The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 31

Authors Note: 18+ for this chapter though you kids aren't going to listen to me fr

Carlisle Umber

Harlon and I stand outside the cottage in the crisp evening air, the warmth from the wedding fading as we saddle the horses he's given me. I run my hand along the worn leather of the saddle, my voice low as I murmur, "You really don't have to do this, Harlon. It's... it's too much. I don't know what to say."

Harlon chuckles, tightening the reins with practiced ease. "You don't have to say anything, lad. You're just children, really—it's the least I could do. Besides, I was planning to give these two away anyhow. Just promise you'll take good care of 'em."

I nod solemnly, running a hand along one horse's neck, feeling the softness of its coat. "I promise," I say, then hesitate, glancing at him with a weight on my chest. "Harlon... I haven't been completely honest with you. About my parentage."

He pauses, looking up at me with an expression that's both amused and knowing. "I know." A smile creeps across his face as I blink in surprise. "I'll admit, I thought about tossing you out on your arse when I realized who you were—the Umber lad. But, well, I'd like to think I can judge a man by his character. And you, Carlisle, don't seem to be your father."

I exhale, a hint of relief mixed with lingering shame. "My father wasn't the best of men, that's for certain."

"Best?" Harlon laughs, a dry, almost incredulous sound. "Son, your father wasn't even in the top thousand." His hand lands firmly on my shoulder, grounding me. "But lucky for you, you're nothing like him. Not a bit."

Before I can respond, the door of the cottage creaks open, spilling light onto the cool ground. The Fenwicks emerge, each with something in hand for our journey. Mrs. Fenwick steps forward, holding a basket packed tight with supplies. She hands it to Harlon, who secures it to one of the horses. "Here's some food it also holds three water pouches," she says warmly. "Should last you a bit."

Sansa steps forward, her voice soft yet lively, and I can't help the quickened pace of my heart at the sound. She's changed from the fine gown she wore at the wedding into a now simpler more common folk dress. "Mrs. Fenwick, this is truly too generous," she says with a kind smile.

Mrs. Fenwick shakes her head. "Nonsense. We've plenty of food leftover, and we're a large family, but not large enough to get through it all before it spoils. Please, take it."

Harlon pats the horse, the basket firmly secured, and steps back, nodding approvingly. "There we are. Everything's set."

One by one, the Fenwicks come forward, embracing us with warm goodbyes and lingering hugs. Aurelia approaches me last, two fur blankets folded in her arms. She holds them out, "These were the only extras we had. I reckon you'll find more use for them on the road."

I take the blankets, my voice full of gratitude. "Thank you, Aurelia."

A wry smile crosses her face. "You're welcome, Carlisle." She hesitates, glancing meaningfully at Sansa before meeting my gaze with a mix of exasperation and fondness. "You don't like me the way I like you, that's plain enough. But I know you like Sansa—so do me a favor and pull your head out of your arse and get with her already. Might make it easier for me to get over you."

Her bluntness catches me off guard, and I let out a small, disbelieving laugh as she walks away, leaving me with a lopsided smile. The goodbye lingers in the air, heavy and bittersweet.

Shaking my head I turn and mount my horse where Rickon already sits in the back. The cottage door swings open once more with Helena darting out, clutching something small and delicate in her hands. She runs up to Rickon and holds out a little paper wolf, carefully folded. Her voice is soft, almost shy. "I made this for you," she murmurs.