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A long column moved down the kingsroad toward King's Landing.
As the distance narrowed, the men at the front could be seen clearly: free folk wrapped in furs, marching in loose order and tugging open their clothes to let heat escape.
Autumn had already cooled the southern kingdoms, but to people who had never come this far south, the air still felt stifling.
In the middle of the column, Robb sat on Bloodwind's head beside a large carriage. Summer, now the size of a normal direwolf, and Shaggydog moved near the wheels.
Inside the carriage sat every member of House Stark except Arya.
Rickon was excited by the long journey. The others were not. Catelyn looked unwilling and grim. Sansa sat quiet, her thoughts clearly caught on unpleasant memories. Bran, though still withdrawn into his own world, was thinking seriously about something. Compared with the blank indifference he had once shown toward everything, it was an improvement.
After Robb conscripted thirty thousand free folk from Mance under terms the King-Beyond-the-Wall could not refuse, he had not sailed quickly back from Eastwatch.
Instead, he sent ravens to King's Landing ordering the vassals of the Seven Kingdoms to gather, then followed the free folk south by way of Winterfell.
During his wedding in King's Landing, Robb had wanted the Stark family to remain in the capital. Catelyn, longing for Winterfell, had refused.
Now the coming war with Daenerys Targaryen and the real possibility that the Others might move south made Winterfell a dangerous place. Robb did not intend to lose family again because he had been too gentle in respecting their choices.
He brought Catelyn, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, Maester Luwin, Hodor, and the others close to him back to King's Landing.
Winterfell would be held by Jory, newly appointed as acting castellan. When the crises passed, Robb would consider sending them home.
Before the Dragon Gate of King's Landing, nobles from across the realm waited for Robb's return. They stood in clusters, whispering while they looked north along the kingsroad.
At the edge of the crowd stood Gendry.
He wore new armor marked with the crowned stag of House Baratheon and rested both hands on the top of a black warhammer. One side of the hammerhead formed a broad M shape; the other carried a spike.
The armor made him look formidable. It also made him look out of place among nobles dressed in silk and bright cloth.
No one dared approach the Lord of Storm's End for easy conversation.
"Gendry. Ah, my lord."
The familiar voice came from behind him.
Gendry turned and saw Smalljon and Edd.
His face broke into a smile. "Why so formal? Call me by my name."
Smalljon raised an eyebrow at Edd. "See? I told you Gendry would tell us to use his name."
Then he looked Gendry up and down. "But why are you dressed like this to welcome His Grace?"
Gendry glanced at his armor, suddenly unsure. "Is this only a welcome ceremony? It is my first time answering a royal summons. I do not have much practice."
"Practice comes with time. I hear you have governed the Stormlands well these past months."
"That is because His Grace cleared the obstacles for me," Gendry said. "He also bought large amounts of a unique timber from the Rainwood. That gave many smallfolk in the Stormlands enough work to feed themselves."
"What does His Grace need the timber for?"
"His Grace has returned," Edd said.
The three men looked north.
Figures had appeared in the distance.
The queen's carriage, which had been waiting near the Dragon Gate, began to move forward.
"We should return to our places," Smalljon said. "Gendry, we can drink together tonight."
The nobles hurried back into order.
When Robb saw the welcoming party, he left the column ahead of the rest. Bloodwind carried him swiftly to the gate.
"Your Grace!"
The nobles dropped to their knees in a dark wave.
"You have all waited long enough," Robb said after leaping down from Bloodwind. "Rise."
Margaery wore a bright red court gown with bare shoulders, looking like a red rose in full bloom. She stepped forward to make a proper curtsy.
Robb reached her first.
He put an arm around her waist and kissed her before the gathered nobles.
"Your Grace," Margaery whispered when he let her breathe.
In private she was far from shy, but this was the first time he had embraced her so openly before so many eyes. Her cheeks flushed. She struck his chest lightly and hid her face against him.
Robb laughed.
"Crey, arrange the rest of the column. We will return to the Red Keep first."
"As you command, Your Grace."
With Bloodwind's help, Robb brought Margaery back onto the ice direwolf's head. They rode through the Dragon Gate toward the Red Keep.
The streets on either side were filled with commoners. When they saw the familiar terrible wolf and the king and queen above him, they knelt and shouted their names.
During Robb's months away, Crey had carried out his orders on trade and public works with great care. As the capital and a port city, King's Landing had recovered faster than any other city after the war.
It had not only regained its former bustle. With new posts for street cleaners, sanitation wardens, and other work, the city that Olenna Tyrell had once said could be smelled from the sky had become far cleaner.
The collected filth was carried to Rosby and Stokeworth to fertilize the grainlands of the crownlands.
Trade had grown livelier. Work had returned. The commoners could feel the difference.
The city no longer seemed dead on its feet. Hope had begun to live in it.
Most voices shouted Robb's name, but many shouted Margaery's as well.
She had suited herself perfectly to the role of queen. While Robb was away, she often left the Red Keep to help the poor of King's Landing and teach them ways to earn a living. If Robb's policies had gathered most of the city's hearts, Margaery's hands had gathered the rest.
In a little more than half a year, the two of them had done what kings liked to claim and rarely achieved.
The people wanted them.
After Robb and Margaery returned to the Red Keep and enjoyed their long-delayed reunion, Crey finished arranging the enormous column and came back with the nobles.
The king and queen entered the throne room together.
Once Robb sat upon the Iron Throne, he explained why he had summoned the vassals of the Seven Kingdoms.
When he spoke of the Others, most nobles outside the North did not take it seriously.
Many sailors and soldiers of the Redwyne fleet had seen Others and wights, but when they returned, most listeners treated the stories as tavern talk. The Wall existed. To their minds, that made them safe.
Robb understood their thinking.
So he spoke of the second matter.
When the throne room heard that Daenerys Targaryen was crossing the sea with four dragons and more than one hundred thousand soldiers, the hall erupted.
Unlike the dead beyond the Wall, this threat touched every lord's lands, titles, and food stores.
Willas and his brothers had promoted well-developed terraced farming techniques across the realm. Aside from the North and Dorne, the other five regions had already seen the benefits. The Vale, with its mountains, had benefited especially.
As terraced crops ripened across the mountains of the Vale, Andar Royce's lingering resentment over yielding his crown to Robb had faded.
He had come to the summons with the wind sorceress Ayla and the Vale's army. Now, hearing that Daenerys had chosen this moment to attack Westeros, he immediately offered to serve as vanguard against her landing.
"Lord Andar," Robb said from the Iron Throne, "I accept your request to lead the vanguard. But where do you think the enemy will land?"
"Dragonstone," Andar answered at once. "As Aegon the Conqueror did three hundred years ago. She will take Dragonstone and threaten King's Landing directly."
Andar had survived more than a year of struggle in the Vale against Littlefinger and Tyrion. He was no pampered fool.
'Andar survived the War of the Five Kings for a reason.'
Robb nodded slightly.
"That is my thought as well. Lord Andar, you will go to Dragonstone and prepare the defense. The enemy must not land there.
"Lord Paxter, the Redwyne fleet will support him."
"As you command."
"Yes, Your Grace," Paxter said, then hesitated. "Daenerys Targaryen has four dragons. If she attacks from the sky, we have no way to resist."
Robb smiled faintly. "Do not worry. My people have developed a weapon made specifically for dragons. It is called a scorpion.
"Its frame is built from whiteleaf poplar unique to the Rainwood, with tough ox sinew, hide, and hemp rope forming the torsion springs. If it strikes a vital point, even a dragon can be killed by one bolt.
"After months of urgent work, there are enough to equip your fleet."
Paxter's relief was obvious. "If the scorpion truly has that power, and if there are enough of them, then dragons need not be feared."
The other nobles began offering suggestions for strengthening Dragonstone's defenses. The matter touched their interests, and therefore it finally had their full attention.
"Your Grace," Randyll Tarly said suddenly, "Daenerys may also land at Sunspear."
The hall quieted.
"Sunspear?" Robb frowned. "Explain."
Crey rose from the Hand's seat before Randyll could answer. "Your Grace, you left in haste, and I had not yet reported it. House Martell of Dorne has not answered your summons. Prince Oberyn's raven says Prince Doran is gravely ill."
Randyll added, "I spent time with Prince Oberyn. For a matter this important, he would not rely on a raven alone. I believe something may have happened in Dorne that we have not foreseen."
Robb considered it.
His memories from another life had made him assume Daenerys would land at Dragonstone, but caution had kept him alive too often to ignore this.
"Prepare Dragonstone as planned," he said. "Crey, spare no cost in finding out exactly what is happening in Sunspear."
After that came the military reports from each region.
By Crey's count, the North had thirty thousand free folk soldiers and twenty thousand of Robb's core forces, for a total of fifty thousand. The Westerlands brought ten thousand. The Vale, fifteen thousand. The Riverlands, ten thousand. The crownlands, five thousand. The Stormlands, fifteen thousand. The Reach, forty-five thousand.
This summons had mobilized one hundred and fifty thousand soldiers across the Seven Kingdoms.
When the council ended, the nobles left the Red Keep in their own clusters.
The Reach lords gathered around Mace Tyrell. Because Olenna had warned him beforehand, he had endured the council without offering any of his grand opinions. Now that they were outside, he looked at Randyll walking alone nearby and could not resist.
"Some men believe their strategic vision towers over everyone else's," Mace said to the lords around him. "But this time I am certain Daenerys's army will land at Dragonstone."
Far out on the narrow sea, Tyrion Lannister was speaking before Daenerys and her generals.
"The enemy will assume we intend to land at Dragonstone," he said. "They will build defenses there and tell themselves they can resist us. Your Grace's dragons could tear those defenses open, but we need not step into a trap simply because they prepared one."
The vast fleet had sailed for more than a month. Westeros was close now.
Tyrion pointed to the map.
"Given the situation, I suggest dividing the army in two. One part will follow the earlier plan and join House Martell at Sunspear, then seize the Reach, where grain and fodder are plentiful.
"The other part will strike by surprise..."
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