A/N: Why is it that my biggest chapters are always the ones that were intended to be side chapters? Lots of things to advance the plot, as well as fluff, side notes about the war that may come in useful later, etc etc etc. - Hope you enjoy this chapter!
P.S.: There's a little surprise in the works soon enough. Look out for it ;)
INTERLUDE: Dark Wings, Dark Words
Catelyn
The day the news arrived, a dark pallor fell over Winterfell.
It had been an average day at first, as the babe in Catelyn's belly had woken her up with a hefty kick, excitedly announcing its presence and its desire to arrive into the world.
And with the way the babe hangs low in my belly, it is sure to be another boy. Let us hope Ned's final boy looks like him, and complete our family of seven. Perhaps when Robb rescues Ned and Bran, I may be able to greet my lord husband with his final son - though, it would be soon for sure, for I am six, almost-seven moons along.
But Arya and Rickon needed her attention in Winterfell, and so she prepared to dine in the solar and break her fast with her young son, her daughter, and her future good-son: Domeric Bolton.
Yet, even with the exciting wake-up call, Catelyn felt a sense of dread overwhelm her. She tried to remember if she was missing anything important, for she simply would hold court as regent for Robb in Winterfell. Aside from a few smallfolk meetings, she couldn't think of why she was feeling that way, unless…
Oh gods. Was it Robb, Jon, or Margaery, slain on the field of battle? Was it Bran, in King's Landing, or Sansa, negotiations in Highgarden gone wrong? Or was it Ned, killed by Lannisters? She sent a silent prayer to the Mother, to envelop her loved ones in the Mother's mercy, and hoped that her feeling was just an irrational impulse, a symptom of her pregnancy.
Even Arya noticed how out of sorts she was as they were breaking her fast, a concerned look on her face as Catelyn anxiously picked at her food and willed her feelings away.
"What's wrong, Mother? You seem tense." Arya said. "Did something happen?"
Catelyn's eyes softened at the concerned look on her daughter's face and gently kissed her forehead.
"Oh nothing, little wolf, just some anxieties." Catelyn replied lightly. "Nothing to concern yourself with, dear."
Despite Catelyn's proclamation, she found herself tensing throughout the meal. Not even Arya's excited chatter to her bemused betrothed could break her out of her stupor, her anxieties so overwhelming that she barely ate her food.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Maester Luwin arrived, out of breath, looking terribly exhausted and saddened, and Catelyn tensed.
If Luwin is giving us such news with such haste, something terrible has happened..
"Lady Catelyn, you should reconvene to a more comfortable place before I divulge the contents of this letter," Maester Luwin said quietly, but Catelyn shook her head.
"No, Maester, I must know-" she said, frantically grabbing the letter and opening it, quickly scanning it-
The letter dropped from her hand, and Catelyn's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Tears filled her eyelids as she cried silently, voicelessly.
Ned….
Arya quickly grabbed the letter from the floor, perusing it's contents, before a dark anger filled her, and she tossed the letter to the wall. Only Domeric's gentle grasp on her wrist stopped Arya from bolting out of the room, his look, one of deep concern as he viewed the letter
"Mama…" Rickon's voice broke the silence, a common demand arising from his lips, though, the exact wrong demand to voice aloud. "Where's Papa?"
Catelyn felt herself gasp, a shuddering breath, but when she tried to explain, to do anything, to say anything, her voice failed her.
"Little lord…" Maester Luwin began gently, trying to ease the mood in the room, but Arya's shout interrupted him.
"FATHER'S DEAD, STUPID!" Arya screamed at Rickon, causing his eyes to fill up with tears at Arya's harsh tone. "HE'S DEAD AND NOT COMING BACK!"
She tugged at her captor, and his momentary shock at Arya's verbal response gave her the surprise she needed to free herself from his grasp. Tears blurring her eyes, Arya ran out of the room.
"Lady Stark, I'll….go after her," Domeric said awkwardly, before running after her out of the door.
But baby Rickon's earnest expression, as he tugged onto Catelyn's skirts, broke her heart even more, with tears filling her.
"Is...is Arya right?" Rickon asked, his voice wobbling. "P-papa is….n-not-" and his voice hitched at the last words as he gave into his impulse to cry into his mother's skirts.
And Catelyn's strength fell out from under her as her knees met the floor, her tears mingling with her baby when she held him, as mother and son sobbed out their grief together.
Domeric
Old Gods, how is Arya so fast? She must be at the tiltyard - that's where she always is when she is upset.
Panic overwhelmed Domeric as he ran towards Arya's location, hoping to prevent his betrothed's anger from causing injury to herself or to him, in her recklessness.
This is unwelcome news indeed. I hope Father and the men fighting South are safe. Lord Eddard did not deserve to die the way he did.
Bitterness filled Domeric at the thought of the men fighting in the South, as it always did, thinking about his father's shouted refusal during their brief argument before Roose Bolton had left the North, or at the command Robb had quietly given when he had pulled Domeric aside and asked him to protect Winterfell.
I should be fighting with Robb, Jon, and Theon down South, not guarding the North. There isn't even anything to worry about here - what is Robb and Father so damn worried about that they would keep me up North like this?
Father, Domeric could understand - after the private news that Father had leaked about Ramsay Snow's death, he could see why Roose Bolton's fear would lead him to sequester Dom up north, and to secure his legacy, but Robb's strange words about a homefront invasion confused him, especially the surety in his voice.
"You will gain your own form of prestige, Dom, when the invasion force arrives North, and you rout them yourselves," his goodbrother-to-be had said quietly, when prodded by Dom. "When the seas fill with noise, that is when you will head towards the Moat, but perhaps it never will, and in which case, you will turn northward."
Yet, despite Domeric's protestations, Robb had not said a single word after that, simply dismissing him. Even so, Domeric could not find himself to be truly angry about it, preferring his time with his betrothed and her family to anything else, but the thought of missing the fighting still stung as he once again contemplated his place in Winterfell.
But what in the name of the Old Gods did Robb mean? I wouldn't mind it if he hadn't been so damn cryptic with his words. A warning, mayhaps?
The sound of a wooden sword hitting a dummy filled Domeric's ears, and he knew he had found his wayward betrothed.
I will be sorry for the poor fool who dares anger her one day if this is how she fights, Domeric found himself musing as he carefully watched over his betrothed. She stood in front of him, her rage and anguish clearly distracting her from his presence, using the wooden sword gifted to her by Syrio Forel to destroy the dummy. There was absolutely no doubt in Domeric's mind that Arya was thinking murderous thoughts as she imagined killing Lannisters in its place.
Arya would never let me intervene and force her to stop fighting. She would simply just hurt me instead, in this state. Best let it play out, and watch her to ensure she doesn't injure herself, and allow her to tire herself out.
Her hands grew red and raw from Domeric's viewpoint, and she took more frequent breaks before repeating her actions. After what seemed like hours, Arya let go of her sword, and clenched her fists as she mercilessly beat into the dummy with her bare hands, her rage overwhelming her.
Eventually, as she began to lay out another punch on the wooden dummy, Domeric noticed Arya's calloused hand, looking so raw that it could blister and bleed at any moment, and knew he needed to intervene, so he moved forward and grasped her fist before she could land it on the dummy.
"Arya, that's enough," he said in a quiet, cautioning tone.
"Let go of me, stupid, I have to-" Arya cried out-
"Have to what?" Domeric asked gently, softly, and Arya's face scrunched at the tone of his voice. "You're hurting yourself, little wolf."
Arya cursed, ineffectually trying to make Domeric let go, but his grip on her stopped her from moving her arm. When that failed, Arya attempted to punch Domeric in the gut, but she only succeeded in hitting his chest without a single reaction.
"Little wolf," Domeric found himself saying, "look at me."
And her eyes - her beautiful, grey eyes, fierce as any winter blizzard, met Domeric's pale blue eyes, and the gentleness in Domeric's expression stopped Arya from attempting to punch Domeric. Domeric let go of Arya's wrist as neither moved, staring into each other's eyes as Arya's angry tears transitioned to something more vulnerable. His heart broke at her vulnerable expression as she slammed her clenched fists into Domeric's chest.
"Stupid Dom!" Arya cried, as she continued her assault. "Stupid, stupid, stupidstupidstupid.."
Oh, Arya…
"I'm here, little wolf," Domeric whispered to her as he pulled her into a tight hug, and all the fight left Arya, replaced by a soul-deep grief. He felt his chest dampen with what could only be Arya's tears as she sobbed into it. "I'm here. Let it all out.."
Sansa
"Summarize today's lesson for me, girl," the Queen of Thorns snapped as she tested her newest protege.
"Yes, Lady Olenna." Sansa responded quickly. "When interacting with the court, a good courtier knows to use a specific persona to their advantage by creating a reputation. Not only that, keeping this persona up, while allowing for clear 'weaknesses' will make it easier for a courtier to disguise their true intentions and therefore, advance their houses more effectively with plots."
"Too broad, girl. Give me some examples."
"An example for your own house would be...Lord Mace, correct?" Sansa asked, hesitantly. "He has a reputation as a….foolishly overambitious Lord Paramount doing anything to gain power within the greater courts of the Seven Kingdoms, but in actually, his persona makes it easier for other courtiers to advance the effectiveness of his plans, and to overlook his domestic policies in the Reach - his greatest actual strength."
Sansa's newest mentor smiled at her keen answers. "How would you apply this to your own persona in court to create an advantage?"
Sansa sighed, deep in thought.
If I need to overemphasize a certain part of myself to trick other courtiers, then I need to pick a part of my personality that is affable and unoffensive. Kindness and politeness generally make for better reception than cultivating a reputation of cruelty, and is more in line with me. So then, if that is the case...
Her eyes lit up, the answer clear to her, and she almost audibly gasped, and so the Queen of Thorns motioned at her to answer.
"I would emphasize my courtesies and craft a persona within the courts, Lady Olenna. Courtesies are an essential aspect for any noblewoman, but especially as a sheltered Northern-raised noble, most courtiers would assume that I am either new to the courts, or easily swayed by polite words and finery. Courtesies would also place me in a more neutral position in court politics, allowing for the option to place myself in the safest political situation, and thus, reducing my risk of being privy to rebellious mutterings."
"Courtesies do not allow you to place yourself in a neutral position, but rather, make you receptive to more courtiers, even on opposing sides, allowing yourself a greater breadth of information to craft your position. Furthermore, you forgot to consider the positions of those around you. A proper Lady typically will advance the interests of their house most often by extending their lord husband's position, but an effective Lady will let men believe that they are in control, while advancing their own politics in silence for the greater good of their House. Still, that was a decent answer demonstrating the spirit of the lesson, I suppose, so I will let that one pass." Lady Olenna corrected her.
Some of Sansa's disappointment must have shown on her face, because the Queen of Thorns reassured her.
"I do not compliment lightly, but you truly do have a gift for this, Sansa. I have not seen such keenness since Margaery." Olenna praised honestly. "Off with you though girl, teatime is over. We have work to do with the Martell delegation."
Sansa's pale complexion flushed brilliantly at the compliment, but she nodded and left the room with Lady Olenna, heading straight for the conference rooms in Highgarden. Though negotiations had not officially begun, from what she knew, the Martell delegation's presence in Highgarden was an open secret, with preliminary negotiations starting as the Martell-Tyrell coalition watched the war unfold.
And with Robb and Jon winning battles up North, he and the Northmen will soon join us south to sweep away the Lannisters and save Father and Bran.
She had seen, in the faces of those in Highgarden, how impressed the southern nobles were at Robb's successful liberation of the Twins. The Twins were considered to be unassailable, and yet Robb and Jon had managed to devise a strategy that had achieved what was considered impossible, and gained two hostages in the process!
She would find a way to play her own part too - to use her political skills and time with the Martell and Tyrell delegation to help her brother secure victory, and feed the North. Talking about Robb's victory to the Martells and emphasizing her brother's cause to the Tyrell-Martell delegation, even if it was a minor thing, would make them look upon the North more favorably in the Great Council.
The Martells, in particular, had also asked her a lot about Jon too. What he looked like, how he actedted, if she knew anything about the recent reveal that Jon was not actually her (technical) bastard brother, but rather, her cousin. Sansa had to admit, she had been hurt upon finding out the revelation through a raven and rumors flying around the Reach, but it did explain quite a lot about Mother's treatment of Jon.
She did her best to explain to Lord Oberyn that her brother by heart (and how could he be anything but her brother?) and cousin in truth was a good man that she knew wanted nothing more than to be a Stark, and soon, Manderly, married to Lady Wynafryd and ruling White Harbour with her, and that he certainly had no desire for the Iron Throne, but would certainly be pleased to meet with King Aegon VI and reunite with his half-brother.
As she entered the conference room, arm-in-arm with Lady Olenna, she saw facial expressions fall in her presence, and she knew that, just like in the day something was wrong.
Talla nudged Garlan and tried to discreetly point at Sansa, failing completely, while Arianne and Willas were hurriedly whispering in one another's ears as Trystane and Quentyn watched on. Loras quietly talked to a stoic-looking Renly, with both men's eyes a puffy red Sansa knew could only be created through tears, and Oberyn Martell's face seemed as though it had aged ten years as he gazed upon her. Strangely enough, Griff the sellsword was also there, entering the room flanked by the Sand Snakes, and Sansa's mind flashed to their conversation on the day they met.
Griff had a strange habit, as of late, of appearing where she was, and lightly conversing with her, or escorting her to the library, where she would read books to better her understanding of politics, and a friendship had developed amongst them, one with plenty of teasing, yet she had never given much thought as to why he was in Highgarden in the first place. She knew he was an important man, and his build and dicton supported the theory that he was a noble disguised as a sellsword, but to be at the private Tyrell-Martell council meeting suggested that he was an extremely important noble. Could he be King Aegon VI, the Targaryen claimant that Dorne had declared for in the first place?
Lady Alerie's contrite face entered the conference room, as she held a piece of paper, and the doors closed as each of the members in the delegation took their seats at the specially commissioned round tables. With each Tyrell sitting next to their spouse and/or lover, save for Lady Olenna at Sansa's right, and Oberyn Martell and the Sand Snakes gathering at the back of the table, Sansa found herself seated at the head of the table to the right of Griff, who had taken a seat at the very front as if he belonged there.
Small snacks and fruits were placed at the table for participants to eat while the meeting was occurring, including what Sansa knew were "sandwiches", a recently-invented food of the Reach that had taken the Seven Kingdoms by storm (by Margaery as a child, of all people!), consisting of two pieces of bread with vegetables and meat as filing between them.
"Let us begin the meeting. First-" Lady Alerie said with a clear hint of nerves in her voice, a departure from her normally composed self. "Stannis Baratheon has been spotted aiming towards Storm's End, and it seems as though he means to take it, but…"
Lady Alerie attempted to sneak a nervous glance at Sansa, but Lady Olenna has clearly had enough, and interrupted her before she could finish her sentence.
"Out with it, all of you, I may be old but I am no fool," the Queen of Thorns snapped as she glared at her progeny. "I am hardly the Stranger for you all to be looking at me as though I had passed, and I noticed the looks you gave Sansa Stark as we entered the room together. What, exactly, has happened, to stir you all up in such a fright?"
"Ah, grandmother, I, uh-" Garlan stammered, looking nervously at Sansa.
"You, you, you! Are most certainly not a stammering fool and should explain this situation unless your tongue has spent too long in Talla's company." Olenna replied. "I have no patience for these games. Tell us now, boy, or-"
"Lady Olenna, it's alright," Sansa said softly. "This must be bad news about House Stark, if I had to guess, and-" her voice hitched, before she continued, as bravely as she dared. I am a wolf, I can be brave. "-it must be either about Robb up North or Father and B-Bran, then."
Lady Alerie looked at Sansa, clearly saddened beyond belief, before sighing.
"There is no easy way of saying this, Sansa, but.." Lady Alerie started.
"I'll handle this, Mother." Garlan stated quickly. "We just received news from King's Landing. Joffrey Waters and the Lannisters have executed your father on false charges, likely as revenge for Tyrion Lannister's death. He was executed at the Sept of Baelor, in front of your brother, Bran, who is safe as far as we know. I am so sorry, Sansa."
The words repeated themselves in Sansa's head as her brain attempted to process the information she had heard, and the horrifying revelation of her Father's death. She could hear the members in the conference room attempting to reassure her, to swear their revenge against the Lannisters for such an act, but their words flew deaf to her ears as she simply stared in shock and in horror. Every ounce of her being simply wanted to run to her rooms, crying, but she was a lady, and a proper lady would recuse herself before leaving the room.
"-I'm sorry, my lords and ladies," Sansa said quickly, interrupting the most recent person offering Sansa their condolences, "but may I please be-" Her voice shook in poorly-disguised sorrow. "-p-please be excused?"
Lady Alerie gave Sansa an empathizing glance, before nodding. "We shan't hold you any longer, Sansa, dear."
Whatever words Lady Alerie had said was lost to Sansa's ears, for she had stood out of her seat, gave a polite, perfunctory bow, and walked as fast as she could to her rooms as tears gathered in her eyes, despite her valiant attempts to stifle her impending breakdown.
Finally, she found her rooms and entered them, and immediately laid into bed, curling into Lady, who had obediently waited for her meetings to end in the room, and sobbed as loudly as she dared, muffled into Lady's fur.
Father had promised her! He always kept his promises, and now, he would never keep another promise and come back to her and Bran. And Bran, oh gods, Bran. The Lannisters had forced him to watch Father's execution, and Joff-
No, not Joffrey, never Joffrey, he was merely a bastard and a monster, and the Bastard deserved no such recognition. Her crying flared up again at the thought of poor Bran, who had to watch all of the Northmen he knew die in their attempt to escape, and now, he had to watch Father die. The monsters in human skin that were the Lannisters deserved no pity or consideration, and Sansa would make sure Robb would bring her their heads for their crimes.
She sobbed into Lady's fur for what seemed like hours, her grief unending, until she heard a knock on the door.
"Lady Sansa?" she heard Griff call out in a worried tone. She sniffled hesitantly in response as she tried to formulate a ladylike response, but the words wouldn't come out. There was a momentary pause as Sansa tried to come up with anything that would allow Griff to leave her alone in her grief, but she could not say a single word.
"I'm coming in," Griff said, in a determined voice, and the door opened as Griff tried to peek into the door to see if he should leave Sansa alone or to comfort her, but her sobbing form apparently encouraged Griff to sit by her bedside. She turned away from Lady to look at him, but the sight of him brought an irrational release of tears.
"W-why are you here?" Sansa hiccupped. "I-"
"Hush, Sansa," Griff said fondly. "I came here as fast as I could."
"Don't stay," Sansa begged tearfully. "I'm not...I'm hardly...p-presentable right now, Griff."
A dark look of what Sansa thought to be anger crossed Griff's face, before he made eye contact with her and gave her an unexplainable look of...worry?
"Do you want me to leave?" Griff asked carefully. He was evaluating her with a searching look, trying to avoid making her feel worse. Sansa knew this, and found that in her heart, she could not dismiss him when he was only trying to help.
"No," Sansa admitted. "I just-"
"I could hardly leave a lady in such a state, especially when this lady is very dear to me," Griff said fiercely, his indigo eyes flashing in anger. "What happened to your father is not your fault, and the Lannisters will pay for this. By Fire and Blood, they will all pay for this."
She nodded, tears freely flowing from her eyes, but she unconsciously leaned into Griff, who put an arm around her. His embrace was strong, and comforting, and butterflies flew in Sansa's stomach as she looked at a very dear person to her.
"I-" Sansa stammered, before mustering whatever courage she had left to finish her sentence. "You must think me w-weak and foolish, for acting this way. I'm sorry that I-"
"No, my lady," Griff replied, his indigo eyes meeting her blue eyes in a look Sansa couldn't define. "I do not. If you feel like you need to cry, cry. If you want to talk, I will talk with you until my eyes droop and fall asleep. But I cannot leave you like this, not now, not ever, and I will do anything in my power to help you."
"Can you give me Joff- the Bastard's head, on a platter? Can you deliver armies to free my brother and seat a new king on the Throne, one who will not murder men for speaking the truth?" Sansa asked, a sharp hint of bitterness in her voice. "Because that is all I want right now. Bran is still in the castle and those monsters will hurt him and punish him every time Robb gets a victory, and here I am, crying, like a stupid little girl-"
"I will do that and more, my lady, do not worry," Griff replied confidently. "Dorne and the Reach will work together to remove the Lannisters, and with the forces of the North and Riverlands at our backs, I will command the armies to deliver justice and free your brother from the yoke of the Lannisters."
"You are a mere sellsword, Griff, and as much as I appreciate your esteem, you hardly hold the power-" Sansa whispered frantically, before Griff cupped Sansa's face with his thumb and directed it to look at him.
"Perhaps a sellsword named Griff could not do that alone," Griff said, their eyes staring directly into one another. "But I am King Aegon, Sixth of His Name, born of House Targaryen, and I have the power to make the realms tremble and bring justice to the name of House Stark, and for you, my lady."
"Aegon…" Sansa breathed in shock. "So you are the King that House Martell and Tyrell are negotiating around, and you are Jon's half-brother in truth. I-"
She did something that surprised even her - she embraced King Aegon as tightly as she could.
"I promise, my lady," the newly revealed King Aegon said quietly as Sansa held on tightly to him. "I will do whatever it takes. Perhaps it runs in the blood after all, but you have enchanted me, Lady Stark, and you will be my Queen."
And so there they sat, locked in an embrace as Lady looked on.
Bran
"Lady Talisa, we are pleased to be graced by your presence," Joffrey Baratheon said, as his new betrothed, Talisa Maegyr of Volantis, arrived at the private dinner held by Cersei Lannister. She took his hand with a ladylike flourish, but her eyes concealed what Bran thought was well-hidden disgust at the entire situation in front of her, for there were rumors in court that her grandfather had forced her betrothal at six-and-ten against her wishes, before she was able to properly become a healer.
"Your grandfather's ships are set to arrive in two moons, correct?" Queen Cersei asked curiously, to which Talisa nodded as tersely as she could.
Bran had been invited as an "honored guest", which he now knew meant "hostage for good behavior." Tommen gave Bran a reassuring look as they both ate dinner quietly.
They were monsters, all of them, save for poor Tommen and brave Ser Barristan, who tried to intervene at every possibility to assure Bran's protection.
Bran was an inquisitive child, a watcher more than anything else. He used his keen powers of observation to avoid harm on the daily, and his friendship with Tommen as well as his age kept the Lannisters from treating him too harshly. He was to spend his time either in the tiltyard with Ser Barristan and Tommen, or locked in his room within the Red Keep, with mayhaps a showing at the Iron Throne if Joffrey was feeling particularly vengeful.
He knew the rules of the Game - that he was to tell the court of King's Landing that his father and brother were traitors, and that he should feel privileged to take command of the North in his traitor brother's place once Joffrey brought Bran Robb's head.
Yet, the mood at court contrasted that, with Lord Tyrion's death and his father's subsequent murder at the hands of the Lannisters, and the pitying looks thrown his way as well as the whispers he would overhear around the Red Keep suggested that even the courtiers knew the battle for King's Landing was a losing proposition, with Robb, King Stannis, and King Aegon aiming directly for the Iron Throne.
He was not a perfect player of the Game, as Sansa may have been, for he knew the consequences of failing to hold his tongue very well. After the first time Joffrey had commanded Meryn Trant to beat Bran when he could not hold his tongue, Ser Barristan's presence ensured that the rest of the Kingsguard stopped or they would face his wrath, but even then, Joffrey found other ways to torment Bran, such as forcing him to the battlements to stare at his Father's decomposing corpse.
If only I had known the danger that we were in. I was the one who caused all of this, who caused the deaths of the Northmen trying to protect me, and Father's execution. I created my own fate, yet Robb still tries to save me anyways.
He dreamed, in the dark of night, of the swords that would descend on King's Landing. Of the deliverance that even a single King would bring to the Lannisters, but he did his best to hide it, because he was a traitor, and traitors faced painful consequences, like calling their Father a traitor and having to explain to his decomposing corpse that he was the reason why his Father was rotting, or having to swear to the world that he would do his damndest to take Robb's head and seat himself the true Lord of Winterfell. If it was an unlucky day, a member of the Kingsguard would find a way to spar with him in the tiltyard at Joffrey's command, and give him only pain in response.
Even Winter, his direwolf, hadn't been spared from the anguish. Bran had been forced by Ser Barristan to free Winter somewhere within the Crownlands, for Ser Barristan had learned of Queen Cersei's plot to eliminate his direwolf. Winter was hopefully living somewhere in the Crownlands...or perhaps he was dead - that, Bran did not know.
His thoughts distracted him until the dinner was over, and then he quietly walked back to his rooms under guard at all times. When he opened the door and entered his prison, he laid in bed for a while, lamenting his stupidity and thinking about Robb, before the voice of Ser Barristan interrupted his musings.
"I will enter my room to talk to my squire alone," Ser Barristan's voice carried. "Is that clear?"
Bran heard a pause that could only signify hesitation, before the guards opened the door for Ser Barristan, and closed it. Their footsteps echoed further and further, as Ser Barristan's order's took effect.
"Ser Barristan-" Bran stated, startled, but Ser Barristan interrupted him with a sheet of paper in hand, shushing him and motioning silently for him to see the words written there.
WE WILL ESCAPE WHEN RIVAL KINGS COME TO KING'S LANDING, AND I SWEAR FEALTY TO THEM. PLAY THE GAME UNTIL THEN. I WILL PROTECT YOU.
Bran did his best not to make a sound, and nodded, swallowing nervously, and Ser Barristan winked before throwing the paper into the nearby fireplace to let it burn.
"Bran, lad, we've got a lot to discuss about your performance today!" Ser Barristan began quietly, before launching into a critique of his form as if they had been talking about it the whole time.
Hope filled Bran's chest at the thought of escape. He would see Robb again, he would apologize for Sansa for being stupid, and he would go back home to the North to meet Meera Reed for the first time. He would become a great knight, just like Ser Barristan, and mayhaps, serve on Sansa's kingsguard, if she married another King, and outlive the monsters that were the Lannisters. Until then, he wrapped his hope in a cloak of vengeance, and prepared to play the game set out for him.
Father always said that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. I am a lone wolf, but I will outwit them all and show the strength of my pack. This is my promise.
Theon
When Jon and Theon arrived back at the war camps after sparring with one another within the general vicinity, they found the camps in an uproar.
They had been marching to Riverrun after passing the Twins, and they would be there in what Theon estimated to be a day or two. And yet, the uproar only seemed to intensify at Theon and Jon's presences, with the Northmen throwing looks at Jon in a way that Theon thought to be almost...saddened? Or pitying?
Jon also noticed the strange interaction, because he gave Theon a confused look, before both of them saw a commotion at the centers of the war camps. Jon nodded at Theon, and they both ran to the center of the camp.
"Is what you are saying true?" Theon overheard the Smalljon Umber asking, and both Jon and Theon approached.
"What, exactly, has happened?" Jon asked, raising his voice at the crowd in the center of the camps. The spectators cleared a berth for Jon and Theon to go to the center of the crowd to talk to the messenger, and as they approached the messenger, Theon noticed the man's face paling at the sight of Jon, strangely enough.
"Lord Stark!" the messenger cried out, "I, uh….well...that is..."
"Has something happened to Robb and Margaery?" Jon asked. "Or something major on the warfront?"
"Well, my lord…" the man stuttered.
"Spit it out, man!" Theon demanded, tired of the games.
"Run along, boy, I will deliver the news," the Smalljon said to the messenger boy, who looked as though he couldn't wait for the excuse to retreat, and ran to, presumably, deliver whatever message he had gotten to the outer camps.
"What happened, Smalljon?" Jon asked, worriedly. The Smalljon sighed and put a hand to his hair.
"We've received bad news from King's Landing," he replied, causing Jon to pale.
"Bad news? Surely something has not happened to Father, or worse...Bran?" Jon stated faintly, looking as though he would collapse if any horrible piece of news was heard about Bran. Theon, sensing that possibility, discreetly positioned himself next to Jon, so that if Jon needed to lean on him, he could.
"There's no easy way to say this, Jon, so I'll put it bluntly. Your lord father, Eddard Stark, has been executed on the orders of Joffrey Waters in front of the Sept of Baelor, while young Bran was forced to watch. The raven just arrived this morning."
Jon paled harder, looking as though he was to faint, and Theon put a steadying arm on Jon as he processed the news himself.
"Do Robb and Margaery know?" Theon asked.
"They were the first ones that heard in the camp, actually," Smalljon answered wearily. "Lady Margaery said that they were to be undisturbed, but to spread the message around the camps."
Theon nodded silently, but he was still in shock. Ned Stark was dead? But it seemed as though he was always going to outlive Father. He could not imagine such a man dead. Lord Stark had always seemed invincible, as the man who had brought him to Winterfell as a hostage, but had become something more of a foster father, by the end. A single tear dropped down from his eyes at the thought of Ned Stark's death, and poor, brave Bran, trapped in King's Landing.
Robb is probably wroth with anger - it's no wonder Margaery said to leave them undisturbed, but as for Jon…
"Stark," Theon whispered in Jon's ear. "Let's get out of here."
And Jon nodded jerkily, his face still pale, as he made his requisite goodbyes.
They walked quietly to their adjoining tents, and Theon escorted Jon inside his tent before watching Jon visibly shake.
"I can't believe that Father is…" Jon said, numbly, as tears silently streaked down his face. "And those monsters made Bran watch? How could they?"
"They're on the back foot of the war, and they're losing badly," Theon said grimly. "But we'll pay them back, and take blood for blood."
Jon nodded quietly, and Theon stood awkwardly. How could he comfort Jon? What could he do to make this horrible situation any bit better?
"Theon," Jon said roughly. "I think...I should like to spar again, if you are alright with that."
"Again? But we just sparred a few minutes ago," Theon said, momentarily confused, before Jon sent Theon a pleading look.
"I…" Theon hesitated at first, but Jon's look gave him pause.
He's trying to distract himself from the news, and do something useful, Theon realized, and if I don't intervene now, he'll keep practicing until his muscles become sore and his body gives out. At least I can monitor him, and stop him before it gets too dangerous if we spar.
Theon nodded quickly, and so there, both men went.
Margaery
The war camps had dragged on, but after the stunning victory Robb had delivered at the Twins, there had been a brighter mood that had filled it.
Except for today. Today, I have a really bad feeling about everything going on.
They were maybe a few days away from Riverrun, ready to conduct probably the most dangerous mission that would be on the war front, if the Gods were good. Hostage situations were perilous, and Robb and Uncle Brynden's desire to save Edmure and Hoster Tully was most definitely at odds with the Lannister filled keep that would be there. Tywin Lannister would most likely spur some kind of trap, and though my husband was cheerfully optimistic about their chances, I had a feeling it could end in the deaths of both men, and either Bran or Rickon's ascension to Riverrun.
But yet, even with that thought, that didn't dismiss my growing unease. The last time I had felt this unease was at Ned Stark's capture, and the time before that was Willas's tourney. My gut was usually correct, and so even Robb couldn't cheer up my sense of unease as we sat down for breakfast.
"Love, are you alright?" Robb asked as he put an arm around me and I curled into him. "You seem very uneasy today."
"I just have a really bad feeling," I answered my husband. "I hope I'm wrong, but if I'm not…well, this will be a bad day for all of us."
Robb nodded. "I have to go strategize with the men today, so I'll see you later?"
I sighed. "Yes, later. But if I have any news, I'll let you know."
And so there I went, going about my day. Despite my unease, I had things to plan and plots to bring about to fruition. There were trade deals I could accomplish, even via raven, from White Harbor to various trading ports like Braavos and Volantis.
But if we were to construct a port on the Western harbor of the North and link the trade to the Reach, we've got plenty of resources to spare for the Long Night. We just need to find a suitable second son or bannerman to reward it to, to give them the opportunity to do so.
I had also started my information campaign in the North, looking for enterprising smallfolk who wanted to pack their lives and move up North, working with Lady Catelyn via letters to start that program and encourage development. People would be the mover of these new changes, and we would damn well get to the point where we could set the foundations for a strong economy.
But everything changed at lunchtime, when I had entered the temporary room where the ravens were kept, and a messenger raven landed on my lap with a letter.
Let this be an official proclamation from the Crown that Eddard Stark has been executed at the Sept of Baelor for his crimes against King Joffrey Baratheon, and his father, King Robert Baratheon, in conspiracy against the Iron Throne. Eddard Stark plotted with the traitors Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon to usurp King Joffrey's throne, and has been executed after denying his guilt, in the sight of gods and men, as well as his son, Brandon Stark.
KIng Joffrey Baratheon Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
I crumpled the paper in my hands as a red hot anger filled me. How dare he! How dare that dumb bastard! Of course he would kill Ned because of a stupid temper tantrum that he had over the realization that he didn't look anything like his supposed drunken lecher of a father? Why on earth would he kill a hostage when we had multiple hostages right there?
I thought of the solemn man, the one, full of life, who had asked me to call him Father. I thought of the kind man who welcomed me to Winterfell and accepted me as one of his own - the man who cared about his own son so much that he was willing to invoke the wrath of his banners to give his son a love match.
How dare they? Those miserable bastard Lannisters would go down, that was for sure. We would collect a gigantic doomstack of the biggest motherfucking army known to Westeros and rain them down against Cersei's insane get, and I would have the satisfaction of seeing Cersei and Joffrey's head roll to a stop right at my feet. But more importantly…
I ran as fast as I could to Robb's tent, where his meeting was wrapping up, to the confusion of his fellow lords.
"I have news," I said tightly. "News that I don't think anyone wants to hear."
Robb looked at me.
"What is it, Margaery?" Oh, I would break his heart with this single sentence, but it must be done.
"I have received an official proclamation that Ned Stark was executed at the Sept of Baelor in front of Bran." I said, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. "Here is the proclamation. My lords, I hope you understand when I say that Robb and I do not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day, barring life-threatening emergencies. Spread the word around the camps, and we will meet tomorrow to discuss our revenge."
The men exited the command tent in shock, and I could hear the commotion rise, but we exited the tent, and I held Robb's hand as we both ran to our personal tent. After quietly talking to the guards and repeating the same instructions, we stared at one another before Robb burst into tears.
"Margaery…" he cried.
"Hush, love, come here," I said softly, as we laid down in the bed, and I cradled his head as he cried silently on my shoulder.
"I-" he said, taking a deep breath. "I hate those bastards."
I nodded absently.
"How could they? How dare they? Father was a good man, and they just…" Robb said, before trailing off. "They killed him for a crime he didn't even c-commit! He was telling the truth!
"And not only that, the w-worst part," Robb continued, tears streaking down his face, "is that they dared make Bran watch Father d-die.I want to kill them all. All of them."
I held my husband as we both cried together. Mourning the loss of a great man, of a man we loved, and of the shattering of so many hearts at what would follow. But after about an hour, in my estimation, his crying abated, and he looked at me.
His face twisted, as he looked me in the eyes with an uncharacteristic expression. "I will kill them all. Starting with the hostages. We'll bring them piece by piece, and the Lannisters will feel the same thing we did."
I gulped. Right as my husband may be, there was something in his vacant expression and the hatred twisted in his face that my husband...was not all there at this moment. That he was induced in some kind of trance. It didn't help that Grey Wind's eyes flashed blue for a second, before turning white again, and I knew I had a Situation on my hands.
"Robb, love," I said gently, hoping to defuse the...whatever this was, "Think about what you're saying. Some of the hostages are children."
"We will tear their fingers one by one, and ship them to Joffrey Waters. See how he likes it. Then we'll do other body parts. Send them slowly until he feels the same thing we did, and then-"
"Robb!" I said, startled. "As much as I agree that killing the Lannisters are a good thing…"
"Then you won't deny me this," my husband said darkly. "You know this is what needs to be done. They harmed our pack, and they will pay the consequences. In too many worlds do they get away with this. We'll punish them for that, starting with fat Genna Lannister and weak Emmon Frey."
"I could hardly deny you anything, not even this," I stated numbly, and to my own growing horror, I knew that to be true. "But you need to come back to me, before you lose yourself in this trance, and give up your revenge entirely. Whatever this is, you need to master it before it masters you."
"I-" Robb said, before he paused, clutching at his head. "I see-there's too much-"
And Robb screamed in pain, as if he was trying his hardest to resist this state of heightened emotion. "Stop making me-I don't need to see Father die over and over again!" He snapped at...what I assumed to be Bloodraven.
But why would Bloodraven, or the Three Eyed Crow, or...and I shuddered. They weren't benevolent. They weren't benevolent at all.
"I know what needs to be done! I'll kill them all, Old Gods damn you! Now get out of my head!" Robb shouted, his voice peaking in exertion to become something more normal and more like my Robb Stark.
And then he slumped bonelessly as his head laid on my bosom, drained of energy, and I sighed in relief.
"We'll handle it," I reassured him as I repositioned his body into a more comfortable state, but he was on his way to sleep. "We'll handle it all, and finish the war ourselves."
Ending A/N: Just to be clear, Robb had a massive greenseer induced freakout by...well, the same actor who he met at the end of Arc 2: Winterfell, combined with the bloodthirstiness of warging into a hungry (and angry) direwolf, so he was most definitely out of it. If you're wondering why this is necessary...well, Robb's greenseeing and warging is most definitely going to continue being a thing in the next arc, so I hope you're ready for that!
