This an AU. I have messed with the timeline as well as the character's ages. Robb is 18, Jon is 17, Myrcella is 15, and Arya is 13.
ONE. ROBB.
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown."
-King Henry VI
The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!
It has been nearly two moons, but the chant still echoes in Robb Stark's ears.
The Young Wolf barely feels prepared to be the Lord of Winterfell let alone the King in the North (and the Trident).
And now he stands, alone, in his tent, the sound of rain drumming against the canvas as his only companion. He always seems to be alone these days. The wrought iron crown, fashioned after the one his ancestors wore, weighs heavily in his hands. His Tully blue eyes wander over the giant map of Westeros, covered in direwolves, lions, trout, and stags.
He places the crown on the table and turns away, wishing it was enough to make it all disappear.
But it doesn't.
The young Lord of Winterfell wonders if this how his father felt when the Mad King murdered Rickard and Brandon Stark, leaving Ned to inherit their responsibilities. Did his father feel so alone when he was fighting a war to save his sister and end tyranny?
But Father hadn't been alone. He thinks. He had Mother.
Robb knows that it took years for his parents to love each other, that they were little more than strangers when he was born and little more than friends when Sansa came into this world. He remembers his father saying that the first time he realized he loved Catelyn was when Maester Luwin told him that there had been a complication with the birth. That Catelyn was bleeding, and the grey-eyed babe was born too soon and too small. That thee two might not make it through the night. It had taken the threat of losing his auburn hair wife to make Ned realize that he loved her.
His father never wanted to be Warden of the North or Hand to the King. Ned Stark never thought that he would be Lord of Winterfell and married to Catelyn Tully, just as Robb never dreamed he would be crowned Kinga and lead an army.
Robb felt the all too familiar ache. The aching hole in his chest that was threatening to swallow him whole, consuming him since the day the raven came with news of his father's fate.
The King in the North doesn't want a kingdom, he only wants his home.
The King in the North wants snow instead of rain.
He wants his mother to smile again and to roll Robb eyes when he hears Sansa giggle about knights and fairytales. He wants to look up and see Bran scaling the walls and look down and see Rickon rolling in the mud with Shaggydog. Robb wants to laugh at how big the black wolf is compared to his littlest brother.
To pretend not to notice the mischievous glint in Arya's eye as she runs off to get into trouble, dragging a solemn Jon behind her. The Young Wolf wants Theon to tell him of his exaggerated exploits and for his friend to constantly make innuendos at the most inopportune and leave Robb and Jon to try an explain them to a persistent and curious Arya because the Ironborn is doubled over in laughter.
And his father… Robb just wants him back.
But now… Nowadays all his mother seems to do is worry and Sansa has learned that not all princes are golden. Bran will never walk again, let alone climb and by the time he sees Rickon again, his brother won't be so little anymore. Jon can't keep Arya out of trouble from atop the Wall, and that Arya most likely is in trouble, but not the innocent kind. Theon refers to him as "your grace" and talks to him of battle strategy and tells of troop movements rather when he talks of which serving girls has the best tits and tell him jokes that made his face match his hair. And his father…
The ache grows.
Good kings don't get what they want, the young man reminds himself. They put their people and their duty first.
Whether he wants it or not, Robb Stark is the King in the North. He doesn't much know much, but he knows that he wants to be a good king, to be fair and just and brave. The kind of king that would make Ned Stark proud.
Robb picks the crown up again, his calloused fingers skimming over the ribbed spikes as he remembers a time when the only blood on his hands was from when he and Jon thought it would be a good idea to practice with live steel and had accidentally left Jon with a small scar. When the King in the North was nothing more than the ancient title from the books he read to Arya during blizzards. When responsibilities and marriage were merely an abstract concept in the back of his mind, and the South was a distant memory from when Robb had visited Riverrun on his fifth name day. When he was innocent.
He tries on the crown for the first time since his mother handed it to him a few hours prior. The iron weighs heavily on his copper curls.
He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to be alone.
But Robb Stark is not a child, not anymore, and he can't afford to be childish and wish for the impossible. So he listens to rain and wishes for the something he can have.
The King in the North wishes for sunshine.