One-shot. AU. Robb and Dacey Mormont at Riverrun, before their fateful journey north, to the Twins.
A/N Italics for Robb's thoughts. I'm not usually a fan of italics for internal dialogue/monologue, but I couldn't find any other elegant solution.
Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or any of GRRM's fantastic characters. (Secretly though, I do believe Robb could have made a better match than Jeyne...)
He had rarely seen her in anything but her boiled leather. She was tall, nearly six feet, and carried herself with the pride common to Bear Islanders. When they had ridden south to meet the Lannisters in the field, she had been the first Mormont to pledge herself to his cause. She had served amongst his personal guard at the Battle of the Whispering Wood, and Robb racked his mind to think of a way to repay her for all she had sacrificed. He could give her lands, or one of the abandoned keeps in the west, but she was heir to Bear Island, and did not seem particularly fond of the mainland.
That day in the Whispering Woods, he had lost Daryn Hornwood, as well as Eddard and Torrhen Karstark, nearly all his personal guard. He watched Dacey spin across the floor in the arms of Robin Flint. How many more?
The music stopped and the dancers clapped, smiling. Dacey and Robin were breathless, their cheeks flushed from the wine and their commitment to the complicated steps the Lord of Riverrun had taught them. Robin whispered something to her, Robb sat up in his chair, but they were too far away for him to hear what was said. Dacey laughed and clapped Robin on his back. Flint moved to the side of the hall and coaxed one of the other women onto the floor as the music started up again. Robb lost sight of Dacey as the hall filled with swirling silks in all colours accompanied by the sounds of feet stomping the wooden floorboards to the beat of the drums.
"Lady Mormont is quite the dancer." Robb turned to see Raynald Westerling pull up a chair next to him.
"I do hope you're referring to Lady Dacey Mormont?" Robb's eyes drifted to where Lady Maege Mormont was embroiled in a dance with a stocky knight with short, grey hair and round, red cheeks. Their dance was more suited to the battlefield - or a common brawl - than the Great Hall of Riverrun. Raynald laughed as he followed Robb's gaze.
"She's outside. Ask her to dance. My sister is not feeling well, and says that you are to enjoy yourself. You have earned it, Your Grace."
"Jeyne will not be joining us?" Robb wondered if he should go to her. He had hoped she would be feeling well enough to join the feast Edmure had arranged in their honour. He had not yet had the chance to dance with Jeyne. Their wedding had been a sober affair, ankle-deep in mud in a field only just cleared of the previous day's casualties.
"She sends her apologies, Your Grace," Raynald said.
Perhaps Jeyne just wants to avoid all the stares. Robb finished his wine, the taste of which gave him a courage he did not truly feel, and pushed himself up from his seat. "Alright, let me see if I can remember the steps to one of these Tully dances. I'm certain it will be a source of great amusement to Lady Mormont - and yourself, Ser Raynald."
"First you must convince her to dance with you. The best of luck to you, Your Grace. You are a braver man than I." Raynald laughed again.
Robb made his way across the hall. He kept to the walls, acknowledging his bannermen as he passed. They seemed at ease. Having spent so much time in the field, they had almost forgotten the comfort of sleeping under a stone roof, with food in their bellies and the taste of wine on their tongues.
He found her outside in the yard, talking to Rollam Westerling. The boy was only nine and reminded Robb of Bran.
"Your Grace," she said when she spotted him. Dacey curtsied and Rollam bowed his head.
"The both of you should know better," Robb chided. Dacey was quick to grin as she peered up at him from under her lashes but the boy blushed furiously and blinked as he gaped at Robb.
"Y-Your Grace, I-"
"It's all right boy," Dacey patted him on the back as she rose to her full height. She dwarfed the young squire, and came only a few inches short of Robb. "His Grace has had a little too much wine, and seems to be in a mood to tease his most loyal," she paused and winked at the boy, "and humble," she turned to Robb and bowed with a flourish, "servants."
"The day I call either of you a servant is the day you strip me of my title and toss me to the wolves," Robb replied, grinning. Rollam seemed to understand it was all a jest, and sighed, relieved.
"I doubt the wolves would have you. Perhaps we could toss you over the Wall, and let the grumkins and snarks have their piece?" Dacey rested her hand on Rollam's shoulder and smiled at Robb. Robb found himself smiling back at her easily.
Rollam cleared his throat. "Your Grace, shall I continue my rounds?" he asked, escaping Dacey's hand.
"It's late. I'm sure the horses have been seen to, Rollam. Go inside and enjoy the feast. We'll be on the road again soon enough," Robb answered. The squire bowed, first to Robb, then to Dacey, eliciting another smile, and ran off towards the Great Hall.
"He's a good boy," she said. "He'll make a decent squire one day. Feed him enough and train him hard, and he might even make a decent knight."
"I sometimes forget that we were all that young once," Robb said. He turned and watched Rollam disappear through the doors. A few other revellers poured out, seeking relief from the heat in the Great Hall.
"I was never that young," Dacey said, "or that scrawny."
Robb laughed. It was an honest, uninhibited laugh. He bit his lip; a futile attempt to compose himself.
"I have been trying to find the right time to give you this," Dacey reached into the folds of her skirt.
Green. House Mormont's colours. The colour of her eyes. He watched her closely. She produced a thick envelope, sealed with black wax. As she handed it to him, he saw his name scribbled across the front in a childish hand. Robb Stark. He glanced up at her.
"What's this?" he asked. Although there was no sign of a seal or sigil in the wax, black was only used by the Night's Watch. The letter must have come from the Wall. Lord Commander Mormont would not have addressed him by his given name.
Jon.
"You clearly miss you brother, Your Grace," she said. Robb frowned. He prided himself on keeping his feelings to himself. Only his mother was privy to his thoughts on his family. He never mentioned Jon, even to Jeyne. Dacey must have noticed his discomfort because she stepped forward, grabbing hold of his arm, shaking her head. "No, no. Not that you ever mention it, or show any sign, it's just that-" she looked down at the letter, searching for words. "I would give anything to see my sisters. Alysane and Lyra are closest to me in age, and not a day passes that I do not wish they were by my side."
Dacey had remained tight-lipped about her family. Her uncle was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and his son, Jorah, had disappeared into exile many years ago. Like her daughter, Lady Maege Mormont had remained stoic in the face of adversity, leading her men with a firm hand and an iron will. Only once had Robb seen a flicker of doubt in her eyes. The day he had returned from the Whispering Woods. Dacey had been one of the few to survive, most of his other guard killed in the fray. The relief in Lady Mormont's eyes when she spotted her daughter amongst the survivors had made Robb realise that she was first and foremost a mother, much like his own. Robb had seen then that the war he led was tearing families apart, while he still nursed the selfish desire to reunite his own mother with his father and sisters. A wave of guilt rushed over him as he turned the envelope in his hands, running his fingers over the letters that spelled out his name.
"I asked my uncle to send word...the Lord Commander outdid himself and made your brother write you a letter in his own hand." She grinned and let go of his arm. "Apparently the threat of a life of stewardship was required before he finally sat down to pen his letter. We are lucky you are not as stubborn as your half-brother, if I may believe my uncle's tirade, Your Grace."
Robb shot her an incredulous smile. Such a small kindness, a letter from his brother, yet no one else had thought of it. "Thank you," he said. It pained him to realise that the only person he confided in, his mother, would never have written to the Night's Watch to inquire after Jon.
"My pleasure, Your Grace," she replied.
Robb noticed several more men and women slip out the Great Hall and into the crisp night. They turned away from the courtyard, blustering towards the stables at the far end of the keep.
"Here we stand," Dacey said softly, glancing up at the clear sky.
Robb turned to look at her. "Here we stand," he echoed House Mormont's words back to her. She kept her eyes on the steps leading up to the Great Hall. Robb fingered the seal on the envelope. He would have to find a stolen moment alone to read it.
"Lord Walder Frey has agreed to rally to our cause in exchange for a marriage between his daughter Roslin and my uncle, Lord Edmure," Robb said. At this, Dacey turned to face him. "He has invited us to the Twins to see the marriage consummated. It seems he is prepared to forgive me my broken vows," he added quietly. Robb looked away. He knew the value placed on honour and duty by House Mormont.
Dacey barked out a laugh. "Walder Frey is a proud man, mad, and not prone to forgiveness. This is another scheme of his, it must be. You are going to go along with this farce?"
"I cannot call his honour into question, Dacey. Not after -" Robb choked on his words. The guilt of his betrayal with Jeyne ate away at him, more than he cared to admit. If I could go back...
"If we must go, we must at the very least go in force." She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. "You've considered binding House Reed to our cause?"
"You have an informant?" Robb asked.
"My mother," she smiled. "She's not one to hold her tongue. She disagrees with you."
"As you say, she is not one to hold her tongue. I am quite aware of the fact that we do not see eye to eye on House Reed. She has nonetheless agreed to sail up the Neck to find Greywater Watch, to rally the Crannogmen." Robb shook his head ponderously. "Even if Frey is a scheming bastard, I cannot risk turning him down. If there is any chance that he is sincere, we must take it - with both hands."
She must be weary of fighting. Dacey looked down at her hands. Here, in her silk dress, Robb realised she was not all boiled leather and fierce pride. Perhaps she resented him. It had been his call to arms that had taken her from Bear Island. The Mormonts had lost scores in the field, and Robb wondered whether Lady Mormont ever considered rescinding her oath of fealty and taking her daughter home to live out her days in peace.
"There's another chance I'd like to take, while I still can," he said quietly. He tucked Jon's letter into his tunic and held out his hand. "One dance. I'm sure Robin Flint wouldn't begrudge me one dance."
Dacey smiled suspiciously. "Robin and I are not-"
"Please, you need not justify anything to me."
"I...Flint does not have any right to begrudge you anything, nor me. I -"
"Really, it is of no import-"
"Robb, I have no agreement whatsoever with Robin Flint," she huffed, fists clenched. "Your Grace," she added, eyes flashing dangerously.
"Good." A smile played on Robb's lips as he took her hand and led her back towards the Great Hall.