So, by now you probably guessed that I am a huge fan of Robb. He is my favorite character, although Tyrion is a close second. I have a lot of ideas! Several fanfics without Robb being the main character, but those are less developed. This chapter is almost entirely taken from the book, and the story will begin prior to this (and of course end way after). There will be many changes, although not any of them just because, Robb's presence affecting everything. Reviewwwwwwww!
Eddard
"You're quite certain these were more than brigands?" Varys asked softly from the council table beneath the throne. Grandmaester Pycelle stirred uneasily beside him, while Littlefinger toyed with a pen. They were the only councilors in attendance. A white heart had been sighted in the Kingswood and Lord Renly and Ser Barristan had joined the King in his quest to hunt it, along with the Crown Prince, Sandor Clegane, Balon Swann, and half the court. It forced Ned to sit in a throne he had never wanted to sit in and take up duties he had never intended.
He could barely sit, but he was one of the few allowed to. Save the council, the rest must stand respectfully, or kneel. The petitioners clustered near the tall doors, the knights and high lords and ladies beneath the tapestries, the smallfolk in the gallery, the mailed guards in their cloaks, gold or grey, everyone remained standing.
The villagers were kneeling. Men, women, children, all in tattered clothes, all with blood on their persons, their faces filled by fear. The three knights who had brought them to the Red Keep to bear witness stood behind them.
"Brigands, Lord Varys?" Ser Raymun Darry's voice dripped scorn. "Oh, they were brigands, beyond a doubt. Lannister brigands."
Ned could see the unease in the hall, as high lords and servants alike strained to listen. He could not pretend surprise. The west had been a tinderbox since Catelyn had seized Tyrion Lannister. Both Riverrun and Casterly Rock had called their banners, and armies were massing in the pass below the Golden Tooth. It had only been a matter of time until the blood began to flow.
Ser Karyl Vance eyed him with sad eyes, a simmer of fury behind them. With a gesture at the kneeling villagers, he claimed they were the surviving affected of the attack to the holdfast of Sherrer and Wendish Town.
"Rise." Ned commanded to the villagers. He never trusted what a man told him while kneeling. "All of you, rise."
In ones and twos, the villagers from the holdfast of Sherrer struggled to its feet. One ancient needed to be helped, and a young girl in a bloody dress stayed on her knees, staring blankly at Ser Arys Oakheart, who stood by the foot of the throne in the white armor of the Kingsguard.
"Joss." Ser Raymun said to a plump, balding man in a brewer's apron. "Tell the Hand what happened at Sherrer."
Joss nodded. "If it please Lord Hand."
"It will." Ned replied. "Tell me who you are and what you know of these raiders."
"I keep…I kept…I kept an alehouse, m'lord, in Sherrer, by the Stone bridge. The finest ale south of the Neck, everyone said so, begging your pardons, m'lord. It's gone now. They came and drank their fill and spilled the rest before they fired my roof, m'lord, and would of spilled my blood too, if they'd caught me."
"They burn us out." A farmer behind him said. "Come riding in the dark, up from the south, and fired the fields and the houses alike, killing them as tried to stop them. They had no mind to steal our stock, not these, they butchered my milk cow where she stood and left her for the flies and crows. If not for the Riverwatch, they would have burned Sherrer to the ground, m'lord."
"Riverwatch?" Baelish asked with a sardonic smile. "I have never heard of it. Is it more brigands?" Ser Karyl and Ser Raymun bristled, while Ser Marq Piper looked at Littlefinger with disdain.
"The Riverwatch are the protectors of the Riverlands, m'lord. Sent from Riverrun to protect us smallfolk." Joss answered, while the rest of the villagers nodded.
"It was Lord Robb's idea." Ser Marq began. "As soon as Riverrun received notice of the arrest of the Imp, Lord Robb predicted Lord Tywin would send his mad dog on a preemptive strike. He formed a standard host to patrol the Riverlands, led by the Blackfish."
"Woe to the Riverlands if he had not, my Lord." Ser Raymun added "The Riverwatch managed to repel the attack on Sherrer and decimated the brigands at Wendish Town. If not, both holdfasts and its towns would have been razed to the ground."
Pycelle rose ponderously from the council table, his chain of office clinking. "To accuse Lord Tywin like that! You have no proof of that Ser, none!"
What Eddard Stark was doing sitting there, he would never comprehend. Yet there he sat, and these people were looking at him for justice.
"Grandmaester Pycelle is right." He concluded. "What proof do you have that these were Lannisters? What proof does my son has?" He said, trying to control his fury. He knew Robb wouldn't make lightly accusations against Lord Tywin, nor would have he sent three of his bannermen to King's Landing without proof. "Did they wear crimson cloaks of fly a lion banner?"
"Even Lannisters are not so blind stupid as that." Ser Marq snapped. He was a swaggering bantam rooster of a youth, too young and too hot-blooded for Ned's taste, although a fast friend of his son.
"Every man among them was mounted and mailed, my Lord." Ser Karyl answered calmly. "They were armed with steel-tipped lances and longswords, with battle-axes for the butchering." He gestured towards one of the ragged survivors. "You. Yes, you, no one's going to hurt you. Tell the Lord Hand what you told me."
The old man bobbed his head. "Concerning their horses." He said. "It was warhorses they rode. Many a year I worked in old Ser Willum's stables, so I know the difference. Not a one of these ever pulled a plow, gods bear witness if I'm wrong."
"Well-mounted brigands," observed Littlefinger. "Perhaps they stole the horses from the last place they raided."
"How many men were there in this raiding party?" Ned asked.
"Two hundred at first." Ser Raymun answered. "About fifty died at Sherrer. And well past a hundred, at Wendish Town. No more than ten escaped, my Lord Hand."
"You say they flew no banners. What of the armor they wore? Did any of you note ornaments or decorations, devices on shield or helm?"
The brewer, Joss, shook his head. "It grieves me, m'lord, but no, the armor they showed us was plain, only…the one who led them, he was armored like the rest, but there was no mistaking him all the same. It was the size of him, m'lord. Those as say the giants are all dead never saw this one, I swear. Big as an ox he was, and a voice like a stone breaking."
"The Mountain!" Ser Marq claimed loudly. "Can any man doubt it? This was Gregor Clegane's work."
Ned heard mutterings from beneath the windows and the far end of the hall. Even in the galley, nervous whispers were exchanged. High lords and smallfolk alike knew what it could mean if Ser Marq was proved right. Ser Gregor Clegane stood bannerman to Lord Tywin Lannister. 'And it comes back to Lord Lannister', Ned thought.
He studied the frightened faces of the villagers. Small wonder they had been so fearful. They had thought they were being dragged here to name Lord Tywin a red-handed butcher before the king, who was his son by marriage. He wondered if the knights had given them a choice.
The Grandmaester rose again, a shaking finger pointed accusingly at the Rivermen. "Ser Marq, with respect, you cannot know that this outlaw was Ser Gregor. There are many large men in the realm."
As soon as the Maester had said those words, the expression on the knights' faces changed, savage smiles blooming.
"We have proof, Grandmaester." Ser Karyl pointed out. "The Mountain was slain at Wendish Town. We carried his corpse with us, with orders from Lord Tully-Stark to send the head to Sunspear after the King determined that he is indeed Ser Gregor Clegane."
Gasps rang through the hall, before the Lords and servants began clamoring to see the Mountain's head. With a gesture from Ser Raymun Darry, a horse moved forward, a limp body tied by a rope to it. Disgusted screaming filled the halls, with some Western Lords calling for the lack of honor of the knights.
"It was Lord Robb himself who defeated him, my Lord, assisted by his Direwolf companion." Ser Raymun informed. "I was there. He is a credit to House Stark and House Tully."
"My son fought Ser Gregor?" Ned asked with urgency, pushing himself up from the throne with the strength of his arms, his shattered leg screaming inside his cast.
"Your son killed Ser Gregor." Ser Marq said savagely. "It was a battle for the songs, my Lord. I shall tell my children, and they will tell theirs, about the day that the Riverwolf toppled a Mountain."
With a grunt, a soldier at arms of House Darry pulled the cloak covering the body, Ser Gregor Clegane's body bare for all to see.
The Mountain's body was a grievous sight, with several cuts and teared parts of flesh. It had no hands, with one arm being sliced clean, while the other looked ripped right from the shoulder. It had no head, but it was still identifiable. No one ever forgot the sight of Ser Gregor.
"The head's in the box." Ser Raymun said. And it was. Ned would never forget the face of Gregor Clegane, all rage while he was still alive, but only a fearful, frozen expression would remain until it decayed. The hall was buzzing, with Loras Tyrell coming close to gaze at the slain knight.
"Why would Ser Gregor turn brigand?" Pycelle asked. "By the grace of his liege lord, he holds a stout keep and lands of his own. The man is an anointed knight."
"A false knight!" Ser Marq declared hotly. "Lord Tywin's mad dog."
"My Lord Hand." Pycelle declared in a stiff voice. "I urge you to remind this good knight that Lord Tywin is the father of our own gracious queen."
Ser Karyl Vance gathered his attention again, handed him a sealed parchment. "Ser Amory Lorch was captured, my Lord. He confessed to everything. Lord Tywin ordered Ser Gregor to burn the Riverlands, while he gathers his banners. He had orders to invade our lands, burn our fields, rape our women, and kill our men."
"A signed confession. Why did you not say earlier, Ser?" Littlefinger asked.
"We were instructed to proceed as we did, Littlefinger." Ser Marq replied, making Baelish smile dim. "We wanted to see the justice the Iron Throne would give to our villagers, without the need to have a signed confession." Ned felt it a bid from Robb to uncover Robert's future plan of action, but he would be left wanting. Still, Ned doubted the King would call he banners to defend his goodfather.
"If your fields and holdfasts are safe from harm." Lord Petyr was saying. "And the brigands defeated, the Mountain slain and Ser Amory Lorch captured, what then do you ask of the throne?"
"The Lord's of the Trident keep the king's peace." Ser Raymun declared. "The Lannisters have broken it. We ask leave to answer them, steel for steel. We ask justice for the smallfolk of Sherrer and Wendish Town. Even if their attackers lay several feet beneath the ground, justice will not be complete until Lord Tywin has answered for his crimes."
"Even now, Lord Robb rides with the full might of the Riverlands behind him, for the Golden Tooth. He sent us, him, and old Lord Hoster, to come here and beg leave before we strike the Westerlands."
Cersei and her father would insist that it had been Riverrun who broke the King's peace, not the Lannister. Ned praised his son on his actions, catching the brigands on the move, and securing a signed confession from a known knight in service of Lord Tywin. He could not help the spike of fear he felt when he heard that his son was riding for war, but he had faith that Robert would defuse the situation when he returned. Ned desperately hoped.
Littlefinger stroked the point of his beard thoughtfully. "If all your strength is in the host moving towards the Golden Tooth, what happens if other brigands come to attack your people, Ser?"
"Lord Robb already thought of that, Littlefinger." The Heir of Pinkmaiden claimed. "He harvested all the fields, before moving the smallfolk north. Villages can be rebuilt, but no man, woman or child can be returned to live. The Riverlands would have to well and truly fall before the Lannisters kill even one of our villagers. No, my Lord. We'll use Lannister blood to water the fields the Mountain burnt."
"Do we have your leave to take our vengeance against Lord Tywin, then?" Marq Piper asked the throne.
"Vengeance? I thought we were speaking of justice." Ned said disdainfully. He glanced away before the young knight could voice his outraged protest and addressed the villagers. "People of Sherrer, I cannot give you back your homes or your crops, nor can I restore your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you some small measure of justice. In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, by word of Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, in my capacity as Hand of the King, I denounce Ser Gregor Clegane and all those who rode with him. I attaint them, and strip them of all ranks and titles, of all lands and incomes and holdings, and I declare that their dead is just. Lord Robb Tully-Stark, acting Lord Paramount of the Riverlands is in the right." Another wave of gasps emerged, but Ned was not done.
"Lord Beric Dondarrion," he called out. "Thoros of Myr. Ser Gladden. Lord Lothar." The men named stepped forward, one by one. "Each of you is to assemble twenty men, to bring my word to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he is ordered to unmake his host, and he is summoned to court, to answer for his crimes and the crime of his bannermen. He will arrive within the fortnight, or be branded enemy of the crown, and traitor of the realm."
"Lord Eddard!" The shout came from the west side of the hall, as a handsome stripling of a boy strode forth boldly. Out of his armor, Ser Loras Tyrell looked even younger than his sixteen years. He wore pale blue silk, his belt a linked chain of golden roses, the sigil of his house. "I beg of you the honor of acting in your place. Give this task to me, my lord, and I swear I shall not fail you."
"Lord Beric Dondarrion, you shall have command, as befits your rank."
The young lord with the red-gold hair bowed. "As you command, Lord Eddard."
"Lord Eddard, what of me?" The Knight of Flowers asked, perplexed.
Ned looked down at him. From the Iron Throne, Loras Tyrell seemed almost as his son, Robb. "No one doubts your valor, Ser Loras, but we are about justice here, and I do not know if that is what you seek." He looked back to Lord Beric. "Ride at first light. These things are best done quickly." He held up a hand, before announcing loudly. "The Throne will hear no more petitions today."
Alyn and Porther climbed the steep iron steps to help him back down. As they made their descent, he could feel Loras Tyrell's sullen stare, but the boy had stalked away before Ned reached the floor of the throne room.
At the base of the Iron Throne, Varys was gathering papers from the council table. Littlefinger and Grandmaester Pycelle had already taken their leave.
"You are a bolder man than I, my Lord." The eunuch said softly.
"How so, Lord Varys?" Ned asked brusquely, leg throbbing.
"Had it been up to me, I should have sent Ser Loras. He so wanted to go…and a man who has the Lannisters for his enemies would do well to make the Tyrells his friends. Should the Westerlands and the Riverlands become a warzone, no one would be more protected than Lord Mace's favorite son."
"Ser Loras is young." Said Ned. "I daresay he will outgrow the disappointment."
"Perhaps." The eunuch muttered softly, a thoughtful look on his powdered face. "Are you proud of your son, my Lord? Defeating the Mountain is no small feat. I agree with Ser Marq; there will be songs about him. The young Lord who gave up his birthright to help her maternal family, killing the most feared knight of his generation at barely fifteen, before riding to war against mighty Tywin Lannister."
"Aye." Ned said cautiously, eyeing the Master of Whispers with suspicion. "He is not the small lad who left Winterfell anymore."
"No." Varys agreed. "He is not."