Chapter Text
The wedding feast concluded without much fanfare and then the celebrations truly began.
Lyarra watched with a fond smile as Margaery and Renly got up to dance. The two of them swayed along to the soft rhythm of the music, looking like they were so in love.
Then the dance ended and everyone was invited up to dance along with them.
Alys laughed and dragged her up to dance. Calla and Desmera joined them, laughing together. Garlan and Leonette were dancing together as were Lord Mace and Lady Alerie.
Loras was now dancing with Margaery and poor Renly was dancing with Lady Olenna. Willas was dancing with one of his Hightower cousins, a pretty girl with golden hair.
“This is amazing.” Alys said with a grin. “I’ve never been to a wedding before. I didn’t know they could be so much fun. I thought they were just boring ceremonies.”
Lyarra smiled. “I enjoyed the ceremony. It was very romantic.”
“I like this part the best. Dancing is my favourite, especially when it’s with you.”
“I love you too.”
“Is this getting you excited for your own wedding?” Alys asked.
“That’s not for another year.”
“But are you excited?”
Lyarra smiled brightly. “Yes, I am. I can’t wait to marry Willas. I think we’ll be happy together.”
“I think you will. You’re so lucky to have someone like Willas.”
“I’m sure that you’ll get to marry someone good and kind.”
“I don’t care who I marry, as long as I get to stay close to you.”
“I’d like that.”
Someone cleared their throat behind them. Lyarra turned around and saw Renly standing there with a grin on his face.
Lyarra smiled. “Renly! Congratulations on your wedding. I am pleased for you and Margaery.”
“Thank you, Lyarra. I am happy to have such a beautiful queen by my side.”
“Margaery will make a good queen just as you will make a good king.”
“Thank you. Would you like to dance?”
“I’d love to.”
Lyarra took Renly’s offered hand and he led her to the middle of the floor.
“Have you spoken to Loras?” Lyarra whispered as they swayed together.
“I spoke to him before the ceremony.”
“How was he?”
“He was fine. He understands that I’m not doing this to hurt him.”
“I know but I’m sure it still hurts him to see you marry someone else, even if it is his sister.”
“I would marry him in a second if it was allowed.”
“Does he know that?”
“I don’t know. We’ve never spoken about it before.”
“You should tell him. I think it would make him happy to know that.”
“Then I will.”
“May I cut in?” Willas asked from behind them.
Renly grinned. “Of course. She’s all yours.”
Lyarra smiled as Renly put her hand in Willas’. She blushed when Willas pulled her closer.
“Hello.” She said.
Willas smiled. “Hello. Are you having a good time?”
“I am. Are you?”
“I am. It’s a beautiful wedding.”
“It really is.”
“You are looking very beautiful today. The white silk makes your hair shine like fire and the red embroidery brings out your eyes. You are absolutely stunning.”
Lyarra blushed. “Thank you. You look very handsome as well.”
“Thank you.”
Willas was wearing a velvet green doublet with golden roses embroidered all over the fabric with an emerald and gold chain.
“Loras told me that we begin marching to King’s Landing in two days time.”
“So soon?”
“Time is of the essence as they say and this time it could not be truer. We do not have time to delay if we want to win this war.”
“I thought your father would want to keep Margaery here for as long as possible.”
“He understands that we can’t delay any longer than we have to.”
“Why is your father not coming?” Lyarra asked. “I thought Renly had named him Hand.”
“He did but my father must stay here and hold Highgarden. He will join us in King’s Landing when we’ve won the war.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“War never is.”
Lyarra sighed. “I know. My mother has told me how hard war was for her and she wasn’t even fighting in it. I wish we didn’t have to go to war.”
“We have no choice. The Lannisters won’t go down without a fight. You know this better than anyone.”
“I know.”
“Have you heard from your brother?”
“He was on his way to Riverrun with my mother the last I heard.”
“I heard about his victory at the Whispering Wood. Uncle Paxter was very impressed that he not only managed to defeat a larger army but also kidnap their leader.”
“Taking Jaime Lannister captive was our first bit of luck. I hope it lasts for a long time.”
“It will. Lord Tywin will pay a lot to get his precious son back.”
“Do you think he’ll give my sisters back in exchange for Jaime?”
“I’m sure he would.”
“Cersei won’t give them up so easily.”
“She would to get her beloved brother back.”
“If that was the only choice she had. If she had another, then she’d never give up my sisters.”
“Don’t worry about that now. If your brother can’t exchange Ser Jaime for them, then we’ll rescue them when we reach King’s Landing.”
“I hope they’re alright. I can’t imagine how scared they must be.”
“They’ll be fine once they’re back with you and your mother.”
Lyarra felt sad at the mention of her mother. “My mother. I haven’t seen her for months. It feels like it’s been forever since I last saw her. I miss her so much.”
“I know you do but you’ll see each other again soon.”
“I hope so.”
“You will. Your mother is only in Riverrun. She’s not on the other side of Westeros. You’ll see her again. I know you will.”
Lyarra smiled. “When I see her, I will give her the greatest gift of all. Four of her children being under one roof again.”
Willas smiled back. “I’m sure she’d love that.”
They danced for a bit longer until they had to stop because Willas’ leg was beginning to hurt.
When they sat down at the end of the table, Loras soon joined them with a tall golden haired man and the Hightower cousin that Willas was dancing with earlier.
Loras grinned at them. “Hello, you two. Enjoy your dance?”
Lyarra nodded. “We did.”
“Lyarra, these are our cousins on your mother’s side.” Willas said. “This is Uthor and this is Maris.”
Both of them had the same golden hair and bright blue eyes. Maris was petite and slender while Uthor was tall and stocky. Both had the same look as Lady Alerie. In fact Maris could be her twin if her hair was silver instead of gold.
Lyarra smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
Uthor smiled at her. “It is an honour to meet our beloved cousin’s betrothed. You are indeed as beautiful as they say.”
“Thank you, Uthor.”
Maris grinned, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Margaery has told us so much about you.”
“I hope I live up to your expectations.”
“Don’t worry. I like you already.”
Lyarra chuckled. “Thank you.”
“I love your dress. The details are so beautiful. Who made it for you?”
“You are so sweet, Maris. My mother made it for me as a nameday present.”
“It’s stunning. It really brings out your eyes.”
“Thank you. I like your dress too. I like the red flames.”
Maris blushed. “Thank you.”
Maris’ dress was white brocade with red flames on the bodice and the hem of the skirt. It was a perfect dress for her Hightower heritage.
Lyarra chatted to Maris a little more and found her to be a charming and intelligent young girl. She was really enjoying her company.
Soon it was time for the bedding ceremony. Lyarra chose not to take part but wished both Margaery and Renly well.
She was escorted to her chambers by Willas.
“May I kiss you goodnight?”
Lyarra nodded. “You may.”
Lyarra’s heart began to race when Willas leaned in to kiss her softly. She kissed him back just as softly.
“Goodnight, Lyarra.” Willas said once they had pulled apart.
“Goodnight, Willas.”
Lyarra fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The next morning, she woke up just as the sun was rising. She had Elinda dress her in the grey silk gown with the weirwood leaf embroidery, one of her favourites.
She brushed out her curls and left her hair unstyled. She then left for the godswood.
It was empty as it always was when she came to say her morning prayers.
As she sat down and began to pray, she was overcome with another vision.
This time she saw Robb in plate and mail sitting in the bow of a boat, with Grey Wind sat beside him. Robb’s hand was resting on the direwolf’s head as he watched the rowers pull at the oars. Theon was sat beside him and Mother was sitting in the stern with Winter sprawled across her lap. She saw a second boat behind them that was carrying her uncle Brynden and the Greatjon and Lord Karstark.
They shot down the Tumblestone, letting the strong current push them past the looming Wheel Tower. She heard the splash and rumble of the great waterwheel and wondered how many times her mother must have heard it as a girl for the sound now brought a sad smile to her face. From the sandstone walls of the castle, soldiers and servants shouted down Mother’s name, and Robb’s, and “Winterfell!” From every rampart waved the banner of House Tully: a leaping trout, silver, against a rippling blue-and-red field. It was indeed a stirring sight and it was the first time she had ever seen the Tully banner, she realised, and her mother’s childhood home as well. The place she and Robb had been born while Father had fought in the rebellion.
Below the Wheel Tower, they made a wide turn and knifed through the churning water. The men put their backs into it. The wide arch of the Water Gate came into view, and she heard the creak of heavy chains as the great iron portcullis was winched upward. It rose slowly as they approached, and Lyarra saw that the lower half of it was red with rust. The bottom foot dripped brown mud on them as they passed underneath, the barbed spikes mere inches above their heads.
They passed beneath the arch and under the walls, moving from sunlight to shadow and back into sunlight. Boats large and small were tied up all around them, secured to iron rings set in the stone. Her grandfather’s guards waited on the water stair with her uncle.
Ser Edmure Tully was a stocky young man with a shaggy head of auburn hair and a fiery beard. His breastplate was scratched and dented from battle, his blue-and-red cloak stained by blood and smoke. At his side stood the Lord Tytos Blackwood, a hard pike of a man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper whiskers and a hook nose. His bright yellow armor was inlaid with jet in elaborate vine-and-leaf patterns, and a cloak sewn from raven feathers draped his thin shoulders. It had been Lord Tytos who led the sortie that plucked her uncle from the Lannister camp, according to Robb.
Bring them in.” Ser Edmure commanded. Three men scrambled down the stairs knee- deep in the water and pulled the boat close with long hooks. When Grey Wind bounded out, one of them dropped his pole and lurched back, stumbling and sitting down abruptly in the river. The others laughed, and the man got a sheepish look on his face. Theon vaulted over the side of the boat and lifted Mother by the waist, setting her on a dry step above him as water lapped around his boots. Winter jumped out after her, standing loyally by her side.
Uncle Edmure came down the steps to embrace Mother. “Sweet sister.” He murmured hoarsely. He had deep blue eyes and a mouth made for smiles, but he was not smiling now. He looked worn and tired, battered by battle and haggard from strain. His neck was bandaged where he had taken a wound. Mother hugged him fiercely.
“Your grief is mine, Cat.” He said when they broke apart. “When we heard about Lord Eddard . . . the Lannisters will pay, I swear it, you will have your vengeance.”
“Will that bring Ned back to me?” Mother said sharply. “All that will keep. I must see Father.”
“He awaits you in his solar.” Edmure said.
“Lord Hoster is bedridden, my lady.” A grey haired man said. “He instructed me to bring you to him at once.”
“I’ll take her.”
Uncle Edmure escorted Mother up the water stair and across the lower bailey. The massive sandstone walls of the keep loomed above them. As they pushed through a door between two guardsmen in fish-crest helms, Mother asked, “How bad is he?” clearly dreading the answer even as she said the words.
Uncle Edmure’s look was somber. “He will not be with us long, the maesters say. The pain is . . . constant, and grievous.”
You should have told me.” Mother said. “You should have sent word as soon as you knew.”
“He forbade it. He did not want his enemies to know that he was dying. With the realm so troubled, he feared that if the Lannisters suspected how frail he was . . . ”
“ . . . they might attack?” Mother finished, hard.
They climbed the spiral stair in silence.
The keep was three-sided, like Riverrun itself, and Grandfather Hoster’s solar was triangular as well, with a stone balcony that jutted out to the east like the prow of some great sandstone ship. From there the lord of the castle could look down on his walls and battlements, and beyond, to where the waters met. They had moved her grandfather’s bed out onto the balcony.
“He likes to sit in the sun and watch the rivers.” Uncle Edmure explained. “Father, see who I’ve brought. Cat has come to see you . . . ”
Lord Hoster Tully was nothing like the man her mother had talked about whenever she told her and her siblings about tales of childhood in Riverrun. Mother had described him as a big man, tall and broad and portly in his old age. He had had brown hair streaked with grey and a matching beard. This man was nothing like that.
The man before her seemed shrunken almost like the meat and muscle had melted off his bones. His hair and beard were as white as snow and his face was more sagged than Old Nan’s.
His eyes opened to the sound of Uncle Edmure’s voice. “Little cat.” He murmured in a voice thin and wispy and wracked by pain. “My little cat.” A tremulous smile touched his face as his hand groped for hers. “I watched for you . . . ”
“I shall leave you to talk.” Uncle Edmure said, kissing his lord father gently on the brow before he withdrew.
Mother knelt and took her father’s hand in hers. “You should have told me.” She said. “A rider, a raven . . . ”
Riders are taken, questioned.” He answered. “Ravens are brought down . . . The crabs are in my belly . . . pinching, always pinching. Day and night. They have fierce claws, the crabs. Maester Vyman makes me dreamwine, milk of the poppy . . . I sleep a lot . . . but I wanted to be awake to see you, when you came. I was afraid . . . when the Lannisters took your brother, the camps all around us . . . was afraid I would go, before I could see you again . . . I was afraid . . . ”
“I’m here, Father.” She said. “With Robb, my son. He’ll want to see you too.”
“Your boy.” He whispered. “He had my eyes, I remember . . . Is your girl here as well? She was your image… it was like holding you in my arms again…”
“He did, and does. Lyarra is not here, I’m afraid but we’ve brought you something else. Jaime Lannister, in irons. Riverrun is free again, Father.”
Lord Hoster smiled. “I saw. Last night, when it began, I told them . . . had to see. They carried me to the gatehouse . . . watched from the battlements. Ah, that was beautiful . . . the torches came in a wave, I could hear the cries floating across the river . . . sweet cries . . . when that siege tower went up, gods . . . would have died then, and glad, if only I could have seen you children first. Was it your boy who did it? Was it your Robb?”
“Yes.” Catelyn said, fiercely proud. “It was Robb . . . and Brynden. Your brother is here as well, my lord.”
“Him.” Her grandfather’s voice was a faint whisper. “The Blackfish . . . came back? From the Vale?”
“Yes.”
“And Lysa?” A cool wind moved through his thin white hair. “Gods be good, your sister . . . did she come as well?”
“No. I’m sorry . . . ”
“Oh.” His face fell, and some light went out of his eyes. “I’d hoped I would have liked to see her, before . . . ”
“She’s with her son, in the Eyrie.”
Lord Hoster gave a weary nod. “Lord Robert now, poor Arryn’s gone . . . I remember . . . why did she not come with you?”
“She is frightened, my lord. In the Eyrie she feels safe.” She kissed his wrinkled brow. “Robb will be waiting. Will you see him? And Brynden?”
“Your son.” He whispered. “Yes. Cat’s child . . . he had my eyes, I remember. When he was born. Bring him . . . yes.”
“And your brother?”
Her grandfather glanced out over the rivers. “Blackfish.” He said. “Has he wed yet? Taken some . . . girl to wife?”
“He has not wed. You know that, Father. Nor will he ever.”
“I told him . . . commanded him. Marry! I was his lord. He knows. My right, to make his match. A good match. A Redwyne. Old House. Sweet girl, pretty . . . freckles . . . Bethany, yes. Poor child. Still waiting. Yes. Still . . . ”
“Bethany Redwyne wed Lord Rowan years ago.” Mother reminded him. “She has three children by him.”
“Even so.” Lord Hoster muttered. “Even so. Spit on the girl. The Redwynes. Spit on me. His lord, his brother . . . that Blackfish. I had other offers. Lord Bracken’s girl. Walder Frey . . . any of three, he said . . . Has he wed? Anyone? Anyone?”
“No one, yet he has come many leagues to see you, fighting his way back to Riverrun. I would not be here now, if Ser Brynden had not helped us.”
“He was ever a warrior.” Grandfather husked. “That he could do. Knight of the Gate, yes.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, unutterably weary. “Send him. Later. I’ll sleep now. Too sick to fight. Send him up later, the Blackfish . . .”
Mother kissed him gently, smoothed his hair, and left him there in the shade of his keep, with his rivers flowing beneath. He was asleep before she left the solar.
When she returned to the lower bailey, Ser Brynden Tully stood on the water stairs with wet boots, talking with the captain of Riverrun’s guards. He came to her at once. “Is he—”
“Dying.” Mother said. “As we feared.”
Her uncle’s craggy face showed his pain plain. He ran his fingers through his thick grey hair. “Will he see me?”
Mother nodded. “He says he is too sick to fight.”
Brynden Blackfish chuckled. “I am too old a soldier to believe that. Hoster will be chiding me about the Redwyne girl even as we light his funeral pyre, damn his bones.”
Mother smiled, knowing it was true. “I do not see Robb.”
“He went with Greyjoy to the hall, I believe.”
Theon was seated on a bench in Riverrun’s Great Hall, enjoying a horn of ale and regaling her grandfather’s garrison with an account of the slaughter in the Whispering Wood. “Some tried to flee, but we’d pinched the valley shut at both ends, and we rode out of the darkness with sword and lance. The Lannisters must have thought the Others themselves were on them when that wolf of Robb’s got in among them. I saw him tear one man’s arm from his shoulder, and their horses went mad at the scent of him. I couldn’t tell you how many men were thrown—”
“Theon.” Mother interrupted. “Where might I find my son?”
“Lord Robb went to visit the godswood, my lady.”
Mother left the hall and found Robb beneath the green canopy of leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and great old elms, kneeling before the heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face more sad than fierce. His longsword was before him, the point thrust in the earth, his gloved hands clasped around the hilt. Around him others knelt: Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, and more. Even Tytos Blackwood was among them, the great raven cloak fanned out behind him.
Mother waited until their prayers were finished. The gods must have their due, she had always said, and she stuck to that principle even now.
Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Renly had declared himself king?” Robb asked her angrily.
Lyarra sighed. “I did not want to worry you while you were off fighting.”
“How long have you known?”
“A few weeks.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“It was not my place to tell you, Robb. It would look suspicious if you knew before the ravens arrived.”
“I could have pretended not to know.”
“We both know that you’re a terrible liar, Robb. You wouldn’t have been able to do that.”
“Maybe not but you still should have told me. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“I know and I’m sorry. I should have said something at least.”
Robb sighed harshly. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault. You are at the mercy of the Tyrells and they wouldn’t have been happy if you had told me of their plans.”
“They have been nothing but kind to me.”
“That can all change and you know it. You are now the daughter of a traitor to them. They will be viewing you with suspicion and any step out of line could cost you.” Robb sighed again. “It was better that you didn’t tell me. It could have hurt you if you did.”
“They wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t they?” Robb asked. “If they thought that you had betrayed them, then they likely would. No one likes a traitor, Lyarra. Father found that out in the most devastating way. Don’t let them onto the fact that you’re only loyal to me.”
“I think they know that already.”
“Do they? You’ve pledged to support Renly, haven’t you? You must be loyal to him now. I doubt he’d take it well if he found out your only loyalty is to me and that your support of him is a sham.”
“Renly is my friend. He would understand.”
“Robert was Father’s friend and that friendship didn’t save him in the end. Be careful, Lyarra. Father’s unjust execution has proven that you can’t trust anyone except your family.”
“I know that. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“Why are you supporting Renly? It can’t just be because you’re friends.”
“He promised to rescue Sansa and Arya if I supported him.”
“And you believe he’ll keep that promise?”
“I have to believe it. If I don’t have hope, then I have nothing.”
“I know. I understand.”
“Mother is here.”
Robb looked up and saw their mother standing there. “Mother.” He said. “We must call a council. There are things to be decided.”
“Your grandfather would like to see you.” Mother said. “Robb, he’s very sick.”
“Ser Edmure told me. I am sorry, Mother . . . for Lord Hoster and for you. Yet first we must meet. We’ve had word from the south. Renly Baratheon has claimed his brother’s crown.”
“Renly?” Mother said, shocked. “I had thought, surely it would be Lord Stannis . . . ”
“So did we all, my lady.” Galbart Glover said.
The war council convened in the Great Hall, at four long trestle tables arranged in a broken square. Lord Hoster was too weak to attend, and he remained asleep on his balcony. Uncle Edmure sat in the high seat of the Tullys, with Brynden Blackfish at his side, and his father’s bannermen arrayed to right and left and along the side tables. Word of the victory at Riverrun had spread to the fugitive lords of the Trident, drawing them back. Karyl Vance came in, a lord now, his father dead beneath the Golden Tooth. Ser Marq Piper was with him, and they brought a Darry, Ser Raymun’s son, a lad no older than Bran. Lord Jonos Bracken arrived from the ruins of Stone Hedge, glowering and blustering, and took a seat as far from Tytos Blackwood as the tables would permit.
The northern lords sat opposite, with Mother and Robb facing Uncle Edmure across the tables. They were fewer. The Greatjon sat at Robb’s left hand, and then Theon Greyjoy; Galbart Glover and Lady Mormont were to the right of Mother. Lord Rickard Karstark, gaunt and hollow-eyed in his grief, took his seat like a man in a nightmare, his long beard uncombed and unwashed. He had left two sons dead in the Whispering Wood, and there was no word of the third, his eldest, who had led the Karstark spears against Tywin Lannister on the Green Fork.
The arguing raged on late into the night. Each lord had a right to speak, and speak they did . . . and shout, and curse, and reason, and cajole, and jest, and bargain, and slam tankards on the table, and threaten, and walk out, and return sullen or smiling. Mother
sat and listened to it all.
Roose Bolton had re-formed the battered remnants of their other host at the mouth of the causeway. Ser Helman Tallhart and Walder Frey still held the Twins. Lord Tywin’s army had crossed the Trident, and was making for Harrenhal. And there were two kings in the realm. Two kings, and no agreement.
Many of the lords bannermen wanted to march on Harrenhal at once, to meet Lord Tywin and end Lannister power for all time. Young, hot-tempered Marq Piper urged a strike west at Casterly Rock instead. Still others counseled patience. Riverrun sat athwart the Lannister supply lines, Jason Mallister pointed out; let them bide their time, denying Lord Tywin fresh levies and provisions while they strengthened their defenses and rested their weary troops. Lord Blackwood would have none of it. They should finish the work they began in the Whispering Wood. March to Harrenhal and bring Roose Bolton’s army down as well. What Blackwood urged, Bracken opposed, as ever; Lord Jonos Bracken rose to insist they ought pledge their fealty to King Renly, and move south to join their might to his.
“Renly is not the king.” Robb said.
You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord.” Galbart Glover said. “He put your father to death.”
“That makes him evil.” Robb replied. “I do not know that it makes Renly king. Joffrey is still Robert’s eldest trueborn son, so the throne is rightfully his by all the laws of the realm. Were he to die, and I mean to see that he does, he has a younger brother. Tommen is next in line after Joffrey.”
“Tommen is no less a Lannister.” Ser Marq Piper snapped.
“As you say.” Robb said, troubled. “Yet if neither one is king, still, how could it be Lord Renly? He’s Robert’s younger brother. Bran can’t be Lord of Winterfell before me, and Renly can’t be king before Lord Stannis.”
Lady Mormont agreed. “Lord Stannis has the better claim.”
“Renly is crowned.” Marq Piper said. “Highgarden and Storm’s End support his claim, and the Dornishmen will not be laggardly. If Winterfell and Riverrun add their strength to his, he will have five of the seven great houses behind him. Six, if the Arryns bestir themselves! Six against the Rock! My lords, within the year, we will have all their heads on pikes, the queen and the boy king, Lord Tywin, the Imp, the Kingslayer, Ser Kevan, all of them! That is what we shall win if we join with King Renly. What does Lord Stannis have against that, that we should cast it all aside?”
“The right.” Robb said stubbornly.
“So you mean us to declare for Stannis?” Uncle Edmure asked.
“I don’t know.” Robb said. “I prayed to know what to do, but the gods did not answer. The Lannisters killed my father for a traitor, and we know that was a lie, but if Joffrey is the lawful king and we fight against him, we will be traitors.”
“My lord father would urge caution.” aged Ser Stevron said, with the weaselly smile of a Frey. “Wait, let these two kings play their game of thrones. When they are done fighting, we can bend our knees to the victor, or oppose him, as we choose. With Renly arming, likely Lord Tywin would welcome a truce . . . and the safe return of his son. Noble lords, allow me to go to him at Harrenhal and arrange good terms and ransoms . . . ”
A roar of outrage drowned out his voice. “Craven!” Greatjon thundered. “Begging for a truce will make us seem weak.” Lady Mormont declared. “Ransoms be damned, we must not give up the Kingslayer.” Rickard Karstark shouted.
“Why not a peace?” Mother asked.
“My lady, they murdered my lord father, your husband.” Robb said grimly. He unsheathed his longsword and laid it on the table before him, the bright steel on the rough wood. “This is the only peace I have for Lannisters.”
The Greatjon bellowed his approval, and other men added their voices, shouting and drawing swords and pounding their fists on the table.
Mother waited until they had quieted. “My lords,” She said then, “Lord Eddard was your liege, but I shared his bed and bore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you?” Her voice almost broke with her grief, but Mother took a long breath and steadied herself. “Robb, if that sword could bring him back, I should never let you sheathe it until Ned stood at my side once more . . . but he is gone, and hundred Whispering Woods will not change that. Ned is gone, and Daryn Hornwood, and Lord Karstark’s valiant sons, and many other good men besides, and none of them will return to us. Must we have more deaths still?”
“You are a woman, my lady.” Greatjon rumbled in his deep voice. “Women do not understand these things.”
Arya would have threatened to stab the Greatjon for saying that, his size be damned, she thought with faint amusement.
You are the gentle sex.” Lord Karstark said, with the lines of grief fresh on his face. “A man has a need for vengeance.”
“Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can be.” Mother replied. “Perhaps I do not understand tactics and strategy . . . but I understand futility. We went to war when Lannister armies were ravaging the riverlands, and Ned was a prisoner, falsely accused of treason. We fought to defend ourselves, and to win my lord’s freedom. Well, the one is done, and the other forever beyond our reach. I will mourn for Ned until the end of my days, but I must think of the living. I want my daughters back, and the queen holds them still. If I must trade our four Lannisters for their two Starks, I will call that a bargain and thank the gods. I want you safe, Robb, ruling at Winterfell from your father’s seat. I want you to live your life, to kiss a girl and wed a woman and father a son. I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my husband.”
The hall was very quiet when Mother finished speaking.
“Peace.” Uncle Brynden said. “Peace is sweet, my lady . . . but on what terms? It is no good hammering your sword into a plowshare if you must forge it again on the morrow.”
“What did Torrhen and my Eddard die for, if I am to return to Karhold with nothing but their bones?” Rickard Karstark asked.
“Aye.” Lord Bracken said. “Gregor Clegane laid waste to my fields, slaughtered my smallfolk, and left Stone Hedge a smoking ruin. Am I now to bend the knee to the ones who sent him? What have we fought for, if we are to put all back as it was before?”
Lord Blackwood agreed, to Mother’s surprise and dismay. “And if we do make peace with King Joffrey, are we not then traitors to King Renly? What if the stag should prevail against the lion, where would that leave us?”
“Whatever you may decide for yourselves, I shall never call a Lannister my king.” Marq Piper declared.
“Nor I!” The little Darry boy yelled. “I never will!”
Again the shouting began and Mother sat there despairing.
Suddenly the Greatjon lurched to his feet.
“MY LORDS!” He shouted, his voice booming off the rafters. “Here is what I say to these two kings!” He spat. “ Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in Highgarden or Dorne? What do they know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are wrong. The Others take the Lannisters too, I’ve had a bellyful of them.” He reached back over his shoulder and drew his immense two-handed greatsword. “Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!” He pointed at Robb with the blade. “There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, m’lords.” He thundered. “The King in the North!”
And he knelt, and laid his sword at her brother’s feet.
“I’ll have peace on those terms.” Lord Karstark said. “They can keep their red castle and their iron chair as well.” He eased his longsword from its scabbard. “The King in the North!” He said, kneeling beside the Greatjon.
Maege Mormont stood. “The King of Winter!” She declared, and laid her spiked mace beside the swords. And the river lords were rising too, Blackwood and Bracken and Mallister, houses who had never been ruled from Winterfell, yet Lyarra watched them rise and draw their blades, bending their knees and shouting the old words that had not been heard in the realm for more than three hundred years, since Aegon the Dragon had come to make the Seven Kingdoms one . . . yet now were heard again, ringing from the timbers of her grandfather’s hall:
“The King in the North!”
“The King in the North!”
“THE KING IN THE NORTH!”
Lyarra smiled proudly as Robb was declared king. She agreed with the Greatjon. Robb Stark was the only king she would bent her knee to. He was her one true king.