A Feast For Dragons

Robb

It was mercy and a kindness that granted the Young Wolf his life that night. A girl no older than Sansa came to him in the shadow of the raging fire and pulled him out of the Castle and to safety. She was one of the girls that were on selection to marry him, but instead he chose to love another. She forgave him for this. Unlike her sisters or her father, this young Frey girl believed in choice. She did not understand why the wedding was red. Many died, and for the sake of the Gods she wanted to give one man the gift of life.

Robb remembered her hair, golden like the summer sun, but the image was soon replaced with a memory of chestnut woven waves and the smell of lilies and milk. His body was carried for miles, and for miles he dreamed of her--his beloved wife and son, growing strong under the blue of a gentle sky. Blood poured from his wounds, and in his dreams water rushed down rivers and streams deep in the northern-most woods. Robb heard his mother calling from the castle gates, but fire twisted to smoke when her words turned to ashes in her mouth. Death. Death is what he remembered. Death is what became of his dreams, and when he awoke he laid in a bed sown from cotton and wool.

A woman sat beside him, but her hair was not golden, it was red. She hushed him and cooed at him until he breathed normal again. "You have been asleep for a fortnight." She told him. Robb was afraid. He wished to see his wife, to see his mother and his uncle, but they were all dead. The woman cleaned his wounds and wiped the sweat from his brow. She picked up her things and left him to rest, whispering "The North remembers" before stepping through the door. Robb knew he was in good hands. His physical wounds were healing well, but his mental wounds would leave deep scars that he would bare for the rest of his life.

Many months have passed since then. Robb trained young boys to hold swords in the grass yard by day, and forged swords by night. He was given a new name, a common name for a common man. The death of his wife, mother, and unborn son haunted his dreams every night, but he lived on, because that's what they would have wanted of him. He hoped that one day soon he would see his sisters and brothers again; he hoped they could take back the North and rule as their father ruled before them. Those were just scattered dreams, childish dreams--foolish dreams of a boy missing home.

Robb wished to thank the young girl for her bravery, for helping him escape the flames of hell. He prayed for her health and that she was spared from death, unlike the other innocent lives who were caught in the crossfire. He prayed for his sister's and for their safety, and for his brothers, wherever they may be. Robb might have lost his home, his men, his family and his crown, but he still had his Gods, and his faith never wavered. One day, he hoped... one day.

Ramsgate was his new home. Nobody was a stranger here. Children were free to run and play as they pleased while the sun was high in the winter sky. Food was scarce but the people managed just fine. Robb hunted with the others in the back wood. He was good with a bow, but not as good as he was with a sword. He laughed with the people of Ramsgate, he dined with the people of Ramsgate, and he lived with the people of Ramsgate. Those mental scars healed with time, and old memories faded to dust, and for the first time in a very long time, Robb Stark was a free man.

Only he was Robb Stark no longer.

He was Petyr Vesli .