FALLEN CROWN | ROBB STARK

Chapter I

298 AC

"My father sent me a raven. Jon Arryn is dead," his wife's words may be blunt and to the point, but her voice is soft as she tells him the news while she snuggles deeper into his upper body, their son sleeping contently on her bare chest after feeding, sucking his thumb. On another time, the simple thought of such a scene would have made him blush red. But after years of living with his free spirited dornish wife, this had become commonplace.

"I shall have to tell my father on the morrow," that is all he says before plants a kiss to his wife's hair and carefully takes their son from her chest and moves to lay him down at his crib in their rooms. But truly, he does not know what this means for Westeros.

Robb is no longer a boy who would easily believe his father to be a great hero and for kings to be all-knowing. His southern, politically trained wife had made sure of that. As such, he knew of Robert Baratheon's habits and temperament. He knew of his hatred for the Targaeryens and his distrust for the Martells and because of that, he worried about his wife and by extension, their children. The simple thought of Alia, Leila and Artos being in danger made him snarl and to regain himself, he allowed his son to wrap his hand around his finger, the motion soothing him.

He turned back to look at his wife, who seemed to be reading some letters, no doubt from her family and allowed a small smile to grace as his face as he once again looked down at his sleeping son.

Their marriage had certainly come a long way since they first met. His reaction to the loss of a son had helped in that, he knew. While Vitoria had been hesitant to trust him at first and he had been resentful that he had to leave the Karstarks to marry, he had been besotted with his dornish wife from the moment he laid eyes on her. Yet it had not been until Vitoria had miscarried their son that she opened up her heart to him. It had broken his heart to see her so broken and weak in the bed after undergoing such an experience. To know that she was scared of him had been an even bigger blow.

As their marriage improved, so did her standing in the North. At first, the lords and servants alike had been cold towards her, reluctant to trust her. But after she birthed the twins, they had started to warm up to her, seeing that she was now staying for good, two children made sure of that. And, the selflessness she displayed helped the Northern lords trust her more and more. The birth of Artos had been what secured her status as the wife to the future Warden of the North, Robb was aware of that, but he would have remained with her as his wife even if Artos had been born another daughter or if Vitoria had been declared barren after miscarrying.

He turned his head to look back at his wife, seeing that she was now dressed in her nightclothes and wrapped in the furs, sleeping soundly.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Why are you getting pretty for the king?" her voice cuts through the room and makes her goodsister smear kohl across her cheek.

Honestly, she can't bring herself to feel guilty about it. She'd gone to her rooms to try and convince her to sneak in some archery practice in the morning, but instead she'd had to sit watching her get ready to meet the royal party. And she can't quite understand why Vitoria is putting on all the effort into her appearance. She's wearing a dress completely unlike the ones she's worn the past few years; it looks similar to the ones she wore when she was still adjusting to life in the Winterlands. It's neckline is cut low, exposing the curve of her breasts and her sternum and the dress clings to her chest like a second skin, only separating itself from her body when it reaches her waist. Her hair, at least, still looks like a northern woman's, being styled in a simple braid over her shoulder.