A week's time passed by in a flurry of activity as the Stark children weaned and trained their direwolf puppies under the watchful eye of their father. The pups had been received with glee by all of Robb's siblings, and even Sansa spoke in their defense when their mother questioned the wisdom of her lord husband's decision to let their children keep soon-to-be man-sized predators for pets. There had been real worry in her eyes, but Robb had seen a glint of understanding. Five direwolves – she did not count Ghost, as Jon had called his he-wolf – one for each of the Stark children. It would be a strong symbol in the North. Robb was tempted to agree with her concerns when he first saw Rickon tussle with Shaggydog, as he had called the black he-wolf to his family's confusion, but he could not deny the growing bond between his youngest brother and his wolf. All the Stark children grew close to their furry charge quickly, himself included, but Rickon took to the direwolves faster and better than any of them. For his own part, Robb had not named his smoke grey friend, something he shared with Bran and his silvery grey charge. Arya had quickly decided on Nymeria for her own wolf and Sansa on Lady for hers, but the oldest of the Stark children was conflicted. He briefly considered Grey Wind, but decided against it after mentioning the name to Theon, who teasingly compared the dramatic name to the nicknames of the old Iron Kings of House Hoare. Thus, for the moment, 'you' had to do.
It had been eight days since they found the direwolves when Robb decided to speak with Jon about his plan to swear himself to the Night's Watch. He knew he should have gone sooner, but his mood had been gloomy since Domeric had ridden for the Dreadfort four days earlier. He and Domeric had been inseparable for near ten years, but with Robb nearing six and ten name days Roose Bolton's charge as caretaker had ended, and so the Lord Bolton sent Robb back home, as was tradition. There was no Stark without Bolton when it came to Robb and Domeric, but it seemed there had to be for the time being. In response, Robb had near barricaded himself in Winterfell's library, speaking hardly a word to anyone save Maester Luwin, and his new grey friend of course. It was only when a servant brought him word of the King's forthcoming visit and, on a more somber note; the death of his father's mentor Jon Arryn, that Robb steeled himself to end his self-imposed isolation.
He found Jon in one of the young Snow's rare moments alone with Bran; teaching him to be a better archer. He arrived in time to see an arrow bury itself in one of the outer rings and to hear Bran muttering a curse in frustration.
"Don't let it get to you," Jon instructed from his position nearby. The raven-haired youth was leaning casually against a nearby post, arms crossed as he shook his head at Bran. "The bow takes a sharp mind and a deft hand, and being angry helps with neither. You have to work on keeping your aim steady." The Bran of two years ago would have just nodded, but not listened, yet when the second son let his second arrow fly it hit noticeably closer to the center ring, making Bran smile in satisfaction.
"There might be hope for you yet," Robb joked, announcing his presence to the practicing duo. "A couple of years from now Theon will be green with envy."
Jon grinned in response; Theon took pride in his abilities with the bow. Losing to someone near eleven years his junior would be devastating for his ego – and hilarious to boot.
"We'll keep at it then," Jon assured him, nudging Bran's shoulder. Robb nodded and spoke with the two about Bran's progress for a few minutes before asking Jon if they could speak in private. The two brothers left Bran to practice on his own and found a quiet spot to talk where Robb meticulously laid out his objections to Jon riding north to the Wall. He had thought it through as well; the Stark scion had not just been reading dusty tomes during his time in the library although, admittedly, that had been how he had spent most of his time there.
"You're my brother, Jon," he began carefully. "You and any family of yours will always have a place at Winterfell. I know that you and mother are not..." he searched for an appropriate word. "...close, but you are a sharp mind, a good sword and an even better friend. I would not lose you to the grumkins and snarks beyond the Wall if I can avoid it. In my household you would have respect and position, or I could help you find service wherever you so desired. If is honor and glory that you wish for, or to make a difference somewhere, then I can promise you a real chance anywhere south of the Wall. The Night's Watch is a shadow of what it once was; even uncle Benjen does not dispute this. So please, for my sake if nothing else, think very carefully on this before you make a decision."
Jon listened in silence, as he had become wont to do, wearing that serious expression of his, but at the end of it he simply asked for some time alone to think and strode off without another word, leaving Robb to contemplate another four-day stint in the library.
8
8
In the few days before the King's visit Robb tried to make up for his four days of sulking by spending as much time with his family as possible. His father and mother were both busy preparing for the King's visit, but his siblings were only too happy to spend time with him. He brought his wolf along to play with Rickon and Shaggydog, to his youngest brother's delight. He spoke with Sansa about the King's upcoming visit and shared with her what he had read about King's Landing. He took long walks on the castle walls with Arya when she should have been at her lessons, and he sparred with Theon and Jon, both of whom bested him nine times out of ten. Robb tried to raise the topic of the Night's Watch with Jon multiple times, but he was rebuffed at every turn, the last time by Theon who told him to give Jon space and time to think. Robb understood Jon's reservations, truly, but he would be wasted on the Night's Watch. He was a good jouster and an even better swordsman. He was loyal, compassionate and a quick learner to boot. If Robb had his way, Jon would become a valued advisor and rule a holdfast just as large as Bran's or Rickon's once he was Lord of Winterfell. It was one of him and his father's many disagreements that no request had been sent to King's Landing that Jon might be legitimized and made a true Stark of Winterfell. That Jon thought a lifetime of celibacy and pointless rangings desirable was a sign of a lack of ambitiousness, certainly, but also of how undervalued Jon's potential was by the masters of Winterfell. Theon, however, was not known for giving out advice lightly, and so Robb swallowed his protests and spent his energy on becoming a part of the strong friendship Snow and Greyjoy shared.
8
8
The day of the King's visit saw the entire Stark Clan – minus Jon, by the insistence of Lady Stark – lined up in the main courtyard beneath a dull grey sky. The Lord Stark was front and center, flanked on his left by his lady wife and on his right by Robb. Beside Robb stood Bran and Rickon, and on the other side, on his mother's left, Sansa and Arya. Behind them stood a large group of servants, guardsmen and other notables like Vaynon Poole the steward, Maester Luwin, and Jon and Theon. Arya was a late addition, having arrived just in time to suffer a brief scolding from their mother before the first man of the royal retinue rode through the castle gates. Three hundred men, most clad in polished steel and many brandishing the golden banners of House Baratheon, poured into the open courtyard with vigor, filling the cold Northern air with the rattling sounds of heavy armor and the whinnying of horses. Among the group, Robb recognized the infamous Kingslayer Jamie Lannister, the young Crown Prince Joffrey, and a stunted form that could only be Tyrion Lannister, the Imp. The King himself rode beside his son on a giant of a warhorse, clad in furs and looking grim from the long journey, but his face lit up when he saw his childhood friend. He was the first to dismount, sliding off the back of his mount to give Ned Stark what looked like a painfully tight hug to Robb, who shifted sideways ever so slightly to accommodate the King's heavy frame.
"Ned!" Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, greeted his friend boisterously. "Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The King looked the Warden of the North over from top to bottom and laughed jovially. "You have not changed at all!"
Robb ruthlessly squashed the urge to smile at that. Even if the stories his father had told him about the Rebellion were only half-truths, the King was still a far cry from the lean, fearsome warrior he had once been. He still stood near a foot taller than most men did, as Eddard Stark had often recalled in his fond stories of the Vale, but the leisures of King's Landing had allowed the man's stomach to catch up. Robb had imagined Robert to be a Maekar Targaryen of Storm's End, but all he saw was a black-haired version of how he expected Viserys I had once looked.
"Your Grace," his father replied, slightly winded from the hug and visibly trying to avoid the topic of change. "Winterfell is yours."
By then much of the King's party had dismounted as well; grooms were approaching to care for their horses, and servants were showing lesser knights and guardsmen to their quarters. King Robert did not seem to mind the ruckus and moved on to greet the Lady Stark undeterred, embracing her in an almost brotherly hug. He said something, but Robb did not hear the words as his focus was drawn to the forms descending the gilded, double-decked carriage that been forced to a halt outside the East Gate as it was too large to pass through. Prince Tommen was the first to exit the carriage, the plump little lad eagerly jumping from the carriage step straight into a nearby puddle of rainwater. Maids fussed over him, but the young Prince looked unconcerned until he made eye contact with Robb, then a shy look overtook him and he lowered his head. Princess Mycella appeared next and descended with a grace that defied her eight years. Her hair was spun cloth-of-gold like her brothers', but her features were even finer. Her mother, the Queen, stepped out behind her and Robb was struck by just how similar mother and daughter looked. It was clear that Mycella had inherited her looks entirely from the Queen. Cersei herself looked more beautiful than any of the tales Robb had heard of her gave her credit for. His own mother was near the Queen's age, if he recalled correctly, but there was a vitality and authority about Cersei Lannister that set her apart from Lady Stark and any other woman that Robb had ever met.
The three Baratheons of King's Landing approached the Starks and the King, and were soon joined on the way by Crown Prince Joffrey, who looked unfairly handsome for his twelve years. Robb himself had his mother's fine, if soft Tully traits, but his eyes were like those of a dead fish if Theon was to be believed. Those very eyes stole brief glances at the Queen's supple figure until she noticed him and raised a perfect, questioning eyebrow in response. She looked more amused than indignant, but Robb still blushed scarlet and lowered his gaze as Tommen had, cursing himself and feeling every inch a scolded child.
King Robert presented his family to the Starks and Lord Stark reciprocated the gesture. Greetings were exchanged, formalities were observed, and then the King asked his host to take him to the crypts. Robb did a double take at that and blinked owlishly; it seemed inordinately inappropriate to the oldest Stark child that the King's first order of business should be to visit the tomb of his long dead betrothed. Even his mother looked taken aback by Robert's brash request, though she did not voice her doubts. The Queen, however, did.
"We've been riding for a month, my love," she said with a tight smile. "Surely the dead can wait."
That the King did not even spare her a word of reassurance before he and Robb's father – the only man who looked happy about his friend's request besides Robert himself – made for the crypts spoke volumes about their relationship. Robb did not miss Cercei's brief frown, nor Joffrey's sour expression, though the latter was visible to anyone with eyes to see. There was a pregnant pause after the two men had left, but the Queen quickly recovered and struck up polite conversation with Robb's mother for a few moments before requesting that she and her children be shown to their quarters. Everyone slowly began to disperse then, but Robb quickly stepped in front of Prince Joffrey before the boy could follow his mother into the castle proper.
"My Prince," Robb greeted with a polite bow, sparing the huge, scarred sworn sword who followed Joffrey like a shadow a brief look. "I had hoped that we might speak before you retire. I know the ride from the Neck is long and harsh, but still I thought we could share a few words."
Joffrey tilted his head slightly as he appraised him. "Lord Robb Stark," he greeted courteously after a moment, evidently finding Robb worthy of his time. "It is good to meet you. Your House's hospitality is greatly appreciated."
Robb thanked him and they shared a few more formal pleasantries. Joffrey's manners were impeccable and despite himself, Robb felt clumsy by comparison. That the Crown Prince was not really so greatly appreciative of the cold North's hospitality was implicitly understood, but beyond the slight flicker of annoyance that grew in Joffrey's eyes as the formalities stretched out the Crown Prince's mask was flawless. Robb was truly impressed.
"Pleasantries aside, I had hoped to get to know you better, Prince Joffrey. Our fathers grew up in the Vale together and fought side by side in the Rebellion. We don't share history, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends." Robb extended his hand toward Joffrey and offered him a cautious smile. "You can just call me Robb, for starters."
The gesture caught the Prince off guard, but he quickly regained his composure and shook Robb's hand firmly, if briefly. "Of course," he hesitated for just the briefest of moments, but Robb still caught it. "...Robb. I am sure that we will get along well. There will be plenty of time for us to speak in the coming days."
Robb very nearly smiled at the unspoken dismissal. "Of course, my Prince. Please, the servants will show you to your quarters." Joffrey gave his thanks and eagerly made for the castle, but before he could take two steps, Robb spoke again.
"Ah, Prince Joffrey? Would you care to join me for a tour before the feast? I am sure you are eager to see the rest of Winterfell."
By then Joffrey was much more eager to be rid of him than to tour Winterfell, but decorum required him to respond and a refusal would take much longer than a simple 'aye.'
The Prince turned and offered Robb a smile that looked far too sincere to be so. "Of course, Robb, it would be my pleasure."
And that was that.
8
"You should give up on waiting and go find your mother, Stark," Jon advised his friend with just a hint of a smile. The two young adults were the only people in the bustling courtyard who were not busy making last minute preparations for the feast. Servants passed them by on their way to the great hall and men-at-arms were arranging a long line of torches before the heavy double doors. Robb had been waiting there in the cold for far too long for him to be impressed with the Crown Prince's manners anymore, and in his irritation, he scowled at Jon who merely shrugged in response.
"You've only just gotten here, Snow. I'm not taking any advice of yours on this. I'll wait as long as I have to, even if I am freezing my balls off."
Despite his words, Robb was on the verge of throwing courtesy to the wind and seeking refuge in the warm confines of the great hall. It was not long until the feast, Robb realized with annoyance. He would not have time to speak with Joffrey for more than a few minutes before the royal family and the Starks were supposed to make their entrance. That the Crown Prince was keeping him waiting as a form of petty revenge was not lost on Robb, and though he refused to throw a tantrum over such a harmless act he did feel rather embarrassingly duped by a boy three years his junior.
"Words are wind, Robb," Jon offered again. "What did you have to say to him that you can't say at the feast anyway?"
A good question, one that Robb had been pondering since he asked the Prince to meet with him. He knew what he wanted to say, but the how of it was a tougher nut to crack.
Any reply from Robb was interrupted by the expected, if long overdue arrival of Crown Prince Joffrey and an unexpected – and entirely unwelcome – addition in the form of his sworn sword, Sandor Clegane. The blond Prince was dressed in a doublet even finer than Robb's own and all that he lacked in height and bulk the Hound more than made up for, even if he no longer wore his signature great helm. To his embarrassment, Robb found himself briefly stumped, surprised by just how menacing the man looked looming behind Joffrey.
"Robb," the Prince greeted him pointedly, putting careful emphasis on the name. "I hope you have not been waiting for long."
Jon chortled at that, but then quickly excused himself, tight-lipped, after receiving a withering glare from the Prince. Robb had not been there to hear it, but Theon had confided to him that Lady Stark had given Jon a stern talking to about proper manners in the presence of royalty, and for all his stubborn pride Jon was surprisingly malleable when it came to his stepmother's whims.
"Look," Robb began, trying his hardest to avoid looking at the imposing form behind Joffrey. "I wasn't trying to string you along earlier, I really meant what I said. There's a good chance that our Houses will be joined in marriage soon, some way, and even if they aren't I would still like to get to know you. You will be King one day, my King, and I the Warden of near half of your kingdom. Would it not be better if we knew each other? If not as friends, then at least as men with the same goal?"
"And what might that goal be?" Joffrey asked sharply.
"The good of the people, of course."
The Crown Prince's delicate face curled in disgust. "You speak of things you know nothing about. A King commands and his people obey. They are beneath him."
"What is good for the people is good for the King. In serving them he serves himself."
"You are a Stark of Winterfell, not of King's Landing. What would you know about what serves a King?"
Joffrey's outburst brought a frown to Robb's forehead. He wanted to tell the twelve-year-old exactly what he knew about Kings and what served them, but swallowed the rebuke with a long breath. Arguing would get them nowhere.
"Mayhaps I spoke out of turn," he acquiesced. "I meant no offense, Joffrey."
The Crown Prince frowned at the lack of honorific, but said nothing. Robb decided to take that as a good sign, all things considered.
"Listen, I just want to sit down with you at the feast and talk. No formalities, just you and me talking."
Joffrey hesitated. "There will be seating arrangements."
"I'll bring my own seat," Robb pressed. He could see the different emotions crossing the Prince's face as he thought it over. There really was no reason not to accept; all Joffrey would have to do was feign ignorance when the time came, then Robb would have been the instigator of quite an embarrassing social faux pas.
"Agreed."
Robb nearly sighed with relief before the Hound suddenly spoke.
"Are we done here, then? 'Cause I'm freezing my fucking balls off."