Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.
Chapter 28: The Rightful King
"Family, Duty, Honor."
– Ser Edmure Tully
The rain had eased, but the sky was grey and the ground muddy as men looked cold, wasted, forlorn; even fresh raised as they were – most were on edge – all too aware of the numbers stacked against them and the homes they'd left behind, too undefended for comfort. Ser Edmure Tully walked through the camp as his men ate soup among the host spread outside the walls of Riverrun. The common men were camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Among them was the dancing maiden of the Pipers, Lord Blackwood's weirwood, the red stallion of Bracken and the dragons of Vance.
Lord Goodbrook and Ser Marq Piper were at Edmure's heels as he walked towards the command tent amongst his vast host of Riverlords.
"Edmure, it's good to see you!" Ser Karyl Vance welcomed them as they entered.
"Karyl," Edmure smiled at his friend before taking his seat at the fine oaken table.
"Lord Edmure," came the voice of Tytos Blackwood, the Lord of Raventree; his face stoic with a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard, hooked nose, and long raven black hair. "Surely, you cannot mean us to sit here idle forever? We should march to join Lord Vance at the foothills with half our strength, to hold the pass while-"
"Who's the damn Lord Paramount again?" Lord Jonos Bracken scoffed at the man. "It was Tully, last I saw; is it not?"
"For god's sake Bracken…"
"What gods are those?" Lord Bracken glowered. "The true, or the false?"
Lord Blackwood looked tired of the man, to say the least; he rubbed his forehead as if a headache was imminent.
"His lordship has a point," Ser Karyl agreed readily with Blackwood. "My father is outside the Golden Tooth as we speak; should we not reinforce him?"
Edmure Tully had sent Lord Clement Piper and Lord Vance to guard the pass below the Golden Tooth, to prevent any Lannister armies from entering the riverlands, but reports from their host had halted a day prior; thus the reason for this meeting now. The Lords were on edge and eager to cease sitting idle at Riverrun.
"My father cannot hold the pass against the might of the Westerlands alone," Ser Marq added his agreement, nodding to Ser Karyl in support.
"The lads speak true," Blackwood hummed his agreement. "We mustn't linger here forever, Lord Edmure…"
"Gods," Bracken scowled at the man. "You ain't the Lord Paramount, Blackwood! Your word isn't law here!"
"This isn't about titles you damn fool," Lord Tytos groaned his frustration.
"It's always about titles with you!"
"My lords," Edmure tried defusing the situation.
"Oh fuck off Bracken," Lord Blackwood was growing impatient.
"Your family has always been greedy little shits!"
"My lords?" Tully repeated himself, with a slightly frown for being ignored.
The others watched the verbal jousting with disinterest as their liege lord's heir failed to break the two men apart.
A warhoon blew then to silence the bickering Riverlords. Harooooooooooooooooooooo, it cried, it's voice as long and low and chilling as a cold wind from the north. Tully trumpets answered from the walls of Riverrun with, da-DA da-DA da-DAAAAAAA, brazen and defiant, yet it seemed somewhat smaller, more anxious.
"We're under attack!" Lord Blackwood was the first to draw his steel and rush out from the tent, quickly followed by the others.
"I-" Edmure stumbled out into the cold as a strong gust of wind greeted his fiery red hair.
"Lannisters," Lord Bracken snarled, his previous duel with Blackwood all but forgotten. "To the defences!"
"How is this-" Edmure Tully was wide-eyed as he saw a sea of crimson on the horizon, charging forward towards the walls of Riverrun. How had this happened? The question rang through Edmure's skull as the lions drew closer. "The outriders… how has…"
"Snap out of it!" Blackwood shook him out of his stupor then.
As the horns died away, a hissing filled the air; a vast flight of arrows arched up from the walls of Riverrun, where the archers stood. The Lannister footmen broke into a run, shouting as they came, but the Tully arrows fell on them like hail, hundreds of arrows, thousands, and shouts turned to screams as men stumbled and went down. By then a second flight was in the air, and the archers were fitting a third arrow to their bowstrings, felling numerous lowborn lions.
The trumpets blared again, da-DAAA da-DAAA da-DA da-DA da-DAAAAAAA. Edmure noted a golden figure, Ser Kevan without a doubt, waving his sword as he bellowed commands, sending a thousand other voices screaming back at him as the van surged forward towards the Tully camp.
"Spears!" Lord Blackwood was barking orders, needing no direction from any Tully or other men. "Spears and shields you fools! NO MAN FLEES!"
A crescent of Blackwood spearmen had formed ahead of the Lannister van, a double hedgehog bristling with steel, waiting behind tall oaken shields marked with the weirwood of House Blackwood. Lions were on them in a heartbeat as a wedge of armoured knights charged, half of whom shied at the last second, breaking their charge before the row of spears. The others died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. "To me!" Lord Blackwood commanded, gaining a small following of brave men.
"Riverrun!" Edmure shouted the only word that came to remind, that seemed to do the trick; as many fell in behind him.
The blackwood shieldwall had buckled in the centre under the might of the Lannister's heavy knights. It was here that the Heir to Riverrun charged.
"About time you showed up!" Blackwood spat at him, cleaving a Lannister levy practically in haft with his sword.
Edmure couldn't think of a response before Blackwood yelled "Shields!" He cried as a flight of arrows descended on them; where they came from, he could not say, but they fell on Tully and Lannister alike, rattling off armourer and finding flesh as Edmure's shield was struck with a number of the arrows. The hedge crumbled then, the riverlanders reeling back under the impact of another mounted assault, flights of arrows and not least, the handful of men that had passed their wall during the first clash.
"I fucking hate archers," Blackwood grumbled to himself as he got to his feet and processed to pull an arrow from his thigh, slamming said arrowhead into the exposed neck of a Lannister levy before lopping the head of a spear that came for him, raking his blade across a third foes face on his backslash.
"For King Joffrey!" a voice rang out. "For Tywin and Casterly Rock!" Edmure spun to see the sight of a western knight thundering at Lord Blackwood, swinging the spiked ball of a morning star around his head. They slammed together and before Edmure could blink the lord was flown backwards, landing in the mud with a thud.
"Do you yield?" The knight loomed over the Lord of Raventree, holding his sword ready for the kill.
Edmure didn't think, driving his sword into the back of the Westerland knight's skull with sickeningly little effort.
"Well done lad," Lord Tytos chuckled bitterly as he got to his feet with the spirit of a man half his age. "Not so much of a floppy fish, eh?"
Ser Edmure managed a laugh, bitter as it was; he'd given the lord his hand and helped him to his feet.
"Lord Blackwood," he smiled at the man beneath his helm. "A battlefield is a queer place for a nap..."
"Aye my lord," Blackwood smirked, his helm lost to him as he looked around the field.
The sound of squelching mud alerted them to the fresh row of footmen approaching, swords raised high, the lions charged.
In bright muddied mail and a flowing mud-and-water cloak, with a silver trout ornamented on the crest of his greathelm twinned with the one painted on his shield, Ser Edmure Tully charged forward too, swinging his sword in a flurry of blows; steel clashing against Lannister crimson as battle raged around him.
His opponent blocked and deflected him easily as Edmure stumbled.
The knight, to his credit, stood calm and cocksure as his woe regathered.
"Come for me," the knight taunted. "Fish Lord!"
Edmure attacked again, steadier now, more sure-footed; recalling everything he'd been taught.
They traded blows once more. The westerland knight was a powerful and battle-fit warrior, an older man, more experience by far…
Edmure by contrast was none of these things, seeming troubled, struggling to keep his feet and trade blows as they began to circle each other.
He wasn't sure where Blackwood had gone, or how the battle around him was raging; but none of that seemed to matter as the mud squelched between his boots and the sweat ran down his brow, the only thing that mattered was the here and now. This wasn't a game, Edmure had quickly realized, it was life and death.
Another vicious exchange traded before they broke.
They watched each, the Heir and the Knight, catching breath as they circled in the mud.
"Come for me again, Tully!"
Edmure raised his sword and stood firm and waited, not taking the bait a second time.
The knight fixed coldly on him, then charged brutally, disarming Edmure in a few flashing blows.
"Yield!" The knight demanded, pointing his sword forward at the disarmed lordling.
"No," every fibre of Edmure's body wanted to scream… but the fear was suffocating…
"I-" He looked around, the mud was littered with bodies, their banners fallen and trampled by Lannister hooves and precious few lived that were still on the field. Lord Blackwood was nowhere to be seen and it the day was wholly lost. "I would know to whom I would surrender…"
The knight lowered his sword somewhat at that but failed to lower his guard for even a second. The knight hummed his agreement.
"Very well," he decided after a moment, tossing aside his shield to free a hand – removing the helm from his head.
His hair was a crimson red, his features sharp and noble; with a short beard and sweat running down his brow.
"Ser Lymond Vikary," he declared himself, his face betraying nothing as the battle raged around them.
"Ser Edmure Tully," Edmure introduced himself, taking off his helm in kind; thinking this knight a man of honor.
"I know who you are," Ser Vikary replied boldly. "Now, do you yield, or do you not?"
"I-" Edmure's heart sank, having failed his father and his people; he was defeated. "I yie-"
The air sang then with the sound of wolves, as a distant yet sharp Arh-wooooo cry rang out, only to be joined by others and the long chilling Harooooooooooooooooooooo call of a warhorn from the north. All eyes darted across the Tumblestone River where the warhorns and sound of wolves cried out to greet them.
Edmure saw thousands of riders pour out from the woods north of Riverrun as the castle lowered its northern drawbridge for the new arrivals.
Winter had come, as thousands poured into Riverrun from the northern drawbridge and stormed through the castle…
"No!" Edmure screamed his refusal to yield then, courage renewed, pulling his dagger from its scabbard and lunging at his foe.
Ser Vikary stumbled, his guard lowered at the northmens arrival; he tripped and fell in the wet mud as Edmure fell upon him.
The dagger was thrust straight through Vikary's throat, killing him swiftly as Riverrun opened its southern drawbridge and winter itself poured out from the castle.
As cries of "Winterfell!" and "Stark!" entered the air, what was once a calming field quickly turned back to a seething mess of mud and flailing knights and confused thrashing horses. Lannister men were trampled and bashed. Edmure watched a knight, fallen in the mud, gets stuck face down and crawl around helplessly. The knight was trying to lift himself, but horse fell on top of him, pinning him to drown in the sodden earth as northmen rode down every Lannister they could see.
Riverrun had sallied out with its garrison too, running like crazy looters onto the field of battle as men are cut down left and right.
Edmure threw himself into the fold, picking up Ser Vikary's sword – for the dead man didn't need it – as he spirited through the mud to the nearest group of friendly banners; shouting "To me!" as he approached them and "For the Riverlands!" as he charged, muddied and bloody men falling in behind him.
He slid as the charged, the mud thick and trodden, but nimbly got back to his feet, dodging and moving, cutting and stabbing at desperate men in Lannister crimson. The shouts of "Victory!" and "Riverrun!" and "Stark!" were louder than the cries of crying men and horses both.
A knight in Brax colours was struggling on the floor, only for Edmure to drive his sword deep into their throat.
The man gurgled on the blood, grabbing Edmure's ankle and dragging him to the ground desperately as the Brax knight bled and choked.
"Die!" Edmure screamed, wide-eyed and terrified as he caved the knight's helmet in with the hilt of his dagger, and crawled back to his feet once more, manging to suck in some air as he looked to the sky to see another barrage of Tully arrows fly overheard; picking off a row of fleeing Lannister footmen.
The world seemed to slow down as Edmure surveyed the field, seeing terrified horses and dying men all around beyond the walls of Riverrun.
"Marq!" Edmure saw his friend across the field, not far from him; about to be overcome as he's fighting against two armoured knights.
He rushed to help, minding his footing – barely manging to not slip once more – he lunged and hacked one of the knights down, giving Ser Marq time and space to finish the other. "Edmure," Ser Marq looks at his friend, all covered in blood and mud and gods know what else. "You're alive, thank the gods…"
"Aye," Edmure manages a nod, clasping his friend on the shoulder. "Are you well?"
Ser Marq seemed in a daze as he spoke. "Yes… I… not my blood…"
The cries of dying men had faded now, as the rains returned, Edmure looking up at the sky – as grey and gloomy as ever.
Only now the gods seemed to weep for the fallen. It was raining again. Was that a good or bad sign of things to come, he wondered?
He stood in awe as he watched the Lannister army flee in earnest, as shouts of retreat rang out, quite enough to break their spirits, even sending a number of freeriders to strike their banners and change sides. "Retreat!" The words rang out through the chaos of the closing battle, as Ser Edmure Tully watched in silence.
He watched as two men were wrestling, one with Tully blue holding a golden helmeted knight in the mud; suffocating him awkwardly in the mud.
The Northmen had thundered through with banners flying, the Stark's grey direwolf on an ice-white field chief among them, alongside the sunburst of House Karstark and Umber's giant and many others – but those that struck Edmure were the banners of House Frey flying alongside them all…
They'd plunged through the Lannister lines like a lance through a pumpkin, every man howling like some demon in steel.
"Lord Edmure?" A voice called him and Edmure's eyes darted up to young boy atop his white charger, with a stocky build, blue eyes and thick red-brown hair – he looked like a Tully through and through, except for the white cloak and direwolf surcoat over his bloodied mail. And then there was the large wolf at his side.
"Nephew?" Edmure asked the boy, assuming it was the case. He looked the part, every inch a Tully…
"Uncle," Robb Stark looked down at his uncle. He was muddy, his armour covered in blood and grime from the battle. "I have a gift for you…"
At the boy's words, a big man with broad shoulders and a thick waist was thrown into the mud before him, with short balding blonde hair and a close-cropped yellow beard that followed the line of a massive jaw. Above all else, this 'gift' had green-emerald eyes. He was a Lannister. Edmure knew exactly what one too…
"Ser Kevan Lannister," he muttered, scowling at the captive lion. "You captured him… by the gods…"
The lion only glared at the Tully heir, saying nothing, his eyes were full of malice.
"We've captured others," Robb Stark declared stoically. "Willem Lannister included."
"He's only a boy," Ser Kevan spoke then, breaking his silence.
"Ah!" A man who Edmure didn't know spoke, all smiles, his skin that of a dornishman. "So, the lion does have a tongue!"
"If you harm my son-"
"Silence," another stranger to Edmure snapped at the lion. He was tall atop his black satin horse, dressed in dark steel plate-mail and grey furs with Stark eyes and a black wolf at his side. Most notably, atop his head was a silver circlet, making the man look almost royal. "Behave yourself and no harm will come to you, or the others…"
At the princely looking one's side was another Stark-looking rider, with dark brown hair and grey eyes, a snow-white direwolf at his horse's side.
And then there was a man he knew, in red-black robes that usually stank of wine. What in the seven hells was Thoros of Myr doing here?
"Forgive me," Edmure eyed the stranger atop the satin charger, unsure why he was barking orders. "Who are you, friend?"
The tall man eyed him, seeming to look straight through his soul in judgement.
"Willam Stark," the stranger answered from his saddle. Uncaring to share his titles.
"The Prince?" Edmure frowned at that. "My sister Cat wrote of you…"
"All good things I'm sure," Willam countered. In truth he doubted they were particularly flattering.
"You've won us the day," Edmure decided easily. "That is enough for me, Sers, we owe you all a dept…"
"When my brother hears of this," Kevan Lannister began his threats. "He will-"
"Wraith," the Stark Prince muttered absently.
In a heartbeat, the great black wolf pushed Ser Kevan face first into the mud, its paws on his back – the weight of the beast kept him down.
"What part of silence did you fail to comprehend, little lion?" Willam Stark snarled at the mumbling lion, with a mouth full of mud.
"Perhaps we can speak inside, uncle?" Robb asked politely, ignoring the growls of Ser Kevan.
"Yes," Edmure meekly nodded in agreement. "There is must to discuss…"
From the sandstone walls of the castle, soldiers and servants shouted down Edmure's name, and Robb's, and "Winterfell!" From every rampart waving the banner of House Tully: a leaping trout, silver, against a rippling blue-and-red field. It was a stirring sight for most, yet it did not lift Willam Stark's heart.
They passed beneath the arch and under the walls, moving from sunlight to shadow and back into sunlight. Ser Edmure Tully led them, a stocky young man with a shaggy head of auburn hair and a fiery beard. His breastplate was scratched and dented from battle, his blue-and-red cloak stained by blood and mud. At his side stood the Lord Tytos Blackwood, a hard pike of a man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper whiskers and a hook nose. His bright yellow armour was inlaid with jet in elaborate vine-and-leaf patterns, and a cloak sewn from raven feathers draped his thin shoulders. It had been Lord Tytos who kept the Riverlords holding for as long as they managed.
"Go with your uncle Robb," Willam declared easily. "I'll see to the men for now – be with your family while you still can…"
"Come," Ser Edmure bid his nephew easily. When the direwolves bounded into the castle, one of the guardsmen dropped his spear and lurched back, stumbling and sitting down abruptly. The others laughed, and the man got a sheepish look on his face as Greywind pawed his way past, sparing the man only a brief glance.
Edmure Tully seemed sullen from the battle, a far cry from his usual smiling carefree self as they entered Riverrun proper. He had deep blue eyes and a mouth made for smiles, but he was not smiling now. He looked worn and tired, battered by battle and haggard from strain.
The was a shallow gash on his neck, though he couldn't recall how he'd gotten it.
"I'm sorry about your father, Robb," he said finally. "When we heard about Lord Eddard… well… the Lannisters will pay, I swear it, nephew…"
"We'll see him freed," Robb Stark said sharply. "I assume we can count on your support, uncle?"
Edmure Tully managed a brief smile, an ugly thing; considering the blood and grime on the man – but none could hold that against him.
"Family, Duty, Honor," he preached his houses words. "Family comes first, nephew, even if we didn't owe you our lives…"
"Thank you," Robb replied, easing somewhat at the promise.
"You must meet my father," Edmure insisted. "He's bedridden, I'm afraid – but a man should meet his grandfather."
Robb smiled at that. "I would be honoured, Uncle…"
"I'll show you the way," Edmure escorted him up across the lower bailey. The massive sandstone walls of the keep loomed above them. As they pushed through a door between two guardsmen in fish-crest helms, Robb asked, "How bad is he?" wondering why he'd never heard of the man's failing health until now.
Edmure's look was sombre. "He will not be with us long, the maesters say. The pain is… constant, and grievous..."
An anger boiled in him. "Why wasn't my mother told?"
"He forbade it," Edmure said sadly. "He did not want his enemies to know that he was so vulnerable. With the realm so troubled, he feared that if the Lannisters suspected how frail he was, that they might attack us… so I have been handling his affairs on his behalf for some time now…"
Robb was frowning at the thought. His mother would be upset when she learnt of this. They climbed the spiral stair in silence.
The keep was three-sided, like Riverrun itself, and Lord Hoster's solar was triangular as well, with a stone balcony that jutted out to the east like the prow of some great sandstone ship. From there the lord of the castle could look down on his walls and battlements, and beyond, to where the waters met. They had moved the lord's bed out onto the balcony. "He likes to sit in the sun and watch the rivers," Edmure explained sadly. "Father, see who I've brought. Cat's son has come to see you…"
Hoster Tully had always been a big man; tall and broad in his youth, but portly as he grew older. Now he seemed shrunken, the muscle and meat melted off his bones. Even his face sagged. In younger years, his hair and beard had been brown, well streaked with grey. Now they had gone white as snow.
His eyes opened to the sound of Edmure's voice. "Cat's boy," he murmured in a voice thin and wispy and wracked by pain. "My little cat's son?" A tremulous smile touched his face as his hand groped for his grandson's. "Is your mother here my boy? Has my Cat come home?"
"I shall leave you to talk," Edmure said then, kissing his lord father gently on the brow before he withdrew.
Robb knelt and awkwardly took his grandfather's hand in his. It was a big hand, but fleshless with age, the bones moving loosely under the skin, all the strength gone from it. "Mother wanted to come," Robb said. "I told her not to though – I'm sorry grandfather. I didn't think it was safe for her to-"
"Safe? No, you were right to shelter her from this business my boy," he answered as a spasm of pain took him, and his fingers clutched Robb's hard. "The crabs are in my belly lad… pinching, always pinching. Day and night. They have fierce claws, the crabs. Maester Vyman makes me dreamwine, milk of the poppy… I sleep a lot… but I wanted to be awake to see you when you came. I knew you would… we're family after all… nothing is more important than family… nothing…"
"Family Duty Honor," Robb answered with a strained smile.
"You have my eyes," Hoster said, looking at his grandson with pride.
"Mother told me so," he replied. "My uncles beard too, she said…"
"Edmure," he had an odd look on his face. "Tell me, did he fare well? Did he do our family proud?"
"I do not know," Robb could not lie. "He was in the thick of the battle though, his sword bloody… so he fought hard it seems…"
"Good," Lord Hoster smiled then. "I saw the battle, when it began, I told them… I had to see. They carried me to the gatehouse… watched from the battlements. Ah, that was beautiful… the howls came in a wave, I could hear the cries floating across the river… sweet cries… and when that siege tower went up in flames, gods… would have died then, and glad, if only I could have seen you children first. It was you, wasn't it my boy?"
"Yes," Robb said, fiercely proud. "It was… and Ser Brynden. Your brother is here as well, grandfather..."
"Him?" Hoster's voice was a faint whisper. "The Blackfish… came back? From the Vale?"
"Yes, he joined us on the road to Riverrun along with the Mallisters…"
"And Lysa?" A cool wind moved through his thin white hair. "Gods be good, my little girl… did she come as well?"
He sounded so full of hope and yearning that it was hard to tell the truth. "No. I'm sorry grandfather, we've heard nothing from the Vale…"
"Oh," His face fell, and some light went out of his eyes. "I'd hoped I would have liked to see my girls, before…"
"She's with her son, in the Eyrie…"
Lord Hoster gave a weary nod. "Lord Robert now, poor Arryn's gone… I remember… why did she not come?"
"I do not know, my lord." Robb didn't have an answer. "In the Eyrie she feels safe, perhaps? Lord Robert is only a boy…"
Lord Tully glanced out over the rivers. "Blackfish," he said. "Has he wed yet? Taken some… girl to wife?"
"He has not to my knowledge, no…"
"I told him… commanded him. Marry! I was his lord. He knows. My right, to make his match. A good match. A Redwyne. Old House. Sweet girl, pretty… with freckles… Bethany, yes. Poor child. Still waiting. Yes. Still waiting for my fool brother…"
"Forgive me grandfather," Robb recalled his lessons on the great houses. "Is the Lord Rowan not wed to Lady Redwyne?"
"Even so," Lord Hoster muttered. "Even so. Spit on the girl. The Redwynes. Spit on me. His lord, his brother… that Blackfish. I had other offers. Lord Bracken's girl. Walder Frey… any of three, he said… has he wed? Anyone? Anyone?"
"Not that I know," Robb said, "yet he has come many leagues. He was a great help in the battle grandfather…"
"He was ever a warrior," his grandfather husked. "That he could do. Knight of the Gate, yes." He leaned back and closed his eyes, unutterably weary. "Send him, would you my boy? Later. I'll sleep now. Too sick to fight with the stubborn trout. Send him up later, the Blackfish… "
"As you wish grandfather," Robb muttered sadly, leaving him there asleep in the shade, with his rivers flowing beneath.
When he returned to the lower bailey, Ser Brynden Tully stood on the water stairs with wet boots, talking with the captain of Riverrun's guards.
He came to him at once. "Is he-"
"Dying," Robb answered with a heavy heart. "As you feared..."
His grand-uncle's craggy face showed his pain plain.
He ran his fingers through his thick grey hair. "Will he see me?"
Robb nodded. "He says he is too sick to fight at the moment though..."
Brynden Blackfish chuckled. "I am too old a soldier to believe that lad. Hoster will be chiding me even as we light his funeral pyre, damn his bones."
"Where are the others?" Robb shook away his thoughts of ailing family members. So much loss of late…
No. No, it didn't do to think that way. They would free his father. They had Tywin's brother hostage, and his nephew too…
"Robb," it was Willam to come storming over, with Wraith at his heels – the man held out an opened letter, marked by the crowned stag of Baratheon.
"Renly Baratheon has declared himself as King…"
"What!?" The Blackfish scoffed at the news. "Madness…"
"This complicates things," Willam added with a frown. "The man has the damn Reach with him…"
"Will, gather the lords, we need to figure out what we're going to do next…"
He turned on a dime at that, giving a brief nod before he went off to give the word. It would take little time to call on the lords present.
Across the courtyard, Robb found himself walking beneath a green canopy of leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and great old elms, the Godswood of Riverrun wasn't nearly as large or ancient as Winterfell's – but it would serve. He needed to pray, he thought, for the dead and for the battles yet to come… and for answers…
He'd find only questions. Jon Snow was there, kneeling before a heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face more sad than fierce. His longsword was before him, the point thrust in the earth and its bloody blade staining the ground, his gloved hands were clasped around the hilt and his head lowered.
"You promised," he heard Jon muttering before a twig snapped.
"Hello ghost," Robb smiled warmly at the wolf as he prowled out from the shadows.
"Robb," Jon had snapped to attention, getting up from his knees.
"I didn't mean to interrupt…"
"No," Jon dismissed the idea. "I mean- it's no trouble, I was just… thinking…"
"Dangerous business that brother," Robb smirked. The world almost seemed easier suddenly, like they were children again back home.
"Aye," Jon frowned. "Dangerous…"
Something was wrong, apparently.
"What's eating at you?" Robb asked his brother, stepping closed as Greywind moved to sniff at his littermate.
"I-" Jon hesitated; his head hung low in thought – sulking in his silence.
"Is it mother's family?" It was Robb's turn to frown. "They aren't treating you poorly, are they? I'll have words-"
"No!" Jon denied quickly. "Gods, no, it's nothing like that broth- it's nothing…"
"Is it the battle, then?" Robb guessed, eyeing the blood yet to be washed off Jon's sword.
"Not that either," Jon shook his head. "They weren't my first… though it was… not as I expected…"
The battle had been anything but heroic, that much was true; all the mud and men crushed under hooves weren't in any of the songs.
"You've been quiet since the Moat," Robb pushed a little, his worry clear. "More so than usual, anyway…"
"I-" Jon paused, sighing heavily. "Prince Willam told me fath- your fathers parting words…"
"He's your father too Jon," Robb scowled. "I swear if the Tully's have said any-"
"He's not though…"
What madness was this?
"Don't be silly brother," Robb was pleading now, reaching out.
Jon shrugged the hand away from his shoulder and backed up to the weirwood instead.
"He's not," Jon's eyes were downcast, hiding the tears that threatened to betray him. "H- He's not, Robb…"
"Explain," he grabbed his brother then, uncaring for his protest. "Talk to me damn it, Jon, we're brothers!"
"We're not-"
The punch took all the air from his lungs.
"Never say that!" Robb demanded, snarling even as Ghost bared his fangs.
Jon managed a nervous chuckle. "Cheap shot…"
"No such thing, remember what Willam taught us?"
"Aye," Jon recovered from the blow, half-hearted as it was. "Only expose your back to a corpse…"
Robb looked his brother in the eyes then, seeing them full of something he'd only seen once – many years ago when Lady Stark had bluntly informed them both of what it meant to be a bastard. "You'll never be a lord," she had told him harshly. "You're only a bastard, nothing more, never forget it!"
That day he had seen so much light leave his brothers eyes. He'd grown more confident though, especially under Willam's tutelage.
"Talk to me Jon," Robb insisted, placing a hand back on his shoulder.
"Lord St-"
"Father," Robb scolded. "Damn it, this is between us – so call him father!"
Jon seemed oddly conflicted. "Father," he managed with some strain eating at him. "He said to seek Lord Reed, to know about my mother…"
"Reed? That's good," Robb was all smiles for a brief moment before it faded. "Isn't it? You've always wanted to know…"
"I did," Jon admitted with a deep frown. "I wish I'd never asked…"
For him to say that, Robb knew, something had to be very wrong. Very wrong indeed.
"Who is she?" he deemed to ask; head tilted slightly in wonder. "Is she… gone?"
"Yes," Jon revealed quietly.
"I- I'm so sorry br-"
"There's more," he interrupted sharply. "But, I don't… gods… I don't know how to say it!"
"Words usually work," Robb tried to use humour, as he'd seen Willam do a thousand times in the last years. He wasn't particularly good at it though.
"She-" Jon stumbled over the words as even his body seemed to fail him, leaning back against the weirwood and sitting down beside it.
"Come on," Robb knelt to his height. "You can talk to me brother…"
"That's just it," Jon's eyes watered, the damn things threating to betray him. "We're… cousins…"
A gust of wind blew through the treetops then, as if the gods had heard him – some crimson leaves fell from the hearttree.
"What?" Robb managed to say, beyond confused. "What do you mean-"
"We're cousins," Jon repeated quietly. "Fuck, it's… it's complicated… I don't…"
"Okay," Robb blinked, steadying his breathing somewhat. "Okay… what does… are you-"
It all suddenly clicked in his head. Cousins? It was wildly known that their Uncle Brandon was a 'Wild Wolf' so to speak…
"-Uncle Brandon's son?" Robb assumed, some of his dread fading away. "But why would father lie about-"
"No," Jon said hesitantly. "Not him…"
"Uncle Benjen!?"
That could make some sense, he supposed…
Jon shook his head however, muttering how he "wished it were so simple" and leaving Robb to guess.
There were other, extremely distant branches of the family; he knew that much. There were even some minor cadet branches of the family in Barrowtown and White Harbour according to their father; though none were lordly. None of that explained why Ned Stark would claim Jon as his son though… that only left one sibling…
The last of Ned Starks pack. The sister, the she-wolf, who was kidnapped and raped by a dragon. The aunt that their father refused to speak on.
"Fuck me," the realization hit like a horse's hind legs to the skull. "Gods…"
"Aye," Jon muttered quietly. "Maybe if you hit me harder, I'll wake up from all this?"
Now there was an idea, however farfetched. Robb's brain raced a thousand miles and then some.
"Robb?" Jon's voice broke him from his thoughts.
How long had he drifted away?
When had he sat down by the tree?
"Brother," he insisted quietly. "We're brothers…"
"But we're-"
"Shut up," Robb growled. "I know – but it changes nothing, understand?"
A light sparked in Jon's eyes at that, a fire to burn the coldness that had gripped him since the Moat.
"Aye," Jon managed, smiling more than he dared. "But…"
"Nothing," Robb barked it. "Nothing at all Jon… you're a Stark…"
It was all Jon could do to nod meekly in reply. The lie was a comfort against the truth; as lies often were.
"Lord Reed told me about her," he said, not brave enough to say the name.
"What did he say?"
"That she loved him," Jon told him, with a sad smile. "That they were… married… at the gods eye…"
"Married!?" Robb practically shouted, louder than he'd intended.
Jon only gave a grim nod in reply to that.
What in the seven hells did it mean?
Robb's thoughts raced and raced.
"But- he was married to… to another…"
They were still refusing to use the names. If for fear or secrecy was debatable.
"It was annulled," Jon answered. "Lord Reed has the proof of it all… I saw it with my own eyes…"
All of a sudden, Robb Stark burst into a fit of laughter; filling the Godswood with warmth for but a moment.
"What's funny?" Jon scowled, finding none of it amusing in the slightest.
"We've had two Princes this whole time!" Robb chuckled, all smiles; Greywind coming over to check if his master was okay.
"Robb," Jon scolded quickly. "I'm no Prince, for god's sake!"
"No," Robb shook his head then, eyes widening as he thought. "You're a k-"
"Don't say it!" Jon jumped to his feet and Ghost silently bared his fangs again.
"Why not?" Robb frowned. "If this is all true Jon – then, gods – wait until mother hears about this!"
"Nobody can ever know, damn it!" Jon grabbed his hysterical cousin. "Do you hear me? Nobody!"
In his heart, Robb knew the dangers of this truth, but in the moment; he'd been so exceedingly happy.
"You're not a bastard Jon," Robb countered in a hushed tone. "Don't you understand what this means?"
"I do," he replied, scowling at the thought. "It means I'm a danger to us all, Robb – if anyone finds out the Baratheons will-"
"They'll do fucking nothing!" Robb growled that; eyes narrowed in a flash like a hungry wolf. "You're family, do you hear me!?"
"Farther knew the dangers," Jon argued fiercely. "My- My mother wanted me safe, and father saw to that… even if he lied…"
He had lied. The great honourable Eddard Stark had lied to the whole damn realm… now there was a thought.,.
"I'd never let them hurt you," Robb countered easily with a shake of his head. "You're pack, Jon…"
"I'm not a-" Jon didn't wanted to say the word. "I'm not. I don't know the first thing about ruling, Robb…"
"And we'd never led men into battle before today either, but here we are Jon!"
"I don't want it," Jon denied with fire in his eyes. "I don't! I won't!"
Robb stared at him, blinking; then frowning in thought.
"I'm sorry," he decided to say. "This must be… this is a lot to take it and I can't imagine-"
"No," Jon barked with more bite than he'd intended. "You can't…"
The two sat in silence for a moment at that. The hearttree watched them.
"I'll name you a Stark," Robb decided in the moment.
"Robb," his brother frowned. "You can't just-"
"Why can't I?" Robb huffed like they were children again.
"Only a king can do that, besides; I'm not a-"
"You are to me brother, so that's that… don't make me hit you again…"
If his stubborn brother didn't want a throne, then by the gods he'd still give him a name.
"What will you do?" Jon asked after a moment.
"I don't know," Robb admitted, sighing as he stroked Greywinds fur for some comfort. "What do you think father would do?"
"He meant to place Stannis on the throne," Jon said simply. "He's a hard man, but he's promised justice against the Lannisters…"
"And do you believe him? His own brother killed your father…"
Jon shook his head. "My father is in King's Landing."
"Aye," Robb smiled warmly at that. "And we'll free him, you'll see – then you'll be a Stark and that'll be that…"
Jon Snow wasn't a King. He didn't want to be a king, to sit on an ugly iron chair, to call himself something he never felt he was; as much as he longed for a name – never had that name been Targaryen. Never had the title been King. He'd become happy as Jon Snow… with his brothers and sister… and he prayed that would never change…
The war council convened in the Great Hall, at four long trestle tables arranged in a broken square. Lord Hoster was too weak to attend, asleep on his balcony, dreaming of the sun on the rivers of his youth. Edmure sat in the high seat of the Tullys, with Brynden Blackfish at his side, and his father's bannermen arrayed to right and left and along the side tables. Word of the victory at Riverrun had spread to the absent lords of the Trident, drawing them here. Karyl Vance came in, a lord now, his father dead beneath the Golden Tooth. Ser Marq Piper was with him alongside Lord Raymun Darry. Lord Jonos Bracken took a seat as far from Tytos Blackwood as the tables would permit.
The northern lords sat opposite, with Willam and Robb facing Edmure across the tables. They were fewer. Jon Snow, The Greatjon, Theon Greyjoy, Galbart Glover and Lady Mormont sat at Robb's left hand, and then Aedan Greystark, Prince Suko and Edwyn Fisher were to the right of Willam's seat; all looking grim and stoic.
Lord Rickard Karstark, gaunt and hollow-eyed in his grief, took his seat like a man in a nightmare, his long beard uncombed. He had left a son by the name of Eddard dead outside the walls of Riverrun, and there was no word of the third, his eldest, who had led the Karstark spears against Tywin Lannister on the Green Fork.
Torrhen Karstark's eyes were downcast as he sat beside his father, grieving for the loss of his elder brother; who died to some nameless Sarsfield archer.
The arguing raged on late into the night. Each lord had a right to speak, and speak they did… and shout, and curse, and reason, and cajole, and jest, and bargain, and slam tankards on the table, and threaten, and walk out, and return sullen or smiling. Prince Willam sat in quiet and listened to it all.
Roose Bolton had re-formed the battered remnants of their other host at the mouth of the causeway. Ser Helman Tallhart and Walder Frey still held the Twins. Lord Tywin's army had crossed the Trident and was making for Harrenhal in light of his brothers defeat. And there were three kings in the realm. Three kings, but no agreement.
Many of the lords bannermen wanted to march on Harrenhal at once, to meet Lord Tywin and end Lannister power for all time. Young, hot-tempered Marq Piper urged a strike west at Casterly Rock instead. Still others counselled patience. Riverrun sat athwart the Lannister supply lines, Jason Mallister pointed out; let them bide their time, denying Lord Tywin fresh levies and provisions while they strengthened their defences and rested their weary troops. Lord Blackwood would have none of it. They should finish the work they began outside the walls of Riverrun, in his view, the man was tired of waiting. March to Harrenhal and bring Roose Bolton's army down as well. What Blackwood urged, Bracken opposed, as ever; Jonos Bracken rose to insist they ought to pledge their fealty to King Renly and move south to join their might to his.
"Renly is not the king," Robb said then. It was the first time he had spoken, knowing when it was best to listen.
"You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord," Galbart Glover said. "He's put your father in chains!"
"That makes him our enemy," Robb replied. "I do not know that it makes Renly king. Joffrey Waters has a brother, but none of them have any right to the throne, yet how could it be Lord Renly? He's Robert's younger brother. Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, and Renly can't be king before Stannis…"
Lady Mormont agreed, nodding sagely. "Stannis has the better claim."
"Renly is crowned," said Marq Piper. "Highgarden and Storm's End support his claim, and the Dornishmen will not be laggardly. If Winterfell and Riverrun add their strength to his, he will have five of the seven great houses behind him. Six, if the Arryns bestir themselves! Six against the Rock! My lords, within the year, we will have all their heads on pikes, the queen and the boy king, Lord Tywin, the Imp, the Kingslayer, Ser Kevin, all of them! That is what we shall win if we join with King Renly!"
"What does Lord Stannis have against that," Lord Bracken added a grumble. "that we should cast it all aside?"
"The right," said Robb stubbornly. Willam thought he sounded eerily like Ned Stark as he said it.
"So you mean us to declare for Stannis?" asked Edmure, curious of his nephews intent.
"I don't know," Robb thought to say, but he recalled something Willam had said...
There was no room for second guessing his decisions. Not now, not ever… he had to be sure…
"I've prayed to know what to do, the gods did not answer, but we already have our answer; my lords!" He paused to look around the at the room. "The Lannisters name my father traitor, and we know that to be a poor lie, but we know why too! It was my father who discovered the truth of Joffrey Water's birth!"
"Lord Stark deemed to support Stannis Baratheon," Willam added his voice for the first time, backing up the boy. "I am witness to this, lords and ladies…"
"My lord father would urge caution," aged Ser Stevron said, with the weaselly smile of a Frey. "Wait, let these three kings play their game of thrones. When they are done fighting, we can bend our knees to the victor, or oppose him, as we choose. With Renly arming, likely Lord Tywin would welcome a truce… and the safe return of his brother. Noble lords, allow me to go to him at Harrenhal and arrange good terms and ransoms…"
A roar of outrage drowned out his voice. "Craven!" the Greatjon thundered.
"Begging for a truce will make us seem weak," declared Lady Mormont.
"Ransoms be damned, we must have blood!" shouted Rickard Karstark.
"Why not a peace?" one of the Freys asked, a man Willam couldn't care to name.
The lords looked at the Frey knight, but it was Robb's eyes the man felt, his and his alone.
He unsheathed his longsword and laid it on the table before him, the bright steel on the rough wood.
"This is the only peace I have for Lannisters!"
The Greatjon bellowed his approval, and other men added their voices, shouting and drawing swords and pounding their fists on the table.
"Are you a woman, little Frey!?" the Greatjon rumbled in his deep voice.
"Aye," said Lord Karstark, with the lines of grief fresh on his face. "A man has a need for vengeance!"
"Peace," said Brynden Tully. "Peace is sweet, but on what terms? It is no good hammering your sword into a plowshare if you must forge it again on the morrow."
"What did my son die for, if I am to return to Karhold with nothing but his bones?" asked Rickard Karstark with a fury on his features.
"Aye," said Lord Bracken. "Gregor Clegane is laying waste to my fields as we speak, slaughtered my smallfolk, and threatens to leave Stone Hedge a smoking ruin! Am I to bend the knee meekly to the ones who sent him? What have we fought for if we are to put all back as it was before?"
Lord Blackwood agreed to everyone's surprise. "And if we do make peace with King Joffrey, are we not then traitors to the other Kings?"
"Whatever you may decide for yourselves, I shall never call a Lannister my king," declared Marq Piper.
"Nor I!" yelled Ser Raymun Darry. "Do as you wish, my lords, but Darry shall never suffer a Lannister to be King! They have no right!"
"This charge of incest," Utherydes Wayn spoke out. "Lord Tywin does not suffer such slights lightly, no matter the truth of the thing. He will seek to wash the stain from his daughter's name with the blood of her accuser, Lord Stannis must see that. He has no choice but to make common cause with us, surely?"
Again, the shouting began. There would be no peace, no chance to heal, no safety as the lords debated, frowning, troubled, yet wedded to his war. Robb Stark had pledged himself to marry a daughter of Walder Frey, but his true bride was plain before them all now: the sword he had laid on the table. War was their only path forward.
"End this," Willam said quietly as the lords blustered loudly. He looked to Robb with meaning. "You saved these fools; now lead them, Lord Stark."
Robb looked back at him and steeled his courage. He glance to Jon Snow then, as if to ask "are you certain" before he stood from his seat to address the lords.
"My lords!" he shouted aloud, to the quieting mummers of argument. "Some of you may not know me well, I am Robb Stark; son to Eddard Stark who is husband to your Lady Catelyn Tully. I rode south to rescue my father, but also my kin here – in Riverrun, my grandfather Hoster, your liege lord!"
The hall had fallen quiet to listen to the boy who had led the charge to crush Kevan Lannister outside the very walls they feasted behind now.
"Tully blood is in my veins as much as Stark," Robb continued, taking a moment to glance to Willam and the others as if to check he wasn't screwing things up. "Family Duty Honor, are my mother's words; that my father knew well. Family, for whom we fight. Duty, for whom we serve. Honor, for what are we without it?"
"No better than the fucking Lannisters!" the Greatjon shouted, to a wave of laughs from the gathered lords.
"Aye," Robb agreed with a smile, nodding his thanks to the giant man. "We are not Lannisters, are we, my lords?"
There was a chorus of rejections at that as shouts of "No!" and "Fuck the Lannisters!" filled the air.
"And should be dismiss our duty and honor, as Lord Renly and the Lannister's have done!?"
The Northmen shouted more refusals, even as some – though not all – of the Riverlords agreed heartily.
"My father supported Stannis Baratheon because he is Robert's heir!" Robb declared loudly. "Should we do any less!?"
"It's the harder road," Willam spoke out, remaining seated as he drank some of his ale.
"But the right one," Robb insisted, eyes pleading for support; briefly glancing at Jon Snow with doubts – willing his brother to argue against him. He did not.
"What are we without laws?" Willam pondered aloud as the lords listened. "What is the law if men can ignore it with impunity? I'm no Westerosi – some of you may not know – but I am not from these shores. So, my friends; tell me… will any lord sleep soundly when King Renly sets a precedent for ignoring the laws of succession?"
"Are you andals not the civilized ones?" Prince Suko spoke, leaning back in his seat and putting his boots up on the table. "Without your laws, you'll become savages."
"Bran cannot be lord of Winterfell before me," Robb added, resigned to his decision. "Lord Renly cannot be king before Stannis!"
There was mumbling at that, the hall erupting into whispers and thoughts before anyone dared speak.
"Blackfyre once tried taking the throne because he lusted after it," Lord Jason Mallister broke the quiet. "The realm bled for generations to come…"
"We've suffered ambitious men before," Lord Norbert Vance mumbled, recalling his own houses part in the Dance of Dragons.
"I call on you noble lords to join with me," Robb Stark declared, still standing with Greywind at his side. "For the Rightful King!"
"King Stannis!" the Greatjon leapt to support his liege's son. "And for Ned too! By all the bloody laws, so be it!"
The hall erupted into cheers of "Stannis!" and "Baratheon!" as they picked their side in the war to come.
My Note(s): Robb Stark arrives at Riverrun to prevent a siege far sooner than he arrives in canon, thanks to the canon changes in past chapters meaning he'd moved faster and the Lannister's moved slower. Notably too, Stannis has declared his Kingship sooner than he does in canon; thanks to Willam's escaping with the Starks – coupled with Ned Stark still being alive (at this stage in the books, they had executed Ned) means that Robb declares for Stannis Baratheon, believing that's his father's wish.
Jon Snow's opening up to Robb about his true parents was hopefully emotional enough and probably upset some people with him dismissing his claim to the throne, but ultimately Jon doesn't want to be king and frankly the idea terrifies him, at least at present; he's somewhat in denial and desperately clinging to the idea of being simply Jon Snow while Robb is intent on naming him as Jon Stark and doubtless intends to request it from Stannis at some stage – being a Stark is all he's really ever wanted.
I've read many fics out there that name Jon as a Targaryen out of blue, but I find that highly unrealistic. Jon is a teenager that has had his whole world turned upside down and ultimately when that happens, most people tend to cling to what's comfortably, familiar or outright avoid facing the issue. They don't jump suddenly to be King.
If the title was thrust upon him by necessity, then it may be that Jon Snow could rise to the challenge; but given the choice? He holds no desire to be king.
PS: I've been busy, so this chapter has been a week delayed :( but hopefully this doesn't become a running theme in my uploads – but I'll do what I can.
Tiredreader: A man once said that nothing someone says before the word "but" really counts :) Your concerns are unnecessary, to put it simply :P
Force Smuggler: I'll try to get back on track with Ao3 sooner or later :P Sansa made sense as the eldest (since she is free from the capital now) and a known beauty/tully look-a-like that's quite the price for Frey. As you say, the Sunset Starks get off scot-free at the Twins, because Suko only really gives a shit about Willam and Himself.
Sun Zelretch: In my view, the reason Suko didn't press for more favourable terms was simply that he doesn't really care for any of the starks besides Will, thus he sated Frey's greed on the 'other starks' while easily disappointing the man with his refusals to have marriages between Himself or Willam. In the man's view, he walked out of the hall having lost nothing but successfully got the people he actually cares about across the bridge without any payment whatsoever. A win, as far as Suko's concerned.
Pop & Fannic: Touching on the same as above, it should be fairly evident that Suko isn't a selfless man – as he's anything but that – only caring for his few friends and himself, he was arguably not the best man for the job if the 'job' were to get Robb Stark favourable terms. Suko doesn't care about Robb though, he went in with two simple goals. 1: Preventing is friend Willam from putting himself in harms way. 2: Getting favourable terms for Him/Willam, not necessarily for Robb.
The easiest way to ensure the people Suko actually cared about getting outa there was to let Walder have his way and get in good with the man.
Is it honourable? No. Is it selfish? Yes. Now ask if Suko cares and the answer will be a resounding Nope.
Dave: The Sunset Islands are East of Nefer and Mossovy, if you find the Thousand Islands on the map – it's about a mouth's time sailing East of there; past the edge of the map as we know it. The Empire is also off the edge of the map, far across the Grey Wastes that the Sunstarks call the Outlands; among other names.
I know ya went back and figured this out for yourself ;) but it's a common question haha. I'll have to draw up a map one of these days.