Chapter Text
Robbie knew what kind of man his father was by the time he turned seven years old.
But that didn’t make it any easier, when he’d reached the age of sixteen, to stop by his sister Joli’s rooms, and see one of the Kingsguard standing at the door, and hear Jolianne’s panicked shriek from inside.
He’d first learned swordplay from his uncles Loras and Jaime, then some rougher tricks from Aunt Brienne. The Kingsguard knight hesitated for a bare half second, and that was all Robbie needed to get under his arm and knock the man aside. Joli’s door remained unbarred - Robbie burst through it, saw his father, saw his sister, and saw red.
When his vision cleared, his father, King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, lay unconscious upon the floor in a puddle of spilt wine.
The mostly empty pitcher fell from Robbie’s fingers. He grabbed the nearest bit of cloth, a shimmery riding cloak draped carelessly over a chair. Dropped to one knee and wrapped it around Joli’s torso, heart splintering with each of her shuddering, gasping breaths. Once the state of his sister’s torn clothing and reddened skin was sufficiently hidden, Robbie scooped her up to leave. His arms strained a bit at the weight, but everyone said the Crown Prince was large for his age, and strong, taking after his Baratheon grandfather and namesake, while both his sisters were slender golden flowers in their mother’s image.
Regardless, he managed to carry Joli out of her rooms, past the Kingsguard just getting back onto his feet. Past the few nearby servants, too, who’d all frozen when the princess first cried out. But not past Olsei, where she stood at the end of the corridor, eyes wide and hands twisted up in her dress.
“Where’s Mother,” Robbie asked, pausing in front of his little sister. Joli trembled, not lifting her head from his shoulder.
“Garden,” Olsei whispered, still staring up at them. Robbie started onward again, and felt her hand grasp onto the hem of his shirt as she followed.
Their mother turned out not to be in her favored garden, but only because she was sweeping up through the castle to meet them halfway there. Apparently at least one servant managed to keep their head instead of freezing, and went to inform the queen of the- the situation.
Robbie’s pounding heart slowed the instant she reached him, despite the grave look on her face. Queen Margaery swiftly looked over her son and two daughters, intense gaze missing nothing. And then she said, in an airy tone quite at odds with her expression, “My loves, I’ve had a letter from your uncle and grandmother, inviting us to Highgarden for a visit. Won’t that be a charming change of scenery for a time?”
None of them responded. None of them had a chance to respond, rather, because the queen immediately turned and began flowing back the way she’d come - not at a run, nothing so graceless, but in a gliding movement with just enough speed to reach her destination in a timely manner. Robbie couldn’t quite copy it, but he managed to keep pace in her wake regardless, Joli still hiding her silent tears and Olsei practically trodding on his heels with every step.
Unsurprisingly, if one knew his mother, a closed carriage waited at the door they exited from, two anxious servants and a trio of knights in Tyrell armor ready to help them aboard.
No members of the Kingsguard, though.
Only once they were seated and settled and the carriage underway did Joli pick up her head. She blinked twice at their mother, opened her mouth- closed it again, visibly choking back whatever words had tried to escape.
“Oh, my darling,” Margaery murmured. One of her arms remained firmly clasped around Olsei at her side - the other reached out, to stroke some of the loose and tangled hair from Joli’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
A sob managed to tear loose from his sister’s throat. She grabbed their mother’s hand and clung; Robbie tightened his hug, and silently swore King Joffrey would never lay a hand on Jolianne again.
An oath he would keep by cutting both off, if necessary.
They traveled for perhaps two hours before stopping. The carriage paused at the side of the road, nary a tavern nor any other building in sight. Robbie didn’t understand, at first, as he stepped down with Joli clinging to his arm for support. Then he spotted the shabby wagon waiting, with a far drabber horse to pull it and only a single man on the front seat.
“Quickly now,” his mother instructed, slipping on a cloak of plain cloth. Olsei received another, and Robbie helped Joli don hers before wrapping himself in his own. The servants assisted with getting them up into the wagon, where they laid down in the open space between stacks of baskets filled with fresh vegetables, hidden from outside view.
“Ser Kersey will be waiting at the crossroads, your Grace,” one of the knights said over the edge of the wagon. “Do you still wish us to travel all the way to Highgarden?”
“No, I think not - follow the Roseroad as far as Bitterbridge, and then disappear before anyone catches up. With luck, they’ll think we’ve taken to the Mander.”
“Very well, your Grace. Safe travels.”
Robbie waited until they’d begun to move again, Olsei and Joli secure between him and their mother. “Where are we really going? Storm’s End? Casterly Rock?” He could picture the map in his mind, a quick darting route through the Kingswood to the Baratheon seat, or curving up to the Gold Road to race for the Westerlands-
“North.”
Startled, Robbie blinked. He met his mother’s serious gaze over the hoods that hid Joli and Olsei’s heads of golden hair. “North? The North?”
“At least as far as Moat Cailin. After that, I cannot yet say.”
North. The realm of Robb Stark, the Wolf King, whose name Robbie’s great-grandfather Tywin had still cursed even in his deathbed two years before.
...whose name Joffrey still feared, after more than a decade of peace, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.
Slowly, Robbie nodded, and in the shadow of her own hood he saw his mother smile faintly.
A knight dressed in plain clothes did indeed meet them, with a second wagon to change to, filled with sacks of flour rather than vegetables. They left the main road behind for a smaller, rougher track, which gradually grew fainter and fainter until it was nothing more than an impression against the ground, leading down to a small inlet on the shoreline. A fisherman’s boat waited - or perhaps it was a smuggler’s vessel, with the deeper than usual keel and wider sail. Either way, the people who operated it got Robbie and his family out across Blackwater Bay and up around the spur of land that sheltered Duskendale. There, they quietly joined a caravan of merchants, staying hidden in a tiny carriage with Ser Kersey bringing food each day and emptying out the clay chamberpot when necessary. Not pleasant by any means, and Robbie ached to move, to run his sword drills or at least be riding a horse himself, but-
But. Jolianne still hadn’t said a word since they left King’s Landing. Since Robbie wrapped her in that cloak and carried her away from their father. And as long as she clung to Robbie's hand, he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere else.
They reached Maidenpool without incident, leaving the caravan behind for another boat, leaner and swifter. Up the Trident, where the thought niggled that Robbie should try to convince his mother to turn, to take the River Road back west towards Casterly Rock. But he forced the idea aside - no matter how much he knew with utmost certainty that Aunt Brienne and Uncle Jaime would want to protect them, even they couldn’t ignore a direct order from the king.
Which made it even more of a surprise to get off the boat at the Kingsroad bridge, and find a camp of at least twenty Lannister men-at-arms waiting.
His mother went still for one achingly long moment, when she saw the snapping flag of a rampant lion in red and gold. Then she straightened, tipped her chin up, and set off to meet them.
Several men fumbled or nearly tripped over themselves when they spotted her, flowing in a straight line towards that flag, Robbie and Joli and Olsei trailing after. A few calls sounded through the camp; by the time they reached the narrow ring of space around the main tent, Aunt Brienne came striding out of it in full armor.
Even with the ill news her presence foretold, it still eased a weight off Robbie’s shoulders to see her.
Brienne didn’t hesitate to bow to his mother, or step close and murmur quietly in her ear. Then the massive woman came past the queen, opening up her arms to sweep all three royal children into a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry this happened,” she whispered, just for them to hear. Robbie couldn’t bring himself to answer, so he only nodded against her pauldron.
A hand thumped his back. Startled, Robbie twisted enough to see the perpetrator, and almost dropped his jaw. His cousin Duncan grinned back, also wearing armor like Brienne. If Robbie were considered large for his age, Dunk was already massive - eleven years old and fully capable of handling a dozen kinds of weaponry, not to mention the warhorse he’d been gifted with as a name-day present.
Behind Dunk were the twins, Galladon and Tyson, and bouncing behind them was Cattie, youngest of the Lannister children.
The dread in Robbie’s stomach slowly warmed, even as his head hardly dared believed what he was seeing. For Aunt Brienne to bring her eldest son on a hunt for the missing royals was one thing; including her eight year old boys was more of a stretch, though Robbie could still see it as a bit of training without too much danger. But to have her six year old daughter come along as well?
It only meant one thing: Brienne couldn’t possibly be intending to escort them back to King’s Landing.
“Jaime’s gone to try and handle Joffrey,” Brienne informed them, over a small table loaded with bowls of stew and small freshly baked bread rolls. “I told him it was a fool’s errand, that he needed to come north with us, but he refused to run without at least making the attempt.”
A delicate crease formed between Margaery’s eyes. “And does he have an escape plan in mind for afterward?”
“I made sure of that before we left Casterly Rock, your Grace.”
Neither of them acted like Uncle Jaime had the slightest chance of ‘handling’ the king. He’d visited several times since Grandfather Tywin passed away, but never stayed for long, and always left with deeper stress lines in his face than when he’d arrived. Robbie wondered if his great-uncle coming back to King’s Landing as a permanent fixture might have helped prevent his father from lashing out so wildly, but- it didn’t seem likely.
With the lull in conversation, Olsei took a pause from scarfing down her warm stew and spoke. “Are we- are we really going to the Wolf King, then?”
Joli’s expression didn’t change, but her face grew paler. Aunt Brienne immediately stood and came around the table, to crouch between the girls and gently grasp each of their hands. “Robb Stark is far kinder than the stories that linger in your father’s court. He does not eat the bodies of his defeated foes, nor turn into a monstrous creature on nights of the full moon, and he especially does not ever force his way into anyone’s bed.” Robbie saw her squeeze Joli’s hand with that last bit, and gradually the color returned to his older sister’s face.
Thanks to twenty extra protectors plus Brienne and her children, Margaery’s plan of traveling up the Kingsroad in a peddler’s cart was gladly set aside. They set out the same day, everyone on horseback with only a few extra animals carrying rations and other supplies. Joli grimaced but otherwise didn’t complain over the trousers she was given before mounting Cattie’s horse behind the younger girl; Olsei was too ecstatic about getting to ride with Dunk to even blink at her own change of clothes.
Robbie and his mother were each given their own horses, settled inside a ring of armed and armored men to hurry up the Kingsroad. With such a large escort, they’d almost certainly be spotted, word sent back to the king - but if luck were on their side, they could beat any pursuit sent out to block their way from the few towns and keeps in-between the crossroads and Moat Cailin.
Each night they rode until dark before stopping to set up a meager camp; each morning Brienne got everyone moving again as soon as dawn’s light touched the eastern sky. The Green Fork wound away from the road, and soon enough the mountains of the Vale receded as well. Visibility remained high across the marshes of the Neck, the weather holding clear more days than not. Foolish though it may have been, Robbie genuinely thought they could make it without incident.
Then one morning they stirred from camp, rode for perhaps half an hour, and spotted a small host on the road ahead.
Aunt Brienne called a halt, before standing in her horse’s stirrups with Tyson sitting upon her shoulders for a look. He didn’t spot any banners, and only described the waiting group as being dressed in dull clothing.
“They could be wearing armor under cloaks,” the woman said, hefting her youngest son back down and over to the horse he shared with his twin. “Or they could only be wearing leather, but there’s no way to know for certain without getting closer.”
“Well, Lady Brienne,” Robbie’s mother hummed, “I fully trust in your ability to protect us in a fight. Why don’t we go see what they want?”
Robbie swallowed, and loosened his borrowed sword in its sheath.
They proceeded forward at a walk, royal family and Lannister children in the very center of a tight formation. Robbie rode as close to the front as he could, straining to see, to get some glimpse of what they were facing. No shouts went up at their approach; no frenzy of movement that would indicate armed warriors preparing for battle.
Of course, they could just be the bait, the obvious camp on the road to distract from ambushers waiting in the marshes on either side. The thought made Robbie’s stomach lurch, and he almost called for a half himself - but then Aunt Brienne raised a hand at the front of the formation and waved, shouting “Hail, House Reed!”
His mother let out a small, relieved gasp, audible only to Robbie beside her.
One half of the party of crannogmen took their horses off to a hidden field to graze and be looked after. The rest, led by the lady of the house, Meera Reed, escorted them to Greywater Watch. Her floating keep looked like something out of a tale of the First Age, appearing out of the morning mists as it floated in the middle of a wide section of water.
“The secret of our success,” Lady Meera said, offering a hand to help Robbie’s sisters and then himself down into a flat-bottomed boat. “Enemies can’t attack what they cannot find. You’ll be safe here, until your escort to the North arrives.”
“I take it there is an impediment to our riding straight for Moat Cailin?” Margaery asked, delicately seated at the front of the boat.
“Several hundred Freys, unfortunately. They marched up the Kingsroad a few days ago, presumably with orders to find and detain you.”
Robbie made himself take a deep breath, and release it slowly. “The king knows where we’re going, then.” Joli’s hand slipped out from beneath her cloak in order to seize his with a white-knuckled grip.
“You did well to stay hidden, the first several weeks. But once his spies crossed off the expected safe havens, and then the less likely options, that really only left one place.” Lady Meera nodded towards the next boat over, which rode lower in the water than their own thanks to Brienne and her children. “I got word of that one and her cubs waiting with a few men, and figured I’d better send scouts to watch the road.”
“And we are grateful,” Robbie’s mother told her. “I realize it may seem an empty promise, considering all of this, but if there’s ever anything I or my family can do for your House, Lady Reed-”
“Ah, none of that. I’m only doing the decent thing. And besides,” the woman suddenly grinned, “There’ll be a fat purse on its way from the King in the North as soon as he knows we found you. That’s reward enough.”
Greywater Watch wasn’t large compared to the Red Keep, but Robbie still marveled at how the place was built, careful towers and platforms all connected in an eerie if graceful manner. They stayed as guests for three days, eating well and resting - or at least, Robbie’s mother and sisters rested. He spent every moment he could with a sword in his hands, making up for months of little practice, or else lifting rocks at his aunt’s instruction.
“Jaime has the same habit,” Brienne sighed at him, “Trying to go for the swordplay when you need better muscles first.”
“But- you’ll still-”
“Yes, I’ll still teach you the drill Duncan is running, but I want to see another ten sets of lifting this rock over your head, then a proper round of stretching so your arms and legs don’t seize on you.”
On the fourth day, another boat arrived, longer with two crannogmen poling it along instead of just one. Perched in the bow was a young man who waved jauntily as soon as he spotted Robbie and his mother and aunt watching from one of the walls.
“Rheon Greyjoy,” Lady Meera said, joining them. “Decent as far as Ironborn go, even if there are moments I want to dump his cocky self in a peat bog.”
Robbie’s stomach twisted. The eldest of the Wolf King’s bastard children, and the one with the fiercest reputation after him. From the Banefort to the Arbor, there wasn’t a city or keep upon the western coast that didn’t hold a healthy degree of wariness towards Yara Greyjoy’s heir. Even if one knew the Sea Wolf was nearby and did all they could to watch for him, to guard themselves, the young captain could still find a way to steal inside their strongholds and make off with half the wealth present. But only half - rumor claimed he liked to leave something behind to steal on his next visit, whether it was gold or bastard children left on pretty girls.
When the Ironborn strode into the main hall of Greywater, Robbie kept Joli and Olsei firmly tucked behind himself.
“Lady Meera!” the young man in question cried, dropping low in an overly dramatic bow. “How the gods must smile upon me, to provide an excuse to be in your cunning presence once more!”
“Stuff it, Greyjoy.” Even as she said it, Lady Meera sounded amused. “Are you staying the night or setting off right away?”
“Well, much as I would love an extended visit in the wandering keep, my father is rather anxious to see our southern guests safely delivered northward.” The Sea Wolf twisted on his heel, and added some flourishes to an even more ridiculous bow aimed at Robbie’s mother. “As soon as you and the wee ones are packed, your High Graceness, we’ll see you safely escorted to King Robb’s court.”
All the way to Winterfell, then. Robbie kept his face a careful mask, and gripped tight the sword hanging from his belt.
“Thank you, Captain,” his mother replied, “As we have little luggage to pack, I believe we can depart right away.”
Rheon Greyjoy picked his head back up, grinning and clearly about to say some additional impertinent remark, but his gaze caught on Robbie. And his grin turned- puzzled, just slightly, head tipping a little to one side. “-of course. In that case, my men and I will await your arrival at the dock.” Another bow, significantly less ridiculous, and then he left.
That expression stayed in Robbie’s head, as he and his sisters donned their gifted cloaks and made the trek down out of Greywater’s main hall. As Lady Meera offered her farewells, and promised safe passage through the Neck if and when they returned south. While boarding one of the waiting boats, Robbie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a sensation that only came when someone was watching him intently. It used to be standard, in his father’s court. He didn’t at all appreciate its return, after so much time traveling in relative peace.
A furtive glance confirmed Rheon Greyjoy staring at him from the longer boat. Robbie met his gaze, and frowned, as sharply as he knew how. The older youth didn’t look away, or even blink - he just grinned, a slightly softer version than what he’d worn inside the keep.
For the entirety of their journey through the marshes, Robbie kept his eyes firmly away from the Sea Wolf.
Three longboats waited at the Fever, a short river that cut across the top of the Neck almost all the way to Moat Cailin. Rheon welcomed them all aboard, giving his own captain’s cabin to Robbie’s mother and sisters. “You can bunk with them as well, princeling, or take a hammock in the crew’s quarters with the rest of us.”
Robbie glanced at his sisters. “I’ll stay with my family, thank you.”
Which meant, actually, that when the others retired each night, Robbie wrapped himself in a warm wool blanket and laid against the door, sword on the floor beside him. A far cry from his bed in the Red Keep, or even the grass-stuffed mattress he’d used at Greywater, but Robbie could handle the discomfort just fine.
And he thought he’d been handling it with none the wiser, either, until Rheon caught his shoulder one morning, and steered him along the deck to the ship’s bow. “In case you haven’t realized it, princeling, I’ve given the order none of my crew are to touch your sisters or mother.”
Robbie stayed tense under his hand. “In case you haven’t realized it, I’m not about to take any chances.”
The Sea Wolf barked a laugh, letting go and leaning against the railing. “So you’ve got some bite to you after all, eh? Good. But let’s make a couple of things clear: one, no matter who or what I am, Brienne wouldn’t hesitate to gut me if I took a single unwelcome step towards your women-folk. Two, even if she didn’t, my father certainly would the moment he found out about it. And three, I don’t know exactly how wild the tales of my adventures have grown in King’s Landing, but as far as I’m aware I don’t even have one bastard of my own yet, let alone a brood to rival myself and my siblings.”
The humor dropped out of his voice on that last point. Robbie slowly eased how tightly he was gripping his sword. “I still want Jolianne to feel safe.”
Rheon spread his hands. “Well of course you do, but watching her brother and biggest protector crumble from not getting enough rest isn’t exactly going to help with that.”
“...I’m fairly certain Brienne is technically bigger-”
The older boy snorted, and pointed a finger at Robbie’s nose. “You know what I meant. Now come on, the little lions are keeping your sisters well and truly occupied, and you can get at least a few hours sleep in my hammock down below. Keep watch at night all you like, but during daylight hours you need at least some shut-eye.”
Less reluctant, Robbie followed him to the long cabin full of hammocks and sea chests, and let Rheon all but tuck him into bed. If he’d been a little less tired, a little more alert, he might have questioned the captain’s motivations more, or at least where the half-hidden concern was stemming from, but as it stood, all Robbie could do was curl up in the hammock’s embrace and immediately drop to sleep.
The ships made good time, out of the Fever and into the narrow bay called Saltspear. They didn’t go so far as the river that would lead up to Torrhen’s Square; rather, Rheon turned them north sooner, towards Barrowton, where Lord Dermont Ryswell and his wife Lady Wylla welcomed them with open arms.
“I’ve heard it said Ryswell learned to how to properly fuck from my father,” Rheon mentioned casually, one night when he was sharing a bit of wine after dinner with Robbie, who promptly choked into his goblet. “And he and his wife have welcomed the king into their bedchamber a few times over the years - you notice how their daughter’s got a different shape to her face than their son?”
Just getting his throat clear again, Robbie frowned, and shook his head.
“Hasn’t been openly acknowledged, but I’d bet a ship’s worth of silver she’s one of my half-siblings.”
The coughing started up again.
Rheon just smirked, and waited until Robbie got a clean breath in before continuing. “It’s become good luck in the North, to have one of the king’s children in your household. There’s the main pack up in Winterfell, ‘course, but I’m better than most at spotting the few who live elsewhere. Always some detail, in the face or the eyes.”
Robbie, who could always see his mother in the faces of his sisters, nodded an acknowledgement of that statement.
“I can see it in you, too.”
He’d been quite warm, between the wine and the fire in the hearth of the sitting room they occupied. But those seven little words turned Robbie cold in an instant. “...what?”
“Spotted it the moment I first really looked at you, in Lady Meera’s hall,” Rheon went on. “It’s not a close enough resemblance for anyone in the south to have noticed, I reckon, especially if they’ve never seen King Robb or only met him briefly. But don’t think there won’t be those who notice up here, who start spreading rumors.” The older boy looked uncharacteristically serious, as he reached to take the mostly empty goblet from Robbie’s slack fingers. “And when those rumors hit King’s Landing, well. That cunt Joffrey doesn’t seem the type to dismiss gossip about someone he’s already furious with.”
She’d never-
Robbie could remember, all throughout his childhood, times his mother sighed during Jolianne’s temper tantrums, saying you are your father’s daughter, or moments she’d stroke a hand over Olsei’s hair with the comment so beautiful, just like your grandmother.
But.
She’d never said anything like that to Robbie.
Never drew any comparisons between him and Joffrey, or Uncle Tommen, or Great-Uncle Jaime. None of the same remarks from other people mentioning his grandfather, King Robert, or anyone else from the Baratheon line.
He’d noticed, after a time, and thought his mother must only be trying to avoid the idea Robbie could turn out anything like his- like his father-
Hands gripped his shoulders, tugging him partway out of his chair, and Robbie only realized he was struggling to breath when abruptly pressed against a chest making exaggerated in-and-out movements. “Come on now, get ahold of yourself,” Rheon murmured, wrapping around him. “If anyone walks in here to find me standing over your passed out self, we are going to have problems, and I don’t need that when half my crew are too drunk to make it back to the longboats.”
A more than slightly hysterical laugh crackled out of Robbie’s throat. But he managed to match his breathing to Rheon’s, and got in enough air to cease panicking. “You’re- sure?”
“Mmhm. That chin and cheekbones, certainly. You’ve got the same angle to your brow, too - lucky your hair came out like your mother’s, because a shade more red and you’d have been fucked.”
Robbie wheezed.
“Definitely explains why Father wrote and asked me to make certain you all got up here safely,” Rheon mused. “I mean. He’d snap up any opportunity to get one over on the southern cunts regardless, but asking me personally to handle the escort seemed a bit odd. Now then- either you’re going to drink another few rounds with me, or I’m dumping your arse into bed, which is it going to be?”
He’d have loved to get truly, properly drunk for the first time in his life, and possibly forget the entire conversation and revelation by morning. But- that would mean a hangover, and not being able to watch over his sisters, and putting off a conversation Robbie absolutely needed to hold with his mother. So he croaked out “Bed,” and let Rheon haul him up with an arm around the older boy’s shoulders, to be dragged into the private bedchamber and once more practically tucked in by fussing hands.
When he put the question to his mother after breakfast, she only sighed and gestured for him to sit. “I thought we could at least make it to Winterfell before this came up.”
Robbie dropped into the chair with a thump.
“It should come as no surprise to you,” Margaery continued, “That Joffrey was... displeased, after Jolianne was born. Especially as Robb already had three sons, from three different women. Joffrey made it clear, he needed a male heir, and if I were to prove unfit for the task he’d see me replaced by another bride from my house.”
Swallowing, Robbie nodded.
“So I put an idea in his head - to host a tourney, practically within sight of the North, and invite King Robb to attend. Joffrey loved it, of course, because either Robb would come and he could kill him, or Robb wouldn’t, and everyone would call him a coward.”
Neither of which happened, of course. Robbie knew the story, even whispered as it was in King’s Landing - that the Wolf King came sneaking south in a fleet of Ironborn longboats, seized the Twins and everyone inside as hostages, appeared like a wraith on the tourney grounds and neatly usurped control of the entire proceedings. All because- because-
“Did you- arrange things, with him? Beforehand?”
“No, of course not. But I snuck into his tent the first night and laid out my problem, and Robb felt all too happy to assist me in my hour of need.” His mother’s face took on a distant, satisfied look, and Robbie felt his own grow hot with embarrassment. “It turned out to be quite the pleasant endeavor, truth be told. The stories at the time did not do him justice-”
“Mother.”
She only laughed, a lighter sound than he’d heard since they were still at home, before the world upended itself. “I’m sorry, darling, but I’ve never actually been able to talk about it before.”
“...does anyone else know?”
The humor disappeared, and she leaned forward to grasp his hands. “I’ve only ever told your uncle Loras. I needed his help, to pull it off, but we’ve never said a word since. And I sincerely doubt Robb shared the tale either, certainly not with anyone outside his immediate family.”
His very large family, Robbie knew. It made him a bit light-headed to consider it, actually. He certainly was no stranger to relatives visiting - Brienne and Jaime and their children of course, but also his grandmother Cersei and uncle Loras with their son Rennan, Aunt Myrcella and her Dornish daughters, plus his uncle Tommen and cousin Shireen, whom Robbie hadn’t seen in years.
(That was the last big scandal, just after grandfather Tywin died - when Shireen visited King’s Landing for the funeral proceedings, and the king made several cruel remarks in front of the entire court. No one could speak up in the moment, but rumors ran rampant the following day, that Prince Tommen had gone to his brother afterward and demanded an apology, or challenged him to a duel, or some other fanciful act of defending Shireen’s honor, only to be soundly beaten by two members of the Kingsguard and cast out of the Red Keep entirely.
Shireen and the members of her household quietly packed their things, collected Tommen, and departed to Storm’s End. A letter six months later announced their small wedding ceremony, and only a few weeks before Robbie attacked the king, there’d been another with word Shireen was expecting a child.
Joyful news, as Robbie loved both his soft-spoken uncle and quiet cousin. But also sorrowful, in a way, as he’d grown up betrothed to Shireen, a woman fifteen years his senior, and Robbie regretted she’d been forced to wait so long before receiving a bit of welcome happiness.)
And yet, for all that he possessed a technically large number of relations... Robbie couldn’t even begin to picture the scope of Robb Stark’s immediate family, his mother and sisters and brothers, his several unofficial wives, a full dozen children all living in the same castle to say nothing of the rest scattered throughout the North - and beyond, as well.
“I’m not- I can’t-” He couldn’t begin to articulate the growing fear in his belly - couldn’t even name what it really was, even. But somehow his mother looked and saw it regardless, saw the anxious dismay coiling through him, and stood to step close, to pull Robbie into the tightest embrace she could manage.
“We’ll be alright, my darling,” she whispered. “Everything will be alright.”
Rheon came with them northeast across the Barrowlands, with a dozen of his crew and the twenty Lannister men. He contrived to be as entertaining as possible, regaling Olsei and Brienne’s children with fanciful tales, leading his Ironborn in a series of shanty songs, even making outrageous boasts to draw wry smiles to Joli’s face.
Robbie appreciated it, even if there were moments he wanted to knock the older boy into a pile of horse shit for being too bawdy or irreverent.
All during their swift flight from King’s Landing, he and his mother had been listening for news from the capitol, rumors about Joffrey’s movements, what sort of pursuit they needed to be wary of. Never in that time did Robbie think about where else such rumors could travel.
Northward, as became obvious in hindsight, thanks to Rheon showing up at his- their- his father’s request. But apparently even beyond Westeros as well.
They’d only been back on the Kingsroad for a day and a half when a huge shadow crossed the ground, and a brassy shriek split the sky.
“Completely irresponsible,” Brienne halfway shouted, stalking back and forth in front of three comparatively tiny figures, “Up and leaving without a word to your families, commandeering an entire dragon, not giving poor Podrick a choice between coming along or abandoning his duty-!”
“I think this is the most impressive tongue-lashing I’ve ever witnessed,” Rheon commented with an absent sort of awe. Dunk just grinned, proud of his mother’s verbal prowess when her ire got unleashed on someone else instead of himself, while Robbie fought the urge to bury his head in his hands and not come back out.
Thirteen year old Rhaemon Targaryen, elder son and heir of the Dragon Queen Daenerys, yet another of King Robb's children, managed to pull off an admirable attempt at keeping his expression blank, but still twitched with deep dismay every time Brienne’s voice hardened on particular words. His younger brother Taegon looked highly unnerved by the reprimands, half ready to bolt if Brienne should only turn her back long enough. Only little Tysha seemed unbothered, frowning in a put-upon manner as she waited for the lecture to cease. In-between the two boys in age but shortest of the three, she kept darting glances towards Cattie and the twins hovering nearby, clearly eager to meet the cousins she’d only ever known through letters that made their way between Jaime Lannister and his brother Tyrion in Essos.
Beyond the trio and Robbie’s aunt, a real live dragon sprawled across the ground, wings extended to soak up as much sunlight as possible. Viserion, it was called, by the man who’d rather unwillingly made the journey upon its back with three children who got it in their heads to go have an Adventure. They wouldn’t possibly have made it, just the four of them and several bags of supplies all carried by a single beast - except that Queen Daenerys had been visiting Braavos when word arrived of Robbie and his mother and sisters vanishing, which made for a much shorter trip when her sons and their closest confidant decided to borrow a dragon to cross the Narrow Sea.
“-and don’t think for an instant you’ll be able to pack up and gallivant off again, either! You’re here and you’re going to stay here under my watch until either King Robb arranges to send you back or Queen Daenerys comes to fetch you herself!” Both Targaryen boys flinched at that, and even Tysha grimaced.
Robbie found himself grimacing along with the short girl - his former fear of seeking sanctuary with the Wolf King was nothing compared to the terror inspired by the possibility of meeting the Mother of Dragons in person.
“She’s actually quite pleasant,” Rheon informed him later, after Brienne finally let her horde of children descend upon the newcomers and the older boy needled him into opening up. “Mother refused to let me go see the dragons the first time Aunt Dany visited, in case Winterfell got burned to the ground, but after Taegon came along she stopped worrying so much.”
“...the more I hear about your mother, the more I wonder if she’s the smartest or most insane person in all of Westeros.”
Rheon just threw his head back and laughed.
Robbie’s mother greeted the Targaryen princes with all due grace, and even smiled warmly at Tyrion Lannister’s daughter. Jolianne remained silent through the introductions, only stiffly bowing her head where appropriate.
Olsei far outstripped them both in enthusiasm, barely waiting to ask if she could pet the dragon.
Rhaemon promptly brightened and agreed. Margaery managed to gently dissuade him from immediately leading her younger daughter off to the beast, but that only led to an offer to let Olsei ride with him on Viserion the following day.
“It’ll be fine,” the man who’d come with them said - Ser Podrick Payne, he introduced himself. “The dragons know what they’re doing too well to let any passengers fall off. And as long as she only approaches him with Rhae, Viserion won’t hurt her.”
The reassurance did not succeed in making Robbie feel better.
Seven year old Taegon swiftly became fast friends with Cattie, the pair soon running about with a matched set of tree-branch swords. Brienne kept her gaze on them the most often, though she did begrudgingly agree to let all her children take turns on Viserion’s back throughout their remaining trek to Winterfell. Robbie watched anxiously each time the dragon went up in the air, and didn’t relax until it came back down again, minutes or hours later depending on the particular passengers.
The only child who didn’t seem eager to go flying repeatedly was little Tysha. The dwarf girl instead remained close to Ser Podrick’s shadow, watching everything that went on with the horses and small amounts of baggage, asking questions of anyone who lingered nearby for more than a minute at a time.
“Did you really hit Joffrey over the head with a pitcher of wine?”
‘Anyone’ usually being Robbie.
That particular question made him wince, but nod. Tysha’s face lit up with delight. “Did you do that instead of using a sword, or was it the only thing you had to use?”
“The latter,” Robbie muttered. He didn’t pick up the habit of constantly wearing a sword on his belt until Aunt Brienne loaned him one; a mistake in hindsight. If he’d been properly armed that day, Robbie could have simply killed his- killed the king, and avoided a great deal of stressful travel.
“What kind of wine was it?”
Instead of answering, Robbie huffed. “You are a very odd child.”
Tysha nodded, as if he’d paid her a compliment. “Father says I come by it honestly.”
“I bet you do.”
The day they expected to reach Winterfell, a trio of riders met their party coming down the Kingsroad. A trio of riders, and a trio of Dire wolves.
Several horses balked, when the massive animals came loping up, tongues lolling and tails wagging. Olsei was up in the air with Viserion and Rhaemon, which left only Jolianne for Robbie to check. She’d grown pale the moment the wolves appeared, gloved fingers gripping tight to the reins of her horse. With a few neat presses of his legs, Robbie managed to make his own mount sidestep closer, and reached to rest a hand against her shoulder. Their eyes met; Joli offered a strained smile, and twitched her head in a tiny nod.
“Queen Margaery,” Brienne said at the front of their party, voice already exasperated, “May I present Prince Brandon Stark, Lord Robert Bolton, and Lady Elia Snow, who should know better than to be out here by themselves.”
A far cry from the grand introductions of the southern court, but the three youths only looked amused. “Welcome to the North, your Grace,” the tallest of them spoke, nudging his own shaggy horse further ahead of the other two. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Robbie’s mother gave him a shallow bow from her saddle. “Thank you, Prince Brandon. My children and I are looking forward to seeing Winterfell for the first time. I’m afraid my youngest is still somewhere aloft with Prince Rhaemon and his dragon, but may I present Princess Jolianne and Prince Robert Baratheon?”
The northern royals looked them over, and Robbie saw the instant Lady Elia’s eyes widened with surprise. Lord Bolton’s brows rose a moment later from the same realization, but Prince Brandon- didn’t actually look at Robbie. His gaze remained on Joli, and his next words addressed her directly. “I’m sorry for the pain you’ve endured, your Highness. I swear that Winterfell will remain a sanctuary as long as you require it, and no one will be permitted to make you feel uncomfortable during your stay.”
Jolianne stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in her face. And Robbie started, a moment later, when his sister opened her mouth and quietly replied, “Thank you, your Highness.”
The words came out in a soft rasp, but they were more than enough to send both Margaery and Brienne’s heads swiftly around with shock, a ripple of the same emotion passing through the men around them, who’d not heard the girl speak in all their time traveling. Brandon’s siblings clearly caught the reactions, both of them watching with a wary confusion, but the crown prince himself only smiled, his attention still wholly focused on Joli.
By the time they all got moving down the road again, Rheon maneuvered his way up to Robbie’s side, grinning like a cat that had just stolen a fish feast. “Well, I for one did not see that coming, but it certainly bodes well, doesn’t it?”
Robbie could only shrug, still reeling from the unexpected development.
“So if those two end up getting on, what do you think I should steal for your sister’s wedding gift?”
With a sigh, Robbie shifted in his saddle, brought up a foot, and shoved at Rheon’s torso hard enough to almost knock the older boy over. With a bit of flailing and undignified yelping, Rheon managed to keep his seat - which was mildly disappointing, but still a good few moments of entertainment.
They could see the walls of Winterfell itself before too long, and rode in through the main gates a little after midday. Prince Brandon and his closest siblings led the way with their barking wolves, then Brienne and Margaery with Joli between them, followed by Brienne’s children with Podrick, Tysha, and Taegon in the mix, and finally Robbie and Rheon, with the rest of their escort filing along after. A rather large crowd waited around the edges of the courtyard - servants and merchants, Northern lords and their families. And the biggest family of all gathered upon the steps leading up into the keep, each wearing fine fur-lined cloaks and boots, elegant crowns marking the most important pair front and center.
Rheon needed to give Robbie a thump on the back to remind him to breathe after they’d dismounted.
Aunt Brienne once more stepped forward, giving a brief bow to the assembled Starks as Brandon, Bolton, and Elia slipped up to join their parents. Rheon sauntered forward as well, followed by Robbie’s mother and sister in a more sedate manner. Robbie himself missed most of the introductions that went ‘round, just trying to stop over-thinking. It wasn’t until his mother made a small gesture that he jolted back to himself, and hurried to her side.
“-and my son, Crown Prince Robert Baratheon,” Margaery said right as he reached her. Swallowing, Robbie bobbed his own barely acceptable bow, and chanced a glance upward.
King Robb looked... warm. So did his wife, Queen Talisa. Both the women on either side of them - one older and silver-headed, clearly Lady Catelyn for whom Brienne’s daughter was named, the other with bright red hair braided in a tight circlet, who could only be the infamous Lady Sansa - were rapidly glancing between Robbie and the king with growing suspicion.
“You are all most welcome,” Robb Stark said, unaware or at least ignoring the looks from his mother and sister. “We’ve prepared rooms and fresh clothes, and I hope you will be willing to take dinner with my family this evening.”
“Thank you, your Grace, that’s very kind.”
Viserion touched down outside the keep after not much longer, and Olsei came practically skipping into their new quarters, escorted by the king and queen themselves.
Robbie jerked upright in the chair where he’d dropped after changing into clean tunic and trousers. His mother paused, coming out of her bedchamber, and Joli froze in the midst of weaving her long hair into a quick braid.
“Mother,” Olsei chirped, rushing to seize Margaery’s hands, “Queen Talisa said we can visit her seamstresses to get new wardrobes, with Volantene silk and the colors are beautiful, Mother, can we go look? Please?!”
In King’s Landing, Robbie’s little sister would have quietly waited a moment before making the request, idle as if it weren’t very important, all the better to escape notice and derisive comment from Joffrey. Traveling with their Lannister cousins and then Rheon and most recently the Targaryen boys had loosened Olsei’s tongue and gifted her a brightness Robbie almost didn’t recognize.
“Why don’t you and Joli have some fun with that,” Margaery replied, smiling and kissing the girl’s brow. “I think I’m going to be a touch too busy for the moment, but you can show me all that you like tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes!” Olsei cheered. She immediately latched onto Jolianne, who darted quick glances at both their mother and Robbie. They each nodded, and her shoulders eased, before trailing out the door with Queen Talisa. Robbie heard the Volantene woman begin to compliment Joli’s hair as they disappeared up the corridor, before King Robb shut the door with a sigh.
The man looked to Robbie’s mother first. “I’ve already told Brienne this - Arya is in King’s Landing, and we received a raven from her yesterday. Joffrey’s planning to execute Jaime for conspiracy against the crown.”
Still perched on the edge of his seat, that statement brought Robbie entirely to his feet.
“Not for some weeks yet,” King Robb went on quickly. “He wants to allow time for spectators to flock to the city, but that’s to our advantage more than anything. Arya says she has options, and is willing to wait to hear your preferences before proceeding.”
“I’m afraid we’ve been rather slow to hear any news while traveling,” Margaery said slowly. “Has my husband made any pronouncements we should be aware of?”
“Well, he’s decided to annul your marriage, first and foremost. And to declare all your children bastards not of royal blood, which neatly removes the taint of his attempt to rape Princess Jolianne.” The words came out sharp, with a disdain that clearly said what Robb Stark thought of Joffrey’s decisions. “He wants her and your other daughter returned alive, but there’s a hundred dragon reward for your head. And two hundred for your son,” the man added, finally shifting to look at Robbie himself. “I don’t think Joffrey much appreciated taking a wine pitcher to the head.”
It felt like his throat was swelling shut, but Robbie still choked out, “Then he- shouldn’t- have touched her-”
“Darling-” Despite rapidly blurring vision, he could see his mother start to reach for him, until a dark shape filled his vision instead. A broad hand curled around the back of his neck, a solid, anchoring weight, exactly what Robbie needed to try and get himself under control.
“It’s alright,” the king holding him murmured. “It’s alright. I didn’t mean to give you such a shock, and it’s alright not to handle it well.”
Pain tore through, a blinding cry of didn’t he care about us at all, which emerged from Robbie’s throat in a desperate, inarticulate sound. Hands clenched into shaking fists, he let himself slump forward. King Robb held him up easily, that hand never leaving his neck, while the other curled around his shoulders. Robbie felt slender fingers thread through his hair, heard his mother say, “He knows. Rheon noticed when he came to fetch us in the Neck, and revealed it in Barrowton.”
“I’m surprised he waited that long,” the king said dryly. “Bert tried to ask, upstairs, and if he’s realized then Elia certainly has as well, and half of Winterfell will be aware by dinnertime.”
Robbie shuddered through taking a deep breath. “Sorry.”
Immediately, the arms around him shifted, broad hands adjusting to cup both sides of his face so that Robbie had no choice but to lift his head and meet Robb Stark’s intense gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Robert,” the man insisted. “Any man should be glad to call you his son, all the more so because of the honor with which you’ve chosen to conduct yourself. Do not for an instant think you need to hold the blame for any wrong-doing here.”
His vision tried to go blurry again, but at least his throat cooperated. “Robbie. My- my family calls me Robbie.”
And even through the tears, he saw his father smile.