The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XXXVI

IN THE WEEKS SINCE THEY had first arrived at Riverrun, it became a home of sorts. Aryadne eagerly settled into a routine. The normalcy afforded to her by solid walls was a relief and, bit by bit, she began to let her guard down. She spent her days as she had before, organising the camp that sat outside the castle walls, seeing to her staff, settling disputes and arranging supplies. The castle itself was lacking in a woman's touch, having relied on a rather jovial but common stewardess, so Catelyn was quick to come to her aid. When she was not running the camp or attending meetings, Aryadne spent her time sewing and steadily working through Riverrun's vast library. Her particular focus had been on memorising the region's geography and studying records of how previous campaigns had been won there.

On one of many mornings in which Robb's early start left her alone, she took her breakfast down to the Godswood. "Of course, your father would be here," she mused quietly as she nibbled on a hunk of bread dipped in yolk. The kippers she had desperately refused to begin with sat at the very edge of the plate where they could not pollute the rest of the meal. "Only, he had some work to do. He shall visit soon."

The leaves whispered. She longed to take it as some kind of response from Lyra, but knew better than to entertain such delusions.

"You know, rivers are very useful in warfare. They're natural barriers. That means we can use them to slow down Tywin's forces, provided we have control of the crossings." She took another bite, smiling softly. "In fact, it was the Trident that helped your grandfather become king. Not far from here, just ahead of the fork, he cut down Rhaegar Targaryen. It was mere weeks before he sacked King's Landing and took the throne. Do you see, little one? The Riverlands are where kings are born, and where they die. We just have to make sure your father succeeds."

A breeze stirred the branches. Rushing footsteps interrupted the peace. Looking up sharply, Aryadne paused at the sight of Talisa hurrying down the slopes behind her. She rose to her feet and dismissed the guard who tried to hold her friend back. "Talisa? What's the matter?"

Breathless and pale, the young woman reluctantly met her gaze. "Something happened."

—

A deadly silence filled the war room. Whatever Aryadne had anticipated as she entered did not prepare her for the sight of Willem and Martyn Lannister's bodies. She had fallen to her knees before them, and had not moved since. She could hear Robb's pacing, Catelyn's quiet gasps. Her hand trembled as it moved to close their eyes — Lannister green eyes that instantly made her think of little Tommen. Blood still stained Martyn's shirt and the deep gash across Willem's neck. Talisa's hands squeezed her shoulders in an attempt to pull her away. She wanted to scream and cry and rage, but her body betrayed her. It would not move, not an inch. She did not blink. All she could do was sit on the stone floor and stare at them.

How had it happened again? Why?

Robb finally ceased his pacing, coming behind her. He nodded to Ser Brynden. "Bring them in." The door opened. Talisa tried to move her once again but she refused. At last, she looked up, meeting the cold glare of Lord Rickard Karstark. His hands were bound behind his back, a guard pushing him towards them. A few more men followed behind in a similar condition. When he looked upon the two boys, his eyes held no remorse. "Is that all of them?" Robb enquired. At Ser Brynden's nod, his scorn deepened. "It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires?"

"Not murder, Your Grace. Vengeance." Stood beside Ser Brynden, Karstark looked quite small all of a sudden. He was defenceless with his hands tied. He knew he had been caught.

He spat back a reply, "Vengeance. Those boys didn't kill your sons, or your nephew. I saw Torrhen and Eddard die on the battlefield, and Alric—"