A/N: Thanks for the support

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

35: Robb

"You didn't have to do this."

"Nonsense, Cley," Robb assured his friend and heir to House Cerwyn, glancing over to the seat beside him to see Cley was humbled by the attention and the feast that Robb had put together to celebrate his announced betrothal to Lady Jorelle Mormont. "House Cerwyn is a loyal vassal to House Stark. It is my family's responsibility to celebrate such occasions."

Cley took his reasoning with a nod before going back to his drink.

The great hall was bustling with noise as men of Winterfell and Cerwyn were drinking and eating, laughing and talking. Robb took it all in at the high table, still finding it strange and a bit uncomfortable sitting in his father's seat.

It is only temporarily, he was quick to remind himself. Once father is done in the south, he will return to take up his rightful duties as Lord of Winterfell. Something Robb would gladly accept, believing he still had much to learn from his father before it was truly his turn to become Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

When news had reached Winterfell of the agreed upon betrothal between Houses Mormont and Cerwyn, Robb was determined to honor the pact and show his family's gratefulness to two of their loyal vassals in the form of a feast. He believed it was his acting duty as Lord of Winterfell to congratulate them and to bless the future union.

He still sought the advice of Maester Luwin, who had agreed to Robb's assessment. Luwin then consulted the steward to make sure the feast wouldn't put a dent into Winterfell's storage of food and ale or threaten their winter provisions.

To his immediate right sat the guest of honor, and his friend, Cley Cerwyn, who shied away at the attention and the toasts that were being made to his family and his betrothal. On Robb's other side sat Lord Medger Cerwyn, a soft-spoken man, but after several tankards of ale, he laughed loudly and was playfully shouting towards some of his more rowdier men-at-arms, cheering them on in their drinking, and adding his thoughts on their singing. It was quite the contrast to the man Robb was used to seeing and interacting with when he had visited Winterfell in the past.

At Lord Medger's other side sat his daughter, the Lady Jonelle Cerwyn, a plump, kind faced woman of thirty, who timidly sat in her seat, eating her food while shooting longing glances at Theon, who was sitting on Cley's other side. Maester Luwin sat on the other side of Theon with Bran and Rickon.

He returned his attention to see his friend, and the guest of honor was nursing his tankard, slouching in his seat as if hoping the chair would swallow him up.

"Next time you'll be sitting here with your new wife," Robb grinned.

Cley's cheeks flushed at the reminder. "I am honored to take Lady Jorelle as my wife."

"You bagged yourself a she-bear, Cley!" Theon clapped him on the back. "But best be careful with them during the bedding or you might get hurt." He smirked at his jape. "Let's just hope your honed and ready."

Robb chuckled into his tankard at his friend's bawdy joke and was pleased that Theon was wise enough not to say it so loud so Robb's brothers or Lord Medger would hear it.

"To House Cerwyn!" Three tankards of ale clanged together at the high table from Robb, Theon, and Cley while a chorus of support echoed off the walls of the great hall.

"Hear, hear," cried the chorus of servants and guards who were sitting and drinking around the great hall. None had been louder then Lord Medger. Whose voice seemed to rise with each passing drink.

Robb cleared his throat to get everyone's attention, standing up as he did, willing himself to not to fidget when every eye in the great hall turned to him. "To the union of House Cerwyn and House Mormont, may it bring the families peace, prosperity, and plenty of children" Robb laughed, as did others throughout the hall while another hearty cheer went up before everyone drank.

"It's still strange," Cley admitted, looking at his half-filled tankard, "to be betrothed." He let out a weak chuckle, "I knew this day would come, that it was my duty as the heir, but for it to be already here." He shook his head in dismay, looking like he was still trying to comprehend that it was finally here.

"I know how you feel," Robb told him, images of a cute princess with long golden hair and bright green eyes that shone like emeralds came to his mind's eye, causing a smile to form on his lips as he reflected on his own beautiful and kind betrothed, Myrcella.

"To our brides to be," Robb raised his tankard to Cley for another toast.

"Aye," Cley smiled, meeting his tankard with Robb's before the two friends drank to their future wives.

Robb smacked his lips together, relishing the smooth, crisp taste of the ale.

"And to the whores I fu-" Theon not wanting to be left out had decided to make his own toast.

"Theon," Robb sent his friend a warning look not to finish that thought.

The heir to the Iron Islands responded with a shrug before settling on finishing his drink and not his lewd toast.

"You sister is at Bear Island?" Cley asked.

"Aye, Arya is," Robb confirmed. And judging from her last letter was enjoying herself.

"Has she perchance mentioned the Lady Jorelle in any of her letters?" Cley was trying but failing to sound casual with his question.

Theon was grinning, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"I'm sorry to say that my sister Arya isn't one to mention in her letters how pretty the girls are," Robb chuckled alongside Theon, the two friends unable to contain their amusement. "She prefers to write about how they fight." Robb smiled at the reaction that had gotten from Cley, "And Arya mentions how good a shot the Lady Jorelle is, claiming she could be better than Theon."

"I doubt it," Theon scoffed, insulted at the mere suggestion.

"Arya also says that the Lady Jorelle keeps a dagger beneath her dress."

Cley began coughing up his ale at that reveal, Theon laughed, thumping Cley on the back as the heir to Cerwyn castle was trying to recover from his choking fit.

"T-that is good to know," Cley wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. Looking a bit alarmed at that new piece of information.

Robb shifted his attention towards his younger brothers, looking over to see Bran and Rickon at the end of the table. The latter was grinning, with his head on a swivel, wanting to take it all in. While the former looked more withdrawn and sullen, using his fork to mash his food instead of eating it.

He sighed at Bran's aloof behavior not faulting his younger brother for his gloominess knowing that Bran was tired of the looks and whispers that followed him whenever Hodor carried him into a room. Robb tried his best to stamp them out whenever he was present, informing them such behavior would not be tolerated.

He still fondly remembered the smiles and whoops of joy from his brother when the saddle cleverly designed by Lord Tyrion was a success and allowed Bran to ride once more. Something his younger brother cherished above all else besides climbing. A miracle that had nearly been ruined due to the trouble they had found on Bran's first ride.

Robb instinctively clenched his fists at the reminder of what had happened to his brother, and how close he had been to losing him to those treacherous deserters of the Night's Watch and their wildling followers. The reminder caused Robb to look up, eyes scanning amongst the servants before he found who he was looking for.

There she was, legs bound, carrying a tray of empty tankards. The only wildling to have survived the altercation between Robb and her allies. Men and women, she was quick to disassociate herself with when they lay dead at her feet, and her fate in his hands.

To expect any loyalty from a wildling was folly, Robb reminded himself, recalling his lessons with Maester Luwin and of his father's warnings when dealing with the folk north of the Wall. How they were treacherous and murderous, raping and stealing in their raids when they were brave enough to venture south of the wall. Only attacking farmers and others who couldn't put up much resistance to their bloody barbarism.

"That her?" Cley's voice broke Robb out of his thoughts about the wildlings.

He blinked, realizing he had been staring at the wildling woman, at Osha, a voice in his mind reminded him. "Aye," Robb looked away, "What's left of her raiding party." He felt the urge for another drink not wanting to be reminded of what had happened to his brother and what was so close to happening. He nearly shuddered, instead he took a long sip, draining his tankard while the soothing taste of ale went down.

"They grow bolder," Cley shook his head in disgust. "Theon says they mentioned some king they follow."

Robb remembered, "A deserter of the Night's Watch, Mance Rayder." His fists tightened their grip around his empty tankard, remembering how they had wanted to take Bran as a hostage for their king. Robb bit down the growl that threatened to slip past at the threat they had posed on his brother, on the callousness in how they regarded Bran, a boy. He would've killed them all with his bare hands if given the chance.

"Oath breathers and cravens," Cley muttered darkly, "They belong together."

"Aye," Lord Medger hiccupped in agreement.

"Sister," Cley called for his older sister, "I think its time that our father retired," he gave their father a pointed look, which he was oblivious to in his near drunken stupor.

"Of course, brother," She stood up from her seat, gently putting her hand on her father's shoulder, to get his attention. "Come, father." The Lord of Cerwyn castle didn't fight his daughter guiding up, he looked half asleep when he got to his feet.

Lady Jonelle turned to Robb, "My father and I are thankful for this feast," she tried to curtsey, but it proved difficult while she kept an arm on her slouching father.

"Just as my family is thankful to have you as loyal bannermen," Robb smiled at her, noticing a slight blush on her plump cheeks. He also saw how her eyes lingered on Theon before she finally left their seat at the high table and made their way out of the great hall and towards the guest house which is where they'd be staying for the night.

"I haven't seen my father this happy for a long time," Cley observed, "Probably since I was born when he finally got his heir."

"Your father is a good man," Robb told his friend.

"As is yours," Cley replied, "Does he know about the latest wildling attack?"

"Aye, I sent him a raven afterwards." He wanted to keep him informed of what was happening in the north knowing that his father's heart remained in the north with his people even if he was stuck serving as Hand to the King in the south.

"We should bring the fight to them!" Theon suggested. A loud cheer of encouragement went up at his idea, hearty noises of agreement. Pleased, and emboldened by the rousing support he was getting, as well as the ale he had been drinking, Theon got to his feet to continue, "If they want a fight, I say let's give them one!"

Robb wasn't sure what was worse, his friend's suggestion or the reception it was getting from the men in the hall.

"Enough nonsense," Maester Luwin was quick to speak to try to stamp the idea out before it could spread. "That decision isn't for you to make," he reminded Theon, "And a strategy stemming from drinking," Luwin shook his head, "Is never an ideal approach."

"The squid's right!" shouted one man, the sigil of House Cerwyn on his tunic. "The wildlings raid our lands, steal our women," the men began to murmur to one another, "We should show them our strength!" He flourished the knife he had been using to cut his meat. "Give their women a taste of our blades," he winked at that, earning guffaws and lusty cheers. "I don't know about you men," he said, looking around the room, "But my axe is honed and ready to take out some wildlings!"

Robb felt cold drops of dread fill his stomach as he watched the men in front of him. He recognized the merits of Theon's idea, but there was a time and a place, and this was not it. The last thing he needed was drunk men roused with blood lust and foolish notions all stewing in Winterfell's great hall.

"Let's start with this one!" one man shouted, grabbing Osha's arm, who shouted in protest before punching the man who wasn't expecting it. He stumbled backwards but his grip on her arm remained which threatened to pull her down with him when he fell, but two of his friends, kept him from falling while a third grabbed Osha's other arm to stop her protesting.

"Kill the bitch!" Someone in the crowd shouted.

"Enough!" Robb got to his feet, praying he looked and sounded intimidating enough to quell this unrest and to stop any potential blood from being spilt. His voice had caught his direwolf's attention, Grey Wind stirred from where he had been resting, and made his presence known with a low, threatening growl.

Summer and Shaggydog had joined Grey Wind as an impressive show of force with the former showing his sharp teeth while the latter growled and snapped his jaws, looking ready to strike.

Seizing the initiative, and emboldened by the presence of the three direwolves, Robb addressed the men. "You will release her at once," he demanded, pleased when they obeyed without hesitation, eyes still on the direwolves.

"Have you forgotten the traditions of our ancestors? She is under my protection," Robb reminded them, "the same as all of you."

Robb then gestured to two of his guards, "Take her back to her chambers and make sure she is not disturbed and that she remains alone." He saw a look flicker across Osha's face when their eyes met as she was led out of the hall, but he didn't have time to figure out what it meant.

"This feast is over." He looked around to see or note any potential unrest or disagreement stemming from his decision, but it looked like they had been mollified. A feat he knew that was mostly accomplished through the intimidating presence of the direwolves, but as long as the unrest had been thwarted, Robb was thankful.

"Well said, my lord," Luwin voiced his approval, "You brought sense to men when it seemed they lost theirs at the bottom of their tankards."

"I think the direwolves did that," Robb pointed out, watching the three of them returning back to their positions behind the high table.

"They may have caught their attention," Luwin admitted, "But it was your words that returned them to their senses."

"Thank you, maester," Robb replied sincerely, "Could you take Bran and Rickon to their chambers."

"Of course, my lord."

"No!" Rickon protested, "I want you to take me!"

"Rickon," Robb warned his youngest brother trying to mimic the stern tone he heard father use on them when they misbehaved. "Maester Luwin will take you to your chambers and if he reports that you listened and obeyed his instructions, then I will visit you shortly."

That met with Rickon's approval, who nodded eagerly, and was quick to follow Maester Luwin out of the great hall with Hodor carrying Bran behind them, Hodoring as he went.

"Forgive my men, Robb," Cley looked taken aback at the blood lust and hatred that was on display only moments ago. "I will speak to those who grabbed your servant," Cley said the last word with some difficulty, unable to keep his own dislike of the wildling out of his voice. "And make sure they understand their behavior reflects poorly on my family."

Robb nodded his thanks, "let us hope it was the ale that fueled them."

"Aye," Cley agreed, but his eyes showed that he didn't truly believe the sentiment.

The last thing Robb needed was for some of his bannermen to grow unruly and restless while his father was away and try to start a war against the wildlings.

I won't let that happen, Robb vowed to himself. Father trusted me to run the north while he was away, and Robb would not fail him.

"Look at them all!" Rickon looked out the window in Bran's room with wide eyes watching the dozens upon dozens of ravens taking flight from the maester's turret. He began listing off names for all the birds that were flying away.

Robb smiled at his brother's innocence. From his view he saw the flapping of black wings that threatened to blot out the sun as they flew away from Winterfell in all directions, looking like drifting black clouds.

Their messages were all the same.

He had called the banners.

In response to a letter he had gotten from the capital.

Robb had been excited when he had been told by Luwin that he had a new letter from the Princess. It had been a pleasant surprise since he had only just sent his last correspondent a day or so ago. He had it quickly broken the seal, recognizing her neat scrawl as he began to read it. His happiness quickly wilting with each passing sentence, by the end of it, he felt a heavy stone settle in his gut.

Come to King's Landing, bend the knee to my brother, save your father, save our betrothal.

That had just been part of the message that had been written and sent by Myrcella, his betrothed.

"It is a summons, my lord," Luwin had told him. "This is a royal command," the maester sounded weary, "If you should refuse to obey-"

"I won't," Robb cut in, feeling the flicker of anger growing in his gut. "If the King summons me to King's Landing then I'll go to the capital." He looked down at the letter, at Myrcella's writing, before he closed it, not wanting to see it anymore. "But not alone."

"My lord?"

"Call the banners."

"Where are they all going?" Rickon's question pulled Robb back to the present to see his youngest brother looking at him.

"To our bannermen." Bran answered in a hollow tone.

"Aye," Robb confirmed. He had hoped they wouldn't have put it together so quickly. He meant to tell them, but it wasn't supposed to be now. Let them have a few more days not knowing what he had to do. Of them not knowing what had happened. For them to be oblivious and happy and to not know that more change was coming to Winterfell.

"Why?" Rickon's innocence shining as brightly as his inquisitive blue eyes.

Robb didn't answer right away. In truth, he didn't want to answer at all, not now at least, but he wouldn't lie to them. He sat at the edge of Bran's bed, and called Rickon to join him, which he did with some reluctance since he was enjoying looking out at the window and watching the birds fly. He settled himself beside Robb.

"Something's happened in the south," Robb told them. "I've called the banners."

"You can't!" Rickon shook his head, "Only the Lord of Winterfell can do that! That's what the grey man said."

"That's right," Robb sighed. However, before Robb could go further, Bran spoke. He had figured it out.

"It's father."

"No!"

"Rickon," Robb grabbed his brother before he could storm off and go on one of his tantrums. "Father is alive," he pressed him to his chest, trying his best to soothe his wild and upset brother. "I'm going to get him back."

"Don't leave!" Rickon was sobbing. "You can't leave!" His anguish and anger causing his voice to hitch and crack.

Robb could feel his brother shaking. "I'll be back."

"Don't go!" Rickon wailed, his small hands suddenly clasping to Robb's back with such desperation it was as if he feared Robb would disappear in that moment if he loosened his grip.

"I'll bring back father and mother," Robb assured him. "I promise."

"No!" Rickon wouldn't hear of it. He was now squirming and fighting trying to break free. Shaggydog had grown aggravated, getting to his feet and barking and growling as if sensing Rickon's distress and anger. Grey Wind rose as well to keep his littermate in line.

"Rickon, please," Robb kept his grip on his brother, but it was proving difficult with each passing second as his brother continued to fight.

"No, you won't," Rickon's tone was frantic, sniffling as he spoke. Rickon landed an unexpected kick into Robb's gut pushing the air out of his lungs and causing him to loosen his grip. Sensing freedom, Rickon slid out from Robb's grasp, darting out of the room wailing with a howling Shaggydog following behind.

"Rickon!" Robb called after his brother, struggling to breathe from the accidental but ferocious kick.

"Everyone's leaving us." Bran said softly.

"I know," Robb wouldn't try to deny it. "But we will be together again," He grabbed Bran's hand. Hoping to elicit some sort of reaction from his brother who seemed to grow more detached with each passing day.

"All of us, I promise."

"What do you have there?"

That night, Robb had found himself back in his chambers, exhausted from everything that had transpired throughout the day, but it would not deter him from his current task. He looked up from his desk to see Maester Luwin was in the doorway, a curious gleam in his grey eyes, when their eyes met, the maester bowed his head.

"How is Rickon?"

"As unruly as ever," Luwin answered lightly, but his face remained stoic, "I've given him a calming draught. He's asleep now."

"Good," Robb wouldn't forget his brother's reaction when he realized that Robb too would be leaving Winterfell like so many of their family had before him. The draught was a temporary balm, Robb knew, but it was a relief to know his brother would get some peaceful rest after such a trying ordeal.

I'm not going anywhere yet, he reminded himself, and Robb would make sure he'd still find time for Rickon and Bran in the days and weeks to come while he prepared for his march to the capital.

"Did you get what I asked?"

"I did," Luwin stepped into the room, a small scroll in his hand, "The Princess' last letter."

Robb took it with a nod, steeling himself before unfurling it and reading it once more. The words were just as difficult to read as it was the first time. To see these commands, to read this indifferent tone from the warm and friendly Princess' scrawl was difficult to stomach, but he made himself read through all of it, and when it was over, he found the cold trepidation in his gut dissipate. A smile came to his lips as he put down the letter.

"My lord?" Luwin sounded concerned.

"You asked what this all was," Robb referred to the maester's first question upon entering his chambers, gesturing to his desk where a handful of letters were resting.

"I did."

"They're from the Princess," Robb answered, "All of them," he picked one of them up, still smiling, "Each one starts exactly the same asking after Bran," his eyes skimming over the letter he had grabbed. It had been the first one she had written to him.

"Whether he was unconscious," he held up said letter, "or after she learned he woke up." He pointed to another one, "And asked about his riding after her Uncle's specially designed saddle had been created." Robb put it down feeling elated.

"She ends them all the same too," Robb told the maester, a feeling of warmth and gratitude filled him, "saying that my brother Bran is first in her prayers." It was only now rereading them to confirm his suspicion did he realize how fortunate he was to one day call this thoughtful and compassionate woman his wife.

"But not this one," Robb held the newest letter in his hands that claimed his father was a traitor and demanded that Robb bend the knee to her brother, he slowly tightened his grip around the letter. "There is no mention of my brother, no asking after him. Don't you see?" He moved towards the hearth in his room where a fire was going.

"This is her writing, but not her words." He tossed the letter into the fire and watched with growing satisfaction as the flames took to it hungrily. They still had the letter she wrote to his mother, but this was suppose to be for him. This was meant to be some cruel ploy, a means to hurt him, to divide them, but he wouldn't let that happen.

"It's not just my father I'm going to get from the capital."

"My lord?"

"I mean to bring the Princess back with us."