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Robb stood next his brothers, Jon and Bran, as they watched the parade of heavily armed men make there way through the Hunter's Gate and into the heart of the Wolfswood. His Father walked next to the King, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the prospect of a hunt with his oldest friend.
"Is something on your mind?"
Robb looked to his left and saw Jon looking at him expectantly. "What do you mean?"
"You have an extremely serious look on your face."
"I'm sorry, I forgot you were the surly one," Robb grinned, before letting his face fall back to impassiveness. "It's nothing to speak of here. I imagine you will find out soon enough."
"If you're sure."
"What I'm not sure about," Robb began, dragging Jon away from Bran, "is this Night's Watch business."
"Robb leave it be, I've made up my mind."
"Well I'm going to unmake it. You've got a lifetime to decide to go to the Wall, but once you do, there is not any coming back. Those vows are forever, Snow. Ask that fool whose head Father removed."
"You don't understand, Robb. There's honor in being a man of the Night's Watch. More than a bastard could hope for here."
"Stop with the bastard nonsense, Jon. You're so caught up on a word it's become obsessive. You're still the son of the Lord of Winterfell and brother to the heir. Don't let my Mother push you from your home."
"It isn't about your Mother," Jon countered. "It's what I want. And I won't be alone because Uncle Benjen will be there as well."
Robb opened his mouth to speak again but realized that his Brother's mind was set. The look on Jon's face also showed a weariness of any further potential challenges to his decision. Robb sighed and shook his head. He looked back and saw that Bran had wandered off somewhere while he and Jon had been talking. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Grey Wind and Ghost lurking, forcing several visiting southerners to scamper in the opposite direction. Finally turning back to Jon, he spoke. "Let's go to the training yard. It will be some measure of comfort for me to know that you can properly use a sword when you face the things living beyond the Wall."
Jon's face relaxed and he laughed. "You should hope I can wield my sword better than you, because we both know if the wildings make it down here you'll be utterly useless."
Robb circled around his Brother, practice sword gripped tightly with both hands. They had been at it for the better part of an hour and neither had done better than a glancing blow against their opponent. It was a consequence of them both being trained by Ser Rodrick Cassel their entire lives. They were both balanced, focused on proper footwork and defense. Robb was about to try another strike when he heard girlish cackling behind him. He felt his day get just a bit worse when he was saw the form of Prince Joffrey leaning against a wooden post.
"Is something amusing?" Robb asked, letting his sword drop to his side as Jon moved to stand beside him.
"I think I've just witnessed the least inspiring attempt at fighting that I've ever seen. You and the bastard haven't done anything but look at each other for an hour."
"Oh, and you're a master of the sword are you? Do you even know which end of that to hold," Jon asked, referring to sword on the Prince's belt, which had a hilt adorned with Lannister gold.
"Mind your words bastard, your speaking to the heir to the Iron Throne," Joffrey puffed, raising his chin at them. He then turned to Robb. "You must be glad that he is destined for the Wall, with the way his presence befouls the Stark name. You'll be able to forget him soon enough, though. It's just a shame you can't do anything about this dreadful country of yours as well."
It was lucky that Robb had Jon to hold back, or else he would have had great difficulty stopping himself from throttling the golden-haired, silk-adorned nuisance. "You do know that the country that you're insulting is your future queen's home?
"Once we're wed she'll forget all about this wasteland," Joffrey laughed. "A good thing too, as I've no intention of returning."
"I don't know how the North will ever bear your loss," Robb snipped.
"You never know, Stark. When I'm King, I just may decide that the Northern lords need to be brought to heel. I may decide that you're given too much freedom. No one said the Starks should remain Wardens of the North forever."
Now Robb stepped forward until he was just inches away from boy. "You do that, Your Grace. And when you and your army cross the Neck, there will be twenty-thousand men of the North there ready to greet you."
"Is that so?"
"Aye, it's so, and it won't just be men." At Robb's last word, a deep growl echoed behind Joffrey, causing the Prince to jump. Joffrey back-stepped quickly as Grey Wind padded towards them in a way that was both graceful and terrifying. "I'd love to see what these Northern wolves could do to a lion." Robb was going to continue his antagonizing, until the imposing figure of Sandor Clegane, scarred face and all, stepped out of the shadows. Apparently the Prince needed a watcher at all times.
"Trouble, Your Grace?" the Hound asked in a tone that belied little enthusiasm for keeping an on the egotistical Prince. Robb knew though, that the man was not one to cross if someone valued his life.
"Of course there's no trouble, Hound," Joffrey simmered. "I was simply conversing with some of our Northern subjects. Come, I'd like to retire to my room." The Prince tried to walk away with as much dignity as he could muster, but it was difficult when he was quite clearly doing his best to steer away from Grey Wind, whose eyes hadn't left the royal.
"Here boy," Robb called, and the direwolf came over to his master who proceeded to run his hand through its thick fur. Robb gave the wolf a final pat on his back before he turned back to Jon. "Let's go to the kitchens. Battling wits with a Prince has given me an appetite."
"A good plan," Jon said putting away their practice swords. "If there really are white walkers beyond the Wall, I may try and convince them to bypass the North and take up residence in the Red Keep."
"Tell them to look for the blonde prick that shits gold." They walked side by side toward the kitchens, when all noise inside Winterfell was overcome by the piercing howl of a direwolf. Robb looked behind them and saw both Grey Wind's and Ghost's heads turn immediately toward the sound. They both responded in kind before taking off in the direction of the noise. Robb glanced sideways at Jon, who nodded. The kitchens forgotten, they accelerated to try and catch up with their wolves.
It did not take them long to see the wolves were leading them towards a tower, and the scene at the tower's base was enough to draw the air out of Robb's lungs. He ran faster than he believed possible until he was next to the unmoving form of his younger Brother. "Bran!" He yelled, grabbing the boy's face in his hand. "Bran, wake up!" There was no response, and Robb looked down at the unnatural position of the boy's legs. He turned to Jon and was about to tell him to seek out Maester Luwin, but his other Brother was already on his way. "Hang on, Bran," he whispered. It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized that was exactly what the boy had not managed to do.
There was an eerie silence that had fallen over the entire castle. When the Lord of Winterfell's son suffered a grievous injury, the grief was felt down to the lowliest of servants. Robb had taken to secluding himself in the Godswood. Every time he tried to walk somewhere, he inevitably found himself either drawn towards Bran's room or to the place where the boy had fallen. Maester Luwin had little doubt that Bran would live, but it pained Robb horribly to know that the young boy who was so full of life and unbound adventure would likely never walk again. The boy who dreamed of being a knight would certainly never be one.
"I see I'm not the only one seeking answers."
Robb turned his head from where he sat and watched his Father approach. "The Old Gods don't seem to speak to me as they do you, Father."
"Be patient and they will, son. Of course they may not. Some times it is up to us to seek our own answers," his Father said running a hand down the withered bark of the heart tree.
"Like how a boy who practically lives on Winterfell's walls managed to fall off them?"
"Aye, that's an answer I would like as well."
Robb looked seriously at his Father. "What if the answer is that he didn't fall?"
"Hopefully when Bran wakes he will have the answers we seek. And if the answer is that he didn't just fall, then justice will be done."
"No matter the name?"
"No matter the name," Eddard Stark affirmed. "Speaking of answers, there's still one that I need to give to the King. These past days of watching over Bran and your Mother have distracted me from the task."
"When do you mean to tell the King?" Robb asked.
"Today," his Father answered. "There's no use drawing it out any longer."
"May I come with you, Father? I'd like to be there to support you."
His Father exhaled slowly. "I don't expect it to be a pleasant conversation, but I suppose it would be good to expose you to what being a Lord entails. Let us go find my friend and get this whole episode over with. Hopefully we are still friends when it is over."
They found the King seated on the chair usually reserved for Robb's Father when he was acting in his official capacity as Lord of Winterfell. The hall itself was quiet, with only two Kingsguard standing behind the King on either side. Robb was pleased to see that Jaime Lannister was not among them.
"Ned," the King greeted. "Any news on your boy."
"None, Your Grace," his Father answered. Robb stayed a step behind as his Father approached the King's chair and slowly dropped to one knee."
"Seven hells Ned, there's no one here. You don't need to kneel to speak to me," the King groaned. "I get enough of that in King's Landing."
"Respectfully, Your Grace I feel I must. You traveled a great distance all the way to Winterfell in the hopes that I would solve a problem for you, but I regret that you will have to return home unsatisfied."
"What are you saying?" the King spoke quickly, leaning forward in his chair.
His Father hesitated a moment before speaking. "I am saying that many years ago I followed you south to King's Landing, but once in a lifetime was enough. I cannot do it again. I cannot leave my family."
Now the King stood, and Robb could see the man's eye twitch in obvious agitation. "Your King, the man you swore fealty to, has come to your home and done you the great honor of asking you to serve at his side as Hand of the King and your answer is no? I am hearing that right Eddard Stark? The man who values his honor above all else is going to turn his back on his Kingdom?"
"I cannot leave Catelyn here by herself while my son lays in a bed, broken and refusing to wake. I can forgive myself for refusing my King's request to become Hand, but I could not forgive myself for being in King's Landing if Bran were to fade. I cannot tell you much it grieves me if my decision offends, Your Grace."
"You're fucking right it offends me!" the King boomed. "It's bad enough that there are those around Westeros that still call me Robert the Usurper. It will only encourage their defiance when they hear even my closest friend has turned his back on me. Add to that the Targaryens are still out there, biding their time."
"I may not be your Hand, Robert, but as long as I live I swear to the Old Gods that no Targaryen will hold power in the Seven Kingdoms ever again. No Stark and no Northman would ever bend their knee to those fire-loving madmen."
"That will not stop the plots and rumors, and you know Cersei will have me name Tywin Lannister Hand of the King. We've seen how his loyalty can shift in the wind, to our own damn beneift."
"And the moment he turned his back on you, I would march on Casterly Rock and throw every last piece of Lannister gold into the sea."
"Fat lot of good it would do me with Jaime Lannister's sword poking through my guts," The King grimaced.
"I like Stannis well enough," his Father countered, and Robb had to do his best not to look at the man as if he had lost all of his sense.
"Now I know you're full of shit, because no one in the Seven Kingdoms likes Stannis. Plus, in case you've forgotten I have two sons who would sit on the Throne before Stannis."
"Speaking of your son," Robb's Father began tentatively, "how will this affect the betrothal of my daughter."
The King sighed and sat back down in his chair. "Damn the Gods Ned, I don't see how I can let the betrothal stand. My Queen is about as fond of you as she is of me. She fought me enough at marrying off that coddled boy, but she would lose her senses if I allowed him to marry into a family that had insulted the crown. "
"I know my daughter will be greatly disappointed," Eddard Stark said, though Robb was sure his Father was not disappointed at all. He certainly wasn't.
"Yes, well she's young, I'm sure she'll get over it quick enough. Now if that's all, I believe preparations need to be made for our return journey South."
Robb's Father stood up from his kneeling position and offered his friend a small bow. "Of course, Your Grace. Know that anything Wintefell has to offer is yours." Eddard turned towards the entrance to the hall, and Robb was about to follow when he saw a look of deep thought appear on the King's face, followed by the man rising from his chair again.
"Ned," Robert Baratheon called, stepping down from the raised dais. "Now that you mention it, there is one thing that you could do for me."
"Name it Your Grace."
"You know how much I despise these political games, but unfortunately they are sometimes necessary. I meant what I said about this whole thing reflecting badly on me," the King said, gesturing between himself and Robb's Father. "I'd ask that you send young Robb here with me back to King's Landing."
"Am I to be a hostage?" Robb asked, not able to contain the first thought that jumped to his mind. He immediately regretted when he saw the pointed and stern look from his Father.
"I don't think my friend was implying any such thing. Were you, Your Grace?" his Father asked, turning the strong look back to the King. It was clear that Eddard Stark was skeptical of the King's request as well.
"No, no, of course not," the King boomed, in a jovial manner. He approached Robb and placed a fat hand on his shoulder "Your Father and I were wards of Jon Arryn as boys and it was an invaluable experience. It turned us in to the men we are today."
"Robert, we were eight year old boys when we went to the Eyrie. Robb is no small boy," Eddard argued.
"I'm not speaking of a permanent arrangement, Ned. Robb will spend a year or two in King's Landing as my guest in court. It's good for a future Lord to get some exposure to the other kingdoms. He can meet the other Lords and maybe fight in a tourney or two. Hell, if he show's enough promise maybe one day I can tell Tywin Lannister to piss off and name him Hand."
Robb stood in the Great Hall of the only place he had ever called home and was left at a complete loss. The King wanted him to travel to King's Landing. Robb knew it was mostly for the King's own benefit, but he had to admit the idea was intriguing. However, reality hit him when he remembered the whole reason that the King was in Winterfell. Someone had possibly murdered Jon Arryn, the Lannisters if Lysa Arryn was to be believed. He would be heading into the most dangerous place in Westeros that was not north of the Wall.
He also quickly realized that his Father knew this as well. And his Father also knew that the King's request was not really a request at all. It was one thing for a Lord to refuse a position that was a substantial commitment like the Hand, but for something simple like allowing your son to be fostered at another castle was a common occurrence. When the King asked to foster your child, you most certainly did not refuse. Robb saw that his Father was fighting an internal battle, and he knew that if he did not act for himself that his Father might change his mind about being Hand. He could not allow that to happen.
Following his Father's example, Robb knelt before the King. "It would be a great honor to accompany you to the Capital, Your Grace. I know it will be a truly great experience."
"You see there, Ned," the King exclaimed, pulling Robb to his feet. "It's all settled."
"So it would seem," Ned Stark said, his forced, upbeat voice just slightly wavering.
At that moment, Robb thought that he could solve another problem as well. "If I may make a request Your Grace?"
"Speak," the King encouraged.
"Your Grace, I would ask that my Brother be allowed to join me in King's Landing."
"The littlest one?" the King asked in confusion. Of course, Robb thought, with Bran unconscious the King would think of Rickon.
"No, Your Grace. I talk of my Brother, Jon. I understand that he does not bear the Stark name, but he is still my Brother in blood."
"The bastard?" The King asked, bluntly. Robb grit his teeth at the comment.
"Yes, Your Grace. Jon and I are of similar age, and we have been raised together our entire lives. This is an opportunity I'd greatly like to share with him, if it would not offend."
The King took a moment to contemplate the request, but when he shrugged, Robb sighed in relief. "My Wife will be offended, so all the more reason. Maybe you two fine Northern boys will have a good affect on my heir and get him to let go of his Mother's skirts."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Robb responded, knowing already that Jon was going to be furious with him.
"Think nothing of it," the King waved him. "Now, I'm going to retire to my chambers. I'm sure you have preparations to make, and I have send a damn raven to Tywin Lannister. I'll be damned if I'm stopping at Casterly Rock on the journey home." The King grabbed a cup of wine off a table and, flanked by his Kingsguard escort, exited the hall. It was then that Father and Son finally were alone, and stared at each other in a shocked silence.
"Robb, I don't know whether I should be proud of you, or whether I should be incensed," his Father lamented. "What I do know is that I am sending you into the lion's den."
"It was my choice, Father," Robb stated. "You are needed here. Maybe this way we can keep eyes on the happenings in King's Landing and keep you apprised."
Robb was hardly prepared when his Father reached out and grabbed him by his cloak, forcefully. "You listen to me Robb. You do not put yourself in unnecessary danger. You take no chances with yours or your Brother's lives. If you think something is wrong, then you board a ship, or you take horses and you head for home as fast as you can. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, my Lord," Robb agreed, addressing his Father by title to let him know he was serious.
"Good," his Father responded, relaxing his grip, but only slightly. "I am proud of you, Son. Now we can go break the news to the others. It won't go over well for either of us I'm afraid."
"Who do you think will react the worst?"
"Sansa and Jon will understand our actions, though they may not like it. I'd put my gold on your Mother. For me allowing her firstborn to go to King's Landing instead of myself, I may go to my bed in armor in the coming nights."