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Description
Hello!

So I couldn't help myself, I just had to make another picture of these two; I don't know why, but this song just compelled me to make something for Clara and Robb. They're too adorable together. I have to say, they are probably one of my favorite pairings. I don't necessarily know how I feel with the outcome of this piece, but I think for the most part it came out pretty decent and hopefully you guys think so too!

I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

- Christina Perri, A Thousand Years

~ ~ ~

He found himself unable to move. He stood perfectly still, only inches away from the table where his wife sat, being stabbed repeatedly in the stomach. He knew he should be rushing over to her aid, stopping the man who was wounding her and his unborn child, but for some strange reason, he could not will his legs to move. It was as if he had become stone; his feet cemented to the wooden floor. His breathing quickened, his heart raced, pounding wildly within in his chest, and he felt a rush of nausea overcome him.

She screamed in agony and it took a forever-lasting moment for her cries to register in his brain. He blinked and took a step forward, only to stumble back when an arrow shot at him and pierced his skin. Everything was happening so quickly and he couldn't make sense of what was going on. He spun around on wobbly legs until he was thrown backwards, slamming painfully against the floor when another arrow shot at him. His eyelids closed for a brief moment as he let out an agonized groan while the point of the arrow dug into his flesh, a burning sensation overtaking his entire body.

His men were slaughtered around him and the cries of his fellow men rang in his ears, but all he could focus on was his wife who fell lifelessly to the floor. He crawled to her, as being unable to properly stand. His hand fell to her bleeding wound and he watched with tearful eyes as the blood of his wife pooled around her. He lifted her head with one hand while the other stayed resting on her stomach and slowly he felt his whole world collapsing around him, coming to a rushing, tortuous end.

He mumbled her name, though not even himself could hear his cracked and broken whisper. He choked back a sob, the shock settling in before any tears could shed. They were happy - so, so blissfully happy - and now look where they laid. He was kneeling beside her, soaking in her blood as well as his own, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. His wife, his unborn child - both now gone, violently taken from him.

A part of him somewhere in the back of his mind told him he should do something; he should act like the King of the North and stand up and fight. He should fight until the death of him, he should fight alongside his men who were dying all around him, he should protect his mother and just do something! But he couldn't find the strength in him to do so.

His fight was over and so he shut his eyes, inhaled a deep, painful breath, and waited for another arrow to plunge through his flesh, to take his life away and end his suffering. It started with a single tear sliding down his cheeks, then another came and another and he silently begged for the gods to do it already. Take him so he could reunite with his wife and unborn child and once again see his father.

Instead, he felt slender fingers wrap around his arm and yank him forcibly onto his feet. His eyes shot wide open and he came face to face with one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. She stared at him with anxious brown eyes that he found himself becoming lost in. There was something about her, he realized, something familiar that he couldn't quite place his finger on. She pulled at his arm again, forcing him to move toward the door where an older man stood, watching the two of them with intense blue eyes.

"Run," She said through clenched teeth, urging him to move already, while man after man fell lifelessly to the floor. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins, keeping her from freaking out as arrows flew above her head and death surrounded them. "C'mon, King, run!"

He somehow found his feet and was able to follow quickly in her footsteps as they ducked under arrows and maneuvered around swords. He had to force the horrifying image of Talisa out of his mind for the time being in order to keep moving and make it out alive. He may be a coward for running, but the fight was lost to him and his men and wife were already gone. The North still needed its King. His fallen men were going to need someone to guide vengeance into its rightful path.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the mystery woman who was leading him to safety. She had brown hair that was partially clipped up with the rest of it cascading down just below her shoulders. She wore a red dress that fell to her ankles with brown heeled boots. He didn't understand it, but for some unexplained reason, he couldn't stop himself from admiring, despite the situation he was in, how lovely she looked.

And he can't stop the small voice in his head that told him he had seen her before, that told him he somehow knew her. He had always felt an emptiness in him, ever since he was a child, an emptiness he wasn't able to explain or identify. Even when he met Talisa he still felt that emptiness, though with her it was easier to ignore. Now, with her holding his hand as she guided him outside into the brisk air, he no longer felt that emptiness.

He swallowed hard and tried to speak, tried to ask who she and that older man waiting for them was, but his voice died in his throat and nothing came out. She glanced around, making sure no one was watching before she pulled him into the shadows, disappearing from sight. He stared down at her with raw eyes and a distraught look plastered across his face and she looked up at him with apologetic eyes.

"We wait here." She whispered before glancing over his shoulder, searching through the darkness for any movement resembling a person. She couldn't quite see and her nerves were eating away at her, but she remained brave, for his sake at least. She placed her hands on his shoulders and nodded her head sharply, "It'll be alright, I promise."

She sounded so sweet; her voice so angel-like, so reassuring and gentle and he almost felt safe. Almost.

"Clara," A man appeared beside her. He was on alert, his eyes scanning the area frantically for any signs of danger coming toward them. "It's time to leave. Now."

He rubbed his face with his hands and shook his head, "Wait." He looked between the two of them. He needed answers before he would go anywhere with them. He had just watched his men die, his wife who carried his child die, his mother… they were all betrayed for a mistake he had made, for going back on his word, and right now he had no trust left for anyone. He needed answers before anything else. "Who… who are you?"

The older man spoke up almost immediately, "I'm the Doctor and this is Clara Oswald. We're here to save you from this massacre. We really have no time to waste. So come on -"

He had already lost all of his loyal people, his wife and yet to be born child, his Direwolf… he couldn't possibly leave his mother behind to. He couldn't abandon her, too. He had to go back, he had to put a stop to this. "My Mother -"

"Is fine." Clara spoke up with a small, sweet smile, answering his question before he even finished asking. "The Doctor brought her somewhere safe and now we have to get to safety." When he refused to move, frozen in his spot, she gingerly added, "Robb Stark, we need to go. Please." She tugged on his hand and, although with slight hesitation, he eventually followed.

To clam his racing heart and his frantic nerves, he shut his eyes and focused on the way her sweet voice said his name; over and over in his head he replayed the way his name sounded on her delicate, lovely tongue and the way it spilled passed her soft, red lips.

---

It was weeks later when it was time for her and the Doctor to part ways from Robb Stark and Winterfell. She had grown close to him and had highly enjoyed his company and the sweet sound of his laughter or the beautiful sight of him smiling, but she and the Doctor had to move on. It was surprising the Doctor lasted this long in one place and she was thankful for it. She was thankful that, despite him being angry at her for interfering at what was known as the Red Wedding, he still agreed to stay a while.

She didn't know why, but a part of her was compelled to Robb Stark, the eldest son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. She felt a strong urge to be around him, to be by his side, and get to know him better. She was happy to be there when he went through a dark period of time, grieving over the death of his wife and unborn chid. She was happy to help him cope with the loss and be there to comfort him.

The Doctor noticed how close Robb and Clara have become, but said nothing of it. He just silently watched from the side, not ever remembering her smile quite as much as she was when she was with Robb. He had also noticed how fond Robb was of Clara, always rushing to her side whenever she needed something and always bringing a smile to her face. He watched over her, made sure she felt welcomed and comfortable in Winterfell, and, most importantly, that she was safe at all times.

Robb taught her how to shoot arrows, even showed her how to wield a sword, much to her request and she showed him how to dance, a certain fancy and slow dance she had learned from the Doctor while on some planet they once visited. He felt safe around her, as she did around him. And, somewhere in the back of his mind, that same voice from weeks ago still lingered, reminding him that he knew her from somewhere.

After weeks of knowing one another, and when it came close to the time where Clara and the Doctor would be parting ways from Winterfell, the Doctor began to realize something about Clara and Robb's connection. Anytime she hurt, he hurt. Anytime he bled, she bled. Their connection was more than emotionally involved - their connection was further complex than the Doctor would have ever imagined. They were soul mates, something the Doctor didn't know if he ever believed in. They were bonded together; they shared their happiness together, they also shared their pain together. Robb once cut himself with his sword and suddenly Clara was bleeding, though he was outside while she was inside bathing. She shared his wound.

The Doctor didn't know how to explain it, he didn't fully comprehend it himself. Robb spoke to him about how he felt as if he knew her from somewhere, and the only thing the Doctor could say was that maybe he did. A thousand years ago they may have had a life together, in a different lifetime. He dreamed of her before, a mystery girl bearing no name. He knew her from a past lifetime and that explained why he always felt such an emptiness in him, ever since he was a child. Ever since he was born again, in this new life, his brain subconsciously craved to see her again and one day that Impossible Girl would come back to him and love him just the same. And she did.

When it was time for her to go, she promised she would return. Whether it be in this lifetime or another thousand years from now, she would come back. It was a promise she and Robb knew she would keep. A promise the Doctor would one day have to accept.

She would always come back.

~ ~ ~

^^ Okay, maybe not my best work, but it was written at the spur of the moment and I don't know quite how I feel about it. I plan on actually rewriting this and writing maybe a short fanfiction on it, so keep your eyes out if you'd like to see a more edited and fully developed version of this!

---

Credit:

bullylp.deviantart.com/art/Tek…
rosesylla.deviantart.com/art/1…
selunia.deviantart.com/art/Bir…
Google Images

Thank you guys so, so much!

Description
Hello!

So I couldn't help myself, I just had to make another picture of these two; I don't know why, but this song just compelled me to make something for Clara and Robb. They're too adorable together. I have to say, they are probably one of my favorite pairings. I don't necessarily know how I feel with the outcome of this piece, but I think for the most part it came out pretty decent and hopefully you guys think so too!

I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

- Christina Perri, A Thousand Years

~ ~ ~

He found himself unable to move. He stood perfectly still, only inches away from the table where his wife sat, being stabbed repeatedly in the stomach. He knew he should be rushing over to her aid, stopping the man who was wounding her and his unborn child, but for some strange reason, he could not will his legs to move. It was as if he had become stone; his feet cemented to the wooden floor. His breathing quickened, his heart raced, pounding wildly within in his chest, and he felt a rush of nausea overcome him.

She screamed in agony and it took a forever-lasting moment for her cries to register in his brain. He blinked and took a step forward, only to stumble back when an arrow shot at him and pierced his skin. Everything was happening so quickly and he couldn't make sense of what was going on. He spun around on wobbly legs until he was thrown backwards, slamming painfully against the floor when another arrow shot at him. His eyelids closed for a brief moment as he let out an agonized groan while the point of the arrow dug into his flesh, a burning sensation overtaking his entire body.

His men were slaughtered around him and the cries of his fellow men rang in his ears, but all he could focus on was his wife who fell lifelessly to the floor. He crawled to her, as being unable to properly stand. His hand fell to her bleeding wound and he watched with tearful eyes as the blood of his wife pooled around her. He lifted her head with one hand while the other stayed resting on her stomach and slowly he felt his whole world collapsing around him, coming to a rushing, tortuous end.

He mumbled her name, though not even himself could hear his cracked and broken whisper. He choked back a sob, the shock settling in before any tears could shed. They were happy - so, so blissfully happy - and now look where they laid. He was kneeling beside her, soaking in her blood as well as his own, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. His wife, his unborn child - both now gone, violently taken from him.

A part of him somewhere in the back of his mind told him he should do something; he should act like the King of the North and stand up and fight. He should fight until the death of him, he should fight alongside his men who were dying all around him, he should protect his mother and just do something! But he couldn't find the strength in him to do so.

His fight was over and so he shut his eyes, inhaled a deep, painful breath, and waited for another arrow to plunge through his flesh, to take his life away and end his suffering. It started with a single tear sliding down his cheeks, then another came and another and he silently begged for the gods to do it already. Take him so he could reunite with his wife and unborn child and once again see his father.

Instead, he felt slender fingers wrap around his arm and yank him forcibly onto his feet. His eyes shot wide open and he came face to face with one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. She stared at him with anxious brown eyes that he found himself becoming lost in. There was something about her, he realized, something familiar that he couldn't quite place his finger on. She pulled at his arm again, forcing him to move toward the door where an older man stood, watching the two of them with intense blue eyes.

"Run," She said through clenched teeth, urging him to move already, while man after man fell lifelessly to the floor. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins, keeping her from freaking out as arrows flew above her head and death surrounded them. "C'mon, King, run!"

He somehow found his feet and was able to follow quickly in her footsteps as they ducked under arrows and maneuvered around swords. He had to force the horrifying image of Talisa out of his mind for the time being in order to keep moving and make it out alive. He may be a coward for running, but the fight was lost to him and his men and wife were already gone. The North still needed its King. His fallen men were going to need someone to guide vengeance into its rightful path.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the mystery woman who was leading him to safety. She had brown hair that was partially clipped up with the rest of it cascading down just below her shoulders. She wore a red dress that fell to her ankles with brown heeled boots. He didn't understand it, but for some unexplained reason, he couldn't stop himself from admiring, despite the situation he was in, how lovely she looked.

And he can't stop the small voice in his head that told him he had seen her before, that told him he somehow knew her. He had always felt an emptiness in him, ever since he was a child, an emptiness he wasn't able to explain or identify. Even when he met Talisa he still felt that emptiness, though with her it was easier to ignore. Now, with her holding his hand as she guided him outside into the brisk air, he no longer felt that emptiness.

He swallowed hard and tried to speak, tried to ask who she and that older man waiting for them was, but his voice died in his throat and nothing came out. She glanced around, making sure no one was watching before she pulled him into the shadows, disappearing from sight. He stared down at her with raw eyes and a distraught look plastered across his face and she looked up at him with apologetic eyes.

"We wait here." She whispered before glancing over his shoulder, searching through the darkness for any movement resembling a person. She couldn't quite see and her nerves were eating away at her, but she remained brave, for his sake at least. She placed her hands on his shoulders and nodded her head sharply, "It'll be alright, I promise."

She sounded so sweet; her voice so angel-like, so reassuring and gentle and he almost felt safe. Almost.

"Clara," A man appeared beside her. He was on alert, his eyes scanning the area frantically for any signs of danger coming toward them. "It's time to leave. Now."

He rubbed his face with his hands and shook his head, "Wait." He looked between the two of them. He needed answers before he would go anywhere with them. He had just watched his men die, his wife who carried his child die, his mother… they were all betrayed for a mistake he had made, for going back on his word, and right now he had no trust left for anyone. He needed answers before anything else. "Who… who are you?"

The older man spoke up almost immediately, "I'm the Doctor and this is Clara Oswald. We're here to save you from this massacre. We really have no time to waste. So come on -"

He had already lost all of his loyal people, his wife and yet to be born child, his Direwolf… he couldn't possibly leave his mother behind to. He couldn't abandon her, too. He had to go back, he had to put a stop to this. "My Mother -"

"Is fine." Clara spoke up with a small, sweet smile, answering his question before he even finished asking. "The Doctor brought her somewhere safe and now we have to get to safety." When he refused to move, frozen in his spot, she gingerly added, "Robb Stark, we need to go. Please." She tugged on his hand and, although with slight hesitation, he eventually followed.

To clam his racing heart and his frantic nerves, he shut his eyes and focused on the way her sweet voice said his name; over and over in his head he replayed the way his name sounded on her delicate, lovely tongue and the way it spilled passed her soft, red lips.

---

It was weeks later when it was time for her and the Doctor to part ways from Robb Stark and Winterfell. She had grown close to him and had highly enjoyed his company and the sweet sound of his laughter or the beautiful sight of him smiling, but she and the Doctor had to move on. It was surprising the Doctor lasted this long in one place and she was thankful for it. She was thankful that, despite him being angry at her for interfering at what was known as the Red Wedding, he still agreed to stay a while.

She didn't know why, but a part of her was compelled to Robb Stark, the eldest son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. She felt a strong urge to be around him, to be by his side, and get to know him better. She was happy to be there when he went through a dark period of time, grieving over the death of his wife and unborn chid. She was happy to help him cope with the loss and be there to comfort him.

The Doctor noticed how close Robb and Clara have become, but said nothing of it. He just silently watched from the side, not ever remembering her smile quite as much as she was when she was with Robb. He had also noticed how fond Robb was of Clara, always rushing to her side whenever she needed something and always bringing a smile to her face. He watched over her, made sure she felt welcomed and comfortable in Winterfell, and, most importantly, that she was safe at all times.

Robb taught her how to shoot arrows, even showed her how to wield a sword, much to her request and she showed him how to dance, a certain fancy and slow dance she had learned from the Doctor while on some planet they once visited. He felt safe around her, as she did around him. And, somewhere in the back of his mind, that same voice from weeks ago still lingered, reminding him that he knew her from somewhere.

After weeks of knowing one another, and when it came close to the time where Clara and the Doctor would be parting ways from Winterfell, the Doctor began to realize something about Clara and Robb's connection. Anytime she hurt, he hurt. Anytime he bled, she bled. Their connection was more than emotionally involved - their connection was further complex than the Doctor would have ever imagined. They were soul mates, something the Doctor didn't know if he ever believed in. They were bonded together; they shared their happiness together, they also shared their pain together. Robb once cut himself with his sword and suddenly Clara was bleeding, though he was outside while she was inside bathing. She shared his wound.

The Doctor didn't know how to explain it, he didn't fully comprehend it himself. Robb spoke to him about how he felt as if he knew her from somewhere, and the only thing the Doctor could say was that maybe he did. A thousand years ago they may have had a life together, in a different lifetime. He dreamed of her before, a mystery girl bearing no name. He knew her from a past lifetime and that explained why he always felt such an emptiness in him, ever since he was a child. Ever since he was born again, in this new life, his brain subconsciously craved to see her again and one day that Impossible Girl would come back to him and love him just the same. And she did.

When it was time for her to go, she promised she would return. Whether it be in this lifetime or another thousand years from now, she would come back. It was a promise she and Robb knew she would keep. A promise the Doctor would one day have to accept.

She would always come back.

~ ~ ~

^^ Okay, maybe not my best work, but it was written at the spur of the moment and I don't know quite how I feel about it. I plan on actually rewriting this and writing maybe a short fanfiction on it, so keep your eyes out if you'd like to see a more edited and fully developed version of this!

---

Credit:

bullylp.deviantart.com/art/Tek…
rosesylla.deviantart.com/art/1…
selunia.deviantart.com/art/Bir…
Google Images

Thank you guys so, so much!