A new story! I plan on updating this alongside Fire in the Wind so you should get a new chapter for each whenever they are released. Another AU story this time with no threat from the Others, as well as Robb Stark having married Roslin Frey as soon as he received word of the betrothal in order to not break his mother's oath. This story takes place about 7-8 months after their marriage. Robb will be a bit (small changes, honestly!) AU in personality, hopefully that doesn't sour your mood.

To be truthful, this story loosely takes place within this amazing game of Crusader Kings 2 I had using the Game of Thrones mod, most of the later main events happened in the game but will be used sparingly as they do get kind of crazy (I'm talking Tywin became immortal and tamed a dragon crazy, which -obviously- won't be appearing). I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

A new chapter of Fire in the Wind will be up tomorrow, still have to finish one scene, so in the mean time, here is A Wolf's Vengeance!

He had done his duty, and this is how the Gods repaid him. Had it been because he had laid with Jeyne Westerling? Were the Gods punishing him for that? Or were they punishing him for not confirming their marriage before a weirwood tree? The king and his men had just returned from a successful battle against the Lannister forces, Jaime Lannister was still held captive in their camp, and things seemed to be looking up for the Stark forces. Robb Stark, the King in the North, was regaling in their victory when the news came that his wife, Roslin Frey, had gone into labor. He cursed himself for not having kept a closer eye, but surely it was too early… Surely his wife still had a few more months. Perhaps the Gods damned him for not treating her as a wife and instead more of someone to breed his heirs. Damn it, damn it all!

"Your grace?" the maester questioned softly as the king held his newborn daughter in his arms, trying to will her to take her first breath. It had been over an hour. Robb Stark sat silent, his clothes bathed in blood as he stared at the child's face. He imagined her growing up to be a true Northern princess, learning needlework with her aunt Sansa, practicing with her aunt Arya in the tiltyard, learning to read with her uncle Bran… Stealing sweets with Rickon… The King in the North shuddered and tried not to let out another cry of agony. This was supposed to be a happy day for the North, the birth of the next generation after so many losses had been generated from this forsaken war. "Your grace?" the maester pressed again, but Robb didn't wish to speak. Not to the maester, not to his squire Olyvar, not to anyone. Olyvar Frey stood vigil over his sister's unmoving body, his own tears staining his face but he stood silent with his sword pressed firmly into the ground, daring anyone to disturb the peace.

Finally the maester left the premises knowing that he wasn't going to be the one to get a response from the king and the two good-brothers locked eyes. Sobs erupted from Olyvar and soon Robb followed. It felt wrong, Robb concluded, that he should be crying for a wife he didn't love, for someone he treated so poorly as he still pinned for the Westerling girl that had since been married off. The squire dropped to his knees and placed his head upon his sister's motionless hand. Robb clutched his daughter closer to his body as a protective wolf mother would do to her own pup. He wanted nothing more to comfort his good-brother but he couldn't move from his spot. Something kept him from moving towards Roslin.

A commotion outside didn't tear Robb's gaze away from his daughter and neither did a woman's gasp as she flew through the tent flap. Olyvar quickly stood at the ready, damn the tears blinding him, but when he saw who it was he let his guard down and returned to his vigil. The room smelled and was covered in blood. Catelyn Stark's mouth went dry.

"Robb…"

They say in the South the birthing chamber was a woman's battleground and many of the Northerners would have scoffed at that idea. But that was the truth, his Southron wife had fought and lost her battle today. Was that why the Gods punished him? Because he had married in the South like his father had?

"S-She looks like you, doesn't she, mother?"

His throat hurt as he spoke and his voice was hoarse and threatened to break. Olyvar whispered softly, "She has our mother's nose. She is the cumulation of both of our mothers…" Catelyn Stark sat next to her son and granddaughter, brushing back the babe's small tuft of fiery red hair that reminded her so much of Sansa. Tears filled her eyes and and pulled her son into a tight hug, the same that she would do when he had hurt himself when he was so young, the same when he had heard of Eddard's death. Robb let out another sob and shook in his seat.

"Have you named her?" Catelyn questioned after a few minutes of embrace. The King in the North's eyes widened, he had indeed not thought of that. Roslin claimed it would be a son, in fact she was sure of it. They wanted little Eddard Stark to run around as their prince. It was the only time that Robb seemed to care for his wife, when she spoke of their son. But Robb never thought of a name for a girl, perhaps Roslin had. He could honor his mother by naming her Catelyn, but instead he croaked to Olyvar. "Brother, what was your mother's name?"

"Bethany." Olyvar whispered back, his own eyes not leaving his sister's. The King in the North nodded.

"Then that will be her name. Bethany."

Catelyn Stark's heart sunk and she ran her hand through her son's auburn curls. He would have to marry again, but this? She felt as if this was all her fault. She had forced her son into a marriage he did not want, and now his wife and child lay dead. It was a cruel twist of fate that the Seven had given them.

"May I hold her?" she finally asked, to which Robb reluctantly agreed, letting go of his little girl for the first time since he had been given her. Robb took this time to stand and approach his wife who smelt of blood and death. He knelt before her and took her hand, kissing it softly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "you didn't deserve this…"

Hours passed and soon the hour of the wolf was upon the trio that had not left the tent which Roslin had given birth in. Robb Stark had stared at a candle for the last twenty minutes, planning in his head what to do next. The elephant remained in the room, he would have to marry again, but this time he would take things into his own hands. He could hear Grey Wind growling whenever someone tried to approach the tent, to which he appreciated, but now it was time to address his people. No doubt word was spreading through the camp, and he would not be known as a coward. Something snapped in Robb in that moment, perhaps it was the wolf blood that his uncle Brandon was said to have, but he stood and kissed his wife and daughter's forehead one last time.

"Olyvar, my sword."

The squire nodded and sniffled his tears away, an anger in his eyes at this fate they were given. Good, that was what Robb needed behind him. The Frey gave Robb his sword and looked back at his sister. "If it is alright with you, your grace, I wish to stand vigil for my queen and princess until they are buried." Robb noded, "Granted, Olyvar, as long as you promise me to eat." The squire nodded and tried, and failed, to give a small smile and returned to his post. Robb looked down to Catelyn Stark, "Mother?" but the former Tully shook her head.

"I will keep Olyvar company… And, I would like to hold Bethany for a while longer."

The king nodded and looked once more to his former good-brother, he placed his hand upon his shoulder, "You will always be my brother, Olyvar, no matter what they say." Olyvar Frey finally let out a small smile, the only smile he had manifested all day, "Thank you, Robb. That means, so much more than you know." Robb smiled a small smile of his own, looking once more at his deceased wife and his heart ached, "Watch over her, brother, watch over both of them for me."

Perhaps Grey Wind could feel his anger and sorrow because he pressed his large head into Robb's side as he emerged from the tent. "Come boy," Robb whispered, "it is time to do our duty."

Robb found his uncle Edmure first and the heir to Riverrun tried to comfort his nephew but the king brushed him off. "Call the lords, uncle, that is an order." Edmure rushed off and Robb took a seat in his temporary throne. It was nothing like his father's -nay, his- chair in Winterfell, nor was it the damned Iron Throne, but it was a large wooden throne with a crude direwolf carved into the bark. It would do for now.

It took only a few minutes for all the lords and ladies to appear, and he noticed the Freys standing in a corner to the back of the group. He cursed himself, he didn't need Walder Frey taking his troops back due to his daughter's death. Whispers and conversations escalated until finally the Greatjon boomed, "Oi! Your king demands your attention!"

Robb nodded to the Greatjon, "Thank you, Lord Umber." His Tully eyes scanned the crowd, making notes in his head of who was sitting close to one another, who was staring at him menacingly, and those whom he supposed already knew what had transpired. After another moment of silence, the king sighed and bowed his head.

"Our queen, Roslin, is dead," he called out, earning a shout of despair from the Freys, "she lost her battle in the birthing bed, as well as my daughter." Whispers shot through the crowd when Dacey Mormont stood in a manner that reminded Robb of when the Greatjon declared him king.

"My lords!" she shouted, "Roslin might have been a Frey, she might have been a Southroner, but she was our queen. I had no quarrels with her, that doesn't mean I was fond of her either. But, she deserves the respect that we would give Lady Catelyn if something were to befall her."

Many shouts of agreements were heard, and Ryman Frey stepped forward out of the group of Frey soldiers and stomped angrily to the king. "If my cousin is dead, then where is Olyvar? How are we to know you Northern savages didn't have them killed!"

Grey Wind growled and snapped at Ryman, sending the Frey back towards the crowd in fear. "Olyvar stands vigil over my wife and daughter's bodies, Lord Ryman, at his request no less. And I will forget your remark this one time."

"Then what of our alliance? Must I bring my forces back to the Twins?"

Robb ground his teeth and snarled, "Your cousin lay dead and that is your first thought? What should be done about your troops? Your queen is dead, Roslin is dead, and you hold no sympathy for her?"

"W-Well I-" Frey stumbled upon his words, but Alesander Frey stepped forward and pushed his cousin away, "I, for one, will take my lord grandfather's punishment, but I swear my allegiance to you, your grace. House Frey will stand with you one way or another."

"You fool!" Ryman scolded, "We have no reason to stay!"

But the young Frey narrowed his eyes at the elder, "Then you may leave and Olyvar and I will lead the Frey forces."

"Enough!" Robb shouted, "I will deal with Walder Frey and the terms of our alliance at a later date. But for now one thing is certain." He took a deep breath and stared into the eyes of Ryman Frey. "We must prepare for our next battle, and may it be in Roslin's memory."

It wasn't that he didn't like the Greatjon, but Rickard Karstark wished one day the Old Gods would find a way to silence the Umber's booming voice. But why the Young Wolf had called both of their council was… intriguing. Rickard had stormed out of the tent when his king had offered peace to the Lannisters under his own terms, for how could their king speak of peace when their enemies were still pillaging the lands of his mother's people? Bah, youth and their damn decisions. The lord of Karhold drank slowly from his cup while the Greatjon was on his… Fourth? Fifth? He didn't keep track past the second.

"How are you so jovial, Umber?" How is that man still sober?

"Ha! Karstark, how are you so serious?!"

"The queen is dead." Rickard retorted, even if he wasn't fond of the idea of a Southron queen he still knew that he should mourn the death of her and a Stark. The princess… Whispers were that the child looked more Southron than their king did, surely that wouldn't have bode well for the other Northern lords. Twice the Warden of the North had married outside of the North, and surely the Gods were punishing them now. But they had shown them good fortune with their king never losing a battle. It was intriguing to say the least.

"And may her Gods give her rest wherever they take her," Greatjon replied, his tone getting serious, "but now is not the time to grieve for her."

"I beg your pardon, Lord Umber?"

The Greatjon spat his drink out all over himself as the King in the North walked into the tent that he had summoned the two lords into.

"M-My apologies, your grace," the Greatjon whimpered in an un-Greatjon-like fashion, "I seem to have had too much to drink."

Rickard Karstark stifled back a laugh, seeing the Greatjon turn into almost a child being scolded by his father, but he bowed his head towards his king. "You summoned us, your grace?"

Robb Stark nodded and took a seat next to the two Northern lords. "Aye, I have. It has come to my realization that I need to marry once more. I have no say in what the Gods will, but if the Gods killed my wife in childbirth because she was Southron I will not oppose their will again. I intend to marry a girl of the North, as my father would have wanted."

Oh. Oh my. That's why his king called him to council. Rickard's face remained stoic and unmoving, attempting to shield his joy at his daughter being even considered to be the king's wife. Or, perhaps he wasn't considering his Alys at all. He nodded curtly, "Our council is yours."

Robb pressed his chin into his folded hands and stared at his father's two most valued bannermen, "Dacey Mormont has politely suggested she'd commit regicide if I were to force her to wed me, so I look to you two. Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, you both have daughters my age if I am not mistaken."

Greatjon spoke first, "My Wylla! Unless you like older women, then my Alysanne would be good for you. But Wylla is a few months younger than you, your grace! She's as tall as Smalljon and twice as strong. Strong woman if you wish to bare heirs." The look on Robb's face of guilt and sorrow made the Greatjon bow his head once more. "Apologies your grace, I forgot."

"It is alright, Greatjon." Robb sighed, "This will always be a dark day in our history, that is for sure." He turned now to Rickard, "Lord Karstark, what of Alys?"

The lord of Karhold remembered of how Alys had once danced with Robb at a banquet held by his father. He had hoped Alys would have charmed Robb Stark then in order to get a betrothal between them, perhaps it finally had worked. "Quick as a whip, your grace, and a Northerner through and through. Winter's lady, that's what my Torrhen called her. Surely you remember her."

"Aye, I do," Robb mused, "I have a difficult decision to make, my lords, surely you realize this. I hope you two have no ill-will towards each other or me depending on whom I choose to be my wife."

The two lords shook their heads no, but it was then that the Greatjon spoke again, "Marry Alys."

"What?" the king and Rickard Karstark questioned loudly.

"Marry Alys, your grace. Rickard has lost two sons, possibly a third, let him gain another. And, Gods forbid, something happens to Harrion, your children will rule Karhold instead of Arnolf and his gits."

Rickard blinked at the Greatjon to which he boomed and laughed, "You know I'm right, Rickard! The Others can take your brother most days and Cregan's lucky my Alysanne didn't chop his head off the last time he made a pass at her."

Robb looked to his seemingly newly appointed good-father and let a small smile, even though his heart still hurt for his child. "Lord Karstark?"

Karstark had no idea what to think, but the words fell from his mouth quicker than he could properly think them, "Who am I to refuse a king, son?"

"Then it's settled," Robb declared as he stood from his seat, "Greatjon, I wish to extend another betrothal option to you as well." The Greatjon looked upon his king with a quizzical look, "And that is? No offense, your grace, but I'm not marrying your mother. Ned would slay me from beyond." The king almost looked disgusted at the thought, but shook his head. "Nay, I wish to betroth Sansa to your son, Smalljon. Once we annul her marriage to the Imp."

"It's a good match, Umber," Rickard piped up, "Your boy gets a Northern princess, I'm sure Lord Eddard would have approved of the match greatly."

The Greatjon poured another mug of ale and rose it in the air. "The boy needs to wed, I'm not getting any younger. To my son and the princess, Sansa! To King Robb and Queen Alys!"

Surely Rickard could drink to that. He too raised his glass, "To Queen Roslin, and to the princess, whose memory will help us win this war." Greatjon muttered an aye and handed a mug to their king. "Aye," Robb stated, "To Bethany, and to Roslin, may my father welcome them into his arms and into the Old God's light." The three drank from their cups and Rickard took that moment to place his hand upon Robb's shoulder and whisper into his ear as the Greatjon wandered off to no doubt tell Smalljon of his new betrothal.

"Thank you, your grace, for the honor of asking for my daughter's hand."

Robb shook his head, "Thank your daughter for dancing with me that night years ago in Winterfell's halls."

And with that, Rickard Karstark had hope for the future, and that he made the right choice naming Robb Stark his king.