a/n: Includes: Robb/Arya incest, graphic, consensual-fever-sex.

The Stark ages are as listed:
Robb - 21
Arya - 17
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Talisa - 21
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Fic Summary: When Robb becomes sick, as his healer, Arya does what she must to make him healthy again.

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One-shot: —
Fevered Love

The fever had taken Robb rather suddenly, but Arya hadn't panicked. Her brother was a man and he was strong, he been through the war, he could survive a fever. She was the healer of Winterfell and was the only one allowed to treat the King in the North.

It wasn't so long ago that she killed men instead of healing them, but mother was the one who put a permanent end to that. Lady Catelyn saw to it that the Maesters of the House broke both of Arya's wrists in a way that made her unable to pick up steel again, and only a needle.

She had confined Robb to his chambers and stripped the clothes from his body, inspecting him from head to toe, cleansing him as she went. This was how she discovered that this was no ordinary fever. There was a nick, a small cut that would hardly be noticed as anything other than insignificant on his left peck, near his nipple. It might be discerned as a cut from a fingernail from scratching, but Arya refused to just brush it aside.

Kneeling on his bed she leaned closer to the scratch, inspecting it closely. It was scabbed, and there was no abnormal redness or swelling about it. It had to be no more than two days old. He must have received it on the day that his dear wife Talisa passed, Arya narrowed her eyes, this could not be a coincidence. Arya rubbed roughly at the cut, removing the tiny scabs and opening it again. Robb groaned in his unconscious state. She glanced at him briefly before turning back to the cut as a single bead of blood rose from the wound. She leaned forward and took the bead on the tip of her tongue and sat back, tasting the blood. She tasted the bitter iron, but just beyond that was a woody—earthy taste that wasn't supposed to be there.

She changed the linen cloth with a freshly wet one and placed it on her brother's forehead. As she brushed the his dark hair from his brow she thought about the taste in his blood. She knew what it was in the back of her head, but it wasn't coming to her as quick as she liked—it must have been something that she had just read about instead of treated herself. Leaning towards his face, Arya pushed down on his bearded chin and opened his mouth, smelling his breath. It was hot and smelled a bit sour, but that was to be expected.

"T... Tali... sa..." Robb mumbled, shivering.

She laid the blanket over his naked body and prayed to the Old Gods, the Gods of the North to help her discover what truly ailed her brother king. The discord face the weirwood tree—the heart tree of Winterfell's godswood. It brooded against the back of her eyelids, watching her silently, telling her something, its eyes staring, bleeding tears of red, almost like blood.

"Gods!" Arya gasped, her eyes widening. That was it, the heart tree! Though it looked like the face in the trunk was weeping tears of blood, in truth it was the weirwood tree's sap. It's holy sap that was never to be harvested. To be sure that was what this was, she folded the blanket to his waist and with a clenched fist, she rubbed his chest with her knuckles, pressing, making him groan in response. His skin turned red at the attention and then she pressed her fingertips into the skin. When she removed them, pale impressions stayed on his skin and raised pulsing tendrils from them for the briefest instant.

The weirwood sap was very potent, just a couple drops into the bloodstream—like the little cut by Robb's nipple—could cause intense fever, shivering, with vivid dreams and hallucinations. Positive on all fronts, Arya also knew that he was dreaming about Talisa. More than a few drops can cause severely increased heart rate that can cause death accompanied by with rather nasty cold sweats, teeth chattering and hallucinations. It appeared that it since it had been two days since the sap was introduced into his blood and he was still alive, it was just a couple drops so she didn't have that fear of his death hanging over her any longer.

But the fact remained someone had purposefully poisoned him. How though? The way the cut was placed, it had to be someone that Robb would let his guard completely down with, would strip of his armour. Arya thought back to how Talisa had passed, the woman not much older than herself had died from a fever as well. It had been quick, she didn't last long, not long enough for the Stark girl to determine or even suspect that the fever was not just simple sickness after the difficult birthing of her and Robb's third son. But the only way Robb could have received this scratch was by his wife's hand. Arya didn't have the briefest thought that Talisa had tried to murder the king.

Talisa had been a healer from across the narrow sea who had come by boat to heal the wounded in the war, that was how Robb had met her as she treated his wounded men. Arya had learned much of what she knew from the other woman, but the sap of the weirwood was strictly a Northern thing. In books in the library told that in the Old Days, it was used to help in the marriage bed if mixed a certain way.

Arya had no doubt that Robb was a healthy, hearty man, and knew that he had no trouble getting aroused and performing. The sap made you feel things more intensely, that why it kicked things up in the bedchamber's. It wasn't uncommon for some women, who after giving birth with complications, could become somewhat numb. And thought that by taking the sap it would help Talisa feel again, and cut Robb with it by accident.

Either way, Arya needed to get this stuff out of Robb before it could do any real damage to him. He needed to sweat it out. That was how it worked. You took the sap, and sweet it out as you had sex.

Arya shook Robb's shoulder and he moaned at her. "Robb," she said, "you need to get up."

"Talisa..." he mumbled, his eyes glued shut.

"Robb! Get up!" She smacked his cheek. "You need to move."

"My love," he writhed against the bed at her touch, not feeling a sting but something else.

Arya straddled him and grabbed both his shoulders roughly, he almost flopped around like a puppet. "Robb, this is no way for a king to act, get up off your arse!"

Robb squirmed beneath her, and this time she slapped him with power, the sound of her hand hitting his cheek was like an audible snap! That seemed to wake the man up, his cheek turning red. His blue eyes snapped open, but Arya didn't feel relief. They were dazed and far away, he didn't see her above him, he was seeing someone else.

"Talisa!" He gasped, and reached up and pulled Arya down to his bare chest.

Arya stayed still as her brother held her. "Robb, it's Arya." She tried.

"Tali," he repeated, breathing deeply.

It was no use. They only way that he'd see she was really Arya again was when they got the toxin out of his body.

"Mumph!" Arya made a surprised sound in the back of her throat when Robb curshed his lips to her, their teeth clashing.

She tried to fight him, but even in his fevered state, he was still stronger then her. After having thoroughly explored her mouth with his tongue, he finally released her face but still had his arms wrapped around her slim waist. She was breathless, never before having been kissed like that in her life.

"My wife,"

Arya let out a little shriek as Robb flipped them around, the blanket slipping from his waist and pressed her to the bed.

"Robb," she insisted, her hands on his broad, muscled shoulders.

But he was kissing her again. He wasn't listening and he wasn't going to, not while he was still intoxicated from the sap. Sex was a natural thing and wasn't unheard of that in the Old Days siblings participated with each other in the act. This was the only way, that in the delirious state that Robb was in, to get him to work the sap from him blood—to break this fever that she could feel hot through his skin.

She was the King's Healer and it was her sacred vow and duty to heal him at whatever cost. So she let him claim her mouth and kiss her neck and call her Talisa. She didn't resist him, but relished his touch instead.

She gasped when he leaned back and took a hold of the collar of her plain gown and ripped the material down the length of her body with an animal growl, and bared her body beneath it. He threw the dress away, now nothing but rages, leaving her as naked as he.

He caressed her unsullied body with his rough calloused hands, stroking her small breasts with his thumbs and making her gasp; before he traced his hands down her hips and thighs to her knees, opening her legs, exposing her to him.

He took her on his lap, his cock was hard and throbbing, aching and leaking his seed, and he plunged his sword into her hot and pulsing sheath. Arya cried out her brother's name at the sudden intrusion, but embraced it when he started to thrust into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her back arching as he took her nipple between his lips and started to suck. He shifted onto his knees, an arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her in place as he pressed her against the carved headboard of the bed and thrust into her harder. She could feel his hot skin against her, vagely noting that it wasn't as hot as it was when he first took her.

"Ah! A-ahh! Ah! Aaa!"

Arya wasn't sure who was making all the noise, but she didn't care, she couldn't think, just feel Robb inside of her. His back was slick with sweat where she drew her nails across the flesh. This was good, sweating was good. He took her mouth again and the moaning became muffle, she guessed it was her. The power he was driving into her nearly drove her up the wall—most literally.

"Oh, Gods!" Robb yelled, grabbing her arse and nearly tearing her in half as he came, spilling inside of her. "Ary—"

Arya cried out his name, impaling him inside of her as she felt like exploding from the inside out. He gasped into the crook of her neck harshly, his arms still around her, and collapsed backward onto the bed, taking her with him.

She tried to climb from him, but his arms were locked around her, holding her firm in place. She looked up and saw Robb blinking at her slowly, his blue eyes no longer gazed but confused.

"Arya?" He murmured, before his eyes fluttered closed.

"Robb?" she muttered, but he was out.

She sighed and reached up, brushed the bangs from his damp forehead and feeling his temperature. His fever was broken, he'd sweated the weirwood sap's toxin out. She caressed her brother's handsome face before laying her cheek on his chest over his steadily beating heart.

Arya could feel his hot seed inside of her, his cock plugging her opening, keeping it from running out, allowing it to take a hold of her. What was she going to do if it took? She knew that she could never end a babe inside of her, even if her brother was the father. His hands unlocked around her and dropped to the bed, but she didn't immediately move from him.

Ever since her mother had her wrists broken and forced her to take the needle, Arya had been so alone. Of course, she treated many a number of the people in Winterfell, but it wasn't the same as what she had just felt with Robb moments before—that connection, as unreal as it had been for him, it was real for her.

She lifted her hips and felt him slid from her, she felt full with his seed, but empty without him inside of her.

Robb groaned and reached out for her. She looked at him, frozen as he looked at her with clear blue eyes.

"Robb—" she started, trying to explain before he could start to freak out.

But he didn't. "Stay," he said.

"What?" Arya gasped.

"Stay by my side, Arya. Stay with me tonight, and all nights." He told her.

Shocked, she slowly laid down next to him and he hugged her to his body. She lay her head on his shoulder as his fingers traced up and down her side and her other flat against his stomach.

"Are you going to quick?" he murmured.

Arya put her hand over his. "I think so."

If she came with child and born a boy with the Stark features and North blue eyes, she would love that bastard child like she loved her brother king. Without remorse and barrier. She would do anything for her King, and she'd come to do anything for their son. Robb would love him no less then his other children, no less then their father had loved Jon—no less than they had come to love each other.

-fini-

********Game/of/Thrones********

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