The next day, much of the combined Northern-Riverland host started marching along the River Road while those left behind made preparations to join them. Their personal quarrels were quashed under an iron fist by their commanders, who were straightened out by Robb the prior day.
The River Lords had been particularly accommodating in this endeavour.
From what I'd gleaned from passing conversations and the maidservant from the night before, the host would move to the ancient Harrenhal, the one castle that could support their absurd size despite its state of disrepair. There, they would await the response from Stannis Baratheon then act accordingly.
But... I personally doubted that they would stick with that long.
Robb wanted peace for his realm, but the North and the South were radically different in all aspects of life. Declaring for Stannis was wise, it was the path to a lasting peace and Robb seemed to understand that to some extent.
It was different for the more hot-blooded of the Northern Lords.
"Bah! It's a load of horseshit!" Greatjon Umber bellowed, cheeks red from copious amounts of alcohol and beard slick from all the alcohol that spilled. He slammed his tankard onto the table and it exploded into splinters, like last time. "Why the fuck does some bloody bastard get to sit all pretty and rule us?! They don't even know who we are!"
I cast a glance at Robb from beside the giant and he nodded back from his throne, muttering a discreet word of thanks.
He owed me for this... not that I was counting.
I jostled him with a chuckle, but raised my tone just enough that others could hear, "Eddard Stark declared him the rightful ruler before my eyes." It was a little white lie. I hadn't seen him declare it but he had shared the notion with me. "You gonna spit on thousands of years of loyalty and honor just cause you don't like somebody?"
"When you put it like that..." The giant lord trailed off, averting his gaze, "It's not right is all."
"You're the only one who thinks that."
Galbart would say yes to everything Robb said, Roose was too afraid to make a move despite being a snake, Rickard was too steeped in honor to say something and with those lords compliant, most of the others had nothing they cared to share openly.
The River Lords knew that Stannis had condemned the Lannisters openly, and had no reason to go against their oaths.
Personally, I didn't know this Stannis from a peasant on the road... he just seemed the logical option in the long term.
With Greatjon placated, I turned my gaze to Roose, "How did it feel to flay someone that bleeds the same as you?"
"I do not understand your meaning, my lord. I have flayed many." He swiftly changed his tone, white eyes trembling ever so slightly, not enough to be noticeable.
"Oh but you do understand me. Let Petyr and the Iron Islands be your example." I flicked a piece of pheasant breast past his shoulder, "I don't like snakes much."
"Nobody does." Rickard Karstark glared at Roose from beside him out of his personal distaste for the man.
Just when it seemed the conversation would turn boring, Theon Greyjoy came blustering in through the great oaken doors, his silken tunic half-tucked into his trousers and his black hair stuck to his own skin from spit and drool. He stumbled several steps, almost falling over more than once, and came to heel in the centre of the room where he twirled like a madman.
"I'm Theon Greyjoy! Heir of the Iron Islands! Hear me!" He shouted, "None of you even compare! I'm Balon Greyjoy's only son! Me!"
His farce was met with amused glances and whispers.
There wasn't much entertainment in a medieval society, and men universally derived great amusement from their fellow man's suffering.
"Theon, you're drunk." Robb stated stoically, not shifting.
"Thank you for stating the obvious. Nobody could tell!" Theon japed then laughed to himself, oblivious to the sudden animosity he'd drawn towards himself.
Robb Stark had won significant respect from his bannermen during his war council, partly from the 'balls' it took to treat with something like me as a boy after they glimpsed my nature... As if I'd ever given them reason to start calling me an Old God in the flesh.
Still, Old Deus was a metal moniker.
Theon whirled around again, until his eyes landed on me and his face took on an entirely new shade of red.
To make matters worse, Greatjon laughed at him, "Boy, you aren't heir to the hair on my arse!"
"You!" He ignored Greatjon, and that was perhaps the dumbest thing he could've done then.
I smiled neutrally, "Me."
"You had no right!" He whined aloud, "The Iron Islands were mine!"
"And the ironborn had no right to pillage, rape, and make slaves of those who couldn't resist them." I answered, blunt and honest. But, my answer made a chill quiet descend on the lively great hall. I'd just confirmed that I was the one to destroy them. "What? The iron price is only reserved for folk who aren't ironborn?"
He didn't realise the reason, the sole reason, I hadn't killed him, and eradicated the ironborn, was because he hadn't approached me.
"That's right! The iron price is ours! Y-You'll be punished for your crime!"
After a moment of silence, his answer came to him in the form of deafening laughter.
Robb tried to help, "Theon. Calm down. Now."
"You won't help me?!" He shouted at Robb, the man the Northmen were trying to declare King till he shut them down. "Is that it then?! Some loyalty!" Theon, in drunken stupor, spit at the ground, "That's a damned criminal."
"Am I?"
"W-What?"
"Am I a criminal?"
"Nay." Jason Mallister, my first friend in this world, spoke up, "You rid us of a great plague in your compassion for the meek."
"Aye. The bastards were rapers and cunts. Good fuckin' riddance."
"They died in fire. The fuckers deserved it."
Similar sentiments echoed in the great hall as Robb Stark paled. I knew from his face that he thought of Theon as a member of his own family, a brother, and that he too could see that Theon was digging his own grave at a breakneck pace.
So long as he didn't act out, most folks would forget he existed.
With this, he'd painted a target on his back for anyone who had a bone to pick or glory to win.
It seemed the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms just hated the ironborn.
"I-I'll have all your heads!" He unsheathed the short-sword hanging from his waist and the Northerners laughed at him for it.
"Who the fuck are you gonna hurt with a sword the size of your own prick? Raper bastard."
I rested my chin in my palm, observing his blunder with amused eyes, "By Marika..."
"What's that? Is that your whore mot-"
Theon Greyjoy went quiet... crushed under a claw, with scales the colour of a dark night sky and crimson fissures running along its length that burned with flame and roared with thunder. With pursed lips, I retracted my hand as it slowly returned to its human form.
"Well... Huh."
That was rather unnecessary.
But, as aged as I was, and despite becoming her enemy, I could never deny that Marika had been my first true friend throughout the centuries, perhaps millennia.
Then, when her heart turned to stone and I finally left her for it, God-Queen Marika had wept in silence.
I would not forget that.
And I would not beget insult by another.
So I did not regret my action.
"With that final lesson..." I rose to my feet, dusting my clothes, "I think it's time I bid you all farewell."
-
Even when Karl had left the Great Hall, shutting the doors behind him, none moved an inch. Robb eyed the bloodstain on the floor with eyes wide in abject horror. A sentiment visibly shared by every single soul that dined with him then.
For moments, none dared to even breathe.
Were they even allowed to breathe?
All had heard of Karl's exploits, and most believed them, but they hadn't known just how they'd come to be saved for a select few... and the accounts had been so radical Robb had a hard time accepting them.
Now the mad claims rang true.
What they had witnessed wasn't the just judgement of the Father the Septa had taught him of when he was a boy... No, they had borne witness to the cold wrath of an Old God, an ancient creature whom men could not afford to offend, lest they be broken.
Their only solace was that this God seemed largely disinterested in the works of man so long as they didn't trod upon those undeserving.
In his shock, Robb's heart had forgotten that it was meant to weep for a brother lost.
And so, though his eyes grew wet, the Stark could not understand why.
None of them could.
-
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