.

.

There's not enough wine to go around.

Jon shares his bronze-gleaming goblet with Arya and Sansa, laughing deeply. "Father caught me and Robb tossing some foul hen eggs with Hodor. I've never had a crack on my head like that," Jon announces.

"Ugh, I remember the smell," Sansa groans, scrunching her nose.

They're all seated in a circle in Father and Mother's bed-chambers, now Sansa's, with Bran nearest to the round, stone window. He politely declines a sip of the wine when Arya offers it. "Mother said that Robb would never make a good husband for any woman if he kept acting like a naughty child."

Silence fills the cold, smoky air. Arya leans back, frowning. She spreads her hands to the thick, dark bear-skin rug.

"… Do you ever think about what she was like?"

"Robb's wife?" Jon raises the goblet's rim to his lips, contemplating. "Lord Wyman Manderly said she wasn't a Northern girl."

"Has any of us actually seen her?" Sansa asks, eyeing Arya who shakes her head. Jon had been at the Wall… Sansa had been in King's Landing… Arya had been traveling with the Night's Watch, and soon after, the Brotherhood Without Banners…

They all slowly look at Bran.

He looks back, the corners of Bran's mouth uplifting. If Arya didn't know better, she would have thought her younger brother was humoring them.

"Talisa Maegyr. Brown of hair, brown of eyes. She was born in the Free City of Volantis. Robb met her on the battlefield while she tended to the wounds of Lannister-men. She did not think of Robb and his war kindly at first."

Sansa's eyes narrow curiously. "But he loved her…" she insists.

"Yes, he loved her," Bran says, toneless, but there's a gentle understanding behind it. That's good. It's best to know that Robb and his wife had been happy. Even if Jon had never seen her, never seen Robb or fought for him and their family.

"That's all that matters."

Arya snorts, grabbing the wine roughly. "Robb is dead," she tells Jon. "So is she and Robb's baby." Despite how old she's gotten, Sansa can always tell when Arya is close to tears. Jon reaches for her shoulder, gripping on.

"Arya…"

The Freys are dead, Bran realizes. All of them. All of Walder Frey's sons and himself. Carved, sliced, poisoned. Killed.

She doesn't mean to tell them.

Bran will not either.

.

.

GoT isn't mine. This one hurt me. Kinda like that. Requested by Baamon5evr (AO3): "all the Stark siblings (platonically) reminiscing about Robb before the big battle; Robb/Talisa." Hope you guys like it!

((Want a request for GoT? I'm doing 100-500 word drabbles of any ship + any prompt until S8 ends. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a ship and prompt, as well if you want NSFW or SFW. The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you just read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))