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❛ i hear the knock of your heart and answer it like my calling. ❜
━━━━ "𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄𝐃," Vhaehrys said from the doorway of the war room, watching Robb survey the battle maps in that concentration that he always held nowadays. "You were right," he throws down an army piece onto the table, knocking over a few other pieces as they bounced off the floor. "The Karstarks are gone. Almost half our forces. Tywin Lannister knows what he needs to do to make us unravel. Nothing. Only wait." Vhaehrys steps up to him, a magnificent blue dress trailing behind her lightly as the tips of her hair tickled the exposed portion of her lower back. Arms, belly, back, and her chest were exposed to the air, leaving her to cross her arms to keep some warmth and protect the growing belly in front of her. Despite his frustration, Robb sees that she is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, silver hair let down in their natural waves, something he hasn't seen in such a long time, her amaranthine eyes large and inquisitive, the softness of her lips inviting, and the skin of her body welcoming.
"Don't let him."
"What can I do? Attack King's Landing? There's nothing he'd like better. He'd crush us in a day."
"We could ride North," Vhaehrys moves a chair to get around, still walking towards her husband, wanting to feel his skin against her own, his warmth to protect her from the air that blew around the castle. Somehow it was cold, growing colder since they had landed. Robb took the North with him. "Take your land back from the Greyjoys. Wait out the winter."
"Winter could last five years," he shook his head. "Once my bannermen are home again, sitting by the fire, surrounded by their families, warm and safe, they'll never ride south again. When I gathered my lords together, we had a purpose, a mission. Now we're like a band of bickering children." The Targaryen runs her hand across Robb's back, trying to soothe his nerves as she pressed herself against his arm, cheek sitting on his shoulder. "Give them a new purpose," she presses a kiss to the leather that shielding his skin from hers, her movements slow and graceful.
"What?"
"Oh, I don't know," she shrugs her shoulders, "I'm just a Southron whore to them. I have no Northern blood in my veins."
"You do," he places his hand on the growing belly, delicate skin peeking out from the light blue fabric that reminded the Targaryen so much of Robb's eyes. Placing her own over his, Vhaeherys feels the rough pads of his fingertips, the dryness of his palms, the largeness of his fingers. Large Northern hands that always caressed her in the most delicate ways, that held her cheeks as they kissed, that protected her from everything and everyone, holding her hand in the darkness of nights. He was her anchor as she was his. Hearing Robb take a deep breath next to her, she faces him, seeing the Young Wolf's eyebrows furrowed as he took in the different pieces that were still on the map. "What is it?"
