The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 11

Standing in front of the looming presence of the ancient weirwood, I find myself lost in contemplation. The twisted face of the tree seems to mirror the turmoil within me, reflecting the uncertainty that has gripped my life since the king's arrival at Winterfell.

Ned has been imprisoned for treason and Robb is rallying the Northern banners for war, the weight of impending conflict hangs heavy in the air. A solitary tear traces its path down my cheek, a silent testament to the fear and sorrow that grips my heart.

The prospect of war looms ominously, casting a shadow over the once-peaceful halls of Winterfell. I can't help but wonder if Robb and I will emerge unscathed from the chaos that threatens to engulf us all. The uncertainty of the future weighs heavily on my mind, leaving me to ponder the fragility of life.

Sighing deeply, I brush away the tears clouding my vision and lower myself to the ground before the ancient weirwood. "I've always despised this tree," I mutter bitterly, my voice barely above a whisper. "As a child, it filled me with dread, and I avoided it at all costs. But desperate times call for desperate measures, don't they?"

Leaning forward, I address the silent gods carved, unsure if they're even listening. "I refuse to endure more loss," I declare with a note of defiance. "I demand it." The plea hangs in the air, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of the castle.

"Robb is just a child, like me," I continue, my voice tinged with sorrow. "He shouldn't have to sacrifice his youth on the altar of war."

"I'm not blind to the inevitable," I admit, my words heavy with resignation. "War looms on the horizon, and there's no escaping it."

"But you've already taken so much from me," I confess, my voice trembling with emotion. "To bring me this far, only to snatch it all away again... it would be cruelty beyond measure. I can't bear to lose more." The pain of past traumas resurfaces, haunting my thoughts like a relentless specter.

"Please," I implore, my words a desperate plea to the unseen powers that govern our fates. "Don't let it all be in vain." With a final, heartfelt prayer, I rise to my feet, my conversation with the gods concluded, for now.

"Septa Mordane would've disapproved of that prayer," Robb's voice breaks the silence, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn to find him walking towards me, concern etched into his features as he gazes at me with those familiar, comforting eyes. "Maester Luwin mentioned you had a night terror last night," he continues, his tone gentle as he steps closer.

I offer a solemn nod in acknowledgment. "Yes, I had one," I admit, my voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within me.

"What was it about? You haven't had a night terror in years," Robb inquires, his concern palpable as he gently turns my face to meet his gaze. "Aid," he says softly, his voice soothing to my troubled soul.

I clear my throat, steeling myself before I speak. "I saw Ned... in the crypts," I confess, the memory still vivid in my mind's eye.

Robb's demeanor shifts, his body tensing at my words. "Really?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of disbelief.

I nod, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle upon me. "I'm certain. Arya sent a letter," I continue, my voice wavering as another tear slips down my cheek. "She overheard people plotting to kill Ned, Robb."

Robb places both his hands on my shoulders with a soft squeeze, his touch grounding me in the midst of my fears. "Everything will be fine," he assures me, determination blazing in his eyes. "We'll march to King's Landing with our army, rescue my sisters and father, and bring them home safe."

His words should offer solace, but the ghosts of past tragedies linger, casting a shadow over my hope. "We'll see," I murmur, my voice heavy with uncertainty, haunted by the memories of my home Coveyland's sorrow.