Hello all! Welcome back to my Fireborn series! As promised, here is my fourth installment; Blazing Liberation. This will cover season 4, and include some more Robb POV because that's fun to write!
This chapter, however, will mainly be from Robb's POV. It'll include a talk with an old friend-turned enemy-turned brother and his escape from King's Landing. The end will include some Jae, but just as an introduction to their arrival in Meereen. I hope you enjoy!
As always I only own Davvi, Jae, and Robb's new character development and plot. Bold is Dothraki, italics is Valyrian.
King's Landing (Robb's POV)...
I stay curled in my spot on the floor, a relatively clean corner made dirty by my presence. My wounds have stopped throbbing, and I'm alive enough to check and make sure they remain uninfected. As do the maesters. It's not done out of kindness, though. They're letting my suffering draw out enough that I'm less than a man, but arrow holes can't kill what the bastard King claims is his to take.
I've become numb to the loss of my wife, of my unborn child. Is that normal? I know I miss them, and that I love them. But nothing fucks you harder than isolation, and I've been royally fucked as it is.
Through the grates of my cell door, I can hear other prisoners grumbling amongst themselves. I do not speak to them, only listen. I don't know why they're down here, only that if it is for fighting against the Lannisters I'm greatly appreciative.
And, amongst themselves, I hear words that oddly bring some comfort. Talk of Dragons across the Narrow Sea is muttered from cell to cell. Rumor or not, I'm glad to know something is coming for the Lannisters. Something they greatly deserve.
"There's two of them, you know." I had heard a whispery old voice say days before. "Have you heard? One with three dragons, the other with one. They say her eyes are violet embers. The Princess Across the Sea."
"Aye." Another had agreed. "Her sister is a great beauty, too. The Mother of Dragons. I'd like to fuck her, that's my final request."
"No, the violet-eyed one. Heard she's demure. Easy to control." Said another voice.
"I heard she's a fighter. I like 'em rough." And that is where I had tuned out the conversation, stomach in knots at the way men can speak of women they don't know. A dragon is still a dragon, no matter how gentle they are.
The sound of my cell door opening has me shakily sitting up. The maesters already came before, but it could have been hours ago, I don't know.
It's the arrival of the Imp that has me most confused, especially considering his fancy garment, a cloth covered plate, and a thick satchel. He orders the guards to shut the door.
"You can tell my father all you'd like. That boy is going to die. There's nothing I can do to stop it." He tells them, an air of finality in his voice. They shut the door and he walks to me, carefully looking around the room. "Well, this is most disgusting."
"Aye. Least you don't have to live in it, Lannister." I grit, shuffling back against the wall. My arms - thin now from a lack of proper food - wrap around my folded up legs. I'm skinny enough that a slight breeze can knock me sideways, I suppose. Like Arya, when I last saw her. Tiny. But she's strong. She was strong. I don't even know if she's alive. Gods, I hope she's alive.
"I am sorry, for what has happened."
I let out a disbelieving snort, then my thin hand strokes my long, scraggly beard. "Do you mean the deaths of my mother, wife, and unborn child? Or for ordering the assassination of my brother."
The Lannister dwarf narrows his eyes. "I did no such thing. Truly."
"Forgive me if I don't immediately believe you, Lord Tyrion." I respond viciously. Despite my tone, Lord Tyrion begins to grin.
"They haven't tamed the Young Wolf yet, I suppose. That's good. Sansa will be happy to hear."
"How is your wife?" I bitterly ask, shivering. Lord Tyrion sets down the plate and bag, opening it to first hand me a closed leather flask and a thick blanket which he helps wrap around me. "What are you doing?"
"My best to keep you alive in a dignified manner. For your sister's sake. She is not doing well. Not that I blame her. I shall not have her wasting away."
"You love her? She's a child." I growl, but then open the pouch and drink some ale. It warms me. The cells are constantly damp, and though I'm of the North I'm not what I once was. All I am is skin and bones.
"I know she is. And I have not bedded her." I look at him in surprise. "I didn't want to marry her. I love another. But I made my own vow to protect her, and I shall. She's suffered enough."
"Aye. And on her own, surrounded by monsters."
"Yes. So, you can imagine my anger towards my bastard of a nephew. He will not have your head as a gift." he removes the cloth from the plate and slides it to me, and I take a bite of sausage. It's the best thing I've ever eaten. "Take your time. A man who looks as you do should not rush through a meal." I nod in thanks, ripping into the meat in a way that would have my mother tugging my ear. My mother, who is dead, because of the Lannisters.
"Why should I believe you? That you had nothing to do with Bran or the Freys?" I ask, but I'm too tired to be angry.
Lord Tyrion bites the inside of his cheek, but his eyes meet mine. "I would never hurt a child, King Robb."
"I'm no king, my Lord." I remind him.
"You're a better king than my nephew." He carefully hands me a piece of soft bread. "I didn't hurt your brother. I had no reason to. But you know who did."
"Your siblings? So it's true, then." Lord Tyrion only nods, disgust written on his face. "They hurt Bran."
"I do not doubt it. For that, I am sorry. And as for the Freys… that was my father. I only found out after it had happened."
"And now I sit here, waiting to die."
Tyrion looks at me, then sighs. "Yes. I'm afraid there's not much else I can do. My father keeps too close an eye on me. My own undoing, really."
"So this it, then?"
Lord Tyrion stands, and pats my shoulder. "I will tell Sansa that you are eating, and drinking. We have a breakfast to attend, I'm afraid. My nephew is marrying a Tyrell, the poor girl. Though perhaps she can convince him to let you live. She and Sansa are friends. Or as near friends two can be in King's Landing. In the satchel, there is something to freshen your breath, clean your teeth. I couldn't bring soap without a pail of water, I'm afraid, but at least one part of you will be clean." He walks to the cell door and knocks on it, waiting for it to open. As the guards let him out, he turns to me once more. "Never forget, King Robb; you remain loved." With that the door is closed and the footsteps get further away. I'm left in silence, no less hopeful for my survival. But perhaps death would be a sweet release? I wonder if I would see them again, those I had lost.
And if I were too, I hope one more thing. That the Targaryens come back, and bring justice to the people of Westeros.
The cells have been buzzing the entire time my eyes have been open, all about the wedding that was promised. Weddings. The Lion and the Rose, marrying in the Sept of Baelor. I passed by it, when I was brought to King's Landing. It only made me miss Winterfell and our Godswood more. Winterfell, now under the control of the Bolton's. I never should have trusted Roose.
But with the wedding, came something most unusual. Fewer guards. I assume most of them are with the King, protecting him. Weddings have gotten all the more deadlier, after all, and the darkest part of me hopes to see Tywin Lannister lose it all, in the bloodiest of ways. Gone is the nobility father instilled with me. All I have is rage.
With a lack of guards came louder prisoners. Not ones strong enough to pick up a sword, but brave enough to speak aloud. To curse the King, and I can't help but join in.
"I have an order from the King. He wants the Stark pup." I hear a voice order, then the cell doors open. A man my height and former size is revealed, standing between the two guards. He's dressed as a member of the Kingsguard
"Get up, you cunt." One orders, and I press my hands to the wall as I shakily rise, like a newborn horse learning to walk. The guards laugh and force me out, and the man cuffs my hands, attaching another chain to drag me like a leashed dog. I only straighten, accepting my fate. The man thanks the guards and leads me with him, but when we come across the main staircase he turns another corner, taking advantage of the lack of guards.
"What are you doing? Where are we going?" I ask, not expecting a reply. Death is death, after all. The man only holds a finger to his lips, and we creep through another tunnel until we reach the opening of a small cave. I'm pushed through, first, and then the man. He moves a rock and brings out a black hooded cloak. He removes his own uniform, and reveals himself much smaller than I thought, leaner and less muscular. His face, which had been hidden by the darkness of the cells, is thin and rat-like. His eyes are blue, his hair blonde. Unfolding his leather vest, he points to a bird stitched onto his chest. A Mockingbird. "My name is Olyvar. I am here at the request of my employer, Lord Petyr Baelish. He's arranged safe passage for you to Essos. There is an old contact of his in Meereen, who has agreed to take you in and keep you safe. Or you can stay here, and die."
"I… I don't understand?"
"Hmm." He simply mutters, then uncuffs my hands. "You see that ship, right there?" He points in the direction, and I nod. "Her captain awaits you. Hopefully with a bath and new clothes." Olyvar wrinkles his nose, then pushes me into the small row boat.
"Wait, what of my sister?"
"He has arranged passage for her to the Eyrie."
"Why am I not joining them?" I ask, body shaking and aching in the sun.
"Far too suspicious. Though, his contact may help you return. His name is Hizdahr zo Loraq."
"Hizdahr zo Loraq." I repeat, keeping it in my head.
"Yes. Now go, quickly. Go!" He pushes me into the boat and I allow him to. "Your sister will be safe. Lord Baelish was a friend to your mother. Get strong, then return. That is what Lord Baelish has asked." I nod and pick up the oars, my thin arms yelling at me as I begin. I've rowed before, in Riverrun. But then I was strong. I'm not strong now.
My mind is, though, and has distracted me long enough that I realize I'm more than halfway to the ship. I grit my teeth and move my arms harder, nearly crying from the pain, until the ladder is lowered and tan men, collared, appear. Slaves. They help me up, and lead me to the tanned captain, his face and eyes grim. "Welcome, Robb Stark. I am Captain Lazar zo Loraq, brother to Hizdahr zo Loraq. My slaves will take you below, to be cleaned and fed. You can rest easy now, Stark. You are in no danger." He nods and the slaves whisk me away. All I can think is what kind of man is Lord Baelish, to have friends who are slave traders? I have to return, as soon as I'm able. Not for revenge, no. Because Sansa may be in danger, and I can't let anything else happen to her. I have a promise to keep with mother, to bring the family together. I must.
So I allow myself to be bathed. My beard to be trimmed, my hair still long but no longer oily.
But then, then it happens. The captain strides in, a smile on his face. And I am dressed just as the slaves, a collar strapped around my neck. "Lord Baelish only requested we keep you safe from the Lannister's. He never told us not to chain you, my Lord." With that he walks away, and I find myself more trapped than I was in my cell in King's Landing.
Outside Meereen's Gates (Jae's POV)...
It's been five days of riding. Five days of buring the nailed slaves. Five days of quick baths, because no amount of water can wash what I've had to bury away. And now I ride behind my sister and look up at the great gates of Meereen, the Harpy that looms over the city from on top of the Great Pyramid. Caraxes neighs, and I pet his head. In my heart I know Davvi is close by. And for the masters, so is my fury.
Justice will be delivered. This I swear.