Robb IX
Robb and his men had spent nearly a week in Renly's vibrant camp, surrounded by the colourful tents and lively atmosphere that marked the king's domain. The news had just come in that Stannis Baratheon would be arriving the following day, and a meeting point had been arranged on neutral ground where both parties could discuss terms. The anticipation was palpable, but during their wait, Robb had developed a bond with Renly that went beyond mere politics.
The king had taken Robb under his wing, inviting him on hunts through the lush woods that surrounded their camp. They shared laughter and stories as they stalked their prey, with Renly's infectious charisma making even the most mundane moments feel electric. It was during these outings that Robb glimpsed the true nature of the man behind the crown. Renly was not just a king; he was a friend who genuinely cared about those around him. He listened intently, offering thoughtful insights and the kind of camaraderie that Robb had long missed since losing Jon to the Wall.
The whispers around the camp about Renly and Margaery were impossible to ignore, of course. Rumours swirled regarding their supposed inability to conceive a child and the reason behind it. Yet, as Robb observed them together, he saw a partnership built on genuine affection. Renly would lean in close as Margaery recounted her day, his eyes reflecting a warmth that spoke of deep care. Margaery, in turn, was always quick to tend to Renly's cuts and bruises after his training sessions, her gentle hands soothing his wounds with care.
To Robb, it didn't matter if the love they displayed was performative or genuine; what mattered was the bond they shared. In a world fraught with deceit and betrayal, it was refreshing to witness such loyalty and care.
The morning sun had just begun to crest over the horizon as Robb Stark and King Renly Baratheon rode out with their retinues to meet Stannis. The camp had been buzzing with quiet anticipation, but the mood between Robb and Renly had remained light. They had broken their fast together, seated under a pavilion draped in the colours of House Baratheon and Tyrell, the rich smells of roasted meats and fresh bread mingling with the early morning air.
As they ate, Renly had listened attentively while Robb spoke of his childhood at Winterfell. Robb's tone had softened as he reminisced about the snow-covered courtyards, the long, cold nights by the fire, and the hours spent training with his half-brother, Jon Snow, and his friend Theon Greyjoy. He shared stories about their adventures—sneaking out to the Wolfswood, practicing archery until their arms ached, and the mischief they got into when they thought no one was watching.
"Jon was always the quiet one," Robb said, his voice carrying a wistful note. "But dependable. Always had my back, no matter the challenge. And Theon, well..." Robb trailed off, the smile fading from his lips. He hadn't received any word from Theon for weeks now. There was a knot in his stomach whenever he thought of his old friend, and of what might be happening on the Iron Islands. "I haven't heard from him since he returned home," he added quietly.
Renly, for all his playful nature, seemed to sense the weight behind Robb's words. He nodded, not pressing further, instead offering his own lighthearted stories of growing up in Storm's End with his brothers Robert and Stannis. They were stories filled with laughter and teasing—of Robert's wild hunts and their shared jokes at the expense of the ever-brooding Stannis.
Robb couldn't help but wonder how Jon was faring at the Wall. Did his brother know what had become of their family? Did he understand the war that raged in the South, or had he already become too distant, too absorbed in his vows as a brother of the Night's Watch? Was Jon even safe, beyond the Wall, where dangers greater than war were said to lurk? Robb wished he could speak with him, just once more, if only to hear his voice and feel some sense of normalcy in the chaos.
As for Theon, the silence from Pyke gnawed at him. Theon had been his brother in all but blood, but now, with each passing day, that bond felt more tenuous. Theon's absence, his silence—it unsettled Robb in a way he hadn't yet admitted, even to himself. He didn't want to think ill of him, but with the uncertainty of war and the divided loyalties of the Greyjoys, Robb couldn't help but wonder if Theon had chosen his own path, one that might lead him away from the Starks forever.
By the time they finished their meal and mounted their horses, the air between them was thick with unspoken thoughts. As they rode out of camp, flanked by Renly's rainbow guard and Robb's small company, the two men exchanged a look of understanding. They were different, shaped by different lands, different families, and different fates—but they were united by the weight of responsibility they bore and the uncertain future that lay before them.
The road ahead was lined with Renly's banners, and the path to the meeting with Stannis stretched before them like an unknown chapter in a book. Robb couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding as they approached the place where the brothers would parley. He wondered if this meeting would truly bring about peace, or if it would only deepen the divisions that had already begun to tear the realm apart.
As Robb and Renly neared the designated meeting point, a sense of gravity settled over the group. In the distance, he spotted the figure of Stannis Baratheon, his silhouette stark against the pale morning sky. Clad in dark armor and robes that absorbed the light rather than reflecting it. The lack of hair on his head made his angular features even more pronounced, and the deep scowl etched into his face was a stark reminder of the weight of the world he carried.
It struck Robb how different the two brothers were; Renly, with his bright colors and warm demeanor, was the embodiment of charisma and charm, while Stannis stood in shadow, his presence as grim as the clouds that occasionally gathered overhead. There was no warmth in Stannis, only a cold determination that seemed to ripple through the air, contrasting sharply with the vibrant colors of Renly's camp.
Beside Stannis stood an older man with a mane of grey hair and a beard to match, his expression weary but alert. Robb reasoned that it was most likely Davos Seaworth, the man known as the Onion Knight. Davos had gained respect as a smuggler turned advisor, but it was the woman beside Stannis that truly caught Robb's attention.
She seemed almost otherworldly, her features sharp and angular, lending her an air of danger that was both unsettling and captivating. Her skin was pale, contrasting sharply with the vibrant red of her long hair, which flowed like a river of blood in the gentle breeze. The low-cut gown she wore clung to her form, crafted from a fabric that mirrored the colour of her hair. Though there was something fearsome about her, an undeniable beauty radiated from her, one that commanded respect and sparked curiosity.
Robb exchanged a glance with Renly, who seemed momentarily taken aback by the woman's formidable presence. "That must be Melisandre," Renly murmured, his voice low enough to avoid alerting Stannis. "She's said to be a sorceress, a priestess of R'hllor."
As they approached, the tension in the air intensified. Robb couldn't help but feel a mixture of wariness and intrigue as he studied Melisandre. There was something in her eyes—a depth that hinted at both wisdom and a hint of danger, as if she held secrets of the world that could change the course of fate itself.
Stannis remained rigid, his focus unwavering as he awaited their arrival. The moment felt pivotal, as if the future of the realm hung in the balance, and Robb understood that every decision made here would have repercussions far beyond this day. He took a steadying breath, preparing himself for what was to come as they rode forward, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon his shoulders like an unyielding mantle.
"Brother!" Renly called out, a cheerful grin spreading across his face. "What a delightful coincidence to find you here on our morning ride!"
"Let's not play games, Renly," Stannis replied sharply, his tone as cold as the steel of his armor.
Renly's smile faltered, but he quickly masked his disappointment with a light laugh, stepping closer to his brother. "You know me well enough, Stannis. I can't help but lighten the mood when the day is so serious."
Stannis regarded him with a narrowed gaze, his expression unyielding. "Seriousness is warranted, considering the circumstances. We are not here to exchange pleasantries." His voice was deep and gravelly, the kind that carried authority but also hinted at a lifetime of burdens.
As Robb observed the two brothers, he felt the weight of their history hanging heavily between them. The contrast was stark; Renly radiated warmth and charm, while Stannis exuded a grim intensity that sent shivers down Robb's spine.
"Lord Stannis, it's—" Robb began, feeling the weight of the moment press heavily upon him.
"King Stannis," Stannis interrupted sharply, his tone as cold as the steel he bore. He stepped forward, eyes blazing with an intensity that could pierce through the tension. "I thought better of you, Robb Stark. Your father wrote to me after Robert's death. He swore allegiance to me and now, I hear that you have pledged yourself to the bastard—Joffrey. And then here you stand beside my treacherous brother. Tell me, do you even know whose side you're on, pup?" Stannis spat, his voice low and laced with disdain.
The insult stung, but Robb stood firm, locking eyes with Stannis, unyielding in his resolve. "It's true that I swore my allegiance to Joffrey," he admitted, his voice steady and deliberate. "He held my father captive for nearly two moons, and in my desperation to see him freed, I might have said whatever was necessary. If that makes me a bad man, then I suppose I can live with that. I am loyal to the North above all else"
Stannis's eyes narrowed, skepticism evident in his expression. "You talk of loyalty, yet you stand with the very man who seeks to undermine your family and your house. Have you forgotten the Stark name?" He gestured dismissively towards Renly, who was watching the exchange with an unreadable expression. "Your loyalty seems to be as flexible as the wind, young wolf."
Robb clenched his fists, forcing himself to contain the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "My loyalty is earned through proof of intent," he declared, his voice steady. "And thus far, no one on this field of play has shown me anything to prove their worth."
"Prove my intent?" Stannis scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the armor gleaming under the morning sun. "What would you have me do? Declare myself a saint? I am no fool, Robb Stark. The realm is in chaos, and I will not sit idly by while my brother cavorts with fools and false lords, playing in their father's shoes."
Renly stepped forward, attempting to ease the growing tension. "Stannis, let's not escalate this into a spectacle. We have the opportunity to unite against a common enemy, don't we? There are threats looming over us all, and your anger would be better directed at them, not your own family."
"Family?" Stannis retorted, his voice rising in indignation. "You, who wear my crown and dare to call yourself king, lecture me about family? Family does not betray family, boy! Do you think I am blind to your schemes?"
"Join me, brother," Renly urged, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "I possess the support you lack, and deep down, you never truly wanted the burden of kingship. Together, we could dismantle the Lannisters and forge a new era of peace. Think of it—Baratheon brothers, standing side by side in Robert's name, restoring honour to our family and peace to the realm. We can give the people the leadership they deserve, free from the tyranny of a boy king."
He gestured broadly, his passion igniting as he spoke. "Imagine a realm where we work together, where our combined strength puts an end to the strife tearing our houses apart. We can lead with purpose, not just in our own interests, but for all of Westeros. You have the right to reclaim your legacy, and I offer you that chance. This is our moment to rise above the chaos and claim what is rightfully ours."
Renly stepped closer, sincerity etched into his features. "Let us honour Robert's memory, not through division but through unity. We can reshape the future, brother. What do you say?"
Stannis's gaze was as sharp as the cold wind that swept across the field. He ignored Renly's plea and fixed his eyes on Robb, his voice as hard as iron. "Tell me, Lord Stark," Stannis began, each word measured, "you have younger brothers, do you not?"
Robb straightened slightly in his saddle, the question unexpected. "Yes, my lord. Two."
Stannis's expression remained unmoved, a deep frown etched across his face. "And could you stand by as they took your seat? Could you watch as your birthright, your position as Lord of Winterfell, was handed to another? Could you bow to Brandon - he's the next in line, is he not? - Could you bow to him as Lord in your place?"
Robb blinked at the question, the weight of it sinking in slowly. "I do not know, my lord," he admitted, his voice calm but thoughtful. "I fear I wouldn't be able to answer that until the day came when I was faced with such a decision. But I do know my father did it. He stepped aside as Lord of Winterfell when the time came, and allowed me to take his place, for the good of the family, for the good of the North. It wasn't easy for him. But that was the choice he made."
Stannis's frown deepened, his brow furrowing as if he was struggling to grasp the meaning in Robb's words. "Good old Ned Stark" Stannis muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "And tell me boy, who made your father make that choice…"
Renly, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up, his tone calm but firm. "Stannis, you and I both know that on your own, you're marching toward defeat. Continuing down this path will only seal your fate and doom the men who follow you. Unity is your only hope. Perhaps it's time to realise that, instead of clinging to the Iron Throne like a drowning man grasping at a piece of driftwood."
"The path to victory is not yours to claim," came a voice, smooth and unwavering, cutting through the tension in the air. It was the Red Woman, her eyes glowing with an unsettling certainty. "Your brother walks the road destined for triumph," she continued, her words soft yet commanding, carrying the weight of prophecy. "It has been written in the flames. He is the one who will sit the Iron Throne, the true ruler who will bring balance to the realm and save mankind from the darkness that approaches."
Her gaze lingered on Robb for a moment, as if weighing his soul, before shifting back to Renly with a glint of something unspoken. "The gods have chosen Stannis, and his victory is as certain as the coming dawn. Those who stand in his way will be swept aside, whether they be enemies, friends... or family."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, and the tension in the clearing grew thicker. Renly's casual charm faltered for a moment as his eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed by the priestess's proclamation, but there was an undeniable power to her presence that couldn't be ignored. Even the wind seemed to stir uneasily as if the very air had been touched by something ancient and unknown.
"This is not a childhood quarrel over who gets to wear a crown of sticks," Stannis repeated, his voice harder now, each word landing like a hammer blow. "This is a fight for the very realm itself. And you, Renly, play at being king with feasts and banners, while the true threat gathers in the shadows."
Renly's eyes, usually so full of warmth and confidence, now held something colder as he stepped forward. "A fight for the realm?" he echoed, his tone still light, but with an undercurrent of steel. "You speak of threats and shadows, Stannis, but all I see are men desperately grabbing at power. And you—" he gestured to the Red Woman, "—you speak of gods and flames, but I put my trust in people, in the living. Not in your shadowy whispers."
The Red Woman's eyes gleamed with something unreadable as she inclined her head, her lips curving in a small, knowing smile. "You mock what you do not understand, Lord Renly," she said, her voice low, as though speaking to a child who had yet to learn the ways of the world. "But the flames show all truths. And they have shown me yours."
Renly stiffened, his casual charm vanishing entirely. "I have no need for your flames, or your gods. I make my own destiny."
Robb, who had been silently observing, felt the air between the two brothers crackle with hostility. The Red Woman's gaze turned to him again, her eyes like embers burning through the fog of the early morning. "And you, Lord Stark," she said, her voice once again full of eerie calm. "You are at a crossroads. The gods have not yet spoken your fate, but they will. The North remembers, and so do the flames."
Renly seized the opportunity to regain his footing. "You hear that, Stannis?" he said, raising a hand toward Robb. "The North remembers honour. Not the fires of a foreign god, or the cold bitterness of a man who's forgotten what it means to lead with anything but fear."
Stannis's face darkened further, and for a moment, it seemed like he might draw his sword right there. But then the Red Woman placed a hand lightly on his arm, and he stilled, his gaze never leaving Renly's.
"You will see, brother," Stannis said, his voice barely above a whisper. "When the night is darkest and all hope seems lost, you will understand that power lies not in love, not in banners, but in truth. And the truth is, only one of us can sit the Iron Throne. You are a fool to think you can win against me."
Renly's laugh was sharp, a hollow sound against the rising wind. "If this is your idea of winning, Stannis—sulking with a woman who speaks in riddles—I almost pity you. But don't mistake me," he added, his voice dropping into something more dangerous, "if it comes to war, I will not hesitate to meet you on the battlefield."
Robb felt a knot tighten in his chest as the brothers stared each other down, the weight of the decision ahead of him growing heavier. The two Baratheons were locked in a struggle neither was willing to give up.
The Red Woman stepped forward again, her eyes never leaving Renly's. "The flames have shown me the future," she said, her voice low and certain. "And you, Renly Baratheon, will not live to see the dawn of your reign."
The threat was clear, but Renly didn't flinch. "Prophecies are for fools and children," he spat, his voice as cold as the steel that would soon be drawn. "I'll see you on the field, Stannis."
Stannis gave no response, only a lingering, icy stare before turning on his heel, his shadow stretching long behind him. The Red Woman followed, her red gown trailing like blood in the dirt.
As they disappeared over the hill, Renly let out a breath he had been holding, and turned to Robb with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, that could have gone better."
Robb remained silent, his thoughts racing. The time for choosing sides was fast approaching, and whichever side he chose, it seemed war was unavoidable.
Later that evening, as the campfires burned low and the sounds of men celebrating or sharpening their swords echoed outside, Robb found himself once again in King Renly's tent. The tension of the day still hung in the air, but Renly had cast aside his armor for a more relaxed tunic, sitting at the head of his table with a goblet of wine in hand. He gestured for Robb to join him, offering him a drink.
"Stannis has always carried a chip on his shoulder," Renly said with a sigh, his usual charm slipping into something more reflective, more vulnerable. "Never as strong as Robert, and never as liked as me. I think that gnawed at him for years—being the middle brother, always in the shadow of someone else."
Robb took a seat, accepting the cup of wine Renly passed him but only holding it in his hands. His mind was still racing from the encounter earlier that day. "He seems... determined," Robb said, careful with his words.
"Determined, yes," Renly agreed, but his lips twisted in a half-smile that bordered on pity. "But he's always been that way, determined to see the world as unfair to him. Always painting himself as the wronged party. I remember when Robert named me Lord of Storm's End after the rebellion... Stannis didn't speak to either of us for nearly a year. Not a word. He stewed in silence, like a pot about to boil over."
Renly leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his goblet as he spoke. "Robert was the eldest, the warrior-king everyone rallied behind. No one questioned his strength, his right to rule. And me... well, I was the youngest, the charming one, the one people liked. I could smile, laugh, and bring people to my side without ever having to lift a sword." He paused, his smile fading as his eyes flicked toward the tent flap, as if seeing beyond it. "But Stannis... Stannis was always just there. The dutiful brother, the one who did everything right but never got any of the glory."
Robb frowned, his thoughts circling back to the earlier meeting. "He thinks it's his right to rule," Robb said quietly, "because of the line of succession, because he's Robert's eldest brother."
Renly let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. "He's convinced himself that's enough. That the throne should be his by right, just because he's next in line. But being a king isn't just about blood, or who's first in line, is it? It's about who can lead, who can inspire, who people will actually follow."
Robb nodded slowly, his mind turning over the truth in Renly's words. "And you think people will follow you."
"I know they will," Renly replied, his voice firm but not arrogant. "They already do. You've seen it yourself, Lord Stark. My camp is filled with banners—lords and men, eager to fight for me. Not because I'm next in line, but because they believe in the kind of world I want to build. A world of peace, of unity, where the people aren't crushed under the weight of war and tyranny."
Robb shifted in his seat. "And what kind of world does Stannis want?"
Renly's face darkened. "Stannis wants what he's always wanted—justice, in his own twisted sense of the word. He thinks he's the only one capable of ruling, the only one who can bring order to the realm. But order without mercy? Without understanding? That's not rule—it's tyranny. And if he sits that throne, the realm will bleed for it."
Robb was silent for a moment, weighing Renly's words. He thought of his own people, his family scattered across the realm, and the war that seemed inevitable. "You truly believe you're the better choice," he said, more a statement than a question.
Renly looked him directly in the eye, his expression serious. "I know I am. And I think you do too, Robb. You've spent time here—you've seen how I lead. I don't need to burn men alive or force them into submission. I offer them hope, a future. Isn't that what we all want?"
"You're right," Robb said finally, the words heavy as they left his mouth. He took a deep breath, his gaze steady on Renly's. "I've thought long and hard about your offer."
Renly, who had been lounging back in his chair, sat up straight at the change in Robb's tone. His expression shifted from one of casual amusement to one of quiet anticipation. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the tent, making the moment feel more intimate, more significant.
"I want to join you," Robb continued, his voice unwavering. "The realm is falling apart under Joffrey's rule, and I've seen enough to know that Stannis would offer no better future. He's cold, rigid—his idea of justice would tear the kingdom apart just as surely as Joffrey's madness."
Renly's face brightened instantly, the tension in his shoulders releasing. He leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with genuine warmth. "Robb," he said, his voice almost soft with relief, "you have no idea how happy I am to hear that."
Robb could see the sincerity in Renly's face, the same openness and charisma that had won over so many of the lords now flying his banners. But this was not a decision Robb had made lightly, and he wasn't about to celebrate just yet.
"But you need to understand," Robb continued, his voice firmer, his eyes locked on Renly's. "I cannot move until Roslin and Sansa are safe."
Renly opened his mouth, ready to reassure him, but Robb pressed on, leaning forward with a sense of urgency. "Please, Your Grace," he said, his tone softer, more vulnerable. "I didn't want to tell you this—I swore to Roslin I would tell no one—but it's the only way I can help you truly understand."
Renly's expression shifted from easy confidence to concern, sensing the gravity of what Robb was about to reveal.
Robb took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of his words before he could speak them. "Roslin is with child," he said quietly. "I cannot, and I will not, do anything that could put her or our unborn child at risk."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with significance. Robb's voice faltered slightly as he spoke, the vulnerability of his confession making him feel more exposed than he had ever allowed himself to be in front of another man—let alone a king.
Renly's reaction was swift and heartfelt. His eyes widened in surprise, and then a bright, genuine smile spread across his face, transforming his features from that of a king weighed down by politics to a man who simply shared in another's joy. "Robb, this is truly wonderful news!" he exclaimed, stepping forward with excitement that radiated from him. His earlier formality melted away as he clasped Robb's shoulder with a firm, warm grip, the barrier of kingship momentarily forgotten. For that brief instant, they weren't two men bound by the pressures of war and alliance, but simply friends sharing in the celebration of life.
"I can't tell you how happy that makes me," Renly continued, his tone more personal, more relaxed, as though he'd been waiting for some spark of good news in the dark world they both navigated. "The North will have an heir. It's a blessing, Robb—one you deserve."
His words were heartfelt, but there was a flicker of something else in Renly's gaze, something that lingered behind the joy, a hint of wistfulness. He paused, looking down for a brief moment before adding, with a light chuckle that carried an edge of vulnerability, "I only wish I could put a son in Margaery."
The remark, though wrapped in humor, hung between them with the weight of unspoken truths. Robb, sensitive to the delicate dance of marriage and power that Renly and Margaery performed before the eyes of their court, didn't miss the fleeting sadness in Renly's voice. It was well-known, the rumors whispered through campfires and castle halls, that theirs was a marriage of political necessity rather than passion.
"I swear to you, Robb," Renly continued, his voice low but resolute. "Your family will be protected. If I have to send half my army to storm the Red Keep and drag Roslin and Sansa out myself, I will. You have my word as your king and as a man."
The sincerity in Renly's voice struck Robb, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps there was a path forward where his family didn't have to suffer for the choices he made.
"Thank you," Robb said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea what this means to me."
Renly smiled again, but it was softer this time, more subdued. "We're in this together now, Robb," he said. "Our families, our people—we fight for them, don't we? That's what all of this is about. You'll never have to fight alone as long as I sit the throne."
Robb felt a sense of camaraderie growing between them, something deeper than mere political alliance. Renly wasn't like the other lords he had met—he was a man who genuinely cared for those around him, and Robb could see why so many followed him so willingly. There was strength in his compassion, and Robb found himself trusting Renly more than he ever thought possible when he first arrived in camp.
"I believe you," Robb finally said, and it wasn't just a formality.
Renly's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Good. Now, I'll make arrangements to get your family out of King's Landing, as soon as possible. I won't risk their wellbeing in the time it might take us to reach the capitol. I'll make sure it's done discreetly, of course—we can't have the Lannisters catching wind of it before they're safely away. But once they are, we'll be free to strike."
Robb nodded, feeling a sense of hope creeping back into him. For the first time since leaving the North, there was a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel. "And once they're safe," he said, his voice steady, "House Stark will stand with you. I swear it."
Renly's smile widened into something more mischievous. "Well then, we should celebrate. It's not every day a king hears news of an heir to the most powerful house in the realm."
Robb chuckled, though it was more from relief than anything else. "Perhaps once the child is born," he replied, "and the war is won."
Renly raised an eyebrow. "Ever the practical one, aren't you?"
Robb smiled, a small but genuine smile. "I've had to be."
With that, Renly gave him a final clap on the shoulder, his mood light but his words serious. "I'll leave you to rest then. But know this, Robb—I'll keep my word. Your family will be safe, and together, we'll put an end to the chaos in the realm."
Robb turned to leave the tent, the conversation with Renly still lingering in his mind, when suddenly a sharp yelp cut through the air behind him. He froze, the sound so unlike the easygoing Renly he had just spoken to. Turning quickly, his eyes widened in horror at the sight before him.
Renly was standing, his eyes wide with shock and pain, and there, buried deep in his chest, was a dagger—gleaming cruelly in the flickering light of the tent. But what chilled Robb to his core wasn't the sight of the weapon—it was that no hand held it. There was no assailant, no shadowed figure lurking in the darkness. The blade had somehow appeared in Renly's chest, as if summoned by some unseen force.
"Help! The King!" Robb's voice broke the stunned silence as he rushed forward, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. This wasn't a normal attack. This was something... otherworldly.
Before he could reach Renly, Brienne burst into the tent, her sword drawn and ready for battle. She was fierce, her eyes scanning the room for the invisible enemy. But as soon as her gaze landed on Renly's crumpling form, her strength faltered. The sword slipped from her grip, clattering uselessly to the ground as her hands flew to her mouth in a gesture of disbelief and grief.
"No..." Brienne whispered, her voice breaking as she rushed to Renly's side, dropping to her knees beside him. Her trembling hands hovered over the wound, unsure of how to help, how to save the man she had sworn her life to protect. But it was too late. The wound was too deep, and the blood poured too quickly, soaking through his clothing and onto her hands.
A black mass, swirling and shifting without form or shape, darted across the room like a living shadow. It moved with a speed and fluidity that defied explanation, more like smoke or darkness itself than anything Robb had ever seen. It hovered for a moment, as if surveying the damage it had wrought, and then flew from the room, disappearing into the night, leaving behind nothing but cold silence and despair.
"Renly!" Robb shouted, his voice desperate as he knelt beside the fallen king. But Renly's body was already going slack, his once vibrant eyes dimming as the life drained from him. His lips moved, as if trying to speak, but no words came. A single tear slipped down his cheek, catching the light one last time before it fell.
"No!" Robb exclaimed, his fists clenching uselessly at his sides. He had seen death before, more times than he cared to count, but this was different. This was a king, a man who had just spoken of hope, of peace, of a future for their realm. And now, in the span of a heartbeat, it was all gone.
Brienne wept openly, her sobs echoing in the small space of the tent as she cradled Renly's head in her lap. "Stay with me, my king," she whispered through her tears, brushing his hair from his forehead with a tenderness that belied her warrior's strength. "Please... don't leave us."
But Renly's chest stilled, his breaths fading until there was nothing. Silence fell over the room, broken only by Brienne's heart-wrenching sobs and the faint flicker of the dying fire.
Robb could do nothing but watch, helpless, as the last traces of life slipped from Renly's eyes.