NINE : ROBB (I)
Sansa sat opposite him, on the end of his bed, with her feet tucked beneath her and a heated glow surrounding her. She looked incredibly joyous; a beam stretched across her pale face and her Tully eyes bright with wonder. "Oh, he was so gallant, Robb! Did you see? Did you see how handsome he is? His golden hair is like the sun, do you not think so?"
Robb could only grunt. He felt as though he was betraying his sister by not telling her his suspicions, but without being certain how could he put such doubts into her mind? It would only wound her. Even so, was it not the honourable thing to warn her? She wound no doubt be hurt either way. Nonetheless, the prince was a right royal prick. How Sansa could not see that was beyond him.
His sister beamed again. She stood up and wrapped her pale blue cloak tighter around her. "Do you think the queen likes me? She asked me if I was flowered or not. I think she was disappointed when I said no..."
Robb felt supremely uncomfortable with those mere words. He was not one to discuss such personal matters with his sister, and yet in her great distress he suspected she was barely paying attention to what she was saying anyway. "I doubt that matters," he said, with all the knowledge of a four-and-ten year old, near a man grown. "You are only a young girl, sister."
"You're right," she decided, turning away from Robb's window and smiling once more. "Mother said that I would have to go south to marry Joffery, with Father when he accepts the position as Hand."
"If he accepts," Robb retorted, harsher than he had meant to be. Sansa blinked like a startled doe, and Robb softened at once. "It would not be a wise move for Father to abandon the north at this time; the deserter from the Watch spoke of things stirring in the north. It would be far better for him to stay here."
"But you would be Lord of Winterfell," Sansa protested, smiling. "You would have the whole of the north under your command! Wouldn't that be just wonderful? Besides, you're brave, Robb; you'd be able to handle a few wildlings." She rolled her eyes as though suggesting otherwise might be the stupidest thing in the world.
Robb chewed his lip. He did not want to frighten her, nor did he want to crush those dreams that filled her head. And yet, Sansa had always been too trusting in her songs and stories. Perhaps it was time to break that. It would be for her own betterment.
"I am not yet a man grown, Sansa, nor have I ever been in battle. I have no experience—"
"You practise with swords all the time, Robb!"
"Not live steel, Sansa," Robb said firmly. "And I'm not just talking about wildlings! The man of the Watch spoke of the Others. Now, I am not so easily inclined to believe such things—"
"Good," Sansa sniffed loftily, "the Others have been gone for thousands of years, Robb. They're just stupid stories."
How ironic, Robb wanted to say, but he did not. Sansa might start to cry, or yell, and what was worse was the inevitable feeling of guilt he would get upon insulting his sister. "Sansa," Robb stood, crossed the room swiftly which made his drunken head swim, and took her hands in his own. He had to be gentle, but firm, like Father. "A month ago, there were no more direwolves south of the Wall. Now there are seven. Do you honestly think that it is impossible for things to change? To go wrong? Because I assure you, sister, there are worse things than not marrying your prince on the morrow."
Sansa swallowed. "Why do you believe the deserter?" She asked quietly.
It is not him I place my trust in, but my instincts, Robb held back. He sighed. "Upon death many men say different things, but it is their fear that condemns them. You can see it in their eyes, Sansa. You can see that they believe the words they speak."
The madman sees what he sees.
Sansa started to shake after that, and so Robb said no more, but rather hugged her fiercely and let her retire for the night. When she was gone, Robb stood alone — resting against the back wall of his bedchamber — with only his thoughts for company.
Poor company they made, he decided, thinking of the scene he and Jon had witnessed in the wood. It was clear to him now that the princes and princess were indeed born of incest; though they shared no resemblance to their Father, Robb had hoped to see something akin in personality that night. But it seemed that Joff was still a twat, Myrcella was as timid as a bluebird, and Tommen was a doughy little thing — absolutely not a child of the boisterous Robert Baratheon.
The queen and the Kingslayer... That was a whole other ordeal. Not only were the children illegitimate and borne of a lie, but the queen's ongoing relationship with her brother — the thought of it made Robb sick all over again.
It was wrong, all wrong... And yet Robb had spoken to Jon after the feast. They had made a plan as they stood in the darkened shadows of the Great Hall, whispering of what they should do and whom they should tell.
Father, absolutely, had been at the top of Robb's list as one to let in on their shared knowledge. Jon to his surprise had refused adamantly, saying that it could put Father in more danger than he already was, but eventually Robb had argued that ignorance was a greater weapon than most, and Jon had conceded.
It was the hour of the wolf when his brother came to fetch him. They shared a swig of summerwine to calm their nerves, and then they made their brisk walk down to the Lord's chamber together. Robb's hands were shaking.
Jon rapped on the door. In the seconds of silence it took for their Father to call, "Enter," Robb allowed his worries to briefly take hold of him; what if Father did not believe them? What if he claimed they were foolish? Or traitors? What if he demanded that they not even tell the King?
Jon pushed the door open. It was a sight to see his Father dressed in but a bathrobe and his mother laying under a mound of furs with the lot of them pulled up to her chin. He would have been amused if he was not so worried and disgusted with the idea of his parents' nightly activities.
"Lord Stark," Jon said firmly. If it had been for anything else the two of them might have blushed and made excuses to leave, but this was not a day to skirt around the truth. Robb closed the door and bolted it shut, grim and resolute.
Father raised his eyebrows. He could tell they were fearful, Robb knew. He could sense it on them as wolves were wont to do. "What is wrong? What is it?"
Robb grabbed a spare blanket from off the end of his mother's bed and stuffed it in the crack under the door. Jon laced his fingers together beside him, anxious. "We have worrisome news to share with you," he said, suddenly firm. Robb thought in that moment he sounded a proper lord.
"Oh?" Mother looked abashed and embarrassed, but nonetheless short with them for interrupting... What they had been doing. Robb's stomach churned. "What news would this be?"
"It's about the queen," Robb told them quickly, resisting the strong urge to avert his eyes. "And her brother, the Kingslayer."
"The Kingslayer?" Father questioned. He was frowning. Robb could see the doubt curling his features — pronouncing what few lines there were upon his face.
Jon lightly and discreetly whacked Robb on the arm, signalling for him to take the lead in speaking. Robb cleared his throat. "This morning, after the King and all the rest arrived, Jon and I went out to walk the wolves in the godswood," he informed his Father. "We were about to leave when we heard voices — the queen and her brother. We hid, not wanting to be caught, and that was when... When they spoke of their relationship with one another."
He phrased it as delicately as he could manage, trying to convey what he could not speak with his eyes.
Father and Mother only frowned. "What do you mean, Robb?" Mother asked, noticing the anger in his voice. "What happened?"
"What Robb is trying to say," Jon piped up, uncomfortable, "is that Cersei and Jaime Lannister are involved in an incestuous relationship with one another. We have strong suspicions that the royal children are bastards born of incest, as well."
They were stunned, it was plain to see. Mother was gaping. Father gently set his chalice of wine upon the bedside table and approached them with great caution. "You jest," he said. "Surely, you must be jesting."
Robb shook his head. "This is no tale weaved by green boys, Father," he said. "Jaime Lannister... touched his sister in places improper for a brother to even consider. He said... He said he would 'fuck her anywhere' if I recall correctly."
"You do," Jon reported grimly. He marched over to the wine jug, mindless of Father's rules, and poured him and Robb a cupful both. Once he had downed his first, Jon seemed to have gathered his courage. He turned to their white-faced Father. "You know I would never make such a thing up. You know I would never lie, never tell you if I was not sure. Honour is your way, and so it is mine. Here I do the honourable thing: I tell my Father what I have learned, for these matters are fragile and not to be handled by those of inexperience and foolishness."
"You are no fool, Jon," Father said firmly. Their eyes locked, and something that Robb did not understand passed between them.
Jon handed Robb the goblet. "You must inform the King," Robb said. "It is the honourable thing to do, if we truly speak of honour. He has every right to know."
"And what of the queen? What of her children?" Father looked torn.
It was Mother who answered. "We take the children into our custody," she said firmly. "We raise them as wards. However, I do not imagine Robert will like the idea of a contestant for the throne; Joffery was raised a prince. He is an entitled little boy. Perhaps it would be better to send him to the Wall?"
Father nodded. "Yes," he said. "And Robert... Cersei..."
"The queen deserves whatever punishment the King sees fit. Whether it is to execute her murderous brother, or lock her in the Black Cells — it matters not. All that matters now is telling him. Withhold what little wrath of his you can, Ned; he trusts you as an advisor, he will listen to you."
"How will we tell him?" Father demanded.
"We have a plan on that account," Robb and Jon said together.
They explained, and Mother and Father helped them smooth over the details.
An hour later they were still deep in conversation when there was another knock on the door. Father admitted them, while Robb quickly unbolted the door and kicked the blanket away. It was only Maester Luwin, who seemed surprised to see him and Jon in the room with Lord and Lady Stark.
"My lord and lady," Luwin bowed his head, befuddled. "I bring a missive from the Vale."
"The Vale?" Mother quickly took the offered scroll and slipped the wax seal off. She read it, brows furrowed, until finally her face cleared. "Gods above..." She whispered.
Father scowled, clearly impatient that she had taken the message, not he. "What is it?"
"Lysa..." She whispered. "Lysa writes to tell me that Jon Arryn was murdered. By the Lannisters."
It seemed to click for the four of them at once. Jon's back straightened from where he sat, Father's eyes widened. Mother quickly tossed the message into the flames and watched it burn. "How do you know this to be true? How does she?" Robb asked.
Mother shook her head. She seemed to be in a great deal of shock. "She told me that the Lannsiters poisoned him. That it was no sickness that took him to the seven heavens." Her eyes were fixed upon the flames as she spoke, voice shaking.
"And she put all of this in a letter?" Father asked, disbelieving.
"When we were children, Lysa and I created our own secret language," she confessed, wrapping her arms around her cloak. She turned to Father. "Her words are true, Ned. She would not write such a thing, knowing it could have been intercepted, if she was lying."
Father, looking full of grief, seated himself in a chair. He ran a hand over his face. "This is madness," he whispered.
"This is the south," Jon argued, sipping his wine. He was perched on the writing desk, feet resting on a stool. "They are all murderers and liars, I can promise you."
Robb wanted to know how he knew that, but then he remembered that he had lived there until he was seven, and had received several ravens in the time in which he had been living in Winterfell, through which he could have learned much of the ways of southroners.
"What would you have me do?" Father asked of them.
"Do not go south," the three of them said together — Jon's voice the loudest.
Father looked strained. His eyes looked up to Jon, who was resolutely staring Father down. "We know why he was murdered," Jon said quietly. "At least, we have a good idea why. It would be foolish to venture into the snake pit that is Kings Landing. And winter is coming, Father."
That got him, Robb knew. Something in his eyes changed.
"You all must rest," he said, sending a grateful nod to a very confused Maester Luwin. "I will think over this and come back to you with an answer."
Robb nodded shortly. He had no wish to continue the conversation any longer. Jon left with him. They did not speak on their way back to their rooms, and yet Jon's look as he departed said all Robb needed to know; we did what we could.
In the morning, Robb dined on a rasher of bacon and eggs, though the food was tasteless with his nerves.
Bran, beside him, was sitting relentlessly. Robb attempted to strike up conversation with his little brother, in an effort to bury his growing unease. "What will you do today, while we hunt?"
Bran shrugged. "I'm not sure," he confessed. Then his eyes lit up. "Perhaps I'll climb! I know mother forbade me, but you won't tell, will you?"
Robb grit his teeth. What is his brother wandered to the Broken Tower? It was one of his favourite structures to climb. "No climbing today, Bran," he ordered firmly, trying to sound every bit a lord. "I know you never fall, but winter is coming; there are more dangers than just unsteady hands."
"But—"
"Not today," Robb said. He hardened his voice and Bran meekly stirred his bowl of honeyed oats. "Do you understand me, Brandon?"
With the use of his full name, Bran knew that Robb was serious. "I do," he said. "I promise not to climb."
Robb nodded. He pulled on his brown leather gloves to block out the bite in the air. "Are you ready?" Jon asked him, voice low.
Robb nodded shortly. They were ready. The plan was simple. He rose from his seat, and followed Jon out into the courtyard. Father and the King were there as well. Robb mounted his horse quickly. They headed to the West Gate, right by the Broken Tower — though word had been spread that they would be leaving from the East Gate. Robb had done that himself.
As they approached, Robb listened. The sounds of moaning and grunting were just audible. Robb felt as though he was going to empty his stomach, at the thought of what the Kingslayer was doing to his sister.
King Robert chuckled from beside Robb's father. "Some serving wench and her man, eh?" Thank the gods, his voice did not carry. "The north is looser than I previously thought!"
Father nodded shortly. He had halted, making a small show of adjusting his reins. While he was at it, Jon shot Robb a look: now.
Robb nudged Grey Wind and, as they had rehearsed at dawn near six times, the wolf bolted off toward the tower, likely expecting someone with a treat for him above. Still Robb could hear the siblings going at it. He quickly slipped off his palfrey, calling out, "Grey Wind!" though he did not yell.
He chased the wolf up the familiar path of the tower, footsteps light. At the top, the door was open. The Kingslayer was visible, breeches round his ankles, and the queen was bent over, gasping. Robb recoiled at the sight.
His mass of a wolf tackled the two to the ground. The queen screamed bloody murder, and the Kingslayer reached for a sword that was not there. In just his tunic the wolf pinned him to the ground, bearing his teeth. Jaime Lannister was so shocked he forgot to protect his lady.
Robb stepped out of the shadows, sword in hand and trained on the queen's chest. The steel blade flashed in the sun, glinting menacingly. "Call off your wolf," she hissed, eyes fire.
"Why should I?" Robb asked. He was genuinely looking, waiting for some form of an excuse. Some reason as to why the queen would lie with her brother — would betray the King in such an unlawful way.
The queen gave him naught but a fierce glare. "I will have you hanged for this," she whispered. "I will watch as lions devour your eyes—"
"YOUR GRACE!" Robb screamed, at the top of his lungs.
It was unnecessary; his father and Jon had already led the King up the steps to the top of the tower, as they had previously discussed. Robb heard him before he saw him; huffing and grunting. When he came into view, he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "What is it, boy? What is the—"
His eyes found the queen, open legged with Robb's sword at her throat, and her twin brother lying on the ground with his manhood still out, attempting to push a heavy Grey Wind off of him.
The King's face turned purple as the gears clicked into place. "Remove your blade, boy," he ordered, fists clenched so tightly they were white. "And order your wolf off."
Robb did as he was bid. "Grey Wind, to me."
He gleaned a sick satisfaction of sorts as he wanted the furious King tower over his lady wife. "Seven hells, woman," he growled. "You are going to be the death of me."
"You give me hope at last," Cersei hissed. "For years I have prayed to the seven; take him from me. Kill him as you see fit, I care not, but let him no longer take air into his lungs. Let his wounds bleed and let me lap up his blood, let me fuck my brother in it."
Robb backed away, straight into Father. He put a hand on Robb's shoulder and gave him a firm look; be strong, my son.
"Find a block, damn it," Robert ordered. "Ned! Where to you preform your executions?"
"Your Grace," Father took a heavy step forward. "It would not be wise—"
"Fuck wisdom!" The King rounded on father, eyes wide and full of blood lust. Robb had seen the look on Theon's face a few times. It made him uneasy. "The bitch is mine, as is the Kingslayer!"
"They are Lord Tywin's son and daughter; one of the most powerful men in Westeros. Your Grace, if you touch a golden hair on either of their heads, you will no doubt invoke the wrath of Lord Tywin and all his sixty thousand men."
Robert grunted. He turned back to the queen. "Vaegar!" He called. A short, pale man stepped forward. He wielded an axe and a sly grin, as though he had been a conspirator all along. "Tie up the Kingslayer and his whore! I want them both locked away in cells!"
Vaegar and two other men did the deed, not even bothering to hand Jaime Lannister back his trousers before they marched him down the tower. The queen went next, screaming and yelling and clawing as best she could before Robert marched over and struck her clear across the cheek. Robb winced. It was in that moment that Robb saw his brother, Bran, peeking through the window.
Robb quickly marched over and yanked Bran through the open frame, scowling. His brother yelped. "What did I tell you?" Robb demanded, setting him down on the ground. "I said, 'no climbing today,' and what did you do?"
Bran shuffled his feet. "I climbed," he confessed, guilty.
Robb shook his head in utter exasperation, one hand on his brother's slim shoulder. "Bran," he said, kneeling, "I've seen you climb a thousand times; in the wind, in the rain, in the snow, and you have never once fallen. But there were different dangers today, dangers I knew of and had no wish for you to be part of."
"I'm sorry," he said.
Robb sighed. "Father will deal with you," he said, nudging his brother over to where Robert and their father were quietly conferring. Jon joined them.
"You should listen to Robb," Jon said slowly. "One of these days... I worry for you, Bran."
"As brothers are wont to do," Father said quietly. Had he been listening? Robb flushed. "You are almost a man grown, Bran, and my son no less. It is past time you acted the part and ceased in giving into childish temptations."
"Instead," said Theon, seemingly undeterred by the day's events, "you can focus on your more adult temptations, eh?"
"Shut up, Theon," Robb and Jon spat together.
"Come," said Father, steering the three of them out the door. The King followed. "We have much to discuss."
AN: Chapter 9, everybody! I told you all not to worry; obviously Ned would be informed. How did you like it? Review, please, they bring me joy! Chapter 10: Ashara. Get ready, yo.
Much love xx