Chapter Text
Robb watched as Bran rode on his new horse, Dancer. It made Robb’s heart swell at the sight of him. If one did not look too closely at the saddle, one would never know that there was something wrong with his legs. He was able to do something they all could do. Robb could imagine his mother’s face lighting up with joy at the sight of him. He could see his father’s pride shine in his eyes, a look all the children longed for that was more often reserved for Arya. Once they return home, things could go back to normal, especially when Jon would find time to visit.
“Not too fast,” Robb called to his brother as Bran eased his horse forward.
“When are you going to tell him?” Theon asked beside him.
Robb’s jaw clenched. “Not now.”
When the news had come, Celia had shut herself in the nursery with Rickon, trying helplessly to be cheerful for their youngest brother. He had checked on her before he had left and kissed her brow gently to soothe her.
“Blood for blood,” Theon continued. “You need to make the Lannisters pay for Joey and the others.”
“You’re speaking of war.”
“I’m speaking of justice,” Theon insisted. “We cannot let this stand. They would do this to your father and still expect Sansa to marry the chit.”
“Only the Lord of Winterfell can call in the bannermen to raise an army and I… my father is still the lord, I am only acting in his place.”
“A Lannister put his spear through your father’s leg and the Kingslayer rides to Casterly Rock where no one can touch—”
“You want me to march on Casterly Rock?”
“We are not boys anymore. They attacked your father, they’ve already started a war. It’s your duty to represent your house when your father can’t.”
“And it’s not your duty because it’s not your house.” Robb was going to say more but then he realized that he could not hear Bran. “We need to split up and find where my brother has gotten to.”
“By all the gods this is like when Rickon first learned to walk.”
The two went their separate ways and Robb went further into the wood. He began to hear voices and his breath caught in his throat as he heard an unfamiliar voice with an unfamiliar accent speak.
“Piss on Mance Rayder and piss on the North. We’re going as far south as south goes. There ain’t no white walkers down in Dorne.”
Robb stepped forward towards the four wildlings and Bran’s horse. “Drop the knife,” he ordered, drawing his sword. “Let him go and I’ll let you live.”
One of the wildlings rushed at Robb who leaned back as he stepped to miss the steel of the axe and countered by slashing the man’s throat. Another wildling, a woman, charged Robb, but he tossed her aside, grabbing at her hair. He fought off another wilding, stabbing him in the chest.
“Robb!”
He looked up and saw that Bran had been taken off his horse and the fourth wilding had a knife to his throat. Robb’s heart began to thud in his throat.
“Shut up!” the wildling ordered. “Drop the blade!” he directed at Robb.
“No,” Bran said, his voice trembling. “Don’t.”
“Do it,” the wildling ordered.
Robb looked at Bran and then the wilding. His parents had left him in charge of his younger brothers and Celia. He couldn’t… he would not let his brother die. Not when he could stop it. Still gripping the woman by her hair, Robb slowly set his sword to the ground, keeping his eye on the wildling as well. As he set his sword down, an arrow shot through and poked from his chest. The wildling dropped his knife and Bran and collapsed to the side.
Theon was a few yards away, his bow drawn.
Robb let the woman go and rushed to Bran. He saw that his leg had been cut. Although it was not bad, the skin was already irritated. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Bran said as Robb picked him up in his arms. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Tough little lad,” Theon said. “You were a right brave boy, Bran. I doubt even the toughest Stark soldier would have been as calm as you.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Robb nearly shouted. “What if you’d missed?”
“He would have killed you and cut Bran’s throat. I made sure to aim high enough.”
“You don’t have the right—”
“To what? Save your brother’s life. It was the only thing to do, so I did it.”
Robb turned his gaze to the wildling woman that Theon had an arrow pointed at. “What about her?”
“Please,” the woman said, on her hands and knees. “Give me my life, my lord, and I’m yours.”
Robb sighed. “We’ll keep her alive.”
—
Robb set down the letter. “Treason?” He almost laughed at the ridiculous nature of the word. “Sansa wrote this?”
“It’s Sansa’s hand, but the queen’s words no doubt.” Celia picked the letter up and read through it. “She’s using our cipher.”
“Your cipher?” Theon asked.
“We used it in lessons when we didn’t want the septa or any of you to know what we were talking of,” she said absently, as though there was no point in speaking of such things. “Arya is missing.” She paused, looking over the letter again. “And the betrothal hasn’t been broken. She’s still forced to act the part.”
“Damn it,” Robb said through gritted teeth. There was very little he could do with the betrothal unbroken. She was safe, in a way, but it meant that Sansa would be unable to speak openly against the crown. What was more, Arya was missing which was either a good thing or a bad thing.
“You are summoned to King’s Landing, regardless,” said Maester Luwin. “To swear loyalty to the new king.”
“Joffrey puts my father in chains,” Robb said. “Now he wants his ass kissed?”
“It’s a royal command,” Celia countered. “At the very least we might get Sansa back and perhaps Father will be given some sort of leniency if you—”
“I won’t refuse,” Robb said firmly. “His grace summons me to King’s Landing, I’ll go to King’s Landing. But not alone.” Robb looked to the maester. “Call the banners.”
“All of them, my lord?” Maester Luwin asked.
“They’ve all sworn to defend my father, have they not?”
“They have.”
“Now we see what their words are worth.”
The maester bowed his head and left to do as he was bid.
“Robb,” Celia said as he sat. “You cannot be serious. This would be considered an act of war.”
“We cannot sir and act like sheep when we have already been shown that the Lannisters will not play fair.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“Are you afraid?” Theon asked.
Robb glances down at his shaking hand. “I must be.”
“Good,” Theon chuckled.
“Why is that good?”
“It means you’re not stupid.”
“Just because one is not stupid,” Celia said. “Does not mean that he cannot be foolish.”
—
The Northern lords were hosted in a feast with Robb sitting at the head of the main table amongst them, the head of other great houses surrounding him. Celia had set everything up, making sure that certain lords were not sitting next to each other and making sure that certain foods were not given to certain lords. She would have done Robb’s mother proud at her work.
She had made sure to have him dressed properly, like their lord father, only with hints of Tully blue embroidery across the hem of his shirt. He felt every inch a lord, and wished that Celia could sit beside him, knowing she would be much better at calming men than he would be. However, she had stayed with Rickon in the nursery so that she would not be overstepping her perceived place, which should be by his side. Now, he had only Theon and Bran with him.
“For thirty years,” Lord Greatjon Umber said. “I’ve been making corpses out of men, boy. I’m the man you want leading the vanguard.”
“Galbart Glover will lead the van,” Robb said carefully.
“The bloody Wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover,” the lord said angrily. “I will lead the van or I will take my men and march them home.”
“You are welcome to do so, Lord Umber,” Robb said forcefully. “And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep and hang you for an oathbreaker.”
“Oathbreaker, is it?!” Lord Umber stood up, knocking his chair to the ground. “I’ll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass.”
He began to draw his sword, but Grey Wind leapt onto the table and rushed forward, charging at the man. A pained roar echoed across the keep as Robb stood. Grey Wind returned to Robb’s side and Lord Umber stood up, revealing that he was now down two fingers.
“My lord father taught me it was death to bare steel against your leige lord,” he said before looking at the other men. “But doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me.”
Lord Umber was shaking. “You’re meat…” He smiled. “Is bloody tough.”
The man began to laugh and Robb released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding and laughed along with him. Happy to avoid any more conflict.
—
“You are to leave the North in a few days,” Celia said, entering the solar he had been using as his own since their father left.
She was dressed in her night dress, a quilt wrapped around her, slipping off her shoulders like a robe might. Her dark hair was loose and fell past her shoulders like nightfall.
Robb recalled his dream and averted his gaze, returning it to his work. “We are. You are to remain here with Bran and Rickon.”
“I can’t.”
Robb paused and returned his eyes to her. “Can’t?”
She stepped closer into the candlelight. “Robb, I am a bastard.”
“Celia—”
“And I am a woman.” Robb kept his gaze level with her eyes. “I am left in a precarious position if I am left in charge of Bran and Rickon. They are left in a precarious position if they are with only me as their protector.”
“Celia,” Robb began. “You would never do anything to hurt them.”
“I am not saying that isn’t true. I would die for our brothers if it meant their safety. But we cannot trust that someone won’t take advantage of the situation.”
“Advantage how?”
“If someone were to compromise me, if someone were to have me Mary them before the heart tree—”
“I would never let you be forced into a marriage you do not want, Celia,” Robb said, standing.
She smiled at him and put a hand on his arm. “I know, but you would not be here.” She withdrew her hand and the place that she touched burned hot against the cold air in her absence. “I would be left without protection for Bran and Rickon are in no position to protect me as you and Father have. If someone were to force a marriage, they might force themselves as acting lords of the keep.”
“Celia—”
“If the Lannisters are willing to push a lord’s son from a tower to possibly keep their power, then they would have no qualms in using a bastard to lay claim to a keep that is not theirs. If the rumors of Joffrey are true, they are already doing it.”
Robb closed his eyes, knowing what she was saying was true. “Celia, we might be riding into battle, we might be going to war. I cannot put you in danger. I could not live with myself if you got hurt on my account when I should be watching out for you.”
“Robb, I am trained in the art of healing and I would be of help. I would not be a burden. Please, let me come with you or I shall ride a few days after you have left and be alone in my journey to catch up to you.”
Robb’s lips formed a thin line. “Fine,” he said. “But you are to stay close to me at all times when you are able. Understood?”
Celia nodded and dipped her head before returning to her room.
Robb sat back down and covered his face with his hands. The truth was he did not wish for her to leave his side either. He sat there for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest.