✅️ The Last Velaryon - Robb Stark

51 - The Iron Throne War pt 2

The rain was a mournful curtain as we rode back towards our encampment, the mud sucking greedily at our horses’ hooves. The army, usually a vibrant tapestry of Northern colours, was a subdued wash of browns and greys, their banners limp and heavy with the downpour. Renly Baratheon was dead. Assassinated, they said, by some shadow demon. A tale spun from fear and disbelief, but fear nonetheless. The whispers followed us like the chill wind, a constant reminder of the power of our enemies, both seen and unseen.

Beside me, Robb sat ramrod straight, his jaw tight. He radiated a quiet fury, a controlled burn that I knew would eventually erupt. I reached out, placing a gloved hand on his arm. His muscles were tense beneath the leather. He didn't look at me, just tightened his grip on the reins.

"He was… amenable," I said, my voice barely audible over the drumming of the rain. "Renly. Easy to deal with."

Robb finally turned, his blue eyes clouded with frustration. "Aye. Now we're back to square one. Or worse. His army will scatter, flock to Stannis, and all for what? A shadow in the night?"

He spurred his horse forward, leaving me to trail behind, contemplating the tangled web that was politics in Westeros. One wrong step, one unexpected death, and the whole game shifted.

The atmosphere at the war camp was even grimmer than the ride back. Men huddled around smoky fires, their faces etched with exhaustion and apprehension. The news of Renly’s death had spread like wildfire, extinguishing any remaining embers of hope. I dismounted stiffly, the damp chill seeping into my bones.

I found Robb in his tent, hunched over a map of King’s Landing. He looked up as I entered, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "We need counsel, Haelesa," he said, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "Tyrion requested a meeting. He and Chezney were already expecting us back soon, with Renly."

"He knows about Renly?" I asked.

"Aye. The ravens fly faster than we do, it seems."

The thought of being so close to King’s Landing, so close to Jaime… It sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of dread and something akin to longing. I hadn’t seen Jaime in… too long, but it felt like a lifetime. Our marriage had been a political arrangement, a strategic alliance forged in the fires of war. But somewhere along the way, amidst the chaos of the battlefield and the quiet moments shared, a bond had formed. A fragile, complicated thing, born of respect, shared experiences, and perhaps… a flicker of something more. I still felt something for him.

"Alright," I said, drawing myself back to the present. "Let's hear what they have to say."

The meeting took place inside Robb’s tent with me and my husband standing around a table covered with a map of Westeros. Torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on our faces. Robb stood tall and imposing, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

Tyrion emerged through the tent flap, flanked by Bronn and Chezney. "Your Grace," Tyrion said, bowing slightly towards Robb. "Lords and Ladies. My condolences on the… unfortunate turn of events regarding King Renly."

Robb inclined his head, his expression grim. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries, Tyrion. What do we do?"

"Provide me and my wife some information, primarily. Clarification. And perhaps… a mutually beneficial agreement will arise."Tyrion's eyes flickered to me, a hint of something that might have been curiosity in their depths. He knew about my past with Jaime, of course. Everyone did. "Renly's death changes everything, His army will likely side with Stannis. You'll be facing a united Baratheon front, backed by the might of the Iron Throne."