Chapter 7: Orwellian Trees and Little Brown Things!
~289 AC~
"I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight!" Jon shouted, wooden stick in hand; poised to strike.
"Well," Robb replied, an amused look on his face, "then I'm Aegon the Unworthy. Will you strike your king, Aemon?"
"Aegon the Unworthy!?" Jon cried out, as if scandalized at Robb's choice. "But he's fat!"
Jon knew nothing, it seemed.
"He was just misunderstood, brother. 'Tis true he had an appetite, but isn't that true for all great men?" The double meaning of appetite wouldn't register to Jon at this age, but for Robb, that was where the amusement came from.
Jon didn't seem convinced by his brother's defense of the lascivious king, and instead of listening to anything he had to say about his favorite Targaryen king, attacked.
Wooden sticks clashed again and again, and both laughed as they tried to score a hit on the other. It was great fun, and reminded Robb of his days on the quidditch pitch back in Hogwarts.
After playing around to the point Jon had to take a break because of exhaustion, Robb sat down to think about the current on goings.
The Ironborn had attacked at the beginning of the year, much to Robb's displeasure. His father had gotten a raven from Pyke stating that Balon had crowned and declared himself King of the Iron Islands.
Worse still, Lannisport had been attacked.
Robb didn't know how bad the attack was, but he hoped it wouldn't affect his plan to sell Brightroar. After considering his goals and many variables, he and Maester Luwin had written up something that satisfied them both, and were ready to present it to his lord father.
Cursing the Ironborn again, Robb was pulled out of his thoughts by the distant sound of a strong, deep bass.
"Jon! Get Up! More banners are here!" Jon jumped up at Robb's statement.
"Oh! Let's go see!" Forgetting all about his wooden stick, Jon made to follow Robb. He knew his brother was familiar with all the nooks and crannies of Winterfell, and would know the best spot to see the Stark bannermen making their way into the castle.
Robb and Jon made their way to the outer wall, climbing flights of carved stairs up to one of the guard turrets for the best vantage point. Once there, Robb pulled out of his expansion-charmed pocket two telescopes—far-eyes in this world. One for him and one for Jon.
Robb peered through the lens and observed the long column of men as they made their way across the muddy streets of winter town. A man lead in front of them, a thick strap on his neck, from which hung a drum bigger than him.
He banged out a slow, deep marching rhythm that Robb recognized as the sound he had heard earlier. As the drummer led the column of men into Winterfell, Robb noted the banners fluttering among them, a white sunburst across a black background.
"House Karstark, then," he mentally noted.
Since news of the Ironborn attack, ravens had flown out and many men had made to gather at Winterfell. The winter town was bursting, the houses that had been empty just a month ago now filled to the brim with people.
Wizarding Britain's population hadn't been too high, and so it was a rare sight for Robb to see so many people in one place.
Robb could spot many of the banners he'd learn from Maester Luwin among winter town.
As the column of men was nearing its end, Robb and Jon made their way down the outer wall to the kitchens.
The kitchen maids of Winterfell had been working hard since the first of House Stark's bannermen made it to Winterfell. Robb spotted many going back-and-forth from the kitchens, no doubt making preparations for the feast they'd be having with Lord Karstark later tonight. Not every single soldier that a lord brought with him ate at Winterfell, but his father feasted with his principal bannermen and their inner circle as they arrived at the castle.
Robb had wanted to snag a quick little snack ahead of time.
He had taught the bakers the wonders of treacle tart, and it had become a household favorite. There wasn't a time the kitchens didn't have a piece lying around. The bakers hadn't gotten it quite near to his standards just yet, but it was good enough for now. No doubt, the quality of the ingredients played a part. Robb could conjure syrup, but conjured food always tasted middle of the road. The North would have a thriving syrup industry at some point, if Robb had anything to say about it.
As he and Jon waited for an opportune time to sneak in, a familiar kitchen maid filled Robb's vision. Her supple rear couldn't be hidden even under that linen dress, nor could it hide the way it bounced as she walked.
A mischievous smirk made its way onto Robb's face as a sudden impulse hit him.
He cocked his arm back, hand wide open, and swung.
*SMACK*
The kitchen maid's arse cheeks rippled on impact from Robbs firm slap, and at such a glorious sight, he could only lament he was still six.
Jon's eyes went wide in shock at Robb's action. His brother was truly fearless.
The kitchen maid swung her head around, face flushed and cheeks blazing, ready to smack the cad who made such a move on her; until she spotted Robb.
"Little lord! It's you again! How many times do I have to tell you! You, you...!"
Jasline, a maid of three-and-ten, fumed at Robb's antics. They had done this dance quite a few times lately.
Hair the color of straw fell in medium curls, framing a small, heart-shaped face. A hair color not too common in the North. Coupled with her bright, gray eyes, Jasline could certainly be said to be pretty. Robb could already see the beauty she would bloom into in full. Though she seemed to have a temper, Robb knew it was just a guise she used to hide her embarrassment. A third daughter of one of the many lower houses sworn to House Stark's principle bannermen, Jasline had been sent to work at Winterfell as a kitchen maid. Presumably to put her in a position to find a husband, though Robb wasn't sure.
If he had any say, though, she would be his.
One of many.
The older kitchen maids that witnessed the scene just laughed and shook their heads.
Sighs of ~Just like Brandon~ and ~Wolf's blood~ could be heard in the background.
Robb could only guess at how many of them his deceased uncle had shagged.
Suddenly, Jasline's face went from fuming to a smirk that spelled nothing good.
Robb had a premonition, and turned around, only to come face-to-face with his pregnant lady mother, Catelyn Stark.
Even well into her pregnancy, she lived and breathed House Tully's words: family, duty, honor, and continued performing her role as lady of the house. Directing the household as it received House Stark's bannermen and making sure everything ran smoothly.
"Lady Stark." Jasline gave a curtsy at the sight of his lady mother.
"Jasline," Catelyn replied. "I hope my son has not caused you any trouble."
"No more than usual, my lady," Jasline said, and though there was no inflection or suggestion in her voice or face, Robb had a feeling that she had conveyed to his mother exactly what she had wanted to.
Robb was sweating.
"That is good to hear." Lady Stark turned to her son, but not before giving Jon a cold look. "Robb, I was just looking for you. Come with me."
"Yes, mother…" Robb could hear Jasline snicker in the background as he was marched off.
His mother instructed her handmaids and guards to wait here while they walked the halls of Winterfell until they were out of the hearing range of others.
Catelyn sighed, "Whatever am I to do with you, Robb?"
Making full use of the easy Tully smile he had inherited, Robb turned towards his mother to answer. "Whatever do you mean, mother?"
Catelyn stared at her son for a few moments and broke into a smile despite herself. Her son was too good at charming his way out of trouble by half. She knew he had used that smile to get out of trouble with more than a few of the women of the household. She could only imagine how it was going to be when he was older.
"The feast with Lord Karstark is today. I know how much you enjoy your little antics with the kitchen maids, but today I'll have you put your skirt-chasing on-hold. I want Lord Karstark to see that the education of the heir to Winterfell is going well."
"Relax, mother. I'll be on nothing but my best behavior. Wasn't it so for the feast with the other bannermen?"
Catelyn couldn't disagree.
She and Ned had ofttimes talked about how to handle raising Robb, a child who didn't act much like one—most of the time, she mentally corrected herself, as she thought back to the sight of him slapping that kitchen maid's rear.
If only he was as easy to handle as Sansa had been so far.
At first, she had wanted to believe that Robb was learning such behavior from her husband's bastard, but it wasn't to be. The bastard was as shocked by Robb's behavior as she was. Her son was what he was, wholly his own self. It vexed her to see Ned's bastard take after him in looks and character, much more than his trueborn son.
She had thought to train such behavior out of Robb, but her instinct told her he was too independent at this point to unlearn such a thing. Her lord husband agreed. And since the maids didn't seem to actually be troubled by it, she wrote it off. If anything, they seemed amused by it.
While she was proud of her son's intelligence, at times like this, it exhausted her.
"Yes, well, I also wanted to talk to you about Jon. Robb—"
Before she could finish, Robb sighed. Whenever she saw him and Jon being too friendly, she seemed to want to have a conversation about them being too close. Robb wasn't ignorant like his mother thought, he had read about the Blackfyre rebellions. He knew the history of baseborn siblings trying to usurp their trueborn ones.
The simple truth was that Robb didn't feel threatened because it was impossible for Jon to usurp him. He had magic.
He hadn't told his mother about it just yet, since she was pregnant. He wasn't sure how she'd react, so he opted to wait until she'd given birth. Once he did, though, he was sure she would relax her stance.
Besides, he had some thoughts about Jon. When he had come to learn a bit about what type of person his father was, Jon's existence didn't make much sense to him.
Robb had a very good idea of who was shagging who in the castle, just based on what his passive legilimency picked up. He was only an above average legilimens, but the people of Westeros didn't have even a natural passive mental defense like witches and wizards did, and so if they thought loudly, Robb would pick it up.
His father didn't seem to have anyone else in the castle besides his mother, which made Jon stick out all the more.
He had some theories, but in the end they didn't really matter. They were lacking in people as it was. Whatever Jon's origins were, it was clear he had Stark blood, and that was enough for Robb. He was receiving a lord's education, so Robb would make use of him.
The North had vast swathes of land, and with time Robb could make it all hospitable. He could even make north of the wall desirable land with time. There would be enough land to go around even if his lady mother gave birth to a dozen trueborn sons.
"Mother, we've talked about Jon a few times before. I understand your concerns. However, I disagree." His lady mother's lips puckered at his interruption, but he continued. "Besides, don't you love to talk about how smart I am? Trust me on this."
At the mention of her bragging about him, her face softened. "Too charming by half, indeed," she thought. "Very well, I'll see you at the feast then. And make sure to spend time with your sister, too, and not just your brother." After saying her peace, she leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Robb's forehead.
"Of course, mother." Robb walked his mother back until she was with her handmaidens and guards again, and thought about his plans for today. With the Karstarks here, his father would make to march on the morrow for sure. Robb meant to give him and all of House Stark the best chances of survival.
Robb knew he'd be enchanting any armaments he could find tonight. He had considered introducing things like expansion charms or storage that could last significantly longer powered by runic arrays, but he wasn't ready to open that can of worms just yet.
Maester Luwin's lessons had taught him how vital supply lines were to an army. You had to use animals to carry food. But the animals carrying the food ate food too! Armies could live off of the land, but not for long, and it wasn't true for everywhere. Supply depots were vital, and maintaining and supplying an army was an art form unto itself.
The instant Robb introduced something like a bag that could be carried by one person, capable of feeding an army and their mounts while marching for months on end, was the moment he knew that all eyes would turn to the North. Eyes from Westeros, Essos, and the world over, even.
He could make use of magic all he wanted to make money like he planned to with the Valyrian steel swords, but that would only make House Stark a very rich house. That didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things when there were hundreds of entities that could boast immense wealth in places like Essos and beyond.
Something like a storage bag for armies was altogether a different beast compared to simple material wealth.
He didn't fear the attention, to be sure. He just wanted certain things in place before making such reveals. He wanted the North to be unassailable and productive in a scenario without him, before introducing such a thing.
And so while he wouldn't be introducing storage bags just yet, Robb planned to gift his father two other things besides enchanted armaments for the war.
He thought back to the far-eye he and Jon had made use of earlier.
Conjuring glass was very simple for Robb. And while he had only managed an acceptable on his astronomy OWLs in Hogwarts, living in Grimmauld Place with the Black Family paintings, who took pride in naming their family members after various constellations, had sparked a renewed interest in astronomy in him.
Because of this, making something like a simple telescope was easy for him.
He had gifted one to Maester Luwin who had been beside himself with joy. It had vastly outperformed his old one. He'd gotten many questions about how he came across such a thing, but Robb only smirked and replied, "In due time, Maester Luwin."
It had felt good to pull one over on him for once after those geometry lessons.
Besides the telescopes, Robb had conjured and stored large amounts of glass in the First Keep. It was the oldest part of Winterfell, and no one went near it. The gargoyles had charmed him, reminding him of Dumbledore's office, so he decided to make it his own personal laboratory.
The great thing about Westeros was there was no Ministry to tell him how much he could use the expansion charm.
He had plied the First Keep with muggle-repelling, unbreakable, and expansion charms, and even transfigured the gargoyles to resemble the ones he was more familiar with. The First Keep was probably as big as Winterfell itself now, and indestructible to all manner of assault anyone was capable of in this world besides, after all Robb had done.
He was planning to enchant the sheets of glass he had conjured and stored there with the unbreakable charm once they soaked in a decent amount of magic.
Robb didn't have delusions about covering the North with glass gardens. He had the magic to do it, of course, but that would only result in people trying to break apart panes of glass to steal and sell. He wouldn't be surprised if the lords he conjured the glass for went off to sell it for personal gain.
While he planned to replace some of the decrepit buildings of Winterfell with glass gardens, it was more so for his personal use. He wanted to grow spices for his food. Westeros food culture was subpar compared to what he was used to, and he wanted to change it soon.
His other plan for the glass had to do with the Night's Watch.
While conjuring glass to make enough glass gardens capable of feeding the whole of the North came with a hundred problems in practice, it was different for the Night's Watch.
They had less than a thousand members currently, so a glass garden could go a long way for them.
Long enough that House Stark might be able to negotiate the New Gift back from them.
He and his lord father could go through the crown, of course, but it was better to deal with the Night's Watch directly in his opinion. Besides, from what he understood, his father's relationship with the king was a bit on the cold side because of how some events of the Rebellion had been handled.
While Robb wasn't a king and was still in the process of wrapping his head around the political system of Westeros, the rules of power were the same everywhere. Even if a king could do whatever he wanted, he was still constrained by certain things and had to consider the feelings of others if he didn't want to end up with a rebellion on his hands.
His time as head auror had taught him that even those at the top, or very close to it, had to consider the feelings of the people around them even if they could do whatever they wanted in practice.
Besides the far-eyes he planned on gifting his father for the war, he had one other thing. It was just as game-changing as a storage bag in some ways, but more subtle. He couldn't wait to see the look on his father's face.
For now, he had a feast to attend and armor to enchant later tonight. As Harry Potter, Robb had never wined and dined so many people in such quick succession, but he was slowly getting used to it. Besides, he was looking forward to eating that treacle tart he failed to snag from the kitchens earlier.
Damn Jasline and her supple rear!
"Robb, son, what is this…" It was the morning where Ned was to march with the banners to link up with the other forces of the North on the kingsroad, before marching to join the forces of the crown for the assault on the Iron Islands. Early in the morning, Robb had asked to see him in his solar, and warning bells went off in his head.
As he led his son to his solar, Ned could only think, "How will he befuddle my mind this time?"
Ned had tried to keep his emotions in check, really. He was a stoic and stolid man by nature, but lately, it seemed his son had sought to change that.
He had been very pleased with the gift of the far-eyes from his son. Glass wasn't cheap, and the know how to make such an excellent far-eye wasn't anything to scoff at. He wouldn't be surprised if what his son had crafted outstripped the best far-eyes seen in Westeros, Essos, and even beyond.
It was the other thing that had surprised him.
His son had presented him with two pieces of parchment, plain by all manner and measure of observation.
However, they were anything but normal.
Ned wasn't sure if Robb understood the ramifications of these two pieces of parchment in their entirety, but by the Gods, Ned understood entirely. As a commander who specialized in handling the strategic side of war campaigns, Ned understood how game-changing instant transmission of information was on a level few people did.
He wouldn't be using it in the Greyjoy Rebellion, though. This was something he would want to field-test thoroughly first.
If it worked even half as well as his son was claiming it did, though…
Still, Ned tried to calm his mind at the ramifications of the latest piece of his son's magic, as he went on about how to use it.
"Right! So, there are two pieces. Someone writes something, and the other piece warms up to let the other person know they've got a message! You can make it more than two, by the way, father. You can even set a password. Magic is flexible like that, you know?"
"Right, of course." Ned didn't know, of course.
"Right! Anyway! Once you and King Robert have those Ironborn cunts subdued, message me!"
Usually Ned would've corrected such foul language coming from the mouth of one of his children, but his son was right. The Ironborn were cunts.
Cutting through the minutia of his son's explanation, Ned made to ask a question. "For what reason would you have me contact you, Robb?"
Noticing he had gone off on a tangent with his explanation, Robb scratched the back of his head sheepishly and made to reply. "Oh! So, I want to relocate some of the thralls to winter town and other parts of the North."
Ned's eyes went wide at the remark his son made. Relocating the smallfolk of a lord was no small thing.
He didn't approve of the Ironborn practice of thralldom, of course. No matter what they called it, it was slavery. And slavery was an abomination, by the old gods and the new.
Before he could begin to think upon how he could embark on such a task, Robb pulled another piece of parchment out of his pocket, which he placed on his desk.
"There's also the matter of Brightroar. Maester Luwin and I have come up with something we think is satisfactory."
Putting thoughts of thrall relocation aside, Ned reviewed the plan. Maester Luwin's influence on it was obvious, judging by the sound logistics of the plan. It called for House Lannister to bear all the cost and responsibility of transporting the gold until it was in Winterfell. His son's influence was obvious in the other part, though. "Sons of miners who aren't going to inherit? I was unaware we had so much ore, Robb." Ned regarded his son with a bitter smile. The North wasn't a poor kingdom by any means, earning decent income through its lumber trade mainly. However, they weren't wealthy like the Westerlands, a kingdom with veins of ore of every kind that ran deep enough to be mined for thousands of years.
"Oh, we do. I used a mine sensing spell. The North is no Westerlands, but we have much more than we know. All we need now is the know how."
Ned wasn't sure what to say to that, his son's magic got more ridiculous for every feat he revealed himself capable of. And he hadn't lied yet.
He always found it best to just accept things as a matter of course when it came to his son's magic, and considering himself satisfied with his explanation, moved on.
Ned thought about his son's desire to relocate some of the thralls of the Iron Islands. It would be hard to say if it was possible until the endgame of the war was clear, but it wasn't a bad idea in itself. The only problem was the matter of having the swords needed to maintain order in a case of mass immigration. Perhaps the gold earned from Brightroar could rectify part of that issue? No doubt many hedge knights and freeriders would participate in the war with hopes of employment and plunder. He would keep his eyes open for the talented ones of good character.
As he and his son finished their discussion, Ned prepared to march, his mind filled with thoughts of the many changes that would soon come to the North.
His father having marched off to war, Robb made for the godswood.
It was an interesting place, for several reasons.
Besides the deep history behind it, there was a certain feeling that always assaulted Robb anytime he came here. It reminded him of the paintings at Hogwarts.
In their later school years, Hermione had taken them to calling them Orwellian paintings. Robb didn't know what Orwellian had meant, and Hermione had seen to fixing that.
And so here he was, in the godswood, surrounded by what he could only describe as Orwellian trees.
He knew they were watching him. Whoever or whatever they were.
Robb's presence was like the finest of narcotics from Knockturn Alley to the magical beings of this world—gods and mortals alike.
While he had been making use of his occlumency to hide his magical presence, he had been slinging around too much magic lately to stay hidden for long.
He'd noticed the trees had taken to watching him some time ago, and decided to confront the entity behind them once his father had marched off.
Robb had been idling for half an hour before he decided to make his own move. He brought the full might of his magic down on the weirwoods, and felt a sudden shift in the area, and smiled.
It seemed his little move had worked.
Hidden among the trees of the godswood of Winterfell, a small humanoid, female in figure, lay in wait. Sweat gathered on her brow as she witnessed the little human she had been planning to lure beyond the wall of the Night's Watch give off more magic than anyone ought should have been able to.
She adjusted the weirwood bow slung across her back, and nut-brown fingers gripped the obsidian blade sheathed on her waist; a move meant to gain back a measure of confidence.
No matter how magically powerful this little human was, he was still just a child.
She and some of her fellow children of the forest had performed this dance in number beyond count. Luring magically powerful individuals to the lands beyond the wall to feed their power to the network of weirwood trees.
All in an effort to gain the power needed to avenge themselves on the First Men.
While the First Men of recent generations had forgotten the pact and seemed to view the history behind it with some skepticism, the children had not forgotten.
The sting of defeat was still felt even thousands of years later. The humiliation unbearable.
She was part of the generation that yearned for the old glory of the children, to return to the times when they considered most of Westeros as theirs. Unlike some of her kin, she refused to accept their eventual demise. Refused to accept that the world no longer had a place for her and her people.
And so, because of this desire, she found herself in the godswood of Winterfell.
The accursed Brandon the Builder had bestowed Winterfell with magicks that were like anathema to the children, and it had taken thousands of years to deteriorate to the point that she and her kin could enter Winterfell, but not without severe repercussions.
She wouldn't have bothered coming at all, such was the power of Brandon the Builder's enchantments, but the human she was observing was the ultimate prize, too important to ignore.
She could taste the magic on him, and knew that sacrificing him to the weirwoods would give the children all the power they needed and then some to retake what was rightfully theirs. And more still.
Preparing to reveal herself, she smirked. These silly First Men always lost themselves in awe whenever they came upon her kind. As they should. The only part she disliked was the fact she had to speak the common tongue to communicate with these lesser beings. It felt foul on her tongue.
She stepped out of the trees, gliding across the ground with grace only a wood-dancer could wield, until she was in front of the child, some feet away. "Greetings, human," she declared, in the foul common tongue. "We have been watching you. My name is—"
"Blimey! What are you!"
The child of the forest simmered in anger. Who was this human, to talk to her like this? She cooled her temper, it wouldn't do to startle him, it would just make it harder to lure him beyond the walls.
"As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted. I am a child of the forest, a mythical being of a time long forgotten. And we have been watching you, Robb Stark."
"Do you have a name, oh mythical and wondrous child of the forest?" Robb asked, inspecting his fingernails as he did so.
She seethed in fury at how dismissive this little human was being. Magic or not, it wasn't right! Dozens of times she had done this introduction, and so dozens of times she'd been met with exclamations and gestures of sheer awe. The nonchalance this little human was showing was new, and it was baffling to her.
"Indeed I do." She hissed, despite herself. She would be ashamed if any of her kin saw how she was conducting herself right now, but there was something about this little human that just didn't sit right with her. "It is too long in the common tongue, but for any time I commune with humans, I go by the name Sharley."
"Right, Sharley. So, what'd you want with little old me?" Robb was amused by this whole situation. He had seen many magical creatures in his first life, so he wasn't really surprised by this child of the forest, Sharley. He wanted some fun out of the situation, so he figured he'd go with some outrageous reactions.
"We have felt your magical power, and would like to welcome you among our group."
As a sacrifice
The humans were always overwhelmed with joy when Sharley was at this part, but the only thing that ever seemed to adorn this little human's face was amusement. His expression hadn't changed once this entire conversation.
"Right…so what do you really want?"
"To sacrifice your lifeblood and magic to a heart tree, so we may harness your power."
It took a few seconds for Sharley to realize what she'd said, and the all-knowing and calm expression she'd been wearing this entire conversation curdled. She wanted to kill herself on the spot for such a blunder.
What had just happened!
"Compulsion charms sure are great, huh?"
Sharley regained her focus, only to see the little human still wearing that smirk of his, but also now twirling a finely shaped piece of wood in his right hand.
"What sort of queer magic did you work on me?!" Sharley was worried. She knew of the human's magical power, but the idea that he could wield it externally had never crossed her mind. She hadn't even felt anything in her body shift or change. What could such a young child know of sorcery? However, it was becoming rapidly clear to her that she wasn't dealing with a child by any means.
"I only made you say what you wanted to do, for true." Robb waved his hand, and Sharley's form went still, her weirwood bow and obsidian dagger flying into his waiting arms.
Sharley calmed herself and considered the situation. She had just revealed to a being of immense magical power capable of applying it in ways she hadn't seen, ever, that she wanted to sacrifice him. Furthermore, she was disarmed.
She did the only thing she could do in such a situation.
"Spare me and I'll serve you!" Sharley's arrogance melted like summer snow under a blazing sun. This little human was too much for her. Besides, you didn't live as long as the children of the forest did if you didn't know when to bow your head at the right time.
"Serve me, huh? What use could you be to me?" Robb sat in a conjured chair now, waiting to hear Sharley's offer.
"I know of many things beyond the wall! Giants and mammoths and direwolves and more besides!"
Robb could tear such secrets from her mind, of course. She was just talking about how she planned to sacrifice him, so he wouldn't have even felt particularly bad about doing it. The problem was that not all humanoid minds necessarily worked the same as the minds of witches and wizards, or muggles.
She was no Ron, but she would do.
Besides, having someone who was knowledgeable about such things around wasn't a bad idea.
Robb had dozens and dozens of ways to ensure her compliance and good behavior.
He acted as if he was thinking for a bit, then conjured a roll of white parchment, a writing set, and a needle. "Alright then. I'll have you sign here, here, and there too. I'll need some of your blood too, of course. Ah! And you'll need to say these words, exactly as I say them…"
As the little human listed off each of his requirements, Sharley felt more and more that she had just made a deal with some sort of devil. It was too late to back out now, though.
"Avenge me, comrades!" Sharley could only think so, as she signed her life over to the little wizard.
A/N:
Robb gains his first minion.