I wasn't expecting to see you again, Lord Stark," Stannis said, sitting stiffly on his charger. Something was wrong with the last Baratheon brother. He was constantly shifting and wincing in his saddle, seemingly in a lot of pain.
Robb glared at the man. "Here I am."
Stannis nodded, his eyes roaming the group of men and warriors behind the Young Wolf. The two men had decided to talk alone away from their respective retinues. King to king. Stannis was dressed in dark steel and chainmail, a cape of black with his fiery stag slightly billowing from his shoulders. Robb was dressed in plaited leather without mail or steel-plate. His back could barely hold up to the weight of the leather armor.
"I see you now control the army of the Reach," Stannis said, his tone bitter and annoyed. "How….convenient for you."
Robb shrugged. The movement itself caused Robb considerable pain, but he refused to let it show. Ser Baelor Hightower, the heir to Oldtown, had given him a numbing agent that he had gotten from a friend of his at the Citadel. It had helped a little, but not much. The maester had suggested more poppy wine, but Robb had refused the offer. He needed a clear mind when dealing with Stannis.
"Were you expecting them to follow you after you murdered your brother?" Robb asked bluntly, watching the other man closely. Stannis didn't so much as bat an eye when accused of kinslaying.
Stannis raised an eyebrow. "The Tyrell's are greedy whoresons who will open their legs for anyone who will give them power," he said evenly. "I was not expecting them to do the right and honorable thing."
Robb's face went slightly red as he checked his anger before he lashed out at the older man. Once again, Stannis was throwing the fact that Robb's father supported him back at the northern king. Robb was positive that if his father saw what Stannis had become then he would never bend the knee to the man.
"This is not about power Stannis," Robb growled. "This is about justice!"
Stannis scoffed. "Do not lecture me on justice, boy. You know nothing of the concept."
Robb's eyes narrowed. "Justice is not killing your brother in cold blood through the use of foul magic," he said coldly. "I was there. I saw what happened."
Stannis's eyes narrowed as well and Robb knew his words had struck a nerve. "Renly died like the traitor he was," Stannis said, yet again, not denying that he had anything to do with the death of his younger brother. "He would not acknowledge my claim as king and went as far as to put a crown on his head. He was a traitor, and died a traitor's death, just as all others will."
Robb laughed harshly. "No man is as accursed as a kinslayer," he said, quoting his father's words.
Stannis ground his teeth. "I do not believe in such superstitions."
"Says a man who is a purveyor of dark magic." Robb shot back.
"Say what you will then leave. I will not stand here and bandy words with a boy." Stannis snarled, his patience now gone.
Robb shrugged again, something that was getting on Stannis's nerve because it was a common habit of Renly's. "I have a host of twenty-five thousand at my back, and more on the way. You will soon be outnumbered Stannis. Surrender and I swear my justice will be quick and painless."
"You think because you beat the Kingslayer that you can now stand against me." Stannis challenged. "Come then, 'Young Wolf', and show me just how powerful you are," he said before turning around and riding away.
Robb just nodded. "You'll see," he said softly to himself as he turned around and rode back to his commanders.
Renly's war council had been a mixed group of veterans and sycophants who had filled the Baratheon king with grand ideals of war, even though none of them had stepped foot on a battlefield themselves. Robb had been quick to get rid of all these men, only keeping around those who had proven themselves in battle. His patchwork war council was made up of veterans like Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan, Bryce Caron, Ser Baelor Hightower, and Paxter Redwyne. Grizzled and savvy campaigners who knew war and strategy.
"Stannis will not surrender," Robb said as he approached the group. No one seemed surprised. This was the same man who held out against an overwhelming number of reachmen for the entirety of his brother's rebellion. Stannis Baratheon's will was like iron; unbending and unbreakable.
Randyll nodded. "We knew he wouldn't. Now we must make him pay for it."
Randyll Tarly had lived up to his reputation as a formidable commander and warrior. When Robb was planning his attack on the Baratheon force at Storm's End, the man's advice was invaluable, pointing out not only what would be best for Robb's forces, but what Stannis might counter with and how to effectively counter that as well. It was like the man had planned out the entire battle in his head.
Robb's and his military minds had immediately connected as the two commanders prepared a battle plan that would utterly crush Stannis against the walls of the Baratheon's ancestral home.
"Agreed." Mathis Rowan said firmly. "We received word this morning from Lord Caron. He and his men are in position."
The Lord of Nightsong was one of the few Stormlander lords who did not go over to Stannis after Renly's death. Robb had left the man in charge of the infantry, sending them down through Summerhall while Robb had taken the cavalry and had ridden northeast to the King's Road before turning south towards Storm's End. The plan was for the infantry to come in from the west and hold the enemy in place while Robb smashed them from the north.
Robb nodded grimly. "Then we're set. We attack at dawn gentlemen."
The group rode back to camp, slowly breaking up as the others returned to their respective tents. Robb, flanked by Garlan, Loras, Smalljon, Dacey, and Daryn, rode towards the center of the massive camp where Robb's tent was situated. The Tyrells had wanted to give Robb a tent as grand and spacious as Renly's, but he had denied the gracious offer. He had instead settled for a plain, large tent where he was able to meet with his commanders and have a small, screened-off area for his personal quarters.
When the group made it to Robb's tent, Garlan followed Robb into the command tent while the others had gone off by themselves.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, your grace?" Garlan asked worriedly as he and Robb entered the tent.
The two men had known each other for a week, but it didn't take long for Garlan to realize why Robb was so loved and respected by his friends and bannermen. He was a breath of fresh air for the men of the Reach. A man who said what needed to be said, niceties be damned. He was not like Randyll Tarly, whose words hit like a blunt knife. Nor was he like Orton Merryweather, whose words were so sweet that they could be mistaken for honey. He said what was needed, and meant what he said, but did so in a manner that conveyed respect for others opinions.
Robb entered the tent before turning to speak to the tyrell knight. "Stannis will make an attempt on my life. I know it."
"All the more reason to put guards around your tent." Garlan pressed. "Maybe it will dissuade…." He got no further.
"You didn't see what I saw Garlan," Robb said, his voice low and soft as he remembered that terrible night. What Robb saw, what it did to Renly, it would haunt the northern king for the rest of his life. "This is not a normal assassin. This is a ghost, a demon. It can not be killed by normal means."
Garlan sighed. "There's a reason you have guards," he said, annoyed. "They are for your protection. To prevent you from being killed by knives in the dark."
Robb nodded. "I know, and I thank you for assembling skilled warriors, but two of them, Ser Robar and Brienne, got flung around like leaves in the wind. My guards were designed to protect me from enemy soldiers on the battlefield. From mortal enemies. This is not the same. I need to face, and defeat, this monster alone."
The group that Robb was referring to was a collection of select warriors, all selected by Garlan, to protect Robb. Smalljon had brought it up one night, talking about Robb's battle guard. The large northerner had talked about the unit with pride, calling it his greatest honor. Garlan had taken it upon himself to create something similar for Robb.
The new guard, or 'southern guard' as Smalljon jokingly called it, was made up of Ser Robar Royce, Brienne of Tarth, Ser Garth 'Greysteel' Hightower, Ser Rolland Storm, and Ser's Horas and Hobber Redwyne, the twin sons of Lord Redwyne. All warriors had been hand-picked by Garlan for their skill and character. Most were not battle-tested, but after watching Garlan spar with many of them at Bitterbridge, Robb could see that they were still warriors of great skill.
Garlan frowned but finally conceded the fact. "I hope you know what you're doing, your grace."
Robb nodded. "I do." He answered before adding, "and if it all goes to hells, then I have Tarly standing by to take over as commander of the army. Either way, Stannis will pay for what he did to his brother."
Garlan huffed but nodded. He bowed and made to leave, but Robb stopped him.
"Garlan, is Loras still intent on heading back to Highgarden after Stannis is dead?"
Garlan was caught off guard but nodded. "He is, your grace. Renly was everything to my brother. Fighting for another king….ah, it's probably better to leave behind the horse that won't budge."
Robb nodded slowly. "Shame. We never got along, and I don't believe we ever will, but he's good. Very good." He said thoughtfully. "I'd hate to leave a swordsman of that caliber here in the Reach. Especially if I go into the proverbial lion's den."
"I'm sure Margaery will find a way to persuade him to fight for you," Garlan said. "She's always been the best at reasoning with him."
Robb smiled. "She is a remarkable woman."
"Set to be married to an equally remarkable man," Garlan replied easily. He bowed once more. "I will spread the word amongst your guard that you are not to be disturbed."
Robb nodded. "Thank you. Tell them to check on me in the morning. If all goes right, then I will be asleep in my bed."
"And if all doesn't go well?" Garlan asked.
Robb smiled grimly. "Then I will be quite dead."
Line Break
Robb sat in his tent with his sword, Claw, held point down in his hands. It was late, and Robb had only a few candles lit. Normally, the muted conversations of soldiers might be heard outside, but word had been spread around the camp that the King in the North wanted to be alone for the evening. With that in mind, many soldiers steered clear of the central tent.
Even Greywind, Robb's trusted and constant companion was away. The giant wolf was away for the night, stretching his legs as he roamed the woods, hunting, and basking in the freedom that he usually doesn't have during the day when he is at Robb's side. The warrior known as the 'Young Wolf' loathed to admit it but he was happy that his friend was gone. The last thing he wanted was his wolf hurt or killed protecting him.
Robb had spread the rumor because he didn't want any man injured on his account, not when they didn't have the proper means to protect themselves. It was clear that normal steel would do nothing to the demon, Brienne and Robar had demonstrated that. The only other person who could kill the damn thing was Lord Tarly, but Robb didn't want him hurt or even killed either, as he was Robb's second in command.
Robb's eyes were trained on the candle he had placed directly in front of him. The memory of the night Renly died playing over and over inside his head. He knew that the first thing that would happen would be a strong breeze that would rip through the tent and nearly extinguish the candles. That would be Robb's first alarm.
Robb's foot tapped nervously on the floor, anxiety flowing through him. He was not a patient person, not like Jon, who seemed able to sit still for hours. Robb had always been a much more active person; sparring, riding, hunting, even when playing the rare game of cyvasse, he usually got himself in trouble because of how aggressive he was while playing.
During the battle of Whispering Wood, nothing had gone through his head. He was simply focused on killing the man trying to kill him. Now, only one face flashed in his mind. One name. He wanted to see her face again, just once more. Robb had liked girls before, but never to this extent. This was love, pure and simple.
Robb's mind was torn from his thoughts when he saw the candle flicker, if only slightly. He felt the breeze go through the tent, though it was not as strong as it was on the night Renly died. The wind that night had been strong enough to put a fire out. This one barely made the candles flutter. Even still, it was abnormally strong, and Robb knew that it had come.
Robb began to count under his breath.
"One."
Robb's heart started to race as he counted, yet everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The grip on his sword tightened, his leather gloves creaking gently as he shifted forward in his chair, preparing to rise.
"Two."
Robb forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to calm himself. He had to plan his moment just right. If he missed, he died. There was no second chance.
"Three."
Robb rose to his feet, twisting his hips as he turned. He did not have time to switch his feet around and instead used the momentum of his turn to add power to his swing.
"Four."
As Robb turned, he saw the smokey figure rise from the ground. It was just as Robb remembered; a being made of pure darkness with the face of Stannis Baratheon.
Except this demon was different. The one that had killed Renly seemed stronger; fuller if it could be described in such a way. This monster seemed to shimmer and wax in the light as if it wasn't fully formed.
"Five."
Claw came flashing up, intercepting the dagger made of pure smoke that had appeared in the figure's hand. When the two blades clashed, the sound they created wasn't like anything Robb had heard before. It was a dull, metallic thud, like a hammer on an anvil without the ring after the strike.
The monster seemed confused by the fact that its dagger hadn't gone through Robb's sword.
"Valyrian steel," Robb growled. "It's what killed you last time."
The monster roared and struck at Robb again, but the Young Wolf was ready for it. Robb knocked over his chair as he leapt forward, sinking Claw to the hilt in the shadow being.
The monster roared and backhanded Robb, sending him flying across the room, although this time he landed on the thick carpet and not a solid table. Even still, Robb's back was instantly awash in pain as the muscles seized up, preventing the northern king from moving his torso at all.
Robb turned his head, looking between the legs of tables and chairs at the demon. It roared and clawed at its chest, where remarkably, Robb's sword was still stuck. Every time the monster tried to grab the blade, it roared in pain, as if it were being burned by the metal.
The monster grew smaller and smaller as if the sword sucking away its very life. Soon, when it was no smaller than a child, the demon imploded, sucking all the air out of the tent as its essence was scattered and destroyed. Claw clattering to the ground when the monster was gone.
Robb tried to roll over in an attempt to stand, having some amount of success as he was able to get on his hands and knees. The pain was overwhelming, making Robb's vision swim and his brain feel fuzzy. Getting back to his feet was one of the hardest things Robb had ever done. It was like there were burning steel rods strapped to his back, melting his skin.
Eventually, he was able to get back on his feet, grabbing onto the nearby objects to support him. He shuffled painfully over to where his sword lay and used the tip of his boot to hilt onto his other foot before he kicked the sword into his hand.
Using his sword as a cane, he maneuvered himself into a comfy chair and sighed in relief as he did so. The pain in his back was unbearable, but at least he was alive and the monster destroyed.
"Well," Robb said to himself, "that was easier than expected."