Author's Note: Let's go back in time to when my favorite King in the North was still (kind of) thriving and my favorite Dragon Queen hadn't gone totally cray cray yet. Season 3 Robberys redo, because why not. Title taken from Taylor Swift's 'State of Grace'.

Rickard Karstark had told Robb that the war was lost the second he married that foreign whore .

Though the words taste bitter to Robb, a part of him wonders if perhaps it's right. He turns to look at the sleeping form beside him, and he wonders if it were a Frey girl instead, if the mood in the camp would be lighter. If it were a Frey girl, would his men be uplifted and confident, rather than tense and on edge as they waited for news of whether or not the Freys will ally with them once more and find the spark that has been missing of late?

Robb doesn't regret loving her. He doesn't regret choosing her. But sometimes, in the dead of the night, he still can't help but ponder.

Talisa stirs beside him, and Robb wonders if she can feel his worrying, even in her dreams. He disentangles himself from the furs that they are lying under, and paces over to where he'd discarded his clothing earlier. Tugging it back on as quietly as he can manage, Robb slips out of his room and treads towards the battlements, longing for fresh air.

It has been raining what feels like non-stop for days, but he is relieved to find that there's a reprieve, and he can step out into the cool night without being instantly soaked. Idly, Robb thinks he might still have gone out, even if the rain were pouring down; he needs to clear his head, and he's not going to be able to do that while he's confined in the walls of his uncle's castle.

Robb looks up towards the stars, just barely peeking out from behind what has felt like an endless amount of clouds. There were some who believed that the old gods that he and most of his family worshipped were everywhere, in everything, and Robb thinks that if he were a god, he'd hide amongst the very stars that he's looking up at now, instead of inside of a weirwood tree. Inside of anything else, really; there's something about stars that seem so free.

But Robb Stark is not a god. He's not a king, or a wolf, though he gets called those things often enough. He's not free, like the stars. He's not even yet a man, not hardly.

He's a boy, just a boy who's won every battle but is somehow losing this war.

Robb sighs heavily. When he'd started all of this, all he'd wanted was to save his father, and to bring his family home. Now it has been two years of hardship, and what does he have to show for it? Two dead brothers, one sister missing and another married to a Lannister, and a love whose presence in his camp had only lost him the confidence of his men.

The wind whips at Robb's face, indicating that the storm will be back soon, but Robb isn't ready to move inside. He looks out into the distance, then back up at the stars, searching for answers he won't find. He's turned things over and over, wondering how he can get this war back on track, how he can do what he set out to do so long ago and finally go home .

The Freys don't feel like the fix to him. They feel like a bandage, a way to ignore the damage that has been done to his morale and his strategies, not like a way for it to actually heal . It's a short-term strategy, but Robb aches to find something bigger, better. Something that's more certain than the Late Lord Frey.

Unfortunately, answers elude him, and Robb pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from letting out a groan of frustration.

There must be something I'm missing , he thinks, as one fat raindrop falls on his head, then another. Defeated, Robb leaves his spot along the wall, and heads back inside.

At least the interminable waiting doesn't last much longer. The next day dawns, with Black Walder and Lothar Frey returning to Riverrun to present their father's response to Robb's plea for more men.

It's more positive than Robb had anticipated; not an outright refusal, but instead a set of terms and conditions that must be met first, and then the Freys will serve under the King in the North as they've been bid. Robb is set to accept on the spot, but pauses, reminding himself that he must think things through. After all, he'd barreled ahead with executing Lord Karstark, and his men all knew where that had gotten him.

Robb had been so sure when he did it that his father would have been proud of him, for doing what was right instead of what was easy. But he's not so sure anymore.

He wonders what his father would do in this situation instead. Ned Stark had successfully navigated Robert's Rebellion, and quashed Baelon Greyjoy's rebellion, and the gods could only guess what other stories he would have told Robb, if he'd lived long enough to share more stories. He had a feeling there were things his father had always meant to tell him when he was older, but… Well, they never got to share that older. Ned had left, and never returned, and all Robb was left with were the memories.

Robb thinks he remembers Ned Stark's lessons well - the lone wolf dies but the pack survives, he who passes the sentence swings the sword, anything that comes after but is horseshit… But nothing he can recall of what his father has taught him seems to apply here. Robb is still green when it comes to matters of political savvy, and he doesn't even have the great Eddard Stark here to guide him, to give him counsel when he's uncertain of how to proceed.

Who he does have is his mother, and when he casts a glance towards Catelyn Stark, she seems less certain about the terms. They're simple enough - a formal apology, Harrenhal, and Edmure as a replacement groom. Robb's not sure why his mother gives pause, but he can tell that she is holding back.

Perhaps she's just worried about her brother pushing back against his marriage. Or perhaps she simply doesn't trust Walder Frey, which is rich of her, considering that she's still considered treasonous among his camp for releasing the Kingslayer. Either way, Robb is prepared to ignore his mother's hesitance and charge forward with the plans. It's imperative to victory for them to have more men, and Lord Walder has more than enough to provide.

But just as Robb is preparing to reach forward and shake hands and offer the Freys his good faith, Grey Wind lunges between them and snarls.

Robb may not fully trust his mother any longer, but he does trust his direwolf. They have a bond that no one else can truly understand - at least, not anyone that's here in camp with him. He wonders about his siblings, if they have this closeness to their direwolves that he does, but he has not seen them in years to ask. He may never see them again, which means he may never know.

Just another reminder of the family that was taken away from Robb too soon. Another reminder of all that the Starks have lost.

And yet, Robb is certain that he only has much to gain from agreeing to terms with the Freys. But Grey Wind does not back down, even when Robb puts a calming hand on his wolf's back, and it is ultimately his distrust that leads Robb to ask, "Might we discuss amongst ourselves for a bit?"

It should have been a night of celebration, a night filled with hope… but instead Robb is pacing his quarters, thinking strategy, wondering again if there is another way. He goes through his map of Westeros, looking at all of the great houses, recalling where their loyalties lie.

There is no one who will pledge loyalty to House Stark unless there is a great turning of the tides. The Tyrells have married into the Lannisters; the Martells prefer to stay away from the politics of the rest of the kingdom where they can. The Targaryens are no more. His Aunt Lysa still refuses to send men to his cause; Stannis Baratheon has refused to bow to anyone, the Greyjoys have taken his home…

Another sigh escapes Robb's lips. He's been doing so much of that lately, and he can't even seem to find a path towards escaping a life of endless sighing. It seems that he'll be wearing this heavy crown of his until he dies, chasing down a victory that seems at this point as if it may never come.

"Maybe we need to stop thinking of trying to find friends, and instead we need to just… find our enemy's enemies," Robb mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Talisa doesn't truly seem to understand the dynamics that exist within Westeros, and even if she did, she doesn't concern herself with them. She is his queen, but the only part of battle she seems to care for is the aftermath, when she can run out onto the field and heal those who have been senselessly wounded.

It is all rather senseless, isn't it? Sometimes Robb thinks that with his sisters lost to him and his brothers gone, maybe he should just hang his head and leave it all behind. He could go North to the wall, join Jon, live out the rest of his days with his tail between his legs, with nothing to fight for…

And then Talisa comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder, and she whispers magical words in his ear, that there is a babe on the way, that there is to be a Prince or Princess of the North, and everything changes.

When Robb wakes the next morning, he goes straight away to see his mother. Even with his lingering anger towards her, there is no one he'd rather speak to first about their growing family. He wraps his mother in his arms, spinning her around delightedly, and for a few moments, Robb isn't a king, or a warrior. He is just a man who loves a woman, and that woman is going to be bearing his child.

For all the doubts she'd had about Talisa before, Catelyn seems delighted now. She shares in Robb's joy, and it's as if they almost forget that there is a world waiting with bated breath to see what their next move will be outside of the solar they are in.

But the world is still there, and Robb feels more urgency than ever to set it right. If he's going to have a son or daughter come into it, he doesn't want this war-torn wasteland that Westeros has become. He doesn't want a life on the road, never knowing what danger lies ahead.

Robb wants home, and safety. He wants Winterfell, back under his command after a much deserved victory over the people who had sought to destroy his family.

And so, as quickly as happiness had spread through him, it disappears, and Robb and Catelyn are right back to business.

In the beginning, Robb had felt like his mother made his decisions for him. He was so young, and still had so much to learn, and it had been easier to listen to her than to take chances of his own beyond his battlefield comfort zone.

That faith in her had been fractured when she'd released Jaime Lannister, and Catelyn had had to learn to listen to her son instead. He wasn't a child anymore; he didn't have that luxury. He was a king, and a commander, and it finally felt as if she'd accepted that as she listened to him mull over what to do about the Frey's.

"Mother, even if we take this deal, it doesn't feel like enough," Robb confides. The Freys aren't particularly impressive; he doubts that they will inspire fear in the heart of Tywin Lannister, no matter how many of them there are. And Greywind had been so uneasy - as if Black Walder and Lothar were hiding something. As if there were some kind of treachery, just out of Robb's reach of understanding.

He talks in circles - talks where they could attack next, talks who they could reach out to. But in the end, it still all feels lacking . Perhaps all they can do is take the deal with the Freys, and move one step at a time. There's no one else in Westeros to come to their cause.

It's when he says those words that his mother's eyes light up, and Robb furrows his brows in confusion.

"Why are you delighted by that, mother? There's no one to help us," he repeats, his heart feeling heavy.

"No one in Westeros ," Catelyn repeats, and Robb wonders why she's taken to finishing his phrase for him. He knows what he said, they were his own words, and though she seems to be emphasizing the last word, he does not understand why.

Catelyn steps towards his table, where all the active pieces are in place on the map. There are other pieces, too, discarded to the side - players that don't matter anymore. They're gone, like Robb might be if he doesn't find aid to stop the Lannisters from wiping him out. Catelyn fingers the pieces until she picks one up, staring at it with that same gleam.

"Before King Robert died, he and your father had a falling out. He nearly came home to us, and all of this was nearly avoided," Catelyn says wistfully, and it's like a punch to Robb's gut. If only Ned Stark had come home, rather than stay in the Capital. It was too late for what if's, but sometimes, Robb drove himself crazy considering them anyway.

This was a what if he hadn't known of before, and he shoots his mother a quizzical look, waiting for her to continue.

"Robert and your father, it seemed, could not agree on the matter of what to do with the last living Targaryen's. There were two, you know - a boy, rumored to be as cruel and mad as his father was, and a girl…" Catelyn's voice trailed off. Robb's gaze never left his mother's face for even a moment, as he wondered what she was getting at here.

"They say Daenerys Targaryen came into the world on a stormy night, worse by far than the storms that have plagued Riverrun of late. They say that she was sold off to a khal , to raise an army for her brother to sail back and retake Westeros. And last they said… her brother was dead, and she had hatched three dragons…"

Robb knows this part of the story, too. Though they do not have Lord Varys the famed Spider, they do have their own whispers that reach them, and the Targaryens have been mentioned a time or two. But they're not here . They're dead, or gone, and Daenerys Targaryen is a half a world away, and there is no one to even verify that her dragons are real. It's all rumors - bits and pieces of information that most likely mean nothing at all. No one has taken her to be a serious threat; it was as if King Robert died and the girl had been wholly forgotten.

And if she was wholly forgotten…

"Mother, are you saying what I think you're saying?" Robb asks her, his eyes wide.

"You said it yourself, perhaps we need to find not friends, but people who share our enemies. Perhaps it's time to look for allies outside of Westeros instead."

Catelyn holds out the piece that she'd been examining - red and black, with the Targaryen dragon on it. Robb takes it in his hand, turning it over and over for a moment as he considers.

He'd agonized all night about what to do with the Freys, but this choice, Robb finds, is much easier. It's outside of the box, and it's risky… but sometimes the greatest risks have the greatest rewards.

"Let's send an envoy east to treat with this Daenerys Targaryen," Robb declares, slamming the red and black dragon back in play on the map.