Disclaimer: I do not own Robb Stark or any of the other characters created by George R. R. Martin. Neither do I have any claim over his work in A Song of Ice and Fire. I do not earn any profit from this.

Author's Note: Hellooo to everyone! I hope everyone has been having a lovely summer so far. As this chapter will make clear, this fic has not been abandoned. I know that abandonment is a ready conclusion when a fic hasn't been updated in over a year, but please know that I have every intention of finishing this fic—I'm just terrible at meeting my own deadlines in this regard. Those of you who've been with me long enough know the reasons for it: I have cases to handle and I'm not exactly a very healthy person. What I can promise is that I do give this fic my best effort when I have the time for it. I am truly sorry for every moment I keep you guys who are still with me waiting. I can only hope that every chapter I do turn out will be worth the wait.

I will also apologize for not keeping up with my correspondence with you guys. If you've been with me long enough, you know I usually always respond to reviews and PMs for the reviewers who are logged in. I was just really overwhelmed with a lot of work in the last year and a half. I'm really sorry, guys, and I hope that this goes some way to making it up to you.

This chapter is a bit shorter than I originally planned, as halfway through I realized the story would be better-told from a different person's point of view.

As usual, responses to reviewers who were not signed in are at the end of this chapter.


The first time I felt the baby kick, I was fairly certain that Robb would expire from shock.

It had been several days since his arrival and we had spent much of the time in our room. I knew that people found great amusement in contemplating what we were doing, if the giggles and smirks were anything to go by, but it was winter and there was little enough to entertain us all, so I let it pass.

In any event, for those first few days at least, they were right to laugh. Though the clumsy, scalding urgency that overcame us upon our reunion eventually simmered down to languorous murmurs and soft sighs, Robb then took it upon himself to take inventory of my person—as if he expected some parts to be missing upon his return. It was irksome, but only because it was embarrassing to have him stare at me so—particularly at the parts of me that were becoming strange even to me.

I had never paid particular attention to my figure before my pregnancy. I knew enough and cared enough to make certain that my clothes fit well, but that was the extent of it. As my pregnancy progressed, however, I found myself noticing things that would never have bothered me before. It wasn't just the new roundness to my cheeks or the fact that my breasts seemed to fight the seams of gowns which had fit perfectly before. There were other distressing details that normally would have escaped my attention.

"My legs have gotten fat," I managed to choke out as Robb skimmed a finger from my ankle to the crook of my knee. A cramp had burned through my right leg shortly before and he had been rubbing at the muscles to soothe them.

His brows drew together in bemusement and he looked down at the limbs in question. "Have they? Where?"

I glared at him, sure that he was mocking me. He had been staring at them as he'd massaged. He couldn't have missed how my ankles had thickened or how one could now pinch a goodly amount of skin over my knees. I had always had big feet, and now I had big legs to go with them.

"Truly, I haven't noticed the difference," he said in response to my narrowed gaze. One corner of his generous mouth curved upward and his large hand suddenly slid upwards. "This I've noticed, of course, but it's only to be expected now that you're carrying my child."

I wouldn't be able to describe the noise of outrage I made as he tapped his fingers on the protrusion of my belly, but Robb's laughter dissolved into a hiss as I dug my nails into his upper arm. Still huffing with amusement, he managed to pin my wrists above my head as he began to rub his free hand over my stomach teasingly.

"I must admit," he continued with relish, his blue eyes twinkling down at me in a way that made my breath hitch and brought my meager struggles to a halt, "I'm beginning to remember why it was so easy to believe that my siblings were hatched whenever my mother would give birth."

The thought of Lady Catelyn being compared to a hen had me choking with laughter. Then my breath caught as something tapped against my belly from the inside. My eyes met Robb's wide-eyed stare as what had been like the flutter of wings sharpened into a thump that was distinctly uncomfortable.

I started, wanting to shift into a more comfortable position and lay my own fingers against the sensation. "Robb—"

"Hush," my husband said with a touch of impatience, keeping my hands pinned as his other hand stilled over my belly. A moment passed before he tapped inquiringly onto my stomach.

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite my irritation. "Robb, if you're asking our baby to give his mother another kick, it will be years before I let you near me again."

"Did you feel that?" he whispered, my words flying over his head completely. His hand pressed down slightly in short intervals over the mound on my belly, as if the searching motion would yield our child's foot.

"More than you did," I answered dryly. I looked up into his handsome face, the light of wonder and curiosity making him years younger to my eyes. "Have you never felt a baby kick before?"

"I have." And in a heartbeat the boy was gone, and it was a man—or a wolf—that was staring down at me. "Just never one that was mine."

It took three attempts before I could speak. I was certain that he would kiss me then, let his passion consume both of us, but he seemed content to watch me and let his hunger become my own.

"I should walk more," I said breathlessly, clinging to the increasingly wispy threads of my coherence as my heart began to beat harder and faster. "So that my legs stop getting fat."

"If you can," Robb said agreeably, shifting and releasing his hold on my wrists as he made to roll off me. As he moved, I felt him brush suggestively against the cradle of my thighs. Then one of his hands cupped the back of one of my knees, bringing it high over his hip. "Though you should know that I see nothing wrong with your legs. Shall I show you?"

I let him, though I knew it meant that I would not be able to walk properly for a few more days yet, and the world faded away so that I knew nowhere except the shelter of his body against the gnawing cold.


In years to come I would look back on those few weeks of my life with wonder. I was aware of the danger that shrouded around us as surely as the snows blanketed our keep, understood that our future was uncertain in light of the darkness that was creeping down from the wild north and the threat of change in the south. Still, I was hard-pressed to recall a time when I was ever as happy, save perhaps the time before Robb had ridden to Riverrun. To my eyes then, my husband had returned and mastered even the winter. In his presence I never felt the cold and a smile was ever playing along the corners of my lips.

This was so even when he relayed to me all that was discussed at the council in Riverrun. I knew when I asked that he was reluctant to speak of the council. He had explained before how he did not wish to worry me further by discussing things which would only distress me, and the fact that I was carrying his child inclined him further towards smothering me with his concern. Still, he was overcome with an overriding impulse neither of us had accounted for that allowed me to get my way: whether he knew it or not, I could see that my husband was desperately trying to make amends for his prior treatment of me. I could see it plainly in his face when I first asked about the events at the council, the desire to shelter me warring with the desire to please me.

Once Robb had succumbed to the need to give in, I stopped short of asking if he was making things up in order to avoid giving me an answer. It all seemed like the strands of a great tale woven together by some clever soul, though Robb's manner of relaying it to me was brisk and unvarnished. A Targaryen other than Daenerys Stormborn had survived, in possession of a stronger claim than his aunt. And though the words of House Targaryen were "Fire and blood", both he and the Dragon Queen were willing to bargain for the Seven Kingdoms rather than wage war. Exactly whom the lords of Westeros were going to choose was not yet settled.

Then there was the matter of the third Targaryen—though it was difficult to think of Jon Snow as such. It was the part of the tale that I found most difficult to believe, though Robb wanted to believe it for one reason.

"I believe it because it proves what I've always known," Robb had said when I'd asked. "My father was always true to my mother."

However, fascinating though the Targaryens were, it was the news from the Wall that lingered on my mind the most. The whispers were frightening, to be sure—dead men and creatures from a dark past massing with the snows to overcome us all. Still, at the time I was a queen who had been raised in the South, who knew such things to be stories to frighten children into behaving and to brace for the very real dangers that winter brought: starvation, illness, frost that ate at one's bones. I told myself then that someone at the Wall was surely mistaken, that what some claimed to have seen had been some bit of cleverness from the wildlings that no one on our side could yet explain.

What kept me from dismissing the news outright was that Robb appeared to believe it—and so did the others at the council. That became jarringly clear one morning, which I remember as much for its events as I do the fact that it marked the end of all my illusions about the dangers that we faced.

Another snow storm had whipped through the North, but it had happened so often by then that I no longer felt threatened or cowed by it. Fanciful though it was, I had taken to telling myself that each storm emptied the well of winter. The more storms came, the sooner the gods would run out, and the sooner summer could return.

After four days of the constant howl of the wind, the rattling of shutters and gates and grills, it was the sudden silence and stillness in the white world around us that seemed out of place and eerie. As soon as I became aware of the calm, I wanted to leave our chambers and take stock of what needed to be done. Winterfell was a great keep once again, but there was always something—a draft here that indicated that certain stones needed reinforcement; a dip in the supply of something or other that required it to be rationed more carefully. Naturally, my husband had some objections to my self-imposed errands.

"What did I take on Merrell for if you take it upon yourself to do his duties?" Robb demanded with some irritation when he awoke to find me already dressed and preparing to leave.

"No one person can do all of Merrell's duties," I answered reasonably. "I help when and where I can."

"You have a greater duty than his to attend to." Robb's eyes lowered meaningfully to my belly. Even fully-clothed and wearing my furs, I was already starting to show. "And unlike Merrell's duties, no one but you can attend to it."

I could see that there would no way to resolve the matter unless I gave up the pretense that I was going out only because I wanted to be helpful. Much of the time it was true. But I felt safe enough then to acknowledge that right at that moment I wanted a reason to be out of our room, to break the monotony of waiting. Waiting for my child to come. Waiting for the winter to end. Waiting for word to come from the South. I feared that all the waiting, waiting, waiting would make me go mad.

"Robb, I need to get out of this room," I said honestly, spreading my hands out in mute appeal. "Even before you came, they kept me in here for days. I need to look at something other than these four walls or I'm going to scream."

My husband threw back the furs and bedclothes in an uncharacteristically dramatic flourish that startled me out of what I later saw was a somewhat petulant mood. He had pulled on a robe to wear to bed, but sometime in his slumber it had come undone. One of Robb's ruddy brows lifted in a haughty arch. "Well, go on then. Look all you please."

Despite myself, I burst out laughing. Robb held the arrogant display for at least another fifteen seconds before swearing at the biting chill and scrambling to cover himself. I grabbed hold of the nearest bedpost as the laughter threatened to bring me to my knees. As far as attempts to convince me to stay put, it had been an outstanding one. I managed to seat myself on the trunk at the foot of the bed, still trying to control the giggles that persisted in tumbling out of my mouth.

The look on Robb's face was a fairly good endeavor at reproof, but the barest tilt at the corners of his mouth gave him away. He had drawn the covers up to his chin in a show of offended modesty, his fingers peeping out from where he held the furs in place.

"S-Stop," I pleaded, when my stomach began to ache from the laughter. "I w-won't be able to breathe."

This time, when he threw off the bedclothes it was in order to reach me. A short while later, when I was tucked back into bed to his satisfaction, I tried again to convince my husband to allow me more time outside.

"What if I promise not to do anything other than walk about?" I wheedled, noting that he was much more agreeable when he thought he was getting his way. I was splayed against his side, my head resting on the hard curve of his arm.

He smiled down at me in an indulgent way that would have annoyed me if I weren't determined to make use of his mood and gain a concession. "What would you be walking about for?"

"You know I like to walk. I'm fairly certain I've been everywhere in this keep now that it's winter. No one's ever stopped me before because they know that walking is good for your constitution."

Robb gave me a dubious glance. "So if I speak to the maester, that is what he will say?"

Though on that point I knew I would be thwarted, I made myself nod. Robb looked away then, apparently considering what I had said. I knew better than to press it, so I closed my eyes and let myself be lulled by the soothing rhythm of his breathing.

"Have you been down to the crypts?" Robb asked at length, drawing my mind back into focus just as the haze of sleep began to edge in.

"No," I answered at once, a little thrown by the question. "Why on earth would I go there?"

Robb grinned. "No snow, hardly any wind gets in. It's one of the best places to take a walk inside the keep. When we were children, it was one of our favorite places to play."

My face must have spoken for me, because Robb looked at me and laughed though I hadn't said a word.

"My father never liked the crypts," he continued. "He couldn't stop us from playing there, but I think it unnerved him that we liked to spend so much time there."

I managed to find my words. "It's a place of death," I pointed out with a great deal of empathy for the former Lord Stark. How could Robb not be unnerved by it, knowing who were laid to rest there? And if Ned Stark wasn't frightened, then surely the place would have made him unspeakably sad after he laid his brother, sister, and father in their tombs. I wondered then how Robb could bear to visit it with his father there—wouldn't seeing the memorial tear the wound open anew? I'd never realized how accustomed I was to the way of funerals in the Riverlands until just then. The river took our dead—they did not linger to haunt us.

Robb snorted. "Aye, but why should we be afraid of our own? It's our family in those crypts."

"That's one way of looking at it," I muttered doubtfully. "I suppose it depends on what your family was like." I considered the Freys in the silence that followed. My father's house was young by the standards of many noble houses. We had grown wealthy because our forefathers had possessed the wit to build a bridge over the Green Fork and castles on either side to guard it. My father had exploited that position ruthlessly, but that particularly merciless shrewdness seemed to be a trait which he had not inherited. As I contemplated what I knew of the former lords of House Frey, my father stood out because many of his predecessors had been foolish men. Though it felt slightly disloyal, I acknowledged that I wouldn't be very afraid of them if it were their remains laid to rest in the crypts of Winterfell.

Except no Frey was interred in the crypts of Winterfell.

"What were the old Starks like?" I asked curiously. I had read the history books dutifully when I had been a child, but no person knew a House's history as well as one who belonged to it.

"I presume you mean the Kings of Winter," Robb replied. When I nodded, he took time to ponder the matter. "I could tell you what Maester Childer wrote, and what my father told me as a child. But I think that the person who described them best was Old Nan, though I still think she embellished her stories just to frighten us into obeying our father."

Old Nan had once been the oldest person in Winterfell. Lady Catelyn had spoken of her before with equal measures of fondness and sadness. When Winterfell had fallen to the Ironborn, it was said that she had taken to her bed and never awoken, and that even Theon Greyjoy had mourned her.

"Whenever we would go playing in the crypts," Robb went on, his eyes those of one snared in a distant memory, "Old Nan would always remind us to beware the oldest tombs, where the stone had started to crumble and the swords of the old lords had all but rusted away. It was there that their shades roamed, she warned, ready to punish noisy children who disturbed their rest. Of course, she didn't seem to understand that the worst way to make us stop visiting was to tell us about angry ghosts. We spent hours and hours there, hoping to run into one."

Robb clearly found it funny, but something about it made me shiver. He dipped his chin down to look at me, laughing again at whatever it was that he saw on my face.

"She'd have gotten to you, I see," he said with a playful sneer.

I narrowed my eyes at him but refused to take the bait. "Why would there be swords in the crypts?"

"It's custom here to have the stone masons create a likeness of the Lord of Winterfell once he passes and to keep it before his tomb. A sword is placed on the statue's lap."

"Whatever for?"

Robb shifted suddenly, crawling atop me with surprising care despite his abruptness. His voice was low-pitched and taunting. "It's a custom born of ancient precaution. They would lay swords across the fallen lords' laps to make sure that their violent spirits did not get loose to wreak havoc on the castle. After all, the Kings of Winter were not all good men. Some were cruel." His teeth scraped over my collarbone. "All were hard."

I shoved at his chest, only managing to move him an inch. He was frightening me and exciting me at the same time. I couldn't tell which feeling prevailed as he lowered his weight onto my body, insinuating it gently over and into places where we fit perfectly.

"You're lucky to have gotten me," my husband informed me smugly. "Who knows what the old Starks would have done with you, my sweet little wife?"

"Likely what you've been doing," I muttered. I gasped as his hand slid between us. "Robb, stop that."

He grappled with me playfully, lulling my half-meant outrage with his mouth and hands. He seemed to understand how much our exertions had tired me, however, and forbore from making love with me just then. When I had quieted in his arms, he held me close and urged me to sleep a little more. I closed my eyes obligingly, but even as I kept still my mind hummed with activity.

Robb spoke of the old Starks as though they were very different from the more recent members of the House. Privately, I mused that what I knew of the Starks of recent years stood in counterpoint to that notion. The Lord of Winterfell might call himself "King in the North" now, but he still bore the traits of the Kings of Winter.

I could see it clearly in Robb. Perhaps not in his features per se, but in the character that gave them life. He wasn't much like his father, from what I had heard of Eddard Stark, though I knew how Robb wanted nothing more than to be like the man. What Robb didn't see was how better-suited he was to being a king than his father might ever have been. From all accounts, Ned Stark had been many admirable things—but the King of Winter he was not.

My husband was. He was perhaps less solemn, less kind than his father, but Robb was what the North needed as its king.

As though to punctuate my conclusion, a low, throbbing sound reverberated in my ears. I lifted my head as I felt Robb tense against me, the hard planes of his body tautening further with alertness. The sound came again, and this time I recognized it as a horn. Within seconds there was an answering call, and even through the boarded up windows and thick stone walls I could hear the faint notes of others.

Robb was up and dressed with astonishing speed. The guards were already rapping on the door, announcing that Beric Dondarrion had arrived and was seeking a word. I had gotten halfway out of bed before Robb pinned me with a hard look.

"You are to stay here," he commanded in the king's voice, freezing me before my feet could touch the floor. "Come only if I send for you."

I obediently tucked my feet back in, trying to look calm even though my heart was racing. I knew better than to argue or to disobey. Perhaps another time it might have rankled, this demonstration of how easily my husband could cow me, but just then it seemed wise to do as he said. It was winter, and it was stupid to argue when he was speaking sense.

"What do you think it could be?" I asked, lifting my face to his as he strode towards me for a kiss.

"It's winter," the king said grimly as his mouth brushed mine. "Don't expect it to be anything good."


It was at least an hour before Lyla was at my door, haltingly informing me that the king had sent for me in order to greet our guests. I considered it a good sign that no screaming or shouting or clanging of arms had erupted in the long minutes since Robb had departed. I received the news that we had "guests" with considerable relief. Unfortunately, my maid could not tell me who they were. She spoke of banners and soldiers, but could not describe the sigils she had seen or recall which lord had come. I let her dress me with some impatience, frantic curiosity chipping away at my nerves and composure as I considered the possibilities.

I made my way from our chambers down to the great hall, where I was told our guests were waiting. Lyla and my guards fell into step behind me. I noticed that there were more guards in the corridors than I had ever seen before, moving in measured steps to and from their posts with well-disciplined coordination.

There was a great bustle as we neared the Great Hall. Unfamiliar soldiers and servants were mixing in with the people of the keep, and I finally got a look at some of the banners as they milled about.

It seemed that they had come from all over Westeros. It was easy to recall the Riverlands' houses. I knew House Rosby at once. There was a two-headed brown horse—Roote. The golden heron of Erenford, our latest stepmother's house. Vypren's black toad. But then there were the others: a green turtle, a white skull with a golden crown, a golden hand against red and black. Three ravens holding three hearts—House Corbray? The cluster of grapes was easy to remember and even easier to guess at: House Redwyne. Black and orange butterflies, a black and white boar, three blue beetles, a copper dagger. I recognized houses from the Riverlands, from the Reach, and even as far as Dorne. Soon my head began to spin as I struggled to take it all in. I had yet to see the banners of a Great House, however, to determine who led this force and guess at why they were here.

Despite the slight ache the furor was drumming into my skull, it felt good to stretch my limbs again. And while it was jarring at first, the clang and clamor about me was reassuring in defiance of the pall of silence that winter cast. I even looked forward to the bite of frost as I contemplated the short walk to where our guests waited.

Snow billowed in from the courtyard as a strong wind swooped in through the doors to the great keep. I picked my way through the crowd that was flowing in. Men hurried to keep the doors in place, complaining about how slow people were moving and how we would soon freeze if they left them open any longer.

I would have continued straight on to the great hall, but just then I spotted something in the courtyard that made my heart leap with delight.

It was a dire wolf, whiter than the snow that surrounded it, if it was possible. Its dark red eyes glinted like rubies as it trotted through the mass of men and horses. Excitement skittered through me and I forgot to wonder why all these people had come North.

Jon had arrived.


The formalities lasted less than an hour. I was introduced to the lords and leaders who had arrived. They were gruff and unsmiling, clearly weary from their journey and yet ready to soldier on if necessary. Beds and the noon-time meal were ready, but they would not rest long. Robb wanted a council that very afternoon.

Jon's hair had grown so long that he'd taken to tying it back. Under different circumstances, it would have been cause to tease him. But as he stepped forward to greet me, the sight of his face struck me with a feeling that stalled any speech.

He looked older, though there were no new lines on his face and his hair was still as dark as a raven's wing. It was his eyes that had aged—as if the soul staring through them had seen and heard and done too much. I was instantly overcome with the urge to hold him, to comfort him somehow. Standing in the midst of the small crowd, he still seemed more alone than if he'd been standing outside, a solitary darkness in the snow.

Robb and I had not spoken of Jon since the night he had returned, save for when Robb had told me of the events at the council in Riverrun. It had seemed easier to let the subject slide, to bask in the warmth of my husband's ardor. Still, the cause of our discord had lingered in my mind, demanding my attention when Robb was not there to keep me occupied.

I wondered what Robb expected of me. From his words and behavior, the ready conclusion was that I should never write Jon again, never be alone with him, never enjoy the way we were whenever we were together. A part of me understood why and wanted to give in, if only to please my husband. But the greater half of me could not bear the thought of it. Jon had done me nothing but kindness, and it did not seem just that he should be treated so when he was a true friend.

So when Jon inclined into a respectful bow, I extended my hands to him. I could feel Robb's eyes burning into my profile, but I resolved that on this I would not give ground.

"Your Grace." Even Jon's voice seemed bone-weary, but his grip was firm.

"I worried when I didn't see you return with my husband, Jon Snow," I found myself admitting. Recovering, I added, "But now that I see you, I find that I'm still worried."

A phantom smile appeared briefly on his face. "Don't worry, Your Grace. I'll be gone soon enough."

It seemed that was all Robb would tolerate, because he came forward then to take my arm and lead me to my seat, forestalling any other reply from me.

There was very little talk during the meal. I surmised that our guests were saving their energy for the discussion to come. Jon devoted himself to his meal and did not look up once. I wondered if Robb was angry. When he wore the mantle of his kingship, it was difficult to tell. He was attentive as we ate, however, cutting my meat and prodding me to eat more.

As I expected, I was not invited to the meeting. I was not prohibited from joining, but as soon as my husband shut himself away to meet with Jon and the leaders of the small force that had arrived, I was swarmed by Lady Catelyn and my own household with innumerable tasks which had apparently piled up in the days since my husband's arrival. Under different circumstances, I would have welcomed the bustle. Since my pregnancy had become evident, a small part of me had slowly gone mad while they gave me less and less work, insisting that I focus on my "delicate condition." It was a ridiculous phrase when applied to me, as my pregnancy only served to make my body heftier, but there was no arguing with Lady Catelyn, Maester Osmund, and at least half of the keep. It struck me as more than a little out of character that they were suddenly eager to occupy my time with matters they had found too taxing for me but a few short weeks before.

It was vexing, but they needn't have bothered. I had long understood that matters of war and the politics of the Seven Kingdoms were not matters in which I would have great use. I had always been praised for having good, dependable sense, but I was not a warrior and had never spent time at court. My contribution to the strength and stability of the North were my duties in Winterfell, to my husband, and to the child that was growing inside me.

Still, knowing that the events to come were beyond my grasp did not help the inward fretting. The array of lords who had come signified that whatever would take place was of great significance, if it was uniting men who had just been divided by a bitter civil war. Yet the King in the South was absent, as were the lords of the other Great Houses.

Ultimately, the work kept me occupied enough to keep me from going mad as the council carried on well into the night. Robb and our guests were served supper in the war room, and I went to bed alone. I sank into a dreamless slumber, though my thoughts were fitful, but I jolted awake at the soft scrape of metal as my husband bolted the door.

I knew as soon as the dust had cleared from my eyes and I saw his face. Not the specifics of what had happened or what was to come. But the nameless dread that seized me told me that the strange comfort we had enjoyed in the last few weeks was at an end.

Robb did not speak at once. He began to undress by the fire. I moved to help him, but his hand made a staying gesture and I remained abed, watching him as he carefully stripped the layers of clothing away. I understood that he needed the silence, that while it was unspoken we could pretend for a little longer that whatever it was, it was not yet real.

"What is it?" I asked, ashamed by my selfishness but no longer able to bear the strain of not knowing.

Robb gave me a look that was both quelling and pleading. It was not something he wanted to speak of. But as his gaze lingered on my face, something he saw managed to unhinge his lips.

"We will be marching north. To the Wall."

My mind seemed to go blank at the statement. "Now? But it's winter."

"That was the decision at the council after I left," Robb continued, his gaze breaking from mine as he bent to pull off his boots. "It's one that I happen to agree with. If all the Night's Watch speak of are true, then it will be better to confront the Night King beyond the Wall rather than wait for him to tear it down and march south."

The Night King. The feeling of distance increased, as if I were watching the scene unfold from far away. Marching south.

"I thought you were called to Riverrun to decide whether to support Daenerys or her nephew," came my voice, calm and unruffled.

"Certain events took place after I left which made it easier to decide that." Robb's lips curved in a parody of a smile. "Daenerys wed Aegon after he managed to convince her that he could regain the Iron Throne for her without a fight. Tyrion has pledged to surrender it in exchange for a place in the capital with Sansa. I expect Hand of the King would be quite reasonable."

"That's…" I paused. No war. No armies of Dothraki swarming our already ravaged lands. No dragons breathing fire down onto our heads. Yet "wonderful" was not the right word for what I felt. A sliver of shock managed to cut through the numbness that was sweeping over me. "I can't believe it was resolved so…neatly."

"You can thank Varys for that," Robb said with a laugh that almost sounded real. He slid into bed next to me, his arms coming around me and pulling me against him. His hands rested on the small of my back, rubbing small circles where he knew I had begun to feel strain. "He and Tyrion even managed to convince them that the North should remain free."

"They did?" It seemed impossible. I was terrified of another war with the South, especially one which involved the Dragon Queen, but logically it had seemed inevitable. "How?"

"One of our children will marry one of their own," Robb supplied readily, the first true smile of the night curving his mouth. One of his hands slid over my belly. "Let's hope this one's a boy, so that they have to worry about making a girl."

It was a struggle to comprehend it, as simple as it appeared to be. Perhaps I could not reconcile myself with the notion of a pair of Targaryens who were willing to make peaceful arrangements with the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. And they were, even more mystifyingly, at peace with the notion of only ruling six kingdoms.

Later, I would understand that the disbelief was a shield that I clung to; a desperate effort to keep myself together as I tried to absorb our reality. I pulled away from Robb, struggling through the bedclothes in order to get up. Despite our best efforts and the natural advantage of the hot springs beneath the keep, the air was unforgivingly cold.

"What are you doing?" Robb demanded, easing up onto his arms as I began to pace in front of the fire. "Come back to bed, Morgan."

"Do you believe it?" I asked bluntly, ignoring him, finding that no other words seemed suitable for exactly that moment. "That they're just willing to let us be?"

Robb was silent. I turned to look at him, chills running over my body. He looked perfect in our bed, slightly mussed and very male. I couldn't bring myself to think of him being anywhere else.

"Never underestimate the temptation of convenience to be found in a political marriage," said Robb. He was slowly climbing out of bed as well. "Besides, time and patience might achieve what a war would, without the costs. Through our children the Seven Kingdoms might be united once more one day. And whatever they truly plan for the future, there is no escaping that we need them now that the Long Night is upon us. Whatever happens after…well, we can decide that once we're sure there is an after."

"And for this you must march north," I concluded. It made sense. At least I thought it should. It was difficult to think clearly when every inch of my being rebelled against the thought of my husband leaving my side.

"Daenerys and Aegon will have arrived in King's Landing by now," Robb explained patiently, clearly sensing my lack of comprehension and the reason behind it. "Tyrion is mustering the South as we speak. I will need to gather the North at the Wall. They will join us there. The rest of the plan will be concluded once we are all together. We can't be sure what we'll find when we arrive."

The stories I had heard about the Long Night crowded in. Giant spiders, dead men who walked, merciless creatures with blue eyes and piercing voices. My husband would be wading into the snow and ice to confront nightmares.

I wanted to speak, but no words would come just then. It was as if something had massed in my throat, tangling and squeezing as I tried to swallow. I felt the blood rushing in my ears and my palms tingled just before ice swept through my veins. My vision blurred and Robb's voice seemed to come from far away.

I gasped as Robb's hands manacled around my arms, the cruel grip shocking me with pain.

"Morgan!" Robb growled, his blue eyes wild, his voice harsh to my ears. "What in the gods' name is wrong?"

The world slowly came into focus and I was able to breathe again, air filling my grateful lungs in short gusts.

"I'm sending for the maester," Robb snapped, his grip not easing.

"No!" I gasped pleadingly, one of my hands reaching faintly for his chest. "I'm sorry, Robb, please…"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over me as I swayed. His lips were pressed into a tight line, equal measures of displeasure and concern turning his face white with strain.

"I…I'm just frightened, Robb," I whispered, shamed by the confession, knowing it would not make things easier for either of us but unable to help saying it.

The king's grim, furious expression cracked and my husband emerged as he gathered me against his chest and pressed stinging kisses against my mouth. A dam broke inside me and I heard myself sobbing, heard his deep voice murmuring gentle words of comfort into my ear. Heat washed over me and the bewildering detachment fled in its wake. Robb's hands cupped my face, his thumbs whisking away the tears that were gathering at the edges of my lashes.

"I can't tell you not to be afraid, Morgan, not when I am as well," he whispered back, though it was difficult to believe when he looked so fierce and his grip was so strong. "But both of us need to have courage. Especially for our son."

"I-It may be a girl," I hiccupped inanely, trembling against him. He was so warm, so solid and real. I could not bear the thought of him being away from me. Of facing the birth of our child alone. I wanted to beg him to stay, to reconsider his decision. Yet the words would not leave my lips, though the feeling kept my eyes streaming.

Robb smiled at my quip, but there was no humor in his eyes. Instead of replying, he kissed me. His passion burned through me, through all other sensation, while his tenderness anchored me in the moment, in the smell, touch, and taste of him. Whatever else might come, he was with me now, and there was nowhere else he would allow my mind, body, and soul to be.


In what seemed like a heartbeat, almost all was in readiness for my husband's departure. They lingered only because one of his bannermen, Lord Rodrik Ryswell, had apparently been delayed by the snow. My husband had resolved to wait only one more week before departing.

I had not wept since our guests had arrived. I had feared that I might, that the fear licking at my insides would somehow claw its way out again. There were moments when I felt exceptionally brittle, certain I would crumble to the floor if I didn't hold on to something. Those moments usually struck when I was alone, when there was no one to keep my composure for.

The nearest I came to another collapse, however, I was not alone; it happened when Robb drew me aside one day. He had spent the morning with Merrell and several of his bannermen—and one southern lord whom Robb had allowed to linger in the war room while the others had been excused.

"You recall Dickon, son of the Lord of Kingsgrave?" Robb had asked, indicating the young man.

"Yes, of course," I said, even as my mind raced to recall what I knew of Kingsgrave and what Robb had imparted to me about this youth in particular when our guests had first arrived. "House Manwoody. You are the younger son of Lord Dagos, are you not?"

He was very unlike the image of the Dornishman I had conjured in my mind, which some of his companions had affirmed. With his fair hair and green eyes, and a glorious spattering of freckles over his nose, Dickon Manwoody did not strike me as Dornish at all.

"And the handsomer one, Your Grace," Dickon drawled with a grin as bowed gallantly over my hand. As he straightened, I could have sworn he winked at me.

I stared for a split-second before I found myself laughing. He was certainly charming enough to be what I imagined a Dornishman to be.

"Having never seen your brother, I truly do not know what to say to that," I admitted, still unable to help smiling at him.

"I'm pleased to see that you appear to like each other," came my husband's low, icy voice. I turned to see Robb's narrowed gaze rest on the young lord. The mischief fled from Dickon's face and in an instant it seemed his expression was properly respectful. Robb's hand had come up to rest on the small of my back, and he exerted the lightest pressure to turn me toward him as his chin dipped down.

Instead of cutting with cold anger, as I expected, Robb's voice was gentle. If only his eyes were not so grim.

"Dickon will be staying at Winterfell with you," he explained concisely. "You will have Beric and a thousand others remaining as well, but should the worst happen, you must go with Dickon."

It was almost like he had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. I looked at Dickon, whose face bore a sudden gravity which seemed unnatural. I had not known him long, but his was the kind of face that ought to always be filled with levity.

"Go where?" I asked blankly, though I already knew.

"To Kingsgrave first," Dickon supplied. "Then, if we must, Lemonwood. From there we can go to the harbor in Planky Town. Then we shall see." I could see compassion in his green eyes. "Of course, that is only if."

"If." I repeated the word, looked up at my husband. If the monsters win. If there's no hope. If you don't come back. I clutched his arm as the world began a slow spin, forcing down the panic. I was getting better at fighting it, apparently, for by some wonder I was still able to speak. "How will we know?"

"We'll send ravens at every opportunity." Robb's arm came fully around me and I felt his warmth along my front as, heedless of Dickon's presence, he pulled me close. "Beric will know what to do. My mother will be coming with you. But you must promise me that when Beric tells you that it's time, you'll go with Dickon."

"If," I said fiercely, anger whipping through me and saving me from my frailty. "You mean if Beric tells me it's time."

Robb lowered his forehead against mine, his breath puffing against my lips in a deep sigh. "Yes," he conceded with another huff, this time laced with amusement. "If."


Only one thing managed to effectively distract me from my impending sense of doom as time hurtled towards my husband's march to the Wall.

I had not seen Jon since he had arrived, and the disquieting realization came with a niggling suspicion that his rarity in my presence was being contrived. I wondered if Lady Catelyn had taken it upon herself to interfere once more, because she was constantly in my presence now that Jon was in Winterfell again, where before she had allowed Robb and me to have as much space as was possible. Still, while I had the distinct sense of being guarded by her, I did not imagine her to be so effective a guard that I did not even see Jon once. The more accurate explanation was likely that Jon himself had been avoiding me.

I could understand why. It was likely that Jon was wiser than me and did not want to be involved in another incident with me and my husband. There was so much else that demanded all of our attention, and it was not the time to be fighting amongst ourselves—particularly over something like jealousy. The distance saddened me, more and more each time my mind turned to him, but I told myself each time that I could not expect different from him.

Having thus accepted that it was to be expected and understandable for Jon to avoid me, I was more than pleasantly surprised when Jon sought me out. Lady Catelyn and I were attending to some mending in the same airy solar that had been flooded with pale northern light but several months before. Now, with the windows boarded up and torches as illumination, the room seemed cavernous, the darkness yawning above us giving the impression of us being buried far beneath the ground. Or more appropriately, being buried far beneath the snow. Bent and squinting over my mending, I felt my neck crick as my head snapped up when one of my guards informed me that Jon Snow was seeking an audience. I forced myself not to smile, not to look at Lady Catelyn when I felt her gaze come to rest on my profile.

"Show him in," I said as neutrally as I could, setting the garment I was working on aside.

"Your Grace. My lady." Jon's face was a closed mask as he bowed to us, his dark eyes meeting Lady Catelyn's before shifting to me. It seemed as though his expression thawed by a fraction. "Forgive the interruption."

"You have good timing," I replied. "I was just thinking that it was time to get out of this chair for a little while."

Standing had started to become a coordinated exercise: one hand on the increasingly heavy lump on my pelvis, the other clutching whatever was available for leverage as I heaved myself to my feet.

"Surely you don't mean to walk about the keep now, Your Grace," Lady Catelyn interjected, prompting me to look at her. It was a great relief and an equally great surprise that she did not look disapproving. It was worry that was creasing her brow.

"Only a short turn about the room," I reassured her, smiling. I extended my hand to Jon.

I felt a rush of gratitude towards the gods as Jon took my hand and let it rest on his arm as he guided me away. The room was wide enough for us to walk and converse without being overheard, yet close enough for Lady Catelyn, the other women who were mending, and my guards to see me. It was enough privacy without the risk of impropriety. A tiny part of me wondered if Robb would see it the same way, but I shushed that corner of my mind when Jon began to speak.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner," he began at length, his voice pitched low so that only I could hear. He turned his head to look at me, his eyes earnest. "And I'm sorry I didn't congratulate you at once when I saw you."

"Thank you," I said with a grin. I sobered somewhat as I continued. "And don't be sorry. I know that there's been much more to think about than something as ordinary as a pregnancy."

Jon stopped walking. The nearest torch was burning low. The darkness seemed to crowd into our little circle of confidences, and I knew even as my fears were parading through my mind that Jon was facing down his own.

"Have you thought about names?" Jon asked, pulling us back into the present and away from our morbid contemplation of the future.

"No," I answered honestly. "It feels premature, when I don't know if it's going to be a boy or a girl."

"Don't women know on instinct?" I looked up to see if Jon was joking and laughed in his face when I saw that he seemed genuinely interested in knowing the answer.

"Where do men learn such things about women?" I asked, truly puzzled. It wasn't an uncommon notion, but I could not riddle out where it had come from.

Jon smiled a little ruefully. "I can't claim to know much about women. I just supposed a woman might know."

We stood in comfortable silence for the space of a heartbeat, smiling at each other. Then Jon's countenance was swept with purpose.

"I came to say goodbye, Your Grace." The words sent a pang of something very much like grief through me, and the feeling took root and stopped my speech when instinctively I wanted to protest. Thankfully, Jon continued without awaiting a reply; haltingly, spots of color blooming on his cheeks. "We could march at any moment and I might not get the chance to speak with you again. I wanted to thank you for every kindness you've shown to me. Winterfell was my home, but all I wanted when I was growing up was to leave it. It was only when you came that I can recall thinking of this place with warmth and looking forward to returning. Words can't convey how much I've appreciated your behavior towards me."

It was possibly the longest he had spoken to me, uninterrupted and unprompted. Moved beyond caution, I reached for his hand, wanting to hold him close the way I had often held my sisters. I did my best to smile even as tears pricked at my eyes. "Perhaps this is strange, considering the times we live in, but I've thanked the gods for so many things in the last few months. I can't think of a single thing I've done to deserve all of the blessings I've received. One of them is you. I knew I was lucky to be married to Robb. I just didn't expect how much more I was going to be given."

Jon's hand squeezed almost reflexively around mine and a shadow fell over his face. It was not the reaction I would have anticipated from my impulsive confession.

"He's the lucky one," he said darkly. "He's always been. Don't ever let him persuade you into thinking it's the other way around."

"What?" I was astonished by the sudden and extraordinary display, though admittedly it vindicated my suspicions about the state of my husband's relationship with Jon. The piercing sentimentality of the moment was instantly gone and a new tension filled the air. "Thank you, of course, Jon, but whatever do you mean by that?"

Jon looked as though he wanted to cut his tongue out for speaking. As though he would rather cut his tongue out than answer.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," he said stonily. His hand fell away from mine. "I forgot myself."

"Yes, you did," I agreed mercilessly. "Now I demand you tell me what you meant by what you said."

Jon's lips curved. "Gotten used to speaking like a queen, I see."

I flushed, more than a little embarrassed to have it pointed out and, worse, being unable to refute it. Imperiousness had begun to come easier and easier as time had passed. I could pretend that it was just another consequence of my altered state now that I was with child, but I would be lying.

"That was a wonderful attempt at distracting me," I said with as much dignity as I could muster. "Do you truly mean not to answer me?"

"I shouldn't have said anything," Jon said with a frustrated sigh. "There's no point in talking about it."

"Yet you felt strongly enough about whatever it is that you could not help yourself," I pointed out, keeping the impatience out of my voice as much as I could.

It was plain to me that he needed to talk about it, just as much as my husband did. But in the nature of men, they contained themselves when it came to their feelings, as if keeping them unspoken would resolve them somehow. My brothers liked to mock my sisters and me for it, but reasonable discussion about our particularly strong feelings did help, and no ugliness had ever festered between us. Kyra was the exception, of course, but she was particularly determined to be unreasonable. Unlike most of us, accumulating venom did not appear to exhaust her.

Jon was remaining silent, but there was something in the way that he stared back at my expectant face.

He was wavering.

"What is it?" I prodded in my gentlest voice. Whenever Jon's expression shuttered, I would tease without any real persistence because I knew he would brush me off. As we stood in that quiet corner, however, I could feel his reluctance eroding. Else, he would have escorted me back to Lady Catelyn and the other ladies. He wanted to stay and tell me whatever it was that was lying heavy over his heart. And I, eager for him to talk so that I might discern how I could help him and Robb put their discord aside, pushed on blindly, unaware then of what calamity my efforts would yield. "You needn't hide your thoughts from me, Jon, truly. Robb told me everything."

I was thinking, of course, about Robb admitting his jealousy. I was aware that I was lying to Jon, since Robb had only really said that he had been jealous and had not really said anything about whatever else may have taken place and exacerbated his conflict with Jon. I did not know how very quickly, and how very soundly, I was going to be punished for misleading Jon in order to satisfy my well-intentioned desire to meddle.

There was a crack in Jon's brooding mask as surprise flashed across his face. In the years to come I would reflect that the gods had contrived for Jon to lose his composure that afternoon, for his mouth to once more free the words before his mind could realize that it had formed them. He had never struck me as the sort of person who willingly interfered in the personal affairs of others. Yet in one short sentence, he managed to throw everything that had just been restored into chaos.

"Then you know about her?"


Author's Note #2: THE END.

Totally kidding! Don't kill me!

My estimate for the next chapter is in December, when I anticipate at least a month of free time to finish writing and editing the next chapter. I know that's months away, but it's the most realistic estimate I can make considering my other commitments. There are at most five more chapters after this one—four, if I can condense a segment under a single POV. I'm sorry I had to cut it here, but I struggled for weeks and there really was no telling it decently from Morgan's POV for the next segment. Apologies, and I truly hope you all can still bear with me. And now, to the patient readers who haven't been able to PM me—

SirenaErmosa: Dearest, I am so sorry! On the upside, you got to re-read the last chapter a fair few times in order to digest it! Thank you so much for your patience with me. It has been years—LITERALLY years—and you haven't given up on me. I truly appreciate it.

Belinda: Thank you very much, dear! Not just for consistently checking up on me, but for all your kind words whenever you do. I hope that this one was worth the horrible wait.

Skyler McAndrews: I'm glad it's still your favorite! I really hope that doesn't change. Thank you very much!

Hellion: I am so pleased that you consider this your favorite fic—though it again makes me feel like a horrible person for not updating for so long. This chapter should answer your question about Jon, so I hope you liked it. Thank you very much! anon: YOU'RE VERY WELCOME! THANK YOU AGAIN! YOU ROCK, TOO! HPAbinator: Omigod, I'm so sorry! And thank you! And sorry again, because by the next chapter, well… Guest1 (whom I'm assuming left me the three successive reviews on 24 January 2015): I'm really glad that you're liking it so far! I must admit, the reason I started writing this story was because I'm a fan of love blossoming under less-than-ideal circumstances. Some of my favorite love stories (whether in print or television) are arranged marriages that work out, so I guess I'm really writing out what I love. Thank you for your reviews! Ara: It wasn't "soon"—in fact this is the longest I've held off, but I do appreciate that you always leave me a review whenever I do turn up. Thank you so, so much! Elle: Thank you very much! You'll probably want to kill me since this time it took me a year and a half, but I'm praying for mercy and hoping this chapter will make the wait (almost) worth it, haha. Thank you so much for your understanding, it really means a lot. Guest2 (on 1 February 2015): I can imagine! Thank you very much! mrk010585: Wow, that is kind of AMAZING, haha! Hopefully the universe finds a way to remind you of this fic again now that I've updated. (So sorry again for the delay.) Thank you so much for your kind words and as to Robb—don't worry. He. Will. Suffer. chlo: No, thank YOU! Thank you so much. GuestNumber5: OMIGOD, if I ever do get down to that, remind me to find you and give you a share of the royalties! Haha, thank you so, so, SO much! Thedarktangerine: It hasn't happened yet (the realization, I mean), but thank you so much! I'm almost obnoxiously flattered as I write this, haha. I really, really appreciate it. Guest3 (on 3 March 2015): Oh no, I'm so sorry! Don't eat me! Thank you very much for leaving me a review. I'm glad you liked it! (And yeah, I don't get it either, haha.) : Omigod, I actually added six months to the last waiting time—forgive me! I'm really glad you like that aspect of it—sometimes I worry if I drag or layer on too much. Thank you so much for sticking with me and for such a lovely review. DuckorGoose: Thank you very much! I know what you mean. I read the third book in university, and I was so disgusted by Robb's decisions that I stopped reading for a while. Then the books got turned into a TV show and I ended up exorcising my frustration with him through this fic, haha. Hope you like the latest installment! Guest3 (on 9 March 2015): Forgive me, forgive me! Thank you so much for your kindness and patience. I will do my best this December, I promise! Anna: Thank you! I know I've said this a lot, but it's really gratifying to hear that this version of Robb is so well-received. I spent forever agonizing about how to write him. As for Jon and Morgan, well! I hope this chapter answers your questions—and adds more, haha! Thank you again! Guest4 (on 10 April 2015): It's totally cool, we forgive tardiness in this fic! Seriously though, sorry it took so long, and thank you! I hope this chapter answered a few of your questions! The last two seasons did inspire me, but unfortunately my work deadlines kind of leeched whatever inspiration I had. I will do better, I promise! ASDFGHJKL1234: OMIGOD, VIRTUAL HUUUG! I'm really pleased that you got so invested in this story, but I'm also sorry that it made you feel so emotional! This chapter doesn't really help things, I know, but I hope that it's of some comfort that you now have something else to have feelings about. Thank you so, so much! (And yes, Robb does need to wake up, doesn't he?) Guest5 (whom I'm assuming left the two successive reviews on 14 August 2015): Wow! First, thank you for leaving me your reviews! I'm sorry that Robb got you so worked up, but I'm also very pleased that you've gotten so into the story. I can't tell you how you should feel about Robb, but I do hope you'll keep reading despite how angry he made you. I can't tell you what will happen next, but as the teaser for the next chapter indicates, that sort of thing doesn't really go unpunished. Thank you again! Margaret: I haven't given up, I promise! Thank you so much for dropping me a note! I promise I will keep writing until I finish this, regardless of how the TV show progresses. Guest6 (on 10 July 2016): That is the plan, haha! Thank you very much!

I hope I didn't miss anyone! If I did, my apologies and do let me know! Thank you again, you guys. I can't tell you how much your support helps me—not just in terms of writing the next chapter, but getting through my everyday life. Wishing everyone a happy summer!

Next Chapter: Consequences of all sorts.