The Crossed Rose - GoT - R.S.

Stone by stone

At least Lady Jeyne could ride her horse well. Sure, she had brought with her a chest of clothing and jewels a little larger than Dahlia would have liked considering it wasn't often that Robb and his men stopped for more than a fortnight in one camp, but, in a way, Dahlia understood. After all, when she left the Twins the second time as Robb's betrothed, didn't she also want to take all of her dresses and necklaces and rings? It was a memory of home, she supposed. Something to remind her of the old life she had had before.

At the time, Dahlia had hated the idea of leaving so much behind, but now, after having been with Robb for so long, she could barely remember half of the stuff she had in her chambers at the Twins. Back then, she would have a dress for each different day and, even if she did nothing more than read a book or two at the library or stroll through the gardens with Roslin that day, she could put her dress away and pick another one for the following day. Dahlia could go almost a whole month without using the same dress twice and, even then, if she asked, she could have one of her handmaidens make her another, new one. Now, riding with Robb further and further South everyday, it was rare that the same dress didn't get used at least three times before Catelyn took it away to wash it. Dahlia had, at the moment, three dresses - merely vestiges some of the more resistant fancy dresses she had brought along with her. None of them had the golden embroidery that had once adorned all of her corsets and the once vibrant blue from most of her gowns had long faded into an almost grey shade of fabric.

Robb had found it very amusing once Dahlia had pointed it out to him.

"Well, grey is the Stark colour." He had said, his fingers running over her skirt as she laid beside him in their bed one night. "Blue was your Father's colour. I suppose even your dresses are showing that you are more Stark now than you've ever been Frey."

"Do you think so?" Dahlia had asked, her own fingers tracing over the wolf in the clasp of Robb's heavy fur cloak that covered them both on that particularly cold night at the Riverlands.

"Aye." Robb had nodded then, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "And I enjoy seeing you in grey more than I ever did seeing you in blue anyway, my love."

Dahlia had laughed then, but after having spent some time with Robb's soldier as their Queen after her return from the Stormlands, Dahlia had started to appreciate the colour more as well. Because Robb was right. Dahlia was a Stark now and she was proud to carry her husband's name. She was proud of carrying his direwolf sigil. She was proud to share the weight of his crown with him and she would be proud of carrying his colour too. Because now, grey wasn't his colour. Grey is the Stark colour, Robb had said, and that meant it was her colour too.

And so she would wear it. In her faded, old dresses, she would carry their colours.

"When we go back to Winterfell, I'll have someone make you a hundred new dresses." Robb had promised her that night. "In whatever shape you want. Whatever colour and whatever fabric. You'll have it all, I promise."

"You're sweet." Dahlia had whispered back at him, rolling over Robb so her body was practically laying over his while still keeping his furs over her back. She smiled when Robb's hands found her waist and she leaned down her face for a moment to press a kiss to his jaw, his beard prickling her a little as she giggled. "But I found I rather appreciate the simplicity of having little dresses. I definitely spend less time in the mornings figuring out what to wear and who to call to fix my corset."

"That is very fair." Robb had chuckled then, one of his hands travelling all the way from her waist and up to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair as he pulled her face down to meet his in a kiss. "But I still want to give you a few new dresses."