Chapter 12 Dying Wolves

'I, Robb Stark…'

Maester Luwin spread out the sheet of parchment and began to transcript his King's last testament and will. He dipped the quill in a pot of ink and began writing down the words in shorthand. He tried to control his hand from shaking. Robb Stark slowly dictated his last testament and will.

'I, Robb Stark have served as the King of the North for only two short years, yet I have managed to accomplish and lose more than any previous King has ever done. Now with the war turning against us due to lack of capability of my generals, I do hereby state my last will and testament.'

Luwin noticed his hands, usually so strong and deft were shaking ferociously. He pinned down his wrist and forced himself to write in neat shorthand. The King had decided to state his will after the scouts reported Lord Randyll Tarly had encircled Winterfell. The Greatjon, Ser Brynden Tully and Ser Rodrik Cassel stood as sacred witnesses to their King's will, Greatjon fresh from the Wall. Lord Umber was amongst the last few to enter the castle before the siege.

They were in a basement deep below Winterfell's great keep. With the Lannister bombarding Winterfell day and night Robb had commanded all high-ranking lords of the North to retreat into the bunkers dug beneath Winterfell. There were no windows in the room where they were in, only a dull lamp, and Luwin felt claustrophobic. He tugged at the choker at his neck.

'All my earthly positions of value shall belong to my Kingdom, and if the Kingdom ceases to exist then no further decisions of mine are necessary. Save for my fine collection of maps, of which I gift to my half-brother and friend Jon Snow at the wall, as reward for his long years of friendship.'

'When such a moment comes when I am dead or incapable of ruling the Kingdom of the North, I nominate my Great-nuncle Ser Brynden Tully to be Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm and have full authority to make all decisions, about the realm or the war, until such time when a suitable heir presents itself. If Ser Brynden is likewise incapable, I nominate Lord Rickard Karstark, after him Lord Jason Mallister, after which Lord Jon Umber. '

'It is my most sincere wish that these may be duly executed. Finished.'

Maester Luwin drew up the parchment and handed it to Robb Stark. Robb looked.

'Good. Make a few official transcripts.' Robb fixed his seal and signed the document. He strode out of the room, Lord Umber and the two knights followed him. Maester Luwin sighed and began copying the document. He slowly scrawled a copy, than another.

He began to think, of himself. He was certain Winterfell would fall, but then what? He was no warrior, if he managed to survive the storming he would most likely be arrested by the Lannisters and thrown into a camp. As a Maester of the Citadel the Archmaesters would surely offer a handsome ransom to the Lannisters for him, but would the Lannisters be willing to let him go? He gave sage council to the Starks many times, he was one of the men who came up with Operation Brandon and he wrote many orders authorizing massacres of Lannister Prisoners of War. He decided if the Tarlys breached into Winterfell he would choose death over humiliation.

Someone rapped at the door. Luwin rose and opened it, and saw it was the Lady Catelyn, her face pale white and her eyes red. She had obviously been crying.

'Lady Catelyn,' Luwin asked, 'what has happened?'

Catelyn closed the door behind her. She looked at the verge of tears. Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, the strongest woman he ever knew was at the brim of crying. 'Robb… has just commanded me to leave Winterfell before Matthis Rowan closes in from the North,' Catelyn finally managed.

Luwin was not surprised. Randyll Tarly had not finished the complete encirclement of Winterfell yet, he was waiting for Lord Rowan to lead his portion of the army to fill in the gap in the north. No doubt Robb saw this as a last chance for the Lady Catelyn to escape.

'Maester Luwin, I have never disobeyed an order of my son before. Never! Now he orders me to leave him and escape…' A tear welled up at Lady Catelyn's eye. She rubbed it away savagely with one hand. 'I have never defied his orders before, but I will defy this one! I shall remain at Winterfell with him, to the bitter end.' Lady Catelyn broke down and cried.

Maester Luwin rose and patted her. 'It is all right, my lady, have a good cry,' he murmured softly.

Lady Catelyn tore away from him. She straightened her posture. 'Maester Luwin… I wish to dictate my last will and testament,' she said solemnly.

'My Lady, I'm making copies of His Grace's last testament.'

'I see.' The Lady Catelyn had a queer expression on her face, mingled sadness and horror. 'I… will not be bothering you, then, Maester.'

'Another day, perhaps,' agreed Luwin.

'One more thing, Maester. I shall require a dose of Sweetsleep.'

'Of course, My Lady.' Luwin had bought a wooden case of the common herbs and potions down to the bunker complex. He produced a small glass beaker filled with clear liquid.

'One drop can soothe ragged nerves and shaking hands and make the user feel strong and calm. Two drops will give a long, peaceful and dreamless sleep. But beware of an overdose…'

'I am clear of the consequences of an overdose, Maester,' snapped Catelyn, taking the beaker and leaving. Maester Luwin suddenly, horrified, realized why Catelyn wanted Sweetsleep. He wished to chase after her but it seemed inappropriate.

He spent the rest of the long day pondering over Robb Stark's last testament and the best methods of suicide. He decided for Sweetsleep as well, it was a merciful poison. In the afternoon he left the bunker and went to the battlements, and saw another horde of Lannister horse was appearing from the North. Matthis Rowan had finally arrived to Winterfell. Now, with Rowan's divisions joined up with Tarly's corps Winterfell was fully encircled.

Luwin watched as the choice of fleeing was taken out of his hands.

He was copying another copy of his King's will when he was summoned to war council.

The counseling room was not full. Only Lord Umber, Ser Brynden, Lord Flint and Lord Mallister were in. Mallister was bending over a large map sprawled on the table reporting the situation.

'Your Grace, Winterfell is under heavy siege now. The Southern Gate is in critical condition, we have managed to repair the damage inflicted by Lannister catapults but it is still weaker than it used to be. In the North, Rowan's corps have joined Tarly.'

'If Tarly decides to storm the castle, how long could Winterfell hold?' Asked the king.

Not if, thought Luwin, when.

'Even at the best guess, after the walls are breached Winterfell can only hold for two or three days,' Mallister said.

'Your Grace,' Ser Brynden stepped up. 'As a soldier I advise you to try and break through the siege lines. Lord Rowan has just arrived and has not set up proper defenses and trenches, I advise to lead a skirmish and try and break through. Your Grace…'

'His Grace cannot be disappear from history as a coward!' roared the Greatjon.

'Even if I can break through the lines of the Lannister cavalry,' Robb slowly said, his voice hoarse and rough as if he had not been sleeping at all, 'I would only be leaving one encirclement to enter another, and await my end out in the wild. Our best choice would be to hold firm.'

Robb pointed at the map sprawled on the table, the marks of the wine cup he flung at the Blackfish still clear to see. 'In the North, Lord Umber's uncles still have another army and in the south there is a stout garrison at Castle Cerwyn. If they can attack and break the siege…'

'Your Grace, I have received a raven about the matter,' Luwin remembered. 'Mors Umber and his host are trapped between the Lannisters and Long Lake, and the garrison in Castle Cerwyn has been overwhelmed and destroyed.' Luwin was trembling.

'Have they.' Robb Stark did not seemed to be surprised or angry about the information. There was nothing in his eyes but boredom. 'Find a way to tell Mors Umber to drive for Winterfell no matter what.'

Slowly, Robb Stark rose, and left the room. Around the door, he was blocked by Lord Flint, freshly arrived from above and covered with dust from the battle. 'Your Grace,' said Flint, 'we are out of arrows and oil in the battlements. Please give instructions.'

Robb raised his glance at Flint. 'I forbid you or any high-ranking lord in my kingdom to surrender,' said the King. 'Trust me. Mors Umber will come. He will come.'

Slowly the King walked out of the chamber. The second the door slammed shut behind him, Ser Brynden Tully shouted, 'I only want to know if Mors Umber is capable of attacking!'

'Mors Umber's pitiful little army… is not enough to make a difference…' Lord Jason said slowly.

'Why cannot my uncle make a difference?' shouted the Greatjon.

'Because Umber does not have enough troops to even SAVE HIS OWN ASS!' Bellowed Lord Jason Mallister, in a terrible voice that made even the Greatjon seem scared.

'Then are you mad, Mallister?' demanded the Blackfish. 'Why didn't you tell His Grace that Mors Umber is not capable of attacking?'

'Do you think His Grace does not know?' demanded Lord Flint. 'He will never retreat or flee again, neither will I. I've already fled once in Seaguard, and once is ENOUGH!'

The Blackfish looked around incredulously. 'I need to get out of here,' he mumbled, and left the room. Maester Luwin scurried out of the room as well, retreating to his bunker.

There, he slowly took out another small glass bottle of Sweetsleep and hid it up his sleeve. He expected to be using it soon.