The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ROBB - IV

ROBB FELT SICK. From the very first execution he attended, he knew that he would one day have to take a life. Now it had happened. Two men were dead. It didn't matter that he'd heard stories of the Wildling's savage ways, not when he'd looked them in the eyes. They were just men. He did it for Bran, he reminded himself. There was no other way. The boy was safe now, tucked up in his bed.

He paced along the platform of the Great Hall, his hand tracing along the head table. She was there — the fair Aryadne —, huddled in a blanket by the fire. He wanted her company for weeks but now that he had it, he wished for nothing but for her to leave.

"Why have you come?" he finally asked. when the silence became too unbearable.

"You know what happened to your father?" Baffled, he offered a nod. His back ached in complaint at the slightest movement. She sighed, "I was there. I saw what my uncle did... so I ran. My servants know to tell anyone who asks that I am visiting your aunt at the Eyrie but it won't be long before suspicions rise. But you must understand, I had nowhere else — no friends, no family I can trust. King's Landing may not be safe for me anymore."

There was not a scrap of dishonesty in her eyes. He came down from the platform, cautiously nearing her. "Not safe? It's your home, why would it be safe?"

She took a deep breath. The blanket hid her body but he could still see how she quivered. Her hand shook as it ventured out of the warmth to worry the golden stag necklace. "Jon Arryn was murdered."

"Murdered?" he scoffed. "How can that be?"

"He was investigating something. He asked too many questions and paid with his life. Now your father is doing the same. That's why Jaime came after him. Not for the capture of Tyrion, but because he's getting close. They can't afford for him to get away."

Absorbing the information, he leaned against the mantel. She would not look at him now. Her eyes were lost in the flames, welling with tears. The sight was crushing. His hand reached out, feeling for hers. It guided her away from the necklace and into his hold. They fit perfectly. He searched her eyes as they met his. "And you?"

She shook her head weakly. "I've been seen with him too many times. People will suspect me."

"But you're the princess."

"Exactly," she whispered. He could not imagine a more heart-breaking sound. "I'm not my brothers, I'm not a prince. That makes me dispensable to whomever is doing this. Would that I am wrong, it may be my own family. I know them now, better than ever before."

Her grasp on his hand tightened. He had become a lifeline, a comfort. His sense of propriety warned him to let go but he could not bring himself to do it. Instead, he sank to his knees before her. She glowed in the firelight. He longed to hold all of her, to cup her in his hands like a flower and protect her from all harm. But he would go on longing. He could not insult her in such a way.

"You may stay here for as long as you wish, Aryadne."

Something changed in her. Her eyes brightened and her lips parted, as plush and pink as rose petals, forming a shy smile. "You used my name."

"You asked me to," he answered without falter. He was sure he'd do anything she asked. If it pleased her, he'd travel to the furthest reaches of the world and back. The realisation frightened him, though he was not so ready to admit that.

This close to her, still warming her hands with his own, looking into her eyes, he could swear his heart would burst at any moment. The impatient fool that still ruled it urged him to lean in and press his lips to hers. He wondered if they would be as sweet as she was. It would be improper to do now — or at all. She was his princess. She was above him in every respect. He could not impeach her honour.