The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ROBB - IX

ROBB'S NIGHTMARES FADED. They never left him, those sounds of battle, and he had new horrors to add with every fight, but sleep soon became his sanctuary. She was there. It was bizarre, how easily the princess had encroached upon his mind, taking it over. Yet he welcomed her with gladness.

Now, he pushed the thought of her away. Two months since Jaime Lannister's capture and he had not yet visited him. If he thought of her while looking upon that man's face, certainty of her honesty would come into question. To be related to so many villains and be innocent oneself is a rare achievement.

Olyvar followed close behind him, ready to wait on his every need. The boy was an anxious one. He cowered from Grey Wind and the weapons, sometimes even his own shadow, but he had proven himself a faithful squire.

Weak jeers rose from the cages on either side of him as he entered the camp's makeshift prison. He paid them no mind. The wooden door to Jaime Lannister's private cell opened for him. The man barely raised his head, though he grunted a sarcastic welcoming, "King in the North." It was almost too dark to see him. The shape of his head was just about visible, framed by the post he had been tied to. "I keep expecting you to leave me in one castle or another for safekeeping, but you drag me along from camp to camp. Have you grown fond of me, Stark? Is that it? I've never seen you with a girl."

He knew it was intended as an insult. Such a thing did not unnerve him. His eyes adjusted and he returned the jape with a cold glare. "If I left you with one of my bannermen, your father would know within a fortnight and my bannerman would receive a raven with a message: 'Release my son and you'll be rich beyond your dreams. Refuse and your house will be destroyed, root and stem'."

"You don't trust the loyalty of the men following you into battle?"

Now that was an insult. "Oh, I trust them with my life," he retorted as calmly as he could, "just not with yours."

"Smart boy."

His arrogance was unrivalled, Robb had quickly come to realise. The Kingslayer had become too comfortable, luxuriating in his sister's success. There had been rumours about the two of them, now proven to be true; rumours that made him sick just by thinking about them. He hoped that Aryadne didn't know. It would surely break her heart.

"What's wrong? Don't like being called 'boy'?" His scarred lips pulled into a babyish pout. "Insulted?"

But he was not upset. The sick satisfaction that took over him at times had proven to be a blessing, saving him from shying away from the things he had to do. All he needed to do was think it, and Grey Wind started to growl. Jaime froze. The direwolf could not be seen, hidden in the shadows behind the Kingslayer's back, but the mere sound of him was enough to instil fear in even the bravest of men.

His face remained unchanging, glowering at the prisoner. The torchlight danced on Grey Wind's pelt as he came into view. Jaime's breath caught in his throat. "You insult yourself, Kingslayer. You've been defeated by a boy. You're held captive by a boy. Perhaps you'll be killed by a boy." The direwolf entered the cage, standing at his side. "Stannis Baratheon sent ravens to all the high lords of Westeros. King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true king nor a true Baratheon. He's your bastard son."

Jaime looked back up at him, unflinching. "If that's true, Stannis is the rightful king. How convenient for him."

He rested a hand on Grey Wind's back. The wolf had grown so much since he had found him as a pup, now tall enough on all fours that his head was level with Robb's waist. "My father learned the truth. That's why you had him executed."

"I was your prisoner when Ned Stark lost his head."

"Your son killed him so the world wouldn't learn who fathered him," he replied. It was getting harder to keep his voice steady but he tried, his fingers stroking through the warmth of his companion's fur. "And you... you pushed my brother from a window because he saw you with the Queen."