A/N: Hello everyone! New chapter for you all. We are finally getting to when they meet - thanks for your patience. Hope you all enjoy!

Guest: Thank you! He is indeed around, given the war was ended before anything happened to Winterfell.

Lang: Thank you very much! Here is the next one, hope you enjoy.

Boramir: Thank you! Myrcella has indeed found a valuable friend with Bran, but you're right about the others. Tywin bought off the whole arrangement with the Freys, though they were likely placated somewhat when Sansa married Olyvar.

Right-ho folks, on we go!

:)


IV: Awkward Encounters


Robb


Robb rode stiffly in his saddle as they passed beneath the gates of Winterfell. He was not anticipating a welcome reception from his mother. Her letter had reached them the night before as they had feasted with the Cerwyns. It had been a spontaneous decision, one Robb had taken to extend his absence by another night. He would not tell his mother that though, she was furious enough with him as it was. Myrcella had arrived, by now she would have been at Winterfell near an entire week. An entire week closer to her becoming my wife. Robb shook his head, the wedding was the last thing he wanted to think of as he trotted his horse into the courtyard. His eyes uneasily scanned the area for any hint of golden hair but he saw none. The moment of relief he felt at that was quelled in an instant when he found his mother stood waiting for him on the steps with her arms folded and her eyes murderous. He dismounted his horse with a sigh, and decided that he may as well get the scolding over with.

He handed the reins of his horse to Billy before he approached the keep, hoping that his expression did not betray his apprehension. "Inside please, mother," he said quietly as he reached the bottom of the steps. She made no reply, merely inclined her head curtly before she turned and followed him through the doors and into the keep. The guards murmured their greetings and he forced smiles for them, leading his mother across the entrance hall and down the hallway that led to his father's study. Even after all these years Robb could not bear to describe it as his. It was all his father's things that decorated the place, his presence still overwhelmingly powerful. Robb vaguely wondered if it would ever fade, ashamed of himself for almost wishing that it would. He sighed. Now was not the time to think of his father, not when he was about to be torn apart by his mother.

He opened the door of the study and gestured for her to walk in first. She did as he had bid, striding in purposefully. He steeled himself before entering himself and closing the door firmly behind him. "I trust you're well, mother," he forced his voice to come out normally, trying to seem unaffected as he crossed to the side table to pour a glass of wine. "Would you care for some?" he asked her, beginning to feel unnerved by her silence now. Her eyes flashed at his question, and he knew that he was in for a rough time.

"I would have thought that you had more pressing matters to attend to than drinking wine and exchanging pleasantries with your mother," she said icily, but he continued pouring the wine nonetheless.

"What could be more important than you, mother?" he asked, passing a glass to her. She did not look impressed.

"You know very well," she said sternly. He decided against replying, likely whatever he said would wind her up even more. Instead he took a long drink from his glass, savouring the sharpness of the wine on his tongue. "Does it not even occur to you to ask after her? To inquire whether or not she arrived safely?" his mother asked him incredulously, and he took another drink before answering her.

"I know very well, your letter informed me," he said drily, and for a moment he honestly thought that his mother might strike him.

"I did not raise you…" she shook her head, her eyes furious. "Your father did not raise you to behave this way. This is not the man you are, so cold and unaffected and…and, compassionless."

"What did you expect?" he snapped at her. "Did you expect me to arrive back and fall to my knees at her feet to beg her forgiveness for my inattentiveness? Did you expect me to kiss her hand and smile and tell her how pleased I am that she has arrived safely? Is that what you want, mother? You want me to lie to her, when you and father always raised me to tell the truth?!"

"I do not want you to lie to her," his mother snarled, "but I expected that you would at least remember to show some common courtesy. Do you know what it has been like this past week?" she asked. He remained silent, knowing she would tell him whether he answered or not. "Arya has been as stubborn as you, refusing to even acknowledge her. Rickon has always been a shy boy, but at his age now you know damn well that it can be mistaken for rudeness. By the Gods, if it were not for Bran then I don't know what I would –"

"Bran?" Robb cut her off mid-tirade, his attention caught now.

"Yes, Bran," she confirmed irritably, "he has been spending time with her, keeping her occupied and helping her settle. In short, Robb Stark, he is doing all the things that you ought to be." He ignored that final comment, his mind spinning at the thought of Bran, of all people, wanting to spend time with Myrcella.

"Why?" he finally asked, unable to make any sense of it.

"Because he, unlike you, understands that Myrcella has done no wrong to us," his mother told him calmly, and for the first time, Robb felt shame at his actions.

"Where is she?" he asked quietly after a deep breath.

"She went to take a walk in the gardens," his mother told him, "I didn't deter her from it. After all, why should she bother to greet you when you could not bother to show her the same courtesy?"

Robb ignored that jibe, draining his glass before slamming it down on the side table. He turned back to his mother, stepping towards her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Thank you, mother," he said, if that didn't thaw her then he didn't know what would. Before she could make any comment he had let himself out of the study and was striding back down the hallway. He refused to let his mind needle at him as he was let back out into the courtyard, refusing to look at any of the men who were still milling about the place. His destination was the gardens, and he refused to think of anything else, especially of who was waiting for him out there. He tried not to let the fact that she was spending time with Bran needle at him, tried not to suspect her, to imagine that she was playing a game rather than simply being kind.

He bashed his way through the gate more forcefully than he had intended, somewhat surprised that he didn't rip the delicate gate from its hinges. Down the gravel path he went, the crunching sound numbing his mind as he strode down it, his eyes searching for any sign of her. He came to a halt when he finally caught a glimpse of her, she had strayed from the path, wandering the perimeter of the western wall. She paused as he watched her, her attention caught not by him but by something growing in the garden. He straightened his doublet subconsciously before he made his way towards her, trying to keep his footsteps light as he made his way onto the grass. His eyes found what her attention had been caught by and he watched as she reached her hand out to touch it. He found the words to stop her in her tracks before she could do so.

"It's a thistle," he told her, and she visibly jumped, turning to face him with wide eyes. "A pretty enough flower," he continued, "but the spines can leave a nasty sting." She appeared at a loss for words, and so he allowed his eyes to appraise her while she found her voice. He couldn't deny her beauty, as a man, he would be a fool to deny it. She was very much her mother's daughter, stood there so effortlessly poised and graceful. Robb couldn't help but let his eyes wander the curve of her neck before they followed the progress of one of her light gold curls that ended just above her waist. Her body was swathed in a cloak but he could tell that she was slim, and no doubt curved in all the right places. He moved his eyes to hers, and she finally seemed to come to her senses.

"Your Grace," she dropped into a low curtsey, "please forgive me, I was not expecting…I didn't know you were…"

"Why would you greet me when I was absent for your own arrival?" he tried to sound jovial, but his voice came out more coldly that he had anticipated.

"I ought to have been there," she gabbled out at once, "I meant no offence to you, your Grace. I know your own absence was unavoidable, and I know that you must have a great deal to attend to, what with winter coming again. I do hope you can forgive my unintended rudeness." Again she dropped into a curtsey, and Robb now felt immensely uncomfortable. She was so well spoken, and she sounded so sincerely sorry, that he now found himself shifting nervously from foot-to-foot.

"Please, princess," he said awkwardly, "I did not mean to sound accusing…perhaps it is my northern tones, I meant it as a jape…"

"Oh," she flushed scarlet, her hands clenching around her cloak as she drew it further around her as she straightened up again.

"You really ought to wear gloves," he told her, unable to think of anything else to say, and desperate to change the subject.

"Oh," she said again, her eyes fluttering to her hands. "I had not even thought of it, your Grace." He took a step closer to her, forcing himself to hold out his hand. She seemed surprised as his gesture, hesitantly outstretching her own hand to him. He took it, feeling it slightly cold but not excessively so. He noted the softness despite himself, swallowing hard before he bent to press a light kiss to the back of it. When he raised his head back up he met her eyes, seeing her gazing at him intently. He swallowed hard before he dropped her hand.

"I won't keep you any longer," he said abruptly, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your walk."

With that he turned and walked away before she had the chance to say anything in return. He cursed himself the entire way back up the path, knowing that he really ought to have offered to show her the rest of the gardens. This was all too much for him, meeting her in the flesh. Properly. He still resented the fact that he would have to marry her within mere weeks, but a tiny part of him had wanted her out there in the gardens. It's because she's beautiful, he told himself, his hands clenching and unclenching as he moved to pass through the gate again. She's beautiful, and I have been too long without a woman. He refused to acknowledge any other explanation. There was no other explanation. At least he knew he would be able to do his duty by her when the time came. He straightened his doublet again and strode purposefully towards the direction of the keep.

Arya emerged from the alleyway that led towards the tiltyard on his journey across the courtyard and he scowled, seeing that damn sword on her hip again. If he had told her once, he had told her a thousand times. Their mother would always explode if Arya dared enter the keep armed, she tolerated her practicing in the tiltyard but that was as far as it went. Of course, compromise did not seem to be a word in Arya's vocabulary. He sighed, already knowing how the ensuing argument would go. Really, he didn't care if Arya wore the sword in the keep, but he knew that he would be the one getting it in the neck if their mother caught her. He folded his arms at her approach, but she merely grinned at him, her eyes dancing mischievously.

"Do you not think I have enough to contend with without you taking that thing inside with you?" he asked her pointedly as she came to a halt a few feet from him.

"Missed you too," Arya said in an affronted manner and he rolled his eyes.

"Just this once, please, I've already had one earful from mother, and I would like to make it to the end of the day without another," his tone must have been convincingly pleading because Arya's eyes softened, and she huffed in what he knew to be grudging agreement.

"Fine," she said exasperatedly, "was your scolding to do with the princess?" she spoke Myrcella's title mockingly and Robb sighed.

"What else?" he said moodily, and she smiled sympathetically at him.

"Mother has been trying to get us all to get to know her, but what good will that do?" Arya raised a brow. "I cannot imagine us having any common interests."

"You don't have any common interests with any woman," Robb rolled his eyes in response and Arya glared at him.

"That's not true," she said indignantly, and he grinned at her.

"Name one," he challenged her, and she glowered even more furiously in response.

"You know, I was glad you'd come home, now I'm not so sure," she said darkly, and he couldn't help but laugh. Leave it to Arya to take his mind away from his troubles.

"Take it back to the tiltyard and I'll spar with you in the morning," he nodded towards her sword and her scowl turned into a delighted grin at once.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, turning at once to make her way back. Halfway across the courtyard she turned back to him and smiled widely. "I am glad you're back really!" she called out and he chuckled, shaking his head.

"I should think so too!" he retorted, before he himself turned and made for the keep once more.

Again he inclined his head to the guards, smiling as best he could for them before he made his way back towards his father's study. He let himself in, not bothering to close the door properly behind him, before crossing to the side table again and pouring another glass of wine. When he brought it to his lips he supped half of it down at once, his hands shaking slightly. "How did it go?" he jumped at his mother's voice, spilling a few drops of wine over his hand. He turned, seeing her sat in the corner with her hands neatly folded in her lap.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked bluntly in return, ignoring her question.

"I assumed you'd be back," she said simply, raising a brow. He ignored her, turning his attention back to his wine and drinking down another quarter of it. "Did she say something to offend you?" his mother persisted, and he glared at her before turning to top up his glass.

"No," he said moodily, taking another long drink.

"Do you wish she had?" she asked next, her eyes boring into his when he finally managed to meet them.

"Why would I wish that?" he countered, and she shrugged her shoulders slightly.

"Because it is no secret that you wish this marriage didn't have to take place," she said calmly, "and I wouldn't be surprised if you had already decided not to like her before you went out to the gardens." Robb merely scowled. Sometimes he really did despise his mother's astuteness. "I can only assume from your silence that I'm right," she said lightly, "and from your mood I can only assume you didn't find anything displeasing about your future wife."

He ignored her again, gulping down some more wine and wishing that she wasn't right. It was true, there was nothing displeasing about Myrcella, but her family. Her blood. That was something he could not bring himself to set aside, and he wondered if he ever would be able to.

"What are you so afraid of?" his mother asked him softly, almost pleadingly. She was standing now, hesitating mere feet from him, as though she herself was afraid of coming any closer.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked her, meeting her eyes that were the same ones that stared back at him in the mirror.

"Yes," she nodded, "of course I do. I am your mother, Robb, if you cannot confide in me then am not doing my duty properly." He sighed at that, guilt nagging at his stomach again. His mother had an uncanny way of making him feel bad by implying that she was failing as a mother. It could not be further from the truth, and it was a sure way to make him tell her exactly what was playing on his mind and weighing heavily in his chest.

"I'm afraid," he started, taking a deep breath. "I'm afraid that, that if we have a child…" he tailed off, unable to form the words, bringing his glass to his lips again and drinking the rest of the wine.

"If you have a child, what?" his mother prompted him as he set the empty glass down with slightly more force than necessary.

"That I won't love it," he said quickly, as though by blurting the words out he could make them sound any less hideous.

"Why?" she asked him, her eyes wide and pleading. He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.

"Because of her," he shrugged his shoulders, "because of who she is…"

"Robb, you cannot think this way -," his mother began in soothing tones, but he had no desire to hear her reassurances.

"I can't help it!" he burst out. "All I can think of is Lannister, when I looked at her it is all I could see. I am supposed to share a life with her, my bed with her. She will be the mother of my children and I -," he cut off, struggling with the words.

"Robb -"

"They will be half her!" he shot across her. "They will have her blood in their veins. The same blood that flowed in Joffrey's veins. My children, my sons and daughters will share the blood of that monster who murdered my father! How am I supposed to live with that?!"

"Robb –"

"Don't think you can coddle me with this mother!" again he shot her down, but this time she shook her head insistently, her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder. He turned, closing his eyes in despair when he saw who was stood there. "Princess…" he began vaguely, not even sure how he was supposed to explain himself in this situation.

"May I say something, your Grace?" she asked him quietly, her expression smooth. He nodded mutely, and she inclined her head in response.

"I understand why you would not want me as your wife, as the mother of your children," she began, and he felt horrible. "I know what harm my family has caused to yours, but you signed the treaty with my grandfather all those years ago and you knew that you would eventually have to take me as your queen. You did not ask for it, I know, but you still agreed to it. I know why, to end the war and the suffering of your people, and I think you are honourable and brave for putting their lives and the future of your kingdom before your own happiness," she paused to take a breath, and Robb wished he could stop her. Each word from her mouth made him curse himself more and more, but he could find no words, much less his voice, and so she continued, looking him dead in the eye as she did so.

"But still you said yes," she said, a harder edge to her voice now. "You said yes, you agreed and you signed your name on the treaty. Do you think anyone ever asked me if I agreed? Do you think they asked my permission to sign away my future? My grandfather did it all on my behalf, he consented for me and I sat before him meekly with my head bowed while he told me what was to become of me. There was no opportunity to say no, no room for negotiation. It had all been decided between him and you, and that was that. I am sorry that it has all become too real for you now that I am here, but I'm begging you, your Grace, do not make the mistake of thinking that this is easy for me. I may be a princess from a rich family, but the greatest decision I have ever made by myself is what to wear for my brother's wedding. You chose this future for me, and if I can live with it then, with respect, your Grace, I believe you ought to find a way to do the same."

Robb swallowed hard as she came to the end of her speech, her eyes still on his and shining with tears now. Her voice had shaken at the end but he could not help but admire the way she was holding herself together, refusing to give into her emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to find some words in his head that would not make it all worse. An apology didn't seem enough. Myrcella dropped her eyes from his in the next instant, dropping into a slight curtsey before she raised them back to meet his once more. "Thank you for hearing me, your Grace," she said quietly, before she turned gracefully on the spot and walked from the room. Evidently she had assumed he had nothing to say to her. Part of him wanted to call her back, to offer her his apology, even if it would be a feeble attempt. He didn't. He just closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the onslaught that his mother would no doubt begin once she was sure Myrcella was out of earshot.

"Well done," she said drily, and he sighed heavily before turning back to face her.

"How much did she hear?" Robb asked her, knowing he would likely regret asking.

"I would say she heard more than enough," his mother said, her eyes furious as she met his.

"Go on then," he said in a resigned manner, "hit me with it." His mother contemplated him for a long moment, her eyes slowly softening as the seconds ticked by.

"I have nothing to say," she said quietly, a sad little smile coming to adorn her lips. "I think Myrcella said it all perfectly, and I think you ought to think hard on her words, Robb Stark. This is not all about you, and I did not raise you to be so selfish."


A/N: So yeah, Robb got told. Back with Myrcella next time, and another familiar face may make an appearance. ;)