The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XI

ARYADNE WOKE WITH A START. Her head swam for a moment with strange memories. She brought a hand up to trace her lips, chasing the sensation that had already begun to fade. The dream had returned.

Rising from her bed, she blinked away the pain brought by the sunlight streaming in through the open balcony doors. It was warm, and even warmer now that she replayed events that transpired only in her sleep. She wiped her brow on the back of her hand and made her way over to the gilded mirror that stood upon her dressing table.

She sat, looking back at her reflection. The dark circles under her eyes were prominent, as was her little scar. The circle on the right had bled into the greenish blotch that marked her cheek. A week had passed and it was healing slowly. Taking a pot from one of the drawers, she scooped out some of the translucent white gel and dabbed it on. The coldness of the treatment stung against her bruise. She closed her eyes, rubbing it in.

Her hope for a reprieve from the discomfort sent her mind spiralling down a rabbit hole of recent dreams, bringing her back to a night so long ago. To her and Robb alone in the kitchens, the bare skin of his back lit only by candlelight. His skin was smooth and flecked with a few moles below his shoulder. The muscles were firm. They shifted under his skin as he moved like faint ripples on the surface of a pond. The way he had looked at her that night. The way he had spoken to her. She had never liked her name so much as when it was uttered by him.

And the way he had kissed her... She had never done such a thing before. Now, she thought the words of those Volantene poets finally made sense. They spoke of trading entire kingdoms, entire lives, for just one last kiss from their lovers. Robb was not a 'lover' as such — though the word meant little to her — but she longed to be that close to him again, to feel his curls between her fingers, to gaze upon his blue eyes and be the cause of his smile.

A heavy knock broke her from her dozy fantasies. She grabbed the silk robe that hung on the corner of the mirror and wrapped it around herself, turning in her seat towards the door. "Enter."

The doors opened and Kastor stepped in. He hesitated enough for her to recognise his guilt. "The Queen, Your Grace," he announced.

Aryadne felt the dread drop in her stomach. She hastily glanced at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair over the bruise and rubbing at her dark circles in the hope that they would clear. When she was ready, she gave him a nod.

Cersei entered, and with a flick of her hand, he closed the doors. The woman's sharp eyes travelled over every inch of the room before finally landing on Aryadne. They dragged over her hunched shoulders and weary face that had so quickly lost its flush. "You're up late," she remarked.

She spared a look at the blue robe that covered her nightdress and tugged it closer. "I'm sorry."

Nothing more was said. Her mother continued to stride around the room with her hands behind her back, regarding every aspect with what seemed to be suspicion. All Aryadne could do was watch her in silence and hope for her to state her intent soon. Stopping by the dressing table, Cersei leant over to see her reflection. She fixed a loose strand so that her golden waves were perfect once more, tilting her head to see her soft and flawless jawline. Aryadne didn't need her to speak to feel shame at her own bedraggled state. She hung her head and waited.

"A letter came for you."

It took a moment for her to process the words. She frowned. Who could possibly want to write to her? "A... letter?" she nervously repeated.

Her mother took her time in replying, dragging out her anxiety for longer than was kind. "It's bad enough to risk your reputation fraternising with a boy like that, but now the son of a known traitor? What were you thinking?"