The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 5

Aida Stark

The cell was a miserable place, dark and damp, with the cold seeping into my bones from the unforgiving stone walls. The only light came from a small, barred window high above, casting faint, ghostly shadows that danced in the flickering torchlight from the corridor. Every breath felt like it carried the weight of the silence, the oppressive quiet pressing down on me, suffocating.

Tyrion Lannister sat across from me, fiddling with a small piece of straw, his expression thoughtful and grim. His attempt at humor seemed almost absurd in this wretched place, yet he managed it. "Not the most comfortable accommodations, I must admit," he said, a dry smile touching his lips. "But I suppose it could be worse."

I tried to return the smile, but it felt hollow, forced, like the movement of muscles that had forgotten how to feel anything genuine. "At least we have company," I murmured, my voice soft, almost swallowed by the heavy air of the cell.

Before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, each heavy thud driving a spike of dread deeper into my chest. I tensed, the rhythm of my heart quickening with a familiar, rising panic. This was it. This was the moment I had been dreading.

The cell door creaked open with a groan, the sound grating against my nerves. Two guards entered, their faces as cold and emotionless as the walls around us. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears as they moved toward me with the inevitable precision of death.

"Time to go," one of them said, his voice a guttural growl as he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness through my pregnant body, but I forced myself to stand, to face what was coming.

Tyrion rose as well, his eyes narrowing as he took a step toward us. "Where are you taking her?" he demanded, though the question was more for show than anything else. He knew. We both knew.

The guard's sneer was a twisted parody of a smile. "She's due for a little... discipline," he replied, his tone laced with sadistic pleasure. "Best you stay out of it, Lannister. Wouldn't want to add more lashes to her tally."

I met Tyrion's gaze, silently pleading with him not to interfere. His jaw clenched, fists balled at his sides, but he remained silent. The helplessness in his eyes mirrored my own, a shared acknowledgment of the futility of our situation.

The guards dragged me from the cell, my feet barely finding purchase on the rough stone floor as they hauled me through the narrow, torch-lit corridors. The light flickered ominously, casting long shadows that seemed to twist and writhe, as if mocking the fear coiling in my gut.

We emerged into the courtyard, and the murmurs of the gathered council reached my ears like the distant roar of the ocean before a storm.

My gaze flickered over them, finding most of their faces unfamiliar my eyes landed on one, Varys I believe his name is he looks as everyone describes. I see the sympathy pulsating through his eyes as he stares at me with remorse. Then I saw him-Jaime Lannister, standing at the edge of the crowd. Our eyes met, and my heart hardened, a cold resolve settling over me. He looked away, unable or unwilling to meet my glare, and I felt a bitter satisfaction in the knowledge that he couldn't face what his family had become.

In the center of the courtyard stood a wooden post, its surface worn and splintered from countless punishments endured by others before me. The guards shoved me toward it, and I stumbled, catching myself just before I fell. The smell of blood and sweat clung to the air, a grim reminder of the countless others who had suffered here making my nausea double.

"Secure her," one of the guards barked, and the other moved swiftly, binding my wrists to the post. The rough ropes bit into my skin as my arms were pulled high above my head, stretching my muscles to the point of agony. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the fear gnawing at my insides.

I force myself to tune everything out, even when the guards forcefully opened the back of my dress revealing my back, instead I focus on the steady rhythm of my own breathing. I couldn't afford to break, not now. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

Cersei Lannister stepped forward, her presence commanding immediate attention. She was a vision of cold, calculated power, her eyes hard as ice as she looked down at me. "You have been found guilty of treason," she declared, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

I met her gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to flinch. I wouldn't let her see my fear, wouldn't let her think she had broken me.

"For you and your husband's crimes, you will receive ten lashings," Cersei continued, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. "For today." The added threat was clear, her words like poison, seeping into my bones. This was only the beginning. "Let this be a lesson to all who dare defy the crown."

I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood. I had to stay strong. I had to endure this. No matter what, I couldn't let them see me break.

Cersei stepped back, and the executioner took her place. He was a hulking brute of a man, his face a mask of grim determination. In his hand, he held a long whip, the leather coiled and ready. He unfurled it with a practiced flick, the sound of the leather slicing through the air sending a shiver down my spine.

"Ten lashes," Cersei announced, her voice devoid of emotion, as if she were ordering the simplest of tasks.

The executioner didn't hesitate. The first lash struck my back with a searing intensity, the pain like nothing I had ever known. I gasped, my body jerking against the ropes, but l bit down harder on my lip, refusing to scream, refusing to give them that satisfaction.

The second lash followed quickly, then the third, each one a burning slash across my back. The pain was relentless, a white-hot fire that tore through my flesh and bones. My vision blurred with tears as they fall relentlessly down my cheeks, I'm not even sure if I'm screaming or not I can't hear nothing only the pounding of my pulse in my ear and the constant whoosh of the whip.

By the fifth lash, I could barely breathe, the agony overwhelming, my back a mass of raw, burning pain. Every nerve in my body screamed for mercy.

The lashes kept coming, each one worse than the last, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, the tenth lash fell. My body slumped against the post, the ropes the only thing holding me upright. My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, the pain radiating through every part of me and before I know it I spill my guts right there in the middle of the courtyard, my body shivering in a cold sweat like I've just gone through with tears of labor.

The council was silent most of them not even able to look at me, it's clear that they were forced to be present for this. The only sound that hits my ears is the labored rasp of my own breathing. The air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat, and I could feel Cerseis cold eyes on me, judging, reveling in my suffering.

Cersei stepped forward again, her gaze piercing as she looked down at me, her expression cold and unfeeling. "Let this be a reminder," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife, "that defiance will not be tolerated in my kingdom."
She turned and walked away, her back straight, her posture regal, as if she hadn't just ordered the torture of a human being.

The guards moved quickly to untie me, and as soon as the ropes released their grip, I collapsed to the ground. My body screamed in protest, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through me, but I forced myself to stay conscious.

They dragged me back to the cell, the cold stone floor a bitter contrast to the searing pain in my back. My vision swam, darkness creeping in at the edges, but I fought to stay aware, to remember every detail of this moment. The humiliation, the pain, the rage. I wouldn't forget.

As they threw me back into the cell, my body crumpled to the floor, too weak to move. The familiar dimness of the cell closed in around me, but it was a comfort, a reprieve from the harsh light of the courtyard.

Tyrion was beside me in an instant, his face grim as he looked down at me. "Don't worry," he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination that felt almost out of place in this pit of despair. "We're going to make it out of here."

I wanted to laugh, to tell him how impossible that sounded, how absurd. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, I let the darkness take me, Tyrion's words echoing in my mind as I slipped into unconsciousness. We were only wolves in a lion's den, caught in a game we could never hope to win.