As Robb looked out over the lands of the Reach, he knew that there was little more he could achieve here. Raiding had scarred this land, most castles and towns had changed hands multiple times, between his army, that of Stannis Baratheon and small bands of recently arrived reinforcements sent from King's Landing. The invasion had served its purpose, taken the war away from his lands and brought him valuable loot and prisoners. But what more was there to take, he had the Lord Paramount, he had noble prisoners from almost every family and had inflicted devastating losses on the enemy. But it no longer served his political goals to be here, he was no conqueror, he didn't want to add the Reach to his dominions.
And so he had given the order. Half the army was to return to take up position in Harrenhal. The Castle was an ideal location to begin probing the borders of the Crownlands. If this truce failed, then a march on King's Landing was his only solution. The Lannisters had burned his mother's lands and murdered his father, so he had captured their golden son and savaged the west. The Tyrells had thrown their lot in with the Lannisters, bringing tens of thousands of troops on side. His brother had raided then to keep the war on enemy soil, and he had followed through by defeating Lord Tyrell. Lion and Rose had been humbled, his relationship with the Baratheons was unclear, the ironmen were tearing themselves apart and the Vale and Dorne were effectively neutral. The former showed no sign of moving, his aunt paranoid and cousin sickly. Even if they forgot their blood relations, they weren't a threat either. The latter was too far away. The Dornish were dangerous in their own lands, but if they suddenly decided to join the Lannisters and Tyrells, he was sure he could defeat them just as he had all the others.
King's Landing was all that stood in his way now. If this truce didn't work, then he would march on it. The Lannisters would accept his new kingdom with a sword at their throats, or he would give the throne to Stannis Baratheon. If he refused to accept, then that was it. Robb would have no more of it, and in the ruins of the Red Keep, he would declare the dissolution of the Seven Kingdoms. Mace Tyrell would be released to join the inevitable fight over lordship of the Reach, one of the many Lannisters in Casterly Rock would no doubt try to take the Kingdom of the west. Stannis Baratheon would be left with the islands and the Stormlands. The North and Trident would be safe by virtue of everyone else being too busy to kill each other. But Robb would have no control over what emerged from that struggle, any ideology, any dynasty might rise from those ashes to endanger his new kingdom like never before. The Lannisters and Tyrells he knew. The Lannisters and Tyrells he could beat.
Such an action would be bloody, but perhaps it would be necessary. If these talks didn't work.
"They won't agree," Greatjon said simply. "We should just take those castles ourselves."
"We will, if it comes to that," Robb assured his right hand, running his fingers through Grey Wind's fur softly. Would it come to that? His demand for castles on the borders of the crownlands to be turned over to him was going too far, some of his lords had argued. Some, like Lord Karstark and Piper, had wanted him to demand as far as Duskendale. As ever, Robb walked in the middle. He offered the Lannisters a prize they needed, a path for the supplies of the western and southern Reach to make it to King's Landing. In return, he would have a guarantee of protection on the southern flank of the Riverlands, and a perfect springboard to launch his invasion of the Crownlands if they failed. Joffrey may be a child, but the men and women around him surely saw that they had to accept these terms. He made sure to instruct his ambassadors who delivered them on how to act. They were to be courteous as could be to the face of the court, but in the taverns and brothels they made clear that he wanted more, his advisors barely held him back, and how he proclaimed loudly that he would demand even more next time. He had hoped to use his letters to Sansa as another means of feeding them information, but his sister, bless her, had taken to returning the letters to his envoys. Now he could tell her what he really wanted to tell her. That he was coming for her. That he hoped to see her again soon, that if the Lannisters harmed another hair on her head there would be hell to pay.
Greatjon followed Robb's gaze. "Pity we're leaving really, this place wasn't bad."
Robb raised an eyebrow. "I thought it would be too hot for you? Or is it the new padding you've put on," he glanced at Greatjon's belly, which hadn't grown at all, despite gorging himself on the foodstuffs of Westeros' breadbasket.
"War is always hot, your grace, I've long learned to bathe in it."
Robb chuckled. "It is that," he said, glancing at the sky. "We should go, if we're to make the meeting on time."
The meeting spot was under the walls of a castle that flew the Stark banner. Three walls. The other wall was a crumbled cascade of stone and timber where one of Robb's catapults had brought it crashing down before it was stormed. Let the messengers see what he could do if he set his mind to war. His personal guard came with him, all the young lordlings of the North and Trident, the ultimate symbol of his new kingdom's power. Along with them came half a dozen representatives from the Trident, Brynden and Edmure Tully, Lord Bracken and Blackwood, side by side at Robb's command, Ser Stevron Frey and Lord Piper, each with a retinue of knights behind them and under the dual banner of Robb's direwolf and his own sigil. An equal number of representatives came from the North. Greatjon Umber, Lords Karstark, Bolton, Hornwood and Cerwyn, and Master Robbett Glover representing his house.
Robb had swapped his helm for his crown, the bronze and iron dull, but hard.
The party from King's Landing was far smaller, only twenty men at most, flying under a white banner of truce and the royal banner of Baratheon and Lannister.
They came to a halt when the crossed the line of shadow cast by the broken wall. "Ser Addam," Robb said, recognising the rider.
Ser Addam Marbrand, one of the more regular representatives of the crown, and apparently the commander of the forces that the Lannisters had sent back to the Reach, bowed his head, his copper hair falling around his face. "King Robb. I hope we find you well."
Unlikely, Robb thought. "Well enough," he said, "you have a message for me?"
Ser Addam nodded. "I bring you word, sealed in this letter," he held out a large sheet of parchment, several seals woven to it. "His Grace, King Joffrey's council have agreed to your demands and the exchange of castles to facilitate the truce and the beginning of negotiations between you and King Joffrey's representative.
Robb nodded. "Olyvar." His squire nudged his horse forward and took the letter. The silence between Robb and Ser Addam was thick as syrup. Olyvar returned and Robb unfolded the letter, breaking the seal holding it together. He looked down the letter, reading it carefully. "Signed by the whole council," he noted, "and Lady Margaery as well." He frowned, looking up at Ser Addam. "You have my father's sword then?"
"As agreed in the letter," ser Addam said, gesturing behind him for one of his riders to bring forward Ice.
Robb spurred his horse forward.
"Your Grace!" One of his guard called out to him.
"I will take up my sword by my own hand," Robb said. The rider held out Ice, struggling under the weight of the great weapon. Robb reached out and clasped it, by handle and wolf-fur lined scabbard. The weight of a thousand years of Stark history fell into his hands. Robb didn't dare let his grip falter as he brought the sword back to his chest. Finally. It was back with them. His father's sword was in his hand. Head to check, drawing the sword slightly to see the smoky black valyrian steel that he had seen carve through criminal necks and ceremonial ribbons.
He looked away from the history in his hand and back to ser Addam. "Your council has stood by their responsibilities, and therefore I will accept their recognition of my terms. Once my men have taken command of your castles, I will instruct my own, sworn on my honour and crown, to turn over command of the six agreed upon castles to your own representatives."
A weight lifted from Robb's heart. It was agreed. Peace talks would begin, he would soon have extracted from the Lannisters the blood price for his father. Two kingdoms for his father's life. It would do.
