Roslin III
Roslin followed closely behind Robb, her steps hurried to match his as they made their way to the tent where his war council was convened. The chill of the night air bit at her skin, and she clutched her dressing gown tightly around her, the thin fabric of her nightdress offering little protection against the cold.
"You can stay," Robb had reassured her as they left the warmth of their own tent.
"I am your wife," Roslin replied softly, slipping her hand into his, her fingers trembling slightly from the cold. "My place is by your side."
Lord Karstark strode ahead of them with determination, his long strides forcing the young couple to quicken their pace to keep up. His tension was palpable, and it seemed to ripple through the air as they neared the council tent. When they finally entered, they found a group of northern lords already gathered, all of them looking dishevelled and bleary-eyed, clearly roused from sleep to attend this meeting.
Roslin quickly realised she was the only woman present, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the assembled lords. She could feel their curious glances, some subtle, others more direct, as they took in her presence among them.
As Robb and Roslin took their places at the head of the council table, a murmur of "my lord" and other greetings rippled through the tent. Roslin instinctively stepped back, allowing Robb to command the attention of his assembled lords.
"My Lords," Robb began, his voice cutting through the quiet, "I apologise for rousing you from your sleep after a hard day's ride, but word has come from King's Landing."
A wave of whispers swept through the room as the lords exchanged anxious glances, their low voices blending into a chorus of concern.
"King Joffrey has asked that I continue to King's Landing alone," Robb announced, his tone steady but tinged with the weight of the news.
The murmurs erupted into a cacophony of shouts, the lords' outrage spilling over into the small space. "You can't, my Lord!" one cried. "They'll kill your father—and you too!" another warned. "We'll crush the Lannister scum!" bellowed a third, their voices rising in a fierce, rumbling uproar.
"My Lords! I understand everyone feels very strongly about this campaign, but let's not rush into a decision without all of the information," Robb commanded, his voice rising as he slammed his fists on the table, demanding the full attention of the room. The lords fell silent, their eyes fixed on him as he continued. "The King has written to me himself," he announced, holding a letter aloft for all to see. "His uncles, the Lords Stannis and Renly, have both declared themselves as king in their own right, and King Joffrey fears that the arrival of a large host such as ours in King's Landing would incite conflict."
"It should!" Lord Karstark interrupted, his voice filled with defiance. "Let us join with Stannis or Renly! Once they've slain that bastard boy king and claimed the throne, they can free your father and sisters."
Robb snapped his head toward Karstark, his eyes narrowing as he addressed him directly. "And tell me, Lord Karstark, do you think my father and sisters would live to see that victory? If I declare for either of Joffrey's uncles, do you think my father would see another sunrise? Or that my sisters would see another moment of freedom?"
Karstark's response was swift and unyielding. "I would rather your father be dead than swear to that cunt, and I'm sure he would want the same."
"Lord Karstark!" Robb thundered, his voice filling the tent with a fierce authority. "I remind you of your position on this council. As long as my father remains imprisoned, I speak for this council, for House Stark, and for the entirety of the North. Unless," he added, his tone dripping with mockery as he stepped aside, gesturing toward his place at the head of the table, "you would take my place."
"You'd better be careful, boy. You're not my Lord yet. That's still your father, and it's him and your mother I fight for, not you and your pretty little wife," Karstark retorted, his voice steady and defiant as he shot a poisonous look at Roslin.
Robb's eyes narrowed as he began to slowly move away from the table, moving toward Karstark with deliberate steps. Grey Wind, his direwolf, followed close behind, his teeth bared in a low, menacing snarl. "And what do you think happens to you when I become Lord of Winterfell, Karstark?" Robb asked, his tone laced with sarcasm as he closed the distance between them. "Do I welcome you at my table? Offer you my bread and wine? With all your wisdom, surely you must have an answer for how I deal with insubordinate lords. Please, my lord, teach me, for I am only a boy." he added, the word 'boy' almost spat from his lips as he leaned in.
Karstark remained silent, his eyes scanning the room in a desperate search for support. But the other lords remained still, their faces impassive, offering no aid. His silence stretched on, and with a sharp turn, he exited the tent without another word.
Theon, ever watchful, began to move, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword as he prepared to follow. But Robb's voice, now calm and composed, halted him. "Leave him, Theon. He may be stubborn, but he's not stupid," Robb said, returning to his place beside Roslin.
"As I was saying," Robb continued, his voice firm and measured, "Joffrey is still open to negotiation regarding my father and the girls, but he has commanded that the Northern forces remain at Harrenhal and advance no further south. From there, Lady Roslin, myself, and a small garrison of no more than thirty men will proceed to King's Landing."
Lord Bolton, his expression unreadable, spoke up with a question. "My Lord, Gregor Clegane has already made camp in Harrenhal."
"Yes, and you're to join him," Robb replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Harrenhal is half-a-day's march. Our forces will stay there before we continue the journey. Lord Bolton, I am entrusting my command to you in my absence. You will also serve as my mother's guardian. She won't understand why, but I cannot bring her with me. She would be too volatile in the presence of Cersei and Joffrey when we need to do everything we can to appease them."
Lord Bolton nodded his acceptance, his eyes briefly meeting Robb's in a silent exchange of understanding. Robb then took Roslin's hand, gently pulling her forward to stand beside him at the head of the table. He looked around at the assembled lords, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
"I understand this is a risk," Robb continued, his voice steady yet tinged with the gravity of their situation, "but what choice do we have? If we go to war against Joffrey, we will almost certainly lose my father. And we would be starting a war that we cannot win. How does it end? With all of us dead? Or do we put me on the Iron Throne?" Robb almost chuckled at the idea. "I ask you, my lords, is that what you want? Is that even possible? Or do we appease the Lannisters and go home? We can leave the Southerners to their politics and their games. You may want war and vengeance, but think of your people, your families back in the North—starving and cold because their father, their husband, their brother decided a pointless war was worth more than living."
As Robb finished speaking, a heavy silence fell over the room. The lords, usually so vocal, were struck speechless by the harsh reality of his words. Roslin, standing at his side, looked up at him with awe in her eyes. She squeezed his hand tightly, hoping to convey the pride she felt swelling in her chest.
"We're with you, my Lord," Lord Umber declared, his voice resonating with unwavering loyalty as he unsheathed his sword and dropped to one knee.
"For your father," echoed Lord Bolton, following Umber's lead as he knelt, his face set with grim determination.
Theon Greyjoy, standing nearby, looked at Robb with a serious expression before asking, "Am I your brother?"
"Always," Robb replied, placing a firm hand on Theon's shoulder, his gaze steady.
A small smile tugged at Theon's lips. "Then there's nowhere I'd rather be," he said with a chuckle, before dropping to his knee beside the others.
One by one, the remaining lords followed suit, their swords glinting in the dim light as they knelt in allegiance. Robb turned to Roslin, his expression softening as he addressed her. "I know I didn't ask you before possibly putting you in danger. If you wish, you can stay with my mother at Harrenhal."
Roslin glanced down at the ring on her finger, her thumb gently tracing its edges. Then, lifting her eyes to meet Robb's, she spoke softly but with unwavering resolve. "I go where you go. I will follow wherever you lead."
Robb's eyes softened with affection as he pressed a quick kiss to her ring. As he did, Roslin tenderly cupped the back of his head, leaning in to whisper in a voice meant only for him, "My wolf."
"Please rise, my lords," Robb said, his voice carrying authority as he turned back to the assembled men. The lords rose, their swords still in hand, as they looked to him for further instruction. Robb's gaze shifted to Theon Greyjoy, a warmth in his eyes. "Theon, you may not be my brother by blood, but you are my brother in every way that matters. I'm asking you to represent my house and visit your father. Gather as many men as you can and take them to the North—it has been unprotected for far too long."
"Of course, my Lord," Theon replied, his voice steady with determination. He stepped forward, clasping hands with Robb in a firm, brotherly embrace. The bond between them was clear.
"Go now and prepare to depart at early light," Robb instructed, stepping back from Theon. "Take a few men to accompany you."
Theon nodded, his expression resolute as he dipped his head to Robb in acknowledgement. "M'lady," he murmured quietly to Roslin as he passed, his voice respectful. Roslin offered a gentle nod in return, her eyes following him as he exited the tent.
As Theon left, he passed by Catelyn Stark, who had just entered the tent. Her face was pale, her hair slightly dishevelled and she was dressed in a similar to Roslin. She stood silently at the back of the tent, her presence quiet but powerful.
Robb turned his attention back to the remaining lords. "Lord Bolton, Lord Umber, Lord Hornwood, get some rest and then prepare your men to march at first light," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
The lords each gave their respects as they departed, nodding to Robb, his wife, and his mother before they exited the tent.
The three of them remained in tense silence after the lords had departed, waiting until they were sure no one could overhear their conversation.
"Is something happening?" Catelyn asked sharply, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinised her son.
"Nothing you need to be concerned with, Mother," Robb replied, his tone evasive as he turned to leave the tent.
But Catelyn was quicker, stopping him with a firm hand pressed against his chest. "Since when am I no longer concerned by matters discussed by your council?" she demanded, her voice laced with frustration. Robb said nothing, his gaze fixed straight ahead as his mother searched his face for answers. After a few tense moments, Catelyn withdrew her hand, her expression hardening as she composed herself. She turned to Roslin, her voice now calmer but no less commanding. "Dear, would you please excuse us for a few moments?"
Roslin hesitated but knew she had to comply and she quickly began to move towards the entrance, before she could however Robb caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm. "She will do no such thing, Mother. She is my wife, and anything you can say to me, you can say to her."
Catelyn's eyes flashed with impatience. "This is not a game, Robb, and you are no longer a child," she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. "There are lives at stake here—not just your father's and your sisters', but every single man in that camp. They are all looking to you." Her words were punctuated by a single finger pressed firmly against his chest.
Roslin, taken aback by Catelyn's intensity, instinctively moved behind Robb, seeking some distance from the sudden outburst. She had never seen Catelyn react with such force, and the fierceness of her good mother's words left her unsettled.
"At first light, we will move toward Harrenhal," Robb conceded his voice firm but tinged with a trace of reluctance. "You and Lord Bolton will remain there with the majority of our forces, while Roslin and I, along with a few good men, will continue to King's Landing."
Catelyn stared at him in disbelief, her voice rising with anger. "You cannot expect me to stay behind while you petition for my husband's life, for my daughters' lives."
Robb turned to face her, his expression hardening. He was no longer the boy she once guided, but a man shouldering the weight of the North. "And tell me, Mother, what will you do if they say no?" he challenged, his voice steady and resolute. "What if Cersei looks you in the eyes and says you can have Sansa but not Arya? Who would you choose?"
Catelyn's anger crumbled beneath the weight of his words, and instead of a retort, she collapsed into tears, her legs giving way as despair overtook her. Robb moved swiftly, catching her before she could fall, and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I will get them back, Mother—all of them. But you must trust me, and you must stay away," he whispered softly, his words a soothing balm to her grief.
They remained locked in that embrace for several long minutes, until Catelyn's sobs subsided and she regained enough strength to stand again, aided by Roslin's gentle support. Robb held his mother's hands, his touch both reassuring and firm. "Get some sleep, Mother, or at least try to," he urged, his voice filled with concern.
Turning to Roslin, he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "Go to bed. I'll be with you shortly," he murmured, his tone softening as he spoke to her. With that, he stepped out into the cold night.
Roslin prepared to follow, pausing only to offer a polite curtsey to Catelyn. But before she could leave, Catelyn's voice, choked with emotion, stopped her. "Roslin, I beg you, bring them home," she pleaded through her tears.
Roslin turned back, her heart aching for the woman before her. She gave Catelyn a kind and wholehearted nod, her eyes filled with quiet determination. Then, with a final glance, she left Catelyn alone to her grief and devastation.