Six days later, 299 – Robb Stark – Hayford Castle, The Crownlands

"Cheers, lads! To the focking King in the bloody North!"

The man, a Stark household guard named Roger, laughed a great belly laugh and lifted his golden goblet – "Got'em from a lion, I did!" – in the air. In the light of the fire around which he, Robb and their companions sat, it looked like the lions meticulously carved into its surface were moving.

A nice find, Robb allowed as he smiled beneath his tattered hood. Together with the plain leathers and chainmail shirt he wore upon his frame, he looked every bit a foot soldier and nothing like a king. Indeed, so thorough was his disguise that none of his men had been able to place him as their King in the North.

And this was the third time he decided to take a meal with his commonfolk too.

A cheer brought Robb's attention back to the campfire before him and the broth and bread in his hands.

It was not the meal of a king but then, he did not wish to be a king tonight.

"The King in the North!" Lyarra, an Umber sword cheered as she held aloft her mug.

"Aye! The bloody Sly Wolf will lead the North through winter!" Daryn, one of House Mallister's swords, agreed.

Together, the three of them drank deeply from their mugs, Roger's golden one drawing the eye of more than a few jealous observers.

"Tch, he's a damn fine sword, but he ain't all he's cracked up to be," one of the three remaining men muttered.

The comment drew glares from Lyarra and Roger while Daryn only shook his head. But it was Edd, another one from House Umber, that responded verbally.

"You weren't here for the battles in the Westerlands, Stormlander. Don't know shite about King Robb."

Ronald Storm, bastard son of Ser Ronnet Connington and nephew of exiled Lord Jon Connington, only frowned. "I know he bumbled his way into catching Tywin Lannister with his pants down. The Lying Wolf, they call him, for he betrayed Riverrun-"

"Riverrun weren't never his responsibility in the first place!" Lyarra spat. "The King in the North fights for the North and the North alone! The Mallisters got it – that's why Daryn's here, you great arse!"

"A wise ploy," Ser Robin, their last companion, said. The man looked like an outlier in the group, for he was clad in finer leathers than the rest, meant to be worn beneath a suit of full plate as it was. "But dishonorable nonetheless. The Lying Wolf has earned his name."

Roger spat a piss-colored ball of spittle on the ground. "Ye' talk tough, Stormlander. Ain't no harm in winnin' wars."

Ser Robin frowned but said nothing further. Ronald Storm scoffed though and took up the argument in his place.

"Ain't no way to win a war! Who'll trust the word of a King that says he's headin' to a keep to defend it then turns and runs-"

"We didn' run yah arse!" Lyarra howled.

"We buggered Tywin bloody Lannister and his focking sons, we did!" Edd belted out at the same time, drinking deeply from his mug once he said his piece. Ale escaped the container and splashed down his beard, settling on the man's dirty, stained tunic. "Took the Rock from the lions too! S'where Roger got that shiny cup!"

The Stark household guard nodded, brandishing said shiny cup. The rubies that served as the lions' eyes glittered in the firelight.

"S'worth twice what I earn in a year!" The man said, grinning widely. "Don't care what yous says about King Robb – he's a bloody hero outta the Age of Heroes isself!"

"Guard that well, friend," Daryn, the Mallister sword, intoned, an easy-going smile on his face.

"Aye! I will!" Roger yelled, clutching the goblet to his chest.

"The spoils of war," Ser Robin muttered, tearing a chunk of bread off with his teeth. "No easier thing to make a man blind to the faults of his King."

"All kings have faults," Robb intoned at length, when silence began to stretch over the campfire. "They're men too."

"He speaks aftr'all," Edd muttered with a sidelong glance toward the King in the North. "Thot you were a mute, friend."

"Nay," Robb murmured around a spoonful of his broth. "Only quiet."

"All kings have faults, aye," Ser Robin agreed. "'Tis a thing a well-learned man would say."

Roger scoffed. "We're all well-learnt! Well-learnt in killin' an' whorin'!"

Edd cheered and, together with Roger, they drank deeply from their cups. Lyarra seemed nonplussed, though.

"Ain't nothin' ta be proud of, fool!"

"The hell it ain't!" Edd returned.

Ronald Storm grunted and turned his attention away from the two Umber guards, instead looking toward the King in the North.

"Ser Robin was not wrong, friend. You've a well-trained voice. You know our names and houses – what be yours'?"

Roger and Daryn quieted, listening rather intently now.

"Sod that!" Edd howled, waving his arm about over the fire. Some ale splashed out of his mug and landed upon the campfire, causing the flames to hiss and spit. "Ye' thot King Robb was a fool! S'why are we headed north with gold n' food n' whores aplenty!?"

Ser Robin and Ronald both recoiled away from the fire with scowls on their faces and turned to face the angry Umber guard.

Robb, for his part, breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Luck," Ser Robin stated. "How else would the gates of Casterly Rock open before him?"

"King Robb had men-!"

"He ordered men to travel back with the imp!" Lyarra howled, cutting off Roger. "Weren't no co-in-cid-ence! King Robb thinks better than ten men together!"

"A convenient excuse," the knight scoffed.

"Aye. No way The Rock gets taken so simply as that," Ronald said, nodding even as Roger discovered his golden goblet was empty. Clumsily, the man got to his feet to refill the cup.

Lyarra, meanwhile, scowled and Edd shook his head.

"He beat Tywin focking Lannister. 'Course he took the Rock too!"

Daryn nodded. "Convinced me'lord Mallister to join him too."

Robb smiled an unseen smile, amused, for it was not he who convinced Lord Jason… rather, it was the other way around.

"Another example of his lack of honor," Ser Robin said, eyes narrowed. "Tis not a king I'll follow that makes another man's bannerman leave him!"

"Fock the Tullys!" Lyarra spat.

"Aye," Edd muttered as Roger sat heavily on the log he was using as a seat, goblet full again. "Them Tullys can't do nofink right. Riverlands're focked."

Ser Robin scowled again and Ronald opened his mouth-

"Robb! Robb!"

And conversation around the campfire hushed all at once as Sansa Stark paced by, two Stark guards following at her heels. Clearly, she was looking for him and judging by the expression on her face, it was something urgent.

He only hoped it was something that did not have to do with Arya.

Because the two Stark sisters returned to bickering entirely too quickly for Robb's liking after they reunited.

"S'tha King's sister, ain't it?" Lyarra muttered, eyeing Sansa as she continued walking away.

Robb sighed and set his bowl down on the grass outside Hayford Castle.

"Aye, that it is!" Roger yelled. "I'd know'er anywhere! S'tha Princess, fer sure!"

The King in the North pushed himself to his feet with a groan, old aches and pains returning to him after his time sitting on the ground.

Honestly, he did not know how his men did it. That was one of the reasons he joined them for their meals on occasion, actually, to see things from their perspective. The better to remind him of the luxuries he took for granted.

"What's the rush, friend?" Ser Robin intoned, drawing the attention of those around the campfire back to him.

Robb shook his head. "I thank you all for the meal, but I'm afraid I must tend to my sister."

Then, without any further hesitation, he drew back his hood and turned toward said sister.

"Sansa!"

The shout drew the girl's attention and the attention of every man and woman within the surrounding area, his campfire companions included.

"Oh fock! It's tha bloody King in the North!" Edd muttered, his eyes wide and fingers numb, if the way he dropped his broth bowl was any indication.

"I told yous it was him!" Lyarra insisted even as Roger managed to close his mouth and Daryn bowed his head.

"King in the North," he intoned.

Robb waved them off and began pacing toward Sansa, passing by Ser Robin and Ronald Storm in the process. Both of them sat silently, evidently shocked speechless by his presence.

"All kings have flaws," he said before he left the campfire's proximity entirely. Idly, he reached into a plain bag at his waist and pulled out his crown. "And all kings face difficult choices. I did the best with what I had."

The crown was placed atop his head, amidst his dark, almost-black, auburn locks and he left the circle without looking back.

Later that day, 299 – Robb Stark – Hayford Castle, The Crownlands

"He wants to speak with you, Robb," Sansa insisted, fingers curled around his arm as they walked through his army's camp. Cheers and calls followed them all the way to the command tent, shouts heralding his victories and praises calling out his titles.

It was addicting to hear so many approving voices singing his praise.

He was thankful for the dissenting voices – like those of Ser Robin and Ronald Storm – for they kept him humble. It was a difficult thing to learn, accepting criticism from those of lower station. Harder still to keep putting it to practice, for they knew nothing of the pressure he faced every day, of the choices he was forced to make. But he listened to those dissenting voices all the same, lest he become a king like Joffrey Waters.

"Aye, The Hound wants to speak. King Stannis wants to speak. The Red Woman wants to speak. Margaery asks for my attention. My banners want for my ear, too," he muttered to her, waving at his men-at-arms only when particularly vigorous cheers reached his ears. "Tis why I chose to take my meal with my men tonight, sister."

"He grows weary of being ignored, Robb."

"And weary he shall remain. I told him I would speak with him once we reached Moat Cailin, speak there we shall."

Sansa frowned, the expression putting lines into her cheeks that should not be there. Not on his sister. Not on a girl of three and ten.

But there they were, all the same.

"Sister," he started, straining to keep himself from frowning too. Sansa was… volatile, more than she once was, after her time spent in King's Landing. "Come, let us speak, my tent is near."

"Now you wish to speak?" She returned. "Then I will find Sandor, we-"

"With you, sister. No one else."

Her nostrils flared and her fingers tightened around his arm, but she let him lead her to his tent all the same. It was a moderately sized thing, located near to the heart of his army's encampment, large enough only for a cot, a chest, a writing table and a pile of furs for Grey Wind.

The direwolf was there when they entered the space but did not react in the slightest to their presence, content to nap on his side as he was.

An aspect of their growing bond, Robb knew. With nary a thought, he could now figure out where Grey Wind was whenever he wanted. Though he had no way to confirm it, he believed the same to be true of the great wolf.

"You should take a larger tent as your own, Robb," Sansa said, sighing as she sat down upon the cot. She spared a glance at Grey Wind – an almost longing look – but that faded quickly enough once he moved to take the shawl off of her shoulders.

"Don't," she said, eyes narrowing into a glare for but a moment. Then, they softened almost as quickly whilst a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I have none of my northern dresses with me and none that belong to the women among the camp is fit for my status. Shawls and overcoats will keep me warm in silks until then."

He nodded, pulling the chair away from his writing table. "I like my tent, sister. 'Tis enough room for me and hard for those who wish me ill to find."

"Yet it displays power and prestige like a donkey next to a warhorse."

"My power and prestige is known among the men and women, sister."

She sighed, an easy smile on her lips. It was an argument they had nearly every day, his tent. She was of the opinion that he needed something more befitting his position as King of the North, lest his smallfolk begin to talk.

Perhaps she was right, appearances were important, but Robb's meals taken around campfires offered him insight that his sister lacked. His men and women were far too taken with the spoils of war to care how their King slept… for now.

"How are you, sister?" He said, eyeing her from his spot in the chair. Where she was once stick thin and gaunt, she was now starting to regain some weight, a little more fullness to her cheeks and muscle to her arms. Still, scars – both mental and physical – remained from her time in King's Landing. Her back was… it was a rictus of puckered skin and angry red welts, the gifts bestowed upon her by a whip. A sight he had only seen accidentally.

They had not spoken a single word of it since.

"I am well, Robb," Sansa said, rubbing at her arms. A crooked grin touched her face. "Wishing for heavier dresses, cursing my younger self for failing to pack any – so naïve I was. They are outdone by the silks of the south but against the bite of winter, they shine…"

He rubbed at his eyes, reclining fully in his chair. "You know what I mean, sister. Your time in King's Landing was spent being punished by that witch and her dunderhead son for my exploits. I-"

"I do not wish to speak of it."

He frowned, thinking on Arya's turmoil and how she opened up to him – inadvertently or not – at Golden Tooth. "It helps to speak of it."

She looked up sharply at that, a product of just how sharply he'd spoken. It came across more as a demand than a request, he knew, but frustration colored his words.

"I am not a child, Robb. Do not treat me like one."

He shook his head. "I worry for you, Sansa. I am your brother first and your King second. What you suffered through…"

She swallowed and rubbed at her arms, he saw gooseflesh there, brought on by the cold.

"I worry over your health. I worry over your fascination with this Red God."

The instant it was said, he knew it was the wrong way to word it.

"Fas- My fascination?" She parroted, her eyes growing wide and her lips pulling down into a scowl. "My fascination with the Red God is what gave me the strength to stand up after I was beaten and broken. You… I cannot believe you!"

"It was a poor choice of words," he said, on the back foot already and cursing himself for the misstep. "I only worry that you were taken in by honeyed words at your lowest-"

"How dare you!?" Sansa thundered, standing abruptly.

"I must!" He returned, standing as well. He stood a head taller than her. "I've spoken to that woman, heard her words! They are poisonous, sister, they-"

"I'll not hear a word more of this," she declared, crossing her arms. "That woman has a name, Robb. Use it."

He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Frustration. Anger. All sorts of emotions came to him when he thought of the Red Woman. She was beautiful, certainly, but that was her only redeeming trait. She used her tongue to twist truths and lead honest people astray. Her hands were stained with the blood of innocents. Her mind was tainted by the Red God's hateful faith.

"She is a poison, Sansa. A poison!"

"She cares, Robb! The Hound spirited me out of that blasted keep months ago, a pathetic, little, weak, broken, stupid, naïve girl!" Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes, now. "Months I spent in that sept, surrounded by gods who did nothing! But Melisandre…"

The girl shook her head, sniffing once, before she began dabbing at her eyes with the edges of her shawl.

Robb sighed. "Our gods are old, Sansa, you know that."

"No, Robb," she said, shaking her head. "My god is red."

Two months later, 299 – Robb Stark – Darry, The Riverlands

"I mean to head east, to Saltpans," Stannis Baratheon said, looking out over the three Rivers Fork as they spilled into the Bay of Crabs. He was garbed in a plain woolen tunic that bore his new sigil – a burning stag. Behind him, his men-at-arms waited, on foot and horseback both. They were a proud sight, standards held high and more organized than Robb's northmen and women would ever be.

But then, he had mountain clansmen to contend with among his own banners. Parade formation was never going to happen.

"I wish you well, King Stannis. Mayhap one day soon, I will see you on the Iron Throne."

"Once the bastard children have been dealt with. And this child who claims Aegon's name."

Aegon Targaryen. The boy who supposedly died during the Lannister sack of King's Landing at the end of Robert's Rebellion. He was but a babe when it happened and already spreading the story that another boy infant replaced him whilst he was spirited away to Meereen.

"Tis a story only Gregor Clegane can confirm. That brute was said to have dashed the boy's head against the wall…"

"He will be sought by many," Stannis agreed, glancing back at Castle Darry.

It was an old thing, not too large and not too small. It sat close to the Kingsroad atop a strategic hill that overlooked the Ruby Ford.

It was also one of many castle burned by Gregor Clegane. The Mountain that Rides was still pillaging and raping in the Riverlands, even so many months after he lost his Lannister masters. The four thousand horse he had with him doubtlessly too much for any single castle's garrison to handle.

"The beast will make a very valuable hostage to this Aegon Targaryen," Robb mused. "Were he close to mine own force… Ah! But I lust after gold still, greed is a terrible influence."

"You have made a name for yourself, Sly Wolf, see to it that it does not go to your head."

The King in the North frowned, not because of the slight, but because there was a bitter note to Stannis' voice that the elder man did not, or could not hide.

"I will not, Your Grace," he said at length, putting the matter from his mind. "Still, Edmure Tully commands nine thousand men. Ridding him of the Mountain that Rides…"

"Lord Seaworth and I have spoken at length on the matter," Stannis offered, whatever bitterness came over him gone, now. He spoke easier now, with the comfort of a man who knew how to make war. "The Riverlands' men would be a boon and the Westerlands are nearly free for the taking thanks to your efforts, Your Grace. But the issue of Aegon Targaryen remains. Even without the Vale and Dorne, he still commands the Reach and the Golden Company – perhaps forty thousand men between them. Too much to deal with."

Robb nodded, conceding the point. "Then you sail to the Stormlands?"

"I will not share my plans so easily, King Robb," Stannis returned, not even a whisper of a smile on his face.

The man was hard, surly almost. And the weathered lines on his face only emphasized that.

"I understand," the King in the North said.

A moment of silence passed between them then with only the rushing waters of the river below to fill the void. Stannis cast a watchful eye over his men, hands folded behind his back.

Robb, instead, turned to his own army. They were arrayed haphazardly, tents pitched with no sense of organization or discipline, something he was only now realizing. The stakes and trenches dug around the camp were broken up into sections and each one looked to be dug quickly and without concern for the others.

They were, in a word, a disorganized mess. Drunk on victory and high on the spoils of war.

Whilst on the campaign trail, their tents were pitched in rough rows and the camp's defenses were far more organized.

But his men and women deserved a break, after all the victories they won for him.

Sentimental, perhaps, but only the Mountain that Rides threatened his army now.

And disorganized they might be, his nine thousand foot and five thousand horse were more than a match for that brute's paltry four thousand mounted men.

Provided, of course, that he receive a warning of Gregor Clegane's approach.

To that end, he employed twice the number of scouts he normally did and sent the vast majority of the them west of his army and its trains.

Sentimentality tempered by practicality.

What he hoped was an acceptable middle ground.

A cluster of people broke free of the tents then, beginning the climb up the hill upon which he and King Stannis stood.

"Your Grace," Robb intoned, waiting until he heard the older man shift behind him to continue. "Your daughter comes."

Indeed, Shireen Baratheon was pacing up the hill with Sansa at her side. They had their arms locked at the elbow and, behind them, six Stark swords walked.

Stannis hummed, stepping forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

Though that was more a figure of speech than anything. The Baratheon King was just as tall and wide-shouldered as Robert, though far less fat.

"Look after her, King Robb. Where I go now is no place for a child content to have only a fool as a companion."

The King in the North swallowed and only just suppressed his grimace, surprised that Stannis' unforgiving nature carried over into his demeanor as a father.

"I will keep her safe, happy and learned, King Stannis."

"More of the first and the last. My late wife met her end during my time in King's Landing and Shireen will only benefit from escaping that woman's smothering embrace. Still, the damage has been done. The girl is soft and cares only for things that amuse her."

The man paused, grinding his teeth. "But she is my daughter. I- She needs strength to survive this world. I cannot give her that."

The man stopped there and Robb got the distinct feeling that he wanted to say more.

But only silence stretched between them.

Two months, 299 – Wynafryd Manderly – Moat Cailin, The North

Her hair was pulled and twisted and pinned that morne into a ring of curls that spun round the back of her head, as majestic a crown as she'd ever have until her marriage. Her skin was scrubbed and her face powdered. Her best dress was donned and fretted over until every crease and fold was gone.

And then the entire process was done over again when she climbed atop her horse, a gorgeous white mare she'd had since she was a child.

Majesty, the horse was called.

'Oh, but the irony,' Wynafryd thought as sat, perched in side-saddle fashion, waiting for her future husband to travel up the road with his army.

Even now, she could catch glimpses of them through the thick tree cover of The Neck. They were a long, long line of colors and shining steel. Of grandiose carriage-houses and cart upon cart of what she could only imagine were the spoils they'd earned in war.

The spoils her husband earned as a boy-turned-man of only seven and ten.

The Sly Wolf, he was called. Lion Slayer. Robb the Wise. Robb the Daring. Robb the Undying. He was called The Chain Breaker, The King in the North, The King of the Old Gods.

So many titles, so many songs and stories of his exploits. His name and reputation grew and grew with stories of every victory that reached The North. Already, even the ruined Moat Cailin received no less than two bards who sung of a Robb Stark that charged into lines of Lannister men-at-arms to claim Casterly Rock himself, only his fearsome dire wolf at his side. Others sang more generally of his campaign through the Westerlands and his vengeance satisfied over his father's death. Still more sung of his first victory in The War of Five Kings – his devastating rout of Tywin Lannister's forces that set the pace of the rest of his war.

Wynafryd listened to each of these songs closely, for beyond the fanciful words and colorful descriptions, there was a nugget of truth. A piece of the puzzle that was her husband. Together with his letters, she began to paint a picture of the man that was her betrothed.

For she desperately wanted to know him.

Not out of eagerness or a girlish need to know more of her knight in shining armor – though she would not deny that those urges played a part in her curiosity.

No… More than that, she wanted to know Robb Stark because he was an unknown. He was a man she was to be attached to until her death yet she knew nothing of his desires or his habits. His vices and his virtues. He was an unknown that had quite sufficiently managed to throw her life into a chaos she never expected.

A chaos that was war – a man's game. Court was her game. It was a woman's game and the only one she thought to play.

Until, of course, she became betrothed to the man leading The North in a war for independence. Until his holdings became her holdings too and so, when the Ironborn attacked, the smallfolk looked to her for salvation. The burden of freeing keeps fell, in part, upon her own utterly unprepared shoulders.

Wynafryd Manderly learned then that she was not allowed to hide away in a castle and claim ignorance any longer.

She was to be Queen.

Queens did not get to ignore war. Queens were not allowed to remain safe, behind strong castle walls.

Queens were expected to lead. Northern Queens were expected to lead moreso, lest they be shown up by the likes of Lady Maege Mormont and her fighting womenfolk.

Wynafryd shifted her shoulders. Her elaborate dress fluttered. Her painstakingly-styled hair shifted.

And the bow on her back clattered together noisily with her quiver of arrows.

And the iron-studded, leather corset she wore over her gut creaked alongside her pauldrons and armguards.

And the newly forged short sword hanging from her hip clattered against the buckler hanging off Majesty's saddle.

Together with her white-and-grey dress, she looked every part a Stark warrior queen.

Or, she desperately hoped she did. Fear that she would fall short of her husband's expectations – despite his kind words in the letters they shared – matched in intensity her need to know more of him, to make him a known quantity in her game.

'I wonder, is this how Margaery Tyrell felt when she was shipped off to marry Renly Baratheon, and then the boy king after that?'

But Margaery Tyrell – before she was made a ward of Winterfell - was a Lady in the south. She was expected only to host parties and partake in all manner of courtly activities. Wynafryd did not have that luxury.

No one expected her to lead, of course. The current Lady Stark could not fight at all and many other women of the North were the same. They hid behind castle walls and Wynafryd, if she wished it, could too.

But Lady Stark was not a Queen and hiding behind walls while Robb Stark fought for The North would not earn the young Queen the respect of her soon-to-be banners. She would be another wall flower, there only to serve as an eye-catching partner to the King in the North.

Wynafryd Manderly did not want to fight in battles and learn to use a man's weapons of war. She feared it all terribly.

But she loathed being dismissed as decoration for the King's arm even more.

So she learned. She asked Marlon Manderly to teach her to swing a sword and shoot a bow as they sieged Moat Cailin. She sweated and fell and dirtied herself until she was so tired that she no longer cared how humiliating it was to fail so often in front of men that could best her easily in a fight. She sat in on their meetings and learned what she could of blocking supply routes and establishing army camps. She spent time with the Stark, Manderly and Dustin men-at-arms under her great-uncle's command, as she heard Margaery Tyrell was like to do with her own smallfolk. The conversations were often stilted and awkward, the lack of common interest between them too large a divide for her social niceties to bridge.

But she did it all anyway.

Every single thing she could do to prepare to be a… a Queen was done.

All that remained was to learn intimately the kind of man Robb Stark was.

"They come," Marlon intoned at her side, his wizened voice neutral. He paused as she straightened her shoulders, then: "T'will all be passed soon. You'll impress Robb Stark, mark my words."

"One can only hope," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat and worrying the reigns of Majesty. Her fingers, callused and scarred, began to fiddle with one another before she caught herself.

'He'll like your hands,' she told herself again, hating that she doubted it but doubting all the same. 'Hands of a woman trained to fight. Respectable.'

Or so she desperately hoped.

The open gate under which they waited creaked and groaned loudly then, the ramshackle thing doing its damnedest to remind them that Moat Cailin was in a state of heavy disrepair. Forests surrounded the keep and the road in front of it on all sides. The path itself was straight as an arrow to the north but it twisted and turned heavily to the south, allowing them to see only as far as the first bend before trees largely blocked their view.

But Wynafryd did not need to see them to know the army was close – she could hear them easily, now.

And just as that realization came to her, men rounded the bend in the trees.

The Stark direwolf led the procession and she knew immediately that the man at its front was Robb Stark. He rode with a different bannerman every day at the front of the column, to better know his vassals, he told her.

She thought it a wise thing to do. Men would fight harder for a leader they knew – Marlon told her so. That her betrothed knew that and cared enough to know his men in return spoke highly of his character.

She felt her mind relax somewhat, the doubts fading from her thoughts.

Wynafryd knew much about Robb Stark, after all. Her worries were likely unfounded - all of what she knew told her he was a kind, empathic King in the North. He would accept her as his Queen whether she could fight or not. Whether her hands were soft or not.

She nodded, mostly to herself, though Marlon chortled under his breath all the same.

She ignored him, too used to his behavior after sieging Moat Cailin for months at his side.

'He was at your side,' she reminded herself, despite how... childish the thought seemed.

Regardless, they knew each other well now.

She swallowed again and forced herself to breath as deeply as she could with the corset fixed around her midsection. It was tighter today than it normally would be – her dress longer, too. More for show than anything, she found fighting in anything but a tunic nearly impossible.

"There we are," Marlon murmured to her left.

She looked up at the road then and only belatedly realized that the horses were seconds away. Men and women of all shapes and sizes road upon them and she saw the Mormont bear, the Umber giant, the flayed man of the Boltons and several sigils more – even the twin towers of the Freys – but those colors were lost to her when she focused her eyes on her betrothed.

He had dark hair. Darker than she thought it would be, given the shade of Lady Catelyn's. His shoulders were wide and he looked like he stood at an average height – taller than her but not overly so.

'Good,' she thought as her mind settled fully. Uncomfortable and clumsy she may be on a battlefield, Wynafryd Manderly felt more at home watching people and learning from it than she did in her own bed at times.

And, blessedly, observing her betrothed returned an easy calm to her mind that she welcomed readily.

His features were well defined and she saw only a healthy amount of fat on him, not like the late King Robert… No, Robb Stark was fit and strong and well-muscled and she had to force herself not to stare at his cheekbones and jawline as he drew near. Attractive he may be, the first impression she wanted to leave in his mind was not that of a blushing girl-child.

'Speaking of first impressions,' she thought, clearing her throat even as Marlon sucked in a breath next to her.

She beat him to it.

"Moat Cailin is yours', Your Grace," she enunciated perfectly, deepening her voice somewhat to help it carry better over the noise of the army.

Robb's eyes, which had only just made it to her when she spoke, widened.

She saw him look at the bow on her back, the sword at her side and the armor – lady-like and impractical though it was – on her torso.

Then, he grinned.

It was a toothy thing, wide and earnest.

She found her own lips curling up into a smile before she knew what was happening.

"Wynafryd Manderly," her betrothed stated through the grin even as Marlon snorted beside her.

She ignored him.

Robb did too, thankfully.

"Forgive me if it seem forward, My Lady," he continued, bringing his horse around to stand next to Majesty. "But I feel I know you well enough to at least call you by your name."

Her smile widened ever so slightly. The grin on his face was still there and, by The Seven, it was contagious.

"I think that fitting… Robb. We are to be married, after all."

He laughed, then admitted. "I still can't quite believe that."

Lady Maege Mormont stopped on Robb's other side even as another person on horseback stopped next to Marlon. Wynafryd did not turn to see who it was. Other highborn Lords and Ladies began entering Moat Cailin's courtyard all around them but she did not stop to look at them either.

Robb was… effectively commanding the entirety of her attention.

"I've fought a war for nearly two years, killed more men than I care to admit, schemed enough to make me want to bathe for an entire day and yet… Marriage is still the most difficult challenge that lay ahead of me- Us."

Wynafryd found his honesty refreshing. She should have expected it, though, from his letters.

"I shall endeavor not to make it overly difficult for you, Your Grace," she said, lowering her voice and trying her damnedest to make it sound cross through the smile that she could not banish.

The King in the North – leader of men, killer of lions and winner of Northern independence – grunted and turned to look at her with wide eyes. "I did not mean to imply that you were the cause of- that you were the reason I looked upon marriage as something difficult and… and… Are you smiling? My- Wynafryd!"

He laughed. A loud belly laugh that threw his head back and caused some heads to turn their way from the men and women in his – 'Their?' – army.

Lady Maege laughed too and Wynafryd found herself giggling – giggling – too.

Honestly.

Was everything about this man so contagious? She scarcely even cared that the sound was spilling from her lips, enraptured as she was with the sight of her betrothed laughing so joyously.

Even more enrapturing to her was the fact that she caused it.

A wide grin, probably as toothy as Robb's, split her lips.

Then, chants reached her ears amidst the mirth.

Chants that honored Robb as King in the North first, then The Undying second. Then another cheer that erupted in honor of the North entirely.

And then a cheer that shocked her into silence was shouted.

"Queen in the North! Queen in the North! Queen in the North!"

She swallowed and blinked, once, twice, three times before a hand landed on her shoulder.

Wynafryd turned away from the men marching on the road, silent and still unsure of what to feel at hearing her future title spill from the lips of so many. She found Robb looking down at her – his horse was larger than Majesty, meant for war as it was - from under his hair.

It made him look endearing. Gentle. Kind.

And comely.

'He is closer than I thought.'

She felt her cheeks heat.

"You'll grow accustomed to it," he said, an easy smile on his lips. He squeezed her shoulder once then reached down into one of his saddlebags, retrieving from it a small sack.

Even still, the chant continued, picked up by new voices as men and women strolled by the opening to the courtyard.

"Queen in the North! Queen in the North! Queen in the North!"

"You are everything I could have hoped for," Robb said again, his eyes flickering up to meet hers, then down at the ground, then back up again. "I… I imagine you feel how I felt when I was first crowned – overwhelmed and grateful and, truthfully, quite scared… I…"

He snorted and urged his horse a little closer to her own. They were close enough now that she could smell him – metal and dirt and sweat that combined together to create an almost overpowering smell of what she could only describe as war. But underneath the caustic scents of iron and steel and blood, there was an earthy scent that sent a tingle down her spine.

Wynafryd leaned closer to him.

"Queen in the North! Queen in the North! Queen in the North!"

"I spent so long trying to find the right words to tell you in this moment," he continued, glancing out at his men ever so briefly. He turned back to her.

His eyes were so blue.

"Those men and women out there rely upon you – us. So many people look to us for leadership and just expect us to know what to do and how to act and when to move and so many other things…" He shook his head. "I did nothing but doubt myself for three days after."

"You told me so," she said softly, a smile playing on her lips. "It wasn't until you found your sister that you seemed happier."

He blinked, his eyes drifting down to her mouth, before looking back up at her again. "I don't… I don't want you to go through that. Doubting yourself."

"Queen in the North! Queen in the North! Queen in the North!"

"I have, already," she admitted, glancing down at her corset.

His fingers caught her chin then and her breath left her at the feeling – rough digits, almost too rough. They scratched at her skin and instead of pain or annoyance she found that Robb's fingers left only heat in their wake.

"I'm afraid I can't keep you from worrying," he said, his eyes delving into her own. "Those doubts will come and go."

He shifted then, shaking his free hand until the object he retrieved from his saddlebags was freed from the bag-

She gasped.

It was a crown. Iron and bronze like his own but smaller, thinner. More elegant.

Hers.

"But I can promise you I'll be there to support you every step of the way," he said, his cheeks reddening as he urged her gaze back up to him. "Can you promise me the same?"

"Queen in the North! Queen in the North! Queen in the North!"

His fingers were still on her chin. His scent was still in her nose.

It made her thoughts sluggish.

But even through the haze, she realized what he said. She was a fool to even worry over meeting him, in truth. She knew him from his letters. She knew he was kind. She knew he would try.

The crown – her crown – caught the midday sun in his fingers.

And then she realized how close his face was to hers.

The scent. The fingers. The thoughtfulness.

She stood in her saddle and crushed her lips against his before she could second guess herself. Her hand came up to rest on his nape to steady herself and her other fisted in his tunic. His own threaded itself into her hair and made a mess of her curls but she did not care.

Not one whit.

The only thing she cared for were the tingles running up and down her spine.

But all too soon, it was over.

They separated and she drew back, her face as hot as his own looked and with a taste left lingering on her lips that was not hers. It was different. Heady.

Impossible to ignore.

She liked it.

And then she became aware of the shouting.

Robb and she both looked back out at the men and women on the road in front of it, each one with their fists in the air. Each one whooping and hollering as loud as they could. Each one yelling something different until it all flowed together into a cacophonous racket.

And, sure enough, she felt her hair touch the back of her neck, undone by Robb's-

Something heavy was placed upon her head.

The men and women in front of her cheered louder.

Belatedly, Wynafryd Manderly realized her betrothed had just placed a crown atop her head.

No ceremony, no words, no rites in front of a Heart Tree or vows in front of The Seven.

He just did it.

She turned to him, wide eyed.

He shook his head, grinned and put a hand on her back.

And somehow, in some way, that put her at ease. She, for once, did not bother pondering the whys and hows of it all.

Instead, she smiled back at him and stood in the saddle again, waving to their men and women of the North.

A/N: It's been a good run, guys, and I'm glad you were here with me for it. I hope you enjoyed this alternative take on the War of Five Kings and Robb Stark, as well as the North, getting a happier ending than they did in the books. Some logic had to be stretched, certain people had to be in the right place at the right time, but what is that if not a little luck?

Anywho, I used this chapter to set the tone for the sequel. I haven't begun actually writing that yet, so no promises as to when I'll start releasing it – I'm actually trying to work through a Dragonball Z fic at the moment. Regardless, I do intend to finish this story someday, and with more than one PoV character. Wynafryd Manderly will be the second PoV and, depending on how much detail I want to go into when Aegon and Daenerys begin fighting it out, maybe a third too.

Now, onto to my last review responses! Thank you all for your thoughts, even those I don't explicitly mention – I enjoy reading your words. They make writing all the more fulfilling, that appreciation shown to me, even when it's criticism.

TMI Fairy: Varys did indeed manage to make the kingdoms burn a little better than in canon here – Robb unwittingly helped a great deal with that by living! Of course, the North is in a good spot but against the other six kingdoms (perhaps after winter passes and they've had a chance to recover) it doesn't stand much of a chance. Problems the Stark in Winterfell must face in the future, no? Thank you for your review, and all your others too!

Riptide04: No worries, I left most of the Tyrell switch details out because Robb doesn't yet know them. There's a little more betrayal and subterfuge there than first implied, but we'll see that later, for now just knowing that the Reach switched sides is enough. Daenerys is indeed still on her way over to Westeros – I left her canon alone completely since Robb didn't really effect anything that happened to her… Though she won't have Tyrion (as in the shows) or Varys or Seaworth (also as in the show) to help her plot. She'll still have Barristan Selmy, since Varys' managed to get him dismissed early in the war, but that's pretty much it. And the dragons, of course… always the dragons. She'll still be a formidable opponent, but there are easier prizes than the North to snatch, closer to her Iron Throne and far more appealing, especially in the dead of winter. Her arrival will certainly throw the Seven (Six?) Kingdoms into chaos all over again, just as Robb's continued life will change the situation at the Wall, as you noted. Thank you for your thoughts, and all the other reviews you've posted as well!

Hadrian Potter-Peverell-Evans: And isn't that a name! I always liked the idea of Harry being called Hadrian, sort of a Pureblood name, even if it doesn't jive well with his canon personality. Anywho, Ice. You're right, the Lannisters wouldn't have had much of a chance to break it down, even if they thought to without Tywin there. Ser Ilyn Payne, the executioner, likely still has it somewhere in the Red Keep. Or maybe Cersei took it to give to one of her faithful guards… I'm not entirely sure yet, I'm only certain it's still intact and somewhere in King's Landing. Robb didn't have much of a chance to grab it, however, since he didn't know where it was and time was against his staying within the city walls. Pragmatism and all that. It'll probably make an appearance later, though the details of where/when are still up in the air at this point. Thanks for your review!

The Jingo: You misunderstood, I said I wanted this story to be read for more than just a pairing and that's still true. I never said I was going to ignore it entirely – Wynafryd was always going to be a PoV character once it came time for her to enter the picture, romance (with all its ups and downs) will be fleshed out in time. I agree with you on the Daenerys and Margaery point: that they're paired up with the protagonist because they come with a lot of military might and dragons (can't forget the dragons). Still, I wish Arianne Martell would show up more often. She too comes with military might in the form of Dorne and it would be interesting to see an author try to navigate the complications that come with the distance between Westeros' most southerly kingdom and the most northerly. As to Lady McGeneric MinorNobleOC having no impact on the game unless it's forced… I cannot disagree any more. Robb was to marry a Lady McGeneric MinorNobleOC from House Frey and ended up marrying another, even more, Lady McGeneric MinorNobleOC instead. Then he ended up dead. Every character has an impact on the Game of Thrones, some more than others, but none of it is forced. Lazy writing might overlook those minor characters and their impacts, but I try not to write lazy. For example, Robb could have, by that logic, married Alys Karstark instead and nothing would've changed in the North. Except House Manderly controls the North's biggest port and, now that the Riverlands hates the North's guts, serves as their easiest and safest way to import food. Add to that that Robb has no one to marry to the Manderly girls (because Wynafryd has a younger sister) and he risked displeasing House Manderly. That's a weakness that his enemies can exploit, a weakness like Tywin Lannister exploited when he used a slighted House Frey against Robb Stark in the books. All over some Lady McGeneric MinorNobleOC. Vassals matter a whole lot more than you give them credit for and marrying a Lady McGeneric MinorNobleOC from one of those houses might just safe your life in the Game of Thrones. I hope I've changed your mind, part of the reason I loved the books was because each and every character influenced the plot in their own way. It felt real and, though this story's one PoV character doesn't do it justice, I want to stay true to the depth and detail that went into the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series.

Cat Beats: It certainly seems like the North has a lot to face in the coming years, what with Aegon and Daenerys both presumably looking to bring them to heel. Luckily, winter is just on the horizon and those two will probably be at each other's throats before going after Robb's. He has time to build up his kingdom's strength, strength he desperately needs. Thank you for your thoughts!

Spectre4hire: Good instincts! The Reach isn't as united as what Robb knows may suggest, but that struggle to get accurate information is integral to the Game of Thrones and the time period. Time will tell what actually happened in King's Landing and with Aegon, but it certainly made the south even more of a chaotic mess! Thank you for your thoughts and thank you for this review as well as all your others!

Guest: I try to stay accurate to what I know of medieval period combat, which is basically an armchair-historian's level of knowledge combined with too many hours spent playing Crusader Kings. Some take days, some take hours. The one outside the gate took hours but the initial battle between the North and Tywin's forces took nearly an entire night. I'm glad you like the pacing and how I write it! As for Daenerys and Aegon and the fate of the Iron Throne, you're right in saying it won't be easy for either of them to claim it. The North is strong, right now, and Robb intends to strength it further. Whichever one wins is certainly going to have one helluva fight on their hands! The Vale is still progressing as it did mostly in canon, without Sansa there. Littlefinger would've still been able to escape there and Lysa probably still would've married him. He'll likely be in charge in all but name now. Sansa was put through a lot and her character has changed because of who and how she was rescued, not so much the naïve girl now… more of a devoted follower. I hope you liked the twist! Thank you for taking the time to write out your review! It was a blast to read and actually reminded me that Olenna Tyrell will no doubt have something to say once it's safe to travel north – she'll probably show up in the sequel.

X59: Right now, Robb knows the Reach has switched sides and begun supporting King Aegon Targaryen. He doesn't know why, yet, or if Cersei holds the Iron Throne still. He's been traveling away from King's Landing, after all, and unless ravens are sent out to nearby holdfasts to bring news of a new King or how Aegon was defeated, he won't know what is going on. We live in an age where the spread of information is expected but in Westeros they have no such luxury. Either way, it'll make for an interesting situation once the fighting settles down… just in time for Daenerys to arrive, of course! Thanks for your thoughts and all your reviews besides!

Lord of Fleas: ASOIAF is certainly becoming high fantasy… though it really did start that way, didn't it? With the very first chapter and that poor sod who got murdered by zombies-with-another-name. Martin has a way with writing and a focus on the Game of Thrones itself that makes you forget that, though. It's a damn fine series and I hope I've done it justice here! Thanks for your review!

Till next time,

Phailen