Chapter Text
He’s a green boy, unbloodied, uncrowned, and untested, when he meets her.
She and her brother wait outside the walls of their ancestral home, the colossal weirwood of Raventree Hall casting them all shadow. It’s almost frightening to see a living thing so massive. Looking at it, Robb can almost understand why the Andals hated them so much. That tree owns the earth. Men can call themselves kings and lords all they like. They will die and their corpses will nourish trees like that.
“It’s nice to see a bit of home,” Smalljon says.
Brynden Blackwood nods. “My family still follow the old gods. Now more than ever.”
Lord Brynden is a tall young lord with black hair and eyes just as dark. His sister, a girl with pale blonde hair, the same raven eyes, and a hooked nose, waits patiently beside him. Robb can’t help staring. She’s dressed in leathers stained black, which is passing odd, but she’s also got a raven perched on her shoulder. She and the raven stare back with an eerie penetrating gaze.
“Lord Stark,” Lord Brynden continues, bowing in the saddle. “I cannot begin to express my gratitude. We are prepared for a siege, but with the war and approaching winter it’s best to save our stores for as long as possible.”
“Winter is coming,” Robb agrees, not quite able to resist a smug grin.
“NIGHT! Night!” The raven caws.
Everyone turns to the girl and her bird. She cuts it an unamused look. It merely tilts its head to the side in reply.
“You’ll have to forgive my companion,” she says. Her voice is surprisingly feminine for such a fierce looking girl. “He’s very dramatic.”
“Just like his master,” Brynden Blackwood murmurs. “My lords, Lady Catelyn, this is Lady Lucienne Blackwood. My little sister, the second born of us six. She will be joining my father and brother in Riverrun.”
Robb’s company startles at that. Noble ladies- other than the Mormonts, that is- simply do not run off to war. Not with their father’s permission, especially. She’s dressed for the task and her saddle is laden with traveling essentials. They’ve prepared for this. Robb can’t imagine sending Sansa or Arya off in such a way.
“Is that a weirwood bow?” Theon asks, his voice incredulous.
Robb cranes his neck. He can’t see anything around the Umbers. They make their shire stallions look like Dornish mares.
“Yes. I’ve got the arrows as well, but I’m saving those for the Others.”
The men chuckle. She does not.
“You any good with that?” Greatjon demands.
“Well, I couldn’t get a clear shot at any Lannisters, but I felled sixteen of their men.”
“We’re always in need of good archers,” Robb offers. He almost immediately regrets speaking. Those eyes of hers are unbearable. It’s like she’s looking in to his very soul, like she knows him and pities him for it.
“I’m no Bloodraven, but I suppose I’ll do.”
“Shit. Shit!” The raven agrees.
At those words, the girl nearly rips the bird from her arm. It squawks once over its wing before ascending into the clear sky.
“You’ll have to excuse that raven. We’ve been trying to get rid of it for six years,” the Blackwood heir says, watching as the bird diminishes into a black speck. “I have no doubt it’s headed to Riverrun.”
Robb’s brow furrows. He looks the girl over again. He’d figured if there was anyone else like him, they would be on the other side of the Wall or in the Neck. He’d never thought of finding another skinchanger in the Riverlands. Robb nudges at that warm presence in his chest. He feels Grey Wind perk his ears in curiosity, then follow their strange bond.
“You’re not the only one with a sigil for your companion,” Robb says, just as his direwolf crests the hill.
Neither Blackwood is surprised, though Lord Brynden reveals a bit of wonder. The Lady’s lips quirk into a half smile. She’s got quite pretty lips, he realizes. They help balance out her wide eyes and wicked nose.
“And the comet will herald the dragons,” she muses. Almost bitterly, she adds, “What a time to be alive.”
Theon laughs. “I’ll have a kraken before you know it."
Lucienne Blackwood shudders. Her horse kicks at the ground nervously. “I hope not. Do you know squids tear their food apart? Imagine what a kraken the size of that tree could do.”
A deep sense of foreboding curls in Robb’s gut as they all glance up at the tree. Even Theon seems a bit cowed.
“Oh, this is terrible,” the girl suddenly says. “I’m not usually so droll but I’ve been cooped up in that castle for too long. Forgive me brother, but I must depart before I go mad. I need to feel the wind on my face.”
Her brother squeezes her hand. “Be safe, sister.”
“And you! Don’t let the Brackens bother you too much. I’m off to bully myself into the archers.”
She bows as much as she can before galloping off to join the column of men.
“Lord Robb, I thank you again,” Lord Brynden says. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”
“Thank you, Lord Brynden.”
Robb’s party stalls long after the Blackwoods leave.
“An odd bunch,” Eddard Karstark says.
Lady Catelyn cranes her neck to look up at the weirwood tree. “I might worship the Seven, but I know the Old Gods. I’ve felt them watch me in the Godswood. I get the same feeling from that girl and her raven. Keep her close, Robb. She may prove to be a blessing or a curse, but she’s sent from your gods either way.”
He meets her again in Riverrun, his gut still wrenching from the battle. As Robb follows his uncles through wide, stone passages, he can’t help but notice Lucienne Blackwood scowling at something in an alcove. It’s her raven.
“Snow,” it says.
“I won’t bring you in if you can’t keep your opinions to yourself,” she warns.
“Shit! Shit!” It argues.
“Listen here you feathered whoreson. You will-“
“Lord Stark,” a deep voice rumbles.
Both Robb and Lucienne startle. The man approaching can be none other than Lord Tytos Blackwood. He shares the same black eyes, pale skin, and hooked nose as Lady Lucienne. They are near mirror images of each other. Behind him, another lord, this one Robb’s age, lingers curiously. He doesn’t have his father’s nose or height, but he’s got his dark hair and broad shoulders. He must be Lady Lucienne’s younger brother, Lucas.
Gods, what he would do to have Jon and Father at his side.
“Hello, Lord Stark,” Lucienne greets, curtsying in her leathers. What a strange girl.
“Hello again, my lady. It’s an honor to meet you, my lords. My father spoke of you fondly, Lord Blackwood,” Robb says.
It’s not entirely a lie. Eddard Stark hardly spoke of the wars, but when he did, he mentioned Lord Tytos with respect. If Lord Tytos suspects the truth, he is kind enough to not show it.
“Your father was a good man. I would have volunteered even if the Riverlands were not threatened.”
Robb sighs. “To me, he was just Father. He was never the man that I’ve learned so much about on this journey.”
“I disagree, Lord Robb,” Lady Lucienne says. The raven flies from its window to her shoulder as she steps closer. “He rode across the continent for his sister. He faced one of the best warriors this continent has ever seen for his sister. I’d wager you saw the truest part of him.”
Robb turns this over in his mind. He thinks of his own sisters. They Lannisters have already murdered his father. What will they do to fierce Arya? To sweet Sansa? Will he ever get them back? Or will he return to Winterfell with nothing more than their bones?
“Lord Stark, the men will be waiting,” Lord Tytos interrupts gently.
“Of course,” Robb says.
They take several steps before Robb realizes the girl hasn’t joined them. He looks back to find her watching her father and brother.
“Aren’t you coming?” Robb asks.
She smiles, revealing the whitest teeth he’s seen on anyone besides Queen Cersei.
“There’s no point. I already know what’s going to happen, Your Grace.”
“King! King!” The raven croaks.
A chill run downs Robb’s spine. He can’t look away, even after she’s disappeared down the corridor.
Over the next sennight, Robb is too dazed, too overwhelmed to do anything other than eat and sleep and fight and plan and plan and plan. War is nothing but planning. Planning battles, planning marriages, planning camps, planning journeys. Then he wakes to a red comet blazing across the clear blue sky and he knows all of his plans are going to change.
Robb finds her in the Godswood that very night. She’s in an oak tree of all places, staring up at the red comet amongst the stars. She’s not beautiful. To call her such would be an insult. She’s striking. She seems one with the wilderness, like it was she that called the flora and fauna from the earth.
Robb leans against her tree. He has to fight the urge to reach up and wrap his hand around her thigh, to feel if her body is as hard and muscled as he thinks it is. He saw her with that bow in the Battle for Riverrun. It takes strength to wield such a longbow, especially throughout an entire battle.
“I thought you were a skinchanger,” he says. “You’re more than that, aren’t you?”
“I am many things, just as you.” She sounds amused.
Robb is the eldest of six. He knows when someone is skirting around an answer. He also has the patience to get a straight one.
“You’re something,” he says, looking up at the night sky. “You’ve been right by two counts thus far: a king and a comet.”
“I’m a skinchanger,” she admits. “And a greenseer. It’s been in my family for generations. Do you remember Bloodraven?”
“A thousand eyes and one,” Robb murmurs.
“He was half a dragon. His gifts were a bit exaggerated, to say the least. Magic runs as deep in that family as it does yours.”
Robb thinks about what she said the first time they met, about the comet and Daenerys Targaryen. “So a greenseer sees the future? Is that it?”
There’s a rustling of leaves and leather and she’s suddenly on the ground with him. She holds his gaze with her own terrible one. She always makes him feel so guilty, so unworthy.
“You will hate me, Robb Stark. You will curse the day you met me.”
Robb jumps when something touches his foot. A thick snake, as dark as the shadows it came from, curls around his calf. He tries to kick it off, but it just hisses. It’s scales shine in the moonlight as the muscles underneath bunch and relax, bunch and relax. It’s darting tongue gets closer and closer with each movement.
“The raven isn’t yours,” he realizes, his mind whirring.
Tentatively, he reaches down to the snake, allowing its cool body to slither against his hands. He raises it high to let it look him in the eye and test his scent. It hisses softly, slithering up his arm to curl around his shoulders. Lucienne scowls at the both of them.
“An admirable attempt at intimidation, my lady,” he says with a smirk. “It might work on one of your southern fools, but I’m of the North. I’m the King of the North. I know a venomous snake when I see one, and this is just a bull snake. She’s impressive, but she’s no match for a direwolf.”
Lady Lucienne shoots him one last glower before stomping off into the trees. Robb tries to be a gentlemen, he truly does, but he can’t resist watching her walk away.
Robb doesn’t see much of Lucienne Blackwood after that. He’s a king now and kings have duties. He has a war to win. He can’t shirk his duties to satisfy his curiosities. His lusts. He becomes fast friends with Lucas, however, so he does manage a few questions. Not that he’s given any answers. Lucas Blackwood is very good at talking without saying anything when it comes to his sister. Which is fair enough. Sansa became entangled with a king and look where that got her.
Lucienne Blackwood sees plenty of him, however. There is always a raven or two present wherever he holds council. Only Robb, Lord Tytos, and Roose Bolton ever notice. So when she suddenly bursts into his pavilion one morning, it is only the three of them who are not surprised. She does not bother with courtesies or preamble. She only strides up to Robb with that ridiculous, foul-mouthed bird on her shoulder and demands a private audience.
Theon doesn’t snicker, but his restraint is evident for all to see. Several of the men shift on their feet. Robb knows what must happen here. Her father understands; he does not move from his spot against the tent’s wall. She must prove herself. It is one thing to for the lords to respect her archery, and another for them to respect her person.
“Anything you can ask of me, you can ask in front of my men,” he declares.
“I do not ask anything of you,” she says. Then, wincing, she remembers to add, “Your Grace.”
“I love a demanding woman,” Theon sighs wistfully.
Lady Lucienne finally turns her raven gaze onto the Greyjoy heir. Robb almost feels sorry for him.
“You didn’t love it when I had an arrow shoved against your neck two days ago. This is my second warning, Theon Greyjoy. Leave me be or I will ask the ravens to peck out your eyes. I will not give you a third.”
Theon pales and reddens in the same moment. Lord Tytos finally stalks across the pavilion. Robb’s chest tightens. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected blood to be shed. Before he can intervene, her raven caws. Then another. And another. They swoop through the flap to settle on the chairs and tables. More join until almost ten birds are glaring at Theon with beady eyes.
“REEK! REEK!” The first one screeches.
“Snow.”
“Reek!”
“Snow!”
Theon gapes, wide eyed at the torrent of cries. The men swallow uneasily, some of them reaching for their blades.
“Enough!” Robb shouts.
The ravens cease their racket immediately. Unnaturally quick. Robb fights back a shudder, trying his best to ignore his men’s fearful stares.
“I’ll not allow you to disrespect Lady Blackwood, Theon. It seems the Old Gods will not either. Everyone leave us. That includes you, Lord Tytos.”
All of them rush to obey.
“Wait. My council remains. And you, Mother.”
He watches carefully as Lord Tytos nods at his daughter before striding out with the other lords. He is on the hunt for a kraken no doubt. Robb hopes Theon is smart enough to make himself absent for a few hours.
Robb and his council take their seats around the round map table: Maege, Greatjon, Roose Bolton, and the Blackfish. Lady Lucienne eyes them all with suspicion, but pulls out a chair across from Robb nonetheless. The raven hops from her shoulder to the chair’s back.
“These are my advisors, Lady Lucienne. I have an idea of what you mean to tell me and I can not act without consulting them.”
She purses her lips, eyes darting to Roose Bolton before settling on Robb.
“Where is Grey Wind?” She asks accusatorially.
He raises a brow. “Where is your snake?”
“She’s watching a spy, if you must know.”
Uncle Brynden crosses his arms. “We cannot advise if we do not understand. Stop speaking in riddles or let us leave. There are other things that require my attention.”
“The girl is a skinchanger,” Roose Bolton says in his soft voice. “I though it was the ravens but our king has discovered a secret. A snake, you say? Fitting.”
“That’s not the only secret I’ve discovered. She’s a greenseer, Lord Bolton. Apparently it runs in the family.”
Bolton inhales sharply. He edges away from the girl as if he’d announced she carries greyscale.
“Snow,” the bird croaks quietly. “Snow, Snow.”
“What is a greenseer?” Mother asks cautiously.
It is Lord Bolton that answers in that soft way of his, surprising everyone. “It is a gift, or perhaps a curse, passed down from the Children of the Forest. As Children, greenseers created the Heart Trees and sent beasts after men. They weaved the songs of the earth to do great and terrible things. It was they who flooded the Neck, for example. Humans, however, are not capable of such magic. Our greenseers are skinchangers, yes, but they also share a connection with Heart Trees that none of us can understand.”
The advisors all look from her to the ravens and back again. Robb hadn’t expected them to be so hostile, so fearful. What will they say about him when they put the pieces together?
“I won’t tell this many people. I refuse,” Lady Lucienne says.
“I am your King,” Robb argues, a bit of steel in his voice.
The raven reaches over to peck at her ash blonde hair.
“Fine,” she spits. “On your own head be it.”
Lady Lucienne throws her shoulders back and tilts her chin up.
“You were going to send Theon Greyjoy to treat with his father but he betrays you and sacks Winterfell to prove himself to be a true reaver.”
Scalding fury sloshes around in his chest, burning his cheeks and warming his blood.
“Theon is my brother.”
“He was your father’s hostage.”
“He is my brother! He was raised-“
“He was raised knowing that Ned Stark could hack off his head at a moment’s notice,” she cuts in harshly.
He shoves back from the desk. How dare she interrupt her king? How dare she pretend to know his father? He balls his fists on the table and leans over to glare at her.
“Be very careful of what you say about my family,” he says lowly, dangerously.
Her eyes shift down to the maps strewn about, sending his heart into a flurry of victory. She recovers quickly though, her pale cheeks flushing a deep pink.
“You have another brother, a better one. One that loves you and Ned Stark more than Theon ever could.”
“Snow,” a raven croaks.
Maege startles, giving the bird beside her a wide-eyed look.
“You can’t mean the bastard,” Mother cries.
“Snow! SNOW!”
Lady Lucienne eyes her coldly. “Jon Snow is a better person than you or I could ever hope to be. He-“
“Snow! SNOW! SNOW!”
“Enough!” Uncle Brynden orders. “You will not speak to my-“
“Snow! King! KING!”
“If she knew the truth-”
“My husband’s bastard is finally-“
“KING SNOW! KING SNOW! KING SNOW!”
“He isn’t even-“
“SILENCE!” Robb thunders.
The maddening cacophony dies abruptly. Maege is the only one at ease. She sits back with her arms crossed, smiling at Robb with amusement and pride. Her daughters are technically bastards, he supposes, so she probably cares less about Jon’s status than Robb.
Beside her, Bolton squints at the raven, then at the girl. Robb sees the moment he decides on something, or perhaps pieces it together.
“Call your brother from the Wall, Your Grace. Do it now. Offer fifty men. Offer a hundred. But do it now.”
“Why?” Greatjon asks. “What’s going on inside that twisted head of yours?”
Gods save them all, Roose Bolton smiles. Actually smiles.
“I underestimated Eddard Stark. The realm underestimated Eddard Stark. Jon Snow isn’t your brother. I’d wager his name isn’t Jon Snow at all. He’s a Targaryen.”
“KING! KING!” The raven squawks. “KING!”
Bolton smirks and nods at the raven. “Look. They know. The Gods know who he is. He can turn the tides of this war, Your Grace.”
Robb’s gaze snaps to Lady Lucienne. He sees the truth in her heavy eyes, in the great heave of her shoulders. Mother does too. She cries out and slumps in her chair. Her uncle lunges over to catch her by the arm, asking her something under his breath. The room is terribly quiet as they shuffle except for the rustling of the ravens’ wings and the patter of their skinny feet.
“I was going to name him my heir,” Robb says, his stomach dropping. All of those plans, all of those sleepless nights, were for nothing. “I was going to legitimize him as a Stark.”
Lady Lucienne scowls. “I told you we should speak alone.”
“Why not legitimize him as a Targaryen, instead? Name him regent for Bran?” Maege asks.
Robb sighs. Just considering the political implications made his head ache.
“Send for him either way,” Lady Lucienne insists. “The Watch is desperate for men. They’ll let him go if you send enough to replace him. They’d probably demand it with enough of them. Send for Jon Snow. He will come. I know he will.”
Robb runs a hand down his face. He’s so tired. He can’t remember the last time he slept properly. Even at night, even as Grey Wind, his thoughts are a unending storm.
“Very well,” he concedes. “I trust you to draw the papers up, Lord Bolton.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“What about Greyjoy?” Lady Lucienne snaps.
Robb glares at her. He isn’t terribly concerned with propriety, but he’s a bloody king. There is only so much he can overlook. She cannot make such demands, in such a tone of voice, and not at least tack on a ‘Your Grace’ at the end.
“Who am I?” He asks.
“Robb Stark.”
“And what am I?”
She blanches, eyes flashing to his crown, when she realizes his intent.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I do not...” She sighs heavily and suddenly, she is only a girl not much older than him. “It’s exhausting. It all gets jumbled up. What has happened, what is happening, what’s supposed to happen. I have to spend so much energy sorting it all out, and then figuring it all out, that I don’t have the patience for much else. I don’t meant to be disrespectful. I’m just tired and angry and...tired.”
Robb studies her for a moment. He has the weight of the North on his shoulders. She carries the weight of the Old Gods. Perhaps he is too harsh on her. It is not honorable to punish the messenger, nor is it her fault that she must deliver hard truths. Father would be ashamed.
“Your apology is accepted but I insist that you take greater care in the future.”
Lady Lucienne stands and curtsies in her leathers, a strange amalgamation of Sansa and Arya.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll work on it.”
She tries to leave, but Robb motions for her to sit back down. He can practically hear her cursing in his mind. Robb sighs. He takes off his crown, ruffles his curls, and gestures for them to get on with it. It’s going to be a long day.
They argue throughout the day and well into the night. Lucy, as she demanded to be called, is selective in what she reveals. The Gods even more so. Several times, her raven reached over to peck hard at her scalp or caw out some obscenity. Robb began to better understand her frustration when they started pecking at him when he became to persistent for their liking. Even Roose Bolton was not excluded from their scorn, though they settled for screeching nonsense in his direction.
In the end, it is decided that Theon will stay at Robb’s side. Tytos Blackwood leaves for Pyke at first light in an attempt to convince Balon Greyjoy to raid the Westerlands. Mother was supposed to have gone to treat with Lord Renly, but Robb has decided to send her on a different diplomatic mission. One to the east. Far east.
He will truly be alone if Jon does not answer his call.
Bolton spies on her after that fateful meeting. Even the Umbers assign someone to trail her. Robb is the only one that manages to catch her at something.
It happens completely by accident. He’s teaching himself to warg. He could ask Lucy but there’s no fun in that. Grey Wind is his closest friend, something more than even a brother. Losing Grey Wind would be like losing a part of himself. This is for them alone.
On one such occasion, he catches Lucy’s scent. It’s off. She’s on edge like his men before battle. He orders his companion to trail her and pulls himself back into his own body. Robb hurriedly shoves his hair under a knitted cap and trades tops with Lucas. It makes his skin crawl to use a brother’s things to spy on his sister, but there’s nothing to do for it.
Honor will get you killed, Lucy is fond of telling him.
Robb adopts a different gait. Wider stance, a slight limp, borrowed blade on right hip. No one spares him a glance. It is too dark and his men are too drunk to notice anything awry. Idly, Robb wonders if he should increase patrols.
She’s gone to the healing tents, back behind them where the healers sleep. Robb immediately knows something is wrong. This is not Lucy. She is rude and vulgar and sometimes cruel, but she is not so dishonorable. It is a rule of war that maesters and their assistants are not to be harmed.
He creeps forward, stepping exactly where Grey Wind steps. They come to a halt outside a small tent. Inside, a fleshy thud and a muffled scream sounds.
“What is your name?” Lucy demands.
“T-t-Tali-“ A sudden bought of choking overtakes her reply. It lasts so long that even Grey Wind is startled by a sudden desperate gasp of breath.
“Your name.”
“I-I I t-told you.”
Another thud, another cry.
“Your. Name.”
“Please. Please. He’ll kill my family!”
“You think I give a fuck?”
Cold fury spreads through Robb’s chest. A spy. A healer as a spy. He shouldn’t be surprised. It’s Tywin fucking Lannister, but the audacity, the utter disregard for the laws of men and gods. The man has no shame, no honor.
Robb rises from his crouch and steps into the tent. He has to stagger to fit. The pretty nurse he’d argued with only days before is sprawled amongst furs and blankets. One of her eyes are swollen and blood is trickling out of a split on her lip. Her skin, so lovely and dark before, is as grey as his house colors. Lucy’s massive snake is curled around her throat, its tongue flickering to her ear in an almost sensual way. The serpent is so long that most of its body is wrapped around one of her bound arms.
Lucy herself is straddling the spy, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the hilt of a dagger raised to strike. She freezes when he enters.
“Your Grace,” she ventures cautiously.
“King Robb,” the nurse rasps. “Please, Your Gra-“
Robb nods the slightest bit and the snake coils around her neck. Her eyes bulge, her arms convulse, and she gurgles and chokes as her nails clawing into her cot. The snake uncoils at the last minute with a menacing hiss.
“What is your name?” Lucy repeats.
“J-joy. J-joy L-lannett.”
“Joy Lannett?”
Some of the fight goes out of her as she nods.
“ Lannett of Lannisport?” Robb clarifies.
Fresh tears well up in her good eye as she nods again.
“What were your orders?” Lucy asks softly. “Was it to seduce Robb?”
Robb curses harshly when she croaks out a terrified yes. Lucy, however, is not surprised. She whispers something into her ear just as the snake licks the other one. Joy Lannett shudders and cries anew.
“N-no. I-I ssswear it.”
“Fuck,” Lucy curses, wiping her brow on her forearm. “I really didn’t want to have to kill her too.”
Before Robb can say anything, before he can even realize what’s happening, the snake squeezes, cutting off all sound, and the dagger is planted in her swollen eye. She dies ungracefully. Pitifully.
Robb is too furious to control himself. He grabs Lucy by the braid and pulls her off the corpse. The snake hisses and untangles itself far quicker than anything it’s size should be able to. It rears it’s head back, fangs bared, and stops abruptly when Grey Wind pokes his head inside with a low growl.
He pulls on the wad of blonde hair in his fist, bending her neck back to meet his gaze.
“I did not give you leave to kill her,” he snarls.
“And what would you have done?” She hisses. “Give her a trial? Execute her in front of all your men.”
“It is the-“
“It would be a fucking disaster! Who can your men trust if not the healers? How will they trust one another?”
“I-“
“Think, Robb! Think it through!”
Slowly, rationality floods through his anger. He works it through in his mind. She’s right. He doesn’t want her to be right, but she is. The only thing to do would have been to kill the nurse and dispose of her body. Distribute her things amongst the other supplies. No one will notice a missing nurse, even one as pretty as she was.
Robb releases Lucy’s hair, taking a tentative step back. The snake slithers into her lap, curling around her torso to rub at her cheek. It occurs to him then, what she has just done. She has murdered someone to protect him. Tortured them, killed them, and would have covered it all up without anyone the wiser.
“Luce...”
“Don’t,” she snaps, her voice wavering the slightest bit. “Don’t or I’ll never get through it.”
Her hands are shaking and her eyes have a wild glaze to him. She wipes her bloody hands on a nearby fur and begins to climb to her feet. Robb hurries to help her stand. Lucy takes a deep, shuddering breath and clenches her fists. She seems to come back to herself with each breath she takes.
“You need to go, Your Grace,” she finally says. “You cannot he seen here.”
“No.”
“Robb-“
“No,” he says, squeezing her arm. He offers her a weak smile. “Don’t make me use my king’s voice.”
She’s too wound up find him amusing. She only nods curtly and starts rummaging through the furs. They work in silence. Robb doesn’t know what to say or if he should say anything. He’s never killed someone out of battle, never had to think and decide to take a man’s life. And Lucy did it for him.
They use a sheet to carry the spy’s body deep into the woods. They strip of her clothing and leave her to the wolves and the mountain lions. After, they slink back through the maze of tents and workshops. The men are still dancing and laughing and singing, going as if nothing had happened.
They pause when they reach the smithy. She camps with her archers, the dozen of men and women who have begun to call themselves the Raven’s Teeth. Robb reaches for her hand, the one still stained red with blood, and kisses it as reverently as he can. She won’t look him in the eye when he lowers it, nor when she curtsies in farewell.
He tells the council that next morning. Bolton keeps his spies, Robb keeps an eye out, but it is not out of suspicion. For Bolton it is greed and for Robb it is something he does not want to admit to himself.
Robb is no fool. It is impossible for him to take Casterly Rock. Without a dragon, anyway. A siege would last years that he doesn’t have. It’s only been taken once and that was with trickery. He might be able to do that. Maybe. It isn’t worth the risk.
What Robb can do is give Tywin Lannister hell. He is going to conquer as much as the Westerlands as he can, steal its wealth and its food and send it all back home for winter. Winter is coming, they’ll whisper. Do you hear the wolves howling?
Robb can’t do any of it without Oxcross. Oxcross is his way into the western mountains. It is also nearly impossible to take with only one heavily guarded road in and the rest surrounded by woods and mountains full of wolves and bears and mountain lions.
Funny thing, really, that Robb has his own direwolf.
They find a trail while stalking a goat. It’s quick work after that.
Days later, his lieutenants and captains are huddled around a map in the forest. It is not yet dark, but the heavy greenery blocks out the scarce light. Lucy is there to represent her elite archers, who’s numbers have grown to nearly fifty. He’s seen them do their odd group exercises in camp. She says they are activities meant to encourage teamwork and perfect synchronization. It’s useful for what she hopes to accomplish, but it would be a waste of time for the army at large. Still impressive to watch when he can spare the time.
“Thirty men will cut the horses at the same time I send Grey Wind in. It will be chaos,” Robb says. “The rest of us will attack through the trees. Lady Lucienne will lead the Raven’s Teeth north of the village, where they will pick off any stragglers.”
She murmurs something to one of her men. He promptly disappears into the trees.
“Aye, but how can we be sure?” A Bolton man asks. Probably a spy left behind by Lord Roose, but Robb doesn’t mind much. Frankly, he’d be disappointed if there weren’t Bolton spies in his camp. “It could be a ruse for our scouts and we’re fucked if it is.”
“I am confident that Ser Stefford is clueless.”
They eye him doubtfully yet remain silent. It’s part of being a soldier Robb is thankful he never had to learn. To put the lives of his men at the mercy of someone else’s secrets would be a terrible thing.
“Can’t she check for us?” A Frey asks. “Do some of her northern magic?”
“I’m a fucking Blackwood, you dolt,” Lucy snaps.
Uncle Brynden snorts.
“Ser, I assure you-“ the Frey begins
“Oh, fuck it,” she sighs.
She stomps forward, shoves her longbow at Robb, and practically throws herself at his feet. Without warning, her eyes roll back in her head and glow a milky white. The men gasp. One cries out in dismay. The Frey soldier whispers a prayer.
Robb’s eyes don’t do that. They glaze over as if he’s staring out into nothing, rather like Sansa losing herself to another one of her fantasies. The first time he’d seen himself through Grey Wind’s eyes, he’d startled himself back into his own body.
Lucy, however, isn’t just a skinchanger. She is a greenseer, slipping into the mind of a creature that is not her own. She refuses to explain how that is possible, no matter how many times he asks. She’s warned him to never try to possess one of her birds in case the Old Gods decide not to share. That had rankled. He’s the King in the North. If anyone is going to share anything with the Gods, it should be him. Every time he thinks about trying, however, one of the damn birds starts pecking or screaming “shit!”.
Finally, after several minutes, Lucy blinks herself back into reality just as a raven settles itself onto an oak tree. Robb holds out his hand to pull her to her feet.
“They’re just tapped the barrels of ale and the cooks have just set out the pots. They’ll be full and drunk when we attack.”
The Northern lords are silent. Their faces both grim and impressed as they appraise her, their eyes flickering from her pale braid to her worn boots. Robb clamps down on the urge to snap at them, to shove her behind him. Instead, he is forced to hand her weirwood bow back with a blank expression.
“Are there any other concerns? Or shall we go slaughter the lions in their den?”
“Your Grace?” Lord Karstark ventures carefully. Robb bites down on his tongue to fight off his anxiety. He knows what he’s going to ask. It’s been a long time coming. “You said Grey Wind found the goat track.”
“I did.”
Lucy startles at his side, peering over at him with wide, dark eyes.
Lord Karstark licks his lips. “Are you like the Lady Lucy?”
“I am not a greenseer, Lord Rickard.”
“But you’re something.”
“Does it bother you?”
Lord Rickard mulls it over. Robb can see the moment he decides, the moment that could very well change the course of his regency.
“Not so long as it keeps winning us the war, it doesn’t.”
Robb lets a wild, wolfish grin spread across his face. The Frey shivers.
“Then lets go kill some Lannisters.”
They call him the Warg King after. They boast of it and sing of it even while watching him warily. He can smell their fear. He can taste it. Uncle Brynden is not immune. His blue eyes, Tully eyes, linger on Grey Wind when they are together.
Lucy Blackwood is the only one who understands. She sits beside him and lets him rant and rage while she sips on her ale. He tells her things he cannot tell anyone else. He whispers his greatest fears and darkest desires to her under the cover of the stars.
She carefully sits her tankard down and turns to face him. He instantly recoils. He doesn’t like her expression, the solemnity on her features. It does not suit her. She is lively and fierce and never so dire.
“Robb, I’ve got to tell you something. Something I’ve been keeping from you.”
“What is it?”
“Your wolves, these gifts, they weren’t given to you for the Lannisters. Just as the Wall wasn’t raised for the wildlings.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I...Robb, you’re going to think I’m mad.”
“ROBB!” Someone screams. “ROBB! Robb, it’s you!”
He’s thrown to the ground by a stinking bundle of old clothes and dark hair. He frowns down at the boy atop him, shoving him away to see who would be mad enough...
“Arya?” He whispers, tears blurring his vision. “Arya is that really you?”
“Yes, stupid! And Jon. Look, the ravens led me to Jon!”
Behind her, Jon Snow stands with Ghost looming over his shoulder.
“Your Grace,” he murmurs, lowering his head respectfully.
“Jon!” Robb cries. “Jon, get over here you bloody idiot.”
A slow, wide smile spreads across Jon’s face and he’s suddenly gathered in his arms. After a sold half hour of hugs and tears and teasing, the three of them finally break apart. It’s only then that Robb remembers something Arya said.
“You said the ravens led you here?” He asks.
“Yeah! Gendry said I was stupid at first but then there were more and we kept managing to get to places where somebody had just camped or fought and then the next thing I know Jon’s there with his friends.”
“It was Ghost,” Jon explains “Ghost led...Robb? Is all well?”
Robb takes a deep breath and forces a smile. First the Lennett girl and now this? What else has she been doing for him? What more could he possibly owe her?
“You’re here, aren’t you? It can’t get any better than that.”