Roslin XVII

All Roslin could think of as she gazed down at the small bundle in her arms was how beautiful her son was. After a week of regaining her strength, of battling back from the brink, she was finally strong enough to cradle him on her own. The moment felt surreal, as if the whole world had shrunk to just this—a mother holding her child, her heart overflowing with a love she hadn't known she could feel so deeply.

Her hands trembled slightly as she stroked his soft cheek, still in awe that he was here, that they had both survived the ordeal of his birth. The babe stirred gently in her arms, his tiny fingers curling against her chest, his breathing soft and steady. He was perfect in every way, with Robb's unmistakable features—those same striking blue eyes that held the fierce strength of his father and the soft auburn tufts of hair.

Tears welled in Roslin's eyes as she studied him, tracing every small detail as if trying to memorize it forever. His tiny nose, the faintest freckles dotting his cheeks, the way his lips pursed in sleep—it was like looking at a miniature version of Robb, but softer, more delicate. She couldn't believe this child, this little miracle, was theirs.

"He has your eyes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, as Robb sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders. She turned to look at him, her gaze filled with both exhaustion and overwhelming love. "He looks so much like you, Robb."

Robb smiled, his eyes misty with pride as he leaned closer to peer at their son. "He's beautiful," he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Roslin's face and kissing her temple. "Just like his mother."

Roslin laughed quietly, though it was more of a gentle exhale, the kind that comes when one is too tired to laugh properly but too filled with happiness to hold it back. "I'm not so sure about that," she murmured. "But he's strong, just like you. He made it through… we both did."

Robb's expression softened, and he cupped her face in his hand, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. "You fought so hard, Roslin. I don't know how you did it, but you were so brave. I'll never forget that."

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as the weight of the past days washed over her. The fear, the uncertainty—it all seemed so distant now, replaced by the quiet peace of this moment. The three of them together.

"I couldn't have done it without you," she whispered, looking down at their son again. "Every time I wanted to give up, I thought of you… of him. You gave me the strength, Robb."

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his own heart swelling with emotion. "I'll always be here," he said softly. "For both of you."

Roslin smiled through her tears, her heart full. She cradled their son closer, marveling at how warm and solid he felt against her. She had been so afraid, terrified she wouldn't get to hold him like this, to see his eyes open and his small hands reaching for her. But here they were, alive and whole, and nothing else in the world mattered.

She sighed contentedly, looking out the window of the chamber. The river glistened under the pale morning sun, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Roslin felt at peace. This was their new beginning, and whatever storms still lay ahead, they would face them together—her, Robb, and their beautiful son.

Robb sat beside Roslin, watching her cradle their newborn son. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he reached over to gently stroke the baby's head. "We need to choose a name," he said, his voice warm and teasing. "I can't keep calling him 'pup' forever."

Roslin smiled, her eyes never leaving their child as she rocked him gently in her arms. "Pup," she repeated with a soft laugh. "He already looks so much like you—maybe 'our little wolf pup' suits him after all." Her gaze flicked up to Robb, filled with warmth, love, and pride.

Robb leaned in closer, his large hand gently covering the back of Roslin's. "He's strong," Robb said softly, his voice tinged with awe as he looked at their child. "Already a fighter. I can see it in him. I want his name to stand for something—something that honours our family, our history, and the North. A name that will remind him of the legacy he's born into."

Roslin tilted her head, watching Robb as his eyes lingered on their son. "Have you thought of one?" she asked quietly, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and trust.

Robb nodded, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. "I want to call him Torrhen."

Roslin blinked, a slow smile spreading across her lips as she let the name sink in. "Torrhen," she repeated, testing it on her tongue. "After the last King in the North."

"Aye," Robb said, his eyes growing serious. "He made a hard choice, but it was the right one—for his people, for his family. I want our son to understand that strength doesn't just come from battle, but from wisdom and sacrifice too."

Roslin's smile softened as she looked down at their son once more. "Torrhen Stark," she murmured. "It's a noble name, a strong one. He will carry it well."

Robb kissed the top of her head, his hand still resting on hers as their child slept peacefully between them. "Our little Torrhen," he whispered. "A wolf of Winterfell."

Roslin closed her eyes, feeling Robb's warmth beside her and the weight of their son in her arms. "He will be great," she whispered, "just like his father."

Robb chuckled softly. "No, love. He'll be even greater."

Robb sat down gently on the edge of the bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly as he watched Roslin cradling their newborn son. There was a softness in his gaze, but a trace of concern too. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "Your father has asked to see you again," Robb said quietly, his voice laced with the hint of a sigh.

Roslin's brow furrowed as she looked up from the baby in her arms. "Has he?" she asked, her tone careful.

"I've fought him off for days," Robb continued, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips, "but I fear his patience is waning." He exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture of frustration. "Walder Frey is not a man who enjoys being kept waiting—especially not when he sees an opportunity for a spectacle."

Roslin's lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers absentmindedly stroking their son's tiny hand. "I imagine he's eager to have me paraded in front of everyone."

Robb's expression softened further, though a spark of irritation lingered in his eyes. "They've delayed the wedding until you're well enough to attend," he explained, "Your father… he's keen to show off his success. The Lady of Winterfell, with her Stark husband and son—a triumph in his eyes."

Roslin let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "I suppose a daughter married to the Lord of the North, with a child to carry on the Stark name, is enough to make even Lord Frey puff out his chest."

"Aye," Robb agreed, though his voice was tinged with bitterness. "He sees it as a prize—a victory to parade before his guests. But I'll not let him drag you before everyone while you're still recovering, Roslin. He may think he can command everyone, but you're not his to flaunt anymore. You're mine—and I'll see to it that you have the rest and peace you need."

Roslin's gaze softened, her heart warmed by his protectiveness. She reached out, placing her hand on his, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, Robb," she whispered. "But we both know he won't stop pressing. He'll make a scene if we delay much longer and besides I would like to be there for Alyx."

Robb's jaw tightened, and he glanced down at the small bundle in her arms—their son, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the tensions swirling around them. "Let him try," Robb muttered under his breath. "I won't let him pressure you."

Roslin sighed, her expression weary. "I don't want a confrontation, not with him. It would only make things worse. Besides, I can handle my father. I've been doing it my whole life. Maybe... maybe it's better to face him now, rather than later."

Robb frowned, his fingers tightening slightly around hers. "You're still healing, Roslin. I don't want you overburdened."

She offered him a faint smile, her eyes reflecting both affection and understanding. "I know you worry, but I'm stronger than I look, Robb. And I'd rather get it over with, for our son's sake."

Robb looked down at their child again, his heart swelling with pride and love. He nodded reluctantly, his voice low. "Alright. But we do it on our terms. And if you feel even the slightest bit unwell, we walk out."

Roslin smiled gratefully, her heart full as she gazed up at the man who had vowed to stand by her through all storms. "Deal," she whispered, leaning up to brush a kiss against his cheek.

Robb lingered there, savouring the closeness, he looked back at his wife and child, he knew one thing for certain—no matter what pressures loomed outside, this was his true battle, and he would fight to protect his family above all else.

Robb had managed to convince Roslin to wait until the following day before venturing out of her chambers, insisting she take more time to ensure she was strong enough. She had reluctantly agreed, not wanting to worry him further, though she could see how determined he was to protect her from any strain. By the time morning came, maids bustled into the room, arms laden with gowns of silks and brocades, each more elaborate than the last.

Roslin had smiled softly, shaking her head at their eager suggestions. "No," she had said, her voice gentle but firm. "Not today." She turned away from the brightly coloured gowns and chose something simpler—something that didn't feel like armour. A pale blue dress, light and soft, that didn't bind her tightly or weigh her down. She didn't need to dazzle anyone today, least of all her father.

As the maids began to dress her, tying the laces with careful hands, they offered braids and pins for her hair. She nodded absently, allowing them to weave her brown locks into a simple plait, but her attention was elsewhere. Her gaze had drifted to Robb, who stood at the foot of the bed, cradling their newborn son in his arms.

He was so gentle with Torrhen, his large hands cradling the tiny bundle with a care and tenderness that made Roslin's heart swell. Robb had faced war, led men into battle, and carried the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders, but here, in this quiet moment, he was simply a father, entranced by the fragile life in his arms.

Roslin watched him, the way his brow softened as he whispered something to Torrhen, who was nestled against his chest. The baby's small fists waved in the air, and Robb chuckled quietly, brushing a finger over Torrhen's auburn hair. There was such a tenderness in his touch, a love so pure that it nearly brought tears to Roslin's eyes.

She wondered if her own father had ever looked at her like that when she was born—if Lord Walder Frey had held her with anything even resembling love or affection. Somehow, she doubted it. Walder Frey had always been a hard, bitter man, obsessed with power and status. Children, to him, were assets to be married off or leveraged, not cherished.

But Robb was different. He had a softness that she had not expected in a man of his stature, a vulnerability he allowed only in private moments like this. It was something she had fallen in love with, something that reassured her now more than ever. He wasn't just a lord—he was her husband, and the father of their son. He would fight for them, protect them with everything he had.

As the maids tightened the final braid and stepped back to admire their work, Roslin's eyes remained on Robb. She smiled softly, her heart full. "You're so good with him," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Robb looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a warmth that sent a wave of comfort through her. "He's perfect," he said quietly, his gaze returning to the baby in his arms. "He looks just like you."

Roslin chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No," she replied. "He's all you. The same eyes, the same fierce spirit."

Robb smiled, though his expression was tinged with pride. "Perhaps," he said. "But he's got your strength, Roslin. He'll need that in the days to come."

Roslin's heart clenched at his words, the weight of the world outside their chambers creeping back into her thoughts. She didn't know what her father would say, what pressures he might place upon them now that they were all back under one roof. But for now, she took solace in this moment, in the love that bound them together. She stood from the chair, adjusting the light gown as she made her way over to them, placing a gentle hand on Robb's arm.

"We'll face whatever comes, together," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil she felt inside.

Robb nodded, his eyes softening as he kissed her forehead, then glanced down at their son once more. "Aye," he whispered. "Together."

As they prepared to leave their chambers, Roslin briefly considered taking Torrhen from Robb's arms, longing to feel her son close to her as they walked through Riverrun. But her body still felt weak, and she knew better than to push herself too far. The last thing she wanted was for her strength to falter and risk harm to their child. So, she left Torrhen with his father, trusting Robb's strong and steady hands to carry their son safely.

As they stepped into the corridor, Roslin felt a sense of awe at the sight of Riverrun's beauty. It wasn't as grand or imposing as the Red Keep, nor was it as stark and cold as The Twins. Riverrun had a warmth to it, a sense of peace that she hadn't realised she craved until now. The stone walls were familiar yet comforting, and the air felt clean and fresh, filled with the soft sounds of the river flowing nearby.

As they walked, Roslin's thoughts wandered. She pictured Lady Catelyn growing up here, a young girl with auburn hair just like Robb's, running through these very halls. She imagined Catelyn's laughter echoing off the walls as she played by the river, unaware of the tragedies and hardships that would shape her life in the years to come. Roslin could almost see her standing at the gates, a radiant bride on the day of her marriage to Eddard Stark, hopeful and full of dreams and then the same girl stood at the same gates days later waving her husband off to war.

And then her heart ached as she thought of the day Robb was born here, in this very castle. She imagined Catelyn, holding her newborn son just as she now held Torrhen, her eyes full of love and hope for the future. Roslin could almost picture Catelyn pacing through Riverrun's halls with baby Robb in her arms, whispering lullabies to him, praying for his safety in the uncertain world beyond these walls.

The thought of it brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. This place was more than just a castle—it was part of Robb's story, part of his family's history. Riverrun had seen both joy and sorrow, just as their own family had. And now, here they were, walking the same paths with their own son cradled in Robb's arms. It may not have been Winterfell, the place she longed to call home, but in this moment, Riverrun felt like a home to them. A place where their family could grow and heal, where Torrhen could feel the warmth and safety of his parents' love.

Roslin glanced over at Robb as they neared the Great Hall. He walked with pride, his head held high as he cradled their son close, his gaze occasionally flicking down to Torrhen with a soft, protective look. Her heart swelled with love for him, for the man who had stood by her side through everything, who had chosen her and their child over the chaos of war and politics.

This may not have been the life she had imagined, but it was theirs, and that made it perfect. Whatever lay ahead, whether it be her father's demands or the lingering uncertainties of the war, she knew they would face it together. This was their family, their future, and together they would build something strong and lasting—just as Catelyn had once dreamed for her own children.

As they approached the doors of the Great Hall, Roslin took a deep breath, ready to face whatever awaited them on the other side. But for now, she allowed herself a moment of quiet peace, knowing that within these walls, they had found a small haven.

As the grand doors creaked open, the murmurs within the Great Hall fell silent. Robb stepped forward first, with Roslin walking beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She felt a flutter of nerves, but also a deep resolve—this was her family now, and she would face whatever came with her head held high.

At the far end of the hall, Edmure Tully sat on the River Throne. Roslin noticed immediately how uncomfortable he looked in his new position. His shoulders were stiff, and his eyes darted around the room, as if he still hadn't quite come to terms with the gravity of his new role. Robb had told her about Edmure's reluctance to lead, how the weight of responsibility had always rested uneasily on him, and now it showed more than ever.

The loss of Hoster Tully, Robb's grandfather, was still fresh. Though Robb had been saddened by the news, there had been a quiet acceptance. Hoster had been gravely ill for a long time, and while his death left a hole in the family, there was some relief in knowing the old man's suffering had finally ended. The Riverlands mourned their lord, but it seemed the wheel of duty continued to turn.

Standing beside Edmure, however, was a figure that set Roslin's heart sinking—a man who looked more than comfortable, almost smug in his place of prominence. Walder Frey. Her father. His withered form was draped in fine robes, and his sharp eyes gleamed with something approaching triumph. It had always been clear to her that her father had ambitions far beyond The Twins. He had coveted Riverrun for years, and now, with the marriage alliance between House Frey and House Tully looming, he seemed closer than ever to achieving his long-held desire.

Roslin had grown up knowing her father's ambitions, how he schemed and maneuvered to raise House Frey's standing. His voice had always been full of disdain when he spoke of the Tullys—especially Hoster, who had never seen the Freys as anything more than minor vassals. But now, Walder Frey stood in the Great Hall of Riverrun, basking in the power that had always eluded him. The marriage of Alyx Frey and Edmure would cement the bond between their houses, and for the first time, Roslin could see how close her father was to finally grasping what he had always wanted.

"Nephew!" Edmure called out, rising awkwardly from the throne. His voice was strained, as if he were trying too hard to sound welcoming. "You've finally brought your wife and son to meet us."

Roslin caught the flicker of unease in Edmure's eyes as they landed on Walder Frey, who stood with a crooked smile, leaning on his cane. Though the Tully lord was the rightful ruler of Riverrun, it was painfully obvious to Roslin that her father wielded more influence in this room than Edmure did. A heavy tension hung in the air, one that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

Robb inclined his head in acknowledgment, his grip tightening protectively around Torrhen. "Uncle," he replied, his voice calm but guarded. "I thought it time my family visited, as promised."

Roslin's gaze flicked between her husband and her father, feeling the subtle undercurrents of rivalry that swirled between them. Walder's gaze was sharp, calculating, as he studied his daughter with their newborn son. Though he said nothing, Roslin could sense his pride in her, a rare feeling from a man who rarely offered praise to any of his children.

"You're feeling stronger, daughter?" Walder Frey rasped, his voice like the creaking of old timber. Roslin gave a faint nod as he leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as they settled on Torrhen, swaddled in Robb's arms. "I knew you'd give me a grandson, just like your mother, she gave me 4 sons, all strong boys," he continued, his tone thick with self-satisfaction. "And he looks it too—a strong boy. A strong Frey." His gaze lingered on Torrhen, as if already staking his claim, his words dripping with the pride of a man who saw the child as an extension of his own legacy.

But Robb remained composed, though Roslin could feel the tension in his body. "He is our future," Robb said evenly, his eyes meeting Walder's without flinching. "A Stark of Winterfell."

Walder's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the words, though his smile remained tight. "Indeed," he muttered, "A strong boy will be needed in the days to come."

Roslin felt a chill run down her spine, sensing the weight of those words. The old man always spoke in riddles, but the meaning behind them was clear. Their son, like everything else, was part of a larger game—one her father had been playing his entire life.

As the formalities continued, Roslin found herself drifting between the present and the future, wondering what it would mean to raise a child in a world filled with men like her father. She glanced at Robb, her hand finding his, and in that moment, she knew that whatever games were being played, they would face them together.

This was their family. Their future. And no matter how many schemes or alliances swirled around them, they would protect each other—no matter the cost.

"Now that Lady Stark is well again," Edmure Tully began, a faint smile crossing his face, "we can finally set a new date for the wedding. We postponed everything for your sake, my lady. Alyx was beside herself at the thought of not having you by her side on her special day."

Roslin nodded politely, though her heart wasn't entirely in it. She felt the weight of expectation, both from Edmure's earnest kindness and the far less subtle impatience of her father.

"The sooner, the better," Walder Frey grumbled, his voice dripping with irritation. "Let's bloody get on with it. Never in all my years have I heard of something so ridiculous as postponing a wedding as important as this one—for a woman's recovery, a woman that isn't even the bride." His words were sharp, meant to cut, and his bony fingers drummed impatiently on the arm of his chair.

Roslin stiffened slightly at his dismissiveness, feeling a twinge of shame, but she remained composed. Walder had always been quick to dismiss the needs of others, particularly those of his daughters. She glanced at Robb, who tensed beside her but remained silent for her sake.

"We all want the wedding to proceed, my lord" Robb finally said, his voice steady but cool as his eyes flicked to Walder Frey. "But I won't force Roslin to attend if she isn't ready."

Roslin looked up at her husband, grateful for his support. "I will be ready," she assured them, forcing a smile. "It's important for our families, and I wouldn't miss it." Even as she said the words, she felt the pressure mounting, not just from the wedding but from the many eyes watching her, waiting for her to fall back into her role as a daughter of Walder Frey, as a player in this larger game.

Walder snorted, clearly unimpressed by the sentiment. "Good. The sooner we unite our houses for good, the better. There's too much at stake for us to waste time."

Edmure shifted uncomfortably in his seat, offering a more diplomatic response. "The arrangements will be made swiftly, my lord," he said, trying to smooth over his uncle's bluntness. "We've waited this long; a few more days won't harm anything."

Walder's eyes gleamed with barely concealed irritation, but he didn't argue further. The tension in the room thickened, but the conversation turned to wedding logistics, leaving Roslin feeling like a spectator at her own family's event.

As the men discussed dates and alliances, Roslin's thoughts wandered back to Torrhen, resting peacefully in Robb's arms. Whatever happened next, whatever was demanded of her, her focus would be on her son, and the life she and Robb were building together. The rest—weddings, politics, and the whims of powerful men—would just have to fall into place around that.