The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ROBB - XI

ROBB WOKE JUST AS the sun was starting to rise. The fire had died long ago. Replaying the last night's events in his head, he smiled to himself and looked to the woman curled up in his arms, tucked under a thick pelt blanket.

She had been so scared. When she first arrived in the Godswood, she probably would have fallen if not for the Greatjon's support. But they had gone through with the ceremony. They had spent their wedding night in bliss. Just the thought of it sent a shiver up his spine. He pressed a kiss to her temple, where a silvery crescent indented the skin.

Her face scrunched up and she grumbled, nuzzling into him. His prayers for her to stay asleep were fruitless. She looked up at him with a lazy smile. "Good morning."

It wasn't fair, how perfect she was. Her waking drew in the sunlight, setting her ivory skin aglow. He could hardly believe that she was his wife now. Perhaps dreams really did come true. Instead of saying all of that, he settled for a simple, "Good morning. How is married life treating you so far?"

"Well," she mused, pretending to think it over as she traced circles over his heart, "I did sleep on the floor, and I'm a little hungry. That being said, I was also woken by kisses from my husband, wrapped up in furs. It is not all bad."

"Room for improvement, then. Can I make it up to you with breakfast?"

"I would be eternally in your debt."

Chuckling, he kissed her quickly and began to stand. "Well, that wouldn't do. I will not have my queen indebted to me."

Her brows raised suggestively as he started to dress himself. "I'm sure I can find a way to repay you, my king," she teased.

"Careful. Or I shan't be able to leave this room, and then we'll both have to starve."

Her bottom lip pushed out into a pout. He wanted nothing more than to kiss it. "Very well, then. I suppose I'll have to let you leave."

Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he did. The corridors were quiet. Heading down the stairs, his mind wandered back to the night before, to the anxiety as he was jostled along to the bedchamber by the ladies of Acorn Hall. He was married now. It didn't feel quite real. Every moment spent with Aryadne that evening, he half expected to open his eyes and find himself back in his bed, alone. She had felt like a dream. There was something ethereal, almost intangible, about her. She possessed a strange ability to make him forget about his fears with just a look. Eventually he had committed himself to it — if it were truly in his imagination, he decided to enjoy it while it lasted. But when he woke up, there she was.

The Great Hall had not changed much. Rows of tables remained, though the soldiers huddled together on them were far more quiet, many nursing hangovers. He had certainly indulged himself, though as he recalled the numerous drinks he had used to soothe his nerves, he realised that he was afflicted by little more than a slight pressure behind his eyes.

Cheers greeted him. A few men clapped him on the back as he entered, others shouting congratulations and ribald jokes that he did not dignify with a response. His lords were far more solemn. Swallowing thickly, he approached their table. "Good morning. I take it the men are ready to leave soon?"

"They are, Your Grace," said Ser Stevron with his usual polite smile.

"I trust it is done?"

Piling two plates with food, he paused to meet Roose Bolton's gaze. "Aye," he solemnly replied. "None can claim it false. We had our witnesses outside." The thought still unnerved him. He did not like the thought of such a private moment being listened to. But if it kept her safe, it was worth it. Now that it was done, he hoped that they could look forward to many nights, just as passionate but unwatched.