CHAPTER 28 | AN AWFUL WIFE

FREYA poured herself another glass of wine and paced the floor of Robb's tent. Both him and Roose Bolton sat at the table, leveling out the playing field of the map. One single candle was lit and set in the center of them, providing light on the thin piece of paper. "Still no word?" Robb asked.

Lord Bolton shook his head. "We've sent a dozen ravens. None have returned." He looked over at the two. "My bastard is only a few days from Winterfell. Once he captures the castle –"

"Theon has my brothers," Robb interrupted. "If we storm the castle –"

"He wouldn't dare hurt the boys," Roose added. "They're his only hope of escaping the North with his head."

The men looked to Freya, who turned and nodded her head. "He's right," she said, raising her glass over to Roose. "I know my brother. He may be a twat, but he wouldn't hurt children."

Robb thought over her words for a moment. He breathed out a sigh. "Send word to your son. Any Ironborn who surrender will be allowed to return safely to their homes."

She nodded at his response, but Lord Bolton disagreed. "A touch of mercy is a virtue, Your Grace. Too much –"

"Any Ironborn with the exception of Theon Greyjoy." Robb clarified, causing his wife to go wide-eyed. "He betrayed our cause. He betrayed me, and we will hunt him down no matter where he runs."

"I expect his countrymen will turn on him the minute they hear the offer." Roose said before glancing at the female in the room. "And how do you feel about this, Queen Freya?"

Freya took a long sip of her wine. "I don't know," she mumbled, sitting on the edge of the table. She paused before continuing, "Do what needs to be done. I cannot protect my brother no longer. He's my brother, I will love him until the day he dies, but treason is treason. Family does not always cover treason."

Lord Bolton nodded. "Thank you for your time, Your Grace. I'll leave you both for the night."

Robb bowed his head as Roose left. He then looked to his wife, who drank her wine silently. His eyes went narrow at the sight, and he rolled away his map to the other end of the table. "You're being far too quiet," he muttered. "What is the matter?"

"I do not like to speak of my brother dying." She said, turning to face him and pointing her glass at where Roose had left. "He was trying to provoke me."

"He wanted to know what side you were fighting for," Robb argued.

Freya scoffed. "I think we can clearly see what side. I didn't agree to marry you because I wanted to secretly betray you the whole time." She finished her glass and set it on the table. "I'm not an idiot, and neither are you."

"So you're content with my decision to capture Theon with minimal bloodshed?"

Freya glanced to him and nodded.

"Then why do you still seem angry with me?"

She smiled softly. "I always am. That's our calling."

Robb was still staring at her in a serious manner. He stood from his seat at the table and was now standing in front of her, hands behind his back. Freya rolled her eyes before asking, "Why did you not invite me to go with you to the Crag?"

"Really?" He chuckled. "This is what's causing you frustration?"

"Answer the question, Stark."

He seemed baffled at the question. He looked to his shoes. "Um – I'm not sure. I thought it would be better to leave the camp in command of you, rather than one of the other lords."

Freya poured herself yet another glass of wine. She gulped half of it down in one sip, and was surprised when Robb wiped the access off her mouth. "Or did you leave me here because you wanted to fuck the healer?" She asked with a frown.

Robb's brow creased. "What?" He exclaimed. "Why would you think I'd do that? I brought Talisa with me because she needed supplies from their maester."

"Mm-hmm," Freya mumbled, holding the cup close to her chest. "You can tell me. I just want the truth."

"I'm telling you the truth!" He said, throwing his arms in the air. "Are you ... Are you jealous?"

She rolled her eyes. "No." Freya then set her glass on the table, holding her cloak closer to her chest. Robb watched her pace and placed his hands on the back of a chair.

"I don't want to hurt you, Freya."

"Why not?" She spat, hitting her fist against the table. "You hate me. You've always hated me. Our marriage is not going to change that. We may respect each other in battle, but when the armor comes off, there's a mutual agreement of hate."

Robb stood in front of her then. After a moment of hesitation, he placed his hand on her arm. "I was a boy when I hated you. I was immature, and so were you." He murmured. "War has changed us both."

"Bullshit," she snarled and snatched her arm away.

"Freya," Robb called, beginning to laugh, "I don't hate you, and you don't hate me."

She frowned, but found her mouth wobbling with sadness. "This isn't the way it's supposed to be," she said, trying to hold back her tears. "And now I'm crying. Why have I been crying so much lately? I've been feeling too much. I'm just ... so exhausted from everything." Freya sucked in her sobs and rubbed at her eyes, whispering, "Why are you doing this to me, Robb?"

Robb's hands lifted, and both began to hold her face. His calloused fingers rubbed away her tears as he placed a simple kiss on her forehead. Freya, to her own surprise, allowed herself to cradle her body in his chest. She didn't understand what was making her act like this. She was acting unlike herself, and it was causing her so much frustration that she let build up. This was her final explosion.

"I don't hate you," she finally admitted, in the smallest whisper. "I'm ... I'm sorry for being such a terrible person to you. I was immature and never meant it. This war has changed my opinion, as well as my marital status, apparently," she added, causing Robb to laugh. Her eyes met his. "I'm an awful wife to you. I hope that once you marry a Frey girl, she will love you and be better than I ever could."

Robb's thumb caressed her cheek, and Freya felt oddly at peace with it. "I ..." He paused, staring into her light eyes, which were becoming cloudy and red due to the tears. "I don't want to marry the Frey girl."

Freya's brow creased. "But you must. For the bridge."

"Just because I must, doesn't mean I want to." He replied, shaking his head. His eyes reflected in the glow of the candlelight. "I want to be married to you, Freya. I think you're the only person I want to be married to."

She released a laugh, and she could only guess it was because she was completely awestruck at his words. His hands had returned to her face, and just when she expected the inevitable, Robb Stark kissed Freya Greyjoy. His lips pressed onto hers roughly as her hands tangled themselves in his brown curls. Freya, at twenty years of age, had never kissed a boy until now, and she found the act rather sloppy and awkward. But here she was, kissing Robb Stark, a man she used to loathe with the intensity of a thousand suns.

And finally, King Robb and Queen Freya became the loyal leaders that they were meant to be. Not just on the battlefield, but also as lovers.

END OF BOOK II