Pine needles prickled the bottom of her bare feet, and her toes turned to ice. She wiggled them, but they were stiff and slow. Alysanne took note of her surroundings. The north? How did I get here? She shivered and made to draw her cloak tighter around her shoulders, but it slipped through her fingers and turned to sand. I am dreaming, I must be. She closed her eyes to try and wake herself, but she couldn't. She opened them again. A dense fog had risen from the ground. She did not recognize these woods. They were certainly not the Wolfswood back home in Winterfell. The woods were dark, but not so dark she could not see. Dark, like Winterfell often was before snow or rain. A beast rumbled behind her and her hair stood on end. Go, her mind told her. She walked into the fog.
The ground beneath her feet grew warm, but the pine needles and woods remained. The smell of smoke reached her nose. The fog was no fog at all. Smoke. Smoke shrouded the woods, but there was no fire, nor was there any glow. She did not cough or struggle to breathe and her eyes did not sting like they did when the smoke from the cook fire blew towards her. She continued forward. The silhouette of a man formed ahead, walking forward with her. "Hello?" she called. The man did not turn or stop. She walked faster and drew closer to him. She could see the shine of golden armor, and soon could make out golden hair not unlike her own. "Father?" she asked tentatively. The man stopped and faced her. It was indeed her father, as she had left him in King's Landing when she was a girl. Age had not touched this version of him. Hope bloomed in her chest. He'll keep me safe here. She reached for him and he smiled, but before she could touch her hand to his, he turned to ash and blew into the wind. "No," she screamed. The beast rumbled once more behind her and the smoke grew thicker, so she ran.
She slowed once more once the smoke thins. Another figure stood ahead. This one was a woman, and like her father, she did not respond to her calls. Alysanne made her feet move faster and the ground grew hotter beneath her. Unlike her father had, the woman remained out of her reach. All Alysanne could make out was a lavender dress, but even that was a smear through the smoke.
Alys stopped in her tracks. The woman disappeared from her view into a dense cloud of smoke. A lioness and her cub emerged from the woods and followed her. Perhaps I should follow. She started forward again, only to trip over something large. She peered over her shoulder and recoiled. A direwolf lay dead, its lifeblood pooling rapidly around it. Grey Wind? She crawled closer. The direwolf was Grey Wind, then Ghost and Summer, Nymeria and Lady, before it settled on a direwolf she knew not at all. The puddle of blood steamed, so warm was the forest floor. The direwolf began to smoke and smoulder so she scrambled away. The beast rumbled again, and Alysanne flew into the dense smoke.
No longer could she see the trees or even the pine needles under her feet. She looked around wildly. Where did the woman go? Faint singing reached her ears, so she stood still and listened. It was a mournful song, one that she had not heard in some time. A melodic voice sang Alysanne, a song that had been her favorite as a child. She followed the voice.
Pine needles turned to hard stone that felt like ice compared to the forest floor. Trees turned to banners, and stone walls grew around her. The Red Keep, her mind told her, but she did not recognize it. There were no stags or lions on these banners, but a three-headed dragon. A hallway stretched long ahead, and all doors remained closed save one. She spun on her heels but found only a stone wall behind her. There is only forward. She made her way into the room.
She did not recognize the room, and she had explored nearly every room in the Red Keep as a child. The room was draped in reds, oranges, and golds and smelt of strange spices. Alys didn't recognize the lady who sat at the table either. She was slender, with brown skin and dark hair, and wore soft yellow silks. A gold circlet sat on the table in front of her.
The lady smiled at her and Alysanne's heart jumped. She can see me! The lady stood and said, "it is good of you to join me," but before Alys could reply a warm breeze shocked her as someone moved right through her. The lady from the woods! Her back was to Alys and so she could not make out her face, but the lavender dress gave her away. She had shining silver hair that Alys thought resembled moonlight. She watched for a moment as both women talked. They both spoke the common tongue, but Alys still could not make sense of their words.
She marched forward and placed a hand on the silver woman's shoulder. Her skin was blazing hot and before she could fully turn, a thunderous roar came from overhead. The woman burst into flames and Alysanne reeled back in horror. She braced herself for what was to come next, but her eyes snapped open.
She threw herself out of bed. The Riverlands. I'm not in the north. Her shift stuck to her back and chest with sweat. Alysanne stumbled to the pitcher of water a servant had left. She drained the glass in one go, but the water was warm and did not soothe her. She stepped out of the tent she and Robb shared.
The cool air of the Riverlands did not stop her shaking hands, but it provided a balm to her clammy skin. She breathed deep, but the smoke from the cook fires the men had not put out shocked her eyes open once more. It was all so real. Her father, the smoke, the Red Keep, the strange women; if she closed her eyes, she could almost return. So she did not close her eyes. Instead, she let the noises from the Whispering Wood soothe her pounding heart.
The moon was still high in the sky, and Alysanne knew that further sleep was lost to her that night. She was bone weary from their travels. Ever since leaving the Twins she had slept in fits. Camps of twenty thousand Northmen did not make for a peaceful sleep. Neither did her father's lies. She had hoped that the day's victory would ease her mind. Her eyes had grown heavy before Robb had extinguished the candles and she'd rejoiced at the thought of sleep. She slept, but it seemed she had not slept all the same.
Men cheered outside. The events from that day appeared to have robbed them of any sleep as well. If Alysanne were to look out over the fields opposite her, she would perhaps be able to see the dead. Their journey from the Twins had not been without bloodshed.
Two days out from Riverrun, one of their outriders had come racing back. Robb's uncle Edmure had driven off her father and the bulk of his forces, but not as successfully as he claimed. The outrider brought word of Lannister men camped just north of the Whispering Wood. One thousand of her father's men he had left.
"A welcoming party!" The Greatjon had chortled, much to the amusement of the other men present at that war council.
"He means to slow us," Lord Brynden had countered. "Or to test your ability to lead."
Jon, who had largely held his opinions close in front of the Blackfish, had said, "But how did he know we marched this path?"
That had sparked a fresh round of debates. Some argued scouts that had gone unseen, and some shouted about spies in the camp. In the end, they did not find out just who had informed, but Alysanne had her suspicions. One of the Frey's most like. Alysanne suspected one of the sons who had remained behind. Lord Walder was too hopeful for a betrothal to renege on his word, Alys reasoned. But his sons were numerous and foolish. Or one of Robb's own men. She swallowed that fear. The Northmen are loyal. To Robb and to Lord Eddard. These men were not her father or grandfather.
She had waited over the ridge with Lady Catelyn and Arya, much to the girl's chagrin. Bran had ridden into battle along with Robb, Theon, and Jon, so why shouldn't she? Another Stark boy for me to worry after. In her mind, Bran was still a small boy running along the towers from the guards sent after him.
Alys tilted her head back as a gentle wind mussed her hair. He is four and ten now, nearly a man grown. Old enough to fight. She smiled. A knight too. He had been knighted the morning after they arrived at the camp. She latched onto the memory in an attempt to clear that night's dream from her mind. She could see it almost as clearly as the woman in lavender.
Ser Addam had called him to the front, and in the sight of all the gathered lords, told of how Bran had taken down two out of three brigands. He had bid him to kneel and placed his sword on his right shoulder. "Brandon of House Stark. In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just," after each sentence, Ser Addam moved his sword from left to right. "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be humble. In the name of the Crone I charge you to be wise," he moved the sword to Bran's right shoulder for the last time. "In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to keep these vows, even if doing so leads to your death," Ser Addam removed his sword from Bran's shoulder. "Arise, Ser Brandon."
When Bran scrambled to his feet, beaming, it had warmed her from head to toe. The small circle of onlookers who had gathered erupted into applause and his face flushed. For a moment, the truth of her father had disappeared, so proud of her good-brother was she. It was all he had talked about, once. Becoming a noble knight worthy of songs and stories. For a moment, Alys had allowed herself to believe the songs and stories to be true. But that moment was broken as they often were, and soon they were marching to war once more.
Music drifted from further in the camps and her stomach curdled. Alysanne. They play Alysanne. She fought the urge to shout like a madwoman and demand they stop. They've won a victory, as easy and small as it was. Should they not play something bawdier? Happier? That song soon warped into the Bear and Maiden Fair, and the tension bled from her. She made to go back into their pavilion and nearly jumped out of her skin. Robb stood in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Seven hells, Robb!" She held a hand to her chest.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice was rough with sleep, and his hair wild as ever.
"I had a dream. I could not find sleep again." He held out a hand and she took it, letting him lead her back to their bed.
"What was the dream about? If you tell me, perhaps it will clear it from your mind."
She hesitated. "I am not sure it would make much sense, were I to tell it."
Robb drew back the blankets for her. "Dreams never do." He rounded the bed and crawled back in. He did not hesitate to draw her against his chest, as he so often did. "Try anyway."
She worried at her lip. "I was in the woods,"
Robb interrupted. "The Wolfswood?"
She pulled her head up. "No. Do you want to hear or not?" she chided. He muttered an apology and she settled her head back on his chest. "I didn't recognize the woods. There was fog, and then smoke, and I could hardly see." She explained as best she could. The beast behind her, her father, the strange lady who burst into flames.
He pulled her tighter and settled into the pillows. "It was only a dream," he rubbed her back. "Try to get some rest."
Alysanne did not know when she had fallen back asleep, but it could not have been long. Her eyes burned and her head was foggy, but morning light streamed into their tent. She had lain awake for hours after Robb returned to sleep, staring at the top of the tent. From the sounds of it, the day had already begun. Men shouted orders and horses neighed.
She did not tarry in dressing. She chose a dress of dark grey for that day, as she so often did now. Grandfather would think me foolish, to care so much. She had avoided any crimson like a plague, any cloth of gold had been left behind in Winterfell. Already the lords questioned her loyalty, and she would give them no more reason to.
Alysanne weaved her way through the camp to where she knew Arya would be. She had not let up in her training with Syrio, her instructor from King's Landing. It did not please Lady Catelyn, Alys knew, but there was not much she could say in opposition. What she had learned so far had saved her life on the road, and possibly Jeyne's.
She found them outside of the tent Arya had been given. She arrived just in time to watch Syrio proclaim Arya as dead, and for Arya to spring to her feet with vigor. They danced back and forth with a grace that Alys did not know could apply to swordplay. Syrio tripped Arya over the flat of his wooden blade and declared her dead once more.
Arya did not rise to her feet as quickly that time, and Alys wondered just how long they had been sparring for. She took the pause as an opportunity to interrupt. "Syrio, Arya," she greeted.
Syrio moved his sword behind his back with a swish and bowed. "The Lady Alysanne, to what do we owe the pleasure?"
Alysanne smiled at hisflourish. "I thought to perhaps steal my good-sister away."
"Very well," he said, and bid goodbye to the two of them.
Alysanne motioned for Arya to follow. They started to walk towards the far edge of the camp. "I watched for a bit," Alysanne said. "You fought well."
Arya preened. "I've been practicing. I used to chase cats. In the Red Keep. Syrio says that every swordsman should study cats."
"Hm," Alys hummed. "And why is that?"
"Because they're quiet, light on their feet, and quick." She demonstrated by dancing around Alys. They both laughed.
"Perhaps we should send you alone against the Lannister army. You'd make quick work of them," Alys japed.
Arya sobered quickly and huffed. "It isn't fair. I can fight just as well as Bran. I should have been allowed to join them." This again. Arya kicked a rock, and Alys smiled at the childish behavior. Not much has changed. "The Mormont women fight. So did Visenya Targaryen and Alysanne Blackwood," she kicked another rock before facing Alys excitedly, "and Jonquil Darke!"
Alysanne laughed softly. "It isn't fair," she agreed. "Were it up to me alone, you would fight right beside my dear Jorelle." Jorelle had sprung at the opportunity to fight by her sister Dacey, and Alysanne added her name to the list of those to fret after when battle began. Robb, Theon, Jon, Jorelle, Ser Addam, and Bran. My list grows quite long.
Arya's shoulders fell. "But it isn't up to you." She withdrew needle and danced around Alys once more as they walked. Alys spun her head to keep up with her quick movements. "Robb would let you fight, if you asked."
Alysanne stopped at the edge of the camp and considered what Arya said. Would he? He did not deny her much, and she knew her way around a sword. She could not best Robb as often as she used to. Certainly not Jon or Arya. Perhaps not even Bran now. It does not matter. Alys had no desire to join them. I would be too worried about Robb and the rest of them. "Perhaps he would," she conceded anyway. It cheered Alys to know that the south and the journey north had not stolen too much of Arya. When Arya was just a girl, she would read stories of Nymeria or Visenya and Rhaenys, and for the next moon it was all she would talk about to anyone who listened.
Sitting at the edge of the camp as Arya relayed to her what she had learned about Jonquil Darke while in King's Landing, Alys could almost pretend that she was back in Winterfell. She could pretend that they sat in a quiet corner of the godswood, or maybe the glass gardens, hiding from their Septa. Sansa would sit quietly with them, as would Jeyne and Beth, or perhaps she would be inside at her lessons. Robb and Jon and Theon would be at the training yard, and maybe Bran would be trailing after Ser Addam. She could picture little Rickon toddling after Lady Catelyn, and Lord Stark would come find them in the godswood and half-heartedly chide them for abandoning their lessons. If she really focused, she could almost hear his heavy footsteps coming towards them.
Arya stopped her retelling of Jonquil Darke and her life with Queen Alysanne. "Jon," she said.
Alysanne opened her eyes and squinted in the sunlight. Jon stood stiffly in front of them, and something was wrong. His eyes were red and his hand clenched tightly on the hilt of his sword, though it remained sheathed. "Are you alright?" she asked.
Jon wiped his eyes with his free hand. "It's father. Joffrey killed him."
Arya sprung to her feet. "You're lying!"
He's dead. He's dead. He's dead. Her heart pounded, and the words echoed in her mind. It can't be true, she thought. Arya raged next to her, but Alys could not breathe. She clambered to her feet and nearly stumbled, but Jon caught her. Arya continued to rant and rave, thick tears falling down her face and to the ground. "I'll kill him. Joffrey and Cersei and all the rest."
Her grandfather had killed her husband's grandfather and uncle, her father had killed her grandfather, her other grandfather had been responsible for the fate that befell her Aunt Elia and cousins Aegon and Rhaenys. And now her cousin, half-brother, had killed her good-father. Is this my fate? To watch my families tear each other apart?
"Alys?" Her eyes snapped to Jon's. "This way," he gently led her. Back through the camp they walked, where word of Lord Stark's death was slowly making its way through. Men stared at them as they passed, but Alysanne hardly noticed. Arya ran ahead towards Robb's pavilion, where Jon said Robb and Lady Catelyn and Bran waited. They drew closer and Alysanne scanned for Ser Addam, but could not see him.
Jon pulled aside the flap of the tent for her and she slid in. She stayed pressed towards the back. Arya continued to rage and Bran sobbed, no less angry than his sister. Lady Catelyn sat at the table, her head in her hands and Ser Brynden beside her. I should go to her, she knew, but her feet would not move. Robb. Where is Robb? Her eyes searched frantically about the room, but could not find him. "Robb," she said, but her voice was only a whisper. "Robb," she tried again, louder. Still, no one heard. "Where is Robb?" Her voice broke, but they heard her that time.
Lady Catelyn wiped her eyes. "He fled after he was told. Towards the edge of our part of camp."
Alys fled the tent after him. The stares followed her the whole way, and this time she noticed. It did not matter to the men that she dressed herself as a Stark, that she wore her hair like a northern woman. They see a Lannister. They will always see a Lannister. They did not bother to mask their words behind whispers any longer. "Her own blood," they muttered. "Lannister," they spat. The accusing stares bothered her more than the words. Words were wind, but it was the men who watched silently that frightened her the most.
They did not care that Ned Stark had raised her, that he was more of a father to her than Jaime Lannister had ever been. They did not care that the Lannisters had let the King ship her north, far, far away from her home and her father and everyone she had ever known. The north had been her home for longer than Casterly Rock ever was, but they did not care. They did not care that Ned Stark had treated her just the same as he had Arya and Sansa, that he had treated her as family long before she ever married Robb.
Alys stopped at the edge of camp to collect herself. I will not cry. Not now. It was Robb who needed her comfort, and he could never bear the sight of her tears. How many times was he strong for me when I needed him? The sound of metal hitting wood rang from the trees, so she followed. There she found Robb, weeping and hitting a tree with his sword again and again and again.
"Robb," she called. But just like those back in the tent, he did not hear her. "Robb!" She shouted. He stopped his sword but did not stop his weeping. Never had she seen him weep so. She climbed the small hill and gently took his ruined sword from his hand, tossing it onto the ground. She did not hesitate to pull him into her. He wept harder. Her own tears grew harder to hold back. "I am so sorry, my love," her voice broke, and the tears spilled over. She learned that just as Robb could not bear her tears, she could not bear his. His whole body shook and she held him tighter.
"I'll kill them all," he said into her neck. She squeezed her eyes closed and clung on to him. She tried not to think of sweet Myrcella and Tommen, or of her uncle Tyrion, who had always been kind to her.
Robb pulled back and wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. "I should find Arya."
Alysanne wiped a stray tear from his cheek. "Jon already did, I was with her. They wait for you back at our tent." Robb nodded, and they made their way back together.
They left for Riverrun that same day. It was a short ride, hardly a day's journey, but to Alysanne, it might as well have been moons. Robb rode at the front with his mother, and Alys remained with her ladies. There were no songs amongst them for the brief journey. Wylla did not trade jibes with Jon, and Jorelle and Arya did not trade stories of warrior women. They were a procession in black.
It occurred to Alysanne that she was closer to Casterly Rock than she had been in years. Perhaps once she would have wished to visit, to show Robb where she had spent the first years of her childhood. Now she only felt rage when she thought of her once-home. Lies. All of it lies. Had her mother known? Her father claimed he had loved her mother, but he fathered Joffrey all the same. Joffrey, who killed my good-father. She thought of her pony, Silverwing, that she had been forced to leave behind in White Harbor. Father once said he would take care of her. Did he lie about that too? Her skin itched and her chest tightened. Alysanne made to kick her horse faster, but a shout from behind her stayed her hand.
"Alys," Ser Addam called. She peered over her shoulder at him and slowed her horse. She met his pace as they rode just behind her group of ladies.
Ser Addam watched those around them warily. "I no longer want you unaccompanied. Both in camp and when we reach Riverrun."
She frowned. "Robb's lords would never hurt me. He is Lord of Winterfell now, and I am the Lady of Winterfell. The northern lords are loyal." The Lady of Winterfell. How bitter those words tasted in her mouth. She did not think of herself when she heard that title. She thought of proud Lady Catelyn, with her bright hair and soft smile.
"It is not his lords that worry me, Alysanne." He silently bid her to look around. The men grew bolder, and few did not bother to hide their glares upon her taking notice. "Angry men will take their vengeance where they can."
Alysanne snapped her head to him. "What of my vengeance? My loss? I grieve just as they do."
"I know." Sadness overtook his eyes. "The lords do as well. They know you were raised in the north, by Lord Stark, but the rest of the men do not. To them you are still the Kingslayers daughter, and not the new Lady Stark."
She hated being called Lady Stark. That title belonged to Lady Catelyn, not her. It should not be mine, not for years yet. The title tasted bitter, but did not make it any less true. Neither she nor Robb expected to step into those roles so soon. Alys mourned the time they should have had before then, as well as Lord Eddard.
"I miss him," she whispered. "He was always so kind to me, even when he had no reason to be."
"Aye, I do too. He was a good man." She studied Ser Addam. It had never occurred to her that they may have been close. Why would they not? Ser Addam had helped train his sons, took on one as a squire, and was a constant shadow of his future good-daughter, who his other daughters were often in company of.
"He was your friend," Alysanne said.
Ser Addam nodded. "An unexpected one."
They sat quietly with their memories the rest of the way to Riverrun. The day grew late, the sun fell, and the moon rose in its place. The trees grew sparser and the sound of the Red Fork and Tumblestone grew louder. By the time Riverrun rose ahead, the sky was nearly completely dark.
Red sandstone walls surrounded the castle, but they were not as red as the Red Keep. The castle itself was three-sided and not quite as large as Winterfell. The sluice gate had been opened and a wide moat filled. Riverrun could no longer be accessed by land, so they abandoned their horses for boats.
Robb wasted no time in calling a war council upon their arrival. Ser Brynden had ridden ahead and readied the Great Hall, but even so it did not seem near big enough. Northern lords and the river lords present all crammed themselves in, each wanting to be closest to the front. Alysanne sat with Robb at a high table that overlooked the hall.
Grief had not quieted the lords, had indeed only fueled their anger. Robb remained quiet, as did Alysanne, who sat to his right. Arya sat to her other side, vibrating in rage, and Bran sat at Robb's left, roaring for vengeance with the rest of them. Ser Addam remained a silent guard at her back
In different circumstances, Alysanne may have been able to better appreciate the beauty of Riverrun's great hall. It was certainly cleaner than the hall at Moat Cailin, with beautiful tapestries and lit candles. She imagined that in the day, the large windows would make the hall seem open and airy.
"Lord Tywin makes for Harrenhal, burning the Riverlands on his way! We should ride south, meet him there," a Riverlord shouted. Alysanne did not know his name, but so many lords shouted the same that it could have been any one of them.
"West, we should go west!" Argued Ser Marq Piper. "Rip Casterly Rock out from under the lions," he spat.
Lord Mallister scoffed and said, "are you a fool? You'll never take Casterly Rock. His supply lines. That's what you should go after."
"We cannot hope to take on the Lannisters alone," Ser Brynden said. "We'll need allies."
Lord Bracken stood. "March south. Lord Renly has been crowned with Storm's End and Highgarden at his back."
"Renly is not the King." Alysanne flinched. She had not been expecting Robb to speak.
The lords erupted into shouts and yelling. "You do not mean to kneel to him?" one said. "He killed Lord Eddard!" shouted another. Robb raised a hand and they went silent.
"I will not kneel to him. He is not the true heir." Robb motioned to Bran, who stood and told of what his father had learned in King's Landing.
She held her head high as he spoke. The lords did a poor job of hiding their suspicious glances at her, but she gave them no notice. I am not my father; I am not his sins, she repeated in her mind. Robb spoke before chaos could reign once more. "I will not kneel to Joffrey, nor will I bend to Renly. Stannis comes before him, just as I come before Bran."
"And who does Stannis have? Not even his own brother backs his claim," said Lord Bracken.
"Lord Robb is right, the law is the law. My brothers cannot come before me," said Ser Stevron.
"Then who else? Highgarden has declared for Renly, and the Vale does not answer our call."
They are forgetting someone. Alysanne stood, and the hall went quiet. "You are forgetting Dorne, my lords." Some of the lords snickered, but the Greatjon and those surrounding him remained silent and patient.
"Dorne fought against us in the rebellion," Lord Glover reminded her, as if she had forgotten.
"I am well aware, my lord. But do not forget that they also sided against my grandfather. It is my grandfather they blame for the deaths of Elia Martell and her children."
Lady Catelyn stepped forth and Alys retook her seat. "There is yet another option you are all overlooking." She approached Robb. "Peace. It is not too late for peace."
"The Lannisters killed my father," Arya spat. Lady Catelyn looked taken aback at Arya's outburst, but did not falter.
Robb stood before throwing his sword to the table with a clatter. "I will not have peace with the Lannisters. They killed your husband, our father. Under false charges of treason."
"We marched to free Ned, to protect the Riverlands. Vengeance will not bring my Ned back, will not bring your father back to you," she shot a pleading glance at each of her children. "War will not bring him back. I only want the family that remains to me to return safely to Winterfell. Do not forget that Sansa remains in their hands."
Alysanne's heart seized at the mention of Sansa. "If we march home, they will not return her," she said. "It is too late, blood has been spilled."
Ser Brynden placed a comforting hand on Lady Catelyn's shoulder. "What terms of peace could we possibly reach to prevent war in the future? The realm has already split, even if we march home there will still be war. We cannot hope to sit out of it."
Lord Tytos Blackwood spoke next. "You said it yourself, Joffrey is not the true heir. If we bend to him, we are traitors to Renly. Or Stannis. Whichever you would pledge to."
Lady Catelyn focused on each of them, but found no ally in her bid for peace. She returned to where she had been standing. The lords began shouting over each other once more, half of them arguing for Renly and the other half for Stannis. The Greatjon lumbered to his feet.
"QUIET," he bellowed. His voice rang through the hall. "Here's what I say to Joffrey and Renly and Stannis." He spit on the ground and a chuckle waved through those present. "Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south, when they know nothing of the North? They know nothing of winter or our gods. Why should we not rule ourselves once more?" Alysanne's head spun as she realized what he was saying. He cannot truly mean… The Greatjon continued. "It was the dragons we kneeled to, and the dragons are dead!" Not all of them, Alys thought. But it was not the time to remind them. He withdrew his monstrous greatsword and pointed it at Robb. "There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to. The King in the North!" The Greatjon knelt, and Robb, who had since retaken his seat, slowly stood once more.
Lord Karstark withdrew his own sword. "I'll have peace on those terms. The King in the North!" He knelt to the ground.
Theon shouldered his way to the front. "Am I your brother? Now and always?"
"Now and always," Robb affirmed.
Theon knelt. "My sword is yours, in victory and defeat. From this day, until my last day."
Jon knelt by Theon's side. "The King in the North!" He yelled.
Arya and Bran withdrew their swords and raised them into the air. "The King in the North," they cried out.
Robb looked at her in disbelief, and she nodded at him in assurance. "The King in the North," she shouted out. Robb pulled her to her feet beside him and clasped her hand firmly in his.
"The King in the North!" The Greatjon echoed once more. More and more raised their swords, Northmen and river lords as well. Alysanne watched in awe. Vengeance tasted sweet, and she gazed at Robb proudly.
"The King in the North!" They chanted. The shouts rang through the hall and bled out into the night air.
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"