A Wolf in the Mist

Robb pushed open the tent flap, stepping inside and immediately pulling off his soaked cloak, shaking out the water that had seeped into the thick fabric. His boots left wet footprints on the wooden floor beneath him, and with a tired sigh, he ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his face. The storm had been unrelenting, drenching him and his men in sheets of freezing rain as they made their way to camp. Now, the dull patter of rain against the tent was a constant background noise, the occasional rumble of distant thunder rolling through the sky.

Behind him, Grey Wind padded in, his massive form darkened by the rain, his fur slick and heavy with water. The direwolf gave a full-bodied shake, sending droplets flying in all directions. Robb barely had time to raise his arms in protest before the cold spray hit him, soaking through his tunic.

"Seven hells, Grey Wind!" Robb groaned, glaring at his companion, though there was no true anger behind it. The direwolf simply blinked at him, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight, his tail flicking lazily as he padded over to the corner and flopped down onto the furs there.

Robb exhaled, rubbing the damp from his face before he moved toward the wooden table in the center of the tent. The map of the Riverlands lay spread across it, weighed down by several iron daggers to keep the parchment from curling at the edges. He lowered himself into his chair, elbows resting on the table as he dropped his head into his hands. The day had been long, the weight of command heavier than ever.

But there was no turning back now—only forward, toward Riverrun and toward war.

The tent flaps opened once more, and Robb lifted his head, turning to see his mother stepping inside. Lady Catelyn Stark was dressed in her riding cloak, the damp edges of the fabric clinging to her skirts. Despite the weariness in her eyes, she carried herself with the same unyielding strength she always did. Behind her came Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, his sharp gaze immediately scanning the tent before settling on Robb.

Catelyn crossed the space between them in an instant, reaching out to grasp her son's arms before pulling him into a tight embrace. Robb stiffened for only a moment before returning it, feeling the familiar comfort of his mother's warmth. She smelled of rain and the faintest hint of lavender, a scent that reminded him of Winterfell.

"I'm so proud of you, Robb," she whispered against his shoulder. "And when your father returns, he will be too." Robb swallowed past the tightness in his throat, forcing himself to nod. He had to believe in that—had to believe that his father was alive, that this war would not be for nothing.

When she pulled away, she cupped his face briefly, as if memorizing his features, before stepping aside to let Brynden approach. The Blackfish did not offer an embrace, nor did Robb expect one. The man was not prone to affection, but the way he gave Robb a once-over, a nod of silent approval, said enough.

"Uncle," Robb greeted his grand uncle

Brynden grunted in acknowledgment before moving to take a seat at the table. Catelyn followed, and soon all three of them were seated around the map, the dim candlelight flickering over the inked roads and rivers.

"Are you certain about this path, Robb?" Catelyn asked, her voice softer now, yet still edged with the worry she carried for him.

It was Brynden who answered before Robb could. "It's a good plan." He leaned forward, pointing at the locations marked on the map with stone markers representing their forces. "Having five thousand men already across the Blue Fork gives you an advantage—so long as you can keep it a secret. And by splitting the rest of the army as you have, you've created the perfect diversion. The Freys and the Lannisters both think you're leading the main force along the Kingsroad. By the time they realize the truth, it'll be too late."

There was something in Brynden's tone, a note of approval that the man rarely gave. He was not one to shower others with praise, but Robb could hear it in his words.

Catelyn, however, was less pleased. "Do you have to be the one to lead the charge?" She pressed, turning to Robb. "Would it not be better to command the army marching along the Kingsroad instead?"

Robb shook his head, already having anticipated this argument. "If I do that, some might see it as me avoiding battle." He gestured at the map. "I sold the deception of leading the army by coming down to the Twins myself. But if I command any other force, there will be doubts about me. Some lords may begin to question my courage, my ability to fight. I have secured their loyalty for now, but that loyalty is not absolute. I could lose it if they suspect I'm avoiding conflict."

Catelyn frowned, and for a moment, she looked as if she wanted to argue further. But she did not, because she knew he was right.

"The Northmen respect strength," Brynden added, crossing his arms. "You take Riverrun, you crush Jaime's army, and they'll follow you anywhere. If you hesitate now, if you falter, they'll never trust you to lead them to victory."

Robb nodded, grateful for his grand uncle's support, though he could see the conflict still lingering in his mother's expression. She did not want him to fight—he could see it in her eyes, in the way she clenched her hands in her lap as if holding herself back from trying to shield him.

"I know this isn't what you wanted for me, Mother," Robb said quietly. "I never wanted it either. But if we're going to free Father and my sisters, if we're going to win, I have to do this."

Catelyn exhaled, lowering her gaze for a moment before she finally nodded. "I know," she said. "I just… I wish there was another way."

Robb reached across the table, placing his hand over hers, offering what little reassurance he could. "We will win," he promised. "And we will bring them home."

Catelyn squeezed his hand once before letting go, her expression softening just a fraction. She would never stop worrying for him, but she would continue to support him.

Brynden pushed back his chair and stood, rolling his shoulders. "Best get some rest while you can, lad. The days ahead will be long."

Robb sighed, running a hand through his hair once more before nodding. "Aye."

As Brynden and Catelyn rose to leave, Grey Wind lifted his head from his place by the furs, his golden eyes following them. The direwolf did not move until Robb leaned back in his chair, exhaling as the tent flaps closed once more.

Alone once more, Robb glanced at the map, his fingers tracing the inked rivers and roads, his mind already planning the battles to come. Victory was not yet won, but the pieces were moving into place.

Soon, the Lannisters would learn what it meant to stand against the North.

-X-

Robb ran his hand along the side of his horse, feeling the nervous tremble beneath his palm. The animal shifted, stamping its hooves against the muddy ground, nostrils flaring as its ears flicked back toward the massive shadow pacing nearby.

Grey Wind prowled at his side, his golden eyes keen and alert, his head nearly level with the horse's flanks. The direwolf moved with a silent, effortless grace, his thick fur still damp from the morning mist. The sheer size of him was enough to make even the most battle-hardened men wary, and the horses were no exception.

Robb smirked, patting his horse's neck reassuringly. "Easy, boy," he murmured. "You'll have to get used to him."

A snort of laughter drew his attention, and Robb turned to see Theon Greyjoy approaching atop his own mount, the grin on his face smug as ever. He guided his horse a little closer, the beast shifting uneasily beneath him, but Theon barely seemed to notice.

"Seems the horses are about as fond of your wolf as the Lannisters will be," Theon remarked, his smirk widening as he looked down at Grey Wind, who bared his teeth in response.

Robb chuckled, shaking his head. "Grey Wind grows bigger by the day. I'm not surprised they're uneasy."

Theon tilted his head, considering. "You think you'll ever ride him one day?"

That made Robb laugh outright, shaking his head as he pulled himself into his saddle. "I doubt that will ever come to pass," he said, adjusting his grip on the reins. "Besides, I'd rather not find out what it's like to be thrown off by something with fangs that size."

Theon just shrugged, his grin still firmly in place. "Shame. You'd look good on a wolf. Might make the Lannisters shit themselves before we even draw swords."

Robb shook his head, amused, but his attention quickly shifted as he scanned the men around him. They had crossed the Blue Fork under cover of night, their movements swift and silent. Now, they gathered in loose formation, waiting for the order to ride. The small company consisted of just a few dozen men—seasoned riders, trusted warriors, and the young heirs and noblemen who would serve as his personal guard.

At the forefront stood Greatjon Umber, his massive frame clad in a thick fur cloak, his sword strapped to his back. Beside him was Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, his sharp eyes already assessing the terrain ahead, his hand resting idly on the pommel of his blade.

Robb's gaze drifted over the rest of the men—Robin Flint, Rodrik Forrester, Dacey Mormont, Daryn Hornwood, Smalljon Umber, the Ryswell brothers, and the Karstark brothers, Harrion, Torrhen, and Eddard. They were young, but they were warriors, each of them eager to prove themselves in the battles to come. These were the men who would fight beside him, who would guard his back, and Robb took a moment to commit each of their faces to memory.

He nudged his horse forward slightly, raising his voice so they could all hear him. "It's half a day's ride to Seagard," he said, his tone firm and commanding. "We ride without rest. From this moment forward, consider yourselves in enemy territory. The Freys and Lannisters aren't meant to be this far west, but we can't be certain. If they have scouts in the area, we cannot afford to be seen."

There were nods of understanding, some men shifting in their saddles, adjusting the grips on their weapons.

"Stay in formation," Robb continued. "If we're attacked, we hold our ground long enough to break away and regroup. Do not let yourselves get separated."

Greatjon let out a low chuckle, tightening the strap on his gauntlet. "Aye, lad. But if any fool thinks they can take us down with just a few scouts, they'll be sorely disappointed."

Brynden gave him a look. "Overconfidence is a quick way to get yourself killed."

Greatjon only grinned. "Aye, and caution's a quick way to die old and bored."

Robb smirked but said nothing. He cast one last glance toward the river, watching the faint shimmer of morning light against the water's surface. They had crossed undetected so far, but the true challenge lay ahead.

With a steadying breath, he tightened his grip on the reins and gave a sharp command. "Ride!"

Hooves thundered against the damp earth as the company surged forward, cutting through the mist like shadows in the morning light. Grey Wind ran alongside them, his powerful limbs carrying him with effortless speed, keeping pace with the galloping horses.

Robb felt the cold wind whip against his face as they rode, the world blurring into streaks of green and brown. His thoughts drifted to Seagard, to the men waiting there, to the battle that loomed just beyond the horizon.

This was only the beginning.

The Lannisters had no idea what was coming for them.