This story assumes basic knowledge about the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' universe and setting.

[Year] – [PoV Character] – [City/Castle/Town], [Kingdom]

298 AC – Robb Stark – Winterfell, The North

He stood watch outside the crypt for the entirety of the night after Bran Stark died.

A vain hope, a desperate hope of a boy unready to face the world was the force that held his boots in place. Hope that he would see his brother walk, complete and able, through the darkened crypt doorway in front of him. Hope that the worst mistake of his life was a jape. Hope that this was all some kind of terrible nightmare.

Hope. Hope was all he had left.

And so Robb Stark stood, motionless, arms crossed before his waist, hands clasped. A steady, carefully maintained look of detachment stretched across his face, hiding his inner turmoil like a woman painted her face to hide her unseemly features.

A Lord's face, still new and unfamiliar to him.

A wolf howled.

He winced. His jaw quivered. The façade faltered.

"I want Bran!" Rickon bawled, shoving his puffy, red face into Robb's tunic. "I want- I want him now!"

"Bran is- He's not h-"

"I want Bran!" The boy howled. "He promised! He promised to play!"

"I- Rickon… I cannot make him-"

"No! No! I want Bran!" The child howled, each of his sniveling gasps hitting Robb as if they were physical blows.

Because he wanted Bran too.

"I can't, Rickon. He's," his voice wavered and he swallowed heavily, stifling a gasp in the back of his throat. "He's dead."

A growl tore free from his throat, his jaw tightened and his head dipped. Rickon was not here, now. He vaguely remembered the boy being removed when the sun was still high in the sky.

The wolves too, were locked up after-

Shaggydog entered the courtyard in a storm of growls, yips and barks, tearing through suddenly screaming people to reach his master. The sudden cacophony of sound, compounded by Rickon's wails, only grew worse when Bran's unnamed wolf made a mad dash for the crypts, howling like the Long Night itself was after him. Robb's head pounded and he screwed his eyes shut as his subjects scattered-

"Lord Robb," a voice behind him said, raspy and dry.

He flinched. Against the silence of the night within Winterfell, the whisper may as well have been a shout.

"I am no Lord, Luwin," Robb murmured as his shoulders sagged and his eyes closed. The howling of the wolves, the bawling of his brother and the screams of the castlefolk refused to leave his mind in peace.

Indeed, it only grew worse as the night grew dark.

"Come inside, Robb," Luwin said, draping a fur cloak over the boy's shoulders. "You'll come down with something nasty in-"

"Bran lay dead in that crypt because of me, Luwin," Robb murmured, his voice cracked and dry from spending hours in the cold. Still, he turned his head enough to glare at the old man out of the corner of his eye. "I gave him that dagger- the very same dagger an assassin wielded!"

"You couldn't've known-"

"No," he hissed, screwing his eyes shut. "But I should've. I should've known better, Luwin. I should've! I thought myself clever! I thought it reasonable to give him some perspective! A choice he wouldn't make! A chance to humble him! To make Bran realize-"

He choked on his own spit. His jaw quivered.

"To make him realize that life is worth living," he gasped, a stifled sob following it. "But instead, here I stand, in front of my little brother's grave. Mine own hands painted red with his blood… I did what that assassin could not!"

His voice finished in a yell and the sound of it echoed throughout the empty, moonlit courtyard. Robb was left breathing heavily after his outburst but he felt no better than he did before it – how could he? He gambled and he lost. He gambled with Bran's life and he lost!

Such a fool, he was. Such a thrice-damned fool!

A silence between the pair began then and stretched on for several long minutes, broken only by the howling of wolves.

It was a mournful sound, long and melancholy.

That suited Robb perfectly.

"I should've seen it," he said lowly, at length. His eyes stared at the crypt but his mind only saw Bran's demise. "The look in his eyes. The stiffness in his jaw. I should've-"

"Robb," Luwin said, his voice flat. "You couldn't've-"

"Yes," the boy spat. "Yes, I could've! He looked me in the eye and told me he wanted to die, Luwin! And what did I do? I wrote him off! I thought him bluffing! I delivered to him the very instrument he used to take his life!

"…Father would be ashamed. Mother… oh, mother! She doesn't deserve this. To have her child taken from her, after so very narrowly keeping him from the fall…"

"Robb…" Luwin began, but his voice tapered off into silence. Eventually, he said: "I am sorry for your loss."

Silence reigned for several moments, broken only by the distant howling of a wolf, before he answered.

"So am I," the heir to Winterfell agreed, his voice quieter, now. "I made a boy's mistake. A fool's mistake. I've half a mind to follow Bran to the grave-"

"Surely there are-!"

"But I won't," Robb said loudly, returning anger and self-loathing allowing his mind to forget his pleasantries and interrupt the old man once more. He shook his head; the frost that covered his hair was thrown about aimlessly. "I'll live with this on my shoulders. Every day, I'll remember. I may have failed him in life, but I will do right by Bran in death."

He paused.

A wolf howled.

Then:

"I'll hear the requests of the smallfolk tomorrow-"

"They can wait for a day, Robb," Luwin insisted. "They understand the need to mourn."

"I'll hear their requests tomorrow," Robb said again, his voice louder. "Then, we will review the sigils and words of my banners. After, The Iron Isles and The Riverlands. What trade we do within The North will be next."

Maester Luwin was quiet for a moment, the boy heard him shift in his grey robes, but eventually, the old man spoke: "Very well, Robb. The castle finances?"

"In between my studies, after the smallfolk requests. The preparation for winter as well, when we review my father's bannermen."

"I understand," the elder man said quietly, dipping his head. "If I might leave you with a word of advice?"

Robb exhaled heavily, his hands parting at his waist. The movement caused the snow built up on his cloak to fall to the ground.

"Your counsel will always be valued, Maester Luwin. Speak."

"Do not let this consume you, lad. Remember to live your life. Doing your duty is all well and good, but a Lord must be personable as well as dedicated. Approachable. Do not become bitter over this. Please, Lord Robb, promise me that much."

The boy mulled over the man's words. "I… How might I go about doing that, Luwin? There will be whispers of me, none flattering. The Lord that lost the brother."

"Show them that those rumors are wrong, Robb. A single conversation with a man is enough to make him loyal to you for the entirety of his life. Not only that, but it allows you a break from running The North too. This was something your father learned early in his life, from watching Brandon, his brother. It is one of many reasons the bannermen love him so."

"I… I understand," Robb whispered, the idea of speaking casually with his father's banners still foreign to him. "I will try, Maester Luwin. I promise you that much."

"I am glad, Robb," the man said, grasping the boy's arm. "Now come, you've not eaten and if you insist upon working yourself so harshly, then you will need a full stomach and a good night's rest to do it!"

"Right," he said, his shoulders drooping. Suddenly, he felt so incredibly weary… Bran's death. His part in it. Rickon's pain. The dire wolves' racket. It was all so very much and it would be nice to forget it with a hot meal and a warm bed.

He stopped, suddenly, arresting the Maester's momentum as well. The man stumbled.

"Robb-"

"I cannot forget," the boy said, his eyes narrowed. "I will not forget!"

"Oh, Robb," Luwin said softly. "I had thought you were willing to live-"

"I shall, Maester Luwin," the heir to Winterfell and The North said, licking his lips. "I'll be the best damn Lord The North has seen. I'll learn names, banners, feuds, geography, numbers, everything it takes to be better. To do right by my family… But I want that dagger."

The older man blinked. "It will only remind you of your mistake, Robb. Surely there is another way?"

"No," he barked. "There is no other way, Maester. I'll carry that dagger with me always, a reminder of my mistakes, of what making them might bring. And when I tire, when I wish to relax and slack off in my duties, I'll look upon that dagger and remember what happened. I'll remember Bran. I'll do right by Bran."

The boy meant the old man's gaze then, his eyes wide and his mouth sent into a firm line. Around his ankles, the fur cloak flapped restlessly.

"I'll do right by my family. The North remembers, and so too shall I."

A mistake made, a brother buried. Robb Stark learns a harsh lesson in failing his family before his trip south, and takes his responsibilities more seriously because of it.

A/N: A few things before we get truly underway – I don't like what I've seen of the show and how they've twisted Stannis Baratheon. He's a stubborn asshole in the books but it's really, really hard not to like him by the time you're done reading. This story will feature more of the Stannis of the books, otherwise known as 'The Mannis'.

Second, Robb will be far more level headed in this story, less prone to rash actions. At first, that will result in only minor differences in the story. But as with A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones, those small differences will spawn larger and larger divergences as the story progresses. I hope I do right by the books and the show, because the way they progress storylines is masterful.

I've placed this under the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' category despite it being a hodge-podge between the show and the books. I feel it is more similar to the books, however, in that I use a great many characters the show ignores (e.g. four Tyrell children, Aegon Targaryen living, even Ser Harys Swyft will be mentioned in passing!)

Lastly, please read the italicized text at the end of each chapter. I'll describe any unseen differences between my story and the books there. Reading them will go a long ways to helping you understand why something might be different!

Till next time,

Phailen