Time flies as quick as a raven and slow as a snail, or so Old Nan liked to say. The elderly caretaker was focused on the youngest Stark at the moment. Rickon had fussed all day. Father had taken their youngest sibling aside and explained that Bran, Jon and Arya had left and would not be back for quite a while.
If Robb was any younger he'd be as miffed as Rickon. Age did not permit him such immaturity, he was the heir to Winterfell. He'd hid any tears and trembles in the strong embraces he'd given Bran and Arya, only letting some of his stress escape when he and Jon had bid each other farewell. Jon's mop of hair riding away from the castle had nearly broken his composure.
The entire castle felt empty. Breakfasts were over quickly, with less conversation and even less arguments. Mother concentrated on Rickon and Sansa while Father focused on him. It was a new experience, having Father's undivided attention. In the short months following the separation, Robb's parents took an unexpected amount of time with him alone. Days of lessons with Father, trips into Wintertown, and calming nights by the fire listening to him recount tales from the Vale.
Theon quickly left for his own adventure, accompanying Steward Poole on a visit to Torrhen's Square. Winterfell's "ward" was set to spend the next few moons learning about the art of sailing first hand, along with a number of other topics related to trade and agriculture. His friend had been so excited for the trip he'd barely stepped foot in the Wintertown brothel, though his taste for ale hadn't disappeared.
Now bereft of the other boys, outside of the yard Robb spent his downtime either in the stables or the library. Walder was a well meaning man, not to mention a deft hand with the horses considering his size, but there was only so much Robb could monopolize his time. The stablemaster had a family to look after. Thus on stormy nights, when the castle had settled down, Robb found his comfort in the library.
The secret Stark histories that had once seemed so insurmountable were now manageable. Thanks to Maester Luwin, Beorn, Jon and Robb, not to mention Father, the thick volumes were steadily being sorted, organised and most importantly, copied.
The Hungry Wolf had fascinated Robb and he'd devoured as much as he could find written by and about the notorious King. When that well ran dry, he'd turned to some of the names that Theon Stark himself had mentioned; Kings of Winter who had ruled in the truly old days, back before the Andals and before the North as Robb knew it was formed. Starks who had looked at their borders and saw not neighbours, but vassals-to-be.
Men and women like King Jon and Queen Delra, who scoured the coast of the Bite of both raiders, pirates and disloyal nobles. Their crowning achievement, The Wolf's Den, cemented Stark hold on The Bite for thousands of years. Jon's son, Rickard "The Ranger", built on his parent's legacy and annexed the Neck, defeating the Marsh King.
Conquest was more than just winning a battle, as Robb was learning from both his own ancestors and recent history in equal measure. The only reason that King Jon was able to build the Wolf's Den was by winning the allegiance of House Rudel, the ancient rulers of the Sheepshead Hills and owners of deep quarries.
That stone did not come cheap. King Jon's initial forays in diplomacy were met with blatant hostility. House Rudel's grey bearded patriarch and prideful heir had no desire to submit to House Stark, and their proximity to the Widow Kings gave them a measure of leverage in negotiations.
Rudel's eldest daughter however, had a different idea. Robb was shocked as he read Queen Delra's account of planning and negotiating with the Lady of Sheepshead. Bribes were given, secrets passed and mercenaries hired.
In the end, the Starks orchestrated for Lord Rudel and his heir to have a chance encounter with a band of suspiciously well-armed raiders, that ended in their tragic passings. Before the surviving vassals could begin fighting for the right to marry the newly named Lady Rudel, King Jon arrived in force to protect and ensure the Lady's rule.
It was dishonourable to say the least. Robb wouldn't have called it assassination yet the entire affair stank of it. Except the results spoke for themselves, the quarries were opened, the Sheepshead Hills swore fealty to Winterfell and The Wolf's Den was built.
Ruthlessness went hand in hand with mercy. The logs made to account for the deaths and births during harsh winters proved that. Honour and justice existed in times of plenty with little problem but Robb was learning that the Starks of old had little problem with discarding their pride for victory.
The account of the Greystarks and their rebellion was especially poignant. As a cadet branch granted rule of The Wolf's Den, they served as a powerful extension of royal authority and maintained a strong presence at sea. "Fierce as Winter" were their words. From what Robb could find, they had held little wealth, most of their resources going toward skirmishes with both pirates and Valemen. A letter to Winterfell indicated their fleet and men suffered heavily during the War Across the Water.
It was during the reign of King Bened Stark that the Boltons rose in rebellion for the first time since they had bent the knee. Their war was carefully planned and to accomplish their goals, the Red Kings reached out to the disgruntled and envious Greystarks.
There was little written about the rebellion aside from a small mention of King Bened receiving a warning before the traitors first struck. The Bolton Lord who'd orchestrated the uprising had certainly been skilled with words but was outclassed on the field. Key battles were won quickly and overwhelmingly in the King's favour. This military might was attributed to King Bened's close advisor, Venned Cerwyn. The Boltons crumbled and the Dreadfort surrendered when the would-be Red King was paraded in chains.
The Greystarks put up a token effort but their own armies faced mass desertions after the taking of the Dreadfort. It only increased as the King of Winter closed in on The Wolf's Den. What few battles they had fought left the cadet branch whittled down to a trio of brothers with no issue of their own. All three would be the last to bear the name Greystark and were sent to serve the rest of their lives on the Wall.
All in all the fate of the Greystarks was a well-told tale that had survived through the centuries relatively in-tact. The message was all too clear. The Stark's were not above removing threats to their rule, even if those threats shared a name.
At least the Greystark's punishment ended at the Wall.
Robb had found a vague fragment from an even older journal that described exploits of House Stark when they were subjugating the Mountain Clans, their first vassals. The most vicious of their enemies were called "The Hornhelmed" and rather than bend the knee to the direwolf, one of the first Stark Kings chased the clan all the way across the Bay of Ice. Exiling them Beyond-The-Wall, forbidding their return south upon pain of death.
Coming back to his senses, Robb reached up and checked the buckles on his saddle. His horse was one of several waiting in Winterfell's courtyard as guards and stablehands rushed around them. He noticed Father speaking with Ser Rodrik, who had already mounted his own steed, then he made his way over to Robb.
"You have everything?" Father asked.
Robb nodded, "Nothing but my old clothes were left behind."
"Good, good." His father bent down to give Grey Wind a parting pet.
Making eye contact, Father stepped forward and gently gripped Robb's shoulders.
"You are my son, Robb. I am proud of you and your future holds so much promise, I'm sure of it." Father's quiet resolve had Robb holding down a blush.
"I'll try my best, Father." Robb vowed.
"The North is a harsh place, son, but it is the hearts of our people that keeps the cold away. Don't forget where you come from or where you will return." Father said.
"I could never." Robb protested. "I'll be the Warden of the North one day, I can't well do that from Karhold."
"You certainly picked up Benjen's wit." His father laughed. "Take this opportunity to learn, out of my shadow, what kind of Warden you will be." Father advised. "The North is a heavy burden, not borne easily."
Father's smile was strained now, tight. Before Robb could respond, he was pulled into an embrace and then left behind as his father ordered for the escort to make ready.
Soon they were on the road towards Karhold. Robb took in his last sights of Winterfell. The strong walls, familiar halls and the image of his father, shoulders hunched and eyes strained, flashed before him.
Robb kept his worries hidden.
What would Winterfell, and The North, require of him?
What would it take from him?
Could he give it, when called upon?
/
The lands of the Karstarks were much the same as his own family's. There were differences. The air had a more persistent chill and you could occasionally catch the scent of the sea on the breeze. The endless sight of the Wolfswood was absent, replaced by hills dotted with brush rising between thick patches of trees.
They'd taken the long route, following the King's Road up to Umber lands and after a short visit to Last Hearth, they took the older tracks east. After two weeks they crossed into Karstark territory.
A few members of Robb's escort had been there before, both as guards to Lord Stark and as message carriers. There wasn't much to say according to them, though he was warned that the vassals of Lord Karstark tended to be more vocal, more "belligerent", than what Robb was used to. The frequency of Wildling raids and the more common bandit groups made the Lords of these lands fully willing to take any advantage they could get.
It was something to keep in mind at the very least.
His first sight of Karhold was interesting. Unlike Winterfell, Karhold was a smaller castle, built strong but compact. It laid across two tall hills above a forested river, with the keep connected to the main gate by an ironwood drawbridge. A smaller hill sat a ways away from the castle, dotted with houses and buildings.
The countryside was certainly active. They passed by fishermen, merchants and labourers every so often. Each group slowed when they caught sight of the Direwolf banner, briefly paying their respects. Robb noticed none of the travelers were unarmed, even the occasional elder had a small knife or hatchet strapped somewhere.
Robb took note of a large party emerging from Karhold's gate.
"They are prepared for us." Ser Rodrik said.
Father had given him 30 men for the trip and 10 were to remain permanently. Well over 50 guards approached on horseback, with at least one Karstark leading them. From this distance Robb knew it wasn't Torrhen or Eddard, so it must be Harrion, the heir.
"Lord Robb, welcome to Karhold!" The noble proclaimed.
Harrion was only a few years older than Robb but he already had the beginnings of a thick beard with a fierce slant to his features.
"Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, Lord Harrion. Lady Alys sends her regards."
Harrion smiled, "I expected as much. Her letters have been thick as bark lately, she and Lady Sansa are not ones to be idle."
The two parties merged and moved uphill.
"Not a day went by where they hadn't found some new inspiration." Robb commented.
Quick chatter filled the air as they passed across the drawbridge, the courtyard beyond was filled to the brim. It seemed Lord Karstark wished for every member of his household and staff to witness Robb's arrival.
It was a pleasure to reunite with the other Karstark sons. In quick order he was bundled off into a tour of the castle complete with introductions to the Steward, Master-of-arms, Captain of the Guard and on and on. Robb barely had a moment to breath before he was seated at a feast. His fostering began at a brisk pace and would not slow down for many became apparent that even without the library, there would be little time to rest.
Over the next six moons his days were filled with training, riding and dozens of hours spent either with Lord Rickard or Harrion. Robb saw every inch of Karhold, doing his best to learn which servants were in charge, which guards had the most sense and who was favoured.
Harrion Karstark took his duties as heir seriously, urging Robb to tag along as he kept a close watch on his home. Gossip, rumor, feuds; Harrion kept abreast of it all. To be sure, the man rarely intervened or meddled. Robb questioned all the effort it took, but Harrion proved the wiser when an envoy from a farmstead arrived, bearing an official plea for assistance. A large number of their cattle had been stolen. Harrion stepped forward and added that hunters in the same area were also noting suspicious tracks and a lack of game.
Whereas normally Lord Rickard might have sent out a small party to assess the situation first, with both the farmer's word and his own son's confirmation, Robb's host had all the proof he needed. Harrion, Robb and Torrhen set out two days later with 30 guards and a trio of hunters. With Grey Wind at their side, hounds were unneeded.
Their search eventually led them to a sparsely used patch of land northwest of Karhold, running close to the Bay of Seals. They found evidence of temporary camps and the bodies of two herdsmen. Harrion had declared their prey Wildlings, crafty ones too. Likely experienced, since fresh raiders usually kept close to the Wall. "Experienced" was an understatement. The raiders had caught onto their hunters and ambushed Robb's company days later. Small pits in the trail tripped the front riders and in the confusion, arrows peppered them. Harrion rallied the men and on foot he charged the hill the raiders had hidden in.
The battle was a blur to Robb. He recalled moments. A bronze spear, skewering a Karstark man. An axe, crashing into Torrhen's arm. A woman's neck, crushed in Grey Wind's jaws. The blade Father had given him, cutting into an old man's gut.
Of the twenty wildlings, four surrendered. Robb was surprised when Harrion declared that they would judge the survivors there and then. They hadn't the time or the manpower to bring the prisoners back with them, not if they wanted to keep their own injured men healthy.
Normally, Harrion's word would have been final. He was in essence acting with Lord Karstark's voice. Robb however, was technically acting with Lord Stark's. He could have pushed for the prisoners to be brought back to Karhold, but Robb knew he was the follower in this case and to usurp Harrion's authority would be an insult. He agreed and took two of the heads himself. The first time he had given the sentence and swung the sword.
/
Lord Karstark was understandably proud of his sons and his ward. Torrhen's wounded arm scarred quite badly but otherwise he would recover fully. Robb's relationship with Harrion and the other men of Karhold shifted upon his return. A few weeks passed before he noticed. They were more free with their interactions, whereas before there had been a noticeable distance, now the guards and servants treated him more like Torrhen and Eddard, as a true member of the household. It implied a level of respect and trust that was earned in combat, a unique relationship that was formed in spite of his House name.
Regardless of the new dynamic within Karhold, Robb still longed for his family. Especially so after sending off a batch of letters home, with details of the Wildling ambush to his father. Jon's letter went unsent, he wasn't even sure where to send it.
Memories prompted Robb to take a day's trip to the town of Hilltop. A modest market offered nothing special and the ale was average, bordering on poor. It took two pints of that mediocre drink to embolden Robb. He tried to subtly question the innkeep as to where he might find some Shepherds. Subtlety was not his strong suit and the innkeep was most definitely having a laugh at his expense. Awkward emphasis and double meanings rewarded Robb with directions to an older building along the outskirts of the town, placed right by the path to the Godswood.
The home had two floors over a sturdy stone foundation. The door was inlaid with a striking carving, depicting a sun over what Robb guessed was a Heartree. Grey Wind was relaxed as he approached. Robb took a deep breath then knocked on the door.
A woman with brown hair and thin eyebrows answered. She was dressed in a thick coat and skirt, with a sheep pelt drawn over her shoulders. Any greetings were interrupted when her gaze locked onto Grey Wind. She pulled her shoulders up, straightening as she addressed him.
"Lord Stark, I presume?" She passively asked.
He gave a slight bow, "Robb Stark. I was hoping to speak with a Shepherd."
"Truly? Then we would be honoured to host you. I am Kara, please come in, my lord." She answered. Robb caught her eyes still sliding over the direwolf.
"Stay." Robb ordered Grey Wind, while he moved inside.
The door was shut softly and Robb took in the large common room. A healthy fire sat in a pit in the middle of the room. The pit itself was surrounded by carpets of thick furs with low tables covered in wood, stone and some kind of tools.
"We have a guest, Addys. Lord Robb Stark has come to speak with a Shepherd." Kara had walked over to a younger girl, probably in her twenties. Addys, he supposed, bowed from her place at a table dipping strips of linen into some discoloured liquid.
He accepted her greeting but stayed focused on Kara. His host had drifted over to the stairway nestled in the corner and disappeared onto the second floor. Addys offered him bread and salt, which he accepted graciously. Just as he swallowed his mouthful, Kara returned leading another woman, perhaps a few years older than his mother.
She sat down at one of the low tables and gestured for him to join her. The furs were evidently set over some kind of straw pillows, they were quite comfortable.
"Lord Stark, welcome to our home. I am Derwyn Redhand. Kara said that you were seeking a Shepherd?"
Robb nodded. "Yes. In truth, I would normally have written to the Shepherd of Winterfell but a letter seemed too impersonal. I was hoping you might have some wisdom."
Derwyn smiled, "Depending on the subject, I worry we may not be of much help to you."
"Are you not a Shepherd?" Robb asked.
"Oh yes, and unlike Kara or Addys, I grew up on Skagos."
"Then why would you be less capable than my home's Shepherd? A young man, less experienced by all accounts." Robb wondered.
"It is the nature of our people. Roots grow to fit their soil and while a tree's trunk may mirror its neighbours, beneath the ground they are unique. If you wish to know of war or perhaps swordwork then you will find disappointment here."
"Is your name not Derwyn Redhand? That title strikes me as one born of battle." Robb commented.
Addys hid a laugh.
"They call me Redhand, Lord Robb, because I have delivered so many children and animals. They joke that my fingers have been dyed red from the wombs." Derwyn answered.
Robb's blush was caused by the fire and his own cloak, certainly not by embarrassment.
"Healing may be just what I need." Robb insisted. "It has been nearly half a year since I left home and every day I learn more and more what it takes to fulfill a Lord's duty."
"Do you fear your birthright?" Kara asked.
Robb swallowed. "I fear I may fall short of it." He admitted.
"Then leave." Derwyn said.
"What?" Robb was shocked, that had been the last answer he'd expected.
"Put together a nice little chest of coins, hire a ship and leave. You wouldn't be the first Lordling to buy a life of comfort rather than duty." Derwyn added.
"I would never!" Robb exclaimed. "Nothing could force me to abandon my duty, not to mention my family."
Derwyn looked at him closely, "You seem so certain."
"Of course I'm certain!" Robb asserted. "I may be uncertain of my ability but I have no doubt in my conviction. Nothing could make me stray from my duty."
"Lord Stark, you are a man, a mortal man." Derwyn told him.
"My father is a man, a dutiful and honorable man!"
"Your father has never made a mistake? Has never strayed from his role?" Derwyn asked.
Jon's face flashed through Robb's mind. The stories that Septa Mordane used to tell about bastards being born from sin. He'd never truly thought of Jon as a burden, less so had he considered that sin to be his father's.
"There will inevitably come a time, my lord, when you will be forced to choose between what duty dictates and what you desire." Derwyn counseled. "If you hold too tightly to either motivation, you will find nothing but tragedy."
Robb stood abruptly. His face was closed off. "Thank you for your hospitality, Shepherds. I bid you a good day." Robb threw open the front door. "Grey Wind! To me!"
As the young Stark strode back towards town. He resolved to push the Shepherd's words from his mind.
"I'm a Stark." Robb reassured himself. "I will always do my duty."
/
More moons passed, life continued. Robb grew more skilled while he became closer to his foster brothers. Grey Wind grew larger and had the run of the kennels, the other dogs learned quickly not to challenge the wolf; though the people of Karhold had not truly taken to his companion. Grey Wind himself wasn't enamored with Karhold. The Godswood was quite small in comparison to Winterfell's and he missed his pack as much as Robb missed his family.
Robb must have shown progress, because soon enough he'd been instructed to accompany Harrion on another journey, the trust of Lord Karstark was not easily given. Their goal was to mediate between two feuding Houses in the south. House Tarmad and Brookbirth were minor houses that both held territory near a plentiful river. Their disputes had grown in magnitude over the years. This was the fifth time in 15 years that House Karstark had been forced to intervene.
Their party arrived at Tarmad Tower quickly, only to find an encampment of Brookbirth soldiers within eyesight of the keep walls. Robb watched Harrion cloister himself for a week with both Lords, fending off the looming battle with reams of papers, complaints and accusations. Robb kept the guards on their toes and ensured their party was fed and watered.
He learned quite a lot from the negotiations. Particularly how reason and authority could be thrown into the dirt by sheer pride. It became clear that this new dispute concerned a dozen different matters, some new, some old. All of it seemed irrelevant to Robb. These Houses were being ordered to set down their arms and if they refused, House Karstark would force them to.
He was confident that Harrion would eventually force their compliance. The Karstark heir was skilled at arguing people into submission. That certainty was why Robb was surprised when the Tarmad Steward approached him one evening, two weeks into their visit.
"Lord Stark, forgive my interruption." The Steward was middle-aged with traces of grey in his scant hair.
They were not alone; four Karstark guards stood by Robb and a trio of Tarmad men had entered with the Steward.
"It is no bother, I was just going to enjoy the night air." Robb replied.
The Steward checked the hall they stood in. His followers were armed and nervous.
"I must ask you to accompany me, my lord. I have just received evidence of yet more Brookbirth crimes. Their guilt is now certain." The Steward declared.
"Why come to me then? Lord Harrion shall pass judgement, not I."
"I will, my lord." The Steward insisted. "But I wished to ensure there was another who could verify my words. If you'll follow me?"
Robb was swiftly taken down to the small dungeon underneath the tower. More Tarmad guards watched a cell, where four men sat chained to the wall, rough bandages covered their arms and faces.
"What is the meaning of this?" Robb demanded.
"These poachers were captured on the edges of our lands. That one," The Steward gestured to the prisoner in finer clothes, "killed one of our woodsmen." He handed Robb a small knife. Its hilt was covered in dried blood but visible on the pommel was the Karstark sigil.
"The woodsman was one of Lord Karstark's favoured men?" Robb guessed. He'd seen a few smallfolk with these treasures, rare rewards for exemplary service to their liege lords.
"Yes. He'd fought under your own Lord Father during the Rebellion."
Robb frowned and looked to the cell, the prisoners had noticed him and the supposed-killer had pulled himself up straight. "Whoever you are, I beg you, see sense. The Tarmad's have imprisoned me under baseless claims." The man yelled. "I am a cousin to Lord Brookbirth, he will not stand for this!"
If that was true, Robb had just stepped into a truly dangerous situation. The Brookbirths were already baying for blood and an imprisoned kinsmen was more than enough of an excuse.
He looked at the knife clutched in his hands. The chances were high that these men were murderers and poachers, that could not be ignored. Robb was duty bound to see them tried for their crimes, heedless of the current tensions. He was unsure of the Steward's motivations.
"Open the cell, the prisoners shall be leaving with us." He commanded the Karstark guards.
Robb turned to the Steward, the man's face was pale.
"My lord, what are you doing?"
"Go find Lord Harrion." Robb told Karls, the senior guard.
Robb left the dungeons with the prisoners chained between his men. The Steward ran after him, upset and afraid. "You cannot do this, Lord Stark. These men were to remain in the dungeon!"
"If you wished them to remain hidden, why did you involve me?" Robb demanded.
"You were supposed to inform Lord Harrion! This was meant as leverage against the Brookbirths."
Robb turned down the hallway and caught sight of Harrion arrayed with the rest of their men by one of the doors leading to the courtyard. Ignoring the Steward, Robb walked up to his foster-brother and motioned to the prisoners.
"Harrion, these are Brookbirth men."
"Murderers and poachers, Karls said." Harrion commented. "The Tarmad are truly bold, to risk open battle like this."
"Should we take them back to Karhold?" Robb asked.
Harrion nodded. "Yes, now that they're out of the dungeons I doubt they'll go back quietly. I only wish we could have done this later."
"Why?"
"The Tarmad and Brookbirth men are still awake, the feast went long tonight. Possibly to give the Steward a chance to find you." Harrion explained.
"They're both still in the castle?"
"We must be quick. Our horses are being readied, we'll ride hard for an hour and make camp." Harrion informed him.
Robb was relieved to hear the plan. He wondered what the Steward thought of all this. He checked the faces around him, noticing a lack of grey haired men.
"Where's the Steward?" Robb panicked.
A cry echoed through the castle, it was swallowed by the crash of steel and splintering of wood. Robb threw open the nearest door. Across the courtyard the feasting hall doors had been thrown open and men were spilling out with weapons drawn. The chaos only grew and Robb watched as men in both Tarmad and Brookbirth colours were killed without mercy, the melee spun out of control.
Robb's shoulder was jerked back, Harrion dragged him into the circle of guards. Karls and another man were laying on the stone, their backs marred with blood. The prisoners ran past with their stolen weapons.
"We need to reach the stables." Harrion drew his own blade, Robb mimicked him.
Their small group went largely unnoticed, but still in the dark of the night they were forced to put down a handful of men from both Houses. When they finally thundered out the castle gates, the Brookbirth's encamped forces were streaming in. Robb watched from his saddle as flame began to peek through the roof of the Keep. People were screaming and servants fled in droves, he doubted half the castle staff had made it to safety.
"Robb!" Harrion shouted. "We must make haste!"
Off they went, the dark clouds obscuring their trail as they left chaos behind them.
/
To my Lord Father,
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.
I have finally returned to Karhold alongside Lord Rickard's army. Reassure Mother that the only injury I bear is a sore knee. Please also convey to Lady Alys that she may rest easy, her brothers and father are likewise in good health.
Our siege of Castle Brookbirth lasted a month in total. The experience was very different to the tales written by the Maesters and our ancestors. I suppose that no one found it interesting to extoll on four weeks of sitting outside the enemy walls, watching and waiting for those inside to grow hungry.
At the beginning of the siege, Harrion led a small force (including myself) into Tarmad lands to restore order. Tarmad Tower was a ruin and a group of surviving guards had resorted to banditry, occupying a number of small villages. We tracked them down, slew those who fought back and took the others prisoner. The men who had simply returned to their families in peace were granted pardons.
It was quite extraordinary to see a Lord muster an army for war, to see the ranks of Northmen arrive under their banners. It was a sight from my imagination when the Karhold heavy cavalry was arrayed in the field. My own armor was a set that Harrion had outgrown, it sat awkwardly and I would like to have my own commissioned soon.
The siege itself ended when Lord Brookbirth surrendered. As I understand it he had not anticipated such a violent response,most of his men were left outside his walls to be captured. I suspect Lord Karstark had tired of the constant hostilities and would brook no more defiance from such weak vassals.
Lord Brookbirth and his brother were both beheaded for their act of rebellion and the breaking of guest right. While the rest of their family either took the black or were given into the care of loyal Lords. Lord Rickard has decreed both Houses are stripped of their titles and holdings, they are noble no more.
Their now unruled lands are being given to Lord Rickard's second son, Eddard. He will marry the daughter of the nearest Lord and hold the former Castle Brookbirth as his seat. While Eddard appeared confident at the proclamation, he came running to Harrion and I later that evening. He was anxious and genuinely worried about his new responsibilities. I am hardly a Lord myself, so I left the task of assuaging Eddard to Harrion.
In truth, a part of my heart tells me I am responsible for this. For the destruction of two Houses, two families. It's entirely possible that had I left the Brookbirth poachers in the Tarmad dungeons that night, Harrion would have used them as intended, staving off the feud for another few years. It wracks my mind to consider those possibilities. Nevertheless, it persists. More so after seeing the state of Tarmad Tower.
Father, the maids and serving boys were killed alongside their liege lords, because of my mistake. What is my honour worth when babes and mothers lay dead at my feet?
I look forward to your letters, they have helped to reassure me in the past and I need your advice now more than ever.
Your loyal son, Robb,
Heir to Winterfell and House Stark.
/
Robb had woken early this morning and dressed in one of the finer doublets he'd brought with him. The rest of the family were dressed in similar finery, they were all expected to be presentable. Including Lady Alys, who had arrived earlier that week from her year long stay in Winterfell.
Lady Alys' return coincided with the Karstarks traditional visit to their family crypts. It would be the first time Robb participated in the ceremony. He suspected it was due to the documents Alys had brought with her, which included a copy of their betrothal agreement.
Marriage was inevitable for Robb, but he felt no dread over his eventual nuptial. In fact, he had grown genuinely excited at the prospect. Alys was a charming woman who was well liked by his family, especially Sansa. He considered Lord Rickard a mentor and Alys' brothers were close friends. In the same manner that Theon Stark bound the Mormonts to his family through a marriage to Prince Karlon, Robb and Alys would reinforce the blood ties between Winterfell and Karhold. The last Lady of Winterfell to hail from Karstark stock was, coincidentally, another Alys who had wed Brandon, the fifth son of Cregan.
Alys looked striking in the morning light. She waited at the bottom of the Keep stairs while Eddard and Torrhen milled about near the gate.
"Are you ready, Robb?"
"I am, Alys." He replied. "Though Lord Rickard has been somewhat reticent on the details of the ceremony. All I know is that we'll be visiting your family crypts."
Alys smiled, "Not just visiting. Father and Mother will be bringing gifts to place over the tombs."
"You do this twice a year?" Robb asked.
"Once near the beginning and one close to the end." Alys explained. "Typically, Father will choose a particular ancestor to place our tributes to, but the sentiment is meant for all of them."
"Who has he chosen this time?"
"I'm unsure, before I left for Winterfell he chose our Great-Grandfather and before that was one our distant Aunts."
Their conversation was interrupted by Lady Karstark.
"Robb, Alys, come along, we're ready to depart." The Lady called out.
Accompanied by the most experienced and senior household guards and a small number of sworn swords, made up of cousins and other distant relations, they made their way across the drawbridge and down the hill. Robb chatted with Alys and her mother as they walked around the base of the castle, their destination was a small walled section built into the hillside underneath the drawbridge.
A heavy iron gate, inlaid with bronze was unlocked and pulled open by pairs of men. Beyond it was a cramped tunnel lined with rough stonework leading to an ironwood door much like the one that guarded Winterfell's own crypt.
Robb was shocked when he stepped into the crypt proper, though there were a few torches lining the chamber, they were unlit. The light that bathed the tombs came from shafts of sunlight! Some kind of channels were dug into the roof, judging by the angle, they must have led to the hillsides above.
Alys took his hand, which ensured he didn't fall too far behind. The tombs of the Karstarks were laid out similarly to the Starks though it became clear that the Lords did not have the statues Robb's own family commissioned. Instead, plates of bronze were laid atop the tombs and bore a likeness and list of titles. He listened intently to Alys as she pointed noteworthy names and faces. They shared a laugh at the number of namesakes she had.
Farther and farther they walked into the ancient halls, eventually crossing into what Robb judged to be the oldest tombs. They had the unique look of pre-Andal stonework. The bronze here was remarkably well preserved.
At the end of the crypt, and Robb was quite new to the idea of crypts that had a reachable end, had a single stone statue laid into the wall, at its feet was a stone wolf and across its lap, an ancient sword.
Above the statue's alcove was large bronze plate inscribed with the Old Tongue:
Magnar Karlon
Ulf-Iud, Marr Faethni, Heral-Skyl
Soln Fer Wintre
"Karlon Stark." Robb whispered.
"Yes," Lord Kartark stood before the statue. "The founder of our house, Karlon the Noble." he stated proudly.
"He has many titles." Robb commented, more to Alys than anyone else.
"Can you read them?" Alys asked. "Sansa said you were being taught the Old Tongue."
"You cannot?"
"I know some old poetry and a few sayings, I was learning the alphabet from Sansa. Father was taught more but even he will admit to not be a master of the language."
"The inscription says 'Lord Karlon. Wolf Son, Horse Slayer, Justice Bearer. The Light of Winter.'" Robb translated.
"Wonderful, you'll have to teach me."
"Of course, my lady. Our children will need to learn one day, it would only be fitting that their mother help them do so." Robb said, though he didn't truly think about his words. They were bold, he snuck a look at Alys to find her staring at him before grinning. Alys and Robb shared happy smiles.
Stepping forward, Lord Karstark lifted a bundle from his wife's arms. Inside the cloth was a helmet with the sun of Karhold presented proudly upon the face. Robb recognized it as Harrion's old helm, there was a significant dent running along the back of the scalp. Harrion had worn it during the siege, the helm had absorbed a spear thrust from a Brookbirth soldier during the first clashes. Harrion had been on horseback so the full force of the enemy's thrust lessened, if the strike had been a little lower the tip would've skewered his throat instead.
The helmet was placed reverently upon Karlon's lap, a token of thanks. They watched on silently as a nearby shaft of sunlight shifted across the floor. The other men and women walked forward and arranged their own items at the statue's feet. It took roughly half an hour for the ceremony to end, during which Lord Karstark led his family in silent prayer. Finally, the light climbed up Karlon's shins and found a resting place upon the helmet and sword, giving both items an ethereal glow that awed Robb.
"The sun indeed."
/
A/N: Time for some time skips. I'll be taking a peak at most of the Stark children and show some stuff from the time during the fosterings. As for timeline purposes, the ages have been slightly tuned.
For those wondering about the year, Beorn met Lord Stark in 294 AC, and the Starks left for their fostering in 295 AC. In canon, King Robert will be arriving at Winterfell in 298 AC.
Thanks for all your support. Next chapter we'll be returning to Winterfell to see Sansa!