Game of Thrones - One Shots/Imagines (Completed)

Robb Stark X Reader - The King Maker's Daughter (Requested)

You were used to two types of interaction. The first were the people who would avoid you, scared of your Father and the power he held in Westeros. The other were those who would try to get close to you to attempt to sap off of the wealth he had earned in his lifetime. Of course, you had learnt to weed out those who were close to you for your money, leaving you rather lonely in your home.

When your father mentioned that he was thinking of backing Robb Stark, you thought he had gone mad. He was a boy, not much older than yourself, not a King. But your Father was not called the King Maker for nothing. He had been the reason Robert Baratheon had ever been placed on the Iron Throne, and now that he had died your father did not trust his Lannister children to sit on it. You had laughed when you first heard Robb being called the King in the North, it sounded ridiculous to you, but your father seemed to find it almost endearing, and once he invited the boy to come and meet your family he grew to like him more, seeing him as a worthy man for the Throne.

You were highly engrossed in your sewing when you had first met Robb, looking up and giving him a small nod in greeting, quickly dipping your head to look at what you were doing before doing a double take and looking up at his face again. Gods, he was handsome, and his shoulders were so broad. It took you a moment to get your words back before you stumbled over them. "It's an honour to meet you," you started softly. "My Father has told me so much about you," you told him with a smile. You gave yourself a mental slap on the wrist when you realised how vapid you were being, falling over yourself to speak with him after noticing how attractive he was. It was utterly pathetic but the boy was a masterpiece and you couldn't help but stare.

He gave you a sweet smile and bent to kiss the back of your hand, leaving your cheeks red as he spoke. "The honour is all mine Y/N, your father didn't tell me you were so beautiful," he told you and you stifled a childish giggle as you smiled at him.

"Flattery will get you no where, Lord Stark," you playfully scolded him as you tried to tone down your grin, which you seemed to have lost control of as you innocently flirted with the man in front of you.

"The word flattery suggests that what I said was untrue. I would say I was just being honest," he started again, gesturing to the seat next to yours, silently asking if it was free and you nodded in response. "What are you making?" he asked, settling beside you as he looked at the work in your hands.

"It's a blanket. My brother's wife is with child and I thought it would make a nice gift," you told him, chuckling as you spoke again. "I think it'll be a girl, but Father is certain it'll be a boy." Robb's smile grew even bigger as you spoke, enjoying the excitement that dripped from your voice as you gushed about your family.

"I see you've met my daughter, I expect she has been very welcoming," your father uttered from the doorway, watching as Robb shot to his feet. "She's my closest advisor and was quite wary about your visit," he added with a smile. 

"My Lord, thank you for welcoming me into your home. Y/N was just telling me that you are due a grandchild, congratulations," Robb rambled as he shook your father's hand. You noticed immediately that he was, in fact, more nervous than he had let on. Your father had the ability to win or lose this war for him and he was not ready to give up yet.

"I'm glad to see you get along so well, now we must discuss the terms of my support," your father told him as he moved for the door. "Are you coming, Y/N?" he added turning back to address you and seeing you nod eagerly placing your needlework down to follow them out of the room.

*Time Skip*

"I have one final request of you, Robb," your father spoke, you had been sitting in the Great Hall for what seemed like hours, taking notes of what supplies and soldiers your father would have to send to the North for the war to be won.