A/N: It's been a doozy of a time to get this updated, but here it is - a new chapter, with a whole new perspective. I hope I've done Robb justice in this chapter, as I've been wanting to experiment with his POV (I mean, he is the other main character, after all), and in which, we cover the Northern Ball, a string of possible betrothals, and finally hit the mark to the beginning of AGOT and canon events! There will be plenty of surprises thrown in, and things will rapidly make itself clear as the plot develops to what I'm hoping involves some new and unique twists to the fanfiction itself. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!
ROBB I
He was staring at a broken tower.
A raven and a crow circled around a young pup, preparing to dive, but the young pup disappeared under the palm of a green hand with golden roses at the tips.
The crow and raven affixed their eye on a young wolf with a wreath of winter roses around its neck, clearly in surprise. With dark fur and yellow eyes, the wolf stood protectively in front of the green hand, its teeth bared. After what seemed like an eternity, both avians dove, but the crow disappeared as the raven perched onto the wolf's head.
The moment the raven landed, visions suddenly flashed.
"-send their regards." A sudden stabbing pain.
The smell of smoke, as a very familiar, heart-wrenching scream sounded. It was green that filled his vision, overwhelming and consuming him until-
The Song has changed. You are not ready.
Robb awoke uneasily, so strange his dreams have been as of late. He had forgotten what he had dreamt about, but he had a feeling that it was important.
It was...early in the morning, the day after most of the heirs of the Northern lords he would be expected to rule over. The sun had just risen, and dawn had just broken. Robb shook off his daze and thought about the upcoming day's events - where he would most likely be expected to socialize with his future bannermen in spars as well as small conversations over meal times. He knew there was a ball at some point that his betrothed had planned along with his mother, and he was ready to show himself to the North.
I will need to impress the lords and prove myself as heir to the North. I cannot fail now.
Robb quickly put on his armor and walked calmly to the training grounds near the Godswood. He would practice his moves alone and ensure that muscle memory kicked in during his spars. As he stepped outside, a familiar cold filled his body as the summer snow fell gently down on the training ground - it was a beautiful day outside, and perfect for a day of sparring.
Robb grabbed one of the training swords when he arrived at the grounds, and began to lose himself in the muscle memory of his strikes on the training dummy, running through whatever moves he knew and a few new tricks he had picked up from Jon in their spars together.
Time passed - he was not sure how long he had been outside, his muscles warmed up and his mind firmly locked on the mastery of his technique, until he heard the sound of a book page flipping. Robb turned around expectantly, long familiar with that sound after naps in the library, to stare at his betrothed, intently reading a large tome on a nearby bench, wearing a comfortable and fashionable blue wool gown. It seemed that Winterfell had not truly awoken, and save for the very few guards outside, the training ground was just him and her. Margaery's slightly messed up hair, brushed in haste, and slightly disheveled appearance did not detract from her natural beauty - in fact, it only seemed to add to it, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her.
Even in the simplest settings, her beauty still dazzles and enchants. What a fool I must look when I stare at my Margaery.
"...there was no need to stop practicing, my love. Reading's not exactly the same when there isn't the sound of swordplay to accompany it, or a free view whenever I get bored." Margaery's clear, bell-like voice noted in amusement.
"Perhaps I wanted to admire the view in front of me." Robb responded cheekily, closing the distance between them as he moved towards the bench. She smiled, clearing a little space for him, as he sat next to her and kissed her in greeting. The smell of light perfume and dusty smell of an old book
"What view?" Margaery asked, sardonically. "The view of your betrothed reading a text about Ibbenese economics to contrast it to the North? The men of Ib aren't just whalers, apparently, they trade in timber, amber, and animal pelts as well, which makes me wonder why on earth White Harbor doesn't trade with Ibben, if whalers come to King's Landing from such a far distance." She playfully poked Robb after finishing her remarks.
"The North doesn't trade in whale oil, my love, when Northmen can go whaling themselves," Robb observed. "Are you planning on some kind of trading empire, then? Mayhaps we should call you the 'Merchant Rose'", he teased,
Margaery's scrunched her brow, furrowed in thought.
"It wouldn't exactly be a bad idea, Robb," Margaery murmured, deep in thought. "There's a lot of actions we could do to develop the North. Finding a way to connect more of Essos to trade in White Harbor, as well as adding more ports for trade with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would do wonders for the North, as well as encourage aspiring Southerners to come North for development. Mayhaps an institution of learning for Northern nobles, as well as smallfolk alike, to better improve the quality of the North, and…."
She paused in her rambling, and turned what Robb thought to be a particularly fetching shade of pink. Margaery looked embarrassed, stopping her train of thought to continue again.
"..oh, sorry, love, you know how I am sometimes. These are all merely some thoughts in my head, I don't want to supersede your authority as future Lord of Winterfell," Margaery noted, suddenly seeming very shy.
These strange Southron notions have invaded her head again. Father and Mother make decisions equally for the good of the North, why shouldn't we?
Robb paused for a moment to consider his words. After a long moment, he began to speak.
"..I know I had originally said that comment as a jape, but it is clear you have put a lot of thought into this. Of course I am to consider your thoughts - you are my future Lady Wife and I love you! I will admit that I am not entirely sure how we would begin those processes, but we have plenty of time to figure it out." Robb stated.
Margaery's shy look was replaced by a confident smirk, and her brown eyes locked with Robb's blue eyes as they stared at one another lovingly. Robb was helpless to that look, leaning in to kiss Margaery thoroughly. They lost themselves in one another for a few moments, particularly without a guard or chaperone, but after about a minute, Robb hesitantly pulled away, eliciting a disappointed sigh from Margaery.
"The wolf ensnares the rose, or perhaps it may be the other way around." Margaery japed. "Now off with you, the ball is soon and we need to prepare to impress your bannermen."
"Father, Mother, you called for me?" Robb asked, as he entered the Winterfell solar.
Robb had prepared himself in his fanciest clothes, and looked every bit the dashing heir to Winterfell he was, in preparation for meeting his fellow nobles and future bannermen.
"Yes. We have much to discuss." Ned replied soberly, with Catelyn standing at his shoulder.
Is Father planning something? Or is he warning me before the Ball?
"What happened? Is there, mayhaps, something I need to know about?"
Lady Catelyn smiled.
"Oh sweetling, nothing has necessarily happened, but your father and I have called you to the solar to impart a lesson regarding your future rule as a Lord. We thought to do so before the Ball."
"Your mother is correct. It was she who insisted we summon you. But I digress. Catelyn, if you will?
Catelyn cleared her throat.
"Robb, what if I were to tell you that none of the Northern betrothals you and your father discussed had happened yet?" she asked, in the same way she phrased questions in her childrens' politics lessons.
"...but I thought the betrothals were needed to soothe the bannermen, because I am betrothed and will eventually marry Margaery," Robb responded, confused.
"That is correct. Robb. However, not all betrothals necessarily work out. Mine own siblings proved that winter can be harsh in changing the fates of others." Ned noted. Catelyn shook her head and sighed.
"What your lord father means to say, Robb, is that words, especially the words in a promised betrothal, are wind. I was betrothed to your Uncle Brandon before eventually marrying your Lord Father. It is our intention, however, to ensure that each betrothal agreement we actually decide on to actually work, and this Ball has given us a unique opportunity to ensure so, and avoid problematic situations in the future," she clarified.
How in the seven hells does this relate to me?
"Normally, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell would preside over the betrothal process alone, but your lady mother noted that I would be remiss in allowing you an opportunity to experience this process first hand, as you will need to do so someday with your own children." Ned explained. "That is why you will participate in this process - not only for your own education as a Lord in negotiating dowries, but in some measure, a way to assist your siblings with your experience in attaining their own happiness."
"Father, Mother, I don't think I understand. Did you not already have a plan for each of us?" Robb asked, hesitantly.
"Not every plan is an ideal plan. For instance, say Bran is charmed by another Lady in the North as opposed to a possible betrothal to Lady Wynafryd Manderly. Would it not be best to avoid the suffering it would cause to have a loveless betrothal, when, say, Lord Manderly can have a Manderly good-son in Jon that would not cause scandal?" Catelyn proposed.
"...so, I am expected to intervene in the lives of mine own sibling and decide their betrothals? That hardly seems fair, when I was allowed a choice for my betrothal to Margaery." Robb pointed out, incensed.
"We are not asking you to decide on the betrothals of your siblings - that will be a combination of input from our bannermen, your own siblings, our decisions as Lord and Lady of Winterfell, and finally, you." his mother explained.
"All we are asking of you is to observe your siblings during the ball, my son. To see which lords and ladies work with your siblings, and to add any input that you have noticed. We will take care of the rest - until which you will be working with both of us to negotiate the dowry between your siblings and their respective betrotheds. Your siblings will have the same amount of choice as you during the process." his father added.
Robb nodded, satisfied with the explanation.
"Who will need to be betrothed then? I understand that Rickon is too young for a betrothal."
"You would be correct. As your lady mother tells me, Sansa will most likely do better in the South, and plans will most likely be made for her assuming that case. However, your other siblings - Bran, Arya, and Jon - will most likely be betrothed-" Ned began, with his wife nodding in approval.
"-these will not be the only Northern betrothals, however. Nearly all of the lords and ladies of the North have sent their unmarried children to this ball, and it may be up to you and Lady Margaery to help push those betrothals along." Catelyn added, with a sly look. "This may seem much, but as Heir to Winterfell, your lord father and I wish to ensure the best for you and your betrothed. Do not worry, my son, we believe in your every success, and we will, of course, do our best to help."
Father and Mother are correct in this move, but so much rests on me. I must do what I can to ensure success for House Stark.
"I will do it, father, mother." Robb said calmly. A comfortable silence filled the room.
"Oh, Ned, the first feast begins in an hour, we must be ready!" Catelyn noticed. His father laughed.
"Off with you, lad." Ned said fondly. "We have a feast to attend, it seems."
"Enjoying yourself, Stark?" Robb asked his sullen brother cheerily. "Or should I ask one of the Manderly girls to cheer you up? The ball has been magnificent so far, and the way you are acting, it's almost as if it were a funeral."
Jon groaned. "Don't you mean Snow? Besides, just because I'm not always participating in the ball doesn't mean I'm miserable."
The ball had been executed splendidly by Robb's mother, with assistance from Margaery, Sansa, and Arya, and the hot water system at Winterfell, as well as the hearths, kept the makeshift ballroom that was the dining hall warm and cheerful. Food had been eaten and plenty of Northern ale had been consumed, leading to a lot of dances and cheers from revellers every once in awhile. His father even remarked quietly to him that this was the happiest he had seen Winterfell since before Robert's Rebellion - all in all, the Northern Ball was a major success.
Robb looked at his brother seriously. "You'll always be a Stark to me, brother. Was that not you charming Lady Wynafryd at the dance earlier?"
"She beset herself on me!" Jon grumbled quietly, cheeks reddening. Robb sniggered.
"Beset? You make it sound as though she was waiting somewhere to ambush you, like some kind of bandit. Should I be worried about Lady Wynafryd stealing your virtue? She kept conversing with you for an awfully long time." Robb joked, and mimed calling for guardsmen.
"No!" Jon yelped, his cheeks becoming a magnificent pink. Margaery had told Robb that Jon looked especially "pretty" for a Stark, and looking at Jon's face, he could understand the sentiment that drove many Northern women to him.
With clear signs from Robb's father, Eddard Stark, that Jon was essentially a second son in the Stark household, even if his technical inheritance would be after Arya and any other trueborn children of his father and mother, and Catelyn Stark's encouragement of the matter, it was clear that Jon would likely inherit a holdfast equivalent to another son, and would possibly be legitimized.
Rumors, of course, had flown around the Northern delegation - would Jon be in charge of Moat Cailin? Sea Dragon Point? Another holdfast somewhere in the Gift? This only stirred the flames of Jon's popularity, as Robb was already betrothed and Bran was young, and so Jon had been fending off suitors for the entirety of the ball, a fact that amused Robb to no end.
"What's this I hear about our very own Jon Snow? Are the Northern ladies suddenly wildlings attempting to snatch Jon's virtue?" Theon added to the jape.
Robb laughed uproariously at Jon, who had at this point, hidden his face in his hands.
"-s'not funny, Robb," he heard his embarrassed brother grouse. "I'm just tired, that's all."
Theon suddenly paled. "Sansa has just finished gossiping with Mira Forrester and is headed our way. I'm going to go." He headed directly for the food, to avoid Sansa.
Jon groaned once more. "Please kill me now."
"If Sansa arrives here, your wish is granted - you know she will 'cajole' us into participating once more if we stand here, and you remember the last time that happened," Robb muttered quietly, causing both teens to shudder.
Sansa, in her self-appointed role as the "Queen" of House Stark, was very serious about encouraging her siblings, particularly Robb and Jon, to socialize with the bannermen, and 'cajoled' her erstwhile brothers through a combination of stern lectures and wheedling them with tears in her eyes, in one particularly memorable attempt. Robb, and Jon were certainly not immune to their sister's tears, particularly Jon, and so they agreed with what she said.
Jon sighed, standing up, and saw Arya chatting animatedly with Domeric.
"I think I'm going to see how Arya is doing," Jon noted.
Robb stared across the ballroom - Margaery was deep in conversation with Dacey Mormont and "Smalljon" Umber, with a particularly cunning look in her eye, most likely indicating that she was attempting to set another betrothal between their bannermen. Thankfully, Dacey seemed more indulgent than anything - his betrothed's friendship with the Mormont sisters had seemed incomprehensible at first, but it was clear that they had become very fast friends.
Robb put his palm on Jon's shoulder.
"I think I'll join you as well." Robb said, and the two Stark brothers walked to the dining table to Arya's conversation.
"Say that again, stupid! I'll beat you on horseback any day!" they heard Arya stating fiercely.
Instead of getting frustrated or angry like Robb had expected, Domeric laughed cheerily at Arya, clearly amused at her antics.
"You'd like to race, my lady? We raced quite a bit in the Vale, and I'd love to compete with you on horseback," Domeric calmly remarked. "We can head to the stables right now - I'm sure it'd be more interesting than the feast for you, Lady Arya."
Arya turned to Jon expectantly, knowing that her favorite brother would not deny her request.
"Could you come with us Jon, please?" Arya begged. "It's way better than the stupid feast and dancing outside."
Jon sighed, motioning for Arya and Domeric to follow him, and off they went to the stables to do some racing.
It had surprised Robb, honestly, as he had suspected that Domeric Bolton, from what he knew, would be a good match for Sansa - Domeric had all the makings of a tourney knight, and with his love of the harp and soft-spoken nature, Robb had assumed that Domeric would get along well with Sansa.
However, the ten nameday difference between Domeric and Arya had not stopped them from a fast friendship, where Arya's bold nature and love of horses, swords, and all things adventure seemed to complement Domeric's similar love for horses, swords, and adventures. Domeric's soft-spoken nature seemed to work complementarity with Arya's bold nature, and Robb could see a possibility for a betrothal Arya wouldn't hate, especially as a lady in the North.
Robb was surprised to realize he would most likely be recommending a betrothal between the two, and Domeric and Arya would have plenty of time to grow into that relationship. Margaery had told Robb that Roose Bolton wanted a Stark good-daughter, and the time period did not seem so long with Arya and Domeric's friendship. Lord Bolton had even offered for Domeric to foster with House Stark, instead of staying at the Dreadfort as originally planned, in order to promote a match.
Robb peered around for Sansa, but she had seemingly found Jeyne and another few members of her entourage, such as Beth Cassel, and they giggled together as they observed the ball around them. Jeyne suddenly pointed at Theon, and the giggles seemed to start anew.
Best not to break that up. I suppose I will find my Margaery, now.
Robb walked over to the table Margaery was at. Along the way, he noticed Theon accompanying Rickon, amusing his younger brother, and Bran, with Jojen and Meera Reed. Robb didn't know much about the crannogmen, save for the tales that Old Nan had told him, but it was clear that Bran was enthralled with Meera and Jojen's description of the Neck. Perhaps something could be made out of it - Moat Cailin was close to the Neck, after all.
By the time Robb had reached Margaery, Smalljon and Dacey were long gone. He took a seat next to his betrothed, put an arm around her shoulder, and kissed her brow gently, causing her to startle briefly, before relaxing and curling into Robb. Septa Mordane was watching carefully, but Robb assumed that nothing particularly dishonorable was happening with Robb and Margaery as of the moment, which is why he suspected she had allowed this.
"How did the talk go?" Robb asked curiously.
Margaery smirked. "I was pretty sure Smalljon was enamored with Dacey at first glance, so I found an excuse to get them together. Dacey was pretty impressed by Smalljon, but was unsure of his intention, so a nice conversation, and a bit of hinting have them on the dance floor together. Let's see if a betrothal can be made from that."
"My love, ever the schemer, I see," Robb declared fondly. "Between Mother, you, and Sansa, I'm convinced that the entirety of the North will be married off by the end of this ball."
"The affection exists, and Lord Stark knew what he was doing when he declared this ball, I'm just connecting what is already there," Margaery said, leaning into Robb. She giggled quietly, causing Robb to look at her askance. Margaery continued to giggle, and when she stopped, she elaborated on her train of thought.
"Sorry, I'm just thinking about Jon. I'm glad for him, you know? But the look on his face when he was surrounded by Lady Wynafryd, Lady Eddara, and Lady Mira was priceless. He looked as though he would light on fire, with how embarrassed he was."
"Jon complained that Lady Wynafryd had beset herself upon him, as if she was some kind of wildling woman!" Robb added.
Margaery burst out into helpless giggles, and Robb laughed with her, before looking at her fondly.
Soon, we will be married, and soon, she will learn to be Lady of Winterfell, as I will learn to be a Lord of Winterfell. I cannot wait for that day, as I am sure she cannot either.
"Jon could marry Lady Wynafryd and become Lord Consort of White Harbor - it would not be a particularly bad decision for him," Margaery spoke thoughtfully. "It would also relieve me greatly that Jon has a good position that he deserves, and I am sure Lord Manderly would not be opposed."
Robb nodded absentmindedly - he had been considering that too, but he would need to talk to his father about any final decisions.
"Are you happy up North? After seeing our bannermen, are you content with being lady of Winterfell?" Robb whispered, a bout of insecurity overtaking him.
Are you happy with me, as I am with you?
Both Robb and Margaery understood the silent question asked. After a timeless moment, Margaery broke the silence.
"There is nowhere else in Westeros or Essos, I would rather be," Margaery answered quietly and firmly. "We will rule the North together, and we will make it Grow Strong, because Winter is Coming."
Robb grinned into her hair, and he cuddled Margaery further, as they let the rest of the Ball wash over them. It had been a resounding success.
The ball and its revelries continued over the course of the fortnight, with Lord and Lady Stark watching very carefully over the supplies, with the celebrations coming to a peak after a deserter's execution within that time, as the Northmen exulted as they saw a "sign of the Old Gods" come to life.
Eddard Stark, followed by Robb, Jon, Theon, and many of the other Northern lordlings, had come to watch a Northern execution in real time, and in the process, found a clutch of direwolves. The mother direwolf had been gored by a stag in the head, though the stag, followed it in death, leaving six direwolf pups orphaned; five grey wolves, with yellow eyes, and one albino wolf, with red eyes. When they had arrived back, the celebrations had continued almost in a frenzy, as a direwolf had not been seen South of the Wall in the past few centuries. It was a clear sign, according to the Northern lords, of Northern prosperity in the future.
Robb himself had mostly dismissed it, but his time, like his siblings, was consumed by his new direwolf pup, which Margaery had insisted he name Grey Wind. Grey Wind was fiercely loyal to Robb, and Margaery, and it was very common now to see a pup in the library, sleeping next to Margaery as she read her texts, or with Robb, in the training field, watching attentively as its master sparred with the other Northern lordlings.
Furthermore, Robb and Margaery spent more time planning their wedding, which was scheduled to happen in roughly two to three moonturn. House Tyrell, as well as Willas and Arianne, according to Margaery's letter, were scheduled to leave in about a moonturn or so towards Winterfell.
However, one morning, around the time the ball had begun to draw to a close, Robb's mother would announce something that would change the status quo in Winterfell by quite a lot, which would cause Margaery to pale and panic, as though for what reason, Robb did not know.
"We have received a raven from the South," Catelyn stated, with House Stark, Margaery, Theon, and Domeric eating along in the main solar. "The Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, has passed away. King Robert and his party rides to Winterfell."
