𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━━ robb stark

𝐢. a targaryen in winterfell

❝ this dragon queen who wears her name is a true targaryen. ❞

                 ━━━━ 𝐕𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄. She knew about the Doom of Valyria, how Aerion took his children, wife, and about five or six dragons, Aegon the Conqueror's taking of Westeros using Balerion the Black Dread, her father's murder, and Rhaegar's whereabouts with Lyanna Stark, though she did not know the full extent of it. The young Targaryen hid in the woods, living off the lands and the food she stole from shops, creating clothes from itchy burlap for a blouse and some other material for a skirt, using strips of the same material and a sharpened bone as needle and thread. Though at this time she was riding North to Winterfell, reciting a poem she read inside a book from a library (she stole books from there too):

"They held each other close and turned their backs upon the end.

The hills that split asunder and the black that ate the skies;

The flames that shot so high and hot that even dragons burned;

Would never be the final sights that fell upon their eyes.

A fly upon a wall, the waves the sea wind whipped and churned -

The city of a thousand years, and all that men had learned;

The Doom consumed it all alike, and neither of them turned."

The Targaryen only spoke to herself, and she did so with curses and her voice was hoarse and unused, sort of like she had swallowed a large bag of ashes, and she grimaced each time she heard her voice, wanting nothing more than the soft, ladylike voices the girls from the other cities she's visited talked in. Yes, she might've been a heathen, a thief, she was still a girl, and girls have dreams of being polite and orderly, even if it's locked down deep inside and ignored. As she rode on, she knew she was coming closer to Winterfell; she could hear the loud yells and music playing. A feast - perfect! She could sneak in quietly, steal all of the food she needs, and sleep somewhere, like a brothel. She jumps off her horse, takes him by his reigns, and leads him towards the open Winterfell gates, hoping to catch the stables, and, if not, she'll just tie him to a tree. From what she could see, a large tree was off to the side, lending her a helping hand with her task. She walks up to it and uses her horse's reigns to secure him to it, whispering to him about coming back as soon as the sun rises so they can ride for a bit. She tugs on the brown rope, testing its strength, and deems it properly knotted.

She looks around and sees drunk men trying to lure women into their beds, Vhaehrys realizing that they were, in fact, prostitutes dancing around, ready to make some money. She sighs deeply and begins making her through the crowd, weaving her petite body past masses of men and women, fluttering skirts and large, dirty cloaks, trying hard not to step on anything. A warm substance splashes on her body, running down her leg and the heavy smell of alcohol fills her nostrils, the girl knowing that somebody had either thrown or spilled their ale on her. She rolls her eyes and continues walking, wiping her hand over her arm, trying to wipe off as much of the stinking liquid as she could, her eyes set on the booths set up ahead of her. They were filled with different things like individual deserts from the baker, toys from the toymaker, and trinkets from a tall shopkeeper, the woman's dark eyes following the Targaryen around. Her gaze was torn away from her when a customer walks up, asking about a tiny little statue she said her son simply loved. Vhaehrys took this time to sneakily walk behind a woman who was walking to the baker's booth, the Northerner ready to ask about a lemon cake (the baker had received a shipment from the South not too long ago), when Vhaehrys snatches up a little packaged sweet, running off when she heard the old man yelling after her. Many of the citizens of Winterfell looked at her, some of the knights ordered to keep the peace in the town chasing after the thief, drawing their swords.

A hooded figure caught up to her quickly, tugging her by the arm and turning her to face him. Vhaehrys was met by bright blue eyes, ones like in the stories she had heard about the Tully's. The man had curly auburn hair that complimented those eyes nicely, the beginnings of a beard that framed his face, and a straight nose, his face both sneering and confused. "Who are you?"

"Why do you need to know?" Vhaehrys asks him, glaring up at him with her Targaryen eyes. "You're just going put me in a dark cell." The boy grips her upper arms tighter, shaking her lightly, Vhaehrys' head snapping back, but she doesn't stand down; she continues to stand up straighter. "It's true, isn't it? Leave me to rot in a fucking dark cell, I don't give a shit. It'd be better than living in the woods." His grip loosens a bit, and Vhaehrys takes this time to run off, her short legs carrying her as fast as she could into the crowd, Robb pursuing her, pushing past people as he kept looking for the silver hair the girl had. What did she mean? Who was she? Why did she come up North just to steal? These questions scattered in his mind like a boat ravaged in the sea during a storm, but, unlike a boat in the sea, answers did not come into the mind like the boat finding land.

The boy did not find her, she was clever, he had to give her that. Vhaehrys stared down at him from a rooftop, pulling apart the muffin in her hands, placing a mushed blueberry into her mouth, savoring the flavor yet despising the heavy sugary taste of it. These Northerners did not go light with the sickeningly sweet powder. She smiled triumphantly, kicking her legs over the side, sitting on the edge of the textured roof. Each house's roof was angled, so she had no cover from the guards or the boy she had met, but in the dark cover of night, she was safe.

Until the next morning.

Surely he would set out a search party for her, raid every house if need be, just to find the Targaryen burglar that lived in the woods all her life. She took away the thought from her mind and shook her head, finishing her muffin and wiping her hands on her leather pants (stolen, as well as the whore's corset (that's what she liked to call it) she wore over her white long-sleeved blouse), moving away from the edge, her calves hurting from the loss of blood flow. She takes a deep breath and walks to the spot where she had climbed up from, swinging her legs over the side and pushing her body down, her fingertips sliding across the tiles, her feet close to the barrel she jumped up of. Her fingers held on to the side, and she looks over her shoulder, checking to see if anyone was behind her. Nobody was there, so she let go and landed on the wood cylinder, hearing it creak under her weight. She leans forward, places her hands on the barrel, and steps down, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

"Ah, there you are," she heard from behind her and sees the boy from before, and her mouth drops open as he stalks nearer. "I was looking for you. Seems you have already eaten the thing you stole." He notes of her empty hands. Vhaehrys glares at him, shutting her mouth quickly, her hands clenching into fists against her sides. The boy raises his hands, "I just want to talk." Nothing from Vhaehrys. "My name's Robb. Robb Stark; Firstborn son to Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully, born in Riverrun during Robert's Rebellion, heir to Winterfell."

Robert's Rebellion. It was about thirteen years ago, so this boy was only a year older than her. Her fists unclenched a bit, nodding her head to let him know she was listening. "I know you're a Targaryen, but, I must ask, what do you mean that you would rather live in a dark cell?"

"I've done nothing more than living out in the woods, stealing things from different shops - though I have to admit I was a bit rusty back there, I didn't expect the baker to catch me stealing," why was she telling him all this? "Vhaehrys. My name's Vhaehrys Stormborn, daughter to Aerys II and Rhaella Targaryen, twin to Daenerys Targaryen."

Stormborn. That was what she had heard many people call her sister, so she decided to go along with it as well; she was born that same night as well. "Vhary," Robb then said, making the girl in front of him furrow her light brows. "I'm going to call you Vhary."