A/N: Hey guys, new chapter for you, hope you all enjoy. A quick note to those who are reading Butterfly Effect as well, I hope to get the next chapter up for you later today, but I'm not quite happy with it yet! I will do my best for you.

unnamed visitor: Yes, Arya is a very angry young woman, and what she said to Myrcella was certainly harsh. She has her reasons, and of course, she is a stubborn one as well. As you said, at least Myrcella felt she could turn to Robb, and even go as far to discuss her paternity with him. It definitely was a positive with regard to their relationship. Thanks so much as always, hope you like the new chapter.

Reader: Thanks very much, glad you're pleased with the pace. No, Arya certainly isn't forgiving, she will definitely need some more persuasion when it comes to Myrcella. Robb and Myrcella are certainly making progress, but the 'L' word won't be mentioned between them for a very long time yet, so no worries there haha. Thank you again.

Guest: Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far, and hope you continue to do so.

Boramir: Thank you! Yes, Arya is certainly impulsive. I don't think she would physically harm Myrcella, but I can understand Myrcella feeling threatened by her. Yes, I think Walder did the right thing accepting Tywin's offer, and I agree that if he hadn't then Tywin would have caused hell. The man gets what he wants one way or another, and what he wanted was a crown for his granddaughter. The Godfather parallel is spot on. And yes, you did read that context right when it comes to Joffrey. That tiny snippet will be explained properly later on in the fic.

Right-ho folks, on we go!

:)


VIII: The First Snow


Robb


Robb smiled slightly as he leaned against the open doorway, his eyes keen as he watched Sansa rearranging Raya's blankets around her before stepping closer to Myrcella. His soon-to-be wife seemed to hesitate a little, and he saw the slight shake in her hands as Sansa offered the baby to her. He could well understand her fear, he had been terrified when Sansa had first come to Winterfell to present Bethany to them. His niece had been so tiny that he had been afraid he might break her. She was not so tiny now, as she stamped around the nursery swinging one of her dolls rather more violently than he felt was necessary. His mother had called him ridiculous, reminding him that he had held all of his own siblings as babies. Robb was sure she was right, but he only really remembered holding Bran and Rickon, perhaps a vague memory of Arya. He had been a child then though, and he knew well enough that children did not have the same fears as grown men and women.

His eyes moved from Bethany and back to Myrcella as Sansa shifted Raya into her arms, again rearranging some of the blankets. It was a subconscious thing she did, Robb knew well enough, all mother's he had seen did the same whenever the weather grew colder. Myrcella adjusted her grip slightly on the baby, and he could see how terrified she was from the way her body stiffened. "Just relax," Sansa advised her softly, "she is only young. She won't try and wriggle out of your arms just yet." Robb knew that Sansa had been trying to soothe her with the words, but if anything Myrcella looked even more terrified.

"They do that?" she asked in a slightly strangled voice and Robb had to bite back a laugh.

"Robb almost dropped Bethany once," Sansa told her in an amused tone and he scowled.

"I did not," he said indignantly, and the two women snapped their heads towards him at once.

"What's this?" Olyvar's voice came behind him. "Are you talking about the time Robb almost dropped Beth?" Olyvar clapped him on the back as he skirted round him to enter the nursery.

"I did not," Robb protested again as Sansa laughed. He narrowed his eyes at her, but looked away swiftly as Olyvar moved to greet her with a kiss. His old squire was one of his greatest friends, and he was truly pleased that his sister had found love and happiness. However, that did not mean that he enjoyed seeing them being amorous with one another. Arya teased him mercilessly about it, asking him how he imagined two daughters had been delivered to their sister. She had been avoiding him recently though, no doubt she was trying to avoid Myrcella. He was still irked with her for what she had said to his betrothed, and he had told her never to speak to her in such a way again. Arya had been unimpressed, and had barely spoken two words to him since.

"I know you mean well, Arya, but you cannot speak to her that way. She is a princess, and she deserves your respect at the very least," he scolded her. "I am not asking you to like her. I am not even asking you to spend any time with her. I am merely asking you to hold your tongue, please, for me?" Arya stared up at him, the expression in her eyes almost murderous.

"Princess?" she repeated mockingly. "Gods, she really has got you right where she wants you hasn't she, Robb? What happened to you? Have you just forgotten about everything that happened due to the Lannisters because she has pretty hair and looks nice in a dress?!" His own gaze turned cold at that, and he glared at his younger sister.

"It matters not who her parents are, I have judged her on her own character," he snarled at her, "and I will not warn you again. Leave Myrcella alone, she is not to be held accountable for the crimes of others."

"Are you alright, Robb?" Sansa's voice snapped him out of his daze and he smiled for her, nodding faintly.

"I was just thinking, that's all," he said reassuringly, and she returned his smile.

"I expect you have much to think about, mother was asking me for thoughts on the wedding feast. Is there anything that either of you have a specific preference for?" Sansa looked between Robb and Myrcella expectantly.

"Oh…I, uhm, I will eat most things. I would hate for any unnecessary trouble to be gone to," Myrcella spoke up, her eyes flickering between him and Sansa. While he and Myrcella had fallen into a rather easy friendship they very rarely made any mention of their coming nuptials. They could hardly avoid the notion forever, the ceremony was set to take place a mere week from now.

"I hope you have not been giving mother ideas," Robb sighed heavily, "if I hear any more talk about sixteen courses I will ban you from helping her."

"Sixteen?" Olyvar repeated. "What did we have? Four?" he looked at Sansa for her answer.

"Yes," she confirmed, "though our wedding did take place in the depths of winter." Olyvar murmured his agreement at that, his attention caught by Bethany pulling on the ties of his boot.

"And mine and Myrcella's wedding is taking place as winter is about to set in again. I told her, eight is my limit, even that is too much if you ask me," Robb said with a roll of his eyes, and Sansa smirked at him.

"Tommen had thirty-eight," Myrcella said quietly, and they all turned to stare at her.

"Thirty-eight?" Olyvar and Robb repeated in a scandalized tone, Sansa biting down on her lip to no doubt stop herself from laughing.

"It was in the summer," Myrcella defended at once, "we weren't to know then how brief it was going to be."

"Thirty-eight?" Olyvar repeated again. "And did you sample all of them?" his good-brother's tone was almost longing and Robb rolled his eyes, sharing a knowing look with Sansa.

"Not all of them," Myrcella smiled, "over half though, I would wager. But only a little from each. It does no good for a lady to over-indulge, or so Etta used to tell me anyway." She glanced towards Robb then, and he could see her features beginning to relax. No doubt she had been on edge when the talk of their wedding had been sprung upon them. He hoped it was only because she was worried about he would react to it, and not because she herself were dreading it.

"A royal wedding, Robb. Perhaps you ought to up your number," Olyvar grinned at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Ah yes, but my future good-brother rules over six regions, I myself can only claim two," he said in an amused tone.

"Then what is a quarter of thirty-eight?" Sansa asked, a slight frown creasing her brow.

"Nine," Myrcella answered, "and a half," she added, grinning at Robb as he shot her a dark look.

"We may as well round that to ten," Olyvar said matter-of-factly and Robb huffed at him.

"Or we can just keep it to eight," Myrcella smiled, "I think we have teased him enough for one day." Robb sent her a grateful look and she inclined her head slightly. Her attention was caught from him as Raya began to grumble in her arms, a fleeting look of panic crossing her features before she rocked the baby slightly, hushing her gently. Robb smiled slightly as his younger niece began to quiet again.

"I don't know what you were worried about," Sansa directed towards Myrcella, "you are a natural."

"Thank you," Myrcella smiled widely at Sansa before her attention went back to Raya. Sansa in turn looked towards Robb and sent him a knowing look. He smiled slightly, knowing well enough what the look was for. No doubt their mother had told Sansa all about the terrible things he had uttered about Myrcella and their future children. It still made him cringe to remember them, beyond ashamed at how hateful he had been. It seemed impossible now, as he gazed at Myrcella intently, to think that it had not been that long ago that he had harboured such deep resentment towards her.

"Olyvar," he spoke up, remembering something, "I am glad we're all here together, there is something I would ask of you – should Myrcella be agreeable."

"Anything," Olyvar said easily and Robb smiled at him.

"I wondered if you would be the one to escort Myrcella to the Godswood. By tradition it ought to be her father, but obviously that is impossible. In his place it ought to be a member of my own family. Rickon is too shy to conduct what is necessary, and Bran is unable, though I know if he were he would be more than willing," he nodded towards Myrcella at that point, seeing her incline her head in response. "It doesn't seem right to ask my mother or sisters, so I wondered if you would be willing?"

"Of course, it would be my honour," Olyvar bowed his head between the pair of them. "If the princess is willing of course," Olyvar continued, and all eyes moved to Myrcella.

"Of course I am, thank you," she said gratefully, and the two of them shared a smile. Robb himself was relieved, he had thought to ask one of his lords when they began to arrive, but he wasn't sure how any of them would take it. If his bride had been anyone else then he imagined they would see it as a great honour. With it being Myrcella though…Well, imagining the look on Lord Karstark's face had been enough to persuade him against that particular idea. Olyvar made sense, he was a Ser and a member of Robb's own family. He had also spent enough time with Myrcella to know her true nature, and doubtless she herself would be more comfortable with him than being escorted by one of his lords that she was yet to meet.


"You are wise beyond your years, do you know that?" Robb smiled as he and Myrcella ambled along the gravel path.

"What makes you say that?" she asked him curiously, a hint of a smile playing about her own lips.

"I sometimes forget how young you are, younger even than Arya, when I speak to you I…" he tailed off, suddenly uncertain of what he should say.

"You what?" she prompted him curiously, nudging him in the ribs slightly with her elbow. Her action made him grin, she was becoming far less proper with him by the day.

"Your courtesies are deserting you more and more with each passing day," he commented with a smirk and she giggled lightly.

"Perhaps I am turning savage," she said teasingly, to which it was his turn to laugh. "Do not change the subject," she chided him after a moment of quiet. "What were you going to say?"

"I don't know if I have the right words," he confessed to her and she slowed her steps so they both came to a halt.

"You told me that you didn't have a pretty way with words, and I told you I would prefer honest ones, remember?" she arched one brow in the way that she seemed to reserve just for him, the sight of it making him smile slightly.

"I can imagine the queen you will be," he said after considering her for a long moment. "I do not think you will be content to sit beside me and smile serenely, you have strong opinions, and I do not want to repress them." Both her brows were raised at that, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times before she seemed to find a reply to him.

"What does that mean? That you would consider my council?" she asked him, an almost hopeful look shining in her eyes.

"If you want honest words from me, then I want the same from you. On all matters, whether they be personal to the pair of us, to our family, or if they concern the kingdoms. Don't ever be afraid to speak your mind. I may not always like it, but I won't ever command you not to," he promised her, his hand finding hers. This time she slowly moved her hand so that her fingers could lace with his and he swallowed hard. He didn't remember them standing this close before, facing one another with a mere inch between them. Her breath had quickened, he could see it in the air as the temperature was so cold now. His own appeared to be stuck in his throat, even though his heart was hammering against his chest. Slowly he leaned in closer. Only an inch, to gauge her reaction. She didn't pull away, if anything she leaned in a fraction more. He licked his lips nervously, seeing her own part slightly as though in anticipation. He vaguely wondered if a man had ever kissed her before. His own stomach was clenched tightly as though it was his first time all over again.

Just as he had made his mind up to just lean in and press his lips to hers he heard his mother's exasperated shout coming from the other side of the gardens. With a sigh he pulled back slightly, glancing back towards Myrcella and seeing that she had averted her eyes. In the next moment she slipped her hand from his grasp, moving it back to settle on his arm. He was irritated at that, his hand feeling oddly colder without the contact of her soft skin. "There you are!" his mother sounded half relieved and half irritated. "Sansa is waiting with the seamstress, your dress is ready," she directed toward Myrcella.

"Oh!" Myrcella put her free hand to her forehead. "Of course, it is today…I plain forgot, my lady, I am so sorry!"

"There is no matter, just run along there now, I will join you in a moment," his mother said kindly, and Myrcella slipped her hand from his arm.

"I will see you at dinner," she met his eyes, and he inclined his head, an amused smile twitching at his lips as he could almost see her forcing herself not to drop into a curtsey. When it was just the two of them she was never formal anymore, but as soon as his mother was around she seemed to want to revert back to all her southern courtesies.

"See you at dinner," he replied, and she gave him a swift smile and bowed her head before picking up her skirts slightly and half running in the direction of the keep. "You put her on edge," Robb told his mother in an amused tone.

"I don't mean to," his mother replied, and he grinned.

"I know you don't," he chuckled, offering her the arm Myrcella had just dropped.

"Did I interrupt you?" she asked knowingly as they resumed the walk he had been intending to enjoy with his future wife.

"We were just going for a turn around the gardens," he replied simply, and she hummed in a rather suspicious manner.

"Myrcella had quite the blush on her cheeks," she commented and he rolled his eyes.

"It will be the chill in the air," he said dismissively, and he could have sworn his mother snorted slightly.

"Nothing happened," he said indignantly, to which his mother hummed again.

"Would it have? If I had not interrupted you?" she needled at him and he huffed in an irritable manner.

"I don't really know if I want to have this conversation with you," he said pointedly, but she seemed unperturbed.

"Robb, I am your mother," she scoffed, "you have never been able to lie to me."

"I am four and twenty," he reminded her, and she squeezed his arm affectionately.

"Yes, yes, you are a man grown, and a king too, but I am still your mother. Talk to me," she commanded him, and he sighed in defeat.

"I had thought to kiss her," he finally admitted, refusing to look at his mother. He just knew that there would be a triumphant expression on her face.

"Indeed," she said simply, but he could hear the underlying smugness in her tone.

"I do not want to hear it," he warned her, though he couldn't quite keep the trace of amusement from his own voice.

"Hear what?" she asked him innocently.

"I told you so," he replied simply.

"I am just glad that you have given her a chance," his mother said seriously, "and even more glad that the two of you are getting on so well. I know it won't always be easy, but you're both doing wonderfully. I see you together sometimes and I can almost imagine that the two of you are a love match, rather than a political one." Robb turned and narrowed his eyes at her slightly at that.

"Do not get ahead of yourself," he muttered. Yes, he enjoyed Myrcella's company. And yes, as a man, he desired her. How could he not? But love? That was something else entirely.

"Oh, you know what I mean," his mother said exasperatedly, and he shook his head.

"I enjoy spending time with her, and I am sure she will make a pleasing wife and queen, but that is all I can allow at this moment, mother," he told her, unable to stop the slightly warning tones creeping in.

"That is far more than you had even considered even a moon ago," she reminded him, and he nodded his agreement.

"I know," he voiced it, "and I know you were right. I should never have judged her before I met her, it only serves to make me guiltier the more I come to know her." His mother patted his arm affectionately in response.

"It takes a real man to admit his mistakes," she said, "and I have no doubt that you have made your apology to her. Leave it in the past where it belongs. In only a few days you will be husband and wife, make your wedding day a real fresh start and forget all of the apprehension and the ugly words that have been spoken."

"I will," he vowed, "but the apprehension and ugly words have not been all my own." His mother sighed heavily at that, and he knew that she had understood his meaning.

"Arya," she said in a tired manner, and he nodded his agreement.

"I wonder if she will even come to the wedding," he muttered, and his mother applied more pressure to his arm.

"She is your sister, whatever feelings she has towards Myrcella she will put them aside and support you, Robb, I am sure of it," she said with conviction, and Robb wished he could believe her.

"Are you?" he asked sceptically.

"Arya is as stubborn as a mule. Both your father and I could be on occasion, she appears to have taken the trait from both of us. I sometimes wonder if her being out in the wilds away from us for so long took more of a toll on her than she would have us believe. She certainly harbours more resentment inside her than the rest of us. I know you had your fair share," she nodded towards him, and he inclined his head. "But," she continued, "you somehow found it inside you to accept Tywin's deal. You got some kind of peace from Joffrey's death. Some justice. Just as Sansa did, as I did…but Arya…Arya still seems to lust after more. She is vengeful still, Robb, sometimes so much so that she scares me with it. And to her, Myrcella is just a symbol of everything she has despised for so long. But she loves you, and she will not spoil your day, I will make sure of that."


"Where are we going? I thought you were escorting me back to my chamber," Myrcella sounded simultaneously excited and suspicious, and he smiled slightly.

"I was going to," he confirmed, "but then something outside caught my eye, and I'd like you to see it." She hummed suspiciously, reminding him eerily of his mother out in the gardens earlier in the day. "How was your dress? I never got the chance to ask you at dinner, you were so busy gossiping with Sansa and my mother," he said exasperatedly and she turned her head and narrowed her eyes at him.

"I was not gossiping," she said indignantly, "we were merely speaking about the wedding and how much there still is to prepare. But my dress was fine, only minor adjustments needed."

"Good," he smiled, "I cannot wait to see you in it." He took himself aback with the sincerity of his words, and he saw Myrcella's eyes widen in barely disguised surprise.

"And what about you?" she asked as they waited for the guards to let them out of the keep. "Will you be wearing your usual black or will you be wearing something with a little colour?" she asked him with that arched brow, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Would you have me in bright colours and adorned with jewels when we are married, princess?" he asked her mockingly and she scowled at him.

"A little colour would do you no harm. What about blue? It would go with your eyes," she suggested and he snorted slightly.

"I'm sure," he said drily, leading her through the doors which the guards held open for them. "For the wedding I had thought to wear grey, as a Stark," he inclined his head and she smiled. "And my mother insisted I ought to at least match your cloak," he rolled his eyes at her and she laughed.

Her laughter cut off though as they left the keep, and he turned to see her eyes wide again. "The first real snow of the winter," he gestured out into the night air where snowflakes were falling slowly from the sky.

"It's so beautiful," she said wonderingly, reaching her hand out to catch one of the flakes as they descended the steps.

"You act as though you have never seen it before," he chuckled, and she slapped his arm lightly in response.

"I have never seen it like this before," she said wonderingly, "the snow we had at the Capitol was always so light and powdery. This is real snow."

She slipped her hand from his arm and walked several steps in front of him, outstretching one of her hands to catch another flake. Robb couldn't help but watch her intently as she brought her hand closer to her face to examine the flake. "Will it settle?" she asked him almost longingly.

"Do you wish it to?" he asked in response, and she turned and smiled sheepishly at him.

"Not forever," she elaborated, "it's just, mother never allowed us to go out during the winter. Not properly at least. Tommen and I were never allowed to play in the snow, though we saw other children out there. They would build forts and throw snowballs at one another from behind them."

"We may have done that," Robb grinned at her and she beamed back at him. "And Rickon, bless him and his patience, built six direwolves from it out in the gardens. They stood there for a good week, until more flurries came and made them unrecognisable." Myrcella's smile only widened at that, and she came back towards him, her eyes wide and shining.

"Why have you never introduced me to Grey Wind?" she asked him tentatively, cocking her head to one side.

"I didn't know you had a desire to meet him," he answered her, and she frowned slightly.

"He's important to you," she said pointedly, "and I have only ever seen glimpses of him around the grounds."

"At first, I suppose I didn't want you to share him with me," he admitted to her, seeing her expression more understanding than hurt.

"And now?" she pressed him gently.

"And now I know you better, and I see no reason why you shouldn't be introduced. If you would really like to be," he smiled at her, seeing her return the gesture easily.

"I would," she said simply, and he reached out for her hand.

"Then perhaps he can accompany us on our walk tomorrow?"

"Our final walk unmarried," she observed, and he swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of her hand in his.

"Indeed," he agreed, his mouth suddenly incredibly dry. She said nothing else, and neither did he, simply brushing his thumb lightly up and down the skin on the back of her hand. It seemed to calm his pounding heart enough for him to be able to meet her eyes once more. "I see you have still not had any gloves made," he rolled his eyes at her.

"My hand is perfectly warm," she returned, mimicking his gesture.

"And what of the other one?" he enquired, holding his other hand out for it. She placed it in his with a sigh and he grinned at her. "Not quite frozen yet," he remarked and she shook her head at him. He merely grinned again before bringing her hand further towards him and bending his head to press his lips to the back of it.

"That was very courteous of you, your Grace," she said teasingly when he raised his head again.

"It saved me from doing something rather uncourteous," he returned before he could stop himself, seeing a blush rise up on her cheeks even in the darkness.

"That same uncourteous thing your mother stopped you from doing out in the gardens?" she asked him, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"The very same," he returned, dropping one of her hands and hesitantly moving his fingers to stroke gently down her cheek.

"I wouldn't mind," she told him, her cheeks even more flushed. He smiled in response before allowing the tips of his middle finger and his forefinger to rest on her lower lip.

"I'm glad," he said, smiling widely at her, "but as tempting as you are, I will resist until we are joined under the heart tree. I cannot give you any more reasons to name me a savage."


A/N: Hope you all enjoyed that, a little romance creeping in now, but definitely not head-over-heels yet.

More soon!

:)