Chapter Two: Robb

"Your Grace, we've received word from Lord Stannis' outriders. He's accepted a parley with you tomorrow at midday at the gates of Storm's End."

Robb looked up from the map he was currently poring over with Renly. It had been a week since they had departed Bitterbridge and rode hard for Storm's End, where Stannis Baratheon was laying siege to the ancestral castle of House Baratheon. And once they had gotten there, Robb had insisted that he and Renly open formal negotiations of an alliance between them. That was what the two kings were doing when the knight had entered the tent. Ser Alyn Estermont had entered the war tent with good news, but for a man who was delivering good news, Ser Alyn had an unpleasant look on his face, like he was smelling horseshit.

Apparently, Renly had a similar thought. "Excellent, Ser Alyn. Why do you look so glum, my friend?"

The knight looked from Renly to Robb and back. "You have a visitor, Your Grace. You both do."

That was a surprise to Robb. He had only come to Storm's End because Renly had asked him to. His own lords that had accompanied him were starting to get restless. The Greatjon had spoken to him just the previous night, "Your Grace, we should return to Riverrun and prepare our attack on the Westerlands. Your own men need you, Renly Baratheon does not." Robb still held out hope of an alliance and had decided to stay until Renly had taken care of Stannis. But still, no one except for his men back in Riverrun and Renly's own men knew he was here. No one should be visiting him here.

"Who is it?" asked Renly.

"Lord Petyr Baelish, Your Grace," sighed Ser Alyn.

Instantly, Robb and Renly's faces contorted into identical scowls. "I suppose we should greet him, what say you King Robb?"

Robb sighed. If meeting Littlefinger hurries this along and helps me solidify an alliance with Renly, then by all means. "We should not keep a lord of such renown as Littlefinger waiting."

Renly gave a short laugh and hurried out of the tent, with Brienne of Tarth and Loras Tyrell trailing not far behind him. Robb clicked his fingers at Grey Wind, who stood and followed Robb out of the tent. It was late afternoon and the sun was about to set, turning the sky a brilliant mixture of gold and blue. There was not even the slightest flutter of a breeze, making the day rather warm. With this kind of weather, no wonder Brienne and the others think winter will never come. But it would, it always did. Robb quickened his pace and fell into line beside Renly. They strolled down the main path of his camp, noticing the bows and praise that the others bestowed upon Renly.

They did not have far to walk, for standing in the middle of the camp attended to by Ser Cleon was a small and slender man. He had a pointed beard with gray hair mixed in with the black, though he could not have passed more than thirty namedays. He had a smile on his face as the party approached, but Robb instantly noted that his eyes did not match his smile. To add to his suspicions, Grey Wind started growling the second he lay eyes on the man everyone called 'Littlefinger'.

Renly approached Littlefinger with a look of disdain etched on his face. "Ah, my favorite whoremonger. I pray I have not kept you waiting long." Renly strode past Littlefinger into the nearest tent. Robb noted that Littlefinger's face matched Renly's exactly; the same look of contempt.

"Your Grace," said Littlefinger quietly.

Then Littlefinger turned to Robb. "Your Grace, the King in the North, is it? I had not thought to meet you here. I assumed that your mother, the fair Lady Catelyn would be here." Littlefinger spoke to Robb, but his eyes were locked on Grey Wind, who was growling and snarling louder by the second.

"I thought it would be more seemly to treat directly with King Renly rather than send an envoy. I trust that my presence here does not intrude upon your plans, Lord Baelish?"

"Of course not, Your Grace. Come, we should not keep His Grace Renly waiting." Littlefinger ducked into the tent, and Robb followed.

Robb knew all about Petyr Baelish. His father and Maester Luwin would sometimes tell him and Jon about Robert's Rebellion. One of the key points was that his mother was actually betrothed to his uncle Brandon, who was the heir to Winterfell. Petyr Baelish had been in love with Catelyn since childhood and had challenged Brandon to a duel for Catelyn's hand against everyone's advice. Brandon had won, but even after his father had married his mother, both Robb and his father suspected Littlefinger to still be in love with Catelyn. I don't trust Littlefinger one bit. Perhaps if he displeases us, Grey Wind can give him a real scare.

Robb chuckled at that quietly to himself as Renly and Littlefinger began to converse.

Inside, Renly sat down at a desk while Brienne stood guard over him. Renly pored over some letters with his back to Littlefinger, giving the impression that he did not particularly care about Littlefinger's presence. "So now you do the Lannisters' bidding, is it? Tell me, was my brother's body even cold before you secured your newest patron?"

Robb stood halfway between them, watching them both carefully. Littlefinger's face was passive as he replied, "I'm a practical man."

Renly glanced up at Brienne. "Just not a loyal one."

"And who would you have me be loyal to? Your brother's corpse?" fired back Littlefinger.

At those words, Renly stood and faced his guest directly. "I don't like you Lord Baelish. My friend here doesn't like you," he said, gesturing to Robb. "I don't like your face. I don't like the words that come oozing out of your mouth. I don't want you in my tent one minute more than necessary. So tell me, why are you here?"

Littlefinger's eyes swept over Robb, then to Brienne. Renly waved them off. "You can trust Brienne. Her loyalty comes without charge. And as for Robb Stark, well, I'd trust him sooner than I'd trust you any day of the year."

"You still have many friends at court, Your Grace. Many who believed, forgive me," the Master of Coin quipped as his eyes once again found Robb, "that Ned Stark erred by not supporting your claim as king." No, you are not forgiven for such slander, Littlefinger.

Renly smirked at Littlefinger. "Now I understand. You know I have the numbers. You wish to retain your position when I take King's Landing. And your head."

"I would give priority to my head. I understand you do not like me. That saddens me greatly, but I came not to seek your affection. When you march on the capital, you may find yourself facing a protracted siege…or open gates." Littlefinger let that last statement linger in the air as he turned to Robb.

"And for the King in the North…the Imp has heard your peace terms. As you know, he has rejected them outright. His primary concern is that of the Kingslayer."

Robb took a step toward Littlefinger. "I will not release the Kingslayer, no matter what Tyrion Lannister says. And my father did what he thought was right, Lord Baelish. You rewarded his honor by betraying him."

Littlefinger's eyes narrowed. "I begged your father to serve as Protector of the Realm, to seize the power."

"And when he didn't go along with your plan, you handed him over to the queen and Joffrey. I will not dishonor my father's memory by listening to your lies one second longer!"

Littlefinger raised his hands in mock surrender. "I can see that I have upset you. But it was the queen and Joffrey who killed your father. I tried to help him. So did His Grace King Renly. You do not seem to have the same animosity towards His Grace as you seem to have for me…Your Grace. As a token of goodwill, I have a gift for you." He clapped his hands, and two Silent Sisters brought in a wooden box.

"I wish nothing from you," sneered Robb.

"It is not from me. Nor is it from Cersei or Joffrey. It is from Tyrion Lannister. As I said earlier, the Imp has great concern for the welfare of his beloved elder brother. I know that you can understand such concern. Your sisters, Sansa and Arya, they are well cared for, but I fear for their longevity the longer they remain in the capital."

"Are you threatening my sisters?"

"I would never, Your Grace. But you have surprised them with your skills in the field, your capture of the Kingslayer. Every time you win against the Lannisters, your sister Sansa suffers for it. Joffrey torments her each time you are victorious. But the Imp is sympathetic to you. He, like you, wants his family back. He gives this to you in hopes that peace can eventually be achieved between your two great houses. He, and I, thought it was time the honorable Lord of Winterfell was returned to where he belongs."

Robb turned his attention to the box. He knelt, opened it, and stared at the bones that lay inside. His father's bones. He could not help it; he could feel tears starting to form in his eyes. Poor Father, I failed you. I am looking at the very evidence of my failure to rescue you. I wonder if you forgive me. Without another word, he picked up the box and swept from the tent. But Littlefinger said, "Forgive me, Your Grace. I shall take mine own leave with the King in the North." And the Master of Coin followed him out.

It was now dark out; lanterns had been lit to illuminate the path. Robb carried the box as quickly as he could, hoping that Littlefinger's quarters were on the other side of the camp. But no such luck, as Littlefinger fell in line beside him.

"Give my regards to your mother, Your Grace. Lady Catelyn, I have always had a certain affection towards her." Is he actually trying to get me to talk him up to my mother right now?

Robb could not very well run whilst carrying the box that contained his father's remains, nor could he as King in the North. But thankfully, Grey Wind had followed them out of Renly's tent, and the three of them set off for Robb's tent. Robb was pleased to see that Littlefinger was noticeably uncomfortable with the direwolf's company but said nothing. Suddenly Grey Wind's aggressive demeanor stopped, and he began to wag his tail and pant like he was a newborn puppy. Robb looked behind and saw the reason. Ser Loras and Queen Margaery were walking down the path behind them. Ser Loras drew even with Renly's tent and disappeared inside, but Margaery continued down the path towards Robb and Littlefinger.

"Lord Baelish, how nice to see you." The young queen spoke with such soft courtesy that Robb could not tell if she held any true animosity towards Littlefinger. "King Robb, a pleasure to see you as well. And how are you," she crooned as she stroked Grey Wind's head. Robb smiled and mentally shook his head. My direwolf goes from fearsome beast to innocent pup whenever she comes near.

"Your Grace," schmoozed Littlefinger. "All of these tents look the same to me. Would you be so kind…?"

"It would be my pleasure. It took me weeks to learn my way around the camp. And each time I learn which tent is mine, we are on the move again."

Littlefinger gave her a small smile, but there was more deviousness than sincerity in it. "Your tent…not our tent? Does the king snore, perhaps, or prefer solitude?"

"Are you insinuating something, Lord Baelish?" snapped Robb. Grey Wind gave a low growl, but Margaery gave the both of them soft smiles. "There's no need. I'm sure Lord Baelish was just wondering about my sleeping arrangements, but if you have such cause for concern, by all means, take the matter up with my royal husband."

Littlefinger twisted his beard. "I noticed your brother entering His Grace's tent just now."

Margaery's response was quick. "The place of a Kingsguard is by the King."

"And on your wedding night, who was by the king's side then?"

"You seem quite interested in our marriage."

"Your marriage is quite interesting to me. Not only to me, but to the realm."

Margaery stopped and faced Littlefinger directly. "You have never been married, have you, my lord?"

"I have been unsuccessful in that manner, Your Grace, just as unlucky as our friend the King in the North has been." Littlefinger gestured to Robb.

"Perhaps it is just as well for you. Unlike His Grace King Robb, the concept of marriage seems to utterly confuse you. So, allow me to explain. My husband is my king and my king is my husband. Here is your tent, Lord Baelish. Good night."

And with that the queen strolled away as briskly as she could, and Robb found himself jogging to keep up with her. "I apologize for Lord Baelish, Margaery."

"For what? You did not make him ask those insipid questions." No, but all the same he obviously caused you discomfort, and for that I am sorry. "Are you alright?"

Margaery smiled, and Robb could tell that it was no fake smile like the one he was certain she gave Littlefinger. "I am fine. My brother is currently with the king, so I find myself in need of companionship. My first thought was to find Grey Wind, of course." She scratched the direwolf on his head, causing him to wag his tail so wildly Robb thought it might spin off and fly away.

A few more paces had passed before Robb thought of a topic to discuss. I'm still having trouble thinking clearly around her.

"I am to join your brother and your husband at the parley with Lord Stannis tomorrow. My father used to say he could not believe that Robert and Stannis shared a mother. I've met King Robert, and I am trying to envision the opposite of such a man."

Margaery was silent for a moment, but then said, "I've always imagined Lord Stannis to be like your father, but without any humor or any emotion, really."

Robb arched an eyebrow. "You've never met Lord Stannis? Was he not present for your wedding to Renly?"

Margaery shook her head. "I was married to Renly just after your lord father was executed by the Lannisters. By then, both Lord Stannis and Renly were calling the banners to war."

They had reached Robb's tent, where the Greatjon and Maege Mormont were standing. "Your Grace…Your Grace," called the Greatjon, adding the second title for Margaery's benefit. His voice had such vigor and carried in such a way that many knights across the path suddenly snapped to attention, believing that Renly was at hand. "At ease, my lord. As it happens, I have need of you and Lady Mormont to take this to your quarters."

"Is that…" started Lady Mormont.

"My lord father's remains. Lord Eddard Stark should be returned to Winterfell immediately so that he may rest in the crypts beneath Winterfell alongside his parents, his brother, and his sister."

The Greatjon nodded solemnly. "I would be honored to escort Lord Stark to his rightful resting place, Your Grace." Robb nodded. "I would ask the both of you to go. Have no fear, I am in no danger here in King Renly's company. Grey Wind and Ser Wendel shall remain to me, but the rest of you must go. I fear a battle between Stannis and Renly is nigh approaching, and I will not chance my father's remains being lost."

"Do you mean to fight alongside King Renly, Your Grace?" asked Lady Mormont.

"I hope it does not come to battle, but I am close to securing an alliance with Renly. Should battle between the Baratheon brothers come, I will fight alongside King Renly once we have come to an alliance. Doubtless, he will want our men to march with him to King's Landing once he has defeated Stannis, or have our men meet him there. Regardless, I would have my father returned home beforehand. Take it by way of Riverrun, so my lady mother might see her husband one last time before he descends into the crypts."

The Greatjon nodded. "I will defend Lord Eddard with my life, Your Grace. We shall set forth at break of day." With that, the Greatjon and Lady Mormont gingerly carried the box containing the remains of Lord Eddard Stark away.

"Are you alright?" asked Margaery.

Robb stirred. He had been on the verge of tears again, but it would be unseemly to cry in front of a queen, even if he was a king. "Yes, thank you. My tent is here, I thank you for escorting me."

Margaery smiled warmly. "Your thanks are appreciated, but not necessary. I was already on my way here. I wonder if you would not mind my company for a short spell longer?"

I ought not to, she is Renly's queen. He might actually kill me if I…No, nothing will happen. I stopped myself at Bitterbridge, I can control myself. We shall simply talk, nothing more. "Of course not, Margaery, come in."

Inside, Grey Wind padded over to his rug and promptly went to sleep.

There was not a place to sit for guests, so both Robb and Margaery sat down on his bed. For a moment, the two of them looked at one another, then glanced away.

"So, tell me about the North. I have never been but I would like to know all about it, and what better man to tell me than its king?"

Robb looked directly into her warm, brown eyes. "It is very…cold."

Margaery laughed so hard at that Robb was sure that the entire camp could hear. Hell, he was certain his brothers in Winterfell could hear her. When she finally stopped laughing, Robb said, "In truth, the North is a beautiful country. It is the land of honor and integrity. It is rather cold, but not so at Winterfell; the castle is built on a hot spring, so it is relatively warm. The people there usually are wary of outsiders and southerners, but they respect loyalty above all else."

Margaery smiled. "It sounds absolutely lovely. I cannot imagine why my husband would want to part with such a land."

"I assure you, I negotiated hard for dominion over the North. He at last relented," Robb joked.

The queen gave him a smirk that seemed to warm Robb all over. I mustn't…she's Renly's queen…I'm to marry a Frey…she's Renly's queen…A king for a crossing, why did I ever consent…she's Renly's queen…

"For a warlike Northerner, I think you'd fit in well at Highgarden. When the fighting is over, and you and Renly are kings for all time, won't you grace us with a visit there?"

"Won't you live in King's Landing?" asked Robb.

"Surely, but I intend for my children to know where their mother hails from. Say what you will about Cersei, at least she made sure her children were proud of their Lannister heritage."

"In that case, I wouldn't dream of turning down such an invitation. Though I might have to leave Grey Wind. The warm temperatures don't agree with him, even here."

Margaery gave the tiniest of pouts. "A shame. I suppose I'll have to make do with you," she said, fake sighing, the smirk on her face returning. Robb felt his face grow slightly warmer. She's Renly's queen.

Suddenly, Margaery stood up and walked over to the desk where Renly had left a book open. "Oh yes, The Traditional Dances of Westeros. My mother gifted this to Renly on our wedding day, but he had no need for it, he dances beautifully."

"I'm sure he does. My own sister used to joke that I had two left feet when it came to dancing, I preferred to practice swordplay," said Robb.

Margaery raised an eyebrow. "I must see this dancing style. Is two left feet common in the North?"

"No more common than it is in the Reach."

"Then, you must allow me to teach you. The Freys are from the south, you will be expected to dance with your bride at your wedding, and properly I might add. Please, allow me to teach you," begged Margaery.

Robb was not aware of agreeing or standing, all he knew was one moment he was sitting on his featherbed and the next he was standing barely half a foot away from Margaery, his hands around her waist and hers around his neck.

As they swayed to nonexistent music, Robb could not help but wonder why Renly would prefer Loras' company to that of his sister's. Then he realized that Renly had it best; he preferred Loras but married Margaery for political gain. The two looked so alike that Renly did not have to settle for looking at a less appealing face. Come to think of it, Loras and Margaery looked more alike than the Lannister twins. But Margaery's face, her smile, her laugh, her warmth…they all outshined Cersei's by a hundred leagues. Robb remembered the queen when she had visited Winterfell. He wondered if in the future, Margaery might visit him at Winterfell.

As Margaery twirled in place, Robb could not help but stare. It was only natural, he was a man, but as he tried to convince himself that it was wrong to stare at her perfect breasts, her breathtaking curves, he still did it all the same. He had to slightly turn away, for his cock had begun to stir. I mustn't…she's Renly's queen…

At last, Robb stepped back. "Why are you stopping now? You're a natural, so graceful. I do not believe for a second that you have two left feet. You dance better than myself," laughed Margaery.

Robb focused on Grey Wind. It was much easier to look at the direwolf, who was snoozing peacefully without a care in the world. I envy you, Grey Wind. I wonder if you have ever envied me but right now, I envy you. "I feel a bit tired. I might sleep so I am refreshed for the parley tomorrow. It would be rather rude to Lord Stannis to show up half-awake."

"Alright then. If I upset you in some way, I apologize deeply. Good night, Robb."

With that, Margaery took her leave. Robb watched her go before lying down on his bed. You are this close, Robb. Do not ruin an alliance with Renly by lusting for his wife. Control yourself.

But no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, he could not quite get Margaery Tyrell's tantalizing smile and deep brown eyes out of his head.

Disclaimer: Once again, I am not George R.R. Martin and thus I do not own these characters.