A Song of Frost & Flame

by Chimaera1201

When Robert's Rebellion broke out, the ancient friend and ally of the Starks, House Tormont offered their oldest daughter to the Lords of the Corridor for their alliance. Powerful and respected, the Taugere family kept the way north safe and at peace for thousands of years. But a less known prophecy may declare if the world will freeze over again, or burn in the fires.

19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19 - THE KINGS

Within another few days of marching, they stood on the green hillside overlooking the river, they had reached the Twins. A black shape glided through the sky, skilfully struck with an arrow it dropped from the wind landing on the grass. Young Theon approached, releasing the scroll tied to the now dead creature and gave it to Robb, who unrolled the parchment and scanned the words written on the paper.

"It's a birthday message to his grand niece, Walda." Robb reported looking up at his mother, lord Umber, ser Rodrik, lord Tormont and his eldest son, and lords Taugere and Trentin in his company.

"Or so Walder Frey would have you think." Theon quickly cautioned.

"Keep shooting them down. We can't risk lord Walder sending word of your movements to the Lannisters." lady Catelyn ordered to Theon's sure nod of acceptance, severely heedful of the lord's intentions. Robb looked at her, almost expecting a different option.

"He's grandfather's bannerman. We can't expect his support?" he asked, and Greatjon Umber scoffed lightly.

"Expect nothing of Walder Frey, and you'll never be surprised." he said, and then spied two soldiers passing over the field towards them.

"Look." he indicated them, the banners above them displaying the twin towers that spanned the river.

"Father rots in a dungeon... How long before they take his head?" Robb breathed, bringing the attention of those around to him, almost shocked that he could allow such thoughts.

"We need to cross the Trident, and we need to do it now." he decided.

"Just march up to his gates and tell him you're crossing. We've got five times his numbers. You can take the Twins if you have to." Theon urged, eager for a challenge.

"Not in time. Tywin Lannister marches north as we speak." Greatjon interjected, taking into account that a siege on the towers alone could last for weeks as they were well fortified.

"The Freys have held the crossing for six hundred years, and for six hundred years they have never failed to exact their toll." lady Catelyn once again explained, and Robb sighed.

"Have my horse saddled and ready." Robb ordered, wishing to exchange terms of their passage with urgency.

"Enter the Twins alone and he'll sell you to the Lannisters as he likes." Greatjon heeded, and Theon's light eyes came to Robb.

"Or throw you in a dungeon. Or slit your throat." he added more options.

"My father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing. Whatever it took..." Robb said, several different thoughts flashing through his mind for what they faced here.

"I will meet with lord Frey on your behalf. Their lands are adjacent to ours, and as far as I am aware, there have been no asperity between us." Raeghun proposed, bringing Berin's deep green eyes to him.

"He will make demands of you, you know this." he mentioned.

"He may make his demands within reason, but I will not use my son as a negotiation piece." he said, knowing full well that that will be one of his courses for all his many offspring.

"No, I need you here. If I'm going to lead this army, I can't have other men doing my bargaining for me." Robb declined, looking at the blue eyes next to him.

"I agree." Catelyn's voice came from his other side, and then she looked back at her son.

"I'll go." she offered, to the dislike of the youngsters.

"You can't!" Both Robb and Theon refused at once,

"I have known lord Walder since I was a girl. He would never harm me." she told, recalling long past memories.

"Unless there was a profit in it." Greatjon muttered softly, and Willmon stepped closer to her.

"I do not feel comfortable, allowing you to enter the Twins alone, my lady." he told softly, and she turned towards him, facing his silver-blue eyes that she had grown quite fond of over the years. Not as deep as her husband's steely grey eyes that she so missed, but attractive as they were.

"I'll be perfectly fine." she promised, and then mounted a waiting horse to accompany the Frey soldiers back to the bridge stronghold while the men set up a temporary encampment while they waited for her return, continuing their plans in the shade of a pavilion while the sun slowly made its way through the sky, dragged down to the distant horizon. Willmon glanced through the entranceway of the pavilion, calculating their time until twilight.

"Father?" his attention came to Gerald at his side.

"It's starting to get dark. If she's not back by sunset, I will go to find her." he decided, and Gerald followed his gaze outside.

"You don't trust lord Frey?" he asked, and Willmon sighed.

"I have no reason to. I've heard many things, none of them inspiring of good will." he breathed, his eyes searching the pathway down to the gates of the battlements.

"Al right. Let's wait just a little bit longer." Gerald proposed, to the consent of the Grey Tom whom then turned to retake his place at the table to continue their debate, and he shared his directions with them. Theon made a proposal, but was rejected by lord Umber.

"We do that, and we'll never get back across." then a figure appeared, coming through the entrance of the pavilion and bringing the men to their feet; and a feeling of relief found them. Robb looked at his mother, eager for the response.

"Well? What did he say?" he asked, followed by a short pause.

"Lord Walder has granted your crossing." she announced, bringing more relieved utterances from those inside.

"His men are yours as well, less the four hundred he will keep here to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you." she added, but stared at Robb.

"And what does he want in return?" he asked, and she composed herself searching for the words.

"You will be taking on his son Olyvar, as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood, in good time." she told, and he nodded.

"Fine, fine." he agreed immediately, that could be an easy wish to grant. But another pause followed as she waited to continue.

"And?" of course, there will be more.

"And, Arya will marry his son Waldron, when they both come of age." she added, and Robb had to smother a smirk.

"She won't be happy about that." and he knew it, his youngest sister Arya was never partial to the idea of being a lady let alone marriage, and would rather spend her time with her brothers if she could. Had she been born a boy, she would have set her sights on becoming a knight.

"And?" he waited for more, and she chose her words.

"And... When the fighting is done, you will marry one of his daughters. Whichever you prefer, he has a number he thinks will be... suitable." she added, and Robb nodded slowly.

"I see... Did you get a look at his daughters?" he asked, hearing Theon snigger beside him.

"I did." she told, recalling the many faces in the hall of lord Walder Frey.

"And?" Robb asked, still waiting for the outcome as she thought.

"One was..." she paused again, searching for a word she could not find; then sighed and brought her eyes to his.

"Do you consent?" she asked, and he thought for a moment.

"Can I refuse?" she shook her head.

"Not if you want to cross." she told, and he breathed in deeply.

"Then I consent." he agreed, and they waited out the night until the gates were opened to them with the grey dawn; and they crossed into yet another countryside, for the time being, elected to have the forces from the Twins remain behind until needed. During the night having decided to divide their forces, sent a group on westward while the greatest part took another road south west into yet another waiting onslaught with their men, prepared for whatever awaited them on this bleak road. And with one ominous daybreak, it was a grey clouded morning when lady Catelyn, ser Rodrik and young Rhegard Tormont who'd been temporarily assigned to her side awaited the men on a cool hillside. His light blue eyes scanned the trees on the other side of the field, watching for any movement. Following a counsel the day before this, where lord Tormont explained their position and offered their best options after receiving the scout reports, Robb agreed to apply his suggestions, and then during the night, the order had been given for the soldiers to ride for the Whispering Wood, and it was a long wait for the return of his father and brothers, and silently he prayed that it will not be much longer.

"We should go, my lady." ser Rodrik urged from the other side, but Catelyn kept watching the woods.

"No." she refused, and Rhegard could certainly share the emotion.

"My lady..." Rodrik urged again, bringing her eyes to his and Rhegard sighed softly.

"It may be best for you to return to the safety of the encampment, my lady. I'll remain, and keep watch." Rhegard offered, hoping she may accept his proposal; but still she remained ever watchful of the far side of the pasture. Then a sound in the distance drew their attention, the sure sound of hooves over the earth as the air froze in his chest, anticipating whether the figures approaching was friend or foe. His fingers touched the hilt of his sword, ready at his side in the event he may have need of it. But then the fingers eased as the horses materialized out of the shadows of the trees, and he found himself smiling. Their men had returned. His father, his brothers, and all of their lords. Bloodied and soiled, but seemingly unharmed, and successful in their mission. They dismounted, and threw a man down on the ground in front of lady Catelyn, a man with golden hair and emerald green eyes, dented armour and bound hands.

"By the time they knew what was happening, it had already happened." Robb reported excitedly, taking his place beside his mother while a now captive ser Jaime Lannister cumbersomely struggled to his knees, and he looked up through a tense breath.

"Lady Stark. I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have lost it." he greeted, rather politely.

"It is not your sword I want. Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband." Catelyn returned solidly, and the man on his knees in front of her sighed.

"I've lost them too, I'm afraid." he said, then Theon stepped forward.

"Kill him, Robb! Send his head to his father! He cut down ten of our men. You saw him!" he encouraged as Robb watched the knight on his knees.

"He's more use to us alive, than dead." he decided, and Catelyn's attention came to lord Umber, still holding on to the neckband of the lion adorned armour.

"Take him away, and put him in irons." she ordered, and Greatjon proceeded to haul Jaime to his feet.

"We could end this war right now, boy. Save thousands of lives. You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords, lances, teeth, nails; choose your weapons! And let's end this, here and now." he suddenly proposed, and Robb smiled slowly realising the intent. It was an old way of resolving disputes, much like a duel. But not befitting of their position.

"If we do it your way, Kingslayer; you'd win. We're not doing it your way." Robb declined, fully aware of the knight's praised skill in swordsmanship, and noticing the defeat in the clear eyes.

"Come on, pretty man." Greatjon Umber dragged the knight away, to do as he was bid while the remainder cheered for their victory over the opposing forces.

"I sent two thousand men to their graves, today..." Robb breathed softly, glancing at a tall black haired man close by where the strength of the Corridor gathered around him, the ache in his chest not only from the outdrawn exertion of their night; but the grief for those they were forced to lose for their cause, seven hundred from the Goldfields among them.

"The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice." Theon said, his effort for condolence little more than a spark of hope.

"Aye, but the dead won't hear them." Robb agreed, but with a bitterness to his words. Then he moved forward, preparing to address those looking on in anticipation.

"One victory does not make us conquerors. Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the Queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees?" he called over them, drawing them to a silence.

"This war is far from over..." he warned, watching his men. All of them, but they knew. Everyone knew where this dark road led, but there was only one direction to go. Forward. They headed back to their encampment to find whatever rest may be theirs and tend to their wounded and fallen before they would once again set out. Willmon rode at Robb's side towards their site, eyes gliding over the countryside to the horizon.

"You've done well, my lord." he complimented, bringing the light eyes to his with a subtle smile.

"Thanks to your advices, lord Tormont." he returned, and Willmon nodded.

"I've given my advice, but it was you whom chose to apply them. You listen to your people, you take their words to heart as your father. You are his son, and I have every faith that we will find him and your sisters." he told, watching several men pass them with Gerald at their head.

"We all learn from our fathers, and yours have learnt from you as well." Robb thought back to the night, recalling the moment the Wild Cat's unit appeared out of the shadows and surrounded the enemy battalion from behind, subduing them with little effort.

"Families pass down their wisdoms, to both sons and daughters." Willmon looked to his side, just down the hill where Raeghun dismounted from his black warhorse while a squire secured the reins, and removed his great sword from its place to the saddle.

"Wisdoms and strengths." he breathed, then looked back at Robb.

"We will prepare to march again on your order, my lord." he advised, and the lord of Winterfell left him with a sure nod before moving off further into the encampment while Willmon dismounted his own grey destrier and entrusted his steed to another squire for care before approaching the lords of the Corridor, most of their men already heading off to tend to their needs.

"Make sure the horses are properly watered and fed," he heard Raeghun give his order to the squire as he secured Quill's sheath belt over his shoulder,

"And try to get some rest. We must be ready to leave again, soon." he scanned the weary, soiled faces of his men before he turned to face the Grey Tom.

"I must say, I've not seen such vigour in men for some time." he mentioned, and Berin smiled from Raeghun's side.

"As a good friend once told me, my lord. 'Forward'. It's a simple rule, one that leaves room for performance." he added, and Willmon nodded.

"I may suggest that to some of our own men, as well." he joined their walk back to the shelters, conversing on their past and future while somewhere down the aisle they were joined by lord Umber, also on his way back to his tent. While gaining ground, they had lost men; and while the heartache was shared, there was no guilt. And the readiness to perform any task with almost limitless enthusiasm was becoming quite apparent.

"Your people don't just follow you, lord Raeghun. They wait on you eagerly, one would almost say they worship you." lord Umber mentioned, bringing a small smile to the ardent eyes.

"You have heard the riddle of the sellsword, the king, the priest and the rich man, my lord? Among these, who lives and who dies?" he asked, and Greatjon glanced at him. He has heard it before, once or twice.

"Well now, many say it depends on the sellsword. It's a matter of perspective." he said, feeling that it may be a fair answer.

"It might. Who is loved, who is hated and who is feared? If that man, who fears you almost as much as he hates you, is paid well for a single moment with your life in his hands, would he protect it, or would he discard it?" Raeghun continued as they walked, and then Greatjon paused applying his thoughts to his own men, and what he expected of them.

"He would protect it, if he knew what was good for him." Greatjon decided, and then Raeghun turned back to him with a sure smile.

"You can't do anything to him if you're dead. So, why would he care? Love is a tender emotion, it is true. But it is a strong one. Those who love you as much as they respect you, will go to great lengths for you, and be happy to do so. There is the reason for my success, for my family's success for the past several thousand years since the time of king Baderon "Blackwing" Taugere." he told, and Greatjon shared his ease as he fully understood. Blackwing's name was well known, for whom he was and what he did. Then he saw Raeghun's hand extended to him, and he took it.

"Aye, and we will see more success from your house." he agreed.

"Until later, lord Umber." Raeghun greeted, and the group exchanged their farewells with Willmon and Greatjon heading off in one direction, and Raeghun and Berin in another to their tents.

"How many casualties?" Raeghun asked under his breath, and Berin glanced at him.

"Perhaps a thousand, in total. The seven hundred sent to the Green Fork, and another couple of hundred fallen and wounded here. As per your orders, arrangements will be made for our dead to be buried before we move on." Berin reported, noting his friend's eyes going to the ground in front of him.

"We could send word to ser Austinus to have forces sent down to us, to replace those we've lost." Berin suggested, but then Raeghun returned his eyes to his.

"No. Those protecting our country, must remain there. We will make do with what we have." Raeghun decided, and Berin nodded.

"Al right. I'll see you later." he excused himself, and headed off to his shelter while Raeghun entered his. A small, simple if yet comfortable space with a frame bed covered with furs, a small table with two chairs where he sometimes shared meals with his best friend, a chest holding his possessions, and a couple of candles for light. He took a deep breath, then moved forward as he removed Quill from his back, sitting down on the bed and laying the sword next to him before removing the strong breastplate relatively easily, with the belts in reach and set it aside, looking at the red phoenix on its chest. What would you have done? He never knew him, but lord Vaeghun Taugere, some said looked like a Targaryen himself with his white hair, despite being born black of head. The stories told, that the change came suddenly and early, he had barely reached his twenties; but like all Taugere men he was bold and fierce, harsh and forthright, and indeed loving. But contrasting of his current namesake he was fond of tournaments and would compete when possible. It was with the king's own nameday that The White Phoenix was named champion, and he crowned the princess Daella Targaryen the Queen of Love and Beauty, winning her favour. Her father, was not at all displeased with the match. Raeghun lowered his head, spending a moment in silence, thanking all those who watched over him for bringing him back. Then he cleaned the sword once again, ensuring that the blade was clear and sparkling like a delicate layer of frost clung to the steel. He found it strangely calming, and watched the eyes staring back at him from the reflection, eyes of frost blue... Then he exchanged his seat on the bed for the chair, after which from a scribe box he took a parchment, a quill and a corked inkwell; and started to compose a letter bound for home while the days passed with less strain and more hope than they'd had a fortnight ago, and preparations were made to return to Riverrun. With noon, they rode again into the night; encircling the divided camp sites around the river keep and ended the siege on its walls, leaving the enemy broken and fleeing back to the Golden Tooth while their prisoners were freed, including lord Edmure Tully. But, the light of one new day was dark as devastation would strike at them again when they received the news of the south, and the hope they had was crushed. Lady Catelyn Stark moved through the camp erected around Riverrun in silence, and every man bowed to her in respect, offering their condolences for whatever comfort it may give. The lords of the Corridor did the same as she passed, but it seemed the world disappeared to her, and she simply walked forward in blind, torturous sorrow; and Raeghun watched as she entered into the solace of the sparse woodland near their camp site.

"The cruelties of fate..." he muttered softly, and heard his friend beside him.

"So what now?" he asked, and Raeghun shrugged.

"If not only for release, then for revenge as well, I suppose." another voice appeared beside them, and Gerald stood watching the figure vanish into the trees with them.

"Revenge, is as dire a motivation as it is a powerful one." Raeghun mentioned, wondering on the sudden turn of events while Catelyn removed herself from those looking on, and finally leaned against a tree to catch her breath; the breath that this horrible stab to her heart stole from her, and she still attempted to hold back the cries that lay so close. Then she heard the clanging of steel against wood, and hardened herself, preparing to move forward once again. She crossed the grounds, towards the edge of the trees to see her son, angrily attacking a wide tree like it was his nemesis; but the bark held against his onslaught like steel while instead the blade chipped and bent.

"Robb..." she called to him, but his rage would not end.

"Robb." she tried again, desperate for his attention which remained fixed on the tree, his only intent to slaughter it where it stood in the world.

"Robb!" then he looked up, his face flushed and the only thing left were the tears. She stood watching him, wondering what to say but decided that what he needed was her strength, whatever she could give.

"You've ruined your sword..." she finally managed, and the destroyed blade slipped from his hand, falling on the ground as he went to her. To the comforting arms that enveloped him in a mother's care.

"I'll kill them all! Every one of them!" he swore, the tears staining his reddened cheeks.

"I'll kill them all!" he cried into the safety of her shoulder, and she soothed him.

"Oh, my boy. They have your sisters. We have to get the girls back." she told him as her fingers gently stroked his thick auburn hair, her heart hardening under the pressing hatred.

"And then we will kill them all..." she swore with him in the shine of the sun, her words as true as the light spilling over the country. They remained like this until the bitter hurt passed, and then slowly made their way back to the camp, finally retreating under the gates of the river keep to replenish their men and their resources, and once again Raeghun was seated at a small table with a quill in his hand and a parchment in front of him while he thought of her. The calming blue eyes and the midnight hair. He reflected on the past as he wrote, the days were long, and the nights were deep as they waited for the time to pass. And it was going to be a long haul with men both tired and zealous for their future, the urge for vengeance and the want for justice. Whichever came sooner, would be better. And then a face appeared through the doorway bringing his attention away from the words.

"Rough day?" he asked, stepping through and closing the door.

"You ask that of me? But, our last visit here, reminds me of worse." Raeghun laughed as Berin sat down next to him.

"Something we will never forget; but luckily this time we came prepared." he added in a small jest, and Raeghun's eyes went back to the letter as he continued to write.

"How are our men?" he asked, and Berin breathed.

"They seem well spirited. The prospects have not changed their demeanour, despite our losses and their longing for home." he reported, and Raeghun nodded.

"I certainly share the sentiment. But we'll go home when all is done, we always do." he assured, and saw his friend nod.

"The lords have called a meeting for tomorrow at twilight, to discuss our way forward. And it seems, there is a debate on who is king." he informed, and Raeghun scoffed.

"If what we've heard is true, Stannis is to be the king." he told, and Berin looked at him.

"There are reports that Renly has also claimed the title." he smirked.

"Oh, too many kings and the world won't know if they're to kiss a hand or an ass." Raeghun said, and they laughed softly. Everyone wanted their titles, and each had to be greater than the last.

"Three kings, centuries ago there were close to a dozen." Berin breathed, sitting back on the bed.

"Yes, before Aegon the Conqueror united all the kingdoms under his single rule. I have to confess, he was ambitious." Raeghun said looking up, at the stars outside. It was one of his family's more successful failures. The Taugere men would never have yielded, but after both king Brygard Taugere and his first son Vaeldigar fell in battle against the dragons, it was left to a new bloomed princess Marielle who acted as regent for the youngest of the siblings who would be king, eleven year old Raederan Taugere, to end the bloodshed on their lands or refuse submission until there was not a living entity left. Wisely, she chose peace for the sake of their people. And when her brother came of age, he was named Lord of Flame as an alternative to Ardent King, Liege of the Corridor, and Warden of the Goldfields. Their family kept their position as lords paramount of the fertile passage between the North, and the rest of Westeros.

"A world divided, has become one. And for three hundred years people were content with it. But how long does this contentment last before people wish for their own ways again?" he breathed, feeling the fire in his blood. The true blaze of his line...

"Tell our men to tend to their needs, and rest well while we're here. I will give further orders after tomorrow's counsel." he instructed, laying the quill down and folding the letter.

"Very well. Good night, Raeghun." Berin greeted, standing to leave.

"Sleep well, Berin." Raeghun returned, sealing the letter to be sent home once again and then took a place on the furs to wait out the night. With the morning, he handed the letter to a messenger who set out with a selection of writings to far reaches, and continued to inspect their company, ensuring that the horses were tended to and their men were cared for as nightfall came closer, and the sun disappeared to yet another night amidst the banter of the soldiers. But in the safety of Riverrun's stone hall where the lords met, in counsel to discuss the matters at hand, some were more prominent than others.

"The proper course is clear! Pledge fealty to king Renly and move south to join our forces with his." one of the lords advised eagerly over the others.

"Renly is not the king!" Robb rejected the idea, and the lord turned towards him in surprise.

"You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord. He put your father to death!" he reminded him, but Robb stared at him from his seat in the hall.

"That doesn't make Renly king. He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis." he reminded him in turn of the customary procedures of succession.

"Do you mean to declare us with Stannis?" the same lord asked, almost challenged him for an answer.

"Renly is not right!" another lord of the north added, siding with their leader. But then lord Greatjon Umber stood, and made his way to the centre of the hall where all could see him, and brought their attention to him solidly.

"My lords. My lords!" he called to them, over them, ensuring that he had their eyes, their ears and all of their senses set on him.

"Here is what I say, to these two kings!" he turned, and spat on the ground; a gesture that was known well among the men, bringing a snigger here and there from the silence of the hall.

"Renly Baratheon is nothing to me! Nor Stannis, neither! Why should they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall? Or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!" he called, and more laughs rose from the people around him, fully engaged in the direction his words would lead them.

"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the Dragons we bowed to! And now the Dragons are dead!" Greatjon asked as he unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming in the light of torches surrounding him; then brought the sword around him and directed it at Robb Stark.

"There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to! The King in the North!" He turned, and lowered on one knee as he honoured the young lord in the old way, hilt in hand with the tip of his sword resting on the ground as Robb rose to his feet. Another lord rose to his feet from lady Mormont's side and took his own sword from his side.

"I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle. And their iron chair, too!" he took a place next to lord Umber, in the same way he was.

"The King in the North!" he agreed, and Theon Greyjoy joined them as his eyes glowed eagerly.

"Am I your brother? Now and always?" he asked as he approached Robb, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.

"Now and always." Robb returned; they had lived, hunted, trained and fought together. They were as close to brothers as you could find, without sharing blood.

"My sword is yours, in victory or defeat. From this day, to my last day." Theon swore as he too, knelt to Robb Stark of Winterfell, who stood watching the people in front of him before noticing one more figure approaching, silver-blue blue eyes calm as always, and long silver hair tied together at the nape of his neck. A kind face covered by a full beard, and suddenly he stood in front of him.

"Our families have shared aeons in the same halls, in front of the same fires. Our ancestors have seen years of kinship, of loyalty and favour. Where you lead, the Tormonts will follow." he promised, removing his silver sword from his side seeming so much brighter than the others in the light and joining the others on his knee.

"The King in the North!" Greatjon Umber declared, loudly and deliberately; and all the others united, knelt in front of one of the oldest bloodlines in the known world; all except for a smaller group from where burning blue eyes watched on in what he felt was admiration.

"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!" their voices carried through the hall, beyond the walls and into the night, far out from the stronghold. Then Robb looked up, meeting the eyes staring at him and moved forward through his people with Theon Greyjoy following eagerly, approaching Raeghun to face him. Berin studied him from his friend's side, the sudden zeal in his steps was close to foreboding of something. Then he stopped in front of them, the eyes light and energetic as Raeghun smiled.

"Am I expected to kneel in front of you, my lord?" Raeghun asked, and Theon stepped forward.

"It's 'your grace' now." he corrected loudly, but Robb raised his hand to silence him with a quick almost irritated glance.

"Some may expect it, but I won't. I know where your allegiance lies, lord Taugere." he assured looking back at the Lord of Flame.

"I have been named King in the North, and our families have shared a long alliance. You too, lord Raeghun have the blood of kings in your veins. What is there to halt you from reclaiming your ancestor's title as well?" he proposed and Raeghun stared at him in silence for a moment. This was rather unexpected, but then he smiled as he glanced away, his eyes taking in the stars in the sky as he seemed to consider the thought and both Robb and Theon waited anxiously for his reply to the suggestion.

"What a sight that would be. A return to the Age of Heroes, with an alliance of kings as it once was; and together we would remind the world of whom we were before Aegon forced our ancestors to yield, and bound the continent together." Theon's grin widened, his body pulsing with excitement. He'd heard the stories, just like everyone else. The only other alliance that almost came to equality of that of the North and the Corridor over the many centuries was that of Loren I and Mern IV when they faced Aegon Targaryen, but sadly they were vanquished in the clash known to the world as 'The Field of Fire'. But this would be different. There would be no dragons here... Finally Raeghun looked back with a modest sigh.

"Grand as the notion sounds, I will not reclaim the title of the Ardent Kings. But yes, our alliance is an old and strong one." he extended his hand to Robb,

"We will stand with you in victory, or ride with you to hell." Robb grinned, and took it in a firm gesture, secretly admiring the man more and more. There was no need for a title, when he was everything it represented.

"To victory, or hell." he agreed, to the cheers of the men around them, their ancient alliance once more reforged.

It was an overcast day, high grey clouds shielding the burning mountain from the rays of the sun. It was a joyless day that they received news of lord Eddard Stark's execution; and the worry for their people as the situation set the souls of men ablaze with sorrow, hatred and vengeance was an uneasy truth. But Robb Stark had been chosen as the King in the North, and they would see this through to the end of it. Shortly after, the white raven arrived from the Citadel to announce summer's end, and the maester showed the bird to the children, whom remained fascinated of the creature for a number of days. Claira sat on her chair in her common room, the embroidery resting in her hands while Milla and Bella continued with theirs under soft conversation while Falgon had taken Rychon out for his training as each other day, and Gavin continued with that of the Trentin heirs' in the inner bailey of the barracks; and Wymon stood guard at the doorway. Among others, the farmers had returned as ordered, and their dispute was resolved with an issue for repayment of four cows; and further temporary negotiations to divide the joint pasture with a gated fence until further developments took place. Her eyes took in the grey of the sky through the window where Wink scanned the outside world from the ridge, she felt tired and uneasy but as before sleep seemed to avoid her. It has only been a couple of weeks, and it had become a solid habit to watch the stars each night before pulling herself to their bed, but already it seemed so long. And there was something else, as well. A comet. Bright and burning and red in the sky, casting its light across the realm. The small folk had called it 'The tail of the Phoenix', that it meant her lord husband will return triumphant. The soldiers said that it was the Taugere banner, raised by the gods to the heavens for all to see. But some, had a more ominous view of it. Maester Adlyn called it a 'bleeding star', while Falgon saw only the colour of blood, and it only meant one thing. Death. But when she had asked him who's death, he was vague to answer... Please, come home soon... I miss you, too much... The quilt helped, if only to mimic the sensation of someone beside her; the tunic provided that the false body next to her had his scent, but it lacked the life, the warmth, the comfort... And her nights remained empty and cold as too many times she found herself simply staring at the canopy of their bed, at the lion's head above their door, at the images on the tapestries, at the flames of the hearth as they slowly died, and at the stars outside their window as the sky slowly changed colour from black to purple to pink to the gold of sunrise and finally to blue as her days continued. But right now, if only for an instant, she felt light and snug amidst the many furs of her favoured chair and it seemed she was drifting on a raft down a river of memories. Good memories of their family together in the fields and at their tables as they discussed their days. Smiling faces looked back at her, and their lives were a dream of bliss. One she wished would last... The sudden sound of the sentry tower bells pulled her from the dream as a vile prickling replaced the feeling of floating and in a daze she stood in reaction to the baleful tolling over the fields, drowning a series of soft squeaks from the creature at the window. A call she knew. She moved forward, aiming for the doorway but oddly wayward and disoriented before gentle hands took her shoulders to steady her.

"Claira, it's al right." then the daze vanished, and Milla stood beside her as her vision cleared and she blushed, feeling laughable.

"I'm sorry, Milla." she breathed, but her friend smiled with an understanding only she could have.

"It's al right. Come." she took her hand to offer some stability to the sudden fright, and they hurried down through the halls with Bella following, holding the ferret in her hands to meet whomever came. They emerged from the castle doors to the voice of their tallest as a stable boy came to claim the reins of his horse.

"Bring the maester!" Falgon ordered as he dismounted, and reached up to bring Rychon from the pommel of Galeo's saddle while his own Nix followed, led by a rope leash and Claira's heart stopped.

"What happened?" she called as she rushed down the steps to meet them, and Rychon grimaced as he was brought gently down from the great steed.

"What happened?!" she called again as she reached them.

"Nothing, mother. I just fell, that's all." Rychon quickly reported, but the notion that he'd been injured struck her like the sting of a bee to her cheek.

"You fell? How did you fall?" she asked, looking at Falgon.

"He was running the maze, your grace. And-" he started.

"It's not serious. I just slipped." he quickly interjected, silencing the tall man holding him in his arms who spared him a quick glance.

"If it please, your grace. I should take him to see the maester without delay." he said, and she turned to lead them inside where the maester found them on the incline leading up to his tower, and he examined Rychon immediately, discovering a severely swollen ankle, but not much more save for small nicks and light bruises.

"Ser Falgon, would you please be so kind as to deliver young lord Rychon to my chambers, where I will tend to his injury." he asked, and Falgon nodded before moving down the hallway and up to the tower while Maester Adlyn waited back with Claira, who attempted to follow but was held back by the elderly man, still strong and capable for someone near his nineties.

"Maester, I have to be with him." she said, and then his hand rested on her arm.

"My lady, he'll be perfectly fine. The injury is not serious, and should be completely healed within a few weeks. I will have him delivered to your chambers once I have tended to him, he will have a good deal of rest for a while. Please don't worry." he eased her, and she breathed out.

"Very well... I... I should meet with Jeody, then." she decided, and slowly started down the incline again while the maester watched. Since the departure of the men, she seemed to become grim and restless. He hadn't seen her smile in days... And he hoped for improvement as he returned the way he came.

"You should have told her." Falgon said softly as he carried Rychon up the steps to the maester's chamber.

"If I told my mother that I got hit by a log, she'd never let me go out again." Rychon said looking up at the dark eyes.

"No, probably not." he agreed, and they laughed together softly.

"I just wasn't fast enough..." he breathed, but saw his teacher smile.

"You get better each day, but you are distracted. Distractions do not bode well, as you've seen." he advised, and Rychon sighed.

"I know. I'll try harder next time." he promised.

"I know it's hard, I too have had to watch my father ride over the horizon to war, many times. But he always came back. As will yours." Falgon assured.

"I can't wait to see it. Our banners flying over the fields..." he tried to picture it, what a wonderful sight it will be.

"Seeing it, is wonderful. But feeling it, the quake of thousands of hooves over the earth seeping into you, the sense that brings the return of your people... Nothing ever comes close to that." Falgon breathed as Rychon stared at him, the dark eyes nostalgic as a memory came back to him.

"How old were you, when you saw your first battle?" Rychon asked, intrigued by him.

"Not much older than you. I believe to have been ten and two. Most enter manhood around their fourteenth year, and more capable of battle nearer to ten and six, but mine came quite a bit sooner." he told, and Rychon looked down.

"Still that young..." it was as frightening as it was inspiring, and he tried to imagine himself next to his father.

"It was different for me. I was forced into that role." Falgon told.

"How?" Rychon again asked, hearing the tall man sigh.

"In order to protect myself, I had to take the life of another. Once you do that, you're no longer a child." he explained as they entered the maester's wide tower chamber where he met their people.

"What happened?" Rychon asked softly, cautious of the reaction; but again the tall man smiled.

"I don't remember, exactly. It was late at night, long ago..." he breathed, but then the eyes changed. Seemed to harden.

"My uncle tried to kill me. And I stabbed him through the heart." he told softly, like he was simply sharing a mediocre event; and Rychon stared at him. At the different, hard eyes.

"Falgon..." he started, but found himself without words.

"I don't know why. I never had any answers." he paused, the drowning silence settling around them; but then the hardness to the eyes vanished, and he looked up.

"Well, it seems it will be some time before we head out again. Rest well, as I assure you the training may intensify. You can only shape your awareness to it." he heeded, and then set Rychon down on the chair next to the small hearth.

"That's a relief. I was afraid you might change my routines." Rychon teased, and Falgon laughed.

"There's no chance of that, fortunately." then he knelt next to Rychon, gently taking his shoulder. "Regardless, your training cannot stop. It is the only way-" he started, the honesty in his eyes so clear Rychon had to look down, away from him.

"I know. I know it can't stop... I... I want to be strong, like my father. Like you... I have to be..." then the man in front of him smiled.

"You are. We must simply keep it that way. You've seen what happens to a man that lets himself go to waste." Falgon cautioned softly, their thoughts going to some of the men who have left the guards, "Big Farze" and Dolrey among them. The way they were now with rounded bellies and fleshy cheeks was a far step from the men who upheld their training routines vigorously. They shared another soft laugh before they looked back as the maester entered the chamber to further examine the injury, running skilled hands over Rychon's ankle and leg as he winced at the sensation of stabbing through the muscles.

"Luckily, nothing is broken. But you have badly sprained your ankle, tearing some of the ligaments. I suggest that you remain indoors for a number of weeks, and if you find it possible, refrain from walking." he advised as he dressed and bound the swollen limb.

"Thank you, maester." Rychon said, feeling the heat of the ointment flowing through the muscles and already ebbing the painful throb. Then watched as the maester made his way to a cabinet, retrieving a cane from the shelf before coming back and presenting it to him.

"To help you move around." he said, and Rychon scoffed.

"I'll seem an old man." he complained.

"Your father also rejected its use some years ago, but in the end he did use it as advised. And today, you would never have believed that he almost lost the use of his leg." the maester smiled, and Rychon took the cane in his hands examining it.

"This was father's?" he asked.

"It was; a gift from Riverrun. So, take care of it." maester Adlyn confirmed, and saw the face light up in front of him.

"I will." he promised eagerly.

"Well, best I deliver you to the lord's wing then." Falgon said as he moved forward, and took Rychon from the seat.

"Thank you, maester." he greeted before heading back down where Bella waited for them at the base of the steps to return an eager pet to his friend, and with her company he set Rychon gently down in front of the door to the lord's wing.

"Will you manage to get to your chamber, or shall I call someone to help you?" Falgon asked, and Rychon smiled.

"I'll be just fine. And thank you, for carrying me around. Good night, Falgon." he greeted, and the tall man bowed to him.

"Sleep well, young sire." he returned, and then proceeded back down to the Hall of Fire, likely to retake his place at the lady's side.

"What happened?" Bella asked softly, and he sighed.

"Nothing, I just fell." he repeated, feeling his ferret sprawl across his shoulders and cautiously sniffing his cheek and ear.

"Will you be al right?" she asked, with true concern.

"I'll be fine. Maester Adlyn told me to rest for a while." he sighed, and then turned towards the door.

"Fair evening to you, Bella." he greeted, and she nodded.

"Good night, Rychon." she started down the incline while Rychon made his way up to his room, wondering. Sometimes, the way Falgon spoke was strange, and the way he addressed others was strange, but no one seemed to mind. But his thoughts went back to his story, why he was so different from everyone. That had to be the reason. The hardships of life had come to him sooner, than what was the norm. With some time gone, he reached his bed and set the cane down next to the table before letting Wink down on the bed and falling onto the mattress, watching the effects around his room while his pet sniffed and playfully grubbed at the silks covering the bed; the golden sheets and fiery orange curtains, the tapestries, the shield on the wall with their sigil, the carved wood animals on the shelf of the hearth, Panora's chair close to it, a small table in the corner which always held a bowl of fresh fruit along with a goblet and a pitcher with fresh water, and a vase holding wild flowers on the dresser. Their home, where he would wait out the days that followed, however long they were as each flowed into the next and days passed to weeks, of which most were spent inside the hold with maester Adlyn for his lessons and to to reassess the mending of his ankle where it was inspected and rebound regularly. On another cool, clear day Rychon stared at a book in front of him, open on the maester's desk where he tried to absorb the words, that depicted basic medical substances and its effects while the maester scanned his wares.

"What is Essence of Nightshade used for?" the maester asked.

"It has a calming effect. Often used to help you sleep." he replied, turning the page.

"Good. Milk of the Poppy?" he further tested him.

"For pain. Enough could put you under for cutting, if needed." Rychon replied.

"Boiling and warmed wine?" Adlyn proceeded.

"Boiling wine is to clear out wounds, while warmed wine is given to treat cold fevers." Rychon said.

"Ginko leaf?" yet another question.

"Light-headedness, and headaches." Rychon replied.

"Licorice in vinegar-" maester Adlyn started, and Rychon looked up.

"Am I studying to become a maester?" he asked only just hiding the frustration, and Adlyn smiled back at him.

"You are studying, to become the lord of Mount Ardor. Whom, must also have a respectable knowledge of medicines, and poisons." he replied, watching the bright eyes glance away in defeat.

"Tears of Lys?" he changed the questioning.

"A poison, it mimics illness." Rychon said, turning another page.

"Widow's blood?" Maester Adlyn asked.

"Named so for its colour. A cruel poison that attacks the stomach." he said, sitting forward in his chair.

"Wolfsbane?" there was a short pause, and then a part of Rychon's attention went to the maester.

"Wolfsbane... also a poison. It attacks the mind. Death is rather swift." the maester turned towards him, noting that his attention was wandering.

"Rychon?" he tried to return it to where it should have been, but saw the boy smile.

"Did you know, there are some people who are immune to poisons?" he asked excitedly, and then looked up.

"Yes, some do have that advantage." Adlyn agreed, coming over to stand next to the young lord.

"It's written here, that the Stone Crows from the Vale, the Cave Dwellers from beyond the Wall and the Stone Men of the Sorrows have been known to resist poisoning." he added, and Maester Adlyn scanned the names listed in the book.

"Well, they are rather fortunate to have that rare characteristic." he breathed, and then looked out of the window at the sky outside.

"We may continue this tomorrow, you are free to enjoy the rest of your day." Adlyn allowed, and Rychon stood happily taking the cane next to him to depart the maester's tower, and limped down the stairs to find Renko waiting for him at the arch, who escorted him down through the hold like before as time continued until the next visit to the maester. Other days were spent on the bench in the garden with Bella while the others played and Wink lay sprawled over his shoulders or curled up on his lap, and they would simply watch the sun set on the blue rim of the world sharing idle conversation as Renko kept his watch off to one side. He was grateful for the respite from training, for all it was worth. But frustrated as he had to acknowledge that it left his body pulsing with uncommonly retained energy, gradually suffused into his core since his first year in the woods with Falgon, and he wished for the opportunity to release his strains again, if not for his still inept foot. Right now, more than ever before, he wanted the labyrinth in the forest; the intricate movements, the need for instant reflexes, the speed he required to avoid the logs, and the satisfaction of touching the sword to each of the twenty seven target posts set all throughout the complicated twists and turns that made him both strong and fast.

"Rychon?" he looked up suddenly at the pretty girl beside him.

"Yes, Bella?" startled from his reverie, he answered without much thought.

"Are you al right? You're shivering." she pointed out to him, and he looked away again.

"I'm fine." he answered, feeling a bit flustered; but then felt her hand touch his face.

"You're warm. Maybe you should go inside?" she proposed, but he scoffed.

"I said, I'm fine. I'm not sick, just restive. I can't wait to get back to training." he told, and she sat back.

"I thought you liked your intermissions?" she stared at him, bringing an uncharacteristic irritation into his limbs.

"For a day or two at a time. Not three weeks. I need to get back, I need to run, I need to do something!" he pressed his hands to his face, trying to push back the heat to his cheeks with his cool palms. And by chance, for no particular reason, he heard the words of his father in his head. You are a lord of the burning mountain, Rychon. You must act like it...

"I just... I need to get better..." he breathed, weighed down by a defeat so subtle but so paralysing.

"You will. I know you will, but I'm worried about you." he heard Bella next to him, and then looked up at her.

"Thank you, but I'm afraid your concern is wasted on me." he glanced at Berterin, attempting to hide from his brother behind a flowered shrub; wondering if the strange sensations still plagued him.

"Seems Gavin's given your brothers the day off, as well." he noted, and Bella followed his gaze.

"He's gone to Hillfield to coordinate the guards there on ser Austinus's request, apparently there have been some or another small problem. He should be back by nightfall." she reported, hearing him sigh.

"He shouldn't send the sentinels around. Their place is here." Rychon said, and saw the green eyes come back to his.

"It's barely half a day's ride from here. It's not so bad." she tried to ease him again, despite noticing the hardness in the blue stare.

"Still. The sentinels are the protectors of my family, not his hem and haw carriers." he scoffed, watching the light of the sun disappear and the world change to a rich rose blush.

"We will be al right." she tried again, and he took the cane from the bench beside him.

"I just hope, he doesn't do it again." he breathed, letting go of the notion that passed through his mind, then looked at Renko calling him over.

"Would you help me inside?" he asked, and Renko smiled as he offered his arm to help Rychon to his feet while Bella lingered a little while longer, watching as they slowly made their way down the garden path, returning to the halls, and reflecting on how her friend had changed. Somewhere between a man and a boy, well on his way to a fine lord and she found herself smiling. Then she looked up at the high walls of the sunstone keep, to the height of the sun tower where Claira sat at the head of the table in the Hollow with her sentinel in her shadow watching the world through the window; a number of scrolls lying on the table and another letter held in her hand as she absorbed the words written in her husband's hand, repeating the last words over and over again to memorize them and keep them in her heart.

"I love you, my Claira. I long to hold both of you again, and hope that we may return home soon. Do not fear for us, and keep watching the stars for me, until they are replaced with our victorious banners.

Raeghun."

She smiled against her hand, again hopeful and then heard a soft knock to the door of the counsel chamber.

"Enter." the door opened slowly, and her friend's face appeared.

"There you are. I've been looking for you." Milla said as she stepped through, and closed the door behind her before coming over and taking a seat next to her glancing at the letter as her eyes lit up slightly.

"You've received word from the men?" she asked eagerly, and Claira nodded.

"They're safe. And planning to push further westward, as they've had three victories. Ser Jaime remains their prisoner, and hopefully the Lannisters will resign before too long, and exchange their captives; then they can all come home." she told, folding the letter again. It was a sad thing that a father would not return, but with his son leading as the King in the North there was promise for success, and Milla breathed out in relief.

"That is some good news." she uttered, her eyes set on the dark wood of the heavy table as she recalled the memories, and the promises. Milla glanced at the other letters lying on the table.

"What do you make of the rumours?" she asked, hearing Claira sigh.

"A third of the kingdom believes it, another third rejects it, and the rest just doesn't care." she said, placing the letter on the table. They'd received a raven from Dragonstone, where lord Stannis Baratheon lay claim to the Iron Throne of Westeros, and demanded the support of all those who were not traitors to the true crown; branding the current holder of that seat as illegitimate, not being Robert's blood. Yes, all of the queen's children resembled her strongly... perhaps too strongly. But was that so strange? Rychon resembled his father, strongly. Except for his eyes...

"In which of those three parts do you find yourself?" Milla gently teased.

"Oh, for now I'm just hanging in the air." she breathed, looking up at Milla.

"I'll reserve my judgement for later." then she smiled at her friend.

"You said you were looking for me?" Claira reminded, bringing the light green eyes back to hers.

"Oh, yes. Jeody has asked if we may send a request to one of the nearby farms for mutton, potatoes, carrots and some greens. And perhaps to the fisher's village for fish?" she asked, and Claira nodded.

"Of course. I'll have the request issued in the morning." she agreed, feeling her friend stare at her.

"Have you been sleeping?" Milla suddenly asked, noting the darkness once again starting to form under the striking blue eyes.

"Yes... But, not enough." Claira confessed, and felt a hand on hers. It was difficult to sleep, without her husband where he belonged.

"Perhaps you may consider asking the maester for sleeping drops, or even essence of Nightshade?" she proposed, followed by a short thoughtful silence before Claira slowly nodded.

"I just might do that..." she agreed.

Another night had come, and the prisoners were mounting. In counsel with the lords, Robb was seated at the head of a table inside a sizeable pavilion while a captive was brought before him.

"You are ser Alton Lannister?" he directed, and the young man nodded.

"I am, your grace." he confirmed mannerly, almost timidly.

"I offer your cousins peace, if they meet my terms. First, your family must release my sisters. Second, my father's bones must be returned to us so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts beneath Winterfell. And the remains of all those who died in his service must also be returned, and their families can honour them with proper funerals." he put forth his conditions as ser Alton Lannister took in the words, then nodded.

"An honourable request, your grace." he returned respectfully, but then noticed the blue eyes staring at him solidly.

"Third, Joffrey and the Queen Regent must renounce all claim to dominion of the North, including the Goldfields of the Corridor. From this time until the end of time we are a free and independent kingdom." he added purposefully, with no fear or caution.

"The King in the North." ser Rodrik breathed with pride, the king at the head of their table once a boy he watched grow up to the man he was now.

"The King in the North." others agreed with them, honouring the man they chose to lead them into their future, but for a moment heedless of the ardent blue glancing at the young man in surprise.

"Neither Joffrey nor any of his men shall set foot in our lands again. If he disregards this command, he shall suffer the same fate as my father. Only, I don't need a servant to do my beheading for me." he warned, and ser Alton shuffled about nervously.

"These are... your grace..." he started, searching for words to continue as Robb Stark rose to his feet.

"These are my terms. If the Queen Regent and her son meet them, I'll give them peace. If not, I will litter the South with Lannister dead." The King in the North promised, and ser Alton stared at him for a moment longer, finally deciding on a courteous reply.

"King Joffrey is a Baratheon, your grace." he corrected politely, and Robb smirked at the words.

"Oh, is he?" he asked sardonically, met with another uneasy silence.

"You ride at daybreak, ser Alton. That will be all for tonight." he gave his last instruction, and the prisoner was led from the tent with the written terms in his hand to enjoy whatever rest he may for the night before setting out at dawn, and the attending counsel made their way from the tent, all except for Raeghun who remained a moment longer as he stood beside Robb in the silence that surrounded them.

"If I may, your grace? Why count our lands among yours?" he asked, still somewhat surprised at the addition to his terms, and Robb turned to face him with a sure smile.

"Not too long ago, you told me that you were more north than south. Your country, and your people will fall under the protection of the north. But, you will not be counted among my vassals, instead you will be known as my ally, equal in all rights." he explained, taking in the blaze of the blue eyes, the wonder changing to something else he wasn't quite sure of.

"Consider it my return, of your favour." he bid, suddenly realizing the emotion behind the burning eyes staring back at him. It was requital, above a graceful smile.

"Thank you." the words were soft, gentle and true. Then he left in silence, away into the shadows of the camp to find his friend in their shelters for the night, and Theon returned.

"A word, your grace?" he asked respectably, and Robb looked at him in the shadows of the soft light.

"You don't have to call me 'your grace' when no one's around." he eased him, and Theon shrugged.

"It's not so bad, once you get used to it." he said, and Robb smirked for the thought. The transition from Lord of Winterfell to King in the North, was very sudden; and already rooted in place like it was never gone.

"Well, that 'someone's gotten used to it." he mentioned indicating his friend, and Theon scanned the many faces moving about the camp with him.

"The Lannisters are going to reject your terms, you know." he cautioned, not convinced that they would simply yield to the terms set out to them.

"Of course they are..." Robb agreed, just as aware of the pride of the lions, and knowing that it was true.

"You can fight them in the field as long as you like. We won't beat them until you take King's Landing." he advised, feeling that his friend would take his advice.

"And we can't take King's Landing without ships. My father has ships and men who know how to sail them." he further added, noting the eyes staring at him, rather heedful of the proposal that would follow.

"Men who fought my father." Robb reminded, bringing back distant memories from a time his father had to leave the safety and comfort of the grey keep for the islands to the west; and when he came home with a frightened little boy whom was to be his ward, and who in time became his closest friend aside from his half-brother.

"Men who fought king Robert to free themselves of the yoke of the south. Just like you're doing now." he changed the thought, and Robb reflected on it for a moment.

"I'm his only living son. He'll listen to me, I know he will." Theon continued to urge, and then looked back at the shadows moving up and down the passages between the tents.

"I'm not a Stark, I know that. But your father raised me to be an honourable man. We can avenge him together." he added, and it seemed to resonate with the young lord. Revenge, was as dire a motivation as it was a powerful one.

"The Corridor has a fleet. I am sure, that lord Raeghun will authorise it's launch." Robb breathed, and Theon turned towards him.

"And how many ships, in this formidable ally's fleet?" he asked, the words not sounding entirely admirable, or friendly and Robb looked at him with yet another annoyed sigh.

"He's a good man, Theon. His people would tell you, he's one of the greatest that ever lived. And there are enough stories to support it." Robb said softly, recalling a particularly captivating tale from a lively jester that came to visit their hall one evening.

"I've heard some of them, too. Quite fitting, to have 'The Lion Hunter' in your company." Theon teased, and Robb smiled.

"It is known that he killed a lion in his youth, but he's never made a big event of it; or claimed any praise for it. Actually... he very rarely speaks of it." he thought, and heard his friend laugh.

"It must have been something remarkable. And it could only help us." Theon suggested, and Robb shook his head with another breath.

"Anyway, I'm not sure about their fleet. Not as extensive as the iron fleet, or the royal fleet, I suppose." Robb tried to calculate it. The westernmost port of Boatwright in the Corridor housed their ships, but exactly how many he couldn't tell.

"Make the suggestion to him, I will leave upon your instruction." Theon proposed, and Robb nodded, finally agreeing to the notion. But perhaps, it might be wise to consult with his mother on the offer first, and he moved away to seek her out while Theon sauntered off into the camp. Imagining their triumph in his mind, when he led their ships set on the capital, and their walls broke much in the same way that Pyke did years ago when he was taken from his home. He ambled on, lost in the thrumming of murmuring and muttering soldiers between the tents, and even more so in the fantastic dream of grey sails over the sea, the sparks of arrows through the air and the dark smoke filtering into the sky from the city around the Red Keep while men called out his name with pride. He was after all, lord Theon Greyjoy of Pyke. Last living son of lord Balon Greyjoy, and heir to the Iron Islands. His father would listen to him, their people will follow him... Then he looked up, focused on two tall dark haired men sharing the warmth of a fire, lost in their own conversation, but what exactly the topic of that discussion was, was left to the mind to debate. Robb would not give the order just yet, but perhaps he could stir him up a bit.

"Lord Taugere!" Theon called, and the tallest of the men turned to face him, his eyes almost luminous in the light of the flames.

"How many ships do you have?" Theon asked as he approached.

"Forty. Why?" he replied, uneasy of the sudden questioning.

"Only forty? Not much of a 'fleet' is it?" Theon laughed.

"We've never needed more. If you have a point to make, then do it." Raeghun said simply. They weren't islanders, they've never had the need for a large fleet. Those they had, were enough for whichever purpose they were set to.

"I intend to negotiate with my father on his grace's behalf, to send the Iron fleet to help take King's Landing once the troops head further south. Your ships may be expected to join ours." he informed, hoping for some incitement; but all he received was a placid stare.

"You are too eager for bloodshed." Berin cautioned the young man, so desirous of conflict.

"Bloodshed is the purpose of being a man. And we will see more before this is over. The best men shed the most blood in battle, as I'm sure you know-" Theon told them, straightening his back to seem taller, but not quite reaching the eyes that looked down on him. Then Raeghun moved forward, the blue burning into him.

"You think you're this great warrior, boy? Any one of my sentinels would so much as look at you before you ran for the hills, screaming like a girl." Raeghun directed at him, irritated for his blood lust, but realizing in his heart that the words he just said, were not entirely true. His sentinels, all of them were fierce, strong and brave men to be sure. But not brutal, bloodthirsty beasts. They were gentle souls...

"Your sentinels-" Theon tried to start again, but quickly silenced by the lord whom had decided he had enough of this current illusion of a green boy born a lord, his fantasy of being at the head of a powerful armada.

"Go back to your friend. Receive his order, and your father's affinity first, then we'll see. And not before." he advised, and then turned to retake his place near the fire, and the shadow behind him disappeared back into the night, feeling rather defeated. Berin examined his friend, looking down at the flames; not really understanding why he did so, not being in need of the fire for warmth.

"You're uneasy with this?" he asked, and the eyes finally came to him.

"I don't know if I trust him..." Raeghun breathed, but Berin smiled calmly.

"Robb appears to." he indicated, the close friendship the young ones shared too similar to what he had known for the last twenty four years of his life.

"That just isn't enough for me." Raeghun said, still annoyed. Not just for the youngster's truculent approach, but for the simple reason that he just could not find a liking for him, no matter how adept he seemed.

"If the order is given, we will send word to Earndale to prepare the ships. But, they will not move south before we are sure of the course." he decided, turning Berin towards him; understanding the trail of his thoughts.

"In the event this turns, our fleet could be easily overwhelmed." he heeded, seeing the shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

"I know... But by any chance, it might be enough to discourage them, at least." he hoped. Following a good bit of deliberation among the commanding members, the decision was made to send Theon to the Iron Islands to present his proposal to lord Balon Greyjoy of Pyke, including a message bound for Earndale to prepare and launch the Corridor's fleet. And by nightfall, lady Catelyn and the King in the North shared their own discussion in a secluded tent.

"You don't want Balon Greyjoy for an ally." she cautioned him, handing a wood goblet with water to him and taking another from the table.

"I need his ships, they say he has two hundred. Lord Raeghun has agreed to send for the launch of the Corridor's fleet, which currently consist of only forty." Robb replied, weighing the gains against the losses of such an offer.

"They say a million rats live in the sewers of King's Landing. Shall we rally them to fight for us?" she asked as she headed back to a pail near the door, holding fresh water collected from a close-by creek, annoyed that her advice had gone unheeded.

"I understand you don't trust Lord Greyjoy." Robb started, and she came back after dropping the ladle back into the water of the pail.

"I don't trust lord Greyjoy, because he is not trustworthy. Your father had to go to war to end his rebellion!" she reminded him.

"Yes. And now I'm the one rebelling against the throne. And before me, it was father. You married one rebel, and mothered another." he teased her, but she stared at him with an indifference to his words, and his humour faded.

"I mothered more than just rebels. A fact you seem to have forgotten!" she turned away from him.

"If I trade the Kingslayer for two girls my bannermen will string me up by my feet." he breathed, more than aware of their opinions.

"You want to leave Sansa in the queen's hands? And Arya? I haven't heard a word about Arya! What are we fighting for, if not for them?" his mother challenged him.

"It's more complicated than that, you know it is!" he returned, bringing his solid stare at her which lasted more than a moment in a drawn-out silence, then she sighed and sat down on a small chair.

"It's time for me to go home. I haven't seen Bran and Rickon in months..." she decided, rather not wanting any further part in this endeavour.

"You can't go to Winterfell." Robb said softly, bringing her eyes back to him in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?" she couldn't bring herself to process the words she had just heard from him, then he looked at her almost apologetically.

"I'll send Rodrik to watch over the boys. Because tomorrow, you ride south to the Stormlands." he instructed, and she sighed cursing life for its unwanted turns.

"Why in the name of all the gods would you-" she started, but his words silenced her.

"I need you to negotiate with Renly Baratheon. He's rallied an army of one hundred thousand, you know him, you know his family." he told, and she stood starting to walk away, again frustrated by the situation.

"I haven't seen Renly Baratheon since he was a boy. You have a hundred other lords-" he stood, and approached her.

"Which of these lords do I trust more than you?" he asked, and she stopped to look at him, anew realizing how much value he placed in her; how much he needed her.

"If Renly sides with us, we'll outnumber them two-to-one. When they feel the jaws beginning to shut they'll sue for peace, and we'll get the girls back. And we'll all go home. For good." he vowed, fully intending to keep his promise. Then she looked up at him, relenting to his request.

"I will ride at first light." she agreed, and then he held her with his mouth tenderly against her brow.

"We will all be together again soon, I promise." he told softly, and she smiled with a sure pride.

"You've done so well. Your father would be... proud." she praised, and he nodded as he turned to leave the tent.

"I will ask lord Willmon to send Rhegard with you as escort. Give lord Renly my regards." he said, preparing to vanish into the night before her voice brought his attention back to her.

"'King Renly'. There's a king in every corner now." she corrected him, and then looked back at him.

"Best that I try to get some sleep, it's an early start tomorrow." she suggested, and her son left her to the silence of the tent, wandering through the camp site to seek out the Grey Tom. After a while, he found him with his sons near the east edge of their encampment, surrounding a fire, and for just an instant he admired them. All of them. Their strengths, their skills, their loyalty, their family bonds, much like those he knew. Then he sighed and moved forward, towards the light of the flames and their attention came to him.

"Your grace, how may we be of service?" Gerald greeted, and he laughed.

"I'm glad you asked." Robb's eyes met the silver-blue of the lord of Pale Haven.

"I have a favour to ask." he told, and the elderly man nodded.

"Ask away, your grace." he allowed, and Robb glanced at Rhegard.

"I'd like to ask that your son Rhegard accompany my mother to the Stormlands, as escort." he asked, and Rhegard smiled.

"Of course. When do we set out?" he immediately agreed, happy for an assignment of his own from their ruler.

"At first light." Robb mentioned, and Rhegard looked back at his father.

"Well then, best I retire. It's a long way to the Stormlands." he said, and Willmon nodded.

"Very well, good night." he bid, and the youngest of their party vanished into the night to find his shelter.

"He's eager." Berin chuckled, and Gerald smiled with him.

"That he is, and he is a Tormont. Whatever mission he's given, he will complete." he added, showing the pride of their name.

"Thank you." Robb said.

"You're welcome. Was there anything else?" Willmon asked, and Robb sighed.

"No, that is all." he breathed, relieved. Rhegard was the best escort he could think of alternate to ser Rodrik Cassell of Winterfell; he was capable, and skilled. He would keep her safe.

"Sleep well, my lords." he greeted them, and they returned his fond greeting before returning to his own pavilion to retire for the evening while they continued to share the warmth of the fire for a little while longer over soft, and lighter conversation; simply sharing unforgettable events and memories of their homes before surrendering to the night. With sunrise, lady Catelyn Stark and Rhegard Tormont was seen leaving the camp towards the south, off to meet with the youngest of the Baratheon brothers in hopes of an alliance; and time was passed with further plans and small victories further to the west and south as they waited for their return, and one late evening as the men shared a light evening Raeghun sat in a pavilion with Berin at his side, and others surrounding them, for once being able to share ale for the first time in months. When not received to host, (which was more than often) their suppers mostly consisted of a collection of bland stews and broths with carrots, turnips, onions, mushrooms, sometimes potatoes if they had any; flavoured with a handful of salt meat. And drink was left to waterskins from the creek, after seeing that it was fit for consumption. When luck was theirs they would share from the 'gifted' barrels of wine, ale or mead. "Gifted" they called it, but for where they came from, it really couldn't be helped. A northern lord approached, and Raeghun looked up to recognise the young features of one of the Umber sons as he took a seat with them, seeming curious about something.

"Lord Raeghun, you've never made any secret of your deep affection for your family, especially for your wife. It is very well known throughout the kingdoms." he suddenly pointed out, fumbling his fingers in front of him, leaving Raeghun confused at the direction of his question.

"Why would I?" he asked, and the dark grey eyes came up to him.

"It has never occurred to you that they might use that against you? What's to stop a cloak from entering your hold and taking either of them? Or both?" he asked, and Raeghun smiled understanding his thoughts. Most people would hide their affections from the world, would hide their deep connections with their family for fear that they will be stolen away and held prisoner, harmed or assassinated. But he had the fortune of not having that fear, knowing his family was well shielded by their sentinels.

"They could try. I'd love to see them try, actually. Unlike my father, with Robert's Rebellion, I did not bring the entire force of the Corridor with me. Three thousand fighting men has remained behind to maintain my lands, and of course, their sentinels. Among them, one of my strongest has remained at her side." he assured, and the concern behind the grey eyes vanished into an easier affluence.

"Then that is good." he breathed with a smile. He found that it was concern, and relief that changed the eyes in front of him, as the facts were. They were distant family, but family they were.

Claira was seated on the small chair next to the hearth in Maester Adlyn's chamber, staring at him through a barely hidden disappointment. It had been months at the very least, but it didn't seem to improve at all.

"I am sorry, my lady." he apologised again, deeply regretful for the outcome.

"But maester..." she started, not knowing how she would persuade him otherwise.

"I cannot allow more than two drops of essence each evening." he again stressed, and her head slightly dropped. The sleeplessness left her irritable, and exhausted. The essence helped her fall asleep, but for some reason could not keep her asleep for any more than three hours at most; and even after her sentinel played his most gentle songs for her, she would be wide awake again by the time she reached her bed. Then she felt his hand on her knee as she looked up, noting him leaning slightly forward, the deep brown eyes staring at her attentively.

"Claira, you are so small. Any more, will severely affect your health, or even kill you over prolonged use." he explained softly, and she knew it to be true. He wasn't being malign, but took into consideration her well-being before her simple desires. She wasn't particularly short, but barely weighed above one hundred pounds.

"I understand... I just don't know what else to do." she replied, feeling the warmth of defeat in her cheeks.

"I try to keep myself busy during the day to tire myself out, hoping that it would last the night. But it doesn't matter when I retire, I'm always awake after midnight. Unable to sleep again, and it leaves me riled at everything." he sat back.

"You're not only physically exhausted, but mentally. This may also impact your ability to sleep as it increases your mind's activeness. You may be trying too hard." he mentioned, and her hands went to her face to drive away the heat.

"I've tried everything you've told me. It just doesn't work..." she breathed, forcing back a sob.

"I'm afraid, there's not much else I can do. Except, for you to continue heeding my former advices." he further urged, and then she took a deep breath before standing and smoothing down the front of her orange dress.

"Al right. Thank you for trying, maester." she left his chamber, back down the winding staircase to resume her embroidery in her common room with the other ladies and trying to bring calmness to herself as the maester had previously suggested. She proceeded to fill the vine leaves with shades of green stitching, while Wink lay curled up and sleeping between the items of their embroidery basket; and she severely envied the little creature. Being able to sleep so easily and so comfortably despite the clutter of cloths, threads, and even needles. Then she looked up through the window again, at a cloudless blue sky and the late shine of sunlight where somewhere in the woodland Rychon had resumed his training; and he finally fell down on the grass, breathless but elated.

"Very good, you're doing well. If I'm not mistaken, you're faster than before." Falgon praised, and Rychon laughed happily.

"It feels so good to run again!" he jumped up, starting his way back to the beginning of the labyrinth.

"Again." Falgon took his arm, smiling.

"Easy, now. I am pleased that you are eager, but catch your breath. There's enough time." he tried to calm him, and Rychon took a deep breath.

"I've been restricted for weeks, I need this." he said softly, and a powerful hand rested on his shoulder.

"I know. In a moment." Rychon forced another few deep breaths into his chest, feeling the pulses leave his body and then looked up into the dark eyes.

"Thank you, Falgon." he breathed, easily and then watched as the tall sentinel looked up at the sky.

"Two more runs, then it's time to go home." he advised, and Rychon nodded as he returned to the labyrinth, taking another deep breath as he composed himself, clutching the sparring sword in his right hand and leaning slightly forward as he once more absorbed the path through the angled shafts with the logs swinging across his way. One, two, three... And then he sprinted forward, steps sure as he went - dodge, right, left, dodge, dodge, target, left, dodge, right, left, dodge, target, right, dodge, right, target... faster with each step as he drove himself on, his body throbbing with energy as he bound and twisted through the maze, the feeling coursing through his limbs as the intricate weaves ended and he stood looking up at the sky, once more breathing hard but with a smile.

"Well done, Rychon. You are improving remarkably." Falgon once again complimented, curious about the boy's sudden enhancement. Perhaps, it may have just been the extensive amount of time spent indoors that made him seem different now.

"It feels different..." Rychon laughed as he looked back, and Falgon stared at him.

"In which way?" he asked, and Rychon's eyes went back to the sky.

"I don't know." he confessed, and Falgon walked towards him.

"Your body has been well attuned to the exercise. Perhaps, we could increase our focus more on your senses, than your movements. It is equally important." he suggested, recalling that they had not used the cover over the boy's eyes since before his accident, and Rychon nodded.

"Al right." then he turned, heading back to the start of the maze.

"Once more!" he called back, and Falgon laughed.

"Very well. Once more." he agreed, and stood watching as the boy took his place at the entrance of the labyrinth before sprinting forward again, once more faster than the last time before he fell down on the grass, his chest heaving as deep breaths flooded his lungs through excited laughs, as if he were strangely intoxicated by the activity, and he recalled something from long ago, once very similar.

"Fine work, Rychon." he smiled, pleased with the outcome and then looked up at the sky.

"Time to go home." he walked forward, holding his hand to help the boy to his feet which he took and stood up.

"Do you think we can bring father here, when he gets back?" he asked eagerly, and Falgon nodded.

"I'm sure he'd enjoy that." he agreed, and then after retying the ropes that held the logs in place for the next session as always, they found their horses to start their way home, passing beneath the castle portcullis in the sheen of twilight as stable boys approached to tend to the horses and the gates were shut. They entered the hold, allowing the strains of the noon to leave them while they waited out what was left of the day before meeting in the southern hall for supper before returning to their chambers for the night, and Falgon retook his place in front of the hearth to resume a book, reflecting on the day past and how proud he felt that Rychon was improving so well, and ultimately how fond he was of him. And he imagined that this could have been what it was like to have children of his own, despite it being something that was never meant to be his. He smiled, in his own secrecy again absorbed in the will to teach him, to watch him grow, and to protect him should he need to. Then he looked up for a moment at the dancing flames, but it was curious that the heir's abilities spiked so dramatically in such little time. Befallen in these thoughts, he was heedless of the passing time until the chirping and tweeting of birds drew his attention to a lightening sky. Deciding to visit the bath chamber to cleanse, he set the book aside to tend to himself before redressing and heading up to the lord's wing to await his queen while the handmaidens passed him into the wing. With the lord absent, there was no need to wait outside for him to depart the wing before they could start on their chores. Rychon was the first to emerge with Wink hung over his shoulder, and following a fond greeting he hurried down to enjoy his morning with his friends before their morning meal would be served. He continued to wait at his post, and with morning light spilling through the far window that parted the arch to the maester's tower and the steps leading up the sun tower she stepped through the doors, dressed in a flowing forest green dress with wide sleeves and silver detailing, her hair held back with two braids from her brow, the remainder hanging freely down her back, and the Heart of Hope glinting on her chest.

"Good morning, your grace." he bowed to her, and she looked up at him.

"Good morning, ser Falgon." there was a darkness under her beautiful eyes, and he glanced at the doors.

"Perhaps you may consider resting a little while longer?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Tempting as that sounds, there are matters that require our attention. Shall we proceed?" she declined, folding her hands in front of her, and he nodded.

"As you wish, your grace." he followed her down to the kitchens where she met with Jeody on their morning meal, then passed the morning in the garden where the children played and he returned to the barracks until he was needed again. But an uncharacteristic disturbance from the inner bailey drew his attention, and he headed out to inspect the clamour; finding their master-at-arms looking rather defeated while most of the younger guards taken into their service not too long ago fooled around, laughing and wrestling. He moved forward, taking a place next to the elderly man.

"Problems?" he asked watching the frivolous boys, and heard the master-at-arms release a heavy sigh. It sparked an uncanny annoyance, to say the least.

"Those who have been here longer, are well in routine. But the boys are becoming sluggish." he confessed, and then looked up at the tall sentinel.

"I just don't know what to do any more. I can't intimidate them, and I can't offer them rewards for better efforts. I'm at a loss..." he breathed, watching as the warrior suddenly walked forward and took a place among the boys.

"Is this a game to you? You think this is some joke?" his deep voice destroyed the atmosphere of the bailey, and all attention came to him instantly as the yard was taken by an eerie silence and it grew darker, like a cloud passed in front of the sun.

"Run back to your fields if you wish, but I will not have this fortress guarded by a flock of arrogant little cocks like you! The safety of this hold and its people is more important than your ego's, however small they may be. If you can't do your part, gather up what you have and return to whatever you left behind. Those who remain will give everything, or face my steel." he gave his ultimatum as they stared up at him. His eyes searched them, hard and sharp, the darkness weighing on them like the inevitable fall of a hanging cliff.

"Make your decisions, I want a count at nightfall." he ordered before turning and heading back, while the guards swiftly resumed their training, abandoning the former levity. Falgon returned to Austinus's side, and he tried to smother a soft laugh.

"Inspiring." he said, watching as the young men finally fully clashed with sword and fist, intent on increasing their abilities.

"If this is play for them, they don't belong here. Should we be attacked, they need to know what to do." Falgon scoffed, and saw the master-at-arms look at him, almost with admiration.

"They're afraid of you." he concluded, and Falgon looked back at the youngsters.

"Really?" and then the elderly man finally chuckled.

"With good reason. You are 'the rock', after all. The man who faced a hundred alone, and came back without a scratch. Or so the story goes." he told, and Falgon had to sigh.

"They exaggerated completely, there were little over forty. And I wasn't alone." he tried to correct, and Austinus's attention went back to the training men.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever the count was, you did face it alone. Berin only went back for you after-" he started, and then fell silent as the deep voice met him, apparently not wishing to relive that morning.

"You're right. It doesn't matter. This, here, now is what matters." he determined, and then turned to head back into the castle.

"Receive your count at nightfall, ser Austinus. I trust you will have no further difficulties." he called back, and then vanished into the halls of the stronghold while from a window above, two sentinels watched the bailey having witnessed the recent interaction, finding it somewhat out of place.

"I have never heard Falgon speak to anyone like that..." Gavin said softly, glancing at Wymon beside him who leaned against the edge of the window, his arms folded in front of him.

"He's not prone to aggression. But, how much do we truly know about him apart from the fact that he is a skilled swordsman, and used to be a mercenary? We know nothing of him from before that. If pushed far enough, we have no idea of what he could do..." he reflected, recalling some of the tales that he's heard. One hundred men with all the kinds of weapons one could imagine, and not a single injury. If he was not a magical being, then he had to be that skilled. No one would ever come close to him in a real battle, Berin seemed to believe as much; and it was something satisfying that he was still around to protect the castle. That evening, ser Austinus received his count after three boys left, bringing their numbers down to seventy three.

It was late into the night, but the soldiers moved on silently under the dark starless sky, shielded by the rain and the rumble through the heavens. The scouts had returned with a report that a Lannister battalion was situated not too far off to the west where new recruits were training, and with their plans set and a very fortunate discovery by the King in the North's direwolf of a hidden mountain path, they'd made it as far as Oxcross. Gerald Tormont led his unit in a wide arch through the darkness, circling the enemy on the south side while the men of the Corridor did the same towards the North. For an instant, Robb's memory shot back to several nights ago, where he found the lord of the Corridor in a heated argument with a number of others, openly livid. The story of 'The Lion Hunter' had spread through their camp spiritedly, reaching the attention of those beyond their borders as well. These tall tales of his vehemence, of no less than nine lion heads adorning his dungeon walls, of the notion that he preferred these beasts as prey for its excitement were unwarranted, portraying him as someone he was not, and he had blamed whomever spread these rumours of using the misfortune of others to create their own. But to Robb's relief, following a discreet discussion with the Grey Tom he seemed to calm down. The story had gone too far to be withdrawn, and all he could do was to accept it, but continued to retain his displeasure of the falseness. He sighed, glancing at lord Willmon who held his position next to Robb as they slowly closed the circle, happy for the calm control he had. Their men had been given strict orders for silence, and were to await their signal before storming the enemy in a surprise attack. Robb scanned the area through the shadows, noting two enemy soldiers close by, and could even hear some of their conversation.

"... gone up against the Mountain? He's our biggest. He's our strongest." one told, somewhere in the darkness in front of them.

"Bulls are bigger than lions. Doesn't mean I'd pick a bull in a fight." the other replied, and they continued to listen.

"Oh, then pull our fangs and claws out, would ya?" the other teased, and finally a better vision came through the trees.

"Al right. The Mountain, our man Jaime if he ever gets out." the second soldier said as the first joined his friend on a log.

"Loras Tyrell?" he suggested another name, they seemed to compare well known fighters among them.

"Loras Tyrell? He's prettier than the queen." the other laughed, while they tried to fill their night. A night that might end too soon.

"I don't care about pretty. He's better with a sword than any of 'em." the first soldier reminded.

"How good could he be? He's been stabbing Renly Baratheon for years, and Renly ain't dead." the other said and laughed again, and Robb looked towards Willmon next to him; who simply raised a finger in front of his face. He confessed silently that he was impatient, but learnt that the advices of his commanders were invaluable, and so they waited. There was an unexpected sound from the horses in front of them.

"The horses seem a little spooked to you?" the second of the soldiers suddenly asked, coming to his feet.

"They're horses. They get spooked by their own shadows." the other replied, brushing it off simply as the nerves of animals.

"Shhh." the soldier hushed him, focusing on the woodland as Robb again glanced at Willmon, whom still held back.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, his hand reaching for his sword.

"No." the first replied, still unwilling to admit that they were not alone.

"There's something out there..." the second soldier insisted, and they leered into the rain drenched darkness, searching for what they could not see, falling into an ominous drawn out silence; the first searching intently into the shadows until the strain was broken by a sound that would scare a boar; and the second soldier laughed loudly at his own childish prank, the other soldier disgusted to the point of slapping the other.

"Oh, you're a right little prick!" he complained, feeling foolish for being so paranoid.

"You should see your face! I'd swear you pissed yourself." his friend teased, and then drew his sword half out from its sheath.

"Halt! Who goes there? Ughhh!" he mocked, and then replaced the sword before moving forward. The first soldier looked back again, scanning deep into the darkness, the feeling that they were not alone more than just a vague sense.

"There is something out there..." he insisted, but his friend laughed.

"Yeah, don't even try me." he warned, preparing to relieve himself on the edge of the camp site. Once more Robb glanced at Willmon, who did not raise his hand in front of him again, but instead nodded. The time to move, had come.

"Brennick." the soldier called, further agitated at the shadows now suddenly moving, and growing through the trees.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" the soldier called back, but Robb secretly smiled watching the shadows merge into the open space.

"Brennick!" It was already too late. Grey Wind the wolf leapt from the trees, sinking long dagger teeth into the unprotected neck of the crimson clad soldier, the final sounds they would hear the agonised screams of foes under lord Greatjon Umber's deafening voice that sounded the call.

"The King in the North!" answered by the voices of the north.

"The King in the North!" they moved forward, devouring the camp site from all sides, and flooding it with enemy blood; and by morning there was little left but a devastated field with bodies, and the remaining injured who lay moaning and wailing. Robb walked amidst it all with lord Roose Bolton and the Grey Tom at his sides while the Silent Sisters performed their duties among the wounded. The fallen of the enemy, will be retrieved later.

"Another victory brings us that much closer to our goal, your grace. And with Stafford Lannister vanquished, I believe our enemies have been left disheartened." Willmon advised, and Robb smiled.

"We have more to thank for this, than simply luck." Robb breathed, and then looked at Roose.

"So how did we fare?" he asked, and lord Bolton nodded.

"Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours. If we were to keep all these prisoners, we'd have barely enough food to feed our own." Roose reported as they walked forward, inspecting what lay around them.

"We're not executing prisoners, lord Bolton." Robb rejected the idea that his advisor hinted at.

"Of course, your grace. The officers will be useful. Some of them may be privy to Tywin Lannister's plans." he suggested, and Robb sighed.

"I doubt it..." he said, looking around at the field and noting all the different people. Friends, and enemies.

"Well, we'll learn soon enough. In my family we say, 'A naked man has few secrets. A flayed man, none." Roose hinted again, and Robb's attention went back to him.

"My father outlawed flaying in the north." Robb reminded as Roose turned towards him.

"We're not in the north." he said, clearly favourable to the notion.

"We're not torturing them." Robb refused the thought again, and lord Bolton stared at him, the light eyes distinctive of a warning.

"The high road is very pretty, but you'll have a hard time marching your army down it." he cautioned, but Robb's thoughts went to something more important than his whims.

"The Lannisters hold prisoners of their own. I won't give them an excuse to abuse my sisters." he told, and then his attention went to a girl struggling with a wounded man on the ground just a few feet away.

"No! Don't! Don't! Please!" the young man cried as his boot was removed from his wounded foot, revealing a severely infected injury.

"The rot set in." the girl informed, laying the boot aside.

"No, don't! No, don't!" the man pleaded once more, his hands covering the wound from her sight.

"Please, don't. It will get better. It doesn't even hurt!" he denied, but as gently as possible she forced his hands away.

"The rot will spread. If we don't take the foot now-" she tried to explain as Robb walked forward.

"No, you can't!" the man pleaded again, and then brought his eyes up to the young king beside him.

"Ser, no please! Ser, I can't lose my foot!" he begged as Robb knelt next to him, and the girl continued her work.

"You'll die if she doesn't." he told the young man, his hands clasping onto Robb's elbows desperately.

"I don't want to be a cripple, please!" he implored, while lord Bolton stood some feet away watching.

"Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub." he suggested, and the girl looked up at him.

"Your men, are not my men, my lord." she told, intent on finishing what she started. Robb continued to push the man down on his back as the girl took up a bone saw in her hand.

"Put this in your mouth, and lie down. You don't want to watch." he instructed, carefully shoving a rag between his teeth as his final plea was cut short.

"No, you can't!" Robb's hands held him firmly, refusing his rise from the ground.

"Bite on it. It's better than biting your own tongue, believe me." he advised, and endured as the desperate pleas altered into agonised screams only barely drowned out by the cloth while the saw deftly cut through flesh and bone, and Robb stared at the girl in utter wonder. Hours later, with the men mended and the last of the injured loaded onto a wagon for transport, Robb approached the girl who proceeded to gather up her instruments.

"What's your name?" he asked, but she continued not bothering to meet his eyes.

"It's Talisa." she said as she finished repacking her effects.

"Your last name?" he emphasised.

"You want to know what side my family fights on?" she asked, assuming the route of the questioning.

"You know my family name, you have me at a disadvantage." Robb said, and then she looked up at him again as he took her in. A beautiful young woman, with dark eyes, long dark hair, a slender face and entrancing features.

"That boy, lost his foot on your orders." she told him.

"They killed my father." he defended, and the dark eyes challenged him.

"That boy did?" she directed.

"The family he fights for." Robb indicated, and she replaced the last of her tools.

"Do you think he's friends with king Joffrey? He's a fisherman's son that grew up near Lannisport. He probably never held a spear before they shoved one in his hands a few months ago." she scorned, and he sighed.

"I have no hatred for the lad." she stood, bringing the strap of the wooden box over her shoulder.

"That should help his foot grow back." she said, attempting to imitate a sense of relief; then turned and made her way to a waiting cart.

"You'd have us surrender, end all this bloodshed, I understand. Then the country would be at peace, and life would be just under the righteous hand of good king Joffrey." Robb returned, and she doused her hands from a container with water, washing her hands from the blood and soil of the battle field.

"You're going to kill Joffrey?" she asked, and Robb stood a few feet away.

"If the gods give me strength." he said, a subtle vow in the words.

"Then what?" she asked, turning back to him.

"I don't know. We'll go back to Winterfell. I have no desire to sit on the Iron Throne." he shrugged, and she stared at him.

"So who will?" she asked, and again he shrugged.

"I don't know." in all honesty, he couldn't care much about what the southerners did with themselves, after he had attained what this war initiated for.

"You're fighting to overthrow a king, and yet you have no plan for what comes after?" she challenged, and he took a step forward.

"First we have to win the war." he reminded, and then watched as she climbed onto the back of the cart, knocking on the box at her side to signal that she'd finished her work and was prepared to move on.

"You never told me where you're from?" he called after her, and she looked up.

"Volantis." he grinned, holding back a soft laugh.

"Volantis? You're far from home." he watched as the cart slowly ambled on over the field.

"The boy was lucky you were here." he called again, having to admit that he found an irrefutable admiration for the brave girl who spent these days on fields like what they would now leave behind.

"He was unlucky that you were." she returned, and finally he laughed, taken by the lovely features and the deep brown eyes. Then he returned to the remainder of their men, starting to prepare to move again.

"We've gained good ground, perhaps we could consider falling back to regroup; plan our way forward." Gerald suggested as he walked with Robb back to their horses.

"Gained ground, but lost men as well." Robb sighed, and Gerald scanned the faces.

"The wounded will heal, we have spirited soldiers. With the ground we gained, we won time as well. I do not believe that lord Tywin will rush in on us, he knows where we stand, and where he does. He knows our strengths, and his weaknesses." he calculated, and Robb paused.

"True, but we only have so much. We'll allow the men time to mend, I just hope that the gods grant us the same." he said, and Gerald looked back at him.

"We've had four victories so far, moving ever further in on them. They will be foolish to meet us head on. With any luck they will bide their time, trying to outfox us rather than overpower us." he said, meeting the light eyes.

"And with what we have available to us, in all likelihood they would take their time in devising some kind of plan." Robb smiled, and they moved forward.

"If that is the most we can hope for, we will work with it." he agreed, joining the soldiers where they found the lords of the Corridor preparing to depart the battle field, yet again fouled by blood and grime but otherwise uninjured. They crushed the northern side of the enemy camp easily enough, the screams and battle cries the loudest and most terrifying they've heard, as 'The Lion Hunter' led his men into a clash, and fear ripped through the site; almost as invigorating as it was daunting, but they made it through. Raeghun looked at Berin after securing his great sword to the saddle of his horse.

"Is everyone accounted for?" he asked, and Berin nodded.

"Yes, including the fallen." he assured, and Raeghun sighed.

"Have preparations made to bury them before nightfall. How many wounded?" he asked, and Berin paused for a moment.

"One hundred and sixty two, but still able to ride." Raeghun nodded, and then noticed Robb to their left.

"They will be tended to, to the best that is available." Berin mentioned, and turned his attention to the young king as well.

"The mighty Hunter." Gerald greeted, met with a silent stare that did not entirely conceal that he was still irked with the term, but then he sighed turning his gaze to the youngster.

"The course, your grace?" Robb watched them for a moment, they didn't seem much different than what they were when they left the gates of the burning mountain. Always forward, indeed...

"We fall back to the camp to regroup, tend to our men, plan our way forward. We might even make it to Harrenhal before too long." Robb informed, looking around.

"Good." then Raeghun looked at Berin again.

"Take the lead of our men; have Colbert and Derric with the wounded." he instructed as he mounted his black warhorse.

"Where are you going?" Robb asked.

"I'll circle the field with Saerus, and then we'll follow." he said, and then urged his horse forward to find the sentinel as Robb watched.

"That's interesting." Robb breathed, the figure growing smaller over the field.

"An old custom. For ages, the Lord of Flame would be the first to meet a battlefield, and the last to leave. They would lead their men to war, but only follow them home." Berin told as he took hold of his reins to mount, and noticed Gerald seeming rueful.

"He still doesn't like the name." He might not get used to it, and it might be better not to address him with it in the future.

"It was my fault, I shouldn't have brought it up." Robb quickly pardoned, intending to apologise to him for this later, when all was done.

"He is a great man. But our people respect him for who he is, not simply for his title." Berin sighed, and Robb looked at him.

"He is lord Raeghun Taugere, of Mount Ardor." Robb said, acknowledging that he knew exactly whom he was, but saw Berin smile.

"Who you are, is more than your name. Once the fighting is done, and you are on your way back home; you will find a farm just a league past the Honeysuckle Inn. Ask that man, why he loves his lord." Berin suggested, bringing the intention to the young king that he might just do that, and he watched as The Crimson Knight mounted his own horse.

"Was there anything you needed, your grace?" Berin asked, and Robb shook his head.

"No, we'll meet you back at camp." he excused, and Berin proceeded to move off to their waiting people to lead them back.

It was another deep night, darker than most as the sky was shielded with heavy clouds. Claira sat in her common room, away from others just watching the flames of the hearth. Again, she could not find sleep. She'd retired to bed quite early, but as always woke barely past midnight; and wish and curse as she wanted, sleep would not come again. She wondered why she found it so difficult, but attributed it to her empty bed. It was cold, and lonely, with her husband not where he must have been, and the warmth she had was little more than a memory in spite of keeping his letters close to her, stowed in a small basket on the table next to her bed. For a moment she envied her best friend as well, who must have found it easier. She was used to it, as her husband would be away from her side many times. She found herself with envy for everyone, that endured their nights with a better degree than she could. She listened to the thundering of the storm outside, only vaguely aware of the silver light that occasionally shadowed the room from the skies outside, rather focusing on the dance of the flames and the smell of ocean rain; wondering where they were and if he missed her as much as she did him. Not too long ago, the description of 'The Lion Hunter' met her ears, and she rejected it for the fables of drunk soldiers. But, one small relief was that the children were at ease, and continued their days like any other despite the long wait. Her hand went to her face, dousing a sudden rush of flames across her right cheek. Please come home... Please... She tried to imagine him with her again, with his arms around her waist and his mouth to her cheek, wanting the heat for his touch rather than the building tears that would plague her. She breathed deeply, allowing the free air and salt smell to fill her, and then noticed a bitterness to the scent. The smell of leather.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" she asked softly, and then heard the sure footsteps approaching.

"Shouldn't you, my lady?" the soft voice returned, but instead of facing the light grey eyes of her sentinel, she turned away from him.

"I can't sleep. Not with... Not with this storm." Not with my husband away... would have been a truer answer, but she thought better of revealing such things to others, and the storm certainly didn't help.

"It's long past midnight. It might be better, to return to your chambers." he advised again, softly coming closer to where his hand rested on the backrest of the chair she sat on.

"I'd rather not upset my son, wandering around like a ghost." she replied, again not a completely honest truth, and it left her wondering why she chose this seat to spend the solitude of her nights for the past two weeks. Perhaps, when the sun rose, she would see the banners over the horizon? Nothing she did made it better, nothing she dreamed stayed longer than a fleeting moment, nothing she wished released her from the emptiness that surrounded her heart. But perchance, the dawn would bring something different... Then he knelt next to her, watching her intently.

"It's cold here. Shall I fetch a quilt for you, my lady?" he asked, and she sat back into the furs with a heavy sigh.

"No, I'm fine. You may return to the barracks." she told, and then looked up to meet his eyes as Wymon gently smiled.

"My lady, you shouldn't be left alone." his hand came down to the armrest, barely a few inches from her own.

"I'm not alone..." she denied it, cursing the hollow words that left her lips as his eyes remained on hers.

"It's been months, of course you're alone. Or at least, you're lonely. I wish there was something more I could do for you." he breathed, only for a moment glancing away at the dying lights of the hearth.

"Kind as your intentions are, there is nothing you can do." she said, the hollow tune of the words remitting a sombre bitterness and then she looked at him.

"You have heard the stories, I assume?" she asked, and he smiled gently.

"Your husband, our lord, is a fine warrior my lady." he praised.

"It's not true!" then the smile slowly diminished.

"It's not true... My husband is not violent. He doesn't enjoy conflict. He's not a mindless, murderous savage... Yes, he is strong and brave; but he is kind and gentle... He is good..." she told him as the tears came to her eyes and her voice rose to hide a sob, trying to change what everyone heard of him. But he nodded.

"I know... I know. We all know." He assured, trying to comfort her shaken heart. Of course they did, they all served in his house. They all knew how he was, who he was. Then his hand softly lay on hers.

"Lady Claira-" suddenly she stood, escaping from his condolence and making her way to the open window where the rain all but drowned the world, her arms folded across her chest.

"Please... Please go. You need to rest... These are long days, and they're only becoming longer... You need to go... You have to sleep..." the emptiness eluded that her emotions had taken hold of these nights, and he realized that her arms were not crossed for annoyance or frustration, but the warmth she so longed for; had he only noticed the tears trailing down her cheeks. He stood and followed her, discarding the promise she had once made him. Falgon may take both my hands, I don't care... He slowly brought his hands up, and gently lay them on her shoulders, absorbing the cold that passed off her ivory skin, and carefully stroked her arms to relieve the tremors, whether from the cold or the silent cries he couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It will be al right. They'll make it back home." he soothed, bringing his body close to hers to try and share what little warmth he had to offer. No man would ever be as warm as her lord, but this little bit he could give. Just something to calm her tattered being, but for the madness he wished for in that moment. Then he moved away, deciding that it would be best suited to part.

"Come, I will escort you back to the lord's wing. You need sleep more than I do." he urged, but she didn't move; and he found that she shivering had stopped, even her breath seemed to slow as she stared through the window and a single flash of silver lit the bay.

"Ships... Why are our ships in the bay?" she whispered, and he stepped forward to share her view of the dark waters in Blazewater Bay far below as another beam of light cut across the sky, and he noticed it too. At least three forms floated on the stirring bay, long bodies of black and grey and the realization struck him.

"Those aren't our ships..."