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Chapter 29
Robb Stark
A week, that's how long he thought things should simmer before he could come back to work.
So here he was, with what began to become his council of close advisors.
Rickard Karstark, Greatjon Umber, Roose Bolton, Brynden Tully, Stevron Frey, Tytos Blackwood, Janos Bracken –if only to keep him silent- and Jason Mallister.
Each one of them bringing their own set of skills and experiences to the table.
Robb mindlessly strokes Greywind's back, the direwolf had grown even further, and even with his snout to the floor in restful sleep, his back reached the same height as Robb's sitting form.
Standing, the direwolf is as large as a warhorse, yet faster, stronger and more cunning, and he'd proven to be incredibly useful while accompanying the enemy scouts, taking down dangerous beasts, scouts, and bandits all across the region.
"We are at a precipice, my lords." Robb begins. "Renly is dead, supposedly by his brother's hand. Joffrey the mad is stuck in Kingslanding, and Stannis has his reputation shattered, no large host at his back, and is a heretic who'd burn our septs and Godswoods to boot."
He turns to each one of them, impressing the importance of his words.
"We need to make a choice, both the North and Riverlands have fought valiantly, yet as time goes on, and with the Lannisters repelled, we'll need to make a choice." Robb leans forward, crossing his fingers atop his knees. "Who shall we declare for?"
The Greatjon smiles, and as if he'd been waiting for that moment, he half-shouts. "You, my Lord!" His intact hand takes hold of his sword, and with swift movements, he unsheathes his sword, and kneels while putting it's tip to the ground. "The only king I kneel to, is the King in the North!"
Robb mechanically raises an eyebrow, he turns his eyes to the others, and notices that both Rickard, Roose, and Brynden followed almost instantly. Stevron hesitates for a split second before following, and the others glance at each other before follow suit.
""Your Grace!"" They chant.
Even Robb's sigh comes off emotionless, as he mentions offhandedly for them to stand.
"It is to be expected." He admits. "I hoped for Stannis to take my offer, with his Red Witch away and our support, I would've been able to demand enough conditions as to make both the north and the riverlands quite well off from the aftermath, but now I am bound to deal with southern politics."
"That is your burden to bear." Rickard interjects. "We have taken heed of our choices, and we have chosen you. You led us into battle, you won us victories and brought glory and riches to our houses, leaving our lands and people intact. I'd take you, your Grace, the competent young man we know, rather than a prissy southron who'd only take our loyalty for granted."
Roose steps up gingerly, looking to the Riverlander lords amongst them, Brynden especially. "I hate to pour salt over fresh wounds, but with the unfortunate demise of Lord Edmure –gods bless his soul- that leaves you, your grace, and your siblings through Lady Catelyn, as the heirs to both Riverrun by virtue of your grandsire, and Harrenhall, through your grandmother's claim. I may not have the right to speak for you, my lords." He addresses the Riverlanders. "But I'd wager that you were bound to swear fealty to a Stark anyway, him being King or Lord will not change that."
Brynden huffs in begrudging agreement.
"Your words have logic, Lord Bolton." Stevron nods, turning to Robb. "You may be a Stark, my lord, but your features have the likeness of a Tully." He says. "Since the fall of Harren the Black, t'was only them who had the necessary edge over the others, to be considered Lords of the Riverlands, even if nominally. We'd all assumed, after Lord Edmure's treacherous death, that one of your brothers would inherit the Riverlands. Not only that, it was your intervention and your actions that allowed us our victories, even elevating our western borders by capturing the Golden Tooth."
"Us Riverlanders are a proud, stubborn people." Jason Mallister says. "We do not trust outsiders, as history taught too many times that that road only leads to misery, but actions speak louder than words." He explains. "And yours –Riverlander blood aside- proved you an honorable, good man, of strong arm and a sharper mind." He says. "Our records show that we seem to fare better under fair outsider rule, unfettered by the many grudges and animosity that keeps us in constant conflict, just look at the Justmans!" He laughs.
Both Tytos and Janos wince at the mention of that old house.
The Justmans were the longest ruling Riverlander royal house in its entire history. The irony is that their founder, Benedict Rivers, was a bastard from houses Blackwood and Bracken, who even at the times were known for their legendary rivalry. He'd conquered the houses of the Trident one after the other, and was known as the Just –hence the surname Justman- and his descendants ruled for three hundred years before his house ended when Qhored 'The Cruel' Hoare, murdered king Bernarr Justman's sons and drowned him in battle, ending their line and leading to a hundred years of anarchy.
Other examples were there, most recently were the Targaryens, who even if they tended to be neglectful and cruel, brought peace to the Riverlands through their strength.
It is known, without a measure doubt, that no Riverlander noble house would consider itself inferior enough to any other to call them King. Which meant that without an outsider –like say, Robb- peace would never see their lands.
Robb looks to Tytos and Janos, who slowly nod in agreement.
"So be it." He says. "If you are to pledge your swords and houses to me, that would make me King of the North and the Trident. But that is not enough." He explains. "The North is isolated and defended well enough that it could take on large armies and repel them without issues, but the Riverlands are another matter entirely."
"Indeed." Tytos, being the most strategic amongst the rest, concurs first. "I worry over the same issue, the Golden Tooth will allow us to defend against any large army from the west, but the same cannot be said of the East and South." He says. "The Riverlands are surrounded from all other sides, any army could easily march from Kingslanding, the Reach or the Stormlands and easily scatter across our lands, taking villages, towns and small castles as they're wont to do, and would be considered a headache."
"Then hit them first, before they gather their forces." Brynden finally speaks. "Get to Kingslanding, kill the Lannisters, take the Crownlands, and do the same to any who show any signs of aggression, Stannis, the Tyrells, it doesn't matter." His words carry confidence, as if they were the obvious answer. "We defend by attacking."
Sadly, it was.
"Ser Brynden has the right of it." Robb answers. "Whoever wants to sit that blasted iron chair will not stand losing one kingdom, let alone two." He explains. "The issue is that a preemptive attack cannot be considered to be a defensive action. Our enemies are kings, and once kings fall their vassals tend to bow to their victors. Our offensive actions will be called conquests, and conquests, well… Those tend to multiply."
"A conquered Crownlands leads to aggression from the Stormlands, then the Reach, and on and on it goes." Janos gruffly comments.
Robb nods. "And before long, a preemptive action to defend our lands becomes a second Conquest of Westeros." He stands, making for the door, Greywind following instantly. "Those are the stakes we'll be dealing with, you have until we reach Harrenhall to make a decision, consider the oaths you swore null until we do so."
Robb knew, that for some, like Rickard and Greatjon, simply will not care and would gladly follow as long as he kept them happy. Others, like Brynden, are just too filled with anger to give a damn, whilst Stevron and Mallister would consider their houses too distant and defended well enough that it wouldn't matter.
It would be those, like Roose, Tytos and Janos, who have either skin in the game and/or personal goals to consider, that would hesitate and stew.
And if Robb is to be king, he'd make sure to show them that he's not only the best choice, he's the only choice.
For a peaceful realm, nothing short will suffice.
*-*-*
For a person in his position, there are few ways one can relax. He could no longer go on carefree hunts, visit the town for some fun, or even have some privacy for extended periods of time. Some of these limitations are due to his new position as Lord, and others are simply due to how busy he is as the commander of the war effort.
However, one of the few things he could reliably do, is fight.
He leisurely ducks under a blisteringly fast blunted sword, the force warning him of it coming some seconds ago. He grabs an oversized hand with his left, pulls the Smalljon forward into him and kicks his shin, causing him to fall straight toward another foe.
Black Walder somehow reacts swiftly enough to dodge the man's huge form, grabbing him by his collar and slowing his fall by pulling him upwards.
"Shouldn't have swung so wide, fat-ass!" Black Walder, ever the crass tongue, exclaims.
"Who're you calling fat, rat!" The Umber heir swiftly gets back up with the Frey's help, hefting his sword and shield back and standing in a guarded pose toward Robb.
Robb idly twirls his sword, a slight glance to his left and right noticing two on each side, the Karstark brothers on his left, and Daryn Hornwood with Dacey Mormont to his right.
Six opponents were enough, any more would make the group crowded and be less challenging for Robb, so others like Robin Flint and Donnel Locke will have to wait for their turn on the next round.
"He's right, Jon." Robb comments. "You should have synchronized with the group, charging in alone will do you no good." He ducks forward under a wooden mace, Dacey's blow barely touching a strand of his hair. "Like these four." He finishes as he jumps over Harrion Karsark's lower slash.
One aiming low and another high, making sure to land a blow. But unfortunately, Karstark's blow was aimed too low, or else Robb wouldn't have been able to dodge it.
In his split-second mid-air, he grabs the other Karstark's helmet and pushes him down, straight to his upward-going knee, the blow connects, causing the man to wobble backwards before falling on his ass.
Robb found himself using 2nd's martial art skills more often than his own experience with swordsmanship as these guys got used to fighting him, it is showcased when he swiftly redirects Dacey's mace with his sword, finding his feet somewhat buckling at the strength of her blow, he then swings his sword toward Black Walder's feet on the same move.
Walder proves to be perceptive as ever, stepping back just before he got hit. But Robb counted on that.
'I need to thin their numbers.' He thinks.
'Step one, Isolate.' He picks Hornwood as his target, with a swift move he smashes his foot at the man's shield, forcing him to step back several times and distancing himself from the others.
'Step two, incapacitate.' He ducks under a stray blow as he charges toward the retreating man with blistering speed, Daryn proves to be skilled –the previous spars making wonders for his nerves- as he resolutely tightens his hold over his sword and shield.
But his instincts were still based on his original training, expecting the first attack to come from Robb's sword.
So, Robb feints with his sword arm, Daryn –proving his skill- only shifts ever so slightly in response, but even that was enough for Robb to find an opening his defense, striking his throat with a weak strike of his left hand.
He startles back, finding his breath momentarily stopped. Giving enough time for Robb to put his blunted sword next to his heart. "Dead." He speaks.
Daryn recovers, sighing as he walked away.
But simply because he took down one, doesn't mean the others would stop.
Robb without looking back steps to the side, dodging another blow from the Smalljon.
"Don't be so obvious." Robb slams his blunted sword to the back of his knee, as he buckles down, he puts a sword to his throat.
"Dead."
'Step 3, repeat.'
*-*-*
Looking over the exhausted people at his feet, Robb grabs a handkerchief from a servant to wipe off his own sweat.
'The more I spar with them, the surer I get.'
Ever since he started this routine, Robb became aware of an enlightening matter.
Dacey is stronger than she should be, Smalljon faster, Black Walder's reaction borders on precognition, and on and on it went.
'They're force sensitive, not enough to be considered Jedi, but they have a crutch, so to say.' He muses. 'They must be connected to the Weirwood Network."
He couldn't feel it, perhaps because their sensitivity was so weak, but it was the only thing that could work.
'This explains many things, like knights facing off several men at the same time, Barristan the Bold charging through what seems to be the greatest standing army in the world and facing off against Maelys the Monstrous, who is also said to be able to punch a horse to death, and winning.' He thinks. 'Illogical acts that can't be explained by skill alone, it would be entirely possible through their connection to a network of force sensitive trees who'd grant them these abilities.'
Whether they believed in the Old Gods or not should be of no matter, the Force can be considered a fundamental force in the universe, and cannot be dictated by things such as faith and religion.
It was certainly an interesting thing to consider, but until Robb gathers further knowledge about the matter, he'd have to settle to observing.
No worries, however, he's got time.