Chapter 108 105

Four days later.

Robb Stark.

Holding two letters and reading through them in turn, Robb found himself pulled in opposite directions. Unexpectedly, the first had come from Lord Tywin Lannister. It offered the peace he wanted and the return of his family. In exchange, it asked him to kneel before Joffrey and lend his strength against the enemies of the crown. There were further terms: fair division of spoils from the defeated, guarantees that no sanctions would be imposed on the North or the Trident, and no reparations demanded from either side. However one looked at it, the offer was advantageous, particularly in light of the second letter.

Stannis Baratheon, in his eternal manner, reproached him for his rash decisions, declaring that he needed every man he had and could spare none. As for his father's capture, he would "apply every effort to securing his earliest possible release from captivity," and to that end he required that everyone carry out their assigned tasks. Robb had no faith that the Old Lion would trade the Lord of Winterfell for some Lannys, Lannetts, Lantells, and whatever other lion-whelps remained, and there were precious few of those left in the Westerlands anyway. The letter also commanded, in a tone that left no room for discussion, that Robb personally surrender command to Ser Erren Florent.

Enough. That "command" was the height of impudence, and it could go straight to the seven hells. Robb cared nothing for Stannis. His family was all that mattered.

...

"My lord, I apologize for my king's sharp words." Erren Florent was courteous enough. "King Stannis has been conducting a grueling campaign and reacted to Lord Stark's capture with rather more force than the situation warranted. What matters now is that we stand together."

Erren Florent was an unremarkable man. Slightly heavyset, below average height, though muscular. He had enormous hands, a broad chest, and the famous protruding ears of House Florent. His voice was pleasant, with a faint trace of flattery in it. He understood that the king was making a mistake, but he also believed that a fifteen-year-old boy could not be trusted to handle fighting men properly and would get them all killed.

"Thank you for those kind words, Ser Florent. Please allow my men to show you to your quarters." Eyes like blue steel regarded the bewildered knight.

"But... my lord... the king's command?" the frightened knight attempted, as the crowd of northmen closed in around him and his retinue.

"The king may say whatever he likes, my father is a captive, but I am the Heir to Winterfell, and now it is for me to decide where my men march!" Robb said, his voice steady and hard. "Take them."

"What now, my lord?" the Greatjon asked pleasantly. With that single act, Robb had raised his already considerable standing in the eyes of the northern lords still further.

"Lord Bolton and Ser Manderly are to return here at once." This was the turning point. Much depended on the success of what he was planning, but for the first time Robb felt something settle inside him, a certainty that the uncertainty itself was over. "My lords, ready your men! WE GO HUNTING LIONS!"

"AYE!"

"FOR THE YOUNG WOLF!"

"DEATH TO THE LIONS!"

...

"The Kingslayer won't take the bait," said the Greatjon.

"He will. And if he doesn't, we lose nothing," Robb replied, with full conviction.

The plan was straightforward to the point of simplicity: feign a siege of Golden Toothl, the castle that commanded the passage west, show the Kingslayer their backs, and when he came to strike, wheel around and destroy him. In case Lannister managed to slip away, the armies of Roose Bolton and Wylis Manderly would seal off the route to the north. From the outside, the plan looked like madness, and it might well have been, but his dear sister Elena was a warg, and a powerful one. She could track the Kingslayer's movements and report them back. That same information would allow them to encircle and destroy the oathbreaker at a time of their choosing.

The outcry in King Stannis's camp, when word of Robb's intentions reached him, was something else entirely. The king had wanted to condemn him as a traitor, but when he realized no support would come from the northern lords, he thought better of it. In a single stroke, Stannis's camp had lost four thousand battle-hardened soldiers, and because of it the king had broken off his siege and pulled back. Contradictory rumors had since reached Robb: that in his fury the king had turned to religion and spent long hours with a pagan priestess named Melisandre. Few believed it, since Stannis had always been known for his cold pragmatism. Torrhen Karstark had suggested, with a dry grin, that the king had "immersed himself" in the priestess rather than the religion. Whatever the consequences that lay ahead, Robb had no choice but to try to save his father.

Many would have called it foolishness to rely on abilities that had recently failed. Still more would have blamed Elena for that failure. Not Robb. He understood that his sister had enough to bear, surrounded by enemies, and that despite everything she had still tried to help her family. The news of their father's capture would hit her hard, he had no doubt of that. Elena was strong, but she was a girl, his younger sister, the one who had been able to put the insufferable Theon in his place with nothing more than words.

"Lord Umber, organize the siege. Lord Karstark, patrols. Lady Mormont, the camp. Lord..." Robb issued his orders, and one by one the lords moved off to carry them out.