A cold and cruel storm had captured Robb's United Army a day after they had past the castle of Seagard. Lord Jason Mallister, a commander in Robb's army had graciously hosted them for a night in his castle before their march continued. Robb had debated sending Riverlords home to fix what damage to their lands they could before the winter set in, but was swayed not to when Edmure and the Blackfish themselves declared that they would see this war out to the bitter end by Robb's side.
The army had been forced to march through mud and swamp to reach the Twins until the rains had finally subsided when the Crossing came into view. Robb himself approached House Frey's seat with apprehension, for he had heard of the fate that had befallen the Frey army and Walder's heirs while he had been besieging King's Landing. Robb knew that his Northmen were hard to control, he knew that they only answered to Starks and he knew that when he had to inevitably march back south after the North was retaken he needed to leave a strong Stark in control of Winterfell. His brothers were dead...there were no other male Starks left. The thought was once again pushed to the back of his mind as he, the Umber men, Lord Karstark, Dacey Mormont, Edmure Tully, the Blackfish, Ser Garlan and Ser Davos Seaworth stopped a ways off from the southern tower of the Twins.
"Give the order to halt." Robb said, a noted tone of confusion in his voice as he and his commanders looked out at the Twins. Replaced by the usual standard of House Frey on the walls of the southern castle was the grey direwolf upon a white field.
"I-…do not like the feeling of this." Robb stated, earning a chorus of murmured agreements from his men as they slowly approached the castle.
"Your Grace, look." Dacey's horse took a single step forward as she pointed to a bouncing yellow and orange light that was approaching them through the mist and drizzle of the cold night.
"It's a rider." Smalljon said, narrowing his eyes as he tried to focus on the light.
"Its three riders." Brynden Tully corrected, raising an eyebrow as he also urged his horse closer to Robb.
"They're flying your banners, Your Grace." Ser Davos observed as the three riders got closer towards them.
"So they are…" Robb said, feeling more confusion rise until he saw Ser Helman Tallhart, the Commander of 400 swords and archers he had left behind at the Twins.
"Ser Helman! Gods be good, you are indeed a sight for sore eyes."
"As are you, Your Grace. I hope my son, Benfred has already sworn you House Tallhart's loyalty to your cause." Ser Helman said, bowing his head respectfully as he sat mounted between two Stark men who carried Robb's standard.
"He has, Ser Helman. You are a recognized loyal bannerman, and when this war is done I will name you a Lord. But first you must tell me what is happening here at the Crossing? Has Lord Walder so been swayed to our cause?" Robb asked curiously, gesturing to the banners hanging off the Twins' turrets.
"Lord Walder is dead, Your Grace. News of the death of Ser Ryman and his sons and the destruction of House Frey's army by Lord Umber sent him into a black fury, when he stood up to begin screaming at me, he clutched at his chest instead and keeled over dead. The Maester says his heart could not take the anger. His death sent House Frey into a mad scramble, in-fighting broke out amongst the family as dozens slaughtered each other before Lord Walder's body was even cold. It was our force who established order and seized control of the Twins in your name, Your Grace. Walton Frey was killed in the skirmish along with his sons, Emmon Frey is also dead and it is said that his son Cleos was in your custody."
"Nay. Had his head bashed in with a morningstar when that oaf Ryman called the Frey men to arms against us." The Greatjon drawled in a semi-proud tone.
"The less Freys the better." The Blackfish commented, earning a look from the others.
"I've had wet shits that I enjoy more than Walder Frey. His death is a blessing believe me. The man was a blight on the realm as are his family. I urge you to demote them from lordly status, or even the seize the Crossing from them altogether and bestow it upon a non-hereditary Steward. This Crossing has long been a sore point for travel to the North and the Freys never made it easy. They are a foul, loathsome lot of weasels." Brynden counseled to Robb who looked greatly troubled by the notion of destroying a House that had once sworn him fealty.
"Let us cross." Robb said simply, avoiding saying any more on the matter as his closest counsel gazed at him for word.
"Aye, Your Grace, We will prepare the Twins at once. Lord Roose crossed not long ago."
Robb and his commanders were the first to enter the southern castle and cross the river to the northern castle. While the rest of the army continued to cross and made camp on the northern bank, Robb took chambers in the Frey castle as his own. Pulling his gloves off with a noted tone of annoyance, Robb hovered his palms over the roaring fire, enjoying its comforting warmth for a moment.
He was alone with his thoughts for a while before a knock at the door preceded Dacey Mormont and Smalljon Umber from entering his chambers.
"People are starting to think we are all involved in some horrid love-triangle." Smalljon said cheerfully, closing the door behind him. Dacey threw Jon a scathing look before crossing the chambers to pat Robb on the shoulder comfortingly.
"Robb, it wasn't your fault that Walder Frey died."
"Of course not. You were in Storm's End winning an army that has won you the war. My father and his men were engaged by Ryman. Ryman started this. The Freys turned against you, Robb. As did Roose Bolton. You do not need to feel guilt when dealing justice."
"Justice?" Robb asked, turning to look at his friend.
"What justice is there in a man dying of a heart attack? Learning of his sons and grandsons killed by men who were their allies?"
"Robb. Walder Frey was a terrible man. He extorted a marriage out of you and if Tywin Lannister had asked it of him, he would have betrayed you in a single stroke. Your leniency and faltering now will be remembered for the remainder of your rule. You must be firm and strong. The Blackfish gave you wise counsel. I counsel you to heed it." Dacey said, moving to sit in one of the chairs by the fire. Robb sighed, looking to Smalljon who was leaning against a wall and eating an apple. He nodded his agreement with Dacey.
"She's always right, mate." Jon said through a mouthful of apple, earning a snort from Dacey and a half-smile from Robb.
"My uncle Edmure was to wed one of these Frey girls in my place, those were the initial terms I had set out. Perhaps instead I offer the Blackfish this. He could sire an heir of Tully and Frey blood that would be loyal to both the Tullys of Riverrun and the Stark's of Winterfell."
"Don't forget the Stark's of King's Landing." Smalljon grinned at Robb who wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"Gods…I hate that city. I wish I could rule from Winterfell. But its too far away…too cut off. If I win this war and return to the North…all that I have achieved could be undone if there isn't a strong leader in the south." Robb sighed, sinking in a seat across from Dacey to accept a goblet of wine from Smalljon who chuckled as he gave another goblet to Dacey.
"You could rule from elsewhere, Robb. The Targaryens built that city. It doesn't mean you have to stay there. You could build your own capital. A wolf's capital." Dacey grinned with a wink to her King who nodded and murmured somewhat at the idea.
"But where could I even do that? It would need to be a grand castle, a great city. An ideal point in the Kingdoms tha-…why are you smiling at me like that?" Robb said to Smalljon who was indeed giving Robb a wide smirk.
"You really haven't thought of it yet? Casterly Rock, my friend!" Smalljon laughed, settling on the chaise between his two friends with his own goblet of wine that was much fuller than the goblets he had given them.
"I would sooner rule from the ruins of Harrenhal than Casterly Rock." Robb said with derision before raising his goblet to his lips at the same time as Dacey did. The two locked eyes before having the same thought.
"Harrenhal!" they said in unison, before laughing together.
"What?" Smalljon asked, having just popped a grape in his mouth.
"Gods, do you ever stop eating?" Dacey asked him with a shake of her head.
"Harrenhal, Jon. That castle has five towers that are too big for it and ideal land that could be built upon around it. Lady Whent is dead…Harrenhal is under the dominion of the crown. The towers could be brought down and the stone used to renovate the keep and build new curtain walls and build two or three new towers. Hell, there's enough stone…perhaps I shall look into it when I am back in King's Landing." Robb said thoughtfully as he brought his goblet to his lips.
"Oh listen to him…so regal." Smalljon said, placing a hand over his heart.
"Shut your face, Umber before I decide to act like a Targaryen and have you gelded." Robb japed causing Dacey to laugh as Smalljon lowered his goblet to frown at Robb.
"Now, now…"
Smalljon was cut off by a knock at the door, the Blackfish entered and looked slightly out of breath.
"Your Grace. Word from Riverrun. Your mother's own seal." Robb rose at once to take the scroll from Brynden Tully. He saw that it was unread and quickly broke his mother's seal to read the letter.
His first reading left him confused, but after another moment he lowered the letter with a relieved smile upon his face.
"Good news at last!" Robb declared with a half-laugh, causing his comrades to lean forward in their seats curiously.
"Your Grace?" Dacey asked curiously, causing Robb to turn to her beaming.
"My sister Arya lives. She was brought to Riverrun by a group of vigilante outlaws led by Lord Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. They also have King Robert's oldest surviving bastard son. Thank the Gods…Arya is safe with mother…" Robb shakily sank into his seat and pressed his face into his hands. He had found his sister, but lost his brothers. The joy was marred with great grief.
"Uncle Brynden, sit with us for a moment. I wish to ask you something." Robb said after a moment, moving on from what had happened rather quickly.
"An honor, Your Grace. Budge over boy. You Umbers are not so big as to take up so much space!" Smalljon blushed as he shuffled over to allow Brynden to sit down. Dacey chuckled into her goblet, earning a glare from Smalljon who reached for his goblet only to have it taken by Brynden.
"Fetch us wine, boy." Smalljon looked utterly distraught for a moment, looking from face to face before taking on an air of indignity and rising to get the jug of wine.
"Leave him alone, Uncle. He's a good man." Robb chuckled "What I wanted to ask you was of the Crossing. You are one of the most loyal men I have, a member of my own family. What would you say to finding a pretty bride amongst the Frey brood, siring an heir and taking the Crossing as your seat, per your suggestion. Your loyalties would be to Winterfell and Riverrun. You would do me a great service."
"Take Walder Frey's castle and marry his daughter?" Brynden asked with a laugh.
"Aye, aye…I could very much be persuaded to do that…" Brynden laughed, leaning back in the chair.
"Would I be able to name my son Blackfish, starting a new House?"
"Of course." Robb nodded "I would name you a Lord. Not a steward, but your oaths to me would be different than that of the other lords. Your oath and the oath of your House must be to rule the Crossing fairly. To allow safe passage to me and mine, and to exact a fair toll from travelers and merchants."
"I am no Frey. Fair terms indeed." Brynden grinned, raising his goblet to Robb.
The next day Brynden met with the daughters and granddaughters of House Frey while Robb organized the ambush of Roose Bolton with his Northern lords who would be in the vanguard with Robb upon their march into the Neck. Edmure had decided to join his uncle, and when the two Tully men joined Robb in the early afternoon, both were looking oddly pleased with themselves.
"Why are you so happy?" Robb asked Edmure curiously, looking from the scrolls he had received from King's Landing and Riverrun to his uncle.
"This little twit followed me around to look at all the Frey girls and snicker, but ended up talking to one for the entire morning."
"So if I am to understand this, Ser Brynden went to search for a bride, and instead you found one?"
"No! No, no no, no." Edmure denied with a vigorous shake of his head until he glanced to see Brynden staring at him.
"Well, yes. Her name is Roslin, half Rosby…and she is…truly a wonder, Robb. It is long past time, I have found a bride…and-."
"Gods…be silent, Uncle. Please. Ser Brynden, did you find a bride, as was the purpose of this morning?" Robb asked, leaning back to sit in his chair and toss his quill onto the desk before him.
"Aye, actually. I did. I did not think I had, but when I was scoffing at this fool, I met a certain Lady Tyta who was also scoffing at his intended, Lady Roslin. A maid of thirty and quite a beauty if I may say so…" Brynden chuckled before clearing his throat as Robb furrowed his brow at him.
"Apologies, Your Grace…"
"Is she truly a maid?" Robb asked curiously, causing Brynden to shrug "Maid enough for me, Your Grace. She is the only one of the Freys who could speak to me without wanting to stab me. I do not want a bride who hates me."
"Nor I. Roslin is sweet, Your Grace. I beg your leave to sweat an oath of betr-.."
"Gods, Uncle Edmure. Yes, fine. Bring her to me, and I shall give you my leave. Ser Brynden, as long as you are happy, my lord. Then I bestow upon you this decree. A mark of lordship upon your marriage to a daughter of Lord Walder Frey. Your sigil as a black fish upon a grey field, and your name House Blackfish will be similarly recognized as a vassal of the Iron Throne." Robb said, handing Brynden a sealed scroll with a smile.
"Gods, you act quick, don't you, Your Grace?" Brynden chuckled.
"Name a castellan soon. The army is falling into rank and we will steal a night's march on Lord Bolton. Uncle Edmure, bring me your intended and I will give you my leave." Robb dismissed the Tully men, returning to his scrolls and his plans for the ambush.
Edmure's bride Roslin had been a small, pretty girl with delicate skin that was incredibly white, and seemed incredibly shy and taken with Edmure. Robb could only try to hide his smile as he gave his consent to the match.
Tyta Frey on the other hand was a tall, strapping woman with jet black hair. Tyta's beauty was in her confidence, and from what Brynden told Robb, Tyta knew her way around a spear and mace. What Robb saw between Tyta and Brynden was sweet in a way…but it was also somewhat disconcerting for Robb to see the lust with which Tyta and Brynden looked at each other.
Brynden and Edmure both swore oaths of betrothal to their intended Frey brides that night before they joined Robb on the march North.
The weather had mercifully eased as the swamps and bogs became more prevalent on their march through the Neck along the causeway. The crannogmen, led by Lord Howland Reed met them a league away from being exposed to Moat Cailin, where the great army took camp for the night.
"What news do you have for us, Lord Howland?" Robb asked as his commanders sat for council that night in Robb's grey tent.
"Good news, Your Grace. Ser Rodrik Cassel raised a small host and has been bleeding the Ironborn from the North of the castle for weeks nows. Their numbers have dwindled. Our own arrows and tactics have rendered them innert with sickness and lack of supplies. Balon Greyjoy is rumored to have died, Your Grace. And Victarion Greyjoy attempted to leave the Moat but we feathered his troops with poisoned arrows and have contaminated their water, they fell back with all haste when Ser Rodrik arrived to supplement our force."
"Excellent." Robb said, clapping his hand together once with joy.
"Victarion is commander of the Iron Fleet, and if Balon is dead that will cause a power struggle on the Iron Islands that we must take advantage of as soon as the North is ours again." Robb said, taking his seat at the had of the war council, a goblet of water in his hand.
"Upon taking the Moat, I want the army divided to cleanse the North. The Watermans, the Slates and the Flint's Finger Flints will take twelve-thousand men, including all their own bannermen to reclaim Flint's Finger, Blackpool and Greypool, as well as the keeps and castles of their bannermen. The Glovers, the Dustins, the Ryswells and the Tallharts will command a force of thirty-two-thousand strong to march along the west to reclaim the Rills, Barrowton, Torrhen's Square, and Deepwood Motte along with the keeps of their bannermen. I myself will lead the Forresters, the Whitehills, the Cerwyns and forty-two thousand men for Winterfell, Ironrath, Castle Cerwyn and Highpoint. The last force of Umbers, Manderlys, Hornwoods and the Widow's Watch Flints will of course march on the east for Last Hearth, White Harbor, Hornwood and Widow's Watch. I want the Northmen to return home once their castles are secured. Those wishing to accompany me on the final leg of this war are welcome to. The remaining southern force after the North is taken back will march to the Shadow Tower to regroup with the main host and the fleet, where we will then sail to the Iron Islands, destroy their fleet and raze Pyke to the ground. Is everyone clear?"
"Aye, Your Grace. But what of the Dreadfort?" The Greatjon rumbled earning nods from his fellow Northmen.
"A matter for after the battle, Lord Umber. But the castle and lands will fall under Winterfell's domain until the issue is handled. For tonight I urge you all to rest well, my lords." Robb stood, dismissing the lords en masse. Leaving him alone with his thoughts once more.
As the night wore on, he sat before the fire in his tent, watching the embers burn low, before a realization hit him. He rose quickly, moving to the flap in his tent and asking his guard to fetch the fastest messenger they had in their army. When the very man arrived, Robb detailed what the messenger was to do. A message to Highgarden and to his betrothed.
"Ride with all haste, and bring my promise to return to my betrothed."
"At once, Your Grace." The messenger bowed deeply, before turning to leave Robb's tent quickly. Robb himself sighed, falling to sit in his chair once more. He was weary from war and death, and all he truly wished for was to return to Margaery and sire a new generation of Starks.
Lord Roose Bolton was asleep, lying perfectly still as leeches stuck to his face and body. His deathly white hands were clasped before his chest as he appeared to be, by most accounts, dead.
However his cold, cruel eyes flicked open instantly when the flap of his tent was pushed aside and his squire stuck his head in urgently.
"Lord Bolton…we are being attacked in the night!"
"Ironborn?!" Roose, even when shouting, was not loud. He rose from his cot to wrench at the bloodsuckers on his face, their marks shining red in the darkness as Roose pulled them off hurriedly.
"No, my lord. They are flying the banners of Robb Stark."
"What?! Robb…Gods…be DAMNED!" Roose did get loud at that point, screaming with all fury before commanding his squire to help him with his armor and sword.
When Roose emerged out into the night, he saw that Dustin men had laid down their arms and instantly surrended to Robb Stark while the Ryswells were following suit having lost half of their men already to the ambush. It was only Bolton's men who continued to fight, but Roose knew the battle was lost. Robb Stark had discovered his arrangement, and was not so compassionate as his father as to let Roose live. The Lord of the Dreadfort had only one option ahead of him. To die while taking Robb Stark out of this world as well.
Roose mounted his horse and rode forth to the vanguard of his former allies. The Young Wolf was easy enough to spot from afar, ever surrounded by standard bearers and his horde of young Northmen around him. Roose roared a wordless battlecry as he slashed at Eddard Karstark, sending the boy to his death while he rode forth. Daryn Hornwood lost two fingers when Bolton slammed his sword down on Daryn's hand, and finally Roose saw Robb.
"Roose Bolton! I name you traitor and turncloak and do sentence you to death!" Robb called, urging his horse forward with his sword in hand.
"You first!" Roose called, moving forward to have his sword clash with Robb's repeatedly. Roose used his other hand to draw caltrops that he threw beneath Robb's horse, sending the Young Wolf tumbling to the ground as his horse neighed in pain. Robb put the poor creature out of its misery, before turning on to Roose who had joined Robb on the ground. Bolton was a skilled fighter, using dirty tactics well to his advantage as he knocked Robb into the dirt and moved to make an almight hack that would have beheaded the Young Wolf, had Robb not rolled out of the way in time to throw his legs up and kick Roose off balance. Robb and Roose then rose to meet each other in unarmed combat. Roose's well trained fist connected with Robb several times, before the quicker and stronger Robb managed to swing two solid jabs and an almighty left hook that rocked Roose off his feet once more. Robb sent a solid kick into Roose's gut before diving atop the man to viciously beat his traitorous vassal without mercy. Robb's gauntleted fists did much damage to Roose's face, Robb was so angry, so caught in his aggression that he did not see Roose's dagger until it was too late. Roose drove it blindly into Robb's chest causing the Young Wolf to shout out before grabbing Roose's head with both hands and smashing it back against the ground, knocking the former Lord of the Dreadfort out. Robb cried out in pain as he fell off Roose onto his back, clutching at his chest around the dagger that was quickly being seeped with blood.
Dacey and Smalljon who had been closest to Robb screamed, before killing their Bolton foes to rush to Robb's side.
"I'm fine! I'm fin-ARGH! MAESTER NOW!" Robb roared, as he tried to tug the dagger out of his right breast, where it had only just embedded itself into his flesh, but had thankfully not mortally wounded the Young Wolf.
Robb was placed in a wheelhouse behind the rearguard and tended to by a Maester as the United Army fell under the leadership of Robb's trusted generals composed of; the Greatjon Umber, his son Smalljon, Dacey Mormont, Brynden 'The Blackfish' Tully, Edmure Tully, Ser Garlan Tyrell, Lord Mathis Rowan, Lord Bryce Caron, Lord Jason Mallister and Lord Rickard Karstark.
The crannogmen, using their knowledge of the bogs and the swamps, had placed bowmen on the western side of the castle, while Ser Rodrik Cassel held 2000 men on the northern side.
"Victarion Greyjoy, Invader of the North!" Greatjon Umber's voice carried across the marshes to the battlements where two swaying Ironborn manned the Drunkard's Tower of Moat Cailin.
"You are surrounded, outnumbered, and dying from disease and hunger. Surrender now and face the justice of Robb of the House Stark, First of His Name and the One True King of Westeros. Fail to do so and be destroyed without mercy! You have till the sun reaches its midpoint to consider!"
"Are we really going to wait?" Lord Rickard Karstark asked his friend as the Greatjon returned to the vanguard where the generals were assembled.
"HA! Gods, no. Sound the horn, prepare the attack." The Greatjon said cheerfully, turning back to face Moat Cailin with his sword drawn.
A warhorn sounded from somewhere near the vanguard, and with that the Battle of Moat Cailin began. Hundreds, maybe thousands of bowmen surrounded the Moat and began firing from all angles, raining flaming arrows and poison-tipped arrows down on the Ironborn while a well organized contingent of men marched forward with their shields above their heads for the gates of the Moat. Arrows began to rain down from two of the towers of the Moat, taking only a few lives of the beseiegers beneath their shields before they managed to begin battering the gates.
The gates were old and rusted, and the bowmen weak and unsupplied. Within an hour, the gates were broken down and the Moat was being surged by only a few hundred men to kill the Greyjoys. Victarion Greyjoy was found dead with his own men's axe buried deeply in his skull, his men having intended to mutiny before the Greatjon ordered the attack.
"This is one of the best wars I've ever fought in!" The Greatjon thundered as the bodies of the Greyjoys were cleared from the Moat, and the ruins were cleaned up and garrisoned by Northmen once more.
"How can you celebrate when our King is injured?" Ser Garlan demanded of the Greatjon as the council sat down the day after the battle.
"Our King will live. He is a Stark, and they have endured for a thousand years. King Robb is the finest Stark we have seen since his dear father. Ned would have made a fine King, and Robb will do just as well, if not better. The Maester assures us that the King will be healed by the time his army marches on Winterfell. Until then, his host that was to march under his command will be commanded by the Blackfish. The King will stay in the wheelhouse to rest until he is strong enough to ride again."
Author's Note: Biggest chapter of the story! The retaking of Moat Cailin and of course Walder Frey is dead, yaaay.
I am really amazed at how many views I've gotten on this story, and I'd like to personally thank El Chacal, DarylDixon'sLover and Arianna La Fay for their continuous and supportive reviews of this. Its a very wonderful confidence booster.
I've also received a question which I wanted to clear up a few things about.
I know that Natalie Dormer is Margaery on the show and she is of course a wonderful Margaery, but for my story, I have pictured a few characters differently.
Robb Stark is still Richard Madden of course. But I see Miranda Kerr or Leighton Meester as Margaery Tyrell, depending on who you prefer. And I also see Jaimie Alexander as Dacey Mormont and Clive Standen as Smalljon Umber.
Hope that clears things up :)