A Pledge of Loyalty

Riverrun - The Lord's Solar

Robb led Garrick through several corridors silently, his direwolf loyally by his side. Soon they reached a spiral stairway and entered a large room at the top. It was a lavish study, with a desk of redwood in front of the large stone fireplace. The legs of the desk had been ornately carved into the shapes of swimming fish, and banners bearing the Tully sigil in red and blue hung from the walls. The solar, in truth, belonged to Lord Tully, but Garrick quickly realised it hand been borrowed by Robb for the duration of his stay at the castle.

The Young Wolf took a seat at the chair behind the desk, and his wolf curled up before the fire, promptly closing his eyes and falling asleep. Robb gestured for Garrick to sit opposite him, which he did. Both his and the young Stark's chairs were redwood, lined with comfortable leather and studded with silver, but Robb's was far more elegant, as befitting his station.

"Are you truly here to pledge loyalty to me, sellsword?" He asked, the word sellsword said almost like a curse.

"Yes, m'lord."

"Why?"

Garrick hesitated for a moment, before bringing himself to answer. "I saw your father... lose his head."

Robb's eyebrows narrowed and he stared at Garrick, but he did not speak.

He quickly continued "I thought it was wrong. He had no trial. No chance to defend himself. I'm not much, I don't have any land, m'lord, I barely have any weapons, but I couldn't stay in King's Landing. So I came here."

The Young Wolf was silent for a long time, seemingly judging what Garrick had said, whether it was to see if he was telling the truth or something else entirely, he did not know. Finally, he spoke. "Then do it."

Garrick stared at him, confused. "What?"

Robb did not answer, instead drawing his sword from the scabbard on his hip and presenting the hilt to Garrick. He could've taken the blade and ran the Young Wolf through, ending the Stark rebellion in a single sword stroke, but he did not. He took the blade and knelt, holding it before him so he could pledge his loyalty. "Do you know the words?" Robb asked.

Garrick nodded, he had heard them many times from tales and legends as a youth. He took a breath before speaking. "I offer my services, Lord Stark. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table." Robb's voice was calm but firm, he sounded like what Garrick imagined a lord to be. "I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."

Garrick stood, offering Robb's sword back to him. He took it and slid it gracefully back into the scabbard on his belt. "I may not be a lord, or even a knight, m'lord, but I'll keep my oath. Every word."

Robb nodded, taking Garrick's hand by the wrist and grasping it firmly. "I know. I don't know what it is, but there's something about you I like. I'm naming you to my personal guard."

He was shocked "M'lord, I'm not good enough of a fighter to guard you!"

Robb shrugged. "You're not taking another's spot. You have potential, and I'll make sure you're trained until you're good enough. And when I ride out to war, you'll be with me."

Garrick nodded "I want nothing more, m'lord."

He smiled. "Let's get you armoured. We'll make a knight of you yet."

"We will?" Garrick looked at the other man's armour, the steel of his chainmail gleaming in the candlelight and the grey gambeson beneath it simple and without adornments.

"Aye. I can hear it now, 'Ser Garrick'! You could even start a House of your own, you'll have to think of a name."

Garrick's mind returned to the name he had given to the barkeep's daughter. "Woodbury."

Robb smiled widely. "That was quick, my friend."

"I've it in mind for a while. Someone... asked me the same question not long ago."

"Perhaps I'll ask more about it later. There's a bed in the barracks for you tonight, tomorrow morning go to the smith to get fitted for your new armour. How's your sword?"

"It's good. My father is a blacksmith, he made it for me as a gift, it's one of his finest weapons."

"Did you help him make it?"

"Yes, m'lord. Help's a strong word, though, I mostly kept the fire going."

Robb laughed "Winterfell has a smith. His name's Mikken, he was the one who made my sword. I helped him work a few times, but I mostly got in his way."

It was Garrick's turn to laugh, "I was much the same, m'lord."

"Anyway, go and get some food from the kitchens, I'll give word that you serve me directly. And I'll have someone return your sword to you."

"Thank you, m'lord." Garrick smiled, bowing to Robb and turning to leave.