Blood and Winter

The Young Wolf and the Old Lion

Chapter LXI - Aftermath

Breathing heavily, Robb collapsed onto one knee, digging his sword into the ground and using it for support as he surveyed the field. The battle was in its final stages, only a few dozen pockets of resistance still fighting, but with the reinforcements from the Vale, they were being picked off with ease.

"Your grace! Are you alright?!" Brienne asked urgently, Olyvar moving forwards to help Robb to his feet.

"I'm fine, Brienne, do not worry." Despite his words, the deep cut on his shoulder and the numerous others littering his body that leaked blood said otherwise. Even so, Robb remained firm, not allowing an ounce of pain to show upon his face. "However, see to it that Ser Robar and Patrek receive proper medical attention immediately. They saved my life, it's the least I can do for now."

Brienne nodded her head, moving to do as Robb had ordered. "I want all our wounded taken back to the Antlers. Send a messenger to Lord Piper and Ser Brynden, they are to ensure that the main force is to do the same."

"And what of the prisoners?" Olyvar asked.

"If they surrender, we will give them quarter. But they are of secondary priority to our own. Their survival is in the hands of the Gods now." Robb's words caused a pause, not only in the enemy soldiers nearby who had surrendered but also in his own. Yet much like before, his orders were given and they were received, his soldiers carrying them out as he instructed.

"Alright lads, ye heard the King, move yer asses!" Smalljon shouted and not for the first time, Robb appreciated the new Lord Umber for his ability to get people moving. Perhaps it was finally time to give him what he had always wanted, command of the vanguard. He had been hesitant in the past because he had a habit of going a little mad in the midst of battle, a reason many were beginning to call him the Mad Giant of House Umber. But as they approached the end of the war, the siege of Kings Landing would prove to be the final clash, especially with the Dornish and the Golden Company still out there. Giving him command of the vanguard now when much of the danger was averted in the south was for the best. Especially when they began the march north once more, having Smalljon as commander of the vanguard would only serve to be of great aid to him, Robb no longer needed Smalljon to get people to follow his orders.

Robb was a man that had garnered and created a reputation as the Young Wolf that instilled a sense of respect and even fear into both enemies and allies alike. It was Robb's actions and strength of character that created loyalty and camaraderie. Every time he entered a room, the bustling lords and ladies, deep in their petty arguments would go silent. Even without saying a word, his presence demanded respect and silence, each one of his nobles waiting to hear what he had to say.

That was the type of man he was.

He was not like his father, he acted with honour towards those loyal to him, but was ruthless to his enemies. Even if it besmirched his honour, Robb was willing to do what was necessary to win this war and save his family.

Some of the decisions he had to make caused his lords and ladies to pause in thought. Each of them tried to figure out if this was really what Robb wanted and if this was what they wanted to do. But like always, House Umber and Smalljon, perhaps one of his most loyal vassals, would always get the nobles moving. Their large frames, fearsome battle presence and large, booming voices made it so that his orders were carried out.

Even the most hesitant of lords would be unwilling to stay behind in case of incurring the wrath of the Lord of Last Hearth.

Robb gave Smalljon and nod, a show of thanks that Lord Umber returned with one of his own. It was then that a detachment of riders from the Vale arrived and at the head of them, was the same man wearing the colours and coat of arms of House Baratheon and a helmet with antlers coming out of the side. In one hand, he held a bloody Warhammer, and many looked at the man in confusion.

To them, it looked like Robert Baratheon was back once more.

"Who are you?" Robb questioned and the knight lifted his helmet showing the face of a young man. He looked a great deal like Renly with a squarer jaw and bushier brows. "You must be one of Robert's bastards."

"Yes, your grace. My name is Gendry Storm."

Robb looked to the Vale soldiers working in conjunction with his own soldiers transporting injured soldiers and watching the captured enemy soldiers. "I don't know how you did it, but I thank you for rallying the Vale to our side. I had thought initially that you were matching south to aid the Lannisters. A messenger would have been nice."

"There were riders dispatched in secret, but they never returned which was the plan." Robb shook his head.

"No riders reached us." The implications of what this meant did not go unnoticed by any of them. 'That means someone intercepted them. They knew the Vale were marching to aid us and kept it from us. But why? Did they know my plan and hoped that by keeping it from me I could potentially lose my life in doing so? That does make sense, but who did it? It can't have been the Lannisters, if so, they would have retreated upon learning of the Vale's true loyalty. So, who?'

As Robb began to think upon this further, he was left with more questions than answers.

He didn't know who it was, and it frustrated him.

"Well, I thank you for coming to our aid all the same." Robb winced out as the throbbing in his shoulder grew. "Olyvar, help me to a horse."

Robb had learned early on that for a King, appearances were everything.

A King with injuries could be seen as weak, especially for a King like Joffrey. But for a warrior King like himself injuries could prove to be the very thing to enhance his image. To show that he had not cowered behind his army, but fought in the front by their side and survived. It not only served to make his enemies fearful of him but also inspire his own followers.

That despite his injuries, Robb still stood strong, overseeing the aftermath of the battle.

It told more than words ever could and in most cases, could improve the morale of his army more than any fanciful speech could. But even so, it was a double-edged sword, too many injuries could raise doubts about his odds of survival. That he could die from them and that doubt could lead to insurrection and even rebellion, people acting in a desperate and futile bid to secure their own power and influence over the realm.

While his injuries weren't as severe as some others, they were beginning to affect him. His battle against the Mountain and the numerous Lannister and Golden Company soldiers had dulled his sense of pain and allowed him to keep fighting, the injuries had added up.

The moment in which the Mountain was brought down had signalled the end of the battle. The Lannisters upon seeing him defeated served to shatter their already low morale. At that point, the only ones still fighting were the Golden Company, but they were overwhelmed with only a few pockets remaining. This had allowed Robb to remain where he was, recovering his breath and surveying the battlefield. Unlike many soldiers, his duties and responsibilities didn't end when the fighting stopped.

And this act of stopping, of allowing his body to rest meant that eventually, his dulled sense of pain disappeared and he could feel it all. Every movement and even breath made his body burn and flare with pain.

He had managed to take command, and issue orders here and there, it allowed him to stop thinking of the pain his body was experiencing.

"Yes, your grace." His former squire turned knight, Ser Olyvar responded.

So, another chapter is done and I hope you all enjoyed it. Anyway, if you have any questions or suggestions, please let me know.