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Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

21: Robb

"Did I look too happy to have court adjourned for the day?"

Robb was concerned he may start being called the hasty wolf by how quickly he liked to leave the Great hall once court was over. He tried to temper his relief from showing when his duties as Lord of Winterfell were done. It was still challenging for him to not look relieved to be done hearing the people's petitions.

A small smile played on the maester's lips. "It was hardly noticeable, Lord Stark."

He snorted at the maester's subtle jest. Appreciative of not just his words but his presence, Robb was certain he wouldn't have fared this well or long without Maester Luwin's patience and guidance.

"How is Joseth faring with his new duties?"

"He is performing well, Lord Stark," Maester Luwin answered, "He has continued the training of the yearlings that Master Hullen left behind."

"Good," Robb let loose the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He was thankful to hear that the succession had gone smoothly. He was nervous at all these tasks that had been set before him. As well as the roles that he needed to fill once his father had ridden south to the capital with so much of Winterfell's household accompanying him.

It had fallen on Robb to oversee Winterfell. The north was his responsibility now.

He felt Winterfell looming over him. It was a shadow he could not shake. A shadow, he found himself threatened to be engulfed by the intimidating presence and history of his family's seat. The burdens and responsibilities that came with Winterfell were many and numbing to Robb.

Robb tried to emulate his father and remember the lessons he had taught him when it came to ruling, but it was different now. Before they were simple questions that Robb would try to answer. Now, they weren't just words but proper rulings that were expected to be carried out. His word was being followed. Something that he was still trying to come to terms with.

"Your Lord Father would be proud at how you have handled the duties as Lord of Winterfell." It was as if Maester Luwin could sense Robb's apprehension. The Maester of Winterfell walked in Robb's shadow, a head shorter than Robb, garbed in the grey robes of his order.

The Grey Man, that's what Rickon called him. Robb smiled at his youngest brother's description of Maester Luwin believing it to be fitting. Besides the grey robes he wore, Luwin had a few wisps of grey hair that lingered on his otherwise bald head. His grey eyes were kind and honest.

"Thank you," Robb meant the words. In the beginning, he lay awake most nights fretting over the day at court, second guessing and criticizing not just the choices he made, but the words he used or how he presented himself. His mind didn't let him rest.

It had thankfully lessened this past week as he became more certain of himself and upon hearing encouragement from his rulings. As well as seeing his decisions were bearing fruit. Still, the voice needled him from the back of his mind when his thoughts were left to wander.

Robb wished he had Jon and Domeric with him. He could use their voices. He respected both of them. They took their duties seriously, and he couldn't think of two better minds to help him handle the affairs of Winterfell or two people he could better trust.

He had Theon, someone he trusted. However, the Heir of the Iron Islands found the proceedings boring. Theon preferred spending his time elsewhere then attending court which he described as sitting till your arse was sore while listening to people rattle on with their complaints.

"You've handled the tasks remarkably," Maester Luwin told him, "Considering you've been alone with your Lady Mother's departure."

"Has there been anything?" Robb hesitated with his question already knowing the answer before seeing the Maester shake his head.

"You know it would be difficult and risky for her to send something."

"I know," Robb sighed, running a hand through his hair. He and Luwin made a turn into the corridor that would lead them to his brother's chambers.

"I did receive something else, however," Luwin's hands disappeared into the folds of his robes as he withdrew a sealed letter, "from the capital." His eyes twinkled in the torch light, "Someone who in the future will help you manage the affairs and household of this very castle."

"Thank you, Maester," Robb took the letter, hoping his face didn't come across flush in the dimly lit corridor as his thoughts drifted to the Princess. He looked down to see the Royal Stag seal pressed into the wax, and couldn't fight the smile that came to his lips upon realizing he got another letter from his betrothed.

Thinking on the Maester's words, Robb couldn't help but conjure Myrcella dressed in gray, draped in furs sitting beside him in the great hall as the Lady of Winterfell. He found himself perking up at the image, thinking of how beautiful she'd look in his family's colors. Their colors, he corrected himself with a hopeful smile. She'd be a Stark too.

Still smiling upon realizing how enticing that future appeared to be. He pocketed the letter from the princess, and was looking forward to reading it when he found a moment to himself later that evening.

"Robb!"

A blur ran towards him, he had just enough time to crouch down before his youngest brother had latched onto him. Robb was quick to lift Rickon up into his arms where his brother giggled.

"Go faster!" he urged him.

Robb chuckled, spinning him once, carefully avoiding the close corridor walls as well as the Maester who sidestepped the two Stark brothers with a small, fond smile on his lips. Rickon's laughter bounced off the walls, providing more warmth in Robb's heart than any of the lit torches that lined the corridors.

"You didn't start the fun without me did you?" Robb put his brother down onto the floor, thankful that he wasn't dizzy after the spin.

"No," Rickon shook his head quickly causing his auburn curls to tussle.

"Good," Robb smiled, patting his shoulder. "Did you bring your toys?"

"Yes," Rickon said proudly. He looked pleased with himself for being able to follow Robb's earlier instructions.

"I'm glad," Robb then turned to Maester Luwin who had been quietly watching the two brothers interact. "Will you come back in an hour so that my brothers can have their lessons?"

"Of course, Lord Stark," Maester Luwin bowed his head, before shuffling off down the corridor.

"Come on, Robb," Rickon grabbed onto his hand. An amused Robb allowed himself to be led into Bran's room. "Look, Bran!" Rickon displayed Robb like a proud hunter would with a fresh kill.

Rickon rushed back over towards his brother's bed where he had put all of his toys carefully so that they wouldn't be in Bran's way. While his youngest brother was moving quickly and babbling excitedly about his toys, Bran lay on his bed, thick auburn curls framing his face, blue eyes looking distant, face pale, and he barely followed Rickon's movement.

It hurt Robb to see his brother look dejected. Bran who was so full of laughter and excitement who loved to climb and explore to recede and become a shell of himself. Robb could still remember one of his first conversations with his brother after he had woken up.

"How can I help?"

Bran's blue eyes softened. He bit down on his lower lip to stop it from quivering, "You can't," his voice hitched, "You can't help me, Robb."

It felt as if he had been punched in the gut. "I can," he said softly, "I have to." He blinked back tears upon seeing him so weak and distraught. "I'm your older brother."

Coming back into the present, Robb had made little progress with Bran. He was supposed to be able to protect and care for his younger brothers and sisters, and the fact that he couldn't even get Bran to smile was disheartening.

Robb spotted Summer, Bran's direwolf had taken his usual seat, resting at the foot of Bran's bed. His head resting in between his paws as his eyes looked further up the bed where Rickon was currently sitting in a chair and playing with a few toys on the bed.

Grey wind, Robb's direwolf who was growing quickly, already surpassing the size of many of the hounds in Farlen's kennel. Stuck to Robb like his shadow, having followed him into the room and had settled on a spot by the hearth, curled up on the floor.

Shaggydog, Rickon's direwolf which was the least tamed of the litter was well behaved in the presence of his littermates specifically Grey Wind who had taken the role as alpha amongst their pack. He had curled up beneath Bran's table, but his green eyes remained on Rickon, watching intently.

"So what's the game?" Robb pulled a spare chair from the nearby table and putting it on the other side of Bran's bed, having him sit across from Rickon. He patted his brother on the arm as he took his seat before tousling his hair.

That had gotten his brother's attention, Bran moved his head to Robb and where their eyes met, the barest of smiles came to his younger brother's lips. It was enough for Robb to beam triumphantly at seeing his first hint of happiness since his brother fell.

The first of many, Robb reminded himself. This was why it was so important for him to make time for his brothers every day.

It was only the three of them now.

It was not always easy to put aside time from his growing duties as Lord of Winterfell, but Robb made them. He wouldn't ignore his brothers. They needed him. He was all they had right now, and he couldn't disappoint them.

"Here," Rickon tossed one of the wooden carved toys at Robb who deftly caught it. He looked down at the skillfully carved toy to see he was holding what looked to be a knight. It was an armored man bearing sword and shield.

"Very well," Robb placed his piece on the surface of Bran's bed but positioned it so that his brothers could see it. "I'll be Theon Stark!" He declared dramatically, "The Hungry Wolf."

"I want to be a direwolf!" Rickon declared, moving his direwolf piece across the bed. He then threw back his head and howled.

All three direwolves perked up at the noise. Shaggydog moved to his feet, and joined in with a soft whine. Grey Wind's amber eyes took in Rickon and Shaggydog with curiosity, tilting his head to the side, but remained quiet. Summer looked at them from his spot on the bed, but after a few seconds he put his head back down, uninterested in joining in.

"Well done," Robb chuckled at his youngest brother's antics. He then turned to Bran, silently hopeful that his brother would join them. "What about you, Bran?"

Bran's lips pursed together, brows furrowed as he took in the scattered pieces of the ensemble of toys that Rickon had brought with him. He gingerly picked up the dragon toy: finely carved and poised to attack with the dragon posed in mid roar to show its teeth. He ran his fingers over the wings of the dragon before turning to Robb.

"I'm not sure a dragon can beat the hungry wolf," Robb teased, moving his armed figure closer to Bran's in a challenging gesture.

"Nothing can beat a dragon," Bran told him. "They can fly!" He then lifted his piece off of the bed away from Robb's figure before swooping it back down towards Robb's piece, causing him to relinquish his hold on his toy with a laugh.

"Try me!" Rickon was bouncing in his seat with excitement after watching Bran's dragon take out Robb's toy.

Robb silently watched with a smile on his lips his two young brothers playing with their toys in a battle between direwolf and dragon. His heart soared at seeing Bran now actively playing and smiling and even laughing as his dragon and Rickon's direwolf jostled one another for victory.

If Robb was honest with himself, he found himself enjoying his time with them. He loved looking across to see his littlest brother giggling and babbling as he played with his toys or one of their silly games they've played in the past. Now, that he got Bran to finally join them, Robb was ecstatic and hopeful that his brother's spirits would only improve. Allowing them to have more fun and get more enjoyment out of their time together.

It felt good for him to simply shed his title as Lord of Winterfell and allow him to just be Robb, the older brother. He knew his brothers were hurting with Father, Mother, Sansa, Arya, Jon, and even Domeric all having left Winterfell. So to give them his undivided attention even for a little while, he thought it could help them with their grief.

"Robb."

He blinked, having been lost in thought, he noticed Rickon and Bran weren't playing anymore. He turned to se Theon was standing in the doorway. He wasn't smirking.

"What is it?" Robb sat up straighter, slipping into the role of Lord of Winterfell

"Riders approaching," Theon informed him. "It's the Imp!"

A swell of anger burned in his gut at the mention of the arrival of Tyrion Lannister. Remembering his mother's warning about the Lannisters and their plots in the capital and how she feared it may have been them that had caused Bran's fall and the subsequent failed assassination attempt.

Robb's first instinct was to close the gates of Winterfell and deny Lannister their food and hearth.

He's Myrcella's uncle, a small voice could be heard, cutting through the haze of anger that was threatening to overcome his senses. He'll be your uncle by law once you're married.

Robb frowned at that reminder. If he barred the Imp from Winterfell it would certainly lead back to the capital and would certainly raise questions from the Princess and others. His mother told him of discretion and that they couldn't allow the Lannisters to pick up on their suspicions.

He needed to tread carefully.

Robb moved to stand finding his anger smothered like a blanket covering a fire, snuffing out his frustration. He noticed Maester Luwin had arrived, standing at Theon's elbow. "Very well," he could tell Theon was caught off guard by Robb's neutral tone.

"Prepare bread, salt and wine for our guests." Robb was certain he noticed a proud look flicker over Luwin's expression for not being hasty in his judgment.

"He's not alone. He's traveling with some men of the Night's Watch." Theon told him. "Snow's with them."

That news brought a smile to Robb, a loud cheer from Rickon, and he turned to see Bran too looked excited upon hearing that their brother was back at Winterfell.

"Then let's see not keep them waiting."

"Thank you," Robb was looking down at the table to see Bran and Rickon sitting on either side of their brother, Jon, who looked taken aback by the attention his littlest brothers were giving him, both of whom were brimming with excitement and happiness that Jon had returned to them.

"You returned one brother and saved another."

"Saved?" Tyrion's brows furrowed together, putting aside his suckling pig to give him his attention. "I didn't save him, Lord Stark."

"You did," Robb assured him, eyes still on Bran, a smile lingered on his lips at seeing how Bran was behaving now, he was smiling with his brothers, talking excitedly, waving his arms.

Robb had wondered and feared if he'd ever see his brother's old self and not the shade that had lingered since his fall, but the turn of events that started today offered a brighter future for Bran after his fall then Robb had thought possible.

He didn't think he'd ever forget the smile that Bran gave that nearly threatened to split his face when Tyrion revealed his unexpected surprise. That Bran would be able to ride again. Due to a saddle of Lord Tyrion's own creation, as well as instructions on how to train the yearling so that it can properly adapt to the unconventional lessons that it would need to learn in order to carry Bran.

Robb had already tasked Maester Luwin and Joseth with the project in both creating the saddle and preparing the yearling to be trained. He hoped it was only a matter of weeks before he could see his brother riding once more.

"I'm sending a letter ahead of you," Robb revealed to the man who would day be his uncle by law when he married the Princess Myrcella. "To the capital, to my father, he will personally want to thank you for the kind service you've done his son and our family."

We already have reason to suspect their loyalty, his mother's words cut through his thoughts like knife through cheese.

I'd stake my life that the Lannisters are involved. She had spoken with such commitment about her suspicions on the Lannisters and the role they played in trying to kill Bran twice.

How then would she react if she were to walk into the great hall and see Tyrion Lannister seated at the high table as a welcomed guest?

She'd understand, Robb wanted to say. She'd be happy upon seeing Bran smiling and knowing that he'd be able to ride a horse. Besides, he couldn't give the Lannisters a reason to suspect them. Tyrion would be his uncle by law when he married the princess, refusing him guest right without cause would bring a great amount of scrutiny to the Starks from both the capital and Casterly Rock.

"You honor me, Lord Robb," Tyrion looked taken aback by Robb's sincere words. "But I fear that I must correct you on something you said," he was wiping the grease from his fingers on the front of his Lannister red doublet.

"What is that?"

"I didn't return your brother," Tyrion explained delicately, "Your brother will be traveling with me south to the capital."

That was not what Robb was expecting and it seemed he wasn't able to properly conceal his surprise at this news.

"I invited him to travel with me," Lord Tyrion explained, "He was miserable at the Wall and I feared he may stay there out of stubbornness if not offered an alternative."

"He had alternatives," Robb was unable to stop himself from thinking why Jon had chosen to travel with Tyrion instead of staying at Winterfell with Robb or taking up Domeric's suggestion. He couldn't deny the soft ache that seemed to expand in his chest upon hearing the news that his brother wasn't in fact staying with them.

He found his eyes drifting down the table and instead of a smile at seeing his brothers all together, a frown played on his lips. How was he supposed to tell Bran and Rickon that Jon wasn't staying? Their joy at seeing their brother was about to be dashed. They never would've thought of Jon returning only to be leaving so soon.

Robb hadn't.

Bitterness clawed at his insides. He tried to quell it by taking a long sip from his wine that had remained relatively untouched throughout dinner.

"Do not be mad at him," Tyrion suggested gently.

"I'm not mad," Robb nearly snapped, louder and more aggravated then he intended. "Forgive me, Lord Tyrion." He was quick with his apology.

"I understand you know," Tyrion said softly, "I was devastated when my brother joined the Kingsguard, I was but a boy and I had lost my one true friend." He took a long sip from his glass of wine. His mismatched eyes almost seemed to glisten in the light.

"But you didn't push him away," Robb confessed so softly he thought it'd go unnoticed but he spotted the reaction from Lord Tyrion.

"Neither did you," Tyrion told him, "He speaks fondly of you, all of you." He gestured to Winterfell as if trying to properly summarize everything and everyone Jon had talked about, "But you," he pointed a finger at him, "And your youngest sister most of all."

Robb couldn't smother the smile that came to his face at Tyrion's words. "Thank you."

Lord Tyrion inclined his head to Robb to acknowledge he heard his gratitude. Then a grin was quick to come to his lips, and a mischievous glint could be seen in his eyes. "Now, tell me what sort of message shall I deliver to the princess on your behalf?"

A pathway of lit lanterns started from Winterfell castle leading to the weirwood tree at the heart of the Godswood.

The lights weren't needed for Robb Stark.

He had walked this path day and night for years. It had become second nature to him. He stood before the weirwood tree of the Godswood, the dim orange glow of the lanterns made the red eyes gleam and the face to hauntingly stare back at Robb.

Robb sought the company of the old gods now. This was a place of reverence filled with silence that allowed him to gather his thoughts and rest his burdens. He could rest in peace after listening to arguments and counting numbers and working on preparations. It never ended for the Lord of Winterfell. But here, he had a reprieve and it made him thankful.

This was ancient, primal ground where Robb's ancestors have come for thousands of years to honor and seek wisdom from the old gods.

What did Torrhen Stark think or pray beneath the protective stare of the weirwood tree when he heard of Aegon the Conqueror, his sister/wives and his three dragons? The North had repelled invaders before both Iron Born and Andals. Torrhen had called on his bannermen and marshaled them under the King in the North banners as he rode to meet the next invader who tried to conquer the north.

He eventually knelt to the awesome power that was the dragons and the Targaryens, and would forever be known as the King who knelt. He had left this Godswood the King in the North and returned without his crown, and with a new title, Warden of the North. What conversations or prayers did he have then with the old gods?

Uncertain victory or certain peace, Robb thought, those were the options presented to his ancestor, King Torrhen Stark and he chose certain peace under the dragons. He could not fault him for kneeling, for protecting his people from the dragon's wrath. His father had often told Robb, the importance a lord must hold of his oaths in protecting and caring for his people.

Looking into the red eyes, Robb bowed his head in respect before going to his knees. The cold dirt made for a sore embrace but he ignored it. It was not about comfort.

Robb sought guidance. Even now his heart and mind wrestled with the recent decisions he's had to make. Right now, Tyrion Lannister sat beneath the roof of Winterfell, a guest of Robb Stark, and by giving him bread and salt; Robb had put him under his protection.

His mother's warnings gnawed at his insides like a persistent dog with a bone.

Let them rest here, he prayed. Lift or bury them, he implored the old gods about the doubt that still lingered.

A rustle from the winds stirred the branches, creaking and softly tussling above him in the darkness.

They had answered, he thought. His eyes found the red eyes that were carved into the weirwood tree.

The noise of crunching underfoot pulled his attention away, looking over his shoulder to see two red pricks staring back at him in the darkness.

"Ghost," he inclined his head towards his brother's direwolf. Earning its namesake, the pale direwolf stalked quietly out of the darkness, white fur basked in a golden glow as it neared one of the lit lanterns.

"Grey Wind," Robb called to his direwolf knowing he was the culprit of the sound he had heard. Amber eyes came into the light before the smoke colored direwolf emerged from beside Ghost, rubbing his head affectionately against Ghost before bounding over towards Robb.

He patted the top of Grey Wind's head, knowing how happy his direwolf was at being reunited with his littermate even if briefly. Robb mirrored the sentiment with his own brother, Jon.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Aye," Robb saw his brother come into view from the lit pathway. He had wanted to speak with Jon alone. To tell him of his family's suspicions of the Lannisters since Jon was set on traveling with one of them.

"How are Bran and Rickon?"

"Lord Tyrion is regaling them with stories from old history books," Jon looked amused. "When I left, he was telling them about dragons." He shook his head, a smile at his lips. "It'll be a dragon not a horse that Bran will want to ride once the saddle is made."

Robb laughed at that. "There are no dragons at Winterfell."

"No," Jon agreed, "But that never stopped us before."

Robb knew what his brother was referring to. The games they use to play when they were children, pretending to be the great heroes from the lessons that Maester Luwin had taught them. How Robb had often been Daeron the Young Dragon while Jon was Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

The fun they had together. Robb couldn't help but smile.

The battles they pretended to wage. The names they'd shout of the heroes they wanted to emulate.

I'm the Lord of Winterfell, his brother had often shouted, and Robb would play along except the one time, he hadn't…

You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're a bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell.

Robb's smile dipped at the memory, curdling his insides at the bitterness that lingered in his gut at the reminder. His brother deserved better than that, he thought.

Blaming it on him being young, rang hollow in Robb's heart. He should've known better. Jon was his brother by blood. He never would've said that to Bran or Rickon in the games they played when they pretended to be great Lords of Winterfell, a title they would not carry, bastard born or not.

"Robb?"

He blinked to see his brother giving him a concerned look. "I'm just happy to have you back," pushing aside the memory, "Even if it's only briefly."

"Lord Tyrion told you," Jon couldn't meet his eyes.

"He did," Robb hoped his tone conveyed his understanding of his brother's decision and that he was not mad at him.

"I'm sorry," Jon apologized, "I should've told you."

"No," Robb stopped him. "I…I understand," remembering his conversation with Lord Tyrion as well as a previous one with his Lord Father about the importance of finding your own path. "Have you told Bran and Rickon?"

"No, but I will," Jon vowed.

"They'll understand." Robb hoped they would for Jon's sake. He feared how they'd react, but Robb would be there to soothe the anger in the aftermath and help them to understand why it was Jon was leaving.

"I haven't told Father."

"Will you?" Robb wasn't sure how Father would react to Jon's decision to not take the Black and to travel with Lord Tyrion.

"I don't know," Jon shrugged. "You know what Father told me before he went south and I went to the Wall?"

Robb shook his head.

"Next time we see each other we'll talk about your mother, I promise." Jon took a breath, "Do you think he will if I meet him in the capital?"He looked at Robb hopefully, as if needing him to confirm it.

"Our father is a man of his word," Robb reminded his brother, clapping him on the shoulder. He saw his brother's reluctant nod, and understood Jon's fear. He wanted to believe, but he was afraid. He had wanted answers for so long about his mother.

Robb hoped he'd get them. His brother deserved to know who she was.

"Aye, I shouldn't have doubted him." Jon sounded more certain, "Just afraid I guess," He let out a weak laugh, "I've wanted to know for so long and to know that at the end of the road with my travels with Lord Tyrion I could get them." He shook his head. "I fear it a dream and I'll wake up."

"You'll know soon," Robb reminded him. "But know that it'll never change anything between us." He saw Jon's eyes turn to him. He had father's eyes. "You'll always be my brother." He then pulled his brother into an embrace. Wanting to convey how much his brother meant to him, and wanting him to know how much he'd miss him as he continued south in his travels.

"And you'll always have a place at Winterfell."

"Thank you, brother," Jon clapped him on the back when the embrace ended.

Relieved, and pleased that he got to say what he wanted to say to his brother. He decided to switch the subject back to his brother's travels south with Lord Tyrion and to the capital. "Will you compete in the tourney?"

"And steal Dom's glory?" Jon grinned.

Robb laughed and his brother was quick to join in. Both brothers savoring the levity, reminding him of the countless many they shared, growing up of the pranks they'd pull or the jokes they'd tell and the laughs that would follow.

"Mayhaps the melee," Jon said once the laughter subsided.

"You could win," Robb encouraged him. His brother was good with a sword. Robb also knew the opportunity Jon's showing at the tourney could provide him in helping to secure a stable income and possible future if he impressed the right knights or lords.

"Well, I was always the better sword than you," Jon pointed out.

Robb took his brother's jest with a smile and a nod, but he did not take the bait to respond in kind. As much as he wanted to exchange stories and laughs with his brother, he had brought him out here because Jon needed to know. He had to be told about the Lannisters, their suspicion that they were involved in Bran's fall and the subsequent attempt on his life; an attempt that Jon wasn't even aware of yet. He would be. Robb had to tell him everything.

He knew the Godswood was a safe place to speak in peace. This wasn't a place southerners wanted to tread even with the lanterns. They feared or were wise enough to respect the presence of the old gods and the power they had here, north of the neck. Not to mention the prowling of two direwolves, Grey Wind and Ghost would make it impossible for any onlooker to listen in on this sensitive conversation.

"Jon, we need to talk about the Lannisters."