"Mother," he said, "Greywind …"
"Go to him. Now. Robb, walk out of here."
"Jaime Lannister sends his regards". The bite of steel on his heart felt painful as the cold and darkness covered him.
He woke to sniffing on his face, his eyes fluttered open and settled onto golden ones. Greywind. His hand went instinctively over to his chest but felt only armor. Armor which he had worn during his battles. Armor which could've protected him ... But before the pain could return, he felt snow. It was snowing and he had been lying in snow. Where am I.
"You're awake", came a kind voice from behind him. He spun around and saw a man cleaning a sword. Before he could make sense of his surroundings, the man lifted his face. "Father", Robb managed to choke out. Lord Stark put the sword aside and stood up with a small smile on his face. "It is good to see you son". Robb ran to him and buried his face in his chest as his father wrapped his arms around him. He felt like a small child again, being held by his father where he knew he would always be safe and protected. His father slowly eased away the embrace. "Where are we", Robb asked finally looking around. His father did not answer and neither did he need to, for he had known this place since he was a child and had been here countless times. They were standing in the Godswood of Winterfell.
"I am so proud of you son" he heard his father say and his pain returned and flooded his mind.
"You shouldn't be, I failed you, I failed mother, I failed my brothers and sisters, I failed the north".
"You were forced into a war because I allowed myself to be captured, you are not responsible for my death".
"But I am responsible for the rest, two of my brothers are dead, killed by someone I thought of as a brother. Arya is likely dead as well. And Gods know what they are doing to Sansa. I was their eldest brother, I was supposed to protect them all but now they are dead, as is mother, as is Jeyne, as is my unborn child", tears had started to trickle down his face.
"You were forced to fight a battle you were never taught to fight, and yet you accomplished so much".
"What does it matter now"
"It matters more than you can imagine". His father's expression was stern now. "The Old Gods have decided to send you back". Robb wondered whether he was dreaming, and if he was, where did the dream begin? And when does it end? "There is a storm coming son, a threat greater than any other rises in the north and it endangers all life in Westeros". For a moment Robb thought he was listening to another one Old Nan's stories. "All of your siblings are alive, and are threatened by it as well", his father informed with a softer voice.
They are alive, all of them and I am being sent back. "Why" Robb questioned, "Why me and not you"? His father had a distant look in his eye, "All my life, I have made many mistakes same as you, I lost my brothers, my father, and ... Lyanna. I lost them Robb. But your pack lives, broken and scattered and in danger, you are it's eldest member it is your responsibility to bring them together, and fight together".
"Jon can ..." Robb tried to start. "Your brother is a brave warrior but he is alone". When the snows fall and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives Robb could almost hear. "What if even the pack dies"? "Is it worse than dying as lone Wolves"? No, the thought was immediate ... and bitter, his father had seemed to sense it. He started to walk back where he had been sitting, waiting. Robb looks at the weirwood heart tree before him. The bark was bone white and its sap and leaves blood red, it reminded him a bit of Sansa. A face was carved into its trunk, said to be done by the children of the forest.
His father took the sword he had been cleaning and stood in front of him. Robb still has a hundred questions swirling in his head.
"What is this threat you warn of" he starts with.
"You will know".
"What am I to do now"?
"I trust you to work it out".
You shouldn't. Robb looks at the sword in his father's hand. It wasn't Ice. It's hilt was a grey similar to Greywind's fur. The guard was an arc that looked like it had teeth at its ends. The blade itself was white as snow and it was engraved with runes of the first men, and it's shape was unique. The pommel and guard used the same steel as the blade. The sword looked like something out of a story.
His father held it out to him. Though the sword looked glorious enough, he knew what accepting it entailed.
"I've always wanted to be like you".
"And I've always wanted you to be better than me", his father replied with a smile.
Robb gripped the hilt of the sword with his hand above his father's.
"It is your duty to save these people, this country, ... this is your legacy". The father released the grip and the son bore the sword's weight.
Just then came ringing sound of a bell. Robb turned and saw the great keep of Winterfell. The wind blew then and he heard the leaves of the weirwood tree whisper behind him, "Winter Is Coming". Robb spun around, but his father wasn't there as if he never was.
Greywind, who was watching silently from aside nudged him. Robb looked at his direwolf, who reached his shoulder by now. Blue eyes locked onto golden ones.
"Winter Is Coming".