Winter is Coming (A Game Of Thrones Fan-Fic) (ON HOLD)

8. Winter Is Coming

Lady Brooke Frey was never one for confrontation or argument. She

simply did as she was asked and never put herself in the position of a

fight. True, she held her beliefs very strongly and lived her life by

them; likewise she knew that not every soul believes as she does. It

is in knowing the ways of the world that she found she could live her

life as she sought while adhering to the rules placed around her.

However, lately she felt as if she were at a crossroads. There was no

way, that she could see, which would allow her beliefs and appease

society. What situation would make such a free spirit feel this

trapped? Love.

Brooke was doomed to this crossroads years ago when Cupid misfired his

bow. Was it to her dismay that she fell right into the trap of loving

the man who saved her? Of course. However, Love only knocks on your

door once- if at all- and she would not miss the opportunity. She

would not let the grey eyes- like liquid metal- be weighed down by a

sadness that could not be shared with a partner, nor would she let a

face such to the likeness of the deceased Lord Stark be cast forever

in a frown. More than anything Brooke Frey wanted to save Jon Snow the

same way which he had saved her.

Fate and Destiny, however, had thought to work in collaboration to

challenge Lady Brooke. She wanted to revel in her love tenfold with

the dark and mysterious Jon Snow; society and war dictated that she

would share her bed with Robb Stark, and be doomed to fake her love

which Robb truly felt.

Brooke Frey looked up from the book she held in her hands and to the

handsome Lord sitting near her. His auburn brows were knit together

with concentration as his eyes memorized every line drawn on the map

in front of him.

"My Lord," she spoke up. There was no response.

Brooke closed her book and cleared her throat loudly to get the king's

attention; but even that were not enough. Quietly and gracefully, Lady

Frey rose from her seat and followed the tables edge until she stood

just behind him. "Robb," she spoke as she slid her hand over his

shoulder. As if realizing that she were there for the first time, Robb

looked up at her and took her hand with his, pressing a kiss to her

knuckles. "You are being consumed by this war," Brooke stated.

It was a heavy statement she had made; for if Robb was losing himself to the

Iron Throne, without a doubt so was every other would-be king.

"My father was murdered by the Lannisters," his tone was wrongfully

sharp, "what part of that makes you think I wouldn't throw myself into

this ridiculous war?" Brooke didn't say anything, she knew better, and