bakerstreet | Sneaking around is half the fun

She held her breath when he moved closer and adjusted her blankets, but managed to refrain from recoiling. It was a small thing and it felt like a huge accomplishment. It appeared her mind and her body were at last beginning to communicate again.

She had wanted Robb to be present for the negotiations, but her bannermen strictly forbid it. She sensed their unease at the amount of time she and Robb had spent alone, and decided not to push the issue. Now she just wanted to tell him everything that had happened.

"No, it's not that. We're finished, in fact. The maester is writing up the pact and we should be able to leave as soon as it is signed." It had only taken a few words whispered in the ear of the lord's son, a reminder that if Jeyne were to openly claim her right, as the dead lord's widow, to his estate, he would be left with nothing. She had seen his aunt's confusion, and had to assume that he would eventually tell her why he had accepted all of her demands. Considering Jeyne had left her in charge until the boy reached the age of maturity, she did not expect the woman to reveal the secret.

"We are taking the youngest with us back to The Crag. He'll be fostered there and receive the best of everything - education, lodging, food... I even promised to arrange an advantageous marriage for him which is more than the youngest son of any man can usually achieve." These were all of the points made to her by her advisors when she'd objected to taking him. She had already made the boy an orphan. To take him from everything he knows and everyone he loves seemed unusually cruel. She wanted to know if Robb felt the same. She cared about his opinion of her for reasons she couldn't explain.

"A ward?" Robb asked. Surprised she had agreed or even suggested such a plan. "That is very kind of you, Your Grace." She didn't have to agree to such matters, but upon further thought, she hadn't surprised him as she had a soft heart and ruled fairly among her people.

"That is a fair and wise decision. I should hope it was seen as such."

"Is it fair?" Her brow furrowed and her gaze drifted from him to the space just behind him as she thought about the boy and what he must be feeling.

"That poor boy had already lost his mother. Now the very person who killed his father is taking him away from the only family he has left and everything he has ever known? That hardly seems fair to me. He will be confused and alone and surrounded by people he likely perceives are the enemy." She knew she had to do it even though it felt completely wrong. She wanted to talk to him, to reassure him and let him know that he need not be afraid. Her younger brother was the same age and they could be friends. But that may be perceived as being weak or too kind-hearted for a warrior queen.

"I must admit, Stark... this crown they have placed on my head weighs heavy on my heart."

"Your Grace, your brother was murdered by the Rashfords. They killed many of your men and women. This should be the least of your concern, whether or not this child is having it 'fair'." Robb could see why she was being soft on the subject, he was a child, but after everything that the two of them had gone through, Robb lacked sympathy on the matter.

"I know. I would feel the same."

In her mind, too many had already suffered due to the actions of others. Innocents murdered in the name of vengeance. Such was the way of war, she had learned, and she was weary of it.

"Seeing Lord Rashford suffer, causing him and those he loved pain, I thought it would ease my own." She saw how much Robb had lost in the way he looked at her now. No sympathy. Only anger for those who had been taken from him.

"But it hasn't. And taking this boy hostage won't either. I can only hope that your sentiments are shared by all who would pass judgement on me." She closed her eyes and leaned her had back with a sigh.

"How is it speaking with you reassures me even though we disagree?"

"Aye, I think they will." He already knew they had, though many have stated the entire family should be executed. It wasn't their decision to make, but Robb felt Jeyne had made the right choice. After hearing her fever dream, he has even more respect for her for finding the strength to not decide to punish the Rashfords house.

There's a half chuckle, easing the tension that was just present, "I'm afraid I can't answer that." But at least there was a relieved smile upon his face. Being outside her favor wouldn't treat him well for the days to come.

"Try not to second guess your decisions. There's little you can change."

She chuckled softly. He claimed to have no answers, but she suspected that was untrue. He likely had answers that he thought she didn't want to hear. She needed him for his honesty, not his propriety. Even in the lack of a definitive answer, he must at least have a theory.

"It is strange. I have to make decisions yet it feels like I have no choices." Time after time she was presented with two possible roads to travel, and both were terrible. She turned her head toward him and opened her eyes.

"How do you do it? Surely you understand what this feels like." She had seen men dying on the battlefield. As a healer she would want to save them all regardless of what their life would be like afterwards, missing limbs or diminished mentally. She left putting those too far gone out of their misery to others.

"I do what I think is best for the wounded. I try to stave off infection by trying to prevent its spread, whether it's dressing wounds or amputation." He sighs, "Chances are it creates another infection I cannot prevent or stop... But I have to try."

A different situation, but he could relate to her words. He understood that difficult decision all too well. "You can't please everyone."

She was past the point of wanting to keep people happy. She just wanted to keep them alive.

"Maybe I should start with what's in front of me." As a girl, her septa had taught her to focus on the subject in front of her when she felt overwhelmed by all she had to learn. Applying that lesson to war had not helped, but the war was over. She had no idea what she was supposed to do now. Perhaps starting small would help her find her way.

"What would please you, Stark?"

Her words caught him completely off guard, clearly unsure of how to answer her question. "I don't know..." He did. Everything that would please him was unobtainable at this point. To go home was something he desired, but once there standing alone in an empty shell of a house without his family wouldn't bring any happiness. To find his sisters was worthless, where their whereabouts are unknown and they could be presumed dead at this point.

"I suppose going to the Citadel." It was his only chance he had in this life to bring any purpose after this war. It was what motivated him at this point, though spending this increased time with her blossoming a friendship, although fleeting and probably temporary, had brought him some happiness.

That wasn't what she meant. They'd already discussed his desire to become a maester, and after the way he'd healed her, she agreed even more wholeheartedly that it was his calling.

"I mean here. Now." Something immediate, however small, that she could accomplish and feel good about. She desperately needed to feel that she was more than a bringer of death.

"Judging by the looks of you, I would guess sleep would make you happiest. Am I right?"

He cracks a smile at her question. "Is it that obvious?" Because it probably was despite desperately trying to hide it. He scrubs at his face, trying to make himself appear more awake.

"And what about you, your grace? What would make you happiest? Sleep as well." There's a chuckle in return.

"Sleep continues to be elusive without the help of milk of the poppy." She thinks for a moment about what would make her happy in that moment, and she finds that she already is. He responded when she'd sent for him - that made her happy. He listened to her without judgment and his presence staved off the loneliness - that too made her happy. Making the connection that Stark meant happiness was still beyond her.

"But not for you, I suspect. What would make me happy would be to see you enjoying some well-earned rest. I am sorry to have kept you from it for so long."

Had he thought about it more closely, he would recognize being in her presence made him happy. He had dashed towards her tent when called, and stayed at her side when he didn't need to during her healing process. It was all in line of duty to her... but was it really?

"It takes milk of the poppy to ease you to sleep?" He cuts her off, missing that her statement could be taken as a dismissal of him. There's a frown upon his face, concerned of potential addiction forming. It needed to be broken.

He shakes his head, "I think it is you who needs to sleep. Without the poppy."

She starts to protest, but hesitates. If there is anyone she can be honest with, it is him.

"You stayed by my side the entire time I was ill... you must be aware of the nightmares." Every night, without fail. The dreams that woke her either screaming or crying. And he'd never asked about them, much to her relief. She suspected that most of the time he pretended to be asleep and oblivious to her distress. The few times he did wake, he focused on checking her wound and fetching her water as if he'd woken of his own accord.

"They make falling asleep difficult, and staying asleep impossible. The rest I achieved while taking the poppy was the first I'd had in... actually, I don't know how long." She sat up and reached down to the foot of the bed, where an extra blanket sat waiting to be used.

"I'll try if you will. Here, I'm certain that chaise would be more than comfortable enough."

The blanket was already warm when she handed it to him. The suggestion made him skeptical for a moment, but then he nodded and made it over to the chaise as directed and settled down.

"I'll be here, so if you have any difficulties..." He made a point to look at her, well-knowing of her dreams. He had spent numerous nights by her side, but would rather hear her cries than have his queen addicted to milk of the poppy.

As she shifted down in the bed, she quirked an eyebrow at his unfinished statement.

"You'll do what exactly? Come to my aid? Hold my hand and tell me sweet lies like 'everything will be alright' and 'you're safe now'?" Her tone was light, teasing, but the questions are legitimate. What can he do to help her?

"It is a shame there is no medicine that allows one to sleep without dreaming."

She may have been teasing him, but it was certainly true. There wasn't much he could do for her other than try to comfort her to the best of his ability. He opened his mouth to reply, only to have her continue on in another thought process.

"There is. Death." Open mouth insert foot. Robb was now 100% embarrassed and he stammered to fix that, "I-I'm sorry. That remark was unnecessary and cruel."

To say that his response surprised her would be a gross understatement. She examined him for a moment as he stumbled over an apology. Of course she had considered death - many times, both as a potential result of a battle and at potentially her own hand. Had he seen that in her, somehow?

"You assume death means peace. Yet there is no proof of that." There was no telling what lay beyond. That lack of knowledge had stayed her hand more than once.

"I suppose even sleep plagued with nightmares is preferable to the unknown."

"I doubt there's little peace involved if it's taken away violently." He's referring to his own family, unable to completely come to peace for himself over the matter. It was evident, but not at all to blame.

"What helped you sleep as a child? My mother used to tell me stories."

He thinks of his family, and she only thinks of her own fate. "I believe the manner of your afterlife is not determined by how you died, but rather how you lived. There is peace to be found for those without blood on their hands." That was a teaching of the faith of the seven. Though she held to the old gods, some lessons of the new had taken root inside her.

She rolls onto her side and grimaces slightly until she is adjusted comfortably. The pain in her arm has eased, but not gone completely. And he's asking such a personal question. She should refuse to answer and remind him of his place, but she finds she does not mind. It feels good, to have someone pay attention to her for who she is, not what she can do for them.

"My parents forbade us from entering their chamber at night, so when I was frightened I would run to my brother. He would walk me back to my bed and get under the covers with me. Sometimes he would sing to me, but usually he told me stories. Not true stories - ones he would make up just for me, about mermaids and other sea creatures. He was so imaginative." Speaking about Rollum hurts, but keeping all of her pain inside hurts far more.

"What stories did your mother tell you?"

Robb realizes he cherishes everything Jeyne mentions of herself, liking that she could be at ease around him. He had seen her during her worst and got her through that, it created a bond he couldn't explain between them. Or perhaps his sleep-deprived mind was telling him that.

He offers a gentle smile, thinking of siblings sharing secrets and stories between them. He had seen that with his own, and had similar experiences with his sister Sansa.

"I'm certain she made most of hers up or borrowed from history of knights and kings." He's relaxing more into his spot, pulling a blanket tighter around him, "I do recall one of forest creatures tricking humans."

"Oh! I think I know that one." It was an old story, repeated over generations, from the time the old gods reigned.

"The children of the forest lure human children into the woods by pretending to be animals?" It is actually a rather frightening story when you think on it, but she always liked the idea of forest animals being friendly. Almost as much as she wanted mermaids to be real.

"That's precisely the one! You know of it too?"

He's impressed and excitement shows through his words as he craned his neck to have a better look over to Jeyne in the dim light. "My family is devout to the Old Gods. It may seem archaic in today's standards, but I've never questioned it."

She nods, a gentle smile creeping across her lips. How wondrous, to have found this tiny thing in common.

"Mine worshiped the Old Gods until a few years ago. My father said that as the Lord of the Crag, he had to follow the will of the people, and they wanted to worship the Seven." She feels herself growing increasingly drowsy the more she talks.

"I must obey my father, but in my heart, I still follow them. The Old Gods."

Sneaking around is half the fun

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