Perhaps it was the girl who made his heart flutter, but Robb Stark, usually cautious, tossed his usual demeanor aside without hesitation and decided to intervene in this matter.
"Everyone across the continent knows about the issues between your two families, but five against one? There's no honor in that."
Robb stood in the small square, blocking Hendry Bracken's path. Mera approached, trying to hand him his twin swords, but Robb waved them off in refusal.
"Who are you?" Brynden Blackwood asked, seeing Robb in his finely crafted black mail. He didn't speak disrespectfully.
Robb, unarmed, took a fighting stance. "Someone who can't stand five against one!"
There were no family sigils on his armor, but Lucas Blackwood, the second eldest of the family, recognized Robb from his necklace and handsome face. He quietly whispered to his older brother, "That's Robb Stark, the heir to the Lord of Winterfell, known as the Rival of the Blackwater!"
This nickname hadn't come from the battlefield but from the young unmarried noblemen of King's Landing!
Robb's mother, Catelyn, had taken him to many gatherings, where numerous girls had thrown him glances of interest. Robb had only responded with polite greetings, but the girls became even more infatuated, competing for his attention and causing all sorts of trouble. Older people laughed it off as a joke, but among the youth, the name "Rival of the Blackwater" had spread widely, and Robb was seen as a rival to many unmarried young men in the realm.
"Ser Robb Stark, the knights of the Blackwood family show respect to all, except for the Bracken family!" the eldest, Brynden, said loudly, both to Robb and for the crowd to hear.
"We won't lay a hand on you. We're leaving," he added, signaling to his brothers and knights to depart.
"Tch~~"
"Guess there's no fun left to watch."
The onlookers, eager for drama, began to disperse as it became clear the fight wasn't going to happen.
Hendry Bracken, still on the ground, saw Robb heading in his direction. With a grateful look, he thought Robb was going to help him up and extended his right hand. However, Robb turned around and walked directly toward a pink-dressed girl, leaving Hendry to awkwardly lower his hand again.
The three Bracken knights rushed over and, pretending not to notice, quickly helped him up.
"Thank you very much, Ser Robb!" Hendry called out, but Robb was facing the girl, engaged in conversation, entirely oblivious to his words.
"Let's find somewhere to wash up first," Hendry muttered, leading his knights toward the riverbank.
"I'm Robb Stark, from Winterfell. I don't believe I know your name?"
"Seran Farman, from the Fair Isle."
"The weather's nice today."
"Yes, it is."
"The sun is very strong today."
"Yes, it is."
The other girls, watching the awkward exchange, whispered amongst themselves.
"Robb's not bad looking, but he doesn't seem very smart!"
"Seran's not too bright either!"
"Robb! Are you trying to court her?" Arya, carrying two wolf pups, walked up to the pair.
Both Robb and Seran blushed immediately. Seeing the pups in Arya's arms, Seran quickly changed the subject. "Such cute little dogs, can I pet them?"
"Of course!" Robb immediately responded.
"These are direwolves! They've grown teeth now and will bite strangers. When they're older, they could easily kill a horse," Arya explained.
Robb then picked up his direwolf pup, Grey Wind, from Arya's arms and grinned as he placed it in Seran's arms. "He doesn't bite."
Seran cradled the pup, petting it, as she and Robb laughed and walked toward the tournament stands.
"Foolish Robb! Foolish Robb!" Arya muttered as she followed behind them.
---
"The heir of the North, Robb Stark, is just another fool with his head full of lust!"
Ramsay Snow heard this and turned to see a dirty, thin boy standing next to him.
He himself was an excellent hunter. By running from Robb, he had figured out Robb's tracking methods and how to avoid: crossing rivers or covering himself in foul smells. With his sharp tongue, he had risen from the lowest job of shoveling pig manure to delivering meat to noble kitchens, and now, he was a full-fledged swineherd, known as Old Pork.
By the time Ramsay arrived, the conflict had already ended. He saw Robb leaving with a girl in pink and hurried to the side, placing the meat on a table. He smeared his clothes with grease and blood, and halfway through, he overheard mocking words.
"Maester, do you know Robb Stark?"
Petyr Baelish looked disdainfully at the filthy swineherd beside him. Even though the man smiled, Petyr felt that such a person was not worthy of his company and did not answer Ramsay's question.
"Robb Stark is not just some fool," Ramsay continued, "He is a disciple of Wright Baratheon. He surely has the magical ability to control his desires. He's interested in that noble girl, and soon he will send his family to propose."
Petyr, intrigued by the swineherd's analysis, raised his head with arrogance and said,
"Magic comes from talent, but wisdom is the real weapon. Robb is still too young."
"You are absolutely right, Maester!" Ramsay complimented.
"He's not a Maester, just someone helping out. You two should move aside; you're blocking others," someone remarked, revealing Petyr's identity as a mere helper, not a Maester.
"As long as you have knowledge, you can gain wealth and fame anywhere," Petyr replied nonchalantly, walking to the side.
Ramsay, noticing Petyr's distaste for Robb, realized he could use that to his advantage. He followed him, continuing the conversation.
The two, a swineherd and a beggar with torn shoes, were engaging in a heated discussion while others avoided them.
"Move aside! Move aside!"
A group of knights approached from the direction of Riverrun. The knights in full armor led the way, roughly pushing people aside, followed by a young knight dressed in extravagant armor riding a horse.
The crowd in the small square was mostly commoners, and as the knights pushed through, chaos ensued.
Ramsay asked Petyr, "Who are these people? How dare they act so arrogantly?"
Petyr glanced at the banner the group carried. "Green background with a white ribbon and a green arrow—a banner of House Sarsfield from the Westerlands. The young man in the center is Donnel Sarsfield, the dual heir to both the West and Sarsfield titles!"
Having spent many years in King's Landing, Petyr had never reached high ranks, but he had his share of opportunities to get close to the Red Keep. He remembered the prince's appearance clearly—Joffrey Baratheon! Even after faking his death and changing names, he was still acting so bold. Petyr fell into thought, considering how he could use this information.
Ramsay, raised as a bastard, knew all too well the dirty dealings among the lower nobility. To escape his fugitive life and live comfortably, he had to attach himself to a good noble. A haughty, arrogant young noble like Donnel was the perfect target.
"Thank you, Maester, for your enlightenment. I still have to deliver this pig meat. I'll see you next time," Ramsay said with a smile, still addressing Petyr as Ser.
"Younger man, keep working hard, and one day, you too can become a noble!" Petyr set a life goal for him.
Both men were fugitives, carefully avoiding discussions about their identities.
Ramsay turned and left the square, his smile fading. "Can't even afford a pair of shoes and still acts like a big shot. Arrogant fool! This trash will never rise again!"
As Ramsay walked toward Donnel Sarsfield, Petyr sneered. "Trying to cling to power, with such petty tricks. He'll become someone else's pawn soon enough, maybe even lose his life."