34 Difficult Situations

Looking out the window in the Great Hall of Riverrun, Robb's face was blank. None of the emotions he felt as he listened to his uncle, Lord Edmure Tully explain the decisions he made that had resulted in the first real defeat in his campaign, the Battle of Tumbler's Fall. Or as many were calling it, the Slaughter of Tumbler's Fall.

Edmure had five thousand men under his command at the Stony Steps, incurring nearly a thousand losses in the Battle of the Stony Septs before giving chase to the Mountain. There at the Tumbler's Fall, the remaining four thousand men had all but been annihilated, barely a hundred made it back. The rest either killed in the river or rode down by the Lannister cavalry.

"I saw an opportunity!" Edmure eventually exclaimed, glaring at his uncle, Brynden Blackfish who had returned to Riverrun upon hearing what had happened. Lord Blackwood and Bracken being left in charge of the besieging Harrenhall which had no more than a thousand men remaining behind as garrison.

The garrison formed from the remnants of the forces of those that engaged Lord Blackwood, Bracken and Ser Brynden during Tywin's march south.

"An opportunity for what?" Brynden mocked.

"Glory! In case you haven't noticed, Robb has been invading the Westerlands while we've been stuck at the Fords, there's plenty of glory to go around." That was it for Robb, who angrily turned round to glare at his uncle.

"It's not about glory." He snapped and Brynden stepped away from Edmure intent on pouring himself a glass of wine as he watched the proceedings with a smirk on his face. "I didn't march south for glory and I didn't march west for glory. You were put in charge of the defences of the Riverlands because you are the acting Lord Paramount of the Trident while your father is ill. I thought you'd understand that."

Edmure's face became flushed with embarrassment.

"How many men did you lose?" An unnecessary question, Robb already knew the losses, but he hoped by realising how many men died because of his actions that Edmure would start acting like a Lord.

"Nearly the entire force." Edmure reluctantly admitted.

"Nearly the entire force." Robb repeated and the tone of his voice caused the flush on Edmure's face to grow. "Nearly five thousand men of the North, who marched south to free my father and the Riverlands, are sent to die for your quest for glory. And you disobeyed my explicit orders to remain at the Stony Septs."

"I saw…"

"You saw nothing. It was a trap." Edmure went silent at Robb's sharp tone. "I gave you the orders to stay at the Stony Septs unless given orders from either myself or great-uncle. You received no orders to move away from the Stony Septs and due to your actions, we very well could have lost this war. Luckily, the Tyrells have allied with us and not Stannis or Tywin."

His plan after Tywin moved south to fight Stannis was meant to make their already strong position in this war, stronger. With Tywin gone, he would have seventeen thousand men ready to be redeployed, ten thousand of which would remain to act as a garrison at Harrenhall, ensuring that Tywin could not enter the Riverlands without leaving himself exposed.

The remaining seven thousand men could have then been split, three thousand joining him in the Westerlands and an additional four thousand heading north to beat back the Ironborn. With the Tyrells as his allies, he could have sent all seven thousand battle hardened Northmen back home. Each eager to get revenge against the Ironborn invading their homes.

Now he only had two thousand men to spare.

The situation in the south wasn't bad, it was the North Robb worried about. Despite Lord Mallisters overwhelming victory south of Moat Cailin, he had since been stuck sieging the ruined stronghold which had stubbornly beaten back any attempt to take it much like it had when beating back the Andals. Further north, reports indicated that things were proven to be more difficult.

Jon's forces were spread thin and Rodrik had suffered heavy casualties in reclaiming Torrhen's Square. Over half his force had been wiped out, the initial clearing of the Greyjoy force stationed outside the wall were taken out quickly. It was the couple of hundred Ironborn that had claimed the walls that inflicted the heaviest casualties on the northern forces.

"Great-uncle, I want Lord Bracken to lead two thousand men North to join with Lord Mallister." As Robb spoke, he never removed his gaze from Edmure who shifted uncomfortably. "As for you uncle, you'll be stationed at the Golden Tooth, overseeing its defence and logistics of our foothold. Ensuring that there is a constant flow of supplies to our troops in the Westerlands and all over my kingdom."

Edmure opened his mouth to argue, but Robb raised a brow. There was a moment in which he opened and closed his mouth, very much looking like a fish before eventually Edmures' lips thinned in displeasure.

"This is not meant as an insult uncle, but you are not a military commander." Robb said bluntly. "Your skills lay in logistics and therefore, I believe you would be best served overseeing our supply lines. Especially considering we will be receiving additional supplies from our new allies, the Reach."

Still displeased, Edmure stormed out of the room leaving Brynden and Robb alone.

"How long will it take for you to take Harrenhall?"

"No more than a few weeks at most. They're forces are small and those that are injured will be high. I'd wager that out of a thousand men, only half that are in any position to fight. However, to avoid unnecessary losses I believe it would be best to avoid storming the keep." Brynden explained, finishing off his cup of wine.

Nodding his head, Robb grabbed his cloak and wrapped it round his shoulders.

"If Harrenhall does not surrender within two weeks, storm the castle. I cannot afford to have the Riverlands divided much longer. Not if we are to hold off the victor of the battle for Kings Landing." With his orders given, Robb exited the room followed by Grey Wind.

-X- Line Break -X-

Pulling the cloak tighter to her, Margaery withheld the shiver that wracked her body. The day was cold, and she could feel it in her bones, it didn't help that most of her gowns and dresses were designed for the weather of the Reach. Many said that when Robb marched south he brought winter with him; Margaery was inclined to agree.

Luckily, today was one of the few days in which it wasn't raining.

Entering the Godswood, Margaery temporarily admired the beauty and peace it held. It was different to the Septons in which she usually prayed in. Unlike the lush gardens at Highgarden which looked plain in comparison to the colour that the rest of Highgarden held. The Godswood at Riverrun was bright and airy garden, full of chirping and birds and beautiful flower.

There was a number of small streams and trees scattered around, but in the centre was the Weirwood tree, carved with a sad face.

And before it, sat Robb. His back was rested against the tree, one hand holding the handle of his blade a piece of cloth held in the other, no doubt from where he'd been cleaning it. Quietly, Margaery moved closer, unwilling to disturb Robb who seemed to be deep in prayer, his eyes closed almost as if he were asleep.

That was when she heard the snapping of branches and looked to see Grey Wind appear from her side. Smiling, Margaery extended one hand and the Direwolf moved forwards, sniffing it before pushing his head against her palm.

"He makes grown men cower in fear, yet for you he is like a harmless pup once more." Robb's voice made her turn to see the King staring at her, yet she never stopped running her hands through the soft fur of the Direwolf, scratching the large beast behind the ear in a way that she knew he enjoyed.

"I imagine it is because he has fallen for my charm, your grace." She said with a beautiful smile.

Robb smiled, slowly rising to his feet. "I imagine it has more to do with the treats you feed him." Margaery's innocent face could not have made her look more guilty and to her pleasure, Robb chuckled lowly and Margaery found herself pausing. In all the time she had been with Robb, the King had rarely smiled. The stress of the war and all the other responsibilities on his shoulders seemed to have robbed him of such a thing.

A shame, he looked more handsome when he smiled.

But a chuckle, now she did feel honoured. If a smile was rare, a chuckle let alone a laugh was all but an impossibility, or so she had thought. And again, it was such a shame. It was hard to remember that she and Robb were the same age of six and ten, both born in the year 283 AC. Yet, Robb acted and sounded far older than her, almost like he was the same age as her brother, Willas.

It was surprising to her that she found the sound of a simple chuckle made him seem…younger?

Ridding her head of such thoughts, Margaery allowed the beautiful smile to return to her face once again. "Forgive me, your grace. I did not mean to disturb your prayer."

"It's fine, I only came here to rest. It's quiet here, allows me to think clearly and forget about all my responsibilities and duties. Is there something I can do for you, my lady?" Robb asked and Margaery smiled.

"I admit, I was curious to see what the Godswood was like here compared to Highgarden."

"And what do you think of them?"

"I think they're beautiful. The Godswood at Highgarden is beautiful, but I find that the gardens are much prettier. But here, the Godswood stands out to me more." Slowly, the two began walking, Grey Wind moving behind them. "What about the ones at Winterfell, what are they like?"

"Well…"