as she arrived. And here she is!" The aging but still spry warrior grabbed the girl, lifting her off her feet and thrusting her toward her betrothed.
The girl, obviously nervous, kept her face tucked down, staring at the floor as her face turned beat red.
The Young Wolf kept a courteous demeanor on his face. "Ser, I gave my word of honor as a Stark that I would marry a Frey. And I fully intend to keep my word."
"Then why the delay? Here she is. As pretty a chit as any lord could hope to bed," Ser Stevron proclaimed for all in shouting distance to hear.
Truth be told, this Roslin did not appear to be the hideous crone Robb had feared she'd be. Slender, with long mousy brown hair framing a pale white face sprinkled with just a hint of freckles. Big brown eyes, starting to turn red as tears formed at their inner corners, right above a slender nose.
"Say something to your future lord husband, Roslin," her eldest brother commanded gruffly.
"If it pleases, my lord," she whispered, trying a curtsey despite Ser Stevrons large, age spotted hands clutched hard to her shoulders. "I will work ever so hard to please you and bear you many … many an heir," she concluded with a squeak, revealing a small gap between her two upper front most teeth.
Robb inclined his head once towards her. He put as kindly a face on as he could muster. "My lady, it will please me, greatly, to join you with my house."
She smiled tentatively back at him, stifling a sniffle.
Encouraged, he continued. "You are a gem, the brown moonstone of the Twins. My father chose wisely in selecting you to be my bride. Yet that is the very reason we must wait."
Ser Stevron scowled. "What nonsense is this? If you find her so grand, all the more reason for a bedding this very night, I say, my lord." The entire pack of Frey weasels yelped their agreement.
Unfortunately their cries elicited a response from the Young Wolf's pack. Grey Wind stood up beside Robb and let out with a low growl.
Roslin yipped in fear, feet churning against the sandstone floor of the Great Hall to try and push both her and her grasping eldest brother backwards away from the beast. Thankfully, Ser Stevron concurred with Roslin's opinion and took several steps backward himself, dragging the girl with him.
Robb hid his smile, but knew his victory this day was assured. "It would be a disservice to my lord father and my lady mother if such a jewel as your sister were to join with my House while they are not present."
"But Lord Stark himself insisted the marriage happen immediately," the heir of the Twins resolutely persisted in the face of a direwolf.
The Young Wolf drew himself up to his full height and spoke in his most commanding voice. "And I say Ser Stevron, with no disrespect intended to your noble House, that I shall marry your sister, the lovely Roslin, immediately, once we are all reunited with the Lord and Lady of Winterfell in Darry. Would your father, Lord Frey, find two more weeks so late?"
The aging knight stared long and hard at the man who had been his King, if only briefly. "No," he at last barked.
"Thank you, Ser Stevron, I have always counted on your wisdom and sage advice," he announced, extending a peace offering.
The man nodded briefly back.
Seeing its acceptance, though begrudging, he turned his attention back to his bride. "Fair Roslin, in marrying me you become a part of my family's pack. And as you can see, my pack already includes a direwolf. All of this will undoubtedly take quite a lot of getting used to, don't you agree?"
"Yes, my lord," she whispered back, clearly very afraid.
"You can use the journey to Darry to get to know me and Grey Wind here better." He looked down at his wolf brother, and said, "Isn't that right?"
The direwolf promptly looked up at the frightened girl and then took a step towards her, sniffing the air."
Roslin trembled.
"He's just smelling you," Robb said, trying to soothe her. "Stick your hand out so he can …"
And then Grey Wolf was by her side, long rough tongue licking one shaking hand.
'Damn,' he thought. 'That's surprising.'
'Such a fool I was,' he thought, lamenting the wasted two weeks. 'Well, they weren't completely wasted.' They had gotten to know one another a bit, despite all the demands on his time organizing and then leading the march to Darry alongside his uncle Edmure. Roslin had proven to have a naturally sweet disposition and her kind, accepting behavior had tempered his deep seated worries about the marriage. Thus at their bedding, he had found it within himself to be gentle in taking her maidenhead. And subsequently she'd reciprocated his baser desires, being as interested in joining with him as he was to lay with her. 'The Freys' hurt feelings aside, it couldn't have worked out better.'
"So as you can see, my Lord," Ser Tristan said, one hand pointing in several places all in a row, "our water supplies are well away from the temporary middens."
"Oh, not that we haven't whipped a few of the lads who got sloppy, so to speak," old Ser Elston Perryn chortled, after Ser Tristan he was second in command of House Ryger's three hundred strong contingent. "And that lazy squire who thought it too far to walk this morning with his lord's night bucket."
The two knights' words brought Robb out of his day dream.
"I fought in good King Robert's rebellion alongside your father, Lord Robb," the old knight continued to blabber. "A more clever warlord and one more concerned about the welfare of his banners I never saw; and all know the respect I hold for dear Lord Hoster, your grandfather, so that's a saying something."
"Yes," Robb replied neutrally, a pleasant enough smile plastered on his face. He still got his fair share of complements for the Whispering Wood and the Battle of the Camps, but everybody loved his father, the Victor of the Green Fork, the Lion Slayer, the Mountain Breaker, the Old God's Gift. In his hearing at least his father could do no wrong.
"So if Lord Stark says Stannis must be King, then that's who I fight for. If Lord Stark says shit here, then that's where me and my boys will squat. If Lord Stark says …"
'And if Lord Stark calls me Rich, then my name must no longer be Robb,' he thought snidely, for in fact he'd caught his father on a few occasions calling him 'Rich." Sure, with three brothers he was used to the odd shout of Jon (though never by mother), Bran, and Rickon. He'd even once gotten a Theon, which had left a bemused grin on his absent friend's face for a week. 'And why had father command Theon to remain behind in Riverrun, truly?' Luckily the slips of the tongue had never included his being called Sansa or Arya. Theon never would have let him live that down. But 'Rich?' Robb stopped himself from shaking his head in bewilderment, while at least acknowledging the name did sound a bit like a shortened version of Rickon. He hoped his youngest brother was alright. He'd heard through mother that one of father's 'visions' had shown him the little man bereft from the absence of so much of the family.
"… so you tell your lordly father what I said, if you please, Lord Robb," the old man at last finished.
"And pass my regards too, if you will," Ser Tristan added.
Robb smiled back at the younger knight, he was one of Uncle Edmure's childhood friends, always ready with a quip. Robb had dealt with him enough to approve of the man.
"I shall Sers," he announced. "But before I do, I fear there's plenty more men I must go watch shit," he announced only half-jokingly, his punishment duty far from being over yet.
The pair laughed at his apparent jape in parting.
Robb refrained from joining in, for twenty five thousand men and a third that number of horses generated a ridiculous amount of waste. He gave a gentle prod to Night's Sky and set off towards the next group of men who fought directly under the command of the Tully Fish and not some other Riverlands magnate, a smallish troop of men from Acorn Hall if their banner didn't lie. Then, and not for the first time that morning, he wondered where Grey Wind was. It had been the wolf's return from a night's hunting that had woken him, Roslin, and lazy Wendel out of their slumbers. His brother never joined him for the morning staff meeting with his father, but invariably seemed to appear soon afterward. Not today though.
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