Winterfell

With each passing day the sky grows colder, and with each passing night Robb's heart grows ever more weary.

How long has it been since he'd last seen his family? A month ago his mother departed for King's Landing in secret, and over two months ago it was his father and sisters. Though he worried for their well-being, constant messages from ravens assured him that they are well and that he had nothing to fear.

But it has been many days since the last raven landed on Winterfell soil, and that one carried disheartening news. It was a message sent by House Tully, detailing the attacks done by the Lannisters on the Riverlands. For reasons unclear, his mother is cited to be the main cause of their attacks, citing 'retribution' for kidnapping Lord Tyrion Lannister to the Eyrie.

Did his mother really do such a thing? Or was it all a lie crafted by the Lannisters to justify their attacks? Robb does not know. And I see no reason why the Imp would be cause for concern with my mother, he wonders. The man's kind enough to help plan a saddle for Bran. But then again, father always warned us of the Lannister's lust for gold and power.

He needs to contact House Tully and check on the Riverlands' status before doing anything drastic. However, there's a problem.

"Maester Luwin," Robb enters the silent rookery with his direwolf Grey Wind, "any messages regarding the Riverlands or my mother and father?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Stark, but no ravens arrived today as well," the old man sighs, closing one of the empty cages. "And with no ravens, we won't be able to contact them either."

"Yes, that is something that must be solved quick. However, can you stop calling me Lord Stark? It's... Odd when you say it."

"Nonsense, nonsense! You're Lord of Winterfell now, not a lordling. As your father trusted you and I trusted your father, then you must stay as Lord Stark. Also," Maester Luwin throws away a bag of loose feathers, "it is something that you will carry in the future. Wearing it early will simply increase your experience in it."

"I suppose it's the same with you then, Maester Luwin. I'd be sad to see you go."

"I have many years left in me, Lord Stark. But not to worry, I'm sure the Citadel will provide you with a fitting maester for the task when I'm gone."

Grey Wind goes about the rookery, sniffing through all of the empty cages looking for anything to eat. "But we can only inform them if we have the ravens. Right now we have none."

"Yes, yes... I still don't know what happened with them, strangely enough," the maester shuffles about, picking up scraps of paper. "Such a large escape... We can request new birds from neighbouring houses, of course. I'm sure House Cerwyn is able to lend you some."

"House Cerwyn... A day's ride at least. Isn't that right, Grey Wind?" The direwolf barks at Robb's comment.

"So no time to waste then, Lord Stark. I'm sure a Stark bannermen will gladly do it for you. Of course, you could just ask the Greyjoy."

"Heh, Theon will take a detour with some girl for the better part of a day. I'll see what I can do. Come, Grey Wind."

Descending the Bell Tower, Robb catches a falling snowflake with his tongue. It's snowing today, but from Maester Luwin's calculations it shouldn't last longer than a day. "Not enough for you to play around in, isn't that right Grey Wind?" The direwolf ignores him and tries to catch a snowflake instead, his massive shape knocking over mounds of snow. Not even a year old and you're already larger than the hunting dogs. What a beast!

As he walks across the courtyard, he sees a crowd gathering nearby the stables. Even Ser Rodrik Cassel is in on it so it must be something interesting. As he approaches the crowd, Grey Wind stops in his tracks and snarls at their direction, bringing Ser Rodrik's attention towards him. "Ah, Lord Stark! Good to see you on this cold afternoon," the old man smiles, bowing with a few others.

"Good to see you well, Ser Rodrik. Tell me, what's going on?"

"Ah, it's just a bit of a beating, my Lord."

"Beating?" Robb raises his brow. "Well I hope it's no one important."

"It's Theon."

"Ah, nobody important then."

"I heard that!" Theon shouts from somewhere in the crowd.

"You have a hunter's ears, Theon! But not their wit!"

"I heard that too!"

"You were supposed to!" Robb shouts, laughing at his friend's foolishness. "So, who's the lucky man who'll be taking his money? One of the guards?"

"Um, no... It's the warg."

"Again? I see why Grey Wind's upset."

"Aye," Ser Rodrik sighs. "Theon... That boy thought himself strong after saving Lord Bran from the wildlings. And now, he's decided to win back the crowns he lost to Lady Momiji. Frankly, he's going to have no coins after this."

"Of course he will." Wanting to watch his friend be made a fool out of, Robb parts the crowd so he can experience it all front-and-centre. He sees Theon to his left, already donning his kraken-styled surcoat and mail. "Theon, the hell are you doing challenging her?"

"The failures of my past have trained me well, Robb. I'll take back the damn crowns she stole!" he shouts from beneath his helm, a size too big for his head.

"You're not ready, Theon," Robb says with a slight annoyance. "Ser Rodrik's not even good enough to beat her; you have no chance."

"Heed the wolfcub's warning, inkboy. You're a fish out of water," says the white-haired warg at the other end of the crowd. Unlike Theon's traditional armouring, the warg wears a wide-sleeved white dress with black skirt and strange shoes. The only thing that looks fit for battle is the leaf-emblazoned shield she wields and the practice arakh in her hand. She shows a wolf's smile at him. "You're fifty years too early to challenge me."

"Fifty!? I'll be an old coot like Maester Luwin by then!"

"Hey, no need to insult Maester Luwin, Theon!"

"You'll be ready in sixty years, wolfcub."

"Hah! Sixty! I'm clearly a better warrior than you, Lord Stark." Robb's not sure why but he can feel Theon stuck his tongue out at him.

"Alright, she said sixty because I'm younger than you, Theon. But isn't that a bit harsh, Lady Momiji?" Robb crosses his arm at the prideful warg. "I've trained with Ser Rodrik since I was nine. I'm sure we'll be capable fighters soon enough."

"And I rode the wind the day I was born, wolfcub."

"Well that's foul play, Lady Momiji. At least I trained to be like my father."

The warg scoffs. "I've seen your 'training', wolfcub. Being able to swing a sword or read a map does not make you a wolflord; at the end of the day, you're nothing but a cub in my eyes."

The crowd falls silent at the warg's insults towards their Lord. Robb keeps a stern face to it all, unmoving. "Taunts don't work on a direwolf, Lady Momiji. Just give Theon his just deserves and we can all return to our duties."

"Of course the direwolf's scared of a true wolf," she chuckles. "That's fine by me; less fools to deal with."

...

"Theon?"

"Robb?"

"Count me in as well," Robb says as he unbuttons his cloak to the cheers of his men. Even more people have gathered now, wanting to see their Lord finally put the warg in her place. Ser Rodrik hesitantly dress him in his mail and brigandine, the running direwolf emblazoned on his chest. After receiving the practice sword and shield, Robb goes to join Theon by his side.

"Now now, what do you want to bet on, wolfcub?" the warg asks, slinging the blade on her shoulders. "Your friend want crowns. Perhaps you want to scratch my ears and tail like that dog of yours?"

"Heh, I bet you want to touch more than that, right Robb?"

"Shut it, Theon. I'm not lewd like you."

"Why the red face then, Robb? Remembering that time you walked in on-"

"I said shut it!" he jabs the laughing Greyjoy's side. In truth, he is remembering that time he saw her bathing in the Godswood hot springs. He tries to forget that naked scarred-and-muscled body of hers and instead focus on her wilder aspect: her ears and tails.

I didn't really believe her claim to be some sort of creature when we found her in the Godswood. But when I saw those fluffy ears and tail attached to- When I saw them, they really are parts of her body. Not some ornamentations or pelt. Either Maester Luwin is wrong about wargs, or she's that race of creature called... What was it? 'White wolf tengu'?

"So? What'll you give me when I win?"

"You won't," Theon says.

"But if you do," Robb adds, "I'll approve your request to choose one of the wildling bodies. However, you must conduct it far at the edge houses of Winter Town, nowhere near here. Is that clear, Lady Momiji?" At the delectable offer, the warg's ears perk up and her tail wags just like his Grey Wind. But far more bloodthirsty, he reminds himself.

"Wolfcub, you're not making it easy for me, aren't you?"

"Of course not. Ser Rodrik! Four men!"

At the shout, the crowd splits again to let the Stark men-at-arms enter the fray. Ser Rodrik leads the group, wielding a kite shield and a spear. The others wield similar equipment, and all of them excited for the melee. "Ready to be of service, Lord Stark," says Ser Rodrik, closing his visor.

"My my," she chuckles. "And what do you all want?"

"My coin purse back," says one guard.

"My coins as well!"

"M'scarf!"

"My pride!"

"You ain't getting that one back, Mycah."

"Shut it, Greyjoy. I'll earn it by beating her."

"Wolfcub, I've yet to hear your prize."

"Me? Some empty favours would be nice."

"Empty favours? For such a high price, I demand a custom armour when I beat you all. I do love your people's armour design."

"A promise then. My men, form up!"

Robb takes the back group, two men to his sides and Ser Rodrik to his front. Theon acts as vanguard for the Stark men, two other spearmen supporting him. It's a formation the two have trained in before, yet never execute against a single attacker.

As they form their defenses, the warg takes an offensive stance, arakh raised and shield poised at the ready. Robb recognises that form from a previous bout. It's the one where she wields the wind like a horse. Or no, was it the one as a sword? Or-

"I declare that this melee may begin!"

Surrounded by cheering, the warg dashes from her position at such speed he's nearly unable to see her. The first guard goes down with a strike to the gut while Theon barely dodges the incoming blade. The other guard isn't so lucky. Before long, the warg viciously attacks Theon like a beast on a cowering rabbit.

"Ser Rodrik, let's move and help Theon!"

"Aye!"

The guards intervene just in time to block a slash from her before Theon scurries back to Robb. "Damn the gods, she's fast!"

"Had enough you idiot?"

"I still need my coins!"

"GAH!"

They turn their head to see Ser Rodrik being pulled in by his spear. Her shoes connects with his helmet, knocking him out instantly. The skirt and sleeves offers no apparent detriment to her movements. The other guard thrusts his spear before being blocked by the shield. She sidesteps behind the man and strikes his head with the broadside of the arakh. For the last guard she trips him and hold him down with her sword's tip. "Dead." Now, the only active Stark men are Theon and Robb. The crowd has gone quiet in wonderment of the warg's skills.

"Shit... Theon?" Robb asks his friend. The woman is too busy brandishing the arakh and thus the they're able to speak in secrecy.

"So... Which one of you cubs are going to sleep next?"

Theon steps forwards but Robb pulls him back. "We must work together, else we're no match."

"Where do we aim? Her tail? Pull on it?"

"If you do that, I think she'll rip your hand off."

"Finish talking, little cubs. I still haven't eaten lunch yet."

Raising their shields up, the two move together and slowly close their distance to the warg. Her red eyes peer into his, but Robb shakes away the fear. With a little nudge, the two charge forward with a war-cry.

Theon swings down his sword in a wide arc but is blocked by her shield. She thrusts her sword to his stomach but luckily he dodges it and lands on his feet. Using the distraction, Robb attacks from the side with a shield bash. Though it's blocked, he swings his bastard sword low and manages to clip her right foot. She jumps into the air and lands some distance away. "Not bad..." she smirks. "Fifty years for you, wolfcub."

"Forty for me?"

"Still fifty, inkboy."

"Fuck it. Come on Robb!"

The two play out the same attack. Theon leads with a swing and dodges her attack again. Robb, after bashing his shield, goes for her left leg this time. However, he realises too late that he should've changed their tactics. The warg raises her foot and slams it down on the sword, disarming him. And before he could shield himself, her kick lands on his stomach and sends him sprawling on the muddy snow.

Groaning in pain, he sees Theon's body fly into the air and crashes on top of him.

"Gods damn you... Theon, you're heavy."

"All muscle... Bruised muscle..."

Robb pushes Theon off before sitting up on the cold ground. Catching his breath, Grey Wind runs up to him and licks his sweaty face. "Easy there, boy. I'm already wet enough as is." He feels the dull pain in his stomach, no doubt from that last hit. That'll leave a mark.

The warg walks up to the two, ignoring the sprawling and groaning men all around. Grey Wind snarls when she comes near, but a bark from her sends him whimpering. She offers Theon a hand.

"Ugh, thank you Lady-"

"Your coins."

"Thought so." Theon rummages in his pocket and pulls out his pouch, placing it in the warg's hand. "You're worse than a robber."

"Better, you mean. I have repeat patrons."

"Aye," Ser Rodrik says as he gets up with the help of his spear. "Your skills and martial prowess is astonishing, Lady Momiji. May I ask for you to teach these greenboys your techniques?"

"Fifty years, wolfcub."

"Yes yes, fifty years. At least it's not sixty," Robb stands, brushing away the mud from his ass. Most of the spectators have gone away, leaving only a few guards and his brother riding on Hodor. Glad he watched me get a beating, Robb sighs. "Ser Rodrik will show you the place for your... Wildling body. I must confess, I want to call you a cannibal yet I fear that you're not of men."

"Your fears are correct, wolfcub. And the armour?"

"Ask Mikken for that for he needs the proper measurements. I'll cover the cost for it; lost the duel fair and square."

As the warg and Ser Rodrik leaves, Robb lifts up the still-pouting Theon. Oh yes, I nearly forgot what I came here for. "Theon, I have an important task for you."

"As long as it won't cost me coins, I'll take it. What is it Robb?" he groans, stretching his arms and cracking his fingers.

"Go to House Cerwyn at Cerwyn with five of my bannermen. Ask if they can spare us ravens that are heading towards King's Landing, the Citadel, Riverrun, and other Northern Houses. Most important are the King's Landing and Citadel one."

"Oh yes, Maester Luwin lost the ravens... Can you give me some allowance?"

"And let you squander it on her again?"

"No no, got someone waiting for me at Winter Town, if you know what I mean," Theon chuckles.

"This will come back to bite you, Theon," Robb groans at his older friend's lewdness.

"Hey, you'll understand once you've dipped your wick, Lord Stark. Now, five bannermen... Maybe I'll take-"

"Lord Stark! Lord Stark!"

The two pause as they see the running figure of Maester Luwin, looking quite pale-faced in the cold. Grey Wind stays close to Robb. Something's wrong. "What is the matter, Maester Luwin?"

"A message," the old man huffs, "from the Riverlands, my Lord."

Riverlands? From the Rivermen or from Lannisters? "Theon, leave now and get the ravens! What did it say, Maester Luwin?"

"You need to read it, my Lord. It's urgent."

Feeling the pit in his stomach, Grey Wind and Robb go ahead of the maester up the Bell Tower and into the rookery. There, he finds a single scrolled message, lying on the table with raven feathers to the side. Maester Luwin comes in. "Wha- By the Seven, it escaped again! Damn it all!"

Ignoring the maester's outcries, Robb opens the message, fearing the worst.

To Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell,

We have seized Lady Catelyn Stark and her retinue travelling up the Riverlands. We will ensure her safety if the North does not interfere with our campaign against the Riverlords.

Once our campaign is finished, we will send an escort North with her to Winterfell to ensure her compliance and safety. If it;s not viable, we will have her sent back to Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King, in King's Landing.

Again, we will need assurance that the North will not interfere with our campaign.

May the Seven and your Old Gods bless us all.

Ser Jaime Lannister, Kingsguard.

His hands tremble, a soft whimper coming out of his mouth. Grey Wind nuzzles himself to him, trying to comfort Robb. He opens the scroll further and something drops onto the table.

A bundle of red hair, tied with a blue ribbon. It smells of perfume and dried blood.

Winterfell

"Didn't I send you to Cerwyn to bring back ravens? Why have you come back empty-handed!?"

"They had none, Robb. How is that my fault? Lord Cerwyn said- No, don't give me that look! Here," Theon pulls out a letter from his coat and slides it across the solar table, landing on Robb's fingers. "Letter from Lord Medger Cerwyn himself. They declared no ravens and was planning to ask YOU for more. But after I told them, they changed their mind."

"Two Houses losing their ravens is mighty unlikely, Theon."

"I'm not saying they lost their ravens; they DID lost their ravens. What and why? Don't know."

"So you came back here..." Robb sighs. Grey Wind nudges his hand and Robb goes to stroke his muzzle. "Right, so you at least checked with Torrhen's Square as well."

"Torrhen's Square? Of House Tallhart?"

"Are there any other?"

"That's across the Wolfswood. You didn't give me enough supply for that trek."

"Wait, you were away for more than a week, Theon. I thought you took the initiative and went to other Houses as well."

"I was enjoying myself, Robb."

"You went whoring!?" Robb stands from his seat, alarming both Maester Luwin and Grey Wind. "My mother is in the paws of the Kingslayer and you went out to go whoring!? What of this letter then?" he crumples it and throws it back to Theon. "Don't tell me it's some forgery you made for excuses."

"Excuses!? The hells are you accusing me of, Robb? I don't hold much love for Lady Catelyn, but I'd see that she returns to Winterfell safe and sound!"

"You sure of that, Theon? You said you had no love for her even when she showed love to you all the same."

"Love," Theon sneers. "And I suppose Jon received that same love as well? Can't even bear to stay with her and left for the Wall?"

"Why you-"

"Enough of that!" Maester Luwin steps between the two, his chains clattering. "Lord Stark, Greyjoy, all of you sit back down. My ears have enough of your bickering."

The two stare daggers at each other before taking their seats, sinking into the cushions and muttering childish insults. "I should've sent someone better," Robb sips his drink. "Then they would actually get me the ravens."

"Lord Stark, have you forgotten my lessons on Lordship?"

"Nope."

"Well you may have forgotten this part: it is unwise to insult and demean those who are loyal to you, especially if they have accomplished their tasks. This," Maester Luwin takes the letter, "is authentic. I've seen enough of the Cerwyn Maester's handwriting to tell from a glance. Even the wax seal is accurate."

"Told you," Theon smirks.

"But you're not blameless, Greyjoy," Maester Luwin turns to him, his ageing eyes fixed into a scowl. "Lord Stark entrusted you on this important mission, to gather ravens. Though you're not at fault for not bringing any back, you shouldn't have stayed that long away from Winterfell, indulging in some vices. Lord Stark grew worried for your return, fearing the worst."

"You lost sleep over me?"

"I did," Robb hisses. Grey Wind, who's now at full attention, growls at the Greyjoy. "She's my mother, Theon. How would you feel if it was your own?"

"I wouldn't know because I'm here as Lord Eddard's ward," Theon scoffs, though his expression soon turns soft. "Right, right... That was quite harsh for me to say, Robb. Sorry, I shall be quicker next time."

"Quicker in bed..."

"Getting back on the matter at hand," Maester Luwin speaks, "this means that we still have no ways to discreetly communicate with the Riverlands. Sending a rider there might spell doom for Lady Catelyn."

"All I can hope for is that the Kingslayer is kind enough to my mother, but he's a man with no honour." Robb dare not imagine what vicious things those lions may do to his mother; he knows the errant Kingsguard's records with those he's sworn to protect. "Then there is the matter of House Tully. If the Lannisters leverage this against them, then they'd conquer the Riverlands in no time."

"Using your mother as a hostage, such depravity," Theon shivers. "And they'll soon rule Westeros as well. Riverlands, Westerlands, the Iron Throne with that bratty princeling of theirs..."

"Gold and red all around." Robb remembers quite well how the Queen look at all of them during their visit. That cold, distant gaze that reminds him of a hawk, prideful atop of its clouds. She doesn't care for the North or my family. All the Lannisters cared for are power and gold. "We could coordinate this issue much easier if we have some correspondence with my father. As Lord Hand, he should be able to stop this madness."

"But no ravens," Theon adds.

"Yes, I'm sorry for that issue, Lord Stark."

"But can we assume that my father has taken up arms or perhaps thinking about so? He is the Hand, second only to the royal family. And I heard that the King and my father are close friends from the beginning, so it is possible that the Iron Throne has made movements against all of this."

"The King, fat oaf that he is, doesn't look to be the kind of man who'll let this slide. The question is, Robb, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's your mother in their hands. It'll be a great mark on your title as Lord of Winterfell if you let the Lannisters have her."

"So you're asking me to march South."

"It is not a bad suggestion, Lord Stark," Maester Luwin speaks, nodding at Theon. "Marching south will not only aid the Iron Throne, but it'll earn you the respect of both the Riverlands and the Northern Houses, strengthening your relationship with them. Of course, there's the matter of learning how to lead and warfare first-hand, which I will say is quite invaluable."

"They'll have my mother hung if the Lannisters catches a whiff of my scent."

"Then don't stand out," Theon says. "There are ways to head South unseen. By sea, at night, what I've heard about the Neck may be useful..."

Robb raps his finger against the table, pondering on his next actions. He sees the logic in this. And besides, ever since he received the raven he's been itching to do something as well; it's not good for him to stay within the warm walls of Winterfell while his mother is at the mercy of the Kingslayer. But marching South... Will I still hold the same authority as my father? "We have no ravens, remember that. The North is large and it'll take days to ride to White Harbour, let alone the more remote Houses."

"A messenger may take weeks to go through them all, yes. Truly, it is quite the conundrum," the maester speaks.

They stay silent for a while, stewing in their thoughts. The open windows lets in a cold wind and snowflakes, chilling its occupants. Then Theon snaps his fingers. "We could ask Lady Momiji for help!"

"The warg?" Maester Luwin's distaste is clear on his face. "You mean to trust a wildling to carry Lord Stark's banners? She's a savage, I'm sure of that! She shouldn't have been within Winterfell's walls at all, like that Osha girl you have serving the stewards."

"Unlike that Osha, she is much more loyal to us. Or something, I'm not sure what's up with her, but I'm sure she won't betray us. We still have our necks," he chuckles.

"How does getting her involved help matters, Theon? As far as I know, horses don't ride much faster with a warg than with a knight."

"Oh? You don't know about her riding the wind?"

"That martial technique of hers?"

"Oh yes, you were away that day," Theon leans back in his chair. "Well let me assure you: put her in charge of delivering messages, she'll reach all of the Houses in the North in under a week. I'll bet my coins on that."

"You have no more coins, Theon."

"Lord Stark, if I may give counsel," Maester Luwin approaches his side, looking apprehensive as he whispers into Robb's ear. "We know not her allegiance, my Lord. And wildlings are not known for their honour or loyalty, thus she may betray us yet."

"Betray who, greyrat?"

"Ah, Lady Momiji!" Theon stands from his seat, greeting her as she enters the Lord solar. Grey Wind growls at her but a bark sends him quiet behind the table. Robb sees that though the woman is wearing her usual dress, her hands are now covered in metal gauntlets. Its tips are pointed like the claws on a wolf. "Is that from Mikken? Very well made."

"It's only the gauntlets, inkboy. It'll take longer for the rest of the armour. They are of acceptable quality," she says. Yet, there's a little wag in her tail as she flexes her hand, bending the metal joints of the gauntlets. She watches the sunlight shine on the metal, transfixed on the way it moves. "Acceptable..."

"First time wearing armour, Lady Momiji?"

"What? Ah, no it is not, wolfcub. I've worn metal armour before, but they are of different form and designs than the one you have in this land. Never seen of such make before," she smiles as she makes a fist with the gauntlets, her canines peeking out. "Now, what is this talk of betrayal?"

"Lady Momiji," the maester approaches her, yet still keeping a good distance. "You've been a guest of Winterfell for the past few weeks, yet we know nothing of your people. If you would kindly tell us, have you sworn fealty to anyone?"

"I'm from the Inubashiri Family, greyrat," she glares at Maester Luwin. Her demeanour from before disappears as she seems to take pride in that strange name, her red eyes turning sharp. "We are loyal retainers to the Lord Tenma for more than a thousand years, and no amount of change will ever break that."

Those are strange names... I've asked that wildling woman Osha and she knows nothing about it. Could it be that she's lying about her heritage, like Maester Luwin suspects? Or is she from somewhere even farther away from here?

"Ah, this Lord Tenma," the maester smirks. "So you hold no allegiance with the North? None with House Stark?"

"I have no knowledge of your people before coming here."

"I see... As I suspected, Lord Stark, the warg is-"

"I am NOT a warg, greyrat. I'm a White Wolf Tengu, remember that well. And what is this suspicion you have of me?"

"Well, you said it yourself that you have no allegiance with Lord Stark. We fear, well..."

"Betrayal?" she spits the word out of her mouth, like some rotten thing stuck between her sharp teeth. "You dare call the daughter of the Inubashiri family someone who's prone to such a lowly act?"

"So no thoughts of it?" Robb asks.

"Do not joke of that, wolfcub. I'm here of my own free will. I help you and train you for I am curious of the humans who claim to have wolf-blood in them. Besides," she grins at Robb, "I'd like to see you grow into a wolflord, wolfcub."

"O-Oh, well thank you, Lady Momiji." Theon snickers but Robb's glare silences him, leaving only a sly smile on his face. "Maester Luwin?"

"If you find her to be trustworthy then I have nothing else to say, my Lord." Maester Luwin's words sounds tired and defeated. Robb knows it'll come to more arguments between them. But as long as Lady Momiji stays true to her words, he sees no reason to refuse her.

"Thank you, Maester Luwin." Robb implores her to sit on an empty recliner next to Theon. She does so, curling her bushy tail onto her lap. It looks very soft to the touch, but Robb keeps his hand back. "Now, as you've heard of my mother's kidnapping by the Lannisters, I have in mind to wage war on them."

At the mention of war, her ears perk up and some shine settles itself in her eyes. She looks like when Grey Wind is given a chance to chase some small game, yet the one sitting here has far more cunning and brutality than any wild beast. "War, you say?"

"My mother's kidnapping, the state of the Riverlands... There's a need to intervene with the Lannister's campaign. So yes, there shall be a war."

"Good," she smiles. "I was wondering when you all will get off your cushions and stop twiddling your thumbs. Having a wolf be kidnapped by a bunch of glorified-cats is a great tarnish on your name."

"I'm not a Stark."

"Was I talking to you, inkboy?"

"Lady Momiji," Robb continues, "we have in mind that you'll help us in informing all the other Northern Houses. Theon here seems adamant on your involvement."

"Remember two weeks ago when you stole my golden dragons?"

"You lost them."

"Stolen, lost, it's the same thing with you. Anyway, that sorcery you beat me with, the one where you rode the wind... Can you use that to travel far distances and carry messages under House Stark's banner?"

"You want me to act as your little errand-boy, is that it?"

"More than that, Lady Momiji. You'll be representing me, Lord of Winterfell, in calling them to arms. Besides," he leans forward in his seat, smiling, "who better to represent wolf-blooded men than an actual white wolf?"

The praise has a profound effect on her demeanour as her tail twitches in excitement. "Well now," she huffs happily, "I see no reason to refuse that."

"Good. Then-"

"However, there must be some payment for my services."

"Well of course, Lady Momiji. Speak them."

"First," she looks at him whilst stroking her tail, "I want the command of your men."

"...Pardon?"

"It need not be all of them, wolfcub. But enough that I can still command them to instill fear on those glorified-cats."

Robb looks at Theon, who's also uneasy of her demand. "Look," Theon says, "I may vouch for you to help, but don't you think it's a bit much to ask for the command of the Stark men-at-arms?"

"What you know of war, wolfcub?"

"Well," the maester speaks, "I taught him all the importance of warfare and strategies, the same thing that I taught his father. Lord Eddard entrusted me to teach him so."

"Have you been to a battle, greyrat?"

"No, but I-"

"So let me get this straight," she addresses them all. "Wolfcub, a boy who knows nothing of war, is taught by greyrat, an old fool who's never even been in a battle. Who here actually knows something of war? Inkboy?"

"Learnt from Maester Luwin as well."

"Unbelievable..." Shaking her head, she stands from her seat and walks to the shelf of books next to Robb. Grey Wind stays close to his side, growling at Lady Momiji as she traces her the metal claws of her gauntlets across the spine of books. "Tell me, as I can't read your language, what does this one say?"

"'The History of the Targaryen Civil Wars' by Maester Dessick."

"And this one?"

"'The Strategies and Tactics of Robert's Rebellion' by Maester Torren."

"So, you teach the wolfcub from all these books?"

Maester Luwin swells his chest in pride. "I taught him from all of those and more, Lady Momiji. He's a learned man, Lord Stark, only lacking in experience."

"Experience. Now tell me," she closes the distance between them and grabs Robb's head, ignoring Grey Wind's barks and threats. Feeling the metal claws digging into his scalp, he tries to get away to no avail. As blood trickles from his head, Theon draws his sword, urging her to let him go. But she pays him no mind. "When I crush your skull, wolfcub, what would spill out of it, I wonder."

"B-Blood, Lady Momiji," he slowly reaches for his own dagger. "Blood and brain."

"You sure of that?" she bares her teeth at him, the smell of autumn and rotting corpses hitting his nose. "I reckon it would be full of ink and paper from how much you read and sit. Pitch black like the night."

She lets him go. Robb sinks into his chair, breathing a sigh of relief, though his body is still shaking from the ordeal. Theon, sensing the tensions easy, slowly sheathes his sword but keeps a firm grip on its handle. Robb wipes the blood away with the back of his hand. "You know nothing of war, wolfcub; greyrat and inkboy as well. When your father was but a babe in your grandmother's arms, I routed armies with nothing more than logs and trees. And when your dragons ruled the sky, I led expeditions through towns and cities, hunting your kind for meat and sport. And so," she lifts his chin up, "you dare to question my experience when you yourself have none?"

"T-That was not my intention, Lady Momiji," Robb gulps, nearly choking on his own breath. This woman here, this thing, is nothing like the prideful beast he saw in the training yard. No, it's far more than just bloodlust. Cunning, pride... And something else. Something that he hopes to never see yet curious of it all the same.

"You're too smart for such mistakes, wolfcub," she draws back from him, the pressure in the air wearing off from Robb's body. "But I'm sure of the greyrat's intentions."

"I-I'm sorry if my words cause you to take offense, Lady Momiji," Maester Luwin bows to her. "It was never my intention."

The warg clicks her tongue but ignores the comment, instead heading for the door. As she opens it, she turns back to him. "That was my first request, wolfcub. Can you fulfill it?"

"Y-Yes, very much so. I'll hand it to you for who'll come under your command."

"Good. Now, my next request is not as intensive, so be glad of it. And it will be quite beneficial for you as well."

"I'll be sure," Robb sighs, resigning to the whims of the warg. "What is the next request, Lady Momiji?"

The warg's smile unnerves him as she states her request. "For this errand mission, you'll be coming with me."