Moon Three (Waxing)

Keep Careful Watch Over My Brothers' Souls

Chapter Summary: Robb leads his forces south and calls upon his deepest courage.

Author's Notes:

Content: A few of the scenes in the next pieces of Moon Three (over the next couple of chapters) are modeled after scenes in the AGOT. Wherever possible I have tried to avoid using exact quotes and change the scenes up. Some situations are the same and some are different. So, I will offer a disclaimer that none of that belongs to me. This amazing world belongs to G.R.R.M! (For the love of all the gods, finish the book, George!)

Moons: As you'll notice, this chapter got much longer than intended. As a result, I've gone back to edit the last chapter to be as a 'new moon' and will continue accordingly. You can basically assume the content discussed happened at that 'time' during the month. E.G. Something written in a Full Moon document would have happened say two weeks later than a New Moon event.

Beta, Reviews, & Bookmarks : I would like to thank SkySamuelle (AO3) for help with beta work and helping with plot holes and Hejsokoly for helping with plot holes. Thank you for reviewing to: Max20.7 and Silverswath. I answer every review and reviews really encourage me to keep writing!

Some songs that may particularly suit this section are: I See Fire, Halo Theme Song (Instrumental), Home, The Voice, Somewhere Only We Know, and Waves and Die Young. Of course, I simply listen to the entire thing on shuffle, but those are some to pay special attention to.

Changes to the Playlist: You'll notice I've moved the new songs from last time (the Paramore ones) mixed into the list so they won't all be side by side. Both Spotify link and the list here reflect the changes. New songs, as usual, will be at the bottom in bold. The Playlist is now 8 hours and 42 minutes. Definitely the longest I've ever made!

In the false light of pre-dawn, Robb slipped from beneath his heavy pile of furs and shuddered in the cold. While the hot springs normally ensured the keep was warm, the fire was only embers now, and Robb's fingers were clumsy with sleep and cold as he dressed quickly, anxious to get warm. Grey Wind sat up and stretched beside the pallet where he slept and then sat back on his haunches, watching Robb dress: boots, breeches, shift, bleached leathers, chainmail over that, and his sword and dagger at his waist. Still shivering, he pulled a fur trimmed cloak over his shoulders.

Today was the day Robb and the bannermen were marching south to Moat Cailin. It felt strange not to know when Robb would see this chamber, or Winterfell, or even his siblings again. The thought made him anxious. He wondered if he was making the right decision to put so much on Bran's shoulders. He would be left as The Stark in Winterfell and would have to take over the duties Robb had been managing as Lord of Winterfell until their father or Robb returned. It was too much to put on the shoulders of a seven year old boy. Barely a few weeks ago, an unknown assassin had tried to kill Bran and very nearly succeeded; if it hadn't been for the actions of Mother and Summer he would have succeeded. The thought made Robb shudder. And then there had been that incident in the wolfswood too.

And what of Rickon? Rickon already went about Winterfell clinging to Robb's legs most of the time and crying for their mother and father. He would think Robb was abandoning him as well. Guilt curled in his gut like a cat curled about one's ankles.

'I don't have a choice,' Robb thought. 'They tried to kill Father, and Mother is still in the Vale or Riverrun,' they still weren't positive which stronghold she had taken Tyrion Lannister to. 'And they have Arya and Sansa. I have to go. Winter is coming.' Robb bit his lip and wished, not for the first time, that Jon were here. He would know what to do. He would know if Jon was making the right decisions.

He had not heard anything from Mother since he'd made the decision to call the banners. From what little he knew of the South, Father was still under arrest and Sansa and Arya had not been seen outside the Red Keep since the incident at Baelor's Sept. And that incident was the preoccupation of a good deal of what little news they had had at Winterfell. Robb still wasn't sure what to make of that. The tales were odd and far-fetched. The only point they seemed to agree on was that a great creature had leapt on top of Ned Stark and dissolved into nothingness when Ilyn Payne struck it with a sword. Beyond that, the few riders who had visited had no conclusive facts, and most of what they'd heard had been third or fourth hand anyway and might not even be accurate.

The Karstarks had arrived the previous day, the last to meet them at Winterfell. Many other bannermen would meet them all along the way south. While Robb did not look forward to leaving his little brothers here, he knew it was time to march if he would do at all. Winter Town was full to bursting as were the grounds both outside and inside Winterfell: Twelve thousand men, three thousand armored lances, and among their number three or four hundred knights. By the time they arrived at Moat Cailin six thousand more would join them. If they did not march soon, his host would eat the land bare. His host. The thought felt odd in his head. When had he gone from Robb-the-boy to Robb-the-lord?

The last of the stars were still in the sky and the moon hung low on the western horizon when Robb descended from his chambers. Someone asked him about breaking his fast, but he shook his head. "I'll go to the Godswood first," he said turning with Grey Wind at his heels. He had had less time to go as of late with the large company of men to contend with. The Godswood was now the only place he felt at peace. He could not reveal that; he had to be strong and without doubt. The men could not see his hesitation, nor could anyone else.

A movement out of the corner of his eye sent Grey Wind into a flurry, dashing from his side in a second and scattering grass and dirt where his claws had gained traction from the ground. He was as good as his namesake before he disappeared after the rabbit, both of them gone into the trees before Robb could say a word. There would have been no point anyway. Grey Wind would come back by the time they needed to ride out.

Robb's feat crunched through the hoarfrost that coated the grass. Autumn would be here very soon now he knew. He heard two dogs snarling over meat in the kennels. He diverted his path and stopped there for a short bit to say goodbye to Shaggydog.

When Robb reached out a gloved hand to pat him, the direwolf slinked back out of reach, green eyes glowing eerily. "Come here. I've got something for you," Robb said in a soothing voice. The wolf took one step, then another as he noticed Robb had a piece of dried jerky in his hand. He came forward and grabbed the meat and let Robb pat him for just a minute before he darted backward into the shadow of the kennel that was his and snapped up the meat while he regarded Robb. "You have to take care of Rickon." Robb said softly. "You know that right?"

The black direwolf tilted his head at the name of his master and took a couple of careful steps back toward Robb again. "He doesn't understand, you see. He's too little to understand. So he's scared." Shaggydog stepped forward again. Once. "He thinks we're all leaving him, but we're not leaving. We'll be back." Two steps. "But I don't know how to explain that to him. Maybe you can somehow." Shaggydog came the rest of the way and finally put his great head in Robb's hands and let Robb rub him behind the ears and under the chin. "There's a good boy. Oh yes, there's a good wolf." Robb soothed. Sometimes he worried for Shaggydog as much as he did his brother. "That's why I need your help. Because I can't explain it to him. But you can't bite people if you want to stay in the Keep," He continued softly as the wolf stared at him with luminous green eyes and finally pressed his huge black head against Robb's chest.

Rickon had turned as wild as a winter storm since Robb had told him he was leaving. Robb understood his anger and confusion. In the last six months, he had lost Mother, Father, Arya, Sansa, Jon and almost Bran. He flew into angry rages and cried inconsolably by turns, was plagued with nightmares, and often refused to eat. On one occasion he had punched and kicked at Old Nan when she tried to soothe him with a lullaby. Another time he disappeared into the wolfswood and then for a longer time another day into the crypts. That had been the worst; when they found him, he was clutching a rusted iron sword, yanked from one of the statues' hands. He had been sitting back into a corner with an angry look in his eyes. "Let me 'lone!" He had yelled at them. Then, Shaggydog had come out of the darkness in a black streak, slathering at the mouth like a green-eyed demon. He'd bitten Gage and tore out a huge chunk of flesh from Mikken's thigh before Grey Wind had been able to subdue him. After that, he'd had to remain chained in the kennels to keep him from hurting anyone else, and Rickon just cried even more.

Robb found another chunk of jerky in his pocket and gave it to Shaggydog and continued rubbing his head, ears and ruff.

"That's as calm as I've seen him in weeks."

Robb and Shaggydog both jumped at once and Robb slipped from the crouch he'd been in and landed on his ass on the cold ground, looking up to see Maester Casales who offered him a hand up. "I didn't realize anyone was there." Robb admitted, his cheeks coloring.

"My apologies. I should have said something sooner," Casales responded, but Robb merely grinned and shook his head, accepting the young maester's hand and hopping to his feet. Shaggydog was back in his kennel, the moment broken as he looked at them both with darting green eyes.

"I don't understand." Robb said sadly, looking at the wolf. "He's turned… feral." Though, it wasn't as if their wolves were 'tame' either.

"No," Casales said, looking at Robb with his dark eyes that seemed far wiser than his six and twenty years. Like most other Salty Dornishmen, the maester had smooth olive-toned skin, dark eyes, and dark hair that hung in ringlets.

Robb looked at him in confusion and Casales clarified his thoughts. "I don't think he's gone feral. Each of your wolves is very connected to you. When Bran was hurt, they all howled for days — but especially Summer. Remember, he would not eat or rest. All he did was pace and howl."

"I remember," Robb said, shuddering slightly.

"Shaggydog doesn't know how to handle Rickon's fear and anger and sadness any better than Rickon does. All he knows is that the human he's bonded to and trusts most in the world is full of anger, hurt, and fear. So, Shaggydog believes he too must fear. And he can't express it any other way than to bite, snap, or cower."

"That makes sense," Robb said, another wave of guilt washing over him. Maybe if he wasn't leaving… but he had to. He had no choice. There was already fighting in the Riverlands and there wasn't even technically a declaration of war at this point. "Can anything be done?"

"I'm not sure," Casales admitted. "I can try to work with him some. I have to admit I have rather more experience with ravens than wolves — of any sort but…"

"I would appreciate it," Robb said. "Anything you can do to help. I'm worried for Bran and Rickon."

Casales put a gentle hand on Robb's shoulder. "They will be all right in time. You'll see. Sometimes we all must weather difficult storms. Starks have been doing so for thousands of years."

"Winter is coming." Robb said, letting out a breath and giving a nod of resolution.

"Indeed, but I've learned that you Starks are a rather hardy lot."

The corners of Robb's mouth curled into a warm smile. "Thanks, Maester Casales."

"You're welcome Robb. Do you want to come and break your fast?"

"Soon," Robb said, glancing up at the sky to see that the last stars were disappearing now. He'd have to hurry. "I was on my way to the Godswood and thought I should…" he gestured at Shaggydog. He refused to say he had thought he should come and say goodbye. It wouldn't be goodbye. He refused that notion adamantly. "I'll be inside soon."

Casales nodded, "I'll go and see to Bran then. He'll want to be up to say goodbye." He didn't mention Rickon, which Robb had a feeling meant that the toddler was still storming the way he had been the previous night while Old Nan was trying to put him to bed.

Robb stopped after a couple of steps and looked back to the Maester who was still watching Shaggydog but looked back at Robb then, seeming to sense his gaze. "Bran will be all right too. I'll see to that."

Robb smiled once more and stepped back to shake hands with the Maester. "I appreciate it. Really."

It had been decided that, with Moat Cailin not a permanent stronghold in centuries and thus without a maester of its own, that Maester Luwin would journey south with Robb to provide counsel and care to those who might be wounded and that Maester Casales would remain in Winterfell to see to its occupants. Robb was eternally thankful that the citadel had not yet found another placement for the young Maester and had sent word that he would like to keep him on at Winterfell for the time being.

Robb left the kennels behind him and continued on his trek across the grounds until he reached the Godswood. Within a couple of minutes of walking, the sounds of Winterfell coming to life and the men at arms waking died away behind him and there was only quiet as he made his trek through the silent woods toward the Heart Tree.

He looked deep into the waters of the black pool that stood beneath the tree, knowing how cold they would be in the chill dawn. The temperatures were changing and there was more late summer snow these days. Autumn would surely be here soon. Robb had never seen a Winter. He had been born in 283 during the short Spring that preceded the beginning of the current summer in 284. Some said it might become the longest summer in recorded history if it lasted much longer. Robb prayed that it would. That was especially true if they would ride South to war. If the summer was not much longer, there would be no more time to bring in more harvests before autumn, and its temperatures were often unpredictable.

When Robb reached the Heart Tree, he knelt in front of it and bowed his head, taking some deep breaths and just trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. He placed a slightly shaky hand on one of the massive roots of the heart tree. Maester Luwin had told him that a weirwood tree would grow forever if it was undisturbed. Robb hoped Winterfell's Heart Tree would grow forever.

"Please hear me, and show me you are with me. I need you." He whispered.

Robb didn't think it was completely in his imagination that the leaves of the Heart Tree and those around it moved slightly for just a moment in a wind that didn't exist. The Old Gods were there with him.

"I'm almost a man grown, but I'm ashamed to admit that I'm afraid. I'm so afraid. I don't know if I've made the right decisions. What if the choices I have made are completely wrong? Mother urged me not to call the banners, and so did Maester Luwin. But I've done it anyway. What if that wasn't the right thing to do. Please show me Your wills and guide me to show me what to do. I feel so alone, but I can't tell anyone. I cannot show my fear, and I cannot look back or.. I.. I'll.. Just please be with me. Please see me in the South. I know at least some Heart Trees are there. Please see me and guide me and help me, because right now I don't feel like a man almost grown. I feel afraid. Father once told Bran that the only time a man can be brave is when he feels afraid, but I don't feel brave right now. I just feel scared. Really, really scared. All of these grown men are looking to me to make decisions that Father would make so much better than I am; I just know it. I'm so afraid I'll let all of them down. What if I'm not what they need? I'm just a green boy; maybe I'm Lord of Winterfell, but that's a technicality, Father is the true Lord of Winterfell. I know they'd rather have him or at least a true man grown. One with experience."

They'd made that quite clear, testing him daily. Roose Bolton and Robbett Glover did so straight out when they each demanded a battle command ; Maege Mormont had made a point to tell him he was young enough to be her grandson, but she'd be happy to have him marry one of her granddaughters; Lord Cerwyn had taken the liberty of actually bringing his daughter along. She was homely and never looked up from her plate to meet Robb's eyes or say one word to him the entire meal they had shared; Lord Hornwood brought gifts every day and never asked a thing — until he did, a holdfast to be taken from his grandfather, hunting rights to a ridge he wished for, and permission to dam the White Knife 'if it please the Lord.' Robb had answered each of them as courteously as he could, but had bent them to his will. Or, he thought he had.

Just when he thought the worst was over, Lord Umber — called the Greatjon — (and he was great, as tall as Hodor and twice as wide) threatened to leave with all his men if he wasn't placed ahead of both the Cerwyns and the Hornwoods. Robb had had no intention of allowing the other men to see him bullied about in that way.

Robb had told Greatjon he was welcome to do as he suggested, but when they'd finished with the Lannisters they'd march back north, root him out of his keep, and have him hanged as an Oathbreaker. Robb had been terrified in that moment that he truly was going to die. The Greatjon had a temper like an autumn storm. Greatjon had started cursing enough to make a septon look like a sailor, hurled an entire flagon of ale into the fire and bellowed that Robb was so green he probably pissed grass. Robb's knees where quaking beneath the table. When Hallis Mollen went to restrain him, Greatjon knocked Hallis to the floor the way one might swat a fly, knocked over a whole table with a single kick, and unsheathed a huge greatsword. Of course, then all his sons and sworn swords were leaping up and grabbing for their steel as well.

Robb had nearly frozen with fear, but collected his senses just in time and called Grey Wind to him. The direwolf had snarled and had Greatjon on the floor in a minute. The man's sword went spinning across the flagstones. Blood coated Greatjon's fingers and more and more was coming. Grey Wind had bitten two of Greatjon's fingers off. Robb had barely managed to find his voice as he stood and said with more conviction than he'd felt, "My lord father taught me that it was death to bare steal against your liege lord, but doubtless you only meant to cut my meat," and for just a moment there was a horrible silence as the Greatjon sucked at the stumps of his fingers, what Grey Wind had left of them. Then, the Greatjon stared up at him from the floor in surprise and then had done something Robb had not expected — laughed! — Roared, actually. "Your meat is bloody tough!" Robb had sat down before he fell down. His legs did not stop shaking the entire rest of the meeting.

That incident had been a fortnight ago and he still got shaky when he thought about it even now.

Robb was embarrassed to feel tears running down his cheeks unchecked. He swiped them away with the backs of his hands angrily. If he was going act as a man grown, he needed to start by not crying like a baby.

Someone needed to help the Tullys against the Lannisters who were already fighting in the riverlands. But it needn't be Robb. He could have sent one of the bannermen or Theon. In fact, that was what Maester Luwin had advised — anyone more experienced than Robb. Robb had told them his Father never would have sent men off knowing they might die while he hid behind the walls of Winterfell like a craven, and they all knew it was true; there was no arguing with that.

He looked back to the Heart Tree. "I need your guidance and your help so I know what to do from here. I'm probably repeating myself at this point. But I'm just scared and not brave. I don't know if I can give what these men need. They need someone who is battle-hardened, strong, wise, with good sense, fair, just, understanding of our ways. They need Father. Not me. Not some green boy. I'm not good enough by half. And if we do poorly, if this was the wrong decision, they will die, and Father and Arya and Sansa might die. I don't think I could bear that, for their blood would be on mine own hands." Something like a knot welled in his throat.

"But if I don't go, they might try to behead Father again or even Arya and Sansa too, and I could not bear that either. I cannot do nothing, but I do not know if I have done right either. I feel at any moment that I may make some horrible, dreadful mistake. I dream at night of all the things that could go wrong, of horrible things happening, and it is so awful I struggle to bear the weight. I cannot imagine how I would manage if they were for true. I would be lost. Please be with me. Please." His last plea was so quiet it was a whisper.

Finally, he pushed himself off the ground, took in a deep breath and looked at the sky, trying for some modicum of control over himself. When he was only slightly calmer, he left the Godswood and made his way back toward the keep.

He broke his fast in the Great Hall, full to bursting as it always was at meals. It could not even begin to accommodate all of them, so Robb had taken turns having the men to meals. Those that could not fit and whose turn it was not, dined on their bedrolls in the keep's grounds. He was too keyed up to eat much. He accepted some warm bread, a piece of bacon, and two boiled eggs, but managed only to eat a bite of the bread and one of the eggs. Everything seemed to stick in his throat.

As the first rays of light began to peek through the long, narrow windows that lined the Great Hall, Robb stood from his place on the dais. "It is time we were away. A long day of riding awaits." Robb says. "We will meet beyond the outer walls in five and ten minutes." And when he had finished speaking, the hubbub of voices and scraping of benches and moving of men grew loud as they left the Great Hall to saddle their horses and make their final preparations.

Not wanting to waste food, Robb gave the last of his breakfast to Grey Wind, who gobbled it down enthusiastically. Grey Wind had an insatiable appetite and grew to match it. He was already significantly larger than a regular wolf by far.

Outside the walls of the keep, Bran, Old Nan, Rickon, Maester Casales and the rest of the household that would not be going with them were gathered to say goodbye. Robb noticed that Grey Wind and Summer looked deeply somber and Summer was licking Grey Wind's face and Grey Wind was doing the same in return — as if they understood it might be a long time before they saw each other again.

Rickon sobbed and held to Robb's legs, crying while snot ran down his face and mixed with his tears, and Robb could barely even make out what he was saying beyond "No go!" It rent his heart in two and tested his conviction yet again when he had to forcibly remove Rickon's hands from his legs.

He knelt down so he was at a level with the boy. "I'm sorry, Rickon, but I have to go." But when Robb moved to hug him, Rickon hit him hard across the face as hard as he could, which admittedly wasn't very hard because he was three — though the smack hurt in much deeper ways than physical pain — kicked Robb in the knee, and tore away from the crowd sobbing that he wanted Shaggydog. Immediately, Maester Casales excused himself to hurry after Rickon. That made Robb feel at least a tiny bit better.

Bran was in his special saddle, mounted on Dancer's back and Robb knew that Bran was struggling not to cry just like Robb was. When they hugged, Bran held onto Robb so hard that he pulled himself out of the saddle. Robb stumbled for a second but managed to hold him. He was strong. Bran's dead legs dangled, but Robb still had no problem holding his little brother. He held him very, very tight. Bran buried his face in Robb's neck and clenched his arms around Robb's shoulders. Robb could feel Bran's hot tears on his skin and had to swallow over and over and look at the sky to keep the tears in his own eyes from falling. Bran held Robb back just as fiercely. "Please come back Robb. Please."

"I will. And I'm going to bring back Mother and Father and Arya and Sansa. And then we will all be together again. Just like we always have been." Robb managed through the thickness of his throat.

"Promise." Bran asked in a way that was both a demand and a question all rolled into one.

"I promise," He sucked in a breath. "But you must be brave for me. You are The Stark in Winterfell. You are the Lord of Winterfell until I return. You must listen to the council Maester Casales brings you and trust him and Hallis and the others. You must love Rickon and remind him every day that we all love him too." Robb felt a guilt at the weight he was putting on Bran's shoulders — much too much for a seven year old, but there was nothing else to be done. "You must be strong and brave."

Bran nodded his head fervently against Robb's shoulder. "I will, Robb, I promise." He sniffed back his tears and released one hand from his death grip to swipe at his eyes.

"Good. I love you so much, little brother. And I'm so proud of you. I always will be." He lifted Bran back onto Dancer's back and Bran leaned forward, still hugging Robb as long as he could before Robb stepped back and took the reins of his horse from Hallis. It was time to go.

He swung up onto the grey stallion's back with ease and looked out at the thousands and thousands of men awaiting him in long columns, backing up to make a path so he might ride to the front to take command. There was something about it that made his stomach flip with both nervousness and excitement. He trotted his horse to the head of the column with Hallis and Theon nearby.

Theon reached out to touch Robb's shoulder for a moment. "You did well. I know that wasn't easy," he said, his tone warmer and more serious than his usual joking around.

"No. It wasn't." He said with a sigh. "Thanks, Theon. I.. I'm not sure that I could do this without you."

"Well, lucky for you, you've got me." Theon said, his usual joking self returning and making Robb smile despite his sadness.

He took a breath, took one last look back at his family and at Winterfell and then gave the signal to move out. Within a few minutes, Winterfell was barely a grey dot on the horizon and the bannermen streamed out behind him in a great mass. The smallfolk of both the keep and Winter Town shouted and cheered as Robb and his bannermen road through.

Finally, he couldn't see Winterfell at all. He gave the courser his head then, and after that, he looked only forward.

It was a week of riding before they reached the Neck, where the landscape began to change. The ground began to get softer under the feet of both horses and men, and rather than open spaces there were more trees and shrubs. Then, the trees started to change type and close in around them making the path murky and dark with only occasional dappled light filtering down through the dense canopy above and only on the brightest days. Now, there were Willow, Tupelo, Mangrove, and Cypress clothed with lichen and great swaths of hanging moss.

The Kingsroad slowly became narrower, and their column had to narrow to fit it as well. Water began to collect in marshy areas around the road. First only in tiny spots but then into a true water-logged swamp with pools of standing water and trees growing up out of that water rather than from land. Lily pads, fallen logs, and algae covered the water as well as the trees rising, twisting, leaning toward the center. Finally, there was no road at all but only a very narrow causeway on a raised embankment with full swamp closing around them on either side.

The weather had changed as well. There was no chill in the air like the North. It was warm, even hot. He'd forgone his fur trimmed cloak by now. The heat wasn't like the warm days of summer in Winterfell though. It was wet, heavy, and humid; Robb felt as if he was breathing in water as well as air. The heat seemed to form a blanket, low-lying, in the swamps around them. It was oppressive.

However, the swamps had their own mysterious kind of beauty. Huge flowers of every color imaginable bloomed everywhere, and colorful creatures of every type filled the swamps: little bright blue and red lizards and frogs, birds great and small, snakes with colorful bands, turtles sunning themselves on rocks — though they'd snap at anyone close — , moths and insects with shimmering wings, fish swimming fast appearing and disappearing in the murkiness, gigantic lizard-lions that even Grey Wind stayed well clear of, and deer and rabbits darting quickly away into the trees upon approach — which Grey Wind did not stay clear of. Squirrels chattered in the trees above, and sometimes there was the flash of red and white of a fox's tail, and the sound of beavers gnawing wood for their dams and slapping the water with their tails. Raccoons washed their food and watched them with intent, beady eyes behind their masks of black, and feral hogs snorted and squealed in muddy areas. There were armadillos with their odd little bodies. As darkness descended, bats came out to hunt along with fireflies dotting the night with their twinkling glow.

Robb was so busy looking at everything that occasionally he lost track of anything but the swamp around him. Sound seemed almost muted here, and didn't echo quite the same as in open areas which made the footfalls of horses and men quieter and less noticeable. Robb knew that the crannogmen lived in these swamps. Sometimes he saw what he thought were their shadows moving in the trees, but when he took a second look they were gone, if they had ever been there at all. Only rarely did he see one of the little reed houses they lived in, built on floating islands in the mire. Most of them were well hidden within the trees and out of sight, seemingly as reclusive as the men who built them.

On the third day in the swamps — where the going was much slower and they covered a third or less the distance they had thus far — Robb was surprised by the appearance of a man mounted on a small, hardy-looking, sure-footed pony coming North toward them.

The pony was dark bay with panagré markings about its eyes and muzzle that also traveled over its flanks and underbelly. Despite being perhaps only 12 hands tall, it was stocky and hardy-looking indeed with a deep chest and broad back. Its short legs were heavy with muscle and good bone. It had a large head with small ears and an odd fleshiness about the eye which Robb would later learn helped to keep water out of its eyes. It had a thick mane and tail and a coat that seemed as if it would run water off the pony rather than soaking through to the skin. Robb had never seen a pony or horse like it before.

The man was clad in a shirt of bronze scales and wielded a three-pronged frog spear and a round leather shield. A knife also hung at his waist and a large net of some sort was fastened to his pony's saddle. He was a compact man, short and slim but strong like his pony. He rode with his back straight. His dark hair was cut relatively short — perhaps due to the climate and was a bit wild. His chin was covered with a short brown beard and mustache. His hazel eyes seemed wise once he got close enough for Robb to see them. He had scratches on his weather-beaten face.

Robb called for a halt and was about to ask the the crannogman his business, but the man spoke first. "Robb Stark." He didn't ask it as a question though.

"Aye," Robb said, guardedly. Grey Wind's hackles raised but he did not react otherwise.

"You favor your Mother, but I can see some of Ned in you." He said thoughtfully, then smiled. "Howland Reed. I am in your service, my lord."

A great smile spread over Robb's face as he leapt down from his horse's back and went to embrace Howland like a brother though they had never met. Robb had heard so much about Howland from his father that it was almost like seeing his father in some odd way. Howland embraced Robb in return, clapping him on the back, and both men grinned like fools.

"I had expected you at the Mouth of the Neck," Robb said, though with no judgment.

"My apologies, My Lord. I was south with Helman Tallhart and Galbert Glover at Moat Cailin when I received your summons. And, as you've likely seen, it's not quick journeying here."

"Gods, just Robb please," He muttered, feeling his face go all red and cursing his Tully complexion for it. He was not his father.

"Yes, you are your Father's son," Howland decided at that. "And thank the Gods for it. We need more men like Ned."

Robb blushed again. (Accursed Tully complexion!) "You've been at Moat Cailin?" Robb asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Indeed."

"How is the progress there? Have you time to ride back with us the rest of the way that I might feast you? — at least to the degree we can in current conditions." He added the rest as an afterthought — this was not Winterfell, after all.

"It is excellent. I believe you'll be pleased when you see; it would be my pleasure to ride with you. And this is the wolf I've heard so much about."

"This is Grey Wind. You can say hello to him if you like."

As if the direwolf understood Robb's words, he stepped forward and let Howland scratch him behind the ears. He liked it, Robb could tell, as he laid his great head over in Howland's hand in response to the scratching and even let his eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Seems that he likes you," Robb said, pleased.

"Seems he's as good a judge of character as his master, then," Howland grinned. "If we would ride more today we had best do it now before it gets much later." Robb knew what he meant; he had already learned that this was not a place to be out without camp in the dark what with the lizard lions, swine, and even black bears that roamed the area.

Robb and Howland re-mounted and, at Robb's invitation, Howland drew his pony into step beside Robb's courser with the Greatjon falling back to yield the place and the company began moving once more.

"I would have you tell me more about this place. It's nothing like I've ever seen before." Robb admitted. He had never been south and had not expected how different it would be.

Moat Cailin rose out of the shimmering late afternoon humidity almost like a mirage. Robb remembered the things he had been taught about the Moat by Maester Luwin during their lessons.

The Neck, which contained Moat Cailin, was the division of North and South in Westeros. While the swamps of the Neck were already a protection in and of themselves due to the things that lived there and the quicksand, Moat Cailin made the Neck completely impassable from the South. One could not wade through the water across the causeway without being in direct line of fire from the archers above in Moat Cailin's three remaining towers. Moreover, the moat proper had been dug waist deep and purposefully filled with an entire population of lizard-lions left to their own devices.

Nonetheless, it was not quite what Robb had been expecting when they got close enough to see it. "Once there were twenty towers here, a wooden keep, and a basalt wall as high as Winterfell's." Howland Reed told Robb as they approached.

Robb felt a certain sadness upon hearing that. Now, Moat Cailin looked little more than a ruin. Huge blocks of basalt scattered about were the only hint of the great wall that had once stood. The wooden keep had rotted away as if it had never been there, the swampy land having reclaimed itself. Only three stone towers remained. They were covered in moss and ghostskin. However, the causeway passed right between all three towers, and Robb saw his father's point in arming it. No army could effectively cross here without being at the mercy of every archer above with no way to fight back.

"It is a shame isn't it?" Howland said with a sad smile. "That this is all that's left."

"It truly is. Perhaps it should be rebuilt properly," Robb mused.

"It would be nice if it could be, but at the moment we have greater concerns." And Robb knew he was right. Still, it was something he would keep in mind for the future.

"That one is the Children's Tower," Howland pointed up. It was tall and slender, though in disrepair like the other parts of the ruin. It was missing half the crenelations of its crown. "The large one over there is the Gatehouse Tower." It was low but wide and was the only tower not leaning. Its stone was dark and even more covered with lichen than the others. There were some walls still around it. A tree was growing through its northern side, but it still looked strong. "And that one is the Drunkard's Tower. You can probably guess how it got its name."

Robb chuckled, "It's as leant over as a drunk man." He suggested. The tower stood where the south and walls should have met had they still been intact.

Howland Reed also laughed and nodded, "Yes, exactly."

"So, basically, you think this can hold the North even if all our bannermen aren't at home to protect their lands?"

"I'm sure of it. You've got it well manned, and even in ten thousand years Moat Cailin has never been taken from the South."

"Those odds are pretty good," Robb admitted with a grin. "You and the rest of your men will remain here in the Neck and help ensure no Southron forces slip by the Moat," He said decisively.

"A wise choice," Howland agreed. "You can rest here, regroup, assign commands, and then move to join the fighting in the riverlands." Howland suggested. "If I may be so bold."

"I'm happy to take your advice. I think that is indeed what I'll do."

"Furthermore," Howland continued "if any foolish Southroners should try to come through the Neck, we will bleed them every step of the way," Howland assuaged, grinning.

"Do you think they'd even try?" Robb asked, thoughtfully.

"Unfortunately, much as I'd like the pleasure, I highly doubt it. I suspect Lord Tywin is too smart to try something that hasn't succeeded in ten thousand years."

Robb nodded, "In that case, he's going to take the keeps of the river lords one at a time, sticking close to the Trident. If allowed, he'll keep going until Riverrun stands alone."

"Well thought, Robb," the Greatjon boomed from behind them. And then he was blushing all over again, Godsdammit.

"So, as Lord Howland suggests, we'll wait until all the bannermen have joined us and then march South to engage Lord Tywin in the Riverlands before he can do that. We'll be able to discuss it further after we've eaten, but it seems the most logical way to go about this." Robb said, nodding his head as he further told himself it was the right decision.

As they came closer to the Moat, they heard a shout from above and Robb shaded his eyes to look upward where he saw Lord Galbert Glover atop Children's Tower. Robb lifted a hand and waved at him in greeting. Lord Galbert disappeared from the top of the tower and was soon outside along with Lord Helman, greeting them and making them welcome. Robb slid down off his horse, giving the courser an affectionate pat before handing him off to one of Lord Helman's men who offered to feed and massage him down. Normally, Robb would have seen to his own horse, but more urgent matters meant he was willing to accept the help.

Howland Reed grinned as Robb let his horse be led away. "Well, what are we waiting for then? Let's go inside. I'm rather looking forward to seeing you try frog legs, Robb."