Chapter 2: Doubts, Decisions, Discipline, Diplomacy

Robb was walking briskly through the camp. There were many preparations underway, and still too many things left to do. The recent danger they had just escaped had made him cautious, forcing him to reconsider many of his beliefs. Ever since he had won the first battles and the loyal lords had named him King in the North, well, one could say he had become a little overconfident.

On one hand, he had never wanted that responsibility, but on the other, he knew he had to constantly earn the trust and respect of his vassals. So, he couldn't appear indecisive or hesitant: he knew it would take little for them to start seeing him as just a boy again.

But apparently, the opposite risk existed: making decisions without enough thought could lead to disaster. He couldn't be sure that the Greyjoys would attack them, but it was highly likely. And he had his mother and Theon to thank if…

"I'm telling you, the next time they assign me to a scouting mission with Roose Bolton, I'd rather feign sickness than go."

The speaker was a soldier with his back to him, sitting in a circle around a small fire with three or four companions roasting fish.

They hadn't noticed Robb, and the Young Wolf, curious about their conversation, stopped and positioned himself behind a tent to hear the rest. He was certain they wouldn't speak as freely if they knew he was there.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" asked another, addressing the first speaker.

"Tsk! You should've been there, Roff! That stone-faced bastard plays dirty, I'm telling you! Every time we approached danger, he'd send soldiers from other houses ahead first!"

"Really?" a third soldier asked.

"Of course!—the first soldier confirmed, indignantly—for example, the other day we finally ran into Vargo Hoat's mercenaries—some kind of half-Dothraki or something like that, and the rest of his lot is even uglier than him—and that damn Leech Lord sent us Glover and Umber soldiers to face them while keeping his own men fresh in the rear. He sent us to the slaughter against those beasts—who, in the end, still retreated like cowards when they realized they were too few—and I barely escaped with my life! May the Others damn him!"

"Eh? That's absurd. Such behavior…"

"No, no, it's all true, I've heard a story like that myself," the last of the group confirmed. "I'm close friends with Hallett, one of the lords' attendants, and he told me that his lord—one of the few of ours who ended up captured by the Lannisters at the start of the war—was caught in exactly the same way: sent to the front by Lord Bolton and abandoned when things turned bad!"

"Cursed son of a bitch!"

"You can't trust a house that boasts about flaying their enemies alive."

"With allies like that—trust me—who needs enemies?"

Robb returned to his tent slowly and in silence. What he had overheard disturbed him. On one hand, it could seem minor, almost normal, to spare one's own men, but on the other, to betray the trust of allies in such a way… If BigJon found out, what would happen? They had already had too many examples of the Northern lords being undisciplined—though all fiercely loyal to House Stark—and the River lords being quarrelsome amongst themselves. What would happen if word spread that...

"Robb. You're here." The young man lifted his head. It was his mother who had spoken, her large blue eyes gazing at him.

"Yes, mother, I'm here. We need to make the final decisions."

"Are you truly sure of what you're doing? Mind you, I am willing to take on this diplomatic mission, but…"

"It's not just that. It's that I wouldn't trust anyone else to do it," said the King in the North to his mother, smiling.

Catelyn softened.

"I imagine other lords could do it. And perhaps it would be more credible if you went yourself. I'll accompany you if you want, but if you intend to seek Renly Baratheon's aid, it would be more effective if you approached him personally. King to King."

"Renly Baratheon is NOT a king," Robb responded, petulant. "At least not while his older brother Stannis is still alive. If Rickon cannot inherit Winterfell while I live, Renly cannot claim the Iron Throne while Stannis lives. In fact, my father wanted Stannis to succeed Robert once the truth came out. It was Stannis who sent ravens across the realm with the news that Joffrey and his siblings are bastards born of incest—and the Kingslayer, our prisoner, confirmed it without shame when I confronted him about it. If Renly had helped my father when he asked…"

A shadow of sadness crossed Catelyn's face. "The past is the past, Robb. If you want to ally with Renly to destroy the Lannisters—and I must admit, it was a brilliant idea, considering that both the Reach and the Stormlands have declared for him—you cannot approach him while refusing to call him KING, no matter how much of a mockery it may be. After all, I can see how, from an outsider's perspective, your situations might seem similar: even you, in theory, had no right to declare yourself King in the North and the Riverlands, or at least that's what everyone thinks in the southern lands."

"And that's why you should go, mother," Robb concluded, calmer. "You're far more suited to diplomacy than I am. I fear I'd say something stupid and ruin everything. But your intuition recently saved us from a great mistake, and I trust you can help us again. I'll be more useful here: a king who goes begging for the aid of others while leaving his men to fight his battles is no true king."

Catelyn resigned herself. If her son was resorting to flattery, there was no hope. At the same time, she appreciated the change she saw in him. The danger they had faced with Balon Greyjoy seemed to have taught him something.

"Don't worry, my lady," Greatjon Umber intervened. "We will provide a good escort."

"Thank you, Greatjon," Catelyn replied, "though the journey shouldn't be too long."

"Actually, my lady," Roose Bolton interjected dryly, "the journey may have just gotten longer: it seems Renly's troops are moving southeast."

Robb looked surprised. "And why is that?" he asked.

Brynden Tully strained his eyes and ears, sensing nothing good in that news.

"It seems Renly Baratheon has treated this war as little more than a game so far," Bolton commented with a mixture of disdain and derision. "His troops have gathered at Bitterbridge in the Reach, where they've been spending their time feasting, holding tournaments, and celebrating the marriage between the Young Stag and the Rose of Highgarden, Lady Margaery Tyrell."

"Tsk! Of course," the Blackfish retorted acidly. "With a hundred thousand swords at his command—three-quarters of which came as a dowry from that little rose—with the Lannisters engaged against us, and his elder brother abandoned by all, left alone with his ships, the boy must think he's already won without even fighting."

"But now you say they've moved. Why?" asked Robb.

"It seems Stannis Baratheon has decided to lay siege to Storm's End, defended by Courtney Penrose, the castellan Robert appointed when he gave the castle to his younger brother," Bolton informed, his tone as dry as ever.

"What in the world is Stannis thinking?" Brynden asked, incredulous. It was rare to see him rattled. "Laying siege to a fortress that has never fallen to anyone, with just a few thousand men? I thought he was a more capable commander. He should know—he himself defended Storm's End for a year during the Rebellion. He should turn his fleet toward King's Landing instead if he hopes to beat Renly to the throne. Of course, even if he took the Iron Throne first, he'd never be able to hold it."

"I don't care what Stannis does," Robb replied impatiently. "What concerns me now is Renly. If he moves his troops east to face his brother, he won't be able to move them north to help us against the Lannisters. Mother, we'll have to accelerate the plans. You'll depart immediately, hoping to reach him in time."

"Very well."

"In the meantime, our plan will proceed as expected." Robb cast his gaze in a semicircle, ensuring everyone understood. "My uncle Edmure will remain here with the River lords, and everyone will play their part. I intend to repay Tywin Lannister in kind. We will raid and burn the Westerlands just as he has done to the Riverlands, until he is forced to leave the walls of Harrenhal to pursue us. At that point, it is imperative that, while putting up some resistance for show, you let him pass. That way, he'll come to meet us, convinced he can defeat us, and at the right moment… you'll strike him from behind, and we'll finish him once and for all. With a bit of luck, it'll all be over regardless of what Renly and Stannis decide to do."

"It's a brilliant plan," Brynden acknowledged. "Will you personally go to the Westerlands, Robb? And who will you take with you?"

Robb hesitated for a moment. "I… haven't decided yet."

He looked at his main generals.

At first, he had thought of bringing Greatjon, as he was the most devoted to him, and they had often fought together. But… after what he had heard about Roose Bolton earlier that afternoon… could he trust leaving him behind in command where he couldn't watch him?

His thoughts were interrupted by the muttering of his uncle Edmure. He didn't seem convinced.

"Tch… but it won't be easy convincing the River lords to let Tywin Lannister pass without fighting, after everything he's done to our lands. I fear some units might be difficult to control."

Robb looked at his uncle in surprise. Again? The assembled lords were still not showing the necessary cohesion. Yet he knew he couldn't bring Grey Wind to every meeting to scare them into submission as he had done before.

He quickly surveyed everyone, then looked at his mother. He had an idea.

"We'll do this," he announced solemnly. "Coming west with me will be two of our most experienced commanders with the largest forces: Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton."

Greatjon gave his king a wounded look. He had been convinced the choice would fall on him.

"If what my uncle says is correct," Robb continued, "it's better that Brynden stay by his side instead of coming with me as I had thought, to help him maintain an iron discipline over the troops and the River lords. We cannot afford to waste this opportunity."

"My mother will depart with a larger escort than originally planned: Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont will join the others. You are in my Chosen Guard, and you will protect my mother as if she were me. If Renly's troops are already on the move and farther away than expected, I prefer to err on the side of caution."

Smalljon and Dacey also seemed surprised; they had expected to stay and fight alongside Robb, with whom they were very close friends, as always. But they knelt and swore to protect Lady Catelyn with their lives.

"And finally," Robb turned his gaze to Greatjon, "Lord Umber will remain here in the Riverlands with a small select cavalry unit—you may choose the men you prefer from the forces of any lord—with the task of covering our departure and doing what Roose Bolton has failed to do recently: hunt down Lannister scouts, Vargo Hoat's mercenaries, and the gang of murderous beasts commanded by the Mountain that Rides, who continue to harass the people of these lands and make our supply lines difficult. If, in the meantime, you manage to intercept these new outlaws… the Brotherhood Without Banners, these deserters hanging our men to trees, all the better."

Then—he added, turning to his mother, Dacey, and Smalljon—by staying behind, he'll be the one to welcome you when you return from your mission and guide you safely back to Riverrun. You might even have time to join us for the celebration."

The eyes of all those present brightened.

Robb approached Greatjon, placed a hand on his arm, and looked him in the eye, saying, "I trust you completely, Greatjon. Don't let me down."

The giant man replied warmly, "Of course, my King."

Catelyn smiled. She hadn't missed how her son had changed his mind, for some reason, about which generals to bring with him. He had managed to switch Umber with Bolton without either feeling offended. On one hand, Roose couldn't complain about the honor given to him, but Robb had highlighted how Greatjon was replacing him to correct his previous failure on an important mission. This softened the blow, and the prospect of seeing his son again and the honor of protecting her upon her return had sweetened the deal for Greatjon.

Brynden must have thought the same. You could almost see a shadow of a smile on his severe face.

"Then, my great-nephew," the Blackfish began, "if it's all the same to you, we'll keep Theon here."

"I thought you didn't like Theon," Robb remarked.

"True, but he doesn't need to be likable—we just need to work together. The other day, his insight was useful... and I must admit he's a skilled archer. We have a strong tradition of archers in the Riverlands. I'll have him train our archery units, which we'll use to harass the Lannisters when they leave our lands."

Catelyn didn't miss the subtext: and it will also distract him from his depression, but the Blackfish would never admit to such a kind gesture.

"Very well. Any news from King's Landing?"

"Not good, sire," Robett Glover replied sadly. "Queen Cersei has refused to return your sisters in exchange for Kevan's children."

Robb had expected this, but his enthusiasm still dimmed. For Catelyn, it was far worse.

"I... I figured as much. Very well, that's all. You have your orders; I want each of you to prepare your men for departure."

As his mother passed him to leave the tent, he lightly touched her arm with his hand and said, "We'll bring them home, Mother. You'll see."

Catelyn seemed to look beyond him. With a gaze far from convinced, she said, "Of course, Robb, I know," and left the tent.

Robb shuddered. He knew what his mother would propose: to try and exchange Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, for Sansa and Arya. But as much as he loved his sisters, he knew his lords would never let him do such a thing.

As he mulled over this, Brynden slipped through the crowd of lords swarming out, leaned close to Robb's ear, and whispered, "You're right to bring Karstark to the Westerlands. He's a mad dog, perfect for the mission you're undertaking. And besides, the distance will distract him from... certain temptations."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's been deeply upset ever since Jaime Lannister killed his two sons. I've caught him more than once staring at the Kingslayer's cage with a threatening look... I wouldn't want him to be getting any ideas…"

Robb was shocked.

He wouldn't dare…

Wouldn't he, though? Old Rickard Karstark seemed unpredictable. Gods, what am I getting into? With allies like these, who needs enemies?

"Triple the guard on the Kingslayer. No one approaches unless it's to feed him."

"Aye, we can do that, but I have another suggestion. Since you're going straight into the lion's den, and you'll need to move fast... it would be unwise to take him with you. If an enemy unit attacked the men guarding him and freed him, especially in his own homeland... it would be disastrous. Trust me, nephew. Leave him here. We'll keep him locked in the dungeons of Riverrun. Here, no one will even try to free him, and no one will dare harm him, knowing they'll answer to ME."

Robb considered the idea. "Yes, Uncle, we'll do it that way."

As Yara Greyjoy sailed her ship through the waters of the Bay of Seals, just past Flint's Finger, she was consumed by dark thoughts, though she didn't know why.

Was it because she was worried about the boldness of her uncle, Victarion Greyjoy, who sailed arrogantly at the head of their fleet, unconcerned with the possibility of being discovered?

No, it wasn't that. Or rather, not only that. In some ways, yes, but it was mostly something else.

Maybe because she recognized that the venture they were embarking on was pointless?

A war of revenge? But what is there to steal from the North?

Compared to Lannisport or the Shield Islands, any spoils taken at Deepwood Motte would be meager.

Maybe she agreed with the Young Wolf? Perhaps she thought they should help him in his war to secure their independence?

Maybe…

Yet, she kept thinking of the hangdog look on her brother Theon's face.

In truth, he was... hurt. As if he hadn't expected it, as if he considered the rejection an injustice, a betrayal.

To hell with it—she shook herself out of it—I can't worry about that idiot. I haven't seen him since we were children, after all.

Bran Stark was sleeping in his large bed covered in fur. With Robb away in the South for the war, it fell to him to be the Lord of Winterfell.

Yet, the Lord's sleep was plagued by strange dreams.

By morning, he couldn't remember them anymore, except for one unsettling detail.

For some reason, during the day, he was convinced that everything was connected to the other dreams he'd had during his coma, after the fall, and the ones he'd had since.

During the coma, he had dreamt of his mother sailing the Narrow Sea and staring at a bloodstained dagger. Later, they told him that someone had tried to kill him with that very dagger, and that Summer had saved him, while his mother had secretly gone South to investigate.

Then, at the Trident, he had seen his father pleading with the King, Sansa crying desperately, and Arya keeping her secrets. And again, they had told him of the incident with Joffrey and Nymeria, and how poor Lady had paid the price.

All things that had really happened, while he slept. How could he have known about them?

And then there was the last part. The shadows looming over his family... one dark as ash with the face of a hound, another a knight in golden armor, handsome as the sun, and the last, the strangest, a giant in stone armor with nothing but darkness and black blood behind the visor of its helmet...

Was that real, too? A premonition? And if so, did it have something to do with the other dreams he'd had after waking up? He dreamt of being Summer and going hunting. Did it happen because he couldn't stand being crippled?

And the last one... for some reason, it seemed more vivid, more real.

A three-eyed crow. Calling out to him.

Catelyn Stark prepared to depart on her mission. She was comforted by the fact that, in addition to Wendel Manderly, she had Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont as bodyguards and traveling companions. But she couldn't shake the dark thoughts that had plagued her since hearing of the rejected offer.

How long had it been since she had seen her girls? So long, too long.

All she could do was hope that wherever they were, they were safe. Sansa had spent her childhood dreaming of knights and ladies. She could only hope that even in King's Landing, there was at least one knight noble enough to protect her.

Sansa was uneasy as she rode slowly beside her betrothed, Joffrey, surrounded by members of the Kingsguard: Mandon Moore on her left, the Hound on her right, and several others ahead and behind.

It wasn't just the discomfort of being a hostage, surrounded by killers who called themselves knights, or the need to pretend she was happy next to that golden-haired monster who was still her betrothed.

No, the thing was, despite everything, the people didn't seem, strangely, neither excited, nor afraid, nor indifferent. They moved aside as they passed, like blades of grass shifting in a breeze, but there was something subtly wrong about the way they did it. Their eyes were fixed, cold, and yet there was a controlled tension in the air, an almost unnatural silence.

Sansa had learned to sense danger in the too-short time she had spent training Lady. It was a kind of instinct.

Suddenly, a woman appeared in front of Joffrey, holding a dead child in her arms. She screamed something at him about the famine caused by the war. Joffrey was irritated, and his horse nearly reared up. Sansa feared it would trample her.

Someone threw dung. Sansa couldn't tell who it was or where it had come from, but it seemed to come… from above? From the right?

Joffrey was hit in the face, but a splatter landed on her leg.

In that moment, as if at a prearranged signal, all hell broke loose.

The crowd, from all directions, began throwing stones at the soldiers. The procession halted, the horses reared. Some of the soldiers, like the Hound, dismounted to control the horses better, avoiding being thrown off.

Hundreds of hands reached out, clawed, hungry.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw people from the procession, Kingsguard knights, even the High Septon, being dragged away.

And then the same thing happened to her.

At first, she didn't understand. Mandon Moore had been on her left, but he had rushed forward to protect Joffrey, slashing hands and arms of those who got too close.

Sansa screamed as she was dragged away by a dozen people at once.

And then someone came.

A warrior in dark armor approached with long strides, swinging his sword two, three, four times around her.

She heard cries of pain, saw blood splattering. And then, around her, there was emptiness once again.

She looked up, trembling.

The Hound was looking down at her. From inside his dog-shaped helm, his burned face was terrifying as he panted, his eyes fierce. And yet...

"Come with me, Little Bird, if you want to stay alive."

Author's Note

Here is the second chapter. I'm going slower than I thought because I can't find the time to write.

However, I have planned the entire fanfiction and also the subsequent ones, which will progress the story in a new direction.

It is a chapter of transition, but all these small details, the orders, the divisions of power, are necessary to show the changes taking place, as well as giving a "political" imprint to the whole story.

At this point, many of the necessary changes have already occurred: in practice, in addition to not having sent Theon to Pyke, the past week to organize the meeting has moved the entire chronology of the story forward.

It is because a week has passed that Robb has not immediately left for the lands of the West, and has explained his plan to his generals (including Edmure), thus preventing them from doing as they wish.

And it is for the same reason that Catelyn does not meet Renly during the tournament, but later, when he has already left to meet Stannis. This will have a small consequence, which you will see, halfway between the continuity of the book and that of the series...

For now, and for a chapter or two more, the story will proceed more or less as in the original, but very soon we will see changes taking place, a consequence of these preparatory acts.

Don't miss the next chapters, because not only you might be satisfied with them, but because I will try to write everything in the most realistic and sensible way possible: I won't make a fanfiction where "things go the way I want, however implausible", but where I imagine a plausible and sensible way to make them go satisfactorily.