A/N: A belated happy new year everyone! I know it's been a hell of a long time, but I have been moving house, starting a new job and generally being ridiculously busy. Things have calmed down a bit now though, and I have the internet all set up so here is a new chapter for you. Sorry for the delay, I do hope you'll enjoy. I hope to be more regular with my updating - aiming for once a week to begin with. I also hope to get on with my other story - United We Stand - for those of you who also read that. I know it's been even longer since I updated that but I've been a bit stuck on it.

Anyway, I do hope I still have some readers! I want to thank you all for your reviews and follows/favourites etc. A quick note on reviews, I know I usually reply to everyone, but as you can imagine it can get a little time consuming. From now on, I will be saying a big thank you to everyone within my A/N, and only replying to those who have any specific questions. Just know I do appreciate you, but time is limited as it is, I hope you will all understand.

Anyway, I will stop rambling. Again, apologies for the wait. Hope you enjoy!

:)


XXVIII: Fears


Robb


It was getting warmer. Not by much, but he could feel it in the air. The elder residents of Winterfell could feel it too, they had experienced far more winters than him. The fact that they were all determined that the air was warming made Robb more certain in his own belief. At first, he had thought it was wishful thinking, what with it only being mere weeks until his child was due to be born. He had had restless nights and troubled days thinking about such a small and defenceless little creature being born into such bitter cold. To everyone else he remained optimistic, constantly assuring them that winter would not trouble the baby one bit.

Privately, though, he had been pacing the hallways and all the rooms that the baby would be likely to inhabit, checking every corner and every window pane for a hint of a draught. If he felt the slightest thing he called the builders up to seal it. He would not allow the chill to enter the keep. For the most part it was as warm inside as ever it was, but during the last winter there had not been a baby in the keep. Now there soon would be, and Robb was both longing for it and dreading it.

It was a strange mix of emotions, he recognised that, but he couldn't seem to help it. He wanted more than anything to allow the joy and expectation to take him over, but the thought of something going wrong would always seep in and take over. What if Myrcella didn't survive the birth? What if the baby was born dead? What if he lost them both? Increasingly dark thoughts would trickle into his mind. He didn't know how he would cope if any of them came to fruition. Losing the child would devastate him, and he knew it would break his wife's heart.

Losing her…it felt like an icy hand gripped his heart whenever he thought it. She meant so much, where he had once imagined she would mean so little. Thinking of her no longer surrounding him, being his partner and constant companion, of being alone without her again filled him with such a dark fear. He didn't think he would cope. He didn't know how he would ever pick himself up. Would he be able to consider another wife? He stopped there. It felt wrong, following his fears that far. He would not even entertain the possibility of losing her. Not anymore. It was driving him half mad. The only thing worse was the thought of losing them both. What would he have then?

Robb shook his head to clear it. He really needed to stop thinking such morbid thoughts. Both Myrcella and the baby were both healthy and thriving, that is what the Maester had assured him of, and Robb could do nothing but bow to his superior wisdom in that matter. Myrcella's fears had seemed to ebb away the closer her time came. Even now, with the birth mere weeks away, she was calm and relaxed. There seemed to be an almost glow about her, especially when the baby stirred inside her. Her eyes would light up in a way that never failed to astound him. He had to believe that they would both continue to be healthy, and that all would go as it should.

He sighed, tapping his quill on the edge of the inkwell. There had been a letter from Torrhen's Square, they were struggling with supplies. Robb had hoped he would not have to worry about them, but it appeared that the film of ice over the lake had grown too thick to bore down to the water now. That meant they could no longer rely on their supply of fish. Consequently they were getting through their stockpile of grain too quickly, and they had not had the most bountiful harvest in the first place. He sighed again. There was not much he could do, and it bothered him. As King all he wanted to do was make sure his subjects were looked after and fairly treated.

Even if he were not King, it would have been his duty anyway as the Lord of Winterfell. During winter though, there was little he could do. At least the temperature was starting to creep upwards. Snowfall was becoming rarer, and hopefully they would be able to send supplies out in the next few weeks. It would still be a perilous journey along the roads, and would take far longer than usual, but what other choice did he have? As soon as the roads were deemed passable he would send a cart to Torrhen's Square. Until then, all he could do was advise the steward to ration the grain. It would not be a popular decision, he knew, but he also knew that it was better for the smallfolk to be hungry than for them to starve. They likely wouldn't see it that way, but in the long run it would hopefully save them from a cruel and painful death.

He dipped his quill into the inkwell before scratching out his reply. Hopefully the steward would heed his advice, and not go too far with the rationing. It had to be done just right, so the people would still get enough food in their bellies to survive. Hunger was something Northerners had to be used to during winter. Even Robb and his family had gone to bed with grumbling stomachs for several long months during the last winter. Everyone had to make sacrifices, like it or not, if they were to ensure their survival. He signed off the letter, and then set the hard wax above the flame to melt so he could seal it up.

As he waited for it to pool in the shallow bowl a knock came upon the door of the study. He called for his visitor to come in, smiling when he saw the Maester enter.

"Is everything alright?" he asked the older man.

"Of course," came the reply. "Just some letters come for you, your Grace."

"Thank you," Robb smiled again. "You can take this and send it for me, to Torrhen's Square."

"Right away, your Grace," the Maester bowed his head, setting the new letters down on his desk and waiting patiently for Robb to roll up his letter and press the seal into it.

"Thank you," Robb said again as he handed the sealed letter over.

The Maester smiled and bowed his head again before retreating from the room. When the door closed behind him Robb turned his attention to the two letters he had been brought. The first bore the seal of Riverrun, and he snapped it easily, unrolling it to see what word his uncle had sent him. Robb had been expecting an update from Edmure, as he took care of ruling over the Riverlands. It was rare Robb himself was called upon to settle any matter or dispute. Edmure was perfectly capable of ensuring the laws were upheld and the borders protected; not that anything had threatened their borders in several years. And I pray to the Gods it continues as such, Robb thought to himself.

He shook his head, reading to the end of the letter before allowing a smile. Everything in the Riverlands was fine, just as he had suspected. Of course, certain foods were in short supply, and some settlements were suffering more than others – but it was the same everywhere. Robb could attest to that. It was to be expected, and Edmure was more than capable of handling it. Robb set the letter aside, he would reply to it later. Now though, he reached for the second letter.

The seal made him swallow involuntarily hard. He had been expecting it, of course. In fact, it was he who had sent word first. It was not the reply itself that bothered him, it was the expectation of what was written within it. He took a breath before unrolling it and taking in the words carefully. The script was measured, neat and elegant. Almost feminine, almost like Myrcella's. It was rougher though, easily identifiable as male if you really looked at it. He felt encouraged. Tommen had almost certainly written back in his own hand. That was a good sign, he felt sure of it. Feeling positive, he read on.

The tone was cautious, as Robb's own had been when he had written in the first place. They may well be kin now, but neither he nor Tommen could likely forget the bad blood between their families. Robb thought of his father for a moment, his fingers twitching of their own accord. It was better than the fist-clenching that used to come – progress, at least. He sighed, and read on. By the end, a faint smile twitched at his lips. He had been hopeful that Tommen would grant his request. After all, it was for Myrcella really, how could Tommen have refused?

Satisfied, he set the letter aside. He would reply to that in the morning. His stomach was growling now, it was enough to distract him. Somehow he felt he would rather reply to his good-brother on a full stomach after enjoying a good nights' rest. With another sigh he pushed back from his desk and made for the door. Closing it behind him he set off down the hallway towards the entrance hall. Halfway there he could smell dinner and his stomach snarled. He had not eaten since breaking his fast. Not many people took luncheon during winter, though he did insist that Myrcella and his mother both did.

The two of them were crossing the entrance hall as he emerged. Neither noticed him. They were arm in arm and chattering away happily. He decided against hailing them, allowing them to go on into the dining hall without him. His smile faded as he made to follow them in, his gaze drawn to the main doors, which the guards had just opened. It seemed the baker had come to pick up his supply of grain. He came daily at around this time, and always oversaw the transfer of it to the mill personally. That was why Robb was now frowning, because it was not Thom who had come, but his assistant.

He bit his lip, torn between his growling stomach and the need to know where Thom was. Winterfell had already lost one good baker during the last winter, he hoped they were not about to lose another. He strode towards the main doors, Thom's assistant – Harry, Robb believed his name was – started as he approached, dropping into a low bow. Robb resisted rolling his eyes. Harry had clearly not been brought up at Winterfell. The people here were always courteous and would always bow their heads, but only at formal occasions and during court did they ever bow so lowly to him.

"Please, rise," Robb told him kindly, and he straightened up, looking nervous.

"Your Grace?" he stammered slightly and Robb heard one of the guards suppress a snort.

"I wondered where your master is," Robb got to the point. "He usually sees to this personally."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Begging your pardon, your Grace, but the mistress fell sick and he did not want to leave her."

"Ada?" Robb asked without thinking, clearing his throat and trying to keep his expression smooth.

"Yes, your Grace," Harry confirmed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "For Thom's sake, and the children," he added quickly.

"I will be sure to pass that on, your Grace," Harry bobbed his head. That was more like it.

"Be sure that you do," Robb said. "And, please, inform your master that the Maester will attend on his wife should she need it. He will not need any coin."

"Yes, your Grace," Harry bowed once more. "Of course, your Grace. I thank you on his behalf, your Grace."

Robb held his hand up and forced a smile. He didn't think he could stand one more utterance of your Grace. His head was swimming. "I'll let you get on," he said to Harry, turning and heading for the dining hall before he had to witness the young man bowing once more. It was only as he approached the high table that he realised that he didn't feel all that hungry anymore. Still, he had been noticed now, Myrcella and his mother were smiling widely at him. He could do nothing but join them, and hope they did not notice his sour mood. If they did he would blame it on the news from Torrhen's Square. That ought to placate them.

He took his place next to his wife, leaning in to peck her cheek before he pulled the nearest wine flagon towards him and filled his cup. That was one thing they never seemed to run out of, even during the winter – thank the Gods. "To your health," he toasted his wife and mother on either side of him before taking a long drink.

"Are you quite alright?" his mother was the first to ask, though he could see the concern etched across Myrcella's brow from the corner of his eye.

"Quite," he twitched his lips up. "Torrhen's Square are having trouble with their supplies is all."

"Is it serious?" Myrcella asked.

"It could be, if nothing is done," Robb answered her. "But I don't plan on doing nothing, so don't concern yourself. I will have a cart of supplies sent to them when the road becomes clearer."

"And until then?" his mother frowned.

"They will have rations, whether they like it or not," he grimaced.

"Well, if the men are to be believed then spring is coming," she said buoyantly.

"Yes," Robb agreed, taking some more wine before half filling his plate.

"Is that all you're having?" Myrcella sounded concerned.

"I may have a little more, though I'm not that hungry," Robb replied.

"But, you would not have had any luncheon," she frowned.

"I'm perfectly fine," he assured her, turning his head to meet her eyes for a moment.

She seemed satisfied, smiling at him and caressing the back of his hand for a moment before she reached for her own cup. A slight smile twitched his lips, her insatiable appetite for warm milk still amused him, even after all the months that had gone by. He forked some food into his mouth and chewed slowly, trying to keep his mind away from Ada. She must be sick. Really sick. Thom had not even missed coming to the keep when she had given birth to their son. He had arrived at the usual time with a huge grin on his face, announcing to all that would listen that his son had been born a mere hour before.

Thom had left her then, on her childbed with a new born, in the midst of winter. Yet, he would not leave her now. Robb worried his lip. He had long ago let go of any romantic attachment to Ada. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been his lover. Now she belonged to Thom, and he belonged to Myrcella. Both of them had found true happiness, and Robb would not have it any other way. It would still pain him to lose her though, as a friend more than anything. Once the awkwardness had subsided he had enjoyed speaking with her on the occasions he had bumped into her in the town. Had enjoyed joking with her as they had both stood and watched Arya training her elder boys to spar.

Myrcella was fond of her too, he knew. He had been worried at first, though he needn't have been. Ada didn't want anyone to know about their previous arrangement any more than he did. Both of them were happy to keep it quiet and under wraps. Only his mother knew, and Robb could rely on her to be discrete in the matter. So, he had not dissuaded Myrcella from forming a friendship with her. It meant a lot to his wife that she had people in the town that were so nice to her. Thom and Ada had been the first to be truly welcoming and she had not forgotten it. When Ada had given birth to her third son Myrcella had sent a warm, fur lined blanket to her. It had been something she had been making for their own baby, but she had told Robb that she could easily make another.

Robb forced down another mouthful of food before taking another long drink of wine. He wanted to leave, but he knew the women either side of him would fuss if he did. No, best he continue on and wait for Myrcella to retire first. Her plate was cleared, likely it would not be long before she excused herself. Sleep was something she craved just as much as milk at this point in her pregnancy.

Sure enough, within five minutes Myrcella was stifling a yawn behind her hands. She turned to him apologetically. "Go," he told her gently.

"But you only just arrived, I feel rotten," she bit her lip.

"Myrcella, you're tired – go to bed," he said in an amused tone, and she smiled.

"Very well, but you must wake me tomorrow so we can break our fast together," she said.

"Very well," he agreed, knowing damn well she would never rise as early as he did.

"Goodnight, then," she smiled, leaning in and pecking his lips. He savoured the warmth for a moment before she pulled back.

"Goodnight," he returned, rising up to help her out of her own chair. Somehow she was still carrying herself with elegance despite her frequently telling him that she could no longer see her own feet to know where she was walking.

"Goodnight, Lady Stark," she smiled at his mother, who returned the gesture.

"Goodnight, Myrcella."

Robb sat himself back down, and both he and his mother watched the slowly retreating back of his wife. He tapped his finger lightly on the side of his cup as the doors were opened for her, and immediately sealed again as soon as she walked through them. The guards were well drilled by now, there was nothing else they could do to try and ensure the keep remained free of draughts.

"Would you like to tell me what the matter truly is?" his mother asked conversationally, and Robb sighed. He should have known better.

"I don't think it's a question of if I'd like to," he said wryly. "It's a question of whether or not you will let the matter lie if I do not. Will you?"

"No," she returned at once, and he almost laughed.

"Ada's sick," he said quietly after a few moments, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"How sick?" his mother asked just as quietly.

"Sick enough that Thom sent his assistant up for the grain this evening," Robb informed her.

"Poor girl," his mother sighed. "Winter can touch anyone, young or old."

"She survived childbirth for the third time to be struck down by this. It doesn't seem fair," he muttered.

"No," she agreed. "That poor boy, only a few months old."

"You speak as though she is already dead," Robb said bitterly.

"Forgive me," she said quickly. "I didn't mean it that way, Robb. I only meant that – well – a child that young needs their mother. What will he be fed on? I cannot see Thom being able to afford a wet nurse."

"No," Robb agreed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped."

"She meant a lot to you once, didn't she?" his mother asked quietly. He nodded slowly.

"She did," he confirmed.

"Then I will be sure to pray to the Mother for her," she clasped her hand around his for a moment.

"Thank you," he nodded briskly.

"Perhaps the Maester could see to her?" she suggested.

"I told Harry to pass the offer on to Thom," he said.

"Good," she said faintly, nodding in an absent manner as she patted the back of Robb's hand once more before moving away to pick up her own cup.

Robb tapped his fingers against the table, looking sideways at his mother as he did so. She appeared to be drinking deeply. Though she had never approved of him taking Ada as his lover, he knew that she would not wish harm on her. It was such a cruel thing, Robb thought, especially for her children. Her eldest boys had already suffered the loss of a father, he closed his eyes tight for a moment and prayed that they would not also have to suffer the loss of their mother.

"I think I will retire," he said when he opened his eyes again.

"Yes, of course. Good night," his mother's parting smile looked rather strained.

Robb tried to return it, bidding her farewell before making his way from the dining hall. He spoke politely to those who hailed him on the way, though inside he wished they would leave him be just for one night. Someone always wanted something. He almost snorted. That was one of the many perils of being king, he supposed. Finally he managed to break away from those holding his attention, slipping out of the door and up the stairs before anyone could stop him.

He slowed on the first landing, making his way towards his and Myrcella's chambers. Doubtless his wife would already be asleep. He hoped so, anyway. When he reached their chambers he let himself in quietly, closing the door with only the slightest click. There was a slight stirring from the direction of the bed, but no sleepy voice or inquiry. He let out the breath he was holding before slipping further into the room and removing most of his clothing. Finally, he slid carefully beneath the sheets, careful not to catch Myrcella with his cold hands.

She was faced away from him, breathing evenly with her golden curls spread out across the pillow. He took a long moment to appreciate her through the darkness, his eyes better adjusting the more he stared. There was enough light cast by the fire by which to admire her, and admire her he did. There would never be enough time in his life to admire her fully, to revere her to the extent to which she deserved. He sighed, his fingers whispering along the pillow until they could curl around a lock of her hair. What would he do without her?

He shook his head. Earlier he had told himself not to think of such morbid things. Hearing of Ada's plight had brought it all back to the front of his mind, though. Slowly he shifted further under the covers, moving closer to her. She continued sleeping peacefully as he released her hair and carefully crept his hand under the covers so he could rest it on her rounded stomach.

"I will keep you safe," he whispered. To her, and to the baby. "I swear, whatever it takes, I will do it. I will do anything I have to, to keep you safe."

With that he closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep from which he was woken many times by cruel dreams in which a dying Ada would come to him, pleading for help. He tried his best each time, but each time she collapsed and died in his arms. Only, as he cradled her, her dark head shifted to the side and she was no longer dark but golden. Her eyes green and unseeing.

Once again, he jerked awake. How many times was his mind going to torment him like this? Like the times before, he turned his head to check that his wife was still there. Still sleeping peacefully and breathing easily at his side. She was. As she had been all the other times he had woken. He took a breath, wiped a shaking hand across his clammy forehead before he closed his eyes once more, praying that he would not be woken by that frightful image once more.


A/N: Thanks all! Hope to catch you again next week!

:)