North, Mount Catlin
Robb POV
The changes came so quickly I still don't know whether to fear them or embrace them. When I ride with my bannermen, I see more than their banners and armor. I see the flicker of doubt in their eyes, the twitch of impatience in their mouths, the way some nod too quickly when they think I'm not watching. Before, I would have missed it all. Now… it's as if I can read them like open books.
Even my body feels different. The sword is lighter in my hand, my feet swifter. I sparred with Lord Umber's heir this morning and ended it with a single strike. Days ago, that would have been impossible. Now it feels natural, as though the sword and I breathe together.
I catch myself smiling as I wipe the sweat from my brow. "Perhaps," I mutter under my breath, "I might finally be able to beat Jon now." The thought warms me, but the warmth quickly fades. Jon's gone, bound to the Night's Watch. A Stark in all but name, and yet stripped of every chance to fight beside me.
No. That doesn't sit right.
By nightfall, I've summoned a handful of trusted Stark men. "You'll ride to Castle Black," I tell them, pressing a sealed letter into their hands. "Give this to Lord Commander Mormont himself. Tell him this is my offer: if Jon Snow has not yet sworn his vows, release him to me. In return, every Lannister man we capture will be sent to the Wall."
One of the men blinks in surprise. "My lord… the Night's Watch does not..."
"They need men," I cut in, sharper than I meant to. Then I soften. "They need men more than they need another boy with a sword and no vows sworn. Tell them that. And tell Jon… tell him his brother wants him back."
They bow and depart before I can change my mind.
Days later, our host arrives at Moat Cailin. The ruined towers loom, ancient and watchful. When the lords settle down I start walking around the neck because I am searching the marshes for any sign of Greywater Watch, though I know the castle never stays in one place. My patience wears thin, but then a voice calls from the mist.
"My lord Stark," says a quiet, deliberate voice. A man steps forward clad in green and brown, his hair dark, his eyes sharp and knowing. Howland Reed.
I straighten in the saddle. "Lord Reed."
He studies me for a long moment before speaking. "You are… different."
The words strike me harder than any blow. "Different?"
His lips curve in a faint, unreadable smile. "The boy who left Winterfell was untested. This one carries shadows in his eyes. As though he has lived a thousand lives."
I say nothing.
"Tell me," I ask instead, shifting the subject, "what are the Freys doing? I expected to see their banners here."
Howland's expression cools. "Walder Frey keeps his gates barred. His men do not ride to you. They are locked behind the Twins, waiting."
I breathe out slow. Cowards hiding behind stone and water. But then a thought sharpens in my mind, so sudden it almost makes me laugh.
"Tell me, Lord Reed," I say, leaning closer. "Are your men as skilled at slipping into places unseen as they are at vanishing in swamps?"
Howland inclines his head once, silent.
A smirk pulls at my mouth. "Good. Then I may have a use for them."
Timeskip
Catelyn POV
The ride to Moat Cailin was a long one, but my thoughts made it longer still. Ned, my Ned, was rotting in the dungeons of King's Landing, and Sansa and Arya were trapped in that viper's nest with him. Each mile I rode south, I could not shake the thought that it was my fault. If I had not seized Tyrion, if I had not set this storm in motion, perhaps none of this would have come to pass.
When we finally arrived, Uncle Brynden rode at my side, silent as ever, though his eyes spoke the concern his lips did not. We entered the great hall together, where Robb sat among the northern lords in counsel.
For a heartbeat, I thought it was Ned sitting there. But no this was my son. My boy. His auburn hair was the same, but his face… gods, his face. Blank. Cold. The laughter and warmth he carried in Winterfell's halls were gone. And I knew, in the hollow of my heart, that I had done this to him as well.
The lords were arguing over provisions when I stepped forward. "Please leave us my lords and allow me to talk with my son," I said firmly.
Silence fell. To my shock, they did not move. They all turned their eyes not to me, but to Robb. And when he gave a single nod, only then did they rise and file out.
I could hardly find my voice. "Why do they look to you so?"
Robb met my eyes, and his were like still water, unreadable. "Beating them in the yard earns more respect than words ever could."
My breath caught. That was not the boy I remembered. That was something harder. Something older.
"Robb," I whispered, "you should not have to bear this. You are too young."
He looked at me with that same unblinking calm. "I don't have the choice, Mother. Father's gone. Jon is at the Wall. It falls to me now."
Before I could argue, he pressed on. "And that's why you must return to Winterfell."
"No," I said at once. "I will not leave you."
"You must." His voice was sharp, commanding and it was just like his father's voice. "Bran and Rickon need you more than I do. They must have a Stark in Winterfell, and they must have their mother too. I will not risk them being left without either."
Tears stung my eyes, but I swallowed them. He was right. Gods help me, my son was right.
I went to fetch Brynden, who gave Robb a curt nod and began speaking with him of scouts and supply lines. He was in good hands, I told myself. He had to be.
When I left, Lord Manderly awaited me. Robb had commanded that he ride with me back to Winterfell, two hundred men under his banners to strengthen our hold there.
Before I mounted, I embraced my son. I held him as I did when he was small, though now he was taller than I, broader, carrying the weight of the North on his shoulders. "Be safe," I whispered fiercely. "Please, Robb. Be safe."
He smiled faintly, but his eyes remained steady, unflinching. "I will, Mother."
And then I had to let go.
Timeskip
North, Castle Black
Jon POV
The Wall was not what I hoped. Cold stone and colder brothers, half of them thieves or worse. They all tried to warn me Benjen, Father, even Tyrion Lannister in his sly way but I had been too far in my own head to listen. I thought the Wall would give me purpose. Instead, it feels like a cage.
And yet, I stay. I stay because vows are meant to mean something. I stay because honor is all I have. Even when every part of me wants to ride out through those gates, to be with Robb, to save Father and my sisters… I can't. Or so I thought.
Steel rang against steel in the yard, my breath misting as I sparred with one of the other recruits. Then the gate creaked open, its heavy groan carrying across the yard. A dozen men rode in, not in black, but in grey with the direwolf of House Stark snapping on their cloaks. My heart clenched at the sight.
They dismounted and strode straight to the Lord Commander. I stopped mid-swing, my blade dropping to my side as I watched Mormont break the seal of a letter and read. His face darkened, then shifted to something like surprise. Slowly, his eyes lifted to mine.
"Jon Snow," he said, his voice carrying for all to hear. "It seems your brother wants you by his side. You may leave."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. "Leave?" I whispered. "Robb… wants me?"
The words struck deeper than any sword. Robb my brother wanted me with him. My heart skipped, then pounded as memories came rushing back: summer days in Winterfell, both of us with wooden swords in hand, swearing that together we would take on the world. A boy's promise, made in jest, but filled with hope.
Now, perhaps, it was no jest at all.
I clenched my fists, my chest swelling with something I hadn't felt since leaving Winterfell. Determination. Fire. Robb wanted me, Father and my sisters needed saving, and the world had seen nothing yet of what the two of us could do together.
Nothing would stand in my way.
Riverlands, The Twins
Robb POV
The air in the command tent was thick with heat and anger. Lords shouted over one another, their tempers spilling like wine at a feast.
"We should storm the bloody Twins!" the Greatjon roared, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the map markers. "Walder Frey is an old weasel, he'll bend or he'll break."
The Blackfish's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting through the noise like a sword through silk. "Storming the Twins would be folly. The Freys may be craven, but they have stone walls and a river to their back. Half our men would die before we breached the gates if we breached them at all."
The debate swirled on, voices rising, threats spilling, plans thrown against one another like hounds in a pit. But I said nothing. I sat in my chair, hands steepled, listening. Watching. My face, blank as stone. Let them bicker.
Then the tent flaps stirred. Silence rippled through the lords as a small, mud-spattered figure stepped inside. A crogman who was grey-eyed, lean as a reed, his leather dripping riverwater. In his grip was a length of rope.
And on that rope shuffled Walder Frey himself, gagged, his wrinkled face mottled red with fury and humiliation.
The lords froze. Mouths fell open. Even the Greatjon, for once, found no words.
I let the silence hang, then rose to my feet.
"Everyone," I said evenly, my voice carrying across the tent, "say hello to Walder Frey."
The old weasel glared at me with all the venom left in his crooked bones, but bound and bent as he was, it only made him smaller. Lesser.
The lords turned to me in shock not at Frey's capture alone, but at the boy who stood before them, smiling faintly as though this had all been inevitable.
Timeskip
Robb POV
Stevron Frey had proven wiser than his father. After hours of hard talk and the humiliation of old Walder still fresh, he bent. Two thousand Frey men now marched beneath my banners, their blue and grey swallowed by the direwolf of Stark. Our host swelled to twenty-five thousand. Enough to break chains. Enough to bleed lions.
The war council gathered again, the tent heavy with sweat, steel, and expectation. I stood at the head of the map, every eye fixed on me. No boy now.
"Lord Karstark," I said, meeting his stern gaze. "You will lead ten thousand south, draw Tywin's attention. Harass his supply lines, strike when you see an opening but listen well. Do not waste lives. For every man we lose, I expect three lions to fall. Nothing less."
Karstark's jaw tightened, but he gave a sharp nod. "As you command, my lord."
I turned next to Bolton, cold and pale, his eyes calculating even in silence. "You will remain here at the Twins with five thousand men. Hold the bridge. Guard our rear."
Bolton inclined his head, the motion smooth, deferent. But I saw what lay beneath it. The hunger. The patience of a snake coiled in shadow, waiting for a misstep. Waiting for me to falter.
I met his pale eyes and let him see that I knew. Let him know that if he struck, I would not only be ready but I would end him. His face revealed nothing, but I read the tension in the stillness of his shoulders, the way he blinked once too slow.
I let the silence hang, then pressed forward. "Once Jaime is in my hands, Tywin will draw back to Harrenhal. He will cage himself, and when he does, he will find three armies at his throat. He will have no escape, no breath, no hope."
The lords nodded, grim approval murmuring through the tent. One by one, they rose and filed out, leaving me alone with the maps, the candlelight dancing across the rivers and hills of the Riverlands.
But I could still feel Bolton's stare long after he'd gone.
And I swore to myself: I will never give him the chance.