The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 37

Aida Stark

The day has come—the day that the fate of Meereen rests on a single battle. I try to steady my breathing, but the weight of what's at stake makes my heart race. Everything that has been fought for depends on this moment: Meereen's chance for freedom, a proof to Daenerys that compromise and patience can achieve what violence cannot, and, if fortune favors me, a path for the North to gain her goodwill with Daenerys. And beyond all that... my cousin is the one stepping into the ring.

Turning to Xhao at my side, I try to mask the tremor in my voice. "How are you feeling?"

Xhao glances at me, her expression a mix of resolve and apprehension. "I was unsure at first. This will reveal the Song Bearer's magic to the world."

I nod slowly, understanding the risk. "I was frightened of that, too. But perhaps that's exactly what we need to change." I pause, trying to find the words. "Our families and ancestors died protecting a legacy, a power, that no one even knows about. Maybe it's time to stop hiding, especially when this magic used to be respected in Old Valyria. Our magic isn't something to be kept in the shadows. It's a force intertwined with nature, with life itself." I smirk at her, and she returns the expression with a confident nod.

Xhao heads toward the champions' waiting area, her shoulders squared. I watch her until she disappears, then make my way to the tent where Missandei, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Varys are gathered, their faces etched with worry.

Settling in between Varys and Missandei, I lean toward Varys with a wry smile. "Varys, fancy seeing you here."

He raises a brow, a hint of amusement on his face. "When the little birds whispered of the Northern Lady arranging a duel to end slavery, I simply couldn't resist." He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're aware that if your champion fails, this will likely erupt into a bloodbath?"

I nod, the reality sobering me further. "I'm well aware."

Varys regards me carefully. "Good. There's wisdom in preparation."

Remembering the other matter weighing on my heart, I glance at him. "Anything new on Robb?"

Varys shakes his head gently. "Nothing new, but if I hear anything, you will be the first to know."

I nod, the familiar ache of missing my home surfacing. But there's no time to dwell on it. I turn to Missandei, double-checking our preparations. "Have you told Grey Worm to place an Unsullied in every row?"

Missandei nods. "Yes, and they're checking each person thoroughly, ensuring no one is concealing a Sons of the Harpy mask or weapon."

I relax slightly, nodding. "Thank you, Missandei. I don't want to leave anything to chance."

Missandei smiles gently, reassuringly. "I believe we've done all we can, my lady. There's little to worry about this time."

I take a deep breath, letting her words calm me, though my stomach suddenly gains a faint small sharp pain going through it which I ignore, not wanting to add another problem to my life at the moment.

Tyrion leans forward, peering across Varys to fix me with an inquisitive look. "Who exactly is your champion, Stark? I haven't had the pleasure of meeting them yet."

"Patience, Tyrion." I reply, offering him a faint, reassuring smile.

He huffs and raises an eyebrow. "You do realize that if this goes sideways, as Hand of the Queen, I'll be the first one thrown under the proverbial cart?"

"Yes, I am," I say, my tone light with a hint of teasing.

Before he can retort, the announcer steps into the center of the fighting pit, his voice booming in Valyrian. The crowd hushes as he speaks, his words rolling over the arena like thunder. I can't make sense of the language, but Missandei leans in, her voice low as she translates. "He's introducing the champions and preparing the crowd for what's to come." Then, with a sweeping gesture, he points toward the gates, signaling for the combatants to enter.