HIS MOVE

Author's Note: This is a non-profit fanfiction based on A Song of Ice and Fire. It is part of a larger story world I plan to adapt into an original novel. All names, places, and affiliations may change in the future.

RUYAN

The mining village glowed with festive lights, the narrow paths between simple dwellings illuminated by colourful paper lanterns that swayed in the evening breeze. Drums and flutes filled the air with jubilant melodies as villagers celebrated their most bountiful yield in decades. The scent of roasting meats and fermented rice wine permeated the night, a heady combination that intoxicated even those who hadn't partaken.

"The timing is fortuitous," Master Wei observed as they watched the celebrations from the magistrate's elevated villa. "The villagers believe the arrival of imperial visitors on their celebration day is an auspicious sign."

Ruyan nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd below for a particular figure. She found him surrounded by miners—weathered men with calloused hands and sun-leathered faces who enthusiastically filled his cup with potent local wine. Robb Stark seemed to be holding his own, matching their toasts with practised ease, though she noted the slight flush creeping up his neck.

"Should we not rescue Lord Stark?" Master Wei asked, following her gaze. "The mountain wine is notoriously strong."

"Let him enjoy himself," Ruyan replied. "It's his name day, after all."

She watched as Robb extracted himself from the group with surprising grace, making his excuses with gestures that transcended the language barrier. The miners clapped him on the back as he departed, a sign they'd accepted him despite his foreign appearance.

"I believe he's retiring for the night," Master Wei noted. "Shall I also escort you back to the villa, Princess?"

"I'll return shortly," she replied. "I have matters to attend to first."

When Ruyan entered her chambers at the villa sometime later, she summoned her attendant. "Bring the items I requested from the capital," she instructed. The woman bowed and withdrew, returning with a package wrapped in imperial silk.

Ruyan scrutinized the contents. The sword was masterfully crafted, lightweight yet perfectly balanced, ideal for someone trained in Westerosi techniques but adaptable to Yi Tish styles. The set of throwing daggers complemented it—small enough to be concealed but deadly in practised hands. Alongside these weapons lay an emergency medical kit packed in a compact leather case containing herbs, ointments, and surgical tools.

Each item had been selected with precision, befitting a gift for the heir to a Great House. Practical rather than ostentatious, useful rather than merely decorative—the North valued function over form, according to her research.

When her attendant informed her that Robb had returned to his quarters, Ruyan sent word requesting his presence. He arrived promptly, his features composed despite the wine he'd consumed, his movements steady.

"You wished to see me, Princess?" he asked the formal address, a reminder of their distance despite months of travel together.

She gestured to the items displayed on the low table between them. "These are for you," she said. "For your name day."

Surprise flickered across his features—surprise that she knew, or surprise that she cared? Both, perhaps.

Robb approached the table, examining the weapons with expert eyes. He lifted the sword, testing its weight and balance with a practised hand. "Yi Tish craftsmanship," he noted, "but designed for Westerosi techniques." He glanced at her. "A thoughtful choice."

"The daggers are balanced for throwing or close combat," she explained, "and the medical kit contains treatments for common ailments and injuries."

He nodded, genuine appreciation evident in his expression. "Thank you, Princess."

Silence stretched between them, less strained than usual but still heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Ruyan spoke again. "Is there anything else you would like for your name day?"

The question caught him off guard. He looked at her with those Tully-blue eyes that revealed more than he perhaps intended. "Anything I want?" he echoed.

"Aside from the obvious," she added knowingly, referring to his desire to return home.

Robb set the sword down carefully. "You knew it was my name day, hence the gifts."

She nodded once, a slight inclination of her head.

"May I think about it and tell you after?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the unusual request.

"I will wait," she agreed, curious about what he might ask when given such an open-ended opportunity.

After he left, Ruyan reflected on what she'd observed in Robb Stark over the past months. His initial raw anger had gradually transformed into something more controlled, more measured. He asked more questions now, observed more carefully, and engaged more thoughtfully with what he was shown. The change was subtle but significant—the impulsive boy becoming a tactical man.

She recognized his homesickness in small gestures: the way he gazed at the stars at night, perhaps searching for familiar constellations; how he sometimes touched the direwolf embroidered on his travelling cloak; his careful preservation of letters from Winterfell. She could relate to his loneliness all too well, though she had been trained since childhood to suppress such feelings.

Yet it was clear that Robb expected something from her now—some shift in their dynamic as they approached the end of the promised year. When they returned to the capital, it would be nearly two years since he left Winterfell. Their unspoken agreement hung between them: she would show him what Yi Ti offered, and he would reconsider the alliance.

But Ruyan sensed that showing the empire's wonders was no longer enough. He had seen the military might, administrative efficiency, medical innovation, and agricultural ingenuity. He had met her siblings and glimpsed life at court. What more could she offer to secure his agreement?

As she calculated possibilities, an uncomfortable truth emerged. In all her diplomatic training, she had never learned how to forge a personal connection, a genuine bond. Her interactions had always been guided by imperial protocol, strategic objectives, and careful analysis of others' motivations. She knew how to persuade, manipulate, and negotiate—but friendship? That remained a foreign territory.

All her life, people had been categorized as either above her (the Emperor, her mother), beside her (her siblings), or beneath her (everyone else). Friends were a luxury imperial princesses could not afford—a potential weakness, a compromising attachment.

Yet if she truly wanted to succeed in this mission—if she wanted Robb Stark to agree to their alliance willingly rather than under duress—she might need to attempt what she had never learned.

I could try to befriend him, she thought, considering the strategy from all angles. Immediate concerns surfaced: Would he believe her sincerity? Could she maintain such a performance convincingly? Was it even possible to manufacture friendship as one would a diplomatic agreement?

More troubling still was the question of what such an effort might reveal about herself. Forging even a façade of friendship required revealing parts of oneself, and Ruyan had spent a lifetime perfecting her imperial mask, showing only what was strategically advantageous.

Still, she would do whatever was necessary to ensure success. If befriending Robb Stark would secure the alliance her father demanded, she would attempt, however unfamiliar the territory might be.

The only approach, she decided, would be transparency. She would have to be upfront about her intentions—paradoxically using honesty as her strategy. It was, perhaps, the one approach he might believe, given what he knew of her.

ROBB

The mountain wine burned pleasantly in Robb's chest as he strode back toward the magistrate's villa, carefully navigating the lantern-lit path. The miners' celebration continued behind him, their boisterous laughter and songs fading as he climbed the winding mountain trail.

His name day. The realization had struck him that morning with a sharp pang of homesickness. At Winterfell, there would have been a feast in the Great Hall, his father's solemn toast, his mother's warm embrace, Jon and Theon competing to give him the most impressive training weapon, Sansa's carefully embroidered gift, Arya's enthusiastic but slightly chaotic present, and little Bran's earnest offering.

Instead, he was here—in a foreign land, surrounded by strangers, marking another year of life far from everyone he loved. The miners' celebration had been a welcome distraction, their simple generosity and uninhibited joy infectious despite the language barrier. Their wine, too, had been a revelation—potent as wildfire but surprisingly complex in flavour.

As he approached his chambers, a servant intercepted him with orders that Princess Ruyan requested his presence. Curious and slightly wary, he followed, wondering what she planned to showcase next.

The gifts had been unexpected—not just their existence but their thoughtfulness. The sword was perfectly crafted for his fighting style yet incorporated Yi Tish elements that could give him an advantage in battle. The daggers were practical for various combat scenarios, and the medical kit represented knowledge that could save lives in the North.

These weren't random offerings but carefully selected items demonstrating understanding his needs and values. She had been paying attention—more attention than he'd realized.

But her question caught him off guard: "Is there anything else you would like for your name day?"

As he returned to his quarters after their meeting, Robb contemplated what to request. He had asked for time to consider, a stalling tactic that surprised her. The wine had dulled his edge just enough that he feared making an impulsive request he might regret. It is better to think strategically now that he recognized the opportunity presented.

Ruyan had shown him what Yi Ti had to offer for months—her country, her civilization, her family's empire. But she had revealed almost nothing of herself. She was offering him material things, knowledge, technology, military tactics—everything except the person he would be binding himself to if he agreed to this alliance.

"If I am to consider this alliance," he murmured as he paced his chambers, "she will have to offer herself."

The thought crystallized in his mind with sudden clarity. He had refused two things in Winterfell: the alliance and her. Yet in their travels, she had shown only one of these rejected offerings—Yi Ti. Of Ruyan herself, he had glimpsed only brief, unguarded moments: her small smile at the governor's daughter's flowers, her interest in medical studies, her precise but graceful movements in martial training.

He would ask her to show him what else he had refused, not just Yi Ti but herself.

Though he was not his father's son in appearance, having inherited his mother's Tully colouring, at this moment, Robb felt Ned Stark's cool, strategic mind guiding his thoughts. This was not manipulation but clarity—a fair request that might determine whether any true partnership was possible between them.

Friendship? Could he accept that from her? Could he trust her enough to build even that basic foundation?

More than friendship, Robb sought a partnership. If he were to consider this alliance, he needed to know there could be mutual respect, honest communication, and shared purpose—not the empty political arrangement he feared, but something with the potential to grow into more, as his parents' marriage had done.

She had said she would show him what he refused so that he could decide. Now, he would ask her to show herself since he had refused her as well.

She had exhibited Yi Ti as seduction—now it was time to see if there was anything beyond the perfect imperial doll that others described. Was there a person behind the princess? A woman beyond the mission?

Robb gazed out the window at the celebration continuing in the village below, and the mountain stars brilliant overhead. Tomorrow, he would give Ruyan his request. He would observe her reaction, gauge whether she was capable of the honesty such a request demanded. And from her response, he would learn more about his potential future than all the wonders of Yi Ti could tell him.

For the first time since his abduction, Robb felt he had gained a measure of control in this complicated dance between duty and desire, between two ancient bloodlines and two stubborn hearts. Whatever came next would be on terms they negotiated together, not merely her father's imperial decree or his father's protective caution.

He thought with grim satisfaction that it was a fitting development for his name day—the day a boy became one year closer to being a man.