embrace the world in grey

by TheTenthSunrise

Two Wolves are sent North. Deep in the North, beyond the Wall, a lone Wolf survives the cold. A Young Wolf lies in the dark, and waits for rescue. Winter draws ever nearer (or, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives)

17. THE YOUNG WOLF II

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE YOUNG WOLF II

Robb Stark, having been freed by the Dragon Queen, speaks with Daenerys, and encounters a man who betrayed him. Theon Greyjoy confronts his mistakes, and tries to make amends. The South begins to understand The North.

---

The day after she gets back from some campaign or another in The Reach, Daenerys Targaryen seeks Robb Stark to speak out with him. He doesn't know what she was doing, nor does he really want to, but she'd left with a dragon and her Dothraki and came back with them as well, so he thinks he knows what was happening, in some broad strokes. He thinks it should trouble him. But he's too tired to think too much about a war that is not his own.

The Dragon Queen is shorter than him by a good few inches, but as she stands next to Robb, he cannot deny that she certainly holds herself in a way that makes her seem much larger than she is. He might even say she is larger than life, with her purple eyes that are unbearably sharp, her silver hair, and her strange and mystifying Valyrian beauty. She is, no doubt, a woman who acts like a Queen.

But she seems to falter with him. She'd paused as she'd come to stand next to him, joining him on the parapets of Dragonstone as he stares over the water, at the ships in the distance and the dragons that soar through the air. He still has not spoken to her properly, with them only trading words in the courtyard of Casterly Rock, and that was cut short before the end. And he's also not that haggard and unkempt man who was dragged out of the cells by her Unsullied, though she still looks the same herself.

A King and a Queen. It would paint a nice picture, wouldn't it? It would if this didn't all feel so fraught, or if the air between them wasn't so frigid. Sansa would have loved this picture once upon a time, her eyes starry and her smile so real, so young, so kind. He thinks of her as he last saw her. Cold as a Winter King, tears in her eyes that would never dare to fall, her blue eyes shining like the stars. The little girl he knew, the little sister he'd had…does she still exist? Could she, after all that has happened?

Finally, Daenerys Targaryen breaks the silence. Her voice is softer than he expects, gentle in an odd way, but he can sense the steel under all the veneers of politeness and geniality. "I heard what you said from Tyrion," she begins, and he tilts his head up slightly, eyes not turning to her, "And I do want you to know that I want, more than anything, for us to speak civilly. There is blood and history between our houses, but House Stark has stood beside House Targaryen before, and together, we have been nearly unstoppable."

He wants to tell her that the only time The Starks came south for the Targaryens was the Dance of The Dragons, and it was for a Queen who was already dead. He wants to tell her that, unlike Cregan Stark, he swore no oaths to her or her right to The Iron Throne. He wants to tell her that the Wolf of The North's actions were not only about upholding an oath. There was a reminder woven into it all, a reminder that while they may not have the numbers or infrastructure, they're no less dangerous than anyone else. But he doesn't. He just bites his tongue.

She sighs in reply to his silence, turning to face him properly, though he does not do the same. He just sends her a cursory glance before crossing his arms over his chest, staring out at the distant horizon, in the general direction of The North, of his home. It's been so long since he was home, so long since he called the banners. Will he even recognise whatever has become of his home when he returns? "The last King in The North, Torrehn Stark, swore his House to mine in perpetuity, I will remind you, my lord. I hope you are not here to completely break that faith."

"Faith?" He finally echoes, laughing without humour. The Dragon Queen's eyes dig into him from where she stands beside him, he can feel her gaze. But still, he keeps his eyes trained away on the smudges on the horizon, the stretch of sea before him. "There is no faith left between the North and the South. Your father destroyed what faith The North had with House Targaryen when he murdered my uncle and grandfather. Joffrey broke all faith with The South when he killed my father."

She is silent, for a long moment. And then she says, "When was your faith broken, Lord Stark?" When he looks at her quizzically, a single glance, there is a hardened look in her eyes, like she's preparing for the answer. "You speak of the faith of The North. But I want to know when you yourself barred your heart against The South."

He hesitates. He should say it was when his father was killed, that's what she's probably expecting. The day that The South murdered one more Stark and found themselves paying for it once again, the day they met The Young Wolf. But yes, that hurt, and it still hurts, but…his father's death didn't break it all. Robb still believed in good, still believed in parts of The South. The Riverlands. The Vale. The people who had no role in any of it. No, no. His father's death did not break it, which leaves only…

"Have you ever watched someone you love die, Daenerys?" He asks, looking again at the sea. She came from somewhere over there. Volantis. I wanted to see it with her. I wanted to make a future with her. His only companion in the dark was those memories, and now he feels halfway to mad from how many nights he's spent, replaying that horror. Daenerys looks surprised at the use of her name, and he continues on, voice raw and ragged, the memories choking the life out of him. "Watched them be ripped from you, while you lie helpless, unable to do anything?"

Mother… Is he doomed to spend the rest of his life calling after her, like a little boy? She had looked at him like he was the whole of her world, every star in the endless sky, that first day in The War Camp. They slit her throat and it bloomed red like a horrible flower. She is dead and now he will spend the rest of his life an orphan, a man with no mother and no father to him, the both of them ripped from his hands long before he was ever ready to lose them. He is still a son, of course, but it's not the same anymore. He's a son to two corpses, sitting in a silent crypt.

"I watched my brother die," she says, after a moment where the only sound was the wind. He glances at her again, brow furrowed as he takes in the odd expression on her face. "He was a bad man and a worse brother, but he was my family, the only one I ever had. My first husband killed him by pouring molten gold over his head. A Golden Crown, he called it. I loved my brother, I think, in an odd and complicated way with too many addendums to be true. But it did not hurt like I know your losses do. Tyrion told me what happened, and I…I am truly sorry. Genuinely."

"I watch them die every single night," he whispers, not trusting his voice any louder. "I watched the woman who raised me be killed, feet away from me, while I could do nothing but sob. She wasn't perfect, either, I know that. But she was my mother, my only mother. And Talisa…" his throat closes up, and he shakes his head. He can still feel the phantom weight of her kisses on his lips, the way she'd smile against his lips when they kissed. "I made mistakes. I know that too. But I loved her. And they took her from me too."

"We will destroy them all," Daenerys says, sounding genuine, sounding almost eager. "I promise you that."

"I don't want your promises," he replies, finally turning to look at her fully. She takes a half step back, her eyes sharp as they bare into him, cold as ice. "And there is no we–or do you not understand that? You do not have The North, you do not have me. I am still a King and no amount of calling me Lord Stark will undo that. I don't need you and your armies to take my revenge for me. The North is plenty capable of toppling empires, plenty capable of upending those who have hurt us." He feels himself smile. "Just ask your father. Just ask The Freys and The Boltons."

She tilts her chin up at him, and suddenly the difference between them in height feels like half a hundred miles. "I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and I will take back what is mine, take back what your father helped steal from me. This is my birthright. You will bend the knee before the end, along with everyone else."

"Oh, I am sure you believe that," he replies, drawing slightly closer to her. "But I do not like you, I do not trust you, and I sure as hell do not know you. The North is over a third of the kingdoms you claim to be Queen of, I would remind you. I would remind you that no Targaryen has ever held The North without a Stark, that, in fact, no one has. You are a stranger to me, and the whole of The North. A stranger who is the daughter of the man many of us and our fathers fought to overthrow."

"You say you are the rightful Queen to…what? These kingdoms are divided, with feuds that run deeper than you know. You have lived in Essos for almost the whole of your life, have you not? How could you expect to know about what has happened, or the intricacies of this game we play if you have been off the board for over two decades? If you want Westeros, telling everyone that it is your birthright will not get you far. You have come here to conquer, have you not? You won't just win the throne through words, and yet you seem to use only your birthright as your defence.."

"Do you think you are the only person in the whole of this land who has a birthright? The Northern Houses are older than your House upon these shores. Winterfell had already stood for over seven thousand years when Torrehn Stark bent the knee to Aegon The Conqueror, and The Starks had been kings for the entire time. Your birthright is no less true than The North's, or perhaps even mine. My ancestors at least held their throne for more than three hundred years."

"Those same ancestors bent the knee to my House," she says, her words hissed out from between her teeth. He scoffs slightly, and her face morphs into further disdain. "You know this as well as I do. Those oaths were made in perpetuity, and House Stark has always seemed to be a House that follows their oaths. Though, I suppose your father broke his oaths as well."

"Because your father murdered his brother and father, and your brother kidnapped and raped my aunt. It wasn't some random idea one day, to rebel against The Mad King. Blood had been spilt, Northern blood, and The North answered for it. Why do you think House Frey is gone? Why do you think House Bolton is gone? Because we remember what they did to us, and they have paid for it in turn." His eyes narrow, and his back straightens. "I know I cannot win against you. I know that one way or another, we will have to make some pact. But I will not do it until you recognise what I am, and that your claim means nothing to The North. Win your throne, Stormborn. Don't expect it to be given to you because you demand it."

She opens her mouth to speak but stops as she sees something. Her brows furrow and Robb turns to see what she's looking at, his brows raising when he sees Tyrion Lannister coming up to them. "Your Grace," The Imp says to Daenerys, before simply nodding at Robb, and grabbing something from the inner pocket of his jacket. "These just came."

Robb pauses as he sees what's being offered to him. Two letters, with the seals unbroken, each with grey wax and a snarling direwolf on them. His heart leaps into his throat, and he grabs them after a moment, tucking them both into his own pocket, before looking at Daenerys and Tyrion both. Clearing his throat, he nods to both of them and hurries away without a word, the conversation he'd been having meaning far less to him now. Their eyes follow him as he leaves, but his mind is miles away.

—

Robb,

I promise I can explain.

I promise I can mostly explain.

But firstly, Rickon says hello, and that he misses you, and that he is very excited for you to come home, and to tell you to tell Grey Wind that Shaggy Dog misses him. Our brother is a little odd, but whatever, I suppose you warned me of this all those years ago anyway. Bran also says hello, and that he wants to speak to you when you get home, but it is not pressing, nor bad. Or, it's not that bad, as he said. Do not question me, I have determined that asking him follow-up questions can be minorly fruitless and entirely maddening. He seems to find it entertaining to drive me and Sansa absolutely mad. Please come home soon.

But on my end, whatever rumours you may have heard are likely true. I died on The Wall at the hands of Mutineers, and Stannis Baratheon's Red Woman brought me back with her magic. Sansa arrived at Castle Black, and we rode South to reclaim Winterfell with an army of Wildlings and Northmen alike behind us. Uncle Benjen now holds The Wall as Lord Commander, but that is where the true enemy lies. I did not ask for Dragonglass from Dragonstone lightly. Winter is Coming.

The White Walkers are real, and The Night King walks this land. They have returned to destroy the living and there is little we can do but wait. He is searching the lands North of The Wall for a mythic horn, we believe, The Horn of Winter. It is capable of destroying The Wall or at least breaking the magic wards that keep Others on the Northern side of The Wall. Mance Rayder, The King Beyond The Wall, was looking for it before his death but never found it.

I have seen The Night King and his walkers, and have seen the Army of the Dead behind them. We are not prepared for what is coming, not without the proper weaponry. All that can destroy a Walker and their King, is Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass. Fire can destroy their wights, but not them, as far as we know. We need that Dragonglass if we have any hope of survival against what is coming. The Wall is doomed to fall in our lifetime, and when it does, we will need a King of Winter. We need you, The North needs you, brother.

Cersei has declared us traitors and calls now for all of House Stark's heads. I do not presume to know what The Dragon Queen is like, but I beg of you, speak to her about this, speak for your people. I have written to our uncle as well, to see if he can gather proof of this, but proof is only secondary if she hopes to survive. We need her and her dragons' help if we have any chance of survival. Speak for The North and for our future, please. Sansa and I can hold off Cersei well enough, but not Winter. The Lone Wolf dies, but The Pack survives, and right now, we need you. You are The King in the North, and that means something to a lot of people.

-Jon

—

Dearest Robb,

I cannot say whether it was Jon or I who smiled more when word of you came from The Dragon Queen, but I can say that I smile now as I write these words to you. How sweet it is, to know you are free of the Lannisters, and that you may soon be home, amongst our people, and that I will get to see you in truth. I know Jon has spoken for Bran (who seems content to stare at nothing in The Godswood) and Rickon (whose handwriting is absolutely horrendous hence the lack of a letter from him, but circumstances lead me to forgiveness on that matter), and of all other matters, but he has left it to me to answer about Theon Greyjoy and his presence at Dragonstone.

I do not ask you to forgive him or rescind whatever calls you made following what he did. I know what he did to you, what he did to our House. But I can also say that he has paid the price for that treachery and that I myself have forgiven him for all that I can. He saved my life, brother, almost at the cost of his own, and for that, I will forever be in his debt. Surely you have seen him, seen what has become of the man we knew. He saved me from The Boltons. I would not be able to write to you now without him. I would not have been free to take back our home. I know what Ramsay did to him, better than maybe anyone. I know what cruelty was born onto him. He should have died by your sword, not suffer a fate worse than death.

Ramsay Bolton, née Snow, Roose Bolton's bastard, was a cruel man. He tortured Theon, broke the man we all knew and made him a shell of himself. Then I was sold to him like chattel, forced to marry him. Theon was his pet, in a sense of the word, and he delighted in seeing us together. I begged Theon to help me, and in the end, he did. We escaped Winterfell together. He saved my life, Robb. Had I stayed there, I would have had an air fostered off of me, and then I would be killed, much as it was with The Lannisters. He is dead now, though, dead by my hand.

I remember your words, spoken through Tyrion. I love you, brother, dearly, and I beg that you do not regret that you could not save me. I have managed well enough on my own, and have grown in the course of it, through hard-learned lesson after hard-learned lesson. I have made myself who I can, and Winter is Coming for all of us. But Theon matters to me, more than I can ever explain, and I at least ask that you keep him alive until I can see him one final time, at a time when we are both finally free, and thank him for what he did. Until at least the Long Night has cast its judgement. We need every man we can get, and he knows Winterfell and The North as well as any of us. This is all I beg of you, Robb.

But you are my King and my Lord. The judgment is yours. But The North Remembers, and I know whom I owe my life and freedom to. Bran and Rickon both live and are home with their wolves right behind them. Rodrick does not. Winterfell is in our hands again. But it was not always, and his actions did lead to The Bolton's theft, and perhaps their betrayal. I cannot say for sure, but I know what my truth is. And that will be my guide, no matter what words you say, no matter what choices you and Jon make in the coming months.

I love you. Winter is Coming. Come home.

Ever your sister,

Sansa Stark

—

Robb turns the letters over in his hands, feeling close to sick and close to being so confused he can't even think straight. Jon had assumed he'd heard rumours about his death, but that's not true, and now he's just having to live with the fact that Jon apparently died. And Sansa… Sansa. Her words refuse to stick, refuse to leave him alone, refuse to make any modicum of sense. Theon…she'd begged for him. There's no better word for it.

Robb groans, massaging his temple, as a breeze blows through his cloak and hair. He'd read the letters in the privacy of his own room, but as his lungs grew too big for his body and taking a single breath began to feel impossible, he'd rushed back outside to get some fresh air. There are dried tears on his cheeks. Breathing still doesn't feel fully easy or perfectly possible, but at least he can smell the sharp scent of the sea, and look across the water towards The North and know that his freedom is known to the people who matter most.

He curls his hand into a fist and takes a deep, measured breath as Sansa's words ring in the back of his mind, maddening and enough to make him feel like he's been thrown on his back. Then I was sold to him like chattel, forced to marry him. And where was Robb? Sitting pretty in a cell, while his best friend died and his sister was forced to marry the son of the man who helped kill their mother. Robb can imagine what Bolton's bastard might have done to her. Every image makes him feel sicker than the last. I wanted to be the one who brought you home.

But no one has allowed him to do anything he wanted to do. His war was ended through treachery, his dreams of vengeance and Joffrey's blood on his sword beaten down like a stray ember. His crown is lost, no one on this damned island save for his own men will call him what he is, and everything he thought he understood, the one thing that he was certain was clear cut, has been turned grey as storm clouds through Sansa's letter.

Theon Greyjoy. The name and half a hundred memories of that man run wild through his brain. He glances at Grey Wind, who is curled up nearby, blinking at Robb with his yellow eyes that he knows as well as anything. Theon had wanted the pups killed. Theon betrayed him. Theon took Winterfell from him…Theon saved Sansa. Theon didn't kill Bran and Rickon, but he did kill Ser Rodrik, a man who had trained and raised them all up to be men. Theon did what Robb could not. Theon saved Sansa.

Robb thinks he hears unfamiliar footsteps coming close, and he glances again at Grey Wind, silently wagging his fingers until his wolf comes over to his side. Grey Wind presses close to Robb, overlooking the sea around Dragonstone with him, Robb's hand buried in his grey fur, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Ah, Robb Stark, I was hoping to find you," an unfamiliar and vaguely accented voice calls from the left of him. Robb turns towards the voice and sees an unfamiliar man in a chair, shadowed by a tall, large man with white hair and an absolutely massive axe strapped to his back. The man in the chair looks Dornish, with a gaunt face and sharp black eyes that dig into Robb. It takes Robb himself a moment to recognise the man, at which point–

"Doran Martell," he replies, and the man dips his head in acknowledgement as the man behind him brings him closer to where Robb and Grey Wind stand. "Prince of Dorne."

The Prince pulls to a stop next to Robb, with his guard stepping back after sending a suspicious glance towards Grey Wind, who simply blinks back at him. Robb crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to fidget or look unsettled under the other man's critical gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that The Prince is smiling slightly, watching Robb carefully with his dark eyes.

"You have had quite the stories told about you, Robb Stark," He says, and Robb smiles slightly a tight and wry thing. "The Young Wolf. The boy of–what was it, when the war began, seven and ten?" Robb nods. "The boy of seven and ten who captured the Kingslayer on his first battle, who defeated Tywin Lannister in the field time and time again, the first King in The North in three hundred years. You have become a legend in your own right."

For a moment, there is a long silence that stretches between the two of them. Robb finally turns to look properly at the other man and sees a calm and pensive look on his face as he seems to mull over something or another. Robb uncrosses his arms, letting them hang at his side as he waits for The Prince of Dorne to continue.

"I know most Dornish will not agree with this, but," Prince Doran continues, eyes glimmering with something Robb cannot quite name as he continues, "Dorne and The North are not too dissimilar as one might think, and for that, I hold respect for you. Our pride is true and singular, yes; we were unconquered. We alone never bent the knee, we alone never bowed to fire. But what The North did, the role they played in the Conquest, and the choice Torrhen Stark made…it also stands alone."

"What he did took courage. But he did it, not only because he knew it was the right choice, but because he knew that his men would follow. That is your singularity, Robb Stark, the singularity of the people you rule. Northmen are and have always been solely loyal to House Stark. The Targaryens did not truly rule The North. Robert certainly didn't." They both snort at that. "It was only through his friendship with your father he ever truly had it, and because of him that your father wasn't crowned in his own right by the lords who crowned you. The Starks have ruled The North, unbroken, for eight thousand years. Winterfell has been lost, wars have bent them, but they have survived in a way that no one else can claim."

"Until me," Robb mutters. "I ride South, doing everything I can to avenge my father, and I lose it all. My home, Winterfell. My brothers. My mother and my wife. It falls into the hands of House fucking Bolton, and I'm not the one who wins it back, and I just have to live with that, don't I? The King who lost The North, that's what they called me, before…"

"I know," Prince Doran says kindly. "I counsel and follow Daenerys because I believe in her, because I believe in what she can become. I am not here to tell you to bend your knee or to make alliances. I respect you, Robb Stark, and I respect what you have done, and the claims you have made. I understand why you did what you did. While our Houses have been on opposite sides of many conflicts, what happened to my House during The Rebellion did not come from your House. The blood of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon is not on Stark hands."

"House Lannister will fall for what they have done," Robb says after a moment, wringing his hands together and looking away from the man who sits beside him and his eyes that seem to dig right into Robb's very soul. "Like The Freys. Like The Boltons. Cersei Lannister will not hold The Iron Throne through Winter, not if The Great Houses have any say in it. She has lost Westeros, and now only holds puppets and turncloaks to her cause, along with some sellsword companies. Or, so I hear."

The Prince nods, and for who knows how long, they stay there, the breeze whispering around them, a hundred years but less blood than anyone else lying between them. Dorne and The North are similar, he supposes, in how they're viewed a little differently by the rest of Westeros, or how they just tend to keep to themselves more often than not. But Robb has never seen Dorne and Doran Martell has never seen The North. What can they really know of one another?

"Your wolf is a beautiful creature," Prince Doran says after a moment, and Robb smirks as said wolf perks up. Offering a hand, The Prince smiles at Grey Wind, who draws away from Robb to give the man's hand a cursory sniff. Robb himself watches them both carefully, not wanting to have to explain to Dorne why their prince became a midday snack for his overgrown wolf. "How did you end up finding a direwolf?"

"My brother found the pups, actually. The pups and their dead mother." His mouth twists into a frown at the memory of it, the memory of the antler shoved into its neck. "We were riding back to Winterfell. I saw the beast first, but it was Jon who found the pups, still mewling and half-blind as they looked for milk. There were six pups. Four boys, two girls, the same number as my father's children, bastard or otherwise."

They both look at Grey Wind. Jon's written warnings ring in the back of Robb's mind, and he clenches his fist for a moment, heart straining in his chest. "No one wanted to speak of it, of what it could mean. Especially not after we found the stag dead as well. Not after…" he trails off, remembering the words of the deserter with a sudden rush of horror. Prince Doran's brows furrow as he watches Robb, and he swallows down the bile and unease at the train of thought he is hurtling down.

"Northmen are a superstitious people," Robb picks up, not wanting to speak of what the deserter said or what Jon had spoken of, not yet. "It was a sign from the gods, in many eyes, a warning of things to come. But then Robert and his retinue rode North, and it slipped our minds. But now I wonder what would have happened had we heeded the warnings of our Gods, let our superstitions win over Southern nonsense. How much of this all could have been avoided." His lip curls and he sighs loudly.

"That is not for us to know," The Prince of Dorne says eventually. Robb glances back at him and sees an odd look in his eyes, like the man has discovered something new within him. He nods at Robb, and before he knows it, The Prince's guard is coming back over and wheeling him away, with only a single nod in goodbye to Robb, leaving him once again, alone.

But his loneliness does not last.

He recognises the footsteps first, even as they stall, even as Grey Wind perks up in interest. He can feel his gaze on his back, maddening and so familiar in a way that makes his mind spin. It's like they're boys again. Robb is too tired, too confused, too uprooted by Sansa's words to try and fight again, to do what he did when he saw him standing there in the courtyard of Casterly Rock. It's like they're boys again and he is coming to break the spell of gloom. It's Theon and Robb and it's how it's always been.

"I–"

"Sansa sent a letter to me," Robb cuts him off before he can start to say anything. He hears Theon's breath catch, the world so quiet around them, his mind hyper-focused on every noise he makes. Robb digs for it in his pocket, pulling out her letter and holding it out in his general direction. After a moment of hesitation, Theon draws closer and grabs it, and Robb finally looks at him.

He does look some shade of horrible, he supposes. He doesn't look like the man Robb knew, the man with his crooked smile and endless smugness that Robb somehow found entertaining. He's gaunt now, his eyes haunted and his gloves doing little to hide the missing fingers when Robb looks hard enough. He doesn't stand as tall as he used to, and his clothes are well-fitting enough to highlight how thin he is now. Robb feels his throat close up.

"She begged for you," Robb says flatly, and Theon takes a measured breath, closing his eyes and handing the letter back to Robb. His jaw twitches, and he bites on his tongue for a moment, trying to figure out how to get the words out, but every time he tries, he feels tears prick in the corner of his eye. "She begged for you. Give me one good reason that I should do what she wants me to do."

He saved her life, a traitorous voice whispers in the back of his mind. He breathes deeply, Grey Wind pressed close to him, staring up at Theon with unblinking yellow eyes.

Theon looks close to tears himself, but he meets Robb's eyes all the same. A bolt of a thousand mixed-up emotions streaks through Robb, freezing him where he stands, his blue eyes locked with Theon's, the one thing that has stayed fully the same. "I don't…" Theon's mouth clamps shut after two words, and he shakes his head before continuing.

"I know there is nothing I can do to take it back. There is nothing I can do to undo the horror I wrought onto Winterfell, onto your family. There is no word I can say, no penance I can serve, no oath I can make to take it all back–but know that I would, if I could. I would undo it all, I would serve my head to you, I would kill myself in the sea if it meant I could take it all back. I would die upon your sword, Robb, if it could undo all I did." He's sobbing the words out, his mouth twisted in gruesome agony.

"Your family?" Robb echoes, feeling his own tears well, an overwhelming grief slamming suddenly into him. He shakes his head. "It's our family you betrayed, Theon."

He makes a wounded and broken noise. "Don't say that–"

"Am I your brother now and always?" Robb hisses out, crying silently, his voice breaking. Theon tries to pull away, but he is suddenly there, taking his face between his hands, blue eyes meeting blue, twin rivers of tears on both their faces. Theon sobs loudly, and Robb searches his face with desperation. "Those were the words you said to me, that was your oath. You betrayed The North, you betrayed your family, you betrayed your brothers, you betrayed me."

"Please–" Theon whines from between his teeth. He's shaking, they both are. Robb remembers when he called the banners, how his hand shook, how real and raw that fear had felt. This is nothing like that day, it's so much worse. There is a hole where his heart should be, a wound that has been bleeding for years, never healing, never closing, hurting more than anything else.

"Why? Why, Theon?" He's nearly screaming, his voice breaking on every word like waves on a stony shore, like a body on a sword, like fire and stone and a thousand screaming nightmares. "I loved you, Theon. You were my brother, my friend, the truest one I had with Jon at The Wall. I loved you, you miserable son of a bitch, more than anything else I had. And you took a knife, put it in my heart, and twisted it. Over and over again. You've paid the price–but was it worth it? Was it worth it, when all was said and done, and Rodrik's blood was on your sword, and all the lies were said and done?"

"No!" Theon keens from between his teeth, wails, really. His voice is a scream like a dying wolf. His voice is the scream his mother let out when the news came from Winterfell, the scream that tore through him when he saw her die. "No, no! It wasn't! None of it was worth a damn, none of it!"

"Then why did you do it?" He screams, and when Theon says nothing, he shakes him.

"Because I was afraid!" Theon replies, the words spilling out. His eyes meet Robb's, and there he is, the man he knew, the man who bent his knee, the arrogant asshole who was somehow his best friend save for Jon. The man buried under it all. His lips curl back into a snarl, tears running down his cheeks. "I was always having to choose. Choose between Stark or Greyjoy, Northman or Ironborn, Wolf and Kraken, Brother or Prisoner!"

"You didn't have to choose with me!" Robb roars in reply.

"Yes, I did!" Theon shrieks, tears like a flood, eyes beginning to burn. He shoves a finger into Robb's chest. "I always had to choose! When your father went south, you were suddenly the Lord, and I your ward, was I not? Suddenly it was your sword that was over my neck, and you never let me forget it, forget that I would always be paying for mistakes that aren't mine, mistakes no boy should be forced to answer for! Especially when they are not his own mistakes! You called me brother, and yet you never let me forget that I would die the moment my father did one wrong thing!"

"Am I your brother, now and always?" Robb seethes. "Those were your words. And I fucking agreed, you fool! Now and always, I said, and do you think I didn't mean it?! I am not my father, and as I've told that damned queen, I am not beholden to his oaths, or the oaths of my forefathers. I would have had you Theon. And that was not all you said, was it? My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, from this day to my last day–and yet–and yet here you stand!"

Theon bows his head. "Then take my head," he whispers. Robb breathes in loudly, lungs aching and his heart hammering as witless tears spring to his eyes and fall, against all better judgement. Theon turns his eyes to him, the eyes that carry more pain than Robb ever wanted to see in his eyes. He loved Theon, once. He never wanted this. "Here and now, while Yara cannot bar you from the justice you deserve. Do it, Robb, please! Do not leave me to this maddening unknown!"

They're both crying, and Robb is hesitating, Sansa's words like a bell in his mind, like the memories that have never once let him go. Talisa died feet from him, before she could even scream. His mother's throat bloomed red as they murdered her. The confusion and the horror when he realised what Theon had done, when his mother wept when the news of Bran and Rickon came. He squeezes his eyes shut, but all he sees is Sansa's face and how it cracked in two as he whispered, on his knees before her, I wanted to be the one who brought you home.

Theon saved her. Robb didn't. She's asked something so simple, so easy. All she asked of him was that she be allowed to see him one more time, when the both of them were finally free and belonged solely to themselves. She's also…Robb looks away, and says, softly, "She killed him. Sansa killed Ramsay Bolton. She said that in the letter."

"I know she did," Theon whispers softly. The wind whistles between the both of them, and Robb feels something tenuous begin to take shape in him, a half-baked idea, and fragments of a plan. Winter is Coming. He needs to write to The Wall and see if he can get proof to convince this Dragon Queen of it all, as Jon had been planning to do, but he himself believes his brother. "She…she told you a little of what happened. What he did."

"She did," Robb agrees. Pursing his lips, he looks away, unable to meet Theon's eyes as he says this, unable to look the man in the eye as he makes his choice. Slowly, he hands to him Jon's letter, which the man takes after a brief hesitation. "I don't forgive you, Theon. But Winter is Coming. And if I can give Sansa some happiness, I will. I allowed Roose Bolton to send his bastard to you. Order you to be brought to me so I could do it myself. I never wanted that to happen to you. I was going to make your death clean." He licks his lips, and though it isn't easy to say, what he says next is as genuine as he can make it. "And I'm sorry that it did happen."

"You don't need to be sorry."

"I didn't say I needed to be, I just said that I am. It doesn't undo what you did. But read that letter. Read what Jon is talking about." He glances at Theon as he does just that, watching as his brows furrow and his eyes darken. He glances up at Robb, and he purses his lips with a nod. "If what Jon is saying is real, I think I want as many people fighting for the living as possible. You know Winterfell. So, until we win or we all die anyway, you get to keep your head."

Theon stares shell shocked for a moment, before dipping his head in a nod and handing the letter back to Robb, staring awkwardly at him. The wind rustles their hair and through their cloaks, and finally, Theon clears his throat, voice soft and timid in a way it never was. "I want to do right by you, Robb. I…Daenerys, she was talking about The North, this morning, when we were all speaking about campaigns and the like."

Robb goes still right where he stands, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. Theon continues on, still sounding nervous, but something is slowly seeping into his tone, a sense of rightness.

"It wasn't like she was talking about using your armies, but she spoke a lot about dealing with Sansa and Jon, and how to use your lands against Cersei. I don't tell you this to undermine you but because you should know, and I want to stand beside you in whatever way I can, and I broke my oaths once but I don't want to do it again–"

"Theon," Robb cuts him off, turning to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Theon licks his lips. "It started off with a discussion of Winter, a discussion of how food and supplies should be distributed. But then everyone started focusing on The North and she started saying that we'd have to speak to Winterfell and get an idea of numbers and resources, so we could plan for them. Then we turned to talking about Cersei, and she said something about boxing her in on both sides…" Theon trails off lamely. "I shouldn't tell you this. I'm betraying her."

"Did you ever swear an oath to her?" Robb asks, suddenly. Theon pauses, and Robb knows the answer even before he speaks, seeing the dawning comprehension in his eyes.

"Yara did. I swore myself to Yara. But not directly to Daenerys."

Robb nods, biting his lower lip and thinking. Perhaps she didn't understand what she was doing, but the thought of her and her Southern Councillors talking about his home and how to support it during the Winter, or anything like that makes his vision darken at the corners. He takes a deep, measured breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "She…" he tries to say, but the words fail and he just makes a low noise of frustration.

"What right does she have to talk about my people and Winter, as if she's ever seen one, as if we haven't survived a thousand Winters on our own? She makes plans for The North as if I simply do not exist, as if my authority as a Stark, as if being the eldest son of the last true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of The North both mean nothing. She called me Lord Stark; it is all she has called me. She at least then knows that I hold those titles, in her world, and with the inheritance she has recognised."

He whirls on Theon. "When do you meet again?"

"Before dinner," Theon says after a moment. Their eyes meet, blue and blue, a familiar feeling. He bows his head at Robb, his voice getting some of its strength back as he speaks. "You were the first person I ever swore myself to. I want to protect Sansa, I want to do right by her, in whatever way I can. And I've broken enough of my oaths to you. I don't mean to break more."

Robb's throat closes up, and when he tries to speak, no words leave him. So he just nods and brushes past Theon, Grey Wind following his every step, Theon's eyes never leaving his back.

—

Daenerys Targaryen looks surprised to see him standing and waiting for her as she leaves the council room, drawing to a stop with her councillors behind her, exchanging looks. Only Theon keeps his eyes trained on Robb, worry etched deep in his face, but he doesn't look afraid, and for that, Robb feels reassured in what he is doing.

"Lord Stark," Daenerys greets, her hands clasped together before her, a slight and so very ingenuine smile on her face. "How can I help you?"

Perhaps Robb should have allowed Dacey and The Greatjon with him, as they'd both begged of him when he told them what Theon had said. They'd seemed troubled on the whole topic of Theon, but had, mercifully, left it alone for the time being. But Robb chose not to have them, and as he stands before all these strangers, with not even his wolf beside him, he feels the briefest moment of hesitation swallow him.

But he sees Theon again from the corner of his eyes and remembers that night when he'd been made king, and feels iron seep back into the very set of his spine. "Lord Stark?" He repeats his words back to her with a cold tone, followed by a rough laugh that has everyone behind her exchanging nervous looks. He must look plenty furious and semi-terrifying, even without Grey Wind beside him.

"Your first words to me were you calling me Lord Stark. So, you at the very least acknowledged that I am the Lord of Winterfell, which means I am Lord Paramount of The North, and that her banners are mine. And yet, here you stand with your Southern councillors. The people with whom you have discussed my home, my lands, and my people without me. And do you know what that looks like? What that does? You have completely tried to undermine my authority, an authority you have already acknowledged, which makes you a hypocrite Daenerys Stormborn." The Dragon Queen straightens, and her hand tries to speak but Robb is not done.

"You flaunt yourself at me. You refuse to acknowledge my right to my throne and my title. You spew titles like The Breaker of Chains and refuse to understand that your rule will make more chains in The North than it will free anyone. You cannot have The North, not without a Stark, and you do not have me. Do not speak of my brother and my sister and my home as if you will have them in hand in a few days. Do not ever speak of my people as if they are yours by some right greater than the King they choose to have. They are not yours. The North is not yours."

"Who told you of this?" She finally replies, her voice cold, all hint of any civility gone.

"Theon Greyjoy," he replies, the name sharp on his lips. The whole company tenses and glances over at the man in question, who just stands tall, meeting none of their eyes. Robb continues on. "Theon Greyjoy told me because at least he has the decency to remember that I rule The North, not anyone in this room. I am the eldest son of Eddard Stark, and he seems to be the only one who recalls what that means. He was a man of House Stark long before he was your man, he was my brother in arms long before he was my betrayer. He can still remember, in some part, the oaths he swore to me."

"This does not look good on you, Theon Greyjoy," she hisses, turning to him. "I have half the mind to think you have betrayed one more person."

Theon opens his mouth to say something, but Robb is faster. "No he didn't. Don't pretend this betrayal is yours. He swore an oath to his sister, and before that one to me, one he broke. Don't call his words to me a betrayal, do not pretend that this injury is yours. He never swore himself, personally, to you, right? His sister did." Daenerys straightens, her eyes widening as she realises what Robb has. The thing that had made Theon so sure of saying what he did.

"But while he is not bound by her oaths, he is still bound by his. He called me King. He swore his sword to me. And he broke those oaths, but at least he has the wherewithal to try and mend that wound! He is bound by those oaths to tell me of threats to my rule to my people, something you have made no moves to prove you are not." Robb is seething, his words coming out of his mouth like snarls, his heart hammering in his chest, caught in boundless anger.

She looks slowly at the man in question. "And what say you, Theon Greyjoy?"

Theon hesitates for a moment, before speaking clearly and evenly, with only the slightest tremor in his voice betraying him. "Robb is The King in The North, and nothing you can do, no amount of dislike of that idea will change that. The only thing that can change that is if he bends the knee, and do you think what you have done will make him want to? You have no right to make decisions about The North for or without him. He's not a King because he called himself one, or because his father was one and sat in a Throne."

"His men made him a king. I was one of them. I was there, something no one but he and I can say. He did not make himself King. I did. His men did. We bent our knees and named him King. You named yourself Queen, and said your right to the title came from you being the daughter of the man who was overthrown because he was a madman who murdered The Lord Paramount of The North and his son."

Yara tries to cut in, "Theon–"

But Theon does not seem to be done either, his voice rising and his eyes burning. "And aye, I betrayed him, and The Starks! And in telling him, I betray my sister, but what I have done to The Starks will forever eclipse this confession. I betrayed my King, and the man who raised me to be who I am trying to be, and there is nothing I can do to undo that! But I will not sit meekly by while you run roughshod over the North, over people I care about."

He breathes deeply and shakily, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. When he speaks, his voice is a rasp. "Sansa Stark is in Winterfell. I would give my life for her, easily, without a second thought. Your actions are enough to have Robb turn away from you and refuse to ever submit, and I told him because I knew that you running headlong into The North, and your entrance to The North without Stark backing would see them dead, see Sansa dead. I will protect her, and House Stark to my dying day, if I am allowed to do so. That is where my loyalty lies. And will always lie."

"What does Sansa Stark matter to you?" Tyrion asks, taking a half step back when Theon whirls on him. Robb hardly recognises the man, caught in his fury and his frustration, the same emotions that are boiling over in him. Daenerys had likely not meant harm when discussing The North as she did, but intention matters little. By speaking of The North how she did…Robb hopes she finds a damn good reason that he should stand beside her.

But then again, if he shows her what is coming and has her ride North to help, if she chooses to do so, there is little doubt in him that it will be at the price of his armies following as well. Robb's heart sinks slightly in his chest.

"Everything!" Theon all but snarls, eyes wide and wild. His eyes rove over the assembled Lords. "But that is not yours to know. I am not yours to know. You whisper about what happened to me, why I did what I did, and it is none of your fucking business. I have made mistakes, mistakes I cannot atone for. But I know my truth, I know what matters to me. And I will not let the people who raised me and the people who I have already hurt so deeply be run over by someone who does not know them."

"You speak of peaceful resolution," Robb says then, and her eyes turn to him, narrowed and cold. "And yet, here we all stand. I want peace, like you. I want to go home, I want my men to go home. Winter is coming, and my people need me. I know that something will come out of this, and no one is going to get everything they want. But you don't seem to understand that you cannot simply demand everything from me, and my people, not anymore, not after all your House has done."

"I will not bend the knee. You will not have my armies, not unless you prove why they should bleed for you. If you want The Iron Throne, you can take it. We can have trade, we can have peaceful relations, but The North will not be beholden to one more fucking Southerner who runs us over and bleeds us dry for their own ambition." He takes a shaky breath, fingers curling into a fist, meeting her eyes again. "If you want the North, you have to earn it. Do this again, and you lose it all."

—

Robb sighs as he opens the door and sees, to no surprise, Tyrion Lannister standing there. The man smiles wanly up at him, and Robb considers slamming the door in his face, but then he thinks better of it and how it might make him look more like a petty child rather than a King. But he doesn't let the man in, simply stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at him and that shiny pin on his breast.

"May I come in?"

"No."

Tyrion's smile tightens, and he nods, looking resigned but not surprised by Robb's answer. Shifting on his feet a tad, Tyrion studies his face for a long moment, though all Robb does in reply is simply stare back at him with a clenched jaw and a dark look. "You spoke harshly, yesterday," Tyrion says, pausing as if expecting Robb to reply. He doesn't. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he continues. "I think we need to start over."

"Start over?" Robb echoes back at him with a scoff and a mocking smile that makes The Queen's Hand tense a bit, some of his carefully crafted expression slipping. "We shouldn't be here in the first place. If you're coming to start trying to talk to me as if I am on the same level as your Queen, that's great, but you're coming in a little late, My Lord Hand." Robb narrows his eyes at the man.

Tyrion's face pinches but he nods. "We have made mistakes recently. I don't deny that. And yet, I do think there is still a chance for you and Daenerys to work together peacefully. We are doing our very best to try and understand your…stubbornness, in this regard. We all also understand that this all is very different for you."

Robb scoffs again, though it is more like a laugh this time, his fingers tapping against his arms as he debates what to say next. He knows he has a temper, and a sharp tongue in moments of deeper frustration or anger. Around his siblings and his parents, it was always fine, or fine enough that he'd only get away with a slap upside the head, but in courts and around lords and such, he needs to reel it all in. And Tyrion Lannister is not a trusted advisor or a Bannerman who has seen him grow. He is…

Something else. Something dangerous. A member of a House that Robb would have no problem causing to go extinct.

"Very different from me?" He finally says, once again repeating the Lannister's words right back at him. It always makes the man's face pinch in an odd way, and Robb is starting to think he's not appreciating the echo. "Of course, this is different for me! I'm surrounded by strangers and people who, and I mean no offence, I neither trust nor particularly like. Everyone here seems to think that if they call me Lord Stark enough, they'll make me forget what I am. I'm hundreds of miles from home, from my people, from everything I ever knew."

Tyrion bows his head in acknowledgement, hesitating for a moment before saying, very carefully, "You sent a letter North. Perhaps a letter to White Harbour, to have The Manderlys send you a ship so you can leave, as you have threatened to do so before?"

Ah, so this is what this is, Robb thinks wryly. The Dragon Queen and her Hand think that they have finally lost me and are trying to repair the damage before they think I am to leave for Winterfell. So they neither have to burn The North to try and get to me nor do they have to court me in my home, where I hold all the power. He smiles sharply down at her Hand, pulling away from the doorway that he's been leaning on.

"No, not quite," he says, his smile widening, "Or, at least not yet. The letter I sent was a letter to my uncle on The Wall, requesting some proof of something. You see, Jon spoke of some strange things in his letter. I know you'd see them only as snarks and grumpkins, but I'm inclined to believe what he has to say, on this one. I mean, do you think he asked for Dragonglass for no reason? Winter is Coming, Tyrion Lannister, and it's my duty to see that my people can survive The Winter."

The man looks at him oddly, seeming like he has a hundred questions he wants to ask, questions he is forcibly keeping out of his mouth. Robb just waits patiently, and his patience is rewarded after a long stretch of silence, when Tyrion asks, "What do you plan to do with this proof, should you get it?"

Robb's smile tightens. "Start recruiting. Convince people to help. Get that Dragonglass for my people. And once I've either convinced the right people or realised that this whole island is a fruitless endeavour, I'll go home, and start getting ready for Winter to come crashing down in force upon my head."

Tyrion nods, and Robb steps forward closing the door behind him, but not before grabbing the cloak he'd had hanging up right next to the wall. He'd been planning to leave, anyway, when Tyrion had knocked. "Now, I'm going to go find my bannermen, if you'd excuse me."

He leaves the man before he can even process the abrupt end to the conversation, fastening the cloak over his shoulders as he walks. It's not quite as good as anything a Northman would make, but he appreciates the attempt from whoever put it together for him. It's a piece of familiarity, and the feeling of warm furs on his shoulders and a cloak behind him reminds him of better years. All he needs is his crown, though he has no idea what could have happened to it. He wasn't wearing it at The Wedding.

Dacey and The Greatjon are right where they said they'd be. Perhaps it was a little incorrect to say that Robb was meeting with his bannermen when it's just Dacey and Jon, but they're the ones he trusts the most, and the ones he needs to speak to first about everything. And beyond that, they'd been the first he'd seen in Casterly Rock, the ones he saw most often. He owes them more than he thinks any of them quite understand.

But strangely, they are not alone.

It takes Robb a moment to recognise The Dragon Queen next to his two bannermen, who are, much like him, significantly taller than she is. The sight of the Greatjon next to the Queen, especially, is nigh entertaining. But thankfully, the conversation seems to be civil, or as civil as anything can be right now. Neither Jon nor Dacey had been that happy with how she'd spoken of The North without Robb, but Robb also knows they won't do anything without him.

"There he is!" The Greatjon bellows as Robb comes up to the odd trio, slapping him on the back, which makes Robb, along with both Dacey and The Dragon Queen, wince. Wheezing slightly, he pats the man on the arm and stops between him and Dacey regarding the other woman with caution. But he tries not to look hostile, especially with the look in her eyes. The genuineness.

"I wanted to see you, actually," she begins, smiling slightly as she glances at the people at either side of Robb, "But I got slightly waylaid."

"Happens to the best of us."

She smiles a little bit wider and nods at him, looking genuinely sincere as she begins to speak. "I made a mistake. Westeros is proving to be an entirely different beast than anything I have ever seen, and I do admit that I don't know things that I should know and that I am dealing with something much more fraught here. I kept telling myself that I could not call you King for it would undermine me, and yet, I recognised Yara Greyjoy as Queen. I'm not trying to be a hypocrite. I am trying to be the Queen that this scattered continent needs."

"The North has…has suffered in a way that no one else has. Perhaps peace terms mean that The North remains independent for a time, or forever. Perhaps it means The North becomes another Dorne. Perhaps it means marriage," She meets his eyes, and he knows she notes how his eyes darken and his chin raises in slight defence. "But I have no intention of using Fire and Blood against The North. You are not my enemy."

"Aye, we aren't," Robb agrees, surprised by the Queen's admission, but wary of it all the same. "And I want peace as much as you, Your Grace. I don't want another decade of War, and that is why I don't want to commit my men. Winter is Coming–Winter is here–and it'll be the longest Winter seen in centuries. The North needs its Lords and its King to be at their homes and at their hearths if it hopes to survive." Jon's words ring in the back of his mind, but he bites it down. He does not think this Queen will believe him, not unless he has concrete proof.

She nods at him, smiling a little tightly, but she seems to at least understand, which is more than he could have asked for only a few days ago. Robb glances at Jon and Dacey and smiles slightly as he looks back at her. "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

The Greatjon makes an affronted noise and Dacey laughs, which makes The Dragon Queen smile more herself. "No, they didn't."

"Good," Robb says with a nod as he crosses his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels. "I'd hate to have a diplomatic incident happen, though I don't think it would come from them."

That makes the woman laugh, and she steps closer to him, offering a hand. "I want us to be allies, Robb Stark. I don't know what that will look like, but I do know that House Stark and House Targaryen are powerful when they lie together. And when I take The Iron Throne, I do what I can to help your people get through Winter. If I am Queen, it is my duty to care about everyone, not just the nobles and the lords."

That makes Robb smile, truly and genuinely, and he takes her proffered hand. "My father always said something like that. He always made sure I knew that my duty wasn't just to The Lords under me, but to the people as well. The Stark name carries weight in The North because we have long since ruled it. Our name is a name of protection, the name of Kings. Jon here was the one who first called me King in the North."

The Queen looks towards the large man, who smiles his strange smile at her, before showing her his hand, and the fingers that are missing. "Aye, and when I first met him, his wolf took two of my fingers off for my impertinence!"

The Queen looks at Robb in near alarm. He just smiles. "I didn't tell him to do that."

"Well, I'm glad," she says with a slight laugh. "I've only glimpsed your wolf once or twice, but I don't doubt it. I hear you and all of your siblings have one." She glances over to where, in the distance, her three dragons soar through the air, screaming happily into the air. "I suppose I am not the only ruler in these lands with a mythic beast or two behind me."

"My siblings each have one, yes," He agrees. "Six direwolves for six children, though I don't think my mother appreciated it that much when my youngest brother got one as well. Rickon was three or so, when he got his wolf. Me and Jon ended up really taking care of it before we both left, though we didn't regret having to do it. They're loyal companions."

She smiles at the comment, and Robb can't help but smile too as he thinks of little Rickon, dwarfed by his wolf. He must be the same age Bran was when Robb last saw him. The thought of that is strange, but Jon had said he was well enough, so he's glad for that at least. His heart pangs at the thought of them all in Winterfell, but it does not last long, as he suddenly sees a group of Dothraki approaching.

The Queen turns towards them, and the head Dothraki pulls forward to say, "There is a man here. He claims to be your friend."

"Who?"

"A man calling himself Jorah The Andal, Khaleesi," The Dothraki tells her, and at his side, Robb sees Dacey pause, her brows furrowing. But his attention is more on the Dragon Queen, and the relief that is breaking her face in two, a relief that only grows more as a man comes forward through the Dothraki, a man with a distinctly Westerosi look. A familiar look. Robb glances at Dacey as the Queen rushes forward to the man, exchanging words with him through a truly genuine smile and bright eyes.

The man looks oddly like Dacey. Robb feels his stomach begin to sink as realisation draws over him.

Dacey looks furious though, and she's glaring at the newcomer like he is the whole of her problems. The Dragon Queen takes him by the arm and walks forward with him to where Robb, The Greatjon, and Dacey stand. The man, Jorah the Andal, looks nervous at the sight of Robb and The Greatjon, but when his eyes turn to Dacey, he completely freezes where he stands. The Dragon Queen's brows furrow and she looks between the two in confusion. Robb takes a step back, The Greatjon following him with his hand resting carefully on the pommel of the sword he'd procured from somewhere.

"Jorah the Andal?" Dacey hisses without so much as a greeting to the man. "The Andal. Have you forgotten your House as well as your honour and duty, cousin? Have you forgotten that you come from The North, not the bed of some southern whore? Have you truly sundered your family so much that you would call yourself an Andal, despite being a Mormont of Bear Island? Have you truly betrayed us that deeply?"

"Dacey," he greets, after a moment. "I did not know you were here."

"And last I recall, you shouldn't be." She stalks forward, wrenching him forward by the collar of his shirt, eyes burning. The air grows frigid, and Dacey's voice even more so. "Everyone else remembers, Jorah. You sold slaves to pay for that wife of yours and ran when Ned Stark caught you. Ran far, far, away, leaving your father to a cold exile and Bear Island to my Mother. At least she remembered the Starks and would have died for them. And yet you bend your knee to the Dragon."

"Dacey," Robb warns from behind her, but she is heedless of him, shaking in her boots as she curls her hand further into her cousin's shirt.

"It was your head, Jorah," she continues, "That Ned Stark swore to have should you ever step foot back on these lands. And Ned Stark may be dead, but House Stark is far from gone, and there stands his son, his heir, The King in The North. What do you think his honour will demand of him?"

The man turns to look at Robb, and so does the Dragon Queen. She looks nervous, but slightly enraged as well, and Robb knows, suddenly, that this is a very different slope than anything else. Daenerys Targaryen clearly trusts this man deeply, and yet, Robb's own father marked him for death should he ever return to Westeros. Robb was old enough when it happened to remember how his father had spoken of the man who now stands before him.

His father, whose temper never seemed to get away, had seemed to utterly despise Jorah Mormont of Bear Island for what he did. Robb narrows his eyes as he begins to speak in a cold voice, the very same voice his father used when dispensing his Northern justice. "My father marked you for death should you ever return to, at least, The North. I do not know if that justice extended to South of The Neck. But you are a traitor to your people, Jorah of the House Mormont."

Robb jerks his chin towards Dacey. "Perhaps I should leave you to the mercy of your cousin and the justice of her House. Perhaps your aunt, Maege, would like to give you a few words from her own mind. Or perhaps I should have your head, here and now, to honour the oaths of my father." The Greatjon steps closer to Robb as The Dothraki tense, seeing the look in their Queen's eyes. Robb turns his eyes to her slowly.

"And yet, you seem to be under the protection of Daenerys Stormborn," he continues, tilting his head. "And yet, this is not The North. So, here is your sole option, Jorah Mormont. Should you ever come North you will face justice, face the sword and the punishment you have been running away from since my father first arrived on the shores of Bear Island to find you had abandoned it. Rather than take The Black, you ran away."

"I do not seek to cause further animosity with you, Daenerys Targaryen," he says, startling her as he meets her eyes. She looks very surprised by the turn of the events, and maybe even how quickly his demeanour has changed. "I do not seek to know what this man means to you. But know that should he ever step foot into The North, I will have his head. There is nothing that will protect him against it."

"It is strange to me, as well," he continues, "That the woman who calls herself The Breaker of Chains would have a slaver in her retinue."

Her expression hardens at the jibe. "Ser Jorah has been my faithful companion since my marriage in The Dothraki Sea. He has followed me through Slaver's Bay, standing beside me to help rid the world of the evil he once profited off of. He has done what he can to undo his choices."

"And still, my conviction stands," Robb says, meeting Mormont's eyes. "Do you understand what I say, Jorah Mormont?"

"Aye, Your Grace," he says with a nod. Daenerys's expression darkens, but she says nothing to it. After a moment's consideration, Jorah turns to look at Dacey, who is shaking right where she stands from the weight of her fury. He rests his hand against his heart and bows slightly. "I cannot undo what I did, cousin. I do not seek to besmirch the name of my father. The title of The Andal was not chosen by me. The people of Essos do not see a difference between Andals and First Men."

"I do not want your excuses, cousin," she says, turning to leave. "What is done is done."

—

Really, the reason that Robb is wandering the castle is a minor case of absolute boredom. He'd sent another letter North after Jorah Mormont's arrival three days prior, but he's not expecting a reply for another few days. He'd let Jon and Sansa know of his letter to Benjen, The Dragon Queen, and the arrival of Jorah Mormont, and the likes, and he hopes that they have some advice they can scrounge up for him, but he's not sure. His letter to Benjen would have only just gotten to The Wall, as well, and he plans to wait to leave, at least until he's tried to plead his case.

The Dragon Queen has gone off once again to fight some other battle or court some other lords, leaving Tyrion in charge in her absence, and Robb with nothing much to do as he waits for a whole host of things. They'd spoken a few more times since their last conversation was interrupted, and while Robb can't say he trusts her, he can admit she isn't a terrible person. He just hopes that she will understand the gravity of the Northern issue he will soon be imparting to her.

He knows, too, that if he gets her help fighting this battle, he will be expected to lend his armies to her war, thus going back on one of the things he'd been most certain of. But he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it, and right now, his mind is focused on how the hell he's supposed to get his people ready not only for Winter but an army of mythic Others.

Jon had sounded so sure of The Wall's fall, sounded completely resigned to the fact that someday soon, (far too soon), The Wall would fall, and The Army of The Dead would come crawling Southwards, bringing death and darkness with them. We need a King of Winter, he'd said, but is that what Robb is? He's always been called The King in The North because that was how he was distinguished from all the other kings running around during the start of his reign. Kings that are now all dead. It is strange to think that he is the last surviving King of The War of The Five Kings.

That title, The King of Winter, brings up memories of darkened crypts and half realised dreams. He'd called his people superstitious. His people with their adages and the steel swords that were said to keep the bones of long-since dead Starks in their crypts. His father did not come up with the words and phrases that he passed on to Robb and all his siblings. But if not his father, then who did? Who first said that There must always be a Stark in Winterfell?

Something is tugging at the back of his mind, something weighty, something that makes his vision blur, and dreams he half remembers come to his mind. He glances at Grey Wind, who is sitting next to him on the parapet he's stopped at to think. He'd told Doran Martell of their finding, and even now, the state of the pup's mother bothers and unnerves him. It was a sign from the gods, in many eyes, a warning of things to come, he'd told The Prince.

He knows well enough what he is when it comes to his connection with Grey Wind. What they probably all are. He does not dare to speak it aloud, does not dare to give a name to it, but that is a damnation enough of the oddities of this all. Others are walking this land. Six direwolves now live South of The Wall, with six Starks bonded to them. Three Dragons have come to Westeros. Magic is stirring. A Red Witch brought his brother back from the dead.

He needs to go home, and soon. He can hear his father's voice in the back of his mind, where it's always been, where he will always survive, whispering the words of their house. Winter is Coming. He's heard those words hundreds of times, lived and breathed by them, known them in his very blood. House Stark was founded in the aftermath of the first Long Night and the death of the Age of Heroes. The first King of Winter rose from the ashes of the dead. Was it he who first decreed that Winterfell should always be held by someone of House Stark?

Grey Wind buts his snout against Robb's side, and he sighs, burying his hand in his wolf's grey fur. It's a familiar comfort, a hint of home. He and Grey Wind both have been separated from their siblings, their pack, for years on end now, since that day he rode South. He'd hoped to find the girls, bring them home, and go home himself, wolves in tow. But he still hasn't gotten what he wanted. He still hasn't gotten to do the one thing he allowed to be his goal.

What if he forgets what Winterfell looks like? What if one day he can no longer remember the sound of laughter around a corner, or the way the wind rustles through the leaves of the Godswood? What if the memories of Winterfell with Stark Banners flying high above it, caught in the morning breeze, are all doomed to fade away until they're just shadows? What if he forgets the road and way back home? What if he never gets to go home? Is he also doomed to die in The South, like his father, his grandfather? Like his aunt and uncle?

Grey Wind presses closer to him, and Robb feels his heart settle just a bit in his chest. So long as he has Grey Wind, a living and breathing reminder of his home, his people, and his House, he will never be able to fully forget where he comes from. He has a beast of living legend beside him, and just like Daenerys Targaryen's three dragons make it perfectly clear from which House she comes from, he and his sibling's wolves remind everyone who they are. What they are.

Sighing heavily, he turns to head back to his rooms, only to pause when he sees someone standing in the doorway leading to the parapet he's been standing on, looking at him with a mix of apprehension and fear.

Theon.

Sighing once again, Robb makes no move to leave now, turning away from Theon so he can do whatever he damn well pleases. The sight of him is not easy, and some part of him wants to go back on his word and throw Theon off the walls here and now, but Sansa's words still ring true in him, and he'd promised Theon that he'd keep his head until after The Long Night. And Theon had risked himself to tell something that he knew would matter to Robb. It's not just like he can ignore that.

Theon Greyjoy and Jorah Mormont occupy the same space, or that's what Robb would like to think. Traitors to the North, people who turned against their families and the Houses that helped raise them for one reason or another. But Jorah Mormont has not paid for it, not in the way Theon seems to have. And it's easier for Robb's heart to soften for someone like Theon, for someone who he once loved and once trusted than for a near stranger who was one of the few men his father outright despised.

Jorah Mormont was saved because of The Dragon Queen, a woman he barely knows and hardly trusts. Theon was saved because of Robb's little sister. The ground they share is not the same. Their fates are not intertwined, and Robb has little intention of roping them together in his demands for justice. He will take no pleasure in Theon's justice. He won't take any in Jorah Mormont's either, but swinging his sword would be easier than it ever could be with Theon.

Theon finally comes to stand next to him after a moment, looking surprised when Grey Wind presses close to him like he used to do, especially when he was looking for snacks. Robb feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and he can't help but say, "I think he still remembers you as the person who would sneak him food when you thought I wasn't looking."

"I would never do that," Theon protests, but Robb can hear the slight amusement in his voice.

"Mhm," Robb agrees. "Of course, you wouldn't. But whatever, at least he still likes you. Though, he also might be getting bored of having only me for company." Robb rakes his eyes across the landscape that surrounds the castle of Dragonstone. "This island doesn't suit him. It's made for Dragons and Targaryen heirs, not for Northern Direwolves and wayward Stark Kings. I might just end up having to send him North on his own, for Sansa and Jon to take care of."

"What, send him on a boat alone to White Harbour, and have him escorted to Winterfell like some Southern Lord?" Theon says, and despite it all, Robb laughs. Theon seems to smile too, for just a brief second, and he can almost pretend they're both boys again and everything is the same. "Put him on a palanquin and have him carted through the streets?"

"He'd jump off before they'd get ten feet," Robb replies, his smile growing. "Lady, though…"

That makes Theon snicker, and for just a moment, it's nice. The betrayal and the blood and the pain does not hang between them, and there is a sliver of the life they both will never get back. But it seeps back in soon enough, and both their smiles fade, eyes darkening as they look over the horizon and remember all that has transpired, everything that has happened.

"When are you going North?" Theon eventually asks. "Actually, why haven't you gone North already?"

Once, Robb would have asked if he was truly that eager to get rid of him. Instead, he just sighs again, running a hand through his hair. "You remember Jon's letter, right?" Theon nods, and he hums. "I wrote to Uncle Benjen; he's the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. We need Dragonglass, and to get it, I will have to convince The Dragon Queen that this threat is real. I am trying to see if he can get me some proof to show her."

"And then what?"

"I pray she listens. Pray she gives us some Dragonglass to take back home. And maybe if I'm really lucky, I convince her to come North and help, but it will be at the cost of something. I will need to speak to my bannermen about it, and I can't show her until I both have the proof and until she comes back. She went with your sister, yes?"

Theon nods, wringing his hands together in front of him. Robb's jaw twitches. "If you come North, you will have no friends in Winterfell. You're alive because of Sansa, but plenty of The Northern Banners will want your head. You know that." Theon nods again, looking away from Robb when he glances at him. "But we need all the men we can get. You know Winterfell as well as any of us."

Robb hangs his head, his voice taking on a rough edge. "It's not just me you betrayed, Theon, you know that as well. You betrayed Ned Stark, you betrayed our father. He was more a father to you than yours ever truly was, and yet, you still betrayed him. That runs deep with the men, and always will. We rode South in the first place for him. This war started for him."

"And yet, I betrayed him," Theon finishes for Robb. He swallows with a loud click, tilting his head skywards. "Once, early on, Ramsay pretended to be a Stark man who was freeing me. He led me in a circle, but in the tunnels beneath The Dreadfort, I told him something, something I meant. My real father lost his head in King's Landing. I didn't know it wasn't Winterfell. I thought I was going to you to face your justice. All I got was…" he trails off, but Robb can fill in the rest.

Robb's throat feels oddly tight, and it's harder than it should be to breathe around the emotions swelling in his throat. He never wanted this for Theon, that is the one truth he knows how to hang onto. A sharp sword and a King behind it was what Theon Greyjoy, the Turncloak, deserved. Not a sadistic man and betrayal and mind games.

"You knew what was right, Robb," Theon says, his voice taking on a rough edge. "You made your choices, and you never went back on them. You were always The Lord, always so sure of yourself. You take the right step time and time again."

"No I don't," Robb says, voice softening whereas Theon's got sharper. "You know that as well as I do. I've done plenty wrong, made mistakes that have spelt the doom of plenty. I regret many things. More things than you know." I regret you. I regret the choices I made with you. What I did with you was a mistake, the biggest one. He doesn't say that. "I've done plenty wrong, Theon. You know that better than most anyone else."

"Not compared to me," Theon says, voice softening as well, taking on a timid tone that doesn't fit the man Robb still sees when he thinks of him. But that man is dead. Just like the man Robb once was is dead as well. And here they are, two ghosts and shells of better men, talking on an island full of strangers to the both of them.

"No," Robb says darkly. "Not compared to you."

He hangs his head. "You betrayed the memory of our father, betrayed Winterfell. But you didn't lose him, Theon. What you did for Sansa proves that enough. What you did for me, telling me about The Dragon Queen, that proves it too. I don't forgive you. I can't forgive you. But our father lives in both of us, and we're just going to have to live with that. You know what's coming. You know what's on the line. The North needs Starks, as many as it can get."

Their eyes meet. Theon straightens slightly, and Robb sees his swallow as the silence hangs between them. Robb takes a deep breath and says, "If you want to come North, you are allowed to. Winterfell will have you."

—

Robb,

Understood on the Dragon Queen. Let us know if things change and if you plan to bring her North with you. It's good to hear about Dacey Mormont and The Greatjon. Hother Umber is in Winterfell as we speak, and Maege Mormont and her daughters arrived about two weeks ago, along with Galbart Glover. They were with Lord Howland Reed in Greywater Watch, and he arrived a day prior to them both.

More importantly, though, Arya is home, along with Nymeria. She and Brynden Tully. She arrived only a few hours after your letter and awaits your return as much as everyone else. There is little else to say on anything else, and we're just fortifying Winterfell further for now. We've called what banners we can and have spread news of your freedom. More and more people are flocking to Wintertown by the day, and The Bannermen are beginning to gather what forces they can, though if they could get written approval from the Lords with you to exercise more control, that would be much appreciated.

But, until then, we await you.

Sansa and Jon.

—

He gathers all his bannermen, or at least the ones who were freed by Daenerys, to the solar he'd requested be set aside for him a few days prior, mere minutes after receiving Sansa and Jon's letter. They flock to him quickly, and he feels almost like nothing has changed, with his lords around him, talking and drinking, surrounding a table covered in maps of The North and Westeros alike. He sits at the head of the table, scowling at the map nearest to him, Grey Wind at his side.

"My Lords," he finally says, when they're all assembled and have spent long enough talking amongst themselves. Rising to his feet, the room goes silent, and he procures the letter from his pocket, handing it to The Greatjon, who sits to his right. "A letter came this morning from Winterfell, sent by my sister and brother. They bring glad tidings; The Princess Arya has returned to Winterfell, with Ser Brynden Tully accompanying her."

"Unfortunately, Jon and Sansa did not go into detail as to how she got there with my great-uncle, but that is secondary. All children of Eddard Stark, save for me, have returned home, and hold Winterfell in my absence. House Stark has returned to Winterfell!" He smiles widely at that, and a few men slam their cups down in agreement, smiling and exchanging pleased whispers. His smile fades after a moment, though.

"However, we will find other challenges coming near to us soon." He procures Jon's first letter and hands it to Dacey, who sits across from The Greatjon. The other letter is making its way around the table, as will this one. "Winter is Coming. My brother, Jon Snow, was a man of the Night's Watch. He says that The White Walkers have returned, and are mustering to march against The Wall and the whole of The Seven Kingdoms as well."

"Jon does not believe that The Wall can hold, which means the next and only line of defence is Winterfell. There are only two ways to kill The White Walkers, as far as we know. That being Valyrian Steel, which will be hard to produce en masse," that gets a few scattered chuckles, "And dragonglass, or obsidian as The Maesters call it. Luckily enough for us, we are currently sitting upon a mound of Dragonglass."

The room straightens in interest at that, and he leans forward, splaying his fingers flat against the table. "I have written to my uncle Benjen, who now holds The Wall as the 999th Lord Commander to ask that he send us some form of proof to show The Dragon Queen, in order to convince her to allow The North to mine The Dragonglass. She is free to involve herself as she sees fit, but we must work under the assumption that The North will stand alone in this endeavour."

"This letter says your half-brother used Wildlings to take back Winterfell," One of the Lords says, and Robb sees The Greatjon straighten beside him. "Are we expected to break bread with the people who have raided our lands for generations?"

"I do not presume to know why my brother and sister did what they did," Robb confesses, meeting the eyes of the men around him. "And those are diplomacies we will hammer out when we return to Winterfell. But as far as I see it, it is The Living versus The Dead, no matter what side of The Wall you come from. I do not ask you to forget, my lords." He meets The Greatjon's eyes at this, before bowing his head. His next words will not be easy for them to hear.

"Take, for example, the turncloak Theon Greyjoy. Sansa has asked me to spare his life until after The Long Night, and I am going to oblige my sister. No one has as much blood with Greyjoy as I do, and no one is as wounded by what he did as me," he raises his eyes and sees his lords staring at him with expressions that make his stomach twist. "But every man who can fight for a damn will be needed against The Dead. Wildings, Turncloaks, and everyone who you may dislike, will be there when The Dead come. We have to band together, or we will all fall together."

"You certainly don't mean to pardon The Turncloak?" Someone asks. Lord Lake, Robb believes.

"Mercy and a delayed execution is not a pardon, my lord," he reminds the man. "I have an understanding with the man, and he has shown himself to be willing to hand himself over for execution. And when we return to The North, I will speak to Jon about The Wildlings and their presence, and what he hopes to achieve through his actions. However, our chief concern right now is obtaining dragonglass, not what blood lies between us all. Do not ever think I demand you to forgive and forget. Gods know I have not."

"I do not forgive Theon. I cannot forgive him. At the same time, he and I have an understanding of what has happened and what this means. Should we both survive The Long Night, justice will be mine to distribute as I see fit, and I beg of you Lords to hold me to it." That gets a few scattered nods, and he is glad to see that they all look swayed enough. The gravity of the situation is not lost on them all, anyway. Perhaps the thought of an imminent death is enough to make them all feel more inclined to create some new bridges, however temporary they may be. Or, that's what Robb hopes.

"Lord Snow speaks of dying upon The Wall," The man next to Dacey, Lord Tytos Blackwood, says to break the silence. The man has been worn by his time in captivity, but Robb suspects it has only fueled the man's anger. He is one of the only Tully Bannermen in the room, with the other being one from a smaller house. Tytos had been captured after the Red Wedding, being brought in by some Bracken men. He'd arrived at Casterly Rock nearly a year after Robb, and what a day that had been.

His dark eyes analyse Robb carefully. "Is this true?"

"I have no reason to believe it otherwise," Robb says, staring at one of the maps on the table. It's a shoddy diagram of Winterfell, likely made by an outsider to the Keep at some point, but it's accurate enough to make Robb think of his home and the family he has left there sadly and with enough longing to make him feel like a sort of lovesick fool. "Jon would have had to be released through his vows, one way or another, and he would not have deserted from The Wall. He is much our father's son, in that regard."

His lips quirk into a slight smile. Of course, there is the small chance that Jon heard of his legitimation and release via Robb, and that helped him make his choice, but Robb doubts it. Jon and Sansa had said that Maege, her girls, and Galbart had just arrived at Winterfell, making it sound like they'd been safe and more importantly, not in contact with Jon, for many long years. If he has heard of it, it was only recently, and well after he departed The Wall with Sansa. But his death would free him from his oaths, would it not?

The men look unsettled by the thought, but Robb continues on, grabbing that shoddy map of Winterfell and stretching his hands across it. All eyes are on him, and he clears his throat before he begins to speak. "We will have thousands of people within the walls and the town when The Walkers come. We need defences beyond Winterfell, and places to keep the smallfolk that lie away from the fighting."

"There are plenty of castles South of Winterfell, and many of you are in charge of those keeps." He raises his eyes to the men around him, the room silent as the grave. "If your keep is South of Winterfell, you are being ordered to write to whoever holds it now and tell them that the King says that your gates are to be opened to people fleeing South. And if your keep is to The North…"

He meets the Greatjon and Dacey's eyes, for just a moment. "Order the people in your lands to travel south, immediately. I will not have more numbers added to The Dead when they begin to crawl their way Southwards. I will not put my people in danger if I can help it. Am I understood?" There are muttered agreements, and while Robb knows it's not because of dissent, but rather nerves and worry over the gravity of the situation, it still makes him bristle.

"We are the Lords of The North," he continues. "If we cannot stand against this darkness, the whole of Westeros will fall right behind us. I have zero intention of bending my knee to any King or Queen, take faith in that. I still mean to rule as King in the North and retain everything we fought for. And I will see Cersei Lannister dead, one way or another, for all that she has done to my House, and The Lords of The North."

"House Frey and House Bolton, our betrayers, are gone." That gets scattered murmurs, and though he knows the news has already travelled through his men, it's one thing to hear it from whispers and rumours and another to have your King finally confirm it. A smile comes across his face, smug and cold. "They have become victims to the Winds of Winter. But we are not out of the woods because we have delivered justice to those who put us in chains and murdered my mother and wife."

"Winter is Coming. Those are the words of my House, my house that was founded after the last Long Night. I need to be the King that the North deserves, and that means that I will not bend and scrape for strangers and outsiders. Take faith in that, my Lords. I stand behind The North, as I always have!"

That gets cheers and cups being slammed down against the table, and he smiles for just a moment, heart hammering in his chest. "My honour may end up demanding that I follow this Dragon Queen south to her ends, should she choose to follow us North to defeat the dead. But hold to what I have told you here today, My Lords. I have no intention of abandoning my people or forsaking the oaths I have made to you. You are the men who raised me up to where I stand today. The North Remembers, and do not think I ever intend to forget the roles you all have played in my position."

"Should my honour demand me to go South, none of you will be expected to follow me. Should you choose to, you will be most welcome, but it is not and never will be an expectation. I will only ever even entertain the thought of going South, anyway, once The Others are defeated. You all may very well be needed in your keeps and homes, to rebuild and to grieve what losses we take." He does not dare entertain the very real thought that they all might die and all of this will amount to empty words in the end. Robb cannot let himself think that way, or he's already lost. He learned that quickly enough in The War of The Five Kings.

"But if you desire blood and vengeance, we will have it. Cersei Lannister sits The Iron Throne, mother to the bastard king born of incest, the false king who cleaved my father's head from his shoulders. While I will not bend my knee to this Dragon Queen, I also will not inhibit her." He pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Vengeance will not bring back my father. Fighting this Queen at every turn does not bring back Lyanna, Brandon, and Rickard. It is because of those last three that I will never hand my kingdom over to another Targaryen, why The Dragon will never have The Wolf in hand again. You said the dragons were dead, my lord, when you crowned me." He glances at The Greatjon, who nods. "They might not be dead, but that changes little of my conviction. She is not my Queen. The North knows no King, but The King in The North, whose name is Stark."

That gets a roar of approval, with the man hammering their cups down on the table in agreement once again. Robb feels himself smile, feels his lip quirk up at the corners. He plays a delicate game, not denying the Dragon Queen while still maintaining himself, walks a fine line. But it is one he is ready to traverse and one he knows he will have the support of his men during.

Perhaps someone will take issue about Theon, or something else. But Robb is prepared for that, and the past few months have shown what happens to Oathbreakers in The North well enough. The Boltons and The Freys are both dead, and any lord who dares take up arms against him again will meet the same fate. And looking around at his men, he doesn't see doubt in their eyes. Unease, yes, but no doubt. They look at him as they did that first day when they made him king.

The line of Stark Kings was made during the final hours of the Age of Heroes and died when the Dragons of Valyria came to Westeros, bringing Fire and Blood. The Wardens of The North rose up in their wake, cold as the lands they defended, and rained their fury down on The South only a few times. The line of Kings was reborn when the head of the last Warden of the North to ever live fell on the steps of a holy place dedicated to gods he had never held to.

Even their gods are wrong! The Greatjon had bellowed as he named Robb king, as he reignited a line that everyone had thought ended when Torrhen Stark bent his knee to The Three Conquerors. Robb thinks of the direwolf pups, of the deserter, of the stag and direwolf that died fighting one another, and of all that has happened since. The blood of The North runs hot through him. His gods are the silent gods of his father, the gods found in whispering woods and in faces that weep sap.

Greatjon Umber will be remembered, when the tale is over and the songs have all been sung, as Robb's kingmaker. The man who ushered in a new era, the man who single-handedly remade the Stark Kings. And if Robb goes back on him, if Robb ever dares to bend his knee, it is The Greatjon's wrath that he will bring down on him, along with all the men around him.

Torrhen Stark bent his knee. Aerys Targaryen broke every oath ever known between their houses. Cregan Stark rode south for a Queen who had already died, his honour and the oaths he had sworn spurring him forward through it all. The Dragons died after The Dance of Dragons. Brandon The Builder raised The Wall and Winterfell and made the greatest dynasty ever seen by The North and maybe even Westeros. Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen is said to have birthed three dragons on The Dothraki Sea, and now she has returned to Westeros to claim The Iron Throne.

She too has encountered a Stark King. But it is not as it was when Aegon and his two sister wives came to The Seven Kingdoms with their dragons behind them. There are three hundred years of blood, oaths, and broken promises that now lie between them, and they do not shower her in favour. Robb knows that there is little she can do to earn his kingdom. There is little she can do to take it, if she plans to abide by her desire of not wanting to use Fire and Blood.

There will never be another Warden of The North. The Kings of The North, the Kings of Winter, will come again from his blood, and they will stay as they are until some force even greater than them comes to finally bury them in the snow and darkness that first birthed them.

—

Robb,

I found a wight for you. I am sending it down through Eastwatch-By-The-Sea with a few men, along with some non-Night's Watch men. They have a story for you themselves. Glad to hear you are free. Winter is Coming. Stay sharp.

Your uncle,

Benjen Stark

999th Lord Commander of The Night's Watch

---

notes:

-if you want my full detailed note on theon, it's on ao3. link to chapter: /works/50374129/chapters/133575043#workskin

-daenerys and robb are two sides of the same coin. while dany isnt wrong that she has a right to the throne (or at least more right than miss cersei over here) robb is also not wrong to be like 'i dont give a fuck! the north does not care!' robb is very much a necessary antithesis to her, someone that makes her question things that need to be questioned, and most importantly: someone with a *spine* who will not bend over backwards to please her

-sansa being the #1 motivator for the three oldest stark (or stark adjacent in theons case) boys is so real of all of them. i too would do anything for my girl

-while its not exactly show cannon, i did really want to have dany kinda go "yeah i fucked up there". because she did, and I am NOT making her miss mad queen. My dany is a dany who is definitely a little reckless still, but she is trying to learn how to rule a place like westeros, and part of that is appeasing the stubborn lords and kings you meet. an apology doesnt fix everything, but its better than nothing
-jorah mormont vs dacey mormont. i had way too much fun with that. and he hasnt even seen lyanna. maege isnt back into the story yet. what a fun family reunion that all will be, LMAOOOO. while he isnt getting his shit fully rocked (yet) jorah is going to continue getting absolutely scathing verbal beratements because. seriously dude?
-the whole king OF winter and 'there must always be a stark in winterfell' thing is, imo, one of the biggest missed opportunities of the show. grrm has very much set up an idea that there is something different about house stark, and that they are innately tied to the long night and the others. i am still figuring out how exactly i want everything to play out w that, but know that there is a reason robb is thinking about it…and also why tyrion says what he says about the north in danys first chapter. :)

next up, arya shows up three days late with Starbucks and an uncle.