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The day, despite its good weather, had been soured. The letters he'd been receiving from his bannermen, as well as from their allies in the Neck, Beric Dondarrion in particular, alluded to the same thing. War. It was coming to Westeros. Again. Robb sighed. Had not the people of this continent had enough of bloodshed? Could they not be satisfied with their own fiefdoms and lands and let things be? Robb clenched the latest letter tight as he made his way to the smithies.
"Father!" Robb stopped and faced the oncoming whirlwind that was his eldest daughter. She looked startling akin to Talisa, but she had more of the demeanor of the Stark lineage for the good or bad of it. "Must I learn my numbers today?"
Robb raised his eyebrows as he crossed his arms over his chest, "When would you suggest to learn them, for they must be learned, Arra."
"I'm glad you asked." Arra stepped forward, her hands clasped behind her back in a most adult-like fashion, and decided to continue walking down the corridor in the direction Robb had been heading. Robb, amused with his daughter, played along and assumed a similarly severe demeanor as he listened. "On rainy days, it should be numbers. On misty days it should be history. On snowy days it should be politics. On cold days it should be reading and writing."
"Interesting concept. May I know why you think this should be your schedule?" Robb was pleased with himself that he'd been able to keep his amusement from his voice.
"Beautiful days like this should not be wasted on learning things indoors. I know you and mother have many skills you'd like me to learn that are best learned outside. So can't I learn them on nice days, and all the other things on days that you don't want me to go outside?" Arra had stopped and turned her pleading eyes on her father.
Robb was a bit taken aback by his daughter's logic. He momentarily wondered where she'd inherited it from—for neither he nor Talisa could be "accused" of being the most logical—or if it was just natural Arra would glean it from Sascha's rearing. He was also greatly amused at her efforts of persuasion.
"What if we have a whole year's worth of rain?" Robb countered and hid his smile when he saw her eyes bulge, and her shoulders fall in defeat. "While I applaud your innovation in schedules, Arra, I think a good mix of all those subjects throughout the week will be better suited for long-term learning. Otherwise, you'll have a head full of numbers and naught else."
"Yes, then I may never get married." She heaved a great sigh and shrugged her shoulders.
"What do you mean?"
Arra looked at Robb as if he had two heads for not knowing her meaning, "Someone told me that it took you and mother a long time to get married because she had a head full of numbers and shapes of objects. They told me not a lot of men like that, so I shouldn't do too much like that if I want to get married."
Robb felt flushed with anger. While he might have once, foolishly, have agreed with those sentiments, his life and love with Sascha had taught him so many things about women, about learning, and about the worth of innovation. To have his daughter spout the nonsense he used to believe, cut to the quick. Robb knelt so he could be at eye level; he laid his hands on Arra's shoulders and made sure she kept eye contact.
"I don't know who told you that nonsense but don't believe it. Your mother and I had other reasons for delaying getting married and, in truth, it was a good thing we waited. I wasn't ready for such a wonderful woman like your mother. I had a lot of growing up to do, and I thank the gods your mother was patience even after we got married because I was still a bit stupid even then." Arra laughed, and Robb paused long enough to tuck some of her hair behind her ears. "If you feel passionate about something, no matter if it is numbers or history or even becoming a warrior, you should not allow other people's opinions of it and their assumptions of your worth to keep you from pursuing it. Your momma became a healer when very few other women were interested in doing so, and she served on the battlefield. And your mother is a successful inventor when I've yet to meet another woman who does such things." Robb kissed his daughter's forehead. "You come from a family that does not shy away from fighting their way through the struggles of developing their passions. And a man of good character and worth, someone worthy of you, will recognize that and be more than happy to marry you."
Arra flung her arms around Robb's neck, and as they hugged, Robb thanked the gods for Talisa's heart residing within Arra. She wanted so much to be liked and to show love and consideration for others, but she also had the gumption and grit of Robb's father, and mother, but seemed to express herself in a way that resembled Sascha so much that Robb couldn't stop thanking the gods. He could've really cocked things up all those years ago and persisted in his marriage to Talisa. He loved her, and he knew they would've been happy together. However, in retrospect, he also recognized now the wisdom of Sascha's plea for his change of mind. There were far more lives at stake than just his and Talisa's, and if he'd continued down that path, then the gods knew how many of them would've survived those uncertain times.
"Now, what subject were you attempting to get out of?" Robb kissed his daughter's head once more before pulling away and standing.
Arra blushed, "Numbers."
"Well, Arra, you know your mother's inventions require a good grasp of numbers figures. You have a lot of very hopeful prospects of your own, and if you want to someday make them a reality, you're going to have to work your way through the drudgery that is the here and now."
Arra nodded, momentarily heartened at the concept of one day making one of her own inventions. She gave Robb another hug then skipped back in the direction from which she'd fled. Robb was still smiling to himself when he entered the smithies and immediately spotted his wife at a workbench close to the door. She had seated on stools in front of her the twins as well as their Bolton ward, Clarion. He'd been with them for some time now, though they'd only within the past few months made more efforts to integrate the marginally older than the twin's boy into their daily routines. Before that, he'd spent his time with other tutors learning the comings and goings of Winterfell. Robb was thankful that, as far as they could tell, he took after the more cheery and warm demeanor of his Frey mother and less the dour Roose.
"Alright, Clarion," Sascha smiled at Robb when she saw him but directed her attention to her nephew, "can you tell Uncle Robb what we are learning today?"
Clarion looked over his shoulder to Robb, and for a moment, Robb remembered Ramsey and all the pain that bastard had caused. Though Clarion had a quiet and sensitive demeanor, he was the spitting image of Ramsey, and they had all had to reconcile themselves to that fact. There was no reason to mistreat the child for the sins of a bastard half-brother who just happened to resemble him.
"Blacksmith tool safety." He had a distinctive Bolton-esque accent to his voice but spoke clearly and without a lisp, unlike Robar, who seemed to enjoy lisping as many words as possible just to annoy his siblings, and his parents.
Robb nodded, "That sounds very important. I hate to interrupt the lesson, but I need to speak to your maester immediately." He held the letter aloft for Sascha to see, and Robb denoted a tension around her eyes when she spotted it.
"Lawrence," Sascha called to one of the other blacksmiths and waited till he joined their small group before she relayed her instructions, "we just started blacksmith tool safety. These are the tools I was intending on teaching them today," she pointed to the array of tools set out on the workbench. At Lawrence's wide eyes, a bachelor smith that he was, Sascha smiled and patted his shoulder, "They won't bite, hard, and it is acceptable to only get through a few of these. I'll try and come back to relieve you presently. Thank you."
Robb led Sascha back out into the courtyard before Lawrence could protest or the little ones lose interest in the tools. Once alone, Robb handed Sascha the letter and waited until after she'd finished before he spoke.
"Theon Greyjoy confirms the amassing of ships south of the Iron Islands and this letter from Jamie…Tarth also confirms a similar grouping not far from their shipping lanes." Robb still struggled with the former Lannister's change in station and marital status, let alone his identifying name.
Sascha folded the letter, "And Beric spoke of seeing masses of troops getting closer and closer to the Neck." She handed him the letter. "Do you really think they mean it this time? They've threatened before, but nothing came of it. They even tried to take over the western side using the Ironborn, but Elora and Theon warned us early enough for that to be stomped down."
"This time, they appear to have a navy on both sides and an army amassing at the Neck. I'd say that's proof enough of serious threat to call another council meeting, this time to discuss battle tactics." Robb reached out and took Sascha's hand. "I've no doubt we will lose many men and resources in the coming war, but I also believe the gods are in our favor. Fiefdoms have ruled Westeros with greater longevity and success than this new government they're trying to peddle in the south. I believe if we use our allies adeptly, we might even be able to destabilize those in the south who are already teetering on the edge of loyalty."
Sascha grinned and kissed him. "You have no idea how attractive you are when you talk strategy to me."
Robb laughed before kissing his wife again, this time with more fervor.
At the sound of the bedroom door closing, Sascha looked up from the schematic for a fire-throwing machine to be attached to either the bow or the stern, or both. Ever since her conversation with Robb earlier that day she'd had fantasies of using the fire concoction she'd made in combat. When water was thrown on it, the fire grew more extensive, and so far, the only way to get it to die out was to smother it. In reality, however, unless you knew that you'd only spread the fire further and make it stronger using known methods. It was devious, but it would help the Ironborn if they were recruited to fight for their side against the mercenary sailors from the south.
"Are they all abed?" Sascha asked as she returned her attention to the finishing touches of her drawing.
Robb grunted, and she heard the sounds of him disrobing from the dressing screen behind her. Sascha lost herself in her work once more and nearly startled when her peripherals picked up Robb's face hovering just off to her right. She quickly ran through the schematic with him, explaining the different features, and by the end of it, Robb was smiling and gave her a thorough kiss as a reward. He then threw himself into bed and doused the candle on his bedside stand. Sascha quickly finished off her work and joined her husband, the only light that of the embers of the fire.
Sascha nestled up beside Robb, tucking her arms, legs, and head in their appropriate places to feel comfortable and safe. Once it was time for actual sleep, both she and Robb would turn away from one another and utilize their "own side" of the bed. But for the first moments in bed, they reserved that for close contact, that sometimes led to physical intimacy and sometimes didn't. Sascha, feeling the fatigue seeping out Robb's body, understood that tonight would hold only kisses and touches but nothing else.
Robb broke the silence with a chuckle, "You'll never guess who showed up just after dinner today."
"Well, if I'll never guess, then I suppose you should tell me." Sascha giggled when Robb poked her ribs at her impish response.
"Bronn."
Sascha pulled her head back and stared at Robb, "Bronn? Truly? Why is he here? Is he hoping we will employ his services in the coming war? Do we need him? Do we have the coins for that?"
Robb placed his finger against her lips, and Sascha sighed. She did have a habit of asking too many questions at once.
"He is already employed, and it is employment linked to the coming war. He will be fighting on our side, helping to train and lead troops if it comes to that. And from what I know of him, though he's a surly sort of fellow, mercenary cutthroat as well, he is a skilled tactician and fighter."
"He's already employed?" Sascha again pulled her head away from Robb's shoulder and stared at him. "You're purposefully coy, and I'm too tired for games. Just tell me in truth why he's here and who's employed him." She sighed and laid her head back against Robb's shoulder.
She heard and felt Robb chuckle at her ire, and he heaved a heavy sigh before he explained, "It seems we have had even further confirmation for our suppositions by Bronn's very presence. His employer was unnamed, but Bronn let drop enough not so subtle hints as to trigger some insight." Robb tipped Sascha's head up and kissed her forehead. "It seems our good brother Tyrion Lannister wants to send us as much aid as possible but without being directly involved and thereby endangering his own family."
Sascha was surprised and humbled both. She knew that it had been some time since they'd been able to meet with either Sansa or Tyrion without things growing heated because of political matters. The fact that Tyrion was willing to do this impressed Sascha. Perhaps having children, and living in the frontlines of the bloated bureaucracy, as Sascha had heard the new government described, had taught Tyrion the importance of discovering what was truly valuable in life. And political power, while tempting, was not nearly as enriching as a well-tended hearth and a happy home.
"Well," Sascha gave a one-shoulder shrug, "that is most surprising. Appreciated, and surprising. I suppose we will have to be careful how we say thank you to Tyrion and Sansa." Robb nodded. "And we will have to send them gifts again, now that they're on our nice list." Robb laughed. They'd jokingly divided different members of the family and their friends between two lists, those on the naughty list would get no gifts for weddings or name days, whereas those on the nice list would.
"I don't think we ever followed through with that concept."
"You're right," Sascha sighed, her fingers tracing circles on Robb's chest, "we're far too nice to do it."
Robb laughed and squeezed Sascha closer, "More likely too preoccupied with four children running about."
"And your council duties lets not forget that." Sascha kissed Robb's chest, then leaned up and kissed his neck, his cheek, and his lips. "I thank the gods for you, husband."
Robb smiled and kissed Sascha back, "And I, you, wife. Thank you for not giving up on me."
"Well," Sascha feigned a concerned attitude, and Robb poked her again until she laughed and conceded, "thank you also for putting up with me and being patient with me. I know I haven't always been easy to deal with either." Sascha was referring to her memory loss and the months of recovery after. She still could not recall all the details of their life before her "death" and memory loss. But she was very content with how their relationship had built up in the time since and had no complaints.
"How about we call it a draw on who is more thankful?" Robb grinned at her, and Sascha felt the familiar warmth spread out in her chest whenever he smiled at her like that.
She nodded, "Agreed." She kissed the tip of his nose before rolling onto her opposite side and getting ready for sleep. "But tomorrow, I get to be more thankful."
She heard Robb laugh and she smiled. The gods had been kind to them, and she trusted that they would be able to face whatever storm was brewing and heading their way.
