Game of Thrones White Wolf

Chapter 212 214: Robb’s Bastard

Under a perfect blue sky, the ice was finally melting. The frozen ships bobbed free again, while the hillside above the bay was carpeted with row after row of pale, severed heads.

The nameless bay where Jon and Euron had clashed now had a new name: Beheading Bay.

Before riding for Winterfell, Jon left Sandor in charge with one simple order: kill every last pirate on the spot. More than eight thousand headless corpses were split between the north and south shores of the bay—grim warnings for any Ironborn raiders still breathing.

The heads themselves? Jon planned to haul them back to Winterfell as trophies.

Sandor stared at the gruesome display, scratching his chin. Jon usually shipped prisoners off to the Wall. Why execute every single one this time? He shrugged it off and turned his attention to the captured fleet instead.

Three hundred longships and thirty bigger sailing vessels sat crammed into the little bay—almost untouched. With these prizes added to Casterly Rock's navy, the West now boasted the third-largest fleet in the Sunset Sea and all of Westeros: sixty sailing ships and three hundred longships. No one was laughing at the Rock's sea power anymore.

The ships were a hell of a prize, but what really mattered to Jon was how many elite Ironborn fighters he'd just wiped out. These weren't green boys—they were hardened reavers, the best the Iron Islands had. "We do not sow" was branded into their bones.

Sending thousands of them to the Wall would've just stirred up trouble. Using them as forced labor would've tied down too many guards and eaten through grain stores. No, better to end it here and send a message the rest of the Ironborn would never forget.

These eight thousand had been roughly a fifth of the Iron Islands' total manpower—but half their real fighting strength. Balon or Euron might scrape together forty or fifty thousand more bodies someday, but the quality would be trash.

This was a clean annihilation. The Iron Islands were crippled. They wouldn't dare raid again anytime soon.

Sandor stayed behind to secure the ships. Jon rode north to Winterfell with Brynden.

It took half a day to find Catelyn and the others. The moment she saw Bran alive and safe, Catelyn broke down sobbing. When she tried to thank Jon, the words wouldn't come out straight.

The next day, Robb finally arrived.

The second the brothers were alone, Robb asked Jon to take a walk outside the castle. They climbed the walls together, watching soldiers and smallfolk patching roofs and licking their wounds from the war.

Robb looked exhausted from the long ride. He started venting.

"These wildlings fight like they don't care if they die," he grumbled. "We've killed women carrying nothing but wooden spears. And somehow they always know where I'm going to hit next. I thought I'd wrap this up in six months—now who the hell knows? Oh, and get this—we've killed more than ten actual giants. Real ones. Wish I could've brought one back for you to see—"

Jon listened quietly. It was clear Robb hadn't followed the "negotiate first, fight only if you have to" plan they'd talked about.

If Jon were king he could just order it. But right now they were equals, and Robb was still a teenager with a teenager's pride. So Jon chose his words carefully—like talking a kid off a ledge.

"Robb… you ever think about leaving Winterfell?"

"Leave? This is my home. I'd fight anyone who tried to take it." Robb's jaw set.

"Exactly," Jon said. "That's how the wildlings feel about the land beyond the Wall. Remember what I told you was waiting up there?"

"The Others?" Robb smacked his forehead. "But we haven't seen any near the Wall."

"Winter hasn't even truly started yet," Jon replied. "When it does, they'll come. Robb, I want you to start treating wildling prisoners better. If you get the chance, meet the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Tell him you'll give them land—"

"But Jon—"

Jon kept going. "I know feeding twenty thousand wildlings won't be easy. So here's the deal: it's getting colder every day. Put them to work in the Wolfswood—cutting timber, burning charcoal, digging coal. Let them trade it for grain. I'll figure out the food. Later, once I take the Iron Islands, they can settle there. The islands will fall under the West's rule."

Robb stared at him, stunned by the sheer scale of the plan. But once the shock passed, he realized even if Jon conquered the Iron Islands, the North would still be bigger. So he let it go.

Just as they were about to head back inside, Robb suddenly grabbed Jon's arm. His face turned bright red.

"Jon… while I was campaigning I… I slept with a woman. A mountain-clan girl. She's already showing."

Jon's voice went cold. "Then get rid of it. Why the hell are you telling me?"

Robb flinched like he'd been slapped. Jon's face had gone dark as a storm cloud. Suddenly Robb realized how badly he'd screwed up. It was the exact same mistake their father had made—Ned came home from war with a bastard son. And here Robb was repeating history.

"I didn't mean it like that," Robb stammered. "I just… I want you to take her to Casterly Rock. Let her have the baby there. I'll tell Jeyne myself instead of springing it on her."

Jon's voice carried. The squires nearby could hear every word. Robert Frey watched in awe as the Duke of Casterly Rock dressed down the King in the North—and Robb just stood there and took it.

Brynden appeared out of nowhere. He couldn't hear the words, but the body language was obvious. Even he raised an eyebrow.

Jon let the silence stretch just long enough, then sighed. "Fine. I'll take the woman to Casterly Rock."

"Thank you, Jon. You're saving my ass. I'll write Margaery so she doesn't—"

"No need," Jon cut him off. "Margaery's smarter than that. Besides, I've only been gone from the Rock a month. The timing doesn't add up anyway."

Robb scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "Yeah… you're right."

Jon clapped him on the shoulder. "The wildlings are the real issue. When you head back to the front, find the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Talk to him. We can't waste what little strength we have fighting other living men. We need to end this war fast and start preparing for the Long Night."

Robb nodded, serious this time. "I will. I promise."

Before leaving for Casterly Rock, Jon offered to take Jeyne, Arya, and the rest south where it was safer. After some discussion, he only brought Sansa and Bran. Jeyne and her two children—the direct heirs—had to stay in Winterfell, along with Catelyn. The other Northern lords were already watching closely. The Starks were the Kings in the North; they couldn't all just vanish.

Jon mounted up, Sansa riding beside him and Bran strapped securely on a litter behind. As they rode out of the gates, the wind carried the distant sound of hammers repairing Winterfell's walls.

The war for the North wasn't over… but the real fight—the one that would decide if any of them lived through the coming winter—was only just beginning.