Chapter Text
The corridors of Winterfell seemed narrower than usual as the afternoon light faded into a dull grey haze. Servants moved quietly along the walls, carrying trays and baskets, their eyes carefully lowered. Word of the king’s injury had spread, as had the tension that now clung to the castle like frost on stone.
Jaime walked with his usual measured stride, cloak draped over one shoulder, expression carved from ice. He had spent most of the day avoiding everyone, particularly the maester’s tower and the Lord’s chambers. The ache between his legs had dulled to a persistent throb, but the memory of the morning still burned.
He turned a corner toward the eastern gallery and nearly collided with Robb.
The Young Wolf stood blocking the passage, one hand braced against the stone wall. He looked pale and drawn, the fresh bandages visible beneath his tunic, but he was on his feet. His blue eyes locked onto Jaime immediately.
“Jaime,” Robb said, voice low. “Wait.”
Jaime didn’t slow. He tried to step around him.
Robb moved to block him again. “I said wait.”
Jaime’s jaw tightened. He could already see two servant girls further down the hall pausing with their baskets, pretending to adjust their loads while watching the exchange. Rumors spread faster than ravens in Winterfell. The last thing he needed was whispers reaching Casterly Rock that the Kingslayer couldn’t even obey his own alpha.
With visible reluctance, Jaime stopped. His voice was cool and sharp when he finally spoke.
“Make it quick, Stark. Some of us have better things to do than hover in corridors like lovesick fools.”
Robb’s expression flickered, irritation, guilt, and something heavier. He glanced once at the watching servants, then stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did this morning,” he said gruffly. “The things about your family and our marriage. I was angry. In pain. I spoke like an ass.”
Jaime’s green eyes remained cold.
“How gracious of you to notice,” he replied, tone dripping with mockery. “And yet you still dragged me into bed and fucked me like one anyway. How very northern of you.”
Robb’s jaw flexed. He kept his voice low, but there was an edge to it.
“My mother has been at me for weeks about an heir. Every look, every meeting, every gods-damned conversation ends with the same question. She thinks I’m being weak. That I’m letting you manipulate me. That I’m failing the North by not putting a pup in you yet.” He exhaled sharply. “I took it out on you. That was wrong.”
Jaime stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
“So your apology is that your mother is a bitch, and therefore you treated me like a whore?” he said softly, dangerously polite. “How charming. I feel so much better now.”
Robb’s hand twitched at his side, as if he wanted to reach out but thought better of it.
“I’m trying, Jaime,” he said, frustration bleeding into his voice. “I’m trying to be a king and a husband at the same time, and everything keeps pulling me in different directions. You think I enjoy waking up knowing you hate me? Knowing I’ve made you feel like this?”
Jaime’s lips curved into a thin, humorless smile.
“I think you enjoy the power far more than you’re willing to admit,” he said quietly. “And right now, I have no interest in being your emotional piss-pot simply because your mother has been nagging you. If that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”
He made to move past Robb again.
Robb caught his arm, not roughly, but firmly enough to stop him.
“Jaime,” he said, almost pleading now. “Don’t walk away again.”
Jaime looked down at the hand on his arm, then slowly back up at Robb’s face. His voice was very quiet, very controlled, and very cold.
“Remove your hand, Stark. Before I remove it for you.”
The two servants had stopped pretending to work entirely. Robb released him slowly, eyes shadowed with regret and lingering pain.
Jaime adjusted his cloak with deliberate care, as if the entire exchange had been beneath him, and continued down the corridor without another word. He didn’t look back, but the weight of Robb’s gaze followed him long after he turned the corner, heavy as chains.
Jaime adjusted his cloak with deliberate care, as if the entire exchange had been beneath him, and continued down the corridor without another word. He didn’t look back, but the weight of Robb’s gaze followed him long after he turned the corner, heavy as chains.
He had barely taken thirty paces when he heard it.
“Find Lord Umber,” Robb’s voice echoed from behind him, rough but commanding. “Tell the council I will not be attending today.”
Jaime’s steps faltered for half a second.
Then came the sound of hurried footsteps, uneven and pained, but determined, hurrying after him.
“Jaime,” Robb called, voice carrying down the stone hallway. “Wait. Please.”
Jaime kept walking for another few moments, jaw tight, before finally stopping. He did not turn around immediately. When he did, his expression was cold, composed, and utterly unimpressed.
Robb was limping toward him, one hand pressed against his bandaged side, face pale with the effort. He looked like he should still be in bed, yet here he was, chasing his angry omega through the corridors like a fool.
“You’re going to reopen that wound if you keep this up,” Jaime said flatly. “Though perhaps that would finally teach you some sense.”
Robb stopped a few feet away, breathing hard. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead.
“I’m trying,” he said, voice low. “I know I’ve been… shit. Since the wedding. Before it, even. I’ve been a poor husband.”
Jaime raised one golden eyebrow, arms folding across his chest.
“An impressive admission. Did your blood finally reach your brain?”
Robb ignored the barb. He took another step closer, eyes earnest despite the pain etched into his features.
“I meant what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that this morning, or the days before it. The things I've said about not choosing you… about you being forced on me.” He swallowed. “They were cruel. And they weren’t entirely true.”
Jaime’s expression didn’t soften.
“Not entirely,” he repeated, voice silky with disdain. “How comforting.”
Robb ran a hand through his messy red curls, clearly struggling.
“I’m angry at a lot of things, Jaime. At this war. At your family. At the fact that I was handed a crown I never asked for and a husband I didn’t know how to want.” He met Jaime’s eyes steadily. “But I do want you. Even when you hate me. Even when you fight me at every turn. I just… I don’t know how to do this right. Not with my mother breathing down my neck about heirs every hour of every day.”
Jaime stared at him for a long moment, green eyes unreadable.
“And yet the first thing you do after insulting me is drag me into bed and fuck me like I’m your property,” he said quietly. “Forgive me if I find your sudden change of heart difficult to trust.”
Robb looked genuinely pained, and not just from the wound.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was angry and I took it out on you. That was unworthy of both of us.”
The corridor was quiet around them. Somewhere in the distance, a door closed. A servant’s footsteps faded away.
Jaime exhaled slowly through his nose, studying his husband with cool detachment.
“You’re still bleeding through your bandages,” he said eventually, changing the subject. “Go back to bed before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”
Robb took another careful step forward.
“Will you come with me?” he asked, quieter now. Almost hesitant. “Not for… that. Just to talk. Or not talk. Whatever you wish.”
Jaime was silent for several heartbeats.
Then he gave a small, tired shrug, as if none of it truly mattered.
“Fine,” he said. “But if you say one more stupid thing, I’m leaving. And this time I won’t come back just because you limp after me like a wounded dog.”
Robb’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite.
“Understood.”
They began walking back toward their chambers together, the silence between them heavy but no longer quite so hostile.
The Lord’s chambers were quiet except for the soft crackle of the hearth and the occasional rustle of parchment.
Jaime sat at the heavy oak table near the window, an old ledger from the Winterfell stores open before him. He wasn’t truly reading it. The numbers and tallies blurred together on the page, but it gave him something to pretend to focus on. Anything to avoid acknowledging the large, injured alpha watching him from the bed.
Robb had been staring for a long time.
Jaime could feel the weight of those Tully-blue eyes on the side of his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the fall of his golden hair. It was unnerving. Not hostile. Just… heavy. Persistent.
Finally, Jaime snapped the ledger shut with more force than necessary and looked up.
“Seven hells, Stark,” he said, voice sharp with irritation. “If you’re going to stare at me like I’m a particularly interesting tapestry, at least have the decency to be subtle about it.”
Robb didn’t flinch. He lay propped against the pillows, freshly bandaged again, looking pale but stubbornly awake. His red curls were tousled against the linen.
“I was thinking,” Robb said quietly.
“How novel.”
Robb ignored him. “Are you hungry? I could have them bring something up. We could share a meal. Together.” He paused, then added, almost carefully, “Or… if you’d rather, we could go to the godswood. I’ve heard you spend a lot of time there.”
Jaime stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Then he let out a short, humorless laugh.
“You should be in bed,” he said flatly. “Resting. Not playing at being a thoughtful husband because you feel guilty about this morning.”
Robb’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained low. “I am in bed. And I’m trying to do better.”
“Trying,” Jaime echoed, leaning back in his chair. His green eyes were cool, assessing. “How convenient that your attempts at being a better husband only seem to appear after you’ve insulted me, bled on me, and fucked me like a punishment.”
Robb looked away for a moment, shame flickering across his face. When he looked back, his expression was raw.
“I know I’ve been cruel,” he said. “I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight. I’m just… asking if you’ll let me try. A meal. Conversation. Or even silence in the godswood, if that’s what you want. I just don’t want this silence between us to keep rotting.”
Jaime studied him in silence. The offer was simple. Almost painfully so. Yet it felt like a trap, another way for Robb to ease his own guilt while Jaime was expected to soften and play along.
He should say no.
He should tell Robb to go fuck himself and his half-hearted attempts at reconciliation. He should walk out and find somewhere quiet where he didn’t have to deal with any of this.
Instead, something quieter inside him, something warm and traitorous, stirred.
The godswood.
He did like it there. The ancient silence. The heart tree watching over everything. The way the cold air felt cleaner than anywhere else in this frozen pile of stone. It was the only place in Winterfell that didn’t make him feel like a prisoner.
Jaime exhaled slowly through his nose.
“…Fine,” he said at last, the word dragged out like it pained him. “The godswood. But only because I was going to go there anyway today. Don’t fool yourself into thinking this is for you.”
Robb’s shoulders eased, the tension bleeding out of them like a man granted a reprieve.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Jaime stood without another word, grabbing his cloak. He didn’t offer to help Robb up, but he also didn’t walk too fast when the alpha limped after him.
The godswood was quiet under a heavy grey sky, snow dusting the branches like powdered sugar. The heart tree stood sentinel as always, its red leaves stark against the white.
They walked in silence for a while. Robb moved carefully, one hand occasionally pressing against his bandaged side. Jaime kept half a step ahead, arms crossed beneath his cloak, refusing to make this easy.
Eventually, they reached the stone bench near the weirwood. Jaime sat. Robb lowered himself more gingerly beside him, exhaling sharply at the pull on his wound.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
But then, just as Robb opened his mouth, Marta appeared on the path, cheerful as ever, little William bundled warmly in her arms.
“Lord Jaime!” she called brightly, as though she hadn’t just walked in on what was clearly a private moment. “And Lord Robb! How wonderful to see you both together. I was just coming to find you, my lord. Young Will has been fussy today, and I thought we might practice burping technique again. It’s very important for—”
She stopped mid-sentence as she noticed the tension between them and the way Robb was sitting stiffly, clearly in pain.
“Oh,” she said, softening. “Perhaps now isn’t the best time. I can take him back to his mother.”
Robb lifted his hand before Jaime could speak.
“No,” he said, voice rough but surprisingly gentle. “Bring him here.”
Marta beamed, clearly delighted. She approached and carefully transferred little Will into Robb’s arms. The baby looked tiny against the alpha’s broad chest.
Robb adjusted his hold with surprising care, one large hand supporting the babe’s head. Little Will blinked up at him sleepily, then let out a small, contented gurgle.
Jaime watched the scene in silence, something complicated twisting in his chest. His omega purred at the sight, the powerful alpha holding an infant so gently, but his pride hissed in protest.
Marta clasped her hands together, positively glowing.
“Look at that,” she cooed. “He already knows his king. Such a good, strong alpha you are, my lord. The little ones can always sense it.”
Jaime rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of his head.
“Seven save me from this,” he muttered under his breath.
Marta, thankfully, caught the look on his face and gave a knowing little smile.
“I’ll leave you both to it, then,” she said cheerfully, already backing away. “Just call if you need me.” She gave a little curtsy and retreated down the snowy path, humming to herself as she went.
The moment she was out of earshot, Jaime turned his attention back to Robb and little Will. He narrowed his eyes.
“You’re holding him wrong,” he said flatly.
Robb blinked. “I’m supporting his head.”
“Barely. You’re too stiff. He’s not a sword, Stark. Stop gripping him like you’re about to swing him at someone.”
Before Robb could protest, Jaime leaned over and carefully took little Will from his arms. The baby made a small, confused sound at the transfer, but settled quickly against Jaime’s chest with a contented sigh. Jaime adjusted the infant with practiced ease, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other supporting his bottom.
“Like this,” he said, voice gruff. “You’re supposed to make him feel secure, not like he’s in a battle formation.”
Robb watched him silently for a moment, blue eyes soft in a way that made Jaime’s skin prickle.
“You’re good with him,” Robb said quietly. “Natural.”
Jaime’s omega sang at the words, a deep, warm purr rumbling through his chest before he could stop it. The praise hit something soft and vulnerable inside him, making his arms tighten instinctively around the baby. For a brief, treacherous second, he imagined this was their child. A little red-haired pup with Robb’s eyes, safe and content in his arms while his alpha watched with that same gentle pride.
His brain recoiled violently from the image.
Stop it, he thought furiously. You are not some simpering omega bitch who melts at the first compliment.
He cleared his throat and quickly handed little Will back to Robb.
“Here. Try again. And don’t hold him like a sack of grain this time.”
Robb accepted the baby carefully, adjusting his grip under Jaime’s watchful eye. The alpha’s large hands looked almost comically gentle as he cradled the infant the way Jaime had shown him. Little Will cooed happily, nuzzling into Robb’s chest.
Jaime’s omega was ecstatic. It purred louder than it had in weeks, flooding him with warmth and a deep, instinctive satisfaction at seeing the powerful alpha holding a babe so tenderly. The image was doing dangerous things to him, making his stomach flutter, his scent sweeten, his thoughts drift toward dangerous possibilities.
He hated how much he liked it.
“Better,” Jaime said curtly, looking away toward the heart tree. “Don’t bounce him. Just rock him slightly if he fusses. And keep his head supported. He’s not a soldier, he’s an infant.”
Robb’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile, but he didn’t comment on how closely Jaime was watching them, or how his scent had shifted.
Instead, he simply held the baby, glancing occasionally at Jaime with that same quiet, complicated look.
And Jaime, despite every arrogant, prideful part of himself screaming in protest, couldn’t quite make himself look away.
The heart tree watched over them in silence, red leaves fluttering gently in the cold wind, as if even the old gods were curious to see what would become of the lion and the wolf.
The godswood had grown quieter as the weak northern light began to fade. Little Will had dozed off in Robb’s arms, tiny fist curled against the alpha’s tunic. Jaime sat beside them on the stone bench, arms crossed, pretending to study the heart tree while his mind churned.
He refused to admit how peaceful the scene felt.
Footsteps crunched on the snow behind them.
Catelyn Stark appeared on the path, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes swept over the three of them, Robb holding the baby, Jaime sitting beside him with empty arms, and her expression tightened.
“Robb,” she said, voice clipped as she approached. “You should not be out of bed. Maester Luwin said rest.”
Robb opened his mouth, but Catelyn’s gaze had already shifted to Jaime. Her lips thinned with clear disapproval.
“And you,” she said, tone sharp enough to cut. “Sitting there like a guest while your husband— injured, no less— holds someone else’s child. Is this how you intend to behave when you finally give him an heir? Lounging about while he does the work of fatherhood?”
Jaime’s jaw locked. He didn’t rise to the bait immediately, but his green eyes went cold.
Catelyn didn’t stop. “You’ve spent weeks complaining about your duties, yet here you are, refusing even the simplest responsibility. Robb is wounded and still doing what you will not. Typical Lannister selfishness.”
The words landed hard.
Robb remained silent for several long seconds, staring down at the sleeping baby in his arms. His face was unreadable.
Jaime’s fingers dug into his own arms, but he kept his voice steady, almost bored.
“My apologies,” he drawled. “I was under the impression this was a borrowed infant, not a political test. But do continue scolding me, Lady Catelyn. I’m sure it helps your son heal faster.”
Catelyn’s eyes flashed. “You mock me while my son bleeds because of the burdens you’ve placed on him. You refuse to carry his child. You refuse to support him. You—”
“Mother.”
Robb’s voice cut through the air, low but firm.
Catelyn turned to him, surprised. “Robb, I am only—”
“Enough.”
Robb shifted little Will carefully in his arms and looked up at his mother. His expression was tired, pained, but resolute.
“Jaime has done nothing wrong today,” he said. “He didn’t ask for this child. He didn’t force me out here. I chose to come. And he chose to sit with me. That should be enough.”
Catelyn looked genuinely taken aback. “You defend him? After everything—”
“Yes,” Robb said, voice hardening. “I defend him. He is my husband. My mate. And I have treated him poorly enough without you adding to it.”
He met his mother’s eyes steadily, though it clearly cost him.
“I know you want what’s best for me. For the North. But Jaime is part of this family now, whether you like it or not. And I will not have you speaking to him like he’s beneath us. Not anymore.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Catelyn stared at her son for a long moment, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then she gave a short, stiff nod.
“As you wish,” she said coldly. Her gaze flicked to Jaime once more, still full of disapproval, before she turned and walked back down the path without another word.
Robb let out a long, tired breath once she was gone. He glanced sideways at Jaime.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “She shouldn’t speak to you like that.”
Jaime didn’t reply right away. He simply stared at the heart tree, jaw tight, the complicated warmth in his chest warring with his pride.
But gods… the sight of Robb right now was doing dangerous things to him.
The Young Wolf, injured, pale, still clearly in pain, sitting there holding little Will so carefully against his broad chest. Defending Jaime in front of his mother. Claiming him publicly as his husband. His mate. The powerful alpha protecting what was his, even while bleeding.
Jaime’s omega was howling.
Heat flooded low in his belly, sudden and fierce. His cunt clenched involuntarily, a fresh trickle of slick warming between his thighs. The mating mark on his neck throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He wanted nothing more than to climb into Robb’s lap right here beneath the weirwood and ride his husband until they were both raw and breathless.
He wanted to be claimed. Taken. Wanted.
Robb must have scented it. The alpha’s nostrils flared, his blue eyes darkening as he looked at Jaime. For a moment, something hot and hungry flashed across his face, the same primal want that had taken him that morning.
But then Robb closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose.
“No,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Jaime’s voice came out rougher than he intended. “No?”
Robb shook his head, adjusting little Will gently in his arms. The baby stirred but didn’t wake.
“I’m trying to be better,” Robb said quietly. “I’ve used you when I was angry. Used you when I was hurting. I won’t do it again just because you smell…” He swallowed hard. “Because you smell like you want me.”
Jaime’s hands curled into fists on his thighs. His body was screaming at him. His cunt ached, wet and empty, throbbing with the need to be filled by the alpha who had just stood up for him.
“You of all people are going to lecture me about restraint?” Jaime asked, voice low and edged with frustration.
Robb gave a weak, pained smile.
“I meant what I said earlier. I want to try. Not just fucking when we’re angry. Not using each other to feel better. I want…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I want this to be real. Even if we’re both shit at it right now.”
Jaime stared at him, chest tight, cock half-hard in his breeches and slick steadily soaking through his smallclothes. His omega was furious at the denial, whining and clawing at him to climb into Robb’s lap anyway.
But some small, exhausted part of him, the part that was so very tired of being used and discarded, recognized what Robb was trying to do.
He looked away toward the heart tree, jaw clenched.
“You’re still an idiot,” he muttered.
“Probably,” Robb agreed softly.
The silence that settled between them was different now, charged, heavy with want, but no longer purely hostile. Little Will made a small sleepy sound in Robb’s arms. Robb instinctively rocked him, large hand rubbing slow circles on the baby’s back. Jaime watched the movement, throat tight.