Chapter 11: The King's Crown, A Mother's Fear, and the Westerlands Gambit
The morning after his acclamation, Robb Stark awoke in the lord's chambers of Riverrun, the ancient seat of House Tully, with the weight of a phantom crown upon his brow. The cheers of "King in the North!" still echoed in his ears, a sound both exhilarating and terrifying. Tony Volante, the pragmatist, analyzed the strategic necessities: a king could command absolute loyalty, levy taxes, make treaties, and wage war with an authority no mere lord, even a Warden, could claim. Escanor's pride, a familiar hum beneath his thoughts as the sun's first rays touched the window, found the title fitting, a natural consequence of power and victory. But Robb Stark, the son of Eddard, felt a profound ache for his imprisoned father, knowing this declaration of kingship made Ned's already perilous situation infinitely more complex.
A simple circlet was brought to him – not gold and jewels, for they had none to spare and little care for such fripperies, but of dark Northern iron, intricately worked by a Riverrun smith overnight, inlaid with Weirwood leaves carved from ancient, pale wood. It was stark, severe, and undeniably regal. As it was placed upon his head in a brief, solemn ceremony before his assembled Northern and Riverland lords, Robb felt the last vestiges of his youth fall away. He was a King now, his fate and the fate of his people irrevocably intertwined.
His first act as King was to form a war council. Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, his uncle by marriage, a seasoned and pragmatic commander, was a natural choice. Greatjon Umber, for his fierce loyalty and the brute force he commanded. Maege Mormont, representing the rugged resilience of the North and the wisdom of her house. Jason Mallister of Seagard, a powerful Riverlord whose counsel was respected. Edmure Tully, as Lord of Riverrun and Robb's uncle, was also included, though Robb knew his uncle's impulsive nature needed careful management. Maester Vyman of Riverrun, a younger, sharper man than Luwin, served as scribe and advisor on local matters.
"My lords, my lady," Robb began, his voice resonating with the quiet authority that Sunshine, now steadily growing within him, amplified. "We have won great victories, but the war is far from over. Tywin Lannister still commands a large army to the east. My father, Lord Eddard Stark, remains a captive in King's Landing, his life forfeit unless we act. And now, two other kings have been declared in the South – Stannis and Renly Baratheon, brothers to the late King Robert, each claiming the Iron Throne."
News of Stannis and Renly's claims had arrived on the heels of his own coronation, further complicating the political landscape. Robb, armed with his foreknowledge, knew Stannis had the better claim (as Robert's true children were Jaime's bastards) but Renly had the larger host and the backing of the powerful House Tyrell.
"We cannot fight them all," Jason Mallister stated grimly. "Nor should we wish to. The Lannisters are our immediate enemy."
"Aye," growled the Greatjon. "Let the southern stags gore each other! We have our own kingdom to forge!"
Robb listened, then spoke. "Lord Tywin is indeed our most pressing military threat. But my father's life is my most urgent concern. Therefore, I will send an envoy to King's Landing." He paused, knowing the audacity of his next words. "They will carry my terms: the immediate release of Lord Eddard Stark, unharmed. In return, I will release Ser Jaime Lannister. Furthermore, they must recognize the independence of the Kingdom of the North and the Trident. If these terms are met, we will discuss a lasting peace."
A stunned silence met his pronouncement. Edmure Tully looked aghast. "Brother, they will laugh in our envoy's face! Joffrey will demand your head for treason!"
"Perhaps," Robb conceded, his expression unreadable. "But the offer must be made. It shows we are willing to negotiate, even from a position of strength. And it puts the onus of continued war squarely on their shoulders. It also buys us time. Ser Brynden, you will choose the envoy – someone brave, eloquent, and expendable." The Blackfish nodded, a grim understanding in his eyes.
"As for Stannis and Renly," Robb continued, "they are not our enemies, not yet. They are enemies of the Lannisters. I will send envoys to both, to gauge their intentions, to explore the possibility of alliance against our common foe. We need not bend the knee to either, but coordinated action could cripple the Lannisters." He knew Stannis would be unyielding, demanding fealty. Renly might be more pragmatic, but also more unreliable. Still, opening channels was a wise move.
His next focus was Tywin Lannister. Reports from Roose Bolton's army, which was tasked with shadowing Tywin, were infrequent and frustratingly vague. Bolton claimed he was engaging Tywin, keeping him occupied, but Robb's own trusted rangers, sent to independently assess the situation, painted a different picture: Roose was avoiding direct confrontation, letting Tywin advance deeper into the Riverlands, seemingly content to let the Old Lion expend his resources and terrorize the countryside. This was deeply unsettling. Roose Bolton was playing his own game.
"Lord Tywin believes he can crush us with numbers and his reputation," Robb said to his council. "He expects us to either dig in here at Riverrun or march east to meet him in a pitched battle where his heavy horse and superior numbers can prevail. We will do neither."
He then unveiled his audacious plan: a swift, devastating raid into the Westerlands. "We will take the war to their doorstep. I will lead a force of our best horse and light foot – six thousand men. We will bypass Tywin's army, cross the Tumblestone and the Red Fork, and strike into the heart of Lannister territory. We will burn their fields, sack their lesser keeps, seize their gold, and take highborn hostages. We will make Tywin Lannister turn his gaze west, to protect his own home."
The council was shocked into silence. It was a daring, almost reckless plan.
"Leave Riverrun defended, but march on their homeland?" Edmure sputtered. "What if Tywin ignores your raid and marches on us here? Or turns north to join with Roose and crush him?"
"Tywin Lannister is a proud man, Uncle," Robb explained, his eyes glinting with a cold light that was pure Tony Volante. "He will not suffer his own lands to be despoiled while he campaigns elsewhere. He will turn. And when he does, his army will be strung out, vulnerable. That is when Lord Bolton, if he is as loyal as he claims, can strike his rear. Or, if Tywin detaches a force to pursue us, we will lead them on a merry chase, bleeding them dry in their own lands, while our main force here, under Ser Brynden's command, can perhaps engage Tywin's weakened army with greater hope of success."
The Blackfish's eyes gleamed with appreciation for the sheer boldness of the strategy. "It's a wolf's gambit, Your Grace. Risky. But it could cripple them. Draw the Old Lion out of his lair."
Greatjon Umber slammed his fist on the table. "By the Gods, I like it! Let's give those golden lords a taste of Northern winter in their own sunny shithole!"
After much debate, Robb's force of personality, the clarity of his strategic vision (aided by Sunshine's peak influence during the council), and the desperation of their situation won them over. Edmure Tully would remain to command Riverrun's defenses, with the bulk of the infantry and the Blackfish as his senior advisor and de facto commander. Robb would lead the raid.
During these days of intense planning and reorganization, Robb made another visit to Jaime Lannister in his dungeon cell. The Kingslayer was thinner, his golden hair lank and dirty, but his arrogance remained.
"Come to gloat again, boy king?" Jaime sneered. "My father will be here soon. He'll burn this castle to the ground with you in it."
Robb regarded him coolly. "Your father is currently occupied, Ser Jaime. And soon, he will have other concerns." He paused. "I am sending an offer to King's Landing. Your freedom, in exchange for my father's life and our kingdom's peace."
Jaime laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You think Cersei will trade your father for me? Ned Stark is a condemned traitor. I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, her beloved brother."
"Perhaps," Robb said. "But she also knows your father values you above all else. A son for a son, in a manner of speaking, though my father is worth ten of you." He then played his card. "I will allow you to write to your sister. Urge her to accept my terms. Persuade her that my father's continued captivity, or his death, will mean your own. Your life for his. A simple exchange."
He saw a flicker of something in Jaime's eyes – fear? Calculation? "And if I refuse to write this… touching plea?"
Robb smiled, a cold, thin smile that held no warmth. "Then you will remain my guest, Ser Jaime. And when word comes of my father's fate, your own will mirror it. Tit for tat." He used Snatch, just for a moment, to feel the surge of Jaime's fear, a raw, primal terror hidden beneath the bravado. It was satisfying.
Jaime stared at him, then slowly nodded. "Give me parchment and quill."
The preparations for the Westerlands campaign were swift and efficient. Robb selected his force: the best of his Northern cavalry, Dacey Mormont's fierce warriors, the fleetest of the Umber and Karstark foot soldiers, and a contingent of Riverland knights eager for vengeance. Theon Greyjoy, his skill as a scout and archer proving invaluable, was chosen to lead Robb's personal scouting parties, a position of honor that also kept him directly under Robb's eye.
It was three days before Robb was due to march that another, unexpected arrival threw Riverrun into a state of fresh agitation. A small, heavily guarded party arrived at the gates, demanding an audience with the King in the North. At its head was a woman whose face was etched with grief, fear, and an iron resolve that Robb knew all too well.
Catelyn Stark, his mother.
She had ridden hard from the Eyrie, having found her sister Lysa Arryn lost in paranoia and unwilling to commit Vale forces to their cause. Hearing whispers of Robb's stunning victories and his acclamation as King, she had made her way to Riverrun with a small escort of Vale knights loyal to her Tully heritage rather than Lysa's madness.
When she was brought before Robb in the Great Hall, where he sat upon the Tully high seat with his iron-and-weirwood crown upon his brow, she stopped, her eyes wide. For a moment, she saw not just her son, but a King, a figure of command and power that was both familiar and startlingly new.
"Robb?" she whispered, then, remembering his new station, curtsied deeply. "Your Grace."
"Mother," Robb said, rising and descending the dais to embrace her. The scent of road dust and horses clung to her. He felt the thinness of her shoulders, the tremor of exhaustion that ran through her. "You are welcome in Riverrun. But I had thought you safe in the Eyrie."
"Safe, but useless," Catelyn said, her voice tight with emotion. "Lysa is lost to reason. The Vale will not stir. But I could not stay idle while my son fights for our lives, while my husband…" her voice broke. "Oh, Robb, what have they done to Ned?"
That evening, in private, Catelyn poured out her heart – her fears for Ned, her guilt over Tyrion's capture (though she still believed him guilty of hiring the catspaw), her frustration with Lysa. And then, her apprehension about Robb's new title.
"A King, Robb?" she said, her eyes searching his. "They call you King in the North? But Ned… Ned swore an oath to Robert, and now to Joffrey. This… this is treason. It will make it harder to free him. They will never release a traitor whose son has declared himself a rebel king!"
Robb listened patiently, the power of Sunshine now a gentle warmth within him as evening approached. "Mother, the Northmen and the Riverlords declared me King. I did not seek this crown, but I could not refuse it. To do so would have fractured our alliance, sown dissent when unity is paramount. And as for Father, do you truly believe the Lannisters would ever release him, knowing what he knows about Joffrey's true parentage, about their crimes? His fate was sealed the moment Robert died. Our only hope to save him is by force of arms, by breaking their power."
"But a king…" Catelyn wrung her hands. "It is too much, too soon. You are just a boy."
"I am the Warden of the North, Mother," Robb corrected gently but firmly. "And now, their King. I will not falter in my duty." He then told her of his plan to raid the Westerlands.
Her eyes widened in alarm. "You mean to march into Tywin Lannister's own lands? Robb, that is madness! He will crush you!"
"He will try," Robb said, a confident smile playing on his lips, a smile that held both the cunning of Tony Volante and the assurance of Escanor. "But we are wolves, Mother. And winter is coming for House Lannister." He also told her of Jaime Lannister's captivity, and the letter he was forced to write.
Catelyn stared at him, seeing not the boy she had raised, but a hardened warrior, a cunning strategist, a King. A flicker of pride warred with her fear. "You have… changed, Robb."
"War changes us all, Mother," he replied. "Now, you must rest. You are safe here in Riverrun. Your brother Edmure and Uncle Brynden will protect you."
The night before his departure for the Westerlands, Robb Stark stood on the battlements of Riverrun, looking west. The moon was a silver sliver in the inky sky. He felt the weight of his iron crown, the heavier weight of his responsibilities. He was playing a dangerous game, on a board far larger than he had ever imagined in his previous life. But he held cards no one else knew about. The sun would rise again tomorrow, and with it, his power.
He thought of his father in a dark cell, of his sisters in the lion's den, of the long war ahead. A cold wind swept down from the north, and Robb smiled. The Young Wolf was ready to hunt in the lion's own territory.