Northern Army Camp, Commander's Tent.
Candlelight flickered, illuminating the grave faces inside the tent. Ever since Eddard Stark's death, this army had been shrouded in a heavy, oppressive atmosphere. They had won at Whispering Wood and captured the Kingslayer, yet they had lost their liege lord.
Robb Stark sat at the head of the table. His young face was etched with exhaustion, but his grey eyes burned with the flas of vengeance.
"My lords," he began. His voice was steady in a way that did not suit a fifteen-year-old boy. "We have been stalled here for too long. The longer this drags on, the worse it is for us."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across everyone present.
"The North is not as wealthy as other regions. We cannot afford a prolonged war with the Westerlands. Logistics is a major problem for us."
The tent fell silent.
This was the truth, and no one could deny it.
Roose Bolton spoke slowly. The Lord of the Dreadfort always gave off a cold, unsettling feeling, but his words often struck at the heart of the matter.
"We can send a ssage to Stannis. Have him attack King's Landing and force Tywin to split his forces."
He paused, then continued, "King's Landing only has six thousand guards. If Stannis marches from Dragonstone, Tywin cannot ignore it. Once he divides his army to rescue the capital, our pressure will ease significantly."
The lords nodded in agreent.
The suggestion was feasible.
However, several days later, Stannis's reply arrived.
The letter was short and its aning clear: Stannis refused to march. He insisted on defeating Renly first, because he feared being attacked from behind by Renly while assaulting King's Landing.
The ssenger added, "Lord Stannis says: Lord Stark, you must renounce the title of King in the North. Even if you are the rightful heir of Winterfell, declaring yourself king and seeking independence is illegal!"
The tent erupted in uproar.
"What did you say?!" Greatjon Umber roared. "King in the North is illegal? Illegal under whose law?"
Roose Bolton narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Stannis is tied down by Renly. This ans we cannot count on him."
The atmosphere grew even heavier.
At that mont, one man stood up.
Theon Greyjoy.
He walked to the center of the tent, took a deep breath, and spoke.
"My lords, I have an idea."
Robb looked at him with trust. This friend and foster brother, who had grown up with him, was one of the people he trusted most.
"Speak."
Theon said slowly, "Relying solely on the Northern army will indeed make it difficult to shake the Lannister forces. But what if… what if we can secure the support of the Iron Fleet?"
All eyes turned to him.
Theon continued, "The Iron Islands have hundreds of longships — the most powerful fleet in Westeros. If they can attack the Westerlands from the sea, strike at Casterly Rock, or even seize Lannisport…"
His eyes glead.
"Tywin will have no choice but to split his forces to defend, or even co out to fight us directly. At that point, our battlefield here will gain a decisive advantage."
The tent fell silent.
Everyone pondered the feasibility of this proposal.
The Iron Islands… Greyjoy…
But the ironborn had never been reliable allies.
Could the ironborn be trusted?
Yet no one could deny that the suggestion made sense.
Robb was silent for a mont, then stood up.
"Theon, I am sending you back to the Iron Islands."
He walked over to Theon and placed both hands on his shoulders.
"In my na, take my personal letter and persuade your father, King Balon. Tell him that if the Iron Fleet is willing to ally with us and attack the Westerlands from the sea, the North will forever rember the friendship of the Iron Islands. We will divide the Westerlands together!"
He paused, his tone growing heavier.
"Tell him this is for our shared interests. The Lannisters are our common enemy."
Theon dropped to one knee.
"I will not fail."
After Theon left, the tent fell silent once more.
Robb returned to his seat, brows tightly furrowed.
The Iron Fleet was a hope, but not a guaranteed solution. Balon Greyjoy was a cunning old fox who might not easily agree to an alliance. And even if he did, there was no telling whether the ironborn would take advantage of the chaos.
He needed more bargaining chips.
At that mont, a squire entered the tent and presented a letter.
"My lord, a reply from Lady Sansa in Draco."
Robb took the letter and opened it.
It was written in his sister Sansa's own hand. The handwriting was neat, expressing sorrow over their father's unfortunate death and her hope to return to the North soon to be reunited with them…
He finished reading and remained silent for a long ti.
Then he raised his head and looked at the lords present.
"My lords, I need to consider so matters alone."
The lords exchanged glances but rose and left.
Only Robb remained in the tent.
He stared at the letter in his hand, then at the blank sheet of paper on the table.
Robb closed his eyes, recalling the many rumors he had heard about "the magic baron" Luke Jaqenion back in Winterfell: a noble and mysterious magical bloodline, Celestial Dragon descent, wealth to rival kingdoms, a castle filled with gold dragons, defeating over a dozen noble houses with a smaller force, champion of the tourney, unmatched in bravery… commanding an army ard with magic, said to be invincible.
He rembered the legends about Draco — everyone said it was a land blessed by the gods, the place closest to the divine.
A Celestial Dragon who had built a powerful army and an entire city in just one year.
What would such a man want?
After a long ti, Robb opened his eyes and picked up his pen.
He wrote two letters.
One to Theon, to be delivered to the Iron Islands.
The other…
He hesitated for a long ti, but eventually wrote the words.
"To Lord Luke Jaqenion,
If you are willing to send troops to strike Harrenhal from the rear and help the North defeat Tywin Lannister, avenging my father's death, I am willing to betroth my sister Sansa Stark to you.
Sansa is my father's eldest daughter, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, and sister of the King in the North. She is gentle, virtuous, and of exceptional beauty — a worthy match.
If you accept this offer, the North and Draco will form a permanent alliance, friendly for generations to co.
King in the North, Robb Stark"
When he finished the last word, his hand trembled slightly.
Giving his sister in marriage to a man he had only t a few tis, all to fulfill his ambition…
This was sothing his father would never have done.
But he was not his father.
He was the King in the North.
He had to avenge his father.
He had to win.
The letter was sealed and handed to a ssenger.
Robb stood up and walked out of the tent.
The night was as dark as ink, dotted with stars.
He gazed south, toward Harrenhal, toward Tywin Lannister, toward his father's killer.
And toward Draco.
And toward the man nad Luke Jaqenion.
He took a deep breath.
Sansa, forgive your brother.
When everything is over, I will explain it to you myself.
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