The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XVII

ARYADNE FELT SICK. She had done what she needed to do in order to stay alive but still she dreaded it. She tried to convince herself that, of all the men she could have ended up with, Robb was the best. At least she knew him a little. Nothing was enough to calm her anxieties. She was to be married.

The army had received their news without a word. They accepted it without congratulations. She saw how they looked at her, though, some with suspicion, some with hatred. No matter what she did, she would always have Lannister blood in her veins, and that made her an enemy.

After a long day of travelling, they had crossed back over the border into the Riverlands, where they made camp for the night. She sat at the table in the war tent, with Robb at her side and the lords. Her gaze was lost in the tankard of ale in her hands. She longed for something stronger.

"Well, it must be somewhere safe," he was saying. "Riverrun is best. It's large enough for the men and strongly defended. What say you, Aryadne?"

She hummed in agreement, then blinked and looked up. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

He watched her for a moment, clearly concerned. "Riverrun, for the wedding. Since we helped end the siege, I'm sure my grandfather will welcome us."

"Yes. Riverrun. That is suitable."

"It is still a fair distance from here, Your Grace," Ser Stevron noted. "I would guess a week, if not longer."

He nodded slowly, thinking it over. "That may be preferable. My mother should be due back by then. I'd rather have her present. That is unless the bride has any problems..."

Once again, they looked to her. She supposed it did not matter. Another week would not make a difference. "None at all, Your Grace."

Robb spared a glance to his lords before leaning in to her, gently whispering, "Are you sure you're up for this? You've been through a lot. If you need to rest, that is perfectly understandable."

Rubbing her eyes, she shook her head wearily. "No. I'd rather get this over with." Guilt rose as she saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes. She sighed and pushed her cup away. "What else must be arranged?"

"There is the matter of the presentation," Stevron cautiously said. He had become the main speaker in this discussion, with the other lords tired and Karstark still absent. "Your, um... Intended does not have a father to give her away, nor any male relative."

Glover snorted. "What, are we to have the Kingslayer walk her to the Heart Tree in chains?"

She did not like the way that they spoke, never addressing her. It was her place, though, and she accepted it in despondent silence. Then, fixing her with a mischievous look, Lady Mormont spoke up, "Perhaps she could walk herself?"

That idea was quickly shot down. "No, no. She must be given away. It is tradition and—"

"Damn tradition! Come, Stevron, the poor girl has so little already. It will not hurt to give her some semblance of individuality before she's sworn off."

"I do not mind," Aryadne quietly interjected. "Who am I to stand in the way of tradition? It would surely be an insult to your gods. Have one of the lords do it."

Across the table, the Greatjon — an intimidating man, she thought, well over six feet tall with a booming voice — huffed and raised his hand briefly. Two of the middle fingers of it were missing, ending in stumps hidden by a leather glove. "I'll do it. Six daughters I have, four of them married. Suppose I've had plenty of practice."

It was a kind gesture and Robb thanked him sincerely. She wished he would stop looking at her so much, and she got the sense that there was something he wished to say to her. With her fear of the impending nuptials, her mind decided to ignore her heart's wishes after so many weeks of dreams inhabited by him, deciding to steer clear. She worried that if she spent too much time around him, she would forget to keep her guard up. These negotiations were a matter of her survival.