Robb
"Its not too late for us to turn back," Robb said quietly as Roslin stripped off the riding dress she had been wearing. Normally the sight of his ladywife removing her clothing would have been a tantalizing thing that would have led him to… well, if he were honest it would have led to him pathetically begging her to let him ravage her and slate his lust because Roslin was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But two factors kept him from feeling any of those normal desires. First was of course the fear for her safety; terror could chill the blood and douse the fires of passion faster than an ice bath. The second was the fact that she was changing her clothes as quick as she could because they were standing in a snowing clearing and she had no urge to remain naked for any longer than she had to.
"Yes, it is," Roslin said as she removed her small garments, leaving her breasts on full display. She turned, the behind that Robb had once spent a day worshiping like he was a Septon who had found the Seven standing before him asking for prayer on full display to him as she gathered up the fine clothing and rather inelegantly balled them up and shoved them into a sack. The dress had been as practical as it was lovely, made of thick material designed to keep her warm while also comfortable and it seemed such a shame that it be cast off in such a way. But Roslin didn't want to waste time folding it up and it would be left hidden in the clearing anyway, at the mercy of the elements, so it was very likely it would be in need of total repair when they finally retrieved it.
Robb watched on as she grabbed the coarser, rougher undergarments that Gamora had brought her and began to slip them on. They were far more practical and useful than what she'd just shed, designed to keep her warm while also allowing her to quickly move. Perfect for someone going on a hunt or fleeing for their lives. Two things that Robb hoped did NOT happen on this trip.
"It would be a week's ride to get to Last Hearth and that is the only castle you would trust to leave me in."
"There is Stone's Throw," Robb pointed out. "That is a day's ride."
She scoffed at that. "Stone's Throw is currently run by a steward with barely any garrison."
"Safer than where we are going," Robb said as Roslin pulled on the heavy stitched britches and donned the furry shirt as well before grabbing the cloak that had been stitched from a bear pelt and gave it a shake; the thing held the faint scent of stale air and grime and Roslin wrinkled her nose before shrugging and donning it. "And close enough that we'd only be delayed a few days."
"We don't have a few days," she reminded him before sitting down on a fallen tree and tugging on the thick and rather unattractive boots that completed the outfit. Now that she was done equipping herself came next, Roslin gathering the weapons and other bits that were needed so she didn't look like a child play acting. "We might not even have hours." She pulled out a wicked looking knife, one that, had it been given a dragonbone hilt, could have passed for the dagger that had nearly killed Bran, and admired it for a moment before she shoved it back into its rough sheathe which was then belted to her thigh.
"But we could," Robb reminded her. He was wearing a similar outfit as she was, already armed up with more blades he'd ever had on his person. And the only one that had originally belonged to him and hadn't been provided by Drax or Rocket was the still unnamed sword he'd claimed after the Ironborn attack, the one that crackled with lightning when he gripped the hilt and drew it from its hilt. The rest were made of iron or old steel, with worn handles with stained sheathes and grips. "We don't know how fast or how slow the Others are moving. Rushing in-"
"Robb," Roslin said sweetly, "I'm coming. This is going to occur. You have no choice in the matter. Now be a good husband and smear some of that mud on my face."
With a sigh he reached down and scooped up a handful of half dried mud, the sludge cold in his palm and making him shiver slightly. Roslin smiled at him and stuck her face out, allowing him to begin smearing it all over her face. He didn't cake it on, as that would look too off. Rather he tried to put on just enough to darken her flesh and get into every crack and crevice. She only shivered once when the cold mud touched her skin but after that she dutifully stood there, letting him rub the filth into her face, occasionally pointing out where he needed to go.
'I should be with her in our chambers in Winterfell, caressing her face and telling her how beautiful she is. Not smearing mud all over while she complains I'm not getting enough behind her ears.' He gathered up some more, using two fingers to get a glob of it before, at Roslin's prompting, running it through her greasy and tangled hair.
That had been the other thing that had annoyed him to no end.
When they'd left Winterfell Yondu had laid out the ground rules for their trip. Most of them Robb had agreed with; moving quick and staying away from settlements as much as they could as it would be rather hard to explain why the Prince of the Northern Kingdom was traveling with a blue skinned man who was half his grandfather. Keep up with any training as he wouldn't have any of them going soft; though Robb had briefly protested when Gamora had roped Roslin into learning how to fight though he'd given that protest up when his ladywife had made clear she didn't care what he thought she was going to know how to swing a sword. Things such as that. But one of the major sticking points had been personal hygiene.
Namely they weren't allowed to have any.
"Don't go washing your faces if you can help it," Yondu had told them with a half growl. "And not your hair either. We need to build up a stink, you hear me?"
Because, Robb thought to himself as Roslin took a scrape of cloth and began to wipe away the mud Robb had just smeared on her face, getting the larger clumps but leaving the smears and marks so that her already unwashed face looked as if she hadn't seen the inside of a bathhouse in a year. She was actually rather dedicated to it, making sure that she go to every spot with grimy rag. Gone was the brilliant and beautiful woman he'd met at the Twins. That felt like forever as he stared at the wildling his wife had been transformed into.
Her hair was a rat's nest, so tangled he wondered if she'd have to hack most of it off rather than attempt to comb it. The oils and soaps she'd used to keep her skin soft and clean had been exchanged for winds that bit at her face and the mud he'd just coated her with. She wore worn wildling furs and bore the weapons of a savage; she even had a spear strapped to her back!
He sniffed.
"Oh stop that," Roslin complained with a smile; he was going to miss that as the one thing they couldn't replicate was the wear and damage the wildlings gained to their teeth. He remembered the ones that had come with Osha, who he'd fought to protect Bran. Their teeth had been yellowed things with chips and crooked bits that made it look like their mouth was rotting from the inside out. Roslin, meanwhile, had bright gleaming teeth and that would be impossible to alter. Yondu had told them to be careful about smiling, so they didn't let anyone in on what was going on.
"What?" Robb asked, playing innocent.
"You keep sniffing me… I don't stink that bad."
"You do," he assured her. "Like a latrine."
"Why thank you!" she teased. "I worked hard to get to this point." She pressed herself closer, running a grim-covered hand along his arm. "Don't you find me attractive like this, my lord husband?"
"…you are evil, you know that?" Robb grumped and Roslin tittered at that before she knelt down and gathered up her own mud. "Sit," she commanded before examining him carefully, considering his face before reaching out and placing a glob on his nose. "You know, after all this you should consider keeping the beard."
"I already had a beard," Robb reminded her as she began to work the mud into his face, shutting his eyes so she could get to work.
"You had neatly trimmed stubble," she replied. "This-" she tugged on his whiskers with a grubby hand, "-is a beard."
"It's a pain," Robb muttered, already feeling how stiff his beard was becoming thanks to the mud now in it. "I feel like the Greatjon with this thing."
"You smell like him too."
"Liar. The Greatjon smells like rosewater."
"…are you serious?"
Robb chuckled. "He might look like he's half giant himself but the man likes to stay clean."
"Would ya lovebirds hurry it up?" Rocket called out through the forest. "I'd like for us ta get a move on!"
"Why?" Rickon asked somewhere to their right. "Anxious to eat some new exotic trash?" There was a clanging sound and Rickon cried out in pain. "Don't you hurl things at me you little masked rat!"
"I'll hurl whatever I want at ya! And right now I want to hurl because those two are smacking their smelly uglies against one another!"
Robb groaned and waved Roslin off, grabbing the rag and doing the same as she had, wiping the mud about to get the thick parts off while smearing a bit more in the cracks and grooves of his face, truly coating himself with dirt and grime. "It's not too late to let them do this…"
"Yes it is," Roslin told him firmly. "The North will be ours to rule one day. Not Yondu's. Not Gamora's. Not Rocket or Groot's. Ours. We have to protect it. We have to see it made strong. And that means not hiding away in a castle and letting others get their hands dirty." She held up her own mud-covered fingers to show off her point. "It needs to be us." He opened his mouth to complain, to make excuses, but Roslin was talking again. "You said you felt lost after your father sent you to Winterfell. That you didn't know what to do with not being able to be part of the war. Well the real war has come. The War for the Dawn. Are you really going to scurry back to Winterfell?"
Robb found himself unable to counter that. All he could say was, "You didn't mention Drax ruling Winterfell."
"I assume he'd trade everything for some magic beans or something."
Robb let out a laugh at that, tossing the rag aside and motioned for her to take his hand.
"Don't do that," Gamora told them, making her presence known. She had also ditched the dark leathers she'd taken to wearing ever since arriving in Winterfell. Instead she wore furs similar to Roslin's though hers were more thickly padded, hiding her lean muscular frame and making her look bulky and bloated. A black cloak with a large hood was wrapped around her, the edge of it tripped with gray wolf fur. Somehow the being that had once been Lyanna Stark was even more heavily armed than Roslin was, with two swords, a bow, quiver, and all sorts of knives strapped on her body. Her hair was tied back and slicked with animal fat to keep it from getting in her eyes.
"What?"
"Hold hands. The Free Folk don't do that."
"What do they do to show affection?" Roslin asked, curious. "They must show… some way that they care for someone."
The green skinned woman shrugged. "From what I've seen caring isn't something the Free Folk worry about. It is a tough world up there and you have to be tough to survive. Usually a couple, or as close as they might come to having one, is started when one of them knocks their chosen partner out. Its called stealing. A man steals a woman, a woman steals a man. Shows that you are strong and able to provide strong children. They'll drag them to a clearing or a cave, and fuck them until they wake up, and then decide where to go from there. But the blow to the head is important."
Robb and Roslin chose to just keep holding hands.
"Good of ya to join us," Yondu said as Robb, Roslin, and Gamora joined most of their party who had gathered around a large sentinel oak. The Leader of the Others and former Warden of the North was basically dressed the same as he had been when he'd arrived in Westeros, though his coat had been replaced by one made of deer hide, stitched and patched several times to repair tears. There were several stains on it from the tanning process and later hunts as well as a heavy hood similar to Gamora's own (though without the trim) on it. He hadn't done too much to dirty himself up, mostly because with his scruffy stubble beard and general attitude he already came off for more like a wildling than the former Lord of one of the great houses in Westeros.
"Where did you get all of this?" Robb asked, fingering his clothes.
"You really don't want the answer to that question," Gamora told him.
Robb stopped touching his own furry coat and looked at his fingers in disgust. "Fair enough." At best Gamora had merely stolen them… but seeing as she'd been gone the day before procuring all they needed he had a feeling that the original owners of their garments wouldn't ever be coming to take them back.
'Though considering the dead now walk on the Wall I suppose even death can't stop that anymore,' he thought to himself. Out loud he complained, "Why did we have to cover ourselves in dirt and mud while you two got away without washing your faces for a week?"
"Because if someone actually sees our faces then we're fucked," Yondu told him. "The Free Folk are used to seeing things Westerosi would treat as myth and legend… but that doesn't mean they are ready to see green and blue people walking around offering to share a camp fire or a sip of ale." He pulled a scrape of fabric up to cover his mouth before yanking on his hood. The shadows it cast hid his face well, making it hard to see his features. "And it will be darker where we're going. You two will keep people from asking too many questions. All of us keep our faces hidden and people wonder. Three of five do it and we're just a hunting party coming in to get warm."
"Makes sense," Roslin murmured.
"Aw, is the pretty boy upset that he had to get a bit of dirty dirt on his cheeks?" Rocket teased. He was leaning against a tree, arms folded over his chest, chewing on a sliver of wood that poked out between his lips. "Don't worry, once this is done we can take you to see all the servants to trim your beard and wax your butt hair and make you the prettiest of pretty pretties in the land!" He let out a laugh as Robb glowered at him. "Do me a favor and stay upwind of me, will ya?" He waved his hand in front of his nose. "Eesh, bad enough just lookin' at all of ya!"
"You know there is still time to dunk you in some festering pond," Rickon said from the tree he was sitting under, trying and failing to clean the short sword he'd been given. The thing would work in a brawl but it was still sporting rust spots and Rickon was trying to figure out how to clean it off without destroying it completely. He was failing with only red stains on his finger tips to show for his troubles. Except for the fact that his hair was shorter than Robb's the two of them could have passed as twins thanks to their outfits. Greywind and Shaggydog were lying down next to him, snoozing. It had been decided that they wouldn't be coming with them for this next part of their 'adventure' and instead would be waiting for their return, guarding camp and the horseless carriage that Rickon loved dearly.
"Eh, just try it, dipshit." Rocket leaned to his right and let out a laugh. "What the hell are you doing?" Robb twisted his head and saw Drax walking towards them, grimacing and holding the shirt he was wearing out as far as he could with his fingers.
"Must I wear this?" Drax complained.
"You can't walk around shirtless," Gamora said, rolling her eyes. Drax grumbled and she pinched her nose. "By the Old Gods, stop being a child."
"I am not a child!" Drax snapped. "I am older than any youth!"
"Then why are you holding your shirt like that?" Roslin asked.
Drax huffed. "How I hold a shirt has nothing to do with my age. Children and adults can hold their shirts like this." He grew quiet before finally admitting, "I have sensitive nipples."
Rocket burst out laughing.
"Quiet small furry animal man!" Drax exclaimed.
"Ow, my nipples!" Rocket whined, rubbing his chest.
Robb stepped towards Rocket, drawing his sword out half an inch. "Do. Not. Rub. Your. Nipples. In. Front. Of. My. Wife."
"What's wrong, pretty? Making you question your vows?" Rocket cackled, falling down on his butt.
Rickon stood up, glaring at the loudmouth raccoon. "Want me to punt him Robb? I think I can clear the trees if I get a running start." He began to stretch, doing squats and limbering up for said 'punting'.
Rocket wagged his finger at him. "Uh uh uh, dipshit. You are going to need me in there. You do something stupid… and you will… and pretty boy and Roslin are going to need me to free your behinds."
"…why does she not get a nickname?" Rickon whined.
"That's what you're bitching about?" Rocket taunted. Robb rolled his eyes at that.
Yondu just stared at them all. "The Others are quakin' in their boots over us being the ones that will stop them."
"As they should!" Rocket declared, not catching the sarcasm. "We're going to take out those ice fuckers once and for all. Not like last time when the Children fucked things up and passed the problem on to someone else." Yondu, Gamora, and Drax glared at him but Rocket was having none of their scorn. "Yeah, I said it. Deal with it. You and yours screwed up big time. Should have killed Thanos and been done with it. Fuckin' Thor… how hard is it to aim for the damn head?"
"I am Groot," a tiny, child-like voice declared.
"I so would have been able to take the big purple bastard out!" Rocket declared, looking down and to his left. "You stay out of this."
"What was that?" Robb asked, confused. "Was that Groot?"
"I am Groot," the tree spirit said… and Robb watched as a small, six inch tall Groot walked around Rocket so Roslin and him could get a good look at him. "I am Groot."
"They know you're cute, you don't need to tell'em!" Rocket complained.
Groot, as Robb had first seen him, had been made from Winterfell's heartstree. White with red sap that made up his eyes and the inside of his mouth. He had possessed ancient features that made him look like he'd been around for thousands of years… which the tree probably had been. As tall as a giant but lanky with strange proportions Groot had been a sight for all and even after all the time spent in Winterfell everyone, Robb included, had stopped and stared at him when he passed by, smiling and waving or just looking about at everything in deep interest.
Now though? Now Groot was tiny, his body still white but it was brighter, fresher. His face was much smoother, like a green stick, and he was a bit… pudgier… than he'd been before. His eyes were far bigger and soulful and innocent and he looked about at them with a little smile on his face. Groot didn't so much walk as toddle, ambling over to Gamora and holding up his arms, the green woman smiling and picking him up so he could sit on her shoulder and play with a few strands of hair.
"So… what happened to him?" Robb finally asked.
Gamora stroked Groot's back. "He's a tree spirit, remember? His body is merely a vessel for his true self. He's like one of the Children in that way, only he doesn't possess and merge with humans; he joins with weirwoods."
"Okay, but WHY is he that small?"
"We can't bring a giant tree in with us," Gamora said, wincing slightly when Groot tugged at some hairs and gently using her fingers to get him to let go. "And it wouldn't be wise to leave Groot on his own. We might need him… and he might need us. So the only way was for him to swap bodies."
"That's rather clever," Roslin stated.
"And as for why he's actin' like that," Rocket said with a huff, "it's got ta do with the wood. Old wood makes him old. Young wood makes him young. We found a sapling and thus… Baby Groot."
Robb though had different thoughts. "Where exactly is his old body? The one that is the heartstree of the Starks."
"Over there," Gamora said, waving her hand in a general direction. "I think."
"You… you think? How can you not remember?!" Robb exclaimed. "That is a heartstree. Winterfell's heartstree! And you might have misplaced it?!"
"Lack of thinking ahead… she gets that from Lyanna," Drax stated.
"Like you're one to talk, Brandon? Charging into the Red Keep and demanding an insane king bring his son to justice?"
"Leaving only a single letter after you decided to run off with that same mad king's son?" Drax scoffed. "You are irrational."
"At least I understand metaphors!" Gamora charged.
"Children Fight!" Rocket cheered. "Twenty stags on the stupid one!"
"But you aren't even fighting?" Rickon teased.
"Piss off, dipshit."
Robb held his head in his hands. "I'm going to die surrounded by the dumbest people in Westeros."
Roslin patted his back. "Reminds me of the Towers."
Finally getting frustrated when the two green skinned fighters looked ready to come to blows (and Groot deciding to leap from Gamora to Yondu's head then over to Roslin who cooed like he was a puppy) Yondu whistled and an arrow darted out and hovered threateningly between the two of them.
"Enough! Your mother would be ashamed she gave birth to two idiots if she could see ya! She can't though because she's off drinkin' with the other spirits! But she would be ashamed. Because you are both idiots. At least Ned's main mistakes were not treating Jon right and forgettin' he was a wolf and needed ta act like it!" Yondu had made it clear that he was with Gamora in being pissed off at Jon being treated as a lowly bastard who not just Catelyn but several servants and those of lower birth felt deserved mockery and scorn. Yondu had a list of issues with how Ned had run the North and Jon's treatment was on top of the list. Robb had frankly told his grandfather he had no problem with that as he'd always planned to get Jon legitimized the moment he became Lord of Winterfell. That had earned him a hard smack on the back and praise that, "You aren't all cottage cheese between the ears".
At least Robb ASSUMED that was a compliment.
"Benjen is just barely below you in stupid. Night's Watch… what a waste. That boy and Ned could've made the North a powerhouse and instead one seals up the Neck and the other freezes his balls off when he should have been producing heirs to build our house back up!" Yondu glared at his eldest son and his daughter. "But you two fuck things up so bad you fuck the whole Kingdom! I should call your problems orgies instead of fuck ups because everyone gets sucked in!" He shook his head and finally recalled the arrow. "Now, if you two are done with all that lets get Rocket in his sack and get moving."
"Yeah, you tell-wait, what?" Rocket blinked at that. "What sack?"
Yondu pointed to a tree where a filth covered shoulder sack lay.
"Oh hells no!" Rocket complained. "I ain't goin' in there!"
"What's worng?" Rickon taunted, reaching over to scratch Shaggydog's head. "Looks like a nice sack to me."
"Just because it smells like your balls doesn't make it nice!"
Drax frowned. "How do you know how his testicles smell like?"
Rocket opened his mouth only to snap it shut and then, grumbling under his breath, state, "I can't tell if you're joking or not." He looked up at Yondu and in a louder voice complained, "Why do I need to go in that sack? I just strip down and everyone things I'm a raccoon!"
"Have you looked at yourself?" Gamora said. "You aren't a raccoon. Not anymore. The failed warging… you aren't racoon shaped."
Rocket looked himself over, Robb doing the same. Yes, he was small and had a racoon's head and tail but there were vast differences too. The arms and legs were far too long; human-like in their build. He walked about on two instead of four. He was slimmer than a normal raccoon and didn't hunch like one either. Honestly the more he stared the more he saw that whatever had happened to Rocket with that failed warg hadn't just altered his mind and given him the ability to speak.
"So what? Just because I'm not morbidly obese like most raccoons I have to go in the sack? Sorry I didn't pull a Robert Baratheon and gorge myself to porker status."
Yondu shook his head. "It doesn't matter. The free folk will know there is something off about you and want you for themselves. So in the sack."
"Come on!" Rocket whined. "I'll stay with the direwolves. Me and the puppies-"
Shaggydog snarled and snapped in his direction.
"-FINE!" Rocket yelled, cursing up a storm as he marched over and began to wiggle into the bag. "Ugh… its wet… why is it wet? And it smells like a fish market. Reminds me of the last whore I visited in Winter Town…"
"How is this my life?" Robb muttered as Drax walked over and picked up the sack, Rocket cursing and yelling at him to be careful.
"Doesn't seem that odd to me," Roslin said. He stared at his wife who shot him a flat look. "I was a Frey, remember."
Sadly that did serve as a good explanation.
Yondu motioned for them all to follow and soon the group was dragging a pair of… borrowed… boats onto a fast moving river that led out into the chilly waters of the Narrow Sea. Yondu, Robb, and Roslin were in one boat while the second was steered by Gamora who had Drax and Rickon with her, Rocket grumbling the entire time in his sack. Groot had decided he liked Roslin and decided to burrow himself into her clothing. The direwolves followed for a brief time along the shoreline before turning back to guard the camp.
"You haven't told me much about this wilding camp we are heading to," Robb stated.
"Because I worried you'd do something stupid like ride off to a castle and tell them that the Free Folk had a town hidden South of the Wall."
"How did they even mange to make it?" Roslin asked. "And why?"
"The why is simple enough," Yondu told her as he guided them off the river and onto the shallows of the Narrow Sea. The current was strong and there was no need to row at the moment, though Robb wondered if the Children had some magic that would let their boat go where they wanted without needing to dip their oars in the water. "The Wall was built to keep the Others out and some of the Free Folk decided that they didn't want to leave their homes just because the Ancient Enemy showed up first. But that didn't mean they wanted to be trapped with no opportunity to come South. They've always found ways to get to Westeros… you hear the raiding stories all the time." Robb nodded at that; he had heard the tales from Old Nan. Of Wildlings climbing the Wall with shoes that bit into the ice and pickaxes that they'd then bury into the heads of anyone that caught them.
"About a hundred years ago a Free Folk chieftain decided that it was rather wasteful and time consuming to constantly journey south, pillage, and then try and flee back north of the Wall with what spoils they'd managed to gather. A place to rest, to plan, and to store that which they claimed was what was needed. Not a true home, mind you, for they were of the 'True North'-" Robb bristled at that but held his tongue, "-and wouldn't be caught living forever in the South. But a camp where they could rest, repair their weapons and gear, and wait out the riders sent by the Northern Lords?" He chuckled. "That was a tasty morsel."
He turned their boat south. Yondu had actually led their party farther north than their destination, wanting any that saw them approach to believe they were hunters from the Lands of Always Winter who had sailed down to poach the lands of the New Gift. Up ahead Robb saw the land suddenly rise up, forming a great cliff face upon which the waters smashed violently.
"So they formed this little camp… that swelled up and grew into the greatest secret the Free Folk had ever had," Yondu said as he steered their boat right for the cliff face. The ride became harsher, tossing Robb and Roslin about, but Yondu merely continued on, guiding them closer and closer to the rocks that would dash them to pieces. And then the waters suddenly calmed around them, even though to their right and left the waves continued to thrash and pound the rock. And Robb could now see the opening of a cave, as wide as the gate of Winterfell, and they plunged into that darkness.
What greeted them was not some damp cavern but rather a subterranean world. Wooden docks rose out of the underground lake the cave's mouth led them too, upon which were built rough platforms. Huts and shanty buildings sat on the platforms, lit by torches while wildlings moved about. It was very much like a Northern village had been plucked from the surface and buried here, its citizens turned into the savage wildlings… who went about their lives with utter calmness.
"Welcome to Nowhere," Yondu said with a smirk.
~MC~MC~MC~
Omake:
Baelish sighed as he looked at the two wrecked carriages. "Your grace, before I give you the coin to repair these two I have to ask... this place called "Mowes" you left right before the accident... this is a business of some kind?"
Robert Baratheon forced himself to keep smiling. 'Don't tell him it's a bar, Jon Arryn won't let Baelish pay for the damages if he knows you were drinking!' He paused, panic forming. 'But what else is open at night?' Out loud he said in a calm, almost cheerful voice, "It is a pornography merchant. I was buying pornography." In his brain he heard a slow clap. 'Bravo.'
