A/N: For the record, there will be no OCs in this. Everyone mentioned below (and in future chapters) is, in fact, already a part of the ASOIAF universe. Rated T… for now. If ever I go up to M, I will provide ample warning and ensure the mature sections are easily marked/skip-able by those of you who'd wish to avoid them.

This story is dedicated to Izzylike over on Archive of Our Own, whose Robb/Roslin drabbles really got me thinking. You rock, girl!

Also, shout-out to Jo498 on ASOIAF/Westeros boards, who came up with the House Frey motto. GRRM should totally use it and give props to you. Because it is AWESOME.

I hope you enjoy and please don't forget to review!

Robb raises her hand to his lips, bidding her a chaste farewell. Roslin blushes fiercely and dips into a perfect curtsey, offering up a meek, "My lord." Her brown doe eyes dare not look up to meet his own. In the two hours Robb has spent with her, listening to her play the harp with delicate precision and awkwardly attempting to find conversation, Robb thinks that if they wed, it will always be this way. Shy deference, a voice so soft he fears it would easily be smothered by the harsh northern snows.

Later, when he has retired to the familiarity of his tent, Lady Catelyn's expression is hopeful when she asks how the courting went. Robb suppresses a snort, knowing it will earn him a reproachful look from his mother. "She is a true and gentle lady."

Arya would delight in tormenting her. And Sansa would enjoy the reprieve.

Robb's heart clenches at the thought and he allows himself to sink wearily in his chair, feeling far older than his years. His sisters are captives of the Lannisters. He may never see them again. May never help Arya plan a jape and watch from the high towers of Winterfell as their schemes unfold flawlessly. May never see Sansa's eyes light up like stars at night whenever he favors her with a story of valiant knights and maidens fair.

His mother is still talking of Roslin's loveliness and sweet nature, how the maester has assured her that the girl is fit enough (and ready) to produce healthy heirs. But none of it matters to Robb. He may be a man now and Lord of Winterfell, but at this moment, he feels like little more than a boy of five-and-ten. Furious over his father's unjust imprisonment, fearing for the safety of his sisters, and wanting nothing more than to wake up from the nightmare that has become his life.

Lord Walder Frey has seven trueborn daughters. Three are married, but Lord Frey has told the Young Wolf that he may pick any of the remaining four as his bride. Lady Catelyn says this is an honor, to be given such a choice. To Robb, it feels more like a trap. One maiden daughter is nearly old enough to be his mother, another too young to consider, especially if the wedding is to take place on the morrow.

Roslin he has already met and courted in the confines of the castle, to avoid her catching a chill as the weather in the Riverlands continues to grow worse. When Robb mentions this to Theon, his best friend scoffs at the thought of such a woman becoming Lady of Winterfell. "If she's balking at the weather now, just wait until she gets a taste of the North. Snow's likely to freeze her cunt shut."

Robb frowns disapprovingly at his friend's coarse words. But inwardly he wonders if the young kraken may have the right of it.

All that remains now is the final daughter - Arwyn. She accepted his request to court amongst his bannermen, in the confines of his command tent. And for that he is grateful. But she is even younger than her sister, just barely four-and-ten, and he imagines their meeting will be just as stilted.

He stands awaiting her carriage, Grey Wind at his side, despite his mother's misgivings. "Are you trying to scare the girl off?" she'd asked. Robb shrugged, not really sure of the answer.

When Arwyn steps out of the wheelhouse, wearing a dainty dress and her hair done up in an elaborate Southron style, Robb resigns himself to the flipping of a coin and a labored marriage. But when she rises from her perfectly executed curtsey, there's an unspoken challenge in her eyes that gives him pause.

Robb offers his arm. "Lady Arwyn."

She strides toward him – almost a swagger really – and seems completely unperturbed by Grey Wind's presence at his side. It gives both the boy and the direwolf pause. "My lord."

Robb dismisses both her escorts and his guards, leaving them alone (save for Grey Wind) in his tent. She ignores the dainty treats his mother had set out for them to enjoy and instead reaches straight for the wine. But that doesn't throw him near so much as her next words.

"You'd do well to pick Roslin. She'll birth your heirs, warm your bed, and keep her mouth shut all the while. As genteel a lady as any lord could hope for."

Robb takes a goblet of wine for himself, staring at Arwyn over the rim. "You don't want the title for yourself?"

"I've no interest in the game of thrones – iron or otherwise."

She stares intently into the nearby fire and Robb is struck by how different she is from Roslin. He'd missed it before, so focused on the elaborate gown and coiffure. But as he studies her now, Robb notes the firm set of her jaw, a barely noticeable scar that runs just under her chin, and the intensity in her green eyes.

"That's… refreshing to hear, my lady," Robb answers, surprising them both with his honesty.

Arwyn's eyes dart up to meet his and her lips quirk in what might be the beginning of a smile. "I aim to please, my lord."

The teasing lilt in her voice puts him more at ease than any practiced courtesy could ever manage and Robb begins to feel the faint traces of hope. A dangerous indulgence. "If not thrones, what does hold your interest, Lady Arwyn?"

She smiles for true and though her beauty is not breathtaking, her eyes are alit with a vim and vigor that Robb cannot help but find himself drawn to. By the end of the afternoon, he knows that she favors hawking and riding, but practices needlework and the high harp as well, for her father would accept no less. She appears genuinely intrigued when Robb speaks of Winterfell and he is all too happy to answer her questions about the Glass Gardens and ancient godswood.

When the topic drifts to family, his mood darkens at the thought of those presently lost to him – Father, Sansa, Arya, even Jon (who belongs to the Night's Watch now). He looks up when she places a hand on his arm and is glad to find no pity in her gaze. Robb attempts a smile and inquires as to her own family. At this Arwyn removes her hand and finishes off the wine in her goblet. She makes no move to answer and Robb is wise enough not to press it.

When the sun begins to set and Lady Catelyn arrives to return the Frey girl to her escorts, Robb and Arwyn are hunched over the war table as he recounts their latest battle. He minces no words, but Arwyn does not appear to mind the bloody details. She hungrily absorbs the strategy of it all, asking questions where most ladies would beg their leave.

Catelyn startles them out of their conversation and Robb assures his mother they'll follow in but a moment. With her departure, he turns to Arwyn, who has one hand buried in Grey Wind's fur. He smiles softly as his direwolf leans into her touch and is so distracted by the sight that he misses the forlorn look upon her face.

"You should choose Shirei for your bride," Arwyn declares, gazing up at him with undeniable certainty.

Robb does not bother to hide his shock. "Your younger sister? She's but six!"

"Exactly," Arwyn continues, her features carefully controlled. "Father won't be expecting it. He doesn't have a plan in order for that contingency and you'll be able to whisk her north before he'll have time to devise one."

Robb wants to take her in his arms and shake her, shout at her for telling him to choose another when she's the first woman at the Crossing who hasn't made him regret giving away his own hand, but then thinks over her words. "Plan? What sort of plans has Lord Walder been making?"

Arwyn grimaces, as if she's tasted something bitter. "Why, control of the North, of course. And perhaps beyond."

A cold fury fills the Young Wolf at the thought of such arrogance and machinations. "And how does he plan to accomplish such a feat?"

"You're an honorable man, my lord. Nothing like my father. No doubt you'd respect any woman you took as wife. Honor her. Grow to love her as well, I suspect. And that love would be wielded against you. Marry me or Roslin or Tyta and Walder Frey will own you. Just as he owns us."

Arwyn's lips twitch into a tragic smile and Robb feels a sharp pang resonate within him. He steps forward, wraps his hand around one of hers, and gives a gentle squeeze. "You're not property or livestock. You're a woman. And no man, not even Walder Frey, owns you."

A sound that is part sob and part laugh escapes Arwyn's throat and she returns the light pressure with her fingers. "He does, though, for he knows our fears and weakness. And would not hesitate to use them against us. For me, they are my brothers and sister, the five blessings my lady mother gave me before she passed from this world.

"I cannot speak as to Tyta's or Roslin's, but Shirei is young enough that it doesn't matter. You will wed her and take her away from this cursed castle, keep her hidden in Winterfell, far from the schemes of Walder Frey. In time, she will grow and forget us all. Forget everything but her love and duty to you. And then – then no one will be able to touch her."

Arwyn's voice trembles and cracks towards the end and Grey Wind whines at her side, licking the hand that is joined with his master's. Robb's face is hard as stone, but his blue eyes blaze into hers with his response.

"I am the son of Houses Stark and Tully, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will not be cowed by Walder Frey." His hands raise to frame Arwyn's cheeks. "I will wed you, if you will have me. I'll place my cloak around your shoulders beneath a weirwood. And when I vow to protect you from all who would do you harm, I will keep it."

Arwyn does not cry. But she does allow her lips to ghost softly over Robb's. The touch is so fleeting that he is half-convinced he'd imagined it. "Yes, my lord. But who will protect you from me?"

This time, it is Robb who allows his lips to capture Arwyn's. Though not nearly so soft as her stolen kiss had been, he is still careful not to push too far. Coaxing, but not demanding, giving her plenty chance to pull away if she found the action untoward. But she does not.

When they part, breathless, lips swollen, Arwyn buries her face in Robb's neck and his hands wind up her back, offering calm, reassuring strokes. "What say you, my lady?"

There is no answer and for a moment, Robb fears she will refuse. That he will be forced to wed one of her sisters. He permits himself to imagine such a future – burying himself in one Frey, but gasping the name of another – and shivers. "I'll protect you," he entreats her. "I'll protect your brothers and sister too. Arwyn, I swear it."

Silence reigns and Robb holds his breath, awaiting her response. Grey Wind muzzles Arwyn's hip, as if vowing his protection too. Outside the tent come the sounds of footsteps and Robb knows it is Arwyn's escort. They've lingered too long and now the Freys are coming to take her from him. A sense of urgency festers in his belly, but Robb dismisses it. He will not give into panic.

At long last, Arwyn murmurs something unintelligible that is lost in the folds of his cloak, but he feels her nod nonetheless and cannot keep the relieved smile from his lips. They step away from each other just as the tent flap stirs. It will soon open to reveal one of his guards, announcing Lady Arwyn's escorts.

Before it can, Arwyn fixes him with her gaze, a flicker of fear buried in her green eyes. "Be careful, Robb," she whispers, voice so soft it is almost lost in the wind. "My father is a Frey. And we take our tolls."

The words of House Frey echo in his mind long after her departure.

Part one of I-have-no-clue. How far this goes largely depends on feedback. But, assuming there's positive response, I'm prepared to take it all the way to the end.

For anyone who's curious, Arwyn is the daughter of Walder Frey and Annara Farring (his seventh wife who was rumored to be having an affair with Black Walder).

I have plans for many other characters to come into play as well. Including Arya, Sansa, Jaime, the Tyrells, Renly, the Hound, Aegon, and Gendry, to name a few.

Now please be so kind as to leave a review! And thank you for reading!