#got robb

When Alys reached the courtyard, she was greeted by an audience. Lord Eddard Stark stood tall and broad, as if made from the same granite as his keep. When he greeted Lord Edmyn Reed, his voice was low and quiet, quieter than what she expected from a lord.

Beside him stood his lady wife, Catelyn Stark, once a Tully from the Riverlands. She was a most beautiful woman, with hair the colour of polished copper and eyes as blue as a summers sky. She smiled and it felt warm.

The children emerged from behind the shelter of their parents' cloaks. The boy who reached Alys first was like a burst of flame in the grey yard. His hair was an unruly auburn, his face dusted with freckles, and a grin so wife it seemed to split his face in two.

"I'm Robb!" he announced cheerfully. He was all eager motion. "I can show you everything! The lichyard had stones older than Father, and the glass gardens - they have summer fruits even in the snow. And we have a new litter of pups in the kennels." His enthusiasm was a welcome, noisy thing that began to chip away at your frozen fear. Alys managed a shy, wobbly smile in return.

But movement behind Robb caught her eye. Another boy, holding back as if held by an invisible tether. Where Robb was bright energy, this boy was a still shadow. Where Robb was copper, this boy was black. And his eyes were the same storm-grey as his father, but he did not resemble his father fully.

"This my half-brother, Jon Snow," Robb said. He reached back and tugged the boy forward by his sleeve. The name hung cold in the air. 'Snow', the name for a bastard born in the North. Alys deduced quite quickly that Lady Catelyn was not his mother. It explained why he was reserved, why he stood further back than Robb and his other siblings. His own clothing was not a patch on the fine embroidered tunic Robb wore, or the dresses his sisters wore.

Jon Snow's eyes flicked over her swiftly, assessing her, then dropping his gaze to the muddy ground beneath his boots. Alys dipped her head and found her focus was no longer on the towering walls or direwolf banners... But on this boy who carried winter in his name.

The rhythm of her new life was etched in routine. Maester Luwin's chambers became a familiar haunt. Alys sat at the long oak table between Robb and Sansa, learning her histories, her sigils, her courtesies. Robb, always impatient with the quill, would nudge her foot under the table with a grin when Luwin droned about Andal migrations. He shared his honeycakes with her at breakfast, defended her teasingly when Arya declared her "squeamish," and included her in every game of knights-and-raiders in the yard. He was, in every visible way, the perfect friend and future lord. Alys was grateful for his friendship.

But her attention was pulled like a compass needle to Jon Snow.

In the practice yard, while Robb laughed and traded boastful shouts with Theon Greyjoy, their wooden sword a blur of enthusiastic motion, Jon would be a dozen paces away. He was instructed differently, albeit by the same Ser Rodrik Cassel who taught Robb and Theon. It was quieter and often of corrections, while Robb received praise in the dozens. Alys often saw the way he pushed himself longer and harder, even after Ser Rodrik had moved on, as if proving himself.

On rides beyond the walls, Robb was always at the head of the column, his auburn hair a star to follow, his voice ringing out as he challenged Theon to races. Somehow, Alys's pony would find its place beside Jon's shaggy garron. He rode in silence mostly, a quiet, watchful presence. But, without word, he was the first to point out the snowy owl perched in the distance, the spiderweb strung between two bushes like a diamond net. And one bitter afternoon, when the wind cut like a knife, it was Jon who saw her hands trembling.

"You'll get used to the cold," he said, is voice low, almost swallowed by the wind. It was the longest string of words he had ever directed solely to Alys.

She looked up, surprised he had spoken, more surprised he had noticed. Flexing her stiff, aching fingers, she asked "Will I?"

His eyes flicked to her hands and then back to the snow-dusted path ahead. "You have to," he stated, simple and absolute.

It wasn't a comfort. It wasn't the same cheerful response Robb would give. It was a stark truth, a survival tactic.

At the age of ten, the godswood became Alys's sanctuary. Robb found it unsettling, remarking that "The tree is always watching." But she was drawn to the deep quiet. The heart tree's face was always weeping, its red sap tears frozen forever, but it wasn't creepy. It was sad, and peaceful.

She found Jon there once autumn afternoon, sitting with his back against the massive white trunk, so still he seemed a part of the tree itself if he wasn't clad in black. Alys didn't announce herself. She simply sat in the carpet of rust-coloured leaves an arm's length away. The silence stretched, filled with the whisper of the leaves and the chitter of a squirrel.

"Do you pray here?" she questioned, the sound barely disturbing the air around them.

"Sometimes," he replied, his voice soft. "It's the only place that feels like mine."

A chord of understanding vibrated deep within her. A guest, a fostered girl. While she wore the fine clothes and ate at the high table, she didn't belong to anyone here. "Can it be ours?" she asked, the boldness leaping from her heart to her lips before she could cage it.

He turned his head then. His grey eyes finally met hers. He searched her face, and for the first time, she saw something real within them. A faint smile reached his mouth, something so rare. "Sure," he said, "It can be ours."

From that day, the godswood was their shared kingdom. Jon's silence unravelled into words - words of his dream to become a knight so great that men would forget his name was ever 'Snow.' Alys confessed that she often cried for home, for her mother's voice and the slow rivers of home.

At thirteen, the world tilted. The easy, genderless companionship of childhood soured and sweetened simultaneously. Alys noticed the new breadth of Jon's shoulders straining against his jerkin, the sharp line of his jaw where his boyish softness had once been. A casual brush of his hand while passing a practice sword sent a jolt up her arm that had nothing to do with the cold. She caught him looking at her, too - his eyes lingering on the curve of her cheek, the way her dark hair caught the light.

The kiss happened in the godswood. A bickering over saddles when the argument died mid-sentence. She stared at his lips while he stared at hers.

The first touch was a question. It was soft and hesitant, polite. But the kiss deepened, a slow claiming born of years of shared secrets and silent understanding. His calloused hands came up to cradle her face with a trembling gentleness that made Alys's knes buckle. When they parted, she gasped.

"I love you, Jon Snow," she whispered.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you," he whispered back, his voice rough. "I shouldn't, but Gods help me, I do."

It became a secret world layered atop the real one. Stolen, breathless moments stolen behind the heart tree. Fingers brushed as they passed on the staircase, a touch that burned like fire. Whispers in the dim library of what a future could look like for them if they'd take the plunge. A child's fantasy, but Alys clung to it.

And when she was sixteen, her world crumbled.

The summons came just after breakfast, a cold knot forming in her stomach when she saw her father standing with Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Tight smiles and pleasured expressions. Their words were spoken with formal grace of alliances and strengthened bonds. A future for Alys in the North.

To wed Robb Stark.

A tidal wave crashed over her, ice water flooding her bones, freezing the air in her lungs. Alys smiled politely, ever the dutiful daughter and ward.

"Robb is a fine young man," Lord Edmyn said, beaming. "A credit to your house, my lord. What an honour for my daughter to be the Lady of Winterfell some day!"

A sound escaped, a choked gasp that they all interpreted as overwhelmed joy. She was excused while details were agreed upon.

She found him at the top of the old broken tower, the wind whipping his dark curls like a banner. He stared north, towards the unseen Wall. "Jon," she gasped, her tears spilling. "They... they said..."

"I know." His voice was hollow. "Robb told me."

She clutched at the wool of his sleeve, "We could run away tonight. The Free Cities across the narrow sea are waiting for us."

He turned, his eyes not the warm grey but the stormy grey of a tombstone. "It was a dream," he said, his words releasing an anchor that kept her grounded in reality. "Just a dream, Alys."

"We can make it real."

"How?" The world was a crack, cruel and stark. "I have nothing to give you. Nothing to offer. I'm a bastard." Alys swallowed the hard lump in her throat as her lips parted ever so slightly, breathing in as if she could hardly get a breath. "And I can't stay and watch you, with him. So I'm taking the black."

The ground beneath Alys seemed to vanish. The Night's Watch. Eternal exile. No family, no legacy, no future. He was choosing to erase himself from the world rather than watch her play the dutiful role of Robb's wife.

"No..." she whispered.

"Robb will be a good husband to you. You know he will."

He reached out, a rough and familiar thumb ghosting over her cheek to rid the tears that fell. A farewell. He left her alone in the biting wind, a future she had envisioned for herself blowing in the wind like ashes.

For hours, Alys Reed moved through Winterfell like a ghost. The cheerful bustle of the castle preparing for a wedding was a mocking noise. She found herself in the library, a place of solace, but the words on the scroll before her blurred into meaningless black marks. She was simply existing in a state of suspended shock, the echo of Jon's final words repeating like a drum.

She didn't hear him approach. She only sensed a shift in the light as a broad figure filled the space beside her high-backed chair. Robb sat on a wooden bench a respectful distance away.

For a long time, he said nothing. The silence was different from the easy quiet they used to share. This was heavy. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, stripped of its usual confidence, and utterly earnest. "I'm glad it's you," he said.

The simplicity of it cut through Alys's numbness. She turned her head slightly, seeing his profile in the dusty light from the high window. He was staring at his own hands, clasped loosely between his knees.

"It could have been anyone. But a friend..." He let out a soft, humourless breath. "A friend is a good place to start, don't you think?"

The kindness in his words was a needle pricking at the bubble of her grief. She tried to speak, to offer some reciprocal assurance, but her throat had sealed itself shut. She could only nod, her eyes burning.

Then another silence descended. Alys could feel him gathering himself. His next words were spoken with a careful, deliberate neutrality, his gaze fixed on a tapestry of the Long Night on the far wall.

"I know," he said, the two words clear and calm as ice on a still pond, "that you've always loved Jon."

The world stopped. Her breath vanished. An icy chill raced from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide with fear. "Robb, I..." she stammered.

He held up a hand, a sharp gesture but not angry. "You don't have to say anything. It's all right." He finally turned to look back at her, his Tully-blue eyes clear, understanding and pained. "I've seen the way you looked at him, the way your laughter changed when he entered a room."

The exposure was complete. Alys sat there, utterly naked in her secret.

"It will not be spoken of again," he continued. His voice was firm, the friend receding and the future Lord of Winterfell stepping forth. "We have a duty now. One that cannot be overlooked. You must be loyal to me, as I will be loyal to you. In all things."

He paused. He offered a small, crooked smile, a flicker of the boy she'd ridden beside and laughed with showing through. "Beyond that, you are my friend. I trust you, and I will always protect you."

The wave that hit Alys was a turbulent sea. A staggering, knee-weakening relief washed over her first. He did not cast her aside, or mock her, but offered a way forward. Then came the aching sadness. He asked only for loyalty and honour, a partnership that a marriage could be built upon.

"Thank you, Robb," she whispered. And she meant it with every shattered piece of her heart.

The wedding day passed over her like a strange, silent storm. Moving through the rituals, encased in a shell of numbness, Alys was removed of her Reed cloak and was placed by Robb's heavy, fur-lined cloak of winter. Its significance weighed down of her, no longer a riverlands girl but a creature of the North.

Her vows were whispers lost beneath the high stone walls. Her eyes reamined downcast, fixed on the woven pattern of the rug, afraid to see the sea of faces. But once her gaze flickered up, she was drawn to a familiar figure.

There, standing in the shadows of an archway, was Jon. He was already clad in black, the wool a stark contrast to the celebratory colours of the wedding ceremony. He stood alone, his face a mask of perfect stillness. He did not look at Alys, his eyes fixed above the septon performing the rites. The sight was final. The boy from the godswood was already gone.

Later, the raucous cheers and bawdy songs of the wedding party faded, swallowed by the thick oak door of Robb's chamber - now Alys's chamber. The heavy thud of the bolt sliding was the loudest sound in the world.

A generous fire crackled in the hearth, painting dancing shadows on the tapestries of battles and wolves. The room was warm and utterly alien. She stood in the centre of the room, her wedding gown of silver-grey and blue satin feeling much like a ridiculous costume than a beautiful dress.

She heard Robb move, simply leaning against the solid wood of the door, as if needing its support. Alys forced herself to look at him, seeing his auburn curls and his pale face beneath freckles, and his shoulder slumped. He looked young and nervous.

His voice, when it came, was soft and bare. "Tonight... We don't... Don't have to." he said, the words halting.

Alys stared at her husband. Robb was offering an escape hatch, a reprieve. It was a kindness, the one Jon had told her he had. But she remembered the lessons drilled into them by Maester Luwin. A marriage unconsummated was a contract unsigned, an alliance easily broken. Looking at him now, she saw he didn't deserve the reluctant bride he's been given. He needed his wife's commitment.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "We must."

He searched her face for a long moment, and then gave a solemn nod. He understood. When he pushed away from the door and walked towards her, he did it slowly.

His fingers were clumsy on the intricate laces of her gown, but they were gentle and patient. He worked slowly, giving Alys time to breath, to absorb her new reality, to understand what was about to take place. The layers of silk and satin pooled at her feet, leaving her in a simple white shift. He pulled at his own tunic, leaving himself bare over his torso. In the firelight, she saw the strong, lean lines of his body, the scattering of copper hair across his chest. It wasn't what she had been expecting, but she also wasn't sure what she had been expecting.

He began to touch her then. It was nothing like the stolen caresses in the godswood with Jon. His hands mapped the slopes and planes of her body, his kisses were not hungry but questioning and tender. He was learning her.

Somewhere, deep beneath the cold numbness of grief, she felt a kindled spark. His skin was warm against hers, the softness of his lips on the shell of her ear, the whisper of her name. She buckled and turned her head, meeting his lips with a fire he'd never expected. Alys had thought she could get through it by thinking of Jon, imagining that it was Jon she lay beside, but in this moment, she was watching Robb and deliberately traced her fingertips down his naval.

A sudden, sharp current of bravery surged through her. It felt less like courage and more like necessity - a final act to bridge the chasm of her own fear. Before her nerves could rebel, her fingers found the fabric of her shift and tugged. The linen whispered against her skin as it slid down her body.

He hadn't expected that. His breath caught, a soft intake of air. His gaze now travelled over her - the gentle slope of her waist, the softness of her hips, the shy curve of her breasts. He was dazed in a grateful wonder.

Within moments, they had made it over to the bed, with Robb discarding himself of his boots and breeches along the way. There was a sharp pain that made her gasp and stiffen, but he simply held her and stroked her temple with his thumb. When he began moving, he did so with a slow, careful rhythm. And the feeling... changed. The pain receded, replaced by a gathering fullness. A coil that began to tighten low in her belly. A small sound escaped her lips and her hands flew to touch his body.

Her mind no longer thought of godswoods and grey eyes. There was only Robb. The feel of his heartbeat against hers, the rhythm they found together, the sensation she had no name for that he brought out in her... How could she have overlooked him?

The coil finally snapped and Alys shook against him. A moment later, Robb's body shuddered against hers with a choked gasp.

For a long time, there was only the sound of the crackling fire and their breaths. Robb then moved, pulling the furs up over her cooled skin.

Tears welled, spilling hot and silent down her temple and into her hair. They were not bitter tears, but born of confusion, overwhelmed-ness, and of an awe of her husband. They had done their duty, but it had opened a door inside that she thought she'd closed forever when Jon broke her heart.

Alys turned her head to look at him, his blue eyes staring back at her, wholly focused on her. Her fingertips rose to graze the stubble of her chin as he placed his hand on her hip, pulling her body closer to his.

"I didn't know I could misjudge my own heart," she whispered against him.

He smiled, true and bright, and he tucked her head beneath his chin, his arms a steady shelter. She closed her eyes, feeling her husbands slow breaths and hearing the northern wind moaning outside.

“robb!” i shouted, surging forward. my blade found the attacker’s throat before the point of his spear could find robb’s heart. he fell in a heap, crimson staining the snow, and the chaos seemed to slow just long enough for robb to glance at me—wide-eyed, breathless.

when the last of the ambushers fled, leaving only broken branches and broken men behind, robb leaned against a tree, chest heaving. his auburn curls were damp with sweat, and a streak of mud cut across his cheek.

“you…” he panted, half laughing, half gasping, “…you saved my life.”

i shrugged, trying to steady my own breathing. “i wasn’t about to let the king in the north fall to a common spear.”

his blue eyes fixed on me then, bright even in the dying light. he pushed off the tree and stepped closer, his grin crooked and boyish despite the blood still dripping from his sword.

“then i swear this,” he said, voice pitched loud enough that a few of his men turned their heads. “i’ll marry no one but you. from this day until my last, my life is yours.”

laughter rippled through the soldiers—some hooted, others smirked—but robb didn’t look away from me. he was smiling, yes, but there was a glimmer of sincerity under it, the kind that made my stomach twist.

“don’t make promises you can’t keep, stark,” i said, trying to deflect, though my voice betrayed a tremor of nerves.

“who says i can’t keep it?” he shot back, stepping close enough that i could feel the warmth radiating off him in the cold air. his tone was playful, teasing, but his eyes were searching mine with something deeper.

i rolled my eyes, though my lips betrayed me with the hint of a smile. “then i suppose i should start getting used to being called lady stark?”

he chuckled, his grin widening. “you’d wear it better than anyone.”

“My lady!” A guard called, entering the tent before Roose could reply. 

“It’s the king, he has returned, my lady.” The guard announced, panting heavily as he tried to regain his breath. 

At his words, Catelyn shot to her feet, wrapping her fur shawl tightly around her shoulders, as she hurried out of the tent and into the cold clutches of the night. She began to follow the sounds of men cheering and hollering until her eyes finally fell on her son.

She felt relief spread through her weary body as she watched a completely unscathed Robb ride towards her, flanked by his men that had accompanied him on the journey. Catelyn picked up her dress so it didn’t drag on the dirt and hurried to meet her son as he came to a halt and began to dismount.

“Robb!” She called out causing Robb to jerk his head towards her direction and a huge smile to spread across his lips.

“Mother!” Robb greeted, capturing her in a tight embrace which she happily returned. “I was so worried, I thought that-” Catelyn cut herself off, not wanting to even utter the words as she squeezed her son tightly.

A subtle cough as someone cleared their throat made the mother and son pull away and turn around to see Roose Bolton and the other leaders standing expectantly.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Grace and my lady, but we need to know how successful your meeting with the wildlings was so we can inform the generals.” Roose spoke imploringly, encouraging nods from the other leaders as they all turned to their king expectantly.

“Queen *yn* Blackburn has agreed to offer us her horses and men to help us win this war.” 

“She agreed to help?” Catelyn echoed in disbelief. “What were her terms?”

“She claims that the white walkers have returned and are intending to march on Vesiros. Once she has aided us in our war, we will help her win hers.”

“But the white walkers have been dead for-”

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it, mother.” Robb cut her off, his tone clipped with impatience.

“Go inform your generals that the queen and her army will be arriving in two days time. Get them to spread the word, we do not need men accidentally attacking our new allies because they think they’re the enemy.” Robb instructed Roose and the other leaders. 

They briefly exchanged silent glances but nodded and complied without complaint, clearly noticing that their leader was not in the mood to be questioned.

“The girl herself is coming?” Catelyn queried in disbelief causing Robb to turn his attention to her.

“That ‘girl’ is a queen, mother. And yes, I asked her to.” He explained causing his mother’s eyes to widen in disbelief. 

“She has great skill in military battles and a great mind for strategy. We need her for her tactics but we also need her here to inspire her men.”

There was a pause as Catelyn eyed her son for a few moments before she reverted her gaze in defeat. “I pray to the gods that you are right, Robb.”

“We will reach the encampment tomorrow, Your Grace.” 

“Thank you, Mikel. Ensure that my horse is fed and watered and you can retire for the night.” 

“Of course, Your Grace.” One of *yn*’s servants bowed before exiting her tent. Letting out a small yawn, *yn* allowed her shoulders to droop as she let herself to relax. Rubbing her eyes, she took one last sip of her wine before pushing open the flaps of the tent and entering into the cool night air. A small smile formed on her lips when she saw that Luna was sitting outside protectively and once she began to walk, Luna padded dutifully behind her.

The wind nipped at her exposed skin as she made her way through the camp, her men bowing respectfully as she passed them. Finally she came to a stop when she reached one of the small campfires and her eyes fell on the person she was looking for. 

Wordlessly, she weaved through the many soldiers desperately trying to catch some warmth from the flames until she finally took a seat on the log beside them. A few minutes of silence stretched out between the pair before *yn* stole a glance at her companion. 

Cassius Browick had been *yn*’s most trusted friend since the pair had been children. And as the pair had grown up, *yn* became queen and he became her most important advisor and the leading commander of her army. He was currently staring into the bright embers, the fire reflecting in his dark irises and gave his face a sort of eery glow. 

“You think this is a bad idea, don’t you?” 

At the sound of her soft voice, Cassius turned his head, his raven coloured and shoulder length hair falling over a part of his face as he did so.

“You know what I think.” He answered as he pushed his hair behind his ear. 

“Cass.” *yn* let out a small sigh as she eyed her dear friend. “I know you do not like the southerners. Neither do I. But we do not have enough men to defeat the white walkers or enough resources to build shelters and you know it.”

“There’s more to it, is there not?” Cassius asked her. “Leo?” He continued, giving her a pointed look when she did not answer. “Of course a part of me wants revenge against the Lannister’s. But I would not do this purely to avenge my brother, you know me better than that, Cass.” *yn* answered, feeling her chest tighten as she thought of her brother. 

“If Mance Rayder catches word of this-”

“Mance Rayder is a fool.” *yn* spat, her anger rising at the mention of the man she truly despised. “He has tried to invade before and lost more than half his army. He knows very well that if he tries again he will not be leaving with his head attached to his body.” She growled.

“What?” She queried when she noticed the large grin that had appeared on Cassius’ features. “Just glad to see that you’re still you.”

*yn* raised a brow at his words, urging him to extrapolate. “You care about him, this King of the North. He’s making you weak.” He explained which caused her to scoff. 

“I barely know the man, Cassius.”  *yn* dismissed. 

“I know you. I saw how you were around him, if it were any other southerner you would have kicked them out in an instant. You may not want to admit it, but you feel something for this Robb Stark and it is clouding your judgment.” Cassius answered back, anger flashing in his eyes. 

“I made a deal, I am not breaking my word.”

“This is a grave mistake and you need to-”

“I do not need to do anything.” The queen snapped as she rose to her feet causing soldiers around them to fall silent and glance over. “You may be my friend, but I am still your queen, with thousands of people who are willing to do anything I tell them to do. I suggest you remember that the next time you feel the urge to question my authority.” *yn* hissed, shooting him one last glare before turning on her heel and marching towards her tent.

Cassius shoulder’s slumped in defeat and his features softened as he watched his queen disappear from sight. As he turned back to look at the fire, he froze when he saw that his men were still staring at him wide eyed. “What are you all fucking lookin’ at, huh?” He grumbled. Immediately, the men averted their gazes and began to talk amongst themselves. The last thing they wanted to do was to face their commander’s wrath. 

The man let out a weary sigh as he ran a hand through his unwashed hair and took a sip of his ale. Eventually he turned his gaze from the fire, finding that the flickering flames reminded him too much of *yn*’s fiery tenacity. But seven hells who was he kidding? Everything he laid his eyes upon somehow reminded him of her. Even when his eyes were closed his mind conjured up images and thoughts of her. The anger *yn* thought she had seen flash in his eyes was not anger, it was jealousy, because his whole entire world, his everything, was her.

And that was something *yn* would never know because she was a queen and he was, well, he was him. 

“Your Grace, the Vesiros army is approaching.” 

The tent full of Robb’s generals and advisors immediately fell silent at the announcement. Robb swallowed nervously and straightened up, ensuring that his face was free from emotion as he nodded at the guard before making his way out of the tent.

He blinked a few times, adjusting his eyesight as the harsh sunlight hit his skin. He could hear his advisors murmuring behind him, but he paid no attention to it as he continued to walk. Finally, he reached the place where he was to greet the queen, with two banner men proudly displaying the Stark banners on either side  and his advisors and generals behind him.

The entire Northern camp fell into complete silence, almost as if the whole army were holding their breath as they awaited for the wildlings arrival. As it turned out, the Northerners would hear the wildlings before they saw them.

Thud. 

Thud. 

Thud. 

Robb’s men began to exchange glances as a rhythmic noise arose from through the trees. As time stretched on, the thudding grew louder until it was so loud Robb could feel the vibration deep in his bones. It was then that a clanging sound began to mix itself with the thudding and despite Robb knowing that they were here as allies, he could not help but to feel slightly intimidated at the imposing noise.

Roose Bolton glanced at his other advisors who looked equally as nervous as the King did, despite him trying not to hide it. With another glance to ensure no one was paying attention, he slipped away from the group of men and hurriedly made his way towards the sound.

Panting slightly, he finally reached the point where the ground began to slope and gave way to a huge clearing where the thousands that made up the majority of the Northern army were stationed. His eyes widened and his mouth very nearly fell open at what he saw.

Emerging from the forest, was the army of Vesiros. It then became clear to Roose why the sound of the army was so loud. Every single one of the tens of thousands of wildling warriors was on top of a horse. But they were not like the horses the people south of the wall were used to, every horse was intimidatingly large with visible muscles rippling under their taut skin as they marched in sync. As more and more wildlings began to spill out of the trees, alongside extra horses no doubt for some of the Northerners, Roose’s concern grew. 

There was no way the Lannister’s could win, not with the Vesiros army against them.

*yn* jutted her chin out defiantly as she led her army towards the foreign men. She could already here the shouts and voices stemming from Robb’s army but she forced herself to push it out of her mind as they neared them. 

Once they were a few metres from the Stark encampment she came to a halt and the single deafening sound of tens of thousands of horses coming to a standstill echoed in her ears. She turned around on her horse and nodded at Cassius who then rose his hand up to signal that the army was to stop here.

Pressing her heels against the underbelly of her horse, she began to move once again. Two of her trusted knights immediately followed behind her, with two bannerman displaying her sigil behind them. 

As her horse walked forward, the Stark men began to part for her like the red sea. None of them made a sound as they stared agape at the wildling queen in complete awe. A few backed away quite a few steps as the large dire wolf by her side began to growl at the men who were too close. *yn* however, did not give them one glance. Instead she kept her eyes fixed on the path as she tried to push unnerving thoughts of Robb out of her mind. 

The pair had only spent a few hours together when he stayed for the feast, but it was the most enjoyable few hours she’d had since she could last remember. The two had clicked instantly, and before she knew it, *yn* was telling him her whole life story as was he. Robb told her everything; about how he grew up in Winterfell and about his mother, father and five other siblings including Ned Stark’s bastard, Jon Snow. By the end of the night she was wishing he could stay a while longer and after two weeks of travelling she found herself greatly missing his presence.

That could not happen again. She was a queen, a wildling queen to be exact. *yn* could not have distractions if she was to rule and protect her kingdom and despite her denying it to Cassius - Robb Stark was a distraction.

Robb fiddled with his fingers placed behind his back as he waited as stoically as possible. He straightened up when he saw a few of his guards marching towards him, knowing that in a few moments *yn* would be revealed to him.

He sucked in a sharp breath when the queen came into view. She was still just as enchanting as he remembered, except somehow she looked even more regal and assertive. Her hair was out and flowing, finishing in soft curls around her waist with her crown placed elegantly on her head. She wore a light purple two piece dress leaving a small part of her stomach exposed with a light fur shawl draped over her shoulders.

But it wasn’t just *yn* herself that made the queen stand out. *yn* was mounted on a white stallion, it’s coat so pure that it looked like it had been freshly carved out of the snow. Robb had never seen a horse so beautiful in his entire life. He eyed the queen in near disbelief as she halted her horse a few metres from him and dismounted gracefully.

“Your Grace, I present to you Queen *yn* Blackburn, ruler of the Vesiros Kingdom.” One of his men formally introduced her as she walked confidently towards him. 

“Your Grace.” He bowed politely.

“Your Grace.” She echoed, curtsying back as both of them rose to their full height and locked eyes. There was a brief moment of silence as the pair studied each other intently. “I have to admit that I’ve missed you, my lady.” Robb spoke, breaking the stillness between them.

“Have you missed my dazzling wit or the way my body looks in this dress?” She quipped back, raising a brow sarcastically.

“Can a man not miss both?” He smirked which made a small smile twitch up onto her lips.

“Are you going to show me to my tent or are we going to stand around all day while you gawk at me, young wolf?” She retorted as a small blush appeared on her cheeks.

“If you are willing to stand here and let me look at you, I will happily do so, lady *yn*. But it will have to wait until later, my advisors wish to hold a meeting with you and your leading commander.”

At his words *yn* glanced over his shoulder to finally notice the group of men eyeing her, some with disgust, some with lust and others with both. However, she knew that no matter how they looked at her, they would all treat her the same. Like a complete fool. Withholding a sigh, she turned back to the King and forced a small smile onto her lips. 

“I can hardly contain my excitement.”

Part 3