Robb x Gwen Master Archive [ Part 3 / 6 ]
[direct tumblr link | orig. posted July 2011]
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Robb x Gwen Archive
Part ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX
a.k.a. Actually we've decided that Gwen is gonna go to Westeros, and is happy.
[direct tumblr link | orig. posted October 2011]
[direct tumblr link | orig. posted Oct 2011]
Rickon is five now and must learn to ride. The wolfswood is a dangerous place these days crawling with wolves and wildlings alike, and Lady Stark could not be swayed to let Rickon ride outside Winterfell's walls. Instead, everyday, Robb and Gwen take Rickon to the godswood and allow the young Stark to ride Gwen's mare (a gift from her father for her eighteenth name day) slowly around the great red weirwood. Sometimes Bran comes as well, his horse Dancer, galloping, weaving behind and in front of Rickon. The direwolves do not accompany them, much to the dismay of Rickon, as the horses spook easily around the giant beasts.
Robb and Gwen spend the time beside the pond, sometimes dipping their feet in the heated waters. Robb tells her of Jon's last letter to them from the Wall, reporting that the place is still cold and dreary, and cold. He tells her that he misses his half-brother, that despite his mother's apparent hatred for Jon, they grew close and it didn't matter who his mother is.
"I am his brother and he is mine," says Robb, eyes far away. Gwen smiles, warmed to know Robb's thoughts and who he holds dear. The Starks are a good and wholesome family, not above bickering and but still full of love.
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“Gwen’s been with us for years. She’s as capable as anyone, maybe more so.”
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They find the wimpering direwolf cubs when Robb and Jon take the girls hawking. Lady Catelyn gives Gwen clear instructions to look out for them, warning that the boys don't know when they're pushing too much. Even with Gwen's constant reassurances to the lady, she only eases when Lord Stark announces he'd accompany them. Arya and Bran ride ecstatically through the forest in their excitement and Rickon does his best to keep up.
Thankfully, Gwen was able to keep a slow pace seeing as though Sansa wasn't nearly as interested as her younger siblings. Robb begins the game at the lead of the pack but slowly meanders his way back to her side. Jon kept speed with Arya and Bran, purposely slowing them down before Rickon broke into tears. Lord Stark's falcon had managed to rip down a heron before Jory Cassel called them over to uncover a mysterious sight.
The giant dead corpse of a direwolf frightens Sansa and Arya scolds her for being stupid. "It's dead, isn't it?" Arya bites logically, and Gwen shoots her a look asking her play nicely. Lord Stark approaches the pile, the pups pawing at his boots and treading through his legs. After a curious conversation about direwolves hunting south of the Wall and Bran's distress at Lord Stark's order for the pups to be killed, Jon suggests the Stark children take them as their own using a clever argument about the Stark sigil.
Bran's face lights up at Lord Stark's agreement and she notices Robb is pleased as well. Rickon slowly emerges from Gwen's arms to take a pup as well and by the end of scuffle for the direwolves even Sansa is taken with one. "Shall we head back, my lord?" asks Jory. "The hawks look ready to devour the dogs."
Robb dumps one of them in Gwen's lap on the ride back, the wriggling pup nipping and licking the hand she has hold of it.
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It's after her twentieth name day that her father passes as a good, strong man of forty-eight. And even good, strong men fall ill to disease and soon the labor of his years catch up with him. His bed becomes his home and the thatched roof of their modest cot becomes his sky. His last days are peaceful, with only a little bit of regret that he could not have done more for the two most dear to him. At this, Elyan storms out and Gwen gnaws at her lip, a lump in her throat.
Weeks later, Gwen starts coming home to bundles of flowers set about the house, a desolate and lonely place now that her father has been honored and buried with the graces of the Seven and Elyan having left for the south soon after. Her brother had always been a uneasy creature, one looking beyond the horizon - itching to see what's behind it. Dissimilarly, their father always wanted them close, and Gwen tries not to recall all the arguments they had. So with a steel spine and wringing hands, she gives her little brother a kiss farewell and wishes him the happiness he could never find in Winterfell. That was nearly four days ago, and unless Elyan had quickly discovered that the horizon would lead him on an eternal chase, her only conjecture was that it was some mysterious other.
The first day, they were marigolds so rich in red and gold that it reminded her of Camelot's colors and Morgana's distaste for them. The next, she ends up in a sea of violet wildflowers, ones she's only ever seen in the wolfswood outside of Winterfell. The third are long lines of blossoming vines trickling up and around the wooden pillars. It lasts a week more until she finds that she has no sitting space in her home.
It's one morning that she spots the Stark boys with Theon Greyjoy practicing at swords and bows across the bailey that the puzzles fall in. Minding herself, she tries her best to mask the way she stomps up to Robb, who is waiting as Ser Rodrik instructs a duel between Greyjoy and Hullen's son, Harwin. He sees her, she knows - it's that ever so slight curve of his mouth - but before she can get a word in, Bran's come up to her, brandishing his bow with pride. "Gwen! Look what I've done! Those bolts there, those are mine. Here, see, I can do it again." The boy readies another arrow and Robb slowly meets her gaze over Bran's unkempt hair. A mistake on his part, seeing as he could never keep a secret long enough when confronted directly.
"So," he starts, meticulously slow. "This summer's full... of... flowers."
"Is that so?" she can't help the pull of her lips. "It's funny, I have noticed. They're growing so fast and in such numbers that I scarcely recognize my house."
He grins. "Do you like them?" At her look, he catches himself and becomes visibly abashed. "You've been very sad, and rightly so, but... with your brother gone now -- I thought perhaps -"
"They're lovely," says Gwen, a smile full and honest. "But no more or I swear, by your gods and mine, there won't be a single blossom left in all the north."
"I would pick all of Westeros for you," he declares, but agrees anyways.
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Lately, she considered herself lucky to be able to catch a glance at Robb when their paths briefly cross: a look outside the window when Ser Rodrik has them drilling at swords, colliding into him while he's on his way to his father while she attends to Old Nan, the brief welcoming of the bannerman in the Great Hall. The year's harvest was the largest she had seen since the last winter when she was only nine and her memories of Mother were still fresh. The cold was light and lasted only two years, something her father couldn't believe. He always had many stories to tell, her father.
She's on a run to the kitchens when she's pulled aside to a dark corner, her surprise melting into delight to see Robb grinning down at her. "You must be a stranger, your face is barely familiar to me," he teases.
"And yours," she brushes her fingertips through the scruff he's started to sport. Tucked away in their corner, they talk like they hadn't spoken in years - giggling, outright laughing followed by hushes. Did you hear? Mikken's got a new apprentice. He's terrible, you should be doing it. Bran's trying to take up the bow and arrow, but Theon keeps showing him up. He's showing up a seven year old! Must be he's having a hard time showing up Arya.
They're in the middle of laughing about a joke played on Farlen and his dogs when a throat's cleared. Gwen peeks over Robb's shoulder to see Sansa giggling and Lady Stark giving them a wry, but not disapproving, look. Robb has the decency to look sheepish and the mother-daughter pair pass.
"The last of the bannerman are here and tonight should be our final feast, unless the King on the Iron Throne comes here himself," Robb takes her by the chin and she feels as though the skin there is on fire. "I will see you again, Gwen." She is caught off guard by the genuine affection in his voice and a smile blossoms before she could stop it.
He combs his fingers through the hair at her nape and presses a prickly kiss to the side of her nose and then properly on her lips. It's a kiss filled with promise and just a little bit of hunger and leaves her yearning.
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Robb stops thinking the instant he catches sight of her, bundled up in her shawl and the heat of her small cot radiating from within. The light shapes her face and creates a crown on her hair making his breath catch. Her eyes, her smile, the faint freckles on her nose.
"Yes?" Her expectant grin tells Robb that he's been staring, and he flushes. Why was he here? Gods if he could remember. She leans against the frame, settling to await his answer.
His mind is blank beside the image of her.
"I had a reason," explains Robb, but it's all he can say. Gwen only laughs and so does he, even at his own embarrassment.
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It's a slow trek to King's Landing even on the Kingsroad and Gwen was having trouble keeping Sansa from fussing from anxiousness. "What if we'll be late and everything is over by then time we get there?" Gwen just tugs at her plait while she's twisting it and says, "The tourney will hardly start without your lord father present. We'll make good time, m'lady."
One night, Lady Catelyn sends the girls off to bed early because of a spat. Unfortunately that meant a rather tense evening in the tent. They bore the punishment well until the close quarters ended up in a throwing match of brushes and clothes and in some cases boots. Thankfully, a shout from Gwen was enough and the girls sheepishly crawled into their beds.
Later, as she finds herself unable to fall asleep, she hears voices outside. Then, Robb's head ducks into the tent. "Are the girls asleep?" At her nod, he beckons her out. "They'll be fine on their own for a time, would you mind a walk with me?" She worries her lip, thinking of leaving the girls by themselves. Sansa was only four-and-ten, and Arya even younger. Still... Suddenly, another head ducked into the tent.
"I'll keep an eye out, Gwen. You go on," Ser Desmond encouraged. Robb's wide grin tells her she has no proper excuse to refuse now.
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"I'll have you know that I'm an excellent lance," Robb protests, and Gwen giggles.
"Yes, yes. You've made a point of it a few dozen times now," says Gwen, her smile and her tone conveys a clear dubiousness. King Robert Baratheon called a tourney to celebrate Lord Renly's marriage to Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden. Their journey south begins early tomorrow morning and Sansa was so excited she could barely shut her eyes. Lady Stark has Gwen staying in the Keep tonight to attend to the girls at early sunrise.
"Won't you give me a token when I ride?" Robb asks.
"I have no token to give, my lord, nor will you be short of them I'm sure," she says though her face flushes at his request.
There's a tinge of disappointment masked by determination. "Well, I won't have a token at all then," he says. "I wouldn't care if it was a fine silk ribbon or a scrap of cloth so as long as it was yours."
The next day Old Nan scolds her for her disheveled apron, torn and ragged at the ends.
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With Arya occupied with her dancing master, it leaves Gwen to attend to Sansa more efficiently than she has for a while. Sansa shows a genuine enjoyment being in the south and Gwen sees the fascination and adoration in her eye with every knight that walks the streets. "It's just like in the songs, Gwen. So many beautiful knights and beautiful ladies. Jeyne says she feels so odd among the ladies here, but I know I could live here forever."
Sansa's dreams of glorious knights seemed to rival those of Bran's and it makes Gwen smile to see Sansa so animated. Her quarrels with Arya have lessened since coming south, though that might be because they barely saw each other outside of eating and sleeping together. "Oh, Gwen, won't you make my hair like the Southron girls? You're from the south, aren't you? Surely you've done it before."
"I have, my lady," answers Gwen and she finishes off combing through Sansa's hair before separating patches to be pinned. "Though not for some time."
"It doesn't matter, I'll look better than Jeyne Poole because I've got you," declares Sansa. "Ser Loras is riding against that giant Mountain tomorrow, and he'll beat him, I'm sure of it. Ser Loras is the most beautiful knight in the tourney. Oh, if only he looked at me like Robb looks at you, I'd be the happiest girl in the Seven Kingdoms."
Gwen fumbles with Sansa's hair hearing the last bit and she tries to bite down her smile.
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Robb finds it a delight and a dismay that Gwen seemed to flourish in the south. With the festivities and the feasts, King's Landing was packed from Fishmarket to Dragon Gate, and the only opportunities to see her were when the Starks broke their fast together or brief glimpses of her as she sits with his brothers and sisters in the stands during the jousts. Mother did not care for him to enter into the melee, and although Loras Tyrell had ribbed him about it, he minded his lady mother's wishes. He was always the better lance besides.
King's Landing was a chance to show all the Seven Kingdoms his strength and his value, the future Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. He has a good run in the joust, defeating his first opponent - a squire to some lesser lord of House Florent - and the second, Ser Desmond of his father's own household guard. Ser Desmond gave him a grudging wrestle of congratulations after. "Don't know if this tells me you've grown too quickly or I've grown too old." He's unhorsed by Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard and Robb might've been angry about that fact longer if the White-Cloak didn't come up to him afterwards to pay him his dues. Robb made a note to remember Ser Arys.
He's crossing Maegor's when Gwen comes tumbling down a staircase in a dress so light and flowing, one befitting the heat of the south. He wonders if she ever misses the south, if she misses Camelot. Whenever he asks, Gwen shrugs and says, "I suppose I do in little ways." She stops at the bottom of the stairs when she spots him and her grin tells him she's as happy to see him as he is her.
"A great lance you turned out to be," she teases. "Defeated by a knight of the Kingsguard."
"The shame keeps me from facing the world," Robb agrees, solemnly. "Elyan advanced well in the melee." Gwen glows at this, so proud of the brother who left for the south three years ago. He knew they kept in touch, if only sparingly by raven. He did not know, however, if Gwen expected to see him here and as a participant in the tourney. They talk about the weeks past: the tiresome, formal suppers with the king and queen and their lot, how Sansa's developed a crush on Ser Loras, Bran's robust excitement of all the glory of knighthood.
"You look happy," observes Robb, a gentle look in his eye. Gwen hides her blush by ducking her chin.
"Elyan's here, good and well. The girls are happy - even Arya. She befriended a dancing master wherever it is he came from." She puffs out her chest, giving him a solid nod. "I suppose I am. But don't mistake me, I'll be glad to go home." Somehow it pleased him to know that she considered Winterfell home. She tugs at the cloth at his belt. "You know your run in the joust is over."
Robb smiles, patting it. "Well, might it give me luck in some other matter since it did me no good against Oakheart." Gwen looks affronted until she swats at his arm, laughing. He fights her off and jogs away to escape her, feeling more cheery than when he rode in the tourney.
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All those who come to serve Robb under the banners were a worthy addition to their cause but however valued a warrior they were, Robb and his council found some lacking in wit and other notable capacities.
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There are still times when Robb feels like a green boy again, oblivious to the true duties of a lord - a lord of what was once one of seven kingdoms. The blood of the old Kings of Winter flows through his veins, their might strong in his bones but the grip on his sword slips. It is not battle that Robb fears he will fail. Strength in war only commands a passing loyalty. It is the strength of love that keep his bannermen by his side. They follow him out of honor and duty to his lord father now deceased, and Robb fears his strength to command will fail him. That he will take a giant misstep and fall completely.
These moments of doubt, far and few between, only last until Gwen is there - returned to his side however many times she must leave him. She has a quiet tenacity that reminds him of his father, who spoke little and listened much. "Your word must be strong, Robb, but so must your hearing. You need always learn to listen," Father had said. And he tries, he does - but sometimes he forgets, sometimes an anxiousness takes hold of his heart, his stomach, every brittle bone inside him and listening is hard. Gwen soothes him, in a blessed way that she does not know she does - something that both amuses and exasperates him. By his side, she counsels him so unlike the way his lady mother did, but her words have wisdom that once even Lord Karstark begrudgingly agreed.
He reads her face when she's done, a wonder that she does not bow her head as is her habit but he is grateful. He takes courage from her eyes, filled with such caring and love that Robb can't help but feel undeserving of it. Undeserving, but selfish, he finds himself. So he takes hold of the courage before it leaves him again and hardens to face his lords bannermen.
Strength in war. Strength in love.
These men serve him, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North, out of duty, loyalty, and love.
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-How could it end like this?
-How could it not?
On to part 4.