The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - VIII

NO MORE RAVENS had been sent in the following weeks. Aryadne rarely spent time away from the Library Tower, leaving only in the evenings or to spend time with Rickon. Robb found excuses to join her. He was clueless as to his father's investigations but she did not mind. In fact, each time they sat side by side, poring over various texts, they seemed to gravitate closer to one another. Elbows brushing turned to shoulder, then the brief contacts lengthened.

Though she spent days scouring every shelf in the library, skimming through every volume and scroll, she could not find a word pertaining to the significance of bastards. She was beginning to doubt herself and yet the words still nagged her — 'the seed is strong'. It had some deeper meaning, surely. If not, Lord Stark wouldn't have bothered with the risk of sending such a message. If not, Arryn would not have done what he did.

So she continued. She never gave up. After all, she was a Baratheon. Such weakness was not in her blood, it couldn't be.

And yet distractions plagued her. In waking and in sleeping, strange notions overwhelmed her. She dreamed of winter lakes that shrunk smaller and smaller, thawing into the kindness of a familiar gaze. Hair in curls as winding as oak branches and as red as conker shells. A smile that disarmed her in an instant. Other things also came to her; apparitions that disturbed her. The warmth of breath on her skin. A soft caress.

Though she had found it strange to speak his name when first he asked, she found no difficulties now. It rolled off her tongue with the ease of breath. A name such as his sounded so perfect that she looked forward to the first moment in each day in which she could utter it.

Such a chance had not yet presented itself. Tired of waiting for Robb's appearance and the appearance of the tiniest scrap of information in her research, she decided that a recess was in order. She wandered through the grounds until she found herself in the Godswood once more. Ever loyal, Kastor followed several paces behind.

She took advantage of the sun pouring through the canopy to get a better look at the Heart Tree. It was even larger in this light. White and wizened, its gnarled branches twisted all about her like the antlers of a great stag. Every limb bore leaves of a stunning red. She found the face carved into its trunk far less frightening now. It looked upon her with a strange kindness. A familiarity.

Behind her, a twig snapped. She smiled to herself. "You are beginning to make a habit of sneaking up on me, Robb."

There it was, his name. She could hear the smile in his own voice before she even turned. "Apparently not. You anticipated me."

"I suppose I did."

He stood on the other side of the reflecting pool, his reflection faultless in the water, despite the ripples made by falling leaves. Though she knew it vain, she thought she saw some reluctance in the redirection of his gaze from her to the tree. "Have you a Heart Tree in King's Landing?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I do not visit it much, obviously. The Seven have always been worshipped by the royal family. In truth, I did not notice its majesty until I came here. To be in the home of unfamiliar gods and know the people who worship them... it has altered my view."

Chuckling, he began his approach. She did not back away like the last time. "Let me guess, you were taught to believe the Old Gods and all their worshippers as heathens?"

She shrugged. "Not in so many words. Although I wonder, how do you pray to them? They do not answer, do they?"

At the sight of her anxious glance towards the tree, he laughed with a little more force. They were much closer now. A metre away. "The tree does not physically answer. It is more... an idol through which we may pay tribute. Our prayers are often conducted through meditation, none of the elaborate ceremonies that the Faith demands."