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When Howland Reed had asked, discreetly, to have a private word with him, Robb hadn’t thought all that much about it and promised to meet the man for a walk around Moat Cailin after his men were settled. He’d said it in the vaguely distracted way he did everything nowadays, given that he was forced to do everything at once.
But Reed looks forebodingly serious when Robb finally gets away to join him, and it makes him want to turn and walk away. No more, he can’t take anything more. But he’s a Stark, and Starks do their duty, so Robb nods a greeting to the lord his father trusts more than any other. At least he has that assurance.
“My lord,” Reed nods back in return. “Let us walk.” And Robb notices that none of Reed’s men move to follow, so he waves his own off and lets Howland Reed lead him and Grey Wind into the marshes.
“My lord, I fought with your father during Robert’s Rebellion.”
Robb frowns. Northmen never mince their words, so why state such and obvious fact, if not to begin a petition of some kind or another? Or another challenge to a green boy. “Indeed. Whenever my father speaks of the end of the war, he speaks of your brave loyalty and trustworthiness,” he hedges, wary.
Reed scowls. “I thank him for that, but I do not mention it to ask for praise for doing nothing but my duty. I mention it because, during that time, your father entrusted me with a secret that I know he has told no one else, not even your lady mother.”
He stops. Father have a secret? It’s absurd, much less that Father would have a secret from the war he hasn’t told – “Jon’s mother,” he breathes.
“Yes.” Reed looks out over the marshes and sighs. “I have held the knowledge believing it is a secret only for your father to reveal, but…with things being as they are, it may be time to reveal it. Tell me, how much do you love your brother, Lord Stark?”
Robb’s whole heart is in his throat. All his life, Jon has only ever wanted two things: to be a Stark and to know his mother’s name. And Robb would do anything to give him that at least, if he can’t give him the Stark name. “Like a true brother,” he rushes out. “Please, this is the only thing Jon has ever asked father for on his own behalf. I could not forgive myself if–” If we all die in this war and the knowledge is lost.
“The knowledge could prove dangerous to him,” Reed says, staring him in the eye, pointedly. Robb meets his gaze with steady determination. “But these are already dangerous times, and the boy has went to the Wall, I’ve heard.”
“He has,” and Robb can’t keep the scowl off his face. What he’d give for Jon to be beside him now.
“Then, I believe you need to know that Jon Snow is not your brother by blood.”
Robb reels back, ready to fight on that point. Ready to tell Reed what he’s told Jon and everyone else since they discovered what being a bastard meant. “He’s as much Stark as any of the rest of us,” he begins, but Reed holds up a hand.
“He is. I am not disparaging him; I mean only that he is not truly your father’s son. He is Lyanna’s son.”
And Robb reels back for a whole different reason. “That’s – that’s impossible. She died of fever. Father said he was too late–”
“She died in the birthing bed, where your father found her, and where she made him promise to protect and care for her newborn son.”
Mind whirling, Robb imagines getting to King’s Landing only to discover Sansa dying with a babe in her arms. What would it be like, to be asked to protect the child of the monster who took your sister from you? To know how impossible that would be, when the babe is the heir to a toppled dynasty?
But he’d do it. Gods, if Sansa died giving birth to Joffrey Baratheon’s baby and made him swear to protect her son, Robb would do anything, anything to keep that vow, no matter how he loathed the spiteful little prince turned boy king. No matter what it would cost his honor. His marriage. Oh mother, how can I keep this from you?
“Jon is Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, isn’t he? That’s why father claimed him. To hide him. But he would not betray his foster-brother either, so he would not even tell Jon.”
Reed nods, and Robb wants to curse. How could he do this? How could father let Jon go off to the wall for a fat, drunken king who was cuckolded by his wife’s own brother – and was too stupid to realize it for himself? Fury swells up inside of him then, because honor would not permit father to do less than see that the true king was placed upon the throne – all the time knowing that Stannis was as false a king as Joffrey.
Why? To hide the shame of his true treason? Because he thought that putting Jon on the throne would put him in danger? Robb scoffs. Father’s actions had put them all in danger, now. And for what? In the end, one false Baratheon king was as good as another. The North would take care of itself, as it always had.
When Robb had called the banners, he saw himself as going to bring his father and sisters home, yes. But he had also believed it was a war for justice and honor. That the power of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale would restore the kingdom to rights once again.
But now that just feels like a lie. A lie and his father would risk sacrificing them all for.
Robb laughs.
He can’t help it. All of the stress of ruling Winterfell and his mother’s distress and Bran’s injury and the assassination attempt and Rickon crying and clinging and the bannermen who challenged him at every turn and –
“My lord?” Reed is looking at him with concern.
Robb feels half out of his mind, but waves off his worry anyway. “It’s just – You’d think a man hiding a secret about a bastard of his own would be more understanding about others’ secrets about their bastards. Since father refuses to put the true heir on the throne anyway.”
“He believes Robert Baratheon won it by right of conquest.”
“And yet, the legitimacy of Robert Baratheon’s claim was based on bastard Targaryen blood from the age of Aegon the Conqueror, as Jaime Lannister killed the Mad King when his father’s armies took the city, and the North gave and lost more in the war than the Stormlands did.” He shakes his head. “No, father was a fool to begrudge Lannister’s bastards for sitting on the throne their father won for them, no matter how dishonorable it is. If he doesn’t want the throne, why should the North bleed and die so a different Baratheon ass can get fat sitting upon it?”
Howland Reed gives him a hard look. “Will you disband your army, then?”
For a wild minute, Robb considers it. He loves his father, but is this not the fate he chose, loving Robert Baratheon more than Jon, more than Robb’s mother? More than quietly leaving King’s Landing after the king’s death without trying to fight the Lannisters?
But he’s still his father, no matter how angry Robb is about what he did to Jon. And Sansa and Arya are still trapped with him. And the Lannisters still sent an assassin after Bran, who already lay helpless. So no, he’ll not disband his army, be he won’t be fighting the same war he would be if he didn’t know the truth either.
--
He sends a raven to Jon, telling him to come to him immediately if he hasn’t sworn his vows yet, and to come to Howland Reed even if he has because this is about family, not the affairs of the realm. He only feels slightly guilty that it’s partially a lie. But Jon deserves to know as soon as he can, whatever he wants to do with the information.
He sends another raven demanding that his mother bring the imp to meet them at Moat Cailin rather than go to the Vale, that something’s happened that he can’t write in a letter, and she must trust the son she’s raised.
Then he sends Lord Bolton and Lord Umber to secure passage for them at the Twins. He’s heard stories about old Walder Frey, and if his men want someone to challenge, then better they expend their energies on that old sack of bones and each other than on him. But before they go, he makes it clear that they are to make no promises on his behalf and should wait for the rest of the army, once they haggle out the toll.
--
His mother is angry when she comes and he has no important news from King’s Landing or Winterfell, because he has interrupted their trial of the little monster who tried to murder her son. She’s nearly mad with the desire for vengeance, Robb thinks, and he’s glad he stopped her when he did. They need someone to trade for their family, after all. If the Imp is guilty, then he will personally see that justice is done in King’s Landing, so all will know his guilt, he tells her.
“The Lannisters will never let that happen, Robb,” his mother says in a tone she hasn’t used with him since he was a child. “Lysa’s letter–”
“Said they may have poisoned Jon Arryn. But if they did, they did it to keep the bastard children a secret. It’s a secret no longer. If they want to avoid war with the North, they will see justice done. Besides, the new king despises his mother’s younger brother.”
“He’s right,” the Imp says, from where he’s still tied to his horse and looking rather uncomfortable. Robb thinks about the plans he drew up for Bran. “As it happens, no one in my family except my brother has much love for me. And his love is much too rash to do much good, in a case like this, as we saw in that unfortunate incident involving your husband.”
Mother turns, her jaw clinched. “I’ll not allow your silver tongue to talk you out of your guilt.” She nods to the men she has with her. “Take him away.”
Robb sucks in a breath. He really didn’t want to have a power struggle with his own mother today. “Take him to my tent,” he orders. When the guards hesitate, he snaps, “Now.”
His mother looks as if she will protest, so he gives her a look that he knows, if father were here, he should never give his mother. But father is not here, and Robb is Lord of Winterfell now. “Come mother, Lord Reed would like to introduce you to his daughter and show you the accommodations I’ve had prepared for you.”
She scowls, but goes off with Reed and the girl anyway. Robb feels a bit bad, putting this off on the cranogman, when it should have been his father’s burden. But Robb’ll not hide it from her, nor can he bear to see her face should he tell her himself. Either guilt will overwhelm her, or father’s betrayal will seem more complete than ever, and if she hates Jon more for it, Robb might never forgive her.
--
His conversation with Tyrion Lannister is…surprising. It starts when Robb walks into his tent to see that the man has managed to climb into one of the makeshift chairs to look him squarely in the eye.
“I do not deny the dagger used to be mine, Lord Robb. But I swear to you, by the old gods and the new, that I did not arrange or suggest or attempt in any manner to harm your brother.”
Robb stares down at him, and his eyes seem as sincere as father’s. But then, even father had lied. “Do you also deny that your family had cause to make sure Bran never waked?”
“I do not. I do not even deny that members of my family may be responsible for trying to kill him. But it was not me; I did not know of any plot.”
Robb frowns at that. Grey Wind has followed him in though, and he seems to sense no deceit or danger from the imp either. “Then why is my mother so convinced you did?”
“All my life, I have been deemed malicious and cruel and many other things, simply for the way I was born. I did not mean to kill my mother; I wish to all the gods I had not, but my sister and father blame me for it anyway.” Tyrion’s face shadows in a way that reminds Robb uncomfortably of Jon’s. “It is easy to believe that my soul is as ugly as my body, especially when a mother is worried and grieved for her child – and mockingbirds sing such sweet songs, do they not?”
He must see the confused look on Robb’s face because he sighs and shakes his head. “Northerners, so forthright and honorable. For all it’s an admirable quality, it’s also a dangerous one. No wonder my sister has managed to imprison your father in such record time, if you are all so ignorant of the court.”
Robb whirls around. “My father is not an ignorant man, and he did not raise his sons to suffer insults. You should be careful how you speak of him in my presence.”
“I do not mean offence, especially to your or your lord father’s intelligence. But ignorance is not lack of intelligence; it’s lack of knowledge. If you have heard nothing of the people at court, then there would be no way to make heads or tails of that pit of vipers until it was too late. Robert Baratheon did your father no favors when he asked him to be Hand to the King. One man cannot make a whole realm honorable on his own. Especially when the realm insists on betraying honorable men at every opportunity.”
Robb catches his glance to the side, where the decanter is. “Might I humbly request a drink, my lord? And then, in exchange for your saving me from your aunt throwing me out the Moon Door, I’ll tell you what I know of the court and the mess you’re marching into.”
Robb eyes the imp warily. “And why would you do that?”
His mouth twists up in a wry smile. “A Lannister always pays his debts.” Robb doesn’t move, so he must realize that is not reason enough, not if he wants anything he says to sound remotely trustworthy. “And because I have a great respect for your family, and your father, despite what your mother and her sister have done and threatened to do. And because I would rather not see this horrid misunderstanding to result in a war, if it could possibly be avoided.”
Robb stands and pours him a drink. “My father holds little regard for your family. He has warned us often enough that Lannisters are untrustworthy, ruthless oathbreakers who serve only themselves.”
“And do you see the world as so black and white, young lord?”
Robb pauses. If he’d been asked that before Reed told him about Jon, he would have said yes. But now, now Robb isn’t so sure anymore. His father committing the most treasonous act imaginable – hiding the Targaryen heir – and claiming to love Robert Baratheon as a brother is not black and white at all. Jon himself is proof enough that sometimes the people you should hate by name can become people you love.
He thinks of his mother and her insistence on Family, Duty, Honor above all else. Then he thinks about these words and their stark contradiction to her willingness to execute a man Robb’s becoming increasingly convinced is innocent without a fair trial, all for a mother’s vengeance. He thinks of how she painstakingly taught them manners and kindness to the small folk, then turned around and treated Jon poorly simply because she couldn’t take her fear and heartbreak out on father.
He thinks about how he loves his parents and still thinks they’re good people despite all these things.
No, today has forced him to confront the fact that the world his not so black and white as his parents said. But he knows no other way than the one his father taught him.
“I have,” Robb hedges. “Convince me otherwise.” He hands over the glass.
Tyrion takes it in his bound hands. “If you’re willing to be convinced, then you already are, I think. Good, you may make it out of this alive yet.” He sips his wine. “But, let’s start with mockingbirds. What do you know of Lord Petyr Baelish?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, in a different world, he might have been your father.”
Robb nearly chokes on his tongue. “What?”
“He fostered at Riverrun, a great honor for an otherwise insignificant house. He holds the Fingers, and he was sickly as a child they say, so they call him Littlefinger. Or, perhaps there’s a different reason for that, if you believe the rumors,” Tyrion’s eyes sparkle mischievously before turning serious again. “Anyway, he fell in love with your mother, you see, while he was fostering, but she was betrothed to the heir of a great house.”
“Uncle Brandon.”
“Yes. And since Littlefinger could hardly fight any wars for her, like Robert Baratheon did for your aunt, he wound up fighting your uncle in a duel.” Robb blinks. How had he never heard this story? Tyrion waves a hand as he says, “I’m not sure of the details; I wasn’t there. But father had hoped to marry Jaime off to your Aunt Lysa back then, so he was very interested in what the Tullys were up to.” Yet another possibility Robb can’t quite wrap his mind around: to be related to the Kingslayer?
“Your uncle won, of course, and I’ve heard that he left Lord Baelish scarred, but again, I wouldn’t know. Then of course, Brandon Stark tragically died, and your mother married your father instead.”
He doesn’t like where this is going. “My mother is a faithful and dutiful wife; she loves my father.”
Tyrion looks surprised. “Well, yes, that was – I wasn’t questioning that. If anyone was in love with Baelish, it was your aunt, not your mother. That was one of the reasons Jaime gave father for turning down the match, anyway. But regardless, you should know this family history to understand the significance of the fact that it was Littlefinger who so conveniently identified the dagger. And it is Littlefinger who so conveniently owns the brothel I heard your father was accused of emerging from.”
“You want me to believe he falsely accused you to my mother. Intentionally? For what purpose? Because he’s still in love with her?” Robb scoffs.
“I’m not really trying to convince you to believe anything. Merely observing the facts. But I do think it’s interesting that he’s someone your mother trusts, and that his word alone is why she is so convinced of my guilt.”
Robb stands and walks to the tent flap, in need of some air. He thinks about the king, and his insistence to see Aunt Lyanna’s grave immediately, despite being married to another woman for nearly as long as Robb has been alive. Was it being denied something that made him hold onto that love? Had losing the duel meant that Littlefinger still loved his mother just as obsessively?
There’s a man out there who likely loves his mother that isn’t his father. And this whole time, Robb had had no idea. He wondered if his mother did.
But why lie to her? He turns around and asks his prisoner that.
Tyrion shrugs. “Why frame me for something I didn’t do?” He eyes Robb, assessing. “Why would you?”
Robb knows battle strategy, but this… His father taught him not to deceive, and, with that, not to look for deception. And Tyrion was right; he hasn’t been out of the North enough to know of any potential enemies his family might have besides the Lannisters. He shakes his head. “Who could want to kill Bran? He’s a child, and a cripple now. He was never the heir, so it was never about that. None but your family have a motive.”
Tyrion looks disappointed. “No, of course no one but my family has a motive. Your mother’s no fool; she wouldn’t believe so easily that I had done it, unless she thought that my family were the only ones with motive. Then, the dagger looks like more than circumstantial evidence. So, the question becomes, who has a motive to make your mother think that I sent the catspaw?”
Robb stares blankly. “If that’s true, then anyone in Westeros could have done it.”
“Indeed. So let us look at what your mother’s suspicions have achieved, and who they might have benefitted. What has happened since the attempt on your brother’s life?”
“Mother went to tell father; she already suspected your family then.”
Tyrion looks taken aback. “Why? Why would she suspect me after I designed the saddle in Winterfell?”
Robb isn’t sure he should say, so he doesn’t.
Tyrion sighs. “Well, that could prove a vital piece of information later, so be sure to keep it in mind. Now, your mother went and told your father that my family had attacked his son. Then what?”
“She took you captive on the way home, and the Kingslayer killed my father’s household guard and stabbed him in the leg.”
Tyrion flinches at the title, but nods. “And then your father likely went to the king, and my brother fled to Casterly Rock.”
“The king died, and your sister had my father arrested for treason.”
“Your mother and aunt wanted to toss me from the Eyrie, and you’ve called your banners, which means that my father and brother are now marching to meet you.”
“They’ve invaded the Riverlands. And Stannis Baratheon has sent ravens claiming that your sister’s children are your brother’s bastards. Both he and his brother have declared for the throne.”
“In other words, the realm is in chaos.” He finishes off his wine. “Now, who could benefit from that?”
Robb visualizes the armies on the map, and this feels much easier to understand and predict. “It depends on who wins, which largely depends on who fights first.”
“Well, you and my dear family are already headed toward each other, so while my father is busy in the Riverlands, Stannis and Renly will likely have it out for the Baratheon claim.”
“My father spoke well of Stannis’s ability in the war.”
“Ah yes, that famous siege. Stannis has the brains to win, but he likely won’t have the numbers; he has remarkably few allies. Renly, however, is quite close to Highgarden. It’s possible he’ll broker a deal with the Reach.”
Robb blanches a bit. “They’ll nearly destroy each other then, if they do not reach a compromise.”
Tyrion grimaces. “Very likely, yes. It’s possible that one or the other will have enough strength left to besiege King’s Landing. And what happens then will depend on how you fare against my father.” He looks out the tent flap for a long minute, before turning and studying Robb again. “You’re Ned Stark’s son, so I think you’d appreciate frankness. Have I misjudged you?”
Robb takes a moment to study him back. Whatever he has on his mind, he looks torn to say it. “I prefer truth to flattery, so please, go on.”
“I respect your family, and your father, so at the risk of betraying my family, let me give you a warning. It has been the work of my father’s life to put his grandson on the throne. He will not give it up while there’s still breath in his body, and my sister, for all her faults, would do anything to protect her children. Jaime would do anything for Cersei.” Tyrion takes a deep breath. “As of now, you are a green boy, yet untried in battle, and my father will treat you as such. He will assume that you’re the quickest threat to be dealt with and proceed accordingly. He will likely not sue for peace, especially if they have your father’s trial before you get there.”
Robb feels his body grow cold. If he’ll be too late to save his father and sisters, then…everything else feels futile.
“Think carefully about what you want, Robb Stark. Because if you prove a green boy, my father will widow all the North. If, as the son of Ned Stark and the grandson of Hoster Tully, you prove a competent adversary, he will grow impatient, knowing he cannot fight a war on two fronts, especially not alone. And then he will get rid of you in whatever deceitful, despicable way he can come up with, even if he must hire a faceless man.”
Robb draws a harsh breath. “I’ll show your father what I can do. It will be his head I take, if his bastard grandson takes my father’s.”
Tyrion smiles tightly. “I don’t doubt it. In fact, before my father resorts to ruthless schemes and Lannister gold, you might succeed in taking quite a few of my family’s heads, mine first of all. But the Rains of Castamere was written for a reason.”
The warning lingers in the air, and Robb thinks about Umber and Bolton. How many of his men lack faith in him already? How many could be bought, sooner or later? He suppresses a shiver.
“But, back to our original line of inquiry: who would benefit from the Baratheons, Tyrells, Lannisters, and Starks destroying each other?”
Robb simply waits for him to go on.
Tyrion rolls his eyes. “Anyone who’s not a Baratheon, Tyrell, Lannister, or Stark. It’s possible one or two of the four could still come out on top, of course, but the destruction of any of those houses would cripple the realm, and someone would have to step up to fill the power vacuums they leave behind.”
Robb snorts and takes a sip of his wine. “And I imagine many would be eager for that chance.” He thinks of the years his ancestors spent fighting Boltons and wonders if it would even take much gold at all for Roose to slaughter him in his sleep if he was promised the North.
“Indeed,” Tyrion drawls with a wry smile. “And I rather imagine that if a woman has suffered the tragic loss of a husband, son, and two daughters at the hands of the Lannisters, she would be quite inconsolable.”
And then it finally dawns on him. “Yet I imagine that some are rather eager to try anyway.” If that was the motive, then sending an assassin after Bran would double as a political move and a means of clearing away yet another of Ned Stark’s children.
Tyrion grins. “There’s hope for you yet.”
“So how do we avoid that outcome, Lord Tyrion?” Robb stands and pours them more wine.
“Well, first, you take me back to Casterly Rock, and we talk with my father who, as long as you’re not threatening the throne or the dignity of the Lannister name, is rather more reasonable than my sister or nephew.”
“And when he asks why I bring an army with me?”
“The king commanded the North to come swear fealty, didn’t he? So you have. Conveniently, you’re prepared to defend the crown, in return for clearing up the little misunderstanding about your father.”
So this was the famed Lannister cunning at work. “Your father, as the new Lord Hand, will agree to release mine?”
Tyrion sighs. “That’s where it gets sticky, depending on how honorable your father insists on being.”
Robb nods. He loves his father, but he knows him, too. He’ll insist on backing Stannis. And how can Robb justify calling the banners to his bannermen if he allows his father to die? How can he kneel to that miserable little brat, knowing what he knows? What if Jon wants the throne?
Robb sighs. “Well, that’s assuming he’s still alive by the time I get there.”
“Allow me to send a raven to my brother and father. You may read it, of course. But they might be more disposed to cooperation and making sure that things go…smoothly, if they hear from me first. And it might keep my brother from doing something more irreparably stupid, like sieging Riverrun.”
Robb downs his second glass of wine and nods. “That seems reasonable.” And he pulls out his dagger and cuts Tyrion’s hands free.
The man looks surprised. “You’re going to cut me free, just like that?”
Robb shrugs, his smile sharp. “If you ran, Grey Wind would tear out your throat before you made it three paces.”
--
Meeting Jaime Lannister is even more irritating the second time around, knowing that he probably had something to do with Bran falling and certainly had something to do with father being wounded. He’s fucked his own sister, for seven’s sake.
And yet, when the man kneels to hug his little brother, Robb can’t help but think of Rickon, who clung to his leg for weeks before he left and refused to sleep without him in the room. Robb had spent whole nights promising his baby brother that he’d never let anything bad happen to him just to get him to sleep. He sees the same promises reflected in Jaime Lannister’s eyes when he pulls back to check Tyrion for injuries.
“Father has asked me to escort you and the forces you were so kind to bring with you. Wouldn’t want you getting lost, now, would we?” he smirks as he stands and turns to Robb.
That, at least, means that Tywin had accepted Tyrion’s brief and cryptic explanation and went to secure his grandson’s small council already. Hopefully, that bodes well for father. Tywin Lannister at least would understand the importance of making sure that Ned Stark wasn’t executed.
Still, the smarmy comment is just the beginning of Jaime Lannister’s insufferable wit. Neither Tyrion nor the Kingslayer shut up the whole way to King’s Landing, and Robb decides that sarcasm is a more obvious Lannister trademark than cunning. More tiresome too.
--
Robb receives the raven at the Twins, where Jaime Lannister snarks at Walder Frey for five minutes with twice as many veiled threats, securing their use of the bridge for a hundred gold dragons. Frey had initially wanted Robb to marry one of his daughters and wouldn’t budge for either Umber or Bolton. The Kingslayer, however, laughed in the old man’s face when he heard and suggested Frey send his daughters off to be septas, if he was having such trouble feeding them.
He’d also implied that the crown already had a more suitable bride in mind for Robb Stark, heir to the North, and if Walder Frey wanted to continue his obstinacy and defiance of his liege lord, instead of paying to cross, the Lannister army camped on the other side would help pull the Twins down around the old man’s ears. Frey had been indignant, but he no longer had Robb backed into the corner he would have if Robb had been at war.
He never thought he’d be grateful to the Kingslayer for something, but here he is.
Despite his obvious anger, Frey dutifully hands Robb the raven that has clearly been forwarded from Moat Cailin. Robb opens it in his tent that night with shaky hands, knowing that this will be what determines his future. But it only says:
Brother,
I have sworn my vows, or I would come to fight beside you as a Stark. Now I know my mother’s name, I wish only to be a true Stark and your brother. But since I cannot be by your side, I will defend the North from what lies beyond the Wall while you defend it from what lies in the South.
Bring our father home.
Jon Snow
Of course that’s what Jon would say. He’s too good for this world, the fool. Gods, how Robb misses him.
Robb stares down at his letter and is glad no one is there to see him cry.
--
His mother was livid with him and his father and Howland Reed when she was first told. But Robb saw relief in her eyes too. After so many years of thinking father betrayed her, it must be some comfort to know he did not – at least in the way she’d thought.
She agreed to go back to Winterfell after seeing her dying father one last time. And it is there, with Hoster Tully present and thankfully still in possession of his mind, though physically weak, that he tells her his suspicions about Peytr Baelish.
Lurching back in her seat, she protests profusely, but his grandfather says, in the soft gasp of a dying man, “There’s a reason Brandon Stark dueled him, Cat. And you know it. He’s always been too clever. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one to suggest Brandon ride off to King’s Landing with only his father and no thought to the consequences. Likely he expected both Brandon and Ned to die in the war, and he probably didn’t expect me to have you marry Ned before he rode off. Much less Robb here.”
“But the Lannisters–”
“Are not all Tywin. His father was a good man. A weak lord, but a good man.”
“His son betrayed the king he swore to protect!”
“Father did the same,” Robb says quietly, thinking both of the North’s role in the rebellion and the secret his father had kept from his best friend.
“You don’t have to like or trust the Lannisters, Cat. But don’t let your prejudices make you blind to the betrayal of others. Lions have claws, but everyone knows it. The songbird that is secretly a snake is much more dangerous.”
His mother cries bitterly, and Robb isn’t sure how he feels about that.
If he sees Baelish in King’s Landing, he imagines he’ll also be challenging him to a duel. And he doubts he’ll show the mercy his uncle did. Thankfully, his mother doesn’t ask him to.
--
Robb has to bite his tongue in the throne room, where Joffrey simpers and sneers. It’s clear that Tywin Lannister is the only person restraining him from outright madness, and Robb knows that somehow he has to get Sansa out of here and back home without causing insult. But for now, he kneels and says what he must say to be allowed to see his father.
His father, who doesn’t appreciate that he has not declared the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale for Stannis.
“Aunt Lysa would send no support from the Vale when I asked for it. All she seemed interested in was throwing innocent men out of the moon door.” His father looks a bit taken aback by that, and Robb lifts his chin in vindication.
“But Jon Arryn–”
“She was apparently not convinced enough or didn’t care enough to seek vengeance. Which is just as well. There’s no sense in the North bleeding in a war based on a lie when winter is coming.”
“A lie! Robb, Cersi Lannister admitted–”
“You know as well as I where the true king is, if we suddenly wish to care about honor, blood, and birthright.” His father flinches in surprise. “Jon sends his regards, by the way. Thanked me for telling him his mother’s name and requested I bring you home, and that’s what I shall do. The North will help fight whichever Baratheon brother is left standing after they fight each other, and in return we will take Sansa and Arya and go home to prepare the North for winter.”
“Renly and Stannis are fighting?”
“Yes, neither of them can agree on who should sit on the throne, despite sharing blood. It seems they do not truly care for birthright and honor either.”
Ned shakes his head. “Robb, you cannot mean to back the Lannisters. They–”
“I can, and I will, because someone meant to tear this realm apart and claim what was left of the wreckage. At the same time, it seems that they were particularly interested in killing Starks. And I will not let our family or the North be destroyed over a chair no one above the neck much cares for in the first place. If that means lying about the succession again, then so be it. I will do whatever is necessary to see our family and our people safe. Let the Lannisters protect the iron throne from the schemers if they can. They seem good at it. But that has nothing to do with us.”
“Honor demands we back Stannis, Robb. I will not let the North fail in its duty.”
Robb sighs. “You let the North fail in its honor-bound duty sixteen years ago to protect our people and our family. This is no different. If you continue to press Stannis’ claim, you’ll doom us all: you, me, Sansa, Arya, mother, Bran, and even Rickon. If he thought we challenged the throne, Tywin Lannister wouldn’t rest until all the Starks are gone or under his thumb. And the northern lords’ll not follow Stannis. They care not who sits on the throne in the south, but they won’t die for his strange religion. If you press them, they’ll try to succeed. Be reasonable, father. Protect the realm and your blood. Go to the Wall, if you can’t bear being Warden of the North under this king. It would grieve me and mother and the rest of us, but at least we would all live.”
His father stares at him, speechless. “What’s happened to you, Robb?”
“I learned the man I thought the most honorable in the seven kingdoms has lied to us all, a lie that hurt people I love, rather than go to war with his best friend,” Robb snaps. “I learned that life is not so black and white has I had thought. And I realized that that man was right: family is more important than honor and kings. One false Baratheon king is as good as another.”
“Joffrey is cruel. He’ll be a cruel king.”
“Cruelty should disqualify someone from being king, but we both know it doesn’t, father. Let’s not lie to ourselves and pretend it does.”
“Your sister can’t marry him, no matter what she thinks now, she’ll regret it.”
Robb nods. “She won’t. We’ll all go back home together. I swear it.”
--
Sansa, thankfully, saw enough of Joffrey’s true character during their father’s imprisonment that she agrees to break the betrothal without protest. The king, however, protests greatly. Thankfully for Robb, that is Tywin Lannister’s problem, which the Great Lion solves by letting the Tyrells back into the fold after Renly’s murder and offering Joffrey Lady Margery, who more artfully strokes his ego than Sansa and whom he prefers anyway.
But, to ensure that the North remains true to the Lannister-Baratheon line, Tywin insists that Robb marry the princess. It seems that Jaime Lannister did not, in fact, lie to Lord Frey. The dowager queen protests this match, and certainly Myrcella is young, a year younger than Sansa. But, nevertheless, she will also be traveling back with them to be wed as soon as she bleeds, which makes Robb a bit nauseous if he thinks about it too hard.
Still, she’s pretty and saner than her brother, and Sansa says she’s naïve but kind. So Robb takes walks with her around the gardens and tries to make polite conversation. Unfortunately, northerners are generally more direct and – well, he’s never had to try to charm a girl before, much less a young lady.
They suffer through three awkward afternoons of inane comments on the flowers before she asks him if he would accompany her to the godswood, as she would like to learn more about the northern gods. To his surprise, Oakheart stops just at the entrance to the godswood, so they are still within his line of sight, but out of earshot if they speak quietly. There’s no weir tree though, and when the princess kneels down in front of where it should be, it’s clear that she doesn’t actually need him to explain anything.
But her pointed look has him kneeling beside her anyway.
“You wanted to ask me something, Princess?” he asks with a grin, looking straight ahead.
“There are very few places here without listening ears. No place is entirely safe, but few come into the godswood, and Ser Arys will keep watch. I…wish to speak frankly.”
Robb can’t help glancing over at her. For all her youth, she looks quite resolute. “And what did you wish to say to me, your highness?”
She turns her head to meet his eyes. “I am young, and…have been…sheltered. From much, I know. But even I cannot help but hear things in this place. I know that your father wished to support my uncle Stannis. And I know why.”
Of all the things he expected, it was not for the little princess to force the one conversation he had hoped to never have with her. “My father made an error in judgement, your highness. Please, think no more of it.”
She scowls at him. “Everyone else lies to me; I had hoped you’d be honest.”
He’s taken aback by that. “My apologies, Princess Myrcella. Ask me an honest question, and I will give you as honest an answer as I can.”
After studying him a minute, she seems to trust him enough to ask: “We both know your father was not mistaken in his reasoning. His politics, perhaps, but not – not his motivations. And we both know that you only agreed to this betrothal to wrest your sister free from Joffrey’s clutches.”
Robb swallows.
“It was a noble and honorable sacrifice, and I admire you for it. But I– I…” she sucks in a breath. “I wish to know if it’s a sacrifice you are truly prepared to live with, the truth being what it is.”
Can you really wed and bed the bastard product of incest? It floats in the air between them.
Robb takes a fortifying breath and studies the dead stump of the heart tree in front of him. He’s been trying not to think about it, but she’s right. He can’t not. They both know the truth, and, thanks to his father’s raven to Stannis and Stannis’ ravens to the whole realm, so will everyone else, even if they never acknowledge it.
The truth is, he can’t imagine desiring to bed her, but he’s unsure if that’s because of who her father truly is, her age, the fact he hardly knows her, or because she’s a Lannister. Likely, it’s a combination. So one day when he knows her better, when she’s older, can he forgive her for being a Lannister? For being an abomination?
Like everything else recently, it makes him think of Jon and his parentage. Being the son of a Targaryen, who forced himself on an innocent young woman, doesn’t change the fact that Jon is one of the most honorable, loyal, unselfish, caring people he’s ever known. And wasn’t Jon’s father the product of incest – incest that dated back centuries? Knowing that didn’t make Robb’s skin crawl the way it did when he thought of Myrcella Baratheon being the natural daughter of the Kingslayer.
So maybe one day, if Sansa was right about the princess’s kindness (although she had already been proven wrong about her naivety), then he could begin to love her. And wasn’t the princess already showing honor by acknowledging the truth to him? If Myrcella was kind, smart, and trustworthy like Jon, well…he thinks he can eventually come to see her for herself rather than her parents. She would be a beauty one day.
He turns and meets her eyes again. “I am.”
She breaths a sigh of relief, and hope shines in her eyes for a moment. But the next she is serious again. “I have also heard what Uncle Tyrion suspects.”
Robb blinks. “He told you?”
The princess gives him a wry grin. “It’s surprising how often people forget a girl is present when she’s quiet. Just ask Sansa.” She looks at him pointedly again. “Mockingbirds are hardly my favorite, but we do hear them often here, of late.”
After Tyrion’s little lesson, he thinks he understands the gist of what she means. “Oh?”
“Yes. My mother is rather fond of them. She thinks she can teach them to sing her favorite tunes, so she finds them entertaining and useful.”
He frowns. What use could the queen mother have for Baelish? “That seems an odd pastime for the Queen Regent.”
“I suspect she looks for something to console her, given her grief over my upcoming departure. I’m sad to say that she does not rejoice in our betrothal and travel to the North as I do. I imagine she would keep me here with her forever if she could. But such is a mother’s love.” Her eyes plead for him to understand.
Dread washes over him. If Cersei Lannister is conspiring with Baelish to keep her daughter here, that can only mean his death is somehow involved. And, if Tyrion’s right, war between their families. “Hmm…what does your grandfather think of her pastime?”
Myrcella smiles her approval. Apparently he’s getting better at fumbling his way through this coded, courtly language. “I doubt he knows. He has little time for the whims of women, m’lord.”
So he probably should bring this to his attention. Right? But then, he has no real proof. And no real motive. “And what do you think, m’lady?”
The princess’s eyes dart around the woods again. “I think you must be especially vigilant in battle, m’lord. I know you must lead your men, but…I would have my Uncle Jaime fight beside you if I could.”
She trusts the Kingslayer? Well, but the man is her father. Still, that hardly means Jaime Lannister wants to see Myrcella go north anymore than his twin does. Robb raises an eyebrow. “He does not begrudge me for taking you away?”
“No more than Ser Barristan will, I imagine. I know my uncle cares for me, but we have never been close; his duties protecting my father and mother kept him busy.” She sounds both regretful and the slightest bit wistful, which surprises him. “But,” she lowers her voice, “he would not commit murder unless my life were in danger. And for all the use he makes of his sharp tongue, he’d much rather me go north than south to Dorne.”
Yes, Robb rather imagines he would. Odd that Cersei hadn’t considered that. Did she really think Myrcella would be in danger at Winterfell, or did she simply not want her daughter to leave her at all, ever? He ponders this a moment.
“I will keep my most trusted men close,” he says finally, “and of course I will consult your uncle about battle plans.”
“Good,” she nods. “That is good.” Then she looks down and turns scarlet. “There is – something else you should know, I think.” He waits patiently, but she’s quiet for a long moment. She licks her lips before clenching her fists and squeezing her eyes shut. “I bled this morning.”
The words are rushed, so it takes him a second to understand what she’s said. The moment he does, he finds his own fist clenching and his stomach knotting. It’s supposed to be too early for that. She’s hardly fourteen – gods know she’s not grown enough to bear a child. The very thought of getting a child on her now makes him want to vomit.
Damn, he’d hoped they would have a year or two to grow up, at least – the both of them.
Suddenly Robb’s aware of how much his knees hurt, and he lurches to his feet. He can’t bear to kneel any longer. As soon as he’s standing, he can’t help pacing too. Myrcella doesn’t say anything, but he glances down at her and realizes he’s making her nervous, so he collapses on the bench behind her and rubs his hand over his face.
“I’m sorry,” she says, voice small.
Robb’s head snaps up. “No, no I – You shouldn’t be sorry. It’s just…my sister’s a year older than you, and I think she’s too young for – to be married. I’m still too young for–”
She’s raised an eyebrow. “For what, exactly, my lord?”
He sucks in a breath and looks her in the eye. She wanted honesty. “For children, princess.”
Her blush creeps down her neck and slips below the collar of her gown in a way that makes Robb’s ears burn. “Oh.” She clears her throat daintily. “Well. I…I do not know what to say to that. But I fear it matters little what we may think. It would have been impossible to hide such a thing, so I did not try. By now, I’m sure the maids have informed those they spy for, and I imagine half of the Red Keep knows.”
He curses under his breath. No hiding it then. No putting it off either.
“This – this may be for the best.” At his confused look, she looks down at her hands and explains. “If we are already married before the battle takes place, then killing you would no longer be a neat solution. I would still be taken north in case…” In case I would already carry your child.
The thought makes his stomach flip at the same time something twists in his chest. He tries not to think about his father, riding off to war and leaving his mother with a babe. The thought that he could do the same to Myrcella makes him equally heartbroken, nauseous, hopeful, and proud. He imagines her just the slightest bit more grown up and filled out, standing on the battlements of Winterfell as he rides out with his men to a sure victory, hand covering a secret hope. He sees her, round with his child, standing in the courtyard to welcome him home, and desire begins to knot his stomach. If they were just a couple years older…
He bites his tongue to refocus.
“I hardly think someone prepared to arrange an accident would be above slipping you moon tea or speeding up their plans,” he says with a bitter smile. “But…if something would happen, it would be a comfort to know that you could seek safety in the North with my family for as long as you wished. Regardless of…what had passed between us.”
Her brows furrow. “What – what do you mean, my lord?”
He looks around the godswood, but sees only Oakheart’s stolid back. Reaching out a hand to help her to her feet, he pulls her up to sit on the bench before him and lowers his voice even further. “I mean that you are quite young, and I would rather wait a year or two to have an heir than for something to happen to my wife. I will take you to the sept and the godswood both and swear whatever vows are asked of me, and I will honor them. But I – I will not ask anything more of you until…”
“Until?”
“Until you’re older. Until it’s safer.”
She frowns thoughtfully. “But how? They’ll know if the marriage is not… And I refuse to give them the opportunity to discover that the marriage can be annulled and decide that it is more beneficial to marry me off to someone else since you do not want me.”
He strokes his thumb over the back of her soft hand. “Do you trust me?”
Holding his gaze despite her blush, Myrcella considers him a moment before whispering, “I – I think so.”
“Then I promise you that I will ensure they believe us when we say the marriage has been consummated. As long as neither of us betray the secret, they will be unable to dispute it.”
“But – what if they think I’m barren, if I give you no child within two years? Your family and bannermen will urge you to set me aside.”
“And I will know the truth and refuse to do so. Besides, as long as my father and two brothers live, I doubt anyone will be concerned over the future of the North for several years, especially given our youth and the fact that I will, at least, be married.”
She thinks this over another minute before looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “You truly wish to do this? Forgo your rights just to save me the possibility of death and suffering?”
“Myrcella,” he says with the same affectionate scolding tone he uses with Arya. “You will be my wife. I wish to build a life with you, to show you I can be trusted to care for and protect you just as you have demonstrated your integrity and loyalty to me today.”
“I will be, I swear it. I will always be loyal to you, my lord, above any other.” A wind blows through the godswood, and Robb raises her hand to his lips for a solemn kiss. This, he thinks, is the moment that they are joined together in the sight of the gods.
--
They still must be bound together in the sight of men, though, so after escorting the princess back to her chambers, he goes to find his father, who has been moved to a more appropriate and comfortable suit. Technically, his father is free to leave, but he tends to stay in his rooms anyway. He can’t appear to be consorting with anyone of course, but Robb knows his father’s self-isolation is also partly a protest of Robb’s deal with the Lannisters. As evidenced by his frown when Robb tells him he must insist on having the wedding before the battle.
“Son, the princess is young, and so are you. She has not even flowered yet. Surely you can wait until–”
Robb clears his throat. “She flowered this morning.” He can’t quite meet his father’s eyes.
“And how do you know this already?” He’s never heard Ned Stark sound quite so indignant before.
“It’s the Red Keep. Half the castle knew by noon.” And because – dammit – he can’t lie to his father, he confesses, “And she told me.” Grey Wind has sensed his agitation and come over to lick his hand. Grateful, Robb slips down against the wall and pets him.
“She…told you?!”
“She did. After she indicated that there may be…plots to kill me so that the marriage doesn’t happen.”
For a second, his father looks a bit like Robb smacked him in the head with a staff. Then he’s indignant again. “Whatever the Lannisters have told you, Stannis would never–”
“Not Stannis. She suspects a plot to ensure I’m slain in battle. The best way to thwart such plans would be for us to marry beforehand. Then, even if I am slain, you will have the authority you need to take her north and get her out of this den of vipers when you leave. And that way Tywin Lannister couldn’t send her off to Dorne and insist Arya marry Tommen.”
His father sits down and considers a moment. When he looks up, his usual placid stare has returned. “I do not like this. We must uncover more about this – We must–”
Robb shakes his head. “Tyrion Lannister is already looking into Lord Baelish, and he’s far cleverer at playing the game than we are.”
Starting, his father frowns. “You suspect Baelish is behind this? Well, he did betray me; I suppose it’s possible. But murder? He is your mother’s friend, Robb.”
Robb gives a wry smile. “I’m sure there’s someone else too – someone he could blame if the plot were discovered – but wouldn’t you be tempted to kill the son of the man who stole the woman you love, especially if you thought it’d get you closer to eventually winning her back?”
“Still? After all this time? I knew Brandon had dueled him, but this – it’s obsession!”
“What would King Robert have done if Aunt Lyanna had lived and married another?”
Rubbing his face, his father sighs. “I see. Well that explains his betrayal. Before you made peace with the Lannisters, my options were execution and the Black. Either one would have effectively made your mother a widow.”
“Say the word, and I’ll duel him,” Robb offers.
“No, son,” he says, but his smile is a little sad, a little proud. “I am still your mother’s husband. My leg will heal, and I will finish what Brandon started. You have done more than enough, brokering peace as you have. I know I haven’t – I do understand why you’ve done as you have. And you were right. You made a much wiser, much more honorable decision than I, protecting your family and the stability of the realm.”
Robb finds himself blinking back tears and looks back down at Grey Wind. He clears his throat. “Thank you, father.”
“But the fact remains: The princess is quite young. Another nameday before you marry would likely make things…easier, for the both of you. Waiting until after things are settled and then giving her family time to plan a royal wedding would give you both more time.”
“Ideally, yes. But – Sansa’s right. Myrcella is…she’s innocent. And she took great risks telling me about the plot. I’ve heard about the horrible things Sansa experienced here as Joffrey’s fiancée after your imprisonment. I don’t – She is an innocent, and I wish to protect her. The only way I can do that, alive or dead, is by marrying her now.” His face burns, but he forces himself to meet his father’s eyes anyway. “I won’t hurt her; I swear it. I swore it to her in the godswood.”
His father raises his eyebrows, but nods. “Well then, son, I will see Tywin Lannister about it.” He stops just before he gets to the door and places his hand on Robb’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, and the man you’ve become.”
And then he’s gone, but the knot of frustration and anxiety that’s been in Robb’s stomach since he first got the raven finally starts to uncurl.