A/n: greetings fellow addicts. this is the new and improved version.
Disclaimer: all recognized material belongs to its owners, plot and oc's belong to me
Prologue
Fog covered the ground in a thick white blanket. It would've looked unspoiled; virgin like if it were not for the littered corpses of faceless men. Robb walked around in a dazed state, sword in hand ready to strike down anyone who dare attack, not grasping that he was the lone survivor. He was not scared he found as he wiped beads of sweat from his brow, a surprising fact given the massacre that must have taken place a few moments before.
Black crows circled the sky above, impassive as to what horrors had occurred. The air reeked of blood, piss and sweat and the sound of the harsh ripping of flesh as animals feasted on the dead.
Far off in the distance he could make out a fortress, bathed in flames. There was a gentle breeze in the air that carried the soft, alluring voice of a woman. Hypnotized he followed until he came upon her. She was standing at the edge of a cliff, dressed in white, the makings of a crown crooked upon her head. She reached out, beckoning him towards her. His heart beat faster and although he wanted to run to her at once, he composed himself and instead walked until they stood toe to toe.
Her eyes were closed, but he knew a fire burned there that would engulf him upon first sight. Gently he reached out to caress the curve of her exposed neck and shoulder. She liked this, he knew, just as he knew that she would disagree vehemently is he called her out on it.
Immediately he drew back, his hand coated in warm crimson blood. Suddenly the happy feeling vanished, replaced by dread as he gazed on in horror as blood flowed freely. He tried to stop it, had discarded his cloak and tried to stop the blood in a panicked state.. He couldn't lose her, not now, but his efforts were in vain. Slowly her image became more blurred until she vanished completely, leaving him with a hole in his heart and blood on his hands.
A lion roared, the stag attacked, the direwolf gave a vicious howl. He looked up again to plead and weep with the old gods as her plea was still whispered by the wind; set me free...
Robb woke at once, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat, exhausted after a restless night. The sun had not yet risen, but the groans of the injured could be heard distantly, evidence that the feared Northmen weren't as invincible as all believed. Guilt ate at him once more when he thought of the 2000 men that didn't have to fortune to groan in pain. Not anymore.
It had been a week since the battle of the Whispering Wood and every night the woman visited him, leaving him waking up, usually breathless for very unwanted reasons. He could never recall her face or the sound of her voice, but her words were lodged in his brain; request always the same: set me free. He shook his head, stood up and began dressing, slightly irritated. He had more pressing matters to be concerned with; his sisters, brothers, father, leading men into battle. The last letter his father had sent him was close at hand, mocking him. The letter's contents will without a doubt change the Seven Kingdoms forever.
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