Robb had grown weary of looking at maps. He was quite certain he could draw a map of the Riverlands and Westerlands from memory by now. Still, if he wished to teach Bran the same lessons their father taught him, Robb needed to do so in the little free time available to him. It wasn't as though he could stop council meetings to explain every decision to Bran. And really, Robb didn't mind so much. His brother was one of the few people in Riverrun at the moment that Robb felt as though he could be just Robb, rather than the King.
Bran sat across from Robb at his desk in Robb's solar, with yet another map of the Riverlands laid out between them. Their mother relaxed by the window with her needlework with Grey Wind sprawled out at her feet. Catelyn, Robb knew, liked to pretend as though she paid no mind to their lessons, but he'd caught her smiling fondly in their direction on more than one occasion. It was almost enough for Robb to feel content.
As much as he tried not to, he could only think of those who should be there with them. Rickon, who was stuck alone in Winterfell, should learn these same lessons. Theon, somewhere in the Crownlands, doing what Robb could not. Sansa, Arya, Alysanne, his father; Robb hardly felt that he was imparting these lessons onto Bran half as effectively as their father had. Though, Bran's quick understanding of how best to solve the issue of the Ironborn in the North had been somewhat reassuring to Robb that he hadn't completely made a mess of it.
As promised, Robb allowed Bran to present his solution to the problem of the Ironborn. None of the men with Robb in the Riverlands, or with Alysanne in the Westerlands, could reach the North quicker than Lord Tallhart and his men at the Twins, Bran had reasoned. If they sent Lord Tallhart and his men back North, they could join with other bannermen left behind while still leaving enough to defend their keeps.
Bran's plan had been met with keen approval from the lords. Lord Bolton requested that he be allowed to take a contingent of men North as well, for further support. Robb declined his request, not out of any ill feelings towards Lord Bolton, but because he thought he would need every man he could get if he was to take Harrenhal. Something which later proved to be of no matter, after all.
Robb had just laid out a new map, one of the Riverlands and the Westerlands, when the door to his solar slammed open. His mother started, and both he and Bran surged to their feet along with Grey Wind. Lewys Piper, Robb's new squire, stood huffing and puffing in the doorway, his face bright red and glistening with a sheen of sweat.
Robb hurriedly rounded his desk and marched up to the young boy, placing a firm hand upon his shoulder. "What is it? What's happened, Lewys?" The boy was still trying to catch his breath, and Robb's concern only grew.
Lewys, wild and bold though he was, still wasn't the type to barge in without announcing himself. The boy remembered his courtesies, and Robb had only just got his squire to stop referring to him as your grace when it was just the two of them. What's frightened him so?
With a slight shake to his shoulder, Robb repeated the question. "Come now, Robb, give the boy a moment to catch his breath," his mother said.
Lewys shook his head. "I'm sorry, Robb," he gasped out between breaths. "I ran here all the way from the Maester's tower." He shoved a sealed letter into Robb's chest. "It's from Prince Jon."
Jon. Robb nearly snatched it from Lewys' hands and tried to not let his own hands shake as he broke the seal. It hadn't been long since Alysanne last wrote to him, several weeks at most, to let him know of Dorne's arrival. Dorne, and a supposed King Aegon. Why are they writing again so soon? And why Jon rather than Alysanne? Dread started to root itself deep into his stomach.
Robb hardly made it past the first line before a relieved laugh escaped him. In his familiar messy scrawl, Jon had written: Alysanne has taken Casterly Rock.
"Well? What does it say?" Bran pressed with an impatient shove to Robb's shoulder. Robb batted lightly at Bran's head, who dodged out of the way, and it aggrieved Robb to note that his younger brother was nearly of a height with him.
His mother chuckled at theirantics, and Robb flashed her a grin before returning his attention to the letter. "Alysanne has taken the Rock," Robb announced with pride. "She—" Robb stopped short and his stomach dropped, taking his grin with it. The dread returned with a swift vengeance. It can't be. Lewys did not spot Robb's change in demeanor, nor did Bran. They both let out excited cheers.
"Can I go spread the word?" Lewys pleaded, all but bouncing on his toes.
Robb floundered for a moment, but hastily regained his composure. "Aye, go ahead," he responded with a strained smile. "And tell Lord Edmure to organize a feast tonight, in celebration." Another excited whoop, and Lewys was once more tearing out of the room.
"Robb, what is it?" His distress had not slipped by his mother, who swept across the room towards him the moment Lewys vanished from the room. The uneasy note in her voice caught Bran's attention, and he regarded Robb with wide eyes.
He did not wish to speak the words, to tear them from the parchment and make them true. I have no choice. Robb closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the letter. "After they took Casterly Rock, a Lannister soldier surrendered to Ser Addam and Jon. It was only a ploy. The boy meant the blow for Jon, but Ser Addam shielded him from it."
His mother caught his grim tone. "By the gods," she choked out. She eased herself into a seat in front of his desk.
Bran shifted his gaze between the two of them, confusion writ large across his face. Robb grimaced. He had not forgotten that Bran squired under Ser Addam, that he was perhaps the man his younger brother looked up to most, aside from their father. Ser Addam had gifted Bran the very sword which sat propped up by the door. He'd trained him, knighted him. Ser Addam had a hand in training them all, really.
Those were some of Robb's favorite memories from his childhood. Hours spent in the training yard with Jon and Theon, running through drills with Ser Rodrik and Ser Addam. At feasts, they would corner Ser Addam and pester him to tell them stories of the Rebellion, or other knights of legend, until he relented.
His tongue felt dry, and the words stuck in his throat. He did not want to continue and give voice to the unthinkable. "The blow was to the stomach. There was nothing to be done."
Another shuddering breath, and his mother closed her eyes. Bran simply gaped at him with the beginnings of grief snaking across his face. "You don't mean that," Bran begged.
"I'm sorry, Bran." Bran sagged back down into his seat, and Catelyn moved her chair closer to wrap a comforting arm around him.
Bran buried his face in his hands while their mother rubbed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She hugged Bran close and stared at Robb. "Alysanne. The poor girl." Catelyn's eyes glistened, and Robb blinked away his own tears.
Alys. She had loved Ser Addam like a father, and Robb imagined he could feel her grief now, all the way from Casterly Rock. His own grief for his father was still raw; red and stinging around the edges. If he prodded at it, he could still feel the fury he'd felt when he first heard of how Joffrey slaughtered him.
"I should go to her." Robb returned to his seat behind the desk. "I should ride for Casterly Rock. She shouldn't be alone." He slouched and glared down at the letter in his hands. He could not bring himself to read on.
His mother tsked. "She isn't alone, Robb. She has Arya, and Jon. Wylla and Jorelle as well." She gave one last squeeze to Bran's shoulder and leaned her weight onto the desk in front of her. "And you're the King. As hard as it is, you cannot go to her."
"Were I anyone else," Robb exhaled.
"But you're not," his mother said, not unkindly. She nodded to the parchment still clasped in his hand. "What else did Jon say?"
Robb flipped to the next page of Jon's letter, and his mouth slackened. Jon's gone mad, he must have. He reread the paragraph, once, twice, before he looked back at Bran and his mother in disbelief. "Alysanne had a pyre, for Ser Addam," was all he could say, but that wasn't the half of it.
Dragons. He didn't know where to begin. It's all a grand jape, it must be. There hadn't been dragons in over a century.
"Do you mean to say she burned him?" Catelyn blinked rapidly, and if not for the circumstances, Robb might have found it comical. "His family will not be pleased. By rights, she should have sent his remains to his family."
Bran snorted. "She was his family, mother. And the Marbrands fight for the Lannisters," he spat. "Alysanne was well within her rights."
For a moment, Bran's defiance left Catelyn at a loss for words, and she reared back in shock. She opened her mouth to correct Bran, but not before Robb said, "that isn't all, neither is it the most important thing."
With a despondent sigh, Catelyn scrutinized the letter in Robb's hands warily. "What else is there?"
Robb reread Jon's words once more, to be certain he hadn't somehow misread them or made the whole thing up in a fit of madness. The ink had not changed, and Robb found himself unable to repeat them any louder than a whisper. "Dragons. Alysanne hatched dragons."
It felt as though all the air had been stolen from the room, before Bran softly repeated, "Dragons?"
His mother shook her head. "You're lying."
Robb passed Bran the letter to read for himself. "I'm not. And I don't believe Jon is." It might have been something Jon would find to be a funny jape, once, but Robb did not think he would make such a story up now. Especially considering the news of Ser Addam.
"How in the seven hells did she manage that?" His mother asked.
"Jon did not say much," Robb shook his head. "Only that she placed the dragon eggs with Ser Addam, and let them burn with him. Hers, Jon's, Aegon's. When the fire burned away, there were three new hatchlings."
With a muttered curse, his mother slouched back into her seat. Bran cursed as well, only to be met with a cuff to the head from their mother, and passed her the letter next to read for herself. Catelyn gave it a cursory glance before tossing it onto the desk between them.
Robb wished Jon had given more detail than simply she placed the eggs on the pyre. He had never been one for words, Jon. But this, Robb felt, deserved to be the exception. Dragons. This changed everything. Aegon the Conqueror took the Seven Kingdoms with three dragons, and now the North had two. It doesn't matter if this Aegon wants the North to kneel. They had two dragons to his one.
"What do we do now?" Bran asked. Robb almost laughed. What do we do now?
"They'll still be small, yes? There isn't much we can do." While she spoke, Catelyn's eyes did not move from where they were trained on Jon's message.
After his mother and Bran left, Robb spent the rest of the day agonizing over how to reply to Jon's letter, as well as what to write to Alys. What was one supposed to say to such news? Dragons, of all things. What words could he offer Alysanne to make up for his absence? None was the answer. There was nothing anyone could have said to Robb to ease his hurt after the death of his father.
He did not push Alysanne for information regarding the dragon in his letter to her. He only lamented that he could not be there, and that he was beyond proud of her victory. His letter to Jon, on the other hand, all but ordered him to tell him more. There had to be more. If it was as easy as placing dragon eggs on a funeral pyre, dragons would have returned to the world ages ago, perhaps even at Summerhall. They might not have even died out in the first place. No, there's something more.
By the time he'd finished writing his letters to Jon and Alysanne, as well as others he'd been putting off, the sun had just dipped below the horizon and he found himself with just enough time to ready himself for the feast. He called for a warm bath, and set to readying himself.
It did not take him long to bathe and dress his chambers to head to the feast, only to stop short. Awaiting him outside his chambers were Beth, Eddara, and Jeyne, all dressed and ready for the feast, but in no apparent hurry to make their way to the Great Hall. They fell into brief curtseys before rising again, but said nothing more. Instead, they nudged one another, having wordless conversations until Robb cleared his throat.
With one last pointed glare from Beth, Eddara stepped forward. "Is it true what Lewys said?"
Once the silence had been broken, the other ladies found their own voices. Before Robb could even think of a response to Eddara, Beth, and Jeyne piled on with, "Has Alys taken Casterly Rock?"
All at once, Robb felt remiss for not sending for Alysanne's ladies earlier, as he'd done with Alysanne's last letter. With the letter regarding Dorne, Alysanne had made a point to tell Robb to pass along her best wishes to Eddara, Beth, and Jeyne. Alysanne loved her friends dearly, he knew, and they loved her just as fiercely. After all, they followed her from Winterfell to the Riverlands, when they would have been quite within their rights to remain in the North.
"She has." Robb did his best to smile; they were fond of Ser Addam as well. He had no desire to ruin their good cheer, but neither did it feel right to keep such news from them.
The girls tittered amongst themselves for a moment, paying no notice of the strained nature of Robb's smile. This time, it was Beth who spoke up first. "Is there aught else? Any word of Wylla or Jorelle? Or Arya and Prince Jon?"
"There was no mention of Wylla or Jorelle, but Jon wrote that Arya fought valiantly and without fear." Jeyne beamed at the mention of Arya, but Robb's own smile wobbled. "There was—"
All three ladies hushed at his shift in expression. Eddara gripped tight onto Beth's arm. "Is Alysanne alright? What happened?"
Robb glanced at each of them in turn, and Jeyne withdrew from her place just behind Beth and Eddara to stand next to them, grasping onto Beth's other arm. "Ser Addam was injured, in the process. He did not recover from his wounds."
Eddara clasped her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, and Jeyne went wan. Beth shook her head, red curls bouncing as she repeated her denial over and over again.
He allowed them a moment to collect themselves before escorting them down, and they walked together in silence.
The feast hall buzzed with the thrill of Alysanne's victory. Bran's stony silence and Alysanne's ladies subdued demenors the only indication that the news from the Westerlands hadn't been entirely good-tidings. His mother chatted cheerfully to Lord Manderly, well practiced by now at keeping her grief under wraps. The three ladies split from Robb to find their place at one of the lower tables, and Robb proceeded to his spot on the dais.
Tomorrow. He would share with everyone the news of Ser Addam at tomorrow's war council. There was no need to dampen the celebrations tonight. Such a definitive victory had done well for the spirits of his men, as the good morale from Lord Tywin's retreat had already begun to wane. The news of Ser Addam's passing would not grieve many of the lords, but Robb knew a good few had warmed to the man. The Greatjon, for one, enjoyed trading stories of past battles. Lord Manderly had been friendly with him as well, bonding with him at the last feast over their shared love of roasted trout.
And what of the dragons? Could he share that bit of news? Persuading them of Aegon's legitimacy had been an arduous task, as it was. Robb might not have believed it himself, had Jon and Alysanne not been so assured in their letter to him. It was their word that swayed many of his lords, as well as the apparent testimony of Prince Oberyn, but a handful were still not convinced. Lord Bolton, for one, was proving to be difficult on the matter. Lord Bolton is difficult on many matters these days.
After they'd received news of Tywin's retreat from Harrenhal, Lord Bolton had been insistent that Robb allow him to give chase. "How can we be sure it isn't a trap?" he'd claimed. "He could make for Maidenpool, or even Darry." There was reason to his arguments, and Robb agreed. But Robb gave the task to Lord Karstark instead.
It was Lord Karstark who'd organized the scouting parties, and his men who brought the news. It only felt right that the task be handed over to the man, especially given how his son had been killed by Lannister men. They weren't to engage, anyway; only follow long enough to see where he was headed. Robb needed them to stay close and hold Harrenhal on his behalf.
Lord Bolton hadn't been pleased. He still wasn't, if his curt tone in the past few council meetings was anything to go by. He'd been none too friendly with Torrhen Karstark either, whose father left him behind to remain with Robb's men.
No, he decided, he would make no mention of the dragons as yet. It would be best to let the men see for themselves, lest they think Jon and Alysanne mad. It would raise too many questions anyhow, and Robb had no desire at the moment to answer just how they came across the eggs, and why Jon claimed one for his own.
Robb waited for Lord Bolton, the last of those sitting at the high table to arrive, to take his seat before he himself rose. The Greatjon beat his fist on the table a few times, and the din of the hall dwindled to a low hum.
He picked his goblet up off the table. "Tonight, my lords, we feast to Queen Alysanne and her victory in the Westerlands,"
"The North's own lion," the Greatjon bellowed, and his declaration was met with the thumping of mugs on tables and enthusiastic cheers.
Alysanne won't be fond of being called a lion, Robb knew. She much preferred wolves to lions. Still, Robb smiled good-naturedly at the disruption and went on. "The first to take Casterly Rock for her own since Lann the Clever." Robb lifted his goblet into the air. "To Alysanne."
"The Queen in the North," thundered the Greatjon once more, sending the cry echoing through the hall as the men joined in.
Bran broke from his somber mood to join the cheer from beside their mother before slamming his own mug onto the table and rattling her drink. She glowered at Bran, and Robb snickered and returned to his seat.
A servant approached him with a platter of seared trout from the river, and Robb tried a bit before sending it down the table to Lord Bolton. He repeated the gesture with the Lamprey Pie, only this time he sent it to Lord Manderly.
Despite the relative cheer of the room, Edmure cut into his boar with a ferocity from where he sat on Robb's right. Robb sipped his wine and watched for a moment. Edmure finally cut away a chunk and crammed it into his mouth, scowling about the room as he chewed. Robb snorted and set his goblet down.
"The boar is already dead, Uncle," Robb commented
Edmure only acknowledged him with a sidelong glance and a grunt, before washing down the meat with a swig of his own ale. "Your mother has not let up about the Frey girl, and Ser Ryman once again asked if I meant to honor my promise." He hacked off another bit of boar and all but swallowed it whole. "I told that wife of yours he'd see it so," Edmure complained.
"Alysanne didn't know, Uncle," Robb defended. "And you're not in any position to refuse what my mother asks of you." What we ask of you, really.
"I already apologized for that," Edmure groused.
When Lord Karstark's scouting party brought word that Lord Tywin abandoned Harrenhal without so much as a man to hold it, his first thoughts had been of Riverrun. While not quite home, it was the closest Robb suspected he would get for some time. It was his mother's home, and he knew his family awaited him there. A rare comfort in times of war.
His Uncle Edmure had remained in Riverrun, a man he was only just beginning to know, as well as his grandfather, however addled his mind was becoming. And certainly not least of all, Arya. Robb had perhaps anticipated seeing her the most out of all who remained in Riverrun. Though, when they rode through the gates of Riverrun, Arya had not been awaiting them. Robb had half expected that. Arya had never been one for ceremony. He hadn't expected the true reason for her absence, however.
From her place at Robb's left, his mother levied an icy glare at her younger brother. "Apologized for letting my daughter ride off to war?"
Ale sloshed over the side of Edmure's mug when he returned it to the table rather harshly. "By the gods, Cat! What was I supposed to do? Fetter her? Place her under guard?"
Robb almost felt sorry for his uncle. In the week they'd been at Riverrun, his mother had not once let her anger towards her brother slip, and Edmure had grown rather adept at evading his eldest sister. A prisoner in his own keep, Robb chuckled to himself.
Arya was not an easy girl to reign in, and it crossed Robb's mind that they had given Edmure an impossible task. Arya had grown none less wild as she aged, his mother once lamenting that if anything, she'd only grown more so. The wolf's blood, his father hailed it once.
Before they'd gone their separate ways, Robb had fielded several complaints from his bannermen regarding his youngest sister, who had taken to cajoling men into sparring with her. Arya would proclaim a man "dead" in the training yard, and while some would laugh and take it in good-nature, others would seek him out to, in turn, proclaim her a nuisance. Complaints from men with bruised egos. It's not my fault she's so adept at swordplay. Robb would not be shocked if she bested him in the training yard before long.
"I told you to keep her here, that under no circumstances was she to leave!" His mother hissed back, careful to keep her voice low to avoid drawing too much attention. Not that it would matter. With the way she yelled at Edmure the day they arrived back, the entire keep must know of their feud.
"I told her that," Edmure retorted with a flail of his arms. "But I can't very well overrule the Queen, can I?"
Robb had been about to take another draught of his drink, but lowered his goblet at Edmure's words. His mother straightened her spine, and her voice froze over. "Alysanne permitted it?"
That, Edmure had not mentioned before. Robb was almost surprised. Edmure held some amount of animosity towards Alysanne for the mess with Walder Frey; he might have thrown Alysanne under the wagon, to keep Catelyn's ire off of him.
Edmure settled into his chair and rubbed his forehead. "Yes, she did. But honestly, Cat, the girl is just as willful as you. Nothing short of barring her in her rooms would have stopped her from going. Even then, I'm not certain she wouldn't have found a way. At least this way we know where she's gone."
Robb, though he would not dare say so to his mother, agreed with Edmure. Truthfully, he did not mind that Alysanne allowed Arya to go along. Better for her to join Alysanne from the start than set off into the Riverlands alone to try to catch up to the host. And Alysanne wouldn't let harm come to Arya, neither would Jon.
"You'll marry the Frey, girl," his mother resolved icily.
Edmure balked at her. "I'll do no such thing—"
"You will," his mother cut him off. "Alysanne may still think there's an out, but there isn't. You let my daughter leave to gallivant in the West and play at war. Now, you'll marry one of Walder Frey's daughters and rid me of one headache as recompense for the one you've created."
"It will take far too long," Edmure complained. "We'll have to wait for Alysanne's return, and if the Dornish truly are as eager to march on King's Landing as you say, they'll be displeased. It will only delay the march."
"Then we have the wedding here," Robb interjected. "It is not so unreasonable."
His mother shook her head. "Lord Walder is well beyond the age for traveling. He will see it as a slight that we refuse to come to him."
"I won't go to those wretched Twins for an old man's pride." Edmure continued.
The clatter of tables and benches scraping across the floor to make room for dancing halted his mother's response. Catelyn's mouth pressed into a thin line, and she looked up and down the high table at those who sat closest to them.
"Very well." She rose gracefully from her seat and peered down at her brother with an expectant raise of her brow. "We can discuss the rest whilst we dance."
Edmure sagged his head. "Cat, I haven't finished eating," he motioned to the boar he'd so dutifullyassured was dead.
"And we haven't shared a dance in ages. The boar will still be here upon your return, you've made certain of that." His mother pointedly eyed the boar on his plate, and with a final grumble, Edmure stood and escorted Catelyn down to dance.
If he truly wished to, Robb supposed he could ask one of Alysanne's ladies to dance; or wait until his mother freed Edmure. But Robb never was one for dancing. He only did so because Alysanne loved dancing and he never could say no to her; not when she asked him so sweetly and smiled the way she did.
Even though it had been some moons since Alysanne left for the Westerlands, Robb had still half expected to find her awaiting him at Riverrun. How sweet it would have been to ride into the yard to see her, smiling and golden and just as carefree as they had been not a year ago. He would have thrown all courtesies to the wind and brought her straight to their chambers, Robb would not have cared if his men snickered and laughed. Is it so improper to love one's wife? He could almost hear the sweet sound of her laugh, could almost feel the warmth of her in his arms.
But Alysanne hadn't been awaiting him, and she wasn't there now to beg him to dance. He contented himself with watching instead.
There was Lord Blackwood, still seated and talking to his sons Brynden and Lucas. Lucas, who served on Robb's battle guard, caught his eye and lifted his mug in greeting, which Robb returned. Brynden, Lord Blackwood's eldest, had recently been betrothed to Carellen Smallwood, if Robb recalled correctly. Lord Blackwood has been very busy in that regard. Just before they departed Raventree Hall, he suggested a betrothal between Arya and one of his sons, or if that didn't suit him, his daughter Bethany, for Bran.
Lord Bracken made an offer as well, albeit for his nephew, as had Lord Mallister. Offers Robb would not seriously consider until he had Alysanne's input. And Arya's. Robb hoped that if Arya had a hand in choosing, she might not be so opposed. Or at the very least, she wouldn't slaughter the poor lad.
Olyvar Frey, Ser Olyvar now, had also taken to the floor, and Robb noticed he was wearing the fine new doublet Catelyn gifted him, Olyvar had been knighted almost immediately following the battle at Raventree Hall by Lord Blackwood himself, after he saved the man's life. In his place, Robb had taken on young Lewys Piper, a boy just older than Rickon. Lewys was bold, far bolder than Olyvar, and always had some comment to make regarding what Robb was doing. They would get on well, Rickon and Lewys. Robb had seen him run wild with other squires when free from his duties in a manner that much reminded him of his youngest brother.
Olyvar had stayed with Robb as a part of his guard, however, and even turned down an offer from Lord Blackwood to marry his niece, Shiera. Robb wondered if he would come to regret turning down such an offer, and hoped Olyvar hadn't done so out of hopes for courting Jeyne Poole, who Olyvar had asked to dance in a rare show of boldness. Jeyne looked rather unenthused with her dancing partner, and Robb felt a bit of sympathy for his former squire.
Beth had taken to the floor as well, and looked far more pleased with the man she danced with. She laughed as Torrhen Karstark spun her around, before nimbly catching her. If Robb didn't know better, he'd think them to be a fine match. But Robb knew Torrhen was rather fond of Dacey Mormont, who found herself unable to dance that night after a slight injury in the training yard. And if what his mother said proved true, Beth and Cley Cerwyn were rather friendly with one another as well.
Eddara had told her so, during one of their shared breakfasts, and Beth had hardly denied it. Robb searched the floor for Eddara, but found her still sitting at her spot, alone.
Robb faced Bran and nodded toward Eddara. "Why don't you ask Lady Eddara to dance?" he suggested.
Bran had enjoyed dancing back home. Though perhaps something had changed, because Bran only wrinkled his nose and drained the rest of his ale. "I don't want to dance." He set his mug on the table and waved over a servant to refill it.
Robb frowned. Even his friends are dancing. Olyvar with Jeyne, Torrhen with Beth, even Patrek Mallister with one of Lord Bracken's daughters, whom had been sent to Riverrun following the burning of Stone Hedge.
He doubted his brother would have any trouble finding someone to dance with. Even aside from Eddara, there were plenty of ladies, and Robb had seen them watching Bran in the training yard that morning. Mayhap he's just shy.
"Come on, little brother," Robb said slyly. "Certainly there's someone you wish to ask? I saw one of the Bracken girls watching you this morning in the yard."
"I said no," Bran grumbled, and Robb's frown returned. Perhaps Ser Addam's death hit him harder than I thought. Robb said nothing more and let Bran stew for a moment. His brother drained his mug, and abruptly said, "before I left King's Landing, Tommen promised he'd watch after Sansa. You should spare him, when we take the city."
At Bran's abrupt pivot to the war, Robb blanched. "I—alright, Bran," he stuttered out, for lack of a better response. Before he could ask his brother more, he shoved back from the table and left the hall.
Edmure escorted his mother back to the high table, and unlike Edmure, who returned to his meal, his mother stood in front of him.
"You've yet to dance," she pointed out.
Robb took a sip from his goblet. "Alysanne isn't here," he replied, but set his goblet down, anyway. He stood from his seat and offered his mother his arm, leading them back down to the cleared space.
His mother waited until they were well into the song before she spoke. "Did Jon say if they had left Casterly Rock yet?" His mother asked.
Robb shook his head and swept her around in a circle. "No. They await my word. I plan to write to meet us here, rather than Harrenhal. We'll see Edmure wed, and then march together to King's Landing."
His mother nodded her head. She discreetly scanned those near them and lowered her voice. "Has there been any word from Theon yet? He should have reached… there, by now."
He waited until a particularly loud swell of music before replying. "None yet. Like as not, he won't risk sending any word at all. We just have to wait." The Lannisters would have told us if they'd caught him. No word is best. But it had been nearly two moons since he'd left; Theon should have reached King's Landing by now.
With a huff, Catelyn's shoulders fell. Robb spun her around and caught her again, and they continued to dance around the room. "Uncle Edmure's wedding will be here, then?"
"Aye, it will," she replied with a displeased twist of her mouth. "Stubborn child. He plans to send word to Lord Walder come morning."
"He's agreed to marry her, at the very least." The song came to an end, and Robb stepped back. "All will be well, mother," he said reassuringly. His mother did not look convinced, but she let him return to his seat, anyway.
Robb's food had long grown cold, and despite what he'd said to his mother, he couldn't quite shake the fear for Theon that had begun to bloom. He said his farewells and retired to his rooms early.
His fear was perhaps not entirely unfounded. It had been nearly two moons since Theon and Jory left; he should have well reached King's Landing by that point. But it is not a simple task. It would not be simple, to find a way into the Red Keep without drawing attention. It would be even harder to slip Sansa away and out of the city.
Robb did his best to redirect his thoughts away from Theon and Jory. He thought instead of Alysanne. As he laid in bed, he tried to remember what it was like to have her beside him; the warm press of her body against his, contradicted by her ice cold toes she'd press against him in a bid to warm them. Robb could almost hear her soft giggle at the way he'd flinch when she did so.
He could almost see her laying next to him, with her soft hair sprawled across her pillow and her sweet smile. He did his best to bring to mind that smile, though his mind twisted her face into one of grief and pain and he could not banish the image of it from his thoughts. Once more, he was reminded of how she was so far from his grasp, and her sorrow twined through his dreams.