Knocking on the chamber door, Maester Luwin didn't waste a moment before he entered the room and closed the door swiftly behind him; his hands clutching at the letter that had just arrived knowing that Robb would want to see it.
"I am sorry to disturb you my Lady," Maester Luwin murmured, moving towards the bed, he hadn't meant to disturb her but this couldn't wait. He had hoped to find Robb with her in the nursery, since he was not at the hall, but he still was not there and he could not ignore the lady of the castle.
She sighed running her fingers through Alia's hair, while she opened her spare hand.
"Urgent news from King's Landing," Maester Luwin insisted, handing over the letter that he had just received.
Vitoria waved her hand, dismissing him as she read the letter. Her stomach churned as she read the words, taking a few deep breaths before setting down her daughter and leaving the nursery.
Her husband had to read this.
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Robb,
I write to you with a heavy heart. You have been summoned to King's Landing to bend the knee and pledge your fealty to the new king, Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name.
The late King Robert was fatally wounded in a boar hunt and has passed his crown to his beloved son with his wife serving as the Queen Mother until their son has a better grasp upon his kingship. The new king has summoned you to bend the knee and pay your respects; he also asks for you to bring Vitoria and your children, so your wife can also plead her allegiance as a Martell and a Stark both and the realm can see the southernmost kingdom united with the North.
Our father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, has been imprisoned for plotting against Robert Baratheon and his heirs in an attempt to take the throne for himself. I beseech you to ride South and prove the North's loyalty to the Iron Throne.
Father is in the dungeons, awaiting his trial because he conspired with the king's brothers to steal the throne. I am being given every comfort by the Lannisters, but brother I beseech you to ride South to swear fealty.
Your beloved sister,
Sansa
Robb crumpled the letter in his hand and swore. "What in the seven hells had my father been thinking?! What could he have possibly done to piss off the Lannisters so much?"
"He probably discovered a truth they'd rather keep hidden," Vitoria said gently. "Or, they had something to do with Lord Arryn's death." She pressed a kiss to his curls. "They are Cersei's words in Sansa's hand. Those final words about how they have been treating her are a threat."
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His father had no idea when to keep secrets and when to tell them. It was sad to think that he probably knew more about how to play the game than his father. But, after all, his father did not have a wife who was dornish, a wife who had a fervent hate for the Lannisters and the Baratheons for the murder of her aunt and cousins.
Robb flattened the letter out so it would be more easily read. Everyone needed to be able to read it. He closed his eyes and swore.
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"What do you want?" Elinor Tanten had asked her granddaughter nearly a decade ago.
"Que?" Vitoria had responded. What?
"What do you want?" Elinor responded. "Un épouse gentil? Un épouse bello? Un épouse rico? El amor? È che non vuoi un marit." A kind husband? A handsome husband? A rich husband? Love? No spouse?
"Knowledge." A ten year old Vitoria had said.
"D'un épouse?" Elinor had asked. From a spouse?
"Respect." Vitoria had amended her answer. "Voglio poder et le respect." I want power and respect. "Amor tambien." Love as well.
"Tu est sage" You are wise, Elinor had said. "Power can be a woman's only solace in this world. C'est mon." It's mine.
"Grazie, grand-meré." Thank you, grandmother, Vitoria had responded.
"Power is fickle," Elinor had continued. "Power won't keep you warm at night. It will exhaust you but exhilarate you beyond anything you can imagine. In order to hold it you must balance on the thinnest of threads. I was born to power and lands, my title, my bloodlines have not even saved me from its loss. It was wed to a distant cousin because I was a girl and I had to marry. But I married into money and power as well. You cannot afford a single misstep."
"Et l'amour?" And love? Vitoria had asked.
"If you're lucky you'll have it."
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Robb listened as the bannermen stood, roaring for a call to arms against the crown. He could not blame them. The last time a Southron king had held a Stark hostage, it had not ended well for either of them.
"We cannot go to war until my father and sisters are safe," he said. All the men had ceased their roaring when he spoke. "We can go to war afterwards if we need to, but right now, we need to focus on getting my father and my sisters back."
"What shall we do then, Lord Stark," Dacey Mormont asked.
"You will march South with an army, however, it will be passed as a delegation of the North's major lords as a sign of good faith, to show you will all bend the knee to the new king, as a way to solidify his new rule with the backing of the entire North. However, it is a warning. The North is the largest kingdom of Westeros and if the king does anything... you will be ready," Quentyn answered instead, his voice frosty though his eyes showed his worry.
He would ride with them, Robb remembered. Outwardly, as a show of good faith from Dorne. But truly it was at his own insistence, along with Vitoria's. His wife had already told him that she was better than her brother at playing the game, but that the Yronwoods had still instilled some political skills in Quentyn. So, Quentyn would ride south with them to try to counter the Northern brashness with southern subtlety. All the while, both siblings would continue to write to their father, in an attempt to gauge his reaction to the changing political climate.
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The lords come, day after day, and their men too. It isn't that Vitoria is surprised by this, but she's also never been privy to a muster before. Dorne, still bitter over Robert's Rebellion, had all but stayed out of the Greyjoy Rebellion, and as such there had been no banners to call in that year, but through her hazy memories she remembers enough to know that the Mad King never summoned his forces to the capital.
This has not quite come to war yet, she tells herself.
She's lying to herself and she knows it. She has lived among the Starks long enough to understand that unless Joffrey can produce a very good reason to justify his accusations of treason, there is no possibility that Robb will accept it. And so, it will indeed come to war. She just wishes that Arianne would write back to her, that Luna would write more than 'call the banners'. She must have known something was going to happen before it did, but didn't dare commit it to paper. Which means that whatever is at the root of it all is very dangerous indeed.
In the absence of more information, Vitoria is sensible enough to view this as another opportunity to win support as Lady of Winterfell. So she hosts the lords bannermen and their levies, one after another. All of them want something, of course; that is the way of things. Lady Mormont's brought one of her youngest daughters, Lyra, to be a companion to Vitoria – Vitoria accepts this, along with a promise to take in Jonelle Cerwyn after the war. It's better this way, for her to have northern ladies from northern families. She knows many were displeased that instead of doing so from the beginning, she chose an Arryn and a Tully bastard and kept Lexa with her.
Vitoria learns what the lords all want at night, Robb coming to their chambers and lying beside her, looking for someone to confide in more than a lover these days. She learns that Bolton and Glover both insist on battle command, Hornwood is even more demanding, wanting a holdfast, hunting rights, and to dam the White Knife – which the Manderlys will just hate, she imagines.
"The Greatjon wants Leila to be betrothed to his grandson," Robb says one night, toying with a lock of Vitoria's hair. "They are nearly of an age – the boy's name is Jon as well and he's six – so it's not such a bad match."
That could be quite welcome if Leila was not going to be her brother's heir until they had another son, Vitoria thinks but does not say. It's far too early for anyone else, even her husband, to know how determined she is that her daughter inherit if anything were to happen to Artos, and for another, it is also too early to select a husband for her.
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Vitoria sighed as she set the spoon down, peering at the pot. There was still something missing, the mixture should be clear, but it still held a bluish tint to it.
She looked at the herbs in the table nearby and grabbed some nightshade and hesitantly added it, a small smile breaking out on her face when after the steam generated finally dissipated the liquid was now transparent.
Carefully, she poured it into three small vials, until the pot was dry and empty, setting them aside before she added the dried sage and the yarrow leaves, pouring a small amount of ale over it before crushing the leaves and watching them dissolve.
While the substance boils, she takes out the small chest where she's been storing them all and grimaces when she realizes that she still hasn't made enough of them all for her to feel comfortable sending Robb with them. She should have made more, but this came so unexpectedly and she hasn't had the time.
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The most dramatic night comes when the Greatjon almost takes his men back home. For a moment, Vitoria is almost certain he's going to draw steel on Robb – she sees his sword begin to clear its sheath – and then, suddenly, Grey Wind is there, and two of Greatjon's fingers are mere bleeding stumps. "My father taught me it was treason to draw steel on your lord – but doubtless you only meant to cut my meat," Robb calls in a voice that rings through the hall, and Vitoria can see the steel underneath his skin.
The Greatjon, shockingly, laughs, and it's clear even through the man's pain that Robb's gained an ally. Vitoria relaxes in her seat beside her husband, and as the feast resumes becomes aware of a low chuckle to her other side. Theon Greyjoy's place at the high table had been murmured at, but not so much as she might have expected. "Share the joke, Greyjoy?"
"Only that Robb won more help tonight letting his wolf off the leash than he has in days upon days of carefully playing the lord. Not that he hasn't done a good job of pretending to be his father, but if only he'd known we could have been past this mess already."
"Yes, well, having a wolf mutilate a high lord isn't usually a good idea. Robb was just fortunate that the Greatjon isn't a typical high lord."
"None of the Northerners are. They're greenlanders but not like the southrons," Theon says with a shrug. "Not so unlike your Dornishmen, didn't you say so before?"
Vitoria has – listening to stories of how the smallfolk gathered in the winter town when winters came, sheltering beneath Winterfell where the castle and its hot springs provided warmth. It reminded her of the importance of water back home, how people gathered near oases, turned even the bitterest sources of water into something at least tolerable.
The North and Dorne were on opposite sides of the continent, but they had much in common. People worked together to survive on the extreme weather and unlike in the other kingdoms, the lords did not just spit on the commoners. They were different, but at their core, they were very similar.
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Vitoria sat in front of her vanity, brushing her hair. The door to her chambers opened and Vitoria smiled slightly, knowing Robb had arrived.
"You're late, dear husband," she complained, feigning annoyance even though there was a smile playing on her lips.
"I was supposed to be here at a certain time?" Robb asked as he started stripping, quickly removing his coats and furs.
She stayed silent as he walked over to her, wearing only his breeches. He wrapped his arms around her upper body, trailing kisses down her neck. She chuckled as his hands reached her breasts before he made his way to her nightgown's lacing, grabbing his wrists and prying them off her body.
"Stop," she spoke up, and turned to face him, seeing his confused face.
Vitoria placed her fingers on the waistband of his breeches, pulling her husband close and pressing their lips together before once again pulling away. "Take off your pants," she demanded playfully.
Robb chuckled before obeying her orders. He tugged at his pants, untying them and allowing them to fall to the ground. Once he was completely bare, having kicked away his breeches, he looked at his wife once more. But Vitoria wasn't looking at his eyes, rather she was looking down, causing him to smirk.
"How is this fair?" Vitoria looked up and finally met his eyes, "I'm naked here while you are fully clothed."
"Get on the bed," she demanded.
Robb continued to look around, not obeying her. "Since when are you so –" he was cut off by Vitoria pushing him down onto their bed.
He stared up at his wife, shocked by how dominant she was becoming all of a sudden. He used his elbows to prop himself up as Vitoria slowly untied the lacing at her chest. He watched closely, his smirk becoming wider at the sight he so enjoyed. She allowed her nightgown to fall to the floor, leaving herself as naked as he was.
Vitoria walked towards the bed and straddled Robb, who immediately grabbed her waist to flip them over. "Don't think about it."
She smirked when she saw how shocked he was and pressed her palms to his chest, lowering herself and letting out a gasp as he held back a groan.
"Are you sure we can't -" Robb tried to ask, wanting to be on top.
"Tonight I'm in charge. You leave tomorrow, Robb. It might be one of our last nights together," she answered as she rolled her hips to match his instinctive movements, a small sigh escaping her lips.
Hours later, the pair finally grew tired and pulled away from each other, their bodies glowing with sweat. Vitoria laughed to herself, her body pressed against Robb's as they both came down from their highs.
"Promise me something Robb," Vitoria whispered from her spot at his chest. "Don't bring home a bastard like your father did to your mother. I know you won't remain faithful, but please, make sure you don't have a child with another woman while you are away."
"I promise," Robb kissed her head as he pulled her closer to him, her hair pooling over his shoulder.
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George R.R. Martin has said that some of the Free Cities were inspired by the Mediterranean coastline. I took this into consideration when creating my own version of Norvos. For those who do not remember, Mellario (Doran's ex-wife) is Norvosi, which makes Vitoria part Norvosi. In my mind, in Norvos they speak a mix of the Romance languages, hence the scene between Vitoria and her grandmother showing French, Italian and Spanish.
I apologize if any of the translations are wrong. I speak Spanish fluently and while I can understand some French and Italian, I am not fluent in them. For the French and Italian translations, I used Google Translate and amended things if I realized something was wrong.