A Boy in Men's Armor
Robb and the rest of the most prominent house lords gathered to witness the testimony of a survivor.
The Kingslayer and fifteen thousand men attacked from the west, breaking the guards at the Golden Tooth. Robb's uncle, Edmure Tully, was captured at Riverrun. And at the Ford, Tully forces were attacked by Tywin and his rabid dog, Ser Gregor Clegane.
"I barely made it out alive," the survivor finished, his neck and arms covered with purplish bruises.
"Casualties?" Robb spoke first.
"Thousands, my Lord, if not more."
Rubbing his beard, the de facto Lord of Winterfell weighed the situation in his head. To put it simply, things had only gotten worse for the northerners.
"You are dismissed," Robb nodded to the man, who bowed and left the tent with a squire ready to accompany him to the medical wing.
The Riverlands had fallen and Robb found his hands tied. Because of his mother, he was now duty bound to liberate the Riverlands too. The council was quick to react and Lord Karstark pronounced loudly, "We should kill the Kingslayer first and then send his head to the old bastard."
"That would only antagonize them," Lord Hornwood interrupted, "We attack Tywin first and then go after his son. Then we march to King's Landing with both of their heads."
"Like hell," Lord Manderly shook his head, "Killing either of them would obliterate our chances of getting Lord Eddard back along with his daughters."
"And I agree," Robb stood up and began pacing around the tent, "Keeping them alive is more useful to us. They are our bargaining chips."
Looking over his map of Westeros, he moved several Lion pawns to their new positions. The Moat was the northern stronghold. It had protected the North from a southern invasion for millennia. Undoubtedly, Tywin was not about test history; he wouldn't dare move. There was only one option.
They had to march south.
"Tywin will not budge from his position. He knows that fighting us here is a foolish move. The Kingslayer is inherently weaker, which is why we must distract Tywin," he pushed the Wolf pawns toward the Ford.
"We will lead him to believe we are fighting him there while I capture the Kingslayer in Riverrun. Some of you will come with me and the Company of the Rose." The atmosphere at camp was already strained with the inclusion of the Rose. Robb knew he needed to bring them together. How else was he supposed to defeat the Lannisters if his own men were divided? He was certain that a shared experience like battle would bring them closer.
"So you would have us trust men whose only word is the money in their purse," spoke Lord Cerwyn with suspicion in his eyes.
Robb's eyes narrowed. He knew it was a matter of time until someone brought up the subject, but he didn't welcome the challenge.
"The reality is," Robb raised his voice at the provocation, "we need more men to defeat the Lannisters. The Rose has supplies, shields, and weapons. All of them are experienced swordsmen. There are soldiers in our camps who have never wielded a sword, much less trained for battle."
They didn't give in easily, and inevitably, his bannermen wanted to know what it would cost them. Robb swallowed and controlled his voice, aware of the repercussions his following words would have.
"To secure their services, I am marrying Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."
"Seven bloody buggering hells," Greatjon Umber swore loudly, breaking the shocked silence that followed the startling revelation. Immediately, a cacophony of voices followed. Robb clenched his jaw and his fist connected with the table, effectively silencing them.
Leaning over the table, he stared at each and every one of them.
"When my Lord father was wrongly imprisoned in King's Landing, his duties passed to me. I am young but my father taught me what it meant to be the Lord of Winterfell. He taught me all of my power stemmed from one duty: to secure the well-being of the North. I will do what I must to ensure it," Robb thundered across the war tent.
When no one spoke up again, he ordered his forces to split. Roose Bolton would lead twenty thousand men to meet with Tywin. Although Robb didn't trust him, Bolton had prestige and experience.
After entrusting most of his army to Lord Bolton, all Robb had left to do was cross the Twins.
Lord Walder Frey was an obstacle he hadn't predicted. Frey himself was an unpredictable man. One was to never expect anything from him and thus never be surprised. Negotiating with him would not be easy, but then his mother came back.
Once they were alone in his tent, she dropped her calm facade.
Lady Catelyn Stark demanded to know how he had managed to get himself engaged.
"I've already told you, mother," Robb sighed exasperatedly, "What was I to do? Provoke those five thousand sellswords to attack my men? If I hadn't agreed, whatever battle may have ensued could have ended this war before it even began."
His mother stayed quiet for a while before sighing heavily and grabbing her forehead.
"Then I must go and negotiate with Walder," sensing her son was ready to protest, she held up her hand, "I have known Walder ever since I was a little girl. Of all of you, I have the most chance of getting him to agree." Reluctantly, he agreed and by nightfall, she was back.
Robb was in the middle of a meeting but he stood up immediately upon seeing her enter.
"And?" He asked impatiently, internally preparing himself for all possible contingencies.
Lord Frey would grant their passing. He was amenable after learning Robb was accompanied by five thousand deadly sellswords from Essos. Although he did not manage to have Robb marry one of his daughters, he still had his conditions. Edmure would marry one of Frey's daughters. Robb would take on a lad name Oliver, and eventually, Arya would have to marry his son Waldron.
"She won't be too happy about that," Robb remarked, fondly remembering his headstrong sister. His mother, in turn, gave him a rueful smile in agreement.
Having secured the Twins, Robb left Hellman Tallhart there to be his eyes and ears.
"Shoot all things that come flying out of that tower," were Robb's exact words.
He didn't expect loyalty from Lord Frey.
He would guarantee it.
Daenerys had trouble remembering what the sun felt like. In Essos, the sun was inescapable, always shining and ubiquitous. Yet in this part of Westeros, the sun hid behind grey clouds and the pale crowns of trees. As a result, she was so very cold. She breathed into her palms hoping to warm them but to no avail.
She should have been happy she was at home. Wasn't this what she wanted? Westeros was her home, that much she knew, but the North wasn't. Then the thought of her new betrothed came to mind.
He was the son of the North.
Robb Stark, eldest of his siblings, leader of a rebellion, and heir to Winterfell. The Magister had liked him the moment he heard about him. Daenerys just recalled his intrusion.
She had been terrified when she first saw him, so much so she only had the sense to cover herself. Daenerys didn't really remember what he looked like. She found she didn't care either.
Lord or Khal, both were the Magister's customers.
The hours and days became indistinguishable from inside her carriage. She knew they moved but where she was heading, she didn't know. Almost a week passed before she saw him again.
One night, she heard two voices furiously tearing at each other. Her carriage, despite its prohibiting design, allowed her the freedom of a single window. The Magister and whom she vaguely identified as Robb were having a confrontation not far from her carriage. She did not hear the words but the enraged look on her betrothed spoke volumes.
Suddenly, he started marching to her carriage. Crawling to the back of the small cabin, she almost jumped when the door burst open, revealing Robb.
"My apologies," he spoke uneasily, his large frame barely fitting on the other side of the tight compartment, "Seeing you at this hour was not my intent."
Seeing him at this hour wasn't something she wanted either but what was she going to say to him.
Quickly, he started explaining things in a manner that only confused her.
Tomorrow he would be gone. With enough luck, he would return to camp and lead them to a forest where they would marry. At the insistence of the Magister, he emphasized. It was indication enough he was as thrilled as she was about their marriage.
She didn't understand him fully, and she should have asked for clarification but her eyes were glued to the thick furs covering his back and the unruly curls falling over his forehead. His particular shade of dark red hair was unlike anything she had ever seen.
"How old are you?"
His voice interrupted her thoughts.
The question came out of nowhere and so did her answer.
"Seventeen."
The revelation stilled him, his eyes fleetingly moving down her form. "You are?" He asked and when she nodded, his eyes widened.
"You're my age," he said to himself but it came out loud, and it was now Daenerys' turn to be shocked. She took in his features and the gentle beard growing on his face. Leading an army at such an age...
They sat in silence for a while until he opted to stand up from his seat. Unexpectedly, he took his furs off and placed them in front of her. She inched away when he came closer but he put up his hands.
"I can see you're freezing," he explained, "Your clothes are not enough for around here." Startled, Daenerys only blinked, her hands warily touching the soft brown fur.
"I-uh goodnight," he closed the door behind him and left Daenerys alone.
Hesitatingly, she grabbed the furs and put them around her. A strange yet welcome gift, she thought.
They smelled of grass and the forest, a reflection of the landscape that had accompanied her in these travels. But what surprised her the most was how warm they were.