ROBB

As Robb's host travelled further inland, the greater its dispersal became. It seemed that they came across another holdfast nearly every day, where a few dozen men would break off and return to their homes. Every once in a while, Robb would see this lord or that knight ride off away from the column, back to his home. Lord Tyrion Lannister had taken many of his Westermen with him, along with their navy, as soon as they left the Iron Islands, sailing to Lannisport whilst Robb made for Seagard. Somehow, he found himself missing the Imp's company, and the council tent seemed dim without his keen wit and barbed comments.

They had been riding for the Twins for near a month now, and the cold was beginning to come in. He'd had a raven from Winterfell, informing him of its liberation by Ser Rodrik, and also of Bran and Rickon's good health. The thought of seeing his little brothers again only made him all the more impatient to get to the Crossing before the snows came.

They arrived at half strength, with almost all of the riverlords – save Lord Edmure Tully and the Frey levies – having left them. Ser Brynden had also chosen to stay, and said he would join Robb on the journey north, still wanting to steer clear of Riverrun. Robb had accepted, of course. The Blackfish was a good man, and an excellent councillor, and Robb hoped to give the man a permanent seat on his new council.

Such things would have to wait, of course, until after the wedding. Lord Walder greeted them from his great hall, as the old man was far too gouty to move towards them. Robb discovered that his mother hadn't been wrong when she told him about the man's discourtesy, as Lord Walder offered few greetings save a grumble about Robb taking too long with his war.

Nevertheless, Lord Walder kept his word, and asked which daughter Robb would be marrying. Robb merely smiled softly at that question, before answering as solemnly as he could.

"I would marry whichever daughter of yours would make the finest consort for a King in the North," Robb replied, "Gentle and sweet, fair and maidenly if it is possible too."

Lord Walder raised a snowy eyebrow, "Fair and sweet you say? Maidenly too?" he grinned lecherously, before cackling at one of his brood, "That rules out your Ami, eh Merret?"

The room erupted with raucous laughter, and Robb frowned, slightly confused. Lord Walder and his family calmed after a few moments, before he called, in a surprisingly soft voice, "Roslin dear, the King wishes to see you."

A side door opened, and a young woman about Robb's age came out, wearing a silk dress and woollen mantle. Her hair was long and braided, and brown as oakwood. Her eyes were big and round, and they glanced furtively at the room full of Freys and Northmen. She started at Robb, before kneeling courteously, and Robb smiled despite himself.

It seems Lord Walder's manners were not passed down.

Thank the gods for that.

"My King," Roslin's voice was soft as goose down, and barely carried, even though Robb was only a few feet away, "I am yours to command."

"And I am yours," Robb replied, as softly as he could, awkwardly aware of his towering over her, "From this day until my last day."

They were married that same day, on the bridge that lay between the Twins. A septon came bumbling down from one of the towers, and Robb was only half-joking when he asked if this was another Frey. They said the words, and held each other's hands, and when Robb bent down to kiss her the entire castle erupted into cheers, and chants of "The King in the North!"

They broke apart, and Robb smiled breathlessly at his new bride, who was herself flushed. He slid his arm into hers, and walked into the great hall once again, where Lord Walder had prepared a fantastic feast, fit for a king indeed. A dozen courses were served, each more delicious than the last; roasted geese, turkeys and rare, bloody steaks shared plates with fat, fluffy potatoes and every kind of steamed vegetable. The food flowed so bountifully it made Robb forget that winter was coming on in full strength.

He tried to make polite conversation with his new wife, though he found the courtesies almost as hard as battling Asha Greyjoy below the walls of Pyke. Roslin herself was very courteous, always addressing him as "my King," or "Your Grace".

After a while of that, Robb said: "You can call me Robb, you know."

Roslin blushed, "I – I apologise Y – I mean, Robb."

Robb felt a small smile grow across his face, "That's alright. May I call you Roslin?"

"You are the King," she replied, smiling a little herself, "You may call me what you like Robb."

Later, Lord Walder made a speech, thanking the gods for an end to the so-called War of Five Kings, and praised Robb for his victories on the field of battle. He then announced that it was getting late, and the feast was dragging on.

"Bollocks!" roared the Greatjon, to the delight of all. He was clearly very drunk, "Y'call this a feast? I've had pisses with more beer! Bring more, bring more!"

Lord Walder's face darkened, but none took notice. And so the feast carried on, long into the night. Music from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms was played by a band somewhere in the eaves, and soon the tables were cleared for dancing. Robb held out a hand to Roslin, who took it tentatively. Lord Walder motioned to the singers, who took up a slow, beautiful tune, and Robb and Roslin danced alone across the floor.

He noticed for the first time that she had freckles, dotted across her nose like stars in the night sky. At first, Robb worried that she would notice him staring, but when he caught her eye, she seemed to be staring at him, which only served to make them both laugh. Their dance was slow and calm, and Robb felt the rest of the room fade away, until it seemed that it was only him and Roslin and the music. Roslin's movements were very dainty, almost feather-light, and she guided Robb around the floor just as much as he did her, though he was not a bad dancer, now he thought of it.

The song ended, and Robb kissed his new bride, smiling down at her again.

"You should put your sword down, Stark," cackled the Greatjon, "Dancing suits you!"

Roslin started to blush, and only turned red all the faster when Robb ignored the jape and kissed her again.

When their lips broke apart, Robb kept his forehead pressed against Roslin's own. Her deep-brown eyes flickered from side to side nervously.

"Robb," she whispered, "Your bannermen are staring at us."

"Let them stare," Robb replied, kissing her again, "It's the last they'll see of us tonight."

"What do you…?" Roslin trailed off, before making an 'O' shape with her mouth. She blushed, and Robb heard a roar of laughter from the Greatjon.

"From the way you're wife's blushing, the singers'll call this a red wedding!" he cackled, many others joining in.

Even Robb laughed, though he stopped when he noticed Roslin blushing even more. He looked over the top of her head, and addressing the crowd.

"The Queen is tired," he announced, putting as much power and authority into his voice as he could, "and would to bed. I'm sure Lord Walder will continue to play a gracious host even after mine and my wife's departure."

Lord Walder nodded slowly, a sly look in his beady eyes. However, another member of House Frey, with wiry hair and a dark beard spoke up, "What about the bedding ceremony?"

"Why? Do you want to see another of your cousins' tits, Black Walder?" Lord Edmure joked, to raucous laughter, "Let them go to bed. It's probably some sort of crime to watch a King at his business."

Robb ignored the fresh chatter that began after that statement, instead putting an arm around Roslin's shoulders, and guiding her from the hall, to his temporary chambers. As they ascended the stairs, Robb became very conscious of how quiet Roslin had become since Black Walder's outburst. A red tinge was back in her cheeks, and she looked at the floor as they walked.

Robb had heard Black Walder's reputation of bedding his brothers' wives, as well as his cousins and other not-so-close relatives. Anyone who rode with Freys in their army would hear rumours of the actions of this bastard or that son, but none came to Robb so frequently as the tales of Black Walder's promiscuity. He looked down at Roslin, then back to their path, and then to Roslin's downcast face again.

"I have heard tales," Robb began cautiously, "of Ser Walder's –"

"Those tales are true, Robb," Roslin told him, her voice small, "But my nephew has only bedded my older siblings and cousins. I think he fears the wrath of my brothers, and now he will fear the wrath of a king. My virtue is still mine own, do not worry."

They spoke no more, until they reached Robb's bedchamber. It was smaller than one he would have given to a noble guest at Winterfell, and far more sparsely decorated than his chambers in King's Landing were. But, Walder Frey was not known for his generosity, nor was he fabled as a host, and so Robb would not complain. They would leave on the morrow anyway; he need only use this bed for a few hours.

He opened the door, and allowed Roslin to step in, before closing it softly behind him. Roslin stared at the bed, eyes wide, before Robb sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at her.

"On my honour as a Stark," Robb said, "I will do nothing which you do not want."

"But your honour as a king commands you to produce an heir," Roslin told him, her voice oddly strong compared to earlier, "And my duty as a queen is to provide that heir. I am your queen, Robb, and your wife. Our personal honour and our wants do not come into it," her face flushed suddenly, and she added, somewhat more sheepishly, "and I think that you are very fair."

Robb laughed, and stood up, shaking off his boots as he did so. He walked up to Roslin, who gazed up at him with her wide, wide eyes.

"And I too think that you are fair, Roslin."

With that, he kissed her, but this kiss was harder, fiercer, and soon Robb found that Roslin's tongue was in his mouth, and his tongue was in hers. Her small hands were pressed against his chest, and began frantically scrabbling at the laces of his jerkin. Robb busied himself with the intricate knots covering the back of Roslin's dress, and frowned through the kiss at just how fiddly they were. Roslin gasped a breathy laugh, and moved her own hands to help him.

The top half of the dress came away, and Robb kissed her again, her mouth hot and wet against his own. His hands touched her bare back for the first time, and a shiver shook Roslin's body. He pulled away, frowning down at her.

"Are you alright?"

She stammered, flushing again, "I'm sorry, just a little cold."

Robb laughed, and led her over to the bed, shrugging off his jerkin and undershirt as he did so. Roslin pulled off the rest of her dress and smallclothes, before clambering beneath the sheets. Robb followed, and looked deep into Roslin's soft brown eyes. They kissed again, and Robb rolled on top of her, using his arms to hold himself above her thin body.

"Ready?" he murmured, and Roslin mumbled her assent, her hands tangling in his dark hair.

He pushed into her, and Roslin gasped in surprise. He looked at her, and she nodded, silently giving him the permission he needed to continue. Roslin dug her fingers into his back as he began to thrust harder, the pain fading in comparison the bliss he felt inside her.

As their pleasure grew, their hands began to roam across each other's bodies. Robb felt Roslin's small and delicate fingers move across his back, touching and stroking each and every ridge and scar he'd won in the past year or so. Each touch sent a thrill down his spine, gooseflesh rippling at her every caress. In return, Robb's fingers danced up Roslin's pale, thin body, her skin smooth to the touch, and warming every second, in part due to the thick furs about them, but also the rush of blood at each stroke of his hands.

Robb moved from Roslin's mouth to kiss at her slender neck, feeling the groans grow within her throat and erupt from her mouth. They began to move faster into each other, the pleasure growing with every passing moment. Robb cried out as he climaxed, his arse clenching with the sensation of his peak.

He slid out of Roslin, his manhood already softening. She looked at him, red faced and as naked as the day she was born, with a wicked grin on her face.

"What?" he asked, more than a little concerned by the grin.

"I haven't finished yet," she smirked, "Out there, you're a king, but in here you're mine, Robb Stark."

It was Robb's turn to blush, "I – uh – I'm not quite sure –"

"I'll help you," Roslin supplied, before adding, "I don't know why you're so shocked, Robb. I have six trueborn sisters and dozens of baseborn ones. Is it really a surprise to you that I understand the intricacies of the woman's body?"

"I – er – no, sorry – um," Robb stammered, and she laughed.

"Just do as I say."

Robb nodded, and Roslin guided his fingers within her entrance, helping him to find the areas that stimulated her most. After but a few minutes, she was writhing at his touch, something that Robb marvelled at. He'd seen the power of fear to move someone, or the power of pain or anger, but it had never occurred to him that pleasure could do the same.

When Roslin at last reached her climax, Robb moved back up her body to press another kiss on her rosy pink lips. No more words were said after, as they drifted into their first sleep as a king and his queen. No more words were needed.


Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear any constructive criticism or feedback you guys have, either through a review on here, or to my Tumblr page, where I try and post snippets;

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