The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ROBB - XVIII

BIT BY BIT, THE PLAN was carefully drawn together. Until at last, the day came to begin. Robb woke early that morning. Snaking his arms around his wife's middle, he pressed into her, trailing lazy kisses up her neck. His teeth grazed over her earlobe. "Good morning, my Queen." Aryadne groaned in response. The sight of her there, curled up in their bed, so perfectly peaceful and his, gave him a rush. He could not help from rolling on top of her, capturing her lips with his. She only entertained it for a minute before pushing him off. Her face contorted in a pained grimace. Concern now rose in him and he moved closer once more, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand as she had done with him many a time. "What is it?"

"Feel awful." Her grumble was followed by a soft whine and she curled up even smaller, pulling the covers over her head.

"Oh, Love," he cooed. His body cocooned around hers, a hand stroking the tangled mass of black away from her face. "I'll see if Talisa can bring you something. Rest up."

Her squinted eyes widened slightly and she rolled onto her back. "We're meeting with the Freys today," she realised anxiously.

It was not hard to anticipate her intentions. His voice dropped to a gentle warning, "Don't even think you're going to that meeting. You need to rest. In fact, consider it an order from your king."

A snort of laughter came in response. "Well, your queen might have something to say about that."

To say that he adored her stubbornness would have been an understatement, but at that moment it was getting on his nerves. "And I would love to hear what she has to say," he assured her with a kiss to her shoulder, "but right now, she can barely string a sentence together without moaning. Save your strength."

"I have to be there."

Her protests were arguably quite cute, he thought as she gazed imploringly up at him, her lips set in a pout. "Actually, I think it's best if you aren't. As much as I want you there, your presence might complicate things. I doubt the Freys want a reminder of their many grievances against me."

That she couldn't argue with. Still, she sent him a whine of complaint, lifting a heavy arm to wipe her brow. She did look rather pale. "Fine. But I want every detail."

"I'll memorise every word for you if that is what you wish." While it certainly irked him to leave her out of their plan, the thought of her condition worsening was positively distressing. With a kiss and one last plea for her to stay in bed, he got up.

—

The atmosphere in the war room already had him on edge. With his mother on one side, and Edmure and the Blackfish on the other, he still felt exposed. He hated having to mop up his own mistakes in such an embarrassing way, pleading for forgiveness from the two Freys across the table. Leaning forwards, he steeled himself and offered a cordial smile. "Thank you for riding here so quickly. I know travel isn't each in these times."

Black Walder was the son of Ser Ryman and, judging by the way he regarded Robb, had heard the details of their falling out. He spoke coldly — although it was hard to tell him apart from the man beside him; Lothar was around the same age as him, but was his great-uncle, if Robb was not mistaken. The Freys all had a rather gaunt, greyish look about them. Both wore the same dark clothes, and skullcaps with flaps covering their ears. Their pasty, pointed faces were the only part uncovered. "The roads are crawling with cutthroats and bandits, but when the King in the North summons us, we come." It was not hard to recognise the sarcasm. Feeling his eye twitch, he forced himself to remain polite.

Lothar spoke next, regarding them with his black eyes. "My father's instructed us to tell you that his alliance with the North can continue if his terms are met." Clasped hands clenching briefly, Robb inclined his head in a request. The man continued, "Lord Frey requires a formal apology for your violation of your sacred oath to marry one of his daughters."