fic: and all will tremble before us (Game of Thrones, Daenerys/Robb)
Title: and all will tremble before us
Characters: Daenerys/Robb
Rating: R
Summary: There is another treaty that is an option. One of a long forgotten princess across the seas.
Author's Note: 2, 236 words. AU, as in the Red Wedding never happens. I own nothing here, obviously. Inspired by the lovely graphic made by the_stark_words .
“We must do something. We cannot just sit here and do nothing while the lot in King’s Landing sit content.”
The Greatjon says this with a rumble and his fist bang on the table to further his point. There are grumbles in agreement from the others assembled.
The crown on his head, so heavy and twisted, is reminder enough that Robb must do something. He does not need the words from his bannermen. Grey Wind senses his distress and butts his large head against his leg. He sinks his fingers into the warm fur.
His men are still talking, and one voice rings out, “There is another way. An alliance.”
There is further dissent at that. One voice over another until it’s shouting of how dare they consider bending the knee. He strokes Grey Wind’s fur, calmed by the dire wolf’s presence, and thinks. He’d thought to send his mother south to treat with Renly or Stannis or both.
The same man speaks again. “No. There are rumors across the seas. Of a princess long sent away. The Mother of Dragons, they call her.”
The Greatjon laughs. “The Targaryen girl? If she’s even still alive. Have you forgotten she bears no love for the Starks who only helped drive her out?”
Robb speaks for the first time. “But she has cause to hate the Lannisters even more.”
“Well, then I guess you could gift her with the Kingslayer should she come.”
He likes this plan even better than dealing with either of Baratheon brothers. Justice done in fire and blood.
-
What follows is a secret exchange of letters to and from the Riverlands to the lands across the seas. His mother proclaims it to be the will of the Seven that they are not found out. Robb breathes sighs of relief; he’s not so sure in the Seven since the death of his father.
He spends his time waiting smashing the newly raised Lannister host and winning at Ashemark and The Crag. He escapes the last without injury only just barely, and wishes that letters didn’t take so long to go to and fro.
When the last one comes to him, asking him to prove that he is sure, that he is not false and not lying or cloaking himself in deception, for she has seen too many attempts at her life, he sends Theon and enough gold to bring her to him.
-
She lands at the Saltpans and slips up the backwoods with her army.
Robb rides out to greet her, sitting tall in the saddle as the figure of Daenerys Targaryen, last of the Targaryens, Mother of Dragons, the Stormborn and Unburnt, approaches. She is small and slim, almost child-like she is so little, but more beautiful than any other woman he has ever seen. The army at her back is unusual, spiked helmets on their heads. And there at her side, tail curled and scales gleaming in the sun, is proof that the rumors are true.
She does not bow to him, instead inclines her head. A Queen to a King. Grey Wind growls in his throat. It’s not a threat, something else as he feels acknowledgement and what could be a wolf’s feeling of respect slide over him. Her dragon rears back, wings outstretched and smoke escaping its mouth.
“Robb Stark,” she says. Her violet eyes hold amusement in them and her hair chimes with bells as she speaks, “Your friend has told me much about you on our long journey.”
He had indeed meant to give her the Kingslayer, but the man's escape had done away with that. His eyes slide over to the figure of Theon behind her. “No doubt. Would that we continue this inside where it is warmer, Your Grace?”
She smiles at his use of title, and he thinks that this might work out, if he does not cause a mess.
-
“You travel with odd company.” It’s the Greatjon that speaks again.
Daenerys looks just at ease sitting at one end of the table as she had on her horse. She’s left her dragon in the care of one of her handmaidens.
“Your Grace,” the knight standing to her left corrects.
“You travel with odd company, Your Grace.”
The knight puts his hand on his sword at the sarcasm.
Robb watches as she puts her fingers on his hand, and gives him a look. The hand withdraws.
“You will have to forgive my bear, he only seeks to protect me. Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan,” she looks at the white haired man behind her, “have been my faithful allies amidst a score of those who would betray me. And my Unsullied fight for me in battle now after I tricked them from the rulers of Astapor.”
Robb has offered her wine, but she has not touched hers and so he leaves his alone too. “I thank you for coming. Your journey was well?”
That amused look again, as if something about him she finds funny, and it discerns him. She is not like the girls back at Winterfell who would fawn over him or tease him. Sitting opposite him is a queen. “I fared fine, but my Dothraki did not like it so much. They are mistrustful of water that has salt.”
“And why have you come?” His mother asks this, and he would have asked too, but she beats him to it.
Daenerys does not take it as an insult. She sits straighter and though she answers his mother’s questions, it is to him that her eyes never leave. “The Iron Throne is mine. Lord Greyjoy told me of your father’s death. I will not pretend to feel grief, given the part he took in my own’s death and my banishment.”
There is grumbling and murmurs from the gathered and her knights draw up at her back.
She pays them no mind, and continues, thought and wariness in her face. “But I share in your desire for revenge against those who hold King’s Landing. I would give you the North for yourself and your lands and your people should you choose to march with me. Or even a space by my side.”
“The North is mine?” Robb asks.
“Yes.”
This is the treaty that he chooses.
-
Keeping her quiet and news of her arrival from the rest of Westeros is trying. They keep her army hidden in the woods, her dragons in a stone building as they grow bigger by the day, and herself in the keep. And pray that none of the soldiers brag about it in town or a spy infiltrates the camp.
Robb visits her when he is not busy or when she is not visiting her people. He likes when he can talk with her without the rest of the men or his mother or when they are at council meetings.
He finds her with her dragons today. One of the handmaidens, Irri he thinks, giggles when he enters the large open space. She says something to her mistress, the words foreign and unfamiliar to his ears.
Daenerys replies and the girl leaves, sliding past him with a heavy look in her eyes.
“Does she not like me?” He asks, still standing in the entryway, wary of the dragons that are further inside. They turn their large eyes towards him.
She laughs and her hands are stained with the blood of the meat she holds. She’s been feeding them. “She thinks you very handsome. She says I should take you to my bed.”
Robb feels the heat flush his face. His throat works to find something to say.
She turns her gaze away. “Do you fear them?”
“The dragons?”
Her voice is soft, her expression shuddered. “They are my children, but sometimes I fear what they will become. That I will not be able to control them.”
There is trust here with what she is confiding to him. Dire wolves are not dragons, but the thought of wild animals and beasts not being able to be controlled is similar.
“I think anyone would be wise to treat dragons with caution. Perhaps they cannot be controlled, but they are yours and have given themselves to you.”
She smiles at him. “You speak wisely, my King.”
“No more than you, my Queen.”
-
Daenerys wears her Dothraki leathers despite the cold that creeps ever further south. She seems unaffected by it, moving easily in her clothing choice.
“Winter is coming,” she says as they stand shoulder to shoulder on a rampart. Their camps are below. “Isn’t that way you say?”
“Those are the words of our House.” Robb looks out below so as not to look at her. He finds himself watching her more and more of late.
She makes a humming noise. “They say many other things too about your House and yourself.”
“They say many things about you as well.”
A laugh and the wind tosses her hair in the hair, the bells ringing sharp and loud. “I don’t bathe in the blood of children.”
“And Grey Wind is no monster and neither am I.”
“No you are not,” she places a small hand on his arm, the fingers so small on the fur of his cloak. “I regret leaving the free cities and my children.”
He knows of her marriage to the Khal and the death of her child and how she views the slaves across the seas as much as hers as the three dragons.
Her fingers curl in the dark fur. “But you gave me ships and I could not refuse what is mine.”
Robb covers her hand with his. “I am glad you came.”
-
There is a small host to the west that has been causing trouble. Robb rides out to deal with them and returns with an injury to his shoulder. He lies in bed, the milk of poppy making his head turn, and his skin sweaty.
The door opens and Grey Wind rumbles from the floor. He quiets after a second, and a sudden weight makes the bed shift.
Daenerys’ head appears in his vision. Her mouth, her lovely mouth, is twisted in a frown, her eyes looking annoyed. “Perhaps you are not so wise.”
“Daenerys,” her name is clumsy on his tongue.
She prods the wound, examining it and would that she touch him elsewhere. His head aches. “You are not allowed to die,” she commands, an order and what could be fear there.
He wants to laugh. “I will try,” he chokes out instead.
-
“Would you be only King in the North?”
“What else is there?”
“My King. King of Westeros.”
-
“You cannot marry her, Robb. Or have you forgotten your promise to the Freys? They will not take a slight like this.”
“Daenerys’ dragons grow bigger daily, mother. Soon she will be able to ride them. The Freys do not scare me.”
“Then you know what you are doing?”
“Westeros needs a worthy King. I would see all those in King’s Landing dead and my sisters back with us.”
“And you want her.”
That is not a question.
-
They are married in a fortnight. By then, whispers of a Targaryen’s arrival have begun to spread across the lands. Renly is murdered by black magic it is said, and Stannis has his red priestess; Daenerys says she will give her to her dragons and see if she really favors fire then. King’s Landing is in chaos.
He takes her as his wife in a clearing away from the keep. Though Stark may be the cloak he puts around her shoulders and the surname she will now bear, she will never not be a Targaryen. There are cheers from his men and shouts in the foreign tongues of hers.
The feast passes fast until they are both being ushered up the stairs to his room. Now, she sits before him naked with her silver hair falling over her shoulders and breasts. She is beautiful and breathtaking, and strong and intelligent, and queenly and his. She is calm and unafraid. He remembers that she has been married before. No longer does she look as sad as she did when she first came.
“Daenerys,” he says and reaches for her.
She goes willingly, puts arms around his neck and hands in his hair. “Robb,” she breathes out against his lips and then kisses him. Her fingers tighten, pulling at the strands, as she slips her tongue in his mouth.
Robb is hard against her thigh, and he bites her lip when she sinks down to take his cock inside her. She rides him, her violet eyes never leaving his. He kisses her again as he comes, and when his head clears, he rolls her beneath him, cock slipping out and sliding down her body to put his tongue and teeth to work between her legs.
Later, when they have grown satiated with each other’s bodies, he lies with her head on his chest and his legs on top of hers.
“My King,” she says, smile bright.
“My Queen.”
-
They sit their horses side by side at the heads of their army. The Stark and Targaryen banners flap in the wind, and her crown with the three silver dragons match the three dragons that roar overhead. They are as big as homes now, though Daenerys still fears to use them. For now they will be a force to show.
Winter is coming and bringing fire and blood with it.
They turn South.