Meant to say hope you enjoy last time. Anyway, note. First chapter, instead of omitting, I meant vomiting.
Stupid auto correct.
Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or Song of Ice and Fire
Jeyne was in mourning, sitting on her bed with tears in her eyes. She ran a hand over the fur, and she felt them drip off her cheeks and splatter her hands. Robb was gone, dead, murdered by the Freys. The camp had cheered last night, their voices carrying over the city. He was gone, never coming back. She would never have his child, after her mother murdered him. Her sweet, red headed, brave baby boy, so like Robb.
Someone knocked on the door and Jeyne wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Enter."
A soldier, some common soldier, entered breathlessly and said "Lord Tully and his wife have been found in the kitchens, escaping from the Twins. Lord Umber and the king were with them."
Her heart stopped, and Jeyne felt the world spin.
"The king?" she demanded, forgetting herself. The soldier nodded and a grin split his freckled face.
"Stolen right underneath Walder Frey's nose." He said, and Jeyne flew to her feet.
"where is he?" she demanded, tugging a cloak around her shoulders.
"He was taken to the maester. He's in bad shape your Grace." He said.
Jeyne nodded and said "take me to him."
The short walk was longer then ever, her mind and heart racing together, chanting a beat through her whole body.
Robb. Robb. Robb.
He husband, her dear brave husband who almost died for her. Went and fought for his family. She loved him more every day, no matter the grief.
The door was thrown open, and a crowd of people sitting outside. She noticed a small, petite girl with soft brown hair and brown eyes.
She stood and curtsied to her, and said "your Grace, I'm Roslin Tully, Edmure's wife."
Jeyne nodded and said "The honor is mine. Is Robb alright? Is he alive? Can I see him?"
Roslin smiled at her, a small gap in her teeth making her more beautiful.
"He's inside." She said.
She flew through the door, and felt another sob choke in her throat.
He looked horrible, like a breathing corpse. He was white and thin, so very thin. His cheeks were flushed, and she would believe him dead except for the twitch of his fingers and the slow rise and fall of his chest. His shirt and been stripped, revealing three arrow wounds in his shoulder and chest, and a mark from a dagger close to his heart.
She was beside him in an instant, her hand clutching his. His fingers, weak and thin, tightened around her hand. A tear hit his hand and she wiped it away furiously.
"Robb." She whispered, stroking his head. He leaned into her hand slightly, his slack face flickering for a moment.
Edmure Tully was beside her, holding her shoulder.
"We're going to take his bandages off now. Would you like to leave?" he asked,
Jeyne shook her head and said "no thank you, I would rather stay."
Edmure nodded and stepped back as the maester cut through the brown bandages.
The four gaping holes in his chest made her swallow, the smell coming off them making her eyes tear. Bile rose in her throat, yet she swallowed and breathed deeply. Robb tightened his grip, tossing his head back and forth.
"Mother." He whispered, and her heart ached for him. Her grief threatened to overwhelm her, but she had to stay strong. Robb needed her.
The maester bent over the wounds and said "they are infected, badly infected. We need to clean them and stitch them again. It might hurt though."
Jeyne didn't know who he was talking to, but she nodded and felt something nudge her shoulder. She turned and Edmure passed her a cup of water. She nodded her thanks and opened Robb's mouth slightly. The clean water trickled down his throat, and he swallowed painfully. His mouth parted again, begging for more.
She poured the remains of the water and relaxed as his muscles seemed to unclench.
His eyes opened partly, a sliver of blue and he whispered "Jeyne."
She held back tears and leaned close to his head.
"Robb, you're going to be alright." She told him, holding his hand.
Robb lifted his head slightly and looked around confused.
"What, what happened? I remember a cross bow bolt and pain and that's it."
He turned to her and asked "where's my mother?"
Jeyne stroked his head and said "I will tell you later. After the maester cleans and stitches your wounds."
Robb glances down at his bare chest for the first time, russet with blood and turning black with the opens wounds.
"your Grace, bite down on this." The maester said, handing him a thick rolled up cloth. Robb takes it in his teeth and as the maester raises the blade, the Blackfish grabs his shoulders and forces him down.
"sorry your Grace." He muttered quietly.
The blade was brought down and Jeyne was frozen as he cut away at the ruined stitches. Robb's muffled screams were the only noise, seeming almost loud in the silence. Jeyne watched quietly as the cold steel blade touched the mess of muscle and tendons and skin and bone beneath. Robb screamed in agony, and her heart thumped loudly, reverberating through her skull like a bronze bell.
His hand, clenching hers tightly, went slack and thudded onto the bed. His eyes slid shut and his screams fell silent. The maester continued dutifully, opening the wounds to clean them better, black with infection as they were. Then he re-stitched the bleeding wounds and wrapped them, placing poultices gently underneath the white linen, a red stain spreading slowly across the white cloth.
Jeyne's hands were shaking as she stood and brushed his sweat drenched hair from his closed eyes. He looked so weak and thin, almost a different man from the one she had watched leading his men into battle.
The Blackfish took her by her shoulder and lead her towards the door, where Roslin was already standing in wait.
She turned to the young girl, near her age and said "thank you for saving him."
Roslin nodded and offered her a strained smile.
"you're welcome your Grace."
Edwyn couldn't believe it. He knew his father didn't believe Black Walder either, drunk as he was. Stumbling around raging and celebrating that the King in the North was dead.
Edwyn pinned him to the stone wall outside the study and demanded "what do you mean he's dead?"
Black Walder sighed, his breath stinking of alcohol and wine. He managed to focus his eyes on Edwyn for a moment and said "saw them carry out his body myself. Not breathing, not moving, nothing. They were taking him away to be buried. A giant, a red head man and a woman."
Edwyn shook his head. The King in the North had held on for almost a week now, why would he suddenly die, and why had Maester Crass not come fetch him like he had ordered if the king had passed.
"did you see the body? Check his heart to see if it still beat. Or did you wave them along and searched for a girl to warm your bed?"
Black Walder laughed and said "threw back the cloak they carried him out in. white as snow, not a peep out of him. The woman herself said he was dead."
Edwyn nodded slowly and said "well, you go find some Frey men able to walk in a straight line and you find these people and the body. I want to check them for myself."
He released his grip and Black Walder slid to the ground, rubbing his arm.
He strode to the masester's keep, where Maester Crass was feeding his ravens.
The maester was surprised to see him, stumbling back in shock.
"Edwyn?" he said, straightening his grey maester robes, still stained with blood "I was not expecting you."
Edwyn stepped in and said "I ran into Black Walder tonight, and he informed me that the King in the North had died tonight."
Maester Crass nodded and said "yes, he has left this world. May the Father judge him justly."
Edwyn looked at the maester and said "you were ordered to come to me first with the news if the young wolf had died."
Maester crass fiddled with the robes and said "well, I decided that the new could wait till morning."
"The news that our hostage, the only one keeping the river lords and remains of the north from marching to the Twins and burning it to the ground, has died, and that you decided that it could wait till morning."
Maester crass nodded, not meeting his eye as he said "yes lord Edwyn."
"And you called for a red head man, a young woman and a giant man to come carry his body to be buried." He continued, seizing the maester by his robes and shoving him to the ground.
"we could have had his head over the gates, to tell all that House Frey will take its toll, one way or another." Edwyn said. The maester looked him in the eyes and said "you would not give a young dead boy the respect of having his body sent home?"
Edwyn then realized that he wasn't dead.
"You helped him escape." He said in a low voice. His father would skin him alive, and they would be forced to march on Riverrun immediately. Take it and capture him again and send him south for the wretch king Joffrey.
Maester Crass stood and said "I have served House Frey for near two and forty years. I was ordered to save him by you and your father, and ordered to help him escape by another Frey."
Edwyn clenched his fist, his fear rising of giving the news to Lord Walder.
The next morning, Maester Crass's body swung from the rope, just inside the gates and gave off a retched smell. Edwyn held his hand over his nose and rushed past it, feeling the accusing, cold dead eyes following his movements and burning into his back as he passed.
Following the familiar stone steps, he entered Lord Walder's room, and was faced with the man himself.
"I have ordered for a new maester since this one decided that it was stupid to realize my daughter, her prisoner husband and his little king nephew and that northern giant had all escaped for Riverrun." Walder said, his eyes watching Edwyn sit in a wooden back chair.
"My lord, we have told the Freys in the siege camp and they have sent someone over, disguised as a soldier to take the king and bring him back. They spotted lord Edmure and Lady Roslin and the Lord Umber taking the king through a secret passage to Riverrun, hidden in the wall." He said.
Lord Walder studied his son for a moment and nodded his head slowly.
"We will take this whoreson back, hang him by his feet from the battlements, and tell the world that the Freys are not a family to be crossed."
Edwyn nodded and stood, bowing to his father.
As soon as the heavy iron oak door shut behind him, Edwyn released a breath he never realized he had been holding. His father's voice had been colder than the bitter winds blowing through the river lands, smelling of the coming winters.
Edwyn strode through the cold stone halls, finding his quarry leaning against the door, looking around in a drunken stupor.
"Black Walder." He said, and his brother's head shot up to look at him.
"dear brother, what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked in a drawl, managing to climb to his feet.
Edwyn forced him down and said "you will go and sleep off last night's ale, go to the dungeons and find sir Ryman. He went to go get prisoners for trade and he never came back up. Take some cousins with you."
Black walder nodded and climbed to his feet again.
"And prepare the king's cell. He will be back in our good graces soon enough."
Black walder nodded and the sickest smirk spread across his face.
He was deep in the woods, racing past trees and leaping over fallen trunks, his eyes following the light of the moon, and the dancing yellow firelight glinting dimly ahead. His paws were caked with dirt and mud and blood stained his pelt russet. The limp in his hind leg was worsening, the sharp metal points of the quarrels digging deeper into his sides, grazing bone.
Finally, he broke free of the trees and studied the clear valley below.
There were thousands of fires, glowing like fallen stars amongst the black tents and moving shadows. It was almost unnatural compared to the calm serenity of the woods. He crept forward, pressing his body low to the ground and ignoring the pain that it brought him as the quarrels dug even deeper. A growl built in his throat as his spotted the Lannister banner, snapping in the cold wind. A roaring lion was no match for a snarling pack of wolves.
A soldier on duty was sitting with his back to the fire. He was alert, his eyes scanning the valley and the tree line above, searching for any sort of threat. A spear was held tightly in his gloved hand.
Without giving him time to shout, he pounced on the man, tearing out his throat when he saw the horrified scream building in his chest and ready to be loosed in an ear splitting sound.
Warm blood turned his muzzle darker red, the metallic rusty taste washing over his tongue. The bone crunched under his teeth, tearing muscle and skin.
Leaving his dead prey behind, he crept closer to the camp, his eyes intent on the camp. No more guards were stationed nearby. Why would there. No more threats with the young wolf dead and his army with him.
The thought of the boy who was his companion, bleeding and dying, his eyes turned to him, desperate for any slim chance for life, for safety. He was forced to turn his back, leave him behind and he heard the scream of betrayal and pain, felt it deep in his bones even after the tall menacing stone towers were out of sight.
Turning his mind from his grief, he focused instead on the camp. They killed his companion, the boy they called Robb. They killed him, now he would kill them.
Racing forward, he howled and tore a tent from the ground, pouncing on a screaming horse and sinking his claws in their back. It bucked once and collapsed, his body too weak to stay standing. He left the dying horse, tackling three men with spears and bite and clawed and snarled. The ground ran red with blood, like another place with his companion, still and cold.
This was for his companion.
He spotted the man with the golden hand quickly, a sword held tight in the frozen yellow fingers. Some hate, deep in his heart and mind, told him that this man was an enemy; this man should be dead or in chains.
This man was a Lannister, the red banner and the golden lion roaring proudly on his chest.
He snarled at the man, and he saw a sliver, the smallest sliver of fear in his eyes. It was enough.
As he tensed his legs, a cool breeze blew, carrying with it a scent, so familiar, it couldn't be true. He had died at the stone tower, with the rushing river masking their screams. The bloodbath that had killed them all.
He turned from his prey, snarling one last time for the hatred burning like a fire deep in his chest. Then he ran for the other stone tower, dark and silent.
He ran for the drawbridge, and howled at the gate. He saw men pointing and shouting, but his only thought was the window, the open window with the wide brown eyes and soft brown hair his companion had loved second only to him. This woman knew his companion, had loved her dearly. She carried his scent, his blood on her hands, his furs over her shoulders.
Another man stood at the window, with greying hair and sharp blue eyes.
"Lower the gate, quickly!" he shouted, and the heavy wood started to sink to the ground.
Before it was even low enough for a man to jump to, he tensed his legs and jumped, clearing the very top and landing lightly on his feet on the stone ground.
Two soldiers near the gate jumped back in surprise as he landed silently, only his nails clicking on the stone ground. They both wore a trout on their chest, leaping from red and blue waters. He ignored them and padded off, his nose and ears leading the way. He lost himself in instinct.
Winding through long stone halls and vast, echoing halls, it was almost like a stone labyrinth. He was utterly lost, following the scent of blood and rust, which led him to several rooms of groaning men who shouted in fear. He ignored them. One glance around, he wasn't there.
Finally, a the scent got stronger. Turning his padding into a run, his paws ate up ground as he tore through the castle.
The door was closed, and he couldn't stand this simple piece of wood standing between him and his companion. He scratched at the door, and a small figure opened it.
The sight of his companion, lying limp on a bed, sent a warm feeling flooding through him, warming him better than the sun in his pelt or the hand in his fur. He padded forward slowly, watching his still sleeping face. He was thin and weak, pale and shivering. His neck and face were flushed, and the scent of death lingered in the air.
A single hand, limp and lifeless, hung over the bedside. He butted the hand, and stiff fingers closed around his head. He crouched and laid his head on the bedside, whining in mourning. His heart was crowing with joy, but weighed down with worry for his life.
He spotted the twitch in his face, muscles moving under the skin, before any of the humans in the room. The twitch of his eyes, the twist of his fingers, his mouth moving slightly. A soft sigh escaped his lips, relieved. Though he would not open his eyes, he knew that his friend was with him.
Meant well, really liked writing Grey Wind's POV
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