HOWLING ━ Robb Stark

TWENTY FIVE

Freya currently stood beside her husband, looking down at the map he set forth on the table. Ser Alton Lannister, who had returned after giving the crown their peace terms, stood in front of them and clasped his hands for them to see. Their Northern lords surrounded him at all sides. Robb lifted his head at the sight of Ser Alton, asking, "And what did she say?"

"She ... admired your spirit, Your Grace." Alton answered.

Freya's eyes met the Lannister's. She cocked her head to the side. "And what then?"

Alton swallowed hard. "She – uh ..."

"If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, Ser Alton," Robb continued, "then we'd all hang."

"She tore the paper in half, Your Grace." Alton finally responded.

Freya rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "As expected."

"You've acted with honor. I thank you for it." He nodded his head towards the Lannister. "Lord Karstark, see that Ser Alton's pen is clean, and give him a hot supper."

"Ser Alton's pen is occupied, Your Grace." Lord Karstark replied.

Freya laid a hand on Robb's shoulders. "The number of our prisoners is growing. We don't have enough room to case them."

"It's the prisoners from the Yellow Fork," Karstark corrected.

Lord Bolton clapped his hands together. "Too many prisoners."

"There must be room for Ser Alton," Freya tried to persuade.

Lord Karstark lofted a brow. "Does he need to lie down, Your Grace?"

"Have the men build him a new pen. Put him in with the Kingslayer for now." Robb ordered, nodding his head towards Lord Karstark's son. "Have your boy watch over them, Torrhen."

Torrhen marched forward, grabbing Ser Alton's shoulder as Robb muttered, "That will be all."

The lords dispersed from the tent, all except for Lord Bolton, who stood idly. Freya looked at Robb, wishing to speak with him, but realized Roose was still there. "May I have a moment with my ... husband, my Lord." She said politely, and the lord soon left.

She turned back to Robb, a stern expression on her face. "We need to remove some prisoners."

"Then what do you suppose we do?" Robb asked, closing his map. "Kill them? They're prisoners of war for a reason, Freya."

"They're no use to us alive. They have no value. While we carry all these prisoners on our journey, the Lannisters still have your sisters in King's Landing. The men we've taken mean nothing to them," she rationalized. "We give the prisoners a swift death. They had only fought for the wrong side."

Robb shook his head. "I'd rather not."

"We cannot keep dragging more prisoners during this war." She hesitated, and slowly inched her hand on top of his. "The only thing that matters in this war is us and our banner men. We take what is ours."

Robb nodded, but didn't have a moment to reply, because a voice had distracted them both. "Your Graces," Talisa called, causing Freya to instantly retract her hand from Robb's. "A minute of your time?"

The two nodded slowly. Talisa approached, in all her battered and bloodied clothes. She rubbed the dirt from her hands with a cloth and tried to push away her bangs with her free hand. Freya did admire her bravery, and also her lovely skin.

"I've been treating your wounded men," she started.

"And our enemies," Robb said, "as some of my banner men are fond of mentioning."

Talisa narrowed her eyes. "They're not my enemies."

"That's what I tell my banner men."

Freya stared at them both, feeling the odd tension in the tent. An intensive fire grew in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn't pin-point exactly what it was. Whatever it was, it became dreadfully annoying.

"I've already run through the supplies I brought with me." Talisa muttered, looking down at her list. "Some are easily replaced – egg yolks, turpentine, oil of roses."

Robb nodded. "But some are not."

"I need silk for stitching. I need fennel root for those with fever; willow bark. Mostly, I need milk of the poppy. You saw what it was like to amputate a foot without any." She looked down at her shoes. "I assume there will be more loss of limb before this war is over."

Robb had abandoned his spot next to Freya, and was instead stalking to stand near Talisa. She raised a brow, laying a hand on his table. "Lady Talisa," she called, "if you need help finding these –"

"I know where to find them," Talisa added, but then covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't interrupt you, Your Grace."

Robb stared at her with a smile. "Continue, my Lady."

Freya's jaw set.

"You're riding to the Crag to negotiate a surrender?" She asked, to which Robb nodded. "The Crag will have a Maester and he will have what I need."

"I expect he will."

Talisa paused. "If I could write a list –"

"Come with me to the Crag."

Freya's eyes went wide. "Excuse me –"

Talisa shook her head. "I don't think that will be –"

"Let the Maester show you his stores." Robb suggested for her. "I wanted the wounded men to be treated well. All the wounded men."

Talisa nodded hesitantly, looking between the husband and wife before departing. She pushed strands of hair behind her ear as she left, and Freya hit her fist on Robb's table. He turned with a jolt. "What?" He asked, as if everything was fine.

Freya looked at him, dumbfounded. "When were you going to tell me that you were going to the Crag to negotiate with House Westerling?"

"Now," Robb replied quickly.

"And you're just going to go without me?"

Robb adjusted his cloak on his shoulders. "I want you to keep control over the army when I'm gone, and to make sure nothing happens to the prisoners." He made his way out of the tent then. "That's final."