A/N For the prompt that you asked for long ago, the one which Everra lives and is pregnant with Robb's child and he does not know. Thank you Saint River, for your constant support and imagination. I wanted to have the final chapter prepared before the ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THIS STORY but I haven't finished it just yet. Sorry about that guys. Thank you all for all of your support and advice and reviews and favourites and follows. I wouldn't have been able to finish this without any of you. Thank you and I hope you enjoy. If you have any more prompts you want me to write, just ask! Thanks so much!
When the first round of sickness hits her in the early hours of the morning, her blood run's cold and her skin grows as cold as ice. She wretches loudly, her throat burning painfully as tears stream down the side of her face. She looks around the room and wipes at her eyes, though her other hand sneaks down to rub her stomach as she thinks in horror, Dear gods what have I done?
Her moon's blood does not come. She waits patiently for one moon, waits for the familiar feeling— longs for it even. During that time she watches Robb grow more and more into a King and feels a warm, fierce feeling in her heart every time she looks at him.
What have we done? She thinks helplessly.
She looks at her stomach everyday for far too long, watching for any sign that she may be with child. Fear drums through her heart as she does and pleads too all the gods she knows of to please be wrong. Please.
Eventually she can not help it and runs to Maester Liwin in the dead of the night and he seems too taken aback by her wide eyed disheveled features to protest her entering his chambers.
Please, she begs for the first time in years, I need to know.
He fumbles around for a few moments, too gobsmacked to do anything before pulling himself together and warily asking her questions. When she answers no to the questions where she should have said yes and said yes to others she should have said no, he looks at her and Everra can see the pity in his eyes even in the darkness.
It makes her want to be sick.
Help me get rid of it, she begs, grasping onto his hands and feeling as though she were a child once more, pleading with her mother, I can't do this.
He gives her the tea and she bolts from the room to her chambers, her heart beating like a drum doom boom doom boom.
She warms the tea by the fire and sits in her chair, trying to keep warm. She stirs the tea for a long time, taking in its dark liquid that could rid her of the very thing she feared most. She grasps onto it tightly, as if it were her lifeline and takes in its scent as she stares into the fire, the flames warming her face.
She thinks of Robb and his blue eyes that have both gazed upon her with lust and tenderness, with hatred and love and feels her heart tighten in her chest. She thinks of Jon and his miserable years at Winterfell, thinks of his brown eyes so like their mothers and winces. She thinks of Catelyn Stark and her coldness towards a motherless child and feels a chill overcome her as she wonders whether or not Robb's wife will treat their child the same. She feels anger boil in her stomach at the thought and she genuinely laughs for the first time in a long time and rubs her stomach.
"You're a fighter aren't you?" she whispers.
She can sit there and list the reasons why she should end this but she doesn't. She stands from her chair and pours the tea into the fire and feels small droplets burn her skin lightly. Everra laughs once more, though this time it is more broken and sad.
She thinks of telling him the truth during their meetings both with others and without. Thinks of telling him in between the discussions they share, the arguments they have, thinks of telling him just to spite him in her crueler moments and just to be happy in her better ones.
But she doesn't.
When they reach Kings Landing her stomach has begun to swell slightly, though it is barely noticeable and her morning sickness has ended for the most part but she hides it well. She lays there for hours before the final battle and fear pounds through her veins. Not for herself but for—
She still can't bare to say it a loud. She can't.
When they win, Kings Landing is in flames and the world is in chaos but Everra is alive and well but she searches for auburn hair and blue eyes and nearly cries in relief when her eyes land on him.
She looks at him, her eyes filled with something and he must understand because the same look is in his eyes as well.
We won.
He smiles at her though blood and grime stains his face.
Later on that evening he enters her chambers late into the night even though the celebrations are still raging on. She has been waiting for him for hours as well, having left the festivities hours beforehand.
"I noticed you weren't drinking," he comments, hugging her from behind, his arm around her stomach.
Thud thud thud goes her heart as he does and she wonders whether or not he can notice.
He kisses her shoulder and slowly goes higher in higher until he's reached the top of her neck before turning her around gently. She lifts her hand to his cheek and gently rubs her thumb against it, secretly enjoying the feeling of his skin beneath her own.
He kisses her fully on the mouth. And his kisses are joyful and happy as they grow more and more passionate, as his hands find themselves knotted in her hair and as she kisses him back.
"I love you," he says as he pulls away, "I love you."
Everra kisses him in response.
When they finish she is lying on her stomach, naked though a sheet covers the lower half of her body. Robb is tracing her back with his fingers and it sends goosebumps all across her body. She feels peaceful, content even as lies there and for a brief moment she wishes that they never had to leave the room. That time could simply stop there but she knows it won't. She knows this will be the last time.
"Marry me," he begs, lying next to her on his stomach.
Everra does not look at him for a second before her eyes find his once more, "You are to marry the Frey girl—"
"I don't want to marry the Frey girl," he told her, sitting up, "I want to marry you."
Everra's heart is heavy in her chest as she responds, "You can't. I won't be responsible for people calling you a traitor and a oathbreaker."
"I don't care—"
"Well you should," she snaps at him sharply.
"I love you," he tells her helplessly, "Does that mean nothing?"
Everra does not answer.
The next day she gathers what is left of her men and tells them that they are leaving in four days time. She will not have her child in this city. She will not.
When she tells him the news she see's the hurt in his blue eyes, can feel it radiating off of him and she feels tempted to comfort him. To tell him the truth, to be married and be done with it. To be called Lady Stark and a Queen. But she knows she can not, so she closes her mouth and forces the words down her throat.
Jon looks between them helplessly and it is in that moment that she realises that he will have to chose. Even the Lords look at him curiously and Jon does not meet either of their eyes.
Robb does not come see her once.
She tells herself she does not care, that it was better that he did not but—
But, indeed.
On the day she rides home and is at the gates at Kings Landing she kneels in front of Robb and says, "I hope you may forgive me, my king, for my early travel home. I wish you happiness with your future queen."
She can see him shutting his feet, can hear the low heavy breath he lets out at her words. She glances upwards to see him staring at her face, hurt lingering in his eyes.
"There is nothing to forgive," he tells her, "We will all be going home soon."
She nods at him and rises before looking at the other Lords and Lady's who are looking at her with blank expressions. She stops before Lord Tyrion and says, "I don't believe I ever apologised for your brother."
(Jaime Lannister died the moment the battle was won, as a vengeful Lord Karstark ran him through with his sword)
The imp shrugs at her, though she can see the undeniable lines of grief on his face, "I'll survive."
"That you will, Lord of Casterly Rock."
He smiles at that slightly and glances up to look at his wife, Sansa. The young girl does not resemble the girl she saw when she was last in Kings Landing but she is still beautiful yet changed from her experiences.
She shares a look with Catelyn and merely nods to the older woman, whom returns it. Unlike their first meeting this interaction is filled with more. . . familiarity. They dug their graves together numerous times in the name of her son.
She then turns on her heel and walks towards her horse. Everra is slightly surprised to see Jon standing there, waiting to help her onto her horse.
When she reaches him he gently places his hands on her hips as he helps her onto the horse. Ghost and Andromache sit together both alert.
She lets out a breath and thanks him quietly, not quite meeting his eyes. She holds onto her reigns and looks forward to the last of her surviving men.
She waits for the gates to open for the long journey home and is suddenly distracted from her thoughts by the sound of another horse stopping beside hers.
Everra glances over and blinks in surprise.
"Jon?" she asks.
His brown eyes look at her nervously, slightly unsure.
"Everra," he returns.
That is really all that needs to be said between them.
And then the gate slowly opens and they move forward but Everra does not look back.
(Even though she wants too, just to see him for what might be the last time)
When they arrive at RedRun a few weeks later, all the muscles in her body ache. Master Liwin rushes towards her and the moment her feet hit the ground she feels lightheaded.
Jon rushes towards her and wraps an arm around her waist and she leans into his warm, muscular arms that—
No.
She tells herself harshly and forces herself to stand upright, disentangling herself from Jon's arms.
She looks at her home and feels for the first time since her childhood that she is actually at home. As though this place was finally more than a reminder of her demons and the life she could have had if the world had been kinder place to them all.
"We're home," she whispers, folding her arms in front of her.
Her stomach nearly flutters in response and Jon looks at her weirdly when she smiles.
Her pregnancy is easier than she thought it would be, physically anyway. She hears the rumours and the whispers behind her back and makes it a point to punish the first person she actually hears talking about her.
"If anyone breathe's a word of this child beyond the bloodlands or whom they think the father is I will cut out their tongue and feed it too Andromache." All the people in the hall do not meet her eyes as she finishes, all except Jon, whom eyes her growing stomach with a lingering look of suspicion and curiosity.
She casts a glance at the man doubled over on the floor in pain and tells him, "Perhaps you can spread that information around."
Oberyn Martell visits her before he finally returns to Dorne and he looks unusually pale from the trip from Kings Landing.
(Daenerys Targaryen took the throne a week after she left Kings Landing and they all seemed confused as to which Kingdom the Bloodlands belong too. Both, Everra wrote back to her when the letter came, the Bloodlands are a part of both. He looks at her stomach in slight surprise but Everra can see the lingering amusement in his brown eyes.
"You look. . . different," he tells her before surprisingly wrapping her in a hug. Everra is frozen for a few moments before gingerly raising her hands to his back.
"My betrothed," he comments, placing a hand on her stomach, "Is he or she healthy?"
Everra stiffens slightly, her eyes becoming guarded once more, "As healthy as can be according to the Maester."
They then look at each other and it suddenly strikes Everra as to how strange their situation is.
Later on that evening they take a walk around the Lavender tree, Andromache and Ghost following behind them. They have barely left her side since she began to show.
"I can't marry you," she tells him firmly, disentangling her arm from his.
His eyes meet hers and for a brief moment he looks disappointed at her words.
"I don't mind you know," he tells her gently, "I have plenty of bastards of my own."
She bristles at the word and snaps, "They are not bastards. They are mine."
"They?" he asks curiously, quirking an eyebrow at her.
Everra can feel her face flush slightly and nods.
Oberyn lets out a loud laugh and says, "Let us hope they don't give you trouble like the last pair of twins born in a great house."
Everra's lips twitch upwards slightly at his words and rolls her eyes.
It is about a moon after she returns home when late at night she feels it.
She wakes with a start, terror pounding through her veins as her hands cusp her stomach and she pants loudly.
The feeling is uncomfortable yet slightly ticklish and she lets out a small sound of surprise as it continues on for a while. Andromache is lying next to her and lifts her head to gaze at her but quickly falls back to sleep once she realises nothing is wrong.
Everra sits in the darkness, a smile forming on her face as she looks at her stomach.
"I love you," she whispers, for no one but herself to hear.
Everra becomes bedridden once she hits 7 and a half moons, much to her displeasure. Maester Liwin said it would be better if she did, safer for the babes if she stayed in bed for the rest of her pregnancy. She could barely argue with him when he put it like that but Everra still felt agonisingly bored just laying there all the time. Jon brought her books and company ever morning and evening but that was of little comfort to her. Oberyn visited her quite often and for long periods of time though a lot of the time it was simply spent in silence.
"Have you thought of any names?" Jon asks her one day.
Everra squints at him through her sleepy eyes but manages to say through a yawn, "Yes, I have."
Jon raises an eye brow at her, waiting for an answer.
"Are you not going to tell me?" he asks her, slightly incredulous.
Everra shook her head at him and replied, "Yes."
Jon frowns at her but his eyes are dancing with amusement.
"You expect me to wait another moon or so?"
Everra's mouth curls slightly at the ends and she tells him, "I have to wait nine moons to find out the sex of my children."
Jon stays quiet after that.
When her water breaks she is surprisingly calm. She wakes to a cool pool of water in between her legs in the middle of the night and she immediately knows what it is.
She places her hands on her stomach and takes a few deep breathes and manages to raise her voice loud enough to attract the guards attention.
Maester Liwin, Jon and Oberyn all gather inside her chambers and Jon and Oberyn take a spot on either side of her. She glances towards Oberyn and is inwardly surprised at the thankfulness she feels to have him there with her. He has grown into her good. . . companion, almost like Daavos had been all that time ago.
The pain that rushes through her body is unlike anything she has felt before and she squeezes tightly onto either of her hands and ignores the words of the midwives telling her to keep calm.
It takes hours of sweat, blood and small yells of pain but in the end it is all worth it.
One babe leaves her but the next is already on its way out so she does not have the time to take the babe into her arms. With another loud exhale the final babe exits her and she slumps back onto the bed, exhausted and drained.
She can see out of the corner of her eye, can see the Maester wrap cloths around each of the babes and Everra manages to force herself into a sitting position and beckons him towards her. Jon and Oberyn cast her looks but they are full of joy from Jon and Oberyn. . . she does not know.
"One girl and one boy," the Maester tells her and gently places both of the babes into her arms.
Everra had feared for this moment, had feared that she would look down on her children and see only their father and with a sight of relief she see's herself in them as well.
Her daughter is red faced and screaming and she coos at her softly but looks at her less red faced son whom is quieter than his twin sister.
"Hi," she whispers and her heart is so full of joy she can not even breathe properly for a moment.
She can feel Jon gazing down at his niece and nephew and Oberyn staring down at what could have been his children and she feels content.
"What are their names?" Jon asks her quietly.
"Annabelle," she says, never looking away from her children, "And Trystan."
"Thank you," both Jon and Oberyn say at once but Everra does not look at them, still drawn to the two precious lives she had just brought into the world.
She is in her children's chambers, watching them sleep when Jon comes to get her. It has been a week since their birth and she has nearly recovered.
She recognises the look on his face, the one of underlying anger and desperation. She's sights softly and rises from her chair, casting the twins one more glance before leaving the room.
She heads to the great hall and looks upon her Lords with a well concealed mask.
(She has not forgotten how to play the game and she never will)
"You asked for me?" she says, clasping her hands together in front of her body.
"I am glad you are well, my lady," Lord Yullian starts, looking quite uncomfortable, "We are all very happy for the healthy birth of your children. However, there is the— uh— the. . . question as to how they will be raised."
Everra tilted her head slightly, yet allowed him to continue.
"Your children were born out of wedlock and seeing as they are not. . . seeing as they are not your betrothed's the only conclusion is that they will take on the Blood surname an be raised as bastards, high born bastards at that."
Everra merely continued to look at him, her expression still unreadable. A few long moments passed with uncomfortable silence before a Lord asked her, "My lady, you must soon wed so that you will have highborn sons and daughters—"
"Must I?" she interjected cooly, watching as he stops mid sentence, his neck flushing.
Her gaze swept over them cooly as she watches them shift uncomfortably.
"I have no intention of marrying Oberyn Martell," she announced, watching their mouths open in surprise, "I have no intention of marrying at all, actually. I find the restraints of marriage far too. . . confining. I have produced two children both of which will bare the name Legrath and not Blood, regardless of what you all think. My son, Trystan, will inherit my titles and land and his sister, Annabelle, some of my wealth. They will be treated as any other high born, is that understood?"
"My lady by the laws of the land, any child born out of wedlock is a bastard—"
"If I hear anyone call either of my children that name again I will end their lives before they can even blink."
They all grew pale at that, swallowing uncomfortably.
"Now as for the law," she stated, her eyes scanning all of their faces once more, "I will merely ask for a legitimisation from the queen. As a matter of fact, I sent a raven a few days ago, knowing that in the future this little snag would be an issue."
She glanced over at Jon, whose eyebrows were raised at her in surprise.
"As for the matter of whom the father is," she started, watching as they all eyed her curiously, "That is none of your business. None. He could Jaime Lannister or Oberyn Martell for all any of you know."
She turned her gaze back to Lord Yullian and said calmly, "Does that address all of your concerns?"
They nodded slowly, their gazes fixed on the ground.
"Good," she told them and turned on her heel to exit the hall.
"Was that wise?" Jon asked her quietly, catching up to her in a few quick strides.
Everra glanced at him, her green eyes slightly narrowed.
"I didn't know you sent a letter to the queen," he said, easily keeping up with her strides.
"I didn't," she replied flippantly, "But they don't know that."
She sends the raven later on in the night, watching its dark figure in the darkness.
She gets a reply a few days later and her children are given the name Legrath in the eyes of the law as well as her own.
It's none of my business, the dragon queen had written to her, so I won't tell him.
(Another weight on her shoulders disappeared)
Her children grow up.
She tries the best she can, truly she does. She worries in the late hours of the night, thinking that she is both a leader and a mother first and a warrior second but the ghosts of her parents still linger in her dreams and she decides that she will teach her children that there is more to life than just surviving, that actually living is important too.
Her children are both the same and different in multiple ways but they are inseparable nonetheless.
Annabelle is more outspoken, more rash and hot headed than her brother but she is also fiercely protective of those she loves and intelligent. Trystan is quieter, quicker to thinking before acting and is wise beyond his years. They complete each other as though they were each other's missing pieces.
It worries Everra at first, she remembers all too well the golden twins that produced a false bloodline but her children are different than them. Annabelle is beautiful like Cersei but where Cersei used it to her advantage Annabelle merely accepts it with an air of indifference. Where Jaime was overwhelmingly arrogant of his skills, Trystan recognises the deadliness of arrogance in one's weapons and regards every man as his equal in the field.
Lord or commoner, he told her one day, they still have the ability to kill you do they not?
Annabelle learns how to fight as well, though not as extensively as Everra did. She still teases her brother of the times she used to beat him when they were years younger and Everra and Jon watch them with mild amusement.
Everra knew that they would one day ask her questions of their father, of why some people still whispered that they were unworthy to bare the name Legrath but she is still taken aback when they do so.
She looked at them closely, being careful to conceal her thoughts. She raised her children to be as perceptive as herself.
"Who is he, mother?" Trystan asked, his eyes hopeful.
The twins have just hit eleven and though they asked her when they were younger and did not understand, they haven't asked her for years.
Everra sighed softly before gesturing for them to take a seat.
"We have the right to know," Annabelle told her and though the words should have sounded accusing, coming out of her daughters mouth they were not.
She stared at them for a long time and for a moment she nearly tells them. She nearly told them of their father, of the boy she helped become a King, of the man she helped win the war. She almost told them of how she never let herself fall in love with him but of how he fell in love with her anyway. She nearly told him of his kindness and honour and how she taught him how to survive in a world that had no place for honourable men.
But she doesn't.
"One day," she promised them, "One day."
The words echo in the back of her mind for years to come.
Jon goes to Winterfell once every three years for a few moons. The children used to plead with him to take them with him but she always said no. They miss him when he goes because not only is he their uncle but he is the closest thing to a father they will ever have.
They also happen to adore Ghost as well but they have always split their affection between Andromache and Ghost, whom shower them with affection as well.
Jon knows not to tell him without asking. When he first returned after his first travel to the north since she birthed the twins he does not meet her eyes for a few days before reluctantly admitting that Queen Roslin gave birth to their first child within the week he arrived in Winterfell.
"Boy or girl?" she asked quietly, gazing out of the window, a breeze filling the room and seeping through their clothes.
"Boy," he admitted, his voice low and his gaze gentle.
Everra determinedly did not look at him, loathing the look in his brown eyes.
"What is his name?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
"Ned," he told her softly, gently grasping her shoulder, "He is a healthy babe and looks like his mother."
That stings more than Everra wants to admit too herself and she nods stiffly, trying to shift out of his grasp. He doesn't let her.
"Let go of me," she snaps at him, trying to pull away. Her heart feels overwhelmingly fragile all of a sudden as it becomes harder and harder for her to breathe.
Jon ignores her and tugs her directly to his chest and wraps his arms around her tightly as she still continues to fight against him, though Jon knew if she really wanted him to let go he would have been thrown over her shoulder by now.
She slumps against his chest, the fight suddenly leaving her as tears stream down her face.
All she can think of is her children, her beautiful babes whom will never know their father.
"Shh," Jon whispers soothingly, dropping to the ground with her still in his arms, "It's okay."
No it's not Everra thinks, knowing it was true. It wasn't fair to her children and it wasn't fair too him, forcing him to lie to his elder brother.
"He still loves you, you know," he told her after the tears had finished falling. They are still on the cold, stone floor, with Everra's head still buried against his chest.
She froze at his words and swallowed loudly.
"He asked about you," Jon continued on, not having noticed her reaction, "I saw it in his eyes Everra—"
"Don't," she snapped, removing herself from his embrace and stood quickly, swiping at her red-rimmed eyes.
"I don't want to know," she told him and then hurried away before she did something stupid like cry once more.
That had been the first and last time she cried over Robb Stark.
When her children have nearly come of age and they are to have a joint wedding day (Annabelle to Harold Hardyng's eldest son, the heir to the vale after Robyn Arryn's death and Trystan to the daughter of Loras Tyrell) they come to her and ask if they may travel together throughout Westeros.
Everra eyed them warily, slightly unwilling to let them leave. She had taken them to Dorne with her when they were ten and three for Oberyn's wedding but remembered how her children had been stared at for seconds too long to be considered polite. She remembered the whispers that had spread throughout Dorne, of the cold woman with her two bastard twins.
She is seconds away from telling them they can not go before she realises something. Everra know's that she can not shelter them forever, that she can not keep them within the Bloodlands for the rest of their lives. She knows she would be a hypocrite if she did as by the time she was their age she had been living in Essos longer than she had lived in Westeros.
So with reluctance she agrees to the idea but makes them promise that they will be back a month before their weddings. They agree happily, their eyes shining as they beamed at her.
She smiles at them and is suddenly so overwhelmingly proud of them that she opens her mouth and begins the sentence that they have so longed to hear.
"I promised you both that I would one day tell you the truth about your father—"
"Mother—" Annabelle starts, sending a glance towards Trystan.
Everra continues as though she did not hear them, "I think that today is the —"
"Mother!" they both exclaim and Everra looks at them in surprise.
They both flush under her scrutinising gaze before Trystan speaks, "Mother we decided a long time ago that—"
"We didn't need to know who our father is," Annabelle finishes.
"We thought that if we knew who he was it would somehow. . . change our lives and we thought that—"
"In order for us to prove that we were worthy of your name we needed to know who he was," Annabelle finishes her brothers sentence again.
"You are my children," Everra says, looking at them, "You never needed to be worthy of my name because you are my name. You are my blood and that is all that matters to me. That's all thats ever mattered."
They nod at her words before Annabelle says gently, "We know that now, mother. You've always been enough—"
"Always been more than enough for us," Trystan adds.
"I love the both of you," she says, surprising all of them by saying it.
"We love you too," they say at the same time, blinking in surprise.
She is not the most affectionate mother but she has no doubt in her mind that her children ever doubted her love, even though she did not voice it very often.
Jon walks in on her hugging both of her children close to her chest, gently stroking their hair.
It is on the seventh month of their travels and the twin's have been in Kings Landing for about a week when a raven from their mother comes.
It is the anniversary of the War, her scrawl states, though the twins already knew this, The King is riding south for the celebrations in Kings Landing and he has summoned all of his banner men to come with him. Since the both of you are already there with your Uncle Jon, whom happens to be the Kings brother as well, I would like it if the both of you could represent me in my absence. I will be late too Kings Landing, I'm afraid.
Annabelle and Trystan share a look before Trystan reaches for a piece of parchment to reply to their mother. They could read each other's mind simply by looking at each other, words having lost their purpose for them years before.
They write back to their mother saying that they will represent her in her absence and when they tell Unlce Jon they notice the surprised look in his eyes before he tries to conceal it from them.
They try to ignore their suspicions but—
How can they not?
When Robb arrives in Kings Landing for the first time in seventeen years a faint sense of nostalgia and familiarity floods through him. The smell of shit makes him want to wince but he manages to control himself as he stares at the large castle. He longs to be back in Winterfell, to surround himself with his children and family but alas as King he must be here.
Besides, he tells himself, Jon is here.
He tries to ignore the fluttering in his stomach at the thought of her being there but he quickly shakes the thought from his head, tightening his grip on the reigns.
Seventeen years is a long time, he tells himself, his heart beginning to beat louder and louder in his ears.
When him and his banner men make their way into the throne room, Grey Wind must sense his nervousness because he walks closely beside him and Robb can hear his heart beat like a drum boom doom boom doom. The doors open and they are exposed to the great throne room of Kings Landing. All he can think of is the sight of dead bodies around him and burning Lannister sigils and shouts of The King in the North!
"Your grace?" one of his banner men asks and he shakes his head of his thoughts before nodding at him, signalling that he was alright.
He can see Danaerys Targareyn from where he stands and he moves forward, his head held high as he moves. He tries his best not to search for her in the small sea of people clustered around her.
When he reaches the Iron throne he does not kneel in front of her as his banner men do and watches as the sea of people by her kneel for him.
"Your grace," he states, his voice loud and firm.
Daenerys Targareyn is still as beautiful as she was fifteen years ago, with her long silver hair and violet eyes looking at him with a lingering sense of anticipation, as if there is something he does not know.
"Your grace," she returns, standing from her Iron throne and walking down to his level, "It is a pleasure to have you in Kings Landing."
"It is an honour to be here," he replies.
She glances down at Greywind, whom has still not left his side. Her lips quirk up into an amused smile at the sight of him.
"My dragons will like him," she states, rubbing her hand on the top of his head.
"I'm afraid the same can't be said for him," Robb replies truthfully, watching as she slowly retracts her hand.
The Dragon Queen shrugs at his words, her long silver dress shimmering as she does so.
"Rise," she commands softly and Robb can feel his banner men rise behind him and so he commands the same of her subjects and scans the crowd quickly to see whether or not she is—
No.
He lets out a tired breath.
No.
His eyes glance back at Daenaerys to see her already staring at him with a contemplative look on her youthful face.
"How are your children, your grace?" she asks him.
"Well," he returns, his mind flashing to his children, a sliver warmth warming his heart.
"And your wife?"
The words shouldn't sound accusing but to Robb they do and he feels the urge to defend himself to—
"She is also well, your grace," he replies stiffly, trying to keep his voice even.
They stare at each other for a few silent moments before Robb is distracted by the sound of the doors opening. His heart leaps in his chest as he turns around to face the sound and his nervousness reappears in his stomach.
He takes a few steps in the groups direction and immediately catches sight of Jon, Ghost and Andromache. He quickens his strides and takes note of his brothers unusually pale face before they hug each other tightly.
"Brother," they both say, patting each other on the back.
Ghost barks excitedly and Robb pulls away from Jon to pat him softly on his head. His gaze then turns to Andromache, whom is regarding him with slight suspicion.
"Hey," he says gently, raising his hand, "It's me."
The black panther sniffs his hand and must remember his scent because she rubbed her head against his palm, purring in delight at the attention.
"Your grace—" Jon starts before Robb catches sight of them.
His heart slows in his chest painfully and he drops his hand to his side as he openly stares at them, shock making him incapable of movement.
"Your grace," they echo, kneeling in front of him, their faces directed towards the floor, "Our mother apologises for her lateness and asks that you accept us in her stead until she arrives."
Robb can not think.
He can not breathe.
"Your. . . your mother?" he asks, his voice undeniably affected. He glances at Jon, whom is looking at him with desperation, his eyes practically screaming at him to please understand, Robb.
But Robb doesn't understand. He can't understand.
"Lady Everra?" he asks, struggling to keep his composure.
Bile rises in his throat as they nod and he raises a hand to his mouth as he thinks, she must have married. She must have.
But a voice inside of him argues otherwise.
Why didn't you hear about them? Why? The only reason you didn't know is because she didn't want you too. Which means she has something to hide. . .which means that—
"Look at me," he commands, his heart pounding in his chest.
They both stiffen at his command, before the boy raises his head to stare at him defiantly, just like his mother had done all those years ago.
The boy had dark straight hair that reached the end of his chin, which was clean shaven and smooth. Robb glanced at him thoroughly, trying to convince himself that it wasn't true. The boy had a long face, just like his father and had features strikingly close to that of a Stark, except for his eyes. His green eyes that were so identical to his mothers that Robb felt as though he were staring into hers.
He let out a breath and asked him, "How old are you?"
"My sister and I recently turned ten and six, your grace," he responds, his gaze aloof.
They are older than my own, he thinks, a flash of ice shooting through him.
He then turns towards the boy's sister and takes note of her long, raven locks that were slightly more curlier than her mothers. Her locks were pinned back at the side but they still managed to tumble down to her waist. Her face was still directed downwards and so Robb asked gently, "May I please see your face, my lady?"
She reluctantly raises her head to stare at him directly in the eyes and Robb's throat runs dry as he takes in just how much she looks like her mother. Her lips were the same shade and size as her mothers, as was her nose but her eyes erased any doubt from Robb.
Her eyes were like an endless sea that were identical too Robb's own.
A/N PM me if any of you want more prompts of your choosing. Hope you liked this!