katie

Robb didn’t even attempt to stop the smirk on his lips while he put his shirt on, then leaned sideways to the column of the bed.

“Can a man not admire his wife?”

Though she tried to bite back her smile, the happy glint in her eyes gave her away when she lifted her head from the letter she was writing.

“Not while he’s supposed to be attending to his duties.”

She did have a point, as always. Robb was supposed to have gone to the rookery to talk to Maester Luwin before breakfast, yet he still lingered in the room, unwilling to leave.

Gods be good, how could any man just walk out the door while she looked like that, all prim and proper in her pretty dressing gown as if she wasn’t gasping under him and moaning his name last night?

 She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as if she could hear his thoughts.

“Maester Luwin already warned me in the nicest way possible, I don’t wish to put him through such discomfort again,” she told him, pointing at him with her quill. “Off you go.”

“Warned you?” he repeated. “How?”

“He asked if I could perhaps remind you that though marital duties are of utmost importance, so are your duties to the north.”

He threw his head back with an impatient groan.

“I am attending to my duties to the north, I’ve done nothing but!” he said. “For weeks now!”

“Yet here you are,” she noted, resting her chin on her fist. “Lingering.”

“I’m not lingering, I’m reminiscing.”

That seemed to have confused her for a moment. “Reminiscing?”

“Mm hm.” He grinned. “Reminiscing last night.”

She lowered her head to scribble something to hide her smile, but before he could say anything, her lady maid had knocked on the door.

“M’lady, you wanted to know when Lady Barbrey’s cousin arrived.”

“Thank you Kyra!”

He raised his brows. “Who?”

“House Flint,” she answered and put the quill down and stood up from her chair to walk to the other side of the room. “Barbrey’s cousin married their heir, and they dislike each other, I’m told. Well, Barbrey does.”

…Seven hells, her dressing gown was see through in the sunlight.

“Either way,” she continued and returned to the table, holding the seal stamp, “we must make sure we host them well, not only for Barbrey but also—”

“Undress and come here.”

Her jaw dropped. “Robb!”

His chuckle at the scandalized look on her face echoed in the room before she balled up a piece of parchment and threw it in his direction. It bounced off his chest and went under the bed, where Robb could see the corner of a book sticking out, so he knelt down to grab it while his lady turned to melt some wax to seal her letter.

This had to be the poetry book.

“That sounded like a demand,” she whined, pouring some of the wax on the rolled up parchment, “rather than a romantic request.”

“Shall I recite you a poem then?” he asked and opened a random page to read it, but the illustration made him raise his brows.

This was no poetry book.

Robb looked from the page to her, his grin widening while she scoffed, her whole attention still on the scroll.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” she reprimanded him, pressing the stamp on the wax. “If not a poem, at least a line or…”

“What’s this?”

She glanced over her shoulder, her breath hitching when her eyes fell upon the book he was holding up. From the look on her face, one would’ve thought she was caught with something of great offense rather than a simple, albeit risque book. She opened her mouth but no word came out, so she pursed her lips for a moment as if she was considering her options.

This was one of the many times that Robb remembered not only their upbringing, but also their positions in their families were completely different. As the youngest among her siblings and having grown up with six older brothers, she had to have been very used to tussling for something she couldn’t reach, that was why she rushed to him to grab the book from him. However, Robb was the oldest brother to five younger siblings, who—with the exception of the perfect little lady Sansa— had no problem catapulting themselves into him at full speed to grab whatever he was holding, so it was instinct at this point.

“Robb!”

He let out a laugh and he held the book above her reach. “I’m reading!”

“Give it back!” she exclaimed, grabbing at his arm to pull it down but Robb switched hands, gently pushing her head back with his other hand to keep her at arm’s length.

“So this is your poetry book?”

“Give it, I said!”

“Not very romantic though, is it?”

“Give it!”

He lowered the book a little so that she could snatch it out of his hand before she stepped back, breathing hard.

“Riveting read?” he teased her while she fixed her hair, then stuck her nose in the air in a haughty manner.

“I shall take no part in inappropriate conversation.”

He scowled. “No conversation we have can be inappropriate.”

“Yes it can.”

“No it cannot, we’re wed.”

“And I’m a lady!”

“You’re my lady, and I’m inside you every night—” He tried to contain his laughter when she gasped and smacked his arm. “Do I not speak the truth?”

She huffed and stepped past him but he grabbed her arm to turn her around before she could reach the door, tut-tutting.

“Not so fast.”

She glared up at him, holding the book to her chest like it was a shield before she took a deep breath in an attempt to look composed.

“I must get ready to greet our guests,” she said. “And I refuse to entertain such vulgar remarks—”

“Show me your favorite.”

She stomped on her foot. “Robb!”

“Or draw a star on the page,” he taunted her and she let out a whine. “We can try it tonight.”

“For some reason that remains a mystery to me, you seem to find this rather entertaining.”

“Very entertaining,” he corrected her, reaching out to play with her hair before she swatted his hand away.

“Well, you can entertain yourself all you want,” she said. “But I’m in a rush, you see, so I’m afraid I must leave and we’ll never talk about this ever again.”

“Oh, we’ll talk—”

“We cannot, I’m in a rush!”

She opened the door, gave a quick kiss on top of Grey Wind’s head, then made her way to her own bedchambers, the sound of her heels echoing in the hallway before she slammed her door shut. He shook his head with a fond smile, then grabbed his cloak and walked out of the room with Grey Wind following him.

“It’s important to give a lady her space,” he told the direwolf wistfully while they both made their way down the hallway. “Even though the lady forgot we sleep in the same bed.”

After he was done in the rookery, Robb visited Bran, listened to some of the bannermen in his solar, then went to Wintertown with Jon and Theon per Maester Luwin’s advice. With everything that had happened lately, Robb had missed spending time in the town; though this time, he was not going to the tavern with Jon and Theon to grab drinks and have fun, they had to visit the vendors in his father’s absence to see if they were in any need. Once they were back in the castle yard, Robb couldn’t help but think that Maester Luwin had been right in his advice, as always.

Unlike Theon.

“What do you mean, we’re not going to the mountains to settle that dispute?”

Robb dismounted his horse and rolled his eyes.

“It means I sent for them, and that they’ll come here instead of us going to them.”

Jon got off his horse with Theon following him suit, and Robb stroke his horse’s neck before the stable boys came closer to lead the horses to the stables. He approached the basket of fruits on a table to grab an apple, then tossed one to Jon, another to Theon.

“You sent for the Norreys and Burleys?” Jon repeated and Robb nodded.

“Aye.”

“You realize they’ll kill each other on their way here?”

Robb took a big bite of his apple, then leaned back to the table. “I sent them a raven earlier today, I made sure to add that they will have to wait until they get here.”

“But why?” Theon insisted. “Why are we not going?”

“Because we just came back from Castle Hornwood.”

“And?”

“And it’d take me a moon to go and come back, it’s not a good time for that right now.”

Theon and Jon exchanged glances, and Jon let out a chuckle while Theon scowled.

“Don’t tell me it’s because of your lady wife.”

...Where was his lady wife?

Robb looked around the yard with a frown, then stole a glance at the Inner Keep, chewing his bite.

“Robb,” Theon said. “You cannot be serious.”

“Why is it surprising I’m not willing to leave my wife for a moon?”

“Because you’re the Warden of the North in Lord Stark’s absence!” Theon said. “And while your lady wife is pulling your leash—”

“Careful now,” Robb warned him and Jon raised his brows, looking between them.

“But she is,” Theon insisted. “Come on, she asked you not to leave, and that’s the only reason we’re not leaving? That simple?”

“You’re not winning that fight, Theon,” Jon muttered and Theon shook his head.

“If he makes decisions based on her whims, follows her commands like he’s put under some southern spell—”

“It was my idea,” Robb cut him off. “My decision, she said nothing. You sound like Old Nan.”

Jon stifled his laugh.

“But you can go up to the mountains for a moon if you want, Theon,” Robb added, pushing himself off the table with a shrug. “No one will stop you.”

He tossed the apple aside and crossed the yard to enter the keep, Lady Wylla and Lady Alys making their way down the hallway.

“My ladies,” he greeted them. “Have you seen my lady wife?”

For some reason, the sight of him made both of them blush and a giggle escaped Lady Alys before Lady Wylla elbowed her.

“She’s um—she’s in the Great Hall, my lord,” she said and Robb gave them a curt smile, then walked past them, half wondering why they were acting so strange.

The Great Hall was crowded as usual, but he immediately caught the sight of his lady; a skill he had acquired in the last moons. She wore a silk, light blue gown today, the fabric glimmering among the sea of darker colors worn by the northern ladies around her. One of the women she was speaking to held a babe in her arms; the little girl nearly enchanted by her judging by how she tried to reach for her while her mother rocked her. His lady cooed at the babe and held her tiny hand, and Robb felt his chest tighten.

He was well aware that they both enjoyed being newlyweds, and it was way too early. Not to mention there was no point in talking of such things; the gods would give them children when they deemed it fit, yet the dream was faster than lighting, as bright as the beam of light that always managed to surround her, bathing her in warmth. A glimpse of future—or he hoped it to be; with her cooing at their babe, standing right there in the Great Hall of their home, her beautiful face lit up with happiness.

Though everyone kept singing the same tune about heirs and spares, Robb realized he could not care less whether their firstborn was a boy or a girl, all that mattered was that she would be their mother.

A piece of them both, carrying his name and her perfection.

He let out a breath and shook his head, willing himself to snap out of it before he took a step to approach her. She was too busy with the baby until the other ladies curtsied, and Robb bowed at them with a polite smile as she turned around to see him.

“My lord husband!”

That never failed to make his heart skip a happy beat.

“My lady wife,” he greeted her back and she gestured at the ladies.

“This is Lady Maege of House Flint, and her ladies-in-waiting,” she introduced them. “And this is little Sara.”

Robb ran a knuckle over the baby’s chubby cheek.

“Hello Lady Sara.” He bowed his head slightly, making the ladies giggle. “You honor us with your visit. Me and my lady wife hope Winterfell is to your liking.”

There was a soft light glimmering in his wife’s eyes while the baby babbled something, and Robb turned to the mother.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Maege.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” Robb said and took his lady’s hand in his, then walked to the corner of the hall with her following him.

“You’re back!” she said with a smile. “How was Wintertown?”

“It was good,” he said. “How was here?”

“Oh, Lady Maege is quite nice, I’ll have to ask Barbrey—Robb, we’re in public!” she hissed when he reached out to play with her hair absentmindedly, and he shrugged.

“They don’t mind,” he said. “Besides, we’re doing something of utmost importance.”

“Which is?”

“Talking of your favorite book of late,” Robb tried to control his expression at the flustered expression on her face. “It’s crucial you see, for me to learn my lady wife’s favorite…poem.”

She scrunched up her face and looked up like she was praying for patience.

“How else will I know how to recite it?” he added, a grin twitching the corners of his mouth. “I’m told it’s very important back in the Reach.”

“Are you done?”

“Not even close.”

She narrowed her eyes, then stole a glance at someone over his shoulder and waved at them.

“Lord Martyn!” she called out. “Lord Martyn, hello!”

“What are you doing?”

“Lord Martyn is Lady Maege’s husband, and he loves the sound of his own voice,” she said through her teeth as she gave him a smile. “He told us all about the new tapestries in their castle. For two hours. He was looking for you while you were in Wintertown, but now that you’re here…”

“What?” Robb shook his head fervently. “Lamb, you cannot—”

She made a noise of disagreement. “It appears that I can, though.”

“We’re wed,” Robb reminded her in a heated whisper. “You’ve sworn an oath in front of the weirwood tree!”

“I’ve sworn no oath to save you from socializing with chattering guests.”

“It was implied in the vows!”

“I’m southern,” she pointed out. “Anything that is not specified in a vow does not count as a vow.”

“So you’re stabbing me in the back?”

“Aye, we do it in the south all the time—Lord Martyn, here’s my lord husband!” She grasped Robb’s arm to lean into him once Lord Martyn reached them. “Did you not need him for a meeting? Here he is, and he’d love to talk to you, he said! You’re free until dinner, are you not my lord husband?”

Robb gawked at her while Lord Martyn clasped his hands, letting out a cheerful laugh.

“Oh how wonderful!” he said. “Shall we go to your solar, my lord?”

Robb let out a breath and shot his lady a look, then turned to Lord Martyn and forced himself to smile.

“Of course.” He heaved a sigh. “Let’s go to my solar, Lord Martyn.”

To say Lord Martyn loved the sound of his own voice was an underestimation.

He had all but taken Robb hostage, but he also spoke about the issues his own people had, so Robb couldn’t simply make up an excuse and dismiss him. Around dinner time, he had to speak to a couple of other bannermen, so he ended up taking his dinner at his solar with some of the bannermen instead of joining his lady in the Great Hall. Once he was done, he had gone down to the hall but his lady had already retired for the night, so he decided to do the same.

However, his lady wasn’t in their shared bedchambers. Judging by how Grey Wind curled up in front of her own bed, she had to be in her own bedchambers, and it was only when Robb knocked on the door and stepped in that he realized the reason.

The whole room was surrounded with steam, the lovely scent of her bath oils trickling into his lungs when he took a deep breath before his gaze fell on his lady.

Naked in the bathtub.

Seven hells, she was trying to kill him.

She turned her head and repressed a smile, then glanced at her maid.

“That’ll be all Kyra,” she said, her voice smooth as silk, “thank you.”

Her maid curtsied, and went past him to leave the room, closing the door behind her.

“How was your um...” His lady scrunched up her nose. “Your meeting?”

Robb approached the bathtub and crouched down, half lost in a daze. 

“My meeting or your vengeance?”

“Both,” she said with a giggle while he dipped his hand into the hot water to trail his fingers through the flower petals that covered the surface and hid her body from his gaze. “Serves you right for teasing me.”

“I feel the punishment exceeded the crime.”

She pouted her lips, water splashing around her when she moved to pull her knees up to her chest. He ran his fingertips over her bare arm, following the small droplets racing down her soft skin as she rested her cheek on her knees. A comfortable silence fell upon the room; the only sound is the crackling of wood in the hearth mixed with the tiny waves in water following her movements. She leaned towards him a little, her eyes darting over his face.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That perhaps what I’ve been told today was right,” he murmured. “Perhaps I am indeed under some southern spell.”

“Some southern spell?” she repeated. “Who told you that?”

“Theon,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “He thinks the reason why we’re not going to the mountains is because I follow your commands under some southern spell.”

It had to be a trick of light in the dim lit room, but for a second—less than a second, a dark shadow sharp as a dagger crossed her face, but it was gone as soon as it came. Confusion furrowed her brows and she paused for a moment, looking down at the flower petals before lifting her gaze to his.

“But…” She blinked a couple of times. “That’s nonsense even for Theon. It was your idea, not mine.”

Well.

Not exactly.

In all honesty, Robb had had every intention to go to the mountains to settle the dispute between Burleys and Norreys. He didn’t want it, but duty demanded it, and the Lord of Winterfell did visit the northern mountain clans from time to time; his father had done so multiple times. Though these hill lords were quarrelsome among each other, they were loyal to Winterfell, and it would be the women and children amongst them that would be sent to Wintertown to survive the harsh winter.

The mothers and children that his lady wanted to help.

And Robb had indeed thought he would go and pay them a visit, until his lady told him it would break her heart so terribly to even imagine being away from him for a moon.

By the Gods, how could he put himself through such torment? Being away from her for a moon would have been pure agony already, and to break her heart on top of that?

Absolutely not. He could not bring himself to do it.

And contrary to what he had said today, he was under her spell, he did follow her commands and made decisions based on her whims.

But how could he be expected to do otherwise when his heart was her captive?

“Besides,” her voice cut through his thoughts. “Had I known I put a spell on you…”

He grinned. “What would you do?”

“I’d have very evil plans.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” she mused. “My first command would be that you send away all these guests so that you could spend more time with me, obviously.”

“You were the one who made me spend all that time with Lord Martyn just now,” he reminded her, “in case you forgot.”

“It seems that I overestimated my desire for vengeance and underestimated my desire for your mere presence,” she said. “How very non-southern of me.”  

He leaned in to press his lips on her bare shoulder. “Mayhaps we are turning you into a northerner.”

A laugh climbed her pretty throat. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No?”

“No,” she said, “because many will never see me such. Southern spell, was it?”

He should’ve known better than speak so carelessly about what Theon had said; his lady was saddened by what she had heard.

“Don’t mind his words,” he muttered against her skin, brushing his fingertips down her spine. “He’s Ironborn—”

“I haven’t forgotten,” she said, her voice sweet like honey. “I think perhaps he has forgotten that I’m a Stark, though.”

The simple statement was enough to stop all the thoughts, a fire shooting through his veins. The movement of his hand came to a halt, the fog of desire clouding his mind, her scent pulling him closer into the haze. He let out a breath, his lips still on her damp skin, softer than the flower petals on the water.

She was.

His lady wife, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, was a Stark.

She belonged in his house, belonged in Winterfell, and most importantly, she belonged in his arms.

“The water has gone cold,” she said petulantly, oblivious to the impact of her words on him. “Would you please hand me the towel?”

Robb licked his lips and stood up, but instead of grabbing the towel where she pointed at, he scooped her up into his arms out of the water, making her let out a tiny scream of surprise.

“Robb!” she exclaimed, water drenching his shirt as her fingers curled in his shirt. “What happened to reciting me a poem, or a line, or—”

You scowled, stepping closer, your gait more akin to a mother duck than anything else, making warmth bloom in Cregan’s chest, letting his eyes sweep over you from the soles of your feet to the top of your head, taking you in, gorging on the sight of his pretty wife, all plump and heavy with his babe. He will never cease to pray to all the Northern Gods for this blessing, dropping to his knees in front of the weirwood tree, forehead pressed to the cold ground as he thanked them profusely for letting him cast his gaze upon such divinity.

“You have done plenty,” you scoffed, scrunching your nose in his direction. The closer you got to his desk, the more the resemblance between you and a disgruntled kitten became more and more apparent, making him hum. “My feet ache, my belly is too big, I’ve eaten a dozen lemon cakes in one sitting, and I can barely walk.”

Cregan pressed his lips together to suppress a splitting grin, way too amused and enamored with his crimes that he had apparently had a hand in, unbeknownst to him. How can a man like him even dare to stand there and not be swiftly punished for such wrongdoings? Other men were beheaded for less.

“Are all those ailments my doing?” He asked, feigning innocence as he waited for you to approach, letting you decide whether you wanted him near or not right now. “How could I have been such a cruel husband, hm?” Cregan continued, fingers twitching with the need to touch, to pull, to hold, but he relented, knowing the wrong move could earn him an even grumpier wife, and that is not what he wished for at the moment.

“Utterly cruel,” you affirmed, lip curling, baring your teeth at him as you stopped next to his chair, your pregnant belly brushing his arm, making his breath hitch, the wonder of such a miracle never quite ceasing. “You brought this upon me.” Your lips pursed into a pout, indignant and fussy as you continued. “If you weren’t so relentless in giving me your seed, I would’ve never resembled a thousand-pound duckling right now.”

Thousand-pound duckling.

Cregan couldn’t stop the huff of amusement that slipped past his lips even if he tried.

Smack.

“You dare laugh?” You gasped, affronted and utterly offended that your husband was finding your grievances even remotely entertaining, hand making contact with his broad shoulder again and again.

It truly only served to heighten his grin even more, eyes crinkling at the edges for a few moments as he let you hit him to your heart’s content, the slaps no more than a kitten batting its paws at a great wolf, Cregan cataloguing them more as pets than anything that could bring any harm.

“I laugh,” he started, tone woven with amusement, but achingly fond now as he watched you, lifting one hand to clasp yours, bringing it to his mouth to press a soft kiss onto the back of it, halting your fussing. “Because my wife is being ridiculous,” and he could already sense the protest on your tongue at his words, so he was quick to preempt that by continuing, turning your palm to press his lips to the inside of it now. “And she does not look like a thousand-pound duckling, but the most beautiful woman I, and the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen.”

You huffed, your scowl lessening.

Watching you melt gradually from his words was always one of Cregan’s joys in life, chest puffing with pride in being able to will his irritable wife into mellowness, that pretty face of yours warming whenever he “had the nerve,” as you often say, to be tender to you.

“You’re only saying that to appease me,” you protested, but moved closer, nudging him with your knee, indicating that you wished to be closer, to be tended to. A silent demand that your husband knew as well as breathing.

Cregan’s chair screeched quietly onto the hard floor as he made space for you in front of him, broad thighs parting to coax you near. He patted one meaty leg with his palm, head tilting as he watched you, lips softening at the corners, amusement bleeding into fondness. “Come here, to your husband, sweetling.”

“Are you certain you can hold the weight of me, husband?” You challenged, even as you stepped into his space. “Perhaps I am too hefty, even for you.”

Utter nonsense, Cregan thought. He knew you knew how strong he was. How easy it would be for him to hold you and not break a sweat while doing so. As if he doesn’t train and work himself to the bone whenever he is allowed a moment from the droning of courtiers to hone the muscles you secretly favour. Cregan could carry you in his arms through Winterfell’s walls for a handful of hours, he wagers, before the need to stop and take a breather would catch up to him.

“Hm, you reckon?” He rumbled, his hands finding purchase on your hips, smoothing over the flowy material of your dress. Gods, he loved the garments you’ve been adorning as of late—warm colors, soft fabrics, all cascading in rivulets down your soft, lush body. He had given word for more of such dresses to the seamstresses, without your knowledge. You didn’t have to know of his plans yet. Nor were you aware of how he made sure the hearths were lit periodically in every room you frequented, so the need for more than a cloak over your soft silks, satins, and linens was not necessary. It would’ve obstructed his view of you.

You squirmed just a bit, just enough to show resistance, even when he could feel you melting like honey in his grasp as he slowly turned you around, your back to his chest, seating you right onto his lap with a pleased, content groan. The solid weight of you, of the babe you were carrying, leaning back against him, trusting him to hold it all, made something pleased and animal bloom into his chest. If he were any more wolf in anything but sigil and tradition, he was sure he would’ve purred like a content beast right now.

“There you go,” Cregan said, broad palms using their grip onto your soft hips to hike you up higher until you were flush against him from hips to shoulders. “My pretty wife,” he murmured, leaning in to nose at your throat with a satisfied sigh, inhaling the scent of your bath oils, milk and you. “Smelling like a treat here on my lap.”

Cregan knows you would taste even better, but the time for that is not now. He loves to savour you most later in the night, when he has you all pliant and drowsy next to him, bundled up in the furs and pelts from his latest hunts, huffing and whining about all the pains and aches that plague you. And it is your husband’s duty to mend them with his tongue, hands and cock, in any way his lovely wife sees fit.

“I do not feel like a treat,” comes your response, leaning your head back against his shoulder as you grumble. “And it is your doing.”

Ah, of course. Anything that ails you is always Cregan’s demerit, be it truth or fib.

“Apologies, sweet wife,” he whispers against the warm skin of your neck, nuzzling there as a hound would its owner for clemency after being scolded. “How shall I repent for my wrongs at present, pray tell? I am yours to command, as always.”

Truth be told, Cregan could provoke you, could throw your whining and complaining back at you, as he often did, but he had found himself powerless to do such a thing in the moons since you have been with child. How could he muster even a modicum of bravado against the woman who now carried their babe? His heir. His little pup, as Cregan often called them, to your dismay, even tho he knew you did not mind the moniker in the slightest, especially when he was kissing all over the taut skin of your belly in the soft light of mornings, whispering sweet nothings to your stomach, as if the babe could hear him.

"Let me, my love." His broad palms smooth up from your hips, just enough to cradle the bottom of your pregnant, heavy belly and lift, supporting some of the weight himself, holding steady and firm. “There you go.”

The relief is instant.

You melt back into him with a soft sigh, as if a great burden has been taken from you, being gifted a moment of relaxation, where your husband was bearing the heavy load of your unborn babe. He had done this countless times since the nearing of your term, only more than a moon away until you were to be surrounded by midwives and maesters.

“It is a boulder,” you fuss, but your eyes flutter in delight, the ache in your back easing the more Cregan bears the brunt of your belly. “One I shall never have to haul around again, Gods be good.”

He hums at your words, knowing them not to be entirely founded, for he knows you are quite fond of the idea of having more than one set of little legs running around Winterfell in the years to come, but he keeps the quip to himself, mindful of your repose.

“I cannot abide by having to change my garments every few hours because I’m dripping milk like cattle.”

Dripping milk.

Cregan freezes for a moment before tipping his chin onto your shoulder to peer down your chest, and truth be told, there they were, your words sounding truthful.

Pebbled nipples peeking through damp material, where milk had stained the fabric, your heavy breasts full of milk, ready to nurture the future babe.

Your husband’s breath caught at the sight, tongue unconsciously poking out to wet his lips, as if wanting to taste the patches of wet silk and suck them into his mouth so he could relish the flavour of your nourishment.

“My poor, sweet wife,” Cregan crooned, one palm still supporting your pregnant belly, while the other slowly travelled upwards, caressing the soft fabric of your dress, until he could cup one full breast, making you huff. “So full of milk already,” he continued, thumb brushing over the damp peak of your nipple through the silk, eliciting a breathier sound this time, which made him hum. “Ready to feed our babe.”

He expected you to squirm, to fuss again at him, but you arched into his touch, limbs melting onto his lap, as if his touches were the flame to melt wax onto paper, willing you pliant and malleable.

“They ache,” you complained, pushing your chest into his palm, urging him to aid you in your grievance, as any husband should. “They’re too full.”

“Too full?” came your husband’s voice, lower, more gruff, as if your words had affected him more than he wished to admit. “And no one to suckle on these pretty tits yet, isn’t it?” He said, palm shifting, covering your breast fully, fingers dimpling the clothes’ softness as he squeezed gently, fondling the lushness slowly.

Again and again and again.

You didn’t mind the rhythmic press of his palm; on the contrary, you relished it, each one accompanied by one of those sweet sighs of content that Cregan drank in like the finest Arbour gold.

With each squeeze, the material of your dress dampened, your husband drawing out more and more milk, wetting both your dress and his palm. He groaned at the feeling, fingers dimpling the flesh harder, but never enough to hurt. “Gods, sweetling, you’re leaking everywhere,” he rumbled, pupils blown wide as he watched the way the silk darkened as more and more sweetness dripped from your pebbled nipples. “Makin’ me want to suckle at it like a babe.”

You gasped, one of your hands lifting to swat at the one he had around your breast, which only made him squeeze more. “Don’t be dissolute!” You reprimanded, but did nothing else to stop his fondling, weaving your fingers through his against your heaving tit, aiding him as you continued. “Just keep going.”

Cregan groaned, tilting his head to the side to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, the scent of sweet, warm milk already permeating the air around you, making him dizzy with the need to dip his head low and mouth at you until you couldn’t resist any more. “You’re a cruel woman,” he rasped, mouth parting, tongue poking out, as if tasting the air would suffice, as if that would even come close to having your milk on his palate. “All lush and ripe like a summer peach, sitting on my lap, dripping all over me,” he growled, feeling his palm dampen more with each squeeze. “And not letting me put my mouth on you.”

It was torture to sit there and not take what he wanted, but he knew that you’d give in soon. Only a matter of time until Cregan would crawl over you, tugging down at your neckline to slobber and mouth at your milk-heavy tits until he was drunk on the taste and you were pliant and lax under him, mewling and squirming.

And probably offering him your other breast to suckle at as well, if you were in good spirits, and he prayed dutifully to the Gods that day.

tags: @pinkdoeweirdo @silkaurum @through-the-looking--glass @pearlessance @chaotichereticcavern @mademoisellepetite @creganed @ship-slut @kyscamel @boojaynaqueen @roxxmo @bisexualforestfire @samthegreenapologist @vlarrtrgryn @sedonasummer @goldenhoneyedwine

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—”

It seemed that he was mistaken to assume she would’ve taken to her own bed like she had the last time he left the castle. Grey Wind curled up at the door when Robb reached his room and opened the door, the sweet flowery scent swirling around him like some sort of invisible magic, warmth caressing his face. His lady, who was perched on the window seat and watching the stormy sky turned her head like she snapped out of a haze, a gasp leaving her.

“You’re back!”

He didn’t even notice the smile pulling at his lips.

“And you’re awake.” He closed the door behind him as she darted across the room and flung herself into his arms, coaxing a chuckle out of him. He lifted her, earning a surprised yelp before he carried her to bed, both of them falling on the mattress with him on top of her.

Her giggle echoed in the room, sweeter than any melody he had ever heard. He couldn’t help but dip his head to kiss her, a sigh leaving her lips when he pulled back to feast his eyes on the sight of her beautiful face.

“Good evening, my lady wife.”

“Good evening, my lord husband,” she played along, tracing the direwolf clasp of his cloak. “I thought you’d be back earlier.”

“So did I,” Robb admitted. “Why are you awake at this hour?”

She pouted. “Sleep evades me.”

“Nightmares?”

“I had a nightmare, but it’s gone now,” she said after a beat while he absentmindedly played with her hair. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back,” he murmured, stealing a kiss from her before his lips trailed down her neck, her sweet scent luring him but she held her breath.

“Robb, we—um, we cannot, I got my moon blood.”

He grinned against the soft skin of her neck.

“A man who’s afraid of getting his sword bloody is no man at all—” he was cut off when she smacked his shoulder with a gasp, laughter rumbling deep in his chest.

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s an old northern proverb.”

“It is not an old northern proverb!” she whined, pushing at his shoulder again when he lifted his head to smirk down at her.

“Aye, it is.”

“It’s not.” She scrunched up at her nose in the most adorable manner. “Proverbs are supposed to be wise.”

“It is very wise,” he argued. “It’s applicable to every moon. What is that if not wise?”

She looked like she was trying her hardest to fight back her laughter, yet a giggle escaped her before she took a deep breath.

“It’s rather uncomfortable,” she admitted, her voice quiet as her smile faded. “The cramps.”

That was enough to make Robb snap out of it.

“You’re in pain?” he asked, his gaze darting over her face. “Did you take any remedy? I can wake Maester Luwin—”

“No,” she cut him off, her hand cradling his cheek as he turned his head to kiss her palm. “No need for that, my love.”

“But are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Is that normal?”

“Very much so, I’m afraid,” she said and swallowed thickly. “Will you just…will you just hold me?”

Robb could swear his heart melted inside his chest. He stared at her for a brief moment, warmth filling his veins before he gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.

“I’ll hold you until the end of time if you wish it so,” he told her as he got off of her to take off his cloak. “Just let me change first.”

It didn’t take him long to change into loose breeches, deciding to forego his nightshirt as usual due to the heat of the room. It was rather hot if he had to admit, yet his lady was not used to the cold of the north, and she liked it that way. Raindrops started pattering on the window, wind outside getting stronger as he slipped into bed, pulling his lady close to him so that she could curl into his side to rest her head on his chest. He nuzzled into her hair, her scent the only remedy that could soothe the ache of being apart from her for days.

“I missed you,” she whispered into the silent room and Robb pressed his lips on top of her head.

“I missed you too,” he muttered. “How was it? Here?”

“Um—” She cleared her throat. “Nothing of importance took place.”

“Bran is still…?”

“Asleep,” she finished his sentence for him. “But Maester Luwin says he will wake up, we just don’t know when.”

He heaved a sigh, exhaustion creeping up on him slowly. “And Rickon?”

“He loves taking care of Frost, you should see him. Every morning we bring her breakfast, he finds it hilarious.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Better than nightmares, I suppose,” he said. “What was yours about, by the way?”

“Oh, I…” she trailed off. “I don’t remember exactly, but it was painful.”

He let out a hum, his arm tightening around her waist as he kissed her forehead.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I would never let anything bad happen to you, I swear it.”

Her whole body tensed up, and she went quiet before she pulled away from his grip so that she could sit up in the bed. The room was rather dark; his lady must’ve blown out the candles before, and since the flames in the hearth were the only source of light, he could only see the glimmer in her eyes, rather than her whole expression.

Her voice was calm when she spoke: “Robb?”

“Hm?”

“Would you kill someone for me if I asked you to?”

The lightning flashed outside, illuminating her beautiful face for a brief moment before the darkness claimed the room again, followed by a loud boom. Despite the exhaustion, Robb felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, how did she not know?

The whole north knew at this point.

“Of course.” He frowned when the thought hit him. “Has someone offended you in my absence?”

“No,” she was quick to assure him. “Not at all. I was just thinking about the nightmare, if someone hurt me—”

“That’d be the last thing they ever did before I sent them to the gods, old or new.”

“No matter who?”

“No matter who,” he swore as he reached out to drag his knuckles over her arm before he grinned. “Except your moon blood; that I cannot kill. I can put it to sleep for nine moons though.”

It took him a mere second to understand she was in no mood for a jest, even before she let out a shaky breath like she was on the verge of tears. Robb cussed at himself under his breath and sat up while she sniffled so that he could pull her into his arms. She buried her face to the crook of his neck as he cradled her head with one hand, the other rubbing her back.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to her temple. “I’m sorry, my love. Was the nightmare that bad?”

She nodded and sniffled again.

“Someone—” She gulped. “Someone hurt me. And I bled out. Alone.”

“That will never happen,” he cooed at her. “I’d never let that happen, lamb. Just a nightmare, it’s not real.”

A curt laugh escaped her and she took a deep breath.

“No,” she murmured after a beat. “No, it’s not real. Just a nightmare, nothing more.”

Though it had taken his lady a while to go to sleep, the next day she woke up in better spirits. The storm continued outside, and Robb’s morning wasn’t so busy for once, so he was able to convince her to stay in bed and have breakfast there. It was rather cozy; the sound of the wind and rain locked away outside while the hearth warmed up the room, Grey Wind taking a nap at the foot of the bed. His lady was wrapped up all snug in his robe while Robb rested his head in her lap, holding one of the ledgers that she had asked him to check above his face, but he could barely focus with the way she was absentmindedly playing with his hair.

It felt so peaceful that Robb wanted to stay like this forever.

“So what do you think?” she urged him and he tried to focus on the numbers on the page.

“I think it looks great.”

She gave him a bright smile, and—much to his displeasure—stopped playing with his hair so that she could grab the pair of earrings that he had forgotten to give her last night off her nightstand.

“They’re so pretty,” she chirped. “I cannot wait to wear them tonight to dinner!”

He blindly reached up to put her hand back in his hair, coaxing a laugh out of her before she buried her hand into his curls and ran her nails over his scalp, making him close his eyes with a sigh.

“Lord Mollen doesn’t like my idea,” she told him, causing him to open his eyes again to look up at her. “Lady Lynara told me as much. Neither of them think it wise.”

“What they think isn’t of importance.” Robb turned the page. “It’s for a good cause, and you want it done, so it will be.”

She shifted her weight as if she was too excited to sit still.

“Thank you!” she said. “I’ll imply it in a polite way tonight if she asks again, let’s see how she will react.”

He stole a glance at her. “Are you sure you can attend dinner tonight? We can eat here if you’re still in pain.”

“No, it’s better now,” she said. “It’s bearable.”

Robb frowned. “Is it ever unbearable?”

“Sometimes, but this is not an appropriate topic for a lord and lady to speak of, you do realize that?”

“We’re man and wife now, we can talk about such things,” he said. “For example, is it as painful as—”

“I’m going to stop you right there because I think you’re going to compare it to something men go through during sparring,” she said. “Yes. It’s more painful than that. Any of that.”

“Any of that, really?”

She puffed up her cheeks and looked up at the ceiling like she was straining her mind for the right words.

“Imagine somebody sets a sword on fire.” She held up a fist, mimicking holding a sword before she slammed the imaginary sword into the mattress. “Then drives it down your spine!”

Robb blinked up at her.

“…I don’t want to imagine that.”

“And while you’re trying to breathe, someone else shoots an arrow through your stomach.”

“That’s—”

“And then they twist both the sword and the arrow, and then yank them both out.”

“Why do I feel like you’re enjoying this very vivid description?”

“And there’s blood everywhere but it matters not, because you’re still expected to attend feasts and jousts and such,” she mused. “And dance and make small talk and smile and entertain people.”

He made a face. “How do women not walk around screaming?”

“Not from a lack of desire to do so, I’ll tell you that much,” she said airily as if they were talking of the weather. “My septa used to say—”

“M’lady?” Her maid knocked on the door. “A raven from Dorne has arrived.”

“Come in Kyra!” she called out and the maid opened the door, then came over to the bed to hand her the scroll, then scurried out of the room while Robb turned his attention to the ledger. His lady broke the unfamiliar seal—it probably belonged to her mother’s house in Dorne—then skimmed the lines.

“Silas?” he asked and she shook her head.

“Perce,” she muttered. “Silas wrote to me the moment he set foot in Dorne.”

“How was their trip?”

“Well, Cliff is an excellent sailor so it—oh he has to be jesting!”

That was enough to pull Robb’s attention away from the ledger.

“What’s happened?”

She threw her head back in exasperation, then frowned down at the scroll.

“Perce wants me to ask Silas about his new lady on my next letter.”

“Hold on.” Robb sat up with a smirk. “Silas has a lady?”

“Mm hm.”

“Already?” he asked. “They’ve been there for what, two weeks?”

“Three.” She pursed her lips. “A young widow, whose husband died under…questionable circumstances.”

“Did they check for a dagger in his chest or was that too questionable?”

“Perce says Silas goes to her castle each night.”

He let out a laugh. “So she’s his mistress?”

“It sounds to me that Silas is her mistress, to be completely honest,” she muttered, her eyes darting over the lines. “Unbelievable.”

“Is it though?” he wondered aloud, earning a slight shove at his arm. “I’m surprised that you’re surprised, Silas is very fond of ladies.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but there was another knock on the door. Robb pushed himself off the bed to make his way there, assuming that it was either Jon or Theon, but instead, it was his youngest brother. Rickon’s eyes widened when he saw him.

“Robb, you’re back!”

“I am,” he said with a small chuckle as Rickon clutched at his leg in an attempt to hug him. “Missed me?”

“A little, but it was only for a week.”

“It was.” Robb ruffled his wild curls. “Are you hiding from Maester Luwin?”

“No.”

“Rickon, if you stuffed a dead crow in your septa’s pillow again just because she hit your knuckles—”

“I did not!”

“Then did you need me for something?”

“Um, not you.” The little boy walked past him to step inside, making Robb look over his shoulder. “Good morrow!”

Robb tilted his head in confusion.

“Good morrow to you too my sweet!” His lady crossed the room, then crouched down to Rickon’s eye level. “How did you sleep?”

“I had a dream with—with me and Shaggy, and we were on a mountain, and then Shaggy was going after another wolf, but then it wasn’t a wolf, because it turned into a bird!”

His lady gasped. “That sounds like a very interesting dream! What sort of bird?”

“A blue one—can we give Frost breakfast, please and thank you?” 

“I was away for a week and he says please and thank you now?” Robb asked, getting a reprimanding glare from his lady while Rickon nodded.

“We say please and thank you to ladies,” he pointed out in a very proud manner, and Robb stifled a laugh.

“Do you know what those words mean?”

“I do!”

“Of course he does,” his lady said. “And we can give Frost breakfast after I get ready, thank you for asking so nicely.”

“Wait,” Robb said, the smile wiping off his face in a second. “Now?”

“It’s her breakfast time,” Rickon told him and Robb shook his head.

“You’re nearly a man grown, you can feed her by yourself.”

“But we do it together!” Rickon argued. “We go to the kitchens and get carrots and apples and go to the barn to feed Frost first, and then Silk.”

“Rickon my sweet, can Robb join us today?”

Rickon looked up at the ceiling with a dramatic sigh while Robb frowned at him.

“What, you have to think?”

“He can,” Rickon muttered. “I guess.”

“I appreciate the sacrifice, Rickon.”

“But you cannot leave the castle in this attire,” his lady told his little brother, motioning at his clothes. “You need a cloak, there’s a storm outside. How about Robb takes you to your room so that you can get your cloak, and then we’ll go to the kitchens?”

“Okay!” Rickon rushed to his side. “Let’s go.”

“He knows where—” Robb started, but gave Rickon a little shove when he sunk his teeth into Robb’s hand, tugging at his sleeve. His lady gasped.

“Robb, don’t push him like that!” she chastised him and Rickon gave him a big grin.

“Aye, don’t push me like that!”

“You’re fine,” Robb deadpanned. “You’re more wolf than child.”

His lady shook her head and pointed at the door. “Out.”

“You heard her, Rickon.”

“I’m talking to you!” she insisted. “Go make sure he has a cloak on, and I’ll meet you in the kitchens.”

“Fine, fine…” Robb muttered and grabbed his own cloak to put it on. “You can stay, Grey Wind.”

The direwolf only plopped on his back when his lady approached as if he was asking for belly rubs, and Robb closed the door with a sigh.

“Come on.” He gently pushed Rickon, who wasted no time to jump and grab his arm to hang from it, his cackle echoing in the hallway.

“Onward!”

 “See what I meant?” Robb grumbled as he made his way down the hallway, swinging his arm while Rickon cheered. “More wolf than child.”

Much to his displeasure, he barely had any time to see his lady after their little visit to the barn. He went to Bran’s room, but he was soon pulled away from there when Maester Luwin reminded him that there were many scrolls that he had to reply to; a lot of ravens had arrived in Winterfell in his absence from different parts of the north. At least the storm had passed, so once he managed to find some free time, he joined Jon and Theon in the yard to spar with them while his lady attended to her own duties.

But there was something off.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something off. 

Perhaps it was because of people’s criticism of her new plan while he was away, or the nightmares keeping her up last night, but judging by how curt her smile was while she was talking to others when he caught a sight of her on his way to the rookery, Robb could swear she wasn’t her happy self in the crowd of ladies surrounding her.

After an hour of sparring, he decided to catch his breath and grab some water while Theon stretched, and Jon sat down beside him on the bench to sharpen his sword.

“I’m so glad to be back,” Theon said. “I don’t like Castle Hornwood.”

“Why not?”

“Everyone is so quiet there.”

“It was a nice change,” Jon said with a grin and Robb scoffed.

“Nah, I missed home too.”

“You missed your lady,” Theon corrected. “More than you missed home. You kept sulking.”

“Aye, you did.”

“I was right to do so, because apparently she—” Robb paused when he saw Lady Jorelle crossing the yard. “Give me a moment. Lady Jorelle?”

She spun around on her heels as he made his way to her.

“Hello.”

“Hello, my lord,” she said. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I uh…this is going to sound rather strange, but is my lady wife alright?”

She blinked a couple of times, then raised her brows. “Hm?”

“Has something happened while I was away?”

She frowned and looked up as if she was trying to remember, then shook her head.

“Nothing happened,” she said, her voice calm. “Why?”

“She seems rather distressed,” he said. “And she mentioned some people disagreeing with her about her plans for mothers and children for the winter. Has someone disrespected her in my absence? Because she refuses to tell me, but I’d like to put an end to it if such a thing took place.”

“And admirable thought,” she said. “But nothing took place, I assure you. If anything, it was a rather dull week.”  

Robb bit inside his cheek, then gave her a curt smile and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d better leave you to it then. I appreciate your help.”

“Of course,” Jorelle said and curtsied, then went into the keep while Robb returned to the corner Jon and Theon were watching him from.

“What was that about?” Theon asked and Robb ran a hand through his hair.

“My lady is distressed, and I do not know why.”

“Well, her family is away,” Jon pointed out. “And then you went away. Can’t be easy, being alone in a new place.”

That could explain the nightmare, now that he thought about it.

“But Silas will visit often, he said so himself,” Theon said. “A couple moons after the honeymoon, he said.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Robb said with a shrug. “Silas is rather busy in Dorne with a lady.”

Jon’s head shot up from his sword. “Silas has a lady?”

“Aye, a mistress.” Robb grinned. “A young widow who killed her husband, apparently.”

Theon let out a laugh, and Jon stared at Robb in silence for a couple of seconds, then took a deep breath.

“He—how do you know this?”

“Perceon sent a raven to my lady.” Robb gulped down his water, then put the flask to the side. “Are you ready?”

Jon swallowed thickly, then feigned a cough.

“You go ahead, I’ll uh…” He motioned in the direction of the Godswood. “I’ll find Ghost.”

“Now?” Robb asked but Jon ignored him, making his way through the yard to go into the Godswood. Robb turned to Theon to see whether he knew what was happening, but Theon held up his palms with a shake of his head.

“You two know direwolves better than I.”

Robb looked over his shoulder, then heaved a sigh and grabbed his sword.

“Very well then,” he said. “Come on. I haven’t sparred in days, I must catch up.”  

Eventually, he had to go back to his solar to hold audience with some of his vassals, but once Lord Poole left and someone knocked on the door, it wasn’t yet another vassal but his lady wife who peeked her head in.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“Never,” Robb said, a smile pulling at his lips as he stood up. “Come in!”

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“I know you’ve been busy, but I sent the ledgers with Kyra, and I wanted to ask—”

“They’re over here,” Robb pointed at the top of the pile. “I’ll be done with them by the dinner time, is that alright?”

“More than alright!” She beamed while he rounded the desk to lean back to it, then grabbed her hand to pull her closer. A giggle climbed her throat and she stepped into his embrace, heaving a sigh when he cradled her cheek in his palm and brushed his lips against hers.

“Do you have much to do?” she asked, playing with the laces of his shirt and he nodded.

“A little,” he admitted. “But stay.”

“Gladly,” she said. “I miss you during the day.”

“I miss you too,” he said, caressing her cheekbone. “And are you feeling better? Last night…”

“Oh.” She paused, looking down at the floor before she raised her gaze to his again. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t,” he said in a haste. “Don’t apologize for it. I just want to make sure you’re alright, that’s all.”

“I’m alright,” she assured him. “It was just a nightmare, nothing more.”

“And is…” Robb trailed off. “Is someone driving a burning sword down your spine and shooting arrows into your stomach?”

 That coaxed a laugh out of her, the pleasant sound echoing in the room.

“No.”

“No urge to walk around screaming at people?”

“Aside from very specific people, no,” she said. “But ask me again after dinner. I have a feeling the urge will be back then.”

“We can take our dinner in our bedchambers.”

“You just came back,” she reminded him. “We cannot do that I’m afraid. Your vassals want to see you.”

“And I want to see my wife.”

“I’m right here.”

“Aye, but you’re dressed.”

Her jaw dropped and she pushed at his arm. “Robb!”

“What?” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Would you rather if I were dishonest?”

“I would rather if you weren’t so—” she started, but was cut off when someone knocked on the door.

“Lord Mollen, m’lord,” the footman at the door announced and his lady rolled her eyes at the name.

Ah.

The infamous Lord Mollen who did not approve or like her plans.

When the footman opened the door to let him in, his lady made an attempt to step away no doubt to leave the room, but Robb was quick to grab her wrist to tug her back to his side, making her head shoot up.

“You’ll stay,” he muttered and turned to the man. “Lord Mollen. Good afternoon.”

Lord Mollen lingered in his spot, his eyes darting between him and his lady before he bowed his head.

“My lord,” he said. “If you’re busy, I can come at another time.”

“We’re not busy.”

“But the lady—”

“My lady wife will remain here.”

She looked like she was fighting off a smug smile but managed to school her expression into composure.

“Hello Lord Mollen,” she said. “How wonderful to see you. I’ve had the chance to talk to Lady Lynara the other day.”

“She mentioned it, my lady,” Lord Mollen said. “That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about, my lord. This…carpenter business.”

Robb gave a short nod. “I’m listening.”

Lord Mollen cleared his throat.

“It’s clear that your lady wife has a soft heart for children,” he started, “And may the gods grant you both many.”

A shadow crossed his lady’s face, but it was gone as quick as it came.

“However,” the man continued. “Expecting the carpenters to teach the craft to absolute strangers on top of their usual work has caused some unrest between them, at least in my castle. Most of them teach their own children their craft.”

“Orphans don’t have fathers who can teach them anything, Lord Mollen,” she said. “And those carpenters will be compensated for their work. Surely adding one more apprentice cannot hurt. Or do they fear competition?”

Lord Mollen turned his glances to Robb as if he expected him to step in, but Robb stayed quiet for a deliberate couple of seconds before he pushed himself off the desk.

“The question was directed to you, my lord.” He went back to take his seat behind the desk, so that Lord Mollen would have to address his lady while Robb was still present and could glare at him without her noticing. “Not to me.”

“No,” Lord Mollen answered in a rush. “Not competition, but they find it rather trivial. All that work for toys for children, who will mostly come from mountain clans. We have our own people to worry about for the winter, and while I’m sure it’s normal to give such instructions back in the south, in the north—”

“Lord Mollen, there must’ve been a misunderstanding in my absence,” Robb cut him off. “Which is expected, seeing that this is rather new for everyone. But from now on, you can safely assume that whatever instructions my lady wife gives, as polite as she makes them sound, come from me.” He crossed his arms over the desk and leaned forward, his jaw clenched. “And I do not give trivial commands.”

Since his lady was still leaning back to the desk, he couldn’t see her face, but Lord Mollen’s discontent was clear as day. Silence fell upon the room, and Robb let the veiled threat linger in the air without another word while Lord Mollen gulped, then took a deep breath.

“A misunderstanding indeed,” he said, and bowed his head. “I’ll make sure they follow your command, my lord. My lady.”

“Have a nice day, Lord Mollen!” his lady chirped while she walked him to the door, then closed it behind him once he left. Robb threw his head back.

“That prick…” he grumbled while his lady stood there for a moment, her hand still on the handle.

“Do you have some free time?” she asked after a beat, leaning back to the door. Robb ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m supposed to hold meetings with four more people until dinner.”

She let out a hum like she was lost in her own thoughts before she shrugged and bolted the door.

“They’ll wait.”

“What’re you—?” Robb was cut off when she flung herself into his arms for a kiss, letting him pull her into his lap with a squeal. He grabbed the side of her neck to tilt her head, the feeling of her melting under his touch intoxicating as ever when he deepened the kiss, the fire of desire coming to life with a stir.

Gods, it had been so long…

His lips trailed down the column of her throat down to her bosom, her lovely scent filling his lungs, her skin softer than the silk of her pretty gown. Her fingers buried into his curls with a gasp to tug at the roots, drawing a moan out of him as she shifted in his lap, the mere friction against his hardness enough to drive him mad. He blindly reached down to push her skirt up, but she grabbed his hands to entwine their fingers, trying to catch her breath, her lips swollen with his kiss.

“Robb, we cannot do that—”

The sound that left him sounded awfully like a whine. “But…”

“Not that.”

“Does my wife mean to torment me, then?”

A giggle climbed up her throat and she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, looked over her shoulder at the door, then turned to him again.

“No,” she said, “my husband misunderstands me.”

He could’ve come up with a retort if all the blood in his body hadn’t gone south, but any hope of even half a thought disappeared from his mind when she easily slid off his lap to kneel before him, the realization knocking the breath out of his lungs.

the crier stepped out into the mud, stopping at the fence splitting the field, and turned towards prince baelor and his brother with a deep breath. you already knew who he was about to announce. the thread tightened on your finger, choking the flesh and stopping the blood, though when you looked down it was unchanged from that morning. you flexed your hand and rubbed at the joint, your lips pinching at the phantom throb.

aerion.

he took delight in snapping your attention towards him, reminding you of his looming presence, niggling at you from afar.

the closer you got, the stronger the hold he had on your fate tie felt. his reach had its limit however; you’d noticed so after suffering through a week of his childish games during the last tourney but three moons back. the tugging had been insistent and never ending after you’d given your favour to another knight, keeping you up late at night even, only for it to stop suddenly as the distance grew between you when you travelled home.

the relief was immediate, but closely followed by a gaping absence, a throbbing grief for where aerion had burrowed and made himself home in the back of your mind. you were restless for the last portion of the trip home, squeezing your own finger in comfort to try and still your foolish need to move and get close again.

it had been like this for two years almost, dipping in and out of each others’ lives, tasting what it could be like together as aerion somehow got more brazen and clever with each meeting and you tried to ignore your budding fondness for him.

you weren’t sure of the exact date you’d first crossed paths, but you could remember the warmth of kings landing and the last of the preparation for egg’s name day celebration rushing around you as you followed on your mother’s heels, determined not to make a fool of yourself.

it was your first visit there as a lady in your own right, no longer a child, a girl holding tightly to your mother’s dress, but a woman that must make her own connections. it was for this reason that your father was looking after your younger brother, tomas, for the day instead of you or your mother.

you were taking lunch with a group of other lesser houses’ ladies and their daughters outside, sat quietly while the older women gossiped among themselves in between sips of wine. it was hot, as it always seemed to be in king’s landing, and your dress felt too thick. coming from the north, it was difficult to find dresses appropriate for the weather, and you only had so much money to spend on the higher priced tailoring at this end of the kingdoms, but the thick cotton you favoured was a touch too heavy for the heat of blaring sun.

your mother had a dress or two held back from her previous visits across the kingdom with your father, so she was faring better than you were, but you knew she’d run out of dresses made of airy material before the week was done and she’d soon be sweating alongside you.

you swallowed drily, and took a sip of your water, peeking longingly at one of the younger women sat with you as she fanned herself in the steady heat. a single drop of sweat trickled from behind her ear to her collarbone where it soaked into the delicate, twisted braid resting over her shoulder.

you looked back down to your hands and sneakily wiped the condensation from your glass into the folds of your dress, hoping the sweat wouldn’t stain the material too noticeably.

you had brought your embroidery with you; a handkerchief for your father that you’d had to restart three times over so far on your mother’s request. your skills in sewing, practical or decorative, were questionable, though you were determined to improve, so you had thought to take the spare time during the visit to keep practicing, hoping to seize the opportunity to ask your peers for any advice if they seemed friendly enough not to boast over your disadvantage.

just as you were starting on the second of your house’s three flowers, you pricked your finger roughly.

“seven bloody hells,” you swore under your breath, your finger rearing back before you sucked on it. you pulled it from your soft mouth at your mother’s harsh glare and dropped your head, your lips a thin, pinched line of regret even as you wanted to shake your hand out to ease the throbbing.

“hmm. unable to tell where the needle will be?” one of the other ladies spoke up, humming disapproval.

“it can be a terribly tricky thing to get the hang of when you’re first starting, i’m sure,” a second piped up before sipping at her wine with a smirk. “i remember my elissa struggling… when she was little.”

you kept your mouth closed, having no urge to tell them that you’d been learning since you were five as most girls did, you’d just never been able to pick it up quite as quick. the careful hand for fine details escaped you.

“perhaps you should find the maester to look at it if it was so painful as to yell. the walk may steady your hands for when you get back so there are no further accidents,” your mother suggested bluntly, giving you no option to decline.

you tightened your clenched hold on the handkerchief, thread hanging loose and needle discarded on the table beside you, and nodded with a wane smile.

“of course, mother.” you stood and left the garden, following the path back to the castle. when you looked down at the soft silk in your hand you wanted to cry, the tiniest speckles of blood stained the pale material from your finger.

you would try again. perhaps the fifth attempt would be the most fortuitous.

you wiped preemptively at your dry eyes, the familiar ache of building tears enough to have you reflexively reach up while quickening your pace to reach the maester’s working quarters.

“what upsets you, my lady?” a voice called out, pulling you to a temporary stop as you turned to find the man it came from.

his eyes were intrigued as he took in your wobbling pout and wide eyes, but he didn’t seem empathetic in his curiosity. you recognised him as a prince immediately from his pale hair and vivid purple eyes. he carried his grandfather’s targaryen looks proudly.

he raised his eyebrows expectantly when you stayed silent, staring. “well?”

“i pricked my finger, just a silly accident,” you tried to laugh off, your nerves turning into shambles over speaking to a targaryen without chaperone.

he scoffed.

“and so where were you hoping to go? to the maestar, to heal such a damning wound?” he mocked.

your lips pinched as he stepped closer, the cruel twist to his features became more evident, but you didn’t move as he lifted your wrist carelessly to gaze at the single, tiny pearl of blood gathering on the pad of your finger.

he cooed with an insincere sympathy, laughing as you tugged your hand away in barely concealed anger and offence.

“i believe the fresh air of the walk will do me more good than an actual visit to the maesters,” you said sharply, feeling your hand twitch and throb where you held it staunchly by your side. “i’m sure they’re quite busy.”

“quite.” he stared at you, like a brightly coloured insect he’d found beneath a rock. unsure if he wanted to poke and prod, but unwilling to look away. the silent attention pulled taut at your nerves.

“is there something i can help you with?” you finally asked, a little brusque, but more clearly anxious as you picked at the small wound with your nail. your manners left bereft and wanting.

“now, now,” he tutted with a barely contained smile. “do not snap at your prince, not when i was simply extending my concerns to a lady walking alone around the castle grounds.”

your eyes widened once more and you wanted to curse your loose tongue.

“please accept my sincere apology, my prince. it must be the heat that has me acting out of sorts,” you said, ducking into a deep curtsy and quickly turning on your heel. you walked away with speed, biting your lip and praying to the old gods and the new that he didn’t—

your hand tugged back towards him sharply, but when you looked he was still several paces away. aerion’s own hand had risen and he was looking just as confused as you were until his eyes caught on your hand and he tilted his head and closed the distance between you.

you saw a pale flash of red from his hand as he lifted yours once more, gentle this time as he rubbed his thumb over the thread linking your pinkies together.

his jaw was slack, the tip of his pink tongue visible behind his teeth as he tilted his head lower, enraptured by the invisible tie between you slowly developing thicker and stronger.

you ran the tip of your middle finger over his own tie and he shivered, the red grew bold in colour. his eyes darted up to yours and you held your breath.

he lifted your hand higher and took your injured finger in his mouth, pressing his tongue flat and broad against the pad to lap at the burst of blood until you came to your senses and pulled it back and stumbled out of his reach.

you cradled your hand to your chest, flushed and hot and no longer able to blame it on the high sun. you gawped at the smiling prince, unable to find words as he looked at you like he wanted a second taste.

without a word more you ran back to your mother and the other ladies as though he might’ve given chase. you slowed your pace as you got closer and stayed quiet for the rest of the day. though his spit had soon dried upon your skin, the heat of his tongue became unforgettable.

the last few days of the celebration were spent trying to avoid aerion as best you could, hoping the connection would break or grow weak, that the gods would realise their mistake. but it did no such thing and the red thread stayed tied tight and you could feel his eyes on you at all opportunities, sizing you up and seeking you out in the crowds.

you’d catch his lilac gaze across feast tables as he sat with his father and brothers, or over his shoulder, benches apart, as a play was performed in honour of eagon’s ninth name day. he found you at every turn, but made no move to come close, apparently aware of how skittish you were and adapting to it.

you’d thought you had maybe managed to lose his interest by the end of the week, having not spoken to him a second time and resisted with all your might the temptation to play and pull at the thread on your end. you could feel him sometimes, testing its give, but you’d ignored it until you’d gotten back home where you scratched and tugged at the thread freely, easing the urge that had grown recklessly in you every time you saw red in your peripheral.

you weren’t mindless, however, and you’d made sure your parents and little brother never caught you fiddling with what they’d see as air on the journey back.

you’d barely unpacked the evening of your arrival home, so distracted by the tie around your right finger, that you were caught by surprise when your parents called for you.

you left your travel trunk for your handmaid to see to in the morning and met with your mother and father in the small library. your mother pulled you to sit by her side, a warm smile gracing her face as she tucked you in tightly so the warmth of the fire would reach you. you longed for the warmth of the south as the snow of your home bled back into your bones.

“you know we’ve done our best to fend off unwanted proposals over the years,” you mother started as your father stared pensively into the fireplace. “tried to protect you for as long as we could.”

“of course,” you whispered as dread seeped in faster than the cold ever could.

“but it is no longer proper, not for a woman of your age,” you mother said. she stroked a gentle thumb over your round cheek, her touch light and fleeting. mourning.

“we’ve received an offer,” your father spoke up, finally looking at you. his gaze was heavier than it had been that morning, he looked at you differently. “we’re considering it.” your mother cleared her throat and your father sighed heavily and looked away. with a nod seemingly to himself he continued, “i’m going to accept.”

who would this man be? a knight, a lord, a kind man or a cruel one? someone powerful enough to have your father back down, at least. you’d always half-thought he’d push you towards becoming a septa with how he coveted you from other men in the region.

you thought back to aerion and wondered if he would stop this matrimony before it had chance to take place. if he heard news quick enough you thought there was potential; there had been enough rumours around the keep during your visit of his jealousy, enough comparisons of his dragon-like hoarding, that you’d believe he’d do so just to prove he could. a flash of his family’s power and wealth, and his control over even the most inconsequential things.

perhaps he’d do it by sending forth a counter offer your father would be unable to refuse. perhaps—

i’m going to accept.

“what house does he bear, father? do i know him?”

your father’s lips pursed.

“we don’t need to discuss this any further,” your mother interrupted smoothly. she ran a hand down your back comfortingly, but it set your further on edge. “the details have not been struck, you will know all you need to as the time comes. for now, you’ve had a long day or travel, you should go rest, as we should. we will speak in the morning.”

despite your unsatisfaction to her non-answer, you knew you’d get no more from her if you pushed. you nodded and bid them both a good night as you left with your heart racing.

before you reached the stairs, you saw your father’s solar door cracked open. with a brief look behind you, you went inside and thanked the old gods that he’d left a candle burning on his desk.

you couldn’t get his pensive look out of your head, the tense hold of his back as he’d refused to look at you, the grey of his beard glittering sharply in the firelight. and no matter how much your mother had smiled, you had seen the worry buried in the lines around her eyes.

you saw the letter, unfolded and abandoned on the corner of his desk.

“…my apologies for placing this letter among your belongings, lord fenn, it was imperative that we discuss this matter without any further delay. i’d have liked to do so in person but the knowledge of our childrens’ fate tie was only made known to me the morn you were set to ride and so…”

your breath caught and you flipped the top of the folded letter down to find the targaryen seal set in red wax.

slowly you released a thin breath and put the letter back down. you knew what it would say, you didn’t need to keep reading. aerion had told his father about you and your fate tie. he had sealed your lives together without a second thought, you had never lost his interest.

—

you pulled yourself back into the present and looked down to the grounds, letting your eyes drift over the opposing knight first before finding finding aerion’s eyes already set on you from where he sat atop his steed. it felt like he had a sixth sense as to where you were at any point in time with the way he could locate you in a crowd, as though you stood out in any regard.

his wrists were crossed nonchalantly over his saddle’s horn, the reigns loose in his hold as he gazed up at you with a small, patient smile. your lips pursed.

he was leant back in the saddle, satisfied and calm despite the charge he was about to ride. he’d caught you looking at the other man and you knew nothing good would come of it, regardless of it meaning nothing. you tugged discreetly at your thread and watched his smile widen before he trotted forward to face his uncle and father. after a brief look shared with his blood, he lowered his visor and turned back to head to his starting place. you watched anxiously, toes curling in your shoes.

it was a blur as the horses moved, your brows tugged together snugly as you desperately tried to keep your squinting eyes on the two men hurtling towards each other. aerion’s lance dropped low at the last moment and broke off into the knight’s leg.

you bit your tongue at the agonised yell, your face pinching in distaste. you didn’t delight in pain like your fated seemed to. you watched as he trotted along, his visor lifted now as he watched the other knight grasp at his bleeding leg with shaking hands.

his eyes lingered between the man and you, a sick pride flourishing in his chest. he was better.

he urged his horse forward with a subtle shift of his hips.

the knight’s squire stood by the injured knight’s side, just short of the horse’s back, where he tugged too roughly trying to release the lance head from his leg. every spurt of blood was accompanied by a new, sharply bitten swear echoing across the flat grounds. the joust would continue if the man didn’t forfeit or move from his horse and aerion was taking his time heading back towards his own squire and second lance.

the injured knight’s squire saw this and tried to corral the horse and his knight back to their end, desperate to hand him his own lance if he couldn’t relieve the pain.

with your heart beating like thunder you watched as aerion waited for the other knight to hitch his lance with tired arms before kicking his horse into action. you waited for him to drop his forearm again, but tugged at your fate thread hard before he could, flinching his arm off target enough to correct his purposely harmful aim. it still hit the knight in the ribs and knocked him from his horse, and aerion was skimmed at his shoulder, but a second lance was not dug deep into flesh and for that you were grateful. perhaps the knight would have a chance to live now.

“father, did you see that? prince aerion was barely even scathed,” your little brother chittered excitedly by your side, clapping along with the crowd as aerion paraded and peacocked for a moment before leaving the grounds free for the next set of knights.

you watched the injured man get carried off away from the stands and tried not to remember his face or name, the colours on his house flag. it’d be easier to ignore the damage aerion caused if you didn’t notice the man’s absence at the next games.

“one day i’ll be able to best prince aerion in a joust,” your brother continued, his arms flailing as he pretended to thrust an invisible joust forward. your father only hummed.

you sat quietly as another two sets of knights won and lost, their names barely having chance to register as your patience wore thin and your attention was pulled to aerion, out of sight but plucking at your thread. gentle twangs and tugs that felt carefully leading, like he was encouraging you to come find him.

your distraction throughout the next jousts must have not been as well hidden as you’d hoped as your father cleared his throat during a break between competitors.

“perhaps we should congratulate prince aerion on his win,” he suggested.

“and wish him luck for the next,” tomas added eagerly, already taking your hand to lead you from the stands despite your hesitance. your brother was barely seven, but his grip was strong as he tried to push through the crowd to get to aerion sooner, only slowing to look over his shoulder at your father to check he was still headed in the right direction.

you father had stayed silent behind you on the walk, only stepping forward once you reached the pair of kings guards stood outside the bright red tent. they recognised you easily enough, but your father still introduced himself for propriety’s sake.

ser roland crakehall let his eyes linger on you over your father’s shoulder for a moment before he dipped into the tent. you heard soft mutterings before aerion’s voice broke through rudely.

“i don’t want to see any guests, send them away, they can find entertainment with my cousin or daeron if he’s been unable to climb his horse,” he scoffed.

you felt heat rush to your face, anger over embarrassment, and you dropped your brother’s hand temporarily to rub harshly at your finger where your thread hung limp. you tugged it harshly, glaring at the tent and hearing ser roland explain exactly who was outside of aerion’s tent waiting to see him, your name whispered with purpose.

the air seemed to still before suddenly aerion was opening his tent flap with a frown, his thumb rubbing at his own threaded finger irritatedly. his eyes softened at the sight of you; you’d be tempted to call the look fond if his smug smile didn’t ruin it, the way he held his shoulders back full of pride and satisfaction. the caution you’d felt in his tugs not long before had all but disappeared now that you stood before him.

you knew he’d be insufferable about your appearance, and gods help you, you couldn’t help but let a small smile of your own grow; your anger all but fizzled out as quickly as it had grown.

“what a pleasant surprise,” he started, sparing but a glance and a nod for your father before looking back to you. “impressed by the performance so far?”

you wanted to roll your eyes, but a lady would do no such thing. and even with your mother absent from your side, busy with commitments back at home, her voice rang loud and you didn’t forget your manners. instead you opened your mouth to give a neutral review of aerion’s violence, but tomas interrupted first.

“it’s been fantastic, prince aerion, you were spectacular!” his big eyes looked up at aerion like he’d hung the stars and you pursed your lips in worry. aerion wasn’t known for his patience and this would be the first time he’d spoken to your brother since he was a toddler.

“is that so?” he asked, turning his attention down. he knelt, lowering himself to below your brother’s height and you stared on in shock. “and are you after becoming a knight yourself one day?”

tomas nodded enthusiastically, leaning into aerion’s orbit inadvertently.

it was easily done; you’d found yourself doing the same over the years, for as tiring and sharp as aerion was, he could be just as charming and quietly calm.

“then perhaps one day we shall train together, hm?” aerion offered, watching as your brother’s eyes got bigger in awe. you weren’t faring much better, unused to aerion playing so patiently, especially with a child, with someone he couldn’t gain something from. “i’m sure you’ll make a worthy opponent,” he joked. “you could train with me when you come to king’s landing to visit your sister.”

there it was.

you stiffened, your smile thinning out into a pinched grimace you tried to hide as soon as you felt it.

“isn’t that right?” he turned to you directly as he stood back up.

aerion delighted in winding you up; he knew you’d declined the proposal, or would have if you’d had the option, but he also knew your parents had said yes as soon as they’d received maekar’s letter all those years ago. this unfound patience, this slow courting, had been for your benefit to grow used to your bound fate. no matter how protective your parents were, you couldn’t really say no. not to him.

it was the lack of choice that curdled your stomach, though you had known all your life it would be like this. the way aerion liked to remind you of his power and parade your obedience around had you acting out like you were still a girl and not a grown woman.

it wasn’t as though you didn’t want to marry aerion. the gods had willed it and though you may have started this proposal hesitant to be fated to aerion brightflame, and the violence that followed him, he had managed to slowly burrow his way closer to your heart. like a rat in search of a warm, dry home.

there was just a part of you that couldn’t help but want to make it difficult for him as nothing ever had been for him before. your mother would call it petty difficulty, but it wasn’t. there was a fondness to your actions that you couldn’t ignore.

“that’s right, of course you can visit as often as you’d like,” you said to your brother. “though we don’t have to think of that right now, i won’t be leaving home any time soon.”

“hmm,” aerion’s mouth pulled down in a moue as he teased, “sooner than you think, perhaps. the gods grow impatient, as do i.”

“i wouldn’t want to test the gods’ patience,” you hummed.

he smiled. “smart girl.” pausing to fully take you in, he smiled as he registered what dress you were wearing. “you look beautiful as always, my lady. that colour suits you.”

“you had it made for me, my prince, i would have hoped you’d pick a colour you thought would flatter,” you said, your tone leaning more teasing than berating. aerion’s tongue poked at the corner of his lips, enjoying your bite, as toothless as it was.

“i won’t have my future wife dressed in anything less than what she deserves. you’re the one that insists on keeping your family crest and colours apparent.”

“we’re not yet married, my prince, it wouldn’t be proper to wear targaryen colours—“

“you could do as you pleased and i would make sure not a word was said about it,” he said decisively.

before you could rebut his push for you to be regaled in red and black, head to toe, every time you stepped foot in king’s landing, your father cleared this throat. aerion dragged his eyes away from you and over to him, barely hiding his immediate switch to impatient boredom at the interruption.

“your skills in jousting flourish each year, my prince.” your father could barely hide his distaste for the unnecessary violence and gore from the fight, but he pushed out the complimentary words nonetheless.

aerion paused, sizing your father up for a moment before looking over at your brother and then back at him. his eyes had dragged up in down in the same lazy way they had to you, but there was no warmth to be found in his gaze now. it instead felt unpleasantly dismissive as opposed to heavily wanting.

“have you spoken to my father today, lord fenn?” the question caught your father off guard and he floundered a for a second before shaking his head and answering no. “hm. you should visit us after the tourney; come back in one of our carriages, im sure your wife will enjoy the sun for a while longer instead of returning to the cold so soon.”

“prince aerion, my wife is not with us on this visit. im not sure—“

“you should discuss it with my father, he has been eager to speak with you on other matters,” aerion said, turning away with a sharp sniff, his nose scrunching as he faced you once more. “he’ll be having lunch with my uncle and cousin in their tent i suppose. you know the way?”

your father pursed his lips at the unsubtle dismissal. he nodded once, stiffly.

“lovely, i’m sure little aegon will be there to entertain the boy,” he gestured down to your brother who had begun to peek inside aerion’s tent. with a sharp whistle from your father tomas moved back to his side with a lowered head, one hand gripping the fabric of your father’s britches behind his knee. when aerion saw your father hesitate, eyes twitching to you, he continued, “not to worry, i can stay with your daughter while you discuss it. it’s not proper to make a lady walk back and forth in the mud and heat, hm? she’ll be in safe keeping with the king’s guard nearby, and i’m sure i can keep her entertained until you return.”

you resented the way you were being spoken about as if you weren’t present, but you’d grown used to it from being young. and you knew tugging on your fated connection would only encourage aerion to do so again in the future to garner a reaction. you almost had to provide attention to him like a treat, reinforcing positive behaviour instead of when you wanted to react in response to his more vile habits.

you watched your father clench his jaw as he realised the trap he was laid in; unable to say no to the prince without upsetting him despite the impropriety of leaving behind his unwed daughter alone with just her fated. it would have every bone in his body screaming in protest, but as the king’s guards shifted on their feet, watching, your father could do nothing but nod silently.

a part of you hated him for it; his cowardice and submission, but as you felt aerion guide you into his tent with a light hand between your shoulders you felt akin with your father. you were not so stupid as to be unaware of the position aerion had placed your family in, even if you were secretly ashamed of how quickly they rolled over for him.

once in the tent, the front flap closed once more and the king’s guard left posted on the other side, aerion surprised you by linking your pinkies.

your eyes darted down to look at where the tie had shortened with your proximity, wrapping and tangling around your fingers tightly to keep them together after being so far apart for so long. seeing your tie act so possessively, so needy, only encouraged aerion you knew. you looked for longer than necessary, entranced by a short, loose drape tickling at your other dangling fingers.

waiting for an explanation or for his next move, you looked back up at him.

“why do you avoid me?” he asked softly, once again doing the opposite of what you’d expected. he stared into your eyes deeply, unwaveringly focused on you in his tenuous grasp.

“i- i don’t, i do not avoid you, m—“

“you do,” he corrected before you could continue to stutter out an excuse. “you’re frightened,” he spoke aloud your secret plainly, offering space for your fear to breath. “you need not fear me, we were made for each other by the gods; old or new, i care not to know. but there is nothing to be afraid of, i know you shall not disappoint me.”

your eyes darted away, his words settling an anxiety deeper into your bones than before.

“you cannot guarantee that,” you whispered. finding a pinch of bravery at your very core, even as you hid from his gaze, you continued in your hushed tone, “and you cannot guarantee you won’t disappoint me.”

he scoffed, like the idea wasn’t worth thinking about.

“you want for compassion,” he said after a brief silence, reading you easier than a book.

he tilted your chin back to face him with his spare hand, his eyes amused, almost kind. you pursed your lips, feeling petulant.

“you will learn to want for your prince and what he gives you.” his hand dropped to your waist, his fingers rubbing at the cooling silk he’d draped you in, rubbing as though hoping to dig through the sleek material to feel your skin instead.

your ‘brows tugged down into a frown at his words, delighting him further as his sly smile grew.

“it’s not wrong to hope for tenderness,” you let the words continue to slip, contrasting the hand reaching towards his belt. the pads of your fingers trailed across the soft, expensive leather, starting from his stomach and ending at his hip.

“aren’t you tired of gentle hands and careful words?” he asked, hushed, his voice placating. “you may enjoy my touch more than you are expecting.”

his fate-tied finger curled unbearably tighter before releasing, his full hand moving instead to hold yours more securely. he brought it up to kiss your knuckles, his pale lashes fluttering over high cheekbones as his lips brushed your soft skin, before he rested your palm over his heart.

“you’re spoiled,” he noted, not unkindly, of your need for sweet handling. “but if i cannot oblige my tenderhearted wife, who am i to bend to?”

“i’m not yet your wife—“

“yet.” his thumb rubbed at your pinky finger laid across his doublet, catching the buzzing, red thread. “but inevitably.”

your gaze dropped to his plush lips, watching the words form on his tongue. you almost wished you felt a cold indifference to the prince, but his touch sent bees swarming between your ribs.

he tilted his head close and nuzzled your noses gently before nudging at your cheek, then finally letting his lightly parted lips brush against yours.

he stayed gentle in the kiss for longer than you’d expected, but the eager brush of your tongue, curious against the gentle curve of his upper lip, had him tugging you forward and curling over you. his hands moved to cradle you close, stilling your nervousness with an arm around your waist and stealing your breath with a hand at the back of your neck.

you were all encompassed. it should’ve felt claustrophobic, it should’ve felt embarrassing knowing his guards were mere feet away, likely listening, barely separated by thick cotton, but it didn’t.

wantonly, you tugged at his doublet, making no real move to escape him. your elbows were tucked in close to your ribs, your hips close to his, and you begged with the gods not to let anyone see how you moaned softly, desperately, into his mouth as he gasped and groaned against yours.

his hand dropped to your backside and your mouth moved to kiss along his jaw, desperate to find the air he was insistent on stealing from your lungs. you quietened your whines with a bite to his shoulder, growing frustrated when he laughed, unable to feel the strength of your teeth through the thick material lining his jacket.

feeling mean, but feeling free of consequences, you dropped one of your hands back to his belt, using it as a guide to find his stiffening cock through his trousers and squeezing it. his laughter broke off into a moan, huffed directly into your ear. the sound so addictive you were ready to do it again until he pushed you back.

your stomach dropped as you stared at him with wide eyes. you’d gone too far, you’d acted like a whore and now he wasn’t interested, you’d—

“how long do you think your father will last with mine before he’s sent back?”

you blinked; aerion’s hands were suddenly dropping to his belt, fiddling with the complicated clasp shaped like a dragon’s head as you tried to catch up. why were you talking about your fathers right now?

“depends,” you huffed, a little out of breath. aerion dipped close to kiss you once more and your eyes closed at the here-and-gone-again feeling. “how badly have you worn away at your father’s patience this morning?”

aerion scoffed, finally pulling his belt free and working at the loose tie to his britches before pausing, a serious look coming over his handsome face. “hm. perhaps we’ve not got long then.”

he tugged you back towards him.

“aerion—“

“the sooner we put a targaryen baby in that belly, the sooner the wedding shall have to be,” he whispered. your heart thumped painfully loud and your stomach lit alight with flutters. you shouldn’t. your mother would kill you, aerion was just testing your strength of will. “no more delaying it, my sweet.”

he kissed your cheek with a wet smack and began lifting your skirt.

you watched him drop to his knees before you, trousers half open and cheeks a ruddy, excitable pink as his hands climbed higher up your thighs, spreading them as you struggled to stay stood steadily beneath his eager pawing. heat spread thickly, like honey, between your legs and the urge to tell aerion to stop disappeared.

your right hand drifted to his blonde hair, tugging at what you could of the short length to keep his eyes up on you.

“it would satisfy the gods?” aerion licked his lips at your question, his eyes flickering to what laid between your spread legs for a moment.

“it will satisfy me,” he answered truthfully. “and i will satisfy you.”

the slow brush of his thumb back and forth across the soft skin of your inner thigh broke your gaze momentarily, a shyness overcoming you, even as you nodded. with a growing smile, you held up the ruffle of your dress skirt at the front and loosened your hold on his hair.

the confidence in his voice that he would please you had you forgetting the precarious position you were both in, and the first hungry lick of his clever tongue to your cunt had your body singing and your voice calling out louder than it should have given the lack of privacy the tent offered.

he’d managed to wring your first orgasm out of you and stood to shove your hand down the front of his open britches by time the familiar sound of your father’s voice returned outside the tent.

you laughed into aerion’s snarling mouth, legs still shaky and sweat clinging to your temples, as your father called for you.

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?”

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

“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.”

 “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! 🩷

Robb heaved a sigh, looking over his shoulder to the window to Bran’s room in the keep before he turned to you, drumming his fingertips on the table.

“He’s telling my mother now.”

“But Robb, surely he—” You paused. “He cannot leave. Bran hasn’t woken yet.”

“He gave his word to the king that he would be the Hand.”

If it were any other person in the south, you would’ve assumed it was the ambition that dragged him away from his sick son and already mourning wife, but Lord Stark was the last person to do that. Your brows furrowed while you tried to wrap your head around the idea, staring at him.

“But if Bran…”

“He won’t die,” he cut you off, his voice determined like thought he could force the reality to bend to his words if he said them with enough conviction. “He’ll wake soon, and he’ll be fine.”

You blinked a couple of times, then nodded fervently.

“Oh I know.”

No you didn’t.

Neither did Robb. Neither did anyone.

“I just think—” You licked your lips. “Will your mother not be upset that he’s leaving at such time?”

“He gave his word,” Robb repeated. “It’s a matter of honor and duty. She will understand.”

You wouldn’t.

Gods forbid, if you found yourself in such state; if someday your child was fighting for his life and Robb left to ‘do his duty’?

You were not like Lady Catelyn, honor and duty would have to wait.

Robb raised his hand to wave at Jon who lingered by the entrance of the keep for a moment, then made his way to you.

“Good morrow,” he said. “Robb, father wants to see you.”

“Now?”

“Aye.”

“Did you talk to him yet?”

“Not yet,” Jon answered as you looked between them. “Tonight, perhaps.”

Robb bit inside his cheek. “And you’re sure about this?”

“About what?” you asked and Robb ran a hand through his curls.

“Jon is thinking of joining the Night’s Watch.”

Your eyes widened.

“What?” you squealed, your stomach doing a painful flip. “Jon, you must be jesting.”

“It’s a great honor.”

Alright, you had it up there with northerners and their honor, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“I’ll be back,” Robb said and pressed a kiss on top of your head, then crossed the yard to enter the keep. You gawked at Jon who motioned at the seat as if asking for your permission and you nodded.

“Please,” you said in a rush and he sat down. “You cannot be serious.”

“It’s—”

“A great honor, I heard you the first time,” you finished his sentence, too impatient to wait. “The Wall is far from Winterfell.”

“That’s the idea.”

You pulled back a little when it dawned on you. “Jon…”

“Me being there will put a lot of people’s hearts at ease.”

No actually, it was going to put only one person’s heart at ease.

Lady Stark.

You were guessing Lord Stark’s departure was related to this. He was the one who had a soft spot for Jon, unlike Lady Stark who disliked his presence, and made no attempt to hide it. You couldn’t blame Jon for wanting to be out of her sight, but spending his life at the Wall as a soldier did not sound like the perfect solution to that.

Not to mention, Silas would never forgive you if you let his affair go off to the Wall to spend the rest of his life celibate and frozen.

“Not any of your siblings’ hearts.”

“Sansa and Arya will be in the south.”

“Robb will be here,” you reminded him. “So will Bran, who I’m sure would be devastated if he woke up and couldn’t find you here. And Rickon.”

“They’ll understand,” he said. “With my father in the Capital, Lady Stark will rule in his stead as the Lady of Winterfell—”

“Current,” you corrected him, making him tilt his head like a confused puppy, a gesture you had seen Robb do multiple times.

“Hm?”

“Current Lady of Winterfell. Funny how titles work, because as Robb likes to remind me, I’m to be the future Lady of Winterfell, and I’d very much like to have you here,” you said. “And I’m afraid you’re mistaken. With your father in the Capital, Robb will be ruling in his stead, and he wants you here as well.”

A frown pinched his forehead while he stayed silent, and you reached out to squeeze his forearm in an assuring manner.

“Please,” you said. “Stay, at least for a while. If you still think the same in a year, I swear I’ll embroider you a handkerchief that says the Lord of Night’s Watch for you to take it with you—”

“The Night’s Watch doesn’t have lords,” he stated, although your jest seemed to twitch his lips into a tiny smile. “It’s a brotherhood.”

“Whatever it is that they have over there.” You waved a hand dismissively. “But Jon, come on. You’re the only person I can talk to here, and Robb is going to be so busy. I’d like to have someone who I can trust, gods know I lack those here.”

Jon swallowed thickly, lowering his gaze to his hands.

“My whole family is away,” you reminded him. “And I already see you as one of my brothers. It’d put my heart at ease to have you here, as I know it would Silas’. You are one of the very few people whom he trusts.”

When his eyes snapped up to yours again, the stubborn light in them softened albeit in hesitance. You couldn’t help but smile at the unfamiliar sight, and he blinked a couple of times like he was trying to pull himself together, letting out a breath.

“You’d still have Theon,” he joked, making you grimace.

“Gods, even more reason for you to stay,” you muttered. “Can he not join the Night’s Watch?”

Jon bit back his grin. “I doubt he would.”

“Can we not offer his name?” you asked, and for once that managed to make Jon burst into laughter while you giggled. “No I’m serious—Jon listen, we can write a letter of recommendation, I’m quite good at those!”

On the day of departure, Lady Stark didn’t come out of Bran’s room to see Lord Stark and the girls off, they went there instead. You were almost certain that it was because she was angry at the fact that Lord Stark was leaving for the south, but it wasn’t as if you could ask her, or anyone else. On happier news for you, Robb had told you that Jon decided to wait a little before he joined the Night’s Watch, and though you knew it would’ve made Lady Stark upset if she knew you had made him change his mind, you were glad for it either way, and so was Robb.

Right after breakfast, while the squires readied the horses, you gifted Sansa two of your silk gowns that you had asked the seamstress alter for her. She hugged you tight, telling you all her plans to become the best queen the realm had ever seen, and even though you still weren’t sure about Prince Joffrey, you made sure to share her enthusiasm, promising her that you’d come to see her in King’s Landing before her wedding. You also told her to make friends and stay close to Margaery as much as she could, hoping that she would listen.

Arya, on the other hand, wasn’t as easy to give advice, or presents.

“I have been straining my mind to find out what to gift you,” You plopped down next to her on the stairs while the servants carried the chests into carriages, her direwolf Nymeria curled up at her feet. “And I’m told Jon already gave you a sword?”

Arya grinned at you.

“He did! I named it Needle.”

“A very fitting name.”

“And you don’t have to gift me anything,” she added. “I don’t need silk gowns.”

You hummed.

“Do you have no trust in me at all?” you asked and held out the small package, Arya’s face lighting up. She tore the paper open, then held her breath when she saw the armguard that you embroidered with direwolves. “Consider it my thank you for teaching me how to shoot arrows. Even though I’m not quite as good as you at that just yet.”

She threw herself into your arms, making you let out a laugh and hug her tight.

“Thank you!”

“Of course, my sweet,” you said when she pulled back. “And I have another thing for you.”

You placed the small gold medallion into her palm, making her frown as she lifted it to inspect it.

“What is this?”

“That is a special medallion that Cliff gave all of my brothers and I,” you said and paused for a second, then took a deep breath. “Arya, King’s Landing can be a very dangerous place. And I know how adventurous you are, so you might find yourself in trouble away from the Red Keep. If that happens…” you trailed off. “Find a harbour. Tell a captain there you’re Cliff Greensted’s sister, and show them this. They’ll take you to him, and he’ll bring you to safety. No matter what.”

She shifted her weight. “Will he teach me how to be a pirate if I do that?”

A small burst of laughter escaped you.

“We’ll see,” you said. “Keep this with you all the time, promise?”

“Promise. But think about it, I could be a great pirate.”

“If there’s anyone in the realm who could be anything they want, it’s you,” you told her. “And it’s a good thing you have a lot of time to decide what it is.”

“If I were a pirate like Cliff,” she mused, “I’d go on so many adventures, and come back with many stories.”

“He has great stories, does he not?”

“And I’d bring your babe things from all over the realm too.”

Your head shot up. “Hm?”

“Your and Robb’s I mean,” she said as if that wasn’t clear, and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

“We don’t have a babe, my sweet.”

“Sansa thinks you will.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So do your ladies-in-waiting, I heard them talking.”

“Only the gods know those things,” you managed to say. “In the meantime, promise me you’ll use that medallion when you need it, not when being a pirate sounds like a fun idea.”

“Fine, fine…” she mumbled and stole a look at you. “Do you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That I could be what I want to be.”

Well, that was a complicated question; the realm didn’t offer many options to girls. While your brothers got to be whatever they wanted to be, you yourself had always known you’d wed one day and become a lady of a castle. Thankfully your father and Silas protected you from the fate that many unfortunate women faced and made sure you wed someone who was handsome, kind and honorable who turned out to be the love of your life, but at the end of the day, marriage was one of the very limited options you had as a woman.

The other was becoming a septa.

But you weren’t going to tell Arya that. Instead, in the future, when her father—and Robb— decided it was time for her to be betrothed, you were going to make sure to find someone who would be to her liking.

And who knew, really? Arya’s family loved her, and times were changing.

Perhaps she could indeed be something else other than a lady of the castle.

“All my brothers chose their own paths,” you commented. “It can’t be that hard if they did it.”

She frowned in deep thought. “Did you choose yours?”

“Not in the sense my brothers did,” you admitted. “But I’m very lucky either way, and very happy.”

“You’ve always wanted to wed Robb?”

“I’ve known him for two moons, my sweet,” you told her with a laugh. “I didn’t even know he existed until I was informed of our betrothal. I…” You paused for a moment, then reached out to hold her hand. “I think there’s nothing wrong with having different goals. Mine were quite similar to my friends’ when I was your age, yours are not. It doesn’t mean either of us are in the wrong; everyone’s happiness looks different, simple as that.”  

She heaved a deep sigh, then turned your head when Sansa’s voice reached you both from the yard.

“Arya, time to go!”

“Coming!” she called out and you both got up from the stairs, then made your way to the yard with Nymeria following you behind. Sansa and her wolf Lady were already by the carriages, and it seemed that the whole family except Lady Stark and Bran were in the yard to see them off. Arya went directly to Jon and Robb, and you curtsied at the king and the queen before approaching Lord Stark.

“I wish you and the girls a safe trip, Lord Stark.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said and his eyes found Robb over your shoulder. “Make sure he doesn’t throw himself into another duel if anyone from the south comes by?”

A laugh climbed your throat.

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“And uh—” He cleared his throat. “If Bran…”

“Robb will send you a raven as soon as he wakes up,” you assured him. “And I’ll make sure to help Lady Stark in the meantime. Do not worry about here, Robb and I already talked of what to do in your absence.”

That managed to make him smile, even if it was a little.

“I appreciate that.”

“And I haven’t got the chance to thank you before,” you added. “For agreeing to our union. I recognize the rest of the north hoped for something different, but I love Robb, and I’ll be grateful to you my whole life.”

“I gave him the same advice yesterday, but he stops listening whenever you’re anywhere within his sight,” he said, a fire awakening under your cheeks. “I’m glad you two are happy, but a marriage takes more effort than just depending on love. With all these new responsibilities on both of you, do keep that in mind.”

“I will.”

“Let’s go!” the king’s loud voice rang in the yard, and you rushed to bid the girls goodbye, then went over to Robb’s side. Rickon was clinging to his leg, Shaggydog by Grey Wind and Ghost’s side while Robb nodded at his father in acknowledgment, no trace of worry on his face in such northern manner. Lord Stark mounted on his horse and turned his head, his eyes stopping on Bran’s window. For a moment you wondered whether Lady Stark was looking out the window, but you forced yourself not to check seeing that it would’ve been rather intruding, so you smiled at Rickon instead, whose brows were furrowed in worry. He blinked back the tears when his father turned his horse around and followed the king out of the yard, and Robb ruffled his hair.

“You’re alright,” he told him, more of a statement than a question while Maester Luwin approached Robb to mutter something into his ear.  

“I’ll be right there,” Robb told him, and you tilted your head.

“What is it?”

“There are some petitions I must listen to,” he said and pressed a kiss on your temple. “I’ll find you later. Jon, I need you in the room as well.”

Jon nodded his head and they both walked away from you and Rickon, who lingered in his spot as if he didn’t know what to do. You could see your ladies-in-waiting by the entrance of the keep and Wylla motioned at you as if asking you whether you needed anything, but you shook your head, then crouched down get to Rickon’s eye level.

“Rickon my sweet,” you said, reaching to push his hair out of his eyes, noting once again that just like most of his siblings, he took after his mother in looks. “May I ask something of you and Shaggydog?”

He nodded in silence.

“You’ve met Frost, have you not?”

His hand shooting up to his mouth so that he could bite at his thumb. “Yes.”

“I’ll go to the stables to check on her and give her some treats,” you said. “And then I’ll visit my horse Silk to do the same. Do you mind helping me?”

He looked up at you with wide eyes. “Me?”

“Of course,” you said. “And Shaggydog can wait at the door to protect us, how does that sound?”

He held his breath and nodded fervently, an adorable look of determination settling on his face as if you had just given him the most important duty in the realm.

“He will!” he said. “Shaggy already knows not to hurt Frost. And I’ll help you!”

“Wonderful,” you said and straightened up, then took his small hand into yours. “Now come. We need to get treats from the kitchens, Frost loves carrots, and Silk loves green apples.”

You had spent the entire day with Rickon; at first letting him feed Frost and Silk, and then you and the rest of your ladies-in-waiting made sure to keep an eye on him. Lyra had volunteered to be a monster to spar with him with wooden swords while Jorelle and Wylla pretended to be maidens he had to save until dinner time, the simple game managing to distract him from Bran and his mother, and the rest of the family who had left for the Capital.

With Lady Catelyn nowhere in sight, it had fallen upon you to converse with the other northern guests and be the lady of the castle, despite them being more familiar with Winterfell than you.  The irony wasn’t lost on you or them, but surprisingly no one had commented on it, and you couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because Robb was in charge of the castle and by extension the north now. Robb had sent you word with a servant that he wouldn’t be joining dinner, and he had been busy with some northern lords in his father’s solar—or his solar now, if you had to guess—until after you retired to your and his bedchambers. You took a bath, got into your nightgown and were just in the process of writing a letter to Silas when Robb entered the room and flung himself on the bed facedown. You looked up from your scroll, biting back a smile.

“I take it you’ve had a very peaceful day.”

Robb groaned into the pillow before he reached to open and close his hand as if grasping air without lifting his head from the pillow. You raised your brows.

“Am I supposed to understand—”

“Come here,” he said, raising his head a little so that you could make out what he was saying, and you repressed a grin.

“Am I being commanded?”

“Implored,” he whined. “Please?”  

You took your time crossing the room with deliberately slow steps, and the moment you reached bed Robb sat up so that he could wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you to his lap in haste. A giggle climbed your throat while he buried his face to the deep plunge of your cleavage, his beard scratching at your skin in the most pleasant way.

“They are so vexing,” Robb’s voice came out muffled while you played with his auburn curls, tension washing off his shoulders. “And unreasonable.”

You hummed, running your nails over his scalp and down to the nape of his neck.

“Gods, you smell amazing,” he mumbled into your skin, coaxing a smile out of you.

“If you think flattery will make me forget that I couldn’t see you whole day…” you teased him and he lifted his head to look at you with heavy lids, the sight making your heart skip a happy beat. The rest of what you were going to say long forgotten, you leaned in to brush your lips against his, but you both snapped out of it when someone knocked on the door, making your stomach drop.

Gods, if it was this late at night…

You slipped off his lap and put on your dressing gown, your heart slamming against your ribcage while Robb made his way to the door with a frown on his face, but the moment he opened it, Rickon rushed inside to clutch at his leg.

“I had a nightmare!”

You pressed a hand on your chest and let out a breath, thanking the gods that it wasn’t bad news about Bran.

“Rickon…” Robb said with a tired sigh and crouched down while Rickon sniffled, clutching his direwolf toy to his chest.

“I had a nightmare, father was dead and they put him in the crypts—”

“Father is on his way to King’s Landing,” Robb told him while you crossed the room, and Rickon’s big tearful eyes snapped up to you, your heart clenching at the sight of fear in them. “He’s not in the crypts, and he’s most certainly not dead.”

“But he was!” Rickon insisted as you crouched down as well, reaching out to hold his little hand. “He was, I swear it!”

“It was just a nightmare, that’s all,” Robb said, wiping the tears off Rickon’s chubby cheeks. “Come on now. You’re a northman, and a Stark. We don’t cry.”

You frowned at Robb, then turned to Rickon to give him a smile.

“Nightmares can be very scary,” you told him while he hiccupped. “Would you like to sleep between us tonight, my sweet?”

“Wait, what?” Robb asked incredulously, then shook his head. “No. Rickon, go back to your own room. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Robb, would you mind stepping out with me for a moment?” you asked and straightened up, then grabbed his wrist to lead him out of the room into the hallway where Grey Wind was curled up by the door, but this time he was accompanied by Shaggydog. You stepped away from the door so that Rickon wouldn’t hear you, then whirled around on your heels to glare up at Robb. “Is this your first time hearing what a nightmare is?”

“He’s not sleeping between us just because he had a nightmare,” he said. “He’s a northerner, and a Stark.”

“He’s a child,” you reminded him, pointing back at the room, “and he’s terrified!”

“He won’t be a child forever,” Robb insisted. “And he must learn to face his fears.”

“He can’t expect to be soothed whenever he’s scared.”

“And you think he must learn to face his fears at this moment, when his brother is sick, half of his family have left, and his mother is too worried to leave Bran’s room?”

Robb’s jaw clenched.

“When else should he expect to be soothed?” you asked. “When I was his age, whenever I had a nightmare—”

“We’re not coddling him,” he cut you off. “We don’t do that in the north. I understand that things are different in the south, but winter is coming. He must learn.”

Of course.

You should’ve known. Lord Stark had taken Bran to watch a traitor be executed just last month, and Robb was raised believing that was normal and expected.

It was very clear House Stark raised children much differently than House Greensted.

You gritted your teeth, then looked in the direction of the room over your shoulder before you turned to him, crossing your arms.

“Are you going to be like this when we have our own?”

“Are you?” he asked back with a tense chuckle. “Because we’re not going to be raising little southern lordlings who cling to their mother’s skirts whenever they’re scared.”

Anger shot through you faster than lightning.

“We’re not going to be raising little northern lordlings who’re not even allowed to cry after a nightmare either—you know what?” You held up a hand. “I’m not going to stay here and argue with you when your little brother is terrified.”

“He’s going back to his room—”

“He’s not,” you retorted. “He either sleeps between us tonight, or he can sleep in my bedchambers with me and Frost while you sleep alone in your own.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “My wife sleeps in my bed—”

“Your wife sleeps wherever she wants!” you snapped, glaring up at him. “It’s up to you where you sleep, but I am not sending a terrified child to his own room.”

Your name left his lips in exasperation while you walked away from him and entered the bedchambers to find Rickon already sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs while still clutching to his direwolf toy. You went over to sit next to him as Robb entered the bedchambers and closed the door behind him.

“Would you like a bedtime story, my sweet?” you asked Rickon who sniffled and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, then nodded vigorously and pulled himself up to get comfortable under the covers. Robb threw his head back, then held up his hands to gesture surrender after you shot a curt glare in his direction.

“I said nothing,” he grumbled as you raised your brows at him, then smiled at Rickon.