Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or its characters.

a/n: Episode Tag: s.3 The Rains of Castamere; spoilers, /alternate/. Includes: death, violence, magic.

Fic Summary:He was dying. There was nothing else to it, everyone was dead, he was dead. This was the end. But maybe not, maybe there was something—something that could save him still—at least for a little while. (Told in Robb's POV.)

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Us Together: Part 1 of 2
The Link That Binds Us Together

Pain. There was so much pain. It was all Robb could do not to stay his place and let the darkness creeping into the edges of his vision fully cloak him. She was dead, dead in his arms, gone from this world like they were all to be soon. Talisa, his lady, his queen, his wife. He'd only just met her, was still getting to know her, his love for her had not found its bounds yet—was now cut short. His son? His daughter? His father's namesake, had not even seen this world, suckled his mother's breast, saw the boundless joy and love that they could have felt to hold the child in their arms.

He held her in his arms on the floor, surrounded by dead men—his dead men. Her skin still held the warmth of the living but was dying fast, it was almost like she was fast asleep; if it weren't for the dark blood that had spread across her slightly budging stomach. He had lost two of the things that he loved most in this world in the same instant. Was this what Mother felt when the raven had reached her of Father's death? Such hopelessness, such brokenness, such despair digging a whole in her heart. The physical pain from the quarrels sticking through his body wasn't as much as it might have been, the shock he was feeling was stealing away some of the pain.

He didn't... he didn't know...

"Robb, GO!"

The Young Wolf looked up, dazed. "Mother..." he realized. "Mother. No." He couldn't sit here, he would not sit down and let the traitor Frey kill his Mother. She had protected him all his life, sometimes he was glad, other times he was not, but no matter what he had never stopped loving her. When she had freed the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister, he had been more disappointed than anything that she, of all people in his company, her who's word and opinion in his battle strategies he trusted most, would do such a folly and slight against him. He had understood her reasoning, as a mother she would do anything to get her two and only daughters back, he wished that he was in a position to make such a move based upon the Lannisters keeping their word. But he could not hate her, not even for putting him in the position that she had, him losing the support of the Karstarks.

He kissed Talisa's forehead, her skin holding warmth no longer and laid her on the floor. He grasped the edge of the table next to him and forced himself to stand despite the quarrel in his leg, despite the flare of pain.

"Robb, please, just leave." Her voice was rough, broken, pleading.

"And why would I let him do that?" Lord Walder snorted. "A king who cannot keep his word is no king, he's not even a man."

Robb didn't think that he could be even more disgusted with this Lord who acted anything but. He had no honour and in the end, all men had was that. Yes, he'd broken his word to Walder, but he'd done it to save his heart and gave Edmure over to marry Roslin. But Walder had killed his heart, was killing him still. Robb had made up his broken word, but Walder was slaughtering the laws of hospitality which was very grievous.

"Your wife... I will cut her throat." Mother told the decrepit man, pressing the blade against the hysterical woman's neck in her grasp, drawing blood.

The world was spinning around him, spinning and spinning. He wobbled in place, the vision blurring around the edges. He couldn't move, he could barely stand.

"Robb, walk out, please, please. Save yourself... go to Grey Wind, leave this place and go to him, Robb!" Mother shouted at him, her voice was cracked, broken, everything was shattered, everything.

Grey Wind—he could hear Grey Wind's mad howling—it had been there from the start, but it had been hard heard for the music and rushing blood in his ears. His friend from the beginning, before all this madness started, when life had looked bright and long. A constant at his side through all this death and glory that he did not ask for but took on because it was his duty as the Lannisters imprisoned his Father and Sansa taken captive, and he became Lord of Winterfell, and then The King in the North. And where was the direwolf now? He had been put in a kennel outside against Robb's better judgement because Mother had insisted after what happened with the Frey greeting-party, thinking it better not to aggravate the miss-giving between their two Houses after Robb had married Talisa instead of keeping his word.

A hand was placed on his shoulder from behind. Hot breath caressed his ear. "The Lannisters send their regards."

Robb hadn't even heard the man come up behind him, and it was not just any man—it was Roose Bolton. The man was supposed be loyal to Winterfell, to the Starks. Theon Greyjoy, his a most trusted friend... Turncloaks, they were all around him, slinking around in his camp without even realizing it. Grey Wind had, and that was why he had reacted the way he had around the Freys, why Bolton avoided the direwolf as best he might. He was not even able to turn around as the older man drove a spear through his back and out his heart.

All Robb could do was let out a gasp and then chock on his own blood for the few seconds that his torn heart could still hold a beat. The last thing he heard was his mother's terrible screech of grief, anger, loss. And death claimed him before he could even drop to the floor next to his dead wife and child.

Banging and shouting and death. The clashes of swords and shield. The thwang of crossbows. Screams of men dying—his men—stabbed in the backs by cravens. Blood, he could smell it heavy in the air, fresh and flowing—just like fear and death. Some of the most unpleasant smells he had yet to experience.

A sudden madness took him over from the helpless brokenness that he had felt moments before, looking at his Mother. He was confused, he didn't understand. He remembered it, he remembered dying, so why was he still here? Trapped in a box, not himself but himself, not alone, whole. He could feel Grey Wind within him, or was he within Grey Wind. He did not understand any of this, but what he did know was that he needed to get out. Slamming against the bolted door was getting him nothing. The men were coming, he knew that he would be next, they would be, the two of them. They were together now, that was what this feeling was.

Out out out, get out! He circled around the small kennel wildly, looking for something, kicking up the dirt beneath his feet. His escape was here, he just knew it. He thumped his paws down on the ground in frustration and howled, his answer flying around him. He started to dig. He pawed at the ground madly, his blunted claws tearing at the ground, spraying it back behind him. He just needed a hole big enough so that he could squeeze out under the wall and he would make their blood flow to the ground.

Dig dig dig. The immediate skirmish was coming to a halt, his men had been taken by surprise and were out numbered. He would be next. His death would be easy, fish in a barrel, wolf in a cage. Earth, fear, blood, feces, urine—he smelt it all as he clawed at the ground, the half-frozen dirt like mud at his paws—but there was another scent there, fainter under all else, shadowed in fear. It was familiar, though he couldn't it place it right now, all he knew was that his instincts were telling him it was friend friend friend.

"The wolf, get the wolf!"

They were coming for him, it was now or never. Escape escape escape. He pushed his front paws and head through the opening he had made and found his broad shoulders became stuck. He howled, no! He dug into the dirt with his hind paws, shoving, the underside of the wall ripping his fur but he didn't care because he was writhing, pushing himself further out of the cage. His shoulders passed.

"The wolf! He's escaping!"

"Kill 'im! Kill 'im!"

Boots filled his vision, and he growled, snapping his jaw, making the man jump back as he continued to wriggle his way through the opening.

"What are you waiting for? Shoot 'im!"

"He nearly took off my foot!"

"He'll do more than that if the beast gets free!" steal singed from hard-leather and flashed in the torches light. It came up, two-handed, and whistled downward. "Die bastard, death to the Starks!"

The underside of the wall tore at his flank, but that did not matter. He leapt from the cage, straight for the crossbowman, and out of the way of the descending steal. The crossbowman screamed as his fang buried in the soft flesh of his bicep dragging him to the ground, blood gushing into his mouth, hot and coppery.

"Fuck!" the man swung the sword again, and Robb leapt out of the way. The crossbowman's screams cut short as steel buried into his torso, killing him. "No, no... NOOOoooo!"

He leapt for the man's throat before he could lift the sword in defence. He bit true and hard, the man gurgling blood under him. Robb clamped his jaws, hearing and feeling the crunch of cartilage and sinew, and then he tore the man's throat out, ending his craven life.

He looked up from the dead man beneath him. Dead men lay across the yard. Stark-men and Frey-men. But he was not alone, his instincts told him so though he could not immediately spot them. Under the overwhelming scent of blood, he nose picked out that scent again. That familiar scent, friend it said, but he could not risk it.

He lowered his head, his ears back and growled low and threatening. Who's there? His ears twitched, there was movement, he had heard it. He cocked his head, listening closer. He could hear their rapid breath. He found the source, behind a stack of mead barrels by the gate. He growled again, slowly stalked towards it, cautious and ready.

Come out or I shall have your blood on my tongue as well. The warning and threat were clear.

"G... Grey Wind?" a voice whispered, but Robb heard it clear. A girl's voice, one he had not heard for the past two years. "Grey Wind."

And the girl stepped out from behind the barrels and into the torchlight. She looked like a dirty rat, a boy. Not at all like she had once been, like he had last known her. Her familiar scent overwhelmed him, tangled his senses, making him forget. He thought her dead, had known that it was better with what this world had become.

He ran to her. Not a fear licked her any longer as she met him with open arms. She hugged him, clutching the wolf close, hot tears leaking from her eyes. "Grey Wind. Grey Wind. Grey Wind..." she muttered over and over.

Robb backed from her. It did not matter that she did not know it was truly her brother and not just the direwolf. The battle raged on around them and soon more Frey-men would be sent to the yard when the others did not return. They needed to leave this place. Mother was already dead. He did not need to see her body to know, he could smell her blood, like he could smell his own, like he could smell Talisa's lingering under all else.

He butted her gently with his head, and jerked his head around at his broad shoulders.

"Wha?" She sniffed, looking at him in confusion. "Mother... Robb..."

Robb shook his head, whining in the back of his throat. He jerked his head at his shoulders again, nudging her, but she kept shooting glances at the closed doors of the hall were his human body, mother, Talisa lay dead and bloody, cold, gone forever. He wished he could speak. He wished he could tell her get on! He growled at her, drawing her attention back to him. He tossed his head at his shoulders. Nipped at her, making her jump, and lowered his body onto the ground. He was as big as a donkey and going to get bigger still. He looked at her hard, intently. He could see the moment she got what he meant.

"You..." She took a deep breath and climbed into the direwolf's back, grasping fistfuls of his thick fur as handhold. "Whoa!" she gasped as he lumbered up onto his paws like spades under her weight. They both shot one last look towards the hall's doors and what lay beyond before Robb took off through the open and unguarded gate, his sister astride him.

He would save his sister, take her from this battle ground. She was the last Stark. His only family. Sansa was a Lannister now, there was nothing for it, he could not stop what had already come to pass, but he could do this. He could do for Arya what he had not been able to do for his father, Bran and Rickon, Sansa, Talisa, his mother. He did not know how much longer he could stay inside of Grey Wind and live, but he no longer feared death, if he could get Arya to safety, then he would happily meet with that darkness.

He was like a shadow, a grey wind, silent, invisible. He kept to the walls, moving from barrel to wagon, passed dead body after dead body, Stark-men fighting Frey-men to the death. He came over the gate-bridge lowered over the swollen moat not only filled with stagnant water, but bodies and blood of dead men. They reached the Stark encampment were the fighting was thickest. He moved from tent to tent. Waiting moving waiting moving. Sometimes men would notice him; see him out the corner of their eyes, see the flash of the fires off his eyes or fangs, watch his tail follow him into another shadow, a girl upon his back riding him as if he were a horse, but he was the one in control.

He paused next to a downed tent, a cluster of Frey men fighting with fewer numbered Stark men. They had been caught with their pants down. All of them, they believed the same thing that Robb had, that because they had taken bread and salt with Walder Frey, they had been safe, past broken words forgotten, the bounding of House Tully (Lord Edmure Tully) and House Frey (Roslin Frey) hardening the relationship. He distrusted Walder Frey from the start, but he had let his guard down at the sharing of salt and bread. A unfixable mistake on his part.

The Stark men were losing and Robb had to fight the urge to help his men and the bloodlust that filled him. Arya was the last Stark and he must save her.

Men's' shouts could be heard. "The beast! The beast is free!" and "The kings wolf, he'll kill us all!"

Arya was tense on his back, her fingers tight in his fur from where he hunkered in the flickering shadows, her slim body lowered against his back, making them a smaller target, though that could be considered hard seeing as he was the size of a donkey.

"There are too many," she muttered, her mouth near his ear. "They're dead, all of them. Their going to kill us too. I was so close... so close..."

Robb let out a sympathetic whine. He wished he could tell her that he was still there, still alive, but he couldn't. Direwolves couldn't speak, and that was what he was now. He wasn't Robb Stark anymore, he was Robb Direwolf, and Arya was his master now. He would do whatever it took to keep her alive.

"Kill it, kill it now before it kills us all in revenge for its master!"

Robb's ears flattened against his skull and he barred his sharp teeth as he heard this, and the call was taken up.

"Kill the wolf!"

"They're coming!" her voice was frustrated and helpless.

And they did. The fire from the scattered pits made by the men at camp had spread to nearby tents a like, castling the bloody battlefield in in orange-ish cast, flickering of the shiny mail of the Frey men approaching. Five men. One of crossbow, three of short sword, one of long sword.

"Fear cuts deeper than swords," she thought, exhaling. And when she breathed again, it was calmer. She was battle ready. "Not today!"

Robb got to his feet, he thought about running, but the time for that had passed. The five men had them surrounded, and there was nothing for him to do when Arya hopped from his back, landing lightly on her feet, holding a danger at the ready in her hand, her grey eyes narrowed in determination. There was nothing for it.

His muscles bunched and he launched himself at the nearest man. His jaws latched around his throat before he could try and block the powerful direwolf. Robb turned in a way that a human could not and came upon another man attack him from behind. The man's skull was crushed beneath the power of Robb's spade sized front paw.

"The boy! He's protecting the boy!"

Robb shot around and saw one of the men with a short sword stocking towards Arya who was trapped with the tent at her back and nothing but a dagger and her determination in her defence. Robb went to take off towards them, but the long sword flashed in front of his muzzle, cutting him off and he heard the report from the crossbow.

He felt pain sear across his flank, and he howled. The head of the quarrel not impacting but taking a chunk of flesh out of his hindquarters. His legs gave beneath him and his eyes rolled into his skull, his vision flashing into blackness from the orange glow. This pain, such a familiar pain. His death pain, it was driving him from Grey Wind's body. No! He howled, he couldn't leave Arya and Grey Wind to die. He saw the flash of steal, the man holding the long sword above his head two-handed, ready to bring it down upon Robb's neck.

He tried, but his body was locked, frozen, unable to move as he fought to stay in Grey Wind's body.

"No!" Arya screamed, and at the sound of her voice, he got a foothold, his eyes flickering back to normal, unable to do a thing as the girl dove through the short sword man's legs and charged at the man with the long sword.

The man cursed, seeing her coming from the corner of his eye and in a split second he had to make a life or death choice. He made wrong. Mid decent of his sword for Robb's head, he changed his swing's direction. Arya had nearly made it to the man before his sword hit her in the torso and she landed limp and the short swordsman's feet.

Robb howled, such anger and fear going through him at seeing his sister laying there, not moving. He came back into Grey Wind, back into himself, back into control. They will die. I will rip them apart! The pain in his flank mattered not as rage coloured his gaze.

He jumped upon the man's turned back, snapping his spine under the weight. His body crumped to the ground and came for the crossbowman as he was trying to crank his weapon in reload, his head nearly torn from his neck, blood spraying all over Robb's muzzle and face.

And then he turned to the last standing man. His shoulders hunched he snapped his jaw, spittle and blood alike flinging. The man was frozen, whimpering as Robb stalked towards him, his sister still at his feet. Fear was heavy in the air, and suddenly so was piss and shit, the scent was foul. a growl left Robb's throat and he jumped at the man, his scream cutting off suddenly as this time, Robb did tear the man's head from his body, throwing it aside. Blood spurting everywhere from the stump.

He stood there for a moment, bloodlust coursing through him, surrounded by his kills, their blood-soaked scents overwhelming him, before he remembered Arya. She lay on the ground, still, like all the dead around him. He whimpered, laying down next to her, and burying his nose in her side.

Her scent filled his senses, his sweet sister. He hadn't been able to save father, he had left Bran and Rickon to be taken captive and killed by Theon Greyjoy, he was helpless to save Sansa from the cruelty of Joffrey Baratheon and her marriage to Tyrion Lannister, a failure as a husband and son unable to save Talisa and his mother from being killed because he took up the charge of being King in the North, and now the greatest failure as a brother to let the one sister in his grasp to be killed.

Arya! he howled his sorrow and grief.

He nuzzled her body, turning her onto her back. He wanted to see her face one last time before he disappeared. He didn't know where he would go, but there was one last someone he could save before he truly left this world, Grey Wind.

Her eyes were closed, and her skin smudged with mud and grime. Her long brown hair had been chopped off harshly. Though it had been nearly two years since he had last seen her, and she had changed much in appearance, her spirit had been the same. Fiery as always, defiant until the end, putting Grey Wind's life above her own.

He licked her face with his rough tongue in a farewell kiss and wished that he could have saved her. While they hadn't been as close with each other as she and Jon had been with their classic Stark looks and against-the-world-personalities, he still loved her, would always want to protect her though she hated to be thought of as weak because she wasn't. She wasn't, not even at the end. He felt a warmness tickling his wet nose and froze in confusion, looking down at her until he realized it was her breath. She was not dead like his grief had thought, the man's long sword must have not cut her, but hit her with the flat side, knocking her unconscious.

I could save her still! He yipped with glee.

He could not wait until she awoke again, not with the battle still raging around them, it was too dangerous. He had no way of putting her upon his back while she was still out and unable to assist. He turned her back into her stomach and took the material of her brown tunic at her neck between his teeth and picked her up like a pup.

He ignored the pain from the groove in his flesh that the quarrel had left him and moved as fast as he might through the camp, carrying Arya's limp body between his teeth. She was a little heavier than her slight body suggested, but he would carry her still even if she weighed a thousand more, her toes dragging through wet mud and men's blood and guts.

He did not know how he made it out of the camp without being confronted by more Frey men, but he thanked both the old gods and the new. Might it had to do with seeing him carrying a "dead" body between his teeth and not wanting to be next, he did not care. They were out of the battle ground, but he did not stop, he continued on south, not quiet knowing where he was taking them but knowing he could not stop, would not stop until he felt it was safe enough for them.

He kept off King's Road and into the trees that lined it, the fading moonlight his torch as a misty rain had long soaked matted his thick fur, washing away the blood and adding more weight to Arya, soaking her clothes and making his already wary flank more so.

He needed to find a place for them to rest while first light broke, before he collapsed on top of his sister from weariness and crushed her. He found a towering pine, its needled branches extending out slopping, making a natural cover from the rain.

He laid his sister down on the damp ground near the trunk and settled himself down next to her, sandwiching her between the tree and him, making her a protected as he might. He curled around her, though his fur was wet, still it would give her warmth along with his never defusing body heat.

He was afraid to fall asleep. Afraid that if he closed his eyes, when he opened them again, he would not be Robb Direwolf, but Robb the Dead Boy who Played at being King in the North and Warring. He wanted to see Arya open her grey eyes again, eyes that were markers of a Stark. But even though he was afraid, after making sure Arya was okay as she might be in her unconscious state, he closed his eyes and let the darkness claim him. Because even if he didn't wake up Robb Driewolf, he knew that Grey Wind would be himself again, and the direwolf would take care of Arya like he always had Robb, a true friend until the end.

They had escaped the Twins alive and that was all the mattered. Whether in his hands or Grey Wind's, Arya would never be alone again.

-the end-

-tbc... in Part 2: THE BINDS THAT LINK US TOGETHER-

********Game/of/Thrones********

Note:

Look, I am not stalking this episode, okay? I am not infatuated with Robb Stark's death, but am obsessed with keeping him alive. So I am going to write all my Robb-rescuing fics that are nagging in my brain now and then. There is nothing wrong with that, there's no need to call the cops! lol. If you love Robb, then you should seriously love these.

Check out the continued story in the sequel : Part 2
*"THE BINDS THAT LINK US TOGETHER"*

Thanks for Reading!

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