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KoW - Chapter 47
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 16:03:57 +0000 UTCRobb Stark
At the head of his army, Robb Stark crested the grassy hill atop his horse, his direwolf Grey Wind padding silently at his side. As the wind tugged at his cloak, the charred, jagged towers of Harrenhall rose on the horizon, black against the pale sky like the broken fingers of a giant.
At his right, he heard the sight stealing the breath from his men—Harrenhall loomed impossibly vast, dwarfing every keep and castle they had ever known, its scorched towers rising like mountains above the surrounding land, with the shimmering expanse of the God's Eye lake glinting in the distance beyond its ruined walls.
Robb went still, the wind brushing past him as he reached out with the Force. What he had suspected was true—Harrenhall pulsed faintly with the Dark Side. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was there, old and settled like dust in stone. He felt the urge to frown, uneasy, he never saw a dragon, but if their flames could cause such an effect, then the Valyrian magics must surely be a form of dark alchemy.
Most importantly, his eyes turn to the still lake next to the colossal castle, something was strange about the god’s eye, ever since awakening with his powers, he felt two, distinct presences that seemed strangely familiar yet threatening in the force.
One was to the far north, a dark presence that felt chilling, like the seeping cold into an old man’s bones, promising his coming death. The other had felt ephemeral, it was hard to grasp, hidden behind a veil not unlike his own, even if it felt weaker than the former.
Robb thought it was Harrenhall, but now that he was here, he knew, something was wrong about the Isle of Faces.
“My lord.” His squire, one almost forgotten Olyvar Frey, speaks. “My brother should be sending a rider by now.”
Olyvar didn’t really feature much into his life until much later. He’d promised Walder Frey that one of his progenies would be his squire, but hadn’t bothered with the act until he’d come back from the Westerlands.
Originally, the plan was to get a squire in Riverrun, finally fulfilling part of his promise, but then the fiasco with Edmure had happened, and so Robb chose to withhold that action until Roose Bolton came back successful.
For all intents and purposes, the boy was somewhat anxious, but he was diligent, and loyal, qualities perfect for a squire.
Perhaps prescient should also be added to his abilities, as soon enough, a rider did indeed approach.
“My lord!” From the man’s features, he was clearly another Frey. “Forgive the lateness, please! Ser Stevron is ready to receive you.”
With a gesture, their contingent slowly marched toward the gate of the castle, upon which they were met by the smiling face of one Stevron Frey.
Robb dismounts. “I hope all things are in order.”
Stevron nods. “Aye, my lord.” He said, signaling to a man on his left. “But first, bread and salt.”
Robb nods, grabbing a small piece, dipping it in salt, and swallowing.
“You should have seen the state of the castle when we arrived.” An uncomfortable expression crosses the man’s face, as if remembering something unpleasant. “Or perhaps not… The Lannisters, they made sure to destroy all that was left, the gates hung loose, and ash covered this place like snow.”
“The granaries were burned in their totality, and corpses lay where they had fallen, some slumped against the walls, others half buried under the rubble, their stench! Gods, their stench made many of my men lose their bowels.” He shakes his head, “And the lady, poor lady Whent, her body, it was left over the gate, held by ropes attached to her guts.”
He looks to Robb with mourning in his eyes. “I am sorry for your loss, my lord.”
Robb gave it the appropriate measure of silence, before nodding. “Where is her body kept?”
“I gave it to the silent sisters, to preserve her bones.” Stevron explains. “What is to be done with it?”
“Arrange a funeral, a private affair, for family and close friends only.” Robb replies. “I do not wish for the method of her dead to be publicized.”
Stevron nods. “Wise.”
“How goes the rebuilding.”
Stevron spent their time walking explaining the current state of affairs, the castle was so large that the path to the solar had allowed him to give a total recounting of the efforts.
“Again, the Lannisters left everything in utter disrepair, many things I had to get my men to rebuild from scratch, taking note of the total damages and the state of the castle alone took days. I had everyone held in the Wailing Tower, and charged the men with the most important tasks first.”
“The granaries, armories, noble chambers and the great hall are fixed and in reasonable condition.” He explains. “I thought it enough to get the castle running, and so the men are currently charged with fixing the fields, clearing the land, replanting hedgerows, repairing fences, and adding ashes from clean wood to the fields.”
Robb nods. “Well done, there are more than ten thousand refugees with main army, most shall be put to work on those fields.” He explains. “I heard Harrentown was similarly ruined?”
Stevron nods. “Sacked to the ground by the Lannisters even before they ran.” He says.
“That shall not be, I have a great number of blacksmiths, tanners, carpenters and artisans to get to work, the castle can accommodate them for a time, but not for long and not optimally.” He says.
“I see.” Stevron says. “Apologies, I should have put men to that task.”
Robb shakes his head. “No.” He rebukes. “Your work was exemplary, Ser. That was simply a remark.”
They finally reach the solar on top of Kingspyre tower, with a view straight toward the God’s Eye, it was the best chamber in the castle.
They sit around a sparsely decorated table, and Stevron sends for wine.
Robb simply stares ahead, his seat stood straight in front of the window, giving him a straight look at the lake.
“I shall have another man handle the castle, Stevron.” He says. “I will leave the repairs to him.”
Stevron looks somewhat dejected, but he nods.
“You will be responsible for the logistics for the entire army, and the refugees.” He continues. “Your work shall be similar, but on a larger scale. Harrenhall isn’t the only castle affected by the Lannister’s savagery, and the Riverlands are reeling from the war. I charge you with repairing Harrentown and the surrounding fields, once that is done, you will arrange envoys to other settlements who faired a similar fate to put them to work.”
And just as quick, Stevron’s face lit up with joy.
“I will not fail you, my lord.”
Robb nods. “People say an army marches on its stomach, that is a lie.” He says. “An army marches in sturdy boots, else they catch foot-rot. It needs weapons and armor, else soldiers would be useless. It needs feed not only for the men, but for horses too. Carpenters and wood, leather and cotton, else tents won't rise and wounds won’t bind. Blacksmiths for the blades, and masons to mend broken wheels. Scribes to count the grain, and scouts to ride ahead, all those things allow an army to function.”
“The North is far away, but the Riverlands are close.” He explains. “And so, to be able to have a chance, to wage war over a long period, we will need men who can handle the things that most nobles would consider beneath their notice, someone to lead the recovery of the land, to give access to our army of all that is needed. I hope for their lead to be you, Ser Stevron.”
Stevron nods once again, his eyes, this time, reflected a determined gaze, someone who understands his responsibility.
“Well, then.” Robb says. “What of the scouts?”
A maidservant had finally arrived, with a pitcher of watered wine and two cups.
“Scouts to the southeast speak of concerning movements, Lannister men are more active in the crownlands, close to our borders, than is expected.”
The maid pours a cup, and yet as she was doing the same for Robb, he swiftly grabs her pouring hand.
“What is the matter?”
Using common senses, the maidservant seems completely average, with no discerning qualities or concerning features. But to Robb’s sense, he felt great amounts of sorrow emanating from her.
“I am sorry.”
The woman, with unexpected agility, unsheathes a dagger from her bosom with her free hand. She then moves to slit Robb’s throat, only for his other hand to grab hers.
With both hands occupied, Robb headbutts the woman, sending her reeling back, swiftly standing up, he twists one of his arms with great speed even as he held her arm, striking her temple cleanly with his elbow.
As if her strings are cut, the woman falls, with her head striking the table violently as she fell.
“GUARDS!” Stevron screams.
The guards walk up to the carefree sight of Robb as he massaged his elbow, with an unconscious woman, a dagger to the ground.
“Hold that woman!” Stevron orders.
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