The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 4

Aida Stark

Thrown into the cell, I groan as my shoulder slams against the rough floor. The impact reverberates through my bones, a sharp reminder of my vulnerability. Sitting up slowly, I rest my head against the stony wall behind me, the chill seeping into my skin. One thought relentlessly echoes in my mind:

Robb is dead.

I sit on the cold floor of the cell, tears streaming down my face as I clutch my stomach, feeling the flutter of the child we had made. The thought repeats in my head like the refrain of a cruel song. Our plans, our hopes, our future—all shattered in an instant.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to stifle the sobs that threaten to consume me. The world around me feels like a nightmare, a twisted joke played by the gods. The damp, cold air wraps around me like a shroud, pressing the reality of my situation into every bone. The cell is dim, the faint light from a high, barred window casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. My thoughts are a storm, swirling with memories of Robb's laugh, his touch, his promises.

"I'll come back to you," he had said, his eyes full of conviction and warmth.

Tears continue to fall, each one a silent ode to the life that was meant to be ours, the family we would never have. "Gods, Robb," I choke out in a strangled whisper, my voice breaking under the weight of my sorrow.

I paid no mind to the world around me, too lost in my own despair to care. My thoughts were a tangled mess of grief and hopelessness, and I was barely aware of my surroundings. Suddenly, a soft clearing of a throat caught my attention, causing me to look up, startled. There, standing in the dim light of my cell, was Tyrion Lannister. His face was a complex tapestry of sadness and understanding. I hadn't noticed him before, too consumed by my own grief.

Looking up in shock, I stammered, "Tyrion Lannister."

Tyrion nodded in acknowledgment, his expression sympathetic and weary. "Indeed, it is I," he replied, taking a few steps closer. "A bit of a predicament we find ourselves in, don't you think?"

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and studied me intently for a moment, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

I sniffled, trying to compose myself under his scrutinizing gaze. "How long have you been here?" I managed to ask, my voice raw from crying.

"Ever since my nephew's wedding, where he met his untimely demise. Apparently, it was my doing. I'm currently on trial for regicide," he explained with a bitter edge to his voice.

I nodded, wiping my tears with trembling fingers. "Yes, your family told me."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, a trace of skepticism in his voice. "Did they now? And what else did they tell you, if I may ask?"

"Not much. They mentioned Sansa was involved too," I said, my voice trembling with the weight of the information. "Where is she?"

Tyrion chuckled darkly, a sound filled with both irony and regret. "No need to worry about the she-wolf. She's escaped and left me to face the turmoil. No one knows where she is, but I'm glad she got away. We didn't do it, and she doesn't deserve to be punished for something she didn't do. She's suffered enough as it is."

I felt a flicker of relief, a small hope for Sansa's safety amidst the bleakness of our confinement. The thought of her escaping this nightmare brought a fragile sense of comfort. "And Arya?" I questioned softly, fearing the answer.

Tyrion shook his head solemnly. "No one has seen or heard from her since the day her father was imprisoned years ago," he replied. "I believe, like her sister, she has escaped the clutches of this wretched city," he sighed deeply, clearly troubled.