He stared down at the parchment for minutes on end, reading his words over and over again. It was the third piece of parchment he had been through, the others angrily crumpled and thrown onto the floor. Robb had never in his life contemplated that he would have to tell his Mother that her husband was dead, and finding the words to put down into an emotionless letter was proving fleeting. It was impossible to convey the deep pain that he felt for the loss of his Father, and also to try and offer comfort to his Mother. The enormity that was the loss of Eddard Stark was not something that could be explained in a letter. Still, it was his duty. With a final flourish of his quill, he ended the letter…Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell.
He sighed, tiredly, rolling the letter and affixing his seal to it. Leaning back in his chair, he winced as his side throbbed at the sudden movement. The maester had cleaned and sealed the wound, but it still ached terribly. He had been bedridden for two days while his strength returned to him. The maester had told him that he had been lucky, the blade had not punctured his organs, but had gone clean through. Robb would deal with the pain if it meant not being dead.
A knock came at his door. "Enter," he invited.
The door handle turned and the door pushed inwards revealing his somber-faced Brother. Jon leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. "They're ready to go."
Robb nodded, pushing himself up and out of his chair. He picked his cloak up from his bed and secured it around his shoulders. "Let's get this over with."
"How do you feel?" Jon inquired.
"About as good as one would expect three days after being impaled," Robb responded. "It only hurts when I move, so pretty much constantly."
"At least you still have full use of your cock," Jon noted. "Jaime Lannister won't be able to take a proper piss for the rest of his retched life."
"Was I too sadistic?"
"The fuckers killed our Father and tried to kill Bran. Too bad you didn't have the time to cut his balls off and feed them to him," Jon responded.
"Still, no more golden-haired sibling babies to curse the realm," Robb stated, walking to the door. He walked through and noticed the two Stark guardsmen posted outside his door. They bowed their heads to their new Lord and followed behind as he and Jon walked down the halls of Raventree's keep. He doubted that he was in any sort of peril inside of the confines of Lord Blackwood's Keep, but the surviving members of his Father's guard had been outside his room since the conclusion of the battle.
As they left the keep, Robb had to hold his hand to his nose to try and block out the rancid smell of the dead. The army had been doing its best to clear the fields, but disposing of thousands of bodies was no small task. Maintaining a standing army was not cheap, so to the extent that weapons and armor could be salvaged, such things had to be gathered and collected. Then casualties had to be counted and bodies stacked and burned. It was not pretty work by any means, but had to be done.
Outside the gates of the castle, the Northern and River Lords had gathered around a large cart, on top of which rested the casket of Eddard Stark. The casket was covered with House Stark's direwolf banner, with grey and white wolf pelts draped across each end. Lying down the center of the casket was Ice, his family's ancestral sword. The assembly of lords parted as Robb made his way towards the cart. His hand ran along the edge of the casket, and it was a battle to keep his emotions at bay.
Lord Glover, who had been nearby when Ned Stark had met his end, had emotionally recounted the Lord of Winterfell's final moments when Robb had been well enough to entertain visitors upon awakening. Just as the western portion of their forces, Ned Stark's eastern force had beaten back the initial Lannister thrust with ease. However, unlike Jaime Lannister's biased and intentionally provocative account, Ned Stark had seen the approaching force from the Vale barreling at them from the northeast. Upon realizing something was not right, he had done his best to redirect a portion of his cavalry to meet the charge. The normally reserved Eddard Stark had been incensed at the men who were so quick to betray the memory of Jon Arryn, that he had rode headfirst into the thick of the fray, cutting down ten men before being knocked from his mount. Even then, the Lord of Winterfell had carried on his deadly rampage until an overwhelming amount of foes dug their blades into his flesh.
Robb had only looked upon his Father's still body after it had been washed and dressed, but Jon had seen the body lying on the battlefield, and brokenly confessed that the wounds had been grievous. Every common foot soldier had wanted the chance to brag that they had felled a great lord, and many had stuck him when the chance arose. Robb could feel tears threaten to fall at the corners of his eyes, but his Brother's presence at his side hardened his resolve and he was able to stubbornly blink them away. He gripped the casket with his hands one last time before he took a step back. Jon, however, stayed where he was, confusing Robb for a moment. His Brother reached out and touched the casket as Robb had, but before stepping back, reached over it and gripped Ice. Jon turned, the sword laid in his upturned palms, and kneeled before Robb, extending the sword up.
"This is yours now, Robb," Jon proclaimed, his grey eyes wide and unblinking as he stared up at Robb. "It belongs with the Lord of Winterfell."
Robb did not move for several seconds, just staring at the oversized blade. Finally, he reached ahead and grabbed the hilt. He pulled it towards himself, barely managing to hold its considerable weight steady. He knew it would sound absurd if the words were spoken aloud, but he swore he could feel something pass through him as he touched the sword, the legacy of his ancestors giving him strength for whatever the future held. He nearly lost his breath again when he turned and saw the Lords around him knelt in respect to his Father, and seemingly to his ascension into the new role. He looked and saw an uncharacteristically solemn Theon Greyjoy knelt beside Gendry, who was nursing a wound on his leg and only managing a half bow.
Robb turned to the men around him and bowed his head to them. "Eddard Stark was my Father…he was the best man I knew or will likely ever know. He trusted you, his friends and countrymen, more than anyone, and in the recent days you've lived up to that trust. You've lost kin and friends, just as I. I swear it to you, by the old gods, that I will do everything in my power, until my last days to defend our people. Our bonds are strong, stronger than anywhere else in these lands, and if we are true to them, we will prevail against any enemy."
The men around him stood and raised their voice in affirmation. Robb stepped back and joined the crowd. A host of riders from various northern houses who would serve as an escort to the casket began to side up to the cart. Though he was somewhat renewed at the support of the men around him, he still struggled to stay standing as he watched the cart begin to roll…the final journey north for Eddard Stark, to take his place among the Starks of legend in the crypts of Winterfell. Only when the cart had reached a good distance away, did Robb see Grey Wind and Ghost, sitting side by side in their own silent vigil as the casket passed.
There was but little time to mourn the dead, as the lords gathered once again within Lord Blackwood's halls. Robb sat beside his host, nursing a cup of wine as the conversations began.
"Do we have a final accounting of the casualties?" Lord Blackwood asked from beside Robb.
The crowd quieted and Lord Umber spoke up in answer. "Current tally stands at 4,279 dead, nearly double that injured. We treating some of the wounded here, but some have been sent back to Riverrun."
"What of the enemy's losses?" Robb questioned.
"We're still counting bodies, but as it stands, around 7,000 dead from the southern Lannister force, and another 1,500 give or take from the Vale," the Greatjon informed.
Robb turned to Lord Royce, who was seated across from him. "What news from the Vale, Lord Royce?"
"I've sent ravens, Lord Stark, and received several back in reply. The Vale is currently divided. Baelish and Lysa Arryn have requested that the houses of the Vale swear their fealty to the young Lord Robert, though in doing so they are really requesting loyalty to Littlefinger. He was the one pulling the strings and organizing the attack on our army."
"Other than your own house, do we have support in the Vale?" Robb continued.
"Houses Waynwood, Hardyng, Tollett, Redfort, Melcolm and a few minor houses have resisted the call. So far it has not come to civil war, but I fear that is inevitable," Lord Royce admitted. "Some houses do not take kindly to being whored out to the Lannisters, no matter the bounty offered."
"Do we know where the Vale army has retreated to?" Robb inquired.
"Half of the army went back to the Vale, the other half has apparently seized castle Darry," Robb's Uncle Edmure answered. "Whether House Darry welcomed them in voluntarily remains unknown."
"Lord Royce, I cannot thank you enough for answering my Father's call," Robb stated. "While I would certainly very much welcome your continued presence here, I believe you would be better served seeing to uniting your countrymen in opposition to Littlefinger. Right now, we face the threat of attack from three sides, so keeping Littlefinger distracted would serve everyone's interest."
"I agree, Robb," Lord Royce nodded. "I've asked Lord Redfort and Lord Melcolm to strongly persuade House Grafton to join our cause. Keeping control of Gulltown and the port out Littlefinger's hands will be crucial."
"I have faith you will see it done," Robb responded. He turned back to the rest of the table. "What news of the Lannisters?"
"Still holed up at Harrenhall, Lord Stark," Tytos Blackwood answered. "We have scouts constantly keeping eyes on their position, but as of now they are still licking their wounds."
"That won't last long," the Greatjon interjected. "Tywin won't take the defeat well. We have the defensive position, but he will restock his army in a blink and the numbers will overwhelm us eventually."
"We should call for the aide of some of the forces that your Father left to protect the north," Galbert Glover put forward. "Call on the Mormonts and Boltons to send men…well, the Mormonts can send their women too."
"I agree with Glover," Lord Karstark added.
"I'll send ravens to them when we finish here," Robb consented. "Still, I think we may have time before the Lannisters try anything again. When they come, they will do so when they know they have the superior army. For now, we should keep a substantial force at the ready, and make sure the walls here are fully manned. I want scouts out daily in all directions. We will have no more surprises. It may be prudent to consider building several fortifications to our east and west where we can house men…barracks possibly. The weather is getting colder and we'll need protection from it, the best we can."
"Speaking of surprises," Lord Blackwood began, pulling a small scroll from his tunic. "We received a raven this morning from Stannis Baratheon, or King Stannis as he is now referring to himself."
"What does Stannis have to say?" Robb questioned.
"He congratulates us on our victory against the Lannisters," Lord Blackwood recalled. "He also calls on us to bend the knee and swear fealty to him as rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and to march all of our army south to lay siege to King's Landing."
The men assembled were quiet for a moment as they digested the command. "What do we mean to do about this?" Edmure asked, breaking the silence. "We've been fighting battles while Stannis sits at Dragonstone, and now he expects us to throw ourselves against the walls of King's Landing?"
"We could march there, but we would never breach their walls," the Blackfish argued. "If Tywin entrenched his army within the walls of the city, they would pick us apart over time. It would take us months just to build the needed siege weapons and move them."
"With the princes and princess the result of incest, Stannis is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne," Robb countered. "We would be turning our back on him by refusing."
"With all respect Lord Stark, Stannis Baratheon will never sit on that throne," Lord Blackwood responded, placing his palms flat on the table in front of him. "Stannis commands the love of no one, and these rumors of him consorting with a red witch and burning men alive are not like to make that better."
"Aye, we've seen what happens when kings with an affinity for burning flesh sit the throne," Lord Manderly quipped. "It cost us your grandfather and uncle the last time, Lord Robb, plus thousands more putting an end to the Mad King. I'd rather not put another maniac in control. How long before he demands we abandon our gods, or send sacrifices to be tied to a stake?"
"Lord Manderly speaks wise words," the Greatjon voiced, his booming tone echoing through the room. He surprised everyone as he stood from his chair. "Winter is coming, my lords, and we must see to our people, not to who sits on a cursed throne in the south. We knelt to southern kings twice, the Targaryens first and then Baratheons. They both drove Westeros to war, and we northerners have suffered for it. I'm tired of kneeling to southern kings. They look down on us like savages from Essos, and care little for us, our way of life. Well, I say fuck them!" The Greatjon pounded his fist on the table. "Let the Lannisters, the Baratheons or whomever fucking wants the southern chair have it. The north was a kingdom once, so let it be again."
"What are you suggesting, Umber?" Galbert Glover pressed.
"Before Aegon the Conqueror came and threatened to burn the north with dragon fire, the north knelt only to House Stark. The only person I mean to kneel to is sitting right here, with the blood of the of the First Men and the Kings of Winter running through his veins." Lord Umber turned and faced Robb, causing the Lord of Winterfell to tense and sit straight in his chair. "I cannot speak for the lords of the Riverlands here, but I would name Robb Stark, King in the North."
Robb stared at the boisterous Lord of Last Hearth in a complete loss of words. His mind was spiraling in a thousand directions. He had just succeeded his Father as Lord of Winterfell, and now there was talk of naming him king? He felt like a fool, sitting there without words to say. Before he could muster any, Lord Manderly followed the Greatjon's lead, lifting his considerable girth from his chair and standing.
"You are young, Lord Robb, yet you have accomplished more than many will in their lives. You beat the Lannisters back at the Tooth and rallied our army from the grips of ruin to victory on this field. Winter is coming, and I would trust no other to lead us through the long nights and driving snows to come. I would name Robb Stark King in the North," Lord Manderly finished.
Robb watched on in continued amazement as the men around him stood from their seats…Galbert Glover, Halys Hornwood, Rickard Karstark, Helman Tallhart, Rickard Ryswell…the prominent Houses of the North among others. He looked for some lifeline in the room, someone to agree with him that what was happening was a ruse, some mummer's elaborate show. He looked to where Jon and Theon had been seated, but found no help as they were both standing as well. As the northern lords and their heirs finished rising to their feet, Robb watched his Uncle Edmure stand as well.
"You are my kin, my Sister's son," Edmure began, dramatically. "While my Father may not be able exercise his duties, I know that if he could, he would pledge his House and his bannermen to his grandson. On his behalf, I would name Robb Stark King in the North and of the Trident." Edmure's proclamation was followed by the remaining Lords in the room standing, including Tytos Blackwood to his side.
Robb, at a loss for what else to do, stood slowly from his seat as well. As he reached his full height, the men around him drew their swords and dropped to their knees. With a deep breath, Robb finally managed to speak.
"I thank you, my lords, for the faith you have in me. I swear to you, that I will be just and fair. I swear I will stand beside you and protect our people with everything I have to give. We will see this winter through and carry on until the next, and then the ones after," Robb promised. "Stand, my lords."
Stand they did, swords raised in the air and words ringing through the keep. "The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"
The lands around Riverrun were buzzing with activity. Tents had been erected to house the flow of those forced to leave Raventree Hall and the injured from the battle who had been moved there. Robb rode at the head of a column of two hundred men, bringing his mount to a slow trot as they approached the tents. The bronze crown atop his head was a new feeling, heavy and overbearing. If he had his way, it would have remained off in his saddlebag, but seeing as the Lords had only just crowned him King, he was afraid to seem ungrateful. Riding beside him was his newly formed Kingsguard…Jon, Theon, Gendry, Lucas Blackwood, Olyvar Frey, Daryn Hornwood, Ser Donnel Locke, Eddard Karstark, Patrek Mallister, Smalljon Umber and Ser Wendel Manderly. All had eagerly volunteered for the position with little prompting.
The news of his ascension to royalty had apparently spread fast, for as he passed through the rows of tents, many people bowed while others kneeled. He had offered up the excuse of needing to see that his injured soldiers were being properly cared for as the reason for his trip, but he really only had one selfish goal in mind. He weaved through the tents, and was truly not surprised when he saw the head of golden-brown hair that he so adored weaving his fingers through. She was dressed in a cheaply-made dress, that was covered in dirt and blood, yet she looked more beautiful than ever to him. Margaery was knelt on the ground, helping to bandage an injured soldier's leg.
Robb held his hand up, bringing the rest of his men to a halt. He slid from his horse, marching determinedly in her direction. As if somehow sensing his presence, Margaery's head turned, her eyes widening at the sight of him. She climbed to her feet, and before Robb knew what was happening, she was running towards him. She leaped into his arms, her own going tightly around his neck. Robb wasted no time and claimed her full lips with his own, each of them battling for dominance. They stood there for ages, uncaring of the audience around them. Finally, Maragery pulled back, her cheeks flushed.
"What are you doing here?" She questioned, her smile bright.
Robb grinned at her happiness, running his hands along the delicate contours of her back. "Well, my lady, it appears that I am in need of a queen."