The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XIX

LADY SMALLWOOD AND HER household greeted them at the entrance to Acorn Hall before the sun was even at its peak. Now Aryadne sat in the tranquil silence of her chamber, soaking in a large wooden tub. She stare into the water, milky white and floating with flowers. Screams replayed in her mind. The push of a dagger into flesh. The soft thud of a head falling from the chopping block. Over and over.

There hadn't been a choice. To let those men go was to show weakness. The more she reminded herself of it, the less confident she felt. This was the level she would have to stoop to. She could not raise an army like everyone else, nor bring a sword against Joffrey. It was clear from the beginning that she would only survive by playing the game, scheming and using the systems in place. Survival did not feel as good as she'd expected.

Rising, she accepted a towel from her handmaid, a sweet girl who rarely spoke a word. A knock sounded. "Aryadne? It's me," Talisa called. She gave the girl a small nod and stepped behind the divider to change into her shift. The door opened and closed again. "It won't be long until sundown"

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

"I won't pretend that it will be as simple now, but you can change your mind."

Shaking her head, she lowered herself onto the stool and regarded herself in the dressing table mirror. Her face was pale and dark circles marked under her eyes. She was more ghoul-like than human. An ornate pot sat in front of her. Inside was a pink cream, wavy and smooth. She attempted to apply some to her cheeks in the hope that she would not look so ghastly. It was not long before her attention drifted to the sight of her friend's bloodshot eyes in the mirror. "I'm sorry about Defne," she said, settling the pot down again.

Talisa took a seat herself at the small table in the middle of the room. Her head bowed, the reminder clearly painful. "Don't be. It was not your fault."

"They were there for me," Aryadne insisted. "If I had only stayed in King's Landing—"

"You would be dead."

It didn't discourage her. "Would that be so awful? There is no one to mourn me."

The look her friend directed at her was stern, but bore a hint of pity. "Isn't there?" she gently challenged. "You may not have been so popular then, but I would wager there are quite a few people who would care. I, for one, would be devastated." Though there was the hint of a joke in her words, there was no doubting her honesty. Sighing, she looked to the tray in front of her. It bore a pot of herbal-smelling infusion, and a crumby plate. "I see you've eaten?"

She grimaced. "It didn't stay down for long. Thankfully, I was able to wait until Lady Smallwood was gone."

"I expected as much." Producing a little glass vial from her pocket, she offered it out. "Here. Put a few drops on your tongue."

"What is it?" she enquired, looking it over with a quizzical frown.

"Peppermint oil. It will settle your stomach." After a moment's hesitation, Aryadne tipped her head back and let a few drops fall. The moment they landed on her tongue, she was stunned by its sharp bitterness, screwing her face up in disgust. Remarkably, her nausea faded. Talisa patted her back to soothe her coughs, chuckling to herself. "Did she just bring you food?"

Still recovering, Aryadne shook her head. "She stayed a while to lecture me on the duties of a noble wife," she croaked, "gave me plenty of herbal brew to soothe my nerves, and ordered that I have a floral bath so I'll be sweet-smelling for my husband. Apparently the heat and the oils from those flowers will ensure that his seed quickens."

They both glanced over at the bath's colourful contents, noses wrinkling in mild distaste "Lovely," Talisa muttered.

She tried to think positively, though after an hour of being talked at about her maternal duties, it did not come as easily. "I can hardly complain. That is my side of the deal, after all."