The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 18

Robb Stark

The Godswood is quiet as Melisandre works on the fire, Snow crunches beneath my boots, but I barely feel the cold. All I can think about is her—Aida.

I try not to think of her too much cause when I do I can barely breathe thinking about not knowing where she is, what's happening to her. King's Landing is too far, too dangerous, and I can't just sit here, helpless. I have to know.

I glance back at Jon. He's standing a few feet away, arms crossed, concern written all over his face. But he doesn't say anything. I've already made my choice.

Melisandre steps forward after creating the fire, her red cloak rippling in the wind. The fire from the brazier flickers behind her, casting an eerie glow on her pale skin. Her eyes lock onto mine, and I can feel her gaze cutting through me.

"You understand the risk you're taking, Robb Stark?" Her voice is soft, smooth, but cold. "Warging over such a distance, into an animal you've never touched, in a place as dangerous as King's Landing... not many wargs survive such attempts. The Lord of Light will help, but His help always comes with a price."

I clench my jaw, fighting back the desperation rising in my chest. I've heard the warnings. Jon's reminded me a dozen times already. But I don't care about the cost. Aida's life is worth it. Everything else is meaningless without her.

"I don't care," I mutter, voice thick with determination. "I'll pay it."

Jon steps closer, his expression a mix of worry and frustration. "Robb, if you lose yourself out there—if something goes wrong—you might not come back. You've only warged into Grey Wind before, and never over such a distance. You can't—"

"I can." My voice is sharp, cutting through his words. My mind is made up, and nothing can change that.

Jon's lips press into a tight line, but he nods. He knows better than to argue when I'm like this.

"Come, Robb Stark." Melisandre's voice is a whisper on the wind, pulling me toward the brazier. I follow her, the fire's warmth barely reaching me through the biting cold. She hands me a dagger without a word.

I take the blade, my grip tightening around the hilt, and slice into my palm. The pain is sharp, grounding, and I squeeze my hand over the fire, letting my blood drip into the flames. The fire flares, roaring to life with a heat that startles me. I stumble back a step, eyes wide.

"The Lord of Light accepts your offering," Melisandre says, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with something I can't place. "The flames show me a creature, small and insignificant, hidden within the dungeons of the Red Keep. You must take hold of it, control it, and listen. The lions speak of your wife, Robb Stark. The answers you seek are there. But beware—the flames are often fickle, and the visions they offer are shrouded in shadows."

My throat tightens. It's a risk, but I don't have a choice. I have to trust her. I close my eyes, focusing on the heat of the fire, letting it consume my thoughts.

Melisandre's voice rises in a chant, the words foreign, but her tone hypnotic. The fire roars higher, casting long shadows across the Godswood. I feel something pulling me—drawing me away from my body. It's like a thread, thin but unbreakable, stretching across the distance.

I focus on it, letting my mind slip further and further away.

Suddenly, I'm no longer myself. I'm small, scurrying, my heart beating rapidly in a tiny chest. I'm... a rat. I can feel the cold stone beneath my claws, the damp air thick with the stench of rot and filth. I urge the rat forward, willing it to move through the shadows of a place I've never been. The Red Keep.