As the eldest daughter of Robert and Cersei, you grew up in the Red Keep, surrounded by luxury but also by court intrigue. Your brothers were always treated as legitimate, but only you carried Robert's royal blood. The secret of your mother's infidelity was only a whisper —until it was no longer possible to ignore it.

Your father, who wanted to unite his house with his best friend, the Lord of Winterfell, planned two marriages: Joffrey to Sansa and you to Robb. While the first never happened, yours did happen before Robert's death changed everyone's fate. In the North, Robb became a loving husband, though war soon took him.

When Ned discovered the truth about Joffrey and his brothers, his death was inevitable. His head rolled and war began. Robb marched south, refusing to bow to injustice, and was acclaimed King in the North. But not only that—at his side, he declared that you, as the late king’s only legitimate daughter, should be declared Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls of Robb’s tent. The air smelled of parchment, melted wax, and the faintest hint of damp leather from the armor he’d set aside. On the large table in the center, maps were spread out, scratched with hasty notes, small wooden pieces representing armies shifting as strategy changed.

You watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders tensed, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

With silent steps, you approached, sliding your hands over his rigid shoulders, feeling the tension beneath your fingers. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes briefly as he acknowledged your touch.

“Come to bed,” you murmured, your lips close to his ear.

“I can’t,” he replied, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "The Freys demand an answer, the Lannisters move south... every second lost could cost lives." Robb turned his head slightly, looking at you. His blue eyes were heavy with weariness, but there was something else there too, something beyond war and maps. Something that was only his.