Red Snow

Chapter II: Big Things Have Small Beginnings

Robb

"What is the final count, Lord Bolton?" Robb asked as he rode on horseback through the assembled Northmen host. Robb was only one and nine, but was in command of an entire host of Northmen. He sat tall and proud on a massive ebony stallion, gifted by his father before he went south to serve as the Hand. He was tall, six foot four inches with brown hair, which in the light appeared copper in color. A close cropped beard adorned his face. He had serious grey eyes, identical to his father's, that made both great and lesser men listen to his words. He, his family, and household had only recently learned of his father's demise, whom automatically passed on the lordship to Robb, but Robb already commanded the respect of his banner men, with bold words and bolder actions.

Robb was affected most by his father's death out of all five of his siblings. Robb had known him longest and spent many days under his tutelage. Lord Eddard Stark started to teach him the ways of a Lord as early as five name days. Sometimes he would learn with his bastard brother Jon, but mostly it was his father and him. Eddard and Maester Luwin would teach battle tactics and politics, how to conduct oneself in the presence of all manner of people, to always be humble, stern, proud in the face of adversary, and brave when others are not.

When his mother first told him with teary eyes the manner and means of his father's death he did not react. He took the new unflinchingly, as others were watching. It was not until he found himself alone in the comforting silence of the Godswood, and under the soothing presence of the somber face of the heart tree, did he finally tear.

The letter from Grand Maester Pycelle explained the events leading to his father's death. He explained how Eddard tried to seize the throne after King Robert's death, how he conceived lies of Joffrey's parentage as a means to do so, and how he was mercifully granted his life if he relinquished all titles and joined the Night's Watch, but was deemed to dangerous and was beheaded under orders from the new King Joffrey. Pycelle made no mention of the guards that accompanied his father south. It is good none of my siblings were allowed to journey south, or they all would end up dead, or worse, Robb thought bitterly.

Robb and all his family knew Eddard would never commit such treason. He only traveled south for the sake of his best friend King Robert. The whole realm knew Eddard to be honorable to a fault, and if anyone believed the charges of high treason to be just, then they truly did not know Lord Eddard.

The host was gathered at the outskirts of Winterfell, near the Wolfswood. Robb had waited a moon's turn and a half for his bannermen to arrive. They had come from all places of the North. Flying above the various camps flew their respective flags. He spotted the Umber giant, a flayed man, a white sun, crossed axes, a merman, and much and more, but above all flew the direwolf of Stark against a white banner. That is what his host was marching for, for the honor of Winterfell and of his father, and for the honor of his mother's family, the Tullys, whose lands and small folk were being brutalized by the belligerent Lannisters.

The men were preparing themselves for the long march south. The supply wagons were getting stocked with salt, cheese, ale, turnips, onions and carrots. Pigs, chickens, sheep, and cows were being tied up. Men were folding tents and sharpening their weapons. Most of the soldiers were outfitted in leather and fur coats and equipped with swords or axes, but just as many had nothing but iron scythes from their own farms.

"Let's see, I believe the final count is twelve thousand foot and eight thousand horse, my Lord. The majority coming from the Stark lands and the Manderly lands." Bolton replied quietly, reflecting is observant and cold personality. Roose Bolton was a slight man, Robb stood nearly a head taller than him. His quiet confidence radiated power and promised pain. He had short cut salt and pepper hair, and, strangely in the North, he went without a beard. He was wearing a simple leather tunic with the flayed man on his breast.

"Well enough I suppose, although out numbered by the Lannisters by nearly fifteen thousand soldiers." Robb said despondently.

"Do not forget, My Lord, that our numbers will swell when we combine forces with the Riverlands." Bolton replied.

"If they haven't all starved by then." Robb responded pessimistically. Riverrun was currently besieged by Lannister forces, commanded by the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister.

"Let us hope they have not, for we must conclude this war speedily. We must return these men home before winter comes, do not forget this my Lord." Bolton advised.

"You and I both know that the Lannisters will not be defeated easily. They will fight nail and tooth for the Iron Throne." Robb replied.

"Come, let us return, I can smell the shit from the latrines, and besides we must convene once more for all final preparations," Robb said. Bolton nodded and they trotted back to the hunter's gate.

The Winter Town surrounded Winterfell. It is protected by two outer walls, and in between the two walls lay a moat fifty feet across. The portcullis was already lowered when they arrived. The two guards bowed their heads respectfully as the two lords passed beneath the raised iron gate. Rob was so unused to the Lordship that he assumed they were speaking too Roose Bolton. To be honest Robb was scared. Scared of failure and of disappointing the thousands of men gathered to fight for him. If only his father hadn't gone south and died, then he wouldn't be forced unto this situation.

The Winter Town was in a flurry of commotion on the evening of the seventh day of the week. Although Northerners didn't worship the Seven like the Southerners, they still took the seventh day as a recess from the monotony of their laborious work. Cobblers and smiths and shop owners alike all gathered in taverns and squares to socialize and enjoy the summer while it lasted.

There were jugglers and bards amusing the folk, while vendors sold sweet fruits of the south too curious Northerners. The Northern terrain was harsh and unforgiving. The nutrient deprived soil yielded very few crops, and even fewer fruit trees. What the North lacked in food it made up for in raw materials. The North had tens of thousands of mines, that procured iron, copper, tin, and in rare instances silver.

As the pair of Lords passed the small folk they bowed and whispered "M'Lord." Robb saw they were afraid and wondered what he was doing wrong. It was not until halfway through the town did he notice they were glancing warily at Bolton and not him. It seems rumors of the flayed man reached all people. Although the torture practice of flaying was outlawed in the North, it was still practiced in the deepest dungeons for the most nefarious of criminals, and that must be why they are frightened of Bolton.

They soon approached the massive granite inner walls that protected the castle itself. They were nearly double the height of the outer walls and twice as thick. The guardsmen recognized him and shouted, "Open the gate!"

They dismounted and handed the steeds off to a pair of stable boys. As soon as his feet touched the ground a mass of thick grey fur bounded lightning fast to him. It was his direwolf Grey Wind.

"Hey there, pup!" He smiled as he ruffled the wolf's matted hair. The wolf was light grey with small mixtures of brown, but his head was a darker shade. His eyes were a feral color of yellow, surrounded by black circles, that glowed in a moonless night. At two years old the wolf was already twice as large as all the dogs in the kennel, and larger than his brother's and sister's wolves. He was the pack leader, like Robb himself.

"I wouldn't let it sleep next to you, my Lord. Many men before you have tried and failed to domesticate direwolves, unicorns, the like. This one is no different." Bolton quipped as Grey Wind turned his attention towards the flayed man. The giant wolf sauntered over and started to sniff the man.

"He has slept at my foot since we found him, my Lord, I'm sure if he truly was as hostile as you say, I believe he would have torn my throat out by then, Gods know he's big enough." Robb responded sharply. "Put you hand out, let him sniff you. No man can lie so well as to fool a wolf, it is the ultimate test of character." Bolton uneasily stuck out his hand. Grey Wind sniffed and circled the man. Bolton looked nervous, but not scared. What is he thinking? Robb thought. The wolf backed off with out a sound, but still had his yellow eyes fixated on Bolton. "He thinks you odd, but with no ill intentions." Robb said. He did not know how it worked, but Grey Wind and he could feel what the other felt, almost as if they were one and the same.

"My Lord!" Someone said. Both Robb and Bolton turned, each expecting themselves to be addressed. It was maester Luwin. "My Lord Stark, your council awaits you in your solar." Luwin explained. Luwin was a short, grey old man. Robb stood a head and a half taller than him, and had been taller since he was one and four. He had kindly eyes, shrouded by bushy grey eyebrows, and surrounded by many wrinkles, accumulated over his many years. He wore a long grey robe, and a chain around his neck, consisting of many different metals, that signified his fields of expertise. As a child Robb found that chain so very interesting. When Luwin was holding him, he would tug and pull at it, all the while giggling and laughing.

"Good, tell my brother to meet us there, and you will stay as well." Robb ordered the man who always ordered him around.

"My Lord? I should think that Brandon is a little too young for a war council." Luwin replied crisply, obviously thinking the idea foolish.

"Oh that's right you don't know. Lord Bolton, excuse us, if you will." The man nodded and left. "Who I mean is my brother Jon." Robb expanded.

"But he is currently at the Wall, is he not? Your Lady mother would not have him live at Winterfell without your father." Luwin questioned, dumbfounded. Luwin was always one of Robb's favorite people in the castle. He always had a treat or a toy in one of his many pockets, and he was always teaching Robb something new, or giving him bits of advice. His younger brothers, Brandon and Rickon, always hated the sessions with Maester Luwin. Unlike him, they were not first born. They would inherit nothing. He absorbed all the information he could, history of Westeros, reading, writing, speaking, because he new, one day, it would be valuable for when he ruled the North.

"That's what he told them, but I hid him. He is currently boarding with Mikken in the forge. I would not have my closest friend, and, as much as my mother loathes me saying, mybrother, rot on the gods forsaken Wall. He is coming to war with me." Robb explained. "And, from what I've seen he has become quite proficient at the forge. It did him some good. So, see you soon."

"Yes, My Lord," he said as he left, towards the forge.

Robb sighed as he looked down at his faithful companion. "So much to do, so much responsibility, maybe I should run off to the Wall, would you like the Wall Grey Wind?" He asked the wolf. The wolf whined pitifully and sneezed, sending green goop all over his trousers. Robb found himself laughing for the first time in weeks. "Ha! I take that as a no then, c'mon pup, we got work to do."

Robb slowly walked towards the Great Keep. The Great Keep was a large circular building made of granite. It was built over hot springs to keep it war, which flow through the walls. It holds the rooms of the noble family and the Lord's solar. The basement holds the entrances to underground tunnels that connected to basements all over Winterfell, which served as a place to keep warm in the cold of winter.

As Robb and Grey Wind passed the stables all the horses neighed in fright at the sight of the menacing wolf, all except for Robb's stallion, Moonless. Hullen, the master of horse, was personally grooming the beast. Hullen was the best horse trainer in the North, and he had trained Moonless from pony to stallion. Also in the stables was Harwin, Hullen's son, Joseth, and the simpleminded giant-man, Hodor. Robb avoided the stables for fear of causing another fiasco with the horses, due to Grey Wind.

The castle was abuzz with activity. The dinking sound of a hammer beating steel in the forge reverberated of the granite walls, servants ran to and from the kitchens, guest house, and Great Keep, holding plates of food and jugs of wine, dogs from the kennels were barking and yapping excitedly, Ser Rodrick Cassel was overlooking a spar between his father's ward Theon and TomToo. TomToo was the son of Tomard, who went south with his father, and died with him too. TomToo was Robb's squire. He was a remarkable swordsman for his age, and an aspiring knight. He was one and five and was humbly trouncing his five year elder, Theon, with his wooden long sword.

"Keep your sword up! Parry! Parry! What's wrong with you? Do you like getting killed?" Ser Rodrick yelled at Theon, who, on the best of days, was a sub-par swordsman.

After getting whacked for the umpteenth time Theon threw down his sword and shouted, "There's no use! I won't stand here and let myself be assaulted by this maniac!" Covered in bruises, Theon stormed off. Robb, Jon, and Theon had grown as boys too men together in Winterfell. As young boys they explored the castle. They would dare each other to enter the ominous crypts that housed Starks, long, gone, and forgotten. They would traverse the subterranean tunnels that crisscrossed the castle and winter town. Jon and Robb would sword fight and learn the lance with Ser Rodrick, while Theon practiced archery. As they grew older they began to experiment with girls. Being older, Theon started first. Robb was easy to convince, but Jon refused, relenting only once, claiming it was irresponsible and selfish to sire a bastard, like himself. Robb and Theon would scour the kitchens, looking for an unconquered wench, or pay extra at one of the few Winter Town brothels for an unsullied virgin, always careful to keep their endeavors secret. All throughout their friendship they never discussed such sensitive subjects, like Theon's status as a 'hostage', or Jon's disgraceful status as a baseborn bastard, as proof that Eddard was mortal and not so honorable.

One time Robb asked Maester Luwin who Jon's mother was. "I will you what I know, only if you promise never to tell Jon, or anyone else for that matter." Robb promised. "Well, no one knows for sure except your father and Jon's mother, but there are some rumors. Rumors, mine you, are just that, rumors based on mere speculation. I have heard personally from many people that your father fell in love with Ashara Dayne at the Tourney at Harrenhal. She became pregnant and birthed a boy. Some say the reason she threw herself off a tower was because your father took him away, to be raised here, in Winterfell."

At the time he didn't know who the woman was, or even House Dayne. Afterward he looked them up in the library. House Dayne of Starfall: from the far southern deserts of Dorne. Robb was amazed that Jon could come from such an extreme opposite environment as their current home. Ice and fire. He had wanted to tell Jon so very badly, but kept his promise to Luwin, keeping his father's words in mind, a man who breaks his promises is no man at all.

"You are growing more proficient every day TomToo. One day you will rival the Kingslayer himself, or even Arthur Dayne." Robb praised.

"Thank you m'lord, Ser Rodrick is an excellent instructor." TomToo replied, deflecting the compliment.

"Yes, yes he is." Rob chuckled. TomToo was tall and lithe. He had shaggy black hair and sparkling emerald eyes. Many girls fawned over him, laughing as they tell him how cute he is. But under the innocent exterior is a warrior who will one day kill many men. Robb turned to Ser Rodrick. Ser Rodrick was of an average height, but much broader with huge shoulder, and an even larger stomach. He had a red face, framed with long grey sideburns and short grey hair. He had small blue eyes hidden behind rosy cheeks and under bushy eyebrows.

"I hear you have begun to teach Rickon the basics? How fares he?" Robb questioned the older man, who drilled into him the ins and outs of swordsmanship, like he was doing currently with TomToo.

"Aye. He is eager to learn, and is taking to it like fish to water, but he is stubborn, and insists on doing things how he prefers. I'll show him how it's done soon enough, I've tamed a lot wilder than him, trust me my Lord." Ser Rodrick explained.

"I'll have words with him, I'll leave you to it. Ser, Tom." he nodded to them both as he continued onwards. Robb approached the huge oak doors of the Great Keep and nodded to the two men standing guard. Robb remembered something his father told him. Acknowledge everyone, no matter how low born or if others do not. Eye contact is key in earning respect.

Robb climbed the circular staircase to the top floor, where his chambers and solar were, with Grey Wind trotting silently behind. The solar was a dark, candle lit room, with only one small window. A large circular table stood in the center surrounded by fifteen chairs. On the table lay a massive, extremely detailed, map of Westeros.

Sitting in the fifteen chairs were men of varying scruff and smell, of height and weight, and of patience and impatience. In attendance was Jon Umber, Roose Bolton, Robin Flint, Medger Cerwyn, Haly Hornwood, Rickard Karstark, Donnel Locke, Wendel Manderly, Dacey Mormont, Maester Luwin, and finally his bastard brother Jon. "Welcome all, my Lords, my Lady, Sers." Robb welcomed as he took the chair at the far north of the map, which was slightly larger than the rest. Grey Wind lay down at his feet.

"Our host will march first light tomorrow, with the intention of liberating Riverrun and avenging my father, who was unjustly and falsely accused of high treason and executed without a trial." Robb began. "Now, Lord Bolton will command the vanguard, along with Lords Cerwyn and Hornwood. You will command five thousand horse, equipped with sword and bow. The Greatjon, Lords Karstark, Manderly, and I will command the twelve thousand foot. We will march south along the Kingsroad until we meet the Twins – here." at this point Robb moved the two stone carvings of a horse and of a soldier dressed in plate armor down the Kingsroad to the Twins.

"At this point we will hope to cross the Twins and continue south to Riverrun." Robb moved the horse and soldier to Riverrun, where a lion was waiting. Further south at Harrenhal stood another lion, representing Tywin Lannister's forces." Robb finished.

"And if the Freys refuse us passage? What then?" Bolton question.

"We CRUSH them!" the Greatjon yelled, slamming his massive fists on the table, knocking over a few empty cups of wine. "We come for the aid of their liege, they would not dare hinder us." Umber settled.

"The Freys are greedy, power hungry, and have a history of ill deeds. I would not put it pass them to refuse us purely out of spite." Maester Luwin explained. "Walder Frey has many sons and grandsons with nothing to inherit. He looks for any opportunity to expand his lands. But we cannot afford to engage them openly. We must save our power for the Lannisters."

"If that is the case we will have to cross the Ruby Ford and travel north from there, a huge detour. It is within close reach of Harrenhal. We cannot risk that." Jon added.

"This is all merely speculation. We can only accurately discuss this matter once we reach the Twins." Robb said. "Now in the Neck I will leave a garrison of five hundred archers at Moat Cailin. They will also repair it as best they can. Also at this point we will await a ship from Barrowton, which will resupply us before marching further. Further south we will meet up with Howland Reed who will join us on our march. Any questions?" they shook their heads and stayed silent. "Good. We will see each other on the morrow." Robb dismissed. The meeting was short and straightforward.

All left except for Jon. "Hello smith. How fares the forge?" Robb asked playfully.

"I just finished making a sword, Mikken said it was the worst he ever saw." Jon stated with a humor only found with Robb or their siblings. Jon and Robb looked dissimilar, save for their eyes, which matched their father's exactly. Jon had the coloring of a true Stark, while Robb that of the Tullys. Robb and Jon always found that funny. The bastard looks trueborn, and the trueborn looks the bastard. Sometimes they joked Robb and Jon were switched at birth and Jon was really the heir of Winterfell. Jon had a long, somber face. His face had a look that was handsome and intelligent, but always sad, like he had seen the horrors of war, the plight of the common man, or the suffering of tortured souls in the black dungeons of King's Landing. Jon was not as tall or as wide as Robb, even though they were the same age. Jon was better on horse with a lance, but Robb was better with sword and shield.

"I cannot believe we are doing this, Jon. We dreamed of going off to war as boys, but now it's actually happening, and I'm scared." Robb admitted.

"I know, me too. But, I for one, do not envy you. Everyone is always watching you, observing, criticizing, sometimes I'm thankful I'm a bastard." Jon said. "Saying all that, I think you will do an excellent job."

"With you at my side, brother?" Robb asked.

"Always." Jon replied, serious as ever. They both burst into laughter and hugged one another.

"Now get some sleep brother, this will be the last time you sleep in a real bed for a while." Robb said as they both got up. They made their good byes and went their separate ways. Jon, down the stairs toward the smith, and Robb up stairs to his private chambers.

The sun had reached the horizon in the west, and cast shadows over the snowy castle as if the building were mountains. Winter was less than a year away. At night it touched freezing, but whatever snow or ice that was left in the morning melted. All that would change. Snow would pile until it reached the height of the outer wall. Robb couldn't remember what a true northern winter was like. He grew up in the long summer, like all people his age. It was good that Winterfell was built over hot springs, or else the old Kings of North might have froze in their beds long ago. The Kings of North slept in the very same room and the very same bed that he did. Knowing that generations and generations of Starks used his bed to create the next generation was very frightening indeed, especially how his mother and father conceived his brothers and sister in this very bed.

The Lords chambers were large. A feather filled bead stood centrally against the wall opposite of the only window. The window faced east, as too let the morning sun wake the sleeping nobility. There was a polar bear pelt at the foot of the bed, white as the falling snow. There was a pine desk against a wall, and a large tapestry depicting a direwolf running in the Wolfswood in the cold of winter. There was a seperate room that housed two privies and a bath, which was easily filled with hot water from the water running through the walls.

As Robb entered he noticed someone already curled up under the snow leopard furs of the bed. It was a woman with dark blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. Hair like rays, and her face the sun.

"What are you doing here?" Robb asked with a smile. She had hazel eyes and delicate features, and a dimpled smile that always made him smile too. She was pretty, but no where near as beautiful as his sister Sansa, or his mother, Catelyn.

"Can't a girl give her Lord his 'going to war' present?" Jeyne Poole said playfully, eyes lighting up as she saw him.

"Of course a girl can." Robb said as he began to remove his clothes.

She sat up, revealing the milky white skin of her breasts, and pink nipples that stood rigid in the cool room. "Get in here and fuck me." She giggled as he jumped in under the covers.

"Those dirty words don't sound right coming from a pretty little lady, but damn, stop talking." Robb smirked as he latched his mouth to hers.

Robb had a dream that night, similar to many before. He was a wolf, but not just any, a direwolf. He was Grey Wind. He was bigger than any other meat-eater in the woods. Bigger than all five of his pack-mates. They were his brothers and his sisters, bore from the same she-wolf. He barred his teeth, revealing incisors as big as daggers. His nose smelled things he never smelled before. The smells overwhelmed him. He smelled stags and does and bluejays and turkeys and their smaller cousins. He smelled the blood of a dying rabbit, and a fox too. He smelled his siblings, and they smelled him too. They knew each other. They trusted each other. He was their alpha. It was his duty to protect them, to lead them.

The nagging pain in their bellies drove them away from the unnatural walls of the man-den, where they stood guard over their own men and she-men.

The sun would come up soon. It was the hour of the wolf. The pack ran and ran through the frigid premorning air looking for a fresh scent. The cold did not affect them. They were predators built to withstand the winds of winter.

The wind blew especially hard, sending icy flakes at his sensitive snout. He froze. He smelled it. They smelled it too. It was close. The pack began to stalk, slowly and quietly through the thin layer of snow. The massive sentinels and pines cast the hole woods in shadow, concealing their movement.

They came upon it in a large clearing. It was a caribou. It was fat with mangy brown fur and a pair of many pointed antlers, sharp and dangerous. It was grazing on a patch of grass, unaware of it's impending disparity. The six wolves got closer and closer and spread out to surround it, until, finally, it realized it was quiet. It looked up sharply, searching the dark underbrush for any signs of danger. It's eyes must have been weak, because it went right back to chewing, oblivious and ignorant.

He howled, loud and deep. It jumped and ran from the sound. The others jumped out, it was surrounded. It's eyes turned from content to frightened to terrified. It ran. They chased. The beast had no chance in the first place. It had a fraction of a chance against a pack of regular wolves, yet alone direwolves.

He latched his razor teeth onto it's hindquarters. His pack mate did so too. It fell quickly. He trotted quickly to it's neck. He could feel the beast's heart pump blood faster and faster, as it lay, defenseless, and at the mercy of a merciless predator. The beast withered and bucked, attempting to flee, with disappointing results. He sank his teeth in it's neck. The beast kicked and squirmed and whinnied pitifully as his fearful eyes turned dark and lifeless. It was at peace, released from it's meaningless existence.

The blood entered his mouth. He lapped it greedily. It was good. It tasted of copper, and was sweet. He howled. They howled. It was heard for leagues.

They fed on the sweet meat. He ate first. He ate the softest and best portions. He ate the liver and the eyes and the soft stomach. His pack-mates followed. They all took their turns, until, lastly, the smallest fed. He was completely black, with shaggy fur and green, haunting eyes.

Robb awoke to the morning sun with the taste of blood on his tongue. It was real. He awoke many times like this, now, he was convinced the dreams were real. He rose and searched for Grey Wind. He was sleeping peacefully, curled up at the foot of Robb's bed. How does he do that? Robb thought. If the dreams were real, how did he get here? Robb decided he would ask his siblings if they ever had any similar dreams, before he would leave with his army.

As if he sensed his gaze, Grey Wind's eyes opened, to reveal his predatory yellow eyes. The wolf rose and stepped uncertainly across the feather bed to Robb, like he did every morning. The wolf licked his face, his brow and mouth. The first thing Robb noticed was that Grey Wind's teeth were stained red, and his tongue tasted of blood, just like the dream.

"I wish I could just ask you, pup." Robb whispered. "I could learn so much from you." In response the wolf gazed into his eyes, as if he were trying to communicate through thoughts alone, before curling back into a ball. He sighed and turned toward his lover. He found her awake already, woken by the movements and noises.

"You talk to him like he's a person." Jeyne giggled as she kissed him lightly.

"Of course. He's a better listener than most people I know." Robb said mischievously, as he looked pointedly at her.

"Hey!" She admonished, playfully hitting him. They lay there for awhile, enjoying each others warmth and presence.

Finally he broke the silence, "You should get moon tea from Luwin." Robb said, sighing. "I don't want to plant a baby in your belly."

"Maybe it won't be unwanted, Robb. I want to have your baby." She said as she bit her lip, and rolled on top of him. She reached down between his legs and stroked his cock to hardness.

"Jeyne, no. you don't know what you're saying. You know you and I could never be married, a child will only cause complications with your future husba-" He got no further as he moaned as she sank down, enveloping him in her folds. He lost his thought as he became entranced with Jeyne's masterful movements. Her heavy freckled tits bounced to and fro. Her back arched and they both moaned as they finished.

"Jeyne, you don't understand!" Robb yelled angrily as she rolled off him. He rose from the bed and began to dress. "We can't be married. Ever! I am Lord of Winterfell and you, you are merely, a steward's girl!" Robb ranted as Jeyne began to cry. "You are a lovely girl, Jeyne, really, but you knew what this was from the start, and don't pretend otherwise." Robb finished as he stormed out the room, Grey Wind at his heels.

"But I love you Robb! I love you!" Jeyne whispered loudly at his retreating form. He paused for half a second, and contemplated turning back and comforting her, and loving her, but sense won and he left, leaving the sobbing girl to her tears and memories.

Outside the room he spotted the Captain of the Guardsman's successor Hallis Mollen. "Hallis, don't let her back in their." Robb told him, referring to his chambers.

"Of course m'lord." He responded. Robb continued down to the bottom floor of the keep where he would be eating privately with the rest of his family. He entered the dining room and found it already occupied by his family.

"You're late." His mother Catelyn noticed. She had long auburn hair and bright blue eyes. She was dressed in stark grey and white, with a direwolf brooch pinned to her breast, and wore a pearled hairpin. She was long considered an epitome of high born beauty and sensuality throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Many considered it wasteful for her to marry into such a lonely and desolate family like the Starks. But, since his father's death, her age became more pronounced. Her eyes were dull, she no longer took pride in her appearance, and seemed to get up every day only by extreme effort.

"Yes mother, I'm late. I apologize." Robb said curtly as he sat opposite her at the head of the table and started to eat the sugared ham and drink sweet wine.

"You know what your father said about tardiness?" Catelyn reminded him. How could I forget? Tardiness is perceived as laziness, and reflects ill upon your character. Robb remembered one of Lord Eddards many, many, rules.

"He is no longer here, mother. It is no use reminding us of our dead father." Robb said bitterly, still upset about Jeyne, and even about his father's untimely passing.

"How dare you speak like that in front of your brothers and sisters!" She yelled, angrily. "You have no right, your father would roll in his grave if he could see how you are acting!"

"Enough!" Robb yelled in what Jon and Theon called his 'battle-voice'. "I cannot deal with this today, of all days, mother." Robb told his mother coldly, in no mood for stern parenting. She closed her mouth and stopped whatever she was about to say, resorting to staring venomously at him. Throughout the exchange his siblings stayed quiet and meek, hiding behind their plates as if the harsh words would turn into rocks.

They all ate silently for a couple of minutes, mulling over the words of the argument and what it meant to them, individually. For Robb it was his mother's attempt at resurrecting his father and jamming his philosophies down his throat. He would learn how to lead and run the North on his own. If father was so wise, how did he get himself killed Robb mused darkly.

"Where's Jeyne, Robb?" Sansa asked, innocently, knowing full well where she would be. Usually Vayon and Jeyne Poole would dine with the Starks, Vayon being the Steward of the castle, who was in charge of day to day events and discussed them with Eddard, or recently Robb, and Jeyne, who was Sansa's best friend, and Rob's 'special' friend, although Sansa and Catelyn (unknown to Robb), were the only ones who knew of Robb and Jeyne's relationship.

Sansa was an extraordinary beauty. She was a copy of their mother at her age, but instead had a lighter color of red hair and blue eyes.

At this Catelyn looked up sharply, listening keenly to what he might say next. Robb just responded coolly, "How should I know?" Sansa's sickly sweet smile disappeared and was replaced instead by a befuddled frown.

"Bran, how comes your training?" Robb asked.

"Good!" He said enthusiastically. "Ser Rodrick said that all the climbing I used to do helps a lot with balance and footwork. Ser Rodrick had me duel with Calon. I almost won." Bran continued. Calon was another son of a guardsman, and Robb's other squire, who, along with TomToo, would be riding south with him.

"Impressive. One day you will beat me, I'm sure of it." Robb praised. Bran was one and one and in the middle stages of his sword stages. He had shoulder length brown hair and blue Tully eyes. He had a knack for climbing, and did so every chance he could. He hadn't fallen yet.

Robb continued to make conversation with his siblings, plaintively ignoring his mother. He asked Sansa how her needle working coming along, and Arya about her hawking expeditions. Robb had still not gotten used to the change in relationship between his sibling and he. Ever since he became Warden of the North they treated him differently, as if he was suddenly an outsider, and not privy to their adventures, like he used to be. He found it saddening. He no longer had the time or the energy to watch Bran climb, or tease Sansa, much less go practice archery with Arya and Theon.

Deep down Robb was relieved he would be leaving behind the prison Winterfell had become. Sleeping in a bed that he felt he stole from his mother, hosting Lords as if they forgot his father already, and the ever growing distance growing between his siblings and he. The responsibility, the stares, the expectations, It was driving him mad. He yearned to be free, to find release from the monotony of leadership, even if freedom came at the price of war. A war in which thousands of northmen might perish, leaving their children fatherless, their farms without a farmer, and always, always, with the threat of an unprepared winter looming over the minds of every North man, like the clouds that hung over Winterfell, waiting to release their snowy prize.

Robb excused himself, suddenly he no longer had an appetite. "Excuse me family, I must attend pressing matters, I will see you again within the hour for farewells."

Robb left quickly, unwilling to meet their sullen gazes. He could imagine what they were thinking. First father and now him, who is left? Robb was lost and he needed guidance. He found himself walking past the armory to the Godswood. Robb came to cherish the Godswood as of late. Inside menial things slipped from your mind, disappearing like fog over White Harbor. Noises from the surrounding castle did not penetrate the thick mangrove of trees. The whispering wind soothed his worries, and the ancient face of the Heart Tree relaxed his body and mind.

Robb sat on the damp, mossy rock his father used to, between the Heart Tree and the black, glassy pond, like hundreds of Starks have done before him. As a boy his father took him here often to talk. It was said that no man can lie in the presence of a Heart Tree. Robb found that to be true. The face was long and sad. It reminded him of Jon's face. It's eyes were red dripping with red sap, resembling tears. It was a beautiful thing. A true crime the Andals cut all these down Robb thought. Robb had seen the Sept where his mother worshiped, and unlike Sansa he preferred the Godswood and it's cold, harsh, allure.

He prayed for the safety of his family, his friends, and the men marching in his honor. "If you could take me and spare them, I would happily give myself to you." He whispered. As expected he got no no obvious answer. But he didn't need a verbal confirmation, he just needed the words heard and accepted. That was enough for him. But something did happen. The wind whispered louder than usual. The gods spoke and he listened. The eyes of the Heart Tree changed. They were sympathetic and understanding. They were giving encouragement, nourishing his soul with belief and faith. He grinned. They heard.

Robb left the Godswood content. He no longer felt anxious or nervous, but calm and composed. He knew he needed to set an example for his people and for his family. If they are to respect me and come to love me, I must be dignified and humble, stern and charitable. He decided. The sun was ascending higher and higher by the second. It would soon be noon and finally time to march.

Robb made the short walk to the smithy through the bustling courtyard. The forge was a good sized building. Big enough to hold the equipment, storage space, and two bedrooms. He found the smithy Mikken shirtless at the forge pounding at a glowing red steel sword. Mikken was a large broad chested man. He was bald and had a pointy black mustachio. His arms were massive. Twice around the size of Robb's. Two apprentices were pumping the forge and assisting Mikken.

"Hello m'Lord!" He said enthusiastically. He was a kind man. Easy to laugh and smile. Robb once told him he would have been an excellent warrior. He responded by saying he didn't have the heart to kill a man, just heart enough to create the tools to allow it.

"Hello. I'm here for my armor." Robb said.

"Of course. Boy! Go get yer Lord's armor and sword!" He yelled at one of his apprentices. He scurried off through a door. At this Jon came out.

"Greetings brother. Did you find armor that fitted?" Robb asked.

"Yes. I scoured the armory for hours looking for some. I was just about to get it on." Jon answered. At this the apprentice came out with his armor and sword. He handed the armor to the other boy and knelt, holding up the sheathed longsword. Robb pulled the sword out of it's scabbard.

"Beautiful." Robb said. It was Valyrian steel. It was black, and rippled in the light, like the icy waters of Long Lake. "Frost Bite." He said. It was the Stark's only other Valyrian steel weapon. It was hidden away in the armory for hundreds of years, collecting dust. Robb gave it a few practice swings. It was lighter than any other weapon he handled. It was five feet long and cut through the air with ease. The pommel was encrusted with cut sapphire, and the hilt was textured to represent intertwined branches.

"I didn't have to do anything to it. It was sharp as the day it was forged." Mikken explained. "Now the armor I created from scratch to match your specifications." He continued as he held up the armor for examination. The armor was beautiful, befitting of a true Northman. The steel plating was carved with intricate patterns and enameled with gleaming copper and silver. The defining piece was the helmet. It was what Robb was truly excited about. It was a wolf's head. It looked remarkably similar to Grey Wind with the open mouth, where his head would go, showing the fearsome teeth of his wolf. The eyes were made of beaten gold and two black pearls. It truly was a sight to behold. The two boys strapped him in, including the gauntlets and the helmet.

"How do I look?" Robb asked.

"Amazing."

"Fearsome."

"Like a true King of the North." Jon praised.

"Come. It is time." Robb told Jon. The plate armor was not what he was used to. He did not have the same range of movement as simple leather clothes, but it provided massive amounts of protections, making him nearly invincible to the ill trained and ill equipped small folk. "Farewll Mikken. You truly did a wonderful job." Robb said.

"Thank you M'Lord. I hope you come back in one piece. You too Jon." Mikken said.

"Me too, me too." Robb responded.

As Jon was getting on his armor Robb walked next door to the stables where he would retrieve Moonless. The stallion was dressed in matching armor. He had a large plate covering the front of his torso all the way up his neck until it ended into his helmet. His his quarters were protected as well, and his feet were protected with gauntlets. Under the saddle lay a white banner with a direwolf pattern repeated over the entirety.

"Impressive." Robb told Harwin.

"Truly a terrifying sight. Imagine this beast charging at you with a fully plated Lord wielding a Valyrian longsword on top. Lannister swine will quiver at the sight." Harwin joked, gazing appreciatively at his work.

With the help of Harwin and Hodor Robb mounted the great stallion. Atop the steed Robb felt like he could defeat anyone. "Farewell."

"M'Lord." Harwin said.

"Hodor." Hodor said, unsurprisingly.

Jon arrived and together they rode out together back to the Great Keep, where he would make his final goodbyes to his family and household. His family was there, along with their wolves and Grey Wind. He dismounted and greeted his family. He then said goodbye to each one. He started with Rickon. Rickon was seven years old. He had messy dark brown hair, almost black.

"Goodbye little brother. When I come back you will be taller than Smalljon. I will miss you." Rickon giggled with teary eyes.

"Don't go Robby." He said, using the name he said as a baby.

Robb hugged him and whispered. "Don't worry, I won't be gone long. Back in time for your next name day."

"Okay." He said, wiping his nose. He turned to Bran.

"Keep practicing your sword and listen to Luwin when he tutors you. What he teaches is very important. Do you understand? You will need to know these things in case I never come back. You are the Lord now." He nodded. They hugged and Robb ruffled his hair. Little Arya was actually wearing a dress, and she wasn't even tugging at it, understanding the seriousness of the moment.

"Wow. It's amazing how beautiful you look without being covered in dirt." Robb said to her. She stuck out her tongue playfully. Their father always said that Arya was identical in looks and personality to his sister Lyanna. "Behave yourself young lady. Listen to Mother and Luwin. They only want the best for you." He said as he kissed her cheek and hugged her.

Lastly was Sansa, who he knew longest and gotten to know best. She was one and seven, two years younger than he. She was a woman grown, and looked it. She had a generous bosom and stood tall, slightly taller than their mother. "Goodbye sister. When I get back we will have to find a husband for you, and you can help find a wife for me." He said.

She smiled, teary eyed. "Come back brother, please. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you." She raised herself on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I will. Do not worry. I have the best companions in the Seven Kingdoms protecting me." He said.

"Oh, go apologize to Jeyne. She's still upset." She whispered. He nodded and turned to his mother.

"Mother, I know it's been tough lately, between you and me, but now that I'm going off to war I see how useless it is to fight with my only mother." He apologized.

"Oh Robb, I was never mad at you. I love you. Now don't do anything stupid. Come back, get married, have many grandchildren for me." She admitted.

"I will. I love you mother." He said. He then said goodbye to a select few servants he knew from over the years. Gage the cook, Ser Rodrick, and Hollis Mollen, the captain of the guards now that Jory Cassel was killed protecting his father. He saw Jeyne standing a little way off, watching. He approached.

"Jeyne, I know you are saddened by what I said before, and for that I am sorry." He told her. "I wish things could be different, I truly do." He said truthfully.

"It's okay Robb, I understand. Be safe okay? And promise me one you come back, you come visit me." She smirked.

"Always the deviant." He whispered. They kissed one last time. The people watching eye's grew wind as they saw the display. He mounted his horse and waved to his family one final time.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" He asked Jon, who stood aback throughout.

"I already did last night." He said, looking at Catelyn.

He turned and rode away, knowing that this might be the last time he ever saw his family. Jon and he trotted to the hunter's gate, where the assembled noble men were gathering. He spotted both Jon Umbers, towering above all others. Roose Bolton and his bastard Ramsay were near the front. Maege and Dacey Mormont were the only two women in the party. There was Lord Rickard Karstark and his three sons. Cley and Medger Cerwyn. Halys and Daryn Hornwood, and Wendel Manderly to name a few. They all flew their banners.

He took the place at the head of the force, and Jon somewhere behind him. He was flanked on both sides by Calon and TomToo, who were holding the Stark banners, high and proud. He steeled his resolve. This is it. The beginning. "Open." He told the guard at the gate. They raised it. "Forward." He ordered. He moved his horse forward, and the rest followed.

In the town the small folk were waiting. They gathered at the sides of the road and cheered. They threw flower pedals and sang praise. Many girls personally gave him flowers. He would sniff them, thank them, and sometimes wink if they were pretty. That always made them blush.

Outside even more people were standing, waiting to see their sons, husbands, and fathers off the war. They were saying goodbye they were scattered all through out. "Horn." He said. Someone farther back raised a horn to their lips and blew. The sound was mighty and reverberated off the surrounding hills. He blew it again and again for several minutes. The noble men each went off to their respective men as a rendezvous . Robb and Jon went to the front of the main force.

The men organized themselves according to their lord, forming a vast column that contained many rows of men. "Drums!" He yelled. They repeated it down the line. The drums were loud and deep. There were two drummers at the ends of every row. They were used to keep the men in step on the march, as well as to keep them occupied. "Forward!" Robb yelled. They repeated it. And like that they moved. All twenty thousand of his men marching south. They continued, and eventually Robb lost sight of his home for the past nineteen years. With twenty thousand men at his back, his brother, and his companion Grey Wind at his side, he felt like he could take on the world.

AN: Tell me what you think! Should I continue, or scrap it? I'm sort of a newb when it comes to writing, so give me some advice.

EDIT: Also, I am in need of a BETA. PM.