The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XXX

ARYADNE WAS FLOATING. In the soft light around her, shadows danced like the folds and ripples of an open sea. The current gently moved her, pushing, pulling. Her anchor resided deep inside her. It was heavy, weighing just below her stomach. Every now and then it would sharpen to a true pain, but faded just as quickly.

Voices echoed from the shore. She could not see their source. What she did know was that she was beginning to float away from them. No fear came. A peace had come upon her. It slipped through her skin, residing in the hollows within her body that she had grown so accustomed to.

She could swim, she thought. There was no sensation in her legs but she was sure, if she wanted, she could kick against the current and return to dry land. If she wanted to. Did she? It felt too pleasant, this lack of feeling. A numbness she had longed for for as long as she could remember.

"Not yet."

It was rare that he ever said anything else to her, that apparition. It was his voice, though; she was certain. Fatherly in a way that her own had not been.

"Not yet," he said again.

Before she could reply, gentle hands lifted her from below the water's surface. They turned her, towing her away, towards the shore. The voices grew clearer. The nearer she was, the more distinct they became. There was only one she recognised. Its usual rough edge was almost undetectable, overtaken by the kind of softness she had never heard before. It was just a whisper. The other was much smaller, coming only in faint whimpers. At the rising agitation of them, the whispers took on a melody. She knew it well. Many a morning had she woken to it.

She did now, eyes creeping open, light seeping in like syrup.

"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."

The room was unfamiliar, wooden and small. She was in bed. From where she lay, she could see the way the fur blanket stretched over her like grass on a hill, dipping and rising with each contour, hiding her body. A weight sat beside her. Her head was almost too heavy to turn. She relied on the pillow to hold it steady as it began to spin.

The world focused quite suddenly when she saw her company. It was Robb. Perhaps the dimness of her surroundings was to blame, or the heat that hung over her like an ominous cloud, but he seemed to glow with a fiery aura. Like a candle. The light was his own. All of his attention was concentrated on the bundle of fabric clutched against his bare chest. It moved on its own, squirming a little, and produced another whine.

It was like a summons. Her own body ached in response. Only now did she notice the emptiness in her belly where her child had once been. Tongue darting out to wet her lips, she asked, "Is he well?"

His breath caught. Looking down at her, the shock on his face morphed into relief. His eyes were red. He had been crying. When he met her drowsy gaze, the tears threatened to fall again. "You're awake," he breathed. He ventured a free hand out to stroke her face. The gesture held all the tentativeness of one certain they are hallucinating. But she was real — at least, he seemed reassured enough for that to be the case, though she did not feel it herself. "Oh, thank the Gods. I was so worried. How are you feeling? Talisa! Talisa, come quickly!"

Aryadne had little chance to orient herself or respond to the barrage of words he let fly. The door rattled open and her friend came rushing in. She paused once, only to register the eyes now fixed on her. Her exhale released most of the tension from her body. Now she walked forth with purpose, reaching to grasp at Aryadne's hands and kiss them. "I knew you would be fine. I knew it."

The memory  of the past two days was starting to return. Her grip tightened, a sob catching in her throat, forcing her words out in a pitiful croak, "Did I— D-Did I do well?"