Author's Note: Just a small chapter of Robb reuniting with the host at Bitterbridge.
Upon securing Storm's End, Robb left Ser Cortnay Penrose as Castellan of the castle, Renly's own chosen Castellan. He knew he would have to settle the matter of the succession of Storm's End once he took the Iron Throne. The prospect did not please him, but it was made much easier with the knowledge that Robert Baratheon had fathered multiple bastards. It would not be the first time a bastard became a great lord, Robb's own ancestor had been the bastard son of Bael the Bard, a Wildling who had become a King-Beyond-the-Wall that had been slain by his own son who had been named the Lord of Winterfell in the absence of any male Stark heirs.
As soon as Storm's End was secure Robb rode at the fore of a host of that was now his towards Bitterbridge. It was odd for the young Stark to see the banners of his House flying proudly across great columns of mounted soldiers that had once belonged to Renly Baratheon, whose body had been interred in the tombs of Storm's End in a solemn but honorable funeral before the newly-formed Stark host had marched out.
At Bitterbridge, Robb reunited with Margaery and the full host that Renly had commanded, some 100, 000 strong. The banners of the crowned silver stag upon blue had been replaced by the grey direwolf upon a white field. As he rode through the camps, a slow chant began to take place.
"King…Robb! King…Robb! KING! ROBB! KING! ROBB! KING! ROBB!" Robb hoped he did not blush as he rode ahead through the camp for the royal tent where a vision of beauty dressed in grey and white waited for him with a beam. Robb dismounted his horse to approach Margaery with eyes for no one else, he embraced her before his men to cheers of approval, before he turned back to face them all, his hand in hers.
"King Renly Baratheon promised you King's Landing. I can do no less." Robb stated, his words carrying across the crowd.
"Prepare yourselves, good sers and good lords. We march at dawn." Robb called to roars and cheers, before he raised his hand and marched into the royal tent with Margaery's hand in his own. Randyll Tarly, Arwyn Oakheart, Dacey Mormont, Smalljon Umber, Patrek Mallister, Darryn Hornwood and Loras Tyrell joined them.
"Word must be sent to my Northern host at Ashemark at once. They must approach Harrenhal from the North in a fortnight at the latest. I intend to take King's Landing in less than two moons. Lord Oakheart, I name you Grand Admiral of the Royal Stark Fleet seized from Stannis Baratheon. Patrek Mallister will serve as your First. Lord Randyll, you will lead the vanguard into King's Landing with Ser Loras. Jon, Dacey, Darryn I wish for my guard to be ever present by my side. The problem we face now my lords, is the position of Lord Walder Frey, to whom I had originally promised a betrothal."
"The Old Ferret of the Twins is no concern for you, Your Grace. If he is wise, he will keep his silence." Lord Oakheart bristled importantly only to receive a look of disdain from Randyll Tarly.
"Frey is as dangerous as any man, Your Grace. I suggest you end the pact with the Freys at once. He will try to betray you. I suggest you let him show his hand. It is high time the line of Frey has ended."
"I am not a slaughterer, Lord Tarly. The Frey host will assuredly return home upon knowledge I have married my lady. I wish that I could be there to deal with the fallout myself, but I have little time. I need a rider, someone fast and reliable, someone who can cut their way through this blood-ravaged country on their own. Any ideas?" Robb asked his council, looking from one face to the other, until his eyes landed on his betrothed, whose sharp gaze held his with a knowing glint in her eye.
"Brienne of Tarth." Margaery said simply.