Chapter 3: Counsel, Shadows, and a Looming Fall
The remnants of the welcome feast lay scattered across the Great Hall like the aftermath of a minor battle. Greasy trenchers, overturned goblets, and gnawed bones painted a picture of royal indulgence that contrasted sharply with the usual Northern frugality. Robert Baratheon, already several flagons deep and roaring with laughter as he regaled a group of his own lords with tales of past glories (many, Robb suspected, heavily embellished), was the boisterous center of the chaos.
Lord Eddard Stark sat beside his king, a strained smile fixed on his face, his eyes holding a deep weariness that Robb knew wasn't just from the day's events. The offer had been made, the weight of it settling visibly on his father's shoulders.
Robb, positioned strategically where he could observe both his father and the key Lannister players, felt the prodigious power of Sunshine beginning its slow ebb as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The overwhelming, god-like arrogance of "The One" persona that had peaked at noon was receding, leaving behind a profound, resonating strength and an unshakeable confidence that was far beyond what he'd possessed just that morning. It was as if the sun had burned away some of his old caution, replacing it with a hardened resolve. Tony Volante's mind was firmly in control, but now it piloted a vessel of far greater capabilities.
Cersei Lannister watched her husband with an expression of barely veiled contempt, her smiles for the Northern lords brittle. Jaime, ever the charming rogue, was trading jests with some of the younger Northern knights, though his eyes, Robb noted, frequently flickered towards his sister, a subtle, possessive gleam that confirmed Robb's darkest suspicions about their relationship. Joffrey was sulking, clearly bored by the rustic entertainment, while Tyrion Lannister, a flagon of wine seemingly a permanent extension of his hand, observed everyone with an unnervingly keen gaze.
Later that night, in Eddard Stark's solar – a room that felt far too small and somber after the raucousness of the feast – the true council began. Only Ned, Catelyn, Robb, and a grim-faced Maester Luwin were present. The air was thick with unspoken anxieties.
"He's asked me to be Hand," Ned stated flatly, staring into the fire. "Jon Arryn is dead, murdered, Robert believes. He wants me to find the truth, to bring justice."
Catelyn wrung her hands. "Ned, you cannot. The South is a nest of vipers. Lysa's letter… if the Lannisters were bold enough to kill Jon Arryn, what chance would you have?"
"I gave my oath to Robert long ago, Cat," Ned said, his voice heavy with duty. "If he needs me, I must go."
"But at what cost?" she pleaded. "Your life? The safety of our family?"
Before Ned could reply, Robb spoke, his voice calm but carrying a new weight that made them all look at him. "Father, your loyalty to King Robert is a cornerstone of your being. I understand that. To refuse him outright would be a grave insult and could have unforeseen consequences for the North."
Ned looked at his son, a flicker of surprise in his eyes at Robb's measured tone. "You would have me go then?"
"I would have you be wise," Robb countered. "If you must go, you do not go unprepared, or as a lamb to the slaughter. The King needs you, Eddard Stark, not just any warm body to fill a title. That gives you leverage."
Luwin nodded slowly. "Young Lord Robb speaks with wisdom. What conditions would you propose, my lord?"
Robb continued, "Firstly, you take a significant force of Northern guards. Not just a token retinue, but at least two hundred seasoned men, loyal to House Stark and the North alone. Men I will help select. They will be your eyes, your ears, and your swords in King's Landing."
Ned frowned. "Two hundred men? That's a small army, Robb. Robert might see it as a sign of mistrust."
"Let him," Robb said, a hint of steel in his voice. "If he trusts you to be his Hand and uncover a potential plot against his own life and the former Hand, he should trust you to ensure your own safety while doing so. Frame it as needing trusted men for the investigation itself. Moreover," Robb leaned forward, "you must secure certain assurances before you even agree. Full authority to investigate, unimpeded access to Jon Arryn's records, and the King's unwavering public support. Get these in writing, witnessed."
Tony Volante, the mafia boss, knew the value of contracts, of explicit agreements. Honor was a fine sentiment, but ink and witnesses provided a more tangible defense.
"Furthermore," Robb pressed on, "while you are South, I will act as Warden of the North with full investiture. Not just as a caretaker, but with the authority to make decisions, to raise levies if necessary, to govern as I see fit for the protection and prosperity of our lands. The North must remain strong and self-reliant, especially with its Lord Paramount hundreds of leagues away in a dangerous court."
Catelyn looked at Robb, a mixture of apprehension and dawning respect in her eyes. This was not just her precocious son; this was a man speaking with a chilling pragmatism she hadn't fully appreciated before. Ned, too, seemed taken aback by the forcefulness and strategic depth of Robb's counsel.
"These are… strong demands, Robb," Ned mused.
"These are prudent precautions, Father," Robb corrected. "The alternative is to walk into the lion's den with nothing but your honor for a shield. And while Stark honor is renowned, it has, historically, not fared well against Southern treachery on its own." He let that sink in, a subtle reminder of past Starks who had met grim fates in the South.
The discussion continued late into the night. Robb, using his foreknowledge and newfound confidence, subtly steered the conversation, planting ideas, reinforcing Ned's caution while guiding him towards a path that offered at least a modicum of increased security. He knew he couldn't stop Ned from going – the man's honor was too deeply ingrained. But he could arm him, prepare him, and ensure the North remained a fortress under his own command.
Eventually, a weary consensus was reached. Ned would accept the Handship, but he would negotiate firmly for the conditions Robb had outlined. Catelyn, though still deeply fearful, seemed somewhat mollified by Robb's proactive stance and the plan to send a strong Northern guard.
Once his parents had retired, Robb found himself too energized to sleep, despite the lateness of the hour and the waning of Sunshine's direct influence. A residual thrum of power, a heightened awareness, remained. He retreated to his private, reinforced training chamber, the hidden compartment containing Rhitta a silent promise of power.
He didn't retrieve the axe. Instead, he focused on Snatch. He needed to understand its nuances, its limits. He picked up a simple iron dagger from the weapons chest. Holding it, he focused his will, picturing the dagger's inherent properties. He reached out with his mind, with that strange, almost tactile sensation of the Snatch ability, and pulled.
He targeted its sharpness. For a moment, nothing. Then, a subtle resistance, like pulling something intangible from thick mud. He felt a faint, almost imperceptible quality flow into his fingertips, not true sharpness, but the concept of it, an abstract understanding. He ran his thumb very carefully along the dagger's edge. It felt… duller. Minutely so, almost imperceptibly, but he was sure of it. He'd stolen a tiny fraction of its edge.
He tried again, this time on a piece of cold granite stone left over from the chamber's construction. He focused on its coldness. Pull. This time, the sensation was clearer. A distinct chill flowed into his hand, making his fingers tingle, while the stone itself, when he touched it with his other hand, felt a fraction warmer. The stolen cold dissipated from his hand quickly, but the test was a success.
He spent another hour experimenting. He Snapped the residual heat from a dying candle's wick, the faint scent of oil from a lantern, even the faint vibration from a loose floorboard when he stomped nearby. Each successful Snatch gave him a clearer feel for the ability. It required focus, a clear intent, and the "target" property had to be something definable. Stealing abstract concepts like "loyalty" or "fear" seemed beyond its scope. It was geared towards physical attributes, energies, perhaps even simple skills if they had a physical component. Could he Snatch a blacksmith's muscle memory for hammering? Or a maester's learned dexterity with a quill? The possibilities were tantalizing.
He also considered his immortality. It was a passive defense, but it fundamentally altered his long-term strategic thinking. He could afford to be patient. He could build power, influence, and resources over decades, even centuries, if need be. The Long Night was coming, but he had time to prepare in ways no mortal could.
The next few days of the royal visit settled into a routine of feasting, hunting, and the subtle, ongoing dance of Northern hospitality and Southern observation. King Robert, when not drunk or reminiscing, seemed eager to leave the governance to Ned and enjoy the freedom of the North. Cersei remained an icy, beautiful enigma, her smiles rare and her words carefully chosen. Jaime was a constant, charming presence, often sparring in the yard or jesting with the ladies, but Robb never let the Kingslayer out of his mental sightline for long.
Robb, meanwhile, was busy. He oversaw the selection of the two hundred men who would accompany Ned south, choosing them for their skill, loyalty to House Stark, and discretion. He conferred daily with his ranger captains, expanding their network, giving them new, subtle tasks: observe the Lannister guards, note their routines, their gossip, any unusual shipments or visitors. He wanted eyes everywhere.
He had a brief but memorable exchange with Tyrion Lannister in the Winterfell library. The Imp, surprisingly, was an avid reader.
"An impressive collection for such a remote keep, Lord Robb," Tyrion commented, peering at a rare manuscript on Valyrian history. "Your Maester Luwin is a man of taste."
"Knowledge is the sharpest blade, Master Tyrion," Robb replied, having sought him out. "Even in the North, we value it."
Tyrion gave him a shrewd look. "Indeed. You seem to value it more than most young lords. Tell me, what does a future Warden of the North find so fascinating amidst these dusty tomes when there are hunts to be enjoyed and Southern ladies to impress?"
Robb smiled faintly. "The wisdom of the past often illuminates the path to the future. And as for Southern ladies, I find Northern resilience has its own unique charms."
Tyrion chuckled. "A diplomatic answer. You'll go far, Lord Robb. Or you'll make powerful enemies. Often, they are the same thing."
It was a subtle warning, or perhaps an invitation to a game of wits. Robb filed it away. Tyrion was a man to watch, a potential ally or a dangerous foe, but certainly not one to underestimate.
His interactions with Jon were tinged with the impending sorrow of his cousin's departure for the Wall. Benjen Stark had arrived with the King's party and would be taking Jon with him when they returned south, before Jon would then travel north to Castle Black.
"You're sure about this, Jon?" Robb asked one evening as they stood on the battlements, overlooking the darkening Wolfswood. The sun had set, and with it, the bulk of Sunshine's power, leaving Robb feeling more akin to his old self, albeit a significantly enhanced version.
Jon stared out at the wilderness. "It's a life of honor. Lord Stark—my father—was never going to legitimize me. There's no place for me here, not really. At the Wall, my birth won't matter."
Robb knew Jon's true parentage, a secret that could shatter kingdoms. He also knew the vital role the Night's Watch would play. "The Watch needs good men. More now than ever." He clasped Jon's shoulder. "You'll be a credit to them. But know this, Jon. You are always a Stark in my eyes. Always my brother. If you ever need anything, anything at all, send word. I'll move mountains for you."
Jon looked at him, surprised by the intensity in Robb's voice. "Thank you, Robb. That… means more than you know."
The most pressing concern for Robb, however, was Bran. His little brother was an incorrigible climber, and the old, abandoned First Keep was one of his favorite haunts. Robb knew that Jaime and Cersei used that tower for their incestuous trysts. He knew Bran was fated to see them, and Jaime was fated to push him.
Preventing it was paramount. The fall crippled Bran and set in motion a chain of events that contributed to the war.
Robb couldn't simply forbid Bran from climbing; the boy was too willful, and it would raise suspicion. He couldn't post guards directly on the disused tower without drawing attention to it.
His solution was multi-pronged. First, he "casually" mentioned to his mother that some stones looked loose on the First Keep and perhaps it should be declared off-limits until Maester Luwin could inspect it for safety. Catelyn, ever protective, immediately agreed and gave Bran a stern warning, though Robb knew it likely wouldn't be enough.
Second, he subtly directed some of his most trusted rangers, men he'd personally trained in discretion, to keep an "unofficial" watch on the First Keep, particularly during times when both Jaime and Cersei were unaccounted for. Their orders were not to intervene directly unless Bran was in immediate physical danger from the tower itself, but to observe and report anything suspicious.
Third, he tried to keep Bran occupied. He arranged for extra riding lessons, archery practice with Jon and Theon, and even tasked Maester Luwin with giving Bran some "special lessons" on the history of Winterfell's construction, hoping to channel his curiosity.
The King announced a great hunt to take place in a few days. Most of the men, including Ned, Robert, and Jaime, would be gone for at least a full day, possibly two. This, Robb knew, was the prime window of opportunity for Cersei to seek out her brother, and for Bran, with fewer eyes on him, to go exploring.
The day before the hunt, Robb felt a growing unease. He made a point of spending time with Bran, taking him to the kennels to see a new litter of wolfhound pups, hoping to distract him.
"Promise me you'll be careful while Father is away on the hunt, Bran," Robb said, looking his little brother directly in the eyes. "No reckless climbing, especially not in the old parts of the castle."
Bran shuffled his feet. "The First Keep isn't that dangerous. I know all the handholds."
"Some things are dangerous even if you can't see the threat, Bran," Robb said, his voice unusually grave. "Promise me."
"I promise," Bran mumbled, but his eyes darted towards the silhouette of the First Keep in the distance. Robb knew it was a hollow promise.
That afternoon, as the sun began its ascent on the day of the hunt, Robb felt Sunshine's power return, a welcome tide of strength and clarity. He would not be joining the hunt; his place, as he'd established with his father, was overseeing Winterfell in his absence. This also freed him to manage the Bran situation.
He stationed himself in his solar, which had a decent, though distant, view of the First Keep. His rangers were in place, hidden, watching. He had also, as a final precaution, "asked" two of his most loyal household guards, hulking northmen named Hullen and Donnel, to perform some "maintenance checks" around the base of the First Keep, citing concerns about its stability. Their real task was to be a visible deterrent, to make the area less appealing for secret assignations or adventurous boys.
Hours passed. The hunting party had long since departed. Winterfell was quieter, but still bustling. Robb reviewed reports from his trade masters, agricultural overseers, and ranger patrols, his mind sharp and focused, processing information at an incredible rate thanks to Sunshine. He could feel the power building towards its noon peak, the familiar surge of Escanor's pride a low hum beneath his thoughts, now more a tool than a struggle. He was learning to ride the wave.
Then, one of his rangers, a swift, silent man named Kael, appeared at his solar door, his expression urgent.
"My lord Robb. The Queen. She was seen heading towards the First Keep. Ser Jaime Lannister met her near the old armory and they went in together, about ten minutes past."
Robb's blood ran cold despite the sun-fire in his veins. So it begins.
"And Bran?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
Kael hesitated. "Young Lord Bran… he was seen in the courtyard near the kennels a short while ago, my lord. But then he slipped away from his minders. He's… he's a quick one."
Robb swore internally. His precautions hadn't been enough to deter a determined seven-year-old.
"Where are Hullen and Donnel?"
"They reported seeing the Queen and Kingslayer enter, my lord. They are maintaining their post at the base, as instructed, looking busy with 'repairs'."
Robb stood up, his movements economical and precise. Noon was approaching. He was nearing his peak. "Kael, quietly gather ten of our best men. Armed. Meet me at the base of the First Keep. No alarms. No fuss. Absolute discretion. Tell them it's a security exercise."
"My lord!" Kael said, eyes wide, but he didn't question. He simply nodded and vanished.
Robb strode from his solar, his pace measured but swift. He could feel the immense power thrumming through him. He could probably tear the First Keep down stone by stone if he wished. But that wasn't the plan. He needed to be surgical.
He arrived at the base of the tower. Hullen and Donnel looked up, surprised.
"My lord?" Hullen began.
"Any sign of Lord Bran?" Robb cut him off.
Donnel shook his head. "No, my lord. Just the Queen and her brother went inside. No one else."
But Robb knew Bran. If there was a way up, Bran would find it, especially a way that wasn't the main, dilapidated staircase. He scanned the ancient, weathered stones of the tower. High above, near a narrow, slit-like window, he saw it: a flicker of movement. A small figure, silhouetted against the sky. Bran.
And from that same window, he heard a faint, startled cry. A boy's cry. Cut off.
Then, a sickeningly familiar sight: a small body tumbling, falling, from that high window.
For a microsecond, the world seemed to slow. Tony Volante's mind, accelerated by Sunshine, processed the scene with chilling clarity. Jaime. Cersei. Bran had seen. Jaime had pushed him. Just like in the histories.
But this time, Robb Stark was here. And Robb Stark was not just a Northern lord. He was the vessel of Escanor's Grace.
Mine, a voice roared in his mind, a voice that was both his and Escanor's. Who decided you could harm what is MINE?
He didn't think. He reacted. Pushing off the ground with strength that shattered the flagstones beneath his feet, he launched himself towards the falling boy, a golden blur of motion. The ten rangers Kael had summoned were just arriving, their eyes widening in disbelief as their young lord defied gravity itself.