robbstarkwriting

[robbstarkwriting]

A New Dawn.

--Westerlands. 

Casterly Rock. The home of the lion. The battle had been a chaotic and belligerent affair and heavy losses had been taken among the northern host, but Casterly Rock had – eventually – fallen. Lannisport had sent reinforcements to take the northern host in the rear after the first night of fighting, but the Blackfish had held back with five hundred men and ceased their attack, a devastating blow to the Lannister resistance. Once word reached Lord Tywin he'd march his army back to the westerlands to make their stand, he knew, which left open the potential of an assault on King's Landing. 

“Your Grace,” Robb’s squire, Olyvar Frey, approached his king on the battlements of Casterly Rock, overlooking the fields below. “A raven in the night, from across the Narrow Sea.” He took the parchment, the seal unbroken but marked with a sigil from Volantis. “Thank you, Olyvar. That’ll be all,” he responded with a smile, not wanting his words to appear overly harsh. He did not possess the same trust in the Freys as he did his northern or Tully bannermen, but he did hold trust for the boy, who had been loyal and willing to work hard since joining the host at the Twins. Once Olyvar had left, Robb opened up the letter, leaning on the walls that had been manned by Lannister soldiers days earlier. 

Casterly Rock was won and would now have be the held, but King’s Landing was the one he wanted. 

--Meereen. 

The Patriot pulled into the dock, the tide rocking the ship from side to side, but any sea sickness felt had been left in the day’s past. It was Robb’s first time crossing the Narrow Sea and likewise for those that had accompanied him for the journey – his personal guards Smalljon Umber, Dacey Mormont, Patrek Mallister, Lucas Blackwood, his squire Olyvar, and an additional 5 men from each major house that followed the Starks. He had left Grey Wind at Casterly Rock, a ship was no place for the direwolf and no matter how much time they spent with the wolf, his bannermen could not find themselves at ease in its presence. The Blackfish was charged with holding Casterly Rock in the king’s absence, while Roose Bolton held Lannisport – which had fallen a matter of hours after the Rock and was the location which they had sailed out from to Meereen. 

The sun beat down on the northerners as they climbed out of The Patriot. The king’s furs had been removed for good a few days into the trip, the temperature rising the closer they got to Meereen, a feeling that was unusual to any northerner. He wore a black tunic with a layer of armour beneath, and the Stark sigil clasping a cloak around his neck. At his waist rested his sword, a weapon that had witnessed more death in the past year than he had ever envisioned. Robb trusted Talisa Maegyr, she had been a healer that travelled with his troops for a number of months and the two had spoken on several occasions. She had always spoken honestly with him, truthful, and did not strike him as a person with ulterior motives. However, despite her assurances of this Queens good intentions, he did not trust anybody with the Targaryen name. No Stark ever could, not after the demise of his uncle and grandfather at the hands of the Mad King. 

At the end of the dock stood several armed guards, and at the head of them was Talisa. “Eyes open,” he commented to those following him, as they closed in on their receivers. Around them the city bustled, wagons being pulled by horses, merchants shouting at the top of their lungs about the various items they had for sale, sellswords walked by clear as day, boats departed, boats arrived, and the foreign languages found themselves becoming a welcome distraction from the war back in Westeros. It was peaceful…. Almost like another world. 

“You’ve moved up in the world, my lady”, a smile graced his lips upon reaching Talisa and her guards. They weren’t quite old friends, but they had shared a connection of sorts, and he had gained a respect for her through the healing she had carried out on the wounded men from both sides of the war. “This is the first time I’ve seen you not covered in blood.” 

“And I with you, your grace. Welcome to Meereen.” She had always spoken confidently back in Westeros. Most people stuttered, fell over their own thoughts, and didn’t present a true picture of themselves when they spoke to him now, ever since he became king. It was one part of holding the crown that he disliked most. Talisa had not been like that, even though she had found herself in a foreign land, she spoke to him earnestly. She always presented her thoughts truthfully, and he in turn respected her for that. He trusted her for it. And that is why he had taken her at her word and travelled to Meereen. 

As they turned into the city, The Great Pyramid immediately became visible. Patrek Mallister had talked of it on the journey across the Narrow Sea, of how it was one of the largest constructions ever built. Robb looked up at it, in awe of structure. How had she conquered that!? 

-- The Great Pyramid. 

The steel doors opened before him, the dimly lit room presenting itself as he walked in side by side with Talisa, his personal guards following behind. At the head of the hall lay a large staircase guarded by a mixture of Unsullied and Dorthraki (Robb had never come across either before, but he knew their distinguishable appearances well enough from a mixture of stories heard and books read), and atop the stairs sat Daenerys Targaryen. 

Northerners would never bow to a Targaryen leader again. He had already known it, but the reaction from his bannermen when he’d informed them of the raven received at Casterly Rock had reiterated the point. He was here against their wishes, against his mothers wishes, and partly against his own wishes. He had not travelled to Meereen to bend the knee, but he had hoped that the differences between House Stark and House Targaryen could be put to one side and both of their attentions could be directed at the Lannisters in Kings Landing. 

Robb stood at the bottom of the stairs as Talisa began the ascent, he held up his hand to those behind him, bringing all but Olyvar Frey to a halt. His squire came up beside him, Robb could all but sense the boy’s nerves before his voice had even escaped his lips. He did not blame the boy, the imposing stair case matched with the dim lighting, Unsullied and Dothraki soldiers, and a silver haired queen in a foreign land would be enough to shake most men. But not a king. 

“I present to you the King in the North, Robb Stark,” Olyvar spoke loudly, almost too loudly, his voice echoing through the Great Hall. Robb stepped forward, eyes fixated on the last living Targaryen. 

“My lady,” he began, knowing already that hostility was inevitable, but she was no queen of his. “Lady Talisa speaks fondly of you. She assures me that you’re a just woman… and a just ruler." Another step forward. "I have travelled here to discuss a treaty with you. We both want the Lannisters gone. I’ve already taken their home, and I will take King's Landing next."

[robbstarkwriting]

The First Wave, Battle of Winterfell p.1

The three blows of the horn had sent a pulsating thud through Winterfell. People scurried from every direction, hurrying to their posts. Robb walked with Talisa to the crypts, their young son cradled in her arms. She was a queen and he was a king, but as light snow blew through the brisk night air they found themselves as nothing more than man and woman, edging closer to their final moments as each second passed by and the army of the dead moved closer. He kissed his bride farewell, intertwined his hand with his sons for what he expected to be a final time, and made the agonizing turn away, forcing each and every step toward the gates as he prepared to take his position at the front of the northern army. The Dothraki lined up in their thousands. The vanguard. Tasked with charging the bulk of the cavalry into the army of the dead. It was known by everybody that this wasn’t a battle that could be won man for man, it all came down to one – the Night King. Killing him was their only chance, at least in the words of his brother. Upon returning north to retake his lands, Jon had pleaded with him to help the Watch stand against what lay beyond the Wall, he’d informed him what he’d encountered out there, what was coming for them /all/. It had given them time to prepare for what was to come. Jon’s words had taken them this far, and Robb had been willing to trust in them once more as death closed in on them all. His brother flew overhead, flying one of the Targaryen queen’s dragons. She flew beside him, gliding through the air on a beast almost twice as big as the other. Inside the castle walls Lyanna Mormont and her remaining soldiers had the task of being the final stand. Talisa and Sansa waited in the crypts, overseeing the safety of those who could not fight, protected by Ghost. Bran offered himself as bait, a lure to entice the Night King out into the open, beside him was Theon. Theon who had once broken his heart in two, who had once undermined a lifetime of friendship, and who had once taken Bran prisoner. On this night, Robb could call him /brother/ once more, on their final stance. He stood at the front of the northern host, Grey Wind at his side, as the wolf had been in every battle since he had ridden south many years past. The three thousand northerners that remained may not have matched the numbers of the Unsullied or Dothraki and may not have been close to a tenth of what the Night King had marching behind him, but for what they lacked in numbers they made up for in passion and spirit. The north was their home and the dead could not have it. The lingering sense of death filled each person as they looked out into the darkness, awaiting the dead. Silence. Tension. /Dread/. A temporary respite as the flames arose from the front line, the Dothraki horde charging deep into the night as ferociously as he’d heard they were capable. Beside him a brief smile eclipsed Edmure Tully’s face. Hope. That’s what the Red Woman had provided when she ignited the arakh’s. But one by one each light faded in the distance, and the hope was strangled from the living. The dead had arrived. Robb took out his sword, and behind him the night was filled with the sound of swords leaving their sheaths. “For the living,” a mutter under his breath, inaudible to anyone other than himself and Edmure. Blue eyes filled the black canvas that lay before them. “NORTHERNERS, WITH ME!!!” The king charged.

[robbstarkwriting]

Writing; Blood Child.

The war had raged on for a period of time that was much longer than anybody had ever anticipated. On the day he had called the banners the view had been simple, march south and show the Lannisters that the north would not sit idly by while its Warden was held captive, and prove to them in the field that he would not rest until his father and sisters had been freed. That view had disintegrated on the day that his fathers head had been taken at the Great Sept of Baelor, and the war had long since come to be known as the War of the Five Kings. One of those kings had fallen, and Robb was in open war against two of the remaining three - Joffrey Lannister and Balon Greyjoy. The other, Stannis Baratheon, had accepted Robb's terms of a truce until the Lannisters had been removed from their position on the iron throne.

Although he had failed to free his father from the clutches of their enemies and Sansa remained unheard of for a long period of time, Arya had been returned to him, through no good intentions of the Lannisters. On the day of his uncles wedding to Roslin Frey his sister had arrived at The Twins, the captive of Sandor Clegane. News had reached the northern camp of the Battle of Blackwater and the desertion of the man they named The Hound, but Arya being in his presence had been a surprise to everybody. Robb had scouts everywhere, constantly tracking the movements of his enemies, of their own scouts, and finding information out from the smallfolk, and nobody had come back with news of his sister being so close.

Before he had thrown his arms around her and pulled her into an embrace, he'd already known that she would hate every moment of it, but the emotion he felt with the relief of finally having her back, of finally knowing that she was alive, had been uncontrollable. He had not told their mother that the Hound claimed to have her as a prisoner until he saw her with his own eyes, she had already been through enough with the loss of her husband, her father, Bran and Rickon at Winterfell... The last thing she had needed was the false hope of being reunited with her youngest daughter. As soon as Robb had known it was real he had sent his squire Olyvar to bring their mother to them, and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime he saw a smile on his mothers face.

They had paid the Hound handsomely for Arya's return and even offered him the choice to remain and fight for the north for the remainder of the war. Robb had no strong feelings of love or hate for the man, but his skills as a fighter were widely known to all in Westeros, and he had an insight into the enemy, and more importantly, King's Landing. Robb and his council had meticulously planned every movement and battle thus far, and that had shown in them having yet to taste defeat. However, one thing that they did lack was the inside knowledge of Tywin Lannister and the navigation of King's Landing. Northerners kept to themselves, they didn't travel south, they did not hold an interest in attending tourneys and jousts for name days, they preferred the solitude of their own lands. It was a fact that the now northern king took pride in, but the lack of knowledge it had caused them to possess on the enemy was a concern to him, especially if the time did come to march on the capital. That had been until Arya told him about her time at Harrenhal.

He rode into the parley with Bryden Tully, Dacey Mormont, Smalljon Umber, Jason Mallister, and a small host of soldiers from Houses Manderly and Bolton. Robb had never met Stannis Baratheon, but all he had heard about the man did paint him as honourable and just, despite the rumours that continued to circulate about his belief in a Lord of Light and laying with a priestess of Asshai. Reports had suggested that Stannis burned alive those he called "sinners", which had caused Robb's council to urge him to put the idea of a truce aside, but siding with Stannis Baratheon presented the best opportunity for taking King's Landing and finally bringing an end to the war. He'd had to attend.

On that night, the Baratheon king had handed him a parchment, sealed with the direwolf of House Stark. He read the words carefully. His fathers words. Robb had previously not been aware that his father had endorsed Stannis for the throne, and he was curious as to why the man had not used this for leverage earlier in the war, before marching on King's Landing the first time. He carefully folded the parchment back up, before asking Stannis if he could keep it in his possession. The man who now agreed to his wishes may have had his fathers approval in the aftermath of king Robert's death, but Robb wondered if that support would have remained had his father learned the rumours that contaminated his claim, had his father been here on this night to witness the red woman sat beside her king, a gaze on her face that inspired both intrigue and thoughts of deceit. He would not fully trust Stannis while the priestess marched beside him, but he accepted the treaty and began the journey to the capital.

The days past, and the northern host moved closer and closer to King's Landing. Robb sat in the large tent that was deputising for a council room while they travelled, preparing for the meeting to come. He traced his finger along the map that lay before him, carefully motioning the trajectory they would be taking the following day. His squire was the only other in the room, and Grey Wind lay at the side of the long-table. Olyvar had come into Robb's service when he had originally marched through The Twins, and after the Freys coming back to the northern cause following the wedding of Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey, Olyvar had taken up the vacant squire spot once more. He'd proven a loyal lad, and capable of fulfilling his duties on the battlefield, his king had been sad to lose him over the betrothal he had previously broken.

"Olyvar, escort my sister here at once. I'd like to speak with her before the others arrive." His order was delivered with a level of sternness, but his tone had an underlying kindness to it that he hoped his squire had come to be able to construe. It was his duty to give orders, but it was not his duty to enjoy doing so.

"At once, Your Grace." The squire took his command and exited the tent.

When his sister arrived back, Olyvar behind her, he rose from his seat and welcomed her with a smile, something that had been a rarity since the war began. Although it had felt like an incredibly long time since she had left to travel to the capital with their father, it still surprised him how much she had grown in that time. She'd been a little child when she had left, and she was almost a woman grown now, and carried a hardness to her that she'd seemed to pick up on the road.

"Sister," he began, still standing. "The night you came back to The Twins, what you told me about you being in attendance for Tywin Lannisters war councils.... I think we can use your knowledge of him to our advantage in the battle to come."

The rest of those on his war council would not take kindly to receiving advice from a girl, but her knowledge of Tywin Lannister and King's Landing outweighed their own, and she was his sister, as fierce a person as he'd ever known. He knew that she would be able to handle the pressure.

"You've lived in the capital, none of my bannermen can say that. You've heard Tywin address his men, plan his battle strategies... None of them can say that either."

[robbstarkwriting]

The Northern War Council

Robb never lived long enough to see anything but war in his reign and he never got to rule the north from within the north, but if he had managed to survive the war and return home one day, he'd have needed a council to help things run smoothly, especially in the aftermath of the Greyjoy invasion. Shortly before he dies (in the books) we see him beginning to plan for the future, pointing out how important it is for him to find an heir following the marriage between Sansa and Tyrion (he believes Bran and Rickon to be dead, so if Robb dies the north would go to Sansa and therefore Tyrion/the Lannisters). Eventually, he names Jon his heir, much to Catelyn's dismay (I believe this parchment which is in the Neck somewhere will be what leads to Jon being named King in the North in the books, and not how he was chosen in the show). Also, while being the King in the North, Robb's full title was actually the King in the North and of the Trident, due to the riverlords also proclaiming him as their king. Robb's power runs from the north and through the Riverlands. The north operate very differently from the south, and I don't think Robb would have any interest in having a master of whisperers, for example. But I do believe that the below roles would be essential, and in my head those listed are who he would have chosen. Hand of the King - The Blackfish. The Blackfish was pivotal to Robb's success in the books, he played a major role within Robb's arc (again, unlike the show). He's an experienced knight with a credible reputation in Westeros, a friend of Robb's father, and has nothing to inherit at Riverrun while Edmure lives and has an heir (which would be the case if Robb's war had been a success). Master of War - Roose Bolton. This was an incredibly tough choice between Roose and the Greatjon, who both oversaw many key marches for the north during the war (until Roose became a traitor). However, Roose was given command of the second portion of Robb's army at the beginning of the war (those who distracted Tywin so that Robb could free Riverrun and capture Jaime at the Whispering Wood), and went on to capture Harrenhal in Robb's name also. In this headcanon, of course, Roose doesn't become a traitor. Lord of the Southern Marches - Black Walder. This was a role given to The Blackfish during the war, but with him now as Hand he'd be occupied in the north and a presence would still be needed to oversee any conflict south of Moat Cailin. Obviously, Edmure holds the real command here as Lord of Riverrun, but I think Robb would continue with this title and give it to the Freys just to keep them happy. Black Walder is a capable soldier and he's fourth in the line of succession for The Twins, meaning he's unlikely to inherit a further title. Master of Ships - Jason Mallister. The north hasn't had a presence at sea for centuries, and I believe that this is something that Robb would want to correct upon returning home, having seen how pivotal a fleet could have been to him during the war (this was the entire reason he sent Theon home, to negotiate with Balon and secure the iron fleet). Robb would have tossed the ironborn back out of the north easily enough, just like Roose and Ramsay did, but to exact revenge and attack the Iron Islands he'd need a competent fleet. Jason Mallister is the Lord of Seaguard, and the one Robb entrusts with any sea-based tasks during the war. The Manderlys also man White Harbour and would be proficient at ship-work and the likely source of building the fleet, while Mallister is the Master of Ships I think Robb would also have one of Wyman Manderlys sons overseeing a lot of responsibility within the northern halve of his kingdom in this role and eventually succeeding Mallister (he's pretty old). Master of Coin - Wyman Manderly. This one is right there in the text of A Clash of Kings. ""King Robb needs his own coinage as well" he declared, "and White Harbour is the place to mint it." He offered to take charge of the matter, as it please the king, and went from that to speak on how he had strengthened the ports defences, detailing the cost of every improvement." Grandmaester - None. Whoever the Maester at Winterfell was would just remain as the regular Maester. After Maester Luwin's death, in the show I think it's eventually the Bolton/Dreadfort Maester that fulfils the vacant role, but obviously Roose is alive and not a treasonous bastard in this headcanon so it's a role that would still need filling. Master of Whispers - None. Not a role Robb or any Stark would see a need for, in my opinion. Master of Laws - Edmure Tully. Another loose title. Robb would of course oversee his own laws within the north just like his father did, but I think he'd be happy to see Edmure rule the Riverlands as he saw fit. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard - None. Robb would not have a kingsguard, I believe he would have 'personal guards' as he did during the war, but no kingsguard. Captain of the Guards - Hallis Mollen. This is a role that has existed within Winterfell for many years and is currently occupied by Hallis Mollen in the books, so it'd stay that way. The Companions - Robb's battle guard, aka personal guards. He keeps up to 30 during battle, but I believe he'd narrow this number down after the war. For some reason, I have 12 in my head, so let's go with that. They would include: Dacey Mormont. Robin Flynt. Patrek Mallister. Smalljon Umber. Olyvar Frey. Raynald Westerling. Donnel Locke.