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Stefan was more than broken. He was ripped to shreds.

One could have been forgiven for thinking that it was his horse, and not the knight himself, who was in control; Stefan scarcely paid any mind to the road beneath its hooves, nor the way ahead. He held the reins loosely in his hands, staring straight ahead without seeing. Perhaps his eyes had simply not grown used to daylight yet, after so long in the dark. Nonetheless, Stefan meandered up the Kingsroad, headed due North.

It would be good to see Riverrun again. He tried to comfort himself with the thought of the familiar landscapes, the endless rivers, the promise of spending lazy afternoons fishing once again on the same banks he had reclined upon since boyhood. And yet…he knew that now, nothing could ever be quite the same again.

Although he was more than grateful to Edmure Tully for pleading his case-he was not looking forward to facing his lord in person. He hated to think what thoughts would fill those eyes when he looked at the disgraced knight, what condemnations, what judgement...Edmure knew about him, all about everything that had happened in the capitol…everything that had happened with Robin.

Robin.

Stefan urged his horse faster, closing his eyes as the wind beat him. He kicked hard until the creature reluctantly fell into a gallop. As he pounded northwards, it was as if he was trying to outrun his own thoughts.

And yet-how could he? How could he ever run from his last memory of his beloved prince? Watching Robin looking down at him from beside the king with such sadness in his eyes, seeing him sob as Stefan had been forced from the room…it was too much to bear.

Stefan was not the same man who was the champion of the Falcon's Tourney. Whether it was Robin, or the capitol, or the Black Cells, he did not know. One thing was certain, however. He could never simply return to Riverrun and pick up where he had left off. As if nothing had happened. As if everything was still the same…when it could not be more different.

Robin.

The prospect of never seeing him again was one far blacker than the blackest night in the dungeons.

He could not. He would not.

All at once-Stefan pulled his horse to a halt. As hooves scattered on the road, his mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts.

His heart screamed to return to the capitol, to go into hiding, to change his name and cut his hair, to live any way he could, just to be near Robin. And yet, he knew that this was impossible. So what to do?

Not to Riverrun and Edmure Tully.

Not south either.

So where?

Suddenly, like a dream-it fell upon him all at once.

Where was the one other place in the world he could feel close to Robin? Where was the one other place in the world that he was likely to return to? Even if it took months, years, decades-Stefan would wait for him in the one place he called home.

Due north-west, Stefan pushed his horse into a gallop once more. He vowed that he would not rest, would not tire, would not cease, until he saw the Bloody Gate…

The next few days passed by Robin in a haze of activity. He spent every waking hour at work, ensuring that his plans to improve Flea Bottom would not fall to ruin in the wake of the attack. The well was being rebuilt, and soon, clean water would be available to the entire population. The thought of little Alys and the rest of the orphans finally having access to safe water was more than glorious. Indeed, he did not think even watching men fly through the Moon Door could bring him as much pleasure…

And yet…in the royal apartments of the Red Keep, there had been a subtle, but absolute, change.

Robin had believed with all his heart that his husband, the king, did not care for him. He had spent every day since their betrothal trying to figure out how he was going to survive with such a cold, unfeeling husband, for the rest of his life. But now…the bleakness and uncertainty had been replaced with another feeling altogether. And that feeling was…confusion.

Brandon's words to him during their private dinner had kept him up late every night, tossing and turning alone in bed, and wondering what on earth he should make of them. What on earth did they mean? Was it that, after all, Brandon had grown to care for him? Or was Brandon simply performing his duty? Perhaps some member of the small council-Lord Tyrion, or Samwell Tarly, most likely-had been feeding him the words to say. After all, having observed Brandon's behaviour towards him since they had first met, it seemed impossible that the king would have such an abrupt change of heart…and yet, perhaps, there was the smallest chance that it was not the case at all…

Robin did not know what to think. And he certainly did not see enough of his husband in everyday life at the Red Keep to ask him. Even if he did…what could he say?

There was no way of knowing.

And, in any case…what did this mean for their marriage? Robin remembered the day of their wedding-Brandon had scarcely spoken to him for the entire event. The only contact they had shared was the joining of their hands together with the traditional ribbon…and the kiss.

The kiss that carried no legal or religious weight. The kiss that the spectators had expected, sure-but the kiss that was by no means a necessity in the validation of the marriage. The kiss, on the other hand, that could have been left out altogether. The kiss that Brandon had initiated.

Robin closed his eyes. He couldn't afford to keep analysing Brandon's every movement; it simply wasn't healthy. After all, without a kiss to close the ceremony, people may easily have talked. The king's motivation could have lain solely in that-in playing the part. After all, was not that all a politically advantageous marriage was about? Playing the part? Rhaegar Targaryen had not loved his princess. Robert Baratheon had not loved his queen. Robb Stark had loved his queen…and look where that got both of them. Love and politics simply did not mix. One simply showed up at the Sept when one was told, and married the person their father had chosen for them.

Only no father had chosen Robin. Neither of them had a father any longer.

Brandon had chosen Robin.

This thought came to Robin in the dead of night, as he lay awake staring at the canopy above his bed-and it rendered him utterly sleepless. Could it be that the king who had been nothing but cold, who had treated him almost with distain, who neither touched him, nor kissed him, nor lay in bed beside him…had grown to care for him after all?

That was all Robin wanted. To be cared for.

Oh, but what of Stefan? Robin turned over, hugging his knees to his chest. He could not quite bring himself to forget the feeling of his arms around him, his lips on his…The poor boy who had suffered so greatly in the Black Cells, and had come out publicly declaring his love for him. Was it even possible, after so precious few hours together, that he could love him? In the true sense of the word. All the songs, all the poems, would have him believe so-the gallant knight falling desperately in love at first sight with a person above his station. That was Stefan, all over. But was there any truth to it?

Was love the fiery passion of a moment, a loud, booming declaration, a swear on one's life and honour? Or…could it be something altogether slower, softer, and quieter? Something like…

"The prince speaks the truth…You mustn't. It's far too dangerous. I forbid it…Yes. I hope so too…You don't have to do this…My heart turns to ice…I see you…"

Robin woke rather early from his fitful sleep. However, as the sun streamed in through the window, he felt wide awake. As quickly as he could, he dressed, pulling on his clothes, his boots, throwing his cloak over his shoulder. He even found himself humming:

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts…"

He stepped out into the corridor, feeling, for the first time, as if the Red Keep was truly his home. There was so much to do! Perhaps he would pay a visit to Flea Bottom, to see how everything was moving along…he could even stop at the orphanage…

At that moment-he heard the sound of wheels on the stone floor behind him, accompanied by familiar loud footsteps. Knowing what he would see even before he turned, Robin found Ser Podrick, and Brandon, up bright and early, as was his custom.

"Good morning, Robin." the king greeted him, with habitual cold politeness. He looked slightly surprised to see him up at this hour-although, Robin rather thought, he did not look disappointed. Robin looked at his husband for a moment, considering all that he was, and all that he had done. Then, softly, and slowly…he smiled.

"Good morning…Bran."