Riverrun, War Room
Robb POV
The next morning, the hall at Riverrun was full. Northern voices rumbled against Riverlords' sharper tones, steel and banners crowding the space until it felt smaller than it was. I stood before the map table, my lords watching me like wolves scenting blood. Even Lord Bolton had answered the summons. Him, I would keep close. In Itachi's memories, Danzo had always thrived in shadows and daggers. Bolton's eyes reminded me of that. Better to watch him than give him freedom.
I cleared my throat and began.
"My lords, you can say the war looks very bad right now."
A chorus of grim nods, grumbles of agreement. The Blackwoods and Brackens muttered under their breath. Greatjon Umber snorted like a bull ready to charge.
"The ironborn raid our shores and hold our castles," I continued. "Renly has crowned himself with the Reach at his back. Stannis holds Dragonstone and the royal fleet. And Lord Tywin has ten thousand men at the Golden Tooth and sits at Harenhall with twenty thousand men."
At the mention of the ironborn, half the room turned sharp eyes on Theon. Once, he might have shrunk under that weight. Today, he stood tall, chin high, as if daring them to doubt him.
I let the moment hang before allowing myself a thin smile.
"But there is good news. I have a plan."
Hope flickered in their faces. I placed a carved direwolf over the North on the map.
"Theon Stark will lead five thousand north. Lord Karstark, Lord Hornwood, Lord Cerwyn, and Lady Mormont will ride with him. Drive the ironborn from our home. Then you will meet with the six thousand men Winterfell has trained these past moons."
Theon bowed his head in acknowledgment. Distrust still lingered in the eyes of some, but he did not flinch. Lady Maege Mormont broke the silence with her growl:
"He may be a kraken before, but now he is wolf by order of our king. Let him earn the North with blood."
That settled it.
I moved the wolf south along the Riverlands.
"Jon will lead six thousand men with the Blackfish, the Greatjon, the Smalljon, and Lord Glover. You will gather the last three thousand swords the Riverlands can muster. Then you will find Ser Gregor Clegane."
Gasps rippled through the hall. The Mountain's name was curse enough. I fixed my gaze on the Greatjon.
"That will be your prey, Lord Umber."
The Greatjon's answering grin was all teeth. "Aye. A fine foe to feed the crows."
"When that is done," I continued, "you will raid the Westerlands. Burn their fields, break their halls. Let Tywin taste what he has given us."
Nods and mutters, a rising hunger in the room. I shifted the wolf eastward, toward the Vale.
"As for me, I will take six thousand into the Vale. I will place myself before my aunt, Lady Arryn, and remind her that wolves and falcons once hunted as one. If she marches, her strength will swell our numbers by fifteen thousand. From there, I will strike the Reach, to draw their banners away from Renly's host."
Lords traded looks. Some skeptical, some hopeful. The Freys muttered among themselves, restless at being left at Riverrun. The Blackwoods and Brackens both tried to speak at once until I silenced them with a raised hand.
"Lord Edmure," I said at last, turning to my uncle, "will hold Riverrun. He is our shield. He will delay Tywin, harry him if he marches east, and send us word of every movement. The rivers will be our bridge, binding wolf and trout together until the war is won."
Edmure straightened, pride warring with the weight of the task.
I looked around the room, meeting every eye in turn. "We are outnumbered. Outmatched, some might say. But wolves do not fear larger packs. We hunt lean. We hunt hard. And hunger, my lords, wins wars."
The words struck like a spark in dry wood. Greatjon roared his approval, and soon the hall was full of shouts, oaths, and fists pounding the table.
I dismissed them with a final order. "We ride within the hour. See to your men. And remember every step we take is one step closer to bringing our families home."
As the hall emptied, I let my smile fade. For all my plans, I could not help but think of Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and my lady mother. I swore silently to Father's memory: I will bring them home, safe and whole. The North will mourn you together.
Crownlands, Kings Landing
Sansa POV
Every whisper in the Red Keep carries my brother's name. The smallfolk call him the Young Wolf, the lords call him the King in the North, but to me… he was just Robb. The brother who used to tug my hair when I tried to read, who chased Arya through the halls, who sat beside my bed when nightmares kept me awake. It feels like a dream that he is the one the realm fears now.
Court today was no different with starving smallfolk begging for bread, while Joffrey sat upon the Iron Throne, smug and cruel as ever. The Queen blamed it all on Renly, Stannis, and even Robb, as if their quarrels had emptied the granaries of King's Landing. I kept my eyes down, quiet, as I always must.
Then a Lannister soldier entered, bearing a small wooden box sealed with wax. He bowed and offered it to the Queen. Cersei opened it before the court, unfolding the letter tucked inside. Her voice rang sharp as she read aloud:
"I told you what would happen if my family came to harm."
The silence in the hall was heavy as steel. Then the Queen screamed. The box slipped from her hands and struck the floor, the lid tumbling open. Something rolled out something small pink, pale, and unmistakably human and it's a man part. Gasps filled the chamber. Someone cried out. I heard the whispers start at once.
Tyrion Lannister barked orders, dismissing the court in haste, shooing lords and peasants alike from the throne room. I lowered my eyes, moving with the crowd, though my heart thundered in my chest.
I should have been horrified. I should have wept. But as I walked away, lips pressed tight to hide it, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.
Perhaps my brother truly will give me Joffrey's head.