Book II – Chapter 2: The New World Order
Raventree Hall
Sansa was not a 'prisoner' in Raventree Hall, the great citadel of House Blackwood nestled deep within the Blackwood Vale – the treeless fertile lands between the Red Fork and the Blue.
She was an 'honoured' guest, allowed to roam at her pleasure anywhere within the high ancient stone walls. Everywhere, that was, except the guard towers, the prisons, the village outside, Lord Blackwood's quarters, or the rookery. Which amounted mainly to her chambers, the hallway between her solar and the bathroom, and the colossal Weirwood tree that towered taller than the keep itself. Given the timbre keep of Raventree Hall was seven stories tall, that was saying something. But the tree itself was completely dead, and had been for centuries. It apparently didn't stop the hundreds of ravens that flocked to the tree each night. Sansa had begged for her chambers to be moved as far away from the tree as possible, the one request Lord Tytos had accommodated since he brought her here.
No, Sansa wasn't a prisoner. Of course not. Why couldn't she tell her family she was alright? It was too much of a risk, given the tense state of the war. Surely, she understood. Lord Blackwood was just looking out for her.
Sansa was starting to wish she'd taken up the sword like Arya had, solely so she could bash Lord Blackwood's stubborn head in with some good quality steel. Not that she'd know what was good quality or not, but she assumed that was a think they taught swordy people.
Yes, Sansa was a prisoner, no matter what everyone said. She couldn't speak to the outside world, leave the castle, or learn anything of what was going on in the Riverlands.
Well, Lord Blackwood needed to learn that Sansa was a wolf. Caged she might be, but declawed she was not.
It had taken Sansa exactly five days to get the entire maidstaff on her side.
Her golden opportunity had come when the poor girl clearly rushed into service just to serve Sansa so she wouldn't have any contacts in the rest of the castle, had tripped and fallen down a set of stairs as she tried to bring Sansa tea. Her clothes had been ruined, the tea set destroyed, and she'd cut her forehead and scraped her knees to bloody ribbons. Sansa had seen the entire thing, and immediately leapt to the girl's aid.
When the Mistress of Staff herself came looking for her wayward maid a short time later, she found Sansa with a ripped gown using the needles she'd been provided (so she wouldn't be bored) to repair the girl's dress. She'd already cleaned and bandaged her wounds and stopped her crying by assuring her she wasn't at fault and that accidents happened.
From that day on, Sansa had the complete allegiance of near the entire staff of Raventree Hall, and Sansa became good friends with the Mistress of Staff herself, a lovely matron named Madeline who thought Sansa's stitching ability was incredible. Which it was, to be quite frank, but she always appreciated when new people pointed it out.
As a result, Sansa knew near all the information Lord Blackwood himself did, within hours of the Lord of Raventree Hall learning it himself.
She had yet to figure out how exactly to use that information, but little steps.
It was thanks to the network she built that Sansa learned the current state of the Riverlands. Lord Blackwood and Lord Mallister – who had also survived the massacre at Riverrun – were leading a rebellion of the Northern Riverlords and had managed to push the Knights of the Vale back across the Red and Green Forks before their entire force could come down from the Eyrie. But with more and more of Stannis' army from the Vale and the Crownlands pouring up the Trident every day, capturing keep after keep in the southern Riverlands, they were barely holding ground. The last living Tully, Brynden the Blackfish – Sansa's uncle – had been sighted heading for the Twins, but had never arrived. He was presumed dead.
Lord Blackwood and his dwindling supporters believed Stannis had decided to let the Tyrells and Martells defeat Renly for him, and was concentrating all his efforts on securing the Riverlands before Tywin Lannister's army could make it out of the Westerlands. He appeared to have succeeded, more or less.
Word had come not two days ago that the Lannister army had taken control of Riverrun with help from Karyl Vance, but now they were stuck between – ironically – Blackwood and Bracken. The two houses, bitter enemies, held the north and south banks of the Red Fork and were allowing none to cross it and live. If the Lannister force attacked one of them, the other would hit from behind. There was no way Lord Tywin could cross the Riverlands and hit Stannis army without at least one of the families on his side.
No one could find Stannis Baratheon. The man had completely disappeared.
When Sansa learned that, she had started working in a fever panic, putting together arguments and discarding them just as fast. She needed to do something to break the stalemate. Before Stannis inevitably materialised to do it for her.
"Lord Blackwood!" Sansa snapped, shoving aside the Blackwood guard that tried to stop her entering her captors solar.
Tytos Blackwood was standing over a long table in the enormous space, five open windows letting a cool, refreshing breeze into the room. A map of the Riverlands was sprawled out before him, held down with books at each corner. The Lord of Raventree Hall had seemed to age in the past month. He'd grown thinner than he already was, and his black beard was unkept. Tytos son, Hoster – who was even taller than his father, but otherwise physically identical – was standing opposite him. Hoster was Tytos eldest son, yet three times Sansa's age. He was also, in her opinion, incredibly ugly.
She, ah, didn't have the guts to say that to the man's face. His double-headed battle-axe was very large and very sharp.
"Lady Sansa, these are my private chambers. If you wish to speak to me…"
"Oh, shut up and listen to what I have to tell you!" Sansa cut him off, folding her arms and glowering at the man. Behind her, the guards started apologising and blustering. Oh please. What were they going to do? Stab her?
"I know your head is full of pride and you'll never admit it, so I'll do it for you. You are going to get yourself and your 'rebellion' killed if you don't put aside your ego and ask for help from the Lannisters. There is an entire army just waiting for you or the Brackens to blink. You think Tywin Lannister is going to care which one of you Stannis decides to attack first? No. Tywin is just going to march his army through the land of whoever dies first, crush the Valemen cavalry with his fresh infantry, then marry a Lannister to whomever has any daughters left and claim the lands as his own."
The Sansa of five years ago would have been utterly horrified right now. Her mother… her mother would probably have fainted. But Sansa had been stuck in this castle listening to those fucking ravens cawing all gods be damned night for an entire month now, her mother was murdered right in front of her, and her brother was missing. Lord Tytos Blackwood, from everything Sansa had observed, was a proud man who respected honour and strength. Sansa was a woman – barely. She had neither of those things in his eyes. He had saved her for one reason. Because he thought, when this was all over, he could sell Sansa to whoever was left standing to protect his own skin.
If Sansa wanted Tytos Blackwood to listen to reason, she would have to pummel it into him. Arya would have used a spear or her daggers or set a gyrfalcon on him. Sansa had only her words. She would bloody well make them count.
"I'm not asking you to make peace with the Brackens, but Jonos is dead. We both saw it happen. Unless you want to join him, you must write to Riverrun and let Tywin cross the Red Fork. Smash the Lannister army against the Knights of the Vale and Stannis so you can focus on the real enemy –Mooton and his band of traitors."
William Mooton of Maidenpool and Harold Hawick of Saltpans were the orchestrators of the Massacre that killed Sansa's mother. They had designed the entire thing before Stannis had even declared for the throne. It was because of Mooton's greed and Hawick's desire for greater control of the Trident that this mess in the Riverlands had started at all. But Sansa also couldn't forget the swarthy man who'd killed her mother. Who was he? She didn't know. But she intended to find out.
Tytos and Hoster both stared at her, jaws hanging slightly open.
Having said her piece, Sansa decided she should quit and leave while she was ahead, less she give them time to come to their senses and have her thrown into a cell.
She turned on her heel and stormed back the way she came.
That night, Sansa dreamed of running in the forest in a body that wasn't her own. But… oddly, she thought she could recognise the faded shapes of Arya, Bran, Rickon, Robb and Jon racing alongside her.
The day after that, the Mistress of Staff told Sansa that Lord Blackwood had gone to the rookery that morning and sent a raven towards Riverrun.
Bronzegate
Jon crested the grassy bluff and pulled Mara's reins taught, bringing the horse Arya had gifted him so long ago to a stop. He stroked her mane for a moment, before Garlan drew level on his left, Willas on his right.
"This is Bronzegate?" Garlan asked, shadowing his eyes and looking out over the grassy plain.
"Aye," Willas muttered, mouth furrowed in a thin line.
The castle of Bronzegate was not overly impressive. A squat structure with only one stone tower, though it was of a decent size and located atop a hillock that gave a commanding view of the surrounding plain. The three townships surrounding the keep were far more formidable looking. Each one hugged one of the roads leading out from the keep – north, west and south – and built mostly from good looking stone. There would be no wood or thatch buildings here, where the storm winds would destroy them. A wall near five times Jon's height ran around the three towns and the keep, with dozens of scorpions and ballistae poised to obliterate any army that dared to approach, no matter the direction you came from. Jon could only see one of Bronzegate's three famed gates from this angle, but it certainly looked strong. Reinforced steel with a bronze coating and heavy ballast pullies to defend against battering attacks. There would be no 'forcing' the gates open – you'd have to smash through the steel.
Atop the wall, a heavily armed garrison stood ready for war, dressed in burnished steel plate and displaying Renly's green and yellow stag's head alongside the shield of House Buckler of Bronzegate. Jon, dressed in black steel reinforced leathers and light mail with Stark grey around the joints, rode beneath the crowned stag of Myrcella Baratheon, the sun and spear of Martell, and the Tyrell rose.
"It's not going to be easy to crack that thing," Garlan muttered as Prince Trystane, Beric Dondarrion, Randyll Tarly and Anders Yronwood reached the top of the crest and stopped beside them.
No. It would not be easy at all. Preferably, they'd just go around and lay siege to Storm's End – near all the Marcher houses – both Stormlands and Dornish – had deserted Renly and fallen into line with Myrcella's cause once the Tyrell or Martell hosts drew near. The Rainwood houses had written to pledge their support too, but not a single troop had actually come from there. A fleet of pirates had taken control of Tyrosh, and were now raiding the Stepstones and Cape Wrath via the Sea of Dorne. Even if they had wanted to send men, they couldn't. With the route south barred, the north held by Stannis loyalists and the east squarely in Renly's hands, through Bronzegate the army would need to go.
The gate started grating upwards, and a mounted party bearing a white flag came riding towards them.
"Any chance of this parley actually achieving anything?" Trystane asked, though who he was asking was unclear.
"Doubtful, your grace," Jon said, gritting his teeth. Gods, but he hoped he was wrong about the person he thought he could see heading up the bluff now. Thankfully, Willas had refused to let Alerie join the parley.
"Renly knows he needs to stop us here or risk looking weak and loosing what support he has. The only parley he'll accept is the Martell host going home and everyone bending the knee to him."
Garlan snorted.
"In his dreams."
The Reach and Dornish lords all laughed, then stilled as the riders pulled to a halt across the bluff from Jon's party.
Loras Tyrell sat astride a pure white stallion wearing his gilded silver and gold armour adorned with flowers, Lord Ralph Buckler beside him, retainers behind.
"My lords," Loras said coolly, studiously not looking at Garlan or Willas – his brothers. "I don't see your Queen. I should like to meet her grace and see if she is as beautiful as the stories claim."
"Her grace has far more important affairs to concern herself with than a handful of rebellious lords," Trystane said, guiding his horse forward.
He certainly looked the part of a Prince Consort, dressed in burnished copper scale armour, with the stag sigil displayed over the red sun of Dorne, and ode to both houses Olenna and Anders had agreed on and commissioned. A spear and shield hung on either side of his saddle, easy to access.
"I could say the same to you," Loras declared. "But King Renly is nothing but merciful. If the Princess Myrcella pledges allegiance and her forces align with him, his grace will forget your rebellious actions and allow her to return to Dorne, titles intact."
"How generous," Trystane said, a slight smirk growing on his face. "I was going to say the same thing."
"Loras!" Garlan snapped, interrupting Trystane and pushing his horse forward, forcing his brother to look him in the eye. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? We're your family, and you know we'll win. We have more troops, better generals…"
"And we have the better position and provisions to last a year, brother," Loras replied, face contorting into something midway between a snarl and pain. "I wrote to you all, asking you to pledge to Renly, and you sided with a girl barely six and ten name days old over your own brother!"
"Her grace if the rightful heir," Willas retorted before Garlan could reply. Jon's mentor looked a hair's breadth from grabbing Loras by his elaborate armour and dragging him back to Olenna for a spanking.
"And even if she wasn't, Stannis would be before Renly in the line of succession. It doesn't matter what you think of him, Loras. The law is the law. You're a Tyrell, and family always comes first. It seems you've forgotten that during your time away."
Willas was mad.
Willas never got mad. He was the perfect representation of what Jon thought a Lord Paramount should be. Steadfast, intelligent, honourable, reserved, but more than willing to make the hard choices to protect his family, his people and his country – in that specific order. He never let anger or rage show on his face, and still didn't even now. His expression was that of a careful mask. But Jon had known the new Lord of Highgarden since he was two and ten. Willas was as furious as Garlan was.
Loras lifted a hand, pointing his index finger at Willas. Of the three brothers, Loras had always been the most emotional, and that was plain for all in attendance to see.
"I expected more from you, Will. Gar was always going to do what Margaery told him, but I thought you'd have more of a spine."
Now it was Jon's turn to see red. He held himself back, barely, digging his hands into Mara's mane. Loras had always been jealous of his sister and how much attention she received.
"And I thought you'd have more sense, Loras," Willas replied, voice still holding to that single tone of dismissal. Then, in what Jon thought was quite the impressive move, Willas turned towards Lord Buckler.
"What say you, my Lord? Say the word, and we will pass your city by. We have no quarrel with Bronzegate so long as its lord bends the knee. No one needs to die."
Lord Buckler was not a tall man, but he was a strong one. Bald headed with large shoulder blades and thick forearms, Jon couldn't see a single hair on his body. Jon thought he might be an athlete or a swimmer. His armour was far less gaudy than Loras's. Simple steel plate with bronze fastenings, the three brass buckles of his sigil pressed into the breastplate.
They knew the man's answer before he opened his mouth. Tyrion Lannister – on Olenna's orders – had spent near a year touring the Stormlands and compiling reports on the lords and castles he found there. His assessment was heavy on notes about Ralph Buckler and his friendship with Renly Baratheon.
"I shall enjoy watching you try to breach the walls, my good sirs. You will have a trying time of it, I'm sure."
Buckler wheeled his horse and galloped away, his retinue riding behind. Loras remained for a moment, glaring at his siblings.
"Does Renly really mean that much to you, brother? You'd desert your own family for him?" Garlan asked, face contorted in pain.
Loras straightened in the saddle, then turned away.
"Goodbye brothers. Tell mother I love her. May the Father judge you kindly."
Loras galloped back down the slope, vanishing beneath Bronzegate's walls. The gates ground to a close, and Garlan and Willas both seemed to deflate.
"That went about how I expected it too," Willas muttered. Then he clapped Garlan on the shoulder and steered him back towards the army making camp behind them.
The Lord of Winterfell
Robb had taken to standing on Winterfell's outer walls of a morning. His father's solar was too gods damn stuffy, and he had taken to avoiding the Godswood since Arya had left. There were just too many memories there, he couldn't concentrate, couldn't separate himself from the boy he'd used to be.
He needed to be a man now. The North needed him to be a man. Jon needed him to be. His father needed him to be.
"Lord Stark?" Maester Lewin asked, approaching with his writing board full of notes and the news that had arrived during the night. Robb flinched. He still hadn't gotten used to that. He was 'Lord Stark' now. The Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Because his father had been incinerated in the South, and Robb could do jack shit about it.
"Let's have it," Robb said, folding his arms and leaning on a crenelation, studying how the latest snowfall had blanketed the surrounds in white. The snows had been growing more frequent over the past weeks, since the White Raven had arrived. He liked the feel of the cool wind on his face as he heard the morning news. It kept him grounded and calm, though it did nothing to ease the aches of his heart and mind or the restlessness of his sword arm.
"Mikken reports that, thanks to the extra apprentices you provided, he is on schedule to complete your order in the next week. He also wanted me to pass on his appreciation for the steady flow of materials."
Robb nodded, glad to know the blacksmith was on track. Robb was taking no chances with Westeros at near total war now, and wanted as many weapons, shields and sets of armour ready as he could get. Repairing the border fortresses was all well and good, but when the time came for the North to ride to war, Robb would be ready. He refused to sit out the entire conflict, even if doing so for now was the best choice for the North. Even if all he really wanted was to be galloping off into the snow, riding hard so he could fight at Jon's side. He supposed his brother must be somewhere in the Stormlands by now, if Goldflower's latest letter was true.
"Another raven has arrived from the Eyrie, this time bearing Jon Arryn's personal seal."
Robb snorted.
Every week, some new Southern lord sent word to Winterfell of dire threats to the North in the form of betrayals from Robb's bannermen or Stannis's army sailing on White Harbour. There had even been one report from Walder Frey of all people, offering Robb his choice of the man's daughters or granddaughters in exchange for help fighting the Lannister Army, which had apparently just crossed the Twins and was planning to march through the Neck and assault Robb's realm from behind. He'd had a good laugh at that one.
Only Goldflower's information meant anything to him. She spoke of Tyrell and Martell forces in the Stormlands; of Lannister men camped at Riverrun, stuck between a Blackwood and Mallister rebellion and the Knights of the Vale holding the Green Fork and closing off the Trident. There was still no news of Sansa, Bran or his mother. Let alone Arya, who had vanished from the North a moon turn ago now.
And no one could find Stannis Baratheon. The man had apparently vanished. Even the assassins Olenna Tyrell had sent to Dragonstone to kill the man had reported no sign of him, his wife, his daughter, or his supposed Red Priestess from Asshai.
Robb thanked the gods every day for creating Margaery Tyrell for Jon. Margaery Targaryen now, he supposed. He tried to ignore the pain in his chest at not being able to see his brother get married to the love of his life. He failed.
"Well out with it. What does the Hand of the King have to say? Anything about who caused the Burn? Or are they still squabbling too much to care?"
Maester Lewin sighed, and Robb knew he was out of luck. He appeared to be the only one in the Seven Kingdoms who actually gave a shit about asking who had burned Kings Landing to the ground and started this gods-be-damned Civil War. He'd written to Margaery asking for any information, but she knew as little as he did. The ruins of Kings Landing were still firmly under Stannis' control, and try as she might, no Tyrell agents had managed to get into the ruins. Robb tried not to think of the thousands of refugees who must be starving along Blackwater Bay right now. He would have sent help if he could.
Just another thing he couldn't do.
Maester Lewin looked down to his notes and shifted a raven scroll to the top of his board.
"It is a personal message to you, my Lord…"
"Lewin? How many times?"
The Maester chuckled softly to himself.
"Sorry, Lord Robb."
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the Maester to just call him Robb. Lord Robb was as close as he was going to get.
"It is a personal plea, begging the North's support in the name of your late father, whom Lord Arryn mentored. He says that House Tully, Stark and Arryn have an alliance, and that he doesn't understand why you refuse to help your mother's house."
Robb's hands balled to fists, face contorting into a snarl as blood fired in his ears.
"He's using my dead parents against me now?"
His father was dead, his mother may as well be if the rumours Margaery reported of a bloodbath in Riverrun were true. And Jon Arryn, a man Robb's father had always, always spoken of with the highest respect, was trying to use their corpses to motivate him?
"I don't believe that is his intention," the Maester said, laying a hand on Robb's shoulder in an effort to calm him. "He simply wants you to remember old friendships, and all that your father fought for."
Robb scoffed.
"My father fought to avenge his family and save my aunt. He failed on all three accounts, and the North got nothing in exchange but pain and death. Write up the usual statement and…"
He paused. Usually, in answer to the Southerners, Robb would send the exact same message. A repeat of his original letter declaring Northern neutrality. Jon Arryn deserved more than that.
"Tell Lord Arryn, in these words, that I will give him exactly what the South gave us after we fought in Robert's Rebellion: nothing. The North Remembers, and we are no traitors. Tell the Hand that King Robert was my father's friend too, and ask him why I should not support his daughter if old alliances are to be respected."
Robb sighed, rubbing his forehead. That odd itch in his brain had returned, thinking of his missing siblings. He glanced towards the Wolfswood, but just like the other mornings, there was nothing there. No wolves watching him with yellow eyes and smoke grey fur. They were just dreams born of his fears and restless nights.
"Very well. Word has come from Flint's Finger. Your father's wisdom has paid off it seems. A fleet of Ironborn tried to sail up Blazewater Bay a sennight past, but turned back when the rebuilt keep let fly their trebuchets fitted with burning pitch."
Some good news at least.
"Lord Flint believes they intended to sail up the Saltspear and assault Moat Cailin from the west."
"Send word to Lord Reed and the garrison at the fortress. Warn them of a possible attack," Robb said immediately, and the Maester nodded, scratching away at his board. An Ironborn attack on Moat Cailin? Old Balon must be intending to use the southern war as a distraction to take up his crown again. Idiot. Thoughts of Balon turned Robb's mind to Theon though. His friend was, hopefully, somewhere in the Riverlands searching for Robb's family. They'd heard nothing from him either. But if Greyjoy had intended to attack and reeve the North…
"And draft a message to Goldflower; warn her to be on the lookout for Ironborn raiders attacking Lannisport and the seaside towns along the Sunset Sea."
Margaery would want to know about this.
"Of course. Finally, two more ravens came from up north."
"The Umber's again?" Robb asked. This would be the third such message from Last Hearth reporting an uptick in Wilding raids from over the Wall. Robb had sent a message to Lord Umber asking for clarification or information from any prisoners he might have, and to Commander Mormont and his Uncle Benjen at Castle Black. He'd heard nothing back from either party. Robb feared that something had happened to the Watch, and this news of Wildlings was the first signs of something far worse.
"No. From the Karstarks, and Castle Black."
Finally!
"Why didn't you start with that?!"
Maester Lewin shot him a flat look.
"Because you wouldn't have listened to anything else I said."
Point.
"Well, what is it?!" Robb begged the man.
"The news from Karstark is the same as from the Umbers. Wildling raiders from over the Wall were discovered in their lands. They put an entire village to the sword."
Robb grit his teeth, but a strange look crossed the Maester's face, and Robb's anger fled from him before it had a chance to form. What replaced it was pure dread.
"What?"
"The Lord Commander Mormont… he says a dead man attacked Castle Black, and when the Lord Commander led a Great Ranging beyond the Wall to investigate, they discovered an army of Wildlings ten-thousand strong preparing to march on the Wall. He says…" Maester Lewin paused, clearly unsure. Robb gestured for him to go on, stomach plunging more by the second.
"He says Benjen and half his best rangers are missing or dead, and Mormont apparently saw an entire army of dead men himself. The Others are real, and the Wildlings have joined together in fear of them. They want to get south of the Wall before they get massacred. But Lord Robb, this has to be false."
"Why?" Robb asked, voice cracking as he stared into the Maester's taut face, trying desperately not to let his own fear show. Others? White Walkers from Old Nan's tales?
"The Wildlings claim these dead men resurrect the corpses of the people they kill. Every Wildling they kill rises up again to join their army. That's why they're fleeing across the Wall, and if help doesn't come to the Night's Watch soon, they won't be able to stop an army from forcing their way through with what little numbers they have. It doesn't… it doesn't make sense. That isn't how the world works."
Robb ripped his gaze away from the Maester to look north, towards the Wall. A raven sat atop a nearby banner pole, and it cawed at him before taking flight and soaring towards the Wolfswood.
"Lewin," Robb said slowly, hardening his voice into the best imitation of his father he could make. "Send ravens to Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, Lady Mormont and the other houses nearest the Wall. Tell them they are to marshal their forces and meet me at Castle Black. I don't know about dead men, but I believe the Lord Commander if he says there is a Wildling army on the move. Have the staff prepare travel rations and equipment for departure on the morrow, and tell Rodrik I want a hundred men at arms ready to ride with me by morning light. Rickon will have to be the Stark in Winterfell for a little while. Between you and Rodrik, you should be able to handle him."
Robb couldn't do anything to help his brother or his siblings in the South. But he could help his uncle and defend the North from an army of savages and… and dead men. He would not be remembered as the Warden who sat back and watched as war engulfed the Kingdom. Robb Stark would be a name sung in days to come, alongside Jaehaerys Targaryen, Margaery Tyrell and Myrcella Baratheon.
The same time tomorrow, Robb was riding out of Winterfell with Harrion Karstark on one side and Dacey Mormont on the other, a hundred men in a tail behind him.
Harrion and Dacey had become good friends since they arrived in Winterfell, though neither could replace Jon or Sansa. But they were both quick with a joke, good in the training yard, and enjoyed a good drink or a hunt in the Wolfswood. Robb quite enjoyed their company, and if he was honest, couldn't deny that Dacey knocking him into the dirt often left him with a hard on. But he could also tell that the Mormont heiress had eyes more for Harrion than him, and Robb was happy for the two of them. He knew what true love was – had seen it when Jon and Margaery looked at one another – so he understood what he had with Dacey was just lust after a gorgeous and ferocious woman. His feelings for Dacey didn't even compare to his short, bright time with Rhaenys.
Now she was a girl he could have fallen in love with.
But Robb wanted what Jon and Margaery had, and seeing how much it meant to the two of them, he was more than willing to wait for it to find him.
A wolf howled in the early morning half-light as Winterfell faded into the distance behind him, and Robb held up a fist for the company to stop. He'd dreamed again last night, and the itch returned to the forefront of his mind in a moment, forcing all other thoughts into the wind.
Robb dismounted from his horse and stepped out in front of the train.
"Robb? What are you doing?" Dacey asked, eyeing the Wolfswood with suspicion. It ran right up to the road here.
Robb kept walking. Pulled by something he couldn't quite describe, until he came to a stop right beside the tree line, and Weirwood growing by the side of the road. A raven was perched in its branches. Watching him.
A rustling echoed in the bushes beyond, and a moment later yellow eyes formed in the shadows.
Robb, unconsciously, placed a hand on the Weirwood bark, and Arya's voice seemed to come out of nowhere, whispering in his ear.
"He is Grey Wind. He'll protect you."
The yellow eyes formed into an enormous wolf with fur stark as the oncoming storm. A direwolf.
Robb raised his other hand, and the direwolf padded up to him. The enormous beast sniffed Robb's hand for a movement, then nuzzled against the skin.
And Robb smiled a wolfish grin of pure, untainted peace.
The raven took flight and started winging its way south.
Authors Notes: Robb! Alas, this is his only appearance for a little while, as his plotline is firmly in the back half (he will be switching places with Daenerys). Sansa too will have more to do later. Next up, Jon pulls a Katniss and Daenerys joins everyone's favourite dwarf for shots!