Lord Waldur had insisted upon Robb marrying one of his girls before he allowed his men to pass through the twins. His price had been high and demanding, but his council had assured him numerous times that it was necessary if wished to win the War of the Five Kings.

And so, he married the Frey girl of his choosing. None of them had been particularly comely, but he was given the mercy of having his pick of the litter. You.

Quiet and docile, you never really… did much. You simply existed, hanging in his shadow and doing as you were told. Obedience was expected in a wife, yes, but Robb noticed the tiredness in the way you held yourself and the dark circles beneath your eyes. Perhaps it was his own doing – this gloomy attitude of yours. He had never wished for a bride, at least, not one for political gain. It seemed, sometimes, that you did not wish for a husband, either. Though, you had expressed gratitude for being away from The Twins, even if that meant you were stuck in a war camp with a spouse who could never love you as he should.

His heart belonged to another.

Robb knew you had seen him with Talisa. The way you kept a straight face and simply nodded as he tried to explain. You had been accepting. Too accepting, as though you had expected him to find comfort in another woman's bed. That grated on his nerves.

Robb liked to think himself as a man of honor, like his father, but even Eddard had fathered a bastard. No man was perfect. This was his flaw, this horrid trap between his wife and his lover. It was unfair to you to spend his days with Talisa by his side. You were his wife, his lady, and he simply let you fade into the back of his mind.

Eve had settled over the camp, knights and squires huddled by fires or retreated to their tents and places of rest. The scent of smoked boar hung heavily in the air, a product of a good hunt. Robb had not seen you during supper, though he had noticed your absence. Tonight, he would try - try to be the husband and man that you deserved. You were thrust into this mess just like him, and he wished to bridge the distance in any way.

He took a deep breath, chest rising and falling beneath his leather cuirass. Grey Wind waited obediently by his side, acting as a small (or not so small) comfort. He offered familiarity where there was none.

“Lady Stark,” Robb called beforehand, awaiting a reply before barging in. It would have been inappropriate. It was quiet still, save for the distant conversations of victorious men. He grit his teeth and spoke once more. “Lady Stark, I am coming in.”

He supposed that it was warning enough. He slid between the flaps of the tent, finding you seated by a warm brazier. The inside was nearly exactly how he left it, bedsheets fixed and a map spread across a thick mahogany desk. Robb swallowed the tightness in his throat, blue gaze taking in your silent figure. Your fingers worked with learned skill, a needle and thread clutched in your grasp as you practiced your embroidery. A direwolf. House Stark’s sigil.

Something within his chest ached at the sight. Even with his coldness, and his brash behavior towards you, you showed your support in small ways. You embraced your role as his wife as best as you could, though this marriage did not come easily to him.

“I.. apologize if I am disturbing you, my lady.” Robb could hardly bring himself to speak your name, much less refer to you as his lady wife. He exhaled, taking a few steps closer to you. “You were absent during supper. Are you not hungry? It would do you well to eat. If not for your sake, then mine own.”

It was small. But it was a start.