Ned Stark Lives! Part 3 Chapter 29 Robb

The mornings were the worst time for Robb Stark. When he first awoke it took a moment for him to remember the awful truth. It had only been a few days since he had received the news so it was hard to accept, but Roslin was dead, and he would never see her again. He would lay there for a long time, hoping it was not real, that the letter his mother had sent had been wrong, that it was someone else's wife who was dead, but he knew hoping it was not true wouldn't make it so. He didn't want to get up, wanted to lie there all day. Then he remembered he had a daughter that would need him, had a family that loved him, had friends that cared for him, had duties and responsibilities…and a great enemy was out there, and though he was only sixteen years old, he was a leader of men in a war for the survival of all people.

This morning he was sleeping in a tent, with his father sleeping nearby, snoring as usual, and it was still dark outside. He climbed out of his blankets and pulled on his boots and cloak, shivering in the cold, and he went outside to have a piss in the snow behind the tent. The two guards who had watched their tent all night he sent off to get some food and rest and then he stirred the embers in the camp fire and added some more wood. Men in other tents nearby were waking up as well, building up their fires, cooking food, getting ready for the day.

Nymeria and Grey Wind were gone and Robb guessed they were out there somewhere hunting. He sat on a log by the fire to get warm and stretched out his mind and in moments he found Grey Wind, and the overwhelming scent of the world filled his mind, spruce and fir and pine trees, rotting vegetation under the snow, and the hint of more snow to come in the air. But no animal smells except for the two direwolves. They were walking in the snow and through Grey Wind's eyes he could see Nymeria nearby and the fires of the army camp ahead. He could also feel Grey Wind was hungry and knew their night hunt had not been successful. In moments they were passing the outer guards and coming nearby the fire. When Robb saw himself through Grey Wind's eyes he felt a strange sense of displacement and broke the contact. To his surprise he had not fallen off the log or experienced any of the dizziness he had felt in previous contacts.

A sack of bones from slaughtered cows and pigs the cooks had given him before they had left Duskendale and now he spread some on the ground for the two hungry animals. Some meat was still on the bones, the cold keeping it almost fresh, and they contently chewed on the bones as Robb rose to see how the men were and to get his own breakfast.

Lord Bolton's men were nearby and he was already awake and sitting with his men around their fires eating breakfast. "All is well, Lord Bolton?" Robb asked.

"Yes, my lord," Bolton replied in his soft voice as he and his men all stood.

Robb was not a lord, but the son of one, but as was common in Westeros sons of lords who reached the age of maturity were often given the title. Robb had been temporary lord of Winterfell as well, and had led a great army to great victories, so perhaps calling him lord was proper in all ways.

"I am sure we will be marching soon, Lord Bolton," Robb said and Bolton said nothing and merely dipped his head as did the rest of his men.

Robb knew it was a formal politeness they gave him, not to show him respect, and certainly not for love. Ramsey Snow was not loved by them either, and more than likely a few of them had hated the miserable cur, but he had been their lord's son, bastard or not, and he had been one of them, and Robb had killed him. Even though Ramsey had committed dreadful crimes and had been killed in a trial by combat, they would always have a simmering resentment and maybe even hatred for him. Robb knew even the sympathy he had received from Lord Bolton when Roslin had died had been given as a formality, not because he cared.

There was also the other thing, the thing many men said when in their cups or when they whispered among friends. Robb had died, and had returned to life, and that was unnatural. Being a warg did not help matters either, and despite trying to keep it a secret more than a few knew he and his brothers and sisters had a special relationship with their direwolves. The Greatjon had warned him of such comments being said, including some saying Robb maybe was a wight in disguise going to lead them all to their doom. It was foolishness, for Robb had led them to victory and had been a source of strength in their battles with the Others. But men were naturally superstitious, and a Northman more than most, and the whispers did not stop despite all he had done for their cause. He never told his father these things, and he made the Greatjon promise to do the same.

He found Lord Umber was awake, talking with his son, and together all three went around to the guards around the Northmen's section of the vast army camp and got the news of the night, which was the same as yesterday, nothing to report out of the ordinary.

"Should reach Rosby today," the Smalljon Umber said as they came to a large tent where the cooks were set up.

"The gods willing," Lord Umber said. "Let's get some breakfast."

They filled plates will boiled eggs, fried ham, dried fish, cheese, and bread while the nearby cooks were frying up bacon and fish and ham, slicing bread, and preparing rations for the road. The King had ordered more forced marches for the day and the men would only have short breaks to eat, so bread with dried meat and fish and apples would be the fare for the day.

The three men quickly ate their food and drank a cup of ale each and then went back to find Robb's father. He was already awake by the fire, sitting with Nymeria and Grey Wind as they chewed the bones, while nearby some other men were already taking down the tents to be stored on the supply wagons.

"What's the news?" he asked as Robb handed him a plate with bread and meat and cheese on it, with a cup of ale as well.

"All the same, my lord," the Greatjon said.

"Another day on campaign," the Smalljon added.

"Many of those we have seen, now and in the past," Ned Stark said as he sat on a log and they did the same nearby.

"Soon it will be over," Robb said.

"Aye," Lord Umber replied. "Let it be so for I don't how much more the men can stand."

"Much we ask of them," Lord Stark said after he swallowed some food. "But they will stand it. They must."

No one said anything, knowing why they must stand it. It was that or let the world be engulfed in whiteness and death.

"Time to move soon," the Greatjon said. "Let us go, son, and get the men ready."

"Give them a bit more time to rest and eat," Robb's father said. But then came a rider from Stannis and he gave the order that the army would move as soon as possible. The Greatjon and his son went off to get their men ready and Robb rose to do the same but his father told him to sit again and he did so as his father continued to eat his breakfast.

"How are you?" his father asked and he knew why.

"My wife is dead. How do you expect me to be?" He said it in anger and instantly regretted it. "Sorry."

"You have a right to be angry. When my father and brother were murdered I had such anger as well. I knew who had done it and so I had a place for my anger."

"The gods took my wife. I cannot kill the gods."

"No, and we cannot forsake them as well. But we must understand why such things happen. And we must go on with our lives."

"I don't know if I will ever be able it understand it."

"It will take time."

There was nothing more to be said on it and so Robb remained silent. They were just words his father spoke, and he knew he meant well, but Robb wondered if he would ever feel happy again.

"What have you decided about the King's request?" his father asked after a sip of ale.

Robb came out of his stupor. "I doubt I can do it so it doesn't matter."

"Arya can do it. Perhaps you can as well."

"She is so much stronger than me, Father. She is the strongest of all of us at warging." He looked down at Nymeria. "She can do it without even sitting down or fainting. I still fear to do so while standing, even though I have been with Grey Wind many times now. And I have never done it with another animal and now he wants me to do it with a dragon? That's incredible. Impossible. For me at least."

"Maybe so. But having a dragon on our side will give us an edge in the battles to come."

Robb was disturbed by his father's words. "You sound like Stannis did when he was demanding Gendry's blood."

"Do I? I did not mean to," his father replied with a weary sigh. "Perhaps you are right. Best not to even try it."

"The King will demand it."

"It wouldn't be the first time we refused him."

"I can make it seem like I am trying at least. How will he know the difference?"

"Very well. Do as you think best."

Robb looked down at Grey Wind and Nymeria again. "I wonder how she even did it."

"We will have to ask her when we reach the city."

"It's strange how Gendry was the one to kill this dragon Aegon called Elianta."

"The gods do seem to have a strange sense of justice. His blood awoke it, so maybe it is right he was the one to kill it when it went mad."

"Melisandre made it go mad, Daenerys said," Robb replied. "Was inside it. How?"

"You know what she was, Robb. By all accounts she has done such things before. If she can make shadows to kill Renly and Tywin Lannister, can produce flames from the air and the ground, raise a dragon from stone with a few drops of blood, this doesn't seem so strange after all."

"Hopefully she is finally dead."

"Aye." He threw the last of the food on his plate on the snow and Grey Wind came to it and began to eat. "Come, let us get our arms and armor and get mounted. The men await us."

Suddenly Nymeria sat up and came to Robb and licked his gloved hand and began to growl and whine and stare up at him. Robb looked down at her eyes and they seemed to change to a more human form of eye…to Arya's eyes…or maybe he was imagining it.

"Father…I think Arya is here. Her eyes." He hurried to Robb's side and looked down at Nymeria's eyes. "Do you see it? Like Arya."

"Aye, for a moment," his father replied. "Now it is gone. Maybe she is here."

"We must tell her what we are doing."

His father looked down at Nymeria again and spoke. "Arya…if you can hear us, we are near Rosby, the whole army. Daenerys Targaryen was here yesterday and we will soon join forces with her men. She is on her way north to find Jon on her biggest dragon. She told us how you and Gendry helped her kill Aegon's dragon. Do not do anything so foolish again. Stay safe. Soon we will be fighting the Others. You must tell Aegon or Connington or anyone that will listen that we are coming and they must join us in battle. When I know not, where, near the city we hope. Tell them it is time to destroy the Other's army."

Nymeria howled and it sent a chill down Robb's spine. "I think she understands."

"Let us hope so. Come. Time to go."

They got their chain mail armor on and pulled on furs and cloaks over it, and then strapped on their swords and daggers. Robb still carried Ice on his back, though its size and weight was a burden. Yet it was only one of two Valyrian steel weapons in the army, with Lord Tarly having the other, so it was needed to help destroy Others and wights. He thought to give it back to his father but knew he was still not totally healed from his ordeals. Even though his father said nothing, Robb on occasion noticed him rubbing the leg that had been broken nearly a year ago and also that he was prone to headaches, which Robb guessed from the way his father grimaced at times. Sansa had also mentioned this when they were in Duskendale and had asked Robb to not let him do too much.

He still could not believe she had killed Baelish. It seemed so unreal. Her story seemed plausible, but Robb wondered if she had not gone to that pub for a tryst with the Hound and Baelish had discovered them. Or maybe Baelish knew they were going to be there and tried to rape her while Corbray killed the Hound. The thought of that made Robb's blood boil. But they were both dead so once again he had no place for his anger. He would have to find a way to corner Clegane and get him to tell his side of the story, hopefully the truth this time.

Soon they were on horseback and moving out. The march order was the same ever since they had left Duskendale, with the wildlings in front, followed by the knights of the Vale and Stannis' men, then the Tyrells, and last of all the depleted Lannister forces, with the Northmen bringing up the rear, and all the supply and support services in the center. Patrols were sent to the flanks and front, while Lord Stark sent a roving patrol led by the Smalljon to their rear in case of any ambushes coming that way.

The day went as before, with forced marches, and before long men were lagging and dropping out and having to be placed on wagons to bring them along. No man was to be left behind to die in the cold and become a future wight. No horse or mule or oxen either. Any animal that went lame or succumbed to the cold was quickly butchered and ended up in the evening soup pots.

After the midday brief stop for food, word came back that early in the morning Mance Rayder's vanguard patrols and Lord Royce's men Stannis had sent on ahead had entered Rosby. They found it empty of people except for Lord Gyles Rosby and a few men and servants in the castle. All day the army snaked forward and more and more the column became jammed up as there were stops and starts. It wasn't until well after dark that the Northmen reached Rosby to find all the houses, barns, storehouses, and the castle were well and fully occupied by the men in front of them. There were few enough of these, as the town and castle were of such insignificant size they would fit snugly in a small corner of Harrenhal. It would be tents for many again, including the Northmen.

"Make camp here," Lord Stark commanded his leaders as he pointed to a farmer's field on the northern outskirts of town. In the darkness they could barely make out that the field had a long stone fence on the west side and a copse of trees nearby. "Staked and with patrols out and fires lit on the perimeter. Feed the men and take care to send any ill men to the healers." All these were the usual orders and there was no need to say so but he always did.

"Where will you be, my lord?" the Greatjon asked.

"With the King. Come, Robb. Leave the direwolves behind."

"They may want to hunt."

"Let them go."

Robb looked at Grey Wind and Nymeria and nodded to the darkness off the road. "Go on if you want." They both quickly bounded away through the snow.

The Blackfish and Howland Reed joined them as they moved up the last bit of road and entered the town. All every man they passed was talking about were dragons. "Two of them, penned up by the castle, my lord," one Lannister man told them.

"Where is Lord Tyrion?" Lord Stark asked him.

"With the King," the same man said.

They were all with the King. Mance, Tyrion, Reed, Tully, Bronn, Clegane, Tarly, Rowan, Ser Loras, Royce, and Ser Justin, all standing near Rosby's small castle, looking at the same thing and talking among themselves. The two dragons, in a nearby large cow pen, both with large collars and chains around their necks that were attached to large posts.

"Good gods," said the Blackfish. "Look at them."

"A sight we have been blessed with," Howland Reed added. "Or cursed."

Blessed or cursed. Robb wondered if he meant because they could not control such beasts, and would one or both go mad like the one in King's Landing had. They moved through the crowd of men to get closer to the King and as they did so Robb got a better look at the dragons. In the light of the nearby lanterns and torches he had trouble telling the dragons' true colors, though one looked greenish and the other was very pale, perhaps white or silver. They were not as large as the black one Daenerys had ridden, but they were large enough, and Robb felt they could both rip the two posts they were chained to out of the ground if they wanted to. But now they were docile, lying on their bellies, chewing on something dead, which might have been a cow, but was now black and charred. Each beast used its massive jaws to rip off chunks of charred meat which they chewed a bit and then swallowed.

"Magnificent," said the voice of Tyrion Lannister.

"Aye, that they are," said a man Robb did not know, standing near King Stannis. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with big arms as well. His head was bare and Robb could see he did not have much hair left on his pate. As he turned a bit in the light Robb saw on his surcoat under furs a bear for a sigil. He knew that sigil, the crest of family Mormont, lords of Bear Island.

"Is it him?" he asked his father.

"Aye…Ser Jorah Mormont."

Mormont turned at the sound of his name and when he saw who it was he stiffened. "Lord Stark."

"Ser Jorah," Ned Stark replied. "You have returned at last…to face my justice." All went quiet as everyone listened in.

"I have been pardoned by the King," Ser Jorah said. "Not a few days ago."

"I gave no such pardon," King Stannis said.

"King Aegon promised Daenerys that I would be pardoned," Ser Jorah explained.

"Where is this pardon?" Robb's father asked him.

"It was not written out by the time she left. There was a terrible fight with…"

"We know all this," Robb's father interjected. "She explained it all." His eyes turned to King Stannis. "What would you have me do with this man, my King?"

"Nothing, for now," Stannis replied. "We are allies for the moment."

"Allies you call us, yet the threat of a sword named Ice hangs over my head," Ser Jorah said with no small measure of scorn. "What do you think the Queen will do if you take my head?"

"She is no queen," Stannis retorted.

"And you are not a king," Ser Jorah shot back.

"I was crowned in King's Landing, as was my brother before."

"As was Daenerys' father, and now her nephew, and nearly all the Targaryen kings back to the beginning."

"My good men," Tyrion said. "We can stand here and argue over this till we are old and grey. That will not win the war for us. Besides, did she not renounce the throne?"

Ser Jorah sighed. "Aye, she did. To my regret and all who follow her. But we will do as she commands. She commanded me to stay here and mind her children until you arrived. But I will do nothing to help you unless I have promises of protection until a proper pardon is drawn up."

Stannis looked at Robb's father. "He is your bannerman. Say the word and it is done."

"There must be some punishment or there is no use in having laws," replied Robb's father.

"All my years in exile seem punishment enough," Ser Jorah said.

"That was an exile you imposed on yourself when you fled," Ned Stark told him. He was quiet for a moment and then nodded once. "Very well. Your life I will spare as long as you do your duty, Ser Jorah. But your titles I will never restore. The North you are never allowed to set foot in again. You will remain an exile from your homelands."

Ser Jorah took a deep breath. "Never? I have kin on Bear Island. I must know what has happened to them."

"Never."

"King Aegon pardoned me."

"So you say. But he is not my king. I will never pardon you."

Ser Jorah hesitated and then nodded. "As you wish, my lord."

"Good," Stannis said. "Now, back to the business at hand. What can you tell us about these dragons, Ser Jorah?"

Ser Jorah slowly looked away from Robb's father to the King and was also slow to reply. Finally he spoke. "The green one is Rhaegal, named for her brother Rhaegar. The white one is Viserion, named for her other brother Viserys. Dangerous beasts they are, for those who don't know anything about them. I would not claim to be such an expert, but I saw them born and was near enough as they grew to as you see them now. I have even ridden on Drogon's back with the Queen to get here. They know me well so I can approach and feed them and they will not harm me. As for the rest of you, stay far away, even when they are fed and resting. Lord Gyles Rosby has few cattle or sheep to spare to keep them fed so I will need some of yours…Your Grace."

"We can spare some," Stannis replied. "But I have no idle mouths to feed in my armies, especially not ones that will eat so much. What about their usefulness in battle?"

"They can kill Others and wights," Ser Jorah replied. "This I have seen. Yet they only obey the Queen's commands in battle. You and I cannot control them. If I loose them they will fly off. Where they will go only the gods know. But for certain they will seek food and high places to rest. Drogon, the largest one, escaped for a time in the east and stories were ripe of him killing farmers who tried to save their animals from him."

"But he did come back to her, did he not?" Tyrion asked.

"He did. And only she can fly him. Dragons are fussy in that."

"Yes, I have read this in the Targaryen family histories," Tyrion replied. "One dragon, one rider. Has anyone tried to ride these two?"

"No. No one with the blood of a Targaryen has been near enough to try. Once Daenerys began to ride Drogon she was bound to him. These two know it as well."

"Then what use are they?" Lord Tarly asked in disgust. "If we loose them they may kill us as well as the Others."

"True," Ser Jorah answered. "So we cannot let them loose. My lords, of even greater importance is the joining of our armies. Together at least we can fight the Others."

"Where are the Others now?" Lord Rowan asked Ser Jorah.

"We have not seen them for several days. They attack us in a village just to the east of the Blackwater's first bridge. The next morning the Queen flew to the city to discuss matters with King Aegon. But that night the dragon named Elianta broke loose and wrecked havoc…until it was killed. The Queen and her dragon were attacked by the people who feared it would go wild as well. After that she made the plan to join with you while she sought out Jon Snow."

"Where is your army now?" Lord Royce asked next.

"To the west, nearing the Kingsroad when I last saw them, though they will be closer now. You should send emissaries to greet them and discuss joining up with Ser Barristan Selmy."

"Yes," Stannis said. "But that will have to wait until morning. Let us get out of the cold and have some food. We shall retire to the castle, my lords, and discuss all matters."

Lord Gyles Rosby's family seat was small and its great hall called such only as a courtesy but his table was big enough for all the commanders and lords to sit around. Stannis took the head seat with Lord Gyles beside him on the right and Robb's father on the left and Robb next to him. The lord of Rosby was a wan man, old and grey, and was afflicted with a cough that racked his body at times and caused him to use a handkerchief to catch the bloody spittle that came up, and Robb could hardly look at the man when his cough was on him. The table fair was modest and the lord apologized as his stores had been greatly affected by the wars. Robb's father later told him that Stannis had taken much of these stores as Rosby had always supported him since his victory over Joffrey.

The meal talk was all on what to do next. First off, they needed to contact the other army. Stannis asked for a volunteer to go west to find Ser Barristan's men. Before Robb knew what he was saying he volunteered. His father gave him a sharp glance and then nodded once.

"Very well, Lord Robb will go," the King said to them all. "Yet I think you will need someone more senior and someone who is well known to Ser Barristan. Someone with a glib tongue, to make our intentions clear to Ser Barristan." The King looked down the table. "Lord Tyrion, you have such a tongue and are known by Ser Barristan."

"Is that a command or are you asking me to volunteer?" Tyrion asked as he held a cup of wine in his hand halfway to his lips.

"As you have yet to bend the knee to me, I am sure such a command would be ignored," Stannis remarked. "Yet you know how important this is, so I hope to prevail on your sense of duty to the realm in this matter."

"Well, since you put it that way, how can I refuse?" Tyrion said with a slight grin. He then gulped his wine and Robb thought he saw a look of unease in those mismatched eyes.

"Very well, Lord Tyrion and Robb Stark will lead the party with a strong escort. Pick the men you think most suitable," the King told Robb.

Robb looked down the table where Bronn was squeezed in next to Lord Tarly. "Lord Bronn, I would ask you to join us."

"No need to ask," Bronn replied. "Where he goes I follow," he added with a nod to Tyrion.

"Yes, my shadow," Tyrion said. "Robb, be a good fellow and bring your wolf along and I'll make sure to bring my Hound along as well."

Robb was about to say no, he did not want Clegane, but then his father spoke. "Good. Sandor Clegane is a good man in a fight."

"Hopefully there will be no fight," Tyrion added. "But one never knows."

"What are your commands, Your Grace?" Robb asked the King.

"Find Ser Barristan, ask him to join us here. That is all for now."

"We are staying here?" Lord Royce said in surprise. "Your Grace, best we push on to the city while the weather holds."

Stannis shook his head. "No. We don't know what kind of reception they will give us at the capital and if the gates are closed camping in the open outside its walls will lead us to disaster. We need to join forces with Ser Barristan first. And we need information. Our scouts will spread out and seek the enemy. When they are found, then we will act."

The meal ended soon after, with everyone going off to their respective command groups. As Robb was about to leave, a servant told him that Lord Gyles wished to speak to him in private. Robb did not know what he wanted, and then his father reminded him of something. "Roslin's mother was from here. She was a Rosby. They must be related. Perhaps he wishes to convey his sympathies."

Robb thought perhaps he was correct and then had an awful thought. "How could he even know? We learned only a short time ago."

"Then you must tell him."

Robb felt all his energy drain at the thought of that. He was barely keeping his own emotions in check. How could he convey such dreaded news to her kin?

His father seemed to sense his unease. "I will come with you if you wish." Robb felt a sense of relief at this and quickly agreed.

They found Lord Gyles in his small solar in the castle's upper level, sitting by a hearth in a large chair, a blanket wrapped around him. He was coughing up when they came in and a maester was hovering nearby with a glass of something at hand.

"Ah, Lord Stark. I had not expected you as well," Lord Gyles said. "No matter. Best you hear this news as well, for there is much to tell. Please sit. This is Maester Melwys. Lord Tyrion has his shadow and here is mine, most days."

"I only serve as I can," Maester Melwys said. He was perhaps in his thirties with thin brownish hair and had the look of a Frey to Robb's eyes, the weak chin especially.

"Yes, and I am grateful," Lord Gyles said in a sincere manner as Robb and his father took off their swords and sat in comfortable chairs across from the lord. "My cough worsens each day and only the dreamwine helps me sleep." He looked at the maester, hovering with the glass still in hand. "I will drink it later. Put the glass down, we must talk, and I can't do so if I am sleeping." The maester obeyed and then found a small wooden chair and sat beside his lord. "Not only has the cough troubled my sleep," Lord Gyles continued. "News has reached me, such terrible news, from many places. And now I have heard it whispered your wife has died as well, Lord Robb. Is it true?"

"Aye," Robb said, hardly saying the word above a whisper.

"How terrible," Gyles said and then he had a fit of coughing which lasted until the maester got him some water. Finally he could speak again. "Roslin was my second cousin Bethany's daughter. I met her but a few times over the years but was fond of her. And so many more of her kin are gone now as well."

"You have had word of the Twins?" Robb's father asked.

"We have," the maester answered. "My brother Ryman wrote from the Golden Tooth."

"Your brother?" Robb said in surprise.

"I am a bastard son of Lord Walder Frey," Maester Melwys explained. "Sent to the Citadel when I was a lad, not for any love my father had for me I assure you. I was sent away to get me out from under foot when so many true born sons needed training and gold to make them knights and wedding matches. I should not complain, though, for I was not there when disaster came."

"How many are gone?" Robb's father asked.

"Most," Lord Gyles said. "The names are too many to speak of. Several messages we have exchanged in the last few weeks, the people of the Twins and Tooth seeking news of the war and the goings on near the capital, for which they have no birds I am guessing."

The maester took up the tale as Lord Gyles' voice grew weaker from the effort of talking. "Each time we receive more names of the dead. I am afraid two of Roslin's older brothers have died. Perwyn and Benfrey."

"I am sorry to hear this," Robb said. He had met her older brothers briefly at the wedding. Roslin never had much good to say of them, complaining that they were more like their father Lord Walder than she and Olyvar ever were. She had a fourth brother, named Williamen, who was a maester for some lord in the Vale. Roslin had liked him better, though she had hardly seen him for years since he had gone to study at the Citadel.

"Who is now Lord of the Crossing?" Robb's father asked. "We have heard Lord Stevron died."

"Yes," Lord Gyles said. "His oldest son Ryman lives still and is now Lord of the Crossing."

"A drunk he is," Melwys said in disgust. "Weak-willed as well. His first son Edwyn died in the battles and so his second son Black Walder is now the heir. He is the real power now, I am sure."

"Not an easy man to deal with I have heard," Lord Stark said.

"Not a good man in any way of the word," the maester replied. "Long he has plagued my family with his intrigues and other…matters. They wrote to us in hopes we could contact the King. They heard he was in Duskendale but the Tooth had no ravens for the place. Lady Alysanne wrote as well. They can do nothing to help, for they have few fighting men, many wounded and sick from the Trident battles, and have had wights and Others of their own to deal with. Though when Daenerys Targaryen was here a few days past she did say she had attacked the wights outside Riverrun and the Tooth."

Robb's father sat up straighter. "Riverrun still stands?" he asked in an excited tone.

"It does," Lord Gyles replied. "Though we have no news of it except what Daenerys told us."

"Has the King been told?" Robb asked.

"He has, just tonight," Melwys replied. Then he looked uneasy and looked at Robb's father. "Lord Stark, there is another matter that I regret I must broach. I know your lady wife had a pact with my father, for two of your children to marry my kin. Lord Robb held up his part of the pact. But I have heard Lady Arya is now married to another. And the two of them helped kill a dragon in the capital. Is this all true?"

Robb wanted to lie, for Arya's sake, but knew they shouldn't and his father did not. "Aye. She married Robert Baratheon's natural born son in Winterfell a few moon's past. We have also heard they helped kill this dragon."

"This is most unsettling news, my lord," the maester said. "I am sure after the news of events in King's Landing spreads the whole realm will know of their marriage. Lord Ryman may demand you make good on the pact and have their marriage annulled."

"Does the boy Elmar still live?" Robb asked.

"He does."

"I will speak to Lord Ryman when the wars are over," Robb's father said. "I will make things right."

The maester looked skeptical. "My brothers are often like their father in things, Black Walder more so than most, and Ryman will listen to him. All I can say is that you should offer him what you think is fair compensation and then be prepared to double it."

"I thank you for the advice," Lord Stark replied.

"I hope all turns out for the best for everyone, my lords," the maester said and then Lord Gyles had another coughing fit and this time it took a while for him to calm his body from the painful racking coughs. The maester kept insisting he drink the dreamwine that was in the glass, now sitting on a nearby table, but Gyles put him off.

"No, we must talk on the other matter. Please tell them."

"My Lord Gyles wishes to discuss the inheritance of Rosby with you, Lord Robb."

That took him aback. "I don't understand."

"I have no sons, no daughters, no heir," Lord Gyles explained.

"Not exactly true," the maester replied. "Several distant relatives have a claim, including the Stokeworths, but a close reading of the linage of the family shows that Lady Bethany, Roslin's mother, was the closest relative. As she has passed her children have the strongest claim. Now that Perwyn and Benfrey and…and Roslin…are deceased, that just leaves Willamen and Olyvar. Willamen is older but he is a maester and cannot inherit. So…Olyvar is the heir to Rosby. And as you are his sister's husband and he is your squire, I would ask that you accept him as a ward until he reaches the age of manhood."

"I would be honored to do so," Robb replied. He was hardly man himself, only sixteen, but as Olyvar was Roslin's brother he felt an obligation to the boy.

"Excellent," the maester replied. "Could you bring him to us so we can settle the details? Before it is too late."

"By too late he means before I cough my way into a grave," Lord Gyles said.

The maester looked embarrassed. "My lord, I did not mean…"

"Yes, you did. Nevermind. Where is the boy, my lords?"

"In White Harbor," Robb told them.

Now they looked surprised. "He did not come with you?" Lord Gyles asked.

"No…I left him with Roslin…to protect her." The words sounded so hollow and futile now.

"I see," said the maester and then he seemed to be thinking. "Yes, we can still do it without the boy being here. Lord Robb can sign for him as the boy has not yet reached manhood and both his parents have passed. I also ask you Lord Stark if you will be witness to Lord Gyles' will."

"I can do that much," Robb's father replied.

The maester went to a nearby cabinet and took out some parchments and placed them on a table. They all went to the table and Robb and his father read Lord Gyles' will. Olyvar would get the castle, the lands, the gold, and whatever else was left…if it was still here when the war was over.

As Robb was reading it he had a sudden thought. "What about my daughter…Roslin's daughter?"

"Your daughter?" the maester asked in surprise. "The child has survived?"

"Yes, she has," Robb's father said, suddenly aware of what Robb was getting at. "If Roslin was heir because her older brothers were dead or could not inherit, the law clearly states the inheritance goes to her children first, not her younger brother."

Lord Gyles nodded. "Yes, that is the law."

"Wait," Robb said, suddenly remembering something else. "Benfrey had two children, a boy and a girl, the names…" But he could not remember.

"They are dead, killed in the retreat," the maester said with a heavy sigh. "So Lord Ryman wrote."

"Please convey to Lord Ryman our condolences for all his lost kin," Robb's father said.

"I will," the maester promised.

"So," Lord Gyles said. "That just leaves Olyvar and Roslin's daughter. By law, the girl has the stronger claim…so I will name her my heir. What is the girl's name, my lords?"

Robb felt at a loss. In his grief he had not even thought of so simple a thing as to give his child a name. And now that he was confronted with the necessity of doing so, he was unable to speak. He wanted to name her for her mother, but to do so would be a constant reminder of the loss he had suffered. His father and the others were waiting for him to speak.

"I…know not." He looked at his father for help, his eyes pleading for him to do something.

"Well," his father said, understanding his dilemma. "She is a lady of the North. She must have a Northern name."

And then Robb knew. "Lyanna," he said without hesitation and his father's eyes widened for a moment and then Robb saw he was pleased.

"Aye, let it be so."

The maester bent over the table and where the blank space was on the document to put the name of the heir he wrote in small lettering 'Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Robb Stark and Roslin Frey'. Then Lord Gyles signed the parchment and affixed his seal in hot wax and afterward Robb and his father signed as witnesses as did the maester. Shortly after the maester insisted Lord Gyles go to bed. Robb and his father made their goodbyes and were soon outside the keep and in the small courtyard of the small castle.

"There will be trouble over this," his father said as before they reached the main gates where two guards of House Rosby stood.

"What? Why?" Robb asked in surprise.

"You heard them. There are other claims. The Stokeworths for one. They live nearby, near the coastline."

"The will is proof of his intentions, no matter, is it not?"

"Aye, it is. Let us hope it does not go missing."

"Father, I really think we have other more serious problems to think on than who gets this castle when the war is done."

"Sure enough," came the reply and then his father turned and looked at him, his face grim. "Arya. More trouble for her as well."

"You will not let them force us to annul their marriage."

His father grinned slightly. "Never. It might cost us some gold but I will see things are done right." Then that grim look came back. "I had no chance to ask you yet. Why did you volunteer to find Ser Barristan and the rest?"

Again Robb was caught off guard, but after a moment's hesitation he knew why. "I...I am thinking…too much. On what happened. I must keep busy. If Stannis plans to keep the army here for days, I will go mad I think."

"I understand. Very well. I'm planning to send the Smalljon and some of Lord Umber's men as well."

"I would be glad to have them."

"Good. Let us find him and the Blackfish as well to give the good news of Riverrun."

They stepped through the gates and out into the cold and almost immediately saw King Stannis.

They dipped their heads and Lord Stark spoke. "Your Grace, how fair things?"

The King was with Ser Justin, standing near where the dragons were, both of the dragons seemingly sleeping now. Ser Jorah was nearby as well, on the far side of the pen, looking over his charges like a worried parent. It was dark and cold, but as Robb got closer to the dragons he could feel a change in the temperature, the air getting warmer.

"All is well for the moment," the King told them. "Lord Robb, I need a word. Alone."

"Aye, Your Grace."

"I must see to those matters," his father said and then dipped his head to the King and left them.

Robb came closer to the pen's fence where the King was standing, Ser Justin nearby, with Ser Jorah on the far side of the pen, eyeing them all.

"What matters did your father refer to?" the King asked.

"We have just heard that Daenerys was at Riverrun and the Golden Tooth. He wants to tell Ser Brynden that there are still people at Riverrun."

"Yes, so I have heard as well from Lord Gyles. It seems this news she could have told us herself. Well, it is of no matter." Then Stannis gave a slight nod to the dragons. "Have you given thought to what I asked?"

"I have, Your Grace."

"Well…can it be done?"

"I don't know."

"Try."

"Now?"

"Yes, now, damn it."

"They are sleeping."

"What better time to see?"

"I…yes, I can try."

Robb did not want to try, feared what would happen. He owed Stannis nothing, and their arguments at Harrenhal over Gendry still rankled him. But if Arya could do it, maybe he could as well. And if they could control a dragon, it was an edge they just might need.

The light from nearby torches and lanterns was not much but he could see the two beasts clearly enough. He looked at the green one and stared at it and then let his mind slip as he did with Grey Wind…and then he was in Grey Wind's mind, not the dragon's. Grey Wind was eating a rabbit, him and Nymeria tearing at it with their mouths, out in the snow nearby the castle, and Robb felt the meat and bones and tasted the raw blood as it fill his mouth. He pulled his mind away and then shook his head and opened his eyes. Once more he looked at the dragon and thought only of the dragon, the dragon, the dragon, the…

Heat, he felt heat, and his body was warm all over. Darkness, a blankness, a deep well of nothing he sensed, and then, awareness, a light, figures, and a fence, lanterns and torches he saw and then he saw himself, falling to the ground, the length of Ice on his back causing him to twist sideways as he fell. And then the dragon screeched.

"Get him up!" Stannis was shouting at Ser Justin and they hauled Robb up and dragged him from the fence just as the green dragon called Rhaegal charged towards them, his long neck reaching out, its jaws snapping shut close to the fence, its breath hot as they scrambled away. The chain around his neck stopped him but the dragon seemed ready to pull the post it was attached to from the ground.

"Stay back!" Ser Jorah yelled as he ran around the fence. He looked up at Rhaegal and waved his arms. "Here! Rhaegal!" The dragon looked at him, it eyes glowering, its mouth half opened, and wisps of smoke came from its large nostrils. Robb thought it would attack Ser Jorah but then he spoke to the dragon in a language Robb recognized as High Valyrian. He did not know the words, but they seemed to have some effect. Slowly Rhaegal pulled back and lay on his belly by his now awake brother. The two dragons were staring at Robb, he felt, and he took a few more steps back.

Ser Jorah stomped towards them. "What did you do?"

Ser Justin took umbrage with his tone. "This is your King you are speaking to!"

"Not my king," Ser Jorah retorted as he stared at Stannis. "What did you do?"

Stannis snorted. "You speak as if I did not save your life a few short hours ago. Perhaps I will let Lord Stark take your head after all."

Ser Jorah did not back down. "You wish to destroy our accord?"

Stannis fumed but then gave a short shake of his head. "No. But tread carefully and show the respect I deserve and I will do the same for you."

"Aye...Your Grace. But you still did not explain what happened with Rhaegal."

"Your dragons are wild animals," Ser Justin snapped at him. "We did nothing to upset them."

Ser Jorah did not believe them, Robb could tell, but he let it go. "Very well."

"Come Ser Justin, we have matters to attend to," the King said and as he walked away Robb dipped his head to him.

Robb was about to turn to go as well to but Ser Jorah stopped him. "Why did you fall?"

"I…" but before Robb could answer Grey Wind and Nymeria came out of the darkness and padded up to him. Both had bloody muzzles from their recent meal. He bent and ruffled their fur and when he looked up Ser Jorah was staring at him and then at the animals.

"These are direwolves," the knight said in amazement.

"Aye. This one is Grey Wind. He is mine. And this one is Nymeria, my sister Arya's pet."

"Pets? You have direwolves as pets?"

"For nearly two years now. You have been gone a long time my father tells me. There's much you don't know of us."

"A long time, aye, but I am of the North as well. And no man or woman has a direwolf as a pet."

"We do. We found them by the road, their mother recently dead. There were six, all brothers and sisters, but now we have five left. One…died."

"Six direwolves and six Stark children…one for each."

"Yes…what of it?"

"Lord Robb…I may have been gone a long time but I am from Bear Island. On Bear Island we have heard of wargs."

"Wargs?" Robb said, feeling suddenly guilty. "I don't know…what do you mean?"

But Ser Jorah was not looking at him, he was looking at the dragons. Then he turned sharply to Robb. "Don't lie. Your sister is a warg, the Queen told me. She warged inside a dragon and helped kill it. Are you trying to do the same?"

"What? No, that's nonsense."

"Tell me the truth or I will let them loose now."

Robb felt caught and so turned the tables on him. "The truth? The truth is you fled from my father's justice because you sold men into slavery."

"I never denied that. Tell me what you are doing or I will let them go and I will tell the Queen and Ser Barristan to have nothing to do with you."

Robb could have pulled his sword and killed him, he could have shouted for more men to come help him, he could have told the direwolves to kill him…but that would have done nothing but harm their cause.

"I am a warg. Like Arya," he admitted. "But I can't control it as well as her. For a brief moment I connected with the green dragon, Rhaegal. It was unintentional as I was searching for Grey Wind. It has happened with other animals before." The last was a lie, but Ser Jorah seemed not to notice.

Ser Jorah stared at him and then nodded once. "Stay away from them, Lord Robb. I will not tell you twice. You cannot control them. They will kill you and many more if they are angered."

"How does she do it? Control them, I mean."

"She is a Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, and they are her children. Need I say more?" He turned and walked back to the pen and Robb said nothing.

A restless night he had and sleep did not come easy and morning came too soon for him. For a change it was a brilliant sunny day, still cold, but the sight of the sun and blue skies warmed many hearts. All were cheerful, and more so as news spread that they would stay here in camp for a few days. Mance Ryder and his scouts went off at the dawn to scout ahead, while Robb and Tyrion's party readied themselves. Along with Bronn and Clegane came twenty Lannister men on horse plus the Smalljon and thirty of his men on horse. Not a large party but enough to fight their way clear of any trouble. Robb had Ice of course, and they also carried many torches and a small barrel of oil on a pack donkey, with food on more donkeys.

With them came a man who knew these lands well, for they were his homelands, the farmer Royce, who had once been Stannis' spearman, a candidate for the Night's Watch, and a prisoner in Winterfell. Robb had heard how Royce found his wife and children safe in Duskendale and also how the man had been summoned by Stannis to report on all that happened in Winterfell. Perhaps he repeated the story as Robb's father wished it to be, for no more did the King bother them about his dead men, killed by Arya.

The King gave Tyrion a sealed letter for Ser Barristan at the last moment, and left them without another word.

"Dour fellow as always," Tyrion remarked. "Yes, my King, I will be a good lad and do as you say without any thanks at all. And this man wants me to bend the knee to him?"

"You know what he is like," Robb's father said. He gave Robb a look of reassurance. "We will be here, not to worry. A few days it will take you."

"Maybe Daenerys will be back with Jon by then," Robb said hopefully.

Tyrion shook his head. "Maybe not. She has been gone what…nearly three days now? Maybe she is over the Wall by now, or maybe just to White Harbor. Who knows how far and fast they can fly?"

"Far and fast," Ser Jorah said from where he stood on the ground nearby. "We estimated it would take her no more than eight days round trip…perhaps less. But if she has trouble finding him, then it will be more."

"An astute assumption," Tyrion remarked. "Well, let us be off while the sun is with us."

"Fare you well," Robb's father said and they all thanked him and soon were riding away from the town, Robb and Bronn in the lead with Royce, and Grey Wind loping through the snow beside them. Nymeria Robb's father kept at hand, in case Arya was around and listening, for he would try to talk to her and tell her what plans they had.

Down the road to King's Landing they went and then after no more than a few hundred yards, Royce led them off the road and along another road, more narrow, which led them past many farmers' fields. "This will take us to the Kingsroad," he said. The road was hardly wide enough for a horse and cart, and was snowy and icy and full of ruts. This they followed as best they could for many miles, past barns and houses, all empty. At one point near midday Royce stopped and pointed across the fields. "My home," he said as he looked at a small building sitting amidst all the white.

"A good a place as any to stop for lunch," Tyrion commanded. They rode across a snowy field and were soon in the small house. By chance a small pile of wood was inside by the hearth, dry enough, and they soon had a nice fire going. Royce sat on a chair at his table and helped cut bread and dried fish and meat for the men. He seemed both sad at this home coming to an empty house yet happy that his house still stood. His family still lived, Robb knew, and this was more than most men had been granted in these troubled lands.

Later outside Robb found the farmer staring across his fields. "What did you grow?" Robb asked him.

"Wheat, some barley, potatoes and carrots and cabbage in the garden back of the house. Had peas, too. A good farm. Will take a lot to get it going again."

They were silent for a few moments and then Robb spoke. "I never thanked you for not telling the King what really happened in Winterfell."

Royce grunted. "I need no thanks. I was never going to tell him the truth. I owe those two men nothing…or the King. He wanted to ruin my life because those two fools stole some wine. He sent us and the baker's boy on that hellish trip through the white wilderness all so his red woman could kill your sister's husband. We are nothing to the likes of him or her. Smallfolk, you call us. We are people, too."

"I know. It's just the way it is."

"Yes…my lord." Royce said the last with anger and then he walked away to help get the horses ready to move on. Robb had no reply. The way it was…what a foolish thing to say. He had no way to know how a man like Royce felt, his life turned upside down by war, taken from his wife and children, his farm abandoned, his future in so much doubt. Robb knew some of those fears, but his view of the world would never be the same view as Royce's. He was a lord's son, raised to be a leader, a fighter, to think of himself as a lord, and that all those below him were not. He knew the lot of the smallfolk was not perfect. Yet he knew that without lords, good lords, fair men, not tyrants, their lot would be much worse. There would be anarchy in the land. Good lords kept that from happening. Or at least they were supposed to, though few had been able since the wars had begun.

They soon moved on but by the time the sun was setting they were still short of the Kingsroad. They found a large barn and a farm house and Tyrion gave the order to make camp for the night.

"Look!" the Smalljon shouted from the barn's hayloft, where he was hanging out of the upper double doors where hay was taken in and out. "I can see the city!"

Robb scrambled up a ladder with others following him and from the perch in the distance as the sun was setting they could see the tops of the tallest buildings of the city.

"What is it?" Robb asked as he pointed.

"Aegon's Red Keep," said the Hound by his side.

"Aye, and there is Baelor's Sept's spires," Bronn said. He looked at Robb. "You never been there?"

"No…never."

"Well, we'll just have to give you the tour and get you good and drunk when we arrive like bloody heroes," Bronn said with a grin.

Robb shook his head. "I'm done with drink."

Bronn grunted. "You and Sandor here. Good thing the Imp isn't or I'd run out of people I can socialize with."

"I still like a drink," the Smalljon said. "Drink you under the table, little man."

Bronn laughed. "Is that so? We'll just have to see about that."

"Not here," Robb said to the Smalljon.

"Not to worry, my lord. Not enough ale or wine among us to make it a good contest."

"At least let us have a start, then, eh?" Bronn said.

"Aye," the Smalljon said and the two left.

Robb looked to this side and Clegane was still there. "It's a shithole of a city," the Hound said. "You won't like it. I'm surprised we can't smell it from here."

"How long did you live there?"

"Twelve years…guarding that little bugger."

"Joffrey?"

"Aye."

"Sansa…she told me how you protected her from him."

"Not well enough. I should have killed him myself."

That shocked Robb. "What? How could you do that and live?"

"Aye, that had occurred to me. So like most I did nothing."

"He is dead so it doesn't matter now."

"Aye. Well, time for dinner," the Hound said. "More dried meat and hard bread."

"Wait."

"What now?" the Hound asked in a rude manner.

"My sister…I know what happened to Baelish."

"What of it?"

"Why was she in that pub?"

"Looking for me."

"Or waiting for you?"

Clegane stepped closer to him and then looked down where men in the barn were getting ready for the night and then looked back to Robb, his hideously scarred face close. He spoke in a low, harsh voice. "So what if she was? Aye, she was waiting for me, to lay with me, aye. We love each other and if you don't know that by now you're a fucking idiot. And Baelish knew she would be there and I was fucking stupid for making plans to meet in his place. But I didn't know it was his."

Robb was offended by his rude words but kept calm. "How much of the tale she told us is true?"

"Much of the rest is true. Baelish showed up, he came at her on the bed, made many threats about telling you and your father about why she was there, said you would try to kill me and I would kill you both unless she promised to marry that little Lord Robert in the Vale. Then he forced himself on her and she stabbed him before it went too far. Corbray came in when Baelish was dead and I was but a few steps behind him. I killed him before he could kill her. The old woman showed up and I had to kill her. We set the fire on purpose, lot of good it did. And nothing happened between her and me…nothing ever happened, so her precious virtue is intact. She can still marry any lord your father picks."

"She won't marry any lord, she has said enough times. She said she would rather remain a maid and be a healer than marry a man she doesn't love."

"Aye, so she told me as well. Not even Willas Tyrell. But your father would never let her marry me."

"No…never."

"Then we are both truly fucked."

"Aye."

They were quiet for a moment and Robb finally spoke again. "I'm sorry."

"Everyone is always sorry, lot of good it does us. But sometimes it helps a bit." He then took a deep breath. "I heard your wife is dead. My regrets."

"Thank you."

The Hound looked at him, and in his one good eye Robb saw some vestige of a man there, not the angry animal most thought him to be. Clegane nodded once and then turned and went down the ladder. Robb sat down in loft by the doors and stared out for a long time, thinking on many things, none good, and then as the sun set the Smalljon called him down for some food.

They awoke to a dark cloudy day that smelled of snow and Robb had them up and eating breakfast very early, despite Tyrion's protests. The little man and Bronn and the Smalljon had drank all of the wine they carried the night before, and all three had heavy heads this morning. They were all packed and ready to move when a rider loomed out of the early morning gloom from the west. All hands went to their weapons and then they realized the rider was a living man. He was a heavily bearded man, with the beard dyed yellow, pink, and blue, with gold rings in his ears and gold bands on his arms. "A Tyrosh sellsword," Bronn said.

"Where from?" Tyrion asked the man.

"Scout from the Stormcrows," the man answered in heavily accented Westerosi. "The Queen's army is on the Kingsroad."

"Marching where?" Robb asked.

"Trying to find the goddamn road to Rosby," the man replied.

"You've found it" Tyrion told him. "Where is Ser Barristan Selmy?"

"Back on the road. Come."

Tyrion looked at the men around him. "Lord Stark, you and I and Bronn will go with him. Clegane, Lord Umber, you have the command here. Wait for us." Grey Wind followed Robb as always.

Not long later they found the Kingsroad and the Queen's army. In a short time they were riding alongside the famous Ser Barristan Selmy as a long column of strange looking warriors marched past and then halted at a command from their leader which came in a strange tongue of the east. Unsullied, Robb would later learn they were called, fabled warriors of Essos.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister," Ser Barristan said.

"Yes," Tyrion replied. "It has been almost two years. Last we saw of each other was in Winterfell I recall, before my detours to the Wall and Vale and many other places. And this is Lord Bronn Towers, my bannerman, and Lord Robb…"

"Stark," said Ser Barristan. "We met once at Winterfell when King Robert visited."

"Yes," Robb replied. "I was not sure if you would remember me."

"How could I forget you? Especially after all you did after your father was arrested. A terrible day that was, one I wish never happened."

"So do many now in the ground," Bronn said.

"Yes," Ser Barristan said, giving Bronn a look. Then he turned back to Tyrion. "You received the Queen's message?"

"We have, as I am sure you know by now. Stannis and the army now sit in Rosby awaiting you to join us. He also sent a message."

Tyrion took it from his saddle bag and handed it to Ser Barristan. As the knight read it there came a voice from behind the ranks of warriors. "Why have we stopped? Oh…oh my dear."

Tyrion grinned and then laughed. "Ah, ha. The famous Spider. Or should we call you the Eel? So often you have slipped away, my slippery friend."

"Lord Tyrion, well met," said the man Robb knew was called the Spider, or Lord Varys more properly. He came into view, sitting on a donkey, looking very uncomfortable in furs and high boots. "Bronn, of course you would be with Lord Tyrion. You still live, though that is not surprising."

"I'm a lord now myself," Bronn told him proudly.

"Indeed? So at least one saying is true. A Lannister has paid his debts." Varys now looked at Robb. "And this must be, no don't tell me, a young man of the North with the Tully auburn hair and a great sword on his back and a direwolf at his side. Surely you must be Lord Robb Stark."

"I am, Lord Varys."

"Then I salute you, my lord, for your victories over Tywin and Jaime Lannister."

"Salute him?" Tyrion said in mock outrage. "He beat my father and brother, whose side you happened to be on at the time."

"True," replied Varys. "Well, it is all past history. Sadly, much of your family has passed as well, Lord Tyrion. Joffrey, your father, Tommen, Ser Kevan,…and now I have heard Cersei and Myrcella are gone. How terrible."

Tyrion looked morose at this reminder. "Yes, all gone now. And Jaime is a prisoner the last I heard."

"Yes. And Shae?"

"Still with us, back in Duskendale now."

"One small bit of good news, at least," Varys said. He looked at Robb. "Your father is well, I trust?"

"He is."

"Good. I hear we are all to become fast friends again."

But Ser Barristan was frowning and Robb did not like the look he gave Tyrion. "Have you read this note of Stannis'?"

"Of course not. Why?" Tyrion asked, looking worried.

"The man is mad. He demands command of all our forces, with all taking orders from him, no questions asked. This was not the Queen's intention, nor what she was promised by Stannis."

"It was not," Tyrion answered. "I was there when they talked. He promised joint command."

"Mayhaps you misunderstood his intentions," Varys suggested. He moved his donkey a bit closer and then the note was handed over. "Hmmm, not at all. Yes, he wants command of all forces."

"He won't get it," Ser Barristan said, his face flushed with anger. "I think this was a bad idea."

It was all falling apart and Robb had to do something, so spoke quickly. "My good men, you know my father well. You know Lords Tarly and Rowan and Royce. They know nothing of this and will strongly disagree. My father was there when Stannis spoke to the Queen. He will back you up, I swear."

Ser Barristan slowly nodded. "Very well. We move on Rosby. And then I will have words with Stannis."

Orders were shouted and slowly the long column of the Queen's army was turned on the narrow road to Rosby. Sellsword companies came first, and spread scouts out to cover the march. Then came the Unsullied, followed by a large band of what looked like civilians, all armed with various weapons, and led by a few aged knights on horseback. Then came long lines of wagons with supplies, and finally more sellswords on horse at the rear. Ser Barristan estimated he had about 6500 men, and a few hundred sick and wounded in the wagons. Robb's party led from the front, guiding them back towards Rosby.

It snowed a bit later that morning but it was a short snowfall that covered everyone in white but it soon passed. All day they moved back the way they had come, over the country road, the land flat and mostly empty of trees, which made progress faster but was a problem when they stopped for the night to make camp in a tiny village. Ten houses and some outlying barns were there for shelter. The lack of wood was a problem though. A small copse of trees just outside the village was quickly denuded of its wood and yet the men still did not have enough for their fires. The barns and houses were stripped of their interior fittings and walls as well for the hungry fires.

Nearby the village on the south side was a long low stone fence that fronted the road to Rosby and behind it Ser Barristan placed his Unsullied, with the rest making defenses around the village.

They woke up cold and tired, tents covered with a sprinkling of snow and as they made breakfast more began to fall. Robb and Bronn and Clegane stood on the edge of the camp near the Unsullied and the stone fence by the road. Then a heavy snowfall started and the wind began to blow in their faces and soon they could hardly see twenty feet in front of them. All three had the same thought at the same time.

"They're out there," Bronn said, his beard and hair covered in snow.

"Aye" the Hound answered, a hand on his sword hilt. "I can almost smell them."

Robb sniffed the air and then Grey Wind began to growl…and then he knew Bronn and the Hound were right. Suddenly out of the snow came two riders, two of the sellsword scouts, flying toward the center of the camp. "Wights!" one shouted and then from behind them first one form, then two, then a dozen and in moments out of the snow they came… thousands of them all in a ragged line, marching from the south across the fields, and soon shouts and orders filled the air as men rushed to arms.

The battle raged and swirled all morning. The Unsullied stood like a rock in the center of the line behind the stone fence and attack after attack broke on them like waves on a rocky shore. The sellsword companies on the flanks charged out on horse back and hacked and slashed as men on foot came behind to burn the wights. Ser Barristan and the sellsword commanders were everywhere, shoring up the lines, shouting orders, keeping the men together. Robb's party was small, and were used as a fire brigade, as Bronn called themselves, sent where danger was threatening to rip gaps in the lines. Tyrion stayed out of it, behind the lines in the village, where he and Lord Varys took command of the supplies and made sure enough torches and oil were ready for the men fighting, and food and water brought forward when they had any respites.

Many of the wights were once soldiers, and had Tyrell sigils, and looked freshly dead to Robb's eyes. Others were wearing sigils of the Targaryens, and more carried sigils of all the men the Others had been fighting since the North, the sigils of every house of Westeros it seemed, plus many more were common folk and dead from upturned graves, hardly more than bones in rags. It mattered not what they once were in life, for now they were the dead arisen and had to be slain all over again. Yet men died as well, and had to be burned as they fell before they could rise again. Few Others they saw, and none came near the battle lines.

At midday the attacks seemed to cease and the enemy melted back in the swirling snow, which fell unabated. Ser Barristan called a commanders' conference behind the Unsullied ranks. Robb was tired and sweaty, moving here and there where he was needed, with Ice carving paths through the undead.

"We cannot stay here," Ser Barristan said to the assembled commanders. "Our wood for fires is running out, torch stocks are low, our oil almost gone. We are clearly outnumbered. If they flank us, we are finished."

"Never should have left that village by the Blackwater," one man said, a dark man, almost as old as Ser Barristan.

"No time for regrets, Plumm," Lord Varys said.

"Easy for you to say. I've lost nearly fifty men. We signed on to put the Queen on the Iron Throne, not fight demons."

"Enough bickering," Ser Barristan said sharply. "We are all in this together and must stick together." Then he looked at Robb. "How far away from Rosby are we?"

"I don't know. Where's our guide? Bronn, where is Royce?"

"Dead."

"What?" Robb said with a small shock.

"Aye, dead with a spear through the neck," Bronn said. "One of the first to die. Smalljon burned him."

Robb hadn't heard, he had been so busy moving from place to place with Ice to plug breaches in the lines, Grey Wind always at his side.

"We must get help from Rosby," Ser Barristan said as more snow fell all around them.

"Let us march there, all together," Plumm suggested.

"If they attack us on the march we are done," Bronn said. "You sellswords will be the first to run."

"You…now I remember you," Plumm said in anger, his beard filled with snow. "Bronn is it? I know you from the Disputed Lands."

"I remember you too, Brown Ben. How many times have you turned your cloak lately?"

"You should talk…Lannister lackey."

Tyrion had enough of them. "If you two insist on rehashing old days we will be here forever. Ser Barristan, do you have a plan?"

"We can't march. They will break us if they attack while we are not in defensive positions. We will hold here, forming a square so they can't flank us," Ser Barristan replied. He looked at Robb. "Lord Stark, you must find the way to Rosby and bring them news of our plight."

"Aye," said Robb. "My men, come while we have the chance."

The man named Plumm snorted. "Do you even know the way? You said your guide is dead."

"We ride east until we hit the Rosby Road," Robb said as he mounted up. "It can't be that hard to find. Hold until we get back."

"We have no where else to go," Ser Barristan said. Then he looked pensive. "Tell Ser Jorah, if it all looks lost, he must release the dragons. They might be able to do something for us. They hate the wights and Others."

"Aye," Robb replied and then he shouted and his party moved off, Bronn, Clegane, Tyrion, the Smalljon, and the other Lannister and Umber survivors following. Royce was dead, and Robb hadn't even realized it. Some commander he was, he thought bitterly.

They followed the road as best they could but the flat farmland, lack of trees, and swirling snow made it difficult to navigate, and soon Robb knew they were off the road and in the fields when they came to a stone fence directly blocking their path.

"Where's the road?" Bronn shouted to him above the wind.

"I don't know!"

"Spread out," Tyrion shouted. "It must be nearby!"

They began to move in different directions and after a few moments Robb could hardly see anyone in his group. He got off his horse and took the reins in hand and with Grey Wind by his side they walked to what he thought was a southern direction, feeling they had drifted north. Sure enough after a short time he found the road. "Come back!" he shouted into the wind. "Come back! I found the road!"

Then he saw some riders coming towards him out of the snow. "Hey! Over here! I found the road!" The riders came towards him and soon he could see them. But it was not his party. About twenty men, all wearing the flayed man sigil of the Dreadfort, came towards him, led by Roose Bolton.

Bolton climbed off his horse. "Lord Robb, where is Ser Barristan?"

"Behind us, back about a mile or two in a village, attacked by wights. Why are you here, Lord Bolton?"

"The King sent us to find you. He feared you got lost."

Robb could barely hear him above the wind. "We have to get to the King and tell him to send help," Robb said. "Thousands of wights are attacking. We may even have a chance to destroy them all."

"I will send a messenger," Bolton said and he went to one of his men and spoke to him and the man turned around and rode away.

"Are you alone out here?" Bolton then asked Robb.

"I was with some others but we got separated. I don't know where they are. Let us mount up, and try to…oh, gods."

He had turned to mount his horse when he felt a sharp pain in the back of his left upper leg. He gasped and spun around and Bolton stood there with blood…Robb's blood…on his sword. Once more Bolton thrust forward his sword and pierced Robb's right leg just below the knee and above his boot. Robb felt a shock of pain and as he gasped he fell to his knees in the snow.

"He's mine," Bolton said to his men, who now scrambled off their horses with steel in their hands. "Do not interfere. Kill the direwolf."

His sword came down again and this time it was aimed for Robb's neck but by now Grey Wind had reacted to the danger and snarled in anger and leaped at Bolton and knocked him down. Robb rolled away and twisted his body to get Ice out of its scabbard. A Dreadfort man went to skewer Robb in defiance of his lord's command but Ice came up and sliced the man's sword hand clean off and as his blood spurted he screamed.

Then out of the snow came more enemies, dead ones, and for once Robb was glad to see them. From all sides wights came and Dreadfort men died and wights fell down but did not die for the Dreadfort men had no fire. Robb's legs were in agony but he got to his feet, only one thing on his mind, to kill Bolton. But first a few wights got in the way and with Ice he easily dispatched them.

He found Bolton near the side of the road, by the long stone fence that had blocked their way. He was with Grey Wind, and blood was on the snow, Bolton's and Grey Wind's. Bolton's right hand was half gone, blood flowing freely, but Grey Wind was worse, a stab wound in the belly, and he trailed blood and whimpered as he crawled away in the snow.

"WHY?" Robb shouted at Bolton.

"You know why. He was a bastard but he was still my son," Bolton replied and then with his sword in his left hand he lashed out at Robb at the same time Robb lashed out. Bolton blocked the blow and retaliated, and now Robb was in trouble, for though Bolton used his wrong hand and Ice was the better sword, it was heavy, and Robb's legs were weak and shaking and he was going to soon fall.

They traded blows, neither one getting past the others' defenses, and soon Robb knew he would weaken too much and be done. His life was on borrowed time he had always felt, for he had died once and the gods had given him life again. Now it would soon be over.

Finally his right leg buckled and down he went and Bolton loomed over him. I will see you soon, Roslin, my love, Robb thought as Bolton raised his sword for the killing blow.

But then there was a snarl of rage and a massive form in furs swung its sword and the Lord of the Dreadfort's head came off his shoulders and fell into the snow, and the eyes blinked once, and then were still, as the body fell spurting blood from the neck stump.

"Get up, get up!" the man in furs shouted and he grabbed Robb by the cloak and pulled him up with his massive strength. Only when he saw the scarred face hidden in the furs did Robb realize his savor was Sandor Clegane, the Hound.

Clegane looked at Bolton's dead body. "It's bleeding. Wights don't bleed. Who the fuck was that?" the Hound shouted at him over the wind.

"Roose Bolton!"

"Bugger me all to hell! I thought he was a wight!"

"He was trying to murder me. Thank you for my life."

"I didn't do it for you. Come on…BRONN!"

"Over here!" came a shout through the snow and wind.

"Come on, Stark!" the Hound snarled at him.

"Wait! Grey Wind's hurt!"

Robb saw the trail of blood and they soon found the direwolf. Robb fell to his knees beside him, pain shooting through his legs. "No…no…"

"He's not dead," the Hound said. "Can you carry him?"

"No."

"Then you'd better walk cause I can't carry the two of you."

"I'll walk."

Shadows came out of the whiteness and Robb and the Hound prepared to fight but it was Bronn with a dozen Lannister men. "Come on, for fuck's shake," Bronn shouted at them. "Leave the fucking dog!"

"No!" Robb shouted at him. "He's not a dog!"

"Lend a hand, you lazy twats!" the Hound shouted to the Lannister men and some came to help Robb while the Hound carried Grey Wind in his arms, the big man bowed down by the weight, but still he moved. To Robb's surprise Grey Wind did not protest, just whimpered a bit. They found the road and on it were dead Bolton men and more parts of wights, arms and legs and heads. Robb still had Ice in hand and as they walked by he stabbed as many dead things as he could and they all sizzled and burned. He did not know if all the Bolton men were dead or had run away but had not time to worry on it.

On they went, following Bronn. "Where's Tyrion and the Smalljon's men?" Robb asked.

"Up ahead with the horses…I think…ah, there's some of our lads."

As the Smalljon and Tyrion came out of the swirling snow with the Umber men Robb's strength finally gave out and he fell. He was bleeding badly from his leg wounds, unable to stand, and of all that followed Robb remembered very little. He remembered the Smalljon bending over him to bandage his legs, Tyrion shouting orders, being lifted to a horse, and then the horse being led by the Hound through the snow. At some point the wights attacked them again, and Clegane had Ice in his hands, chopping down wights left and right and turning them into ash.

He must have passed out around then, for his next memory was of his father bending over him and Robb was on a stretcher being carried as snow fell down. "Robb…Robb…" his father said, his face full of worry.

"Bolton," Robb managed to gasp. "He tried to kill me."

"Aye, Clegane told us. Rest, my son."

"Where am I?"

"Rosby, taking you to the maester."

"Ser Barristan needs help."

"He's getting it. Lord Royce's cavalry has gone, as have many Tyrell men with Lord Tarly. Not to worry. Rest."

The next thing he knew he was lying in a bed, in just his woolen shirt and small clothes, and his legs were heavily wrapped and very painful. A woman with black hair was standing nearby his bed being shouted at by Tyrion. "I told you to stay behind!" Tyrion yelled.

"And I told you I would not leave you again!"

"Gods, woman, we are at war!"

"If I die, I will die with you!"

"Shae…"

"Sshhh, he's awake."

"Robb?" Tyrion said as he came closer.

"Water…please."

Shae brought him a cup and he sipped some and then gulped the rest. When done he looked at Tyrion. "What's happening?"

"Well, it seems my lover here has managed to hide in the supply wagons and cook tents these past few days without me knowing it. Now she is playing nursemaid to the wounded."

"He did not mean us," Shae snapped at Tyrion.

"Where am I?" Robb asked, to clarify things.

"Rosby Castle," Shae told him.

"Lucky for you Lord Gyles thinks enough of you to give you a private room," Tyrion added.

"My father?"

"In conference, with the rest of the commanders, to which I must also soon attend."

"Ser Barristan?"

"Here…with his survivors, mostly Unsullied."

"Gods…what happened?"

"A few hours after we left the wights attacked again, thousands of them. The sellswords broke, both companies, and fled on their horses. Gods knows where they are now. But by then Lord Royce's men had arrived, broke the wight ranks long enough for everyone else to scramble back here as Tarly's spearmen covered the retreat. Varys is well, of course. He is a survivor, that one."

"Good. Bronn, Clegane?"

"Still with the living. Robb…did Bolton try to murder you?"

"Aye. Sandor…he saved me."

"So I have heard. Bolton's remaining men want him hung for murder. Your father wants all the surviving Dreadfort men put in chains. There is much confusion over what exactly happened. Stannis will want to talk to you about it all soon."

"That's enough, he must rest," Shae said. "He's lost too much blood."

"Wait," Robb said. "Grey Wind?"

"Still living," Tyrion told him to his relief. "Tough animals they are. The other one hasn't left his side since Grey Wind came back. Clegane carried him most of the way…except when we had to do a bit of fighting again."

Robb then had another worrying thought. "Where are the Others?"

Tyrion sighed heavily. "Between us and King's Landing, Mance Rayder's scouts report, and coming this way, tens of thousands of them, all heading up the Rosby Road and from the Kingsroad as well. It's not over yet."

"Aegon, we must get word to Aegon."

Tyrion shook his head and worry was on his face. "One of Mance's scouts ran into a patrol of Tyrell men from the city before the advancing wights disrupted their talks. They told him Aegon is dead, Robb."

That shook him, though he knew not why, for he did not know Aegon or anything much about him. "Dead? How?"

"His dragon your sister helped kill burned him and many others before it died. It took Aegon almost five days to die they said. His funeral was yesterday. Connington and Oberyn Martell are in command now."

"They must attack the wights from behind. We must contact them."

"Stannis sent Thoros and a wildling escort on a mad dash to try to reach the city soon after we left to find Ser Barristan, but I fear it is wasted effort. They don't trust us, and will not help us. Stannis has finally told us that Daenerys told him something else when your father and I left them that day. They know Stannis is in league with Pycelle. Pycelle was arrested. We can expect no help from the capital. All the better for them if we are slaughtered. Then they can keep the Iron Throne nice and warm for Daenerys when she gets back with Jon Snow...if she gets back with him."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Shae said to him with anger in her tone.

"They will come soon," Robb said. "I just know they will. With her dragons and Jon's sword, we cannot be defeated."

"Maybe," Tyrion replied. "But until that happens, we are on our own."