Avalanche [28] - Grudges
A.N: Hi my loves! 🩷 Thank you so so much for your wonderful support, you've made me so happy! 🩷I hope you'll like this one as well, and please let me know what you think🩷 ILYSM, kisses! 🩷
Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Reader
Summary: Royal visitors can cause problems.
Word Count: 5k
Warnings: Explicit language, (canon) comments about weight, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
It wasn’t that you weren’t good at holding grudges.
You were excellent at it, actually. Your very own sister-in-law was the proof of it, you hadn’t been able to get along well with her ever since you were a child.
So, it wasn’t that you lacked the ability to hold grudges, it was just that Robb made it very difficult.
Day by day, your resilience was chipped away. You were still angry at him for calling that lady “pleasant” but he kept claiming it was for Jon, and though you hated to admit it, he also had a way of…
Well.
Convincing you and quenching your anger at the same time.
You were trying to choose between two pairs of earrings when Robb walked into your bedchambers, and you had to do a double-take to realize it was not a stranger who barged in, but your husband. You gasped, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth.
“What happened to your beard?!”
“My mother made me shave it,” he grumbled while you gawked at him. “For the king’s arrival.”
You had never seen Robb without a beard; he always had either a stubble or a very short beard, so this was the first time you were seeing him clean-shaven. Though he was handsome as always with his sharp jawline which was even more prominent without a beard, the sight felt rather strange to you, and it took you a couple of seconds to understand the reason. A huff of laughter escaped you, muffled by your hands before you lowered them.
“You look like a Reach knight!”
The way his expression turned from annoyed to complete and utter betrayal could’ve made a simple observer think you had just insulted him. He let out a displeased exhale through his nose, then strode past you to approach your mirror like it could magically grow his beard back if he glared at his reflection hard enough.
“I do not understand why she insists so much,” he mumbled while you tilted your head, watching him in the mirror with your arms crossed. “A northman cannot be without his beard, it’s just not right.”
You covered your laughter by clearing your throat and plopped down on the bed, a grin curling your lips.
“Recite me a poem,” you demanded, and he turned around to scowl at you.
“I don’t know any.”
“You look like you do,” you said airily. “Can you sing, at least? Play any instruments? Almost every knight in the Reach can.”
“I’m no Reach knight,” he grumbled. “And it’ll grow back.”
“Are you saying that to me or yourself?”
He took another look at his reflection, running a hand over his face.
“I look like a boy.”
“A handsome Reach boy,” you chirped, earning an annoyed glare in return.
“Don’t.”
You held up your hands in a mock of surrender before you pushed yourself off the bed.
“Well, I must go,” you said. “Lady Stark needed me today, so I’ll leave you and my mirror alone.”
“Wait—” He caught up with you to grab your wrist so that he could pull you closer, drawing a giggle out of you. You playfully slipped your wrist out of his grasp with a gasp, feigning shock.
“I’m very offended by you daring to believe I’d kiss you,” you said with a hand on your chest. “As handsome as you are, I’ll have you know I’m very loyal to my husband.”
“I am your husband!”
You made a noise of disagreement.
“My husband has a beard,” you pointed out, taking a step back. “You appear to be one of the knights who used to follow me around in the ballroom begging for a dance.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely true; none of those knights were as handsome as Robb was, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Learn a poem in the meantime,” you told him, walking backwards to the door. “Or grow your beard back. Whichever is faster.”
With that, you walked out of the room and left him there, your laughter echoing in the hallway.
Though you both had very different trainings, it was times like these you could see that Lady Stark was in fact raised in the south.
Being the lady of the castle—especially when the said castle was Winterfell—came with so many responsibilities. Hosting guests was not only duty but also an art, which she pulled off flawlessly, even before the guests were there. The bedchambers, the feast, the entertainment, it was all ready the moment you got the news that the king would be arriving today. There were direwolf banners hanging in and outside the castle as well as the yard, and by the time you and the Starks gathered in the yard, you could already hear the sound of the horses approaching.
You had picked a pearly gray silk gown for the day, to blend in with the rest of the family, with your pelt thrown over your shoulders. Jon wasn’t allowed to stand with the family per Lady Stark’s orders, and it had put Robb in a rather sullen mood that he only snapped out of at the sight of Arya rushing to cross the yard with a helmet on her head. Lord Stark quickly pulled it off of her head and sent her to go stand between Sansa and Bran. You were right beside Robb, your hand in his while he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb almost absentmindedly, making you bite back a smile before you looked over your shoulder to steal a glance at your ladies-in-waiting in the crowd.
You hadn’t met the king or the queen before, and it had been on purpose, thanks to Silas and your father. The king’s many affairs with other women was not unheard of throughout the realm, and two years ago, around the time that title of yours started being thrown around, he and the queen had visited the Reach. A week before that, per Silas’ counsel and your father’s orders, you weren’t allowed to go outside so that when you missed the feast in King’s honor, the whole Reach thought you had been too sick to join any feast the whole week. The reason was simple; neither your father nor Silas wanted to risk the possibility of you catching the king’s interest, seeing that if you did, there would be so little that they could do except send you to Dorne to keep you safe and away from the most powerful man of the realm.
Though many families in the Reach would be delighted at the idea of their daughter catching the king’s eye and elevating their status, your family loved you way too much to put you in a situation where you would be forced to be a mistress.
But thankfully, you were safe now.
Not that the married women were safe in the southern court, especially from the king. However, you were Robb’s wife now, the future Lady of Winterfell, and nobody, not even the king, could risk the wrath of House Stark and the North by crossing a line.
You were probably the safest lady in the whole realm.
You snapped out of your thoughts when the horsemen passed the gates and entered the yard, a young boy that could only be a couple years older than Sansa—the prince, if you had to guess— at the front. Sansa sighed beside you, making Robb turn to her and then frown at the boy who gave Sansa a smirk, and you had to bite back your smile.
Of course Sansa would admire the prince.
The queen’s carriage entered the yard as well, followed by the Kingsguard and the king, whom you only recognized because of the crown. He was a heavy man with a serious look on his face, his eyes darting around the yard as his horse stopped and his squire rushed to help him dismount. Lord Stark bent a knee, the rest of the family and the whole yard following him suit, and it was only when the king motioned at him to rise that he stood up, all of you doing the same.
The king held Lord Stark’s gaze. “You got fat.”
You blinked a couple of times, holding your breath to see what Lord Stark would say, but he only lowered his gaze to the king’s stomach before raising his brows at him, as if returning the statement without so much as a word. The king burst into laughter, making Lord Stark smile as well before he pulled him into a hug.
…Gods, you were never going to understand men’s humor or their idea of friendship.
“Cat!” he greeted Lady Stark with a happy smile, hugging her as well. Sansa was still gazing at the prince, and you leaned closer to her so that Robb couldn’t hear your whisper.
“You might want to pretend to be a little more nonchalant, my sweet.”
Sansa gave you an abashed smile while the king and Lord Stark exchanged words.
“Do you think he finds me beautiful?”
“Of course he does,” you whispered back, watching the queen step out of the carriage. She was beautiful, even the displeased look on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and her gaze went around the yard before it stopped on you.
“You must be Robb.” The king shook Robb’s hand before his eyes found you. “And the newest member of the family, I assume. The tales of your beauty weren’t lying, my lady.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” you accepted the compliment with a well-practiced graceful smile. The queen approached Lord Stark who kissed her hand, but everyone’s attention turned to the king in a second when he spoke:
“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”
“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the queen said kindly, and you had to wonder for a second whether everyone else could hear just how forced it sounded or just you. “Surely the dead can wait.”
The king didn’t even spare her a glance.
“Ned,” he said curtly before he walked away, and Lord Stark followed him into the Keep.
…Ah.
The crypt.
Where Lord Stark’s sister who was also the king’s alleged true love laid in her eternal sleep.
The Queen looked like she wanted to argue, but her brother touched her arm as if signaling her to stop talking, and you averted your eyes, making yourself busy with your bracelet.
It was one of the many things you and Margaery were taught when you were little.
If someone above your rank was insulted or ignored in front of you, you never saw it.
Lord Stark and the king spent almost an hour in the crypts while the queen retired to her bedchambers to rest. It seemed that Lord Stark had much to speak with the king, because Robb had come to find you in the yard around an hour before the feast, clearly released from his father’s solar. You quickly dismissed your ladies-in-waiting so that you could speak freely at the far corner of the yard, and to be completely honest, the way you two sat was not appropriate at all; rather than sitting across from one another, you had your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you while he nuzzled to your hair.
It had been rather peaceful, at least until a moment ago.
“A betrothal?” you repeated, craning your neck to look up at him. “Between Sansa and…”
“Prince Joffrey,” Robb finished your sentence for you, letting out a displeased noise as you pulled out of his arms to turn to see him better. “Don’t—”
“And Lord Stark said yes?”
“Sansa would cry for the rest of her life if he did not,” Robb said with a grimace. “She is in love already, and they haven’t even talked to each other yet. My mother talked my father into it, he will take the girls with him when he goes to King’s Landing to be the Hand.”
A frown pinched your forehead while Robb’s fingers drew shapes in your palm absentmindedly.
“Robb, I don’t think…”
Gods, how were you going to approach this?
You had to walk a very thin line here. You couldn’t risk anyone think you were trying to sabotage Sansa’s future, especially when the root of your worries was her future. Sansa was the sweetest girl ever, and you were certain she would grow up to be the loveliest lady and queen, but it was because of that you weren’t as excited as Lady Stark about this union.
Sansa was too sweet and naive for King’s Landing.
Not to mention, you knew nearly nothing about Prince Joffrey. There was a reason why it had taken Silas so much time to make a decision about your husband, marriage couldn’t be decided in a haste. Granted the king and Lord Stark were friends, but it didn’t mean their children would form a good union, and the moment they wed, Sansa would be bound to Prince Joffrey forever, regardless of how strong her house was.
And this was yet another time you were thankful to the gods for Silas and the rest of your family.
Those rules didn’t apply to you.
“What is it?” Robb asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You opened your mouth and closed it again, then took a deep breath.
“Sansa is very young still.”
“Oh they won’t wed right away,” Robb said. “They’ll wait until my father deems it the right time. Sansa will just be in King’s Landing in the meantime, with Arya.”
You stole a look at the rest of the yard, deep in thought.
“Well, perhaps…” You paused. “Perhaps if they won’t wed right away, Sansa could stay here a bit longer so that I can teach her things.”
“Like what?”
“Like how to survive in the southern court.”
He huffed a laugh. “Oh come on.”
“Robb, I’m serious.”
“My father will be with her, she’ll be fine.”
“Your father cannot save her from everything,” you said. “Nor can he help her in everything, especially when it comes to the south. It’s a different world than here, and please don’t get me wrong, but Sansa still believes in fairytales. She must learn know how to—”
You stopped yourself and Robb pulled his brows together.
“How to what?”
Manipulate people.
It was beyond you how no one had given her the necessary training, especially if the southern court had been a possibility all along. You were rather sheltered and very much aware of it, but when it came to southern court games and wielding power, you and Margaery were given a very strict education.
Although you falling in love was unexpected, your husband falling in love with you had always been the plan.
“The southern court is an incredibly dangerous place,” you told him. “I fear she might not be ready for it just yet. If she stays here a little longer—”
“Nothing bad will happen to her in the southern court,” he assured you. “My father and the king are close as brothers.”
“Which is wonderful, but think about it,” you insisted. “Silas didn’t make our union happen because of my father and yours. He made it, because he approved you above all that. Does your father know Prince Joffrey? Do you? Beyond the fact that he will sit the Iron Throne once his father passes?”
“He can’t do anything to Sansa,” Robb brushed you off. “Sansa is a Stark.”
You caught the sight of the queen’s brother Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey stepping out of the keep into the yard, then huffed out.
“Can you please ask your father either way?” you asked. “If she can stay here for a moon or two?”
His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek gently, then dipped his head to give you the sweetest kiss, making your heart skip a beat. A giggle escaped you, your cheeks growing hot.
“We’re in public!”
“And we’re on our honeymoon,” he defended himself while you dragged your fingertip over the snarling wolf clasps on his doublet before you buried your face to his chest where his laugh rumbled deep. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, his hand still cradling your cheek.
“But you’ll ask?” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.
“I’ll ask,” he said. “Happy?”
“Very,” you chirped as you lifted your head to beam at him. “Thank you!”
He held your gaze in his, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.
“I’ll never be able to tell you no, will I?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose, then grinned.
“Probably not,” you said airily. “But then again, why would you want to?”
That drew a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.
“Aye,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “Why would I want to indeed?”
Thanks to Lady Stark, the feast was going perfectly.
And everyone was having fun. Sansa was over the moon with the news, and she had made you promise that you would lend her one of your gowns for her to wear in the King’s Landing, so that she could impress the ladies there. Though you wanted to say it would take more than a gown, you decided not to say anything until Robb asked Lord Stark, so instead you assured her that you would help her with choosing the perfect gown and jewelry so that she would make an impeccable first impression on the southern court. Just until a moment ago that you and Robb were sitting at one of the tables among your peers, drinking and laughing, but when Arya threw food at Sansa’s dress, Lady Stark had shot him a look that clearly said to step in, so that the royal family wouldn’t notice the chaos that was about to erupt. Robb heaved a sigh and kissed your temple before he made his way to Arya and lifted her out of her seat, telling her it was time for bed. Arya pouted, but one gentle push from Robb made her start walking, and they both left the Great Hall so that he could tuck her in.
Watching Robb take care of his siblings never failed to make your chest all warm. He knew how to handle all of them, adapting a softer approach with Sansa and Bran while roughhousing Arya and Rickon who loved it. For a moment, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering off, so you found yourself imagining what a great father he would make one day, to your own kids.
You knew it was too early, you still couldn’t tell whether you were ready, especially with your mother’s fate, yet the simple image of him with a baby made you smile.
You wondered whether they would take after him or you. Or perhaps they would be the perfect combination of you both—
“My lady.” Alys’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Lady Stark and the queen ask for you, I think.”
You turned your head to take a look at the High Table where only Lady Stark and the queen sat—everyone else had scattered around the Great Hall. Lady Stark nodded at you and you pushed your chair back.
“Thank you Alys,” you whispered and stood up, then made your way to the High Table. You swept a well-trained curtsy, then straightened up and smiled at them, clasping your hands in front of you.
“Your Grace,” you said. “Lady Stark.”
“Hello my dear.”
“I wanted to see the infamous Blossom of the Reach,” the queen said, making your smile wider. “Everyone sings your praises, even miles away.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Including your best friend,” she said, making your head whip up. “Margaery Tyrell. She is dazzling the capital as we speak.”
And judging by the tone of her voice, she was not happy about that.
You would’ve been lying if you said it was unexpected. Margaery never feared anyone, no matter their social standing.
“As she dazzled the Reach,” you said. “I’m sure she flourishes in King’s Landing.”
“Do remind me, who had more admirers in the Reach? You or her?”
The attempt was nearly pitiful, and you had to hold back your laughter. This wasn’t new, the way people would try to sow discord between you and Margaery so that you would turn against each other and become rivals for—
For what?
Attention?
The queen wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last to find out your and Margaery’s bond ran too deep to get harmed by such comments. Margaery could be crowned the most beautiful girl in the realm tomorrow—in your opinion, she deserved it—, and you would be cheering her at the top of your lungs. She could be the queen, and you would be the first to bow down; there was no possibility of you turning bitter for her accomplishments and happiness, you loved her way too much for that.
And it was mutual too. Margaery never held contempt for you even when that title started being thrown around in the Reach, instead she fueled it, so that even more people would talk about it.
There was nothing anyone could do to make you and Margaery turn into enemies, no matter how much they tried.
“Oh, one stops counting after a while,” you said with a laugh. “It was rather hard for us to keep track of it, but the last I remember she had poems and I had songs. You would have to ask her though.”
“The Reach does love its songs, does it not?” the queen asked. “Just as singers love their embellishments, I’d say.”
…Ah.
Well, alright then.
There were only three people in this hall who could tell what that veiled comment really meant; the queen herself, Lady Stark, and you, seeing that you were all quite fluent in the language of the southern court and how it held insults behind compliments, or simple statements.
Like that one.
“Such admirers can affect a lady in a certain way,” the queen added. “Like excess pride. You and your friend should be careful.”
So now not only were your looks exaggerated, but you and Margaery were both arrogant.
Very well.
If she came all this way to your home to insult you and your best friend, you could play the game.
“Both my best friend and I look up to you as the pinnacle of humility, we grew up with the tales of your beauty, Your Grace,” you said airily. “Back when we were little girls, that was all we would hear from King’s Landing. To this day, I still remember how many admirers you used to have back in the day. I’m sure you’re delighted that his majesty relieved you of them, even after so many years!”
The tiny twitch of her lips reminded you of a snarl, but it was gone as fast as it came.
“Well,” she said after a beat. “I hope that you and your husband will be as happy as me and the king have been.”
The same king who had spent the majority of the feast drunk with another woman in his lap.
Sure.
She could keep hoping, Robb would never do that to you.
“I’m sure it would please you, Your Grace,” you said with a bright smile and she held your gaze in hers, then gave you a curt nod, signaling you could leave. You dropped a curtsy straight down with your head held high, then walked away from the High Table to join your ladies-in-waiting.
“The queen does not look happy,” Lyra murmured and Jorelle raised her brows, stealing a look at the table.
“Would you be?” she asked. “If my husband humiliated me like that…”
“I will never wed.”
“You might have to,” Barbrey said and Lyra shrugged her shoulders.
“Not really. I’m not the heir, I have no such responsibilities. One of my sisters has two children, she was never wed.”
“Bear Island has different customs than the rest of the North,” Wylla said. “If my father tried to wed me to someone like the king, I’d run away.”
“She’s still the queen,” Barbrey said and Wylla shook her head.
“I’m too northern to accept such disrespect.”
“By the way, have any of you talked to her ladies-in-waiting?”
“I’ve been avoiding them like the plague.”
“Well, I’ve talked to them, and…”
The rest of Alys’ words disappeared into a buzz when the familiar feeling hit you, making you frown slightly. Your theory was that it was instinct for ladies of the court, you just learned to notice when men were looking at you even without a glance in their direction. Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was a way to survive, but you knew when they were watching.
And sure enough, when you turned your head, you found Robb, Lord Stark, the king and Prince Joffrey all looking in your direction. Robb did not look happy for some reason, he had his jaw clenched while he listened to the king, and Prince Joffrey scowled before his eyes found mother and his frown deepened, as if she had done something of great offense. You let a lovesick smile light up your face as you waved at Robb without sparing the rest of them a glance, and that seemed to snap him out of his mood, that familiar soft light appearing in his gaze as he lifted his cup a little to greet you. The king said something and smacked him on the back, letting out a boisterous laugh and you lingered there for a moment, then rolled your shoulders back.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” you said and walked away from your ladies to approach the men on the other side of the hall.
“Your Graces, my lord,” you greeted the king, the prince and Lord Stark, then beamed at Robb and turned to them. “May I please borrow my lord husband for a minute if you don’t mind?”
The king laughed.
“Oh he stopped listening to us the moment you looked his way,” he said. “But that’s how a newlywed must be, huh Robb? Your father used to have the same look on his face whenever you looked at your mother.”
“Robert, come on now,” Lord Stark said and the king grinned.
“You did,” he insisted while you laced your fingers through Robb’s. “The same tortured look, even when I dragged you to hunts! That’s how you know it’s a good match.”
“Speaking of matches, I’ve heard the happy news,” you told Prince Joffrey with a smile. “I’m certain you and our beautiful Sansa will be as happy as we are, Your Grace.”
Prince Joffrey didn’t seem delighted at all, his eyes finding his mother again before forcing himself to smile.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, the whole North is talking of that duel! The future Warden of the North is a great fighter just like his father!”
A shadow crossed Prince Joffrey’s face but you paid him no mind.
“I’m glad the whole North is entertained, but I was rather terrified,” you said, leaning sideways to Robb’s arm and he pressed a kiss on top of your head as if trying to soothe you at the mention of the duel.
“You had nothing to worry about, I told you that,” Robb muttered into your hair and you shot him a mischievous look.
“The love of my life putting himself in danger scares me, that’s no crime,” you said, earning a chuckle from the king. “Is it, Your Grace?”
“Not at all,” the king said. “Even the strongest men are defeated by love more than sword, my boy. Great warrior or not, you might want to keep that in mind.”
“I will, Your Grace.”
“If you’ll excuse us please.”
Robb followed you as you both crossed the Great Hall, still holding your hand tight until you stopped and turned to him. He seemed rather tense, frowning at Prince Joffrey who had just approached the queen to mutter something to her ear with a sour expression. You raised your brows, watching Robb grab a cup from one of the servants before he took a sip, still glaring at the High Table.
“Is everything alright?”
His attention snapped back to you. “Mm hm.”
“Are you certain?” you asked. “What were you all talking about before I approached?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Though you wanted to insist, you decided otherwise. “Have you had the chance to talk to your father yet?”
“About?”
“About Sansa!” you whispered. “If she can stay a bit longer.”
“I mentioned it, he said no.” Robb shrugged his shoulders. “And I’ve told you, he’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe.”
You pursed your lips before taking a deep breath.
“Alright, then I’ll send a letter to Margaery first thing in the morning,” you said. “She’s in King’s Landing, she should be able to help Sansa.”
He tilted his head.
“Margaery Tyrell?”
“Do you know another Margaery?”
“Your best friend whom you’re angry at?”
“It doesn’t matter whether I’m angry at her or not,” you said. “At the end of the day, I trust her with my life. We both know what’s important and when to put aside disagreements, she’s never going to deny me if I ask her for a favor.”
“Even after what happened?”
“Don’t underestimate her loyalty to me, or mine to her,” you said. “Trust me. If I need help, she’ll help.”
“I’ll never understand you two,” he muttered. “And I still think you’re worrying for nothing and Sansa will be fine, but very well. Write to her if it’ll put your heart at ease.”
“Hey.” Jon’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to find him smiling. The sight seemed to have taken Robb by surprise as much as you, because he scoffed a laugh.
“Did Theon get maimed?” he asked. “How come you’re smiling?”
“Uncle Benjen is here.”
Robb’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Wait, Benjen Stark does exist?” you asked, looking between him and Jon, and Robb nodded fervently.
“Our uncle. He’s the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”
You were guessing that was an impressive title in the North, from the proud tone of Robb’s voice.
“Come,” Robb added. “I must introduce you to him, he’s amazing.”
“I mean to be honest, I doubt introductions are needed,” you pointed out, drawing chuckles out of both brothers. “I feel like I know him already.”
“Yeah, maybe—” Robb paused. “Maybe don’t mention the…”
“Name issue?” you asked and exchanged glances with Jon who all but read your mind, because you both shook your heads at the same time.
“No way.”
“Aye, he’s gonna hear it. If not from her, then from me.”
“Great,” Robb grumbled as you all started walking. “It was worth the try. And just so you both know, I do not like this alliance.”
