Chapter 5

"So, how did the walk go?" Jon asked, curiosity evident in his eyes.

"It went well," Robb replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His gaze drifted to the training field, where the sons of minor houses were entertaining the gathering lords and ladies with sparring and archery. "Lady Drin is quite... intriguing."

Jon raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk forming on his lips. "Intriguing, is she? That's not a word you use lightly."

Robb gave him a sideways glance, his smile growing. "She's... different. Poised, thoughtful. There's a quiet strength about her. And her voice…"

"Ah, yes, her voice," Jon interrupted, feigning seriousness. "The voice that has half the hall enchanted."

Robb chuckled. "Maybe. But there's more to her than that. She's... guarded." He frowned slightly, as though the thought troubled him. "It makes me curious."

Jon studied his brother for a moment, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. "Curious can be dangerous, you know. Especially with the Boltons. You might find things you'd rather not see."

"I'm not blind to that, Jon," Robb said, his voice firm. "I'm aware of the reputation the Boltons have. However, Father has mentioned that marrying a daughter of one of the northern houses could help strengthen the unity of the North."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Marrying? Have you really thought of that already?"

Robb didn't respond immediately. His gaze returned to the training field, where the clash of steel and the cheer of onlookers filled the air. "I have to consider the possibility," he said finally. "You know I'll have to take a wife sooner or later, but she's the first girl I've really wanted to consider."

"Because of her beauty?"

"Partly, yes," Robb admitted. "But I believe there's more to her than just that."

Jon sighed. "Just tread carefully, Robb. A wolf doesn't let its guard down so easily."

"I won't," Robb promised, his tone quiet but firm.

In the distance, Lady Drin appeared, walking alongside her father, her expression composed as ever. Robb's eyes followed her instinctively, and Jon, noticing, shook his head with a faint smile.

"Looks like she's already got her claws in you, brother," Jon teased lightly.

Robb only smiled, unwilling to take his eyes off her. "Maybe. Or maybe it's the other way around."

Jon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the stone wall. "You've always been the optimist," he remarked, watching Robb's expression shift between curiosity and determination.

Below, the activity on the training field slowed as Lady Drin and her father paused at its edge. Roose Bolton exchanged words with a few minor lords, his pale eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. Lady Drin stood just behind him, poised and serene, yet Robb noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders. She glanced toward the field briefly before lowering her gaze, her practiced composure firmly in place.

As her gaze lifted and briefly met Robb's across the courtyard, she offered him a warm smile. Robb held her gaze for a moment before she turned away, retreating into her father's shadow.

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Theon's voice suddenly hummed. "Have you decided if you want her yet?"

Robb rolled his eyes. "Things aren't quite that simple."

"Sure they are," Theon argued, waving his hand dismissively. "All you have to do is snap your fingers and she's yours. Or do you really think she'd deny you? I don't think so."

Robb frowned at Theon's flippant words, his jaw tightening as he turned to his friend. "It's not about whether she'd deny me, Theon," he said evenly. "Marriage isn't a game, and neither is her life."

Theon smirked, unfazed. "Of course it's not a game. It's a transaction. And from where I'm standing, it looks like you're getting the better end of it. A pretty wife from a powerful northern house, seems like a fair deal to me."

Jon, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally spoke up. "Not everything is as simple as you make it out to be, Theon. Especially not with the Boltons."

Theon shrugged, clearly unimpressed by Jon's warning. "Maybe not. But she's here, isn't she? And her father is practically shoving her into Robb's arms. You'd have to be blind not to see that."

Robb sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I won't rush into anything without knowing her better."

Theon raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Well, if you're not interested, I'm sure there are plenty of other lords who wouldn't mind taking your place. She's not exactly hard on the eyes, is she?"

Robb shot Theon a sharp look, his voice firm. "I'd watch how you talk about her."

Theon's grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Alright, alright. No offense meant, my lord."

Jon's gaze remained on Robb, his expression thoughtful. "If you're serious about this, Robb, you'll need to tread carefully. The Boltons don't do anything without a reason."

"I've thought about that," Robb admitted, his voice quiet but resolute. "But I won't let her father's reputation decide how I see her. She's not him."

Jon nodded slowly, his respect for his brother evident. "Just remember, you don't have to decide everything today."

Robb glanced back toward the courtyard, where Lady Drin had disappeared into the keep.

Theon scoffed, leaning against the wall with a smug grin. "Well, however it plays out, at least the feast will be entertaining. I'm sure the lords will be tripping over themselves to get a dance with her."

Robb ignored him, his mind already turning over Jon's words. His marriage wouldn't affect just him; he needed to think about his family and house as well. Perhaps the best way to proceed would be to ask his father's opinion.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Ned asked as he and Robb took a seat in his study.

Robb was well aware of how busy his father was with all the guests, so he didn't want to waste any time.

"You've mentioned before that you think I should marry a daughter of a northern lord," Robb began. "Would Lord Bolton's daughter be a viable option?"

Ned leaned back in his chair, his brows knitting together in thought. He didn't immediately reply, instead reaching for a cup of ale on the desk and taking a slow sip.
Finally, Ned set the cup down and fixed his eldest son with a measured look.

"You've taken an interest in Lady Drin." It wasn't a question.

"I have," Robb replied simply. "But I wanted to talk with you before taking any steps."

Ned nodded, his expression unreadable. "You were wise to come to me first. This isn't a decision to take lightly."

Robb leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "I know, Father. That's why I wanted your counsel. If uniting the northern houses is as crucial as you've said, wouldn't a match with the Boltons be worth considering? Their loyalty could strengthen our position."

Ned exhaled slowly, his brows knitting together as he studied his son. "The Boltons are powerful, yes, and their loyalty is important to the stability of the North. But their ways…" He trailed off, his mouth tightening. "Roose Bolton is not a man I trust easily, and his ambitions are difficult to predict."

"I understand your concerns," Robb said carefully. "And I have no intention of making decisions lightly. I've thought about this and Lady Drin seems…different."

Ned tilted his head slightly, weighing Robb's words. "Different, perhaps. But we must be cautious, Robb. Roose Bolton is a man who plays his games with precision, and this could easily be one of them."

Robb frowned but nodded. "So, you're saying you don't approve?"

"I'm saying I won't dismiss the idea outright," Ned clarified, his voice steady. "But if you're serious about this, I'll need to speak with Lord Bolton and Lady Drin myself. A marriage isn't just a bond between two people; it's a tie between families, one with consequences for years to come. If Lady Drin is to be your wife, she must possess more than beauty, grace, or even talent. She must have strength, loyalty, and the ability to stand by you through what's to come."

Robb met his father's eyes, determination flickering within his own. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

Ned's expression softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. "Good. Then watch her closely, Robb. The feast tonight will tell us much, about her, about her father, and perhaps even about their intentions. Don't make your decision based on what's seen on the surface alone."

"I won't, Father," Robb assured him.

"Good," Ned said, leaning back slightly. "Because in the game of alliances, what's left unsaid often carries the greatest weight."

"Lord Stark," Lord Bolton greeted Robb with a brief bow, his tone as measured as ever. Beside him, Lady Drin curtsied with practiced grace, her expression serene. "Allow me to congratulate you on your nameday and present this modest gift as a token of respect."

Robb, seated at the high table beside his father, inclined his head in acknowledgment. The hall was alive with the murmur of guests and the clatter of cutlery, a steady backdrop to the string of well-wishers and offerings he had received throughout the day.

"Thank you, Lord Bolton," Robb replied, his tone polite but firm. His gaze flicked briefly to Lady Drin, whose poise remained impeccable under his scrutiny.

Ned, seated to Robb's left, spoke next, his voice carrying the weight of his position. "The Boltons' loyalty has always been of great value to the North. Your presence here honors our family, Lord Bolton."

"Of course," Roose Bolton replied, his pale eyes sharp and unreadable. "We are ever at Winterfell's service."

Robb's attention lingered on Lady Drin for a heartbeat longer before returning to Lord Bolton.

"Your gift is appreciated, my lord," Robb said. "And we are glad to have you and your daughter join us for this celebration."

Lady Drin lowered her gaze in a show of modesty, though Robb couldn't shake the feeling that her composed exterior masked something deeper.

"Will you grant me the first dance, my lady?" he asked, his voice warm as he addressed her directly for the first time.

Her lashes lifted slightly, her gaze meeting his for the briefest of moments. "Of course, my lord," she replied softly, her tone polished and gracious. "That would be my honor."

Roose Bolton's lips curved faintly as he interjected, his voice cutting through the moment. "My daughter is prepared to sing for you and your guests now, if it pleases you, Lord Robb."

Robb glanced at his father, who gave a subtle nod of approval. Then he turned his attention back to Roose Bolton and Lady Drin. "It would please me greatly," he said, offering Lady Drin a faint smile. "Your talent has already left quite an impression."

Drin dipped her head slightly, her expression calm but her hands clasped tightly in front of her skirt. She stepped forward gracefully, her movements measured as she made her way to the center of the hall. The room grew quieter, the guests turning their attention toward her in anticipation.

As Drin began to sing, her voice rose like the first light of dawn, soft, steady, and undeniably captivating. She sang an old northern ballad, one that spoke of loyalty and loss, the haunting melody underscoring the bittersweet pride of the North.

Robb watched her closely, his focus unwavering as the words wove their spell over the hall. The room seemed to hold its collective breath, drawn in by the raw beauty of her performance. Even Roose Bolton appeared faintly pleased, though his sharp gaze never left his daughter.

When the song ended, a moment of silence stretched before the hall erupted into applause. Drin curtsied, her expression calm but her cheeks faintly flushed.

"A fine performance," Ned said, his voice carrying over the applause. "You have done honor to both your family and our hall, Lady Drin."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," she replied with a composed smile, her voice just loud enough to carry.

Robb rose from his seat, the applause still echoing as he stepped forward. The hall grew quiet again, curious to see what the young Stark lord would do. He offered his hand to Drin, his expression warm but confident.

"My lady," he said, his voice steady but laced with admiration. "Shall we take that dance?"

Drin placed her hand lightly in his, her smile modest. "It would be my pleasure, my lord."

As the musicians struck up a lively tune, Robb led Drin to the center of the hall. The eyes of the gathered lords and ladies followed them, whispers breaking out among the guests.

"Robb seems quite taken with her," Theon muttered from his seat, a smirk playing on his lips.

Jon, seated beside him, leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. "Time will tell," he said quietly, watching as Robb and Drin began to move in sync to the music.

The dance was a test of grace and control, but Robb found himself impressed by how easily Drin matched his steps. Her movements were precise yet fluid, her gaze meeting his just often enough to keep him drawn in. For her part, Drin remained acutely aware of the scrutiny they were under, not just from the guests, but from her father's ever-watchful eyes.

"You sang just as beautifully as last night, my lady," Robb said, his tone low enough for only her to hear.

"Thank you, my lord," she replied, her voice soft but steady. "You are a gracious host."

"You handle the attention well," he added, his gaze briefly sweeping the crowd.

Drin gave him a smile. "I believe most of that attention belongs to you, my lord. They are here to celebrate your nameday, after all."

"Perhaps," Robb murmured, "but I doubt that most of them are looking at me."

Drin lowered her gaze. "My lord is too kind."

"Not at all, merely honest."

Robb's words lingered in the air, drawing a shy smile from Drin.

The music slowed, signaling the end of the dance, and Robb led her to a graceful stop. The hall erupted into polite applause, and Robb gave a slight bow, releasing her hand.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, his voice low. "For the dance, and for your company."

Drin curtsied, her movements as precise and elegant as ever. "The pleasure was mine, my lord."

As Drin returned to her father's side, Robb noticed that, unlike the night before, the other lords didn't ask her to dance. Robb wondered why, until Theon appeared beside him.

"Well done," Theon hummed, grinning. "It seems you scared off all your rivals."

Robb smirked but kept his eyes on the crowd, searching for any hint of truth in Theon's words. The other lords seemed content to keep their distance, exchanging polite words and glances toward Drin, but none made any move to approach her.

"I doubt I scared anyone," Robb said, his tone light but curious. "Perhaps they're just being polite."

Theon laughed, leaning in slightly. "Polite? No, they know better than to cross Robb Stark when his eyes are set on something, or someone."

Robb shook his head, trying to dismiss Theon's teasing. Yet, the thought lingered. Did his dance with Drin send a clearer signal than he had intended?

Across the room, Drin sat beside her father, her posture as composed as ever, taking small, measured bites of her food. Every movement she made was graceful, like a carefully rehearsed dance.

"She doesn't seem the type to scare easily," Robb muttered, half to himself.

Theon raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, maybe her father's the reason no one's dared to ask her for another dance."

Robb glanced at Roose, who was now watching him with a faint, unreadable expression. "Or maybe she didn't want to dance with anyone else," Robb suggested, his voice quieter.

Theon gave him a sly grin. "Well, if that's the case, then you've done better than most."

Jon joined them then, his expression serious as he handed Robb a cup of wine. "You'll need this," he said. "The feast isn't over yet."

Robb accepted the cup, his thoughts still on Drin. "What do you think, Jon?" he asked, keeping his tone casual. "About Lady Drin?"

Jon took a moment before answering, his eyes flicking toward her. "As you said, she's intriguing," he said carefully. "But she's hard to read. Maybe that's what makes her interesting to you."

Robb nodded, appreciating Jon's honesty. "Maybe. But it's not just that."

Robb's gaze lingered on Drin as he took a sip from his cup, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. He wondered what she might be thinking beneath her perfectly composed exterior.

Meanwhile, Drin focused on her food, silently praying that everything would go well tonight. Robb Stark was her last hope now; the other suitors had already retreated. Perhaps some might still show interest if Robb rejected her, but would that be enough for her father? No, it wouldn't. Failing to secure a match with Eddard Stark's son would be a tremendous disappointment in her father's eyes. Lord Bolton had never tolerated disappointment.

Drin lifted her gaze, meeting Robb's eyes. She offered him a warm smile, blinking a few times before lowering her gaze once more. There had to be something more she could do. Approaching him would be too bold, but perhaps there was a more subtle way to draw his attention. She couldn't afford to seem desperate, nor could she risk offending Robb by appearing disinterested. After careful consideration, she made her decision.

"Please, excuse me, Father," she said softly before standing up.

Lord Bolton glanced at her, his frown faint but sharp, though he didn't protest since he was in the middle of a conversation.

Drin made her way to the door, adding a few wobbly steps among her usual graceful ones. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she fought to steady her breathing. She didn't dare to look at the high table; she could only hope that this would work.

As she stepped into the corridor, the quieter air outside the hall allowed her a brief moment to breathe. Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed her gown, a habit she quickly stifled before anyone might notice. Failure tonight wasn't an option, not for her. She couldn't afford to disappoint her father.

"Lady Drin?" Robb's voice called, cutting through the silence. "Are you alright?"

Drin froze mid-step, barely managing to suppress a sigh of relief before turning to face him. His tall figure approached her, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Yes, my lord," she replied, willing her voice to sound calm. "I am fine, thank you. I just… felt the need for some fresh air."

Robb's brows furrowed slightly as he studied her, his concern evident. "The hall can feel stifling at times," he said. "Would you allow me to accompany you?"

Drin hesitated, her mind racing. She knew she should ask for a chaperone. One wrong step could ruin everything. Yet, refusing him outright could insult him, and this opportunity might not come again. She drew in a steadying breath and inclined her head gracefully.

"If it's no trouble, my lord," she said softly, her tone measured and modest.

"Not at all," Robb replied with a small smile. He gestured toward the end of the corridor. "How about we take a walk outside?"

Drin weighed her options carefully, her heart racing beneath her composed exterior. She glanced down the corridor, as if considering her answer, before offering Robb a demure smile. "If you think it appropriate, my lord, I would be honored to walk with you."

Robb noticed her hesitation and seemed to pick up on her unease. "Perhaps we could ask for a maid to accompany us?" he suggested. "I wouldn't want to compromise your good name."

Relief flooded through Drin, though she masked it well. "That would be most thoughtful of you, my lord."

Robb signaled to a passing servant, who quickly fetched one of the older maids from the hall. Once she joined them, Robb extended his arm to Drin. "Shall we?"

Drin accepted the gesture, her hand lightly resting on his arm. Together, they walked through the courtyard, the maid trailing at a polite distance. The cold air was refreshing after the warmth of the hall, and Drin allowed herself a deep breath to steady her nerves.

"I hope I haven't taken you away from anything important," Robb said as they strolled past the torch-lit walls of Winterfell.

"Not at all, my lord," Drin replied. "I am grateful for the chance to step away, even briefly. It has been... a rather overwhelming evening."

Robb glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Overwhelming? I hope not unpleasantly so."

"No, not unpleasant," she assured him quickly. "But I am unaccustomed to so much attention. At the Dreadfort, gatherings are far more subdued."

"I imagine so," Robb said thoughtfully. "Winterfell's feasts can be... spirited, to say the least. I hope you've felt welcome."

"I have," Drin replied, her voice steady though her thoughts churned. "You and your family have been most gracious."

Robb slowed their pace, turning slightly to face her. "It's important to me that you feel comfortable here, Lady Drin. You've handled tonight with grace, despite the challenges that come with such an occasion."

Drin met his gaze, her carefully composed smile softening. "You're kind to say so, my lord. I hope I've made a favorable impression."

"You have," Robb said earnestly. "More than that."

Drin's breath caught for a moment, but she managed to maintain her composure. "That means a great deal to me," she said softly.

They continued their walk in silence for a few moments. Drin couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment, both its potential and its risks. If Robb Stark was indeed considering her as a match, she needed to tread carefully. One wrong word, one misstep, and the opportunity could slip away.

Finally, Robb broke the silence. "Do you enjoy the North, Lady Drin? I've often wondered what life is like beyond Winterfell."

"The North is all I've ever known," she said, choosing her words with care. "It is harsh, but there is beauty in its resilience. I imagine Winterfell embodies that more than anywhere else."

Robb smiled faintly. "It's a fair assessment." He paused for a moment before continuing. "It's not often I see a lady leave the hall during a feast," he remarked, glancing at her. "Was it truly the air, or was something troubling you?"

Drin hesitated. She couldn't afford to be too candid, but neither could she appear dishonest. "It is nothing of great importance," she said carefully. "I suppose I needed a moment to gather myself."

Robb stopped, turning to face her fully. "From what I've seen, you've carried yourself with nothing but grace. If anyone should feel self-assured tonight, it's you."

Drin looked up at him, offering a warm smile. "You are kind to say so, my lord," she replied softly.

"So, what do you enjoy doing when you're not singing?" Robb continued after a moment of silence.

Drin was momentarily surprised by the casualness of the question, but she quickly composed herself. She allowed a small, thoughtful smile to cross her lips as she answered. "I enjoy reading, my lord, and I find solace in embroidery. Though I'm sure such pastimes seem dull compared to the lives of men."

Robb chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not dull at all. My mother often says that such skills require patience and a sharp mind, qualities that are far from boring."

"I'm grateful for her wisdom," Drin replied, her tone genuine. "Though I doubt my stitching would impress the Lady of Winterfell."

"She'd probably say the same about my swordsmanship," Robb quipped, his grin widening slightly. "She's our harshest critic, but only because she expects the best of those she loves."

Drin nodded, her smile softening. "That's a sentiment I understand. My father is much the same. He expects nothing less than perfection."

Robb studied her for a moment, his expression growing more serious. "That must be difficult."

She hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. "It teaches resilience," she said finally. "And the value of earning one's place."

Robb frowned slightly at her words, sensing more behind them than she let on. "It seems to me you've already earned your place. No one could doubt your poise or strength."

Drin lowered her gaze. "You flatter me, my lord."

"I speak only the truth," Robb said firmly. "You carry yourself with a dignity that commands respect."

Drin glanced up at him, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening into a smile. "Thank you, my lord. That means more to me than you might realize."

The two continued walking, the maid trailing quietly behind them. Drin felt a flicker of hope take root in her chest. Robb's words and his demeanor suggested that he truly saw her as a potential match. It was more than she had dared to hope for.

As they neared the edge of the courtyard, Robb broke the silence once more. "You spoke of the North's resilience earlier. Do you believe that same resilience is in you?"

Drin met his gaze, her voice steady despite the weight of the question. "I would like to think so, my lord. The North shapes us all, does it not?"

Robb nodded thoughtfully, his expression approving. "It does. And I believe the North could use someone like you."

Drin's breath hitched slightly at the implication, but she quickly composed herself, offering him a measured smile. "You honor me with your words, my lord."

Robb smiled back at her. "Not at all, Lady Drin. I simply speak the truth."