[A Song of Ice and Fire]: How Dark the Night
Title: How Dark the Night
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Summary: Robb and kingship.
Notes: This was going to be a lot longer and more detailed, but this is all that has been coming to me, and it's been around for so long I think I should just post it. Just a little thought experiment on Robb as king, where he doesn't know what he's doing (at all).
When Robb was young, he and Jon had hacked at each other with sticks and pretended to perish messily in the yard. When Robb was young, he and Bran had teamed up to rub snowballs in Arya’s hair. When Robb was young, he had played Sansa’s true knight as often as he’d played her evil kidnapper (who, won over by her charms, would repent his evil ways).
It all seemed such a long time ago.
Ser Ilyn Payne’s sword had come down and severed his father’s head from his body, and Robb was not a child anymore.
“Explain it to me again,” he said, roughly. His head hurt. The crown was digging into his temples. Grey Wind lifted his head from the ground and whined. Robb let his eyes slide to his left, expecting to find Theon there, looking bored, or else his mother, alert and intent.
“Reports place the Lannisters here,” Rickard Karstark said, stabbing the map with a finger. “If we were to move around here under cover of darkness, we could flank them and…”
“Don’t be an idiot,” growled the Greatjon. “You think they don’t have scouts out watching at all hours? We’d get stuck in a pincer. No, better to come down through here…”
“And leave our left flank open?” Robb interrupted. “And shook his head. “I don’t like either idea, to be honest.” Grey Wind rested his head on Robb’s leg and he stroked the sleek grey head absently. He rubbed his forehead. “It’s late. Let’s reconvene in the morning and discuss this further.”
He stood to watch them go in a flurry of ‘yes, your grace’ and ‘good night, your grace.’ He waited until the tent flap closed behind the last of them to slump. Reaching up, he lifted the crown off and set it on top of the map.
“That thing is going to bruise me,” he told Grey Wind. Softly. There were, after all, guards listening. He looked down at the circlet, the swords around the circumference. He sprawled on one of the furs laid out for the floor of this tent and wrapped a hand in his direwolf’s ruff.
“I wish mother was here,” Robb confessed, softly. He needed her in the south, though. Needed her safe from danger. And needed her far away where he wouldn’t be tempted to turn to her to solve every problem he came across. Because he would be tempted.
But he needed to keep the respect of these men. Needed to hold them together and forge them together and use them like a sword, sever the head of the Lannisters as they had taken Ned’s. And for that he needed to be a king.
Robb stared moodily at the crown. He felt suddenly very lonely. If Jon were here, he would…
Robb wasn’t sure what Jon would do. He’d gotten so serious. But Jon would know what to say. But Jon was far away on the Wall, stuck there.
He slept in that tent, head on Grey Wind’s ribs listening to him breathe, and dreamed about fighting Jon with stick swords. But when he hit Jon with his stick he started bleeding and sank to his knees, died softly, quietly.
Robb woke up with his heart hurting and tears just starting to dry on his cheeks.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Summary: Robb and kingship.
Notes: This was going to be a lot longer and more detailed, but this is all that has been coming to me, and it's been around for so long I think I should just post it. Just a little thought experiment on Robb as king, where he doesn't know what he's doing (at all).
When Robb was young, he and Jon had hacked at each other with sticks and pretended to perish messily in the yard. When Robb was young, he and Bran had teamed up to rub snowballs in Arya’s hair. When Robb was young, he had played Sansa’s true knight as often as he’d played her evil kidnapper (who, won over by her charms, would repent his evil ways).
It all seemed such a long time ago.
Ser Ilyn Payne’s sword had come down and severed his father’s head from his body, and Robb was not a child anymore.
“Explain it to me again,” he said, roughly. His head hurt. The crown was digging into his temples. Grey Wind lifted his head from the ground and whined. Robb let his eyes slide to his left, expecting to find Theon there, looking bored, or else his mother, alert and intent.
“Reports place the Lannisters here,” Rickard Karstark said, stabbing the map with a finger. “If we were to move around here under cover of darkness, we could flank them and…”
“Don’t be an idiot,” growled the Greatjon. “You think they don’t have scouts out watching at all hours? We’d get stuck in a pincer. No, better to come down through here…”
“And leave our left flank open?” Robb interrupted. “And shook his head. “I don’t like either idea, to be honest.” Grey Wind rested his head on Robb’s leg and he stroked the sleek grey head absently. He rubbed his forehead. “It’s late. Let’s reconvene in the morning and discuss this further.”
He stood to watch them go in a flurry of ‘yes, your grace’ and ‘good night, your grace.’ He waited until the tent flap closed behind the last of them to slump. Reaching up, he lifted the crown off and set it on top of the map.
“That thing is going to bruise me,” he told Grey Wind. Softly. There were, after all, guards listening. He looked down at the circlet, the swords around the circumference. He sprawled on one of the furs laid out for the floor of this tent and wrapped a hand in his direwolf’s ruff.
“I wish mother was here,” Robb confessed, softly. He needed her in the south, though. Needed her safe from danger. And needed her far away where he wouldn’t be tempted to turn to her to solve every problem he came across. Because he would be tempted.
But he needed to keep the respect of these men. Needed to hold them together and forge them together and use them like a sword, sever the head of the Lannisters as they had taken Ned’s. And for that he needed to be a king.
Robb stared moodily at the crown. He felt suddenly very lonely. If Jon were here, he would…
Robb wasn’t sure what Jon would do. He’d gotten so serious. But Jon would know what to say. But Jon was far away on the Wall, stuck there.
He slept in that tent, head on Grey Wind’s ribs listening to him breathe, and dreamed about fighting Jon with stick swords. But when he hit Jon with his stick he started bleeding and sank to his knees, died softly, quietly.
Robb woke up with his heart hurting and tears just starting to dry on his cheeks.