Northern lights

17. Loving

Putting on a pretty dress for what might as well be the last time in Winterfell, I've found myself gnawing on the inside of my lower lip nervously. I've gotten what I wished for, but leaving the north didn't feel right. I could sense the darkness looming, something wicked coming on both ends, yet I found the northern enemies comforting, lesser of two evils.

"Are you ready?" I smile at Grey Wind, ruffling his fur with my right hand as we move side by side and out the door. For some reason, the direwolf had grown quite attached to me, but I can't say I'm not enjoying his company. Grey Wind feels like security, a reassuring warmth of protection and care. He feels like Robb and Robb feels like love.

Entering the Grand Hall, I'm met with a loud group of older men, all convinced they know the best. They believe their time on this earth had given them a cheat sheet on life. It hasn't.

"For 30 years I've been making corpses out of men, boy. I'm the man you want leading the Vanguard." Lord Umber slams his drink on the table, aggressively trying to bend Robb's will to his own.

I pause, listening to Robb's reply as I know we've discussed who should be leading the troops already. I know he'll make the right decision, so I keep quiet and settle in a chair next to him.

"Galbart Glover will lead the Van." Robb's voice is stern and commanding, his body tense and face without a hint of fear. He's calm and in charge, the very air around him feels different when he speaks. I like this part of him. Many won't.

Slowly, I move my left hand to the side and graze his leg with my fingertips, right above his knee. I feel his leg jump, but his composure remains. Moving my entire hand down to clasp his knee, giving it a light squeeze under the table for reassurement, I turn my glare toward Lord Umber.

"The bloody Wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover. I will lead the Van or I will take my men and march them home." Lord Umber exclaims loudly, drops of spit falling from his mouth as he tries to put Robb on the spot and I feel my own body stiffen under the immense pressure the anger inside builds. With the anger I'm capable of feeling, I ought to be a Baratheon rather than a Tyrell. Fury is mine as well.

"You're welcome to do so, Lord Umber." Robb sets his hands on the table before him, clasped together.

"And when I am done with the Lannisters I will march back North, root you out of your Keep and hang you for an oathbreaker." No longer is his voice simply underlined with threats and future promises, but the words he speaks are direct and well within his right. Robb was raised by an honourable man - Ned Stark and I've never heard of Eddard Stark letting traitors live.

"Oathbreaker, is it?! I'll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass." Lord Umber's voice is strained with a fury of his own, his fists slamming on the table as he looks around for support.

The very moment he did so, Grey Wind jumped straight at his hand and without restrain bit down on the old man's fingers. The sickening crunch of bones breaking and the flesh being torn are drowned out by a startled, pained scream of the Lord in question and I find myself digging my nails into Robb's leg to keep myself calm enough for the men to believe I'm an ice queen worthy of the seat I'm occupying.

I force myself to watch as the blood sprung from his hand and Grey Wind moved back to Robb's side instead of mine. Lord Umber raises his hand, shy of two fingers and a shocked expression etched on his face. He closes the open wounds with a rag closest to him, bewildered for a moment.

"My Lord father taught me it was death to bare steel against your Liege Lord. But doubtless the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me." Robb states calmly, almost itching to smile as his point is loud and clear. Betray him and death is your punishment.