"I'd like you to oversee the training yard with Jory."
"Me?" asked Theon frowning at Robb.
"Yes," Robb said putting a hand on Theon's shoulder, "Ser Rodrik is busy helping Mother attend to repairs on Winterfell. She's considering restoring the Broken Tower in Father's absence. It will be good room and storage for when winter comes. Jory can't handle all the training on his own. I'd like you to help him."
Theon looked suspicious. "Surely someone else - "
"I don't want someone else," Robb interrupted, "I want you to do it. You're a fine marksman, and tough swordsman. The little ones will respect you on sight, and the older ones will defer to you after you run them into the dirt. I trust you with this, Theon."
Theon nodded sharply. Already Robb could see his shoulders were a little higher. His chest puffed out the tiniest bit.
"Thank you, Theon," Robb said graciously, "report to the training yard tomorrow morning. I'll tell Jory you're coming. You are to be Jory's partner in this, I want you to work together. I want Father to be proud of us when he returns."
"He will be," said Theon, resolutely, "I'll make sure of it. I'll whip our boys into shape. They'll be trained fighters before long."
"Try to work with Bran," Robb suggested, "he looks up to you. He'll listen to you. The boy has passion, but he lacks structure."
"I will see to it," said Theon, bobbing his head.
Robb stretched after Theon left. He shifted the letters on Ned's desk, glancing at Sansa's most recent letter, informing him of everyone's safe arrival at King's Landing. Including Lady and Nymeria. Robb reached down, and scratched Grey Wind's ears.
"Hear that?" he asked his wolf softly, "your sisters are safe too."
Grey Wind blinked sleepily up at him, nose on his paws.
Hearing shouting from outside, Robb strolled to the window and peered down. It was Bran, shrieking with joy as Summer and Shaggydog chased him in circles. Rickon toddled after them, falling quite often into the mud, but always recovering himself.
Robb grinned to see his little brothers so carefree and happy. The image of Bran, broken and bleeding on the ground faded a little more and more each day.
The door creaked behind him. He turned to see his mother, weary, but smiling.
She crossed to him and kissed his cheek. "How was your day, my love?"
He squirmed at the pet name, and tried to stand up tall, like Father.
"Just watching the grounds," he said, stoutly, "the little ones are playing below us."
Catelyn looked out the window, softening at the sight. "Rickon won't be pleased tonight when it's time for all that mud to come off."
"I shall tell him he must endure his trial like a good Stark man," said Robb.
"You may try," chuckled Catelyn, "I passed Theon on the way here. Did you speak with him?"
"Yes," said Robb, turning to her, "I instructed him to join Jory in the training yard tomorrow. I want him working with the boys."
Catelyn nodded. "Did Sansa tell you, what happened with Theon… before?" she asked quietly, a crease appearing between her eyes.
Robb shook his head. "She only said to be careful with Theon," he said heavily, "she would not tell me the whole story. Only that we must be cautious of his father's influence, and that we must try to keep him close."
"Why not send him away now," Catelyn pressed, "if he is a danger to us?"
"Sansa said Theon betrayed us," Robb said quietly, "but she also said that he saved her when she needed him most. She seems to have faith in him. So I will as well."
"I do not like it," said Catelyn, "what could he have done?"
"I cannot guess," admitted Robb, "and Sansa made it clear that I would not want to know. I can only hope that his hand was forced by his father. It is the only reason I can imagine for which he would forsake us."
"Do not be so sure," Catelyn murmured, moving forward and stroking Robb's curls, "men do terrible things for pride. Theon is still an Ironborn no matter how many times he has eaten at our table. Loyalties to one's house run deep."
"I will keep an eye on him," Robb assured his mother, "do not worry about Theon."
"Can I help it?" His mother sighed. "There are too many worries for me to keep straight."
"I'm proud of you for tackling the Broken Tower," Robb told her, "we must all keep busy. It will keep us steady."
His mother smiled and him, and bent to kiss his head.
"I'm proud of you too, Robb," Catelyn said softly, gazing at her son, "you are so much like your father. The North is in good hands."
Is it? Robb felt fear creep up his throat. There were so many things that he could do wrong, so many mistakes to be made. He pushed it down uneasily.
"I will not fail our family," he told his mother boldly, "I'm going to make them proud."
Stannis Baratheon held the glassy, black rock in his hands. He ran his fingers thoughtfully over the curved lines visible on the surface.
"I did not realize the mines in those caves were so extensive," said Stannis, laying the chunk of dragonglass on his desk.
"Neither did the men, my lord," Davos said gruffly, "it wasn't until they ventured in deeper that the extent of the tunnels was realized."
"And Ned Stark wants me to send it all North," said Stannis glancing at the letter on his desk that bore the sigil of the direwolf, "to arm the men of the Night's Watch."
"It's what the Hand has asked," said Davos, "and it is what your brother commands."
Stannis picked up dagger carved from dragonglass. "The Targaryens loved dragonglass," said Stannis, "this castle is full of it. The whole damn throne is made of it. I always thought it was useless."
"Did the Starks say why they needed the dragonglass, my lord?" Davos asked.
"For the continued safety and protection of the realms of men," read Stannis, picking up the letter,"Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Hand to the King, requests that the mines of Dragonstone be employed once again under the supervision of House Baratheon. The dragonglass taken from the mine should be sent at once to White Harbor in the care of House Manderly. House Manderly will transport the material to Winterfell, where House Stark will ensure its delivery to the men of the Night's Watch. Signed Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I'll be damned if I know what that means. What use will dragonglass be to the men of the Night's Watch? If little else, they have plenty of steel in the North."
"Will you deny them, my lord?" asked Davos, toying with the glove on his right hand.
"No," said Stannis, "I will not deny a direct order from my King. Arrange for a team of men to begin mining the dragonglass. We shall send the first shipment North within a turn of the moon. I shall see what the Starks say then."
"There is something more, my lord," Davos said.
"What is it?" asked Stannis, sharply.
"The walls of the mine are covered in what seems to be devotions to the old gods, " said Davos uneasily, "and drawings of monsters. it unnerved the men."
Stannis sat back, considering this. "I shall have the Lady Melisandre examine these drawings," he said finally, "she may be able to make something of them. Until then, give the men more torches by which to work, and press onward."
"Are sure it is wise, my lord," Davos asked softly, "to allow the Red Woman to remain here? Your wife has an alarming devotion to her. And she is filling the men's' heads with fears of her god, this Lord of Light."
"I didn't believe at first, either, Ser Davos," murmured Stannis, his eyes drawn to the fire, "but she sees things in the flames. She's shown me things, great and terrible. She calls me the true King of the Seven Kingdoms."
"The throne would pass to Robert's trueborn sons first, my lord," Davos pointed out, eyeing Stannis warily, "of which your brother has two. Young, healthy lads, I hear."
Stannis stared at Davos. The fire danced on his cheeks, highlighting the circles beneath his dark eyes. "My brother has no trueborn children," said Stannis, his jaw tight, "only bastards."
Samwell Tarly walked slowly through the halls of Horn Hall, trailing his fingers along the tapestries that lined the walls. He had loved to sit and trace the embroidery as a child, fascinated by the stories in the stitches. This was before his father caught him of course. Sam still remembered the beating. As he approached the entrance to the Great Hall, he hesitated. You have faced far worse monsters than Randyll Tarly, he told himself, you will not flinch from an enemy made of flesh and bone.
"You're late for dinner, boy," Randyll Tarly snapped at his son, as Sam entered, "I had half a mind to tell the servants to take your plate, the gods know you don't need it."
Melessa fluttered her hands anxiously, looking sympathetically at Sam.
Sam ignored his father. "You look lovely tonight, mother," he said instead, bending to kiss the crown of her head. "You too, Talla," he said, chucking her under her chin. His little sister beamed at him.
"Did you hear me, boy?" Randyll demanded, "or have you lost the use of your ears?"
"Oh, I heard you, Father," said Sam turning to meet Randyll's incredulous eyes, "but I thought it proper to greet Mother and Talla, first."
Sam took his seat beside Randyll. He smiled at the servant who handed him his plate, and began to eat enthusiastically.
"Is this the catch from last week, Dickon?" he asked his brother, who was looking open-mouthed between his brother and his father. His brother nodded slowly.
"It's wonderful," Sam told his brother.
"Dickon contributes to this household," his father said coolly from the head of the table, "apparently the gods saw it fit to give me one useful son."
"Dickon is a great hunter," said Sam smiling widely, "he'll be a great soldier one day, I have every faith in him."
"What's gotten into you, boy?" Randyll asked softly, dangerously.
Sam looked thoughtful. He shrugged. "Do I seem different," he asked guilelessly, "oh my, I hadn't noticed. Well, no matter, you won't have to deal with me for long. I'm leaving at first daylight."
"Leaving?" his mother whimpered, "Darling, what do you mean?" She reached over to put her hand on his arm. Sam covered her hand with his own.
"Do not fear, Mother," Sam assured her, "I must forge my own path. And this is how I choose to do that."
"And where do you intend to go?" snarled Randyll, gripping his knife.
"Away," said Sam simply, "you must forgive me for being late to dinner, Mother. I was packing. The North will be cold, I must have the proper attire."
"Are you going to join the Night's Watch?" Dickon blurted out.
"I am," said Sam. His mother and sister gasped. "I intend to take the black. It is a great honor to guard the realms of men."
"And what use would they make of a lout like you," asked Randyll, narrowing his eyes at Sam.
Sam frowned, nonplussed. "Well I'm sure quite a lot, Father, thank you for asking," he said lightly, "I do have some skills. Not ones that you value of course. But no matter, I am no longer required to serve you, so it really doesn't matter what you think of me."
"You dare," Randyll seethed, standing to his feet, "you ungrateful swine."
Sam kept his face unfazed. He smiled gently at his father's red-faced fury. "Does it pain you, Father?" he asked pleasantly, "that you will be unable to torment me anymore? Did you feel a twinge of regret when you realized I stole your threat out from under your feet? Did you imagine cornering me, speaking such terrible words to make your first-born son tremble in fear. You will renounce your title, boy, and take the black. Or I will arrange a hunt. You will fall from your horse, suffering grievous, fatal injuries. Or at least that is what I will tell your tender-hearted mother. Does it grieve you to know that I have taken that from you?"
Dickon looked horrified. There were tears of anguish running down his mother and sister's cheeks. His mother cried out at his words.
Randyll Tarly was breathing heavily through gritted teeth. He was still standing, his fist gripped tightly around a knife that he had driven deep into the wood of the table.
"That was what you were thinking, wasn't it?" Sam said softly, "it's what you've always been thinking. You've dreamt of my death since the first time I cried at the sight of blood. You've never loved me as a father should his son"
"You are no son of mine," growled his father.
"But I am," said Sam, shaking his head, his voice tinged with sadness, "I have always been your son. I am a son of House Tarly, and Tarly men do not wait patiently for death. So I will go, make my life elsewhere."
Sam stood, the effort it took to compose himself was overwhelming. "Perhaps I will leave tonight," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, "I had thought to enjoy one last night with my family, but Father, you are making it terribly difficult."
Randyll sat back in his chair, trembling with rage. "You will not sleep one more night under my roof," he snarled.
"Don't leave, Sam!" Talla sobbed, getting up and throwing herself at Sam. Sam held her tightly, kissing her head. "You be a good girl," he told her gently, "you hear? Take care of Mother."
His mother was sobbing openly, making no move to remove herself from the table. His father looked at her with disgust.
"It's alright," Sam murmured, patting Talla's shaking back. He looked up at Dickon. "I need you to take care of our House, brother," he told Dickon, "you'll be a fine man someday. You will carry our name, lead our armies, and be the head of our House. Do not always listen to Father. You're old enough to make your own decisions."
"Out of my house!" bellowed Randyll Tarly, drawing his sword, "I'll kill you if you stay here!"
"Father, please," shrieked Talla.
"Shut up, girl," thundered Randyll, "I mean it, boy! You'd better start running!"
"I won't run from you," said Sam, standing tall and looking his father in the eyes, "I'll never run from you again."
He pried Talla out of his arms, pushing her gently towards their mother. He kissed his mother's tears. Sam pushed his chair in, watching his father all the while.
"Ready the horses," Sam called to the stunned steward, "I'll be leaving a bit earlier than expected. It's a long journey, I'd like to get started on it."