"… In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
a lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
as long and sharp as yours…"
– 'The Rains of Castamere', G. R. R Martin
Read the book and thought it would be enough desensitization … But man, I am still in pain. Ow… So while I try to repair my life after the trauma of last week's show… Here's a new chapter. Sorry about editing.
Chapter One – The Tumultuous Calm
"Abby no…" she heard Mal's voice "Shh… you'll wake them…"
Myra smiled, her eyes still closed as she listened to the exchange from where she lying on the bed. She felt Silver soft form nestle against the low sore spot at her back. Myra scoffed into her pillow as Mal tried to contain Abby, who had been climbing and toddling with impressive speed all over the fortress. Each time the little girl would fall Mal would seem to feel the pain, while Abby herself would simply stand up and keep waddling around, chasing her unnamed white pup babbling as she did.
Babbling words such as 'there', 'mad', 'no'. The little she-wolf had began mimicking the simple melody of songs Myra hummed and tunes Sansa sang as well… the most wonderful moment had been one that Myra had gotten to witness. She had been playing with Abby just before bed time, Robb had been reading a message from Lord Umber with a grimace on his face. Myra had been watching her daughter intently as the young girl had been staring at Robb for some time, determined and frowning her dark little brow furrowed with concentration. "Pop-" she began to say, immediately drawing her father's surprised attention "-pa." Abby finished after a short struggle.
That moment had been one that Myra had clung to… that and moments like this, now, that would make her smile in the torment had framed the past year. That instant when Robb's grey eyes had filled with water at their daughter's call was remarkable not only because of the event itself but also because of when it had happened. Namely, during a break that Robb had gotten from traversing the North, as far as the Wall, to track increasing enemy sightings. That very letter he had been reading had warned of worsening conditions and had called Robb back up North earlier than had been planned.
These bright moments were what Myra needed to keep going as she attempted to calm the small folk who had chosen to draw nearer Winterfell if not further south. She had to portion out food, resolve disputes between families that believed they were cheated out of provisions. It was difficult, but it was a learning opportunity. The project for Lena, and in part for her own mother, was something that Myra had not forgotten about and required decisive skill for.
Robb was gone now. She had hoped that she would have gotten used to him leaving by now, but she had not. If anything with each trip he took Myra was torn more and more apart with worry. She could always feel his burning grey gaze follow her every move.
He won't die… he won't die… that was the chant Myra constantly had to play in the back of her mind in order to do anything around Winterfell or with the children.
"Abby!" She heard Mal's voice whisper harshly.
Chuckling and stretching out with a groan Myra sleepily asked, "What is wrong my darling?"
She could hear the sound of Mal's feet moving to stand at attention, before he shifted to stand by the edge of the bed. "Oh, sorry Ma…"
Myra blinked the sleep from her nap out of her violet eyes, she stretched out her arms for the dark haired boy to come to her. "Come here..." she smiled, pulling him into her arms so his back pressed against her front. "Mmmm…" she grinned hugging him tightly. "Forgiven." Myra chuckled, tickling her son's sides. "Now what is wrong?"
"Abby..." Mal stated after catching his breath from being tickled and sitting up as he spoke.
Myra sat up too, stretching her arms out behind her body and yawning. Her eyes shifted to her nearly two year old daughter. The girl was climbing over the furniture in the corner of the room.
Rubbing her marginally swollen belly Myra shook her head. Crawling off of the mattress to get to her daughter.
Mal piqued up as he followed Myra's path. "She won't leave Bo alone…"
"Bo… Bo… Bo…" Abby repeated as she tried to catch a glimpse of her nine moon old baby brother.
"Aw… it's all right Mal…" Myra grinned, gripping Abby around her middle, "she just wants to see him…" carefully Myra lifted the little girl up past her own bloated stomach.
Smiling and sniffing her daughter's dark curls, Myra moved a little to the side so that Mal could peek over the edge of the cradle as well. The babe was sound asleep unaware of all of the people around him, though by the ache in her breast Myra was sure that he would be restless and in need of a feeding fairly soon.
A happy change had occurred since his birth. For the first few months Myra had trouble interacting with him, having a much simpler time holding Lena's little baby girl, Moira, and the other children who had arrived at Winterfell as well. She loved her son but the memory of Rian was ripped open with his birth and Myra could not ease into caring for Bodhan in the same way she had for Abby or even Mal. Bo, as he had become known after many failed attempts by Abby to pronounce his name, did not resemble Rian. Even so, with his brown hair that had become tinted with gold the more it grew and his hazel eyes that had recently started to fleck with grey, when Myra had held Bo the thoughts of her red haired boy filled her head.
She had been grateful that Robb had been there for the initial few months, Sansa and Rickon too had acted as Myra's safeguards. But eventually, with his time to depart nearing Robb had to confront Myra and she… they dealt with her pain and fears together.
Then he left…
Myra shook her silver haired head, sitting Abby on the bed next to Silver and going back to pick up her baby boy as he started to squirm. "Oh, oh, oh…" she soothed, gathering him to her chest and making sure he had not wet himself.
Abby had begun climbing on top of Silver, tugging at the sluggish wolf's ears and clambering on to her back. Mal, however, moved to sit next to Myra as she pulled at the laces of her dress and settled against the pillows behind her. Bo latched on to the breast she had exposed and Mal told her about his day watching Rickon getting closer to shooting at the centre of the target that he had been practicing on with Myra. Finally, after skirting around the subject Mal asked about his father, his Uncle Jon, and his Uncle Bran.
Partially for herself, Myra assured the young boy that Robb and also Jon were likely fine but bit her lip when she came to Bran. As she watched her baby eat, not wanting to lie to her son she opted for the truth. "Bran, he… I have not heard from him since I sent him the general update of the Kingdom…" Myra said slowly. It was mostly true.
She had sent Robb word of their next child's conception, not ever wanting to keep such news from him again. He needed to know, no matter if he was not with her…. On that same day Myra had felt similarly about Bran. Robb had left it to her discretion to tell the boy at the Wall that Meera Reed had married Petar Dustin of Barrowton. A young man that had once been called Snow, who had been adopted as an heir by the widowed Lady Barbrey Dustin for showing his quality during the war. It had been fourteen moons before Myra had gotten up the nerve to send that raven to the Wall. Neither she nor Robb had felt it was right to deny a good match between two houses, solely for the reason that Bran could eventually grow to win Meera's heart. It was only after they had given their royal consent that Myra had received the delayed letter from Meera stating that she did not want get married… that perhaps she would never want to marry.
Myra did not know if her raven had even reached Bran. According to what little news there was, the Wall was in a state of flux especially as they tried to manage the few resources and time that they did have. Bo's little foot kicked into her slightly swollen belly happily drawing her violet attention downwards.
At first Beena had been relieved to see that Myra's body seemed to be changing after pregnancy. The older woman, who had once again been baffled by Myra's relatively simple birthing of Bo, had stated that it was natural for a woman's body to collapse into an unfamiliar shape after children.
Though, if Myra was honest she had a feeling that Beena had been wrong. Some months after Bo's birth Myra had gone back to her normal state, aside from the renewed swell of milk in her breasts. With her running of and the disruptions around Winterfell Myra barely had time to eat and had hardly taken any notice of herself. But then, some months after Robb's final, loving night of farewell Myra body starting changing again… when Myra mentioned the change to Beena, she had given the mid-wife no reason to be relieved. Beena would have to make do with the more typical births in Lena's House, where with a team of mid-wives she aided in the birthing of not only Lena's daughter, but those of the other women who had arrived at the house in Winter Town.
Now, it had been six months since her last moon's blood and Myra had more reason to keep herself focused on the future. A part of Robb was inside of her, growing, and they all needed her to be strong.
The dead crack of ice filled his ears. She… the pale, lifeless corpse fell. It was easy. Killing them was easy. What was not easy was realizing how many lives had been destroyed by the horror that had infected the North. The decay that filled the land beyond the Wall was spreading, touching his people… that was not easy.
The icy wind changed, blistering his grey eyes. The snow caught in his beard and rushed up his nose.
"Your Grace!"
Robb squeezed his eyes closed, he needed to breath. Myra always said the fog of her breath made her feel at calm and at home. Blinking he squinted watching the air before his mouth become cloudy.
"Your Grace!" The booming voice neared.
"I'm here…" he cleared his throat. "I'm here!" He called out more forcefully.
"Your Grace." Lord Umber came up closer. Robb could hear the crunch of snow beneath the feet of the giant man and his banner men as they approached. Wearing a heavy wrought iron crown in this battlefield was senseless. No doubt they had recognized their King because of Grey Wind imposing shape nearby. Robb could now sense that the massive direwolf was moving away from the thinning battle and further into the flurry of snow.
"How many?"
"Not too bad, Your Grace. We've gotten better…"
"Better at killing dead things." Robb shook the dark hair that had fallen out his hood away from his eyes, turning to face the boisterous Mors Umber, who held a lit torch in his massive grasp. Old Mors 'Crowsfood' was here in place of the Greatjon, who had returned to the Last Hearth for the birth of his child by his new wife.
Under the snow bear he wore as a cloak, Mors looked the part of a fierce foe. No one could suspect his love of drink, nor that his right eye had been plucked out by a crow and not lost in a battle. Nonetheless, he was every bit the fighter that Greatjon was, and every bit as battle thirsty. Which was partially the reason Robb had held the grey-haired lord back from going any further North.
The Wildlings that Jon had let through the Wall had remained closer to the Bay of Seals and the Wall. Mors Umber could not be trusted near a Wildling, not since his only daughter had been abducted by one many years ago.
"Aye. Good practice in the least." Mors grinned a burdened smile, his leathery face nodded at the sprawl of Wights in the otherwise unmarred field of snow laying slain and being set aflame all around them.
Practice… Robb dug the blunt shaft of his spear, tipped with delicate dragonglass, into the icy ground. The blue unmoving eyes of the girl he had just killed again staring blankly up at him. Soon she was would wake out of her paralysis and have to be butchered again. He wondered if her eyes had always been blue or had changed after she had been turned. He wondered if his father could have prepared him for this hell. If his father had known of what had been lurking up here.
In the same way that he must have known of Myra and her mother.
That leather bound diary struck Robb, the same as that man from the Night's Watch had… the one who had been the punished at Bran's first execution, when his father had not even delved into what the man had said before the sword had swung.
They could have known, could have readied themselves against what was coming. Though in fairness the mystery behind why his father had hidden a bastard child of the Mad King and the Mad King's half-sister was not really a mystery… that choice made all the sense in the world to Robb.
The other choice though…
Myra had been so certain that his Aunt Lyanna's journal was the key to Jon's true parentage. Which Robb could not abide. He did not want to believe what she was suggesting… for what would that mean for Jon? His brother? It was true that their father had never wanted to discuss who Jon had come from, but Robb did not want to open that door.
There was a reason why his father had closed it so firmly…
Perhaps he was more like Eddard Stark than he had thought.
"You must be going now, Your Grace." Lord Umber interrupted Robb's thoughts.
"Right. Though…"
"You have already pushed back your departure, Your Grace" Lord Glover, who was standing further behind Lord Umber entered to the conversation.
Robb had the same trouble in getting Greatjon to leave the fray, finally convincing the great Umber that they did not know what the outcome of this fight would be and he had to return to the Last Hearth to witness the rebirth of his family and legacy while he still could.
Robb had told his mother to wait. Made her promises of reuniting her with the family. Promises that he could not keep.
For that reason Robb had not allowed the same courtesy for himself.
Myra had written of the birth of his son. From the time the message had reached the Last Hearth, then made its way to the tracking party it had been an entire month. It had hurt to miss the birth of his child. In fact a pain had struck his gut a month before the message had reached him, tempting him to go back to Winterfell... and that same morning of the boy's birth it was gone.
Myra said his eyes were grey. That she called him just that, 'Gray', though in truth she had named him Grayhm. Yet again taking inspiration from one of Bran's worn books. That night he had drunk and cheered with his men. Wishing to all of the Gods that he could be with his little wife, that he could see his sons and daughter.
As he guiltily surveyed all of the work left to be done, Robb remembered his desire to see his loved ones again. Myra had learned to ration supplies and allocate responsibility, so that the tracking parties and the people who had stayed North had barely gone without. And he knew she must have hated it… she had dreaded ruling as much as he did…even so she was good at it. She was giving with her projects, but able to rule with her mind on the future. So it was under the guise of meeting with Sansa's husband when he arrived at Winterfell that Robb had arranged his trip back to his home. Perhaps the last one he would ever have back, the state of the North was worsening and nothing would be getting better.
The frozen girl's fingers twitched. Robb took the torch from Lord Umber's hand… she crackled like a log in a hearth before Robb's grey eyes clouded with the fog of his breath.
There was an odd sort of calm. And just as with any tempest no one could quite tell how long it would last, all they could be certain of was the coming storm.
Hope everyone is doing okay!
Finger's crossed – next week's episode will have some healing. I don't think I can handle any more torture. Would love to know your thoughts on the show, my story and anything else really :)
Side Note: Anyone else think Edmure was a bit of a tool?