King Robb I Stark
Riverrun, the castle had become dark and bleak following the battle of the fords, and Tywin Lannister's victory at the Blackwater, an air of failure had hung over the castle, suffocating all those who were present inside it. Hoster Tully, Robb's grandfather had died some three days after Robb had returned from the Westerlands with Jeyne, and by the time Walder Frey had responded to his offer, they had sent Lord Hoster out to the river as was Tully custom. Walder Frey had sent his two sons Lame Lothar Frey and the bastard Walder Rivers, to discuss the terms of their new alliance. Surprisingly the man had been quite lenient in what he wanted, where Robb had expected that there were to be much grovelling and such involved all Walder Frey asked for as well as Edmure marrying Roslin Frey, was that Robb himself come to the Twins to apologise in person to Walder Frey for the broken marriage pact, if that was all it took to get back into Walder Frey's good books and then cross the bridge north back home then Robb was more than willing to do that. The mood at Riverrun had improved somewhat when Wallace had sent word ahead of his arrival of a battle at the Ruby Ford which had seen victory for them and their cause, with Wallace being the one to strike the nail in the Clegane coffin by killing the Mountain himself. Such news came at a good time and lifted the spirits of those within Riverrun and those around them, and as such when Wallace arrived there was some celebrating that was done, though at the back of his mind Robb looked at Wallace and remembered what it was that his friend had said before he had left for Harrenhal.
Of course with the war far from won, Robb was doing his best to get an heir to Jeyne before he had left for the Twins, she would not be coming to the Twins so as not to rub salt in the wound of his broken betrothal, and yet no matter how hard they tried nothing seemed to work. They had been wed for a moon now, and yet Jeyne's womb was not quickening with child, and that thought worried Robb. He had spoken to maester Vyman about the fertility of the Westerlings, and though the man had said that they were not really renowned for either being infertile or for being extremely fertile, the one thing that kept playing in his mind, was the fact that there had been a Jeyne Westerling who had been wed to a Targaryen king in years past, and she had produced stillbirth after stillbirth before she had eventually died at the hands of the Faith Militant. Robb had begun worrying about whether or not he had made the right choice in actually marrying Jeyne, though he was convinced that he had made the honourable choice, he was soon coming to learn that making the honourable choice was not necessarily the best choice, and so the headaches and the pain continued and he had had to turn his thoughts to who to name as his heir should something happen to him before he could get Jeyne with child. As it was he had three possible people he could name as heir, Arya who all still believed to be alive somewhere in the north, would make sense as his heir, she was a true Stark and had the fire to help lead the north, Wallace of course was a proven battle commander and knew what to do in the north, that he was betrothed to Arya only made things easier, Jon of course was another option, he was wed to Lyarra Bolton though and had broken his oath to the Night's Watch and Robb was not sure what he was going to do with his brother following his return north. As much as he hated to admit to it, Sansa was a lost cause, news had come to them at Oldstones that Sansa had been wed to the Imp, and there was one thing Robb could not allow and that was to allow the Lannisters to have control over Winterfell, and so Sansa had been disinherited from the succession.
This was something both he and his mother had agreed on when they had made camp at Oldstones, and before they had marched on Robb had written his will naming Wallace his heir should he die before he could get Jeyne with child. Once the lords present had affixed their seal to the document, he had given a copy of it to Galbart Glover and then sent Glover, Maege Mormont and Wallace on ships from Seagard to find the Neck, whilst the Waynwood men some 300 of them led by Wallace's brother Morton, marched for the Bite where ships were waiting for them sent from Runestone. Lord Rickard Karstark and his 800 men he sent north from Oldstones on the same boats that were carrying Wallace and his will, they were to find the Neck and Greywater Watch and deal with the Ironborn that way. All in all though he had made the plans and there was nothing else he felt he could do, there was still a feeling of tension in his stomach.
"Your Grace," Lord Walder called out to Robb, "the septon has prayed his prayers, some words have been said, and Lord Edmure's wrapped my sweetling in a fish cloak, but they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath, heh, and a wedding needs bedding. What does my sire say? Is it meet that we should bed them?"
Robb raised a hand. "if you think the time is meet, Lord Walder, by all means let us bed them."
A roar of approval greeted his pronouncement. Up in the gallery the musicians took up their pipes and horns and fiddles again, and began to play "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown." Jinglebell hopped from foot to foot, his own crown ringing. "I hear Tully men have trout between their legs instead of cocks," Alyx Frey called out boldly. "Does it take a worm to make them rise?" To which Ser Marq Piper threw back, "I hear that Frey women have two gates in place of one!" and Alyx said, "Aye, but both are closed and barred to little things like you!" A gust of laughter followed, until Patrek Mallister climbed up onto a table to propose a toast to Edmure's one-eyed fish. "And a mighty pike it is!" he proclaimed. "Nay, I'll wager it's a minnow," Fat Walda Bolton shouted out from Robb's side. Then the general cry of "Bed them! Bed them!" went up again.
The guests swarmed the dais, the drunkest in the forefront as ever. The men and boys surrounded Roslin and lifted her into the air whilst the maids and mothers in the hall pulled Edmure to his feet and began tugging at his clothing. He was laughing and shouting bawdy jokes back at them, though the music was too loud for Robb to hear what all was said though he did hear the Greatjon bellow. "Give this little bride to me," he bellowed as he shoved through the other men and threw Roslin over one shoulder. "Look at this little thing! No meat on her at all!"
As he watched the bride and groom get carried away, he made to walk back to his seat, but when he saw Edwyn Frey push his mother away, and then saw her slap him, he felt his anger stir and he made to move towards them, but then felt something pierce him in the back. He looked down to see a quarrel jutting out of his rib, a second quarrel buried itself in his leg, then a third buried itself in his chest, and he staggered to the floor. Robin Flint was ringed by Freys, their daggers rising and falling. Ser Wendel Manderly rose ponderously to his feet, holding his leg of lamb. A quarrel went in his open mouth and came out the back of his neck. Ser Wendel crashed forward, knocking the table off its trestles and sending cups, flagons, trenchers, platters, turnips, beets, and wine bouncing, spilling, and sliding across the floor.
He heard his mother scream but could not reply, blood was filling his mouth. The Smalljon bludgeoned Ser Raymund Frey across the face with a leg of mutton. But when he reached for his swordbelt a crossbow bolt drove him to his knees. In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. He 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. When had they begun playing the Rains of Castamere? Robb thought. The Smalljon had thrown a table over him by that point though and so Robb's vision was obscured.
"Mercy!" His mother cried, 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! From where he lay on the floor 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. Robb threw the table away and struggled to his feet, arrows protruding from his body, and blood pouring from his wounds. Lord Walder raised a hand, and the music stopped, all but one drum. "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."
Robb saw his mother grab Jinglebell "Lord Walder!" she shouted. "LORD WALDER!" The drum beat slow and sonorous, doom boom doom. "Enough," said Catelyn. "Enough, I say. You have repaid betrayal with betrayal, let it end." When she pressed her dagger to Jinglebell's throat, the memory of Bran's sickroom came back to her, with the feel of steel at her own throat. The drum went boom boom boom boom 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," his voice was a whisper now so very faint. "Mother no..."
"Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, please. Save yourself . . . if not for me, for Jeyne.." His mother begged of him tears in her eyes.
"Jeyne ?" he grabbed the edge of a table and forced himself to stand. "Mother, Greywind..."
"Go to him. Now. Robb, walk out of here."
Lord Walder snorted. "And why would I let him do that?"
His mother pressed the blade deeper into Jinglebell's throat. The lackwit rolled his eyes at her in mute appeal. A foul stench assailed her nose, but she paid it no more mind than she did the sullen ceaseless pounding of that drum, boom doom boom doom boom doom. Ser Ryman and Black Walder were circling round her back, Robb was about to shout out a warning to he when she spoke once more. "On my honour as a Tully," she told Lord Walder, "on my honour 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."
Black Walder walked up to him then, a knife in hand, Robb leaned forward thinking to use his support. Walder leaned in and whispered in that deceitfully soft voice of his, "The Lannisters send their regards.." Then Robb felt the cold steel being plunged into his chest, he felt the blood pour out of him, he heard his mother screaming, he heard the howling of Greywind far in the woods. But before the Young Wolf died, there was one name on his lips. "Jeyne.." Then the King in the North died.