Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain fell in relentless sheets, blurring the streetlights into golden smears that danced across the wet pavement, each droplet bouncing off the concrete like tiny silver bells, and Roslin’s bare arms, exposed to the chill, shivered as she stumbled up the three flights of stairs to Robb’s apartment, her Crocs squelching with every reluctant step, squishing water and mud into a chorus of discomfort that seemed almost cruel in its insistence, as if the universe itself were pressing her toward the inevitable confrontation.

Her pajamas clung damply to her skin, the thin cotton darkened in patches where the storm had found her, and she hugged herself, trying to protect the heat that was being stolen by the wind whipping around the corners of the building, while in her trembling hands, the plastic stick of a pregnancy test seemed impossibly heavy.

When she reached Robb’s door, her knuckles raw and cold from rapping, the sound echoed hollowly against the walls of the empty hallway, and she pressed her forehead against the frame, letting out a shaky breath that fogged the metal just above the lock, a weak shield against the storm raging inside her chest, before she tried again, louder, more desperate, her voice cracking over the roar of the rain outside and the pounding of her own heart, and the moment it swung open, revealing Robb blinking against the dim hallway light, she collapsed forward, the pregnancy test trembling against her chest, tears carving clean lines down her soaked cheeks, mingling with the droplets dripping from her hair, and before she could form words, before she could explain or even demand understanding, she let herself fall entirely into him, her arms wrapping weakly around his neck as sobs shook her whole frame, shuddering against the warmth of him, her entire body trembling in a way that left no space for control.

Robb caught her instantly, one arm sliding firmly around her waist, the other cradling her head, and he murmured her name over and over, letting his voice ripple through her shaking body, while he pressed his forehead to hers, feeling the cold wet strands of her hair matting against her skin, feeling the rain that still soaked her socks drip onto the floor, and he whispered reassurances that were mostly breathless promises, that were mostly his own panic masquerading as calm, and yet they had the effect of knitting some small piece of her frayed edges back together, the way warmth slowly penetrates frozen bones.

She clutched him tighter, crying into his shoulder, the test still trembling against her heart like a fragile heartbeat she wasn’t sure she could protect, and he murmured again, smoothing the wet strands of hair from her temple, tilting her chin up with a gentle hand so he could meet her eyes, his own dark and wide and soft and panicked all at once, and he said, almost desperately, “We’ll figure this out, Roslin, I swear. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.”

The rain hammered the roof and pounded the windowpanes like a drum, a cacophony that mirrored the storm inside her, and yet, cradled in his arms, feeling the steady, grounding pressure of him, the heat of his skin against her soaked pyjamas, the persistent and unwavering rhythm of his heartbeat through her palms, she let herself breathe, fragile and trembling, letting the grief and the fear ebb slowly into sobs that were no longer sharp cries of panic but small, surrendering exhalations, and in that flooded hallway, soaked and shivering and trembling with the weight of unanticipated futures. 

“Come on show me,” He coaxed her gently

She rubbed her face with the sleeve of her pj top and showed him the positive test. 1-2 weeks, that’s what it said. 

She had a little frown on her face, but her eyes were wet and red rimmed. He helped her in the apartment and got her fresh clothes, a t-shirt, before coaxing her in a shower since she was dirty wet, he washed her body and scrubbed her with exfoliant, and washed her hair with his shampoo (she’s too emotional to tell him about how she doesn’t like the feel of it nor the smell, and soon enough she was smelling like him he then dressed her and made her put on some old joggers of his that were too loose for her and very baggy, they fell low on her hips. He then helped dry her hair, calmly and quietly before giving her a kiss on her neck and allowing her to fall asleep on his bed, cuddled with him. 

Yet now he was stressing, them having a baby? where they even ready? no they were so obviously not. But what could they do at this point? he doesn’t want to abort it. Because he blames himself for it all, he knocked her up. He did it on purpose. 

Robb and many stark men have this breeding kink, and this may be the first time he’s gotten a girl pregnant before but sometimes when he did have sex with Roslin he found it hard to pull out of her quickly, he didn’t let her go on birth control either and promised her he has a great pull out game (he lied) but it was because part of him wanted her pregnant and the other part of him found there to be too many issues with birth control, and either way Roslin made that choice to not use it. 

He stroked her hair while she slept (and possibly drooled) over him, he wanted her to know despite all that she wasn’t alone and that he was there for her, and now forever. 

Chapter Text

The apartment was unusually quiet when Sansa stepped inside, out of her bedroom it was the kind of quiet that felt less like peace and more like suspended breath, as though the very walls were bracing for something she had not yet learned, and she kicked off her shoes with a sigh, balancing an unwieldy stack of fabric samples against her hip while nudging the bathroom door open with her toe, fully expecting nothing more dramatic than Roslin’s sheet music spread in its usual disorganised harmony across the counter.

But instead, perched on the edge of the sink with almost theatrical innocence, was the small white shape of a pregnancy test, its presence so stark and so wildly out of place among the scattered eyeliner pencils and the faint, powdery scent of Roslin’s floral shampoo that Sansa froze mid-step, jaw slackening, the samples sliding bonelessly from her arms and collapsing in a muted explosion of silk and muslin across the tiles.

The world narrowed instantly to two faint pink lines small, delicate, unassuming things, yet somehow carrying enough weight to reorient the gravity of the entire apartment and for several seconds Sansa could only stare, her pulse thudding unevenly, her reflection in the mirror behind the test flickering like a candle in a draft, because she knew, with the kind of bone-deep certainty that needed no context, no explanation, no confirmation, exactly who that test belonged to.

“Roslin?” she called out instinctively, her voice thin and wavering as she turned sharply toward the hallway, expecting to hear Roslin’s soft footsteps, her gentle humming, the comforting rustle of one of her delicate instrument cases being unpacked but the apartment answered with nothing but a deep, echoing silence that emphasised the truth, Roslin was nowhere near here. Roslin was at Robb’s. Roslin had left this behind. Roslin had taken this test.

A tremor ran through Sansa’s hands, the test suddenly too heavy, too loud in its silence, and though she knew it wasn’t her place not in the grand moral scheme of things, not according to any rulebook of proper adult behaviour her shock swelled so quickly it felt like drowning, compelling her body toward movement before her conscience could restrain it. She snatched her phone off the counter, nearly dropping it with the clumsiness of panic, and without allowing herself a moment of reconsideration, she tapped Theon’s name, pressing the device hard to her ear as the ringing echoed in the quiet apartment like a pulse.

When Theon answered, his voice thick with groggy confusion, Sansa didn’t even allow him the grace of a greeting, the words burst out of her in a tumble breathless, startled & high-pitched “Theon, I found a pregnancy test in the bathroom and it’s positive and it’s Roslin’s, it has to be, she left it here, Theon she’s pregnant, she’s actually pregnant.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, sharp and startled and then Theon exhaled a choked, “What?” but not the casual, drawn-out “What” he used when he hadn’t been paying attention, not the amused “What” he tossed into conversations like a pebble into a pond, this was a stunned, hollow sound, as though the air had been knocked out of him.

“Sansa,” he said after another long, stunned pause, his voice lower now, unsteady in a way she had never heard from him, “Roslin, she came here last night. To Robb’s and mine. She was crying, like… really crying. She showed up soaked through like she ran through the whole city in the rain. Robb took her in and—” He broke off, a disbelieving noise catching in his throat, and she could hear him shifting, maybe sitting up straighter, maybe pressing a hand over his mouth as though to steady himself. “Seven hells,” he muttered finally, “I didn’t think… I mean, I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t think it was this.”

Sansa sank slowly onto the closed toilet lid, the bathroom swimming slightly around her, the little test still clutched in her hand like a distress signal no one had prepared her to see, and she swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper as she echoed, “She’s pregnant, Theon… she’s really pregnant.”

On the other end of the line, Theon didn’t answer right away, the heavy silence between them felt almost tangible, thick with shared shock and a dawning, chaotic understanding that everything, absolutely everything, had just changed.

Theon arrived at Sansa and Roslin’s apartment faster than he meant to, practically half-jogging across the damn campus, his hoodie half-zipped and his hair still mussed from having run both hands through it repeatedly during their phone call, and when Sansa yanked the door open before he’d even finished knocking as though she’d been pacing directly behind it, vibrating with anxiety the first thing he saw was the pregnancy test perched on the kitchen counter and the sight alone made the reality crash down on him all over again, leaving a stunned, hollow ache blooming in his chest.

Sansa grabbed him by the sleeve, dragging him inside with the frantic purpose of someone who would combust if left alone with her thoughts for even another minute, and Theon let himself be pulled along, letting the door slam shut behind him while he stared at the test with something approaching dread, disbelief, and, if he was being completely honest, a faint nausea.

“Robb is so dead,” Sansa declared, her voice pitched somewhere between outrage and incredulous awe, her hands flying up in a helpless gesture as she paced the living room, the hem of her sweater swishing dramatically with every turn, and Theon, who had fully expected to be the one shouting first, found himself oddly comforted by the sheer theatricality of her fury.

“Oh, we’re definitely blaming Robb,” he agreed, flopping onto the edge of the couch with a groan, rubbing both hands over his face as if that might somehow rearrange the situation into something less catastrophic. “I mean Roslin? Roslin of all people? She’s like she’s like a delicate woodland creature. She plays forty instruments that all look like they’d break if I breathed near them.”

“Exactly!” Sansa cried, pointing at him as though he’d just solved a crime. “She’s a harpist, Theon. A harpist! Harpists are ethereal! They’re gentle! They don’t just—” She made a vague, furious gesture toward the test on the counter. “This is Robb’s fault.”

Theon nodded solemnly, then immediately amended, “I mean, okay, in fairness… sometimes they’d come back from dinner drunk and giggly and all over each other, and then they’d well—” He grimaced deeply, shoulders hunching as though bracing for impact, “look, our walls are thin, Sansa. Thin. Thinner than morally acceptable. And I tried Seven help me, I tried not to hear it, but every time those two got cozy after a night out, it turned into some kind of… loud disaster. Like a storm hitting a wooden house.”

Sansa froze mid-step, her horrified expression slowly shifting into one of profound secondhand embarrassment. “Oh my gods. Theon. I live with Roslin, and Robb’s my brother! I do not need to imagine that.”

“Trust me,” he muttered, sinking lower into the couch, “neither did I. Half the time I considered sleeping in the stairwell. But look what I’m saying is, it was probably an honest mistake. A predictable one. A very obvious, very foreseeable mistake.”

Despite her outrage, Sansa paused, arms crossing, lips pressing together in reluctant acknowledgment. “Robb does love the idea of being a dad,” she admitted, voice softening despite herself. “He’s been obsessed with it since he was, like, twelve. Remember when he used to steal my cousins’ baby dolls so he could ‘practice’?”

Theon snorted. “Yeah. And when he got that fake baby project in high school he took it more seriously than his actual finals.”

“He still talks about that stupid robot baby like it was a real child!” Sansa huffed, though there was affection threaded unmistakably through the exasperation, and she flopped down beside him, her shoulder knocking into his. “Mother will faint,” she added after a moment, “and Father will pretend he isn’t thrilled while secretly being thrilled.”

“Not to mention,” Theon added, lifting a brow, “the fact that Roslin is basically your parents’ dream daughter-in-law. They’ll get over the timeline.”

Sansa hesitated, her breath catching just slightly, and when she spoke again her voice had softened into something warm and shimmering, her eyes suddenly bright with a kind of dawning wonder she couldn’t quite contain. “I’m going to be… an aunt,” she whispered, the word slow and reverent on her tongue, as though she were testing the shape of a future she had never expected to glimpse so soon. “Theon I’m actually going to have a niece or a nephew.”

Theon watched her expression shift from shock to awe to a quiet, blossoming excitement and for the first time since the test had been discovered, something like warmth crept into the room, softening the sharp edges of panic.

Sansa clasped her hands together, a small, breathless smile tugging at her lips. “Robb’s going to be a dad,” she murmured, still stunned but undeniably delighted now, “and I’m going to spoil that baby absolutely rotten.”

Theon groaned, dropping his head back against the couch cushion. “Great,” he muttered theatrically, “so while you’re busy becoming the world’s most unhinged aunt, I’ll be the poor bastard stuck between it all”

But Sansa only elbowed him with a bright, breathless laugh, her earlier fear dissolving into a strange, fragile, hopeful thrill that neither of them could quite suppress now that the news had begun to settle into something real.

“You know what?” she said, voice decisive, chin lifting. “We’re going to handle it. All of it. Because that’s what we do.”

And though Theon groaned again, dramatically covering his face with one hand, he couldn’t help the small, reluctant grin tugging at his mouth.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly, “we will.”

Chapter Text

Roslin sat down, well she had been sitting down for some time now, looking over at the piece of toast Robb had made for her the morning before he ran out to his lesson. Robb was studying to take over his father’s business, the million dollar business that his family had owned for generations and he was the next heir to take over the difficult to work with company. It was all he ever thought and told her about, ever since university started, he always would rattle on about how excited he was to graduate and do his postgraduate, get his masters and become CEO. His father promised Robb that once he finished all his studies and proved himself well hard, that Robb could take care of the business and Ned stark will retire.. finally. 

Though all Roslin could think off was the fact she probably most definitely ruined Robb's life. He knows his parents love her so much, they’ve known her since childhood, I mean even if Robb and Roslin hadn’t started dating until university, they knew eachother growing up, even if they weren’t close like how Sansa and Theon were, they would see eachother at any meeting the Frey’s and Stark’s held, or when there was any Tully event. Roslin was a very quiet child growing up as opposed to Robb who would cause mischief with Jon and Theon, Roslin would envy them because they could be so free and she could not, she was jealous of how loved Sansa was, and how accepting her family was with her gifts of sewing, meaning Walder frowned any time Roslin wanted to show off a new piece of music she learned the past week, she’d learn the same songs on different instruments, and she’d make her own orchestra, moving from one instrument to the other, playing one part on the clarinet, the other on a flute and then a harp. Because even though she lived in a large house with so many half siblings and full siblings she always felt alone. 

Now all she could continue to think of was the exciting idea she wouldn’t be alone. Roslin loved her siblings dearly, maybe not all of them, like the little witch of a sister Walda who never let her do anything or would snitch every time Roslin would try to sneak outside. That girl made her stomach churn (or perhaps it was the new life in her acting up) she hated Walda, or well despised Walda, she was the main sister who would make Walder hit Roslin on the arm when she was being “bad” and it annoyed herself so much. But either way, Roslin was excited about having a baby, someone who would always love and be with her, who was connected to her. She hoped for a fat chubby baby, she knows that Robb was a fat baby, when he showed her the baby photos of himself she was shocked especially when she remembers how skinny he was as a child, Starks weren’t very fat people, rather they were super lean, Robb was too and even Theon, Jon never was, he was always bulky and Robb and Theon would get pissy about Jon being automatically built like that. Theon was the most lean of them all and Sansa would make fun of it, but he liked it, made him seem all slimy and really played into his character (his words, not Rosie’s) Robb started pushing himself though, working well in the gym enough for him to become bulky like Jon (who basically lived in the gym) and even though Roslin hated being alone or then having less dates, it all paid off in bed when she got to feel up his abdomen and biceps, he’d flex them on purpose too! Roslin rolled her eyes at the thought. 

She then picked at her toast before eating it, it was smothered with beaming yellow butter that melted into the toasted bread, and she loved it. She didn’t love, or well doesn’t usually love toast this much, but the baby and pregnancy made her an addict for it. Roslin was still worried about ruining Robb’s life, especially at how quick he was to leave the apartment that next morning, Theon too. He seemed to leave much early, but she was more annoyed at Robb, he didn’t even have an early class that day and he still made an excuse to leave early. What an idiot, she thought, distraught over the fact but then not caring because the toast he left was delightful, and it didn’t matter anyways, if Robb was annoying her she would purposely flirt with some college kid his age and he’d never leave her alone for the rest of the month, she wonders how far that trick will work considering she’s pregnant now and he knows she won’t be going anywhere. 

Now she’s wondering about his parents, Ned and Catelyn love her. Like LOVE her. Ned has always found her smart, especially in maths, but Roslin thinks it’s because music makes you good at maths, or well the piano does at least, and she’s known how to play that since she was probably around seven. So who knows? Catelyn always loved how Roslin would make Robb listen, his head was always everywhere at once but she’d make him focus on whatever she was saying, especially cause Robb never really listened to Catelyn well, he tried but he’d never really understood what his mother was on about. Poor her, Roslin thought, Robb was irritating when it came to trying to show your POV he’d just ignore you and think he’s right automatically cause it’s him. 

She then stared absently at the empty plate before her, where the last crumbs of her aggressively devoured toast still clung to the porcelain plate the evidence of a crime she had no intention of acknowledging. The morning light thin and annoyingly bright filtered through the blinds in narrow stripes that cut across the tabletop, turning the crumbs into tiny golden flecks, and she brushed them aside with a distracted flick of her fingers, letting them scatter onto the placemat as though removing them might quiet the restless spinning in her mind. 

She reached for her phone, intending to check the time or maybe to type a passive-aggressively polite message she wouldn’t send but before she could unlock the screen, a series of sharp knocks rattled through the door, abrupt enough to make her jump in her chair, the sound echoing through the quiet space with a level of urgency that felt wildly disproportionate to her current level of patience.

Roslin pushed back her chair a little too forcefully, its legs scraping across the floor in a long, disgruntled squeal, and she marched to the door with the kind of determined resignation that only someone truly fed up with the world could muster. When she yanked it open, she found not Robb—who deserved the brunt of her frustration—but a parcel courier holding a medium-sized cardboard box and wearing an expression of polite indifference that suggested he had already delivered far too many packages today to care about the subtle storm brewing behind her eyes.

“Delivery for Robb Stark,” he announced in a monotone voice, glancing briefly between her and the box as though waiting for an argument.

Roslin stared at him, blinked once, twice, and then let out a flat, exhausted “Ugh… whatever,” because she absolutely did not have the energy to explain that she was not Robb, nor did she care enough to correct him. She snatched the box from his hands with more force than strictly necessary, offered a tight, perfunctory smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and shut the door before he could say anything else.

Box in hand, she trudged back to the dining table, dropping it onto the counter on her way with a dismissive thud, its edges bouncing slightly on impact, and she muttered something vaguely accusatory under her breath about Robb ordering things he didn’t need while leaving the apartment at ungodly hours for no reason.

She returned to her chair, intending to ignore the package entirely, but the plain brown cardboard seemed to stare at her with an irritating sort of smugness from the counter, as though it knew something she didn’t, and after several seconds of pointedly trying to focus on literally anything else, she pushed herself up again with a frustrated huff.

Crossing back to the counter, she dragged the parcel toward her, examining the label with a roll of her eyes yes, Robb’s name, bold and unmistakable and then, with a small, irritable flourish of defiance toward a man who wasn’t even present to be scolded, she tore the box open without hesitation.

Inside, nestled in unnecessary layers of tissue paper and plastic, were three new fitness tops in varying shades of charcoal and navy exactly like the dozens he already owned and Roslin felt a new wave of exasperation surge through her as she held them up one by one, each more aggressively sensible and boring than the last.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Robb,” she muttered, throwing the tops back into the box with a level of disgust usually reserved for discovering moldy leftovers. “As if you need more of these.”

She shoved the box aside, the cardboard skidding across the counter, and returned to the dining table with an annoyed plop into her chair, tapping her fingers sharply against the plate as though blaming the toast crumbs for the entire state of her morning.

⸻

Roslin sat there for several long seconds after throwing Robb’s new fitness tops back into their box, staring at the counter as though the cardboard had personally offended her, and then she scrubbed both hands over her face, exhaling sharply through her nose in the way she did when she was trying very hard not to start spiraling all over again. The apartment felt too quiet, too spacious for just one person, the silence wrapping itself around her like an unwelcome blanket, and after glaring at the wall for a moment as though she could summon Robb back through sheer willpower alone, she reached for her phone.

Sansa would know what to do Sansa always knew what to do whether the crisis was a broken reed, a missed lecture, or the creeping fear that she might never be ready for something as enormous as this. And Sansa being Sansa, she would probably show up with snacks, an unsolicited blanket, and a three-step plan for how to keep Roslin from losing her mind entirely.

Roslin thumbed open her contacts, pressed Sansa’s name, and lifted the phone to her ear, tapping her foot impatiently against the rung of the dining chair as it rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

She frowned, lowering the phone slightly, staring at the screen as if it might magically change its mind and connect.

Sansa never didn’t pick up. Even during class, even mid-stitch while working on a dress form, even with pins in her mouth Sansa always answered her.

Roslin tried again, pressing call a little harder than necessary, as if force might improve reception. The phone rang, the seconds stretching long and thin, filling the apartment with a restless buzzing that only seemed to magnify the silence that followed.

Still nothing. Straight to voicemail this time.

Roslin let the phone fall against her lap, narrowing her eyes at it in suspicion rather than worry. “Seriously?” she muttered to no one, tipping her head back against the chair.

And then, as the silence stretched on, a thought slowly crept in a slow, creeping, unwelcome little suspicion that tugged her brow into a deeper frown.

Theon was with Sansa.

She knew that. Theon had said as much on the phone earlier. And Theon, for all his ridiculousness, had a certain gravitational pull when he was talking loud, expressive, exhausting and Sansa tended to get absorbed in the chaos whenever he was around.

Roslin chewed the inside of her cheek, drumming her fingers on the table.

Were they talking?

Were they gossiping?

Were they dissecting her situation without her?

The idea prickled not quite jealousy, not quite irritation, but something warm and sharp that didn’t have a name yet.

Of course Sansa adored Theon had known him since childhood, had teased him into behaving like a semi-decent human being but Roslin couldn’t help imagining the two of them huddled together on the couch in Sansa’s and hers apartment, whispering in urgent voices, hands waving dramatically, faces scrunched in disbelief…

…and Roslin very much not being there.

She huffed sharply, lifting her phone again as though she might try a third time, but then she paused right before her thumb hit the screen, lowering it slowly with a resigned groan.

“Great,” she muttered to herself, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, forehead dropping into her palms. “They’re together, and neither of them can pick up the phone, but I’m the one stuck over here with Robb’s stupid fitness tops and zero emotional support.”

The apartment, infuriatingly, offered no rebuttal, Roslin let out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging her hands down her face until her fingers hooked under the collar of Robb’s hoodie, pulling it up around her chin for warmth and comfort she wasn’t quite willing to admit she wanted.

Fine. If Sansa and Theon were busy being nosy together, then she could handle this on her own for a few more minutes. Even if she very, very much did not want to. Before you even wonder how could Roslin know that Sansa knew, well Roslin didn’t even try to hide the used pregnancy test and since her and Sansa share a bathroom, she’d easily find it, and it both made Roslin embarrassed but also uncomfortable, she would rather tell Sansa herself, doesn’t help that Roslin is also certain that Theon knows and that is because she heard him awake and watching TV and even lowering the volume of whatever serial he was watching to listen to Roslin’s wails about being pregnant. Oh Gods. Roslin felt so sick at this invasion of privacy, and she ran off to the kitchen sink where she threw up the delicious toast she had, before sobbing on the kitchen floor. 

⸻

Sansa had barely finished her triumphant declaration something along the lines of “We’re handling this, Theon, we are absolutely handling this like responsible adults” when her phone, sitting innocently on the coffee table between them, lit up with an incoming call, vibrating so violently against the wood that it skittered three inches forward like it was trying to flee the conversation altogether.

Theon’s eyes snapped to the screen at the exact same moment Sansa’s did, and when he saw the name “Roslin💗🎶” flash across the display, his entire soul seemed to evacuate his body on the spot.

“Oh seven hells—” he choked, pointing at the phone with a wide-eyed horror that would’ve been comedic if the situation weren’t so dire, “IT’S HER. SHE’S CALLING. Sansa. Sansa. San—sa.”

“I KNOW IT’S HER, THEON, I HAVE EYES!” Sansa hissed, flailing so violently that her ponytail smacked Theon in the forehead as the phone continued to vibrate, now dangerously close to the edge of the table. “OH MY GODS. SHE KNOWS. SHE KNOWS WE KNOW.”

“We weren’t supposed to know!” Theon yelped, grabbing a throw pillow and clutching it to his chest like a shield. “We weren’t even supposed to breathe near this information! We are literally commit ting treason right now!”

The phone buzzed again. Harder. Louder. Insistent.

“We can’t answer it!” Sansa cried, snatching the phone off the table in pure instinct and pressing it against Theon’s chest as though handing him a ticking bomb. “You answer it!”

“WHAT? NO!” Theon recoiled, shoving the phone back at her like it was cursed. “SHE LIVES WITH YOU! SHE’LL KNOW IF I LIE!”

“Well, she’ll know if I lie too!” Sansa shot back, voice cracking in panic as she nearly fumbled the phone onto the rug. “And you’re the one who knew she came to the apartment last night crying! You’re implicated!”

“I’M WHAT?” Theon squawked, horrified, as the phone rattled violently against Sansa’s palm, vibrating like it wanted to break free and accuse them both. “NO. NO. I DIDN’T SIGN ANYTHING. DON’T INVOLVE ME IN YOUR FAMILY SECRETS.”

“Robb IMPREGNATED MY ROOMMATE—this is very much a family secret!” Sansa shouted, pushing the phone back toward him, her hands shaking. “ANSWER IT AND FIX IT!”

“I’M NOT FIXING ANYTHING!” Theon protested, practically tossing the phone back into her lap. “ROS IS EMOTIONAL, ROBB IS USELESS, YOU’RE PANICKING, AND I’M— I’M NOT EQUIPPED FOR CRISIS MANAGEMENT!”

The phone buzzed again with so much force that Sansa shrieked, dropping it onto the couch cushion between them where it bounced twice before settling, still glowing with Roslin’s name and her absurdly cheerful emojis that now felt like a personal attack.

They both stared at it. The phone continued to ring. Neither moved. “This is karmic punishment,” Sansa whispered dramatically, clutching her chest like a tragic heroine. “She’s calling because she can SENSE that we’re talking about the pregnancy.”

“She’s psychic,” Theon agreed solemnly, nodding rapidly. “She’s emotional and psychic, which is a dangerous combination.”

The phone stopped ringing. Sansa and Theon both froze. Stared.Dared to hope.

Then— It started ringing again.

Both of them screamed. “OH SEVEN HELLS SHE’S DESPERATE!” Sansa cried, covering her mouth with both hands.

“SHE KNOWS WE KNOW SHE KNOWS WE KNOW!” Theon shouted back, gripping her shoulders in pure hysteria.

In their panic, Sansa grabbed the phone and hurled it in Theon’s general direction; Theon yelped, caught it poorly, fumbled it like a traitorous bar of soap, and then threw it back at her as if it were on fire. It bounced off her shoulder, landed on a throw blanket, and continued ringing like a relentless little doom machine.

“SHE CAN NEVER KNOW WE WERE GOSSIPING,” Sansa insisted through gritted teeth, flattening the blanket over the phone as though suffocating it would solve anything. “We were supposed to be SUPPORTIVE and AVAILABLE and INNOCENT.”

“I was never innocent,” Theon muttered, “but yes—yes, she cannot know.”

The phone finally stopped ringing again.

They both stood perfectly still, chests heaving, eyes fixed on the now-silent mound of blanket.

Then, slowly, Sansa whispered, “Do we… call her back?”

Theon’s answer was immediate, horrified, and emphatic “Absolutely not. We run. We hide. We pretend we were in a media blackout. We say the phone was dead. We say the phone exploded. We say we were at a funeral. Our own.”

Sansa pressed both palms to her face. “Oh gods… she’s going to KILL us.”

But then, very slowly…

a small smile tugged at her lips.

A soft, breathless laugh escaped her.

“We’re awful,” she whispered. “But… Theon… I’m going to be an aunt.”

Theon flopped back onto the couch with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yeah. And I’m definitely going to die from stress before the baby is even born.”

⸻

Sansa had just managed to stop hyperventilating into a decorative pillow and Theon had only barely recovered from his near-death experience by gossip when Sansa’s phone lit up again, vibrating so violently across the blanket-covered couch cushion that both of them screamed in unison before they even saw the name.

Theon lunged forward, ripping the blanket off like he was unveiling a cursed relic, and the moment the caller ID flashed bright and aggressive across the screen, the two of them fell into pure, unfiltered horror.

ROBB.

Robb Stark.

The other half of the chaos.

The father of the unborn child.

The human thundercloud who would absolutely have words if he suspected they’d been talking about ANY of this.

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh NO,” Sansa said, voice pitched so high Theon was genuinely surprised the windows didn’t crack, her hands flying to her mouth as the phone’s vibration intensified. “NOT ROBB. ANYONE BUT ROBB.”

“We’re dead,” Theon groaned, pressing his palms flat against his eyes as though that might halt the call entirely. “This is karmic retaliation for every stupid thing I’ve ever done, why is he calling NOW? WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TODAY?”

Sansa shoved the phone at him, her hands trembling. “YOU answer it!”

“Absolutely not!” Theon yelped, scrambling back like the phone was a rolling grenade. “You think I want to be the one on the line if he realizes we know Roslin’s pregnant?! He’ll murder me twice. He’ll resurrect me and kill me again!”

“It’s ROBB,” Sansa hissed, grabbing the phone again only for her fingers to fumble uselessly. “He can hear lies through the phone. Through walls. Through souls. We can’t answer it!”

“Then don’t—let it ring out!” Theon shouted.

But the phone kept vibrating aggressively, ringing so loudly it felt like the whole apartment was shaking, and Sansa and Theon stared at each other in silent, anticipatory dread like children who had broken something priceless and were waiting for their mother to walk into the room.

“Sansa,” Theon whispered, voice low and grave, “if he leaves a voicemail—”

“We’ll have to LISTEN TO IT,” Sansa finished in horror.

The phone rang again, flickering dangerously in her grip, and then—

In the chaos of them tossing it back and forth like it was cursed, Sansa’s thumb slipped.

And the call connected. A small, silent moment of pure existential terror echoed through the room. Theon froze mid-lean. Sansa froze with her finger still touching the screen. Neither breathed.

Robb’s voice came through immediately, crisp and familiar and full of authority he absolutely did not deserve. “Sans? What the hell is happening on your end? You sound like you’re getting attacked.”

Sansa’s soul attempted to exit her body through her toes.

“HI!” she blurted, voice shrill enough that Theon slapped his hand over his mouth to stop from screaming. “NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL IS HAPPENING. LITERALLY NOTHING.”

“…Right,” Robb replied slowly, sounding more suspicious by the second. “Is Theon there?”

Theon mouthed NO at Sansa with wide, betrayed eyes.

Sansa, in her panic, immediately blurted, “YES.”

Theon smacked his forehead so hard he nearly knocked himself unconscious.

Robb sighed, the exasperated older-brother sound Sansa knew far too well. “Okay, great. Good. Listen, Roslin’s alone at my place, I had to go early for a thing—”

Sansa and Theon exchanged a look of pure dread.

“—and I swear to gods, if either of you go over there and bother her, or if Theon says literally anything out loud in her vicinity, I will come over and personally drop-kick both of you.”

Theon’s jaw dropped, offended beyond measure. “I’M NOT EVEN TALKING,” he whispered loudly at Sansa.

Robb continued, oblivious to the meltdown he was causing. “I’m serious. Don’t make her anxious. Don’t make her upset. Don’t provoke her. Don’t let Theon breathe at her.”

Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose, torn between laughing and sobbing. “Robb, what exactly do you think we’re doing right now?”

Robb scoffed. “You two? Together? In a room? Probably stirring up disaster like usual. Look—I’m just making sure she has space, alright? She’s not feeling well.”

Theon and Sansa stared at each other.

Shared a single, unified thought, because she’s pregnant.

A thought neither of them could say aloud without detonating the universe.

Theon leaned toward the phone, hissing, “Tell him we’re being supportive but from a distance!”

Sansa glared at him and flicked his forehead.

Robb continued, stern as ever: “Also make sure Theon hasn’t convinced you to do anything stupid. He has that effect.”

Theon’s mouth fell open in furious disbelief. “EXCUSE ME—”

“Anyway,” Robb cut in, “I’ll be back soon. Just… don’t make anything worse.”

“Worse than what?” Sansa squeaked.

“…Nothing,” Robb said, clearly lying. “Just. Behave.” And then he hung up. The line went dead. Silence dropped over the room like a weighted blanket. Sansa slowly lowered the phone, eyes wide.

Theon stared at her, pale, traumatised, clutching a throw pillow like a lifeline. Then finally, “We’re so screwed,” he whispered.

Sansa nodded solemnly. “So, so screwed.”

Chapter Text

Robb had barely managed to shake the last of the cold drizzle from his hair as he stepped into the building hallway, juggling his keys, his bag, and his rapidly deteriorating sanity, because whatever he’d accomplished by leaving the apartment absurdly early that morning had been overshadowed by a growing pit of guilt that Roslin had been alone, and tired, and fragile, and probably thinking far too much in the silence he’d left behind.

So by the time he reached his own door breathing a little too quickly from climbing the stairs, bracing himself for whatever mood she might be in he pushed it open slowly, cautiously, the apartment warm but strangely tense, like stepping into a room that had recently lost an argument.

“Ros?” he called softly, nudging the door shut with his foot. “I’m back.”

He received no verbal reply, just the faintest exasperated huff from the dining area, the kind that managed to convey disappointment, irritation, and emotional exhaustion all at once despite containing no actual words.

Robb followed the sound and there she was, his girl, Roslin sitting at the table in his oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up unevenly, hair slightly messy in the way that meant she’d run her fingers through it too many times, the empty plate with toast crumbs still in front of her like evidence of a crime, and her expression a mix of annoyance and vulnerability that struck him somewhere deep in his chest.

But even that wasn’t what caught his eye first. No, what caught his eye was the cardboard box sitting on the counter it was wide open and half-dismantled.

Its contents spilling out like a wounded animal several brand-new compression tops in various shades of black and charcoal, flopped over the edge with all the dignity of discarded laundry.

Robb blinked at it, then looked at Roslin, then back at the box.

“Oh,” he said intelligently. “Uh. You… opened my delivery?”

Roslin didn’t even look at him. She lifted her chin a fraction, crossed one leg over the other with a deliberately slow shift of posture, and replied in a tone that could only be described as elegant pouting

“It was delivered here. I answered the door. What was I supposed to do—let it sit outside? Get stolen? Get rained on? Let someone think you’re a responsible adult? No, I opened it.”

Robb blinked again, adjusting his bag on his shoulder before setting it down slowly, carefully, as though sudden movements might provoke her. “Okay. Sure. Fair enough.” He approached the counter, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s just—um—you kind of tore it open like it owed you money.”

“I was curious,” she snapped back instantly, though her foot tapped restlessly under the table, giving her away. “And bored. And hungry. And then not hungry. And then annoyed.”

Robb winced inwardly. “Annoyed at… the box?”

“Annoyed at you,” she said bluntly, finally raising her eyes to meet his with a look so sharp he thought it might slice through him. “You left at eight in the morning. You don’t have class until noon.” He froze slightly his mouth opening and closing repeatedly, this was the storm he knew he’d walked directly into. 

“I just, I needed to—” he started, but she cut him off.

“You needed to what? Escape?” Roslin’s voice wasn’t loud, but something in it was brittle, the sound of someone who’d been left alone with too many thoughts. “Were you avoiding me? This? The entire situation?”

“No,” he said immediately, crossing to her so quickly the chair legs scraped the floor with a squeal. “No, no, Ros, I wasn’t avoiding you. I swear I wasn’t. I just… needed to think.”

“Right,” she muttered, tilting her head toward the box with pointed disdain. “And after all that thinking you came home with… more gym tops.” Robb followed her gaze to the shirts.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grimace, “I got those before I left. They were already on the way. And in my defense… my other ones were getting kind of old. And sweaty. And ripped.”

Roslin’s expression did not soften not even by a millimetre. “So you needed,” she said slowly, tapping the table with one finger, “four new shirts.”

He exhaled. “They came in a pack.”

“Yes,” she deadpanned, “I could tell.”

A tense beat of silence stretched between them but finally, Robb braced both hands on the back of the chair beside hers and leaned slightly closer, cautiously trying to read her expression without pushing too hard.

“Roslin,” he said softly, “are you mad at me because I left early… or because of the shirts?”

“Yes,” she answered instantly.

Robb blinked. “…Yes to which one?”

“Yes,” she repeated, crossing her arms.

He nearly smiled, not because any of this was funny, but because the combination of indignation, moodiness, vulnerability, and sheer stubbornness was somehow so deeply her that it twisted something affectionately painful in his chest.

He moved around her chair, crouching down so they were eye level, the hoodie swallowing her small frame, the shadows under her eyes darker than usual, and the remnants of her breakfast still sitting sadly on the table.

“You can be mad at me,” he murmured gently. “But don’t be alone with it, okay? Just tell me next time.”

Roslin’s lips pressed together, forming the thinnest, most defiant line imaginable, but her eyes softened a just barely, just enough to make Robb feel like the world hadn’t entirely tilted off its axis.

And then, in the smallest voice, she muttered “The shirts are ugly.”

Robb let out a sigh that turned into a laugh he tried very hard (and failed) to suppress. “Okay. Noted. I will wear them only in the dark.”

Roslin sniffed, looking away as though granting him even that much victory physically pained her.

He reached out slowly, touching her knee with careful fingertips. “Rosie?”

She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away.

“Next time,” he whispered, “I won’t leave early.”

Only then did she look at him still annoyed, still bristling, but no longer shutting him out entirely, and Robb felt something inside him unclench.

______ 

Robb was still crouched beside her, trying to figure out how angry she truly was, when Roslin suddenly lifted her hand and wiped under one eye almost angrily as if her tear ducts were betraying her and she muttered, voice thick and small, “I threw up.”

Robb’s face instantly drained of all color. “You— you what? When? Are you okay? Do we need to go to the health center? Should I get you water? Food? A bucket? A blanket? A—”

“And then I cried,” she added, interrupting him with no mercy, her lower lip wobbling just enough to destroy him.

Robb blinked, mentally collapsing. “You cried after?”

Roslin frowned hard. “No—well—I don’t actually know. I think I cried first and then threw up but maybe I threw up and then cried, and either way I did both and you weren’t here and it was awful.” Her voice cracked on that last word.

Robb shot to his feet like he’d been launched, grabbed the back of her chair, and leaned in with pure panic crashing through his expression. “Oh gods, Ros, sweetheart, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you text? I would’ve—”

“You’re stressing me out,” she mumbled, her eyes filling dangerously fast again as she scrunched her face into a miserable pout. “You’re literally stressing me out right now, Robb.”

“I’m— I’m sorry!” Robb sputtered immediately, hands out as if approaching a startled animal he very much didn’t want to scare off. “I’m—I didn’t— okay, deep breaths, it’s fine, I’m calm, see? Very calm.”

“You’re not calm,” Roslin sniffed accusingly.

“No. No, I’m not,” Robb admitted helplessly. “I’m actually absolutely panicking because you cried and threw up and I wasn’t here and—”

Her lip trembled again, and he shut up instantly.

“Okay,” he whispered, stepping closer. “Come here.”

He didn’t ask twice just slid his arms under her, steady and gentle, lifting until she stood, then guiding her with careful hands down the hallway toward his bedroom. She didn’t protest, didn’t argue, only leaned into him with a tiny, exhausted noise that made Robb hold her even tighter.

In his room, he pulled back the covers and coaxed her into the bed, settling behind her so she could curl against him, his arms wrapping around her stomach like he was trying to shield the entire world from touching her ever again. She burrowed into his chest, the oversized hoodie swallowing her, her fingers curling into his shirt like she needed the physical reminder that he was there.

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair, soft, certain, almost desperate with sincerity. “I love you so much, Ros. This isn’t going to scare me off. I’m here. I’m right here. Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

She didn’t answer right away just pressed her forehead to his throat, breathing him in slowly, shakily, she then muttered. “Sansa wouldn’t answer my calls.”

Robb blinked. “What?”

“I called her,” Roslin mumbled into his collarbone, sounding personally betrayed. “Twice. Maybe three times. Or four. And she didn’t pick up. Not once.”

“Well,” Robb began carefully, “I talked to her a little while ago maybe that’s why she didn’t answer?”

“No,” Roslin said, pulling her head back to glare up at him with the kind of wounded certainty that could only come from pregnancy hormones working overtime. “That was later. I called her like an hour after you left this morning.”

Robb frowned, thinking. “Maybe she was busy?”

Roslin jerked back slightly and, with great offence, repeated in a mocking voice, “‘Maybe she was busy.’”

Robb choked on a laugh. “Hey—”

She narrowed her eyes, still mimicking his tone. “‘Maybe she was busy,’” she whispered dramatically, as if reciting poetry about betrayal.

Robb huffed out a laugh, leaned down, and poked her side gently. “Alright, you little menace.”

She squeaked and swatted his hand. “Robb—stop! Don’t tickle me!”

He grinned, poking again. “Why not?”

“Because—” she yelped, batting at his hands as he wiggled fingers threateningly against her waist, “—there’s a BABY in there, you mean, mean, mean boy! You’re bothering BOTH OF US!”

Robb froze, hands still lightly on her sides before slowly, he slid them around her belly with a soft, reverent awe that replaced every bit of mischief on his face.

“I wouldn’t bother the baby,” he said gently, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, then her jaw, then the soft spot just below her ear. “I already love the baby. And I love you even more.”

Roslin flushed, hard, turning her face into his chest to hide it, even as she curled closer, letting his arms fold around her again.

“Still mean,” she muttered weakly, though her voice had softened to something almost shy.

Robb smiled into her hair. “Still love you.”

She shifted slightly, her leg hooking over his, a quiet, instinctive claim that made warmth bloom in his chest. His fingers brushed slow circles along her hip, steady and grounding, her breathing gradually evening out against him.

“You left too early,” she mumbled a minute later, voice sleepy.

“I know,” Robb whispered. “I won’t tomorrow.”

“And the shirts are ugly,” she added.

Robb laughed softly, kissing the crown of her head. “I know.”

“Good,” she whispered, curling closer until she was practically wrapped around him like a sleepy, emotional koala. “I hate them.”

“I love you,” he murmured again, because he needed her to hear it.

Roslin didn’t answer this time just let out a tiny hum of contentment, her fingers fisting in his shirt, holding him close like she finally believed he wasn’t going anywhere.

_______

Sansa had barely stopped pacing around her living room, and Theon had barely stopped clutching a throw pillow like a flotation device on a sinking ship, when the next wave of anxiety crashed over them at the exact same time.

“What if we should check on her?” Sansa said suddenly, turning mid-stride with eyes so wide Theon nearly flinched. “She could be having an emotional breakdown or a physical breakdown or a pregnancy breakdown, what if she needs us?”

Theon, who had been lying dramatically across the couch like a Victorian woman awaiting bad news, bolted upright. “YES. She could be throwing up again! Or crying! Or throwing up AND crying! Or throwing up WHILE crying. That’s like… level ten crisis.”

Sansa pressed a hand to her forehead. “We should go. We should go right now.”

“Yes,” Theon said, jumping to his feet with unnecessary enthusiasm. “We go, we storm in heroically, we provide moral support, we—”

He froze. “…Except,” he said slowly, “if we go, she’ll know we know.”

Sansa stopped too, her entire body locking up mid-panic like her brain had hit a catastrophic error message.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered. “Oh my gods, you’re right.”

They stared at eachother, horrified at any idea they could possibly come up with.

Sansa’s breathing picked up. “If we go over there and act worried, she’ll KNOW we know why she needs support, but if we DON’T go, she’ll think we’re avoiding her, which will ALSO make her know that we know, and then she’ll wonder why we didn’t come when she needed us even though we know she’s pregnant but she doesn’t know we know she’s pregnant, except she DOES know that we know, because she called me earlier, which means she probably knows I know because I didn’t answer, and that means she knows that I know that she knows that—”

“Sansa. Sansa.” Theon grabbed her by both shoulders, shaking her lightly. “You’re going to pop a blood vessel.”

She blinked rapidly, then grabbed his shoulders back. “WE CAN’T TELL HER.”

Theon nodded firmly. “Exactly.”

“But we also can’t lie.”

Theon blinked. “Wait—what? Why?”

“Because Roslin is SENSITIVE, Theon!” Sansa cried, throwing her arms into the air like the entire universe needed to acknowledge Roslin’s emotional fragility. “She’s the type of person who will cry if the barista draws a crooked heart on her latte foam! Imagine lying to her face!”

Theon winced. “Yeah… yeah, that would feel like kicking a kitten.”

“EXACTLY.” Sansa spun away, clutching her head dramatically. “She’s going to WANT to tell us herself, but she’s also probably scared we’ll freak out, but WE’RE FREAKING OUT, but she doesn’t know we’re freaking out, but we DO know she’s freaking out, and she knows that we know she’s freaking out, but she’s also freaking out about the fact that we know she’s—”

Theon interrupted by flopping onto the armchair. “Okay, so—bottom line—we should let her tell us, right?”

Sansa froze mid-panic, thinking, then slowly… she nodded. “Yes. Yes, she should tell us. She needs to feel in control. She needs to do it in her own time.”

Theon let out a breath of relief. “Thank the gods.”

Sansa paced again, wringing her hands. “But then… does that mean we go or not go?”

Theon thought very hard for a very long second, then lifted one finger.

“No go.”

Sansa stared at him skeptically. “You’re sure?”

Theon nodded solemnly. “If we go, we panic. If we panic, she panics. If she panics, Robb kills me.”

Sansa chewed her lip. “And if we don’t go?”

Theon shrugged. “She gets space.”

Sansa frowned. “And if she interprets that as abandonment during a vulnerable moment and hates us forever?”

Theon blinked three times, horrified. “We’re screwed either way.”

Sansa groaned, throwing herself onto the couch next to him. “Oh gods. I can’t lie to her. I can’t. And I can’t tell her either because she’ll think we’re gossiping.”

“WE WERE GOSSIPING,” Theon reminded her.

“That’s not the POINT,” Sansa snapped.

Theon sighed, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answers were written there. “We wait. She tells us first. That’s the rule.”

“Yes,” Sansa said decisively, nodding to herself. “Yes. Roslin tells us. It’ll make her feel safe. And in control. And supported. And we won’t ruin anything.”

Theon nodded. “And in the meantime…”

“We hide,” Sansa said.

“We hide,” Theon echoed.

They both slumped back, exhausted by the mental gymnastics. After a beat, Theon asked quietly“Hey, uh… do you think Robb knows we know?”

Sansa groaned into a pillow. “Theon, can we please not add MORE layers to this nightmare?”

Theon nodded. “Right. Sorry.”

Silence followed…. and then so did more silence. Then Sansa whispered into the pillow, muffled and full of dread:

“She knows I know she knows we know.”

Theon groaned too. “Sansa, please. I’m begging. My brain is melting.”

Chapter Text

Roslin woke before Robb, her eyes opening slowly to the dim light slipping through the curtains, and for a moment she simply lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her. Robb slept like someone who had wrestled with life the night before, one arm sprawled across the mattress, curls flattened in the pillow, mouth slightly open in a soft, oblivious expression that made something warm and guilty twist in her chest. She eased herself out of the bed with careful movements, not wanting to disturb him, and padded quietly into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. Robb’s bathroom was bright even in the morning gloom, the kind of brightness that came from good lighting and a window that actually opened properly, nothing like the slightly dim, steam-choked bathroom she and Sansa shared at their own apartment. She leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection, absorbing the reality of the last twenty-four hours, the test, the rain, Robb’s arms around her, the fact that she now had to navigate being pregnant while still trying to go to class, rehearse, and figure out what the hell her life was going to look like.

She thought about calling Sansa again, or Theon, or both, since she knew Sansa had absolutely told Theon by now, but she wasn’t ready for voices yet, so she reached for her phone and instead typed a small, simple message, “Hey, are you awake? It was the least alarming thing she could think of in the moment.”

She sent it, waited a minute, then sighed when Sansa didn’t answer. She brushed her hair with her fingers, washed her face, and checked her phone again, not even a “typing” bubble.

Roslin made her way back to the bedroom, but instead of climbing into bed, she sat carefully on the edge, watching Robb sleep for another moment before deciding she needed something to eat. She wandered to the kitchen, made toast again, ate it without tasting much, then hovered anxiously near her phone until it finally vibrated.

Sansa’s reply was short, suspiciously casual. Yeah! Are you at Robb’s?

Roslin frowned, typing back slowly. “Yes. Can you come by later?”

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again & eventually the message came through. “We’re actually already near your place. We’ll just come now!”

Roslin stared at the screen. “…we?”

Before she could ask, someone knocked loudly on the apartment door. Her stomach dropped, it was Theon & Sansa. Of course.

She opened the door and Sansa practically burst inside first, hands clasped dramatically, eyes immediately dropping to Roslin’s stomach as though she expected a baby bump to have formed overnight. Theon followed behind her, awkward, guilty, trying not to look like he had sprinted up the stairs.

Sansa, without any greeting whatsoever, whispered loudly, “We know.”

Roslin blinked at them, mouth opening and closing. “I… yes, I figured that out when you didn’t answer my call yesterday and then took an hour to reply to a four-word text this morning.”

Theon nodded rapidly. “We didn’t know how to— well, Sansa didn’t know how to— okay, we didn’t know how to handle it, because you know that we know, obviously, but we didn’t know if you knew that we know—”

Roslin put her hands over her face. “Oh gods. Please stop.”

Sansa stepped forward, hugging her tightly, which would have been comforting if her voice weren’t muffled against Roslin’s shoulder as she said, “We didn’t want to tell you that we know before you told us, even though you already knew that we knew, because then it wouldn’t be your moment anymore, so we came here to let you tell us while knowing that we know.”

Roslin pulled back, staring at her like she’d grown two heads. “Sansa… what does that even mean?”

Theon threw his hands up. “Exactly! This is what I’ve been dealing with since eight this morning!”

Roslin felt the dizziness coming — too much talking, too much pressure, too many feelings piling up inside her at once. Her throat tightened. “I was going to tell you. I swear I was. I just… I needed time. I needed to breathe. I’m still trying to understand it myself.”

And that was when Robb stumbled out of the hallway, hair sticking up everywhere, shirtless, confused, rubbing his eyes like a bear woken from hibernation. “What’s going on? Why is everyone yelling? Sansa? Theon? What are you doing here?”

They all turned to him, he blinked at their collective panic.

Roslin pressed her hands to her temples. “I can’t— I wasn’t ready for this— I don’t know what to do yet. I don’t want to get rid of the baby, I really don’t, unless something’s wrong, which I hope it isn’t, and I— I booked an appointment for two weeks from now to make sure everything’s okay, and I wanted to tell your parents but not right away, not until I know how far along I am or when I start showing or before that but definitely before that but—” She choked on her own breath.

Robb rushed to her side instantly. “Hey, hey, sweetheart, breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

But Roslin’s eyes were already shining with overwhelmed tears. “Your mother is going to kill me. Your father is going to faint. They’ll think we’re stupid or irresponsible or—or that we rushed into everything because we don’t even have a ring or a plan and everything happened so quickly and they love me, I know they do, but this is… big, Robb. This is so big.”

Sansa reached out helplessly. Theon looked like he regretted every decision that had led him through this door. Robb wrapped his arms around Roslin, pulling her against his chest, murmuring into her hair. “We’ll handle it. All of it. Together. You don’t have to panic alone.”

But she was already crying softly, overwhelmed, spiraling, and Robb shot a murderous look over her head at Sansa and Theon, who both mouthed “sorry” in unison as he mouthed “GET OUT.”

Robb had barely gotten Roslin settled back into bed, barely coaxed her into breathing steadily again, when he stepped out of the bedroom and found Theon waiting in the hallway with the look of someone who knew, absolutely and undeniably, that his timing was atrocious. Robb shut the door behind him softly, shoulders tense, hair a mess, exhaustion still clinging to him from the nap he’d been dragged out of, and he just stared at Theon for a moment with that tight-jawed expression that meant he had too many emotions and absolutely no patience left for any of them.

Theon opened his mouth first, because of course he did, offering a hesitant, “Right, before you start which I know you’re going to, just let me say I didn’t mean to make everything worse.”

Robb blinked once, slow and heavy, and his voice came out rough from sleep and stress. “You told her we knew.” It wasn’t yelled, wasn’t even sharp, but the quiet weight of it was worse, and Theon shut his eyes briefly as if he’d been slapped.

He lifted his hands in some attempt at explanation, speaking quickly, words tripping over themselves as they usually did when he was trying to justify something impulsive. “She already knew that we knew, Robb. You do realize that, right? Sansa wasn’t subtle, I wasn’t subtle this morning, Roslin’s not an idiot. Pretending we didn’t know would have just made it worse.” 

Robb dragged a hand over his face, exhaling through his teeth, the kind of exhausted sound someone makes when they’re trying desperately not to snap. “It wasn’t your place to say anything. She wanted to tell you herself. She told me that. She needed control, and you two took it from her.”

Theon opened his mouth to argue, but Robb cut him off, his voice rising slightly though still not a shout. “You don’t just barge into my apartment and make her cry, Theon. She woke up without me next to her, she’s overwhelmed, she’s sick, she’s exhausted, and then you and Sansa show up and dump everything on her at once—”

Theon bristled, because no matter how apologetic he tried to be, he never handled being scolded like a child very well, and he stepped forward with a stubborn set of his jaw. “I get why you’re pissed. I do. But you need to calm down before you make me pissed, because if we’re both pissed then it’s not going to go anywhere good. I wasn’t trying to dump anything on her. I was trying to be honest. You know, honesty? That thing that usually stops messes instead of creating them?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Theon’s bravado deflated by half, but not enough to shut him up. “If I had pretended not to know, she would’ve spiralled anyway, Robb. She would’ve thought we were patronising her or walking on eggshells. And you know what Roslin’s like when she thinks people are lying for her sake she gets worse, not better.”

At that moment Sansa stepped between them, palms raised, her voice sharp with the authority of someone who had grown up negotiating with emotionally unstable siblings. “Enough,” she snapped, looking from one man to the other with thinly veiled disbelief. “You’re both being ridiculous. Robb, you just woke up from a nap, Roslin just woke up from a nap, and Theon has been panicking since breakfast. No one here is in their right mind. So both of you need to shut up for a second.”

Robb stared at her, betrayed. “You’re taking his side?”

“I am taking the side of sanity,” Sansa said, grabbing Theon by the arm before he could open his mouth again. “Which neither of you are displaying. Now come with me before you make this worse.” She shot her brother a pointed look the kind of look that meant you keep pushing and I will end you myself and then hauled Theon down the hallway and into Theon’s bedroom, slamming the door for emphasis.

Inside, Theon collapsed backward onto his bed, running a hand over his face while Sansa paced like a general preparing a full battle report. She looked furious, frustrated, and faintly guilty all at once.

“Well,” Theon said into the ceiling, “that went just beautifully.”

Sansa whipped around, glaring. “I told you coming here immediately was a bad idea. I said we should wait. I said she needed time. And what did you say? ‘No, Sansa, let’s go see her now, she’ll appreciate it.’ Appreciate it? She cried.”

Theon groaned. “I thought it would be supportive!”

“It wasn’t,” Sansa snapped. “It was chaotic. You were chaotic. I was chaotic. Roslin is overwhelmed and hormonal and terrified. Robb is half-asleep and angry. And we—” she gestured between them wildly “—made everything explode.”

Theon sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We need to apologize. Both of us. Properly. When she’s ready.”

Sansa sighed, sinking down beside him. “She’s not ready now. Robb’s with her. And if we try anything right this second, Robb will throw us off the balcony.”

Theon nodded grimly. “I don’t even think he’d feel bad about it.”

“He wouldn’t,” Sansa said simply, leaning her head onto Theon’s shoulder. “But he’s not wrong. She’s scared. She’s thinking about his parents. She’s thinking about the future. She’s thinking about everything at once.”

Theon nudged her gently. “And we didn’t help.”

“No,” Sansa agreed softly. “But we will.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the apartment, Robb walked back into his bedroom with his anger still simmering at the edges of his exhaustion, his chest tight with the leftover adrenaline of waking up to raised voices and Roslin crying in their kitchen.

The moment he sat beside her, though, the tension in him loosened. Roslin was curled against his pillows, trying very hard not to cry again, but the watery shine in her eyes betrayed her.

Robb gathered her gently into his arms, pulling her onto his lap, tucking her against his chest like she was something fragile he had to protect from the whole world. “They didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmured into her hair. “They just care. They’re idiots, but they care.”

Roslin pressed her face into his shoulder, her voice small and tired. “I was going to tell them. I just… not today. Not like that. I feel stupid.” “You’re not stupid,” Robb said instantly, kissing the top of her head. “You’re overwhelmed. Anyone would be.”

Roslin let out a shaking breath, wrapping her arms around him. “I don’t know how to tell your parents. I don’t know how they’ll react. I don’t want them to be angry or disappointed. And your mum, she’s strict, Robb, she’s so strict, and I know she loves me, but she’s going to think we rushed everything, and we’ve only been dating for three years, and we’re not engaged, and everything is… everything is so sudden.”

Robb held her tighter, rubbing slow circles on her back. “We’ll tell them together. On our terms. When we’re ready. And they’ll be shocked, sure, but they won’t be disappointed in you. You’re family to them.”

Roslin sniffed. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Robb whispered. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

______

Robb held Roslin close, feeling the warmth of her body against his chest, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and for a long moment they simply existed in the quiet aftermath of everything that had just exploded.

He could feel the lingering panic in her, even though she was trying so hard to be composed, and he brushed strands of damp hair back from her forehead, murmuring softly, “We’ll figure out when to tell them. We don’t have to do it today. We don’t even have to do it this week.”

Roslin let out a shaky breath against him, eyes half-closed. “I know, but… it’s coming, isn’t it? Eventually and I want it to be on our terms, not like… this,” she gestured vaguely at the hallway, at the fact that their friends had barged in and turned a morning into a full-blown crisis.

Robb nodded slowly, fingers threading through hers. “We wait until you’re ready, until you feel like you can handle it. And we tell them together. We decide on the moment. They’ll adjust, they always do. They love you.”

She sniffled, pressing her face into his shoulder again. “And if they freak out? I mean, they love me, but they might panic, well your mum especially…”

Robb rubbed her back, steady and grounding. “Then we calm them down. That’s our job. We’re a team, remember? They’ll be shocked, probably, but they won’t regret it. And they’ll never, ever turn on you. You’re part of this family now.”

As opposed to what was occurring there, in the corner of the apartment that was technically Theon’s bedroom but had become a rehearsal stage for the apology, Sansa and Theon were pacing in opposite directions, arms waving, voices bouncing off the walls as they tried, desperately, to craft some form of coherent apology.

“We need to be calm, but sincere,” Sansa said, folding her arms, eyebrows pinched. “We can’t sound like we’re scolding her or justifying ourselves. That’s… that’s the worst thing we could do.”

Theon twirled a pen between his fingers, looking slightly lost. “Okay, so something like, ‘I’m sorry we scared you, but we only meant well’?”

Sansa stopped mid-step, eyes wide. “No, Theon, that’s exactly what not to say. That makes it sound like it was her fault for being scared. Try again.”

Theon exhaled sharply and ran a hand down his face. “Okay, okay, so, ‘We’re sorry we barged in, it was wrong, we didn’t mean to upset you, we just…’”

He trailed off, panicking again, and Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s too long. You need something concise and we have to mean it without making it sound like we’re reading from a script.”

Theon groaned, flopping onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if I can do heartfelt without sounding like an idiot.”

Sansa knelt beside him, tone gentler now. “Then be honest. That’s all she needs, she knows we messed up and she just needs to hear us admit it without drama, without trying to justify why we thought it was okay, and without pretending we didn’t know already.”

Theon blinked, then nodded slowly. “Right, short and sincere. I think I got it.”

Sansa let out a long breath, standing up and pacing again. “Good. Then we practice. Over and over if we have to. Until we sound like two human beings and not like panicked teenagers who accidentally traumatized their friend.”

Theon chuckled nervously, though it was more of a wheeze than a laugh. “Perfect. That’s exactly what we are, two panicked idiots, but I can do that.”

Back in Robb’s bedroom, Roslin shifted slightly, trying to make herself comfortable without disturbing the still-sleepy posture of her boyfriend, and Robb tucked the blankets around her carefully. “We’ll wait a little while before telling my parents,” he said, voice low and steady, fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm. “Maybe a month, maybe six weeks. You’ll know when it’s time. And we can plan it so it’s calm, and you feel safe, and no one interrupts us or barges in like this morning.”

Roslin pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Thank you. For… just being here and I think just for understanding. I don’t think I could’ve handled today without you.” Robb’s lips brushed the top of her head.

“You don’t have to handle anything alone. I’ll take all the panic, all the chaos, all the yelling, you just breathe. That’s it.” She exhaled slowly, letting herself sink into the comfort of his presence, the tension in her body easing ever so slightly despite the still-looming uncertainty of the next steps.

In the hall, Sansa and Theon continued their whispered rehearsal, voices low now, determined, both aware that however disastrous the morning had been, they wanted, more than anything, to make it right. 

_______ 

Theon leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck as Sansa continued pacing in front of him, muttering under her breath about how this apology had to be perfect. He raised a hand suddenly. “Wait. Hold on. Don’t make this apology all about me.”

Sansa stopped mid-step, blinking at him like he’d grown a second head. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“You played a role in this too,” Theon said, voice a little sharper than he intended. “You need to apologise as well, because right now it looks like I’m doing all the heavy lifting, like I’m the one responsible for everything. I can’t carry the entire guilt of this morning by myself.”

Sansa opened her mouth, flustered. “Wait, I’m… I’m also fully apologising? or I mean, saying more… I mean I’m sorry but like..” she asked incredulously.

Theon crossed his arms. “Yes. You’re apologising, but you’re… worse at apologising than I am because you can’t admit to your own mistakes,” he said, gesturing vaguely with one hand, “and right now it looks like I’m the bad guy here, and I’m not, not entirely. So yes, take responsibility.”

Sansa froze, then narrowed her eyes. “I can admit to my mistakes. You just… refuse to see yours sometimes!” she snapped. Theon’s eyes widened, because that wasn’t how he expected the conversation to go. “I see my mistakes! I just… deal with them differently,”

He protested, stepping toward her. “Differently doesn’t mean better,”

Sansa shot back, arms flailing just slightly. “It just means you look like you’re dodging accountability!”

Theon groaned, running a hand down his face again. “Okay, fine, maybe I do. But that doesn’t mean you’re perfect at this either!”

They both paused, breathing a little faster than usual, the tension between them crackling like static in the small bedroom.

Then, the panic began to ebb, replaced by that quiet, heavy realisation that neither of them had handled this correctly. Sansa exhaled, shoulders sagging, and Theon followed suit, leaning back against the bed frame with a defeated slouch. “You’re right,” Sansa said quietly. “We shouldn’t have barged in this morning. We knew it was wrong, but we panicked and just… did it anyway. We didn’t think about how it would make Roslin feel. And now…” she trailed off, glancing toward the bedroom door, “…now we have to figure out how to fix it.”

Theon rubbed at his eyes, nodding. “Yeah. We need to think this through, coherently. Apologise in a way that doesn’t make her cry more. Or scream at us. Or both.” Sansa let out a small laugh that was more exhausted than amused. “And let’s not forget that Robb might literally kill us if it isn’t good enough.”

Theon shivered, grimacing. “That’s the terrifying part. He’s going to be judging every word we say, every tone we use. One misstep, and—” he made a vague gesture of decapitation.

Sansa smirked despite herself, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Exactly. So we need to get our heads straight, admit our mistakes, stay calm, and hope she doesn’t hate us forever. Which is… a lot.”

Theon sighed, dropping onto the floor beside her, elbows on knees. “A lot is right. But yeah… we screwed up, big time, We just need to make it right now.”