Chapter Text
The hills rolled like waves over Robb’s mother’s Lordship, stretching from the Blue Sea to the White Peaked Mountains on the distant horizon. A harsh gust of wind blew from the North, causing his’s guards to audibly shutter while his Bronze and Silver gambeson kept him warm.
Kyle, the largest and loudest of his guards, laughed aloud, making the trees shake and birds scatter around them. “Milord’s Northron blood is shining through today.” Robb gave the man a forced smile. The man reminded him of The Greatjon, though he wasn’t quite as large, and he lacked the Northern hardiness. Not that Robb could blame him. Kyle had grown up in the halls of Runestone, while the Greatjon had grown up in the cold reach of Last Hearth.
Robb flinched, Kyle was a good man, and a loyal one, but he hated him for how much he reminded him of his dead general. Thinking of him undoubtedly led to thinking of the War, King Joffrey, his father’s death, the Lannisters, and those thrice damned Freys. Robb gripped the reigns of his pony so tightly he could feel the bristles of the rope through his sheepskin gloves. The moment he had the opportunity, he would raze the Twins to the ground, salt the earth, and end their line before the Rat Walder Frey could even be seed in his father’s cock.
Kyle laughed again, “Aye, it seems like Milord is all Northern through and through. You brood as much as your father.” Robb forced himself to laugh. When he’d tried telling his mother of his past life she’d told him it was just a dream, as had Maester Bennifer, and his father. He’d learned not to speak of his past life for fear of being labeled mad. A regent ruling in his name would make his vengeance more difficult. And he would get his vengeance. He owed Talisa that much.
“Come now, My Lord, your Lady Mother and Lord Father are expecting you back,” Mathos called. A glance toward the sun told Robb that he’d had several hours till the sun set, and Mathos had likely just grown cold, but he’d humor the man. Commanding men as a nine name day old was far more difficult than as the King he once was.
Nodding to his guards he turned and began to ride back to the keep of Runestone. His guards struggled to slow their horses to stay inline with his pony. That Robb hadn’t been allowed to mount a full sized mount was insulting, but he’d long since given up on convincing his Lady Mother to allow him his choice from the stables.
As much as Robb missed Winterfell and the North, he would admit that Runestone was more vibrant. Where Winterfell was once surrounded by miles of untamed Tundra, Runestone was surrounded by farms and rolling hills. It was nearing the end of Summer and each farm had several Smallfolk working the land, those close enough to recognize the colors of House Royce cheered for him as they rode. Robb would’ve loved to stop and speak with his future subjects as Eddard Stark once would’ve, but Mathos seemed in a hurry to return and he’d learned not to test his Master at Arms as a boy back in Winterfell.
Robb’s second chance at life was a gift, but he’d hated being a man grown in the body of a babe. He’d slain more men in battle than he could count yet he had to relearn how to hold a sword, had to relearn, the sigils, colors, and words of Houses he’d led in battle. The Northern and Riverlander houses were the worst and he could barely finish a session with Maester Bennifer without being flooded with memories of Edmure’s wedding.
After another half hour of riding and cresting Yarwyck’s Hill, Robb saw the high walls of Runestone, his mother’s Lordship through the mist that had set in. A scout blared his horn once from a nearby hill and when they grew closer the great doors were opened and then shut behind them. Grooms quickly came to them and led their mounts to the stables. Looking around, he saw neither of his Lord Parents, nor Maester Bennifer. Glancing at the sun, he saw that it had set far enough that his brother and cousins were likely done with their lessons, and Bennifer had a favored spot to sit and watch the gates from his tower when he wasn’t busy.
He felt his stomach growl and he continued on to the kitchens, assuming they were busy elsewhere. After grabbing a loaf of honeyed bread he set out to search for his siblings. He found Alayne, his only sister, 3 years his junior with her Septa, and their cousins, Lorra and Alyssa, named for the Crown Prince’s late Mother when her younger son was betrothed to his mother.
“Robb!” Alayne shouted when she saw him, throwing her needle, yarn, and the project she was working on to the side as she barreled toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug. One that Robb eagerly returned. Having endured the deaths of all his siblings but Jon’s, he’d made sure to love his siblings fiercely while he could.
Septa Pamal cleared her throat behind them, and Robb felt his sister tense in his arms. “Lady Alayne, running into Lord Robar in that manor is not very Lady like. What would your Lady Mother say if she saw you?” Her voice was old and hoarse, she’d been at Runestone since the time of his grandfather.
Robb knew their mother wouldn’t care, as did Alayne, but neither wanted to deal with the repercussions the Septa would bring on them, so he patted her along back towards her needles. “Septa Pamal,” Robb began as the Septa looked back up from her needlework, “Have you seen my Lord Father or Lady Mother?” he asked.
“Yes, I believe I saw them enter your Lady Mother’s solar some time ago.” Robb thanked the Septa and set out. On his way he glanced his brother, Brandon, along with his cousins William and Gunthor, all half his age and playing in the yard. Gunthor was a giant of a boy, only half a head shorter than Robb, and he knew from his past life that William would one day don a White Cloak, and his prowess already reflected as much.
Eventually, Robb came to the door to his mother’s solar, guards on either side of the door. He could hear the muffled voices of both of his parents along with the Maester’s from inside. He put on his Lord’s Face and deepened his voice, “What is happening?” he asked.
“The King’s dead, Milord.” Robb nodded. King Jaehaerys’ reign was one he hadn’t cared much about as a boy, but the Dance was coming, and like many boys, he and Jon had loved playing at it as boys. The Dance was also an opportunity for his vengeance. He loved hearing tales of the Fishfeed or the Butcher’s Ball, using them to inspire his troops as he fought in the Riverlands, and he would be there fighting this time. Mayhaps he’d get the glory of killing the Lord Lannister himself this time. How he’d kill the Freys he’d not yet thought.
“May the father judge him justly.” Robb said solemnly. A part of him was excited to live in a time filled with Dragons and the legendary figures he’d looked up to as a boy. The Mad King may have killed his grandfather and uncle, but his father and siblings had died because of Robert Baratheon’s stupidity. Besides, the Targaryens and their Dragons would make for better allies. “May I enter?” Robb asked after a moment. The guard nodded and knocked on the door.
“Lord Robar begs entry.” The guard shouted.
“Send him in,” Robb’s mother replied and the door was opened a second later. Lady Rhea sat behind the desk in her solar, her light brown hair looking frayed. While his father and Maester Bennifer sat’s in plush deerskin chairs across the desk from her. All smiled at him as he entered, his father looking stressed and Bennifer’s brow was furrowed as it always was.
“Is something amiss, son?” Asked Robb’s father, Bennard Stark.
“No father. I hadn’t seen any of the three of you when I returned from my ride and I wanted to see if something was happening,” Robb replied.
His mother broke out into a smile, her voice full of mirth as she laughed, “Our ever responsible Son, Bennard.”
Robb hated being in the body of a child, yet despite the high pitch of his voice he could still try and force the same authority he’d wielded as a king into his voice. “If I am to be Lord one day, I should sit in on your council meetings, mother.”
Both his parents smiled proudly, “Aye my lord you will be, but not for many years gods willing…” began Maester Bennifer, the elderly man’s voice faltering as he thought, “But you are but nine namedays. A child your age is better suited for other tasks.”
“My father began preparing me to lead when I was one and ten, Maester” his mother argued. Robb smiled at his mother as she continued, “And you’ve boasted of his intelligence at every chance. If he believes he is ready to sit in on my duties, then he shall.”
Robb smiled as Bennifer mumbled something he couldn’t hear. His father looked proud, but also seemed silent. Robb knew that Bennard Stark was not Eddard Stark, while Eddard hadn’t wanted his lordship and took it up for duty, while Bennard was ambitious. A second son who he knew had once tried to usurp Cregan and take the North for himself. He wasn’t satisfied as a regent and he wasn’t satisfied as the husband of the Lady of a Lordship, even one as old and powerful as Runestone.
“Well Robar, King Jaehaerys is dead. And your mother doesn’t deem King Viserys’ coronation as being worthy of our attendance.” His father argued, sounding annoyed.
“Lord Bennard, Lady Rhea is correct in saying that the harvest is ending soon, however I do agree with you that it would be an insult to the Royal Family if we weren’t to attend,” the Maester stuttered.
‘Of course it would,’ Robb thought. He’d made enough mistakes in his campaign to know when someone is trying to insult their liege.
“It’s supposed to be an insult, Bennifer. The Targaryens insulted both my House and my husband’s when Daemon broke our betrothal and ran off with Bennard’s sister. To go to his brother’s coronation would make us seem weak.” Rhea looked Bennard in the eye, “And I’m sure your father would agree.”
Bennard scoffed, “Is that what this is about, wife? Your hurt pride?” Robb’s father stood up and put his hands on the desk. “Have I made for such a miserable husband that you spend your nights dreaming of your promised Prince? The two of you riding the Bloodwyrm together before landing and fucking atop a mountain?” There was venom in his voice and he’d seemingly forgot Robb was there. “My father is going, he’s an old man and he’d want to meet his grandchildren before he dies, so he and Rick would go for that alone. Lya’s daughter should be almost five name days by now and her son is of age with Robb. Let our children meet their cousins.”
Rhea was taken aback and scowled. Robb knew that his parents’ marriage wasn’t built in the same love that was in his first life, but he didn’t know it was this bad. There was a thick silence in the room, the Maester was too afraid to speak and Robb didn’t know what to say. The subject of Daemon Targaryen was an iffy one for his mother. He knew from the histories that they wouldn’t have made for a happy couple and he thought it was just down to a matter of pride.
“Even more so, his grace’s wife is cousin to Lady Jeyne. How would she react to knowing her vassal disrespected her cousin in this way?” the Maester continued as his mother grit her teeth and his father had a smug look upon his face.
“Aye, you’re correct. I’ll start on preparations.” She huffed after a moment’s silence. Robb felt as if his parents and the Maester had forgotten he was there. His father looked to him and smiled.
“Well, Robar, it seems you’ll finally meet your cousins.” The cheer in his voice was more genuine than Robb had heard in months.