A/N: Okay...so, for those of you who don't know him, Ralof is a fairly minor, yet relatively frequently present Stormcloak soldier through the main quest-line of Skyrim. And...he got a chapter. Yay for him. Also, Stormblade is the highest achievable rank in the Stormcloak army. In addition, so you aren't confused, when quill pens were used, one had to wet the quill (usually done so with the tongue) to get the ink flowing. So, that's what Robb was doing. He doesn't just like tasting ink. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. It's all Bethesda's and George R. R. Martin's.

Rating: T for language.

The sound of hooves beating on the dirt path that led to the Stormcloak camp announced the arrival of a coming rider before he rode around the bend and swung down off his horse, approaching the sentry at a brisk walk.

"I have a message, ser, for the Young Wolf."

Ralof raised his eyebrows and loosened his sword in its scabbard, a gesture which did not go unnoticed. "From where? Windhelm? Is it news from Jarl Stormcloak?"

The messenger shook his head and swept aside his cloak to take out a roll of parchment from the satchel at his hip. "No, ser. A report from Dragon Bridge."

Ralof frowned. Dragon Bridge, though only a small town, was a key location in the war. So long as it remained neutral, it was the Stormcloaks' way across the Karth River to Solitude. If it had been compromised, that would be a significant setback for Ulfric's army. "Dragon Bridge? Has it been taken by the Legion?"

"No, ser. It is still held by no side of the war. I am not sure of the nature of the letter, ser. I was only told to bring it directly to the hands of Lord Stark. Please, ser, I've been traveling for days and this news is urgent."

Ralof narrowed his eyes and adjusted his grip on the sword by his side. "Told by whom?"

"I was not given and did not ask any name, ser." When the young messenger pushed back his hood to reveal a head of curly blonde hair, Ralof frowned.

"Are you a Lannister?"

The boy hesitated then nodded. "Yes, but I do not fight for my cousin's army. Now please, ser, with your permission, I would deliver this to his lordship."

Ralof nodded grudgingly and stepped aside, turning around and walking toward the large tent at the other side of the camp. "Very well. Follow me."

When the soldier stepped inside the tent, Robb Stark looked up from the maps strewn across the table and raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"A Lannister courier has arrived, my lord. With news from Dragon Bridge."

Robb frowned and looked down at the arrangement of blue and red flags pinned to the maps. "Has it been captured?"

Ralof shook his head. "No, my lord. I asked the same and the man said no. He knows not the nature of the letter he brings."

The Stormblade of the Stormcloak army nodded curtly and brushed a wayward auburn curl from his eyes. "Let him in."

Stepping inside the tent, the messenger bowed low and presented the letter, sealed with ordinary wax and marked with no sigil.

"And you know not who this is from?" Robb asked, appraising the young Lannister for a moment before breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment.

"No, m'lord. She said only that the news was urgent."

"She?" Ralof asked as Robb rubbed his thumb absently across the corner of the parchment and inspected the now broken seal.

"A child, ser, dressed in rags. I believe she was acting as a messenger for some other source."

One of Lord Varys' little birds, no doubt...This reeks of Lannister treachery. Ralof kept his suspicious gaze on the courier, hand still poised to draw his weapon.

Robb's frown deepened as he began reading and after a moment, he looked up at Ralof. "The Hound has resurfaced after his desertion, it would seem."

Ralof shrugged. "He's a dangerous man, but not so ruthless as his brother. Do we have anything to fear now that he's not a part of the civil war?"

Robb didn't respond, but continued reading, exhaling slowly when he reached the end. "Talos save us all..."

The messenger raised his eyebrows, but tried not to look overly interested. When Robb looked in his direction, he cleared his throat and adjusted the satchel of letters at his hip.

"Could we be alone for a moment, please?"

The courier nodded and withdrew from the tent, leaving Ralof and his commander alone with the letter. The former pulled aside the flap of the tent to make sure the Lannister boy was out of earshot before looking toward his superior officer.

"What news, Stormblade?"

Robb sighed again and ran a hand over his typically smooth jaw, now rough with a few days' worth of stubble. "It's my sister, Sansa. She was taken by Clegane from Tyrion Lannister's tavern when it caught fire two nights past."

Ralof frowned. "What would the Hound want with your younger sister?" Besides what any man wants of a seventeen-year-old maiden.

"A great amount of gold for her ransom, perhaps. I imagine he's spent most of his winnings from Solitude's last tournament on wine and whores. Sansa's a highborn lady, and she's an asset to both sides of the civil war, so he knows she'd fetch a fair price. Or, if he's anything like his brother, he'll just rape her a dozen times and leave her to die beside the road."

If the Gods are good, he will, Ralof thought bitterly, before pushing the thought aside with an uneasy justification. She's caused too much trouble for Skyrim already.

"So the Lannisters no longer hold their bargaining chip."

Robb nodded. "And she was taken by someone who used to be one of their sworn men. I'm sure the irony is not lost on Tywin Lannister. He'll have men chasing after them as we speak."

"And what if we get to them first?"

Stark exhaled heavily and gestured toward the largest of the maps on the table before them. "Tell me, Ralof. What do you see?"

He looked down at it for a moment, remembering a night a few weeks prior when Robb's frustration had been taken out on the map in question during a drunken outburst. A few flags were still knocked off kilter and there was a large tear in one corner.

"A whole lot of blue, Stormblade," Ralof replied.

"Aye. And the only thing keeping us back from driving our forces into the heart of the Legion was the shadow of Ser Ilyn Payne's sword at my sister's neck. So tell me, what's stopping us from marching to Solitude?"

Ralof frowned and considered the question for a moment. "Ulfric's orders?"

The younger man raised his eyebrows and the faint hint of a smile graced his lips. "I could lead an army to Lannister without Stormcloak's permission. He trusts me to lead his men to battle; and to victory. The answer, Ralof, is nothing. Nothing is stopping us from taking the head off the Empire once and for all and ending this war."

Ralof was beginning to catch on. "But there's nothing stopping the Legion now either."

"Aye. Exactly. Lannister was so busy worrying about keeping his leverage that he was willing to lose in the field. Now that Sansa's been taken, there's nothing for either side of the war to lose. People may not realize it, but the outcome of this war has been resting on my sister's head for a little over a year now. With her out of the way, the stalemate is broken."

"And Lannister will send his army to take Windhelm while our troops are busy keeping the forts we've captured."

Robb shrugged, but the notion was not beyond the realm of possibility.

Son of a bitch...

"The West is the key to this war. The Stormcloaks have their men seated at every throne in the East with the exception of Viserys Targaryen in Riften. Ulfric knows that if we're to win this war, the West must be conquered. Once this news reaches him, the conquest will begin. And he will lead it." He paused for a moment and stared down at the table in contemplation, pounding his fist lightly against its wooden surface. "We have to stop him."

Ralof stared at him in confusion. "My lord?" He knew that the last month of staying idle in the Eastern camp had taken its toll on his commander, but...this? Was Robb Stark turning traitor?

"Ralof, you're the only man I trust with this. Ride to Windhelm in haste and tell Ulfric that he cannot move. If he gives me his trust in this, I will bring him victory, but he must not march on Falkreath."

Striding across the tent to retrieve a piece of parchment, the Young Wolf spread it out on the table and dipped his quill in the pot of ink beside him before dabbing the tip against his tongue and writing out a hurriedly scrawled message.

"I will join you in Windhelm within a fortnight and put our best men in charge here." He looked up from his writing and met the other soldier's gaze with steely resolve in his bright blue eyes. "If Ulfric doesn't listen, it could mean the end of this war, with the Empire as its victors."

"Yes, my lord." Ralof stood by while Robb finished the letter then sealed it with grey wax, pressed the wolf of House Stark into the quickly cooling liquid and handed it off to him.

With a nod, he turned and tucked the letter into the belt at his hips.

"And Ralof,"

He hesitated.

"Do not fail me..."