Robb sat at his large desk, maps and tactical items spread out across the flat wooden surface. He had been sitting there half the day, staring out across the map of Westeros trying to work out where and how to position his armies for the next move. So far he and his men had won every battle and yet it still felt as though they were losing the war. House Tyrell had come to the Lannister’s aid against Stannis Baratheon and that, for the North, was the worst possible alliance. With the power of the Tyrell’s and Lannister’s combined King’s Landing was practically indestructible, as they had shown defending it successfully against Stannis. How was Robb supposed to get his sister’s back when he had no hope in destroying King’s Landing?
Not to mention he was losing allies. Although the alliance with the Frey’s remained on tender hooks Robb knew that it was his actions that had caused such a situation. He had married Talisa when he was promised to one of Lord Frey’s daughters, it was an insult and Robb was desperate to keep the man and his army on side.
With a loud sigh Robb leaned back in his chair. Thinking about the Frey alliance reminded him of something one of his men had told him earlier in the day. The man had been at the local tavern when he had overheard a woman speaking of Robb’s death. Normally Robb would not have taken such things seriously, he was a King and there were thousands in Westeros that wanted his head. But this time something was different, something felt different. The woman had spoken of a dream she had had, something about the Frey’s and a wedding. Robb’s curiosity had been sparked and he decided he wanted to know more about this woman and her dream.
Having had enough of looking at military tactics, Robb decided that it was time to hear more of what this woman had said of his death. Standing he walked to the flap of his tent and opened it, asking one of his guards to bring the woman to him before he retreated back into the tent.
Lyanna was sitting on the cot in the tent she’d been given by the Starks for the past few days when a rather large soldier burst into the room. She had been daydreaming and contemplating writing to her new correspondent about her recent nightmare. "May I help you, Ser?" She cocked an eyebrow at the man as she stood from her bed, setting the book she’d had in her lap aside.
"His Grace wishes to see you," The brutish man said and held open the flap of her tent expectantly. Her mind went reeling. 'What? Why?' She furrowed her brows and took a weary step towards the outside. 'Gods, that sounded to ominous.' Her feet followed the towering shadow that was her guide to the ‘King of the North’s’ tent. As she entered, she saw his head bowed down over what looked to her like a child’s war game. Only she knew better, this war was no game for anyone. Lyanna dipped into a great curtsey.
"You Grace," Her head was pointed at her feet, as she was taught by her mother. The more important the figure, the deeper your bow ought to be, so naturally, Lyanna had lowered herself in an extreme as a show of great respect. He had motioned her to rise and she did so. Lyanna, surprisingly, was a little nervous to be in the presence of the most prominent figure at camp. She rolled her shoulder back to be in perfect posture, clasping her hands in front of her delicately.
Her blue eyes looked at the man now. He couldn’t have been more than two years older than she was now, and yet, the look in his eye screamed that he had aged centuries in the past few months. He hadn’t been sleeping well either, the rings under his old eyes rang the truth. That and the fact that his stubble was growing strong about his face made him look much older than he truly was. "Might I be so bold as to ask why I was brought here?"
reblogged from north-king-deactivated20120727
originally by north-king-deactivated20120727
theme by: heloísa teixeira