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novaursa · 15 days ago

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The Northern Heart (1/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Paring: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.

Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.

As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.

Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.

Robb Stark.

His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.

You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.

“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.

Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”

Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”

Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”

Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.

“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”

But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.

“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”

Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.

It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.

The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.

Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.

“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.

“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”

Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”

Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”

“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”

Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”

Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”

Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”

Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”

Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”

Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”

Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”

Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”

Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”

Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.

“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”

Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”

They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.

“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”

Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”

Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.

“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”

And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.

Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.

Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”

Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”

Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.

“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”

Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”

“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”

“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.

But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”

Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”

Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.

Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”

Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.

He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.

As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”

Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”

He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”

Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”

Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.

You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.

“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”

Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”

“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”

Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.

Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.

“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.

“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”

“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”

You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”

He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”

You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”

“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”

Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”

Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”

For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”

You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.

Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.

But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.

Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.

“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”

Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”

She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”

Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”

“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”

Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”

Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”

His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”

“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”

“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”

Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”

Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”

Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”

Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”

At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”

With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.

Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.

The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.

You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.

“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.

“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”

You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”

Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”

You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”

Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.

The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”

Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.

“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry… I have to—”

“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.

Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.

After a moment, you began to make your way back toward the castle, hoping, praying, that the news awaiting you would be better than what you feared.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #house of the dragon #hotd #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got robb stark #robb stark #robb x reader #robb x you #robb x y/n #the northen heart

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 4 months ago

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The Godswood

Robb Stark x reader

Summary: When the newest Lady of the North is chased into the woods, the lords of the north search for Robb Stark's wife

Warning: canon-level violence, no use of y/n, wildlings, nudity (but no smut), not beta-d (I literally typed this on my phone and posted it)

Word Count: 2.8K

Masterlist

“Robb?” the new Lady of the North’s voice rang through their chambers. “I thought I should go to the Godswood to pray,” she relayed her plans for the day.

Robb immediately exited the washroom of their chambers. “Is it necessary for you to pray in the Godswood? There is a perfectly good sept near the Great Hall.”

“I know but even you say you feel more inclined towards the nature of the north when you pray at the Heart Tree,” she shrugged.

Robb sighed. “But I am unable to bring you today. You know I have that meeting with my father and the bannermen,” the young lord argued.

“Robb, I will be perfectly alright,” she insisted, giving him a loving yet exasperated look. “If it makes you feel better I will bring guards with me but I am telling you I will be okay in the few minutes it will take me to wish for the health of your family.”

Robb looked reluctant still but grumbled out an agreement. “Fine,” he agreed, moving closer to his wife so as to press a kiss to her temple. “But do not stray from your guards. The Godswood can be dangerous.”

“I won’t,” she complied, calling after him as he returned to the washroom to continue shaving and she exited their chambers. Making her way to her father-in-law’s office, she was already shivering through the drafty hallways of the Stark family’s residence within Winterfell. Not being from the north had made residing here difficult in terms of becoming accustomed to the weather. But her husband was always willing to warm her up. And her mother-in-law, another northerner by marriage only, had given her tips of how to prepare for the cold.

Finally making it to the Warden of the North’s chambers, the guards allowed her to enter after announcing her presence in Lord Stark’s office.

Entering, she found that the first of the bannermen had already arrived. “Lord Karstark, Lord Amber,” she greeted the men. “My apologies, my lords, I did not realized your meeting had started.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Stark dismissed his daughter-in-laws concerns, always happy to see the girl that seemed to brighten his son’s life. Lord Stark considered himself to have made a few very good decisions in his life. One of them being his decision to marry Cat. But another one was orchestrating his eldest son’s marriage to the girl that stood before him. “The lords here were just telling me about their lands before the true meetings began. Is my son ready?”

“No,” she answered. “You know how particular he gets about his hair.”

The men erupted into laughter. “Wow,” Lord Karstark began, still recovering from his laughter. “Wish I had her for a daughter-in-law. My son refuses to even neaten his beard.”

“Yes, well, my son finds her input very valuable,” Lord Stark chuckled. “What can I do for you, dear?”

“I had just hoped you would assign me a guard. Robb insisted I take one into the Godswood.”

“He is smart to do so,” his father commended. “I will send you with two. Just to be safe.”

She gave her father-in-law a bashful smile. “Thank you,” she bid, exiting the office.

“Come,” the guard waiting outside the office bid. “I will assign your guards.” She followed him out of Ned Stark’s chambers to the hall where several had already been waiting for assignments. He looked to two of them, giving them orders to take her to the Weirwood tree.

“Aye,” both agreed in sync before breaking from the rest of the group. The pair then stepped up to their charge for the day. “My lady,” they both greeted.

She nodded to them in acknowledgement. “Well seeing as the assignment was already explained to you, let us go,” she explained, trying to relieve any awkwardness. She truly loathed to have guards follow her around wherever she went. In her childhood, guards were only ever needed when she left her family’s lands. But Robb had insisted on her either being with him or with armed sentries whenever she even left the Stark residence. Even just to visit the stables or library he insisted she have some sort of protection. Claiming that technically Winterfell was a fortress that could be under attack at any time.

Not much was said as the trio made their way out of the walls of Winterfell and into the forests surrounding the fortress. As she went, she could not help but shiver as the cold winds nipped at her neck and face. She dreaded the day winter actually descended upon Westeros as apparently the northerners considered this more “mild” chill to be summer as well.

Finally reaching the Heart Tree, adorned with a carved face, the new Lady Stark fell before the long reaching branches. Just as her face fell to her interlocked hands, a snapping twig broke her thoughts. Looking up, she found a wildling fifty feet or so away from her. She stumbled back, falling from her knees and onto her rear, her hands catching in the dirt.

The guard posted nearest to the wildling immediately came between her and the wild looking man. Her heart hammered in her chest as she observed his tangled hair and overworn clothes.

A yell from her other side drew her attention to the other guard who was now brandishing his sword against another wildling man holding a spear. Quickly scrambling to her feet, she moved closer to the Weirwood as if it’s branches would swat away any threats to her. Looking around frantically, she found three more wildlings creeping out of the trees.

“My lady, run!” one of the guards shouted as one of the wildlings jumped to attack him.

Scared beyond belief, she obeyed, rounding the Heart Tree to run away from the grizzled men. She had no idea where to go, she just prayed there weren’t more waiting for her behind the tree. As she sprinted through the forest, she spotted none but she was not naive enough to believe her two guards could hold five of them off. She wept as she ran, holding up her dress as she ran so it would not trip her or snag on any stray branches.

She had no idea how far she ran until she truly could not breathe. Taking a moment to rest against the trunk of a tree, she caught her breath. But it soon evaded her again as she was overcome by sobs. Her guards were surely dead now. And by the time anyone noticed she was lost the men who killed them would likely have caught up with her or she would be so lost she would never be found. Completely rattled by the idea of falling into those men’s clutches, she continued on, this time at a walking pace. Remembering that these wildlings would surely be skilled trackers, she did her best to disturb the flora as little as possible whilst taking an erratic path.

The guards who held the western gate of Winterfell looked in reluctant astonishment at the two bleeding guards before them. “Evander,” a sentry addressed his bleeding friend. “What happened?”

“We were ambushed by wildlings. Get Lord Stark and the bannermen, Lady Stark is still out there. We told her to run.”

A guard who overheard wasted no time, running to the Great Hall as fast as he could. He relayed the message to all the guards standing outside of their Lords’ meetings and they immediately parted to let the man through.

“Forgive me, my lords,” the guard announced his presence as he burst through the doors. “Wildlings attacked Lady Stark in the Godswood. Some of the wildlings were slain but she is still out there,” he breathed heavily.

Robb was the first to stand, doing it so fast his chair fell behind him. “Saddle my horse,” he ordered, already moving to exit the room.

Behind him, his father also stood. He looked at the still seated, mildly shocked men. “You want more titles and lands? The first man to find my daughter-in-law will have the moors.” Each man immediately stood, barking orders at the advisors who accompanied them to prepare for the search.

Eddard followed after his son who had already made it outside and was saddling his horse. “Son,” he called, catching the young man’s attention. “Just wait a moment so we may organize the search.”

Robb’s eyes flashed with worry at the prospect. “Father, just three harvests ago wildlings slaughtered the Farlands. I have to at least begin a preliminary search.”

Before the Lord of Winterfell could disagree, the commander of his guard ran up. “My lord, we have a dozen or so men prepared. Would you like us to begin a preliminary search?” he asked. Everyone in the North who had dealt with wildlings knew just how dire the situation was. They almost certainly knew the terrain better than the newest Lady of the North.

“Yes,” Robb immediately agreed, pulling himself onto his horse. His father nodded to the commander, and the initial search party saddled their horses and rode for the western gate. In their company was one of the guards who had initially gone to the Heart Tree. The other, too injured to accompany them, laid in the maester’s chambers having his wounds dressed.

Once the group made it to the Heart Tree, they found remnants of the attack. Two wildlings laid dead in the brush. “As far as I know there are three more, my lord,” the initial sentry informed Robb as he dismounted from his horse. “I had told your wife to run and she went to the opposite of the tree,” he said, pointing west. “They attacked us and we managed to fend the five of them off but once they realized she was getting away, three of them followed after her.”

Robb wanted to demand to know why they had not chased after his wife but he held his tongue. He just prayed for their sakes they were right in their judgement to return for reinforcements. “Everyone head west and spread out. She’ll know to have put as much distance between her and the wildlings as possible. And search for tracks, if she was concealing hers, the wildlings won’t have bothered.” A chorus of agreements rang out as each man took off.

The search had been on for hours. By now nearly every man within five miles of Winterfell had been out to search.

It was painful for Ned to watch his son slowly lose hope as the hours wore on and it became increasingly darker. Riding over to Robb, he spoke, “We will find her, son.”

Robb only nodded, holding his jaw clenched tightly. He was reluctant to admit that his wife of only two moons may already be gone. She was not of the north, she had no idea how to navigate the woods. And she would be perfectly defenseless running across any wildlings or creatures.

“I should have never let her even leave Winterfell,” he lamented.

“You cannot blame yourself,” Ned lectured. “Son, if you are going to become the Warden of the North, you cannot take every loss as personal.”

“I know, but this is my wife. The first person I am supposed to protect. If I cannot even find her in my own lands how can I lead them?”

“It will come with experience,” Ned assured. “And you did nothing wrong, you protected her as well as anyone could have.”

Before Robb could further degrade himself and argue, several calls rang out through the forests. Finally, they came near enough to be clear. “We found her!” echoed through the seemingly empty forest. Robb let out a shuddered cry of relief as he took off toward the voices, leaving his father behind.

As he rode he spotted more and more of his men, each time becoming more and more eager that they were the one who had found her. But each time they just ushered him on, pointing him further and further north. He continued on until he found several men gathered, lit only by their torches and the moonlight. They all turned to see their heir, immediately parting to reveal his wife sitting upon a fallen trunk.

“Robb!” she cried as she saw his horse approach. Her voice was broken with tears. As soon a he reached the clearing, he dismounted, immediately clambering to his wife. He had not even embraced her yet before he was throwing his fur cloak over her quivering shoulders, surely shivering from the chill that had by now reached her bones.

He immediately pulled her into his embrace, holding her tighter than he ever had before. He cared little for decorum as she buried her face into the warmth of his neck and sobbed. He himself wanted to cry in relief but held it in. When he finally pulled away only to look at her, he found several scratches on her face and mud adorning her dress. “What…” he began softly as he reached a hand up to her face.

“Just the scratch of the branches,” she assured, gently grasping his wrist in her icy hands as he continued to hold her face. “And I admit I did fall down a hill in my haste,” she explained sheepishly. Robb was sure that if she were not so incredibly cold he would feel the warmth of her blush through his gloves.

Finally Eddard Stark arrived, finding Robb holding his wife as if she were the most precious thing in the world. He let out a private sigh of relief seeing the girl relatively unharmed. Given his son’s level of depression just at the mere idea of his wife being lost to him, he was reluctant to even imagine what Robb would do had they found evidence of his wife’s death.

“It’s dark, the lady needs to warm up and rest. Let us go back to Winterfell. My lords,” he addressed the men who helped in the search, “you may spend the night in the guesthouses. Word of the day’s events have already been sent to your families.”

Robb stood from his crouched position, pulling his wife up with him as if he were afraid she’d slip between his fingers. “Come,” he bid, “you will ride with me.” She only nodded, her chattering teeth providing the answer she could not. She held Robb’s hand and with the other she clutched Robb’s cloak around her shoulders. He helped her onto his horse, moving her so she sat sidesaddle so he could sit behind her. With both arms around her to take the reins, she immediately took refuge in the warmth of his arms.

As they made the journey back through the woods, Robb wrestled with his thoughts. He wanted to scold her and tell her this is exactly why he did not want her out of Winterfell but the other part did not want to add to her distress. Similarly he wanted to ask about the wildlings but at the risk of being told something he was not ready to hear and stressing her out more, he elected to stay quiet.

But it was her who broke the silence. “I’m sorry for questioning your judgment and going. And for endangering your guards,” she apologized meekly, her voice heavy with guilt.

Robb immediately hushed her. “It’s no concern. I am just glad you’re okay,” he said with a kiss to the top of her head.

Once they reached Winterfell, Robb was quick to usher his wife past all the guards and lords, eager to get her into a warm building. As soon as the couple entered the Keep, she felt as if the biting cold was melting from her bones. Robb once again ushered her to their chambers.

His wife immediately went to the fireplace, standing in front of it trying to warm her hands. Behind her, Robb softly grasped her shoulders, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. “I sent ahead for a bath to be prepared to warm you.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, still feeling the harsh cold of her skin. He released her only enough so she could head to the washroom where she found the tub full of steaming water.

Robb, as gently and cautiously as possible, slowly stripped her of her clothes. Mere weeks ago she would have shied away from his gaze but his constant praise and affection had emboldened her to kiss him deeply even when she stood nude against his completely clothed frame. “Bathe with me,” she asked, stepping away to slip into the water.

Never one to decline his wife’s attentions, Robb quickly disrobed before sliding in the tub behind her. He wrapped his arms around around her, pulling her into his chest as they soaked in the warmth of the water and each other.

Masterlist

#x reader #robb x reader #robb stark x reader #robb #robb stark #house stark #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got #got x reader #hotd #hotd x reader

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intoxicated-chan · 1 year ago

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Be With Me

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Robb Stark x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ When Robb over hears of your potential marriage, he cannot stand the idea of loosing you to some random lord.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Be with Me” by Ramin Djawadi. It was heavily inspired by the cave scene with Jon and Yigrette. P.S… IM BACK!!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1.4k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, sexual content, swearing, injuries, mentions of death, oral (male receiving), discussion of marriage…

(I’m saying it again! This was heavily inspired by the cave scene that involved Jon and Yigrette!!)

You walk out of the medic tent with a limp, It’s more than obvious that you were injured, and you feel the stares from other soldiers as your eyes are narrowed.

Robb caught up to you, grabbing your shoulder to make you turn around, “What was that?” Robb immediately said, “You thought it best to throw yourself into a fight?”

“A sword was coming from behind, you were too bothered to even notice.” You shake his hand off your shoulder and continue walking.

Robb grumbles a couple of words before speeding up to catch you, “I saved your life.” He piped up.

“No, I did.” You corrected him, you kept your eyes forward as you walked to your tent, “If I didn’t throw myself into the battle… You know I’d die for you.”

It makes Robb scoff rather loudly, ignoring your last words, “Let’s say you saved me. What about the other time or the other one?” Robb lifts an eyebrow, “You still owe me two more.”

“I owe you quite a lot, my lord.” You tell him, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to check the horses.”

He grabs your cloak tightly and pulls you back, nearly making you fall to the ground. You look up at him confused and angry.

He suddenly snatches your sword out of your scabbard, “I’ll take your sword as payment.” He then scurries away, you can hear him laughing.

“W-What?” You stand shocked for a moment before realizing what is happening, “Robb! Come back here, dammit!” You shout, chasing after him, “Robb fucking Stark! Give me my sword!”

You run after him, tumbling on a few rocks but don’t fall… Somehow. As much as you’re a fighter, Robb was a runner.

He ran so easily and didn’t take a second to look back and stop to give you some kind of better start.

“If you want it back, you’ll have to steal it back!” He runs from the camp and into a random cave. A random cave to you. You didn’t know the North like he did.

The cave is heated by a natural hot spring, which forms a waterfall and a pool. The rocks glistening from the humidity from the water and the light shining through.

Robb sets his sword against the rocks and begins to undo his armor. He starts with his gloves, crumbling them up and tossing them besides the sword.

Your peer your head into the cave, you rush into the cave when hear him, “Seven fucking hells, Robb-!” You loudly shout, but stop in your tracks.

“I heard from my mother that you were supposed to marry some random Lord.” He spoke with a hint of venom in his voice, he pulls off his brown leather boots, “Which means you’re a maiden.”

You choke on your words as you feel your face become warm at his bluntness.

He unties and unbuttons his armor, setting it down carefully, “I always wanted to beat the lord dead, just imagining you in his grasp made me feel so angry.”

Robb turns his back to your as his arms cross and grab the hem of his dirty shirt, he’s swift and impatient, tearing free from the constraints of fighting and riding.

His hands come to the strings of his breeches, “I wanted to be the one to marry you… To kiss you…” Until his breeches drop to the ground. He steps out of them, “To love you…”

Robb turns back to you, he is completely bare in front of you. You could see light bruises and scrapes on his body but little scars. They were faded but still there, it added to his muscular body. He was so beautiful… So perfect… So flawless…

Your eyes flicker around the cave and your eyes only set sights on him once. They move to the ground and you hear his soft steps against the wet stone.

He slowly closes the space in between you both until his face his near yours.

You feel Robb’s breath, one of his hands comes to your cheeks and cups it. But when he leans into you for a kiss, you pull back.

You swallow thickly and turn your head, “We shouldn’t, Robb.” You mumble under your breath, “We can’t be doing this.”

“Then look me in the eyes and say it. Tell me that you don’t want to go any further.” He says, and he slowly turns his head to eventually look at him, “Go on, tell me.”

You knew what was waiting for you back at home, you knew that the second you stepped foot back into your home, your life would be over, even more if your parents found out.

“Do you want to marry that lord?” Robb whispers in your ear, “Do you want a marry a man with selfish desires?” You could hear the pain in his voice, “Because my heart would not stand the idea of it… My heart is yours, it has been from the start, ever since your mother met mine, ever since you watched me train that day. Do you feel as I do?”

“I do.” You shakily answer him. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close and then you feel his lips on yours.

As your eyes shut and kiss him, you can feel yourself crying. You don’t know but he sees it, he does his best to keep you distracted and focused on him.

But you seem to have other ideas…

Once you manage to calm down and enjoy the kiss for a few more minutes, taking a couple of seconds to catch your breath before returning… Your hands move down his body and you slowly begin to kneel, planting kisses down his chest.

Robb chuckles, “Come back up, I wanna-” A sudden moan leaves his mouth when he feels your mouth wrap around his hard cock.

He throws his head back and allows himself to moan loudly. He was confined in the cave, just with you and no one else to see or hear. He closes his eyes and his hand comes to your head to move faster.

“F-Fuck!” His voice cracks as he curses, “H-How are you so-” He grunts and hisses, watching you close as you get him off.

Moments later, Robb is lying on the warm stone ground with you by his side… His fingers graze over your skin as he listens to the water pouring, feeling the warmth coming from the hot spring beside them.

Robb looks down at you with a grin, “How did you know to do that?” He questions you with an eyebrow raised.

You shrug, “I didn't learn it from anyone, I just wanted to. You looked like you enjoyed it.” You drag your nails over his chest.

“Surely there must’ve been a man you practice with.” Robb sits up, he’s genuinely curious but still playful, “Was it Theon? Or Jon?”

You swat at his leg and he snickers in response, “I swear, Robb. There wasn’t any other man.”

“So you are a maiden or were.” Robb stands and grabs your hand to help you up, “Join me, would you?” You didn’t need to say anything, he could see the answer in your eyes.

He leads you into the hot spring, feeling the warm water make contact with your skin. You wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head on his chest.

“They may be looking for us.” You tell him, unsure what to do now as you are held in his arms.

“I know.” Robb huffs as he rubs your back, “But let’s stay for a little longer…. I don’t wish to leave.” He holds you even tighter and places a kiss on the top of your head, “I do not wish to lose you once this is all over.”

“I… I’m sure I can convince my parents somehow. My mother could easily be swayed, but my father-”

“I’ll deal with him.” Robb interrupts you, “I’ll talk to my mother about it. There’s no way I cannot lose you to that man.”

Robb then moves to cup your face, swiping his thumb over his cheek, “Let’s not leave for a little longer.” He pulls you into another kiss, adjusting you comfortably on his lap.

You shudder and shiver, feeling his cock enter once more, “Don’t let me go.” You say to him, your hands hold grab his shoulders, keeping yourself up.

Once he was sheathed inside of you, Robb finally answers, “There’s no way I’ll let you go. Even if they try to pry my dead body off you, I’ll never let you go.”

#x reader #x female reader #fluff #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x you #game of thrones #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones smut #Jon son #theon greyjoy #robb stark smut #robb x reader

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 21 days ago

Text

.⋆｡Of The Wilds｡⋆.

Robb Stark x plus size reader

Robb forgets his roots, his wife guides him back

Warnings: Robb lives au, fluff, smut but not greatly described, mention of war and arranged marriage, public sex WC: 1.3k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The change in the air was thick, like a blanket of fog settling over Winterfell. And with it came the responsibility of winter. Robb had seen his father bear this burden and now it was his to carry. Stoke up the stores of dried meats from the autumn hunts, ensure the battlements were armed, the townsfolk had adequate wood for their hearths, and make sure that what remained of his family would be warm and fed for what he was expecting to be the longest winter the North had experienced since his forefathers. At least he would not have to journey to what remained of the wall.

He constantly questioned if he was doing things correctly, if he was doing enough. The cold nipped at his soul, a warning of what was to come and what would happen if he failed. Jon and Sana offered their help but Robb refused. He wanted them to recover and enjoy the last freedom they would get until the snows slowed and the sun returned.

“You’re going to work yourself to death before winter is really here.”

“I will rest when everything is done.” He replied, earning him an indigent huff.

“You are being stubborn, my king.” His quill stopped. He could almost feel your smirk.

“I am doing my duty, there’s a difference.” The smell of lavender invaded his senses as you curled yourself around his shoulders, as did the hint of wine upon your breath. Your soft hands delved into the cut of his shirt, seeking out the warmth of his body so shamelessly it made a longing begin to stir in his gut.

Your lips fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, kissing softly at the small scar right by his pulse. “What about your duty as a husband?” He suppressed a shiver when your touch travelled lower.

“I would say that I fulfilled that this morning.” Your nails dug into his stomach and Robb couldn’t help but release a groan. You smiled against his skin, pressing your soft body as close as you could to your husband’s back.

“That was yesterday my love, dawn will break soon. You need to get out of this room, for my sake at least.” You pulled back, keeping contact with his skin until the tips of your fingers rested at the nape of his neck. Suddenly, the chill of the room seemed much colder. Robb finally turned to face you.

The horizon was lined with a pale pink, illuminating your figure just so that he could see the outline of your curves through your night dress. Your eyes were bleary with exhaustion but your smile was just as bright as it had ever been. Just as it had been on your wedding day; in the mud of a field in the South, right before his army stormed King’s Landing. Something throbbed in his chest.

“Come.” You ordered, holding out a hand for him to take. He slipped from his seat and the warmth returned to his bones. The halls of Winterfell were still sleeping as you led him down past the tapestries and stones. Robb knew he should turn you down, that he still had so much left to do but the feeling of your hand in his, the way that you moved, all he wanted to do was drag you into bed and make due on his promises.

Robb’s brows pulled together as you guided him towards the narrow staircase he knew led outside. “And where are you taking me, wife?” You just looked back at him and smiled.

It was colder at the bottom of the stairs, little flakes of snow drifted in from where the heavy wooden door had been propped open by a familiar paw. Robb could’ve scoffed as you pulled the door open the rest of the way, revealing the light grey fur of what was supposed to be his loyal companion.

“I thought I had ordered that he was to remain in the kennels at night.” Greywind’s tail thumped against the snow as you stroked the top of his great head, almost looking sheepish.

“You said that yes but you seem to forget that I am queen, and more importantly, he is a very good boy.” The direwolf stood and walked off into the snow, glancing back at you a couple times as he followed the path to the Godswood. Robb looked at you just in time to see you pull two fur cloaks from behind a wood pile.

“How long have you been planning this?” He asked, taking the offered cloak from your hand with a playful scowl.

The fur wrapped around your shoulders, concealing your body from Robb’s hungry gaze. He shook off the snowflakes from his curls and followed suit. “How do you think I got everyone to leave you alone today?”

“Sansa.” He answered, now acutely aware of how his little sister had been steadily stealing some of his duties for the past week. Your fingers tangled with his once more.

The dark silhouettes of the trees called to him, a wolf’s howl that he was compelled to return. And though the sky was growing lighter, there was no colour that accompanied the sun, leaving the King and Queen of the North wandering the still landscape as if in a dream. Greywind vanished between the branches and trunks, his footsteps creating a trail for them to follow.

Robb was grateful that his wife remained silent as you walked, as much as he loved you and worshipped you, you were a symptom of what rested upon his shoulders. Your marriage, while now carved from love, was originally from duty— your father had an army and you had support. Your children would be princes and princesses, the legacy of your house would be carved into stone rather than paper.

Your touch kept him grounded, your voice the sound of reason, your smile the guiding light through the storm of politics and war. He let you pull him through the woods until the familiar sight of the Godswood revealed itself to you.

You came to a stop at the base of the great tree, where Greywind was already waiting for you both, his blue eyes observing you with a human understanding. The snow shifted as you turned to Robb. “What are we doing here so early in the morn?”

“You’ve forgotten yourself, Robb Stark. You have conquered Westeros, paved the path for a new, fair dynasty. You’ve defeated the strongest and most well-armed army that has ever existed using only your wits and your charm.” Your grip on his hand tightened and you stepped closer. Your breath fogged up between you. “You became Warden of the North, then King. You helped the right woman regain her throne while giving freedom to your people.”

Your cold hand cupped his jaw, stroking the stubble that he let grow far longer than he should’ve. “But above all of that; you are a Stark. A wolf, a man who upholds his vows. You were forged from the winter and ice yet you blaze like dragon fire for those you love and I find myself so lucky that I get to be one of those rare few. So, we are here to remind you of just who you are.”

The kiss began slowly, your lips brushing against his but when Robb grabbed your wide hip with a crushing grip heat exploded within you. His tongue licked at your bottom lip as you both sank to your knees. You planted a hand upon his shoulder, encouraging him to lay back but Robb refused to budge, instead he gently laid you down, the fur keeping the snow from freezing your body.

Your legs parted, letting your husband nestle his hips against yours. You undid the ties of his trousers with an adeptness that betrayed your desperation. “So needy my love? One might think you enjoy being taken in the snow like an animal.”

“Like a wolf.” You moaned back, letting out a gasp as he breached you. Pleasure shot up his spine.

Robb rut into you like a dog, desperate, wild, right. It felt so raw but he couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t, because you were right. This was who he is. You pulled him closer, your lips fitting to his ear.

“My wolf.” Your cries vanished into the dawn.

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3lisiaowo · 2 months ago

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Haiii!! Love your writing and your bots!!! Could you write something for an autistic reader please? Maybe her having a meltdown and how a character (preferably one of the stark men) would react to it/help her? Or maybe how they react to the reader showing her current hyperfocus/fixation or special interest???

Hiyaa! I absolutely can! Apologies if there's anything wrong with this, not too familiar with meltdowns and such but did a bit of research :) Hopefully it's not too scuffed lol

Also couldn't choose which Stark man so I spun a wheel and got out lovely Robb! Hope it's up to your standards.

Robb Starks x autistic!user Thoughts.

Masterlist

Meltdown:

I feel like Robb would be attentive to all your needs. No matter what mood you're in, he's there to help. Though, I think all the Stark men would be in their own ways.

Robb would be able to sense the meltdown from a mile away. You had a bad day; everything seemed to be going wrong, and everything just felt wrong. You'd be tense and a more irritable, and he could see the way your fists clenched and your eyes squinted as the council meeting drags on.

He'd hate being unable to do much about it during such an event, and would find himself focusing more on you than the meeting, wondering when the moment is that you'll snap.

You manage to keep a grip on yourself until after the meeting, quickly withdrawing from any social activities and rushing back to yours and Robb's chambers—with Robb following close behind.

You'd be pacing the length of your chambers by the time he caught up with you, your breath heavy and fingers trembling as you fumbled with the laces of your dress, the fabric feeling uncomfortable and only adding to your frustrations.

The first time this had happened around him he had panicked a little, not quite knowing how to soothe you, but as time goes on he figures out all the little ways to comfort and help you.

Greywind seemed to always be the best option for comforting you. You enjoyed the softness of the direwolf's fur and the warmth that emitted from the soft beast. He'd help you out of your clothes once you found them too uncomfortable, helping you into one of his oversized shirts and his fur cloak. He'd make sure the fire is stoked, and you're comfortable on the bed with Greywind and would avoid touching you too much or in any way that may add to your state and would probably sit on the edge of the bed until you calmed down and when you did, he'd pull you into his lap, making sure you're nice and snug against him, letting you fall asleep on him.

Interests:

Your interests are definitely a little different from the usual high-born ladies, but Robb doesn't care. He adores the way you light up with excitement as you talk about your interests, finding adorable and endearing. He'd sit there for hours listening to you talk if he could. Alas, duties as King are endless and constant, especially in a time of war.

That doesn't stop him from listening to you in the evenings as the two of you lay together. You'd be curled against his side perhaps, Robb's fingers toying with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around his fingers as he listens to you talk. He'd let out little hums and add on a little to the conversation but is content to just listen to you, to watch the way you get excited over something you love. Greywind would probably be lying at the foot of the bed, giving your feet some much-needed warmth (wouldn't want to get frostbite and have your toes fall off now, would we?)

Robb doesn't care how silly or strange your interests are, he's just happy you're happy. Nothing makes him happier than seeing that excitement dancing behind your eyes as you fumbled to tell him something new about your interests.

#game of thrones x reader #3lisia asks #robb x you #robb stark x you #robb x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark x reader #robb stark #robb stark thoughts #autistic!reader #Robb x autistic!reader #game of thrones #asoiaf x you #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #grey wind

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asongofmarvelanddc · 1 year ago

Text

Duty PT6

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 5642

WARNINGS: none :)

SUMMARY: The Queen considers whether it is time to move on with her life, but the past is not so easily buried.

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

A/N: All will be revealed in time 👀 Please reblog, comment or send an ask so I can hear what you think! Really hope you enjoy this one 🫶🏾🥰

The rain up North is nothing like the summer showers you experienced back home. This rain stings and bites at your skin as it falls, but it doesn't send you back inside under the shade.

Today is the first time in a few days that you have been outside, breathing in the fresh air. Your moon blood came particularly harsh this time around and left you bedridden for two days. It was a terrible ordeal, but it allowed you to see another side to your husband.

This morning, you awoke with no pains. Although your body is still tired and weak, here you stand, in the rain, embracing the Northern cold and eagerly awaiting nightfall because surprisingly, you have missed spending your evenings with Robb.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Amiria calling your name.

"My Lady, what are you doing out in the cold?" she sounds panicked as she wraps a blanket around your shoulders, "Seven hells! You'll make yourself ill!"

You chuckle as you welcome the blanket and follow her back under the shade, "It's alright, I wasn't out there for long."

Amiria runs the blanket over your damp hair. "It is a good thing I found you. Any longer and you might catch a fever," she presses the back of her hand to your cheek, "You have just been unwell, you should not tempt fate, my Lady."

"I apologise, I did not mean to worry you," you smile warmly and give her a short hug to reassure her, "Found me? Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, Lady Stark has requested your presence in her quarters."

You're taken aback by this. Lady Stark, though pleasant since the wedding, has never once asked to speak to you alone.

"Did she tell you why she wants to see me?"

Amiria looks up at you and chuckles when she sees the nervousness that has settled into you.

"Don't be afraid," she says in a tone that suggests your anxiety is amusing to her, "She did not seem to be in a terrible mood."

"That is good," you breathe a sigh of relief, but your eyes remain apprehensive.

Amiria smirks and takes you by the arm, pulling you towards your chambers, "Come. Let us get you dry for the Queen Mother."

***

As soon as you enter the parlour, Catelyn rises to greet you at the door, embracing you before you even have a chance to curtsey. When she releases you, her smile turns into a frown as she cups your face with her hands.

"You still look a bit unwell, darling," she says, looking between your eyes, a hint of pity in her voice, "Come and sit, let us have some tea. Perhaps it will help you feel better."

You follow her to where a small table is set with all your favourite treats and a teapot to share between the two of you. She takes a seat in an armchair on one side of the table and you sit opposite her on the other side of the table. Without a word she begins to pour the tea for the both of you.

"Does it normally trouble you so?" she asks as she hands you a cup.

You take a grateful sip, smiling when that familiar warmth begins spreading in your chest. "Sometimes the Mother offers mercy and my bloods pass painlessly," you say, "Other times I am confined to my bed chambers for some days."

"Poor girl," her forehead wrinkles when she frowns, "I'll speak to Maester Luwin about giving you something that might take away your pain."

"Thank you, my Lady."

There's a pause in the conversation as you sip the mint tea and enjoy the warmth of the fire burning. Your worries begin to fade away as you relax in Catelyn's company.

“I see you’ve been spending much more time with my son as of late,” she says, breaking the silence, “I hear you’re with him in his study into the late hours of the night.”

It's an abrupt turn from your initial conversation, but you suppose it is normal for her to ask about her son.

“We talk mostly. Sometimes I sew while he works.”

A thin smile forms on Catelyn’s lips as she hums in response, “And what is it that you talk about?”

The question catches you off guard. It’s a bit impolite to ask about private conversations, but you would never dare to point out such a thing to your good-mother.

“I tell him about my family, what it was like growing up in the South,” you say hesitantly, “He talks about you, his family…his father and sisters.”

You can’t help but pity her when you see how she deflates at the mention of her lost family. Her eye twitches as she looks away, trying to stop her mask from slipping.

“He tells me stories about all of them as children,” a tender smile forms on your lips as you think back to the conversations, “It makes me wish I had siblings of my own to fight and play with.”

Catelyn nods again, but her smile seems even more strained than before. Your brows furrow in concern as you reach out to touch her knee.

“Lady Stark?”

She presses one hand to her lips, taking a moment to collect herself. Not a single tear falls from her eyes, though they come close. After only a few seconds, she blows out a breath and sits up properly in her chair, composed once again.

“He rarely talks about them with me,” she whispers, eyes downcast.

“I think he finds it easier to talk about them with someone who doesn’t know them,” you reassure her, “I assume it feels more like recalling a fond memory to a stranger than it does reminiscing about loved ones he’s lost.”

She nods her head, though she seems unconvinced. You can’t imagine the pain and fear she must be feeling knowing that her son has made an enemy of the same family who have her daughters in their grasp. That he is in open rebellion against the King who took her husband's head.

"He must trust you quite a bit."

You consider it for a moment, "I hope so. I would like to think he does."

"How have you been finding all of this? Being here, married to Robb?"

It is not a simple question to answer. In truth, you did not expect this much time to pass with your heart still refusing to fully open to Robb, nor his to you. Your mother always told you that falling in love is quick and simple, and in the past you found that to be true. But for some reason, it is slow and difficult with Robb.

A month since your wedding and you still hold each other at arms' length, merely allowing glimpses into your souls on occasion.

Instead of telling her an outright lie, you choose to focus on the good. "Your family have been so accommodating, as has Robb," you plaster a smile on your lips, "It has taken some time to adjust, but everyone has been so kind."

Judging by the look on Catelyn's face, she knows that you are hiding something. She doesn't come across as the kind of woman who is fooled easily.

“This may be crude of me, but I must ask," she begins, leaning forward ever so slightly, "This is your second time on the bloods since the wedding?"

It only takes you a second to decipher what exactly she is asking. You nod quickly, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Have you and Robb–?"

"We have not."

"The marriage is unconsummated?"

You nod again, averting your gaze in embarrassment. Catelyn looks off to the side, deep in thought. Each passing second only serves to make your stomach turn and your palms sweat.

Eventually, she turns back to you, but there is no anger nor shame in her eyes, only determination.

"I truly do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I must stress the importance of your consummation." She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that is only slightly intimidating.

"Your marriage is not valid until the act is done. And I need not remind you of your duty to each other as husband and wife, and as rulers of the North."

Children.

"I understand."

"Then why, may I ask, are you waiting?"

This time, there is a hint of frustration in her tone. She looks at you with eyes so piercing that for a moment you forget that you are not a child being scolded by her Septa. Yet, it is somehow worse because the person asking the question is your good-mother.

"We only wish to know each other better before we–" you cut yourself off to find the right words, "There is still time–"

"There is no time," Catelyn's patience seems to have worn thin, "Robb will return to the frontline before long. And only the gods know if he will come back."

That thought sends a chill down your spine. Robb may not be some great love, but the mere idea of his demise makes your heart sink to your stomach.

"I have been in your shoes before, Y/N," she says, her tone softer, "I did not know Ned very well when I first met him. I certainly didn't love him either. That comes with time."

Her words are optimistic. Reassuring. And they get you thinking.

"We all have our roles to play. It is time you and Robb started doing your part."

***

"She wants us to consummate."

Amiria sits on a stool beside your bath, washing all the grease and dirt out of your hair while you soak in the warm water.

"But His Grace said that you do not have to if you don't wish to, no?" she asks.

You sigh deeply, "That is true. But I'm starting to believe that she may be right."

The longer you think about her words, the more they cut deep. You have been ignoring the reality of your situation, going through the motions and capitalising on Robb's busy schedule to avoid hard truths.

Robb is your husband now, and the North is your home. That will never change. This is not King’s Landing where you will have to endure for a time and be rescued. This is your life, forever. And deep down in your heart you know that if you are to start a new life, you must let go of the old one.

Without warning, tears begin to well in your eyes and blur your vision. This is not the life you imagined for yourself. To never experience love, you were prepared for – you always knew that your marriage would be arranged, and if love never happened with your husband, you would’ve been content given he was kind and gentle.

But this? To have loved and lost it? To know what it feels like and know that you will never have it again? It’s a pain you would not wish on anyone.

And Robb. He is kind, and he cares…somewhat. But he does not love you. And if he loves Elyse the way you have loved, then you know he will never love you. That is the hard truth.

You bury your head in your hands and let the tears flow. Amiria crouches down beside the bath and wraps her arms around you, letting you sob into her shoulder.

"I hate to see you in such pain, my Lady," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

The day you left King's Landing, your heart was shattered. A part of you has been holding on to him for so long because it is a reminder that what you shared was real. And how could you repay the love he gave by letting it go?

Selfishly, you want him to be happy, to have moved on. You pray that he has forgotten you. Maybe then you would not be riddled with guilt over letting him go. The truth is, you have responsibilities that you can shirk no longer. And you cannot be a good wife with him still in your heart.

With a deep, shaky breath, you pull away from Amiria and wipe your eyes, splashing your face with the bath water to calm yourself down.

Once your heart stops racing and your breathing relaxes, you turn to Amiria, "Could you fetch my robe, please?"

She hesitates momentarily before doing it. You climb out of the bath and slip on the robe, walking to your dresser with Amiria following close behind.

"Help me dress."

Your sudden switch from distress to being resolute is alarming to Amiria. She stares in bewilderment as you begin to get ready. "Where are you going?"

"I always visit Robb in the evenings," you say, "It is the perfect time to raise the topic of consummation."

Amiria places a hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. She looks straight into your eyes and asks sincerely, "Are you sure that you are ready to take that step?"

You know that you are not ready, but you also know that it is time to stop living in the past. It is exhausting, and it hurts you more than it makes you happy. You want to believe that you can be happy here, if you only give it a chance.

"Yes. I'm sure."

***

It’s not a question that Robb has a face any woman would love to look at. You see the way women giggle and blush when he smiles as he walks past them. The way they always seem to crowd when he spars with Ser Rodrik. You understand, you like to look at him too. He’s really quite…beautiful, but it’s more than that.

His guard is never lower than when he is in this solar working, and you like to watch the way he does things when he is not concerned with appearances. These are the moments when you see the truest version of him. His brows knitting together when he reads something particularly unpleasant, the way he occasionally looks up at you and offers a sweet smile. He curses sometimes. It used to shock you, but you find it amusing now.

Your admiration grows the more you see him like this, constantly fighting through mental and physical fatigue to lead his people and be there for his family. When he talks to you about them, you wonder if he has even had time to properly grieve his father, or if that is yet another thing he has pushed aside for the sake of his responsibilities. It breaks your heart to think so.

Most mornings you wake up alone because he is up by the crack of dawn. And at night, you leave him here in this study, working into the late hours. You see the bags under his eyes and the way he pauses every so often to massage his shoulders and neck. He takes on…too much.

Sitting across from him tonight, all you can think about are Catelyn's words. How do you even begin to discuss such a sensitive topic? Especially when he is under so much pressure?

Your mother says it is time we consummated our marriage. Shall we start making love?

Ridiculous.

Robb stops his writing for a moment to crack his knuckles and stretch his back, and as he puts down his writing quill, he looks up and catches you staring. You quickly tear away your gaze, returning to your embroidery and ignoring the rising heat on your neck and chest.

Robb knows you well enough now that he can tell when there is something disturbing you.

"What is on your mind?" he asks, leaning forward to give you his full attention.

This is your opportunity to broach the subject, but for some reason, you are unable to form the words. So you tell him something else.

“Just that I...forgot to tell you something. I went into town the day before I fell ill.”

Robb sits up a little, visibly concerned, “Alone?”

“No, Amiria went with me. And a few guards.”

He relaxes then, leaning forward once again.

“We took some food and clothes to the homes sheltering the children orphaned in this war,” you say, “I wanted to be sure they’re being taken care of.”

He looks pleasantly surprised. “That is very kind of you. I had not thought to do that yet.”

You wave a hand and shake your head. “Of course not. You already have so much on your plate,” you gesture to his cluttered desk, “I have never ran a household much less an entire castle before, so I leave it to your mother. I’m just trying to do what little I can to support your efforts.”

You return to your embroidery, but Robb doesn't take his eyes off you. He knows there is still something eating at you and yet you refuse to say it. Suddenly he's full of regret. Perhaps, if he had not been so determined to dislike you at first, you would not still hide behind your wall.

Eventually, he looks away from you with a sigh, picking up a letter from his unopened pile and breaking the seal. You glance up at him, relieved that he has broken his scrutinising stare.

“What are you reading?” you ask, attempting to change the topic.

“A report from our scouts.”

You sit up properly, now curious, “How goes the search for Arya?”

Robb puts down the letter a little forcefully and run his hands through his hair in frustration. That about tells you all you need to know.

"Have you thought any more about what I suggested? About the Owls?”

This is a conversation that has already been had before. Multiple times. Robb turned down your father's offer, and he has rejected yours as well each time you've brought it up. At this point, he is tired of reiterating his position.

“I have already told you that I have no intention of using them,” his tone is clipped when he speaks, and he attempts to busy himself with other work to end the conversation.

His efforts are futile because you refuse to let it go, “They would be inside the Red Keep within hours of receiving your letter–“

“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

“–and they would have Sansa on the road back to Winterfell within days.”

“I am not going to use spies.”

“Sansa is not–,” you pause mid-sentence to gather yourself, “Sansa is not safe with Joffrey.”

Robb sighs deeply and rubs his tired eyes with his hands, "Do you think I am unaware of that?”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t use them,” you press, “Do you doubt their capabilities?”

“No, I am sure they are very capa–“

“Because they managed to smuggle me out of King’s Landing without issue,” you cut him off, “Daenerys Targaryen is alive in Essos today because of them.”

“Enough!”

You flinch at the sound of his raised voice. Instantly your heart starts racing, the hairs on your body standing on end. For a second, only a mere second, you are back in King's Landing, and you are terrified.

“I am fighting this war with honour,” he continues, his voice now back to normal, “This is the last time I will have this discussion, do you understand me?”

He stares you down for a few seconds until he thinks you have dropped it. You wait until he relaxes some before speaking.

“Your enemy would pay a starving child two coppers and a loaf of stale bread to poison your supper,” you say in the calmest tone you can muster, “Spying ought not be where you draw the line.”

You rise to your feet and walk to the door, ignoring Robb’s burning gaze. As you place your hand on the handle, you turn to him once more.

“I don’t suppose you will be retiring for the night?”

He begins shuffling some papers on his desk, “No, I still have much to do before the morn.”

You don’t believe him, but you nod anyways. “Very well, then. I shall bid you goodnight.”

Once you step outside and close the door, you lean against the wall of the corridor, sucking in the cold air and placing a hand over your chest to slow your heart. Hot tears burn behind your eyes – not of sadness, but of anger.

It took one word – one little word – and you were back there at the lowest point you've ever been. It's a reminder that all the pain and hurt inflicted by that monster is still inside you. And it hurts that Robb was the one to bring it to the surface.

***

When Robb eventually retires for the night, he half-expects you to be waiting for him, ready to continue the conversation from earlier, so he's surprised to find you curled up under the blankets on your side of the bed.

A few of the candles in the room are still lit – he knows you left them burning for his benefit. He uses the dim lighting to make his way around the room, removing his jerkin shirt as he does so. It gets hot in the room because even with the natural heating from the hot springs, you still insist on having a fire built every night before you sleep. Robb doesn't object to this because he knows you can't sleep in the freezing cold – but it does mean he now sleeps in as little clothes as possible.

He hears you stir when he walks to your side of the room and blows out the candles there, but he ignores it and returns to his side before climbing into the bed. As always, he turns his back to you, stares into the darkness and listens to your breathing.

Steady.

"I know you're awake," he says after a moment.

He's not sure you know that you snore when you sleep. It's not bothersome at all, the sound resembles the light purring of a kitten. On nights where sleep eludes him, the sound helps to calm his mind and lull him into a slumber.

That is how he knows that you are only pretending to sleep.

You don't stir, and after a while he assumes that you are choosing to ignore him. The moment he closes his eyes, he hears your voice call out to him.

"Robb?"

He hums in response, not wanting to seem too eager to reconcile.

"Don't ever raise your voice to me in that manner again."

Your tone is flat and unemotional, but the words are extremely sobering for Robb. He's rendered speechless, and no other words are spoken by either of you that night.

***

The bridge connecting the Great Keep to the Armoury offers the best view of the courtyard in Winterfell. That is where you go to forget your troubles, distracting yourself with the activities happening below you. But even watching the bustling of people fails you this afternoon. All you can think about is the night before.

Deep down you know that you provoked Robb into having that row, simply to avoid having a difficult conversation. You did not realise that was what you were doing until you had some time to yourself. And yet, you cannot seem to stop yourself from thinking about Robb's reaction.

He has never presented himself as a man who is quick to anger.

Neither did Joffrey. Not at first.

You shake those thoughts out of your head almost as soon as you have them. Robb is not like Joffrey, of that you are certain. He is...attentive, in the ways that matter.

Not a single stew or soup has been served to you since you told him about your unusual diet. He found out you enjoy lemon cakes, and before long there was a lemon tree growing in the glass garden. And not once has he complained about the fire you keep burning in your chambers before you sleep even though you know he despises the heat.

Joffrey was never that way, even before he revealed his true colours.

Perhaps this is all you will ever have, you don't have to love him to bear his children. A kind husband is more than most have. Shouldn't that be enough?

It is at this moment that Robb arrives at the top of the bridge, emerging from the armoury with Lord Umber in tow. He sees you standing there, right in the middle of the bridge, looking out onto the courtyard. There's a distant look in your eyes as you stare down, and Robb knows exactly what is weighing on your heart.

You don't notice him or Lord Umber until they are only a few steps away from you, at which point you quickly stand up straight.

"Your Grace," you curtsey to Robb as you always do around other people.

Lord Umber bows his head to you, "Your Grace."

"My Lady, this is Lord Umber. You might remember meeting him at our wedding feast?"

His face is unfamiliar, "My apologies, Lord Umber, I met quite a few people that night."

"No need to apologise, Your Grace," he laughs heartily, "The ale flowed freely that night, I'm not sure I remember our meeting either."

All three of you share a laugh at that, but before the conversation can continue any further, Robb turns to Lord Umber.

"Lord Umber, might you wait for me by my solar? I would like to speak to my wife in private."

"Of course, Your Grace." he bows his head to you both and walks past you towards the Great Keep.

Robb turns to you once you're alone, but he does not speak. He notices that the smile you put on for Lord Umber has faded, and the sadness in your eyes has returned. Your words from the night before play over in his mind, as they have been all morning. He knows that your upset at this present moment is because of him and only him, and for that, he's ashamed.

After a moment, he turns to face the courtyard, arms resting against the railing. You watch him, curious about his troubled expression, before joining him. Your forearm brushes against his as you stand next to him, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm sorry for raising my voice at you," he says, eyes downcast, "I did not mean to frighten you, and I will never do it again."

You didn't expect an apology, not for this. Many men have done worse to their wives without a second thought, but as you glance at Robb out of the corner of your eye, it is clear that he is remorseful. It warms your heart.

"Thank you," you whisper, "And I am sorry too."

"What for?"

"Picking a fight," you look up at him, "I should not have taken your decision so personally."

Robb nods briefly, accepting your apology – one he is surprised to receive because he knows that you still believe he is making the wrong choice.

"I'm trying to be like my father," he explains with a heavy sigh, "I want to fight this war in the most honourable way I can. And if I resort to spying and trickery to win, how would I be any different to my enemies? To Joffrey?"

At those words, you turn your head sharply to look at him. Your eyes soften when they meet his.

"You are a good man, Robb. Nothing like Joffrey."

The hint of a smile plays on his lips.

"I know you don't believe this, but I truly do value your advice," he says, "Even if I don't always agree, I would still like to know your opinion on those choices. Don't ever hesitate to tell me what you think."

You stand side by side, overlooking the courtyard. Down by the guest house, a little boy and girl are wrestling in the mud. Within seconds, a woman who you assume is their mother appears by their side and begins scolding them over their spoiled garments. She pulls them away from the scene by their ears, the two children giggling as she does so.

You and Robb both laugh as this unfolds, revelling in the innocence and mischief of childhood.

"They remind me of Arya and Bran," he says, a mournful look in his eyes.

The same urge to console him when he first opened up to you about his father overwhelms you once again. But instead of drawing back, this time, you place your hand over his, and he welcomes it without hesitation.

You lean against his shoulder and give his hand a comforting squeeze as he absent-mindedly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. A simple touch but it’s enough to make you wish things were different.

"Do you think we will ever be happy?" you suddenly ask, "The way my mother and father are? The way yours were?"

Robb doesn't know how to respond to that. Mostly because in the midst of this seemingly endless war, he has been unable to envision life beyond it. But judging by your question, you may have started to, so it may be time for him to start as well.

He looks down at you with a thoughtful expression. "I don't know," he answers honestly, "But I hope so."

That makes you smile. You hold his gaze for a moment, only tearing your eyes away when the deep blue of his begin to grow too intense for your comfort.

You chuckle nervously and nod your head towards the Great Keep as you stand up straight, "Lord Umber must be waiting for you."

Robb blinks as if the fact had slipped his mind. "Of course," he says quickly with a bow and you regret that he chose to be so formal.

You watch him as he walks away, but he stops after a few paces and turns back to face you.

"I'm going into town later, I thought you might accompany me if you'd like," his tone is cheery, "I have some business to attend to, but you can visit the market while we're there?"

It is a kind offer, but you simply want to be alone with your thoughts for now.

"I'm afraid I'm not feeling up to it today," you say apologetically, "But I thank you for the invitation."

Robb is disappointed with your answer to say the least, but he does not let it show. Instead, he nods in understanding with a wistful smile and heads back inside, leaving you alone on the bridge.

You turn your attention back to the courtyard, resting your arms on the railing and letting out a deep sigh. That is when you notice the very familiar silhouette of a man.

His back is to you while he talks to another man just outside the armoury. Even though he's far away and you cannot see his face, he looks too familiar.

There is absolutely no chance.

You lean so far forward that only a few inches more and you'd fall over the railing. The man throws his head back and laughs. Instantly a pit forms in your stomach.

You know that laugh.

Your body begins to move faster than you can think. Within seconds you've hitched up your skirts and ran back into the Great Keep. Your heart is beating out of your chest with every step down the stairs. There are no thoughts in your head. All you hear is that laugh and the thumping of your heart.

In the courtyard there's people bustling about everywhere. You want to scream at them to stop moving so that you can see. To stop talking so that you can think. Your shoes and the bottom of your dress are caked in mud as you run from one end of the courtyard to the other, frantically searching for him.

The armoury. He was standing in front of the armory.

You take off running in that direction, stepping in puddles and all kinds of dirt and muck on the way. Once inside, you stop to catch your breath, panting heavily as you look around, hoping to catch sight of him. All you see are large, oily men carrying pounds of steel, shields, armour and all sorts.

You begin to wonder if you only imagined seeing him. Your mind playing some kind of sick trick on you. It wouldn't be surprising considering everything that has happened recently.

Just as you are about to let it go, a hand grabs your shoulder and turns you around.

The black hair. Those blue eyes.

You forget how to breathe for a moment. Completely frozen in shock. It's like the whole building goes silent and all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You're sure he calls your name, but you find yourself incapable of doing anything but stare at him in confusion and awe.

This is not real. This is not real.

You cannot allow yourself to believe that this is happening because the devastation if it's not real is not one you will recover from easily. With a shaky hand, you reach out to touch his face. Before you can even cup his cheek, he takes your hand and leans into it.

A stuttered breath escapes your lips as tears start to flow freely down your cheeks.

"Gendry."

Special thanks to these lovely people (and extra shoutout to everyone who called it 😉) Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💞 (@’s in bold I can’t seem to tag :/):

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megsironthrone · 1 year ago

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A Secret Heir?

Based on this request: Hey if it’s something you are up too maybe one where Arthur Dayne had a secret daughter, she has his sword skills and somehow she end up in winterfell when Robert is here, they all recognized her as the true heir of Arthur and she end up with Robb stark ? Maybe with her by his side he would be able to survive 😂

Here you are! I apologize for the wait! *Familiar Characters are NEVER mine!*

Warnings: Slight angst and fluff. It's a little shorter than my usual fics.

Pairings/Characters: Robb Stark x fem!reader, Robert Baratheon, Eddard "Ned" Stark.

You could feel the king's eyes on you as you trained. He'd been doing that since he arrived in Winterfell. Whenever you glanced over at him, his blue eyes were riveted on you, but he spoke quietly to your guardian. You weren't exactly sure as to why and that bothered you. Still, you said nothing to the king himself. You didn't want to embarrass Lord Stark. Not after he'd been so kind to you. But then you heard him say something that surprised you.

"I swear, she reminds of him each time I watch." Your brows furrowed and you turned to look at the king. As you opened your mouth to ask, you saw something from the corner of your eye. You rolled your eyes before blocking Robb's blow. "Come on, Stark. You should know better than that by now." Robb chuckled, earning a smile from you. The two of you went back to training and you resolved to speak to the king at a later time.

You wouldn't get the chance to speak to the king for many days after over-hearing his comment, but the words stuck with you. Who could you possibly remind the king of? Your father, perhaps. "What is on your mind, my love?" Robb's soft voice reached your ears. You smiled at him. You weren't sure when you'd fallen in love with Robb, but you would be thankful every day that he was in your life loving you.

"Something the king said. I remind him of someone. A man, I think. But I'm not certain who I could possibly remind the king of. Probably my father, but I never knew the king new my father." Robb hummed in thought as his arms wrapped around your middle. "Perhaps we should ask Father." You hummed a little. You hated bothering Lord Stark with such trivial matters. Then again, he was soon to be your goodfather so perhaps you could, just once.

"My Lord?" you called out when you saw him again. The older man stopped and turned to you with a smile. You approached him quickly with Robb on your heels. "What has you both in such a hurry?" Robb merely pointed at you. "Lord Stark…Who do I remind the king of?" Ned's lips turned down into a frown and you could see he was hesitant to answer.

"Please. Is it my father? Does he hate my father too?" Lord Stark looked taken aback by the fierceness in your tone. "Y/N, love," Robb stated quietly, but Ned cut him off, "I do not hate your father, Y/N. I respected him, but I fear you will hate me if you knew the truth. The king does not hate him either, though he does not know that you are the daughter of-"

"Ser Arthur Dayne," the king's booming voice cut in, making you jump. You curtsied. "Your father hid you," Ned explained, "Because he was a knight. He was never allowed to marry and was never meant to have children while his vows were still being honored. That's why-"

"That's why I'm a bastard and always will be," you replied, "I knew my father tried to protect me, but I never knew why." You glanced at Robb. Now that your true parentage had been revealed to the king, would Robb still be able to marry you? He was the son of a lord and you were a bastard.

As if reading your mind, the king snapped out, "Don't look so glum, girl! Just because you're a bastard now doesn't mean you always will be." Your brows furrowed. The two older gentlemen simply stared at you as they waited for you to catch on. Robb chuckled lightly and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side.

"The king can legitimize you. He could give you a title or whatever else is necessary to ensure our marriage is legitimate." You glanced back at the king with wide eyes as you silently begged him to consider it. He laughed at your expression, something you noticed he loved to do. "I think, given who your father was, you'd be a good Lady of the Winterfell in the future. I already see the most infuriating parts of your father in you, but Ned here sees the best parts of him." Without another word, the kind walked away.

"So, we can still marry?" you asked Ned softly and he smiled. "Yes, you can still marry. Between us, Robert has a soft spot for a real love like yours and Robb's. He would do anything to keep two people so in love together, including legitimizing you simply so you can marry."

Ned's words seemed to be law because, before you knew it, you and Robb married two nights before Ned left with your goodsisters to King's Landing. Robb was thrust into the position of acting as Lord of Winterfell in Ned's absence and you were right by his side, ready to offer whatever your new husband needed from you.

And when Ned was executed and war began, you were right there, fighting alongside Robb. You vowed that death would be the only thing to separate you and Robb. With the skills your father taught you, you were determined to keep you both alive as long as possible. Nothing would take Robb from you. Not war. Not the Lannisters. Not the Freys. You were your father's daughter after all.

(a/n: I hope you like it! I really could not figure out how to end it.)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @etherealpotter @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @gruffle1 @smalltownbigheart @supernatural4life2022

Robb Stark Tags: @multi-fandom-imagines8 @silversprings98 @i-padfootblack-things

#game of thrones #george r.r. martin #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb x reader

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what-the--curtains · 2 years ago

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Fire & Ice

Chapter 6 - Dances & Diatribes

(Robb Stark x f!Targaryen!Reader)

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Summary: Tenuous bridges are built with the arrival of a wedding present from across the Narrow Sea. Bridges that are tested by a visit to the Vale

Authors note: She's Baaaaaaaack (by unpopular demand) Let me know if you want to be untagger I know I've been gone a while!

TW: Fighting, Swearing (maybe?), mentions of blood, hallucinations, alcohol

Taglist: @kittykylax @winxschester @mihrimahsultan03 @stargaryenx @the-desilittle-bird @roselibrary @luxlisbonlover @r1dd1kulus

Word count: 5.1k

Playlist

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Snow dusts the foliage around you. The quiver hangs on your back, reigns grasped loosely. A hushed barter with a stable boy allowing your escape for a few hours most mornings. The woods are silent this hour. You basque in the quiet knowing the men would soon return from the front. The sky glows copper as the sun rises, blood has been spilled.

You slow your horse to a walk stopping when tracks appear in the distance. Three pronged digits jut out from a large base, the prints were uncanny, unfamiliar, distorted. The air goes silent as you raise your bow. No birds chirped above, no crunch of the frosted ground beneath you, no wisp of the wind.

Nothing. Not even the sound of your own breath reached your ears.

Something is watching you.

You turn and a chill shoots down your spine, every hair on your neck lifted. Your heartbeat fills the empty space as cold breath hits your neck. You grab an arrow and drive it backwards, but it falls to the ground imprinting in the snow that dusted the remaining grass, the sound of the forest returning.

Your hand reaches back again and you fire into the nearby bush pheasants flocking upwards and you shoot two down.

You were spending too much time alone, too much time with your head buried in books full of tales meant to scare children. The chilling legends that had always managed to find themselves lodged in your head. These occurrences were the last thing you needed, a senseless distraction.

You prayed Jorah's return with the rest of the men would settle you, though you hesitate to share your visions with him considering your lineage. Unless it progressed further, it was best kept a secret.

In addition to the sense of comfort you hoped Jorah would provide insight into Talisas departure, you had your suspicions but you weren't one to breathe life into rumour before it was fact. The thoughts are fleeting and they dissipate as you dismount inside the stable. Coming forward to thank the mare for her efforts.

“Thank you for lending her to me, and for your discretion,” you say to the sable haired boy appearing from the shadows of a stall he was cleaning. He smiles, but it drops slightly as footsteps approached. Had it followed you back from the woods? You look over your shoulder to see Robb freshly returned from war, unwashed and bloodied.

“Fear not, he is not nearly as ferocious as he looks, and he only turns into a wolf on the battlefield” you whisper to the boy who smiles.

“You ride?” Robb asks, rinsing his hands of blood in a nearby barrel.

“A long time ago, in another life,” you admit, your wedding gift from Drogo passing through your mind. You hand the saddle to the boy who runs off as quickly as he came.

“You're working in the stables now, is he sharing his pay with you?” Robb asks.

“Yes, and you should pay him more, it's hard work. Do not blame him I am very convincing,”

“Seems people find you impossible to refuse,”

“I can think of at least one person always ready to refuse me,”

“Your lack of broken neck suggests you ride well, you should take your pick'' Robb states, “save for the white mare, she's mine. ” he relays storking the creature's speckled face, one of his fathers final gifts to him.

“She’s beautiful, do the rest not have owners,” you ask, hanging the pheasant on the wall as the boy leads the horse back into the stable, you hang them on the wall as you wash your hands of the mud.

‘Four in the back lost their riders, they would do well to have someone keep them in shape, try them, choose your favourite. Did Ser Darrion shoot these?” he asks, before you have time to thank him.

“I shot them, your Grace.” His eyes flit to you then back to the birds “they go to the boy, he takes them to his family, that was part of our deal,” you relay pulling them down off the wall “He wanted nothing of course but I told him to never do anything for free, especially if the person asking is wealthy,” Robb’s laugh catches you off guard

“Aren’t you angry,” you ask, turning to make sense of the lightness you felt in the conversation.

“Quite the opposite. You’ll have to teach my youngest sister, Arya when… if we find her,” he relays, stone faced. “She would like you,” he admits.

“I look forward to meeting her,”

“His family must be well fed, you're a good shot,” Robb says, looking the birds over.

“I've been hunting for a long time your Grace, though Visery didn't think it a very lady-like hobby so naturally…”

“Well my mother would agree, but if it keeps you out of my hair for a few hours I see it as a benefit to our union,”

“Did you come here to land an insult or was there something else you needed?” you ask

“I believe I just paid you a compliment,” he states

“What was your intended purpose here then?”

“A gift arrived late last night, a wedding present for you,” he says as you re-don your cloak.

“A compliment, a horse and a gift. Seems a very fortunate day for me. Why haven't you opened it yourself?” You ask, looking down in confusion at his arm extended to you.

“They are not addressed to me” he states, “And we may as well look the part” you link your arm in his and exit the stable. Appearances were crucial now, and any effort on his part at this point seemed miraculous. “You’ve grown more accustomed to the cold, last I saw you wore three cloaks when you went outside,”

“We run warm, I just needed some time to adapt,” You explain, though the heat radiating from your arm was welcome as days grew colder.

“Blood of the dragon, I almost forgot,’ Robb states.

“Was that a joke your Grace,” you ask looking at him.

“Was that a compliment?” he replies, mouth cautiously upturned.

“I don't recall saying it was funny,” you remark dryly as he pulls the tent flaps open. Perhaps there was a reason his men followed him to death after all, now he was no longer blaming you for his anguish; he was, dare you say it, tolerable. Your heart skips seeing Darrion inside, and you instinctively drop Robb's arm.

“Ser Darrion, Ser Jorah,” you address “It does my eyes good to see you both alive and unharmed,” your eyes trail down to the chest before them.

“Thank you Ser Mormont for delivering this to us, safely and for ensuring it is not tampered with,” Robb states, so Jorah had brought them back.

“Who are they from?” you ask

“An Iilyrio Mopatis, you stayed with him a while as a child after the maesters. I told him you were married and he said he had been saving it for the last true dragon,”

“Rheagar was the last true dragon,” you reply, “but I will not refuse a gift from someone who cared for me when the rest of the world would not. I will entrust you with a letter of thanks that is to be delivered to him, I will write it myself,”

“Yes, your Grace,” Jorah replies

“You may leave us,” Robb finishes throwing his gloves down on the desk. Your eyes involuntarily stuck on Ser Darrion as he bows, his own eyes trailing up your body causing a heat to flush throughout your inside.

“Are you going to open it?” Robb mutters, removing his blood stained linens and rinsing himself with the water from the basin, warmed by the hearth burning beneath it.

“Have you always been so impatient or are you just used to getting what you want?” you prod playfully, looking over your shoulder quickly.

“I have always been good at getting my own way,” he relays

“Privilege of being the eldest,” you replay, kneeling before the chest on the floor.

“Topped only by the preference for the youngest,” he counteracts, watching your hands ghost over the box, hesitantly.

“It has been checked, both by Jorah and Darrion, though I can open it if you…”

“I am fine your Grace, just admiring the craftsmanship, appears to be welded in Dothraki gold,” you click the latches open slowly pushing the wooden lid eyes widening as the contents are revealed.

“What has he sent?” Robb asks, unable to hide his curiosity, noting the look on your face your hands reach in, pulling out an egg, the size of a man's head, a bright gold.

“Dragon eggs,” you reply breathlessly, wonderment plastered on your features as your hands trace down the scales, warming them. “Three of them.”

“All gold?” Robbs queries, watching you intently as you carefully place the first down on the hearth.

“No. It’s rare any within a brood are remotely alike,” You lift the other two together, one black and one green reuniting them with the gold on the hearth.

“Dragon eggs have to be kept warm if you want them to hatch, they cannot survive in the cold and before you start I know they are decorative in a likelihood, but you have your gods and we have ours. To leave them in the cold would be disrespectful,” you explain looking up to meet Robbs own gaze of bewilderment at the mythology placed before him.

He pulls a clean shirt on and sits down in his chair rolling up his sleeves before decanting wine into a glass, watching curiously as your hands gently stroke the scales of the matte coloured eggs illuminated by the embers.

“I realise now I know nothing about you, or your family or your beliefs. Well apart from what I assume are the most horrifying details and some of which I assume to be less than true,”

“Whose fault is that?” you counter eyes still on the eggs, hands trailing across them.

“Must you always be so difficult,”

“Me?” you begin, but when you turn towards an argument he's smiling at the wall, so you forgo it. It was the first time he had asked you a question about yourself, the first time either of you had to be fair. “Well some of the atrocities are certainly elevated though many I fear to inform you are true. Tell me then, your highness, what it is you wish to know,”

“Is it your highness now? Is that better or worse than your grace,”

“I am only trying to uphold the standard of address you set for me when we first met,”

“Tell me about the dragons. They were the only part of my lessons I could focus on from what I remember,”

“Oh I find it hard to believe you were anything but the perfect student. Would you like to hear the truths or the myths?” you ask and gently stroking the tops of the eggs, the scales lining the shell shine in the flames, and for a moment you swear you feel them beating.

“Are they different?”

“You have much to learn your Grace,” you replay standing, brushing off the ash from your skirts.

“Then teach me, perhaps some of your ability to perceive strategy will rub off on me,”

“As much as it pains me to say, you would survive without me, most of my conclusion are easily found once you know what you're looking at,”

“Yet none seem to find them,” he replies

“Was that another compliment? Two in one day, have I strayed into a dream?” you joke

“Eye for an eye,” he replies, a playfulness playing off you both, previously unknown.

“Very well, I concede, what would you like to hear about the dragon's your highness”, you ask, curtseying, causing Robb to shake his head.

“Where did they come from?” he asks as you pour yourself a glass of wine. It was bitter compared to that you'd had in Dorne, but you were growing accustomed to it.

“Depends on the source. Some say they were born from deep beneath the mountains. When Westeros and Essos parted and the earth cracked open, ash and fire rained down from the sky as dragons crawled out from the centre of the world. Others say they fell from the moon, a gift from the gods,”

“Why was your family so favoured by the gods,”

“The gods simply placed the dragons on this earth, the Targaryens learnt to train them,”

“How did they manage that?” he continues.

“My fore-bearers knew of their breeding grounds, before kings and kingdoms existed, before Targaryens and Starks and Lannisters and Baratheons. We lived alongside them in trust until a rule was broken. An egg stolen, dragons devastated bruning the land before them,”

“Creating the red waste,” Robb finishes, enraptured in your words glad for your immersion in tale lest you see his stare, one he could not seem to deter as the warmth of the light illuminated your features drawing him further in.

“See, the perfect student,” he chuckles, “ Well the dragon went into hiding as the kingdom of men grew, and relationships strained. It became a tradition, a ritual, a rite of passage; it was the entrance into Targearyn lineage. Before the incest and the inbreeding a Targaryean was any who would be bold enough to survives the dragons nest and return with the eggs. Then it became a customary practice of marriage and engagement, and eventually even a gift for children, but populations dwindled. The dragons became few and populations inbred shrinking them making them vulnerable and weak in the mind, an easy correlation perhaps to my own family history,” you admit sadly, swilling your wine around in the glass. “You know, we once rode them to war,”

“I have heard that tale, They said your forefathers would ride to war a back them,”

“It is not merely a tale nor was it only the men. Women rode alongside their husbands; you'll find that in any book you read.”

“Will I,” he challenges

“Are you calling me a liar,” you press

“Perhaps I'll believe it if I ever see it, for now the hour grows late, so I must call a truce,” he states, weary from battle, your tales having entranced him into a state of relaxation he rarely felt.

“I accept,” you reply, placing the glass down, going once more to the eggs to bid them goodnight. Your arm reaches down but they are caught before they make contact. You look up to Robb whose thumb runs gently over your wrist. “You’ll burn your hands beyond repair touching those now…” he drops your wrist, realising the intimacy of the moment “ without gloves at least,” words fail you, but he clears his throat.

“There is another piece of business that demands a truce,” he admits and you look at him. “ We are stopping at the twins. My grandfather survived another year, he is to celebrate his name day at the Vale, and my mother demands our attendance. I agreed with her on the sole condition that more support is needed if we are to win. While you need not attend, I believe you would be an asset,”

“Truly,”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“If you believe I will be useful, then we shall attend,”

“Be warned, since her husband's death my aunt has gone somewhat mad, try not to take offence,”

“Salt helps well with the blisters,” he says, nodding down to your hand “They stop forming once practise with the blade is consistent, they should heal up by the time you meet my grandfather, I do not know what kind of chastising I will get for allowing you near a weapon. Also, it may also be best if you address my by my name when around family,”

“Is your grace giving me permission to forgo his initial request?”

“Robb, is very much indeed asking that of you,”

“Very well, if your grace demands it, who am I to refuse,” the haze of the wine had seeped into the surrounding air, the whole room slightly out of focus when you blew out the candle and pulled the furs over your shoulders. “Goodnight, Robb,”

“Goodnight Rhaeanya,”

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The Vale

Light blue garments adorned your body, intricate silver clutching around your waistline flowing up into trees and woodland scenery and downwards into roots, starks colours for the night.

“You look well,” Robb says, offering his arm as you meet him by the base of the stairs.

“As do you,” you reply, taking it, you had arrived a few hours ago from the front, Cat had arrived early in the morning. The ride to Riverrun was silent for the most part, Robb having fallen asleep, saving you the need for unnecessary small talk, less chance of irritating the other.

“The celebration is due to begin shortly but I will first introduce you to my aunt ,nephew and grandfather,”

“Lysa, Robyn and Hoster,” you list

“Very Good, my Uncles will likely be here as well, The blackfish and Edmure. The former is interesting and the other is relatively useless but harmless.”

“Lots of family, once again my job is much harder than yours. I only had one and that proved so difficult for you to remember you killed him,” you state, relieved by Robb’s huff of amusement.

“Best behaviour, just for Lysa and my grandfather, the rest well they are easier to converse with,” your feet almost trip over one another when you enter the large room, taken aback by the woman sitting high atop a throne nursing what appeared to be an eight year old boy.

“Lady Arryn,” you curtsey “I wish to thank you for your hospitality, your home is truly a work of fine craftsmanship, and its upkeep impeccable,”

“The last time I saw a Targaryen here was when I was a few years younger than you, I believed you all dead,” she states, a carelessness that implied neither malice or hatred, neutrality was better than you had expected.

“We are sturdy folk, hard to be rid of my lady, and my lord. Your son looks well, may I ask his name”

“Robyn,” she replies, the boy looked sickly with large eyes and runny nose perched atop a somewhat frail frame.

“Robyn Arryn, a gentle name, but a strong one as well. One of good fortune and friendship, it is a name as high as honour one that carries the Tully spirit with the Arryn name,” she smirks.

“And your name,” she asks

“Rhaeanya, my lady,”

“Flowing with grace in the common tongue, we shall see if that holds true,” she replies, sushing Robyn who had begun pulling at her hair.

“I hope it does, my Lady“

“And what of you my beloved nephew come forward you need not stand in her shadow of all places. The king in the north , avenging your father and your uncle against the evils birthed of lannister incest.”

“Thank you aunt, your husband gave his life for my family, that will not be forgotten, but I must see the guest of honour before the festivities begin,”

“He is with your mother, and Edmure no doubt gossiping without me,”

“It was lovely to meet you lady arryn and you as well lord robyn,” you smile at the boy whose brown eyes stare at you as if you were an apparition. Though your features were likely obscure in the north especially to a boy who hardly left the tower walls.

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“Please my lord do not rise on my behalf,” you begin

“Fear not you grace, I am old but I am not dead yet,”

“You have her likeness, your mothers,” he says sitting down at the dresser, and your heart drops

“I am glad to encounter one who knew her, though I warn you I may bore you with many questions now we are acquainted,”

“Tales I am happy to share, none find my words interesting these days, not since they were children, and I am always happy to share the past especially with one so full of beauty,”

“I see Robbs charm is not merely a product of the Stark lineage,”

“The Tullys were always less serious my dear,”

“Where on earth would you get the idea Robb was serious?” you joke opening the door allowing his dressers to enter.

“Speaking of serious,” Robb interjects, “There are matters I hope to discuss,not tonight grandfather not on your name day but there are things that need seeing to before we depart,”

“Of course, my boy, tomorrow we will discuss before you leave but tonight we celebrate. Rhaeanya, a pleasure to meet you, and what a joyous thing for you to be apart of our family,”

“It is my greatest joy to have found family here, I thought it lost to me forever,”

“Well you shall have children soon enough, I hope to meet them,” your chest tightens, your throat closing as you swallow your panic, fear of being caught for the fraud you were. Unable to complete what was needed to ensure a war won.

“Well my aunt only slightly insulted you, and my grandfather seems to want you for a son, so all in all its going quite well,”

“Had you not prepared me for the breastfeeding that would have thrown me, how old is the boy?”

“Must be nearing 8, and for once you are speechless. I suppose we should make our way down to the festivities am I still presentable,”

“Are you asking if you appear kingly,”

“Yes,” he replied, his earnestness catching you off guard, you refute the joke sitting behind your teeth and take a step back. You move forward, hands reaching up, his gaze following you as you shift the crown on his head just to the left.

“It's never quite fit right,” he mutters,

“It fits, and more importantly it suits you, shall we,” you ask. There is a steadiness to him as you enter the hall, despite the eyes and the whispers, the paranoia you felt entering a room was absent in him. You wonder if he felt through your facade. You watch intently as he pulls out your chair waiting for you to sit before taking his place next to you taking up conversation with his grandfather.

“And you must be the new bride,” a rough voice speaks out.

“Perhaps the old bride now, but yes, no longer a Targaryen by name,”

“But in appearance, the lineage is unmistakable”

“You must must the Blackfish,”

“Aye your Grace, I see my reputation precedes me, I hope you don’t think too ill of me,”

“Well, hard to pass judgement while rebelling against a kingdom that deemed my entire family an outcast. Perhaps we are more alike than you think,”

“And how does Westeros compare to Essos,”

“Essos is warmer, the wine is sweeter and it smells less of piss and more of flowers,” you relay, causing the Blackfish to cough into his drink caught off guard. “Apologies my lord, but I assumed you of all people would forgive such low language. Now tell me for I must know, what was he like as a child, I imagine he came out stern faced and serious, shouldering the weight of the world before he knew it,”

“In ways he was, but unlike now it was attributed to an almost unbelievable shyness,”

“Shyness,” you respond, shocked at the revelation.

“I believe so, but duty always prevailed and he always did what he needed to,”

“Well that what not nearly as fun as I had hoped, nor did it provide me with any such ammunition for teasing,”

“He use to be funny, though now I fear joy may be lost on him, make sure he finds some,”

“I will try, though I do admit I may not be the best candidates,”

“Well you made me laugh, and that's a victory in itself these days,” he nods his head back and you turn your attention to where your name had just been called

“Rhaeanya, when may I expect a great grandchild, I will be first in my family to see such a sight,” Hoster states loudly, Robb seemingly gone white

“Soon, we hope, I pray everyday” you say, taking Robbs hand in yours.

“Unfortunately the situation with the Targaryen lineage,” Lysa chimes in from further down the table, “they are mad and rumours say their offspring have been born deformed and scaly, monsters. You should have found better breeding stock for your eldest son, such a fine young man surely others would have been willing,” Lysa shouts loudly, words clear over the crowds clamour, you feel Robbs hand tense as your eyes glaze over.

“Lysa,” Catlynn warns, but she doesn't let up, and you feel your demeanour shift, cowering inwards at the fear of being found out. An uncharacteristic meekness that caught the attention of another.

“Your highness,” Ser Darrion interrupts, you release Robbs hand and tune back into the crowd “may I request a dance with your wife,”

“It is her decision, though I encourage it. Conversation here has grown tiresome, she has my permission if she wishes to leave,” you feel his eyes on you

“Thank you Ser Darrion. I would be glad to leave the scene,” you state standing from the table and making your way to the floor.

“Her stock is higher than any I am aware of, she's the only with a true claim to the iron throne, and in addition to that she is invaluable in the war room. She does the work the Lannisters entire counsel cannot. As for scaly children, perhaps you have fallen victim to propaganda dear aunt, ” Robb defends. “A war your father supported,” Lysa fires back

“A war that saw her entire family slaughtered, and would have seen her dead had my father not intervened,”

“Enough, no more of this on my name day, celebrate, the night is young and I am old, I do not wish to spend my last days listening to family squabbles,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Apologies for interrupting your conversation,” ser Darrion whispers.

“Is that what it was, felt more of personal attack from a woman who still breastfeeds her son,” you mutter

“I have missed you,”

“And what about me is it that you have missed,”

“Every aspect, you face, your voice, your laugh, your stories,”

“Enough of my stories, I need a few of yours,”

“Anything you request,”

“You have known Robb since childhood”

“I have,”

“Was he always so… well… him,” you chuckle

“Yes, but infinitely more reserved. He never danced, hardly laughed, was always shy, and very serious. Keep to himself, drove most of the girls to him of course, man of mystery and all,”

“Is that jealousy I sense in your voice,” you joke

“I’d like to say I’ve gotten over it,”

“Oh i'm sure you did just fine,”

“Well I was able to make them laugh, does he make you laugh” the lightness of the conversation shifted.

“He is my husband,” you reply, hoping to avoid broaching an intimate topic so publicly.

“If I was your husband I would ensure your happiness,” he whispers “My hands would never leave you, there would not be a day that went by without my love for you being expressed,”

“Ser Darrion,” you whisper

“Rhea,” he replies seriously,

“You forget yourself,” you mutter sternly, eyes boring into his, resisting every urge in your body. You stare over the shoulder to see Robb staring directly at you grey gaze amber under the light as the music ends

“Thank you Ser Darrion, but you should be on your way,” you reply, and he kisses your hand.

“If you ever wish to leave this behind you need only ask,” he states, and your stomach drops, heart racing. Your eyes watch as he leaves the floor, ignoring the women walking towards him.

Your heart flutters, beating up into your ears. Against better judgement you lift your skirt and follow him, but by the time you reach the outer room he’s gone. You walk off into a hallway looking around when you turn to go back you see Robb. Concerned at the look in your eyes during Lysas trade, seeking you out as another olive branch, only to see you following another. He had not been concerned with the dance, not until he saw you rushing out after Darrion.

“What do you think your doing?” he asks

“I… I was… what was I doing with what?” you stutter.

“Don’t act stupid, we both know you are not,” he relays, and you shift into defensive mode.

“So you get to go gallivanting around into every whorehouse in Westeros, but I am not allowed to walk in the same direction as a man?”

“I will not have an uncertain heir, I cannot, do you understand,” he states firmly

“Are you jealous,” you ask, echoing back words he had once shouted at you.

“Of what? I seem to remember getting an earful about making you out to be a fool. You dancing closely, so closely with your guard makes me look foolish. Do you understand that? They will not follow a man they do not respect. If you cannot see that then perhaps I overestimated your intelligence,” he scolds.

“Do not mock me,” you reply evenly, feeling smaller than you expected

“You do it so easily for yourself in your hypocrisy,” he digs further into you.

“You are being unnecessarily cruel,” you snap.

“Perhaps you bring it out in me,” he states

“Apologies, your highness have I awoken the dragon,” you shoot back.

“Do not compare to that man,” he states, anger now evident in his features.

“Then stop acting like him,” you state clearly

“Perhaps if you were not such a spoiled brat…”

“Me?” you laugh, “ I am not the one currently in the throes of a tantrum. You have had everything handed to you since the day you were born, the perfect prince, beloved by his kingdom, adored by all. Well perhaps not so perfect considering your failures of late,” there it was. The dagger behind your teeth sharpened to a point, always ready to strike, always to kill, never willing to only wound.

“I am well aware of my failures, I know my fathers death , and my sisters' continued torture falls into my hands. So yes I am a failure to them. I need not have a stranger remind me of this,” You feel the truth in his words and guilt washes over you.

“Tonight by all accounts has been a success. So we will go back inside, we will dance, we will drink, we will stay a night then we shall return to a war I'm failing to win. Join me once you have composed yourself,”

“Robb,” you call and he turns around

“Save it, I do not care to hear anymore from you tonight besides what is owed to my family.”

#robb stark au #robb stark fanfiction #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark fic #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #robb x reader #game of thrones fanfiction

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winter-soldier-101 · 1 year ago

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hi! Can u write for Robb stark ? Something along the lines of best friends older brother (she’s Sansa’s friend) and him truly realizing his feelings when marriage proposals are coming in for her? Pls n thanks <<<<33333

(Y/N) ran up to Sansa and told her about the proposal that a southern lord asked her father for her hand and he would be here soon to meet (Y/N).

Arya ran away form Sansa and (Y/N) and told Jon and Robb what she heard.

“(Y/N) is getting married soon” Arya yells at Robb and Jon.

“What? What do you mean (Y/N) is getting married soon?” Robb asks Arya.

“I heard (Y/N) tell Sansa that some southern lord asked for her hand and she’s meeting him soon” Arya tells him.

Robb looks up at Jon and leaves him and Arya and runs to (Y/N).

Robb had fell in love with (Y/N) over the years she was everything he wanted in a woman and now he had to tell her how he feels or she’ll be happy with someone else.

#robb x reader #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #gameofthronesimagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines

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daenysx · 5 months ago

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begging for a crumb of robb stark content 🧎

haha i've been waiting for this!! <3333

here are some headcanons for modern!robb stark;

you're the first person he talks to every morning and the last person every night

if he can't call he'll definitely text you, no matter what happens he never wants you to be worried

his favorite mornings include having you in his bed

he wakes up an hour earlier than he has to, to see you in his arms and love you right during the first hours of the day

he learned how you like your breakfast and how you take your coffee on your first date.

he likes taking his time during breakfast, he likes sitting you on the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in your hand as he prepares breakfast

modern!robb is MAD for seeing you in his clothes

especially his old college football team t-shirts

and his huge hoodies

he works in their family company with jon

he likes having fun with jon so much in the office, it makes him feel less stressed and more into his job

he's always respectful for everyone who works in the office

but when things don't go the way he wants, he gets nervous

he doesn't like talking about the problem first, he tries to handle things by himself if he can

modern!robb is the type of guy who likes finishing everything off before he leaves the work, he doesn't like seeing unfinished things on his table when he comes back in the morning

no matter how busy he is with work, he'll definitely make time for you

coffee dates, lunch dates, dinner dates, late night drives

you like staying over in his apartment the most

it's so comfy, robb made room for your clothes in his wardrobe and emptied a huge drawer for your skin care essentials in the bathroom

he uses the shampoo and the shower gel you picked for him

he doesn't like using blankets, claiming he's a stark and he never gets cold, but he has a huge fluffy blanket for you in his living room

modern!robb is the definition of big brother, with jon

always looks out for his younger siblings

he likes making fun of sansa's boyfriends to make her smile but if one of them ever upsets his baby sister he'll make them regret

catelyn stark is so proud of his boy

modern!robb has been the perfect son since he was a child, it puts a lot of pressure on him and he still can get afraid sometimes

but he knows how to handle problems better now

(ned stark supports his boys so much and he's really proud even though he likes to keep his emotions subtle)

modern!robb is a deep sleeper

he's the softest when he's asleep

it's hard to wake him up but he can definitely sense when you move too much or leave the bed

he seeks for you in his sleep

he doesn't like too many layers between you, so he sleeps with his chest bare no matter how hot or cold it is

modern!robb likes it very much when you ask for his opinion on something about your make up

he likes picking up the color of your lipstick and kissing your lips after you applied, to annoy you

he likes holding hands under the dinner table

and keeping his hand on your thigh when he drives

he likes when you read him your favorite bits of a book in the quiet moments of midnight

if you're gonna watch a movie, you're the one who picks it, robb will probably fall asleep halfway

he LOVES feeling your fingertips on his scalp

he also loves how you're so good at finding the sore muscles of his back without much effort

he likes every type of kiss because you're the one giving them but

neck kisses!

he likes neck kisses so so so much

and whispers against his ear

kissing the soft skin below his ear as you tell him you love him

he fell first and he fell harder

he feels so lucky to be with you and he makes sure you know how much he cares about your relationship every day

i mean, i don't know how many times i can say that but robb stark is the perfect guy and he literally deserves the world

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x fem!reader #robb x reader #robb x you #robb x fem!reader #robb stark fic #robb stark fanfic #robb stark imagine #robb stark headcanons #robb stark fanfiction #modern!robb #modern!robb stark #modern!robb stark x you #modern!robb stark x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones headcanons #house stark

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novaursa · 13 days ago

Text

The Northern Heart (2/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Paring: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Note: Be aware of the time jumps and angst.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1/2

- Alternative ending: you stayed

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The day of your wedding arrived under a sky shrouded with gray clouds, as if the North itself mourned the quiet hope that had once surrounded this union. The air in Winterfell was heavy, filled with the strain of anticipation, not of joy, but of waiting—waiting for news, waiting for Bran to awaken.

In the godswood, where your wedding ceremony would take place, the trees stood like solemn guardians, their branches bare and reaching into the somber sky. You were dressed in the finest gown the North had to offer, a deep forest green that complimented the surroundings, a delicate silver belt around your waist and a shawl lined with white fur draped over your shoulders. Your mother, Cersei, stood beside you, her expression unreadable as she adjusted the drape of your shawl, her gaze flickering with a mixture of emotions you couldn’t place.

“Remember, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice cool and steady, “a union like this is more than love. It’s duty.” She looked into your eyes, her hand lingering on your shoulder. “Bear that in mind.”

You nodded, though her words felt distant, almost irrelevant in the face of the sorrow that hung over Winterfell. Your thoughts were on Bran, the young boy you’d barely had the chance to know, now lying pale and unmoving under the Maester’s care. Yet, despite the sadness, a flicker of warmth remained when you thought of Robb, of the promises he’d whispered to you in the godswood, of a life you might build together.

As you stepped forward, the quiet murmurs of the small gathering around you faded into silence. The ceremony had been scaled back, out of respect for the dire circumstances, and though some guests were there out of duty, the faces of Winterfell’s people were shadowed with grief and worry.

Robb stood beneath the towering heart tree, his dark cloak draped over his shoulders, his face somber. His usually warm, easy smile was absent, replaced by a solemn expression that made him appear older, weighed down by a sense of responsibility he hadn’t known before.

As you reached him, his gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of feeling that momentarily banished the sorrow. He offered his hand, and you took it, the warmth of his palm grounding you even amidst the cold and sorrow of the day.

The Septon stepped forward, his voice quiet yet steady as he began the words of the ceremony. You barely heard them, your mind absorbed by the feel of Robb’s hand in yours, the silent promises exchanged in each shared glance, each gentle squeeze of his fingers.

When it came time to speak your vows, Robb’s voice was steady but filled with an undercurrent of grief. “I, Robb Stark, take you, Y/N Baratheon, as my wife, to stand by my side in times of joy and sorrow. I promise to honor you, to cherish you, and to protect you… until the end of my days.”

You swallowed, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. Meeting his gaze, you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “I, Y/N Baratheon, take you, Robb Stark, as my husband. I promise to honor you, to stand by you… and to hold Winterfell as my home… as long as we both shall live.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight that lingered between you. Robb’s hand trembled slightly as he lifted his cloak and draped it over your shoulders, the Stark direwolf sigil settling against the green of your gown. His fingers lingered for a moment, a gentle touch that offered both reassurance and shared sorrow.

Catelyn Stark stepped forward, her eyes red-rimmed but composed, her expression holding a quiet strength as she looked at you both. She managed a faint smile, though grief flickered in her eyes. “You are one now,” she said softly, her voice wavering just slightly. “Bound by honor and duty… and the strength of the North.”

Robb nodded, his gaze shifting from his mother to you, a silent promise etched in his eyes. He took your hand once more, and together, you turned to face the small gathering, where the royal family and the Starks stood side by side, united in somber witness.

As the ceremony ended, Cersei approached, her expression carefully controlled as she looked at you. “You’re bound now,” she said softly, her tone a blend of pride and resignation. “Remember who you are.”

“Yes, Mother,” you replied, your voice equally soft.

Robert clapped a heavy hand on Robb’s shoulder, his usual joviality absent. “Take care of her, boy,” he said, his voice gruff. “A Stark and a Baratheon… it’s a good match. We may not have joy today, but… there’s still hope for the future.”

Robb nodded, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “I’ll care for her, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice steady. “With all that I am.”

The feast that followed was a subdued affair, the usual raucous laughter and cheerful toasts absent. Servants moved quietly between tables, and the guests spoke in hushed tones, their minds undoubtedly drifting back to the small, still figure of Bran, lying somewhere in the castle.

You sat beside Robb, his hand resting over yours, his touch a constant reminder of the bond you’d just sealed. Every so often, his gaze would drift toward the doors, a flicker of worry crossing his face. You knew his thoughts were with his brother, as were yours, and despite the vows you’d just taken, it felt wrong to celebrate when Bran’s fate remained so uncertain.

At one point, Robb turned to you, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low so only you could hear. “This isn’t… this isn’t how I wanted our wedding to be.”

You shook your head, managing a faint smile as you met his gaze. “It’s all right, Robb. We’re together, and that’s enough for me.”

His hand tightened around yours, his gaze softening. “We’ll have our happiness, someday,” he promised, a quiet determination in his voice. “When Bran wakes, and the darkness lifts… we’ll find our joy.”

“I believe you,” you replied, and in that moment, you knew you meant it. Despite the sorrow, the grief, the uncertainty, there was a strength in Robb, a resilience that made you feel, perhaps for the first time, that Winterfell could truly be your home.

As the feast wound down, the guests dispersed, the weight of the day settling heavily upon the hall. Robb led you back to the godswood, where the faint rustle of leaves and the quiet murmur of the stream offered a small reprieve from the grief that had followed you through the day.

Standing together beneath the heart tree, his arms wrapped around you, Robb pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a quiet promise shared in the silence of the godswood.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet strength. “You and I.”

And as you looked up into his eyes, you knew that this bond, forged in sorrow and solemnity, would endure. The North was your home now, and Robb Stark, your husband, was your future.

The morning was shrouded in a gray mist as the royal family prepared to depart Winterfell. The air was filled with the sounds of horses being saddled, carts being loaded, and the quiet murmur of farewells exchanged in the courtyard. Snow flurries danced in the air, a reminder of the North’s unyielding chill even as summer lingered.

You stood to the side, watching as your family gathered their belongings, preparing to leave Winterfell behind. There was a strange ache in your chest, a mixture of longing and relief. This was goodbye to the life you’d known in King’s Landing, the world of your childhood, yet a new life awaited here in the North, beside Robb.

Cersei approached you first, her face carefully composed, though her eyes softened as she took in your winter garb. She placed a gloved hand on your shoulder, her gaze searching. “Remember what I told you, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice as cold and steady as the northern air. “If ever you find yourself… unhappy, if you ever decide that this place is not what you hoped, send word to me. I’ll send a raven, and you’ll be back in King’s Landing before they know you’re gone.”

You nodded, sensing her quiet desperation beneath the words, but you held firm, offering her a small smile. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll remember.”

Cersei’s hand lingered for a moment before she withdrew, the mask of the queen settling back into place. She gave you a small, almost reluctant nod, and then turned to oversee her children, leaving you with a faint chill where her touch had been.

Next came Myrcella and Tommen, their young faces full of both excitement and sadness. Myrcella wrapped her arms around you tightly, her soft voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’ll miss you, sister. Winterfell is so far away.”

You hugged her back, smoothing her hair gently. “I’ll miss you too, Myrcella. But you’ll write to me, won’t you?”

She nodded eagerly, her green eyes shining as she pulled away, clutching your hand for a moment longer. Tommen, who had tried to appear brave, stepped forward, his lower lip quivering as he hugged you quickly. “Goodbye, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll keep practicing my sword skills, so when you come back, I’ll be strong enough to protect you.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair gently. “I look forward to it, Tommen. Be brave, all right?”

He nodded, his small shoulders squared as he stepped back beside Myrcella.

Joffrey approached you last among your siblings, his usual confidence subdued. He shifted awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and the ground before he managed, “Well… I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

“Yes,” you replied, studying him as he avoided your gaze. The cool prince of King’s Landing looked almost uncertain here, his usual arrogance dimmed by the somber air of Winterfell. “Take care of yourself, Joffrey.”

He nodded stiffly, and after a moment, he added, “And… don’t forget what Mother said.” There was something almost grudging in his tone, as though he struggled to convey the sentiment, but you recognized it for what it was—a reluctant offer of support, or at least the closest he could come to it.

“I won’t forget,” you replied softly. He turned quickly, as if he’d revealed more than he intended, rejoining the group with a faint flush to his cheeks.

Tyrion approached next, a warm smile lighting his face as he looked at you. “Well, dear niece, I would say you’re off on a grand adventure, but the North is hardly the place I’d choose for one,” he said with a chuckle. “Still, it seems you have found yourself well suited here.”

You smiled back, appreciating his humor in the midst of the farewells. “The North has its charms, Uncle. Though it might not be quite your idea of a vacation.”

He grinned, raising a brow. “No, certainly not. But I imagine you will do well here. If you need a witty letter or a visit, you know how to reach me.”

“Thank you, Uncle Tyrion,” you replied, and he gave you a brief but warm embrace, patting your shoulder as he stepped back.

Jaime came next, his armor gleaming even in the dull light of the Northern morning. He gave you a smirk, the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “Princess,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. “Are you ready for a life of snow and solemn Starks?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll manage, Uncle. Robb has been a kind husband.”

He regarded you thoughtfully, a flicker of something protective crossing his features. “If you ever need anything—anyone here ever makes you unhappy—you know you can call on me.”

The sentiment in his words warmed you, and you squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Uncle. I’ll remember.”

He gave you a playful salute, though his eyes held genuine care, and then he joined Tyrion by the royal procession.

Finally, the moment came for the royal family to mount their horses. You stood to the side, your hand tucked in Robb’s as you watched your family prepare to leave. Cersei glanced back at you one last time, her eyes lingering on you, her expression unreadable, before she nodded and looked away. Tyrion offered you a small, reassuring smile, and Jaime gave you a wink, his usual swagger intact.

Lord Eddard, Sansa, and Arya moved to join the royal party as well. Sansa, looking composed and almost regal, met your gaze with a polite nod, her own excitement clear as she anticipated the wonders of King’s Landing. Arya, on the other hand, wore a scowl, clearly reluctant to leave her home and her brother. She cast one last, longing look back at Winterfell before clambering onto her horse beside her sister.

Jon Snow stood apart, dressed in black furs, his expression solemn as he prepared for his own departure to Castle Black. You caught his eye and gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. He returned it with a faint, respectful smile, his gaze lingering briefly on his family before he turned toward the road that led him to his new life beyond the Wall.

As the procession began to move, Robert bellowed one last farewell, his voice echoing through the courtyard as he raised a hand in farewell. “Farewell, Winterfell! Take care of my daughter!” he called, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a hint of fondness.

You stood beside Robb, his hand a steady weight in yours, grounding you as the distant echoes of horse hooves faded into the morning mist. You watched as your family disappeared down the winding path, the figures of your mother, father, and siblings slowly swallowed by the gray expanse of the North.

The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with both loss and anticipation. The final ties to your old life had been severed, and now, Winterfell stood as both your duty and your destiny. You took a deep breath, the cold Northern air filling your lungs as you turned to look at Robb.

He met your gaze, his face softened by a quiet strength. His hand still held yours, warm and reassuring, his grip firm yet gentle. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, managing a small smile. “Yes… it’s just strange, knowing they’re gone.”

Robb gave a small nod of understanding, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I understand. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You have me. And this is your home now, as much as it is mine.”

His words, simple and steady, offered a strange comfort. You could feel the warmth of the Stark family around you—their quiet strength, their loyalty, and their acceptance. You had become a part of that now.

Turning back toward the castle, you took your place beside Robb, your hand still in his, as you watched Winterfell’s gates close behind the departing party. The future stretched out before you, uncertain yet filled with promise, and as Robb’s hand held yours, you knew you had chosen to meet it here, together.

The air hummed with hushed whispers and solemn faces of the men marking the grief that weighed on everyone’s hearts. Eddard Stark was dead. News of his execution had traveled through the ranks like wildfire, leaving an ache that no one seemed to be able to soothe. But for you, carrying Robb’s child, it had been an especially bitter blow. Lord Eddard had accepted you into his family with the quiet grace of a father, and his loss felt like a gaping wound.

You sat in your tent, hands resting gently on the swell of your belly, trying to steady your breathing as sorrow and dread churned within you. Outside, the camp was unusually quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of wind through the tents and the distant murmurs of soldiers preparing for the next move in the war that had now become personal.

The flap of your tent was suddenly pulled open with force, and you looked up, startled, to see Lady Catelyn storming in, her eyes blazing with fury. Her face, usually a mask of composure and strength, was contorted in anger, her voice shaking as she spoke.

“You,” she hissed, her tone low but brimming with rage. “How could I have let you stand beside my son, knowing what I know now?”

You stood, heart pounding, uncertain of what she meant. “Lady Catelyn… I don’t understand.”

“Oh, don’t you?” she snapped, stepping closer. “My husband is dead. My son lies broken in Winterfell. And every shred of evidence points to your family. Your Lannister family.”

The accusation cut through you like a knife, and you took a step back, your hand instinctively moving to protect your unborn child. “Lady Catelyn,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I had nothing to do with this. I grieve for Lord Eddard as you do.”

But Catelyn’s eyes remained cold, unyielding. “You expect me to believe that? You, a daughter of Cersei Lannister? Do you think I’m blind? The girl who grew up under her mother’s shadow, who has every reason to hate the North. And now, conveniently, you’re here, married to my son—carrying his child, no less. How do I know you’re not feeding information back to your family, plotting against us even now?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. The accusation was too sharp, too unfair, and it struck deep. You felt the sting of tears but held them back, meeting her gaze with as much strength as you could muster.

“I am loyal to Robb. To the North,” you said, your voice shaking but steady. “I left my family for him. I would never betray him.”

But Catelyn was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. “Loyal? A Lannister knows nothing of loyalty,” she spat, each word laced with bitterness. “I was a fool to think I could ever trust you.”

Just then, Robb burst into the tent, his face tight with worry. “Mother!” he said, glancing between the two of you. “What’s going on?”

Catelyn turned to him, her expression softening only slightly. “Robb, she is a Lannister. Can’t you see what that means? Do you truly believe she isn’t still loyal to her family?”

Robb hesitated, his gaze flicking to you, and the silence that followed was more damning than anything he could have said. His face was conflicted, shadows under his eyes from the strain of war and loss. “Mother… I know what this looks like. But Y/N has stood by me. She’s my wife.”

You felt relief for a brief moment, but then he continued, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “But… given all that’s happened, perhaps it would be best if she gave us her word… to clear any doubts.”

His words struck you like a slap, and the shock left you breathless. “Clear any doubts?” you repeated, your voice trembling as the realization dawned. He didn’t fully trust you either. After everything you’d shared, after all you’d sacrificed, Robb still harbored doubts.

The silence in the tent was suffocating, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “You think… you think I would betray you? That I would harm your family?” you whispered, pain lacing every word. You took a step back, your hand resting protectively over your stomach. “After all we’ve been through, Robb, you still don’t trust me?”

Robb’s face softened, regret and anguish flickering in his eyes. “Y/N… it’s not that I don’t trust you. But with all that’s happened, can you blame us for being cautious?”

The heartbreak in his gaze only twisted the knife deeper. You felt your chest tighten, a surge of anger and betrayal rising within you. “I have stood by you through every trial, Robb. I left my family, my home, and everything I knew to be with you. And now, when I need you most, you doubt me?”

His jaw tightened, and he opened his mouth to respond, but you shook your head, the pain and betrayal overwhelming. Without another word, you turned and pushed past him, storming out of the tent, ignoring his calls for you to stop.

Outside, the cold air hit you like a wave, but it did nothing to numb the ache in your chest. You walked quickly, each step heavy with anger, with sorrow, with the weight of every accusation that had been hurled at you.

You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than being in that tent, surrounded by distrust and hurt. As you reached the edge of the camp, you stopped, pressing a hand to your stomach as you felt the first tear slip down your cheek.

The life inside you, the one that you had hoped would bring joy and unity, now felt like a painful reminder of the divide between you and the family you’d tried so hard to become part of.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and iron as Robb approached the makeshift cage where Jaime Lannister sat, bound and bloodied, his face shadowed but still holding that infuriating smirk that had become his signature. Grey Wind prowled by Robb’s side, a silent, menacing presence, his golden eyes trained intently on Jaime, teeth bared in a low, guttural growl that seemed to echo the barely restrained fury in Robb’s own gaze.

Jaime looked up as they approached, his smirk widening even as his wrists strained against the ropes that held him. “Ah, the Young Wolf,” he drawled, his voice tinged with amusement despite his bruises. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Robb’s expression was cold, his blue eyes piercing as he regarded his captive. “I thought it was time we spoke,” he said quietly, his tone even but laced with an edge.

Jaime leaned back against the bars of his cage, eyeing Robb with a sardonic tilt of his head. “And here I thought you’d just come to show off your impressive pet,” he said, gesturing toward Grey Wind. “Quite the beast, isn’t he?”

Grey Wind let out a low, warning growl, his fur bristling as he bared his teeth. Jaime held his gaze, unflinching, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes before he looked back at Robb.

Robb took a slow step forward, crossing his arms as he stared down at Jaime. “I didn’t come here to discuss my direwolf.”

“No?” Jaime’s brows lifted in mock surprise. “Then what, pray tell, did you come here to discuss?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a hard line. “Your family,” he said simply, his voice steady.

Jaime’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something sharper in his gaze. “Ah,” he murmured, his voice softening as he looked up at Robb. “And by family, I assume you mean my sister… or perhaps my nieces and nephews?” His smirk returned, colder now. “How is she?”

Robb’s eyes flickered, a mixture of anger and something else lurking beneath the surface. “She’s as well as can be expected,” he replied curtly, his voice taut. “Given the circumstances.”

Jaime’s gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward slightly, studying Robb’s face with a hint of genuine interest. “You’re treating her well, then? Not as… shall we say, a prisoner?”

Robb’s lips tightened, his expression darkening. “She’s my wife, Lannister. And she’s carrying my child. I don’t treat her like a prisoner. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who she is… or rather, whose she is.”

Jaime’s smirk froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed Robb’s words. “Oh?” he said, his tone carefully casual. “And who, exactly, do you think she is?”

Robb’s gaze was unyielding, his voice low and dangerous. “We both know that she’s not Robert’s daughter,” he said coldly. “No more than Joffrey or Tommen or Myrcella are his.”

Jaime held his gaze, the amusement in his expression fading as his eyes turned steely. “That’s a dangerous thing to say, Stark. Especially with so many ears around.” He glanced meaningfully at Grey Wind, who was still growling softly, his hackles raised.

“I’m not afraid of the truth,” Robb replied, his voice firm. “I know exactly what she is. She’s a Lannister—a daughter of your house. And yet here she is, sworn to the North, carrying a Stark child.”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though there was a new edge to it, a cold amusement that glinted in his eyes. “So, you know,” he said slowly, as though savoring the words. “And yet… you keep her close. Tied to you.” He leaned forward, his gaze probing. “Tell me, Young Wolf, what exactly do you think you’ll do if she’s truly my daughter?”

Robb’s face hardened, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to control his anger. “If she’s truly your daughter, then I’ll do what I must to protect my family,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, each word carrying a barely restrained fury.

Jaime’s eyes sparkled with something close to amusement. “Protect your family, you say?” He chuckled darkly. “You mean protect them from her? Or perhaps… protect her from you?” His voice dropped, his tone mocking. “How convenient, isn’t it? You don’t trust her any more than your mother does.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his silence only fueling Jaime’s amusement. “That’s what I thought,” Jaime murmured, his gaze sharp as he studied Robb’s face. “You married her, tied her to you with vows and promises… but you don’t truly believe she’s yours, do you?”

Robb’s fists clenched, his knuckles white. “She’s my wife. That’s all that matters.”

Jaime laughed, the sound low and scornful. “Oh, Robb,” he said, his voice laced with derision. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t be here, would you? You’d be with her now, assuring her of your loyalty. But instead, you’re here, questioning me, looking for answers that only she can give you.”

Robb’s face flushed with anger, but he held his ground, his gaze unwavering. “She swore herself to the North, to my family. That’s the only loyalty that matters now.”

“Is it?” Jaime asked softly, his voice a mocking whisper. “Or is that just what you tell yourself, so you don’t have to face the fact that she could never truly be yours?”

Robb’s face hardened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might strike Jaime, his fists clenched, his breathing harsh. But instead, he stepped back, his gaze cold and unyielding as he looked down at the man who had sown so much pain in his family.

“Whatever you think, Lannister,” he said, his voice a low growl, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one in chains, not her. And no matter what she is, she’s bound to the North now. She’s my wife. And the North protects its own.”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with a faint sadness as he leaned back against the bars of his cage. “If only you believed that,” he murmured, his gaze drifting off as though lost in thought. “If only she did too.”

Robb turned away, Grey Wind falling into step beside him, the direwolf’s growls fading as they left the cage. But Jaime’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind, each syllable a reminder of the doubts he’d tried so hard to bury.

You sat alone in your tent, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. It was a silence you’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks—ever since the accusations, ever since Robb’s words had driven a wedge between you that neither of you had been able to bridge.

You’d barely spoken since then, passing each other with brief, polite nods, or exchanging only the most necessary words. It was as if a gulf had opened between you, an invisible barrier that neither of you knew how to cross. And yet, here you were, sitting in that quiet space, waiting.

Finally, you heard the soft rustle of footsteps outside, and Robb stepped into the tent, his face half-shadowed but unmistakably weary. He paused at the entrance, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, the familiar warmth that once lay between you seemed to flicker back to life. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the animosity and the silence in its wake.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight as if he were unsure whether to approach or keep his distance. “I thought it was time we talked,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around the edges of the shawl draped over your shoulders. “It has been… a while,” you replied quietly, feeling the weight of the unspoken words settle heavily between you.

Robb stepped closer, his expression guarded, his gaze flicking to your stomach for the briefest of moments before returning to your face. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of regret. “I never wanted… distance between us.”

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “And yet, here we are,” you said softly, the hurt you’d buried these past weeks slipping into your tone.

Robb looked down, his fists clenching briefly before he took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been hurt by… everything that’s happened,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t want you to feel like… like you’re alone.”

“But I am alone, Robb,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them. “Every time you look at me, I see it in your eyes. You don’t trust me—not truly.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” You met his gaze, your voice trembling with the emotions that had been bottled up for far too long. “I left everything behind for you. My family, my home, everything I knew. I made that choice because I believed that we could build something here together. But now…” You swallowed, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Now I feel like a stranger in my own life.”

He looked away, his shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists as he listened to your words. “You know the situation we’re in. Everything that’s happened—the war, the betrayal, the losses—it’s… complicated. I have to be careful, I have to protect my family, my men. I can’t just ignore—”

“Ignore what?” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. “Ignore the fact that I’m a Lannister? That I have my mother’s blood in me?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue, and you forced yourself to take a steadying breath. “If that’s all you see, Robb, then maybe you never really saw me at all.”

The hurt in your words seemed to strike him, his face tightening as he finally looked back at you. “I do see you,” he said, his voice raw. “And that’s the hardest part, because I don’t want to doubt you. But I have to think of my people, of my family. And with everything that’s happened…”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his doubt settle over you like a shroud. “I thought you loved me,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

“I do love you,” he replied, a note of desperation in his voice. “But…”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a sadness that seemed to echo the empty spaces between you. “But you don’t trust me,” you finished quietly. “And without trust, what is love?”

He flinched, the pain in his expression undeniable, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, filled with the words neither of you could bring yourself to say. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his love for you and the loyalty he held to his family, his duty. And in that moment, you understood.

Robb loved you—there was no doubt of that. But his love was conditional, bound by the walls of mistrust that he couldn’t bring himself to tear down. And it hurt, more deeply than any wound you’d ever borne.

“You think I could betray you,” you said, your voice trembling. “You think I could harm the family I chose—the family I swore to protect. And you think that because of my blood.” You looked away, the bitterness swelling in your chest. “But blood is not the same as loyalty, Robb. And I would have thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

Robb took a step forward, his hand reaching out to you, but you pulled back, the pain too fresh, too raw. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you replied, your voice hollow. “But here we are, standing on opposite sides of a war we never asked for, bound by promises that have become chains.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to die on his lips, leaving only the anguish in his gaze. For a moment, he looked as if he might reach for you again, but then he hesitated, his hand falling back to his side.

“I wish… things were different,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you looked at him one last time. “So do I,” you replied, your voice breaking. “But wishing doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Without another word, you turned and left the tent, the cold air stinging your face as you stepped into the darkness. The weight of his mistrust settled heavily over you, suffocating the hope that you’d once held so close.

You walked through the camp, the sounds of soldiers and the crackle of fires fading into the background as you tried to process the reality of your situation. Robb might love you, but that love was fractured, shadowed by doubts he couldn’t seem to overcome. And for the first time, you realized that perhaps… you could never truly belong here, no matter how hard you tried.

As you looked out over the camp, the fires casting flickering shadows over the tents, you felt the beginnings of a resolve take root within you. If Robb couldn’t trust you, then you would have to trust yourself. Because at the end of the day, that might be all you had left.

And as much as it hurt, you knew that you couldn’t keep waiting for him to see you—not if he refused to look beyond the name you’d left behind.

The camp was quiet as you made your way through the rows of tents, the early morning mist clinging to the air. The soldiers were still sleeping or stirring groggily, barely aware of your presence. You walked with purpose, your mind a whirlwind of doubt, hurt, and uncertainty. Robb’s mistrust weighed heavily on you, and despite all you’d given up to be here, you felt more alone than ever.

At the far edge of the camp, beneath the watchful gaze of guards, lay the makeshift cage where Jaime Lannister was held. He looked up as you approached, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity and a touch of amusement, even in the dim light of dawn. Shackles bound his wrists and ankles, yet he held himself with a casual arrogance that only Jaime Lannister could muster in such a situation.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning back against the bars with a lazy smile. “Look who’s come to visit.”

You folded your arms, keeping your expression guarded. “You’re not exactly in a position to be smug, Uncle.”

“Oh, but I am,” he replied smoothly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “You wouldn’t be here unless something was bothering you. And I’m willing to wager it has to do with a certain Stark boy.”

You stiffened, unwilling to let him see how deeply his words affected you. But Jaime was perceptive, and the small flicker of pain in your eyes did not escape him. He tilted his head, the lazy smirk giving way to something more serious, a flicker of understanding.

“Let me guess,” he said softly, his voice losing its mocking edge. “Robb’s questioning your loyalty. Treating you like you’re as much a prisoner here as I am.”

You looked away, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaime leaned forward, his eyes searching yours with a surprising amount of empathy. “You gave up everything for him, didn’t you? Left your family, your title, everything you knew. And still, he doesn’t trust you.”

You clenched your fists, a surge of resentment rising within you. “He says he loves me, but… love without trust? What kind of love is that?”

Jaime let out a soft, bitter laugh. “It’s the kind that makes you feel like you’re suffocating, like no matter what you do, you’ll never be enough.” He paused, his gaze softening as he studied your face. “You and I… we’re not so different, you know. Both bound by loyalty to families who would see us suffer before they’d let us be happy.”

You frowned, struggling to reconcile the man before you with the image of the arrogant Kingslayer you’d grown up around. “You speak of loyalty, yet you killed your king. You betrayed your own oath.”

Jaime’s smile faded, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of pain, of anger, of regret. “I did what I had to do,” he said quietly, his voice hardening. “Some oaths are worth breaking when the price is too high.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in as you considered your own situation. Jaime was a man who had been defined by the choices he made, choices that had earned him scorn, hatred, and the infamous name of Kingslayer. But beneath the arrogance and the sneer, there was a man who had made those choices for reasons only he could understand.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Because I see what’s happening to you,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “They’ll turn you into a prisoner of their war, of their distrust. And you’re too much your mother’s daughter to let that happen, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, his words striking a nerve. The mention of your mother brought a rush of conflicting emotions—loyalty, resentment, and a longing for the life you’d left behind.

Jaime’s voice softened, almost conspiratorial. “You could go back, you know. Back to King’s Landing. To your family. You wouldn’t be bound to this endless winter, this… constant doubt.”

“I chose this,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice was weaker than you’d hoped. “I chose Robb. I chose to be here.”

“But does he truly want you here?” Jaime’s question was gentle, almost pitying, and it cut through you like a knife. “Or does he see you as a pawn in his game, a piece that’s convenient when it suits him and expendable when it doesn’t?”

Your heart ached as his words struck closer to the truth than you wanted to admit. You thought back to all the moments Robb had hesitated, the doubt in his eyes, the subtle distance that had grown between you. It was as if no matter how much you tried, you could never truly be a part of this world.

Jaime watched you in silence, his gaze sharp and perceptive. “You’re not meant to be here,” he said softly. “You don’t belong among these people who see you as an outsider. You belong with your family, where your blood means something.”

You looked down, your hands trembling as you grappled with the reality of his words. You had tried so hard to be loyal, to be the wife Robb needed, to make a life in the North. But Jaime’s words stirred something within you—a reminder of the life you’d left behind, of the ties that had bound you long before you’d ever heard of Winterfell.

Jaime leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me go,” he said, his tone urgent. “Free me, and I’ll take you back to King’s Landing myself. Back to Cersei, to your brothers and sister. To a place where you’re loved, where you’re trusted.”

You looked up, your heart pounding as his words hung heavy in the air. There was a gleam of determination in Jaime’s gaze, an invitation—a promise. He was offering you a way out, a chance to escape the prison you’d unwittingly found yourself in, a chance to return to the world you’d left behind.

But even as the temptation washed over you, doubts clouded your mind. Could you truly abandon everything you’d chosen? Could you betray the family you’d tried so hard to make your own?

Jaime watched you, his gaze unwavering, his expression unreadable. “What will it be, Y/N?” he murmured, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the silence. “Are you truly one of them… or are you still one of us?”

The question lingered in the air, the choice hanging heavy between you. And as you met Jaime’s piercing gaze, the weight of his words pressed down on you, leaving you teetering on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

The tension in the war tent was crackling as Robb gathered with his bannermen, discussing the latest strategies and plans for their campaign. The low light from the candles cast shadows over maps spread out across the table, each marked with strategic positions and paths. Robb stood at the head of the table, his gaze focused and intense, while you stood behind one of the lords, quietly listening as the men argued and discussed. You felt the familiar weight of being an outsider, especially in moments like these.

Just as Lord Karstark was outlining a possible maneuver, the flap of the tent burst open, and a guard rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed, his face pale. “My king!” he called out, his voice filled with urgency.

Robb straightened, his brow furrowing. “What is it?” he asked, his tone sharp.

The guard hesitated, glancing between Robb and the lords gathered around him before finally finding the courage to speak. “The Kingslayer… he’s gone. He’s escaped.”

A stunned silence fell over the tent, and every eye turned to Robb, who stiffened, his face darkening with shock and fury. His gaze immediately swung toward you, the unspoken accusation in his eyes cutting like a blade. For a brief, terrible moment, you felt the weight of that suspicion settle over you, his silent question echoing in the depths of your heart: Did you have a hand in this?

But before either of you could say a word, the guard continued, his voice shaky. “It was Lady Catelyn, my lord. She… she freed him.”

The room erupted into an uproar, the lords shouting in outrage and disbelief. Lord Karstark, his face twisted in fury, slammed his fist onto the table. “Lady Stark? She freed the man who killed my sons? This is madness!”

“Your mother’s gone too far, Robb!” Lord Umber growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. “She’s betrayed us all, and she’s released the only valuable bargaining piece we had.”

The tent filled with accusations and anger, each man speaking over the other, their voices rising in a chaotic swell of fury and disbelief. Robb stood in silence, his face pale as he absorbed the news. He looked stricken, a storm of emotions brewing in his gaze—shock, anger, and betrayal, all flashing across his face in an instant.

You lowered your gaze, the sting of his earlier suspicion still fresh in your heart. Despite knowing that the truth had been revealed, Robb’s silence, his initial reaction, lingered like an unhealed wound. The fact that his first instinct had been to turn to you, to wonder if you had betrayed him, left a bitter taste in your mouth.

One of the bannermen, his voice loud and furious, called out, “Your mother’s actions could cost us everything, Robb. If we lose because of this, it’ll be blood on her hands.”

Robb’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white as he struggled to maintain control. “Enough!” he shouted, his voice ringing out above the chaos. Silence fell as the lords turned to him, each of them brimming with anger and frustration.

Robb took a deep, steadying breath, his gaze hard and unyielding as he looked around the room. “I understand your anger. Lady Stark’s actions were… unexpected.” He hesitated, his voice thick with barely suppressed fury. “But she is still my mother. We will not turn on her.”

Lord Karstark, his face a mask of bitter rage, stepped forward. “My king, with all due respect, this isn’t just about you or your mother. This is about justice. Your father’s justice, which she’s undermined by letting that… that Kingslayer walk free.”

Robb’s gaze flicked to you for the briefest of moments, and you could still see the shadow of doubt lingering there, a remnant of his initial suspicion. The silent accusation was gone, but the sting remained, a reminder of the fracture between you that no apology could fully mend.

You kept your gaze lowered, refusing to meet his eyes. The anger of the lords and Robb’s initial reaction had cemented a sense of isolation within you, a quiet resignation that you might never truly be trusted here. Not as a Lannister. Not as his wife.

Lord Umber turned to Robb, his voice softer but no less intense. “What will you do, then? How will you salvage this?”

Robb’s jaw clenched, the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. “I’ll send men after Jaime,” he said, his voice cold and resolute. “I’ll do everything I can to bring him back.”

The lords muttered amongst themselves, some nodding, others still simmering with anger. Robb turned to the guard. “Have all patrols doubled. Every man we can spare will search for Jaime Lannister. He won’t make it far.”

The guard nodded, bowing quickly before leaving the tent. The lords watched Robb carefully, their gazes sharp and unforgiving. They were looking to him to make a decision, to show strength, but you could see the toll it was taking on him.

In the charged silence that followed, Robb turned to face his bannermen fully, his expression steeled. “I know this seems like a betrayal,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a slight tremor beneath the calm. “But we can’t let this tear us apart. We’ll recover from this. We have to recover from this, or we’ve already lost.”

The lords murmured their reluctant assent, though the bitterness in their gazes remained. As they began to file out, some cast sidelong glances at you, their expressions a mix of suspicion and disdain. It was clear that for many of them, a Lannister among the Starks would always be viewed as a potential threat.

Finally, the tent cleared, leaving you alone with Robb. The silence was heavy, his back turned to you as he stared at the maps on the table, his hands gripping the edges tightly. His knuckles were white, and you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the quiet fury simmering just beneath the surface.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Robb…”

He didn’t turn, his voice low and raw. “You knew, didn’t you?”

The accusation stung, and you flinched, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know she would do this. I only spoke to Jaime once—”

“You spoke to him?” He turned, his eyes blazing, the hurt and betrayal clear in his gaze. “After everything, you went to him?”

“I went to speak to him, yes,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “But I didn’t know she would let him go. I swear it, Robb.”

For a moment, he looked away, his expression torn, and you could see the struggle in his eyes as he fought to reconcile his love for you with the doubts that had festered between you. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmured, his voice laced with exhaustion. “My father is dead, my brother is crippled, and now my mother has freed the one man who could have given us leverage. And then… there’s you.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushing it away. “I’m not your enemy, Robb. I wanted this to work. I wanted to be part of your family, of this… but I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough.”

He looked at you, his expression softened by the faintest glimmer of regret, but the doubt still lingered, a shadow that neither of you could banish. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I don’t know how to trust you.”

The ache in your chest deepened, and for a moment, the distance between you felt insurmountable. You nodded, turning away from him, feeling the weight of all that had gone unspoken settling heavily on your shoulders.

In the silence, you left the tent, leaving Robb alone with his doubts, the wound between you left unhealed and festering, the echoes of mistrust lingering in the cold Northern air.

The night was cold as Robb stormed into his mother’s tent, his face set in a hardened mask of fury and disbelief. The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced on the canvas walls, giving his expression an almost spectral intensity. Catelyn sat at a small table, her face pale but composed, as if she’d been waiting for this confrontation.

She looked up as he entered, her eyes steady, but Robb could see the quiet resolve and sadness in her gaze. She rose, meeting his gaze head-on, even as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him.

"Why?" His voice was low, laced with betrayal and anger. "Why did you do it, Mother?"

Catelyn’s expression didn’t falter. She clasped her hands together, taking a deep breath. "I did it for your sisters, Robb. For Sansa and Arya."

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a barely restrained fury. "You let the Kingslayer go. You released the one man who could give us leverage against the Lannisters, who could help us end this war. You went against me, against your king. All for what? A promise from Jaime Lannister?”

Catelyn’s face softened, but she held her ground. "You weren’t there, Robb. You didn’t see Sansa’s letter. You didn’t hear the desperation in her words. She’s trapped in that viper’s nest, held by the very people who murdered your father." Her voice wavered slightly, though her gaze remained resolute. "And Arya… we don’t even know where she is. If there’s a chance that Jaime’s freedom could bring them home, I had to take it."

Robb shook his head, disbelief etched in every line of his face. "A chance? You traded our best leverage for a chance? And what of the lives lost in this war? The men who followed me, who died believing we’d bring justice to our family, that we’d make the Lannisters answer for what they did?”

Catelyn’s expression faltered, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "Do you think I’ve forgotten that?" she whispered. "Do you think I’ve forgotten the men we’ve lost, the sons and fathers who’ve given their lives for this cause? But they did it for more than just vengeance, Robb. They did it to protect our family, to bring your sisters home. And if freeing Jaime means I have to make sacrifices, then so be it.”

"Those sacrifices weren’t yours to make," Robb shot back, his voice rising. "You put everything at risk. You put us at risk. Your sons, your people, our cause… all of it thrown away for a promise that Jaime Lannister might help us? Did you think of what it would cost us if he betrays us?”

Catelyn’s composure slipped, and her voice rose in response, tinged with frustration and sorrow. "And if I did nothing? What then, Robb? Leave Sansa in the lion’s den, to suffer at their mercy? Let Arya’s fate remain unknown, just a shadow in our minds? I couldn’t sit idly by, not when there was even a glimmer of hope."

"Hope?” Robb’s voice was sharp, his gaze unyielding. "Hope that the man who threw Bran from a tower, who killed Karstark’s sons, would suddenly grow a conscience? Did you even stop to think of the betrayal that would bring upon us all? Or was that outweighed by a promise Jaime made while bound in a cage?”

The words hung between them, thick with accusation, and Catelyn’s expression softened with regret, but she did not back down. "You weren’t there, Robb," she repeated, her voice quiet but firm. "Sansa is my daughter, your sister, and I will do anything—anything—to bring her back to us."

Robb’s face twisted with a mix of anger and pain, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to contain his emotions. "And what of me, Mother? Do I mean so little to you that you’d defy me, ignore my command, and risk everything we’ve fought for?”

Catelyn’s eyes softened, her own voice breaking as she spoke. "You are my son, Robb. My firstborn. I would do anything for you, you must know that." She took a step toward him, her voice pleading. "But you’re also a king now, and kings must make hard choices. I didn’t do this to defy you—I did it because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more of my children.”

Robb’s gaze was hard, but a flicker of understanding, of shared pain, crossed his face. “I am a king, yes. And as a king, I have to answer to my bannermen, to the people who follow me. And now they question me because of what you’ve done. They’re angry, furious that you would release the man who killed their kin. I cannot lead if my own family undermines me.”

Catelyn’s face fell, and for a moment, she looked vulnerable, her strength faltering. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Robb. But as a mother, I couldn’t stand by any longer. The Lannisters hold so much power over us… they hold our children, our family, and they’ve taken so much from us already. I just… I wanted to bring some of them back.”

Robb’s expression softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of sympathy breaking through the storm of his anger. But he quickly steeled himself, his face hardening once more as he took a step back, putting distance between them.

"Do you realize what you’ve done?" he asked quietly, his voice cold. "You’ve cost us our advantage. You’ve sown doubt among my men, our allies. You’ve put everything I’ve built at risk, all for a promise that might mean nothing.”

Catelyn’s gaze wavered, but she held his gaze, her face etched with sorrow. "Then I will bear that burden," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I will live with the consequences of my actions, Robb. But I did what I thought was right, as a mother.”

Robb’s eyes filled with pain, and he shook his head, his voice raw. "Right or wrong, you’ve betrayed me, Mother. And I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and final, and Catelyn looked away, her expression crumbling as the weight of his accusation settled over her. She took a shaky breath, struggling to hold back tears, but she did not try to defend herself further. She simply nodded, accepting his words, knowing that nothing she could say would change his mind.

Robb turned, his face as cold as the Northern wind, and without another word, he left the tent, leaving his mother behind, her shoulders slumped as she sank into a chair, the quiet grief settling over her like a shroud.

Outside, Robb took a deep breath, the anger and sorrow swirling within him, leaving him feeling hollow and adrift. He had lost his father, he had lost his trust in his wife, and now… he had lost faith in his own mother.

And as he stood alone in the darkness, he wondered how much more he could lose before there was nothing left of him at all.

The morning sun was a pale, cold light filtering through the muted haze that settled over the camp. It did little to warm the chill that seemed to grip Robb as he strode toward the war tent, the echoes of the previous night’s confrontation with his mother weighing heavily on him. His heart felt raw, torn between duty and family, and now he had to face his men, men who questioned his leadership, men who waited for him to set things right.

Inside the war tent, his bannermen were already gathered around the table, their expressions grim and expectant. Lord Karstark was there, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with anger, while Lord Umber stood with his arms crossed, his face hard and unyielding. They turned as Robb entered, offering him a nod of respect, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Robb took his place at the head of the table, looking out at the men who had pledged their loyalty to him, who had sacrificed for him. He could feel their resentment simmering, the weight of his mother’s betrayal casting a shadow over his authority. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepared to address the situation.

“We’ve lost Jaime Lannister,” he began, his voice firm, though he kept his tone measured. “I won’t pretend that this isn’t a setback. We lost a valuable bargaining piece, and I understand your anger. But we cannot allow this to break us.”

Lord Karstark scoffed, his voice filled with bitterness. “A setback? Your mother has let the very man who murdered my sons slip through our fingers. This is more than a mere setback, Robb.”

Robb clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his composure. “I understand, Lord Karstark. I share your anger. But Jaime Lannister is gone. Wasting time on anger won’t bring him back.”

Lord Umber leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps it’s time we consider other options, my king.”

Robb’s gaze flicked to him, his brows furrowing. “What other options?”

Umber exchanged a look with Karstark, then turned back to Robb, his expression calculating. “The Kingslayer may be gone, but we still have… another Lannister close at hand.”

Robb’s heart stilled, a flash of unease tightening his chest. “What do you mean?”

Karstark’s mouth twisted into a grim smile, his voice cold and unfeeling. “Your wife, my king. She carries the name Lannister in her blood as much as the Kingslayer did. If you want to draw Tywin Lannister out, what better way than to use her as bait?”

Robb’s face paled, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of what his bannermen were suggesting. “You’re speaking of my wife,” he said, his voice low, dangerously quiet. “The mother of my child.”

Lord Karstark shrugged, unperturbed. “She’s also a Lannister. Do you think Tywin would stand idly by if he knew his granddaughter is in our hands?”

Lord Umber nodded, his tone practical, almost cold. “Think about it, Robb. This is war. Your personal feelings can’t come before the needs of the North. If using the girl could give us an advantage, then we should consider it.”

Robb’s fists slammed onto the table, his face contorted with anger as he looked from one man to the next, his voice shaking with fury. “She is not a pawn. She is my wife. She is carrying my child. And you would suggest using her like a bargaining chip?”

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but Lord Karstark remained defiant, his gaze unwavering. “With respect, my king, this isn’t a game. We’re fighting for our survival, for justice. If we have a weapon we can use against the Lannisters, we should use it.”

Robb’s voice was ice, a low growl that cut through the room. “No. I will not hear any more talk of this. My wife is under my protection, and she is a part of this family, as much as any of you.” He turned his gaze to each of them, his eyes fierce. “If any of you even consider acting on this suggestion, I will see it as an act of treason.”

Silence fell, the men visibly taken aback by the ferocity in Robb’s voice, but Karstark refused to back down entirely. “You’re a young man, Robb,” he said, his tone bitter. “A young man who has let his heart cloud his judgment. War requires sacrifice. You cannot afford to place one person above the entire North.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with barely restrained rage. “I know the cost of war, Lord Karstark. I’ve buried men I’ve called my brothers, seen lives destroyed, families torn apart. But I will not sacrifice my wife and my child on the altar of your vengeance.”

Lord Umber’s voice softened, though there was still a note of caution. “We’re only suggesting that we consider all options, my lord. No one wants to see harm come to your lady, but if we’re to win this war, we need every advantage we can get.”

Robb took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger as he looked around at his bannermen, his voice tight with restraint. “I understand the risks. But we will find another way. I will not allow my wife to be used as a tool in this war. This discussion is over.”

The lords fell silent, some looking away, others muttering under their breath, but none dared to argue further. Robb could feel the weight of their disappointment, their doubt. But he stood firm, unwilling to compromise on this matter, no matter the cost.

Lord Karstark shook his head, his voice a quiet mutter filled with disdain. “You’re a fool if you think you can win this war with a conscience, Robb. This is a mistake, and it may well be the death of us all.”

Robb’s gaze hardened, his eyes like steel as he met Karstark’s glare. “Then so be it,” he replied, his voice unyielding. “I’d rather face death with honor than live knowing I betrayed the people I swore to protect.”

The lords exchanged glances, some nodding in reluctant acceptance, while others looked away, their expressions a mix of anger and disappointment. Robb could feel the rift growing between him and his men, the chasm widening with each hard choice he made. But he knew, in his heart, that this was the right decision.

As the bannermen began to file out of the tent, Robb stood in silence, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he struggled to steady himself. The weight of his choice pressed heavily on him, and he felt the creeping isolation that came with command, the loneliness of standing by one’s principles in a world that demanded compromise.

When the last of the lords had gone, he let out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping as the anger drained from him, leaving only the ache of weariness in its place. He had chosen to protect you, to keep his promise, but at what cost? His bannermen’s loyalty was waning, and the unity he had once relied on was beginning to fracture.

Yet he knew, as surely as he knew the North’s bitter winters, that he could not—would not—allow harm to come to you. Not even for the sake of his war.

...

The early morning mist clung to the ground as you stood in the quiet edge of the camp, saddling your horse with hands that trembled only slightly. The air was cold, stinging your skin, but it felt like a balm to the storm raging in your heart. Each buckle, each strap you tightened, was a silent answer to the questions you hadn’t been able to voice aloud. You knew this wasn’t a decision that could be made lightly, but after days—weeks—of silence, mistrust, and feeling like a stranger in your own life, it was a decision you had to make.

The quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps behind you, and you paused, a chill running through you that had nothing to do with the air. Turning slowly, you saw Robb standing there, his face pale, his expression etched with disbelief and something close to panic. Behind him, at a distance, Catelyn had stopped, her gaze fixed on you with a mix of sorrow and regret.

“What are you doing?” Robb’s voice was low, strained, as if he could barely bring himself to ask the question.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you turned to face him. “I’m preparing my horse, Robb. I think it’s time… I think it’s best if I leave.”

The words seemed to hit him like a blow, his face paling further as he took a step closer, his voice shaking with urgency. “You’re leaving? But… you’re heavy with child. You can’t just ride out like this.”

Your hand instinctively moved to rest on the curve of your belly, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the love you had once shared so freely with the man standing before you. “I have no other choice,” you replied, your voice quiet but firm. “You doubt me, Robb. You’ve doubted me for weeks, maybe even longer. I can’t stay where I’m not trusted. Not like this.”

Robb’s expression crumbled, and he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours. “I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered, his voice thick with desperation. “I know… I know I’ve made mistakes, that I’ve let my own fears blind me. But please, don’t do this.”

You looked away, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “How can I stay, Robb? How can I raise our child in a place where my loyalty is constantly questioned? Where every glance feels like a reminder that I don’t belong?”

Robb’s hand found yours, his grip gentle but firm as he held you close. “Because I love you,” he said softly, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability you hadn’t heard in weeks. “I love you more than I can say. And I know I’ve been a fool. But… please, don’t punish me for that by leaving.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and the anguish in his eyes struck deep, stirring memories of the love you’d shared—the warmth, the laughter, the quiet moments of solace and comfort that had once filled your life together. But those memories felt distant now, like echoes of a life that had slowly slipped away.

“I’m not punishing you, Robb,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m trying to protect myself. And our child. I can’t… I can’t keep waiting for you to trust me when every day feels like a test I’m doomed to fail.”

Robb shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “No. You’re not doomed to fail. You’re the woman I chose, the woman I love. And… you’re the mother of my child.” His voice broke, and he looked down, swallowing hard before meeting your gaze again, his eyes filled with tears. “Please… don’t take that away from me.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of everything you’d both lost, everything you still had yet to say. You could feel his desperation, the silent plea in his gaze, begging you to stay, to forgive, to give him one last chance. Behind him, Catelyn watched silently, her face shadowed with regret and sadness, but she said nothing, merely bearing witness to the fracture between you and her son.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours, the familiar strength and comfort you’d once found in his touch. But there was still the lingering ache, the wound of betrayal that hadn’t yet healed, the knowledge that even now, doubt lay between you like a dark chasm.

“I don’t know if love is enough, Robb,” you whispered, opening your eyes to meet his gaze, your voice trembling. “Love without trust… what kind of life would that be for us? For our child?”

Robb’s face crumpled, and he took a shaky breath, his voice raw. “Then let me earn your trust back,” he said, his words filled with a quiet, desperate hope. “Give me that chance. Stay. Please.”

The silence stretched between you, the decision hanging heavy in the air. You looked at him, at the man you’d once given your heart to, the man who had given you hope, love, a new life. But now… now there was so much pain, so much mistrust, that you couldn’t tell if those promises still held the same weight.

Your gaze drifted to the road beyond the camp, the path that would lead you back to your family, to the life you’d left behind. And then back to Robb, his eyes filled with silent pleading, his hand still holding yours, a reminder of everything you’d built together, of the future you’d dreamed of.

And as you stood there, torn between two worlds, the decision loomed, uncertain and unresolved, like the misty dawn stretching before you, waiting for you to choose which path you would take.

There will be another part with the ending if Y/N decides to stay. 😉

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #asoiaf x reader #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got robb stark #robb stark #robb x reader #robb x you #robb x y/n #house stark #house lannister #house baratheon

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 1 year ago

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Between a Wolf and a Hound II

Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x Baratheon!Reader

Summary: The new Lady of the North tries to cope with the fact that she is now married and has a responsibility to her husband.

Warnings: Full disclosure I wrote this in sections over the course of like two months so it's a bit jumbled. POV will randomly switch from first to third and back to first with no clear indication (sorry).

Real Warnings: Arranged marriage, cursing, angst, fighting, smut, public consummation, non/dubcon (didn't enter marriage willingly, therefore consummation is not consensual esp with witnesses)

Word Count: 4.4K

Part I | Masterlist

Rounding a corner that went towards the stables I found the large stature of Sandor walking away from me. “Sandor,” I called softly. I had already been ready to burst but upon seeing his pained expression I burst into tears as I approached. “Sandor,” I cried again as I reached him.

He pulled me into his body as I began to cry. Eventually scooping up my legs as he sat down so I was set in his lap. I buried my face into his beard as I continued to cry. “I-I’m so-sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, little one? I know you didn’t choose that.”

“I didn’t think you’d be in the room.”

“It’s okay, takes a lot more than that to break me,” Sandor said, hiding the fact that he was on his way to drink himself to sleep. Both because of what he had seen and to cope with the fact that he’d never see her again after tomorrow.

“It hurt,” I cried.

Sandor reached his hand between my legs, just gently grazing me. He pulled his hand back and in the dim lighting of the hall he could see blood coating his fingers. “I know it did,” he said softly, remembering her cries for Robb to stop. “But it’ll get better when you’re not in front of an audience.”

“I don’t want it to get better, I just want you.”

“I know, me too,” Sandor sympathized. As he held her, the princess’s head tucked under his chin, he mustered up the strength to say the next words. “But you’re going to learn to be happy like Cat Stark did. You’re gonna fall in love with him, have his children, and be the highborn you are. Now, I’m gonna take you to your husband and say you got lost because if anyone catches me with you in this state, only my head will make it to King’s Landing.”

“No,” I pleaded, realizing the finality of his words. “Please I can never love him like you.”

“Try to, little one. For my sake, try to,” he said before gently pushing me off his lap. As he stood up, he pulled me up from the floor. Once I was steady on my feet, Sandor leaned down and kissed me. Our last kiss. I savored it, memorizing how he felt and tasted. When he pulled away, he lingered a little. His large fingers gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his hands still gently grasping my face. He stepped away from me with a sigh, heading down the hall.

I walked with him, silently. I kept my gaze focused on the floor, too devastated to act like the Lady of the North I was supposed to now be. When we reached my new chambers, Sandor knocked for me. Robb opened the door, still wearing only his pants. “Your bride got lost,” was all Sandor said.

Robb nodded. “Thank you, for bringing her here,” he said, stepping aside for me to enter.

I held myself tightly as I walked across the threshold into Robb’s room. “Take care of her,” I faintly heard Sandor.

“I will,” came Robb’s reply before the door shut. I observed the room, it was warm looking despite the cold. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, the stone floors covered by rugs, both woven and made from animal skins. Several candles and torches lit the room, giving it a warm glow and the bed was made, several warm furs piled upon it. A maid came out of a room connected to Robb’s immediately exiting into the hall without a word. “I figured you’d enjoy a warm bath, after tonight,” he mumbled the last part, almost as if in shame.

“That is kind, thank you,” I said, heading into the en-suite. My husband followed after me, stopping at the door as I stood by the tub.

“Take as long as you like,” he said before stepping back, shutting the door and leaving me alone.

I quickly disrobed, eager to be warm again as I slipped into the bath. I soaked into the warmth for a long time. I don’t know how long but long enough for Robb to come looking for me. I only snapped to attention when I heard him call my name. Looking over, I found him standing beside the tub. “Are you alright? I called for you several times.”

“Uh- yes,” I answered. “I was just uh thinking, I suppose.”

He nodded solemnly before kneeling beside me. “Look, I am aware you didn’t want this marriage and I’m sorry about the bedding ceremony. But I promise to be a good husband and I won’t force myself on you. I have a sense that you may be in love with someone else?” I just looked down into the water, my hands crossed over my bent knees. Robb’s gaze followed, reaching his hand into the water to grasp mine. “This water is freezing, little doe,” he suddenly gasped.

I once again brought my attention to the world, realizing I was in fact cold. Robb dropped my hands, going over to where the servant had left a towel. He brought it over, wrapping it around me as I stepped out of the tub. Quickly urging me out of the washroom, he sat me down on a fur rug next to the fireplace. He stood beside me, hovering, as if unsure what to do. “Yes,” I spoke, answering his question from earlier. “It is true, I’ve spent the last year loving another man but he’s gone now. And I have every intention of making our marriage a happy one, of hopefully growing to love each other one day. I see how your parents interact, I want the same for us. For my worst nightmare would be ending up like my own parents. I will just need some time.”

Robb grabbed a fur blanket from hi— our bed. He kneeled before me, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Of course,” he agreed.

The next morning I woke up alone in Robb’s bed, wrapped in both the towel and several blankets. Surveying the room, my trunk laid beside the door. Leaving the warm bed, I went over, pulling out one of the many warm dresses that had been packed for me. Before leaving the chambers, I went to the window, hoping to see the view I’d have for the rest of my life. It was just like any view in Winterfell, grey skies and miles of pine trees. But this window faced down into the courtyard as well where I could see three figures practicing with their swords. I recognized them as Robb, his brother Jon Snow, and Theon Greyjoy whom had been hanging around Robb at the feasts. Several of my father’s men stood around, watching them spar, a few occasionally joining in. Surrounding them were the bustling movements of servants packing up my family’s belongings as well as Lord Stark’s as he would be the new Hand of the King.

I stepped away from the window with a sigh before heading out, intending to find my mother and some breakfast. In one of the smaller dining halls, I stumbled upon Lady Stark and her daughter Sansa. “My apologies,” I said as I interrupted their conversation.

“No need to apologize, I was hoping to see you,” my new mother-in-law smiled. “Please, eat,” she said, gesturing to an empty seat.

“Well then forgive me for holding you,” I apologized, taking a seat. A servant immediately placed a plate and silverware for me. “I don’t normally wake up so late.”

“Once again, no need to apologize,” she smiled. “Robb and I both told the servants not to disturb you. You had a demanding night.” I smiled shyly as I grabbed a pastry from the center of the table.

“Is King’s Landing as dirty as they say it is?” my sister-in-law suddenly asked.

I smiled at her question. “The city is quite dirty, and loud. But as long as you don’t wander too far out of the Red Keep, you will be perfectly fine. And should you ever venture out into the city, bring a guard or two. If not for your protection but to make your day less overwhelming. The merchants descend like vultures when they see nobles.”

“Do you miss it?”

I pondered for a second. “In some ways, yes,” I miss Sandor, “I’ll miss the warmth. In some ways, no, I like that it’s quiet here.”

Sansa hummed before looking to her mother. “May I be excused? I have to ensure everything has been packed.”

Lady Stark looked at her daughter sadly before agreeing. As Sansa left, I spoke up. “It must be hard, first little Bran and now your husband and daughters are leaving? Not to mention you had already been forced to leave your family when you married Lord Stark.”

She shrugged solemnly. “It is my duty,” was all she said. “I’m sure your mother is pained to leave you here.”

“Between us,” I began, already finding more comfort in Catelyn Stark than I ever had in my mother, “I don’t think so. She’s always favored her fairer haired children. I was looking forward to joining your family, it’s a shame they’re all leaving so soon.”

“Yes, well, it gets easier as you start a family of your own.” I just hummed, unsure if I was ready for that or not. “Ned told me last night was a little rough on you, I’m sorry you had to endure a public bedding ceremony.”

I tried to not let my mortification show. “Yes, well, afterwards Robb was apologetic. I understand he didn’t intend to harm me, I know he is an honorable man. You raised a good son, Lady Stark.”

She smiles graciously. “Thank you, and please, call me Cat. How are you finding the North?”

“You certainly have quite the culture. The people here are all so… overwhelmingly loyal to each other. And I am not of here.”

“Yes, harsh winters do that to a community. I can’t help but feel like an outsider here too. Ned always tells me that I am of the North now, I’m sure Robb will tell you the same.”

Just then, a servant entered. “The Queen requests her highness in her chambers.” I gave Cat one last grateful look before following after the servant. As I approached Cersei’s temporary chambers, I could see the door was already open as servants carried her belongings out. But as I entered, each one left, the last shutting the door behind her.

“Mother?” I called as she stood, staring out the window.

“I heard you bled last night?” was all she said, not bothering to turn to me.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Good,” she said. She finally turned. “We’ll be off within the hour, I trust you know how to behave like the Lady you now are?” She said Lady with disgust. She had gone from Lady Lannister to Queen Baratheon while her daughter went from Princess Baratheon to Lady Stark, an incredible dishonor in her eyes. She was angry at Robert for doing that to her.

“Yes.”

“Good, try not to cry the next time your husband beds you,” she sniped with a dismissive wave. I felt tears prick my eyes as I turned, leaving her chambers.

I made my way outside, finding the youngest Stark daughter swinging around a small sword in a deserted area. Upon seeing me, she stepped back in fright, dropping the sword. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she immediately begged.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. A woman with a sword is a powerful thing.”

“It is?”

I smiled down at the young girl. I prayed Cersei never got her hands hand on girl. “Women have brains, men have brawn. And men are terrified when women have both.”

“And what about men? Can they have both?”

“I’ve never heard of a man with much of a brain,” I laughed. “If I were you, I’d hide the sword before your mother comes looking for you to say her goodbyes.” Arya nodded, running off eagerly.

I continued on, finding myself amongst the men I had viewed from the window earlier. They parted as they noticed me, allowing me to obtain a view of my husband as he sparred with a guard. Spying Jon Snow I approached. “Your brother is quite the swordsmen,” I announced my presence.

He gave a slight bow, “Your Highness.”

I just waved a dismissive hand. “No need for titles with family. Besides, I’m no longer a princess, just a lady now,” I beamed. While my mother saw this change of title as humiliating, I was relieved to be released from that life.

“Well if you think Robb is impressive, you should see me fight,” Jon laughed.

Neither of us noticed the man approaching us. “Exaggerating your skills to my wife, aren’t we now?” Robb asked rhetorically.

“Well it’s not exaggerating if it’s true,” Jon laughed.

Robb just shook his head dismissively. “Ignore him, little doe. He’s known for his over-embellishments. I apologize for not being there when you woke. I had some things to attend to and some of your father’s men were getting a bit bold. Had to show these Southerners real, Northern toughness.”

“It’s quite all right, I don’t generally wake up that late.”

He looked at me sympathetically. “You had a strenuous night, physically and emotionally. It’s only natural you wake up a bit later.”

“I had breakfast with your mother. A lovely woman, really.”

“Yes, she is very kind. I hope you’re finding Winterfell to your liking so far. It will be much quieter by this evening.”

“Yes, I’m enjoying the quiet so far. King’s Landing is far louder in comparison.”

“Well I’m glad,” he smiled.

“Oi, Stark!” a voice shouted from across the field. “Are you gonna keep flirting with the girl or are you gonna fight like a man?”

“Go,” I said with a laugh. “Prove your worth.” Robb smiled once again, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek before heading towards the new guard. Glancing around, I found the large stature of Sandor. I felt physically ill at the thought of him seeing my exchange with Robb. Roles reversed, my heart would shatter if I had to watch another woman kiss him or make love to him like last night.

I slipped back into the crowd, trying to covertly maneuver my way to him. Upon reaching him, I gently brushed my fingers against his arm. But he didn’t look at me, keeping his gaze on the sparring match ahead. “Sandor…”

“I trust your husband is treating you well?” he asked, his gaze unwavering.

“Uh-yes, Lord Stark is a very decent man.”

“Good, or else I’d have to cut off his head within his own walls.” I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. “I should’ve done it when you were begging him to stop fucking you.”

“Sandor-”

“I hope he treats you well, little one, I really do. But I don’t particularly enjoy seeing him put his hands on what’s mine.”

I sighed. “Well for what it’s worth, I’ll always be yours.” He just grunted in acknowledgement, still never looking at me as I walked away, dejected.

“Would you like to go lie down? Eat something?” I asked Cat gingerly. Ever since the maester had mentioned a small fever she had thrown everyone else out of Bran’s room so Robb asked me to go in as a last resort. “I’ll watch Bran, he’ll be in good hands.” She didn’t say anything. “It won’t be for long. Don’t wrack yourself with more anxiety, you should walk it off. I’ve nursed my brothers and plenty of soldiers back to health. I will send someone to fetch you should the slightest thing happen.” Cat stared at her son longingly before bursting into tears.

“I need him to be okay,” she sobbed repeatedly.

“But you are not okay. Worrying yourself sick without a release will do Bran no good. What will he do if he wakes up and his mother is too exhausted to hold him?” She continued to cry but this time she stood up, exiting the room. A guard outside met her, bringing her to her chambers. So I settled in her seat, observing the younger Stark boy.

A few minutes passed and Robb came in. “I was told you had managed to get my mother to rest. I am very impressed,” he praised. He went to the window, opening the shutters. The howling of the wolves, crying for their masters, filtered in the window.

“Don’t be so hard on your mother. First her son falls to what should be his death and then her husband and daughters leave.”

“I know but…” he suddenly became quiet. “Fire! You stay here, I’ll come back,” he shouted before running off.

Taken aback, I stood up, heading to the window. Amongst the darkness was a small, glowing blaze alight on a small structure. Turning my gaze away, I found a hooded figure standing behind me, in front of Bran’s bed. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said. “No one’s supposed to be here.” Utterly confused and unnerved I barely had time to react as he pulled out a knife, stepping towards me. But by the time I had come to my senses he had me pressed against the wall, knife poised to slit my throat. I heard myself yell, my hands reaching up to block the blade. One was immediately sliced open but the other caught where his hand was wrapped around the blade and I managed to push his hand away enough to give me room to move. I shoved him backwards but he took me with him, throwing my body to the ground. But before he could finish anything a blur of brown and grey pounced on top of him, tearing at his throat.

“Thank you,” I whispered to the dire wolf as he settled on the bed, next to his master.

“Lady Stark I heard…” came the breathless voice of a guard as he observed the carnage in the room. Another guard ran in, having a similar reaction to the carnage. “Get Lord Stark,” the first ordered. The second complied, running off. “You’re hurt, my Lady.”

“I am alright,” I dismissed. I couldn’t help but think that Sandor would be proud of me for fighting back and keeping myself alive. He had been the one that taught me how to fight. Standing up, I went over to Bran, checking him. Careful to not smear my blood on him with my injured hand.

Suddenly Robb entered, out of breath. “You’re hurt,” he pointed out in shock upon seeing my blood soaked hand. He was best to me in an instant, taking my wounded hand gently. “What happened?”

“Immediately after you left I went to see the fire from the window. When I turned around that man was in the room. Said that no one was supposed to be in here before he attacked me,” I explained. “He tried to slit my throat but I caught the blade. He was about to kill me when Bran’s wolf saved both our lives.”

“Come, let’s get you to the maester so he can fix your hand and take your statement,” he said gently, leading me out of the room with an arm around me.

“Your Grace,” a servant approached the King as he sat eating, “a raven from Winterfell brought this.” Ned perked up at the mention of Winterfell. The boy held up a small roll of parchment.

Robert took it, unrolling it. Ned sat anxiously as the king read. “There was an attack on your younger son’s life,” Robert told his old friend. “He is unharmed but apparently my daughter took the brunt of the attack to protect him.”

“Is she…?” Ned trailed off, not wanting to utter the death of his new daughter-in-law and the King’s daughter into existence.

“It says she is alright, just a little shaken up and a nasty cut on her hand,” he grumbled. “So much for your son’s promise to protect her.” Ned stayed silent at the comment, knowing that Robb was surely kicking himself at the injury of his new wife. “Someone bring me The Hound!” Robert suddenly bellowed. “Tell him he’s going back to Winterfell.”

I was simply eating lunch, minding my own business when I suddenly heard shouts coming from outside. Peering out the window I saw a familiar figure riding in the gate. Several guards stood before Sandor, attempting to block his entrance. I knew that this would not end well if this altercation became physical so I rushed down the stairs and outside.

As I approached the bickering men, I found my husband observing them. He was far enough away that he wouldn’t disturb them but close enough to intervene should he need to. I was still decently far away when Sandor suddenly jumped from Stranger’s back, unsheathing his sword. As the guards began to attack, I ran towards them, screeching for them to stop.

I was so fixated on Sandor I didn’t even notice Robb until he had me caught around the waist, blocking me from reaching them. “Sandor! Stop! All of you stop,” I screeched but they ignored me.

Seeing how desperate his wife was, Robb finally spoke up. “That’s enough!” he yelled. “As Lord of Winterfell I order you to cease.” All the guards fell still at their Lord’s command, Sandor also falling still.

I ripped myself from Robb’s grip, going to my guard. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be halfway to King’s Landing by now?”

“Your father sent me back. He received word of your attack,” he explained, taking my bandaged hand gently. “He wanted you protected, seeing as your husband failed at that,” he said with a pointed glare towards Robb.

Turning to him, I could see him clench his jaw at Sandor’s comment. “Lady Stark, a word?” I moved to approach him, Sandor following. “No, not the Hound, just you.”

“My orders are to resume my post as the princess’ sworn shield. Wherever she goes, I go.”

“I am Lord of Winterfell and you are on my land, speaking about my wife. I will decide on all matters related to her.”

“I’m here on your king’s orders, regarding the safety of his daughter. A duty you failed.”

“Enough,” I shouted at both men. “We will all go inside where Robb and I can speak in private.” Both begrudgingly agreed, Robb leading us straight to our chambers. He left Sandor outside his door before guiding me into the en-suite washroom.

“The Hound is the man you love, isn’t he?” Robb immediately demanded, fuming. I was completely blindsided, not anticipating that this is what he wanted to talk about. “You nearly ran into a sword fight for him. You could be dead if it weren’t for me.”

“Robb-”

“I tried to let him stay with you, I spoke up for him because I thought it would make this transition easier for you.”

“Robb please…”

“No, he’s not staying here. Your father is welcome to send another guard but I won’t be sharing our bed with a dog. You said yourself you intend to make our marriage happy and to try to fall in love with me. We cannot have a happy marriage with your dog constantly nipping at my heels.”

I stepped closer to my husband, venom coursing through my veins. “Send him away and I will hate you forever.”

“Try me,” he growled. “You will either grow to love me or your disdain will eat you alive. I accept the fact that you loved someone before me, I am giving you time, but I do not need to offer your lover room in my home or a place in my bed.”

“Fine, send him away, but I beg you not to tell anyone. They will have his head if they knew.”

Robb sighed, observing his wife's desperate expression. “I won't. We will speak later tonight,” he said before storming out to send Sandor away. I stayed in Robb’s room until I was sure they were both gone. I could never bear the heartbreak of seeing Sandor as he was sent away. I also couldn’t stand the thought of sharing a bed with Robb tonight so I went to one of the many guest rooms, setting up there.

I managed to stay there all day without being found. It wasn’t until night fell and I was intent to go to bed that the door opened, revealing my husband. I sat up from my comfortable position on the bed. “What are you doing here?”

Robb began stripping off his clothes until he was only in his trousers. “You are my wife, I am your husband, we share a bed,” he declared, sliding into bed next to me.

“My parents don’t share a bed.”

“And you said your greatest fear was ending up like them.”

Defeated, I huffed, laying back down. I turned away from him but his arm wrapped around my waist and he pulled himself closer so his body molded to mine. “I’m sorry I sent him away but I know you understand why I did it. Would you rather we continuously hurt each other by bringing others into our marital bed? I love you, little doe, I won’t let our marriage become merely a bargaining tool.”

I stayed silent, reflecting on his words. I did understand why he sent Sandor away, our marriage could not be happy with a third person in it. Understanding but still angry, my hand found his, the one that he had slipped below the pillow underneath my head. Upon feeling my grasp, Robb nuzzled himself further into me, the arm around my waist squeezing me tighter and his face finding its place in the crook of my neck.

Part I | Masterlist

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