Thanks to everyone who reviewed! This chapter is pretty short, and I plan to update again tomorrow. Thanks for reading :)
CHAPTER 17: Reunion
Robb said goodbye to his young queen three times. The first was in the godswood, before gods and men. There she embraced him for a long moment and kissed him for a longer one. He said goodbye to her again when he'd left her at the gates of Riverrun, standing next to his mother and Maester Aemon, but she hadn't stayed there long.
He saw her again shortly when Jeyne, upset at his parting, rode out to meet him at the head of his marching army. Robb had been touched at her devotion and love for him, but embarrassed. Saying goodbye to her in front of his lords was one thing, and his mother another, but in front of his men was awkward. There were chuckles and a few whistles when she kissed him passionately and Robb felt his face color.
He extracted himself from her arms and commanded a few men to see her safe to Riverrun.
And with that, finally, his army rode on and pressed hard for the North.
Moat Cailin had never been taken from the South before. It was where most of the Ironborn were holed up, and so Robb's troops slipped around the castle on the west side, loosely following the King's Road, and continued to Winterfell. It was Winterfell they cared about, and they could take Moat Cailin from the north easier.
When the path led them closest to Moat Cailin, they were scarcely a quarter of a mile from the castle's gates. The Ironborn had guards mounted on its walls, but none of them concerned Robb much. The Ironborn raised raiders not archers, and so their journey was unimpeded.
"Kill any scouts we see following us," Robb commanded to the men riding around him. "And I want men to shoot down any ravens."
"We're unlikely to stop all of them," Lord Rickard said hesitantly. "Or even see them necessarily."
"Good," said Robb. "If Theon knows we're coming that's fine. If he doesn't, fine."
"Then why shoot down the ravens?"
"I don't want the Ironborn to feel they're getting one over on us." It was pure spite then, Robb thought and smiled slightly. He wondered what his father would think of Robb now. There was no righteous cause behind his attack against Theon. There would be honor in the speeches and songs of the battles afterward, but there was only rage in Robb now. There was honor in retaking his home and allowing his brothers to live freely, but that wasn't why Robb was marching now. Not entirely at least. Not even mostly.
Robb wanted blood.
They were half a day's journey, with night an hour or two away, from Winterfell when the rider appeared, coming down on them from over a ridge.
"Pull up!" Robb commanded. Yes. "Halt the march!"
Calls of "Halt the march!" were carried down through the lines. The march halted, bit by bit. Robb looked at the rider and even as the men around him, namely Lord Rickard and the Blackfish drew swords. Robb didn't move but waited.
The man was clearly an envoy. As he drew closer, they saw he wore no sword or any weapon at all, not even a bow. He was bent down over his horse and running it hard. Foam and sweat flew off its heaving flanks. The man himself was of a thin build and Robb recognized his hair as the coloring the Ironborn favored: sandy blonde, as Theon's was. He was long of face, and his clothes, more suited to the sea than land, confirmed to Robb he had been right in thinking the man was an envoy from Winterfell.
"We'll camp here for the night," Robb said, motioning to the trees. "Put up a tent I can talk with this man in. And bring us some food, too." The rider certainly looked like he needed a good meal. He'd pulled up his horse hesitantly a short way away and was looking at them uncertainly.
While his bidding was being done, Robb, with Lord Rickard and Ser Brynden flanking him, raised a hand to the rider and then gave their horses their heels and approached.
"I've come to treat with the King in the North Robb Stark about terms," said the man in a trembling voice.
Robb knew his plan here. So, he put a smile on his face and asked, with deceptive kindness, "You were sent by Theon?"
"Aye."
"Aye, Your Grace," corrected Ser Brynden sternly.
"Aye, Your Grace," the rider repeated, meekly. He ducked his head and his face reddened.
"Then you're welcome in our camp tonight, and welcome to our meat and mead."
The man's shoulders relaxed. He'd clearly been nervous about what his reception would be. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"What would those terms be, then?" Robb asked, his voice still carefully kind.
"Terms of your surrender, Your Grace."
Robb barked a laugh, but he was the only one to do so. There was a light smile on his face, and he was still chuckling as he swept a hand out over the going ons of his army below. "Do you see all these people, ser?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"What's your name?"
"Watt, Your Grace."
"Watt. Good to meet you. Are you from the Iron Isles, Watt?"
"Yes."
"And you came here with Theon and his men?"
"Yes."
"I see." Robb swept a hand out behind him again. "But even in the Iron Isles they have a basic understanding of the matters of war. You would have to, I suppose, when you've lost as much as you all have. Who are they, Watt?"
Watt's face didn't change, and Robb started to understand why Watt, who at first had seemed to meek and unsteady and ill at odds, as the envoy for the Ironborn. The boy was unflappable.
"Well, Watt?" Robb prompted when the young rider didn't answer.
"They are your army, Your Grace."
"Yes. And where are they going? Do you know?"
"I'd guess they're going to Winterfell, Your Grace."
"Yes. Our scouts tell us Winterfell is held by roughly 30 men. Maybe a few more, certainly under 50. Why should I, with my thousands, surrender to Theon's dozens, Watt?"
Watt smiled at him. A tent had been raised a few feet away and Robb motioned that they should enter it. Food was brought and Watt was quick to grab some bread. He was eating it when he offered, casually, "You should surrender out of love for your brother, Your Grace."
Robb felt heat rise in his face. He spoke quickly and harshly. "Brother? Does Theon claim to be my brother? You can tell Theon he's nothing more than a traitor and that my father taught me well what happens to traitors in the North. You have my permission to convey tone as well, Watt, when you tell Theon what I've said."
Watt smiled still. "Did I say brother? Apologies, Your Grace. I misspoke. I meant to say that you should surrender out of love for your brothers. And I don't believe Prince Theon regards you as a brother, Your Grace."
"My brothers are the very reason I must take the North from Theon and deliver him unto a traitor's death. Speak not to me in riddles, what does Theon mean?"
"Prince Theon has commanded me to give you his apologies. He is not in the habit of lying, but war does make odd men out of us all, does it not?"
"What did Theon lie about?" Robb's teeth were clenched. He was glowering and knew some of what Watt was getting at. His advisors, unaware of Bran and Rickon's return, were hanging on every word of Watt's.
"He lied when he hung two burned children from the rafters of Winterfell and told the world it was Brandon and Rickon Stark. He lied when he killed them."
Robb fought to keep his face impassive. Inside, he was wroth. "You lie, Ser. My brothers are dead. Theon killed them, and I will kill them for it."
"Wrong, Your Grace," Watt was cold now and the title was more mocking than anything else. "Prince Theon holds your brothers at Winterfell. Anything less than your surrender will result in their immediate deaths. But, my lord, Prince Theon, the new Prince of Winterfell is kind. And he is generous. If you turn your armies away and leave Winterfell unmolested, he will return the brother of your choosing to you swiftly. The other will remain at Winterfell as Prince Theon's guest… and as his ward."
"Will he?" Robb snorted and said coolly, "If that is all you have to tell me, Watt, then I believe this conference is at an end. You've eaten of our bread and salt and will have guest right for the night. On the morrow you will leave."
Watt blinked, for the first time looking mildly surprised. "What should I tell Prince Theon?"
Robb grinned. "Tell Theon that when he sends me my brothers heads, he shouldn't burn them this time. I'd like to see their faces once more, they are very dear to me."
His lords and Watt all gaped at him. Under their stares, he straightened his back consciously and turned to go.
Over his shoulder he said, "I'll leave you to it. Lord Karstark, make sure Watt is given appropriate accommodations and that someone sees to his horse. He's to leave as soon as the sun rises. I want Theon to have plenty of time to think on what I've said before we arrive."
Watt left early the next morning, and Robb and his army took to the Kings Road once more less than an hour later.
Winterfell was in their sights before night had fallen. Robb's heart twisted to see it again. He looked atop the walls, but there was no one there. If not for smoke coming from the various chimneys rising out of the castle, it might have been abandoned.
"We'll stop here for the night," Robb commanded. He looked around the familiar area outside the walls of Winterfell while their tents and their camp were made.
"Should we prepare for a siege?" the Blackfish asked, standing behind him. Robb startled and turned as he continued, "We're ill prepared, I admit, but it could be done."
Robb's eyes had found the tips of the hearttree over the walls. They stared there for a long beat of silence. "No. We'll not be here long."
Under the cover of darkness a few hours later, Robb used what his father had told him. It was knowledge only for the future Lord of Winterfell, only for a Stark. The castle itself had been made by the first kings of the north, hundreds of years ago. Since then, the knowledge had been passed from father to son, lord to heir.
When Winterfell was being constructed, the past kings of winter had feared two things: being unable to get out of Winterfell if it was under attack, and being unable to get into Winterfell if, as had happened now, the castle was taken from them.
Robb slipped around the north side of the wall, with Ser Brynden and Lord Karstark flanking him. When they reached the smallest dentation in the Wall a straight line from the hearttree Robb made them turn their backs. Between the ground and the base of the wall, Robb dug his hand up, searching and feeling. A moment later he found what he was looking for and straightened up, triumphant.
Within a minute, just as his father had taught him, Robb was in Winterfell.
And within an hour, Theon was in his custody. As Robb had intended, they hadn't met in battle and Robb hadn't had to kill him.
"Wus go'ng on?" Theon grumbled as Robb ripped him out of his bed. Robb let him fall on to the hard ground and he blinked up groggily. He was rapidly waking up, though, and his eyes lit with recognition. "Robb! How are you—?"
He cut himself off and stared at Robb, horrified.
"Theon," Robb greeted icily. "It is nice to see you again."
Robb had come for blood, but he didn't kill Theon that night. Few of the other Ironborn survived, though, and Winterfell was firmly freed from their grasp. Theon was bound in chains, and soon enough Robb was heading back to Riverrun, a few people left to hold Winterfell.
His brothers deserved to see Theon die. Bran and Rickon deserved to see themselves avenged—even if they had not died.
