Robb Stark rode in the caravan heading northward, Bran had begged him to ride the caravan with him, the younger spoke with enthusiasm and fidgeted in his seat; excited to return home. But Robb was distracted, his mind still reeling from the events of the tourney of Harrenhal. The tournament, which had been thrown in honor of the Baratheon twins, had been a grand spectacle. The best knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms had come to compete, and Robb had been among them.

He remembered the jousting competition vividly. He had displayed remarkable horsemanship, his lance striking true, propelling him to the final rounds. His opponent had been a knight hailing from Dorne, Gerold Dayne. Whispers of his unparalleled skill and swiftness had reached Robb's ears, with some even claiming that he surpassed the legendary Sword of the Morning himself. Yet Robb found it difficult to fathom, for Arthur Dayne is a revered figure, a hero to many boys despite him being a traitor to the crown. It was difficult for Robb to believe that any man could ever come close to Arthur Dayne. Nonetheless when his turn came to joust against Gerold Dayne, Robb felt a surge of excitement rushing through his blood. They had charged at each other a couple of times until finally Robb had been thrown from his horse.

He had landed hard, his armor clanging as he hit the ground. He had been dazed for a moment, trying to catch his breath, and by the time he had gotten back on his feet, the Dornish knight was making rounds around the tourney ground, basking in his triumph.

Robb had been disappointed, to say the least and the humiliation that accompanied it did into help either. He had dedicated countless hours for the competition, hoping to prove himself as a worthy knight and perhaps even win the favor of Rhaenys Targaryen, his queen of love and beauty. She was a striking figure, with cascading dark curls and adorned a gold crown which made her look even more regal and elegant. Her beautiful features were made even more enchanting by her perfect violet eyes. They reminded Robb of Sunbursts, a flower native to Dorne that Sansa had gushed about when she had spotted it on their way down south to the Tourney. It was no wonder that many knights were drawn to her that day, desperate to win her favor.

Robb had been captivated by her from the moment he saw her in the courtyard.

But because he had lost the joust, he had lost his chance to crown her. It was a small thing, really, but it stung nonetheless. And to make matters worse, Theon Greyjoy, his childhood friend and ward of House Stark, had made fun of him for it.

Theon had always been quick to mock and tease, and Robb had learned to tolerate it over the years. But this time, it felt different. He was already feeling down about his loss, and Theon's laughter had felt like salt in the wound.

Robb shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He knew he shouldn't let Theon get to him, but sometimes it was easier said than done. He gazed out the window of his carriage, watching the passing countryside as they made their way back to Winterfell.

He wondered what his father, Lord Eddard Stark, would say about his performance at the tourney. Robb hadn't gotten the chance to thoroughly speak with his father about his lacking performance at the tourney. And so Robb found himself with unanswered questions, now that his father was away at Kings Landing. Would he be disappointed that his son had failed to win? Or would he be proud that Robb had fought bravely and represented their house with honor?

Robb wasn't sure, but he knew one thing for certain. He would keep training, keep striving to be a better knight. Maybe one day he would have another chance to compete in a tourney, and this time he would emerge victorious. And if he was lucky, perhaps Rhaenys Targaryen would be there to witness it.

As Robb entered the castle, he was greeted by his mother, Catelyn Stark. Robb knew immediately that she could see that something was bothering him. But she paid him no mind as Bran ran to her.

"Mother!" he yelled as he ran past Robb and Theon. Their mother greeted her second son with a gentle kiss on the face. "I missed you." Bran mumbled, evidently not wanting either Theon or himself to hear him.

"I have missed you too Bran." she replied with a soft smile. Before Lady Catelyn could converse with her young son, Bran blurred out a question.

"Where's Rickon, I need to see him." his eyes looked around the hall, half expecting his youngest brother to pop out and tackle him but there was no sight of the wild boy. "I promised I would tell him about the tourney," he explained.

"Rickon is with his septa." As soon as she said that, Bran took off, eager to be reunited with his brother.

Once Bran had run off to meet with Rickon, worry filled his mothers eyes once more. Robb tried to brush off her concerns as he greeted her, saying that he was just tired from the journey, but as always, his mother could tell that there was more to it than that.

"Robb, what happened?" Catelyn asked, looking at her son with concern.

At first, Robb stayed quiet, refusing to say anything. However, after some pushing, he gave in and told his mother about his defeat at the Tourney of Harrenhal. With a sympathetic expression, Lady Catelyn listened attentively as Robb recounted the events of the tourney.

"My son, you have always carried yourself with grace and humility, even in defeat," Lady Catelyn remarked, her voice tinged with confusion. "You have sparred with Theon and the other boys here at Winterfell countless times, and you have always accepted defeat graciously. Why does this loss trouble you more than the others?"

Robb remained silent, struggling to find the right words to convey his emotions. He felt conflicted, torn between revealing his true feelings and keeping them hidden within himself. But then, unexpectedly, Theon stepped forward, breaking the silence between mother and son.

"It's because a fair lady was watching," he said.

Catelyn looked at Theon, confused. "Which fair lady?" she asked with an eyebrow raised, all the fairest maids in the kingdom had come in flocks to the tournament.

"The daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen," Theon said, grinning. "Queen Rhaenys."

Robb saw as his mother's eyes widened as she realized the implications of what Theon was saying. Rhaegar Targaryen's daughter, Rhaenys, was known for her beauty and grace, even the north knew of the beauty of the queen.

"Robb!," his mother hissed. "She is your King's Queen, do not dishonor her or yourself that way."

Robb scowled at that. The king was known for his crude behavior, his drinking and his whoring which he hadn't even stopped at his own children's name day celebration. Someone as uncouth as him did not deserve to be around the beautiful and gentle Rhaenys. It was Robert who dishonored her at every moment, not him but he held his tongue and said nothing as his mother reprimanded him for his behavior.

"Robb, you can not make your… affections for the Queen be known. Gods know what kind of gossip that would attract." Catelyn said firmly.

"Mother, I assure you that I did not make my affections known. I only admire her from afar, I swear." Robb explained. "I doubt she even noticed me at all." He had not meant to sound as bitter as he did. With one last suspicious look, his mother sighs and says nothing more but Robb could see that his mother still wasn't convinced.

Just as Robb was about to leave the Great Hall, an old man with gray robes and a chain around his neck came bustling in. He looked to be in a hurry.

"Maester Luwin, has something happened?" Robb hears his mother ask. The old man stops in front of them and takes a moment to compose himself. He looked out of breath and Robb wondered why the man had exerted himself so much just to come to the Great Hall.

"My Lady, My Lord, a letter from Kings Landing had arrived. Our Lord Ned, wrote the message itself." Luwin explained as he pulled out a letter from the sleeves of his robe.

Robb looks at the letter with curiosity, he waits for his mother to take the letter but when she makes no move to take the letter and only looks at him, he realizes with embarrassment that Maester Luwin was holding the letter for him. With a red face he accepts the letter and opens it.

" Rhaegar has taken Dragonstone. Lord Stannis Baratheon fell alongside his castle and now the kingdom must prepare for war. Call the banners and make your way to Riverrun. I shall met you there.

Lord of Winterfell, Ned Stark"

Robb shook his head as he read the letter, not quite believing what he was reading. Rhaegar has returned for his throne? Father wishes me to gather our bannermen and march down south?

Robb was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't notice that his mother was calling out to him, a worried expression clear on her face. She placed her hand on her shoulder in an effort to try and comfort him.

"What is it, Robb? Has something happened to your father?" Her face grows pale as she speaks. "Has something happened to the girls? Are Sansa and Arya alright?" She asked hurriedly. "I knew I shouldn't have let them go to Kings Landing." she mumbled to herself.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Robb quickly reassured his mother. "No, Mother. The girls are fine." Lady Catelyn relaxes a bit but Robb can see that she is struggling to remain calm.

"And your father?"

With slight hesitation Robb tells her. "He is making his way to Riverrun." He offers her no more information, not quite sure how to even tell her of what had happened but thankfully Maester Luwin provides her with information.

"Lady Catelyn, Dragonstone has been claimed by Prince Rhaegar. Lord Ned had tasked Robb with gathering the Northern bannerman and riding south to join the King at Riverrun." The old man spoke so calmly that for a moment Robb thought that all was fine but as he looked at his mothers face, she had grown deathly pale upon hearing the news.

"Rhaegar had taken Dragonstone." she repeats, sounding as if she hoped she had heard wrong. Hoping that Rhaegar hadn't actually returned and that she had just misheard what the maester had said.

"Rhaegar has slain Stannis Baratheon. The prince now holds Dragonstone." Maester Luwin reaffirms. His lady mother lets out a sigh. A moment of silence lingers in the empty hall, no one says anything.

The air in the room feels heavy and it seems like they are all preoccupied with their own worries.

"Robb, what shall be done?" The older man's voice breaks the silence. Without much thought Robb answers him.

"We shall do what my father asked of me, send ravens and messengers to our banner men and tell them of Rhaegar's conquest of Dragonstone." Robb said firmly but his hands shook slightly as he gave the order.

He knew why they were marching to the Riverlands. A war is coming and Robb felt sick just thinking about it. With a final look, Maester Luwin set off and began to write the letters that would be set off. Robb didn't even notice that Theon had left too. Now, only he and his mother remained in the room.

"Robb are you alright?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowed and her face was pulled back in an uncomfortable and worried expression. He composed himself, mostly for her sake.

"Do not worry about me mother, I will be fine." Robb told his mother. The Lady of Winterfell gave him a pointed look.

"Your father had just tasked you with bringing an army down south and you are asking me not to worry about you."

Robb let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of his mother's concern pressing down on him. He knew that no matter what he said, she would always worry about him. She was his mother, after all— it was her nature to want to protect him. The young man with fiery red hair paused for a moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He knew he had to be honest with his mother, but the words caught in his throat.

Finally, he spoke up, his voice soft but steady. "I do not wish to go to war," He said, the words lingering in the air like a heavy fog. A small part of him regretted speaking at all, the lasting silence made him feel even more regretful.

Catelyn placed both of her hands on his shoulders, her eyes locking onto his. He lowered his head to meet her gaze, steeling himself for her reaction.

"War is scary, Robb, but it is the way of things," she said, her tone firm and unwavering. "We have a duty to King Robert and we must fulfill it. Your father knows this and wants you to be a part of it. You are a man grown now, Robb. You must begin to take on the responsibilities of being the heir of Winterfell."

Robb took a moment to ponder his mother's words, feeling a sense of frustration and confusion building within him. "Family, duty, honor," he muttered under his breath, the words of his mothers house ringing in his ears, like an alarm that was warning him of the dangers he would soon set upon, cruelly reminding him that he would have to forsake his family in order to do his duty to the realm..

Catelyn looked at him quizzically, a veil of confusion passing over her features. "What do you mean, Robb?" She asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Those are House Tully's words, mother," Robb replied, desperation creeping into his voice. "Family, duty, honor. That is what we stand for. Those words are who we are."

Catelyn's eyes narrowed, a stern expression taking hold of her features. "Robb," She said firmly, her tone brooking no argument.

But the young man could not be dissuaded. "They are our family," He said, his voice rising in pitch. "Our family. I cannot simply cast them aside for the sake of war. I do not think I can do it, mother." He added softly.

"Well you must." Her tone was unwavering and with clear resolve. They looked at one another, each of their eyes held a strict defiance against what the other had said.

Robb gazed at his mother with a hint of disbelief." Lyanna and her children are our kin. It would go against my conscience to wage war against them," He said, pausing. "I do not wish to cause them harm." Finally, he whispered.

Lady Catelyn's deep sigh echoed in the silence as she reached out to her eldest son. Her hands found their way to Robb's face, her palms resting gently on his cheeks. Robb felt like a little boy, nostalgia washed over him as his mother's touch cradled his face, reminding him of a time when he was just a boy, seeking solace in her embrace

"They have already caused us pain. Lyanna has inflicted harm upon us in so many ways - your father, me, and the whole of the north, Robb. You must realize this," She said. "You don't know the extent of the suffering she has caused, not just to us, but the entire kingdom. The Seven Kingdoms bled because of her, and we cannot allow her and Rhaegar to harm us again."

Robb had known very little about Robert's Rebellion. Neither his father nor mother ever spoke of it. All he truly understood was that a war had been waged after the supposed abduction of Lyanna and the loss of his grandfather and uncle. His mother was right when she stated that he had not witnessed the devastation his aunt had wrought. Growing up under King Robert, the Baratheon reign had been relatively peaceful. Robb found it difficult to picture the horrors of Roberts Rebellion. Perhaps that was why he struggled to come to terms with the idea of battling his own family. War was hazardous and unpredictable, and deep down, he knew that he would one day have to confront his aunt and her children. Robb might even be forced to fight his cousin, Aemon, in combat; something that he dreaded to even think about.

But the words his mother had spoken had made him see the truth of it. Robb had to fight against his aunt and cousins in order to protect his parents and his siblings.

The ancient stronghold of Winterfell stood tall and proud amidst the vast expanse of the North. Its towering walls and sturdy battlements whispered tales of centuries past, of honor and resilience, echoing the proud heritage of House Stark. Today, however, Winterfell's ancestral halls were abuzz with anticipation and a sense of urgency. Servants were bustling through the warm halls of the castle in haste, preparing for something. Robb had called upon the northern lords to gather within its formidable walls to discuss matters of great importance.

The direwolves, the sigil of House Stark, seemed to stir restlessly, sensing the gravity of the moment. Greywind, Summer and Shaggydog had been confined to the Godswood. The wolfs had never harmed anyone but Lady Catelyn was worried that with all the unfamiliar people coming to Winterfell, the direwolfs could act out and harm someone and so to make his mother more at ease, Robb had ordered the wolfs to be constricted to the Godswood until they marched down south.

Winterfell bustled with activity as the northern lords arrived. The lords came with their banners held high, bearing the sigils of their houses proudly. The sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard as the horses made their way to the stables, and the air was thick with the scent of hay and horse sweat.

Amidst the clamor of horses and men, whispers of a disturbing rumor swept through the ranks of the northern lords. Rhaegar Targaryens had returned to the west with Lyanna Stark and their children, intent on reclaiming the Iron Throne. This news spread like wildfire, and Robb could see the unrest in the bannermans eyes. Robb had greeted all the men with enthusiasm.

First to arrive was Lord Umber of Last Hearth, his grizzled face weathered by years of fierce winters and battles fought. He rode atop a massive destrier, his fur cloak billowing behind him like a banner of defiance. His men, sturdy and steadfast, formed a formidable contingent, their axes glinting in the sunlight. The thunderous sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard as they made their presence known.

Following closely behind was Lord Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, his portly figure swathed in luxurious furs and silk. His entourage was a spectacle to behold, with knights bedecked in gleaming armor and a retinue of servants bearing platters of delicacies. The scent of freshly baked pies and roasted meats wafted through the air, eliciting hungry glances from the gathered crowd. Robb tried not to think too much of the fact that he had brought his granddaughter Wylla with him. Ever since his failed betrothal with Princess Rhaenys had fallen apart, the northern men were eager for their kin to be the next Lady of Winterfell. Luckily, the old man spoke nothing about a betrothal between Robb and Wylla, instead he made a jest of the unfortunate horse that had to carry him to Winterfell.

Roose Bolton had come from the Dreadfort, his son Domeric who was older than Robb himself, had come too. While the father unnerved Robb, his son was pleasant and polite, Sansa would like him.

As the day wore on, more lords made their entrance. The Mormonts, fierce bear-like warriors, arrived astride their sturdy steeds, their women clad in furs and wielding spears with deadly grace. House Glover, resolute and loyal, presented a unified front, their soldiers donning chainmail and wielding shields emblazoned with their sigil, a silver fist on a scarlet field.

The feast had begun soon after the arrival of the Mormonts.

The massive hall was adorned with banners depicting the sigils of the Northern houses, creating a vibrant tapestry of colors that added warmth to the cold winter night.

Robb, dressed in the regal attire befitting his status as heir to Winterfell, stood at the high table, his reddish-brown hair cascading over his broad shoulders. He exuded an air of authority, his blue eyes shining with a mix of determination and a hint of apprehension. To his right, Lady Catelyn Stark, his mother and a woman of grace, warmth and strength, sat with a serene smile, her auburn hair framing her face.

At the center of the hall, a long and imposing feasting table stretched out, covered with an abundance of dishes. The aroma of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and hearty stews wafted through the air of the warm hall, mingling with the scent of burning logs in the hearth. The Northern lords and ladies, their expressions a mix of excitement and anticipation, found their places along the table, ready to indulge in the lavish feast.

Bran and Rickon sat side by side, their eyes wide with wonder as they gazed at the spectacle before them. Bran, now a young man, sat next to Robb, Bran's gaze fixed on his older brother, admiring his elder brother's leadership. Rickon, still a child with unruly red hair, fidgeted in his seat, barely containing his eagerness to taste the delicacies laid out in front of him. The youngest son had thrown a fit when Robb had told him that Shaggydog had to remain in the woods, but as the little boy gave his eldest brother a bright smile , Robb had a feeling that Rickon had forgiven him.

Servers clad in fine garments brought forth platters piled high with succulent roasted boar, venison, and fowl, their golden skin glistening with savory juices. The meats were accompanied by trays of roasted vegetables, steaming mugs of spiced mulled wine, and flagons of hearty ale. The Northern lords and ladies dug into their food with delight, the clinking of silverware blending with the boisterous laughter and conversations.

Robb, as the host of the feast, moved from table to table, engaging in conversations with each of his bannermen, he made light conversation with them though whenever they asked why he had called for them, he politely changed the conversation as best he could. But he could see that his lack of information had annoyed some of his father's bannermen. Roose Bolton had given him a grunt when Robb didn't answer his impending questions but his son Domeric had been delightful to talk with, not only had he not asked about why Robb had summoned them to Winterfell but the heir of Dreadfort had expressed an interest in meeting Greywind. Robb had assured the man that he would be pleased to introduce his direwolf to him and made plans to take Domeric to meet the gray wolf tomorrow.

Amidst the revelry, Lord Manderly, had brought along his own minstrel from the White Harbor. The bard's voice soared through the hall, accompanied by the lilting melodies of his lute. His songs painted vivid pictures of far-off lands and epic tales, captivating the hearts of the guests. The ladies and lords, caught up in the enchantment of the Northern music, swirled across the floor in a dance unique to the north their movements graceful and untamed, drawing both laughter and admiration from the visiting southern singer

Robb had indulged himself in a few dances, a brief respite from his duties as host. He twirled with some of the older ladies, their faces lined with wisdom and age, their eyes twinkling with memories of a bygone era. He deliberately avoided dancing with the young maidens, mindful of the political implications and the delicate alliances that hung in the balance.

As the night wore on, Robb's weary feet begged for break from the energetic rhythms of the dance. He gracefully excused himself from the dancing, making his way back to the main table. The polished oak surface glistened under the soft glow of candlelight, the table adorned with golden plates and goblets, remnants of the delicious feast that had been savored by all.

Seated at the place of honor, Lord Umber, a towering figure with a wild mane of hair, called out to Robb in a jovial tone that belied a hint of suspicion. His voice carried across the hall, momentarily quieting the lively chatter and laughter

"Robb, I must say, this feast rivals any I have witnessed in years. It has been a long time since I had this much fun," Lord Umber exclaimed, a hearty laugh escaping his lips. Robb mirrored his laughter, the sound ringing with genuine amusement.

The mirth in Lord Umber's eyes was tempered by a lingering curiosity. His gaze held a glimmer of suspicion, and the heir of Winterfell knew exactly what the older man was thinking, prompting Robb to meet it with a measured response. Robb cleared his throat, his voice steady as he addressed the lord.

"My Lord, sometimes a celebration needs no specific cause. We gather to revel in our friendship, to honor our bonds and the resilience of our people," Robb declared, his words laced with conviction.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the hall, the warm glow illuminating the expressions of those assembled. A soft hum of agreement filled the air, as if the very walls of Winterfell itself whispered their approval of Robb's words.

Suddenly Lord Umbers smile faded, Robb could see that the man was dying to speak to him about why they had all come to Winterfell. The Lord of the Last Harth stood up abruptly, the wooden chair that he had been sitting on fell back with a loud thud against the floors of the Great Hall. The sound had caused everyone in the hall to look at the head table up on the raised floor, the loud voices that had once been conversing loudly stopped. It was quiet.

"Robb, this has been an excellent feast." he bellowed, murmurs of agreement were heard throughout the hall. Robb smiled in a sign of gratitude but said nothing, he mistakenly thought that Lord Imber would quiet down after that but he continued.

"But, my little Lord, why are we here?" he asked. Robb clenched his fist. They still see him as a mere boy.

"I am Lord Robb, and I shall explain the reasoning of my summons come tomorrow morning. Until then, let us enjoy the feast." he gave a half hearted smile.

Robb was startled when Greatjon slammed his cup onto the table. The expression on the man's face was now grim and a menacing expression painted his face. "There is no need to wait, tell us now." he suggested but Robb felt more like he was being ordered around like a dog and he did not like that one bit. Robb suddenly felt the loss of Greywind, he's sure that if he had his wolf at his side no one would argue against him.

"My Lord, I shall explain it all in the morning." he repeated himself. His mother spoke up then.

"Lord Umber, the news we must share is grave, best wait until morning when we have had our rest."

"If the news is so grave, isn't it best if you tell us now, My Lady." The voice was quiet but it commanded attention nonetheless, Roose Bolton carried himself with secret but if he wanted to be heard, he made sure of it.

"If you all insist, I will tell you" Robb says, gritting his teeth. He knew if it was father saying this, then they all would have waited. "Rhaegar Targaryen has killed Stannis Baratheon, he has staked his claim on Dragonstone. War is here and we must prepare for it."

The shock was palpable in the room as everyone's eyes widened. They had surely heard rumors of Rhaegar's arrival but they were just that, rumors. Over that last couple of years there had been rumors similar to this one but all of them had proven to be false. Hearing that one of these such rumors was true had to be shocking to his lords.

A long silence followed, unsure of how to proceed, Robb looked over at his mother. Her blue eyes betrayed no emotions for an untrained eye but as her son he could see the lingering sadness in his mother. But as she felt his gaze on her, she turned to look up at him and gave him a reassuring smile. With courage given to him by his mother, he spoke up against the lasting silence.

"My lords and ladies, I have called you all here as my father, Lord Stark, asked of me. He has ordered me to march our host down south to Riverrun, where both King Robert and my father await us." he explains. "I have prepared for our travel, we shall discuss our departure tomorrow morning."

The room remained quiet for a few more moments, as the gravity of the situation sank in. The lords and ladies exchanged glances, their faces reflecting a mix of concern, apprehension, and determination. It was clear that war was inevitable, and that they would have to unite and face the challenges ahead.

"Then war it is." Lord Umber hollered. Robb was surprised at the Greatjon's reaction, the older man had seemed ready to curse Robb just a few moments ago but his enthusiasm had washed out any residual anger. Some of the lords cheered at what Lord Umber had said but Robb hadn't missed the looks of hesitation that some of the nobles had. He could not blame them. The last time they marched south was when their Lord Paramount and his heir were killed unjustly.

The feast had continued but a shadow was cast over the hall, war loomed over them all.