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THE Northern lords had a feast outside, and cheers erupted from all of their mouths from the grog they chugged. Robb and Freya arrived in his tent together, and as soon as they were engulfed in it's warmth, Robb began to shed off his cloak. Freya held hers around herself tighter.
Robb then turned, the candle light reflecting shades of yellow on his features. "What's wrong?"
Freya's crazed eyes shifted left and right before resting on her now-husband. (Gods, did she feel the puke crawling up her throat?) Her feet didn't move from their spot. "I'm not fucking you," she said, quite bluntly.
Robb laughed softly as he tugged off his boots. "I never asked you to."
Her eyes went wide. Was this – was Robb Stark being nice to her? He had been for the last couple of weeks, but in this moment, Freya truly saw how he didn't even dare to pressure her. She slowly took off her cloak, watching him tear off another layer, leaving him in only his pants and linen shirt. Freya looked down at his bed, which was a level up to her cot. "Are we ..." Their eyes met then. "Are we sleeping in the same bed?"
"I suppose we shall," he muttered. "You don't have to, but my tent is now ours. We share it, as husband and wife."
Freya put up a hand. "Don't say that."
She began to try to relieve herself from the dress that consumed her. Selene had ended up leaving a night gown for her in Robb's tent, and Freya couldn't help but sigh at the gesture. She played with the ties in the back, but found that she could not reach them. "Let me," he said, walking up to her back and undoing the ties of her gown. He pulled through each of the laces, and Freya could feel his breath on her back. She closed her eyes, feeling her mouth wobble.
"You're not used to this, are you?" Robb asked, shedding the dress from her torso. "You know, being around men."
"I've been around men my whole life, Stark." She sneered, stepping out of the dress in all her bareness. She pulled her nightgown over her head, but when she opened her eyes, she noticed Robb had helped her put it on. "I've been naked in front of men too. It's not that I'm not used to this."
Robb watched her pick the dress from the ground and begin to fold it. "Then what is it?" He persisted. "You've never been ... deflowered?"
Freya only glared at him.
"Gods, Greyjoy, you're older than me!" He didn't want to laugh, but he was sure that his exclamation came out that way. "And you've never been with a man? Never had one proposal?"
She sighed, and though she knew his tone came out mockingly, she guessed he didn't mean it. "I've had proposals galore since I'd been born." Freya laid her gown on a hassock and turned to Robb, who sat on his mattress. "When I was young, I used to sing outside my windows of Pyke. They said my voice was lovely, and it would entrance sailors, who would ask for my hand once I came of age and was legitimized. They all called me a siren. But neither I, nor my father, accepted any proposal."
