Bringing the Dawn [IN EDITING]

LXXIX.

Robb Stark

Castamere, 301 AC

Weeks had passed. Or had it been months? It was not possible to keep track of everything that had happened since the attack. All Robb remembered was feeling something hit him on the back of the head and everything going black. Every time he woke up the same would happen. Not one person said a thing to him, not one person would allow him to awake for long enough to try and figure out where they were, not one person would even speak to one another the few times he did awake in case he might've heard.

Yet the last time he had finally awoke was the last time this had happened which determined they had arrived wherever he was being taken. Strapped to a long stone carving multiple times by every limb and feeling a slightly looser one around his neck so there would be no way for him to start loosening his restraints in any way. Trying to look around and not being able to make anything out as all there was around him was darkness. Darkness and a horrible scent of mould and death. A dungeon of some kind? It was the only thing that made any kind of sense.

Two gaolers visited him twice a day. One with food that was barely edible to keep him alive and one to question. Their accents were not ones he recognised so even with this he could not figure out where he was taken and they also made sure to cover their faces so he could not see either of them. Their clothing was the same, as dark as where he was to the point they could've stood against the wall and he would not be able to tell they were there. For all Robb knew, they were there every moment of every day. Watching and waiting for him to say something that would be useful to whoever they answered for.

How long it had been before someone appeared that he knew Robb could not say. Yet the first time that Lord Tywin Lannister had appeared and was clearly annoyed at his lack of cooperation was one he would never forget. Nor would the words spoken be ones he would ever forget.

"Take him to one of the lower tunnels and do what you must to make him speak. Use the cloth if it's needed."

Robb did not know what was meant by that but it could not be anything good if it were coming from the Old Lion. This being followed by a comment on a new wolf pup and fear rushed through him in a way it never had before. That could only mean one thing. Bran and Rickon were still babes, Sansa was missing, and the ghost grass in the Dothraki Sea would invade Westeros before Arya would have a babe. Gods, a babe. One night he had spent with his wife, yet one night was all it had taken apparently. Where was she? Had she been taken too? Had she been smuggled away? All that was known was that she was not dead, clearly using his unborn babe as a way to try and make him cooperate. Despite this, Robb still refused to speak to the gaolers and what was meant by the cloth was confirmed.

First, his eyes were covered with a thick linen and the gag that was only removed when he was questioned was tightened to the point he could feel it digging into the corners of his lips. Secondly, he was bound and made to walk in complete darkness, having to rely solely on the breathing of the gaoler in front for where he would step. Feeling a hand on his lower back shove him which sent him tumbling down a few stairs which were incredibly uneven and at the bottom a puddle that was deep enough to sink into his shoes. Once again, bound to a large stone and the blindfold removed to a room of total darkness and an even stronger scent of mould than the one before. The gag was untightened and unfolded before being stretched over his lower face and nose, confusion sinking in on what this meant because he would be able to move it easily with his lips or teeth.

And then water was poured over the cloth, directly atop where his mouth was. With his arms and legs bound, he could not turn over to make the water go elsewhere. With his mouth and nose covered all he could do was hold his breath and hope that the water would instead soak the cloth and not go near. Yet it was to no avail. The questions started and his throat began to burn at not having any air to breathe. Tilting his head forward a little only for one of the gaolers to hold his head in place strongly so he could not do so which left him no choice but to breathe. Feeling the water go up his nose was not pleasant, yet the immediate burning that came with such a thing was so much worse. Trying to snort it back out but every time he done so more water trickled in mixed with snot. Eventually his throat burned enough that he began to cough, fighting as much as he could to do so with his mouth closed so more water would not go in but he could not help it. The more it burned, the more he coughed and snorted, and the more he coughed and snorted, the more water entered. There was no escaping it, he could feel it sitting in the back of his throat and trinkling down into his body. His lungs felt like they were on fire and he felt faint.