Undone
By LolaStark
A/N: Just wanted to take a second to thank all the people who said kind things about the first chapter. Thanks for taking the time to review. I also wanted to clarify something for one of the reviewers and anyone else who might have been confused: Bran is not Robb's son, he's still his brother. Wylla is Wynny's sister and she is married to Bran. They live at Winterfell which is the seat of Robb's kingdoms. He only has 2 children, both are girls. Of course - he also has a bastard son now, so that's gonna change things as well. Hope that clears it up, sorry if that confused anyone.
|| Chapter Two ||
Hiding from Robb Stark had not worked out entirely as she had expected.
She thought she'd find some nook in the castle and wait out the day until supper. She had responsibilities to take care of, including things that bored her to tears like picking out fabrics for Wylla's new gowns. Her sister and her husband, Bran Stark, would arrive soon, along with the rest of the royal family. She hadn't seen her in nearly two years since Wylla's wedding and she knew her younger sister would adore some comforts from home.
She had found such a nook, in the east wing of castle that overlooked the bay that looked out on the Bite. Of course the blizzard made peering out the window quite pointless as sheets of white passed by all morning and long into the afternoon. She had written twelve letters to various merchants in the city who would help her provide for the King's family when they arrived, all before the tailor arrived with the new fabrics.
She had been mixing and matching for nearly an hour when the door opened. She hadn't expected the King to find her so soon, but still didn't look as he walked in. Travers, her personal tailor, bowed towards him with an eager smile. She didn't budge nor did she bother to bow, remember she had a slight pain in her side from her time with Cley earlier that morning.
"Please, may I have the room?" Robb asked and Travers quickly nodded and gathered up his things before leaving the two alone, much to her disappointment. She didn't take her eyes off of the two fabrics she held up, eyeing the patterns with her expert eye. For several moments the room was void of all noise except the sounds of Robb's pacing on the stone floor. But when he finally did speak she didn't look up.
"When were you going to tell me?" he asked her with a tone she knew well from years passed. "Or were you even going to tell me at all?"
"Honestly, Your Grace, I had not planned to, no," she replied, placing down the aqua colored fabric and picking up the grey one in her hands, tracing the outlines of the direwolf on the fabric that would eventually be Wylla's sleeves.
"And why not?" he asked then. She could hear that his temper was rising. She tried to remember the times in their youth when Robb would speak to her softly but then pushed those images from her mind when she thought better of it. "He is my son, you cannot tell me he is not."
"No, I cannot." she admitted boredly and he grabbed her arm gently and turning her to face him.
She looked up into his eyes, blue looked back at her. She knew what he wanted but she wasn't prepared - nor was she willing - to give it to him. He wanted something she could no longer give, that she had given up a long time ago.
"Am I supposed to apologize?" she asked him, frowning. "Do you wish me to tell you how sorry I am from depriving you of a bastard."
"He is my son and you kept him from me," he replied angrily. "My son. This is not just some simple secret you held from me Wynny. This is our child we're talking about."
He was hurt and angry, all of the emotions playing up in those eyes of his but Wynafryd couldn't let herself be ashamed of what she had done. She had her reasons and none of them were particularly honorable. But she would not be ashamed of giving her son a name, of raising him in her home.
"Give your wife a son in that belly of hers," she hissed, snatching her arm back. "You cannot have mine."
"He is mine as well," he said lowly, his voice no higher than a whisper and for that she was grateful. With the Robb's servants running all over her castle, there was no telling whose ears might be pressed to the doors.
"Weylyn is a Manderly now, he is heir of White Harbor not a Prince of Winterfell," she said bitterly.
"That was not your decision to make," he whispered, stepping closer. "I loved you, a love that still burns through my veins every moment of my being, even now. It was you I wanted to marry, to have as my wife - my queen. Weylyn could have been ours. Could have had both of his parents. You left me that day knowing that you were taking our son."
"He did have both parents. My father loved him like a son, my mother as well. And marrying you, Your Grace, was not an option. You know that. You were meant to be king. But I was never meant to be queen. Wey is happy here, happy with his life." She could see he didn't like her answer by the way his jaw clenched and his eyes looked away. "And - I did not know I was pregnant when I left you that day."
"He may have had both parents to raise him, but he did not have me. And I did not have him," was Robb's quiet reply and though his eyes did not look up to meet hers she could see the sincerity and hurt in them.
"I did what was best," she found herself saying. "For all of us. I saved him from a life of humiliation."
She had told herself dozens of times that she did not have to explain her motives to him should this conversation ever take place. And yet, the look in his eye made her feel as though she had to justify herself. That angered her more than anything.
"You cannot keep him from me," he said, finally looking up at her and she frowned.
"Is that a command?" she asked bitterly and he shook his head slowly.
"Why am I being painted the villain? What have I done to make you hate me so?" he asked and she looked away. "All I meant was that Weylyn is my son too. You cannot mean to deprive me of him forever."
"I mean to keep him from a life of misery," she said seriously. "People that love you, people that care for you, they always end up hurt and discarded."
"Don't you dare. I did not discard you Wynny," he said, his voice raising. "You are the one who left me. Do not make this into something that was my fault."
"It is your fault," she told him, her fist clenching around the fine fabric in her hand that was now wrinkled. "It is your fault that I fell in love with you, that I came home with your son and had to beg my father to pretend Weylyn belonged to him and my mother. It is your fault I had to explain to my son why he could not call me 'mother'. If it weren't for you, he could be a normal child. Which is why I was not planning to tell you." The words started pouring from her lips then. "I purposely sent him to the city yesterday, hoping he'd stay long enough that you'd never see him."
Robb's eyes were cold then and she could see that he was angered by her words. They were harsh but true, at least in her mind. Robb had been the cause of her misery and it was a misery she did not want for Weylyn. Perhaps she had been wrong to lie to him, to pretend Robb did not have a beautiful son with his eyes and his spirit. But Wynafryd knew there were consequences to being a bastard, especially the bastard son of a king. She had done her duty to her king by keeping this secret but no amount of her explanations would make it okay for Robb. To him, she had robbed him of thirteen years with the boy who was his son, right now his only son to an heirless throne.
"You thought no one would notice? You thought he could go his whole life without someone noticing?" he asked her curiously.
"It would not matter. My father claimed him as his."
"And yet I look at him and I see a Stark," Robb insisted. "He will soon be a man and you think people won't start to ask questions? Or perhaps it will be Weylyn who decides he wants his father in his life."
"He would do no such thing," Wynafryd said, waving off Robb's hypotheticals.
"Wouldn't he?" He asked her then. "What did you tell him? When he asked about me - what did you say? What lies did you conjure up?"
"Now who is painting who as the villain?" she sneered and he shook his head.
"What did you say?"
"I told him the truth, that he was a bastard," she admitted. "I told him he could not know his father, that it was dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Robb asked angrily.
"Yes, dangerous," she replied. "Do you know how many enemies you have, Your Grace? Your kingdom is still new, people still plot to overthrow your rein. You think Stannis Baratheon would not jump at the chance to have Weylyn to barter with?"
"I have Stannis under control," he said offhandedly. "The man wants only his kingdom to rule. He wants peace. There is nothing of mine that he wants."
"I'm sure he has told you that himself," she said, rolling her eyes and returning to her fabrics.
"I would protect him. Weylyn would be safe," he said and Wynafryd laughed.
"And I'm sure you're wife would love that," she said in a tone that even she thought was nastier than it should have been. But she couldn't help the way she felt then, the anger rising up within her. "And I suppose I would just slink off in the background, let you have your happy family and never see my son again."
"Just as you planned to do with me?" Robb countered. "Do you honestly expect that I should pretend I'd never met him, that I am not father to a son who ought to bear the name Stark, as is his birthright."
"Bastards do not have birthrights, Your Grace."
He stared at her for several moments, knowing she was right.
"This one would," he replied and her eyes widened. "I could do it, you know. I could claim him, give him his rightful place as my heir and you'd have no say. I could bring him to Winterfell, forbid you from seeing him-"
"He would hate you," she told him, angry at the thought.
"But I wouldn't do that," he finished. "Because as desperate as you are to contort me into this evil man, Wynny, I am not that person. I may not be that man you fell in love with but I am not a bad man. I would never rip him from you because I would lose both of you-"
"You lost me a long time ago, Your Gr-"
"Enough!" he shouted, pulling her towards him roughly, his voice echoing in the room. "Enough," he repeated, this time in a whispered, his hands pulling her waist against him until their bodies were flush. "Stop this madness. Stop pretending that I forced you to leave, that I hurt you. Damnit Wynny all I wanted was your happiness. I would have given up everything - everything - for you."
Her eyes searched his, as she looked up at him, her chest heaving as she tried to form words, tried to concentrate on anything other that what he was saying but she couldn't. Suddenly she was seventeen and he was eighteen, and they were standing just like this, him begging her not to go. She had not known at the time that she was carrying Robb's son. Perhaps it would have made a difference in her choice, perhaps not.
She had never before seen a man cry the way he did that day and it was then that her heart had broken beyond repair. He had broken her heart by loving her so fiercely. The memory had once been placed in the deepest part of her, away from her mind so she could move on with her life and now it was clear in her mind.
It was snowing that night, not as roughly as it was now, but a light snow, the type of snow that hung in the air like a feather floating softly to the ground. He held her tightly against him, his forehead against hers as tears fell down both of their cheeks. Her throat ached as she kept herself from sobbing in his arms, conceding to him as he begged her not to leave.
He was betrothed then, he'd been betrothed for over a year and his heart was not free to give. She could not willingly destroy a pact that would bring down everything. She would not singlehandedly destroy everything he'd built. He was meant for more and she refused to allow him to throw that away to be with her. The war, his kingship, it was greater than them. And she could not be selfish. Not when it came to Robb Stark.
"Do not," he had begged her in a strangled whisper that night. "Do not leave me, I command you not to leave me."
But she'd left him. She'd left him that night and had never since thought of that painful goodbye, until now.
"What happened to us?" he whispered now, this present day Robb, his mouth against her forehead and Wynafryd closed her eyes, doing her best to ignore the feeling rising in her stomach, or the way his stubble felt against her cheek. The smell of his skin was something she'd once memorized and now it brought forth all the feelings she'd much rather ignore. "What did I do that made you fall out of love with me?"
"You stopped being the man I fell in love with," she whispered. It wasn't completely true, but it was part of the reason. All the reasons which added up to how she came to hate him, this man that held her like he would hold his lover. And she let him, despite the protesting her mind was doing. "When I met you-" she paused, feeling the urge to say his name but she stopped herself. "When I met you, Your Grace," she said. "You fought for something you believed in, and I believed in you. You built something we all could believe in. And when you said you throw that all away, just to be with me-" she shook her head. "That wasn't the man I loved. You were meant for more than that."
He seemed to be taking in her words for several moments and she took the time to pull away from him and compose her now unsteady hands. She pretended to busy herself with hanging the fabrics as he stood there watching her and she could feel his eyes on her. She didn't dare look back at him, for fear that something in her eyes would tell him something her words weren't. She thought for a moment that he might say something when suddenly there was a knock at the door.
"Enter," she said, despite that it wasn't her place. It was Robb's place as king.
The door opened and neither looked up to see Cley walking in, looking at both of them curiously. Wynafryd hung the last of the fabrics that she thought would suit the dresses best. It wouldn't take long for tailor to get the dresses ready and Wylla would be excited for a fitting once she arrived.
"Your Grace," Cley said carefully. "The caravan has just arrived. The Queen waits below."
"Thank you," Robb replied, glancing only briefly at Cley. "I'll be there shortly."
Cley looked again at both of them for a long moment before nodding and closing the door behind him. Once left alone Robb made his way towards her, slow steps that echoed off the stone floor until they were right behind her.
"She's going to see him," he whispered and Wynafryd knew she meant Roslyn. "She'll take one look at the boy and know he's mine."
"And she won't say a word about it," she whispered back, uninterested. "Roslyn is a smart woman."
Robb didn't stay long before heading out the door, following the stairwell down to the hall where Roslyn would be waiting for her husband.
It had been eight years since she'd seen her and Wynafryd had nearly forgotten how cold their encounters usually were. Roslyn had always been a quiet woman, saying only the right things as the right time. But from Robb's letters it seemed as though she was not the docile little dove that she had always seemed to be. There was no doubt that she knew about Wynafryd's past with Robb. The queen had always been particularly able to pick up on Robb's longing glances unlike everyone else. For that reason the two women never seemed to get on very well.
Wynafryd didn't make her way to the hall before supper, letting Weylyn do his duty as Lord of White Harbor and greeting the royal family. Her presence wouldn't be entirely missed, she thought. Besides, it took her some time to finally push her memories from her mind. Over and over they played until she forced them away, conjuring other - more recent- memories to mind instead.
By the time she did enter the hall, dinner was being served. The head table held only a small party, the royal family and Weylyn at the opposite head as Robb. She paused for a moment, taking in the sight and feeling a tug at her heart when she saw him laughing at something Robb had said. Robb, Catelyn, Rickon, Weylyn, Roslyn, Catrina, Fiona, Wylla, and finally Bran sitting together like a family. It didn't sit right, she thought.
No one seemed to notice her presence until Robb caught her eye and stood from his place at the table. It wasn't necessary. Wynafryd was a lady of House Manderly, Lady Regent of White Harbor, but she was still the lowest in station than anyone else at the table. But everyone else seemed to follow suit, even Roslyn who looked up at her with a false grin upon her pink lips.
"Wyn!" Wylla said excitedly, running over to her and engulfing her in a hug.
Wynafryd coudln't help but smile as her younger sister's arms squeezed her. She pulled back to take in her sister's young features and delighted that she finally looked more like a woman than a child. Her long blond hair had a healthy glow, as did her fair skin and Wynafryd kissed her cheek lightly, grabbing the girl's hands in her own.
"You look stunning, sister," she told Wylla who blushed prettily.
"Oh I've missed you," she whispered as she hugged her once more and then lead her over towards the table where she sat back down next to her husband, leaving the empty chair to her left for Wynafryd.
It had been many years, so many in fact that Wynafryd had lost count, since the last time she saw her sister smile the way she was now. Things, for a while, had been rather cold between them, Wylla blaming her for her misery at Winterfell. Wynafryd had been the one to negotiate a wedding between their families and Wylla had been devastated when she found out she was to marry a cripple. Since then all she heard was Wylla's disdain for her miserable life as a motherless caretaker to her husband. All Wylla had ever wanted was children. And Wynafryd had been the one to deprive her of that.
"His Grace was just recounting stories of the war," Weylyn said as she sat down by his side and she smiled.
"Oh?" she said in mock curiosity. "And which story is our King boring us with this evening?" The table laughed, knowing her sense of humor was not intended to insult, but to bring about a light atmosphere as was her usual demeanor. While Wynafryd didn't like to smile very often, she loved to make other people laugh.
"Would you call the story of your sister fighting a horde of giants, boring?" Robb asked Weylyn who grinned but she only rolled her eyes.
"You fought a giant Wynny?" Weylyn asked and the nickname caused Robb to raise an eyebrow, curiously. It was true she had told Robb not to call her that, not that he had listened of course. But since Weylyn was a child she had made it clear he was not to call her mother in public. Wynny became his nature fallback and each time he said it she was reminded of his father.
"Honestly, it was one giant, and we did not fight. I simply convinced him that killing you, Your Grace, was a poor idea," she replied and he shook his head.
"But the story is so much more interesting when you fight him rather than talk at the poor thing. He probably gave up because you talked him to death," Robb replied and she nearly smiled at his joke. Wynafryd loved to talk and she found her skill at reasoning, while often a bore to many of her friends, was a skill that saved her arse many times over.
"I thought that giants only spoke the Old Tongue," Little Cat said with her eyes bright. The child was beautiful, with bright auburn hair that seemed to glow from the candlelit hall.
"Wynafryd speaks several languages," Wylla informed the young girl with a smile. "She spent years learning because she thought it would make her more well-rounded. I always thought she was such a bore then."
"Turns out there aren't many people to speak the Old Tongue to when you live in Westeros," Wynafryd added and the child laughed.
"Except the giant," Robb reminded her and she nodded.
"How ever did you come across a giant, Robb?" Catelyn asked and for the first time Wynafryd noticed how much the older woman had aged. Still she held an air of grace that she always had and Wynafryd still admired the woman for all that she had done.
"His Grace is quite clumsy when it comes to sneaking around the forests,"Wynafryd said, hearing Weylyn chuckle slightly. "When Lord Umber was kidnapped by wildlings near the Wall, I set out immediately to negotiate his surrender. I would have had the Greatjon by sundown had His Grace not been stomping around the forest after me."
"You ran off on your own. You would have been captured as well," Robb protested but she waved him off.
"I was nearly at their camp when I heard him rustling in the bushes. He got us discovered by one of those fury giants that pulled our king off the ground by his ankles," she continued, ignoring Robb's interjections as she glanced down at her son who seemed to be enjoying the recounting of her adventures. "It took me a full minute or two to realize the great beast was yelling at me in the Old Tongue. Luckily for His Grace, the giant was rather intrigued by my use of his language and I was able to convince him that Robb was a wildling in disguise as a Northman."
"Giants aren't exactly the brightest of creatures," Bran added with a laugh.
"So how did you escape?" Weylyn asked and she looked up at Robb.
"It took four days of negotiations and being tossed into a cage before he started to believe her," Robb explained. "They were trying to starve us out."
"Did you get Lord Umber back?" Weylyn asked and she nodded.
"The great brute was, of all things, drunk when he found him, teaching the wildlings songs. I was half expecting him to be passed out and starved but no. He made it quite difficult for us on our way out with all that singing. We were nearly caught trying to drag him out of there," she explained.
For the rest of dinner Weylyn continued to ask about stories of his mother. Wynafryd did her best to divert the conversation when Robb would spend too much time talking about some of their adventures and she made sure that her eye contact with the man was minimal.
The hour was late when she announced that she was too tired to continue talking, feigning a yawn and covering it with the back of her hand. Weylyn followed, chatting unceasingly about her facing off with a giant and how brave she must have been. He had more questions that she could answer before she reached her rooms and when they were stopped outside her door she looked down at her son, for the first time realizing how tall he was now. She stroked back his hair and kissed his forehead.
"Mother," he whispered, and out of habit she looked around to be sure he wasn't overheard.
"Yes, my love?" she whispered, pushing back a curl that hung over his forehead in a way that reminded her greatly of another head of dark curls she once used to toy with and she stopped.
"Will you tell me more stories of him?" he asked and she didn't have to ask him who 'he' was. She sighed, feeling all at once guilty for the thirteen years she had deprived the child of and she did her best to remind herself of the reason why.
"Not tonight," she said finally and he looked down disappointedly. "But," she said lifting his chin so he was looking up at her with his sea blue eyes. "Tomorrow I will tell you anything you want to know. I promise."
He nodded then and kissed her cheek, leaving her there to watch him as he walked quickly back down the stairwell that would lead him to the Great Hall where his father would no doubt be awaiting his presence.
She didn't like it, the thought of them spending so much time together. But it was only for a few more days, she reminded herself. She knew that Weylyn would be curious about his father, it was only natural and she had postponed that curiosity long enough for her own selfish motives. The time she had always dreaded had finally come and nothing would slow it.
She was alone in her room for only a few moments before she heard many of the other women retiring, their footsteps and girlish laughter filling the corridors. Robb's daughters, the precious girls, were most likely asleep in the arms of their maids to be placed in silk nightgowns and then large beds that Wynafryd had seen to herself to assure their comfort.
Wynafryd was soon in her own nightgown as she blew out several of her candles, leaving only a few scattered in the large room, with light enough that she could see her nightgown that she slipped over her now nude body. Her corset and gown were discarded delicately in the corner where she normally dressed.
She crawled on top of her bed, feeling the placement of new furs that were soft against her skin, and warm from the fire than had been burning in her fireplace. She knew Robb would have brought them from the capital. He always sent her furs, regardless of her requesting he not do so. But it so happened that Winterfell procured the best furs, finest in the trade, since opening up trade routes beyond the Wall. Most of the furs that came through White Harbor's port were shorter and thinner. These were from the Land of Always Winter, she had been told, and the thick furs really did warm her bones when the wind came rushing through the cracks of the old castle in the coldest part of the night.
She decided would thank him tomorrow, maybe.
Wynafryd was scribbling a few things down on the blank page of the book in front of her as she sat on her side, enjoying the feel of the fire's warmth on her feet. Her toes seemed to be finally thawing when she heard her door open slowly and then close again quickly. She didn't look up from her writing, only scribbled a few more words before blowing on the wet ink and then setting it aside.
The hands that then rested on her exposed shoulders didn't cause her to jump but put her at ease. She rolled onto her back where she saw Cley's dark eyes looking down at her and she nearly smiled.
"You look tired," he whispered, kissing the flesh of her neck and then her lips.
"Is that a polite way of saying that I look dreadful?" she teased but he only laughed, continuing to place kisses along the bare skin of her body in a trail that lead to the place that caused her to raise her hips involuntarily as she gasped in pleasure.
"You, my dear, do not look the least bit dreadful," he whispered against her thigh, nipping the skin lightly as he did so.
They spent much of the night sharing kisses and trading moans of pleasure between touches and glances. Both were out of breath as they lay atop the thick furs. For the first time that day she felt a little too warm with Cley's damp skin pressed against hers as she lay there with her head on his chest. It wasn't a position she liked, but he often held her there when they were finished doing what they did best and she would humor him for a short time before sitting up and leaving him to his thoughts.
"Did the King tell you his news," he asked, his voice soft against her face and his fingers tracing patterns along her skin.
"What news?" she asked as she looked up at him.
"I thought he might have told you, he was with you a long time while you were organizing your fabrics," he told her and she shrugged. "I thought you two might have been arguing over it by the way I found you both this evening."
"He can be rather ill-humored when I joke about things he dislikes," she said simply and he seemed to believe her words more easily than she'd expected. "But no, he did not share with me any news."
"Well, he may want to tell you himself then," he said thoughtfully and she frowned.
"I'm not going to beg you Cley," she said boredly. "Either tell me or don't."
She sat up then, not bothering to pull the blanket over her skin as she stood and grabbed her forgotten nightgown from the floor. She pulled it over her head and let the thin fabric rest over her warm skin as she sought out the horn of wine that sat on the table nearby. She could feel his eyes watching her but she didn't bother to glance back at him. She just let him think his eyes were free to roam.
"He's going abroad, in a month's time," he said and Wynafryd paused her sip of wine for a moment to take in what he had said.
"What do you mean, he's going abroad?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. "As in he's going to treat with Stannis or the Martells?" Cley smiled.
"No, he's going to Essos," he replied and her eyes widened.
"Whatever for?" she asked quickly. "Essos is no place for him, that's Targaryen land."
"Not the Free Cities," he reminded her. "They still remain neutral and His Grace wishes to persuade them to commit their loyalties to us."
"And how, might I ask, does he plan to do that?" she questioned, placing her wine down as she tied up the strings of the nightgown as she attempted to distract from her outrage.
"How else does one combine kingdoms?"
Of course, she thought. Marriage.
"Does he plan to marry off both of his daughters then?" he asked and Cley shrugged.
"He wouldn't say much about who he was planning to marry off. He did say he would discuss it with you though, that much was clear. You did so well in the King's betrothal, then Bran's," Cley reminded her but she did not need reminding. She didn't need to be reminded that she had a hand in Robb's current state of misery nor her sister's. She had been a poor matchmaker when it came to the happiness of the bride and groom, but the kingdom had thrived from it. And sometimes, that was all that mattered. She often reminded herself of that.
"And when was he planning on discussing this with me?"
Cley was standing now as well, not bothering to cover himself as he walked across the room and grabbed a horn of wine for himself. He shrugged as he gulped back the liquid and she sighed in frustration. She found herself grabbing her robe that hung from the partition in the corner and walking out the door, despite Cley's protests.
The corridor was cold, lit only slightly by a sparse few torches hanging on the wall. The cold stone on her bare feet was painful, like small needles piercing the flesh as she walked and she suddenly longed for the warmth of the fire in it's place. But her annoyance was too strong to ignore and she carried on her way, following the maze of hallways until she reached the large room that had once belonged to her parents.
The doors were a dark wood, engraved with the sigil of House Manderly, the large merman holding the dangerous looking trident in his hands. The handles were made of silver, the metal her father had always liked that adorned many of the doorways in the castle. There, posted at either side of the grand door, were four of Robb's men, his guards that stood at their posts until the early hours of the morning.
It would be a few hours until the sun rose and Wynafryd had planned to spend the winter morning in bed, wrapped in her new furs. But now that she had heard Robb's news, she was certain she would get no rest tonight. The guards looked down at her curiously as she stood before them. She looked at their knowing glances, the same faces she had known all those years ago. Cley had once been a Kingsguard, but had asked for new placement soon after he met his late wife.
"Milady," Smalljon Umber said and she didn't bother with pleasantries or smiles, she simply glanced around at the four men, four men she knew as well as her own family. Smalljon was a contrary to his name. The man was as large as his father and had every bit of his strength as well.
Patrek Mallister was a handsome, but slightly vain, man who Robb had met through his Uncle Edmure. She'd trust him with her life if it didn't cost him his own in the process. He often told stories of the old days, the days of the war and their defeat of nearly the entire Lannister House. Many of his stories involved his own contribution in those battles, which, at the time, was very little.
Robin Flint had once proposed to her marriage, much to Robb's dismay. He had at once disapproved of the match and Robin had been placed on the Kingsguard, a place that required him to be an unmarried soldier at the King's disposal. That had been a long time ago and one of the rarer occasions that had made her smile.
And then of course there was Olyvar Frey, the only man of House Frey that she dared trust. He had been loyal to Robb at every turn, even when House Frey had once threatened to pull out of support of the North. Olyvar stood steadfast at Robb's side. He was also the only one of Robb's men who knew of her past with the King. And she would continue to trust him with that secret to his grave.
None of them tried to stop her as she approached, and in fact, it was Olyvar who opened the door for her before she even asked and she nodded her appreciation as she stepped through to passageway and into the dimly lit room. It only took her a moment to find Robb, who was busying himself at the desk by the window with a quill in one hand and a goblet in the other.
Grey Wind, the great Direwolf she had known in her youth, was sitting near Robb's feet, looking more grey than his name. The beast barely lifted his head before spotting her and it seemed he contemplated whether or not to stand before instead giving into his desire for sleep and closed his eyes, resting his head on his paws in the manner she had previously found him.
Robb looked up to see her walking towards him and she welcomed the warmth of the room on her cold skin, stopping by the fire to take in all the heat that she could muster.
"Your Grace," she said with a slight bow of her head and she smiled slightly, his eyes tired as he looked up at her.
"My Lady," he replied, standing and then walking towards her. He didn't stop until he was right before her and he grabbed her hand in his, placing his lips gently against the flesh. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"It's not a pleasure, Your Grace," she whispered, pulling her hand back to her side. "I'd much prefer to be sleeping in the warmth of my bed rather than -"
"You got the furs I sent you then?" he asked her with a charming smile and she frowned.
"-rather than hearing that you are planning to marry your daughters to a savage of Essos," she finished, ignoring his interruption. He frowned then, looking down at her robe and then back into her eyes.
"So the whispers are true," he replied, his tone cold. "Cley Cerwyn shares your bed."
"What concern is that of yours?" she asked him and she could see he was surprised that she hadn't tried to contradict him.
"When I share private information with my men, I do not expect them to share them with the women they take to bed."
"It would seem that I am the one taking him to bed, Your Grace," she corrected in an attempt at a ill-humored joke but he didn't smile.
"What in Seven Hells are you doing with Cley? Do you plan to marry?" he asked quickly, turning his head as if he didn't want to answer after all. She gave him one of her rare hearty laughs as her response.
"Marry?" she said through her laughter. "Certainly not. He may think more of our arrangement than it is, but I have always been perfectly clear that I harbor no feelings for him, not in that way at least."
Robb didn't seem to like her response, but she could see that he was somewhat relieved that she wasn't planning to marry Cley and that annoyed her. If she wanted to marry, which she didn't, she certainly didn't require his permission. Officially, perhaps, but she would not ask him for his blessing if she were to marry a man of her choosing. Because when it came down to it, he would never give it.
"He said you were going to tell me anyways," she said offhandedly. "So don't get any ideas about punishing him. He lives to please you."
"Clearly he lives to please you," he muttered bitterly and she laughed again.
"I knew you had a sense of humor in there somewhere, Your Grace," she said knowing full well that he was in no way amused. She then grabbed one of the furs from his bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Still not sharing a bed with your wife?" she asked him and hid his annoyed glare with the goblet as he took a sip from it. "A shame, for I did have this room picked out for the both of you. It is sad that such a fine bed must go to waste."
He swallowed the wine, hard and glanced over the brim of the goblet with a sly grin.
"Do not tempt me Wynny, or perhaps I will have you in this bed, and it will not go to waste after all," he warned and she turned her head to cover the blush on her cheeks.
"Are you truly planning to marry your daughters off to some Braavosi savage?" she asked without looking at him.
"Certainly not," he said as if he were insulted. "I would think after so long together I would have learned better from you. I do not want some Braavosi man trying to claim the North."
She had warned him many years ago that combining kingdoms should only be done through the marriage of his male line. Any female heirs he would have would only be cause for an Essos king to try and usurp his throne. Apparently he had listened. For once.
"Then what is your plan?" she asked him. "Cley said you wished to discuss it with me."
"There was no need," he said then, placing his goblet on the table and sitting down in the large chair before the fire. "I already spoke to Lord Manderly."
She raised an eyebrow as he spoke and walked towards where he was now sitting, craning her head over the chair to see his expression.
"What do you mean, you 'spoke with Lord Manderly'?"
"I mean that I spoke with Weylyn and he has agreed to accompany me to the Free Cities to choose a bride for Rickon and himself."
She could barely control the rage and confusion that simultaneously arose within her in that moment and she let the fur fall to the floor as she rounded the chair and placed her hands on either side of him, her fingers wrapping tightly around the arms of the chair.
"You did what?!"
"Don't look so surprised, Wynny," he said nonchalantly. "If he is half the matchmaker his mother is then he will do a wonderful job of bringing peace to our kingdoms. Perhaps an unhappy marriage, but what is that compared to duty and honor?"
His words were full of bitterness.
"You cannot do this," she hissed angrily, and he slid a hand over her hip, pulling her into him so that their faces were inches apart. The only thing keeping their chests from becoming flush with one another was her hands that she used to catch herself and were now pushing slightly against his chest, her fingertips against the flesh that peeked out from his tunic.
"I thought I made it very clear what I could and would do." he whispered and the scene of wine was strong on his lips.
"You said you would not take him from me," she said through her teeth and he merely grinned, glancing down at her lips and realization washed over her. "You do not mean to take him from me." She gathered and he shook his head slowly to confirm she was right. "You mean for me to come as well."
"It was the only way I could spend time with him," he said, his hand pulling her closer. "And you."
"He cannot leave White Harbor," she said firmly. "He is to be Lord and he cannot leave his seat unprotected just so his father can selfishly-" His grip tightened then and she could see the anger in his eyes.
"It is not selfish of me to want to know my son," he whispered, his eyes searching hers and she could feel her breath quicken.
"But it is selfish of you to leave White Harbor unattended. I am Lady Regent until he marries. Therefore it is my word that makes it final." He placed his lips against her neck and she heard a gasp escape involuntarily from her throat.
"My love," he whispered against her neck. "You know I am King. And as King, it is my word that is final." He pulled her legs so they were on either side of him and she could feel his desire for her through thin fabric they both were wearing.
"Your Grace," she whispered quickly, but the fierceness of her anger soon fizzled out at the end and her words simply ended up sounding like they were muttered in pleasure. His fingers traced up her back, and tangled in her hair and it took everything inside of her to keep her eyes from closing when his mouth closed over the curve of her jaw.
She hated the way her heartbeat quickened, the way chills appeared on every part of her when he nipped her earlobe and whispered completely uncomely things into it until she could no longer resist the urge to close her eyes and succumb the the feeling that was now rushing over her.
"Don't," she tried to say but she wasn't sure if it came out as a word or as a sigh.
Whatever it was it only caused him to move his hands underneath the hem of her nightgown and over the flesh of her thighs until she was pushing away half-heartedly, crawling off of him and pulling her robe shut as she leaned up against the mantle to catch her breath and hide her shame.
"He cannot go," she whispered once her breaths were steady enough to show that she was in control of her body and no longer under his spell. "Who will rule over White Harbor?"
He was standing behind her now, but she didn't dare turn to see. She could feel his fingers toying with the ends of her hair and she did her best to focus on the wooden trinkets on the mantle, to no avail.
"Bran and Wylla will stay in White Harbor," he whispered and she shook her head.
"Then who will rule your kingdom in your stead, if not Bran?" she argued, finally turning to see him drop his hand slowly at his side.
"Jon is Hand of the King and will act as regent in my stead," he said as if it were the simplest thing in the world. But she hadn't known that Jon was named Hand. "Bran is no longer my heir, Jon is."
Wynafryd hadn't thought about Jon Snow - now Stark - in years, she realized then. Jon had once been a man her father had intended her to marry when she was young. It was long before she had met Robb and all this foolishness had begun. She remembered being nearly sixteen when Ned Stark visited White Harbor with Jon, who was so nearly a man at seventeen. He planned to legitimize his bastard, something that was not at all unheard of in the Seven Kingdoms. But his untimely death left Jon a bastard and left Wynafryd without a future husband.
"And to think he and I were almost wed," she whispered, a fact that always made Robb Stark frown. "Can you imagine? Me married to the Hand of the King, a Prince of Winterfell. Then I could have called you brother."
"Don't," he was the one saying this time. He had always hated being reminded that Jon was very nearly Wynafryd's husband in his stead. Never Robb. She and Robb were never meant to be. And every time she brought that up, a deep frown would appear on his handsome features, just as it did now.
"Why must you do this?" she asked finally, referring to his plot to take them on a long journey abroad. "You will only make yourself more miserable when it all comes to an end."
"At least I will have had time with my son. That is something you never gave me," he said bitterly and she wanted to smile triumphantly, despite the guilt welling up in the pit of her stomach.
Good, she thought, seeing that he was pulled out of whatever lust-filled stupor he had previously been in. He turned from her then. His anger now apparent.
"Perhaps we will search for you a husband as well," he teased, though she could tell he was offended by his own words. At that she walked towards the door, letting out one more great laugh.
"Please do not jest, Your Grace," she said with a sour tone. "We both know that I will never marry. I will continue to age, grow ugly and wrinkled and become what everyone will see as an old maid," she told him and his frown deepened. "Because that's what you want for me isn't it?" she whispered, reaching for the door. "For me to remain this way until the grave?"
She didn't give him a moment to answer, leaving him to watch as she walked out, and although she felt very triumphant indeed, the feeling lasted for only a moment. Which each step that followed, the guilt rose up again as she thought of his face and she knew her words had hurt him.
And now any hope of sleep had vanished as she knew she would be haunted with her words and the feeling of Robb's lingering touch on her skin.
A/N: I find this story is so easy to write. I'm not sure why, but I just absolutely adore writing this right now, especially Wynafryd who I know almost nothing about from the books. But I just had the urge to move forward in the future and write about something that was a little different rather than the war. Hopefully you guys enjoyed this update. Thanks, as always, for the much appreciate feedback. xoLola