ROBB II

Robb certainly had to admit, were this merely a hunting trip he might actually be quite enjoying himself.

He had got to see Lord Gregor Forrester and his sons Rodrik and Ethan, for they had joined with the Stark party the afternoon before, having seen the sign themselves and sent a search party of their own. His father showed graciousness and thanks, and Robb could tell that however well he hid it Father was relieved to have assistance in this task. Rodrik was a strapping fellow, loud and friendly with a finely kept beard and laughing eyes, and he had become instant friendly with Robb, Jon, and Theon, who had accompanied Lord Stark. His son Ethan was a lad of ten and three, and was quieter than his brother, though likeable enough. However the rather serious duty they had that brought them out here was casting a pall over everyone present. He looked up the hill towards where his father and Lord Forrester sat around a fire, breaking down the camp and talking all the while. No doubt discussing their plans for finding what sent the Sign, as the smallfolk were now calling it.

Robb frowned now, thinking back upon that night, days back now. He had ran all the way to Father's room with his brothers, rushing past the rooms of their bleary eyed siblings, only to find that he was already dressed and ready to go and take charge. He had first asked after their sibling's naturally, that his family were safe. When assured they were, he commanded Bran to stay in his room and rushed outside with Robb and Jon hot on his heels. Robb didn't think he imagined the relief on the faces of the men when Lord Stark came to watch over them. In some ways he was as much a father to the household as he was to Robb and his family. Ser Rodrik presented himself first, having raised and rallied with admirable speed. Fat Tom and Hal came next, and explained what they had seen. When Father had appeared skeptical, asking if the guards had been drinking, Robb and Jon had shared a look and knew they had to divulge themselves. After a moment of silence, they had stepped forward, corroborating the guardsmen's stories. They relayed to their father their midnight adventure, how they snuck into the courtyard, and how the comet with two tails appeared and then disappeared with a tremendous thunderclap, leading to the Sign, which pointed north towards the Wolfswood. They omitted Bran's part in the fiasco.

Father had frowned then, telling them they were nearly men and should not be sneaking out of their chambers in the dead of night like boys. All the same, Robb knew that Father was more upset that his sons may have endangered themselves than he ever would be about some juvenile behavior on their part. When no threat had presented itself, Father had summoned all of the important people of his household to an impromptu council of sorts, with himself, Mother, Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, and Robb attending. It was decided that ravens would be sent to all the holds surrounding the Wolfswood, telling them to be watchful of any potential danger, but otherwise that Lord Stark himself would handle things. That very day, while breaking his fast with the family he had announced he would be leading an expedition leaving that very day, and that Robb, Jon, and Theon would come with him. Arya had begged to be allowed to come with them, naturally, and just as naturally Father had refused her with a stern tone and a face set in stone. She had huffed with annoyance at that, but accepted his decision finally, though not without Sansa lecturing her that the Wolfswood was no place for a lady. Bran had simply given Jon and Robb a thankful look, knowing they spared him Father's wrath.

Mother had merely wished them luck, but before they left she came to Robb in the stables, and took by the hand begging him to stay safe. He had anxiously laughed at that, for he himself was rather apprehensive about what they would find, and told her that Jon would make sure nothing happened to him, because that at least he could be certain of.

Mother's nervous smile had disappeared then, to be replaced by a face that seemed to be hewn from the same ice as the Wall. Ah, you bloody idiot, Robb, he remembered thinking at the time. Mentioning Jon around Mother was incredibly foolish, considering her feelings about the bastard son of the Lord of Winterfell, the same bastard that lived in his castle and was raised with his children, her children. But she said nothing after that, only embracing Robb and again telling him to return home safely.

Now they set out once more for the day, having broken their fast on salted bacon and hard bread from their rations. They moved on horseback through the forest in a double column, Father and Lord Forrester leading. Two rows back were Theon and Rodrik, who were of an age, piercing the quiet of the morning forest with loud and ribald jests, laughing all the while. A biting chill made its presence known with a sudden gust of wind, a sharp contrast to the warm glow of the rising sun of early-morn. It whistled through the leaves, which twirled and shook on the branches around them, raising in volume louder and louder until it sounded less like an innocent breeze and more like the screaming of some great bird.

Robb could have sworn the bird-like screaming lasted even after the wind had finally died down.

He was shaken from his reverie by Jon pulling his courser up next to Robb. "Ill-wind, I'd say. Does it have you frightened, Stark?" He knew from the wan grin on Jon's face that he meant it as a jest, and he grinned right back, "Not a chance, Snow. Though I'm sure you're about set to piss yourself." They shared a hearty laugh then. It felt good to laugh, for it helped to calm the tightening feeling growing in his chest.

"What are you two laughing at?" That was Ethan Forrester, who had been silent most of the morning, only occasionally speaking with his father and brother. He was a rather slight youth, a year younger than Jon and Robb, with dark brown hair like his father and blue eyes that Robb assumed came from his mother. From what Robb could gather, Lord Forrester intended for his son to learn more of the responsibilities of being a lord, even if he was the third son, though second in the line of succession ever since his elder brother Asher had been exiled some years ago for that affair with the Whitehills.

Robb gave him a welcoming smile, slapping Jon on the back. "Ah not much, just my craven brother here confiding that he's scared witless. He's going on and on about wildlings, Others, snarks and grumpkins. I daresay he's about pissed his breeches." At that, Jon maintained a solemn expression, though Robb saw that his eyes gleamed with amusement. Ethan for his part chuckled, pleased to be included in the joke.

Jon drew himself up with dignity, and declared in a voice that was eerily reminiscent of Father, "Robb, we are nearly men grown, and thus pissing our breeches is not an act to be taken lightly, and we must take care whom we are with if we do."

All three of them exploded into laughter at that, drowning out even Rodrik and Theon, who cast them a cocky grin over his shoulder. "Gossiping about something there, ladies? Perhaps Snow has spotted a handsome stable-boy he fancies?" Theon laughed at his own wit, and Ethan and Robb with him, though quieter than before. Robb noticed however that now Jon's solemnity was genuine, and the good humor had fled from his face like a deer from a hunter. He sighed, as this was a scene that had repeated itself a hundred times before, and likely would a hundred times again. He considered Theon a brother, and Jon was his brother just as surely as Bran and Rickon, but Theon's endless jabs prevented him and Jon from ever having anything like that. Robb had always wondered if Theon wasn't jealous in some way of the bond between himself and Jon, if that was why he was so cruel to Snow.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sudden halting of the column, as Father brought the group to a sudden halt. Robb urged his horse forward, towards the rocky outcrop ahead where Lord Forrester and Father now were, conversing with a returning scout who had come rushing from the underbrush with important news. Apparently, he had come upon a clearing not far away, and that there was a rather sizable stone tower standing right there in the middle of it, here near the south-eastern portion of the Wolfswood. When they got there they spotted no signs of life, but had not gotten close enough to make sure, having immediately fled to bring news back to their lords. His father and Lord Forrester had looked mystified then, which he would later learn was because no tower was supposed to exist here in the forest where this one did. These scouts were sure of it, and they were men who had spent their entire lives plying the great wood for food and furs, they knew it like they knew their own cock, or so they claimed. It was as though it were conjured from thin air. It was not lost on the men that this was roughly where the Sign had pointed towards either, in this verdant green of deep forest. They kept their voices quiet, but Robb had heard the men gossiping around mouthfuls of bacon and swigs from ale-horns that perhaps the gods meant for them to not have come here, and that they were stumbling into disaster. Robb wanted to deny it as ignorant superstition, but sometimes he was not so sure.

Sometimes he felt as though the very trees were watching him.

Now Father turned to him, and he was aware of how cold the sweat that clung to his skin felt. Father commanded that he, Jon, and Rodrik would accompany himself and a few soldiers out to the tower, Lord Forrester would stay behind and keep the reserve ready in case they were needed.

Robb prayed sincerely that they would not be, that the tower would be abandoned. But the gods often did not listen to the prayers of men.

Now they set off into the wood, just the small group, leaving behind them the idle chatter and crude jests of the main party. It was amazing how quickly they were swallowed by the wood, how in an instant it was just the silence of their thoughts and the distant calls of the forest. Birds sang with a sweet clarity, and the breeze still rustled the trees. An eagles scream pierced the sky, shrill and sharp. To Robb's reckoning, it sounded strange, both distant but also as though it would be deafening if it were close. Perhaps his mind was playing games with him.

Or perhaps not, for Jon leaned in close and spoke, his voice low and cautious, "You heard that too? What manner of bird sounds like that?"

Robb had no answer for him, but tried his best. "Perhaps just some big songbird, after all, these forests are ancient." Jon looked as unconvinced as Robb felt.

In spite of the suspense, the woods were truly quite beautiful now, as the sun rose higher and higher on its path to the western horizon, towards the Sunset Sea. Bright light of that sun broke through the thick canopy overhead, covering the ground in soft white patches that shimmered with the shifting of the leaves and branches. Here the trees were ancient, gnarled and twisted with centuries of growth, untouched and unseen by none until now, save perhaps for the Children of the Forest, long dead as they were. Covering the ground was the dank and dead leaves of those trees, and they reeked of old rot and mold, and yet in some spots small flowers sprouted, simple and pretty. Robb smiled to see them. Perhaps he would gather a bushel to bring to Sansa, she'd love that. He'd have to keep it secret from Theon though, lest he suffer days of mocking.

In the distance he could barely spot a point of light that slowly grew as they led their horses forward. This must be the clearing the scouts had spotted. Father motioned for them to stop, and dismount. As he swept down from his mare with a practiced motion, Robb rubbed the side of its head, quieting its discomforted nickering as he tied the reins to a nearby tree. Now they advanced slowly, creeping forward past green lichen covered boulders towards the aperture in the brush. No one spoke, for fear of revealing their position to a potential foe. They had yet to arm themselves, but he saw that Rodrik kept his hand on the hilt of his blade, a determined look in his blue eyes. Now they were nearly to the opening, and he could hear...singing?

"Where march you, men of Reikland, where carry you halberd and sword... We march to war for our Emperor, and Sigmar our saviour and lord..."

It was sad and slow, sounding almost like it was being spoken rather than sung, carried by a deep voice that clearly belonged to an adult man. A glance towards his family and Rodrik revealed that they too heard it. Now Rodrik had his sword out and at the ready, and Robb placed his firmly on the hilt of his own, feeling the coolness of the leather contrast with the sweat that was now collecting on his hot palms. His heart was beating like a drum, so loudly he half feared that the singer would hear it.

"Tomorrow we go to war, to face the hordes of Chaos... Tomorrow we will be buried, in cold graves that await us… Into the arms of Morr we go… For thou art but dust, this we know..."

He just barely heard Rodrik murmur under his breath, "Grim bloody song he's singing, isn't it?" In response Lord Stark gave him a withering look and he quieted instantly. They gathered around the opening, careful to remain on either side of it. Robb chanced a look out into the clearing.

There indeed was a sizable tower, with about five stories or so to it height-wise. It was a dilapidated thing, seeming like it had seen better days. That was of itself curious, for if the tower was newly built it would appear new, would it not? All about the tower was the clearing, which from where they stood seemed to be a perfect circle, all green grass and flat land, as though no forest had ever existed there at all.

Some distance away he could see a singular stump among the green, on which sat the apparent source of the singing. He sat towards their clearing, but had his eyes turned down to his lap, on which sat one of the largest greatswords that Robb had ever seen. It shined in the morning light, and yet the man sat polishing it with a rag all the same, just as Robb had seen his own father do in the silence of the godswood. As for the man himself, he was garbed in finely crafted black lacquered armor that coated seemingly only his chest and right arm, with a single plate affixed to his right leg above the knee. His clothing was flamboyant and colorful, alternating red and white from his stockings and breeches, and he wore fine brown leather boots. Perhaps the most noticeable part of his uniform was his hat, a glorious and towering thing, with a rim that tilted to one side and which crowned with a plume of red and white feathers, that added nearly a foot to his height. He had a gruff, scarred face that put Robb in mind of Ser Rodrik, with an equally fine mustache and great, big bushy sideburns. He sang still, and Robb could hear it clearer now, the peculiar accent of the man drifting to them from his place on the stump.

"And when the fighting is done, and the sun goes down at night... Hear my prayers, save my soul, and take me to Sigmar's Light..."

Robb turned now to Father, opening his mouth to ask what their plan was. But no words came out, for he saw that his father and the rest of the group now stared wide eyed at something directly beyond Robb. He slowly turned to see what they gaped at, but was stopped by a male voice that cut through the silence, a voice that was both cold and unyielding.

"Do not move your head any further, boy, or it comes off. In the name of Sigmar, identify yourself and explain why you spy upon a Templar of His Most Holy Orders?"

Robb stood still as stone, fearing that he would receive a sword in the neck if he did. He gave a wide-eyed silent plea of aid to Jon and Father, who both looked equal parts furious and sombre. Rodrik on the other hand kept his sword up, and his eyes locked on the intruder, but made no moves beyond that. Now Father spoke, drawing himself up with formality and regality that Robb only saw when Father intended to appear his most impressive.

"In the name of King Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, I am Eddard of House Stark. By all the Gods, you will put away your sword and step from my son or I will kill you, Ser."

Robb could hear the man's snort of contempt, but apparently the man stepped back, for Jon motioned for Robb to come to them, and he quickly rushed over to their side, immediately drawing his sword from its sheathe and facing the stranger. He was tall and lean, and was clad in a billowing leather coat that extended all the way to near his ankles. It was strapped all over with all manner of killing devices, from knives to darts. Two strange tubes wrought of metal and wood were bound to his chest, with two more on his belt. In one hand he held one, and in the other was a long, slightly curved blade, glittering steel with a fine gold handguard. On his head sat a tall hat that put Robb in mind of a stove-pipe, and which was inscribed with a glittering skull insignia. His eyes were as cold as his voice, a pale blue that bored into Robb's own, feeling as though they judged his very soul with icy malice. His face was arranged into a scowl, which Robb got the distinct sense was quite familiar to it. If he was threatened by their unsheathing their blades he hid it well, for his look was one of mere disdain.

"I know of no King named Robert, nor any house named Baratheon, nor any folk called the Andals, Rhoynar, or First Men. I also fear you are mistaken, sir. These lands belong to House Todbringer of Middenheim, and to His Imperial Majesty Karl Franz beyond that." He had instantly changed from a voice of chilling menace to a conciliatory tone of pleasant disaffection with dizzying speed, but Robb had the sense that it was not because he felt threatened in any way by the Stark group.

After a short silence, Father spoke up once more, "I fear I do not know whom this 'Karl Franz' is either, nor this 'House Todbringer'. These lands have belonged to House Stark for thousands of years."

Now the stranger looked mildly put off, his face paling the slightest bit. "It is as I fear then, now if you would, come with me. I hope that we may come together and discuss this as gentlemen."

Without another word the stranger was off, striding out of the brush and towards the tower. Robb could see now that the soldier had risen from his stump, and now leaned lazily against his greatsword, nonetheless keeping his eyes locked upon their group. He belatedly realized that the man had likely known they were there the whole time, and the revelation unnerved him. All the same, the men haltingly re-sheathed their weapons and followed the stranger, following the stranger. Father looked to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, wordlessly reassuring him. He and Jon shared a look, fear mingling with curiosity on Jon's dark features.

There was a mystery to solve, and their duty to do so outweighed their apprehension. Robb prayed once more to the Old Gods and the New that they were not making a grievous mistake.