A/N: The war is beginning to unfold, and as usual, we've got some interesting components to it. Magical discussions, politicking, surprise reveals, we've got it all. Hope you like the chapter!


ROBB IV

"This is the only way," he heard a man muttering, "the only way to drive back those accursed dragons below the Neck. Torrhen must see that, doesn't he?"

A pale and dark-eyed young man with a fierce look continued muttering, as he sliced branches off of what looked to be Winterfell's Heart Tree, and shaped the branches of weirwood into three arrows.

"One for each dragon, if the Old Gods are just…" he heard distantly, as grey mist filled the scene, covering it with a layer of possibility. Two distinct worlds superimposed over itself, as Robb saw a world where the arrows were never used, and another world where the man fired an arrow and guided it into a dragon's eye to kill it in a single, well-placed shot, while the other two arrows failed to find their mark. In the first world, another dark-haired man knelt to a silver-haired man, and in the second, fire engulfed the North as the dragon-riders commanded that the North burn.

The grey mist descended again, and disappeared, revealing another scene.

"The glass candle has not changed," an old man said. His face looked unkempt, and there was a wild look in his eye accompanying the bags under it, though whether from madness or sleep deprivation, Robb did not know.

"Father, the Long Night will be inevitable. There is nothing we can do," a silver-haired woman replied. She had a face that reminded Robb of Margaery for some reason, though he could not place why.

"And yet, We Light The Way," the old man murmured to himself, "and how can we do so without guidance? Alerie and her children are well and truly in the dark. The Kraken will feast if something is not done to-"

"Father, look at this!" the woman shouted excitedly. "A spell to focus light on a single source! This must be the final piece our ancestors were missing."

"...for magic is to return to the world when the red comet flies," the old man intoned. Robb saw a golden beam of light flash from atop a tower into the darkness, and the grey mist descended...

..and Robb awoke, staring at the ceiling of his room. His wife's warmth was absent, indicating that she had already been awake, and he groaned as he got out of bed to walk to his desk.

Robb quickly scribbled down all the relevant parts of his dream into a "dream journal" that his wife had insisted that he fill out, citing that the symbolism in his dreams could be useful to analyze at a later point. Interestingly enough, his dream had been more literal than many of the other dreams that he had experienced lately, making this entry much easier to write.

"Robb?", he heard his wife's voice call out, as she walked into their chambers, parchment in hand. He smiled, crossing over to his wife and kissing her lightly, before sitting back on their bed.

"I've received word from Grandmother. Father has declared war against House Lannister, but has wisely decided not to take any further action in regards to choosing between Stannis Baratheon and Aegon Targaryen," Margaery said. "This would therefore allow him to ensure the Reach to orchestrate attacks against House Lannister and pressure King's Landing into releasing your Father and Bran while keeping them open as this war develops. We must make our response soon, Robb, or risk the fury of whatever ruler we choose."

Once again, we must decide as a realm to choose between a bastard born of incest, a man taken with the Red Gods as a likely kinslayer, and an exiled dragon who may very well be a pretender. If those are the choices the Seven Kingdoms are giving us, it is like that we will end up falling in the Long Night.

"Are we really pursuing this foolishness with Aegon, my love?" Robb asked.

"I'm not sure," Margaery replied thoughtfully. "Obviously, Aegon is probably the best candidate for King out of the three, but he's not really an ideal option, is he? If he were truly the son of Rhaegar and had dragons to back his claim, he'd be a perfect ruler for the South, but he does not, and we're either forced to wait until Daenerys Targaryen makes her move, or for another event to decide things."

"For the South?" Robb questioned. "You say this as if the Lords will crown me tonight."

"They very well may be preparing to do just that," his wife replied. "I know you don't particularly see yourself as a King, but it may be the role that you need to lead the North through the Long Night. Remember, your other self was crowned after a single military victory, so it's not as though it is completely out of the realm of possibility."

My other self died after a wedding gone wrong, however. We ought to be more careful about our planning, my love.

After another moment of deep thought, he decided to speak.

"Does it matter if I am to be crowned King of the North or to be Lord of Winterfell?" he asked.

Margaery sighed explosively.

"I-"

"Or is there ambition involved? It does not matter to me, my love, but I would rather know why we are planning this." Robb continued tiredly.

"I suppose there is a bit of ambition involved, but a lot of it is pragmatic, Robb," Margaery answered. "Your rule, our rule - they depend on the will of the Lords, and the North is pretty well sworn to House Stark, save for mayhaps the Boltons, who have been checked with Domeric and Arya's betrothal. If your vassals swear you as King, you must follow regardless."

He nodded, conceding that point.

"Would it really be so bad to be King of an independent Kingdom? The North is thoroughly different from the other Kingdoms, and we have the space and the power to begin developing." Margaery continued implacably. "The other Kingdoms, after all, make up the size of the North altogether, and the Long Night is approaching. Can we really trust anyone other than ourselves to keep our realm intact if we are to swear to another King and another variable?"

She touched his cheek lightly with her hand, and Robb stared at his wife's beautiful brown eyes.

"Don't feel forced to make any decisions, my love, but rather, take some time to think about it. The meeting with the Lords tonight will determine everything." Margaery finished. "Now, I have to-"

"Margaery, before I forget," Robb interrupted. "I think I had a dream about your family."

"My- my family?" his wife stammered. "What kind of dream?"

"There was an old man talking to a silver-haired woman", Robb recanted. "He said that Alerie and her children were truly in the dark, and talked about a Kraken feasting. Do you have any ideas what that could mean?"

"You must be talking about Grandfather Leyton and Aunt Malora!" Margaery exclaimed brightly. "The Kraken feasting….that's obviously the sigil of House Greyjoy, and the only actors that could be referring to would be either Balon or Euron Greyjoy, unless Theon suddenly learns dark magicks and attempts to kill us all."

"House Greyjoy.." Robb replied, lost in thought. "And that means the beam of light would be magic from House Hightower, would it not?"

"...if the dream was correct, most likely," Margaery said uneasily. "I suppose there could be some magic in my veins from House Hightower, we do have the silver-hair that is essentially unique to only Valyrian houses, but then again, I am also half Tyrell, and I am certain there is no magic there. You, however, descend from the blood of House Stark, and have strong magical blood, so I'll leave the magic to you?"

She forgets the unique circumstance of magic that brought her to me and to this world. Perhaps there is magic in both of our veins.

He laughed and kissed his wife fiercely. She melted under his touch, kissing him back equally as fiercely. They both lost themselves in the kiss, and he could feel himself beginning to grin at his affections with his wife.

"Magic or no magic, we will survive together. Deal?" Robb whispered quietly.

"Deal," she replied, grinning back. "Now go draw a bath, my love, we've got preparations to be made before we meet with the Lords. Your mother is feeling ill today, and I ought to pick up the slack."


He felt his breath catch as he frantically dodged attack after attack. Sword flashing in the wind, Robb felt himself being pushed back with no quarter. His mind barely had any room for strategy as he avoided assault after assault. His opponent was an offensive fighter of great speed, with lithe muscles and expertly timed assaults leaving Robb in a mostly defensive position.

Wait for his footing to fail him. All I need is a single opportunity.

Robb weathered the storm of attacks in front of him, as his opponent smiled wolfishly. Their fights had always been like this - natural speed and grace versus power and tactics. Robb knew this, even as he fell into this little dance that both combatants already knew, but even so, Robb knew that the dance had become even more frantic out of his opponent's improvement. He was not the better fighter in this situation, but he could be the more strategic fighter.

He thinks he has me. Best play the game set out for me.

Robb continued to lure his opponent into a false sense of security as he made his dodges even more frantic and economical. Allowing himself to be lured into a corner, his opponent, sensing his victory, pressed on even harder, exerting every ounce of energy to fully commit himself to the assault. A foot extended a little too far, a strike a mite too unbalanced, and-

Robb swept suddenly into his opponent's guard and tripped him. Too committed, and too ready to end the battle, his foe fell ungracefully into the dirt, staring at Robb's sword as it pointed itself at his face, decisively ending the spar.

"The match is over!" Rodrik Cassel shouted, and Robb lowered his sword, panting in exertion.

"Good one, Stark," Jon said, wincing as he stood up. "Nice reversal."

"You nearly had me there," Robb replied, still exhausted. "If you hadn't been unbalanced by that strike I would have lost."

The Northern Lordlings cheered as they watched the scions of their liege lord fight in a breathtaking battle. Robb and Jon's battle had been one of skill and speed, and though it may not have compared to the great knights of their time, it showed potential of immense battle prowess.

"That was brilliant!" Arya exclaimed as she ran to her brothers, with Domeric following bemusedly. "I can't believe Theon missed this! You two have to show me some of those moves."

"The move where I fell to the ground?" Jon joked. He had been doing that lot more after his betrothal to Wynafryd, which was something Robb was happy to see.

"No, stupid, how you kept pressing Robb with every attack!" Arya replied heatedly. "I want to learn that too!"

""Theon's with Margaery right now settling a betrothal, Arya," Robb noted. "But even I couldn't do some of the moves that Jon was doing. His build makes him too fast a swordsman. But then again, you have always had a lean build, Arya. I would not be surprised if you could adapt those."

"Syrio has been teaching me water-dancing. I'm sure I could do it." Arya stated firmly.

"Syrio?" Jon asked.

"Syrio Forel. Didn't say who he was hired by, but he showed up to Barrow Hall with a signed letter to allow him to teach Arya." Domeric explained quietly to Jon and Robb. "Between that and her horseback lessons, she will be a formidable Northern lady indeed. I will be most pleased to see it."

Why does that name sound familiar? I am certain I have heard of it somewhere before. Perhaps Margaery must know of him.

"When did you start training in swordfighting?" Robb asked, curiously. "I thought Mother, Sansa, and you only trained in the basics of knife-fighting with Ser Rodrik. For that matter, when did you get a sword?"

Jon suddenly looked very guiltily at the ground. Arya, instantly betraying her brother, replied quickly.

"Jon gave it to me!" She chirped happily. She then smiled at Domeric, who looked bemused as he ruffled her hair. "Then Dom convinced Lady Barbery to let me do sword lessons, and after Syrio showed up, I started practicing. Sansa would be so jealous-"

The three Stark siblings sombered a little at the thought of their Father and Bran missing and Sansa away from them in Highgarden.

"Robb, do you think-"

"Father and Bran will be alright. I will make sure of it." Robb said, his lordly intonation out in full force. "Sansa is in Highgarden, and with the forces of the Reach, and the North at my back, we will rescue our Lord Father and Bran."

His voice darkened. "I won't let the Lannisters stop us."

Jon nodded solemnly, clapping his brother's shoulder. "You will have my sword, forever and always."

"Mine as well, Robb." Domeric intoned. His pale features and ice-blue eyes may have made him intimidating to some, but the quiet and dignified way he carried himself made him seem more somber than anything as he affirmed his support.

"We'll win this war, and then you'll have to teach me how to fight!" Arya exclaimed, and hugged Robb, before moving to Jon. "Jon, you have to-"

"He will not, Lady Arya" the voice of Wynafryd Manderly called out, in a very prim and proper voice. "My betrothed must prepare for the convening of Lords, after all, does he not?" She raised a delicate eyebrow, and her sharp features paired with braided brown hair made her a sight indeed. Jon flushed a pale red at the sight of his betrothed, contrasting very well with his typical Stark look.

"Indeed, my lady," Jon replied gruffly, valiantly trying to avoid revealing his embarrassment as he took his betrothed's hand and walked towards the castle with her. That act would have sold the pair's aloofness if not for the way Wynafryd leaned into her betrothed and whispered something into his ear before kissing his cheek and causing Robb's brother to fluster even more than he already did. Perhaps there was a bit more fire to Lady Wynafryd than expected, Robb found himself thinking.

"Arya, we must prepare as well." Domeric said calmly. "You wanted to participate in the meeting, did you not?"

Robb's sister grinned. "Best be sure that only the men don't get to make decisions, after all. Come on, Dom."

They walked away together, with Arya excitedly chattering about the match, and Domeric smiling fondly at his betrothed and lighting up at her words. Robb also noticed that Arya had taken her betrothed's hand as well.

Evidently, Domeric's allowance of his betrothed to swing a sword, ride on horseback, and even participate in political meetings had earned him her favor, for she looked to her betrothed eagerly for action. Though Robb was certain love had not erupted between the two of them yet, and how could it, if she was nine and him, sixteen? Robb had a feeling that affection would bloom between them given enough time.

It is...gratifying to see that the matches I have suggested work out so well. Margaery will definitely be happy to hear this. Oh well, best I prepare myself as well.


The congregation of Lords in the Great Hall was an intimidating sight to witness. Rickon had already been put to bed, but the rest of House Stark was ready for discussion. Margaery and Robb's mother had cleared the Great Hall, save for a long table, which Margaery had called "conference-styled".

Robb and Margaery sat next to one another at the front of the table, with his lady Mother absent due to exhaustion and nausea. Grey Wind was at Robb's side as well, and Robb scratched his direwolf behind the ear as he stared at the table ahead.

The table accommodated all the different Lords and their heirs. Wyman Manderly sat near the front, with his son, Wendel. Jon and Wynafryd sat closely together, with Theon seated next to Jon. On their other side was the impassive Roose Bolton, with Domeric and Arya seated next to the stoic Lord, and the lady Barbery Dustin to his other side, next to Rodrik Ryswell. The Greatjon Umber, and his son, Smalljon, sat further below, and next to them was the lady Maege Mormont and her daughter, Dacey, with Rickard Karstark and Harrion Karstark facing the Umbers and the Mormonts. Howland Reed, Robett Glover, Medger Cerwyn, Heiman Tallhart, Halys Hornwood, Gregor Forrester….the list of Northern lords and their heirs went on and on, as each sat to discuss the series of events that had taken place.

"My father, your liege lord," Robb began seriously, "stands captured in King's Landing, alongside my little brother, Brandon Stark. A generation ago, Mad King Aerys captured and executed my lord grandfather, Rickard, and my lord uncle, Brandon Stark, and the North rebelled because of it. The North remembers. House Lannister has committed a grievous crime against my house and the North itself, and as such, House Stark, and the North, must declare war on House Lannister. The North will free my father and brother from the yoke of the Lannisters, and we must cast them down."

The Northern Lords nodded in agreement, with no side whispering or mutterings - they had expected something like this were to happen.

"That being said, my lords," Robb continued, his voice feeling stronger than he felt, "we must talk about our course of action as we head South, and we must also discuss the three declarants to the Iron Throne. Winter is coming for House Lannister, my lords, but that does not mean we are to be unprepared."

"Lord Robb, allow me to take command of the Northern armies," Lord Roose Bolton stated brusquely. "I have the most practical experience out of this contingent, and I will lead our forces to victory."

"Lord Bolton would have us freeze in the cold winter, if he were to command us," Ser Robett Glover japed cheerfully and smiled. "Allow me to command the armies, Lord Robb, and we will see victory within a fortnight."

Neither lord would be well-suited to hold command over the sum total of Northern armies. Though both lords may be more experienced than me, I must remind them of my status as Great Lord.

"My lords, sole command of the sum total of Northern armies will fall to me." Robb stated sternly. "That does not mean that there will not be opportunities to command parts of the army, but as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, the responsibility must fall to me, just as they fell to my Lord Father."

"Pardon, my lord, but you are young enough to be my grandson, and you have no business giving me commands when you yourself are a green boy Though Dacey and Alysanne speak highly of you and Lady Margaery, I cannot help but wonder if a more experienced battle commander should be in charge." Lady Maege Mormont noted bluntly.

"I understand your perspective, Lady Mormont," Margaery replied sweetly. "And yet sole command of the North's army should still fall to my husband, in the same way that Lord Eddard inherited sole command of the North's army as liege lord to the North. He will, of course, take any helpful advice given by his experienced commanders, but Robb must be the commander-in-chief of these armies, or else we lose our stability and cohesiveness as a Northern front, and become vulnerable to Tywin Lannister's machinations.."

"A Southern flower weaving flowery words with no real meaning," Galbart Glover grumbled. "Will the young Lord not speak for himself?"

"My lady wife is correct, Lord Glover," Robb replied coolly. "Unless you wish to be captured by Tywin Lannister and your houses destroyed, root and stem, we must have cohesive control over our armies. My role as liege lord notwithstanding, we must have a consistent system of command in order to make our armies as effective as possible. If you have sworn to my lord Father, and wish to free him to correct the gross injustice the North has faced, then you will follow under my command, just as your fathers followed under my lord father's commands during Robert's Rebellion. Otherwise, you will be declared an oathbreaker, and escorted out of this hall with your kin."

"An oathbreaker? I'll not have a boy so green that he pisses grass call me an oathbreaker!" the Greatjon Umber bellowed, red with rage. "I ought to take my men back North and send them home for that insult!"

Robb had been expecting this, and knew what he was to say next. He saw Margaery's hand's flash, indicating she had something up her sleeve as well. They stood up together.

"You may do so, my lord," Robb stated, as coolly as the iciest winds outside. "And when you do so, we will march back North, the might of the North and Reach by our side, root you out of your keep, and hang you like the oathbreaker you would be."

Inarticulate with rage, the Greatjon stood up, avoiding Hallis Mollen's attempt to restrain him and unsheathed his greatsword, as the Greatjon's men began to do the same.

"Attack", Robb stated quietly, and his loyal direwolf was atop the Greatjon, the man three feet away, with blood dripping in the place of Grey Wind's bite of one finger. Margaery was by his side, holding her formerly-hidden knife threateningly, prepared to retaliate, and he had his hand on his sword in case he needed it.

"My lord father, your liege lord, taught me that it was death to bare your steel against your liege lord," Robb said, "and yet here my lady wife and I stand, preparing to fight, when you doubtless only meant to cut my meat."

The Greatjon struggled to rise, sucking at the stump that used to be his middle finger, and when he did so, he laughed. "Your meat is bloody tough! This boy lord and his southern slip of a wife are Starks, after all!."

"If you all don't bend the knee and follow his command," the Greatjon continued, gesturing at the stump where his middle finger used to be, "you might get them bitten off instead!" The room relaxed, as the Greatjon's hostilities ceased, and Margaery and Robb sat back at their seats, prepared for the discussion to continue.

Robb found himself slipping into the cool courtesies of the Lord Robb that he had been trained in since birth as he discussed the battle plans, with very little resistance. Any other favors from the Northern Lords was taken care of through Margaery's smooth politicking, including Lord Hornwood's request to dam the White Knife, which Margaery shut down instantly, sensing it to be a front for old Manderly/Hornwood hostilities.

Finally, as the army formations were declared, the council of Lords turned their attention to the question of declarants in the South.

"Three declarants sit in the South, aiming for the Iron Throne. Who are we supposed to support?" Maege Mormont asked.

"The Lannister bastard is out," the Greatjon declared firmly, to the agreements of all of the other lords and ladies at the table. "And if so, we must choose between a stone and a mummer's dragon. Fuck those choices!"

"Stannis Baratheon has taken up with a Red Witch, they say," Wylis Manderly said thoughtfully, "and another member of House Targaryen is an equally undesirable option."

"Neither option is desirable for the North, truly," Margaery began smoothly, "and yet, I say that we do not have to declare just yet. My lord father has declared war against House Lannister, as the obvious candidate not to support, and yet, still has not declared between Aegon Targaryen and Stannis Baratheon. Why could we not do the same?"

"Piss on the South and their machinations!" the Greatjon exclaimed. "The Iron Throne executed our liege lord and his heir a generation ago, and a generation later, the Iron Throne had done the same with bloody Ned Stark and his young son! What stops either of the two kings from doing the same?"

Murmuring went on across the hall, as the Northern lords considered this point quickly.

"Then we don't choose," Robb replied. "My lord Father and brother must be freed as soon as possible, but so long as we have the forces of the North and Reach assaulting the West and assaulting King's Landing, my father and Bran would be freed with haste. Why must we declare so soon?"

"If we do not declare early, we may see punishment from the claimant that ascends to the Iron Throne." Roose Bolton noted. "Therefore, we must choose early, and choose correctly. Mace Tyrell is not like to declare for Stannis Baratheon when his oldest son is in bed with Arianne Martell of Dorne, even if he is the rightful King. He will most likely declare for Aegon Targaryen. Will that conflict with our choice?"

"You can't be serious. The dragons kidnapped Lyanna Stark and killed Rickard and Brandon Stark!" Maege Mormont exclaimed. "Why should we declare for them and their madness? Stannis Baratheon is the rightful king, as Robert's brother, we should be declaring for King Stannis!"

"And be burnt at the stake by Stannis Baratheon and his Red Witch for not converting to their eastern religion? They say that red witches are shadowbinders that sacrifice children for power. Must we declare for such a ghastly choice as well?" Wyman Manderly pointed out, evidently tuning into his devout nature.

"If these options are so bad, why should we declare from these Southern kings?" Rodrik Ryswell asked fiercely. "Why can't we just crown ourselves, as in the days of old?"

Murmuring followed in the hall, though none of the lords or ladies dared follow with any declarations of Kingship as of yet, Robb had noticed.

I suppose the Lords need me to prove myself and prove that I can be a King of repute if they wish to crown me. Either way, I doubt I will be crowned tonight, if ever.

"My lords and ladies, there is a simpler answer," Margaery responded. "The North simply has no need to declare now, we must let this war play out, and allow events to lead the way. Whether we decide to crown one King or another is moot, as my lord Father's forces will most assuredly protect us as we rescue Lord Eddard and Brandon Stark. Though my Father's enmity with Stannis Baratheon is well known, he will not declare for a King if any of his children are made unsafe as a result. Besides, we have all the cards here."

"How so, Lady Margaery?" Galbart Glover asked curiously.

Robb's wife gave one of her signature smirks. "Aegon and Stannis both need the Reach's forces to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Whether we, as a contingent, decide to crown ourselves and declare independence in the end, or to declare for one of the Kings, the Reach's pressure actually allows us to hold off on our decision and gives us leverage in the future for conditions. Otherwise, both Kings will lose access to the power of the Reach, and risk the hundred-thousand force of men that my father carries turning on them. After we decide, then we can use the leverage of our decision to force favorable terms for the North. My lord Father and grandmother will agree, if it means keeping me safe, though, not solely at Willas's expense."

"And how do we know that your Lord Father will keep this arrangement up? What if we are to declare for Stannis, instead?" Lord Karstark asked.

"If we declare for Stannis, we will do so with every means of keeping my brother Willas safe. Stannis Baratheon is not an ideal choice, and it is not likely that my father will crown Stannis, but we will make it work. Furthermore…"

Margaery paused, looking at Jon for approval, before Jon nodded. Robb looked at the two of them as they looked at him askance, before he nodded as well.

"...Stannis Baratheon is a threat to the North if he is crowned." Margaery continued. "Pretenders, even unintentional ones, are a threat to Stannis's existence on the Throne, and an unintentional pretender is sitting at this table with us right now. Stannis Baratheon will be forced to hunt us down if we declare for him for that reason alone."

Jon Stark stood up, to the shock of the delegation.

"You may know me as Jon Stark, legitimized bastard of Eddard Stark and a woman he would not name," Jon began, "but that was a lie concocted to protect me. I stand to you, my lords, and declare the truth, that I am not a bastard sired by Eddard Stark; he is, rather, my lord uncle, as I am the bastard son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Lord Howland, if you will?"

Gasps and murmurs flew through the Northern delegation, but Robb silenced them with a hand.

"This is indeed true," Lord Howland Reed said, revealing the terrible truth that occurred at the Tower of Joy. Of a battle and a bed of blue roses, and the realization that the rebellion had partially been because of a lie. Of Eddard Stark's willingness to protect his nephew through any means possible, even claiming that he was to sire a bastard and dishonoring his wife at the marriage bed. Once Lord Howland finished his story, he sat down.

Even more gasps and murmurs flew across the delegation. Robb was surprised to see Wynafryd Manderly looking unsurprised, and even approving of the revelation, indicating that Jon had most likely told his betrothed before revealing the truth at the meeting, and different looks, between disgust (by Barbery Dustin), uneasiness (by Maege Mormont), indifference (by Roose Bolton and Galbart Glover), to approval and even greed (by Wyman Manderly).

"Then we ought to declare Jon Targaryen the rightful King, as he is the child of Prince Rhaegar," Wyman Manderly declared grandly, clearly thinking of his granddaughter as queen.

"No, my lord," Jon replied quietly. "I am still the bastard son of a sire, though from a different father. My father and mother did not marry - in fact, my birth father was married to Elia Martell, which makes me a bastard at best at my birth. Even if I have been legitimized, I was legitimized as a Stark, and will continue to be a Stark - the son of Lyanna Stark, and thus, inherit after my trueborn cousins. If Aegon Targaryen is truly alive, that would make him my elder, trueborn brother, and a bastard, or even a trueborn younger brother cannot inherit before their older brother. Renly Baratheon cannot declare himself king before Stannis Baratheon in the same way. I am grateful for your support, Lord Wyman, though I must refuse. I will not be party to succession disputes and oathbreaking - Robb is still my lord, as the eldest son of Eddard Stark, now and always."

"Though you are my cousin by blood, you will always be my brother in truth," Robb declared firmly.

"Thus, this leads me back to my points, my lords. We have common cause with Aegon Targaryen, for if he is legitimate, but we need not declare so quickly, my lords." Margaery said, emphasizing the last part of her statement.

"Margaery is correct. Neutrality is the best option at this venture, unless any other Lord has an opinion to contribute." Robb affirmed.

Silence filled the hall, as the Lords agreed to the points made.

"Then the meeting is adjourned. We shall march in two-day's time, at the brink of dawn." Robb declared, and the meeting was over.


Even if the meeting had gone successfully, in Robb's opinion, Robb still had some surprises to prepare for, including his discussion with his lady mother and siblings as to who the Stark of Winterfell would be.

"I had wished to accompany you South, and allow Margaery to stay safely in Winterfell, but it seems as though you both are of a mind to go South," Mother said wearily.

"I cannot stay North, good-mother, not when Robb will need my help with the armies of the Reach that my father and brothers are sure to produce. You are still able to come South with us if you wish - we will need your expertise for the Riverlands." Margaery replied.

"Not so, daughter." Mother noted.

"Why not, mother?" Arya asked curiously.

"The sickness that I have been feeling lately," Mother began, "I had Maester Luwin look into it. Evidently, your Lord Father left me a last gift before going South. I should have noticed earlier, but the symptoms were much lighter this time around."

"Aunt Catelyn, you don't mean…" Jon began, paling. Jon had been encouraged to call Mother "Aunt Catelyn" now that his true parentage was revealed.

"Yes, nephew, I mean that exactly. Children, there is to be another Stark in the household. You are to have another sibling." Mother explained. "I cannot risk traveling when I am five moons along or so, and that means that I will stay as the Stark in Winterfell. Arya, you will stay with Rickon and I as well."

"But Mother, I have to go South to save Father and Bran!" Arya screamed in frustration. "Margaery is going, so why can't I?"

"Arya, we need a knight to defend Winterfell if anything should happen," Margaery said gently. "We need someone to defend your new sibling and your mother, if the worst should happen. You'll also get to help her rule!"

Arya threw her hands in frustration and stormed off, causing Margaery to stare at the spot where Arya had left guiltily.

"Don't worry, good-sister, I'll talk to her," Jon stated quietly, before patting Margaery's shoulder and walking off, casting an apologetic look to Mother in the process.

"So Jon, Margaery, and I will go South, and you and Arya will stay in Winterfell-"

"My lord!" a household servant declared, rushing into the room with two letters in hand.

"What is it?" Robb asked.

"Ravens have been sent from the Eyrie and Riverrun."

"What do they say?" Mother asked quickly.

"Lysa Arryn and the Knights and the Vale have declared full neutrality." the guard said, handing Robb the letters. He quickly sped through the first letter to confirm that statement, before turning his eyes back at his mother, who was quickly becoming incandescent with rage.

"And?" Mother asked dangerously.

"Edmure Tully and Riverrun have also declared neutrality, citing his betrothed's ties to Tywin Lannister. Riverrun will not stand with us."


Ending A/N: Before I get prompted by questions about Jon's parentage and why the reveal happened the way it did, I'm going to start by saying that I am NOT going to use show canon and have Jon as a trueborn baby of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

Even if Jon was trueborn, which I doubt, because the books haven't exactly revealed a way where Rhaegar can get away with marrying two women without the Faith coming down on him, he still wouldn't be able to inherit before Aegon if he is legit. If Aegon is (f)Aegon, though that's a different story, but really, the GRRM question of is he, isn't he - is like half the problem with the Jon/Aegon parallel.

So unless TWOW declares otherwise, or I find a REALLY convincing argument, Jon is the bastard son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Yes, he's now a King's son, but...a deposed King with a claim more dangerous than anything else, and he was legitimized as a Stark. That's the way the cookie crumbles, and so, no King Jon and Daenerys as of yet, if ever.

On another note, Margaery and Robb are delaying their declarations as long as they can, in order to maximize the possibility of the best choice possible. Mace and Olenna know they will most likely have to pick Aegon eventually, but Olenna has been informed by Margaery of her plan to maximize those gains and leverage House Tyrell into the best position possible. It's absolutely for a purpose, I promise you.

As for next chapter? Well, the Great Game is unfolding, and so you'll get a peek into the perspective of six players of the Game, and see the board laid out as clearly as possible coming into the next arc. Only one more chapter and then we're full onto the war, though, I don't think the War of the Five Kings will be an appropriate name as for now. I guess we'll have to decide on that later.