AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello lovely readers! So I think this is either the second or third chapter I am pushing out in the last 24 hours. Honestly, I'm just really keen to get it out. I do have a fair bit of the story written already; I started it about a year ago, but recently decided I wanted to up the ante with the supernatural as well as Robb and Nadia's relationship towards the start. So this story that I'm posting now is actually the rewrite of my original piece, but it will soon taper out into the original plotline.
Anyway. Onto more important things: REVIEWS or more accurately, REVIEW:
TMI Fairy: I take it by your smiley faces that you are enjoying the story. Yes, I had to throw that "how much can I change" in very early, because I just don't think the story would be good if every just sits down and sings kumbi ya, now. This is gonna be a very long story, and extremely slow burn. Like almost Steroline level slow-burn. Almost. And Nadia's worry about how much she can alter is a key part of her character development, not to mention a major recurrent cause for tension between her and Robb. It's an issue that's not going away any time soon, so I saw no reason to put it off. As for her clothes... lol, yes I agree with you. I didn't think it would be too bad, cos down South - as Robert Baratheon says - a lot of women wear a lot of silk and show a lot of skin, and I don't think he meant just the whores. In terms of clothes, Nadia's tast is still not quite as scandalous as Margaery or Daenerys has been at times. Though, like most modern clothes, it can be rather *cough, cough* fitting. But at the same time, she's packed for a conservative Australian summer. She basically just has the two pairs of leggings a bunch of camis, short summer dresses and a jacket or two. Nadia's aware on a subconscious level that her idea of conservative is a bit racy for these folk, but at the same time it's hard for her to reconcile that she's been so stripped of all she is and has known, especially when she holds out hope to return to her home. Plus she doesn't see herself as particularly attractive and she really isn't all that gorgeous, so she doesn't really think she'll turn many heads. Her unique allure, exoticism and other attractive qualities are things that she and others will discover slowly and come to appreciate the beauty of.
Sorry that my reply to the review is just about as long as this chapter. But as you can see I'm really passionate about talking character development y'all.
Now onto the story... from a new perspective...
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or its characters. Those are the property of HBO and George R.R. Martin. I own Nadia alone.
CATELYN
Her fingers brush through his dark auburn hair. He's been in bed for weeks, and yet there is nothing tussled about it as it once was. He looks perfect. Perfectly still, if not for the ever so slight rise and fall of his chest, soft ragged breaths drawn peacefully in and out.
A sad smile pulls at her lips as Catelyn runs her fingers down her baby's cheeks. Her Tully eyes trail over each individual freckle marking his young sweet face, and she can't help but think how much he looks like his uncle when Edmure had been a boy. Thankfully Bran had never lived up to his uncle's foolishness, save for his attraction to climb walls like the Sothoryos monkeys she'd once read about as a child.
A tear trails down her cheek, glistening a moment as it hangs from her chin, before falling to touch her boy's cheek. How she wishes she'd done more for him. A crippling sensation burns through her hand. Angry red stains bleed through the gauze bandaging. She recalls the cool fire as the blade has sliced through her delicate skin, forever marring her, crippling her. She can no longer fully clench her fist, or even hold something of substantial weight without it slipping from her grasp. Her hand might as well be made of soap.
"Mother," Robb's deep voice connects with her back. She stiffens briefly, unable to help the flinch. "I'm sorry. I should have knocked," her eldest apologises.
She waves him off, a weak grin on her face. "It would have not changed a thing, Robb." He nods, understanding.
"Why did you call me?"
"I thought perhaps my son would like to accompany throughout the grounds today," she answers, expression warm, even as his eyes study her with scrutiny.
"You're leaving the room?"
"Yes. Now come along. I am an old woman. Let's not waste the sunlight," she teases, offering one last kiss to Bran's cheek, before brushing past Robb. He's quick to match her steps, and then some.
"You're far from old, mother," he says, kindly offering her his arm. She curls her own around it, shaking her head amusedly. They walk silently for some minutes, through Winterfell's halls, and out into the main courtyard. Above them the skies are grey, but the sunlight manages to break through the clouds ever so briefly, enriching the atmosphere just that much more.
Catelyn inquires as to Robb's welfare, hoping he's not been driving himself mad in her absence. She's ashamed of how she's been acting, recalling how her son had plead with her that night not long ago. He'd begged her to help him, or at the very least to take better care of herself rather than waste away watching over Bran. In retrospect, Catelyn despises how neglectful she's been of him and of Rickon. "I don't blame you. You must know that," Robb tells her, obviously sensing her guilt-ridden thoughts. She appreciates his attempt to placate her, but nothing he says can ease that weight. Only she can do that, by stepping up to her duties as mother and Lady of Winterfell.
"How have the books been?"
Robb sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's not been easy. Between the King's feasts and the repairs required on the library tower… and with Winter coming, I don't feel it fair to raise tax on the people."
"Nor should you," Cat agrees. "We're not like the Lannisters or other petty lords. We'll find a way to pay the debt without burdening our people."
"Perhaps I should your old friend a letter, asking the crown compensate what they consumed here."
She shakes her head. "A feast for a King is a gift to him. He cannot pay for it himself."
"Then perhaps he should reign in his gluttony before he starve his people."
"Robb!" Catelyn pulls him to a stop. Her son is unable to hide the anger behind his eyes. "I cannot deny that I agree with you, but Robert Baratheon is still our King, and your father's dearest friend. Have respect. And be grateful the Targaryens are not still on the throne."
For a few delayed moments, his irritance remains on his face, then it crumbles as a berated child's would. Robb mutters a soft apology.
"Don't," she tells him. "You've come under quite a bit of stress lately. It's understandable." At that, a strange expression overcomes Robb's face. A mix of anger and guilt. "What is it?" she asks to no avail. Her son simply shakes it off, pretending as if nothing bothers him. "Robb-"
"I am fine, mother. You worry too much."
"As a mother should. Robb you can tell me. I will listen."
At that very moment they reach the tiltyard. The sound of squeals and giggles echoes throughout the small square. Catelyn's eyes stray from her eldest son to her youngest. The very sight of his broad smile, the cheeky glint in his blue eyes, coupled with his playful laughter as he swings his wooden sword about, is enough to bring warmth to the coldness that had been suffocating her heart these past weeks.
Like sunlight breaking through the clouds after a great storm.
Rickon comes to a sudden halt. He glances this way and that, searching for something. Or someone.
"Where is she, Shaggydog?"
'She?' Catelyn quirks a brow, curious as to who Rickon is referring to. Perhaps one of the maids daughters? She's not ignorant to the way Robb tenses by her side.
The small, scraggly black pup circles about the yard, his nose to the ground. Rickon follows behind with earnest. The pair approach a particularly large tree. That's when Catelyn sees her. The girl who saved herself and Bran, silently emerging from the opposite side of the tree, carefully keeping herself out of the little boy's sight.
Unfortunately for the girl, all her sneaking cannot outmatch a direwolf's nose. The little pup bounds around the tree, his master at his heel. They set upon the young woman, tackling her to the ground in a fit of giggles.
Catelyn cannot help the smile that tugs at her lips, nor the foreboding she feels towards the girl.
Robb's fists remain curled, his jaw taut at the sight of the woman, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed by the former Tully. "Rickon seems fond of her," she notes aloud, observing the girl turn tables on Rickon, attacking him with tickles. The lad's stubbornness to admit defeat lasts a whole ten seconds.
"Rickon's a child," her eldest replies.
The girl lets go of Rickon, pushing herself up to sit against the tree while he does the same. Shaggydog settles himself in the space between their feet.
"You don't trust her?" He's quiet. Contemplative. "Robb?"
"She warned me, that horrible times are yet to come for us. But refuses to do anything, say anything else, that could help us. After everything I've done for her… I don't understand how she could be so selfish." His eyes haven't left the girl, watching her with tenacity and wariness.
Catelyn follows her son's gaze back to the object of their discussion. The raven-haired woman with her son curled up by her side, watching her with awe-struck eyes as she tells him a tale - no doubt one of her world. Rickon - young though he may be - is genuinely taken with her and, if Cat's not mistaken, Nadia seems to care for him too.
Catelyn has always been one to think that the way one conducts themselves with children, especially those that are not their own, is very telling of their character. And despite her own initial misgivings about the girl, she cannot deny the girl's actions as of recently have been anything but good. And yet, her son is right. They know little of who she really is, and even less of what she knows. From what Robb's said, Nadia's reluctant to share this with them.
They would be fully within their rights to turn her away, leave her to fend for herself. They would if they were crueller people; If Robb hadn't given her his word.
"Is she dangerous?" Catelyn asks, memories of that night with the assassin vivid in her mind, even now. It's a question she knows the answer to, yet she still won't make up her mind without hearing out Robb.
"Yes." Monosyllabic. Certain.
"Is she a threat to us?"
He takes longer to answer. Cat's eyes never stray from her youngest and the girl, all the while watching Robb's stoic expression in her peripheral. Finally he answers, with a sigh, "No."
No other words are exchanged between the pair of them. They simply stand and watch the pair in the tiltyard. That's how Theon finds them. Nodding respectfully to herself, before turning and whispering something in Robb's ear. Her son sighs, running a hand through his hair. He mutters under his breath, turning to her with an expression that says it all.
"Go," she smiles fondly, cradling his cheek in one hand.
The young men leave her be. Her gaze following her son down the hallway until he disappears, wondering when he'd grown up into a man.
Wondering what these horrible events the girl speaks of could be.
Wondering where they stand in these political games of treachery and deceit.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: PLEASE REVIEW
