Undone
By LolaStark

|| Chapter Four ||

She did not know whether it was the weather or the increased stress that had caused her to fall ill the fortnight before they were to set off for the Free Cities, but whatever the reason Wynafryd could not bear to get out of bed.

She had awoken with a headache first, then a slight tickle in her throat accompanied by an ache deep in her bones. She was overwhelmed by the heat of the furs that. But when she flung them off in a feverish fit, she felt the chill immediately sweep over her dampened skin. It didn't take but a moment for her to realize there was no possibility of getting anything done outside of her bedchambers.

And there was indeed much to do. No one knew how long it would take to search for Rickon's bride, but she knew these things could not be rushed, which she was sure was what Robb was counting on; her inability to make a rash decision when it came to diplomacy. And therefore, a prolonged journey in his company.

She did what she could from bed, writing letters to the nine Free Cities they would be visiting to ensure their accommodations. Robb had insisted she let someone else make the arrangements but she did not trust anyone's Valyrian but her own. The Free Cities didn't have Kings. But they had a plethora of influential men. Men with power and men with gold. And Wynafryd knew many had been itching to meet the King in the North for some time.

Said king had been sitting in the chair by the fire, pretending to review the letters she had written the night before with a tired Grey Wind at his feet. Wynafryd had insisted he leave but he had insisted, with equal fervency that he stay to ensure she was getting the care she deserved.

"I am certain you have much more pressing matters to attend to," she told him for the third time since his arrival and he did not look up from the parchment, but she could see the grin rising in the corners of his mouth.

"And what matters are those, my dear," he teased her and she would have rolled her eyes had she not fallen into a coughing fit.

"You are the King, go and do whatever it is that kings do."

"King's do whatever they like, love. And right now, I like sitting here, making sure you aren't making yourself more ill with work I have forbidden you from doing," he informed her and she glanced down at the pile of parchment in her lap.

Her door was open and Robb's men had come and gone throughout the day, as well as Wynafryd's maids tending to her per the King's instruction. To the untrained eye, their King was simply reviewing travel plans with the Lady Regent of White Harbor. She was planning their trip after all so there was nothing inappropriate about his being there in her chambers as she remained confined to her bed for the last two days.

He stood from his place near the fire and walked across the room, Grey Wind at his heels. He stopped next to her bed, looking down at her fondly as he placed the back of his hand against her forehead.

"You still have a fever," he discovered, frowning as he felt the heat radiating off of her skin and she sighed.

"I will be fine, Your Grace," she insisted but his hand did not move from her skin as he traced it down her cheek and let it fall so that a few tendrils of her hair were caught in his fingertips.

"You should rest more," he instructed but she motioned towards the amount of work still yet to be done.

"I cannot be idle," she explained. "There is too much to do. I have secured our passage to to most of the Free Cities but it is my opinion that Qohor is still much too unstable for a visit. Daenerys Targaryen owns half of its officials and I believe our presence there would be neither wise nor welcome."

"Yes," he agreed, deep in thought. "I still would like to meet their envoy, however. Can you arrange him to travel elsewhere?"

"I have already had correspondence with Arianne Martell and it seems you are not the only monarch spending some time in Essos this year. She is spending some time away from Dorne in her Norvosi villa. She has offered us her home to share during our journey and I believe it will be neutral enough ground that I can send for the envoy on your behalf."

"You always find a way," he whispered with a pleased grin. "Though I do think you could delegate this work out to your steward. There is no need for you to-"

"Foster? Robb do be serious," she scoffed. "It is not that I find him incapable but this trip is far too important to simply hand off to my steward. I am to leave my home in his hands while I am gone and that is responsibility enough for him. I assure you."

"It is a miracle you allow him to do that much," he replied, amused.

He patted the bed then as his direwolf wasted no time in hopping up on the foot of the large bed and circling twice before settling himself atop Wynafryd's furs. He closed his eyes sleepily, in a manner that suggested he would not be budging anytime soon. She gently patted his head and she thought in the corner of her eye she might have seen his tail wag slightly.

Robb leaned in towards her then and kissed her forehead. Wynafryd pulled back slightly, much to his disappointment. She glanced up at him with what she hoped was the masked version of what she was feeling then. She had made a mistake with him, once again falling into the lull that was the safety of his eyes and the passion in his kiss. But she knew it could not happen again and she had been looking for a way to tell him since that night.

"This cannot continue," she cautioned, pulling her hand from his and setting on her lap.

"Wynny-" he started but she looked away.

"No, don't," she pleaded. "Please don't do this." He did not speak, only stared down at her with that same heartbroken expression she had tried to rid from her mind so many times before. "I told you, what happened was a mistake."

"And how many mistakes do you plan to make before you realize this is something else?" he questioned. "This is not a mistake. This is how it was always meant to be."

"And yet, it cannot be," she corrected. "Your wife-"

"Stop using that woman as your excuse," he exclaimed. "You give her much more regard than she deserves."

"She is your wife, that is regard enough," she whispered harshly, interrupted by her coughing once again. "And your infidelity will not make her your friend. I refuse to continue being the bitterness between you."

"Open your eyes, Wynafryd," he nearly shouted and she looked towards the door but he did not seem to care. "She may have you fooled, but everyone has see it is her infidelity that is at fault here. Do you know how many of her lovers she has brought into her bed?"

"Then we are all at fault, no one of us is better than the other," she proclaimed.

She shifted slightly to get out of bed, pulling back the sheets and immediately feeling a rush of cold over her burning skin. But he pulled the furs back over her as he himself walked towards the door, closing it as she had meant to. He was slow to walk back, his pacing exposing his thoughts then and she could tell that he was upset.

"Was there never a time that she made you happy?" Wynafyrd inquired, breaking the silence. "When she gave birth to sweet little Cat, I was there remember? I saw the joy light up on your face and I knew then that all hope was not lost between the two of you."

"She has given me two beautiful daughters. I cannot deny that I have never felt joy to equal it. I knew what love was, I had felt it for so long with you. And I know I have never felt that with Roslin," he professed. "She lives to spite me, to provoke my misery, often at your expense. Any love I once could have had for her was fleeting, dissolved once I saw the woman she truly was."

It was true Wynafryd had been present at young Catrina Stark's birth. She had held Roslin's hand as her beautiful daughter came into the world and all Wynafryd felt in her heart, as she looked upon Robb's smile, was jealousy.

Weylyn had been born without his father's proud smile looking down upon his red face. Wynafryd gave birth to her son in secret, with only her mother there to hold her hand in the dimlit room as she cried out Robb's name with tears staining her cheeks. It had been the happiest and saddest days that she could remember, and looking upon Robb and his family that she would never be apart of on the day his daughter was born, had shattered any of the girlish hope she had left in her cold heart.

"She would love you if you let her," she lied, her voice only a whisper.

"I know you don't believe that any more than I do, love," he replied.

She could barely say the words, knowing they weren't true. She knew Roslin harbored only resentment for her husband. Had Wynafryd married Robb, perhaps Roslin would have been happy in another arranged marriage. Perhaps she would have been loved and loved in return. But Wynafryd did not like to dwell in the past.

She wanted to tell him again of the boundaries between them and yet for many moments she could not speak as she just looked at his hand slightly inches from her own. She wanted him then. But although she could have him, she would not.

It was Robb who spoke first.

"I promised Weylyn I'd take him out riding," he said with a resigned sigh. Neither was going to win the fight that day, and there was no sense in dragging it out.

"Be careful," she found herself saying and he placed his hands over hers and squeezed it gently.

"Don't worry about our boy, Wynny," he instructed, his eyes alight. "Just you focus on getting better. And don't bother leaving bed. I'll have someone come up and check on you to be sure you're resting."

"Careful Stark. One might think you're holding a lady prisoner," she teased and she heard him chuckle before looking over his shoulder.

"It would not be the first time."

The boy was a skilled rider, which pleased Robb. They traveled the northern countryside of Manderly lands, side by side on their horses as the wind whipped briskly across their faces. Robb couldn't remember a time when he'd laughed so hard. It felt like a true adventure for the first time in many years.

They stopped in the city and Weylyn introduced him to all of the major vendors. All seemed thrilled to have the king in their midst. Robb felt much too heavily guarded by his Kingsguard then and despite some of their knowing glances, Robb felt as though he could not act fully like himself around his son. He wished for privacy then, but knew there was little chance of it. Speaking to Weylyn was a guarded act in which he was careful with his words.

It was Weylyn who seemed to have no trouble with it at all, which disappointed Robb somewhat. It meant his son was so used to referring to Wylis Manderly as his father, to Wynny as his sister. He realized then how much of a struggle it must have been for her to raise him as her brother, how strange it would have felt to their son call another woman 'mother' when in the public eye. He wasn't as angry when he thought of it that way, when he allowed himself to understand that Wynny had suffered for years to protect the boy from discovery.

To protect Robb.

They stopped to eat a lunch that Wynny had seen packed for them. It was a place Weylyn had led them, a place thick with trees under the shade of a small mountain. The forest was thick with snow but it still bore green needles amongst its branches. It was too sparse to be like the woods much further north, but they were reminiscent all the same. Robb felt, for a moment, as if they were near Winterfell and the thought warmed him.

Robb instructed his guard to spread out and allow him some privacy with the boy. They were still within shouting distance, but far enough away that Robb felt comfortable enough in letting down some of his guard. Weylyn too seemed more relaxed without Robb's men hovering over them and stretched out on the rocks to enjoy the sun that pushed through the canopy. He looked tired as he did so, his eyes bearing dark circles.

"This is my favorite place on our lands," the boy told him and Robb grinned as he bit into a soft piece of bread. "She took me here often, when I was still a boy. She told me here we could always be ourselves."

"Yes, I can see why," Robb answered. "She always did love the forest. Even though she'd never admit there was any other pleasure aside from her books." They both laughed.

"Has she been to the Wolfswood?" Weylyn asked then, coughing slightly as he spoke.

"Only once," Robb recalled. "It was after the war, when things finally began to calm. I insisted she come to Winterfell. I brought her to a place much like this one. My father showed it to me when I was a boy."

They both looked at one another for a brief moment and Robb knew it was as hard to hear as it was to say. Perhaps if Robb had known of Weylyn he could have taken him to Winterfell, shown him places that he'd shared with his father years ago. Places he hadn't been back to since Wynny fled thirteen years prior.

"I'd like to take you there some day as well," he whispered then. "If you'd want to, that is."

"I do," Weylyn answered quickly. "I've always wanted to see Winterfell. Even before I knew…" he started but didn't finish. Robb knew what he was going to say and neither needed to hear it. "Why didn't she stay?" he whispered and Robb's eyes darted up.

"How do you mean?"

"Why did she leave, what danger would it have been to be with you?" he asked and Robb felt his heart ache both at his son's words and at the realization that Robb had been asking Wynny the same question since she left him.

"Is it not a question you ought to ask her?" he attempted but it was clear that Wynny was as guarded with her son as she was with Robb on the matter.

"She said she had to protect us. That being with you would have meant you wouldn't become the king you are today, but I don't know that I understand," the boy admitted and while the words still stung, Robb did understand the reasoning.

"While I do not agree with her actions, I do believe that what she did was of good intentions. I was betrothed to the Queen not long after I fell in love with Wynafryd. In fact, it was because of her that a betrothal between House Frey and House Stark was agreed upon. Not long after that, the Northerners declared me King in the North. The war lasted so long, you see, and as it dwindled down I told her that I was not going to marry the chosen Frey girl. She wouldn't have that. She thought going back on my word would cause House Frey to pull out of the war. I told her I would manage and she disagreed. She believed that I would fail without keeping my honor."

"Would they have left?" Weylyn asked, referring to the Freys.

"I don't think we'll ever know now," Robb replied. "I was going to send word to Walder Frey with my apologies and I had planned to make Wynny my wife that very day. But it was then that she told me she was leaving. That she was going back to White Harbor and that I needed to marry Roslin Frey."

"And you did."

"She left me no choice," he sighed. "She would not be with me because she thought the people would revolt. Mayhaps she was right, but I like to believe that they would have understood. Many of them knew already the affection I held for her."

"Do you still love her?" Weylyn whispered then, looking around as not to be overheard but Robb no longer cared. Most of his Kingsguard were already aware of his feelings for Wynafryd Manderly, just as most of them knew that he felt solely responsible for Roslin's infidelity.

"I have never known a time that I haven't loved her, and I don't think I ever shall."

It seemed enough, though neither spoke for several moments. Robb understood why she had never told Weylyn who his father was. Knowing you'd been lied to was not half as painful as wondering what might have been. Weylyn seemed to be an amiable young man, one who Robb knew had been raised to be brave and kind under his mother's instruction. But his longing for a son had lasted for years, and now knowing he had been here all along, growing into manhood without his father, was hard to bear. He didn't want to think of Weylyn's hardships, how he might have suffered had he known he was the bastard of a king. Wynny had at least protected him from that.

Robb placed his hand on his son's shoulder then and Weylyn looked up from where he was pulling apart his bread absent-mindedly. He looked up and his eyes met Robb's, the same eyes that must have haunting Wynny all these years. He squeezed Weylyn's shoulder, a hard grip as Robb mustered up the strength to say the words he had wanted to say to him since the moment he'd heard him whisper 'mother' to Wynny.

"You are my son," Robb reminded him. "You have Stark blood running through your veins and had I known of you, you must understand, if I'd have just known," Robb struggled to say. "I would not have been ashamed, I'm not ashamed now," he admitted. "I would have been there for you, no matter the cost to my honor."

"She said Starks always keep their honor," Weylyn spoke as he nodded and Robb grinned.

"Yes and she was always there to make sure of that," he agreed. "But I'd have done anything to be in your life. And so long as you wish it, I give you my word that I will be here for you."

"Truely?" Weylyn asked with eyes wide and Robb nodded.

"On my honor, which your mother seems so intent on preserving," he vowed with a smile and Weylyn beamed.

Robb held out his arm then. Weylyn too stood, holding out his arm as he looked up at his father. The boy was already tall, but he would be much taller in years to come. He grasped Robb's arm with a hard grip and they stood there, both smiling as the wind blew around them. But as Robb glanced down at the boy, the boy who was his son, who had his eyes and his sense of honor, he could not help his desire to pull him towards him and he gripped him then as he held his son in his arms.

Weylyn didn't protest. In fact, he let his arms circle around Robb as they hugged. Robb felt a sudden wave of emotion roll over him and he cleared his throat as he finally pulled away. When he did pull back, Weylyn was smiling, though he soon fell into another coughing fit as he did so. It was not until he pulled his hand back that Robb noticed the blood.

Blood covered Weylyn's hand and the source was clear from the remnants on his bottom lip. His cough had been so severe that it had drawn blood from within and Robb's delight soon turned to concern as he reached for the boy's hand and then felt his head.

"You are warm," Robb proclaimed. "Are you feeling at all ill?" Weylyn coughed again, unable to answer until he caught his breath and Robb urged him to sit as they spoke.

"I am, perhaps a little tired and much too warm under these furs," he explained and Robb waved over his men who were quick to their side.

"Lord Weylyn is feeling poorly," Robb explained to Olyvar. "Fetch his horse and we'll be on our way back to New Castle."

Weylyn tried to stand, but as he did Robb saw the boy's knees wobble slightly and he caught him. He held him there until another coughing fit came over him and this time they did not seem to let up until there was blood in the snow. Robb could feel his heart racing as he lifted his son onto his own horse, not waiting for Olyvar to return with Weylyn's stallion and mounted behind him.

And before the other men could mount their own steeds, Robb was off, riding harder than he had in years as he raced his son back towards the city by the sea.

Wynafryd wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep, only that she has awoken to a knock at the door and the smell of ink covering her hands. She tried to sit up, noticing that the bottle of ink she had been using to write had been bumped and spilled over the letter and her fingers which were now shaking as she tried to regain consciousness. She doubled over the now sullied letter as she coughed, holding her chest as she tried desperately to breathe but could not shake the need to expel the phlegm deep in her throat.

It was then that she saw Wylla, closing the door behind her as she then stepped quickly to Wynafryd's side. She crouched down, placing a hand on her sister's back as Wynafryd coughed and coughed again until she felt as though her entire lungs would soon crawl out of her throat and into her lap.

When she finally did stop, Wylla was there, waiting with a glass of water and although Wynafryd's hands were shaking, she grabbed the goblet from her and sipped it quickly. He throat burned and her fever seemed to rage more than ever as she sweat poured down her neck and forehead. Wylla helped her wash the ink from her hands as Wynafryd tried to soothe her racing heart.

"Is that better?" Wylla asked, stroking her back.

"Much," Wynafryd lied as she tried to subdue another cough, swallowing it as best as she could.

"Really, Wynafryd, you should rest more," Wylla scolded like their mother used to. "You've been working far too hard. No one would fault you if you just concentrated on your health."

"I am quite well, I assure you," Wynafryd tried to convince but Wylla only rolled her eyes and filled her cup once more. "Did you come here to berate me or was there another matter that needed my attention?"

Wylla was beaming as she paced the room with a dumbstruck smile and as Wynafryd struggled to pulmp her pillows enough that she could sit, she had a sudden sinking feeling in her gut. This was the moment she had been dreading, the news she had always thought would never come.

"I wanted to wait to tell you until the final day of the festival during the great feast but I just couldn't bear keeping it a secret any longer," she squealed. "You can't tell Bran that I've told you of course. He so wanted it to be a surprise." She paused as she stepped closer. "I'm with child!" she sang as quietly as she could.

Wynafryd tried to smile, but she felt too weak to do anything other and reach her hand out affectionately though her mouth was likely still gapeing in surprise. Her arm barely lifted off the bed but Wylla grabbed it excitedly and place it over her heart.

"Oh Wyn! Isn't this just the most incredible news?!" her younger sister beamed and Wynafryd nodded as she wiped her brow, trying to cool herself as she sipped her water.

"It is wonderful news, sister," she whispered hoarsely as she coughed. Wylla only frowned.

"I thought you'd be more pleased," she spoke and it was clear that she was disappointed in what was a poor display of sisterly affection by Wynafryd. "You know how much I've longed for this."

"I am darling - of course I am," Wynafryd argued. "You must know I am happy to hear such wondrous news. It is just. Well, you should know it is a sensitive topic with the King and Queen. Perhaps it is not best that you announce it to the people without first telling them."

"Oh Wynafryd," Wylla cried sourly. "What a thing to say!"

"Wylla, be wise here. I mean nothing by it, only that the King would wish to know. I told you how he's taken the news about Weylyn. I just think it would be unkind to make it so publicly known without first disclosing your news with him in private."

"Gods you are selfish," Wylla hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I come to you, with news that I have been waiting years for and all you can do is think of your king."

"It is not selfish of me to try and protect you from a reaction which might prove awkward for both you and Bran," Wynafryd tried to explain, coughing into her hand as she spoke. She was becoming weaker by the second, unable to keep herself sitting as she leaned back in the bed.

"It is selfish, Wynafryd," Wylla repeated. "You've always been so bloody selfish." Wynafryd thought she sounded much like she used to when they were children then. "It's your fault I had to wait this long for a child, until I'm nearly an old maid like you!" she shouted. "Gods this is such a typical reaction. I should have known better than to believe that for a moment all of this wouldn't be about you and your sins. Selfish Wynny wouldn't marry her Robb so I had to marry Bran!" She was shouting now and Wynny felt he words stab into her chest.

"Don't pretend you understand the sacrifice I made for this family," Wynafryd whispered, cringing as her throat ached. "If I'd have married Robb, we could have lost the war. Father would have had to bow to Stannis, or worse - a Lannister bastard. Then where would you be?" she said through her cough. "You wanted so desperately to be noticed Wylla you couldn't stand the thought of being obscure, of not marrying highly and of being adored."

"No," Wylla argued. "You ruined my life because you couldn't stand that you had to be miserable all on your own." It wasn't true, she wanted to argue but she soon fell into another coughing fit as tears fell down her sisters delicate pink cheeks. "Well you may have destroyed my life, but I found a way to fix it. And I don't care what the King thinks. I am having this child and if the King can't produce his own heirs, then perhaps he is not the King you so desperately wanted him to be."

And with those parting words Wylla stormed out. Wynafryd tried to follow, collapsing to the floor as she tried to climb out of bed. She was too weak to stand, too weak to hardly breathe as she coughed into her arm where she then spotted red where white should have been. Blood now discolored her white shift and she could taste the iron in her mouth, so disgusting that she cringed. She pulled herself across the floor but her sister had already left her there, slamming the door out of anger and Wynafryd wished desperately she could follow. She wanted to fix things. And if it weren't for the aches in her bones then perhaps she could.

She paused, trying to regain her strength as she then felt a familiar pounding in her head, an ache so splitting that she could only recall one instance in which she had felt something to equal it. She cried out, groaning as the pain shot through her and she clutched her knees, coughing and bleeding until her eyes started to close.

She could see the door, though her vision was blurred and she knew if she could just make it, that perhaps she could alert someone. But she could not will herself to move, only lied there, shaking with fever and pain and she wanted to weep. It was then that she saw the door, burst open with such ferocity that she thought she'd imagined it. Boots stopped near the bed and then she heard her name in a muffled shout. Boots then ran towards her and arms lifted her from her place on the ground and she saw a familiar blue through the haze.

"Robb," she tried to whisper. "Where-" she wanted to ask where Weylyn was, but she could barely speak as she fell into a fit of coughs, spilling spatters of blood onto her skin and she whimpered as her hands shook.

"He fell ill during the ride, I brought him back to his chambers," he urged and her heart sank. She shook her head, trying to struggle from his grasp so she could find her son but he would not let her go even if she was strong enough to pull away.

"Fetch the Maester," she managed.

"What's happened," he begged, lifting her from the floor with one swift motion and just as she felt herself succumbing to the weakness in her body, she hoped she was able to whisper one last word.

"Poison."

A/N: I can't even pretend it hasn't been forever since I updated this story. I can't be super regular, but I had half of the chapter just sitting in my docs for months so I thought I'd give my wonderful followers a treat and just update it for you. I hope you enjoyed it. I know some people feel bad for Roslin but hopefully you can start to understand that she is equally as guilty and that he wasn't unfaithful until he'd discovered what his wife was truly like. Anyways, thanks for reading. Lola