You were trying to choose between two pairs of earrings when Robb walked into your bedchambers, and you had to do a double-take to realize it was not a stranger who barged in, but your husband. You gasped, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth.

“What happened to your beard?!”

“My mother made me shave it,” he grumbled while you gawked at him. “For the king’s arrival.”

You had never seen Robb without a beard; he always had either a stubble or a very short beard, so this was the first time you were seeing him clean-shaven. Though he was handsome as always with his sharp jawline which was even more prominent without a beard, the sight felt rather strange to you, and it took you a couple of seconds to understand the reason. A huff of laughter escaped you, muffled by your hands before you lowered them.

“You look like a Reach knight!”

The way his expression turned from annoyed to complete and utter betrayal could’ve made a simple observer think you had just insulted him. He let out a displeased exhale through his nose, then strode past you to approach your mirror like it could magically grow his beard back if he glared at his reflection hard enough.

“I do not understand why she insists so much,” he mumbled while you tilted your head, watching him in the mirror with your arms crossed. “A northman cannot be without his beard, it’s just not right.” 

You covered your laughter by clearing your throat and plopped down on the bed, a grin curling your lips.

“Recite me a poem,” you demanded, and he turned around to scowl at you.

“I don’t know any.”

“You look like you do,” you said airily. “Can you sing, at least? Play any instruments? Almost every knight in the Reach can.”

“I’m no Reach knight,” he grumbled. “And it’ll grow back.”

“Are you saying that to me or yourself?”

He took another look at his reflection, running a hand over his face.

“I look like a boy.”

“A handsome Reach boy,” you chirped, earning an annoyed glare in return.  

“Don’t.”

You held up your hands in a mock of surrender before you pushed yourself off the bed.

“Well, I must go,” you said. “Lady Stark needed me today, so I’ll leave you and my mirror alone.”

“Wait—” He caught up with you to grab your wrist so that he could pull you closer, drawing a giggle out of you. You playfully slipped your wrist out of his grasp with a gasp, feigning shock.

“I’m very offended by you daring to believe I’d kiss you,” you said with a hand on your chest. “As handsome as you are, I’ll have you know I’m very loyal to my husband.”

“I am your husband!”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“My husband has a beard,” you pointed out, taking a step back. “You appear to be one of the knights who used to follow me around in the ballroom begging for a dance.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; none of those knights were as handsome as Robb was, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Learn a poem in the meantime,” you told him, walking backwards to the door. “Or grow your beard back. Whichever is faster.”

With that, you walked out of the room and left him there, your laughter echoing in the hallway.

Though you both had very different trainings, it was times like these you could see that Lady Stark was in fact raised in the south.

Being the lady of the castle—especially when the said castle was Winterfell—came with so many responsibilities. Hosting guests was not only duty but also an art, which she pulled off flawlessly, even before the guests were there. The bedchambers, the feast, the entertainment, it was all ready the moment you got the news that the king would be arriving today. There were direwolf banners hanging in and outside the castle as well as the yard, and by the time you and the Starks gathered in the yard, you could already hear the sound of the horses approaching.

You had picked a pearly gray silk gown for the day, to blend in with the rest of the family, with your pelt thrown over your shoulders. Jon wasn’t allowed to stand with the family per Lady Stark’s orders, and it had put Robb in a rather sullen mood that he only snapped out of at the sight of Arya rushing to cross the yard with a helmet on her head. Lord Stark quickly pulled it off of her head and sent her to go stand between Sansa and Bran. You were right beside Robb, your hand in his while he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb almost absentmindedly, making you bite back a smile before you looked over your shoulder to steal a glance at your ladies-in-waiting in the crowd.

You hadn’t met the king or the queen before, and it had been on purpose, thanks to Silas and your father. The king’s many affairs with other women was not unheard of throughout the realm, and two years ago, around the time that title of yours started being thrown around, he and the queen had visited the Reach. A week before that, per Silas’ counsel and your father’s orders, you weren’t allowed to go outside so that when you missed the feast in King’s honor, the whole Reach thought you had been too sick to join any feast the whole week. The reason was simple; neither your father nor Silas wanted to risk the possibility of you catching the king’s interest, seeing that if you did, there would be so little that they could do except send you to Dorne to keep you safe and away from the most powerful man of the realm.

Though many families in the Reach would be delighted at the idea of their daughter catching the king’s eye and elevating their status, your family loved you way too much to put you in a situation where you would be forced to be a mistress.

But thankfully, you were safe now.

Not that the married women were safe in the southern court, especially from the king. However, you were Robb’s wife now, the future Lady of Winterfell, and nobody, not even the king, could risk the wrath of House Stark and the North by crossing a line.

You were probably the safest lady in the whole realm.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the horsemen passed the gates and entered the yard, a young boy that could only be a couple years older than Sansa—the prince, if you had to guess— at the front. Sansa sighed beside you, making Robb turn to her and then frown at the boy who gave Sansa a smirk, and you had to bite back your smile.

Of course Sansa would admire the prince.

The queen’s carriage entered the yard as well, followed by the Kingsguard and the king, whom you only recognized because of the crown. He was a heavy man with a serious look on his face, his eyes darting around the yard as his horse stopped and his squire rushed to help him dismount. Lord Stark bent a knee, the rest of the family and the whole yard following him suit, and it was only when the king motioned at him to rise that he stood up, all of you doing the same.

The king held Lord Stark’s gaze. “You got fat.”

You blinked a couple of times, holding your breath to see what Lord Stark would say, but he only lowered his gaze to the king’s stomach before raising his brows at him, as if returning the statement without so much as a word. The king burst into laughter, making Lord Stark smile as well before he pulled him into a hug.

…Gods, you were never going to understand men’s humor or their idea of friendship.

“Cat!” he greeted Lady Stark with a happy smile, hugging her as well. Sansa was still gazing at the prince, and you leaned closer to her so that Robb couldn’t hear your whisper.

“You might want to pretend to be a little more nonchalant, my sweet.”

Sansa gave you an abashed smile while the king and Lord Stark exchanged words.

“Do you think he finds me beautiful?”

“Of course he does,” you whispered back, watching the queen step out of the carriage. She was beautiful, even the displeased look on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and her gaze went around the yard before it stopped on you.

“You must be Robb.” The king shook Robb’s hand before his eyes found you. “And the newest member of the family, I assume. The tales of your beauty weren’t lying, my lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you accepted the compliment with a well-practiced graceful smile. The queen approached Lord Stark who kissed her hand, but everyone’s attention turned to the king in a second when he spoke:

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the queen said kindly, and you had to wonder for a second whether everyone else could hear just how forced it sounded or just you. “Surely the dead can wait.”

The king didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Ned,” he said curtly before he walked away, and Lord Stark followed him into the Keep.

…Ah.

The crypt.

Where Lord Stark’s sister who was also the king’s alleged true love laid in her eternal sleep.

The Queen looked like she wanted to argue, but her brother touched her arm as if signaling her to stop talking, and you averted your eyes, making yourself busy with your bracelet.

It was one of the many things you and Margaery were taught when you were little.

If someone above your rank was insulted or ignored in front of you, you never saw it.

Lord Stark and the king spent almost an hour in the crypts while the queen retired to her bedchambers to rest. It seemed that Lord Stark had much to speak with the king, because Robb had come to find you in the yard around an hour before the feast, clearly released from his father’s solar. You quickly dismissed your ladies-in-waiting so that you could speak freely at the far corner of the yard, and to be completely honest, the way you two sat was not appropriate at all; rather than sitting across from one another, you had your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you while he nuzzled to your hair.

It had been rather peaceful, at least until a moment ago.

“A betrothal?” you repeated, craning your neck to look up at him. “Between Sansa and…”

“Prince Joffrey,” Robb finished your sentence for you, letting out a displeased noise as you pulled out of his arms to turn to see him better. “Don’t—”

“And Lord Stark said yes?”

“Sansa would cry for the rest of her life if he did not,” Robb said with a grimace. “She is in love already, and they haven’t even talked to each other yet. My mother talked my father into it, he will take the girls with him when he goes to King’s Landing to be the Hand.”

A frown pinched your forehead while Robb’s fingers drew shapes in your palm absentmindedly.

“Robb, I don’t think…”

Gods, how were you going to approach this?

You had to walk a very thin line here. You couldn’t risk anyone think you were trying to sabotage Sansa’s future, especially when the root of your worries was her future. Sansa was the sweetest girl ever, and you were certain she would grow up to be the loveliest lady and queen, but it was because of that you weren’t as excited as Lady Stark about this union.

Sansa was too sweet and naive for King’s Landing.

Not to mention, you knew nearly nothing about Prince Joffrey. There was a reason why it had taken Silas so much time to make a decision about your husband, marriage couldn’t be decided in a haste. Granted the king and Lord Stark were friends, but it didn’t mean their children would form a good union, and the moment they wed, Sansa would be bound to Prince Joffrey forever, regardless of how strong her house was.

And this was yet another time you were thankful to the gods for Silas and the rest of your family.

Those rules didn’t apply to you.

“What is it?” Robb asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You opened your mouth and closed it again, then took a deep breath.

“Sansa is very young still.”

“Oh they won’t wed right away,” Robb said. “They’ll wait until my father deems it the right time. Sansa will just be in King’s Landing in the meantime, with Arya.”

You stole a look at the rest of the yard, deep in thought.

“Well, perhaps…” You paused. “Perhaps if they won’t wed right away, Sansa could stay here a bit longer so that I can teach her things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to survive in the southern court.”

He huffed a laugh. “Oh come on.”

“Robb, I’m serious.”

“My father will be with her, she’ll be fine.”

“Your father cannot save her from everything,” you said. “Nor can he help her in everything, especially when it comes to the south. It’s a different world than here, and please don’t get me wrong, but Sansa still believes in fairytales. She must learn know how to—”

You stopped yourself and Robb pulled his brows together.

“How to what?”

Manipulate people.

It was beyond you how no one had given her the necessary training, especially if the southern court had been a possibility all along. You were rather sheltered and very much aware of it, but when it came to southern court games and wielding power, you and Margaery were given a very strict education.

Although you falling in love was unexpected, your husband falling in love with you had always been the plan.

“The southern court is an incredibly dangerous place,” you told him. “I fear she might not be ready for it just yet. If she stays here a little longer—”

“Nothing bad will happen to her in the southern court,” he assured you. “My father and the king are close as brothers.”

“Which is wonderful, but think about it,” you insisted. “Silas didn’t make our union happen because of my father and yours. He made it, because he approved you above all that. Does your father know Prince Joffrey? Do you? Beyond the fact that he will sit the Iron Throne once his father passes?”

“He can’t do anything to Sansa,” Robb brushed you off. “Sansa is a Stark.”

You caught the sight of the queen’s brother Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey stepping out of the keep into the yard, then huffed out.

“Can you please ask your father either way?” you asked. “If she can stay here for a moon or two?”

His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek gently, then dipped his head to give you the sweetest kiss, making your heart skip a beat. A giggle escaped you, your cheeks growing hot.

“We’re in public!”

“And we’re on our honeymoon,” he defended himself while you dragged your fingertip over the snarling wolf clasps on his doublet before you buried your face to his chest where his laugh rumbled deep. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, his hand still cradling your cheek.

“But you’ll ask?” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll ask,” he said. “Happy?”

“Very,” you chirped as you lifted your head to beam at him. “Thank you!”

He held your gaze in his, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I’ll never be able to tell you no, will I?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose, then grinned.

“Probably not,” you said airily. “But then again, why would you want to?”

That drew a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.

“Aye,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “Why would I want to indeed?”

Thanks to Lady Stark, the feast was going perfectly.

And everyone was having fun. Sansa was over the moon with the news, and she had made you promise that you would lend her one of your gowns for her to wear in the King’s Landing, so that she could impress the ladies there. Though you wanted to say it would take more than a gown, you decided not to say anything until Robb asked Lord Stark, so instead you assured her that you would help her with choosing the perfect gown and jewelry so that she would make an impeccable first impression on the southern court. Just until a moment ago that you and Robb were sitting at one of the tables among your peers, drinking and laughing, but when Arya threw food at Sansa’s dress, Lady Stark had shot him a look that clearly said to step in, so that the royal family wouldn’t notice the chaos that was about to erupt. Robb heaved a sigh and kissed your temple before he made his way to Arya and lifted her out of her seat, telling her it was time for bed. Arya pouted, but one gentle push from Robb made her start walking, and they both left the Great Hall so that he could tuck her in.

Watching Robb take care of his siblings never failed to make your chest all warm. He knew how to handle all of them, adapting a softer approach with Sansa and Bran while roughhousing Arya and Rickon who loved it. For a moment, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering off, so you found yourself imagining what a great father he would make one day, to your own kids.

You knew it was too early, you still couldn’t tell whether you were ready, especially with your mother’s fate, yet the simple image of him with a baby made you smile.

You wondered whether they would take after him or you. Or perhaps they would be the perfect combination of you both—

“My lady.” Alys’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Lady Stark and the queen ask for you, I think.”

You turned your head to take a look at the High Table where only Lady Stark and the queen sat—everyone else had scattered around the Great Hall. Lady Stark nodded at you and you pushed your chair back.

“Thank you Alys,” you whispered and stood up, then made your way to the High Table. You swept a well-trained curtsy, then straightened up and smiled at them, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Your Grace,” you said. “Lady Stark.”

“Hello my dear.”

“I wanted to see the infamous Blossom of the Reach,” the queen said, making your smile wider. “Everyone sings your praises, even miles away.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Including your best friend,” she said, making your head whip up. “Margaery Tyrell. She is dazzling the capital as we speak.”

And judging by the tone of her voice, she was not happy about that.

You would’ve been lying if you said it was unexpected. Margaery never feared anyone, no matter their social standing.

“As she dazzled the Reach,” you said. “I’m sure she flourishes in King’s Landing.”

“Do remind me, who had more admirers in the Reach? You or her?”

The attempt was nearly pitiful, and you had to hold back your laughter. This wasn’t new, the way people would try to sow discord between you and Margaery so that you would turn against each other and become rivals for—

For what?

Attention?

The queen wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last to find out your and Margaery’s bond ran too deep to get harmed by such comments. Margaery could be crowned the most beautiful girl in the realm tomorrow—in your opinion, she deserved it—, and you would be cheering her at the top of your lungs. She could be the queen, and you would be the first to bow down; there was no possibility of you turning bitter for her accomplishments and happiness, you loved her way too much for that.

And it was mutual too. Margaery never held contempt for you even when that title started being thrown around in the Reach, instead she fueled it, so that even more people would talk about it.

There was nothing anyone could do to make you and Margaery turn into enemies, no matter how much they tried.

“Oh, one stops counting after a while,” you said with a laugh. “It was rather hard for us to keep track of it, but the last I remember she had poems and I had songs. You would have to ask her though.”

“The Reach does love its songs, does it not?” the queen asked. “Just as singers love their embellishments, I’d say.”

…Ah.

Well, alright then.

There were only three people in this hall who could tell what that veiled comment really meant; the queen herself, Lady Stark, and you, seeing that you were all quite fluent in the language of the southern court and how it held insults behind compliments, or simple statements.

Like that one.

“Such admirers can affect a lady in a certain way,” the queen added. “Like excess pride. You and your friend should be careful.”

So now not only were your looks exaggerated, but you and Margaery were both arrogant.

Very well.

If she came all this way to your home to insult you and your best friend, you could play the game.

“Both my best friend and I look up to you as the pinnacle of humility, we grew up with the tales of your beauty, Your Grace,” you said airily. “Back when we were little girls, that was all we would hear from King’s Landing. To this day, I still remember how many admirers you used to have back in the day. I’m sure you’re delighted that his majesty relieved you of them, even after so many years!”

The tiny twitch of her lips reminded you of a snarl, but it was gone as fast as it came.

“Well,” she said after a beat. “I hope that you and your husband will be as happy as me and the king have been.”

The same king who had spent the majority of the feast drunk with another woman in his lap.

Sure.

She could keep hoping, Robb would never do that to you.

“I’m sure it would please you, Your Grace,” you said with a bright smile and she held your gaze in hers, then gave you a curt nod, signaling you could leave. You dropped a curtsy straight down with your head held high, then walked away from the High Table to join your ladies-in-waiting.

“The queen does not look happy,” Lyra murmured and Jorelle raised her brows, stealing a look at the table.

“Would you be?” she asked. “If my husband humiliated me like that…”

“I will never wed.”

“You might have to,” Barbrey said and Lyra shrugged her shoulders.

“Not really. I’m not the heir, I have no such responsibilities. One of my sisters has two children, she was never wed.”

“Bear Island has different customs than the rest of the North,” Wylla said. “If my father tried to wed me to someone like the king, I’d run away.”

“She’s still the queen,” Barbrey said and Wylla shook her head.

“I’m too northern to accept such disrespect.”

“By the way, have any of you talked to her ladies-in-waiting?”

“I’ve been avoiding them like the plague.”

“Well, I’ve talked to them, and…”

The rest of Alys’ words disappeared into a buzz when the familiar feeling hit you, making you frown slightly. Your theory was that it was instinct for ladies of the court, you just learned to notice when men were looking at you even without a glance in their direction. Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was a way to survive, but you knew when they were watching.

And sure enough, when you turned your head, you found Robb, Lord Stark, the king and Prince Joffrey all looking in your direction. Robb did not look happy for some reason, he had his jaw clenched while he listened to the king, and Prince Joffrey scowled before his eyes found mother and his frown deepened, as if she had done something of great offense. You let a lovesick smile light up your face as you waved at Robb without sparing the rest of them a glance, and that seemed to snap him out of his mood, that familiar soft light appearing in his gaze as he lifted his cup a little to greet you. The king said something and smacked him on the back, letting out a boisterous laugh and you lingered there for a moment, then rolled your shoulders back.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” you said and walked away from your ladies to approach the men on the other side of the hall.

“Your Graces, my lord,” you greeted the king, the prince and Lord Stark, then beamed at Robb and turned to them. “May I please borrow my lord husband for a minute if you don’t mind?”

The king laughed.

“Oh he stopped listening to us the moment you looked his way,” he said. “But that’s how a newlywed must be, huh Robb? Your father used to have the same look on his face whenever you looked at your mother.”

“Robert, come on now,” Lord Stark said and the king grinned.

“You did,” he insisted while you laced your fingers through Robb’s. “The same tortured look, even when I dragged you to hunts! That’s how you know it’s a good match.”

 “Speaking of matches, I’ve heard the happy news,” you told Prince Joffrey with a smile. “I’m certain you and our beautiful Sansa will be as happy as we are, Your Grace.”

Prince Joffrey didn’t seem delighted at all, his eyes finding his mother again before forcing himself to smile.

 “Thank you, my lady.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, the whole North is talking of that duel! The future Warden of the North is a great fighter just like his father!”

A shadow crossed Prince Joffrey’s face but you paid him no mind.

“I’m glad the whole North is entertained, but I was rather terrified,” you said, leaning sideways to Robb’s arm and he pressed a kiss on top of your head as if trying to soothe you at the mention of the duel.

“You had nothing to worry about, I told you that,” Robb muttered into your hair and you shot him a mischievous look.

“The love of my life putting himself in danger scares me, that’s no crime,” you said, earning a chuckle from the king. “Is it, Your Grace?”

“Not at all,” the king said. “Even the strongest men are defeated by love more than sword, my boy. Great warrior or not, you might want to keep that in mind.”  

“I will, Your Grace.”

“If you’ll excuse us please.”

Robb followed you as you both crossed the Great Hall, still holding your hand tight until you stopped and turned to him. He seemed rather tense, frowning at Prince Joffrey who had just approached the queen to mutter something to her ear with a sour expression. You raised your brows, watching Robb grab a cup from one of the servants before he took a sip, still glaring at the High Table.

“Is everything alright?”

His attention snapped back to you. “Mm hm.”

“Are you certain?” you asked. “What were you all talking about before I approached?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Though you wanted to insist, you decided otherwise. “Have you had the chance to talk to your father yet?”

“About?”

“About Sansa!” you whispered. “If she can stay a bit longer.”

“I mentioned it, he said no.” Robb shrugged his shoulders. “And I’ve told you, he’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe.”

You pursed your lips before taking a deep breath.

“Alright, then I’ll send a letter to Margaery first thing in the morning,” you said. “She’s in King’s Landing, she should be able to help Sansa.”

He tilted his head.

“Margaery Tyrell?”

“Do you know another Margaery?”

“Your best friend whom you’re angry at?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m angry at her or not,” you said. “At the end of the day, I trust her with my life. We both know what’s important and when to put aside disagreements, she’s never going to deny me if I ask her for a favor.”

“Even after what happened?”

“Don’t underestimate her loyalty to me, or mine to her,” you said. “Trust me. If I need help, she’ll help.”

“I’ll never understand you two,” he muttered. “And I still think you’re worrying for nothing and Sansa will be fine, but very well. Write to her if it’ll put your heart at ease.”

“Hey.” Jon’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to find him smiling. The sight seemed to have taken Robb by surprise as much as you, because he scoffed a laugh.

“Did Theon get maimed?” he asked. “How come you’re smiling?”

“Uncle Benjen is here.”

Robb’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Wait, Benjen Stark does exist?” you asked, looking between him and Jon, and Robb nodded fervently.

“Our uncle. He’s the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”

You were guessing that was an impressive title in the North, from the proud tone of Robb’s voice.

“Come,” Robb added. “I must introduce you to him, he’s amazing.”

“I mean to be honest, I doubt introductions are needed,” you pointed out, drawing chuckles out of both brothers. “I feel like I know him already.”

“Yeah, maybe—” Robb paused. “Maybe don’t mention the…”

“Name issue?” you asked and exchanged glances with Jon who all but read your mind, because you both shook your heads at the same time.

“No way.”

“Aye, he’s gonna hear it. If not from her, then from me.”

“My maid will be here any moment!” you said as you pushed him gently, making him walk backward to the door. “I must get ready for breakfast—we already overslept!”

He grabbed your wrist and in a blink, you had your back against the wall, a giggle escaping you.

“Robb!”

“Dismiss her when she comes.”

“And what of my ladies-in-waiting?”

He grinned at you. “Dismiss them too.”

“That would be rude!”

“Fine, I’ll dismiss all of them—”

“You’ll do no such thing!” you exclaimed, the look of shock on your face coaxing a chuckle out of him as he cupped your face in his palm, your heart skipping a happy beat.

Gods, he looked irresistible.

He had put on his breeches, but his white linen shirt was half open, letting you peek at his chiseled chest. His curly hair was tousled thanks to last night’s—and this morning’s—activities, and there was a mischievous light gleaming in his eyes as he looked at you, tracing the line of your bottom lip.

You frowned, willing yourself to focus.

“I don’t suppose anyone has told you this,” you said, sticking your nose in the air, “but a lady needs her own time to get ready to be seen in public.”

“A lady or my lady?” 

A smile curled your lips before you could stop it, and you pointed in the direction of the door, making him whine.

“I’ve been away from you for a week!”

You shrugged your shoulders, feigning nonchalance as if you weren’t currently battling yourself not to drag him back to bed. “That was of your own making.”

“Just a moment!”

“That, my sweet wife, is a cruel lie,” he murmured, leaning to brush his lips against yours. A pleasant sigh left you, the familiar warmth blooming in your lower stomach, your mind going blank once again as it always did whenever Robb kissed you. Your body moved at its own accord; you threw your arms over his broad shoulders so that you could pull him closer, ready to lose yourself in his arms but a knock on the door snapped you out of it and made you pull back. Robb blindly chased your lips as you pressed a hand on his chest to push him back again, turning your head.

You went under Robb’s arm to get away from him, whirling on your heels before you stepped back, clasping your hands behind you with a grin. He raised his brows like he was warning you.

“Do not—” he started, but before he could finish his sentence, you had already swung the door open to beam at your maid. She was a sweet girl, only a couple years younger than you. Just like the other northerners you had met, she wasn’t very fond of sharing too much, nor did she jump at the opportunity to gossip unlike what you were used to back in the Reach, but you were certain you were going to be friends soon enough.

“Good morrow Kyra!” you chirped. “My lord husband was just leaving, you may come in.”

Kyra stepped in and curtsied.

“M’lord. M’lady.”

“And I shall see you, my wife,” he said, kissing your temple as he walked past you and left the room. You turned to Kyra, looking down to pretend to fix the silky skirt of your nightgown.

Your grin widened at the look of utter betrayal on Robb’s face. “I shall see you at breakfast, my husband.”

“Kyra, would you mind telling the maids to draw me a bath?” you asked. “And I’d really appreciate it if you could help me take off my necklace, thank you.”

With the King and his court arriving next week, Lady Stark was busy beyond words. She had to foresee anything and everything about their visit, and while you had been following her like her shadow to learn and help out if needed, you also had your own duties.

While the preparations were being made for the feasts upon the King’s arrival, Wintertown could not be expected to put everything on hold, especially with the arrival of autumn. Thus, you and your ladies were tasked with preparing certain supplies for the smallfolk. The baskets mostly consisted of blankets and food, and while back in the south your father had certain people responsible for overseeing such help, in the north, it fell upon Lady Stark—and per her request, you.

You would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t surprise you, but you figured it was just one of the many differences between the south and the north.

Everyone did something here, regardless of who they were.

Your ladies-in-waiting were already in the granary, and you had every intention to go join them when you stepped out into the yard after having a short conversation with Lady Stark, but you stopped dead in your tracks when you caught the sight of Theon sparring with Jon while Bran watched them and Robb sat beside him, no doubt having just finished sparring with either of them. You could feel your heart skip a happy beat as you stole a look in the direction of the granary, but the urge to be with Robb—fleeting as it would be, for mere minutes—overcame your hesitation. You made your way to him, a smile twitching his lips the moment you entered his sight and sat beside him.

“Hello,” you said. “I figured I could take some fresh air before I went inside, I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” he said quickly while Bran waved at you, still quite shy. You gave him a warm smile, both your and his attention turning to Jon when he blocked Theon’s strike with his sword, pushing him hard enough to make him stumble back.

“But will it happen?” Bran insisted while you rested your head on Robb’s shoulder and he pressed his lips on top of your head, sneaking an arm around your waist to subtly pull you closer. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Of course not, Bran.”

“You never know,” Theon sang and Bran huffed.

“Even if father says so?”

“Father won’t say so.”

“He said so to Robb.”

“He asked me,” Robb corrected him, “it’s not the same thing.”

“What are we talking about?” you asked and Bran turned to you with a scowl on his face.

“Jon getting wed.”

“I’m not getting wed.”

“Silas said he was the one who approved Robb,” Bran said. “And if Robb had to approve your future lady…”

Robb let out a scoff. “I don’t think that falls on me.”

“There’s usually more things to consider than your older brother approving someone,” you pointed out. “Silas saying that isn’t the whole truth.”

“But Jon, would you have to wed Ser Tallhart’s daughter if father said so?”

You bit back a laugh at the exasperation on Jon’s face. While you didn’t know the details of how he and Silas separated, it was quite obvious that Jon’s attention wouldn’t belong to anyone else for a long time, judging by how sulky he had been since your brother left. As much as you wanted him to share his feelings with you, you figured he didn’t want you or anyone else to know, so you had to keep your silence despite seeing his sadness.

Perhaps you could imply you would keep his secret, but you would have to earn his trust for that.

“Ser Tallhart’s daughter?” you asked, making Theon let out a laugh.

“I doubt that’ll happen, Bran.”

“But!” Bran insisted. “But listen. Silas approved Robb, right? And you already said, about Ser Tallhart’s daughter, that Robb approved.”

Robb made a face. “I didn’t say I approved.”

“But Theon said that you called her pleasant and said southern girls and northern girls are different,” Bran said, making your head shoot up from Robb’s shoulder. “You approved, and Jon doesn’t have a southern betrothed, and...”

The look of panic that settled on all three men would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the fury crashing down on you. Theon and Jon stopped sparring as if someone had just barked an order at them, and Robb’s eyes widened as he stared at Bran at a loss for words. Bran seemed oblivious to their reactions, ranting about how Jon couldn’t wed because that’d mean he’d see him less like Robb, while you tried your hardest to keep your expression calm, considering you were in public.

Ser Tallhart’s daughter, was it?

“…Ah,” you said and arched a brow at Robb, an overly sweet smile curling your lips. “Is that what Robb said?”

One simple observer would’ve thought Robb was being accused of treason with the way he shook his head vigorously.

“That’s not what I—Bran, you make it sound very different than what actually took place.”

“But Theon and Jon were saying—”

“I said nothing.”

“I’m not involved in this conversation.” Theon and Jon spoke at the same time, desperate to absolve themselves of any crime but Robb wasn’t so lucky and by the looks of it, he knew it.

“I just said for—for Jon, she looked pleasant.” He waved a hand in Jon’s direction without even sparing him a glance while you tilted your head, still smiling. “For Jon only. I wasn’t even—”

“My lady?” Alys’ voice reached you, making you look over your shoulder. “Maester Luwin says we may start if you’re ready.”

“Of course,” you said as if your stomach wasn’t churning, the familiar ache whenever you were nervous back in its full strength. You got up from the bench to follow Alys, leaving Robb dumbfounded but he snapped out of it before you could reach the granary and caught up with you.

“Wait—”

“I cannot,” you said airily without a glance at him, “I have things to do.”

“That sounded wrong, back there.” He stepped in front of you to block your path, making you narrow your eyes. “I didn’t call her—I did call her pleasant, but only because I was trying to encourage Jon. He’s been sulkier than usual, and Theon thinks it’s because he didn’t like any southern girls at our wedding.”

“And one look at Theon makes you think of wisdom?”

“No,” he admitted after a beat. “Not really. But what else could be the reason?”

Your brother was the reason, but it wasn’t like you could tell Robb that. Besides, that wasn’t the point, you were not going to stand here and get into an argument where the whole yard could see, you were way too trained for that. Jealousy was not mesmerizing, most of the time it held the opposite effect. Lady Olenna used to say that the more a lady looked bothered, the more her influence slipped away. Grasping too tightly would signal to the court that you were insecure, and insecurity was unbecoming of a lady. 

Which meant that even though it took every ounce of control in you, you couldn’t appear angry.

“I don’t find anyone more pleasant than you,” Robb added, almost breathless. “My lady, surely you must know that.”

You could swear the words you were not supposed to say were clawing at your throat, but you took a deep breath and forced yourself to smile.

“Alright.”

Robb pulled back slightly, his eyes darting over your face.

“…Alright?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice holding no trace of grudge unlike your heart. “And if you’ll excuse me, I must be going now.”

“But—” He stopped you, holding your arm before you could turn around. “But we’re alright?”

 As much as you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, that also would appear very unladylike, so you nodded your head instead.

“Of course,” you chirped. “How selfless of you to assess and compare ladies for Jon, I’m certain he’s grateful.”

“See, that comment right there doesn’t assure me that we’re alright—”

“And though I’d love to hear about the differences between southern and northern ladies, I really must be going now,” you cut him off, pulling your arm out of his grip. “Have a good day, my lord.” 

With that, you walked away from him, anger still pulsing in your temples.

Who even was Ser Tallhart’s daughter? No one had told you anything about her.

There was no wonder your ladies-in-waiting would know about her, seeing that they had likely crossed paths at a wedding or a feast. If you were back home, you could’ve asked your friends, but here in Winterfell you had to be more careful than that.

Any wrong question could lead to many speculations.

Not to mention, you still didn’t trust them. Alys, Wylla and Lyra seemed rather sweet, but when it came to Jorelle and Barbrey, you were still very cautious. Barbrey was going to have to work hard to prove her loyalty to you, and Jorelle…

Well.

You weren’t certain that you could ever lower your guard with her.

It wasn’t even about her at this point, it was more about her family. You knew very well that at any given moment, her family would push her forward if they knew they could undermine you, Lady Cerwyn’s condescending manners were a proof of it. Not only that, the whole North would support them, as they were already fond of Jorelle and her family.

Your family, however, were outsiders to the north, and no matter how much help they would send when the winter came, northerners didn’t trust or like outsiders.

You were pulled away from your thoughts when Wylla spoke.

“That’s a very beautiful necklace.”

Your head snapped up, and you willed a lovesick smile on your face despite the storm in your head.

“Aw thank you,” you said, dipping the spoon into the salt bag to pour some of it into the small container before you walked to place it in a basket. “Robb kindly brought me a gift from Torrhen’s Square.”

Alys and Barbrey exchanged smirks while Lyra and Jorelle folded the blankets to put into the rest of the empty baskets.

“Do you know…” you trailed off, nibbling on your lip. “Have any of you been to Torrhen’s Square before?”

Jorelle lifted her head for only a moment before she returned her attention to the blankets, clearly deciding against whatever she was going to say. Alys nodded her head.

“I have, once.”

“I don’t think I’ve met House Tallhart,” you mused. “I’ve heard high praises though.”

“Did Gilliane come to the wedding?” Lyra asked and you turned your head.

“Gilliane?”

“Their oldest daughter, my lady,” Wylla said. “And no, she didn’t.”

“I think only Erena came,” Alys said. “I’m certain I caught a glimpse of her—her younger sister.”

“I’ve met too many people to count at the wedding, I’m afraid,” you said. “Perhaps I met them and don’t remember it.”

“Erena is very sweet, Gilliane however…”

“Lyra,” Alys warned her and she held up her hands.

“I said nothing.”

You tilted your head. “Oh, now I must know.”

Barbrey grinned. “Gilliane is very emotional.”

“It’s no crime against the king to be emotional!” Alys insisted while Lyra made a face.

“It should be.”

Jorelle bit back her smile.

“Gilliane gets affected by anything and everything,” she told you. “A bit of a crier.”

“And she falls in love with someone different at every Harvest Feast,” Wylla added and fixed her hair in an exaggerated manner. “And if anyone would like to ask me why she didn’t come to the wedding, I have the answer.”

“How?”

“One of her brothers holds affections for me, and he’s a gossip.”

Alys’ jaw dropped. “Which brother?”

“Benton.” Wylla reached out to grab an apple to take a bite, coaxing a laugh out of you while Lyra narrowed her eyes.

“Have you started living in Wintertown and we don’t know about it?”

“It’s just one apple!”

“Don’t let Maester Luwin see you,” Jorelle said and Wylla shrugged her shoulders.

“I am famished, would he rather if I fainted?”

“That is a very sound logic I admit,” you teased them and Wylla gestured at you.

“See?”

“But in return, we hear why she didn’t come to the wedding,” you added, plopping down on the nearest chair and cracking your neck with a grimace. “Sounds interesting.”

“Alright, so…” Wylla jumped to sit on the table. “Benton says she was heartbroken.”

“That’s no news, she gets heartbroken whenever someone looks at her wrong.”

“Jo!”

“Am I lying?”

“No wonder she and I can’t get along well, she has too many feelings for my taste,” Lyra mused and Alys pressed her fist on her lips in an attempt to hide her smile. Barbrey leaned in.

“Who was she heartbroken over?”

“And that’s what is so interesting about it,” Wylla said and turned to you. “Don’t misunderstand this, because I would know if there was anything between them, but…”

You pulled back, your mouth half agape. “Robb?”

The whole room erupted into chaos.

“Wylla!”

“Have they even spoken to each other before?”

“I have never ever seen them exchange words in any wedding or feast.”

“Yeah, Benton says the same. She was admiring him from afar, pushed her father to make an offer of betrothal, but…”

Well, if that was the pleasant girl, at least now you knew she was no real threat to your position or your heart.

“A lot of fathers made—” Barbrey started but Alys elbowed her, stealing a look at Jorelle whose calm face was impossible to read as usual. Lyra shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ll say it if you won’t. Everyone’s fathers made proposals.”

“Lyra, don’t say that!”

“What, like she doesn’t know?”

“I do know,” you assured them. “And I don’t mind at all. If Robb held a grudge over everyone who made a proposal to wed me, our marriage would be cold until we’re old and gray. That’s simply how such arrangements work, it makes sense that families made proposals, I could never hold grudges over that.”

At least that was what Lady Olenna would want you to say.

Untroubled and amused.

That’s what you had to appear when it came to possible former betrothals; untroubled and amused.

Even though what you felt was the complete opposite of that.

“And I don’t want any of you to guard your tongues around me,” you added in a haste, as if you yourself hadn’t been trained to guard your tongue around people since you could speak. “Not when it’s just us, at least.”

No one back in the south would believe or entertain such thought. In fact, if you and Margaery were ever told what you had just said, you both would’ve taken it as an insult to be seen so naïve, but this was the north.

And you could not seem resentful or insecure.

“Now,” you said and grabbed an apple to bite it as well. “Tell me more about this person. I have been suffering from lack of gossip ever since I came here, and I’d like to catch up.”

By dinner time, you had learned everything there was to learn about House Tallhart and their daughters, and thankfully, nothing seemed alarming.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t angry at Robb.

And although Lady Olenna would’ve advised you otherwise, you were going to make sure he knew exactly how you felt.

Lord Stark had made it much easier, albeit not on purpose. He had kept Robb with him the whole day for meetings and petitions, and you had managed to excuse yourself to your own bedchambers right after dinner before he could come back. A week away from home must have meant Lord Stark had much to catch up on, because it was nearly midnight by the time you heard Robb’s heavy gait pass your door. You raised your brows, keeping your attention on your book in your lap when the door to his bedchambers opened, then closed after a couple of complete silence. His footsteps approached your door before he opened it and peeked his head in.

“What are you doing here?”

You flipped the page without pulling your gaze off the book. “Reading.”

“Here?”

“Seems that way.”

“But…” He stepped inside. “But I’m back.”

“Hasn’t escaped me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s my bedchambers,” you replied. “Why are you here?”

“I couldn’t find you in—are you still angry at me?”

“No,” you lied through your teeth. “I simply decided to sleep here tonight.”

Judging by the look on his face, you might as well have announced you meant to annul your marriage: “You’re not sleeping here tonight.”

“I am,” you said, pretending to be engrossed in your book though you barely had any idea what you were reading. “And you can sleep in your own bedchambers and think about Ser Tallhart’s daughter all you want.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “I told you, I only said that for—”

“I care not.” You pointed at the door, your gaze fixed on the page. “Leave me be.”

He lingered there for a moment as if he was trying to find the best approach, then took a step towards the bed.

“My sweet wife—” he started, but stopped dead on his tracks when you lifted your head to glare daggers at him. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat.

“I was trying to encourage Jon.”

“I heard you the first time,” you said and closed to book to give him a snake like smile. “Now that you’re here though, what exactly is so different between southern and northern girls? Since you are an expert, you should have no issues enlightening me?”

“That’s—” He pointed back at the door like Jon was standing outside, stumbling over his words. “I simply said, if Jon didn’t find any southern girls to his liking, northern girls might be uh—different?” The last word came out like an uncertain question. “In terms of his uh, his…affections.”

You raised your brows, still glaring at him.

“I swear it was for Jon only.”

“Wonderful,” you deadpanned. “You may leave now. Have pleasant dreams.”

A ghost of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “I can’t believe you’re jealou—”

“Robb if you finish that sentence, I will make you suffer in a very southern way, and then you’ll know the actual difference between northern and southern girls,” you growled, and he held up his hands, biting back his smile.

“Be angry at me if you wish,” he said, stepping closer to the bed, “but we’re not sleeping in different beds.”

“I’m not coming there, and you’re not welcomed here.”

“Oh you are coming there,” he said and before you could so much as blink, he had thrown you over his shoulder, a surprised shriek spilling from your lips.

“Put me down this instant!” you exclaimed, your voice going high-pitched while he made his way to the door. You pressed your palms on his shoulder to throw him off his balance and wiggle out of his grip, but much to your frustration, it didn’t work. “How dare you? This is actual disrespect, you—”

“You left me no other choice,” he stated, stepping out of your bedchambers into the hallway. “Whose fault is it? Not mine.”

“Put me down!”

He turned, but stopped in an instant, and though you hoped it was because he decided to listen to you, the real reason turned out to be very different. He shifted his weight and let out a curt cough like he was trying to regain his composure.

“Father.”

Oh Gods.

Oh Gods no.

Lord Stark could not see you like this, absolutely not.

“…Robb.”

Alright then, Lord Stark was indeed seeing you like this.

You shut your eyes tight, half hoping it would make both of you disappear from Lord Stark’s vision, scrunching up your face.

“Good evening, Lord Stark,” you squealed out, the angle Robb was holding you in preventing you from seeing your father-in-law, perhaps by mercy.

“My wife and I were just…” Robb started, but even you could tell he had no idea where the sentence would go. “We were uh, going to sleep.”

Well, Robb was a terrible liar, so at least you could find some solace in that for the future of your marriage, especially now that you were going to have to spend the rest of the said marriage not being able to look at his father in the eye. A silence fell upon the hallway before Lord Stark heaved a sigh as if he had the realm’s weight on his shoulders, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could picture the exasperation on his face.

“I saw nothing,” he ended up saying. “I saw nothing, and I am walking away before I see anything.”

“Good idea, father,” Robb stated, nodding solemnly. “Very wise.”

You heard Lord Stark go past him and you watched him walk to the other end of the hallway without sparing a glance back. A whine climbed your throat and you slumped over his shoulder, hiding your face in your hands until Robb entered his—your—bedchambers and dropped you on the bed. You grabbed the nearest pillow to throw at him, your cheeks burning.

“I won’t be able to look at your father anymore, Robb!”

“He doesn’t mind.”

“He—that—” you stammered, gesturing at the door. “He saw!”

“Aye, and he doesn’t mind,” Robb said, catching the other pillow in the air. “To repeat, you gave me no other choice!”

You gritted your teeth and turned to Grey Wind who was watching you both from beside the fireplace.

“Grey Wind, up,” you commanded and he leaped on the bed, making Robb frown.

“What are you doing?”

“He will sleep between us.”

“No he won’t.”

“Yes he will,” you said and pulled the fur covers on top of you, the direwolf curling up next to you. “You can sleep on your side, or you can sleep somewhere else dreaming of Ser Tallhart’s pleasant daughter, your choice.”

“That’s a vile accusation and a terrible insult—Grey Wind, down.”

“Grey Wind, stay,” you shot back and Grey Wind let out a huff, looked between you and Robb, then yawned and nudged your arm with his snout. “See? He’s staying.”

Robb threw his head back with a groan while you pulled your pillow to yourself.

“Lamb…”

“I’m too sleepy to argue.”

“Then just listen?”

“I shall not,” you said, closing your eyes. “Goodnight.”

“But…”

“Goodnight, I said.”

 Robb exhaled through his nose impatiently and moved about in the room, his heavy steps enough of a clue to what he was doing. Despite trying to control yourself, you still ended up opening an eye to watch him take off his shirt, but you shut your eyes again before he could see you gawking at him. He got under the furs, and after a couple of seconds you dared steal a peek again to find him half naked, his arm thrown over his eyes to block the candlelight, oblivious to the way your gaze followed down his chiseled body while you bit at your lip.

Oh well.

A quiet laugh came from beside you. “I was,” Leon said, shifting slightly so his shoulder pressed more firmly against yours. “Then you stole the blanket.”

“I did not steal it,” you protested softly, tugging it higher around your chin. “You surrendered it.”

“Ah, yes. Willingly froze myself for your comfort.”

You smiled, finally glancing over. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times, and there was that look in his eyes the one that made everything else feel less important.

Without thinking, you leaned into him more, resting your head against his shoulder. He didn’t say anything this time, just adjusted the blanket so it covered both of you, giving you a warm kiss on the top of your head.

The movie continued to play, voices filling the room, but it became background noise something distant compared to the quiet rhythm of breathing, the warmth of being close.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice softer now.

“Hmm?”

“If we stay like this all day… you won’t complain, right?” It was rare Leon would have a day off especially as he loved to be consumed in work. However, over the years you’ve helped him in making him relax and to recharge before work would give him another mission. He knew how stressed you would get when he would be overworked and forced to go to these long missions where he would come back exhausted. Now you became strict on him relaxing and spending days doing nothing. He complained at first but now knowing he would get to spend whole days with just you made him happy.

You tilted your head slightly to look at him. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Snacks,” you said, completely serious.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. My love is conditional.”

“Very,” you replied, but your fingers found his hand under the blanket anyway, intertwining without hesitation. His thumb rubbed small circles on your hand.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, time slowed down stretching between shared warmth, quiet jokes, and the kind of comfort that didn’t need words.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, turning just enough to look at you properly. There was something different in his expression now quieter, more certain.

“Hey,” he said again.

You hummed, glancing up at him.

He hesitated for a second, like he was choosing his words carefully, then smiled softly, a little shy.

“You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, right?”

The words settled gently between you, warmer than the blanket, softer than the rain.

You blinked, caught off guard, your heart doing that small, impossible thing it always did around him.

You didn’t answer right away. Your hands automatically reached out to grab his cheeks, softly creasing them as he closed his eyes, savouring your touch. You leaned in, pressing a quiet, lingering kiss against his lips, feeling him smile. When you opened your eyes, you saw his soft blue eyes admiring you, full of love. After a moment you settled back against him, a little closer than before. He cuddled into you, running his hands through your hair while you traced your finger tips against his chest.

“ I will love you forever.” You whispered into him, kissing his stubbled jawline, earning a grin from him.

And just like that, the world outside faded completely.

• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •

By evening, his exhaustion was showing badly. He was noticeably worn out, dropping things from his hands, struggling to focus. When he sat with his laptop on his lap and you watched him take three times longer than usual to read a single email, squinting at the screen, you shut it with one firm motion and ordered him to bed.

It always started the same way – lying beside him, running your fingers through his hair while he tossed and turned endlessly, unable to find a comfortable position. At times like these, none of them felt right. All that mattered was that you were there.

Once his eyelids began to droop, you gently pulled him against you, guiding his head onto your chest just the way he liked it.

Listening to your heartbeat and feeling your arms wrapped tightly around him was always the fastest way to lull him to sleep. Soon enough, his quiet, steady breathing filled the room. Stroking his scalp gently, you drifted off not long after.

You were woken by a sharp shove, your eyes flying open in alarm.

Leon was lying slightly below you now, on his back – he’d accidentally hit you in his sleep, his arm now resting across your stomach. One glance was enough to tell you he was trapped in another nightmare.

His breathing was quick, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, muttering under his breath as his head tossed side to side. You sat up and placed a hand against his cheek, which only made him flinch and roll onto his side, turning his back to you.

You scooted closer, stroking him slowly from elbow to shoulder. When you noticed him calming slightly, you decided not to wake him, afraid he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again afterward.

You watched him for a while, catching half-formed words slipping from his lips every so often – “shit,” “don’t.” You wanted so badly to pull him free from that endless loop of memories. It hurt knowing he was reliving it all again, even when he was no longer physically trapped in that hell.

Eventually, exhaustion won over, and you drifted off again lightly, one arm around his waist, your hand clasped tightly with his.

The next time you woke was to exactly what you’d feared most.

The darkness and silence of your bedroom were shattered by a shout –

“Let fucking go!”

Your eyes snapped open as Leon shot upright in bed, breathing heavily, head hanging low, his hair completely hiding his face. Instinctively, you reached out to brush it aside.

“Leon, it’s okay, it’s me – ” you started, but the second your fingers brushed his chin, he jolted violently and recoiled, bracing himself on his hands.

He lifted his head, but he wasn’t looking at you – his gaze was vacant, panicked.

You reached for him again, trying to grab his hand, but before you could, Leon scrambled to the edge of the bed in a split second, arm reaching toward the nightstand.

“Where’s my fucking gun,” he muttered frantically.

“Leon,” you repeated, knowing your words didn’t matter right now – he just needed to hear your voice until he found his way back to you.

He tried to stand, but the hand he braced against the nightstand slipped, knocking the lamp down with it. Leon stumbled forward and crashed onto the floor.

“Fuck – are you okay?” You jumped out of bed and rushed to him, kneeling beside and grabbing his shoulder firmly.

For a moment, he stayed there, palms against the floor, before sitting up and leaning against the bed frame.

His eyes were glassy, lips parted, hair plastered messily to forehead. But this time, he was looking directly at you. His mouth moved, though no words came out.

You placed one hand on his chest – heart was pounding violently beneath your palm – and the other against his cheek, stroking gently.

“I’m here, Leon. We’re home. You’re safe.”

He exhaled shakily, lifting his hand to place it over yours, as if reassuring himself you were real. That he was real, too.

You gave him a moment to breathe before sliding your hand to the back of his head and pulling him gently against your chest, letting him bury himself into you.

He gave in without hesitation, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other stayed planted on the floor to keep from putting all his weight on you.

You rubbed slow circles into his back – not lightly. You wanted him to feel your touch, grounding and undeniable.

It didn’t escape your notice that his shirt was nearly soaked through. His body trembled every so often, still shaking off the remnants of the nightmare.

Eventually, he pulled away, hand running through his hair.

“Sorry...” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You simply squeezed his hand.

“We’ve talked about this. Don’t apologize for something you can’t control.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek deliberately.

He responded with a faint nod before standing, placing the fallen lamp back upright and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I... uh, gonna take a shower real quick,” he muttered, heading for the door.

“Want help?”

“No, ’m fine. Get back to sleep, hun,” he replied far too quickly before disappearing from sight.

You knew that even if he wouldn’t admit it, he was upset with himself for waking you in the middle of the night. Typical Leon. Instead of worrying about the fact he couldn’t sleep, he only cared that you had been disturbed.

You had no intention of listening to him and simply going back to bed – but you decided to give him a moment to breathe.

You opened the window to air out the room, fixed the blankets, grabbed a glass of water and set it by the bed, picked out a fresh shirt for him, then headed to the bathroom.

You found Leon sitting in the shower stall, his back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest, sitting motionless beneath the water.

“Hey,” you announced softly, not wanting to startle him.

Water streamed down his skin, hair soaked completely, and you couldn’t help but think he looked like a drenched puppy.

“It’s cold over there without you. Don’t make me wait too long,” you said with a shy smile, crouching beside him so you were eye level.

He turned toward you, thoughtful.

“Just a minute. Almost done.”

“You don’t look very busy, Leon...” you laughed, flicking his nose gently.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head.

“Right.”

“Up. Let the expert handle this,” you said casually, standing and waiting for him to follow.

You angled the showerhead aside so the water only hit him and not you, then grabbed a sponge and your favorite body wash.

“And lavender?” he asked, sounding mildly betrayed.

“You had plenty of time to pick something else. Your loss,” you replied, dabbing foam against his chin.

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

He stood still, watching your every movement as you carefully washed over his stomach and lower abdomen.

“Turn around, mister,” you ordered, and he obediently did as told while you began washing his back.

He was still tense – you could feel it in the way he held himself – so you took your time, making sure every touch was slow and deliberate.

You knew your touch meant everything to him. Though he’d never say it aloud, he’d probably only been waiting for you to come after him.

Only with you could he fully let his guard down. Only you were allowed to see this vulnerable side of him.

“There. Clean, pretty, and smelling nice. Out you go,” you declared, waiting with a towel.

Leon stepped out and took it from you, drying himself off.

The second he had his shirt and pajama pants on, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into him, hugging you tightly.

“Thanks. Needed that,” he admitted.

“I know,” you said smugly, puckering your lips expectantly for your reward.

Which didn’t come.

Instead, Leon kissed your forehead. Then your right cheek. Then your left – painfully slowly. Then your nose.

Only then did he glance down at your lips, now twisted into an exaggerated pout.

“So eager,” he chuckled quietly before finally pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. His hands wandered across your back.

“Come to bed,” you whispered, your lips still close enough to feel his breath.

He simply nodded, pressing one last peck to the corner of your mouth before leading you back toward the bedroom, his hand in yours.

You climbed into bed and lay back, waiting for him.

Leon sat on the edge first, sneaking a glance your way before drinking the water you’d left for him.

Then he finally climbed over you, settling his body between your spread legs, his head once again resting on your chest.

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently brushing it aside – it was still damp. If he left it like that, he’d wake up looking like he’d been struck by lightning. That sight never stopped amusing you.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment. “Am I crushing you?”

There was uncertainty in his voice. Remnants of guilt.

“With you here? Never better,” you chuckled, tracing your finger slowly along his jaw.

“I hate when you see me like this,” he murmured, tilting his head up to meet your eyes.

Even in the dim light, you could tell he was searching your face for reassurance – that you weren’t upset with him.

How could you ever be?

“You hate when I see my beloved husband? Because that’s what this comes down to, Leon. I don’t care if you’re angry, sad, or scared. I want to be by your side through all of it. For better or worse. Isn’t that what I promised when I made my vows to you?”.

“I know,” he whispered. He knew he couldn’t argue with that. He knew you were right.

Leon lifted your hand from his cheek and pressed a long, gentle kiss to your wedding ring.

“Luckiest man on earth...” he mumbled.

“Well, aside from stealing your shirts, I really don’t have many flaws,” you teased, returning the gesture by kissing his ring the same way.

You lay there quietly for a while, basking in each other’s warmth before Leon asked shyly –

“Will you scratch my back?”

“Sure.”

Keeping one hand at the back of his neck, you slipped the other beneath his shirt and began scratching gently, moving slowly up and down his back.

He answered with a pleased hum.

Twice, you tried to stop, thinking he’d fallen asleep – but each time he let out a sleepy, protesting groan, so you obediently continued, fighting off your own exhaustion.

Eventually, sleep claimed you both.

You slept peacefully, tangled together, until the first rays of morning began slipping through the bedroom curtains.