Riverlands, Green Fork
Rickard Karstark POV
The boy is no longer a boy.
When Robb Stark first called his banners, I thought him green as summer grass. Too young, too soft, too untested. But I see him clearer now. There's a steel to him I did not expect Eddard Stark's steel, but sharper in some ways.
At the Green Fork, Tywin Lannister came at us with near twice our numbers, certain he would crush the Young Wolf's host in a single hammer blow. Robb sent me to hold him, to bleed him, to make him believe he had the whole of the North pinned. And so we did.
The lions charged again and again, their knights roaring, their banners blazing crimson. We gave ground when we had to, but we never broke. Two thousand of mine fell before the day was out… but we made Tywin pay double. Four thousand lions left to rot, their fine armor no shield against Northmen spears. Every step he took, he paid in blood.
I like that sort of war. A war where the lions bleed.
As night fell, I sat by the fire, sharpening my sword, when a Stark rider came thundering into camp. He slid from his saddle, cloak torn, eyes blazing with excitement.
"My lord Karstark," he panted. "Riverrun is freed. The Young Wolf smashed the siege. What's more…." he grinned wide, "the Kingslayer is in chains."
For a moment, I just stared at him, the whetstone frozen in my hand. Jaime Lannister, the golden heir, the pride of Casterly Rock… in chains. Captured by a boy of fourteen.
A slow smile spread across my face. "Seven hells," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "The pup has sharper teeth than I thought."
The rider bowed, adding, "Lord Robb bids you march for Riverrun at once. He would have your strength at his side."
I studied the man's face, and though he tried to keep it plain, I saw it the faith in Robb Stark. Not the kind men give because they must, but because they believe. Robb Stark inspires that. I cannot deny it.
I stood, sliding my sword back into its scabbard. "Tell your lord I ride at once. And tell him this…." I let the firelight catch my smile, cold and fierce. "Tywin Lannister thought he'd find a boy in wolf's skin. What he's found is a king."
The rider grinned, saluted, and was gone.
I turned to my men, still bloodied from the day's fight but unbroken. "Mount up!" I bellowed. "The Young Wolf calls us to Riverrun. The Kingslayer sits in chains, and there is more work to be done."
A cheer rose behind me, rough and savage. Men who had lost friends, men who had bled and killed, now howled for more. For Robb. For the Starks. For the North.
And as I mounted my horse, I realized something I had not thought since the war began. Perhaps the boy can lead us. Perhaps he can win.
Riverlands, Whispering Woods
Robb POV
The woods were quiet, too quiet. My heart beat like a drum, but not with fear but something sharper, colder, like steel sliding across stone. Brynden had lured him straight into the trap. I saw him first the Kingslayer, riding too confident, too sure of his victory.
"Charge!" I bellowed, and the Blackfish led the men out of the trees. Steel flashed in the morning sun, horses snorted, and the air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat. I rode into the fray, Greywind at my side, and the first wave of Lannister men fell under the northern tide. I moved like water and shadow, my sword an extension of my arm, slicing left and right.
And then, I noticed something strange. I felt… nothing. Every man I cut down, every scream and cry that should have pricked my conscience, went past me like wind. The memories of Itachi flickered in my mind with decisions made for family, for the greater good, sacrifices that felt like knives in the soul. And for the first time, I understood: I could kill, and the weight would be for purpose, not anger or cruelty. These men weren't soldiers but they were the chains holding Father and my sisters.
I cut down another man, feeling the swing of my blade reverberate up my arm, when a familiar voice tore through the chaos.
"Robb Stark!" Jaime's yell rang across the clearing, full of mockery and arrogance. He surged forward, his golden hair catching the sun, sword leveled for a killing blow. Two of Rickard Karstark's sons moved to intercept him, but Greywind leapt, teeth flashing, forcing them aside as I slid off my horse with fluid precision.
I planted my feet on the ground, breath steady, and waited. Jaime sneered, circling me.
"You're nothing but a boy," he spat, eyes gleaming. "Fourteen years old, and you think you can stop me? The North will cry when I take your head."
I said nothing. Not a word.
He lunged first, steel singing through the air. I ducked low, rolling under his swing, and in that instant, everything slowed. Every twitch of his arm, every step, every breath I saw it all. He was fast, skilled, arrogant but he was predictable. My hands moved before my mind could catch up
I countered with a strike to his side. He twisted, parried, but I was already reading the next move, already moving to exploit the smallest weakness. He swung left gone. Right gone. A feint here, a step there. He was good, better than most men I had seen. But I was… different. Sharper. Faster.
Greywind circled nearby, ears flicking, muscles coiled, and I felt the wolf's instincts mirror my own. In that moment, man and wolf were one with reflexes honed, every danger anticipated. Jaime tried to thrust, I sidestepped, spun, and my blade caught the flat of his sword, knocking it flying from his grasp with a metallic clang that rang across the battlefield.
For a heartbeat, he stared at me, disbelief etched across his golden face. I stepped in, close enough that the smell of his sweat and leather hit me, and headbutted him. The world tilted for him. His knees buckled. His jaw gave, and the Kingslayer crumpled to the ground, unconscious, the arrogance drained from his face.
I stood over him, chest heaving, blood and mud streaked across my armor. Around me, the remnants of his men either fled or surrendered, their morale shattered by what they had just witnessed. Greywind nuzzled against my leg, teeth bared at anyone foolish enough to approach.
I looked up at the sky for a second, letting the wind carry away the roar of battle. I was fourteen. And yet, in that instant, I felt like a man who had seen too much, done too much, and yet still had a purpose burning hotter than any fire. Father. Sansa. Arya. I would bring them back. All of them. And anyone who stood in my way would learn what it truly meant to face the Wolf claws.
Crownlands, Kings Landing
Cersei POV
Everything is finally falling into place. Robert is dead. The throne is ours to command. Soon the court will have no choice but to bend the knee to Joffrey, my son the one true king. When Lord Eddard Stark confesses, when he kneels and names his treason before the people, everyone will believe it. After all, who doubts Eddard Stark's honor? He will speak and the realm will listen. My future will be sealed as smooth as silk.
I am savoring that image when the door to the council chamber slams open like an insult. A rider stumbles in, wrapped in an ill-fitting cloak, his face wet with rain and mud. The guard behind him is breathing hard, but the man is steady enough to hand me a folded sheet with the direwolf stamped in ink across its seal. A Stark letter. Insolence, I think, before I even break the wax.
I slit the seal with a nail because I like to do things myself. The words roll under my eyes and the room tilts out of alignment.
If Lord Eddard Stark, Sansa Stark, or Arya Stark are harmed, I will send Jaime Lannister in pieces to King's Landing. This is the price for any harm done. — Robb Stark, Heir to the North.
For a second the paper swims. The laugh in my throat dies. Then the sound that escapes me is not a laugh at all but a scream, sharp and hot. "Out," I snap. The word is a blade. Varys inclines his head and glides toward the door with that spider's grace; Littlefinger hesitates on the threshold, eyes glittering with a new hunger; Pycelle clutches his chest as if the parchment has struck him.
They leave, because they must. They do not leave because they fear me; they leave because I have become something other than the petulant daughter who once threw plates and wanted more. When the doors close and the chamber narrows to the four of us, whatever thread of motherhood curls inside me hardens into a spear.
I tear the letter in two and let the pieces fall like dead wings. "He thinks to make demands of me," I say, and the trace of a laugh that might have been sweet once curls into something sharpened. "He thinks a boy with a name can bargain for my brother."
Let him think he can bargain with a Lannister. He does not yet know the teeth of a cornered lion.
Black Cells
Eddard POV
This is all my fault. I should have never left winterfell. Now because of my actions hundred if not thousands will die because I always felt obligated to clean up after Robert mess. Spending all this time in the darkness has let me see my mistakes.
I should have never let Robert meet Lyanna. I should have married Ashara there at Harrenhall. She would have never killed herself. I should have talked with Rhaegar but I was so angry that I burned his letter. I should have told Catelyn the truth and not let her belive Jon was a basterd of mine but the heir to the throne. Jon….I should have been a better father to him and not let him join the watch. I should have fought harder for him. The only thing I wished was I told him of Lyanna and Rhaegar. It might seem I won't be able to keep my promise to him.
I hear footsteps and it's Varys and he says "Your son Robb has saved Riverrun and captured Jaime after defeating him in battle. Really impressive my lord."
I could have never been more prouder of my son but I'm also shocked he beat Jaime but Varys continues "You know he sent a letter that if you or your daughters are harmed Jaime will be sent in pieces." I don't know what to fear how can I imagine my son Robb who used to sit on my lap and listen to my stories with a smile on his to a man who said these words. Varys continues "But your confession will still happen but there is a chance you die today."
I know he is right but I tell him "You think my life is some precious thing to me? You grew up with actors. You learned their craft and you learned it well. But I grew up with soilders. I learned how to die a long time ago. I today I will face my death with no regrets because I put the north and my familys future in my son hands." Varys nods and leaves.
A couple hours later I hear metal footsteps and Lannister men open my cell and drag me out into the outside and I see the crowd of people all around but I see Arya on a stature and when I am dragged to the steps of balor and lean to Yoren and tell him
"Arya statue….Riverrun….Robb please." I see him nod and I walk to the steps and Joffery the blond shithead starts talking and he says that I am here to announce my treason.
I look at Sansa and she nods and I know what I must do. "My name is Eddard Stark. Lord Of Winterfell, Hand of the king. I come before you to announce my treason, in the sights of gods and men. I betrayed my faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. By not telling him that his wife and queen is a whore and a slut who fucked her brother and passed their children to be Baratheons when they are nothing but basterds." The crowd is quiet and then yells of words like "Slut." "Brotherfucker."
I see Joffery get red in the face and yells "Trant bring me his head." I bow my head and my mind brings me back to that cursed tower where I found my sister and her last words is to promise her and I mutter "I kept my promise Lya. I leave it all to you my sons." I felt the sword cut my neck and their is only darkness.