The King's Road

Everything on Margaery hurt. They'd been riding since dawn, the road long and rocky, as it would be all the way to Winterfell. Despite their conversation last night, Robb rode in silence at the front of the party, leaving his intended to the middle.

"It's too dangerous for you to head the group with me," he'd said that morning.

"Trying to be rid of me already?" Margaery had joked.

Robb hadn't said anything, not to her. "Keep her in the middle, away from the edges," Robb the Lord had said to a young man who'd appeared beside her. Not letting her disappointment show (she didn't want to wait to see the the vistas around her until after the troupe had tramped by) she smiled at the man.

"Good morning, m'lady," he'd said with a smile. He had soft dark hair and a round, kind face.

"Good morning, ser, I don't believe I've had the pleasure?"

He shook his head, "not a 'ser,' m'lady. I'm Podrick Payne, squire to Ser Brienne of Tarth."

"Ser Brienne!" Margaery smiled fondly, "is she at Winterfell?"

Podrick puffed with pride, "she's master at arms of the castle, m'lady."

Margaery swung easily up into the saddle, "she's a good woman, your master at arms."

"She'll protect you like no other," Sansa said, walking slowly to the horses. "I trust her with my life." The friends clasped hands. "I'll write you when…" the Lady of Storm's End gestured to her stomach.

"I hope you'll write me long before then, and frequently."

"Finally, someone at Winterfell to return my letters," her eyes wandered to the back of her brother's head. He was busily giving orders to the men around him. "Take care of him, please?"

"Of course," Margaery said, suddenly serious.

"He was in love once, he can be again."

"Sansa, you and I know better than to dream of love."

"I found it," she said with a shrug, "and look at the result." Margaery followed her line of sight, settling on the three boys marveling at the knights and banners snapping in the ocean breeze. "I hope you find it with Robb. If not love, than peace and respect."

"I hope the same."

Sansa stepped back, "safe travels to you, Margaery."

"Thank you, seven blessings to you." Margaery looked back only once to wave at the family, a keen sense of dread pitting in her stomach. Podrick, to his credit, had been good company, but Robb was in a hurry to return north, leaving everyone achy and tired. Pod was chronicling his experiences to the lady, who really was trying to listen. Her sore muscles and grumbling stomach demanded most of her attention.

"M'lord Lannister released me from his service shortly before his trial by combat. I'm sure m'lady remembers that?"

"I do."

"Forgive me, I shouldn't mention the death of your late husband the king."

Margaery shook her head, "he was my husband for a few hours, it bothers me not. She furrowed her brow, "Pod, do you know when we're stopping?"

"No, m'lady."

"Do you know if Lord Stark means to stop at all before we reach Winterfell?"

"I can't say for sure, m'lady. I assume we will before nightfall."

On her right, Grey Wind was trotting beside the horses, ears pinned and tongue lolling. Margaery looked to her left, the sky pinkening. Standing in the stirrups, she spotted smoke curling ahead. "Forgive me, Podrick," she murmured before kicking her horse into a canter toward the front of the column.

"M'lady Tyrell, wait-!" But she rode on, Podrick calling after her anxiously all the way.

"My Lord Stark!" she called as she reigned her horse beside his. Robb's head whipped up, eyes hardening at the sight of Margaery.

"I told you to stay in the middle of party, Lady Tyrell."

She ignored him, "there is a town ahead."

"And?"

"There will be an inn. We can eat, rest, and exchange fresh horses."

Robb shook his head decisively, "we ride on. You're safer at Winterfell."

"Do you mean to starve your men?"

"Why in seven hells would I do that?" he cringed internally at himself. His father never would have sworn in front of a lady.

"Then let us find an inn and rest for the night."

"An inn isn't secure."

"We have a host of men with us."

"And ofttimes it isn't enough!"

She debated holding her tongue; she'd heard the stories of the Red Wedding, of the Stark soldiers cut down by men thought to be their own. "Myself behind a locked door is far safer than myself asleep in the saddle in the middle of the night," she tried gently. "If we are tired, we have no means to defend ourselves."

Robb knew she was right, he just didn't want to admit it. He turned to the knight beside him, "tell the men we will rest at the town ahead." The man nodded, riding back down the column. "You musn't question my orders. Especially not in front of the men."

"Even when it is for the good of the men that I do so?"

"It looks like you're trying to undermine me."

"It doesn't at all."

"It does."

"I am their lady, shall I not advocate for the benefit of my people?"

"You're not their lady yet, you don't even know them"

Margaery chewed the inside of her cheek, frustrated. It would be easier to argue with the Wall. "Very well, my lord," she bit off, riding back down the column to her place with Podrick. Guilt gnawed at Robb's core, but he shrugged it off as hunger. In the town, they were lucky to find a series of inns, enough for all the men if they shared. Margaery had never been so happy to see the small buildings, the wood smoke making her eyes water. Robb divided the men, keeping his four fiercest fighters with himself and his intended. Lady Tyrell was sad to exchanged Podrick for her betrothed; a word hadn't been breathed between the two since the confrontation on the road. But being out of the saddle and resting on hard, splintering wooden benches was a welcome change. The bread was warm, the beer cold, the meet tender and seasoned well. Really, stale bread and sour wine would have been as gorgeous as spring to the hungry travelers. Margaery did her best to mind her own, yet couldn't help but overhear a conversation between the inn keep and Robb.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's six in your party, I've five beds."

Robb paused, glancing down the table, "very well." He turned to her, "you can have the bed."

"I'm fine on the floor," she answered stubbornly.

"Just take it and be done with it," he responded, equally stubborn, taking a fuming swallow of wine.

Equally steamed, Margaery stood suddenly. "I'm finished," she stated tersely, striding away and thanking the inn keep on her way upstairs. Podrick Payne sat across from Robb, avoiding his eyes and wiggling a spoon back and forth.

"What is it, Pod?"

"Nothing, m'lord."

"Did Lord Tyrion and Ser Brienne ever teach you it's wrong to lie to your employer?"

"Yes, m'lord." Robb stared at him pointedly, raising his eyebrows. "May I speak freely, m'lord?"

"Of course, Pod."

"Lady Margaery is a good woman, and an intelligent one at that." Sensing he had more to say, Robb held his tongue. It was difficult, but he did it. "If she is to be your lady of Winterfell…I just think that…" Podrick worried his lip between his teeth, choosing his words carefully. "You'll have to get to know her better, m'lord."

"All in good time, Podrick."

"All due respect, m'lord, you're to be wed evening after next."

Robb sat back, "that's your advice?"

"I've never been wed, m'lord."

"And you know much of women?"

Pod blushed, "some would say, m'lord."

Lord Stark spread his hands, "any other advice?"

"Only," back to worrying his lip, "you could stand to be kinder to her. She's not done anything to you. You may not love her, m'lord, but you can be kind to her." Silence settled over the pair. "I've spoken out of turn-"

"No, you haven't, Pod." Convicted, he stood, purposefully walking out of the inn. Upstairs, Margaery sat in her shift, fire roaring in the hearth and a heavy shawl wrapped around her. Such cold was unfamiliar to House Tyrell. With every league the weather froze further, snow falling outside the window as she watched. The brush in her hand yanked through her hair, pulling every tangle hard enough to make her scalp ache.

A knock at the door. "Yes?" she called. The door creaked open heavily, revealing Robb Stark with a leather satchel over his shoulder.

"Lady Tyrell," he greeted stiffly.

She stood, "can I help you, Lord Stark?"

"May I come in?"

"Please."

He did as he was told, shutting the door behind him with a click. "I wanted to show you something," the satchel slid onto a wobbly wooden table in the middle of the room.

Margaery stepped forward carefully, "yes?" Robb unclasped the bag, extending it to her. A sizeable swath of deer skin was rolled inside, tied with a leather string. Unrolled on the table, it revealed, "a map?"

Robb nodded, weighing down the edges with smooth, dark stones from the bag, "of the North. I thought…I thought if you are to be Wardeness of the North, you ought to know it better."

"Thank you."

A break, Robb clearing his throat. "This here is Winterfell, the seat of House Stark. Our sigil is a direwolf, our words are-"

"Winter is coming," Margaery said, nodding.

"Yes, right. House Umber is our northernmost bannermen, a few leagues south of the Wall at Last Hearth. Their lord is Ned Umber, a boy of twelve. Their sigil is a giant breaking his chains. Southeast of them is Karhold, the seat of house Karstark."

"Karstark?"

"It's said they're an offshoot of house Stark, thousands of years ago. They are…" he searched for the right words, "easily disquieted. Northwest is Deepwood Motte, held by House Glover. Not to mention Bear Island, who's lady is Lyanna Mormont, a girl of ten. Also, House Cerwyn, of Castle Cerwyn. Their lady is Vivian Cerwyn, a girl of thirteen." He studied the map hard, as though secrets waited to be deciphered.

"The north rests an ancient history on the shoulders of children."

"There was no one else. Speaking of no one else," he rested a finger on a black point east of Winterfell. "The Dreadfort, home of House Bolton, recently deceased." Margaery eyed his knuckles, white as the snow as they gripped the table.

"No one holds it?"

"None."

"Could your brother not?"

He shook his head hard, "Bran always says he can't be lord of anything."

"Because he can't have children?"

"I've tried and failed to decipher his mind, believe me."

"He's a man grown, he should have his own household."

"As I said, he won't be lord of anything, he refuses." He looked up at Margaery, an idea illuminating his eyes. "Rickon."

"What of him?"

"Cregan will be lord of Storm's End after Gendry, but what of Rickon?"

Lady Tyrell shrugged, "I assumed he'll be one of his brother's bannermen."

"But Sansa has ties to the North. If no one holds the Dreadfort, it has to go to someone else-"

"Bran holds it in name only, without being lord-"

"-until Rickon is of age."

"Will they accept a lord they think to be southern?"

"They won't consider him southern if we offer to ward him at Winterfell."

"Will Sansa agree?"

"She might."

"This is assuming-" Margaery cut herself off.

"Assuming what?"

She shook her head hard, "nothing."

"Margaery?"

For the first time all day, Robb's eyes looked open to her. Did she dare ruin it? "This is assuming," evidently she did dare, "that we have no children of our own to hold the Dreadfort." Neither party said anything.

"Do you…do you want children?" His blue eyes watched her cross her arms over her middle, drawing the shawl tighter around herself.

"Do you?"

Robb inhaled deeply, "no."

"It won't be a problem, anyway," she said automatically. Children were her heart's dearest desire, "but if a Stark is to hold Winterfell, we have to leave it to someone."

"There's always Davos." Even as he voiced it, though, he knew the idea was weaker than water. A pregnant pause hung between them, heavy with words and stories left untold. His brow furrowed, "why do you say it won't be a problem, our having children?"

"Robb?"

"Yes?"

"I want to be as truthful with you as I can."

"How do you mean?"

She began to pace, "about my marriages." She took a deep breath, "I cannot give you children."

"You can't know that."

"But I do. And I want to tell you now before we're wed, before we reach Winterfell. If there is a time for you to run, to break off this engagement, it needs to be now." Margaery wrung her hands, "when I was thirteen," she began carefully, "I was promised to Renly Baratheon by my father, Mace Tyrell. He firmly believed that Renly would be king after Robert. But my father was a fool, gods grant him rest. A weak claim like Renly's coupled with Tyrell soldiers against Lannisters in the Red Keep," she shook her head, "it was doomed from the start. Neither of them saw it, and neither did I, in truth. All I saw was a handsome young man who said he loved me and would make me his queen. It was like the songs, everything a girl could want. Renly was what I thought I wanted, but all he wanted was my brother." She scoffed, "I pretended that I didn't see it. I so desperately wanted to believe that he really did love me. But he didn't. So I let him have Loras so they could be happy together." She looked at Robb, then back into the fire. "He never lay with me, except one time. He was drunk and," a fortifying breath before continuing, "anyway, I became with child. I remember thinking, 'now he'll love me, if I give him an heir.' What a little fool I was," Margaery shook her head hard, sitting dejectedly on the rickety bed. Robb poured them each a cup of water before sitting beside her. She thanked him softly, "almost as soon as I discovered it, it was gone. I buried it outside Renly's camp one night." Her eyes darted up at Robb, "your mother helped me."

Somehow, Robb didn't choke on his water. "She did?"

The words began to pour out of her, words she had kept silent for so long. Once the dam was broken, the rush wouldn't go back in. "She held me and kissed me while I cried, scraping the dirt out from under my fingernails. 'Next one will catch, you'll see.' But she was wrong. Thank the gods I wasn't wed to Joffery longer than a day, I was so afraid. Again my father had wed me to a fool, a terrible, terrible boy, for his own gain. I tried to tell him I didn't want to, I tried to tell him what Joffery was, but my father wouldn't listen." She took a swallow, "and then he had me wed to Tommen, another boy, another little fool. He would never hurt me, and he never did, but I was so tired, so angry, I just couldn't do it anymore. And then I got pregnant again. I was so hopeful, so excited. I wanted my child to be good, I didn't want him to be like the other Lannisters. But I lost him, and the one after. I buried them each beneath the golden roses in the queen's gardens."

Realization dawned on Robb, "the cuttings you took," he trailed off.

Another swallow, "I made Danaerys promise she wouldn't disturb their graves." She offered him an ironic smile, "you don't want children. I can't give you any. If there is to always be a Stark in Winterfell, and Davos is a Baratheon, I cannot marry you."

Setting the cup on the floor, Robb took her hand and looked her earnestly in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I will ride south at-"

"No, you misunderstand me. I'm sorry for what happened to you. Your father, Renly, Joffrey, they never should have treated you the way they did. Neither should Tommen, for that matter." He passed a hand through his hair. "You may not be able to have children, I do not want children. It appears we are perfect for each other," he offered her a wry smile. "We will ask to ward Davos and Rickon once they are old enough. Rickon will be lord of Winterfell, Davos the Dreadfort."

"Will the north accept southern lords?"

"Will the north accept a southern lady?" Robb raised his eyebrows to her. "We'll find out." The two of them grimaced, clinking their cups together.

"What do I need to do for them to trust me?"

Robb swallowed, "I'm not entirely sure. The best course of action, I think, would be to play the part of Lady of Winterfell as well as you can. The northern lords aren't a trusting people; the closer you get to the Wall, the more stubborn they are."

Margaery nodded, resigned, eyes focused on a distant point, "I'll find a way. If you are to be my husband, and they are your people, then they are my people to. I will do whatever I can to serve them and their interests."

His heart lifted, "thank you, my lady. I admittedly feared that you would be apathetic to the northerners. And now, I have something to ask of you in return." Margaery stayed silent, waiting. "I admit," he began, "I've heard many stories about you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he said carefully, "I've heard tales of you cunning, your guile. That you would do anything for your house."

"There was a time, perhaps. Cunning, guile, manipulation, all of these things I did for survival. Not for my house," she shook her head angrily, "not my house. All I ever wanted was to survive, and to experience some joy in my life."

"Then will you promise me this?" She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting. "I don't want you to be that Margaery from your past. I just want you to be you, someone I can trust."

"Then don't put me in a position to need to be her again."

"I won't."

Margaery's head bobbed side to side, "I'm not sure if I fully know how to be 'just Margaery' again. It's been many years I was her. It will take some time."

"I understand."

"Will you promise me something in return?"

Robb nodded.

"Let me be by your side. Let me be a comfort to you, let me ease your burdens and help you lead." He opened his mouth, but Margaery raised a hand to stop him, "please, hear me. If we are to move forward, you have to let me into your heart."

"It's not safe for you."

"The world isn't safe. Let me be a true wife to you as none has allowed me before."

Robb paused before nodding. "Very well."

"Thank you," suddenly exhausted, she stifled a yawn with her hand.

"I should leave you," he said, beginning to stand.

"Honestly, Robb, let's just share the bed."

He stopped dead, "pardon?"

"I won't let you sleep on the floor, you won't let me sleep on the floor. We'll be up all night arguing when we should be sleeping." She pulled back the covers as close to the edge as she could get, "just…keep to your side."

Beaten, Robb sighed heavily before beginning to pull of his boots and doublet. "Fine." Margaery averted her eyes, pretending she hadn't just seen the candlelight bouncing off his bare chest, revealing a dozen scars. She was grateful for the low light; it hid her blush from the sight of Robb in his smallclothes. He extinguished the fire with the last of the water, before laying down as far from her as possible. "Good night," he stated flatly, blowing out the candle.

"Good night," Margaery said to the wall.

An hour later, Robb couldn't sleep. He stared up at the ceiling, willing Margaery to stop shivering. The whole bed was shaking with the force. Hopefully her blood would thicken the longer she spent in the north, but unless something changed in the next hour, he wasn't going to sleep. Of course there was only the one blanket, leaving Robb to roll out of bed to find his cloak. As his eyes adjusted, he lay the heavy fur across the lady's sleeping form, curled tightly on her side. Still, she shook.

He had an idea.

He didn't want to.

But she was cold, and he was tired.

Resigned, Robb crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets around them. Ignoring the invisible border between his side and her side, he wrapped an arm around Margaery's waist, letting his chest rest against her back. His face rested in her hair, softer than he'd imagined, smelling of Tyrell roses and soap.

"That feels good," she murmured in her sleep.

"Shh," he said, daring to run a finger down her head and the back of her neck, "rest." Without thinking, he pressed a kiss to the auricle before shutting his eyes.

Author's note *spoilers: I know Lyanna Mormont is dead on the show, but I love her so here she is.