[3rd POV]

 

The following day the two armies mobilized and stood at the ready before the sun had even risen. As it rose from the hills it illuminated the blood stained field where thousands had fallen the day before. In front of the capitals walls stood the royal guard dressed in their pitch black spring steel armor chased with gold. In their hands they held their custom lances and heater shields. They stood in tightly packed lined formation with the walls of the city covering their flanks.

 

They had lost over two hundred brothers the day prior, but their expression revealed no emotion. Their faces were still and eyes cold as they stared down the opposing north army like swine to be slaughtered. The grip on their lances tightened as they were eager to avenge their fallen brethren, but their king had ordered them to stay their hand, and who were they. They were the king’s sabers, and if the king orders it then it is done.

 

Across from them stood what remained of the northern forces. They had lost roughly eight thousand of their countrymen the day before. They wore boiled leather armor with simple half steel helmets on their heads. At their hips they carried longswords and dirks, while others carried wooden round shields with their house sigil painted on. Half of the remaining six thousand men were on horseback, while the others stood as standard infantry.

 

In contrast to the royal guard the northmen’s faces showed only anxiety and fear. After all they had witnessed the southern demons across from them cut down their countrymen like it was sport. Most were prepared to lay down their arms and armor and march back home to their wives. The only thing keeping them in place was their belief that their king wouldn’t lead them into slaughter. 

 

Then King Robb came riding out on his war horse surrounded by his personal guard. He was dressed in mail armor with a steel plate covering the top. He wore a surcoat with a white cloak over top with thick fur. At his hip he carried his personal long sword and dirk dagger. Upon his head was his crown of old. It was a bronze circlet surmounted by nine black spikes in the shapes of swords. It was meant to resemble the crown of the old kings of the north before the dragons ruled the sky.

 

Robb slowly rode forward making his way to the front of his men. As he arrived at the front of the north battle line the sounds of the city gates opening filled the air. The gates slowly opened and revealed the visage of the young lion and his kingsguard. As he slowly rode out the lines of his royal guard divided, allowing him a clear path to the front of the battle line. As he and his kingsguard rode by the men filled back into formation and stood at attention.

 

As Joffrey made it to the front of his army’s front line his visage was clear for all the northern men to see. He wore his personal royal armor which was pitch black like his royal guard’s, but much more distinguished. With a golden lion’s face decorating his breastplate, along with his pauldrons and bracers. He wore a crimson cloak displaying the colors of house Lannister rather than the stag of house Baratheon. On his hip he held his personal long sword and Valyrian steel dagger. Upon his head he wore his simple but elegant crown, a round circlet of gilded steel with square cut rubies inside. It was meant to resemble Aegon the conqueror’s crown.

 

He was accompanied by his remaining kingsguard, who wore their new pearl white spring steel armor that was chased with gold. Along with the hound Sandor Clegane. As Joffrey stared across the field he locked eyes with the king in the north. Kicking his horse’s sides, Joffrey rode out toward the middle of the field along with his guard, while Robb did the same. As the two groups neared one another, Joffrey stopped his horse and signaled for his men to hang back wishing to speak with Robb alone. Robb, seeing Joffrey’s action, did the same and rode out to meet him on even ground.

 

As the two kings sat across from one another on their war horses both dismounted their steeds at the same time. The pair of men then walked in front of the other until they were only a few feet apart. As they stood across from one another in the open field, there was utter silence from both men’s armies. Not even the bird's chirping could be heard.

 

“King Joffrey.” Robb said as he gazed upon the young lion king, his face still swollen and battered from his battle with great Jon.

 

“King Robb.” Joffrey responded with his tone cold and serious, all the friendly banter having evaporated after the previous day’s events.

 

Robb, feeling Joffrey’s animosity decided to address the elephant in the room.

 

“That attack yesterday was against my orders.” He began to explain. “One of my commanders betrayed me, and led his men against you in battle. I have already dealt with his treason with my own hand and all those who shared in his crime.” 

 

After a brief moment of silence Joffrey spoke.

 

“I already know that.” He responded coolly. “I know that attack was not led by you, but my question to you is so what?”

 

Robb tilted his head in confusion.

 

“When disobedience and insubordination arise in men the fault lies with their commander, or in this case their king.”

 

Robb was struck by Joffrey’s sharp words. Before he could respond Joffrey continued.

 

“As a king you already know the weight and responsibility that comes with wearing that crown, so when your men commit horrendous acts even if it is against your orders, then it is your responsibility to make recompense for it.”

 

“That's hardly fair I wasn’t aware of that attack nor did I give such..”

 

But Joffrey quickly cut him off before he could make excuses.

 

“Your sister was on the field yesterday Robb!” He yelled, shocking the northern king silent.

 

“If it wasn’t for me and my men your sister would’ve died! Or do you really think bloodthirsty soldiers would have differentiated your sister from the rest of us?!”

 

Robb stood there silent, his eyes wide having not even considered that scenario. 

 

“Which is why I am done playing nice.” Joffrey said coldly. 

 

His words jolted Robb out of his stupor making him refocus.

 

“You will lay down your arms and surrender your crown to me. Then you will convince the Riverlands and the Trident to do the same. In exchange I swear to pardon all those who aided you in your revolt. You will be named Warden in the north and return back home and safeguard the realms of men.”

 

“What about my family?” 

 

“In exchange for my uncle Jaime I will return your father and sister Arya along with the rest of the northmen in my custody to you safe and sound. Then I will allow you to transport your father to the Night's watch personally. Of course he may stop and say his goodbyes to his other children and wife at Winterfell, but he will be heading north.”

 

Robb bit his lower lip in anger. His father had already talked to him about swearing to take the black in exchange for a royal pardon. It didn’t make him like it any less. 

 

“I want Sansa as well.” He demanded.

 

“No” Joffrey flatly refused.

 

“I’m not leaving here without both of my sisters!” Robb yelled the veins on his neck bulging.

 

“Then I guess you’re not leaving here, I will never give up my beloved!” Joffrey yelled back.

 

Both men looked ready to draw their swords and finish their dispute in the old way. After a brief awkward moment passed Joffrey calmed down and offered a compromise.

 

“How about this?” He said getting Robb's attention. “What if we leave it up for her to decide.

 

“Huh?” Robb asked, confused.

 

“We’ll let her decide if she would rather stay here with me or return to Winterfell with you.”

 

Robb pondered this for a moment before speaking.

 

“Do you promise to respect her choice if she chooses to come back home with me?”

 

“Of course no matter what she decides I swear to respect it. I swear before the old gods and new and upon the seven heavens and hells. Do you swear to do the same?”

 

“I swear.” He responded.

 

“Very well do we have terms?” Joffrey asked Robb.

 

Robb turned and looked upon his six thousand remaining men. He looked at their weary gazes and anxious expressions. He then turned toward the royal guard at the king’s back, and in their expression he only saw commitment and determination. He quickly understood that this battle was over before it even began. 

 

He became conflicted; everything seemed to be crumbling around him and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. He had marched south at the head of eighteen thousand men to rescue his father and sisters. He had won every battle and sacrificed even his honor in the name of victory. But in the blink of an eye all of that seemed to have changed.

 

“How could everything have gotten so bad so quickly.” He thought to himself.

 

It seemed like a cruel joke made by the gods. Or more accurately a cruel twist of fate. He was Robb Stark son of Eddard Stark, the young wolf, and king in the north. He held the wellbeing and fate not only of his remaining soldiers, but all of the North in his hands. The weight of that level of responsibility was crushing, and for the first time since he left Winterfell it felt like it was too much.

 

“I can’t back down.” He told himself. “I can’t show weakness.”

 

He was the young wolf, the blood of the first men flowed through his veins. Honor and duty demanded that he resist, to fight on. If he didn’t then all the men who died would’ve died for nothing. He would be labeled a coward, and the men of the north would neither forgive or forget. Forever leaving a stain on his family’s noble name.

 

Then the words that Joffrey had spoken to him two days prior began to resonate in his mind.

 

“We perform our duties to the best of our abilities. To keep those we care for from harm. Even if we are hated for it, or how much it disgusts us, we do it because it is our duty to do so. That is the true price for kingship as you well know.” 

 

As he remembered Joffrey’s words the memory of the story of his ancestor Torrhen Stark the last king of winter entered his mind. Of how the northern king marched south to face Aegon the conqueror and his three dragons, but once face to face with the superior adversary who had set whole armies ablaze Torrhen made a difficult decision. Against all his advisors and commanders advice he knelt to the Targaryan king presenting him his crown and swearing his fealty. In exchange for the lives of his men and citizens. He was then named lord of Winterfell and the first Warden of the north.

 

After sorting through his conflicting emotions, Robb finally did what he knew he had to for the sake of his men and homeland. As he slowly drew his longsword, the Royal guard and northern forces prepared for battle. Joffrey stood there unflinching as Robb drew his sword completely from its scabbard. After unsheathing the blade, Robb turned the sword horizontal and bent the knee to Joffrey. Joffrey then slowly reached down and respectfully took the sword and held it up for all the men to see.

 

Seeing that there would be no battle, many on the wall began to cheer and embrace each other, while the northern forces let out a sigh of relief. Many of the northern commanders seemed displeased with the surrender, but accepted their liege lord’s decision. Robb then reached up prepared to remove his crown and present it to the southern king, till Joffrey stopped him.

 

“Not now.” Joffrey said as his hand held the northern lord’s shoulder.

 

Robb looked up at him in confusion.

 

“Tomorrow at noon, I will welcome you into my city.” He began to explain to the confused man. “I will let you and your commanders into my city, there you will present me with your crown and your lords will swear their fealty to me.”

 

Joffrey then helped Robb stand back up, but kept the sword the north lord presented to him.

 

“We will break bread and you and your commanders shall be my honored guests, and you will be reunited with your family.” He said with a smile.

 

Robb had a still face not knowing how to feel about the certain turn of events.

 

“What of my men?” He asked

 

“They will remain outside my city’s walls, but we’ll set up tents for them and supply them with food and drink.”

 

“Is that acceptable?” 

 

“It is acceptable.” Robb responded, nodding his head.

 

Joffrey then looked past Robb and at the sour expressions of his northern commanders.

 

“Well let's leave it there for today, it would seem you have some convincing to do.” He gave the former north king a weary smile. “I will send you two of my men when it is time.”

 

Both men then shook the other's hand and returned to their steeds. Robb rode back to the north camp as his men dispersed, while Joffrey rode back to his kingsguard. Once he got close enough he handed the longsword to Barristan Selmy.

 

“What am I to do with this, your grace?” He asked, confused.

 

“Have it added to the chair.” He said with a smile before leading his horse back to the city.

 

As the king and his kingsguard rode back inside the city, the royal guard dispersed then slowly marched back inside the city. The day would forever be marked in the history books as the day the young wolf bent the knee to the young lion.

 

[The Royal Guards Training Grounds Night Time]

 

Night had fallen and inside the former tourney grounds, the entire host of the Royal guards was gathered. It was the dead of night and the only light was the burning braziers and torches the men held. The training grounds had been cleared and the sight of two hundred and twenty three funeral pyres filled the arena. Atop the pyres lay the Royal guards who had fallen in the battle against the northern forces the day prior.

 

The bodies of the men had been tended to by the silent sisters. They had been washed and cleaned and changed into clear white night dresses. Their hands were clasped over the chest holding their personal arming sword. Two funeral stones had been placed over their closed eyes, each painted to resemble open eyes. A symbolic gesture that one should not fear death, for death is just a new beginning. 

 

The rest of the Royal guard stood at attention in their arming doublets and matching breeches. As they stood at attention not a single sound was heard. Two thousand men filled the stadium and it was as silent as a crypt. Joffrey made his way into the training grounds and made his way in front of the pyres. As he gazed upon his fallen brothers who had fought and died in his name. Taking a moment to gather himself he turned and addressed his men.

 

He looked upon their faces and saw a variety of expressions. Of anger and guilt. Disappointment and bitterness. Despair and rage. But most of all he saw sadness in everyone's eyes. Which one would come to expect from those who had just lost their comrades and brethren. He slowly nodded his head in understanding.

 

“Do not shed tears for your brother's passing.” Joffrey spoke out. “Do not feel anger for their absence. Do not regret their death.”

 

The men looked at one another confused by their king's words.

 

“ Instead you should rejoice!” He shouted, stunning the men.

 

“Rejoice that your brothers have achieved the greatest honor any of you could! To fight and die side by side in service to their king. Pray that you are able to achieve such an honor!”

 

The men began to stir, wiping their eyes, and standing up straighter. The sad expression now bore ones of pride and fanaticism.

 

“Your brothers have proved themselves worthy of the seven heavens and even now fight side by side in the heaven of the warrior!” His voice bellowed so that all those within the stadium could hear. “So I beseech you do not disgrace your brother’s achievements any further with cries of sorrow! Instead cheer and roar as loud as you can so that our fallen brethren can hear us commemorate their passing! What say you?!”

 

The two thousand men then began to howl and cheer. Banging their fists against their chest making the whole city fill with the sound of their celebration. After a few moments Joffrey raised his hand for the men to be silent. Once the men quieted down he spoke again.

 

“On this day I swear upon the crown on my head. It shall forever be recorded in the great histories of Westeros, of the Royal guard’s first battle and the brave two hundred that perished in service to their king.”

 

“Yeah!” the men began to cheer again.

 

Joffrey then gestured for a torch which one of his men presented to him. He then slowly walked toward one of the funeral pyres along with over two hundred other men who held torches. He then slowly raised the torch to the sky as if to send a message to heaven, before lowering it down and setting the pyre ablaze. The other two hundred men repeated the gesture.

 

Soon the city was illuminated by the sight of over two hundred burning pyres, commemorating the passing of the brave soldiers who died in defense of it. After backing away from the hot blaze, Joffrey took a moment to gaze upon his men as he crumbled away to ash. He then gestured for the servants to come in, as each servant arrived, they stood before the burning pyres, while holding a large black and gold urn jar. He had ordered that once the fires had ceased that the ashes of each of his fallen be collected and stored in a sacred location within the red keep.

 

Joffrey then resumed celebrating with his men who had forgotten their grief and instead celebrated their brothers as the heroes they truly were.