𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 & 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙨, 𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬

XVIII » DRAGON'S BREATH

Rhaene stood behind a bit of shrubbery, her arms crossed and her face hard. There, completely unaware of her presence, was a scout. He wore dark brown armor. He seemed young.

Grey Wind stood beside her, watching the boy through his hungry brown eyes.

"For someone who's supposed to be aware of their surroundings," she spoke softly, "you're not very good at it."

The boy stumbled to his feet and whirled around, his eyes landing on Rhaene and then Grey Wind. He looked around, irises flashing like a cornered beast.

"There's nowhere to go," Rhaene said, "you can either come quietly and without struggle, or my Lord husband's wolf will tear you limb from limb." She lay her hand on Grey Wind's enormous head. "It's your choice."

Soon, Rhaene was entering the tent with her hand clasped around the boy's elbow. Two guards flanked her. Her husband looked up at her, eyes narrowing.

"We've captured a Lannister scout," one of the guards said.

Theon moved forward, turning the map over quickly.

Greatjon belted out a laugh. "No need for that, boy, he won't be leaving this tent with his head." He crossed his beefy arms.

"Where did you find him?" Robb asked, eyes leveled on the boy's face.

"In the brush above the camp, Grey Wind sniffed him out while I was on a walk-" Rhaene paused.

Robb's eyes flickered to hers, and the slight narrow told her that he was going to have a talk with her later.

"He was counting," she finished.

Robb rounded the large table, walking with the stature of a Northern King. His shoulders were wide, appearing bulkier with his huge cloak. "How high did you get?" he asked the boy.

The boy cast a hesitant glance towards Rhaene, who had released his arm and instead chose to stand a step behind her husband. "Twenty thousand," he quivered, "maybe more."

"You don't have to do this yourself, your Father would understand-" Sir Rodrick spoke loudly.

"My father understands mercy," Robb snapped, "when there is room for it." He glanced back at his friend. "And he understands honor." He turned back to the boy, before nodding to the two guards holding him by the biceps. "Let him go."

"Robb," Rhaene muttered in shock, grabbing his armored forearm.

He looked over at her, eyes narrowed. His expression screamed, 'I am the Lord of Winterfell, do not question my decisions.'

The cold look alone felt like a slap in the face. Rhaene stepped away from him, dropping her gaze to the floor.

Robb turned back to the boy. "Tell Lord Tywin winter is coming for him, twenty-thousand Northerners marching south to find out if he really does shit gold."

When the boy was led out of the tent, Greatjon stepped forward and leaned in close to Robb's face. "Are you touched, boy?" he growled, "lettin' him go?"

Robb's face hardened even more, if at all possible. "You call me boy again," he encouraged dangerously.

Greatjon Umber's face scrunched in anger, and for a minute Rhaene thought he was going to do it. He glanced around the tent, meeting the worried eyes of his fellow Lords, before looking back into Robb's eyes.