Robb

"It's been a month," Robb said wearily, fingers pinching his brow.

"Hmm, what?" Theon asked. He cracked the shell of his egg, and peeled half it away before biting into it, the yellow globs of the yoke spurting forth to run down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and spoke through his mouthful, "What's been a month?"

Robb looked up at Theon, irritated for a moment, then let it subside. It wasn't his fault, he hadn't meant to spring it on Greyjoy like this.

"A month since My Father and the girls left," he knew the sadness in his voice, and it was not for the absence of his Father, or Sansa nor Arya. "Yet still my mother is up there. Doesn't she realise she is needed, she is still Lady of Winterfell?"

"Grief has a way with women," Theon said, laying his egg down to look at him consolingly, "she will come out of it soon. Until she does we shall have to look to the Lord of Winterfell in absence of its Lady."

Robb looked at his friend again, frowning, "And how should we expect to do that, with him all the way in King's Landing?"

Theon frowned, the black hair of his brow knitting together while his eyes narrowed after he rolled them at him. He then took back up his half eaten egg and tossed it at Robb. It landed with a splash in the soup bowl he had pushed aside, and set the broth scattering off the table. Before Robb could get put another word in, Theon was already speaking again, with strain in his tone.

"I'm talking about you, Stark! With Lord Eddard gone, the responsibilities are yours: take them! Otherwise what was the point in you staying behind?"

Of course Robb knew this. Knew his duty as heir to Winterfell, in absence of Lord Eddard, but he had not expected it to be like this, for the weight of it all to be his alone, a burden to bear. Even his Father had not been alone, had his Lady Wife, the cloistered Lady Catelyn to depend on always. What did he have? His mother take to Bran's sick bed, Jon and Uncle Benjen gone to the wall, Rickon a boy too young to understand anything that was going on around him. Theon, Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin were all good men, his father's men, trusted and true, but they were not Starks. And for all intents, Robb was the only Stark in Winterfell.

They fell into silence, Robb and Theon. The only sound in the room was the soft, liquid lapping of Grey Wind, drinking the fallen soup from off of the floor. Robb looked down at the direwolf and smiled. The animal was growing now, less puppyish than it had been a month ago, and already could have challenge any of the hunting hounds in a contest of size. In truth if anyone was Lord of Winterfell these days it was Grey Wind, deferred to everywhere, dogs and men all yielding to the beast wherever he went. No where was denied to him, not the kitchens, the yards, a bed chamber or any other quiet corner of the Keep. Even Grey Wind was not alone: Ghost, Lady and Nymeria may have left, but he still had Bran's wolf and Shaggydog to pad around and howl at the sky with.

When Robb put his hand to the wolf's shoulders and scratched softly, it ceased to devour the fallen meal, licked at his hand softly before turning back to the dregs of soup he had yet to clear away.

His smile left him.

"I shall go and see her," he resolved, standing to his feet. "I will make her see reason."

"And if she does not?" Theon seemed to be half relived at this sudden spur of him to action, but also half disappointed that it was his Mother to whom he was going.

"Then I shall do my duty: alone."

He then turned, leaving Theon Greyjoy by himself. Grey Wind was on his heels immediately, then cutting ahead of him to go barrelling out of the quiet solar room. The night had grown in, he saw, the moon a glistening, silver orb already huge in the sky. As soon as they were out in the cold air as they crossed the courtyard, the direwolf lifted his head and howled. He did not do so alone for long, and soon Robb heard the other wolves howl, then joined by the hunting hounds and through it all he swore that the stray dogs of Winter Town had started barking also.

Perhaps I should have gone South, Robb allowed himself to think. It was not the first time he had done so the past two fortnights. Again and again, he couldn't help contemplate the fact that he might have been better off to go South. Prince Rickard and Harrold Hardyng and plenty other that come up from King's Landing seemed the decent sort, more his own age, fond of the tourney yard, and a hunt, and a night with fine drink, all of which were rare for Robb. They would carry on with their freedom when they went South, but now that they were gone Robb was still here, and he felt trapped. Winterfell seemed empty, even by comparison of before the King's visit, and for the first time in his life Robb felt unworthy to be a Stark.

I'm not ready, he thought. There was still much he had to learn form his Father, and had he gone South, he might have learned, maybe not just about being Lord of Winterfell. His Father would be Hand of the King, chosen to help the King govern not just one kingdom but seven! What might he have learned about his mother's home in the Riverlands, or the hardy Storm Lords that had followed Robert Baratheon to battle in his Rebellion beside his Lord Father? What could he have come to know about the Iron Islands, where Theon would one day rule as Lord? With all this still to know, how could he be expected to govern Winterfell and the North in Lord Eddard's stead? He had never fought in a real tourney; he did not train with real steel with a proper edged blade; how could he expect the Lords of the North to answer his call if he summoned the banners, how could he enforce the King's peace in his father's name. They would all just laugh at him, this green boy, and Robb imagined them calling him Robb the Unworthy.

Robb kicked a stone across the floor in despair, amidst the chorus of dog barks and wolf howls as he continued to cross the courtyard. He was about to enter the door that took to the stairs and Bran's sick room, when someone called after him.

"Robb! Robb!"

He turned, searching for who had called, only to look down and see the tiny, crying boy coming towards him. His heart cracked for Rickon, as he ran at him, fast as a child of three could, and wrapping his hands about Robb, tight as he could sobbing heard into his knee. Robb peeled his littlest brother from off his leg and held him in his arms. At first we wondered how Rickon had found and why he had not been put to bed yet, but the contemplation went from him as Rickon sobbed hard and wrapped his arms around his neck instead.

"Robb… Father… Mother… where… gone…"

Clutching tight back at his brother, Robb tried to soothe him, to explain as best as he could that their Father was South to serve the King and that Bran was ill and Mother was taking care of him. But this only made Rickon cry harder and tugged his neck tighter.

"But… what… bout… me…" The boy croaked in between his sobs, and for that Robb had no answer.

For Rickon, this had become typical since their Father had taken South, most days he spent crying and doing his best to follow Robb wherever he could. And when we could not, he went wild. Wilder even than Arya, and with Shaggydog always bounding gleefully after him, or snarling when someone came toward Rickon in anger.

All Robb could do was shush his brother till the tears subsided him into tiredness, and he became too drowsy to cry anymore so they could put him down to bed. He did much the same here, calling over a passing guard of the household over, but Robb added the promise to his brother when he suddenly found new energy in himself as he was handed off. Robb promised that he would come read him a story tonight and kissed the top of his little, brown, curling head, even sending Grey Wind to follow him as proof he would keep his word.

When Robb arrived at the sickroom, he was surprised to see the door already open. At first he peered in just behind the door, and suddenly felt glad when he saw Maester Luwin talking with his Lady Mother. But the relief suddenly turned sour as Lady Catelyn's voice raised to a shout.

"My son lies here, Luwin, broken and dying! Yet you wish to discuss a new steward? A new master of horse? Do you think I give one moments thought to the stables?! I would gladly butcher every hound, horse, cat in Winterfell! Smash in the Godswood, set the kitchens afire with all the cooks to roast alive inside, all to have my boy open his eyes!"

Robb watched his mother with his eyes wide, unable to even recognise her: the screech in her voice, the frayed and wild look of her hair, and the dead look in her eye that burned with the threat if truth to all she had said. He stepped out from the door, his body filling it up

"Yes, my lady," the maester went on, "but the appointments…"

Robb cut him off, "I'll make the appointments."

They both looked at him, acknowledging for the first time his presence. The old man looked at him then from her to him and back again.

"Very good, my lord." His hand dipped into his sleeve, and retrieved a slip of parchment, telling him, "I have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for the vacant offices."

He took the paper and starred at it blankly. "Good names," he said, not taking any of them in. He was more grateful for the excuse to delay looking at his Mother again. "We'll talk more of it tomorrow," and pocketed the list.

Luwin bowed, then left them both alone: Mother and Son.

Weary, he asked her, "What are you doing?"

She looked truly lost at him when she heard his words, and repeated them to herself before she said, "What do you think I'm doing? I am taking care of Bran." She did not shout, it was more of a plea for him to understand.

"You haven't left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn't even come to the gate when Father and the girls went south. How does that help Bran?"

"I said goodbye to them here," her voice had a curt tone to sharpen it now, "and I saw them ride out from the window."

But they did not see you when they did, Robb thought, and remembered how his Father's eyes kept drawing upward and then backward to look at the tower with worried eyes.

"I can't leave him, Robb. You must understand. Any moment could be his last…" And Robb watched her fingers slide to clutch a Bran's limp hand.

He thought to put steel into his next words, make them sound strong to encourage her, but instead they were soft, gentle to nurture her fears. "Bran will not die, Mother. Maester Luwin says he is passed the worst."

"And if Luwin is wrong? He will need me."

This time his words did have steel that bit in them, "Rickon needs you. He's only three, he doesn't understand," and he told her how he'd taken to following him, his tears and Robb felt his heart turn heavy and his voice cracked, "Mother, I need you too. I'm trying, but I can't… I can't…" Suddenly, he felt like a child again and all he wanted was for her to hold him as such, and he hated to feel the weakness of admitting that he still needed his mother.

He looked at her, and she at him, but Lady Catelyn made no move nor said a word. The only sound was a wolf howling outside.

"It's Bran's," he could recognise the difference between the three of them. But even now he wouldn't have to, as Bran's nameless wolf was always camped beneath the window of his sickroom, and could be heard easily. Still, Robb opened the window and the howls drew in all the stronger.

Robb heard his mother shiver, and could tell it wasn't the sudden rush of cold air that passed him by that set her shaking. He couldn't bring himself to look at her when she started to sob, nor when she started screaming, "Make them stop! I can't stand it, make them stop, make them stop, kill them all if you must, just make them stop!" For him it was as much hurt not to look at her than it was to here her cries, her agonies for Bran. His gaze remained fixed outside, unseeing into the blackness of night

It was only when his mother's voice crumbled into haggard sobs, and Robb rubbed at the moistness of his own face that he seemed to come backdown to earth. The wolf was still howling, but this time it was not alone: he could here Grey Wind joining the chorus, and Shaggydog. Dogs were barking once more, but none of it was the same as it had been. The dogs sounded more alarmed than anything, and there was no moon for the wolves to howl when he looked up, below he heard a voice shout and with his head out of the window, his eyes sweeping over the keep to see what? – he didn't know, until the deadly orange glow caught his sight.

"Fire."

Then someone else was shouting across the castle somewhere, and Robb withdrew his head from the window to look back in the room at his mother. His jaw fell at little, the vision of his weeping panicked mother, pulling at his brother.

"Help me, Robb," she said, her eyes pleadingly on him now, "Help me with Bran!"

Robb felt the hairs on his next all pricking up, as he spoke to her, "The library tower's on fire," and she sagged back with relief, which couldn't have been further away from him. Fire, he thought, Winterfell is on fire. His body did not feel like his own next. He felt outside himself, everything reacting without him really putting thought or effort into it. It was as if the Stark's wolfsbood had but for an hour taken grip of Robb. "Stay here, mother. I'll come back as soon as the fire's out."

He ran then, his feet carrying out of the door, and shouting for the guards. They all fell in behind him, others too, as the call went up and around the Keep from his mouth. When he crashed out the doors where he left Rickon, the yard he entered was more like a battle. A real melee, only there were no swords, no axes, no armour. There were horses, that could be heard from the stables all screaming and braying. Robb remembered little of the fight to subdue the flames afterwards, only the feel of heat clawing at his face, as he and a dozen others tossed bucket after bucket of water at the raging inferno, while thousands of years' worth of books, scrolls and manuscripts all turned to ash around him. It wasn't for an hour till someone dragged Robb back from the flames, and left him wishing he had stayed behind when they found Lady Catelyn, the dead man and Bran's wolf, with blood dripping from its mouth.

They had to wait four days. Four long, irritable days until his mother woke. They had bundled his mother up, and taken her back to her rooms, where Old Nan bathed her, Maester Luwin tended to the deep gauges that the dagger had left in her hands, and put her to bed where she slept and slept, until Robb thought that like Bran she might not wake up again.

Until she did.

A servant came for him, informed him that his Lady Mother had risen at last and was demanding food. Robb went to her then, quiet and solemn as a crypt. He said nothing when Ser Rodrick fell in with him, nor to Theon either. When they entered the room, Robb kissed Catelyn on the cheek and faded to a wall while Ser Rodrick and Theon drew all out that they could, as he held the pommel of the steel at his hip, simmering.

"Who was he?" she asked.

"No one knows a name, my lady. But he was no man of Winterfell to be sure. Plenty have seen him however, lurking hither and thither about the castle." Ser Rodrick answered.

Yes they had seen him, plenty of people to be sure, but none of them had truly saw the man, Robb thought, else they would have known him to be a catspaw sent to do murder of the Starks. It had been him who personally questioned all Winterfell, every servant, guard and member of the household. None had gone without suspicion. In the end Robb had to face the fact, the threat to Winterfell had come from without and not within, South with the Lannisters and the King, Lord Eddard and his sisters among six hundred Northmen into the Lion's jaws.

"He'd been hiding in your stables," Theon said. "You could smell it on him."

"And how could he go unnoticed?" his mother demanded.

Because we were blind, and in the absence of the Lord of Winterfell, Winterfell itself is vulnerable. That a man with a bag of silver and a simple dagger could strike at the hearts of the Lords of the North. Hodor had seen him, had known something was off, yet had gone ignored. And so a simpleton had be the guardian to keep Winterfell secure, whom had gone unheeded.

The maester entering drew Robb out of himself for a moment, and he continued to watch him as he tended to the bandages on his mother's hands.

"It was Bran," his mother told them all, "he meant to kill Bran."

Theon protested, "No, surely not. What is the boy? Sleeping and no harm to anyone."

"He saw something," Robb said, without realising at first, "or knows something. Whoever sent the assassin fears what Bran might know or do if… when he wakes." He looked at Ser Rodrick, "Double the guard outside the sickroom. And put someone inside the room at all times, keep the direwolf inside with him too."

Ser Rodrick nodded, and went to leave, but his mother called the knight back, "What of the knife first?"

The master-at-arms glanced at him first, but did not wait for any sign before he addressed Lady Catelyn. "Valyrian steel, the hilt dragonbone. Too fine a weapon for someone low born, it came from someone to be sure. Someone of high birth gave the order, my lady."

Catelyn Stark looked hesitant for a second, the information not wholly a surprise, Robb could tell from her expression, until she told Ser Rodrick, "Close the door." He did so, "What I am about to tell you must not leave this room," his mother went on, "I want your oaths on that. If even part of what I suspect is true, Ned and my girls have ridden into deadly danger, and a word in the wrong ears could mean their lives." The anger in Robb's belly was boiling now, and the hand on his sword gripping it so tight his wrist was aching.

"Lord Eddard is a second father to me," said Theon Greyjoy. "I do so swear."

"You have my oath," Maester Luwin said.

"And mine, my lady," echoed Ser Rodrik.

It hurt Robb when she looked at him, expectant. His grip fell from his sword, and his stomach lurched when he thought, does she not trust me? Regardless he nodded shortly, before she delivered the insult of asking him.

"My sister Lysa believes the Lannisters murdered her husband, Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King," she told them. "Jaime Lannister did not join the hunt the day Bran fell. He remained here in the castle. I do not think Bran fell from that tower."

She did not need to go on, the suggestion stretched out in front of them on all their faces. "My lady, all this would be atrocious," said Rodrik Cassel. "Dishonourable as he is, even the Kingslayer shouldn't have it in him to murder a child."

"You think so?" Theon asked, and Robb suddenly recalled the stories of his father's army arriving at King's Landing in the Rebellion. How the Lannister's had wrapped the bodies of Rhaegar Targaryen's children in red cloaks to hide the blood, and he though mayhap Ser Jaime had stopped by the nursery before he went to cut down the Mad King.

"Bran had never fallen before," Robb said, his hand curling back to his hip, before he shouted, "Gods, he'll answer for this!"

A jangle of chains answered Robb, and Maester Luwin's calming tones with it, "You have no proof. To accuse Ser Jaime with none would be folly. He is a Kingsguard, loyal servant to King Robert these passed twenty years, and brother to the Queen. Not forgetting the son of Tywin Lannister. You would put the word of Winterfell against the honour of the White Swords, the trust of the Crown and the might of Casterly Rock."

"Then I'll find proof," the Maester frowned at him, and he could feel Theon's apprehensive eyes on him with Ser Rodrick, "in King's Landing."

"If there's any to be had, that is where it will be." Theon agreed.

"Mayhap," Ser Rodrick conceded, but his face was still unsure when Robb looked to him. "But the Lannisters would surely suspect something of you, arriving unannounced."

"Not so," Robb said, looking determined at the old knight as he stroked his whiskers, "Rick- ah, Prince Rickard invited me South. But I chose to stay behind until I could come, until…" Until? Until what, even he did not know. Until he could, he had told the Prince. "Well, as soon as I was able. Now it's a necessity I go South." Rodrick's face lightened, but his fingers still combed the white beard thoughtfully.

"True, true," Theon burst, excitedly, "it would not be suspicious, and Rick would be happy to offer us hospitality, and no one would be the wiser…"

"Robb," a hand clutched at his stomach, and Robb looked to see his mother's face, resolute in opposition.

"Give us the room a moment," he sighed. The others exchanged glances with themselves, and Robb felt Theon trying to catch his eye and Luwin the same with his mother, but they both continued to hold each other's gaze.

When the door clicked shut, Robb rounded the bed and sat beside his mother.

"You cannot go," she said.

"Nor can you." He told her, reading her intent before she said it.

"There must always be a Stark a Winterfell," she tried reminding him, but Robb had not forgotten the words of his Father.

"And there will be. Bran and Rickon are still here."

"Rickon is still no more than a babe. And Bran… Bran…" he saw the tears building in her eyes.

"Will have Lady Stark. Here to rule, here to comfort, here for when Bran wakes up." Robb brushed his Mother's tears away with a thumb. "It has to be me, Mother. I have the excuse, Rickard will not question it, nor anyone else reason to."

"You should not trust this Prince," she said, frowning.

"He trusts me," he pointed out, but his mother was not convinced.

"How? With what secrets?"

Robb sighed. That Rickard Baratheon has taken any enemy of his House for a lover, that he means to marry her, and spent his time in Winterfell lovesick for her with a kind of fierceness that Robb has only heard in Old Nan's stories, or the stories they tell about King Robert and his aunt Lyanna Stark. Or the fact that the Prince was willing to stand by him, sword to sword against his own blood and the Hound.

"I can't tell you."

His mother shook her, but seemed to understand he would not be swayed.

"Do not tell him why you are in King's Landing? He has Lannister blood, and if you do trust one another, then it would be foolish to test it." Robb swore to do so. "And do not take Theon, I want Ser Rodrick to go with you, both alone. More than like, the King's Party have already made it to the Red Keep, so you must get their swiftly. Make for White Harbour with haste, and catch a ship to the Capital."

"I will."

"Go straight to your Father, Robb, and heed his words." Robb nodded, and Lady Catelyn stretched out a hand to caress his cheek, "Stay safe, my son, and do not tarry."

"I will not," he vowed.

For Winter is Coming, Robb thought, for the House of Lannister.