A/N: Hello readers! This is a new story and a rather different one from the ones I usually write.

It is set after the war and is a Robb/OC story. It will be told in a mixture of flashbacks and present day (mostly present day). Like I say, it's different to what I usually like and I'm a bit wary about it. I haven't got loads of chapters saved up in advance so my updating won't be daily but I will try and put up a few chapters a week if I get a good response.

Hopefully people will think it's worth continuing on with!

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognise from GRRM's wonderful creation. I only own the story and my interpretation of his awesome characters. I also own Lottie (hope you like her!)

I will let you get on and read the first chapter now.

I hope you like it. Thoughts or opinions would be very much appreciated!

:)

I

"Stay here," he told her, getting up from his chair and grabbing his sword.

"What is it?" she asked him fearfully, the shouts from outside trickling through the canvas.

"Likely nothing. Just stay here alright?" he implored her.

"Alright," she nodded, her doe eyes wide as she fixed them on him.

He left then, pushing back the flap of the tent and stepping out into the night, the sun had not long set but the darkness already surrounded them. The pounding of hooves against the hard ground reached his ears and he heard men shouting to one another, friend or foe he didn't know. Northern voices were shouting in panic, calls to saddle up and arm being shouted down row after row of tents. He should have brought more men he thought to himself as he moved further away from his own tent. There were flickers of light now and he realised that the group of men charging through their once peaceful camp had torches. Before he could shout out a warning one had been thrown into a tent. He heard the screams of surprise as the thin canvas engulfed easily.

Panic spread as quickly as the fire then as he shouted at his men to get organised. He needed the archers and he bellowed for them over and over as the riders began another circuit of the camp, more torches being hurled at the tents. More screams. Men were dying and all he could see was fire. The flames were engulfing everything, turning everything so quickly to nothing.

"Make camp! Make camp for the night!" the order was being bellowed back down the line of soldiers.

Robb pulled on the reigns of his horse and pulled his mind away from the swirling flames of his memories. Nine days. Had it really been that long? He looked back then and saw the uncovered wagon that was carrying her being lowered carefully to the ground. He swallowed hard, catching his mother's worried gaze as he looked away from it. She had been looking at him like that since the moment he had fallen to his knees. He couldn't stand it.

He dismounted then and wandered as far from the men and his mother as he dared, knowing if he strayed too far they would come after him. A moment's peace seemed too much to ask now, they all tiptoed round him, talking in hushed voices in his presence and all fixing him with that look. Pity. He didn't want their pity. There was only one thing he wanted and not one of them could give him it. He found a smooth looking rock far away enough that all he could hear was the distant murmurings from the camp but close enough that they would see him in the setting sun. She had loved to watch the sun set. He rubbed his hands over his face then.

"Why didn't you stay in the tent?!"

Someone was behind her she knew it. Instead of turning round and calling for them to show themselves she kept walking, her head held high and her strides purposeful and confident. They weren't to know she had no idea where she was going. As far as they were concerned she always walked this way through the trees. For all they knew her home was just on the other side of the thicket of spruce. A twig cracked behind her and her heart almost burst from her chest. Somehow she managed to keep herself from screaming and continued on, her stride becoming slightly longer. Surely the woodland wouldn't last much longer? Surely she was almost at the Kings Road?

Dead. That's all she could remember from what the messenger had told her. The letter had fluttered from her hand and landed on the floor, her eyes had stared out in front of her and then the whispers had grown steadily louder. "Lannister," they hissed, "she'll bring us all down if they find us with her." She barely registered the hands grabbing at her, shoving her towards the door. She was sure she had pleaded with them, at least shouted some kind of protest but they were many and she was one. "Why?" she remembered asking them that over and over as they cast her out into the rain.

"Wars over. Your husband is dead and so are the Lannister's," one of her old maids told her cruelly before the door slammed closed.

"No," she whispered, "no, no, no!"

Her name was the least of her troubles now as another twig cracked, this one sounded almost immediately behind her and tears were welling in her eyes before she could stop them. She could hear the ragged breathing of a man now. Was it one man? It sounded like more. Two? Three even? Gods how could she ever hope to fight them off? How was this even happening? Three weeks ago she had been a Lady with a household of her own and now she was here lost in some Gods forsaken woods with men bearing down on her who were no doubt no friends of hers.

A hand snatched around her upper arm then and she let out a bloodcurdling scream, wheeling around to face the man who had a hold of her. He towered over her, a nasty smile on his face, his smaller companion lurking behind him with a look of sheer delight on his face.

"My, my, we do have a pretty one here don't we," the man who had hold of her leered.

"Travelling all alone …" his companion said and she shuddered.

"Dangerous for a woman to be alone in such times," the first man said, drawing her closer.

"Especially a pretty one," the second added as she struggled against the man who held her.

In the next instant he had forced her to the floor and another scream left her mouth, her legs and arms coming up to fight against him as the second man came to grab at her arms, pinning them back behind her as the first man pressed her thighs down against the ground. He was pulling at her skirts then, gathering them higher and higher up her legs and she felt revulsion coursing through every part of her. Perhaps it would be easier if she didn't struggle. Perhaps if she let them do what they would with her they wouldn't kill her afterwards. Would it really matter if they did? What did she have left anyway?

"Come now Charlotte, is that any way for a Lady to behave?"

Gods why was she thinking about her mother now? Were things not bad enough?

She seemed frozen in fear as Robb pulled the man's lifeless body from her own. Her eyes were wide and scared as she looked up at him and she seemed to flinch away when they landed on the direwolf that was emblazed across his chest plate. A southern girl. No doubt she had once been allied with the Lannister's, or at least her family had been. He sighed. The war was over, it was supposed to be peace time and yet everyone was still suspicious of everyone else.

"Is the war really over Robb?" she asked him as they walked through the gardens.

"Of course it is, that's why I'm here," he turned to smile at her and her grip on his arm tightened.

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to think of her.

"My Lady?" he said tentatively.

"I …" the woman began, her voice choked with fear.

"It's alright my Lady," he assured her, "take my hand"

She hesitated as he outstretched his hand to help her up from the ground, her eyes still looked slightly panicked. He stared back at her evenly and he noted that he breathing seemed to ease and her stance relaxed slightly. She seemed to realise then exactly what he had saved her from as she recoiled back from the dead man he had pulled off her, her hands furiously tugging down her skirts that had been pushed up above her knees. It was only then that she turned her eyes back to him and took the hand that he still had outstretched to her.

"Do you have a name my Lady?" he asked her once he had pulled her to her feet.

"Lottie," she told him almost fearfully.

"And a house?" he persisted.

"Morvay," she said after a slight hesitation.

"My name is Robb," he told her in return and her eyes widened.

Lottie seemed to look from the sigil on his armour to his eyes and back again before her own eyes widened and she dropped into a low curtsey before him.

"Your Grace forgive me," she said quietly, her heart pounding.

"I do not think there is anything for me to forgive my Lady," he told her seriously.

Her eyes darted back up to him then and he saw the fear in them and frowned. The danger was passed, surely she knew that he wouldn't harm her? He could see from the way her eyes kept darting around that she was afraid of something though. Afraid of what? Him? Or what he represented?

"My Lady what are you so frightened of?" he asked her.

"Oh Gods Robb I hate spiders! Please, just throw it outside!"

"I shouldn't be here," Lottie gasped out, making to pass him.

"No you don't," he grabbed her back and she almost squeaked in panic.

"Please your Grace, just please let me go on my way … I don't mean you any harm," she pleaded.

"Any harm?" he repeated with a frown.

"My husband just did his duty … just like all the other men, please … he paid his price," she gabbled.

"Who was your husband?" he asked her then, his frown deepening.

"Ser Lyndon … Lyndon Lannister your Grace," she told him and understanding flooded him.

"The war's over," he told her firmly.

"But …" she began.

"No 'buts' my Lady, those who needed to be punished have been dealt with, there is no reason for me to harm you because of who you were married to," he said, shaking his head.

"Lannister … I won't die for a Lannister bitch …"

Lottie shook her head, that voice tormented her, just like so many others. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? They had driven her from her home, wasn't that enough? She turned her eyes back to the man who still had a hold of her arm then. Robb Stark. King in the North. Of all the men in all of Westeros that could have saved her it had to be him. It was just her luck to be found by the one man who had the most reason to despise the family she was part of.

"Come on," he said after a moment of searching her eyes, for what she didn't know.

"What are you going to do to me?" she whispered, her eyes wide and panicked again.

"I'm taking you back to camp where you can get cleaned up and have a good meal," he told her.

"No," she shook her head, "please … let me just get on my way"

"Do you know how many more men there are like them?" he asked her.

"I'll be fine," she said dismissively and he wanted to shake her.

It was his mother's scream that did it, that had him running faster than he had ever run before. Her hands were clasped over her mouth as the faint sound of hooves finally disappeared into the night. The cowards had fled but this wasn't over, he knew that from his mother's stance. He didn't need to ask the question when he reached her side, his eyes finding what hers had already seen. He was denying it even before he knelt down. He was still denying it as his mother's sobs reached his ears. He denied it over and over as he reached his hand out and turned her onto her back. His eyes found hers but he was the only one who could see.

"You're coming with me," Robb almost growled, blinking back the persistent image.

"I'm going south," she said stubbornly, "you're not"

"No I'm not," he snarled, "I'm going north to deliver my wife back to her family"

"Your Grace …" she said uncertainly, his eyes had flashed with a pain that stabbed at her own heart.

"I won't be responsible for the death of another young woman, you're coming with me," he said with finality and she nodded her agreement.

They walked back the camp in silence and Robb ignored the questioning looks that some of his men threw his way when they saw him being trailed by a young woman. He knew what some of them would be thinking at it made him angry – surely they knew him better than that? He thought of Jeyne then despite himself. Gods, how long had it been since he had thought of her? Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult for his men to think the worst of him.

When he reached his tent he pulled back the canvas of the entrance and gestured for Lottie to go in ahead of him. She hesitated for a moment but then did as he bid her, glancing round at the simplicity of the King's tent. Had she not known she would never have guessed it usually housed royalty. She looked back at him then and saw he was looking at her but she was unable to read the intentions in his gaze. That made her uneasy, usually she was able to easily read people, or at the very least pick up on something. She got nothing from the King in the North and it made her nervous to break the heavy silence that seemed to have fallen upon them.

"I'll have hot water brought for you so you can have a bath," he told her finally.

"Thank you," she replied.

"And I'll make sure you're brought some food and wine," he continued.

"That's most kind of you," she said.

"You can rest here tonight," he said.

"With you?" she questioned him, her eyes widening.

"I'll rest out with the men," he told her.

"I don't want to be an inconvenience," she told him honestly.

"You're not," he assured her, "it's unlikely I'll sleep anyway."

With that he turned and left her before she could make any more comment. There was one thing she could pick up from him and that was a sense of an overwhelming sadness. She thought about what he had said to her in the woods and the pieces slowly began to slot together now that her heart wasn't pounding and her mind had stopped racing. He was taking his wife home. He didn't want to be responsible for the death of another young woman. His Queen was dead. For some reason that made her want to cry.

She twirled ahead of him as the rare autumn sunshine peaked out from behind the clouds that seemed to cover almost all of the pale blue sky. Her dark hair glinted in the rays and he couldn't help but stare at her. In two days she would be his completely and he could not wait to be consumed by her. She spun back to look at him then, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining; that perfect smile on her doll face. A smile tugged at his own lips as he gazed at her, her eyes meeting his – the action making his heart speed up alarmingly.

"Tell me about Winterfell," she commanded, her smile widening when he chuckled at her.

"I'm not sure my descriptions would do it justice," he told her honestly, seating himself on the grass.

"Is it really as wonderful as all the books describe?" she asked him with her eyes wide.

"Better," he smiled and she sat herself down eagerly next to him and took his hand.

"I cannot wait to see it," she told him.

She'd never see it now. He kicked at a stone on the ground as he thought that. Sometimes he could erase all the memories that would come creeping up on him whenever his mind wasn't occupied. But then if they were gone what would he have left of her? He glanced at the cart where the makeshift coffin lay. He still couldn't quite accept that she was in there; that she was laying there so cold and unmoving and gone.

"It was quick your Grace. A blow to the back of the head, she would have known no pain."

No, she knew no pain, she left him with it all. Sometimes it hurt so much he wanted to tear out his own heart to relieve the ache that seemed to course through every inch of his body. When he woke in the mornings he would feel nothing, his mind somehow deluding him into believing that she was still there. That he could just reach out for her and pull her into his arms. She wasn't there. The other side of the bed lay cold. As cold as she was now.

Why did it have to be her?

Why did she have to leave the tent?

Lottie jumped as the flap of the tent was pushed aside and she pulled her loosened dress to her quickly to preserve her modesty. She had thought perhaps someone had come with dinner for her but she dismissed the idea at once as she looked into the eyes of the woman. Eyes that were already incredibly familiar. She could be no one but Catelyn Stark – the King's mother.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her tone cold, "Where is my son?"

"My name is Lottie my Lady," she told her, "I do not know where his Grace is"

Catelyn turned on her heel then and marched from the tent before the girl named Lottie could say another word. She was less than impressed to find a half clothed woman in the tent of her son. She marched across the camp, her eyes darting every which way searching for any sign of Robb. Eventually she saw him near the supplies, sat on a cask of ale with a flagon of it in his hand. He didn't seem drunk as she approached and she was glad of it. The last thing he needed in his fragile state was to drink himself down into a depression.

"I've just met Lottie," she told him, her eyebrows raised. He showed no flicker of guilt.

"Has food been taken for her yet?" he asked her.

"What in the name of the Gods is she doing in your tent?" she demanded, ignoring his question.

"Resting," he told her shortly.

"Have you forgotten where we're going?!" she seethed.

"I know damn well where we're going," he snarled and she almost flinched.

"Then perhaps you should get rid of the whore in your tent," she told him.

"She's not a whore," Robb snapped, "you really think I've moved on so quickly?!"

"I think you're grieving," his mother said more gently.

"She's a Lady I found in the woods about to be raped," he told her.

"Robb …" she started.

"I haven't bed her and I don't intend to. My wife has been gone nine days," he snarled.

"I'm sorry," she said firmly.

"She's not even laid to rest yet," he said, his voice beginning to tremble.

"I know Robb, I'm sorry," she insisted.

"Forget it," he snapped, slamming down his flagon and walking away from her.

Catelyn felt awful as she watched him walk away, his shoulders slouched and his steps heavy. The grief was crushing him she knew that well enough but he refused to talk about it and he refused to stop blaming himself. She felt bad for pushing him over Lottie, she had jumped to the wrong conclusion but it was unsurprising considering the last time he had been in turmoil over losing a loved one he had taken Jeyne Westerling to bed.

"You foolish, foolish boy! What were you thinking of?!" she demanded.

"I wasn't …" he stuttered, "… the news … Bran and Rickon … she comforted me"

"I'll bet she did," she snorted.

"I have to marry her," he said then and she wanted to slap him.

"No you don't," she told him, her voice shaking with anger.

"I cannot leave her dishonoured!" he exclaimed, "What if I've got her with child?!"

"That won't be a problem, Lady Spicer will see to that," she snapped.

"But …" he started and she slammed her hand down on the table.

"You are not marrying her," she told him, "you made a pact with the Frey's and you will keep it"

"But …" he tried again.

"No Robb!" she almost shouted, "You will not lose this war over a stupid mistake!"

"No," he finally said after looking at her for the longest time, "no you're right"

"You'll forget Jeyne Westerling. You will marry a Frey girl," she said, her eyes not leaving his.

"I'll marry a Frey girl," he nodded.

He had and he had been glad to do it. The happiness shone from every pore of him from the moment he had made his decision and chosen her. Catelyn had been right to steer him away from Jeyne. He had thanked her for it in the end. Now it was over though. He had kept his promise to Walder Frey but he had lost her. He had lost her all too soon.

Lottie awoke at first light and quickly got out of the King's bed. True to his word he had not come back. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep, some part of her thinking that he would return and claim his reward for rescuing her. He hadn't though and eventually she managed to close her eyes in a fitful sleep, the images of her would-be attackers coming for her mingled with the rough, unsmiling face of the King in the North. 'Stark's are honourable', she would remind herself every time she jolted awake, doing her best to ignore her mother's voice.

"Men are all the same deep down, they all just crave what is between a woman's thighs."

She dressed in a hurry and hesitated for a moment before wrapping up some of the remains of her dinner in a cloth and tying it so she could easily carry it. She pulled her boots on then and gathered up her fair hair before pinning it back and pulling up the hood of her cloak. With that she picked up her food parcel and slipped from the tent. She walked hurriedly across the camp, ignoring the looks that some other early risers sent her way, keeping her steps brisk and purposeful. She had almost made it to the edge of camp when his gruff voice stopped her in her tracks.

"And where do you think you're going?"

She toyed with the idea of ignoring him and continuing on but she somehow knew that he would come after her and no doubt drag her back to the camp. No doubt he would mention his wife again and guilt her into staying where it was safe. She couldn't go with him and his men though. They were going north and her home was in the south. Was it though? The needling voice of doubt was back in her mind now. What did she truly have left in the south now? She swallowed hard at that thought and finally turned around to face him. He looked terrible, his young face etched in a grief that seemed to spread across his entire body. She would be willing to bet anything that he had not slept a wink. It was then she noticed with a jolt what he was sitting next to.

"Would you believe me if I said I was just going for a walk?" she asked him.

"Do I look stupid?" he countered.

"You look like you could use a good night's sleep," she told him honestly.

"But not stupid?" he persisted, ignoring her comment.

"No," she said softly, "not stupid"

"So you'll be staying right here," he said.

"It doesn't seem like I have a choice," she said and he almost smiled, it looked as though it had cost him a lot of effort.

She sighed heavily then and walked back towards him, pausing for a moment when she stood above him before sitting himself down next to him on the grass. Her eyes pulled to the coffin on top of the cart then and her heart panged uncomfortably. The King's eyes were fixed on it as well and she wanted to say something comforting to him but instead found herself saying nothing. The silence that had descended on them the night before was back and she decided that if he wanted to break it again then he could but she was keeping her own mouth firmly closed.

"I sometimes wish I could crawl in there with her and sleep forever," he told her after what seemed like an eternity.

"I understand your pain well enough," she said and he nodded, remembering what she'd said about her husband and the black of her clothing.

"I don't want you to feel like I'm keeping you prisoner, if you truly want to return home I can send men to escort you, I just don't want you going alone," he said.

"That's kind of you," she replied, "but I don't have a home anymore"

"Then where were you going?" he asked her with a frown.

"I thought about going to my parents … but now …" she tailed off.

"You could come to the North," he told her.

"I hear it's cold," she smiled slightly and he snorted.

"It is," he agreed, "but it's also welcoming and offers a simpler way of life"

"A simple life sounds appealing," she conceded.

"You don't need to decide now," he told her.

"But soon?" she guessed.

"We will be at the Twins in two days, you can decide then whether you want to cross or not," he said.

"Thank you your Grace," she said quietly.

He didn't say anything in return, his eyes back on the wagon. She didn't need to ask him to know that he had loved his wife. His eyes told her more than his words ever could. In two days they would reach the Twins and that's where he would leave her, with her family. She vaguely wondered why he wasn't taking her back to Winterfell and bit her lip slightly, wondering if she dared ask him.

"Why don't you take her back with you?" she finally questioned.

"She never got to see Winterfell when she was alive," he told her, "the Twins was her home"

"But you're her husband … she belongs with you …" she frowned.

"She was so excited at the thought of Winterfell, the thought of seeing her face light up when she rode through the gates brought me so much joy," he said and her frown deepened, "how can I bring her under those gates in a box knowing I will never see that smile again?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered and she truly meant it.

"So am I," he said bitterly and she saw his mouth clenched tight, knowing he was fighting tears.

"What was her name?" she asked him after a few moments of silence.

"My daughter, Waldra," Walder Frey introduced and the girl looked up to meet his eyes.

He nodded his greeting and they continued down the line.

"My niece, Marianne," Walder introduced then and Robb met another pair of eyes.

Again they continued on, the line was a long one.

"My daughter, Roslin," he introduced then and the girl looked up as the others had.

This time Robb stopped, his eyes caught. Hooked.

She smiled a tiny smile then and he returned it, his eyes still fixed on hers.

Walder had continued on but he didn't even hear his introductions anymore.

He didn't care for the names of his other daughter's and nieces and granddaughters.

He had found his wife.

"Roslin," he told Lottie after a painful silence, "her name was Roslin."

A/N: Okay how did I do? Please be gentle!

:)