001 | video

[wolvesremain]

[ When the feed begins, only the side of a boy's face can be seen; blue eye wide but drowsy from lack of sleep, pale skin, and a peek of a mess of auburn hair. He looks young, but weathered. His attention isn't on the camera, though, and when he speaks, it's to address someone else entirely. ]

That isn't yours. [ The camera jostles as he reaches

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[wolvesremain]

[ Robb may not have been lost without Sansa, Arya, and Jon, but he certainly wouldn't wish to be without them. Not again. It's still a bit surreal for him to be speaking with her face to face. The last he heard from her specifically was by raven and in her own penmanship, but in the queen's words. To see her here now wearing that smile he could easily recall from their days in Winterfell... Well.

There's a chuckle for her words, lighter in nature than it's been in what feels like ages. ] I would hope to glut myself on all of your company as well, if possible. So, I suppose it will be mutual. It's been so long since we've all found ourselves in the same place and spent time together.

[ The way in which he says it is clumsy in nature, the eagerness for family taken precedence for the moment. Once Sansa squeezes his hand, he returns it gently. He would follow her anywhere she lead at this point and even Grey Wind seems to realize this as he seats himself within their line of sight. ]

It has been a while since I've seen her. She returned to Riverrun, last I was told. [ And released the Kingslayer, as well, hoping for the return of both Sansa and Arya in exchange. ] If I am in need of anything, dearest sister, it is your company. I would like to hear how you've faired as well.

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[practiced]

[ Sansa has already decided: she will not leave Robb's side again. Not for anything, there is no need greater to her than her nearness, having already made the mistake once in her eagerness to travel south to King's Landing. She remembers still, how fervently she had begged her mother to entreat their lord father with her case; a lion to wed, a queenly crown to don - how could have Sansa (young, silly, foolish Sansa) ever resisted? But those had been the follies of youth and Sansa, older now, endeavors to never transgress against her own blood again.

His question vexes her, though, and so her smile flags. It would not do to lie to him now, so soon after their reunion, but Sansa feels shame - burning hot and bright in her cheeks - as she remembers the insults suffered beneath Lannister hands, the cruelties she knew under Joffrey's unkind thumb. She stops in their path, fingers tightening around Robb's, so tight that Sansa fears her hand might shake.

Instead of answering - her brother would be know only anger to hear it, and regret that he had spared her no morsel of her suffering - Sansa averts her eyes and shakes her head dumbly.

What is past is past. ]

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[wolvesremain]

[ Sansa's silence tells him more than a simple response ever could. Combined with the flush of her cheeks and the way she's gripping his hand, worry quickens his heart until he can hear the beat of it even in his ears. He could entertain various ways to make the Lannisters suffer and he has done so, often and vividly in his anger and hurt, but right now his little sister is standing before him, more vulnerable than she'd be during their reunion.

But he knows, as sure as he knows the blood that flows within his veins, that if he finds they've harmed her in any sort of way, it will only deepen his thirst for their suffering.

With a deep breath, he turns to face her, never once even thinking of pulling his hand from hers as he allows her to squeeze it. ]

Sansa- [ He starts, tone softer than it's ever been as he lifts his free hand to touch her jawline, eyes full of concern and the need to protect her. ] I will not press you to speak of it, but I will entreat you to. What has happened has already taken place, but I swear to you that it will never happen again.

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[practiced]

[ She had spoken of the Lannisters to Jon only for a moment and, in that moment, had let the madness take her. It had been enough to shock Jon Snow to wonder, his eyes growing wide as she felt her brow lower and her voice grow sharp; but it had been weakness, a mistake like all the others in that she could not let it happen again. Whatever rage lay inside her, Sansa willed it to quietness, forcing it to find satisfaction in this place and the reprieve of peace and togetherness it offered. Suffering and anger were meant for times of war and, as far as Sansa could tell, the war could not touch them here.

Sansa presses her face again into Robb's hand and, again, her eyes begin to hurt though this time Sansa does not cry. There is no fierceness in her voice when she speaks, no wolf - not like when she'd exchanged words with her half-brother. Instead there is a note of sadness, a little bird's lament, like wings crushed under the tread of barbarous boots. ]

He was not kingly, Robb, [ she tells him. No, not kingly at all. ] And his Guard, they were not knights.

[ It was not one hand that had punished Sansa, but many, and for all manner of things. Sometimes, there had been no reason at all, only her name and her blood, her brother's battles. ]

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[wolvesremain]

[ Robb could reassure her that Joffrey and his Guard will suffer for all the pain they've inflicted on Sansa, their family, and the many other tarnished houses they've left in their wake, but words so harsh are not meant for a lady's ears. Robb had learned that at a very young age from the lips of their father, no doubt, and it had stuck ever since. He does not wish to scare her or hurt her even further. If he did, he'd never forgive himself.

The look on her face, the fight that's left her eyes, and the way she presses into his had very nearly breaks his heart. She's strong, he reminds himself though he knows so already. It's something he could never forget, something he reminded himself of in a sort of mantra everyday she was behind Lannister walls.

But that doesn't stop him from pulling her into another embrace with one arm, unwilling to let go of her hand. ]

They will never touch you again, dear sister. Not while I breathe.

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[practiced]

[ They may never touch her again but some wounds, Sansa fears, will never heal. Instead of scars, they stand open and bleeding - still - permanent welts that mar the surface of a once pristine heart. He had not been there when they'd forced their lord father upon his knees; he had not heard the shouts of traitor, nor the rise that rose up from the crowd as Sansa swayed and pitched into blackness. They are memories that will never be scoured from her mind, though time and politesse would look to cover them.

Nor should I forget. It was my wrong that lead him there. Let me be haunted, always, Sansa thinks as she leans against her brother's side. It is good to lean; she had forgotten what it was like to have something or someone to lean against, to know the support of something other than her own uncertain feet. As delicate and fineboned as she is, even the full brunt of her weight is but feather-light. ]

I believe it. [ When she looks at her brother again, some of that sadness has fallen away again. Though Sansa does not smile, her voice is earnest. ] There is nothing that would look to separate us here. There are no lions among the lost. Nor stags- [ She hesitates, and then adds: ] -nor krakens.

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[wolvesremain]

[ Robb lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when Sansa leans her slight weight against his side. The feeling is almost foreign now, but provides for him a familiar sense of warmth and love he hasn't felt in a long time. Duty, honor, and loyalty are cold, rigid things and at the mercy of whims, he's found. But family is an entirely different animal and now that he he's found it again (or has it found him?), he's unlikely to let it go voluntarily.

The mention of krakens, however, brings some of that tension back and it's obvious. And when she mentions them, he finds he can't look her in the eye. It was his fault, there was no avoiding that. He trusted Theon with a task better suited to anyone else. Theon, the ward he'd grown up with, the one he called brother, had brought Winterfell and those of his blood more pain than he thought the other man was capable of. ]

Something to be thankful for, dear sister. [ With that, he meets her eyes though he knows his gaze is that of a king scorned and less of the boy she grew up with. Once he realizes his error, he smooths away the harshness. It was my folly, and my folly alone. Forgiveness comes to those who deserve it, and surely I am not counted among them.

There's a small squeeze to her hand that he hopes is reassuring, but highly doubts it is. When he speaks again, his tone is much gentler and entreating: ] I've no knowledge of what's brought us here, but I am grateful for it.

There is something I wish to speak with you about. [ His words are uncertain. As his sister, she should be happy to hear he'd wed, shouldn't she? But he'd broken an oath in doing so. That he was certain she would not be pleased to hear. One step at a time. ] When we took The Crag, I was wounded. An arrow to my shoulder, to be precise.

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[practiced]

[ Sansa sees that tension flicker across her brother's face - a tightening of his jaw, a clench - and now it is her turn to reach for his cheek, the rough paper of his stubble scraping audibly against the soft inside of her palm. Were she capable of granting absolution she would do it now, though Sansa knows that she is far from able. She herself is not blameless, her own soul bent double with the weight of lingering guilt; she had placed the Lannisters paramount in her esteem, having been so easily blinded by the gilded glint of lion's gold and taken in by the sweetness of the queen's lies.

In her heart, Sansa had betrayed her own blood, and so she suffered in the knowledge that she lived and others hadn't, others who had done no wrong beyond be born, be innocent, and be honorable. Their lord father, their sweet brothers. It is wrong that a lying little bird should survive while wolves - proper wolves - die.

Theon Greyjoy was no wolf but he had been like an elder brother to Robb and Sansa, holding her own brother in such high esteem, found it impossible to fault him in that. There is some of this opinion in the way that she looks at him now with both compassion and forgiveness; she brushes her thumb across his cheek and in that gesture recalls their mother, who was once want to soothe her children in such a manner. Surety and strength, grace and graciousness, and above all: love.

Kings, Sansa imagines, must keep themselves from such kindnesses, must shore themselves up with nobility and duty instead. Cold mistresses, each. But I will never hold these things from you, Robb, no matter how brightly your winter crown shines. He had been her brother before he was Lord of Winterfell, before he was King in the North; and irregardless of how the gods see fit to move them, he will be her brother still, even beyond the last of their days. ]

Gods be good, [ she murmurs again, in agreement.

Sansa's face grows attentive at the mention of possible news, though she is quick to relinquish herself from his embrace when he mentions his wounded shoulder. Concern and worry find a place in her features as she reaches for his elbow, his arm, but cannot bring herself to touch them. Had her embrace been too fierce? Was he in pain? ] Are you hurt? You must tell me, Robb, and tell me now. I will fetch whomever you need-

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[wolvesremain]

[ When Sansa reaches for him, but doesn't touch him, he brings his hand to hers in a gesture he's hoping - wishing - is much more reassuring than his words had been. And with his hand, he holds hers in a warm, but gentle grip.

Robb wants to smile, to take her into his arms, and share what should be wonderful news of the love he's found. But the chance of her being disappointed worries him and she surely will be as he failed to go about it the most honorable way.

She would love Jeyne; bright, kind, and gentle Jeyne. But Jeyne isn't here and all he can do is try his best to keep her reputation untarnished without lying to his sister. ]

The wound has since healed. The Lady Jeyne Westerling holds my gratitude for that. [ A pause as he tries to smile, his cheeks warming with the slight flush only adoration and love can bring. ] And my heart.

[ But he needs to explain, he knows. That smile dims as quickly as it came and his hold on her hands loosens as if he's preparing for her to snatch it away. ] She comforted me when news of our brothers arrived. We wed the very next day.

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[practiced]

[ 'And my heart.'

Sansa's eyes grow wide with both happiness and amazement at the words. My dear brother's heart, she thinks, the sentiment filling her with something close to exultation. It is only right you should know company, or else stoop so low beneath such a weight. Revenge and honor, they so heavy hang. She is to say something, to wish him congratulations and well-wishing of the most earnest kind, but then Robb speaks of marriage and her hand twitches within his. That wonder in her expression collapses in on itself, not far but fast, an almost imperceptibly slight buckle that changes celebration to confusion; but Sansa does not pull away. She sees the dimming in her brother's smile, the hesitation that lingers in her eyes.

It reminds Sansa of how very young they still are, that even a lord - no, a king - may house an unruly heart. It makes her love her brother even more, makes her love that flaw because it reminds Sansa she, too, may have flaws and still be worthy of sympathy or love.

He has broken an oath, yes, has turned his back on his own betrothal but it would be hypocrisy for Sansa to judge this, given how she had prayed night and day to forsake her own hand to Joffrey. The Frays were not of honorable blood, the First of their Name was a questionable man, and though part of Sansa is glad that her brother will never wed one of his daughters, the first words blurted gracelessly out of her mouth are: ]

A Westerling?

[ Sansa knows of all the houses, whom they are sworn to, the bannermen they keep. ]

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[wolvesremain]

[ Sansa is taking it much better than Robb anticipated, that's for certain. Though, he's unsure she's fully aware of the folly he's made. But then, it's Sansa. If anyone, Robb thinks she might understand.

The heart wants what the heart wants and Robb is young. His youth has crippled him in the presence of something so beautiful and so simple as love, and it has taken the logical portion of his honor. Logically, he should have acted the gentleman and lord rather than the boy. Logically, logically, logically. Robb's found his heart holds no such ideals in the face of love. ]

They are of better blood than the Freys, dear sister. She is sweet and kind. [ From his words, it's obvious it's an old thought. He's run it through his head so many times, looking for the justification of a lord and not a boy. ] You would like her, I suspect.

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[practiced]

But- [ Her sympathy is tempered by the thought: ] Their banners fly beneath Lannister red. They are sworn to-

[ Sansa holds her tongue. Robb had been sworn too, and Sansa and so many others. Oaths bear a certain heaviness of course, demand a certain respect, but the breaking of oaths had revealed itself to be the breath of the world - the very thing that made life and intrigue thrum in its veins. Not honor, not duty.

It had been a difficult lesson for Sansa to learn at the time. One of many.

Sansa feels her face prickle and, for a moment, that quickening madness warms her cheeks to a feverish flush. The Lannisters should never touch what is ours, a voice tells her, a voice that is her own but unrecognizable to Sansa. Nor their bannermen, nor any that bend a knee.

It is a far cry from the reaction Sansa would have given a year ago, which would no doubt have been much more lofty and prim. But distance and time and longing has done much to temper the chill that once ran through Sansa Stark's veins. That icy look of disdain, the tipped chin of snobbery - these are things that still linger in her if she wishes to call upon them, but that desire is no longer as loud or as persistant as it once was. Homesickness and suffering first choked her and then set something to spark inside her breast and - perhaps hidden, in a small cove in her heart that not even Sansa can see - the wolf's blood she has spent all her life smothering with courtesy, that Tully fire that bleeds through her red hair and grants her some morsel of her lady mother's strength.

But Sansa shakes her head, like a small bird looking to rid its feather of freshly fallen snow, and that redness in her face quiets to back to rose, that quickening of her pulse slows again. Again, sympathy finds its way to Sansa's face and she reaches for her brother now, both hands coming to cup his face, much like their mother once did upon a long-held reunion. ]

You are touched by love, [ she says, and yes there is wonder shaping he words, but that amazement is overshadowed by something like pity.

Honor made no place for love. And her brother would suffer for it, just as they all had when it came calling for their father. ]