GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

"Cat?!"

Robert looked at the door and sat back up, getting off the side of the bed. He quickly opened the door and saw Catelyn standing in her fur gown from the feast.

"May I speak with you, Your Grace?"

Robert stepped aside and invited her in. But to his surprise, the tall, ripe woman walked over to his bed and sat at the foot of the bed. She looked back at him, her large blue eyes seemed clear and unwavering.

"What happened?" Robert asked and closed the door behind him.

After a faint moment of silence, Catelyn stared into his eyes. "I… I thought of your proposal, Your Grace."

"Which one?" He already knew what she was talking about, but his heart had changed. At that time it was his uncontrolled emotions.

"Regarding the proposal to join our houses… You are a widow, as am I, and so I find myself contemplating the possibility of such a union." Catelyn, as if ashamed, kept her voice low. Even when she felt Robert sitting down beside her, she didn't look. "You rushed to protect House Stark… I think you're an honorable man, Your Grace."

Not anymore, Cat. Eddard's shadow has long been diluted by the blood that runs in this body. Robert sighed deeply and formulated his words. He came to the North to protect his sons, not just for Catelyn or some other greater reason.

"You're willing to wed me?" Robert asked her.

"Wed you, and birth you heirs if I still can," she responded.

Noticing the lack of hesitation, Robert saw through her mental preparations.

All her responses are planned and rehearsed. Seeing Robb's incompetence must have her worried.

While it warmed his heart to see her willing, it soured his mind at the same time. Knowing that he sat there as Robert Baratheon, not Eddard Stark, and Catelyn was willing to lay with him. It felt wrong and borderline infidelity. To him she was Catelyn, but to her, he wasn't Ned.

"You're a brave one, Cat, I'll give you that—willing to do whatever it takes for your family. But I was wrong before. A marriage between us? It'd do neither of us any good."

Catelyn shot a quick glance at Robert. She thought he'd be happy to hear her reply. "Why the change of heart?"

Common sense, Cat. That's what I squeezed out of this body.

Robert decided to pour water on all her hopes by pushing her away. "I will be honest with you, Cat. You're a remarkable woman, proud and feminine, beautiful despite the years. Marrying our houses was a fine idea, but more than that, I also desired you as a woman—to bear me heirs if possible. But most certainly, I wished to bed you. It was my incapability to control my dark desires. But I won't make such a mistake anymore."

He simply confessed to wanting to fuck her, nothing else, as it fit Robert's image. For a woman of Catelyn's stature, it was the highest form of insult. To be looked at like a common whore.

As expected, her beautiful, blue eyes widened. She speechlessly stared at Robert's face before slowly getting up. Without saying anything, she began walking towards the door.

This is better for us. Robert told himself, fighting against the instincts that urged him to go and embrace her.

"Good night, Your Grace," Catelyn whispered and finally left through the door, not even glancing behind once.

Robert didn't mind and let it be. His goal for now was securing the North from whatever the Ironborn and most certainly the Lannisters had planned. The loss of Moat Cailin was an ominous sign of a greater malignancy.

"Bring me wine," Robert ordered whoever was outside, be a servant or a Kingsguard, and then moved over to the table. He sat down and began writing some letters for Stannis.

Knock! Knock!

"Your Grace, I brought you wine." Came a feminine voice from the other side.

Robert grunted and allowed her in, too engrossed in writing. Plans needed to be changed and warnings had to be made against Tywin's plots. Whatever the man was planning was aimed at revenge, not some grand ambition.

"Pour me a cup," he ordered and finally looked up. But then he froze, quickly remembering who the woman was.

The Wildling? What is she doing here? Who let her in?

Robert, or the man from the North in that body, remembered the woman. Initially ferocious, but eventually calmed down and learned to live at Winterfell as a servant. Her brown hair was shaggy, however, and her clothes were dirty rags.

He watched as Osha, if he recalled correctly, poured him a cup of wine. She lingered in his chamber longer than needed, slowly pouring wine while giving him side glances. Her face was cleaner that evening, her pale and unruly features visible. Tall and lean, she stood a head taller than Robb, yet much shorter than him.

"Why'd you flee south of the Wall, girl?" Robert questioned her, chuckling as she jolted at being caught. She was clearly not a servant meant to serve the King. He had previously granted her limited freedom.

Osha, with a hint of fear, yet the usual Wildling toughness, slid the cup of wine towards Robert and then stood straight in front of his table as if showcasing her tall, slender frame. "I… I heard your golden guard demand wine… I just brought it."

Robert put the wine glass on the side, not planning on sipping it. Instead, he relaxed and sized up Osha from head to toe. Just a little work on her attire and he could see a flower blooming. "Forget that. Answer me this—why'd you run from the North? Too bloody cold for you?"

Osha rubbed her hands together at her front, nervously looking down. She had no trouble barking back at the likes of Theon or Robb, or even talking back to Eddard previously, but Robert appeared more imposing even when she ignored his status.

"Cold's our comfort, my Lor—"

"Your Grace… the King is addressed as Grace," Robert corrected her.

"Your Grace…" Osha looked back at Robert's stern blue eyes and felt naked to his gaze. Too powerless. "I didn't mean to end up here. I was headed much farther south—far as south as you can go before the long night comes."

As the previous Lord of Winterfell, he knew what she was talking about. Those tales and legends were stories they'd heard since childhood. "The dead? You're afraid of them?"

He remembered the Night's Watch deserter he had beheaded. The man rambled about the same. But if a Wildling cried the same story, it was a different matter entirely. Moreover, he was now inclined to believe that his own existence was no less than resurrection and magic.

"They sleep during the day and hunt at night," Osha replied as if she had seen them with her own eyes. "They're coming… for all of us."

"Have you seen one?"

Osha nodded her head strongly, gulping. "Aye, I've seen them—walking corpses, dead men with bright blue eyes. They don't stop, they don't feel, and they don't die like living men do. The cold brings them, the cold and the dark. We were running for weeks, but there's no outrunning them. One of ours—he died on the march, just froze in the night—but come morning, he was walking again, and not as himself. His hands clawed at us like he meant to kill the lot of us. We had to burn him. If we hadn't, we'd all be dead or worse."

"The Wall will protect us," Robert responded, although slightly alarmed.

"I'll pray it does, Your Grace. Elsewise, the seas will freeze solid, and there'll be naught left with a bit of warmth to it," Osha replied.

Robert nodded and slid the cup of wine towards her. "What's your name?"

"Osha."

"Drink it." He gestured and pondered over what she just revealed. In truth, he didn't feel any urgency regarding the situation north of the Wall. It was important, but not more than the current predicament he was in. A war was on the horizon, and if he didn't win this one, nothing else mattered.

Osha grabbed the cup and gulped down every last drop of the wine.

"Are you married, Osha?" He asked suddenly.

"I was."

"Do you have children?"

"No." Osha put down the cup on the table and folded her arms under her breasts as if trying to jut them out. "Do you need help warming your bed tonight, Your Grace?"

"Why the sudden offer?" Robert, feeling intrigued, asked; seriously considering the offer. Denying Catelyn wasn't easy.

"I know lust when I see it, m'lor… Your Grace. Men don't have the wit to hide it, not from a sharp eye."

Wildlings and their tongue. Robert chuckled, knowing no other decent woman would have dared to speak to him like that. But that was the thing, Osha wasn't decent.

"How much for your cunt?" He took on the Robert persona. It made him feel less ashamed about chasing after his bodily needs.

"You can have it." Osha raised her chin as if trying to instill pride in herself. "But you'll take me south with you—no other way about it."

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