Riverlands, Riverrun
Robb POV
This is troubling. Renly has crowned himself king and fields an army of a hundred thousand banners. Tywin has another force of ten thousand training in the Westerlands. The ironborn have raided the North. It has been three days since Father's death and my own crowning, and already the north's axes sing for blood. The northern lords call for Theon's head for the Ironborn's crimes, but there may be advantage in the night yet especially with Jon here.
Three days. Only three days since Father's blood cooled at King's Landing, and already I must be king, not son. Grief claws at me, but I push it down, for there is no time to mourn.
I sit in my grandfather's solar with Theon, Jon, Uncle Brayden, and Uncle Edmure gathered around the old oaken table. Maps and ravens lie between us like the bones of some dead beast.
"Robb," the Blackfish says, leaning his arm on the table, "do you have a plan? You've been staring at that map long enough to grow roots."
I lift my head and meet his stare. "I do have a plan," I answer, and the words sit heavy in my mouth. "But first Theon."
Theon, who has been silent in a corner, looks up at the name. I force a smile that tastes of iron and winter. "I'm not going to kill you," I tell him plainly. "I don't think Father would have done it either. The northern lords will give you a hard time, I know that. They will want a head on a pike. They will be loud."
I cross the room and lay my hand on his shoulder. Theon startles at my touch, as if he did not expect steadiness. "Tell me, Theon since you left the iron isles, has anyone of your family put quill to parchment for you?"
His face falls; he shakes his head. The pity of it guts me. "My mother and my brothers are in danger," I say, glancing toward the window where the river runs cold beneath the grey sky. "There is only one man I can trust to protect them, and it is not Theon Greyjoy."
For a heartbeat I watch the hope die in his eyes; then I speak the words I have carried for three nights. "But it is Theon Stark."
He looks as if I have thrown a torch into his chest. Tears gather, unashamed, and he rises to me in a rush and grips me as if I were the last branch in a storm, burying his face against my shoulder. "Thank you," he manages, voice strangled.
I turn to Jon. "You are my brother as well," I tell him. "I name you a Stark."
Jon stiffens, surprised, his hand dropping unconsciously to Longclaw's hilt as if to steady himself. "Father should have done it long ago," I add, not to shame him but to set what must be done.
"There is reason for this," I say, and unroll the map with a sweep of my arm. "Theon you will take five thousand men and some of the northern lords north. Drive the ironborn back from our shores and raise more men there. There should be five to six thousand able to take up arms."
Theon's jaw sets; he nods with the slow, stubborn look of a man who has decided to learn how to live.
"Jon," I say, meeting his dark eyes, "you and the Blackfish will lead six thousand men to hunt the Mountain who has preyed upon the Riverlands. Bring the remaining Riverlands levies with you by my count, about three thousand men still hold. Then stop Stafford Lannister's host in the Westerlands. He trains ten thousand men at the Golden Tooth and take everything you can from them. Raid it flat."
Jon and the Blackfish exchange a look and incline their heads.
"Uncle Edmure," I say, turning to him, "you will remain in Riverrun. You will be the middleman carry word from North to West and West to North. If Tywin seeks to march past you, let him, but delay him. Give him as little as you can. Jon, I want you to lead a trap here." I jab a finger at a valley on the map. "Lure him in. End Tywin Lannister there."
Jon nods. "What will you be doing, Robb?" he asks.
I look out the window at the river that cuts the lands like a blade and feel the North settle in my bones. "I will take six thousand men to the Vale," I say. "I will convince my aunt to give us her knights. With her men added, we will ride into the Reach and strike at the Tyrells, to break their grain and break their power. Now that the North and Riverlands have declared ourselves free, we must make the other houses fear us so they will not trouble us. Everyone knows the plan."
Heads bow in the room, some with relief, some with hunger. Edmure swallows and rubs his thumb along the rim of his cup.
"Then prepare," I say. "We leave in two days."
Jon POV
I always wanted this day to come to be named a Stark. Ever since I first learned what a bastard was, I dreamed of a name of my own. I wish it had been Father who gave it to me, and I wish Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon were here to see it. To get them back we have to win this war. I hope I have the skill to kill the Mountain.
When I lie down in my bed, Ghost curls up beside me. Watching him breathe, I realize I never truly needed the name. I was always a Stark. I hear Father's voice again his last words to me, as if he were standing in the room with me:
"You may not have my name, but you have my blood. You will always be a Stark."
The dark part of me the part that wanted more, that wished to have it all finally falls silent.
Theon POV
I never thought I'd hear those words. Theon Stark. My heart near stopped when Robb spoke them. For a moment, I was too shocked to breathe, too touched to speak. All my life in Winterfell, I told myself I was only a ward, a hostage, a Greyjoy. But deep down… I'd always seen them as my kin.
I remember sparring with Robb and Jon in the yard, blades clashing, laughter ringing when one of us fell into the mud. I remember Sansa begging me to play roles from her songs and tales, so she could have her knights and lords come to life before her eyes. I remember Arya wild as the wind slipping away from her lessons. I'd cover for her, even put a bow in her hand and show her how to string it, how to loose an arrow true. And Bran little Bran, climbing every wall he could find. I'd stand below, half cursing, half grinning, waiting to catch him if he fell.
They were my brothers. My sisters. My family. More than the sea ever gave me.
And when Robb named me Stark, I realized the truth: my real father lost his head in King's Landing. Eddard Stark was more a father to me than Balon Greyjoy ever was.
That night in my chamber, it all came crashing down. The weight of it, the grief, the joy, the shame. I broke. I wept until my body ached, until there was nothing left inside me but the hollow truth I was a Stark, and I had always been one.
Robb POV
When the solar emptied at last and the last echo of bootsteps faded down the hall, I was left alone with the maps and the silence. I let out a long breath, pride stirring faintly in my chest. Not for the crown, nor for the victories won but for what I had done tonight. For once, I had acted as both son and king.
From Itachi's memories I learned one truth: no man can carry every burden alone. Even the strongest falter if they stand without brothers beside them. That is why I called Jon back from the Wall. That is why I named Theon a Stark. A king is nothing if he has no one to trust, no one to share the weight when it grows too heavy.
Jon deserved more than the word bastard ever gave him because he is as much my father's son as I am. And Theon, though the lords call him hostage, has been my brother in truth since boyhood. Now the North will see him as I do. With them beside me, I no longer stand alone.
And yet… when I close my eyes, it is not battles I see, but faces. Arya's wild grin, Bran's eager climbs, Rickon chasing after his wolf with tiny legs, Sansa humming her songs. My mother's steady eyes, always watching, always guiding. They are scattered now captives, pawns, hunted. Father is gone, his head struck from his shoulders in the filth of King's Landing. But I will not fail the rest of them.
I set my hand upon the map, upon Winterfell itself, and whisper into the silence: "Father, I swear it. I will bring them home. I will see every one of them safe in the North, so they may mourn you beneath the heart tree as Starks. This I promise you, by ice and by blood."
A crown is heavier than any chain, and I feel its weight with every heartbeat. But tonight, for the first time since the raven came, I do not feel crushed beneath it. My brothers stand with me. And with them, I will not falter.