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bumblesimagines · 9 months

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Imagine:

Being the Frey girl betrothed to Robb Stark

Request: Yes or No

Did not intend for this to be long

~~~

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Many little ladies dreamt of their weddings, dreamily wondering about their future husbands and the family they'd create together. Your dreams of the perfect wedding had been brief, crushed quickly under the boot of your father, Walder Frey, and you were forced to accept that you'd be marrying out of duty rather than true love.

There'd been some hope and a spark of relief when your sisters had rushed to your bedchambers, giddy and eager to speak of your betrothed: Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell. He had visited briefly and been allowed his pick of the litter, but when he provided no response, your father chose for him. You knew of the Starks of Winterfell. They were an honorable family and close as could be. And from the accounts of your sisters, Robb was a handsome man. Young, handsome, eyes blue as sapphires, pretty brown hair, and incredibly polite. You hadn't seen him as you'd been occupied the day of his visit, but everything your sisters told you filled you with glee. An honorable, kind husband who you'd surely fall in love with.

Or so you thought.

You'd been there when one of Walder's men had requested his time and spoke of Robb. The words that followed had sent you reeling, stomach twisting and heart shattering. Robb had a lover. A healer from Volantis named Talisa Maegyr. Your father's rage had been brief, calming when the man assured him Robb still planned on wedding you. He hadn't broken his promise to House Frey, and that had been enough for your father. You shouldn't have been surprised. Walder himself had fostered many bastards throughout his countless marriages.

"A man has needs." He'd said, curling his bony fingers around his ale and bringing it to his mouth. He cared little for the tears forming in your eyes. "I cannot fault him for that."

You spent the rest of the day weeping in your room with your sisters around you, murmuring comforts and trying to brighten your day.

"You'll be Lady Stark and Queen of the North soon, dear sister." One had attempted, a brush delicately going through your hair. "His mistress will be just that. A mistress."

But it hadn't been that. No, you wept because a mistress before the wedding had even been planned meant a loveless marriage where you'd have to battle for your husband's attention, battle to ensure you had his child first. You'd seen firsthand how much a loveless marriage affected a bride. Your father had many wives after the death of your own mother, each of them young and full of light that dimmed with each passing day until they were a hollow and empty shell. You wept for what could've been a happy future far from the grim place you called home.

But the sadness turned to bitterness and anger over night. The Stark's prided themselves on being loyal and honorable, sticking to their oaths and promises even if it meant putting their own happiness aside. Why couldn't Robb done that for you? Why had he taken a lover so quickly after the announcement of your incoming wedding? He hadn't cared about how shameful it would be for you. How humiliating. You'd be known as Lady (Y/N) of Winterfell, the woman who'd been cast aside before ever meeting her husband.

The wedding date had arrived sooner than later, something you loathed. You stared at the reflection in the mirror as both maids and kin tended to you. They brushed your hair, powdered your face, and tightened the wedding dress to your body while fawning over how beautiful of a wedding it'd be. They praised you at the end, gushing over how pretty of a bride you'd be. They hadn't thought to realize that Robb would be envisioning his little healer in your place when you walked down the isle.

You ensured to keep a stoic expression throughout the ceremony, not even mustering a smile for your husband when he lifted the veil and took in your appearance. His eyes, as pretty as described, had widened considerably and flickered over to the pews where his family sat. The ends of his mouth had quirked up into a smile and he muttered a soft 'my lady' before turning to the Septon. You would've scoffed if it weren't for the stare Walder gave you.

The ceremony went by in a breeze and you kept your stoic, cool composure, even when your father had lowly whispered for you to smile after being seated. He no longer had control over you. You relished in the thought. The only good thing that had allowed for you to have an appetite as Starks, Freys, and other allies celebrated. You spent most of the celebration searching for her until you noticed Catelyn Stark speaking with a young woman who stared at Robb hopelessly. Talisa, you presumed from the frankly exasperated look on Catelyn's face. She was pretty, you'd give him that.

"Are you feeling well?" Robb asked quietly and reached for your hand, delicately placing his over it and staring at you with knitted brows. You pulled your hand away swiftly and set it on your lap, eyes moving onto your beloved sisters to keep your emotions in check.

"No." You answered after a brief pause. Robb was handsome, incredibly so, but his presence alone irritated you. You had to act quick before the bedding ceremony took place, a tradition your father insisted on keeping alive. "I feel unwell, Lord Stark. I'm afraid I'll be retreating early."

"Shall I go with-"

Rising from your seat, you shook your head, still refusing to meet his eyes. "No, My Lord. That will not be necessary." You carefully lifted your dress and breezed past your father, ignoring the glare he speared into your back as you glided down the steps and toward the exit.

Slipping out into the familiar halls, you exhaled deeply and released your gown. It dragged along the stone floor, dark gray clashing with white. You itched to get out of it as soon as possible. The thought of burning it crossed your mind but it felt too childish, too improper of a lady.

"My Queen." A voice echoed down the hall and you halted. Queen of the North and Lady Stark of Winterfell. Right. Your new titles. No longer one of Walder's many overlooked daughters. You looked over your shoulder, spotting her auburn hair first, a signature trait of the Tully family. Catelyn Stark.

"My Lady." You greeted her, turning to face the older woman. She smiled sweetly, gazing at you with the warmth of a mother. Catelyn grew closer and took your hands into hers, smile turning into a shamed smile.

"I am deeply sorry for what my son has done." Her voice sounded sincere, full of guilt and shame. She shook her head. "I taught him better than that. He knows better than that. But rest assured, that woman will not cause problems for you."

You'd nearly forgotten. Eddard Stark had returned home from the war with a bastard son called Jon Snow and raised him as a trueborn alongside the rest of his children. You remembered the murmured rumors of how Catelyn detested him and had fostered a particular dislike for bastards. Perhaps that dislike extended to mistresses.

"She may share his bed, that is true. But he is my husband now, and as his wife, I have duties that I will not forget. I can assure you, Lady Stark, I will give your son an heir and do what needs to be done for House Stark to prosper, just as you have done these many years." Her eyes softened considerably, fingers lightly squeezing the palms of your hands.

"Oh, sweet child." Catelyn cooed gently and brought a hand to your cheek. You yearned for your mother's embrace, her soothing words. You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling. "You shall make a wonderful queen and a wonderful wife. I... I will ensure Robb does his duties as husband. You need not stress over Talisa."

"I appreciate it, Lady Stark. I'm afraid I'll be heading to my- our bedchambers for the rest of the night. Please assure everyone that I am well." You pulled your hands from hers and lowered your head in respect to the monarch before turning and resuming your walk down the hall.

Another deep breath and you reached the one of the many guest bedchambers. Most of your belongings had been packed up for you, likely already sitting in Robb's tent out on the field. You dismissed the servants that offered to help you ready for bed, only agreeing to have a warm bath drawn so you could relax after the day's events.

Slipping out of your wedding dress, you watched it slump on the cool floor and stepped out of your shoes. You released your hair and ran your fingers through it as you dipped one leg into the bath and then the other. The water dug into your skin, easing away at the tension in your muscles. A soft sigh of relief escaped past your lips, shoulders dipping below the surface. You leaned your head back against the wall of the tub, eyes fluttering shut and mind forgetting about the day.

You would've stayed in the tub for the rest of the night, even slept in it, if it hadn't been for the sound of the door creaking open. Your eyes snapped open and you lifted your head, gazing down at the water as heavy boots stepped across the room. Robb passed by the tub, shedding his coat and draping it over a chair. You brought your knees up to your chest when he turned.

"I thought you would've been asleep by now." He spoke softly, undoing the buttons of his vest. "Are you feeling better?"

The consummation. You nearly grimaced. "No."

"Should I call for a maester?"

"It's likely nerves, My Lord."

"We're husband and wife now. You may call me Robb." He gave a boyish smile and you turned to look at the towel perfectly folded on the stool beside you. You reached for it and let it unravel outside of the tub, eyes jumping back to the Stark. Robb's fingers had paused on the last button, attention trained fully on you but when he noticed the icy look, he turned his back. You stood, the water sloshing around as you dried yourself and retrieved a nightgown.

"I would like to sleep in my old room tonight. It's likely the last time I'll see it."

"I'd like to believe that, (Y/N). But I am no fool. I am your husband, you may speak openly with me." Your jaw clenched at his words. He claimed to be no fool yet remained oblivious to your anger. "And I hope you'll grow comfortable enough to sleep at my side."

Picking up a candle, you lifted it to the lantern keeping the room lit and pulled away once the fire flickered onto the end of the wax. "I believe your lover would prefer otherwise, My Lord. I bid you goodnight."

He blinked. "(Y/N)-"

"I bid you goodnight."

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starkskeep · 1 year

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Oh, all I used to do was pray (r. stark)

Oh, all I used to do was pray r. stark imagine

Pairings - Robb Stark x female!Reader

Summary: Robb Stark is the King of the North and the Riverlands after defeating the Lannisters. He was persuaded to keep his promise to Lord Frey and marry one of his daughters on the march back from King's Landing. No one except Walder Frey is happy with this arrangement. Robb Stark's new wife is forced to bear the weight of his hatred and the North's indifference to the new queen.

Word Count: 1,790 words

Warnings - Angst, violence, arranged marriage, mention of infidelity

Songs I listened to while writing: Would've, Could've Should've, Bigger Than the Whole Sky, The Great War, mad woman, Right Where You Left Me (Taylor Swift)

You were one of the many daughters of the Late Lord Walder Frey and an unnamed noblewoman who lost her battle on the birthing bed. Just one of the faces to be lost in the background. Not the most beautiful, not the most outspoken, not the best at singing, dancing, or embroidery. Just ok. Enough not to be ridiculed but not enough to be praised. Maybe that is why Catelyn Stark chose you to be the wife of her son. You were not incompetent but you would not overpower him. You would not be able to control the King of the North in order to advance the standing of House Frey. Walder Frey was surprised when you were the one chosen to marry Robb Stark but a man with as many children as he couldn’t bring himself to actually care. The wedding ceremony was a quick event performed in the faith of the Seven. The celebration was hurried. Your new husband wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. The sooner he was married, the sooner he would leave The Twins, and the sooner he and his men would be back in the North. There was much to be done with rebuilding Winterfell and establishing the reign of the Starks as the kings of the North for the first time since Aegon’s Conquest.

Disappointed was not the word you would use to describe your feelings. Dreaming of a wedding and a husband was something you had not done as a young girl. You never expected to be forced into a marriage as there were so many daughters born before you. This was not how you imagined your life to be like. Traveling east was your dream. A daughter not paid attention to by anyone in her household would have had an easy time sneaking away. Now you were the wife of a king and traveling North. You had to do your duty, even though you felt your heartbreak and your dreams die a little more each time you caught Robb staring at you with pure, unadulterated disdain. His family and his people were not much more welcoming. It seemed as if the Northerners had ice in their hearts when it came to outsiders.

You stood in the courtyard of Winterfell unsure of what to do and feeling completely out of place. The Starks were being welcomed back into Winterfell with open arms yet you knew that this did not extend to you.It was clear to you from the moment you were married into this family that you were unwelcome and unwanted. Thankfully, you were given an excuse to leave the courtyard when a servant came up to you. “If you would follow me, my lady. I will show you to your new chambers.” You accepted the servant’s offer and followed them to your new sanctuary. Though the rooms were large, warm, and filled with everything you could possibly need to be comfortable, you could not help but notice that they were located as far away from your husband’s chambers as possible. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.” You thought to yourself, “At least I do not need to be overwhelmed by the tension being near him, of always having my guard up.”

Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. You have tried to become closer to the Starks but are rebuffed each time. Instead of wallowing in pity, you devoted yourself to the reconstruction of Winterfell. You learned how to heal minor injuries and sicknesses from the Maester of Winterfell. You spent your time at the orphanage in Winter Town, caring for the children who lost their parents in the war. If you weren’t going to be accepted by your new family, you were at least going to prove that you were not useless. Despite this, no kindness was shown to you so you found your own peace and refuge where you could. More often than not, you were able to be located in the Godswood. It is there during your sixth moon at Winterfell that you were interrupted by Jon Snow. You smiled at him. Despite Jon being Robb’s brother, Jon is the only one who has been kind to you rather than being cold and detached. He had admitted to you during one of your many conversations that he knew what it felt like to be brushed aside. He wanted to make sure that you weren’t completely isolated.

This time, however, you do not give Jon a smile as he approaches you. You are focused on nothing, just staring blankly ad picking the grass by your sides. Jon is quite concerned for you so he decides to speak up. “My lady. Is everything alright?” He says as he clears his throat. It draws your attention so you flash him a weak smile. “I’m sorry Jon. I didn’t notice you there. You must have thought me quite rude for not greeting you.” “No, not rude… I was just concerned for you.” Jon looks down into your eyes. He looks like he wants to say more but is trying to stop himself. “Are you ok? You just seem… not like yourself. I can leave if you would prefer. If I'm bothering you…” You can see in his eyes that Jon truly wants to help you so you open up to him. You don’t know if he already knows or not, since he is Robb’s brother. “Talisa Maegyr is pregnant. My husband’s mistress is pregnant. I can hear the whispers from the people in Winterfell. I expect to receive a letter from my father soon, bemoaning my inability to become with child and cement my place as the Queen of the North.” Judging from Jon’s shocked expression, his brother had not told him. You hate yourself a little more for putting him in such an awkward position with Robb. Unable to distract yourself from the guilt that is clawing at your throat, you leave Jon in the Godswood, giving the excuse that you wish to be alone on a walk. Jon sadly watches you go.

Your good brother thanks the Gods that you already had left the Godswood. Not a few minutes after your departure Sansa and Robb arrive. Jon knew that if you couldn’t face him, you would definitely not be able to face your husband at that moment. “Jon,” he says with a deep breath. Robb’s face is solemn and he seems tense. “Have you seen my wife?”Jon is absolutely furious that Robb has the nerve to ask about you, now knowing that he has fathered a bastard. He looks at his brother with a frown. “She knows, Robb. She knows that you got your mistress pregnant. Leave her alone for the time being. She doesn’t need more of your disapproval.” Jon says tiredly. The fact that his brother would get another woman pregnant knowing how it felt for Catelyn when Jon was brought home by Ned and how Jon was then treated eats away at Jon.

Robb is silent, the pain on his face plain. He looks down at John, seeming to take in his words, processing them. He sighs and sits down, looking up at Jon. “You're right, Jon. I'm sorry.” Robb shakes his head and looks down at his feet. He's clearly in a lot of turmoil, though he takes Jon's words without argument. Maybe there were other things on his mind as well. Sansa steps forward and ends the silence between her two brothers. “Is...is she ok? Is she upset? Jon speaks again, “She was devastated, so devastated, but she wasn’t angry. This family has pushed her away so much since her wedding to Robb but she is still so eager to prove herself to us that she isn’t even angry that her husband got another woman pregnant.”Robb began to tense up, his face darkening and his fists clenching. Robb tenses up, his face darkening as he clenches his fists. “Jon.” Robb's voice is low, and Jon can tell he's on the verge of snapping. “I know, alright? You don't need to rub it in.” His voice is pained. Robb doesn’t know if he is angry at Jon or if he is angry at himself. His reaction makes Jon angrier. “No. You don’t know.” Jon looks at Sansa as well, “None of our siblings know. Everyone has been cold to Robb’s wife, our good sister, and resented her for the entire seven months that she has been in Winterfell. She was forced into the marriage as well, or did you conveniently forget that? So much time has been spent blaming her for the actions of Walder Frey that no one has stopped to consider that she is just as much a victim of circumstance in this marriage as Robb is.” Jon is so upset that he can’t be around them anymore.

After you left the Godswood, you went to the stables and requested that a horse be saddled As soon as it was brought to you, you took off through the gates of Winterfell, intent on getting as far away from everything as you could. It briefly crossed your mind not to go too far lest a search party be sent out after you, but you dismissed the thought. It would take a while of being away from Winterfell before anyone actually noticed the absence of their queen. You urge your horse to ride faster and faster toward the forest.

The Wolfswood is beautiful. Its trees stand tall and a stark contrast against the white landscape, giving the surroundings a majestic quality. The snow is thick on the ground. Suddenly, you can hear a sound in the distance. It's muffled at first, getting louder and louder. Soon the source seems to be obvious: A pack of wolves, howling. As you get closer to the sound, you realize that you were gravely mistaken. A pack of wolves would have been preferable to the sight that is in front of you now. It is a group of men laughing. A banner of a flayed man hangs behind them and is replicated upon their clothing. Even worse, they are holding Arya and Rickon. Likely just having fun in the woods that they were kept away from for so long yet now likely feeling as if their return home has been cut short. You decide that you need to do something immediately. Picking up a rock, you throw it to distract the men. This allowed Arya and Rickon to escape the hold on them. In the commotion, you to your good sister and good brother. “Run! Take my horse! Ride back to Winterfell! Quickly!”

Next Part

#robb stark x reader #robb stark #robb stark imagine #robb stark fanfic #got imagine #got x reader #king of the north

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katy-89 · 8 months

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Rhaenys was 16 and Corlys 37 when they married.

Maron Martell was 39, Daenerys 15

Rhaenyra and Harwin (16/23),

Rhaenyra and Daemon (15/31)

Loras and Renly (16/21)

Sansa and Willas (12/22)

Thaddeus Rowan (50s) and Floris Baratheon (14)

Rodrik Arryn (36) and Daella Targaryen (15/16)

Viserys Targaryen (12) and Larra Rogare (19)

Maegor Targaryen (13) and Ceryse Hightower (23)

Walder Frey and his latest wife are almost 75 years age difference. She is 17

Rhaena married a 17 year old

Cersei groomed and fucked a 16 year old

Oberyn (42) fucked a 16 year old

Ah, Elaena and Alyn Velaryon. She’s at least 16 years younger than his daughter with Baela

Robert....lol

Etc etc etc

And yet...none of these characters/ships are getting the same hate as Rhaegar and Lyanna. Actually many of them are LOVED and CELEBRATED.

Rhaelya antis even ship Elia (4 years older than Rhaegar) with the teenagers Lyanna and Jaime

Mmmmh

Maybe y'all doesn't care about age gap and you just have an agenda?

This is the most fake progressive fandom i ever seen.

#asoiaf #rhaegar targaryen #elia martell #daenerys targaryen #maron martell #Lyanna stark #house targaryen #house martell #house velaryon #house baratheon

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visenyaism · 8 months

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ASOIAF terrible fathers bracket FINAL FOUR: WALDER FREY vs. TYWIN LANNISTER

walder: actively hates all 28+ of his legitimate and bastard children, had as many as humanly possible even though it is actively causing a huge succession crisis that will cause them to all kill each other as soon as he dies. does not care about this at all and pits them against each other for his own amusement. very creepy with his daughters. because of his ineptitude as a father his entire house is going to wipe itself off the earth in like 3 business years

tywin: so walder is a bad enough dad that his children are destroying the riverlands but tywin is a bad enough dad that his children are ALSO destroying the riverlands even though they aren’t even from there. if you don’t remember every single way tywin lannister was a horrible father just go back to a feast for crows and do a lap. i’m done being impartial here we need someone who can stand any sort of a chance against craster in the final. you will be voting for tywin🫵

#asoiaf #terrible dad bracket #AND THEY SAID I COULDNT REMEMBER TO ACTUALLY DO THIS

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turtle-paced · 6 months

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Revisiting Chapters: Catelyn VI, ASoS

Bit of a horror movie, this chapter.

The story so far…

Amidst terrible weather and even worse fortune, the Starks are now arriving at the Twins for Edmure’s wedding.

A Bunch of Assholes

The chapter starts with the approach to the Twins, accompanied by the growling of the flooded Green Fork. It’s a beefed up version of the very natural conditions that led to Robb asking for Frey support back in AGoT. It’s a watery, miserable scene - towers appearing from the mist like ghosts in wet stone, banners on the opposite bank hanging like dead cats, and everything in general grey and sodden.

This is a happy place, where happy things will happen.

Robb starts thinking about appearances a little ways out, putting on his crown and making sure his mother and uncle are riding next to him. Catelyn, for her part, has some last minute advice. First, Walder Frey’s an asshole. Second:

“If we are offered refreshment when we arrive, on no account refuse. Take what is offered, and eat and drink where all can see. If nothing is offered, ask for bread and cheese and a cup of wine.”

This is advice based on the fact that there are many ways Walder Frey might be an asshole. If refreshment is offered, because Walder Frey might not extend guest right to his guests. On no account refuse, because Walder Frey might extend guest right by serving stewed crow smothered in maggots (as Robb suggests he might). Bread and cheese and a cup of wine so that Robb doesn’t give excuse for further insult either by asking for the bare minimum (thereby highlighting the fact Walder Frey hadn’t offered the bare minimum) or by asking for something lavish and difficult to obtain.

But mostly Catelyn’s concerned that a) Robb obtains guest right, and b) Robb is known to have obtained guest right. Which says a lot about what she suspects the Freys may be capable of. She thinks that the strongest customary protection against violence may be needed.

The Tully siblings then get their own cattier tendencies on when a Frey contingent comes out to greet them. There’s Ser Ryman, heir to the Twins, whose face Catelyn’s internal monologue describes as “fleshy, broad, and stupid.” Edmure doesn’t keep it to internal monologue but does keep it sotto voce when he describes Edwyn Frey as having a “constipated look” and wishing that Roslin Frey does not take after Petyr Frey with the “unfortunate,” acne-stricken face. Calling Black Walder a nasty bit of business though, that can stand.

Catty or not, the Freys quickly prove themselves to be…not the most pleasant bunch. After Grey Wind startles Petyr Frey’s horse, Robb dismounts and offers his own. Not only is this gesture barely even acknowledged, Ryman Frey proves to have zero courtesies and calls Jeyne Westerling “the woman.” Edwyn’s got more manners, described as “careful courtesy.”

Better question is, why is this party being headed by Ser Ryman? While Catelyn openly gives Walder Frey the benefit of the doubt, since fair enough the nonagenarian doesn’t want to go riding in the rain, in her internal monologue she suspects it’s an insult.

There are more diplomatic overtures, as Edwyn Frey arranges for Robb’s armies to be seen to the far side of the river, where they’ll all have access to a drink on House Frey to the health of the married couple. Lame Lothar cheerfully sees Grey Wind to a dry kennel and a leg of mutton. This is another kind of assholishness, one that goes beyond the bounds of the words. The Freys here know what the plan is. They know that the plan is to lull the people they’re talking to into a false sense of security before murdering the vast majority of them.

But then there’s the main event, Walder Frey himself, and GRRM gives us a refresher on his appearance in a way that leaves no doubt he’s the chief asshole before he even says a word:

His chair was black oak, its back carved into the semblance of two stout towers joined by an arched bridge, so massive that its embrace turned the old man into a grotesque child. There was something of the vulture about Lord Walder, and rather more of the weasel.

Also noted is Walder’s mouth, which “moved constantly, sucking at empty air as a babe sucks at his mother’s breast.” So while Walder’s an old man, he’s compared to child (because that’s the level of emotional maturity going on here), vulture (he’s an opportunist), and weasel (he’s sneaky).

Additionally, Walder’s brought out his grandson-slash-fool, who’s wearing a fake crown. Catelyn can’t be completely sure, but she thinks giving this particularly unfortunate grandson (Aegon “Jinglebell” Frey) the crown is meant to be an insult. It’s just dubious enough a jab that complaining about it would be met with something along the lines of “what are you talking about - you’re so sensitive, god.” Walder soon follows that up by saying Jinglebell has “less wits than a crannogman” and that talking to him is about the same as talking to a chamberpot. Pretty much the entire Frey family is here to listen to that description. Then he starts in on describing Roslin. He wants to know where Jeyne is. He was very keen to see her!

What might have been a suspicious interest in the whereabouts of Jeyne Westerling at this totally not an ambush is quickly covered by, you guessed it, more assholery. Walder Frey waves a hand and all his eligible daughters and granddaughters hurry forward to be paraded in front of the King in the North.

And how does the author emphasise that Robb really might have legitimately preferred to marry someone he was attracted to? By having their gradfather expound on their physical flaws.

“It would have been an impossible choice, my lord,” Robb said, with careful courtesy. “They’re all too lovely.” Lord Walder snorted. “And they say my eyes are bad.”

Delightful. Absolutely delightful. But Robb gives his apology as he knew he must. Roslin is brought out, and the topic changes to Edmure’s impending nuptials.

Politics as usual

After that reception, Catelyn and Edmure retreat for a post-mortem. Despite all the times I used the word ‘asshole’ above, both of them are like ‘wow, that was not as bad as I thought it would be’. Says volumes. Edmure’s got his own comments on the parade of Frey ladies and notes he expected that he’d be given an ugly bride. Catelyn, meanwhile, thinks Roslin is pretty and seems nice enough, but she’s seriously alarmed at how small she is and how difficult that might make childbirth. Back to the relative attractiveness though:

“Your fondness for a pretty face is well known,” Catelyn reminded [Edmure]. “Perhaps Lord Walder actually wants you to be happy with your bride.” Or more like, he did not want you balking over a boil and upsetting all his plans. “Or it may be that Roslin is the old man’s favourite. The Lord of Riverrun is a much better match than most of his daughters can hope for.”

Everything with Roslin just goes to show how commodified the marriage market is in Westeros. The physique of these young ladies is political. Edmure’s sexual preferences are political. And these poor girls were ordered up in front of complete strangers for at least one of them (Catelyn) to look at them all and evaluate them as breeding stock. Indeed, Catelyn ends up going to ask the castle’s maester about Roslin’s potential fertility, and the man tells her.

After this particular conversation, Catelyn goes to find Robb, who’s mid-meeting. Catelyn was not invited. But when she asks, she does get answers. Wylis Manderly has been recaptured by the Lannisters; Roose Bolton’s brought news that Cley Cerwyn and Leobald Tallhart were killed at Winterfell, with several survivors taken to the Dreadfort by Ramsay. Catelyn has problems with this.

“Your bastard was accused of grievous crimes,” Catelyn reminded him sharply. “Of murder, rape, and worse.”

Roose’s response? Sure. But he led the battle (ahem), and Robb can judge from there whether that makes up for it. Not like Roose will be out an heir, since he has Lady Walda.

This is a cold man, Catelyn realised, not for the first time.

Catelyn does not know how cold yet.

Robb then asks for news of Theon. Roose gives him the skin from Theon’s little finger, flayed off by Ramsay. We haven’t had solid reports of Theon since the end of ACoK, and the mention here is intended to inform the reader he’s still around, just busy being tortured.

Roose offers Catelyn the skin, and she makes herself refuse it, though part of her “wanted to clutch the grisly trophy to her heart.” Lady Stoneheart does not come out of nowhere, but is the unhappiest extreme of Catelyn’s rage and grief. She, and Robb, are both unhappy with Roose’s suggestion that they keep Theon as a hostage. Roose clarifies that he just means keeping Theon hostage and demanding concessions to execute him. Robb okays this.

Back to the Lannisters, though, and it’s here that I’ll move into what this chapter really does.

Foreshadowing

This chapter is all about the leadup to the Red Wedding. Red flags abound this chapter, not just in a literary sense but in concrete in-universe signs that something is amiss. The first nasty bit crops up as Catelyn and Robb discuss guest right and the need for him to avail himself of it.

Robb looked more amused than afraid. “I have an army to protect me, Mother, I don’t need to trust in bread and salt.”

Neither will do Robb much good here.

Next, Grey Wind starts growling at the Freys, and then even lunges at them. Not a very diplomatic start to proceedings. Even when Grey Wind is called off, he has to be coaxed into entering the Twins. More good signs.

During the meeting with Walder Frey, he’s being his usual pleasant self (see above). The worrying signs come when Roslin is introduced.

“M,y lady is beautiful.” Edmure took her hand and drew her to her feet. “But why are you crying?” “For joy,” Roslin said. “I weep for joy, my lord.”

Uh-huh. Moving on, Lord Walder’s got his own comments to make about the wedding. He orders Roslin taken away, because she has a wedding to prepare for: “And a bedding, heh, the sweetest part. For all, for all.” He further adds, “We’ll have music, such sweet music, and wine, heh, the red will run, and we’ll set some wrongs aright.”

We see here that Lord Walder being an asshole and Lord Walder planning to kill a bunch of people at the wedding are inextricably intertwined. We know, with the benefit of hindsight, that Walder’s referring to murdering a whole bunch of people here during the bedding, that the music he refers to is the signal for the slaughter, and the red that will run is blood. The characters can’t pick this up in advance because Lord Walder is just that much of a jerk.

There’s also a reference to the Frey childrens’ game mentioned in Bran I, ACoK, where all oaths are binding unless someone says ‘mayhaps’. It’s doubtful anyone here has the full knowledge, but by the rules of the game, Walder Frey as the Lord of the Crossing retains the right to use a stick and push anyone into the river any time he likes. Another thing the readers know but the characters don’t.

After this exchange, Catelyn calls for food. Walder wasn’t offering it, but he had it ready to go when asked for. He makes the show of it, welcoming all present as his honoured guests, while Robb accepts the hospitality.

Catelyn tasted the wine and nibbled at some bread, and felt much better for it. Now we should be safe, she thought.

Note the ‘should’. Catelyn does not fully trust that Walder Frey will keep to the laws of hospitality, even now. A paragraph later, she’s telling Edmure that they should post their own guards on their doors.

There’s more as Catelyn goes in search of Walder Frey’s maester to make her discreet inquiries about Roslin’s fertility. She finds a group of Freys drinking by the fire and asks about Ser Perwyn Frey, Roslin’s full brother, who as Catelyn reminds us, escorted her to Storm’s End and back in the previous book. Alas, Ser Perwyn is away, and not expected to return for the wedding.

Finally, there’s the disposition of Northern forces discussed at the end of the chapter. Brought to us courtesy of totally not a traitor Roose Bolton. Roose owns his ‘mistake’ in leaving Harrenhal too late. Strangely, it seems the result of his delay was that the Freys made it across the Trident okay, but soldiers from the hill clans and the Manderlys were left behind. Even more coincidentally, Roose left a bunch of Stouts and Cerwyns as rear guard. The author also reminds us of Northern losses at Duskendale - these were mostly Glovers and Tallharts.

What Catelyn wants to know is: who did come with Roose?

His queer colourless eyes studied her a moment before he answered. “Some five hundred horse and three thousand foot, my lady. Dreadfort men, in chief, and some from Karhold.”

Cold as Roose is, he’s most likely wondering whether the jig is up in this moment. But we don’t get to see what Catelyn thinks of Roose’s reasoning that it’s just too dangerous not to keep the Karhold soldiers close, because Robb winds the conversation up. They’re going home, he says.

Chapter Function

This chapter is 95% about the Red Wedding. It’s here to put the final pieces in place. Robb is welcomed as a guest; Lord Walder is not as much of an asshole as he could have been, but dropping ominous hints anyway. Grey Wind is freaking out, Roslin is crying, Ser Perwyn is missing. For perfectly logical, not at all Roose-related reasons, there’s a high proportion of Bolton and Karstark soldiers present. That’s all this chapter. The plan has been set into motion. It cannot be entirely hidden anymore, and the perpetrators only want to wait as long as it takes for the trap to snap fully shut. What’s been happening behind the scenes is about to come into the open.

Related, we do get the reminder on Catelyn’s part that she does have impulses towards violent revenge, when we see her reaction to the flayed skin of Theon’s finger. She restrains herself now, but she’s about to lose all reason for restraint.

Finally, this chapter gives us a bit of an update on Theon and Ramsay. Without PoVs in Winterfell, we’re relying on this belated, partial report. Theon’s alive, Winterfell is severely damaged, a bunch of Stark loyalists were killed (cough, by Ramsay, cough), and survivors have been hauled off to the Dreadfort.

Miscellany

Catelyn tells Robb that Walder Frey’s an asshole and no doubt some of his sons are too, liable to provoke Robb. It’s always interesting to note when the intelligent, politically active female characters show that they too are products of the patriarchy - Catelyn has not allowed for the possibility that any of Walder Frey’s daughters (or granddaughters) may also be assholes capable of provoking Robb.

Catelyn also remembers her own wedding. Specifically, she remembers how Lysa ‘wept lakes’ before the ceremony. She puts it down to nervousness and considers it to be entirely expected. It’s true, some people cry when nervous. But the way marriages are arranged in Westeros, nobody can tell what’s just nerves and what’s the bride distraught from being forced into a marriage she doesn’t want (or from knowing that all her in-laws are going to be murdered at the feast).

Clothing Porn

Jinglebell Frey wears costly blue wool and grey satin, with a crown and collar ornamented with brass bells. Roslin wears a pale blue gown with a lacy bodice. Catelyn wears warm wool in Tully red and blue. Roose Bolton’s got a pale pink cloak trimmed in white fur. GoT robbed us of Roose in pink, I’m telling you.

Food Porn

None.

Next Three Chapters

Bran II, ASoS - Tyrion V, ACoK - Eddard X, AGoT

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #revisiting chapters #catelyn stark #robb stark #walder frey #edmure tully #a storm of swords

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agentrouka-blog · 9 months

Note

What do you think will happen to Roslin? I do feel bad for her, but there’s something I really don’t like about walder basically infiltrating house Tully and their descendants with his bloodline

Roslin's branch of this large family is among the kinder ones. Her brother Olyvar was loyal to Robb and likely kept away from the events of the Red Wedding for exactly that reason. They knew he would oppose this move with everything he had. There's potential for good and for redemption in House Frey, and I think we are far more likely to see that addressed than a full-on destruction of the House based on the crimes of many of its members.

Walder is a monster, but Roslin is not. More importantly, Edmure Tully recognizes the marriage as valid and cares for both his wife and their unborn child. The threat of Jaime murdering said infant is what breaks his resistance to ordering the surrender of Riverrun. If Edmure Tully doesn't think that Roslin is the product of a poisonous bloodline that must never soil the family tree of House Tully, then neither need we.

Honestly, I think GRRM is rooting for them and giving them a happy ending. Edmure "My people. They were afraid." Tully isn't getting his heart ripped out by another tragedy. The one feudal lord we see actually doing his job for the good of his smallfolk.

#edmure tully #the best tully #roslin frey #house frey #rouka queue

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asa-do-your-thing · 3 months

Text

The rainbow trout

Robb Stark x Frey Reader 18 + MINORS DNI WC: 5,1k Warnings: forced marriage, mentions death, alcohol, dubcon, angst

You knew you weren't his first choice. You also knew what would happen, should Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, not accept your hand, so you did everything in your power to convince him to marry anyone of your female relatives. You sent him coded messages, diguised yourself and warned his pregnant lady... You did everything in your might to persuade him.

That was why it hurt you even more that when he came to the Twins and told you all to stand in a big semi circle ordered by your ages - you stood almost at the farthest end, having only just flowered - and he walked over to your aunts and older cousins, all past the ages of five and twenty. Everything within you itched to call out to him - King of the North, 'tis I who saved you!

But Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was a man known for his honor and duty. He gave each woman a polite nod, exchanged pleasantries and, with a hint of discomfort in his eyes, moved along the line. You watched him as he went from your eldest aunt, Lady Amarei, a stout woman with greying hair and a face that had lost the battle with age long ago; to your cousin Alyx, then onto Waldene and Wylda - all older than you by several years and already mothers to their own broods, though you supposed it was pleasing for him to see their fertility.

The air in the Great Hall was thick with expectation as the Young Wolf made his way down the line of eligible Frey women. The flickering light from the hundreds of candles gave an ethereal glow to the scene, casting dancing shadows along stone walls adorned with the ancient heraldry of House Frey. The wheels of your father's great wooden chair creaked as he shifted his weight, watching his potential son-in-law examine his flock.

As Robb Stark drew closer to you, your heart pounded in your chest. Despite your best efforts to maintain decorum, your hands were clammy against the lush fabric of your dress. When he finally stood before you, his azure eyes met yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. His face was unreadable; he made no comments about your youth or offered any compliments as he had done for some of your relatives.

He nodded once before moving on to your younger sister - a girl who barely even knew how to keep her hair out of her soup bowl - and then carried on down the line. You could feel the disappointment welling up and looked up in amazement when he went back up to his previous spot. He... knew what would happen should he not accept any one of them? What was he doing?

Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, turned back to look you in the eyes. His gaze caught yours in a strange dance, akin to two foxes circling one another before withdrawing. He thanked your father, Lord Walder, for his hospitality and the introduction to his lovely daughters and nieces. His voice echoed along the stone hall, each word punctuated by silence from the gathered Freys.

"Before I proceed," he announced, raising an eyebrow as if he had just been struck by a sudden thought, "I would like to ask a question about a small rainbow trout." The hall fell silent.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The 'rainbow trout'. The code you had used so many times in your letters to him. You had used it as a symbol of danger, warning him of impending peril. And now he was using it back at you.

The question Robb asked was incredibly mundane in its nature for anyone else. Yet behind those words, there lay a hidden realm of understanding known only to Robb and yourself; its context spread across a plethora of secret letters exchanged between you two under various pseudonyms over the years. The audience stared at him blankly while your mind raced to pick up the hidden message in his query.

Just then, your innocent little sister nudged you and whispered in your ear right below a breath. "Has King Robb gone coo-coo?" You could hardly suppress the laughter that bubbled within you at her naive words. She didn’t understand what was passing between Robb and yourself and for that, you were both relieved and eternally grateful.

"No dear one," you whispered back, patting her small hand. " he's simply curious about our streams."

A hushed murmur passed through the crowd as they tried to comprehend the Young Wolf’s peculiar question. Lord Walder, from his high seat, let out a puff of irritation. "Is this a jest, Stark?" he asked gruffly.

The Young Wolf looked at him, his eyes hardening. "Not at all," he replied sternly. "In fact, it is rather important."

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor and felt your heart flutter with anticipation. Robb turned his gaze back to you, the hardness softening once more into a look filled with intent and secret understanding.

"Your rainbow trout seems quite interesting." The Young Wolf finally spoke in his clear voice, echoing through the hall, carrying a message for you alone amongst the throng of confused onlookers. His words were enigmatic and carried an underlying layer of significance that no one but you could decipher.

The corners of your lips curled into an involuntary smile as you met his gaze and nodded subtly. You understood what he was trying to say, what he had so bravely alluded to in front of all your family members.

"And what would such a trout want?" asked Lord Walder impatiently. His sharp gaze pierced through Robb Stark who merely smirked and shrugged lightly.

"That’s for the trout to know," replied the Young Wolf cryptically. Before anyone could question further, he bowed courteously towards Lord Walder and then swept an arm towards you in an elegant gesture. "Perhaps your young lady there can provide me an answer?"

"Walderette?", your father croaked out and raised an eyebrow.

A big rumble went through the hall and you blushed up to your roots, not used to being stared at. This was pressure and you needed to handle it quickly and well - so well that your old, disgusting flea of a father would forget about this instance.

"Yes, Father?" You responded, managing to keep your voice steady, despite the thudding of your heart. Your eyes slipped towards Robb who looked at you encouragingly.

Your father huffed, "You'll entertain The Young Wolf's humor about our trout?"

"Of course, Father," you replied softly, your gaze locked with Robb's. An understanding passed between you two, an assurance that somehow he would make things right.

You then cleared your throat and addressed the hall in a voice far more confident than you felt. "Rainbow trout," you began, glancing at Robb who nodded subtly as if urging you to go on. "Is a delicacy in our rivers. It’s versatile and can thrive in different environments. It can be elusive yet it can be caught if one is patient and diligent."

The room was quiet as everyone watched you curiously. Your father squinted his eyes at you while your younger sister nervously bobbed up and down on her feet. He didn't dare suspect anything, or else your fate would be just the same - being slit open by your family.

"It is very good when smoked and lasts long, and it is easy to transport. It goes well with pickles-"

Lord Walder raised his hand and shrugged. "Yes, Wald... Walderette your name was, right? Rainbow trout is good." He looked at Robb, who gave him a relatively neutral look. "And you are sure you want... her? I have girls with prettier faces, bigger tits and that talk less nonesense."

Robb didn’t flinch under Lord Walder’s crude remarks. Instead, his gaze seemed only to harden, a touch of steel flashing in his eyes as he coolly met the old lord's gaze. "Aye," he said, holding your gaze again with a softness that contrasted sharply with the icy tone he had used for Walder.

"I'm sure." His blue eyes glittered with certainty and warmth. Your heart fluttered, nearly missing a beat at his declaration. To have him, Robb Stark, The Young Wolf, choose you in front of everyone felt as surreal as it was exciting.

Lord Walder grumbled something incoherent under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his high seat. His gaze oscillated between you and Robb before finally settling on the young king with a grudging acceptance. He sighed heavily and grunted out a curt, “Very well.”

A murmur rippled through the hall, turning into excited whispers that echoed around the stone walls. This was unprecedented; a Frey girl chosen to be betrothed to the King in the North!

Your sisters looked at you with wide eyes, surprise and envy coloring their expressions. You could almost feel their piercing stares burrowing into your back, but you didn’t care. Robb had chosen you. And even though this was part of a grand scheme that remained secret from most, an indescribable joy surged within you at being chosen by him.

Robb then leaned slightly towards you, his voice barely audible above the hushed chatter. "I hope I picked the right trout," he murmured to you, a glint of worry in his eyes.

"There is only the one, my King," you reassured him with a small smile and breathed out once everyone went back to their seats - even the women, which gave you the greatest hope of there not being a massacre tonight. "Though if I find out anything that will hurt you or your... uh, friend, I will give you a signal and lots of likeminded trouts will help."

Robb nodded, his gaze fixed on yours. His eyes were the color of a stormy sky - deep, chilling, and deadly if challenged. Without breaking the eye contact, he whispered back, "I am looking forward to seeing what a school of like-minded trouts can do, thoug I hope I shall never feel the need to see them."

A hush fell over the room as Lord Walder straightened in his chair and clapped his hands together sharply. "Enough of these fish conversations," he barked, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It's time to sit down for the feast. You're to be wed! My grandson shall be a King!"

As the guests began to shuffle towards their seats, you took Robb's arm and led him to the high table alongside Lord Walder and his newest wife. The woman, who was no more than a year older than you, was beautiful in a fragile kind of way. Her honey-coloured hair was bound up intricately with tiny pearls gleaming in between her locks. She shot you an encouraging smile as you both took your seats.

Throughout the feast that ensued, she would lean towards you from time to time, whispering coded words in your ear between bites of her meal or sips of her wine. "Remember," she once whispered casually as she spread some butter on her bread, "the pickles are of a dangerously spicy sort."

"Just the pickles?" You asked just as casually, keeping your gaze focused on your own plate.

She nodded subtly in response before turning her attention back to her own meal.

The night wore on with laughter and merriment filling the air beneath the vaulted ceilings of the hall. Everyone seemed at ease - even Robb appeared more relaxed now. However, underneath the surface, you were still fully ready to run. Your father was everything, but a honest man and nothing could fully guarantee your safety.

As the feast came to a close, Lord Walder rose to his feet with all the grace of a prowling cat despite his advanced years. "May I have your attention!" he bellowed, effectively silencing the chatter throughout the hall. He nodded his approval at the sudden quiet before turning his steely gaze towards you and Robb.

"It seems to me," he began, his voice carrying an uncanny edge that made the hair on your neck stand up. "That we're forgetting one important detail of this evening."

His gaze intensified as he continued, "These two lovebirds are yet to be wed!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. You felt Robb stiffen beside you, but your father's newest wife pressed a reassuring hand on your arm. It was, after all, part of their ploy.

A frail old septon shuffled forward from among the crowd. The wrinkles on his face gathered into deep crevices as he smiled warmly at you and Robb. He held out a red silken ribbon - your symbol of unity in this farce of a marriage.

You found yourself whispering vows under his quiet instruction, your voice choked by anticipation and fear while Robb's steady and firm words only added another layer to your pounding heart.

"And now," Walder announced gleefully once you'd both spoken your vows. "Seal it with a kiss."

Robb hesitated for a moment before leaning in, his warm lips brushing against yours in a chaste but lingering kiss. The hall erupted in cheers, and for a fleeting moment, it felt real - like true love had finally found your side, yet you knew that this'd be a farce. But then again, what would a loveless marriage be against dozens of dead innocents?

"Take the lovers away! Undress them!", croaked Walder and grinned implishly as a mass of Frey girls came and picked Robb up. Silencing his prostest with the smallest of nods, you, in turn let yourself be carried by some Stark men.

The crowd of Stark men was like a sea of shadows, each figure blurred into the next by the dim candlelight. The soft murmur of their voices was punctuated by the occasional chuckle or whisper as they carried you away through a labyrinth of stone corridors. The cold, rough-hewn stones beneath your feet were a stark contrast to the warmth and merriment of the feasting hall. The ancient walls echoed with tales of grandeur and battle, each echo ringing in your ears as an ominous forewarning.

With each step, you felt your heart drumming wildly in your chest - this was unchartered territory, a dance with danger and uncertainty. You stole a glance at the jumbled mass of Frey girls disappearing with Robb into another corridor, his eyes locked onto yours for an infinitesimal second before he was swallowed by the throng.

You were ushered up a winding staircase, its spiralling steps leading you to a chamber high above the ground. The door creaked open to reveal a room bathed in soft moonlight. It wasn't chained and barred like the dungeons you'd feared, but rather adorned with silken tapestries depicting intricate hunting scenes.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you entered. The room felt strangely comforting with its high vaulted ceiling and large canopy bed draped in furs. A lone window overlooked rolling meadows bathed in silver moonlight, their serene beauty belying the uncertainty that lay ahead.

The Stark men began to undress you, their roughened hands deft yet respectful on your garments. Your heart pounded in your chest like a wild bird trapped in a cage and only stopped once Robb came into the room, dressed only in a sheet that was held up by your giggling sisters. He quickly excused his men and gave the girls the same, stern look.

"Good night, little fish!", "Have fun!" and "Make sure that you'll make a king tonight!" were their parting words as the filed out, giggling.

The heavy door shut behind them with a reverberating thud that echoed in the silence of the chamber. The echo faded, leaving only your heartbeat to fill the quiet space. You turned to face Robb, his striking blue eyes filled with an uncertainty that mirrored your own. The bronze-toned light of the hearth danced across his features and played in his hair, casting him somewhat divine in your sight.

His broad shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy sigh that seemed to shake the very air around you both. The silence hung between you two like a tangible veil as he slowly approached you.

"We needn't…" he began, his voice gravelly and low – softer than you'd ever heard it. Suddenly, all of his kingly stature seemed to melt away, leaving behind only a boy burdened by expectations.

"I know," you quickly cut in, eager to relieve him of his discomfort. "I could just…" You trailed off, suddenly aware of the crude absurdity of your plan. But you pressed on, forcing out the words as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "... just scratch myself open…"

Robb's gaze flickered downward before snapping back up to meet yours, a horrified look crossing his face.

"I mean... people just want some proof… or else... or else there will be talk... we could pretend…” You stumbled over your words, unable to keep eye contact with him anymore.

A moment passed where only the crackling flames dared break the silence. Then Robb let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly before he met your gaze again.

"You remind me why I chose you for this alliance," he said with a warmth in his voice that took you by surprise, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. "You're willing to hurt yourself just to protect our farce, and the people we're sworn to protect."

His thumb swept across your cheekbone, drawing a shiver from you. There was honesty in his eyes - a rarity in this world of duplicity and deceit - and it was startling.

"You don't need to do that," Robb continued, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile. "We'll find another way. A better way." He let his hand drop, but the warmth lingered on your skin, spreading like wildfire through your body.

"Robb…" You began, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No need for formalities," he said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. "We're married now, remember?"

He was attempting light-hearted banter – an attempt to alleviate the tension hanging thick between you two, and it was surprisingly endearing. Still though, unease crept back into your heart. After all, what other way could there be?

"But they will expect…" You started again.

"We'll be careful," he interrupted once more. "And we'll be smart. Let them think what they will."

A knock resounded at the door then – a single, harsh rap that echoed in the chamber and made both of you jump.

"Shall I pour the wine?" A thin voice floated in through the heavy oak door, belonging to an old servant woman probably sent by Lord Walder himself to see their progress.

"Yes," Robb called back after sharing an understanding glance with you.

The Lady came in and hobbled her way towards a small table, filling two cups with a cheap red wine, one that smelled more like a tincture than a lovely Dornish Red. To add to that, she set down a small dish of pickles. "If you do not manage to do your duties tonight, your Lady sends this dish to bring you back to your senses.

You began to panic slightly and nodded at her, doing your best to mime an innocent. Walking over to the small table, you dismissed her and quickly gave Robb his glass. As soon as the Lady went away again, you stripped and gulped down the beastly drink, positioning yourself on the bed like a bitch in heat.

Robb, for his part, wore a look of sheer surprise as he followed your unceremonious actions with wide eyes. He took a deep breath, setting his own glass down on the table beside him before he turned back to you. His cheeks were flushed a delicate pink - a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion - and he looked almost boyish under the soft candlelight.

"Please," he started, his voice rough in the quiet of the room, "You don't need to do this. Not like this." His gaze was steady and honest as it met yours, and his words tugged at your heartstrings.

But your mind was filled with vivid images of Lady Catelyn's tear-stained face and Rob's pregnant girlfriend - their lives hanging by the thinnest of threads because of you. You swallowed hard, pushing away the comforting warmth of his words. "We can't risk it Robb," you insisted. Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his mop of auburn hair. But he made no move to stop you from lying back against the bed – your back cold against the rough fabric beneath you. He looked at you then – really looked at you – taking in your determined expression and your trembling hands.

For a moment, all was silent in the room - save for the crackling flames.

Then, without another word, he began to disrobe himself with an air of solemnity that felt too heavy for the occasion. He moved carefully, meticulously even, stopping momentarily to kick away his modesty sheet before he joined you on the bed.

"Lie on your back, Walderette. I needn't take you like an animal," he whispered solemnly as he made sure to keep his eyes on your face.

His voice was low and gentle, a tender lullaby whispered in the quiet of the night. It was an unexpected sweetness that only made your heart hurt with more force, your guilt gnawing away at you like a starved beast. But you nodded, complying with his request and shifting position, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

A silence descended upon the room as he settled down beside you, his broad form dwarfing yours. His muscled arms propped him up as he leaned over you, his gaze never wavering from your face. You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as you felt the cool touch of his hands against the bare skin of your sides.

He stayed silent as his hands began to wander, their slow and deliberate movements adding an excruciating tension to the silence. He explored without hurry; his fingers ghosting over every rise and fall of your body as if committing it to memory.

You could feel the heat radiating off him – a feverish warmth that made goosebumps rise on your skin. Any other night, under any other circumstances, the feeling would've sent pleasing shivers down your spine.

"I…" you choked out, opening your eyes to find Robb hovering over you. His body pressed against yours in an almost comforting manner but it did nothing to dampen the guilt-ridden fear gnawing at your insides. "I… don't know what I'm doing," you admitted softly.

Robb's eyes darkened slightly at your confession but he gave you a small smile nonetheless. "It's alright," he whispered back reassuringly. "Neither do I, really. I've never... had to... take someone."

You blushed and gave him a shy smile. "I am not completely against it. Just... do whatever needs to be done and if we will not manage to create an heir, I am sure we will be able to do this... everything, under better circumtances."

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes met yours, the steady gaze filled with an equal measure of fear and determination.

"Yes," you answered just as softly, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you knew there was no other option. The lives of those you cared for were at stake. This was a small price to pay for their safety.

Robb nodded, his face a solemn mask. His eyes held yours, a lingering connection in the quiet room. He moved closer, laying his body against yours in a slow, deliberate manner. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the rapid beats of his heart echoing your own.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, and you complied without question. His lips found yours then, a tender kiss that tasted of wine and apprehension. His lips moved against yours gently, coaxing you into a rhythm that was as haunting as it was comforting.

His hands moved up your sides, skimming past the sensitive skin of your torso to rest at the sides of your face. He pulled back slightly from the kiss, his breath warm against your cheek as he began to whisper words meant only for you. They were soft promises of safety and care; sweet nothings that melted your worries away like morning fog under the sun's rays.

In spite of the circumstances, the tension in the room dissipated at his gentle ministrations. Your body relaxed under his touch, fear and uncertainty replaced with a sense of security.

Then he was moving again, inch by agonizing inch. The heat of him was all-encompassing now; a comforting weight pressing down on you with each passing moment. You let out a gasp when he finally pushed forward – a soft sound drowned out by the crackling fire and rustle of fabric.

It was not painful nor pleasurable - merely an odd discomfort that became more bearable as Robb began to move with slow rhythm, whispering soothing words into your ear. His hands never left your body – one rested on the small of your back, the other cradling your face. His thumb stroked your cheekbone in small circles, drawing out a soothing pattern that almost lulled you into a trance.

The room had become warmer, or maybe it was just the heat radiating from Robb — every inch of his bare skin touching yours, filling your senses with his presence. You clung to him, hands clenched on his broad shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as he moved with quiet determination. You kept your eyes closed, taking in every sensation, every small sound he made as time stretched thin between each heartbeat.

He smelled of wood smoke and winter air. A hint of the strong drink you both had shared still lingered on his breath mixed with the warm scent of his skin. Each breath he drew was a low sigh against your ear, a soft symphony playing under the rustle of linen and crackle of fire.

His movements remained slow and deliberate — no rush, no urgency. He was careful with you, maintaining a rhythm that was mindful and tender. His touch was gentle but firm, holding you close yet giving you space to breathe. His lips found your forehead once more, pressing a soft kiss there.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly once again, pulling back slightly to look at you. His voice was barely audible over the slow rhythm of his body and your combined breaths.

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes held an intense mixture of concern and uncertainty, but also a strange form of peace, as if in this moment he had found some sense of purpose.

"I... am," you answered truthfully – Your body was tingling from the strange experience but there was no pain or discomfort anymore - only an odd sense of warmth... and maybe even something akin to contentment.

His gaze held yours, his expression softening at your words. A sigh of relief escaped him as he lowered his lips to meet yours again. His kiss was languid, unhurried, a complete contradiction to the rapid beating of your hearts.

He whispered your name between soft kisses and gentle touches, turning it into a sweet lullaby that danced with the crackling flames in the hearth.

Gradually, your world shrunk until it was made up of Robb alone—the rhythm of his breaths matching your own, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and his whispered words filling the silence. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly; seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours as you lost yourself in him.

When he finally pulled back after depositing his hot spend in you, it was slow and deliberate. You felt a pang of loss as the warmth of his body disappeared only to be replaced by the cool air of the room. His fingers lingered on your skin for a moment longer before he moved them away too. He didn’t look at you as he rolled onto his side, putting some distance between you two.

It was understandable, you thought to yourself. His true love was outside, in th tents, worrying about her lover, the father of her babe.

For a long while, there was only silence in the room. You could still hear the faint sounds of Robb's steady breathing and feel his warmth beside you, but there was a sense of melancholy in the air that you couldn’t ignore.

The embers from the fire were slowly dying out and you knew that dawn was approaching; still, neither of you made any attempt to speak or move.

Eventually, Robb broke the silence, "I'm sorry..." His voice was barely audible over the dying embers. He turned towards you again, worry etched on his face, quickly wrapping the towel around himself.

"I don't know why I did that... I shouldn't have..."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret. You turned your gaze to him, seeing the anguish painted across his face. The light from the dying fire cast a soft glow on his features, emphasizing the shadows of guilt etched deep within his eyes.

"It's okay..." you whispered, laying a hand gently on his arm. "It was necessary."

But even as the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. You were both trapped in a situation neither of you wanted to be in. Each decision made out of obligation, not desire. It was a cruel reality, one that seemed determined to tear you both apart.

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment or pain. When he found none, he let out a sigh, heavy with relief.

"I wish things were different," he said after a long silence, his voice barely audible over the crackling embers. "I wish we could choose our own paths."

You chewed your lower lip, contemplating his words. You knew what he meant. Your lives were dictated by forces beyond your control-- duty, responsibility and a looming war that threatened everything you held dear.

"We can't change what's already happened," you said quietly, meeting his gaze. "All we can do is move forward and make the best of what we have."

He nodded at your words although his expression remained pained. He reached out to take your hand into his own larger one and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, getting up and handing you your dress.

"No, thank you, my King," you said with a small smile. "Let us leave this horrid place."

#asas fics #robb stark #robb stark angst #robb stark smut #robb stark fanfiction #fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction

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knightsickness · 3 months

Note

the freys would try to sanctify aegon jinglebell for being mentally disabled and cruelly murdered by catelyn but no one has it

FIRMLY believe that the freys have successfully got one frey saint ever they lied about a lot of things in her saint’s life and miracle accounts and even then it mainly got through bc of a bureaucratic mix up with the most devout (they have a broad throw out anything with the name frey on it policy after the last attempt at saint fraud). they have a shrine at the twins and insist you can’t call yourself truly pious unless you’ve done a pilgrimage there as their frey saint is an incredibly important patron of anything they can think of at the time. they keep trying to make people bring offerings or relics (separate from the twins toll, obviously). when its pointed out they seem to have far too many relics to have come from one woman (a suspicious number of teeth and bones, though the two dried livers are more incriminating) they start naming other random riverlands saints but you get the sense they’re just saying names bc there’s no way theres that many saint walders

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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raspberryfingers · 1 year

Text

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part Eleven)

Just a small note, I’ve been kinda wanting to add dress reference pictures, so I decided to just link some stuff and describe my personal modifications. But feel free to envision the dresses however you want! Ultimately I’m just trying to provide some Tyrell flair for y’all🫶

ALSO! I wrote the dance scene with Waltz No. 2 in mind if you guys want something to picture it with :)

WARNINGS: Death, poisoning

—————

Margaery’s wedding had finally arrived, and it had been a week and a half since I’d kissed Tywin Lannister for the first time.

Since then, we’d both grown naturally busy with wedding planning and such, and so I hadn’t seen much of him. Though, the most recent encounter we’d had made my heart race.

We’d seen each other while walking in the halls, and I’d smiled at him. Nobody else had been around, and so he smiled back. Not only that, but he reached for my arm and pulled me in, kissing me passionately before instantly continuing on to wherever he’d been going. I had stood there speechless, shocked, and overjoyed for quite some time. Tywin Lannister certainly knew how to make a woman’s heart pound.

But I felt excited, as I knew I’d see plenty of him today at the wedding. And gods, now that I knew he reciprocated my feelings, I somehow found myself trying even harder to dress nicely. I was wearing a cream dress that had pink, blue, and green flowers all along the skirt, with the fabric at the top merely going up and over my chest in two wide pieces of fabric. It left a gap between my breasts, and highlighted the gorgeous necklace I was wearing.

It was a necklace that had appeared in my room during the last week, and I knew it was not from any of my family, for they most assuredly would’ve asked how I like it. I had a feeling Tywin hoped to see me wear it today.

“(Y/N), come and stop fixing your dress, Lord Tywin will think it looks nice no matter what. We’ll go together, I want to get there early,” my grandmother remarked, watching me adjust my dress in the mirror. I sighed, shaking my head.

“You need to leave me alone about Lord Tywin, I’ll continue to insist that there’s nothing between us,” I lied, though knowing she was right about not needing to keep fixing the gown.

“If you say so, dearest.”

The ride to the sept was uneventful, besides my grandmother commenting that if Tywin complained about the decorations she’d smack him over the head. That image had truly made me laugh.

When we arrived though, it was so extravagant I honestly wouldn’t have blamed Tywin for being upset.

The inside was already filled with hundreds of people, many that I’d met and more that I hadn’t. It never ceased to make me wonder how many truly ‘noble’ people existed.

However, there was only one I was searching for, and I felt content upon seeing him. Tywin was in a black coat that had golden lion designs at the bottom of the coat and on the lapel of it. He looked as wealthy as he was.

My grandmother and I made our way to the front of the sept, and she of course noticed me staring at Tywin.

“Oh go on then, go and talk to him. You’re annoying to be around when you haven’t,” she teased, scoffing as I laughed and walked over to him.

“Hello, Lord Tywin,” I greeted as I came up behind him, placing a hand on his back. He turned toward me and gave me his ‘look.’

“Lady (Y/N), you look lovely,” he said with a gentle nod.

“And you look quite handsome, Lord Tywin.”

“Thank you.”

We couldn’t hold back our smiles anymore.

“Tywin, my father received a letter yesterday. Do you want to guess what it said?” I asked, raising both of my eyebrows at him. He only raised one in return, which meant he was just waiting for me to get it out.

“Walder Frey wrote that his eldest son died of what the maesters think was a ‘heart attack’ but aren’t sure, and that he can no longer marry me. The next oldest son he has is only five,” I said with a smile, knowing all too well what had happened.

Tywin looked around, and then let his thumb and pointer finger come to my chin.

“I told you I’d never let another man have you, didn’t I?” He whispered, leaning in towards my ear. I felt my face go hot, as I certainly was not used to having anyone be so protective—or possessive—of me.

“I didn’t doubt you, Tywin.”

“Good. That’s the last thing you should ever do.”

—————

Tywin and Olenna found themselves walking together after the ceremony, and just as Olenna had expected, Tywin had done nothing but complain about needing to spend his money on it.

“People who spend their money on this sort of nonsense tend not to have it for very long,” he commented, shaking his head at her.

“You ought to try enjoying something before you die, you might find it suits you,” Olenna shot back, making him laugh.

“Ha! And what do you suggest I try enjoying?” He asked sarcastically, finding the conversation to be relatively useless and bothersome. He was grateful that conversations with you were never this bothersome. Though, there was some measure he enjoyed when talking to the Queen of Thorns. At least she wasn’t stupid like nearly everyone else he knew.

“My granddaughter, for a start,” she said, not one for holding back.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me correctly, Lord Tywin.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Lady Olenna, but frankly I find it to be offensive. Your granddaughter is a lovely woman, however-“

“Oh Lord Tywin, please. I know my granddaughter well, and she’s not acted this way with a man ever in her life. And, I know men like you well. It’s all politics for you, which means that if you have such a fondness for my granddaughter, it’s more than a ‘friendship.’”

“Lady Olenna, I respect you, however, I have no romantic feelings towards your granddaughter, nor will I,” he lied, wondering if she’d let him get away with it. No was probably to be the answer.

“My granddaughter sounds just like you. Perhaps if I was stupider I’d let it be and accept that you two are not harboring anything, however, I know what lies sound like on a man’s tongue, Tywin. This was fun at first, but be honest with me. Have you bedded my granddaughter? I don’t care if you say yes, but I do need to know. There are certain measures I must take to ensure that rumors don’t spread,” Olenna said pointedly, watching the surprise settle in his eyes. Tywin shook his head.

“I’ll be honest with you, Lady Olenna. But know that if you chose to ruin your granddaughter's happiness—along with mine—for political advantages, I will not be forgiving,” he told her sharply. He wanted to trust that Olenna knew better, but trusting people was always a mistake to begin with. And, if he was honest, it was more about you than anything. He did not desire to know what Cersei might say or attempt to do to you should she find out.

“Ah, so I was correct in my assumptions about the two of you, how surprising. I am aware, Lord Tywin. I do not seek to tear my granddaughter down, only to ensure her safety and security,” Olenna assured with a satisfied smile. She knew she had been right, but letting Tywin prove it made her even happier.

“I am ensuring both of those things. Regardless, I have not bedded your granddaughter. Though more than a friendship, we have remained innocent. The most I have done is kiss her.”

Olenna laughed rather loudly, looking over at Tywin with a bewildered, curious expression, almost as if trying to figure him out.

“And so there is a lion in the garden. He has tasted its fruits, but when will he lay in its shade?”

“What kind of poetic nonsense is that supposed to be?”

Olenna smiled and looked down for a moment before fixing her gaze upon the man next to her.

“The most you have done is kiss her, Lord Tywin, but someday you will kiss her and that will not be enough. Eventually you will share her bed, rest assured.”

“If it pleases her, then yes, I hope to. Get to the point, you’re not the only person I intend to speak with at this dreadful feast,” he said, more than anything wanting the topic of conversation to switch. The last thing he wanted was to discuss with your grandmother just how badly he desired to take you. He feared he would not be able to prevent her from extracting the information should she truly want to know the extent of his lust for you.

“Do you intend to marry my granddaughter?”

Tywin looked over in surprise, mouth nearly falling. He certainly had not expected that.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you intend to marry my granddaughter? I’m no fool, Lord Tywin, I’m well aware that Walder Frey’s son did not mysteriously die in his sleep. Either you are simply possessive and desire to control her, or you have genuine affection for (Y/N) and intend to marry her at some point.”

He stayed quiet for a moment and contemplated, especially taking into account what the two of you had discussed after your first kiss.

“I would marry her, if she wished. But our… liaison is young. I’m certain you understand that my marriage to her—from anyone's perspective—could not disguise itself as a political one. If I marry her, it’ll most assuredly be because I wish to spend the rest of my short life with her. I desire to take my time figuring out if my feelings for her, and her feelings for me, are strong enough to warrant such a bond. Especially because I am so much older than she is. It would be selfish to ignore the fact that I might take much of her life and her future from her.”

“Of course. I’m not asking you to marry her tomorrow, Tywin. All I will ask of you is that, given your views on it, once you do decide to bed her that you will propose shortly afterwards,” she said, not wanting to watch the man turn her granddaughter into some sort of whore. Of course, Tywin would never intend to do that to you, but nonetheless, men failed to acknowledge certain aspects of reputation. Either way, Tywin paused and thought about what Olenna was asking.

“Very well, Olenna. I will propose once I ‘lie in the shade,’ as you say.”

She just laughed and linked her arm with his.

“The Great Lion of the Rock and the Nightshade of the Garden, what a match.”

—————

Joffrey’s feast was grand, and I found myself wondering how my grandmother had managed to acquire funds for the event. Of course, I knew better, but this was truly something. I’d never seen so much food or so many entertainers.

And of course, I’d never seen so many nobles. I’d already made my rounds, having said hello to Prince Oberyn and Ellaria Sand. He’d given me a slight nod, which meant everything was ready.

Currently, I was finishing my meal. I sat beside my grandmother and father, who was not speaking to me. I wondered if he blamed me for the death of Walder Frey’s son, somehow. Maybe it was my fault. Either way, why would I settle for a son of Walder Frey when Tywin Lannister wanted me?

And speaking of Tywin, I found myself making eye contact with him repeatedly. He was making his own rounds right now, but he would continually look up at me. Whenever he did, I felt my heart skip and a smile tug at my lips. There was something so fun about sneaking around with him, something so delightful about knowing that our love was only for us, and no one else.

He looked so handsome today too, and I was only able to drag my eyes away from him when I heard my sister banging on her cup.

“Let the band come out now! It’s time for dancing!” She announced with a smile, looking over at Joffrey and taking his hand in hers as she sat back down. He gave her a smile as she did. My sister truly was talented, somehow getting Joffrey to like her.

Everyone clapped as the band emerged, and they began to play some random folk song. Several couples got up, enjoying the lively music as others cheered them on. I did not know this dance, but I found myself hoping perhaps they’d play something I knew so I could ask Tywin to dance.

Though, if I was honest, I didn’t think myself brave enough to ask him, partly because I feared he might say no or think it too risky to do in front of so many people.

Nonetheless, I did want to dance at some point, no matter who it was with. Both Margaery and I were quite skilled dancers, and so I naturally assumed her and Joffrey would take to the floor. Well, perhaps. I secretly prayed they wouldn’t, I feared it might end badly.

Suddenly, I watched Oberyn make his way towards the tables. Joffrey gave him a judgemental look, as if wondering why he was being approached by Oberyn Martell of all people. My sister seemed confused too, but she smiled nonetheless.

“My king, my queen. I have come to offer this chalice, so the two of you might drink together for many happy years,” he said, placing the beautiful cup at their table.

“Thank you… Prince Oberyn,” Joffrey said with annoyance clear in his tone. Margaery smiled.

“It is a most generous gift, your grace,” she replied. Meanwhile, I watched Oberyn reach for Joffrey’s cup.

“Perhaps you might even use it for as fine a wine as this,” he said, lifting it to his nose and inhaling. Joffrey clearly looked disgusted, but said nothing. As Oberyn set it back down, he placed his hand on top, and I knew the deed was done.

“I will not bother your grace further, I wish joy to both of you,” he said, smiling and leaving them. I watched him sit down at his table again, and when he looked at me, I let out an exhale. My grandmother looked over, knowing just as well as I did that it would be a successful endeavor.

“You know, I do hope your sister takes to the floor before dessert is served, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen her dance. Or you, for that matter,” my grandmother said softly, watching the band wrap up their current song.

“Perhaps she will, if the king can be convinced,” I said, looking over at the couple. Margaery looked like she wanted to dance, and Joffrey had not perceived that yet.

“Do you think he’s a good dancer?” My grandmother joked quietly. I couldn’t help but laugh, looking over at her and placing a hand over my mouth. She merely smiled, and we focused on Margaery and Joffrey again as a new song began to play. This one I knew, and was rather fond of, though I did not think it would be appropriate to go ask Tywin right now, as Margaery was attempting to convince the king.

“Come my love, let us dance,” she whispered excitedly. He looked as if he was actually considering it, but he suddenly sat up straight and focused a bewildered gaze on me.

My heart stopped. Why was he looking at me like that?

“Perhaps we ought to wait for the next dance, wife. I want to see this,” he whispered.

Margaery looked over at me too, and she also looked shocked, but a smile began to emerge on her face. In my state of extreme confusion, I felt a small tap from my grandmother, and I turned to look at her.

As I did, however, I found Tywin standing directly in front of me on the opposite side of the table. He had a hand extended out, and a sly look on his face.

“Lady (Y/N), this dance?”

I looked up at him and gaped slightly, but I swallowed and nodded.

“Certainly, my lord,” I replied, reaching for his hand and standing. I made my way around the table, still with my hand in his, and as we made our way to the dance floor I couldn’t help noticing that everyone was staring.

And I was not exaggerating, either. It seemed all the nobles present had quieted down, and they were all staring at us. It appeared that everyone was shocked, and somewhat curious, to see Tywin Lannister dance.

When I looked over at Cersei, Tyrion, and Tommen, they all seemed surprised too. Cersei looked furious more than anything, but I watched Tommen and Tyrion share a look of well, almost excitement. Even King Joffrey was somewhat shocked, and I watched Margaery smile as they whispered to each other.

As Tywin and I reached the dance floor, and I placed one hand on his shoulder, and he placed mine on my waist, I finally met his eyes.

“Everyone is staring at us, Tywin.”

“Good. I want them to see this. To see how beautiful you look, and know that only I get to dance with you,” he whispered, pulling me in a bit closer. It made my cheeks heat, as the last time we’d been in this position he’d kissed me.

The band started up again, and he smiled with his eyes. Slowly, we began to move with the music, and Tywin was far more graceful than I’d ever expected. As we began to float across the floor, he moved as if he was 20.

“When was the last time you’ve done this dance?” I whispered teasingly, making him smile softly as our other hands met and he spun me so my back met his chest, our arms crossed over each other. After that, he did the same thing again but in the other direction. I felt his hot breath on my neck, and he spoke low in my ear.

“It doesn’t matter when if I dance better than you.”

I let out an ‘offended’ gasp, and then began to laugh as he untangled me from his arms and extended me outwards. We stepped into each other and then stepped back again, our hands remaining intertwined the entire time.

He lifted his hand then, and I slowly circled him as I held onto his hand. When I finished my rotation, we came back to a regular waltz position and we continued to glide around the floor.

“You’re not dancing better than I am, old man,” I shot back, watching his eyebrows raise in pretend shock.

“Old man? You’re going to regret that,” he said quietly, making me smile.

“I hope I do.”

He spun me as we waltzed, and my dress cascaded out beneath me. I was suddenly very grateful I’d picked this one out, as it certainly flattered my figure while dancing.

We continued to make our way around the floor, and his eyes were filled with such a deep fondness. To everyone in the crowd, he most certainly looked just as he always did, but I’d come to learn the small variations in his looks.

We transitioned into the next portion, splitting apart and positioning our arms behind our backs. We stepped into each other, opposite shoulders brushing before stepping away again. We repeated it facing the other way, before finally joining hands and pulling into each other directly. I was rather fond of this dance because though many steps were repeated, there were many small variations that always made it fun.

Again, we began to move around the floor in proper position, but in accordance with the violin, we began to spin a bit faster. Tywin extended his arm and pushed me out to his side, my dress swooshing as he pulled me back in and continued to spin.

It must’ve been a year or more since I’d last done this dance, but the steps came easily, and rather perfectly to my great relief. I was certain we at least looked good, for nobody else was dancing, only watching us.

I now broke out of Tywin’s arms, merely holding one hand as we moved forward and he twirled me three times, his other hand behind his back. As we approached the steps, we turned around and used our opposite hands, and he now twirled me thrice again.

I was thankfully not dizzy when we circled the floor once more, and I saw Tywin beginning to smile.

“What?”

“You truly do dance wonderfully.”

“You lead wonderfully.”

He truly smiled now before we began repeating our earlier steps. He, again, spun me into his chest and crossed his arms over me before doing it again the other way. Then of course, we grabbed both of each other's hands and stepped in and out twice.

We reached the slower portion of the song, and now we pushed one of our hands and forearms together, slowly circling each other twice. My hand was behind my back, and so was his. It was regrettable, because I longed to reach out and touch his face.

We circled each other the other way now, and it was so intimate I forgot there was a crowd watching. The sun was shining in his eyes, and for once he truly just looked happy.

We finally reached for both of each other's hands, slowly moving into each other and letting our opposite shoulders touch each other. Tywin’s face came to my neck, and we were so close I felt his stubble brush against my jawline.

“Do you think people will make comments about this?” I asked quietly.

“Let them, I don’t care. If I want to dance with you I’m going to, their whispers won’t bother me. It’s not as if I’m kissing you in front of them all,” he whispered back, stopping as he pulled away and continuing as his face came to the other side of mine.

“I don’t think you’ve danced publicly since you were a young man,” I guessed, not able to recall any stories of it.

“Correct. The last time I danced publicly was with Joanna,” he remarked, placing his hand back on my waist and letting our intertwined hands lift up again.

I looked up at him and gaped slightly. Was he insane?

“And you don’t think this will cause something close to an absolute scandal?”

“It probably will, but it’s not important to me. Let them speculate all they want, they don’t have any proof. Nor will they. You’re mine, and mine alone, (Y/N). Nobody gets to take that from us,” he said, leaning in and practically whispering right into my ear.

I swallowed, and when he pulled back there was a sly grin on his face. He was feeling rather bold, it seemed.

We were about to start our last round of waltzing, but I then realized that normally this part of the song included a lift. When we began to actually glide, I raised an eyebrow at him.

Would he dare?

He displayed the largest grin he’d shown in public for many years, and as the music was picked up, so was I.

Both of his hands held my waist, and for once, I was looking down at him. He was still smiling, and I found that I was too. It almost seemed to be happening in slow motion, and the moment felt so perfect I felt like a child again, reading books about princesses and fairy tales.

Yes, my sister was becoming the queen today, but would Joffrey lift her like Tywin had lifted me? Would Joffrey give his blanket to her in the cold? Hold her in his arms as she cried? Would Joffrey kiss her with the same passion and true love that Tywin had kissed me with that day?

The answer, of course, was no. My sister had taken the crown, but I truly felt a thousand times more lucky than her. The practically coldest, most ruthless man in all seven kingdoms was dancing with me, and he was smiling as he lifted me into the air.

As I came back down, we were both unable to stop smiling.

“Do you still think I'm just an old man?” He muttered, making me laugh genuinely and shake my head. We were still dancing, but I hardly noticed as I stared at him.

“You make me feel so lucky, Tywin,” I whispered, moving the hand on his shoulder to cup his cheek.

“Good. It’s only right of me to make sure you feel the same way I do.”

The song was about to end, and I was still smiling as Tywin held me in his arms and dipped me down. People began to applaud us, and when I stood up straight I saw clearly just how many people seemed shocked.

I glanced up at Tywin to find that his eyes were already on me, and that the crowd did not phase him. He offered me his arm and began to escort me back to my table, but we were stopped by Joffrey.

“Grandfather!”

Tywin and I paused, looking at Joffrey who was smiling brightly. I was certain this would not go well.

“Grandfather, why didn’t you tell me you could dance?” He asked, leaning forward and playing with one of his rings.

“It was not topical, your grace,” Tywin replied rather matter of factly.

“You danced wonderfully, my lord, and so did you, sister,” Margaery said, smiling over at Joffrey before looking at us. I was grateful she did not allow the conversation to become awkward.

“Thank you, your grace,” Tywin said to her, bowing slightly and then getting me back to my table. He pulled out my chair for me, and once I’d sat down, he kissed my hand.

“Thank you for the dance, Lady (Y/N), I enjoyed it very much,” he said softly, to which I smiled.

“Of course, Lord Tywin.”

I watched him make his way across the steps to his own chair, and then turned over to my grandmother who could not look at me seriously. I did not know she was already aware of my relationship with Tywin.

“Oh stop it, grandmother. It’s just a dance.”

“Yes, and Tywin Lannister has not danced since he was courting his wife.”

I simply shook my head and watched her smile and look away.

“(Y/N), what just happened?” My father asked, leaning forward to speak to me. I wanted to sigh, of course that had prompted him to speak.

“Lord Tywin asked me to dance, father. It would’ve been rude to decline,” I replied, watching his confused face. It seemed as if he was trying to figure something out, and I prayed he wouldn’t detect my feelings for Tywin, because that would certainly be my downfall.

Several more songs played, and my sister joined Joffrey for one of them. He managed not to make a fool of himself, but it was clear that Margaery was far more skilled. It made me proud of her, and slightly emotional. My little sister was truly grown up now, married and everything.

Though, she wouldn’t be for much longer, and I was reminded of that upon watching the ‘dwarf’ show that Joffrey had requested for the feast. I was certainly glad Sansa and Loras weren’t here, especially because the way they portrayed Renly was horrible.

“This is horrendous,” my grandmother whispered, watching the ‘rendition’ of the war of the five kings. Of course, they did not portray me negotiating with Robb Stark. Instead, ‘Joffrey’ was so brave and powerful that Robb Stark cowardly went back to Winterfell.

I’d looked over at Tywin during that part, and he’d looked even more furious than he had during the rest of it. Though, if I was honest, I had no desire to be a part of that dreadful little play in any capacity.

When it was over, I felt relieved.

But no, it did not end there, for how could it? Joffrey decided to tease his uncle, and I felt utterly ashamed of the king.

I, along with every person there, watched Joffrey pick up his current glass and saunter over to Tyrion. I was infuriated as I watched him pour it on his head.

“A fine vintage, shame that it spilled,” Tyrion said in an attempt to diffuse the situation. My grandmother reached for my hand under the table as a silent reassurance that by the end of the day, things like this would never happen again.

“It did not spill,” Joffrey replied angrily.

“My love, come back to me, it’s time for my fathers toast,” Margaery said, trying to make all of it stop. I hoped she’d be able to, for nobody else would.

“Well how am I supposed to toast without wine? Uncle, you can be my cupbearer, seeing as you’re too cowardly to fight,” Joffrey said with a wicked grin. I had to hold back a sigh at how painful this was to watch.

“Your grace does me a great honor,” Tyrion said, preparing himself mentally for whatever humiliation might ensue.

“It’s not meant as an honor.”

Tyrion slowly got out of his chair and made his way around the table to take Joffrey’s cup, but Joffrey merely dropped it before him.

When Tyrion went to pick it up, Joffrey kicked it under the table.

“Bring me my goblet,” he sneered, watching Tyrion crawl under the table. All the Lannisters watched awkwardly as Tyrion searched for it, and so did all the nobles present.

When he found it and presented it to Joffrey, it continued to get worse.

“What good is an empty cup? Fill it for me,” he demanded.

“Your grace, you have another cup of wine over there,” Tyrion reminded, motioning to the dessert glass.

“That’s for dessert. I want you to refill this cup,” Joffrey scowled.

Tyrion defeatedly refilled the cup and extended it out to Joffrey. That was when things got tense, as Joffrey continued to demand that Tyrion kneel. When he did not, we all became increasingly uncomfortable.

“My love! The pie is here!” Margaery announced, and we all watched as Joffrey turned and laid his eyes upon the absolutely massive pie. I’d never been so grateful for my sister. We all stood in preparation of Joffrey cutting it.

First though, he sneered at Tyrion and snatched the cup from him, handing it to Margaery.

“My queen,” he addressed, unsheathing his sword and approaching the pie. Without any hesitation, he raised the sword and brought it down harshly. Doves flew from the cake, and everyone gasped and applauded.

When I looked over, I even saw Tywin smile at the display. Well, after witnessing what had just happened, anything nice was worth smiling at in my opinion.

Slices were served, and I watched as Margaery fed Joffrey. There was a look of contemplation on his face, and I felt dread fill me.

“Uncle!”

When Joffrey turned around, Tyrion was attempting to leave the feast. Oh gods.

“Where are you going?”

“I wanted to change out of these wet clothes, your grace,” he excused.

“No, no you’re perfect just as you are. Serve me my wine,” Joffrey demanded, taking another bite of the pie.

Tyrion awkwardly went around the table and reached for the cup he’d just filled, but no.

“Not that one, the one for dessert. Hurry up, this pie is dry,” he clarified.

I watched Tyrion reach for the poisoned cup, and bring it to Joffrey.

Oh no.

I suddenly began to realize what it was going to look like, and I hoped I’d still be able to figure out a way to blame Oberyn. As I thought about it, I found it might actually be easier.

I watched Joffrey eagerly drink, and I made eye contact with Oberyn Martell. Success.

“Ah, good. Needs washing down,” Joffrey muttered to himself, swallowing as much as he could. When Tyrion asked permission to leave, Joffrey began to speak again.

“No! You’ll- you’ll stay here.”

He’d begun to cough, and I knew he had a minute left at most.

“Your grace?”

Tyrion approached, wondering if he was ok. Joffrey drank even more wine, and then turned to look at my sister. He grabbed at his throat, and Margaery’s eyes widened.

“He’s choking!”

All of us stood up, watching carefully as Joffrey stumbled forward and fell to the ground. Jaime Lannister pushed through the crowd, making his way to Joffrey who was now vomiting.

Cersei began to shout ‘help him!’ As she pushed past my sister and fell to the ground beside her son. I watched Tywin move to cover Tommen’s eyes, and I’m sure by now he realized what had happened.

Ready to give my performance, I rushed down next to Joffrey and helped turn him on his back. His face was beginning to turn purple already.

“He’s been poisoned,” I gasped, looking at Jaime with concern.

“What do we do? What do we do?” He asked in a panic.

“The strangler…” I muttered, looking at him with defeat. Jaime looked terrified, and so did Cersei.

“Joffrey! Joffrey, what is it?” She asked, tears in her eyes. We all watched as he reached out a hand toward Tyrion, who was examining the cup he’d dropped.

I saw the anger and realization settle in Cersei’s eyes as the blood streamed from Joffrey’s nose and filled his eyes. Within moments, Joffrey was dead.

Cersei began to cry, and then she looked at Tyrion once more.

“He did this. He poisoned my son. Your king!” She announced to the crowd. Tywin had joined us now, standing above me.

“Take him! Take him!” She screamed, watching as the guards grabbed Tyrion. When I looked up at Tywin, he looked furious.

While I looked over at Jaime, I heard him announce that the city gates should be closed and all ships forbidden from leaving the docks.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. You would’ve needed an antidote, and they’re not common,” I said to Jaime, watching him hang his head. Cersei only continued to cry, and I felt Tywin’s hand on my back.

When I looked up, his hands reached for my arms and helped me up. He wanted to give Cersei space, and I understood.

Carefully, we backed away and I let a few tears slip.

“Tywin I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I should’ve realized when he began to cough, maybe if he’d thrown up before it had set in- I should’ve realized,” I whispered, watching him shake his head and take me into his arms.

“Nobody could have known, it’s not your fault.”

I opened my eyes for a moment and looked out at the crowd. Oberyn was smiling, just like I’d told him to. Good.

My grandmother came over to us, and Tywin let me go.

“Nobody drink any of the wine, have it all thrown out,” she said, to which we all nodded.

I looked back at Margaery, who had two hands over her mouth. I went up to her and took her in my arms.

“(Y/N) I let him die, I didn’t even try to do anything, I should’ve rushed to help him,” she whispered, tears beginning to fall.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done Margaery, that poison can’t be stopped without an antidote,” I whispered, petting her hair. I watched Tywin go to Tommen, taking him in his arms. The boy looked terrified, and he clung to his grandfather. In another setting, it may have made a wholesome domestic scene.

But no, it represented the death of a king, and one that I had conspired to kill no less. But with Tyrion framed, I would never be suspected in any capacity, especially because Cersei hated him so deeply. It presented another problem, but it was irrelevant. Now all that I had to do was convince Tywin that Prince Oberyn was responsible. Later, it would make me smile. Cersei had been right the entire time, we had been plotting against them.

Whatever love I had for Tywin, I would not let it override the love I had for my family. Margaery would come before Tywin’s legacy every single time. And truly, he still had Tommen, who would be much easier for him to guide and council.

It was an amusing illustration to consider.

Tommen on the throne, and everyone watching as Tywin pulls the puppet’s strings. What they would not see was me behind Tywin, whispering in his ears and pulling his strings.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that I had manipulated the most powerful man in all seven kingdoms. But it made me smile, for though I would not end up in any history books as I’d hoped to when I was a girl, I could rest peacefully knowing that I was the most powerful person in all seven kingdoms. And the best part was, nobody knew it but me.

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul @nothing2113

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws

#tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #olenna tyrell #joffrey baratheon #cersei lannister #charles dance #house lannister #a lion in the garden

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15-lizards · 8 months

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Hi! Im currently working on drawing a frey family tree (rip) and it made me curious if you had any thoughts on fashion at the Twins? I've been angling towards having them stand out a little with a large amt of diversity in their fashion (surprising to many) , specifically adopting more of the styles of their non-frey family! (Less surprising) i'd love to know if you had any opinions!

Hmmmm let me brainstorm

The average Frey (non bastard) (relatively high in the line of succession) wears the same clothes as most of the Riverlands. They aren’t as fancy as some other houses, as Walder is not a lord paramount and there are just so many fucking people to clothe and feed, but it’s still clean and well made. Since I have a middle/dark ages inspo for the riverlands, it’s a lot of doublets, kirtles/underdresses, laced and belted overdresses, and plenty of surcoats

A Frey girl who might marry up or was born with a richer parent will typically be clearly more well off. They can afford silks and satins, as well as having clothes that are patterned and embroidered. She’s also partial to smooth, neat veils, and a circlet to show off her rank. If she moves far away, she’ll adapt to the silhouette of whoever she now lives, but the loose, baggy clothing of the riverlands works pretty much everywhere.

If someone marries to the north, the clothing can adapt well and be changed based on their needs. All they usually need is a thicker veil, more wool dresses/tunics/cloaks, and extra layers. It’s not so different, so a northern Frey faction would look fairly similar to their main Freys, only difference being the amount of coverage. Usually they never marry very far north, meaning that their outfits are not undergoing extreme change

If a woman marries to the East, she’ll start dressing in Vale fashion, which is almost always better than that of the Freys, as many houses in the Vale are fairly well off. Even if there isn’t much money to spend on clothes, a girl will at least receive simple gowns made out of yards and yards of fabric, as extra folds and longer, wider sleeves are the style there. She will also start wearing a hat and veil, rather than just a wimple style veil, and belt below her bust for more definition

And of course the bastards and younger children get the short end of the stick. Walder doesn’t even know they exist half the time, so the attention receive probably equates to the clothes they receive. So not a lot. A literal shift/undergarments and some sort of over tunic or overdress. Maybe another one if it’s cold outside. It’s not a lot. They’re lucky if it’s clean and in one piece. Expect nothing less from Westero’s father of the year

#asoiaf #asoiaf hair and clothing #the Freys in my head are peak dark ages fashion #no finesse no drip #just misery

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swordsandarms · 9 months

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Sometimes people make too much a fuss of what Robb Stark was and what he could have been, because I feel the point of him is he was always doomed: he was THE Ned 2.0 some sometimes try to write Jon as (which HE isn't) and Ned Stark's fate only heads one way.

But there's also an opposite obnoxious kind of posting about "capable know-it-all Catelyn and her dumb teenage son" or "lol who let this highschooler put his mother in jail" etc etc. Because that's a whole other bad reading.

Catelyn was not the remarkable advisor Robb should have always listened to (though she does have her moments, of course), nor was anyone better off if she was THE man.

Catelyn and Robb are a doomed duo. She wants to be seen by him as a just as respectable King's advisor, but she puts even more pressure on him with motherly scolding about being a bad brother. She wants to be seen as much as one of his advisors by Robb's men, too. But she takes fully advantage of being "just a woman and mother" and hence being treated with double standards about messing around with important Lannister by hostages, although the Karstarks also act out of grief - but THEY receive the capital punishment for treason.

Robb is a young, inexperienced King AND Catelyn is not a rational, capable pillar of an advisor for a King. Although Robb is also too young, there's really a common factor here for both of them. In this very patriarchal world, the wife/mother and the heir are both subservient to the patriarch of the family for as long as the patriarch lives. No matter how many years Catelyn stood or would have still stayed by her husband's side, even privately giving her advice to him, she has not the real deal experience of (or) competent capacity of calling the shots or leading negotiations. The results of the negotiations with Walder Frey are almost mocking, and she herself walks out a kind of defeat - the position she'd led in life is of having to capitulate after battling without success against male self righteousness and confidence in what they're due. She also never got over her estrangement in the North and doesn't fully understand the people she's meant to be working with, and in that quarter Robb does a better job by default. And had Ned lived into old(er) age, Robb would have continued into this 40s or 50s still never in a position to speak or act over his father. Stepping into the position of the patriarch after a long time of obeying would still be shaky, unknown grounds.

All in all, it can be argued that they were doomed either way, of course, whether they were THE King or THE advisor. Walder doesn't exactly respect women - to be promised a son of his as being handed Riverrun (and the head of the Riverlands) beats having a daughter married to a powerful man only any day. The Boltons have retained their old spite over being subjugated by the Starks (from being Kings) and even having also failed in in raising in Rebellion against them in the past - the temptation was there. But Catelyn and Robb were, again, also a failed duo working together, with double sided lackings. But by all means, this is not something as straightforward and one-dimensional as the extremely capable and ever wise mother who has real experience to lead (especially the North) better following this completely fool of a child around.

#ASOIAF #catelyn stark #robb stark

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i-is-surrounded-by-idjits · 4 months

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I love the GoT series, especially for its historical accuracies (I could talk about them for daaaaaays), but I get really annoyed with the age gap debate with ships without taking into account the historical setting (especially Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane). this has annoyed me to the point where I am writing a book to address the social construct just to tear it down.

In the past noble girls were married early. Not usually as soon as they had their first period (although legal), this was usually delayed until 16-18 years due to negotiations (it was a trade deal). However, most nobles would be married before they turned 20, unless they were undesirable for some reason (this could be appearance, family scandal, illness, physical health, disability, or personality), and they would quickly become known as spinsters - we think of spinsters being unmarried woman past middle age, but in the past, this could be used for an unmarried 25 y/o. Reminder that 'paedophile' refers to the attraction of prepubescent children (by UK law this is under 13).

Women married early for biological reasons; they have a short fertility period (while some men can keep fathering sons for decades; think Walder Frey). From first blood to menopause, a woman had to be married off as quickly as possible to ensure they had the best chance of providing as many children as possible. Menopause is currently between 45-50 yrs (with some biological variation), but in the past, this could be as early as 35 - unclear due to natural variation, but health and hygiene contribute to fertile health and the decline would be noted as the end for many noble women.

Men sometimes married later, usually for education, status, or military reasons. So one could expect a man not to marry until in their 20s (of higher social standing). Commoners skew the statistics, as they would marry at any age, and usually more love-matches (no need for social staus debates and political marriages), however, common men would be expected to have a job in order to provide for a wife and family, and so would sometimes be older, but the

If a man needed a wife, say windowed at 30. Guess what, they'd start at the beginning looking for a teenager. There was no point marrying an older woman (if there were any that were unmarried, that is). Widows were often off the cards if they had children as they would still belong to their dead spouse's family, and the social 'undesirables' would still be undesired by a man seeking their second or third wife. For example, Æthelred the Unready first married Ælfgifu - she was 4 years younger and perfectly normal. She died aged 32. His second wife Emma, was 18 years younger (aged 18 at the time) - a much larger age gap and unseemly by modern standards, but Æthelred would not have married a woman in her 30s whose fertility could decline shortly after marriage simply to marry someone closer to his own age.

Childhood and teenagers are relatively new terms. In the past, they were better defined as prepubescent and of marital age (postpubescent). Meaning you were considered almost adult once you could reproduce. To view historical fiction by modern standards, laws, and norms, is a mistake. One should understand the history to better understand the subject material and fictional writings it has inspired.

The best way to understand this is to understand why marriage was invented: to produce legitimate heirs. This is why infidelity was viewed differently for men and women - a man is unfaithful, it is a distraction and a sin, but bastards have no claim. A woman is unfaithful, this brings into question the legitimacy of her existing children, and she has wasted almost a year providing someone else a child. Not such a big deal now, but childbirth was also dangerous; they could literally die due to an affair... even before the husband found out about it. Therefore, ensuring the bride had enough time to produce children was essential. Bear in mind that during the Middle Ages, one could get an annulment for infertility in many countries (and still can) - as this is a breach of the marriage contract.

P.S. - This is historical thinking. I am pro same-sex marriage and believe this should have been legalised when marriage changed the definition to a declaration of love (circa 18th century)... but that's a religious debate for another time.

Back to the topic; Sansa Stark would not see age as an issue really. Although she hoped for a love match (and thus naturally inclined to someone near her own age), socially, she would see nothing wrong with Sandor Clegane based on age. Clegane would have had issues with any attraction until she reached 'adulthood' (before her first period) as this would have been considered immoral, however, once deemed an adult, this no longer poses an issue legally. Lysa was 21 years younger than Jon when they married - she protested this based on age, but realistically she only protested as she had hoped to marry Petyr.

#sansan #sansa stark #sandor clegane #GoT #Game of Thrones #historical accuracy #GRRM #ships

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rosalinrabbit · 1 year

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Nectar of the Gods

Blue Banisters Track List

Pairing: Robb Stark x Fem! Mormont Reader

Warnings: Hurt, hurt no comfort, past relationships, family deaths, briefly mentioned violence, final goodbyes, pure angst, Robb being an idiot and putting the North in danger

Summary: After the death of your aunt and your father, you knew you had to return to Bear Island. You couldn’t take it anymore, watching Robb live a life you weren’t a part of any longer. When the King in the North himself finds you packing your bags, many things left unsaid finally come to light.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This is the start of the Blue Banisters Track List!! (A new project which is likely going to be a bit inconsistent in terms of order and posting)

This fic is a mix of show and book canon if that makes sense? I was rewatching the show and every time we get to the whole Robb x Talisa plotline I lose my mind at how weird it is but I digress.

You are in charge of your own media consumption. Please read responsibly.

Do not translate or re-upload any of my work. Works are only cross-posted on AO3.

< What sweet world is this? Honey on the vine..

School kid dreams came true, then passed in the night

I used to dream about people like you, now I don’t know why… >

-Lana Del Rey, Nectar of the Gods

You hurried to pack your things from the tent you had once shared with your aunt, the one you still shared with two of her daughters, your cousins, Dacey and Lyra. Maege’s oldest and third oldest. The rest, Alysane, Jorelle, and Lyanna, remained at Bear Island.

The she-bear is no more. When her daughters decided to remain by the King’s side, you knew you could not. Then, the message came from up North. From the Wall.

To your luck, the raven’s message landed in the hands of Catelyn Stark, not her son’s. It was Catelyn who came up to you, pulling you into her tent to talk alone. Her eyes alone saw the tears when she told you.

Your father was dead. Killed by his own men in a mutiny beyond the wall.

You were taught better than to react in the way you did, in disbelief and agony. In shock. You had stared at the older woman for a few moments before you could even process her words, yet your eyes seemed to beat your mind to it, tears streaming down your face as you stared past Catelyn, towards the opening of the tent and out into the beyond.

When the sobs broke through, you felt her hands on your arms, holding you up so you wouldn’t fall over, bringing you close and providing you with the comfort only a mother could, even though you would never get to call her by that name.

Even though she herself had expected you to one day.

You were thankful that Catelyn atleast understood your pain. While you hailed from Bear Island, while you held the name Mormont and were loyal as can be to House Stark, while you knew how to fight and lead like the rest of your family, the pain of it all weighed on you. As much as you tried to hide it, for the pride of your house, for your own dignity, it was far too much, and you and the Stark matriarch both knew the pain went beyond the death of your father.

It was everything inbetween.

The two Stark girls whom you loved like sisters, in what felt like increasingly mortal danger because of Robb’s rebellion.

The death of your aunt, who cared for you as though you were her own when your mother died, when your much older half-brother Jorah disgraced the house, and when your father left to take the black.

The fear for your house and your future, leaving your dear young cousin Lyanna at home and in charge of Bear Island with her mother’s most trusted advisors.

The fact that your father was killed by his own men, by the job he had commited his life to.

The heartbreak of Robb moving on.

The anger caused by his stupidity.

The moment you learned he had married that Westerling woman, the one who traveled along with the infantry, healing men who probably didn’t have a chance, you knew this war was doomed. Not because of what Walder Frey would do, but because of Robb’s clear lack of foresight. How could he not see what the rest of you saw? All for one woman.

You had never asked that of him.

Your engagement had been broken off when the war began. He told you he wanted to keep the engagement but did not want you to be a target, and you had told him that the greatest chance he’d have at winning this war was through an advantageous marriage. One that would offer far more than your family could. You didn’t do it because you didn’t love him, no. The both of you were desolate at the reality of it all. In your mind, you hoped he would refuse to marry throughout the war. Hoped the “young wolf” would be strong enough, that he wouldn’t need to. But you knew better, and you knew he needed the numbers. If Arya and Sansa were going to survive, he needed a stronger army and a wife that could offer more to him standing by his side.

When he promised to marry Walder Frey’s daughter, your heart broke. Yet the passage was worth it. The North was worth it.

You would do it a thousand times over for Sansa and Arya, and you’d do the same for your own young cousins that were like sisters to you. Not that Dacey and Lyra needed protecting, but if they did, you would do it for them without much thought.

For his family, for his sisters, you broke the engagement.

And Robb threw all of that away, and the North along with it, by marrying Talisa.

As you changed into more suitable riding clothes, you couldn’t help but think of the past. Of when you thought you had it all figured out. You closed your eyes, and tears slipped out at the memories of him.

Holding his hand and walking through the glass gardens. Braiding Sansa’s hair. Chasing after Bran and Arya as they climbed up walls and through windows.

Or when he kissed you in the Godswood, telling you that you were standing on the spot where you would eventually marry.

Lies.

You would never have any of those things again.

“Y/n?”

You startled at Robb’s voice, wiping away any stray tears and turning around to prepare to face him, hiding your bags behind your back.

“Yes, your highness?” You responded bitterly as he entered the tent on your response.

“Please don’t call me that. When did you ever get so formal?” He muttered.

“I’ve always been formal to those who require it.”

“I do not require it of you.”

“Your station and our relationship does.”

“You mean our lack of a relationship?” He bit slightly before calming again.

You stood, unmoving, eyes glazing past him as you waited for him to get on with it. He stepped forward and you stiffened.

“I had realized we never spoke about Maege…” He stepped even closer and his hand reached up before you quickly took a step back from him, confused at his purpose and his words. He looked at you with a pained expression at your coldness, and it just made you angry. None of this was your choice. “Your aunt was a great woman,” he began. “I know you loved her deeply, and she looked after you like you were her own. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Perhaps, under different circumstances, Robb’s condolences may have made you soften. May have had you second-guessing your choice to leave. Now, looking at him, you could hardly recognize the man you once loved. He spoke with the compassion he always seemed to hold within him, yet the way he stood, the way he looked, he had this strange self-righteousness. As if this could save you from your pain… and what of your father? He must not know.

You stood there staring at him before you spoke, in as neutral a tone as you could muster. “We have all made great sacrifices, your highness. I believe my aunt may rest easy knowing her own sacrifice, that of her life, saved countless others.” Unlike you, you thought to yourself. No, he sacrifices others. Not himself.

Robb wasn’t an idiot, and his expression sunk at your words. “I appreciate every sacrifice that has been made on behalf of the North.”

Sadness and anger were welling up within you, and gods, you wanted to yell at him. You wondered if you could still get away with something like that, yet you simply muttered, thinking of your father, your aunt, the stark girls. “And a great many, indeed.”

“Y/n… do not insinuate that I do not know sacrifice. I have lost as much, if not more, compared to all those here.”

“Whatever you believe,” you spoke, looking directly into his eyes, “it doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? It doesn’t matter what we’ve lost, it’s already gone.” You turned your head away, willing tears to stay put in your eyes.

“I am sorry.”

You didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “It is what it is.”

“I made you a promise. And I broke it.”

“You did.”

“Why must you always act like it doesn’t matter to you?” He scoffed, frustrated. There was a pause. “Were you.. were you packing up your things to leave?”

You turned to look at your bags on the bed.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that, please, for gods sakes. And all I ever wanted was an ounce of pushback from you! We were to be married, and you gave that away so easily, yet now you punish me for it every day because I married Talisa!”

“Robb,” you spoke harshly, stopping his rant, giving him what he seemed to want. An honest response. “You’re right, I am angry with you. Just not for the selfish reasons you think I am.”

“Well if you’re abandoning the war effort, it’s better for me to hear it now before you’re taken prisoner.”

You sighed at his childish threat. “I think you haven’t seen a single thing I’ve done. Of course breaking the engagement mattered to me! How could you not see that? You know how much I loved you, how on earth could you really think I gave that up so easily? Without second thoughts? I did it for you! And you’re so far up your own arse at this point that you can’t even see that! I sacrificed my love for you for the lives of your sisters. For the chance to win this war. Is that not a good enough reason for you? It’s not that you married Talisa, it’s that I agreed to end the engagement while under the impression that it would change the tides of the war. That you would marry a Frey and secure the twins. But you didn’t do that, Robb. And it felt like a knife in my back.” Robb stood a few paces away from you, a hurt expression across his face, one of shame and sadness. “I made that sacrifice for nothing.”

“I love her. That’s why I married her. I loved, I still love, you… I could not marry a woman I did not love. It wouldn’t have been right for either of us.”

“This is not about love, Robb. It is about duty, and honor. I know you believe what you did was honorable, honorable to the sanctity of vows and marriage… but you killed hundreds if not thousands of our men with your choice. Is that worth it to you? Is that truly so honorable, if it meant breaking your promises?”

“We will make it right with the Freys, and pay our debts another way. But you, you broke your promise to me. And now you stand here with your bags packed, is that not breaking your promise, too?”

“I did it for your family! I did it to try to save your sisters, and I did it for you! How can you not see that? And I’m leaving now because my family is in trouble, my cousins just lost their mother and now must rule the island. I’ve given up so much for you, for your family…” You rose your voice in anger, beginning to lose control of your emotions, hands beginning to shake as you tied up your bags.

“Even if they are family, what would your father think of you being a deserter?”

“Do not speak of my father-“ your voice broke, tears welling up in your eyes.

“If you were under his command he’d have you killed for abandoning your position, y/n,”

“He’s dead, Robb!” You yelled, eyes locking to his, tears dripping from your eyes like spring rain. “My father is dead.”

“Y/n- I didn’t know,” Robb’s face had fallen to one of sympathy, his hand reached out for you, to comfort you like he had so many times in the past. And this time you let his hand reach your shoulder. You stiffly let him protectively put a hand on the top of your head, and pull you into his embrace. After a moment, you relaxed into his warmth, exhaling shakily as the tears kept coming. “I know how much he meant to you. I am so sorry…”

“Robb, you have to let me go,” you whispered, and you knew he understood you meant he needed to let you return home, because his hold around you was maintained. “I don’t have anything left for me here. I want another chance. A chance to be happy. I want to protect and defend my home, and the family I have left.”

“I can’t,” he told you earnestly. “I can’t.”

“You’re married, you moved on… So why won’t you let me?”

“I didn’t, really. I couldn’t.”

“But you did. You can’t take any of it back, Robb. And I know that I can’t either.” You paused to collect yourself before continuing. “Do you want to know how my father died?”

He was silent for a moment before asking, “how?”

“His own men killed him. There was a mutiny.” His grip around you tightened. “My father was an incredibly respected man. And in the end, no matter how much he did right, he did not pay enough attention to what was right in front of him. I don’t think he ever considered just how possible it was that his men would turn on him.”

“The North is stronger than a band of criminals. We have a family name to stand behind, we have bannermen who swore oaths for generations. It is different,” he rationalized, looking down at you. And you looked up, and then, you could remember why you fell in love with him. With his handsome face and dark curls, his fierce yet pragmatic nature, the overwhelming protection, and the way his adoration for you shone through his eyes. The way you could feel it. And your heart hurt, because you thought he might be wrong. His eyes stayed on yours as you spoke.

“Nothing is as strong as it seems, Robb… You just crossed Walter Frey. One of the most selfish men I’ve ever met, the lord of a great river lands house, and of the crossing, which you desperately need for this war… I could be wrong. I could be, but I’ve already lost you. I’ve already lost your sisters. I’ve lost my aunt, who raised me as her own, and I’ve lost my father. I cannot be here anymore. There is nothing for me here, and while I can never forgive you for the choices you made, I also cannot bear to lose more of you than I already have.”

Robb brought his hands up to your face, brushing the water from your eyes as his own eyes welled with tears.

“You have to let me go,” you pleaded again, voice barely even a whisper.

“I know,” he nodded. “At least let me get a horse and supplies for you. Meet me at the eastern edge of the camp.”

And with that, he quickly withdrew his hands, leaving your tent without a second glance.

As you waited, you ensured you had packed everything. You double-checked the items and re-laced your boots before throwing on a warm cloak and stepping outside. The air was growing colder, and with the winds came winter.

You quickly made your way to the edge, and by the tree line you spotted him. Standing with your horse, already saddled.

He was silent when you approached, and could not meet your eye as he took your bags and attached them. He automatically held a hand out to help you mount, but when you took it, he looked at you again. And he truly looked at you. His eyes ran over the details of your face, like he was committing it to memory, and held your hand like a lifeline. He looked at you with sad desperation, pulling you into a hug once more, tucking your head under his chin and holding you so tight you could hardly breathe. When his grip loosened, he placed a tender kiss to your forehead, and within it held every memory, and every touch.

“You know where to go. Just promise me to be careful. Go quickly, don’t stop for anyone… I love you, y/n.” His voice sounded hoarse, too much emotion behind it to even speak of.

“I love you too, Robb,” you told him, staring deep into his eyes as you cried for what felt like the millionth time that day. “And I am sorry that wasn’t enough.”

He simply nodded, and helped you onto the horse.

He did not look at you as you fixed the hold on the reins or the lay of your cloak along your back, but as you urged your horse into a galloping pace and you looked back, his eyes were fixed on you.

You knew then that you would always love him, and no matter how lost he made you feel, and while you could never forgive him, you could now move forward. You knew you could find your way.

Whether Robb made it through or not, your situations wouldn’t change. Too much had transpired to ever go back.

No, even if you both survived this war, you knew that this would be the last time you ever saw Robb Stark.

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