Kill the Boy 28

- Whitewoods, Robb Stark's Chambers -

Robb stared into the fires of the hearth, lost in thought and pain. Each time he tried to move his hand, pain would spike through where it used to be. He'd been crippled, a piece of his very being torn from his body. His only comfort was that it had been his own choice, his own blade, that did the deed. It was his hand or his head, and as bitter as the choice made him he would not regret it.

He had helped bring the Mountain to his knees.

Gregor Clegane would never be a threat to anyone ever again, and for that Robb would be ever grateful. Jon had made the right choice, offering the man the Wall, and Robb was glad that he'd been refused. The Mountain's head decorated the wall of the keep, his body burnt to prevent its resurrection should the White Walkers ever manage to breach the Wall.

But now Robb was in agony. He would never be the Lord of Winterfell to pass judgement, never be the Lord to swing Ice. That honor would lie with Brandon or Rickon, both too young to understand the responsibility but old enough to understand the task.

He wondered how they would take it.

He wondered how his family would take the news of his dismemberment.

"Robb," blinking, the heir to Winterfell turns to the entrance of his chamber, and to Daenerys holding the door open, "Are you well?"

"As well as I can be," He waves his stump, "Not as well as I wish."

"You cannot wallow in sadness," Dany tells him, stepping into the room, she walked over to him and lays a hand on his shoulder, "You must endure."

Looking up into her eyes, he knew she spoke from experience rather than empty platitude. On their journey to Whitewoods together, they'd grown close enough to share stories. Most that she told had horrified him and made him wish her brother was still alive, so he could cleave the bastard in two himself.

But she had endured his torment, years in the care of a monster before being sold to Khal Drogo. Robb could even wish he'd known the horse lord, for a man who could give strength to a girl who'd had none and learn compassion from her at the same time needed to be spoken to.

But both were dead, and here she stood.

"I will," He tells her, but sighs, "Do you know what my father always taught us?"

She shakes her head.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Robb tells her.

She tilts her head, "A metaphor?"

"In part," He agrees, "but not all."

"So, you fear you'll no longer be able to swing the sword?"

"Yes."

"And you fear that makes you less a man than your father?"

"I know it is foolish, but I do," He leans his head back.

"It isn't foolish," Dany tells him as she slides in front of him, "You are a proud man, and your father is a good man. It is admirable that you want to be like him."

Robb smiles and almost replies, but she cuts him off, "But you do not need to be."

He blinks, his brow furrowing.

"Your father has his path, and you must forge yours," She tells him, then uses herself as an example, "I am different from my brother, and from all I have heard I am completely unlike my father."

"But your father was-"

"A monster, yes," She sighs, "Perhaps I am not the best example, but you need only look to any House, perhaps even your own, to find examples of sons differing from their fathers."

Robb smiles lightly, "Perhaps you are right."

"I know I am," She tells him, then adds, "Now, for the reason I came here in the first place…"

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"Jon has received word from Winterfell."

"So quickly?"

Dany nods, "Come, he wants to speak with you."

He nods and stands, moving his arm into its sling and following her.

- Casterly Rock -

Neither Westeros nor Essos had anything resembling the Kangeroo, so in the years to come what was happening in its great hall would come to be known as a Lion's Court instead.

Cersei Lannister sat in the throne of the great hall. Her hair was matted, eyes mad, and her dress was stained with wine. Not even by the most generous of estimates could she be called a sane woman, and history would declare her the Mad-King-With-Teats in the years to come, people loved their titles.

She smiled thinly down at a woman she once loved, her Aunt Genna. The robust woman stood proudly before her niece, glaring up at her. Cersei's forces, after nearly three months of trying, had finally managed to breach the store room. They had found the Rock's supplies decimated, and only Genna Lannister waiting for them.

When asked where the rest of the rebels were, the proud lady had merely replied with, "I'm looking at them."

She'd been beaten severely for that, but still refused to give up her fellow Lannisters. Now, it seemed, only two of the main branch remained within Casterly Rock.

"How do you plead?" Cersei asks her.

"I don't plead, girl," Genna snipes back, "I'm a Lannister."

And that was it.

Genna wasn't given more than that before her niece snarled and waved a hand.

Suddenly, there was only one Lannister in Casterly Rock.

- Lannisport -

Those few that had managed to escape from Casterly Rock were nervous. They prayed for Genna's safety, though they didn't know her head would already be mounted on one of the many spikes now littering the walls of the Rock. She had been forced to stay behind, her girth too much to fit through the narrow passage they had found.

She had told them to leave, then plugged the hole and opened another passage. The one Cersei's men would search would lead them into the mines, all the way to the bottom before they realized they'd been duped, by which point it would be too late to interrogate her.

Now, the small resistance made of Lannister survivors were making their way through a city that had once been theirs. Now it was a place controlled by a madwoman. They didn't know what had changed Cersei so much, for they all remembered her as the intelligent and conniving woman that had managed to maintain a shadow power over the capital for nearly sixteen years.

The woman that had taken the keep was… not the same.

Years down the line, Maester Pycelle would write an entire treatise on how the mixture Petyr Baelish had sedated the former queen with drove the woman to the brink of madness. Her father had given her the final push.

Eventually, the survivors would be able to escape the city, but it would not be for many months, not until the war was right against the walls that they would have their chance. For now, they scurried from shadow to shadow, and used what little influence they had left to find shelter from night to night.

- Winterfell, the Broken Tower -

Bran stood at the top of the tower, staring out at the endless rolling hills around his home. His father's host was just at the edge of vision to the south. It would be a few more days before they were completely out of sight, but Bran could feel the absence already. He wondered if this was how he'd felt before.

"It wasn't."

He turns to himself, staring up at the young man he would become, "What was it like last time?"

"Quiet," The Raven tells him, "I was unconscious, or asleep, when Father left to be Hand of the King."

"Father was Hand of the King?"

"He was."

"Like Jon said?"

"Yes."

"So… he died…"

"He did."

"How?"

"Joffrey Baratheon had his head cut off."

"But Joffrey isn't a Baratheon?"

"Not here, but there he was."

Both look to the north, at the slow-moving caravan taking its time on the road to the Wall.

"Things are different?"

"They are."

"Are they better?"

"In many ways."

"How are they worse?"

"Daenerys Targaryen has not fulfilled her destiny," The Raven notes, "She journeyed west, not east. The Free Cities of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen will not taste freedom for many years because of this. Chains mean to break will never shatter. The Night's King marches, his advance no longer broken by the Wildlings beyond the Wall. Without new fodder for his army, he sees no need to wait. Cersei Lannister, now a madwoman, plans terrible things for the Seven Kingdoms."

Bran stares up at himself, and asks, "Can we stop it?"

"We can, we could change the world if we needed. But here we can act, in the present and the past and the future."

"You can."

"I can only see, and only you can speak to me," The Raven tells him, "I am not real, not anymore. When Jon returned, he rendered all that had been done, undone. The future that happened is… paused. It is not undone, but it is no longer the future that will come to pass."

"How can it be paused?" Bran asks.

"Because if it did not happen, this would not happen," Bran tells him, "The future that was lead to the present that is, and so our experiences have shaped us, even if we cannot recall them."

"I don't understand?"

"Not today, but maybe someday," The Raven tells him, then adds, "Now, enough, mother is looking for you and would have hysterics if she found you up here."

Bran nods, and he begins the climb down to the ground. He almost makes it without being discovered.

"BRANDON STARK!"

- Whitewoods, Jon's Solar -

Robb pushes the door open, holding it for Dany before stepping in after her. Inside, Jon and Ygritte talk to Samwell. Sam is telling them, "He's not… entirely to blame for his actions, I don't think."

"Who?" Robb asks, entering the conversation.

"Ramsey Snow," Jon tells him, frowning, "He killed one of my men."

Robb narrows his eyes as Dany asks, "how could he not be to blame for his actions?"

Samwell coughs a little, "When he was brought in, I had to take a look at him… make sure he wasn't going to die in the cells, you see… and there were extensive injuries all over him. Untreated."

"So, he was sick?"

"Near fatally so," Samwell tells her, "He's gone mad with delirium and if I hadn't treated what I could we would be burning him rather than talking about what to do with him."

"Why treat him at all?" Robb wants to know.

"Because we need men at the Wall," Jon tells him, "And he helped save your life."

"What?" Robb furrows his brow.

"The Mountain was shot with an arrow in your fight with him," Ygritte tells him, "the mad boy had a quiver."

"How does that prove anything?" Robb wants to know.

"When folk make their own arrows, they tend to have a little personality to 'em," Ygritte tells him, "That boys was all over those arrows."

He's inclined to believe her, seeing as she was the expert marksman and he was accurate to at most a courtyard away. He'd never picked up on the skills with the bow as he had with a sword. Not like Theon, did, at least.

"So, what will you do with him?" he asks instead.

Jon sighs, "I don't know. I want to feed him to Ghost and Greywind, but that is because I have dealt with him before."

"Ramsey Snow is-"

"Ramsey Bolton, yes."

"Kill him," Robb tells him, this bastard would have raped their sister if given half a chance, and he wouldn't let something like that happen, never.

Jon's eyes pierce him, "Is that an order, my lord?"

Robb blinks, and then thinks. He could order Jon to do it, couldn't he? But… if he did, he wouldn't be swinging the sword. He would be passing the responsibility. He couldn't do that, even with his conversation with Dany still in the back of his mind. He sighs, and shakes his head, "No. it isn't. If it was, I'd find a way to do it myself."

Jon nods sadly, then turns everyone's focus to other matters, "Now… I asked Daenerys to get you because I have received a raven from Winterfell."

"What is in it?"

"War," Jon tells him, "Father has called the banners, and they march to war with the Cersei Lannister. You are to return to Winterfell and take up post as the Stark in Winterfell."

Robb nods, having expected much the same, "Is there anything else?"

"Theon is on his way North to provide you an escort," Jon tells him.

"What about you?"

"I am to gather what of my men are willing and what Free Folk will follow, and we will keep the peace in the North," Jon tells him, "King Robert has declared I am never to journey south of the Neck, and Father would rather not anger his friend, so I will be staying to help you."

Robb nods, "When should we expect Theon?"

"A few days, I think."

"I'll begin preparing for my departure."

- Author's Note -

Sorry I haven't written anything in a few months, I've recently had to move states and get a new job, so I've been adjusting. Hopefully I'll be back to sporadically updating my stories like I usually do.