From Winter To Summer and Winter Again 3

Part 10

Rhaenyra sat alone in her tent, thankful for her maid had stolen her children away. Bella insisted she would distract the boys with a trip to a near by river. Rhaenyra was grateful for her small gesture.

She thought sowing would ease her mind, but the amounts of pricks against her fingers became overly irritating. Rhaenyra tossed the torn dress to the floor and angrily fell back onto the bed. The palms of her hands pressed into her eyes as she steadily breathed. Rhaenyra threw her arms against the mattress quickly and thrashed her legs beneath the sheets, appearing as a child throwing a tantrum. Rhaenyra pulled the pillow beside her to place it over her head, she roughly screamed into.

Leaving the pillow over her face, turned to lay on her side. Rhaenyra hated the lack of distraction, she could not focus on anything other than her husband fighting miles away. She threw the pillow back to her side, sighing to herself.

Rhaenyra had been married to Robb for three years, the wonderful years. She proudly loved him with all her being, honorably carrying the Stark name for him. She bore his children, nursed them at her own breast. Rhaenyra accepted the burden of a crown for him. Everything he did she did not question. But, Rhaenyra hated the things that bound him to honor. She hated the war, hated every man that fought against her husband for the incest king. She despised the thought of him returning injured, detested the idea of him being killed.

Rhaenyra vowed, whoever murdered her husband would suffer. She would burn whatever house was responsible, kill each heir and make them pay. Her love for him was too great, if he died she would need justices in her grief. She would happily stick a knife through a man for Robb, and for her children.

Oh, my sons, she thought. Rhaenyra smiled at the thought of the two Stark boys. She loved them to no extent, watching them grow was a blessing she never believed she would be honored with. Domeric was growing into the fearless heir he needed to be, his features mimicking his father's. Henry was showing to be a quiet boy, she was anxious to see his personality grow. The baby was pure Stark, mirroring Arya in nearly every way and contrasting his brother's Tully looks uniquely. Each day, her heart broke at the thought of them growing up fatherless. Or worse, having the intense influence of her father.

She sat up once more, letting the sheets fall from her person. Rhaenyra pushed her hair from her face, letting her fingers slide through to the shortened ends. Feeling grateful for her solitude, she pushed herself from bed. She did not feel the need to dress, she simply lifted Robb's discarded cloak over her shoulders. Rhaenyra smelt the cloak, smiling at the smell of him. She lifted a book from the unstable table before sitting in the wicker chairs.

It was an awful book discussing the history of Riverrun, a continuous repetition of her mother in law's ancestors. She sat it down and tightened the cloak around her body. There were shouts outside the tent, she stood to open the entrance.

"The King in the North!" Was shouted over and over. They began chanting a new name as Rhaenyra's eyes met the lifeless body of her husband. "The young wolf!" They held him above the crowd, blood seeped from under his armor and flowed onto the arms of those carrying him.

Rhaenyra ran to the crowd, hearing Lord Umber's harsh voice. "Out of the way, out of the way!" He pushed men away, leading the way to the Maester's tent. She hit the back of the crowd, screaming. She could not hear her own words over the continuous chants. Her hands hit against the men, trying to make way through the crowd. Rhaenyra followed the men carrying her husband, she continued to scream until a hand pulled her through the lines of soldiers. It was her father. The chants quickly changed.

"The Queen in the North!" The words blended in with the shouts of, "The Pretty Wolf!" Rhaenyra held onto her father, nails digging into his tunic as he dragged her beside him. Her eyes dropped to the floor to see her husband's blood staining the grass and mud.

Rhaenyra's vision began to cloud as they reached the Maester's tent. She was held back, "You are not to go in there!" Her father pulled her towards him at her shoulder.

"Let go of me! He needs me!" Her nails dug into the hand that clutched at her.

"Rhaenyra!" Roose's grip did not weaken. "You will stay here! You do not need to see what they will do to him!" She turned, shoving him away.

"I am your queen! He is your king, my husband! Do not attempt to keep me away, Lord Bolton." With that, she entered the tent.

Her husband laid on the examination table in his full armor. She held her hand to her mouth at the sight of an arrow sticking from his waist. Rhaenyra pushed past the Lord's who insisted on watching the Maester, moving to fall beside him. With shaky hands she reached for his still hand, bringing it to her lips.

"Your grace, you should not be here."

"I have every right to, ignore me Maester Wolkan and do your job and keep the king alive." She spoke through gritted teeth. Her eyes darkened as they scanned the room, looking over the faces of each Lord. "You will be so smart to leave, my lords." Each trickled away at her command. Her ears picked up the sound of Grey Wind growling below the exam table, she felt at ease with his presence.

With Robb's hand in hers, she began to pray. Rhaenyra ignored Maester Wolkan moving about the tent searching for the necessary tools to remove the arrow. "My queen," she continued to pray. "Pardon, but my queen. I am going to remove the arrow from his grace's person. Please be prepared."

"I have killed men with my own hands, I have seen blood. Please, I beg, heal him." With a nod, the Maester placed his a hand on Robb's shoulder, the other cracked the end of the arrow easily.

He pursed his lips, turning to Rhaenyra. "I'm afraid the arrow's head is embedded in his grace's body. I need to," he paused noticing her grip tighten on her husband's hand. "I need to either push it through, which has a greater risk, or pull it out."

Rhaenyra stood from the ground, reaching over to rip the thin shirt the lord's stupidly left on her husband."Go on then." Maester Wolkan gripped the wooden arrow and twisted. The stilled hand Rhaenyra lovingly held tightened around hers. She turned to her husband as his face contorted in pain, he screamed. "Robb, love. It's alright." Another scream, another twist. He squeezed her hands, his legs pushed against the table as he continued to cry. "It's alright love." Rhaenyra's violet eyes glanced at the wound, the arrowhead pressed against the surface of his skin waiting to rip. "It's alright," she felt idiotic saying something so simple, it lacked reassurance. The arrowhead ripped Robb's skin, Maester Wolkan quickly pressed linen to the wound. Robb shook from the pain, his skin glistened from sweat. His grip on his wife never ceased.

"My queen," spoke Maester Wolkan. "Hold this, tightly. I must get him milk of the poppy." With shaky hands, she pressed on the wound. Robb's hazy eyes met hers.

"Hello love," he smiled. Rhaenyra pressed down tighter before whispering back.

"Hi, my sweet." Her heart broke at the hoarseness of his voice, the thought of him needing the milk of the poppy pained her. It was a sign of death. Her mother drank it in her final hours. But, she refused to believe Robb would die.

It will take more than an arrow to kill the young wolf, she thought.