#robb x reader

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

“You’re back!”

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

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

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

“Good evening, my lady wife.”

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

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

She pouted. “Sleep evades me.”

“Nightmares?”

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

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

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

He grinned against the soft skin of her neck.

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

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s an old northern proverb.”

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

“Aye, it is.”

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

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

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

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

That was enough to make Robb snap out of it.

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

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

“But are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Is that normal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bran is still…?”

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

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

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

He huffed out a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

The whole north knew at this point.

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

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

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

“No matter who?”

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

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

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

She nodded and sniffled again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it looks great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robb frowned. “Is it ever unbearable?”

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

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

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

“Any of that, really?”

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

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

Robb blinked up at her.

“…I don’t want to imagine that.”

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

“That’s—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was their trip?”

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

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

“What’s happened?”

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

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

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

“Mm hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Robb, you’re back!”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“I did not!”

“Then did you need me for something?”

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

Robb tilted his head in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know what those words mean?”

“I do!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, you have to think?”

“He can,” Rickon muttered. “I guess.”

“I appreciate the sacrifice, Rickon.”

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

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

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

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

“Aye, don’t push me like that!”

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

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

“You heard her, Rickon.”

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

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

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

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

“Onward!”

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

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

But there was something off.

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Everyone is so quiet there.”

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

“Nah, I missed home too.”

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

“Aye, you did.”

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

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

“Hello.”

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

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

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

“Has something happened while I was away?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He—how do you know this?”

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

Jon swallowed thickly, then feigned a cough.

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

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

“You two know direwolves better than I.”

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

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

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

“Am I interrupting anything?”

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

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

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

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

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

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

“A little,” he admitted. “But stay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“No urge to walk around screaming at people?”

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

“We can take our dinner in our bedchambers.”

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

“And I want to see my wife.”

“I’m right here.”

“Aye, but you’re dressed.”

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

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

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

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

Ah.

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not busy.”

“But the lady—”

“My lady wife will remain here.”

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

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

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

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

Lord Mollen cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’ll wait.”

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

Gods, it had been so long…

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

“Robb, we cannot do that—”

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

“Not that.”

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

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

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

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

“I said we couldn’t do that,” she said, eyes gleaming with mischief as she looked up at him. “I never said we couldn’t do something else.”

Rumors were spreading through the castle that Robb was hovering over Talisa, helping her with the injured. The hovering you believed. The helping part, not so much. He had said he was a man of honor, but with every day that passed you doubted that more and more. Despite the rumors that you were with child, Robb hadn’t visited you in the month he’d returned. You were starting to believe that he’d never visit you. Why would he, if he was with his love?

You sniffled into your wet pillow. You’d been in bed since you woke up, crying. A maid had entered the room, but you quickly sent her out with a lie that you weren’t feeling well. Moments later a bowl of porridge was brought to you and left on your vanity. You stared at the bowl now, stomach twisting. You had made a terrible mistake offering yourself to marriage. The Twins seemed more like home than Winterfell – you’d much prefer bullying than silence. Your chest tightened. 

A soft creak echoed through the barren room as the door opened. Quiet footsteps entered the room, then stopped by the side of the bed. You huffed, keeping your back to them. 

“I told you I’m not feeling well,” you grumbled. “Please leave.”

“I thought you’d be more happy to see your husband.”

Your back stiffened at the sound of Robb’s voice. He was here, alone in your room after months of silence. You pushed yourself onto a hand, turning to face him. The thick blanket fell to your waist to reveal your thin night gown. He barely noticed. 

Robb gave you a sheepish smile. “Are you alright? I heard…the news.”

Your brows knit together, your lips parted in disbelief. “Get out.”

Robb stood there, shock and confusion knitting his brows together. He shook his head as if to clear it. “What..?”

“Get. Out.” you repeated. “You do not get to waltz around with your lover while your wife is waiting for you. You’ve been here for a month, Robb, and now you decide to visit me? Get. Out.”

Shame dawned on Robb’s face. “I didn’t know how to approach you after they told me about the child,” he admitted, shoulders slumped. He looked smaller than before, like the admission had weighed on him.

“There never was a child,” you responded. Tears stung your eyes now. “Seeing you with your lover makes me ill. You lied to me.” With what strength you could muster, you chucked your pillow at his face. “Get out!”

The pillow bounced off of Robb’s face and fell to the floor with a soft thump. He looked at you, his expression softening. Instead of leaving, he did the exact opposite. He climbed onto the bed slowly, extending a hand to cup your face. His thumb swiped away something wet on your cheek. When had you started crying again? 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should’ve come to see you sooner.” His thumb swiped at another tear. “I can assure you, I have no lover. I’ve been helping Talisa with the wounded, but I’ve been in council the rest of the time.”

You sniffled. “I do not believe you.” You pulled his hand away. “I saw the way you looked at each other when you arrived.”

Robb took a deep breath. He unbuckled the cloak he wore and draped it over the vanity’s chair. “What must I do for you to believe me?” He made to reach for you again, but kept his hands to himself. 

You sat up, scooting backwards until your back hit the bed’s headboard. You looked at him, at his freshly cut hair and scruffy beard, at his icy blue eyes that bore holes into yours. You wanted to tell him to kick Talisa out, to ban her from the castle – the town. The sincerity in his features made you think twice. No one could control who they fell in love with, so you shouldn’t blame Robb. 

“Stay with me tonight,” you said quietly. 

Robb gave a lazy smile. “Alright. Would you like to stay here, or in my chambers?”

You blinked. You hadn’t thought he’d agree so quickly – or at all. “You’d be more comfortable in your chambers…” you trailed off. You looked at your barren room. The planeness wasn’t suitable for a King in the North. You only had a bed and vanity. Technically, the room wasn’t suitable for you as Robb’s wife, but you hadn’t really cared. Truthfully, you hadn’t cared about much since arriving in Winterfell. 

Robb nodded, pushing himself off the bed. He extended a hand towards you. Flashbacks of your wedding night flooded your mind, of almost the same scenario. A warm, shaky hand helping you up, icy blue eyes looking into your soul. Your cheeks heated, but you took his hand without hesitation. 

“I’m only in a nightgown, I need to get dressed,” you said, moving towards your still unpacked chest. You didn’t own many dresses, but that didn’t mean you had to walk around in your sleepwear. 

“There’s no need,” Robb responded. You felt heavy fabric drape over your shoulders and fur tickle your neck. 

You didn’t have a chance to look at what Robb had covered you with, though you were sure it was his cloak. Robb’s bent towards you, placing an arm under your knees and scooping you up. You let out a surprised yelp, clawing at Robb’s cloak to cover your modesty. In a few swift movements, Robb was walking out of your room and down the hall. Every turn you encountered shocked staff who bowed then walked away fast. You tried to cover your face with Robb’s cloak, but you were curious what the rest of Winterfell looked like. You hadn’t done much exploring upon your arrival, and after witnessing Robb with Talisa in the courtyard, you’d stayed confined to your bed chamber. 

Robb made a turn, then another one until he approached a large door. The door was similar to your own, but different, more expensive looking. He opened the door with ease, stepping inside and closing the door in a swift movement. He placed you down gently, your feet landing on the cold floor. Robb’s room was larger than yours and far more decorated. A four poster bed lay against a wall in the middle with two end tables on either side. A small sofa sat in front of a large fireplace with a sturdy coffee table in between. A large plush fur rug was placed under the bed and a smaller matching rug was placed under the sofa. There weren’t many decorations adorning the walls or furniture, save for a stack of books next to the coffee table and on one of the nightstands. You stepped towards the nearest stack of books and grabbed the first from the top. The words as you leafed through the pages were familiar, from a fairytale you’d grown up reading. 

“Do you enjoy reading?” you asked, grabbing the next book and leafing through the pages. Another fairytale.

Robb hummed in response. He grabbed the book from his nightstand and held it out for you. “This one is my favorite,” he said with a sheepish smile. 

You took the book and smiled. You knew this story very well. “When I was younger, my brothers would take my things and ruin them. They’d rip my dolls apart and tear pages out of my books. This copy was the only one I was able to save.” You smiled to yourself, running your fingers over the worn edges. “I was never allowed to buy more books, so I could only reread this one until it practically disintegrated.”

Robb smiled, one that reached his eyes and your heart flipped in your stomach. “You are more than welcome to read from my personal collection,” he said. “I promise, no one will tear them to shreds.”

You turned to place the books back where they belonged and giggled. Your hands were shaking…why? You’d been alone with Robb before, had shared a bed with him – once. You were far from being familiar, but by the gods, this was your husband. You chewed on the inside of your lip. Husband. Your stomach flipped again. What in the hells was this feeling and why was it leaving you incapacitated? 

“Do you have any other interests?” you asked, running your fingers along the spines of the books.

“I haven’t had the time for any interests as of late, but my interest is to be with my family,” Robb responded. He moved to the fireplace, tossing some wood inside. He ignited a fire, shoving around some of the wood with a poker.

You felt the heat immediately, but taking off the cloak had you feeling too self conscious. Too exposed. Underneath your nightgown was a thin, white cotton fabric that left very little to the imagination. While you had shared a bed with Robb, your clothes hadn’t been fully removed. Your cheeks burned as images from your wedding night flooded your mind. Robb hadn’t even fully disrobbed. He’d taken everything off save for his undergarment, and when he’d inserted himself in you, he’d only pushed it down to his thighs. He wouldn’t let you disrobe completely, either. Your wedding gown was removed, but your chemise stayed on the whole time and had been hiked up to your thighs for the consummation. Robb hadn’t looked at you, had just pushed himself inside and moved. He had been gentle and loving in his own way, but he was just fulfilling a duty.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt Robb tugging off the cloak from behind you. You had been so lost in your thoughts – in your memory – that you hadn’t noticed Robb comment on your flushed face and attribute it to the heat. He discarded the cloak on the sofa, leaving you feeling exposed. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You watched as Robb undid the buttons on his coat, revealing a thin white shirt underneath. He removed that, too, discarding everything on top of the cloak on the sofa. He turned to you with that lazy smile. 

“I know it’s the middle of the day still, but I’d like us to spend more time together. Afterall, I made a promise that we’d get to know one another.” Robb shoved his clothes to the far end of the sofa and sat on the opposite end. He gave a small wave. “Come here.”

You obliged, albeit, with timidness. You sat next to Robb on the sofa, stiffer than a rod, arms still over your chest. Robb gently wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you back into his chest. You let him guide your placement, shifting your body to mold with his on the sofa. 

“Tell me what it was like to grow up with Walder Frey as your father,” Robb said. His hand idly stroked along the length of your arm. 

You told him stories of your childhood, of what it was like to grow up with your father. Or, rather, without your father. You lived in the same place, but he hated his children and stayed far away from them until they were old enough to tolerate. You exchanged stories of your childhood, both the good and bad. Over the hours of stories, you allowed yourself to relax, to become comfortable in Robb’s arms. Your arms migrated from your chest, with one arm draped lazily over your stomach and the other combing your fingers through Robb’s curls. The moment felt intimate, far more than your wedding night. His laugh did things to your body you didn’t even know were possible. After your stomach flipped for the umpteenth time, you had an inkling of what could be the cause. 

Love.

How you had fallen in love with a man you’d only seen twice, including today, you had no idea. You even hesitated to call it that, but the way his smile made your insides flutter was confirmation. You were in love with Robb Stark. But he was in love with someone else. Someone you could never compare to, someone who had taken all of Robb’s attention since you’d known him. 

You grew quiet with the realization, your fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair. Robb had been tracing swirls on your stomach, the fabric of your nightgown bunching right above your knees. 

“Is everything alright?” Robb asked, breath brushing against the shell of your ear and voice down an octave. The husky tone sent a shiver up your spine. 

You could only nod and shift your position slightly. Robb stilled underneath you, his hand flattening on your stomach.

“Are you sure?” he questioned.

You pushed yourself into a seated position, twisting your back slightly to look him in the face. “Do you think we’d learn to love each other? Like in your fairytales?” you said finally. “Like your parents?”

Robb studied your face, eyes dipping briefly down your chest and to where his hand still lay on your stomach – to the ring on his finger. “I think so,” he admitted. “If you had asked me on our wedding day, I would have said no. But spending time with you today has started to change my mind.”

You nodded, bringing a leg to drape over Robb’s thigh. Now fully facing him, you realized the proximity of your bodies. Your fingers traced over his sternum, nail gliding through the soft, thin curls on his chest. “I’ve enjoyed today,” you said softly. “Thank you.”

Robb’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, sending vibrations through your finger. “Why are you thanking me?”

You shifted onto his lap, your other leg moving to drape over his other thigh so that you were straddling him. You felt a bulge beneath you, resting against your bottom. Robb’s hands rest on either hip and the blues of his eyes became stormy.

“You took time away from your council to spend with your wife – a nobody in the grand scheme of things.”

Robb shook his head. “You’re not a nobody. You’re my wife and the mother to my future children.”

Your stomach did that flip again, your cheeks heating. “All the same, thank you for taking the time to be with me.” You chewed on the inside of your lip and shifted again. Whatever was underneath you was making it a bit uncomfortable to stay in the same position. “And staying with me tonight.”

Robb’s eyes shut tightly and he loosed a breath. “It doesn’t just have to be tonight. We can ask the staff to move your things in here.”

You shifted again, trying to find your way around the lump beneath you. “I wouldn’t want to impose–”

“For the love of the gods, stop moving,” Robb breathed, pressing his fingers into your hips. 

You stilled, brows knitting together. “Are you okay?”

Robb nodded. When his eyes opened, they were darker than you’d ever seen them. “You wiggling on my lap…you’re rubbing against me.”

You tilt your head to the side. You didn’t see anything wrong with that, so why did Robb look like he was in pain? You tried to think on it – clearly he wasn’t going to tell you outright. You noted the tinge of pink on his cheeks and his deep breathing. You pondered over the thought that that maybe he wasn’t in pain, but somehow was the opposite. Despite the tight grip on your hips, you moved them again, this time down against his lap. The soft moan that came from his lips was enough confirmation – he wasn’t in pain at all. And the sound, you’d heard something similar come from him during your wedding night when he was buried in you. You moved again, bracing yourself with your hands against his chest.

“Please,” he whimpered. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your stomach tightened at the whimper, at the way his eyes darkened and looked up at you with hooded lids. You could feel your heartbeat thump in your chest, thump in your lower abdomen. “I think I do,” you breathed, moving your hips again. 

Robb groaned loudly, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “Don’t start something you cannot finish,” he said darkly, hands pushing you down harder against him. 

The lump beneath you twitched and pulsed against your bottom. You scoot back just a fraction, enough so the large bump was against the ache between your legs. You were breathing deeply now, too, excitement coursing through your veins. 

“I can finish,” you said between breaths. Your nails scratched lightly on Robb’s chest as your fingers flexed. 

Robb looked at you with skepticism, watched you look down at him with a gaze drunken and weighed down by lust. He swallowed hard and moved a hand from your waist. Slowly and a bit unsure, he moved his hand beneath your night gown and up your thigh. Your heart beat harder against your chest as his fingers danced along your inner thigh, then up, up until they separated your slick folds. His thumb found purchase on the small bud between your legs and added a slight pressure. The sound that came from your lips shocked you, heat instantly creeping up your neck to your face. Robb gave you a crooked grin, then moved his thumb in tight circles. 

A string of curses slipped through, earning a chuckle from your husband. Yes, your husband, who was touching you so intimately – and looking at you. His gaze felt heavy against your skin, but in the best way possible. The whimpers and moans grew louder and so did the pressure in your abdomen. Your stomach tightened, your legs tightened, and the feeling suddenly became too much to bear. You gripped Robb’s wrist tightly as another moan pushed through you. His free hand moved to your thigh, pushing your legs to open more. 

“Relax, baby,” he breathed, thumb circling faster. “You’re doing such a good job.” 

He shoved your nightgown further up, fully exposing your sopping cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to listen and relax your limbs. Two fingers pushed into you slowly, then curled, You cried out loudly and swore you could see the night sky as the fingers curled and uncurled, thumb circled and circled. Your abdomen tightened, then fluttered as you went over your climax. Your body shook against Robb’s hand, squeezed his fingers still inside you. You wanted more – needed more. 

“Robb,” you whimpered, looking down at him through half lidded eyes. “Give me more–please–”

Robb chuckled in response, removing his fingers out and away from you. A guttural whine scratched your throat. That wasn’t what you asked for, you needed more. You ground your hips against Robb’s bulge, rocking for more friction. The action only prompted another chuckle from Robb, who too slowly pulled your tightgown over your head. His eyes drank you in, roaming over your peaked breasts to your seeping cunt. He raised his hips, shoving his trousers and garments down his thighs in one fluid movement. His cock rocked back on his stomach, the tip glistening. Instinctively, your hand wrapped around his girth, emanating a groan from your husband. You hadn’t seen his cock on your wedding night, had only felt it inside you. It had felt big then, but by the gods it looked so much bigger. Your mouth dried at the size, your mind swarming – how was he going to fit inside you? Your thumb stroked the pink tip, smearing the clear liquid around. Robb shivered in return, jaw going slack. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll fit,” Robb said. “Lift your hips, baby.” 

You obeyed, letting Robb guide you to hover over his thick cock. You swallowed hard as he lowered your hips, and when his tip started to stretch your entrance, breathed in sharply. It hadn’t felt like this on your wedding night. He felt bigger, thicker – more. You breathed through a loud moan, lowering yourself fully until you were sitting on his lap again. Gods, you could feel him in your stomach – and it felt so good. You rocked your hips, the tip of his cock brushing inside you. 

Your fingers dug into Robb’s shoulders as you rocked faster against him. His moans merged with your own, until the room echoed with the sounds of your pleasures. His hands moved to your ass, bringing you up and down on his cock. He made a frustrated sound, and in an instant you found yourself on your back with Robb buried deeply inside you. He moved in and out in fast movements, pulling himself out to the tip, then in until his hilt. Your moans morphed into cries, practically screams as he pushed himself deeper and harder into you. His balls smacked against your cunt with a lewd, wet noise over, and over, and over again until your hearing turned fuzzy. That familiar tightening in your abdomen came back, coiling and coiling with every thrust.

Then, Robb’s thumb found its way back to the sensitive spot between your legs and you saw the heavens. A strangled scream intertwined with a moan escaped from your lips and bounced off the stone walls. Robb pushed into you as your climax rolled through you, until your legs were shaking and finally, he pressed hard against you. Buried to the hilt and filling you deeply, you felt his cock twitch inside you, felt his seed spill inside you. 

Your ears were ringing, your head was fuzzy, and your legs were numb. Your chest rose and fell harshly as you tried to calm your body. Robb was no better above you. His sweat coated forehead rest against yours, his breath fanning over your mouth. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took, but he stayed buried inside you. 

“You did such a good job, baby,” Robb breathed. “You took me so well.”

You smiled, your cheeks warming. You placed your hands on the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Your lips met his in a sloppy, breathy kiss. His lips moved against yours, a hand cupping your cheek. He kissed you with fever, with a sort of desperation you didn’t expect. 

When he pulled away, a smile graced his features. “I’ll be asking the staff to move your things first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. He pushed off of you, sliding his cock out and helping you up. “But first, a bath.”

The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.

Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.

As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.

Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.

Robb Stark.

His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.

You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.

“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.

Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”

Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”

Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”

Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.

“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”

But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.

“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”

Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.

It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.

The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.

Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.

“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.

“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”

Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”

Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”

“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”

Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”

Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”

Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”

Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”

Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”

Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”

Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”

Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”

Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”

Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.

“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”

Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”

They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.

“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”

Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”

Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.

“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”

And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.

Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.

Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”

Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”

Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.

“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”

Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”

“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”

“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.

But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”

Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”

Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.

Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”

Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.

He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.

As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”

Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”

He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”

Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”

Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.

You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.

“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”

Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”

“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”

Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.

Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.

“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.

“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”

“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”

You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”

He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”

You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”

“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”

Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”

Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”

For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”

You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.

Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.

But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.

Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.

“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”

Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”

She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”

Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”

“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”

Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”

Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”

His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”

“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”

“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”

Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”

Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”

Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”

Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”

At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”

With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.

Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.

The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.

You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.

“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.

“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”

You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”

Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”

You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”

Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.

The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”

Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.

“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry… I have to—”

“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.

Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.

Robb Stark Hc's

𓃮Robb is very much his father's son. He has all his strengths but also all of his weaknesses. A young man with all the talents of a great warrior but poor tactics when it comes to being a good politician. Honor and feelings dictate his decisions above everything else for he lacks the pragmatic view many of his bannermen have of the world. It is this inability to make the decisions that others expect of him and that would perhaps be better to secure himself his power completely that leads to his feelings for you to begin with. Really, you are a nobody. Just a humble servant in Winterfell who spends lots of time with Sansa and Arya as you wash their clothes and participate in lessons of skills expected of a Lady. You aren't sure how or why Robb exactly decides to approach you. The excuse he gives you is that his two younger sisters have been talking highly of you though in hindsight you suspect that he himself has been keeping his gaze fixated on you even without the praise of Sansa and Arya. The Starks have always treated you with more politeness other servants serving under other houses would experience yet Robb seems to be especially nice to you. You don't really know why.

𓃮Initially you fear that you have done something wrong for you don't know why else the heir of Winterfell would approach you. That tension doesn't slip past Robb who assures you that you have done nothing wrong. Then you assume that perhaps he requires something from you. Yet all Robb asks of you is that he merely wishes to converse with you. The same way that he has always done with you. And despite your doubts you indulge him. Perhaps he just wishes for a friend- someone to talk to who has no lectures and lessons to burden him with for he has enough of those already. Indulging him though becomes later down the line your biggest mistake. It should feel wrong for no matter how much you wish to unsee, you recognise that softened look in his eyes whenever he looks at you. You even hear the stories from Sansa and Arya how he lights up when he talks about you and never as much as criticises you. He is the next Lord Stark and you come from no House with political power. It is wrong. Yet Robb makes it feel so incredibly nice. Not only because he is handsome but because he is kind and loving. He treats you like the beloved princess you sometimes dream to be.

𓃮The animal that decorates the banners of the Starks is the wolf. Robb Stark himself is hailed as the "Young Wolf". Wolves mate for life. And wolves seem to be very possessive. It's easily visible if all you do is observe Robb for a while when you converse with someone else. He does not interfere with such interactions immediately. What he does do though is observe the both of you. He carries on with what he is doing- or likes to pretend that he does at least- but those blue eyes have only you and whoever talks much too long with you. There is pride within him as he doesn't necessarily wish to appear as jealous but you know the signs. The twitch in his jaw. The increasing frown on his face. The way he slowly starts circling around you and the other person as blue eyes start analysing to keep track of their hand movements. It does remind you a lot of Grey Wind who acts similarly when with you and you wonder if Robb has it from him or his direwolf has it from Robb. Or perhaps it is a shared trait between a literal wolf and a wolf people rumor to be only human in skin. When his patience runs out or the other person suddenly touches you though, Robb quickly steps in. Polite still but very stern. Do not touch.

𓃮The Young Wolf of the North is very protective too. Wolves are loyal to their pack after all and Robb would do anything for his family. Fractions are born when it becomes obvious that he includes you within his circle of loved ones even though your name carries nothing of worth. It's when those comments are voiced out that you witness for the first time how Robb bears his teeth. He shouldn't be offended for as crude and harsh as those insults are, you are able to see where they come from. He should hold himself better together for he is the heir of the North and an aspiring King. But Robb reacts far too defensive whenever anyone insults you. Blue eyes harden as he turns around and approaches whoever had to open their mouth with the sole intention of getting under his skin. He forbids any crude comments and words to be directed at you as he even reacts defensive when his own mother speaks her mind. Words shall be forbidden though even if the scorn won't vanish. Actions though shall not. You are to be his Lady wife and for that any attempts on your life are treason and to be seen as an attempt on his life. That is punishable by death and that won't be debatable.

𓃮You aren't exactly viewed upon as favorable by many Lords and Houses as you hold nothing of worth. His own family is even fractured on how to think of you. His sisters adore you for they have grown up with you. His mother treats you kindly but you can see the doubt on her face and part of you cannot even blame her for it. It is that divided reaction coupled with a war against the Lannisters that leads Robb Stark to keep you well protected and guarded with only his most trusted men. The death of his father has taught him that promises of mercy should not be believed and so he takes your safety in his own hands even though he has already enough on his shoulders. War always changes people. Those not on the battlefield are affected but those who have to fight in it are especially affected. Even as Robb quickly rises to fame as he wins battle after battle, the weight on his shoulders still takes its toll even if he hides it much better. It bleeds through the letters he writes you- the only way for you to stay in contact with him. Longing, yearning and fear of losing you all written down as he in return waits for your letters to soothe the silent ache in his heart.