297 AC

Robb

How did it all go wrong? Robb thought to himself.

Robb had been sent by his father, along with Edwyle and a contingent of the Winterfell Guard to settle a small dispute amongst two farmers. No doubt it was a small test for Robb.

Their party had left the gates of the castle at early morning, and they rode for nearly two hours before they reached their destination. The morning's ride, they would soon find out, was going to be the best part of their day.

As soon as they arrived, the two farmers were already going at each other, each blaming the other for everything under the sun. from poor crop yields to stolen animals, to even one accusation of a son being a member of a bandit group. If only we paid more attention to that one.

With the help of the guards, Robb managed to calm down the farmers before he decided to separate them, in hopes of resolving this peacefully. He elected to speak to one farmer and ordered Edwyle to speak to another. Little did he know, but that single decision would change not only today, but his brother and himself forever.

When he and two guards entered the hut of one farmer, the farmer immediately began to shout about his rights and the wrongs of the other farmer. So loud, Robb almost did not hear the commotion coming from the other hut.

Thinking that Edwyle was experiencing the same thing, he did not immediately react, something he would regret. One of the guards elected to go and inspect just in case, before running back just as quickly.

"Bandits!"

Robb went wide-eyed. This was the first time something so visceral had happened to him. Finally he broke the silence. "Come! Brandish your arms, we must help my brother!"

Rushing out of the hut, Robb and his small group encountered much more than just a small party. Robb had assumed that it was just two or three bandits, little did they know that there were at least a dozen of them. He turned his attention back to the other hut and raced for it, the sword in his hand felt heavy. He had practiced with it, every day, he just hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

Rushing in, slamming through the door, much to the chagrin of the guards, he saw a bloodbath. In front of him lay five bodies. Two of Edwyle's guards along with three bandits.

"Edwyle! Edwyle!" He called out for his brother, the dark and hazy atmosphere blinding even in the small space.

"Here." Edwyle responded shakily. The first, and only, time Robb would ever hear his brother use that tone.

He found him in the back corner, he was unwounded as far as he could tell, but the sword he held was…unclean. He had to use it. Robb realized sadly.

"I…I…I…it all happened so fast brother. One moment the farmer is yelling, the next some man jumps out of the back, from behind some blankets. He…he…killed Riclan, so fast he couldn't even draw his sword." Edwyle sounded so terribly shaky. "Gilbard managed to kill that bandit and another one that came through the door before he was…was…killed too."

"What about the third bandit, he pointed at the body?"

Edwyle eyes widened but then became normal again. "I didn't think…I…it was all just a reaction…he kept saying, 'I'll stick ya like a hog' as he was stabbing Gilbard. Before I knew it, I had run him through with my sword."

Robb closed his eyes in both sadness, at the loss of his brother's innocence, but also happiness for his survival. At this point, the guards had left to deal with the rest of the bandits.

Robb opened his eyes to meet Edwyle's, but his terrified ones became worried ones. "Behind you!"

Robb turned around just in time to see as a bandit had managed to slip by their men and into the tent.

"What we 'ave 'ere?" He sneered with a menacing smile. "Seems like the cubs got lost from the pack they did!"

The man swung his sword back and Robb assumed the position he had been trained for. Coming down in a strong, but stupid move, the bandit thought to hammer him away like a hammer upon an anvil. When the man's sword inevitably bounced back from crashing against castle-forged steel, Robb took his chance.

Remembering his training, instead of going for an overhanded strike as the bandit had done, he thrusted low, aiming at his lower abdomen. The bandit recovered quickly and managed to block and deflect the blow before going through with his momentum and slashing at his neck. Robb ducked and used a more controlled slash to target the arm of his opponent, the rough leathers doing nothing against his steel.

With a great cry, the man's sword arm was cut off, before he could think, Robb followed through by running his blade into his chest, right where the heart was. Finally, his consciousness caught up to him, gasping for air as if he had been drowning, Robb fell backward right next to Edwyle.

I think I'll rest here for a while.

Sansa

Her day had started normally, she attended the lessons of Ol' Nan, her Lord father having sent the septa back south after a particular incident with Arya. She was leaving lunch with her sister, Bran, and her parents when a guard ran in, bowed before her father, and whispered something to him.

She had never seen her father more angry in his life. Her mother was actually cowering.

She knew her brother's oft-thought her to be a Southern flower, but she was more worldly than she let on. Perhaps she didn't like to run around in the mud, but that didn't mean she wasn't a Northerner. It was because of this that she knew something was dreadfully wrong.

She had read in her lessons with Ol' Nan that her father was called the Quiet Wolf. That he was so feared as a commander that some were more scared of him than Robert Baratheon. Her father never shouted; he never raised his voice.

But as he rose from the table, and called for his armor and for Ser Rodrik, she feared the worst.

Eddard

He was furious, he was angry, he was apoplectic. But more than that, he was terrified. A guard had just ridden all the way to Winterfell to report the ambush on his sons. His boys, his two eldest. If something were to happen to them, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

He always strode, but today he did it with a purpose. As he walked to the armory, all in his way quickly got out of it. Just one look at him he was sure would show that he was not to be meddled with at the moment. Striding out of the family wing, he crossed the yard to the armory. Already he watched as an entire company of the Guard was being raised and prepared.

Ser Rodrik was speaking with his nephew, Ser Jory, as he appeared before them. When they saw him, they snapped to attention. Behind him as he walked over were two members of his guard, Alyn and Harwin.

"Mi' Lord, the men are preparing and shall be ready by the time you have your armor on." Ser Rodrik noted in a neutral report.

"Good." Eddard continued further into the armory to prepare himself, Jory following to assist his lord with getting his heavy armor on.

Within a quick time, Eddard once again left the armory for his horse. He looked up and saw his dear Cat with Sansa looking on from the balcony. Sansa seemed worried and Cat looked close to death with sadness.

Mounting up, he turned to the fifty men gathered. "Come! We ride!" Snapping the reins, his mount took off out of the gates.

Robb and Edwyle traveled there in two hours at a light pace…Eddard would be damned sure to get there within the hour.

Robb

After being on the ground, recovering, he elected that enough was enough. He was still shaking something terrible, but he had a duty to complete. Leaving the hut, he left Edwyle some private time. The guards had already moved the bodies respectfully. Standing in the open air, he collected himself before speaking to Cayn, the lead guard of his detachment.

"My lord, all the bandits have been dealt with. I have sent a messenger back to Winterfell for some more reinforcements just in case."

"Good. Do we know how this started?"

"Not yet mi' lord, but we have captured one of the bandits alive. Only a young man by the looks of it."

"Where is he. We must question him."

Cayn motioned over to a small lean-to where three guards were standing watch over a dirty man in chains.

"Come Cayn, walk with me."

As Robb walked over to the prisoner, he noticed as Edwyle left the hut. Still very reserved and fearing, but still in control of himself. Focusing back in front of him, soon he made it to the prisoner.

The prisoner didn't appear to be a veteran man. He was young, roughly his own age. His skin was scarred and dirty and his body was as tense as a staling predator, though looking into his eyes, the man obviously thought himself closer to prey at this very moment.

Looking down at him, Robb spoke, trying to hold back his anger. "What's your name?"

He trembled with fear. Cayn backhanded him.

"Answer him!"

Quivering, he finally answered. "…Hor…Hormar mi' lord."

"Why did you attack us? Do you know who we are?" It sounded petty and lordly, but Robb didn't know how else to phrase the question.

"Well mi' lord, we was looking to steal from the farmers. One of the dead, Devran, 'e the son of one of them farmers 'e was."

Robb sighed internally. So that accusation was true. So much good it did now, one of the farmers was dead and the other was severely injured, the prognosis wasn't good.

"Hormar, are you aware that you attacked the party of the sons of the Lord of Winterfell?"

The man's eyes widened at that. He just came to the same realization that he wouldn't leave this field alive. Attacking the guards of Winterfell was already a crime sentenced with an extended visit to the Winterfell dungeons, at the very least. But attacking them as they escort the heir and the spare of the Lord Paramount…there was only sentencing for that.

Robb tried to control the situation. "So you were unaware of who you were attacking?"

"Not me mi' lord. Black Pot never told us nothin'. Last time someone questioned 'im, 'e cut their throat out 'e did."

He slowly nodded. "I see. The guards counted a dozen and one bandits, yourself included. Is that all in your band? Or is there more out there?"

The man began tearing up while shaking his head. "No…no that's it."

A great part of Robb felt pity for the young man, no older than himself. He didn't know why, he had assaulted people, no doubt cause great pain, he had broken countless laws, and probably much more…but he still felt for him.

But he had a duty. "Hormar…I am afraid that I will have to find you guilty-"

Before he could finish, a hand landed roughly on his right shoulder, turning, it was Edwyle. He motioned with his head to speak in private.

"Ed, what is it. You know that I cannot let him go."

Edwyle actually sneered at him. "Of course I know that!" He snapped, but quietly enough to stay amongst them. He continued. "But they attacked me first."

He left his last sentence hang in their air until Robb realized his intention.

The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword.

Robb hesitated but eventually nodded. "Very well. Continue."

Edwyle returned with his own nod in thanks and walked up to Hormar.

Silently looking at him, Edwyle turned to Cayn and another guard. "Fetch a stump, or a small table, or a stool."

One of the guards nodded in the affirmative while the other one and Cayn lifted him up by his armpits and began to drag him away. Robb decided to ignore the whimpering pleas. He saw that this was not going to be a person who went out gracefully.

Some of the other guards began to surround the area to look on. This would be the first execution that either of them would do personally.

Edwyle

He had to control his breathing. He had killed a man for the first time today. It wasn't like the songs about battle. It was short, brutal, and oh so quick. I think that was the worst part. The finality of it.

But as a son of House Stark, he had a duty to perform. He felt regret at snapping at Robb earlier, and he appreciated his continued presence. As neither he nor Robb's swords were long enough to properly conduct an execution, one of the guards gave them their greatsword to carry it out.

Cayn bent Hormar over a short stool that was found in one of the hut's. Though the man was frightful, he offered no incredible resistance.

In an attempt to imitate father, he drew the greatsword out of its scabbard and rested the point on the ground, grasping the handle with both his hands, his bent.

"I, Edwyle Stark, Lord of Moat Cailin & Defender of the Neck, do sentence you, Hormar, to death for the crime of banditry." Just because I haven't taken up residence yet, doesn't mean that I can't use the title. "Should you have any last words, speak to them now, or may you forever keep them."

Tilting his head as far as he could, being held down, he looked at Edwyle. "I'm sorry mi' lord. Truly." He cried out.

Edwyle nodded in acceptance, his lower lip hugging his upper one into a frown. Picking up the sword, he held it above his head for a lightening moment. Though not as gracefully as his father, he succeeded in a clean kill.

Like hunting, no matter what a man did, if you didn't execute him in one strike, it was considered a great dishonor.

Neither he, nor Robb or the guards moved from their spots. Allowing a sense of…morose quietness to fill the air. Finally, Ed lifted his gaze and gestured for one of the guards to take bac their greatsword.

"My thanks, Gregor." Ed softly spoke his gratitude.

Gregor responded in an equally soft, but grizzled voice. "Of course mi' lord."

Suddenly, they heard a quiet thundering.

Ser Jory Cassel

Jory had been given the honor of riding beside Lord Stark. His uncle was ordered to remain back at Winterfell.

For the past hour, Lord Stark had kept the men at a brutal pace. Jory had never seen his lord like this. Even during the Greyjoy Rebellion, Lord Stark had held a controlled anger behind him. But today, he rode like a man possessed. He pitied the men that would stand 'fore them.

They were closing in on the spot that Lords Robb and Edwyle had traveled too. Just another hill and they'd arrive. This far out, there was only a small trail to the farm, having left the Kingsroad far back.

With fifty of the Winterfell Guard behind them, He and Lord Stark graced over the last hill, to find a small but definitive site of a battle.

Robb

The thundering had gotten louder until it became recognized as the thundering of horses. A large group of them. Edwyle and himself had left Winterfell with roughly a dozen guards. It appeared that his Lord father had left with nearly a tenth of the castle guard as what looked like fifty or more came roaring over the hill. They only stopped when their father and Ser Jory reined in their mounts, all of them loudly panting.

Must have ridden hard.

"Robb! Robb, tell me you are alright! Ed? Ed!" His father seemed so worried. The messenger must have gotten to him quickly.

"Father! Father…we are fine." He took the initiative. Edwyle came around one of the hut's, he needed a minute alone after the execution. At this point, father got off his horse and handed the reins to one of the guards.

His father embraced him in a very tight hug. "I was so worried for you and your brother." His father whispered in his ear. He could feel a tension leave his body.

"Father…Edwyle…Edwyle had to…he had to pass a sentence."

His father left the embrace and looked at him, mildly shocked.

Robb took the time to fill in all the details, including the fact that both he and Ed were…bloodied.

His father looked both shocked and…sad. In a way, he sympathized with it. His father's sons had finally tasted the violence and shock of battle. No doubt he wished for them, at best, to never taste it, at worst, wait much longer than their short lives.

His father looked at him in the eyes and let out a defeated sigh.

"Come, my sons. Let us leave the wretched place."

Robb had a feeling, one most likely shared with Ed, that he couldn't agree more to father's wish. Today had been a begrimed day. They would never be the same.

Perhaps, in the future, he and Ed would look back and see this as, however terrible, a necessary crucible into adulthood.

Robb could only hope.

Something good should come of this day.