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The Winter Witch by Kneazle
 Harry Potter & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: T, English, Adventure & Fantasy, [Hermione G., Robb S.] Roose B., Words: 281k+, Favs: 3k+, Follows: 4k+, Published: Oct 16, 2017 Updated: Mar 20 2,575Chapter 10: I:X
the Winter Witch X
Note: this is not my favourite chapter, but I hope that you'll appreciate and understand the necessity of this minor filler, and explanation of Robb's decision. Military strategy is not my strength.
After the perplexing issue of Robb's missing half-brother, Jon, Hermione recast the spell after Robb bled some more. When it did the same thing, she recast it again, with Robb offering up even more blood, until he began to look a bit squeamish and then Hermione said it was enough.
The mystery of Jon Snow was to be shelved for another day as Robb called back his Lords and Kingsguard, attempting to look regal in the chair by the fire, his hair a complete unruly mess of auburn, a shadow of stubble beginning to grow into a red beard, and his shirt rumpled. That was the image he presented to his closest advisors and guard: a young man thrust into a position of power he never asked for, but admirably holding up. As his great-Uncle, Lord Umber and Lord Bolton took up positions around the table, and Lucas and Daryn positioned themselves on the inside of the door, Olyvar ran around serving drinks to the men and the lone woman in the room.
Hermione sat next to him, a large and thick book in her lap and her legs crossed on the chair as she read, muttering under her breath. She did not pay attention to the others, completely intent on her book, flipping quickly through the pages as she searched for something and her hair growing bushier as her agitation grew.
Robb looked over at her fondly, and no one failed to noticed that had Hermione been anyone else, she would've had to stand to show proper respect to Robb's position - or the fact that she sat at his side was his indication of seeing her as an equal.
"Bran and Rickon are alive," said Robb without preamble.
"I beg your pardon?" sputtered the Blackfish, while Umber goggled at his King. Bolton, however, flicked his eyes speculatively in Hermione's direction.
Robb caught the look the last man made and nodded. "Yes - Hermione cast a spell."
He gestured to the map on the table, and the men leaned over to see the four spots of blood in different locations, including the fact that the two northernmost dots - at the Wall and towards Skagos - were still moving, albeit slowly.
"By the Gods," breathed Umber, eyes wide. He held out a finger to poke at the moving bead of blood, but Hermione's wandtip rapping him smartly on the back of his hand, her eyes never looking up from her book, stopped him.
"No," she said, "Bad Umber. Don't touch the map. You don't want to displace the magic, do you?"
Contrite, the large man cringed and withdrew his hand, trying to surreptitiously rub the back with the other. "Erm, yes - sorry, Lady Hermione. Um - no, I do not."
She sighed and looked up from the book, her eyes slightly shadowed, and looking tired. Robb realized, painfully in that moment, that she had appeared in his room nt more than two hours ago, bloodied, and wondered when she last rested.
"These two dots represent Rickon and Bran," explained Robb, "Although I'm not sure which is which. Importantly, though, is that only one dot is in King's Landing."
"Princess Sansa," said Lord Umber, nodding knowledgeably.
"Which means Princess Arya is the one in Harrenhal," said Bolton thoughtfully. His eyes turned inward and Robb could tell he was already thinking of his troops left behind in that area.
"Exactly, Lord Bolton," said Robb. "I'd like you to return to your men and plan for an attack on Harrenhal."
Silence met with Robb's order.
"Harrenhal?" gapped his uncle, finally. "Do you have some dragons, your Grace? Perhaps the Lady Hermione can conjure some up? Harrenhal, for all that it is a ruin now, held for thousands of years without being taken until Aegon burned it."
Robb turned to Hermione, who sighed. "Well, I suppose I could transfigure something to make rocks appear like dragons. Or maybe use Fiendfyre - although that is the Dark Arts and I never used it - but… this is a rescue attempt, isn't it? We don't exactly want to destroy the place and accidentally kill Arya."
The Blackfish blanched at the idea of killing his niece, accidentally or not, and Hermione took that as confirmation that she was right. As usual.
Robb was nodding beside her. "Hermione will join with Bolton and together, they will figure a way into Harrenhal and liberate it, as well as find Arya."
"I will?" repeated Hermione, glancing at Bolton, whose face twitched; something between pleasure at the idea of having a witch on his side, to intense worry - potentially because he would be in charge of her safety.
"Yes," stressed Robb, narrowing his eyes at the curly-haired witch next to him. "And don't think that I know that you're here without Torrhen. We'll return to Riverrun first, regroup with Edmure's men - so, please, Lord Umber, would you mind sending that message on the parchment? - and we'll head out immediately."
There was a pause in the air, unspoken questions hanging with heavy weight. Eventually, Bolton was the one to speak up. "Leaving, your Grace?"
Robb's face twisted into something painful and he glanced away. Hermione wordlessly reached out and grasped the hand he had on his lap, partially hidden from the other's mens eyes as he turned his palm and laced their fingers together, gripping her hand tightly.
"I am the King in the North," said Robb, finally, turning back to his Lords. "I am not in the North. While I wish to protect the riverlands, the truth is that my home - the North, Winterfell - has fallen. My father would not continue pressing south, but would rather protect the North. And so must I."
"... but what about revenge on the south, the Lannisters, the crown, for what they did?" asked Umber, blinking in surprise.
"They'll have it still," said Robb darkly, "Don't think I have forgotten what they took from my family, Lord Umber." He took a deep breath. "But the lone wolf dies. The pack must be kept whole. And I will find my brothers and bring them back to Winterfell. I will have those I trust seek out Arya and Sansa and return them home. I will protect the North, our home. Your home from Ironborn raiders, from the Lannisters, from anything else that comes our way. But I can't do that from here."
Umber's mouth had dropped open, and it was gapping unattractively, while thunderclouds formed in his eyes.
Hermione, sensing the tension, cut in. "We can continue guerilla attacks on the Lannisters and others," she offered, bringing the attention to her and away from Robb's change in attack. "I can create Portkeys - objects that will deposit you anywhere and return you with passwords or at predetermined times - and we can send small groups out in flash attacks on keeps or armies. I can create wards to protect castles and property; I can build walls that cut off land or redirect rivers by making new trenches… we have options to continue to annoy the Lannisters or protect the riverlands."
"And what happens when you leave, Lady Hermione?" asked the Blackfish pointedly. "When we don't have your magic to help us?"
Hermione, startled, blinked at Brynden Tully for a long moment, unable to answer him. Robb squeezed Hermione's hand, still in his, and said, firmly, "Then we will continue on as we always do - but we will gratefully take Hermione's help in the meantime. Whatever she kindly offers us, uncle."
There was a rebuke in his tone, and the Blackfish heard it, nodding in apology at Hermione, who, having not realized she was holding her breath, let it out in one long exhale.
"In the meantime," continued Robb, his tone still dangerously even and firm, "We will begin to pack up and set plans to return to Riverrun within the week. From there, we will plan our removal from the riverlands while leaving behind protection from retaliation."
It was clear he was asking his men to think of some ideas.
"Once back at Riverrun, I'd like Hermione and Lord Bolton to meet with me to consider some ideas on taking Harrenhal," he said, looking at both of them. Bolton nodded, a low dip in his chin to indicate the King's orders, and Hermione shrugged. "From there, we will consider plans to return North and retake Winterfell and any other Northern home taken by the Ironborn."
"And then what?" asked Umber grouchily, crossing his arms. "We came because you called the banners, your Grace. Because you wanted to free your father and then avenge him. What do we do once we're home? When there is no more war to be fought?"
"No more war?" echoed Robb, a dangerous snarl on his lips as they pulled back in a very wolf-like way. Hermione eyed him nervously. "Are we not invaded by the Ironborn? Is Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, the Rills and the Stony Shore free of being raided? Are they able to say that their land, their people do not suffer under the constant fear of Greyjoy ships?"
Umber shifted where he stood.
"Will you explain that to Lord Ryswell, to Lady Dustin?" continued Robb, eyes fixed firmly on the large man. The air was crackling with something similar to magic, but decidedly not, and Hermione's hand twitched in Robb's grip. His eyes - normally a blue that reminded her of the depths of the ocean, were tinged with silver - a silver that was not entirely human.
Outside, Grey Wind howled.
Lord Umber shifted more where he stood, and Hermione saw that one hand - with a few missing fingers - twitched and moved towards the hilt of his sword hanging at his left. "And what of your cause, your Grace?"
Whoa, she thought, wondering what happened to Umber's hand, and then quickly realized the slightly sneering tone the man took. Robb tensed next to her and the tension was racking up to a point where someone was going to do something stupid.
"Julius Caesar!" she blurted out, shrilly, and immediately everyone turned to her.
"What?" asked Robb, confusion lacing his voice.
Hermione cleared her throat, and in her panic, her voice took on a slightly breathless quality as she began verbal textbook diarrhea. "Julius Caesar was a military leader in my world. He wanted to cross the Rhine river - a huge river that was a natural border between the Germanic tribes and Caesar's Roman legions - and to show them that he could step onto their side of the river at any time he wanted, he had his men build a bridge to cross the Rhine. They built a bridge in ten days, in which Julius Caesar crossed, raided a few villages and burned some others, and then retreated, taking the bridge down after them… just to show that he could."
Everyone in the room was looking at her in varying degrees of confusion, ire, or fond amusement.
Hermione, staring around at them, then continued, quickly, "Well, to be fair, the man was a bit of a tyrant - not to say that Robb is a tyrant, that would be quite mean - but crossing the Rubicon - which is another river, a different river than the Rhine, completely different geographical area - was an important military tactic for Caesar. After all, it was treasonous, and did begin a civil war… but under his command the world was entirely changed because the Roman army practically conquered everywhere they went."
She paused, eyes wide, her words tumbling over one another in her hast to speak. "Not that Robb is a conqueror. He's not trying to conquer anything. Not really. I mean, he didn't exactly stand in front of the westerlands and say, 'Alea iacta est,' which means 'the die is cast.' And honestly, it's common misconception that Caesar even said that in Latin, he spoke Greek!"
"Hermione," said Robb, gently.
"Yes?" she gasped.
"Breathe," he said.
She gulped in air and nodded. "Yes, right. Good idea. Air."
But she had diffused the situation, and Umber no longer looked royally pissed off, nor did Robb's blue eyes hold that sheen of silver she was itching to find a book on to explain it away. Maybe Riverrun had something…?
Bolton cleared his throat and looked out the window. "Shall we shelve some of these ideas until the sun is up? It's only a few hours away, but some sleep is better than none."
"Agreed," said Robb promptly. "We'll meet back here after breaking our fast to discuss the logistics of the move."
Umber grumbled some, but everyone, including Hermione, quickly filed out. She followed Dacey, who she was to share a room with. Looking back, she saw that Robb was staring down at the map, eyes hungrily moving from one blot to another, as though they would disappear if he stopped looking.
When Hermione finally woke, it was to the sound of scurrying feet and shouted orders; Robb had clearly wasted no time in organizing his return from the Crag and the westerlands back to Riverrun. The sun was shining through the open window in Dacey's room, and her side of the bed the two had shared - something Hermione was used to during her time at the Burrow with Ginny - was cold and the sheets thrown back.
Hermione slipped from the bed and reached for her discarded jeans on the floor, thrusting one leg into the denim and then the other, hopping in place as she yanked the skinny jeans up her thighs. Dacey entered just as Hermione was wriggling her hips; the older, black-haired woman stopped in the doorway and burst into laughter.
"Your world's fashion is quite bizarre," she commented, shaking her head. "Come, are you ready? His Grace has called a meeting ahead of our leaving."
"Your fashion is weird," muttered Hermione, buttoning up her fly and then yanking down her sweater. She tried combing her hands through her hair, but they got stuck on the first pass, strands knotted tightly around her fingers and she spent the walk from the bedchamber to Robb's trying to pull the strands apart while Dacey unsuccessfully hid her snickers at her side.
The door was swung open this time, with the tall black-haired young man that looked familiar to Hermione standing guard outside. Dacey was joining him, leaning up against the wall on the other side with a lazy slouch. "Lady Hermione, have you met Lord Lucas Blackwood?"
"Blackwood?" repeated Hermione, perking up and finally yanking at one determined coil of brown wrapped around a finger. She pulled a few times and then gave, looking bizarre with a single finger held aloft by her hair next to her head. "Any relation to Lord Blackwood? Of Raventree Hall?"
Lucas was staring at Hermione's hair, particularly the finger still stuck, but quickly darted his eyes to face forward and over her hair. He stammered, "Ah, aye, milday…" but his eyes crept down as a flush crept across his cheeks.
Hermione sighed, and used her other hand to detangle the single strand. "It's a mess, I know."
Inside, Robb stood with Lords Bolton, Umber, his uncle the Blackfish, and several other men. The other men Hermione didn't know had haggard appearances, dark bruises under their eyes and their wrinkles deepened, punctuated only by yawns that broke in the middle of their conversations. They had ridden all night to arrive at the Crag.
"Ah, Hermione!" greeted Robb enthusiastically, motioning to Olyvar to serve her some food from a sideboard. "Have you met Lord Manderly, Lord Glover, and Lord Forrester? They were leading a joint operation at Pendric Hill and Nunn's Deep, and only arrived here this morning to coordinate our return to Riverrun."
"I haven't had the pleasure," said Hermione, eyeing the three tall and large men. Lord Forrester was a tall man with short swept-back brown hair and a hawkish nose that framed a very square face. A neatly trimmed beard with only a few threads of grey indicated that he wasn't as old as the deep worry lines in his forehead suggested. He nodded at Hermione when he caught her eyes with his hooded ones.
Lord Manderly reminded Hermione of her childhood impressions of Santa Claus: he had long white hair that was pushed back off his large forehead, and a trimmed Van Dyke beard that matched the white of his hair. He had blue eyes that were reminiscent of Dumbledore's, and a rather round, jolly face.
He smiled at Hermione and reached forward to first shake her hand, saying enthusiastically, "Lady Hermione! What an honour it is to meet you! An honour, indeed!" and then attempted to bring her hand to his mouth for a kiss.
Hermione gently extracted it and her lips twitched into a smile. "It's nice to meet you as well, Lord Manderly, properly this time. I believe I've seen your… son around?"
The man beamed, his cheeks ruddy. "Wendyl! Yes!" He looked around the other man in the room, his chest puffed up, as though to say, see? The Winter Witch knows my son!
The last man, Lord Glover, was a man close to Hermione's own father's age: his hair was salt-and-pepper, curly, and although not long like many other men in Westeros, it wasn't shorn either, leaving Hermione to consider it a messy mop. His face was worn, and his brown eyes, although wide, were filled with suspicion as he regarded her.
"Excellent; now that we are all introduced," began Robb, coming around the table and placing a hand on Hermione's lower back to move her where he wanted her to sit, "We can get started."
"Yes," yawned Forrester, "P-Pardon, Your Grace. What's the plan then? Are we moving forward and on to Casterly Rock?"
Robb shook his head. "No. We're returning North."
The three men who knew of this from the previous night made no move or change in facial feature, but the three newcomers were equally shocked.
"Your Grace?" stuttered Manderly.
"Your Grace, we came here because of the wrongs against your father and family," began Glover, eyes steely and clearly working up to say something against his King, "And we have been - right wrongs, that is. Why stop when we've got the Lions running?"
Hermione eyed the large man shrewdly, but then turned to Robb. He needed to answer and convince the man if he wanted to convince the rest of the lords and their men to return North and continue following his lead.
Robb sighed. "How far will we chase them, Lord Glover?"
"Well, to Casterly Rock," the man answered.
"And then once we've taken it?"
Yeah, okay, reign in the arrogance Robb, thought Hermione, narrowing her eyes. He saw her from the corner of his, and waved a negligent hand.
"Well," sputtered Glover, "I suppose we'll head towards King's Landing."
"And say we take King's Landing?" asked Robb. "Would you then name me King of Westeros? In charge of not only the North, the riverlands, but elsewhere?"
Glover's mouth opened and closed.
"My brothers are alive," said Robb, his voice crisp. "I intend to return North and find them. I may be the Young Wolf, or the King in the North, but I can't be a King if I'm the King Who Lost the North. What do you suggest?"
He waited for his men to speak, but none did. To Hermione, the answer was obvious even before she spoke to Robb: going forward held nothing for him, especially with his family so spread out. He wouldn't find what he was looking for.
"I'll end up spreading my men too thin," he said, having thought of it more after everyone had left. "I have no intentions on reaching King's Landing and taking it - the Iron Throne is not for me. I attempted to broker an alliance with either Renly or Stannis, and both turned me away. If they have no need for the North, then the North has no need for them."
"Too right!" agreed Forrester hotly, just as Umber grunted his approval. Although he was clearly unhappy with how the discussion had ended hours earlier, he found other common ground with the young King.
Robb smiled grimly at the men at the table. "I can't avenge my father by continuing on to one castle or the next keep, razing it and… then what? No, Lord Glover - it is best that I put myself where I am needed the most: the North."
With that said, he instructed: "Last night, Lord Umber passed on my messages for my return to Riverrun. Although you rode here ahead of your men, we'll use the parchments to instruct them to retreat back as well. We'll make for Riverrun immediately and be there within a week."
"I could probably get you there faster," mused Hermione out loud, eyes turned up towards the ceiling as she thought. "Although I definitely need to think of a new plan for the horses…"
"What? How?" asked Lord Manderly, blinking in shock.
"Portkeys," said Hermione succinctly. "Apparition would take too much out of me. I mean, I would need to read up on it to make sure I've made them correctly, but Portkeys would work."
"What is a Portkey?" asked Lord Glover suspiciously, eyes narrowed.
Hermione turned to the man; those from the previous night had heard her mention them before, but not necessarily the scope of the magical objects. As such, Hermione gave a dictionary-rote answer, "A Portkey is an object imbued with magic in order to transport anyone touching the object from one location to the next in an almost instantaneous transition."
"As… long… as someone is touching this object?" repeated the Blackfish, curiously, already thinking.
Hermione nodded. "Like… a harness…"
"Or a rope," the man supplied, thinking of how to transport large numbers of people easily.
"Exactly," nodded Hermione with a grin.
"And any number can be transported?" asked Robb gleefully, his blue eyes lighting up.
Hermione frowned, "Well, I guess so. Let me check and get back to you on that."
The rest of the conversation was something Hermione did not need to be a part of; instead, she tuned it out, pulling a large tome from her beaded bag - surprisingly the men around her with the act - and then hastily began flipping through pages in order to find something that would help her with portkey creation. She knew the theory, but practice was another thing.
By the time she had finished reading and rereading the passage from a copied textbook from the Hogwarts Library's restricted section, and had spent some time mimicking the wand movement with her finger as her wand, Hermione realized that Robb had given out orders to everyone and had been patiently waiting for her to finish.
Lord Bolton sat with him, both sipping from cups.
"Erm. Sorry," she said sheepishly, realizing she had gotten caught up in researching rather than socializing.
"No matter, Lady Hermione," grinned Robb, dimples appearing in his cheeks. Hermione felt herself flush - out of embarrassment or something else, she wasn't sure. "Have you read what you needed?"
She nodded. "A few lengths of rope to enchant and it'll work. I'll just need a location to send to people. A timed Portkey with a count-down or one that is password-activated would work."
"Good," said Robb. "How about in the Whispering Woods where we met? Staggering the troops would mean that we are close to Riverrun but not on top of the castle when we arrive."
Hermione shrugged. "Sure."
"Then, we'll leave shortly," said Robb, placing his cup down and standing. Bolton shot to his feet as well. "Once we're in Riverrun, we'll meet and figure out a plan going forward to attack Harrenhal." He paused, and then asked, "The map will be fine if I roll it up, won't it?"
Hermione felt her face soften. "Of course. The blood won't smear. The magic is in the map, now."
Robb sighed in relief, and Bolton reached forward to roll the map up for him, then passed it off to the young King. He nodded at them both, and then strode from the room, presumably to oversee the men at the Crag for their Portkey transport.
It left Bolton and Hermione alone for the first time since they had met.
Both stared awkwardly at one another. For Hermione, she was remembering the man's strange fascination with her; for him, if she knew, he was thinking just what other feats she was capable of, and how that would help him and his standing with his new, young King.
Eventually, Hermione cleared her throat and stood. "Well… I'm… going to go make those Portkeys, Lord Bolton."
"Of course, Lady Hermione," he said, with a short bow. "Might I escort you to the courtyard?"
She grimaced, but nodded.
They left the room together in silence, passing soldiers who scurried from one end to the other ensuring they didn't forget anything. It was loud, and everything steel clanged sharply. By the time they reached the courtyard, Hermione had a headache, one which was going to get worse as she met Lady Spicer.
The woman stood with her daughter, Lady Jeyne, and another man. Although beautiful, in a sense, the brown-haired woman looked sour, her mouth tightly pinched and her eyes hard. Jeyne had inherited her mother's hair colour, as well as the lithe and tiny body, but where Jeyne was round in the face, her mother was long and narrow - sharp, Hermione's mind supplied.
"Ah, Lady Hermione," boomed Umber, drawing everyone's attention towards her. "We're ready when you are!"
Hermione glanced at the courtyard, filled with only Robb's royal guard and Stark men on horseback, and the rest of foot. Those on foot had it easier, holding onto a long coil of rope wound around each wrist; those on horseback were in an awkward line, pressed thigh to thigh.
"In a moment," she called, turning to Robb, who stood with Daryn and Eddard just behind him. He, along with the Blackfish, stood near Lady Spicer and her daughter.
"-thank you for nursing me back to health," he was saying to Lady Jeyne and Lady Spicer, glancing between the two.
Jeyne's eyes darted fearfully at her mother and then Lady Hermione, paling dramatically. Lady Spicer spoke coolly, "Of course, Your Grace. After all, you are an… honoured guest."
"What were you using for his wounds?" spoke up Hermione, planting herself at Robb's side and staring up at the taller woman.
Lady Spicer stared down at her from her nose, eerily reminiscent of Narcissa Malfoy at the Quidditch World Cup. The look on her face was one Hermione had seen before on Purebloods in her world whenever they were in her presence: the stench of dirty blood.
"I'm not sure you would know or understand," the woman began slowly.
"Try me," challenged Hermione, a hard look in her eyes.
At her side, Robb, sensing the tension, turned to look from Hermione slowly to Lady Spicer, his own eyes narrowing.
"An essence of murlap," began Lady Spicer, baldly, "A tea of lavender and rosehip; a creamy poultice made of milk, mint, and aloe."
Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "So… placebos."
"I beg your pardon?" said Lady Spicer, frowning.
"Where I come from, placebos are remedies that people think work, but actually don't because they have no medical properties," explained Hermione. "People think they work because they're told it's actually going to heal them - a mind over matter thing. I noticed that when I arrived and saw the items on the tray that your daughter had prepared next to Robb's table."
The lady of the Crag paled, and beside her, her daughter trembled.
"Lady Spicer," warned Robb lowly, "Is Lady Hermione correct about the medicines prepared?"
The woman pursed her lips tight, but cut her eyes to the man at her side, who quickly jumped into the conversation. "Your Grace! Clearly this is a mistake - the old Maester must have clearly either read the labels wrong in what he gave to Lady Jeyne to treat you with, or, if he had nefarious purposes in mind, it's because he is loyal to the Lannisters and Casterly Rock!"
Way to throw the man to the wolves, thought Hermione, literally.
Robb cut his eyes to the Blackfish and Glover, both who disappeared back into the ruinous keep. Within moments, they returned, the Maester between their arms. The old man was protesting and wriggling in their grasp, but he was old and frail and was quickly thrown to the ground between Robb and his Kingsguard, and Lady Spicer.
"This man says you were hoping I'd die by prescribing me with tonics that would not actually heal me," said Robb, using a cool voice that Hermione had not really heard before. "Is this true?"
The man spat, glaring hatefully up at the young man. By the gate, Grey Wind prowled, exuding nervous energy. "House Lannister has my loyalty! Not some wolf heathen."
Hermione winced, and Robb's face hardened further.
"Well." He turned his head and spotted a bucket left discarded in the courtyard. With a hand motion, he ordered, "Lord Tully, Lord Forrester, escort the men from the courtyard for Lady Hermione to prepare. Lord Glover, that bucket over there? Upturn it. Lord Bolton, Lord Umber - bring the man."
"Robb - what-?" Hermione took a single step forward, but Robb's cold blue eyes stopped her.
"Hermione," he said, biting her name out. "Go with Lord Forrester." The man came forward and gently wrapped a hand around her upper arm. "Now."
"C'mon, Lady Hermione," murmured the Blackfish on her other side.
Hermione, although dragging her feet, let the burly brown-haired man lead her out of the courtyard. She did, however, strain her neck by looking over her shoulder, tripping often over her feet as she watched Robb walk towards the man, who was being held down by Umber and Bolton, his chin resting on the bucket's bottom.
Forrester pulled her through the gate, passing Grey Wind who sat on his haunches, just as Robb unsheathed his sword from his hip.
Ice settled in her veins as she realized what she had witnessed the lead up to, and through numb lips, she asked, "Did he-? Did Robb just-?"
Forrester glanced down at her, with a tinge of pity in his eyes. "As his father, Eddard Stark used to say: he who passes the sentence, swings the sword."
Hermione reeled back, eyes wide, and her heart pounding furiously in her chest.
"My lady," urged Forrester, "Don't you have something to do?"
"I-"
Hermione glanced at the neat rows of men, only those who were with Robb and his men when they took the Crag; Lord Forrester, Umber, Manderly, and Glover's men would take the traditional route of horseback and foot to Riverrun.
Almost automatically, Hermione visualized the Whispering Woods clearing she had parked her tent over a month ago, and tapped the first length of rope she approached. "Ten seconds," she said, although she heard her voice come from her mouth as something small and far away. She was vaguely aware that Lord Forrester followed behind her discreetly.
By the time she finished half of those with the ropes, Robb, his kingsguard, and Bolton and Umber, as well as Glover, strode through the gate, Grey Wind on Robb's heels. Hermione kept her back to Robb as she finished her task, leaving him and his men as the last to Portkey out.
Robb had one firm grip in Grey Wind's fur, his other on the length of rope the smaller group shared, when he asked, "Are you not joining us, Lady Hermione?"
He glanced pointedly at her, standing apart from them and not holding the rope in her hand. He held up his part of the rope invitingly.
Hermione shook her head. With a hard voice, she said, "No thanks. I'll Apparate to Riverrun. I'm sure Torrhen and Edmure are already back. I'll catch up with you in a day or so."
She ignored Robb's fallen face, and tapped the rope. It glowed golden, and then they were gone, leaving Hermione alone with the ruins of the Crag behind her - and wondering if Robb had executed only the Maester, or Lady Spicer and her daughter, too, for what they tried to do to him.
She spun on her heel and appeared on the balcony at Riverrun, overlooking the courtyard, with a crack signalling her arrival. Below, a few chicken squawked in protest, and several soldiers on duty on the guardwall across from the balcony cried out in alarm, spinning; but once they saw her, they calmed and returned to their post.
Hermione strode through the second floor and down familiar corridors, intent on reaching the bedroom she was given. A long soak in the bath in her tent was calling her - after all, in twenty-four hours, she had warded two properties, Apparated countless times, engaged in a skirmish at Stone Hedge, and then blind Apparated to Robb, healed him, and now created a dozen or more Portkeys. She was beat!
"Lady Hermione!"
Hermione wanted to groan, but plastered a smile on her face and turned to Edmure, who was loping down the carpeted corridor, his eyes wide. His red hair flopped forward and messily across his forehead and Hermione felt her heart sink.
"What is it?" she asked as he came to a stop in front of her.
He breathed heavily and then gasped, "You must come - to the Kingslayer's - chambers - immediately!"
"What? Why?" demanded Hermione, keeping pace as Edmure turned and ushered her forward. "Has something happened with the wards?"
Edmure cringed. "You could say that."
Curious, and deeply worried, Hermione kept silent until they reached the sparse room that Jaime Lannister was occupying as his prison. There were two Tully guards outside the room, as well as Torrhen who was glaring at everything and nothing.
He sighed upon seeing her, and strode forward until his hands were on her shoulders. His brown eyes looked her over, from the top of her curly head to her boots; Hermione stood still and allowed the look. Satisfied that she didn't have any injuries since out of his sight, he stepped back, revealing an open door, and importantly, an empty room.
Hermione stepped inside, frowning as she looked at the made bed, the latched window, and empty privy.
"Where is he? Where's Jaime?" she asked, turning to face Edmure and Torrhen; while Edmure could enter the room, Torrhen could not, yet neither stepped forward through the keyed-in bloodline she erected with Robb's blood.
"Is your enchantment still working, Lady Hermione?" asked a very tense Edmure.
Hermione nodded slowly.
Then, dread settled over her, and she stilled. Her eyes went wide and said only uttered two very pointed words at Edmure. "What happened?"
The tall redhead gnashed his teeth together, and his eyes flashed angrily. "We arrived at Riverrun last night, only to discover that my sister released the Kingslayer upon learning of my nephew's deaths in Winterfell. With her sharing King Robb's blood, she had access to the man."
"We sent men after him," supplied Torrhen, "But they don't know where he went. And he's not alone - a woman, Brienne of Tarth - is with him. We suspect they're heading south."
Hermione stifled a groan. What could else possibly go wrong?
Note: Marking? Done! Chapter? Week extension! Woo!
Although this chapter is mostly filler, in my mind, it does move our plot forward. Hermione can't catch a break, can she? The plan I have for this story is to write approximately 20-22 chapters as the first part to the Winter Witch, like North American tv seasons. So, we're currently at the halfway mark, and there's loads more yet to happen.
If you're concerned about Hermione and her magic - it will be addressed, just be patient. I have a plan. If you're concerned about whether or not others are learning about her - yes, and we'll have an alternate POV from King's Landing, but not for a bit.
Apparently I should also just ask questions, because I got more reviews than ever before for chapter 9 - although some were just directly responding to the questions instead of the actual chapter... hmmm... so: Who is your favourite minor character in ASoIaF/GoT?
[Jan 16 edit - typo corrected]
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