The Young Wolf - A Stark AGOT AAR
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Chapter 12
Chapter 12 - Ravens, Krakens, and Broken Things
Bran
“I implore you to stay here, my Lord,” said Ser Rodrik as he helped saddle Bran onto his horse “battle is no place for a boy, especially for...” he trailed off before he could say what he meant, though Bran knew.
“Especially for a cripple?” finished Bran.
Rodrik looked at the floor with guilt “I meant no offence Bran, but it's true. If I get you killed-”
“You won't, I have Summer and Hodor to protect me.” Bran looked over to Hodor, who was joined by Osha. “Even Osha can fight.”
“Hm.” Rodrik looked over to her and frowned “Winterfell is no place for a wildling.”
“She has proven herself loyal, and her presence seems to please Hodor.”
“As long as she doesn't star pleasuring him-” Ser Rodrik broke off his speech and looked up at Bran with bewilderment.
“What's wrong?”
Ser Rodrik's cheeks blushed bright red and he shook his head. “Nothing my lord.” He quickly returned to tightening the leather straps around Bran's leg.
The saddle the Imp had designed for Bran worked perfectly, and it had given him a new sense of freedom. Sure he could no longer climb, but he could ride for as long as he wanted. Before the war with the Lannisters had begun, Bran wanted to personally thank the Imp for providing him with a new set of legs. However, the only Lannister that was at Winterfell was the one sleeping in the cells. The Kingslayer had returned, though this time instead of a cloak of gold and while he was covered muck and mud. There had been times when Bran had been tempted to go down and talk to him, but he didn't know what he would say. Should he be angry with him? Bran didn't feel angry at him, in fact, he felt nothing for the Kingslayer, besides a slight curiosity.
A few minutes after Rodrik had tightened the straps on his saddle, Queen Roslin entered the courtyard, flanked by two of her household guard. Soldiers, servants, and all those in-between bowed their heads to her, and when she reached Bran he did the same. A small silver circlet encrusted with sapphires and crafted in the style of the Twins of House Frey sat upon her head, and her brown braided hair wrapped around her back down to her waist. Her pale skin was as white as the snow atop the battlements of Winterfell. Her beauty had enraptured Bran so much that the only way he dealt with his feelings was to never see her, so great was his fear that he may fall in love with his brother's wife.
“Your Grace, it is good to see you.” Bran tried to make his voice deeper than it was and puffed his chest up to look more manly.
The Queen gently smiled “I hear you go with the army, is that true?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It's only right that a Stark goes with those who seek to liberate the North from the invaders. Even if I can't fight, my personal banners can inspire the troops.”
She furrowed her brow with concern. “Are you sure it would not be better to remain within the safety of Winterfell? I hear the Ironborn are fierce fighters.”
“So are we” answered Bran in an almost brusque tone, far from what he actually intended to sound like.
The Queen began to panic. “I meant no offence-”
“I know, Your Grace, you are only doing what you think is right.” Bran's reassurance seemed to calm her down, though her once pale cheeks were now bright red. “I suspect my mother would do the same if she was here.”
The Queen smiled “Lady Catelyn often tries to do it with Robb, though she had not succeeded so far.” As she spoke of Robb her smile disappeared. “He's far too hungry for glory I say, just like all the men who go into battle.”
“No,” said Bran suddenly “He's hungry for vengeance, as we all are.” Through his mind's eye, all he could see was the same vision that greeted Bran every night, the beheading of his father in front of a statue of a king, with the banners of dancing Stag and Lion flying above him. “The North remembers, Your Grace, and we will never rest until my father is avenged.”
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The army had been marching for two days by the time they reached the edge of Wolfswood, a journey that should have taken less than a day had been extended due to the unexpected snowfall that had blanketed the North over the last few weeks. The overly protective Ser Rodrik had doubled Bran's personal guard since they had left Winterfell, and his entourage now boasted a strength of two hundred men-at-arms. Accompanying Bran were the two Walders, Meera Reed, Lord Cley Cerwyn, Hodor, and Osha. There were so many children in one place that soldiers had begun to call it the nursery, much to the proud Lord Cerwyn's annoyance.
“I should be in the vanguard with the other lords, not back here with meek and the simpletons.” The proud Cley Cerwyn whined as Hodor and several of the guards began to pitch their tents. Cley was only a few years younger than Robb and was around his size, though he lacked the maturity of Bran's brother. “Ser Rodrik claims that he owes it to my father to keep me alive. I say he fears that I will overshadow him in battle.”
Osha, who was sat by a fire skinning a hare, spat onto the ground next to her and looked towards Cley, her eyes burning with contempt. “What do you know of war, my lord? Practising with a wooden sword in a courtyard does not prepare you for the blood, or the sick, or the shit.”
Cley scrunched up his nose “I know what war is like! My father told me the stories of when he fought at the Battle of the Bells, and the Trident, and at Pyke!”
“Did he tell you how brave and honourable and courageous it all was?” Cley was about to answer back to Osha, but it seemed she had caught him out. “I thought not.” A glum Osha returned to her skinning, and Cley walked off into the camp, kicking rocks as he went.
“He seems like an overconfident fool,” said Big Walder when Cley was finally out of earshot “is he desperate to meet his father in the Seven Hells?”
“He's just desperate for vengeance, like all of us.” Said Bran as he reclined of a wooden log. Hodor had placed him near the fire whilst he pitched his tent, and next to Bran was Summer. Big Walder was sitting across from him on an upturned bucket, as he talked he sharpened his short-sword with a whetstone.
“From what I've read and heard, vengeance is a fools game. Sure it will grant you some temporary pleasure, but in the end, it will always get you killed.” There was a sense of wistfulness in Big Walder's voice that made him sound far older than he actually was. Despite being of nine years old, Big Walder was much wiser than anyone his age was, and far eclipsed his cousin Little Walder. Bran even caught him berating his uncle Perwyn for forgetting to check that Little Walder wasn't in his bed. When Bran brought this up to Maester Luwin, he claimed that it was something to do with his mother, who was a Blackwood. Blackwoods, he said, were known for being clever and sly, with some of the most infamous schemers in Westerosi history coming from their bloodline. Wolves are vicious, lions are strong, stags are proud, but ravens are clever.
“Aye,” said Osha, who had been obviously eavesdropping on the conversation. “We Free-folk realised the folly of vengeance when the dead began to rise. Mance made us see that if we did not band together we would die.”
Big Walder rolled his eyes “I thought we told you that we will not believe your lies.”
“I'm not lying!” Osha threw the half-skinned hare on the floor and stared into the flames “they killed and then enslaved my family, my husband...my children.” Tears began to well up in Osha's eyes, causing Bran and Walder to look at each other with concern. “You think these wars between kings and princes will mean anything when the dead arise? There is a reason the snows have fallen this early. The Wall won't stop them, all the high lords and their armies will not stop them.”
“So what do you suggest?” asked Big Walder “that we pray? That we beg to the Others not to kill us?”
Osha shook her head “we need to run, get as far south as south goes.”
Big Walder began to laugh in the same condescending way he always did when someone made a mistake. “You are suggesting that everyone just runs?”
“I'm suggesting we run before it's too late.”
Bran had grown tired of the discussion of the Others, he knew all it would lead to would be further arguments and fighting. “Osha that's enough for today, finish skinning that hare and then get some rest.” Osha shot Big Walder one last scathing look before picking up the hare and skinning it in silence.
When Big Walder returned to sharpening is blade talk of the upcoming battle returned “do you think we will see action?”
Bran shook his head “not likely, Ser Rodrik has forbidden us from getting close to the action. We are to stay in the rearguard.”
“Let us hope the Ironborn have been unable to bring any horses from across the sea.”
Meera, who had been quietly fletching arrows in the entrance of her tent, finally spoke up. “You don't have to worry about that, my father's men have dealt with it. He says his men have been picking off Ironborn reavers for weeks, and have been sowing chaos within their lines.”
“I should be in the vanguard with the other lords, not back here with meek and the simpletons.” The proud Cley Cerwyn whined as Hodor and several of the guards began to pitch their tents. Cley was only a few years younger than Robb and was around his size, though he lacked the maturity of Bran's brother. “Ser Rodrik claims that he owes it to my father to keep me alive. I say he fears that I will overshadow him in battle.”
Osha, who was sat by a fire skinning a hare, spat onto the ground next to her and looked towards Cley, her eyes burning with contempt. “What do you know of war, my lord? Practising with a wooden sword in a courtyard does not prepare you for the blood, or the sick, or the shit.”
Cley scrunched up his nose “I know what war is like! My father told me the stories of when he fought at the Battle of the Bells, and the Trident, and at Pyke!”
“Did he tell you how brave and honourable and courageous it all was?” Cley was about to answer back to Osha, but it seemed she had caught him out. “I thought not.” A glum Osha returned to her skinning, and Cley walked off into the camp, kicking rocks as he went.
“He seems like an overconfident fool,” said Big Walder when Cley was finally out of earshot “is he desperate to meet his father in the Seven Hells?”
“He's just desperate for vengeance, like all of us.” Said Bran as he reclined of a wooden log. Hodor had placed him near the fire whilst he pitched his tent, and next to Bran was Summer. Big Walder was sitting across from him on an upturned bucket, as he talked he sharpened his short-sword with a whetstone.
“From what I've read and heard, vengeance is a fools game. Sure it will grant you some temporary pleasure, but in the end, it will always get you killed.” There was a sense of wistfulness in Big Walder's voice that made him sound far older than he actually was. Despite being of nine years old, Big Walder was much wiser than anyone his age was, and far eclipsed his cousin Little Walder. Bran even caught him berating his uncle Perwyn for forgetting to check that Little Walder wasn't in his bed. When Bran brought this up to Maester Luwin, he claimed that it was something to do with his mother, who was a Blackwood. Blackwoods, he said, were known for being clever and sly, with some of the most infamous schemers in Westerosi history coming from their bloodline. Wolves are vicious, lions are strong, stags are proud, but ravens are clever.
“Aye,” said Osha, who had been obviously eavesdropping on the conversation. “We Free-folk realised the folly of vengeance when the dead began to rise. Mance made us see that if we did not band together we would die.”
Big Walder rolled his eyes “I thought we told you that we will not believe your lies.”
“I'm not lying!” Osha threw the half-skinned hare on the floor and stared into the flames “they killed and then enslaved my family, my husband...my children.” Tears began to well up in Osha's eyes, causing Bran and Walder to look at each other with concern. “You think these wars between kings and princes will mean anything when the dead arise? There is a reason the snows have fallen this early. The Wall won't stop them, all the high lords and their armies will not stop them.”
“So what do you suggest?” asked Big Walder “that we pray? That we beg to the Others not to kill us?”
Osha shook her head “we need to run, get as far south as south goes.”
Big Walder began to laugh in the same condescending way he always did when someone made a mistake. “You are suggesting that everyone just runs?”
“I'm suggesting we run before it's too late.”
Bran had grown tired of the discussion of the Others, he knew all it would lead to would be further arguments and fighting. “Osha that's enough for today, finish skinning that hare and then get some rest.” Osha shot Big Walder one last scathing look before picking up the hare and skinning it in silence.
When Big Walder returned to sharpening is blade talk of the upcoming battle returned “do you think we will see action?”
Bran shook his head “not likely, Ser Rodrik has forbidden us from getting close to the action. We are to stay in the rearguard.”
“Let us hope the Ironborn have been unable to bring any horses from across the sea.”
Meera, who had been quietly fletching arrows in the entrance of her tent, finally spoke up. “You don't have to worry about that, my father's men have dealt with it. He says his men have been picking off Ironborn reavers for weeks, and have been sowing chaos within their lines.”
The news made Big Walder smile “you Crannogmen have always been crafty. My father always threatened to banish me to the Neck if I was bad, he said your kind were cannibals.”
She chuckled at Walder's story “Only in the stories.”
Bran found himself staring at her once again, her beauty holding him in a trance. Whenever she laughed he would always find himself flustered, with his cheeks red and his palms sweaty. In one of the few nights where he didn't dream of dead men and random events, he dreamt of Meera naked in his bed, kissing him and caressing him and healing his legs. The sight of her made him want to scream his feelings in hopes she would feel the same, though he would always come to his senses in the end. I can't be loved, I'm a cripple.
A few hours later Bran retired for the night, sleeping in his cold tent with the wind howling outside. As he slept his dreams came to him, though this time it was different. He found himself walking through the Winterfell godswood, but instead of the weirwood being white it was soaked in blood. Around it a thousand ravens, crows, and magpies flew. The noise of their cawing was almost deafening, and Bran tried to cover his ears to keep the noise out, though it was no use. The cawing reached a crescendo when finally it stopped. The birds suddenly began to smash into each other, their broken bodies and blood slowly forming a shape of a man. Eventually pale white skin and hair became visible, an eye and a socket were an eye should be, and a large raven shaped mark across a cheek.
“Hello Bran,” the figure said with ethereal calmness “it's time you see the truth.” Bran tried to speak but he couldn't. Desperately he moved his fingers around in his mouth, only to discover he had no tongue. “I do not need your mouth, I need your eyes and ears.” The man suddenly grabbed Bran by the neck an pulled his down, forcing two fingers into Bran's eye sockets. What happened next made Bran feel like he was falling out of a tower yet again. He saw an army of the dead marching with four ice-men on four dead steeds. He saw a black lion and a crowned wolf charging across a field with an army Night's Watchmen. He saw a dragon birth a wolf with wings, and he saw a Kraken wither and die beneath a white sun.
When Bran awoke he found himself covered in a layer of sweat despite feeling cold. The noise outside of the tent was that of preparation, it appeared that the army was moving. When he had gotten changed, Hodor carried him out on his back and with the help of Meera saddling him on his horse. The army was moving out once again, this time it was highly likely they would run across the enemy. Crannogmen scouts claimed the Ironborn were buckling under the strain of their raids and the poor weather. Three factions had formed, those who wished to march on Deepwood Motte, those who wished to retreat to the coast, and those who wanted to remain in the Wolfswood to pillage and rape. No doubt news had arrived of a Northern army approaching, success depended on if they knew the true size of the host.
When the army stopped a few hours later, a fine layer of snow had begun to fall in the Wolfswood. The ferns and bushes of the forest floor had an only light dusting of snow as the pines and ironwoods had protected it from the elements. It was the sounds of distant war drums that alerted to Bran his followers that battle was about to begin. For hours they waited for news, with only the distant sounds of clashing swords and dying men confirming that a battle was taking place. The guards were anxious, with each one flinching when even a slight sound was made. For the entire time, no one spoke aside from Hodor, who would occasionally say his phrase out of boredom. It was nearly sundown when the first rider from the front arrived. His jerkin had spatters of blood on it, and his eyes were weary with the trails of battle.
“My Lord” he said as he bowed his head “I bring news from Lords Reed and Ryswell.”
“Yes, what is it?” asked Bran impatiently.
The soldier let out a tired smile “the Ironborn are routed.” Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and Lord Cley began to hoot with excitement. “They were not ready for us, my lord. Half of them were asleep, whilst the rest were drunk or busy reaving. The son of Lord Botely was killed, and we have captured Lord Gorold Goodbrother.” The Goodbrothers were one of the largest houses on the Iron Isles, capturing their lord was a massive blow to Balon Greyjoy's campaign. However, there was only one piece of news Bran wanted to know.
“What of Theon, did we find him?”
The guard shook his head. “The Turncloak wasn't seen, my lord, though his uncle Lord Victarion has fled northwards with the remnants.”
- 1
All Northmen seemingly thirst for his blood, though I wonder if Bran is had hungry as his countrymen...
Also thanks! I kind of wrote it during a two hour period of inspiration so I'm glad it turned out alright.
Like all things in Westeros, not everything is as it seems...
that's a great victory... soon the war in the North will be over and 30.000 Northern soldiers could join Robb in the South
Perhaps. With the Tyrells supporting Stannis, Robb will need every sword available if he ends up being at odds with Stannis.
Chapter 13
Chapter 13 - The Wolf in the Lion's Den
Robb
A cool northerly breeze was a blessing in blazing heat Robb found himself in, the air smothered his body cooling areas which had seen massive amounts of sweat wash over them. According to the maesters summer was coming to an end, but in the Crownlands it felt like it was still in full swing. Two days previous Robb had shed his wolf pelt cloak, instead opting for just plain riding clothes. Some of the Northern soldiers had stripped until they were bare-chested, whilst overs took turns to bathe in nearby streams. It was only the Bolton men who remained in their full battle armour, for Lord Roose had disciplined them to a point where they scarcely spoke out against his plans.
Since the storming of the Antlers, Robb had declared that they would not take any castles until they reach the capital for they did have the men or time to spare. The Tyrell host twenty-thousand strong, led by Lord Randyll Tarly, was besieging the Bramsfort, whilst an eighteen-thousand strong force led by Stannis Baratheon was besieging Stokeworth. There was only a narrow strip of land for Robb and his army to march through, and in their way was Hayford. For their part, the Hayfords had chosen to remain in their castle, and when the Northern and River Lords marched past with their soldiers, the guards in Hayford Castle simply looked out from the battlements and watched.
It was dusk on the third day of riding that Robb caught his first sight of King's Landing, the top of one of the Red Keep's towers poking through the haze. All Robb wanted to do was charge straight ahead and rescue Sansa, while in the process killing the boy-king who had taken the head of Robb's father. He knew he couldn't do exactly that, but he could do the next best thing.
“We do not rest tonight,” Robb said to the Lords who had assembled to meet him “before the dawn of the next day I want King's Landing encircled and put under siege.” There were no objections from the lords, only silent nods from those who doubted the plan, and bellowing roars of support from those who believed in it.
It was when the moon was at it's highest that Robb and his army reached the capital's walls. The bells of the Great Sept tolled as sounds of madness emanated from within the city. As the Northerners and Riverlanders entrenched themselves around the city's perimeter, Robb observed both Lannister soldiers and Gold Cloaks manning the walls and preparing for an immediate strike. They will be in for a long night thought Robb. Instead of storming it, his first intention was to negotiate. He was not going to put the city to the sack if he could not help it.
The next day Robb and the lords present met under a large white pavilion emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. In the centre of the pavilion was a large circular table, and placed on top of it was a wooden model of King's Landing. Each of the street names was labelled, the Streets of Steel, Silk, and Flour. Coppersmith's Wynd, Muddy Lane, and Gin Alley. All names that Robb and his men would have to get familiar with if they were to take the city. Assembled within the pavilion was Lords Bolton, Umber, Karstark, Tallhart, Blackwood, Bracken, Piper, Mallister, and Vance. Alongside them was Lord Frey's personal representative, Black Walder, and the leader of the Tully forces, Sers Edmure and Brynden.
“The city is surrounded, Your Grace,” said Lord Tytos Blackwood as he fanned himself with a piece of parchment “Every gate has been surrounded, even the Mud Gate despite the fierce fighting there.”
“We have also seized some of the Crown's ships” added Edmure, who pointed to the docks next to the Mud Gate. “When we stormed into the port we caught them completely unaware, most of the sailors were still asleep in their beds.” Robb wondered if those sleeping sailors had their necks cut by Edmure and his men, or if he had decided to spare them. He could have asked but he thought it was best not to, reprimanding his men before a battle is a sure way to destroy their morale.
Robb turned to Lords Jonos Bracken and Clement Piper, the men he had put in charge of constructing the siege engines. “My lords, how long will it take to build three trebuchets?”
“A day, maybe two” answered the red and sweating Lord Jonos “though that's as long as the weather holds. If rain falls then it may double the amount of time needed.”
“No need to worry about that!” bellowed the Greatjon “I haven't seen a cloud in weeks.”
The Blackfish held out an unfurled scroll to Robb “we have received news from the North, Your Grace. It concerns the Ironborn.” Without hesitation, Robb snatched the scroll from his uncle's had and began to read it. It was clear it was written by Roslin, her delicate handwriting was far neater than any Northerners.
“The city is surrounded, Your Grace,” said Lord Tytos Blackwood as he fanned himself with a piece of parchment “Every gate has been surrounded, even the Mud Gate despite the fierce fighting there.”
“We have also seized some of the Crown's ships” added Edmure, who pointed to the docks next to the Mud Gate. “When we stormed into the port we caught them completely unaware, most of the sailors were still asleep in their beds.” Robb wondered if those sleeping sailors had their necks cut by Edmure and his men, or if he had decided to spare them. He could have asked but he thought it was best not to, reprimanding his men before a battle is a sure way to destroy their morale.
Robb turned to Lords Jonos Bracken and Clement Piper, the men he had put in charge of constructing the siege engines. “My lords, how long will it take to build three trebuchets?”
“A day, maybe two” answered the red and sweating Lord Jonos “though that's as long as the weather holds. If rain falls then it may double the amount of time needed.”
“No need to worry about that!” bellowed the Greatjon “I haven't seen a cloud in weeks.”
The Blackfish held out an unfurled scroll to Robb “we have received news from the North, Your Grace. It concerns the Ironborn.” Without hesitation, Robb snatched the scroll from his uncle's had and began to read it. It was clear it was written by Roslin, her delicate handwriting was far neater than any Northerners.
To Robb of House Stark, First of his Name, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North and of the Trident.
I write to bring you news most blessed, the invading Ironborn host has been smashed during a glorious battle in the Wolfswood. Lords Howland Reed and Rodrik Cassel killed and captured nearly seven-thousand reavers, killing Tallard Botely and capturing Lord Gorold Goodbrother. The remnants have fled into the mountains and surely to their doom.
I pray every day for your safe return.
With all my love,
Roslin of House Frey, Queen of the North and of the Trident.
I write to bring you news most blessed, the invading Ironborn host has been smashed during a glorious battle in the Wolfswood. Lords Howland Reed and Rodrik Cassel killed and captured nearly seven-thousand reavers, killing Tallard Botely and capturing Lord Gorold Goodbrother. The remnants have fled into the mountains and surely to their doom.
I pray every day for your safe return.
With all my love,
Roslin of House Frey, Queen of the North and of the Trident.
Just seeing her handwriting made Robb's tummy flutter, and for a moment he just stood still, reading the scroll again and again. Eventually, he looked up to see the confused lords looking straight at him. “The Ironborn are routed my lords, Lords Reed and Cassel has sent them fleeing to the coast.” A wave of goodwill spread through the pavilion, with Lords Umber and Karstark being the most jovial.
“The Ironborn will rue the day they chose to cross House Stark!” declared Lord Rickard Karstark “now we need to make sure the Lannisters know the same.”
Lord Roose was not convinced “the Ironborn may have lost, but that won't stop Balon Greyjoy from continuing to send his reavers against the western coast. He knows the only way to stop is to land on the Iron Islands and rip him out of Pyke. We lack the ships for such a course of action.”
Robb had grown tired of Roose's constant cynicism. “Then what do you suggest, Lord Bolton?”
The Lord of the Dreadfort twisted his mouth around as he thought “perhaps we make peace with him, if only for a short while.”
“And how would we know he would keep to such a peace? He has shown himself to be a dishonourable opportunist twice now.”
“We ask for a hostage” Roose answered softly.
“A hostage?” Lord Tallhart shouted, “we had a hostage last time, and look what happened there.”
Lord Roose looked straight at Robb, a sly grin appearing across his face. “yes we did, though this one wouldn't return to the Iron Isles.”
Robb knew what Roose was referring to. His greatest mistake, back when he was still a boy playing at war. It was barely a year since then, yet Robb felt like it had been twenty. He had seen many people come and go, with those he called friends and allies dying in battle or being captured. Theon's betrayal had been his lowest moment though, and even to this day, Robb wasn't sure that he would have kept on going if it wasn't for Roslin.
“I will agree to a hostage, but only if it is Balon's daughter. I made a vow to the Old Gods that I would kill Theon myself if he ever entered my kingdom. I will honour that vow.”
“A good decision,” the elderly Lord Jason Mallister said as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “The Kraken's daughter is a reaver through-and-through, many of the Ironborn traders who come through Seagard talk highly of her, and it is said that Balon wishes her to be his heir. I for one would not see how a woman-”
Suddenly an out of breath Bolton man-at-arms burst into the pavilion “Your Grace, my lords, I did not mean to interrupt but a white flag has appeared atop of the King's Gate.”
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It felt like the entire Northern army had come to watch the parley between Robb and the Lannisters, and every man among them was thirsty for something. Vengeance, peace, booty, or perhaps just water and ale. The Lannisters had chosen to set the meeting time at midday, just when the sun was at it's highest, and both man and beast was suffering. Perhaps they hope to melt us thought Robb well they've succeeded, I feel like I am swimming in my own sweat. For the sake of pomp and circumstance, Robb had outfitted himself with his armour, which meant he was protected increase they chose to charge at him. However, it also meant he felt like he was being slowly baked alive.
“Gods where are these fucking Lannisters!” screamed a hot and sweaty Greatjon.
Lord Roose, who looked almost cold in his black amour, eased Lord Umber's anger “don't worry, my lord, they will come. They cannot afford not to.”
One last look at the white flag on the gate soothed some of Robb's fears, though he would not put it past the Lannisters to try and loose some quarrels at his direction. The sound of the gates creaking open and the portcullis scraping upwards signalled that the Lannister's were coming. A guard of twenty Lannister cavalry men exited the city with the negotiator, who was a man Robb recognised instantly. He had come to Winterfell with Robert, he had travelled to the wall with Jon and had attempted to kill Bran in his sleep.
“The the fucking Imp” a scornful Greatjon muttered under his breath. Tyrion Lannister was wearing Lannister armour and crimson cloak with the golden lion emblazoned on it. On his collar sat the pin of the Hand of the King. The leader of the Lannister guards, a golden-haired boy barely older than Robb, stopped five feet in front of the Northern envoys. His armour was finer than the other Lannister riders, and his face held the arrogance reserved only for westermen.
The rider lifted his head as he began to speak “My lord-”
“It's Your Grace!” interrupted Lord Umber with a thunderous roar. “And you will bow, he is a King!”
The assembled Northern soldiers cheered and called out in unison “The King in the North!” Robb had to lift his hand to silence them.
All pretence of bravery and steadfastness disappeared from the boy's face as he and his guards bowed their head. “I meant no offence, Your Grace.” When Robb did not answer, the boy lifted his head and began to speak, his voice noticeably meeker than before. “ May I present the two envoys sent by His Grace, King Joffrey Baratheon. I am Ser Lancel Lannister, my friend next to me is my cousin, Lord Tyrion Lannister.”
The dwarf let out a wry smile and moved his horse next to his cousin's. “Yes, cousin, and also Hand of the King. Funny how you forgot to mention that.”
Robb chuckled “A Hand of the King who does his own treating?”
The Imp laughed back “A King that does his?”
“In the North, we do everything ourselves, we don't have servants to do work which we should be able to do. I will show your boy king that when I drag him off that iron chair of his.”
The Imp turned his head and surveyed Robb's troops“And how many lives will it cost you to show my nephew that lesson, hm?”
“Every man here is ready and willing to die for me, and I am willing to die for them too.” Some of the nearby soldiers let out a low growl of approval, whilst others beat the ends of their spears against the mud in support.
When he turned back, the Imp seemed positively amused, his twisted mouth grinning from ear to ear. “How honourable...how Stark.” The Imp sighed deeply, his smile disappearing. “Do you think your sister will be willing to give her life for your quest for revenge? She has already given so much for that already. Her best friend, her father, her maidenhead...”
Robb's heart felt like it had been hit with a lance, his belly transformed to water, and for a moment he felt like he was going to fall off his horse. “What...what...”
Ser Lancel reared his horse closer to his uncle and whispered “My lord, perhaps we should refrain-”
“We should tell the truth, Lancel” interrupted the Imp, his eyes still staring straight at Robb. “Joffrey is now your brother-in-law by marriage, a marriage that has been consummated. With luck, Queen Sansa is pregnant with a little stag.”
Robb had to steady himself on his horse in fear he was about to fall off it. I wasn't quick enough he kept on telling himself I wasn't quick enough and now the bastard-king has raped her. A deep pit had formed in Robb's stomach, and he felt like he was going to throw up.
The Greatjon spat at the Imp.“You fucking degenerates!”
Offended, the Imp fired back. “The marriage between the Joffrey and Lady Sansa was agreed between Ned Stark and King Robert over a year ago! By all means, it is legal and binding.”
Having steadied himself, Robb looked up from his horse and towards the two Lannisters. The sight of the man who had tried to kill his brother and allowed his sister to be raped filled him with a burning sense of rage. “Tell me, Imp. What's to stop me from slicing your head right off your shoulders?”
The Imp shrugged “Not a lot truth be told, in fact, my sweet sister would probably thank you for it. But if you want an ending to this where you get your sister back and perhaps become independent from the crown, then you need me.”
Lord Roose, who had remained silent during the parley, finally spoke up. “You have nothing to play with, my lord.” Unlike the Greatjon's, his words lacked any real emotion, not even a slight hint of it. “Even if we leave, Stannis and his Tyrell allies are barely a day's ride away.”
The Imp ignored Lord Roose and turned back to Robb. “All I am asking for is five extra days to negotiate. I am confident that I can persuade the king to return your sister and give you the concessions you want. All I need is time.”
“No” answered Robb.
“What?” exclaimed an astonished Lancel.
“I've seen what happens when we play the Lannister's game. The Reynes, Aerys, Jon Arryn, my father...” Robb took the reins of his horse and moved up next to the Imp. He lowered his voice so only he and the Imp could her what he had to say. “The North remembers, Lannister, and so will the Seven Kingdoms when they hear of the Young Wolf's fury at the city of the lions.”
The Imp nodded glumly. “So be it.” Quickly the Imp turned his horse and rode back into the city, his guards close behind.
“No no no, that can't be it!” shouted a panicked Ser Lancel as he saw his uncle riding away.
The Greatjon began to laugh “Run along boy! The time for talking is over!” When the portcullis lowered and the gates slammed shut, Robb and his advisors turned around and began to ride back into the camp.
“What shall we do, Your Grace,” asked Lord Roose as they slowly trotted towards the king's pavilion.
“Prepare the men” answered Robb “tonight we attack"
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Lancel has already helped kill one king, does he have it in him to kill another?
Two good and interesting chapters
Thanks!
Oh, my sweet summer child...
Spoken like a true Northerner!
You'll see...
Also on a side note, because of our matching profile pictures I keep on thinking I'm replying to myself
Man the suspense is killing me. Game of Thrones has taught me that something unsuspected is about to happen. I don't trust Lannisters or Boltons.
Another good chapter. Good on Robb for not trusting the Lannisters. I wonder what the reunion between Sansa and Robb will be like.
I am also curious, if Robb takes the city, how similar he will be to Cregan Stark who oversaw the Hour of the Wolf during the Dance of the Dragons.
I am also curious, if Robb takes the city, how similar he will be to Cregan Stark who oversaw the Hour of the Wolf during the Dance of the Dragons.
Expecting the unexpected is a very wise decision to take when it comes to events in the WOIAF.
This AAR was originally going to be about Cregan Stark during the Dance of the Dragons bookmark. In the end I thought it would be interesting to see if I could win the War of the Five Kings as Robb.
Are you thinking of making this a long campaign? This is shaping up to the best Clash of Kings AAR since My Watch Has Ended with Jon Snow!
Just read it in its entirety and love it so far! Really like Rolsin, she's a great character!
How long do you plan to have this AAR going? Until you win (or lose) the war or until Robb dies?
How long do you plan to have this AAR going? Until you win (or lose) the war or until Robb dies?