So now that I pay attention to being pregnant it feels fucking weird. Aside from the fact that I feel ready to regurgitate around the clock, insomnia, and an unsurprisingly intensified hatred of parsley and mutton, nothing really seems to have changed. But oh, shit, does Robb seem hellbent on winding me up.
"You're just glowing today," he says at the table during luncheon one day, taking my hand and pulling me closer to him. I fall onto his lap and he holds me close. I know Talisa must be nowhere in sight because I'm fairly sure he's at least that considerate. "Look at you. Glowing. I swear."
Yeah. I accidentally poured too much shimmer dust into my bath this morning. Plus the whole pregnancy thing does that to you.
"We're in public, Robb," I remind him, trying to get up.
But Robb won't have any of that. He doesn't let me go. I'm half tempted to smack his face with his plate, but I noticed he's been trying harder to rile me up since Hurricane Talisa rolled into Winterfell. He's distracting himself from her. Well, that's one way to do it. So I guess that I can help the guy out by not throwing something heavy at his head. Plus I kind of only do that when we're alone.
"I know," he groans, his hand getting closer and closer to my ass. "But you're glowing."
"And we're in public," I say again, tugging at his fingers to try and unlatch myself from him. "Get your hands off me, the whole hall can see us."
"They're so jealous," he says into my ear. "You've made me the envy of the entire northern kingdom, you know. The way you glow…"
"Get your hands off me before I vomit all over you," I say flatly. "I will do it, gingersnap."
He chuckles and releases me. I walk out of the Great Hall quickly. I need to find him a therapist or something. This is getting out of hand and he needs an outlet other than me to relieve his Talisa related stress.
I saw her once since she arrived. Yesterday afternoon, while I was getting some air with Brienne and the girls. You know what's funny? The lung-freezing air actually helps me feel less queasy. Probably because one whiff of it is enough to freeze my stomach lining solid. Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah—she was on her way to the infirmary by the Maester's Tower and that was when our eyes locked.
I'm not gonna sugarcoat it—I've been in less awkward positions. Like my wedding night and basically every night since then to name a few. We all just stopped and she sank into this curtsey and it was when she looked at me that I realized there was an awful lot I wanted to say to her.
Your boyfriend is a dumbass. I hope you wouldn't have minded a brass bathtub. This guy fucks like a rabbit. The in-laws are annoying. The council is even worse. I'm pretty sure you don't know much about building so these people probably would have chewed you out. Being the queen in the north sucks. BTW—just a fun fact between us girls—I'm pregnant. And no—being the overly charitable, do-gooder type isn't gonna be enough to win these people over because they're colder than the gut-crystallizing air they breathe.
"I'm certainly glad to see you again, Lady Talisa," I said to her.
"I'm certainly glad to see you as well, my queen," she said back.
And…that was it. Haven't seen her since. Shame, though. Something about being around her makes me feel really good about myself. Even though from basically every single angle, I'm the one who got the butt end of this whole thing. Yeah, yeah, she lost the guy—but if you ask me, she dodged an arrow. A poison-tipped arrow. A flaming poison-tipped arrow. Part of me secretly wishes I could just get her and Robb together so she can see what it is the Gods loved her enough to protect her from, but I know it won't work because Robb is really bent on keeping his promise.
I'm so lost in my thought that I almost bump into someone and I don't even notice it until Brienne is calling out 'Your Grace'.
I pause, looking up at this great offender.
"A thousand pardons, Your Grace," says the weirdest voice I've ever heard. "I'm hardly watching where I'm going these days."
His voice sounds like how a person sounds when they're battling three deadly allergies, a searing hot fever, hives and a two headed boar. I didn't think it was even possible for someone's voice to sound so freaky. But this is Winterfell, generally accepted place for Phreaky Shit to happen, so I'm hardly surprised. Just intrigued.
"No trouble," I say, shaking my head. I've never seen this guy before. I think I'd remember if I did. Darkish hair, narrow, squinted brown eyes, skinny as hell. The guy looks like a talking chicken bone. "I don't recognize you."
"I only just arrived with Ser Lanagan. I'm one of the trainees from Ironrath."
"Aren't you a little young to be a trainee?"
"Aren't you a little young to be a queen?" he asks back, and then his eyes shut tightly. "I'm terribly sorry, Your Grace. It's a bad habit."
Well, wasn't that rude? But to tell the truth I'm just interested. "Again—no trouble. What's your name, trainee?"
"Hogarth, Your Grace."
What?
"Well, Master…Hogarth…"
"Laugh if it pleases you," he says, waving it off. "My mother swears she loves me, though."
"I certainly hope so," I say.
Wait…I don't think I was supposed to say that out loud. I blink a couple of times to refresh my thoughts and my eyes fall on the poorly rolled up pages in his hand. One of them has a bunch of numbers scribbled onto it. Arithmetic. Very advanced Arithmetic.
"Is that…?" I drift off, narrowing my eyes to get a better look. He holds up the pages and unrolls one for me.
"It's nothing," he says as I take a closer look. Not entirely nothing, Hogarth. I know my blueprints when I see them, and this is a copy of my structural sketches for the observatory…with a few additions inked in.
"Did you add these yourself?" I ask.
"I did," he says. "They're only notes."
"They're good ones," I say. And I'm serious. They are. There are little points and details inked into the corners and sides that I can't deny would probably make the place better. "I don't know much about observatories…I suppose I only put in what could cover the basics. These will be welcome for review in the council."
"Oh no, I wasn't planning on submitting them," he says. "But—if you'd present them…then I suppose that'd be awfully kind of Your Grace. Except they're not entirely complete yet."
"Well—finish them up and have them sent over," I say, rolling up the page and handing it back to him. "I'll be waiting. It was a pleasure to meet you…Master Hogarth."
"The pleasure is mine," he says, sinking into a clumsy bow and running his ink-stained fingers through his hair before walking off.
Because I believe in the Seven and the old gods, I wait until we've turned the corner until I'm laughing at the guy. Who in their right mind looks at an infant and thinks 'I'll name him Hogarth'?
But those sketches…well, I can't deny that they're good ideas, those little notes I saw. And how long has it been since I've been around anyone whose promise with this sort of thing could equal my own?
'Aren't you a little young to be a queen?'
Rude. But funny. This is the sort of smart mouth that you just know spent most of his childhood getting spanked on the ass. Hm.
Robb comes into the bedchambers a little while after I do, and his eyes are sort of tired. He doesn't say much, and I'm not too keen on knowing what it is he's just dealt with in the ten or so minutes between our last conversation and now, but I'm guessing a certain healer from Volantis might have had some hand in it.
See? Some promises are just easier made than kept.
"Are you okay?" I ask him.
He sits down on the chair by the fire and rubs his face with his hands, nodding slowly.
"Yeah," he says. He smiles at me. "Get over here, honey-tits," he adds, Bait Voice strong.
I glare at him, pick up my pendant, and chuck it at his head. It misses. He laughs for a half an hour.