Chapter Text
The plan began five days later.
It started in Marja’s home, when Father returned to see her and Mother sitting by the hearth. They gave him a brief explanation of what had been happening, leaving out the most sensitive details—the story they told was that Marja had decided to go north with the Stark soldiers to see them to Uncle Alric and the crannogmen. Mother had deigned to stay behind, unwilling to leave Father, so it would have to be Marja leading the party, the only other person in the Twins who had visited a crannogman’s home before.
“It’s for the best, sweetling,” Mother had said, when she first made her decision known. “It’s too dangerous here for you and your babe. Take the King to my brother. He’ll let you live with him for the next few years, until the war ends. I will stay here, with your father, and keep an eye on things.”
So it was with a heavy heart that Father agreed to let her go. The three of them brought in Raynald and the two Stark soldiers, Harren and Denys, and told them the abridged plan. The soldiers, who were from the north already, agreed readily, but Raynald took a little more convincing before he was willing to brave the Neck.
With Perwyn aiding them, escaping the Twins was pitifully easy. That had never been the problem, though, since surrounding the Twins were the Boltons to the north and the Lannisters to the south. The Freys knew that very well. Security was lax, so when Marja and Father went to the stables and procured a donkey and an old cart from the stablehand, they only needed to call in some old favors to walk out with their desired products.
Perwyn met them near the gate, watching them with a nervous gaze. He didn’t like the fact that he was leaving Robb behind, but for the plan to work, he had to be the northmen’s guide until Marja could meet them. Only Perwyn could get them out through the main gates without suspicion; as a Frey, he would be able to leave unquestioned.
“Go up the Fork, but only a little ways,” Marja instructed Raynald, keeping her voice low enough that they weren’t overheard. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Where are you going?” Raynald asked, and Marja just shook her head, flashing him a look to let him know it wasn’t something he needed to understand just yet.
She and Father left as Perwyn spoke to the gate guards and was let through, leading the donkey and the three northmen out of the castle. Mother met them back near the servant’s quarters, holding Emil. Marja embraced both her parents, promising to stay safe, then pulled Emil up in a wrap that left him tied to her back, keeping her hands free.
She left them, then, and didn’t look back for fear she might lose composure.
Robb was alone in Perwyn’s room when Marja crept in, closing the door behind herself. Yesterday, Mother had finally let him sit up without support, and he was sitting at the edge of the bed as Marja entered, staring intently out the window with a worried twist to his mouth. Dressed in some of Perwyn’s old clothes, Marja had to admit that it was a little disconcerting to see the Frey sigil on his chest.
He turned to look at her as she closed the door behind her, and Marja could almost see him tuck his anxieties and griefs away, pulling them deep underneath his skin until she couldn’t see them anymore. Then his eyes flickered to her wrap, then behind her, where Emil was babbling into air, confused.
“Ser Raynald and Perwyn are out of the castle,” Marja said, coming up next to him. She brought a hand to his forehead, checking it, and nodded to herself. “No fever.”
“That’s good, I suppose,” Robb replied. His voice was still deep and scratched low in his throat; Marja had never heard him speak before everything had happened, but she could figure that his throat had yet to recover from his injuries as well. “Is he yours?” He continued, looking pointedly at Emil. Marja nodded, continuing to check his bandages like Mother had instructed her to.
“Yes,” Marja replied, and suddenly thought about her conversation with Dacey, about blessings for her child. The notion felt even more silly now than it had then, after everything that had happened. “My son, Emil. He’s coming with us.”
“Is it safe?”
“Safer than staying here,” Marja replied. “And I needed to come with you, so he gets to tag along.” She tugged on Emil’s foot, and he giggled.
“He’s a strong boy. I’m sure you’re proud of him.”
“Always.”
Robb paused for a moment, clearly hesitating, before he spoke again. “Is… there a father in the picture? I’m not… separating him from you, am I?”
“I’m a widow,” Marja replied, and winced when Robb seemed to realize what she meant by that.
“Which battle?” He asked quietly.
“The Whispering Wood.” Robb’s eyes fluttered shut for a long moment, and she shook her head, pulling her hands back and readjusting his tunic so it hid his injuries again. “He died fighting for you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why should you be?” Marja didn’t really know why he should be sorry. Smallfolk died for the nobility, for the lands they controlled. It was the way of things. Even if the fact upset her, Marja couldn’t bring herself to blame the boy for fighting. “It wasn’t you who killed him, and someone had to make up your armies.”
“I should have never left Winterfell,” Robb whispered into his hands, and Marja had the feeling those words weren’t directed at her, but she answered anyway.
“If you had never left Winterfell, justice would have gone unanswered,” she told him. Everyone knew the story well enough, how Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, had been executed for treason. Some said the accusations were true, others not, but to Marja it didn’t really matter. She had seen how the Freys fought firsthand, and if the Lannisters had thought them worthy allies, she wanted neither of them anywhere near her home and son. “You tried to stop the Lannisters. For that I am grateful.”
If she thought about it right, Lucen’s death had helped in that attempt to keep the Lannisters away from Emil, in some small way, and the idea was comforting to her. A little balm of reason in a meaningless world.
The door opened before Robb could reply, and Marja turned around to see Jorelle come in, pulling a cart half-filled with dirty sheets in from behind her.
“Ready for your trip, Your Grace?” Jorelle announced breathlessly. She had grown more familiar with Robb in the past few days than what was proper for a serving girl (but then again, hadn’t they all? Marja was still thinking of Robb by his first name, despite telling herself that she needed to stop), but had still kept the honorifics, even when Robb had told her it wasn’t necessary.
“As I’ll ever be,” Robb replied, grunting as he shifted himself.
He couldn’t stand just yet, so Jorelle and Marja helped him up on either side, holding him up enough that hardly any weight was placed on his own two feet. Robb let out a sharp hiss as he was pulled up, eyes squeezing shut, and the cut on Marja’s chest seemed to throb with his movements as well, a stinging heat just above her heart. It was only three shuffling steps to the laundry cart, though, and Robb got inside easily enough, sinking into the dirty sheets with a sigh.
“I could think of worse ways to sneak out of a castle,” he quipped hoarsely as Jorelle bundled the rest of the sheets in her arms. Marja smiled at him apologetically before they covered him up.
The two of them stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Then Jorelle smiled and let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
“Emil’s eating your hair,” she said, helpfully. Marja sighed and reached back, tugging her braid out of Emil’s grip, and got a frustrated whine in response.
“We should get going,” she said, and Jorelle nodded. Together, they pushed the cart out of the room and started on their way out.
Marja would remember that trip out of the west tower as one of the most stressful of her life. Unlike the night of the wedding, where she’d been so focused on saving Robb’s life that she hadn’t given much thought to the escape at all, this time she was well aware of how easily the game could be given away. Every passing servant was a threat.
Getting down the stairs was difficult, especially since they had to pretend the laundry cart was much lighter than it actually was. Lady Tyta passed them on their first flight, and Marja’s heart stopped in her chest as she approached. But Tyta only gave her an acknowledging nod and passed on, leaving them to their work.
“By the gods,” Jorelle breathed, once she was gone. “We’re doing this.”
“Quiet,” Marja whispered, eyeing an approaching servant. “Act normal.”
And act normal they did, sneaking the King of the North out of the Twins in a batch of dirty laundry. Marja was well used to having no one pay attention to her, but in that moment, every passing glance and approaching person was onto them, knew what they were doing. Emil gurgled on her back, and Marja did her best not to think of what would happen to them if they were caught.
No one was looking, she thought to herself, remembering the night of the wedding. No one saw you then, and they won’t now.
She was right. They made it out of the tower without much of a hitch, and Marja found herself breathing easier as they entered the yard. It was easier to blend in, to join the dozens of other smallfolk and servants going about their day, than to stand alone and hope you weren’t noticed.
The laundry path took them down near the bridge, though they didn’t cross it. Instead, Jorelle led them down a slanted ramp that took them down to the river itself. The midmorning sun was blocked out underneath the bridge as they approached the washerhouse, a small shed at the riverbank.
The old washerwoman met them there, the one who hadn’t questioned the blood on the sheets Marja had brought her. She made to take the cart, but Marja shook her head, raising a finger to her lips.
So the old woman let them push the cart inside the shed, and to her credit, only flinched a little when they helped Robb get out, resting him on the dirt floor as he caught his breath.
“Another northern soldier?” the old woman asked, and Marja nodded. “Hm. Thought so. You aren’t the first survivor to sneak out this way.”
“You have my thanks,” Robb told her, wincing as he drew a hand over his leg, the one with the festering arrow wound.
“The crannogmen have been keeping an eye out for escapees, I’ve heard,” the old woman replied, taking the cart and putting it with the rest of the castle’s dirty laundry. “If you aren’t headed that way already, I would try going north.”
Marja smiled at her, but the old woman was already going back to her work, sorting through the linens as if they had never been there at all.
Now it was time for the hard part. Marja grabbed the old cloak her father had given her from the laundry cart and tossed it over Robb’s shoulders, tying it at the front and pulling the hood up to cover his distinctive auburn hair. Then she slung one arm over her shoulders, and Jorelle took the other. Together, they left the washerhouse and the old woman to her work, half-carrying, half-dragging Robb down the riverbank, where the raised sides could more easily hide them.
Perwyn, Raynald, and the two northern soldiers were waiting for them a quarter mile or so down the river. Still, it took the three of them almost a half hour to cross even that distance. Robb gasped in pain whenever his shoulders or leg were handled with less than the utmost care, and slow, steady steps had to be taken to stop any unnecessary pain.
Thankfully, Perwyn noticed them coming up the bank, and ran over to them when there was still a good ways to go.
“You made it,” he said, astonished, and Robb winced in a mockery of a smile from underneath his hood.
“I’ve found that I tend to make it through things I shouldn’t,” he responded, and Perwyn nodded, conceding with some amusem*nt. He relieved Marja and Jorelle of their weight by picking Robb up in a cradle-like carry, the same way he had done when he’d found them outside of the wedding hall.
“Are you still sure you want to come with us?” Marja asked Jorelle as they continued down the riverbank.
“I am,” Jorelle replied, nodding back at her with a faint smile. “I’ve come this far, right? I… feel like I need to see this to the end.”
Marja could relate to that.
They met Raynald, Harren, and Denys a few minutes later, watching them come up to meet them with blatant curiosity. Marja, however, waved them away as Perwyn set Robb between their supplies in the cart, taking the reins to lead the donkey up the river.
“Not yet,” Marja answered their unasked question, shaking her head. “We’re too close to the Twins. We’ll introduce you to him later.”
Harren and Denys nodded, but Raynald looked over at the cart with a little suspicion. Marja pulled him away before he got any big ideas, walking with him up to the front of their little party. Emil squirmed on her back, recognizing Raynald, and the other man made a few goofy faces at him, making her boy laugh.
The day passed slowly. By the time the sun started to lower on the horizon, Marja turned them away from the river, following a half-remembered path from a decade ago. Luckily, the landmarks were easy to recognize, and soon enough they found an outcropping of rocks that provided enough of an overhang to serve as an overnight shelter.
Raynald and Harren went and fetched firewood while Denys cleared away a spot for them to sleep. Perwyn tied the donkey to a tree, then he and Jorelle helped Robb out of the cart and sat him near the back of the overhang as Marja unwrapped and set down a now-sleeping Emil next to him. The king had gone a little pale in the duration of their ride, which had clearly taken a toll on him, but smiled when Jorelle excitedly whispered about how she’d never been this far away from the Twins before.
“I’ll have to show you Winterfell, if… after I take it back,” he said quietly, and Jorelle beamed at the idea. “It puts the Twins to shame. You would love it.”
“Is it true the walls are heated?” she asked, and Robb nodded.
Raynald and Harren re-emerged a few minutes later, each with a good amount of dead wood in their grasp. They set the piles on the ground, but Raynald stood up before moving to make the fire, looking over at them.
“Well, are we going to get to know our new companion?” He asked, somewhat teasingly.
“I’d like to think that we’d know each other well enough by now,” Robb replied, and Marja couldn’t help but grin as Raynald’s mouth dropped open. Robb reached up with a shaking hand and pulled back his hood, then shrugged as if to say what can you do?
“Your Grace!” Harren exclaimed, falling to his knees. Denys followed a moment later, awestruck, but Raynald just stood there, gaping at him.
“At ease,” Robb said, waving a hand. “I’m quite infirm at the moment, as you can see. Thankfully enough, as it turns out, Lord Bolton doesn’t have a very good aim when it comes to stabbing someone in the heart.”
“Lord Bolton…” Raynald shook his head. “No, I—just—” He spluttered, turning on Marja. “You knew?!”
“She got me out,” Robb replied. “And Ser Perwyn was kind enough to lend me the use of his room for a few weeks.”
“By the gods,” Raynald exclaimed softly, then stepped forwards, got to his knees, and hugged Robb tight. After a long moment, Robb hugged him back, and Marja found herself turning away to give them some semblance of privacy.
“What kind of magic did you perform on me?” Robb asked her on their third day on the road.
Marja choked on her stew, made out of their last bits of bread and a rabbit Denys had caught the previous night. It was raining, hard, and they’d been forced to stop early for the day, taking cover underneath the roots of a large tree. They were all wet in one way or another, even though Raynald had jerry-rigged a tarp for them. Perwyn was watching Emil, pointing out the different plants as they approached the swamp.
“What are you talking about?” She asked after a moment. The magic… she had almost forgotten about it, in all honesty. She, Perwyn and Jorelle had all silently agreed to not speak on it without actually deciding to, because it was easier that way. Marja had never gotten around to asking her Mother how exactly she’d known that spell, and found that she didn’t want to know, either.
Robb looked at her, then pulled down his shirt. His two crossbow wounds were still bandaged, but the new pink-white scar of his stab wound, almost shining with new tissue, stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his skin.
“This should have killed me,” he said. “I was thinking about it. Even if Bolton didn’t pierce my heart, the stab wound and the arrows should have killed me.” He paused, running his fingers over the slightly raised scar tissue, then covered it once more. “And it certainly shouldn’t be completely healed.”
Marja didn’t really know how to respond to that. For a long moment, she said nothing as Perwyn barely stopped Emil from getting into a patch of mud, throwing him up into the air to make him laugh.
“It was blood magic,” she said quietly, looking ahead. “My mother, the healer… she knew something. Some technique or spell. We had gotten you into Perwyn’s room, but you’d lost too much blood. She couldn’t help you, but she said she could try the spell. She said the… Old Gods were with you, so she could try.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I… didn’t want to ask.” Marja winced at her own words, wishing she knew exactly what to say. “But… no, she didn’t heal you. Not really. What was it she said? Only death can pay for life, but he isn’t dead yet.”
Robb was looking at her now, some sort of wary curiosity in his eyes. Marja watched him for a moment, then glanced over to the others, none of whom were looking at them. With a sigh, she tugged down on the front of her dress in the same manner Robb had done earlier. Careful to keep herself covered, she revealed her still-healing wound to him, right over her heart. It was red and a little puffy from their days of travel, the stitches she’d performed on herself still visible, but it looked much better than it had that first night.
“That’s…” Robb trailed off, looking up at her in shock. Marja let her hand drop, readjusting her front so she was properly dressed once more.
“We took your injury,” Marja said quietly. “I don’t know how. Mother gave us a choice, and Perwyn, Jorelle, and I… we split that stab wound among the three of us so you could live.”
For a long time, Robb was silent, staring off at some spot just over Marja’s shoulder.
“Why would you do that?” He asked, after a long moment of silence.
Marja opened her mouth, then closed it again, surprised to realize that she didn’t know. She’d like to say it was because it was the right thing to do, or because he’d reminded her of Emil, but no, she hadn’t thought about that at all. Mother had just asked her to help, and she had.
“I suppose I don’t really have a reason,” she finally replied, shaking her head. “I wasn’t really thinking things through, at that point.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“No.”
“I’d betrayed your liege lord.”
“He’d betrayed your guest right.”
Robb frowned at her, then shifted a little, wincing as the movement pulled at his leg. Despite the days of travel, he was growing stronger. Though his leg wound had started leaking some pus, it wasn’t threatening the limb just yet, and his arrow wounds had fared much better. He wasn’t about to go walking on his own two feet anytime soon, but Marja was confident he could last until Uncle Alric’s, and for that she was grateful.
“Sometimes, there might just not be a reason,” Marja said slowly, the thoughts forming in her head as she spoke. “When I saw you from underneath the table, I thought you looked like Emil. You have similar eyes, and when I saw you, all I could think of was Emil in your place, and how I would want somebody to help him. But by the time you were dying in Perwyn’s room, you’d already been helped. I could have told myself that I’d given you comfort as you died, and said it was enough. I suppose… Well, everyone’s first instinct is self-preservation, isn’t it? Maybe that applies to people other than yourself, too. So it was instinct, I guess. That might be the best way to put it."
“Mama!” Emil screamed, just as she finished. Marja looked up to see that he’d pulled up a pink flower, and was waving it in her direction. “Fo!”
“Go and see to him,” Robb said faintly. “Thank you for answering my question.”
Marja opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it, and nodded instead. She got up and walked over to Emil, giving the appropriate “ooh”s and “ah”s at the “fo” Emil had found thanks to some help from “Peh-nin.” Perwyn just laughed as he walked Emil through the butchered attempt at his name, and Marja smiled at him.
When she looked back, Robb was staring off at the wall, deep in thought.
The expression on Uncle Alric’s face when Marja arrived on his doorstep with six strangers and a baby was probably going to make her laugh for a long time.
It took them four days of travel from the Twins to reach his homestead, and by the time they made it, Marja’s feet were aching and their donkey was on its last legs. Alric lived on the edge of the wetlands, before they grew near impassable by foot, but mud abounded by the time his house came into sight. It was more of a hut than anything, propped up on stilts above the marshes, but by the time they had made it, it felt just as grand as the Twins.
Safety at last.
Uncle Alric had three children, though his wife and youngest child had died of sickness nearly a decade ago. His eldest son had already left home for other ventures, so it was his younger son, Brandon, who spotted their little party first and ran out to meet them.
Marja hadn’t seen her uncle since she was a child, and their reunion was sweet. She introduced them to Emil, who looked up at them curiously, then the rest of her party. When Uncle Alric learned that he was in the presence of two lordling knights and the King in the North, Marja had to stop him from fainting.
“You take after your mother, child,” he said, once he’d collected himself. “Always bringing the oddest men home, she was.”
Still, he was more than willing to give them space in his home for the next few nights. Brandon immediately set off to fetch the nearest healer, a half-day’s walk away, while Marja jumped in to help her uncle cook. The crannogmen had a very different diet compared to the rest of Westeros, and while the recipes were nostalgic to Marja, it was quite amusing to watch Raynald suspiciously poke a fried lizard. Emil, meanwhile, took to the new foods with gusto, which brought a pang of pride to Marja's heart. Her son still had some crannog blood in him, after all.
The next day, Brandon returned with the healer, a woman in her mid-thirties who was short even for a crannogman, only coming up to Marja’s chin. Despite her stature, though, she was an experienced healer who knew very well what she was doing, and set herself immediately to tending to Robb’s festering arrow wound. In the last few days, it had started to go a little black around the edges in addition to the pus, but the crannog healer only clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“It won’t be pleasant, but I can save the leg,” she said, and Marja thought she was getting to know Robb well enough when she recognized the flash of relief in his eyes when he heard the news.
Not that it was easy. The healer sent out everyone except Marja, who had experience as an assistant, and Raynald, who as Robb’s goodbrother was the closest thing he had to family. The healer set Robb down in Brandon’s bed, gave him a strip of leather to bite on, and had Raynald hold him down as she and Marja set to draining the wound of pus. That nasty business lasted a good few painful minutes, then the healer had to cut away the dead tissue. Finally, she administered a poultice of honey and garlic, and gave Robb a small amount of milk of the poppy to take the edge off.
“Readminister the poultice every day,” the healer instructed Marja, once Robb had fallen into an exhausted sleep and she was preparing to leave. She passed a clay jar into Marja’s hands, and she took it gratefully. “Until the wound stops smelling. No walking for a moon. Above all, make sure he does not push himself. This is the twentieth northman I’ve treated in the past half moon, and they’re all the same.”
Marja laughed with her and agreed, because Robb was one to push himself beyond what was best for him.
“You’ve seen northmen?” She asked, after, and the healer nodded, growing more grave.
“Not many,” she replied. “But some, yes. We’ve all heard of the massacre by now. Most of King Robb’s army died with him at the Twins, but a few have made it north. Lord Reed has been sending parties south to search for stragglers. He’s even come himself, from what I’ve heard, and is staying with Lord Cray at Cranemark to help coordinate efforts.”
Marja froze, mouth opening. Lord Reed was in Cranemark? She had never been to the Lord Cray’s keep, but knew from her Uncle that it was only a few days away, compared to the several weeks of travel that Greywater Watch required at its closest.
“Will you be near Cranemark soon?” She asked, and the healer nodded.
“You’ve taken the last of my milk of the poppy,” she quipped wryly. “It’s my next stop. Do you need a message?”
“Yes,” Marja breathed, hardly believing her luck. “Tell Lord Cray that Raynald Westerling and Perwyn Frey are here, and they must speak with Lord Reed. Lady Mormont and Lord Glover should come too, if they’re there.”
The healer’s brow raised in curiosity, but she didn’t say anything, simply repeating the names until she had them memorized. A short time later, she was escorted off the property by Brandon once again, and Marja returned and passed on the news to their little group.
“You shouldn’t have told them I’m here,” Perwyn said, once she relayed the message she’d given the healer. “They’ll hear the name Frey and not care which one I am.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Marja retorted. “That they’ll hear Frey and Westerling together and know that something is up. In what circ*mstances would you two be traveling north together?”
Robb laughed hollowly from Brandon’s bed on the other side of the hut. “Perhaps I should make you my political advisor,” he said, but he was also still half-asleep and delirious after his arrow treatment, so Marja didn’t pay him too much heed.
“It does make sense, I s’pose,” Harren said, working on whittling down a piece of wood. He’d taken up carving in his free time as they traveled, and slowly a model wolf was appearing out of the chunk of cypress wood. “Yer father tried to kill the King, milord, and Lord Westerling wouldn’t ally with you if you’d helped have his goodbrother killed. Simple etiquette.”
“I need more smallfolk on my councils. Y'all are… smart…" Robb drawled, growing quieter as he went. A few seconds later, he was dozing.
“If this is what Jeyne went through at the Crag, suddenly I understand how he charmed her so easily,” Raynald remarked, looking faintly amused, and Uncle Alric chuckled.
“He is a good man,” her uncle said. “A good king, I hope.”
“He was a great king!” Harren declared, then reddened and corrected himself. “Is a great king! Sorry, yer Grace.”
“He’s asleep and wouldn’t mind much anyway,” Raynald shrugged, but smiled. “The sentiment is what counts.”
“So we just have to wait and hope Lord Reed arrives?” Jorelle asked, and Uncle Alric nodded.
“Cranemark is only two days away at this time of autumn,” he replied. “We can give it a week before we send someone out to fetch the Lords in person.”
“I hope Lady Mormont comes,” Jorelle sighed, looking a little dreamy. “I saw her when she marched south back at the beginning of the war. Women aren’t supposed to fight in battle, but she does. Isn’t that amazing? Oh, if I could only say hello…”
They spoke for a while after that, before Uncle Alric had to go and check the traps he laid around his land to catch his food. Raynald, Denys, and Harren went with him, mostly out of curiosity, while Perwyn picked up Emil and swung him up into the air, drawing him out of his game with some old toy horses on the ground. Marja watched them play and smiled to herself as Jorelle sat down next to her, resting her chin on her hands.
“You should talk to him more,” she whispered into her ear, and Marja blinked twice before turning on her.
“Excuse me?” She hissed back, and Jorelle smiled a wicked smile at her.
“I’m just saying that it’s very rare for a man to show so much interest in a smallfolk’s child,” the younger woman replied.
“Please tell me that you’re not trying to get me to seduce my liege lord’s son.”
“Lord Frey isn’t your liege lord anymore, and Perwyn has definitely been disowned by now, so he’s not a lordling, either. Just a hedge knight. I’m saying you might have a chance at marrying him.”
“I can’t marry him,” Marja whispered, glancing over to make sure Perwyn couldn’t overhear their hushed conversation. She hadn’t even thought of pursuing him romantically, nor anyone really, not after Lucen.
“The King likes us,” Jorelle replied, eyes alight. “I bet he would make us handmaidens for some real highborn lady if we ask. A hedge knight and a handmaiden? That’s happened before!”
“And why don’t you try for him, then?”
Jorelle’s smile turned softer. “Because look at him with your son, and tell me he wouldn’t treat him well.” Marja paused, looking over at Perwyn as he helped Emil toddle across the room. Something in her chest warmed at the sight. “Just try talking to him, sometime,” Jorelle continued. “If you like him enough, and he likes you… you could do very well with him, I think.”
“Maybe,” Marja found herself conceding. Perwyn was nice, a good friend, and he got along with Emil well. Romantic love… perhaps that could come as well. “But not now.”
“That’s why I’m just saying you should talk to him,” Jorelle said, brushing her hair back. “Just be open to it. I think you two would be good for each other.”
Four days later, Marja was out hanging laundry to dry when Denys came running out of the undergrowth, panting for breath.
“They’re here,” he gasped, to her surprise. “Lord Reed and Lord Glover, with a group of around half a dozen guards. Ser Perwyn and your uncle are speaking to them now. They sent me ahead.”
“I’ll go get Robb,” Raynald said, from where he’d been whittling some arrows on the porch. He ducked inside the house while Marja set aside the last of the washing for later.
“Where are they?” She asked, adjusting her dress, and Denys pointed north. “I’ll go meet them. Will you help Jorelle and Raynald with the King?”
“I’ve got it,” Denys replied, and Marja left him there, hiking up her skirts and starting down the path. It had rained last night, leaving the ground muddy and wet, and her shoes shucked with every step as she went to meet the famed Lord Reed.
We’ve done it, she thought, a smile crossing her face. Some weight seemed to lift the further she walked, a long worry leaving her behind. He’s almost to safety. We all are.
Soon enough, there were voices in the forest, and Marja sped up, almost running before she came across the group Denys had told her about. At the head of the procession was Ser Perwyn, being led forwards by a crannogman with a spear at his back. Uncle Alric was hurriedly speaking to another crannogman in green, while a northman walked nearby, taller than the rest by a good foot or so. He was older, with white sparkling his beard, and Marja knew he had to be Lord Glover.
“My lords,” Marja curtsied when they noticed her, getting another spear pointed in her direction by another crannogman guard.
“My niece, Marja Vanen,” Uncle Alric said, when the men turned to him. “She’s from the Twins as well. Marja, this is Lord Galbart Glover,” he motioned to the tall northman. “And Lord Howland Reed.”
“Ser Perwyn here has been telling us a very interesting story,” said Lord Glover, a hand on a large sword fastened to his waist. “Something about having an important prisoner.”
“King Robb isn’t a prisoner!” Perwyn exclaimed, and got a jab to his back for his efforts.
“You’ll forgive us for being skeptical,” Lord Glover continued, and Marja swallowed against her fear.
“Well, we’ll just have to show you, my lord,” she replied, and Lord Glover frowned at her.
“That we will,” Lord Reed said, quiet but firm. Lord Glover scowled, but deferred, and Lord Reed indicated for them to continue on. Marja fell in next to Perwyn, laying a hand on his arm.
“Are you alright?” She asked quietly, and Perwyn nodded.
“They’re just… skeptical,” he replied, forcing a smile for her. “I’m just a Frey, after all.”
“And I’m just a serving girl,” Marja replied. “Yet they came, didn’t they?”
Perwyn conceded with a nod, and they continued on in relative silence. Uncle Alric and Lord Reed continued to talk quietly, but Marja paid them little heed as her uncle’s home came into sight. Raynald and Jorelle were grouped on the porch while the rest of their little group, Emil excluded, waited to meet them a ways away from that.
There were the appropriate bows and curtsies as they approached, but Marja’s attention was taken by Robb, who had apparently been set on a chair in the back. He’d grown well during his short time with Uncle Alric; color had returned to his cheeks and energy was swiftly returning, as his eyes were bright and alert as they met her.
“Lord Glover!” Robb called out when the group didn’t notice him immediately. “I see your mission has gone much better than mine. Tell me, is Lady Mormont well?”
Lord Glover went very still at those words, mouth flapping like a fish as he laid eyes on his king. He then collapsed to his knees, followed by Lord Reed and the guards in a much more deliberate fashion. Marja looked over to see Perwyn grinning at her.
“Your Grace,” Lord Reed said, as Lord Glover struggled to find his words. “Lady Mormont went North after we received word of the Wedding. We were told you were dead.”
“I almost was,” Robb replied, indicating his leg, which was still heavily bandaged. Then he looked to Jorelle, then to Marja and Perwyn. “But it seems human kindness can exist at the worst of times, as well as the best.” He smiled then, but there was something heavy behind his expression. “I do think we have work to do, my lords.”
Lord Reed got to his feet, swiftly followed by Lord Glover, and approached the King. Raynald joined them, and she expected Perwyn to follow, but he just let out a long sigh, then reached over and hugged her tight.
“We did it,” he said thickly, breath tickling her ear as Marja returned his embrace. “By the gods, we’ve done it.”
“We have,” Marja replied, and let herself be held.
Just try, said Jorelle, in her ear.
He tried, Raynald echoed, as Robb started talking about Moat Cailin. Something about retaking the crossing with the Crannogmen, a strategy that went far above the head of a simple serving girl.
We will try, Marja told them. We will all try.
