The Brittle Bloodline | Part Two of The Way of Winter.

IV - CROSSINGS

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK since Aryadne's letter was sent across the Narrow Sea. Every day, she waited anxiously to hear back. Her plan had to work. There was no other choice, nowhere else to go.

They had improved their lodgings since then, having found some rooms in a little inn at the edge of Gulltown. It was a small port town, small enough for them to go by unknown. The gossip of fishwives so rarely left their own communities. They cared not for who was king or who was fighting.

But Aryadne still did not leave her room. In fact, it had been a while since she abandoned the warmth of her bed. A pale light crept through the windows, the rays washing over her with a divine precision. She felt warmer than she had in a while, especially under the woollen blankets. "The men are getting restless," she sighed.

"It is only natural."

Shifting onto her side, she sought out the perfect blue of her husband's eyes. They crinkled around the edges under her attention. She propped her head on her elbow with a smile. "I suppose so. They are so used to travelling by now. Since this blasted war, the longest they spent at any place was—"

"Riverrun," Robb said. He thought for a moment, his lips pouted slightly. "A shame, I rather liked the place. It was the closest to a home we got." His bare chest was a furnace against her side. A chuckle rumbled within him as she leant closer. "I have to admit, as much as I liked that tent of ours, I always wanted to see you running our own home. None would've dared oppose your rule."

She could not help but laugh at that. Grinning, he dipped his head down to give her shoulder a playful nip. "Your mother would never have handed such a responsibility over."

"True. But please, indulge me for a moment."

"I indulge you far too much," she pointed out with a roll of her eyes.

"And I can never truly repay you. But I can try." With a mischievous grin, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that took her breath away. Robb was always so demanding with his kisses, no matter how gentle. There was a need in him that only she could satisfy. He swallowed the sound of her giggle with further insistence, his body moving atop her to block the sunlight. It bled around the edges of his broad frame until he glowed. His skin turned to gold, his hair to fire.

She wove her fingers into the short curls as she so often did, drawing him in again. And again. Time slipped away in a flutter of bodies and breaths. These moments passed quicker and quicker each time.

Until they were gone with an intruding knock.

Aryadne's eyes opened slowly. The knock came again. Her head turned to the side as it did with every waking, for the cruel necessity of remembrance. The pillow beside her was plump, the mattress uncreased. She ventured a hand out to feel for the lingering warmth of him, as she had done so on many an early morning, but found it to be cold. She still could not get used to the coldness.

Another knock. Calling out for patience, she rose slowly. The blanket fell away from her skin, and with it the last remnants of heat. "Good morning, little wolf," she murmured, a hand smoothing over the small curve of her belly. A flutter came in response. The corner of her lips spasmed briefly. Having completely outgrown the dress that had lasted since that awful night, sweet Benjen had found her some clothes in the town. However, with no clue as to how one finds maternity clothes, the best he had to offer was a tunic and trousers. There was something oddly freeing about them. She put them on somewhat stiffly, followed by the boots stolen for her by Ser Brynden during their journey.

Holding the door for him and the Greatjon to enter, she seated herself at the desk by the window. The surface was strewn with parchments of notes from one particular night of inspiration. Brynden carefully set them aside to make room for a bowl of porridge and honey. "What news today?" she asked as she took a mouthful.