The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 14

Aida Stark

The silence between Tyrion and I is thick. My throat is raw, my lips cracked and dry, and my thoughts still linger on the sting of the last thing taken from me. Finally, I break the silence, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"He took my ancestral necklace," I manage to say, each word scraping against my dry throat. My eyes burn from lack of sleep, probably bloodshot from the tears I've been holding back. "Well it's an ancestral ring I put on a chain to make a necklace."

Tyrion turns to me, his own face a mask of exhaustion. "My father?" he asks, his voice flat but his eyes sharp with anger.

I nod slowly, swallowing the bitterness that rises in my throat. "They take everything," I murmur, more to myself than to him.

Tonight is the night—our final night. Tyrion and I, condemned to die. Our heads will roll before the sun rises, and the thought brings a strange mix of dread and resignation. I should be terrified, but there's a part of me that's numb to it. At least I'll finally be with my loved ones again, wherever they are. Maybe death won't be as bad as I've imagined.

The silence returns, heavy and oppressive. Tyrion and I sit in the dark, sharing the weight of our fate. Oddly enough, over these long days, I've grown to care for him. Tyrion Lannister, the man I once despised for his name, has shown more kindness in this cell than his family ever did. He's not like them—he doesn't crave cruelty. He craves something simpler, something we all do: acceptance. And that, I understand all too well.

But before I can sink too far into my thoughts, the sound of footsteps echoes through the dungeon. My heart skips a beat, and I dart a panicked glance at Tyrion. His wide eyes mirror my fear. The sharp clinking of keys rattles in the lock, and the door groans open. A blinding light floods the room, and both Tyrion and I instinctively shield our faces.

"Get on with it, you son of a whore," Tyrion growls, his voice dripping with defiance even in the face of death.

But it's not a guard that steps into the light. The voice that answers is familiar.

"Is that any way to speak about our mother?"

My head snaps up, disbelief coursing through me as I make out the figure standing in the doorway. "Jaime?" I whisper.

Tyrion is just as shocked. "What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice laced with both confusion and hope.

Jaime swings a key around his finger casually, as if we're not moments from execution. "What do you think I'm doing, little brother?"

Without another word, Jaime strides over to Tyrion, unlocking his shackles with practiced ease. Then he moves to me, crouching as he works on my bindings.

"Why are you doing this? Why help me?" I ask, searching his face for some hidden motive. "You cleaned my wounds, saved me from those guards...why?"

Jaime pauses, glancing at me with a hint of a smile. "I guess I owe Lady Catelyn my life," he says, his voice soft. "And since she's not here to collect that favor, I suppose you'll have to do."

My heart tightens at the mention of Catelyn Stark. As I shrug the shackles off, I stand slowly, meeting his gaze. "She didn't do it for you," I say quietly.

He raises an eyebrow, but there's no malice in his tone when he replies. "Do you want to debate about it now, or do you want to get out of here?"

I let out a sigh, offering him a small nod of thanks. "Let's go," he says.

Jaime leads the way, his steps swift but cautious as we navigate the dark, winding halls of the dungeon. "A galley is waiting for you two in the bay," he says over his shoulder, his voice steady as if he's done this a hundred times.