The morning light danced across the Riverlands, illuminating various portions of the Northerners' camp. The sharp contrasts of light and dark would cause the common man to halt his movements and take in the beautiful landscape before. Nevertheless, this man could not and would not stop. He had been traveling a few days now, in haste, to get as far away as possible from the South. Thus far, he had been successful. Along the way, he had heard murmurings of folk camping along the King's Road—the North had declared its independence, and King Joffrey was livid. The weathered man fought off a smile at the thought of the royal bastard throwing yet another temper tantrum.

It was no surprise to him that Robb Stark had been "elected" King in the North, and his wife, the "Goddess of the North." The Northern Lords had insisted that she was not only a Queen, delivering death and life. Not to mention, she entranced any man that laid eyes on her. However, any Northerner would tell another that she only had eyes for the King in the North.

Pride welled up in his chest. His ancestry would now possess descendants worthy of their lineage. Being descended of wolves and the First Men is a rarity. House Stark was returning to greatness, and the majority of Westeros seemed to be in support. The Starks' were honorable and loyal, not a single soul in Westeros, save a few, would say they wouldn't want that in a leader.

Eddard Stark stared grimly at his son's camp. It was quiet and only the lookouts seemed to be awake. The lookouts spotted him and beckoned him to come closer and state his business with House Stark.

"My son is King in the North." Eddard muttered in annoyance. Immediately, the sentries recognized him, their eyes widened in amazement. One took off running toward Robb Stark's tent. His father was alive and present in the camp.

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As Zipporah traced her finger tips across Robb's chest, he hummed a Northerner's tune that seemed to fit the situation. If only he could remember all the words to the song, he'd sing it to his wife, not that he was a singer; but he would be for her. He'd do a lot of things for her and Aiden---but not for anyone else in the realm. Sighing in contentment, his hand reached up, intertwined itself in her hair, and slowly his hand down. He noted how soft her hair was. Even in the middle of a war, she had been able to keep her hair clean, soft, and intoxicating. She had let him make love to her numerous times during the night. He honestly thought he hadn't deserved it, but by round three, she had him believing differently.

He silently prayed that their passion would never fade or grow old—he wanted to be hers, forever. Her hand reaching down to cup his balls caused him to snap out of his musings. He was surprised that she had let his mind wander that much. Normally, she'd correct him—telling him that she was imperfect. He knew that she wasn't perfect, but for him, she was.

Robb smirked as he watched her head disappear under their blankets. Bracing himself in anticipation, Robb closed his eyes and felt her lips curl around him. As she reached a rhythm, a sharp yell and knocking sounded at the entrance of their tent. Immediately, Zipporah was beside him, with a blanket wrapped around her.

"What is it?" Robb shouted sharply to the man outside. The soldier took his question as an invitation to enter, and the soldier simply stared at the sight before him. The Goddess was clearly naked beside the King. He had interrupted them. He could not tear his eyes away from her form.

"What. Is. It. ??" Robb ground out. It was very apparent the soldier was solely focused on wife. Robb fought every instinct to kill the man before them.

"Sir, Lord Stark has arrived. He is asking to speak with you." Robb froze. His Father was alive and in the camp. They could go home. The coming Winter winds would keep them safe from that prick in the South.

"Aye. We'll be right out. Dismissed."

Robb watched the soldier duck out, grinned, and quickly exited the bed. His Father was alive. Zipporah climbed out of bed, too. Noting that her battle attire had been rinsed and returned to her, she redressed, braided her hair back, and followed Robb out of the tent.

Robb's quick pace was easy to follow, yet the emotions billowing off him made it difficult to follow. She'd never known what it was like to be excited to see a parent. She supposed that if she had real parents, like Robb, she'd be just as excited. A part of her still wished she could have known her mother. The force felt otherwise.

With a small smile, she watched Robb embrace his Father along with Jon and Theon. The four spoke quietly and quickly. Zipporah, on purpose, missed it all. She let her own mind wander to what the future held. Could this mean that they were going home?

A tap on the shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. It was Jon.

"We're returning to Winterfell."

Zipporah went numb. They were going home. She'd get to hold Aiden again, but were they still in charge of the North?

"Is Robb still king?"

"Yes, the Lords will meet about this after morning fast, I bet that Robb with remain King in the North, and my Uncle will be Lord Stark, Warden of the North. They'd rule together. Surely, Robb is younger and more willing to deal with all of the shit that comes with his new-found title."

"Ugh." She returned, "I suppose, I could help him deal with all that shit. I mean, fuck Jon, we're going to have to fight for this title. That twat in the South won't respect the declaration."

"Of course, he won't; he's a spoiled brat."

"He's worse. He's a tyrant. Tyrants don't and won't stop. I need to kill him."

"That's a fool's errand, Zipporah."

"I won't kill him now, but I will kill him."

"I don't doubt you."

"Aye, but the twat will. And that will be his downfall."