ALL THE KING'S HORSES ━ asoiaf

ROBB III

CONTENT WARNING: Explicit physical violence

Jory Cassel was dead at the hands of the Kingslayer. The guard who Robb Stark had trained and tilted at quintain with countless times, slain in the streets of King's Landing. A gleaming, golden sword through him. Robb shivered. He could see the face of Jaime Lannister, the man without honor, without as much as a sliver of chivalry. That smile like a blade's edge, grinning down at bloodied northern corpses, and the broken body of Eddard Stark. The young lord's fingers clenched the letter, creasing the thick paper, twisting the awful inked words.

It had been hours since the letter arrived and caused a furious debate. Orders eventually left Robb's mouth, numb and stilted. The Stark could not recall what he spoke and figured he would remember by the time the consequences arrived. It was the letter he remembered, the vile acts contained within it.

The Lannisters will answer. War may be the solution, he thought, and then, Don't be rash. But if I had followed the fury I had in the Godswood back then? His hand went to the pommel of his sheathed sword. My anger might have prevented this if I had marched. Or done anything. Patience only bought me death. All too familiar guilt washed over him and settled unpleasantly in his stomach. Robb dropped the letter to the table beside him, then tugged on his gloves.

Today was Bran's first outing beyond Winterfell's walls since his fall. Two moons' turns ago, the little Stark started riding lessons and made swift progress, a credit to his teacher. Robb had not seen much of Bran's learning, and it tore at his heart. The boy needed his family more than ever. Though Robb could be present at the lessons, Bran often reported on his progress with a wide grin. Hilena says I'm a natural! He would say, Hilena says I need to work on my control of the reins, but I'm coming along well. Hilena and Robb had not spoken since the day Jon's letter arrived. Maintaining distance was the best arrangement they could have. Robb huffed and left his chamber with Grey Wind lumbering behind him.

Most of the riding party was already ahorse in the yard, men and mounts fidgeting. Light snow was falling, gracefully melting on the surroundings. Theon Greyjoy was idly stroking the feathers of the arrows in his quiver. Bran was in his strange saddle, wearing a toothy grin. Hilena adjusted his saddle straps and looked up at the boy with a matching grin. Like the Greyjoy, she wore a quiver and longbow. Her umber hair fell in thick waves down her back, sections twisted together into braids. Robb lingered on the snowflakes upon her, catching glimpses of her freckled, adust face. He averted his eyes and strode to his large grey and white gelding at the ready, attended to by a wiry stablehand. Robb nodded at the man and mounted the steed, hands fidgeting on the reins.

"How shall we arrange ourselves, my lord?" Maester Luwin trotted up to the Stark astride a donkey. To all the boys' chagrin, the older man had asserted he joined them to ensure Bran's health.

"Bran and I will take the front, with Theon and Hilena behind us. Quent, Wayn, Lew, and Donnis will go after. Would you take up the rear, maester?" The older man nodded and slowly rode away. Robb heard the man repeat the orders, followed by the snorts of horses and stamping of hooves. Bran soon rode up beside his elder brother, beaming. A smile tugged at Robb's lips. The party proceeded to the castle's gates, the portcullis groaning as it winched upwards.

"Are you ready?" Bran nodded eagerly at his older brother's question. Robb urged his horse forward. "Let's ride then."

Bran whispered a command to the filly Dancer. The direwolves loped behind the brothers as they rode across the drawbridge and out of Winterfell. Outside the walls was the deserted market square, surrounded by the quaint winter town. Rare tendrils of smoke came from the chimneys of the small log and stone houses. The snow had left a layer of white velvet across everything, elevating the town to an illusory whimsy.