A Song of Grace & Fury

A dead place.

Cold and grim.

A reminder of the fury the Targaryen dragons wrought upon the Hoares who built and ruled from Harrenhal. The same fury that saw many after them meet their end to fire and steel. That was what Robb had thought when Lady Shella Whent had opened her doors to his host.

Pale, old, with sunken cheeks and thin, greying hair. The lady too had been something of a ghost.

But, under nearly fifty thousand working hands, the castle had gone from a tattered mess to... habitable.

Robb caught a glimpse of the dreary castle's true grandeur when he sat at the head of its main hall.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

Dozens of large hearths burned bright, pushing away the deep chill of Harrenhal, and men feasted on meats and drinks aplenty.

He sat on a throne of stone. A few steps below, his bannermen shouted amongst themselves while a quaint few mulled in silence. He had learned now that the rumours rang true when they proclaimed that the Northmen were not ones for grace and subtlety.

Bronze Yohn Royce was nowhere to be seen, and a raven had informed him that the self-titled Defender of the Vale had brazenly declared his aunt's betrayal and the Eyrie's own defenders had turned against her for it. The Vale had kept its promise, and a host of the realm's finest knights and cavalry had joined them not long ago.

The Vale Lords sat across from the Northmen, past the way that had been cleared for those wishing to converse with Robb. And, many of the Lords were far ahead in years, they had fought as comrades under the banner of King Robert Baratheon, and it was apparent that such camaraderie did not falter so easily.

His mother sat beside him, doting on Arya. A stark change from his memories, Robb recalled his youngest sister being scolded most of the time rather than being coddled, and not for lack of reason. The blood of the Wolf was strong in her, and saw her incur mischief that left many suffering.

Here, at Harrenhal, they would wait for Stannis Baratheon, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. With their hearts steeped in honour and traditions, the Lords that came under him had little difficulty accepting his decision. 

Or perhaps it was the very real existence of Karl and his agreement keeping them in line. Robb could not find it in himself to deny the thought. They revered him, and those few that did not, feared him. ALL of them believed him some kind of God.

But then, the peasants had always thought of the Dragons as gods too, until they began killing one another.

So, in the end, Robb reassured himself. His decision was the right one to make.

Who was he to break an allegiance that his father had fostered?

"Kinslayer," The ancient castle seemed to whisper.

"Traitor," Robb answered back.

"Who? Robb... are you feeling well?"

"You need not be concerned, Mother," Robb said. He picked up the wooden cup and took a gulp of mead.

Catelyn Stark didn't appreciate his cordiality. She furrowed her brow and 'gently' pinched his hand, "You will not lie to your own mother. Best believe I would know when one of my boys is stressed."

"You should return to Winterfell then, with Arya," Robb spoke calmly, removing her hand from his. "This war is all but done. Go home to Bran and Rickon. To Sansa."

Catelyn pursed her lips, and Robb noted Arya glaring at him from behind her shoulder, "Perhaps you speak true. But... what about that thing?"

"What thing?"

"You saw it. All of them did. Yet you behave as though it is of no consequence. He-... It killed Theon in cold blood."

His mother was a devout follower of the Seven, and bearing witness to Karl's actions had clearly upset her. The belief of the men had riled her further, but Robb could tell that she was simply afraid.

"And the other ironborn as well. And the Freys..."

She trailed off, so Robb continued for her, "And the Lannisters. And my father's killer. Theon's fate was of his own making."

The words hurt as soon as they left his lips. How could they not? He had grown up with Theon, like a brother... And he mourned him as one but... Robb Stark was the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.

And the Lord of Winterfell had to choose the many over the few.

He could not, and would not prosecute Karl for his actions, for the sake of his people. The North and his duty came before Theon Greyjoy, before all else.

Catelyn opened her mouth but her words failed her, and Robb quickly found his gaze drawn to a sudden commotion at the great black doors leading into the hall. From the distance, he saw steel being drawn, and men hurrying about, then shouting about themselves until they calmed down and grabbed the perpetrator.

More and more eyes gathered upon them in the sudden silence that befell the castle hall, until finally, after moments that seemed to stretch on painfully, a man was brought before him and thrown to his knees.

"Is this how you treat a messenger?" He questioned with a small smile. 

But, none appreciated his attempt at humour.

Robb could not recognise him from the curls of brown hair falling to his ears, nor the liquid-gold eyes, but he did recognise the green surcoat he wore over his shimmering plate armour. He did recognise the golden rose on green sewn into the chest.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Greatjon Umber bellowed. He stomped over to the knight and lifted a fist. "Flowery bastar-..."

"I bring a message from Lord Mace Tyrell."

Greatjon looked to Robb and with a subtle shake of his head, Robb was able to dissuade the Umber from attempting to rip the Tyrell man's head off his shoulders. Grey Wind roiled, snarling as he approached.

"Out with it, then," Robb said simply.

"I am Garlan Tyrell," He bowed with a hand over his heart and a smile on his fair face. "I was ordered to bring a message to the Lord of Winterfell. But, the journey and the lions scattered about made it necessary that I not have it written."

Robb nodded.

Not one Lannister had stepped foot into the Riverlands, but that did not mean they hadn't set up camps all around.

"What does a traitor House want of us?"

Garlan narrowed his gaze, yet Robb was not the least bit threatened. The so-called knight would lose his head the moment he showed any hostility.

"My grandm-..." Garlan coughed into his hand, but it felt as though he had made the mistake purposely, "My father, Mace Tyrell, expresses his sincerest condolences and apologises that it took as long as it did. He feared no place was too far for Varys' so-called birds and we had to wait for his departure."

"Departure?" 

"Indeed," Garlan nodded vigorously, "the traitors have done the unthinkable. They have offered a surrender to what remains of House Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen, with her three dragons and her army of slaves and savages. It will not be unthi-"

"Get to the point." Robb unceremoniously shut down his attempt at the dramatic. A trepid silence followed as the Northern and the Vale Lords listened on, gazes fixed not on Garlan, but on him.

"Yes, yes. It appears the Starks do not have their reputation for no reason," Garlan offered another smile, unperturbed. "We do not wish to be associated with traitors. My grandm-... pardon, my father has had enough of their farce. He offers you the Rose of Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell."

"Your bloody Rose's been passed around like a fucking whore at this point. Do you think the North so cheap?" Rickard Karstark glowered, receiving jeers and shouts of agreement for his words.

Garlan grit his teeth, "And all our swords."

Robb narrowed his gaze and cocked his head, "Alester Florent has declared for Stannis. Houses Caswell and Rowan as well for the blood the Lannisters spilt. What swords?"

"The ones Renly swallowed!" 

The great hall erupted in laughter, even from those that had not heard a single word.

"Honour spits on their actions," Garlan rose, "and they will answer for their crimes. March on King's Landing. Our men will open the gates for you."

"You speak of honour and suggest the task of a craven."

"Not craven, my lord. It is a way for us to stop the bloodshed in one fell swoop. No more. Let us return to the peaceful days of tourneys and feasts after destroying the traitors."

Discreetly, Catelyn clutched his arm, squeezing it lightly, "It is a fine offer. Margaery is the most beautiful mai-"

"Why?" Robb cut her off. "Why come here? To me?"

 Garlan smiled a bitter smile, and lowered his head, "Stannis has no intentions of forgiving us. He means to depose us, and have House Florent take our place. We... had hoped you could convince him otherwise."

Queen Selyse was a Florent, if memory served.

"That is all," He held out his hands. "I ask that you at least consider my words."

It was quite the gambit, Robb realised. They had joined with the clearly disturbed Tywin Lannister in a moment of desperation, infiltrated his ranks, and with this, they could get off scot-free.

But, Stannis was not the sort to forgive and forget.

Even if he accepted their surrender, he would cripple them till the end of days.

They had gone against him not once, not twice, but thrice now.

Then, there was news of Targaryens. It would be foolish if they returned, but the King had to be informed of the possibility.

Wait.

Robb narrowed his eyes.

The Tyrells were Targaryen loyalists.

What was to say they would not betray them as well? They certainly seemed open to the idea of stabbing allies in the back.

Robb pursed his lips and let his gaze wander across the faces of his bannermen. He could still see doubt in some of them, frustration in others... Perhaps they thought him an honourless cur.

He closed his eyes, then opened them. He looked to his mother.

She was urging him to accept and end the bloodshed.

But,

Robb turned back to Garlan.

He would be the greatest of fools to trust a Tyrell.

"Winter is coming," He leaned on the table, interlocking his fingers. "Run back and ready yourself, craven."

"Are you a foo-..."

"That's right, boy! Run along, you bloody bastard!" Greatjon guffawed, throwing his hands to the air and laughed a thunderous laugh. 

"A wise decision, young lord," Rickard Karstark bowed his head.

Robb noted approval among the Vale Lords, and cheers from the River Lords.

The Hall of the Hundred Hearths erupted with the cheers of a people scorned, a people awaiting blood.

"See him out, Ser Addam," Robb looked to the newest knight in his household. "Cut him down should he cause trouble."

The grey-eyed youth nodded stoically and stepped to Garlan.

"I could take ten of you."

"You're welcome to try."

-

Hope you enjoyed.

Any feedback is welcome. We'll be back to the adventures of Karl next chap.