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Chapter 35
Robb Stark
Robb walked through Riverrun's familiar halls, holding Arya's hand tightly. Nymeria and Greywind padded silently behind them, the wolves' steady presence offering comfort.
Arya's eyes were red and puffy from crying, but her voice was animated as she spoke about her journey. From her escape to Kingslanding, their encounter with the mountain's men, Harrenhall, Jaqen H'ghar, reuniting with Nymeria, she'd told him all of it.
Robb said little, letting her words fill the silence as they approached their mother's chambers.
Her companions had been settled: Hot Pie sent to the kitchens, Gendry to the smithy, and Biter—still shadowing Arya—might soon be made her guard.
Robb mulled over the thought as they reached the heavy wooden door, the man's mind had an animalistic feel, more instinct than logic, one that seems to always look to another for guidance, and it has seemed to settle on his sister as an 'alpha' of sorts.
With some training and discipline forced onto his skull, he'd make a halfway decent sworn shield, he supposed.
Robb hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open. Inside, Catelyn sat by the window, her face etched with grief.
"Thank you, Holly." She turned, apparently mistaking them for a handmaiden. "I'm not really famished at the… moment?" Her eyes widen at the sight of them.
"Arya?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Arya broke free from Robb's grasp and ran to her, throwing her arms around her mother. "Mother!" she cried, tears spilling freely as Catelyn clutched her tightly. Catelyn sobbed, stroking Arya's hair, murmuring words of comfort and disbelief.
Robb stood back, watching quietly. His face remained calm, but a single tear escaped down his cheek, escaping through his cold mask. An errant maidservant lingering at the door caught sight of it, her eyes widening in surprise.
She quickly smiled, a rare softness crossing her features, before leaving them to their reunion.
After what felt like an eternity, Catelyn lifted her tear-streaked face to look at Robb. Her hand trembled as she reached out to him. He stepped forward, kneeling beside her as he took her hand in his.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Thank you for bringing her back."
Robb's voice was low but steady. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." He quotes his father. "Father's words were right; our family has to stand united." He mechanically puts a hand over her shoulder. "You just stay put; we'll be reunited soon enough."
Catelyn's free hand went to his cheek, softly wiping his sole tear. "You've grown so much," She stared straight at his cold, steely eyes, her voice thick with emotions of grief. "Too much for your years. I wish you didn't have to carry this burden."
Robb shook his head slightly. "It is the way of things for children to handle their sires' burdens." He wills himself to smile wryly, and for once in his life. "Mothers and fathers raise their children, until such a time it comes for the children to care for their forebears."
Arya, still clinging to Catelyn, looked up at Robb with a fierce smile. "I'll care for you, Mother!"
Catelyn pulled them both close, her arms encircling them. "You're both so strong," she whispered. "Your father would be proud. The gods know I am."
The three of them stayed there for a long moment, a quiet bond settling over them as the grief and joy mingled in equal measure. Outside, the wolves lay curled together by the door, a silent guard over their reunion.
*-*-*
He had spent the rest of the day with his reunited sister and mother, mostly indulging Arya's desires while his army prepared to leave.
With his sister back—and most importantly, the last remnants of the Lannisters vanquished—it was time to finally end the liberation of the Riverlands with a symbolic recapture of Harrenhall.
To that end, he sent Stevron Frey with an advance contingent of necessary personnel to occupy the castle and prepare it for their arrival.
The war was about to change drastically.
For one, with the Riverlands finally free of Lannister influence, the local lords would be far more reluctant to pledge support for any external battles. He might have earned their respect, and they might swear allegiance to him eventually, but many would do their utmost to delay any commitment to the war effort.
And why wouldn't they? They had no compelling reason to. Most Riverlander lords didn't respect their own liege lords, let alone an outsider like him.
This meant he would have to make assurances. Tywin Lannister would almost certainly seek an alliance with the Tyrells. With his severely depleted forces, Tywin would be forced to make substantial concessions to secure their aid for the coming battles. The Tyrells, guided by the cunning Queen of Thorns, would undoubtedly exploit this to their fullest advantage.
That would mean delays—constant delays. Robb expected the Tyrells to send only a contingent just large enough to liberate King's Landing, along with enough provisions to last a short while. The rest of the Tyrell forces would remain scattered across the Reach, to be fully mobilized only when Margaery was crowned queen and her marriage to their King was consummated. Even then, their muster would take time; the Reachers were notoriously slow to mobilize.
Fortunately, this bought Robb time—enough to consolidate his forces, prepare, return north to negotiate with the wildlings and, should things go according to plan, more.
By this point, Robb had cultivated a reputation strong enough that he no longer needed to lead from the front. His army had been blooded, and he had earned the loyalty of many skilled commanders.
While he would prefer to be at the heart of battles—using his force skills to ensure overwhelming victories—he understood that necessity dictated otherwise. He couldn't be everywhere at once.
Additionally, there was the matter of the Freys. With the death of Emmon Frey and his kin, Robb—or rather, Brynden—had severed the last consistent connection they had to the Lannisters.
This was why he had sent Stevron Frey and Black Walder, along with their closest family members, ahead to Harrenhall.
By granting Stevron the prestigious role of castellan, Robb was sending a clear message to House Frey: Stevron was his favored candidate to inherit should Walder Frey perish. This move would undoubtedly unsettle the more ambitious members of the family.
But that alone wasn't enough. Walder Frey might be selfish and heartless, but he would not tolerate chaos within his house while he lived.
Thus, Robb had one final task before departing.
"Your Grace." Roose Bolton had already begun addressing him with the title of a king, a calculated move to assure Robb of his loyalty. "How might I serve you?"
Ghost-grey eyes -once described as paler than stone and darker than milk- met icy blue, and Robb felt a flicker of satisfaction as he sensed a trace of trepidation in Bolton.
Roose Bolton was a man of cruel logic—a high-functioning sociopath whose sole ambition was the advancement of his house and, by extension, himself. He was cautious, perhaps overly so, and Robb intended to exploit that caution until Bolton's usefulness was exhausted.
"You can start by dropping the formalities." Robb's voice was cold as he gestured for Bolton to sit. "The title is a quaint gesture, but unnecessary."
Roose nodded as he took a seat, casting a quick, wary glance at Greywind before turning his attention back to Robb. "Of course, my lord."
"As you are aware, we march to Harrenhall tomorrow," Robb began, pausing until Bolton gave a nod of acknowledgment. "But I do not want you to accompany us."
Robb's senses showed only mild surprise and measured caution in the man. "What would you have me do?"
"I want you at the Twins." Robb's tone was firm. "Lord Walder must be fuming over the execution of his kin, especially given their ties to the Lannisters. I need you to assuage his anger by consummating your marriage to one of his progenies."
He continued, "The army will advance at a glacial pace, gathering refugees and consolidating soldiers along the way. This will also allow the Riverlanders and Northmen to fully become more familiar with one another. You should have ample time to rejoin us before we reach Harrenhall."
"I see," Roose replied cautiously, clearly waiting for Robb to reveal his true intentions.
"There is also a letter I want you to deliver." Robb retrieved a parchment sealed with the Tully crest and handed it to Roose. "The actions of Emmon Frey and his children have cast doubt on House Frey's loyalty."
Roose accepted the letter gingerly, his expression unreadable.
"You may read it if you wish," Robb said. "It is a letter from Ser Brynden Tully, Regent of Riverrun and the Riverlands. While it affirms the innocence of Lord Walder Frey and his house at large, it urges them to address any lingering suspicions among the lords of the Riverlands."
As Roose broke the seal and read the letter, Robb continued, "To that end, you, Lord Roose Bolton, as an outsider and soon-to-be member of House Frey, are to act as an inspector. Your role will be to assess the state of Lord Walder's house and dispel any rumors of treachery. Additionally, with Lord Frey's explicit permission, you may punish anyone deemed a threat to the unity of the Riverlands."
Before Roose could respond, Robb handed him another letter, this one bearing the Stark direwolf seal.
"You may read this one as well," Robb offered.
The second letter was a private apology to Lord Walder, filled with assurances that his position, assets, and family would remain secure, and that Stevron and his close kin were beyond suspicion.
The dual letters positioned both Bolton and Walder exactly where Robb wanted them. If Roose remained loyal, he would eliminate Stevron's opposition and persuade Walder to do the same. If not, any conspiracy would need to appear above suspicion—forcing Roose to perform his duties earnestly.
In either case, Stevron's position—and by extension, Robb's—would be strengthened. And if treachery arose, Robb was more than prepared to counter it.
From Roose's demeanor, Robb sensed a mix of resignation and grudging respect.
'He's too clever for his own good,' Robb thought grimly. 'That man must go.'
"You may go."