Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF and I make no profit writing fanfics about it.
(AN): Once more.
Robb II
The heat of the dining hall combined with the tightness of his grey and white doublet was enough to choke Robb. He wanted to rip the damned thing and flee out into the cool summer night, but such a thing wasn't lordly. So instead he shoved down the discomfort and took a sip of the too-sweet Arbor red that was served at the King's table.
Keeping his gaze either on his plate or down towards the minstrel playing a soft tune in the corner of the room, Robb did his best to follow the story of the most recent tourney that Lord Renly was nattering in his ear about. The man seemed friendly enough, and at least when he was listening to an account of Thoros of Myr's flaming sword he didn't have to look over at his betrothed. The avoidance was a little childish, but Robb was still struggling to find his footing in a strange city full of strange people.
Not to mention he had the feeling the Kingslayer would open him from balls to brains if he stared at the Princess too long. God knows the Queen barely paused in her efforts to glare a hole through his head. He might be between his own lord father and the Lord of the Stormlands, but Robb felt distinctly unsafe.
Or maybe Robb was just being overly paranoid, believing too much in the torrid tales of the court that had found their way North over the years.
"As I always say, there's nothing quite like a good tourney." Renly sighed wistfully, running a thumb over the clean-shaven cut of his jaw before lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I don't suppose you'd consider giving it a go, would you? Ser Loras can only be a nameday or two older than yourself and he's a sure hand at the joust. And it isn't as if you would need to be overworried about a poor showing considering your age. No one would be expecting you to be the next Dragonknight in your first tourney. What do you say?"
Robb took a large bite of roasted venison to avoid having to immediately answer. The proper answer; the Stark answer, was to reject tourneys as little more than foolishness. Grown men hammering away at each other with sticks would never approach the visceral feel of real battle. But there was the other part of him that couldn't help but be excited at the thought, the part that craved a little glory and time in the sun. Robb wondered what it would be like to have the crowd screaming his name.
"I think." Robb began after swallowing the thoroughly chewed bit of meat and lowering his own voice. "That my Lord Father is unlikely to give me leave to take part in such things. I wouldn't place your hopes on seeing a Stark knight in any joust so long as we remain in the capitol, my Lord." It wasn't a promise of disobedience by any means, but that didn't stop Robb from sending his father a quick glance out of the corner of his eye.
Luckily, Robb's father was too deep in conversation with the King to pay much attention to an quiet exchange between his heir and the Master of Laws. Relaxing a touch, Robb took another sip of wine and then turned to Lord Renly to meet the man's grin with a polite smile of his own. It wasn't that he intended to go against anything his father asked him to do, but Lord Renly was good company by even the Lord of Winterfell's standards. Surely it wouldn't hurt to exchange a idle suggestions with the man?
Renly tapped the side of his nose once before turning to make a silly face at the young Prince Tommen. "As long as you're that careful with what you say, you might just make it here, Stark." the dark-haired man muttered under his breath.
Frowning, Robb thought to ask for clarification on that little barb, but before he could get anything out King Robert was lurching to his feet with a bellow.
"That's enough of that, wouldn't you say?" the fat King boomed at the minstrel, who froze in fright. "I feel like I'm at a fucking funeral with you plucking away at that thing. Play us something with a little more life to it, eh?" Then he took a huge swallow of dark red wine, the wet trickles running from the edge of the goblet and down into the King's thick beard.
"A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair. The bear! The bear!"
Father and Lord Arryn wore expressions of bemusement as King Robert began to bellow out the lyrics of The Bear and the Maiden Fair. A cruel smirk lit the Kingslayer's face and the Lion of Lannister tapped a boot in time with the minstrel's lute. The Imp and Lord Renly laughed out loud and joined their voices to the ribald ballad, while Lord Stannis ground his teeth. Even the Princes thought it was great fun, ignoring the furious Queen's shushed demands for them to behave.
"Oh come they said, oh come to the fair! The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair!"
What held Robb's attention wasn't the impromptu performance that the King decided to put on. The Young Wolf noted that servants and the guards adding their voices to the monarch's throaty song, and even Cersei Lannister's legendary fury only garnered a side glance from him. Rather, what held his eyes was the utterly humiliated expression adorning his betrothed's face.
Myrcella stared right at Robb with flushed cheeks, blown wide emerald eyes, and slightly parted lips. It reminded him of Sansa and how his sister would be deeply embarrassed every time Arya acted like a little wildling rather than a proper lady of House Stark.
And for the first time since laying eyes on his wife-to-be, Robb didn't consider her as an inconvenient imposition in his life to be resented. Rather, he felt a touch of pity stirring in his breast.
"Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air! My bear! She sang. My bear so fair! And off they went, from here to there, The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair."
(AN): Took a little longer than I would like. Got caught up in Robb Returns. Anyway, Tempered is about filling a niche for me. We don't really have fics where the Starks and the Lannisters are allies. They're usually shown as either inevitable enemies or only as temporary allies of convenience.