REVISED May 27, 2016

Hello :D WARNING: this chapter has some sensitive content

This was by-far the hardest chapter I've ever had to write for the story. Seriously, I rewrote it 3 times. Ugh. I really hope I chose the right variation to put up :(

Also, don't forget to cast your vote for GoT Summer Awards as hosted by the lovely, Maddie Rose ;D
P.S- MissMac and I are currently in the process of writing a story together, "Broken Crown" a Sansa/OMC story, so if you like, go check it out on my profile :)

Also, we all know I own nothing but my ideas.

Chapter 5: Time

For the most part, time passed quickly as if usually does when one is happy. And Robb and Sylvia were quite happy. Most days.

Their first real argument as a married couple was about visiting the Capitol. Plainly, Sylvia wanted to go, and Robb did not. More like he refused to even consider the notion.

"Why won't you even consider taking in the Capitol?" the southern girl asked in a huff.

"That place is a snake pit of politics and lies. I won't let you go there."

Robb knew by the fire flaring in her eyes, that his words had not calmed the situation at all. "What I do doesn't concern you!"

He frowned, finding that entire statement odd. "It does! We're married, Sylvia!" Their shouts were so loud now that servants hurried past the door, wary that should one part of the young couple stormed out, they would rumble over whatever poor soul standing in their path.

Yet Ser Fredrik stood guard outside the door, listening intently and ready to intervene if he had to. He was part of the Stark household guard now, and had vowed to protect House Stark as loyally and dutifully as he'd protected the eldest Baratheon princess. But it was only for Sylvia, why he'd sworn those vows at all... and perhaps a sense of having nothing grander to do. Fredrik would always protect Sylvia before the rest, even if the Starks were honourable men.

"Maybe we wouldn't be married if you'd shown how pigheaded you actually are when presented with a choice you don't like." she countered, wanting to hit where it would hurt. The new Lady Stark was angry. No, she wasn't angry as Lady Stark, she was angry as Princess Sylvia of House Baratheon. Angry as any woman would be when denied the ability to see her family.

The last few days she and Robb had been back and forth on this, with her suggesting they visit and take in court life a while (like any wise couple would do), and with Robb countering that there was simply too much to do in Winterfell and visiting King's Landing would not be wise. Tension mounted and built until finally it all boiled over into a loud argument between the two newlyweds. Sylvia never thought she'd argue with Robb like this, never thought she'd want to hurl hurtful things at him, yet feel the prickles of regret as soon as they left her mouth.

Robb narrowed his eyes critically, setting them on his wife. "Seems I've married a spoilt little girl. Maybe I can talk your father into taking you back. Then we'll both have what we want."

Sylvia growled. "What I want is to show my husband where I grew up. To show him off to all those wretched nobles, who once whispered among themselves that my future husband could never possibly love me." Truly, she'd thought this herself, in her lowest moments of self pity. But, with how she'd seen courtiers devour gossip like starving dogs, she imagined that she was not too far off.

"I am not your prize, Sylvia. I'm your husband." Her husband's voice was stern, but there was a hint of something vulnerable in his tone. Something that didn't like being seen as anything but her dearest love.

"My mother invited us. It would insult the Crown to reject the queen's invitation."

"Sylvia, we've only been married three months! Now's not the time to be running off to the south! We have duties here!" Robb bit back vehemently.

"You! You have duties here! You Starks and your duty, duty, duty! I have no real duties here! Winterfell will stay afloat without me!"

"You being here is your duty!" he shouted back. Just as he learned lordship from his father, his wife learned ladyship from his mother, so that she would one day rule the north at his side with wisdom and

"So that's it then? We won't go, because you don't want to." To emphasize her point, she poked him in the chest.

"You really think I'd want to stay in that place, where you yourself admit the people there indulge in gossip more than they do in wine."

Sylvia's jaw dropped indignantly. "I lived there for eleven years! All you know of it is what I and your father have told you! I want to go home! I want to see my brother and sister!" Little Tommen who she'd never met and dear sweet Myrcella who she hadn't seen in far too long, were becoming farther and farther away as she argued with her husband. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew she would not win—Robb was just as stubborn as she, and as her husband, he would chose if they would travel. But still she fought on with all she could, because a Baratheon never lies down, and meekly concedes defeat.

But Robb didn't argue back. He didn't yell or roll his eyes. He looked over her head, not even looking at her. Her throat felt tight and when she spoke, she was thankful that her voice did not betray the cracks in her armor. "I don't understand, Robb. Tell me true, why don't you even want to think of indulging me?"

Going there will just remind you how different we truly are, and you'll miss the south a hundred times more when we leave and come to resent me for all my northern meagreness. Robb finally met his wife's eyes. He could tell she was getting upset; the fight began to dwindle, anger replaced with despair. Robb nearly lost all his fight right there. He never wished to hurt her. Ever.

All he had ever heard of the Capitol was that one had to be hard and willing to do anything, in order to thrive there. So many times, when Sylvia spoke of her life there, she'd tell him of what a bully her brother was, or how she hated playing the harp, and even how once when she was very small, her father let her sit on the Iron Throne for a few moments.

Yet through all her petty complains and fond (albeit lonely) stories of her childhood, he could faintly see a picture of the Capitol he didn't like, one filled with vile power hungry snakes who breathed lies and thought of honour as a cumbrance.

When she talked about her brother, she told him how he'd kicked her puppies and kittens, and how after one terrible incident with a cat (she didn't go into much detail), she never had another pet. He finally asked why he always did the things he did. "Didn't your father ever punish him?" he asked curiously. Once when he was just a little lad, he pushed his sister down in the mud, causing a cut on her arm where she'd landed. His father gave his behind a thrashing after explained why he mustn't ever do it again. Robb never did.

"He...he does," she wouldn't really call what father did to Joffrey discipline. Looking back it was more just a very harsh beating than a father correcting his son, and she felt sad for her little brother. He was just a small little boy then, and her father had always been a big man. For such a small child to take a hit like that—from his own father, no less—brought forth pity she hadn't felt for Joffrey in years. Even though what he did (what he still does as far as she knew), was horrible and terrible, surely it could have been handled better. "But...he isn't very good at it and mother...well, when it comes to Joffrey, she's just much more passionate about raising him than father." She said, having a bit of trouble trying to explain it in the most flattering way. Sylvia didn't want Robb to think badly of her family, but by the way he was frowning, told her he already was.

Not only was Robb wary of her younger brother and how people there simply let him get away with his cruelties, he truly did not want to go to the place where so much horror had come to his family. He did not belong in King's Landing. He was his father's heir; he belonged in Winterfell, and now so did Sylvia, although she fervently insisted she belonged where her family was.

He wanted to stay in Winterfell, where he knew without a doubt, she'd be safe from the ugliness of the Capitol. But he couldn't tell her that, she throw it back at him and tell him she wasn't a child who needed protecting. And if he told her how he feared she'd come to think her marriage to him was below her status...he didn't want to think of what she'd say.

"If you go there, don't expect me to meekly follow you." He said finally. She fixed him with the harshest glare he'd ever seen on her, and stormed out of the room. They hardly spoke for two days after that.

"It's all right, my lady," Elane comforted as she gently pulled the sponge down Sylvia's hair, washing it of the sweet lavender oils she's worked through the black strands. Sylvia had begun recounting the whole spat as soon as her body sunk down into the hot water, and each word that dripped off her tongue, felt like a little weight lifted from her heart as her new handmaiden listened dutifully. "Men...they always have to be right, you see, but when they realize they're not, they come back and grovel." Sylvia smiled at her handmaiden's words. Elane had been with her for three months now, and already, Sylvia counted her as one of her closest friends. The girl was beautiful and witty, clever and kind, and ever so easy to talk with. It felt good to complain and have someone agree with her. Sylvia was grateful her dear uncle Tyrion had sent Elane to her.

"With the way he's been acting, I hope so. Do you know he said King's Landing's a snake pit?" Sylvia remarked. "The dunderhead has never even been past the Neck. He doesn't know anything about the south." The young lady grumbled. Elane smiled in agreement and continued her task. "I'm so tired of fighting with him," she lamented, dropping her head back against the tub with a harsh thud. "We've never fought like this before. I just want to go back and take the entire quarrel back. But...he doesn't know anything about the Capitol! And he won't even consider it! Like what I want doesn't matter. And why does he think it always has to be his way? I'm still a princess, even if I've married him."

Elane giggled. "I'm sure Lord Robb just needs a bit of persuading, my lady. My mama said even though the man is the head, the woman is the neck, and the neck turns the head, any way she wants."

"I shouldn't have to persuade him. He should just...listen to me." Sylvia ended sadly. Elane didn't reply, and she began to feel prickles of discomfort at the back of her mind. Had she made her new friend uncomfortable? "Your mother sounds smart. Who was your mother, Elane?" Sylvia asked to both change the ugly topic, and the fact that she truly was curious. Where had her new handmaid come from? She knew Casterly Rock, but that was it.

"Oh, just some woman from Casterly Rock; nothing really very interesting about her. Now my father, he's much more interesting." Elane smiled proudly. She set down the sponge and picked up an ivory comb to begin brushing her lady's hair with.

"Why is your father so interesting?" Elane had never had a mistress so interested in her life before. Often, she'd been told she talked too much and that her job was to keep her mouth shut and listen to her mistress' every problem and command. Now Lady Sylvia's questions were strange, but not unwelcomed and she answered the younger girl honestly.

"Because I don't know who he is."

A beat of confused silence, then: "You're a bastard?!" Sylvia was surprised. Not disgusted, only surprised...well maybe a little dismayed. In the Capitol, it would be unbecoming for a princess to be associated with a bastard and for her own noble uncle to send one to her as a gift was a bit of a jolt. Bastards are vile, shameful children, born of sin, her septa had said. She'd loved Bryda and so believed her.

But then when she came here, she met Jon Snow, Robb's natural brother. At first, she'd wanted nothing to do with him, although she never said so out loud, because her betrothed, his younger siblings and Lord Stark were so fond of the boy. Her loathing for him came to a halt when she saw how kind he was, how gentle he was with his young siblings, just like Robb. Jon was quiet, shy, gentle and ever so kind and polite. He wasn't anything like what everyone in the Capitol had said bastards would be and she'd come to look past his ugly title and see him as Robb's brother, different names and mothers but brothers all the same. She cared for him as much as she did Bran and Rickon, but he was still a bastard, and so her fondness for him was often muted in public.

"Well, yes. Technically." Elane replied timidly, a little put off by her lady's reaction. "My mother was a handmaiden to Tywin Lannister's wife when she was alive, but when she got pregnant with me, she couldn't work anymore, because what lady would want a fat, dishonoured handmaiden? But Lady Joanna was so very kind and let my mother keep working until I was born, and then after that I stayed in the kitchens until I was old enough to serve too."

"Really? My grandmother must have been very kind. My mother never talks about her. But how'd you become a handmaid? Bastards aren't known to rise so high." Elane blinked, but answered.

"Well, one of the lesser ladies in Casterly Rock needed a handmaid and so...Then about three months ago—after you wedding my lady—Lord Tyrion came back to Casterly Rock and had all us handmaids line up. He went up and down a few times, stopped at me, and asked me what my name was, who my parents were and if I'd like to go to Winterfell to serve his lovely niece." She finished with an affectionate, yet professional nudge to Sylvia's shoulder. Sylvia smiled at the compliment. Elane continued to comb her lady's hair, some water dripping from the black strands and onto her skirt covered lap.

"But why is your father more interesting than your mother?" Sylvia asked.

"Because I don't know him, I make up stories about him, and why he's not here. It's better than not knowing, I think." Elane had done this ever since she was a little girl, to make up for the loneliness at not knowing who her father was. She'd made up lots of stories.

"Oh. Can you...can you tell me one?"

Elane smiled. "Of course my lady. Well, he was a pirate from across the sea and into the Summer Isles, and one day he was..." as her new friend told her story, Sylvia forgot the fight with her husband for a few moments and let her handmaiden's tale take her away.

But Sylvia was still angry at Robb when he came to her that night, and was still angry when he said he was tired of having a silent war with his wife.

"Four days is too long to argue," he said. She said nothing. "Please, Sylvia." He sounded so sincere, yet so stern and lordly that Sylvia's resolve began to chip away at the look in his blue eyes. She looked away. "Please see it through my eyes; we've only been married a few months and it wouldn't...I don't want to keep you away from your family. I know you're angry, but—" He didn't say he was sorry, and so, neither did she. As if to spite him and add more truth to his words, she remained silent. She knew it petty and childish, but she didn't care. Sylvia only lay down and turned away on her side.

Robb sighed. "I love you," he said after a moment in the darkness of their chambers. Robb turned away as well, leaving it at that, his back facing her as he settled in for another long, cold night.

He was nearly asleep when he felt her arms embrace him from behind, warm and soft and so wonderfully welcome. Without uttering a word, he turned back and pulled her into his arms, her sweet scent filling his nose and making his chest rumble with pleasure. He suddenly realised just how much he didn't like sleeping away from her.

"I'm sorry things got as bad as they did." He heard her whisper in the dark, her breath warm on his chest.

She wasn't sorry for her opinion on the matter, he noted, and Robb couldn't fault her for that, because neither was he. They could only be sorry for their anger, and for hurting the other with it, and that was enough. They were both tired of fighting a useless battle anyway. "I'm sorry I yelled, and told you I'd give you back to your father." He replied. She pressed a chaste kiss on his chest in response.

"I wouldn't have let you." She replied wryly. "No one could've pried me off you." Robb's chest rumbled as he laughed.

In the end, Sylvia didn't get to go to the Capitol. Robb had won, but he didn't feel good about it. In fact he abhorred thinking he'd won anything. Eventually, the anger and hurt waned, but visiting King's Landing was still a tender spot to bring up.

About a year after the wedding

"Oh, ohhh, Gods! OOHHH!" Sylvia keened fervently. Robb groaned into her neck and gripped her thighs so tight it hurt as he jerked and twitched, reaching the crest of his pleasure inside her. After a year, after countless times of being together in the most delightful of ways, she could never see this—this intimacy and passion—ever losing appeal. She adored being so close to him, felt...somehow complete when he was with her like this. At ease. Safe. Home. She wondered if he felt the same.

It was quiet for a moment, the corridor only filled with their heavy breathing and the popping of the torch overhead as they calmed. "We'll be late, to S-Sansa's—ahh—f-feast." the onyx haired woman murmured into her husband's ear, a lazy smile on her pink lips. She tightened her grip on the back of his head, fingers tightly coiled around his soft auburn curls.

"Don't care," he mumbled back, his voice husky and lazy with pleasure, his beard scraping against the sensitive skin of her neck. Sylvia smiled and pulled his hair harshly, pulling his head back so he could meet her eyes.

"Put me down," Robb chucked breathlessly and complied, her legs unwrapping from his hips and disappearing under her skirts as she smoothed them down. She felt his seed trickle down her thigh and wondered if she'd feel it the rest of the evening. With slightly shaky hands, he tucked himself away and began to lace up his breeches, smiling coyly all the while. "We are never going to get anything done, if you attack me all the time," she smiled. The laces of her bodice were loose under her hands, having been pulled and tugged by Robb's greedy fingers. She began to tighten them as she leaned against the wall again.

"You seem to enjoy it," he smirked.

"Oh yes, I adore being pawed at constantly." she shot back, half joking. For the last year, they'd seemed to always crave each other's touch, young as they were. Theon had even said they would rut on the dinner table at night if they could, although in an entirely vulgar way that made Sansa blush and Sylvia splutter out curses at the stupid squid boy. She would die before she ever admitted Theon was half right. As time went along, they grew more and more comfortable in their lovemaking and found that waiting all day to retire to their chambers was simply not suitable to their needs. So they decided to right that little problem. Sylvia blushed at the mere memory. She'd never be able to go past the Glass Gardens or the heart-tree in the godswood, or even various dark corners in Winterfell's castle without grinning. "You know, for a northerner with ice in his veins, you run as hot as molten iron." She began to try to smooth her hair down.

"Well...my southern wife has had a hand in warming my icy blood." Sylvia giggled. When they were sure they were decent, they pulled away from the darkened corridor and walked to the Main Hall with silly, satisfied grins on their faces.

The days in Winterfell had passed without much event. Sansa and Arya visited her most days, strolling with her throughout Winterfell, talking about pleasant things which Arya would soon grow very bored with and find some way to make their stroll more interesting. Little Rickon had taken to throwing things; just a few nights ago he'd thrown his pudding at her when she'd teased him. The child had remarkable aim for such a little thing—the brown goop had splattered all over her neck, jaw and hair. Bran continued climbing the walls and towers of Winterfell despite Lady Catelyn's command not to, even though he never fell. Theon had taken it upon himself to defile Elane like one of his back alley whores, even though Sylvia had all but ordered him to keep his cock to himself. Elane was sly and quick as a fox though, and she spurned Theon's advances each time and sent him away with his tail between his legs.

The long summer days passed into months without much interruption. Robb and Sylvia celebrated a year together by riding out through the moors around Winterfell for a day, and then finding themselves naked at the foot of a large hill amongst the tall grass.

But on one particular morning, not very long after their ride, it became clear that Robb and Sylvia's habitual routine was at an end.

The young woman stood with Maester Luwin in her chambers, looking anywhere but his kindly old eyes as he asked her very delicate questions. The old maester had always been kind to her, he had taught her how to tell between the different constellations and had taught her about every different king before Aegon's Landing, and now she had to answer questions of a very personal nature. She could have consulted her old septa, but she despised the sour old creature, and didn't want her to spoil potentially the most memorable moment of her life. Maester Luwin felt at her belly, pressing and kneading, a concentrated look in his eye as she stared up at the stone ceiling, much like she had her first night as Sylvia Stark.

When he pulled away and permitted her to sit up, it was his simple nod that made her burst into tears. And she hated crying, it was highly undignified for a princess. She'd seen how her father hated tears, and knew men must hate it when a woman cries, but she didn't care, and neither did Maester Luwin who kindly patted her back in comfort.

The woman couldn't believe this wonderful news, and as eager and alight as she was, she couldn't sit down and paced the floor half a hundred times before she ventured out of her chambers. Sylvia felt different as she strolled through the corridors of Winterfell, older somehow. Changed. She was going to be a mother; she was carrying her husband's baby inside her...a little babe of their own, one they had made together, one they would raise and love together. The best part of the both of them, combined into one little person.

Robb was the first person she wanted to tell, she wanted to see the look on his face when she told him she carried his child in her belly. He'd be with his father probably, and Lord Stark was usually in his solar. Her heart thumped loudly in her breast as she approached Lord Stark's solar doors. How would he react to the news? Would he be happy as she? Angry? She hoped not, because she felt so elated she could fly. She hesitated a second before knocking. It was not a wife's prerogative to interfere her husband's duties, but...surely finding out you were to be a father would override such social norms for just a second?

With a steady hand, she knocked on the door, and was thankful for the muffled, "Enter," from the other side. The door never felt heavier under her hand.

Lord Stark was more surprised than anything when his good-daughter came rushing into his solar, aglow with happiness. He could only guess what would have a woman so aflutter, unable to stop smiling for he'd seen that exact same look four times before with Catelyn. Eddard stopped reading the raven's scroll in his hands and glanced up at his son's wife in curiosity, while Robb frowned and closed the book he'd been reviewing before standing and crossing the little bit of space between them.

"Sylvia what are you doing?" Robb demanded. It was a bit...embarrassing for her to come here unannounced. He didn't want his father to reprimand him like a boy once she left, but she'd never done this before. What was wrong? What was so important she felt the need to interrupt?

"I need to speak with you." She beamed, his disapproving tone having no affect on her mood. With a momentary glance at his father, and seeing him nod once, Robb and Sylvia quickly hurried out the door.

His wife turned to him as the door closed. "Sylvia you can't just come here like this, it—"

"Robb I'm pregnant," she blurted with a smile. She didn't even care he'd been reprimanding her like a child. She just...had to tell him. Her fingers twisted and tangled nervously in front of her, watching his face dissolve into shock and awe. His blue eyes flicked to her flat belly and then back to her face, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth through his surprise.

"A...a baby?" he finally managed with hardly controlled elation. "You're certain?" Sylvia nodded. A breathless laugh came from her husband's lips, echoed by her own.

A bubble of happiness expanded out from his chest at the thought of a child of their own. He loved her, and the idea of her round and swelling with his babe gave him a feeling of pride and joy unlike any other. Without warning, Robb grabbed her hips and pulled her close, wrapping her up in his arms as tight as he dared. That same stinging in her eyes came back again, but this time, she didn't feel the same urgent need to wipe her tears away. Sylvia buried her face in Robb's chest, inhaling his wonderful scent for a moment. Robb stared at the wall behind Sylvia unblinkingly, amazed at his wife's news. He couldn't believe it. She was pregnant. She was having his baby! He smiled.

"We're going to have a baby." Her voice was low, a little choked with emotion.

When he pulled away after a long moment of holding her, he cupped her cheeks and tilted her face up to kiss her. Sylvia sighed in his arms, and then gasped in surprise when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, his tongue plunging inside at once and coaxing hers into a slow dance.

In his mind's eye he could see her: beautiful and radiant as ever, swollen and round at her belly, with his child, proof he'd had her, proof to the entire world she loved him and had a part of him growing inside her. Something deep inside him rumbled with pleasure, like an animal baying into the night sky in hope of a reply, and then hearing an answer from its pack. Yes, he very much liked the idea of her carrying his pup.

Slowly, his lips pulled from hers but he kissed her once, twice and then three times before he brushed his nose against hers. His breath was warm on her face, and smelled of the bacon he'd been eating at breakfast. She opened her eyes to look at him, and found his beautiful river-blue eyes staring down at her intently. "I love you. I love you," He enunciated softly. Sylvia mumbled her reply, still dazed at his sudden heated kiss. As he held her hip, his hand slipped ever so slightly until his palm rested against the flatness of her belly.

News of the princess' pregnancy spread like fire through the north, and before a moons turn, even the lowliest people in the most meagre fishing villages knew. People in the south knew and were glad for the princess' babe, giving it momentary attention, before continuing on with their activities. When the raven came to the Keep, the king had laughed and boasted how he knew it wouldn't be very long before his daughter had a pup of her own. Robert was marvellously pleased for days after, his lifelong aspiration of having both Stark and Baratheon bound by blood finally achieved. The queen wouldn't receive any visitors that day, and kept shut up in her rooms with her children when she heard the news.

Sylvia's belly curved quicker than she ever could have imagined. Their child was growing every day, and she held the little bump proudly, even as her body changed to accommodate the babe within her womb. Her breasts grew tender to the point where Robb could not touch them when they made love for fear of causing her pain. Her feet and back began to ache and she craved the oddest things—like bread and jam with bacon on top—and she was tired, all the time. Although she might have preferred the comfort of her blood during such a strange time, she was happy her husband's family was with her. And if she was honest, the only people in the Capitol who might have actually given her comfort through the coming months were Myrcella and her mother. Father would be crass, Uncle Tyrion and Uncle Renly knew nothing of childbearing, and Uncle Jaime and Tommen were out of the question—Jaime too distant and Tommen too little. Joffrey she wouldn't even think of.

But Lady Catelyn was very kind—very happy—and told her what to expect in the coming months. Lord Eddard was kind-hearted as he always was and said it would be a wonderful thing to have a babe in the castle again. They both seemed very delighted to be grandparents.

Sansa was absolutely over the moon to be an aunt, almost as excited for the impending arrival as Sylvia and Robb. She'd taken to making a darling swaddling blanket for the baby, and liked to show Sylvia its progress each time she visited her. "I've just started in on the river here, see?" the sweet girl pointed out on the small stretch of cotton. The work was delicate and fine, simple blue stitching woven into the pale grey fabric. "I am going to add in some flowers as well, to represent the south." Sylvia smiled at that. Yes, flowers would be lovely, a reminder of the south, where the child's mother had haled from.

Arya was less...enthusiastic than her sister, more curious than anything really, but she never voiced her questions like her littlest brother. When the fifth moon started, and her belly was noticeably round, more than once Sylvia or Robb had caught Arya staring at it with a disbelieving look on her face. Once during an outing in the godswood with the younger children, Robb called attention to his sister's fascination with his wife's swelling belly.

"Are you afraid of Sylvia's bump, Arya?" He asked with a boyish smirk.

"I am not!" the wild Stark girl screeched in offence. "It's just...weird...there's a baby in there." she poked a finger towards the bump sticking out between the slit of Sylvia's cloak. As soon as she said it, her face flamed up at how lame it sounded, but it was strange that there was another person under Sylvia's skin, a little...creepy. She didn't remember when her mother was swelling with Bran or Rickon, and now she was old enough to really understand what caused the bump under Sylvia's dress. It wasn't very big, but it was still growing...it was different from seeing the cats or hounds pregnant. Sylvia was a person, and she had another human growing...inside her. It was strange, almost unbelievable.

Sylvia grinned, and moved her cloak away a little to allow the bump to be fully visible. "Here, give me your hand." Sylvia put out her gloved hand to her young good-sister, giving her a gentle smile of encouragement. With trepidation, Arya did as she was bid. With the younger girl's hand was in hers, Sylvia pulled her arm and suddenly, her hand was on the side of the bump she stared at with such strange curiosity. And it was fine until she felt it: a tiny little nudge under her hand, and Arya jumped back.

"What is it doing?" She cried in horror. She hadn't considered if they moved or not.

"He's kicking," Sylvia smiled a sly smile. "Why? Does it frighten you?"

"You've got another person moving under your skin!" the younger girl shouted disbelievingly. Robb laughed and placed a hand on his sister's shoulder, leaning down to look her honestly in the eye.

"He does that quite a lot," he grinned at her. When he pulled away, he put a hand on Sylvia's belly, wrapped an arm around her waist, and smiled that stupid dreamy smile he always made when he was around Sylvia. Arya rolled her eyes at them and went to find Bran or Jon, to wash her mind of Robb's stupid dreamy grin, and the moving bulge under Sylvia's dress.

Robb looked down to where his hand rested when he felt another firm nudge landed on his palm. "I think he grows stronger every time I feel him." he murmured thoughtfully as she rubbed her finger tips over his knuckle. Her hand was warm over his; even through the leather of her gloves he could feel her warmth. Sylvia couldn't look away from his face, his handsome, serene looking face. He usually only ever looked that way when he was meditating before the heart-tree, but he was feeling their baby move, and she felt her heart ache sweetly at his calmness in his eyes.

"Aye, I think so too." He grinned fondly at their hands and then looked at her. "Why do you think it's a boy?" she asked with an amused grin.

"I don't know. I just feel it." He replied. The hand around her waist began to move to her hip, slowly as the falling summer snows.

"You're just guessing, aren't you?" Sylvia giggled cheerfully. "Shall we make a wager of it then?" Her hands raised up to fist the warm wolf fur lining the top of his cloak.

Robb smirked back, the hand on her belly beginning to move to her hip as well. "Yes. And when I'm right, you'll have to owe me something."

"And what will I owe you?"

His leaned in close so his lips were only a small distance from hers. "Haven't decided yet." He whispered with a wolfish grin as his hands slipped down to cup her bottom under her cloak.

"Oh I think you have." She smirked devilishly before she quickly kissed him. "But there are children about, so we'll discuss who-wins-what later." She pulled away from his arms and started after Rickon only a short distance away. Robb smiled and started after her.

Bran and Rickon were much the same: indifferent, apart from when she took their small hands and put them on her belly to feel what Arya had felt. Bran smiled and went on with his day, but Rickon being only a five year old, began overflowing with questions. "How did it get in there? Is it stuck? When will it be here? Will it be a boy or girl? Will it like to play with me? Will it have a tail!? Old Nan said there once was a baby born with a tail and then it grew paws and pointy ears and fur and turned into a wolf! Will your baby be a wolf?" Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard tried to answer every question as quickly as they could, but the little boy came up with them so fast that often they were at loss how to answer.

Theon had taken to making jokes about her protruding belly—comparing her to her father once or twice—but was otherwise pleasant. She had to admit his jests were funny. She blamed it on her uncontrollable emotions. Jon said little as always, but he'd always been so kind to her—he would ask her how she fared and how the child was, and she'd always reply just as pleasantly. Like his other siblings, she even had him feel her belly, and thoroughly enjoyed his look of amazement when he felt the baby roll around under his hand.

Robb was probably the happiest of them all, like a proud father he touched the swell between her hips all the time and smiled at her so gently. He could never keep his hands off her swelling belly for very long, and at night, he would press his lips there, whispering the growing child within. Sometimes she would awaken with his hand on her stomach, Robb's hand having somehow found the curve in the night and for as long as she lived she could never forget his face when he felt the baby move the first time.

They were happy...but behind closed doors, they let their fear show.

"What if I drop it?" Robb asked suddenly as they prepared for bed with Sylvia was unlacing his doublet as he spoke. She'd taken to helping him undress at night, as he'd taken to brushing his fingers through her long hair. It was a ritual they did almost every night, one that was both familiar and comforting in its warmth.

"What?" His wife replied as her fingers deftly twisted and loosened the strings.

"I can't help but wonder," he defended quickly. "What if I drop our babe?"

Sylvia paused a moment to look up at her husband with an incredulous look. This wasn't the first time he'd voiced one of his fears to her, but this was by far the most absurd. "My love, you can hold onto Rickon when he's angry; I think you can hold a docile infant." Finally her fingers were done and he pulled the leather doublet overhead. She licked her suddenly dry lips at the sight of his bare chest and stomach. It was odd. Ever since she learned she was pregnant, her hunger for her husband had increased threefold.

He tossed the doublet away on the chair near the fire. "I know you're right, but the fear still stands." He replied. Rolling her eyes, Sylvia stepped away, pulled her long hair over her shoulder and turned around. Robb started on the laces of her dress as well, pulling and unknotting the strings like he had so many nights before. Sylvia could almost purr with pleasure at his gentle hands.

"We should start thinking on names." He said as he continued on his task.

"If it's a boy, I want Robert," she exclaimed immediately. Robb raised a brow. Well...she'd been thinking on this a while, he realized. "We could call him Robbie." She continued. Robb frowned as finished with the laces; he pushed the dress off her shoulders until it was just a crumbled pile pooled at her feet. His wife turned, shivering in her under shift and looked up at him, a small smile on her beautiful face. "Yes?"

"No." He replied directly.

Sylvia's jaw dropped in surprise. "What? What do you mean 'no'? Robert is a good name, after my father and after you. After the king and my own sweet husband." Her hands gripped his shoulders, pressing close to him as though she were trying to persuade him with her sweet scent and soft body.

"It's just...ugh." He grinned at her face. She looked so disgruntled it warmed his heart, her nose even scrunched up.

"'Ugh'? Robert's a good name, a good strong name. It's an honour to my father."

"Well in that case, if it's a girl we should name her Lyanna." He countered seriously.

"Lyanna?" she echoed. She looked to think for a second, and then scrunched up her nose again. "No, absolutely not."

"Why not? It's an honour to my aunt." Her hands left his shoulders and went down to retrieve the crumbled dress at her feet. When she had it, she walked around him and threw it over the dressing screen.

"And an insult to my mother." She said. Her father was going to marry Lyanna Stark but she had died before they wed. Her father loved her so much he started a war to bring her back. It would insult her mother to name her first grandchild after the woman.

"Just as 'Robert' would be an insult to our babe." Robb said this with no bitterness, but rather a straight forward kind of voice, one a lord used when commanding authority.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she frowned as she turned back to him.

"The man was drunk at our wedding. Forgive me if I'd rather not name my first child after him."

"Well we wouldn't call him Robert. We'd call him Robbie. I like Robbie, its dear." Truly, when he put it that way, the name suddenly lost much of its previous appeal. It still bothered her that her father had been so...drunk at her wedding. She was his daughter, and it had been her wedding day, so why hadn't he done her a kindness by letting it be untainted with the ugly memory of him and his fat whore? She still loved him, but it sometimes remembering her own wedding hurt her because of him.

"'Robbie' doesn't command immediate respect from his men." He replied with a frown.

Sylvia rolled her eyes but conceded. "Ugh, fine, fine. No Robbie. But no Lyanna either."

"Fine. What about Darla? My father's mother was named Darla." The suggestion was fair; a family name had its charms...but Darla?

"No. Next." She pulled back the furs and climbed into bed, Robb doing the same, but first sitting down to pull off his boots and unlace his breeches. When he was done, he joined her under the warm covers, comfortably propped against the headboard.

"Jeyne?" he tried. She shook her head. "Alessa?"

"No. Myra?" she suggested, as she lay down on her side. The roundness of her belly made it uncomfortable to lay on her front now.

Robb paused, and for a moment she thought he was pondering the name seriously, but when he spoke, she was proven wrong. "Why don't we forgo names tonight?" For a moment, she was silent. Then she smiled. Sylvia couldn't help it: she burst into giggles. Gods only a few names in and he couldn't think of it anymore.

"Has thinking of names gotten too difficult?" she teased.

"Not the names." He smirked.

"Oh hush. I am not difficult." She quipped.

Sylvia couldn't believe it. She looked down at Elane's pretty golden-brown head humbly, hoping to one day repay her handmaiden's unquestioned kindness somehow. When had it gotten so difficult to bend down, that her handmaiden was tasked with tying her boots? In the fifth month? The sixth? Oh, she didn't remember when she'd first asked Robb to tie them because her back hurt too much to do it herself. But since whenever that had been, it became an everyday task. When Elane was done, she stood up, smiled and helped her mistress stand from the bed, brushing out the wrinkles at once.

"Thank you Elane," Sylvia said sheepishly. The handmaid nodded in reply, and moved to let her mistress walk past. Three steps from to the door and a low farting sound broke through the air. Sylvia froze.

"Speak of this to no one." She ordered seriously.

Elane bit her cheek to hold in her giggles. "Yes, my lady."

Not only was her belly big now, she was also gassy, her feet and back ached after the shortest of walks, and these ugly jagged stretch marks tore around her hips and lower belly. She hated them, but Robb assured her they didn't matter to him and kissed them when he whispered to their baby, or before they made love. Lately, she usually found herself sitting by the fire with her feet up, sewing clothes for her child, daydreaming all the while to fill the quiet.

Would their baby be a boy or a girl? She hoped for a boy, an heir for Robb, one with his hair...a hard kick landed in her side as she thought about it. Sylvia winced. Little creature was getting so rough that sometimes his kicks were painful.

"No more of that, you little ingrate." She whispered, rubbing the tender spot. It was as strong as a boy, she thought. Lady Catelyn said she was "carrying low", which somehow meant she was carrying a boy. Sylvia was more skeptical on the latter, for how did belly shape determine what she was having? But in her heart she'd already dubbed it as a boy, and thought of it as such despite Ser Fredrik's reminder that maybe it could be a girl.

"When it's a girl, you'll have to name her after me. I was the only one who believed she was a she." He had joked to her. "Yes, 'Freda'. A gorgeous name for a girl."

She would wonder if it would have her hair or Robb's, if she would know what to name them the moment she saw it, or if she would be just as clueless as she was now. So many questions, so few answers, but Sylvia, for once, wasn't bothered by the lack of knowledge.

Not knowing, for once, didn't frighten her.

But one night during her seventh month, Sylvia and Robb had gone to sleep, but she was awoken by an uncomfortable ache in her bones. It was nothing too unusual since restless nights had become a common thing to her now.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes and stretched her legs a little, but as she tried to lie down and let sleep find her again, a sudden pain ripped through her abdomen. It was abrupt, sharp and quick and pulled her up as though someone had yanked her from the bed. She was stunned for a moment, sleepy and confused, wondering if that really just happened, but a kick from her babe snapped her out of it. It's too early, she remembered thinking with horror, clutching at her swollen belly. She felt it move, what must have been a foot pushing against her hand. Seven months was too early. My baby, my baby, please gods, not my baby.

Her gasp of pain had stirred Robb some, but her frantic shaking of his shoulder and frightened voice fully roused him, shaken, and worried. "Robb!" she hissed in fear. "Robb! Robb! S-something's wrong." A cry broke from her throat as another pain cut through her.

Yellow again...see ya finished the chapter there...you gonna review? Well I hope you do, cuz that'd sure make my day :D

Lawdy, I'm so nervous about this chapter, I really am :( It just feels...'oh' to me :/

NOTE: Just to clarify, giving birth in the 7th month IS dangerous, and could be life threatening and is a very very scary idea for the parents.