#robb

“It’s what you mean,” you fire back, your chest tightening, heat rising behind your eyes. “You’ve been very clear about not wanting kids.”

Silence.

Because you’re not wrong.

“I don’t,” he says finally, quieter now but just as firm. “I never have.”

It feels like something cracks open in your chest.

“Right,” you nod slowly, swallowing hard. “Of course you haven’t.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“No,” you shake your head, letting out a short, breathless laugh that sounds nothing like you. “You’re being cruel.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“But you are,” you say, your voice breaking despite how hard you’re trying to keep it steady. “Because this isn’t some abstract conversation anymore, Robby. This is real. This is happening.”

He exhales sharply, frustrated, like he’s already overwhelmed by something he hasn’t even faced yet. “I know that.”

“Do you?” you step closer, your hands shaking slightly now. “Because right now it feels like you’re trying to distance yourself from something that involves both of us.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says suddenly.

Your anger flickers, replaced with something quieter. “What?”

“I don’t know how to be… that,” he gestures vaguely, like he can’t even bring himself to say the word. “A dad.”

The fight drains out of you just a little.

“Then learn,” you say, softer now. “We figure it out.”

He shakes his head, something tight and almost panicked behind his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Silence stretches.

“Because my mom didn’t.”

He doesn’t look at you at first, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed somewhere just past you like he’s back there instead of here.

“She left when I was a kid,” he continues, voice lower now, rougher. “No explanation. No… build up. Just gone. One day she was there and the next she wasn’t.”

Your chest aches.

“Babe…”

“I remember waiting,” he says, finally looking at you. “Thinking she’d come back. Thinking I’d done something wrong. That I wasn’t enough for her to stay.”

His voice cracks slightly, but he pushes through it.

“And I swore I would never do that to someone else. I would never be the reason a kid sits there wondering why they weren’t enough.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say gently.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you insist softly. “Because you’re already scared of it. Because you care enough to even think like that. Bad parents don’t worry about being bad parents.”

He lets out a quiet breath, something in him wavering.

“You’re asking me to take a risk I’ve spent my whole life avoiding.”

“I’m asking you to trust that you’re not her,” you say. “You’re not going to wake up one day and just walk away.”

Silence settles between you.

“I’m not asking you to do this alone,” you add, your voice softer now, steadier. “I’m here too. You won’t be the only one carrying this.”

His shoulders drop slightly, like something in him is finally giving.

“…okay.”

You blink. “What?”

“Okay,” he repeats. “We figure it out.”

Your breath catches.

“Together?”

He nods. “Together.”

There are still moments. Doubts. Nights where he lies awake staring at the ceiling, his mind running through every possible way he could mess this up.

But he doesn’t run.

He goes to every appointment.

At first he’s quiet, standing slightly back, watching, absorbing, like he’s trying to learn everything at once. As if he’s not a doctor who knows this.

Then he starts asking questions.

Too many questions.

“What’s normal heart rate at this stage?”

“How big should it be by now?”

“Is that measurement okay?”

You laugh softly one time, squeezing his hand. “You’re worse than our patients.”

“I need to know,” he mutters, not even embarrassed. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

The first time he hears the heartbeat, he goes completely still.

The steady, rapid sound fills the space.

“That’s our baby,” you whisper.

He swallows hard, his hand tightening around yours.

“…yeah.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding himself.

He doesn’t let go for the rest of the appointment.

He starts talking about the baby like it’s already here.

“You think he’ll like hockey?” he asks one night, his hand resting carefully on your stomach.

You smile. “He?”

He shrugs. “Feels like a boy.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says, quieter now, almost like he hopes he’s right.

You laugh, leaning into him.

He becomes protective.

Hovering in a way that would’ve annoyed you months ago but now just feels safe.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes.”

“Enough?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m pregnant, not incapable.”

“I know,” he mutters, grabbing a snack anyway and handing it to you. “Just eat it.”

By the time you’re close to your due date, he’s different.

Like he’s finally allowed himself to believe this is happening. That he wants it. That he can be good at this.

The birth is long.

Hours blur together. Pain comes in waves that steal your breath and leave you clinging to him.

“I can’t do this,” you cry at one point, tears streaming down your face.

“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice firm but soft, his hand gripping yours. “You’re doing it right now.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He doesn’t leave your side.

And then

A cry.

Your son.

Robby freezes when they place him in his arms.

“He’s-” his voice catches. “He’s so small.”

You smile weakly, exhausted, emotional.

“He’s ours.”

He looks at you then, his eyes soft, full in a way you’ve never seen before.

“…yeah.”

But then something happens.

“Robby.” You whimper.

His head snaps up instantly.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel-” you start, your face going pale. “Something’s wrong.”

Panic hits him instantly.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on your hand. “I need help in here, now!”

Everything moves too fast after that.

Voices overlap. Hands move you. Monitors start beeping in ways that don’t sound right.

“Robby.”

Your voice is fading.

“I’ve got you,” he says, even as they start pulling him back. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.”

But then you’re not.

They’re moving you out.

“She’s got a clot, we need to get her to surgery now.”

“She’ll be okay,” someone says, but it sounds distant.

He’s left standing there.

Your son still in his arms.

The doors closing behind you.

He sinks into the nearest chair, his grip tightening instinctively around the baby, his whole body shaking.

“No, no, no…” he mutters, voice cracking. “You don’t get to do this, not now. Not after everything—”

The baby lets out a small cry.

Robby immediately shifts, instinct taking over, pulling him closer, cradling him against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, pressing his cheek to the top of his son’s head. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

But his voice is breaking.

Tears are falling freely now.

Dana approaches slowly, her voice soft.

“She’s in good hands.”

Robby shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the doors.

“She wanted this,” he chokes out. “She wanted him so badly. She-“ He swallows hard, his chest heaving.

“My mom didn’t,” he says, the words spilling out, raw and unfiltered. “She walked away. She didn’t want to be a mother, she didn’t want me, and she just-left.”

His grip tightens around his son.

“But she does,” he nods toward the doors, tears falling harder now. “She wants him. She loves him and she hasn’t even held him yet and now-”

His voice cracks completely.

“What if she never gets to?”

The room goes quiet and no one knows what to say.

Time stretches painfully.

Every second feels like an hour.

“Robby.”

He looks up.

“She’s out of surgery.”

His breath catches.

“She’s okay.”

His shoulders drop, his head falling forward slightly as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Can I see her?” he asks immediately.

“Give them a minute.”

He nods, clutching his son closer.

When they finally let him in, the room is quiet.

You’re pale and clearly exhausted, but alive.

Your eyes open slowly when he steps in.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice careful now.

“…hey back” you whisper.

He moves closer, gently placing your son in your arms. Not wanting to wait another second.

Your breath catches instantly.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, tears slipping down your temples. “He’s perfect.”

Robby sits beside you, his hand finding yours.

“You scared me,” he admits quietly.

“I’m here.”

He nods, squeezing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Don’t leave us.”

You look down at your son, a soft smile on your lips.

But that was more than expected, considering the state they were in. The room was hot –too hot for his taste, but his lady liked it that way— and she was completely naked except for one of the furs she had pulled up to her chest while she sat in front of him in the bed, hugging her knees. Robb couldn’t help but lean forward to press his lips to her bare shoulder, biting back a smirk.

“You can’t even see what I’m doing.”

“I can feel it.” Her hand shot back to feel the braid he had been battling with. “And it’s supposed to be tighter.”

“I tried to make it tighter, and you said it hurt.”

“Because that was too tight,” she whined. “And my skin is sensitive, you know that.”

“Did we not put that behind us when—” He let out a laugh as she reached back to push at his arm. “It was a mere question.”

She made a noise of disagreement, then took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

“Speaking of questions,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Robb hummed, still trying to decide which section of hair went above which.

“Is Jon by any chance sad that Malory left?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Because it came to my attention he was rather happy at our wedding, and he was actually talking to people.”

“It came to your attention even though you were drunk beyond words?” he taunted her, dodging her hand when she reached back to push at his shoulder. “I don’t think he is interested in Lady Malory, my love.”

“Is he interested in anyone else?”

“I doubt it.”

“But how do you not know for sure?” she insisted. “He’s your brother.”

“Do you know everything about Silas’ affairs?”

“Yes.”

“Is it not difficult to keep track when there are so many people?”

She shrugged her shoulders while he put a section of hair on top of other, then undid it and put it under the other.

“I have so many friends who were rather interested in him,” she told him. “At our wedding. And I was wondering, if his heart doesn’t belong to anyone already…”

“Sansa used to make me do this with three sections, not two.”

“This one is more difficult—so he has never fallen in love?” she asked. “Nobody has captured his attention all this time?”

“Not really,” he muttered, his whole attention on the braid while he pulled the two pieces apart. “But things are more complicated for him, you know that. Him being in love with a lady would bring many things to consider if there was any courtship.”

She scoffed. “The North is so different than what I’m used to.”

“I’m certain it’s the same in the south as well.”

“Not in the Reach, and definitely not in Dorne,” she said. “Besides, you’re telling me Jon simply decided not to fall in love because of the circumstances of his birth?”

He tried to untangle the knot of his own doing as subtly as possible. “Mm hm.”

“I used to think differently, but I don’t believe matters of heart can be controlled.”

“Not in the south perhaps,” he taunted her with a grin, causing her to look at him over her shoulder with a frown. “It’s not tangled, I just put the wrong piece on—”

“So you would not love me if we met and weren’t betrothed?”  

 A huff of laughter left him, but his heart dropped to his stomach when he saw his lady’s frown deepening as she pulled back to see him better, no sign of playfulness on her expression.

“Wh—no!” he said in a rush. “Why would you think that?”

“That’s what you’re insinuating.”

“I don’t insinuate things, we’ve been over this.”

“Fine, then you’re directly telling me that you would not—Robb!” The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a surprised screech when he grabbed her by the waist to pull her under him, a wide grin pulling at his lips. She bit back her smile and scrunched up her nose, trying her hardest to glare at him as he brushed her hair off her face.

“If we were not betrothed—”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Robb finished her sentence for her. “My heart belongs to you, you know that.”

“But if, let’s say, your family had betrothed you to someone else, and then we met?” she insisted. “Would you have gone through with that arrangement?”

He couldn’t.

He knew he couldn’t.

Despite his upbringing, despite the honor and duty, despite the expectations placed upon him before he was even born, he couldn’t spend his life with anyone else but her. His life was already divided into before and after her, and the idea of spending his life with anyone else when she was the rightful ruler of his heart was nothing short of a nightmare, so he shook his head, looking down at her.

“Never.”

“Never?” She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to see whether he was lying. “And what of duty?”

He swallowed thickly, then shook his head again.

“It leaves the room when you enter.”

That seemed to coax a smile out of her, every sign of her anger from earlier washing off her beautiful face like waves of the sea on a shore. He dipped his head to brush his lips against hers, the sweet taste of her more enticing than air itself as her fingers curled in his hair, desire dripping down his spine and stirring back to life—

A frustrated growl left him when someone knocked on the door, pulling them both out of the haze.

“Leave!” he called out as she squeezed at his arm.

“Be nice!” she whispered, but then turned her head when the familiar voice of her maid carried into the room from behind the closed door.

“My lady, I apologize for the interruption but your presence is required.” Her maid paused for a moment. “It’s your father. He has fallen ill.”

Lord Greensted’s voice assuring everyone he was alright could be heard from the hallway even before they reached his door, which Robb figured was a good sign, but his lady was in too much of a hurry to even notice that. She rushed through the door and made her way to her father without sparing a glance at the rest of the crowd, crouching down by his chair to grasp his hand, her skirts fanning around her.

“Father?”

“I’m alright, my flower.” He pinched her cheek in an assuring manner while Robb nodded at his parents in the room, clasping his hands behind him. “I told them not to alarm you.”

“While you’re ill?”

“I’m not ill,” he told her and turned to Robb with an amused chuckle. “It’s your responsibility to pull her back from distress now, you know.”

“She loves you way too much to listen to a word I say, Lord Greensted.”

“But what’s happened?” she insisted, her eyes darting between Silas and Arys while Cliff squeezed Perceon’s shoulder like he wanted to remind him he was still there. Braxton went over to the window as if he wanted to get some air, and Silas cleared his throat.

“He got dizzy after breakfast—”

 “Only for a moment.”

“And this is exactly why I’ve been telling you that you need to try to be healthier,” Arys pointed out and Lord Greensted waved a dismissive hand in the air. “So that you don’t get dizzy.”

“Maester Luwin is preparing something for him,” his mother assured her as Elinor muttered something in Alton’s ear that made him look over his shoulder, but before he could do anything, Silas made his way to join Braxton by the window. Whatever he said to Braxton was too soft and low for anyone else to hear it, and Braxton swallowed thickly, then nodded his head. “He says there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m also saying there’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re not a maester,” she told her father before turning to Arys. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a sign for him to take better care of himself,” Arys said. “All this eating and drinking whatever you want, father…”

“Let me live, will you?”

“I told you it was too early to leave, Garmund,” Robb’s father said. “This is your gods giving you a sign.”

“Can’t they send a more pleasant sign?”

“Surely you’re not planning on leaving before you’re fully recovered,” his lady said and Lord Greensted squeezed her hand.

“There’s nothing to recover from, I’m alright.”

“Not to worry, we’ll keep him here until he’s recovered no matter what he says,” his father gave her an assuring smile. “I’ll put men by his door if needed.”

“Lord Stark?” A footman entered the room with Maester Luwin. “Lord Glower asks for counsel if you’re not busy.”

“Go,” Lord Greensted said. “Please. I’m fine, and do tell Lord Glower I’ll beat him on our next hunt.”

“Father, you’re not going on a hunt!” his lady insisted while his father chuckled.

“He’ll take it as a challenge, just so you know,” he told Lord Greensted. “Robb.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, father.”

His father walked out of the room, and his lady watched Maester Luwin give a cup filled with some sort of draught to Lord Greensted.

“He’ll be alright, will he not?”

“He just needs some rest in his bed, my lady,” Maester Luwin said. “That is all.”

 “We should all leave you to rest, I’m certain the crowd isn’t helping,” his mother added, making Lord Greensted nod fervently.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Come, everyone. Your father needs some peace and quiet while he rests.”

Once Lord Greensted made his way to bed, all the brothers left the room one by one even though Robb could tell they didn’t really want to. His lady stole a look at the door, then took a deep breath and stepped closer to Robb.

“I’ll stay.”

Lord Greensted heaved a sigh. “Blossom…”

“I’ll tell you all about the rumors I’ve heard at the wedding, father,” she said. “Every house of the Reach. You like hearing tales of scandals, it’ll be like the old times!”

 Robb nuzzled into her hair, cradling her cheek in his palm. “Would you like me to stay as well?”

“Your father requires your presence, Robb,” Lord Greensted reminded him. “And you’ve heard my daughter. We’ll gossip about the Reach, apparently.”

 Robb bowed his head with a chuckle.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said, and traced her cheekbone with his thumb. “Send for me if you need me, alright my love?”

She offered him a small smile and squeezed his wrist. “I will, thank you.”

“Get well soon, Lord Greensted,” he told him before he kissed his lady on the forehead, walked out of the room and closed the door behind him to join Silas and Arys. Cliff led Braxton and Perceon out of the hall while Elinor and Alton stood by the corner, talking in whispers. Any observer could tell Alton was shaken, but the tension on his shoulders seemed to dissipate a little when Elinor lifted their joined hands to press her lips on his knuckles, a tiny smile flickering over Alton’s face. Robb averted his gaze immediately and cleared his throat.

“Maester Luwin is really good at what he does,” he told Silas. “If he says it’s not dangerous, I doubt it is.”

“No I know.” Silas bit inside his cheek. “I know.”

“He’s not used to northern food,” Arys told Silas. “And you’ve been here for a month. And he goes on hunts yes, but that’s the only exercise he does. With all that eating and drinking as if he’s still a young man, it’ll catch up to him eventually.”

“He’s not travelling until he feels better, I don’t care what he says.”

“Of course not.”

“My mother can tell the cooks to make whatever dish he eats back in the Reach,” Robb said while Alton made his way to them. “Would it help?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Arys said. “That’s actually a good idea, I’ll ask Lady Stark. Thanks Robb.”

“Don’t mention it. I told you before, my lady’s family is my family.”

“Hey.” Alton greeted them. “Silas, do you know if there are any letters from the Reach that needs father’s attention? He mentioned an issue in one of the smaller fields, which one was it?”  

Silas gawked at him for a couple of seconds in complete silence, then scoffed a laugh and shook his head.

“I’m gonna walk away before I punch you,” he muttered and stormed out of the hallway without sparing him another glance. Arys raised his brows while Alton let out a breath, then threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

“What did I say now?” he asked Arys. “It’s my responsibility to step up while father is ill. What does Silas expect me to do?”

“Showing any sign of concern would be a good start.”

“Of course I’m concerned!” Alton defended himself. “Have you forgotten he’s my father as well?”

Arys shrugged his shoulders. “Have you?”

It seemed like Alton wanted to retort, but then he changed his mind and stomped away from them both, turning the corner that led to the stairs. Arys clicked his tongue, then gave Robb a grin.

“Welcome to the family.”

“Listen, I get it,” Robb said. “I really do, but he does have a point. That’s what he’s supposed to do right now as the heir, my father would expect the same of me if he were ill.”

Arys heaved a sigh, then leaned back to the wall and stole a look at the end of the hallway Silas had stormed off to.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I can’t help but agree with Perce sometimes. In our family, the gods chose the wrong son to be the firstborn.”

Thankfully his father’s meeting with Lord Glover hadn’t taken that long. Maester Luwin had said Lord Greensted was feeling much better after the draught he had given him, so Robb decided he would sit with Theon and Jon in the yard until his father sent for him again. He was pretty distracted from the conversation while he tried to figure out when he could see his lady, yet Theon’s comment about one of the girls he had danced with back at the wedding snapped his attention back to them, his head whipping up.

“Jon,” he cut Theon’s nonsense off while Grey Wind and Ghost playfully chased each other in the yard. “Has uh…has anyone caught your eye at the wedding?”

Jon blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Theon danced with people, so have you.”

“Barely.”

“But the whole Reach was here,” Robb said while Theon leaned back with a grin on his face. “And you know, since I’m wed now…”

“What, that means I’m supposed to wed as well?”

“Aye.” Robb nodded while Jon’s eyes widened. “Your time is coming.”

“My time is not coming!”

“I don’t understand why everyone is so terrified of marriage,” Robb mused while Theon gave him an incredulous look. “It’s the most perfect thing anyone ever came up with.”

“Just over a moon ago, you were sitting right here and whining about your betrothal,” Theon reminded him. “You were terrified.”

“I was not terrified!”

“Do you remember his face when you asked what he’d do if she turned out to be ugly?” Jon asked Theon, making him let out a laugh.

“I’ll remember it forever.”

“And look at me now,” Robb said. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m happy beyond words.”

“We got that Robb, you barely let the poor girl out of your bedchambers.”

Robb ignored the remark.

“What about Lady Malory?”

“She’s nice.”

“Who was that other lady you danced with, Snow?”

“Lady Florys,” Jon answered Theon. “She’s nice too.”

“Come on, there’s no way no one was to your liking.” Robb paused, frowning at him. “Jon, is there…is there a lady already? Here in the North?”

Jon averted his gaze to look around the yard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just because you’re in love, doesn’t mean everyone else has to be in love.”

“What my lady and I have is deeper than such simple terms,” Robb said. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“A lot of girls caught my interest at the wedding,” Theon said and Robb grimaced.

“That’s no news, Theon.”

“No seriously, there was this really pretty one, from House Lyberr or something?”

Jon’s eyes caught something in the yard, but by the time Robb turned his head to see what he was looking at, the only familiar person in the yard was Silas who was making his way into the keep. Jon pursed his lips, then feigned a cough and stood up.

“I’ll find you two later.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have this—thing.” Jon motioned vaguely in the direction of the keep. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

He walked away from them without so much as a glance back, and both Robb and Theon tilted their heads at the same time while Jon caught up to Silas.

“We would know if he had a lady, would we not?” Robb asked and Theon hummed.

“For sure.”

“You think he’d tell us?”

“Even if he didn’t, it’d be very obvious,” Theon said. “He’d probably follow her around like a lost pup.” 

Robb shrugged his shoulders and scratched at Grey Wind’s head when the direwolf stepped closer to him.

“I guess you’re right,” he muttered as Silas and Jon entered the keep. “I mean, when has Jon ever been subtle?”

Later in the afternoon he had to drop by Wintertown per his father’s request, and by the time he was back, it was nearly dinner time. He caught the sight of his lady talking to Wylla Manderly after one glance into the Great Hall—he was beginning to think finding her in a crowd was a skill he was developing fast—so he immediately made his way inside, gave Wylla an acknowledging nod and touched the small of his lady’s back. She was quick to excuse herself, a happy smile lighting up her face before she tugged his wrist so that he would follow her to a far corner of the hall, away from the crowd.

“You’re back!”

“I am.” Robb cupped her cheek in his palm and kiss her temple, her sweet scent like a remedy to the torturous hours he had spent away from her presence. “How’s your father?”

“He’s alright, but—” She frowned up at him with a pout. “Arys all but kicked me out of the room!”

Robb had to control the laugh threatening to climb his throat upon her petulant whine. “Did he?”

“Maester Luwin was being so nice, letting me stay there while my father slept, and then Arys came and said father had to rest and I had to leave. And I wasn’t even making any noise while he slept, I was just sitting there reading my book!”

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Is that right?”

“And Cliff took his side.”

Robb shook his head in a solemn manner. “Betrayal.”

“It really is!” she insisted and huffed out. “Anyway, what about you? What did you do whole day? I asked around when I left my father’s chambers, and Sansa said you had gone to Wintertown.”

“My father sent me,” he said. “And hey, guess what I’ve learned before that?”

“Hm?”

“Jon isn’t in love with anyone.”

She tilted her head. “…Oh?”

“I asked him,” he said. “Which wasn’t even needed, to be honest. I would know if a lady caught his interest.”

She raised her brows, then blinked a couple of times and pursed her lips like she was trying not to smile.

“Would you?”

“Certainly.”

“So uh—” She stole a look around the room as if she was trying to find a familiar face before she turned her glances to him. “So no one at the wedding was to his liking?”

“He’s not the type to—no offense to the southerners in the room,” he added with a grin, “but he’s not the type to like a southern lady.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Very well. Not a southern lady then.”

Robb let his gaze slip to her lips, then down to the soft swell of her chest, pushed up by the tight laces of her gown. His hand found hers again so that he could drag his fingertips over her soft palm, his mind far away from the hall and the crowd, the memory of her gasping underneath him—

She dug her nails into his hand as if warning him.

“Robb.”

He gave her a mischievous grin. “I’m not doing anything.”

“I can see you doing something in your mind.”

That coaxed a chuckle out of him while he reached out to play with the small pendant of her necklace. “And what am I doing in my mind?”

“Something very improper.”

“Funny, I remember you singing a very different tune last night—”

She flailed her hands, her eyes widening. “Shh!”

“Or this morning—” He gave a laugh when she pushed at his arm and he caught her hand, pulling her closer to him. “I’m merely reminiscing!”

“My lord.” A servant approached him. “Your father requests your presence.”

Robb managed to not groan in annoyance before he found his eyes fell upon his father who was now talking to one of the few remaining southern guests. He had no idea who the lady was, but he nodded anyway and laced his fingers through his lady’s.

“Your father didn’t request my presence,” she reminded him and he winked at her.

“I could barely see you today, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

When they reached his father, he only gave them a nod of acknowledgement before he turned to the lady.

“Thank you for your kind words, Lady Bulwer.”

“Of course!” Lady Bulwer said. “May the seven give him rest. Jon Arryn may have had his flaws as the Hand of the King, but the gods know any man would crack under such pressure.”

Robb looked from Lady Bulwer to his father, whose annoyance flashed on his face at the mention of Jon Arryn’s flaws. His lady rested her head on his arm, a pleasant warmth spreading in his chest at the simple gesture, distracting him from the conversation.

“The King’s Landing could make a septon question his ways, and I for one believe as long as the Hand does his job, his vices should be judged by no—”

“Lady Bulwer!” His lady gave her a bright smile. “How is Ser Medwick? My brother talks of him being such a worthy opponent in the jousts, yet we haven’t seen him for a year! He’s alright, I hope?”  

Lady Bulwer stared at her for a couple of seconds as if she was taken by surprise, and opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again and cleared her throat.

“He’s alright.”

“Ser Loras was asking the other day how long his vacation would last,” his lady stated. “He’s such a beloved knight among his peers, they’re all looking forward to his return I’m sure.”

Lady Bulwer let out a nervous laugh.

“He is,” she said and feigned a gasp. “Oh! I see that my husband is looking for me, if you’ll excuse me.”

She made her way to the other side of the hall, and both Robb and his father turned to look at his lady at the same time. She raised her brows at the sight of their quizzical expressions, then shrugged her shoulders.

“What?”

“What was that?” Robb asked and her lady rolled her eyes.

“I just don’t believe one should be throwing around the word ‘vices’ when her own firstborn and heir owes money to every single person in the Reach because he loves gambling too much,” she said silkily. “To the point that he had to be sent away to the Free Cities so as not to bring any more dishonor to his house.”

His father looked as if he was battling with a smile and his lady turned her head when Sansa called out her name.

“Oh I almost forgot, Sansa wanted to talk to me about her new gown,” she said and pecked Robb on the cheek. “I’ll be back. Have a nice evening, Lord Stark. Do send for me if anyone else from the Reach bothers you.”

She walked away from them, her steps light and smooth like a dance, the skirt of her pretty gown gliding on the floor. Robb felt a grin curl his lips and his father let out a chuckle, then clasped his hand on Robb’s shoulder.

“Your lady wife wields a dagger behind her words.”  

Robb nodded, still grinning.

“She does,” he said, unable to drag his gaze away from her. “I think she is the best warrior in the realm when it comes to that.”