A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. ''Jaime Lannister sends his regards.'' He thrust his longsword through her son's heart, and twisted.
A Storm of Swords, George R. R. Martin
He felt no pain. As he fell, he couldn't hear anymore. When he hit the floor, he couldn't see anymore.
After a moment passed, he could hear again. After another moment passed, he could see again. He was incarcerated. He tried to get free, but couldn't. Through the bars he saw people running, screaming, killing. Someone opened the door. The man had a longsword in his hand, and went towards him. He jumped on the man and killed him. He ran free. Outside, in his rage, he started killing other men. Men loyal to those who put arrows through his body, and a blade through his heart. But they had not killed him. Starks were more wolves than men, and now he had become a wolf himself.
Suddenly, he stopped. He saw the tiny figure in the distance. She was alive. Her hair was short, she was covered in dirt, but it was unmistakably her. His little sister. Arya. She was hidding in a dark corner, watching things a little girl should never have to watch. He must save her.
He didn't spend much time watching his little sister, but it was time enough. Several crossbow bolts hit him, but he could barely feel them. As he died, he kept his eyes on his little sister's face. Her face was the last thing he ever saw.
The King in the North was no more. The Young Wolf was no more. Robb was no more.
Author's note: I was inspired to write this by Servena's story called Sister, available on AO3. This comes as a sort of mixture from both book and TV show.
Cover credits: Amazzy Standards.