CHP 67 (2/2): Madness (Patreon)

Robb Stark stood sentinel, watching the night sky quietly from the tall curtain wall. Grey Wind nestled below him, content to sit and lick his paws.

There were no stars to behold, and no moon to light the darkness that seemed to stretch on endlessly down below. It was a sight he had grown used to over his stay here, in this wet, ancient and dreary place.

It rained ceaselessly in the Riverlands, much to his displeasure, and when it didn't, dull grey clouds covered the sky. Robb was willing to bet a gold dragon that if he were to step outside and touch the grass, it would be wet to the touch even now.

He rubbed his arms and pulled at his fur cloak, feeling a chill wind seep into the very bone. Still, it felt notably warmer when he recalled the wintry winds of his home.

Quietly, Robb peered into the darkness below.

To his side, torches flickered and flames sputtered with the men standing vigil even in the night. To his annoyance, they had grown far too lax with assurance of Karl, certain that the Lannisters would not dare come for them.

"Do you think they will attack us here?"

"I'm certain," His silent vigil responded from the dark behind him. "They're desperate. And desperate men do foolish things."

Addam was... a withdrawn youth Karl had shoved into his household before his departure. He didn't seem much. But, what seemed so was often not the truth. One of the Karstarks had learnt that the hard way after brashly challenging him to single combat.

"Indeed they do." Rodrik Cassel agreed, tugging at his large white whiskers. His silver hair took on a strange shade in the light of the torch. "Why I remember..." The master-at-arms of Winterfell was one of his most loyal men, and Robb spared no expense in heeding his aged wisdom. "It doesn't matter. The Lannisters do not take well to being forced to a corner. But, Tywin is as shrewd as he is brave. He would not dare to march. Not with you-know-who breathing down his neck."

Robb nodded, and put a hand on the wall. The black stone felt terribly cold to the touch, and Robb's stomach twisted uncomfortably as soon as he did. He cast a glance over his shoulder, eying the darkness that blanketed Harrenhal.

Every now and then, a few slivers of moonlight would escape past the clouds and reveal the grim castle in its entirety. Old and decrepit with bits and molten in more places than not, with tall towers that seemed to have no top.

"You believe a bit too easily." Robb said, eying the old man.

Addam's acceptance was beyond a doubt, he was Karl's squire for a good bit of time and travelled by his side, watching his numerous works all about the Riverlands. Rodrik had been with Catelyn Stark, his mother, and so it made little sense for him to be so accepting.

The older knight laughed awkwardly, tugging at his whiskers, "Surely you remember, my lord. I was in the Great Hall at Riverrun that strange day. I relive it every time I close my eyes, my lord. T'is not easy for my heart."

Robb closed his eyes, recalling what had transpired the day before they left for Harrenhal. That arm of black scale and shifting tone, veins burning with crimson flame and lightning coursing through the cracks.

None had spoken for a time. None had dared breathe for a time.

That day, they had felt a fear that made all others seem a sham and act. A fear so primal, so old, yet so natural, that it ran in his blood.

Robb found himself shivering.

The thought of having a God that walked among men as an enemy was enough to drive men mad. That alone lent great credibility to Addam's words. The patrols had grown easy, they would be hunted down by outriders.

The grey-eyed youth frowned, his hand reaching for his sword. "There's something out there, my lord."

"Scared of the night?" Rodrik laughed, then quieted down when Addam's frown deepened. Robb followed his knight's gaze as Grey Wind riled, sniffing at the air.

"They wouldn't be able to come here. Not so soon."

"Roose Bolton had spies. He would have known," Robb said, clenching his fist.

Rodrik lowered his head, and spoke grimly, "Men like Roose are skittish when frightened true. They panic and do what they should not."

Out of the corner of his eye, Robb spotted a flame in the darkness. That one became two, two soon became three, three became five and five became ten. Ten turned to a hundred, a hundred to a thousand until fire was all he could see.

The dark clouds covering the night sky parted, endless stars glistened above and the moonlight came clear. It made the grass shimmer, and struck off the lake to the far side.

Then, Robb saw true.

A tide of green. A tide of red. They came out of the forest in droves. Their march crushed grass, splintered wood, the forest behind had become stumps in the dead of the night.

Cavalry atop mighty warhorses, with shimmering plates and twisted pikes. 

Foot soldiers in green and red, clutching swords and pikes and maces and hammers.

The lion of Lannister snapped in air that did not move, and golden flames sputtered from their torches, brighter and brighter, maddening.

Robb quickly looked to Addam. The youth nodded back and breathed deep.

Then he shouted loud, "Men! We're being attacked!"

Then again, louder, "MEN! TO STATIONS! EARN YOUR SWORDS! DO YOUR DUTY! WINTERFELL! RIVERRUN!"

Harrenhal, dark and ancient, came to life with shouts and cries and shifting metal. Men ran to the walls, they filled the towers, and Robb knew then, a great battle would ensue.

The greatest he would ever see.

"Ser Rodrik, go to the Maester. Send ravens. Any closer and they'll shoot them down."

"To... To where, my lord?"

"To the King. To the Wall."

"Addam, how many?"

"Too many," the young Knight said back, narrowing his eyes. "Far too many. Doubtless, Highgarden is with them."

...Perhaps he should have heeded his mother's word.

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Hope you enjoyed.

Comment your thoughts. I particularly like this one.

P.S: Double updates for everybody till I feel satisfied. I was barely conscious the last week 💀