Robb I
The air around the castle walls lofted the flags and tablecloths of the barrack stalls as Robb made his way to the great hall.
Along the way, he was greeted with nods and acknowledgement from the castle's inhabitants. How old was he when he began to understand his role in the family? He certainly wasn't a member of the royal family, but here in the North, Robb was the closest thing to a prince outside the pages of folktale. Step by step, he trudged his way through the sloppy dirt beneath his soles, the ground worn and weary from the Winterfell workers and their carts. Scents of hay and the odor of working men poured into his nose and outside of his slightly agape mouth. Robb tightened his lips. Presentation sets tone, Mother always told him, an important facet of leadership that springs at all opportunities. Just once, he'd gladly feign boredom to ward off small interruptions.
Speaking of interruptions.
"Father seemed to have important news for us," Sansa announced, breathing audibly from her short jog to catch up to her brother.
"Everything Father says is important," Robb stated. "And you sure took your time, have a change of heart about inviting Jon?"
His sister harumphed. "Absolutely not. I was just preoccupied with my tunic laces. I can't stand these sorry days where the Sun makes everything swelter." Robb got a laugh out of that one.
"You're wearing your cloak. If you walk around in it all the time, you're bound to be a bit warm, Sansa." They both turned into a corridor leading to the main yard, steps on mud replaced with patter of leather on cobblestone.
"I just made this one, I wanted to see if it's comfortable," Sansa countered.
Robb came to a stop and made a slow but exaggerated turn to his sister. "First thing, that's what a fitting is for, even I know that. Second," he lingered. It was darker in the corridor than outside, but in certain shadings, Sansa looked frighteningly like Mother. On occasion it makes him hesitant to lecture her. Similarly, whenever Jon was next to their Father, he looked more Stark than anyone else. Robb's Tully colors only stood out with age. He wondered if they would one day be unrecognizable as brothers. Time passes and hasn't the slightest curtesy to tell anyone.
"…Look, Sansa," Robb coaxed. "Ease up to Jon, alright? You weren't always so easy influenced by Mother. I remember when you would play with all of us years ago. Don't be in such a rush to be an adult."
Sansa tightened her jaw. "I'm not always going to be a little girl, Robb. That was forever ago. I want better things to do than play with smelly boys in the mud and grass." Looking away from him, Sansa suddenly found a vegetable cart remarkably interesting to her eye. She doesn't like talking about this subject and Robb just finds it humorous.
"And?" he started back up.
Sansa shot him a look. "What?"
Robb chuckled. "Stop sticking your nose up at our brother. Did you have an argument or something?" he asked genuinely.
It was now Sansa's turn to lead them toward the great hall. "Leave it be," she starts, but is helpless to pass by her brother with any force. "Sansa. You're a horrible liar."
Now she was getting upset. "I am not."
"Yes, you are," Robb chortled. "You couldn't trick a goat into eating grass, let alone get me to believe you were held up by fiddling with your clothes. Did you say something to him after I left?"
Sansa rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Why would I?" she questioned apathetically.
Robb said nothing.
A feint neigh from a horse outside the gates was audible enough to goad Sansa into finishing her thoughts. "No, I didn't," she admitted.
"Then what's the fuss about?"
At the very least, Robb was more than willing to bring the gap between his sister and half-brother to a close. Unpleasantries are seldom productive in the family. Fathers words, not his.
"Mother has been rather stringent on my reading lately. History provides brilliant insight into many great houses. Many unfortunate events have befallen noble families when a lord's bastard comes of age in the South. You and Jon are practically the same age. What if he starts to be a poor influence on you?" Did you know that bastards of noble families often try and seize the title of Lord for themselves? What if he does something behind your back?"
Robb wouldn't hear any of this nonsense.
"I'm years ahead of you on many things, dear Sansa. I'm not a gullible sort, and we both know Jon's nature is opposite his station. Unless, you've seen evidence of Jon craftily plotting our downfall, have you?"
Obviously, Sansa could not answer.
Robb sighed.
Taking after your parents is usually a good thing. He'd been told as much from the guards to the groundsmen, even some of the smallfolk from Wintertown. 'You're a lovely lad, just like your Lord Father.' It was good fortune to draw comparison to Ned Stark, but not all fortunes are fair.
"We'll talk of this later. We're here."
With that, Robb opened door into the foyer of the great hall, rounded the corner and eventually found himself, along with his sister, in the entrance to one of the largest and oldest structures to stand in the old walls of Winterfell.
The great banquet hall of house Stark had a timeless feel to it. Walls of grayed stone encompassed the large hearth and sprawling tables lined to house plenty of noble guests and bannermen. Above the center hung the large iron chandelier, a light cake of melted wax surrounding the edges as the arms unfolded out, casting candlelight from above. Several panes of long laden glass let the natural white tones of the Northern sun penetrate the hall. Robb thought that while standing here in the middle of the day, it gave the setting a picturesque quality, a vignette one might see on an oil painting.
At the head table, risen above the rest of the hall, was Mother, along with the rest of their trueborn siblings, waiting patiently for their arrival. Catelyn was busy chiding a restless Arya, while Bran read a book, undoubtably one he neglected to return to the library after bringing to his quarters for candlelight reading. Little Rickon was preoccupied with a small metal lock contraption. If Robb recalled it correctly, it was the same little puzzle toy that he long outgrew. It was amusing watching the usually airy Rickon genuinely enthralled by the riddle.
"Come quickly now, Robb, Sansa. Your Father will be here shortly," Mother addressed.
Arya had won out between their kerfuffle and accidentally ripped her gown up the side.
'I'm rigid as a rock' she would say, practically any time she was asked to wear garment even remotely lady like.
True to form, her only greeting was blunt and short. Just like Arya.
"I want to eat supper."
Sansa rolled her eyes.
Not a beat later, and steps came echoing through the corridor to their stage right. The halls that led from the great hall and into the proper quarters were connected by walkways that wouldn't interfere with the going abouts of the workers. Before Robb had a chance to get comfortable in his chair, Ser Rodrick, master-at-arms of Winterfell, walked hurriedly ahead of Father, and behind him, Theon Greyjoy: Father's ward.
They appeared to be in thorough discussion.
"-and as you suggested, Lord Stark, we can have the required hay and provisions supplied by trade with Castle Cerwyn. After we send word, I will get the smiths working on polishing their better armors," Ser Rodrik finished.
"Aye, Ser Rodrik. That will do."
Father and Mother locked eyes. Ned's shoulders seemed to relax a bit. He took her hand as he stood to her side. Behind him, Robb could hear the commotion of tradesman, castle staff, and the rest of the assembly behind the management of Winterfell crowded into the hall to hear what information had come.
"Everyone, listen to what news I bring, it is of absolute importance."
Robb almost wanted to laugh. Since when does Father have anything to say that wasn't important.
Once all attention went to the matter at hand, Ned unfurled a small scroll, the color of the wax immediately giving away the origin.
"This," Ned said. "Is a scroll from the King himself."
After a brief pause, he steadied his posture.
"Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and the man who fostered Robert and I, has been proclaimed dead."
Ned stalled. Apart from Rickon, the Stark children chorused.
"May he rest with his Gods."
"May he rest with his Gods." Ned echoed.
Eddard Stark was a quiet man. This was no secret. Robb admired him there, in brief silence. Without so much as a day to grieve, here he stood, acting as Warden of the North before anything else.
"As somber, and unfortunate for House Arryn, and the Realm this loss is, there is more. Following this, King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, rides North for Winterfell as we speak, along with the Queen and Prince Joffrey."
Before the hall could be quelled, short outbursts of murmurs and bantering broke out. The King was personally traveling North? Robb tried to remember the last time a Southron King came to Winterfell.
Ned continued, unburdened by the disruption. "I have discussed the matters of preparation with Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin. Our Stewart Vaylon Poole will sort out the details."
Without delay, a flurry of movements went about the castle. Under Ned Stark's command, Winterfell was a beautifully efficient machine. The castle folk went to work swiftly, with cause once Poole began making the rounds.
Now adjured, Robb turned to make his exit.
"Robb," he heard.
The eldest Stark stood at attention.
"A word if you will," said Ned.
"… Uncle Benjen will arrive before the fortnight?"
"Aye, son. We picked up a deserter from the watch several moons ago. Castle Black sent word of their missing brother after we found him. Benjen started out for Winterfell before I could send my missive. No doubt, he's coming to search for other deserters. The timing is quite favorable. I need you to find Jon and bring him to meet with us. If what I fear will happen comes true, there's no time to waste."
"Jon will be pleased," said Robb.
Alone and outside the hall, Robb could now see the stress upon his Father's brow. A visit from the King was indeed no small affair, but surely it wouldn't stir up much harm, aside from food stores. Kingly feasts are known to leave behind kingly famines. On second thought, if the King were served a piece of Old Nan's umble pie, heads could roll…
"Yes, Father," he said. "Shall I bring him to the hall?"
"No. Come to the godswood. Let our words stay with us and the Old Gods."
Robb spared a moment to watch his Father walk back inside the hall. Deliberations of statecraft and personal wellbeing was a fine dance of Stark men for generations. In the moment, the weight of his station washed over his mind. The ginger days of Summer would soon leave them all. It's easy sometimes, to forget that someday, this keep will be his to rule. His Father's titles, his own. Sons and daughters looking for guidance. Too young to remember the Greyjoy rebellion, Robb suddenly reminds himself that the niceties of today were bought and paid, not just handed out by fate. Fate is no doting Mother. It has no interests, only forward. On and on life goes, only men's intuition standing to propel their children into life. His was nurtured, groomed for eventual succession. He would be no King, but Warden of the North means standing at the top.
My, how steep the fall from this cliff.
On his look for Jon, he didn't make it very far before an unexpected guest made their appearance.
"So, you're off to find Jon, then?"
Robb craned his neck around as he walked. He could hear the small rhythm of little boots sloshing in the mud behind him.
Arya was wolfish as ever. Her playful attitude and toothy grin were excellent stress propellent. Unfortunately for her, the time for games was not now.
"Aye, sister, now I'm sorry but I'm a bit busy now. Perhaps Sansa can help you with what you need?"
She pouted.
"I don't need help. I'm just bored."
"Bored of doing your lessons, I imagine."
"Not at all," she sang.
"Arya. Now is not the time. Go back to your lessons at the Septum and we can shoot at targets later, deal?"
"I would enjoy part of that deal, but what if I told you that I know where Jon is already?"
Robb chuckled. "Then you best tell me, or I'll shove a helmet on that noggin so tight you'll sleep in it."
"No!" she exclaimed. "Fine, fine. He told me he was going to be practicing that rune magic you do outside the Hunter's Gate. I wish I could do the magic spelling, I bet I'd be loads better than you."
"Hmm, perhaps better than Jon," he teased. "But you'd give up from embarrassment competing with me."
"Guess we'll never know," she huffed. "I still want to pull the bowstring later! Don't forget!"
Putting more distance between himself and her, Robb jogged toward the Eastern Gate of Winterfell.
"What was that? Couldn't hear you. Aura must be clogging my ears."
Robb earnestly thought he could be funny around Arya.
Already going in that direction before she caught up to him, he reached the gate before long and greeted the guardsmen on duty. The gate was open today, no doubt in part for the required stockpiling of rations for the incoming guests. By record, it takes about a full moon cycle to reach Winterfell from King's Landing, if traveling the King's Road uninhibited. Surely the size of the escort will slow them down. At the earliest, they had two fortnights before the King reached Winterfell. Benjen was to arrive before the week ended. Winterfell will be a packed house.
Sure enough, Arya had the right of it. Out in the grasses, Robb picked out Jon's raven locks in a clearing a little distance away from the passing trappers on the trail out to the Wolfswood. When he got within earshot of Jon, Robb let his presence be known.
"Been looking for you, Snow."
Jon turned around; eyebrows crossed in concentration at the practice before him. Upon closer inspection, Robb surmised that he was practicing the reinforce runes on the earth, slightly slick with dew and disheveled dirt.
"The family affair end already, then?" Jon asked.
"Not strictly a Stark event anymore it seems," Robb answered.
That gave Jon pause. "No?"
"Nope. Father asked for your presence. Just you, him, and I. We're to go to the Godswood now. I've come to fetch you."
Jon let out a strong exhale.
"Bloody good timing at least. I'm at my wits end on this."
Robb appraised his brother's handywork. He remembered the right sigils. That was good. But…
"You've got the sigil order correct, but your rushing. See there? Your middle rune is off from the center."
These basic runes were beneficial if used appropriately. Quickness was always key, but its pointless knowledge if the user can't execute them. Especially not in a stressful environment.
"You're fast with the strokes," Robb began. "But remember what Benjen said. 'A scribe that writes a thousand scrolls before noon creates two thousand sore eyes before dawn.' It's no use if your markings are illegible. Sloppy practice leaves sloppy performance."
"Aye, pretty lecture, Stark. If the heat of a battle doesn't give me the peace to draw then perhaps, I'll ask them to nicely sod off," Jon said.
Gods, the nerve.
Robb slaps him on the shoulder. "Hey now, if I recall correctly wasn't it you who told me to keep my spirit raging on the inside and still on the surface?"
Jon Snow deserved a lick of his own medicine.
"Here you are," Robb began.
Kneeling, Robb focused on the pull of his Aur'ena, letting the root of its energy spread out and then concentrate in his hand. A dull blue glow encompassed the tip of his finger. Pulling out the aura wasn't hard, maintaining the flow of it was another story. Luckily for Robb, he had the better touch for now.
He found Jon's rune for reinforce in the ground. Using his other hand to smudge away the faulty middle sigil, he redid the mark, only slightly to the left, finding the center of the top and bottom sigils.
His work done, Robb retracted his hand and motioned for John to test it out.
"Since I didn't complete this rune in full, first, I channel my aura back into the whole thing..." Jon said. In much the same fashion as Robb, his fingertip glowed the dim light of his Aur'ena, and suddenly the rune pulsed blue altogether. It was a success.
Testing it out, Robb saw that he couldn't smudge the dirt around like he had been able to. It was solid work.
"There you have it, Snow. Patience is a virtue."
Obviously, Jon couldn't help but return a remark.
"Aye, Robb, but Lord Stark's time is also a virtue."
Well, he wasn't wrong.
"Let's get going then, shall we? Keep up now."
They stood together. Before they got far Robb added, "This is going to be a serious talk, Jon. Screw on that head and listen well."
"I don't need reminding. I seldom get the chance to talk with Father in earnest."
"Good, perhaps in our next spar I'll even let you reinforce your training sword before attacking you."
Jon smiled. "I'd still win without it."
"Be smug while you can, Snow. It won't be forever that we can spend hours in the training yard."
That seemed to get Jon's attention.
"Aye, I'll be leaving for the Wall soon enough. You going to miss the only competition around here?" he prodded.
"It's not your absence that I'm talking about. It's Fathers."
With a questioning step forward, Jon met Robb's stride and stared at him.
"Fathers? Where is he going?"
Robb sighed. It was going to be a long conversation already. Might as well get some things out of the way.
"Because-" he said blatantly. "King Robert and the Lannisters ride for Winterfell as we speak. Before then, Benjen will be paying us a visit."
"Uncle Benjen is coming?"
Without answering, Robb continued.
"Things are going to get awfully busy in Winterfell. Changes as well. Father and I will need your help, especially when he leaves."
Jon stopped him.
"I don't understand, Robb. What is he leaving for?" he asked a final time.
Starks never faired well in the South. The pain from the rebellion lingered in the hearts of all Northmen. Father just didn't have the courage to tell his people the news he dreaded most. Robb didn't need to be told, though. Even without telling anyone, once word gets out behind the timing of the King's visit, the whole of the North will understand the implications. Eddard Stark does not want it, but duty will forbid him from abstaining.
"King's Landing. He's going to be named Hand of the King."