The sound of pouring rain roused an exhausted Robb from his snooze. Usually, the pitter-pattering of rain would lull him back into the realm of deep dreams – it was not the case today.
Rubbing his eyes, Robb wearily rose from his bed and padded barefoot across the room. He peered out the window and sighed gloomily. The vast sky was again a canvas of dark grey – just like the last six days. Though it was dawn, the endless downpour of rain had already started. Small, sharp shards of water rained down from the cluster of heavy, thunderous clouds, pelting those unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire.
Absently scratching his chin, Robb glanced at the sleeping Daenerys, huddling cosily in layers upon layers of fur blankets. Your wife, Robb reminded himself for the one hundredth, if not more, time. Daenerys is now your wife. Instead of feeling warmth in his heart, he felt…anxiety. What's the matter with you? Robb pondered irritably. You wormed out of a political betrothal and married your true love. You should be happy. Leaving Daenerys sound asleep, Robb went down to his father's solar to begin his day. To his astonishment, Jon was already there waiting for him. Usually it was the maester who was first to speak to Robb.
"Jon!" said Robb, unable to conceal his surprise. "Brother! I…I didn't expect to see you here so early! I thought you'd be…training."
More solemn than usual, Jon jerked his head to the solar window. "It's raining, Robb," he stated flatly. "Maester Luwin said that there will most likely be a storm today. It'd been raining for about a week now. The visiting lords are growing um, impatient." His dark grey eyes met Robb's. "Some want to go and kill wildlings. A few others just want to go home. To their families," he added, his eyes not leaving Robb's, "and their loved ones."
Impatience jolted Robb in the gut. Couldn't Jon see that he'd also wanted all of the visiting lords gone? Half of them refused to speak to him; the rare couple that did spoke words laced with sarcasm and a heavy dose of malice. "I cannot control the weather," said Robb coolly. "It is late autumn and we're bound to receive a lot of rain. That is to be expected Jon."
Jon nodded expressionlessly. "I used to enjoy listening to rain," he commented. "Not that much anymore. Remember when we were young boys Robb? When the weather was foul and it was raining, we cheered. I hated training in the rain. Only Domeric would continue. He said the rain never bothered him. We have been bad children, Robb. Avoided training with the excuse of rain. Avoided Maester Luwin with the excuse of sunny days…"
Robb laughed. "We were children back then, Jon. You were better than I. You'd never fall for temptation."
"There was nothing to tempt me."
"I'm sure there was, Jon. I'm sure there was."
"Any news from Father?" Jon asked suddenly.
Robb doubted Jon came so early to reminisce their childhood, discuss the rain, the weather and inquire about letters. "There's been a letter from Father late last night," Robb decided to say to him. "Father wrote that the king is quite impatient. He wants Lyarra and Arya – or at least just Lyarra – to be at King's Landing soon for the royal wedding. Father wrote that once Lyarra arrives, the wedding will be held in three days."
"Did you write back?"
"Of course. I wrote that bad weather has delayed their departure. Father must know how awful autumn weather can get. I also wrote that if I allowed my sisters to travel in such weather, it might damage their health."
Jon arched an eyebrow. "Arya never wanted to go south. Lyarra never wanted to be the future queen either." Robb bit back an angry retort as Jon looked at him almost accusingly.
"Plans change," Robb said as coldly as he could muster. Father had no trouble speaking icily to his bannermen. It was time Robb learnt to do it properly too. "It was not planned," he repeated. "Marrying Prince Orys is an honour many lords of the south desire for their own daughters. From all the noblewomen in the realms, the king chose Lyarra to be his good-daughter."
"He'd demanded her once Father told him you'd jilted the Princess Lyanna and married Daenerys. You are lucky the king didn't demand your head."
Robb groaned. Day upon day – if it wasn't the maester, it would be Jon, or Arya, or Lyarra, or one of the northern lords (usually the Greatjon). Domeric refused to speak to him and the sole person who seemed genuinely happy for him and Dany was Theon, who'd thought it an amusing jape. "Would you like a sprinkle of sugar on top of your porridge my lady Stark?" Theon would ask one day at breakfast, as he bowed mockingly at Daenerys. Another time Theon would 'politely' inquire to her, "Will we all be expecting to see Robb's pups someday soon my lady Stark? A vast litter perhaps?" He would've continued harassing poor Dany if Robb had not told him to stop by threatening to rip out his balls.
"…and I have been thinking about it for quite some time now," Jon was saying. He looked slightly uncomfortable. "I had always thought Winterfell my home, but now with you married to Daenerys and um, with both Daenerys and I being…" He took a deep breath. "I think it'll be best if I leave Winterfell for a while," he said in a rush, not meeting Robb's eye.
Robb stared at him, dumbfounded.
The mild irritation and anger vanished as Jon's words slowly sank in. What he had said was true. Maester Luwin had once taught them a saying: never put all of your eggs in one basket. Having both the last of the Targaryens at Winterfell was dangerous. With so much resentment brewing in Winterfell, one little slip would send House Stark towards the black cells on the grounds of treason.
"Where will you go?" said Robb tentatively.
"North," said Jon promptly. "Not to join the Night's Watch," he said hastily. "No, I have no desire of doing that, but I want to help them fight the wildlings. The um, wildlings, will not fight fair which will put the black brothers at a disadvantage. I learnt a few Dornish tactics from Prince Oberyn and thought, why not attempt to utilise them if needed? They aren't the most honourable fighting tactics, but what can you expect from the Red Viper of Dorne?"
"We have not fought in a true war before," Robb reminded him. "We had mock wars in the courtyard, but they will be nothing compared to the skirmishes you'll face against the wildlings. You might…you might die," he finished lamely.
Jon cracked a tiny smile. "We will all die one day."
"Are you sure you want to die fighting wildlings?"
Jon's smile disappeared instantly. "I've already thought about it," he said again, more stiffly. "With your permission my lord brother, I'd like to leave tomorrow at dawn for Castle Black with a number of men."
"Tomorrow? At dawn?" Robb looked at him blankly. "Jon! It'll probably still be raining tomorrow! You would die first of a cold! Wait until the rain fully clears at least." An idea struck him. "Go south instead," he suggested on a whim. "Arya and Lyarra will need to be escorted to King's Landing and as I cannot do it, you can go in my stead." Jon didn't look pleased in the slightest. "We will all die one day," Jon repeated. "Battlefields have held the bodies of the fallen for centuries and may be holding mine. We don't know what the old gods or new have planned for us. Hell, we could die tomorrow at the orders of an angry lord. Besides, I don't think it's at all appropriate for a bastard like me to escort my trueborn sisters to court."
"You are my brother, Jon. Besides, you are not a bastard-"
"Yes I am," Jon cut in, his voice as cold as ice. "Whoever my true parents are, it is still pretty clear that I am a bastard." He paused. "Lord Cerwyn will be going to Castle Black with his troops tomorrow morning. His troops will meet up with the host from Torrhen's Square that had already set out. I wish to meet up with their hosts with mine own tomorrow. If I leave with a squadron of men at dawn, there is a good chance we can meet up in a couple of hours. It might cease any possible rumours of House Stark hiding behind strong walls," he added. Robb flushed. He should go and fight with Jon at the least, but Maester Luwin had said with Father south with Bran, if Robb was to leave or die, the next acting lord would be Arthur, a young boy of six.
"I'll have a few troops readied," said Robb heavily, his heart sinking like a rock in a pond. "At least pack plenty of uh, warm clothes, sturdy boots and lots of food and weapon supplies that will last the journey and war. Oh, and be sure to write a letter to Father. He will need to know why you have decided to leave Winterfell for Castle Black with a troop or two of his men."
When the servants delivered Robb his afternoon meal, his mood had not at all improved and his responsibilities have not lessened. In fact, they seemed to have grown. By the time Robb sank his teeth into a thick slice of bread lathered with a generous portion of butter and a chunk of ham ravenously like a wildling, he was heartily tired of listening to the maester's droning lecture about potential actions to pursue for the good of Winterfell.
Honestly, Robb liked old Maester Luwin and was very grateful for all that he'd done; fixing Arya's injuries, teaching Arthur and Rickon and offering mostly good and wise advice, but how much could a young man take in listening to numerous methods of solving possible succession crises that hadn't even arisen yet? That in itself was not as bad as being obliged to take note of likely betrothals to 'mend all the bridges' between House Stark and powerful northern lords.
"House Stark has been alienated and has no allies," Maester Luwin was saying for the third time in a day. "Though House Stark remains Wardens of the North, it is never safe to be without allies in the North. Chances of rebellion are slim; not a guarantee though. Especially nowadays with Lady Stark being Dornish and Lady Lyarra betrothed to a prince rather than a Northman."
Robb almost groaned aloud. It seemed old Maester Luwin's absolute favourite topic of discussion was always betrothals and creating alliances.
"…of course as acting lord, you cannot authorise any betrothals or marriages without your lord father's consent, but you can-"
"What are you trying to say, Maester?" said Robb crossly.
Maester Luwin stared at him unblinkingly. "Send a raven to Lord Bolton Robb. Apologise for your actions and offer him Lady Arya as Domeric's bride. Tell him if he agrees, you will swear on the old gods and news that the month after Arya has her first flowering, she will wed Domeric. Increase her dowry too if it will please Lord Bolton. Once that is sorted, start planning betrothals and fosterings for your brothers Arthur, Rickon and maybe even Bran. Send your plans to your father. It is only he who can decide whether to pursue your plans or not. Once it is all done, House Stark will be strong with allies again."
"That won't work," said Robb at once. "Arya is to journey south in a day or two and Jojen told me that Lord Bolton immediately betrothed Domeric to Greatjon's daughter Arrana. Maester, I cannot afford to slight House Umber, especially in the field of marriage."
"Your sister Gwenysse," said the maester simply, as if he had already given the matter a great deal of thought. "Foster her with the Umbers. She can serve as the cupbearer and companion to Lady Umber. When she flowers, she can marry Lord Umber's youngest son. A wedding gift can be a holdfast and lordship. The Lord of Last Hearth would be a fool to refuse that."
A sound plan, but Robb remained doubtful. The thought of running to the Wall to help fight was more enticing now. Over the last few days, Greatjon Umber had grudgingly discussed battle plans with Robb and they were enjoyable to talk and listen about. Definitely more interesting than alliance-making. "I thought serving as cupbearers is a southron custom," said Robb apprehensively.
Maester Luwin shook his head. "Not exactly. Though it is more common in the south, boys and girls serving as cupbearers had been done in the north too. From the scrolls in the library, it is said that the last Barrow King's sole son served as a page and cupbearer to his good-brother the Stark king. Lady Jeyne Manderly was the cupbearer to Lord Cregan's second wife Lady Alysanne Blackwood before she was married to Lord Cregan's heir Rickon."
"I see. Father will not be pleased with Gwenysse marrying a younger son."
The maester frowned at him. "Robb, it is not my place to criticise the Lord – or in this case the acting Lord – of Winterfell, but I am obliged to reprimand you as a maester would to his student. If you'd heeded my earlier advice Robb, you would not be in this situation. There will be northern matches, but your father would've had the opportunity to ally with other noble Houses such as House Royce or even a noble House from the Riverlands."
Robb bit his lip to suppress his annoyance. "I see." He tapped the table. "When do you think the rain will cease?"
"A day or two perhaps."
"You read my father's letters, Maester. The king is getting impatient. He wants Lyarra and Arya at King's Landing very soon. It is getting harder to control Arya – she had already attempted to escape her chambers twice. We need to send both of them to King's Landing under heavy guard."
"Heavy guard Robb? They are going to King's Landing, not a prison."
"I was thinking of sending Theon with them," said Robb thoughtfully. "I would have preferred Jon escorting Lyarra and Arya, but he is set on travelling with his host of soldiers north. I cannot send Domeric; it would cause more trouble."
Maester Luwin frowned deeply. "Theon, Robb? Are you certain that is a…wise idea? His reputation is not exactly ah, pristine and honourable."
Now it was Robb who frowned. "I trust Theon, Maester Luwin. I think of him a brother like I do to Jon and…Domeric." It was true that these days Theon spent at least half his time in whorehouses and taverns, but he was still Theon. He hadn't lost his talent in archery and was still skilled with the sword. Besides, Theon was basically part of the family and would ardently protect Lyarra and Arya as if they were his sisters by blood.
"Theon Greyjoy is not the most reliable though, Robb."
Robb sighed. "I know Theon wasn't studious in the schoolroom, but he's good with the sword and bow. He can protect my sisters."
"So can all of the household guards Robb. If you intend for your lady sisters to be escorted with a nobleman, why not make it an honour and select the best lord or northern heir to escort them? Perhaps Smalljon Umber or a Karstark?"
"I do not trust them Maester," Robb said truthfully. "If not Jon, then Theon will have to do. I plan to ask him to escort them."
"The northerners will not be pleased. They might think of it as an honour to be chosen to escort your sisters and they will be slighted if you select Theon instead of one of them. Perhaps a compromise? Maybe you choose four nobles to take the Lady Lyarra and Lady Arya to King's Landing? Theon can be one of them."
Robb nodded. It was fair enough. Besides, the four nobles selected would most likely be invited to stay for Lyarra's wedding. "Maybe ten?" he suggested. "I have no desire to insult anymore powerful noble Houses. I will ask Dacey Mormont or one of her siblings, Smalljon Umber, one of the Karstarks and a Ryswell, a knight of House Manderly, Robett Glover, Robin Flint, Daryn Hornwood, Cley Cerwyn or a Tallhart or Domeric and Theon."
"Wise, Robb, but as most of them are already heading to Castle Black…"
Robb huffed. "There is just no pleasing them all Maester!"
"Indeed," Maester Luwin agreed sadly, "and some of them probably wish to be off fighting wildlings than escorting your sisters. Choose carefully Robb." He rose from his seat. "Forgive me, but your lady wife asked me to see her and I'm afraid that I am already late."
Worry washed over Robb. "Is Dany alright?"
"I have not seen her yet, my lord Robb. In fact, it was Arthur who told me Lady Daenerys asked to see me in her chambers. Perhaps she caught a cold."
"Daenerys is rarely sick, except when it comes to her ah…"
Maester Luwin nodded. "I know."
Robb stood up too. Might as well go and stretch his legs for a bit. He glanced at the window. It was still raining ferociously. He wished it would stop – for a small time even! He was twitching to grab his sword for a sparring session. Ah well, the rain didn't seem to cease anytime soon. I will visit my sisters. They have both been confined in their chambers on my orders. Perhaps tempers will die down once I talk to them. For fear of further embarrassment in front of the lingering lords, he had ordered servants to bring meals to Lyarra and Arya every day.
It didn't take Robb very long to walk to Lyarra's chamber. When he entered he was surprised to see Arya lying on Lyarra's bed and Lyarra at her desk the sound of her quill scratching at a parchment. I suppose the guards thought it was alright for Arya to visit Lyarra, Robb decided. "Lyarra, Arya," he said cautiously. Arya did not even look at him. Neither did Lyarra. Robb tried again. "Lyarra, Arya," he said a little louder. Arya glanced up and shot him a withering look. "You remember us at last?" she said coldly.
"I never forgot you," said Robb irritably.
Arya snorted. "Imprisoning us in our chambers? Forbidding us to talk to other people? Shipping us off to King's Landing? We are paying for your crimes."
"I did not want that."
"I'm surprised all those lords are still sending men to fight those wildlings on your order. I would've taken all my men home."
Lyarra stood up and faced Robb. Folding her parchment in half, she held it out to him. "I suppose you're here to tell us we are to leave soon?" she asked without a hint of emotion. "If you are still my brother, give this to Domeric for me, as you forbade me from seeing him." Her hand shook. "Tell him I'm sorry."
"There is naught for you to be sorry for," said Robb, astonished.
"Please leave us Robb. I am already packed and I will ensure Arya is too. Do us a favour and please leave Robb."
Confused, Robb left. He did not want Lyarra or Arya to leave Winterfell, but it was the king's orders. There was nothing he could do. Sighing, Robb decided that it would be best to go and visit Daenerys. The last thing he wanted was Daenerys accusing him of neglecting her. Not that Dany would do such a thing. He looked at the letter in his hand. Part of him was tempted to read it.
"No," Robb said aloud to himself. "It's for Domeric's eyes only." He put it in his pocket, remembering to give it to Domeric when he next saw him. Now that he'd properly thought about it, the letter felt more than a piece of parchment. Perhaps two pieces of parchment? Three? Maybe even four or five? Shaking his curiosity a good deal away, Robb headed to Daenerys's chambers. Though they shared a bed on most nights, Daenerys requested her old rooms to dwell in during the daytime. It was a good idea considering not many sought her company.
"Is Dany alright Robb?"
Robb looked down and saw Arthur staring at him expectedly. Standing next to Arthur was Rickon who was clutching a stuffed direwolf.
"I am going to see her now," Robb replied. "I heard it was you who went to tell the maester wasn't it? Good boy." He felt a little awkward and guilty. He'd hardly spent time with his younger brothers. When they were born, he was respectively eleven and fourteen and found swordplay more fun than playing with babies. "I'll go and see Dany now. What are you supposed to be doing?"
"Nothing," said Rickon with a cheeky grin.
"We are waiting for Maester Luwin," said Arthur, giving Rickon a sharp jab. "It is almost lesson time."
Robb gave them a smile and went into Dany's chambers, fearing the worst. On his way in, he remembered Father's concerned face whenever he visited Mother in her chambers. I hope Daenerys is well…thought Robb worriedly. His fears were not soothed when he caught sight of the maester's solemn expression and Dany's pale and wane face.
"What is it?" said Robb at once.
Daenerys glanced at Maester Luwin who nodded back at her. "In eight months, Robb," she said softly, "you will be a father."
Sorry for the long wait. I'm not abandoning this story and have no intention of doing so. I decided to have a short break so I'm back now! I decided to send Jon north because like most of you said, he would be pretty miserable skulking around Winterfell with Robb and Daenerys married. The next chapter's POV is Arya's. Hopefully I'll upload it on Saturday.
Spectre4Hire, take your time thinking about a prompt :) There's no rush.
