The gods knew she was trying her best; they had to know she was. She was never the first choice, she had been a duty he had to fulfill. Roslin wished she was more than that. When she was younger she had always dreamt of epic romances that defied all odds; she dreamt of marrying a man that loved her and appreciated her virtues. She dreamt of someone who only had eyes for her. Dreams not always came true. 

But Robb was good to her, nice and warm and perhaps with time they would learn to love one another. Walking by a narrow hallway, furs wrapped around her, the new Queen in the North made her way to her husband’s son chamber. Eddard Stark was a lovely child, as close to his father as he could be and despite the popular belief Roslin enjoyed spending time with him. However, it wasn’t easy to know Robb would have a constant reminder of the woman he truly loved. 

After knocking softly on the door, Roslin opened it slightly and made her way in.  

Her hair brilliant in the sunbeams, which streamed into the chamber through the open window. He imagined his too must look much the same--

These interactions were more tangible than the ground he sat upon, than the chains or the shit. The lion couldn’t die now, not here, not while his lioness lived on elsewhere away from him. He would do anything to return to her, should the slightest opportunity arise. For now he bade his time, letting it trickle by while he clung to sanity the only way he knew how. 

A sound disrupted him, the knight not so deeply embedded in his current mental-scenario that he didn’t sense the change. His eyes opened slowly, the world coming back into focus. It wasn’t as bright out now as it had been when he closed them. It took only a couple seconds before faint recognition crossed his face. His throat was dry; it might hurt to speak. Even so, he pushed words out, “I know your face, but I can’t seem to recall your name--”

His eyes closed again, as if already bored with the company rather than desperately craving any sort of real interaction, “--and please don’t help me remember; I’m not in need of any more useless information.” He was largely left alone with himself and his thoughts, except those keeping guard. 

He had taken ten men--ten Northern men, who were said to carry the force of ten Southerners each. They were loyal and as large as Robb had become in the year since he’d last seen his father--some even larger. The call had been easy enough; any good fighter in the North remembered fighting side by side with Ned, and they came all too willing, his name a battlecry. They stayed off the king’s road, lest anyone realize they were coming, kept their faces hooded, camped in the woods rather than inns, and when they reached King’s Landing, they moved in the night. Robb’s orders had been clear: no one would be killed unless absolutely necessary, and it had not yet proved necessary; the guards had been knocked out, bodies dragged away to broom closets and their clothing exchanged, the Northerner’s mumbling their displeasure to don the golden cloaks and Baratheon armor. 

Robb left his men to watch the door and slipped inside the jail alone. The prisoners rose on every side of him, clanking their chains and grabbing their bars, and while Robb fretted that perhaps some of them were wrongly imprisoned just like his father had been, he could not be sure. They were not why he was here. He moved on. 

This was not the Northern way--sneaking in the night, breaking in through the tunnels. They should have come with their banners raised high, their armies mighty and prepared. It had been Robb’s first instinct to do it, to call the bannermen, to test their loyalty. But wars were lengthy, expensive, deadly, and his mother had convinced him out of it, convinced him that this was better, that no one need die. When his father was back and well and healed, when the girls were safely returned to Winterfell, then they would--as a family--decide their next move. 

Though he’d imagined this moment a thousand times over throughout their journey, though he had hoped and prayed to the old gods and the new that his father would still be alive when he reached him, the sight still made his heart beat double time: Ned, asleep in his cell, leg bandaged, face tired, but breathing--still very much alive. 

“Lord Stark.” 

The voice was thin, commanding, and familiar, and perhaps not expected. The Starks had been informed there was a contingency coming from the king, but likely had figured it would be primarily Robert’s men. They came under the banner of the crown, not flying the Lannister colors. Good. Let him be surprised.

Just like him, Myrcella had gone through her share of sorrows. Although separated from her mother at a young age, the once princess had a strong bond with her. Her father barely paid her attention while growing up, perhaps because she was the spitting image of her mother, a Lannister through and through. In those lonely days, her mother had been there by her side, combing through long golden locks and sometimes even humming tunes. She knew how wicked she could be, but she was her mother. Now she was gone, paid for her sins and so had her brother. It had taken her a while to come to terms with everything, to the reasons why it was only her and Tommen now. It had taken her a while to appreciate the king’s mercy and see that he had too suffered by a war he never started. 

Now Myrcella walked by Robb’s side, perhaps a strange sight to everyone but herself.

It was not a secret for anyone that the king ha been...particularly gentle with a few ladies from doubtful houses, and that more than once, his attentions  turned into bastard children. Fact that of course the queen never found of her liking. But at least so far it never meant a threat. Not whilst he was alive that was. The thing about royalty  though, is that often times, the fights for the crown could be dangerous for people who’s only sin was to be born under the wrong house, and that was exactly her case. But Hefzy was used to it. Always sitting on the back side of the table, with the servants, making sure that nobody saw her, and now, with the new hand of the King, it was not the exception.  Ned Stark. The most honorable man in the seven kingdoms, as  her father used to say. One that had a bastard just like her, but that would sooner lay down his life than watching injustice be done.

As usual, Robert had gone hunting to stay away from the affairs of the kingdom, but unlike the other times,  there was something wrong, that didn’t let her sleep at night, and there was only just one person honorable enough to know her concerns. Being friends with the maiden of the kitchen had it’s benefits, like knowing when Lord Stark was going to take breakfast with his children before attending the throne issues. And so she patiently waited for him, unseen as always until he was done.

Richard Siken Starters || @honorcalls || Accepting

“You know I can’t stay.” 

They were on the road again, halfway to the Twins to negotiate peace with Lord Frey. If all went well, his uncle Edmure would be married before the new moon, and they would have their army back–almost. They would, at least, have enough to take the Red Keep. 

Through all the turmoil, the sleepless nights, the whispers of mutiny behind his back, Robb had at least had Bryant–had him as he was not meant to, as was not allowed. It seemed each and every time Robb took a step in the right direction, to take charge of this war once more, he also took two steps back. 

OOFFFFF