He nodded to Ethan Forrester, who stopped at the entrance to the godswood. Robb continued on with Grey Wind following after him. Ethan hardly gave a second glance to Grey Wind, something most of the other men who guarded Robb did. He'd grown used to the enormous beast by now, Robb supposed.
Grey Wind bounded off further into the godswood of Raventree Hall, but Robb continued on his straightforward path. The moon had only just risen, and the godswood was still. He could breathe easier here, away from all the people. I never get a moment alone. There was always some lord requesting an audience, or another guard following after him.
He didn't mind his guards, and he knew they gave Alysanne peace of mind. A fair compromise, she'd said, in exchange for her agreeing to increase her own. Not quite a Kingsguard, but close enough. Robb wasn't a southron king, and he wouldn't bind men to him in such a way. And besides, with Alysanne gone, the extra company wasn't unwelcome. Dacey Mormont was always in good humour and always willing to jape at the expense of other lords. Torrhen Karstark was far less boorish than his elder brother Harrion, even if he was more Bran's friend than Robb's. And Ethan Forrester, though soft-spoken, was affable and fast becoming a friend as well.
Though Robb had already visited the heart tree at Raventree Hall several times, he still found himself disappointed. He'd found himself disappointed in this godswood from the start, as awful as he felt for feeling that way. It hadn't been what he expected at all, when he heard there was a true godswood so far south.
When Robb pictured a godswood, he pictured the godswood from home. A dense canopy of trees; ironwood and oak, sentinels and pines, a thick layer of dead leaves and moss on the forest floor. He pictured the small pools warmed by the hot springs that he and his siblings used to swim in, and the black pool at the base of Winterfell's heart tree; an ancient tree, towering with a weeping face and leaves of blood. There were hardly any other trees aside from the heart tree in this godswood. Not as many as in Winterfell, anyway. The heart tree itself was long dead, with only its bone-white bark remaining. Poisoned by the Bracken's, to hear Lord Blackwood tell it. It was a colossal beast, far larger than the heart tree in Winterfell. Yet it still paled compared to the tree he'd stood before with Alysanne.
Thinking of the godswood from home always reminded him of Alysanne and the night they married. He could still see the candles that lit the path to the heart tree, and her soft smile and flushed cheeks as she made her way to him. The godswood at Raventree Hall brought to mind none of those things.
Robb had never been particularly pious, growing up. He'd only visited the Winterfell godswood when his father bid him to or to play with his siblings. And, occasionally, to hide from Maester Luwin and his lessons. But he found himself in the godswood that night anyway, and most nights past. Perhaps it was a longing for home that brought him, or the old gods themselves. Perhaps it was a desire to feel closer to Alysanne and the peace they once had, when both were so distant now. Or perhaps it was just the fact that he hadn't seen a true godswood in ages, and likely wouldn't see one for some time after they left Raventree Hall.
He took a seat at the base of the heart tree, its limbs stretching far above him, twisted and gnarled and scratching at the night sky. The ravens which gave the keep its name took the place of the blood-red leaves, which had long abandoned the ancient weirwood. For all its differences from the godswood at home, it still afforded Robb a moment of peace. A moment in which he could pretend he wasn't a king, but nobody at all. He couldn't help but wonder if that very feeling was why his father spent so much time in Winterfell's godswood.
Even from behind the thick walls of the keep, Robb could still make out faint noises from the camp beyond. Grey Wind could hear it better. He closed his eyes and felt for his direwolf. Come on, he begged, prodding at the deepest reaches of his mind. A new found ability, but not an unwelcome one.
They had started as dreams. Dreams of him running through the woods and hunting. He'd thought them just simple dreams at the start. That was before he started dreaming of Grey Wind as he ran through the camp. The night he saw himself and Alysanne asleep side by side had wrenched him awake, only to find Grey Wind standing exactly where he had been in the dream. That was when he understood it for what it was. Warg, Old Nan's voice echoed.
Robb had only managed to slip into Grey Wind's mind while awake twice. Both times in the godswood, and never for as long as when he was asleep. But Robb held onto the hope that it'd get easier with practice. He breathed deep and focused on Grey Wind. Before long, he felt the familiar pull.
He opened his eyes as Grey Wind. Grey Wind was farther in the godswood than Robb had ventured. He ran along the wall at the far end, listening for the sounds of the camp filled with men. His ears picked up the sounds of chatter, men at one side of camp cheering each other on. Some men sang bawdy songs, fighting to be heard over one another. The clashing of the steel teeth men carried rang sharply in the air. He shook his head. He didn't like that sound. At the other side of camp, his ears picked up the sound of weeping. The women who trailed along with the man-pack wept easier. Close to the weeping, Grey Wind could hear moans of pain.
He lifted his nose to the wind. The scent of cooking meat and stews wafted through the air, and his stomach rumbled. He'd need to hunt soon. The men in the keep threw him hunks of meat, but there was nothing like a fresh kill. The meat didn't sate his craving for warm blood. He lifted his nose and sniffed again. Below the scent of cooking meat, there was a fouler scent that chased away his hunger. The sticky smell of old blood, the sweet smell of rot. His lips pulled back at the scent of death.
A new sound pricked his ears. A sound closer than the ones coming from the man-pack. Soft footsteps padded along the earth close by. They weren't the steps of his brother, the one they called Ghost. He'd gone with the other part of the man-pack. These footsteps were lighter, old and familiar.
Robb came back to himself, dizzy and disoriented. It took him a moment to gain his bearings once more. He couldn't smell what Grey Wind had been able to, but still the memories lingered. The rolling stomach returned with him, though. Saliva pooled in his mouth and he spit it onto the ground before listening for the soft footsteps he'd heard as Grey Wind. It took a moment, but before long he heard them.
He squinted his eyes, straining to see who approached in the dimming light. Robb expected to see Bran or Olyvar, Dacey even, but instead… "Mother?" He hurried to his feet and rushed to greet her. What is she doing here?
She embraced him with a sigh of relief. "Robb," she said. She held him tightly for a moment longer before stepping back. She held his face in her hands, studying him carefully.
"I thought you were still with Renly. We didn't receive word that you'd left." The last he'd heard from her had been the raven stating she'd arrived safely. And that had been moons ago. Perhaps she sent word to Riverrun? Or Stone Hedge? If she'd sent it to Stone Hedge, it could have arrived after they left.
"I didn't send word," she explained. "We left in a hurry. King Renly is dead, my dear." Robb stepped back in surprise. Dead? Certainly they would have heard. They had heard nothing from Renly or Stannis since his mother's last message.
"What happened?" Robb asked. His mother heaved a tired breath and swayed on her feet. There were bags under her eyes and her clothes appeared rumpled. She's only just arrived, then. Robb guided her over to a bench just to the side of the path leading to the heart tree.
"Not long after I arrived in Renly's camp, he received word that Stannis besieged Storm's End." She sank into the bench and Robb sat beside her. "Renly rode to respond, and I went with them. He wanted to attack straight away, but I convinced him to parley. Renly refused to back down."
Brother against brother. Robb tried to imagine leading a war against Bran, Rickon, or Jon. He couldn't think of any situation where he would do such a thing. How could Renly or Stannis be so quick to fight with one another? "You left before the battle, then?"
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "I asked Renly leave to return to Riverrun, but he denied me." Robb bristled. Denied her? "And there was no battle. Renly was assassinated in his own tent that same night. Right before my eyes."
Robb blanched. How could a man be assassinated in his own tent? Had his guards been so incompetent as to let one of Stannis' own men into their camp and into their King's tent? Or did one of Renly's men turn on him? He asked his mother as much.
She shook her head, a grave look casting a shadow over her eyes. "It was Stannis himself," she relayed. She cast her eyes downwards, uncertainty pulling at her mouth. "Or, a shadow in the shape of Stannis." Robb opened his mouth, then closed it. Is she well?
"How can a shadow murder a man?" Robb asked. Had she not been his mother, he'd have written her off as half-mad. But he knew his mother. She'd always been sensible, never one for fairytales.
"I know not. He had a woman with him. Renly called her a witch. I suspect she has something to do with it." Noting the look of disbelief on his face, she continued speaking. "I would not believe it either, had I not seen it for myself. I would think any who told me so to be mad. But one of his kingsguard was with me and saw it all as well. We were the only two, and the other kingsguard thought us responsible. We escaped together."
"Did he travel all the way here with you?" Robb asked. He would like to meet the man who helped his mother escape, who returned her to him safely. Such a man would be welcome amongst his own guard. It wouldn't hurt for him to have another confirm his mother's story for the truth, either. A shadow in the shape of Stannis. There had to be something missing, something his mother and this kingsguard did not see.
"Not he. Her. Brienne of Tarth," his mother corrected. Robb blinked in surprise. "She swore her sword to me. I sent her to rest when we arrived. You can meet her on the morrow."
A sworn sword. Good. "I would like to meet her," Robb decided. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Arya will love this. Dacey as well. "How did she wind up as one of his kingsguard in the first place?" he asked.
Her tone turned a tad derisive when she said, "Renly was hosting a tournament when I arrived. Or a melee, at the very least." Robb snorted. A waste of time, to host even half a tournament in the middle of a war. A waste of men as well, should they get hurt. "She won the melee. She beat Loras Tyrell." The name Tyrell caught his attention. Robb had nearly forgotten about them, with the mention of shadows in the shapes of men and the shock of his mother's return.
What would they do now that their daughter was no longer a queen, now that they no longer had a path to the Iron Throne? Alysanne said her grandfather called them ambitious and reaching. They couldn't very well turn to Stannis. His father always said Stannis was a hard man. He didn't seem the type to forgive perceived traitors. And neither does Joffrey. "I assume the Tyrell's fled?" he asked his mother.
She shrugged. "I know not. We fled so quickly."
Robb frowned. If they turned to neither Stannis nor Joffrey, would they sit out? He wished Alysanne were here. What would Alysanne suggest? The Tyrells had men. Men he could use, especially if Dorne continued to ignore their ravens. He supposed only time would tell if they would seek an alliance with either Stannis or Joffrey. Perhaps by the time they knew, he'd have Alysanne with him again.
His mother searched his face. "We heard word on our way here. You drove back Lord Tywin, to hear it told. Sent him running."
Robb's shoulders sagged. "Aye, we drove him back. But that's all we could do. We weren't able to give chase." It had been a victory, but only narrowly.
Lord Tywin hadn't taken him by surprise. They'd made camp just south of Raventree Hall and waited. It was Lord Bolton who advised him to let Lord Tywin come to him, rather than marching further south to intercept him. "Meet him on your terms, your grace, and you'll have the upper hand," Lord Bolton said. He hadn't been entirely wrong. Robb suspected that had he not taken Lord Bolton's advice, his mother may have been left with a corpse for a son.
The scouts that had been sent out had been mistaken as to the number of men with Lord Tywin. He'd had more than they expected. I should have waited to send Alysanne, Jaime Lannister be damned. They'd prevented Lord Tywin from moving on towards Riverrun, forcing him to retreat. The extra men might have allowed him to give chase to Tywin and drive him in a direction of their choice. Instead, he'd retreated right to Harrenhal, and Robb had been forced to regroup at Raventree Hall. He told his mother all of this.
She grasped his hands tight in her own. "You held back Tywin Lannister, that is no small feat."
"And drove him straight to Harrenhal," Robb groused. The sweet smell of death and decay he'd smelt as Grey Wind itched at his nose. And at what cost? How many lives lost?
She patted his hand reassuringly. "You also have Jaime Lannister. That is not of no consequence." She freed her hands from his and folded them in her lap. "How is Alysanne? I did not see her when I arrived," she asked stiffly.
"She isn't here. I sent her west. She should be approaching Riverrun by now."
His mother nodded, a small smile gracing her features. "Ah, good. You saw sense then. She'll be far safer staying in Riverrun."
Robb suppressed a sigh. His mother and Alysanne had their… differences, as of late. It only added to his stress. He grimaced, knowing the argument that was likely to come. "She's not staying in Riverrun. I sent her west with Jon and a host of men at her command. They're to attack the Westerlands."
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped. "Robb. What were you thinking?"
His shoulders tensed. "It's a good plan, mother. They're escorting Jaime Lannister to Riverrun, where he'll remain. Far out of Tywin Lannister's reach. And they'll attack his supply and communication lines. It'll force him to come to us." He noted her pursed lips and stiff posture. "Do you not trust her?" He did not regret the air of defensiveness that shrouded his tone. He could understand the slight mistrust his men had towards her, even if he detested it. But his mother? She raised her.
Her eyes softened. "Of course I trust Alysanne. But Robb, she knows nothing of war. How is she to lead an army?"
Robb's jaw clenched. "I didn't send her alone. I sent Uncle Brynden with her, as well as Lady Maege. She has Ser Addam, and Lord Forrester and Ser Stevron. Not to mention Jon, my hand" her face tightened once more at the mention of Jon. His acceptance of the position would be news to her. She hadn't been there when it was offered to Jon. "She'll listen to Uncle Brynden and the others, just as I listen to my lords."
Her posture did not soften that time, and neither did her eyes. "But to send the Kingslayer with her? What will your men think, Robb?"
"Lord Karstark didn't like it," he admitted reluctantly. "But he sent his eldest son and several men as insurance. At Alysanne's suggestion. I had to send him west, mother. If we had lost to Tywin, we very well may have lost Jaime Lannister and our other hostages as well."
She glared in askance. "Perhaps he is safer in Riverrun," she conceded. "He's less likely to escape before we can send terms off to King's Landing." At least she agrees with me on this.
Robb braced himself once more. "We already sent terms with Cleos Frey," he told her. She won't like this next part.
"Good. They'll agree to trade Ser Jaime for Sansa. They'll have to." Robb remained silent, not meeting her eyes. Those had not been the terms he sent, and guilt ate heavily at his chest. His mother tilted her head at his silence. "Robb. Tell me that you don't mean to leave your sister there."
Robb leapt up from the bench, guiding his mother up and away from it as well. It was too close to the wall for him to tell her what he needed to. He looked around, double checking that the godswood was empty before lowering his voice. "I'm not just going to leave her there. Alysanne thought of a plan. Before we left Stone Hedge, we sent Theon south with-"
"Theon?" she exclaimed. Robb hushed her, once more looking around for prying eyes. He caught sight of Grey Wind prowling alongside the walls.
"Not just Theon. Theon and Jory. They're going to bring Sansa home." They had to. There was no other option. Robb wouldn't have Sansa suffer as she was until he could take King's Landing for himself. Theon won't fail me.
His mother stood silent for a moment. Rage, sorrow, then rage again drifted across her face. She grasped his arm in a claw-like grip. "You think," she hissed, "that those two will be able to sneak Sansa out of the Red Keep and back North? They'll die, Robb."
Robb's heart thundered in his chest. How was he to explain this to her, when he could hardly accept it himself? "Jory knows the Red Keep. He's made the journey before. We have to try, mother. I can't trade Jaime Lannister for-"
She dropped her hand from his arm. "For a woman? Is that why, Robb? Are we not valuable enough?"
Robb flinched back. "No, that's not why," he insisted. The accusation stung. The accusation stung. What he wouldn't give, to end the war now and have his sister safe at home. He would trade Jaime Lannister without a second thought, were it up to him. But it wasn't, not truly. The northerners made him King, and they could unmake him just as easily, Alysanne said.
Jaime Lannister could end the war. If Joffrey accepted his terms, there could be peace. Justice. Northern independence, if he was lucky. How could he squander that opportunity, when countless northerners had already died for that cause?
"Why, then," his mother demanded. "Is it because of Alysanne? Will she not let you trade her father?"
Robb scowled. "Alysanne has nothing to do with it. This was my decision." Alysanne had come up with the plan to send Theon even before they claimed her father as a hostage. She hadn't even been at the meeting where he drew up peace terms.
"Well what am I to think, Robb, when you refuse to negotiate for your own sister, and you've sent the hostage which would bring her home away with his own daughter," she spat.
"I was the one who drew up the offered terms, mother," he argued. "Not Alysanne. She was not even present."
His mother ignored his argument. "She oversteps, Robb." He pinched the bridge of his nose. Not this again. Another rehash of the argument from Riverrun. Has she not let it go? The argument had begun with how Alys convinced Walder Frey to let them pass, and spiralled to the subject of Jon. Jon, and how Alysanne convinced him to stay. Jon, and Alysanne's proposal to legitimise him and name him Hand. It had only made matters worse when Alysanne expressed her desire for Arya to march south with them. "She's arrogant. You say you sent advisors with her, but-" his mother continued.
Robb's eyes snapped to hers. "She is the Lady of Winterfell, and your Queen," he said. His mother's face shuttered. Another wave of guilt rolled forward. Mayhap Alysanne had overstepped with Lord Walder, but she was his wife. He wouldn't turn against her. "She'll listen to the advisors with her, just as she was taught to." Just as you taught her to, Robb almost added on.
Robb wondered how his mother could have so little faith in Alysanne. She was the one who raised her, who oversaw her lessons. His mother taught her how to be the Lady of Winterfell, how to listen to those around her. She'd only been ten name days when she insisted on assisting his mother with her duties. He could still see Alysanne following after his mother in his mind's eye.
His mother loved Alysanne, he knew that for a fact. One year, during a harvest feast, he'd danced with Alysanne hours, song after song. He'd eventually dragged her away, thinking that he'd been able to slip away with her unnoticed. Robb could still hear her laughs as they sprinted down the halls, searching for a darkened corner. How many years ago was that? Three? Four? It didn't matter. It hadn't been the first time they'd done so, and certainly not the last.
They'd eventually found a small alcove, and Robb had wasted no time in pressing her against the wall. They never went farther than kissing, he wouldn't dishonour her so. Never further than kissing, and perhaps wandering hands. Only that time, his mother found them. Robb didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed, or seen Alys go so red. She'd sent Alys to bed with a gentle smile but fixed Robb to his spot with a stern glare.
The sternness hadn't lasted long, though. Only long enough to chide him about protecting her virtue. Her face had only softened when Robb assured her they'd gone no farther than stolen kisses. He left out that perhaps his hands wandered more than they should, and that perhaps they'd found their way up her skirts on one occasion. He still remembered how she asked him if he loved her, and her response when he admitted he did. "Good," she'd said with a smile. "She's quite taken with you. It pleases me, to see you both so happy."
Robb opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Grey Wind trotting forward stayed his tongue. The direwolf stared resolutely towards the entrance to the godswood, and Robb could make out the crunching of heavy footsteps. The soft glow of a lantern illuminated the path and the figure holding it.
Bran stood hesitantly, sensing the tension and unsure of whether or not he should interrupt. His mother's shoulders sagged in relief once she realised who stood in front of them, and she all but ran to greet him. "Bran," she sighed. His mother embraced him, stepping back and holding his face in her hands just as she had with Robb. Bran was taller than her now, Robb noticed. It hadn't been so before they left Winterfell. "Are you well?" his mother asked.
Bran nodded with a bold smile. "Aye mother, I'm well. Survived my first two battles with only a scratch." He lifted the sleeve of his shirt. A cut ran across his upper arm, a parting gift from one of Tywin Lannister's men. It hadn't been deep. It hadn't even needed stitching. Still, a bandage remained tightly wrapped around it.
His mother whipped her head back to glare at Robb. "You didn't mention he was injured," she accused.
"It's only a scratch," he defended. "It won't even leave a scar."
His mother fussed at his bandage, but Bran gently waved her away. He shifted uneasily on his feet. "They sent me to find you. Lord Umber said it's important."
Robb cursed under his breath and Bran led their way into the keep. Bran chatted excitedly to their mother. He told her of the name he'd settled on for his sword, Winter's Blade, Robb recalled with amusement, as well as the friends he'd made in Patrek Mallister, Torrhen Karstark, Lucas Blackwood, and Robb's squire Olyvar. Bran didn't mention the friends he'd already lost, and Robb didn't remind him. He'd share that with their mother on his own time.
The room Bran led them to was small, with only a few gathered lords. The same room they'd been using for war councils. Lord Bolton and Lord Umber stood on opposite sides of the small table at the centre of the room. Lord Glover sat at one end, a dejected air to him. The Greatjon ranted and raged even as they entered and the other lords bowed. They'd been able to hear him halfway down the hall.
"What's all this?" Robb asked, concern already knitting his brows together.
"It's the Ironborn, your grace," Lord Bolton explained. If he shared in the Greatjon's rage, he didn't show it. His voice remained as soft and even-toned as ever. "They've attacked the North."
Rickon. Robb clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palm. His mother paled beside him. "Where?" he grit out.
"They've begun raiding the Stoney Shore, and they took Deepwood Motte," Lord Bolton said. The Greatjon cursed loudly. Lord Glover sat wan and silent, staring blankly at the map laid upon the table.
"Is there any word of your wife, Lord Glover?" Robb asked.
Lord Glover clenched his jaw. "There isn't. Neither is their word of my son or daughter."
"Bastards attacked Moat Cailin as well," Lord Umber growled. Robb's heart sank. If they took the Moat, they may as well hold the entirety of the North. Robb would have no way to send men to defend what they've taken. "The Crannogmen you left were able to keep them at bay," he finished, setting Robb's fears to rest.
"Has there been any word from Rickon?" his mother asked. Robb silently chided himself. They'd received word from Rickon just a few weeks ago. How could he forget to tell her?
"He wrote to us not long ago. I have the letter in my chambers," Robb said. "He's doing well."
His mother sank into an empty seat, but Robb remained standing. Bran moved to sit by her side. He clasped one of her hands in his own. "I wish to return. I've been away far too long."
Rumbles of protest swept through the room. "My lady, that would not be wise. Not with the Ironborn invading," Lord Bolton said.
His mother met his icy gaze head on. "My youngest child remains alone in Winterfell, Lord Bolton. He needs me."
Robb cleared his throat. "I'm afraid Lord Bolton is right, mother," Robb said. "You'll have to wait until we can drive them out." He felt guilt yet again at the anger directed towards him. Robb hated that Rickon was alone. He knew his youngest brother missed him, missed them all. He's alone. None of us are there, and father is dead. But the Ironborn were in the North. He wouldn't let them take his mother.
He leaned over the map. The words blurred together, and the wooden figures taunted him. He rubbed at his forehead. "We'll decide what to do in the morning," he said. Whatever decision they would reach tonight would only be argued over again, anyway.
His mother excused herself, as did Lords Glover, Bolton, and Umber, until it was only he and Bran remaining. Bran scowled down at the map as though he could will the wooden krakens to burst into flames.
"Bran." His brother tore his eyes away from the map. Robb could see the rage etched into Bran's scowl. Robb looked longingly at the door before waving his brother closer to him. Bran stood and marched over. "What do you think we should do?"
Bran stared at him, wide eyed. "I thought you said we'd decide tomorrow?"
Robb nodded. "I did." Robb had countless memories of his father letting him sit in on audiences, then later asking Robb in private what he thought he should do. Now was as good a time as any to teach his brother what his own father had taught him. What their father would never have the chance to teach Bran. "But now I want your opinion."
Bran contemplated the map before them. He chewed at his lip, brow pulled tight in concentration. Robb wondered if he'd looked at the maps so intently when his father set out hypothetical battles. "You left men in the North, didn't you? You could send them after the Ironborn."
"Aye, I could," Robb nodded slowly. "But then who would defend their keeps?"
Bran tapped his fingers on the table as he leant over further. He counted the wooden markers, his mouth moving silently, before his face lit up. "How many of Lord Walder's men stayed at the Twins? You left men there, right?"
Robb smiled approvingly at Bran. "Aye. I left Lord Tallhart there with some men to ensure Lord Walder's loyalty."
Bran tried to contain his proud smile. "You could send them North. They could reach the Ironborn faster than any of us could."
Robb moved to stand by Bran's side, studying the map as well. "It's not a bad idea, Bran," he said earnestly. "When we start tomorrow, you can be the one to suggest it."
Bran did smile proudly that time, and Robb let him leave for his chambers. Robb turned to leave as well, but lingered over the map. His eyes found Winterfell, where his youngest brother remained alone. King's Landing, where his eldest sister suffered, alone. Somewhere in the Riverlands were Theon and Jory, and worry clenched tight in his throat. His eyes came to a rest over Riverrun. Alysanne must have reached Riverrun. A part of him still seized in fear at the thought of some trouble befalling her on the road. He tried to settle his mind. Jon was with her, as well as Ser Addam. They wouldn't let anything happen. No, she'd be in Riverrun by now. Safe, with Arya.
With one more glance at Riverrun and then the Westerlands, he blew out the candles. The fear and longing did not lift from his heart.