The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ROBB - V

ROBB WAS LOST. Through the darkness, he could hear a voice calling his name over and over again. It was soft, like the running of the stream through the Godswood.

And he was there again. A hand lay under his, against white bark. Delicate lips pressed to his. They tasted of fruit and honey, of sweet Summer wine. Her very presence consumed him. He needed to be closer.

Her soft sighs filled his ears. His heart hammered in his chest. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled her scent as though it was the only air that could sustain him. On instinct, he pressed even closer to her.

She was soft. So soft and gentle and devoted. Her hair was a black curtain that he drew back with ease, allowing him to kiss the pulse of her neck. Her blue eyes were shut in bliss. Memories of her smiles and laughter swam in his head, as well as those of every fleeting glance she ever spared him and the sensation of her fingers running over his back. He could feel it now. He could feel her.

Her sighs became gasps, her whispered chant of his name rising. His lips parted against hers. They breathed the same air. Coherency had left him a long time ago, but he managed a desperate plea, "Aryadne!"

His eyes opened. She was gone. All he saw was the canopy of his bed. Groping through the dark for any remnant of her, he found only sheets and an askew pillow. Robb sat up and wiped the sweat from his brow. His chest still heaved in an attempt to slow his breathing. The chillness of the room cooled his fever. He found himself searching for a scrap of her scent in the air but found nothing.

It was the same dream as the one he had each night. Every night, in the week since she left. Sometimes it went this far and sometimes it came only in flashes. He cursed himself, too, as had become a habit after each fantasy. So much for chivalry and respect. One kiss and he had become infatuated to a perverted degree. Perhaps it was good that she was gone. The dreams would fade away in time and he would forget. He hoped — and hoped for the contrary as well. Forgetting Aryadne would be no small feat.

—

After the first few nights of depraved dreaming, he had resorted to sending her a raven in the hope that word from her would ease the curiosities preying on his subconscious. No reply came. He found himself searching the sky even now.

Grimacing, he reprimanded himself in his head and returned his attention to Bran, who rode around in the safety of the courtyard, determined to master his new saddle. His head turned, only for him to be met with a sharp poke to the eye. "Ow!" he cried and clapped a hand over it.

The child in his lap guffawed and kicked his little legs. This resulted in another pain to his shin. "Oops."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself, Rick?" he groaned. With his eye still shut tight, he tickled the boy's sides until his laughter turned to giggling screams for mercy. "Oh, 'mercy', aye? Is that what you want?"

Lifting the boy high into the air, he marched around the courtyard, almost tripping over Grey Wind, who had been napping at his feet. Rickon squealed and flailed. It was only when Shaggydog snapped at his ankles that he relented, holding his brother towards the waiting stable boy at arm's length. "Here, Hodor. See if this cheeky little creature can be of any help to Maester Luwin in the herb garden. Bran, too."

"Taking a break from your lordly duties, are you?"

He turned from the boys' complaining departure to see Theon standing behind him. "Can you blame me?" he chuckled, leading Bran's filly back to the stables. "All those documents are giving me a headache. Luwin's tea only does so much to help."

The boy gave his signature smirk. "Well, there are always other forms of relaxation you can try."

His good humour was harder to maintain at the suggestion. Theon spent far too much time at the local brothel to think about anything else. He did not see the appeal of being with a woman who had to be paid to show him affection. Sex without connection sounded far from satisfying. "I don't think so."