A/N: I do not own anything. This fic is inspired from Obsidaticum written by WhosThatChic. Her story made me fall in love with the idea of a Robb/ Lannister OC pairing. So here is my own version.
This is an AU since I'm inserting an OC here. Just a brief background on my OC: She is Marianne Lannister; she is the youngest child of Tywin and Joanna. Joanna did not die when she gave birth to Tyrion. Instead, she died two years after Marianne was born. Joanna died from a rare disease, contracting it from Tyrion while nursing him. Tyrion's relationship with Tywin was already shaky at best before Joanna's death because of his dwarfish nature. Their father-son relationship worsened after Joanna's death as Tyrion was blamed for it. Although Tywin became cold and bitter after Joanna's death, he had a weakness for his daughter Marianne as she is the splitting image of her mother.
There's might be some discrepancies with timeline. It's may not add up because I'm pairing Robb with Marianne. So Robb needs to be old enough and yet Marianne needs to be young enough for them to be compatible in age.
:::
Marianne
Her head is pounding.
She twists and turns, trying to get into a comfortable position to relief herself of the dull throbbing pain in her skull. In her misery, she tries to grab hold of the sheets, only it isn't the smooth Myrish satin she is accustomed to. Her fingers have somehow gotten hold of – straw?
Slowly, she releases her grip and wills herself to open her eyes.
She is no longer on her bed in her chambers at Casterly Rock. She is sprawled across the dirty ground and kept locked up in a cage like an animal, she thinks in disgust as fury surges through her.
This is unacceptable! How dare those ruffians treat her like this! Wait till Father or Jaime hears about this. It will be off with their heads!
Her inner rants are interrupted as she notices the commotion outside her wooden prison. Northerners, she immediately thinks with the Stark banners flapping about in the wind. The men seem to be mostly ignoring her as they busy themselves around camp.
What happened? She bites her lip in concentration as she tries to recall the last thing she remembers.
She was with Jaime and his host. Then something had happened and Jaime, taking some riders with him, rushed off. She can't exactly remember what happened next. There was sudden chaos in Jaime's camp and before she could discover what had happened, she had blanked out. The next thing she knew was waking up locked up in a filthy cell.
She takes a moment to observe the Northerners surrounding her. Savages, the lot of them; and her family will get them all! Yes, she thinks, it won't be long now before Father comes smashing through the camp. Yes… Father or J-Jaime…?
Her eyes are wide with horror as she sees a man, grubby and bloody, being dragged about in chains.
No! It cannot be! It is just some uncanny resemblance. There's no way he could have been captured. No. It's not him! He's on his way to rescue her. It simply cannot be him.
All hope of her being rescued is quashed when they lock eyes and she looks into the green eyes so like her very own.
"Annie!" He throws himself towards her, nearly overpowering the men who are restraining him.
"Jaime! No!" she screams as she lunges for the wooden grills of her cage. "Let him go!" she continues to scream at them hopelessly.
"Annie!" he desperately tries to fight off the wretched Northerners. Despite being a seasoned knight, Jaime is still one person against an entire army. He manages to kill one of them and knock down two more before he is overpowered.
"Jaime!" No, this cannot be happening. This is one of her worst nightmares coming true.
Jaime is brought down painfully to his knees and she cannot do anything to help him. He is even more bloodied than before. Those Northerners have gotten him good. She bites her lips to prevent tears of frustration and anger from spilling out. Crying is for the weak and she cannot afford to look any weaker than she already looks now.
Another Northerner barely out of boyhood approaches her brother. Robb Stark. The abomination he calls wolf walks in stride with him.
A sudden fear strikes her. Surely that thing would not eat her brother alive? No, but he could get mauled. She watches in silent trepidation as the traitor to her nephew's throne threatens her brother.
"Let her go. You already have me," Jaime bites out bitterly. He is so brave. Even at the mercy of those savages, Jaime seems to have no fear of them.
"Of course!" A cutting voice, resembling Cersei's, scolds her in the back of her head. "He is a lion of the Rock and a true lion will never be afraid of a mere wolf!"
At the reminder, Marianne steels herself. But she winces slightly when knuckles collide with her brother's jaw and knock him to the ground. She clenches her fist hard to restrain her anger.
"You kill another of my men Kingslayer and I cannot guarantee the safety of that one!" Robb Stark points venomously towards her.
"You touch even a strand of her hair and–"
"You'll what?" the traitor cuts off her brother. "You're in no position to make threats Kingslayer."
"Our family still has your father and two sisters. Surely you wish for no harm to come to them?"
"Aye, so it has come to it. As long as my family does not come to harm, you and your sister will be safe." Signalling to his men, he orders them, "Take him away."
She watches as they drag, not too gently, her brother away from her.
:::
She sits in desolation in the cold damp cell, looking every bit like a drowned kitten. She has spent the last few days hearing those Northern savages making crude remarks and calling her the Lannister bitch. She merely pays them no heed. Her head has not stopped pounding since waking up in her cell. She thought that it would pass, but it hasn't. It has only gotten worse.
Seven hells… She curses. She cannot fall ill now. It will truly mean the death of her. She has hardly taken ill when she was young. But on those rare times she did, the maester said that they had nearly lost her to the stranger.
All the warmth seems to have left her body and she shivers miserably. She wonders why it is so cold. How she wishes to be lounging across the sun-kissed beaches of Lannisport now. She can give up almost anything just to be back home.
Her broodings are interrupted when that arrogant and narcissistic ironborn shakes the bars of her cell and leers at her.
"You look a little cold Lannister bitch. Need me to warm you up? You look like you could use a little fucking. Eh? What say you?"
She ignores him completely. She barely spares him a glance before she turns away. He simply is not worth any of her attention.
"Hey!" Greyjoy slams a fist at the wooden grails. "I'm talking to you bitch!"
It is nearly too easy to ignore him. But all of a sudden, the chain lock on her cells falls to the ground and he barges in.
He lunges forward and grabs her arm, almost surprising her.
"I'll teach you a lesson–"
"Get your filthy hands of me!" she manages to twist the arm gripping her and kicks him hard in his manhood.
She could have probably killed him and escaped had she been feeling well. But instead, her sudden movements have caused her to feel faint. The world around her seems to be spinning as she sways to the side.
"You bitch!" the ironborn yells above his pain and rage.
He advances to her and seizes her, slamming her hard to the ground.
"Theon! Get off her!" is the last thing she hears before darkness overwhelms her.
:::
She keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. There are times when she is vaguely aware of someone placing a cooling towel on her forehead, occasionally wiping the rest of her face and neck with it. The presence of that certain someone is undoubtedly welcoming compared to the coldness and darkness that awaited her.
Why does it hurt so badly? Her head feels like it is about to explode. She cannot think. She cannot do anything. It just hurts too much.
She wishes for her family: her father, her brothers, or her sister. She wishes for anyone who can put her out of her misery. There is just so much pain she can handle.
That person is here again, wiping her face gently. She forces herself to open her eyes. She wants her family. She wants the pain to stop.
Instead the hand freezes in place as her green eyes met with bright blue ones.
It isn't her family. It probably isn't anyone she knows. But she feels herself giving up. She is going to show weakness in front of this stranger.
Her face scrunches up before she breaks down into quite sobs. It just hurts too much.
The stranger doesn't seem to know quite what to do. He looks utterly helpless. He is about to bolt when she opens her mouth.
"Don't," her voice is a barely above a whisper. "Don't leave me." She doesn't want to be alone. She wants comfort. She wants to feel better. She wants the pain to go away.
The cot she is slumped on sinks down as the stranger sits beside her. He looks at her warily before his face comes down on what looks like tiredness.
She reaches out, using the remainder of her waning strength, and she clings on to his arm.
He stiffens. As if her mere touch is foul. But she cannot care less.
"It hurts," she cries. "Make it stop."
His eyes seemed to soften as he takes her hands and wraps his – calloused as they are – around hers.
"Make it stop, please," she begs. If she weren't so delirious, she would have been horrified at her behaviour.
"Hush," he tries to soothe her.
"It hurts," she chokes out.
"I know," he tells her gently. "Hush now."
He starts humming to her and he continues to hold her hand until she blanks out again.
:::
The next time she wakes up, all her energy has been spent. She is not able to move any of her limbs anymore. Her eyes search around for familiarity, for him.
He comes in, just in time, bringing food.
"You need to eat," he says.
Tears pool up in her eyes before they trickle down to the side. She is just so tired. She half wishes for the stranger to take her already. Why is she still here suffering through this?
She closes her eyes. Maybe she should go back into the darkness. She doesn't mind it anymore, she thinks. At least she was numb to everything there. No more pain. Just cold and the darkness…
"No, you cannot sleep!" his voice is forceful.
She tries to open her eyes. She feels herself being lifted up before she feels herself leaning against something warm and hard.
She manages to open her eyes. She is leaning against him; he is supporting her as her head rests on his shoulder.
"You need to eat or you will never recover," he tells her.
She has no strength left to respond to him. She has trouble keeping her eyes open as it is.
"I will feed you," he says. He then reaches out for the bowl and brings a spoon to her mouth.
Slowly, bit by bit, he manages to get food down to her stomach. After a few more bites, she painfully turns her head to the side, shying away from the spoonful of food. She is hoping that it is enough to indicate to him that she cannot eat anymore.
She hears him sigh as he pushes the bowl away. It looks barely touched.
He is moving her again and she realises that he is going to put her back in bed and leave.
No! She doesn't want that. As strange as it is, she feels much better when he is holding her.
She digs deep within and pushes herself to raise her arms around his neck.
He freezes. It is strange how he always does that around her.
Perhaps he finally understands. She just needs some warmth and touch. He wraps his arms awkwardly around her back and starts rubbing random circles around.
She falls back to sleep almost instantly.
She doesn't know this, but he continues holding on to her far longer than necessary.
:::
She is awake for quite some time. He isn't in the tent. She waits for him. She's still in pain. She waits and waits. She waits until she is about to drift off again.
He comes in with food again. No, she doesn't want to eat.
She locks her eyes with his and she slowly shakes her head, telling him no. No, she doesn't want to eat.
He understands. But he simply says, "You have to."
Looking far more miserable than she has looked before, he helps her up against him and starts feeding her again. After a few mouthfuls, he lets her continue resting on him. He doesn't pull away this time and she is grateful. He holds her until she falls asleep again.
:::
She isn't sure how long she has been out of her senses. They have just come back out of the blue.
Her eyes are wide with alarm as she takes in her surroundings. She isn't hurting as much as before. Although moving is still a problem, she is able to clear her mind and think more rationally again.
Short clips of memories passes through her head. It is confusing at first.
In the first memory, she finds herself being assaulted by that wretched ironborn. She falls into the darkness and is lost. The next memory flashes: Jaime is chained up and then struck down. The memory changes: someone is holding her close and singing to her. He has such vivid sapphire blue eyes.
Oh no. Robb Stark.
She chokes out in realisation.
What in seven hells happened?!
A little voice in her head tells her, "You were delusional for most of it–"
That voice is cut off when she hears heavy footsteps. Someone is coming in.
It may be him, she thinks horrified.
No, she cannot deal with him now, or anyone for that matter. Quickly, she shuts her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
She hears the footsteps getting louder; the person is getting nearer. She nearly holds her breath in trepidation, but reminds herself to breathe before she chokes to her death.
Suddenly, she feels her cot sinking down at the edge. She wants to groan in dismay as the person chooses to sit by her bedside.
She nearly gives her game away when a warm hand brushes a stray lock of hair to the side of her face. She has had to resist the very big urge to swat the hand. She hears a sigh but that wretched hand doesn't move away. Instead, it goes to caress her cheek albeit gently.
It takes nearly all of her willpower to stop her from throttling him then and there. How dare he take liberties with her!
As much as her desire is to gut him, she knows that she will not be successful without her full strength returning to her. And neither can she afford to let him know that she's awake. She can't deal with him now. She has yet to put her thoughts together and collect her wits.
Please, make him leave! She prays to the Seven. Make him leave! She is never one to be devout to the Faith, but how quickly she changes when she desperately wants him gone.
Her prayers seem to have been answered as he is suddenly called away by one of his men.