my name is kike, i’m twenty years old and i’m from brazil! virgo latina bitch 🤍 i’ve been writing since i was fourteen and i don't have many restrictions.
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: Fears burden the mind.
Word Count: 4,3k
Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of pregnancy, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Back at the Reach, one of the things both you and Margaery would get reprimanded for was gossip.
It wasn’t rare for either of you to stay up until the hour of the wolf and going over what happened during the day over and over again, focusing on a different person each time. Sometimes it’d be about fashion, or paramours, or the latest scandal, but there was always something.
And now, especially with the king’s visit, you had so much to go over, yet Margaery wasn’t here, and you still didn’t trust anyone in Winterfell.
So you had found a different solution.
“Robb, wake up!”
Robb let out a small groan when you shook him by the chest.
“Wake up,” you insisted. “I have things to tell you.”
“Can it wait?” he mumbled into his pillow, and you shook your head even though he couldn’t see you.
“Do you not find it strange that the king ignores the queen all the time?”
Robb’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted at you, the sight of his messy auburn curls making your chest all warm.
“What time is it?” he rasped out and you shrugged.
“Early. It’s rather rude of him, is it not? He ignored her in front of everyone when they first got here. And then at the feast too.”
“Why are you—”
“And not only did he ignore her, he also humiliated her at the feast, in front of people!” you insisted. “Does he not like her at all, do you think?”
“You woke up at this hour to gossip?”
“We barely talked last night,” you whined, your shoulders dropping in defeat while he smirked.
“We were too busy to talk.”
“But I wanted to talk!” you insisted. “And now that you’re awake—”
“I’m not awake.” He threw his arm around your torso to pull you to his chest, coaxing a giggle out of you as you propped yourself up on your elbows.
“Is it not strange?” you asked. “I mean when they wed, everyone agreed that she was the most—” You shook him, making him groan again. “Robb, I don’t think you’re listening!”
“Gods be good…”
“Has your father said anything about them?”
“No.”
“How come you—” A squeal escaped you when he squeezed your butt still half asleep, but you reached back to grab his wrist. “Not now, focus! Why didn’t you ask?”
“Why would I ask?”
You rolled your eyes.
“I swear I will never understand men,” you grumbled. “How are you not curious? He doesn’t like her, it’s very surprising.”
“Is it?” he asked with a yawn and opened his eyes, then ran a hand over his face as if trying to get rid of the haze of sleep. “Of course he doesn’t like her, she’s not pleasant at all.”
“Maybe not to other people, but she probably was pleasant to him at least at first,” you said. “She must have tried. There is no way she did not.”
“I suppose sometimes it just doesn’t work.”
“Her family is powerful,” you insisted, counting with your fingers, “she’s beautiful, educated, fashionable—”
A chuckle escaped him. “I don’t think the king cares much about fashion.”
“It helps still,” you commented. “I don’t know, the realm thinks she’s everything a queen is expected to be. And they have three children together, one would assume…”
“Hm?”
“How did he not eventually fall in love with her?”
He folded an arm under his head. “Maybe his love for Aunt Lyanna does not let him love anyone else.”
“It is rather odd, how every man has a different reaction to being left behind,” you muttered, heaving a sigh as you rested your chin on his chest, absentmindedly tracing his muscles. “The king wed and fathered children, but he still loves your aunt. And my father never recovered after my mother. No mistresses or wife, even though everyone kept pressuring him. It makes me wonder what she would think. Or what your aunt would think had she lived.”
If you hadn’t been so lost in your own thoughts, you would’ve noticed the silence falling upon the room, or his body tensing up.
“I guess there’s a reason why so many love ballads are sad,” you mused. “Heartbreak one way or another. That might be the one thing years cannot take away.”
He was so quiet that for half a minute you were convinced he had fallen asleep again. Yet, his deep voice that rumbled in his chest and vibrated underneath your palm didn’t sound sleepy at all when he finally spoke, the stern command almost taking you by surprise.
“You’re not allowed to do that.”
You lifted your head to blink up at him.
“Do what?”
“You’re not allowed to die before me.”
You couldn’t stop your chortle. “Robb…”
“I’m serious. You cannot.”
“When it comes to longevity, the gods seem to favor men more,” you couldn’t help but point out. “Men die in battle in wartime. Women die in childbirth regardless of war or peace.”
His eyes found yours.
“Is that what you fear?” he asked quietly and you pinched your lips, trying to pick the right words.
“I don’t think fear is the right word for it,” you ended up saying. “I’m no fool, I know what happened to my mother was largely related to the very short time between the twins’ birth and mine.”
Silas and Arys had told you that. Upon hearing your septa talking about how motherhood came with a price and the childbirth was the ultimate sacrifice, Silas had said fuck off to her face, making you burst into laughter even with the fear churning your stomach.
“My sister will not be sacrificed just so that some prick somewhere can have an heir,” Silas had spat. “And she will be educated to minimize the danger. Stop filling her head with nonsense, unless you want my father to release you of your duties.”
Arys had been the one to tell you all about it; how it was of importance that one’s body was given enough time to rest.
“When you wed,” he had told you, “you’ll have many herbs at your disposal. We’re not letting you wed anyone who you might not like, but regardless of how much you might like your future husband, you are putting your own health first. Always. No babe is more important than you, and you’re not making the same mistake mother and father did. You will only have kids when you’re ready, and they will have at least 3 years between them, not like us.”
“We won’t…” Robb started, then paused and shook his head. “I would never put you through that.”
Nor were you going to put yourself through that. You were going to be very careful and take nothing for granted, because you knew how it went for your mother; she’d had such easy childbirths until you, and each time she had bounced back so fast that both she and your father were convinced nothing bad would happen.
So the gods had decided to prove to them otherwise.
“No,” you said in an attempt to sound more confident than you felt, willing yourself not to think about Arrana’s bad wish. “It won’t be like that for me.”
But there was still that danger.
Even if you did everything right, there was still that danger, for you and for every woman in the realm.
However, Robb was never going to hear that from you, not even with a blade to your throat. He wasn’t going to hear that, your own family wasn’t going to hear that, none of the Starks were going to hear that, none of your ladies-in-waiting or your maids were going to hear that.
The only person whom you had shared those concerns with was Margaery, and it was going to stay that way.
“Nothing bad is going to happen to me,” you added, desperate to disperse the gloomy air that felt almost suffocating around you. “Besides, no use worrying about any of that, only the gods know these things. Look at your own mother, she’s very healthy and she’s had five children so far—”
He pulled his brows together, confusion snapping him out of his own thoughts. “So far?”
Of course it worked.
“Well yes.” You shrugged your shoulders. “So far. You never know, they’re both still young—”
From the grimace twisting his handsome face, one would’ve thought you had spoken of something utterly unacceptable.
“Seven hells, don’t say that!”
A burst of laughter escaped you. “Robb, my love, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the fact that you have four other siblings—”
“That happened in the past!”
“Rickon is still little,” you argued. “And your mother and father are in love, anyone could see that. It’s normal!”
“It’s not normal,” he said, still grimacing while he motioned at the door. “He loves her from…from afar.”
“Mm, from up close. Very close, I’d say, because five kids is no duty—”
“From a respectable distance.”
“No to that also.”
He made a noise of disgust. “Can we stop talking about this? They’re too old to have a babe.”
“They’re not too old.”
“Fine, I’m too old to have a sibling,” he said, your laughter bouncing off the walls. “And I refuse to believe they would betray me like that.”
“Oh, such betrayal,” you said in an exaggerated manner, a hand on your chest. “Disaster, if you will.”
“Aye, it would be.”
You rolled your eyes at him while his gaze darted over your face, a frown pinching his forehead again.
“But you’ll be—” He swallowed thickly. “You’ll be fine, when…”
He didn’t need to finish his sentence, you knew exactly what he was referring to. You turned your bracelet around your wrist, heaving a dramatic sigh.
“How about this?” you said. “You give me your word that you won’t die in war, and I’ll give you my word that nothing will happen to me in childbirth. That’s called diplomacy, if you’re too northern to recognize such concept.”
That managed to make him huff out a chuckle, though the haunted look in his eyes didn’t disappear, not completely. He nodded after a beat, reaching out to cradle your cheek in his palm.
“Very well,” he said. “I give you my word. Do you?”
You lifted yourself a little to brush your lips against his, his hand slipping from your cheek to the side of your neck. His other arm snaked around your waist to press you to his body, butterflies erupting in your stomach.
“I do,” you said, a smile warming your face. “See? Who said the north and the south can’t negotiate?”
All your ladies-in-waiting agreed that the queen had to have grown bitter in time, perhaps because of her husband, perhaps because of her responsibilities, and perhaps because she had fewer admirers now than when she first wed the king. You didn’t know the reason, nor did you say too much out loud, but you were more than aware that she did not look happy at any time, with the exception of when she was talking to her brother.
Well, one of them, at least. Her other brother, Tyrion had arrived in Winterfell nearing the end of last night’s feast, having spent the whole day in a brothel in Wintertown, so if you had to guess, he was going to get along well with Theon.
Robb was busy throughout the afternoon, and so were you. While he went on a hunt with his father and the king, you and some of your ladies-in-waiting were tasked with taking baskets of food and herbs to Wintertown per Lady Stark’s orders. As much as you liked going to Wintertown, you still wondered whether there were no servants left in the castle to do this exact task, but you managed to keep your mouth shut.
She was probably making sure everyone in Wintertown had seen you and talked to you, and this was a good way to make sure of that.
Or perhaps she was trying to keep you out of the queen’s sight after that little exchange of yours the other night, that could’ve been the reason as well.
Alys, Lyra and Wylla had gone into the other street, leaving you with Barbrey and Jorelle. It had taken you a much shorter time to give the baskets to all the houses you were supposed to visit, so now you were waiting for the others while you explored the market, making small talk with vendors as Barbrey and Jorelle trailed after you. This was yet another instance that you couldn’t help but note was different in here, because back in the south, the vendors sold many different types of jewelry seeing that it was popular among noble ladies. In the north, rather than jewelry, women embroidered their gowns with beads and intricate pieces of bronze, copper and ivory.
Perhaps you could use some of those on your cloaks at least.
“…And my cousin will visit Winterfell with her lord husband, and she’ll die when she sees me,” Barbrey chattered. “I doubt she believed me when I wrote to her to tell her I’m a lady-in-waiting. I’m planning to get a new gown and embroider it by the time she visits, she’ll be so jealous!”
You accidentally exchanged glances with Jorelle who looked like she was trying her hardest to keep herself from rolling her eyes at Barbrey.
“Her wedding was two years ago, and she had the audacity to criticize what I wore to it. And let me tell you, her wedding gown wasn’t so impressive either! Her lord husband is of House Flint, and her gown had eyes all over it, it looked so weird.”
You raised your brows. “Her gown had eyes?”
“House Flint’s words are Ever Vigilant,” Jorelle explained, “and their banner has a pair of eyes on it.”
“And it looked like she was wearing the banner itself,” Barbrey added. “Let’s see whose gown is better now. And also, if I may, I’m sure I’ll make a better marriage now that I’m—”
“Barbrey, did you see that vendor over there?” Jorelle cut her off. “I think they have more colorful beads over there, they’d look good on your purple gown.”
“You’re right!” Barbrey gasped. “My lady, may I—?”
“Please go ahead,” you said a bit quicker than intended, but Barbrey was too excited to notice that. She rushed to the stall Jorelle was pointing at, and Jorelle let out a breath.
“There. Some peace and quiet.”
You bit back a smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
You sometimes wondered whether you would’ve been able to get along well with Jorelle if it weren’t for her family and her whole almost betrothal with Robb. She probably held some resentment for you, and you still felt rather threatened by her. Despite that, sometimes she reminded you of Margaery with the calm air around her that made it nearly impossible to see through her, but you cast the thought away from your mind, forcing yourself to look at the beads on the tray.
“These look nice,” you commented as you approached the counter. “Are you good at embroidery, Jorelle?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Not my absolute favorite, but yes.”
“What is your absolute favorite?”
“I like riding.”
Right.
Of course she liked riding.
“So do I,” you said, taking a couple of bronze pieces into your palm to inspect them. “Silk is faster than my horses back in the Reach, but I’m getting used to such speed.”
“Your brother gifted her to you, did he not?”
“Yes. Cliff.”
She stole a look at you.
“And you’re close with all your brothers?”
“Mm hm. Well, Silas is the one I’m closest with, and then the twins. Arys and Cliff left home quite early, so I see them very rarely. Mostly on my namedays and such.” You lifted your gaze from the pieces in your hand. “I think you’ve talked to Perceon?”
Jorelle blinked a couple of times, her cheeks betraying her nonchalant demeanor when they turned pink.
“Yes,” she said, making herself busy with the beads. “He was—he is very southern.”
“Dornish, more like.”
A silence fell upon you and Jorelle nibbled on her lip, her eyes falling on Barbrey before turning to you.
“Can I ask you something?”
You put the bronze pieces back and grabbed a particularly shiny bead. “Of course.”
“Why did you…” she trailed off. “Why did you choose her to be among your ladies-in-waiting? After what Arrana has said?”
That question wasn’t about Barbrey, and you both knew it.
You had to give it to Jorelle, unlike other northerners, she did know how to be subtle. A bitter smile twitched your lips as you put the bead down, then reached for a thin silver chain, pretending to direct your attention on it.
“I’m very southern,” you said, your voice silky. “That’s one of the many cultural differences, I’ve found. Northerners are quite direct about alliances or enmity, but back in the south, it’s more complex than that. We’re taught to keep some people close, precisely because of lack of trust.”
She raised her brows, staring at you as if the remark had taken her by surprise.
“Ah,” she said after a beat, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I see.”
“My lady!” Wylla called out, making you look over your shoulder to see her approach you with Lyra and Alys following her. “We’re finished. Shall we go back?”
You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.
“Let’s stay a while longer,” you said, linking your arm through hers to lead her to the nearest stall. “I have plans for some of my cloaks, and I am in a desperate need of some beads.”
Much to your displeasure, you couldn’t see Robb for the rest of the day. He had been with his father and the king in the Wolfswood the entire day, and they hadn’t returned to the castle during dinner either, because of the king’s request to have their dinner in the woods like he and Lord Stark used to whenever they went hunting in their youth.
At least that was the explanation Robb mumbled into your ear when he joined you in bed at dawn, waking you up with kisses instead of going to sleep himself. At first you had assumed he would be too tired, especially after having spent the whole night in the woods, but you were soon proven wrong.
There were many things, you had found, that you loved when it came to marital bed. The act itself was pleasurable beyond words, Robb always made sure you enjoyed it every single time, unlike what that lady of the night had told you back in the Reach. You hadn’t even thought it possible before, but it made you fall in love with him even more, your heart so full of him that it sometimes made you worry whether there would be room for anything else. You enjoyed his kisses, his touch, his weight upon you, and how he made you feel before and during, and after.
That was one of your favorite parts as well.
After.
How he held you until your trembling passed, with chaste kisses and the sweetest praises that made your stomach flutter happily. Even now, while you tried to catch your breath with his arm around you that pressed you tight against his chest, you felt half delirious, all thoughts but him shattered to different corners in your mind, impossible to put back together. He pressed a kiss on your damp forehead, his other hand brushing back your hair before he dipped his head and his lips found yours. You couldn’t decide if the fire that colored his cheeks was because of the heat of the room or the chase of pleasure more; a sheen of sweat making him glow under the sunlight spilling through the thin curtains around the bed. His curly auburn hair was a mess in the most handsome way, and the light in his eyes was so soft that you could swear your heart melted when he looked down at you with a fond smile, awakening your own.
You felt tired, and sore, and sticky all over, but most of all; completely and utterly happy.
“What are you thinking about?” you whispered while your fingertips traced his chest up and down, light as a feather.
“How pretty you are,” he said, the northern accent in his deep voice drawing a giddy giggle out of you before you brushed your lips against his.
“Right answer,” you said. “Especially after spending a whole day away from me.”
“It wasn’t by choice,” he grumbled. “I considered sneaking back into the castle like a common thief, more than once.”
The image his words conjured up in your mind was too funny for you to hold back your laughter. “Really?”
“My beautiful wife was in our bed waiting for me, and I was in the woods with a bunch of men.”
“But you were hunting,” you told him. “You love hunting.”
“Lamb, I promise you, there’s nothing I love more than this.” He motioned at your naked body, making you scrunch up your nose in embarrassment. “I was all but taken hostage. Just because the king doesn’t want to go back to his wife doesn’t mean he should assume the rest of us share that sentiment.”
…Was that—?
Was that Robb gossiping?
“Did he say that?”
“No, but he said something else while drunk,” he answered with a grimace, making your jaw drop. “I will not repeat those words to you, but he dislikes her even more than you assume.”
Very well, there was room for improvement there.
Not everyone could be a natural like you and Margaery, you’d teach him how to gossip in time.
“The queen drinks too,” you said. “I noticed it at the feast, and tonight’s dinner as well. Too much wine.”
“Might be the only thing they have in common.”
“Not the only thing, because she doesn’t like him either,” you said. “Have I told you the other night at the feast, she tried to give me advise, and then she said…”
“Hm?”
“She said she hopes we’ll be as happy as her and the king.”
Robb flicked his gaze up for a second with a scoff, the gesture so similar to the way you rolled your eyes whenever you were annoyed.
“She can keep hoping,” he said. “Seven hells, I can’t wait until they all leave.”
“But you don’t think—” You paused. “Do you think it was like that always?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s rather bitter, and all my ladies-in-waiting have many ideas about the reason. The queen had a lot of admirers when she was young, and Lyra has this theory that when one who’s used to compliments grows old…” you trailed off. “I don’t believe time takes away beauty, but I don’t want to be bitter like that when I grow old.”
His fingertips traced shapes on your bare skin. “You won’t.”
“It worried me all day today.”
“It shouldn’t have.”
“But perhaps she wasn’t like that either at first, because—”
“You couldn’t be bitter if you tried, it’s not in you.” The corners of his mouth curled, the glint in his eye making you blink up at him in confusion. “And I would know, I was just in you.”
A gasp left you and you pushed at his shoulder, heat sweeping over your face like a firestorm.
“I’m talking about something of importance!” you whined when he caught your wrist, his laugh echoing in the room. “And you’re making jests—”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he cooed, though that mischievous smile of his betrayed the gentle tone of his voice. “I’m sorry. Come here.”
He pulled you to himself while you pouted at him, your brows knitted together in defiance. He bit back his grin, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the pinch of your frown before he cradled your cheek, his lips finding yours. That familiar warmth dripped down and down, a half sigh hitching in your throat as the kiss deepened, melting away your frustration along with every other thought that was plaguing your mind. Your eyes fluttered open when he nudged your nose with his, then pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth, coaxing a giggle out of you.
“Jesting aside,” he said, the pleasant rumble of his voice vibrating under your palm resting on his chest. “It shouldn’t have worried you.”
“But what if you—”
“It shouldn’t have worried you, because there will never come a time when I look at you and not forget to breathe.”
Whatever you were going to say disappeared somewhere between your mind and your mouth while you gazed up at him, painfully aware of the lovesick smile on your face.
“And also,” he added, idly playing with your hair. “I meant it when I said you couldn’t if you tried. Your heart is too soft to be anything like her.”
That made your smile falter. You bit inside your cheek in deep thought, and when you spoke, your voice was almost too low to hear in the already quiet room:
“Everyone says life has a way of hardening hearts.”
He ran his knuckles down your spine as if trying to assure you.
“You entrusted me with yours to safekeep,” he murmured. “I will protect it from harm, for as long as I draw breath. Such fears will never come true, I promise.”
Tears rushed to your eyes out of nowhere but you blinked them away fast, desperate to swallow the lump in your throat. You captured his lips with yours, his hand slipping to your jaw to tilt your head, but you were both pulled out of the haze when someone pounded on the door, making you recoil in his arms.
“What?” Robb snapped at whoever it was behind the door. “What is it?”
It took you only a second to understand something was wrong.
“Robb, it’s—” Jon’s voice cracked mid-sentence before he took a shaky breath. “It’s Bran. He fell from the Broken Tower.”
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, 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 eyes 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 staring 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, the displeasure on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and she looked around the yard before her eyes 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.”
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, 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 eyes 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 staring 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, the displeasure on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and she looked around the yard before her eyes 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.”
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: Rumors can cause jealousy.
Word Count: 4,7k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Back in the Reach, when Lady Olenna hired that lady of the night to tutor you and Margaery on marital acts and what husbands liked, she had assured both of you that unlike what everyone around you kept telling you, your name, your family’s wealth, any heirs you’d have with your future husband; none of that was a guarantee that he would fall in love with you.
According to her, it was all about how mesmerizing you would be, and your marital bed was the key. That night, while you and Margaery laid in the bed trying to silence your giggles so as not to wake Loras again and get a scolding, you had both agreed that it was exaggeration; surely it couldn’t have been the case for everyone.
But judging by Robb’s reaction after what you had done last night, you were beginning to believe that lady.
“My maid will be here any moment!” you said as you pushed him gently, making him walk backward to the door. “I must get ready for breakfast—we already overslept!”
He grabbed your wrist and in a blink, you had your back against the wall, a giggle escaping you.
“Robb!”
“Dismiss her when she comes.”
“And what of my ladies-in-waiting?”
He grinned at you. “Dismiss them too.”
“That would be rude!”
“Fine, I’ll dismiss all of them—”
“You’ll do no such thing!” you exclaimed, the look of shock on your face coaxing a chuckle out of him as he cupped your face in his palm, your heart skipping a happy beat.
Gods, he looked irresistible.
He had put on his breeches, but his white linen shirt was half open, letting you peek at his chiseled chest. His curly hair was tousled thanks to last night’s—and this morning’s—activities, and there was a mischievous light gleaming in his eyes as he looked at you, tracing the line of your bottom lip.
You frowned, willing yourself to focus.
“I don’t suppose anyone has told you this,” you said, sticking your nose in the air, “but a lady needs her own time to get ready to be seen in public.”
“A lady or my lady?”
A smile curled your lips before you could stop it, and you pointed in the direction of the door, making him whine.
“I’ve been away from you for a week!”
You shrugged your shoulders, feigning nonchalance as if you weren’t currently battling yourself not to drag him back to bed. “That was of your own making.”
“Just a moment!”
“That, my sweet wife, is a cruel lie,” he murmured, leaning to brush his lips against yours. A pleasant sigh left you, the familiar warmth blooming in your lower stomach, your mind going blank once again as it always did whenever Robb kissed you. Your body moved at its own accord; you threw your arms over his broad shoulders so that you could pull him closer, ready to lose yourself in his arms but a knock on the door snapped you out of it and made you pull back. Robb blindly chased your lips as you pressed a hand on his chest to push him back again, turning your head.
You went under Robb’s arm to get away from him, whirling on your heels before you stepped back, clasping your hands behind you with a grin. He raised his brows like he was warning you.
“Do not—” he started, but before he could finish his sentence, you had already swung the door open to beam at your maid. She was a sweet girl, only a couple years younger than you. Just like the other northerners you had met, she wasn’t very fond of sharing too much, nor did she jump at the opportunity to gossip unlike what you were used to back in the Reach, but you were certain you were going to be friends soon enough.
“Good morrow Kyra!” you chirped. “My lord husband was just leaving, you may come in.”
Kyra stepped in and curtsied.
“M’lord. M’lady.”
“And I shall see you, my wife,” he said, kissing your temple as he walked past you and left the room. You turned to Kyra, looking down to pretend to fix the silky skirt of your nightgown.
Your grin widened at the look of utter betrayal on Robb’s face. “I shall see you at breakfast, my husband.”
“Kyra, would you mind telling the maids to draw me a bath?” you asked. “And I’d really appreciate it if you could help me take off my necklace, thank you.”
With the King and his court arriving next week, Lady Stark was busy beyond words. She had to foresee anything and everything about their visit, and while you had been following her like her shadow to learn and help out if needed, you also had your own duties.
While the preparations were being made for the feasts upon the King’s arrival, Wintertown could not be expected to put everything on hold, especially with the arrival of autumn. Thus, you and your ladies were tasked with preparing certain supplies for the smallfolk. The baskets mostly consisted of blankets and food, and while back in the south your father had certain people responsible for overseeing such help, in the north, it fell upon Lady Stark—and per her request, you.
You would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t surprise you, but you figured it was just one of the many differences between the south and the north.
Everyone did something here, regardless of who they were.
Your ladies-in-waiting were already in the granary, and you had every intention to go join them when you stepped out into the yard after having a short conversation with Lady Stark, but you stopped dead in your tracks when you caught the sight of Theon sparring with Jon while Bran watched them and Robb sat beside him, no doubt having just finished sparring with either of them. You could feel your heart skip a happy beat as you stole a look in the direction of the granary, but the urge to be with Robb—fleeting as it would be, for mere minutes—overcame your hesitation. You made your way to him, a smile twitching his lips the moment you entered his sight and sat beside him.
“Hello,” you said. “I figured I could take some fresh air before I went inside, I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” he said quickly while Bran waved at you, still quite shy. You gave him a warm smile, both your and his attention turning to Jon when he blocked Theon’s strike with his sword, pushing him hard enough to make him stumble back.
“But will it happen?” Bran insisted while you rested your head on Robb’s shoulder and he pressed his lips on top of your head, sneaking an arm around your waist to subtly pull you closer. Jon rolled his eyes.
“Of course not, Bran.”
“You never know,” Theon sang and Bran huffed.
“Even if father says so?”
“Father won’t say so.”
“He said so to Robb.”
“He asked me,” Robb corrected him, “it’s not the same thing.”
“What are we talking about?” you asked and Bran turned to you with a scowl on his face.
“Jon getting wed.”
“I’m not getting wed.”
“Silas said he was the one who approved Robb,” Bran said. “And if Robb had to approve your future lady…”
Robb let out a scoff. “I don’t think that falls on me.”
“There’s usually more things to consider than your older brother approving someone,” you pointed out. “Silas saying that isn’t the whole truth.”
“But Jon, would you have to wed Ser Tallhart’s daughter if father said so?”
You bit back a laugh at the exasperation on Jon’s face. While you didn’t know the details of how he and Silas separated, it was quite obvious that Jon’s attention wouldn’t belong to anyone else for a long time, judging by how sulky he had been since your brother left. As much as you wanted him to share his feelings with you, you figured he didn’t want you or anyone else to know, so you had to keep your silence despite seeing his sadness.
Perhaps you could imply you would keep his secret, but you would have to earn his trust for that.
“Ser Tallhart’s daughter?” you asked, making Theon let out a laugh.
“I doubt that’ll happen, Bran.”
“But!” Bran insisted. “But listen. Silas approved Robb, right? And you already said, about Ser Tallhart’s daughter, that Robb approved.”
Robb made a face. “I didn’t say I approved.”
“But Theon said that you called her pleasant and said southern girls and northern girls are different,” Bran said, making your head shoot up from Robb’s shoulder. “You approved, and Jon doesn’t have a southern betrothed, and...”
The look of panic that settled on all three men would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the fury crashing down on you. Theon and Jon stopped sparring as if someone had just barked an order at them, and Robb’s eyes widened as he stared at Bran at a loss for words. Bran seemed oblivious to their reactions, ranting about how Jon couldn’t wed because that’d mean he’d see him less like Robb, while you tried your hardest to keep your expression calm, considering you were in public.
Ser Tallhart’s daughter, was it?
“…Ah,” you said and arched a brow at Robb, an overly sweet smile curling your lips. “Is that what Robb said?”
One simple observer would’ve thought Robb was being accused of treason with the way he shook his head vigorously.
“That’s not what I—Bran, you make it sound very different than what actually took place.”
“But Theon and Jon were saying—”
“I said nothing.”
“I’m not involved in this conversation.” Theon and Jon spoke at the same time, desperate to absolve themselves of any crime but Robb wasn’t so lucky and by the looks of it, he knew it.
“I just said for—for Jon, she looked pleasant.” He waved a hand in Jon’s direction without even sparing him a glance while you tilted your head, still smiling. “For Jon only. I wasn’t even—”
“My lady?” Alys’ voice reached you, making you look over your shoulder. “Maester Luwin says we may start if you’re ready.”
“Of course,” you said as if your stomach wasn’t churning, the familiar ache whenever you were nervous back in its full strength. You got up from the bench to follow Alys, leaving Robb dumbfounded but he snapped out of it before you could reach the granary and caught up with you.
“Wait—”
“I cannot,” you said airily without a glance at him, “I have things to do.”
“That sounded wrong, back there.” He stepped in front of you to block your path, making you narrow your eyes. “I didn’t call her—I did call her pleasant, but only because I was trying to encourage Jon. He’s been sulkier than usual, and Theon thinks it’s because he didn’t like any southern girls at our wedding.”
“And one look at Theon makes you think of wisdom?”
“No,” he admitted after a beat. “Not really. But what else could be the reason?”
Your brother was the reason, but it wasn’t like you could tell Robb that. Besides, that wasn’t the point, you were not going to stand here and get into an argument where the whole yard could see, you were way too trained for that. Jealousy was not mesmerizing, most of the time it held the opposite effect. Lady Olenna used to say that the more a lady looked bothered, the more her influence slipped away. Grasping too tightly would signal to the court that you were insecure, and insecurity was unbecoming of a lady.
Which meant that even though it took every ounce of control in you, you couldn’t appear angry.
“I don’t find anyone more pleasant than you,” Robb added, almost breathless. “My lady, surely you must know that.”
You could swear the words you were not supposed to say were clawing at your throat, but you took a deep breath and forced yourself to smile.
“Alright.”
Robb pulled back slightly, his eyes darting over your face.
“…Alright?”
“Yes,” you said, your voice holding no trace of grudge unlike your heart. “And if you’ll excuse me, I must be going now.”
“But—” He stopped you, holding your arm before you could turn around. “But we’re alright?”
As much as you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, that also would appear very unladylike, so you nodded your head instead.
“Of course,” you chirped. “How selfless of you to assess and compare ladies for Jon, I’m certain he’s grateful.”
“See, that comment right there doesn’t assure me that we’re alright—”
“And though I’d love to hear about the differences between southern and northern ladies, I really must be going now,” you cut him off, pulling your arm out of his grip. “Have a good day, my lord.”
With that, you walked away from him, anger still pulsing in your temples.
Who even was Ser Tallhart’s daughter? No one had told you anything about her.
There was no wonder your ladies-in-waiting would know about her, seeing that they had likely crossed paths at a wedding or a feast. If you were back home, you could’ve asked your friends, but here in Winterfell you had to be more careful than that.
Any wrong question could lead to many speculations.
Not to mention, you still didn’t trust them. Alys, Wylla and Lyra seemed rather sweet, but when it came to Jorelle and Barbrey, you were still very cautious. Barbrey was going to have to work hard to prove her loyalty to you, and Jorelle…
Well.
You weren’t certain that you could ever lower your guard with her.
It wasn’t even about her at this point, it was more about her family. You knew very well that at any given moment, her family would push her forward if they knew they could undermine you, Lady Cerwyn’s condescending manners were a proof of it. Not only that, the whole North would support them, as they were already fond of Jorelle and her family.
Your family, however, were outsiders to the north, and no matter how much help they would send when the winter came, northerners didn’t trust or like outsiders.
You were pulled away from your thoughts when Wylla spoke.
“That’s a very beautiful necklace.”
Your head snapped up, and you willed a lovesick smile on your face despite the storm in your head.
“Aw thank you,” you said, dipping the spoon into the salt bag to pour some of it into the small container before you walked to place it in a basket. “Robb kindly brought me a gift from Torrhen’s Square.”
Alys and Barbrey exchanged smirks while Lyra and Jorelle folded the blankets to put into the rest of the empty baskets.
“Do you know…” you trailed off, nibbling on your lip. “Have any of you been to Torrhen’s Square before?”
Jorelle lifted her head for only a moment before she returned her attention to the blankets, clearly deciding against whatever she was going to say. Alys nodded her head.
“I have, once.”
“I don’t think I’ve met House Tallhart,” you mused. “I’ve heard high praises though.”
“Did Gilliane come to the wedding?” Lyra asked and you turned your head.
“Gilliane?”
“Their oldest daughter, my lady,” Wylla said. “And no, she didn’t.”
“I think only Erena came,” Alys said. “I’m certain I caught a glimpse of her—her younger sister.”
“I’ve met too many people to count at the wedding, I’m afraid,” you said. “Perhaps I met them and don’t remember it.”
“Erena is very sweet, Gilliane however…”
“Lyra,” Alys warned her and she held up her hands.
“I said nothing.”
You tilted your head. “Oh, now I must know.”
Barbrey grinned. “Gilliane is very emotional.”
“It’s no crime against the king to be emotional!” Alys insisted while Lyra made a face.
“It should be.”
Jorelle bit back her smile.
“Gilliane gets affected by anything and everything,” she told you. “A bit of a crier.”
“And she falls in love with someone different at every Harvest Feast,” Wylla added and fixed her hair in an exaggerated manner. “And if anyone would like to ask me why she didn’t come to the wedding, I have the answer.”
“How?”
“One of her brothers holds affections for me, and he’s a gossip.”
Alys’ jaw dropped. “Which brother?”
“Benton.” Wylla reached out to grab an apple to take a bite, coaxing a laugh out of you while Lyra narrowed her eyes.
“Have you started living in Wintertown and we don’t know about it?”
“It’s just one apple!”
“Don’t let Maester Luwin see you,” Jorelle said and Wylla shrugged her shoulders.
“I am famished, would he rather if I fainted?”
“That is a very sound logic I admit,” you teased them and Wylla gestured at you.
“See?”
“But in return, we hear why she didn’t come to the wedding,” you added, plopping down on the nearest chair and cracking your neck with a grimace. “Sounds interesting.”
“Alright, so…” Wylla jumped to sit on the table. “Benton says she was heartbroken.”
“That’s no news, she gets heartbroken whenever someone looks at her wrong.”
“Jo!”
“Am I lying?”
“No wonder she and I can’t get along well, she has too many feelings for my taste,” Lyra mused and Alys pressed her fist on her lips in an attempt to hide her smile. Barbrey leaned in.
“Who was she heartbroken over?”
“And that’s what is so interesting about it,” Wylla said and turned to you. “Don’t misunderstand this, because I would know if there was anything between them, but…”
You pulled back, your mouth half agape. “Robb?”
The whole room erupted into chaos.
“Wylla!”
“Have they even spoken to each other before?”
“I have never ever seen them exchange words in any wedding or feast.”
“Yeah, Benton says the same. She was admiring him from afar, pushed her father to make an offer of betrothal, but…”
Well, if that was the pleasant girl, at least now you knew she was no real threat to your position or your heart.
“A lot of fathers made—” Barbrey started but Alys elbowed her, stealing a look at Jorelle whose calm face was impossible to read as usual. Lyra shrugged her shoulders.
“I’ll say it if you won’t. Everyone’s fathers made proposals.”
“Lyra, don’t say that!”
“What, like she doesn’t know?”
“I do know,” you assured them. “And I don’t mind at all. If Robb held a grudge over everyone who made a proposal to wed me, our marriage would be cold until we’re old and gray. That’s simply how such arrangements work, it makes sense that families made proposals, I could never hold grudges over that.”
At least that was what Lady Olenna would want you to say.
Untroubled and amused.
That’s what you had to appear when it came to possible former betrothals; untroubled and amused.
Even though what you felt was the complete opposite of that.
“And I don’t want any of you to guard your tongues around me,” you added in a haste, as if you yourself hadn’t been trained to guard your tongue around people since you could speak. “Not when it’s just us, at least.”
No one back in the south would believe or entertain such thought. In fact, if you and Margaery were ever told what you had just said, you both would’ve taken it as an insult to be seen so naïve, but this was the north.
And you could not seem resentful or insecure.
“Now,” you said and grabbed an apple to bite it as well. “Tell me more about this person. I have been suffering from lack of gossip ever since I came here, and I’d like to catch up.”
By dinner time, you had learned everything there was to learn about House Tallhart and their daughters, and thankfully, nothing seemed alarming.
But that didn’t mean you weren’t angry at Robb.
And although Lady Olenna would’ve advised you otherwise, you were going to make sure he knew exactly how you felt.
Lord Stark had made it much easier, albeit not on purpose. He had kept Robb with him the whole day for meetings and petitions, and you had managed to excuse yourself to your own bedchambers right after dinner before he could come back. A week away from home must have meant Lord Stark had much to catch up on, because it was nearly midnight by the time you heard Robb’s heavy gait pass your door. You raised your brows, keeping your attention on your book in your lap when the door to his bedchambers opened, then closed after a couple of complete silence. His footsteps approached your door before he opened it and peeked his head in.
“What are you doing here?”
You flipped the page without pulling your gaze off the book. “Reading.”
“Here?”
“Seems that way.”
“But…” He stepped inside. “But I’m back.”
“Hasn’t escaped me.”
“Then why are you here?”
“It’s my bedchambers,” you replied. “Why are you here?”
“I couldn’t find you in—are you still angry at me?”
“No,” you lied through your teeth. “I simply decided to sleep here tonight.”
Judging by the look on his face, you might as well have announced you meant to annul your marriage: “You’re not sleeping here tonight.”
“I am,” you said, pretending to be engrossed in your book though you barely had any idea what you were reading. “And you can sleep in your own bedchambers and think about Ser Tallhart’s daughter all you want.”
“What?” His eyes widened. “I told you, I only said that for—”
“I care not.” You pointed at the door, your gaze fixed on the page. “Leave me be.”
He lingered there for a moment as if he was trying to find the best approach, then took a step towards the bed.
“My sweet wife—” he started, but stopped dead on his tracks when you lifted your head to glare daggers at him. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat.
“I was trying to encourage Jon.”
“I heard you the first time,” you said and closed to book to give him a snake like smile. “Now that you’re here though, what exactly is so different between southern and northern girls? Since you are an expert, you should have no issues enlightening me?”
“That’s—” He pointed back at the door like Jon was standing outside, stumbling over his words. “I simply said, if Jon didn’t find any southern girls to his liking, northern girls might be uh—different?” The last word came out like an uncertain question. “In terms of his uh, his…affections.”
You raised your brows, still glaring at him.
“I swear it was for Jon only.”
“Wonderful,” you deadpanned. “You may leave now. Have pleasant dreams.”
A ghost of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “I can’t believe you’re jealou—”
“Robb if you finish that sentence, I will make you suffer in a very southern way, and then you’ll know the actual difference between northern and southern girls,” you growled, and he held up his hands, biting back his smile.
“Be angry at me if you wish,” he said, stepping closer to the bed, “but we’re not sleeping in different beds.”
“I’m not coming there, and you’re not welcomed here.”
“Oh you are coming there,” he said and before you could so much as blink, he had thrown you over his shoulder, a surprised shriek spilling from your lips.
“Put me down this instant!” you exclaimed, your voice going high-pitched while he made his way to the door. You pressed your palms on his shoulder to throw him off his balance and wiggle out of his grip, but much to your frustration, it didn’t work. “How dare you? This is actual disrespect, you—”
“You left me no other choice,” he stated, stepping out of your bedchambers into the hallway. “Whose fault is it? Not mine.”
“Put me down!”
He turned, but stopped in an instant, and though you hoped it was because he decided to listen to you, the real reason turned out to be very different. He shifted his weight and let out a curt cough like he was trying to regain his composure.
“Father.”
Oh Gods.
Oh Gods no.
Lord Stark could not see you like this, absolutely not.
“…Robb.”
Alright then, Lord Stark was indeed seeing you like this.
You shut your eyes tight, half hoping it would make both of you disappear from Lord Stark’s vision, scrunching up your face.
“Good evening, Lord Stark,” you squealed out, the angle Robb was holding you in preventing you from seeing your father-in-law, perhaps by mercy.
“My wife and I were just…” Robb started, but even you could tell he had no idea where the sentence would go. “We were uh, going to sleep.”
Well, Robb was a terrible liar, so at least you could find some solace in that for the future of your marriage, especially now that you were going to have to spend the rest of the said marriage not being able to look at his father in the eye. A silence fell upon the hallway before Lord Stark heaved a sigh as if he had the realm’s weight on his shoulders, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could picture the exasperation on his face.
“I saw nothing,” he ended up saying. “I saw nothing, and I am walking away before I see anything.”
You heard Lord Stark go past him and you watched him walk to the other end of the hallway without sparing a glance back. A whine climbed your throat and you slumped over his shoulder, hiding your face in your hands until Robb entered his—your—bedchambers and dropped you on the bed. You grabbed the nearest pillow to throw at him, your cheeks burning.
“I won’t be able to look at your father anymore, Robb!”
“He doesn’t mind.”
“He—that—” you stammered, gesturing at the door. “He saw!”
“Aye, and he doesn’t mind,” Robb said, catching the other pillow in the air. “To repeat, you gave me no other choice!”
You gritted your teeth and turned to Grey Wind who was watching you both from beside the fireplace.
“Grey Wind, up,” you commanded and he leaped on the bed, making Robb frown.
“What are you doing?”
“He will sleep between us.”
“No he won’t.”
“Yes he will,” you said and pulled the fur covers on top of you, the direwolf curling up next to you. “You can sleep on your side, or you can sleep somewhere else dreaming of Ser Tallhart’s pleasant daughter, your choice.”
“That’s a vile accusation and a terrible insult—Grey Wind, down.”
“Grey Wind, stay,” you shot back and Grey Wind let out a huff, looked between you and Robb, then yawned and nudged your arm with his snout. “See? He’s staying.”
Robb threw his head back with a groan while you pulled your pillow to yourself.
“Lamb…”
“I’m too sleepy to argue.”
“Then just listen?”
“I shall not,” you said, closing your eyes. “Goodnight.”
“But…”
“Goodnight, I said.”
Robb exhaled through his nose impatiently and moved about in the room, his heavy steps enough of a clue to what he was doing. Despite trying to control yourself, you still ended up opening an eye to watch him take off his shirt, but you shut your eyes again before he could see you gawking at him. He got under the furs, and after a couple of seconds you dared steal a peek again to find him half naked, his arm thrown over his eyes to block the candlelight, oblivious to the way your gaze followed down his chiseled body while you bit at your lip.
Oh well.
Just because you were angry at him didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the sight.
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: Honeymoon is made better with gifts.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Life in the North was full of responsibilities.
Robb knew that. As the heir to House Stark and the future Lord of Winterfell, he had always known he would have responsibilities to his house, his family, and the north.
However, as a new husband, he also had responsibilities to his wife, and those outweighed anything and everything else, in spite of the rest of the realm thinking otherwise.
It had been his father’s request of course. After postponing everything for over a moon because of the wedding, he now had to go back to his regular visits to his bannermen and lords to ensure loyalty, and as usual, Robb was expected to go with him. Before his wedding, Robb never had any problems with it, instead he found it useful for the future but now…
It was different now.
He pulled on his breeches and went over to the hearth to feed the fire so that the room would still be hot when he left. After giving Grey Wind a quick scratch behind the ears, he got into a white linen shirt and put on his boots, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to around his lady from her slumber. He sat at the foot of the bed fixing his sleeves, but he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the bed shift before his lady draped herself across his back like a cloak, her arms thrown over his shoulders. The warmth of her naked skin seeped through his shirt while she tucked her face into the crook of his neck with a sleepy sigh and Robb smiled, his chest tightening with the rush of happiness flooding it.
“Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice low in the quiet of the room save for the crackling of wood in the fireplace. She shook her head, letting out a noise of displeasure.
“No,” she said, her breath caressing his neck. “But you should have.”
He entwined his fingers with hers to press a kiss on the back of her hand. “It’s early in the morning still.”
“Mayhaps, but you’re leaving for a week.”
He didn’t even have to look at her to know she had a sulky expression on her face, it was clear as day from her voice. With another curt kiss on her wrist, he slipped out of her arms to turn to see her better, but that turned out to be the wrong move, especially considering he was expected outside.
Gods, he was never going to get used to this.
The sight of her sitting there all prim and proper as if she wasn’t bare before him was enough to make his breath hitch in his throat, desire shooting through him faster than a lightning strike. It took every ounce of willpower in him not to pounce on her, the familiar fire burning low in his veins while she blinked slowly, sleep still clinging to her eyes. He couldn’t help but reach out to graze his fingertips up her waist, awakening goosebumps on her soft skin.
“And how,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with want, “am I supposed to leave you when you look like this?”
A teasing smile curled her lips.
“You’re not,” she answered. “And yet…”
Robb found himself mirroring her smile before he leaned in to steal a kiss from her, his hand cupping the side of her neck as he gently pushed her on her back so that he could settle between her legs, a giggle escaping her.
“Robb!”
It was simply cruel; to expect him to be anywhere but here in her arms while she looked up at him with such a pretty pout.
“Yes, my lady?”
She fiddled with the laces of his shirt as if she wanted to focus on something else, her brows pulled into a worried frown.
“Is it very far?” she asked. “Torrhen’s Square?”
“Not very far but we’ll stay for a night or two,” he muttered, dipping his head to kiss her neck but she stopped him.
“But you’ll be back in seven days for certain?” she insisted. “No longer?”
“Seven days is long enough.”
“No I know, I just…” she trailed off while he played with her hair absentmindedly. “I don’t want you to be away any longer than necessary, that’s all.”
“Trust me,” Robb grumbled, “I wouldn’t be leaving if it were up to me.”
That irresistible pout pulled at her lips again.
“Or so you claim.”
He shot her a half-hearted glare. “Do you honestly think I’d rather spend a night in Ser Tallhart’s castle—”
“I thought he was a lord.”
“House Tallhart is a masterly house.”
“Masterly house?”
“It’s…” Robb trailed off. “Think of landed knights but northern.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, you honestly think I’d rather spend a night in Ser Tallhart’s castle than be here with you?”
“Well, where will you be for a week? Here with me or Ser Tallhart’s castle?”
“I’ll be on horseback for most of it,” he corrected her and she pushed at his shoulder, making him chuckle. She nibbled on her lip, then took a deep breath.
“While you’re away,” she said. “May I ask something of you?”
“Anything.”
She raised her brows. “Anything?”
“I’d give you the realm if you wanted,” he muttered, nudging her nose with his, drawing a giggle out of her.
“I suppose it’s lucky that I don’t wish for the realm,” she said softly. “I only wish for your attention and affection.”
His heart melted in his ribcage.
“But since I’m to be deprived of both for a week,” she added before he could assure her she’d have them forever. “I want you to bring me a gift from there, wherever Torrhen’s Square is.”
His grin widened. “A gift?”
“Yes,” she said, wrapping the laces of his shirt around her index finger. “So that I’ll know you thought of me.”
He frowned down at her.
“And my wife, who has conquered my heart and my soul,” he said, caressing her cheekbone, “believes it possible that I will not think of her?”
She shrugged despite the smile playing on her lips, but before she could say anything, a servant knocked on the door.
“My lord, the horses are ready, your father is waiting for you.”
Robb repressed a groan and dipped his head to give her a goodbye kiss, unable to make himself pull back until she did, her eyes darting over his face.
“Promise me you’ll miss me,” she said, nearly breathless as he captured her lips with his again.
“I will,” he murmured. “I swear it. Promise me you’ll miss me back?”
“Every second,” she said and he stole another kiss from her, then forced himself to get off of her, already longing for her warmth. He grabbed his doublet to put it on while she pulled the furs up to her chest, then leaned over the edge of the bed so that she could give Grey Wind head scratches.
“What kind of gift?” Robb couldn’t help but ask as she cooed at Grey Wind, then turned her head.
“Hm?”
He clasped his cloak. “What kind of gift?”
“That’s for you to choose.” She kissed Grey Wind’s head who gave her a happy rumble. “You be careful out there, my sweet.”
Robb went over to her to peck her on the lips. “And you be careful here.”
“I will.” She beamed at him and let herself fall back on the bed while he walked to the door. “Miss me!”
“I will,” Robb chuckled and let himself gaze at her once more, then opened the door and stepped out with Grey Wind following him suit. The direwolf let out a whine, turning his head to look back at the door and Robb heaved a sigh.
“I know,” he said as he made his way down the hallway. “Trust me, I know.”
At least the road hadn’t been troublesome.
Ser Tallhart and his family were good friends of House Stark, as they had been for centuries. They were very welcoming too, so after the meetings were over and the petitions were listened, the dinner was turned into a small feast. Though northern houses had less resources than houses of the Reach, they made up for it in hospitality, and this was yet another occasion for the two houses to get together along with some of the other vassals. He and his father had been talking to Ser Tallhart for the last ten minutes, and it was only when he excused himself to go to talk to another lord that his father turned to Robb.
“You look tormented.”
“I left my lady wife in Winterfell.”
“So did I, Robb,” his father reminded him and Robb made a face.
“It’s not the same, father.”
Or at least he wanted to think it was not.
His father raised his brows, biting back a smile.
“It’ll be good for you,” he said after a beat while Robb took a sip of his ale. “To be away for a week. Your mother tells me the whole North is talking about how you barely let your wife out of your bedchambers, they should see that’s not the case.”
“It’s not the case,” Robb insisted. “What, because we skipped breakfast a couple of times?”
“And keep excusing yourselves right after dinner,” his father pointed out. “And just the other day you all but snatched her when she was merely walking down the hallway—”
“We had things to talk of,” he defended himself, his ears burning. “And it may have escaped people, but we’re on our honeymoon.”
His father hummed. “It hasn’t escaped people, but you don’t want them to think you’re ruled by…excitement.”
Robb was fully aware of the fire spreading over his face, but he looked down at his cup and took a sip again while his father glanced around the hall, then heaved a sigh.
“Do you know what’s happening with Jon?”
Robb turned his head to find his brother in the crowded hall. The last he checked, he and Theon were talking to Ser Tallhart’s sons, but it was clear that Jon had left the conversation to go drink at the table by himself, lost in his own thoughts. It wasn’t a new occasion to see him sulk, but at least in the feasts and such he used to hold a conversation, especially if Theon or Robb were around.
And strangely enough, this wasn’t the first time Robb noticed it. Jon had been in low spirits for a couple of days, since the day before the Greensteds left Winterfell.
“He’s tired, perhaps.”
“For days?” his father asked and Robb shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll talk to him,” he said and made his way to Jon to sit across from him, making his head snap up.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Robb said. “You look sulkier than I am, and I’m away from my lady. What’s going on with you?”
“Uh….” Jon blinked a couple of times. “I’m tired.”
“See, I just gave the very same excuse to father, and he didn’t believe it either,” Robb pointed out while he filled his cup, and Jon’s brows pinched together.
“Father asked?”
“Aye, you’ve been upset for the last couple of days.” Robb took a sip of his ale again. “Jon, be honest with me. Is this because of the southerners?”
Jon’s eyes widened. “…What?”
“They left and you’re upset?” Robb asked as Jon pulled back a little, swallowing thickly. “Who was that lady you danced with at the wedding, Lady Florys? Is it because she left?”
Jon stared at him for a couple of seconds and let out a breath, a look of relief crossing his features.
“No,” he said. “No, she was nice, but I don’t…”
“Was there another guest who caught your attention then?”
Jon pursed his lips, then shook his head.
“No.”
“Because my lady says—”
“What are we talking about?” Theon plopped down next to Robb, and Jon took a huge sip of his drink.
“Robb thinks just because he’s in love, I must be in love as well.”
“That’s not what I said.” Robb pointed at him. “I’m just trying to find a reason for your sulking being worse than usual, that is all.”
“Oh I think I know what this is about,” Theon told them, his eyes a little glassy no doubt thanks to ale. “But it’s good that you didn’t fall in love with a southern girl, Snow. Everyone knows the southern girls are—”
“Careful there,” Robb cut him off, glaring at him and Theon held up his hands, gesturing surrender.
“Your lady excluded, obviously,” he corrected himself. “But come on, Jon is not gonna wed a southerner.” He clasped a hand over his shoulder to shake him. “He’ll wed a northerner, that’s more his type!”
“I don’t even know what you mean to say, Greyjoy.”
“I mean to say, look around,” Theon pointed out. “Just because the whole Reach came to Winterfell and a lot of northerners and southerners found each other to their liking, does not mean you have to be among them. No need to feel excluded, maybe you simply like northern girls better than southern girls.”
Oh, Robb hadn’t thought about that possibility.
Perhaps Theon was right, it wasn’t because Jon liked any of the southern ladies, it was because he couldn’t find someone to his liking even with so many of them in Winterfell, and felt excluded.
Even his lady had said many of her friends would be exchanging letters with the northern men they’d met at the wedding.
“Am I wrong?” Theon asked Robb who shook his head.
“Not at all,” he said quickly. “Southern girls are different than northern girls, and not every northern girl came to the wedding.”
“Aye.”
“There are a bunch of people you have not talked with,” Robb said, stealing a glance around the hall. “A bunch of houses who are loyal to House Stark, like—oh, like Ser Tallhart’s daughter over there, see? She seems pleasant.”
“Very pleasant,” Theon said. “But mayhaps not that one.”
“Why not? Is she betrothed?”
“Her brothers said she held a lot of admiration for you,” Theon said with a grin. “Asked her father to make an offer of betrothal before you were betrothed to your lady.”
Fuck, that was not going to help Jon here.
Robb gave Theon a warning glare who sat up straighter.
“But he has another daughter,” Theon added in a haste. “Prettier if you ask me. Over there, talking to Lord Glover’s daughter—”
“I think I’m gonna go outside and find Ghost,” Jon mumbled and pushed back his chair, then made his way out of the hall while Robb and Theon exchanged glances.
“Did I make it worse?” Theon asked and Robb shrugged.
“Nah,” he said. “I doubt it.”
“And what of you?” Theon asked, leaning back. “Eager to be back in Winterfell already?”
Robb brushed a hand over his face. “That obvious?”
“Very obvious,” Theon said, then gave him a grin. “But hey, at least your lady is free to roam in the castle now that you’re not there to keep her captive in your bedchambers.”
Robb scoffed a laugh, then flipped him and took another sip of his ale.
They arrived in Winterfell at the hour of the wolf, a week after they left.
The last couple of hours had been a test on Robb’s willpower; ever since they had entered the Wolfswood he had been trying to keep himself from galloping his horse to the castle and leave the others behind. He knew that his lady was asleep—the whole castle was asleep, but he still couldn’t wait to have her in his arms and take in her sweet scent and see her, after torturous days of being away from her.
No matter how tired he was from the road, the mere promise of her presence was enough to make him feel refreshed as if he’d had a full night’s sleep rather than having spent hours on horseback.
He made his way into the keep with Grey Wind following him, leaving his horse to his squire to handle without a glance back. After climbing the stairs, he walked down the hallway and pushed his door open, but what greeted him was the sight of the dark and empty bedchambers, making him frown.
Where was his lady?
The bed was made and the hearth was empty, so it was clear that she hadn’t gone out for a stroll. He glanced around as if she could jump out of the shadows, then looked down at Grey Wind who wagged his tail at him.
“Do you know where she is?”
Grey Wind sniffed the air, then turned around to leave the room, this time with Robb following him. Even though Robb half expected him to lead him out of the keep, he was proven otherwise when the direwolf padded down the hallway, then went to sit in front of the closed door to his lady’s bedchambers and looked up at him.
“Good work,” Robb whispered and scratched Grey Wind’s head, then pushed open the door and stepped inside, the warmth of the room hitting his face, no doubt thanks to the fully lit hearth.
Considering she spent every night with him, he hadn’t been inside his lady’s bedchambers since they were wed, nor had he understood why she couldn’t just use their bedchambers, but now that he was seeing it for the first time, it made sense.
The room completely belonged to her.
As she had mentioned earlier, she was given the room with the best light, the huge windows letting the moonlight inside at night and sunlight in the morning. Her vanity was at the corner, and on the other corner, there were three panels of full length mirrors together, reminding him of a room divider. The frames were carved with flowers and goats, but on the top there were two snarling wolves, making him smile. The other side of the room was spared to her wardrobe and chests of accessories, he could already tell, seeing that one of them was left open.
And at the center of the room, there was the bed she laid, too lost in her dreams to notice his presence.
Even in her sleep she managed to take his breath away. For a moment, Robb wondered whether she knew just how enchanting she was, but all the thoughts in his head washed away as his gaze devoured her sleeping form, the furs drawn to her chest while she lay on her side, the strap of her nightgown slipped off one shoulder. He took a step towards the bed, and as if on cue, Frost’s head popped up behind her as she blearily blinked at him, then rested her head on her waist.
By the Gods, of course she had taken Frost from the stables so that she could sleep in the bed.
Robb heaved a sigh and made his way to bed to pick up the lamb, earning a soft bleat in return.
“You can stay with Grey Wind,” he muttered to her and opened the door to put her next to Grey Wind who had curled up by the door, as if he was on watch duty. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought the tiny lamb was glaring up at him before she heaved a sigh, then plopped on top of Grey Wind in a dramatic manner, making the direwolf huff. Robb bit back a smile, then closed the door again to approach the bed.
Her scent filled his lungs as he carefully dipped his head to nuzzle into the crook of her neck, running his fingertips down her arm. She shifted a little, muttering something into her pillow, and it was only when Robb pressed a kiss on her neck that the haze of sleep slipped off of her, making her jolt with a sharp breath.
“It’s me,” Robb said with a chuckle and an exhale left her before she grabbed the nearest pillow to hit him with it.
“You scared me!” she exclaimed, drawing a laugh out of him as she dropped the pillow to press a hand on her chest. “Seven hells, Robb!”
“I missed you too.” He grinned before stealing a kiss from her. “Though I must admit, being struck with a pillow was not the welcome I had in mind.”
She let out a giggle and pushed at his arm, still breathless.
“I feared you were some sort of a thief in the night.”
“No thief can enter the keep, my love.”
“Well, still!” she insisted and pulled herself up in the bed to lean her back to the headboard, fixing her hair. “How fared your visit?”
“Torturous.”
She sat up straighter, her eyes gleaming even in the dim room. “What did you bring me?”
Robb hissed in a breath.
“Ah,” he said. “I forgot about that.”
Teasing her was nothing new to him, and it always made him laugh when she got all flustered, but this time was different. His stomach churned at once when her grin faltered, that shine in her eyes getting dim as she blinked a couple of times in hesitation.
“Oh,” she said softly after a beat and tried to smile. “That’s alright, I have um—I have enough things anyway!”
Yeah no, he couldn’t take her sadness even if it was for a second.
“Right,” he said and reached into his doublet to pull out a small pouch. “I suppose you don’t need this then?”
Her jaw dropped and she gasped, then hit him with the pillow again.
“Robb!”
“I mean I could always throw it away—” He let out a laugh when she snatched it from his hand. “Or not.”
“You didn’t forget!”
“Of course I didn’t forget,” he told her. “If my lady wife requests something, she shall have it.”
She untied the pouch and turned it over, the necklace falling into her palm, making her breath hitch. It wasn’t overly intricate; tiny drop shaped blue-white gems dangling from two gold wires twisted around each other, but when Robb found it in the market of Torrhen’s Square at a merchant’s stall, all he could think about was how beautiful it would look around his lady’s neck.
“The merchant said it was—”
“Moonstone,” she finished his sentence for him, lifting her head from the necklace to beam at him. “It’s gorgeous, thank you! I love it!”
Before he could kiss her, she had already leaped out of the bed to rush to the full length mirrors on the other side of the room, holding the necklace over her neck, trying to see it from all angles. He pushed himself off the bed to make his way to her, and she fixed her hair so that he could clasp the necklace before he wrapped his arms around her torso, her sweet scent engulfing him. She looked down at the necklace, her hand shooting up to adjust the gemstones while he watched her in the mirror, desire making him nearly lightheaded.
“Whoever said husbands didn’t know how to choose gifts doesn’t know of you,” she said airily before turning in his arms to look up at him with a big smile, and Robb found himself mirroring it. “Thank you so much, it’s so beautiful!”
“Of course,” he muttered, pressing a kiss under her jaw. “And you look very beautiful, my lady. You and your gown.”
“And my necklace!”
“And your necklace.” He huffed a chuckle while his hands tugged at the laces of her nightgown, but she pulled back a little.
“Wait—” She reached back to feel the clasp of the delicate chain. “Help me take it off first?”
A wolfish grin curled his lips before he leaned in to kiss her, walking her back to the bed until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she fell on the furs with a small squeal that turned into the sweetest giggle when he all but pounced on her.
“But my necklace—”
“Keep it on,” Robb murmured, dipping his head to trail his lips down her neck. “I want to see you come undone wearing nothing but that.”
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: Saying goodbye to family is always difficult.
Word Count: 5,7k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Growing up in your family, you were led to believe some things were so certain that they could have been laws of nature.
You would have a complete change of wardrobe every year in addition to the gowns you had made for special days, such as your nameday or Margaery’s.
You would get a gift from your father whenever he had to travel to a different part of the realm and came back home.
You would get a monthly allowance of jewelry so that—according to your father— you could learn the importance of patience, though you never really understood why he was so insistent on that.
And most important of all; you would never be out of your family’s sight, but that was about to change and you were nowhere near ready.
Sleep decided to leave you early in the morning, while Robb was still deep in his slumber. It took you less than an hour to understand you wouldn’t be able to doze off again; your mind was way too troubled to give you such peace. You tried to move out of his arms as slowly as possible so that you wouldn’t wake him up, but his grip around your waist tightened before he buried his face to the crook of your neck with a small groan.
“Robb?” you whispered and he let out a sleepy hum that vibrated in his chest. “Are you awake?”
He lifted his head just a little to peek at the window before he dropped it back to your neck. “It’s barely morning.”
“I think perhaps I should go and see if my father needs anything.”
“He’s asleep,” he murmured into your skin. “Just like the rest of the castle. Like you and I should be.”
“But what if he needs something?”
“He needs rest before the road, sweeting,” he said, his voice deep and drowsy. “It’s a long way from here to the Reach. Let him sleep.”
You could feel your heart dropping to your stomach, but you took a trembling breath.
“But um, mayhaps he woke up early to get ready.”
“Not this early.”
“But Silas always sets out bef—”
“They won’t sneak out before you wake up,” he assured you, already half-asleep. “I promise.”
You nibbled on your lip, trying to remember whether any of your brothers had said anything about when exactly your father and the rest of the household would leave, but came up empty. Robb’s breaths turned into soft snores behind you, and you made sure not to wake him again as you slipped out of the bed, Grey Wind raising his head from where he lay by the fireplace. You scratched at his head, grabbed your dressing gown and put it over your nightgown, stealing a glance outside the window. Robb had a point; you were sure no one else was awake just yet, but you didn’t want to lose any more time to sleep when your whole family would be getting on the road today.
Your father’s chambers were the first one you tried, but when you knocked on the door, he didn’t answer. A quick peek into the room from the door made it clear that he was indeed asleep, so you closed the door as quiet as a mouse, then made your way to Silas’s door. Your time in the Reach had taught you not to barge into Silas’ bedchambers, so you knocked on the door and took a deep breath.
“Silas?” you called out from behind the door. “Are you awake?”
His voice didn’t sound sleepy at all when he answered: “What is it?”
“Are you alone?”
“Uh….no,” he said. “I’m not.”
You bit back a smirk, fighting the urge to say good morning to Jon.
“I’ll be in my bedchambers, can you come there when you can?” you asked. “I must talk to you.”
“Of course,” he said and you walked away from his door to enter the hallway that led to your own bedchambers, but the sight of Elinor stepping out of your room made you stop dead in your tracks. She seemed as shocked as you were to see you there, but she overcame it rather fast.
“What were you doing in my room?” you asked with a frown, and she shrugged her shoulders.
“My maids haven’t been able to find my favorite necklace, I thought maybe it was there.”
You made a face. “I have my own jewelry with taste, thank you very much.”
To your surprise, she didn’t even retort, instead she just walked past you and made her way out of the hallway. You rushed to your bedchambers in fear of her having done something to your gowns, and though they all looked untouched, you pursed your lips, then heaved a sigh.
“Great,” you muttered to yourself. “Now I have to check all of them.”
You weren’t even close to being done inspecting the first chest when Silas arrived in your bedchambers, but for the first time in your life there were more pressing matters than your gowns, especially when your brother seemed to share your low spirits.
“Does Aunt Anya know you’re going there with the twins?”
“Perce sent a raven a few days back.”
You played with the intricate embroidery of the pillow in your lap. “Should be fun.”
He just shrugged his shoulders, sprawled on the sofa across from where you sat.
“It’s about time I met Braxton’s betrothed, I suppose.”
“He is so in love.”
“Yeah but he’s also a fool, so we need to make sure she can be trusted,” he pointed out, making you roll your eyes.
“Silas. Come on.”
“I just don’t want another Elinor.”
“Don’t remind me,” you muttered and tilted your head. “When you said you weren’t alone just now, was it Jon?”
“Mm hm.”
“How’s—” You motioned vaguely. “Will you two exchange letters?”
He bit inside his cheek.
“This affair will stay within the walls of Winterfell,” he said. “It was just entertainment, nothing more, nothing less. He knows.”
“Does he know, or do you just assume he knows?”
“He very clearly does, seeing that I suggested he could come with me to Dorne and he said no.”
Your eyes widened. “You did what?”
“Dorne is much less restricted, especially compared to the North—”
“You suggested he could come with you to Dorne?”
“And I knew he would say no, so drop it,” he said. “It doesn’t mean what you think it means. He’s just a good man who’d be happier in Dorne, that’s it.”
“Fine, fine…”
“And you?” He eyed you up and down. “Are you sure you’re staying here in the north?”
“Seeing that I’m wed to the heir to the north,” you joked with a small grin, “I kind of have to, I think.”
“That rule applies to other people, not you,” he reminded you. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
You shook your head, your chest tightening.
“I do want to stay, Silas,” you managed to say. “Robb and I are in love.”
“Oh that didn’t escape anyone, the whole North talks about how he barely lets you out of his bedchambers—”
“And you shouldn’t worry about me,” you cut him off, a fire spreading over your cheeks. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me after you leave. I promise.”
He heaved a sigh, then brushed a hand over his face.
“I know,” he muttered. “I’ll still visit before I go back home from Dorne, let’s see if you feel the same after the honeymoon.”
A smile curled your lips. “Dorne and The Reach share a border, the North is on the other side. It’s not as if it’s on your way.”
“I’ll make it my way,” he pointed out. “Besides, I’m in no rush to go home. Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay until Braxton’s wedding and come back here with you.”
Your smile faded from your lips as your eyes started burning, but you blinked back the tears.
“You can’t escape forever, Silas,” you rasped out and his gaze snapped to yours. He swallowed thickly, then gave you that perfect courtier smile of his.
“Maybe I can,” he said. “Maybe I don’t want to go back to the Reach when you’re not there. Maybe I’ll just join Cliff and become a pirate and never go home ever again.”
“A merchant.”
“Oh please, he’s a pirate,” he said with a scoff. “He’s just too rich for others to call him that. I’m his brother, I can say it.”
A burst of laughter escaped you despite the lump in your throat and that seemed to coax Silas’ own laugh that echoed in the room, the heaviness threatening to crush your ribcage lifting a little at the familiar sound.
“You haven’t seen his crew!” he insisted through laughter, gesturing at the window. “I have been losing sleep over how I’m going to explain it to father when we all get to White Harbor and he sees his ship—”
Someone knocked on the door and Eadith peeked her head in.
“My lady,” she said, her voice lacking its usual cheerful tone even though she tried to smile. “Good morning. Would you like me to help you get dressed?”
The lump in your throat felt like it was growing bigger when you realized this was going to be the last time she helped you with your gowns, but you managed to smile back and nodded your head.
“That’d be great, thank you Eadith,” you said and Silas got up from the sofa.
“I’ll go and check whether father has woken up,” he said. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
He pressed a kiss on top of your head and left the room, closing the door behind him. You licked your lips and stood up as well, then made your way to the table and grabbed the small box on the table.
“Eadith,” you said and held it out. “This is for you.”
Her head shot up. “For me, my lady?”
“A small parting gift,” you said while she took it from you in the most careful manner, and lifted the lid, a gasp leaving her.
“My lady…”
The box was filled with gold coins, and on top of them laid a scroll, an emerald necklace, a pair of diamond earrings and a silk ribbon you had embroidered with flowers yourself.
“You’ve always liked that necklace and those earrings,” you said. “They’ll look much more beautiful on you than they ever did on me. I have a matching ribbon with that one, I made sure to embroider both of them the same. And the scroll is my recommendation letter, in case Elinor tries to test your patience. I’m quite certain it’ll open many doors for you, including House Tyrell’s. I’ll also send a letter to Lady Olenna if you’d like, she’ll be happy to have you in her service.”
A sob ripped itself from her chest and she covered her mouth in an attempt to cover it before you wrapped your arms around her to pull her into a hug.
“It’ll be fine,” you said, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound calm. “We’ll exchange letters, and it’ll all be fine. You enjoy the Reach for me, and I’ll enjoy the North.”
Breakfast had come way too fast for your taste, especially when you knew the servants were readying the carriages outside. Yet, you weren’t alone in your misery; Jon had barely touched his plate the whole breakfast, stealing looks at Silas who was uncharacteristically silent the whole time, only speaking when he had to answer a question. For some reason, Perceon had the same guilty look on his face as he would when he was a mere boy and did something he wasn’t supposed to; chewing inside his cheek and pouting his lips—the only difference was that he was now too tall to swing his legs back and forth off the edge of his chair. Though you knew your father wasn’t in his best mood, he covered it up very well, jesting and laughing with Lord and Lady Stark.
“Are you alright?” Robb’s deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts, making your head whip up before you willed yourself to smile.
“Of course.”
“You woke up early,” he pointed out. “And troubled.”
“By my own thoughts only,” you assured him, and he laced his fingers with yours, giving you a soft smile.
“It’s alright to be upset about their departure.”
Except it was not. At least not in front of the northerners in Winterfell.
You were more than aware of their perception of you, and how it had gotten even worse upon seeing you in shambles during Robb’s duel with Ser Fossoway. Their sarcastic remarks the next morning had been as subtle as it could’ve been expected of northerners, carrying a hint of pity at your naiveté, and you were not going to make the same mistake and crumble in front of them again.
Robb was different, but the rest of the north did not excuse or entertain sentimentality.
“I’m just worried about my father,” you said while a footman approached your father to mutter something in his ear. “I know Arys says he’s fine, and so does Maester Luwin, but…”
“But you remain unconvinced?” he asked with a playful glint in his eye, and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.
“I don’t know,” you said. “I just know he’s leaving too early for my liking.”
“I tried to persuade him to stay for another moon,” he told you, making you raise your brows. “Last night.”
“Did you?”
“Mm hm, so has my father. But your stubbornness is a family trait, it seems.”
You heaved a sigh and lifted your cup to your lips, but turned your head when you heard your father’s voice.
“My flower,” he said. “Come take a walk with me before we leave, hm?”
You blinked a couple of times in confusion, then put your cup on the table and pushed your chair back in a haste.
“Of course,” you said and rushed to him as he stepped down from the High Table, then both of you made your way out of the hall to the yard. You couldn’t help but notice that even the air felt colder than usual, but you chose not to comment on it and instead linked your arm through his while he led you to the sept grounds, then both of you sat down on the nearest bench.
It was rather peaceful today, despite the cold weather. This part of the yard wasn’t as crowded—probably because only Lady Stark went to the sept— so it was like a small, secluded corner away from the chaos of Winterfell. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, causing you to look up for a moment before you turned your gaze to him.
“I wish you would stay a bit longer,” you said after a beat and he gave you a gentle smile.
“There are people waiting for me, my dearest,” he said. “And when it comes to departure, I’m afraid no time feels long enough.”
Your vision got a little blurry from the tears rushing to your eyes, but you blinked them back as fast as you could.
“I know,” you said. “But you—father, you will be alright, will you not?”
“Oh don’t worry about me,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “I will be alright, and so will you.”
You tried to swallow the lump in your throat.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” he assured you. “We’ll see each other soon enough, and until then, you have your mother’s spirit. If there’s anyone who’s going to flourish regardless of where she’s planted, it’s you. With or without me.”
A tear managed to escape your eye, but you wiped your cheek in a hurry.
“And if I don’t feel ready?”
“I’m afraid no one ever does,” he said, reaching out to engulf your hand in his. “But it’s life, my blossom. Happiness has a way of finding you, even though it may feel difficult to believe in times of parting.”
You nibbled on your lip and nodded.
“But I’ll miss you terribly,” you couldn’t help but rasp out, making him smile again.
“So will I,” he said. “You know, I told the same thing to Ned yesterday, sons and daughters are so different. Sons grow into men, but daughters…” He breathed out a laugh. “A daughter never stops being your little girl who fills your castle with her laughter as she runs in the hallways, no matter how much she’s grown. You’ll understand that in the future, and so will Robb.”
“If Robb is half as good of a father as you are, our children will be the luckiest in the realm,” you said. “Just as I am. I’ll never stop being thankful to the gods for making me your daughter, I—” You took a trembling breath. “Father, I love you so much.”
You could swear he had tears in his eyes, but he blinked them back and pulled you into a tight hug just like he would whenever you ran up to him early in the morning to talk his ear off when you were still a child. The mere memory was enough to make you feel like you were back in the Reach again, and if you closed your eyes, you could make yourself believe you were in the garden of your father’s castle, choosing a gown for a feast being your only worry instead of being away from your father or Silas.
“I love you too, my flower,” he whispered. “And I’m so proud of you, don’t you ever forget that.”
You rested your forehead in the crook of his neck, trying your hardest to swallow the sob threatening to climb your throat.
“I won’t,” you whispered into the wind. “I won’t, I promise.”
One of the many things you had learned back in the Reach was keeping your mask in place.
You had seen it multiple times with multiple people. Silas was probably the best at it; no one except you could ever read through him or have an idea about how he was feeling at any given moment. To outside, he was always in a good mood, his smile signaling both amusement and nonchalance at anyone and everyone it was directed to. You and Margaery were taught not to let the mask slip in that exact way your older brothers did not; anyone who so much as looked at you had to think you were untouched by sadness or worry no matter what situation you were in. You were to appear calm and unreadable not only to your enemies but also to your allies, and you were beginning to think that although no one in your life had thought of the north while teaching you those skills, it was going to be one of the most important weapons you would wield in here.
If you were to be Lady Stark in the future, the nobles in the yard, who were watching you like hawks right now, could not see you cry at your family’s departure.
“We’ll see you in Dorne,” Braxton told you while your father talked to Robb who was nodding solemnly to whatever he was saying, his hands clasped behind him, his back straight. “My wedding is next summer, I already talked to Robb. He’ll bring you.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” you said. “And it’s about time I met your lovely betrothed! I’ll make sure to come at least a week before the wedding so that I can spend time with her.”
“Oh you’ll love her,” he said. “And she’ll adore you, I already know it. Right Perce?”
Perceon’s head whirled around and he cleared his throat. “Hm?”
“What’s going on with you today?”
“Nothing.” He shifted his weight. “Nothing, I just don’t like goodbyes.”
“It’s barely a goodbye, genius, she’s coming to the wedding.”
“I hate goodbyes too.” You reached out to squeeze Perceon’s hand and he tried to smile, his eyes darting over your face.
“And you’re sure you’ll be happy here?” he asked. “Because if you find it otherwise, you only need to send a raven and—”
“Silas would beat you to it,” Arys’ voice reached you before he clasped Perceon’s shoulder. “He memorized the secret pathways already.”
“I’ll send ravens to both Silas and you if I’m in need to saving,” you jested. “Hearing that does remedy my heartbreak of your departure even if it’s just a little. Thank you Perce.”
He waved a hand in the air. “Don’t mention it.”
“You’ll be sick of my letters, all of you,” you warned them, making them chuckle. “I’m warning you beforehand. I’ll report everything that’s happening here.”
“The reports will be; it snowed yesterday, it is snowing today, it will snow tomorrow,” Arys pointed out as you pushed at his arm. “I’m saying this as a future maester who knows of the North’s climate! Do you doubt my knowledge? Winter is coming and all that.”
“Maybe after Brax’s wedding, I’ll visit you in Oldtown,” Perceon said and Braxton shrugged.
“We can all go. Me, Myria and you.”
“You should,” Arys said. “None of you will want to go back to Dorne.”
“See, that’s a very bold claim—” Perceon started but Braxton elbowed him when Alton stepped closer to you.
“Hey,” he said after a beat and gestured at the carriages. “We’ve said goodbye to Lord and Lady Stark, and everything is ready, so…”
“Ah,” you said. “Very well.”
Perceon and Braxton exchanged glances while Arys rolled his eyes and kept his gaze on Alton as if he was trying to make him speak with mind power alone.
“Take care,” you said after a couple seconds of uncomfortable silence and Alton pursed his lips, then nodded his head.
“You too,” he said. “I hope you and Robb have a happy union.”
Perceon narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth but Braxton jabbed him in the ribs before he could say anything.
“It won’t be the same without you,” Alton added, unable to meet your eyes. “The castle.”
“It’ll be more peaceful,” you jested, a chuckle spilling from his mouth.
“Yeah,” he muttered more to himself. “Yeah, and quiet.”
Over his shoulder, you could see Elinor eyeing you up and down before she got in the carriage without so much as a word to you. Arys gritted his teeth, crossing his arms while Alton turned his head to look back at the carriage, then offered you a small smile.
“I’ll see you later,” he said. “Stay safe.”
He walked away from you to the carriage, and Perceon threw his head back.
“Are we sure he’s related to us?” he asked as Cliff made his way to you. “Are we sure he’s not a ward father decided to take in?”
Arys raised his brows. “I feel like father would’ve let us know at some point if that were the case, Perce.”
“I’m just saying, none of us was around when he was born.”
“When who was born?” Cliff joined the conversation and Perceon gestured vaguely in the direction of the carriage.
“Alton,” he said. “I refuse to believe we’re related.”
“Refuse it all you want, he’s still family,” Cliff said and threw an arm over your shoulder. “Speaking of family, are we really leaving you here?”
You smiled up at him. “Seems that way.”
“You’ll see me sooner than you see these three.” He gestured at the twins and Arys. “I meant what I said earlier. I do a lot of business in the White Harbor, I’ll make sure to visit Winterfell whenever I’m there.”
“Please do,” you told him. “Seeing you will make me happy beyond words.”
“But everyone is coming to my wedding,” Braxton pointed at all of you. “Cliff, I don’t care what kind of pirate business you’ll be busy with, you will be there.”
“Merchant. And yes, I will be.”
“Arys?”
“Oh I’m definitely coming, I need to meet the poor girl who willingly said yes to marrying you.”
“After she bested him in combat,” Cliff reminded him and Perceon grinned.
“I’ll tell all about that to their future children.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Silas stepping out of the keep with Jon following him not far behind, but he approached Theon while your brother made his way to you without so much as another glance in Jon’s direction. Lord and Lady Stark was now conversing with your father, and Silas heaved a sigh.
“Hey.” He smiled at you before turning to your brothers. “We’re ready to go, go bid farewell to Lord and Lady Stark and thank them.”
“You’d think we’re still children,” Braxton grumbled but they all walked away from you to Lord and Lady Stark to do as Silas asked.
“Is everything alright with you and…?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Of course,” he said. “Just uh, a last minute goodbye.”
“You’ll see each other when you come visit me,” you reminded him. “Which you will. A lot.”
“I will.”
Your throat started aching again but you looked down to pretend to fix your bracelet. “Promise?”
“Promise,” he said. “You remember all our secret codes for the letters?”
You nodded, still fiddling with your bracelet. “I will use them if they’re needed.”
“Good.”
You lifted your head from your bracelet once you made sure your expression would be serene for anyone who was watching you.
“Thank you Silas,” you managed to say as your other brothers started getting into the carriages. “For everything. I love you.”
He swallowed thickly, then pulled you into a tight hug so that he could hide his face into your hair.
“Remember,” he muttered. “Just like how we used to play monsters-and-maidens. I’ll save you from anything and everything, you just say the word.”
He pressed a kiss on top of your head, then pulled back to smile down at you as your father stepped closer to you.
“Well, my flower,” he said, pinching your cheek. “I guess I’ll see you in Dorne next summer.”
“And I shall have many tales to tell you,” you told him. “So much gossip too, but you must follow Arys’ advice until then.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Father!” you protested and he let out a boisterous laugh before giving you a hug.
“Take care, my blossom.”
“You too father.” You kissed him on the cheek, commanding yourself not to cry for what felt like the hundredth time today. He bowed at Lord and Lady Stark, then made his way to the carriage while Robb stepped closer to you to touch your lower back as if he wanted to assure you he was there. You entwined your fingers with his, leaning sideways to his arm as Silas mounted his horse.
“Robb, I like you, but I will kill you if you hurt her.”
Your eyes widened. “Silas!”
“I’ll hand you the sword myself if I ever hurt her,” Robb told him and you squeezed his hand.
“How about nobody kills each other?” you mused and Silas nibbled on his lip, then nodded at you.
“Be careful.”
“Be happy,” you replied and he scoffed a laugh, then cantered his horse out of the court yard like he couldn’t trust himself to be there any longer.
Your father stood by the carriage for a moment, watching you with a sad smile on his face as if he wanted to etch you into his memory. You forced yourself to smile back despite the heavy weight in your chest, then waved at him, coaxing a small chuckle out of him before he waved back, then got in the carriage. You sniffled when the carriage moved and watched it pass through the gate, Robb snaking an arm around your waist.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you want to retire for the day?”
The offer was way too tempting especially with the threat of tears rushing to your eyes, but you blinked fast, then gulped and shook your head.
“No,” you managed to rasp out. “I’ll be fine, my love. Thank you though.”
In your defense, you tried, you really did.
Throughout the day, Robb kept you within his sight like he half expected you to burst into tears at any moment, but you were too good of a courtier to let anything slip. You were all smiles all afternoon, you made small talk with your ladies-in-waiting, you helped Sansa decide what to embroider on her new gown, you had even entertain the ladies Lady Stark introduced you to with stories from the Reach.
It was only when Robb went to his father’s solar with a northern lord and you stepped away from the ladies that you turned your head to look for Silas in the hall, the joke you had thought of dying in your throat when you remembered he wasn’t there anymore.
Hence where you were now. Sitting on your and Robb’s bed, with Frost—who was brought to by a very confused maid per your request—resting her head in your lap while you stitched tiny flowers to a ribbon that was to be her leash. There was a heavy ache in your temples, no doubt because of how hard you had cried before you sent for Frost, but at least your sobs had calmed down a little, letting you focus on your work.
“I think you should have different colored ribbons,” you muttered to Frost. “For different days. So that you can match my gowns, no?”
She purred like a cat and you sniffled, then held the ribbon next to her head before you shook your head.
“Mayhaps I could stitch hearts on it too,” you said, running your fingers through her wool. “Flowers and hearts. And what else—wheats as well? For my house?”
Frost heaved a sigh, then nudged at your hand when you went back to stitching so that you would drop it and keep petting her instead. You smiled at her, then leaned down and pressed a kiss on her head.
“We can also braid the ribbons,” you muttered to her. “That would look pretty too.”
Frost bleated at you and as if on cue, the door to your bedchambers opened, making you turn your head to see Robb. Even you had to admit that you probably made a rather strange picture; surrounded by ribbons with a lamb happily resting on top of them, but Robb didn’t comment on it, the only clue to how funny he found it was the small twitch on the corner of his lips.
“Here you are,” he said. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”
You pouted your lips, then shrugged.
“I couldn’t….” you trailed off. “I needed some peace and quiet, away from everyone.”
He heaved a sigh, then made his way to the bed and lifted Frost easily, earning himself a bleat of displeased protest.
“Go play with Grey Wind,” he told her and placed her on the floor. “Go on.”
Frost bleated at him again, but ran out of the room, the click-clack of her hooves echoing in the hallway. You lowered your head, then stuck the needle to the side of the bed and started picking up the rest of the ribbons just so that you could keep yourself busy, but your sniffle gave you away when Robb sat beside you. A sob ripped itself from your chest while he pulled you into his arms without so much as a word and you wiped your eyes, his pleasant scent soothing the pain in your chest just a little.
“They all left,” you managed to say, your throat tightening. “Silas too.”
“I know.” He shushed you gently when you hiccupped, pressing a kiss on top of your hair while he cradled the back of your head, his other hand rubbing your back. “I know, lamb.”
“I just thought of something to tell him—and he’s not—he’s not here.” You hiccupped again, the lump in your throat growing bigger and bigger as you buried your face to Robb’s chest. “He’s not here and my father isn’t here and Margaery isn’t here, they’re all away and I feel so—so utterly alone...”
“I’m here, sweeting,” he said, his voice soft. “And I promised you on your very first night here, remember? You will never be alone here.”
The memory was enough to make you smile even with the ache in your chest.
“You promised as Benjen the servant,” you murmured, your tone so low that it was almost inaudible, and he hummed.
“I’m still at your service,” he said, drawing a teary giggle out of you. “And very well then, if my beautiful wife wants me to promise as her husband, I shall follow her wishes. You’ll never be alone here, my love. No matter what, you’ll always have me.”
You moved to rest your head on his shoulder, and he ran his knuckles over your cheek to wipe the tears away while you played with the laces of his shirt.
“Even with the flimsy gowns?”
“Especially with the flimsy gowns,” he corrected you in such a solemn manner that a simple listener would’ve thought you were talking of the future of the realm. “Why do you think I said yes to Braxton so fast when he invited us to Dorne? So that you can wear even flimsier gowns, I’m told that’s the norm there.”
Your laughter echoed in the room. “Robb!”
“Oh now you dislike honesty, is that—” His question was interrupted when you pushed at his arm and he easily caught your hand before you fell on the soft furs with him on top of you. A giggle escaped you despite the tears in your eyes, and he dipped his head to give you a curt kiss, then pulled back to let you breathe as you sniffled again.
Gods, even with all this sadness in your heart, you still couldn’t help but realize how handsome he was for the hundredth time.
“It’ll be okay, lamb,” he assured you. “And you will see them soon enough, I promise.”
You didn’t know it back then but Robb was right; though not all of them, you would indeed see most of your family again soon enough.
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: Ladies of the southern court are taught to yield words like weapons.
Word Count: 4,4k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Even when he was young, Robb knew very well that his parents’ marriage was more fortunate than anyone else’s in the north. Many lords and ladies who were wed either despised each other’s presence or had a distance between them; only talking to each other when they needed to in public. Those who had been blessed with mutual love and respect seemed to have put a lot of effort and time into growing such affections, and though he used to hope for the same, it all came down to two options:
He and his future wife disliking each other or putting some deliberate effort into making themselves love each other.
That felt like such nonsense now.
Because he had been a husband for less than a week, yet he already couldn’t even imagine the possibility of not being utterly in love with her.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Robb tilted his head even though his lady couldn’t see him. “Or perhaps you keep moving.”
“I’ve been still as a statue!” she defended herself with a huff. “I’m telling you, you’re doing it wrong.”
Fine, perhaps he had been distracted just a little.
But that was more than expected, considering the state they were in. The room was hot –too hot for his taste, but his lady liked it that way— and she was completely naked except for one of the furs she had pulled up to her chest while she sat in front of him in the bed, hugging her knees. Robb couldn’t help but lean forward to press his lips to her bare shoulder, biting back a smirk.
“You can’t even see what I’m doing.”
“I can feel it.” Her hand shot back to feel the braid he had been battling with. “And it’s supposed to be tighter.”
“I tried to make it tighter, and you said it hurt.”
“Because that was too tight,” she whined. “And my skin is sensitive, you know that.”
“Did we not put that behind us when—” He let out a laugh as she reached back to push at his arm. “It was a mere question.”
She made a noise of disagreement, then took a deep breath and cleared her throat.
“Speaking of questions,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
Robb hummed, still trying to decide which section of hair went above which.
“Is Jon by any chance sad that Malory left?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Because it came to my attention he was rather happy at our wedding, and he was actually talking to people.”
“It came to your attention even though you were drunk beyond words?” he taunted her, dodging her hand when she reached back to push at his shoulder. “I don’t think he is interested in Lady Malory, my love.”
“Is he interested in anyone else?”
“I doubt it.”
“But how do you not know for sure?” she insisted. “He’s your brother.”
“Do you know everything about Silas’ affairs?”
“Yes.”
“Is it not difficult to keep track when there are so many people?”
She shrugged her shoulders while he put a section of hair on top of other, then undid it and put it under the other.
“I have so many friends who were rather interested in him,” she told him. “At our wedding. And I was wondering, if his heart doesn’t belong to anyone already…”
“Sansa used to make me do this with three sections, not two.”
“This one is more difficult—so he has never fallen in love?” she asked. “Nobody has captured his attention all this time?”
“Not really,” he muttered, his whole attention on the braid while he pulled the two pieces apart. “But things are more complicated for him, you know that. Him being in love with a lady would bring many things to consider if there was any courtship.”
She scoffed. “The North is so different than what I’m used to.”
“I’m certain it’s the same in the south as well.”
“Not in the Reach, and definitely not in Dorne,” she said. “Besides, you’re telling me Jon simply decided not to fall in love because of the circumstances of his birth?”
He tried to untangle the knot of his own doing as subtly as possible. “Mm hm.”
“I used to think differently, but I don’t believe matters of heart can be controlled.”
“Not in the south perhaps,” he taunted her with a grin, causing her to look at him over her shoulder with a frown. “It’s not tangled, I just put the wrong piece on—”
“So you would not love me if we met and weren’t betrothed?”
A huff of laughter left him, but his heart dropped to his stomach when he saw his lady’s frown deepening as she pulled back to see him better, no sign of playfulness on her expression.
“Wh—no!” he said in a rush. “Why would you think that?”
“That’s what you’re insinuating.”
“I don’t insinuate things, we’ve been over this.”
“Fine, then you’re directly telling me that you would not—Robb!” The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a surprised screech when he grabbed her by the waist to pull her under him, a wide grin pulling at his lips. She bit back her smile and scrunched up her nose, trying her hardest to glare at him as he brushed her hair off her face.
“If we were not betrothed—”
“It wouldn’t change anything,” Robb finished her sentence for her. “My heart belongs to you, you know that.”
“But if, let’s say, your family had betrothed you to someone else, and then we met?” she insisted. “Would you have gone through with that arrangement?”
He couldn’t.
He knew he couldn’t.
Despite his upbringing, despite the honor and duty, despite the expectations placed upon him before he was even born, he couldn’t spend his life with anyone else but her. His life was already divided into before and after her, and the idea of spending his life with anyone else when she was the rightful ruler of his heart was nothing short of a nightmare, so he shook his head, looking down at her.
“Never.”
“Never?” She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to see whether he was lying. “And what of duty?”
He swallowed thickly, then shook his head again.
“It leaves the room when you enter.”
That seemed to coax a smile out of her, every sign of her anger from earlier washing off her beautiful face like waves of the sea on a shore. He dipped his head to brush his lips against hers, the sweet taste of her more enticing than air itself as her fingers curled in his hair, desire dripping down his spine and stirring back to life—
A frustrated growl left him when someone knocked on the door, pulling them both out of the haze.
“Leave!” he called out as she squeezed at his arm.
“Be nice!” she whispered, but then turned her head when the familiar voice of her maid carried into the room from behind the closed door.
“My lady, I apologize for the interruption but your presence is required.” Her maid paused for a moment. “It’s your father. He has fallen ill.”
Lord Greensted’s voice assuring everyone he was alright could be heard from the hallway even before they reached his door, which Robb figured was a good sign, but his lady was in too much of a hurry to even notice that. She rushed through the door and made her way to her father without sparing a glance at the rest of the crowd, crouching down by his chair to grasp his hand, her skirts fanning around her.
“Father?”
“I’m alright, my flower.” He pinched her cheek in an assuring manner while Robb nodded at his parents in the room, clasping his hands behind him. “I told them not to alarm you.”
“While you’re ill?”
“I’m not ill,” he told her and turned to Robb with an amused chuckle. “It’s your responsibility to pull her back from distress now, you know.”
“She loves you way too much to listen to a word I say, Lord Greensted.”
“But what’s happened?” she insisted, her eyes darting between Silas and Arys while Cliff squeezed Perceon’s shoulder like he wanted to remind him he was still there. Braxton went over to the window as if he wanted to get some air, and Silas cleared his throat.
“He got dizzy after breakfast—”
“Only for a moment.”
“And this is exactly why I’ve been telling you that you need to try to be healthier,” Arys pointed out and Lord Greensted waved a dismissive hand in the air. “So that you don’t get dizzy.”
“Maester Luwin is preparing something for him,” his mother assured her as Elinor muttered something in Alton’s ear that made him look over his shoulder, but before he could do anything, Silas made his way to join Braxton by the window. Whatever he said to Braxton was too soft and low for anyone else to hear it, and Braxton swallowed thickly, then nodded his head. “He says there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m also saying there’s nothing to worry about.”
“You’re not a maester,” she told her father before turning to Arys. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a sign for him to take better care of himself,” Arys said. “All this eating and drinking whatever you want, father…”
“Let me live, will you?”
“I told you it was too early to leave, Garmund,” Robb’s father said. “This is your gods giving you a sign.”
“Can’t they send a more pleasant sign?”
“Surely you’re not planning on leaving before you’re fully recovered,” his lady said and Lord Greensted squeezed her hand.
“There’s nothing to recover from, I’m alright.”
“Not to worry, we’ll keep him here until he’s recovered no matter what he says,” his father gave her an assuring smile. “I’ll put men by his door if needed.”
“Lord Stark?” A footman entered the room with Maester Luwin. “Lord Glower asks for counsel if you’re not busy.”
“Go,” Lord Greensted said. “Please. I’m fine, and do tell Lord Glower I’ll beat him on our next hunt.”
“Father, you’re not going on a hunt!” his lady insisted while his father chuckled.
“He’ll take it as a challenge, just so you know,” he told Lord Greensted. “Robb.”
“I’ll be there in a minute, father.”
His father walked out of the room, and his lady watched Maester Luwin give a cup filled with some sort of draught to Lord Greensted.
“He’ll be alright, will he not?”
“He just needs some rest in his bed, my lady,” Maester Luwin said. “That is all.”
“We should all leave you to rest, I’m certain the crowd isn’t helping,” his mother added, making Lord Greensted nod fervently.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Come, everyone. Your father needs some peace and quiet while he rests.”
Once Lord Greensted made his way to bed, all the brothers left the room one by one even though Robb could tell they didn’t really want to. His lady stole a look at the door, then took a deep breath and stepped closer to Robb.
“I’ll stay.”
Lord Greensted heaved a sigh. “Blossom…”
“I’ll tell you all about the rumors I’ve heard at the wedding, father,” she said. “Every house of the Reach. You like hearing tales of scandals, it’ll be like the old times!”
Robb nuzzled into her hair, cradling her cheek in his palm. “Would you like me to stay as well?”
“Your father requires your presence, Robb,” Lord Greensted reminded him. “And you’ve heard my daughter. We’ll gossip about the Reach, apparently.”
Robb bowed his head with a chuckle.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said, and traced her cheekbone with his thumb. “Send for me if you need me, alright my love?”
She offered him a small smile and squeezed his wrist. “I will, thank you.”
“Get well soon, Lord Greensted,” he told him before he kissed his lady on the forehead, walked out of the room and closed the door behind him to join Silas and Arys. Cliff led Braxton and Perceon out of the hall while Elinor and Alton stood by the corner, talking in whispers. Any observer could tell Alton was shaken, but the tension on his shoulders seemed to dissipate a little when Elinor lifted their joined hands to press her lips on his knuckles, a tiny smile flickering over Alton’s face. Robb averted his gaze immediately and cleared his throat.
“Maester Luwin is really good at what he does,” he told Silas. “If he says it’s not dangerous, I doubt it is.”
“No I know.” Silas bit inside his cheek. “I know.”
“He’s not used to northern food,” Arys told Silas. “And you’ve been here for a month. And he goes on hunts yes, but that’s the only exercise he does. With all that eating and drinking as if he’s still a young man, it’ll catch up to him eventually.”
“He’s not travelling until he feels better, I don’t care what he says.”
“Of course not.”
“My mother can tell the cooks to make whatever dish he eats back in the Reach,” Robb said while Alton made his way to them. “Would it help?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Arys said. “That’s actually a good idea, I’ll ask Lady Stark. Thanks Robb.”
“Don’t mention it. I told you before, my lady’s family is my family.”
“Hey.” Alton greeted them. “Silas, do you know if there are any letters from the Reach that needs father’s attention? He mentioned an issue in one of the smaller fields, which one was it?”
Silas gawked at him for a couple of seconds in complete silence, then scoffed a laugh and shook his head.
“I’m gonna walk away before I punch you,” he muttered and stormed out of the hallway without sparing him another glance. Arys raised his brows while Alton let out a breath, then threw his hands up in the air in frustration.
“What did I say now?” he asked Arys. “It’s my responsibility to step up while father is ill. What does Silas expect me to do?”
“Showing any sign of concern would be a good start.”
“Of course I’m concerned!” Alton defended himself. “Have you forgotten he’s my father as well?”
Arys shrugged his shoulders. “Have you?”
It seemed like Alton wanted to retort, but then he changed his mind and stomped away from them both, turning the corner that led to the stairs. Arys clicked his tongue, then gave Robb a grin.
“Welcome to the family.”
“Listen, I get it,” Robb said. “I really do, but he does have a point. That’s what he’s supposed to do right now as the heir, my father would expect the same of me if he were ill.”
Arys heaved a sigh, then leaned back to the wall and stole a look at the end of the hallway Silas had stormed off to.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I can’t help but agree with Perce sometimes. In our family, the gods chose the wrong son to be the firstborn.”
Thankfully his father’s meeting with Lord Glover hadn’t taken that long. Maester Luwin had said Lord Greensted was feeling much better after the draught he had given him, so Robb decided he would sit with Theon and Jon in the yard until his father sent for him again. He was pretty distracted from the conversation while he tried to figure out when he could see his lady, yet Theon’s comment about one of the girls he had danced with back at the wedding snapped his attention back to them, his head whipping up.
“Jon,” he cut Theon’s nonsense off while Grey Wind and Ghost playfully chased each other in the yard. “Has uh…has anyone caught your eye at the wedding?”
Jon blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Theon danced with people, so have you.”
“Barely.”
“But the whole Reach was here,” Robb said while Theon leaned back with a grin on his face. “And you know, since I’m wed now…”
“What, that means I’m supposed to wed as well?”
“Aye.” Robb nodded while Jon’s eyes widened. “Your time is coming.”
“My time is not coming!”
“I don’t understand why everyone is so terrified of marriage,” Robb mused while Theon gave him an incredulous look. “It’s the most perfect thing anyone ever came up with.”
“Just over a moon ago, you were sitting right here and whining about your betrothal,” Theon reminded him. “You were terrified.”
“I was not terrified!”
“Do you remember his face when you asked what he’d do if she turned out to be ugly?” Jon asked Theon, making him let out a laugh.
“I’ll remember it forever.”
“And look at me now,” Robb said. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m happy beyond words.”
“We got that Robb, you barely let the poor girl out of your bedchambers.”
Robb ignored the remark.
“What about Lady Malory?”
“She’s nice.”
“Who was that other lady you danced with, Snow?”
“Lady Florys,” Jon answered Theon. “She’s nice too.”
“Come on, there’s no way no one was to your liking.” Robb paused, frowning at him. “Jon, is there…is there a lady already? Here in the North?”
Jon averted his gaze to look around the yard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just because you’re in love, doesn’t mean everyone else has to be in love.”
“What my lady and I have is deeper than such simple terms,” Robb said. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“A lot of girls caught my interest at the wedding,” Theon said and Robb grimaced.
“That’s no news, Theon.”
“No seriously, there was this really pretty one, from House Lyberr or something?”
Jon’s eyes caught something in the yard, but by the time Robb turned his head to see what he was looking at, the only familiar person in the yard was Silas who was making his way into the keep. Jon pursed his lips, then feigned a cough and stood up.
“I’ll find you two later.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have this—thing.” Jon motioned vaguely in the direction of the keep. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”
He walked away from them without so much as a glance back, and both Robb and Theon tilted their heads at the same time while Jon caught up to Silas.
“We would know if he had a lady, would we not?” Robb asked and Theon hummed.
“For sure.”
“You think he’d tell us?”
“Even if he didn’t, it’d be very obvious,” Theon said. “He’d probably follow her around like a lost pup.”
Robb shrugged his shoulders and scratched at Grey Wind’s head when the direwolf stepped closer to him.
“I guess you’re right,” he muttered as Silas and Jon entered the keep. “I mean, when has Jon ever been subtle?”
Later in the afternoon he had to drop by Wintertown per his father’s request, and by the time he was back, it was nearly dinner time. He caught the sight of his lady talking to Wylla Manderly after one glance into the Great Hall—he was beginning to think finding her in a crowd was a skill he was developing fast—so he immediately made his way inside, gave Wylla an acknowledging nod and touched the small of his lady’s back. She was quick to excuse herself, a happy smile lighting up her face before she tugged his wrist so that he would follow her to a far corner of the hall, away from the crowd.
“You’re back!”
“I am.” Robb cupped her cheek in his palm and kiss her temple, her sweet scent like a remedy to the torturous hours he had spent away from her presence. “How’s your father?”
“He’s alright, but—” She frowned up at him with a pout. “Arys all but kicked me out of the room!”
Robb had to control the laugh threatening to climb his throat upon her petulant whine. “Did he?”
“Maester Luwin was being so nice, letting me stay there while my father slept, and then Arys came and said father had to rest and I had to leave. And I wasn’t even making any noise while he slept, I was just sitting there reading my book!”
The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Is that right?”
“And Cliff took his side.”
Robb shook his head in a solemn manner. “Betrayal.”
“It really is!” she insisted and huffed out. “Anyway, what about you? What did you do whole day? I asked around when I left my father’s chambers, and Sansa said you had gone to Wintertown.”
“My father sent me,” he said. “And hey, guess what I’ve learned before that?”
“Hm?”
“Jon isn’t in love with anyone.”
She tilted her head. “…Oh?”
“I asked him,” he said. “Which wasn’t even needed, to be honest. I would know if a lady caught his interest.”
She raised her brows, then blinked a couple of times and pursed her lips like she was trying not to smile.
“Would you?”
“Certainly.”
“So uh—” She stole a look around the room as if she was trying to find a familiar face before she turned her glances to him. “So no one at the wedding was to his liking?”
“He’s not the type to—no offense to the southerners in the room,” he added with a grin, “but he’s not the type to like a southern lady.”
She heaved a dramatic sigh.
“Very well. Not a southern lady then.”
Robb let his gaze slip to her lips, then down to the soft swell of her chest, pushed up by the tight laces of her gown. His hand found hers again so that he could drag his fingertips over her soft palm, his mind far away from the hall and the crowd, the memory of her gasping underneath him—
She dug her nails into his hand as if warning him.
“Robb.”
He gave her a mischievous grin. “I’m not doing anything.”
“I can see you doing something in your mind.”
That coaxed a chuckle out of him while he reached out to play with the small pendant of her necklace. “And what am I doing in my mind?”
“Something very improper.”
“Funny, I remember you singing a very different tune last night—”
She flailed her hands, her eyes widening. “Shh!”
“Or this morning—” He gave a laugh when she pushed at his arm and he caught her hand, pulling her closer to him. “I’m merely reminiscing!”
“My lord.” A servant approached him. “Your father requests your presence.”
Robb managed to not groan in annoyance before he found his eyes fell upon his father who was now talking to one of the few remaining southern guests. He had no idea who the lady was, but he nodded anyway and laced his fingers through his lady’s.
“Your father didn’t request my presence,” she reminded him and he winked at her.
“I could barely see you today, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
When they reached his father, he only gave them a nod of acknowledgement before he turned to the lady.
“Thank you for your kind words, Lady Bulwer.”
“Of course!” Lady Bulwer said. “May the seven give him rest. Jon Arryn may have had his flaws as the Hand of the King, but the gods know any man would crack under such pressure.”
Robb looked from Lady Bulwer to his father, whose annoyance flashed on his face at the mention of Jon Arryn’s flaws. His lady rested her head on his arm, a pleasant warmth spreading in his chest at the simple gesture, distracting him from the conversation.
“The King’s Landing could make a septon question his ways, and I for one believe as long as the Hand does his job, his vices should be judged by no—”
“Lady Bulwer!” His lady gave her a bright smile. “How is Ser Medwick? My brother talks of him being such a worthy opponent in the jousts, yet we haven’t seen him for a year! He’s alright, I hope?”
Lady Bulwer stared at her for a couple of seconds as if she was taken by surprise, and opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again and cleared her throat.
“He’s alright.”
“Ser Loras was asking the other day how long his vacation would last,” his lady stated. “He’s such a beloved knight among his peers, they’re all looking forward to his return I’m sure.”
Lady Bulwer let out a nervous laugh.
“He is,” she said and feigned a gasp. “Oh! I see that my husband is looking for me, if you’ll excuse me.”
She made her way to the other side of the hall, and both Robb and his father turned to look at his lady at the same time. She raised her brows at the sight of their quizzical expressions, then shrugged her shoulders.
“What?”
“What was that?” Robb asked and her lady rolled her eyes.
“I just don’t believe one should be throwing around the word ‘vices’ when her own firstborn and heir owes money to every single person in the Reach because he loves gambling too much,” she said silkily. “To the point that he had to be sent away to the Free Cities so as not to bring any more dishonor to his house.”
His father looked as if he was battling with a smile and his lady turned her head when Sansa called out her name.
“Oh I almost forgot, Sansa wanted to talk to me about her new gown,” she said and pecked Robb on the cheek. “I’ll be back. Have a nice evening, Lord Stark. Do send for me if anyone else from the Reach bothers you.”
She walked away from them, her steps light and smooth like a dance, the skirt of her pretty gown gliding on the floor. Robb felt a grin curl his lips and his father let out a chuckle, then clasped his hand on Robb’s shoulder.
“Your lady wife yields a dagger behind her words.”
Robb nodded, still grinning.
“She does,” he said, unable to drag his gaze away from her. “I think she is the best warrior in the realm when it comes to that.”
A.N: Welcome to Act II 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: After the wedding comes the honeymoon.
Word Count: 6,3k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Back in the Reach, around the time more and more knights started vying for your and Margaery’s favor in the jousts and more ravens began arriving in your castles carrying offers of betrothals, Margaery’s grandmother Lady Olenna had felt the need to give you both a speech. You were both told that you had to walk the thin line between seduction and discretion; while you were free to hone your skills, you couldn’t let anyone so much as question your virtue.
Those skills will be your weapon just like your beauty and your wit, she had told you both. There’s no harm in enjoying yourself, but make sure to remember you’re to mesmerize your future husband, so that he’ll do your bidding outside the marital bed.
Well.
Too bad she hadn’t told you that you would be enjoying yourself too much to remember anything.
There were many things, you realized, that were eager to lure you out of the hazy comfort of sleep. The quiet footsteps of the maids were one, the sunlight spilling into the room was another, but it was the feather light kiss on your shoulder followed by a gentle caress down your spine that managed to pull you out of it. Your eyes fluttered open as you realized you were in bed, lying on your stomach, one arm tucked under the fluffy pillow, the furs slipped down to your hips. Though you were curious to learn how or when exactly you had ended up in the bed considering you had fallen asleep on the furs in front of the fireplace, all thoughts and questions left your mind the moment you looked up at Robb, a smile curling your lips even in your half-asleep state.
Gods, he was so handsome.
His head was propped up on his fist, sleep still clinging to his beautiful eyes as he gazed down at you, his curls mussed in the loveliest way. Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, making you bite on your lip while a mischievous smile lit up his face.
“Good morrow, my sweet lamb,” he said, his deep voice almost like a rumble with his northern accent. There was a familiar warmth at the pit of your stomach as you let your eyes feast on the sight of him, your face growing hotter.
It wasn’t that you hadn’t seen a man without his clothes before; you had grown up in the Reach, of course you had. The knights of the Reach loved to spar without their shirts on where you and Margaery could see before the jousts, and did anything and everything to get your attention in case you hadn’t looked while you were walking past the training grounds.
However, as you happily realized last night, this was yet another way the north and the south were completely different. The knights back in the Reach were lithe and slender, they were taught to be quick on their feet and move in battle the same way you would in a dance; strength didn’t hold as big of importance as speed. Robb, on the other hand, was strong like a northerner and he looked the part. He was tall, muscular and broad; perhaps because he was a Stark, perhaps because as Silas had told you, he was raised to lead the northern army in any potential battle and was expected to be a warrior in addition to being a lord.
And you had already decided last night that you would keep your bedchambers as hot as you could so that Robb would have to undress whenever you were alone.
“Good morrow my fearsome wolf,” you teased him, your voice a mere whisper. “We’re in the bed.”
“Mm hm, we are.”
“How did we get in the bed?”
His smile widened.
“I carried you after you fell asleep,” he murmured, reaching out to brush your hair out of your face. “I figured you wouldn’t want to be lying on the floor until the morning. You’re quite the deep sleeper.”
Though you knew the maids moving about the room couldn’t see all of you thanks to the curtains around the bed—sheer as they were— you still couldn’t help but shift closer to him, half burying your face into your pillow. He seemed to have understood your discomfort without you even opening your mouth, because he only frowned for a second before he turned his head to give a curt glance to the maids.
“Leave.”
“Thank you!” you added in a haste, coaxing a chuckle out of him while the maids made their way out of the room. Robb dipped his head to nuzzle into your shoulder, his warm palm splayed on the small of your back like an anchor, your heart slamming against your ribcage so fast that it nearly hurt.
You didn’t even know it was possible to fall more in love with him before last night.
Which was rather ironic, now that you thought about it. For years you had listened how the marital bed was going to be the place to keep his attention and allow you to preside over his heart and his mind, but no one had mentioned how he would also preside over your heart and your mind. You wanted to stop the time, the outside world and all the intrigues and power plays of the south be damned, all that felt less important now.
Perhaps despite all that training and court games, this was the most important thing in the world.
You loved and desired him, and he loved and desired you back.
Simple as that.
“Can we stay here forever?” you whispered and he smiled against your skin, his fingertips grazing your waist and awakening fire underneath.
“Is that my lady wants?”
“It’s what your lady demands.”
A huff of laughter escaped him as he pressed his lips to the crook of your neck, gently pushing you to your back so that he could settle between your legs. Desire sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, your breath hitching your throat as you felt him hot and heavy against your thigh, the memory of last night flashing in your mind like lightning.
If you hadn’t been so lost in the feeling, you could’ve found the ache too much last night, at least at first. Yet, somehow, all traces of unease were soothed by his touch, the way his hand clasped yours beside your head as if he wanted to offer you something to hold onto, the feeling of him on you, in you—
You snapped out of the memory when he pulled back to look down at you, and you smiled up at him, painfully aware of just how lovesick you must’ve appeared. The sunlight coming from the window and bathing you both in its warmth made him seem almost unreal, as if the gods had pulled him out of his dreams; his messy auburn hair hiding flames in it, his beautiful eyes shining with mischief.
Very well then.
If you were to be his moonlight, he was your sunlight, wrapping you in bright warmth.
You couldn’t help but wonder whether this was how all those knights who swore up and down that they loved you felt around you, but you quickly decided otherwise. They were all able to live their lives without you loving them back, but especially after last night, you couldn’t even begin to imagine if Robb didn’t love you back.
You’d drop dead on the spot, probably.
You reached out to run your fingertips over his short beard before you cradled his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss your palm.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to read your mind. “Any pain?”
“Just sore, a little,” you admitted, your hand slipping to the back of his head so that you could run your nails over the nape of his neck. “But I care not, I just feel…”
“Tired?”
“Happy,” you corrected him, the simple word making him smile.
“Good,” he murmured softly, “I don’t want you to feel anything other than happiness here in our bedchambers.”
A giggle escaped you as he leaned in, but you turned your head to look at the door when someone knocked on it, making him groan in exasperation.
“What?” he called out as you squeezed his arm.
“Be nice!”
“My lord, your—your father wants to know if you and your lady wife will attend breakfast,” a footman’s voice carried into the room. “They’ll wait for you if you will.”
Robb bit back a smirk.
“Tell my father that my lady wife and I are working relentlessly for the future of House Stark,” he called out, making your jaw drop. “They shouldn’t wait us for anything today.”
“Robb!” you chastised him in a whisper while the footman walked away from the door and he grinned at you, then gave you a wink.
“What?” he asked as he leaned in to brush his lips against yours, drawing a sigh out of you. “It’s for the North. They will understand.”
If it were up to you or Robb, you would’ve stayed in your bedchambers until after lunch, yet unfortunately, Robb was summoned after breakfast time. Though he looked as if he wanted to refuse yet again, the footman letting you two know—from behind the door—that Lord Stark had sent word that he himself would come to drag him out of the bedchambers was enough of a persuasion for you, at least. You had all but kicked him out, but contrary to before you couldn’t spend so much time getting ready, not once Eadith informed you some of the guests were leaving.
Hence the plenty carriages in the yard.
After bidding whoever you could see goodbye, you had retreated to the cloisters, leaning sideways to the column and watching the squires ready the horses. Though you knew you were supposed to go find your father or Silas, or perhaps Lady Stark to apologize not attending lunch, you couldn’t will yourself to leave just yet, counting the flags on top of the carriages to see who was returning to the Reach.
House Crane, House Ashford, House Merryweather, House—
You were pulled out of your thoughts when someone touched your waist. Your head snapped up, a giggle escaping you when Robb pressed a kiss on your temple and stepped away from you to lean back to the nearest column, that mischievous grin playing on his lips.
“We’re in public!” you whispered and he shrugged his shoulders.
“They didn’t see anything.”
You tried to bite back your lovesick smile while he reached out to lace his fingers with yours.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with Lord Stark?”
“I was excused for ten minutes or so,” he said. “He had to go over a scroll from the Wall with Maester Luwin. I’m not needed there.”
“Did they say that or are you saying that?”
“He’ll send for me if he needs me.”
“Don’t you think the fact that he has had to send multiple footmen to hunt you down in the castle since the morning is a sign that you should not push his patience further?”
“Not at all.”
You let out a hum, playing with the sleeve of his doublet just so that you could focus on anything else other than the familiar fluttering in your stomach, the ache of scorching fire going down and down until it reached between your legs, making you bite your lip hard enough to hurt. Gods, even now out of your bedchambers and away from your bed, the way he looked at you made you feel as if you two were alone again, as if he was imagining the exact same thing you were; lying on the furs with him on top, closer and deeper than anyone could ever be. Even in the throes of pure, blinding desire his voice had been soft as a caress, the memory echoing in your ear:
“Gods, you are divine...”
“I missed you,” his voice cut through the daze and you lifted your gaze to his, warmth sweeping over your face.
“I missed you too,” you admitted with a small smile. “I find it a bit strange, to be honest.”
“What, missing me?” he teased you and you let out a dramatic gasp.
“No!” you exclaimed. “No, of course not. It’s strange to be able to miss someone in mere hours within the same castle. This morning I thought it was love, but it’s more than that.”
“More than love?”
“Love sounds too simple of a word,” you murmured. “I think you and I have discovered something that doesn’t have a name yet, and it’s only us who’s ever felt this, no one else.”
He lifted your hand to his lips to press a kiss on the back of it. “More reason for us to be left alone.”
You shot him a warning look.
“Don’t say that to your father please.”
Malory waved at you before she got in her carriage and you waved back, a pout pulling at your lips the moment her carriage moved. Robb turned to you with a small frown.
“Are you alright?”
“I am. It’s just…” you trailed off, keeping your eyes on the other carriages. “It’s rather sad that people are leaving already.”
He made a noise of disagreement and stole a look at the yard, making you raise your brows.
“Do you not find it so?”
“I find it sad that they waited this long.”
You gasped. “Robb!”
“What?” He bit back his laugh, catching your hand to lace his fingers with yours again when you pushed at his arm. “It was because of them that I couldn’t get you alone for a month—”
“It was because of the fact that we were unwed!”
“And yesterday, when we barely had any time for ourselves the whole day?”
“That was because of the Harvest Feast—” you started, but stopped talking when your eyes fell upon Loras making his way to his horse. Your stomach did a painful flip, and you gently pulled your hand out of Robb’s before pushing yourself off the column you had been leaning against. “Give me a moment.”
Loras was busy with his horse while you crossed the yard but he turned his head when you approached him, a smile lighting up his face.
“Sneaking out without saying goodbye?” you asked and he scrunched up his nose.
“I was under the impression Robb Stark would keep you in his bedchambers the whole day,” he taunted you, nodding in Robb’s direction. “I would’ve sent word, but I figured interrupting your marital bliss would attract his wrath. Or yours.”
Your jaw dropped. “My wrath?”
“It’s more fearsome than his, and I watched him break a knight’s jaw,” he pointed out as you shot him a proud grin. “But I’m glad I got to see you before I left, sweeting.”
That made you pause for a moment, your grin fading before you cleared your throat.
“Thank you,” you managed to say. “For coming.”
“You’re my sister in everything but blood,” he said softly. “Of course I came.”
“I still feared you wouldn’t, after everything,” you said. “Loras, I don’t know if my word holds value when it comes to this, but I’m sorry my brother broke your heart.”
“And I’m sorry my sister broke yours.”
You had been so lost in the bliss the whole day that the sudden wave of sadness washing over you almost took you by surprise. You could feel the ache tightening your throat, so you looked down and pretended to fix your bracelet in an attempt to earn some time to pull yourself together while blinking back the tears.
You were in public and the whole yard was watching, including Robb.
“Is she going to be happy?” you asked once you raised your head again, your expression completely serene. “With Renly?”
“I doubt there’s anyone in the world who can make Margaery happy,” he murmured. “Except maybe you before Robb Stark stole you away.”
“He didn’t steal me away.”
“No,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “No, but you know how Margaery is when it comes to you.”
You forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, then heaved a sigh.
“Can you do me a favor?” you asked. “Can you tell her I’m happy?”
“For revenge or reassurance?”
“Neither.” A huff of laughter escaped you. “Or both. I don’t know.”
He hummed, stealing a glance around the yard before bowing his head.
“Well, thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” he taunted you, making you grimace. “I wish you and your lord husband great happiness and many children.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “Loras.”
“That was me being the courtier that my grandmother wants me to be,” he pointed out. “Now that we got that out of the way, let me speak to the girl who did not even hesitate to lie at the breakfast table and claimed I was there to court her first thing in the morning so that no one would know that I had spent the night in her brother’s bed. We’re conquering the south, Blossom. You conquer the north. You’ll succeed better than anyone back in the south could with armies of men.”
You felt a smile pulling at your lips as you watched him mount his horse, then look down at you with a tilt of his head.
“Am I still allowed to call you Blossom, or will I have to use your new title?”
“My new title?” you asked and he chuckled.
“Haven’t you heard?” he asked. “Your pretty gowns did the trick. They call you the light of Winterfell.”
Your lips parted in surprise.
“Congratulations, you mesmerized the whole North,” he teased you. “Grandmother will be proud. I’ll see you at Margaery’s wedding.”
“I didn’t say I would attend.”
“No.” He grinned. “But you and I both know that you will.”
He cantered his horse away from you and out of the yard, and in less than a minute caught up to the other carriages already on their way to Wintertown. You bit inside your cheek, then threw your shoulders back and made your way back to Robb who was still frowning slightly.
“So that’s the Knight of Flowers?” he asked when you reached him and you nodded your head.
“He is,” you said. “I’m glad he came, even if Margaery didn’t. He’s like yet another brother to me, hen me and Margaery were playing, he used to—”
“Here you are!” Silas popped up out of thin air behind you, making you press a hand over your chest.
“Maybe make some noise while you’re approaching?”
“Your father was looking for you,” Silas told Robb, making him grimace.
“Great,” he muttered. “Are you coming from the Great Hall?”
“I passed by.”
“Have you seen Jon around?”
“Uh…” Silas shifted his weight. “No, I haven’t.”
“Great,” Robb muttered and kissed your hand. “I’ll find you later.”
He walked away from you two and you heaved a sigh, leaning back to the column.
“He’s not going to war,” Silas pointed out with a grimace, making you narrow your eyes at him. “He’s going to be in the same castle as you in case it escaped your notice, and stop with this lovesick behavior, I need to talk to you about something.”
Your brows furrowed. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I just need to talk about this because I’m a little confused,” he said. “And before you react, wait for me to finish my story. So you know how I said I wanted a northerner of my own now that you have yours?”
You pulled back a little. “Silas…”
“You cannot judge!” he whispered. “At least until I’m finished. I’m allowed to have my fun, you’ve been having fun for the last two days.”
A whine escaped you and you pressed your palms on your eyes. “Gods, who is it?”
“Jon.”
You dropped your hands, your eyes widening. “What?!”
“Shhh!”
“Silas—”
“It was an accident,” he defended himself and thought for a moment. “Well not really, but you know what I mean.”
“Robb’s brother Jon?” you hissed. “The brother of the love of my life, that’s the man whose heart you’ll break?”
“Hey, he’s your brother-in-law, not mine—ouch!” He rubbed at his arm when you pinched it. “I don’t think I’m breaking his—stop pinching me! Will you listen?”
You gritted your teeth and crossed your arms with a dramatic sigh. “Go on.”
“Alright so…we got a little drunk and spent the night together in my bedchambers on your wedding night.”
Well, at least someone laid together on your wedding night.
But it wasn’t as if you could tell Silas that, so you kept glaring at him.
“And the next morning, he was gone before I could wake up, and then he ended up ignoring me and staying away from me the whole day. I mean obviously it’s rude to ignore the person who gave you the best night of your life—”
You threw your head back. “Silas!”
“Stop being so dramatic when the whole castle knows the reason why you and Stark didn’t attend breakfast this morning,” he said. “Anyway it’s rude but it’s not like northerners are known to be polite and courtly. So I figured fine, let him do whatever he wants. Except that he showed up at my door that night, and as of this morning, I woke up alone twice.” He held up two fingers as if he wanted to emphasize his point. “Twice! What is happening? He’s supposed to be begging to spend more time with me, not sneaking out of my bedchambers!”
A grin you couldn’t stop curled your lips. “You’re confused because he’s not begging to spend more time with you?”
“I made him meet his gods twice now.” He pointed back in the direction of the keep. “He has no problems coming to my door after ignoring me for a day, the least he can do is beg me.”
“Doesn’t seem to be working that way though, does it?”
“No,” he admitted, puffing up his cheeks like he was in such deep trouble. “Has Robb told you anything about Jon?”
“Just that he’s not good at courting girls.”
“Yeah, he’s not good at courting guys either, I’ll tell you that one.”
You rubbed at your eyes with a tired sigh.
“Silas,” you said. “You cannot mess this up.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“You’ve done something twice now,” you reminded him. “I love Robb, and we’re wed now. You cannot just break his brother’s heart, especially not when Jon will be staying here once…” You could feel your stomach sink at the idea, but you managed to gesture at the carriages, keeping a calm expression. “You know.”
A shadow crossed his face and he lowered his head, biting inside his cheek the same way he used to when he was little.
“I know,” he muttered and nodded his head. “Yeah, I know.”
“I mean unless of course you have actual feelings for him?” you asked and he blinked a couple of times, then scoffed a laugh.
“Have you met me?” he said. “All I look for is some entertainment and pleasure to go with it, nothing more. Of course I don’t have feelings for him.”
“Well then, let him ignore you,” you said. “I know you’re not used to that, but it’s the North. I’ve found out very recently that Robb is in love with me, and he says he’s been in love with me since we first met. Northern way of showing emotions is much more puzzling than the southern way, I suppose, so maybe you’ll figure out what’s happening in time.”
Silas rolled his eyes. “Northern way of showing emotions could learn a thing or two from us, I think.”
“I’ll teach them our ways, don’t you worry,” you jested, drawing a chuckle out of him before you linked your arm through his. “Now come. I’m starving, let’s get some food.”
Unfortunately, whatever meeting Lord Stark had with his vassal lords, it seemed to have taken most of his time, and by extension, Robb’s time. Around the time for dinner, they still hadn’t joined you in the Great Hall, so you figured you could busy yourself with your future ladies-in-waiting.
Well, some of them.
Now that the wedding was done, the names were decided upon as well. You were going to have five ladies-in-waiting; Alys Karstark, Wylla Manderly, Lyra Mormont, Barbrey and of course, Jorelle. You had already met Alys, Jorelle and Barbrey; however, you hadn’t had the chance to spend much time with Wylla and Lyra.
You were already quite enchanted with Wylla’s green hair and her brutal honesty. She reminded you of your friend Rhea with the way she didn’t seem to hold any comment back regardless of whether it sounded rude or not, something you were certain you’d need in the future. Lyra was from the Bear Island, her family had been loyal to Starks for centuries, and her stories were so entertaining that your stomach already hurt from laughing.
“Lyra, you’re not serious!”
“I am!” she defended herself. “I am! We Mormont women are skinchangers, everyone knows that.”
“They do say that,” Wylla pointed out while Lyra nodded.
“And Dacey is the heir, Alysanne is the she-bear, and my younger sisters are too young. That’s why they pushed me forward to be your lady-in-waiting, because Dacey will be the lady of our house, and Alysanne has two kids. I just didn’t think you’d choose me, I was never much of a graceful lady.”
“What makes you think I was looking for graceful ladies?”
“One look at you makes anyone and everyone think that,” she said while Wylla let out a laugh. “I’m your girl if you want someone to defend you, I’m great with a sword, I’m just not that great at southron lady things.” She snapped her fingers. “Perhaps that’s what I’ll do. You’ll all wear pretty silk dresses and I’ll protect you, someone needs to do that.”
“I was going to gift all my ladies-in-waiting silk dresses, but I think I can gift you a sword or a dagger or whatever it is you prefer,” you mused and held your breath when the thought hit you. “Oh I’d put gemstones to the hilt! What’s your favorite color?”
Lyra blinked a couple of times. “Um, blue.”
“Sapphires it is.”
“I’ll take the pretty silk dresses,” Wylla added and you winked at her.
“I already have the perfect dress for you in mind, it’ll look amazing with your hair,” you told her as Lady Umber made her way to you with Arrana dragging her feet behind her. Lady Umber greeted you with a haughty look on her face while Arrana looked at anyone but you, as if she wanted to disappear.
“May we have a word?” Lady Umber asked and you raised your brows, then nodded your head.
“Of course,” you said and turned to Wylla and Lyra. “If you’ll excuse us please.”
Wylla linked her arm through Lyra’s and they both made their way to Jorelle, Alys and Barbrey who were by the corner. You took a goblet from the tray a footman was carrying to take a sip of wine.
“How are you on this fine evening, Lady Umber?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’ve been informed that you’ve already chosen your ladies-in-waiting, and Arrana isn’t among them.”
Arrana took a deep breath. “My lady, I don’t—”
Lady Umber held up a hand, ordering her to be quiet without so much as a word.
“Before I speak with my dear friend Catelyn,” she said. “Can I ask why she wasn’t chosen?”
By the gods, the northerners really didn’t have a talent in veiled threats, did they?
You raised your brows, a calm smile curling your lips.
“Of course,” you said. “Feel free to go to Lady Stark and say your grievances, and so will I. Arrana wasn’t chosen, because—actually, you know what?” you asked. “I feel that you should hear the reason from her friend, not me.”
You held up a hand, motioning at Barbrey to come closer while Arrana’s eyes widened.
“No, I don’t think it’s necessary—”
“I said shush, child,” Lady Umber chastised her while Barbrey made her way to you, discomfort written on her face. You quietly hoped that your bluff would not go awry, but if it did, you already had a second plan that included getting rid of Barbrey as well, if she was to be disloyal to you.
It was almost funny, if it were any other time, Lady Umber’s threat would have made you nervous. Though you knew Lady Stark liked you, she still had her responsibilities that could not be affected by her feelings as the Lady of Winterfell, and you didn’t want to take the wrong step or put her in a position that would make her question her support for you.
However, that was before.
Now that you knew Robb loved you, it changed many things. Lady Olenna had told you and Margaery once that while mothers-in-law could create problems, as long as you kept your husbands under your spell, their mothers’ influence would be limited. You wanted to be on good terms with Lady Stark, but you also knew that your power and status was directly linked to Robb’s feelings for you.
And he was in love with you, so now you had power over anything to do with the north, and the confidence that came with that was nearly intoxicating.
Barbrey curtsied. “My lady.”
“Barbrey,” you said, your voice smooth. “Lady Umber has some questions about why Arrana wasn’t chosen to be among my ladies-in-waiting. Kindly repeat what you told me before so that she could hear it as well, please.”
Barbrey swallowed thickly, ignoring Arrana’s glare on her, then took a deep breath and raised her chin.
“Arrana was gossiping about you,” she said. “And she said she wished for you to die in childbirth, so that Lord Robb could wed…” She stole a look at you. “A—a northern girl instead.”
Aw, she was learning.
You bit back a smile and turned to Lady Umber who seemed to be at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, turning to glare daggers at Arrana who wouldn’t meet her eye.
“You can go back to our friends, thank you,” you told Barbrey and she gave you a bright, proud smile, then curtsied again and made her way to them. Lady Umber muttered something to Arrana and she walked away from you two in a hurry while you sipped your wine, then lowered your goblet.
“We could go to Lady Stark now if you wish, Lady Umber,” you told her and she stole a look at Lady Stark who was conversing with other ladies, then cleared her throat.
“Arrana is young.”
You tilted your head. “She’s my age.”
“Well yes but she wasn’t trained in matters of delicacy,” she said. “Or southern diplomacy. I suppose it’s our fault, but she’s still learning.”
You pretended to think for a second, then heaved a sigh.
“Lady Umber, I don’t wish to make an enemy of you or your family,” you told her. “That’s exactly why I chose to keep such disrespect a secret. Robb speaks highly of House Umber, he says you’ve been loyal to House Stark for centuries.”
She nodded fervently.
“Of course we are,” she said in a haste. “And we will. No matter what.”
“And it doesn’t seem fair to me that the name of your whole house should be harmed because of Arrana’s words, especially when I know you had nothing to do with that,” you said, frowning slightly. “However, I don’t think anyone else would agree, especially my husband.”
That made her pull back slightly.
“Because you see, wishing me death in childbirth has more than one implication,” you pointed out, looking her in the eye. “Seeing that Robb is the heir and I’m his wife now, the Stark line will flow through him and me. Such insult is not only directed at me, it’s directed at House Stark and its future.”
“She did not mean—”
“And to replace me with a northern girl?” you cut her off. “Anyone who heard it would think House Umber is plotting to put their blood in Winterfell at my own expense. And I’m told the north isn’t as forgiving as the south, especially when it comes to loyalty and court intrigue.”
Her eyes found her husband before they snapped back to you.
“And I’m not even talking about how my family would react,” you said, waving a hand in the air. “My father is incredibly protective of me, so hearing that your niece wished for me to share the fate of my beloved mother, the love of my father’s life? He would be furious, and it seems to me the north will need the Reach in the coming winter.”
A silence fell upon you both before you smiled at her.
“That is if they found out,” you added. “I see no reason to bring this up to anyone else though. Not when you and I can come to an understanding.”
“…An understanding?”
“As you said, Arrana is young,” you pointed out. “You however, strike me as a woman who is too smart to let herself be ruled by petty grievances and emotions.”
Though she was taken by surprise, she overcame it quickly. “A quality that I see I share with you.”
“I hope so,” you said. “I will not hold you or your house responsible for Arrana’s words, Lady Umber. Nor will I share them with anyone else, I’d like to build bridges rather than burn them. One can’t have too many friends in the north, I’m told.”
“We all need each other when the winter is here.”
“Exactly,” you said. “There will come a time when we need each other, I’m sure. And when that time comes, I’d like you to remember this moment.”
She hesitated only for a moment before she bowed her head in acknowledgement.
“I will.”
“Wonderful. And now that we came to an understanding, can I just say—”
You were distracted when Robb walked into the Great Hall, a smile you couldn’t stop lighting up your face in an instant. His gaze found you and he made his way through the crowd, not even stopping to greet anyone else in the hall while Lady Umber excused herself and walked away from you. Robb wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you closer the moment he reached you so that he could kiss your forehead before nuzzling into your hair, his hand cupping your cheek. You let out a giggle, your fingers curling in his shirt.
“You do realize we’re in public?”
“I don’t care,” he muttered into your hair, his voice coming out muffled before he pulled back to grin at you. “You look very beautiful, my lady. You and your gown.”
“Why thank you, my lord,” you played along. “I missed you terribly!”
“Not as much as I missed you,” he murmured, the fire in his eyes nearly burning you while his thumb caressed your cheekbone, making you bite down on your lip. “Were you bored while I was gone?”
You were quite used to having many eyes on you from back in the Reach, and even here ever since you had arrived in the north, however, this time felt rather different. Maybe because the majority of people in the Great Hall were northerners now, or maybe they didn’t care to be as subtle as the southerners, or—
The idea hit you so fast that it took you by surprise. Of course it was less subtle now, the people had barely had the chance to see you together during Harvest Feast, and Robb had been busy the whole day today, so for most of the guests here, this was their first opportunity to see you in public as a married couple, and to understand whether you liked each other after your wedding night. You had heard about many couples—lords and ladies alike—that became rather sour on each other after their consummation, which showed the rest of the people in the castle how exactly their relationship was to be.
And where the power would reside; with the lady or another woman.
Because you, just like any other noble lady, also knew history. You knew that kingdoms and bloodlines flourished and perished because of love. Depending on the situation, it could be sharper than a sword and deadlier than poison, and as Lady Olenna had told you, love was going to be the weapon you were going to yield if you wanted to be invincible.
And with a sudden rush of delight washing over you and making your heartbeat speed up, you couldn’t help but note that although unintentionally, Robb had all but announced to the whole Great Hall that your status was unquestionable. His vassals could grumble about how a northern girl would’ve been a much better fit all they wanted, it did not change the simple truth:
You were not going to be the Lady of Winterfell in name only. You held Robb’s heart and his attention, and no matter what everyone else in the hall hoped, you were not going to be replaced.
You could feel the proud grin curling your lips as you gazed up at him, then shrugged your shoulders as if you couldn’t see the rest of the hall watching you both.
“A little,” you managed to say. “But not to worry. I think I’m making friends.”
A.N: This is the end of Act I, my loves! 🩷 You have now read 148k words, so basically finished two books, congratulations! 🥰 Act II is starting on May 3! 🩷
And 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: Harvest follows patience.
Word Count: 5,7k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Even with the small crack that let the light in through the haze of sleep, despite the pounding in his head and the exhaustion of last night, Robb couldn’t help but think that this was the most peaceful moment he had ever had.
At first he just thought the bed smelled like her. The sweet scent of the flowers surrounded him, making him feel like he was lying in a summer garden, and it was only when her hair tickled his nose that he realized her head was resting on his chest. He dipped his head to bury his nose into her hair, his arms wrapping tighter around her as he felt himself slip back into blissful daze, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth.
However, that bliss was short-lived.
“Robb?”
Gods, it couldn’t have been five minutes—
She shook him by the arm, her whisper nearly frantic. “Robb, wake up!”
“Mm?”
“Have the maids already been here?”
It was with great difficulty that he managed to open his eyes, but the sight that greeted him was so dazzling that the answer had already left his mind before he could speak. She was still in last night’s gown—her infamous wedding gown that the whole North was going to talk about for the centuries to come, if the many comments that he heard last night were anything to go by. She was bathed in the warmth of the sun coming from the window and spilling through the sheer curtains around the bed, the moonlight still clinging to her in the form of her dress even in the morning, as if it couldn’t bring itself to abandon her.
By the gods, she was the most breathtaking vision he had ever cast his gaze upon, even with worry etched on her face.
A grin pulled at his lips while he reached out to run his fingers over her arm. “Good morning, my wife.”
“The maids,” she insisted. “Have they been here?”
“Only for a moment before I dismissed them.”
Her eyes widened.
“Gods,” she breathed out. “We—Robb, we haven’t…”
She didn’t have to finish her sentence for him to understand the root of her worry, any trace of sleep washing away from his mind. The fur covers pooled in his lap when he pulled himself up to sit in the bed as well, her eyes following his every move.
“They’ll say—”
“They’ll say nothing.”
“They’ll say everything!”
“They will not, because I already took care of it.”
That made her gaze snap up to his, whatever protest she was about to direct at him claimed by stunned silence instead. She looked down at her gown, then back at him, the unasked question making him scoff.
“I’m no wildling to take advantage of you at such state,” he told her and turned his palm up. “I cut my finger, so there was blood on the sheets.”
Her brows furrowed and she blinked a couple of times as if she was straining her mind to remember. Robb wouldn’t have been surprised if the memory had left her completely considering how drunk she had been last night, but he was proven wrong when a look of realization dawned on her face, her lips parting.
“Oh,” she said after a moment, coaxing a smile out of him.
“Come here,” he murmured before he pulled her to his lap, the closeness of her making his heart gallop in his chest. Her fingers caressed over his palm, her gentle touch barely there as if she was hesitant, but then she took his hand in hers to glance down at the tiny slice over the tip of his thumb.
He couldn’t have looked away if he tried.
She had to be a gift to him from the old gods; wrapped in light and warmth, halting all thoughts in his head with her mere presence. Robb swallowed when she ran her fingertips over the back of his hand in an almost absentminded manner, awakening fire underneath before she frowned slightly and raised her eyes to meet his.
“Did it hurt very terribly?”
Robb couldn’t help but smile at the genuine concern in her tone.
“You’re the one with sensitive skin,” he teased her, making her scrunch her nose up at him before he leaned in to kiss her, sneaking an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. It took everything in him not to flip them over and get rid of all these stupid, unnecessary clothes that kept her away from his gaze and his touch, desire burning through him as he slowly started to bunch up the skirt of her gown—
She pulled back with a gasp and turned her head to look at the door when someone pounded their fist on it, followed by his brother’s gruff voice.
“Robb?”
“Just ignore him,” Robb muttered, trailing kisses down her jaw and she shifted in his lap, making his grip tighten around her thighs.
“I don’t think—”
“Robb, it’s noon!” Theon’s loud voice from behind the door cut off her whisper, and Robb dropped his head on her shoulder with an exhausted sigh.
“Aye,” Jon added, “father sent me to wake you up. Theon is also here for some reason.”
“Fuck you too, Snow.”
“I’m going to kill them,” he muttered into her skin while she ran her nails over the nape of his neck gently.
“You can kill Theon,” she said, still a little breathless. “But I happen to like Jon.”
Much to his displeasure, she got off of him to walk to the other side of the room to grab her dressing gown and Robb discreetly adjusted himself, then pushed himself off the bed to make his way to the door to swing it open.
“Has someone died?”
Jon frowned. “No?”
“Would you like me to change that?”
Theon grinned at him. “Good afternoon to you too.”
“Father sent me,” Jon grumbled. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but you two missed breakfast already, and the feast is starting in the yard.”
Robb gritted his teeth, then his eyes found his lady’s maid standing behind them.
“Eadith?”
“I just wanted to inform my lady that her bath is ready,” she said, averting her eyes while Theon stole a look at the bed, earning a glare from Robb who pulled the door closer to him so that no one could see inside. “In her bedchambers.”
“Thank you Eadith,” she called out before she pulled the door open. “Good morrow.”
Theon mumbled a greeting and glanced up at the ceiling while Jon offered her a smile, and before Robb could say anything, she had already walked past him and stepped into the hallway, making him frown.
“Wait, wha—”
“I must get ready for the feast but I’ll find you in the yard!” she called out and walked down the hallway to enter her bedchambers, her maid following her close. She closed the door behind them, and Robb let out a breath, slumping sideways to the doorframe.
“So,” Theon said with a grin while Jon raised his brows at him. “Judging by the murderous look on your face, I take it your wedding night went well?”
After a quick bath, a change of clothes and being all but dragged to the yard, Robb had already made up his mind:
This was nonsense.
This whole Harvest Feast was nonsense.
He was supposed to be in bed with his wife—who was still nowhere in sight— enjoying their marriage. He could’ve been in her bedchambers or even better, in the bathtub with her, and yet here he was, being stuck in a conversation with his father and multiple lords.
He took a big sip of his drink, his eyes darting around the yard. Everyone seemed to be having a great time, many couples were dancing to the musicians’ tune, some cheering, and some still drunk from last night. Perceon and Braxton were laughing at something Cliff was telling them, Arys was talking with Alton, and for a second Robb wondered where Silas was, but he figured he was with one of his many admirers from the Reach, still in bed.
“…and Robb will come with.”
His head whirled around. “Hm?”
His father exchanged glances with Lord Cassel, both grinning.
“Ease off on him, Ned,” Lord Cassel said. “At least for the day. You pulled him out of the south’s prettiest girl’s bed, he’s bound to be distracted.”
“I’m not distracted,” Robb lied through his teeth while his father hummed.
“Will your lady wife be joining us?”
Finally, now everyone referred to her as his lady wife.
“She’s getting ready,” Robb replied. “It takes her a while and we—we woke up late.”
“I’d gather she’s quite tired,” Lord Umber joked, clasping his shoulder. “As a husband of thirty years, let me give you some wisdom, my boy. You must let her have her rest, otherwise you’ll suffer during the day.”
Well he was way ahead of that, already suffering.
“Aye, she’ll make sure of that,” Lord Karstark said, laughter erupting from the small crowd. “Did you let her sleep last night at all?”
Robb rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh huh.”
“I must admit, I doubt I have ever seen a happier bride,” Lord Cassel chuckled. “Even my lady wife…”
The rest of his sentence disappeared into rest of the chatter when Robb’s eyes caught the sight of his beautiful lady enter the yard with Silas, claiming the air in his lungs without so much as a glance in his direction.
Just as she was the silver moonlight last night, today she was pure sunlight. Her gown looked like it was made of liquid gold, silk shimmering under the bright sun, giving her the look of a vision from beyond this realm even more than usual. The skirt of her gown was embroidered with wheats in accordance with harvest feast—and her own house Robb was guessing, since their sigil had wheats around the goat— as well as tiny flowers scattered along them. To match with the rest of her gown, she also had small golden wheat earrings dangling from her ears, and it was only when she turned to say something to Silas that he realized she had heart shaped braids on the back of her head, making his chest feel all warm.
“I’ll be back,” he heard himself say before he crossed the yard to make his way to them, his heart beating in his ears.
“So you’re seriously not going to tell me—” Silas stopped talking when Robb entered his sight, and his lady turned to him, a smile lighting up her face immediately.
“My husband!” she chirped with an excited lilt in her voice before she took his hand in both of hers, then leaned sideways to his arm. “I’ve missed you already I’m afraid.”
The whole yard was watching, but Robb couldn’t care less as he dipped his head to kiss on top of her head, his hand cradling the side of her neck.
“Good afternoon my beautiful wife.”
“I hate this,” Silas announced with a grimace. “Can you two not do this in front of me?”
“Do what, be in love?”
“I strictly remember your septa telling you it’s a virtue to be humble, and that you should not gloat about your fortune in front of those who are less fortunate.”
She tilted her head. “And you are the less fortunate in this situation?”
“Do you see me looking at people with love shining in my eyes?”
“I see a lot of people looking at you with love shining in their eyes,” Robb pointed out, glancing around the yard to prove his point, momentarily getting distracted by Jon immediately turning around as if he wanted to walk away but ended up bumping into Theon and making him spill his ale instead. “I doubt there’s a lack of fortune there.”
Silas blinked a couple of times, a slight frown pulling his brows together at the sight of Jon walking away. “…Right. Yeah.”
“Besides, we had the same septa and she also said it’s a sin to be a hypocrite,” his lady stated. “I’ve spent my entire life having to endure your wave of admirers—”
“I’ve been through worse, in case you forgot,” Silas insisted, “Ever since that title started being thrown around. How about your wave of suitors who kept ambushing me? I’ve been all over the realm to find you a suitable husband—”
“And to find yourself one hundred lovers,” she cut him off smugly while Robb repressed his laugh, and Silas shot him a look.
“You owe me, and yet you’re encouraging this?”
“My wife speaks the truth,” Robb said with a shrug of his shoulders and Silas heaved a sigh.
“I’m going to have to get drunk again if you two insist on calling each other husband and wife,” he muttered and walked past them to make his way to one of the servants who was carrying a tray of drinks. His lady glanced up at him, a smile warming her face.
“He’ll be alright,” she stated, swaying their entwined hands. “I didn’t make you wait long I hope?”
“Of course not,” he said, lifting her hand to press a light kiss on the back of it. “You look very beautiful today, my lady. You and your gown.”
A giggle escaped her.
“Why thank you, my lord,” she played along, her eyes finding the dancing couples on the yard. “Will we dance today too?”
“If you wish to,” he said and she nodded fervently.
“I wish to!” she said. “I must say hello to my father first—have you seen him?”
“He’s with Lord Manderly.” Robb nodded in their direction through the crowd, his lady following his line of sight, her father’s boisterous laugh echoing in the yard.
“I fear my father likes northern lords more than southern lords,” she pointed out and Robb grinned at her.
“Good,” he said. “They can keep him entertained when he comes to visit, you and I will be busy.”
Her jaw dropped as she shoved his arm playfully, coaxing a laugh out of him before he pulled her closer and they both started walking towards Lord Greensted.
It wasn’t that Robb was an impatient man.
On the contrary he was very patient, he had been the paragon of patience since his lady had arrived in Winterfell, but this was pushing it too much.
He hadn’t got to get her to himself the whole day, not even once.
First it was their families, and now, for the last hour, it had been the rest of the guests. On one hand Robb was glad more and more northern families were accepting her now that they were wed before the guests and witnesses, but he did not appreciate them hogging all her time.
“Father will be angry if you keep glaring at the guests.”
Robb lowered his cup to shrug at Jon while Theon plopped down beside him, then pulled a plate to himself to dig in. Jon grimaced, turning to shoot him a glare.
“Ghost chews quieter than you, Greyjoy.”.
“I’m hungry!” Theon defended himself and nodded at Robb. “And you’re glowering.”
“My wife has been taken hostage.”
“She seems too happy for a hostage,” Theon pointed out while his lady, who was surrounded by many other ladies, let out a clear laugh at something one of them said. Jon’s eyes stopped on someone over Robb’s shoulder, then he cleared his throat, shifting his weight.
“Aye, she seems like she’s having fun.”
“It’s our first day of marriage—”
“And you spent the last night consummating the said marriage, so you can wait a little.”
Robb chewed on his lip, keeping his gaze on his lady.
“Besides what else are you going to do?” Theon asked with a smirk, wiggling his brows. “Drag her back to your bedchambers in the middle of the feast to sheathe your sword?”
Robb’s silence seemed enough of an answer for both of them and Jon’s eyes widened.
“You’re doing no such thing.”
“Not like anyone would notice.”
“Everyone is watching you two,” Jon insisted. “She is standing in the middle of a crowd of ladies hanging onto her every word right now, in case you went blind all of a sudden. People would notice.”
“Then perhaps they should notice,” Robb grumbled. “Why are they still here anyway?”
“Because it’s the Harvest Feast.”
“I’ll rephrase, why am I here?”
“Because you’re the heir,” Jon deadpanned while Rickon crawled under the table with a growl, no doubt mimicking Shaggydog who was somewhere in the Godswood with Grey Wind and the rest of his siblings. “And you have to be here until it’s finished.”
“Well—” He sneaked his plate under the table so that Rickon could grab it, then started running around with a piece of steak in his hand, still growling while Robb got up. “If I’m to be here until it’s finished, there’s no harm in taking a break.”
“Robb!” Theon and Jon said at the same time but he paid them no mind as he passed Perceon and Jorelle who were dancing along with many others, then made his way to his lady.
“…and the children took up calling you The Shiny Lady,” Lady Woolfield was telling her, making her smile bigger as she pressed a hand on her chest.
“Really?”
“Oh yes.” Lady Berena nodded. “My daughter Bess, she already asked me for a gown similar to yours, she is enchanted.”
“Everyone is.”
“My seamstress is the most talented lady that the realm has ever seen, and my brother Cliff is a merchant who’s been all over the realm, he always sends me the best—hello my lord!” She beamed at him, immediately distracted from what she was saying. Robb bowed his head slightly, his chest tight with pride upon hearing her call him her husband.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted the others, then turned to her. “My lady, could I borrow you for a moment? Some news of importance requires our attention.”
Her smile faltered a little, a worried frown pulling her brows together.
“Of course,” she said and excused herself, her hand finding his as if it was second nature while he led her away from the crowd. “What’s happened? Is everyone alright?”
“Mm hm.”
“A raven then?” she asked as they both entered the keep. “Is it from the Reach or—”
The rest of her sentence turned into a squeal when he pulled her into a dark corner in the hallway, wasting no time to crash his lips on hers. A surprised gasp hitched in her throat as his grip around her waist tightened, but then she pressed a hand on his chest to push him back gently.
“What news?”
“The news that I missed my wife while everyone is convinced they should keep her away from me.”
“Robb!” she chastised him while he let out a chuckle. “Those were northern ladies, they finally like me!”
“They can wait,” Robb brushed her off as he dipped his head to kiss her neck, making her let out a breath before she pushed him back again.
“I’m a lady, in case it escaped you,” she whispered. “I will not be—be pulled to corners for…”
He grinned at her. “For what?”
“You know for what!”
“You wound me,” Robb said, clutching at his chest as if she just stabbed him. “I’m not pulling you to corners for that.”
“No?”
“No, I’m pulling you to our bedchambers,” he said and grabbed her wrist to tug it, earning a surprised yelp from her before a laugh escaped her.
“My lord!”
“Your husband.”
She tried to yank her arm back with her full strength, leaning back on her heels like a stubborn goat. “We cannot just sneak out of the feast!”
He tried to keep a straight face, biting back his laugh. “Well, not if you lack faith.”
“Someone will take notice of our—” Her laugh echoed in the hallway as he easily pulled her forward. “Our absence!”
“So what?”
“It’s disrespectful!”
“Even better, maybe they’ll leave if they find us disrespectful—”
“Robb.”
His father’s voice snapped both of them out of it, his lady’s head whipping around, her eyes widening. Robb made a face, then turned his head to look at his father, slowly letting go of his lady’s wrist as she stepped to stand beside him, offering his father that perfect courtier smile he had seen multiple times on Silas.
“Lord Stark!” she said breathlessly while Robb grasped the silk skirt of her gown so that she wouldn’t walk away. “Good afternoon! We were just um—”
“Talking,” Robb finished her sentence for her while she nodded fervently.
“Something of…” She cleared her throat. “Great importance.”
“Aye, very important.”
His father glared at Robb, then turned to smile at her.
“My lady, could I have a moment with him please?”
“Of course!” She took a step forward with Robb still holding onto her skirt and immediately pushed his hand away, shooting him a warning look. She walked away from them both, her heels echoing in the hallway before she stepped out to the yard, and Robb turned to his father who was pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a headache.
“Father,” he greeted him and his father lowered his hand to glare at him.
“Robb,” he said after a couple of seconds of silence. “I hope to the gods that you have many sons just like you.”
Robb shrugged his shoulders.
“When?” he asked. “It’s not as if I can work on making those sons, with the way I’m not left alone with my wife.”
His father brushed a hand over his face with a sigh, as if praying for patience.
“Is that what you want, father?” Robb insisted with a solemn expression. “Do you want our line to end? Do you want House Stark to—”
“Out.” His father pointed in the direction of the entrance to the keep, and Robb held up his hands, gesturing surrender.
“If I’m being blamed for thinking of our house’s future…” He started walking as his father pushed him forward by the shoulder blades, the same way Robb would push Rickon.
“You’ll be with me for the rest of the day.”
“I cannot,” Robb argued. “I’m a lord husband now, I have responsibilities to my lady wife—”
“You also have responsibilities to our house,” his father stated. “Since you’re so concerned about its future, you must be very involved with any possible issues it might face in the future. What better way to do so than listening to all our vassals and their issues?”
Robb threw his head back to let out a groan, then stepped outside with his father beside him.
“Come,” his father said. “Lord Ryder has news from the Rills.”
His father was a man of his word, which meant that for the rest of the day, Robb had to be stuck with many, many vassal lords and their issues instead of enjoying the first day of his marriage with his wife. Eventually his father had decided to talk to the lords in his solar—with Robb beside him— and it had taken such a long time that by the time they were finished, it was way past supper. Robb went straight to the Great Hall once he left his father’s solar, his eyes darting around the hall.
Where was his lady?
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jon getting himself a drink, so he made a beeline to him.
“Jon.”
“Ah, you’re back,” Jon said. “Where have you been?”
“Father’s solar, listening to almost all of the guests,” he said. “I swear, for a moment I thought he’d keep me there until the dawn—who are you glaring at?”
Jon’s eyes snapped back to his. “Hm?”
Robb looked over his shoulder to see what he had been glaring at, but he couldn’t see anything that captured his attention other than Silas talking to a knight, so he turned back to him.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked. “You’ve been strange the whole day.”
“I’m not.” Jon took a sip of his drink. “You’re the one who’s been strange.”
“With good reason,” Robb grumbled. “Where’s my lady?”
“She retired to your bedchambers an hour ago.”
Robb’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Aye. Braxton just asked the same to Cliff, that’s how I know. Do you—”
Robb did not even waste a second. Without another word or so much as bidding goodnight to his brother he crossed the hall as fast as he could while making sure he wasn’t running, but the moment he stepped out of the hall and into the hallway, he darted for the stairs. He jumped over multiple steps as he ascended them to get to the hallway leading to his—their—bedchambers and only when he reached the door he stopped, his heart beating in his ears.
…Now what?
He couldn’t just pounce on her like a damn wildling. No matter how much he wanted her, no matter how hot the fire of desire burned through his veins, he knew he had to be slow. His father had advised him just yesterday at the wedding feast right before he made way to wake his lady up to carry her to their bedchambers:
“Do not rush things and scare her,” he had said. “Love requires patience, do not harm what’s blooming between you two in your haste.”
Not that Robb hadn’t already decided to let her sleep that night even before his father had opened his mouth, but that was valuable advice for the rest of their marriage.
Including now.
He was just going to ask her. That seemed like a good solution; they were both still learning to communicate with each other, and he didn’t want to push her into something she was not ready for.
If his touch scared her, then he had to soothe that fear before touching her.
Was he supposed to knock, or—?
He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, then shrugged to himself and knocked on the door before he pushed it open, his heart slamming against his ribcage hard enough to make it ache. He half expected to find her in bed but he was proven otherwise; she was cozily sitting on the soft furs before the fireplace when he stepped in and closed the door behind him, the warmth of the room surrounding him. She jumped on her feet, blinking fast like she was trying to pull herself out of her thoughts before she smoothed the skirts of her nightgown, a shaky breath leaving her.
Seven hells, she had to have access to some sort of dark spell; it was not fair for her to be able to make him speechless just by standing there.
The soft light coming from the hearth and the candles illuminated her sheer nightgown; the tiny stars on the air light fabric glimmering even in the dim room. Her hair was loose from any braids, all the jewelry and adornments from earlier abandoned except her favorite goat head bracelet clasped around her wrist. The memory of the very first night they met shot through Robb’s head faster than lightning, a warmth dripping inside his chest.
Though he knew she wouldn’t believe him, he found her the most beautiful like this; in her nightgown, simply her.
Simply his.
His voice was hoarse with desire when he spoke: “My lady.”
Hesitation flashed over her face before she managed to give him a mischievous smile, then her fingers grasped the side of her skirt, the thin fabric shining with the light of the flames behind her before she gave him the courtliest curtsy.
“My lord,” she greeted him back and straightened up, her eyes searching his face as if she was trying to read his mind. Robb had to command in his head that he was not supposed to rush to her, so he ended up taking agonizingly slow steps while he crossed the room, the crackling of the burning wood echoing in the silence of the room. She gulped, shifting her weight.
“You—you don’t mind I hope,” she stammered, vaguely motioning at the fireplace. “The maids lit it but it still felt rather cold, so I…I made it bigger, the fire.”
He tilted his head. “You know how?”
“I’m learning,” she said with a ghost of a proud smile that faded as her gaze fell on the bed before it darted back to his face, the unasked question as loud as a scream between them. She nibbled on her lip, then took another trembling breath, her fingers grasping the skirt of her gown.
“Should I, um—”
“Would you like some wine?” he cut her off as soon as the bottle and the goblets on the small table caught his attention. She blinked a couple of times like he had asked the most confusing question before nodding her head vigorously.
“That’d be lovely, thank you.”
“Sit, I’ll bring it.” Robb filled the two goblets with wine, his heart still pounding in his ears before he made his way to the furs, then sat beside her and held one of the goblets out of her reach with a grin.
“Didn’t eat anything Arys gave you, did you?”
“Gods no.” She huffed out a nervous laugh. “I’m planning to stay away from what he brought me unless the situation is dire.”
Her hand was slightly shaky as she took the goblet from him, then took a huge sip before she lowered it to steal a glance at him. Robb took it as a sign to sip his wine as well, the tart taste burning its way down his throat.
“Thank you, by the way,” she rasped out, making him turn his head. “For earlier.”
“Earlier?”
“The sheets. That was a…” she trailed off, “strangely southern way of thinking.”
A small smirk curled his lips. “I’m learning.”
That managed to coax a small giggle out of her before she downed her wine and put the empty goblet down. He could swear she was able to hear his heartbeat, perhaps the whole castle was, with the way it echoed in his head.
Slow.
He had to be slow.
He had to be slow and gentle and not scare her off, no matter how beautiful she was just sitting there, the orange flames from the fireplace illuminating half of her face.
He swallowed thickly, then put his goblet aside before reaching out to brush his fingertips over her bare shoulder. The thin strap of her nightgown slipped down a little as he leaned in press a chaste kiss on her shoulder, her sweet scent wrapping itself around him and pulling him deeper under her spell.
Go slow.
Go slow.
Go fucking slow, Stark.
“My lady—”
Her breath was a gentle caress on his temple: “Your wife.”
“I will not touch you unless I’m given leave,” he managed to murmur through the haze of desire, nuzzling into her shoulder before lifting his head to look at her. “Am I given leave?”
He didn’t know what it was, nor would he have been able to describe it later on had someone asked, but something in her expression shifted. Gone was the worry pinching her brows, and the hesitance swirling behind her eyes just a second ago, melting into something much lovelier, much softer. Her hand came up to cradle his cheek, a genuine smile, brighter than the sun and the moon and the stars, lighting up her face before she nodded, then leaned in to kiss him.
He had tried, he really had, but the feeling of her lips was more than enough to wash away any thought from his mind. If he were able to think he would’ve realized he was supposed to take her to the bed, but somehow what he was supposed to do held no power against what he was feeling, not when she was in his arms, not when he finally could kiss her, not when—
Not when she was his, completely.
How was it that every time they kissed it felt like the first time?
He leaned over her, resting a hand on the floor as he laid her down on the furs and settled between her legs. Her fingers curled over his shoulders before she tugged at his shirt with a small whine, and he pulled it off to throw it somewhere in the room, his heart leaping to meet her palm where it belonged, her touch awakening goosebumps on his skin. He was nearly dizzy as the familiar fire made its way down, his hands slipping from the soft swell of her chest to her waist before squeezing her hips but her breath hitched in her throat when he blindly reached down to bunch up the skirt of her gown. He buried his nose into the crook of her neck, intoxicated by her sweet scent.
“We have unfinished business, wife.” He smirked against her skin. “From two nights ago.”
“But my skin is sensitive!” She giggled, coaxing a chuckle out of him as he pulled back to look down at her, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb when she pouted. “You have a beard, it’d be uncomfortable.”
He grinned before leaning down to brush his lips against hers.
“Is it uncomfortable when I kiss you here then?”
A pleasant sigh left her. “…No.”
“And here?”
She shook her head, her hands shooting up to cover her face to muffle her giggle while he kissed his way down. He gently pulled them off of her face before lacing his fingers with hers, and she buried her other hand into his hair as if she wanted to soothe herself, playing with his curls.
“None of that,” he murmured. “Don’t deny me the sight of you.”
Then, without wasting another second, he lowered his head to kiss her right where he wanted to, taking her breath away.
A.N: My loves, you're absolutely amazing, 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: Weddings can be very chaotic.
Word Count: 9k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
You could swear you woke up smiling.
It was as if the sun itself had decided to rise inside your chest this morning, too excited to wait for your maid to pull open the curtains to let the light in. You were quite certain that you were the happiest woman in the North—or in the realm, delight filling you even before you opened your eyes and sat up in the bed.
Your wedding day.
It had taken you a long time to fall asleep last night, first from the excitement, then thanks to Robb and his drunk midnight visit that made your face burn even now; what he suggested—
Well.
It had to be because he was drunk, surely.
This was the North, you were certain they didn’t do that here.
“Tell me it’s not snowing,” you told your maid who was looking out the window and she turned to smile at you, then shook her head.
“No sign of snow,” she said, making you exhale in relief. “All from yesterday seems to have melted with the sunlight too. I’d say it’s a good sign from the gods.”
A happy laugh escaped you and you stretched out your arms over your head, then dropped them.
“I’m to wed the love of my life!”
“Yes you are, but before that happens we have a very strict plan for today.”
You nodded your head. “Yes.”
“You’ll have breakfast with the family first…”
“Then go to the sept, pray to the gods, and then—” You thought for a moment. “I still feel like I should pray to his gods as well.”
“Your wedding is happening in front of his gods, you’ll have the time to pray to them.”
You heaved a sigh. “Alright. I’ll have breakfast, go to the sept, pray to the gods, visit Frost quickly—”
“My lady.”
“She hasn’t seen me for a whole day!” you insisted, causing her to pinch the bridge of her nose before she heaved a sigh.
“I’ll bring her here while you’re getting ready, how about that?”
“Oh that sounds better,” you said, “thank you.”
“Remember,” she told you. “The wedding ceremony will hold place when the sun sets, so you must be here in the afternoon latest. It’ll take us hours and hours.”
You nodded your head again.
“The other maids will bring you luncheon, I’ve already arranged it. But once you’re back in this room, you’re staying. I don’t want you to try sneaking out to go see your betrothed while we’re getting you ready.”
Your eyes widened. “But Eadith, if I miss him during the day—”
“You’ll have all the time to see him tonight,” she cut you off and winked. “All of him.”
Your heart skipped a beat and you swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the heavy worry crashing down on you to poison the excitement in your chest.
The wedding night.
Gods, tonight had to go perfect.
Margaery’s grandmother Lady Olenna had always told you the wedding night would determine how the rest of your marriage would go. That was the reason why she had hired that lady of the night for you and Margaery, so that you two would know what to do to mesmerize your husbands on your wedding night completely, and so that you could pull them under your spell, ensuring that they would be under your control. The wedding bed, as everyone kept reminding you, was the place you could manipulate your husband and make him do your bidding outside your bedchambers but now that you knew you were in love, everything was much more complicated than that.
You wanted it to go great, not because it would serve your interests in the future and give you more power over him, but because you loved him.
You couldn’t take a wrong step. You couldn’t falter or fail. You couldn’t do anything that’d shatter tonight’s perfection because if you did—
“My lady?”
You blinked a couple of times, trying to snap out of your own worried thoughts but before you could answer, someone knocked on your door. You and Eadith exchanged glances and you shrugged, so she went to open the door.
Silas.
You furrowed your brows when he stepped in, a small laugh spilling from your lips.
“You look terrible!”
“I came back to the castle while the sun was rising.” He squinted his eyes at the bright room, then ran a hand over his face before fixing his gaze on you. “How do you feel?”
“Much better than you, I’d say,” you said with a grin and he came to sit beside your bed.. “How much did you drink?”
“Too much,” he mumbled and took a deep breath. “Are you sure about this?”
“About what?”
“Being wed to him,” he said. “Because we can just leave if you changed your mind.”
You tilted your head to the side. “Leave?”
“I’ve learned the secret pathways out of the castle. Say the word, and we will sneak out and go to the White Harbor, get on a ship to Dorne and—”
“Silas.”
“I mean the North is so far from the Reach, and it’s a completely different culture, I don’t know what I was thinking—”
“You were thinking of my happiness as you always do,” you assured him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “For which I’ll be thankful to you my whole life. But I haven’t changed my mind, nor will I ever. I love Robb, and he loves me back, and I want to wed him.”
“But…” He pursed his lips. “But are you certain?”
“Very much so.” You gave him a bright smile. “You’ve made the perfect choice, why are you sad?”
There was a haunted look in his eyes before he blinked it away, then smiled back at you.
“I feel overly emotional, can you blame me?” he asked. “It’s my little sister’s wedding day.”
“I’m a woman grown, Silas.”
“Yes yes, I’ve heard you the first hundred times.” He waved a hand in the air. “So then. If I’m not sneaking you out of the castle, what’s the plan for the day?”
Robb and most of your brothers except Alton and Silas ended up not joining breakfast. You weren’t so surprised, Robb was in fact pretty drunk when he came to your door last night even though he kept claiming otherwise, so you figured he would sleep the exhaustion off. You had no idea what time the rest of your brothers had returned to the castle, but if you had to guess, it had to be around dawn like Silas, or perhaps even later.
You just hoped everyone would be feeling much better and awake by the ceremony.
On other news, Robb had a point in saying Lady Stark presided over the wedding in a way stricter manner than Lord Stark ruled the North. There really wasn’t much for you to do except to get ready and be in the Godswood at the specified time; everything else was ready for the evening and for the feast. When you thanked Lady Stark and expressed your concern about whether she would be too tired from handling all this, she only gave you a smile and told you that you would understand just how not tiring this was when the time would come for you to do the same for your future children with Robb.
If your calculations didn’t fail you, based on all the tales about the war and Lord and Lady Stark’s wedding, Robb was conceived on their wedding night.
You wondered if Lady Stark expected the same from you and Robb.
Even if she did, this was peace time. Back then, during war, heirs were of crucial importance, a matter of life-and-death for houses and bloodlines. It was different now; Lord Stark was alive, there was no war, no impending danger,—the noble families’ never ending battle for more power aside— no threat to the realm itself or the crown, or the North. Besides, Robb had never so much as mentioned wanting heirs this early on, so you figured he wasn’t in a hurry.
You just wanted to enjoy your marriage, anything and everything else could wait regardless of others’ expectations.
After lighting your candle in the sept and saying a quick prayer to the gods, you stepped out of the sept, your mind still plagued with thoughts but you quickly snapped out of them when someone grabbed your arm. The small scream that left your lips turned into a giggle upon seeing Robb, and you let him pull you behind the nearest tree, your heartbeat speeding up as you leaned back to the trunk of the tree to look up at him. He cupped your face and stole a kiss from your lips, taking your breath away before he smiled down at you, a fond light gleaming in his eyes.
“Good morrow my love.”
You beamed at him, your face growing hotter.
“Good morrow,” you said, your fingers idly playing with the laces of his linen shirt. “You’re awake, finally. Any longer and I was going to come to wake you up myself.”
“Had I known, I would’ve stayed in bed,” he joked, making you scrunch up your nose at him. “Not too late still. Come to my bedchambers.”
“I cannot,” you said with a small pout. “I’m under very strict orders for today. My seamstress and my maids are in my bedchambers already, I’m sure. Every hour of today is planned.”
His thumb caressed your cheekbone. “Is that right?”
“Yes, I’ll have a bath first, and then—”
“You can have a bath in my bedchambers.”
You pushed at his arm, trying your hardest not to giggle. “Robb!”
“To save you the time!” he defended himself with a playful grin. “I’m merely asking you to come so that you can decide whether the room is to your liking. With your four poster bed and canopy with sheer curtains and such.”
Your eyes darted over his face. “What?”
“The carpenters put everything together while I was away last night, it looks like what you described,” he said. “But I think you should see it closer—the bed, to be exact, you should see the bed closer—”
“Are you serious?” you asked him. “You had them change it to my liking?”
“Of course I did, you said you wanted it,” he said, as if that was all the explanation you could ever need. You could swear your heart melted in your chest as you let out a breath, then pecked him on the lips before you pulled back to smile up at him.
“Thank you!”
He smiled back and dipped his head to kiss you again, but you pulled back and went under his arm to step away from him like you two were in a dance. He almost stumbled in his haste to chase your lips, but managed to regain his balance before catching up with you.
“Will I be able to get you alone before the wedding at least?”
You shook your head. “I’m told no.”
“By who?”
“By my maid.”
“By your—?”
“There’s so much to do!” You entwined your fingers with his, leaning sideways to his arm as you entered the courtyard. “I’ve made a very extensive list, and I’m still terrified I’ll forget something. I had a nightmare the other night, I was in the Godswood but forgot my earrings back in my bedchambers, and no one warned me.”
He stifled a laugh. “Disaster.”
“I know!” you insisted, then heaved a sigh. “Robb, can I ask you for something?”
“Name it and it’s yours.”
You could feel the butterflies in your stomach.
“I won’t have the time to see Silk,” you said, biting on your lip. “Eadith will bring Frost to my bedchambers, but I obviously cannot have Silk there. Can you take her out today? I fear she’ll grow restless if she spends the whole day in the stables, I don’t trust anyone else with her.”
A soft smile appeared on his face before he tugged you by your hand to pull you closer so that he could kiss the top of your head, making you gasp.
“People are watching!”
“They’re here for our wedding, they’ll be fine,” he brushed you off as you both entered the keep and ascended the stairs. “And consider it done, I’ll take her out for a ride.”
“Thank you!” you chirped. “And please make sure to give her an apple. A green apple, she likes green apples better than red ones.”
“Of course.”
You opened your mouth and closed it again, thinking over your question before you took a deep breath.
“Lady Stark tells me not everyone will be in the Godswood for the wedding?”
“The feast is a part of the wedding,” he corrected you. “For the Godswood ceremony, it’s going to be only specific people apart from our families. Everyone else will be waiting back in the Great Hall, at the feast.”
You hummed. “And the feast is as good of a confirmation as the Godswood ceremony even though they don’t see it?”
“Exactly.”
“The ceremony itself sounds rather simple,” you wondered aloud. “I memorized every step of it, but now to think of it, you are certain no one missed anything?”
That seemed to make him chuckle as you both turned the corner to your bedchambers.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know!” you insisted with a small laugh before you pouted. “I don’t know. I just—I overthink things when I’m nervous, you know that. I don’t want anything to go wrong, that is all.”
He stopped you, his hands cradling your face in the gentlest manner, making your heart skip a beat.
“Nothing will go wrong,” he assured you. “The ceremony sounds simple, because it is very simple. You have nothing to worry about, I swear it.”
You had a lot to worry about, he just didn’t know all of them yet.
You nodded your head, your eyes fluttering close as he dipped his head to kiss you again, making you heave a sigh and lean into his touch, nearly melting in his arms. You were certain that you were never going to grow tired of his kiss, and you had to repress a whine when he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, nudging your nose with his to make you giggle.
“You might want to go in there before I change my mind about not dragging you to my bedchambers.”
You breathed out a laugh before you stole a kiss from him, then stepped out of his embrace despite your body begging you not to.
“I believe they are to be our bedchambers and not yours as of tonight,” you teased him as you walked backwards. “Since it’s decorated to my taste and all. Get used to it.”
“Get used to being there,” he teased you back, coaxing a giggle out of you.
“Sounds a fair trade,” you said. “See you in the Godswood tonight.”
With that, you dropped an exaggerated curtsy and entered your already crowded bedchambers, then closed the door behind you.
Eadith was right, getting you ready took hours and hours. You had spent more than an hour in the bathtub, soaking in warm water and flower oils that made your skin softer than silk. The real preparations began when you finally left the bathtub; your hair, your jewelry, your wedding gown and your cloak, they all had to look as planned. It had taken you a long time to decide on everything, but now that you were seeing all of it together, you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself and everyone else for their efforts.
You had chosen to abandon the intricate braids of the south and instead adapted the loose hairstyles of the north, save for two braided pieces that were wrapped around the thin crown of blue winter roses atop your head. Diamonds dangled from the silver filigree earrings in your ears, catching light whenever you so much as moved your head, much like the bracelet around your wrist. Though it was your favorite, you were leaving your signature goat head bracelet and Margaery’s gift on your vanity for the night, opting for a silver bracelet adorned with tiny diamonds you had custom made before you came here.
But even the most delicate jewelry couldn’t compete with your gown.
You had joked about it before with your seamstress. Back in the Reach, while you were planning it and coming up with ideas for your gown, she had asked you what you had in mind, and you had grinned at her.
“He’s a wolf, is he not?” you had asked. “Everyone says so. Then I’m to be his moonlight, for him to follow and admire.”
“Rylene,” you breathed out, gawking at your reflection while she fixed the back of your dress. “You are the most talented woman I’ve ever met, and I’ll cry for days when you go back to the Reach.”
She shushed you.
“This is not the time to speak of crying,” she chastised you lightheartedly. “Because I’ll cry as well, so let’s just focus on how beautiful you look, hm?”
You had no idea how she did it, but she had woven the moonlight into silk.
The gown itself was iridescent, many different shades of gray and the softest blue coming together to gleam in harmony at the smallest motion you’ve made, may it be your arm moving or your chest rising with your breath. To make it even brighter, she had spun a second layer; a net of pure silver threads as light as air draped over the gown. The soft fabric didn’t even seem like it belonged in this world, rather something that was gifted from far beyond, from the stars themselves perhaps, letting you borrow their shine for the night. If you weren’t the one wearing it, you would’ve thought it was a trick of light, too fragile to even gaze upon like the shy light of the moon who, despite being so powerful to rule the waters, had to retire behind night clouds from time to time to breathe in peace.
Your maiden cloak, which was decorated with your own house’s sigil, was only going to be on you until Robb replaced it with his own, yet you had made sure to stitch the small squares of goat embroidery Sansa and Arya had given you upon your arrival here on it. It was much bigger and heavier than the gown, but thankfully Eadith said she would carry it until you reached the Godswood, so you didn’t have to worry about whether it would make you trip or mess up your gown somehow on your way there.
“This is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen in my life,” Sansa said from behind you and you exchanged glances with Rylene in the mirror.
“You’ll have an even prettier one when you wed my sweet,” you told her, and Sansa batted Arya’s hand away when she reached out to touch the skirt.
“Ouch!”
“Don’t touch it you idiot, you’ll stain it!”
“I won’t!”
“Mother, Arya is trying to ruin the wedding gown!”
“But my hands are clean!”
“Arya, don’t touch the wedding gown,” Lady Stark called out from the other end of the room and you smiled at Arya while Rylene crouched down to inspect the hem of the skirt.
“You can touch it once we’re sure Robb has seen it,” you whispered as if giving her a secret and she shifted her weight, her gray eyes darting over the fabric.
“Your everything is shiny,” she pointed out. “Your gown, your jewels…Even your horse.”
“Silk is so gorgeous!” Sansa added. “I saw Robb take her out for a ride earlier.”
“Oh, good!” you said. “I was worried he wouldn’t have the time.”
“No no, he did,” Sansa said and frowned. “Do people in the south ride horses after their wedding?”
“Hm?”
“I heard some lords say Robb was going to have enough of a ride later tonight, so he shouldn’t have bothered.”
Your heart dropped to your stomach, your insides churning with worry but you managed to smile at Sansa, Rylene lifting her head from your skirts to steal a look at her.
“We sometimes hold jousts for wedding feasts,” you lied through your teeth. “Some southern guests still think we’re in the Reach and not the north, I suppose. They’re not familiar with northern weddings or customs.”
It was fine.
Everything was going to be fine tonight.
You weren’t going to mess it up.
“My flower, time to go!” Your father’s voice reached inside the room and Rylene fixed your skirts before she stepped away from you. You quietly thanked her, then tried to smile at Lady Stark who approached you.
“You look so beautiful my dear,” she said. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Actually, can I—can I have the room for a moment before we leave?” you asked, your voice cracking mid-sentence and she reached out to squeeze your hand.
“Of course,” she said. “Are you sure everything is alright?”
You nodded fervently. “I just need a moment, I think. I’m afraid I’m too excited.”
She gave you a knowing smile, then squeezed your hand in an assuring manner and turned to the rest of the room.
“Out, everyone.”
“Mother—”
“Yes Sansa, you too. You’ll wait outside with me.”
“But I could help!”
“You’ll help by waiting outside, come on,” Lady Stark said, and everyone in the room followed her, leaving you with Eadith.
“I know what you’re going to say—”
“I cannot mess this up, Eadith,” you said, blinking back the tears. “I cannot.”
“And you will not,” she said. “He loves you.”
“Right now,” you corrected her, pacing in the room. “But if I do something wrong, if I…if what I do tonight is not to his pleasure—”
“Not to his pleasure?” she repeated. “Do you hear yourself? He is too mesmerized by you to be displeasured with you, you know that.”
You shook your head, wishing for the thousandth time that Margaery were here despite how badly she broke your heart.
“I’m supposed to be perfect tonight,” you reminded Eadith, wringing your hands. “Everything that I do is supposed to be seductive and confident. But I—I don’t feel that way, I feel like a clumsy idiot who’ll say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing, and then Robb will change his mind and he will stop loving me because he’ll be disappointed in me, and I’ll be heartbroken and replaced and—”
“My lady.” She stopped you, rushing to grasp you by your upper arms so that you would stop pacing. “You will not say or do the wrong thing. I doubt he’ll hear a word you say while you look like this, he’ll be too busy trying to get the prettiest girl in the realm out of the prettiest gown in the realm.”
“Lady Olenna would always say the result of desire had to be even better than the anticipation,” you whispered, stealing a look at the door. “I’ve been keeping him on the edge for a month. That comes with a price, his expectations must be high, and if I fail to meet them—”
“His expectations are just you,” she whispered back. “You being your sweet self. Which will be more than enough, I promise you. He’s in love with you, you couldn’t disappoint him if you tried. You’ll calm down, and it will go great.”
You fanned your face and opened your mouth to argue, but the idea struck your mind like lightning, making your breath hitch in your throat. Eadith raised her brows as you stepped away from her, then turned around to rush to the chest Arys had brought you.
“What are you doing?”
“Arys brought me herbs for everything, and I checked all of them earlier, I swear I saw something…” You opened the chest and pulled open one of the drawers to take a look at the pouches before you moved to the next drawer. “Because he knows everything about everything, and—there!”
You took out the pouch that was labeled “Relaxing the Mind” with Arys’ graceful handwriting, then untied the string around the top part.
“My lady,” Eadith warned you as you took a look inside the pouch, then took out two pieces of what seemed like dried pieces of plant roots. You popped one in your mouth to chew and swallow it, the taste making you grimace before you shoved the other into her hand.
“Keep it with you please,” you said. “If one doesn’t work, I’ll take another before we retire to our bedchambers.”
“I don’t think that’s wise—” she started but was cut off when the door opened, and Elinor stepped in to close it behind her.
“Make haste, everyone is waiting outside,” she said, her eyes finding the chest behind you. “What are you doing?”
You shot her a glare and put the pouch into its place, then closed the chest while Elinor leaned on her hip.
“What’s that?”
“It’s nothing!” you snapped. “Leave me be.”
“Aw, what’s happened?” she mocked. “Too scared to wed your barbarian? Now you remember there’s a reason why southern girls don’t marry into the north?”
You gritted your teeth and narrowed your eyes at her before you let a smirk pull at your lips, then nodded at her.
“How’s your arm?”
That was enough to wipe that smug smile off her face and you scoffed a laugh, then walked past her. Eadith rushed to open the door for you and you took a deep breath, then stepped outside and plastered a smile on your face.
“I’m ready.” You went to press a kiss on your father’s cheek. “Let’s go.”
The Northern wedding customs were rather different than those of the south.
In the south, all weddings took place in the sept in the morning, led by a septon. In the North however, the weddings were held at night by the torchwood, and the moonlight. There was no septon because the old gods didn’t have such structure, instead the groom’s father would officiate the wedding.
So, Lord Stark.
Gods, Arys’ herb hadn’t done anything to soothe your nerves, you were still shaking as you reached the Godswood. Eadith helped you put your maiden cloak over your gown before you clutched your father’s arm and started walking beside him, your brothers following you two close.
“You are the most beautiful bride in the whole realm, my dearest,” your father whispered to you as if he could hear your thoughts. “That being said, are you certain about this?”
You stifled a laugh despite the nerves. “Father, we’re quite literally walking in the Godswood to my wedding.”
“So what? I’ll start a war with the North if my beautiful flower has changed her mind.”
You blinked back the tears and shook your head.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” you said. “Nor will I ever, father. I love him.”
“I know sweeting,” he said with a smile, squeezing your hand in an assuring manner. “He loves you too.”
You could see the light of the torchwoods and the weirwood, so you swallowed thickly, your heart slamming against your ribcage before you stole a look at him.
“Father?”
“Yes dearest?”
“Thank you,” you said, making him turn his head to you. “For everything. I know that you like to say mother would be proud of me, but she’d be proud of you too, and how happy you’ve made me my whole life.”
You could see the tears rushing to his eyes but he let out a breath and waved a hand in the air.
“Don’t make me cry in front of all these northerners my flower, they already think we’re not as tough as them.”
That coaxed a small giggle out of you and you nodded your head.
“Alright,” you whispered, catching the sight of Grey Wind and his siblings afar. “Alright, I won’t.”
It was rather strange, how almost every woman, for thousands of years, had said the same words and went through the same ceremony, but somehow you felt as if you were the only one. You knew the ceremony, you had practiced it in your mind thousands of times but now that you were here, your whole mind had gone empty, especially the moment your gaze fell upon Robb.
By the Gods, he was so handsome.
The look of surprise that settled over his face was almost too familiar; it was the very same expression of awe when he had first seen you in that hallway, on your first night in Winterfell. You could hear the whispers of the guests as your father led you to the weirwood tree, and you gave Robb a tentative smile that made him let out a breath as if he was in too much of a daze at the sight of you. Your heart was beating in your ears so loud that for a moment, you were worried all these people could hear it over the words being exchanged; with Lord Stark asking who came before the gods, and your father introducing you and himself and your house, and Robb introducing himself as well. Much like steps to a dance, you found yourself repeating the words in your head along with them as they spoke, and it was almost a relief to find that no one said a different word than what you had already memorized.
In a second now, Lord Stark was going to ask you—
Your head snapped up when you heard your name, and Lord Stark gave you a small nod.
“Do you take this man?”
Seven hells, who were you going to look at when you made your vows? You had forgotten to ask that, were you supposed to look at the tree or Robb?
You swallowed thickly and decided to focus your gaze on Robb’s handsome face, praying that it was the right move.
“I take this man,” you said, your voice not shaky by a miracle, and a smile curled Robb’s lips before he let out an exhale of relief. He held out his hand and you entwined your fingers with his, then you knelt down before the weirwood tree with him, the whole Godswood going quiet while it waited for your silent prayer.
I know I’m not of the north, you prayed in your head, closing your eyes, but thank you. For him and for this, thank you. I’ll try my hardest to earn your approval, I swear it.
You could see the darkness behind your eyelids light up just a little as if someone lit a thousand candles. The moment you opened your eyes, you had to blink a couple of times because of the sudden brightness, then lifted your head to look up at the full moon bathing you in silver. Grey Wind howled at the moon, his siblings joining him immediately while you stole a glance at Robb who looked like he couldn’t drag his gaze from you.
That was a good sign from the gods if you said so yourself.
Lord Stark cleared his throat as if he was giving him a signal, and Robb snapped out of his daze before he helped you up, and went behind you to take your maiden cloak off your back. You could hear the surprised gasps of the guests at the sight of your gown shining under direct moonlight before Robb placed his own cloak over your shoulders, then dipped his head so that you could hear him.
“You look very beautiful tonight, my lady,” he murmured, his smile apparent in his voice. “You and your gown.”
You had to swallow your giggle before you turned your head. You could now see everyone under the moonlight; Lady Stark was smiling wider than you had ever seen her before, Sansa was wiping at her eyes while Arya clung to Jon’s side with a small frown. Rickon looked rather confused at the reason why Sansa crying and tugged at Bran’s sleeve to whisper something to him but Bran shook his head, whispering something back. You could see your father clasping Silas’s shoulder who faked a cough and used that pretense to wipe at his eyes, Elinor leaned her head on Alton’s shoulder, squeezing his arm as he rubbed her back. Cliff offered Arys his flask, and Perceon grabbed it before Arys could, earning a warning hiss from Braxton. Lord Stark gave you and Robb a smile and approached Lady Stark, all the guests making their way away from the weirwood tree and in the direction of the keep. You nibbled on your lip, at last turning your gaze to Robb to beam at him.
“Good evening, my husband.”
“Good evening, my wife,” he greeted you back, that fond light playing in his eyes before he kissed your temple. “Ready?”
“For what?”
Your answer came in the form of him literally sweeping you off your feet to lift you up in his arms, the high pitched squeal that escaped you echoing in the woods, earning laughter from the crowd. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging tight.
“Robb!”
“I’m supposed to carry you to the feast,” he told you with a wink. “Northern customs. Did they forget to tell you about that part?”
An hour, the second piece of Arys’ herb and multiple drinks later, you were finally relaxed and having fun.
Had it been an hour or two? Or mayhaps three, you really couldn’t tell.
But what you could tell was, from your first dance alone, Robb was a very good dancer even though he preferred not to take part in the rest of the dances. It wasn’t just you having fun, a lot of northerners had already told you that this was the biggest celebration the North had ever seen, and though you weren’t familiar with the other northern celebrations, you were very familiar with southern ones.
And this surpassed even the biggest feast back in the Reach.
You had danced with everyone after Robb. You had danced with your father, and your brothers, and Lord Stark, you had even danced with little Rickon and Bran; both of whom had very serious expressions on their faces as if it was the most important matter, so you had made sure to compliment their dancing skills afterwards.
In addition to that, as a very pleasant surprise, the southerners and northerners looked like they were getting along much better than anyone could’ve anticipated. In fact, you had already heard multiple of your friends planning to exchange letters with their northern dance partners once they were back in the Reach, and many lords and ladies seemed rather taken with each other. Loras had asked you for a dance for old times’ sake, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were back in the Reach, like you were going to rush back to Margaery once the dance was over.
“The infamous Knight of Flowers,” you teased him as you circled each other and he grinned.
“The infamous Blossom of the Reach,” he teased you back. “Or do we call you the Flower of Winterfell now?”
You let out a giggle as you took a step towards each other, your movements fluid as if you were trailing on water, both of you too trained to look anything but perfect.
“You seem happier than ever, and that’s saying something.”
“I am!” you chirped. “I really am.”
“Good,” he said with a chuckle before he twirled you, your skirt flowing around you like waves in the ocean. “I really hope he’ll make you happy, Blossom.”
“He will,” you told him. “And can you tell Lady Olenna I said thank you for everything?”
He made a face. “I did not need to know that.”
“I said nothing!”
“You don’t have to say it, I know what it means.”
Your laughter echoed in the hall, your body following the steps of the dance almost on instinct after years and years of practice.
“Blossom.” He took a deep breath, his eyes searching your face. “About Margaery—”
“I’m not talking about her tonight,” you cut him off and he raised his brows, then nodded.
“Very well,” he said after a second. “Just like we’re not talking about what exactly you’re thanking my grandmother for.”
“To repeat, I said nothing!”
“And to repeat, you don’t have to say it,” he joked. “Will I get my face broken by your husband for daring to dance with you? I’m asking because I watched him beat a knight merely two days ago.”
“Loras!”
“But hey, at least now we know the North is in good hands. If the whitewalkers come, he’ll just beat them up.”
You both took a step back before stepping towards each other again, your hands brushing as the dance required.
“I still remember you joking about white walkers to scare me and Margaery off,” you told him, scrunching your nose up. “Father had to swear to me they weren’t real.”
“You were so easily scared as a child,” he reminisced with a chuckle before eyeing you up and down. “Now look at you. The Lady of Winterfell, hm? It’s your turn to scare people.”
You let out a giggle, sticking your nose up in the air with an air of exaggerated arrogance. “And all shall tremble before me.”
When the music came to a stop and applause rippled in the hall, you dropped a curtsy and thanked him, and he bowed before you two walked away from each other back into the crowd. Robb seemed like he was trapped in a conversation with Lord and Lady Karstark, stealing a glance at you while you tilted your head, trying to decide whether you should interrupt or not—
By the gods, Robb was so very handsome.
Someone touched your arm, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you smiled brightly at Arys.
“Hello!”
“Hello back,” he said with a small smile. “Having fun?”
You nodded your head so fast that for a moment you got dizzy.
“So much fun!” You grabbed a goblet from the tray a footman was carrying, then took a sip of wine. “I got upset about Margaery for a moment but um—I wanted to thank you!”
“Thank me for what?”
You took a deep breath. “The herbs you brought, they work! At first I thought they didn’t but they do, I feel so relaxed and calm and…warm, strangely enough.”
He pulled back a little. “Herbs?”
“I was rather nervous earlier, so I checked the herbs you brought me, and I found the pouch with the uh…it looked like pieces of dried roots? It said Relaxing the Mind,” you said. “I had to eat two pieces, but they’re working!”
Arys blinked a couple of times, his gaze falling on the cup in your hand before back to your face.
“You ate two pieces,” he repeated. “And you’ve been drinking?”
You nodded again. “I ate one before the Godswood, and then it didn’t work, so I ate the second piece when I got here.”
It wasn’t everyday Arys was at a loss for words, and the last time you had seen this exact expression on his face was when Braxton had dared Perceon to swallow a dead grasshopper when they were six. He muttered a curse under his breath, running a hand over his eyes before grabbing you by the arm.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Closer to the light, come,” he said and pulled you closer to one of the candles, then tilted your head up. “Let me see your eyes.”
You blinked up at him and he carefully inspected your eyes, then lowered his hand to take out a coin from his pocket.
“Catch this.” He flipped it in your direction and you caught it, then squinted your eyes at him.
“Why are you throwing me a coin?”
“What’s going on?” Silas’s voice made both of you turn to him and Arys licked his lips.
“She’s fine—you’re fine,” he told you and stifled a laugh. “Good news my dear sister, you won’t be nervous at all for the rest of the night.”
You pumped your fist in the air. “Hooray!”
“Bad news is, you might not remember tonight in general.”
“Oh.” You pouted, your shoulders dropping. “Not hooray.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Silas asked and Arys cleared his throat.
“Remind me to give you a very long speech about herbs and responsibilities tomorrow,” he told you, then stopped a footman. “You. Your duty is to bring my sister water for the rest of the night, alright?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“But I’m drinking wine!”
“You don’t need to drink anymore, trust me.”
“Are you drunk already?” Silas asked you and Arys heaved a sigh.
“Worse.”
“What do you mean worse?” Silas asked, his gaze sharpening in a second. “Arys?”
“Don’t Arys me, I did nothing—”
“He threw me a coin!”
Silas’ frown deepened. “What in the seven hells are you two talking about?”
“He threw me a coin but I caught it,” you said helpfully and Arys pinched the bridge of his nose while you opened your palm to show Silas the coin. “Here. Is it a charm of the sort?”
“Uh, sure. A charm.”
“And his herbs are working, Silas!”
Silas gawked at you in complete silence before he slowly turned his head. “Arys…”
“Before you finish that sentence, let’s all remember that the gods curse the kinslayers,” Arys recited in a solemn manner. “I’m your kin, Silas.”
Silas gave him that perfect courtier smile of his in case anyone was watching. “The gods didn’t say anything about breaking your kin’s jaw, you fucking—”
You gasped when Robb touched the small of your back, a bright smile lighting up your face.
“My betrothed!”
“Your husband, lamb,” Robb corrected you with a smirk before he pressed a kiss on top of your head, and you giggled, hanging onto his arm with both hands to rest your head on his shoulder.
“I forgot,” you said. “It’ll take me a while I think. It’s so strange, being married, you’d think I’d get used to it by now. I mean how long has it been since the weirwood, four hours? Five?”
“Barely two,” Robb said, stifling a chuckle. “How much did you drink?”
“That’s my fault,” Arys said before you could say anything. “She was uh…she was rather nervous, and I gave her an herb to relax her mind. Didn’t think to tell her not to drink, wine heightens the effect.”
Robb’s smirk was replaced by a worried frown in a second. “What?”
“But she’ll be fine!” Arys said in a haste while Silas ran a hand over his face as if trying to control himself. “It poses no danger to her wellbeing at all, she’s just drunk.”
“M’lady.” The footman brought you a cup of water and you smiled at him, then took the cup from him.
“Thank you!”
“Silas!” Your father called out, making him turn his head. “Arys! Come here!”
Silas cursed under his breath while you gulped down your water.
“I’ll be back, just…”
“I’m with her, don’t worry,” Robb assured him. “You go ahead.”
“Come on.” Arys tugged him by the arm and they both made their way to your father while Robb stepped up to stand in front of you, his gaze softening.
“And how does my lady feel?”
You lowered the cup and took a deep breath.
“Time is strangely slow—Robb, I was thinking,” you added, gazing up at him. “Should I tell my gods?”
He reached out to push your hair behind your ear. “Tell them what, my love?”
“That we’re wed,” you said. “I mean your gods already know, but mine might not? I feel like I should go tell them, lest they misunderstand. The sept is right there, I doubt anyone would notice my absence if I tell them very fast and come back—” You stopped mid-sentence when Perceon who was holding a bloodied cloth to his nose entered your sight. “Perce, why are you bleeding?!”
“Oh it’s nothing,” Perceon brushed you off. “Not broken or anything. Robb, is House Fenn important to House Stark?”
“Depends. Why?”
“I just broke their heir’s jaw,” Perceon said, making your eyes widen.
“You what?”
Robb looked rather calm about the issue. “What for?”
“Where’s Braxton?” you insisted and Perceon waved a hand in the air.
“He’s fine, he’s in the rookery.”
“In the middle of my wedding feast?”
“He’s drunk,” Perceon said. “So naturally he decided that it was of utmost importance Myria knew how much he loves her. He is going to send her a raven, I think he’s still writing a letter there.”
You pressed a hand on your chest, getting distracted for a moment by the idea striking your mind. “Robb, we should send each other ravens too!”
“It’d be a short flight,” Robb pointed out, “considering we both live in Winterfell now.”
“It’d still be rather romantic!”
“So anyway, I went out to find him, but on my way there I heard two idiots talking about courting a lady in a very vulgar manner, so of course I had to stop them, and I find breaking someone’s jaw is the perfect way to do so,” He lifted the handkerchief from his nose to motion with his hand. “One is lying in the courtyard face down and the other has multiple broken teeth, I doubt either of them will be able to speak for a while.”
“Good work,” Robb commented while you covered your mouth and Perceon grinned.
“Thank you. Who’s Jorelle Cerwyn?”
You exchanged glances with Robb before lowering your hand. “Why?”
“That’s the lady they were speaking of, and courtesy demands I go apologize to her for letting such talk take place anywhere near me before I stopped it.”
Robb repressed a smile and nodded in Jorelle’s direction, who was in a deep conversation with a lord. “Over there.”
Perceon followed Robb’s line of sight and did a double take the second his eyes found her.
“That one?”
“Aye, in the green gown.”
“…Oh,” Perceon said after a beat and cleared his throat. “How do I look?”
“Bloody,” you replied and Robb smacked his back.
“She’s northern, she won’t mind. Go on.”
Perceon lingered in his spot for a moment before he took a deep breath, then made his way to Jorelle while Robb turned to grin at you.
“Should we have told him about the mistress issue?”
You shoved at his arm. “Very funny.”
“You never know, he might be disturbed by our vast and passionate history of dancing twice—”
“Why did we dance only once?” you cut him off, your brows pulled into a small frown. “You danced with her twice, why did you dance with me once?”
His grin widened. “You’re certain you can dance?”
“That’s the same as asking if I can sleep, Robb,” you whined. “Just as natural for me.”
“Very well then,” he said as he laced his fingers with yours, then lifted your hand to press a kiss on the back of it, making you giggle. “If my lady wife wants to dance, who am I to say no?”
Robb, holding every promise sacred, indeed danced with you as many times as you wanted, so much that eventually Lady Stark had to approached you to remind you that you were both also dance with other people even though it was your wedding feast. Robb entrusted you to Jon, muttering something to his ear that made Jon suppress a laugh though he had looked rather unwilling to dance at first. After you danced with Jon and then with Theon, your brothers pulled Robb aside for some reason while Jon took you to the High Table so that you could sit a little. It was yet another good surprise that he was allowed to sit at the High Table with you during the wedding, but you had a feeling it had less to do with Lady Catelyn and more to do with Robb’s insistence.
When you crossed your arms on the table to rest your head on them, you were still talking with Jon, so you had no idea when exactly it was that you dozed off. All you knew was that one moment you were talking to Jon about how he had to see the Reach, and the other you were having the weirdest dream about someone asking Robb—very loudly— whether it was the time for the bedding ceremony, and many guests cheering for it.
“There will not be one, Lord Burley,” Robb’s voice had none of the warmth it usually held with you, earning many displeased groans from the hall.
“Robb, it’s the tradition!”
“Aye, it is!”
“Come on!”
“The whole Reach came all this way!”
“We came all this way too!”
“There will not be a bedding ceremony,” Robb repeated sternly. “If anyone wants to disagree, make sure to ask Ser Gwayne how his injuries feel first.”
His words had the same effect of drawing a sword, the whole hall falling into stunned silence for a couple of seconds before Ser Gwayne spoke.
“Not good!” he called out, making laughter erupt in the hallway, dissipating the tension in the air. “Wouldn’t say it’s a pleasant experience.”
Music and loud chatter filled the room again, and you felt yourself being pulled out of the comfortable embrace of sleep as Robb’s soft murmur of your name caressed your ears, his hand on the small of your back. You raised your head, squinting your eyes at the bright light, barely aware of the pout on your lips before you blinked a couple of times, trying to focus. He helped you up and your father forced a smile as if he was trying to hide the worried look in his eyes.
“Good night, my dearest.”
“Good night father,” you muttered, leaning to Robb’s side before he scooped you up into his arms. Your head dropped to the crook of his neck, your fingers curling into his shirt as he carried you out of the hall, away from the chatter and music. You repressed a yawn while he walked down the hallway, then started climbing the stairs.
“I wasn’t done dancing,” you murmured. “I was just resting.”
Laughter vibrated in his chest as he reached the top of the stairs, then turned the corner to step into the hallway leading to his bedchambers. “You can dance all you want tomorrow, time to retire now.”
“Where’s Grey Wind?”
“In the Godswood with his siblings,” he said. “Too many people in the hall.”
“We must make sure to see him tomorrow, I don’t want him to feel excluded.” You couldn’t stop your yawn this time. “I have so much to tell you, I’ve met so many people, and I think some of them like me. Well, I hope. I don’t know, northerners smile less than southerners so it’s still rather difficult to tell, but they seemed rather friendly. And Jon isn’t half bad when it comes to dancing, I have no idea why he looked that tormented at the suggestion of it.”
“That’s just his face at this point.”
“And before I forget,” you mumbled, “I’m glad you were so calm and polite to Lord Meadows’ comment about Winterfell’s warmth.”
“What do you mean, calm and polite?” He frowned down at you. “Wasn’t he asking about how we keep it warm?”
You shook your head, trying to keep your eyes open though they felt like they weighed a ton. “No, he was being rude.”
“Is that why you brought his castle into it?” he asked with a small laugh. “When you said he had nothing to worry about the upcoming winter in the Reach, because his castle is small and cozy?”
“That was an insult.” You nodded this time. “I insulted him.”
“I will never understand how you southerners talk each other.” He opened the door to his bedchambers, stepped in, then closed the door and made his way to the bed to put you on it gently.
Despite your vision being slightly hazy because of wine, you could still tell that the room looked exactly like how you described it to him. There was a sofa and a smaller table by the fireplace, a plate of fresh fruit and a bottle of wine and two cups on it. The furs bundled up in front of the fireplace looked so cozy that if you could stand, you would go and bury your hands into them to see if they were as soft as they appeared. The bed looked nothing like how you remembered it either; each corner of it had a wooden column carved with direwolves. The sheer curtains draped around it made it look out of an enticing dream in the candle light, and your eyes darted over the carvings of snarling direwolves on the huge headboard before you reached out to trace the small figure of a lamb with a smile.
“It’s so beautiful,” you breathed out, sleep still laced in your voice even though you tried your hardest to sound sober. Robb pulled the half folded sheet on top of the actual sheet from underneath you, coaxing a giggle out of you while he walked to the small table to grab the knife from the fruit plate. You lifted yourself on your elbows and narrowed your eyes to get rid of the blurriness on the corners of your vision while he nicked his thumb.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing of importance my love, go back to sleep.” He came back to the bed to let the blood drip from his finger to the half folded sheet before he threw it near the door so that the maids could pick it up next morning when they entered the room, though you had no idea why he wanted to stain a perfectly good sheet. Although you wanted to ask him, you were rather exhausted and your eyes were way too heavy to keep them open so you fell back on the bed.
“Robb?” you murmured into the pillow when he sat beside you on the bed, and you couldn’t help but heave a sigh when he leaned in to kiss your forehead, his pleasant scent filling your lungs.
“Yes, my beautiful wife?”
You let out a giggle. “We’re bound forever now.”
“We are,” he whispered, his voice as soft as his touch on your cheekbone. “Finally.”
And in less than a mere second, the warm haze of sleep claimed you, pulling you into darkness.
A.N: My loves, you're absolutely amazing, 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: Drinks can lead to recklessness.
Word Count: 4,5k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
As the future lord of Winterfell, Robb was no stranger to expectations. It was as natural as breathing at this point; he was the heir to House Stark, so he was expected to follow his father’s footsteps, and take over his responsibilities when the time came. He was expected be a fair and honorable lord to their vassals and to the North, he was expected to make sure his people and his house survived in the winter, and of course, he was expected to wed.
Beyond others’ expectations, he had let himself hope that in time, he and his wife would grow to love each other just as his parents did, but this?
He hadn’t expected this.
“I cannot believe you betrayed me like that.”
Jon lowered his cup and ran a hand over his face, heaving an exhausted sigh. “Robb—”
“My own brother,” Robb said, glaring at him, “has stabbed me in the back.”
“I only interrupted you and your betrothed!”
“My wife!” he corrected him. “We were in the middle of something.”
“Aye, kissing.”
Robb leaned in so that Jon could hear his hiss in the crowded hall. “It could’ve been more if you hadn’t interrupted!”
Jon shot him a look that was the perfect combination of pity and disbelief.
“As if she’d let you do that in the Godswood,” he snarked. “Besides, you’re lucky it was me and not father. He sent a maid first, the poor woman came back to say she couldn’t interfere because you two were yelling at each other.”
“We were but that was before.” Robb let out a breath, a smile pulling at his lips. “We’re in love.”
“Congratulations,” Jon said drily. “Hasn’t escaped me or anyone else in the castle.”
“I cannot believe my mother is hoarding her like a dragon with its treasure, she all but forced her to go with her right after breakfast.”
“She is going over the details of tomorrow’s ceremony with her,” Jon corrected him. “Your wedding.”
“Well yes, but—” he stopped talking for a moment when he saw Theon making his way to them. “but everything has been handled, I’m told.”
“She’s a southerner,” Jon said, “she might not know everything about a northern wedding.”
“I could’ve explained it to her,” Robb insisted and nodded at Theon. “Hey.”
Theon sat down as well with a grin on his face. “Ready for tonight?”
Robb blinked a couple of times. “Hm?”
“Your last night as an unmarried man!” Theon said, clasping a hand over his shoulder to shake him slightly. “Your last night of freedom, Stark!”
“Theon, I know this will sound difficult to believe because I’ve been rather subtle about it,” Robb deadpanned, “but I actually want to wed my lady.”
“Subtle as a dagger to the throat,” Jon commented before turning to Theon. “I fear to ask what you’ve planned.”
Theon wiggled his brows. “Then don’t.”
“Whatever you’ve planned, it cannot take long,” Robb told him, making Theon’s eyes widen.
“We’re not coming back home until the morning!”
Robb scoffed a laugh. “That’s not happening.”
“Robb, come on!”
“You two can stay outside and drink all you want—”
“Your brothers-in-law are coming as well,” Theon said and Robb shrugged his shoulders.
“All of you can stay outside and drink all you want,” he corrected himself. “I’m coming back to the castle before midnight.”
“Why?”
Robb shot him a look.
“My mother has all but taken my wife hostage,” he said, “And I’d like to spend time with her.”
“You’ll spend your whole life with her!”
“Wait a moment.” Jon narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel like one of the plans for tonight includes a visit to the brothel?”
“Because it does.”
Robb rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to a brothel, I’ve told you that a hundred times.”
“Yes but it’s your last night as an unwed man!” Theon insisted as Robb sipped his drink. “It’s a special occasion! All men do it, she won’t mind—”
A chuckle escaped Robb and he lowered his cup.
“I don’t want anyone but her,” he told him. “We’ll drop you off at the brothel at the end of the night.”
Theon huffed out and turned to Jon. “Snow?”
“As always, no.”
“I’ll just convince one of the Greensteds then,” Theon muttered. “I’m sure Silas will come.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jon said, causing Theon to give him a quizzical glance. “He doesn’t like paying for it, sees it beneath him.”
“What?” Theon sounded as if Silas had come to the table to personally offend him. “How do you know that?”
“He said it once.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember.” Jon shrugged his shoulders. “Some time earlier.”
“And you two are best friends all of a sudden?” Theon asked while a footman approached their table, then bowed his head.
“My lord, your father wants to see you in his solar.”
Robb nodded his head, then downed his drink and got up from his seat.
“Robb.” Theon stopped him. “If you’re serious about coming back before midnight—”
“I am.”
“Then we’re skipping dinner to start earlier.”
Robb opened his mouth to argue, then exchanged glances with Jon and heaved a sigh.
“Fine,” he groaned. “Tell Silas and the rest.”
“Yes!” Theon pumped his fist in air in victory, coaxing a laugh out of Jon while Robb walked away from them to go to his father’s solar, shaking his head despite the fond smile on his face.
His father was talking to the swordsmith but he dismissed him when Robb got there so that they could talk alone. Robb frowned slightly, clasping his hands behind him, his back straight.
“Father.”
His father motioned at the seat across from his desk.
“Maester Luwin says Ser Gwayne is healthy enough to attend the wedding.”
Robb’s jaw clenched as he sat down. “Is he?”
“And when he does as it’s his right, you will be respectful.”
This was even more proof that he should have thrown more punches to break his face and a couple of bones regardless of his mother had told him, but judging by the look on his father’s face, he already knew what he was thinking.
“Robb,” he said. “You won. The duel is over, let it rest.”
Robb gritted his teeth. “He already renounced the guest right, he doesn’t really have the—”
“He does,” his father cut him off. “That was for the duel. Now that it’s finished, so will your hostility. You’re the heir, your feelings on the matter cannot affect your judgement.”
Robb gave a slight shrug, leaning back in his chair.
“Theon tells me there’s to be a celebration tonight,” his father added, making his head shoot up. “In Wintertown.”
“Aye.” Robb cleared his throat. “We’ll skip dinner but I’ll be back before midnight. The guys will probably come around dawn, I’d say.”
“Jon and Theon and…?”
“The Greensteds.”
“All of them?”
“I don’t know if Theon invited Alton, now that I think of it,” Robb muttered. “But yes, I’ll ask him.”
“He’s going to be the head of the house after Lord Greensted, you must be on good terms with him.”
“As long as he’s on good terms with my lady, I’ll be on good terms with him.”
His father kept his gaze on him, then cleared his throat.
“Speaking of your lady,” he said, drumming his fingertips on the table. “You two seem to have come to a solution with your disagreement?”
Right.
His father knew about their argument, that was the reason why he had sent Jon.
Robb chewed on his lip and nodded. “Mm hm.”
“In fact, you were almost too…joyful, when you came back to the Great Hall.”
“Too joyful?” Robb repeated with a confused frown. “Should we not be? We’re to be wed tomorrow.”
“You should, but it hasn’t escaped anyone’s attention how something between you has changed right before the wedding, after you disappeared into the Godswood with no one to see you,” his father said. “And you’ve been quite impatient lately.”
Realization dawned on him like a ton of bricks and he threw his head back, his whole face on fire. “Father…”
“If something has happened in the Godswood—”
“Nothing has happened!” he insisted. “I don’t—I was unaware the rumors would arise every time we’re out of sight.”
“Just be patient until the wedding and avoid causing any more rumors,” his father said, pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. “Your mother is right, with the way you have been behaving, we should throw our own celebration if we manage to get through this wedding without a scandal.”
“There’s no scandal,” Robb said, his ears burning. “My lady is too careful about that.”
His father lowered his hand to shoot him an incredulous look.
“And not you?”
“Why would I? We exchanged vows in front of the weirwood tree—”
“You did what?”
“Before the gods,” Robb continued as if his father didn’t cut him off. “We’re wed already.”
His father stared at him for a couple of seconds in complete silence, then took a deep breath as if reminding himself to keep his composure.
“The wedding is tomorrow,” he said slowly. “You’re telling me you two went ahead and wed before that?”
“We didn’t plan it, it was an accident.”
“An accident—Robb, who was the witness? Jon?”
“Why does everyone keep bringing up witnesses?” Robb wondered aloud. “It was just us but it matters not. She’s my wife now and I’m her husband, though she insists we’re not wed yet. It doesn’t count without the witnesses, she says.”
“At least one of you refuses to abandon logic when it comes to this union,” his father muttered. “Do you think you can wait one more day to start calling her your wife in public?”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?”
“No,” his father stated, making him huff, but someone knocked on the door before he could retort.
“A moment,” his father called out and pointed at Robb who stood up from his seat. “You’re not telling your mother any of this, do you hear me?”
“Sure.”
“And Robb, if I so much as see you in the hallway to her bedchambers…”
Robb held up his hands, gesturing surrender at his father’s warning tone.
“I’ll be in Wintertown,” he said as he walked to the door. “I doubt I’ll get to see her until tomorrow.”
Well, no.
That was a lie.
He was going to make sure he saw her until tomorrow, especially when he came back from Wintertown, but his father looked like he was two seconds away from sending him to the Wall, so he didn’t need to hear that.
This had to be some sort of intentional backstab both from his father and his mother, because his mother still hadn’t left his lady be by the time he was to leave for Wintertown. Not only that, she had all but sent him away from her door when he went there to see his lady before they left, saying that she and her seamstress and multiple maids were busy with her wedding gown to make sure it would look perfect tomorrow.
He had only had the chance to hear her giggle before she wished him a fun night before his mother closed the door in his face and Theon pulled him away.
The alehouse was crowded with both northerners and southerners tonight, the food warm and the drinks unending. Cliff had somehow managed to start a game of cards that had no shortage of willing participants even though they kept losing, Arys was by his side, sipping his ale and watching the game, Theon was already drunk and talking to a couple of southern lords, and the twins were exchanging stories about Dorne and the rest of their family, especially Alton who had kindly turned down the offer to join them, saying that Elinor had been feeling rather down lately.
But at least everyone seemed to be having a good time.
Well, everyone but Silas, who had been uncharacteristically silent save for a couple of jokes.
“I wouldn’t have come if Myria asked me not to either,” Braxton said. “Trust me, I blame Alton on a lot of things, but not on this particular instance.”
Perceon made a face. “Except that Myria wouldn’t have asked you not to come, because she knows you have your own life and friends just like she does.”
“Myria?” Jon asked and Braxton turned to him.
“She’s my betrothed.”
“You have a betrothed?”
“Mm hm.”
“I’m guessing from the smile on your face that you’re happy about that union?” Robb asked and Perceon let out a laugh.
“He’s been in love with her for a while now,” he said. “Ever since she beat him at a sparring contest.”
“She’s such a good warrior,” Braxton said, pride clear in his tone. “She’s good at everything, really.”
“Just not good at rejecting a less skilled warrior for some reason,” Perceon joked and Braxton scoffed.
“She rejected me just fine at first,” he told Jon and Robb. “Merely for the fun of it, she says. I was put through utter torment for almost a year.”
Robb’s eyes found Cliff and Arys over his shoulder before he returned his gaze to Braxton.
“But hey.” Braxton tilted his cup in his direction. “I don’t care how far it is, you are bringing my sister to Dorne for my wedding, Stark.”
Robb smiled and nodded his head, barely aware of the way Silas took a huge sip of his ale.
“I am,” he assured Braxton. “I’ve never seen Dorne, but everyone says it’s beautiful.”
“Once you’re there, you won’t want to come back,” Perceon told him. “Trust me. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”
“Once the winter arrives in the North, you can just wait it out in Dorne.” Braxton shrugged his shoulders, making Robb chuckle.
“That’s not an option I’m afraid,” he said. “But we’ll certainly come to Dorne for your wedding. And Perceon’s, one day.”
“That day will never come!” Perceon protested immediately. “We’ve divided the family in a certain way. Alton and Brax and our sister will be the ones who wed. Arys is out of the equation, because you know—”
“The celibacy vow.”
Braxton covered his laugh by scoffing into his cup, his gaze following Arys, Cliff and Theon who were making their way to them through the crowd.
“Because even he has to play by some rules, is what I was going to say. But me and Cliff and this heartbreaker here,” Perceon slapped Silas’s leg, “will not ever wed.”
“You won’t?” Jon asked Silas who snapped out of his thoughts, then shook his head.
“No.”
“No sons or daughters?”
“I cannot be bothered with the wailing of babes,” he said and motioned at his brothers. “I raised all these fools, that’s enough for me. No reason to wed.”
“Not for a lack of prospects, mind you,” Cliff slapped his shoulder and flung himself next to him while Theon took the seat across from Robb. Arys sat next to Perceon, snatching his drink out of his hand.
“Hey!”
“Go get your own.”
“That was my own, prick!”
“I forgot mine back at the gambling table,” Arys said as if it was the perfect explanation, taking a huge sip before motioning for another cup at the innkeeper. “What are we talking about?”
“Marriage.”
“Ah.” Arys grimaced. “How dull.”
Theon grinned. “Not everyone can take a vow of chastity, my friend.”
“Vows are open to interpretation,” Arys told Theon. “I made a vow not to father any children, which I shall not. Anything else is no more than a small obstacle which anyone can walk around.”
Robb and Jon exchanged glances.
“But vows are sacred,” Jon said and Arys made a noise of disagreement.
“To you,” he said. “And no gods have come down to punish me, I’d gather they’re fine with my choices.”
Silas reached out to smack him in the back of the head, making the twins burst in laughter. “Maybe don’t say that in front of our very northern brother-in-law?”
He did very much mind to see vows being perceived as unimportant and unbinding, but he held up his hands.
“Your gods,” he pointed out, “not mine.”
“There you go.”
“Speaking of vows.” Cliff said. “Any uneasiness about tomorrow, Stark?”
Robb sipped his ale. “Uneasiness?”
“Yeah, you’ll be forever bound to our sister.”
“I am already,” Robb said, earning a warning cough from Jon, but no one seemed to have picked up on that. “And to be honest, it cannot come soon enough.”
“It cannot come soon enough for me either,” Jon commented while Theon nodded fervently. “At least after you’re wed I’ll have some peace of mind.”
Robb flipped him without so much as a glance in his direction.
“Gods, I’m still not used to picturing her as the Lady of the North,” Cliff commented as Silas swallowed thickly. “But she seems to like you, that’s good enough for me. I do business at White Harbor sometimes, I’ll be sure to visit.”
“The hospitality of Winterfell is yours,” Robb said. “My lady will be very happy to see you, I’m sure.”
Silas downed his drink and stood up.
“I’ll take a walk to get some fresh air, excuse me,” he muttered and made his way through the crowd to go outside. Arys shook his head slightly while the twins exchanged glances, and Jon stood up before Robb could.
“It’s easy to get lost at night,” he said to the table. “I’ll take a walk with him, it’s too hot here anyway.”
Robb watched him cross the room to step outside, and Braxton raised his hand to motion for another bottle.
“Well then, heir to the North,” he said. “It’s your last night before your wedding. While I’m certain you’re in love with your soon to be lady wife, you are still obligated to get drunk.”
While the southerners did not take all the vows seriously, it appeared that there were exceptions because by the time Robb went back to Winterfell, he was drunk.
Well, tipsy.
He knew better than to appear drunk in public as the heir to Winterfell. His father would have his head on a spike otherwise, so he had made sure that he didn’t stumble or anything as he left the rest of the party behind, insisting that he had to wish his lady goodnight before tomorrow. He hadn’t seen her since breakfast, first because of his parents and then because of Theon, but he was not going to end the day before he talked to her.
It wasn’t even midnight yet, surely she was awake.
He meant to knock light and whisper, but all the drinks in his system seemed to have affected him more than he had assumed.
“My lady!” His voice boomed in the hallway the moment his knuckles touched the wood, the sound of rushed footsteps reaching his ears before the door swung open.
Seven Hells, she was so beautiful.
Robb couldn’t even bring himself to snap out of the daze that settled upon his mind at the sight of her. She looked like a dream that decided to grace him with the vision of her, and Robb half wondered whether she would disappear into the fog in her room if he touched—
Why was there fog in her room?
“My betrothed!” she said breathlessly, opening the door wider so that he could see the maids preparing her a bath. “The excitement of tomorrow did not let me sleep so I asked for a bath, and your maids were kind enough to draw me one at such hour. How kind of you to come to let me know you’ve returned just as I asked you to, I feared you would not!”
…She hadn’t asked him to.
“Come, tell me what mischief my brothers have been up to!” She stepped out of the room and grabbed him by the arm, closed the door behind her, and tugged him to the other side of the hallway.
“How are you so beautiful?” Robb breathed out in awe and a smile pulled at her lips despite the chastising glare she gave him.
“Are you drunk?”
“I don’t get drunk in public,” he defended himself while she leaned back to the stone wall to look up at him, still smiling.
“You appear drunk.”
He ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to focus. “I drank a little.”
“How much is a little?”
“Some ale, wine,” he listed, absentmindedly playing with her loose hair. “Mead. Cliff brought rum apparently...”
“Sounds a lot,” she commented. “Is everyone back in the castle safe and sound?”
“I came back, they’re still there,” he said. “I uh…I wanted to tell you earlier but my mother kept you hostage—”
“She was kindly helping me with some last minute details about my gown.”
“But I don’t want any other misunderstandings between us,” he continued as if she didn’t cut him off. “And knowing Theon, he’ll be joking about it. Some of them will go to a—do you know what a brothel is?”
She pressed her lips together as if trying to hold back her laugh. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Aye, some of them will go to a brothel, I think. I mean Theon will for sure, I don’t know who he’ll drag with him. But I didn’t—I didn’t go. And I don’t want you to misunderstand it, so I’m telling you beforehand I didn’t go.”
She raised her brows, tilting her head to the side in an amused manner.
“Oh?” she said. “Why not?”
“I don’t go to those places, and I don’t want anyone but you—and it’s your husband.”
“I know who you are Robb, you’re standing in front of me.”
“No, you called me your betrothed just now,” he corrected her. “You should be calling me your husband.”
“And I will,” she said, a playful light glimmering in her beautiful eyes, “starting tomorrow night.”
“No I meant now,” he whined. “We’re already wed—”
She shushed him, looking around in in the hallway. “Not so loud!”
“I’m your husband,” he insisted. “You should call me such.”
“Will you call me your wife if I call you my husband, then?” she asked with a teasing smile and he carefully cupped her face in both hands, coaxing a giggle out of her as he pressed his lips on her forehead.
“My wife,” he murmured and lowered his head to kiss the tip of her nose. “My lamb.” His lips brushed over hers. “My love.”
He didn’t believe in the new gods or their practices or their promises, but Robb was quite sure that she was the eighth heaven.
For once she didn’t withdraw from the kiss, instead she let him pull her closer, a small gasp leaving her the moment his arm tightened around her waist, his other hand cradling the back of her head. Desire shot through him faster than an arrow through his heart, sending a shiver down his spine as her pleasant scent surrounded him, swirling around him like the sweetest summer day, filling his lungs in warmth and sunshine.
Nothing but her was real.
Nothing but her and how good it felt to have her in his arms, and how her kiss managed to silence everything in his mind, and—
And how he needed more.
Her skin was softer than any silk he ever touched as he kissed his way down her throat, her fingers curling in his hair, a small gasp taking her breath away the moment his lips traced down where her heartbeat was the strongest, the flimsy gown keeping her body hidden from his gaze, though not from his touch. He blindly reached down to grab the smooth fabric of her skirt to bunch it up in his hands, slowly pushing it up as he got on his knees, but as soon as he did, she let out a surprised squeal, pushing her skirt down.
“Wh—what’re you—?”
Robb gave her a grin despite his heavy lidded gaze as he looked up at her, his hands going to her hips to squeeze them.
“Can a man not kiss his wife?”
She gawked at him.
“But you…” she stammered and swallowed thickly, then tugged at the arm of his shirt so that he would stand up, her eyes not leaving his face even once. “How—?”
His mind was still hazy with desire, yet he couldn’t help but chuckle before he stole a chaste kiss from her lips, cupping her cheek.
“I’ll show you how if you let me.”
She blinked a couple of times as if trying to focus, her mouth half agape in confusion.
“…But you have a beard.”
He tilted his head in confusion. “Hm?”
“Your beard!”
“What of it?”
“I’ve heard of such um—such practices,” she stammered, her cheek growing hot under his palm. “Back in the Reach, there was a lady who told me and Margaery about it, but I brushed it off because I assumed it was a…a regional custom.”
He tried his hardest to keep a straight face. “A regional custom?”
“My skin is very sensitive, you know that!” she whined, coaxing a laugh out of him which she responded by shoving at his arm, pouting her lips almost petulantly. “I’m serious! It sounds like it’d be—um, it’d cause discomfort to the lady. In the North I mean, seeing that beards are fashionable here unlike in the Reach.”
By the Gods, she was the sweetest creature to ever walk the realm.
“And I know you like to tease me but I don’t see how it’d—”
She was cut off when he kissed her again, the rest of her sentence turning into a soft sigh against his lips but the bliss was shattered when her maid’s voice carried into the hallway, causing her to withdraw from him immediately.
“My lady, your bath is getting cold!”
“I’m coming, Eadith!” she called out and took a step but he grasped her wrist to pull her back, making her giggle.
“Don’t leave yet,” he said, aware of the pleading tone of his voice but she pecked him on the lips, skillfully wriggling out of his grip as she turned around to give him a proud grin, walking backwards while he stepped towards her.
“I shall see you tomorrow my lord—”
“Your husband,” he corrected her and made a move to catch her arm but she jumped out of his reach with an excited squeal that turned into a giggle, the pleasant sound echoing in the hallway before she swept a well-trained curtsy.
“I shall see you tomorrow my husband,” she beamed at him and whirled around to rush to her bedchambers, the silky skirt of her gown flowing behind her, light as a whisper. Her happy laugh reached outside as she closed the door behind her, her sweet scent still clinging to air, making his heart gallop in his chest.
Just one more night.
One more night, and then she was going to be in his arms.
Forever.
Grey Wind let out a howl outside somewhere in the Godswood, making Robb turn his head before he let out a breath and willed himself to walk away from her door, running a hand through his hair.
“I know,” he muttered as if the direwolf could hear him, his heart still beating in his ears. “Trust me, I know.”
A.N: My loves, you're absolutely amazing, 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: Honesty is the solution to many issues.
Word Count: 5,3k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, MDNI. By clicking 'keep reading', or asking to be tagged, you confirm you're 18 +.
Thank you to my wonderful beta @chibi-lioness !
Series Masterlist
The wedding was in two days, and Robb couldn’t have been more confused.
He would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t expect his lady’s cold demeanor to warm up after he won the duel for her hand, and he had even managed to stop himself from breaking that knight’s face as his mother had made him promise, but his lady didn’t look pleased at all.
For some reason.
“I don’t understand,” Robb muttered and sipped his ale. “Aren’t girls supposed to like it when men fight over them?”
Theon nodded wistfully. “Aye, they do.”
“All those ballads say little else!” Robb insisted and Theon tilted his cup in his direction.
“They say nothing else.”
“Then what is happening?” He ran a hand through his hair, then turned to Jon. “What do you think?”
“I think there are no girls at this table,” Jon pointed out. “Which means it’s not much use to assume what they like.”
“I know what girls like,” Theon said, making Jon grimace.
“Has anyone informed them of it?”
“Aw don’t be so envious Snow, someone will warm your bed eventually.”
Robb raised his hand to get Silas’ attention when he stepped into the hall and he approached them to plop down next to Jon.
“Here’s the victor’s table,” he joked and nodded at Robb. “How’s your hand?”
Robb clenched and unclenched it, ignoring the bruises on his knuckles.
“It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “How’s my lady?”
Silas puffed up his cheeks in deep thought, stealing a glance over his shoulder as if he expected her to appear out of thin air.
“Your maester prepared her a draught, she’s resting,” he said after a beat. “Better let her. It’s been a long day for one so…”
“Angry?” Theon suggested, earning warning glares from both Robb and Silas. “At Robb, I mean.”
“She’ll calm down,” Silas said, “she just doesn’t have the stomach for violence. Even in the jousts, Margaery has to tell her if it’s alright to look because she doesn’t want to see the bloodshed—her best friend,” he added when he saw Jon’s confusion, and Robb scoffed.
“I still don’t know how I feel about her.”
“Makes one of you,” Silas replied. “Because trust me, Margaery has already decided how she feels about you.”
Robb drummed his fingers on the table.
“And my wife?”
“You’ll have to ask her,” Silas said with a smug smile. “But if you’re asking about my sister, who is your betrothed and not yet your wife, I can tell you that her anger does simmer down eventually.”
Except that she was indeed his wife, Silas just didn’t know it yet.
Robb chewed on his lip, trying to ignore the sinking in his stomach. “It didn’t sound like it’d simmer down.”
“No wonder.” Silas rolled his eyes. “Her biggest issue back home was to decide on which gown to wear for which feast, not her betrothed putting himself in danger—”
“I wasn’t in danger.”
“At least not in the way she thought, but Lord Stark would’ve disowned his precious heir if he lost to a Reach knight,” Theon joked, clasping a hand over his shoulder to shake him, and Robb huffed out a laugh.
“Aye, he would have.”
“We’d have Mikken melt down your sword for horseshoes.” Jon grinned at Robb. “So that you could take up needlework with the girls.”
Robb flipped him with a chuckle. “Fuck off.”
“Simpler than my plan” Silas said, “I would’ve killed Ser Gwayne if you lost.”
Jon raised his brows. “Would you?”
“My sister is not going to be wed to that prick,” Silas said. “Robb’s wellbeing has nothing to do with that, no offense.”
Robb sipped his ale. “None taken.”
“I’d just betroth her to the prince of Dorne.”
Robb lowered his cup immediately. “What?”
“Yeah, don’t tell the twins though.” Silas motioned at a servant. “It took me a lot of time to decide between you and him earlier, so it only makes sense.”
The mere idea of her being wed to anyone else made jealousy shoot through his veins so fast that for a moment his mind went black before he cleared his throat, aware of the frown pinching his forehead while the servant put a cup in front of Silas, then filled it with ale.
“My lord.”
“Thank you,” Silas said. “Anyway, I’m glad you didn’t die and I don’t have to go through this whole nonsense again. Much appreciated.”
She wasn’t going to wed anyone else. Not in Dorne, not in anywhere, she was staying right here in Winterfell to be his lady, and—
Well. That was if she ever forgave him.
“Could you two give us a moment?” Robb asked Jon and Theon, taking Silas by surprise. Theon frowned but let Jon pull him by the shoulder and walked away with him to another table while Silas sipped his drink.
“Well, this can only be about my sister,” he commented. “What is it?”
“She’s cross with me.”
“Hasn’t escaped me.”
“And she has been for a while.”
“I have a feeling this duel made the earlier times look like friendly banter,” Silas pointed out. “But yes?”
“She wanted me to withdraw before the duel,” Robb said. “I don’t think she understands—”
“She doesn’t, but nor do you.”
That made Robb frown. “What do you mean?”
Silas ran his tongue over his teeth, then sucked in a breath.
“It appears,” he said, “she cares for you more than I’d like her to.”
“More than you’d like her to?” Robb repeated. “We’re to be wed in two days. Is it so bad that she cares for me?”
Silas lifted his cup to his lips.
“Your maester just had to give her a draught so that she can sleep the remnants of today’s fear away,” he muttered and took a sip. “Because she was worried you’d die in that duel, and wouldn’t listen to anyone including me for the very first time. So you tell me if that’s bad, Stark.”
Robb’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, guilt crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. The memory of her on the verge of tears flashed in his mind, making him let out a breath as he ran a hand through his hair.
“I know why you did it,” Silas continued. “I know you wouldn’t withdraw and that you would win, that’s exactly why you’re the one who’s betrothed to her and not one of these idiots who are here for the wedding. I can understand the way the North works, and dislike its toll on my sister at the same time.”
“Silas, I—” He licked his lips, his stomach doing a painful flip. “I hate that I made her cry.”
“Good,” Silas said and downed his drink, then gave him that perfect courtier smile of his. “Do keep that in mind. Because the next time my sister cries, so will the rest of House Stark for losing their heir.”
With that, he walked away from him, leaving him there dumbfounded.
He decided to go to her door around dinner time to see if she had woken, but the sight of Arys leaving her room greeted him as soon as he turned the hallway leading to her bedchambers. Arys gave Robb a quick smile and closed the door behind him, then stepped away.
“She’s still asleep,” he said, making Robb’s stomach drop in disappointment. “I don’t want to wake her for dinner, she can eat when she wakes. Her maid will be with her for the night, until the morning.”
Robb swallowed thickly and nodded, then went to sit on the windowsill facing her door.
“She should rest,” he muttered, chewing on his lip. “But she’s…she’s alright, is she not?”
“She’s fine,” Arys assured him. “She’ll be completely rested tomorrow morning, trust me. After sudden fear, the body has a way of fixing things. Sleep is the best way to do so, the draught Maester Luwin prepared is just making it faster.”
Robb nodded again, keeping his eyes on the door as if it would magically open to let him see his lady without disturbing her slumber.
“I would listen to me and not Silas on this if I were you.”
Robb’s head shot up. “How did you…?”
“I know my brother,” Arys said with a chuckle. “Don’t take anything he says today as a personal offense. It is now dawning on him that he’s going to leave her here after the wedding, and that he’s going to have to trust you with her.”
“He can.”
Arys offered him the same smile he had seen on Lord Greensted multiple times.
“He won’t,” he muttered as he went to sit beside him on the windowsill. “And it has nothing to do with you. He’s going to need more time than my sister to handle the fact that she will be away from the Reach. He doesn’t know how he’s going to go back home.”
“He can stay in Winterfell as long as he wants.” Robb shrugged his shoulders. “All of you can. Her family is my family now.”
“I appreciate that,” he replied. “But in any case, don’t let what he said haunt your mind.”
“It’s not what he said,” he admitted, making Arys hum.
“Then?”
Robb fell quiet for a moment before he forced himself to take a deep breath.
“What happens if she never forgives me?” He couldn’t help but ask. “She claimed she would never.”
“As southerners, not every word coming out of our mouths is an oath unlike you and your countrymen,” Arys told him. “We’re taught to yield our words as weapons. You’re a good warrior, you know better than anyone that not everyone who swings their swords is trying to kill another. Some simply use it to protect themselves.”
Robb brushed a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, exhaustion creeping up on him.
“I know,” he muttered. “I just don’t like that I’m the source of her sadness. I’m supposed to be sheltering her from any distress as her husband, not impose such upon her.”
Arys raised his brows and shook his head.
“Don’t blame yourself on that either,” he said. “Nothing you can do, really. It’s the family curse, Cliff used to say.”
Robb tilted his head in confusion. “What?”
“You’ve seen our family,” Arys said. “We tend to stand out in one way or another. You’d think it’d make things easier, but seems to be the opposite. Alton evaded it with Elinor somehow, but Silas, and Cliff, and the twins, and my sister...In a vast sea of admirers, we’re drawn to the one who’ll torment us the most, purposefully or otherwise.”
Robb’s frown deepened and Arys shook his head as if trying to shake off the thoughts, then slapped a hand over Robb’s shoulder in an assuring manner and stood up.
“You should follow her example and get some rest,” he said, nodding in the direction of his lady’s bedchambers. “Congratulations on your victory, Stark. Let my sister sleep.”
Robb watched him make his way down the hallway and turn the corner in complete silence, his thoughts like a storm in his head. He exhaled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, then turned his head when he saw Grey Wind enter the hallway. A small smile curled his lips despite his mood, and he reached out to scratch the direwolf behind his ears, earning a low rumble in return.
“Very well then,” he murmured. “Let’s go get some fresh air, hm? I don’t feel like attending dinner yet.”
Eventually, he would decide to forgo dinner altogether in order to avoid the crowd that was surely still going to be there in the morning for breakfast as well. He could barely sleep that night, only falling into slumber towards the dawn, his dreams restless as if he knew what tomorrow morning would bring.
Summer snow.
All the southerners in the castle seemed rather excited to see it. The hallways were buzzing with chatter, but all Robb could think about was how his lady wasn’t going to like it if it snowed tomorrow during their wedding as well. He couldn’t help but wonder whether that old saying was correct after all, seeing that at least the start of their marriage was going to be cold as winter itself if he didn’t explain himself and made his lady understand why he could not have withdrawn.
He went to her bedchambers first thing in the morning, but her maid informed him she had left, so he made his way into the Great Hall with Grey Wind, his eyes darting around to catch a sight of his lady, yet she was nowhere to be found. As if it wasn’t enough, his presence seemed to have gathered attention, judging by many of the northern lords congratulating him for the duel, some slapping his back and some squeezing his shoulder as they walked past.
“You and I both know you’re not genuine, and so does she—” He heard Lady Jorelle chastise her mother who shushed her as he walked past, but he was in too much of a hurry to stop and greet them. He approached the twins who were in a deep conversation with Theon by the corner, and Braxton nodded at him as Perceon turned around to see him better.
“Good morrow.”
“Good morrow,” Robb said. “Is my lady around?”
“She was here half an hour ago,” Theon said. “She just left.”
“Where?”
“She said she would go to the Godswood to enjoy the snow,” Perceon said and Braxton nodded.
“Alone,” he added. “She wants to enjoy it alone, she said.”
Robb looked over his shoulder in the direction of the entrance, then nodded and took a step but Braxton stopped him.
“Robb, that’s not a good idea.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to talk to her right now,” Perceon said. “Listen, I get that you’re this great warrior, but even a Targaryen on a dragon wouldn’t be able to handle my sister when she’s truly angry. Let her anger simmer down.”
“We’re to be wed tomorrow evening,” Robb reminded him. “I need to talk to her beforehand, if I explain—”
“She’s not going to listen to your explanation,” Braxton said. “She’s not going to listen to anyone. Let her calm down, then try to talk to her, you’ll still have the time until tomorrow evening.”
Robb shook his head.
“I’m not waiting any longer,” he said and strode away from them with Grey Wind padding along beside him. He ignored the lords and ladies on the way that bowed or greeted him as he went down the stairs, then stepped outside to the yard. He crossed it and passed the gates that led to the Godswood, Grey Wind picking up the pace as if he was too excited to stall.
He found her sitting on a fur cloak under the weirwood tree, her knees drawn to her chest, her back resting against the trunk of the tree. It was almost funny, how the mere sight of her was enough to make him stop dead in his tracks, his heart galloping in his chest without her even realizing he was there. She was watching the snowflakes fall from the sky, the wide branches and the blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree almost sheltering her, but the rest of the Godswood was already covered in a thin layer of snow, bound to melt away at the first rays of sunlight.
Was he ever going to get used to the sight of her? Or was he going to lose the air in his lungs every time he cast his gaze on her?
Grey Wind made his way to her, seemingly pulling her away from her own thoughts as she cooed at him, reaching out to give him head scratches. The direwolf rumbled deep, plopping down in front of her so that she could pet him better, and Robb tried to ignore the tension churning his stomach.
“My lady.”
The only clue to how she felt about his presence was the momentary clench of her jaw, yet she sounded calm when she spoke.
Almost too calm.
“Is my presence wanted in the Great Hall?”
He shook his head, now daring to enter her sight though she didn’t lift her head to look up at him, instead kept petting the direwolf.
“No,” Robb said after a beat. “Unless of course you want to go back.”
“I do not,” she said. “I decided to enjoy the scenery.”
He licked his lips. “I thought it would bother you.”
“The weather?”
“The snow,” he corrected her. “Because of that oldwives tale. I doubt it’ll still snow tomorrow, but—”
The rest of whatever he was going to say got lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth when she lifted her head to give him a glare sharper than any sword. She eyed him up and down as if she didn’t just pin him to his spot without uttering a word, then shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t need a sign from the gods to understand what kind of marriage we will have,” she deadpanned. “You’ve demonstrated it perfectly yesterday.”
His stomach sank.
“My lady.” He took a step towards her. “About yesterday…”
She heaved an exhausted sigh and pushed herself to her feet, dusting off the skirt of her gown.
“I require no explanations.”
“I’d like to give them anyway,” Robb insisted as Grey Wind left them there to go deeper into the woods, no doubt to find the rest of his siblings. “I know that you’ve been cross with me, I know this duel did not help, but I assure you, I was never in danger. You had no reason to—”
“Worry?” She finished his sentence for him. “How strange, that’s what everyone kept telling me back in the Great Hall before I excused myself. Singing your praises, telling me I had nothing to worry about. Lady Cerwyn even dared tell me there was no reason to cry.”
“There wasn’t.”
“Just like there was no reason to fall for childish provocations?”
Robb’s head shot up, his jaw clenching at the remark.
“That was no childish provocation.”
“It was,” she said, “and you entertained it.”
“What did you expect me to do?” he asked tersely. “Not accept it?”
She threw her hands up. “Yes!”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Honor demands—”
“Who cares?!” she exclaimed. “Nobody cares about that—”
“Maybe not in the south where they lack it.”
…That was the wrong thing to say.
It took Robb less than a second to realize that was the wrong thing to say.
She stared at him in complete silence for a heartbeat before a burst of laughter left her lips, making her lower her head, covering her mouth. If it were any other time, the sight of her shoulders shaking with laughter could’ve been a good sign, but for some reason, Robb had a feeling this was a way, way worse than her glare. She stayed like that for a couple of seconds, then lowered her hand and looked up at him, a menacing smile pulling at her lips.
“I only meant—”
“You’re right,” she cut him off, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re absolutely right. Honor means everything in the north and nothing in the south. You seem to have enough of it for the both of us anyway, so it should be of no issue if I started breaking promises. If anything it’s expected of me, so would you like to be the one to tell Jorelle Cerwyn I withdraw my offer, or should that responsibility fall upon me?”
Well, that was completely irrelevant to this conversation.
He strained his mind to understand how this had anything to do with the reason why she was angry at him, but came up empty.
“Because I think you should do it,” she spat. “While you’re at it, tell her neither her nor her family will ever step foot in Winterfell while I live here. And don’t you ever give me a speech about honor, when you hold no regard for anyone else’s but your own.”
Robb rushed to follow her when she moved away from him. “My lady, I didn’t mean to offend you—”
“Yet you’ve done nothing but!” Her voice rose as she whirled around on her heels. “Ever since I arrived here! So allow me to return the favor; if you wish to bed your mistress so much, you’ll have to go to her cute little castle. I’m told it’s near here, should be easy enough.”
He gawked at her. “…What mistress?”
“Or if that’s too much of an inconvenience for you, go back in there and tell your family we’re breaking the betrothal,” she snapped, making his heart drop. “The whole north would rejoice, and you could go tumble in the snow with her. I’ll be all the way down in the south, and never even think about you ever again.” She pointed back at the castle. “Off you go!”
A silence fell upon them while he tried to wrap his mind around what she had just said.
“You—” He paused, disbelief numbing his mind so badly that he had to force himself to ask: “You think I have a mistress?”
“What game are you playing at?” she asked back, disdain etched on her beautiful face, a couple of snowflakes falling upon her lashes. “There’s no one else here.”
She was jesting. She had to be jesting.
There was no way she believed he could so much as look at another woman let alone take a mistress when she occupied every corner of his heart and his mind. A chuckle escaped him despite his attempt to control himself, but that seemed to awaken a new wave of anger in her.
“You know what?” she said, her voice trembling with fury. “Forget it. I’ll go back to the Great Hall and announce that I will never, ever wed you!”
When he was a mere boy, there was that one time he had heard his mother angrily insisting his father would send Jon away. The idea had scared him so badly that he had stopped in the hallway to listen, and soon enough his father had left his mother’s bedchambers with anger etched on his face. After taking him to his solar to assure him Jon would be going nowhere, Robb had asked his father why he had walked out of those bedchambers looking that angry if Jon was to stay anyway, and his father had heaved a sigh.
“Robb,” he had said. “You’re nearly a man grown. And as the heir to House Stark, it is your duty to make our house proud and set an example. As a Stark and as a man, no matter if it’s your mother, or your sisters, your future lady wife, or any woman you see on the street, you will never be the source of fear for any woman. On the contrary, you will protect them from any man who may impose fear on them. Do you hear me?”
Robb had nodded fervently.
“And,” his father had added, “if you ever find yourself in any kind of argument with a woman, you will never, ever raise your voice or advance upon her. No matter what she says. The only time you move, you walk in the opposite direction. Do you understand me?”
In his defense, he was going to walk in the opposite direction, but with his lady.
He grabbed her hand before she could walk away from him, making her let out a squeal before he pulled her towards the weirwood tree.
“How dare you?” Her voice went high-pitched while she tried to yank her hand back. “Let go of me this instant, or else—”
He stopped in front of the tree and turned to her, letting go of her hand.
“Ask me.”
“What?” She narrowed her eyes, still breathing hard. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re standing in front of the weirwood tree,” he stated. “I cannot lie here. It’s clear you don’t take my words as they are even if I told you to, so ask me whatever you want.”
“You think I won’t?” she taunted him. “Go on. Say it in front of your gods that your mistress—”
“I don’t have a mistress,” he cut her off. “I swear it by my gods and yours.”
“Not yet perhaps, but you plan to take Lady Jorelle as your mistress.”
“No!” Robb said with a huff of indignation. “I do not, and I will not. Do you believe me to be that low?”
“You said—”
“I’ve never said I’d have a mistress,” he insisted. “I told you I would never dishonor you or our marital vows. What part of that suggests I’d do such a thing?”
She pulled back slightly, stealing a glance at the weirwood tree as if she wanted to make sure it was indeed the right tree before turning to him.
“Then what?” she demanded. “You’ll love her from afar and yearn for her your whole life while wed to me?”
He knew he had to set this right and make her stop believing whatever folly she seemed to believe, but seven hells, it took everything in him not to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her senseless.
“No!” he exclaimed. “Of course not, why would you think that?”
“You said I should put her in my ladies-in-waiting—”
His hands shot up so that he could run them through his hair in an attempt to control himself. “You asked for my help!”
“You said you had an arrangement not so different than the southern court!”
Robb dropped his hands, trying to find the right words through disbelief.
“Her family,” he started slowly, as if that could make her understand it better, “has been loyal to mine for generations. There were talks of a betrothal between us, like I’ve told you. I figured it would be a good idea to include her in your ladies-in-waiting as a way of honoring her family and their loyalty, so that they wouldn’t feel spurned. Is that not the same as the southern court? Keeping loyal families close to reward them and keep the alliances going?”
“But you disappeared with her just the other night! You followed her outside and left me in the Great Hall, and—”
“Jon said everyone talked to her family and not her,” he said. “So I wanted to talk to her to make sure she wasn’t heartbroken, and she wasn’t. That whole conversation took less than five minutes, then my father pulled me into a meeting with Lord Bolton as I’ve told you—do you not hear anything that comes out of my mouth, or do you simply refuse to believe it?”
She gawked at him with wide eyes before she averted her gaze, her brows furrowed in deep thought as if she was trying to find more proof of his infidelity.
“So then, you—” she said after a torturous minute and cleared her throat, sticking her nose in the air. “Am I to understand you don’t have affections for her or anyone else?”
The look he gave her was nearly chastising.
“Or anyone else?” he repeated and she shrugged her shoulders, still pouting.
“You said to ask.” She pointed at the weirwood tree. “You cannot lie.”
“I would not,” he said, his heartbeat speeding up. “I do not. My lady, I…”
Gods, now he knew what his father meant when he used to say he was more intimidated by his mother than by the war. A fire spread over his face and ears despite the cool wind shuffling the leaves above them, his stomach doing flip after flip as if his lady held a sword to his throat instead of just standing there, looking up at him.
He could’ve laughed at the absurdity of her having to hear what he felt if he wasn’t so tense all of a sudden, how did she not know?
The whole castle knew. The whole North knew by now.
But perhaps that was the reason. Perhaps he hadn’t been open enough in southern standards, with their flowery language and court banter.
“I wasn’t raised to embellish my words.” He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest, clasping his hands behind him. “Nor write ballads or poetry.”
“I require neither,” she was quick to say. “I’ve grown tired of them long ago. I don’t crave flattery, but honesty.”
“Then trust my honesty when I say you’ve never had to worry about any mistresses,” he told her. “I’ll be loyal to you until my last breath.”
“Because honor and duty demands it?” she asked, making him swallow thickly before he shook his head.
“Because my heart is at your command,” he rasped out, barely able to hear his own voice from the blood rushing in his ears. “For you to decide its fate. Beyond honor or duty. I yield and welcome the defeat if it’s by your love.”
Silence clung to snow as it descended upon the Godswood.
He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to, he realized, not even if his own gods willed him to, not when she held his gaze captive. She stared at him in complete disbelief before realization dawned on her beautiful face, and she let out a breath as if a terrible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Despite the tears still sparkling in her eyes a soft smile curled her lips, sending hope through his veins faster than lightning in a storm.
“Your heart’s fate is forever twined with my own I’m afraid,” she told him, stealing the air from his lungs. “Yours is at my command, mine is at your mercy. It’s no defeat, I’ve found, though it may appear such when one is not used to the idea of truce. But I’m yours and you’re mine, where’s the defeat in that?”
…She loved him back.
By the Gods, she loved him back.
Any hope of finding the right words deserted him, his ears muffled with the blood rushing in them, excitement almost too much to bear. He lifted his hand to wipe the remnant of tears before cupping her cheek, her eyes fluttering close, her skin almost icy under his warm palm. He pulled her closer in an instant, wrapping an arm around her waist to shield her from the cold wind blowing through the woods before he traced her cheekbone with his thumb, his heart still slamming against his ribcage hard enough to hurt. A giggle escaped her when he playfully ran the tip of his nose over hers, the pleasant sound warming his insides like liquid fire.
He was nearly in a daze when he spoke: “Where have you been all this time?”
Her face lit up with a happy smile, her gaze slipping down to his lips before it snapped up to his eyes again while she traced the direwolf clasps holding his cloak together as if she was too delighted to keep still. Her sweet scent was all around him when he leaned in, flooding his senses, pulling him deeper under her spell and making him lightheaded as it settled in his lungs to make them its rightful home.
“Down in the south,” she breathed out softly. “Waiting for you.”
A.N: My loves, you're absolutely amazing, 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: The heir to the north is raised not only to rule, but also to fight.
Word Count: 5k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, blood, violence, MDNI. By clicking 'keep reading', or asking to be tagged, you confirm you're 18 +.
Thank you to my wonderful beta @chibi-lioness !
Series Masterlist
Everyone knew it was customary to bring presents to a couple for their wedding, and of course all houses competed with each other to in generosity back in the Reach. It was not only a way to display their alliances but also high status and wealth, and you were more than aware that everyone would come to Winterfell bearing gifts for you and Robb.
But as always, your family had gone above and beyond.
In addition to many chests of silks and jewelry Cliff had gotten you from Free Cities, he had also brought you the most magnificent horse you had seen in your entire life. Her coat shimmered like precious silver under the sunlight; so you decided to name her Silk after Robb joked about how she was as shiny as your gowns. You could barely wait to ride her, but you figured it had to wait until after breakfast.
You should’ve known breakfast wouldn’t be peaceful though.
“Of course we’re not wed!”
“We are.” Robb nodded solemnly. “We were bound in front of the weirwood tree, and as of last night—”
You elbowed him, stealing a look at the rest of the table who were in multiple deep conversations. “Lower your voice!”
“As of last night, we’re man and wife.”
“There were no witnesses.”
“Grey Wind was around.”
“I’m afraid your direwolf cannot be a witness,” you pointed out. “The point of the witnesses is the fact that people cannot argue that the wedding took place. What’s he going to do if someone comes forth and challenges the fact that it took place?”
“Maul them,” he answered. “I’m not saying we will not hold the wedding in front of the guest, I’m saying we are wed, so your gods wouldn’t mind—”
“They would, because we didn’t say the exact words.”
“That makes no difference as long as we are sworn to each other.”
You rolled your eyes. “Even if you were right—”
“I am right!”
“Our marriage remains invalid until it’s consummated,” you said, keeping your voice calm even though your cheeks started burning. “Therefore, we’re not man and wife for another two nights.”
He gave you a mischievous grin and leaned in to whisper; “But if we’re wed—”
“Shh!”
“If we’re wed, your gods wouldn’t disapprove.”
It wasn’t your gods though. Rather, it was the fact that this was the only revenge you could get from him.
He desired his mistress and wanted to keep her around? Fine.
You were going to wed him, you were going to do whatever you could within your marriage to seduce him away from his mistress, but he would have to wait until the very last second to have you as his wife.
“Do you know much about my gods, then?”
“I know they have thousands of rules unlike mine,” he grumbled. “But if I came to your bedchambers tonight—”
“No.”
If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought Lord Robb Stark, the heir to House Stark and to the North was begging: “Then come to mine.”
“No to that also.”
“Then meet me in the Godswood tonight,” he said, his eyes gleaming playfully. “We can consummate our marriage beneath the heart tree like the old Kings of Winter did thousands of years ago.”
You scowled at the suggestion.
“I shall only lie on soft sheets and nothing else,” you told him. “As I’ve done my whole life. Anything otherwise is simply out of the question because it would give me terrible discomfort.”
Robb looked like he was trying his hardest not to burst into laughter. “Terrible discomfort?”
“It’s no fault of mine if my skin is sensitive.”
“That sounds like a feigned issue for a girl who spent her whole life in flimsy silk gowns.”
“It’s a real issue!” you insisted and stuck your nose in the air. “I’ve been like this since I was born, there’s nothing to do about it.”
“I highly doubt—”
“My father says my wet nurses were given silk gowns and gloves so that I wouldn’t be uncomfortable while they tended to me when I was a baby, because I always started crying when I touched rough fabric,” you said. “I’m telling you. It’s been like this since forever.”
He stared at you in silence for a couple of seconds like he was at a loss for words, but then his lips twitched in amusement.
“Why do I have the feeling that you starting to cry whenever you touch rough fabric isn’t a habit of the past?”
You shot him a glare, then turned your gaze to Alton who had just walked into the Great Hall to make his way to the High Table. Ser Gwayne entered the hall soon after, with a stern yet arrogant look on his face as he went over to the table where his friends were having breakfast at.
“Touch this.” Robb held out a tablecloth for you with a grin, and you swatted at his hand, coaxing a laugh out of him. “I’m serious—”
“It is quite sad you’re so smug about this because I was considering coming to your bedchambers,” you lied, “but if I am to be taunted…”
His eyes widened and he shook his head fervently. “No no no, forget I said anything—”
“The North remembers,” you recited in a solemn manner without so much as a glance in his direction, then took a sip of your tea. He shifted in his seat as if he couldn’t sit still, stole a look at the rest of the table, then leaned in so that you could hear his low voice.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Not consummating our accidental wedding,” you stated, lowering your cup. “And yours?”
“So you agree it was a wedding.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ser Gwayne approaching the High Table. He bowed his head at Lord Stark, the rest of the table falling quiet upon noticing his presence, and his obvious means to address him.
“Lord Stark,” he said, the rest of the hall’s chatter fading into whispers as well. “Lord Greensted.”
Robb’s jaw tightened.
“Ser Gwayne,” Lord Stark said. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
“I am, my lord,” he said. “The hospitality of Winterfell is warm enough to make one forget the cold of the North.”
Lord Stark nodded in acknowledgment.
“Your hospitality and kindness is what make this speech harder on my heart than it need be,” Ser Gwayne said while Silas sat up straighter with a frown. “But please know that I hold your house to highest regard in honor.”
What was happening?
Lord Stark looked rather confused as to why this conversation was taking place along with every other northerner, which you figured was expected. It wasn’t common for a guest to address the lord at the High Table during breakfast unless it was of great importance, so you had no idea what this could be about.
However, you seemed to be the only southerner at the table who didn’t understand what was taking place.
“Ser Gwayne,” your father said, his voice tense for some reason. “Sit and enjoy your breakfast, hm?”
Silas ran a hand over his face, the twins exchanged glances before turning in their seats to see Ser Gwayne better, and Cliff leaned in to whisper something to Arys that made him roll his eyes, but he took out a couple of coins out of his pocket to place it into Cliff’s palm, muttering something back.
“I respect House Stark,” Ser Gwayne said. “And House Greensted, but the lady deserves a sword sworn to her in true love, not duty.”
…Oh no.
Oh no no no—
The realization dawned on you like a ton of bricks, and your hand shot up to Robb’s wrist to grab it as tight as you could but Robb didn’t even flinch; he just kept his eyes on Ser Gwayne as if he could kill him with his glare.
“Let the gods decide who deserves the lady’s hand in marriage,” Ser Gwayne told Robb and pulled his sword, then bent his knee. “I challenge you to a duel, my lord.”
Chaos erupted through the crowd in the hall, but you could hardly hear it over your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You tried to think through the fear rushing through your veins at the mere idea, then forced yourself to scoff.
“My betrothed will not entertain such—”
“I accept.”
Your head whirled around when Robb’s deep voice cut you off, and you stared at him, your mouth half agape.
“What?” you managed to ask when you found air again, and Silas pushed his seat back to get up. “No! I—I refuse!”
“Ser Gwayne,” Lord Stark said, his demeanor as calm as Robb’s. “You realize you’re renouncing the guest right?”
Something shifted in Robb’s gaze; feral excitement gleaming in his eyes while he leaned in expectantly, his whole attention focused on Ser Gwayne, waiting for the knight’s response. At first you couldn’t quite tell why it was so familiar, because every time Robb looked at you—even at the height of his desire like last night or back in the armory— there was always a soft light underneath it all, but then the memory hit you.
It was familiar because you had seen this look in Grey Wind’s eyes when he killed that lion back in the woods.
“I renounce it, my lord.”
A wolfish grin split Robb’s face as if he’d just heard the best news while you shook your head fervently, tears of fear rushing to your eyes.
“No!” you insisted. “I don’t want—”
“Come, my dear sister,” Silas’ voice came from behind you, and before you knew it, he had already hoisted you out of your seat as if you were a mere child. He used the side entrance so that he wouldn’t have to drag you across the hall, and he didn’t stop until you reached your bedchambers no matter how much you tried to wiggle out of his grip. He all but pushed you into your bedchambers and slammed the door behind him.
“You need to—”
“How dare you?” You couldn’t help but snap, your voice going high-pitched, ringing through the room. “How dare you drag me out of rooms? I’m no child!”
“Blossom…”
“That duel will not take place!” you said, wiping your eyes before you pointed at the door. “Go back there, tell them it’s not taking place!”
“It is taking place my sweet,” he said gently. “Whether you like it or not. But not to worry—”
“Not to worry?” you repeated. “Not to worry? It’s a duel, Silas!”
“I know that.”
“It’s disrespect!” you said, straining your mind to find an excuse. “To our house, and to House Stark. They cannot let that happen, make father stop it.”
“He cannot do that, we’re in Winterfell,” he said. “Not in our home.”
“He never says no to me, he’d find a way.”
“To repeat, we’re in the North,” he said. “Father doesn’t exactly have power here, and even if he did—”
He stopped talking when someone knocked on the door and cracked it open, and Perceon peeked his head in.
“I figured this is where you’d be,” he said and stepped in with Braxton following him. “They decided to hold the duel in an hour. Exciting, isn’t it?”
You blinked a couple of times. “Exciting?”
“Can I duel people as well, but for fun?” Braxton asked and Silas pinched the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t been in a fight since we left Dorne.”
“You’re not dueling anyone, idiot.”
“No he can though, I bet I could convince some people to renounce their guest right.”
“We’re also guests here, Perce!”
“Silas, if he—” You could feel the tears burning your eyes at the idea. “If Robb dies…”
Silas gave a chuckle while the twins burst into laughter, making you glance between them.
“What’s so funny?”
“Robb?” Silas asked. “Robb is going to die at some duel? Gwayne Fossoway of all people is going to kill him?”
“I’ve watched Ser Gwayne fight before,” you insisted. “He won two jousts in a row. I remember, because he asked for my favor a year ago at the Merryweather tourney.”
Silas took a deep breath, and walked to you to clasp his hands on your shoulders so that you would stop pacing.
“Blossom,” he said. “My sweet sister, you need to stop and think, alright? Do you seriously think the heir to the North is going to lose a duel to a random knight of the Reach?”
“You don’t know—”
“I know that Ned Stark put a real sword in Robb’s hand when he was a mere child,” he told you. “I know that he was raised to be the perfect Warden of the North. You’ve heard of the Northern army, you know how unstoppable it is, and House Stark raised their heir to lead that army if need be. Northerners aren’t like us, their lord fights beside his men. I promise you, Robb is the best warrior in this castle right now.”
“Second best,” Braxton corrected him. “But only because of his youth and lack of war experience. The best is probably his father.”
“I would worry less about Robb and more about how it’ll affect our house’s relationship with the Fossoways,” Perceon said, flinging himself on your bed. “If Robb does end up killing him.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “He wouldn’t kill him.”
“He might.”
“Northerners don’t fight to harm, they fight to kill,” Silas said. “Fossoway just renounced his guest right and challenged him. And whatever you’ve been doing seems to be working, he’s quite taken with you already even before the wedding, so…”
There was another knock on the door before Cliff and Arys stepped in.
“See, told you she’d calm down.”
“I—” You paused for a moment, your eyes darting over your brothers, then you threw your hands up in the air, exasperated. “Why are you all here?”
“Why not?”
“Yeah, it’s not your castle yet,” Perceon and Braxton said and Arys shrugged.
“Elinor keeps trying to invite herself and Alton to Oldtown, I don’t want them there.”
“I’m so glad I arrived last night,” Cliff commented with a grin. “I’m going to be leaving here much richer than I already am, because everyone from the Reach is very confident in Ser Gwayne Fossoway.”
“Can I join?” Perceon took out a coin and flipped it in Cliff’s direction who caught it mid-air. “A gold dragon, Robb will win in five minutes.”
“Two dragons, three minutes.” Silas told Cliff and you blinked a couple of times, looking from Cliff to him.
“Have you all lost your minds?!” you exploded. “My husband—”
“Betrothed!” came the chorus and you stomped on your foot.
“He might die, and you’re all using this for entertainment?”
Arys rolled his eyes while Cliff went over to the table to fill himself a cup of wine, and Braxton sprawled on the sofa.
“His whole family was in that hall,” Arys reminded you. “Did you see any of them express anything close to worry?”
The simple question made you frown.
“They’re not worried, because they know what he’s capable of,” Arys said. “Do you believe the North would be so careless with their heir if they didn’t trust in his skills with sword?”
“Exactly what I’ve been saying,” Silas muttered. “Besides, even if he did die, you’d be fine. I didn’t travel all over the realm just so that you can marry a fucking Fossoway. Ser Gwayne would just have an unfortunate accident on the way back to the Reach.”
“If Robb dies I’m betrothing you to the prince of Dorne.” Braxton pointed at you. “You’d thrive in Dorne.”
“You keep saying that because you haven’t travelled outside Dorne, Brax. If she came to the Free Cities—”
“I just don’t think our beloved sister belongs there, no offense.”
“Oldtown is also an option.”
“Gods be good, I cannot have this argument with all of you again—”
…Oh.
Oh, you hadn’t even thought about that.
You had been so worried about Robb that it hadn’t even occurred to you that him getting killed in such duel would mean you’d go back to the Reach for another betrothal. It sounded almost absurd if not impossible to even consider such idea; to be expected to impress someone as if nothing happened, to play the court game, to…
To spend your life with someone else, be his wife and have his heirs.
You were not going to do that. You couldn’t.
You weren’t going to even entertain the thought of moving on, have him as some distant memory as if the mere idea of his absence didn’t burn a hole in your chest, pain making your breath catch in your throat.
Where had the air gone in this damn place?
“Where is he?” you cut through your brothers’ bickering and Cliff frowned.
“He said he was going to the armory to sharpen his sword before the duel.”
You licked your lips, then walked past Silas who called after you as if he wanted to stop you, but you paid no mind to it and walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your ears.
Cliff was right, Robb was in the armory, joking with Theon and Jon as if there was nothing wrong. As hard as it felt, you managed to pull yourself together at least for appearances before you knocked on the doorframe, gathering their attention.
“Can I have a word?” you rasped out and Robb frowned at your expression before he nodded.
“Of course.”
“See you at the duel.” Theon laughed while Jon slapped his back, and they both walked past you and left the armory. You closed the door behind you, your eyes darting over his body.
“Where’s your armor?”
He motioned at the chainmail thrown on the desk. “There.”
“That’s chainmail, not armor.”
“Armor is for wars,” he said with a scoff. “Not entertainment.”
“Ent—he’s going to be wearing full body armor, Robb!”
“I know.” He grinned. “All the Reach knights have very shiny armors, Jon says we should give it to Sansa as a mirror after I’m done with him. I’m told I get to keep it when he yields.”
He was jesting.
He had the nerve to be jesting as if you weren’t about to burst into sobs.
“Do you think this is funny?” you asked. “He means to kill you and wed me, and you stand there—”
“I’m going to be more offended than you are if you’re assuming he can kill me. You’re not going to wed anyone but me.”
You swallowed thickly and took a deep breath.
“Go there and tell him you’ve changed your mind.”
He let out a laugh of disbelief. “What?”
“Tell him—”
“Do you not know me at all?” he asked with a grimace. “I would never do that.”
“Fine, then I’ll tell him you’ve changed your mind—” You turned around to leave, but stopped dead in his tracks the minute he said your name in a sterner tone than you’d ever heard from him before. Your eyes snapped up to his when you whirled around, a shiver running down your spine at his glare.
When he spoke, it was as if he was expressing of a law of nature: “You’ll do no such thing.”
You’d almost forgotten.
Or perhaps you had never really understood. Everyone kept telling you Robb was the heir to House Stark and you knew that, but you had a feeling that this was your first introduction to the future Warden of the North, the head of House Stark and the lord of Winterfell. Gone was your carefree and playful betrothed, replaced by someone else entirely; a man whose unforgiving gaze alone said more than words needed, whose orders were to be followed, not questioned.
“Why not?” you insisted. “You’re so certain you’ll win anyway, so is every northerner. You need not prove it to the southerners—”
“I’d look like a scared boy,” he cut you off. “It’s not even a matter of discussion, nor will it ever be. Leave it.”
“Because you said so?” you asked, your vision getting blurry with tears. “Because, what, because you—”
“Because it’s my name and honor.”
“What do I care about honor?” you snapped. “What use is it? You might die!”
“I’m not going to die—”
“And if you do?” you asked. “If something goes wrong and you die?”
“Then I die,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’d rather lose my life than my honor. It may not be important in your part of the realm, but it means everything here. Without it, I’d have nothing.”
“You’d have me,” you managed to say, painfully aware of the pleading tone in your voice as you took a step towards him. “You’d have me, Robb. Please don’t do this.”
A soft light appeared in his eyes and he heaved a tired sigh; whether it was pity at your naivety or your inability to understand the matter, you could not tell.
“Don’t ask that of me.”
The dull ache in your chest spread through your body, poisoning everything in its path. For a couple of seconds, you could only stare at him before a bitter smile curled your lips, and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat.
You should’ve got used to this by now, of course he didn’t choose you.
This castle was full of people who would’ve chosen you over their honor, and here you were, begging the only man who would not.
“Gods, what a lesson you’ve turned out to be…” you rasped out and wiped your eyes, sniffling. “Alright. As you wish.”
“My lady—”
“I’ll never forgive you for this,” you cut him off, looking him in the eye. “So long as I draw breath. But I wish you luck on your duel, my lord.”
With that, you stormed out of the armory, not even casting a glance back as you wiped your eyes and made your way to the castle.
Standing in the crowd in the grand court yard, feeling as if your heart was going to explode in your ribcage and take you from this world, you could only think of one thing:
You should have poisoned Ser Gwayne.
Margaery had given you that bracelet for you to use it, and you couldn’t think of a better use for it. Instead of going to Robb to plead with him, you should have taken the matters into your own hands, visit Ser Gwayne in his chambers, slip the poison into his wine and walk away. Robb would keep his precious honor and name and whatever else they were taught that held more importance than life without putting himself in such danger, and you—
Well.
You weren’t going to be betrothed again. Not to the Reach or Dorne or the Free Cities or Oldtown, or wherever it was that your brothers thought was a good idea to form an alliance with. You were either going to wed Robb or no one at all, no matter what everyone else seemed to think or plan.
You were more than aware that everyone who so much as cast a glance in your direction could tell you had been crying; your eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and you felt like you could pass out at any moment if it weren’t for Silas standing right beside you, letting you half lean to his side so you wouldn’t sway on your feet. Lady Stark had come earlier to give you some words of comfort, but it sounded as meaningless as the chatter of the crowd filling the yard. You sniffled and played with the bracelet around your wrist, trying your hardest to ignore Jorelle and her family not far from you.
“His mother talked to him,” Silas told you when Lady Stark went to stand beside Lord Stark. “Made him give his word. He won’t kill Ser Gwayne when he yields.”
When.
Not if, when.
You couldn’t wrap your mind around how every single northerner here looked completely unfazed with what was about to take place. Robb was the heir, they were supposed to be nervous wrecks but everyone looked more excited than worried.
Jousts were the least favorite part of any tourney for you. While it was true that you and Margaery loved tourneys, for you, it had always been about dancing and feasting and getting compliments and admiration, not bloodshed. It was nearly a habit to avert your eyes whenever the spears of the knights on horseback clashed, and Margaery would always tell you whether it was alright to look or not, in case it got too violent.
Duels didn’t have horses though.
And apparently no proper armor either, at least for the northerners.
The crowd parted as Robb made his way through, his eyes finding yours, making your heart beat even faster. You blinked back the tears, averting your gaze from him to turn to look up at Lord Stark who was standing on the loggia with Lady Stark, the chatter ceasing immediately. Lord Stark’s icy gray eyes fell upon Ser Gwayne before he looked at Robb, then gave a nod of acknowledgement.
Which meant the duel could start.
Cheers from both sides erupted through the crowded yard and Robb grinned as if he was having the time of his life before twirling the sword in his hand. Ser Gwayne raised his shield, then lunged at him, making you gasp and turn around to bury your face into Silas’s arm, your hands shooting up to your ears to block out the clash of the swords as if not hearing it would make it go away. You didn’t know whether you were pleading to your gods or his, but you mouthed a short prayer over and over again into the thick velvet of Silas’s doublet while the nausea churned your stomach, every muscle in your body tensing up.
You had no idea how long you had been praying—it could’ve been a moon or a minute, but Silas touched the small of your back, causing you to lift your head from his arm, lowering your hands from your ears. The unmistakable sound of metal clashing was nearly drowned in the loud cheers, and you turned around, expecting the worst.
It wasn’t what you pictured in your head at all.
This was what Silas meant, you realized through the fear. This was why everyone in the realm feared the north.
This was the reason why even the kings for thousands of years didn’t make an enemy of the north. Back in the south, you’d had the chance to watch the training of so many knights before and during the jousts, it had always reminded you of a graceful dance with swaying and twirling and spinning. Silas himself had joked once that it was similar to your training; he was taught to dance with a sword, and you without one.
But this was no dance.
This was a hunt.
Robb circled him like a wolf would circle a wounded prey while Ser Gwayne tried to find his balance, but even you could tell it was of no use. The swing of Robb’s sword was so heavy that it knocked the sword out of Ser Gwayne’s hand, the knight lifting his shield but Robb had already slammed it against his helmet, the blow stunning the knight right before Robb yanked the shield out of his arm, and tossed it to the side. The crowd went nearly feral, yelling and cheering while Robb threw his own sword aside and pulled the helmet off of Ser Gwayne’s head to punch him right in the face, a sickening crack echoing in the yard.
“Robb!” Lady Stark called out almost warningly when Ser Gwayne fell to the ground and a snarl twisted Robb’s handsome face for a moment, resembling Grey Wind’s threatening growl. He lifted Ser Gwayne by the neck of his armor to mutter something into his ear, then switched his hand to the back of his neck so that he could hold him up as he dragged him towards the crowd, right underneath the loggia. Blood poured down Ser Gwayne’s face and he swayed on his feet like he was in too much pain to stand up even with Robb holding him up, but he still managed to speak.
“I—I yield.”
Robb dropped him unceremoniously to the ground, the southerners falling silent but the cheers of the northerners were loud enough to ring through the yard for the both sides. Your heart was slamming against your ribcage when his eyes found you, and as if he wasn’t the very man who had just overpowered a champion knight of the Reach without so much as getting a scratch on him in return, he bowed his head to you, his gaze nearly burning your skin.
“My lady,” he said, the northern accent in his deep voice making your heart skip a beat. “Forgive me for worrying you.”
You could only stare at him, pinned to your spot in disbelief while he grabbed his sword to sheath it, then walked past you and made his way back into the Inner Keep with Theon and Jon following him suit. Two men lifted Ser Gwayne by his arms to carry him to the maester’s chambers and Silas scoffed, shaking his head.
“Told you he’d be fine.” He stole a look at you. “You’re not frightened, are you?”
You let out a breath, a strange heat swirling at the pit of your stomach as you licked your lips, trying to think through the haze.
“No,” you managed to say. “No, I’m not frightened at all.”
steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort
warnings: yearning steve harrington. steves pov. mostly done in the form of letters. will they wont they......... happy ending. (I CAVED. THEY BEGGED ME OKAY THEY WERE NOT GONNA DO IT BUT...) SMUT. NOTHING CRAZY soft sex. a little spit i couldn't help it.
words: 12k
summary: When you find out your college roommate/friend robin buckley's boyfriend, steve harrington— who you thought beat all stereotypical frat boy odds— is cheating on her, you find it hard to understand why she still wants to be with him. But there is more than meets the eye. You aren't sure if you want to be roped into it.
a/n: oh.... so? this is the last chapter? this is the end of the arc besides the epi luigi.... hot shot and steve are...? wow. i have no words. this fic was probably the most taxing thing i've ever written. but so many of you guys encouraged me to keep going. it's you, the readers who kept me to continue even if you guys are insane.
masterlist | Rules/Playlist
Chapter 18
3 June, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
I just got back from dropping off Robin at the bus station for Boston. You know I’m a tough guy. I can handle not being invited. Ha…
I was thinking about the first time Robin introduced us. Spring of 87’. I wasn’t having a good night. But I remember her shouting, “She came?” Before I knew it you were in front of us and I could only stupidly think…Pretty.
That night I was supposed to meet up with a girl, and I can’t even remember who. All I remember is you.
You were dancing with Buck. You were both so drunk, stumbling into each other and laughing. But Buck must have been worse off because he threw up all over your shoes. I was only a pledge at the time, but I remember all the guys around me tensing up, getting ready for you to lay into him. Apparently this was a common thing with Buck—he'd get too drunk and puke on people, and they'd lose it on him.
So it was a surprise to all of us when you didn't even yell at him. You only took off your shoes and gave him some water. Told him to sit down and breathe. I got stuck cleaning up the mess because that's what pledges do, and I heard you jump up and pull Robin to the floor when "Hot Stuff" came on.
As you were dancing with Robin, both of you screaming the lyrics, I thought: who the hell is she rooming with? You were only wearing your socks and dancing, and now that I think about our conversation at the lake, you really don't know how to dance. You were all arms and no rhythm, and somehow that made it better.
So then I decided you were pretty and weird.
I like that you're weird, apparently, because I was pathetically asking Robin about you nonstop after that night. Where were you from? What were you studying? Did you have a boyfriend? (You didn't, thank god.) Were you always that nice to people who threw up on your shoes?
I like that you're kind too. And god, you're so selfless. I beat myself up every day about how I took advantage of that. How I let you think you weren't good enough when really I was the one who wasn't good enough for you.
If you haven't noticed by now... I miss you.
I’m going to try my hardest not to call and check in every hour this weekend. I hope you enjoy the cookies I sent with Robin. My mom made them. I helped, so they might be extra sweet. Max says I’m too corny… I guess maybe I’m the weird one.
I told my mom about you, and she said, “The pretty one, right?”
Maybe one day I can be lucky enough to be weird with you. Where we can badly dance in our socks together.
Sincerely,
Your handsome weird friend
.-.-.-.
6 June, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
I don’t have much to say. Again, not a whole lot going on besides Family Video. Today, however, I tried to teach Max how to drive. Maybe the next time I see you I can tell you how this punk once drove my car when she was thirteen. I should have known better.
At least I survived.
Mrs. Henderson’s petunias not so much.
How was Boston? Robin won’t tell me a whole lot. I'm trying not to be jealous that you're hanging out with everyone except me, but I'm doing a terrible job of it.
Sincerely,
Steve
P.S. Max found this mixtape I had made for you months ago, made fun of me, and then convinced me to send it to you or she would. Never thought I’d be blackmailed by a seventeen-year-old who doesn’t know how to drive.
.-.-.-.
8 June, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
Robin told me you’ve been reading my letters.
I feel... I don't know what to feel. A part of me wishes they got lost in the mail and you never saw them, that I could take back everything I've said because it's too much, too honest, too pathetic. Then there's the other part of me—the bigger part—imagining you reading them. I wonder if it's the same way you read your books.
I think it's cute how your eyes move across the pages when you're reading, completely engrossed in whatever story you're in. How your nose scrunches when you're focused on whatever's happening in the plot. Sometimes your lips move, reading whatever out loud to yourself without realizing you're doing it.
Not that I'm staring at your lips.
OK, I look at your lips an appropriate amount of time. Can you blame me? I mean, they killed me constantly. Every time you'd bite your bottom lip when you were thinking, or smile that smile that made your whole face light up, or—
Yeah, I'm not going to finish that thought.
I always had a hard time studying when I was around you and you were like that, lost in whatever you were reading. Because then I wanted to know what was going on in your book too, wanted to understand what had you so captivated. And because I wanted to kiss you. Still do, if I'm being honest. Which I guess I am, since that's kind of the whole point of these letters.
Sincerely,
Steve
.-.-.-.
9 June, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
You know when things changed for me? The moment I knew I really didn’t want anyone else?
Valentines Day.
I couldn't stop thinking about you that day. From the moment I woke up to the moment I fell asleep and even after, in my dreams.
You were so sick, and I remember thinking... can she get any prettier? Which is insane because you had a runny nose and messy hair and you kept sniffling. But you were wrapped up in a blanket, curled against me on your bed, and I'd never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
I don't know what did it for me specifically. Your runny nose or your messy hair or the way you kept apologizing for being gross when you weren't gross at all. I do know that when you laid your head on my chest and fell asleep, I felt my stomach tie into knots. The good kind. The kind that made me think: oh no, this is it, I'm done for.
Nothing was the same for me after that moment. Every time I hooked up with someone after that, I felt guilty. Like I was cheating on you even though we weren't together. Like I was looking for you in other people and obviously never finding you because you're you and they weren't.
Maybe it had never been the same. Maybe from that first night when you danced in your socks, I was already gone. Maybe I was always meant to meet you.
God, I hope so.
Sincerely,
Steve
.-.-.-.
12 June, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
Did Eddie tell you Polly dumped him? He's been OK, I think. Or he says he's OK, which probably means he's not OK but doesn't want to talk about it.
Last night we went to Hawkins' finest establishment—The Hideout. It's this dive bar that smells like stale beer and cigarettes, but Eddie and his band play there a lot. Except since his breakup, he's been kind of in a rut. He says he has "inspiration constipation." I call it sulking.
Then I thought… is this how Eddie and Jonathan thought about me all those months? When I was moping around about you? They both can smell my "bullshit" a mile away... ha. Guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought I was being.
Besides Eddie being a downer, I had a good night. It would have been better if you'd been there. Nancy came too, and even though her and Robin are still careful in public, I feel happy they can look at each other freely now. No more hiding. No more pretending.
The news of the "break-up" here in Hawkins was gossip for weeks. Apparently the whole town had an opinion about it. My mom's friends kept calling to check on me, asking if I was OK, if I needed anything. It's fizzled out by now, though. People found other things to talk about.
Kind of humiliating how much of a big deal we made it out to be. All that stress and lying, when we could have just been honest from the start.
The Hideout has billiard tables. If you ever decide to grace us… me… with a visit to Hawkins, maybe I can take you to play. Can you hear the desperation in my handwriting? That I kind of really want to see you?
I’m not sure how I can be more patient when the others… even Dustin? Have heard from you.
But I’m trying. I really am.
I guess I’m sulking too.
Sincerely,
A desperate man
.-.-.-.
15 June, 1988
Dear Steve,
Thank you for the letters. As for billiards. Do you remember what happened the last time we played? I don’t think you’re ready for round two.
And thank you for the cookies. That was sweet of you and they were delicious.
-Your friend
P.S. I am glad to hear about your glasses.
.-.-.-.
20 June, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
Is it true you're coming to Hawkins for Independence Day? Robin mentioned it, but I wanted to make sure before I got my hopes up.
I can't deny that I cannot wait to see you, but I want to make sure you're OK with me being around. If you're not, I will literally chain myself to my bed until you leave town. Lock myself in my room. Avoid all public spaces. Whatever you need.
For my sake, not yours. I don't think I could handle seeing you and not being able to talk to you.
I'll be OK though. I promise.
I don’t really like fireworks, if I’m being honest. They’re too loud. When I was a kid I used to cry everytime they went off. Eventually my parents just started leaving me home with a babysitter on the Fourth of July so they didn't have to deal with it.
Remember that story Max told you about me accidentally popping a Hopper in the ass with a firework? It’s because I jumped at the noise.
Anyway, I'm also trying to act cool about the fact that you wrote back and that I haven't totally read your letter over and over again... or memorized your handwriting... or folded it up and put it in my wallet so I can take it out whenever I'm missing you most.
To paint the picture… it's a lot. I take it out a lot.
Robin caught me reading it at work yesterday and made fun of me for another twenty minutes. I'm never going to hear the end of this.
Sincerely,
Steve
.-.-.-.
24 June, 1988
Dear Steve,
Yes, I'm coming to Hawkins for Independence Day. It didn't take much for Robin to convince me. She says there's a huge carnival with rides and games and apparently the best funnel cake in Indiana? It sounds like a lot of fun.
I’d hate for you to miss something fun.
I can’t wait to properly catch up!
-Your friend
.-.-.-.
Steve has never been this nervous since he kissed you in the tent back in March.
Back then, he kept thinking over and over about how long it had been since he had really kissed someone—not counting that makeout session at the Mardi Gras party, which barely counts anyway. Sure, he'd kissed you then, but after confessing he only wanted you, after everything that's happened since, it had felt like his first kiss all over again. Like he was thirteen and terrified and has no idea what he's doing.
Now, his stomach is tied in knots, twisting and clenching every time he so much as glances in your direction.
You're sitting across the pool at his parents' house, and he can't stop staring.
Everyone is here to swim—the kids are running around screaming, cannonballing into the deep end and playing chicken in the shallow end. Max and Lucas are floating on inner tubes, holding hands when they think no one's looking. Dustin keeps trying to dunk Mike, who's protesting loudly. Jane is sitting on the pool steps with Will, both of them talking quietly and watching the chaos. Jonathan and Nancy even came in for the weekend, lying on lounge chairs and looking more relaxed than Steve's seen them in months.
Everyone is here, but to Steve, he's forgotten they exist.
He feels like a schoolboy with a crush. Like Tommy H. in eighth grade when he got obsessed with Carol, following her around like a puppy and blushing every time she talked to him. Steve had made fun of him for it then. Karma's a bitch.
You're trying to be polite, making an effort to talk to him. But every time you do, he stumbles over his words like an idiot, then walks away to grab another beer from the cooler just to have an excuse to escape. He's on his third beer and it's only two in the afternoon.
It's the day before the Independence Day carnival, and all Steve can think about is how much he loves you.
He was terrified you'd come to Hawkins and tell him you'd gotten over it. That the distance helped you realize you don't actually want him, that you're better off without him, that being friends is all you can manage. But the moment you walked in the door with Robin yesterday—his heart already racing because Dustin had warned him over the walkie-talkie that you'd been spotted at Benny's Burgers with Robin and Nancy—he met your eyes, and he could see it.
The flash of softness. The way your lips upturned at the sight of him. The slight hitch in your breath that he caught even from across the room.
He felt himself blush, felt his hands start to sweat like he was back in high school asking someone to prom.
But then there was another flash—recollection, memory, pain. Letting him know there's still hurt there, still wounds that haven't fully healed.
You look like nothing but sunshine right now. Feet dangling in the pool, sitting next to Max on the pool deck, talking about something that keeps making both of you laugh. Steve can't help but look at the tattoo on your hip—"Hot Shot" in slightly crooked letters, visible when your swimsuit shifts. And god, why is it the sexiest thing in the world to know that his nickname is permanently marked on your skin? His girl. Even if you're not his girl yet. Even if you might never be his girl again.
He can't help but notice how your thighs press against the pool deck, how the flesh of your ass mushes slightly on the concrete, how your shoulders are changing color from the sun despite the sunscreen you applied. He hopes his sunglasses hide the way his eyes are glued to your every move, the way he's cataloging each smile and laugh and gesture like he's studying for a test.
He wants to make you laugh again, wants your hand to fall carelessly on his shoulder like it used to. Wants to see your eyes twinkle the way they do when you're really happy—like the stars themselves, bright enough that there's no need for the sun or moon or artificial light. Like you contain all the illumination the world needs right there in your irises.
He's been a little lonely since he came home for summer, if he's being honest with himself.
His dad has begrudgingly talked to him—short, clipped conversations about Steve's GPA and his major and whether teaching is "really what you want to do with your life, son." The disappointment hangs heavy in every word his father speaks, and Steve's stopped trying to defend his choices. There's no point. Not to mention the whole lying about his long-term relationship with Robin.
He doesn't go over to Robin's house as often anymore. Her parents are accepting and understanding, they really are, they've been great about everything, but it's still a fresh wound for everyone. The revelation, the lies, the year-plus of deception. Robin doesn't come over to Steve's as often either, only showing up when everyone else is there too, when it's a group thing and not just the two of them.
It's weird. In a sense, it does feel like a real breakup. Without all the awkwardness and tension that comes with romantic breakups, but with the same sense of loss, of figuring out who they are beyond the roles they played. Trying to remember how to be just friends when they've been "dating" for so long.
It's been ages since Steve's been actually single. Technically single and not sleeping with anyone. He can admit there have been a few girls from high school who stuck around Hawkins—girls who come into Family Video and flirt with him, twirling their hair and asking for movie recommendations in voices that suggest they're not really interested in movies at all.
But he doesn't know how to reciprocate anymore. Doesn't know how to flirt back when he's not interested, doesn't know how to let them down easy without being an asshole about it.
Least to say, Keith says Steve's the worst at customer service now and makes Robin handle most of the customers. Which is probably fair.
Back at college, it was easy to fall into the confidence that comes with flirting fueled by lust. By knowing you're going to hook up with someone and that's all it is—bodies and pleasure and nothing deeper. But when he discovered the part of him that loves someone, really loves them, it rewired every bit of his brain. There's something more dangerous about approaching a girl—approaching you—with the heavy feeling of aching and longing to be something more. It rattles him, makes him nervous and awkward in ways he hasn't been since middle school.
Steve tries not to be jealous when Eddie pulls you into the pool, both of you splashing and laughing, Eddie picking you up and threatening to dunk you under. Steve knows Eddie wouldn't do anything— Eddie knows how Steve feels. Eddie's a good friend even when Steve hadn’t been for the past few years.
But Steve can't help the tightness in his chest. The same tightness he felt when you kissed Eddie as a dare in the basement of the Pike house, even though he had no right to feel jealous then either. It was just another moment to catalog— Steve Harrington being a dingus and not seeing the truth of his feelings.
Steve gets up from his pool chair, his thighs slick with sweat, the hair there clinging to his skin. He walks inside to cool down from the summer heat, lifting his sunglasses up to rest on top of his overgrown, messy hair that badly needs a cut.
He knows he's sulking. He knows it would be unfair to pout in front of you, to make you think he wants to rush you into forgiving him before you're ready. But he can't stop thinking that maybe there's hope. That maybe the way you looked at him yesterday when you first walked in means something.
He goes to his mom's tea room—a small sitting area off the kitchen with floral wallpaper and too many decorative plates—and sits on the piano bench, pulling the blind aside slightly to see the view of the backyard through the window.
He notices you're not out there anymore. And he's annoyed with himself that he's relieved to see Eddie is still in the pool, now terrorizing the kids by threatening to throw Dustin's hat into the deep end.
"Thought you told Nancy you were getting another drink?"
Your soft voice filters in from the doorway, and Steve's heart nearly stops.
He twists around awkwardly on the bench, already smiling before he can stop himself. He's not sure what to do with his hands—they move around uselessly before he finally settles them between his legs, gripping the edge of the bench, looking up at you.
You're wearing denim shorts now, cut-offs that are frayed at the hem, and an oversized t-shirt over your swimsuit. Your hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends from the pool water. He can smell the sun on your skin, that particular scent of sunblock mixed with chlorine and something underneath that's purely you. The smell gets stronger as you walk into the room, looking around at all the different collections his mom has accumulated—teacups on shelves, decorative plates on the walls, a shelf of crystal figurines that Steve's been terrified of breaking since childhood.
You smile at him again, and his stomach flips. You point at the spinet piano against the wall. "That's cool. Does your mom play?"
Steve looks over his shoulder at the ivory keys, yellowed slightly with age. He smirks, quirking an eyebrow. "Why do you assume my mom?"
You laugh—that beautiful laugh that makes his chest expand, that makes him feel like he could float right off this piano bench. You tilt your head, crossing your arms. "Your dad doesn't really strike me as someone who could tell what a musical note is if it hit him in the face." You pause, probably thinking about that disastrous dinner. "And I only met your mom once, but... I feel like even though she likes nice things, she wants to enjoy them. Not just own them."
Steve smiles, genuinely pleased that you saw that in his mom. "She used to play. Not much anymore. It's probably out of tune by now." He pauses, choosing his words more carefully. "Robin and her would do duets when we started..." He trails off. Being friends, he finally settles on. Not dating. Not in a relationship. Because it wasn't real, and he doesn't want to treat it as such now.
He thinks for a moment, then adds, "But I took lessons when I was seven. For about six months. Never practiced, though, so it was okay because then my dad said it was a useless talent for a boy to have anyway."
Your eyebrows furrow, and Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and smooth the crease with his thumb. He clasps his hands tighter between his legs to stop himself.
"Do you remember any songs?" you ask.
He cracks a smile, falling back into the safety of humor. "You kidding? In high school I'd bring chicks over and play them a few chords of 'Chopsticks' and they'd think I was Mozart."
You throw your head back laughing, corners of your eyes crinkling, and Steve thinks he's won at life just being able to hear it. Probably the prettiest sound in the world, better than any music the best piano player could make.
Then you say, walking closer, "Okay. Show me."
Steve's mouth falls open. He rubs the back of his neck, closing one eye nervously. "I was kidding. I don't actually remember anything."
You giggle, that softer laugh, more intimate, and walk over to the bench. He watches your eyes fall on his bare chest, then down to his stomach. The way he's sitting, the soft skin spills over the top of his swim trunks slightly, creating a small roll.
In most cases, he'd feel self-conscious. Most girls he's been with, he's always turned off the lights or kept his shirt on or made sure there was minimal interaction with his body. Billy used to call him soft, would poke at his stomach in the locker room, and even though Steve knows Billy was an asshole, the words stuck.
But with you, he wants to be seen. Wants you to look at all of him—the parts he's proud of and the parts he's not. He watches how your pupils dilate slightly, how your breathing changes when you look at how his stomach flexes as he adjusts his position. You notice. And he always wants you to notice him, wants your eyes on him like this.
You look shy now, a flush creeping up your neck as you walk to the other side of the bench and slide in, facing the piano. Steve follows suit quickly, turning to face the keys.
He's patient, or trying to be, but he still scoots a little closer, making his thigh touch yours. If you move away, he won't try again. Won't push.
He feels you tense for a moment, but you don't make an effort to move. That has to mean something, right?
"Okay," you say softly, and he can hear the slight tremor in your voice. "Put your two fingers here."
Steve looks at you instead of the piano, taking in the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the way your eyelashes cast shadows. Then he does as you said, placing his pointer and middle finger on the keys you indicated.
He hears you take a deep breath in, and then you grab his wrist.
His brain stops working at the touch. It's been so long since your soft hands have met his skin—not since that night on the swings, and even then it was brief, careful. He remembers when you slapped his cheek in Miami, then a few weeks later put your hand on the same cheek in comfort at the bonfire, telling him you love him. It still burns, both memories. The sting and the tenderness.
You start pressing his fingers down on the keys, creating a simple melody he vaguely recognizes. Maybe "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" or something equally basic. But he starts laughing because he keeps slipping his fingers on purpose so the note comes out wrong, and you have to start over.
"Steve," you say, trying to sound annoyed, but you're laughing too. "You're doing that on purpose."
"Am not," he lies, grinning.
"Are too."
"Prove it."
You laugh again and grab his wrist tighter, repositioning his fingers with exaggerated care. He's finding every excuse to be held by you, to have your skin on his, even if it'll be gone in a moment. Even if this is all he gets.
He really is a dingus.
When the song is over—played correctly this time because you wouldn't let him sabotage it again—you let out a happy sigh. Slowly, carefully, you take your hands away from his wrist. You scoot over slightly, just an inch or two, so his bare thigh is no longer pressed against yours.
The loss of contact feels like a physical blow.
You're looking at the keys, not at him, and Steve makes no effort to hide that he's staring right at you. Drinking in your profile, memorizing the way the afternoon light comes through the window and illuminates your face.
He could do what he really wants to do. Could ask if you've forgiven him yet, if you're ready to give him another chance. Could reach out and tilt your chin up with his finger, lean in and kiss your lips the way he's been dreaming about for months. He’s trying not to be selfish.
But instead, he forces himself to look straight ahead at the piano keys too. Swallows hard. "We should, uh... head back out, you know? Before they wonder where we went."
There's a flicker of disappointment in your eyes—he sees it, brief but real—but there's mutual agreement in the way you say, "Yeah. We should."
So you both stand up, and Steve steps to the side, offering an awkward half-hearted smile. He extends his arm in an exaggerated gentlemanly gesture, motioning for you to go through the door first.
As you walk past him, he gets a full breath of your shampoo—something floral and sweet—and the smell of chlorine and sunscreen that clings to your skin. His other hand hovers over your lower back, not quite touching but miming the gesture he wants to make, the way he used to when he wanted an excuse to touch you. But he can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
So he waits for you to walk completely out of the room, nearly back toward the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard, before he follows several feet behind.
Dingus, he thinks to himself, shaking his head.
Max looks up when you both emerge outside, her eyebrows raised knowingly. Eddie glances over from the pool, treading water, and gives Steve a look that clearly says smooth move, lover boy.
Steve ignores them both and goes back to his lounge chair, grabbing his fourth beer of the day, and trying very hard not to watch you sit back down next to Max.
He fails miserably.
.-.-.-.
6 July, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
You left today. I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye to you properly.
Stupid Keith scheduled me for a double shift and wouldn't let me leave early even though I told him it was important. He said, and I quote, "Your personal life is not my problem, Harrington." So that was fun.
I hope you enjoyed your stay. It felt like it had gone by too fast.
I know I didn't come hang out with everyone yesterday at the lake. I wanted to. I really did. But I guess I'm still figuring things out too. Figuring out how to be around you without wanting to pull you aside and kiss you senseless. Figuring out how to be patient when all I want is to be with you.
Can you blame me after the carnival? I mean, if you saw what I saw, you’d be in the same pathetic boat that I’m sailing right now.
I’m sorry I got all grumpy towards the end of the night, but I didn’t have the guts to ask to ride at least one ride with you, and then the closer we got to the time for fireworks, I was feeling anxious. I was even about to leave but then I looked up at the Ferris Wheel, and saw your smile.
I can always see your smile from a mile away, and it never fails to make my heart race and calm me down in equal measure. You looked like you were having so much fun up there with Max, both of you laughing, your hair whipping in the wind. Even though I wanted to be part of that fun, wanted to be the one sitting next to you in that cart, I felt my entire mood lift just watching you.
At that moment, my heart burst like the fireworks in the sky.
Hot Shot, I just want you to be happy. Even if it isn't with me. Even if you decide us being friends is all we can be after everything, I'd be okay watching you rise above me, smiling like that. I'd be okay knowing I at least got to see it, got to know you, got to love you even if you don't love me back the same way anymore.
Seeing you laugh with Max… I wish I hadn’t been so nervous. I wish I had asked you to ride the Ferris Wheel with me.
I hope next time I see you, I can see that smile again, up close, like it’s meant only for me. Your smile where it reaches all the way into your eyes and I don’t see the glimpse of how I’ve hurt you.
Can summer go by any faster?
Sincerely,
Steve
.-.-.-.
11 July, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
I think my dad is really coming around about me being a teacher. He's still upset about the whole lying-to-him-for-two-years thing—brings it up at least once a week, usually over dinner when my mom tells him to drop it. But he's been asking more questions about what my new life timeline will look like. What schools I might want to teach at. What age group I'm thinking.
He even helped me get some volunteer hours at the Boys and Girls Club for summer baseball. Which is huge for him. He’s actually making phone calls on my behalf instead of just criticizing my choices.
You'd get a kick out of these kids, Hot Shot. They're hilarious. They call me "Coach Steve," and they take it very seriously. One girl, Via, brought me a dandelion from the outfield yesterday and made me wear it tucked behind my ear for the rest of the game. All the other kids thought it was hilarious. I looked like an idiot, but it made her so happy I couldn't take it off.
I can’t believe you were right that I’m good at this sort of thing. I’m glad you were right.
It led me to think about what my mom said about girls. “Make sure you know if your girl likes flowers or chocolates. It makes a difference.”
So, are you a flower or chocolate type of girl?
I’d round up the moon for you, Hot Shot.
Anything you want. I’ll give it to you.
Sincerely,
Steve
.-.-.-.
18 July, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
I received my class schedule for this upcoming semester today. Looks like I've got Intro to Kinesiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Educational Psychology on Mondays and Wednesdays, and some other classes I'm already dreading.
I know I haven't written in a week. I’m sorry about that. Work's been crazy and I've been helping my mom with some stuff around the house. But I wanted to remind you to buy your textbooks if you haven't already.
Sincerely,
Steve
.-.-.-.
27 July, 1988
Dear Steve,
I finally got around to reading your last few letters. I've been working a lot. Extra shifts to save up money for textbooks, which I have now ordered. Thank you for the reminder.
I have been thinking a lot since my visit to Hawkins. Mostly thinking about you. About us.
I must admit something, the day I left Hawkins, I went to Family Video to come see you. I never liked goodbyes, but I really wanted to say bye to you. I never went inside, but like the weirdo I am, I sat in my car across the street and watched you through the window. You were helping some woman find a movie, and then you were at the counter ringing someone up, and then you were restocking shelves.
I thought you looked handsome in that green vest.
I also thought how badly I wished you had asked me to go on the Ferris Wheel with you. I had asked Max instead because I knew you hated the fireworks and I didn’t want you to be miserable.
When my mom saw me reading the letters, she asked what I was smiling so big about. She said she had never seen me like that before. So, I told her sort of the truth.
I told her the boy I like has been writing to me all summer. I also told her you like me too.
She got very excited and started asking a million questions. What's his name? What's he studying? When can she meet him? I answered what I could, and then she insisted on making you a care package.
So there might be no going back now, Steve. My mom knows about you. She's sent you Boppers and Sour Patch Kids and probably some other stuff I don't know about because she sealed the box before I could see everything.
-Yours truly
P.S. I listened to the mixtape, finally. Careless Whisper? Really, Steve?
P.P.S. Chocolate. Definitely chocolate.
.-.-.-.
31 July, 1988
Dear Hot Shot,
I first and foremost need to clarify something, sweetheart. I do not like you.
I love you.
Yes, there is a difference. So the moment you read this, you tell your mom I love you. Better yet, call me, and let me talk to her, and tell her that I love her daughter. I know you asked Robin for my phone number a few days ago.
If you don't want me to call and talk to your mom, maybe I can drive to your house and stand outside your window and yell it loud enough for her to hear. Or for you to hear. Or for the whole neighborhood to hear. I don't care who knows anymore.
You invented love for me, Hot Shot. Before you, I thought I knew what it was. I thought I loved people. But it was nothing compared to this. If I could, I'd write this entire page with nothing but "I love you" over and over until the words lost meaning and then kept going until they gained new meaning.
Better yet….
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I’ll learn it in all the languages of the world so you know I don’t get tired of saying it.
Love,
Steve
.-.-.-.
It's the middle of a September evening, and campus is slowly buzzing back to life after summer break.
It's been two weeks since school started, but three weeks of Steve getting the Pike house back in order, organizing rush week, managing a new pack of pledges who don't know the difference between a keg and a trash can.
But finally, finally, the rest of his evening is free. And the moment he has the chance, he gets in his car and drives the short distance to Hall 11.
He slips through the open door, catching it just as some girls are leaving, laughing about something and not paying attention to him. Even though it's past curfew, past nine on a weeknight, technically against dorm rules, he sees Tessa at the RA desk.
During his fake relationship with Robin, Steve became acquainted with all the RAs. They all thought he was the perfect boyfriend, always bringing Robin food and flowers and showing up for study sessions. Tessa always looked the other way when he snuck in after hours, probably thinking it was romantic.
She waves at him now, phone pressed to her ear, mid-conversation with someone. She mouths go ahead and turns her attention back to her call.
Steve rushes up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and nearly skips down the hallway to the door he's been waiting to get to for what feels like forever. He's whistling, actually whistling like an idiot, because he's been waiting all day for this moment.
After his last letter, a few days later when he got home from work, his mom told him a girl had left a message for him. She'd had this knowing smile on her face, the one she gets when she thinks she's figured something out. "Sounds like the cookies worked," his mom had said, handing him a piece of paper with a phone number written in her neat handwriting.
Steve had rushed to his room, not even bothering to get out of his work clothes. He was still wearing the stupid green Family Video vest and his polo shirt and jeans that smelled like plastic and VHS tape dust. He picked up his phone with shaking hands and dialed the number.
When he heard your soft, familiar voice say "Hello?" his tongue went completely dry.
He panicked and hung up.
What the fuck was he going to say? He hadn't had a proper conversation with you in weeks beyond the letters. And the last thing you'd heard from him was his undying love written out thirty times on a piece of notebook paper. He'd exhaled heavily, stared at the phone like it had personally wronged him, then dialed again.
"Hello... again?" you'd said, and he could hear the smile in your voice, the amusement.
"H-hey." He'd cleared his throat, trying to sound normal and not like he'd just hung up on you like a creep. "Hey, Hot Shot."
And suddenly he'd heard your grin widen over the line, heard you adjusting, hopefully laying in bed, hopefully thinking about him the way he was thinking about you. "Are you home?" you'd asked. "I mean, wait... I guess you're home since you're calling me. I meant are you home from work?"
Steve had chuckled, looking down at his green vest, at the name tag pinned crooked to his chest. He'd kicked off his shoes somewhere in his room, not caring where they landed. He adjusted himself on his bed, sitting up against the headboard. "Yeah. What about you?"
"I worked earlier today." He could hear you wrapping the phone cord around your finger, that nervous habit you have. "Got off around three."
"Cool," Steve had said, then immediately cringed at himself. "Cool, yeah. Did you have a good day?"
He'd taken a deep breath, settling in, and said, "I want to hear all about it. Everything."
And you'd smiled—he could hear it in your voice when you said, "Everything?"
"Everything."
So you did. You told him about your shift at work, about a rude customer who yelled at you over nothing, about your coworker who covered for you when you took an extra-long lunch break. You told him about the book you were reading, about calling Max earlier that day, about how you'd burned dinner and had to eat cereal instead.
You talked for two hours about everything under the sun, and Steve listened to every word like you were reciting scripture.
He heard you yawn around midnight, heard the shift of your body against sheets. He could imagine you curling up with the phone still pressed to your ear, eyes fighting to stay open. "Are you sleepy?" Steve looked at his clock and winced. "Shit, it's almost midnight. Didn't you say you have to wake up early?"
You hummed sleepily. "Yeah. I should probably sleep."
"Yeah, okay." Steve bit his bottom lip, cringing at his awkwardness. This used to be so easy, talking to girls, flirting, knowing what to say. "So... goodnight. Yeah."
"Steve?" you'd mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion.
"Mhm?"
"Call me tomorrow?"
And he did. He called you every single day after that.
Some nights it would be the two of you talking about your days—the mundane details that somehow felt important when you were sharing them. Sometimes you'd tell each other stories from childhood, from high school, from the year you'd spent navigating this complicated thing between you. Some nights you'd both tune in to watch ALF at the same time, phones pressed to your ears, listening to each other laugh at whatever you found funny. Sometimes Steve would bite back his own laughter because he liked the sound of yours better.
Some nights Steve would keep you talking until you finally gave out, your words getting slower and slower until soft snores came through the line. He could never bring himself to hang up. He'd lay the phone down on his pillow and close his eyes and imagine you were lying next to him, breathing in sync, sharing the same space.
There was one night— a week before Steve would leave to go campus early for rush week— when you were both sleepy and Steve had been the one to say he needed to go to bed or Keith would kill him if he was late again. By kill, he meant make him do something humiliating like clean the staff bathroom floors with a toothbrush.
"Steve, wait," you'd said, and something in your voice made him pause.
"Mhm?"
He'd heard you laugh softly to yourself, a gentle exhale. And then you'd said, so gently it made his heart stop: "I love you, Steve."
And he knew then that you'd forgiven him. He knew then that you were his, and he'd always been yours, even when you weren't ready to admit it.
He'd smiled so wide his face hurt. "Hot Shot, I love you. Always." He'd grinned, gripping the phone tighter. "How about I come see you this weekend? Let me take you on a date. A real one."
"Okay," you'd said, and he could hear your smile matching his.
And now he stands outside your dorm, knocking on the oak door with barely contained excitement.
Robin opens it, toothbrush in her mouth, toothpaste foaming at the corner of her lips. "What?" she mumbles around the toothbrush, looking annoyed at the interruption.
Steve leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms so his henley rides up slightly, exposing a strip of stomach. He smirks. "I'm here to see my girlfriend."
Robin rolls her eyes so hard he's surprised they don't fall out of her head, but she kicks the door open wider to reveal the room.
You're on your bed with a book in your hand, and when you see Steve standing there, you smile. Wide and genuine and so beautiful it knocks the breath from his lungs. You're still in your regular clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, almost like you've been waiting for him.
He knows you've been waiting for him.
Your eyes land on his glasses immediately, then fall to his midriff, to the exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up, and Steve catches it. So he lifts his arm higher, resting it against the doorframe, giving you a better view. Let you look your fill.
You jump off the bed immediately, going to grab your shoes from under your desk. But Steve's inside the room before you can put them on, making you sit down in your desk chair. He kneels in front of you and slips them on your feet himself—first the left, then the right—tying the laces carefully with steady hands.
"You never did that for me," Robin says, but she's smiling as she climbs into her own bed.
Steve gives Robin a look of pure attitude, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, because you don't—" He looks up at you, his girlfriend, and god, he's never going to get tired of that word. Girlfriend. You're his girlfriend, and he's your boyfriend. Steve Harrington is an actual boyfriend in an actual relationship that's real. So real he has the hickey on his bicep from last night's makeout to prove it.
You're looking down at him with amusement, but your eyes are narrowed and one eyebrow is raised in warning. Steve has never been studious or all that smart, but he knows not to finish that sentence.
It doesn't matter anyway because Robin throws a pillow at him. "Will you take your girlfriend and leave already?" She's smiling, though, settling into her bed. "Some of us have eight a.m. classes tomorrow."
You have your fingers tangled in Steve's hair already, and his hands find your waist naturally, like they belong there. He's still kneeling in front of you, looking up like you're something sacred. "Don't worry, I'll bring her back at a reasonable hour."
"Mhm, like last night and the night before? Right." Robin pulls her blanket up, getting comfortable. "I'll believe it when I see it."
Steve chuckles, pressing his glasses up his nose, leans up and makes a soft peck against your lips. It’s brief, chaste, a promise of more later, before standing and walking over to Robin's bed.
Robin looks up at him, cautious, her expression turning warning. "Steve, don't you dare—"
He grins from ear to ear, then leans down and grabs her, planting a wet kiss on top of her short hair. "C'mon, Rob. You know I still love you."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, dingus." She waves him off, but her smile is fond, genuine. "Go be gross and in love somewhere that isn't my room."
Steve notices how the freckles on her face seem to glow, sun-kissed from summer. Her eyes are a little brighter blue lately, less weighed down. All things he knows because she's in love. And it's not with him.
At one point in his life, Steve thought Robin's love was enough. That he could handle being known only in a platonic sense, that it made no difference whether someone loved him romantically or as a friend. Robin could see him and know things about him, and he wouldn't be lonely. That was enough.
He never thought he'd be so happy to discover how wrong he was.
He feels your arm loop through his, casual and comfortable. You lean against him, your head falling naturally to rest on his shoulder. "Come on," you say, pulling at him gently. "Let's go."
"Night, Rob," Steve says.
As you pull him toward the door, he reaches over and flicks off the overhead light. The lamp on Robin's nightstand stays on. It’s the one he'd gifted her one Christmas, green-shaded and casting soft shadows against the wall. The girl who was there for him when his life literally burned to the ground. The one who carries a different piece of his heart, a piece that will always belong to her no matter what.
She smiles at him knowingly, and he understands. She loves him too. Even though things are different now, even though they're not pretending anymore, even though she has Nancy and he has you—she will always love him.
"Goodnight, dingus," she says softly.
You and Steve don't get in his car. There's no need for that anymore. No need to hide behind trees or meet in secret or make out in the backseat where no one can see. Not that you don't still do that sometimes, because you definitely do, but nights like tonight, Steve thinks, why waste a chance to show off his girl?
His girl.
Your arm drops slowly from around his, hand running down his forearm—soft touch, deliberate—until finally your fingers lace with his. Palm to palm, fingers intertwined, exactly where they belong.
And like every time you hold hands, you giggle. You look up at him, smiling that goddamn smile that makes his knees weak and his heart race and his entire world feel right. You don't say anything, but you don't need to. He knows what the smile means.
They continue walking in comfortable silence, passing other students on the sidewalk. Some wave at both of you—people from classes, from parties, from Pike events. A few girls from your classes call out "cute couple!" and you wave back, not embarrassed or shy about it.
It was hard not to announce you as his girlfriend the second he got back on campus. He'd wanted to shout it from the Pike house roof, wanted to tell every single person he passed. But he'd needed to make sure people understood the real story first— or a version of it—that he and Robin weren't happy together, that their families wanted the relationship more than they did, that sometimes people pretend because it's easier than being honest.
Most people shrugged and didn't care. Some were supportive, understanding. But sometimes you still get one or two judgmental looks, whispered comments about Steve moving on too fast or you being the reason for the breakup.
Steve tries not to let it bother him.
With his free hand, Steve runs his fingers through his hair and looks down at you. You're already looking up at him, and when your eyes meet, a grin breaks out across his face. He can't help it. He leans down and kisses your cheek, right there in the middle of the sidewalk with people around, then continues walking like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Because it is.
This is his life now. Holding your hand, kissing you whenever he wants, being allowed to love you out loud.
And he's never been happier.
There's no surprise that even though Steve's car is parked all the way back at your dorm, you've managed to walk to the Pike house instead.
Subconscious or not, neither of you made an effort to turn around and head back so he could get you to the dorm at a reasonable hour like he'd promised Robin. Your feet just carried you here, following the familiar path Steve's walked a thousand times, and he didn't stop you. Didn't suggest going somewhere else.
You've only been dating a little less than a month, but it feels longer. Maybe it's because you did everything backward—had sex before dating, said "I love you" before being together, knew each other's bodies before you really knew each other's hearts. He's not sure. But he's okay with not trying to figure it out, because all that matters is that when you walk into the Pike house now, you can walk hand in hand.
His brothers are scattered throughout the common room—some getting ready for bed in their pajama pants and t-shirts, some having late-night snacks like cereal eaten straight from the box, standing at the kitchen counter. They all wave when they see you both come in.
"Hey, Harrington!"
"What's up, man?"
"Hey, Hot Shot!"
Steve rubs his thumb across your knuckles, admiring the way you light up and ask his brothers about their day. Unlike Robin—who was always polite but never truly invested in Pike life—you genuinely want to know his brothers. You ask Buck about his Econ exam, congratulate AJ on making the intramural basketball team, laugh at George’s terrible joke about their philosophy professor.
You're still not afraid to make a face at Steve whenever they say or do something stupid. Once you whacked Buck upside the head for a sexist comment about a girl from Delta Zeta. But his brothers love you for it. They respect that you don't take their shit, that you can give it back as good as you get it.
Eddie is out with god knows who, but Steve's pretty sure it might be Polly again. They've been on-and-off since the breakup.
There's no stopping Steve from leading you upstairs, gently breaking you away from your conversation mid-sentence. "Sorry, guys, stealing her now," he says, pulling you toward the stairs.
That's one thing he's learned about you—you love to be chatty, even if it's about nothing important. You could talk for hours about the weather, about a weird dream you had, about the pattern on someone's shirt. He loves that about you.
You go inside his room and he closes the door behind you, the click of the lock loud in the quiet space.
Before you were together—back when this was still secret and forbidden and temporary—it was always rushed. Clothes removed frantically, lips on skin desperately, because it was meant to only last a few hours. To get Steve's fix and your fix and then part ways, pretending nothing happened.
But now he can't get enough of you. Wants to take his time, memorize every detail, make it last.
To be fair, the first time he slept with you he couldn't get enough either. He'd replayed that night over and over in his head for weeks—the sounds you made, the way you looked underneath him, the feeling of being inside you. In his dresser, tucked all the way behind his socks, he still has your panties from that first night. He's kept them like a talisman.
And he'd admittedly brought them out on occasion.
Like when he tried to sleep with Polly for the first time after you. He was lousy—barely present, only half harde, had to pretend he even finished. He'd faked enthusiasm while getting her off with his fingers, and afterward Polly had patted his head sympathetically and said, "Not everyone is perfect all the time, Steve. It's okay."
But his mind had immediately settled on you. The dip of your lower back, the swell of your ass and breasts, the curve of your hip. The way your plush lips say his name when he's inside you, the way your nails dig into his skin hard enough that he imagines part of his DNA living under your fingernails permanently.
When Polly left, he'd taken your panties out of their hiding place, holding them with one hand while pumping his cock with the other. So fast, eyes squeezed shut, imagining it was your soft hands instead of his own rough ones. He'd come so hard—thick white ropes shooting against his stomach, sticking to his happy trail—and he'd imagined you licking it off him, cleaning him up with your tongue.
He'd panted your name into the empty room, still gripping your panties.
Fuck, he'd really been such an idiot back then, huh?
Steve watches as you let go of his hand and immediately go to his record player. He'd finally gotten around to showing you his full collection last week, spreading albums across his floor and letting you flip through them all. Now you know exactly where everything is.
He takes off his shoes, neatly placing them by the door. Yours go right next to them. They’re side by side, like they belong there.
You're already putting a record on It’s his Queen "A Day at the Races" album. It's not even his favorite Queen album, but you love it. You always place the needle exactly where "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" starts, have the position memorized by now.
When he'd driven to see you for your first official date a few weeks ago, when he'd had to leave that night and drive back to Hawkins, you'd kissed him on the cheek and handed him a mixtape you'd made. "For the drive," you'd said shyly. This song was the first one on it. He'd listened to the entire tape three times on repeat during the drive home, grinning like an idiot the whole way.
You're humming along now, turning around to face him, but he's already close. His hands finding your hips like they're magnetized. "I have something for you."
Your eyes brighten immediately, and you reach up, adjusting his glasses that have slipped slightly down his nose. Your fingers are gentle, careful, and you smile at him before saying,"Oh yeah?"
He nods, melting when you run your fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He clears his throat, reaching behind you to grab something from his desk. He picks up a small black box. It’s nothing fancy, just a simple jewelry box he got from the store in town.
He knew if he'd wrapped it, he would've been bouncing on his feet watching you peel the paper off. He's already doing that now anyway, shifting his weight nervously as you carefully take the lid off.
Your eyes look at the contents, squinting slightly, then look up at him. He crosses his arms, thumb pressed against his bottom lip, downturned eyes staring at you hopefully.
Inside is a sterling silver chain with a charm. ΠΚΑ—Pike's Greek letters in delicate sterling silver, dainty and shimmering in the lamplight.
He clears his throat. "Yeah, so... it's kind of a thing. That a member's girlfriend wears the letters." The words tumble out faster. "It's like a whole tradition, and it means I'm serious about us. I guess it'd make you like an unofficial sweetheart even though you're not in a sorority, and you can totally not wear it if you don't want to, or—"
You giggle, smiling wide, reaching up to kiss him gently on the lips. "Steve. Shut up." You pull back just enough to look at him. "Will you put it on for me?"
Steve blushes, smiling dopily, nodding too enthusiastically. He takes the necklace out of the box with careful fingers, and you turn around, lifting your hair up and exposing the nape of your neck.
Steve's breath hitches at the sight—the delicate skin there, the small birthmark he's never noticed before, the soft baby hairs that curl slightly. He carefully drapes the chain around the front of your neck and clasps it at the back, his thumb brushing over the clasp to make sure it's secure. His fingers trail down—over your shoulder blades, down to you ribs, dangerous close to the sides of your breasts.
He steps closer, pressing his body against yours, and kisses the clasp. His lips find skin, warm and soft, and he can't stop himself from kissing lower.
You tilt your head to give him better access, and he takes over holding your hair to the side, kissing down your neck with increasing intent.
His breath catches when he sees your fingers come up to brush the letters resting against your collarbone. You're his. Really, truly his.
You've made out plenty since you've been back together. Done a lot of heavy petting, put your lips in all kinds of places, brought each other to the edge with hands and mouths. But Steve had suggested waiting to have sex again. He wanted to show you that this part meant something different to him now. Wanted to prove that it wasn't the sex that made him fall in love with you. It was simply you.
And he never thought you'd be struggling more than him with this agreement.
Like now when he feels you arch backward, pressing your ass against him deliberately, but then you quickly realize what that does to him and start to put distance between you again.
This time, Steve grabs your hips firmly, fingers digging into flesh, and pulls you back against him. He sighs at how you feel—perfect, right, his.
"Steve?" you whisper, voice breathy. "Are you sure?"
Steve hums against your neck, kissing the skin softly, reverently. "I love you," is all he says.
He can hear your smile. He can feel it in the way your body relaxes against him. It makes him smile too, teeth grazing your skin.
You turn to face him, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him toward the bed. You're the one to kiss him this time, and he closes his eyes as your mouths slot together in a slow, agonizing kiss.
You always kiss pretty. Soft and thorough, like kissing him is something you want to savor.
And there you go again. Your hands immediately on his stomach under his henley, palms warm against his skin, wasting no time. You squeeze the plush skin, massaging, it sends chills up his spine and his blood moves southward.
He wastes no time either, slipping his own hand under your shirt, the other squeezing your ass, then trailing up your back to feel bare skin. Up to your breasts, squeezing and massaging through your bra. Down to your belly, caressing.
You walk him backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and he sits down heavily. You're standing between his spread legs, and you drop to your knees without hesitation.
"Hot Shot," he breathes, watching as you work open his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room.
You unbutton his jeans, unzip them, and he lifts his hips so you can pull them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, already hard, and you lean forward immediately.
But instead of taking him in your mouth, you press your face into the soft flesh of his lower stomach. You kiss his happy trail—that line of dark hair leading down from his navel—then lick it. Suck at it. Your tongue traces patterns against his skin, and Steve's head falls back, eyes closing.
"Fuck," he whispers.
You look up at him through your lashes, still pressing kisses to his stomach, and the sight nearly kills him. Your eyes are dark with want, lips wet and swollen, and you're worshipping the part of him he's always been most self-conscious about.
He leans down, kissing you.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your lips. "Every part of you."
You bat your eyes, “Show me?”
When he calls you meek, he doesn’t mean for it to sound like you’re below him, or weak even. There’s just no other word to describe the gentleness of your voice, how shy you get. And your shyness only belongs to him. No one else sees you like this, but him. It nearly makes him come undone right there, thinking about it.
Steve's heart clenches. He reaches down and cups your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Come here."
You stand, and he pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, more urgent. His hands find the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. Your bra follows. Then your jeans and underwear until you're standing naked in front of him.
He takes a moment to look at you. All of you. The curve of your hips, the softness of your thighs, your breasts, the tattoo on your hip that belongs to him, the necklace resting against your collarbone that marks you as his.
"Come here," he murmurs, pulling you closer until you're standing between his spread legs again.
His hands slide up your thighs, rough palms against soft skin, until his fingers reach your center. You're already wet—have been since he first touched you—and when his fingers brush against you, you gasp and grip his shoulders for balance.
"Steve," you breathe.
He circles your clit slowly, watching your face as pleasure flickers across your features. Then he slides one finger inside you, groaning at how warm and tight you are. "Christ, baby."
You whimper, hips rolling into his hand, seeking more. He adds a second finger, stretching you carefully, remembering how it's been months since you've done this.
He crooks his fingers, finding that spot inside you that makes your knees buckle, and you cry out softly. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in.
"God, you're so wet," he says, voice rough. He can feel you clenching around his fingers, can feel how ready you are for him. "So beautiful."
He pumps his fingers slowly, trying to be patient, trying to take his time preparing you properly. But it's been so long—too long—and the feel of you, the sounds you're making, the way you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes...
"I can't wait," Steve says suddenly, withdrawing his fingers. He looks up at you, desperate and needy. "I'm sorry, I know I should—but I can't. I need you now."
You nod immediately, breathlessly. "Yes. Please, Steve. I need you too."
Relief floods through him. "Yeah?"
"Yes," you say firmly, pushing him back on the bed. "Now."
And he's never loved you more than in this moment—understanding what he needs, wanting it as much as he does.
"Lie down," he says softly, his voice rough with want.
You do, crawling onto his bed and sprawling out underneath him, hair fanning across his pillow. Steve kicks off his jeans the rest of the way and pulls his henley over his head, then climbs over you. His glasses slip down his nose slightly, and you reach up with a smile, pushing them back into place with gentle fingers.
He kisses down your body—your neck, your collarbone where the necklace rests, between your breasts. When he gets to your stomach, he presses soft, quick kisses all over. Little pecks that make you giggle and squirm beneath him.
"Steve," you laugh, trying to push his head away. "That tickles."
"Good," he says, grinning against your skin. He kisses your hip bone, then lower, but you pull him back up to you.
"I need you," you whisper. "Now. Please."
Steve nods, sitting back on his heels between your spread legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him, and the sight of you like that—sprawled out on his bed, chest heaving, necklace glinting in the lamplight, eyes dark with want—makes his cock throb.
He wraps his hand around himself, pumping slowly, and your eyes track the movement. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he groans at the sight.
"You're so beautiful," you whisper, eyes still fixed on his hand moving over his length.
Steve throws his head back, eyes rolling behind his glasses, whimpering. He pumps himself a few more times, thumb swiping over the head where precum is already beading. Then he leans forward, positioning himself over you, he spreads your legs wider and spits directly onto your pussy, a string of saliva dripping wet from his tongue, glistening as it falls.
You gasp at the sensation. It’s warm and wet and filthy in the best way. He uses his fingers to spread it around, mixing with your own wetness, making sure you're slick and ready for him.
"Fuck. Baby," you breathe, head falling back.
He lines himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and pauses for just a moment. Your eyes meet his, and there's understanding there—this is different, more intimate, nothing between you.
"I love you," he says, looking into your eyes.
"I love you too," you breathe.
He pushes in slowly—so slowly, watching your face as he fills you inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, back arching slightly, neck elongating as your head presses back into the pillow. You let out a high-pitched moan that goes straight to his cock.
"God," Steve groans when he's fully seated inside you. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, savoring the feeling of being this close to you. "Baby you feel perfect."
He starts to move. It’s slow, deep rolls of his hips that make you gasp beneath him. This isn't fucking. This isn't even having sex, not really.
This is lovemaking, and he knows you or Robin would probably make fun of him for calling it that, for being so sappy and romantic. But that's what it is to him. He's not trying to get off or make himself feel good. He's worshipping you, showing you with his body what his words can't fully express.
He buries his face in your neck, pressing kisses there, breathing you in. "I love you," he whispers against your skin. "I love you so much."
"Steve," you moan, hands clutching at his back. "I love you."
He keeps whispering it. Over and over like a prayer, like if he says it enough times you'll feel exactly how much he means it. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
The room fills with sounds—skin against skin, the creak of his bed frame, your breathy moans, his low groans, the wet slide of him moving inside you. How his hips slap against your ass.The music still plays from his record player, Freddie Mercury's voice a soundtrack to this moment.
After a while, Steve sits up, pulling you with him. You end up in his lap, straddling him, and he guides you up and down on his cock with his hands on your hips. One hand braces on the bed next to him for leverage so he can thrust up into you, meeting your movements.
Your arms are around his neck, holding him close, and you're clutched together so tightly there's no space between your bodies. Sweat makes your skin stick together, and Steve can feel your heart beating against his chest—fast and hard, matching his own rhythm. Your pants and moans mixing together in harmony.
You're looking at him, mouth parted, breathing heavily. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, tender and gentle even as pleasure builds between you.
"I love you, Steve," you say clearly, deliberately, holding his gaze.
Steve falters, his rhythm stuttering.He kisses you fiercely, possessively, his glasses bumping against your face. He starts moving more intensely—faster, harder, deeper.
"Say it again," he demands against your lips.
"I love you," you gasp.
He uses his large hand to cup your chin, tilting your face so you have to look at him. You can see yourself reflected in his lenses. "I love you," he says back, and it comes out rough, wrecked. "I love you so fucking much."
The intensity makes you lean back slightly, back arching, and Steve groans at the sight. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples hard and begging for his mouth. Your eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from kissing. You look completely gone, lost in pleasure, and he knows he looks the same. It’s desperate and needy and so in love it hurts.
He leans forward and kisses the charm of your necklace where it rests against your skin, then your collarbone, sucking a mark there that will bloom purple by morning.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close again, burying his face between your breasts. He can feel the way you pant and whine into his hair, can feel your body starting to tighten around him. He can hear himself whimpering your name against your sweaty skin.
"Baby, I'm—I'm close," you gasp.
"Me too, baby. Me too."
He reaches between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. That's all it takes—you cry out his name, clenching around him, and the feeling of you coming sends him over the edge too.
He comes with a groan muffled against your chest, hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you. You ride it out together, holding each other through the aftershocks, foreheads pressed together and noses nudging.
When you can both breathe again, you press soft pecks to his lips. Once, twice, three times. Sweet and unhurried.
Steve smiles, tucking your hair back behind your ear with gentle fingers. "I'm happy," he says genuinely, searching your face. "Are you happy, Hot Shot?"
"Yes, Steve. I'm more than happy."
And he believes you. He sees it in your eyes, in the way you're looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grabs your hand and places it over his heart, wanting you to feel what he’s thinking without saying it.
He loves you.
You kiss his lips again, soft and lingering. When you pull back, your irises are glimmering, searching into his own. He sees stars twinkling in them—actual constellations reflected in the depths of your eyes. He kisses your nose, then your forehead.
And like the sun itself rising, splitting across your face, you smile. Wide and genuine and so full of love it makes his chest ache.
It doesn't matter anymore how it all led up to here—all the lies and hurt and confusion and heartbreak. None of it matters because you're here now, in his arms, wearing his letters, saying you love him.
Finally.
Finally, Steve Harrington gets to keep something good.
A.N: My loves, you're absolutely amazing, 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: Words can easily turn into oaths.
Word Count: 5,6k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, MDNI. By clicking 'keep reading', or asking to be tagged, you confirm you're 18 +.
Series Masterlist
Robb could not focus on anything today.
His lady was angry, and he could barely talk to her. To be completely honest, he didn’t even want to be on this hunt anyway, and it seemed that Grey Wind shared that sentiment. Mid-hunt, the direwolf had sniffed the air and decided to walk away, and Robb had a feeling that he had gone straight back to Winterfell to see his lady, just as he himself wanted.
This was one of the rare moments he wasn’t enjoying the hunt no matter how much he tried, and he was almost relieved when they returned back to the castle.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Silas asked as he trotted his horse along Robb’s through the gates, and Robb chewed on his lip in deep thought.
“She’s cross with me.”
“I feel like I’d know if she was cross with you,” Silas said. “That dispute back at breakfast—”,
“That’s not what I’m concerned about, Alton taunted her.”
Perceon’s horse approached them while Braxton was still in deep conversation with Theon and Jon about how they should visit Dorne.
“What are we talking about?”
“Robb thinks our sister is cross with him.”
“Oh, she probably is,” Perceon pointed out. “You did leave for an hour while she was in the hall, no?”
Silas turned to him with an amused smile. “Wait, you made her wait for an hour?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Robb all but whined, running a hand over his face. “I stepped out for one moment, then my father needed my presence at his meeting with Lord Bolton. I came back to the hall as soon as I could but she had already gone to bed, and I…” He cleared his throat, stealing a look at Silas, trying to choose the right words. “I was hoping to say goodnight to her, but she was already asleep. Do you think that is the reason?”
“Robb…” Silas shook his head. “Listen, my sister is used to attention more than she’s used to drawing air. If her betrothed—”
“I’m almost her husband now, the wedding is days away.”
“Well, as her betrothed who’s to be her husband in days,” Silas corrected himself, “you need to start speaking her language. If she feels you think some meeting holds more importance than her—”
“Nothing holds more importance than her,” Robb insisted without a second of hesitation and they all stopped their horses when they reached the yard.
“Oh look, everyone is already back.” Perceon said, looking upon the crowd in the yard, then slipped off his horse, Robb and Silas following him suit.
“Then tell her that,” Silas advised Robb while Grey Wind ran to them so that Robb could scratch at his head.
“Here you are,” he murmured. “Where did you run off too, hm?”
Arys made his way to them.
“Welcome back,” he told them with a smile and Braxton slapped his back as he walked past him.
“You should’ve come with us, brother! I’m starving!”
“Hello Arys.”
“Hello Perce. Silas, a word?”
Silas nodded and stepped aside with Arys who muttered something to him, motioning at the Inner Keep. It seemed that every word leaving his mouth made Silas’s eyes widen more and in a couple of seconds, Silas had already started running to the castle, making Robb frown. In his haste, Silas almost knocked Braxton down as he darted past him and bumped into his shoulder, and Braxton threw his hands up in exasperation.
“What, you can’t apologize?”
“What is happening?” Robb asked and turned to glance at Theon and Jon, but they looked rather clueless as well. Arys came closer to them, offering them a polite smile.
“What is it?” Robb asked and Arys cleared his throat.
“It’s uh,” He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the Keep, then took a deep breath. “Let me start by saying she’s absolutely fine.”
Robb’s stomach dropped.
“Who—my lady?” he asked, his heartbeat immediately speeding up. “What’s happened?”
“She went horse riding in the Wolfswood.”
“By herself?” Robb asked through the pounding in his ears as Jon and Theon stepped to beside him. “Is she alright?”
“Oh she’s more than alright.” Arys repressed a smile. “She’s fine and she… killed a lion.”
Robb gawked at him in complete silence and Theon stopped his laughter at the last second, feigning a cough instead while Jon’s whole face scrunched up in confusion.
“Your direwolf came back with her,” Arys said, “and your butcher put the dead lion into the shed in case you want to turn it into—”
Robb had no idea what the rest of the sentence was, nor did he stay to find out. He bolted in the direction of the Inner Keep, people jumping out of his way in a haste to bow as he entered the castle. He jumped over multiple steps of stairs until he reached the hallway that led to his lady’s bedchambers, then turned the corner to find Silas at the other end of the hallway, waiting at her door with his arms crossed. He slowed his pace and approached him, his heart still slamming against his ribcage but judging by the biting tone of hers that came from the other side of the door, she was fine as Arys said.
Relief hit him so fast that it made him almost lightheaded.
“…I’m not going to listen to another speech, father scolded me enough as if I were a child, it was humiliating!” she insisted while Silas threw his head back to look up at the ceiling, as if begging for patience. “And I’m not going to rush my bath so that you can reprimand me about my safety!”
Silas rubbed his eyes, heaving a sigh like an old man.
“I’m not going to do that, but the Wolfswood is dangerous—”
“Have you ever killed a lion, Silas?” Her voice cut him off and Robb had to bite back a proud smile. “Because I don’t think so. I would’ve seen it, I think. So it seems to me that perhaps you should get a speech on how dangerous the Wolfswood is, not I.”
Robb shrugged his shoulders, forcing himself to keep a straight face.
“She does have a point, have you ever killed a lion?” he taunted Silas who gave him a glare.
“Don’t encourage her please.”
“Robb?”
Robb turned to lean sideways to the doorframe as if she could see him through the closed door.
“My lady.”
“Is the whole court there in the hallway, then?”
“Do I get grouped in with the whole court?” he asked back and that made her fall quiet for a second, then she huffed out.
“I’m in no rush so both of you may wait in the Great Hall,” she all but commanded, and Robb exchanged glances with Silas.
“I’ll go,” Robb said, “but only if you’re certain that you’re alright.”
“My maid would save me if I were drowning in my own bathtub, so your presence in the hallway is not needed, my lord.”
Ah.
She was still cross with him.
“I’ll talk to father, find me once you’re done,” Silas said to the closed door before he walked away and Robb cleared his throat.
“My lady?” he said softly and she paused for a moment.
“Yes?”
“Congratulations on your hunt.”
Robb didn’t need to see her to know she was smiling, it was clear from her voice.
“…Thank you.”
“I’ll be in the Great Hall,” he said and walked away from the door to make his way downstairs. The familiar chatter of his siblings coming from his father’s solar made his steps slow down and he approached the door to peek his head in to see all his siblings talking over each other, none listening to the other as always.
“Robb.” His mother was the first to notice his presence. “Come in!”
Chaos erupted through the room.
“Robb, have you seen your lady yet?”
“Did they tell you?”
“Did you see the lion? Tommy took it to the shed!”
“I want to see the lion!”
“Rickon, mother said no, quit it!”
“I take it you’ve heard what happened?” his father asked and Robb approached the seat which was currently occupied by Rickon, grabbed him by the back of his vest to hoist him out of it, then gently shoved him in Bran’s direction.
“That was my seat!”
“Children stand while the elderly sit,” Robb deadpanned as he sat down. “I’ve heard, father. I’ve just talked to my lady, actually.”
“She said she had no need for a maester to check on her for any injuries, but I’m still worried,” his mother admitted. “Shall I send Maester Luwin?”
Robb answered before his mind had the chance to catch up: “Not yet, she’s having a bath.”
His mother’s eyes sharpened while his father raised his brows as if he couldn’t believe his audacity.
“I talked to her from…from behind the closed door,” Robb added in a haste, his ears burning as he vaguely gestured the shape of a door with his hands. “I was in the hallway, she was in her bedchambers. She says she’s alright but I’ll try to convince her to see Maester Luwin.”
“But did you see the lion?” Arya insisted. “She was covered in blood when she brought it—”
“Arya!” Sansa reprimanded her. “Rickon is here!”
“So what?”
“So he’s too little,” Bran said and Arya made a face.
“So are you, but you’re still here.”
“Will I have to kill a lion when I’m to wed, or is that only for girls?” Rickon asked and his mother shook her head while Robb nodded fervently.
“Aye, you’ll have to do it too.”
His father looked like he was fighting off a smile as he pressed a fist on his lips while his mother gave him a warning look.
“Robb.”
Robb tried to hold back his laughter.
“My lady wife made it quick,” he told Rickon who stared at him with wide eyes, hanging onto his every word. “You usually spend days in the forest battling lions—”
“Robb Stark, you stop that right now!”
He held up his hands in a mock of surrender.
“Can I not warn my brother about what the future holds, mother?”
“But that’s not fair!” Arya protested while Robb ruffled Rickon’s hair, earning a bite to the side of his hand in return. “What, I’d have to wed someone to kill a lion?”
“Maybe you can kill one when it’s time for Sansa to wed,” Bran mused aloud. “In her place, like her champion.”
“Sansa, can I? Please, can I?”
“Nobody is killing lions!” Their mother’s stern voice cut through the chatter, then she turned her head when a maid knocked on the door.
“Lady Stark, there are some guests arriving at the gates.”
His mother stood up and motioned at his younger siblings.
“All of you, with me.”
There was a chorus of vehement disagreement: “But mother—”
“Listen to your mother,” his father said, his voice not leaving any room for an argument. Arya sulked, Bran’s shoulders dropped and Rickon went over to Sansa to hold onto her skirt as they all left the room one by one, his mother squeezing Robb’s arm as she walked past him, then closed the door behind her to leave him with his father.
“How was the hunt?”
“Not as successful as my lady wife’s, it seems,” Robb said with a grin. “She killed an actual lion?”
“A mountain lion, yes.”
Robb let out a whistle.
“Grey Wind was with her,” his father added, “she says he was the one who killed it.”
Pride warmed his insides. “Still counts as her kill.”
“It does,” his father said. “And it’s very impressive, but I’d ask you to wait to display it in the hall at least until after the king’s visit. The queen is a Lannister, their sigil is a lion. And she’s very proud of her house, we don’t want any misunderstandings on her part.”
“What happens in Winterfell is no business of the queen’s,” he argued. “I’ll ask my lady wife what she wants to do with it, but I will not say no if she wishes to display it in the hall.”
“Robb—”
“I will not say no to her,” he insisted, making his father heave a sigh. “Just as I know you would not say no to mother.”
“Your mother and I were not like you and your betrothed,” he told him. “You two are very willing to let go of any restraint. We took our time to get to know each other.”
“We’ve done nothing but take our time,” Robb defended himself. “She’s been here for almost a moon, but are we wed yet? No.”
His father looked rather amused. “Learning patience will be good for you.”
“Being tormented with it, you mean,” he grumbled and got up from the seat. “I should go and get ready before dinner.”
“Stay away from your betrothed’s bedchambers!” his father called out after him as Robb stepped out into the hallway to find Grey Wind waiting for him there.
“Well,” Robb whispered as he scratched behind the direwolf’s ears. “I’ve heard you helped her today in my absence?”
Grey Wind let out a happy rumble.
“Come,” Robb said. “Let’s find you some treats.”
Well, this settled it.
His lady was indeed avoiding him, and he was at the end of his wits.
For the whole night, she had been involved in one conversation or the other, completely ignoring his presence. Right after dinner, instead of being next to him like she normally would, she had left him with Jon and Theon, and was now laughing at something one of the knights of the Reach was telling her, surrounded by many of her friends, barely casting a glance in his direction.
“I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t know him,” Jon corrected him and Robb scoffed, still glaring at the knight.
“I know he was one of her suitors,” he said. “I just know it. I should’ve brought Grey Wind here.”
Theon let out a noise of disagreement.
“You know I’ll support you no matter what, but I doubt your bride will like it if you make Grey Wind maul someone in front of her.”
“Or maybe not,” Jon joked. “Considering how good she turned out to be at hunting, it’s clear she’s not as easily scared—Robb, I’m jesting.”
“Have you heard what people are saying?” Theon asked. “Some Northerners are pretty impressed.”
“Wouldn’t you be? She killed a lion.”
“She refuses to talk to me,” Robb muttered. “Refuses to so much as acknowledge my presence.”
“She’s obviously angry about last night, perhaps you should let her cool off—”
“I’m going over there.”
“That is the opposite of what I was saying!” Jon hissed but Robb only downed his drink, then made his way to his lady.
“Oh but that tourney was rather fun if you ask me—my lord!” she exclaimed with a bright smile on her face. “This is Ser Gwayne Fossoway, from House Fossoway of Cider Hall. Ser Gwayne, this is Lord Robb Stark, my betrothed.”
“Ser Gwayne,” he gritted out and the man eyed him before bowing a little.
“My lord,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ve caused a great heartbreak in many knights of the Reach when you took our famed beauty away from us.”
He had to keep it under control.
Ser Gwayne was here as his lady’s guest, and for that only, Robb had to show him respect. His lady wife had already told him such way of speaking was normal in the Reach, though it was not common in the North, and he had to remember that, no matter what he felt on the issue—
“I hope you’ll find happiness in your surprising union, my lady,” Ser Gwayne said. “I can only hope I’m wrong for believing you’re not made for such harsh conditions, and thinking you belong in the flower gardens of the Reach, not the frozen North.”
New plan, he was going to punch this man.
“I’m humbled by your concern, but I can assure you I’m very happy.” His lady squeezed Robb’s arm as if to warn him as soon as he opened his mouth to answer. “As much as I’ll always love the Reach, I feel I belong here already! And um—if you’ll excuse us for a moment?”
She tugged at his arm to lead him out of the hallway into the hall, and he followed her until she stopped on the other side of the hall, whirling around on her heels to scowl at him.
“Why are you glaring at him?”
“Why am I glaring at him?” Robb repeated incredulously. “When he dares say those things?”
“I’ve told you before,” she said, “compliments are a way of small talk in the Reach.”
He pointed in the direction of the hall.
“So he gets to say you belong in the Reach and I’m supposed to do what? Smile?”
“Why not?” she asked back. “That’s what I’ve been doing all this time. You get used to it after a while—”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Robb cut her off, unable to wait any longer. “You’ve barely said two words to me whole day.”
“I’ve been busy with our guests.” Her voice held none of the warmth it usually held. “Something I’m sure you understand.”
He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.
“My father required my presence last night,” he explained, making her arch a brow. “If that’s what angered you. I thought it wouldn’t take long, I…I came back right after the meeting was over. Had I known you’d retire to your chambers, I assure you I would’ve sent word.” He licked his lips, Silas’ voice echoing in his ears. “My lady, surely you don’t believe anything else holds more importance than you.”
A bitter smile curled her lips, and she blinked a couple of times like she was trying to pull herself together.
“If you assume for one moment I will be lured back into—” She started but stopped talking the moment she caught the sight of something over his shoulder, her eyes widening. “Cliff?”
Robb frowned and turned around to follow her line of sight, his eyes falling upon a man who stopped walking as soon as he heard her voice.
Ah.
This had to be the other brother they were talking about.
Even in the dimly lit hallway, Robb could tell Cliff Greensted carried a significant resemblance to the rest of his brothers, with some small differences of his own choosing. He still had that proud yet playful grin Robb had seen on Silas and the twins many times, but Cliff’s hair was longer than the rest of his brothers, a gold earring dangling from one ear. It seemed that his nose had been broken more than once, and there was a healed scar over his cheekbone, but neither had taken away from his looks in any way. He didn’t look like the merchants Robb had met before in the North; he was dressed in rich velvet, his fingers adorned with silver rings that gleamed with different colored gems when he turned his palms up in a questioning manner, his grin widening.
“I take it I haven’t missed the wedding?”
His lady let out a breath and ran past Robb to throw herself into her brother’s arms, letting out a giggle as he lifted her a little before he put her down again.
“Gods, look at you,” Cliff pinched her cheek between his thumb and pointer as if she was still a child. “You’re a woman grown!”
“I am!”
“And you must be Robb Stark,” Cliff said as Robb stepped forward. “Unless of course my little sister left her actual betrothed in the hall to go into dark hallways with someone else?”
His lady slapped at his arm as Robb chuckled.
“I am,” he said. “Welcome to Winterfell, I’ve heard much about you.”
“Likewise,” Cliff said, eyeing him up and down with a hum. “Now it makes sense why Silas chose you.”
Robb frowned, unsure of what to make of it but Cliff had already turned to his lady.
“You still like anything and everything shiny, do you not?” he asked with a smile. “Because I brought you about one hundred gifts for your wedding.”
His lady gasped. “Did you really?”
“Mm hm. My men are loading them up, you can see them tomorrow.”
“Thank you!” His lady bounced on the balls of her feet, the sight of her happiness making Robb’s chest warm, a smile he didn’t even notice pulling at his lips.
Gods, even when he knew she was furious at him, she was way too sweet.
“We were having dinner, you must be hungry after such long road,” Robb said, motioning at the Great Hall and Cliff nodded.
“Starving actually.”
“Come!” His lady linked her arm with Cliff’s and pulled him towards the Great Hall. “Everyone will be so excited to see you!”
Robb watched her happy chatter as she all but dragged her brother to the Great Hall, then chuckled to himself and followed after them.
Silas had told him this was the first time all of them were under the same roof since Alton’s wedding, so it was no wonder the whole family had excused themselves to their father’s chambers to talk more once the rest of the guests had started retiring to their bedchambers. Robb knew he had no place in it, nor did he want to intrude, so he went to bed after couple of drinks with Jon and Theon, trying hard not to think about how much he craved her presence.
Unsurprisingly, sleep evaded him.
Grey Wind was as restless as he was. Just as Robb kept tossing and turning, the direwolf kept pacing in the room and clawing at the door with a displeased whine, like he blamed Robb for both their moods. Though Robb tried to convince himself he would fall asleep any moment now, by the hour of the wolf he gave up and kicked the fur covers off of him with a sigh.
“Fine,” he grumbled at Grey Wind, and got into his breeches and a linen shirt before throwing his cloak over it. “Fine, let’s go take a walk then.”
Grey Wind all but darted out of the room the moment he opened the door, and Robb followed him out of the castle into the yard, then into the—
The Godswood.
Of course. Why not?
It wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep tonight anyway.
The Godswood was always warm with the permanent fog over the three pools that were fed by the hot springs, but tonight it looked as if clouds had descended upon the forest itself. The slight breeze wasn’t enough to get rid of the sticky, moist air that clung to his skin, the arrival of the autumn that the maesters claimed earlier nowhere to be felt tonight. Grey Wind sped up as Robb slowed his steps, trying to decide whether he would go back to the yard when his ears picked up a very familiar bleat, making him turn his head to see the small lamb rushing to him.
“Frost?” he muttered as he crouched down to pet her head. “How did you get out of the barn?”
Frost let out a loud ‘baa’ and ran away from him to headbutt into Grey Wind’s legs. The direwolf let out an exhausted huff, then nudged the lamb with his snout before he ran after her, and Robb threw his head back.
Wonderful, now he was going to have to chase a very stubborn lamb through the Godswood, because his lady was going to be upset tomorrow if she woke up tomorrow and couldn’t find Frost in the stables.
“Frost!” he called out as he walked through the fog. “Seven hells, how—”
“Robb?”
The very familiar voice of his lady stopped him dead in his tracks and his head whirled around at the direction where it came from.
Oh.
Oh, this was no sleepless night, he was asleep and dreaming.
There was no other explanation to the sight of his lady swimming in one of the hot springs pools under the moonlight in the middle of the night—
By the Gods, she was naked.
Not that Robb could see anything because of the steam covering the surface of the pool but the mere idea was enough to send fire through his veins, and he gawked at her in complete silence, his mouth half agape.
“…My lady,” he managed to breathe out. “Wha—uh—you—?”
Right, alright, so this was exactly how it was going to be on their wedding night then. Frozen in his spot and staring at her, unable to string a couple of words together to form a sentence.
“What are you doing here?” he heard her ask through the echo of his heartbeat in his ears, and he took a step towards the pool, then rounded it to approach the pile of large rocks at the other end of it while his lady swam towards there. The rocks had created a small dock by the edge of the pool, making it easier to jump into and get out of the water as he himself had made use of numerous times whenever he wanted to swim.
But none of those times had his heart galloping in his chest like this.
Robb had to force himself not to stare at the soft swell of her chest pressed against the rocks before she crossed her arms over the pile to comfortably stand still in the pool so that she could look up at him. He lingered in his spot only for a second, his heart saying one thing and duty saying another, but as always his heart won that battle.
He lowered himself to kneel at the edge so that he could gaze down at her, nearly in a haze.
“I—” He forced himself to say. “I couldn’t sleep. You?”
She rested her chin on her arms, lazily kicking at the water.
“Cliff was talking about how we all used to swim in the lake back home,” she said, her voice soft in the calm and quiet night. “Then I realized I haven’t done that in a long time. I couldn’t sleep either, so…”
“So you decided to sneak out?” he asked with a smile and she shrugged her shoulders.
“As of today, I realized doing what I want when I want regardless of what others may think is quite freeing,” she said, “if not enchanting.”
Gods be good, she didn’t even look like she belonged in the real world like this, but rather in a ballad, or some sort of a myth. Robb couldn’t tear his gaze away from her even if he tried, the silver blue light of the moon falling upon her, wrapping her in its shine.
It had to be Theon who told him about mermaids once. Some long, boring story about his ancestors having wed a mermaid, and how such creatures hid under the waves, with gemstones in their hair and slaughter in their smiles, only coming out for shipwrecks.
“That’s why no sailor survives the Shivering Sea if they touch the water,” he had told him when they were boys. “The mermaids there are far more dangerous than the mermaids of southern seas. They lure the sailors, and then pull them into the water to their deaths.”
Through the fog of desire in his mind that clouded all his thoughts, Robb realized that he would’ve let her. Though he was never the one to believe those tales, he still would’ve let her pull him into his death or whatever awaited him in the water if she were such creature of the sea, he would’ve gladly forfeited his whole life to touch her even once.
Lured beyond reason, captivated beyond survival.
He watched the small droplets slide down her bare shoulders before he reached out to follow them with his fingertips, goosebumps rising on her damp skin underneath his touch. The wedding was only three nights away, mayhaps she’d let him join her in the water; so that he could kiss her, hold her naked body in his arms, trail his lips down the column of her throat and press her against the side of the pool, to claim her—
“No.”
Robb blinked a couple of times, trying to focus. “Hm?”
“No.”
“I—I haven’t uttered a word,” he said, confused. “Can you hear my thoughts?”
“I don’t have to hear your thoughts,” she stated. “Not with the way you look at me.”
“Oh?” he asked with a smirk. “What of the way I look at you?”
The glimmer in her eyes could’ve been menacing if it weren’t for the smile curling her lips, like she knew she had him right in the palm of her hand.
“You look at me like you desire me,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, her nose stuck up in the air, and a huff of laughter escaped him.
“Like I desire you?” he repeated as he tilted her chin up a little before he traced the line of her bottom lip slowly. “You speak as if you don’t know.”
Her gaze darted over his face, her smile fading a little.
“How should I?” she asked. “You don’t act such.”
“You don’t let me.” His voice was a low murmur as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers, but she was quick to slip out of his grip and back into the water before he had the chance, coaxing a small groan out of him. “Shall I swear to your gods or mine for you to believe me?”
She scoffed a laugh. “Neither. I care very little for oaths, but actions.”
He leaned forward on his elbows to look down at her. “I’d prove it with actions this very night if my lady let me.”
She pointed at the weirwood tree. “Your gods are watching.”
“Let them.” He grinned. “They do little else.”
She fixed him with a glare, making him let out a chuckle.
“They won’t mind!”
“They might,” she told him. “Now turn around. I’ll get out, but you may not look upon me like a husband would to his wife before we are husband and wife.”
He couldn’t help but whine impatiently. “But—”
“Turn around, I said.”
Robb heaved a dramatic sigh, then pushed himself to his feet and turned around, closing his eyes just in case the urge would get too strong. The water splashed behind him, and he heard her move about for nearly a minute in which he kept repeating in his head that he had to keep his gaze on the ground, then she cleared her throat.
“You can look.”
He turned around, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her nightgown clinging to her damp skin, but she seemed oblivious to his hungry gaze as she fixed her hair, then went over to the weirwood tree to pick up her dressing gown with Robb following her.
“Frost!” she called out and the lamb came running as she stole a look at him. “I’ll try to get some sleep.”
He tilted his head.
“In my bedchambers?” he offered almost too innocently, and she arched a brow.
“In my bedchambers,” she corrected him as she put her dressing gown on. “And you may not follow me. There are many guests in the castle, I don’t want them to see us at this hour this close to the wedding.”
The breeze that blew through the woods and shook the leaves made her shiver, and Robb immediately took off his cloak to wrap it around her body, the scent of flowers tickling his nose in the most pleasant way. He nuzzled into her hair as he rubbed her arms up and down to warm her up, then dipped his head to kiss her temple.
“Only three nights,” he murmured. “Three nights and you’re mine.”
She was quiet for a moment before she pulled back to look up at him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on flashing in her eyes.
“I am,” she said. “And you?”
“And I’m yours,” he promised. “Until the end of my days.”
Her gaze grew distant for a moment as if she was lost in her own thoughts, and she swallowed thickly, blinking fast before she gave him a smile.
“Pleasant dreams,” she said like it was more of a comment than a wish. “I shall see you tomorrow morning, my lord.”
He stood there by the tree, watching her walk away from him into the fog with Frost following her. Though he wanted to follow her, he knew it would displease her and that wasn’t such a good idea, especially considering she had been cross with him the whole day. He shook his head at his own thoughts, then let out an exhale and approached the pool again to crouch down, holding his hand over the hot water for a moment before dipping his finger in.
He would realize what they’d done at dawn, way after he went back to bed. Through the haze of his dreams of her in the pool, the thought would shoot through his mind fast enough to wake him up and sit up in the bed, taking his breath away.
They had stood in front of the weirwood tree in the middle of the night.
He had placed his cloak over her shoulders.
And they had exchanged vows.
“Grey Wind,” he whispered into the dark room, disbelief settling over him while the direwolf lifted his head to look at him. “My lady and I are wed.”
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