The camp was in mourning.
No one could console Lady Catelyn, no one could say anything that might make Robb feel better. There was hardly time for them to wallow in their grief; a decision had to be made regarding where they stood now.
The lords presented their opinions, "The proper course is clear," said Lord Jonos Bracken. "Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his."
"Renly is not the king," argued Robb.
"You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord! He put your father to death."
"That doesn't make Renly king. He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis."
"Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?" asked Lord Jonos.
"Renly is not right!" agreed Lady Maege.
"If we put ourselves behind Stannis–" argued Ser Marq Piper.
"Highgarden and Storm's End have already backed Renly, Stannis has nothing," shouted Arnal. "He's more agreeable!"
Greatjon stood, towering over them. "My lords. Here is what I say to these two kings." He spit on the floor, eliciting their laughter. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me. Nor Stannis, neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!"
More laughter; they all shared the same belief. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead." He unsheathed his sword, pointing toward Robb. "There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to. The King in the North!" Greatjon knelt in front of him, laying his sword at Robb's feet.
The young Stark rose to his feet as Lord Karstark said, "I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their Red Castle and their iron chair too! The King in the North." He, too, knelt.
Theon faced Robb, "Am I your brother, now and always?"
"Now and always," confirmed Robb.
He lowered himself beside Greatjon. "My sword is yours in victory and defeat, from this day until my last day."
"The King in the North!" yelled Greatjon again. The rest joined, Thyrsa ushered forward by her siblings so they could kneel directly behind their father, all the other men following suit until everyone had declared for Robb, the entire army chanting in unison, acknowledging their chosen king.
Though they mourned, there was hope that something new could come of this war. They'd save the Stark girls and they would never bow down to any Southerners again. Robb could be their King; he'd be a good one. They'd have their lands, their way of living, all for themselves.
It became what she fixated on, her motivation to continue through the war.
I want to go home. And I want that home to be ours, just ours.
It was good enough.
Their army was split soon after. Robb had every intention to invade the Westerlands, but didn't wish to leave the Riverlands unattended, given the Lannisters were still occupying them. He clipped a piece off of his army, placing Greatjon in charge of expelling the Lannisters from Raventree Hill and Stone Hedge to reinstall Lord Jonos Bracken and allow for House Blackwood to reclaim their castle. Aspen and Arnal followed him, while Hother and Thyrsa were left to continue onward with Robb.
Each battle made the splattering of blood feel less hot. Each person she killed elicited less of a reaction. The wounds no longer ached as much, the wine became easier to drink. The armor weighed less over her shoulders. Lady Maege was convinced she had grown stronger with each callous that was left behind on her hands.
She trained with her siblings and some of the other lords' sons whenever she had a chance. She grew accustomed to not being able to sleep full nights; whether it was a sudden need to move camps or her brother's snores, something always kept her up.
Grey Wind, Robb's direwolf, was the one who came to fetch her anytime Robb wanted to talk. He was so busy that she never knew when he'd have free time, just for the two of them. To complain and rant to one another, to speak about strategies as he prepared for each meeting and what he would present to his bannermen. The wolf liked being caressed while they spoke, often turning and showing her his belly.
They moved from camp to camp, dragging Jamie Lannister with them. At last, a raven reached them from Stannis Baratheon (who was not pleased with their desire for independence and thought them thieves) to inform them of something disturbing, concerning the Lannisters.
"'I declare upon the honor of my house,'" Thyrsa read aloud from the letter, "'That my brother Robert left no trueborn heirs. The boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jamie Lannister, the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty.'"
"Lord Stark must have known," said Hother solemnly. "It must be why that Lannister bastard killed him."
Robb clenched his jaw, voice laced with venom, "I will send one of the Lannister prisoners down to King's Landing with my peace terms. Have Ser Alton Lannister brought to my tent. I need a word with the Kingslayer."
Once he left, the men erupted into argument.
Thyrsa listened to each in pieces, the consensus the same: everyone was disgusted to know the truth about the Lannisters. She knew the children weren't to blame, but she wondered if the reason Joffrey was as cruel as everyone claimed him to be was a result of his parents' sins.
Her father believed any child born abnormal, be it through looks or behavior, was so because of something their parents had done. It was their punishment, their way to learn from their mistakes, by caring for someone who was everything they hated.
Robb came back just as the knights led the Lannister prisoner in to receive the message.
"You're Ser Alton Lannister?" confirmed Robb.
"I am, Your Grace," said the man, face dirty but his scarf still a vibrant red.
"I offer your cousins peace if they meet my terms," said the King in the North. "First, your family must release my sisters. Second, my father's bones must be returned to us so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts beneath Winterfell. And the remains of all those who died in his service must also be returned. Their families can honor them with proper funerals."
"An honorable request, Your Grace," said Ser Alton.
"Third," continued Robb, "Joffrey and the Queen Regent must renounce all claim to the dominion of the North. From this time until the end of time, we are a free and independent kingdom."
"The King in the North," the lords around the table agreed.
"Neither Joffrey nor any of his men shall set foot in our lands again," said Robb. "If he disregards this command, he shall suffer the same fate as my father, only I don't need a servant to do my beheading for me."
"These are, Your Grace– these are–"
Robb stood. "These are my terms. If the Queen Regent and her son meet them, I'll give them peace. If not, I will litter the South with Lannister dead."
"King Joffrey is a Baratheon, Your Grace."
Robb raised his brows. "Oh, is he?" Theon smirked, passing a scroll with the written terms to the knights holding the prisoner. "You'll ride at daybreak, Ser Alton. That will be all for tonight."
He announced the rest of his plans in the morning. It was likely the Lannisters would reject his terms. As such, two people were being sent out with the goal of procuring more allies. Theon Greyjoy believed he could convince his father to give them the ships they needed to take King's Landing. Lady Catelyn insisted the Greyjoys couldn't be trusted, but Robb had given Theon leave anyway.
Lady Catelyn herself was to be sent to the Stormlands to negotiate with Renly Baratheon, with the hope they could gain access to his one-hundred-thousand men. With them, they could take King's Landing, and most likely Renly would be more willing than Stannis to let them keep the North. They needed his support, even if they wouldn't acknowledge him as King. He'd recently married Margaery Tyrell, of Highgarden, and now had the full force of the Stormlands and the Reach at his back.
Knights were sent out to guard her, while the rest of them packed up their camp and advanced to Oxcross. Under the cover of night, they came upon a Lannister army that was sleeping, completely unaware of what was to come.
Robb sent Grey Wind ahead to kill the men who had the watch just before they descended over them, the mud heavy and clinging to their feet, but the advantage too good to pass up.
"I miss proper baths," said Thyrsa as she and Hother collected the swords of the fallen. "Reckon Robb might use these for his throne in Winterfell?"
"He wouldn't mimic Aegon the Conqueror," said Hother. "I would, if I was King in the North. There's too many bloody prisoners. We should use the swords to kill them. We can barely afford to feed them."
"That's what Lord Bolton said, I heard him. Robb wants them all alive."
"What do you think?"
"Honestly? I've told this to Robb: the most valuable prisoners, we keep. Those highest in the ranks could have information tortured or bought out of them. Everyone else, we ought to kill. Aspen made me consider that the Lannisters don't need an entire army to free the prisoners. A few good men sneaking around can get their bodies back and what's the first thing they'll do? Put swords in their hands."
She ripped a sword up from one of the men, quickly stabbing him in the throat to finish him off. "Not to mention we can't feed them. We can barely feed ourselves. It's too much trouble to be dragging them all along. Besides, the Lannisters have killed all those in our army. They haven't taken many prisoners– if any. Though we shouldn't kill unnecessarily, I think we risk more by keeping them alive. Starvation, resurgence of their army. All we're doing is adding to their numbers within the camp. Our camp should consist of our fighting men only, not useless mouths to feed. None of these soldiers are important enough to trade for the Stark girls. They get us closer to them but not close enough."
"Aye, about that. Father figured the lords would skin Robb alive if he traded the Kingslayer alone for those girls."
"They would. I agree with his fear. There's more to this war, we can't risk it. We give them their best fighter back for two girls? They'll keep them alive as long as Jamie is. Trading them... it's dangerous. They could kill the girls just as we arrive if they think they stand a chance of getting Jamie first. Robb is being cautious."
"Not about the prisoners, he's not."
"He didn't listen to me about that one, no. Perhaps reckons I'm thinking too much like you lot."
"Well, you are. You're growing up, little sister. You've killed at least half a hundred men by now, haven't you?"
"I don't count each kill. Do you?"
"I wanted to. Arnal and I had a bet on who would kill the most Lannisters. Planned to mark it on our backs, a cut for each kill, but it became hard to know how many there were after a while. If only swords could count."
"How many do you think that Mother killed, in all her years as a warrior?"
"Hundreds, surely. She was very efficient, highly feared. They called her Gryves, 'Bear' in High Valyrian. As dangerous as one and many thought it was her signature trait, sending people to their graves. Just imagine our parents in their prime... The Greatjon and The Gryves. They were formidable. Two mighty warriors had children who would also grow to be warriors."
"I wish Esther and Sigrid were here."
"As do I. But Esther won't do what Mother did, and Sigrid, well, despite everything she still thinks violence is unnecessary. They are warriors in their own way. They will fight for their families, not something greater. It's understandable, some people can't or won't give all of themselves to a cause so large. We all play our part. They may be home, but Sigrid's last letter claimed that all four of them, Astrid and my beautiful Tory included, have been making cloaks, harnesses, baskets, anything we might need as we continue our journey. A piece of them is here with us each time our torn saddles are repaired."
"I miss them. And Arnal and Aspen. And all the children."
"Imagine how I feel," said Hother, reaching under his shirt to hold a small pendant, bearing the Karstark sunburst. On the back were carved the letters TMT, for his wife, Tory, and sons Morsan and Torsten. "My boys, they're but a year old, they won't remember me. The day we return will practically be the day they meet me."
"We'll end this soon," said Thyrsa hopefully. "Before you miss too much."
"You are lucky, little bear. You, Aspen, Arnal. You don't truly have anyone you want to go home to."
"I want to see all the children again! I love them."
"Aye, but they're not your babes. You've no husband that's waiting up for you. It's something I hope you won't have to understand. But one day, I do hope all of you are happy with someone. Doesn't matter who it is." He nudged her in Robb's direction, the Young Wolf staring at a woman who was being driven away in a cart. "Go tend to your King."
She rolled her eyes. "You never stop insinuating the worst, do you?"
"Nor will I, it's too fun."
The girl, apparently, was a Volantene named Talisa. She'd healed one of the Lannister men by amputating his foot to prevent further infection from rot, and had been surprised that Robb was fighting to usurp the throne without a replacement in mind. Thyrsa could see he was very taken with her. The entire time they marched back to camp and for the days afterward, he watched her carefully, even longingly.
Thyrsa could see he was falling for her, and had quietly reminded him of the promise he made to Lord Frey. Robb assured her it wasn't like that, Talisa merely amused him.
It always starts with amusement. Almost all my siblings are married, I've seen how men and women look when they've grown fond of another.
Lady Catelyn noticed the same thing when she returned a week later. Thyrsa hadn't gotten to bring the conversation up with Robb again. Lady Catelyn came accompanied by Brienne of Tarth, a woman who'd served in Renly Baratheon's Kingsguard.
They both bore witness to a horrible creature, a shadow with Stannis Baratheon's face, that swept in and killed Renly in seconds. Margaery Tyrell and her brother, Ser Loras, had been taken to King's Landing. All one-hundred-thousand of Renly's men had joined forces with Stannis.
Thyrsa considered that they still needed an alliance. They couldn't hope to make the North independent on their own, and they couldn't take King's Landing without those Baratheon men. The right course of action, to her, would have been to swear fealty to Stannis, who now held the upper hand on both land and sea.
They could negotiate later. Surely something could be done to appease him. Stannis had a daughter about the same age as Bran and Rickon Stark, surely a marriage pact could convince him to let the North do things as they saw fit.
Thyrsa respected her people's desire to command themselves– she wished it could be so– but in the long run, would it not be safer to let that be a later goal than the immediate one? If they remained stubborn, chances were the opportunity to win anything at all would slip away. They could first place a just king on the throne then eventually argue for a secession.
The North had been doing just fine since Robert's Rebellion. Had been fine since the first King bent the knee. She knew it wasn't ideal but if it helped them survive, it was a price they should be willing to pay. The Starks would still be in power, the Southerners were hardly the type to come up and disturb them. The war could be over, if they let it be.
There was more news, a letter that made her think that their situation had just worsened exponentially. Raven's came from White Harbor, Barrowton, and the Dreadfort to confirm that the Ironborn had seized Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy had betrayed them. No one knew if Bran and Rickon were alive or not, but it was certain Ser Rodrik Cassel had been killed in the struggle.
Robb had thought to go north at once, but Lord Roose Bolton and Hother both advised him to stay. The war was not over, nor would it end because he went back and took his castle from the Ironborn.
Hother and Lord Bolton agreed on one thing: to go back would mean forfeiting the lands they'd already taken from the Lannisters. Lord Bolton insisted his bastard could handle it with whatever men remained at the Dreadfort. Hother could write to Smalljon, in the hopes he would rally those that were at Last Hearth to aid in their mission. Robb had rejected both proposals.
Ser Alton Lannister returned a few days later, while they were all still deciding where to go next and waiting to hear what the bastard Ramsay Snow and Smalljon would do to seize the castle from the Ironborn.
"And what did she say?" asked Robb.
"She admired your spirit, Your Grace," said Ser Alton.
"And what then?"
"She, ah..." he decided against it.
"If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, Ser Alton, we'd all hang."
He relented, "She tore the paper in half, Your Grace."
Robb accepted this. "You've acted with honor. I thank you for it. Lord Karstark, see that Ser Alton's pen is clean, and give him a hot supper."
"Ser Alton's pen is occupied, Your Grace," replied Lord Karstark. "The prisoners from the Yellow Fork."
"Too many prisoners," reiterated Roose.
"Is there room for Ser Alton?" asked Robb.
Lord Karstark snorted. "Does he need to lie down?"
Robb sighed, "Have the men build him a new pen. Put him in with the Kingslayer for now. Have your boy watch over them."
Lord Karstark nodded. "Torrhen–" His son strode forward, leading Ser Alton away.
"Your Grace?" called Talisa behind them as the men dispersed. "A minute of your time?"
It didn't escape Thyrsa's notice how Lord Bolton stared unhappily at the girl, likely thinking the same as everyone else. It was obvious that Robb and Talisa were growing close. There had been many rumors when they noticed he and Thyrsa spoke at length most nights, but it was nothing compared to the things everyone was coming up with now that Robb looked at Talisa so fondly.
"Any word from the twins?" asked Roose as he followed Hother and Thyrsa away. "Or your father?"
"Nothing yet, my lord," said Hother, side-eying Thyrsa to reveal that he and Lord Bolton had sent word anyway, despite Robb's wishes. "But I expect Smalljon will join Ramsay Snow's efforts to reclaim Winterfell. All we need is for Robb to approve it. The ravens to Winterfell have remained unanswered."
"As expected." He huffed as they passed one of the pens, filled to the brim with prisoners. "There is no need for this."
Thyrsa remained quiet, but Hother agreed, "Aye, there are too many. No one's yet managed to convince Robb that only the essential ones be kept. We'd need only two pens if that were the case. One for the Lannister officers and the other for the Kingslayer."
"What say you, girl?" asked Roose, demanding Thyrsa's answer.
"It is not my place to say, my lord," she replied carefully.
"We all know you whisper in the King's ear every night. The things we all need him to hear, but only you can get him to listen."
"He's not listened about this, my lord." She thought for a moment, "I think all the prisoners we have should be sharply questioned. Perhaps non-officers might have information about Lord Tywin's movements."
"You agree then, that they ought to be tortured?"
"May the gods forgive what must be done in times of battle." He pressed on with his gaze, and she added, "It is not ideal nor is it right but in this instance I do lean on the side of caution. Torture, questioning, killing. Lest we starve or be betrayed."
"Keep mentioning these words to the King," said Roose. "We'll ride for the Crag soon to negotiate a surrender from House Westerling. You must convince him that we cannot support these prisoners much longer. And while you are at it." He looked over his shoulder, where Robb and Talisa were still talking, "Tell him to send that woman to tend to the men in the Riverlands. If she is to serve our armies, let her serve them where he will not find himself tempted to break his word."
"With all due respect, my lord," said Hother, "I do not think it right to ask my sister to press on when he has already refused to listen. We ought not be speaking of this, her whispering in the King's ear. It could be considered treasonous."
"Everyone knows it is what she does. It's never proven a problem. But it will if the King is not advised to do the smartest thing for our men. He won't listen to me despite my experience. Perhaps he needs to hear it from someone he does not think is trying to command him."
"He's our King," said Thyrsa. "No one commands him."
"Perhaps not. But even the King that sits on the Iron Throne hears the advice of his Small Council. Robb, as of late, listens to no one but you. You are the Small Council. Since your father left, yours is the only word he heeds. Use it to your advantage. This is not treasonous. It's a solution for war. One that must be won sooner than later. If Robb cannot see reason with my words, he must see it with yours."
She tried to think what could be done, how best to convince Robb of what everyone wanted him to do. She hated that she felt she had to do it. It was what she believed, what they all believed. Robb had a different opinion. They should respect it.
But for once she couldn't see why he had to keep that moral high ground when it came to the prisoners. Was she losing her touch? Was she losing her ability to feel empathy? Had war begun to sour her? Was she like her brothers and sister, who only ever saw killing as a solution?
No, she tried to think that it was the reasonable thing to do. There was no benefit in keeping the prisoners. To not have enough room in the pens was ridiculous. While they struggled for food, the prisoners got pieces that weren't due to them, that they didn't deserve. It slowed them down.
It still felt wrong to try and talk Robb into something he didn't want to do. But Lord Bolton was desperate, he was more easily upset with Robb for not listening than her father had been. A part of her understood it. For months they'd been out here and though they were winning the battles, it didn't truly put them any closer to reaching their goal. Too much needed to be done. The prisoners were a setback.
Killing was sometimes necessary. That's what her mother would have thought, surely.
She hadn't gone out to Robb's tent; the opportunity did not arise. The Kingslayer had killed Ser Alton to lure Torrhen Karstark into his pen, where he murdered him and managed to escape. All the men had been sent out to seize him. Hother instructed her to remain with Brienne of Tarth guarding Lady Catelyn. Thyrsa was sure she could have helped; hunting was her forte. But Hother wouldn't risk it. Jamie, even starved, could overpower his sister. There was no trusting the man who had stabbed his own King in the back.
The men found him in the morning, dragging him back to camp and demanding he be hung. The Karstark men were demanding sound justice, and expected that it was finally time for Robb to kill the Kingslayer, along with every other Lannister prisoner.
"Get back!" yelled Lord Karstark, storming toward the Kingslayer. "Any man who stands between a father and his vengeance asks for death!"
"Lord Karstark!" cried Lady Catelyn, followed by Brienne and Thyrsa. "This man is our prisoner."
"This monster killed my son!"
"And crippled mine! He will answer for his crimes, I promise you, but not here."
"I will have his head! And if you try and stop me–"
"You will strike me down?" cried Lady Catelyn. "Have you forgotten me, Ser? I am the widow of your liege Lord Eddard Stark. I am the mother of your King!"
"And where is our King now?"
"You know very well." Robb had ridden out for the Crag before Jamie had been caught. "He's gone to the Crag to accept surrender."
"Aye, gone to the Crag, but not to negotiate. He brought that foreign bitch with him!"
"How dare you?!"
Brienne nearly drew her sword, "Threatening my lady is an act of treason!"
"Treason?" shouted Lord Karstark. "How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?"
"I understand your grief, my lord, better than most, I understand it. But in the name of my son, the King in the North, stand down."
Lord Karstark sneered, "When your son returns, I will demand this murderer's head."
"Wise men do not make demands of kings."
"Fathers who love their sons do. I will have his head." He stormed away.
"Thank you for fighting on my behalf, Lady Stark," said the Kingslayer. "I would have come to your defense, but..." he held up his chained hands.
"Take him to the stockades!" said Lady Catelyn. "Bind him with every chain you can find!"
"You've become a real she-wolf in your later years!" called Jamie. "There's not much fish left in you."
"And gag him!" she declared.
Lord Karstark could find no outlet for his anger. He came complaining to Hother, his son-in-law, but received no comfort there. Hother did agree that the Kingslayer had to die, but Thyrsa mentioned that out of all the prisoners, the Kingslayer was the most valuable. They couldn't kill the Kingslayer for this. Not yet.
Hother was sure that Jamie wouldn't survive the night. The Karstarks were out for blood, and in the end, despite their loyalty to Robb, the Northerners would not take arms against their own in defense of a Lannister.
Lady Catelyn solved that problem by worsening their situation.