Chapter Text
Robb pulled his grey stallion to a halt. Just over the horizon, he had gotten his first glimpse of Winterfell in over five years.
After hearing no news of his family during the time he spent in hiding, the letter he had received a moon ago was understandably shocking to him. His sister’s delicate handwriting he had not laid eyes upon since she had begged him to swear fealty to Joffrey covered less than half a page of parchment.
Robb Stark never realized how much half a page of writing could change your life.
For all his time in exile, Robb assumed he was the last Stark. Sansa had gone missing after Joffrey’s death (he loved his sister, but he knew what happened to young, pretty girls all alone. He only prayed that she did not suffer tremendously). Bran and Rickon were slaughtered by Theon, a man he had once called a brother. He had a very faint hope that Jon hadn’t been killed at the Wall and an even fainter idea that perhaps Arya had escaped King’s Landing after the massacre, but he didn’t hold onto it too much. That was the first thing he learned after he had joined the Brotherhood Without Banners under the guise of Arlo Storm: hope was worthless, and more often than not, got you killed.
The Brotherhood had taken him in after the Red Wedding which had ended with the slaughter of his mother. His escape was blurry; all Robb remembered was watching Talisa get stabbed before fighting his way out the doors. He ran to the kennels first, but Grey Wind was gone. He did not know if his wolf had escaped or if he was killed but he had no time to dwell on it. Robb had run into the woods where he eventually came across the Brotherhood.
It was strange at first. After all, Robb was a highborn lord and as much as he loathed to admit it, he had been pampered throughout his years. He had never known the constant struggle that faced the overwhelming majority of Westeros, but he was more than willing to try. The men were kind to him, and no one ever had the slightest inkling of who he was. Except Gendry.
Robb knew his looks were no clue in: no one looking for a northern king would expect the fair complexion of the Tullys that Robb carried. His dialect, however, was a different story. The strong, powerful lilt that his father had always compared to the howling winds of winter lingered no matter how hard Robb tried. It was something that stayed with you forever, even if you only heard it once, and for someone like Gendry who spent upwards of two years with the winds in his ears was bound to pick it out. And one day he did, dragging Robb into the wood, claiming they were getting firewood.
Once they had wandered a fair distance, Gendry put a hand on Robb’s shoulder. “You’re of the North.”
Robb swallowed hard, but he trusted Gendry, considered him a friend (he ignored the voice in his head telling him that Theon was a friend, too). “Aye, I am.” He knew it wouldn’t take Gendry long to determine that he wasn’t a common peasant; the brothers often teased him for the clothes he wore, saying he stole them from a lordling. Robb went along with it. He didn’t want to be known as a thief but it was safer than the alternative.
Gendry circled around him, once, twice, three times with a judging eye. The hair finally drew his attention; there were very few Northerners with such a fair complexion. Arya always spoke of her dreadful sister who she had hated immensely but loved fiercely with the auburn locks of a Tully. Bran was a cripple, and this man was too old to be Rickon.
“Robb Stark,” he finally said. Robb nodded
“Please don’t tell. I’m just trying to get back home, to my family. My sisters and brothers that is.”
“Your pack,” Gendry murmured. Robb looked up. Something about that was familiar, where, where , had he heard it before? He looked at the smith quizzically-had he known a Stark?
“M’lady always said I could smith for her brother when she got back home.”
Robb stared. He had known Sansa ?. He quickly dismissed the thought. He knew for a fact Sansa was captive in King’s Landing. And then he realized-of course Arya would make friends with a bastard smith from Flea’s Bottom.
“She made it out?” He asked incredulously. “I shouldn't be surprised. If any of us were going to make it, it would be Underfoot.”
Gendry turned away. He didn’t want to rip this joy from him so quickly after he had found it. But he must, it wouldn’t be fair to leave Arl- no, Robb - hoping. Hope got you killed. So he told Robb what happened, how the Hound had taken her and how she must’ve died at the Red Wedding like the rest.
Robb was unfazed. “She wasn’t there Gendry. I watched my mother and my wife and my unborn child get murdered. She wasn’t there. I’m sure of it.”
Gendry allowed himself to be happy for a fleeting moment before he assumed his stoic look again. “Well then. What do you say we find her?”
Robb grinned.
So, the two unlikely allies left the Brotherhood to try and reunite a family. For two years they travelled, looking for any sign of her, but Robb grew weary. They had been searching for a long time. If they were going to find his sister, they would’ve done it by now. Let the dead rest .
Then the unthinkable happened. Littlefinger found him, and as much as he tried to hide it, he was his mother’s son, and no one knew his mother like Littlefinger. Littlefinger found where Robb and Gendry had been staying for the past month, and unbeknownst to them, told Sansa. They wanted to leave right away, but they had no where else to go and they were just beginning to settle down and make lives for themselves. No sniveling little coward was going to make them leave.
So they didn’t. And then one day, Robb received a raven with a Stark direwolf stamped onto it and held his breath while he unrolled the scroll. Sansa was home. Jon was alive, meeting with the dragon queen at Dragonstone. His sister, his brother. They were alive. Sansa was home. There was a Stark in Winterfell .
For the first time in 7 years, Robb Stark allowed himself to cry.
And now, he was a mere few miles from his home. Inside those walls, his little sister. His brother’s direwolf, who Sansa has said was left behind when it was determined he wouldn't fare well with boats. His baby brother’s body(he had been killed by a horrible person right in front of them-that’s all Sansa had said. She would explain more in person). His father’s bones. He looked to Gendry at his right side. Gendry, a noble friend, who stayed with Robb even though he had found the wrong sister. “You might still need a blacksmith,” he had joked.
He kicked his horse into a gallop and started for the gates.
He was not stopped by guards (if he had been, he would’ve fought them off). Robb jumped off his horse and in a trance, handed him to Gendry, while spinning in a circle. Winterfell . The walls were crumbling, parts of it still remained scorch by the fire, but the bricks still held the memories of his childhood. The foundation of the archer’s stand Arya had shot from the day they found the direwolves. Looming over them, the tower from which Bran was pushed. The path leading to the weirwood trees, the remains of the armory him, Jon, and Theon used to hide in, the crypts, the castle, home, home , home. It was overwhelming, and Robb had to steady himself against the nearest wall.
And just when he thought he couldn’t be happier, a flash of red hair became visible over the ramparts as it descended down the stairs into the courtyard. At first he thought Mother , but then he saw the long, northern face, and the narrow nose, and the eyes that were just a shade lighter than the Tully blue. The eyes that had sparkled when he complimented their sewing or took her out for a picnic for some “Stark sibling time” and suddenly his sister, his little sister , Sansa, who he was so sure was dead, is standing in front of him. She was taller, and her eyes were older than the last time he had peared into them, but she was unmistakably Sansa.
All he could do was smile and open his arms.
She ran into them, sobbing, whispering “Robbie” over and over and over until the name was just random sounds slammed together. He sighed. His family always gave the best hugs and it had been so long since he had last held another Stark in his arms that he tried to pinch himself to make sure it was real and not a horrible twisted dream, but Sansa squeezed him tighter around his neck so that he couldn’t move. He just sighed again, content, and whispered “Sansa” into her ear until he couldn’t anymore.
When they had finally separated, Ghost had approached him. “Hey, boy,” Robb said, smiling. At this, Sansa smirked.
“I have a surprise for you, big brother.”
She led him through the winding hallways of the castle until she reached a closed door. At further inspection, he realized it was his room from before. He looked at Sansa uncertainty, and she smiled reassuringly. “Open it.”
He did. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but then he realized on his still-unmade bed, the was a large lump that appeared to be moving.
“I think he’s asleep,” Sansa whispered. “This is the only place he will.” She whistled softly, and the lump moved. Robb realized it was picking its head up, and he stepped forward cautiously. A tail emerged from the lump and started swaying back and forth lazily.
Realization dawned in Robb’s eyes. “Grey Wind?” he said, not believing it be true but wishing so badly that it was. The lump rose up quickly and looked at Robb for a second before determining that his master had finally returned to him. The direwolf ran to Robb and bowled him over, sticking his face in Robb’s while being careful not to crush him. He reached out to pet Grey Wind’s head. “I knew you made it, you silly old boy.” He tuned to Sansa. “Where’d you find him?” he questioned his sister.
“He found me. I was out in the weirwood-that’s the only place Ramsey would let me go outside the castle. He ran out and killed the guards, and I thought he was just a normal wolf who would kill me. But then I recognized him, and he helped me find my way to Castle Black to be with Jon.”
“Ramsey?” Robb asked, already knowing he wouldn’t like the explanation.
Sansa smiled sadly. “Come. There is much I must tell you.”
Sansa explained everything to him. Robb had been angry at first, and then filled with overwhelming sadness that his poor, innocent, sister had to endure so much. “I survived,” she had said, but at what cost?
“Anyway,” Sansa said. “You’re home. Jon will be home soon. I’m here. Theon didn’t burn Bran, so he must be out there somewhere. Arya…” she trailed off. As much as Sansa resented her sister when they were girls, it pained her that Arya had been killed. They were blood, kin, and Arya was the only sister Sansa had. They were silent for a beat
“She didn’t die with Mother,” Robb suddenly said. “I don’t know if she died after that but she didn’t die that night. I was there.” Sansa smiled a smile, a true smile.
“Robb, dear brother?” Sansa said coyly.
“Why yes, Sansa, sweet sister?” Robb responded, a teasing tone in his voice.
“I think it’s past time we get our family back.”