The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XXXV

ARYADNE DID NOT KNOW WHAT to expect when she arrived at the dock in her mourning clothes. The last time she had worn them, she was burying her daughter. They consisted of a black dress with long, caped sleeves, black stockings, and a veil which she had chosen to forego this time. Her crown sat heavy on her head, the iron antlers weighing her forwards so much so that she had to focus on holding her head upright.

She watched curiously as Robb and Ser Brynden pushed a boat into the water. Lying within on a bed of straw, surrounded by oil lamps, was the body of Hoster Tully. His drinking horn lay at his head, with two flat stones painted with eyes over his own ones. A Tully banner blanketed him, weighed down by his sword and shield. They returned to the wooden jetty once he had started to float down the river. While she couldn't physically offer comfort to Robb while he acted as king, she remained close by. She offered Catelyn a small, sympathetic nod.

Taking his longbow from one of the many Tully soldiers gathered further down the jetty, Edmure approached the edge. He lit his arrow on the brazier and took aim. The arrow sailed up and came down in a swift arc, straight into the water. His formal expression faltered a little and, awkwardly glancing back at his gathered family, he tried again. Once again it landed short of the quickly receding boat.

Robb snickered silently. Shifting a little closer, Aryadne prodded him in the back. He sobered up, pressing his lips together.

With a slow exhale, Edmure tried again, and missed. Even Aryadne struggled to keep a straight face, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek. Ser Brynden had had enough. Muttering obscenities under his breath, he snatched the bow from Edmure's hand and shoved him aside. He lined up the shot, glancing at a nearby flag as a gust of wind pulled it to the left. Letting the arrow fly, he tossed the bow back to his nephew and strode off without waiting for it to land. And, at last, it did.

The boat caught fire just as it rounded a bend in the river. Catelyn winced. Seeing her wavering expression, Aryadne stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her. For just an instant, she thought of her own father.

—

Aryadne had been idle for too long. Eager for anything enabling her to return to normalcy, she jumped at the opportunity to join Robb's meeting with his uncle and great-uncle. Entering the meeting room, she found that it was a relatively small room with a long table, its legs carved elaborately into the form of two fish, twisted around each other. "Apologies for being late, I had to see to some things," she said, announcing herself.

Stood at an alcove balcony overlooking the river, Robb offered her a welcoming smile. He slipped an arm around her waist as soon as she was close enough. "Thank you for coming, Love."

Edmure glanced between them, eyeing her confusedly. "Perhaps Your Grace would prefer to see to the gardens or visit my sister? Such talk of war is unsuitable for a young lady."

She raised a brow. Robb cut in before she could, "Aryadne is not just my consort. She's my Queen, my partner. Whatever you have to say, she can hear it."

Giving him a small look as if warning him to play nice, she squeezed his arm and moved away. She could feel the new lord watch her as she poured herself a cup of wine, seating herself with postured precision at the head of the table. With her polite gesture to proceed, Edmure cleared his throat. "If I may, nephew, I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill, which may have some bearing—"

"Will you shut your mouth about that damn mill? And don't call him 'nephew', he's your king." Aryadne paused mid-sip, almost choking on her wine at the sound of Ser Brynden's sudden interruption.

"Robb knows I meant him no disrespect—"

Fetching himself a cup, the man came to stand directly before Edmure, glaring down at him. "You're lucky I'm not your king. I wouldn't let you wave your blunders around like a victory flag."