Pain.
It came in waves, rolling through her body like the sea crashing against jagged rocks. A dull, throbbing agony at first—like bruises pressed too hard—then sharper, twisting, as if a knife had lodged itself beneath her ribs and refused to be removed.
Her skin was wet with sweat, fevered and slick. She felt cold, yet she was burning. Her mouth was dry, tongue sticking to the roof, the taste of iron thick at the back of her throat.
Audelia Stark was awake.
And she was suffering.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes heavy, the dim light of the chamber casting long, eerie shadows on the stone walls. The fire in the hearth had burned low, reduced to embers, and the air smelled of stale blood and damp wool. The furs covering her were too hot, suffocating, and she pushed them off weakly, her arms trembling with the effort.
How long had she been sleeping? Days? Weeks?
The Long Night was over. She remembered that much.
She remembered fire and ice, the clash of steel, the stench of death thick in the air. The sound of wights shrieking, the weight of exhaustion dragging her down as she fought, fought, fought—until she could fight no more.
She had fallen.
She had bled.
And yet, she was still here.
Barely.
She inhaled, slow and shaky, but even breathing hurt. Her ribs ached—cracked? Fractured? Something inside her felt wrong, and her head throbbed, the kind of deep, pulsing pain that came from a wound unseen.
And then—
A thought.
A name.
Ned.
Panic clawed its way up her throat.
Where was he?
Where was her son?
She struggled to sit up, her vision swimming, nausea rolling through her in waves. The room tilted dangerously, and she barely managed to keep herself from retching. Her limbs felt foreign, sluggish, but she forced herself forward, teeth gritted against the pain.
No one was here.
The chamber was empty.
They were gone.
The council. The war.
They were planning the next battle.
King's Landing.
None of it mattered.
Not now.
Not while she didn't know where Ned was.
A terrible, creeping fear settled in her bones. The Long Night had stolen too much—what if it had stolen him too?
What if he was dead?
No.
No, she would feel it.
Wouldn't she?
A sob built in her chest, but she choked it down. She had to find him.
Audelia gritted her teeth and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her body protested violently, her muscles screaming in agony, but she did not care. She pushed herself onto shaky feet, swaying, barely able to keep upright.
One step.
Her knees buckled, and she crashed to the floor, her palms slamming against cold stone.
She hissed through her teeth, her arms trembling, pain lancing up her sides.
YOU ARE READING
Winter Is Here // Game Of Thrones
Fanfiction"You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved" Audelia Stark of Winterfell, the beauty of the seven kingdoms, daughter of the honourable Lord Eddard Stark. Her life was perfect, she had everything she ever wanted. A family that she loved and...
