The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XVI

TW// S*xual assault, gore

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ARYADNE'S HEAD ACHED TERRIBLY. She tried to lift it, blinking her bleary eyes. Below her, she saw the mane of a horse, and further than that, someone in golden armour. She was safe, then. The Volantene party had found her.

But her blurred vision started to clear. There were more riders, at least five in front of her and more voices behind. None bore the soft lilt of Valyrian. Looking down, she saw that her hands were bound. The squeeze at her sides became more noticeable. Someone was sat behind her, their thick, hairy arms caging her in on either side, holding the reins.

Panic overwhelmed her. Attempting to wriggle free, she found her screams muffled and gagged at the weight of bitter fabric on her tongue. Though several laughs and cheers came from her captors, the one behind her only hushed her until her whimpers subsided.

"Look who's awake!" one crowed.

"Sleep well, darling?"

"Aye, I bet she sleeps well." That comment was met with raucous guffaws.

There must have been around two dozen men, she thought with increasing terror. Though she felt herself starting to quiver, she refrained from screaming anymore in case it encouraged them, or damned her. Her tears stopped and she kept her head up. After some time, her gag was removed. She took a gasping breath and then forced herself to calm. "Who are you?"

"Hoping to know our names for later, love?"

One of the riders at the head of the group sent the speaker a cold look. She could not see much of his face from behind but noticed the blond of his long hair and patchy beard. He gave a tilt of his head and the horse she was on approached. Now level, she was sure she recognised him. It had been some time, but she knew a Lannister when she saw one. He was one of Tywin's men, a knight whom she had met on their last visit to Casterly Rock. Even so, she kept silent in case she betrayed her identity.

"No need to fear, child," he said gruffly. "I know who you are. Recognised that hair the second I saw you. Tybalt Lannister, Your Grace."

In her head, she cursed her own naivety. "I take it you plan to bring me to my grandfather?" Tywin had never been a familial person, always cold and uncaring. Still, she hoped that using such a term might infer a closeness that would keep her alive until she had time to come up with a plan.

"In a way."

"What does that mean?"

Tybalt scoffed. "Straight to the point, isn't she?" His cold green eyes pierced into hers. Riding alongside each other, they were close enough that she could see the terrible scar running up one side of his face, veering off along the curve of his cheekbone and into the mangled lump that used to be his ear. It was still a fresh wound, pink and puffy. "Have you not heard? Tywin is away with his army, getting humiliated by the Young Wolf. But I'm sure his regent lord will pay a pretty ransom to see you returned, Princess."

"Ransom?" she echoed, fighting harder to hide her fear. "But you are one of his knights, are you not? I remember you. You served in his guard of honour."

More laughter met her, the men still sharing crude jokes with no care of her hearing. "I did. We were all his pawns once. But, you see, after a certain number of losses, a man has to find his own path."