Return to Winterfell

They had heard it before they saw it.

The rhymic sound of marching footsteps was carried out across the land by the frigid winds of the North. Many had stopped, looking around to try and figure out what and where the sound originated from, and one by one, they moved up to the ramparts of Winterfell and looked out to the surrounding lands.

A field of white, covered with tents as the host of over seven thousand men camped outside the walls of Winterfell, too large of a host to be accommodated inside. All of them, moved to the edges of the encampment to look out, all of them witnessing the sight of the army cresting the horizon.

The flags waved in the wind, each brightly decorated and standing out in the bleak colours of grey and white of the North. Houses from all over the south and at the very front were the northern houses led by the crowned Direwolf of House Stark.

King Robb Stark, the Wolf King had finally arrived.

Jon had no idea how much time had passed since he had arrived on the walls of Winterfell to watch the army march by, continuing to head further north without rest. But he knew he had been there for some time and yet still, the army kept marching past, without an end in sight.

Thousands upon thousands of men marched in a line that even now, continued to march by. It was a truly awe-inspiring sight and Jon felt a lump in his throat. The idea of facing such a force that seemed endless made his nerves rise.

"Riders approaching!" One of the guards shouted, everyone, looking to see riders who had been hidden by the hills, riding down towards them. A small group, no more than a few dozen men, but racing ahead was a single rider, surrounded by wolves, two bigger than the rest.

Even though Jon could not see who it was he knew who it was.

Arya.

A smile grew on his face and Jon turned. "Open the gates, the King has arrived."

-X-

Lifting Arya into his arms, Jon held her tight to him as Ghost moved past, to meet with Grey Wind and Nymeria. Around him, he could hear the muttering of soldiers, but he didn't care, he was just happy to have his family back with him, to know that Arya was safe. He never wanted to let her go, fearful that once again, he could lose her like he had feared as the war progressed.

He had never believed she or Sansa or Ned had ever died.

Not like others had, he was firm in his belief that they were alive and out there, waiting to return. Jon had been right, but it had been two years since they had been sighted before they finally revealed themselves at the Battle of the Bloody Antlers. That was a long time and Jon knew from the correspondence he and Robb had shared, as scarce as it had been, that Robb had believed they were dead.

It was what had fuelled him for so long.

But Jon had never given up hope, even as his fears grew.

To have that belief validated as he held her tightly was all the strength he needed to ignore everything else around him. That was until the muttering turned to cheers as Robb entered, Jon looking up to see a man he had always considered a brother riding through the gates.

He could barely recognise him.

His hair was the same, a red-brown colour, but its length was different, shorter. His blue eyes were sharper as well, seeming to gaze right through everything around him, appearing cold and distant, even more so with the lack of expression on his face as he looked around. Much like his stocky build, Robb looked strong, yet he looked so distant as well.

-X-

Dismounting from his horse, Robb took a moment to look around Winterfell, his home. It was similar to how he remembered, but there were differences, some damages held to buildings that reminded him that he was still at war. But other than that, everything was the same as he remembered, those feelings he had feared would come to him, there and growing.

Yet as he looked around him, at the people who cheered his name, Robb suppressed them. "Lord Bracken." Robb greeted the man who approached. "Congratulations on your victory." He did not thank him for retaking Winterfell, as he had come to learn from his interactions with the southerners, thanks meant greater reward than a simple congratulations.

Jonos bowed deeply. "Thank you, your grace." He replied, rising up when Robb patted him on the shoulder, moving past him where he moved to the next person, Jon.

He had put down Arya who had moved on to greet Ghost who licked her face, much to her joy. Yet while Jon smiled openly, pleased to see him, Robb kept his expression calm, people were watching and word would spread. It was the same as when he first met with Arya, but whereas a moment of weakness had taken hold of him then, now he kept control of it.

A King could not show a weakness of any kind lest he leaves an opening for his enemies to strike. He had things to do and such a weakness would give his enemies the opportunity to stop him, even his own wives.

It was why he sent Arya with Daenerys.

Why he had sent Eddard south with the Tyrells.

He needed to create an image for himself.

An image of a lone wolf.

"Jon." He greeted, Jon's smile straining slightly. "I thank you for what you've accomplished. It was not easy I know, but I am grateful for what you have done." He rested a hand on his shoulder, a tight squeeze being the only comfort he could give and by the look on Jon's face, he knew.

"I only did what anyone else would have done, your grace." He responded, inclining his head.

"Good man." Robb moved past. "Lord Tarly. Have the men prepared to march on the morrow. We shall bring about a speedy end to this war as soon. In the meantime, I shall be heading to the Godswood, do not disturb me."

-X-

He was here again, the Godswood.

It was as he remembered, quiet and tranquil, undisturbed by the presence of man and once more, Robb moved to the tree where it all began. He sat against its barks, pulling out his sword and beginning to clean its edge.

He had used many blades in the course of the war, many becoming chipped, dulled, broken and lost during the course of his war. His most recent blade was acquired from the Golden Company, forged from the finest smiths in Essos. It was light, its blade shiny and its edges sharp, the weight was beautifully balanced and it was well cared for.

He had not used it yet in battle, but he had trained with it.

It was by far the best blade he had used so far, but he hoped to never have to use it. 'I'm tired.' Robb thought, head resting back against the Weirwood Tree, sword handle resting on his shoulder as the tip pressed onto the floor. 'But this is it. The final obstacle in this war.'

Or so he hoped.

Robb knew that even once this war ended, another would begin, one between his wives that would see them battle for the position of Queen. He was almost considering leaving everything behind after the war ended, travelling further North to the lands Beyond the Wall, or perhaps east to Essos.

To travel the world as Arya had always talked about.

Yet Robb could not, he knew that.

Not if he wanted his family to survive and never suffer as they had, they needed to be at the top, to be the rulers. The thing was, Robb had no idea how to rule in peacetime, nor how to wage a war of politics, especially not when his enemies had far more experience than he.

'It will be just like the North.' Robb thought to himself. 'The North and the Ironborn. All it would take is one moment to shift the favour to one side's favour and everything would end.' The war between the Ironborn and the North had seen a constant shift in favour from one side to the other. But with Jon's plan and Rodrick's positioning further south, ultimately the favour would have shifted to the North.

Even with his defeat at the hands of Victarion and losing Torrhen's Square, if Rodrick had escaped to Winterfell, he could have kept the Ironborn trapped on the western shoreline. All the while Jon fought further north and pushed south.

That was until the Boltons arrived.

The introduction of a third faction led to a stalemate with neither side able to do anything that shifted in their favour, having to now contend with two opponents. 'Perhaps that is how I can solve the crisis in the south.' Robb sat upright, a revelation coming to him. 'Introduce a third faction with which the Targaryens and Tyrells must contend with.'

Not himself, no.

He would be much like Stannis had been in this war, forgotten about.

Just as the North, Ironborn and Boltons had been too focused on overcoming one another, allowing Stannis to be moved unencumbered, he could do the same. Introduce a third faction that sees his wives and this third faction fight for control, leaving him forgotten about.

It was risky he knew

But Robb knew he could not contain the Tyrells and Targaryens on his own, not with their political expertise. Yet a third faction, a political rival, might be able to do just that.