28 King of the Reach

Sat in his tent, Robb quietly read through the letter he had recently received from Lord Mallister. In it, it detailed how they had engaged the Ironborn host holding Moat Cailin which had foolishly left the ruined fortress to engage Lord Mallister and his forces east of the Fever River.

It had been a relatively long battle, over two hours of fighting that had resulted in a devastating loss for the Ironborn. Over two thousand were dead, a further thousand captured. Meaning that the once larger Ironborn army was brought down to less than half their number in a single engagement. The Riverland forces on the other hand suffered only a few hundred casualties, mostly amongst the infantry though there were a few cavalrymen amongst those lost.

Overall, it was a major victory in the northern campaign which helped elevate some of the worry he felt.

It was no secret that the northern defenders were vastly outnumbered, but the defenders were not going down without a fight. And it seemed the Greyjoy Invasion was being ground to a halt, the forces of the Ironborn stuck on the western shore with three large hosts in the north, centre and now at the south of the North. But despite that, Robb was worried about Victarion and the force of ten thousand under his command. That could tip the tide of the northern frnt against them once more.

Right now, the Ironborn would be forced to focus their attention on a single point and punch through. If Robb were the Ironborn he would push up North. It was the smartest decisions to make.

The forces according to the reports were split apart, Jon having sent two thousand to join up with Rodrik Cassel at the start of the war to reinforce the centre. After retaking Deepwood Motte, Jon had further split his forces apart, five hundred remaining to defend the Glover castle, another five hundred heading to Bear Island and the remaining one thousand marching south.

It was a risky manoeuvre that could very well shift the tide of the war in the favour of the defenders if it worked. But it was a double-edged sword, it would be very easy for the Ironborn if led by a capable commander to use this as an opportunity to turn the invasion in their favour.

Robb trusted in his brother and in the Greatjon, but it was not about trust. This was about understanding their enemy and the Ironborn were nothing if not opportunists. All it would take was a capable commander to see this weakness and suddenly the war would twist against them. He just hoped that there weren't many capable commanders that noticed this weakness before Jon managed to score the critical victory to make this pay off.

Placing the letter down, Robb rubbed his brow tiredly, looking towards Grey Wind who was resting peacefully. Well, he wasn't sleeping, Robb couldn't tell you how he knew that, but he just did.

Ever since that day at Oxcross, when he had found himself in the body of Grey Wind the instinctive connection and bond he shared with his Direwolf seemed to have grown stronger. It was like at times, he was capable of communicating with him without ever having to speak, like they shared one mind.

And when he slept, Robb sometimes found himself wandering the camps late at night, hunting animals and feasting on their bodies like he was a ravenous wolf. He had never put much stock in Old Nan's stories, though with the Old Gods speaking to him and now his connection to his Direwolf, Robb was thinking that he should probably take another look at those stories.

From what he was experiencing, it was almost as if he was a Skingchanger.

It had terrified him at first, still did but Robb was starting to see the uses in it. He'd at first, denied the ability, almost beginning to distance himself from Grey Wind, but as of recently he had started to notice the uses such an ability could have.

A few nights ago, Robb had rested his weary body after a day of training with members of his personal guard only to find himself in the body of Grey Wind. He hadn't been in control, never had been besides that simple instance at Oxcross. But, he had suddenly found that Grey Wind had wandered up close to the walls of Sarsfield.

And as Grey Wind continued to stalk the walls, as if hearing Robb's instructions, Robb was able to see so much more than he had before. And he had found what he was looking for in the two weeklong siege.

Before he had believed that the only way in would be through force, but Robb had decided against that. The House Sarsfield had a total of seven hundred men defending the castle and with his host of three thousand men, Robb wouldn't be able to take it without heavy losses. Even this little route would be a dangerous endeavour that would cost the lives of many men.

But it was then, that Robb had noticed the benefits of such an ability.

Every night since then he had allowed his mind to flow into Grey Winds and each time he felt his power and influence over Grey Wind when he entered the Direwolf's body grow. There was still the fear he felt in using such a power, this was magic, sorcery, an unnatural phenomenon.

However, as a military commander he was more than capable of seeing the uses such an ability had. Whether he feared it or not, Robb would use every advantage he had to gain victory, if that meant using sorcery and magic, then so be it.

"Your grace!" This squire, Olyvar Frey burst into his tent with heavy breath and flush of exertion of his face. "There's a large host heading our way."

"How many men?" Despite his grim face, Robb couldn't help but feel a momentary bout of excitement fill him. It seemed that finally some of the Lords in the south of the Westerlands had pooled their resources and men in attempt to liberate their kingdom from the invaders.

It was not unsurprising really.

Already the Golden Tooth, Hornvale and Ashemark had fallen, their riches taken and used to fuel his ever-expanding war machine. At the same time, he had Lord Karstark raid along the coastline and take the goldmine of Castamere. All the while Lady Mormont and Lord Glover and Bolton took the mines of Pendric Hills, Tarbeck and Nunn's Deep, the latter two having moved onto besiege the Crag.

It made sense for them to try and muster a force to halt him before he became too powerful. The riches of the Westerlands would only open more opportunities for Robb in the future and they wanted to stop him before he got the chance to use their riches for his own gain.

"Five thousand, your grace." Olyvar answered a panicked look in his eyes. "They're from the Reach saw the sigil of House Tyrell amongst them. Have they allied with the Lannisters?

Now that was a question.

News of Renly's death had reached him soon after he set out to besiege Sarsfield and that was one of the main concerns he had. If the Tyrell's pledged their support to Joffrey and the Lannisters, the war would be all but impossible. He'd have to surrender both his campaign in the Westerlands and abandon the Riverlands and secure the North in preparation to defend against the combined armies of the Tyrells and Lannisters.

'Still, if they have come to stop us, coming with only five thousand?' He was almost insulted. "Prepare half our men to charge in case they are hostile." This order was spoken to both Dacey and Smalljon who had arrived soon after Olyvar, the young squire in question having already prepared his cloak and sword.

The cloak itself was black in colour and made from a number of different animals. It was made using ancient Northern tanning techniques and was far tougher than leather armour made anywhere else in the south.

Wrapping it around his shoulder, he clasped it in place before taking his sword, a simple, well-forged broadsword he had taken from one the Lannisters soldiers he killed in the Battle of the Camps. The gaudy red and gold handle had been replaced with a much simply dark leather wrap with the hilt actually being made from Weirwood.

"I wouldn't worry about that, your grace." Lord Marq Piper said as he too entered the tent. "They've stopped and riders have already entered the camp wishing to peak with you. Your lady mother is amongst them."

"Truly?" He asked and Marq nodded his head. "That damn woman, can't she send me a raven informing me of this. Doesn't she know this is a war?" Robb cursed as he stormed past them and out into the open air.

There he watched Catleyn Stark along with four others he didn't recognise moved towards him on horseback.

"Bring them inside when they arrive." He ordered, entering back into the tent, and sitting down in the tent, waving off Olyvar who asked if he should take away his sword. Right now, he didn't know if the men following his mother were hostile or not, they could very well be using this opportunity to let him drop his guard before killing them. He'd rather not be without his blade if that happened.

Instead, he indicated for Olyvar to bring him his crown who did so. It was an uncomfortable thing formed of a bronze forged into an open circlet inscribed with Runes of the First Men and topped with nine black iron spikes in the shapes of long swords.

It wasn't comfortable at all and Robb had wanted it that way. It reminded him that being King wasn't easy just like wearing the crown wasn't easy.

For a few moments he waited in silence, silently watching as men of his personal guard started to file into the tent. Only eleven members in all and all had fought and bled by his side.

There was Lucas Blackwood, second son of Lord Tytos Blackwood.

Robin Flint, eldest son of Lady Lyessa Flint.

Ser Perwyn Frey, fifteenth son of Walder Frey and one of the few decent men amongst the Frey family.

Daryn Hornwood, son of Lord Harys Hornwood.

Eddard Karstark and his recently joined brother, Harrion Karstark, sons of Lord Rickard Karstark.

Ser Donnel Locke of House Locke.

Patrek Mallister, eldest son of Lord Jason Mallister.

Ser Wendel Manderly, second son of Lord Wyman Manderly.

Dacey Mormont, eldest daughter, and heir of Lady Maege Mormont.

Smalljon Umber, son, and heir of Lord Greatjon Umber.

And last, but not least his squire, Olyvar Frey.

It was a bunch of mostly young men and women like himself, but most of them had killed hundreds and seen thousands die.

"Your grace," the flap to the tent opened and in stepped Lord Marq Piper, one of the sub-commanders of his army here. He was a loyal man, especially when Robb had shown mercy to his father, Clement Piper and allowed him to live despite his treasonous actions. "May I introduce, Lady Catelyn Stark and her four companions, Ser Robar Royce, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Ser Emmon Coy and Ser Garlan Tyrell."

"I am glad to see you safe, mother." Despite his irritation at arriving at his camp with any army at her back and no prior warning, Robb was pleased to see her safe and unharmed. "And welcome to all of you, please rise."

Each of the four knights that had bowed as a sign of respect rose, Garlan taking note of the discomfort the Young Wolf showed when he asked them to rise.

"Not that I am pleased to see you alive, I am wary of the large army you seem to have brought with you. A prior warning would have been…useful?" This is where Garlan stepped forth, the momentary action causing the members of Robb's personal guard to rest their hands on the handles of their weapons in preparation.

There was a sudden tense feeling in the air, but Robb rose one hand and it dispelled as his guards relaxed their bodies, but never once removed their hands from their weapons.

"Ser Garlan, correct?"

The man in question smiled easily. "Yes, your grace. Forgive me for the suddenness then, but I believe that you in the North like to get straight to business, correct?"

"Aye, we do. Winter isn't forgiving and doesn't allow for the word games that you lot south of the Neck seem to enjoy playing." Robb agreed, though his eyes widening in momentary shock when Garlan drew his blade and dropped to one knee, presenting the blade to Robb in both hands.

"I, Ser Garlan, son of Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Manders and Warden of the south, do hereby pledge the loyalty of me and the armies of the Reach to the new King, Robb Stark."

Again, there was a momentary tension in the air, this time it was dispelled by Smalljon who laughed uproariously. The sword he had drawn much like the rest of Robb's guard when they witness Garlan unsheathed his was propped on the ground as he used it to balance himself.

"Dacey, get Smalljon out of here." Robb ordered, never taking his eyes off the still kneeling Garlan. He didn't need to look to know she was doing as he had said, he could hear her quite easily shoving the bigger man out of the tent who still continued to laugh all the way. "You will have to forgive Smalljon, he's a good man, but he doesn't know how to keep his thoughts to himself."

"I understand, your grace." Garlan muttered, keeping his sword outstretched and Robb rose from his seat.

Taking the blade, Robb then pointed it at Garlan who never let an ounce of fear show on his face.

"Robb?!" Catelyn exclaimed in shock, unsure of what her son was doing, and she wasn't the only one.

"Tell me, Ser Garlan. How am I to trust your word?"

"Your grace? I'm afraid I don't understand?" Garlan questioned.

"The Reach pledged their loyalty to King Renly and so soon after his death you come to me? Why? Is it revenge? Power?" He demanded and Garlan frowned slightly.

"I believe there has been a mistake, your grace. Yes, we did support King Renly, but it was a choice born with too little information. We quickly cut our support to Renly the next day, we wished to ensure the side we choose was the correct one. There is no denying that Renly was a good man and would have made a good King, but he did not have a claim to the Iron Throne."

"Nor do I, nor do I have a desire to claim it if that is your plan."

Garlan bowed his head. "I know, the honour of the Starks is well-known, it is also well-known that you did not crown yourself King. A man who inspires such loyalty and love in his bannermen that they proclaim him their King, that is a man worthy to follow. You fight for a just cause, and the best Kings, are those who do not want to be Kings." Garlan stated firmly, looking up directly into Robb's eyes as if daring him to refute what he just said.

Eventually after staring into Garlan's eyes to gain a measure of the man, Robb flipped the sword round and presented the handle to Garlan. "Welcome, Ser Garlan." As much as he did not want to be King of yet another kingdom, he also knew that he needed those soldiers.

The war despite being in his favour so far, could quite easily turn depending on certain factors. The Tyrell's were one such factor Robb had always been wary of. They fielded the largest army of over eighty thousand men and unlike every other kingdom, had the wealth and food to sustain that large army.

Kingdoms like the Westerlands and the Riverlands, despite being the former being the wealthiest kingdom and the latter being the largest in terms of trade and commerce, neither could field the full might of their army.

Even the North, despite having the largest of the seven kingdoms in Westeros had many severe limitations that hampered their military might. First was the fact their houses and soldiers were spread over vast swaths of lands, so it took great deals of time to raise a large host. Secondly and thirdly, they did not have the food or the coin necessary to feed and pay the full might of their army without going bankrupt in a matter of weeks.

Robb had known this and so, raised only twenty thousand men, the largest force he could raise on short notice and marched south. The remaining near thirty thousand scattered across the land being marched south to replace the losses they suffered. It was a common strategy shared by many of the other kingdoms.

But one the Reach did not have to use due to the sheer amount of food they produced.

Such an army could very well turn the war against him, and he couldn't afford to let that happen. "I would be honoured to have you and the men of the Reach by my side in this war." Garlan bowed his head once more, stepping back in line with the other four warriors.