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bumblesimagines · 11 months ago

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The Wolf's Guard

Request: Yes or No

Summary: The love between a wolf and their darling is unbreakable, even if that darling is a Bolton.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

~~~

If the Starks were known for anything, it was their honor, duty, and family values. Everyone in all of Westeros knew it, from the poor to the rest of the Great Houses, as many had bore witness to those traits at play. The wolves of the north, the pack that'd once been called Kings, had bent the knee willingly during Aegon's Conquest and from then on, were known as Wardens of the North.

The glorious House Stark of Winterfell. Robb still vividly remembered the days in which he and his bastard brother, Jon Snow, were taught the history of their ancestors. Brandon the Boisterous, Cregan Stark, Rodwell Stark, Rickard Stark... Robb knew their names well, knew the significance of their importance to his bloodline. They were his ancestors, warriors with wolf's blood coursing through their veins, and blood that ran through his. Just like them, Robb is heir to Winterfell, the firstborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. And while Robb's heart valued honor, duty, and family over all else, there were times when he wished he hadn't been born first.

The first time he took his mind off his duty as heir (a duty everyone constantly reminded him of every waking moment) was when Roose Bolton brought his second-born son, (Y/N) Bolton, to Winterfell when they were children to become a ward under Eddard Stark. He'd heard about the stories and rumors surrounding the family and their ancestral home, the Dreadfort. Their history was as lengthy as the Starks, with their own ancestors having been once called the Red Kings. While Starks were honorable, Boltons were cruel, cunning, and dishonorable with a tradition of flaying their enemies that they were forced to give up upon being bannermen for the Starks. However, there were rumors they still flayed their prisoners after days and weeks of torture.

Robb and Jon exchanged whispers while their father spoke with Roose Bolton, an unremarkably ordinary-looking man despite the eerie aura that surrounded him and his sons. His eyes were striking, a color so pale and odd that they made shivers run down the spines of the two boys when he looked in their direction. But the prickle of uneasiness that poked at Robb vanished when (Y/N) looked toward him. Jon immediately ducked behind the barrel they'd chosen to hide behind but Robb held his gaze and was rewarded with a grin.

"Robb," His father had called out, "Come."

Robb immediately obeyed, jumping out from behind the barrel and striding over to his brother. At the age of seven, Robb knew his place as heir very well so he made every attempt at showing everyone the manners and way of nobles he'd been taught. Ned placed a comforting hand over his shoulder and smiled down at his son. "Why don't you show (Y/N) around Winterfell, Robb? His father and I have much to discuss."

"Yes, Father." Robb nodded, his auburn curls bouncing off his forehead. Domeric Bolton, eldest son of Roose and heir to the Dreadfort, similarly set his hand over his younger brother's shoulder. (Y/N) peered up at his father and then at his brother, lingering even after Roose gave him an approving nod.

"Go on," Domeric murmured gently and (Y/N) looked back at Robb with a growing smile.

Robb spent the rest of the day showing (Y/N) around Winterfell, his chest puffing out with pride each time (Y/N) seemed impressed about something. Jon and Theon trailed after them, providing input that (Y/N) largely ignored in favor of giving Robb his full attention, something surprisingly made him squirm. He finished the tour by introducing (Y/N) to his mother and his younger sister, Sansa. Catelyn greeted (Y/N) politely, more kindly than she treated Jon at least, and offered to get some sweets for them after dinner while Sansa clung to her skirts and watched them.

It wasn't until a few days later, when the boys were giggling on a stack of haybale after their latest mischief that Robb had a thought that would continue to emerge: 'I wish he were a girl.'

As they grew and reached their fifteenth name days, they both began showcasing the faithful traits of their house. Robb grew gentler, less mischievous, and showed a strong sense of honor. He continued reading his histories and studied faithfully under the septa, training nearly every day with Ser Rodrick Cassel and accompanying his father whenever he ventured out on hunts or to meet with others. (Y/N) seemingly grew a taste for blood, something that emerged during training. He went easier on Robb than the others, incredibly apparent as Theon and Jon would end up bruised and bloody by the end of each session. But despite Theon's complaints and Jon's worries about (Y/N) fatally injuring someone, Robb could never shake the astonished, fluttery feeling whenever he saw (Y/N).

"Come on, boy," Ser Rodrick called to the staggering Jon and Robb couldn't help but wince at the trickle of blood going down his nose. Jon wiped it away, his black hair clinging to his dirt-speckled sweaty face. Nobody had to look at Theon to know the boy likely looked pale as winter snow. (Y/N) pointed the - thankfully - wooden sword at Jon and cocked his head to the side, a wide grin across his face.

"What's wrong, Snow?" (Y/N) taunted, and Jon glared at him, throwing aside his sword and marching right up to (Y/N). The Bolton laughed when Jon grabbed the sides of his chest armor, his teeth digging into his bottom lip before he rammed the end of the sword into Jon's temple. Jon cursed loudly and released him to grab the side of his head, the blow working as intended when (Y/N) slammed his foot into Jon's chest piece and knocked him back.

"I believe that's enough, aye, lad?" Robb straightened up at the sound of his father's voice, craning his neck to watch Ned step out of the nearby building and approach them with a grimace. He gently clapped the back of (Y/N)'s shoulder to congratulate him, his eyes remaining locked on his bastard son's panting form. "Go see Maester Luwin, Jon."

"May I have a word in private, Lord Stark?" Ser Rodrick asked, earning a curt nod in response. (Y/N)'s eyes followed the two older men as they walked further away from them, their voices drowned out by the hustle and bustle of servants working and guests chatting. His lips formed a noticeable pout, one that made Robb chuckle as he helped take the chest piece off him.

"They're going to send me home." (Y/N) muttered bitterly.

"They won't," Robb assured him, handing the piece off to a nearby servant and giving them a thankful smile. (Y/N) huffed, the air coming out in a small cloud, and he tossed the sword aside into the dirt beside them. Robb caught a brief look at the knitted brow, sullen expression on his face before (Y/N) turned on his heel and stormed away. Immediately, Robb followed without a second thought, keeping his eyes focused on the boy until they reached the Godswood.

"Leave me alone, Robb." (Y/N) muttered grumpily, slumping down on the ground beside the water and roughly tugging blades of grass from the ground.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," Robb responded, taking a seat beside him and gazing out into the water. The Godswood had always been a place to seek peace or advice from the Old Gods, a place Robb could visit to clear his mind or simply escape for a brief moment. (Y/N) pursed his lips and Robb smiled, pressing his fingertip against (Y/N)'s cheek and gigging softly when he swatted at his hand. "Come on, tell me."

"Nobody here likes me. They're scared of me." (Y/N) said quietly, tugging more grass out of the dirt. "Lord Eddard is going to send me home to the Dreadfort, I know he is. Father's going to be mad at me but at least Dom will be there."

Robb stared at him, noticing the way he pressed his lips together to stop them from quivering. "I like you." He revealed softly and (Y/N) tilted his head toward him, eyes flickering between Robb's vibrant blue eyes. Robb's stomach twisted and turned, heat rising up his neck and covering his ears like fire.

"How much?"

"A lot." He admitted, the branches above them gently rustling together with the wind. The sound eased his nerves, eased the dread threatening to bubble up and consume him. "If you were a lady, I would ask Father to let us wed."

(Y/N)'s lips curled up at that. "The Old Gods do not care if we're both men, Robb." He reminded him, that familiar grin working its way onto his face. Robb smiled again, setting his hand over (Y/N)'s and putting an end to his constant grass tearing. "Would you kill for me, Robb?"

"To protect you, yes," Robb answered immediately, no poundering needed. He'd kill to protect any of his loved ones. His parents, Jon, Theon, Sansa, little Arya and Bran. His father spilled blood for his late sister, Lyanna, during the rebellion and Robb doubted his father wouldn't do it all over again for her. "Would you?"

"If you asked." Then, (Y/N) leaned forward and clumsily mushed their lips together, sending a jolt down Robb's spine and a heat throughout his face. He'd kissed a young lady once or twice in secret and out of curiosity but despite his brief experience, he moved nervously and just as clumsily.

Things rapidly changed from then on, behind closed doors at least. To the servants and residents of Winterfell, the two remained the same close friends as always, but away from prying eyes and curious ears, they were inseparable lovers. Robb's lingering stares grew and any ladies his mother asked him about were brushed away for one excuse or another. The sneaking around, the subtle touches, and innocent gestures, it was all exciting for them but Robb grew to prefer how hungry (Y/N) always seemed for him. It felt good to be wanted, felt good when he whispered loving confessions and laughed at (Y/N)'s eye rolls and flustered smiles.

Until, as quickly as their relationship began, they were just as quickly swept away from each other.

Not long after (Y/N) sixteenth name day, news arrived at Winterfell of Domeric Bolton's death. An illness in the stomach, the first letter from Maester Uthor read, but the letter from Roose informed him of a new family member who'd potentially caused the death of his brother: a half-brother by the name of Ramsay Snow—a bastard of the North. With Domeric dead, the title of heir fell on (Y/N)'s shoulders and took him away from Winterfell and back to the Dreadfort. Jon and Theon eased with his absence but Robb's heart broke into pieces. As a secondborn, (Y/N) could do as he pleased and remain by Robb's side forever if he wished, but as an heir?

As much as his absence pained him, Robb ensured to write (Y/N) many letters, most with secret messages only the two of them could understand. He detailed any events that'd gone on, small or big, silly or tragic. He wrote to him about the pups found by Jon and the one he'd claimed, about the royal visit at Winterfell and his father's new position as Hand, Jon joining the Night's Watch, the saddening news of his sister's wolf being killed. The letters stopped when Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell called the bannermen to war.

Robb focused on the war, on avenging his father and bringing his beloved sisters home before they could be harmed by the Lannisters. The Bolton's joined the effort, of course, but Robb hardly saw (Y/N) during the start. They both had their duties, their own men to command, and many more things to worry about. But, the reunion had Robb nearly collapsing.

He'd seen him, caught a brief glance during a battle with Lannister's army. It'd been enough to make him fight even harder, and they'd won in the end, returning back to camp to treat their wounded and count the dead. Robb had been swept away, his new title as King of the North forcing even more responsibilities onto his lap, but he managed to keep his racing mind focused enough to manage the tasks at hand, nearly forgetting about the glimpse until that night.

Dragging the wet rag over his sword, Robb thought about his father. He thought about all the things Ned would say to him, the advice he'd give to him. His father knew of battles and rebellions, he knew of war. Robb only knew what he learned as the war progressed. Sure, there were many older men who'd fought alongside his father, who still had the taste of war in their mouths, but none would compare to the knowledge of Eddard Stark. He sighed quietly, gazing over his reflection and failing to hear the person entering his tent.

"King of the North, aye? Has a pretty ring to it." He tensed immediately, first due to surprise and then because of that familiar voice. His head whirled around, eyes wide and heart pleading. (Y/N) grinned at him, splatters of blood still covering his skin and clothes from a battle the Boltons and few others had ridden out to, but it suited him perfectly. The sword fell with a loud clatter and Robb darted up from his seat, unable to restrain himself from flying into (Y/N)'s embrace. "Missed me, hm?" He laughed.

"Of course, I missed you, you bastard." Robb exhaled, leaning back to grasp the sides of his face, disregarding the blood that smeared onto his palms before he crashed their lips together. An almost animalistic growl-like noise emitted from (Y/N) throat and he kissed him back more roughly, as were most things with (Y/N). The Bolton backed him up until Robb fell back onto the bed, briefly knocking the air out of him. (Y/N) hovered above him, eyes glinting with a familiar look that sent heat rushing to his stomach.

"Sorry 'bout Lord Eddard, Robb." He murmured, dipping down to brush his lips over Robb's cheek and down to his throat where he dug his teeth lightly into him.

"I heard of your half-brother, (Y/N)." Robb sighed again, the familiarity of it all making him lightheaded. His beloved had always been all tongue and teeth. (Y/N) snorted softly into his throat, a short chuckle leaving him at the mention of Ramsay's demise. He'd died in his sleep, or so Lord Bolton had said.

"Never liked him, anyway." (Y/N) told him, rising back up to press their lips tightly together, teeth digging into Robb's bottom lip and tugging lightly. "I have news, Robb."

"Can it wait?" Robb knew the answer but he hoped pulling (Y/N) closer would change his mind. (Y/N) chuckled again and moved his hips, a lazy smirk spreading across his face when Robb cursed softly under his breath and reached down to fumble with their pants.

"No, My King."

"Gods, you're the worst."

A sadistic little bastard but Robb loved him anyway. (Y/N)'s amusement faded away and he inhaled heavily, planting his hands on the sides of Robb's head and staring down at him. The seriousness made Robb straighten up, despite their rather compromising position, and he nodded for (Y/N) to continue. "My father plans on betraying you, Robb. Your rejection of Walder Frey's girls gave way for Father. He plans on marrying one of his daughters for an alliance. He wants to kill you." Robb's blood ran icy cold. War always had its fair share of traitors and cowardly, slimy men.

"Are you certain?" Robb sat up in the bed, forcing (Y/N) to lean back and stand again. A traitor in their midst and Walder Frey's ego. Two problems Robb hardly had time to deal with. (Y/N) reached out, fingers dipping under Robb's chin and tilting his head up.

"Give me your command and I'll bring his head to you by early morrow."

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