A/N: It's back and it's more emotional than ever because I'm channelingemotions through my writing. I screwed up everything with my last story so I scrapped it and started again, actually proud of this one. And: because I'm cheesy/corny, the chapter names are the titles of songs that I find somehow resemble the emotion/plot/thoughts/whatever of the chapter. Happy reading
- Cait
I Of The Storm- Of Monsters and Men
"If I could face them,
If I could make amends
With all my shadows
I'd bow my head
And welcome them
But I feel it burning
Like when the winter wind
Stops my breathing..."
Robyn Stark awoke to the burning of her lungs in the cold, autumn air. She shielded her eyes against the rays of light that glinted too bright for her taste, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself so sleep gave her a moment of rest and piece from her own life. But she wouldn't sleep, not with the noise of the yard below, her brothers sparring and the captain of the guards shouting encouragements and criticism at them, telling them to move and to dodge and to parry, telling them to loosed their bow arm or draw or even instructing them on how to hold a lance.
Her home was Winterfell; a labyrinth of snow and snow-covered stone walls and wooden thatched roofs, surrounded by the endless woods of conifers and firs called the Wolf's-Wood. The Wolf's-Wood was given its name for two reasons, the first being its hosts of wolves that stalked in the shadows, the second being its location of North and the people who lived there. The Wolf's-Wood was her second home, where she would escape with her horse and her sanity and a lone hunting dog, spending her days sleeping in the low, thick branches of conifers, shooting and squirrels and deer with her bow, fishing in the many streams that flowed through, moving southward towards the Trident. When she camped in the Wolfs-Wood, it was only her, no-one else to interrupt her deepening thoughts and drowning sadness and roiling anxiety.
She lay in her bed, pulling her covers and furs over her head, curling into a ball in the suffocating darkness. She lay with her fingers trailing the coverlet, the soft, feathered comforter that lay between her and the harsh, hard-edged wolf and bear furs that piled over the top of her body. She stayed that way for so many moments that it felt like half of the day had passed, but she still couldn't bring herself to rouse. Not until she heard the cold, hard steps of the septa drawing closer and closer, up and up the stairs, closer and closer to Robyn's bedchamber door. A sense of withdrawal automatically filled her as the sharp rap at the door echoed through her ears. "Robyn Stark." The woman barked, stepping with her clicky feet over to the bedside. "Get up right now."
"But why would I do that, Septa, when my bed is so warm and this world is worth nothing?" She played her withdrawal quietly, not letting Mordane know anything.
"Stop being so cynical and get out of your bed. You're going to be late for your lessons." The hag's old, watery eyes bored into Robyn's soul as she lifted the covers up, turning her voice from muffled to clear.
"Oh, and what a loss that would be." Robyn sneered at her, reaching up to pull the covers from the Septa's firm grip, but she was relentless.
"Get up right now." She commanded like a man controlling his army, pulling the coverlet and furs off the entire way, dumping them onto the cold stone floor for the servants to retrieve on a later date.
"You do realise that I can stay in bed without the covers, right?" She asked the septa, raising an eyebrow slightly as the old woman's eyes bored into her soul.
"I'm expecting you to be ready before the hour is up. That means that you will be clothed in more than- that," The woman sneered at the fact that she was wearing the same underclothes as a man would wear and a large, olive coloured tunic, "and your hair will be… presentable."
"Oh how easy your life must be," Robyn snorted, noticing the fact that not once in her fifteen years had she seen the septa's hair, "not having to do your hair and all."
"What makes you think that I don't do my hair?" Septa Mordane asked as she began to turn out the door.
"Well, I'd always assumed that you didn't have any." Robyn looked at the woman as her face grew redder and redder, filled with fury. "When I was younger, I wasn't even sure that you were a woman, but my father set me straight." She laughed as the Septa turned on her heel and walked away, closing the door quietly. Robyn knew that at her lessons with the septa. Not today. Not when she had annoyed the Septa to this extent. She was relieved though. Robyn Stark could use the day to her advantage. She could go anywhere; do anything. But first, she had she wouldn't be welcome to dress.
"Robyn," The next knock came. It was her father, and he was urgent about something. "Robyn, open the door." He knocked again. She had snibbed her door closed so she could not be interrupted by the Septa. She had the door snibbed shut for a small amount of extra security. But she couldn't ignore her father.
"Yes, father?" She asked, curling her mouth up slightly at the end, perfecting an empty smile. She was dressed and the septa was angry at her. She had her hair done and her father was probably going to scold her for being so unpleasant towards someone who had told her for her entire life that there was only one way to be, and that way was perfect.
She stepped forward and unlocked the door, turning the knob and revealing his tensed face. "You've annoyed your septa again." He noted, raising an eyebrow at her.
"I know." She replied, waiting for the rush of words to be blasted at her like a horn.
"Why did you do it?" He asked, making a move to step into her room.
"Because she was annoying me." Robyn rolled her eyes and sat on the seat in her window, watching her father as he walked across to her.
"Do you wish to discontinue your lessons with the septa?" Eddard asked his daughter, swooping down to maintain eye contact.
"Would it be possible?" Her heart leapt at the idea of almost complete freedom. Oh how she longed to be freed of the wretched woman's grasps. How she longed to do as she pleased.
"It would be, but it would mean that you would have to start looking for a suitor." Her father must've known that she would not be happy with that request. She was a free spirit, after all, and being tied down and wed was not something that she wished for.
"You know that I cannot do that, father. I cannot find a suitor. I do not agree with the ways of the southron lords. I only wish to wed a Northerner and there are no sons for me to wed as of yet." Eddard eyed Robyn off carefully. She knew that the look he was giving her was surprise because she had just implied that she would even consider marrying someone. It was but months ago that he had suspected that her loyalties laid elsewhere, and that she would prefer to lay with women ("It's okay if you do, but you must take a husband so that you aren't killed by the High Septon in King's Landing... Or any Septon… Or anyone else. Not everyone is as forgiving and understanding as I am." He had said to her the day that he asked her). She did not prefer the company of women as far as she knew, although she felt safer around women than men. Women rarely learned how to arm themselves and women even more rarely raped, not to say that it didn't happen. The truth was, that Robyn was confused, and her father understood that, but he still was surprised that she would consider it.
"It isn't entirely necessary for me to get married, I could always replace Roderik Cassel if Jory receives holdings to rule. I'm highly unlikely to inherit anything after you die, so becoming Captain of the Guard wouldn't be a problem." She tried to reason.
"I don't think that you being a Captain of the Guard would be accepted within the kingdoms, Robyn. You know that I would love to, but you must carry children, Robyn. You must be wed, for you are a woman."
"You of all people know that having children and getting married isn't the only thing that women are good for. You know that women can do so much more. That is why you finally allowed me to learn to fight. That is why you must eventually allow Arya to learn. You know that women are just as powerful as men, father. You must exempt me from our tradition."
"Robyn, we will discuss this later, when I don't have so much to do. I suggest that you get dressed and take that horse of yours out for a ride. Get out into the woods and be free while you can, until your mother summons you." He went to turn away, but before he could, a look of remembrance washed over his face. "Oh, and your brothers are looking for you."
Her father had obviously been awake since before dawn; his eyes were sunken and tired. He had been to deal with a man who had deserted his watch at the wall. "Anything interesting?" She asked him as he rose to leave the room, but he didn't answer. He only shook his head.
"What is it?" She asked Bran and Robb as she stepped into the kitchens, but neither of them answered. Instead, Bran turned around with a small, grey, furry lump curled into the crook of his arms. "What are they?" She raised an eyebrow and approached him, putting a hand out to pet it softly.
"A dire-wolf." He cooed, stroking its small face with his thumb, matching the grain of the fur.
"It can't be, there haven't been any this far south of the wall for years." Robyn looked at the wolf. "Are you sure that it wasn't just birthed by an exceptionally large wolf?"
"It was a dire-wolf through and through." Robb confirmed, pacing towards her with two more in his arms. "It showed all of the characteristics of one."
"How can you tell?" Robyn was intrigued by his statement.
"I trust father's judgement." He decided, stepping forward and placing a small pup in her arms, her enormously round eyes shining into Robyn's snow, as silver as the storm. "This one is yours." Robb own pup yipped in his arms, longing for the warmth of his sister to be returned to him.
"Father says that we have to look after them all on our own." Bran beamed proudly at the pup as he followed her to the kennels, where the other pups were staying.
"Are you sure that you'll be able to do that, Bran?" Robyn looked at her younger brother and raised an eyebrow.
"It's Rickon that you should be worried about, not me." Bran wined, flashing a glimpse of perfect, straight, white teeth.
"I'm worried about Rickon's capabilities too, bud. Don't worry, I'm not underestimating you, I just worry that you'll be able to deal with it if the pup dies."
"He won't. I'll look after him as best- wait, no, better than the best that I can." His words were a mess, but she understood what he was saying.
"That was entirely lacking in proper phrasing, Bran." Robyn rolled her eyes and continued to walk, the snow crunching familiarly underfoot.
"I'm working on my speech." He looked towards the maester's turret with concern, worried that Maester Luwin would hear his appalling phrasing though the frosted over windows that barely let any light into the shabby room which was so densely cluttered with books and specimens that it was almost a labyrinth.
The door to the kennels sat on the southern wall of the building which took the form of a splintery redwood arch with rusted iron hinges and a circular handle that turned your hand red whenever you touched it. It was almost a smaller, rounder version of the doors to the stables, except the doors to the stables were both bigger and rectangular, split into two so that the horses could poke their heads out of the doors and squint into the sun. The door was far too heavy for Bran to open, even Robyn struggled to open it sometimes, but this was only so that people couldn't steal or try to sabotage the castle's hounds.
Bran pounded on the door with the palm of his hand, but that made no more than a mere smacking sound against the good two inches of solid timber, so Robyn leant across to pull it open, but it came easier than initially expected. Out of the door burst Theon Greyjoy, her father's ward, taken from Balon Greyjoy as a way of ensuring that he wouldn't attempt to put the Iron Islands under the rule of a separate king, the man with the Driftwood Crown. "What are you doing here?" He snarled at her, getting into her face, almost cornering her. She snarled as he was almost pressing his forehead against hers. Subtly, she reached into her sleeve, ready to draw her dragonbone-and-refined-iron dagger which was discretely strapped to her wrist so that it was both undetectable and incredibly convenient. "I'm putting my pup with her siblings." Robyn snarled through gritted teeth as he caged her in with his arms. "So move."
"Why would I do that, Stark?" He cooed, smirking a smirk that could charm any naïve girl. He was an incredibly handsome man, but his looks severely contradicted his personality. He was the biggest prick that she had ever met and she could think of nothing worse than wedding him (which was something that her father was intending to do until she stormed off and stayed in the woods for three days until Jory found her and bought her home, listening to her as she cried into his shoulder.
He was the only one who knew about what Theon had done to get so much hatred from Robyn, and that was the reason that he kept such a watchful eye over Theon when he was anywhere near her.
"Alright, Greyjoy?" Jory asked him, furrowing his eyebrows and casually rubbing his thumb over the pommel of his sword, which was always loose in its hilt.
"Perfectly fine, Cassel." He snarled over his shoulder before returning to his job of making Robyn feel tiny. Nonchalantly, Robyn raised her hand, as if to cup his cheek, but instead he hovered the dagger over his throat; threateningly close. "Back off, squid-boy." She leaned up and breathed into his ear, gently touching his throat with the dangerously sharp dagger which could break the skin with a touch.
"Robyn, that's enough." Jory grabbed her arm and pushed it back, pushing it away from his throat. "And Theon; it'd be wise to avoid cornering her like that. She will kill you if you give her reason enough, and I'm sure that you've already given her more than enough of a reason." He looked at Theon in an 'I know what you did' sort of way and pulled him away by his shoulder.
Robyn and Bran stepped into the kennels, pegging the door open behind themselves as to not get locked in. "Why don't you and Theon like each other, Robyn?" Bran asked after he had placed his pup in the pen, near its siblings.
"Because he wants something from me that I don't want to give him." She replied vaguely, feeling the tiny pup curl into her arms. Slowly she pressed her lips to its head and bent down to place her next to Bran's pup.
"What does he want?"
"Something that you won't understand until you're older." She tried to reason answer as directly as possible without actually giving any direct answers because she didn't want her father to find out, and if she told Bran about the series of events that had unfolded, he would tell her father, who would likely behead him for violating her in such a way, and that would break poor Robb's heart. But then again, it would break his heart to hear how it had emotionally affected her.
"But I'm six now." Bran whined. "I am older, besides, father deemed me old enough to watch him kill the wildling, surely I'm old enough to learn why you hate him."
"It was a deserter, and the matters have no correlation. You're still far too young to understand what happened to cause my hated." She remained unapologetic towards him.
"I'm never old enough to know things." Bran hung his head and dropped his lip.
"Bran, please don't sulk. You just won't understand. I'll tell you when you're older," she promised, sealing her deal by shaking his hand.
"How old?" His face immediately lit up.
"How does three-and-ten sound do you?"
"Fine." He groaned and stalked out the door of the kennels, leaving her on her own.
She slid to the ground and felt her farce of happiness slip from her face, her body shaking as tears slid down her cheeks. She was always so brave in the presence of others, but when on her own, she fell to pieces. Theon truly terrified her and even looking at him made her so anxious that it nauseated her. But she had to carry on being 'okay' around her family, or they would suspect that something was wrong.
Although Robyn had never met anyone who had ever done it before, she had found herself grazing the sharpness of her dagger over the flesh of her thigh, causing small beads of blood to well to the surface of the thin, streaky incisions that she had created. Nobody ever saw them, her clothes always covered them. People would think she were mad if they saw them, but it was something that helped. It numbed her to the pain that she felt in her chest.
She re-sheathed her dagger and drew her breeches back up, lacing them up properly and wiping the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. She let her head rest against the stone wall and watched the pups prance and play from the warmth of the kennels.
"Have you been crying, Robyn?" Jon Snow asked from the doorway, looking at her face concernedly, snowflakes starkly contrasting against his dark brown hair and the stubble of his jawline.
"No." She rolled her eyes at the sheer preposterousness of his remark.
"Yes you have." He stepped over the threshold and settled himself behind her, his eyes fixed on his feet.
"Why would you ask if you knew the answer?" She scooted closer to the corner of the room, giving herself some extra space, accidentally drawing attention to the blood that was slowly seeping through the supple breeches which were obviously not waterproof.
"What happened there?" He asked. "Robyn?"
No answer. She wasn't answering. Instead, she looked at her pup. "Have you named your pup yet? I'm thinking of naming mine Winter."
"Robyn, answer me. What happened to your leg?" He tried to look her in the eye, but she avoided eye contact.
Fuck.