The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 17

Carlisle Umber

Rickon and I found ourselves seated in a corner of a bustling tavern, surrounded by the murmur of conversations and the clink of tankards. My appetite was lacking, and I absently pushed the food around on my plate, the aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread barely registering.

Rickon, ever observant, glanced at me with a furrowed brow. "You're not eating," he remarked, his tone matter-of-fact.

I smirked sarcastically. "Quite the astute observation, young wolf. Should I pin a medal on you?"

He rolled his eyes at my sarcasm, swiping a piece of bread from my plate. "You're in a charming mood," he quipped, taking a sizable bite.

I shot him a stern look. "I didn't say you could touch my food."

Rickon shrugged nonchalantly, chewing with his mouth full. "You weren't eating it anyway," he mumbled between bites.

Despite myself, a small grin crept onto my face. "Barbarian," I muttered under my breath, reaching for my cup of ale.

Just as I lifted the ale to my lips, Rickon's sudden gasp made me pause, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you ill?"

He leaned in, his voice low and urgent. "My sister is sitting right there."

"Your sister?" I asked, genuinely taken aback.

"Yes, that's what I said." He mutters impatiently "Sansa. She's with a man and a lot of guards."

Suppressing the urge to turn and look, I feel Rickon's hand on my arm, restraining me. "Don't stare. It'll look suspicious."

I nodded slowly, assessing the situation. "Anyone else with her?"

"No, just the guards and that man," Rickon replied.

"How many guards?" I inquired quietly.

"Probably 5," Rickon muttered grimly.

My heart quickened as I processed the information. Sansa was here, surrounded, and we were in no position to approach her openly. Leaning closer to Rickon, I spoke in hushed tones.

"Do you recognize the man she's talking to?"

Rickon shook his head. "No idea. She doesn't seem bothered by him, though."

Cursing inwardly, I turn slowly and scan Sansa's table discreetly. She appeared unharmed, and the guards, while vigilant, didn't seem to sense any danger—yet.

Turning back to Rickon, I weighed our options carefully. "We need to remove those five guards from around her so I can get her without much issue."

Rickon arched an eyebrow mischievously. "Do you even have a plan for that?"

I shot him a sharp look. "I'm thinking of one am I not." I say.

My mind starts racing with strategies but it comes up with nothing. Turning to steal another glance at Sansa, my eyes widened as I noticed a new addition to her party: a tall, formidable woman with cropped blonde hair clad in armor—Lady Brienne of Tarth. Recognition dawned on me instantly; she was the one who had taken the Kingslayer from the encampment.

My brows furrowed in perplexity. What could Brienne possibly be doing here, and why was she in such close proximity to Sansa?

"That's Brienne of Tarth," I murmured to Rickon in a hushed tone, my gaze fixed on Sansa and the imposing knight. "She was your mother's knight, Your mother sent her to escort the Kingslayer back to King's Landing."

Rickon's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would Mother ask her to do that?"

"Politics," I replied with a shrug, though I knew the intricacies ran deeper.