The history books forgot about us
And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first

I: To Be King

The setting sun bled into the horizon, swallowed by the angry grey clouds blurring the sky. It would grow dark in a few short minutes and while he may have grown adept at manoeuvring in minimal light, Robb couldn't keep track of Bran once the sun had disappeared entirely.

"Bran!" he called to the young boy meandering carelessly into a thicket of trees not far ahead. He turned his head to answer his older brother's call, blue eyes widening innocently.

"Yes, Robb?"

"We need to head back now. I'll bring you back when I can, alright?"

Bran looked crestfallen and Robb averted his eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment filling his younger brother's eyes. Bran would be thirteen in a few short days, anyway – far too old to be treated like a child. With this thought, Robb hardened his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Bran. Come along."

With a heave of frustration, Bran nudged his horse to a turn and followed his older brother at an even-paced trot. The sky was vaguely purplish now and they quickened their speed, lest they arrive at the Castle late and anger the Queen.


Her hair was silken. Phaedra pulled the gold comb through the white gossamer waves, her eyes darting every so often to the Queen who stared into and almost through the mirror with a passive expression. Daenerys' violet eyes were frozen – not cold, nor unkind, just still – on the regal reflection returning her passivity.

"97, 98, 99…" With a still hand and a graceful turn of her wrist, Phaedra called in the target number. "100 strokes, my lady. Will that be all tonight? Shall I draw a milk bath for her highness? Or perhaps ask the cooks to bring—"

"That will be all." The Queen's voice was thin and low, as though she were murmuring to herself. Phaedra curtsied deeply, reminding herself of all her poor Queen had been through. It was not easy for such a delicate soul to withstand so much terror, so much fear and loss. She had experienced it firsthand and all for the greater good too. Yes. Phaedra was glad she was serving her good Queen and not a selfish, entitled monarch who had not shared her people's sorrow and fought nobly alongside them.

"Thank you, my Queen." A second curtsy saw her gliding out of the sleeping room and hurrying to the maid's chambers. Once she'd reached the close quarters she shared with the Queen's two other personal maids – Irri and Ileana – she folded herself quietly into bed.

"You should wash your face first," Ileana told her. "You'll ruin your skin and then not even the lowliest blacksmith's boy will want you then."

"You have pretty skin, Phaedra," Irri interjected, always there to smooth over Ileana's tactless input.

"Thank you," Phaedra said dryly. Having been raised in the capital by a seamstress and a cook who worked in a nobleman's manor, her voice lacked the inflections plaguing Irri and Ileana with their respective Dothraki and Northerner origins. "I shall do that but not for any boy, Ileana. I can't even fathom thinking of marrying at a time like this."

"This is the best time," Ileana countered. "The war is finally over, Phaedra. Or do you not realize this? King Stark and his noble bride are here to watch over us. The seven kingdoms are finally at peace. What more do you wait for?"

"I'm not ready," Phaedra said with a tone of finality. "I'm not interested in boys anyhow. I am to celebrate my nineteenth nameday in a matter of days – I need a man. Not that I see any of those knocking down your door, anyhow."

The last line was unnecessary, she realized with a pang of regret. Already, Ileana's eyes were clouding over with anger and an undercurrent of suppressed hurt.

"Well, be thankful you don't bear the scars of the war. I suppose that's some small reprieve."

Turning her badly burned face, Ileana stalked from the room, muttering about washing her tunics.

Phaedra turned guiltily to Irri, knowing the elfin girl didn't hold grudges or address conflict.

"Is the Queen with child yet?" Irri asked in a passive tone and picked up the tableau she was sewing.

"No." Phaedra's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. Really, it was treason to be slandering the Queen like this but Irri had taught Phaedra all she knew about consummation. How to recognize when one is with child, how to avoid falling pregnant – though Phaedra suspected much of it was superstition – and more importantly for an ill-informed peasant girl raised in a conservative home, how it happened. Irri had worked in a pleasure house for a short time during the war when the Lannisters looked to be overpowering. This type of informant came in handy for a girl just navigating the murky waters of sexuality.

It also came in handy for a girl in such close proximity to the Queen, it seemed, for in all the nights Phaedra attended to the Queen, she had seen no sign to suggest the Queen carried the Stark heir.

"The people, they grow impatient," Irri relayed to her enthusiastically. Maids, as a rule, thirsted for gossip. The misfortunes of the privileged were enthralling and addictive. "They want – they need – an heir. When the Targaryen girl is going to give us an heir, they say. Maya tells me the King does not even visit her chambers anymore."

It was true that the only time King Robb and his Queen were seen together was at official events – feasts, diplomatic visits, jousting tournaments – and the odd meeting which involved the Queen, though they rarely did.

"She is traumatized," Phaedra bit back angrily. "You know what she lost in the war. She can hardly be expected to lay with another man so soon and produce an heir on top of that! Cut the poor girl some slack."

Because, really, she was a girl – barely older than Phaedra herself – and to go through what Denaearys Targaryen had at her age was unthinkable.

Irri shrugged non-committedly. "Robb is so handsome, too. It makes no sense, it really doesn't."

Feeling bad for her outburst, Phaedra joked, "Yes, it isn't like she's being asked to lay with a grotesque sewer rat."

"Or Joffrey Lannister," Irri deadpanned.

"Urgh!" Both girls made repulsed faces and collapsed into a fit of giggles at the thought.


The sky was an even blue-black when Robb and Bran returned, marred only by a smattering of stars.

"Robb?" Bran asked, hurrying to catch up with the larger chestnut brown horse ahead.

"Yes, Bran?" Robb slowed to a trot.

"If the Sun is a King, a God, and the Moon is his Queen…what are the stars?"

Robb raised his thick dark brows, impressed at how quickly the young boy had adopted the New Religion.

"Little princes and princesses," he answered automatically, quoting a story he once overheard one of Deny's maids telling her.

"Oh…" The young boy trailed off, still gazing upward thoughtfully.

"Eyes on the track ahead, young man. We're almost there."

They broke into a gallop now, racing each other to the looming sandstone castle ahead. Robb made sure not to race too fast, lest Bran get ahead of himself in his desire to win. He couldn't stop the grin that split his lips. He was glad for these rare few evenings that weren't dogged by politics, pressure and expectations; catering to his people while still pleasing the noblemen and women who really funded his reign. It was tiresome and it had its effects on him. Despite only having reached his twentieth nameday a month ago, he discovered himself looking older and more haggard as the days wore on. Just the other morning, he discovered a grey hair nestled among his thicket of dark curls.

"Same time tomorrow?" Bran bartered cheekily.

"You know I can't, Bran," Robb said sadly. "I have to work."

"You're always working." Bran pouted. "Leave the work to Deny tomorrow and we can go riding again."

"I can't, Bran," Robb re-iterated. "If I could, you know I would. Anyway, you're a man now. You can't be filling your days with frivolous things like riding and picnics. How's your sword-training coming?"

"Fabulously," Bran intoned dryly. He was hopeless and they both knew it. A cripple wouldn't be able to do much for the King or kingdom so his riding was all he really had. It wasn't an easy situation for anyone. Robb sighed deeply, helping his brother out of the straps in his saddle and carrying him up to his spacious sleeping room. He lay him out on the bed and ruffled his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Good night, Bran."

"Night, Robb." The younger boy yawned, turning his head to the side and shutting his eyes.

Robb watched him for a few moments before closing the room door behind him. He checked on Arya then and, ascertaining that she was in fact sleeping and not planning to sneak out as soon as he left, he left for the central tower.

Bypassing the grand King's quarters, he strolled to the end of the corridor with a thudding heart. Daenerys' sleeping room.

"Dany?" He pushed open the heavy double doors so they creaked slightly. Daenerys lay on the bed, eyes open and unblinking as they focused on the ceiling.

She was beautiful. That much he'd confirmed when he first laid eyes upon the great Khal's bought bride. Then, she was an ivory-skinned full-hipped goddess with gossamer hair and great violet eyes that could finish any man with little effort. Then, she was happy. Happy in her role as Khaleesa of her primitive people. Happy in her rough fabrics and the flowers woven through her hair. She was happy and even after he'd given her seven kingdoms, a castle and a throne, even after he'd woven real gold through her hair, he could do nothing to restore that happiness.

"What is it?" She sat up now; her face was passive as she looked back at him, unflinching.

Her delicate features grew harsher as time passed, he noted. Before, her skin had glowed. Now, it dulled to a sickly paleness. Deep lines framed her aging eyes; her eyes which had before been a marvellous, entrancing Targaryen violet. Her lips grew thinner, as well. He recalled the first night he had disrobed her. Her body, though not virginal, was young and petite. It had folded neatly into his side, his hands moulding erotically to her curved hips. Her breasts were small and eager, the rose pink peaks erecting deliciously under his coarse thumb. Through the haze of lust clouding his senses, he had loved her. Every inch of her soft body with every inch of him.

"You will not lay with me tonight?" He posed it as a question but the drought their sex life had experienced in the past few months was a testament unto itself. He didn't want to be like old King Robert, blessed be his name, resorting to drinking and whoring because of a frigid wife. So he tried.

"You and I both know this is a marriage of convenience," Daenerys said quietly.

"Even marriages of convenience require heirs, especially when that marriage happens to be a royal one," Robb spat. Anger heated his vision. He wasn't cruel or unkind. He didn't degrade her, disrespect her, and try as he might, he couldn't give her back what she'd lost. So why did she insist on humiliating him like this?

Her eyes locked onto his and she smiled a bitter, watery smile. Fat tears leaked from the corners of her round eyes and she didn't hurry to wipe them. It was almost as if she'd grown used to crying so frequently, the tears were of little consequence to her now.

"We can try," she said finally, reluctantly.

He hadn't expected his response. He shifted awkwardly in his heavy leather boots. He wasn't about to take a crying girl, no matter how necessary it was. Ignoring the deep growl unfurling in his stomach, he said, "Another night. I shall pay you a visit…another night."

It was all so clinical, so formal. Daenerys nodded curtly, promptly curling into bed on her side. She rested her head on folded arms and hid her face from view.

Giving a half-sigh, half-grunt of frustration, Robb closed the door with a sharp click and heavy footfalls carried him to his own chambers.\


A/N: There was more to this chapter but I wanted to pace the story more evenly. I apologise if it seems a bit too tell and not enough show, but I was trying to smoothly introduce the context of the story. If there's anything I can improve upon, feel free to leave me a (polite) review. :) Actually, just leave me a review, period. I'd really like to hear what you think!

Also, I haven't read the books (I'm working to correct this ASAP) so nothing spoiler-y please. This is based largely off what I know from the show (which is rocking my world atm).