Robb slowly rose, his fingertips brushing the cold wolf's-head relief on his sword's pommel. His gaze drifted involuntarily toward the dragons on the wilderness not far away.
Before long, he hastily looked away and gave Viserys a slight nod. "Your Grace, you jest," he said respectfully. "Winterfell's gates are always open to House Targaryen."
"Good," Viserys said evenly to Robb. "By the way, Victarion Greyjoy of the Iron Islands is dead, and the Ironborn's longships have been burned. Most of the Free Folk near the Shadow Tower have agreed to come south. Castle Black will arrange for them to settle in the Gift."
Robb froze for a moment, then asked in confusion, "You... have already dealt with it?"
"I burned Balon's fleet in the Iron Islands, then flew to the Bay of Ice and happened to find Victarion gathering his forces nearby." Viserys spoke casually, as though describing something utterly trivial. "So I dealt with him while I was there."
Some of Winterfell's senior officials following behind Robb exchanged looks. The elderly Maester Luwin narrowed his eyes, as though reassessing the young man of House Targaryen before him.
"Your Grace..." Robb's voice sounded somewhat bitter. "The North thanks you for your help."
"No need to thank me, my lord duke," Viserys said. "The North is part of the Iron Throne's realm as well. Protecting the North means protecting the Iron Throne."
Robb looked up again at the dragons lying on the wilderness behind Viserys. Their scales shimmered with color in the sunset, and he could not help swallowing.
"Your Grace's power truly exceeds anything the North could have imagined." A barely perceptible trace of worry colored his voice. "It will be late soon, and it is still rather cold outside Winterfell. You have all traveled far. Please come inside and