Chapter 8: Nothing Ever Goes According to the Plan
Arya leaned out from the bush, careful not to draw too much attention: from where she was, she could easily see the small group of bandits advancing slowly. Their shabby, thin nags and the faded, torn blue Tully uniforms on their deserter bodies marked them clearly. Once she had confirmed the direction they were heading, she leapt in the opposite direction and began running confidently through a series of forest trails—little-known paths she had mastered over the past weeks.
As always, carrying out these kinds of tasks made her feel alive, exhilarated, and free—far more than she ever had pretending to be a Lady at home, second only to when she trained with Syrio Forel.
She quickly reached one of the Brotherhood's camps hidden deep in the forest. Lem Lemoncloak was waiting for her.
"Hey, Squabble, what's the rush? Did you spot a Lannister convoy full of gold?"
Arya ignored his sarcasm. "Those Tully deserters we've been hunting these past days...the ones who looted the inn and killed the widow and her children...they're only a few minutes from here, heading west through the woods."
Lem stood up. "You heard her, lads! There's work to be done."
Half an hour later, the eight deserters were surrounded and captured. Only two of them, having resisted more than the others, were killed in the scuffle. The remaining six were being tied up, despite their protests of being regular soldiers. The Brotherhood members were already tightening nooses around their necks and passing the ropes over tree branches.
Arya stood aside, but she stared them straight in the eyes. She didn't want to forget. Just as she hadn't forgotten when they found the bodies of the innkeeper, the widow, and her children.
As they made their way back to the cave—the Brotherhood's main hideout—Lem complimented "Squabble," as they knew her.
"You're getting better and better, kid. We can really count on you for these jobs."
"Don't call me kid," Arya snapped, annoyed. "I'm already twelve."
"Lucky for us you're only twelve. You're small enough not to be noticed, quick on your feet, and you move without making a sound. Oh, and you're getting pretty good at pretending to be someone else. Last month, when we were investigating those other inns—the one where the innkeeper poisoned customers to rob them and served their meat to others—if I recall correctly, you once played the part of poor Thoros's daughter, pretending he was blind…and another time, you pretended to be blind yourself, right? You've got talent."
Arya accepted the compliment, pleased. She was happy to be useful. But she was even happier to see her friends again.
Inside the cave, Gendry ran to meet her, excited. Thankfully, he remembered to call her Squabble.
"Look what I made!" he showed her. "A new mail coat, patched together from three broken ones."
"Well done, Gendry," said Beric Dondarrion as he approached. "Meeting you was truly a stroke of luck. All of you, really, but your skills are exceptionally rare. You've more than earned your knighthood."
"What?" Arya squeaked. "Gendry's a knight?"
The boy puffed up with pride and swelled his chest. "Yes, just the other day," he declared, lifting his personal warhammer, which he had crafted when he thought he'd join the Watch. "Lord Beric deemed me worthy, and I'll never thank him enough. Who knows, when this war is over, I might even become someone important."
Arya looked displeased and didn't know why. It was true—she had heard that in the Brotherhood, nearly everyone was a knight, using the ancient rule that one knight could anoint another. Thoros and Beric had a certain disdain for traditional knighthood, all pomp and no substance, and believed their companions, fighting to protect the common folk, deserved the honor more than any man in the Seven Kingdoms.
Maybe it's because I can't become one, that I'm angry?
"I wish you all the best, lad," Beric continued, "and I hope you can one day serve Lord Stannis Baratheon, our one true King." At those words, a hurrah rose from the men in the cave. "The rightful heir of Robert, whose kingdom we are protecting."
Arya clenched her teeth. Since she had learned Robb had defeated Tywin, she had been looking for a way to escape and reunite with him. But although her new companions trusted her and she had learned useful skills among them, they still kept her under close watch. Still, there had to be a way…
At that moment, Tom Sevenstrings spoke up. "Speaking of which, have you heard the news? The armies are on the move. It seems the Young Wolf is heading to Harrenhal with his troops."
"So, he has decided to surrender to Lord Stannis," Thoros proclaimed, "the rightful King and chosen of R'hllor, the Lord of Light."
"Or he has decided to face him in battle," Beric speculated, "in which case, though I sympathize with the boy and had great respect for his father, I hope our lord will prevail. Only then can we emerge from the shadows and declare for him."
Arya trembled.
I was right not to reveal my true identity. Absolutely right. They would have sold me to Stannis. Used me as a hostage against my brother. Just like…Sansa was held hostage by Joffrey.
I need to escape. Find a way, no matter how. Every second that passes, they risk discovering the truth.
Then she paused. It had been months since she thought about her sister.
Sansa…wherever she is, I hope she's all right.
Sansa, Petyr, and their escort halted their long ride to give the horses a break. The sight before them was magnificent. A mile away, nestled in the valley amid ice sparkling on the peaks, stood the Eyrie.
"We're here…finally."
The past weeks had not been easy. Baelish had explained that they couldn't take the other route overland because Stannis's troops were guarding the area between the Riverlands and the Crownlands.
When they landed at Gulltown, they received news of Robb's victory over the Lannisters, which had left Baelish rather surprised.
Later, halfway to the Eyrie (a considerable distance from Gulltown), a messenger—who must have nearly killed the two relay horses to reach them—brought Sansa the news of Joffrey and Cersei's deaths at Stannis's hands.
She had been relieved, even radiant at the news, with only two regrets: she hated Joffrey so much she wished she could have witnessed his execution herself…and it would have been even better if Robb had killed him.
At one point, Petyr turned to her with a grave expression.
"Sansa, my dear, before we take the final stretch of this journey, I need to tell you something important."
"What is it? At this point, the hard part is over, isn't it? We've reached my aunt Lysa; Robb has won, the Lannisters have lost, and the rightful heir of Robert Baratheon sits on the Iron Throne."
Petyr gave her one of his syrupy smiles at that statement. How naive.
"Alas, dear Sansa, it's not that simple. But first, to help you understand the matter better, let me ask you a couple of questions. First, have you ever met your Aunt Lysa in person?"
"N-no."
"Second: have you ever heard people talk about her at court? And in what terms? Answer honestly."
Sansa hesitated for a moment. She understood where Petyr was heading but didn't want to say it out loud, lest her hopes crumble.
"I've heard about her... from Tyrion Lannister. He said... that when he was her prisoner, brought there by my mother... Lady Lysa seemed mad. That... that she was still breastfeeding her son Robert even though he was eight... and that she wanted to throw Tyrion out the Moon Door without a trial..."
Baelish nodded understandingly.
"And now tell me: did your Aunt Lysa, despite suspecting the Lannisters had poisoned her husband, ever declare for your brother Robb?"
"No... she stayed neutral."
"Final question: what did Stannis' letter say, the one brought to us by that messenger? I don't mean the part about Joffrey and Cersei; I mean the conclusion."
"It said... it said that anyone who does not recognize his authority over the Iron Throne... will burn like Joffrey."
Petyr remained silent, smiling, letting Sansa draw her own conclusions.
"Oh, come on!" the girl protested. "Are you trying to tell me that Robb and Stannis will now go to war? Just because my brother was proclaimed King in the North?"
"I'm not saying it's certain, but it's highly likely. Alternatively, Robb would have to kneel to Stannis and renounce his crown. Trust me, Stannis Baratheon is not a man to easily give up half his kingdom."
"And in that case... what does this have to do with Lysa Arryn? Are you saying she'll remain neutral, as she has so far?"
"Who knows? She might declare for one of them, but staying neutral is the more likely outcome. After all, she had more reason to go to war earlier: she only had to face the Lannisters, whom she hated for allegedly killing her husband, and I know for certain her bannermen urged her to act. If she didn't join Robb's war then, I don't see why she would now. She has no grievance with Stannis, and he commands an even larger army, increasing the risks."
"But... then what does that change for us? Aren't we still going to seek her refuge?"
"My dear Sansa," said Petyr, placing his hands on her shoulders, "for me, it changes very little. For you, perhaps, it changes everything.
Think about it this way. I'm going to Lysa because I've always had a fondness for her, and she for me, ever since we were children. Now that I'm Lord of Harrenhal, our social standings aren't too far apart.
However, your aunt is obsessively attached to her son: she fears losing him, especially after her husband was murdered. The poor woman sees enemies everywhere. Imagine now, with Stannis threatening to burn traitors alive: out of fear, she'll stay holed up in the Eyrie until the war ends.
But suppose Robb and Stannis clash: if Robb wins, you'll reunite with your family, and we'll all live happily ever after.
But what happens if, instead, Stannis wins?"
Sansa was silent for a long moment, her mouth slightly open.
"You mean... you mean my Aunt Lysa would sell me to him? As the sister of a traitor? Trade me to secure her safety?"
"Exactly, my dear. I'd say that's quite possible."
"But... but that's absurd. Then why... why did we come here? I thought the goal was to be safe."
"My dear Sansa, you can't keep running forever. In a sense, nowhere is truly safe. Not for Sansa Stark, at least."
"What do you mean?"
"That you must never take anything for granted. When you face a problem, play a game: always assume the worst in every situation. Imagine two possible outcomes, even if they're completely opposite, and then develop solutions for each scenario. Don't be at the mercy of events; try to control them if you can, or at least avoid being caught off guard by the unexpected.
Let's assume the Vale is, in any case, the safest place for now, yes? Because the war hasn't reached here, and the mountains make it impenetrable. Now, there are three possible scenarios.
Option one is that the two kings don't fight. Good.
Option two is that they do fight, and Robb wins. Even better.
But what happens if option three comes to pass? That Robb loses? You can't throw yourself into the arms of someone who would sell you out. So what's the solution?"
"I... I don't know."
"That you must prevent her from doing so. You must neutralize the advantage she would gain from it.
You have value as Sansa Stark.
What would happen if instead, you presented yourself to Lady Lysa under a different name, with a different appearance? She'd have no use for you... and you'd face no risk.
In this bag is some hair dye. Dark, though it's a shame to cover the Tully red.
At King's Landing, you learned to act marvelously, my dear. Pretending to be a docile, submissive prisoner, repentant of her brother's transgressions.
Starting tomorrow, you'll play a part both simpler and yet harder at the same time. You'll be Alayne Stone... my bastard daughter."
Robb rode at the head of the column, heading toward the lake of the Gods Eye.
It was south of that lake that the meeting would take place. His armies followed a few days' march behind, and he was certain Stannis Baratheon was doing the same.
Gods, please let another war not begin. I truly want to bring my men back to the North, safe and sound. We've been away for too long, especially with the latest news.
Just before they departed, a raven had arrived from Castle Black. Along with new, troubling reports about the Others, it stated that Commander Jeor Mormont had gone beyond the Wall with three hundred men (including Jon) to investigate—only for most of the group to be wiped out in an attack, reportedly by an army of the undead. The Commander had survived, only to be killed in a mutiny by his own men!
However, even that wasn't the most immediate concern. Rangers who had returned to the Night's Watch reported that tens of thousands of wildlings were marching toward the Wall, determined to cross.
I shouldn't be here. I should be in the North, protecting my people. Making sure to drive back those damned Ironborn, then fighting alongside Jon…damn it, Jon…there was no further news about him. I hope he's alright.
Dacey Mormont, usually as solid as a rock, had been moved to tears by the news of her grandfather's death. But surely, she was also thinking of her mother and sisters on Bear Island.
And surely my mother was thinking of Bran and Rickon, alone at Winterfell. It's one of the safest strongholds in the Seven Kingdoms, but…
"Hey, Robb. What's with the long face? Alright, we're not going to meet a pretty girl, but still…"
It was Theon. Recently, they'd had less time to see each other, but Theon's mood had improved considerably. As commander of the archers, he had distinguished himself in battle, earning the respect of the Riverlands men and even Brynden the Blackfish—a rare feat for an Ironborn.
"I'm thinking we shouldn't be here, Theon. This isn't the battle that truly matters."
"Are you sure about that, Robb? Because, you know, maybe not. But…what if Stannis decides to stop us from returning North without first licking his boots? At that very moment, THIS would become the battle that truly matters…because if you don't win this one, you'll never face the other."
Robb was momentarily taken aback. He hadn't seen it that way.
"You might be right. But what would it mean to return victorious only to discover we've lost everything we wanted to protect?"
"You know, Robb, your greatest strength is also a major flaw. You're brilliant, you make bold decisions, take risky bets, and win…but that leads you to decide everything on your own. And yet, you're not alone.
And if I'm not mistaken, a couple of times recently, including with the alliance with my father, you've learned it's good to listen to others. You have many capable people under your command, Robb. You should trust them more. Everyone has their role to play."
Yara Greyjoy was cursing the Starks. She was cursing her father for sending them to the North. She was cursing her uncle Victarion for luring them into a damned trap, and she was probably cursing the Drowned God himself.
On paper, Victarion Greyjoy's plan was good, even brilliant: since the Ironborn ships couldn't land by surprise on the three main rivers of the North, they had to change strategy. Abandon the ships, hide them under foliage, then proceed on foot in small groups.
Barrowton had been sacked and burned, but it had been evacuated beforehand, leaving little to take.
Then, marching from three directions—one group from each river—they would regroup at the last moment and attack Thorren Square from three sides to seize it. Stay put for a few weeks to recover and gather loot, then abandon the town as Northern reinforcements arrived.
At that point, they could perform a diversion: feign heading north toward Deepwood Motte but instead cut through the Wolfswood to the south, slipping past their pursuers…and attack Cerwyn—or even Winterfell itself. Why not?
To Yara, it had seemed like a good plan, except for the part about attacking Winterfell. Sure, there would be much more to loot there, and even two Stark boys to take hostage and ransom for a fortune, but she was convinced a few thousand men could never take a fortress that had stood for eight thousand years…especially without proper siege weapons, with limited supplies, and the need to keep moving to evade pursuers.
And yet, it had all gone to hell.
They had taken Thorren Square, but only a couple of days later, they were attacked by several hundred cavalrymen led by Winterfell's master-at-arms, Rodrik Cassel, himself.
According to their intelligence, Cassel was supposed to be far to the east, handling other matters, but he had fallen upon them like a vengeful storm.
Yara wondered how it was possible.
It must've been the crippled boy now ruling Winterfell…Bran, I think his name is…damned child…how did he figure out our plans?
Victarion had been prepared to fight to the death and had tried to attack Cassel himself, but his men were being massacred by the heavy cavalry and were forced to retreat.
Having regrouped and now caught in the open, it was easier for their enemies to confront them. The salt warriors couldn't exploit either their preferred terrain—the sea—or the element of surprise.
Still, many managed to descend the lake to recover their ships hidden at the river's mouth—only to find their enemies waiting.
At least half the ships had been discovered and set ablaze.
While the Ironborn frantically worked to extinguish the fires and launch the surviving vessels, they heard not only the ominous sound of horses' hooves behind them but another sound as well.
It was the war cry of the Northern irregulars who had been harassing them thus far, attacking from the southeast and trapping them between two forces.
The most troublesome, of course, were the Crannogmen, whose poisoned arrows cut down foes like wheat.
Victarion Greyjoy was swinging his sword furiously, his armor stained with the blood of his enemies, roaring orders left and right.
And then it happened.
What appeared to be the Crannogman leader took aim and loosed a single arrow. It struck her uncle above the hauberk, embedding itself between his shoulder and collarbone, piercing through the chainmail.
From the scream the old man let out, Yara had no doubt that arrow was poisoned too. Victarion collapsed to his knees, still conscious, cursing violently.
Yara rushed to him, pulled his arm over her shoulders, and helped him escape.
"Retreat!" she ordered. "FULL RETREAT! Let's leave while we still can."
And so ended the Ironborn invasion of the North.
The meeting took place in a large tent near the Gold Road, on a vast triangular plain formed by two rivers that, a few miles further south, created the Blackwater Rush.
As was customary, five hundred men from each side stayed a mile away, while six warriors stood guard outside the tent. Representing the King in the North, there were two from each faction: Dacey and Smalljon for Robb, Loras and Gunthor Hightower for the Tyrells, and Black Walder Frey and young Lucas Blackwood for the Tullys. At a short distance, Grey Wind paced, sniffing the air and baring his teeth. But Robb had instructed him to wait and obey Dacey and Smalljon, and the direwolf seemed to understand. This made the young king appear more sorcerous than ever.
Inside the tent, three representatives from each faction were allowed. Edmure had brought Jason Mallister and Marq Piper (a great warrior and a sound advisor); Mace Tyrell chose his son Garlan and Randyll Tarly (a terrible choice for diplomacy in many ways). Robb selected Theon and Robett Glover, one of his most level-headed bannermen, to avoid the fiery tempers of someone like Greatjon or Rickard Karstark causing disaster.
Catelyn should have been present but was paralyzed with fear over Stannis possibly using some unspeakable magic like the one that had killed Renly. She knew she couldn't hold her tongue if she attended, so she had let Robb go only after extracting countless promises of caution. Brynden Tully, on the other hand, felt he'd be more useful only if things went south and didn't go.
The self-proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms arrived accompanied by the enigmatic red woman known as Melisandre and a bearded, balding man in his fifties, introduced as Davos Seaworth, his former admiral and current Hand of the King.
Robb noticed the old man's sharp and intense eyes, and something about him suggested unease. The red woman, however, was far more unsettling. In some ways, she was even more beautiful than Margaery, yet something about her was… wrong. Her demeanor carried a quietly unnerving certainty, the hallmark of fanaticism. She gazed at them all with interest, though it seemed as if she wasn't really seeing them. There was an air about her that suggested she was capable of unimaginable things.
It was Melisandre who spoke first.
"Welcome to all of you. Though I already know you. I have seen you all. You should feel honored to stand in the presence of Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms, and above all… the chosen of R'hllor, the Lord of Light."
"We do not recognize your god, woman," Randyll Tarly retorted disdainfully.
"Many do not," the red woman conceded with a smile, "but soon the day will come when all people bow before the Lord of Light."
"And here before you," Theon proclaimed with a certain pomp, "stands Robert Stark, First of His Name… King of the North and the Riverlands."
Davos looked as though he had hoped the tone of the meeting would begin differently, but he spoke to avoid escalation:
"Greetings to you, Robb Stark. King Stannis has heard much of your deeds, for which he congratulates you. We are also glad to see you in good health, and we mourn the loss of your father, Lord Eddard, and Hand of the King, who, honorable to the end, declared for my King. However, I must emphasize that—"
"That we do not intend to call you King," Stannis interrupted with an air of superiority. "I do not recall, after all, ceding more than half of my kingdom for it to secede."
Robb gave a sidelong glance, unsure whether to respond sharply or keep the meeting civil. But he was preempted.
"Ahem." Jason Mallister cleared his throat. "In truth, there are many things your king seems to forget, Lord Davos. Such as, for example, abandoning the Riverlands to the fury of Tywin Lannister, who attacked us by surprise to wage an illegal war.
It was the Young Wolf who saved us. And that is why his bannermen declared him King, and we stand with him."
"I confirm all of that," Edmure added, unwilling to be outdone. "My people have suffered greatly. It would be preferable to spare them further hardship."
"I assure you that I have an excellent memory," Stannis replied, "and that I never forget a wrong done to my subjects, my kingdom… or me. But it seems that among you, there are some who do not remember the oaths they swore. Isn't that right, Lord Mace? If I'm not mistaken, didn't you swear fealty to House Baratheon… when you were defeated in the Rebellion twenty years ago? Such an oath should have included loyalty to the legitimate succession of that house."
"I… have no intention of listening to these accusations. I came here for a diplomatic meeting, not to be insulted."
"What insults, Lord Mace? I am merely stating facts. That man beside you is your son Garlan, correct? If I'm not mistaken, you have an elder son, injured in a tourney by the Red Viper of Dorne. Tell me, where is he?"
"Why… of course, my son Willas. He didn't join us; he stayed at Highgarden to rule our lands."
"Exactly. Because he is your firstborn. And I imagine that just as Garlan cannot inherit Highgarden before Willas, Renly should never have claimed the throne of the Seven Kingdoms before me. Don't you agree, Lord Mace?"
Mace Tyrell flushed bright red and was about to respond when his bannerman interrupted.
"And that's why," Randyll Tarly hissed, "you had Renly Baratheon assassinated? Your own brother by blood… you've become a kinslayer. And not honorably, in battle, oh no… you used sorcery, conjured by this woman… and you even have the gall to bring her here to a meeting of lords. This is an insult to us all and speaks volumes about the kind of man you are, Stannis."
Melisandre didn't even try to deny it. She seemed very pleased with herself.
Stannis shot her a sharp glance.
"My brother Renly was a traitor to the crown. I offered him generous terms of peace, and he refused them. He was prepared to attack me—with forces ten times larger than mine, or he wouldn't have dared—and eliminate me to usurp my throne. The punishment for treason is death. Once that is established… the method of execution is of little consequence."
Robett Glover's eyes widened. "But you're speaking of sorcery as if it were a formal execution. In the North, he who passes the sentence should swing the sword."
"And burning prisoners alive is an abomination in the eyes of the Seven Gods," Marq Piper affirmed.
"The way Stannis Baratheon eliminates his enemies matters little to me," declared Robb, tired of staying silent, "but perhaps he could have shown greater regard for the subjects he claims to care so much about. You executed Joffrey Baratheon, Sire"—he emphasized the word—"but did you not consider that it was my right to kill that little bastard born of incest? After all, he had my father executed on false charges of treason. Delivering him to me would have been… how shall I put it… a gesture of goodwill on your part."
Davos intervened, "I assure you, Lord Stark, when King Stannis acted, he was also—"
"Thank you, Davos, but that won't be necessary," Stannis interrupted. "It is true, Lord Stark, Joffrey wronged you gravely. But he wronged the realm and many others just as much. Upon ascending to the throne, I deemed it crucial to show the people that the King's Justice falls equally and impartially upon all… even upon former kings. Before he was your father, Eddard Stark was a Lord Protector and my loyal subject… so I felt it my duty to avenge him."
Robb raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Oh, really."
"Ahem, if I may," Garlan interjected, "we are certainly addressing some heated topics, but perhaps we are losing sight of why we are here—to negotiate."
"Exactly," Edmure agreed, "and since you've stated you care so much for the people, Lord Stannis, I imagine you wouldn't wish to inflict any further unnecessary suffering upon them."
"All must suffer, sooner or later," Melisandre said serenely. "It is the Lord of Light who grants us true glory and true well-being; not in this life, but in the next."
Randyll Tarly merely let out an insolent "Tsk!"
"With all due respect," Marq Piper commented, "I'm rather glad to believe in the Seven Gods. At least they allow for the hope of happiness in this life too."
Davos seized the opening: "Precisely, Ser Garlan. We are here to negotiate. Stannis Baratheon is, as you all know, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. However, to spare his subjects unnecessary suffering, he is willing to pardon your withdrawal from his authority—which would otherwise constitute treason—provided you relinquish your titles and honors and kneel before him."
"NEVER! I will NEVER do that!" roared Mace Tyrell, who was beginning to turn red with anger.
"If your King wants me to kneel, little man, he'll have to make me," snarled Randyll Tarly. "I've already defeated his elder brother in battle during the Rebellion, and he is no match for him."
Stannis smiled faintly, almost amused by the threats.
Robb frowned.
Robett Glover said, "My lord fought Tywin Lannister because his family was attacked. That is a legitimate act under the laws of gods and men. Why should he be punished for it? Is this your King's Justice?"
"Just to clarify, dear Hand of the King," Theon said insolently, "what exactly do you mean by relinquishing titles and honors?"
Davos was about to answer, but once again, Stannis spoke first. "What he means," Stannis declared, raising his voice slightly, "is that the Tyrells, who have betrayed the crown, must relinquish Highgarden, which will pass to the noble House Florent as the new Lords Paramount of the Reach and Wardens of the South. They will also provide hostages and disband their army. Under these terms, they will be allowed to return unharmed to their lands."
"But… but that's absurd…" Garlan began to say.
"As for the Young Wolf," Stannis continued, "who has proclaimed himself King, usurping the title of House Baratheon, he must renounce his title, kneel, and transfer the title of Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to one of his younger brothers… and take the black."
"RIDICULOUS!" exclaimed Theon.
"Finally," Stannis concluded, "the Riverlands, if they accept the authority of the rightful King, will face no consequences for their attempted secession but must surrender the gold they illegally confiscated from the Lannisters to the crown."
"WHAT?"
"But that gold is rightfully ours, as reparations for the damages we've suffered!"
"And we took it as spoils of war!"
Melisandre appeared satisfied, smug even.
Davos glanced around uncomfortably, alternating between his king and the others.
Throughout all this, Robb had not spoken. His face was pale, but he wore an amused smile, as if someone had told him a joke.
When he spoke, all eyes turned to him.
"And I have only one question for you, O Great King…" he began, sarcastically.
"What would happen to all of us miserable traitors if we refused to accept these terms?"
Stannis raised an eyebrow. "Simple. I would descend upon you with my army, annihilate you, and then take each of you one by one to meet the same fate as Joffrey Baratheon."
"But what…"
"Is he… threatening us…?"
"Now I…"
"ENOUGH!"
It was Robb who shouted. Authoritative, his voice echoed throughout the tent.
"My Lords, I must ask a favor. Leave me and Stannis Baratheon alone in this tent. Let us speak man to man. King to King."
"But, Robb…" Theon began.
"NOW!"
Exchanging confused looks, one by one, the others left. Mace Tyrell huffed, doubting that words would achieve anything. Edmure, before leaving, cast a pleading look at his nephew.
On the other side, Stannis merely nodded. Melisandre gave a slight bow before stepping out, while Davos took a deep breath, glanced at his king, then at Robb, then back at his king, and finally left slowly.
When everyone had gone, Robb closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before speaking.
"You know, Lord Stannis, I am not exactly a diplomatic man, which is why I bring people with me who can help in that regard.
"And with thousands of lives hanging by a thread, I was trying to avoid saying anything that might lead us to war, but I see that you are not burdening yourself with the same restraint. So, I too will stop using white gloves."
Stannis gave a nod and the shadow of a smile, inviting him to continue. He preferred sincerity, even brutal honesty, over hypocrisy and politics.
"Normally, my mother would be here with us to prevent me from saying something stupid," Robb continued, "but she refused to come because she's still terrified of what she saw last time... when you used black magic to murder your brother!"
"My brother was a traitor, and that was not black magic. It was the will of Rhollor, the Lord of Light."
"So you don't deny it. It really happened that way," Robb said, still somewhat doubting it. He was shaken by the confirmation that it was indeed magic, and also by Stannis's casual admission.
"You're aware, aren't you, that this support won't make it easy for you to gain acceptance from the people, right?" he continued. "They already look down on us Northerners for worshipping the Old Gods, let alone a king who reveres a foreign deity."
"What god their king worships is not the people's concern," Stannis replied curtly.
"Perhaps not, but what their king does is very much their concern.
And mine as well.
You're aware, aren't you, that the real enemies in all of this were the Lannisters?
And I defeated them. Practically on my own.
While you stayed warm and comfortable at Dragonstone, conjuring sorcery to murder your brother because you were jealous that everyone flocked to serve him while they had no interest in serving you!"
"I won't allow you to—"
"ALL the burden of this story was borne by my family. By me. We did all the work. While you—what exactly did you do?"
"I took King's Landing!"
"Oh, brilliant! You took a city defended by... how many? Five thousand guards? With only... eighty thousand men at your disposal? Are you sure you didn't need more, just to be safe?"
Stannis growled.
"King's Landing was a rotten fruit, ready to fall. Tywin Lannister, on the other hand, had fifty thousand men in total... and I had to face them, always outnumbered. I've won more battles in a year than you've won in your entire life.
And I was supposed to do all this just to hand you the Seven Kingdoms on a silver platter, after you'd done nothing to earn them, and then get sent to the Wall as thanks?
Pardon me, Your Grace, but it's true that I miss my bastard brother who joined the Night's Watch... but I think there are other ways to see him again."
Robb paused to catch his breath, while Stannis was practically seething.
"But I AM the rightful king," Stannis said through gritted teeth, so fiercely that Robb thought his teeth might crack. "Even your father acknowledged it. Ruling the Seven Kingdoms is my birthright."
"TO HELL with birthrights! You dare come here and lecture me about rights? You dare speak to me of my father?
My father DIED for the sake of birthrights! He was executed as a traitor because 'rights' are whatever those in power decide they are!
And my father died because YOU fled King's Landing like a rabbit instead of facing the Lannisters. If you hadn't, he'd still be alive, and this damned war wouldn't even have started."
"Careful, BOY, very careful. You are not the first to speak to me insolently... and the last one who did didn't end well."
"Really? You're threatening me? Will you send a shadow to kill me too? Because you can't do your dirty work yourself?"
"I won't let you talk to me like that. I was fighting wars when you were still in your mother's womb."
"Exactly. Robert's Rebellion. Your brother was someone who fought his own battles. Your brother earned his right to rule the Seven Kingdoms through conquest. He didn't wait for the Iron Throne to fall into his lap. You're not like him."
"You're lucky I'm not, because he'd have killed you by now."
"More threats? All this arrogance... Do you know who else was arrogant, experienced, and issued threats, thinking I wasn't up to the challenge?
Tywin Lannister.
And he died with his throat ripped out by my direwolf.
Who, in case you're wondering, is just outside. Threat for threat."
"Damn boy. You understand nothing. NOTHING! You think I WANT to be King of the Seven Kingdoms? That I enjoy it? Being king is an enormous responsibility!
A burden to bear for the good of all. You boast about the title your bannermen gave you... but it's mostly a burden to you, isn't it?
Without it, you'd already be back in the North... and yet, here you are, yelling at me in this tent, trying to find a way out that you can't see.
But every king is alone, Robb Stark. He's the loneliest person in the Seven Kingdoms. It's not a privilege, not a pleasure—it's a continuous torment. Continuous. Even when there are happy moments. Which are few.
And then you're haunted... by memories. By the choices you've made. The ones you had to make... Do you think I enjoyed having my brother killed? I loved him, despite everything..."
"And then WHY?"
"WHY? Because I MUST! No one else can. No one else will succeed. The Seven Kingdoms... must be protected—" Here Robb felt as though Stannis knew more than he was letting on, but he quickly regained his composure. "—and only I can do it. ONLY I!
I know it... Rhollor chose me for this task... Melisandre saw it, and her magic works... so everything she says is true... the Seven Kingdoms need me."
Robb softened slightly and began to understand a few things.
Then, however, he said, "Ah, Stannis Baratheon, this argument is unworthy of you. If you truly cared about the safety of the Seven Kingdoms... why didn't you protect the Riverlands?"
"I couldn't! I was half a continent away with only five thousand men."
"But LATER, when you got three-quarters of Renly's troops... you could have done it, couldn't you?
Had you really cared... march against Tywin Lannister, take him from behind...
but instead, you rushed to take King's Landing, to sit on the Iron Throne... and gain all the legitimacy that comes with it."
For the first time, Stannis seemed caught off guard. He began to sweat, as if he'd never considered it. "I... I needed to be recognized as King by all Seven Kingdoms... otherwise, I couldn't have protected them... I had to claim the throne first... they had to be united under me, otherwise..."
Robb shook his head
"Do you call me a boy, but I think in this instance I know more than you. It's true, the crown I've been given is a burden. But at the same time, it's a great honor. Because it demonstrates that my bannermen trust me. And I must be worthy of that trust.
And it's true, the king's duty is to serve the realm, not the other way around. But a king is not necessarily doomed to be alone; he is only as lonely as he chooses to be.
In these months, I've understood the importance of surrounding myself with people I can trust… and of listening to their advice, to reach together what I could not reach alone.
Since ancient times, true kings have not ascended to the throne: they were chosen. Supported by thousands of invisible hands, they were elevated above all others… never forgetting, however, who put them in that position."
Stannis looked at him, astonished.
"But… he who is not the TRUE king… cannot protect the realm… so says R'hllor."
"I don't believe in R'hllor. I believe in the gods of my father. But even if R'hllor does exist—after all, he's given more proof of hearing your prayers than the trees have ever given me of hearing mine—then that god has failed to understand something fundamental.
A true king should not conquer the throne to save the realm; he should save the realm to prove himself worthy of conquering the throne."
Stannis remained silent.
"What else do you mean to say?"
"At this very moment, the Ironborn have invaded my lands.
The Wildlings threaten the Wall.
And instead of being out there facing these threats, I am in this tent with you.
I make you an offer, Stannis Baratheon. If you agree not to impose any consequences on the Riverlands, to leave them the Lannister gold, and to allow me to return North to protect my people without obstacles, I MIGHT renounce my title… though it will be hard to explain to my bannermen."
Stannis seemed to contemplate the offer.
"And forgive the Tyrells, I suppose."
"They already bent the knee to your brother; they'll bend it to you too."
"That's the problem; it's not that they're reluctant to kneel… they're far too willing to do so… for many different claimants. They have a nasty habit of getting above themselves… they're never satisfied with what they have, always wanting more. They're like the Lannisters in that regard… and I don't want to face them again in five or ten years."
"In that case, take hostages. Arrange marriages. Do what Southern houses usually do. Oh, and one more thing, of course. You must return my sisters safe and sound."
At that statement, Stannis stiffened.
Was he… embarrassed? He didn't seem to know how to broach the subject.
Robb felt a chill.
"You… do have my sisters, don't you? Don't tell me… that during the siege…"
"Nothing happened to your sisters during the siege. Not by my hand, at least. When we entered the Red Keep, I ordered them to be sought out and brought to me safe and sound. But… they weren't found."
"What? The Lannisters had…"
"I don't believe they harmed them. At least I think not. As for Sansa, the elder… we know she was kept in the Red Keep until the night of the siege… but then, her room… it was empty."
"Empty? What do you mean, empty?"
"Vanished. Gone. As if someone… had made her flee at the last moment. We couldn't find out more."
"How not? And Arya?"
Stannis looked even more embarrassed. "As for the younger… we questioned a lot of people, and it seems… no one has seen her since the day of Ned Stark's execution."
"What?"
"She seems to have vanished into thin air. Even the Lannisters had no idea where she was, despite long searches."
The king was disappointed. He had obviously hoped to use Robb's sisters as bargaining chips, beyond truly hoping to save Eddard's daughters.
"So… they lied to me," the King in the North said, "all this time they pretended to have both of them, to negotiate with me… but it was obvious they had no intention of trading them… Arya wasn't even there!"
Robb felt dizzy. All this time, he had thought Sansa and Arya were captives, yes, but that meant they were relatively safe as hostages and certainly in one place. Instead, they could be anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms.
My mother won't take this well…
"I'm sorry," admitted Stannis, "I wish I could have done more.
Anyway," he continued, changing tone, "the offer you're making me isn't plausible. The Lannister gold is NEEDED."
"What? What do you mean, needed? For what?"
"Robb, the realm is bankrupt. We owe money not only to the Lannisters and the Tyrells but also to the Iron Bank of Braavos and half a dozen smaller Essosi banks… we must pay our debts!"
"To hell with the debts! We'll pay them some other time! In the Riverlands, people are starving! Winter is Coming!"
"If we don't pay the debts, the Iron Bank will fund our enemies. It's what they do; it's happened before. We…"
"So, no Sansa and Arya, no Lannister gold… what are you offering me, Stannis Baratheon? What compensation will avoid a war? Will you come North with me to save Winterfell and the Wall?"
"I can do that, but not immediately: I must ensure the Tyrells don't rebel… and that Dorne submits too…"
"ENOUGH! All you do is ask, ask, and give nothing in return! If the North is such a bother to you, let me secede! I'll relinquish the Riverlands—or rather, let them decide who they want to be governed by; but if you leave them even half the gold, they might be happy to kneel, I think—but the North will be independent again, as it was for thousands of years! I'll deal with the Greyjoys and the Wildlings on my own.
After all, I know the North has never been a great deal for the Iron Throne… it's not a wealthy region, and it would cost more to defend or retake it than it would ever yield in profit…
What do you say? Would you be ready to be King of the Six Kingdoms?"
Stannis watched him for a long time. At last, he said.
"NO: These terms are unacceptable."
"Damn you! May the White Walkers drag you to hell! Why are you so stubborn? And you wonder why everyone preferred your brothers?"
"It's not about stubbornness," growled the bald king, "but about fairness. The Kingdoms were Seven under my brother Robert, and they must remain Seven under me. And don't delude yourself, Robb. Against what's coming, the North won't survive on its own."
"What do you mean? You… you know something that…?"
"All I know is that you need to kneel. Perhaps I might generously allow you to remain Lord of Winterfell, instead of sending you to the Wall alongside your bastard brother."
"You're insane! You'd risk the lives of thousands of men just to…"
"No, YOU would risk them, Robb. I have the larger army. You stand no chance of winning, not even by allying with the Tyrells… assuming they don't change sides again in the meantime…"
"You know something? Tywin Lannister also had the larger army. And yet, I defeated him. If I were you, I wouldn't be so confident.
And I'll tell you something else: you're a terrible king. You put your pride and self-interest above the needs of your people…"
"I AM THE RIGHTFUL KING…"
"Anyone who has to keep saying I am the King is no king!"
"You're nothing but a traitor! You have no right to…"
"And you're a kinslayer who uses dark magic! You're also a terrible person, Stannis Baratheon. Garlan Tyrell is right… someone like you should never rule the Seven Kingdoms. People suffer when their king is unfit… like under the Mad King! And you burn people alive, just like he did!"
Stannis was livid, his eyes like embers. "One more word and…"
"And what? You'll have another shadow kill me? Why haven't you done it already?"
Stannis glared at him with murderous intent. For a moment, Robb thought he would break the truce and attack him outright.
"No… it's not that you don't want to… it's that you… can't, is that it? Of course… it must be blood magic or something… something that can't be used endlessly… it must come with consequences…"
Stannis composed himself and turned toward the exit.
"I don't need magic to defeat you, Robb. My armies will suffice."
Robb gave him a sarcastic half-bow. "You'll find me waiting… Your Grace."
In hindsight, Robb wasn't proud of how things had gone, but what was done was done.
On horseback, on the road back, Theon said to him, "Don't blame yourself, Robb. You did what was possible and then some. That man is as stubborn as an oak and as annoying as constipation. Even Baelor the Blessed couldn't have kept his temper with him."
"What? You heard what we said to each other?"
"Well, a tent isn't exactly made of stone, and you weren't exactly whispering, were you? But it's for the best. Everyone can testify that you tried every possible way to achieve peace and that it was he who refused."
Fantastic. Now, everyone knows I argued with Stannis, and because of that, thousands will die.
"Moreover, Your Grace," added Dacey Mormont, "while you were inside the tent… Grey Wind started growling. It was terrifying. We feared he might leap inside, and we wouldn't be able to stop him."
"Yes, he feels what I feel," Robb said others exchanged puzzled glances and continued riding.
When they returned to Wayfarer's Rest, the first castle in the North, all the participants gathered for a war council.
The armies of the North and the Riverlands were further north, at Acorn Hall, halfway between Riverrun and their current location, while the Tyrell forces, positioned at Stoney Sept, were crossing the river at Old Mill to join their commanders, traveling west to east.
Once all the lords and commanders had gathered in the main hall of Lord Karyl Vance's castle, Robb excused himself, and while Robett Glover informed the group of the failed negotiations, the King in the North went upstairs to personally inform his mother—not just of the outcome of the meeting but, more importantly, about the situation regarding Sansa and Arya.
She must hear it from me.
Catelyn Tully, widow of Stark, as expected, was far more distraught over the news about her daughters than the impending war, about which she had never harbored much hope. The still-young woman had endured enormous worries in recent months. To protect her family, she had lost her beloved husband, whose bones now rested in Winterfell, and had been unable to properly grieve in order to support her eldest son, engaged in war. She hadn't seen her two youngest sons in ages—they were alone in the North, now invaded by enemies—and had clung to a fragile hope of seeing her daughters again. As long as she believed they were hostages in King's Landing, there was always a chance. But now…
It was as if all the worries she had suppressed hit her at once, and she deflated like a balloon, collapsing into a chair in her room. Robb took her hand.
"How is this possible? How…?"
"Mother, I don't know, and neither does Stannis. But as much as he's a horrible person, he has no reason to lie. If he had found them, he would use them as hostages. And if the Lannisters had harmed them, he would tell us."
"But then… maybe his troops… during the siege… and in that case, he wouldn't tell us."
"He had better pray to his Red God that's not the case. But I don't think that's the explanation."
"Then where are they, Robb? WHERE ARE MY GIRLS?"
"Mother… MOTHER! I understand you're upset; I am too. But… don't you see?
This is the first glimmer of hope we've had in months. Arya has been missing since the day of the execution. And she's resourceful—you know that.
And Sansa… if she disappeared from her room… it means someone helped her escape. Both of them were helped, I'm certain."
"But… if that's the case, why haven't they been returned to us? Even for ransom. It makes no sense."
"I don't know. I admit that. But I'm sure they're alive. I can feel it."
He turned around, after hugging her again, and made to descend into the hall, casting her an apologetic glance.
"Go, Robb. Do what you must. I will join you later, perhaps."
Robb Stark descended into the hall to find the Lords of the North, the Riverlands, and those loyal to the Tyrells immersed in an incessant buzz.
They had divided into a dozen groups, each one dedicated to discussing, arguing, conspiring, planning, and often moving from one group to another to make proposals, changes, suggestions, insults.
More than once, someone had raised their voice against another, and it was a miracle that no one had come to blows.
"Here I am, my Lords," Robb announced, tired. "Forgive me for the wait. Any news?"
Lord Dustin leaned forward with a scroll in hand, beaming. "There is good news from the North, Your Grace. It seems that Rodrik Cassel has defeated the Ironborn, and they are retreating, chased away by Howland Reed. They are abandoning our lands, the North is safe."
"Really? That's the first good news in ages. How did it happen?"
"Thanks to your brother," Lord Ryswell interjected. "It seems he ordered Lord Rodrik to reverse course and directed him to Thorren Square, just two days after the Ironborn had invaded. He is worthy blood of his brother and father."
Robb felt reassured.
Just as Theon said. I'm not alone. Everyone is doing their part, even Bran. How can I sit here and wallow, when even my ten-year-old brother is protecting our lands?
"Very good. I am proud of him. But I thought Cassel was hunting that bandit, Red Armor, who kidnapped Lady Hornwood. Any news on him?"
"Aye, Your Grace, and positive ones, too," said Roose Bolton, with more enthusiasm in his tone than usual. "He was defeated and killed by my bastard, Ramsay. It seems he gathered six hundred men and struck just as he was fleeing from Cassel."
"Excellent. And was he able to free the Lady?" asked Wylas Manderly. Before marrying Lord Hornwood, the woman had been his father's sister.
"Alas, it seems not. But the search continues."
"So the North is safe," Lord Dustin declared, "except for the news from the Wall…"
"Bah! The Wall is solid, it has stood for eight thousand years," declared Greatjon. "The Wildlings can gather as many men as they want, but winter is coming, and it will take them a lifetime just to reach it. Even if the Night's Watch is leaderless, it will take months before they're a problem, believe me."
"A-hem!" Randyll Tarly coughed. "I understand your lordship's concerns, but perhaps it is time to deal with the problem at hand, don't you think? Stannis Baratheon and his seventy thousand men."
"I told you it was a mistake to send half the troops away!" Jonos Bracken shouted, who, in fact, had said nothing at the time. "Lucky for us, not all of them followed the order!"
Edmure Tully took the criticism from one of his most important and turbulent bannermen. He was disheartened to have to fight another war.
"My Lords, I am sorry things went the way they did," Robb said. "I tried to negotiate with Lord Stannis, but…"
"But is it true, Your Grace, that you tried to barter the war spoils for peace?" asked Lord Mooton.
"I… I tried to put several alternatives on the table and…" Robb justified himself.
"Hell!" Greatjon roared. "We know Stannis Baratheon's reputation! That man breaks, but he doesn't bend! We could have promised him all of ancient Valyria, and he still wouldn't have been satisfied!"
Some of the lords of the North, behind the scenes, began to whisper that perhaps, if they hadn't had to protect the Riverlands, they could have returned home by now.
One of the Riverlords heard this and nearly came to blows. It was the Blackfish who restored order.
"We warned you what kind of man he was," Mace Tyrell pointed out. "You should have made an agreement with us while there was still time. And now… we're all in trouble. If he had known we would stand together, perhaps…"
"It wouldn't have changed anything," Jason Mallister concluded. "You've seen it too: he's as proud as a peacock. He's convinced he can beat us all, separately or together."
"We can still make it, though, can't we?" Lord Vance, the host, said encouragingly. "The North and the Riverlands have defeated the Lannisters, and now we have other allies…"
"Of course, what are we waiting for? Let's attack him first. Let's shove his threats down that insolent stag's throat. Let's surprise him," Rickard Karstark suggested.
"Too risky," Marq Piper pointed out. "However, we have an advantage he doesn't: the rivers. We can build large barges, sail down the Blackwater Rush, and come at him from two sides."
"He'd fortify King's Landing and we'd never finish. I say…"
"No, you don't understand. His army is large, it will be hard to feed them. I think we should…"
"My Lords. MY LORDS!" Robb raised his voice to restore order.
"All your plans are premature.
First, our troops are not here yet.
Second, HIS troops, as numerous as they are, will take two weeks to reach us because they will move very slowly.
Third, we must settle the matter of alliances. Lord Mace, do you still intend to fight with us?"
"Should we?" the Lord of the Reach asked, offended. "I offered you my daughter's hand and the Iron Throne, and you refused. What do we stand to gain now?"
"My Lord, it's not about gaining something, it's about survival. You are as much an enemy of Stannis as we are, perhaps more. None of us can defeat him alone. What do you intend to do? Return to Highgarden?"
"We could do that," Randyll Tarly intervened. "We have more supplies and forage than anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms, and we are the only ones who can enlist more troops from the men we left behind. We can win this war on our own, if necessary."
"That's not such a brilliant idea," Brynden Tully contradicted, earning an angry glare.
"First of all, Highgarden is not well-protected geographically: it can be easily attacked. It doesn't have the natural defenses of the Vale, the North, or the thick walls of Storm's End. Second, to get back there, you'd have to pass right under Stannis's nose... and I bet he's just waiting for the chance to tear you apart separately."
At that point, he could strike your undefended lands, gather supplies for his massive army, return to face us, and quietly starve us out. No, not a great plan."
"We must ally! It's the only chance we have! Winter is coming, my Lords, and I assure you it will spare no one," Robb pleaded.
"Give me a reason to do so," Mace Tyrell held his ground, lofty.
Robb was starting to lose patience with the pompous Lord of the Reach when a voice was heard from above, from the stairs.
"Lord Tyrell is right."
About thirty pairs of eyes turned to look at Catelyn Stark, who stood, regal and unyielding, at the top of the stairs. To Robb, she no longer seemed like the same woman who had collapsed in her room an hour earlier, but someone entirely new.
Catelyn began to descend the stairs slowly, all eyes and ears on her, as she continued: "It's true, as it has always been done, an alliance of this magnitude must be sealed by marriage."
The woman cast a knowing glance at her eldest son. He had to trust her. After a long moment of surprise, he gave a brief nod of assent.
"Lord Tyrell: my son, Robert of House Stark, will take your daughter, Margaery of House Tyrell, as his wife.
And if... no, when you defeat Stannis Baratheon… they will sit together on the Iron Throne! Do these terms seem acceptable to you?"
Mace Tyrell's face lit up. Garlan seemed grateful that someone was showing some common sense, finally. Loras appeared surprised, but in a positive way.
"Well, of course, Lady Catelyn," Mace said, his tone softer, "after all, this was our initial proposal…"
"TREASON! PERJURY!" was shouted from the back of the hall. It was Lothar Frey, the eldest son of Walder and commander of their contingent. By his side stood Walder the Black, the bastard of the House, a feared fighter.
"Robb Stark was promised to Roislin Frey, my sister. You cannot undo the agreement made with my father. You cannot do it!"
Catelyn Stark turned her gaze toward them. She had anticipated this objection.
"Lord Lothar, I understand your discontent. But that agreement would need to be renegotiated anyway. Lord Walder, in exchange for the passage," she emphasized, "that we required to rescue my brother, your Lord Paramount, from the Lannister siege, did not ask for Robb's marriage only... which at that time was to the heir of Winterfell, and not yet a King... but also the future marriage of my daughter Arya to one of yours… Well, my daughter Arya has disappeared, and no one knows where she is. Therefore, from our side, it is impossible to uphold the agreement. It needs to be renegotiated, there is no other choice."
"I protest! An agreement is an agreement!" squeaked the little man. "One marriage is less than two, but it's still better than nothing. And anyway, Robb Stark was always the one who mattered most, among them."
"My Lord," Robb began, now growing weary, "the promise was that I would marry Roislin after the war… well, now that we face a new threat, it is very likely that, if I do not win—and make no mistake, without the Tyrell alliance, we will not win—by the end of the war, I will be dead… either killed in battle, or burned alive by Stannis, it doesn't matter which of the two… and then I will not marry anyone, rest assured… so you won't gain anything either way."
"In fact," added the Blackfish, "if I were you, I wouldn't be shouting to the four winds that Robb Stark is promised to your family. Stannis Baratheon is not a reasonable man, and if we are defeated… he will make you pay for it, rest assured."
During that exchange, Catelyn had placed a hand on her younger brother's arm and gave him a silent plea. Edmure understood, sighed heavily, and lowered his head.
Then he took a step forward and raised his voice.
"I will do it. I will marry Roislin Frey in Robb's place. I am your Lord Paramount; Lord Walder could not have struck a better deal, and in any case, this is what he has been trying to secure for years. There should be no problem, don't you think?"
Lothar appeared caught off guard by the proposal. "But I… I'm not sure… I should ask my father… I mean, marrying the Lord Paramount… it would certainly be a great honor, but… well, it's not the same as marrying a King, you understand."
Brynden was about to retort sharply, but then Edmure, usually composed, decided he had had enough: he put a hand on his arm to signal him to stay out of it, his temples bulging, and he began to shout.
"Listen well, you weasel! You will now go to your room, take a scroll, and write a message to your father. It is your Lord Paramount commanding you, clear?"
"And you will write to the Lord Delay—" as my father used to call him since he arrived at the Trident after the battle was over, during the Rebellion—"that the agreements have been changed. It's either this, or wait for being burned alive by Stannis Baratheon. The choice is only his."
And just to be even more clear, you will also write that, since bargaining for the passage of allies while I was besieged in my castle by Jaime Lannister could already be considered high treason, he should consider himself not only lucky to avoid any consequences, but he should feel very honored that his Lord Paramount grants him the high honor of taking his daughter's hand.
HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?"
Lothar Frey stood dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond. He looked around: everyone was against him. He lowered his gaze.
"Yes, I... will do so."
Once calm was restored, Catelyn and Mace made the final arrangements. Loras went to deliver the news to his sister, who was staying in another wing of the castle, and brought her to the room.
As usual, the girl was beautiful, though lacking her usual control, her calculated expressions, as she had been caught by surprise while resting, with only a cloak covering her nightgown, her hair disheveled, and a surprised, spontaneous expression on her face, involuntarily sweet.
Robb didn't have time to savor the moment, but she seemed marvelous to him. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time: this was how she truly was, not when she was performing for someone, but in her natural state.
Catelyn and Mace placed their children's hands together and sealed the betrothal according to the customs of the Old and New Gods.
Afterward, all the commanders held a war council until late into the night.
At the end, the King in the North knocked on the door of the room where his mother was resting.
"Tell me, Robb, what is it? Is everything alright?" the woman asked, exhausted from sleep.
"No, no problem, mother. I just wanted to... well, thank you. You've solved a difficult situation. The four thousand Freys will help us, though of course we still need the thirty thousand Tyrells even more. It wasn't easy saving both the goat and the cabbage."
"It's also thanks to Edmure. I've never seen him command respect like that. As for me, I just fixed that terrible agreement I made months ago. You should never have been promised to Lord Walder's daughter."
"I realize it couldn't have been easy for you. So much has happened all at once."
"I took comfort when I heard how Bran is managing Winterfell and that he and Rickon are safe again. I couldn't stay depressed while even my ten-year-old son is doing his part."
"Yeah, it was the same for me. Speaking of which... I know how much you miss Bran and Rickon, and how much they miss you, since they're the youngest... and now that the alliance is settled, and the North is safe again, well..."
"What do you mean?"
"Mother, whether we win or lose, this place is soon going to become a hell. It makes no sense for you to stay here. You've done your part. Go back to Winterfell. Your children need you. As soon as this is over, one way or another, I will bring Sansa and Arya back to you. It's a promise."
Davos Seaworth was discussing with his king in his private tent.
If he was the Hand of the King, why did Stannis bypass him every time? How could the other Lords respect his authority if the King didn't respect the opinions of his own Hand?
And why embark on another war when his enemies had come to negotiate peace? The Starks had every interest in protecting the North and the Wall, so they could have easily cooperated.
"I cannot cooperate with traitors," Stannis Baratheon replied bluntly. "It is necessary for the realm to be united if it wants to survive the Long Night. Having too many heads going in different directions will not help us when the threat manifests. It is better to establish direct control over the Seven Kingdoms now than to regret it later..."
At that moment, Melisandre entered the tent. She looked concerned.
"Good evening, Ser Davos. It is urgent that I speak with the King. Alone."
Davos gave her a sidelong glance but left.
Stannis turned to the red woman. "So? Have you consulted the flames? What did you see?"
"Unfavorable omens," she replied. "If we don't do something... in two weeks, Robb Stark will defeat you in battle."
Author's Note:
I didn't resist: i had to include some cool quotes from the books/show, even if told by someone else, namely Robb.
Depending on your personal tastes, negotiations can be boring, since they include repetitions of things we know already, said over and over again, but it's how they would play out in reality. I still spiced them up with back to back arguments, heated exchanges and glimpses of hope.
Also, i needed to explain everyone's part and not have things happen just for the sake of, but providing a justification: events must happen because the characters are behaving in character, not because i want to. I think we can agree Stannis is stubborn enough not to concede anything to "traitors", especially being now in a position of strenght.
Catelyn had to correct her mistake about the Frey arrangement and somehow bring Robb and Margaery together, since it was something she thought of, in passing, even in canon.
Edmure appeases the Freys voluntarily this time, since he's worried about his lands and his subjects, but he also finally snaps as well.
A theme recurrent is Robb struggling to find the right course of action between being bold and cautious; and another is people around him helping him out in what he cannot do alone.
Sansa follows a storyline similar to her books storyline but here i wanted, struggling a bit, to make it feel believable: because why keep it secret from Lysa when you think you can trust her? And here, Robb is alive, although not easily reachable. But she's buying into Littlefinger's reasoning and this experience will prove useful.
Arya, similarly, is learning new skills but is surrounded by people who are rooting for Stannis. Since there is (temporarily) peace in the Riverlands, it was necessary there was a reason for her not reuniting with Robb. Thoros believes in Rhollor and Beric was from the Stormlands, after all...
As i said, some events will follow the main storyline, others won't. You will see how they will mix together.
Robb must face Stannis and it's a pretty uncertain battle: what will Melisandre do to avoid the fate she'd seen?
And we know her predictions aren't always correct, or interpreted correctly, to begin with...