the king in the north

[wolfofwinterfcll]

maron greyjoy

It was a strange thing, to sit amongst revelling northerners that he had considered his enemies all his life, and watch the King in the North take his queen in person. But strangeness was something he was getting used to now that he had taken up a piece in these mainlanders’ game, and he knew that his mere invitation here boded well for his future plans as they formulated themselves more and more with every day that passed. 

It had been unexpected, that he and his own fiancee had been invited here, and when the Young Wolf came personally through the crowd to greet him, Maron made no attempt at concealing his bemusement behind the rim of his tankard of ale. 

My Mira, Maron would have snickered had he not been guilty of the same pattern of speech. “There is no need for thanks. It was what had to be done. The bowels of the Silence are no place for a future queen, and victory does not look good on my roach of an uncle.” Maron had no direct quarrel with the Forrester girl - he had heard what she had done for Margaery Tyrell in the process of the kidnappings, and was willing to admit at least to himself that there was some iron in that bravery. “Neither was I, but in the interest of the future I am sure no harm can come of it.” Even if the whole Stark wedding had sparked every fibre of anger in Jeyne’s dainty frame (and most of those in his), he had thought it a beneficial act to come. “Even if I did have to step foot inside a godswood to witness it.” A little chuckle removed malice from his words, but did nothing for the words themselves. “I believe congratulations are in order. You make a fine couple.” 

There were far too many Reachmen at his wedding. And not nearly enough Northerners. That thought had gone through Robb’s mind as he flitted through the feast, seeing revelers in their cups and some dancers near the musicians. He supposed it made sense that there were a few Ironborn individuals there as well, though even if he had a quarrel with Theon’s brother, Robb would have invited him anyway. 

He inclined his head at the man’s response, the ale making him much more amenable to pleasant conversation with the Lord Reaper than he might have been otherwise. “You have my thanks regardless,” he responded, still thankful that Mira had been saved at all. “I was worried during the rescue, but I worried less knowing that you would bring her back safely. The Lannisters, or the Baratheons or the Redwynes…they could have taken her anywhere…” he trailed off. “I trusted you to keep your word. I’m not used to trusting Ironborn lords, Lord Greyjoy. I hope you won’t make me regret it.” His eyes met Maron’s and Robb hoped that he did not come across as a fool, for he wasn’t. But he had trusted that Maron would want to save Theon as much as Robb did; and the enemy of his enemy was, after all, his friend. And the King in the North was hopeful that it would result in an alliance down the road.

He chuckled, taking another long sip of his ale. “You did not immediately become set on fire, so it seems my god has little reason to hate you,” he drawled, the jape falling from his lips easier than most. “But I thank you. I am honored that she accepted my proposal.” Robb tilted his head to the side. “Shall your wedding be the next one?” he inquired curiously, the jest still evident in his tone. “Will your guests be required to stand in the sea?”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

willas tyrell

Ever since Sansa had escaped the vicious pit of lions in King’s Landing, Willas had sworn that she would be safe in Highgarden. For a couple of years, that promise had withstood and now it was only being raised consciously by her brother. Willas did not have the heart or mind to discredit any of Sansa’s thoughts or intentions, thinking her choice of the matter was hers alone. If she wanted to stay in the Reach, Willas would be satisfied but knew that decision rested on her and her brother. 

The words were as combative as if they were using the sharpness of their blades and not their terse words. Willas had already had the discussion about what Sansa shouldn’t be in Robb’s perspective, but that was before the King in the North had interrupted their intimate exchange. Willas could not press the issue more, but the case wasn’t settled and Robb was looking for a fight that he would heed to bow to. If he made a comment to dissuade Robb anymore they would be talking in circles, not solving anything and Willas wasn’t sure what he wanted to be amended. The time to make a comment on Sansa’s behalf was warranted but instead, he emitted a dragged out sigh, his gaze falling to the side. He was able to visually understand what was occurring and knew that with one misstep of words would lead him to a rather counterproductive exchange. 

He acknowledges Robb with a quirked brow, considering the reputation of his house on his shoulders that felt harder than it had before. This was for the greater good of his family and did not need to be in the clutches of the Lannisters or any other house that did not benefit them. Willas drew himself back from Robb and couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle. There had not been a time during the conversation that he wore a facade of indifference, ensuring how he felt but this matter had not been spoken to anyone outside of his family and the fragile words laced the tip of his tongue. “We have. In the past. But as you said, this is a different world now. Our traditions have led us to make grave mistakes. I discussed it with them first. And only them so far,” Willas admits, his eyes flickering to Robb to emphasize the seriousness being understood. It was not the time to be making blind alliances with other houses, especially when the Tyrells have been considered neutral and he knew that this move would limit that. But Willas wasn’t naive and wouldn’t amuse himself to be around Robb even though it felt like he was a mere thorn in a wolf’s paw, not being a threat but being enough of a pain to cause a disturbance. If he were going to admit how he felt about Sansa then he would wisely choose to lay down his guard and force his next move to Robb through a clenched jaw. “I only wish to win favor with your brother through a mutual understanding of alliances. I don’t desire anything else than to share the desire to see someone better fated on the throne.”

It was a fair decision of Robb to be keenly aware of what was to happen next, but Willas only gave a complexed expression. “I have no need to raise my men against yours.” His words were sharp and true, feeling only slightly agitated still. There was a pregnant pause when Willas tilted his head to the side, calculating that if this war phased the way he intended, there would be no reason for Willas to attack the North especially if he were to have Sansa as his lady. “You have my word that I will not harm the North. That has never been my intention and I only wish you swear the same.”

It bothered him, that his younger sister seemed to think her duty to her house was a whim she could set aside whenever she wished. Robb had been careful to ensure she was not bound to a man – or to a house – she did not wish to be bound to. But it was becoming more difficult and as he looked at the other man in the tent, it was clear as to the reason why. 

An arched brow was his only response to Willas’ admission that he had only spoken to his family and no one else. “I see.” He wondered how the rest of the Reach would take it; they seemed equally divided at times. The Tarlys would support the Targaryens regardless, he expected, and he knew the Redwynes would go whichever direction the Tyrells indicated their sails should blow. But it was the houses that were closer to the Stormlands that made it more difficult to discern; some disliked Stannis and abhorred his actions but Robb suspected that others still felt a pride to their homelands that the Reach would not be able to satisfy. And there was the Dornish question, with the Red Mountains just out of view.

“My brother would be much better on the throne than any who currently think they should sit it,” Robb asserted, running his hand along his jawline. “But your decisions regarding Jon and your family’s alliances shall remain yours alone. My sister’s future and her potential marriage should not be based upon Jon. He would never forgive himself.” While Robb believed Willas, he also knew that loyalties could change in an instant; he had seen it himself as Riverlanders had sworn themselves to Jon who would previously have hated Targaryens for what they’d done to the Starks. People, he was learning, were fickle, and he wanted to ensure that any alliance he entered into would benefit the North in a way that another would not.

“You don’t now,” he pointed out, a brow arched as he leaned forward, eyes hunting like the wolf he was. “But motivations change, as do situations. If I am to allow you what you wish…” he trailed off, thinking on how best to word his conditions. It was silent for a moment and when Robb spoke again, his voice was that of a king and there was an implicit command in his tone that he expected the Reachman would not follow.

“I expect the Reach to promise not to raise arms against myself or any of my other allies. I expect the Reach to support Northern independence regardless of who ends up on the bloody throne. And if my conditions are broken, I would be within my rights to march down and pluck Sansa from Highgarden, married with children or not.” His eyes narrowed. “Focus on finding your brother, Lord Tyrell. When we arrive in King’s Landing, present me with your best offer for Sansa’s hand. But I promise you this, if I find you taking liberties with my sister again before anything is formalized, I will bring her back to the North and lock her up in Winterfell before you can even blink.” A wolfish smile grew on his face. “Are we clear?”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

willas tyrell

He was dumbfounded. It was frustrating to get his true meaning past Robb. His feelings for Sansa were not new and they were not changing, but perhaps his good graces with the King in the North could. From their last conversation, it was clear that his words should have been reserved. But it was Sansa that had been the core subject and Willas still believed it would be right for Sansa to remain in Highgarden with an unbiased perspective. He felt defensive on behalf of Sansa, his own resolve waning now at the prospect of getting Robb to retract his claws from his hold on Sansa. He still tried regardless. With the way he was found with Sansa, there were no words around it. 

“My intent matters because she matters. I know what you saw, but there is much more to it. Your sister is kind, smart, and considerate. The result was because of that and I promise nothing else.” Willas had to be as transparent as possible especially now with battle flags raised and everyone on the cusp of finding their lost ones and Stannis and tearing each other’s throats out in the process. Everyone was preoccupied to bother with trivial tasks now and Willas was confronted with the rage of Robb. This conversation would not deter his feelings for Sansa, something that had just recently been shared. But what could he do now? Robb was insistent that Sansa belonged to the North and there she would remain. “It is yours, I know. It is your choice, your Grace,” Willas replied, his words crisp and agitated. He knew to an extent that Robb was right, but his mind wondered which lord or king would be perfect for Sansa. Who would be deemed well in Robb’s eye?

He gushed out an irritated sigh, knowing that Robb’s perspective was understandable. Only months before did the Tyrells seek a betrothal with the Baratheon boy king which was unfortunately interrupted by his death. If his grandmother had not conspired to do so, this would be a different narrative, but it had happened. Willas had not discussed the matter any further with his father or with Cersei after Mace’s death. The alliance was already shaken with Cersei’s conspicuous thoughts on the Tyrells. The Tyrells had remained neutral for years, only interfering with their men and strength but not much else. It had been the same with the Lannisters. They had not been interested in power but a house that could benefit them in the future. But now there were other houses that were more benefitting than the Lannisters, ones that Willas had put his efforts into with each passing day. “Then do not for I am not,” Willas argued, any bitterness in his voice before no longer remaining. He was exhausted but he was going to be truthful with Robb since that is what he deserved now. It was a discussion he had only had with his sister and Loras, but it made sense to confess it to Robb in this moment. Willas’ gaze lowered to the ground before fixing on Robb. “I am bending the knee to Jon after King’s Landing.” The words were definite and no hesitance. “I have thought about it not long after we left Highgarden.”

The anger that coursed through his veins was, perhaps, not nearly so heavy as it was originally. He was still fuming and if Robb was willing to think about it, he would admit that part of his fury was at the loss of his sister more than it was about Willas. He had seemingly lost her to Highgarden before he’d even had the opportunity to bring her home and the loss of Sansa – in his mind – had hit him harder than he’d like to admit. She claimed to be a Stark of Winterfell but had not yet shown any interest in returning home; he had not thought it for something so fickle as love, but perhaps there was more to it.

“I know exactly what my sister is,” he said, his words more snarl than was probably warranted. “She is also a Princess of the North and a Stark of Winterfell, much as she might forget that at times. Sansa is young and easily influenced – or she was when she first came South. I would be assured that her actions are not the result of any outside coercion.” His nostrils flared and Robb exhaled once more, catching his breath with a shake of his head. “I appreciate that you understand the situation you have placed me in,” he stated. “The situation my sister has placed me in.” He bit his lip, curling and uncurling his fingers from the first that was present near his side. “If we were still the Seven Kingdoms we were before, Lord Tyrell, there would be little hesitation on my part.”

The King in the North’s brow rose at Willas’ assertion. He heard no hesitation and though he believed the man to be telling the truth, Robb also knew that there was no way for him to be entirely certain. “And what does your family think of that?” he inquired. “They tend to have a history of hedging their bets in situations such as these, do they not?” While Robb would personally align with his brother out of familial duty, he found himself caring little for what happened in the South. So long as the Tyrells agreed not to take up arms against Starks or Targaryens, he supposed he would agree to the marriage. But Willas Tyrell didn’t need to know that, not just yet. “And what does my brother have to offer your family? I will not condone a match that could result in heavier influences placed upon him either. Your grandmother, especially, is well known for her opinions.” And Jon, he knew, would not want an appearance of selling Sansa for Reach support.

Robb ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the dark auburn curls fitfully. “Regardless of what you do with my brother, there needs to be an agreement between the Reach and the North. As king of an independent kingdom, I cannot speak for Jon anymore than I would want him to speak for me. And one of my conditions will be that arms will not be raised against the Northern army or an army the North is allied with.” That should cover Jon in case the Tyrells were wilier than he expect.

[wolfofwinterfcll]

@lordreapcr​ Robb + Mira’s Wedding

The King in the North was pleased on his wedding day, his mind only somewhat addled from all the ale he had consumed. He could see his wife in the distance – his wife – and just the thought that he could now call her that brought a lightness to his eyes and to his bearing that was not often seen. He was tempted to move closer to her but knew he had other guests to attend to. Instead, he looked around the room to spot a familiar face. 

He walked toward the Lord Reaper of Pyke, well aware that he’d need to do whatever he could to ensure that their thoughts of an alliance continued. While he did not want to formally negotiate at his wedding feast, he thought personally thanking Theon’s brother for coming would be a good start. He cleared his throat as he approached, aware they hadn’t spoken since the rescue.

“Thank you for coming – and for rescuing my Mira from your uncle,” he said, the smile on his face genuine in a way that it likely had not been before. “I was not certain you would accept the invitation.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

asher forrester

CLOSED || ROBB STARK || WEDDING ( @wolfofwinterfcll )

king’s landing seemed to bristle with an excited tension those days, as the lords of the realm drank themselves into oblivion day after day, pretending as if they had not been at each other’s throats for years. every night brought a new feast, a new festival, a new party, and while asher had made good use of the shows of generosity from the key players in the kingdoms, there was one event he found himself on the outside looking in on. though his own sister was the blushing bride, asher was an exile, a lowly sellsword amongst the targaryen forces as far as anyone was concerned. his presence at the northern king’s royal wedding, rushed as it was, would certainly raise questions he did not want to answer. but that did not mean asher was ignorant of his beloved sister’s pending nuptials. he had always been quite overprotective, overbearing in a way rodrik was not. and besides - robb stark was not his king, asher owed him no blind loyalty. and so asher had set out to have some words with the king in the north, following him idly from the shadows, like a cobra preparing to strike.

“well, if it isn’t the man of the hour himself,” asher said, as if he was surprised to find robb there, as if he had not sought him out, as if he had not waited for a moment where the king was alone. his grin was lazy, lopsided, but there’s a current underneath that’s almost feral. the warm buzz of the free-flowing wine made his movements languid, but in truth he did not need the liquid courage or any false bravery. this was simply what asher did, what he was known for, what had gotten him sent from his home at the tender age of two-and-twenty. he was all impulse and action without a care as to what was appropriate or expected of him. with calm, sure movements, he moved towards a flagon of wine and poured himself a tall cup. “share a drink with me, your grace,” he requested, filling another cup and offering it, “in celebration of your nuptials.”

slowly, deliberately, asher took a sip of his wine, making a show of it as he gently swirled the liquid in his glass, contemplatively savored the flavor. without moving his gaze from the red, red wine, he tilted his head and spoke again. “do you know who i am, your grace?”

He had not wanted to wait to marry Mira and Robb could admit to being thankful when she agreed to the same. A wedding in King’s Landing was not ideal, but he had consoled himself with the knowledge that they’d at least had a godswood and enough of his principal bannermen around them while speaking their vows in front of the heart tree. Lost in his thoughts, he smiled across the room at his wife, only turning when he heard an unfamiliar voice. There was a Northern accent in the words – somewhere – but Robb could tell that it had been tempered by something else. “Only because of my beautiful wife,” Robb responded, fully believing the words; he would only be given so much attention because of his marriage and he rather thought he might be a barbarian without her.

There was something about the man’s tone that gave Robb pause. Perhaps it was the inflection, or perhaps it was the wording itself. Either way, Robb got the impression that the other man knew more about him than Robb would be pleased with. Or at least he had opinions. But the King in the North saw little reason to be suspicious, not now. His wedding had gone off incredibly well and while he could not stop himself from sneaking glances at his wife – he was certain he looked so incredibly besotted – he would not be rude to one of their guests either. “Certainly,” he responded, taking the cup and sipping from it, waiting until the other man had done so before swallowing. The man unnerved him, for Robb felt that there was something he was missing as they spoke.

Robb had been called many things, but he was no fool. And as the man spoke, the King in the North peered at him, his eyes taking in the physical characteristics that seemed similar to Mira’s. There was a spark of something in his eyes that reminded him of his wife and a smile that was more open than it likely should have been rose on his lips as the cryptic feeling and stray thoughts began to come together. “You’re my Mira’s brother,” he responded, his voice confident. “Asher. The one whose exile I promised her I would lift.” [ Robb still intended to do so, though it would likely be earlier than he would have if he hadn’t married Mira. ]

“I am pleased you could join us today.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

rodrik forrester

@wolfofwinterfcll​ | rodrik + robb | the wedding

he was happy for his younger sister - despite everything that had happened: rodrik had been a boy of ten when she had been born, and he had been protective of her ever since. perhaps he was far older to play with her or be her friend like he had with asher, but he was still her eldest brother. and a rushed wedding didn’t sit all too well with him. house forrester was a small, insignificant vassal - their sworn overlords were the glovers, not the starks. and he didn’t want to think what robett glover might think of them now or what the repercussions might be for the rest of them. rodrik was too meticulous to understand a quick wedding, without the king asking for their father’s permission first and instead rushing for the sake of a new love. he didn’t understand any of it, not when his own betrothal to elaena had been broken off for politics, no matter how much he had once loved her. it had been the right thing to do - the only thing to do. 

but he was still her brother, as much as he disapproved. and it helped that nobody expected him to burst into happy laughter, because rodrik was a northman in the truest sense: he couldn’t have managed it anyway. their lady mother was absent - as were all of their siblings - for there had been no time for them to join, and he felt all the more an absolute outsider in a celebration meant for his own family. excusing himself from the revelry, the forrester heir walked out into the open air of the northern camps before realising the king in the north was standing nearby. “ your grace, ” he greeted with a curt nod, his jaw set. rodrik would never speak out of turn because he was raised better than to ever do something so thoughtless, but it didn’t mean he could pretend to be overjoyed with either robb or mira’s actions. “ my congratulations - i hope the old gods bless your union. ”

The wedding had gone well, though Robb could hardly focus on anything outside of his adoration for Mira. He had taken her hand in the godswood, had pledged his life to her, and now that most they knew – and even some they didn’t – celebrated around them, his focus still remained on her. It was not, perhaps, the best realization, that the King in the North could lose his edge because he was so in love with his Queen, but he expected it would pass, in time. His eyes moved from his wife as her brother greeted him and a smile – more genuine than most – rose upon his face as he turned to Rodrik.

Robb waved his hand at Rodrik’s form of address. “With the exception of the most formal scenarios, it’s just Robb,” he said, his voice low and light. “We’re family and I will not have any of my family addressing me by a title instead of by my name.” It was woefully improper, he knew, and he could practically hear his mother’s teeth gritting in the background [ and sometimes he was thankful he could envision her at all ] but he could not be bothered to care. Robb had no intention of being a king – or a man – whose own family were afraid of him.

He lifted his own cup of ale to his lips and took a short sip, allowing his eyes to once more gaze at Mira in adoration before they flicked over to Rodrik. “Thank you,” he said simply, a boyish smile on his face that had not been seen in quite some time. “I like to believe they do. They gave me Mira, did they not?” Robb shook his head, aware he sounded like a fool in love but not caring. “Are you enjoying the feast?” he inquired, not having been as adoring of Southron food as some others. “It is not, perhaps, what we would have had in Winterfell, but it will certainly suffice.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

mira forrester

The time she spent on that ship had brought intense unsaturated feelings for her family and for Robb. The way that she had ignored her brother’s fruitless attempts at consoling her had been unlike her. She loved her brothers dearly even though she had not seen Asher in years. The tightness in her chest had been bitter frustration she was blinded by. It was not worth shutting them out when being taken by Ironborn was more important. In that time, Mira also thought about Robb. The warmth she felt around him that would make the North envious for. The time that they had been together had distracted the pain and other swelling emotions in her mind on the ship. 

“And you are my world.” Truthfully, Mira did understand her feelings and how great they were. She would not merely leave without Robb again and that was the effect being taken from his presence had cast on her. What she wanted more than anything was to be by his side and the idea of marriage only sounded fitting for them. She needed him. When he told her he loved her and proposed, it was all she could do not to collapse into his arms with all her weight. She knew what her father must be thinking, seeing the affair happen in front of him and the other Northern houses. Mira was not promised to anyone and marrying Robb for nothing more than love was extremely important to her now. 

Mira was tearfully gazing up at him, her smile not leaving her sweet lips. She wanted to say yes more than a hundred times, but she could barely find coherent words to express herself. Her mouth happily parted and a candid laugh emitted from her as he circled her around. Mira placed her dainty hands on Robb’s broad shoulders. The laugh of other Northern men around them was only ambient noises where her attention did not wane. “No, no, I do not object,” Mira replied happily, her voice lit with excitement. “I want to be yours as soon as possible. Another day without you is a day I do not wish to see again.”

Once he had his mind wrapped around this, Robb resolved to speak with her father. Though he was a king and felt the weight of his position heavily upon his brow, he knew that some niceties had to be engaged. And besides, it was not as if his father had taught him to do as he wished simply because of the title he’d been given. An exhale left his lips and as he looked over at Mira once more, he could not recall feeling so perfectly at ease. He wondered just how long it might have taken him to declare his intentions if she hadn’t been taken and instantly he hated the thought. He pushed it from his mind and gave Mira a smile, genuine and loving, boyish, that had not been seen upon his face since his father had still been at Winterfell.

It had been quick, their courtship, but Robb supposed there were many couples who married the day they met, many who had married those chosen for them. Mira was his choice and though he knew that he’d chosen her more quickly than perhaps a king ought to choose his queen, there was a rightness about it that he held onto, clutched at like a string of pearls draped around a mother’s neck. “And you, my love, are mine,” he responded, pressing his forehead against her own. “We will be happy, I promise you that.” Will be. Robb knew it was likely they would not be happy until later, knew that it might take weeks and months of war and negotiations before he could take her home with him. But in this moment, nothing else mattered.

There was a peace to this, Robb thought, as he looked down at Mira, his arms tightening around her waist, fingers pressing into her lower back. “I am glad,” he said quietly. “That we are in agreement.” His lips twitched at the corners and he leaned down to press another kiss to her lips, not caring who saw, not caring if this had humanized him to those who had previously seen him as an unfeeling Northern tyrant. “I can hardly wait to make you my wife,” he whispered, the words only for her.

[ END ]

[wolfofwinterfcll]

tybolt crakehall

Though he had heard plenty of tales about the formidable King in The North, he had yet to see anything but a man. While he knew that the other man’s track record in battle was more than simply sufficient -and he would never attempt to dispute nor undermine that when the facts simply spoke for themselves - he had not found anything else particularly remarkable about the man across from him. Part of him wondered if the Northmen had risen up and declared independence only because of the so called Young Wolf or whether they had simply grown tired of being ruled by Lions and Stags. He found one of those options vastly more understandable than the other.

Despite having not witnessed much other than cockiness and bravado, he remained measured and cordial, knowing that it was never wise or prudent to underestimate ally nor opponent. There would be time for putting the Stark in his place and there would be time for him achieving justice for his homeland. For now he would continue playing the role of neutral ally, simply wanting to help where he could. “Then I suppose we are all somewhat fortunate that at least some of their plan was foiled.”

He knew a man who thought he had the upper hand when he saw one, the smirk on the other man’s face showing clearly that he thought he had the advantage. Perhaps on some level he did but were he to refuse the Boar’s attempts to form a scouting party, he would be sure to let everyone know that the The North had not wished to cooperate. “You are the first, though I must confess I did not intend for you to be the only.” Polite smile flickered over his lips before he continued, knowing that he did not need Robb Stark at that moment anymore than he needed him. “We are all united now and perhaps the best way to achieve our common goal is to act like it. I have already drawn up routes, all of which include easy routes to the ocean. I am sure most will find them suitable but of course, input is always welcome. That is of course, you are willing to join the effort?”

If Robb had his way, he would have returned home to the North well before now. He had little care for the South and it was only Jon’s claim to the Throne – and Stannis’ blatant disregard for human life – that had kept him here for so long. Otherwise he would have found a way to retrieve his sisters and seal the Neck. But he had not done so and now he was stuck with Southron politics and Southroners. He wasn’t certain which he disliked more. Still, he kept his expression placid as he looked over at Lord Crakehall, remembering well how he had beheaded Karstark for his initiative.

The King in the North arched a brow, unwilling to give much away to the other man. He didn’t trust many and he saw little reason to trust a Crakehall of the Westerlands, especially given the fact that he had taken a large portion of the kingdom and handed it over to his uncle to rule as part of the Riverlands. Robb supposed that it would eventually be sorted, but he did not think that the men of the Westerlands were ones who easily forgot. “We are quite so,” he agreed with an incline of his head. “But I would like to believe that whoever performed such an action was so incredibly foolish. We are men of sense, are we not?” The question was rhetorical and Robb continued, fully aware that his words could be taken as pontification. “We can put aside differences to work together. I believe that this might have the opposite effect.” He offered a mirthless smile.

So Lord Crakehall thought he was running the operation, did he? Robb found the very idea of it amusing, though he said nothing to break the tenuous peace that had descended over his tent. “If Northmen agree to help, the Riverlanders will follow. I am certain that Lord Tarly would offer some men from his army in hopes of finding his daughter. But, of course, Targaryen bannermen are technically out of my purview.” Lips quirked at the corners. “Have you planned on this mostly being on foot, Crakehall?” he inquired. “I would assume the Greyjoys would be most pleased to offer a longship or two.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

willas tyrell

It was crucial for Willas to remain abundantly calm but it was hard to simply simmer those emotions. The conversation that they had once before about Sansa and her right to return to the North was challenged and Willas had then alluded to Sansa staying. It did not seem to settle with the King in the North well and this was only more severe of a conversation. Willas struggled to think of any and every reasonable excuse to give Robb of him to find his sister with him so intimately but the only thing he could promise was his honesty. There was no reason to pull a hasty excuse which would all sound weak and highly disputable that would make his own self ashamed.

This was the intensive situation he had been meaning to avoid, but it was deadset with him now it was urgent to discuss. He had only just indulged himself and Sansa about the feelings he had swarmed in his mind. This was not how he imagined having a civil conversation about Sansa, something that had been encouraged by Margaery once before. It was too late to invite those sentiments especially in the way he was found with Sansa.

After the night that was shared with all those still breathing, Willas was aggravated by the tight assault on his shirt. There was a threat even in the move itself that disturbed Willas. It was always politics that somehow wove its way into everything he touched including the woman he had deep surging feelings for. Being the paramount lord of the Reach meant a great deal and he was not attempting to play at anything loosely. “Of course I understand who she is and what she is,” Willas managed crisply, his breathing tight but still strong. It only reminded him of his own brother seeking answers about marriages, his sister’s wedding to the king. He was not naive to know that marriage was important in the great houses, but he did not share the same ideas that Robb did. “I was not meaning to dishonor her,” Willas argued clearly, knowing that it was not his intention but there was little sway he could do to achieve Robb to understand. “I promise you that was not my intention and I understand…I understand how you see differently.”

As soon as he was released, he found stability and balance against one of the posts. Whatever persons were left in the tent had not made themselves known and were slipping through the flaps of the tent at the heated discussion. “I can not speak for yourself nor do I dare to.” When he had become lord, his problems did not meddle with his siblings’ marriages and had not given it much thought. He would want his siblings to be satisfied with whoever they were with. He drew a breath, shifting his eyes to Robb. His head throbbed to reason with the King in the North, wanting to have had this conversation on his own defense, but it was hard to ignore it needed to be done now.  “I do not discredit your position with Sansa’s cause. She is your sister and it is your right to have a say in who she is with or isn’t with.” Willas paused, trying to appear sympathetic to Robb’s cause and with that, Sansa’s. “But please know, I would never hurt her. I want nothing more than her safety and comfort. And that is all I want.”

Though their last discussion had made it obvious that they differed when it came to Sansa, Robb had thought he’d made it abundantly clear that it was his responsibility to find his sister a husband and it was his responsibility to ensure that she was not dishonored in the way that the Tyrell lord seemed willing to do. His nostrils flared as he looked down at the other man and he wondered, not for the first time, why he had waited so long to retrieve Sansa. Perhaps if he had retrieved her immediately, there would not be any attachment between the two. For Robb was stubborn yes, but he was not blind, and he had become aware that this attachment went both ways.

It was not a thought that calmed him.

Robb’s anger began to dissipate as Lord Tyrell did not challenge him, for he had expected the other man to have a temper similar to his own. His jaw still clenched, however, and his eyes were still glinting in the low lamplight as he finally released the other man’s shirt with little fanfare or delicacy. “I would hope so,” he said finally, his words harsh as his chest rose with deep breaths. He ran his hand over his jawline as he considered his next words, the wolfsblood very much alive in his veins as his eyes narrowed. “Your intent matters little when I saw the result in front of me.” The voice that spoke was that of a king and not that of a brother and Robb wondered just how much his mother would have walloped him for his tone. “As a Princess of the North, Sansa’s hand is not hers to give – as a Stark of Winterfell, it has never been so. She might choose to ignore that part of her upbringing and her courtesies, but I assure you I am not a man who so easily forgets.” 

There seemed little reason to frighten Lord Tyrell any longer, for he thought it likely that his threats had done what he’d intended them to do. That did not mean he would lose the aura of intimidation. His brow rose as he listened to the other man speak and as he did, Robb wondered if Willas Tyrell understood his sister even more than he did. It was not a pleasant thought, but the King in the North could not help but ruminate on it. “You understand, Lord Tyrell,” he said slowly, his voice deep and low. “That I could not marry my sister to a family sworn to the Lannisters.” One eyebrow arched. “And so while I may believe your pretty words of caring for my sister, it matters little. I do not have the luxury of making decisions based on the goodness of one’s own heart. We are at an impasse so long as Highgarden remains allied with those currently on the throne in King’s Landing.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

miraxforrester‌:

On the ship, the days had seemed long and the nights longer and all thoughts of Robb had ailed her to believe she would see him again. It was formed on idealistic tendencies and selfish reasoning that her thoughts were on him and not much else. When they had been found, Mira was relieved behind a sense she wasn’t capable of being coherent about, but she was thankful for her brothers and her house. After the time in the woods, she longed to see Robb again and any thoughts of him were like a mantra repeated in her conscious. 

When she saw Robb appear, something inside of her snapped. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from rushing towards him as if he was the only thing in the world that mattered to her. Her eyes were frantic in searching for any bruised or bloodied injuries, knowing why her heart was pounding so fiercely on its own accord. The last time she had seen him was when he had been struck and it despaired her to know he had been hurt by the Ironborn assailants at all. It was hard not to allow her emotions to overwhelm her when their lips met. His mouth curved against hers just as desperately and Mira clutched onto him, not minding who was there to bare witness to the reunion. It was the reassurance that made her draw in a shaky inhale. “I went mad thinking I lost you-any possibility that I could not see you again…” 

The words consumed her and her eyes searched between his to know if this was a genuine offer. They had only just met months before, their conversations and small glances had been important to her and knew her feelings were shared simultaneously. Staring at him the silence that followed, Mira could only feel her lips spread into a sweet and beaming smile. The talk of her marriage had never been grounded by her parents, but this was the King in the North, a man they respected and revered. “I want nothing more,” Mira said hastily, her throat thick and aching with barely-repressed emotion. She was nodding frantically as she surged upwards again and pressed her lips against his, her hands framing the line of his jaw. “Yes, I will be yours. Of course I will.”

There was a desperation in Mira that was similar to the anxiety that unfurled in his stomach at the sight of her. He could have lost her. The feeling was an honest one, a genuine one, and as Robb held her to his body, he could not bring himself to care about who saw him. “I would have torn the world apart for you,” he murmured, his words only for her. They were honest words, sincere in their inflection, and he pressed another kiss to the top of Mira’s head. He could not recall ever becoming so attached to another individual, let alone a woman, in so short a time as he’d become attached to her.

They had not had a courtship that was incredibly long, or incredibly formal, though Robb knew he was enamored with her. He had spent years making decisions based on politics, based on the North, based on his sisters, but as he asked Mira to marry him, he knew that this was a decision he was making just for himself. That she was Northern, that she had spent time with the Tyrells and their politics – those realizations would come to him later, but for now it was more than enough to hold her in his arms and hear her assent to his request.

The smile that grew on his face was wide and he lifted Mira up in his arms and swung her around before his lips descended upon hers once more. This kiss was longer, more passionate, filled with a joy that he could hardly contain within him, and Robb only pulled back when he heard the whoops of the Northmen who watched them. A low laugh escaped his lips and his hands encased her waist. “I love you,” he told her again. “And I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to ever worry about not seeing you again. There’s a godswood in King’s Landing. We can take time to stop on our journey.” He tilted his head to the side. “If you do not object, that is. I want you to be happy with this as well.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

tybolt crakehall

In his pursuit for the freedom of The Westerlands from both those who had invaded them and the clutches of the Lannisters, there was little that he was not prepared to do. This meeting was a simple formality, another opportunity to show himself having a willingness to collaborate and even ally where the lioness would not. It was a case of small, seemingly inconsequential gestures eventually building an inarguable case to prove he was a far better choice to lead his homelands than the golden haired woman who had once been Queen.

Level tones left his lips, stating the obvious when he knew it would be impossible to incriminate himself when no guilt lay at his feet. “It seemed they had some reason and then no reason at all behind who they stole.” As proud as he was of his House he knew that at the moment the name Crakehall did very little to stir much in others and he was not offended by the notion that they had not been deemed worth taking by whoever was behind the attack. With the exception of Cersei Lannister he could not imagine all that many thinking them worth the trouble. That would soon change, however, and he was content to be deemed only mildly important when it meant that they would not sense his plan until he had all that he needed to enact it.

Expression did not alter despite his dislike of the inference that he had not already considered al of this. “I assure you that I have already taken such things into account. However, I suspect that they will not have been taken all that far at all if the aim is to ransom them back to us. It is far easier to keep leverage handy but secure. I took the liberty of studying some maps and I feel as though I have some scouting routes that may prove useful. However, I do not have enough man to spare to put them into practise as thoroughly as I might like.”

The King in the North had a touch of the wolfsblood in him, though it had never been as much as his younger sister. He had worked hard to temper the anger, to only let it show when he was truly overcome with a rage that he would no longer hide. But much as he wanted to rage now, Robb Stark knew that it would not do to anger the de facto leader of the Westerlands, especially when the King in the North’s men occupied some of their lands. Though they technically belonged to Jon, it had not been hard for Robb to take them and at some point, there would need to be a negotiation to remove the Northmen back to their homes. The thoughts were heavy on his mind, but he said nothing of them, not yet anyway.

He hummed lightly at the other man’s observation, inclining his own head in agreement. “Aye,” he said as his eyes met Lord Crakehall’s head on. “And from what I understand, they meant to have taken more than they did.” He knew that Mira had been taken for Margaery, that Theon’s brother’s betrothed had nearly been taken as well, and he would have been surprised if Loras Tyrell hadn’t been taken to save Renly Baratheon. Robb leaned against the table as the man spoke further, and it was not until Lord Crakehall finished that his eyebrows rose and a small smirk rose on his face. I do not have enough men to spare. The thought was surprising, that Crakehall was coming to him at all and Robb would not waste any leverage, perceived though it may be.

“And do you wish to merely take my men or offer your plan to a larger group?” he inquired, curious as to what Lord Crakehall’s aim was. He had not lost anyone that Robb had heard, but he would not believe that the other man’s aims were purely altruistic. He did not blame Crakehall for that; the King in the North was not entirely altruistic either. “They’re likely held near water,” he mused, though the words were more for himself.

[wolfofwinterfcll]

mira forrester

It had been a week since Mira had first boarded onto the Ironborn ship, attempting to stay optimistic but it did little to settle her tense expectations. Everyone was worried about the inevitable cause and if they had not been killed yet it only brought more questions than answers about their captivity. Mira had been forthcoming in hoping everyone adjusted to the new space, trying not to think of the worst possible reasons they were there. When the boat was docked and they had assumed it was for the Ironborn to get refreshments and nothing more, Mira sat quietly through the thick silence. The last thing she thought would happen is dragons being heard from above. She had never heard or seen one, but there was no denying what was occurring. 

It all happened rather quick, Mira not turning to look at the burning and scorched ships and only the security of her brothers and their men. They had been saved and her optimism was justified. It did not take long until they were back in the camps. Mira was relieved that nothing horrendous had happened to any of those taken, knowing it was the best situation to be in than the possibility of a more chilling outcome. 

She had been herded to the Northern camps with her family, not stepping into the side of the camps before but it was good to see her father after trying not to think of her last bitter words exchanged with him. She had been given a blanket and food to mend herself, but it was the appearance of Robb that drew her attention and made her heart pound possibly more than being on that ship. She immediately took to stand, running in haste towards him, meeting him in a tight embrace. Mira had thought about this every second she was on the ship, thinking of when she would see Robb again and the reasons behind the need to see the man. Her dainty palm cradled the side of his face as she brought her lips to his. “I love you too, Robb,” she whimpered his name between her eager, fervent kisses. “I am glad to be seeing you again after moments of thinking I wouldn’t.”

The responsibilities of a king rarely abated and the King in the North had spent many of the previous days planning the rescue, speaking with his troops, and ensuring that his sisters did not get into any trouble. There had also been that business with Lord Tyrell, but he did not wish to think on that – not now. While Robb had done his best to get back to Mira, the fact remained that he’d had little time to mourn her loss, something that rankled him even now that there was no need to mourn her at all.

As he held Mira in his arms, Robb wondered if he had ever felt such swift relief as he did upon knowing she was safe, that she was here, that she was his. He could not hold her long enough and as he pressed another kiss to her lips, he felt an indescribable joy filling him. He had thought of her during her time away and as his eyes met her own, one hand having moved to her waist, he kept his forehead pressed against her own. Lips curved into a grin, genuine and open, and Robb kissed Mira’s nose. “I’ve thought of little more than seeing you,” he admitted. “I went out of my mind.” He chuckled, though there was little humor in it as he remembered what the previous days had been like.

He sucked in a breath. “Marry me,” he said on the exhale, the words coming out quicker than he had intended them to. It was reckless, he supposed, and completely out of order – propriety dictated that he ask her father’s permission for – but Robb had the arrogance of a king and he would not deny himself, not now. “I do not wish to be without you, Mira. Not now, not ever.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, ignoring the onlookers. “So marry me, make me the happiest man in the North, and be my queen.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

@miraxforrester​ Northern Camp

He had been on pins and needles the entire time the rescue team was gone, but the King in the North had done his best to appear calm and placid. The majority of his time had been spent in the encampments ensuring that all the moving parts were in place and though he’d meant to be there when the prisoners were brought back, he had been instead lecturing a Northman who had gotten into a petty squabble with one of the Stormlords that had accompanied Lord Renly. It was frustrating to say the least and by the time Robb had heard that those taken had returned, he wanted little more than to see Mira.

A few hastily asked questions led him to the Northern encampment, where he was told he would find Lady Mira with her family. Upon arriving, Robb slung himself off his horse with ease and passed the reins to a groom while his eyes searched for the woman he’d worried night and day about since her capture. It took him a moment to find her but once he had, a smile spread on his face and he walked toward her with long, sure strides.

Without even stopping to catch a breath, he leaned down, his hands moving to the sides of her face, and his lips descended upon her own. He kissed her with all of the emotion that had built up in him the past few days and when he pulled back, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he breathed.

[wolfofwinterfcll]

willas tyrell

It had been a night full of weakness that deleterious intents were swallowed. There seemed nothing good to come from the raging night with so many being taken and little to be done. The one thing that pledged him in the night with hope had been Sansa. The day that followed the evening of the attack had kept him busy, tethered to his responsibilities to get the proper method of attack against the Ironborn. After sending men into the woods and leagues in front of them to search for any evidence to provoke where the Ironborn might have been to, he arrived back at the camps. It had only been hours but Willas’ chest was full with high hope to return to Sansa. That night she had been there for him before he barred the news of his brother and she had been there for him in the moments following the news. 

The medical tent was still full with those injured from the night and found Sansa there. For years she had been in Highgarden and Willas had not been in haste to encourage his feelings but was glad that they were firm and mirrored. He only stepped in, conversing with pleasantries before raising his hand to steady her in a kiss.  It was just as the night before, but more confident that he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her own in a deep, passionate kiss.

There were others around him, but it was chaste enough to not draw too much attention. It was the same people there as the night before. Willas only separated when he heard the hostile sound of Robb Stark behind him. His attention stilled and barely caught what Sansa said in disagreement. Willas knew this was inevitable and tried to remain calm. There were no men around to defend him, but this was a matter he thought could be civilly solved. 

That was an unreasonable thought for what Robb did next and Willas immediately brought his hands to release himself. This wasn’t the first time they were heated over Sansa, having discussed the very subject vaguely. It was not his intent to keep this a private affair, having more wits than that. But none of that seemed to rise in him now except a flared and tempted anger. “Is that a threat, Your Grace?” Willas answered, his voice not hiding any politeness. There was no where to turn in the man’s tight grip around him. “Surely we can discuss this like men and not children.”

The King in the North was in a rage unlike any he had seen before. He had learned of Theon’s own kidnapping and after seeing Mira be taken, he was low on a great many emotions. Seeing the Lord of Highgarden in an embrace with his younger sister was a breaking point that Robb did not realize he’d been so close to. His jaw remained clenched and he waited until his sister left the tent before he even took another breath. His head was still filled with frustration and he could feel the tension in his neck returning with a vengeance.

His sisters did not understand – though he supposed Arya might – just how much he’d been through in the past few years. He’d become Lord of Winterfell, then King in the North, and had marched South to save the sisters that had been taken from him. He knew he had not done so in the easiest of ways, knew that they had not been rescued perhaps as early as they had hoped, but Robb had done his best and he would not apologize for it.

Truth be told, Robb was tired. And as Willas Tyrell spoke to him, he felt some anger draining out of him, though he held onto it like a stick a blind man clung to in the night. He did not loosen the grip on the other man’s shirt and his eyes narrowed as he looked down. “You realize,” he said, his tone harsh and his words punctuated with annoyance. “That my sister is a Princess of the North.” It was not a question and he wondered if the man would acknowledge his words. “She does not have the luxury of choosing her own match and as King in the North and her brother, I would certainly be remiss in my duties if I were to ignore it when she was being dishonored in such a public location.”

He let go of the man’s shirt, his nostrils flaring and his head tilted to the side. The anger seemed to have somewhat deflated. “Tell me, Lord Tyrell, what would you do in my position? My sister seems not to realize that I have duties that are more than those to family.” Lips thinned. “I would hope you are not susceptible to such fallacies.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

arya stark

Arya nodded. For once, she was not at odds with his stern instruction. She didn’t want to leave with anyone else anyway. Unless Gendry managed to wander up to the tent on his own, Arya didn’t trust anyone else either. Her head moved swiftly to look at him at the utterance of their House words. Father had said those words her entire life. They did not hold much meaning for a child that had never seen a Winter, but Arya knew now what they meant. “You dying wouldn’t do shit for our family. Keep that out of your head, stupid.” Her tone was sharper than it needed to be, but she was tired of losing people. If anything happened to Robb now, it might just push her over the edge. “Winter is Coming.” She repeated, a bit dazed. “That us now, isn’t it? We’re the ones who have to live up to that.”

Grey Wind was so big now. Arya wondered if he was still the best behaved of all their direwolves. He always had been, with the exception of Lady. She nuzzled the top of the creature’s head lovingly. Her heart ached for Nymeria. A direwolf guard was far preferable to anyone else that her brother could have offered up. “I’m out of Baratheon captivity now.” He was right. There was no telling if Bran would ever be able to have children, as tragic a thought as that was. It would only lead to chaos down the line for the inheritance of Winterfell. She’d not seen Rickon in years, but the child she’d left was even more feral than she had been at his age. By most people standards, however, he would be the rightful heir should Bran be passed over. None of that was right, though, and Robb knew it. “And you should know well that the North won’t fall back in line for Jon now, either. Especially if he claims his seat in the South. No one but a Stark can hold the North, and Starks belong in Winterfell.“ She sighed. “But I reckon that doesn’t matter much now. Does it? No one else is dying.” 

“I need a sword.” She said as she tossed the bloody dagger to the edge of the tent. “Dagger has no reach if they decide to make a second attack, and I’m not going to sit in a tent if people are being attacked. You can’t ask me to.” He could ask her, but she wouldn’t listen either way. There had been many times in Arya’s life when not protecting someone would have been the smart or easy thing to do, but she didn’t have that in her. Protecting others came as a second nature to her. If she had to run out of the tent barehanded, then Arya would try her best to put a strangle hold on anyone who dared attack. She grabbed her brother by the arm. “Robb-” Her eyes were misty now. “Be careful. Don’t let Renly push you around. He’s got the weaker hand, and he talks a lot, but you’re more clever than he is.” No one wanted to ally with the Baratheons right now anyway. “And- and thank you.”

Robb was thankful when she did not disagree, at least not right away. He had little patience left in him and he knew he’d need what little he had would need to be used as he treated with the Lord of Storm’s End. He nodded. “I’ll do my very best,” he responded, his tone rather cocky. In truth, Robb had expected to die during this war. But the knowledge that both sisters were returned to him had given him a hope that perhaps he would survive this after all. Lips twitched at the corners. “Aye, Winter is Coming.” He repeated himself with a shrug of one shoulder. “We are Starks of Winterfell and they are our words. I highly doubt Father has need to use them any longer.” He made a face, though he did not wish to begin discussing their father yet again.

“Aye,” he agreed. “You are out of the Crownlands now.” He sighed. “But you have not been to the North in years,” he pointed out, his tone kind yet firm. “The bannermen are aware of my will and know my reasons. Jon might be a Targaryen now but he was raised by the same father we were. If I fall, they will follow him.” For a time, at least. Robb knew that it would only take one errant bannerman – and his bet would be on Roose Bolton – to bring down the agreement he’d made with his solders on who to follow after him. “We will talk of this again when we have time and I have the fortitude to begin a discussion knowing I will be disagreed with at every turn.” Lips turned upwards.

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” he responded, his tolerance wearing as his head began pounding. Would he ever had a sister who listened? “As your king, I’m commanding it. You will remain here, with Grey Wind, unless your very life is in imminent danger. Then, and only then, may you use a sword.” He gestured to his bed. “There should be at least two under there, but they might be too heavy for you. We’ll see about arming you properly when there is time for it.” He hoped that Arya would have no reason to use the weapons, but he was at least aware enough to realize she would not be able to adequately defend herself with nothing but the dagger she’d used to escape from the Baratheon camp.

He nodded, leaning down to press a brief kiss to her forehead before he finished getting what he would need to take with him. “Aye, I will be careful,” he said quietly, listening to the words that left her mouth, answering them with a bark of a laugh that escaped his own. “A stag cannot beat a snarling wolf, Arya,” he reminded her, head tilted to the side. “Thank me when I return with that blacksmith of yours.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

tybolt crakehall

In the wake of the attack everyone was scrambling to try to get those who had been lost back and although he couldn’t claim to be that fond of anyone who had been taken, he had no intentions of sitting on the sidelines. With maps of the area closely studied and some more than helpful insight from Rosamund, he felt prepared enough to send word to the King in The North that he wished to meet. It seemed senseless to miss an opportunity to prove himself not only useful but potentially far more useful and willing to help than the Lions of the Rock.

Entering the tent with confidence his head bowed somewhat in his typical show of respect, polite smile forming on his lips as cordial words left them. “I appreciate you seeing me at such short notice, your grace.” It didn’t matter to him that the man before him was technically no king, he owed no allegiance to the children of Cersei Lannister and so it caused him little guilt to address another with respect. His pride did not smart at acknowledging that the other man might have a higher standing when it helped to have friend or at the very least acquaintances in high places. 

With ease he settled himself into the seat across from the other man, more smooth words on his lips as he offered his proposal. “House Crakehall was lucky not to lose anyone to these bandits but we would very much like to offer our help in retrieving those taken. I know a number of Westerland Lords would join me in this.”

@wolfofwinterfcll

The King in the North was rattled. It felt as if a lifetime had been crammed into the past few days; Mira had been taken, Theon had been taken, and instead of struggling for thrones, it seemed that the majority of the lords and self-proclaimed kings had chosen to work together to bring back those they cared for. The problem, at least to Robb, was that no one could agree on much and even if they could, there was little knowledge about where those taken were currently being held. It had not been difficult to accept Lord Crakehall’s meeting and as the man in question walked in, Robb raised a brow at the address.

There was some good, of course, that came from this. Arya had returned to them and he’d been able to leverage the kidnapping of Loras Tyrell to ensure that Gendry Waters no longer resided with his nefarious Baratheon relatives. But as he looked at Tybolt Crakehall, all Robb could think about was the man he’d had to behead for murdering the previous lord. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “It was no trouble,” he stated, though the words were more honest than the mere platitudes he expected Lord Crakehall thought them to be.

A brow rose as the man sat and the King in the North considered the words that left the Crakehall’s lips. “Very fortuitous indeed,” he remarked. If he was a more suspicious man, perhaps he would have suspected the Crakehalls as being behind some of this, but Robb was pragmatic enough to realize it would have done little to advance them. “The problem, Lord Crakehall,” he mused. “Is that we’ve little idea where they’ve been taken and we’ve even less idea of what type of manpower is there. They could be halfway to Lys by now with a fast ship and a strong wind.”

[wolfofwinterfcll]

“It was not your decision to make. My life is my own.”

Robb pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. He can feel the beginnings of a headache at the base of his neck. It creeps up his skull, the slight discomfort becoming sharper the higher it rises. He knows Sansa does not like his decisions; on that, his sister has been quite clear. But at some point, he’s realized he has to stop caring about that fact. Being a king has brought it with a layer of responsibility he had not known before; a king cannot, it seems, please everyone.

“But it’s not, Sansa,” he says, his patience wearing thin, his tone tinged with an annoyance he hates to use, even with his sister at her most frustrating. “Your life is not your own. Just as my life is not my own.” Robb sucks in a breath, his gaze moving to the crown that lays on the table in his solar, thrown haphazardly as if it is not a symbol of his current responsibilities.

“You are a princess of the North,” he finally states, his voice tired, weary, so sick of fighting with her. “Your life belongs to the North. We are wolves of Winterfell and that means something.” Robb looks her in the eye and his tone becomes more commanding, that of a king. He hates the sound of it on his lips but he hates the thought that Sansa wants nothing to do with the North even more.

“You are a Stark. You are part Tully. Family, duty, and honor should mean something to you.” His gaze narrows. “And no matter how hard you try, you will never be a Rose of Highgarden, much as you might wish otherwise.”