THIS CHAPTER WAS REVISED ON JULY 19 2016

(new scene added!)

Hello! I'm so very very very sorry for the long delay :( June's just been a killer -graduation, prom, my sister's wedding, a constant lack of money and trying to decide what to do with my life, really killed my writing mood D':

But I have returned! This was originally longer, but there would have been A LOT of important stuff crammed into one chapter, so I've decided to split them in twain, so I'll have more of a chance to linger on the important bits! :D

Oh my baby Jesus! 119! 119... THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I'm gonna cry, I'm so happy ;D

Chapter 4 Fade Into You

I was the ashes, you were the ground
Under your willow, they laid me down
There'll be no trace that one was once two,
After I fade into you

"Fade into You" by Scarlett O'Connor & Gunnar Scott

The pale fingers of light reached out to touch bare skin through the closed shudders, a gentle warmth blooming where those invisible fingers touched the sleeping lovers' skin. It was early, the servants bustling about their morning routines, but it was far too early for the nobles to be up.

From behind his wife, Robb Star twitched, slowly, almost reluctantly, becoming aware of the world. He could feel a warm body curled around his, soft bare skin pressed flush against him, hair tickling his neck and chin, and a steady ba-thump-ba-thump-ba-thump under his hand. I never want to leave this bed, he thought – or dreamt, he could not tell which. Sleep and reality were gently warring beneath his closed eyes, one trying to coax him back into blissful oblivion, and the other heedlessly reminding him of the things which needed to be done.

Reality was slowly winning the war, and soon he became more and more aware of his surroundings, particularly of the beautiful body he held against his own. He could smell her, the scent of sex from the night before and faded oils and some other faint fragrance that made his blood sizzle. He could feel her legs entwined with his, smooth and soft, feel her limp fingers tangled with his and hear her steady breathing. He had spent one night with her, one night wherein little sleep was achieved, and now could never imagine spending another without her. He'd never felt more content, or more at home than in that moment.

Could they really have done those things? He thought with wonder. He remembered how she'd gasped, how she'd arched and whimpered and said his name like it was the only word she could remember. He remembered how good it had felt - better than anything he'd ever known. He knew for a fact they had consummated their marriage, but it was still a wondrous thing to realize, to have shared in something so intimate and special with the one person who he loved more than anyone.

Robb opened his eyes, blinking at the bright light streaming brokenly through his shudders. He lifted his hand from his wife's breast and rubbed at his eyes. When his vision cleared, her found her curled up against him, pressed so close, her back was against his chest, her soft bottom nestled against his manhood, and her long dark hair tangled and tickling his chest and neck. He smiled. She was so beautiful.

When he returned his hand to her hip, still bare from the night before, it suddenly struck him that soon they'd have to rouse and leave his—theirchambers. Couldn't day hold itself off for a little longer? With the morning light, the world would come into this little haven, stealing his wife from his arms and him from hers, and giving them new duties to attend to and people to face.

Robb softly rubbed the soft skin of her hip, slowly tailing his hands up her side, back down and over again. He wanted her all to himself today. One night together was not enough, not by half. He wanted to make her squirm and moan again, wanted to be in her again, to feel her pulse around him, see her breasts heave and her eyes become glassy with delight. He wanted to taste that unbelievable pleasure that he had found in her arms once more. Robb pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled the sweet flowery scent of her oils mingled with dried sweat. He felt his cock stir against her bottom.

"Nnng," she mumbled sleepily. He grinned and nipped at her shoulder, earning a startled squeak from a fully awake Sylvia. For a moment she was dazed, awakening in a room that was not hers, to the sudden sharp sting of Robb's teeth, and the unfamiliar sensation of being completely bare. Her face flamed. Oh gods, the night before had really happened! She thought with an odd mix of glee and something like embarrassment. She had never felt pleasure, so sweet and tart and world shattering, before. She'd never made those sounds, never moved like that, never crooned and pleaded so wantonly. She wondered if anyone outside their room had heard. Her face reddened even further, because she knew they likely had. It was tradition, after all. The world had to know the marriage was true and complete.

Robb had seemed to like the sounds she made though, judging by the way he'd lingered on the places which made her moan loudest.

"What are you doing?" she demanded sleepily. He responded with dragging the blunt of his teeth across her shoulder. It tickled a little. She turned in his arms, her own curled against her chest, hiding her breasts from his eyes.

"That's not an answer," she smiled. "And you're poking something into my belly." She smiled wickedly at him. "What are you thinking about?"

He grinned back at her. "All the wicked things I want to do to you."

Her smile dimmed just the tiniest bit, wondering how to answer such a blunt statement without making a fool of herself. "Really?" she smiled.

"Yes," he replied in the same rough voice he had used the night before. Her insides twitched. She shifted her hips a little to get more comfortable, but her soft skin rubbed against his cock, making Robb moan. Immediately she pulled back, thinking she'd done something wrong, but his hand rushed to her hip to keep her flush against him, his breathing a little heavy. She stared at his face in wonder, her heart pounding. Insatiable, she thought, lusty.

"And what would you do to me?" If he was not so aroused, he'd be surprised something so bold came from her normally sweet, and almost timid, lips. They might have been more timid if they were strangers to each other, and both were grateful they had gotten to know each other before they wed, unlike so many others. They knew how to toy with each other, how to touch and tease and play, and did not shy away. Such things came when you'd spent the early years of adolescence pushed together and told and hundred times over that one day you would do this very thing. Although at first it had been a forced sort of affection, odd and strained, it had grown into something different; something special and new for two people so young and naive, both so alert to every fresh feeling in their hearts and every sensation in their bed.

Robb attacked her then. He lunged and pushed her down into the furs, kissing her roughly, like a dying man clinging to something which made him feel alive. She kissed him back, sweet and timid, startled by her husband's sudden boldness. Her tongue tangled with his, hot and slick and smooth as silk. Sylvia trembled as he ran his hands up over her hips and to her breasts, feeling her small brown nipples pebble under his palm. When he pressed his hips against hers, drowning her gasp and his moan with a fierce kiss, he pulled away for a second to murmur something that almost sounded like her name.

Her fingers tentatively touched his chest, gently ghosting along the taught skin of his belly, making the muscles beneath, dance and twitch in response. Robb pulled her hand away and held it beside her head, linking his fingers with hers.

Sylvia's head was swimming, her bosom was heaving against her husband's chest and her belly was fluttering and jumping as he rubbed against her. She pulled her lips away to catch her breath, but his lips continued on, over her jaw, licking and kissing and sucking. Her fingers tangled in his auburn curls, nails gently scraping across his scalp and making him shiver. Her lips kissed the side of his face and suddenly, his earlobe was between her teeth. She felt his groan in her chest. "I love you," he said, voice harsh with desire (desire for her, she thought with pleasure), the words rolling so easily off his tongue. She was helpless to do anything but whimper.

When his mouth dragged between her breasts, he released her fingers, allowing her hands to tangle in his hair as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin there. Her breathing was harsh, but rose up to a cry when his lips closed around one nipple, his mouth hot and wet and sweet. She hoped he did the thing with his mouth again. How did he just know how to—?

She gasped sharply when he sucked, all thought brought to an abrupt halt. Liquid began to slicken between her thighs. She gave a little whimper and tightened her hand in his beautiful curls. "Ohh, Robb..." She whimpered out his name so sweetly and beautifully, that Robb doubled his ministrations to hear it from her sweet lips again.

Sylvia had asked him the night before how he knew the things he did, how he knew how to bring her pleasure, and in the delirious bliss of lovemaking, he'd confessed that Theon gave him pointers about what women liked. The truth was, Theon had been very far away from his mind the night before, and he'd just fallowed what his instincts told him to do, what he'd imagined doing to her many times before. Judging by the sounds she'd made and her shy murmurs for more, he had been right to do so.

Her hips canted up in a silent plea for more, and Robb couldn't deny her, or himself, any longer. He pulled his lips from her breast and crashed his mouth to hers once again, sliding his tongue over hers and gripping her hips so hard she thought she would bruise. When he pushed inside her again, a broken cry tore from her throat and he felt her tremble and knew he must have hurt her, but she never asked him to stop, or slow, or to be still, and it felt far too good inside her to think of stopping. Sylvia only held him tighter and clumsily rocked her hips against his, both still so new to this wonderful act. "Robb, Robb," she chanted half a hundred times, each time warming his heart with love for her. He heard himself mumbling her own name in reply, into her neck between kisses.

When they were finished, he laid his head on her damp chest, listening contently as her heart slowed to a normal rhythm. She cradled his head; her fingers tangled in his damp curls and kissed him once or twice. "Robb," she whispered like a prayer, only once as a quiet peace took them both. Gods, what he wouldn't do to hear her say it again. He'd spent inside her too quickly for his liking, but he didn't want to move away from this warm, safe place he had found within her, and cushioned against her breasts. Sylvia never voiced any complaints either, only continued to stroke his curls.

Before long, they were back asleep, warmer and happier than before.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

This time they both awoke with none of the gentleness as before. Robb shot up, so quickly the top of his head clipped Sylvia's jaw painfully, clacking her teeth together.

"Ow!" she shouted, a hand flying up to cup her aching chin. Robb sat up and slipped out of her, feeling the slickness of their lovemaking come against his thigh. The top of his head was throbbing from her sharp chin, but he was all too aware of the person on the other side of the door to notice. "Ow," Sylvia mumbled. "Robb, what is wro—"

Knock! Knock! Knock! "M'lord? M'lady? May we come in?" Sylvia's ocean blue eyes widened in fear and looked up to meet Robb's, both freezing for one very long moment as if waiting for the other to have some notion of what to do. They were still naked as their name-day, the furs had long since been kicked down to the foot of the bed but neither had minded. Now they needed cover.

Knock! Knock! "Hullo?"

At once they sprung away from each other and as Robb lurched forward to grab the crumpled up furs at their feet, Sylvia sat up and vainly tried to straighten her tangled hair. "Jus-just a moment!" she called out. Robb fell back and Sylvia quickly followed, pulling the cool cover up to just under her chin. She had the urge to hide completely, but princesses don't do such things, especially from simple castle maids. Robb pulled her close, but she wanted to pull away. The last thing she wished for was the serving girls to have something else to gossip about. Yet she made no protest.

"Come in!" Their breath was a little laboured when the serving girls (three of them—one to feed the fire, one to set down their breakfast and another to draw a hot bath), burst into the room.

The three girls stopped at the end of the bed, eyes focused on the rushes at their feet out of respect. "M'lord, m'lady." They chorused together, and then quickly set about their various chores. Robb and Sylvia watched warily as the serving girls began to scurry about, one girl setting down the tray on the table and then tidying up a bit, the mousy girl began to feed the fire which had gone out in the night, and the third girl began to fill the tub with hot water. As they worked, both Robb and Sylvia grew annoyed that their morning had been interrupted by such tedious tasks that could have been put off until they were good and ready to leave their chambers. But they were loath to bring attention to themselves, both too shy to even meet simple servant's eyes.

Sylvia blushed as one girl picked up the soiled washbasin, so very aware that the water and rag within it was pink with the blood Robb had washed her of, the night before. He'd had been so tender with her after, she could almost cry.

Finally, after what felt like an endless span of time, they were done, and stood before the foot of the bed to take their leave.

"Uh-um, m'lord, Lord Stark requests your company after you've broken your fast." Said one. Robb nodded in reply.

"And m'lady, the queen has asked you visit her chambers as soon as you are...able to." Said another. The hidden joke in those words was obvious to the other two maids as they tried to hide their giggles. Sylvia paled. Had they been that loud? She looked up to reply, but noticed the girl who'd spoken looking up, far bolder than any serving girl had a right to be. Unknowingly, the fresh young bride clenched her jaw. She didn't like the way the girl who'd spoken, boldly glanced up, stared right at her husband's bare chest and smiled as though she had a right to look.

"Leave us," Robb ordered. Sylvia glared at their retreating backs until the door slammed shut again. "You look like you want to string them up by their ankles." He smirked.

"I'm honestly considering it," she replied seriously. Her husband chuckled and kissed her forehead. My wrathful, jealous, sweet, sweet wife, he thought. He hadn't been blind to the serving girl's wandering eyes, but thought nothing of it. It wasn't as though he'd ever forsake his vows for a quick rut, or that the girl didn't have any other men to lust after. No he didn't mind her looking.

"Peace, sweetheart," he murmured, pushing down the furs again to get up. "Let's have a bath. I'll ease all your tensions away." He smiled so brightly that Sylvia found herself grinning back, her brief dark mood forgotten. Robb tugged her hand and pulled her off the bed and toward the steaming copper tub.

Her daughter was all smiles when she came into her mother's guest chambers, aglow with some happiness Cersei had never known the day after her wedding to Robert.

The boy was a pup—young, too eager to have given Sylvia much enjoyment, even if he had bedded a whore or two in the past. But that smile hardly left her daughter's lips as they nibbled on their lemon cakes and sipped their hot cider. Sylvia talked gleefully about everything – from her life in Winterfell to how splendid a fighter her husband was. When the queen brought up her other children, a little of the joy left her eyes, but still, she never looked morose for long.

Cersei made no comment on the matter. Her child's happiness bothered her somehow. Most noble brides are not so cheery the night after their first bedding, voicing complains about their husband's performance (or lack of), or keeping silent but miserable all the same. Sylvia was jolly, smiling and laughing like she was the happiest girl in the world. Any mother would be glad for her child...but Cersei saw herself in her daughter, so young, so sweet, so... green. And it would hurt her.

The happiness will not last, she thought. It will ebb away, bit by bit, taking parts of her with it, and then she will have nothing but bitter memories and children to take care of. And soon enough, those babes she loved will be sold off like livestock at her husband's dictation. What will happen to her then? She wouldn't have anyone to help ease the pain of the day, (as a mother should never trouble her babes with grown-up problems), like she had Jaime. Her good-sisters and brothers might offer a kind word or two, but in the end, they were Robb Stark's siblings. And for that, she wondered about her eldest daughter's future, if joy could still come to her so easily a few years ahead.

It was impossible for her not to care. She was Sylvia's mother – she carried her for months, brought her into the world with pain and blood, and loved her the moment she saw her, and would until Cersei drew her last breath. Bitterness and distance and pain would not break the bond between them. She had long since realised this.

"You were right mother, the dress you brought was better suited," Sylvia gushed. "Robb said it was the most beautiful he's ever seen me and..." as she went on, the queen took in her daughter's features, as she so often did when she was with Sylvia.

In passing moments, Cersei feared she would be like Robert, a fool, an embarrassment, a shame. These thoughts came sudden and unbidden one night after Robert had claimed his rights as her husband and king, leaving her too sore for sleep even as he snored beside her. The idea was painful and frightening—another one of him in the world—and just for one small second in time, she almost thought it was better her boy had died, lest he be a copy of Robert entirely. The golden haired queen immediately regretted thinking such things, because she'd have done anything to get her boy back and safe and sound in her arms again. But Sylvia was not like Robert, and when the queen was embarrassed by her daughter because of her silly childhood tendencies at court, the shame was dull and faded quickly. She was just a child after all, and there was no malice behind her actions. She was too sweet, too good for that.

Would Steffon have been the same, or would he be like Robert? The queen knew it was no good to dwell on the child she'd lost so long ago, but when she looked at Sylvia, it was hard not to think of him. They'd looked so much alike when they were babies...

Cersei had always known she was just a pawn to her father, a means to further the gain of her house, first by marrying a king and then by birthing the next one. She used to think being queen would make her happy, and it did, but not as much as it used to. The throne was just an aspiration, a tiring goal she always had to pursue, and she soon came to realize she didn't want to live only for that throne.

But her children, they gave her true purpose, something to strive for, a reason to want the throne. Cersei would see the world burn, if it meant keeping them safe and happy. Without them, she had nothing. So she played the game men had played for thousands of years, the game of power and deceit, and grew to love it, growing in confidence as she proved she was as smart as any man. All for them, all for her family. Everything she did was for her children. They—Sylvia, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen—were her reason for going on.

Cersei smiled at her daughter, a true loving smile. It wasn't long after Steffon had died, when her heart was still raw with pain and despair, that she'd walked out onto her balcony, watching people scurry like ants on the ground below, and wondered what it would be like to fall through the air. Would it feel like flying? She remembered herself thinking without fear. The ledge wasn't very high and she knew she could climb over it before anyone could stop her. Everything would stop—all the hurt, and blame and fear...it would all stop. She so desperately wanted it all to stop.

But as she pondered the easiest way to climb over the ledge, she heard her infant daughter cry in the next room, before her wet nurse hushed her and hummed some lullaby to her babe. Sylvia. At once, Cersei knew she couldn't know that bit of freedom. Someone was holding her to this life, the baby girl in the next room—she needed her mother, just as much as her mother needed her. Cersei could not bear the thought of leaving her alone in this world, with no one to protect her the way only a mother could.

Before Joffrey was born, Sylvia had been all she had, that small little babe who brought her both joy and pain in equal measure. Sylvia had given her a reason to go on when she thought she couldn't, led her through the darkness and back into the light, and for that, the queen would always love her first born girl.

"Will Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella come visit me soon? I'd like to meet Tommen before I have my own baby." Sylvia made sure to include Joffrey, knowing it would please her mother, even though she really didn't want him to visit.

Cersei broke out of her thoughts and took a delicate sip of her cider. She did feel a bit guilty for not bringing her golden haired cubs—Sylvia had looked so crushed when she told her they had remained in the Capitol—but there were hundreds of things that could happen to them on the road, and she would never risk it. "Perhaps, my dear. But they are all so young still, especially Tommen. The king's road is no place for a growing babe. Mayhaps you should visit the Capitol." She took another sip.

The princess twisted her fingers. She didn't think it would be possible; she was married to the north now (her father's words), and there were things expected of her, meaning a baby. And soon. But Robb had never brought up the subject, so perhaps he didn't want a child so quickly either. Hope blossomed in her chest. Maybe she could spend a time in the Capitol.

She smiled and nodded to her mother. Cersei smiled back.

"It's so bloody cold here. How can you stand it?" Renly Baratheon grumbled to his niece, quietly wondering if his lungs could freeze solid from breathing in the icy northern air. Perhaps taking the air with Sylvia hadn't been such a good idea.

"It isn't so bad. It's grown on me quite a lot, uncle." But even as she said it, she could feel the cold trying to seep through her warm cottons and furs, to freeze the warm flesh hidden away. Her arm tightened around Renly's, hoping to share a bit of warmth.

"You've been deprived of proper sun for the last four years, Sylvia. Of course you've had to settle." The youngest Baratheon brother teased. They walked beneath the bridge that connected the armory to the Great Keep.

"I didn't settle. You're just a spoilt southern born." She gave him a little nudge, a bright smile still on her lips. She and Renly had always been close, and sometimes Sylvia would think of him as the brother she should have had. They certainly looked alike, and her uncle was only eight years her senior. Old vendors at their stalls had once or twice mistaken them for brother and sister, and they hadn't corrected them.

"Oh, I'm wounded, niece. I'm just a spoilt southern born to you now?" You're the man who asked for my favor at tourneys, the one who played with me, and promised to defend my honour should anyone dare insult me. You're the man who teased me about my poor skill with the harp, and then offered to have it magically disappear before my next lesson. Renly could never be just anything to Sylvia.

"I'm a northerner now." she replied easily, but as she said it, a little spark of uncertainly ignited in her belly.

"You might have a northern name and have northern children, but your blood is warm. You can take the Baratheon from Storms End, but you can't take the storm out of the Baratheon."

Sylvia nearly rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Tell me about the Capitol. I know you know more than you're saying."

"You see? A northerner would never indulge in courtly gossip." Renly adjusted his cloak, pulling it a little closer to his body. His niece gave a laugh.

"Have you been aquatinted with Sansa? Her heart pines for the south, just as mine does." She admitted.

Her uncle was quiet a moment, before leaning his head a little closer to speak to her. "You know, it's not too late. I can steal a horse, and we could ride south. I could hide you away in Storms End like a prince from a song, far away from the freezing wretches that stole you away in the first place." The tone of his voice was mockingly sinister, and Sylvia laughed again.

"That's quite alright, uncle." She patted his hand good naturedly.

"Well then, I should have a talk with this husband of yours. Man to man. I ought to have spoken with him before you wed, but preparations and all that got the better of me. Maybe if I had told him what will befall him if he were ever to mistreat you, he would have thought twice before wedding you."

Sylvia was not offended. Renly meant no harm, and he'd only said it as a show of protectiveness, but he was stepping a little too far. What if someone heard him threatening the heir of Winterfell? "It really isn't necessary." She told him, sending a wry grin.

Oh, but it is, Renly thought as they walked around to the training yard. She spied Jon and Theon among the crowd watching as two western knights circled each other in the ring, practice swords in hand. A few southern knights and squires watched with them, appraising the two on their skills and methods.

"Who's that solemn looking lump?" Renly murmured lowly to her, his eyes set on gloomy looking Jon Snow.

"Don't play the dolt. You know that's Jon Snow." They continued walking, slower this time, listening to the sounds of sticks striking against padding.

"Lord Stark's bastard." It wasn't a question when Renly spoke, but rather a look for confirmation.

"Yes." Renly turned his nose up, and his niece raised a brow. "Why do you look so snooty? When did you start caring who bore the bastard title?" He didn't. In fact, one his brother's many bastards was his ward at Storms End. He was a good lad, and Renly was a fond of the boy, but he wouldn't insult his niece by speaking of young Edric Storm.

"I don't." He finally replied. "I care about you. Tell me, why does Lord Stark suffer his wife to raise her trueborn children alongside her husband's bastard?" It was painfully obvious Lady Stark cared nothing for her husband's son, while the rest of the Starks accepted him easily enough.

"Jon is his." Sylvia replied plainly. "He wouldn't leave his son behind to grow up without a father, probably living on scraps day by day. Maybe he brought him back to spare his mother the shame of having no husband. Anyway, I don't want t talk about it. It bothers poor Jon to talk about his mother." She'd tried to coax it out of him once, in her first year at Winterfell. Jon stormed away from her, and Robb didn't speak with her for three days. To add insult, Lord Stark himself scolded her for asking such inappropriate questions that did not concern her.

"'Poor Jon'? Have you a tender spot in your heart for Winterfell's bastard, Sylvia?" Renly asked curiously.

"Of course I do. Your surprise hurts me, uncle."

"The north really has changed you." He muttered.

"He's a good man." She continued, not wanting to leave the point unmade. "He brings no other dishonour on his family, apart from carrying the name Snow. He's even spoken of joining the Night's Watch. Very noble, really."

"What of his brother, your husband? Is his character above reproach?"

The question threw Sylvia, and for a moment, she was quiet. "My husband is as honorable as his lord father. As kind, if not kinder as well. He is full of affection for me."

Renly nodded. His voice was soft when he spoke. "His father is honorable to be sure, but even Lord Stark slipped and got a bastard on some southern wench. He even brought the child home to live amongst his trueborns. Is Robb Stark still like his father, niece?" The implications were not lost on her, and Sylvia felt herself bristling, but she was far too aware of the public setting to react much beyond losing her warm smile. Her arm tightened around Renly's, and were he a slighter man, her grip might have hurt.

"You offend me, uncle." Sylvia told him sternly, her face hard.

Renly looked away. Truly, he did not wish to hurt or upset his niece. "Forgive me. I only wish to know you will be happy here, and will never suffer your husband's humiliations as your good-mother has."

The girl looked down. She wanted to defend her husband's honor and ardently reply that he'd never stray from her bed. But Renly spoke out of concern, misplaced though it was, and she couldn't hate him for it. Her eyes strayed back to Jon across the yard, still watching the fight play out. Was his concern truly misplaced, though? The future was not certain, and surely, Lady Catelyn never thought her husband would return to her with another woman's son in his arms.

Sylvia bit her cheek. Lord and Lady Stark had only had one night together before he went away for a year. He had not known his wife, nor had he loved her, because before then, she'd been meant for his elder brother. But Robb and Sylvia had years together, they knew each other, they cared for each other, and there had never another love before they wed. I am his, and he is mine, she thought.

"Robb wouldn't do that to me," she said softly, imagining seeing an auburn haired toddler running through the mud, the living embodiment of her husband's betrayal. "He loves me. He isn't likely to slip into another woman's bed and disgrace his lady wife."

"You know him better than I." Renly admitted, hoping to sooth her grated nerves.

"Yes, I do." Sylvia agreed snappishly.

"Please forgive me, Sylvia. I meant not to offend you."

"What did you mean, then?" she asked, looking up at him with a small frown on her face. "Surely, you knew that your words would anger me. You are no fool."

Renly grew solemn, and for a while he was quiet. They passed through the gate, and started back towards the Great Keep. The sounds of the practice yard were starting to fade, but her uncle's words still lingered in the air for Sylvia. "You need someone to shield you." He finally said. Sylvia blinked, surprised by his words. "No one ever has, not properly. But I always will. I swore to champion you if anyone ever hurt you, didn't I?" Yes, a vow made in jest, after he killed a hideous spider for her.

"You don't need to defend me from my husband, Renly." She told him firmly.

"But I will. You need just ride for Storms End, and I'll shelter you as long as you wish." Sylvia still looked less than cheery. "You are most dear to me, Sylvia. While I hope you never feel the sting of betrayal from your husband, know that I'll always side with you."

His niece thought on his words for a long moment, and Renly as suddenly afraid she'd tell him to sod off. But once the great oak doors leading back into the warm castle came into view, she spoke.

"I will forget this foul conversation only this one time, uncle. If you ever imply my husband is a dishonorable sort, who is likely to bring home his own baseborn child in good time, I will not speak with you until I've forgiven you. And my forgiveness will not come swiftly."

Renly's heart sunk, but he could not insist on a better offer. "I understand."

"Now go on. Let's forget this bloody walk and tell me about all those lords and ladies and all their vile secrets."

Two weeks later, the Starks and the rest of Winterfell said goodbye to the royals and their company. Sylvia was very sad to see her parents and uncles go, especially Renly. Since seeing him again after so many years, he'd built up a lot of very interesting things to talk about, providing endless hours of entertainment. He kissed her hand, and promised a present as soon as he saw her again. Uncle Tyrion kissed her hand as well, and said some wonderfully witty words which made her sad to see him go, and Uncle Jaime...well he didn't even acknowledge her.

He's far to official, she thought later, Uncle Jaime always has been. When she was a little girl she'd run to him a few times, with Ser Fredrick in tow, and show him a trinket she found absolutely splendid or a new puppy or kitten mother had just given her. She'd found nothing wrong with it, he was her mother's brother, and her other uncles never minded. But always, Uncle Jaime would mumble a few words— "Oh yes, that's ever so fascinating," or "My, my, princess, another pet. You'll be mistress of a farmhouse before long,"—and leave so abruptly, that even as a child she'd felt snubbed. And even as a child, his words always made her angry, because it always sounded like he was making fun of her. But, as children's understanding goes, she never thought much on it, but after a while, she stopped bothering him with such things and paid her attentions to Ser Fredrik instead. Uncle Jaime never complained.

Mother bid her goodbye with a kiss to the forehead and an insistence that she visit the Capitol immediately. Father left her with a gentle clap on the shoulder and a joke on how she should be with child soon enough since she and Robb so seemed to enjoy each other at night. If looks could kill, the king would have been six foot under, by both her husband and her mother.

She missed her family as soon as the gates of Winterfell closed. When she would see them again, she did not know, and that was the worst part. Would she have a baby in her belly or in her arms when next she saw her mother? Would she have a multitude of children? Would it be a tragedy that brought them back together? Or a happy day, like their wedding? So many questions, but none knew the answer.

The new little Lady Stark, as Ser Fredrik called her affectionately, was solemn for days after the royal convoy's departure, and Robb knew little in how to comfort her. He tried his best to cheer her, to get her to smile, but those joys didn't last very long.

"I'll be alright," she promised one night, three days after her family left. Robb's worry and impatience had boiled over and now he raised his voice to get her to do something other than sulk.

But she was calm when she replied, gentle when she took his hand in hers and pleaded for him not to worry so much and sweet as sin when his began kissing from under his ear and over his jaw. He held her hips in his large hands as she spoke into his neck, laying her head against his chest and clutching his doublet like a child. "It just bothers me a while after parting from my family," she said, and it hurt Robb to know she'd felt this way before.

"We're your family now," he countered, running a hand up her back to between her shoulder blades. But they were my family first, she thought.

"Yes you are," she replied, nuzzling her head into his neck like a cat. He rumbled out his reply and kissed her forehead.

A month later, a girl arrived at Winterfell by the name of Elane, sent by Tyrion Lannister to be a personal handmaiden to Sylvia. "A late wedding present," Elane called herself.

When I started to write this, I was gonna be cruel and give Robb and Sylvia blue-balls, but I decided not to :D

The next chapter shouldn't take super long to put up, it's pretty much half written ;D

Also the Red Wedding...fuuuuu-! After watching that, grraah! I kept asking myself (out loud) "WHY was I BORN!?" I always knew it was gonna happen, but man...it hurt soooo much to watch X'( let me one of the first to say: "fuck you Walder Frey! Double fuck you Roose Bolton!" there, it's out.
But the King in the North WILL freaking live on!

PLEASE REVIEW, THEY ARE THE NUTRIENTS THAT THE GERBALL IN MY BRAIN NEEDS TO CONTINUE WRITING :P