So this is just my take on how the events may have been different he Robb had married a Frey. I decided to do an OC instead of Roslin so that I had more control over the character. Anyway enjoy!

Chapter One:

I leaned my head against the stones, staring deep into the fire. I was still in my day dress, despite the late hour, and I wondered nonchalantly if my skirts were in danger of catching fire. I had nearly forgotten about what I had was supposed to be doing, until a chill swept through me. I turned back to the chair and picked up the winter cloak that I had been re-hemming; a hand-me-down from the last winter.

I stared at the cloak, the heavy wool, and wondered not for the first time if it would keep me warm in the north.

I had assumed it would be Roslin- she was beautiful, and the eldest of us two. She was sociable, and agreeable. Though not stupid, I knew she looked forward to a betrothal and marrying a handsome lord and living in a keep. She listened to the songs, and I think deep down believe them.

I did not. Though I was not as ugly as the Frey name conveyed, I knew what I was- no handsome lords would come to the Twins seeking a beautiful bride. I knew, too, what my father was. And my father was a lecherous old man, who saw no value in any of children, least of all his daughters. And I didn't believe those songs.

I hadn't even been present when Lady Stark came to us all that time ago. I had instead been binding a broken book back together. The needle had slipped and came right into my hand. Busy with the Maester's attention, I figured she would not miss me among my numerous siblings.

So when I had heard what Father demanded, I was surprised to learn that Starks had accepted it. One of us, for a bridge?

But I didn't fear, or fret. We all knew it would be Roslin. And though she was frightened at leaving at the Riverlands for the North, I couldn't help but think that this was something she would like- a Lord, a house of good reputation. I had patted her hand and smiled, though I knew deep down this meant that I would be next. I felt that it would still be quite some time before I was sold off, though, so I simply didn't think so much about it.

Until two weeks ago, when my father called me to him. I had been sitting on a window sill, gazing out into the tumultuous river, when one of my bastard sisters gently broke me out of my reverie. "Onora?" Her sharp features were solemn. "Your father wishes to speak with you."

I made my way into his offices, where he sat slouched and gnarled like a tree. He regarded me passively, chewing on something. Finally he took a raspy breath and spoke.

"The King of the North is on his way"

I stared quizzically at my father, unsure, and growing uneasy.

"I thought he might be thinking of breaking his oath, and seeing how this fighting has dragged on, offered to let him marry sooner rather than later. He's accepted and offered another betrothal to Edmure Tully in exchange for some more of your worthless brothers and the men at arms. So, one of you will marry Stark, the other the Tully."

I stood straight, my eyes staring just slightly below level, maintaining my composure, as I had learned to do for so many years. But inside I was apprehensive.

Father leaned forward. "You deaf, girl?"

My temper flared, but I resisted the urge to snap back. "I heard you, father. I expect that the King will wish to chose his bride."

He snorted. "I don't care what the boy wants. The two weddings will take place the night he arrives. I've already picked both the brides."

My heart had stuck in my throat. I had never though of my betrothal in real terms before that moment. I was fair enough, but no one wanted to marry a Frey. I thought I would be married off to some ageing river lord who would hopefully be gentle and tired.

Edmure Tully I suppose was not too far from that. He was supposed to be handsome enough, but something of a fool. I could endure that marriage, but I had not ever considered being placed into the care of such a noble and well respected house. Would I be disdained for my fathers constant antagonist behavior?

Though when I considered the other option, I suddenly found Edmure Tully very attractive indeed.

To be married to Robb Stark was profoundly frightening. I didn't even have the faintest idea what he looked like, but I could picture something frightening. The Young Wolf- undefeated in battle, fierce and violent. The one who started this whole war. They said he was followed by a great dire wolf who bit off people's arms and ate fallen soldiers in battle. Northmen were rough and harsh, like the land they lived in.

And to live in that land- cold and barren, full of all the terrifying stories our nurses had told us.

Yes, I thought, I could be a Tully's wife.

My father sat, regarding me. I had kept my face carefully blank, and he seemed to be rather pleased with the lack of emotion.

"Your sister Roslin…"I brathed a sigh of relief, inwardly, thinking he was about to tell be he would give my sister to Robb. She was a head taller, and amicability was perhaps a trait desired in a queen. "…will marry Edmure."

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, and stared down at the floor as my Father spoke the words I already knew. "And you will marry Robb Stark."

"Why?" I couldn't help but blurt it out. "Why me?"

"Well, who else?" he grumbled. "Can't very well give a king an ugly bride."

"What of Roslin?" I all but begged. "Have you spoken with her? Roslin would want to be a queen-"

"I've never cared what you twits want" he laughed as he said it. "Why start now?"

I pawed at my skirt, desperate. "I'm not fit" I protested, my voice high.

"I promise, the King will make you fit. "

My face twisted in disgust. "I don't want to marry him. Roslin should-"

"Roslin is marrying Edmure. You, the little bother you are, are going with the Young Wolf." He furrowed his brow at me.

"I don't want to." I felt my voice shake with rage. "I won't. You have daughters enough- send Lothar in a dress for all I care, I don't need to go to Winterfell, nor yet be a violent rebels wife."

"You will do as your told. You've always been a frigid bitch, the north should suit you. Now shut your mouth and do as your told."

"Why can't it wait until the fighting is over?" I plead

"Because the King has been tasting the honey of a Valerian in his company, and nearly broke faith with me. I don't trust Roslin to make sure the little Stark boy puts a baby in her."

My father walked towards me, looking me up and down. "You're stubborn, and not stupid. You know what this marriage would mean. So you will do as your told."

He started to walk past me, and in a panic I said all I could think of.

"You'll not talk to me about faith when your bride is younger than I!"

I knew I had gone too far when I said it. The message was driven home by my father's hand across cheek.

"You will keep your legs open, and your mouth shut. "He stared at me with those cold, flat eyes. "Now get out, and go warble on to someone else. I've heard enough."

I stared after the crooked old man, cupping my stinging face, a roar in my ears.

I stumbled to my bedchamber, a panicked alarm sounding in my head. I sat in the corner, my head in my hands…waiting for something. Tears, bile, anything. But all that came was the sobering, unsettling thought;

Within the Fortnight, you will be married to the King of the North.

That had been nearly 4 days ago. The time after that had been a blur of packing, preparing, and hurrying along only to find that there was nothing to do but wait. We had power and money enough for servants who seemed more than happy to do most of the work for us. I suppose I was far better to serve than my harsh and crass father. I found myself attempting to stay confined to my favorite places in the Twins, to the places I knew I would ache for later. Often I found myself in the library- in disrepair and misuse though it was, I had always found solace there. The Twins were littered with children, and at least half of them were cruel and even violent. Father didn't even bother to try and keep track of us all, so I found myself hiding somewhere I knew my swaggering brothers would never be; a room full of books.

Though more and more I felt drawn to shut myself up in my room. It wasn't just the unkind teasing of my brothers- my sisters were all delighted for me, and I felt I couldn't disclose how much I didn't want the union, but pretending to be happy was exhausting.

I would be queen, yes, and I would have to leave everything familiar to go to the cold and frightening North. Not even the North, I reminded myself. First on the road, in battle. Father had said he had no plans to let Roslin and I linger in the Twins. And I would be married to a man with a reputation for intensity and war. Not to mention the rumors.

We had all heard them- Robb Stark had taken up with a women on the road, and had nearly married her, before being talked out of it by his mother.

I knew what our marriage was- a bride for a bridge. I had known that my marriage would probably be some sort of arrangement- I was the daughter of a lord. Marrying for love was a thing of fancy for me.

Nor did I mind if my husband had taken women before me. The lewdness of my father had left me no confusion on the desires of men, or women. Though a virgin myself, I thought it was perhaps best if one of us knew what to do. I was apprehensive of what was to come the night of our wedding, to say the least; but my older sisters had assured me it was not so bad, as long as he was gentle. I was not sure that I believed them, and to be honest with myself my stomach knotted uncomfortably at the idea of being naked with a man I had never met. I had seen the white faces and unblinking eyes of my fathers many wives the morning after. In my mind, a courtship would at least have helped, and been customary.

But the idea of marrying a man who wished to marry another- that made everything inside of me freeze. Would he resent me? Would he be cruel to me? Would he dishonor me? I knew that wearing the sigil of a Frey was bad enough- to have my husband indiscreetly break vows with me would be humiliation.

I set down the sewing, tears suddenly welling in my eyes. I wished desperately that I had been born a man. I would rather face a sword than face a betrothal like this. I turned to my bed, and let myself be miserable alone in my own bed. After all, I thought, a sob welling up in my throat, in just a few nights I'd have to share my bed with the man I was crying about.