6th Month of 299 A.C. Somewhere within the Riverlands
Lord Robb Stark
Through her marriage to King Aegon, Sansa is now the Queen, Queen Sansa, that is something that amuses Robb in a sense, due to the fact that when they were younger Sansa would always want the King to be her knight to save her from the monster, who was often played by himself or Arya, thinking about Arya causes an ache to form within his chest. Arya, who was so whole and safe before they went riding, he knows that the King blames himself for Arya's death, and for a long time Robb did as well, he knew somewhere deep down that it was not the King's fault, but for the longest time it had been far easier to blame the King, rather than accept that the monsters who had haunted them once long ago were back. He had accepted that now, and he was terrified. Winterfell had fallen, and mother was dead, mother, mother was dead, and he would never get to see her again, at least Wynafryd, their child and Rickon were safe, that was the only benefit of all of this, though Robb constantly wanted to head back north, regardless of what the King said, though he knew he never would. He was not a traitor, nor a deserter.
Regardless of all of that, there was a more pressing matter for the time being, the King had decreed that they were going to march for King's Landing now, the sooner they could get to King's Landing and take the city the better. The entire northern host had ventured forth from Riverrun, the Riverlords had come as well, with Bran leading them, something that continued make Robb nervous, he did not want to lose another sibling. They were numerous and Robb was confident that they could take the city, especially with the dragons that the King had. It seemed that Renly Baratheon and the pretender within King's Landing had sent fort a host to deal with them. Scouts had reported a host coming under the command of Lord Caron, numbering some twenty thousand strong, not more than them, and certainly not enough to worry them, but it was enough to cause some concern over what needed to be done exactly. There had been a lot of debating and arguments over the concrete plan, Robb suspected that Caron would not come at them with his full force at once, and would most likely divide his host, thankfully the King agreed, though neither of them could quite tell why they felt the same. The King was riding with his Kingsguard and a contingent of Rivermen, whilst Bran and the majority of the rivermen were being used as the reserve guard, though they all wanted to prove themselves. As always Robb was leading the charge at the front, aware of the fact that the King would be coming in from the right to hit the sides of the host.
There had been no sighting of Cersei Lannister and her children as of yet, nor of the traitorous Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy, and that was something that worried Robb. He was not sure where the woman could be hiding, surely someone would have decided to hand her over to either the King or the pretender within King's Landing. It seemed that he had gotten that thought wrong, these southerners were very strange, there was not the clear sense of what to do that Robb had been raised with, yes he knew how to play the game as it were, but he could not understand this harbouring of traitors and cunts as it were. Surely none would want a Lannister Queen and her brats hanging over them, and so their continued absence within the kingdoms worried him. Still there was not much to be done there, and so he brought his focus back onto the matter at hand. Riding at the front of the northern host, Greywind at his side, Robb looked at the land around him, it was flat, which was good, but if the host under Caron's command had archers, they might well be stuck. Theon was their only decent archer, and as such, Robb was not really of the mind to let Greyjoy out of his sight.
He sees a host mustering somewhere down from where he is and calls a halt to the army. As he sits on his horse and looks at the men before him, he sees the force spread out as it was, some six thousand men, mostly foot soldiers, pikemen and peasants wielding tools they'd use in the fields. A good thing, he can deal with pikemen and peasants, they can be ridden down and downsized, the cavalry of the Reach would be a different issue, and for a brief moment Robb wonders if Caron might be hiding that cavalry somewhere else. However, the thought of that does not sit right with him, so he decides against pursuing it more, and instead focuses on assessing where the enemy's weak points might be. Normally he knows there would be some form of discussion before a battle, where terms would be offer, but the King had made it quite clear that no terms were to be offered to these traitors. They had chosen their side and they were now going to fight and die for it. Robb continues looking out over the enemy host, seeing how they seem to shiver under his gaze, or perhaps it is the cold wind, wind, pah, this is not wind.
These men are the reason for him not being able to return to the north, to deal with the enemy within Winterfell, that thought sparks some anger within him. They are stopping him from going to his wife and child, he keeps looking at the enemy host and he continues to feel anger grow through him. He will defeat this enemy, Robb knows how to handle them, he sees it in the way they shift and twitch, this is an enemy made up of peasants, not the knights of the Reach, hells, Robb does not think there are many knights from the Stormlands there, suggesting a clear division, and that is something that will definitely play to their advantage. He waits for a heartbeat more, and then he draws Ice from his back, holding it in two hands, he bellows out his orders. "We fight for the rightful King. Prepare to die!" His men bellow out their support for that, and he digs his spurs into his horse and sets off, leading the charge.
The men of the Stormlands, if that is indeed what they are, remain stationary for a moment, as if they are stuck in shock from seeing Robb and his band of men charging down toward them, it lasts a mere moment and then they are springing to action, spurred on by the shouts of their sergeants. Men roar, Robb's heart is thumping in his chest, his breathing is heavy, and echoes within his helm, Ice is a solid weight within his hands, and he uses it to anchor him to the here and now. As he led the charge, he is the first one to come across the foe, Ice cuts into a man wielding what looks like a rake, Robb swings furiously and removes the man's arm, the rake clattering to the ground, the man falls to the floor, writhing in pain, and Robb moves on. More peasants come toward him, wielding what look like farm tools, they come at him not one at a time as he was taught by Ser Rodrik, but ten at a time, all looking to get something on him. He manages to block a few swings, though he gets hit more than once, his armour getting scratched and dented, still, they are not trained in the art of war, and it seems they are lazy in their swings, they swing fast and early, but end up tiring. Robb manages to throw three of them off, and his men cut them down, two of them are killed in the same swing, how that happens he does not know, and the rest disappear when they see Greywind launching himself at them.
War, a strange concept, but one that has been coming for some time, he thinks to himself as he swings Ice, the hints of tension had been there in Winterfell, when Robert Baratheon had come to make father hand, Robb had not truly understood then, but he does now. He realises that this, this was exactly what father was working toward, except that most likely he thought he would be here to see it through. Instead he died, and Robb is now left to keep leading the charge alongside the King, the King who he no longer knows if he knows. He puts that thought to the side, for he can hear a horn being sounded, signalling that the King is coming. Sure enough a quick glance to his right, and he can see the three headed dragon of House Targaryen coming closer and closer, the dragons of the King flying in the air, breathing their assortment of fire and ice onto the foe below. The dragons can be terrifying when they are angry, or if the King is angry, and now is no different. Robb watches transfixed as the dragons burn and freeze a way through the right wing of the host before him, he can hear the screams of the enemy, and it turns something in his gut. The dragons are not of this world, they are something different, something ethereal, truly they are, they are… a knock on his arm brings him away from admiring the dragons. A man wielding a mace looks as if he is going to try and knock Ice clean out of Robb's hand. Moving back in his saddle, Robb quickly heaves Ice from right to left blocking the man's swing, they remained locked within a duel themselves, using the strength in their arms to fight one another, Ice raises the mace up, and the mace keeps going up before forcing Ice down slowly, very slowly, but Robb manages somehow, to remain upright, Greywind leaps at the man, scaring his horse, breaking the duel, allowing Robb to slash up, cutting the man on the throat, blood oozes down him, and Robb looks as the man begins to sag, he moves away, and begins looking for someone else to fight.
As he scans the battlefield, he notes that the host under Lord Caron has been vastly outmatched, there are more of Caron men lying on the ground, dead or clutching some part of their body, compared to northmen or rivermen. Robb shakes his head sadly then, if only Caron had had sense, if he had not sided with a usurper, perhaps he might survive this, but Robb knows deep down that the man won't. Caron's own banner is somewhere within this mess, and Robb finds himself becoming determined to find it, find Caron and kill the man. He spurs his horse onward, his eyes alert, he defends himself against what challengers come his way, and they are thrust to the ground, broken and defeated. A scream comes from somewhere, and he looks around worried, he sees Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur, fighting like mad, trying to get near to whom he thinks is the King, Robb's heart momentarily, enters his mouth, but then something happens, one of the dragons, Deinor he thinks, comes swooping down, the dragon is the biggest of the three, and as if by magic, the King is on the back of the dragon, riding it like the Targaryens of old once did. The dragon unleashes a roar then, a roar that is soon answered by the beast's fellow dragons, and soon enough the fighting stops. Men on both sides look up to the sky, where the King rests atop his dragon, his other two beasts at his side, and the words that echo next, are the words of a King, a Dragon.