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"Your Grace, this is Lord Helman Tallhart, Master of Torrhen's Square in the North."
In the throne room, Crey, now carrying out the duties of Hand of the King, introduced the familiar northern lord who stood ahead, bowing respectfully before Robb, who lounged on the Iron Throne with little interest.
Every new king had to receive his nobles. It was a ceremony meant to let the great and powerful of Westeros present themselves before their new ruler.
The audience should have taken place as soon as the coronation ended, but several days earlier, just after Robb left the Great Sept of Baelor, bad news had arrived from the Goldroad.
Ser Garlan and Ser Loras, leading twenty thousand Tyrell cavalry in pursuit of Kevan's remnants, had ridden headlong into an enemy ambush.
The Tyrell riders, swollen with pride after the easy battle for King's Landing, suffered sudden heavy losses. They could not even form a defensive line before panic took hold and they began to flee.
When they heard the news, Lady Olenna and Lord Mace both felt the disgrace keenly and said nothing.
They had never imagined that a pursuit of beaten men, something meant to gather easy glory, could be mishandled so badly by Garlan and Loras.
Seeing her grandmother and father fall silent, Margaery stepped forward herself.
She did not plead for her two brothers. Instead, after calmly analyzing the reasons for their rash advance and defeat, she asked Robb to punish them severely.
Robb approved of her reaction in silence. Educated under Olenna's eye, Margaery truly was the best possible choice for his queen.
In front of the assembled nobles, Robb stripped Garlan and Loras of all the honors they had earned, removed their right to command troops, and drove them from King's Landing to assist Willas in opening new fields around Goldengrove.
When Lord Mace heard how heavy the punishment was, so heavy that it seemed to cut off the futures of both his sons, his face went ashen and he nearly begged for mercy.
But Olenna, looking almost relieved, and Margaery, whose eyes were full of love and gratitude toward Robb, stopped him.
In truth, to nobles who did not understand the hidden importance of the terrace fields at Goldengrove, Robb's punishment seemed severe. Young noblemen stripped of command and sent to farm land looked ruined.
But Olenna and Margaery both knew how seriously Robb valued the new terraces. Sending the punished Garlan and Loras there was almost the same as handing them a chance to earn great credit.
If Goldengrove could open enough terrace fields and bring the Reach a great autumn harvest, Robb could restore them to use when the time came.
Seeing Olenna and Margaery's expressions, Robb knew they understood his intention.
Afterward, he removed his splendid royal cloak, let Bloodwind return to his full size, and personally set out for the Goldroad with Will and the other Wolfguard.
Once Robb left, the mess he left behind fell to Crey.
The young Crey, deliberately trained by Robb for more than a year, had indeed become capable.
He arranged nearly a hundred sworn lords in proper order and dealt with the many problems of King's Landing one by one, according to urgency and weight.
Only six days later, Robb returned to King's Landing with the Wolfguard and Tyrell cavalry, bringing Kevan and the surviving Lannister soldiers as prisoners.
That day, the Lion Gate of King's Landing was packed shoulder to shoulder. Countless commoners came to witness the power of Robb the God-touched.
When they saw Robb standing atop the proud and terrible Bloodwind, and the miserable lions led by Kevan behind him, they shouted as one.
"Long live Robb the First!"
Now the audience resumed.
The first nobles received in the throne room were the great lords who had followed Robb to war. Lord Helman, whom Crey had just introduced, was the last of the northern nobles.
From this point on, the men coming forward would be former powers of King's Landing or newly surrendered lords.
"Your Grace, this is Lord Renfred Rykker of Duskendale in the Crownlands."
"Your Grace, every noble and commoner in the Seven Kingdoms must surely feel as I do, firmly believing that under your long reign the realm will prosper.
"To congratulate you on your coronation, House Rykker has brought a modest gift."
Hearing Crey's introduction, Lord Renfred hurried forward and spoke with a smile.
Lord Renfred was a hard, masculine-looking man in middle age, but at this moment his face wore a fawning smile that did not suit him at all.
"Your Grace, the one hundred thousand gold dragons and one chest of assorted gems offered by Lord Renfred have already been received into the treasury."
As soon as Lord Renfred finished, Crey, standing beside Robb, reported the gift in a ringing voice.
Robb, who had been bored by the audience, immediately showed a warm and kindly smile. He looked at Lord Renfred and said loudly, "Lord Renfred of Duskendale, is it?
"Good. I see your loyalty.
"It seems you truly believe I can rule the Seven Kingdoms for a long time. Very good. I will remember you."
"Thank you for your praise, Your Grace.
"Duskendale's lands were harried by refugees and deserters before. Fortunately, your army drove them from the Crownlands."
Hearing Robb say that he would remember him, Lord Renfred was overjoyed and began speaking with the friendly-looking king.
At that moment, he felt that emptying his coffers for this gamble had been the right choice. It had already produced more than he expected.
What Lord Renfred did not know was that many nobles behind him were silently cursing all of House Rykker.
Duskendale was a town built beside a port. Though the port could not compare with the five great port cities of Westeros, House Rykker had always lived comfortably.
Lord Renfred might not have thought too deeply. He may simply have brought a heavy gift to please King Robb.
But the nobles beneath the steps of the Iron Throne heard the meaning hidden in Robb's words.
If a lord could not show loyalty, then he did not believe Robb's rule would last.
'Damn Renfred Rykker. He has trapped us all.'
In the end, many of them reached the same thought at once.
"Your Grace, the next lord also comes from the Crownlands. This is Lord Gyles Rosby of Rosby."
After Lord Renfred went down the side steps of the throne with a broad smile, Crey introduced the next noble to Robb.
"Your Grace... cough, cough! Forgive me. My cough has been severe of late."
Lord Gyles was a sickly old man. As soon as he began speaking, he covered his mouth and started coughing.
Worried the old man might carry some contagious illness, Robb casually raised a hand near his nose and mouth.
Then he put on an unconcerned expression and said, "Lord Gyles, you came to King's Landing in person despite your illness. How could I blame you for that?"
"Thank you, Your Grace. May the Seven Kingdoms remain forever under your rule."
Seeing that Robb had no intention of blaming him, Lord Gyles offered a blessing and prepared to turn toward the side steps.
"Your Grace, the one thousand gold dragons Lord Gyles offered have also been received into the treasury."
Before Lord Gyles's aged body could move, Crey loudly announced his gift.
Hearing Crey's words, the kindly smile on Robb's face slowly faded. He simply stared at Lord Gyles in silence.
Beside the Iron Throne, Bloodwind, who had been lying lazily with his eyes closed, opened them. The murderous ferocity in those eyes sent a chill down Lord Gyles's back.
On the steps of the Iron Throne, the pleasant harmony between king and vassal instantly became a tense air heavy with murder.
Lord Gyles, long plagued by illness and coughing, had never had a good reputation among the nobles.
When he heard the heavy gift offered by Lord Renfred, he had already decided to rely on his age and reputation to slip past Robb.
Now, under Bloodwind's murderous gaze, he suddenly remembered that this king had personally killed thousands of enemies and crowned himself.
If he angered such a man in public, there was no telling what Robb might do to House Rosby.
Thoughts raced through Lord Gyles's mind. Suddenly he forced a smile, turned to Crey, and said, "Lord Crey, your report was not quite accurate. Perhaps your many duties made you forget. I believe I explained this before.
"The reason I offered only one thousand gold dragons to His Grace is that House Rosby does not keep great stores of coin.
"Rosby is now ready with one million bushels of barley, wheat, and oats. We also have at least five hundred thousand bushels each of corn, carrots, chickpeas, and many other vegetables.
"They should be delivered to King's Landing within a few days."
Lord Gyles was not inventing nonsense to placate Robb. Rosby truly was one of the Crownlands' most important suppliers of grain and vegetables.
During the War of the Five Kings, half the food and vegetables consumed by the hundreds of thousands in King's Landing had come from Rosby and Stokeworth.
"Oh, yes. Your Grace, Lord Gyles did tell me this before.
"This was my mistake. Please punish me."
Hearing Lord Gyles, Crey immediately looked enlightened. He turned to Robb and spoke.
Lord Gyles heard him and looked at Crey with deep gratitude for not exposing him.
"So that is how it was. Crey, I know how hard you have worked of late. Why speak of punishment over such a small thing?
"Very well. Lord Gyles has made his loyalty clear.
"Lord Gyles, you must take better care of your health."
Robb's smile returned as he spoke, and Bloodwind closed his eyes again. The killing tension faded at once.
"Thank you for your concern, Your Grace."
Perhaps because he had been too frightened, Lord Gyles did not cough again as he spoke afterward.
With Lord Gyles's example before them, the other powerful nobles who followed all dug into their fortunes and offered Robb gifts.
So wealth always gathered in the hands of a few.
These lords and powerful nobles from the prosperous south offered Robb gifts worth nearly two million gold dragons in total.
Westeros, with the War of the Five Kings largely ended, was battered and torn. Robb needed great sums to calm the people and rebuild.
If one counted only the spoils from Robb's second southern campaign, the Westerlands, Highgarden, and King's Landing had together provided him with six or seven million gold dragons.
Once Robb set out a concrete plan for rebuilding, and with labor paid through relief work, these gold dragons would be enough to support the realm for a long while.
Once Westeros was peaceful enough to plant and harvest in autumn, Robb believed the people of the Seven Kingdoms would live better lives.
After the new king's audience ended, it was time for a feast where the nobles of Westeros could make connections and exchange interests.
At noble feasts, what was said had always mattered more than what was eaten.
But this feast surprised most of the nobles in Westeros. Dish after dish they had never seen before, and new flavors strange yet delicious, left them unable to stop eating.
For once, at the start of the feast, many nobles behaved like commoners who had never seen fine food, crowding around the long tables and choosing and tasting one dish after another.
The feast was overseen by cooks from Robb's northern army. Under Robb's guidance, they had become familiar with recipes that were still new to Westeros.
On the dais of the feast hall, Robb watched the nobles indulge in food and drink without expression.
He held a cup full of fine wine in his left hand. The index and middle fingers of his right hand tapped the solid wooden table in a steady rhythm as he thought.
"Your Grace, what are you thinking? May I share it?"
Margaery, beautiful in a classical court gown, happened to notice his expression. She placed her soft white left hand over the back of Robb's right hand and asked gently.
"I was thinking that I would like to be like them, lost in eating, drinking, and pleasure without a care in the world."
Hearing Margaery, Robb turned to her with a smile and answered.
"Of course Your Grace can do that.
"You are now lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Everything in the realm is yours."
Margaery smiled sweetly as she spoke.
"I cannot. There are still threats left unresolved."
"Threats? The Lannister remnants were dealt with by your own hand. Lord Randyll has nearly finished sweeping up the fugitives to the north. Do you mean the rebels who fled back to the Stormlands?"
"Heh. They are not even trouble, let alone a threat.
"Forget it. I do not want to make you worry too.
"Margaery, I have already ordered people to begin preparing our wedding. I will give you a grand wedding in King's Landing."
Robb shook his head and ended the topic, turning the conversation to their wedding instead.
"Your Grace, I can feel your heart.
"But... you need not waste so many gold dragons on a wedding. A simple ceremony would be enough."
Hearing Robb, Margaery was deeply moved. Yet she had already been twice wed, and guilt made her suggest a simpler wedding.
"No. A simple wedding could never make these rich lords send heavy gifts again."
Robb rejected her at once, then turned his head and muttered the second sentence softly.
"Your Grace, what did you say?"
"Oh, I said no. I told you before that I would not let you suffer any slight."
"Your Grace, I... I will be a worthy queen."
Seeing Robb say it with such seriousness, Margaery answered just as earnestly, moved beyond words. Then her eyes flashed. She slowly leaned closer to him and brought her red lips near his ear.
"Your Grace, you just said you wanted to eat, drink, and enjoy yourself as they do.
"If you have eaten and drunk enough, I can... keep you company in a more exciting pleasure."
Robb looked at Margaery's face, which flushed red the moment she finished speaking. Heat rose in him. He took her hand and quietly slipped out of the feast hall.
The night of unrestrained pleasure passed happily.
The next morning, Robb appeared in the throne room on time, refreshed and clear-eyed.
The nobles who had once followed Robb to war were unusually excited, because they knew His Grace would reward them for their service today.
Robb had originally intended to hold a special assembly for rewards, as he had once done at Winterfell. But the wartime service of tens of thousands of soldiers was too complicated and had not yet been fully tallied.
So he decided to reward the nobles who had waited so long first.
First came the ruling houses of each region. The North, the Riverlands, the Reach, and Dorne saw no change.
Robb had long chosen House Lydden as Warden of the West. Now he merely formally announced House Lydden's position.
For the Stormlands, Robb kept House Baratheon as the ruling house, but the lord would be young Gendry.
Robb had found witnesses who could prove Gendry was King Robert's bastard, and in the name of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, he legitimized Gendry.
From this day forward, he was Gendry Baratheon.
For the Vale, Robb appointed House Royce of Runestone as Warden of the East.
Although the Bronze Yohn had helped Tywin, Ser Rodrik, whom the Bronze Yohn had rescued as well, had already explained the whole matter to Robb.
Robb had no wish to sink his troops into the mire of the Vale. With a single appointment, he could set the Bronze Yohn and Littlefinger against each other.
Once the great regional appointments were settled, Robb rewarded the nobles who had served with distinction. After the War of the Five Kings, great amounts of land had fallen vacant in every region, so Robb awarded it generously according to actual service.
In the end, every noble who had followed Robb to war was satisfied, while the other great lords watched with envy.
"Your... Your Grace, a raven letter has come from Castle Black."
As soon as the rewards in the throne room ended, Grand Maester Pycelle, whom Robb had not yet had time to deal with, walked in trembling and respectfully delivered the raven letter.
Looking at Pycelle's performance, Robb pretended not to know his true nature and opened the letter directly.
The moment he read it, his brows drew together, and his expression turned thoughtful.
'They held Castle Black easily with Jory's help, yet Jon still went to Hardhome himself to rescue the wildlings.'
'Jon. Jon. Should I praise you for that nature, or curse you for it?'
'No. There is no Stannis fleet in this life. If the timing is wrong and the Night King's army of wights surrounds him, Jon will have no path but death.'
When Robb received the raven in King's Landing, Jon and Mance had already been marching toward Hardhome for five days with one thousand free folk, three hundred Winterfell soldiers, and thirty men of the Night's Watch.
After Jon brought Mance's request back to Castle Black, he was met by a storm of opposition.
In this life, with three thousand Winterfell soldiers helping them, the Night's Watch had suffered almost no losses. But the hatred between the Watch and the free folk had accumulated over thousands of years. How could it be dissolved easily?
Even Jory, who stood firmly on Jon's side, opposed him.
In the end, Jon ended the discussion with a single sentence.
"Whatever the wildlings are, they are better than the dead."
For the first time, he used his authority as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to decide that the free folk would pass through the Wall into the Gift, and that the Watch would help them move the old folk and children left at Hardhome.
In this life, the able-bodied free folk had mostly gathered beneath the Wall, and there were no Stannis ships to borrow. After speaking with Mance, Jon chose a force of a suitable size to go to Hardhome.
This number of soldiers could maintain order among the loose free folk, while avoiding too much food and baggage that would slow their march.
Jon had meant to bring only thirty men of the Night's Watch with Mance to Hardhome, but Jory, worried for him, insisted on choosing three hundred Winterfell soldiers to go with him.
Because of those three hundred Winterfell soldiers, who had never gone beyond the Wall before, the group had not yet crossed the snow-covered Haunted Forest after five days of marching.
A journey that should have taken a little more than a week now looked as though it would take nearly half a month.
Yet Mance never complained. Instead, he kept ordering his free folk to help the three hundred Winterfell men.
The two sides slowly changed from complete hostility to familiar boasting, chatting, and arguing across the long march.
Half a month after they left the Wall, Jon and Mance's party finally reached Hardhome, at the far end of the Storrold's Point peninsula stretching into the Shivering Sea.
Hardhome had been a gathering place for the free folk since ancient days. It was the only place beyond the Wall that had come close to forming a true town.
More than six hundred years ago, however, a mysterious disaster had struck Hardhome.
According to the Night's Watch party sent to investigate, Hardhome had been burned by a fire that filled the sky. The whole bay floated with wildling corpses, and the ruins were filled with charred bones and branches.
After that, the wildlings considered Hardhome cursed and did not return.
Only in the twenty years since Mance became King-Beyond-the-Wall had the well-situated Hardhome been rebuilt.
"Welcome, all of you, to Hardhome, rebuilt by our own hands!"
Mance pointed toward the wooden town beneath the cliffs and spoke with pride in his voice.
Jon, Jory, and the others followed his gesture.
Hardhome had been built inside a bay enclosed by half-ring cliffs. The cliffs were steep and filled with caves large and small.
Only the left side of the cliff had a broad road descending into the bay, but at the foot of that road a thick, strong wooden wall blocked the way.
To Jon, Hardhome's position was indeed excellent and easy to defend. If anyone wanted to attack it, they either had to break through the wooden wall or leap down from the high cliffs.
"Mance has returned! Open the gate!"
With Mance walking at the head of the party, the guards on Hardhome's wooden wall opened the gate without hesitation, even after seeing Jon's crows and Winterfell soldiers.
Their trust in the King-Beyond-the-Wall showed plainly. They knew Mance would never sell them out for any reason.
After entering Hardhome, thousands of free folk surrounded Jon, Jory, and the others with curiosity. But with Mance walking before them, no one dared curse or strike.
They were not the only curious ones. Jory and the Winterfell soldiers also looked around, especially at the giant keeping far from the crowd.
Mance wasted no time. He summoned the elders of the free folk clans and told them of the agreement he had reached with Jon.
When they heard that they could pass south of the Wall into the Gift, the elders looked at one another with joy and immediately said they would have their clans prepare today and leave at first light.
Jon frowned. He had wanted to return to Castle Black without stopping at all.
Mance clearly saw his expression and explained that moving so many old people and children by night would be impossible to control and far more dangerous.
Helpless, Jon could only trust Mance, who had lived beyond the Wall for years, and agree to leave Hardhome at first light.
What they did not know was that in the northwest of the Haunted Forest, along the road toward Hardhome, countless feet were stepping out from beneath the trees, some bare bone, some still dragging strips of rotten flesh.
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