THE NORTHERN CRUSADE

CHANGES AT COURT

300 AC

CROWNLANDS

KING'S LANDING

ROBB STARK

"This is where Father died. This is where he was murdered". Robb thought.

He stood tall at the top of the steps that led to the Great Sept of Baelor. It was a warm day, such as the South was, the sun shining bright with nary a cloud in sight. It was a holy place where he stood, supposedly. Where the seven dwelled beside man, where their presence could be felt by those who followed them.

Joffrey the pretender was nearby on his knees. His wrist tied very painfully.

Below him, the people gathered, smallfolk and highborn alike, all coming to witness justice be given. A bead of sweat slid down the back of Robb's neck. He wore dark leathers and a billowing grey cloak, fastened with a silver wolfs-head pin. They were the lightest clothes he could find. It was either that or to drape silks and velvets about himself like some perfumed Southron Lord.

Robb never felt more like a stranger. "These are not my people, nor are these seven my gods. This is not my home"

And yet the commoners who came to see the Son of Winterfell avenge his kin, the same people who had been starving under the reign of the Bastard Joffrey, they welcomed him with open arms.

"Robb! Robb! King Robb!" They cheered. "King in the North!" The Greatjon bellowed, the smallfolk happily joining him.

"Why cheer for me? I've brought no food, only justice"

On his trip from the Red Keep to the Sept, Robb had witnessed a lanky man shouting before a small crowd, proclaiming the Young Wolf a liberator, a savior, who had come to save them from the clutches of the Rotten King, come to save the smallfolk from the cruel Lioness who bedded her own brother.

Before, when he was but Robb Stark the boy, he would have smiled at that. But in truth, Robb Stark the boy was dead. The war killed him. The Whispering Wood killed him, as did God's Eye and Casterly Rock. Gods, he may have died the moment he left behind Winterfell and Bran and baby Rickon. Now, he was King Robb, the Young Wolf who ruled the North and the South.

Robb stood over Joffrey the pretender then, stone-faced as his father was when Lord Eddard brought justice to deserters and oathbreakers. He turned away from the boy who was more weasel than lion, facing the crowd. He said some words, in a voice that thundered out over the people below, a strong voice, his voice. But he was beyond himself, somehow. He could feel his heart beating, hammering against his chest, his blood singing to him like it had last night and it was the sweetest song there ever was.

Cersei is already dead. As she was Myrcella's mother Robb had given the former queen Sweetsleep and Milk of the poppy, so she can die a painless death in her sleep. He had even allowed Tommen and Myrcella to be with their mother during her last moments, something which the Lannister children were grateful for.

Joffrey would not be given the luxury of a painless death. No he will receive, true Northern justice.

"Joffrey Waters," Robb spoke loudly. "Your reign was cruel and vicious. Your claim invalid. You mistreated my sister and called for my father's head. The penalty for your crimes is death."