Inspirations: Green Light, Green Fork [TheVillianStratigest], A Different Course of Action [Dovah-wolfbear64], The Direwolf's Fury [Snafu the Great], The Wolf that Kissed the Rose [KaiserKou], Crossing the Freys [JohnnyHarder], Robb Returns [The Dark Scribbler]

AN: Canon AU, I'm writing the Others plotline out. (Mostly because I don't have a story for them.)

AN: What if Robb was given a second chance? Where he was less of an Eddard clone and more like his Stark ancestors? Honor is for Summer, but in Winter its Survival that Rules.

Disclaimer: I own nothing…probably not even the plot. But this story has been rattling around in my head for months and I just have to get it out. Hope you enjoy.

Winter Rules

Winter's nature was beautiful violence, stark clarity, the most feral needs, and animal desires and killer instinct pitted against the season of cold and death—the will and desire to fight, to live, even when there was no shelter, no warmth, no respite, no hope, and no help – Cold Days, Jim Butcher

Chapter 1

Robb Stark was blissfully unaware of the plot against him as he feasted in the great hall of the Twins. He smiled and laughed throughout the evening, his wife Talisa at his side just as joyous as Robb. Sneakily the young king pressed a hand to her belly, where their unborn child was growing, and rubbed the silk covering the skin gently. Talisa paused drinking her wine to swat at him with the back of her hand, a small smile on her face, her dark eyes gleaming with content happiness. For once, Robb had let his guard down, and was happy. Content that they were in fact safe. He never would have guessed that he would pay for it with his life.

"Your Grace, I feel I've been remiss in my duties. I've given you meat and wine and music, but I haven't shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift."

A click resounded through the hall and the solemn drone of 'The Rains of Castamere' hummed through the great dining hall. All fell silent as the old tune of the Lannister house reverberated off the solid stone walls. The large wooden doors slammed closed as a guard exited the hall. Robb tensed in his seat and muttered to himself as the well known song droned on, an insult to his own house, which feuded with the golden lions of Casterly Rock. Catelyn, his mother, was seated on the next table, her head bowed, but her hand clenched into the material of her dress as she fought to maintain her patience with the Lord of the Crossing.

Walder Frey was quick to hold up a hand, a strange twisted smile on his face as the musicians halted their performance, the last notes dying on the vibrating strings. The lord of the House of Frey stood, his face dark as he looked at the boy king feasting at his table. Robb threw back his chair, his blue eyes blazing with fury.

Walder sneered at Robb, his old body protesting as he hobbled closer to the balcony railing, his pale hands curling around the banister. Roose Bolton grinned as Catelyn pulled up his shirt, revealing the chain mail beneath, and then, all hell broke loose.

A sharp crack sounded as Catelyn's palm met the cheek of the Bolton seated next to her. Her eyes were wild with worry as she turned.

"Robb! It's a trap!"

But it was too late.

Lothar Frey was quick to creep up behind Talisa, knife in hand and plunge the blade repeatedly into the soft flesh of her stomach. Her dark eyes filled with tears as Robb stared over his shoulder, his messy hair falling over his eyes as he whipped his head back around. His voice was lost in the moment as the screams of the party attendants clogged the air. The musicians stood up from their stools, whipping their cloaks off as they drew crossbows from their backs. Bolts from the weapons assaulted the guests. Several men fell dead in their own food. Robb blinked before he felt the first arrow pierce him, his body jerking backwards with the force of the blow. A gasp escaped his lips as he took a step backwards, his furious eyes meeting the treacherous ones of Walder Frey. And like that, two more threw him backwards. He landed painfully on his spine, his back arching off of the stone as his breath escaped him.

The shouts and screams of the men around him went unnoticed as Robb was kicked aside, his suffering entertaining the Bolton and Frey soldiers. A howl broke the strange silence and Robb, dazed, knew it was the cry of Grey Wind, his loyal direwolf.

The Smalljon bludgeoned Ser Raymund Frey across the face with a leg of mutton. But when he reached for his sword belt a crossbow bolt drove him to his knees.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws.

Robb saw Lucas Blackwood cut down by Ser Hosteen Frey. One of the Vances was hamstrung by Black Walder as he was wrestling with Ser Harys Haigh.

And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

The crossbows took Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey, and half a dozen more. Young Ser Benfrey had seized Dacey Mormont by the arm, but Robb saw her grab up a flagon of wine with her other hand, smash it full in his face, and run for the door. It flew open before she reached it. Ser Ryman Frey pushed into the hall, clad in steel from helm to heel. A dozen Frey men-at-arms packed the door behind him. They were armed with heavy long axes.

"Mercy!" Robb heard his mother cry out, but horns and drums and the clash of steel smothered her plea. Ser Ryman buried the head of his axe in Dacey's stomach. By then men were pouring in the other doors as well, mailed men in shaggy fur cloaks with steel in their hands.

Northmen! He took them for rescue for half a heartbeat, till one of them struck the Smalljon's head off with two huge blows of his axe. Hope blew out like a candle in a storm.

In the midst of slaughter, the Lord of the Crossing sat on his carved oaken throne, watching greedily.

Finally managing to spot his mother, Robb watched his morther crawl towards a dagger on the floor a few feet away from her. Perhaps it had skittered there when the Smalljon knocked the table off its trestles, or perhaps it had fallen from the hand of some dying man. She moved slowly to Robb's eye, and had a dash of blood near her mouth. Jinglebell was closer to the knife, hiding under a table, but he only cringed away as she snatched up the blade.

Trapped under a tabletop, the king was dying, and he knew it. He had won every battle, yet somehow, he'd known he was losing the war. He had not avenged his father, saved his sisters nor ensured his kingdom's independence from the Iron Throne. Everything he had set out to do was now in ruins, spilling out onto the cold floor beneath him; deep red and full of regret.

All of this; the death, hurt, and betrayal…all because of honor. Because Robb Stark, King in the North, wouldn't allow his child to suffer the way his brother had suffered at the hands of his mother. For the crime of being born a bastard.

Yes, I went back on my marriage oath with the Frey's, but we were here under the guest rights.

Finally Robb managed to shift the tabletop that the Smalljon had flung over him, and struggled to his knees. He had an arrow in his side, a second in his leg, and a third through his chest.

Lord Walder raised a hand, and the music stopped, all but one drum. With the music silenced the people in the great hall could hear the crash of distant battle, and closer the wild howling of a wolf.

"Heh," Lord Walder cackled at Robb, "the King in the North arises. Seems we killed some of your men, Your Grace. Oh, but I'll make you an apology, that will mend them all again, heh."

Catelyn grabbed a handful of Jinglebell Frey's long grey hair and dragged him out of his hiding place. "Lord Walder!" she shouted. "LORDWALDER!"

The drum beat slow and sonorous, doom boom doom. "Enough," said Catelyn. "Enough, I say. You have repaid betrayal with betrayal, let it end." As she pressed her dagger to Jinglebell's throat the drum went boom doom boom doom boom doom. "Please," she said. "He is my son. My first son and my last. Let him go. Let him go and I swear we will forget this . . . forget all you've done here. I swear it by the old gods and new, we . . . we will take no vengeance . . ."

Lord Walder peered at her in mistrust. "Only a fool would believe such blather. D'you take me for a fool, my lady?"

"I take you for a father. Keep me for a hostage, Edmure as well if you haven't killed him. But let Robb go."

"No." Robb's voice was whisper faint. "Mother, no . . ."

"Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, please. Save yourself . . . if not for me, for Talisa."

"Talisa?" Robb grabbed the edge of the table and forced himself to stand. "Mother," he said, "Grey Wind..."

"Go to him. Now. Robb, walk out of here."

Lord Walder snorted. "And why would I let him do that?"

"On my honor as a Tully," she told Lord Walder, "on my honor as a Stark, I will trade your boy's life for Robb's. A son for a son." Her hand shook so badly she was ringing Jinglebell's head.

Boom, the drum sounded, boom doom boom doom. The old man's lips went in and out. The knife trembled in Catelyn's hand, slippery with sweat. "A son for a son, heh," he repeated. "But that's a grandson . . . and he never was much use."

A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. "Jaime Lannister sends his regards." He thrust his longsword through her son's heart, and twisted.

The pain was short lived, as it gave away to a cold numbness, which spread like frost from his chest out towards his fingertips and rippled throughout the rest of his body.

Bolton you traitor!

Robb Stark's mind was filled with regrets as he slowly succumbed to his wounds. Catelyn met his eyes for one last time as the blood pooled around the wound to his heart, dripping crimson onto the cold stone below him, through the fingers that clutched at it.

'Oh gods no! Not like this,' Robb thought to himself has he felt his life slipping away.

'I can't have failed like this…There's still so much to do.'

Time seemed to stand still as the red haired King in the North fell backwards to the ground. He could hear the choked scream of his mother end in a gurgle as her throat was cut and his vision faded away. A silence settled over him, as the ringing in his ears died, and the world disappeared from his view. The King was dead.