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The Last Hearth wasn't a grand castle. It was the northernmost major castle of the Seven Kingdoms, ignoring the castle of the Night's Watch.
Its walls weren't that grand, and its defenses were average. The main keep inside used more wood than stone for its structure.
As Robert and his army came out of Wolfswood, they openly marched towards the castle's main gates. Once they were just at the edge of the archer's range, they stopped and waited for the morning light to improve their visibility.
"Barristan, I'll smash the bloody gates myself. Get your lads behind me and cut down every Wildling that breathes—man, woman, I care not. The North's got no grain for beggars. Show them mercy, and we'll all be starving come winter." Robert barked at his Kingsguard. "I won't stop 'til I'm in that keep with Mance Rayder crushed beneath my heel. Don't waste time trying to catch me."
It didn't matter what the realm thought about it. Robert held nothing back. He didn't hide his strength anymore.
Paaaa!
The horns of battle were blown.
Robert started running, his warhammer in his grip. Right behind him, like an arrow, the army followed him, ready to rush into the city.
Let's end this fucking mess quickly and go back.
Woosh!
The arrows fell from the castle's walls. But Robert didn't even flinch. The arrows were too weak to penetrate his skin at that point.
"WRAAA! Follow me, lads!"
Boom!
Robert roared and rammed straight into the castle's main gate. It was massive, made of wood, and also reinforced with a second portcullis made of metal.
CLANK!
Robert smashed his hammer and, with ease, destroyed the wood and the metal gate at the same time. His strength simply destroyed the chains the portcullis was attached to above. That left the entire thing supportless, falling flat on the ground.
"BUTCHER THEM!" Robert gained entry into the castle with ease. Right behind him, his army roared and spilled inside before spreading out in groups.
The Wildlings were taken by surprise. They were confused to begin with since Robert's men didn't have any high ladders. What Robert had planned bewildered them; how would he attack? His breaking apart the castle's doors was beyond mythical.
Chaos ensued. The Wildlings rushed to grab their weapons and counter the sudden invasion. They had no time to gather up and prepare, expecting the siege to last long.
Clank!
Gaaah!
Sword strikes and cries filled the castle's inside. There were countless Wildlings inside, huddled in various buildings.
Robert never stopped. Like a raging bull, he kicked every man who came before him. Then, a giant, an actual giant of twenty or so feet in height, appeared in front of him, guarding the gates or the main keep.
"So your kind do exist!" Robert muttered and raised his warhammer high. The giant swung its massive arm, but Robert leaped in the air and smashed his hammer into the giant's head, sending it flying, battered and broken. "But not stronger than a dragon."
The next thing he knew, he had rammed through the gate of the main keep. There were a few Wildling warriors inside, but their purpose was only to paint the castle walls red.
He stormed through the corridor and soon arrived inside the large Great Hall, not as large as Winterfell, though. It was filled with women and children, and in the middle was a single man with two blonde women standing behind him, both beauties unlike any other Wildling he'd seen yet.
"You're the king beyond the wall, are you? Bah! You look more like a flea-ridden beggar." Robert walked towards the man. Some brave wildlings did try to attack him, only to be splattered with his hammer. "Cowering like a mouse in a midden. That's your crown?"
"We aren't your enemies, King Robert." Mance Rayder spoke from his chair. It seemed his legs couldn't move.
Robert sneered and stood right in front of Mance. "It's Your Grace to you, filth. You stand against me, make no mistake. I saw no trace of Last Hearth's folk—none. That red-bearded goat Tormund said it plain—rape, fire, ruin, that's your way."
"Believe me, we had no wish to cross your Wall, Your Grace." Mance showed fear for once. "We were driven here—by the dead. The White Walkers are no tale to scare children. They're real, and they're coming. With an army behind them."
"All right, let's pretend your tale holds water. You going to tell me how they plan to cross seven hundred feet of ice?"
"They are demons of ice. I'm sure they'll find a way."
Robert snorted, lifting his hammer with a grunt. "Your Wildling madness ends here. You've no damn business south of the Wall. You knew that well enough. Still, you came, pillaging like bloody savages. Refuge, was it? Looked more like raiding to me. You drew first blood—I'll draw the last."
"Proof!" Mance Rayder shouted. "The proof! There's a man beyond the Wall—old as winter, eyes like he's seen too much. Calls himself the Three-Eyed Raven. Said he's waited for this very hour. Told me to pass this on: All the answers lie beneath where the dead sleep. Beyond the depth lost to nature. Go and seek it, and you'll find it there, Lord Stark—said it was for Lord Stark. But since the man's no more, and you're breathing... I'm telling you."
Robert froze. Was it a coincidence? He was, indeed, the Lord Stark, only in different flesh.
"Where is this man?"
"In a cave, beyond the fist of first men," Mance said. "He's still there. But I don't know for how long he'll remain. The dead are marching fast. Hardhome has fallen to them already. The wraiths number in the tens of thousands."
Robert thought deeply about that message. Where the dead sleep. There was only one place that came to his mind. One whose depth was lost to nature.
Stark Crypt?
It was massive, so massive that it was impossible to explore. It was wider than Winterfell itself, and went deeper than he could imagine.
Robert didn't want to accept it. But since his own existence was nothing short of divine magic, and he'd seen dragons, he was inclined to believe that the White Walkers were real. Enough tales had been told by the Old Nan to know it could be real.
"If I don't find anything, I'll see you and your Wildling scum gutted," Robert declared and retracted his hammer. "Until I return, Last Hearth will be surrounded by my men. Raise a hand to my men, and I'll see this pile burned stone by stone."
With that, Robert turned around and left the keep. He found Ser Barristan and informed him of his decision. But he chose to ride back to Winterfell with just a handful of men, and sent half of his army there to stop the Wildlings from invading Karhold.
Without wasting time, he rode down Kingsroad. By the time he arrived at Winterfell, it was the evening of the next day.
Since Robb wasn't there, Catelyn was managing the castle. He chose not to inform her about the Crypt or the White Walkers. He wanted to be sure of it first.
Still avoiding Catelyn and feeling uneasy in the place that was once his home, he ate a modest supper quickly and retired to his bedchamber. The idea was to wait for everyone to fall asleep and then enter the crypt with Ser Barristan.
But it appeared that fate had something else planned.
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Knock! Knock!
Robert was alone in his assigned bedchamber when the knocks came on the door. He wasn't expecting anyone.
"Enter."
The door was pushed open by the Kingsguards, and Catelyn Stark walked inside, dressed in the usual, heavy winter fur cloak. Her long red hair was left untied behind her back.
Robert had been avoiding her all that time. Never staying behind, or allowing her a chance to speak with him. But it seemed the woman chose to come directly to him this time.
A part of him wanted to stand up and pull the woman in for a tight embrace. But another part of him kept him restrained. He didn't want to intrude on Catelyn's life and make a mess out of it. He was the King now, not Lord Stark of Winterfell.
"Your Grace, forgive me if this is ill-timed."
"Never mind that, my lady. What troubles you this late at night?" Robert asked her back, getting up from the chair.
Catelyn walked into the room, closing the door behind her. She glanced at the space, the fire in the hearth burning bright, the bed made ready for sleep. Robert was dressed in a simple loose tunic and trousers. He looked far healthier than ever, akin to his prime during the days of Rebellion.
"I… I hoped to discuss the matter of Sansa with you."
Seven hells! Sansa told her? Robert cursed inside, not showing it on his face. That incident was one of the most disgraceful things to have happened to him.
"Have a seat, my Lady." Robert invited her to a set of two chairs facing each other with a small table between them.
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