The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 11

Aida Stark

Though the trial by combat is currently happening, Cersei has not relented in her cruelty. The lashings continue unabated, even in her absence. Every time I'm led out of that cold, decrepit cell, the familiar dread rises within me, gnawing at my insides. But I've come to find a strange solace in these brief moments outside. Even as I walk to my punishment, the air, the light, the space—anything that isn't the damp darkness of my cell—feels like a reprieve, however fleeting.

My thoughts scramble for something to cling to, some distraction to dull the anticipation of the pain I know is coming. Every step toward the whipping post is a countdown to my torment, so I grasp for memories, fleeting visions of a time when life wasn't defined by suffering.

One memory surfaces, distant and almost forgotten, like a ghost of a dream. It's of my mother, singing to me when I was just a child. Her voice was extraordinary, unlike any other—so pure, so clear, reaching octaves that I could never hope to match. The song she would sing was always a challenge for me, a complex melody that twisted and turned in ways that made it close to impossible to grasp. I can't recall the words anymore, just the way the melody flowed, wrapping around me like a warm embrace. I can't even remember her face, just a bright blue light shining as she held me outside in the courtyard of our ancestral home, the sweet sound of birds chirping all around us, wind breezing through the air.

The guards handle me roughly, as they always do, throwing me to the ground with a force that scrapes my knees against the rough stone. The heat from the sun seeps into the earth beneath me, and for a moment, I focus on that warmth, trying to block out everything else. As they grab my arms, preparing to tie them, I start to hum the melody from that long-ago song, the one my mother used to sing. It's a soft hum at first, just enough to keep my mind occupied, to push away the reality of what's about to happen. My eyes flicker down to the necklace still hanging around my neck—my father's necklace—still shining despite the dirt and grime of this place. It's a small comfort, something to remind me of who I am, of where I come from.

As they secure the ropes around my wrists, I open my mouth and start to sing the melody aloud, letting the "ahs" drift into the air. The notes are long and slow, each one a challenge to hold, but today, the song feels surprisingly easy to sing. I close my eyes, shutting out the world, and focus on the sound of my voice, the memories it brings with it. I can hear the birds again, their chirps growing louder in my mind, and I imagine the wind, cool and refreshing, blowing through my hair. The baby inside me kicks gently, a reminder that life still pulses within me, that there's still something to fight for.

I'm lost in the song now, my voice growing stronger as the world around me fades away. I don't hear the executioner testing his whip on the ground, don't feel the roughness of the ropes cutting into my skin. All I can hear are the birds, their song mingling with mine, the wind picking up, swirling around me. The baby kicks again, a small, insistent movement, and I hold onto that, letting it anchor me to this moment, to this life.

I sing louder, my voice carrying over the courtyard, tears streaming down my cheeks as I wait for the first lash to fall. But it doesn't come. I wait, my body tensed for the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, there's a bright light pressing against my closed eyelids, a vivid blue that seems to seep into my mind, blurring the lines between memory and reality. For a moment, I think I've died, that I've finally succumbed to the endless pain, and this light is the end of it all, a final escape into oblivion.

But when I open my eyes, I realize the truth is far stranger. The song catches in my throat as I stop singing, my breath hitching in disbelief. The necklace, which had been tucked beneath my dress, is now floating in front of me, glowing with that same bright blue light from my memory. It hovers, suspended in the air, as if by some unseen force, shining so brightly that it casts everything around it in an ethereal glow.