A Vow Without Honor

The Honor

Robb

"Two months!"

He slammed his fist on the war table, making certain his knuckles scraped firmly against Lannister's last known position. "You're telling me my sister has been free of Dragonstone for nearly two months, and we are only just hearing of it?"

Beneath the table, though only just barely given his size, Robb could hear Grey Wind growling softly. The direwolf had always reflected his emotions in some way or another. It had been quite the tactic to use against their enemies, though as of late that only seemed to be an additional burden on his men. Without the release that came with battle, without the taste of victory on their tongues, frustration was at an all time high, not least upon himself. Unfortunately, the poor scout, who was only out to deliever a message from another man, who know doubt heard it from another himself, was receiving the brunt of it at this very moment.

"We do not command an army of whisperers as the Spider does, Your Grace," Lord Roose Bolton interjected with that ever even tone of his, saving the scout from having to explain that which he did not know the answer to. "No matter our military might, Lord Tywin will always be one step ahead in that regard."

Some would call it bold to claim fault in the army before the King in the North. Robb called it smart. Sure, Northern Lords had all the tact of an aurochs and were not afraid to voice their dissenting opinions, but as Robb continued to prove himself, as men across the countryside started whispering The Young Wolf, the words became less and less. They believed him, and by extension themselves, unable to do wrong, and for a time that had been enough to slog their armies across the Westerlands chasing the illusive Lion, but now even that was wearing off.

"So, it is entirely possible that he already has them," Robb murmured, not oblivious to the venom in his voice.

"It is, Your Grace," Roose said from across the table. He always had an eerily calm demeanor about him, even in the face of battle. The man never smiled, but he never appeared to get angry either, and that might have been the more terrifying of the two. "However, I doubt even Tywin Lannister would want to keep quiet about acquiring your sister, given the circumstances."

Given the deaths of my brothers, you mean.

Robb let his fist clench and unclench, let the anger that temporarily gripped his heart fade again before he spoke. With Bran and Rickon...gone, with Sansa and Arya missing, Myra was it. She was the heir to his throne, wherever that might have been at this point; it certainly wasn't Winterfell. Until he had a child of his own, all he had was his sister, and Roose was right, Tywin would take full advantage of that.

He still had Jon, however, but words from the king of a united realm could hardly sway the Watch, much less from a boy who controlled two of them. All he could do was ask his lords not to execute Jon upon his arrival, but he would always be seen as the traitor, the runaway, the coward. More names for the bastard of Winterfell.

Sighing, Robb looked up at the scout. "Send for my mother."

Catelyn entered not long after, followed by her looming guardian, Brienne of Tarth.

On more than one occasion, it had been brought up that he dismiss the woman, though some suggested further action, in regards to her abandonment of the Baratheon camp and involvement in the death of her king. But Robb knew his mother was no liar, and that she would never accept a kingslayer's oath of service. And, in part, he was relieved to have someone looking after his mother. A woman she may have been, but Robb had seen Brienne best every man that dare to challenge her when the camp was quiet and the men were training. His mother could not ask for better.