All will be only with fire and sword in Crownlands. Roslin is a great and interesting female character
The Young Wolf - A Stark AGOT AAR
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All will be only with fire and sword in Crownlands. Roslin is a great and interesting female character
Thank you for such kind words! I really did not expect this AAR to be so popular.
As for the length, I've not really thought about when I would end it. The earliest point that I would end it (outside of external forces) would be with Robb's death. Though if that was too early then I would carry on with his heir.
Chapter 14
Chapter 14 - The City of Fire and Blood
The blood-red light of the setting sun poured over the capital, illuminating the Red Keep's already crimson bricks into a blazing display of deep reds and glowing golds. It was beautiful, but it also felt like an omen. “The gods know blood will be shed this day” Olyvar had said when he was dressing Robb for battle “and if the gods are merciful, it will be lion blood the covers King's Landing.” Talk of lions and blood brought back memories of his meeting with the Kingslayer back at Riverrun, of his both his taunts and his warnings. Jaime Lannister was destroyed that day, the look on his face when the topic came up made that abundantly clear. All that was left for him was the Kingslayer, a rotten husk of a man who profaned his sword with Aerys Targaryen's blood, and perhaps the blood of the Targaryen babes as well.
Robb and House Stark had no love for the Targaryens, the Mad King had murdered his grandfather and uncle, Prince Rhaegar kidnapped Robb's aunt and proceeded to rape and kill her. However, the acts of a father or a grandfather should not damn their sons or daughters. Little Rhaenys and Aegon were as innocent as Bran and Rickon are to Robb's actions, though Tywin Lannister did not care and neither did King Robert. The reason Stannis had Dragonstone, to begin with, was because he was sent by his brother to capture both the island and the two remaining “dragonspawn”, Viserys and his mother Queen Rhaella. Rhaella would die after birthing a baby girl, and little eight-year-old Viserys had to flee across the Narrow Sea with his newborn sister in his arms. The Beggar King he became known as the last male dragon was forced to sell all his valuables to feed both himself and his sister. Many in the Seven Kingdoms painted him a fool, but Robb felt pity for him, for the boy who was forced to flee his home and beg for the rest of his life. It was nearly a year ago when the news arrived that Viserys Targaryen has been killed in the Dothraki Sea, his head reportedly crowned with molten gold by a Dothraki Horselord. With both his death and the escalation of the war, people forgot about the Targaryens and so did Robb. That was until this morning when news arrived of a Targaryen Princess who had sacked the slave city Astapor. This Daenerys Stormborn apparently had eight-thousand unsullied warriors at her back and a small Khalasar. The Myrish sellsword captain who had told Robb this claimed she also had three dragons and swore up and down that they were as large as Balerion and Vhagar. Foreign embellishments, Robb knew, though if even half of what he said was true, the dragon princess could well become a threat to Westeros.
Four newly arrived trebuchets had been pounding the city walls for nearly half a day when the siege ladders were finally ready, and now the venerable walls of King's Landing were pock-marked with impact craters. Each of the trebuchets had received a names by the men who operated them, near the Dragon Gate was Ned's Wrath, the one bombarding the Gate of the Gods was called She Wolf, the trebuchet tasked with attacking the Lion Gate was called Cersei's Cunt, and the one placed near Robb's pavilion close to the King's Gate was called Lionsbane. The siege engines had become almost like landmarks, their large wooden structures acting as compasses for troops to orient themselves on.
Tully bowman and Lannister crossbows had been trading shots at each other ever since the trebuchets started their work, and every so often a loud cheer would sound when someone finally got a hit. The mood in the camp was palpable, it was a mixture of excitement, fear, and weariness. Many of the Northern soldiers in Robb's army had served with him from the very beginning, from Whispering Wood to the Camps, to Oxcross, the Crag, and Harrenhal. The Rivermen had been fighting for even longer than that before Robb called his banners and marched south. Everyone was ready for the war to end, all they had to do was take King's Landing.
Once Olyvar had fitted his armour, Robb summoned the four Northern lords who had remained with him in the south. They had sided with him from the very beginning, following Robb to at first free his father, and then to win the independence from the Iron Throne. In Robb's eyes, he owed them a debt that needed to be repaid. When Lords Karstark, Bolton, Umber, and Tallhart had entered, Robb began his speech.
“My Lords, I want to take this moment before battle to thank you personally, for both your bravery and loyalty. When I marched against the Lannisters, you could have ignored my command to raise your men, you could have waited in your holdfasts as Tywin Lannister marched his men North. But you did not, and I thank you for that.” When Robb finished he motioned to Olyvar, who handed each of the lords a scroll with a seal. “The documents my squire has just given you contain royal favour, in recompense for your deeds during the war. You may ask of me anything that you want, within reason of course.” Each of the four lords opened the scrolls and read its contents, probably to make sure they weren't dreaming.
The Greatjon walked over to Robb and held out his scroll “Thank you, Your Grace, but I must decline. At first, I followed you because you were Ned Stark's son, then I followed you because you proved yourself in battle, and now I follow you because you are my king, now and always. I will follow you to the bottom of the Seven Hells if I have to.”
Robb had never felt such pride in himself, nor seen such loyalty from a lord. “Lord Umber, I must give you something in return for your dutiful service to my family.”
For a moment the Greatjon pondered, looking around the pavilion as if he was looking for something. His eyes finally rested on the rolled up standing next to Olyvar. “I ask for the honour to carry your standard into battle, to fight beside you as we charge down the city streets, and to plant it on the highest tower of the Red Keep.”
Robb patted his loyal friend on the shoulder “of course, I can think of no one better.” The Greatjon grinned from ear-to-ear and bowed his head in thanks. When he walked back to his original position, Robb turned to Lord Karstark. “What would you have, my Lord?”
Unlike Lord Umber's joyousness, Lord Karstark looked weary, his eyes a mixture of anger and grief. “Vengeance,” said Lord Rickard quietly “vengeance for my two boys murdered by the Kingslayer.” Torrhen and Eddard Karstark were killed protecting Robb from Jaime Lannister at Whispering Wood, and ever since Lord Rickard had bayed for his blood.
“You will have him” answered Robb “once the war is over.”
Lord Karstark nodded “that's all I ask for, Your Grace.”
With Karstark dealt with, Robb turned to Lord Roose. Before he could say anything, the pale lord spoke pre-empted him “Your Grace, I would ask you to legitimise my bastard, Ramsay Snow. My marriage to Walda Frey has not produced a child so far, and if I die in battle today there will be no heir to my lands. House Bolton has ruled the Dreadfort for as long as it has stood, yet it now sits on a precipice of destruction.” Coming from the mouth of any other man, his words would have been passionate and heart wrenching, but like always Roose remained quiet and composed.
Robb stroked his small developing stubble on his chin as he pondered Roose's request as it was not one to be taken lightly. Perhaps it was due to his bastard's nature, Ramsay Snow was infamous in the North as a cruel and savage man with an alleged appetite to hunt young women with dogs. Some claim, though never within earshot of Roose, that he killed his half-brother and trueborn heir to the Dreadfort, Domeric Bolton. If the rumours were true, Robb would be handing the second most powerful seat in the North to a madman. However, Robb knew he had little choice to accept, refusing it would be an affront to Roose and House Bolton, something Robb could ill afford to do just before a battle.
“I agree to your proposal, My Lord,” said Robb as he motioned to Olyvar to pass him some parchment and a quill. Once he had written his royal grant of legitimisation of Ramsay, he rolled it up, melted the wax onto the folds, and pressed his sigil on it. When it had dried, he passed it to Roose “give this to the army's maester, tell him to send it on my orders.”
For the first time, Roose let out what Robb would call a genuine smile of happiness “thank you, Your Grace.”
A smiling Lord Helman Tallhart put his arm around Roose's shoulders “Congratulations, you now have a trueborn heir to House Bolton.”
Roose's smile disappeared “and what will be your demand for the King?”
The jovial lord turned to Robb, his arm still around Roose's shoulders “all I want, Your Grace, is a slightly larger share of the booty than I was allotted, and perhaps a dragon skull from the Keep's dungeons. Not a big one like Balerion or Meleys, one of the mid-sized ones would be enough for me, one that a few of my men can carry back to Torrhen's Square.”
“You can take your pick” Robb replied, “Targaryen trinkets interest me none.” Though perhaps Bran would like a skull for a gift Robb thought perhaps a baby one?
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The stars were out and the moonlight was flooding across the battlements of the city walls when the army was ready, it had taken nearly half a day to assemble the troops and construct the ladders needed for the assault. All the while the trebuchet's had continued their bombardment of the walls, and their results were clear to see. The hoardings on the King's Gate and the Lion Gate were destroyed, and the top of walls close to the Mud Gate was crumbling. Ammunition for the trebuchets was now getting low, with Lionsbane having only three rocks to release. It was not an issue though, the siege engines would have had to stop when the assault began anyway, so they had fulfilled their purpose.
“Lords Tytos and Jason are assembled by the Old Gate,” said a messenger dressed in a red and black jerkin of House Blackwood.”
“Good” replied Robb as he placed his sword in his scabbard “you may return to your lord and tell him my thanks.” The messenger bowed and quickly rode off on his scrawny palfrey, leaving a cloud of dry dust in his wake. Robb turned to the Greatjon, who was finishing off a roast chicken leg whilst dressed in full battle armour. “With Lords Blackwood and Mallister ready, we are ready for the attack.”
The Greatjon let out a hearty belch and stood up “finally, Your Grace, at this rate I thought we were going to let that inbred bastard live for another day!” the men around him laughed at his insult towards Joffrey. Seeing fully grown men joke about killing a boy the same age as Sansa made Robb feel uneasy. The bastard was as cruel and malicious as Mad King some said, but he was only a boy. Did Robb really have the right to cut his life so short before he had time to grow, a time to see his mistakes and correct them?
Robb turned to his squire, who was fastening his pauldron to his shoulder. “Olyvar, remind me who commands each gate”.
The loyal squire looked up, his face weary from both a day of work and fear of the upcoming battle. “Erm...let me check the ledger.” Putting his pauldron on the floor, Olyvar went into the pavilion to retrieve the ledger. When he came out he was already reading through it. “Ser Edmure and Ser Brynden are commanding Tully forces near the Mud Gate, Lord Bolton, Karstark, and Tallhart are at the Lion Gate. Ser Marq Piper and Lord Jonos Bracken lead forces opposite the Gate of the Gods, Lord Blackwood and Lord Mallister command forces at the Old Gate, and my cousin Ser Walder and my brother Ser Merrett lead Frey forces at the Dragon Gate.”
The Greatjon grunted, “Your Grace, you and I lead the forces at the King's Gate.”
“We will make short work of them then” replied Robb “an army marching under the banner of the direwolf and the giant will never fall.” Though his words were inspirational, Robb doubted himself. Rhaegar marched under the banner of a dragon, yet a stag impaled his antlers into the drake's throat. Banners mean nothing.
Eventually, Robb, the Greatjon, and Olyvar mounted their horses and rode to the front-line. The men assembled around Lionsbane cheered as Robb rode past, and Robb waved in return. “The men are confident” announced the Greatjon “as am I, there is no way the Lannisters can escape our grip.” When Robb didn't reply, the Greatjon turned to look at him. Despite attempts to hide his concern, Robb couldn't. “What is wrong, Your Grace.”
Robb sighed “truth be told, I'm not so sure of victory, my lord.”
“Why? We have the city surrounded, we outnumber the defenders massively, and Tywin Lannister flees to Casterly Rock with what remains of his army.”
“And who defeated Tywin?”
Stumped, the Greatjon thought as they slowly trotted to their destination. “I believe it was Lord Tarly.”
“That's correct, and do you know where he is now?”
“The Bramsfort, it was my own scouts that spotted 'em”
“That is correct as well. Now, do you know how many men he commands?”
The giant lord shook his head “no I do not, Your Grace.”
“Nearly twenty-thousand men, according to Lord Bolton's reports.”
Almost instantly, the Greatjon replied in his overconfident manner “every Northerner is worth ten Southron soldiers. Even with Rivermen by our side, you will smash the glorified farmers into the dirt!”
“Randyll Tarly's army is not the only one in the Crownlands” Robb continued “Stokeworth is currently under siege by soldiers lead by Stannis Baratheon.”
“I know, Your Grace, I was in the war council.”
“Yes you were, do you know how many men he has?” Once again the clueless Lord Umber shook his head. “fifteen-thousand men, and I hear rumours that he has five-thousand sellswords on the way. Stannis has the men to crush both us and the Lannisters in one fell swoop which is why we need to be clever. Overconfidence will only serve to destroy us.”
Humbled, the Greatjon solemnly nodded “of course, you are right Your Grace.” The sight of an archer and a flaming pit signalled that they had reached their destination. All around them were ladders and soldiers, all ready to do their part to take the capital. But first, Robb had to begin the attack.
On his signal, an archer fired a flaming arrow into the night sky, which was answered by another and then another, until Robb could see no further. The flaming arrow was the signal for attack and it had now been delivered. There was no going back now. Unsheathing his sword, Robb pointed it towards the gate in front of him. “Attack!” he screamed. All at once the men charged forwards, screaming obscenities, battle cries, and prayers as they headed towards the gate. Raising their shields high to stop the arrows and quarrels that were descending on them, they quickly reached the walls and begun to beckon the ladder-bearers forward. As they slowly carried the ladder forwards, the bearers began to be picked off one by one, but as one fell another nearby soldier took their place. Under the cover of archer fire, the first of the ladders reached the walls.
“They've got there, Your Grace.” Shouted an exuberant Greatjon.
Robb didn't reply, his attention too attracted to the ongoing battle. The struggling ladder-bearers finally hoisted the first of ladders upwards and onto the walls, and soldiers quickly began to ascend them. The beleaguered Lannister defenders were quickly swatted aside by the northern troops, and soon the entire defending force was retreating from the walls and the gate.
“Your Grace!” screamed Olyvar as he pointed to the top of the gate. When he turned, Robb saw the direwolf banner flying above the King's Gate. He could scarcely believe it, the battle was barely half an hour in and a gate had finally fallen. When Robb looked over to the left, the nearby Lion Gate was also in Northern hands.
“The Lannisters are broken” the Greatjon proudly declared “all we need to do now is-”
Lord Umber's speech was suddenly cut off when a large bright green light suddenly appeared in front of them. For a moment Robb was blinded, seeing only hues of white and green. Seconds later the air went from hot to scorching as a strong gust of air hit them from the front. It was quickly followed with the sounds of screams, interspersed with cracking and crumbling noises. When his eyes adjusted, Robb was greeted with a horrendous sight. A massive pile of rubble and green flames stood where the King's Gate once stood, and on the walls burning men plunged to their deaths as they desperately tried to put themselves out. The flames had spread too, to nearby soldiers waiting to ascend the ladders. When Robb turned to see how his other forces were doing he was met with the same sight. The Lion Gate was also engulfed in green flame, and in the distance behind Visenya's Hill was a green tint, a clear sign that the Old Gate was also suffering the same fate. Panic was rife, and it looked like the army was close to collapse.
“Wildfire” screamed an incensed Greatjon “they have fucking wildfire!” Robb adorned his helm, dismounted from his horse, and armed himself with his sword and shield. Grey Wind quickly joined his side, raring to go. “Where are you going, Your Grace? Asked the Greatjon”
“To battle” replied Robb “if we have any hope of winning, I need to rally them.”
Olyvar, who had dismounted his horse to attend to his king, quickly panicked “but Your Grace, they have wildfire.”
“Yes, and they have trebuchets of their own. If they have wildfire they could-”
“Fire it at us” finished a stunned Greatjon. When he realised what that meant, the Greatjon dismounted from his horse and armed himself with a longsword and the king's personal banner. Around them gathered the personal royal vanguard, all of whom were finally ready to get stuck into the fight. As Robb led the force through the surviving northern troops near the burning rubble, the Greatjon shouted “Your king is here, fight for him! Fight for the son of Ned Stark!” The weary soldiers quickly assembled around Robb, all of them tinged by the heat of the wildfire explosion.
“You have fought bravely for me since I called the banners two years ago. Each of you has shown loyalty to me and my House time and time again, and I thank you for that. But despite all the battles, we have one more ahead of us.”
A serjeant dressed in Umber colours wiped the blood from a weeping wound on his cheek and spoke “Your Grace, we have lost over half of our men. We have no ladders neither, there is no way to get through.”
When Robb found no answer for the serjeant, Olyvar spoke up “we may not have any ladders, but we do have Lionsbane.” The confused looks from everyone around him forced Olyvar to point to the wall above them. “It's cracked see, one rock slung from a trebuchet will knock it straight out.”
The Greatjon began to smile “aye, that might work...” he quickly grabbed the serjeant by the collar and pulled him close “make your self useful man and go to the trebuchet. Tell them exactly what Ser Olyvar told us.” The fearful serjeant nodded and scurried off towards the trebuchet.
Whilst the serjeant was gone, Robb began to draw the city streets into the dry dirt beneath them. “When we enter we must move rapidly, we cannot afford to be kettled in and trapped. We will fight our way to the Mud Gate and allow the Tully forces to enter the city. With our forces augmented with theirs, we will fight towards the Red Keep.”
“What about Lannister traps?” a soldier asked.
Robb looked at Grey Wind “don't worry, he will sniff out the bastards.” A howl of approval from the direwolf caused the soldiers to smile. The sound of a boulder flying through the air caused everyone to run for cover. When it made contact with the wall it punched straight through, causing it to collapse into a heap of rubble. For a moment they stood there stunned as dust clouds engulfed them. Robb felt his eyes tear up as the particles of pulverised stone played irritated them. After a moment Robb felt a sudden urge to run and charged forward, with Grey Wind following at his side.
When The Greatjon saw him run, he raised the royal banner upwards and screamed “the King in the North!” the soldiers followed suit and charged forward, each of them clambering up the fallen stones and into the city.
The Lannister and Gold Cloak soldiers on the other side of the wall were caught completely unawares, with some drinking from wineskins whilst others had taken their helms off and reclined on chairs. The first few soldiers did not grab their arms and armour quick enough and were slain easily. When the Stark soldiers arrived, they quickly overcame the overconfident defenders, who scrambled to escape as the rabid Northmen wetted their blades with blood. With the main courtyard around the destroyed gate captured, Robb and his forces began to charge down River Row, a street that connected the King's Gate to the Mud Gate. The Lannister forces were in turmoil as Robb and his Northerners cut a bloody swath through their forces. The sight of Grey Wind was enough for some of the less experienced Gold Cloaks to run for their lives, whilst the might of a crazed Greatjon and his Umber men cleaved through those stupid enough to stand in their way. By the time they had reached the Mud Gate, Tully soldiers had begun the fight for the walls around it. The Lannister soldiers defending the gate were caught by surprise, and Robb's charge into their unprotected flank broke them almost immediately.
“Open the gate!” Robb cried to his men “let the Rivermen through!”
When the portcullis lifted and the gates flung open the Tully bannermen poured through, cutting down those stuck between them and the Starks. The Northern and Riverlander soldiers exchanged excited greetings, and a wave of cheers passed through the bloodied and tired soldiers. Eventually, Ser Edmure appeared, accompanied by his banner bearer.
“Your Grace?” said the confused Edmure “How did you get-”
“The Lannisters thought they could blow us up with wildfire” replied Robb “though they ended up cracking their own walls. When it fell we flooded in and headed straight here.”
A surprised Edmure began to smile “the Lannister's arrogance finally bit them in the arse, eh?” the Tully soldiers began to laugh, and Edmure lightly chuckled with them.
Ser Olyvar, his once shining armour and clean tabard now covered in armour, shuffled through the crown and found Robb. “Your Grace, we have received a messenger from Lord Roose.” Before Robb could ask how a messenger got to them so quickly, a man dressed in Bolton armour appeared from behind Olyvar. He had a scruffy beard, scars across his face, and a mean scowl that made clear his cut-throat tendencies.
“Your Grace,” said the messenger in a low growl “my name is Locke, I have been sent by Lord Bolton to tell you that he has led his and Lord Karstark's forces through the breach next to the King's Gate. As we speak our forces swarm through King's Landing.” Locke's wry smile revealed a sorry fate for any smallfolk caught by Bolton forces.
Robb removed the glove from one of his hands and used it to wipe away a fresh sheen of sweat that had formed on his forehead. “Has he had any word from the other gates?”
“Ser Marq Piper is struggling to breach the Gate of the Gods, and after being subjected to wildfire, Lords Blackwood and Mallister have joined Ser Walder Frey and are storming the Dragon Gate.” When Locke finished his report he looked up at the Red Keep, it's red brick towers and walls casting a long shadow over them. “I suppose you mean to storm it now, Your Grace?”
Robb nodded “I do. Send word to your master and tell him to help Ser Marq take the Gate of the Gods, and then to secure the rest of the city.” When Locke turned to leave, Robb grabbed him by the shoulder and looked into his eyes. “And make sure you tell Lord Roose that I do want the city sacked. We will not repeat the actions of Tywin Lannister.” Almost disappointed, Locke nodded and then walked away.
“What would you have us do, Your Grace?” asked Edmure.
Robb looked up at the Red Keep, his eyes burning with determination. “I say we pay the king a visit.”
- 1
So I was right. Not sure why you called me naive for it.
A glorious if precarious victory for Robb
A glorious if precarious victory for Robb
You'll see
(btw I never meant it as an insult, so if it did come across like that I apologise)Also I felt like putting more in this chapter but i felt it was getting a bit bloated, and I'm not sure if people would have wanted a 7000 word chapter
(though if people do then I will totally let them spiral out of control like that)
A city full of Lannisters captured by vengeful Northerners? Well lets just say that has the makings of a deadly party.
For some reason Myr was at war with the Iron Throne and halfway through storming it they turned up with a big army, though this was after the AI decided to use wildfire on my army. I chose not to really acknowledge them in the AAR because it didn't really make sense and in the end Myr played little to no part in future events.
You won a victory, but that was a bloody victory. Now let us see what comes next.
The Hour of the Wolf has begun..
Chapter 15
Chapter 15 - A Quiet Keep
Robb
Stay awake...stay awake...
Two days. It had been two days since Robb had last slept, and now he was close to collapse. His eyes felt like they weighed a tonne as he struggled to keep them open, the strength in his legs and arms were sapped, and his head felt like it was being pounded with a thousand swords at once. The battle had taken any scrap of energy he had left, all he felt like was a husk. The only reason he hadn't collapsed under the strain of his sleep deprivation was due to where he was standing, and unfinished business. The Red Keep had fallen after a bloody storming, the bodies of both Lannister and Stark dead littered the corridors and courtyards of the castle, and crimson streams of blood flowing through the gutters and into the sewers underneath. So much loss for a fucking Iron Chair.
The sight of the Iron Throne was certainly imposing, a thousand swords belonging to those defeated by Aegon the Conqueror, all bound together in dragonfire. It was said that the throne had a mind of its own and would cut those unworthy to sit on it. Maegor, Rhaenyra, and the Mad King were all sliced by the sharp edges of melted blades, with Aerys being so scarred that he would become called King Scab. For all it's grandeur and supposed power when Robb and his men broke into the throne room there were no guards to protect it, just the Grand Maester with a scroll in his hands.
“This is the declaration of surrender, Your Grace,” said the elderly maester as he bowed “the Red Keep is yours.”
Robb took the scroll from the Maester's hand and gave it to Edmure. He had no interest in documents, all he wanted was the king. “Where is Joffrey?”
The Grand Maester slowly arose from his bow “I am not sure-”
“A lie” declared Edmure “though you are known to be a trained liar aren't you, Grand Maester Pycelle.” The disdain on Edmure's face was partially covered by dried blood and sweat, his once shining steel armour caked in both mud and the blood of his enemies and his own.
For a moment Pycelle had the temerity to look offended at Edmure's jibe, but when he turned to Robb the sympathy his anger melted as the King in front of him frowned. Suddenly Pycelle began to hunch, his once stable hands shaking like Old Nan's. “Your Grace..” the Grand Maester pleaded with a wavering voice “I-I know not where he is, I promise.” Another glare from Robb and a growl from Grey Wind finally broke his silence. “They headed from the secret tunnels in the Tower of the Hand.”
“Thank you” Robb replied as he turned to his guards. “Now put him in the Black Cells.”
The elderly maester suddenly regained his composure and strength and attempted to fight off the guards who were trying to grab him. Eventually, they secured his arms and dragged him across the hall. “No, sire!” screamed Pycelle as he disappeared behind a door “I surrendered!”
The Grand Maester's screams grew more distant until there were no other noises apart from the footsteps of soldiers and the burning of wood. Turning to one of his captains, Robb relayed the order “tell Lord Helman to search the Tower of the Hand for secret tunnels and passageways. Also, tell him I need the Joffrey and his family alive.” The dutiful captain nodded and ran out of the hall, taking half of Robb's guard with him. All he could now do was wait.
Whilst Robb leant on one of the giant pillars, Edmure walked up to the base of the throne. “There it is, the throne that half of Westeros has burned for.” There was pain in his voice, though Robb knew not if it was from the realisation that many innocents had died, or if it was from the wound on his shoulder. “It's yours now” Edmure announced, “you could take it-”
“I already have a crown...and a throne.”
Edmure turned to look at Robb and let out a pained smile. “Two crowns and one throne. You could have seven crowns and the grandest throne in the known world.”
To sit on the throne were the Mad King, the Kingslayer, and Joffrey had all sat made Robb feel sick. “I have no interest it that monstrosity...” Edmure sighed and looked back at the throne, rubbing his wound and wincing.
“Have they found Sansa yet?” asked Edmure.
“No, but they are still searching.”
“I'll go with my best men and search for her” declared Edmure as he unsheathed and checked his sword. “We will start at Maegor's Holdfast and work across the Keep from there.”
Robb nodded “good luck, uncle.” As Edmure was leaving, three soldiers entered the great hall. The middle of the three was holding a large long object covered with a cloth. It took a moment for Robb to realise what it was, but when he did he strode over the soldiers and held out his hand “give it to me.” The soldiers bowed and then followed their orders, lifting it onto Robb's held out hands before removing the cloth. The greatsword's blade shimmered with the red, yellow, and blue light coming from the stained glass. The ripples characteristic of valyrian steel was clear across the length of the blade, whilst the simple still cross guard revealed it's Northern heritage. The sword that had been used by the King's in the North for thousands of years which then passed to the Wardens of the North after the Conquest. Ice.
The setting sun shone through the throne room's stain glass windows when Robb was awoken from his sleep. His leaning on the pillar transformed to reclining, which then turned to rest his head, which then inevitably lead to falling asleep. The soldiers who awoke him were beaming with excitement, with the fattest of the two beating his large belly in happiness.
“What is it?” Robb asked as he clumsily pulled himself up from the floor.
The fat soldier poked his thin friend “can I tell him?” The thin soldier sighed and nodded, not uttering a word but seemingly commanding respect from his friend. “Your Grace, we have the Imp!”
Robb rubbed his blurry eyes with disbelief “you have him?”
“Yes! Lollard, the crannogman scout, helped us to find him along with his whore. We have kept him in the Black Cells.”
Happy that at least one of the Lannisters had been found, Robb patted the both of the soldiers on the shoulders and drew them in close “take me to him.”
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The Black Cells were as black as the name suggested, there was no sight of sunlight and the dim torches barely lit three feet away from them. The groans of men and the wails of women could be heard coming from the cells, though the pitch black interiors meant you could not see the damned souls who had produced them. A few moments later, Robb and his men arrived at the cell. Inside was the arrogant Imp that Robb had treated with a day earlier, though this time his fine robes were covered in muck. The man who tried to kill my brother.
“Sorry for the smell,” said the Imp when Robb entered, “I thought it would be a good idea to sneak out of the Red Keep via the sewers. Turned out you Northerners are expert trackers...”
The situation Robb found himself felt very familiar. “This is the second time I found myself talking to an imprisoned Lannister.”
The Imp smiled “Jaime? Good to hear he's had some company during his imprisonment.” His smile faded as he lightly tugged on his shackles. “Where is Shae?”
“Who?” replied a confused Robb.
“The woman who was with me when your men caught us in the sewers.” When the Imp picked up on the fact that Robb was clueless, he looked behind him and at the guards. “Where is she?”
The fat one shrugged “I dunno. When we were about to put her in one of these cells she said she were a whore. When I went for a piss outside the Keep, I saw some Bolton lads 'avin fun with her.” There was a moment where the Imp seemed to despair, his ugly face wrinkling as he fought back the tears. The fat guard let out a wheezing laugh “you got attached to 'er, my lord? Well if she lives she will be walking bow-legged for the rest of her life!”
Disgusted, Robb turned to his soldier with fury. The fat guard wasn't very jovial when he saw his king's face. “Leave” Robb demanded, “I don't want to see you in my sight again, is that understood.” The frightened soldier nodded, his double chin rippling as he quivered in fear. “Go.” When the soldier had scurried off, Robb turned back to the Imp. “Where is my sister?”
The Imp cocked his head to the side with surprise. “I thought you were going to ask for the king.”
“We already know where he is, soon he and his mother will be in my hands.”
“The Red Keep may be smaller than Winterfell, but it's tunnels and hideaways are vast and numerous. Maegor, that paranoid bastard, filled the Red Keep with them, every year the stonemasons and servants find a new one whilst cleaning a loose stone in the wall, or pushing a piece of rusty metal jutting from the ground. Even with your trackers, it will be hard to find them.”
What the Imp spoke of was true, Robb knew. By the now Joffrey could be outside the keep and on a ship to Casterly Rock or the Free Cities, and the king could have taken his new wife with him.“Is Sansa with them?”
To Robb's relief, the Imp shook his head. “No, the last time I saw her she was fleeing into the Godswood with the King's fool, Dontos Hollard.” Of course, you fool! Robb thought if there was anywhere she would be, it would be the Godswood. Their father spent hours at a time in the Winterfell godswood, sometimes he sharpened Ice, whilst other times he would just watch the wildlife. “An odd if unfortunate fellow that man, lost his family and title due to the Mad King, lost his dignity due to my nephew. Two kings fucking over the same drunkard.” As the Imp relayed his story Robb realised that he had forgotten the number one rule his time in the south had taught him, do not trust the Lannisters.
“You better hope you are telling the truth, Lannister, because if you not I will-
“What?” The Imp shouted “are you going to torture me? You are Ned Stark's son, I would bet both my life and all of Casterly Rock's fortune that you wouldn't be so dishonourable.”
For the first time since his father's death, Robb felt burning rage growing inside him, eating away at his composure with every slimy lie that came out of the Imp's mouth. All of sudden he snapped. “Don't test me, Lannister. When those I love are endangered I will do anything to protect them, and if that means I have to peel your fingernails off or flay you living then I will do it!”
Undeterred by Robb's rage, the Imp smirked and inspected him with his eyes. “You may be a Stark, but you have more of your mother's blood in you it seems. Family, Duty, Honour. Well, believe me when I say I have the same thoughts when I have to protect my family as well.”
Wiping away traces of spittle that had formed around his mouth during his tirade, Robb stood up straight and calmed himself. “Oh yes, I know how much you care for your family.”
The Imp frowned “What's that suppose to mean?”
Robb looked directly into the Imp's eyes. “I know, Imp. I know you sent an assassin to cut my brother's throat whilst he was stricken in his bed.”
Sighing, the Imp rested the back of his on the wall behind him.“I see your mother has been talking about me. Well did she also tell you that it could not have been me.”
“The knife was yours-”
“It wasn't, it was Littlefingers.”
“Yes, and you won it off him in a card game.”
The Imp laughed “No I-” before he could finish a soldier walked into the cell. On his jerkin was the weathered sigil of House Tully.
“What is it?” Robb asked.
The soldier held out a letter “Your Grace I bring a message from Ser Edmure. He has found Lady Sansa and has taken her to the Royal Chambers in Maegor's Holdfast.”
Robb felt such a wave of relief that for a second he thought he was going to fall. They've found her! They actually found her! Excited, Robb grabbed the soldiers arm and pulled him close “Tell Ser Edmure I will be there soon.” The soldier nodded, and when Robb let go of his arm he turned and left the bleak cell. As Robb was about to leave he heard a clink of chains from behind him, reminding him that he was still with the Imp. “I will deal with you later.”
“I'm sure you will,” the Imp said as he shrugged “Oh and Your Grace, I want you to know that I all I said was true. Both yesterday and today, bear that in mind when you meet your sister.” Robb felt he should have reprimanded the Imp for having the temerity to lecture him about how to talk to his sister, but the grave expression of the normally sarcastic and arrogant dwarf was nowhere to be seen. It would be best described as dread.
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Author's Note
After a Robb marathon in around King's Landing for three chapters, the next time we will be returning to the North to catch up with Roslin and Bran.
Author's Note
After a Robb marathon in around King's Landing for three chapters, the next time we will be returning to the North to catch up with Roslin and Bran.
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Another excellent chapter! I was refreshing this page on my phone throughout the day. How many men did you have left after the battle?
Thanks! I started the battle with 18000 men and lost finished with just below 9000 so the battle was very bloody.
The game classed it as me imprisoning her, but for the sake of the story I've turned it to freeing her from Joffrey.
Another good and interesting chapter
Thank you!
Very good AAR so fAAR! I thoroughly enjoyed it all.
Curious to see what becomes of the Iron Throne. I once even had a Seaworth dynasty for like 10 months
Curious to see what becomes of the Iron Throne. I once even had a Seaworth dynasty for like 10 months
Another good chapter. I wonder how happy of a reunion with Sansa the reunion will be? Speaking of reunions, when is Robb and Roslin going to be reunited?
You may be right...
Very good AAR so fAAR! I thoroughly enjoyed it all.
Curious to see what becomes of the Iron Throne. I once even had a Seaworth dynasty for like 10 months
Thanks!
I remember when I did a Robert's Rebellion play through and Robert died halfway through the war. When the rebels won they elected Jon Arryn, who then died a month later without an heir. There was another election and the then Hand of the King, Qarlton Chelsted, was elected king. Thus started about a thousand rebellions which led to horrific border gore and nonsensical succession. By around 340 AL, a Buckwell ruled as king.
Sansa and Robb have been apart for about two years at this point, and both of them have been through a lot. As for a reunion with Roslin, well lets just say Robb still has unfinished business in King's Landing.
Chapter 16
Chapter 16 - The Watchman
Roslin
Light and jollity had come to Winterfell for the first time since Roslin had arrived, and despite the heavy snows and wartime strains, everyone was enjoying themselves. It was for good reason too, for the Ironborn invaders were defeated, driven out of the North by Lords Reed and Ryswell. It wasn't just fighting that forced the Ironborn to leave though, much to the disappointment to the young Northern boys who wanted to get another chance to bathe in Ironborn blood. When the Northern army had cornered the reavers to the shore of the Bay of Ice, the Ironborn sent a peace envoy under a white banner. They revealed to the stunned Lords that Balon Greyjoy, the Lord Reaper of Pyke and King of the Iron Isles, was dead. Apparently, he had fallen from a bridge connecting two of the keeps of Pyke together, the storm ripping the rope and wood bridge from its moorings. Balon's broken body was found on the rocks below Pyke Castle two days later.
The leaders of the Ironborn army were both Greyjoys and both had a claim to the Iron Isles. Victarion was the brother of Balon and was the main leader of the invasion of the North, whilst Asha Greyjoy, Balon's daughter, was influential among the bannermen of Houses Botley and Harlaw. The reason they were so desperate to treat was because of another scrap of news that had come from Pyke, Balon and Victarion's brother Euron had returned. Even Roslin, who had little knowledge of Ironborn politics before arriving at Winterfell, knew who Euron Greyjoy was. A pirate, cut-throat, and suspected kinslayer, he had reaved from the Narrow Sea to Slavers Bay, and now it seemed he had returned to take the Seastone Chair. Even though they had lost a catastrophic defeat in the Wolfswood, Victarion and Asha still had seven-thousand reavers at their command, enough to at least attempt to stake their claim. Understandably the Lords, with Brandon Stark's permission, signed a treaty of peace with the Greyjoys. In it they vowed on their forefathers, their honour, and their god that they would never return to the North with an army. It was also made clear to them that if Theon ever returned to the North, he would be beheaded as a traitor and a turncloak.
The feast at Winterfell had the appearance of southerner feast, banners handing high, long tables filled with food and drink, a dais for the lords to look down from. However despite all these similarities, the tone of the room was far different. Instead of the pomp and formality of a southerner feast, the Northerners laughed and conversed with each other, whether they were a Lord or a servant, a soldier or a milk-maid. For entertainment there were no fire-breathers or mummers, there were story-tellers who recounted ancient tales of Stark Kings and Wildling princesses, there were singers singing folk melodies about First-Men heroes who attempted in vain to defeat the Andals. It felt like a celebration for celebration's sake, rather than another opportunity to scheme and backstab, a favourite past-time of River Lords.
Roslin, being Queen, was sat in the middle of the dais at the front of the Great Hall, her role was to represent Robb and to provide a royal blessing to the celebrations. Of course, she was not alone on the dais, many of the lords of the north had joined her. On her right was Brandon, whose job as the eldest Stark in the Winterfell was to represent his House. On the right side of dais beyond Brandon was his brother Rickon, young Lord Cerwyn, Lord Reed, Lord Ryswell, and Lord Glover. On Roslin's side was her brother and captain of her household guard, Ser Jammos Frey, the portly Lord Manderly, the sullen yet beautiful Lady Dustin, loyal Ser Rodrik, and the recently legitimised heir to the Dreadfort, Ramsay Bolton.
“Here, Shaggydog,” said Rickon as he dangled some roast beef in the air. “It's yours, take it.” The dutiful direwolf snatched the meat from his master's hand and gobbled it down quickly.
Bran, who had Summer sitting between him and Rickon, frowned. “I told you not to do that, Rickon. It's disrespectful to our guests.”
The petulant little boy that was Rickon ripped off some more beef from the bone and tossed it to his pet. “We are brothers of kings, we can do as we like!”
Bran sighed “we can't if we do not have the support of the lords” he turned to Roslin “can we?”
“No” responded Roslin, not wishing to disagree with her young brother-in-law “I was told by my father that you have to earn your subjects respect before you can demand the same from them” He also said that if they complain, rip their innards from their arseholes and piss on their bodies.
Rickon scrunched his nose in disgust “I hate lords, I hate kings, I hate castles!” Suddenly the young boy leapt off his chair and ran off, his wolf quickly following him. Neither Roslin nor Bran had the energy or motivation to stop him, though it had created an awkward silence between the two. Bran was far more unapproachable compared two his brothers, where Robb smiled and Rickon would laugh, Bran would just stare or let out a half-hearted chuckle. At first, Roslin thought it was a problem with her, perhaps she was too nervous as she spoke or he was unhappy that his brother had married. However, when she talked to Maester Luwin about it he revealed to her that he had been the same since he woke up from the sleep his fall had caused. What was once a happy and bright child had become a dour and serious one. Luwin often mentioned his dreams to her, how they would often leave him stricken and almost bed-ridden. The fall had caused no doubt, the gods thought crippling the poor boy's body wasn't bad enough so now they plague his mind.
“Have your nightmares subsided?” Roslin blurted out as she tried to fill the silence.
“No” Bran didn't even turn his head to look at her when he answered.
“I'm sorry I asked that it was cruel of me. The wine and ale are beginning to control me.” A lie, she had barely drunk anything since the feast started, she only wanted an excuse for what she did.
“It's fine, Your Grace. In fact, people rarely ask about my dreams any more, probably sick of hearing about them. I know Luwin and Meera are.” The young boy sighed and sat back on his chair and looked blankly across the crowded Great Hall.
Roslin felt pity for the boy, it was clear he felt alone in the world, with no one to understand what he was going through. She knew because she went through it as well when she was told she was to marry, she begged people for help but when they ignored her she simply shut down and became an emotional husk. In the end, it worked out for Roslin, Robb was much kinder and tender than the stories suggested, and the North had seemingly welcomed her with open arms. She knew however that it would not be the same for Bran, it was likely his dreams would affect him for the rest of his life.
“What happens in them?” Roslin asked as she leant on her chair towards Bran. “The dreams I mean.”
His face still blank, he began to recall the nightmares. “At first they were just dreams about me falling from the tower, again and again. But a year ago things changed. I started to see things that have happened...” mid-sentence he turned his head to Roslin, his eyes meeting hers directly “and things that will be.”
Poor boy, he believes he's a soothsayer “The future?” asked Roslin in a tender tone that she hoped did not reveal her cynicism.
Bran nodded “I saw my father be beheaded in front of the Sept of Baelor almost a whole week before news of his death arrived. I foresaw Robb's crowning, the Ironborn invasion, and the return of the Kingslayer to Winterfell.” Roslin had nearly forgotten that Jaime Lannister was rotting in a dungeon, his presence in Winterfell was far less noticeable than at Riverrun. It wasn't accidental though, Robb had told her to make sure that the Kingslayer was left in isolation, with his only visitors being the guards who bring him food and water.
Trying not to sound patronising, Roslin tried to convince Bran that it was all in his head “these are just dreams and coincidences, Bran. As much as I wish the stories I heard when I was a child are true, there is no magic left in Westeros, there are no dragons or green seers or Others.”
Undeterred, Bran leant forward and squinted at Roslin “Last night I had a dream. I dreamt of two lion heads on pikes, I dreamt of a dragon with three heads flying across a sea and towards a red brick city, I dreamt of a sodden one-eyed crow killing its brethren, and I saw ice covering the world...” suddenly he grabbed Roslin's hand, his grip tightening as she struggled to free herself “the last thing I saw was you, alone, crying as blood flowed from between your legs.”
“My lord!” shouted a man across the room “my lord!” It took a moment for both Roslin and Bran to hear the shouting, so entrenched in their struggle, were they. “My lord!” the third shout caused Bran to snap out of it, and with a few blinks and a startled stare, he let go of Roslin's hand. Pain throbbed up and down her now red and sore palm. Her heart was pumped with ferocious speed and beads of sweat had begun to form on her forehead. She was frightened, that much she knew, but it wasn't at Bran's sudden lunge at her, it was because of what he said. She could almost see the what Bran was describing as if she had been pulled into the dream with him.
“My lord!” the fourth shout caused them both to turn to the man. He was a member of the castle guard, that was for sure, he had a thick snow covered cloak around his boiled leather jerkin.
“What is it” replied a breathless Bran.
A smile developed across the guard's face. “A rider has arrived my lord, he's from the Night's Watch.”
Hearing the news, Bran's sullen frown quickly turned into a smile “bring him in immediately.”
Through the giant doors of the Great Hall entered the Night's Watchman,
and when he did everyone in the room turned to their heads to him and the feast fell quiet. The Watchman was around Robb's height, he had long black hair and slight stubble. His armour was black, as befitted a member of the Night's Watch, though it was finer than Roslin had seen when the recruiter came to the Twins three years ago. When the Watchman looked up at Bran, he let out an enormous grin.
He nodded to Bran “My lord” he then turned to Roslin, his smile disappearing “Your Grace.” She returned the nod, which seemed to please him slightly.
“Your Grace may I introduce you to my brother, Jon Snow.” There he is, the one Lady Catelyn has so much contempt for, the one that Robb loves and misses so much.
“Greetings, Jon Snow. I have heard a lot about you, Robb has spoken highly of you.”
The bastard let out a wistful smile when he heard his brother's name. “I bet he has, Your Grace. Though I suspect most of it embarrassing on my part.” The hall erupted into low pitched titters, and even Bran chuckled.
“Winterfell welcomes you home,” said Bran with an unusually large smile “it is open to any member of the Night's Watch. You have come at the right time, we are celebrating our victory over the Ironborn with a feast.” Everyone in the hall lifted their tankards and wine glasses in the air, cheering and hollering as the few dogs in the room barked in reaction to the sudden rise in noise. The same couldn't be said for Jon Snow, whose smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
“Thank you, my lord, but I am not here to celebrate. I have come here with news and a request from Lord Commander Mormont.”
“What is it?” asked Bran.
“The Wall is in grave peril. The King Beyond the Wall, Mance Rayder, has united an army of ten-thousand wildlings and marches on Castle Black. The Watch has barely a thousand men left, we cannot hold them back.” The jovial atmosphere of moments earlier disappeared, and instead was left with an eerie silence. For a moment Bran seemed paralysed in fear, and none of the other lords seemed to be willing to talk. Roslin knew it would be down to her to fill the silence.
“What would you have us do, Jon Snow?” asked Roslin.
The bastard's gaze, which had been transfixed on his brother, suddenly shifted to Roslin's. “Bring your army North and help us repel them.” His deep grey eyes portrayed an innocence that Robb had seemed to have lost, despite both of them being the same age. As much as she wanted to help Robb's brother, she knew the North was still vulnerable to attacks from the south. Even though the last letter from Robb mentioned his army besieging King's Landing, it by no means confirmed victory.
“Your brother fights a war in the south against the Lannisters, he needs all the men he can get.”
“I know, but if Mance Rayder breaks past the Wall there will be no army this side of the Neck that can stop him.” The room began to be filled by mutterings from the lower tables, and now the lords on the dais had been stirred from their wine induced stupors “House Stark and the Night's Watch have been friends and allies since the Wall's construction, that cannot end today.”
“No it cannot.” declared Bran, who had seemed to have recovered from his sudden emotional change. He turned to Lord Howland Reed, the commander of the Northern army “My lord, how long will it take for the army to march Northwards?”
The soft-spoken and often quiet lord took a few seconds to think and then finally delivered his answer. “Three days at most.”
“Good.” The young lord turned back to Jon Snow “Brother ride back to Castle Black and send word to your Lord Commander that the North rides to your aid.” The sullen bastard smiled and bowed as the room's inhabitants cheered and slammed their cups repeatedly on the table. Shouts of “King in the North” began to come from every table, and soon the beats of the cups coalesced into something similar to war-drums beating. Most in the hall seemed to be happy with the news, but Roslin wasn't. She had thought the war had gone from the North, but it seemed the Ironborn were the least of her worries. A deep pit developed in her stomach as she thought of how many of those in the hall celebrating would not return.
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