GlitchInTheMatrix

And in happier news, Bran had woken up last week. Though Maester Luwin said he could never walk again, you were thankful to the gods that he was alive, everything else could be sorted out.

Needless to say, Bran didn’t see it that way.

“Have you two seen Rickon?”

Both Jon and Theon stopped eating their breakfast and looked up at you at the same time.

“Wasn’t he with you and Robb?” Jon asked and you shook your head.

“Robb went to visit Bran in his room, I figured they would want to talk alone. The last time I talked to him, he wasn’t really…” you trailed off and shrugged. “Which is expected.”

“Aye, he wasn’t really interested in talking to me either.” 

“He just needs time,” Theon said. “That’s it—oh, there’s Rickon.”

You turned your head to find Rickon absolutely covered in mud, making you gasp. The little boy didn’t seem like he minded the mud on his clothes at all, judging by the toothless smile he gave you when he reached the table.

“Hello!”

“What’s happened?!” you asked, covering your mouth with your hands and he looked down at himself.

“I was playing with Shaggy.”

“In the mud?”

“Aye!”

You seemed to be the only one who was shocked at the state of him, because instead of reacting in any way, Jon just ruffled his little brother’s hair while Theon let out a laugh. Rickon grabbed a piece of cheese from Theon’s plate without even wiping his hands, then darted through the hall before you could stop him, almost crashing into Robb’s legs on his way out. Robb looked over his shoulder to check where his little brother was rushing off to, then approached you and pressed a kiss on your temple.

“Here you are,” he said and touched the small of your back before he sat down, so you took the seat next to Jon’s. “Where’s he going?”

“To the yard, I’d say,” Jon answered while you stared at the entrance, your mouth half agape.

“He’s covered in mud,” you managed to say, “and he ate food without cleaning his hands.”  

“He does that.”

Your eyes widened. “But that’s not healthy!”

“He has never fallen ill his entire life,” Jon said and Robb nodded.

“Besides, it’s Rickon,” he stated as if that was enough of an explanation, and reached out to steal a piece of bread from Jon’s plate, but Jon swatted his hand away.

“Go get your own plate!”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Then keep your hands off my food!”

“So you’re saying you won’t share your bread with me? Your brother? Your blood?”

“Aye, that’s what I’m saying—”

“Did someone at least tell Rickon that it’s not good manners to walk around covered in mud?”

“Multiple septas did.” Robb filled himself a drink and offered you, but you shook your head. “He doesn’t listen.”

“Besides, he’s northern,” Theon said. “He’s not gonna grow to be one of those flowery Reach knights with their southern manners and poems—”

“What is it with your animosity toward poetry, Greyjoy?” you asked with a frown. “Is it because you can’t read?”

“Your brother asked me the same thing—I can read!”

“Allegedly,” you pointed out, and Robb and Jon exchanged glances, both biting back identical grins. “I’ve heard Ironborn look down on literacy to the point of accusing people who can read as sorcerers.”

“Well, seeing the raids on the Reach, we’re still better fighters than—”

“None of that,” Robb interrupted him while you glared at Theon, and Jon heaved a sigh.

 “How’s Bran?”

“As expected,” Robb muttered. “I don’t think staying in that room is going to make him feel better. I’ll get him out to the yard the moment Maester Luwin says we can.”

“That should help.”

“I hope so.”

“Has father written back yet?”

“No ravens arrived,” Robb said while Jorelle made her way to you. “Should be any day now, though.”

“My lady, you wanted me to remind you about your meeting with Lady Sabitha,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”  

Theon nodded at Jorelle with a smirk.

“Lady Jorelle,” he greeted her. “Hello.”

Robb and Jon both looked from Theon to Jorelle with the exact same expression of boyish wonder on their faces, and Jorelle raised her brows, eyed him up and down, then chortled.

“Absolutely not, Greyjoy.”

Robb stifled a laugh and kicked Jon under the table while Jon pressed his fist on his lips to hide his smile. Theon sat up straighter, clearly not discouraged as he puffed his chest.

“But I’m…”

“Greyjoy, I understand that you lack subtlety so I’m going to be as direct as my manners allow me,” you told him and stood up from your seat. “If you ever bother my ladies-in-waiting, I’ll make sure you can never speak a word to them or anyone else ever again. I’m sure the whole castle will thank me for it.”

There was a proud grin on Robb’s face as you pecked him on the cheek, then you threw an arm over Jorelle’s shoulder and you both walked away from the table, giggling.

After your small meeting with Lady Sabitha, the rest of your day was considerably idle. You visited Bran, you spent some time with Rickon, and now you and your ladies-in-waiting had nothing to do but remain in your room and gossip until dinner time. You laid in your bed, with Jorelle by your side and Wylla laid on her stomach at the foot of the bed, reading a book. Alys was braiding Lyra’s hair and Barbrey was embroidering something for her new gown on the sofa across the hearth, occasionally holding it up for Alys and Lyra’s opinion.

It reminded you of the Reach, back when you and Margaery and your friends would spend time together before the jousts.

“Jo?”

Jorelle turned her head to see you better. “Hm?”

“What kind of husband do you want?”

The question gathered everyone’s attention in the room. Alys stopped braiding Lyra’s hair, Lyra’s head snapped around and Barbrey looked up from her embroidery, her eyes widening. Wylla pursed her lips without pulling her gaze off the page, but you could tell her ears perked up with the way she stopped following the lines. Jorelle craned her head to see you better.  

“What brought this on?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” you said. “You know, when Greyjoy tried to talk to you earlier today—”

“Gods no!”

“No, obviously not him!” you said in a rush. “None of you will wed him, are you jesting? I hate him, he’s vile.”

“He’s your lord husband’s best friend,” Wylla pointed out and you shrugged.

“I still hate him, Robb knows it,” you said. “But it made me think, it’s clear you have admirers, all of you.” You motioned around the room. “Silas fixed my betrothal, and it took him such a long time to make a decision. And you’re my ladies-in-waiting, it’s my responsibility to find you good suitors. I’m determined to find you the best men in the realm, but I can only do that if I know what kind of husbands you want.”

Alys thought for a second. “Perhaps we should make a list.”

“Good idea!” You jumped from the bed and rushed to the desk to grab the inkpot and the quill, and parchments. You dipped the quill into the inkpot, then wrote all their names on different parchments and pointed at Lyra with your quill.

“Lyra, are you certain—”

“I won’t wed, I’m certain,” Lyra cut you off. “Men can be so annoying.”

“She’s not wrong on that one,” Jorelle muttered and Lyra gave her a grin.

“I can also fight Greyjoy if he bothers you.”

“Not needed at this point, but thank you Lyra.”

“Me next!” Barbrey said, sitting up straighter. “I want a southron husband.”

“Where in the south?” you asked and Barbrey frowned as if the thought hadn’t hit her before.

“Um, the Reach?”

“The men of the Reach are full of audacity, I’ve found,” Jorelle grumbled and you shot her a smirk.

“I think you mean the men of Dorne.”

Jorelle bit back a laugh and held up her hands. “All the same to me.”

“And I want him to be a knight,” Barbrey added, her nose stuck in the air. “Like…like that knight you danced with on your wedding.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Loras?”

“Yes, The Knight of Flowers!” Barbrey said. “Oh he was so handsome!”

“Barbrey.” You tried to control your expression. “You would not want Loras as a husband.”

“Why did you not?” Alys asked and shifted her weight. “I mean I know Lord Robb is the love of your life, but before that? The Knight of Flowers is your best friend’s brother, and you two looked like the perfect southron lady and the knight when you danced.”

Well, there were many reasons; the main one being that your brother was Loras’ type and not you, regardless of how you two looked while you were dancing.

“Loras is like a brother to me,” you said. “We could never see each other like that. How about you, Alys? What kind of husband do you want?”

“I don’t want a southron,” Alys said. “I don’t want to be so far away from my family. I want a brave northern fighter, but he must be handsome, and my age.”

 “Do you have someone in mind?”

Her cheeks got pink and she averted her glances.

“…No.”

You arched a brow. “Alys.”

“I don’t have anyone in mind, I just—”

“She admires the heir of House Ryswell,” Wylla sang without looking up from her book, making Alys gasp.

“I do not!”

“You danced with him at the wedding and you were flustered afterwards.”

“Wylla!”

“How else are you going to get the husband you want if you keep it a secret?”

“What kind of reading is that?” Jorelle asked her, gesturing at the book in front of Wylla. “You keep chiming in.”

“Yes well, while you are all listing your requirements for suitors…” Wylla wiggled her brows and turned the page before she held it up so that all could see the vulgar illustration. “I’m learning how to keep my future husband under my spell.”

The room exploded into chaos in a second. Alys jumped from her seat at the same time with Barbrey, who nearly face planted on Lyra in her haste to rush to Wylla. Jorelle sat up in bed and snatched the book from Wylla’s hands, holding it out of her reach while she all but wrestled her to get it back.

“Jo!”

“Where did you find this?”

“Let me see! Let me see!”

“What does it say?”

“Oh it says everything.”

“Barbrey, stop pushing!”

“You won’t even wed, Lyra, no need for you to see!”

The title of the book was familiar to you; it was very famous all over the south. Of course all the septas and the maesters forbid it, saying that it was not appropriate for ladies, but that had never stopped you or any of your friends. All it required was a couple gold dragons given to the right maid, and a ball thrown in someone’s honor so that you and your friends could gather in one of your bedchambers while the rest of the household was busy with the guests.

Though, you were rather surprised to see it was famous enough to be found in the north as well.

“That’s disgusting!” Barbrey let out a squeal as she leaned in to grimace at the drawing. “So very disgusting!”

“Then stop looking?”

“I cannot!”

You pressed your fist on your mouth so that you could hide your smile, leaning back to the table while they all gathered around the bed and turned the page.

“But I don’t—but—” Alys stammered. “My lady mother said, on my wedding night, I’m to just lay there.”

“So did mine! My husband will know what to do, she said.”

Gods, the north really was different than the south, this was yet another proof of it. All your ladies-in-waiting were the same age as you, women grown, and yet they were clueless when it came to certain things because the north was incredibly strict on such matters.

Jorelle turned the page again and yelped in surprise, a scowl twisting her beautiful face. “Seven hells, I’m not doing that!”

“Let me see—”

“I’m a lady,” Barbrey insisted. “I care not what the book says, I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near…that thing.”

“Do all men know about this?”

“I’d say so.”

“Do you suppose there’s a book for them as well?”

“A book?” Wylla asked with a scoff. “They have no need to read about it. What do you think they do in brothels, hold hands?”

“Lady wives don’t do such things,” Alys insisted while Jorelle lifted her head as if she just remembered your presence in the room. “I’m sure of it.”

“I still don’t understand the—the physics of this?”

“You know what Lyra, you were right. If this is what will be expected of me, I’m not going to wed either.”

“My personal feelings aside, it does sound very uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie.”

“Is it?” Jorelle asked you, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Is it very uncomfortable?”

Stunned silence fell upon the room as all the girls turned their heads to stare at you while you bit back your grin.

“Hm?”

“Oh but she doesn’t do that!” Alys said in a haste. “She’s the most graceful lady of the south, Jo.”

“And she’s been quiet since the beginning of this conversation,” Lyra pointed out, narrowing her eyes at you. “Too quiet.”

Barbrey held up the book and pointed at the illustration on the page. “Did you do this?”

Wylla elbowed her. “Barbrey!”

“What? Lord Robb is mesmerized by her, everyone knows it!”

“Because she is beautiful, you idiot, not because she does such tricks!”

You dragged the tip of your tongue on your lip, then heaved a dramatic sigh.

“You see, I would tell you,” you said. “But since such conversations are unladylike, you’d have to swear—”

“I swear it! I swear on my honor!”

“Me too!”

“So do I, on my honor and house!”

“Aye, on my house too!”

“I will never breathe a word, I swear it.” 

“…That it doesn’t leave this room,” you finished your sentence with a laugh. “Very well then.”

They all plopped down on your huge bed, their attention fully on you as you jumped to sit on the desk.

“Lady Olenna, my best friend’s grandmother always said the marital bed is the way to keep one’s husband mesmerized,” you said. “It matters even more than how you look, how much wealth your family has, or what your house is; that right there is the key, she would say.”

“So you knew about all these things?”

“I did,” you said airily. “The south isn’t as strict as the north, and though I lacked practice, I didn’t lack knowledge.”

“Yes well,” Alys grumbled. “In the north we lack both for some reason.”

Barbrey raised the book again, pointing at the page without a word and you nodded, making all of them gasp.

“You did that?!”

Well, they didn’t need to know how you did exactly that in Robb’s solar the other day.

“I reacted similarly when I first heard about it,” you admitted, “It sounded intimidating, the idea of doing that with some faceless husband in the future that I couldn’t even imagine. And unlike what everyone keeps telling women, you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I wouldn’t, if I didn’t want to. However, Robb is…” You tried to find the right words. “I desire him so much that sometimes I feel like I can’t even think or breathe. I don’t speak for all married women obviously, but for me it wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“I’d be so embarrassed to do that though,” Wylla muttered and you cleared your throat.

“At first I was too, but then—” You fixed your skirts just so that you could do something with your hands. “He’s never made me feel uncomfortable, no matter what we’re doing. That’s why I find the marital bed so much fun.”

  “Fun!?”

“Of course,” you said. “It can be very pleasurable you know? For women as well, not just men.”

“I heard it’s terrible for women.”

“It’s not terrible.” Your laugh echoed in the room. “Not even close. When you wed someone who loves you, they simply want you to be happy. Not only outside, but also in your bedchambers.”

Barbrey pointed at the next page, making you hiss in a breath.

“Um, no.” You grimaced and shook your head. “Not that, I would not.”

Jorelle leaned over to peek at what it was before Barbrey showed you another illustration.

“How about this?”

“Oh.” Your face grew hotter. “He does that. A lot.”

Jorelle’s jaw dropped. “You’re jesting, surely!”

“I thought at first his beard would be a problem, but as it turns out—”

“Your lord husband kisses you there?”

“Yes.”

“Why? That doesn’t lead to an heir.”

“Well.” You pressed your palms on your cheeks to soothe the fire. “Not everything is about siring heirs.”

“But how come no one said it’d be fun?” Wylla asked to the room. “All I kept hearing was the importance of heirs, why was I not told it could be fun?”

“I think unfortunately many women don’t know,” you said. “But thankfully I know, because I wed the love of my life, and so will all of you. I’ll make sure of it.” You winked at Lyra. “As long as you want to wed, of course. There’s always the option not to.”

“I’ll take that option,” Lyra stated. “I’m uninterested.”

“I’m interested,” Barbrey pointed out and shuffled the pages before she held up the book again. “Not the other thing, but I want to try this.”

You leaned in with the rest of the girls to see the illustration better. Jorelle narrowed her eyes while Wylla tilted her head, Lyra’s lips curled downwards and Alys put a hand on her hip, letting out a hum.

“Oh I haven’t tried that one yet either,” you said after a beat and held out your hand to motion at the book. “But as my best friend would say, every skill needs honing. May I?”

An hour before dinner, you had already changed your gown and had your maid do your hair while your ladies-in-waiting went to their own bedchambers to get ready. You had dismissed your maid to read some more in secret, so engrossed in the book that you had lost the track of time, hence why you didn’t even hear Robb’s approaching footsteps until the door opened. Your head whipped up and you jolted in bed as if someone pricked you with a needle, a gasp catching in your throat.

 “My love!” you squealed, closing the book and pushing it under the bed in haste. “You’re back!”

“I am.” He came closer to peck you on the lips before he flung himself on the bed, and tilted his head. “Why are you out of breath?”

Seven hells.

“I was reading poetry,” you said after a pause, waving a hand in the air. “It always evokes feelings in me, I get very emotional.”

Confusion pinched his brows and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, then pushed yourself from the bed to make your way to the big table, earning a groan of displeasure from him.

“Come back.”

You let out a giggle and held up a cup, but he shook his head, so you only filled one cup with wine before you returned to bed. After taking a sip, you put the cup on your bedside table and let him pull you back in the bed so that you could straddle him while he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling to your bosom.

“Gods, you smell so good,” he murmured and you stifled a laugh.

“How was your day?” you asked, playing with the auburn curls at the nape of his neck, and he hummed.

“Busy. Yours?”

“Not as busy,” you said. “What’s happened?”

“There’s some unrest between two families up in the mountains,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “Norreys and Burleys. Both too stubborn to speak to each other without drawing swords.”

“Oh my poor love,” you cooed, a smile curling your lips when his shoulders relaxed. “And you must be the peacemaker?”

He nodded. “In person, probably.”

The simple sentence was more than enough to wipe your smile off your face, your body tensing up. The memory of what had happened the last time he was away flashed before your eyes, your stomach doing a painful flip as you gulped. You knew that he had no idea, you had made sure that he would have no idea, but it didn’t mean you were ready for him to leave once again, this time for more than just one week—probably for a moon, with how far the mountains were from Winterfell.

But what were you supposed to say?

I don’t feel safe here when you’re away?

That was out of the question. Lady Olenna would’ve reprimanded you if she heard you even consider saying such a thing; a lady didn’t demand or plead, she made people think they wanted what she wanted all along.

In the subtlest manner, of course.

“Oh my,” you said. “Well, I’m quite excited to meet them then. Do you suppose their wives will come with as well? When you invite those lords here?”

He pulled back to give you a fond smile.

“You misunderstand me, sweeting—”

“I suppose they will, considering the distance,” you cut him off. “And I understand why, if you went off to the mountains to settle such dispute, it’d take what? Almost a moon for you to come back? Gods, it’d break my heart so terribly.” You curled your fingers over the back of his hand so that you could press his palm on the soft swell of your chest where he could feel your heartbeat. “To be away from you for that long. I’d miss you so, so much.”

Robb’s eyes darkened with desire as they lingered on your cleavage, then snapped up to your lips again. “Would you?”

You knew you were supposed to come up with a seductive remark as an answer, this was the perfect moment; and yet what you ended up saying was more of a heartfelt confession rather than some southern wordplay.

“I know the whole north says it’s just because we’re newlyweds, but…” You lowered your glances, your heart skipping a beat at the heat of his gaze alone. “Robb, I don’t believe anyone understands how much I crave you, all the time. It’s intimidating sometimes.”

He swallowed thickly, his other hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, tracing the line of your bottom lip with his thumb as he tilted your head up.

“And why is it intimidating, my beautiful wife?” he asked, the deep rumble of his voice sending a pleasant shiver through you before he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your chest while tugging at the front laces of your gown. “My heart is at your command forever, you know this.”

You had to try really, really hard to focus and pull yourself together through the haze of want, especially with the way you could feel the proof of his desire under you.

“I thought, for—” A curt laugh escaped you. “I feared for a moment just now, that you would go to them and not the other way around. But you would not, surely?”

He paused for a second, then he lifted his head to look at you; his eyes heavy-lidded like he was as intoxicated with your presence as you were with his.

“Of course not.”

You nodded, batting your lashes. “They’ll come here instead?”

“Aye,” he murmured. “They’ll come here instead.”

You couldn’t stop the proud smile lighting up your face before he grabbed your waist and flipped you under him, making you squeal.

“Robb! My love, we have guests for dinner—”

The buzzing in your ears only seemed to grow louder every time your thoughts wandered back to what happened at the Godswood a few hours ago. Your throat closing up as you tried to think through the mush in your head.

You should have never let it happen. You should have stepped away, should have stopped him, or should have stopped yourself.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as another sob clawed its way up your throat. You sat on the floor of your chambers with your knees drawn tightly against your chest, your back pressed against the wooden door. It felt as though if you moved even the slightest bit, everything inside you would shatter completely.

You could still feel him. The softness of Valarr's lips against yours. The warmth of his hand cradling your cheek. The steady beat of his heart where your body had rested against his.

Even now, it lingered upon your skin, and every memory made your own heart ache with emotions you did not wish to name.

A tear rolled down your cheek.

How could you do this to Berena?

The thought alone made your stomach twist. You had already taken one sibling from her. Now you had kissed the man who was meant to become her husband. Your sister deserved happiness, she deserved to become queen, and most of all, she deserved a prince who would love her.

Instead, you had stood beneath the heart tree and kissed the very same prince. Your breathing became uneven as another wave of guilt crashed over you.

It had not only been him, the guilt would have been bearable if Valarr had forced himself upon you. But the reality was far from it.

You had kissed him back. A selfish part of you had melted into his touch, and had wanted the kiss to last just a little longer. That thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut.

"What have I done..." you whispered brokenly into the silence before a knock sounded against your chamber doors. The noise made you flinch.

"My lady?" Meera's voice came softly through the wood. "Please, let me in."

You swallowed hard and tried to steady your breathing.

"Meera..." Your voice cracked the moment you spoke, and you pressed your forehead against your knees. "Please, for the Old Gods' sake...leave me alone."

The last words dissolved into another sob before you could stop them. Silence lingered for only a heartbeat before Meera called again, her voice full of worry.

"My lady, at least tell me what has happened."

You stared blankly at the floor. What could you possibly tell her? That you had kissed your own sister's future husband? That you had destroyed everything before it had even begun? That despite every ounce of guilt tearing you apart, some shameful part of your heart still remembered the kiss with unbearable tenderness.

"I saw Prince Valarr," Meera continued carefully. "He looked troubled. The prince wished to speak with-"

"GET OUT!" The words ripped from your throat before you even realised you had spoken them. "I DO NOT WISH TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD ABOUT-"

Your voice broke and rest of the sentence died inside your chest. Your breathing came in ragged gasps as tears streamed freely down your face. One trembling hand clutched at the front of your dress, pressing desperately against the ache in your chest as though you could somehow stop your heart from breaking apart.

"Meera..." you whispered between uneven breaths. "I-"

Another sob interrupted you.

"I cannot..." Your hand flew to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the pathetic sounds of your crying.

On the other side of the door, Meera remained silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke again, her own voice sounded painfully small.

"My apologies, my lady. I will leave."

Her footsteps shifted, and for a brief moment, you thought she was gone.

"The prince..." she said hesitantly. "He asked me to tell you that he wished to apologise."

Your heart clenched so painfully you thought it might stop altogether.

"He said," Meera paused before continuing, "that he will wait. He said he would wait until you found it in your heart to forgive him."

Then the footsteps finally retreated down the corridor. The castle fell quiet once more, and you buried your face against your knees as another broken sob escaped you.

If only he knew. He was the one asking for forgiveness, when it was you who could never forgive yourself.

The snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked, each step sinking into the untouched white until crimson began to stain your footprints behind you. The deeper you wandered into the Wolfswood, the darker crimson the sky became. What had once been pale winter light slowly bled into violent shades of red.

You wanted to stop. Gods, you wanted to turn around. Every instinct screamed at you to run back the way you had come, but your legs refused to obey. They carried you deeper between the ancient pines, your breathing growing harsher with every step as unease settled heavily inside your chest.

Then you saw him. Standing beneath the heart tree was a lone figure, his back turned towards you. The thick fur cloak resting across his shoulders was one you would recognise anywhere.

It was Donner's.

Your stomach twisted painfully. "No..." you whispered, though your feet continued moving of their own accord. "Please, Don't."

The distance between you vanished far too quickly. The moment you stopped behind him, the figure slowly turned, and your breath caught.

Donner stared back at you. Blood covered his face, dripping diwn from the wound carved across his brow and soaking the fur around his shoulders. A sword pierced clean through his throat, the blade protruding from the back of his neck. His lips trembled as though forcing themselves to move despite the steel lodged inside him.

"Y...you..." His voice came out wet and broken. "G...coward..."

Tears filled your eyes instantly. His blood pooled around his boots, spreading across the snow until it reached your own. Before you could move, another presence settled behind you, and a hand rested lightly upon your shoulder.

You turned to see Berena standing there. A silver crown rested upon her head, but blood poured endlessly from her eyes, staining her cheeks and the front of her dress. She looked at you with an expression so full of heartbreak that it shattered something inside your chest.

"Why?" she whispered, and her voice cracked. "Why did you do this to me, sister?"

"I didn't..." you breathed desperately. "Berena, I-"

Another hand grabbed your shoulder, and you spun again. It was William, his face was unreadable, and his eyes, once always so full of warmth whenever he looked at you, were empty.

"You betrayed her." His voice was calm. "You betrayed all of us."

"N-no..."

More footsteps echoed behind you.

Alyssane.

Errold.

One by one they emerged from the crimson forest until they surrounded you completely, their faces pale, their eyes hollow.

"How could you?"

"You betrayed her."

"Traitor."

"She trusted you."

"You selfish coward."

Their voices blended together, getting louder with each moment that passed until they no longer sounded human. Your hands flew to your ears, but it did nothing to silence them. The forest spun around you, and your breathing turned frantic as your throat tightened painfully.

You tried to inhale, but nothing worked. You clawed desperately at your neck, your lungs burning as panic consumed every inch of your body. The sky above had turned entirely red now, the snow beneath your feet turned into rivers of blood.

This wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

It was another dream.

Gods, you hated these dreams.

Then, two arms wrapped carefully around you from behind, shielding you from everything else. The voices faded, and the crimson blurred. Your heartbeat, frantic only moments before, slowly found another pair of calm heartbeat.

"I am here." The voice was soft, and it sounded safe. You knew it instantly.

Valarr.

You turned within his embrace. He was looking down at you with those mismatched eyes you had begun recognising anywhere, concern etched across every feature of his face. His cloak surrounded you like a shield against the cold, one hand resting carefully against the back of your head as though afraid you might shatter beneath his touch.

Without thinking, your fingers clutched desperately at the front of his doublet.

He pulled you closer, and your forehead rested against his chest, right above his heart.

Each beat of his heart chased another shadow away until the blood disappeared from the snow, the crimson sky softened back into pale winter clouds, and every accusing face dissolved into the morning mist.

You looked back up at him, and he smiled.

How could one man look so beautiful? You thought to yourself.

"My lady," he murmured gently, and you nodded without realising. His thumb brushing lightly against your hair. "My lady..."

His voice sounded further away this time. "Please..." Another knock echoed through the silence.

"My lady."

The warmth vanished, and your eyes flew open. A loud knocking echoed through your chambers. For several confused moments you simply stared at the wooden floor beneath you, your mind still trapped somewhere between dream and reality. Then the ache spreading across your back made itself known, followed by the stiffness in your neck.

You had fallen asleep beside the door.

A groan escaped you as you slowly pushed yourself upright, rubbing a hand across your face. Every muscle protested the movement, and your head throbbed dully as memories from the previous night came rushing back all at once.

The Godswood.

Valarr.

The kiss.

Your chest tightened.

Another knock sounded, followed by a voice.

"My lady?" Sara called from the other side of the door. "Are you awake? Lady Stark has asked for your presence at breakfast."

You squeezed your eyes shut.

"Sara..." Your voice came out hoarse. "Please, I do not wish to attend breakfast."

A brief silence followed before Sara answered carefully. "Forgive me, my lady. But Prince Baelor has requested that everyone be present. He said there is an important matter he wishes to discuss."

Your heart lurched violently. A cold knot settled in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the door before forcing yourself to answer.

"...I will be there."

The words barely left your mouth above a whisper, but they were enough. You turned slowly towards your room, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down upon your shoulders before it had even begun.

The walk to the Great Hall felt longer than any journey you had ever taken through Winterfell. Every step echoed against the stone corridors, slow and reluctant, as though your own body wished to turn around and lock itself inside your chambers again. Your head still ached as you pressed the heel of your palm against your temple, hoping it might somehow silence the memories before they drown you completely.

Then a familiar voice called your name. You froze for only the briefest of moments before looking over your shoulder.

Valarr stood a few paces behind you, dressed as impeccably as ever in a black doublet embroidered with crimson dragons, a fur-lined cloak resting across his shoulders. His hair looked slightly untidier than usual, as though he had run his hands through it one too many times, and the dark circles beneath his mismatched eyes made it painfully obvious that sleep had escaped him just as surely as it had escaped you.

You turned back around and resumed walking.

"My lady... please." His footsteps hurried after yours, careful but determined, and there was something in his voice that made your chest tighten painfully. He sounded exhausted.

"Please, just let me-"

You stopped so abruptly that Valarr nearly walked into you. Turning to face him, you found him halting barely two steps away, his hands instinctively clasping behind his back as they always did whenever he grew nervous. His eyes searched your face desperately, and the hope lingering inside them made what you were about to do hurt all the more.

"Look," you began, forcing every word past the lump lodged in your throat. "Whatever happened yesterday..."

"Yes," he interrupted quickly, relief flashing across his face. "I wished to apologise. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I only-"

"It was a mistake."

The words hung between you like the sharp edge of a blade.

You watched the colour slowly drain from his face. His brows knitted together, confusion giving way to something quieter, something infinitely sadder.

"I would be grateful," you continued before your own courage abandoned you, "if you could forget it ever happened, Your Grace."

For a long moment, he simply stared at you. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. His hand lifted almost unconsciously, reaching towards yours before stopping halfway. Slowly, almost uncertainly, he lowered it again.

"...A mistake," he repeated quietly. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in something that almost resembled a laugh, though there was no humour behind it. Only disbelief.

"My lady..." His voice cracked ever so slightly before he cleared his throat. "If you would only allow me to explain and apologi-"

"There is nothing to explain."

You could feel your resolve beginning to crumble beneath the wounded look in his eyes, and that frightened you more than anything else. If you stayed another moment, you knew you would take every word back. You would tell him that you remembered every second of that kiss. That a part of you wished it had never ended. That your heart still betrayed you every time he looked at you like this.

You could never allow yourself to say those words. So you bowed stiffly, avoiding his gaze altogether before turning on your heel and walking towards the Great Hall as quickly as your trembling legs would carry you. You did not look back. You could not.

By the time you crossed the great wooden doors, your heartbeat had become so loud that it drowned out almost every other sound in the hall.

Nearly everyone had already gathered.

The long tables were filled with northern and southern lords alike, conversations flowing freely despite the early hour. Your family was already seated at the High Table alongside the royal family, and as you approached, you felt more than one pair of curious eyes following you. Whether they were wondering about yesterday's trial or simply waiting for whatever announcement Prince Baelor had summoned everyone for, you neither knew nor cared.

You offered polite greetings before slipping into your usual seat beside William.

Your brother barely spared you a glance before sliding a platter of eggs towards you.

"You look like you've been dragged through a battlefield," he observed casually, already halfway through his own breakfast.

A tired sigh escaped you.

"I feel like it."

William hummed thoughtfully before piling another spoonful of eggs onto your plate.

"For what it's worth," he said, lowering his voice, "Father thinks Prince Baelor is finally going to ask for Berena's hand today."

Your fingers froze around your fork. The words struck harder than they should have.

You swallowed carefully, forcing the tightness from your throat before managing what you hoped resembled a smile.

"That...would be good."

"Hm."

William looked at you properly now, suspicion flickering across his face.

"...You are happy?"

You let out a weak chuckle and forced yourself to meet his gaze.

"Of course I am. Our sister will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day."

The words tasted bitter. Before William could question you further, movement near the entrance caught everyone's attention.

Valarr had entered the hall. Against your better judgement, your eyes found him instantly, and his gaze was already searching for you.

When your eyes met, he didn't look away. There was no anger in his expression, only a sadness so open that it made your chest ache. He offered you the smallest smile, hesitant and hopeful all at once.

You looked away first, and a gentle hand settled over yours. You turned to find Berena standing beside you. She smiled warmly, the same gentle smile she had worn your entire life, and squeezed your hand affectionately before taking her seat. The simple gesture made guilt crash over you so violently that you had to look down at the table just to steady yourself.

How could you have done this to her?

Before you could drown any further in your thoughts, Prince Baelor rose from his seat.

The hall gradually fell silent.

"Lords and Ladies," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room, "Forgive me for gathering everyone so early this morning. I wished for all present to witness a proposal that I believe will strengthen the bonds between the North and the Crown."

A hush settled over the hall. You folded your hands tightly beneath the table, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling growing inside your chest.

"I believe everyone here knows that my heir, Prince Valarr, has reached an age suitable for marriage."

Prince Baelor smiled.

"And I can think of no greater honour than joining our two great houses together."

Your pulse quickened.

This was it.

Berena.

Everything was finally falling back into place. You forced yourself to breathe.

Prince Baelor turned towards your father, warmth softening the diplomatic smile on his face.

"Therefore, Lord Stark... I wish to formally offer a betrothal between my son, Prince Valarr Targaryen..."

You closed your eyes briefly, silently praying that your own foolish heart would finally learn to let go. That this was what was supposed to happen and should happen.

"...and your eldest daughter, Lady-"

The world stopped, and your eyes flew open. For one endless heartbeat, you were convinced you had imagined it.

The hall remained utterly silent.

Your father looked just as stunned as you felt. Your mother blinked in open surprise. Even William had forgotten the fork halfway to his mouth. Around the hall, whispers began spreading like wildfire as nobles looked between you and Valarr in complete disbelief.

You turned towards the prince, but he was already looking at you. There was no surprise in his eyes, and beneath it, something quieter.

Hope.

Prince Baelor continued speaking, his voice warm despite the formal setting.

"If the lady herself is willing, Lord Stark, then I ask that you consider this proposal. Take whatever time you require. Yet I believe my son would be blessed with no finer wife...and the realm itself would be fortunate to one day call her their queen."

You barely heard the final words because you couldn't breathe. Slowly, almost mechanically, your head turned towards Berena.

She had lowered her gaze. Her fingers rested quietly in her lap, but you noticed the rapid blink of her eyes. You knew that look. You had seen it ever since childhood whenever she fought to keep herself from crying.

No.

This was wrong.

You had to stop this.

You need to refuse this.

You need to fix it.

You opened your mouth, but before a single word could escape, Berena's hand closed firmly around your wrist beneath the table.

The grip wasn't painful but pleading. You looked at her, she still hadn't raised her head. Only the smallest shake of it.

You stared at her in confusion, your own heart breaking all over again. A moment later, Berena quietly excused herself from the table.

Without looking at anyone, she turned and walked out of the Great Hall, leaving you frozen where you stood, her warmth still lingering around your wrist.

Your mother was the first to recover from the shock. You saw her lean towards your father, whispering something that you could not hear before she rose from her chair. Her eyes lingered on Berena's retreating figure for only a heartbeat before she excused herself and hurried after your sister, the worry etched across her face impossible to miss.

Your father remained seated. His eyes found yours across the hall, and for the first time since you had entered, you could not bear to look at him. Your lips trembled as you lowered your gaze to the table, your heartbeat echoing so loudly inside your ears that Prince Baelor's voice became nothing more than distant noise.

You had to fix this.

The moment the conversations resumed around the hall and the initial shock began to settle amongst the gathered nobles, you muttered a hurried apology and excused yourself before anyone could stop you. Your chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as you hurried towards the doors, your only thought being Berena.

You would apologise.

You would tell her that none of this should have happened.

That you would fix it, no matter what it took.

The corridors of Winterfell were strangely empty as you strode through them, your footsteps echoing sharply against the cold stone walls. Every turn brought you closer to your sister's chambers, yet your thoughts refused to settle. They crashed into one another in an endless storm of guilt, shame and fear until you could scarcely breathe.

"Gevie."

His voice stopped you in your tracks. The warmth that voice usually carried only made something inside you snap.

You turned around sharply. Valarr was hurrying towards you, his expression still carrying that unbearable mixture of hope and worry that had followed him ever since breakfast. His eyes searched your face desperately, as though he believed he could still fix whatever had broken between the two of you.

This time you felt nothing but anger. Before he could take another step, you crossed the distance in an instant.

Your hand caught the front of his doublet, shoving him backwards until his back struck the stone wall with a muffled thud. Your forearm came across his throat, pinning him there as your breathing turned ragged.

Valarr let out a startled gasp, his mismatched eyes widening in complete shock.

"How dare you!?" you hissed, your voice shaking with fury. "Did you tell your father what happened last night? Is that why this is happening?"

"N-No," he managed between shallow breaths. "My lady, I-"

You pressed harder against his throat.

"Why?" Tears blurred your vision. "Why would you do this to Berena? Is this some princely obligation? Because if this is about last night, then I already told you to forget it. It was a mistake."

Your voice cracked.

"It should never have happened."

"Gevie, please listen-"

"NO!"

The word echoed down the empty corridor.

"Listen to what? Listen while your father humiliates my sister before the entire North? Listen while everyone watches the man they all believed she would marry humiliate her?" Your chest rose and fell violently as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. "I never once said I wanted to marry you. So why? Why would you allow this? Do you go around marrying every woman you have kissed?"

Valarr opened his mouth again, but you were no longer capable of stopping.

"If this is because of my honour, then I do not care about that honour." You laughed bitterly through your tears. "To the hells with my honour. Berena is kind. She is gentle. She will make a wonderful queen, and you will learn to love her."

Your voice became little more than a whisper.

"So please...just tell your father this was a mistake, please let him know that-"

Something changed in Valarr then. Until now he had stood there, letting every word strike him without protest.

This time, He moved. His hands caught your wrists—not roughly, but firmly enough that you could not pull away—and before you realised what had happened, he had gently but decisively switched your positions.

Your back met the stone wall, his breathing was just as uneven as yours. For the first time since you had known him, Prince Valarr raised his voice.

"I cannot love her because I love you!"

The words struck and your mind went completely blank.

The prince who blushed whenever you smiled at him, who apologised even when someone else stepped on his foot, who barely possessed the courage to meet your eyes some days...was standing before you with tears in his eyes, confessing his heart as though it were the simplest truth in the world.

Your heartbeat hammered painfully against your ribs. "I don't care-"

"But I do."

His voice was quieter now. He swallowed hard before continuing.

"I care, Gevie."

His fingers loosened around your wrists, though he never stepped away. His eyes searched yours desperately, carrying so many emotions that you could not begin to name them.

You tried to speak again, but he gently lifted a trembling hand, resting it lightly over your mouth.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "Please...let me speak this once."

You stared at him, his face was only inches from yours now.

"No...I never told my father what happened in the Godswood." He drew a shaky breath. "He summoned me because he wished to speak of you and Lady Berena."

You frowned at him as he smiled sadly.

"He told me that Lady Berena possesses every quality the southern court expects from its future queen. But then..."

His eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache.

"He told me that you...you are what the realm truly needs, what I truly need. And hearing my own father say those words made me realise just how blind I have been."

A tear rolled slowly down his cheek.

"My feelings were so obvious that everyone could see them...except me."

He laughed quietly at himself, though it sounded painfully hollow.

"For the first time in my life..." he whispered, "I realised that perhaps...perhaps I could be selfish. That maybe I could want something simply because my own heart desired it."

His voice broke completely. "And what it desires," he closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, "...is you."

The corridor seemed to disappear around you.

"When I look at you," he continued softly, "everything else becomes quieter. The expectations, the duties, the crown, they all disappear, and all that remains is you."

Another tear escaped him as you drew in a shaky breath through your nose.

"Whenever I look at you, it feels as though the Gods themselves wrote your name into every corner of my fate long before I was born."

He leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against yours, and his voice became barely more than a whisper.

"So no, ñuha jorrāelagon..." His breath trembled. "I will not tell my father this is a mistake." He let out a shaky laugh through his tears.

"Because it isn't. Because I love you."

The confession settled between the two of you with terrifying certainty.

"And for once in my life..." he whispered, "...I wish to be selfish." You felt his lips brush softly against your forehead as he placed a gentle kiss there. Then, he stepped back, putting the distance between you that he knew you needed.

You could only stare at him. Your thoughts refused to move, and your heart refused to obey.

After a long silence, Valarr spoke once more.

"But," he smiled sadly, wiping at his own eyes, "that does not mean I will ignore your wishes." He straightened himself. "If you truly do not want this, I will leave."

His voice remained calm despite the tears still shining in his eyes. "I will return to the King's Landing, and you will never have to see me again. But my heart will spend the rest of my life searching for you. I will grow old still wondering how your laughter sounded. I will die hoping the Seven Gods might allow me to see you one last time before the Stranger takes me."

His eyes held yours so gently that your chest physically hurt.

"Because my soul" he whispered, "has already become yours."

He reached for your hand one final time. His lips brushed across your knuckles with the same tenderness as before. Then he looked back up at you.

"And no..." The faintest smile appeared through his tears.

"I do not go around marrying every women I have kissed."

A small, embarrassed laugh escaped him.

"Because you are the first person i have kissed, and you will be the last."

With that, Valarr slowly released your hand. He bowed once, and turned around. You watched him disappear around the corner until the sound of his footsteps faded into silence.

Only then did your knees weaken. You leaned back against the cold stone wall, your breathing uneven, your fingers still tingling where he had held them.

Your heart and your mind had become a battlefield, and you did not know which one would win.

Chapter 12 [Weekly updates (Hopefully ;-;)]

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The question made him look over his shoulder with a grin while he put his doublet on.

“Like who?”

“A messenger. A friendly envoy if you will, just within the north.”

“But who?”

“Someone else,” you said with a shrug. “I don’t know. Theon.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You think Theon, of all people, would be a good envoy?”

“Not really,” you admitted. “He’d be terrible at it, but perhaps he’d get lost on his way there. One could hope.”

 “Nah, he’d still find his way back,” he commented, fixing his sleeves. “So we’d just end up disrespecting House Hornwood.”

Your stomach turned again, making you grimace but you cleared your throat, then pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them.

“Then tell Lord Hornwood he can come here rather than you going there,” you whined, aware of the petulant tone of your voice. “We’ll throw him a feast and such.”

There was a playful glint in his eyes as he made his way to bed and sat on the edge, entwining his fingers with yours before he lifted your hand to press a kiss on the back of it.

“Lord Hornwood is too old for journeys, my love,” he said. “My father visited his banners, now I must in his absence.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Come on,” he cooed. “No sulking.”

You tilted your head, your mood taking a rather strange turn for some reason that remained a mystery to you at least for now. If it were any other time, you would have remembered how Lady Olenna had once told you and Margaery that there was a big line between luring attention and demanding it, and how you were never, ever supposed to demand it in an outright manner. A lady had to be subtle in such mind games so as not to appear needy and walk the line between admiration and nonchalance expertly, however, the words that left your lips were anything but subtle:

“Does this not upset you at all?”

Robb was rather confused at your question. “What?”

“We’ll be away from each other for a week, and you’re very willing to go to Castle Hornwood,” you pointed out, making him let out a chuckle.

“Lamb…”

“I’m just saying, it bothered you before but it appears to me you’re no longer bothered but more willing, as if—” you started but the rest of your sentence was claimed in a kiss, the pestering thought disappearing into the fog in your mind. His hand cradled your cheek while your fingers curled in the front of his shirt, not willing to let him go even when he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours with a smile.

“I am both bothered and very unwilling to go to Castle Hornwood and leave you here,” he assured you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “It’s torment to be away from you for an hour, let alone a week. You know this.”

You traced the tip of your finger over the direwolf clasps at the front of his doublet.

“It was different, when my father was here,” he added. “Before, attending to these things was a chore. Now it’s my duty.”

Of course.

How could you forget about the biggest currency in the north along with honor?

Judging by the chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest, he could tell what you felt about duty from your mere expression.  

“I’ll miss you every second of it,” he told you, nudging your nose with his before stealing another kiss from you and making you giggle, but your head whipped around when a servant knocked on the door.

“M’lord, your horse is ready.”

Your shoulders dropped as he let out a huff, then kissed you again and got up from the bed. He grabbed his cloak to fasten it while you let yourself fall back on the bed, and the moment he opened the door, Grey Wind darted inside. He jumped on the bed with a whine as if he was complaining about the trip he was being forced to go before he plopped down on you, resting his head on the furs on your stomach.

“I know, I know,” you said softly like you were speaking to a babe, scratching behind his ears. “I’ll miss you too, my sweet.”

“You spoil him too much,” Robb commented while you planted kisses on top of the direwolf’s head.

“He deserves to be spoiled,” you said, earning a yawn that turned into a small ‘awoo’. “Do you not my love? Are you the sweetest baby in the entire realm? Are you?”

“Grey Wind,” Robb said, “come. Time to go.”

The direwolf licked your hand, then jumped down from the bed with a huff to make his way out of the room, but even his gait was sulky, making you bite back a smile. Robb came closer to peck you on the lips.

“Be careful.”

“You too,” you said. “Miss me.”

“You too,” he answered with a grin before he left the bedchambers and closed the door behind him. You pouted, then let out a groan and pulled the furs over you.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself. “Very well. A week, then.”

 You couldn’t go back to sleep, so you figured you’d start the day earlier than usual.

By the time you were done with your bath in your own bedchambers and your maid finished helping you with your gown and hair, your nausea was even worse due to distress. You had debated going to Maester Luwin, but you knew he was busy with Bran, so you decided to take care of it yourself and asked your maid for a cup of hot water. After she brought it to you, you gave her leave until it was time for breakfast which was more than an hour away, and put the cup on the table before you made your way to the chest of herbs Arys had brought you.

“Where are you?” you sang to yourself, going through the carefully labelled pouches in his impeccable handwriting. “Where are—yes!”

You skimmed the instructions, then took out a generous amount of mixture of leaves and put them in the cup, the smell making you scrunch up your nose. You still had to go through the ledgers the Winterfell carpenters had given you days ago, which you figured you could do while you waited for the tea to brew, so you grabbed the ledgers and the cup, then went to sit on the bed, carefully placing the cup on your bedside table and opening the ledgers on the bed. It was a rather boring task, but the outcome was going to be so lovely for so many people, so you forced yourself to go through the first couple of pages until you decided the tea was ready. You took another sniff, then held your breath and downed it in one go, grimacing at the aftertaste.

“Gods, Arys…” you grumbled to yourself. “Could’ve put something sweet in it.”

You put the cup back on your bedside, but before you could turn back to the ledgers, small yet rushed footsteps approached before the door opened and Rickon appeared at the threshold, with Shaggydog right behind him.

“Oh good morrow my sweet!” You beamed at him. “You’re awake already? It’s rather early.”

He pouted and took a trembling breath like he was on the verge of tears, causing you to push yourself off the bed to rush to him and crouch down to his eye level.

“What’s happened?” 

“Robb left?” he asked, his brows furrowed. “They say he left.”

“Oh, for a week only!” you assured him, gently pinching his chubby cheek. “He’ll be back in a week. Remember how he and Lord Stark left earlier with Jon and Theon? It’ll be like that.”

“Will he see Sansa and Arya?”

“No my sweet, Sansa and Arya are in the south.”

“Will he see mother?”

“She’s also going to the south,” you managed to say. “Robb is right here in the north.”

“Where in the north?” he asked and you pretended to think for a moment.

“Remind me, which house has a bull moose on their flag?”

“House Hornwood!” he exclaimed and you gasped.

“That one, yes!”

“Their flag is orange,” he said, proud of himself for knowing it. “Orange and brown.”

“I’m told they live near,” you said. “And when Robb is back, we’ll have so much to tell him about what Winterfell was like in his absence.”

He looked over his shoulder to Shaggydog, then turned to you.

“I want to go see Frost,” he demanded. “To give her breakfast. She eats funny.”

“We can do that,” you said. “She’s probably awake already. But before we go, do you remember what I said about how we ask for things when speaking to a lady?” 

He thought for a moment, a frown pinching his forehead.

“Can we go see Frost…” he mumbled. “Please?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, clapping your hands together. “That’s such a good job, Rickon! You remember!”

He gave you a toothless smile, his giggle echoing in the room while he jumped in his spot in excitement.

“And thank you!” he added in a haste. “We say please and thank you to ladies.”

Your jaw dropped.

“You are so smart, that’s exactly what we say!” you encouraged him. “I almost forgot about that part, it’s of utmost importance!”

He nodded, his curls bouncing around his head as he did.

“Alright, let’s go to the kitchen to get some carrots,” you said as you stood up and took his small hand into yours. “And then we can go give Frost her breakfast, she’ll be so happy to see you!”

The breakfast passed without any issues, and around noon you sent your ladies-in-waiting to the seamstress because apparently Barbrey’s cousin and her husband were soon coming to Winterfell, and seeing that Barbrey wanted to make her jealous, she needed opinions on her new gown. You stayed in the Great Hall, chatting with some of the guests and listening to their many opinions about your plan to have the carpenters make toys for the children who would come to Wintertown with their mothers.

“Galbert disagrees if I must admit, but I think it’s a great idea,” Lady Erena said. “Orphans get jobs, children get toys, and their mothers get some comfort seeing their children happy.”

“Well, yes but in the upcoming winter…” Lady Lynara heaved a sigh. “My lord husband disagrees as well. He thinks it unnecessary.”

“And what do you think?” you asked her and she hummed.

“I myself think it may offer some comfort to those mothers and children, but will it not interrupt the carpenters' usual work? Teaching the craft takes time and effort. Those orphans will walk in without any skills.”

“The carpenters will be compensated for their time and effort,” you said. “And most of the orphans end up without jobs, I’ve learned. It is hard without a family.”

Lady Lynara scoffed. “Winter is hard, my lady. They must learn the ways of life without you throwing them opportunities.”

You tried not to roll your eyes at her.

“Winter is indeed hard, so it is our responsibility to make life easier to everyone who’s in need,” you said. “Of jobs or comfort or opportunities.”

Lady Erena nodded her head. “I agree wholeheartedly,” she said. “I told Galbert the same thing, we must help. For example, our sons are nearly men grown, they have no need for toys. I’ve already sent a raven back home, all the toys from when they were babes will be given to carpenters in the nearby villages, so that they’ll have an idea of what to create.”

“Thank you, Lady Erena,” you said with a bright smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

“My lord husband says it’s a very southern way to approach winter,” Lady Lynara pointed out, and you tried to keep your expression calm.

“It is true that in the south, we don’t have people who have to move from their homes to survive the winter,” you said. “However, I truly think that if we—”

The sudden sharp pain that hit you out of nowhere took your breath away mid-sentence, and something churned in your lower abdomen, the ache familiar and strange at the same time. Lady Erena frowned slightly.

“My lady?”

Your head whipped up, and you tried to smile as if you couldn’t feel the warmth between your legs.

“Forgive me I—um,” you stammered. “I just remembered an urgent letter I must send, if you’ll excuse me.”

You left the Great Hall, walking as fast as you could with small, deliberate steps, praying to the gods that the blood sticking your underclothes to your skin would not drip to the ground until you got to the safety of your bedchambers. If it were any other time, you would have gladly stopped and chatted with multiple people in the hallway but now you could barely nod at the in acknowledgment as you passed by them. The dull throbbing got worse with every second, and it was only when you hurried into your chambers that you realized your hands had balled up into fists, your nails digging into your palms.

How long had it been since you had your last moon blood?

You quickly shed your gown down to your chemise that already had a growing red stain on it, straining your mind to remember when you’d had your last moon blood. The knife that turned in your abdomen made you double up as the wave of pain rippled through you, and you squeezed your legs in a pitiful attempt to block the blood from dripping to the ground, pressing a hand on your stomach. It made no sense, your moon blood had never been as painful on your first day, nor had it been this heavy, it always started light—

The idea crashed down on you like a ton of bricks, making your breath hitch.

…Oh.

This was not your moon blood.

Something sunk its claws into your heart, your whole body freezing in terror. For a moment, you stayed right where you were, bent from the waist, your eyes wide yet unseeing, unblinking. There was an ache at the back of your throat, a sob already forming there, but the cramps snapped you out of it and you forced yourself to take a deep breath, as shaky as it was.

“Okay,” you whispered, forcing yourself to grab at the edge of the table so that you wouldn’t lose your balance, tears burning your eyes. “Okay. You’re okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It was not the tremors that ripped your breath from your lungs this time, but the utter disbelief that it was happening; it was happening to you, right here and right now, miles away from anyone you could call for help. The arm of the sofa supported you for a moment, but as soon as you took another step your legs gave out and you crumpled to the floor, swallowing a sob while you blindly pushed the plush furs aside. A strangled cry ripped itself from your chest when the invisible dagger drove deeper into your guts and you curled up on your knees, one hand shooting up to wipe your nose, the other already stained with blood—

And to your absolute terror, that was when the door opened.

“My lady, I called out but…” Jorelle stopped talking at once when she stepped in, her eyes darting over your collapsed figure and the skirt of your chemise, drenched in blood.

Oh no.

No no no, this could not be happening.

Jorelle was the last person who was supposed to see you like this. She was the one whom the north loved and supported, the one who they thought was the better option for your status; the very same status that was now hanging by a thread, with you bleeding on the floor. Anyone who saw you in this situation would be able to tell what was happening, and the moment the word got out, the moment the north suspected you were unable to provide an heir to House Stark?

It wouldn’t matter how much Robb loved you, or how much you mesmerized him.

You were no fool, you knew very well how it worked. Beyond uniting your families, beyond all those grains and food your family would provide the north in winter and beyond how much House Stark would pull your family up in influence and power and status, this marriage had one, very specific expectation from you and Robb; to make sure the Stark bloodline continued.

An heir and a spare, minimum.

Though there were exceptions, the lack of heirs in a marriage usually came with two options, the annulling of the said marriage, or the husband siring heirs from a mistress and legitimizing them. In both of those options, you and your reputation would be dragged through the mud, and you would either be sent away with the whole realm knowing the reason, or you would turn into a living ghost right here in Winterfell, with no influence, no power, no respect or love.

And those banners and important families of the north would push Jorelle into the picture, especially now that she was the one who had caught you in such position and was surely going to use this to her advantage, as every other lady in the south would have.

It was all but a gift to her by the gods.

If you weren’t rendered speechless by the fear that took your body and mind hostage, you could’ve at least tried to come up with an excuse, as feeble and weak as it would’ve been. Jorelle seemed as frozen as you were, but her head whipped around when the chattering of the servants got louder with approaching footsteps. Her hand shot up to grab the door handle to pull it to herself when it rattled, your eyes widening as you pushed yourself to sit up, your whole body shaking.

“No—” you started but she shushed you, then opened the door just a little to slip through the crack and closed it before anyone could peek inside.

“Would you like to be louder?” She snapped at the servants at the door. “My lady is taking a nap, and she does not want to be disturbed. Shall I tell her whatever you’re talking of is more important than her rest, or would you like to shout into her bedchambers while you’re at it?”

The servants mumbled something you couldn’t hear.

“And Kyra, I expected better from you.”

“I apologize, m’lady. I was just going to check whether—”

“She doesn’t want to be disturbed,” Jorelle repeated. “Nor does she want anyone’s chatter or footsteps in the hallway, her sleep is very light. Make sure everyone stays away from this hallway until she wakes up.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

The sound of footsteps grew faint and Jorelle entered the bedchambers again, bolted the door, and rushed to you.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked. “Do you want me to get Maester Luwin?”

Pain burned down your lower back, and there were tears in your eyes, but that didn’t stop you from gritting your teeth to force yourself to glare at her.

“No,” you managed to say, your voice hoarse as you wiped the sweat off your forehead. “It’s just my moon blood, leave me be.”

Jorelle gave you an exasperated look before she ran to the corner of the room to grab the fresh towels for your morning baths. She helped you up, then slipped the towel under you and gently sat you down, a worried frown pinching her brows while you tried your hardest to mimic Margaery despite the cold sweat dripping down your back.

“If you utter a word of this—”

“I won’t,” she cut you off. “This goes to the grave with me, I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

That made you pause halfway through your threat.

“And so will what you’re going to answer me right now,” she said. “Has anything happened before the wedding? With Lord Robb or anyone else?”

“What? No!”

“If it was conceived on your wedding night, at most it’s been six weeks,” she murmured more to herself. “That’s good. That’s early. Bleeding should stop in a couple of hours, the worst part at least—my castle is quite crowded,” she added when she saw the quizzical look on your face. “You’re not the first woman I’ve seen who’s having a miscarriage.”

You wetted your dry lips. “If anyone hears…”

“They won’t, because once the bleeding lessens, we’ll burn the towels in the hearth,” she said. “Things get lost in a big castle all the time. No one will ever know, including the servants.”

You winced when you tried to shift your weight, your movements rigid and short. She hesitated for a second, her eyes darting over your face before she reached out to take your hand between hers, making your head snap around.

“It’ll help,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Not with the pain I’m afraid, but the rest.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again when no sound came out, so you gulped and tried again.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, and she squeezed your hand in an attempt to assure you.

“It’ll be okay.”

No it wouldn’t.

You knew it wouldn’t, so did she.

But neither of you could do anything but just sit there and stare at the flames in the hearth, waiting for it to pass.

Jorelle was right, the worst part of bleeding was the first hour, and though the deep ache were still there, you were either getting used to it, or it was getting slightly better. Silence filled the room for almost an hour, the only sound your gasps of pain from time to time along with the crackling of wood in the hearth.

But after a while, you forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat and turned to her.

“You didn’t have to help me.”

“Yes I did.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been trying to tell you since we met, I have no intention nor desire to be your enemy.”

You would have laughed if you had the energy. “The whole north thinks otherwise.”

“I care not what they think,” she said. “I don’t know why people are under the impression that I’m somehow a rival to you, but I’m not. There was only friendly affection and a promise of potential companionship between me and Lord Robb, and contrary to what everyone seems to think, I am not devastated over our broken arrangement, if you can even call it that. There wasn’t a betrothal.”

“No,” you admitted. “There wasn’t. But you know how these things work, if they wanted to push you...”

“They can push me all they want, I won’t move,” she said. “I won’t. He is in love with you, and you’re in love with him, what others hope for does not matter. Besides, even if you two weren’t in love, I still would not try to jam myself in between, I respect myself way too much to do that.”

Well, that hadn’t crossed your mind before.

This kind of thinking simply didn’t exist in the south. If there was any possibility of more power, no one stopped to think before they stabbed people in the back, personal feelings and pride and respect all came second when one could climb higher in status even at the expense of others.

And most of the time, it was indeed at the expense of others.

“Anyone else in your place would not hesitate,” you couldn’t help but point out, “back in the south.”

“This is not the south,” she said. “Things in the north work a bit differently. For which I’m glad.”

For some reason you doubted that; power was tempting, in the south or the north.

“And your family?”

Jorelle made a face.

“Well, my mother hates you,” she said with a chortle. “I wouldn’t take it personally. Everyone in the north wanted their daughter to wed Lord Robb, she’s no exception, though she was more intense than any other. I used to think she wanted me to wed him more than I wanted to wed him.”  She paused for a moment. “Now to think of it, I’d say she wanted to wed him more than I did.”

A burst of hysterical laughter escaped you and echoed in the room, surprising even yourself.

“I’d keep an eye on her if I were you,” she added, a grin playing on her lips. “She is as ambitious as a southron, and she would indeed leave my father for your husband.”

Gods, this was the worst time to be laughing.

Yet, you didn’t seem to be able to stop yourself even though you covered your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. You doubled over, resting a hand on the floor to support yourself while your shoulders shook, tears running down your cheeks from amusement or the pain, you could no longer tell. A hiccup escaped you, the ache in your chest as heavy as the one in your abdomen while you tried to breathe through the sobs and Jorelle sat up straighter.

 “No no no, we’re not crying right now,” she said in a rush. “We’re not crying, we’re talking of other things—um, so I didn’t tell you because you hated me, but funny thing, speaking of southrons, your brother asked me to be his mistress.”

Your head whipped up, your vision still blurry with tears while she nodded with wide eyes.

“I know,” she said. “I came up with one thousand retorts since he left. I’ve been writing them down, and I think I’ll turn it into a book and send it to Dorne on a ship.”

“Which—what?” you stammered, already distracted. “Which one?”

“Of the ships?”

“Of my brothers!”

“Perceon.”

“Perce?!” you exclaimed and wiped your nose in a haste. “Seven hells, Perce was who you were talking about in the kitchens?”

“Oh yes.”

“But you—I didn’t—” You hiccupped, trying to pick the right words. “I wasn’t aware you two were…”

“I’m as confused as you are, because we were not.” She motioned at you, flailing her arms. “We danced at your wedding, and then at the Harvest Feast, and I thought, well, he is very handsome.” A blush spread over her pale cheeks. “So I didn’t mind him courting me, but he wasn’t courting me. He asked me to be his mistress right after he almost kissed me.”

“Almost kissed you?” You sniffled. “He asked you to be his mistress before you two even kissed?”

“As I’ve said before. The audacity.”

You rolled your eyes.

“The twins came after Arys, so Arys claimed their share of wit in advance,” you said. “That’s why he’s so smart and Perce is an idiot. I apologize for his behavior, I’ll make sure to smack him when I see him again.”  

“But is that what southrons do?”

“Things work differently in Dorne, and Perce belongs more in Dorne than the Reach at this point,” you said. “Mistresses in Dorne have official titles, and they have all the luxuries and none of the responsibilities of the wives. And he won’t wed, so he probably thought it was a good offer—though, this is the first time I hear a man asking a lady to be his mistress before a kiss.”

Her cheeks got redder as she fixed her gaze in the hearth.

“I was going to kiss him before that,” she admitted. “I wanted to, but then I got scared because I was worried I’d be, I don’t know, bad at it—gods, you must think me a fool.”

“I don’t,” you assured her, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t. I was terrified of being bad at it too.”

“Was Lord Robb your first kiss?”

That made you scoff a laugh.

“No.” Margaery’s face flashed before your eyes and you tried to focus. “No, I had a lot of…practice—but the Reach is different!” you added in a haste. “We have different customs and education. The North is stricter in such matters, and you have different priorities.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have some knowledge,” she grumbled, her shoulders dropping. “The south got that right, at least. Some of the north dislikes you yes, but they all agree that Lord Robb is mesmerized by you.”

There was a fist clenching your heart, but you managed to give her a smile.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you rasped out and gestured at the towels you were sitting on, stained in deep red. “I’m on borrowed time.”

She frowned. “That’s untrue.”

“Come on.” You let out a dry laugh. “You know what it means if it started like this.”

“I do know what it means, it means nothing,” she insisted. “My mother lost a babe on her fourth moon before my brother, but she carried my brother very easily, with little to none sickness. My cousin, she had three miscarriages, and now she has twins. Granted they’re little brats, but they’re very healthy, growing like beanstalks.”

You blinked back the tears, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“And how many miscarriages do you think I’d be allowed to have until the north started whispering?” you asked. “Until all the prominent families started pushing Robb for a replacement, for an heir? They already dislike me, already looking for a fault.”

“He loves you—”

“We’re in the north, Jo,” you muttered. “You tell me what’s more important in the north, love or duty?”

“Loyalty,” she answered. “Loyalty is of most importance in the north, it means everything here. And one miscarriage means nothing at all. You and your husband are young and healthy, you apparently conceived on your wedding night, you’ll easily do it again.”

You turned your bracelet around your wrist, your gaze fixed on it as you sniffled.

“You’ll see I speak the truth once the pain passes.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Our maester told my mother to drink water during this, it’s better to be safe.”

She moved about in the room and grabbed the cup that you had drank your tea from earlier to dispose of the pulp, but she stopped dead in her tracks, falling quiet. You looked up from your bracelet and shifted your weight on the towel, pointing at the table.

“There’s another cup over there—”

She cut you off, her voice stern: “Who served you this tea?”

“No one,” you said. “I made it, it’s for nausea.”

Jorelle lifted the cup to her nose to sniff it, then shook her head. “Who told you it was for nausea?”

“My brother Arys brought me many herbs, they’re over there,” you said as she rushed to the chest you were pointing at, then lifted the lid to find the pouch in it. She untied it to spill the crushed leaves into her palm, her frown deepening.

“Did your brother oppose this marriage?”

“No,” you said. “All of them support it. Why?”

“Then you told someone else what was in the chest?”

“No, I—why do you ask?”

“This is not for nausea,” she told you. “This is moon tea.”

Confusion crashed down on you and you stared at her before you huffed out a laugh.

“It’s not,” you argued. “Of course it’s not, it’s for nausea. Arys made sure to write clear instructions on everything, especially after the wedding. He would never make such mistake.”

“I’ve seen moon tea before, this is moon tea.” She held out her hand to show the herbs in her palm. “One of my maids had to drink it in secret, I was with her. I swear to you, it looks and smells like this. And you’re supposed to take it with honey to help with the pain, you’re not supposed to just brew it and drink it as it is.”

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the warning tone of her voice when she said your name as she took a step towards to catch you in case you fell. The skirt of your chemise was drenched in blood—most of which dried down, sticking the fabric to your skin, making you grimace. The room spun around you, but you forced yourself to focus, blinking away the dots flying in your vision.

If she was not mistaken, if it was moon tea, that meant this was no natural miscarriage. This was not the first sign of a lifelong distress of trying for heirs only to lose them again and again, with the threat of being replaced hanging over your head, this was—

Jorelle’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Who else knew about these herbs?”

“No one,” you said, approaching the chest on shaky legs. “Only my lady maid whom I’d trust with my life. She was here when I ate a sort of root to relax my mind before the wedding, she disagreed but then Eli—”

The thought hit you so hard that your breath caught in your throat and you took a step back, unable to tear your gaze from the chest.

Elinor.

That was what she was doing in your room the morning of their departure, at dawn when everyone else was asleep and you were supposed to be in Robb’s bedchambers. She had seen that chest, she had seen you close it, she could’ve easily sneaked into your bedchambers and…

“Elinor,” you rasped through frozen lips. “My brother Alton’s wife. She did this.”

“But why?”

“Because I—we—” you stammered, the hot rage spreading through your veins like poison. “We had a fight, and I told her I’d ask Robb to march his men to the Reach and root Alton out of his castle to replace him with another brother of mine, and I told her he’d do as I asked. It was a mere bluff because she attacked me and…” you trailed off. “She must have swapped the pouches.”

“She did this because you had a fight?”

“What’s the first sign of pregnancy?” you asked through your teeth. “Nausea. She swapped moon tea with nausea tea, because then I’d be drinking moon tea every single time I got pregnant, and I’d lose it every single time. In front of Robb. Over and over again.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“She wanted to make sure he’d stop loving me, because if he stopped loving me, I’d hold no power,” you managed to say. “All the power I have here goes through him, she knows that. What better way to ensure he wouldn’t be mesmerized by me any longer? Everyone would be asking for an heir and I…”

How dare she?

A snarl twitched your lips, your nails biting into your palms. You squeezed your eyes shut to get rid of the red haze of anger clouding your vision, a thousand needles pricking the top of your head and spreading to your temples. All traces of pain sunk deep under a wave of fury tensing your muscles, the pounding in your ears getting louder and louder until Jorelle spoke.

“I wouldn’t last a day in the south,” she stated, her voice muffled like you were underwater as you opened your eyes again. “This is too much plotting.”

You swayed on your feet for only a second before your spine straightened like a puppet with its strings pulled, as if the southern courtier in you had decided that this was enough slouching with or without the pain; chin up, shoulders squared, a small, yet feral smile baring your teeth. It was clear from Jorelle’s worried gaze on you that you looked rather deranged; the skirt of your chemise drenched in blood, your legs and hands stained red, wisps of hair that were carefully pinned into a braid in the morning now sticking to your forehead with sweat.

When you spoke, your voice didn’t even sound like your own: “Not a good one.”

“Hm?”

“Not a good one,” you repeated. “I’ll survive. She will not.”

“You—”

“I can be patient,” you said, nodding to yourself. “I can and I will be, and I’ll wait for the right time, but I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill her, and then I’m going to kill Alton if he knew and didn’t tell me.”

“You might not have to lift a finger, when Lord Robb hears—”

“He won’t hear.”

“He won’t hear?” she repeated with a tilt of her head. “I understand not telling anyone else, but you won’t tell him either?”

“No,” you said, a strange calmness settling in your mind like a fog. “There are only two people in the world who I could tell about this, both miles away from me. I love Robb with all my heart, but he is not one of them.”

“He’s your husband.”

“And that’s the reason,” you said. “You wanted to learn about the southern ways to mesmerize someone, did you not? Here’s the first lesson. You cannot do anything to break the illusion. Ever.”

“You must be jesting,” she said. “You love him, surely you trust him.”

“This has nothing to do with love or trust, this is survival.”

“Survival?”

You weighed the words in your mind, then scrunched up your nose.

“I recognize that parenting styles are different in the north and the south,” you said, “but in the Reach, me and Margaery and all my friends, we were all taught one thing from the moment we could walk, something they apparently don’t teach anywhere else in the realm. Every castle that isn’t your home is a trap waiting to swallow you the second you take the wrong step.” You pointed at the cup. “This is the wrong step.”

“But how is this the wrong step?” she asked. “He won’t blame you. This was your sister-in-law’s doing, you couldn’t have known.”

“No,” you admitted. “No I couldn’t have, but it matters not. This is how you play the court game, this is why everyone sleeps with one eye open in the south. Robb loves me yes, he would—he would console me, yes.” You gulped when your voice cracked. “But in the long run, it’s still the wrong step. Love is one thing, heirs are another. And if he…”

Every word was a hot coal burning your throat, but you willed yourself to focus.

“It all comes down to power, I’m afraid,” you murmured. “Once you have it, you sink your teeth and your claws in, and you don’t let go. It’s no different than trying to survive in battle, I just make it look pretty.”

A breath of disbelief left her as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her before, and you dragged the tip of your tongue over your bottom lip.

“I love Robb,” you added. “I do. I genuinely love him, which is more dangerous than any other court scheme. But that doesn’t change the fact that my power here, it’s linked to him. My status, my influence, how involved I am in decisions, it all depends on his feelings for me. That’s why I can’t risk it, I can’t afford any flaws.”

“This is no flaw,” she managed to say, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“No, but this is something he might bring up when he’s angry,” you said. “People say all kinds of things when they’re angry. I’m not going to break the illusion just so that he can use the shards to hurt me.”

A stunned silence fell upon the room and you fixed your hair, ignoring how badly your hand was shaking.

“So, this simply never took place,” you said, making her head whip up. “We will burn the towels as you said, and we will burn my chemise, and I will have the maids draw me a bath. And once that’s done, that’s it.”

“My lady…”

“Nothing happened,” you told her, your eyes locked in hers. “I came here, I took a nap, woke up and had my moon blood. Nothing more.”

It was clear from the expression on her face that she wanted to argue, and though she pursed her lips, it seemed that she still couldn’t stop herself.

“Does it not get tiring?” she blurted out. “Looking at everything that way?”

The simple question pulled your lips into a wry smile and you blinked back the tears, a dull ache making its way to your temples.

“It’s exhausting,” you admitted. “But I don’t have any other windows to look through.”

She held your gaze captive for a moment, the defiant light in her eyes melting into something else entirely; sadness or compassion, you couldn’t tell. An exhale left her, and she shook her head slightly like she couldn’t believe you or herself before she clicked her tongue.

 “Very well then,” she ended up saying. “As you wish. Nothing happened.”

You were no stranger to performing.

It was second nature to you at this point. You, Silas, Margaery, Loras, you were all masters at keeping the mask on and not letting it slip, no matter how heavy it got. Even when you were sick, even when Silas was heartbroken, even when Margaery was angry and Loras was frustrated, that teasing courtier smile didn’t falter, nor did the straight posture or playful words.

It’s your armor, Lady Olenna used to say. Only a fool takes off their armor in front of the enemy.

And you were no fool back in the Reach, and you certainly were no fool here in Winterfell, miles away from every member of your family.

So, you did exactly what you said you were going to do. Once the bleeding lessened, you and Jorelle burnt the towels and your chemise, you changed into a new chemise and asked the maids to draw you a scorching hot bath where you spent nearly an hour, scrubbing at your flesh until the water went cold.

It was all without forethought, like you were sleepwalking.

You would’ve thought you were indeed asleep, if it weren’t for the knife turning deep in your abdomen.

You changed into a gown, made sure to put not just one or two, but three folded pieces of linen cloth in your undergarments, then sat in front of the mirror so that your maid could do your hair while your ladies-in-waiting chattered in the room; Wylla and Lyra disagreeing about some northern lady, and Alys and Barbrey talking about Barbrey’s new gown.

Yet, no amount of chatter could distract Jorelle from watching you like a hawk.

She did join the discussion from time to time, whether to make sure Wylla and Lyra’s discussion didn’t escalate, or answering Alys and Barbrey’s questions about Barbrey’s gown and the seamstress’ suggestions on it, but you could tell she was still worried about you. She had suggested you would take your dinner in your bedchambers, saying that sometimes she did the same on the first day of her moon blood because it made her tired, all the girls agreeing with her.

But with everyone away, it fell on you to host the guests and show them good hospitality as the lady of the castle, and attending dinner with them was a way for that.

The pain had mostly subdued. It felt more like your moon blood and less like a miscarriage, but now you had the most painful throbbing in your temples that didn’t even tolerate the candlelight while you walked down the hallway with your ladies-in-waiting around you.

“And as I was saying, she claims blue will look better—”

“It will look better.”

“But purple is more eye-catching. Wylla agrees, do you not Wylla?”

“Deep purple or light purple?”

“Wait, which one do you think is better?”

“Deep purple.”

“But the beads we bought looked better on blue.”

“Jo, what do you think?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there,” Jorelle brushed Barbrey off, walking beside you. “My lady, I must insist that we cut this dinner short, you have been awake since early hours of the morning, you said.”

“She does have a point, you look rather tired,” Lyra added, brutally honest as always. “Your eyes are bloodshot, perhaps you need some rest.”

You did need rest.

You had no idea whether it was the blood loss or the pain, or the emotional toll of the day, but you felt so tired. Your maid had prepared you a bag full of hot stones that had been in the hearth, so that you could press it on your stomach to help with the cramps, and you had already decided you’d have it with you tonight in bed as well, perhaps that could help you sleep the exhaustion away.

One could hope.

“I’ll retire to my bedchambers afterwards,” you said, your voice calm and composed. “However, we must—”

The hallway spun around you for a moment, making you stop dead in your tracks. Your hand shot up to the wall so that you could support yourself, the voices growing faint with the blood rushing in your ears, heat creeping up your spine while your ladies-in-waiting rushed to you.

“My lady?”

No.

No, you were not going to do that.

You were not going to collapse and give anyone any reason to think you were anything but alright, that was how the whispers started.

You blinked away the black dots flying in your vision and forced yourself to take a breath, your hand slipping from the wall so that you could wipe the cold sweat off your forehead, then cleared your throat.

“I’m alright.”

 Wylla and Jorelle exchanged glances.

“Shall I go fetch Maester Luwin?”

“There’s no need for that,” you said, your heart slamming against your ribcage, “thank you.”

“Maybe Jo is right, let’s go back.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, thank you!”

“Aye, I don’t even like these people.”

“Lyra!”

“Wha—I don’t!”

“We can eat in your bedchambers my lady, I’ll tell one of the maids—”

“No,” you said. “We’re attending dinner here.”

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Lyra insisted while you let yourself linger in your spot for a moment, still swaying on your feet before you took a deep breath.

Nothing had happened.

And nothing was happening.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you managed to say. “Trust me.”

“Things are different in the south, but I told you,” Robb said, making you narrow your eyes at him. “He cannot run to you crying every single time he’s scared.”

“Because winter is coming?” You mimicked his deep voice with his northern accent. “He’s a child—”

“You’re not his mother.”

You threw your head back with an impatient—and very unladylike—groan, then glared up at him.

“I know very well I’m not his mother, Robb,” you said. “Would you like to be reminded the reason why he runs to me crying?” You pointed at the door of the solar. “Because his actual mother is by his sick brother’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up!”

“Bran will wake up,” he said. “And in the meantime, Rickon needs to understand what is expected of him as a Stark.”

“And are the Stark babes born fully in control of their emotions?” you snarked. “Is that what happens? Did you all come out holding a sword and told the midwife the north remembers?”

“Quite the criticism from the girl whose midwife had to wear silk gloves to tend to her.”

Your mouth fell open with a gasp.

“Those were my nursemaids!”

“My apologies,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Of course. Your nursemaids.”

“And we’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about the fact that Rickon is terrified—”

“And he’s going to stay terrified if you keep coddling him.”

“No, he’s going to stay terrified if he feels like he has to deal with this alone.” You crossed your arms. “I understand that things may be different in the north, but mayhaps it’s high time you reconsidered it when it comes to Rickon—”

“I’m doing what my father would have done,” he told you, “if he were here.”

Of course.

Of course Ned Stark could do no wrong in Robb’s eyes as a father, so Robb wanted to walk the path his father carved.

…Except, it was quite obvious that he was refusing to address a very specific situation that had been taking place since Lord Stark’s departure. While ruling in his stead, Robb was making some changes, especially now that Lady Stark was confined to Bran’s chambers and was not seeing any of it.

“You do realize I was trained in politics as well?” you asked. “Do you honestly think I don’t know the reason why Jon is in the room in almost every meeting you hold with the northern lords ever since your father left? Something he didn’t do when he was indeed here?”

A blush spread over his cheeks and reached his ears as he averted his eyes from yours like he was caught doing some mischief.

“My brother being by my side is no politics,” he mumbled way too fast as if he had already practiced the answer in his mind, and you rolled your eyes.

“Robb, come on now...”

“It is not politics.”

“It is if you’re making your vassals perceive his presence,” you taunted him, moving about in the solar. “It is indeed politics if you’re legitimizing his status by your side even if it’s not in name. Which is more than alright, you do that. But don’t pretend it’s not political, when you and I both know what it signals to your vassals about the future.”

“Jon is not who we’re talking about right now,” he insisted, eager to change the subject. “Rickon is. He’s not going to learn the ways of the world if he thinks you’ll be there every—”

He was cut off when someone knocked on the door and a servant’s voice reached inside.

“M’lord, the blacksmiths from Wintertown are in the Great Hall.”

Robb ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture almost making you smile before you looked over your shoulder at the door, then turned to him.

“And once you’re done with your duties of the day, you must talk to your mother,” you said. “She hasn’t been out of that room for days now.”

He nodded with a sigh and stood up from his chair. It appeared that Grey Wind decided at that moment that he had been patient enough, because he padded across the room to nudge at you, pushing you back with his snout in the process. You cooed at him and scratched at his head.

“Can we—” Robb started, but this time it was Barbrey who knocked on the door.

“My lady, the carpenters are ready for you.”

“Thank you!” you called out while Robb tilted his head in confusion.

“The carpenters?”

“Oh, I…” You cleared your throat. “When we first visited Wintertown, you said more and more people would arrive there now that the maesters announced the arrival of autumn. Farmers and villagers and mountain clans.”

“Mm hm.”

“And you said they send women and children and the men stay behind, if the winter is hard,” you added. “So I thought um—I thought if children are going to be away from their fathers not even knowing they’ll see them again, even the smallest gesture of hospitality could help them and their mothers feel some comfort. And I came up with a plan.”

“Shocking,” he said, though it seemed he was battling with a smile. “What is it?”

“I— alright, so before you say no,” you said, shifting your weight. “Promise me you’ll listen first.”

A laugh climbed his throat as he rounded the table, then leaned back to it. “What did you do?”  

“Regardless of the north or south, all children like toys,” you said. “So I will ask the carpenters to make some toys for the children who will arrive here, or any of the nearby castles. And I’m actually going to hit two birds with one stone, because when I first shared it with my ladies-in-waiting, Alys said the carpenters might need some help with that, and I found a solution to that also!” You bounced on the balls of your feet, pride distracting you from your anger just now. “The carpenters here and in Wintertown will hire the orphans without jobs, so that they can get the help they need, and those poor orphans can learn the tricks of the craft and get paid. They’ll be the ones making the toys. And once all that is done, they’ll have a job that can make it possible for them to earn money not only here, but wherever they want!”

His eyes softened, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I’m told most of the toys—if they have any—pass from sibling to sibling for many smallfolk, so mayhaps having something of their own may cheer them up a little,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I doubt it’ll look perfect, but it’ll be theirs.”

He took a deep breath, then reached out to grab your hand so that he could pull you closer to him, his thumb caressing the back of your hand while he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“We can argue about it,” you informed him, making him huff out a laugh. “But we’re expected, so it’ll have to—”

“I think it’s a great idea,” he told you and your eyes shot up to his.

“You do?”

“Mm hm.”

“No arguments? Because I practiced.”

“You practiced for arguments?” he asked with a confused frown, but before you could answer, Barbrey knocked on the door again.

“My lady.”

“I’m coming!” you called out and stepped out of his arms much to his displeasure, walking backwards to the door. “And I meant what I said about Rickon.”

He shot you a look. “So did I.”

“I suppose we’ll have to argue about that instead,” you pointed out and gave Grey Wind a quick peck on his head. “Lucky for me, I practiced for that too. I’ll find you later.”

 With that, you pulled open the door and walked out of the room to make your way down the hallway with Barbrey following you in a haste.

Your conversation with the carpenters took longer than you had expected. After it was done, you and your ladies-in-waiting had spent some time with Rickon playing the games he wanted until Maester Luwin came to take him away, and it was only then you realized just how tired you were. You figured you could take a short nap but visiting Lady Stark in Bran’s room before that sounded like a good idea, so you gave your ladies-in-waiting leave until dinner time while you made your way to Bran’s room, but before you could reach his door, you heard your maid Kyra’s voice.

“M’lady!” She rushed through the hallway, holding a cup. “Your tea.”

“Oh thank you Kyra, you’re the sweetest.” You took the cup from her as the door opened and another maid stepped outside, carrying an untouched plate of food that no doubt was supposed to be Lady Stark’s breakfast. The smell of eggs turned your stomach, making you grimace and you held your breath until she walked away with the plate. You lifted the cup to inhale the sweet scent of your tea before you took a sip, then smiled at Kyra.

“I’ll take a nap after this,” you whispered, approaching the door. “So you can take the time off until dinner.”

“Thank you m’lady.”

You took another sip in an attempt to settle your stomach, knocked on the door and stepped in, Kyra helpfully closing the door behind you.

“Good afternoon, Lady Stark.”

Gods, she was a mess.

And rightfully so. You couldn’t even imagine being in her place right now, with her little boy lying there asleep for weeks and her husband gone with both of her daughters, miles away from her. She was weaving a sort of a talisman, and she only raised her head from it for a second to look at you, her blue eyes red-rimmed with tears and lack of sleep.

“Good afternoon,” she rasped out and you put your tea aside, then took a step towards her after stealing a look at little Bran who laid asleep in his bed with his wolf Summer at the foot of the bed.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, I just wanted to see if you or Bran need anything?”

She shook her head, her whole attention on the talisman again. “No, thank you.”

“I’ve been told I’m quite good at crafts,” you offered. “I imagine you must be tired. I could do that for you if you would like?”

She shook her head again.

“It’s for protection of a child,” she whispered. “Only a mother can make it.”

“Oh,” you said after a beat. “I am not familiar with it, I’m afraid.”

“And I hope you won’t have to learn it,” she said. “I hope your and Robb’s children never need it.”

There wasn’t much you could say to that, so you offered her a small smile, your gaze darting around the room.

“How is he?” she asked, making your head whip up.

“Robb?” you asked back and cleared your throat. “He’s alright. He’s doing a great job ruling in Lord Stark’s stead. But he’s also worried about you and Bran, the whole castle is.”

She nodded slowly.

“Rickon is alright as well,” you added in a haste. “My ladies-in-waiting and I just played hide-and-seek with him. I’m the least familiar with the layout of the castle so I always get caught first, and it amuses him a lot.”

You decided against mentioning Rickon’s nightmares, the poor woman didn’t have to worry about that on top of everything right now.

“And I wrote to my brother,” you said. “Arys. He’s studying to be a maester at the Citadel as you know, and he’s incredibly smart. Perhaps he’ll have some ideas as to how we can help Bran.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

A silence fell upon the room, and you fidgeted with your bracelet before taking a deep breath.

“Lady Stark, if you would like to rest—”

“I cannot,” she cut you off, her voice hoarse. “Bran needs me.”

“And I will send for you immediately if—when he wakes up,” you corrected yourself. “If he wakes up in your absence. But you must think of your own health as well, not just Bran’s.”

Even you could tell she was deaf to your suggestions, as you knew she would be. You looked from her to Bran and opened your mouth to insist, then changed your mind and forced yourself to smile.

“Please send for me if you change your mind,” you said. “Have a good day, Lady Stark.”

You grabbed your cup on your way out and shut the door behind you, then leaned back to it and let out a breath, closing your eyes.

Robb really needed to talk to her.

You opened your eyes again, then pushed yourself off the door, took a huge sip of your tea, and walked down the hallway to get to stairs so that you could go to your room for a much needed nap.

You were supposed to wake up before dinner.

And this nap was supposed to help you regain some energy.

Neither had happened.

When Robb’s gentle touch on your cheek and his lips on your forehead pulled you out of the depth of sleep, it took you more than just a couple of seconds to get rid of the haze. You let out a small whine that made him chuckle as he pulled back to look down at you.

“Well hello there,” he said, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Are you alright?”

You blinked groggily, now noticing how the room was completely dark.

“What…” you rasped out, kicking the fur covers off of you. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I wasn’t in the hall for dinner, did you eat?”

You shook your head, hunger clawing at your stomach at the mention of dinner. He pressed his palm on your forehead.

“I can’t tell if it’s fever or it’s because the room is boiling.”

“It’s not fever,” you assured him, pulling yourself to sit up in the bed. “I’m not sick, I…Gods, I wasn’t supposed to sleep the dinner away. My apologies.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said gently. “Rickon has been keeping both of us up for three nights now, you needed it.”

You yawned, rubbing at your eyes.

“Where is he anyway?”

“Rickon?” he asked. “He’s asleep in his own room.”

You dropped your hands to shoot him a look.

“Did you tell him to?”

“No, I just asked Jon and Theon to keep him busy while you were occupied, so he’s been running around the Godswood for the last couple of hours. He should be tired enough to sleep throughout the night.”

A scoff of laughter escaped you. “Robb!”

“I had to find a solution!” he defended himself as he easily got on top of you to settle between your legs, making you giggle. “I haven’t had my wife in ages—”

“Three nights,” you corrected him with a grin and he made a noise of disagreement, cradling your cheek to steal a kiss from you.

“It’s the same thing.”

“And we must—” You swallowed thickly when his lips found your throat. “Um, we— we must fight first because I practiced for it.”

“We’ll fight all you want after this,” he muttered into your neck, his touch making your breath hitch before you grabbed his wrist.

“But I’m hungry.”

That made him pause.

“…Now?”  

You nodded your head when he pulled back to see you better.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” you whined. “Surely you don’t want me to perish.”

“No!” He was quick to assure you. “Of course not, but…”

“But nothing, I’m starving!”

You would’ve been lying if you said the sight of utter torment on his face at the mention of waiting to have you didn’t make you giddy. Lady Olenna had always said being married didn’t mean you couldn’t play with your husband’s patience, and it filled you with a strange sense of pride to see that even though it had been a month after your wedding and he laid with you almost each night since then, he still craved you. You pushed him a little and he got off of you to fall back on the bed with a dramatic groan while you crossed the room to grab your dressing gown to put it on.

“Just tell one of the servants,” he said from the bed and you shook your head.

“I don’t wish to disturb them,” you said. “And I don’t even know what I want to eat yet, I’ll decide it in the kitchens—by the way, did you talk to your mother?”

His hesitation was all the answer you needed, and you spun around on your heels.

“Robb.”

“I didn’t have time.”

“You have time now,” you said. “While I go get myself something to eat. Go talk to her, I’m certain she’s awake.”

“And say what?” he asked, sulking. “She doesn’t listen.”

“I talked to her today.”

He raised his brows. “And did she listen?”

“The point is not whether she listens or not,” you told him as you made your way to him, and he reached out to wrap his arms around your waist, nuzzling to your chest. “The point is that we must talk to her until she hears it. She needs to get out of that room, it won’t...” You trailed off. “It won’t do her any good if she spends her days there.”

“It won’t do anyone any good,” he muttered into your skin and raised his head to rest his chin there. You ran your nails over the nape of his neck, and he closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing under your touch.

“She asked me about you.”

That made him open his eyes again to roll them.

“What for?” he grumbled. “She knows where I have been since my father left.”

…Oh.

Oh you were an idiot for not seeing it sooner, Lady Olenna would’ve been disappointed.

Robb was trying to step into his role as Lord Stark, and this was the first time for him to be able to prove himself as the future Warden of the North, and he was doing a great job but—

But Lady Stark hadn’t even acknowledged it with so much as a word, too worried to leave Bran’s side.

You had to be very careful, because you knew very well that the moment Robb so much as sensed that you could tell he wanted approval, he would refuse to listen and insist that he didn’t need it in the most northern manner. People in the north thought even mere children had to deal with their fears alone with no help or comfort from anyone else, you could already tell the rules were even stricter when it came to grown-ups.

Which was nonsense to you.

But from Robb’s perspective, he had to be the perfect heir and the future Lord of Winterfell, and praise, comfort and reassurance was for southerners, not for the Warden of North.

“I think she was worried,” you said, still playing with his hair. “But I told her not to. Not to sound arrogant, but I was very convincing with the way I was singing your praises.”

Confusion flashed over his handsome features. “Hm?”

“Mayhaps you don’t realize it my love, but you’re doing a wonderful job ruling in your father’s stead,” you said gently. “It’s no easy task, but I think the whole north sees that they have nothing to worry about once the title eventually falls on you for good.”

The light in his eyes softened before he lowered his head so that you wouldn’t see the fire burning his cheeks, but you could see the tips of his ears growing pink, making you bite back a proud smile.

Aw, the big bad Young Wolf Robb Stark blushed at flattery.

You were going to have fun with that information.

He cleared his throat and stood up from the bed, adapting the solemn expression of the north, a frown pinching his brows.

“Aye, it’s—” he said gruffly as if he was trying to pull himself together, though the sight of pink on his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s duty.”

“I’m aware it’s duty,” you said, your voice airy. “And I would’ve loved you if you were Benjen the servant just as I love you as the future Lord of Winterfell who’s already proving himself to the north.”

A playful grin curled his lips. “Is that right?”

“Very much so. That’s why I’m not quite certain if what I say counts here,” you stated, “but I still think it’s important for you to know that you’re doing so well. Duty or not, I’m so proud of you.”

He gawked at you and blinked a couple of times, his cheeks getting even redder.

“It’s my—I—” he stammered. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Your expression was completely innocent.

“I have no idea what you speak of,” you said, then gave him a bright smile. “Though, you do look so sweet blushing.”

“I don’t blush!” he defended himself, coaxing a laughter out of you as he spun you around to gently shove you in the direction of the door with him following you. “Go eat and come back as fast as you can.”

“But—” you were cut off when he smacked your butt, making you gasp and turn around at the door.

“Scandalous behavior!” you accused him, pointing a finger at him but he grabbed your wrist, that mischievous light glimmering in his eyes.

“You’ll see what scandalous behavior is when you come back,” he told you. “Go.”

“Talk to Lady Stark while I’m in the kitchens!” you called out as you rushed down the hallway, aware of his glances on you until you turned the corner. A giggle escaped you as you went downstairs and made your way to the kitchens, the whole castle asleep as you guessed.

However, your guess turned out to be inaccurate.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you caught the sight of Jorelle who whirled around on her heels the moment she heard you, holding a plate with a piece of cake.

“Hello,” she said after a beat. “I uh…I couldn’t sleep, and I got hungry. What are you doing here?”

“Slept too much and got hungry,” you answered, shifting your weight. “Are those lemon cakes?”

“Oh.” You took the plate from her and went to sit on the table while she leaned back to one of the counters. “Thank you.”

She nodded and turned around to grab a piece, then put it on another plate with a fork and held it out for you.

 “Don’t mention it.” She waved her fork dismissively. “We were going to wake you up, then Lyra said maybe we shouldn’t. Do you feel alright?”

You nodded your head, pushing your fork into the cake.

“I feel groggy,” you admitted and took your fork into your mouth, closing your eyes at the tart yet sweet taste of the spongey cake for a moment. “Gods, this is the best remedy.”

Sometimes you wondered what kind of friends you and Jorelle would’ve made if you met in different circumstances. You were quite certain you would have been close with her, if it weren’t for…

Well.

Everything.

Her family pushing her, the whole north being ready to rally behind her, thinking that she would’ve been better at being the future Lady of the North.

Perhaps the worst part was that you knew very well she would’ve been great at it. She was the personification of the north with her cold and distant beauty even now in the middle of the night with no embellishments; her dark hair cascading down her back in soft waves, her gray eyes gleaming in the dimly lit kitchen.

“Are you certain you feel alright?”

You snapped out of your own thoughts and offered her a small smile.

“Of course,” you said. “How about you? Why couldn’t you sleep?”  

“Ruminating, I suppose.”

You knew you were supposed to keep distant, Margaery would have advised you to keep distant, yet you couldn’t help but ask:

“About what?”

She looked like she was battling herself not to say anything, but then she exhaled through her nose.

“Are—” She stopped herself, then gritted her teeth. “Are southern men always so…full of audacity?”

A huff of laughter you couldn’t stop escaped you, and you nodded your head in a solemn manner.

“I’m afraid so.”

“I thought they were all courteous and knightly in the south.”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“They’re supposed to be,” you admitted. “But being knighted doesn’t mean a man is in fact knightly. What’s happened?”

“Your—one of the southern guests,” she corrected herself mid-sentence, “he disrespected me.”

Your heart skipped a painful beat.

“When you say disrespect…?” you asked and she frowned, then shook her head vigorously.

“Oh no, with words,” she assured you in a haste, making you let out a relieved breath. “Nothing happened. Just a very disrespectful statement.”

“Like what?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Who?”

“I’d rather not say that also.”

You hummed while you chewed on your bite, then swallowed it.

“Well, Silas is unfortunately in Dorne,” you said. “Had you told me before, we could’ve asked him to beat up whoever it was for his disrespect.”

She raised her brows. “You would’ve done that?”

A knowing smile curled your lips and you put your plate aside with a sigh.

“I’m well aware what the north thinks of you and me,” you said. “But there’s still a line. I wouldn’t let you or any other woman be disrespected by a man, no matter how we might feel about each other.”

She stared at you in silence for a couple of seconds like she was at a loss for words, but before she could say anything, hurried footsteps approached the kitchens and Theon appeared at the door, making you frown.

“What is it?”

“There’s a fire,” he said breathlessly. “In the library tower.”

You jumped on your feet, your stomach churning in worry. “Is everyone alright?”

“Aye, but Robb asked me to take you to safety.” Theon’s eyes found Jorelle over your shoulder. “You too, my lady.”

You grabbed Jorelle’s wrist to rush out of the kitchens with her, now hearing the wolves howling outside along with people shouting. Someone started ringing the bell, the sound echoing through the yard and reaching the halls while some of the servants ran past you. You took a look outside the window, the flames shooting from the windows of the library catching your eye and making your breath hitch.

“Gods,” you murmured, “all those books…”

Jorelle tugged at your hand to get you away from the window and you all turned a corner, your head shooting up with the sudden thought hitting you out of nowhere.

“Theon wait, has anyone told Lady Stark?”

“She knows, Robb was with him just now,” he answered while you all approached Bran’s open door. “Either way, it’s—get back!”

He drew his sword and stepped in front of you at the same time Jorelle pushed you behind her with a gasp. Your hands shot up to your mouth at the sight of Lady Stark standing in the middle of the room with blood pouring from the gashes in her palms, and Bran’s wolf Summer standing over a man who laid dead in the corner of the room with his throat torn out, his knife beside him.

“Lady Stark?” Theon stepped into the room with his sword at ready, and she raised her gaze from her hands, still stunned.

“I’ll get Maester Luwin,” Jorelle said and darted, her footsteps echoing in the hallway while you rushed to Lady Stark, your heart beating in your ears.

“I’m unharmed, so is Bran,” she said and you stole a look at Bran who still laid asleep in his bed, then grabbed the handkerchief on the table beside the untouched plate of food to press it on her bleeding palms.

“I’m sorry,” you said in a haste when she hissed. “I’m sorry, we must stop the blood—what happened?”

Her eyes snapped to yours.

“Someone—” she rasped out, then took a shaky breath. “Someone tried to kill Bran.”

Author's note 2 : Thank you so much for reading my loves! This is a friendly reminder that the next chapter will include certain topics that may be triggering, so please make sure to check the warnings. Love you! 🩷

The fire crackled softly inside his chambers, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold that had settled deep inside Valarr's chest.

He remembered how, from the very moment he had been old enough to understand words, people had reminded him that he was the heir to the heir. That one day, the weight of the Seven Kingdoms would rest upon his shoulders.

And with that came expectations. He was expected to be born perfect. To speak perfectly, fight perfectly and rule perfectly.

Nobody ever asked him what he wanted or what he desired. Everything had been decided for him the moment he was born, and somewhere along the way he had accepted that as his fate.

He had convinced himself that duty was enough. That duty will be his entire purpose of living.

But now everything had come crashing down.

The dreadful realization had settled into his heart sometime after Ethan's arrival. For days, his thoughts had already been consumed by you. From every conversation to every smile. He had stubbornly called it curiosity, convincing himself that it was nothing more than fascination with someone so different from every noble lady he had ever met.

He had believed the lie he had made up to convince his heart. To keep up the facade of duty.

Until he saw you with Ethan.

The feeling that had risen inside him that evening had been far greater than simple frustration. It had felt as though someone had reached inside his chest, wrapped a hand around his heart, and torn it cleanly into two.

And in that moment, every carefully built wall around his heart had crumbled beneath your smile. His perfect prince's facade, his reason, his responsibilities and his duty. All of it had begun to fall apart beneath the weight of one simple truth.

He had fallen in love. And no less with the sister of his future betrothed.

Valarr buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, miserable groan. Gods. Even thinking the words felt wrong.

The image of you crouching beside Specter flashed across his mind once more. Snow had rested lightly upon your shoulders, while your smile had softened your entire face. You had looked impossibly beautiful beneath the towering pines of the Wolfswood.

Then he remembered your hand taking his own. He could still feel its warmth, and the callouses on your hands from years of training.

You had simply been trying to help him pet Specter, yet the brief touch had sent his heart racing so violently he had been convinced you could hear it.

His cheeks warmed at the memory, and he remembered looking at your lips. And, shamefully, wondering what they would feel like against his own.

Valarr squeezed his eyes shut. "Gods..."

The embarrassed whisper escaped before he could stop it. He felt awful every time he remembered it. You had trusted him, and helped him as a friend should. While he had stood there imagining something he had no right to imagine.

Then came the hunt. You had never once looked at him with pity. You had not laughed at his poor aim or sighed in disappointment like the master at arms back at King's Landing often did. Instead, you had simply and patiently corrected him. You had offered advice because you genuinely wished for him to succeed.

And somehow, it had worked. And he had hunted a wild boar all my himself, without the help of any of his Kingsguard.

A small smile found its way onto his lips despite himself. Everything had been perfect. At least until your maid, Meera had appeared.

Even now, Valarr found himself frowning at the memory of the interruption. It frustrated him far more than he cared to admit.

As if that had not been enough, Ser Crakenhall had given him a stern look the moment they had rejoined the hunting party, clearly displeased that the prince had wandered away alone in these dangerous woods.

Valarr had accepted the silent reprimand. It had hardly mattered because his thoughts had remained with you, and on you the entire ride back.

Then they had arrived at Winterfell, and the atmosphere had felt wrong immediately. The courtyard had been silent, and he remembered seeing the expression on his father's face. And then turning to see yours.

He had never seen you look like that before. There had been no smile, or warmth.

Only fury. Pure, unrestrained fury that made his insides shiver.

For a brief moment, his feet had nearly carried him after you without thought, driven by nothing more than the overwhelming need to make sure you were alright.

His father's voice had stopped him, and Valarr had reluctantly followed Prince Baelor instead, hoping he might at least learn what had happened.

The truth had been worse than he imagined.

Lord Mallery had accused one of Winterfell's maids of seducing him before stealing from him. The maid, however, had claimed through tears that the lord had cornered her and tried to force himself upon her. When other servants heard her cries and came running, he had quickly turned the accusation against her.

Then Valarr learned something else, that made this entire incident far more worse.

The maid was yours. She had served you since you were five-and-ten. And something inside him twisted painfully.

Had this happened in the south, the matter would likely have ended already. Her words would have weighed little against those of a noble lord, and the servant would have been punished.

Perhaps executed or quietly sent away if his father was overseeing the matter.

But this was the North. Justice here belonged to everyone. Or so Valarr desperately hoped.

He had argued with his father very passionately. The servants had heard her cries. Surely that alone proved enough.

Prince Baelor had merely sighed and said, "It happened beneath Lord Stark's roof. Justice belongs to him. And matters like these are sensitive. One small move can trigger wars, and there are not many who are ready to go to a war for a maid."

For the first time in his life, Valarr had disliked his father's answer, and he had left without another word.

Afterwards, he had searched for you throughout the castle, hoping he might offer some comfort, some reassurance, anything at all.

But he never found you. Every servant he questioned lowered their eyes and claimed not to know where you were.

So now he sat alone inside his chambers, trying desperately to think of some solution.

A sharp knock echoed through the room, and Valarr ran a tired hand through his hair before letting out a weary sigh.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal Ser Crakenhall. Beside him stood one of Winterfell's servants with his gaze fixed firmly upon the floor.

"Your Grace," the servant began. "Lord Stark requests your immediate presence. An emergency council has been called regarding Lord Mallery's accusation."

Valarr was already on his feet before the man had finished speaking. He reached for his cloak, fastening his sword around his waist with hurried fingers.

"Where?"

"The Great Hall, Your Grace."

The servant barely finished the sentence before Valarr was already striding through Winterfell's corridors.

His thoughts raced faster than his feet. Perhaps you would be there, and he could finally help you. Even if only a little.

As he rounded the final corner leading towards the Great Hall, he spotted you descending the staircase. Three women followed closely behind. He recognised Meera immediately, and assumed the second to be your other maid.

When his gaze landed on the third woman, Valarr's steps slowed and his stomach tightened. She looked as though she had survived a battle. Her face was pale beneath bruised skin, one lip had split open and a dark mark bloomed across her cheek. She limped with every step, and her eyes were swollen red from endless crying.

Valarr's jaw clenched. Whatever Lord Mallery had claimed, the truth stood before him.

He hurried forward, calling your name. You stopped only a few steps before the doors of the Great Hall. And when you turned towards him, Valarr felt himself falter.

Your face was almost expressionless. Yet the fire burning behind your eyes made him shudder.

"My lady." He inclined his head before briefly acknowledging the women behind you. "I was looking for you."

You merely hummed. And Valarr instinctively clasped his hands behind his back.

"I know what happened should never have happened," he said carefully. "I promise I shall help however I can. If you wish, I-"

"There will be no need, my prince."

Your voice was flat. And somehow, that hurt far more than anger would have. The softness that had always coloured your words whenever you spoke to him was gone. It felt as though an invisible wall now stood between the two of you.

Before Valarr could think of another response, you turned away and entered the Great Hall with your maids leaving him standing alone.

He closed his eyes briefly.

This was not about him.

You were hurting.

His stupid heart could wait.

Drawing in a slow breath, Valarr followed you inside. The hall was already filled with people.

Lord Stark stood beside Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar. Lady Stark remained near one end of the chamber with William and Berena.

You stood near the centre with your three maids. And several paces away stood Lord Mallery. The smug look upon the man's face made anger curl inside Valarr's chest.

After greeting those assembled, Valarr quietly moved to stand on your side of the hall.

From where he stood, he could see your clenched jaw, and your tightly folded fists. He was certain your nails were digging into your palms. The urge to reach out and comfort you became almost unbearable.

Lord Stark finally stepped forward.

"We have gathered today," he began, his voice carrying across the silent hall, "to discuss the unfortunate incident that occurred within the walls of Winterfell."

He paused, as though the next words weighed heavily upon him. "Lord Mallery has accused Layla of attempting to seduce him in an attempt to steal his coins."

Silence swallowed the room, and Valarr glanced towards you.

Your shoulders had stiffened and your fists clenched even tighter.

"Layla," Lord Stark continued gently. "What have you to say?"

The young maid closed her eyes. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

"My lord...I have served Lady Stark since I was a child. I would never do such a thing. I swear before the Old Gods... he forced himself upon me. My injuries are—"

"Enough." Lord Mallery's voice cracked across the hall.

Valarr's hand instinctively drifted towards the hilt of his sword.

"Everyone knows what the word of a servant is worth." Disgust twisted the lord's face. "Women like you would spread your legs for a single copper. You only started crying because your little scheme failed against an honourable man."

The tension inside the hall became suffocating, and Layla shook her head desperately.

"My lord, please-"

"I demand Lord Stark uphold justice." Lord Mallery lifted his chin proudly. "And take her head as the punishment."

Valarr saw Lord Stark draw breath to speak. But before he could, you turned towards Layla. Your jaw remained clenched. And without saying a single word, you gave her one small nod.

Layla's frightened eyes widened before she swallowed hard. Then, with trembling hands and tears still running freely down her face, she spoke.

"I-I demand a trial by combat. It is my right."

The entire hall fell into stunned silence. Valarr's head snapped towards Layla. And Lord Mallery let out a loud scoff, looking at the trembling maid with open disdain.

"Do not taint the name of such a thing with your filthy mouth. Trial by combat?" He barked out a laugh. "I am certain no man in his right mind would champion a lying criminal and a lowly servant."

Valarr felt his heartbeat quicken. His hands curled into fists at his sides before slowly relaxing again. He could feel his mind racing, searching for the courage he had spent years trying to cultivate.

He could do this. He had to.

Not only because it was the right thing to do. But because it was you. He drew in a slow breath, lifted his chin and opened his mouth. Before a single word could leave him, your voice rang through the hall.

"I will be her champion."

Valarr froze, and his eyes widened, his breath catching somewhere in his throat as he turned towards you.

For a heartbeat, nobody moved or spoke. Even Lord Stark looked momentarily taken aback, surprise flashing across his usually unreadable features before years of lordship allowed him to regain his composure.

Valarr can see his own mother's eyes widening, while Prince Baelor looked equally astonished beside Lord Stark. Lady Stark simply stared at you, lips parted ever so slightly.

You stood perfectly still in the centre of the hall. Your shoulders were squared and chin was raised. Your jaw was clenched so tightly Valarr wondered whether your teeth would crack beneath the pressure. You looked every bit the wolf of the North.

"Girl, this is-"

"Lady." Your voice was calm. It carried across the hall with such authority that even Lord Mallery instinctively stopped speaking.

He blinked. "W-What?"

"Lady Stark." Your gaze never left him as you stared him down. "I am the firstborn daughter of Lord Stark. And you will address me as such."

For the first time since entering the hall, Lord Mallery actually looked unsettled. Valarr felt the corner of his lips twitch upward.

Gods, he had only seen his father command a room the way you just had.

"My...Lady," Lord Mallery corrected himself stiffly, clearing his throat. "This is a trial by combat we are discussing. Only knighted men may stand as champions for the accused."

He stepped closer, a smug smile returning to his face. Valarr felt his own jaw tighten.

"I was knighted by my father when I was two-and-ten." You did not even spare Lord Mallery another glance. Instead, your eyes moved towards Lord Stark. A faint smirk tugged at your lips.

Lord Stark nodded once. "It is true, my daughter was knighted years ago."

Valarr quietly released the breath he had been holding.

"But-" Lord Mallery stammered, visibly scrambling for another argument. "My lady, you are still a woman." His finger pointed accusingly towards you. "I do not believe a woman can serve as a champion."

Before Valarr even realised he had moved, he had stepped forward. "I do not believe that matters, Lord Mallery." Every head in the hall turned towards him. And he felt dozens of eyes settle upon his back.

Normally, they would have stolen every ounce of courage from him. But today, they did not.

His gaze briefly met yours. There was confusion in your eyes, along with surprise. And something softer that made his heart skip painfully against his ribs.

If speaking meant easing even a fraction of the burden you carried, then he would speak despite his fears.

Valarr straightened his shoulders before addressing the hall. "If I remember correctly," he began, his voice quieter than your own but steady nonetheless, "the laws concerning trial by combat state that the accused may choose any willing champion who believes in their innocence."

He looked towards Lord Mallery. "It makes no distinction between man or woman."

His gaze shifted to Prince Baelor. "Am I correct, Lord hand?"

For a brief moment, something unreadable passed across Prince Baelor's face as he looked between him and you. Then, it morphed into pride.

Valarr had seen that expression directed at other people countless times throughout his life. He never expected to see it turned towards himself.

Prince Baelor inclined his head. "Prince Valarr is correct. If the chosen champion is willing, their sex bears no relevance under the law. Lady Stark has every right to stand for the accused provided Lord Stark accepts."

Valarr quietly clasped his hands behind his back. He gave his father the smallest nod of gratitude.

If it had been anyone else, or if this had been any other matter, he doubted he would have found the courage to challenge a lord before half the realm. But for you, he would always try.

Lord Stark's gaze swept across every face gathered within the hall before finally settling upon Lord Mallery. "So be it." His voice left no room for argument. "The trial by combat shall take place tomorrow at dawn. Lord Mallery, you may fight yourself or name a champion should you wish."

Lord Mallery's face darkened with barely concealed fury.

Valarr found himself unable to suppress the small smile threatening his lips. Yet the relief lasted only a heartbeat, and his attention drifted back towards you.

You were already looking at him. The fire in your eyes had softened, replaced by something quieter, something warmer. It made his heart skip a beat.

You gave him the faintest nod. An unspoken thank you. And Valarr returned it almost immediately, a shy smile finding its way onto his face before he could stop it.

He realised that if standing beside you meant earning even that single look, he knew he would do it again without hesitation.

You leaned your head back against the chair and let out another weary sigh, your eyes drifting towards the window. Beyond the glass, the full moon hung above Winterfell, bathing the castle in pale silver.

At your feet, Specter shifted closer before letting out a loud yawn. His massive body was curled beside your chair, his thick white fur rising and falling with every slow breath. You had decided to bring him inside the castle tonight.

Partially because you had missed him. Mostly because you needed something or someone, to stop you from marching straight to Lord Mallery's chambers and separating his head from his shoulders.

Your jaw clenched at the mere thought of the man. When you had seen Layla's bruised face, the terror in her eyes, all reason had abandoned you. You had been halfway across the courtyard with your hand already wrapped around the hilt of your sword before Meera had caught your arm.

She had reminded you of the guest right and the sacred laws of hospitality. The dishonour that would stain not only House Stark, but the North itself, should you spill the blood of a guest beneath your father's roof.

You had hated every word she spoke because every one of them had been true. Instead, you had spent the next several hours seething. Only after your anger had settled into something colder had the answer become clear.

Layla had refused the idea at first. She had cried and begged you not to risk yourself for a mere servant. But you had simply reminded her whose banner she served beneath.

And eventually, through tears, she had agreed.

You closed your eyes as the memory of her trembling voice resurfaced, your chest tightening painfully. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you rubbed at your tired eyes, wiping away the remnants of tears that had long since dried.

Reaching into your pocket, you unfolded a handkerchief and dabbed gently beneath your eyes.

Only after lowering it did you realise it was not yours. Your thumb brushed over the soft black fabric. Embroidered neatly into one corner was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen and beneath it were the initials.

V.T.

Warmth immediately spread across the back of your neck when you remembered it was Valarr's.

You had completely forgotten you were still carrying it. The memory of the morning returned almost instantly. You smiled despite yourself.

What had begun as one of the worst mornings had somehow become peaceful, because of him.

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the embroidered initials, and your thoughts drifted towards the council chamber. Towards the way Valarr had stepped forward.

The nervousness had been written plainly across his face. His hands had trembled, and his voice had been quieter than usual.

Yet, he had still spoken.

For you.

You remembered how his brown hair had been slightly tousled from the hunt, how his mismatched eyes had searched for yours afterwards, almost as though he wished to know whether he had done the right thing.

And when your gazes had finally met, he had smiled shyly. You had returned it before you could stop yourself. The memory made something warm bloom quietly inside your chest.

Without thinking, you drew the handkerchief closer, pressing it lightly against yourself as you bit your lower lip, desperately trying to stop the smile threatening to spread across your face.

A sharp knock sounded against your door, and your eyes widened.

You hastily folded the handkerchief and slipped it into the satchel fastened to your sword belt before clearing your throat.

"Who is-"

The door opened before you could finish. Your mother stepped inside. One look at her composed expression was enough for you to close your eyes.

"Mother," you groaned, letting yourself sink farther into the chair. "If you are here to lecture me or tell me not to fight tomorrow, then I fear you have wasted your time."

Lady Stark merely rolled her eyes. A moment later, two servants entered behind her carrying trays laden with food. They quietly placed them upon the table before bowing and leaving, closing the heavy wooden door behind them.

You stared at the food. Then at your mother who quietly took a seat beside you, already cutting slices of roasted meat onto a plate.

"I am not here to do either of those things," she replied calmly, and slid the plate in front of you before pointing towards it with the fork.

"Eat."

You frowned but obeyed, stabbing a piece of meat before bringing it to your mouth.

Only after seeing you chew did your mother continue. "What's done is done." She placed a few honey cakes beside your plate before folding her hands neatly in her lap. "You have chosen your path. Now you will see it through. And when you step into that yard tomorrow, you will remember to not bring dishonour to your father or your house."

Your chewing slowed and she leaned back in her chair.

"You are not fighting for only Layla anymore. You are fighting for every person beneath our roof who trusts us to protect them."

Silence settled between the two of you. After several moments, your mother spoke again.

"Lord Mallery has chosen a champion."

You swallowed. "Who?"

"A knight from his own household."

She stood, smoothing the skirts of her gown before fixing you with the same stern look that had terrified half the North for years. "You had best not return to me with injuries."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Or what?"

"Or," your mother said, lifting her chin proudly, "I shall finish what his champion failed to do."

You could not help it as a soft laugh escaped you.

Your mother shook her head, though you noticed the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I will make sure they remember whose lands they stand upon," you said quietly, conviction settling firmly in your chest. "The North remembers."

Your mother's expression softened. She stepped closer and gently cupped your cheek, brushing away a loose strand of hair before letting her hand linger there for only a moment.

"I know."

Then, without another word, she turned and left your chambers. The heavy wooden door closed behind her with a muted thud, and silence returned.

Valarr sat quietly in his chair overlooking the courtyard, his hands clasped tightly together as he waited for the trial to begin.

He had not slept the previous night. Every time he had closed his eyes, his mind had wandered back to you. The thought of you standing in front of another person's sword had kept sleep far away from him.

He had even wandered the corridors of Winterfell long after midnight, hoping to somehow find you again. Perhaps he could offer a few words of encouragement, perhaps simply ask if you were alright. But the corridors had remained empty, and eventually he had returned to his chambers.

Now he sat upon one of the carved chairs arranged upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard. His father occupied the seat in the centre beside Lord Stark, the two of them conversing quietly as though today was no different from any other.

Valarr had expected Lord Stark to appear worried. He had expected fear. Instead, the Lord of Winterfell looked composed. In fact, almost every Northerner present looked calm.

When Valarr had first entered the courtyard, he had genuinely believed the matter had somehow resolved itself overnight. Northern lords stood in small groups laughing amongst themselves while ladies chatted without a hint of concern. It felt less like people had gathered to witness a trial by combat, and more like they were preparing for a festival.

Even now, as he looked over the crowd, many wore expressions of quiet confidence, as though they already knew how this would end.

Valarr wished he shared that confidence. Every time he imagined you getting hurt, his stomach twisted painfully.

Soon enough, movement near the entrance caught everyone's attention. You entered the courtyard, and Valarr's gaze found you instantly, and he forgot about everything else around him.

You looked every bit the Warrior herself. You wore only light armour, choosing freedom of movement over heavy protection. Your sword rested comfortably against your hip, and you carried no helm beneath your arm. There was not the slightest hint of hesitation in your stride as you crossed the courtyard.

You bowed first towards the balcony, acknowledging the gathered nobles with practiced grace. Then your eyes found his. You smiled. It was a small smile, nothing more. Yet Valarr immediately felt warmth creep across his cheeks.

He quickly wetted his lips to hide the foolish grin threatening to spread across his face. He wondered, rather embarrassingly, whether this was how maidens felt whenever gallant knights dedicated victories to them during tourneys.

But that warmth disappeared the moment Lord Mallery's champion entered the courtyard. Valarr immediately recognised the knight. He had heard stories of the man before. One of House Mallery's finest swords. Some had even claimed his skill rivalled that of certain Kingsguard.

The knot inside Valarr's stomach tightened.

What if something happened to you?

What if you won but at the cost of a wound that never truly healed?

What if-

A gentle hand rested upon his shoulder. Valarr startled slightly before looking up to find his mother standing beside him. Jena smiled softly.

"Do not be frightened," she said quietly. "I believe she will be alright."

Before Valarr could respond, she had already moved away to take her place beside his father. He watched her go with furrowed brows.

His mother had always known whenever something troubled him.

Did she know?

Did she already see through him?

Had she noticed the way his eyes always searched for you first?

His gaze drifted back towards the courtyard as another thought, one he had been desperately trying to ignore, settled once more inside his heart.

Would it truly be so impossible?

Would his father ever consider asking for your hand instead of Lady Berena's?

Would the king agree?

Would you agree?

"Worried about my sister, princeling?"

Valarr nearly jumped. He looked beside him to find William dropping comfortably into the neighbouring chair, casually chewing on what looked suspiciously like dried meat. The heir to the North looked entirely relaxed, as though his sister was not moments away from risking her life.

"I...I simply..." Valarr struggled to gather his thoughts. "I know she is skilled, but..."

His words faded into silence, and William merely chuckled.

"Don't be."

He spoke with such certainty that it sounded less like reassurance and more like fact.

"If it helps," William continued, leaning back lazily, "I've never beaten her."

Valarr blinked at him and William just shrugged.

"None of the warriors in the North have either. Father used to defeat her when she was younger, but nowadays even their spars usually end in draws."

Valarr's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh"

His eyes instinctively wandered back towards you. For a brief moment, he found himself wondering what your childhood must have looked like.

"If anything," William continued with a grin as he handed several gold dragons to a waiting squire, "I wager twenty gold dragons she'll finish this in under two minutes."

"She better does." A female voice said from behind Valarr. He turned to see Lady Alyssane approaching with Lady Berena beside her.

Alyssane settled beside William while Berena took the seat next to Valarr, offering him a polite smile, which he returned after a brief hesitation.

William sighed dramatically. "Here comes lady gambler."

Berena laughed beneath her breath.

Valarr had spoken little with Lady Alyssane since arriving at Winterfell. From everything he had heard, she preferred books over conversation and silence over company.

She greeted him politely before immediately directing her attention towards the courtyard below.

Lord Stark finally rose to his feet. The murmurs throughout the courtyard faded. The trial was about to begin.

But before anyone could say another word, Alyssane suddenly stood.

"Oh gods..." William muttered beneath his breath.

Valarr frowned.

"SISTER!" Alyssane shouted across the courtyard.

You paused and looked up.

"YOU BETTER CUT OFF HIS HEAD! I WAGERED MY ENTIRE POUCH OF GOLD ON IT! IF YOU DON'T, I'LL CUT OFF YOURS!"

Valarr's eyes widened. He stared at Alyssane in complete disbelief. You simply smirked before giving your sister an amused nod.

Lady Stark pinched the bridge of her nose, and William buried his face in one hand. Berena struggled-and failed-not to laugh.

Meanwhile, the Northern lords erupted into laughter while many of the southern nobles looked utterly horrified.

Moments later, Lord Stark and Prince Baelor both gave their signal, and the duel began.

Valarr quickly forgot every conversation, every laugh, every face around him. There was only you.

From the very first exchange, it became painfully obvious that there was a vast difference between you and your opponent.

You circled him with effortless confidence, your movements light despite the snow beneath your boots. The knight swung first. You simply stepped aside, and the blade cut nothing but cold air.

A smirk tugged at your lips. And the crowd roared. The knight attacked again, this time you ducked beneath his sword, spun gracefully around him, and looked over your shoulder with that same infuriatingly confident smile.

More cheers erupted.

Valarr realised he had unknowingly risen from his chair. Without thinking, he walked all the way to the stone railing overlooking the courtyard, unable to look anywhere but at you. His heart hammered violently inside his chest.

The knight finally grew impatient and with a furious shout he charged. You tilted your head slightly, almost inviting him. And he foolishly took the bait.

The instant he came within reach, you stepped aside and swept your leg beneath him. Your boot struck the side of his helm with enough force to send him sprawling across the snow. His helmet rolled away, and the courtyard exploded into cheers.

The knight scrambled desperately back onto his feet, genuine fear finally appearing across his face.

Valarr smiled before he even realised he was doing so. He had never seen anyone fight like this. There was no panic or wasted movement. Every step looked practiced and every strike looked deliberate.

It was beautiful.

You settled back into your stance, patiently waiting. The knight charged one final time. This time you moved first, and your sword flashed.

For a heartbeat, everything became silent. Then the man's head struck the snow. His body collapsed a second later.

The courtyard erupted, chaos ensuing. People whistled while some howled loudly enough that the sound echoed from Winterfell's walls. Others pounded their fists against the wooden railings.

Valarr heard none of it. His eyes remained fixed entirely upon you. His heart beat so loudly he could hear it in his ears. Warmth spread through his chest before travelling upwards until his cheeks burned.

He had watched countless tourneys. He had seen dozens of trials by combat. None of them had ever left him feeling like this.

Then you looked up straight at him. A proud smile spread across your face. Without thinking, Valarr grinned. You returned it before turning towards Lord Stark.

"Lord Stark," you called, your voice carrying across the entire courtyard. "The gods have already passed their judgement."

The cheers slowly died and you pointed your bloodied sword towards Lord Mallery.

"Now it is time for you to pass yours."

Valarr watched every person gathered turn towards the disgraced lord.

"He falsely accused my maid of theft. He attempted to dishonour her. In doing so, he sought to dishonour me, and in turn he dishonoured House Stark itself."

Your voice never once faltered. "I therefore demand proper punishment."

Lord Stark slowly nodded. Valarr glanced towards his own father, and even he was fighting a smile.

Valarr looked back towards you. Gods, he wished nothing more than to run down into the courtyard, tell you how proud he was of you, and see you smile at him again.

And with that, Valarr Targaryen realised there was no saving his heart anymore.

Chapter 10 [Weekly Updates]

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