Your grace?" Brienne called from outside the tent.
Robb looked up from what he was reading. It was a report from Jon Fossoway, the man he had left behind at Bitterbridge with ten thousand reachmen along with Mace Tyrell and a small group of lords. The knight was simply detailing the shipments being sent north and the route they were taking.
"Yes, Brienne?" Robb called back.
"It's Lady Margaery," Brienne replied.
"Let her in," Robb said, pushing the reports to the side and standing up as Margaery entered, dressed in one of her typical dresses with a light-weight cloak over her shoulders. Her hair was done up in a loose braid that allowed her hair to fall loosely down her shoulders and back.
Robb wondered briefly if he would ever be amazed by her beauty.
"Margaery." Robb greeted with a smile. "What do I owe the late-night visit?"
"I wanted to talk to you." The young woman answered with a sweet smile.
Robb raised an eyebrow. "Is everything alright?" He asked, pulling out a seat for his betrothed to sit in.
Margaery nodded and took the seat, waiting patiently as Robb poured them both glasses of watered-down wine. When Robb sat down, Margaery answered the question.
"Everything is fine," Margaery said, cradling the glass in her hands. "I wanted to ask you about your family?"
Robb nodded. "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about your siblings?"
Robb nodded again. "There's Sansa and Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Jon," Robb answered slowly. "Sansa is like my mother, whom you'll meet at Riverrun. She's a proper lady who knows how to sew and sing. I'm sure once you meet her, you'll get along perfectly."
Margaery raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Robb chuckled. "Sansa has always believed in the tales of beautiful princesses and great kings, charming knights and the like. You'd be like right out of the pages."
Margaery grinned, blushing slightly. "Sansa sounds delightful."
Robb's smile faded slightly. "She's very nice, but she is not without her flaws. She has always been too trusting, naive, and innocent to her core. She never saw what Joffrey was, and now I think she knows all too well what he is."
Margaery's grin faded as well. "The south has a habit of making the truth quite painful."
Robb nodded. "So it would seem."
That sat in silence for a moment, neither one of them speaking. Robb was staring down at his glass and Margaery was patient enough to give him a moment. She knew as well as him the importance of family and how hard it was for him to have his family spread out across the realm.
"What of Arya?" Margaery asked finally.
"Arya is my Aunt Lyanna come again," Robb answered quietly, looking up at the beautiful girl. "She's as wild and strong as the land we come from. My father called it the 'Wolf Blood'. My Uncle Brandon had it as well." Robb smiled grimly. "When Robert Baratheon showed up years ago, Arya appeared with Ser Rodrik's helm on her head. She was better with a bow than Bran, and a much better rider than most thought."
"My Grandmother told me the story of the Tourney of Harrenhal. She said that Lyanna Stark was very beautiful." Margaery said.
"And perhaps Arya will grow into that too." Robb agreed. "But she's more like Dacey Mormont than yourself. She wants to fight and has fought my mother each time she is forced to be lady-like. She made her septa mad with stress on more than a few occasions."
"She's the opposite of Sansa." Margaery mused.
Robb nodded. "In every way."
"You said you have two brothers? Tell me about them." Margaery asked, wanting Robb to talk more about his family.
Unbeknownst to Robb, he got a certain look when talking about his family that Margaery loved watching. There was a sparkle in his eye and he had a certain wistful smile when talking about his siblings. There was nothing but love in the way he spoke about them.
"Rickon and Bran," Robb said. "Rickon is the youngest, but he was always following Arya and Bran around, trying to keep up with them. Bran was a happy, active boy. He climbed every wall and tower in Winterfell and gave my mother quite a fright whenever she caught him."
Just like with Sansa, Robb's smile faded. "He wanted to be a warrior. He dreamed of being named to the Kingsguard when he was older. Then he had his accident."
Margaery frowned. "What accident?" She asked, placing her hand over Robb's.
"He fell from the Broken Tower," Robb said quietly, his face looking like it had aged ten years. "Bran never fell, never. Not in the snow, not in the rain, not in the wind, and certainly not on a clear day like when we found him. He was in a coma and Maester Luwin said that he would never be able to walk again."
"That's terrible." Margaery gasped, placing both her hands in Robb's.
Robb nodded, glaring at the table. "Then someone tried to kill him." He continued, growling now. "Some cutthroat with a valyrian knife."
Margaery was shocked. "How did he get it?"
Robb shook his head. "We still don't know. My mother believed that it was the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, but I'm unsure. My mother went south to try and discover more, and she ended up capturing the Imp in the Riverlands and taking him to the Vale to stand trial. He called for a Trial by Combat and some no-name sellsword fought as his champion. The sellsword won and the Imp walked away."
"What happened after your mother took the man?" Margaery asked.
Robb sighed. "Tywin Lannister and forty-five thousand soldiers invaded the Riverlands. Almost a year later, here we are. My mother caused a war."
Margaery moved one hand up to brush and hold a side of Robb's face. "You can't think like that. I'm sure she was doing what she thought was right."
Robb gently grabbed Margaery's hand from his face and held both in front of him, looking her in the eye. "Tyrion Lannister went north with Jon when my brother went to join the Night's Watch. On his way back, he left the maester with designs for a new saddle for Bran, claiming that he had a soft spot for 'cripples, bastards, and broken things'. I don't know, but I could never make myself believe that the man was capable of killing Bran."
Margaery nodded. "I'm so sorry Robb."
Robb gave her a slight, sad smile. "It's alright. Bran is alive, and I have to be happy with that."
Margaery returned the smile. "Tell me of Jon?" She asked, bringing the conversation back on track.
Robb chuckled grimly. "Jon should have been named a Stark long ago." He started, taking a long drink of wine before he went on. "He looked more like my father than most of us. He's a fine swordsman too, better than me. He's a great man and my best friend. We were inseparable as children. We took lessons together, played together, trained together. There was nothing we didn't do together."
Margaery smiled. "He sounds like you."
Robb smiled. "He's my brother. There's nothing we wouldn't do for each other. When I marched south from Winterfell, he was the only person I wanted by my side. Weeks later, there he was, in the dungeons beneath Riverrun."
"The dungeons? What was he doing there?" Margaery asked curiously.
Robb sighed and ran a hand through his curls. He and Margaery had been talking for some time and the lateness was beginning to get to the young man, but he pressed on.
"My mother has always looked down on my brother because of his birth," Robb answered. "When Jon entered the courtyard, my mother had him thrown in the dungeons because she thought he was a deserter of the Night's Watch."
"Was he?"
"No," Robb said, shaking his head. "He had not taken the Black when news of our father's imprisonment reached him. He left that night to be by my side and sent me a message from Last Hearth telling me so."
"He traveled across the entire North to be by your side." Margaery marveled softly. "The loyalty of family."
"Starks stick together," Robb answered. "If this bloody, blasted war has taught me anything, it's that family sticks together."
The two fell once again into a compatible silence, enjoying each other's company, the feeling of their hands entwined. There had only been a few instances where the two had been together during the march from Bitterbridge to Riverrun. They had meals together, but Olenna, Garlan, and Loras had been there as well. While on the march, Robb rode at the head of the column, speaking with a new bannerman each day, trying his best to get to know the lords of the Stormlands and the Reach.
This was the first moment since their time after the meeting between Stannis and Renly that they had any real time alone.
"Do you need me to walk me back to your tent?" Robb asked quietly, knowing and annoyed that the hour was so late. He wanted to spend every moment with Margaery, but he knew that they both had a long march tomorrow to finish up their journey to Riverrun.
Margaery shook her head. "Ser Emmon is right outside."
Robb nodded. After Renly's death, most of his kingsguard had pledged their blades to Robb. Three knights, Ser Emmon Cuy, Ser Guyard Morrigen, and Ser Parmen Crane had been assigned with Margaery's protection.
Robb walked Margaery over to the entrance of the tent, their hands still held together. "I will see you in the morning." He promised.
Margaery smiled and leaned forward, getting on her tiptoes to lightly kiss Robb on the lips. The small action left Robb feeling like thunderbolts were coursing through him. He instantly smiled.
"I'll see you in the morning as well, your grace," Margaery said before disappearing from the tent, leaving a stunned and wildly-grinning Robb.
Line Break
Riverrun was a welcome sight for the young king. The men of the North and the Riverlands lined the road leading to the castle, giving their king the welcome he deserved. Everywhere he looked, he was greeted with grins and cheers. Robb thought for a moment that he should look like a tough northern king, but soon that thought was lost as he nodded and smiled at his men.
Just like his father before him, Robb Stark was well-loved by all who fought for him.
In the courtyard, Robb's friends waited for him, his arrival having spread through the castle hours before the Young Wolf rode in. Standing off to the side, in two groups, were his war council and his battle guard, both of which looked extremely happy to see their king healthy after the stories of his near death. Standing in the center of the courtyard were three men; Edmure, the Blackfish, and Jon.
Robb rode into the courtyard, his southern guards and council at his back, looking like the king he was. Armored in northern leather and steel, a wolf-pelt cloak over his shoulders, Claw at his side, and his crown of bronze and iron sitting proudly amongst his auburn curls.
It was like a scene out of Sansa's dreams.
When Robb dismounted, the entire courtyard knelt respectfully, waiting for their king's signal to stand. The King in the North walked up to his uncle Edmure, who stood in the middle of the small group.
"Please, Uncle, stand," he said kindly, reaching an arm out to the red-haired man. Edmure took the offer graciously, clasping arms with his nephew as he rose to his feet.
"It is good to see you again, your grace," he said with a smile. "Riverrun welcomes you back with open arms."
Robb was slightly surprised to hear his uncle speak so formally. When they had last been together, Edmure still called him 'nephew'. Of course, Ser Brynden was always nearby to correct him.
"I am happy to be back, if only to go to war once more," Robb replied before turning his attention to the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden, I have read glowing reports of your work in the Westerlands. It seems I made the right decision by leaving you in charge."
The old knight bowed. "I did as tasked, your grace."
Finally, Robb turned to Jon, who was grinning happily. The two embraced as brothers, slapping each other on the back before Robb stepped back, holding Jon at arm's length.
"It seems you have been busy as well," he said happily. "The story of how you took the Golden Tooth was quite impressive."
Jon shook his head slightly. "Lucas Blackwood fought alongside me. I can not take all the glory."
"Then I shall see him rewarded as well," Robb promised. He looked around, the smile fading from his face. "Where is my mother? Is she with Lord Hoster?"
Jon's smile disappeared as well. "Robb," he said quietly so that only his brother could hear him, "Lord Hoster died weeks ago. Edmure is the new lord of Riverrun," he explained. "Your mother returned to Winterfell after his funeral."
Robb grimaced. He had looked forward to introducing Margaery to his mother, but that would have to wait.
"Your grace," Edmure said, cutting off Robb's thoughts, "may I introduce to you the new lady of Riverrun and my wife, Lady Roslin."
Robb and Roslin exchanged awkward smiles as Roslin dropped into a perfect curtsey. "It is a pleasure to see you again, your grace," she said quietly.
Robb bowed slightly in return. "You as well, my lady. I am happy to see that my uncle has found a good woman to marry," he said, praising the two before looking behind him at the green carriage that rolled into the courtyard. "Uncle, Ser Brynden, Jon, there is someone I would like you to meet," he said, the smile reappearing on his face as he stepped towards the carriage, helping Margaery out.
With her on his arm, Robb brought Margaery over to his family. All four bowed to her. "Margaery, may I introduce Lord Edmure, the new Lord of Riverrun, and his new wife Lady Roslin. Ser Brynden, my great uncle, and my brother Jon," he said, gesturing to each person as he said their name. "Margaery is my betrothed."
Margaery curtseyed to them. "It is a pleasure to meet you all," she said happily, her smile melting away any awkward tension that might have been in the air between Robb and Roslin. "His grace has spoken nothing but your praises during his time in the south and on our march here."
"The Rose of Highgarden," Edmure said. "Tales of your beauty do not do you justice, my lady."
"That is very kind of you, my lord," Margaery responded easily. "I have read much on Riverrun. I would love to see more of the castle if possible."
"It would be my honor to show you tomorrow, my lady." Roslin offered.
The sharp clack of a cane heralded the arrival of Lady Olenna, who was followed by a smiling Garlan and a dour Loras. Both were armed and armored for war, following Robb's example early when it came to wearing their armor while on the march. Both were an impressive sight.
"Ah, the mighty Blackfish. It has been a long while, Ser Brynden." Lady Olenna commented, setting her cane before her. "And Lord Edmure, I am sorry to hear of your father's passing. He was a truly great man."
Both Edmure and Ser Brynden bowed. "That is kind of you, Lady…." Edmure said, not sure who the old woman was in front of him.
"Olenna," Brynden answered, gazing with respect at the matriarch of the Tyrell family. "The Queen of Thorns. I have not seen you since Harrenhal if my memory serves me right."
"The years have been kind to you." Lady Olenna said before looking at her own wrinkled hand. "I wish I could say the same for the rest of us."
Ser Brynden smiled slightly. "Age is but a number, my lady. Your mind has remained un-addled and your tongue as sharp as valyrian steel."
"Ser Brynden, it is an honor to finally meet you," Garlan said respectfully. "I would love to hear your stories of the War of the Ninepenny Kings if there is time. As a second son myself, I have always looked up to you."
Brynden nodded to both Tyrell's. "Ser Garlan and Ser Loras I take it," he said. "Fine warriors both I have heard. I hear you are particularly talented with the lance, Ser Loras."
The young Tyrell knight sniffed disdainfully. "I am," he said simply, not an ounce of kindness or respect in his voice.
The air was once again filled with tension as the Knight of Flowers words nearly shattered the goodwill that was coming from both parties. Margaery was again the one to break it.
"Jon, I hear you are now called the White Wolf," she said, glancing over at the giant albino before looking back at the man. "An apt name." She joked kindly.
Jon smiled slightly. "Thank you, my lady. I strive to make myself worthy of the title."
"I have a grand idea," Robb said happily. "Why not a dinner, tonight, after I have had time to meet with my council and discuss future plans."
Edmure bowed. "I will see it set up, your grace," he said immediately. "I will see that the best food from the Riverlands is provided."
"I will call the council together in an hour." Ser Brynden added as well. "That will give his grace and his retinue time to unpack before we are once more sucked into war."
Robb nodded. "Thank you," he said. "An hour it is."
Line Break
Robb's council had been shifted with the new additions of the stormlanders and reachmen. Now, the northmen and riverlanders covered the right hand side of the table, while the new arrivals sat themselves on Robb's left, Lord Tarly and Ser Brynden each taking the seats on either side of the Young Wolf. Jon and Eddard Karstark were also in attendance, leaning against the wall.
"First and foremost, I must thank the lords of the North and the Riverlands for their work in the Westerlands. With the added might of our southern allies, I mean to bring Casterly Rock and the rest of the Westerlands, and the Iron Islands eventually, under my banner." Robb said firmly. "Has there been any word on Lord Tywin?"
"Reports are that the lords of the Blackwater have declared for Joffrey," Blackfish said grimly. "They have joined the crownlander host at Duskendale and may move north to reinforce the Old Lion at Harrenhal."
"How many do they number?" Tarly asked.
"Some fifteen thousand crownlanders," Bracken answered.
"Is there anything else that needs to be said?" Robb asked, addressing the entire table. He wanted to get all the information out in the open before making his plans known.
"I have received word from my steward that the stony dornish have been seen rallying men." Lord Caron commented. "They may be just reinforcing their borders, but they may also be taking advantage of the stormlords absence from the region."
"The same is said from my father in Old Town." Ser Baelor added.
Robb tapped the table thoughtfully. "They can't possibly be siding with the Lannisters," he said quietly.
Ser Brynden shook his head. "Prince Doran and all of Dorne will forever hold a grudge against Tywin Lannister and his family for what happened to Elia Martell. She was beloved in Dorne."
"Perhaps it is a power play by the dornish." Garlan offered. "Tommen and Myrcella are unbetrothed. Perhaps Tywin has arranged something."
"Even with news of Joffrey's parentage?" Lord Blackwood said curiously.
Garlan shrugged. "Joffrey still holds the Iron Throne," he explained. "Whether we like it or not, that still means something to many people. It's a symbol, or the symbol rather, of his kingship."
"What kind of host can the dornish gather?" Robb asked, looking at Tarly.
"Thirty thousand, if not more." The old soldier responded grimly. "They did not fight in the Greyjoy Rebellion and have had over two decades to replenish their losses after Rhaegar's death on the trident."
"If what my great-uncle says is true, then we have nothing to fear," Robb answered firmly. "I shall take the northern host and the might of the Stormlands with me and march south against Tywin. Lord Tarly shall take the reacher host and finish off Ser Brynden's western campaign. Once that is done, you shall also move on and take the Iron Islands." Robb ordered. The Lord of Horn Hill nodding seriously, a glint in his eye as he received the role he always wanted; control of the Reach army to lead as he chooses and no Mace Tyrell to hold him back.
"What about the North?" Lord Glover asked curiously.
Robb turned to Ser Brynden. "Has there been any news from the North?"
The old knight shook his head. "I sent Lord Roose with the Freys and other northern houses to reinforce Ser Rodrik's efforts a few weeks ago. I have heard nothing since," he answered. "He said that he was going to raise more forces once he reached the North."
Robb nodded. "I will send a raven to Winterfell after this meeting and ask my mother for news. If we need to send men, then we shall."
At this point, Robb was about to end the meeting when he was interrupted by the arrival of the maester, who hurried in carrying two scrolls. The first he handed to Lord Hawker, who looked surprised to have received it, the second he handed it to Robb, which was a lot bigger than the message that Lord Hawker had received.
"A rider from the Twins, your grace." The maester said quietly before scurrying off again.
Robb shared a confused glance with his council before breaking the grey seal and unrolling the scroll, reading the first words before his bones turned to ice. He immediately looked towards Jon, who recognized the look and strode towards his brother, peering over his shoulder and reading the message himself.
Robb leaned back in his chair, unable to comprehend what he had just learned, while Jon looked at the council, his face a mixture of fury and sadness. The only man who didn't look confused was Roland Hawker, who looked just as outraged as the Bastard of Winterfell.
"My lords," Jon said grimly, "we have been betrayed. The Boltons, Dustins, Ryswells, and Freys have all turned their cloaks in favor of the Lannisters. Roose Bolton's bastard has burned Winterfell to the ground, capturing Lady Stark in the process."
"Your grace, what does this mean?" Eddard Karstark asked seriously, stepping forward.
"It means we have a new enemy to the North," Jon replied grimly.