"He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt, and his only mission each time he went up was to come down alive." Joseph Heller, Catch-22
When the cold had drifted across the lands, when the snows had travelled further south, when the wildlings had fled. That was when they had come. A whole race set on the destruction of the Kingdom of Andals and First Men.
The White Walkers journeyed amongst them again.
Hermia counted five flickering flames bobbing their way forward; to her left there were a further two. Their bright orange light casting long shadows, keeping the forest at bay and whatever else that might have ventured south of the wall. The snows were knee deep and the forest dark; winter had fallen, the days were short and the nights long. Hermia's fur-lined hood had long been knocked off her head, the freshly falling snow melting into her hair, rivulets of ice cold water running down the back of her neck, but regardless of her discomfort, Lady Stark continued doggedly on.
Roughly shaking her head to dislodge the collected snowfall Hermia urged herself forwards, she had been advised to stay within the confines of Winterfell, to worry herself sick, to walk the parapets as if confined to the role of grieving widow. Once more her role in life had been set out for her, let the men die whilst she remained chained to the hearth and birthing bed. But she couldn't. Not now, not when good men had died and her husband was missing. Not when she still had hope, clutched tightly to her chest it acted as her shield, protecting her from the half admitted truths and the rumour of death. Robb still lived, and she would find him. The words resounded through her head, fortifying her and giving her the strength to keep going when her heart weighed heavily in her chest.
Like caring for her father's estate before, Winterfell had hardened Hermia, the cold no longer cut to the bone; instead she relished the kiss of winter and the sweet oblivion that the numbing winds brought her. She was a direwolf of House Stark and the she would bear children of the North.
"M'lady!" A sharp voice hailed her from the foot a gnarled and wizened tree. Ploughing her way through the thick blanket of snow Hermia paid little heed to the small branches whipping across her face, the warm blood that was raised barely causing her to register the pain of the small cuts that were scattered across her fair skin.
Hunched under the ancient tree, was a figure: dark, sodden robes giving no indicator of who it might be. Hermia's heart was dancing at the back of her throat, her lungs constricting painfully in her chest as the instruction to breathe failed to reach them. Falling to her knees she wrenched back the man's hood, to her relief she saw a shock of Tully hair, and a red bead. Lurching forwards Hermia clutched Robb's cold, damp face between her leather-clad hands.
"Robb?" her voice was low and insistent, a few stray tears drifted from her eyes before she roughly wiped them away with her shoulder. "Robb?" She repeated, her voice rougher, her eyes growing wild.
Slowly the Lord of Winterfell's eyes opened, they were blue. A deep, dark blue, like the sea she imagined. Mia let loose a shuddering sigh, he was still hers; he was still whole and alive. Slumping onto Hermia's shoulder Robb's hands slowly crept upwards, his stiff fingers grasping awkwardly at the fur of her mantle. His cold skin brushed against the nape of Mia's neck and the woman suppressed a shudder.
"Can you ride?" Hermia whispered, her eyes darting back to the men that had come with her.
Robb mumbled a reply, but it was lost in her cloak.
"Ser Tomas," Hermia's voice rang clear along the tree line, and no sooner had the words left her lips the knight appeared at her side. "Please help me with Lord Stark, we need to get him on one of the horse."
"Will you ride with him?" Tomas asked, as he gently moved Hermia out of the way.
Kneeling down he braced his back before grabbing Robb by the arm. Pushing the Young Wolf forward and over Ser Tomas' shoulder, Mia wondered whether the knight could bear the weight. But sure enough Tomas rose to his feet, only a small grunt betraying the effort. Thankfully one of the many men at arms had the sense to bring the horse forward, with some help Robb was hoisted into the saddle, Hermia quickly swinging up to join him.
"My lady," Tomas started, his cheeks a faint pink. "You should wait for the rest of us to mount."
"I need to go now Tomas," Hermia muttered her eyes narrowed as she observed the unmarked path back.
"Then at least wait for me."
Hermia's eyes drifted down to Robb's before travelling back to Ser Tomas, she gave a curt nod.
Without waiting for a seconds rest, Hermia was off, urging her stead forward just as the knight righted himself in the saddle of his courser. Hermia attempted to arrange her mantle so that it covered both her and Robb, veritably willing the heat of her body to warm her husband's. She knew there were more men out there, but for the time being she didn't care about them. Hermia was an incredibly selfish creature at times, and this instance was no different. Squeezing against the horse's side Mia picked up the pace, it was imperative that Robb be seen to, the cold had been known to kill many a man and the stillness that had fallen across the Lord of Winterfell did nothing to calm her nerves.
"Don't ride too far ahead my Lady, the road is treacherous at night." Ser Tomas' voice called out from behind her but Hermia barely heard the words. They drifted across the night air, but they were lost to her.
The stars could have been snuffed out, but Mia would have failed to notice. The cold was all but forgotten and the snow provided only a vague distraction for Hermia on her surefooted courser. All that mattered was Robb. The Northman sat slumped forward; his skin icy to the touch, his breathing shallow as his life drifted on a thread that Mia was so desperate to catch. Hermia knew she had to take him back to the Keep, the very thought was all consuming, a constant drone in her head, as her heartbeat kept time with the galloping of hooves. Until a pounding rhythm surrounded her, pushing her home.
The sight of Winterfell's towers floating above the tree line provided welcome relief to Lady Stark; her hair was covered with snow, her lips were numb and her hands barely able to release the reins.
It was only when she trotted through the bailey that her mind was pulled from its singular thought of returning Robb to Winterfell. Hermia barely registered the helpful hands that took Robb from the saddle, but when Ser Tomas lifted her bodily from her seat, with every intention of returning her to her bedchambers, Hermia came to.
"Ser please let me go." Hermia's voice was hard; the ice that so often covered her adopted lands was running through her veins. She was a Stark now, she spoke with the authority of the North and Tomas released her.
"Maester Fredric, bring Robb to my chambers, we need to get him warm." Hermia's robes swirled about her feet, picking up the snowflakes and sending them tumbling about playfully. As she entered the Great Hall of Winterfell she ripped the mantle from her shoulders, the fabric cutting through the air, sending a shower of snow across the rushes, only to melt in the heat of the castle.
Robb was supported between two men as they took the winding stair up the tower to Mia's chambers. The warm springs that Bran the Builder has so cleverly employed could already be felt and Hermia was grateful as the warmth returned to her cheeks.
The two guards placed Robb on the bed, stepping back awkwardly as they awaited instruction.
"You may leave us." Hermia nodded curtly, her eyes searching out theirs.
"We need to take off his clothes," Maester Fredric began as he rushed to Robb's side, wrenching off a sodden boot. Quickly following suit Hermia began work on her husband's heavy cloak before her fingers fumbled with the various ties to Robb's doublet.
"How is he?" Her voice was sharp and demanding, Hermia didn't have to look to realise it was the youngest Stark girl who addressed her.
"We don't know yet Arya," Hermia replied, taking care to keep her voice calm. "Help us take off his clothes."
Without waiting for further prompting Arya soon joined them, her small hands making light work of the various buckles that adorned her brother.
"He doesn't seem to be suffering from any injury," the Maester offered. "We best get him under the furs though."
Nodding, Hermia left Arya to it, before wrenching her dress from over her head, kicking off her heavy shod boots she pulled off the various other layers of fabric that covered her body. It was only until she stood in her small clothes that she dove under the furs with Robb.
"Quick, you too Arya." Hermia demanded, as she began to rub at Robb's chest.
"There's no time to be shy."
"I'm not." Arya defended stoutly before she too began to remove her garments.
"I..." Maester Fredric looked towards the roaring hearth that dominated the room. "I will ask them to fetch hot water."
Despite the situation Hermia found herself giggling as she caught Arya's eye.
"You shouldn't laugh," Arya chastised, biting at her lip in attempt to keep the laughter at bay.
"I know..." Hermia replied breathlessly. "But when do you think was the last time that he?"
"We shouldn't be taking about it!" Arya giggled.
"No," Hermia agreed. Breathing in deeply the young woman looked at her sister in law. There was nothing of the Tully's in Arya, when there was so much in Robb, but Hermia still felt her breath catch in her throat. Suddenly the tears welled in her eyes, the salty droplets threatening to spill over the edge.
Arya's hand shot out under the furs, clamping down tightly on Hermia's.
"He'll be fine."
"This time..." Hermia whispered, her voice breaking.
"And the next." Arya nodded her head firmly, her voice strong.
And Hermia was humbled. For all her talk of being a direwolf of House Stark, for all her talk of embracing he North... It was nothing. Not when she was faced with Arya. The girl rode that like a Northman, the girl that fought like a Braavosi, the girl that would rather be a boy.
"What's wrong?" Arya questioned, her voice penetrating, her gaze piercing.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough..." Hermia's voice was a scant whisper. Her green eyes fixed on Robb's cheek, his skin was gradually warming, she could feel his chest rising and falling against hers.
"Strong enough for what?" Arya replied, her hand still clutching Mia's.
"Everything." Lady Stark shrugged, "I don't know if I have enough of the North in me."
"The North is your home now," Robb's voice drifted up softly.
"Don't do that again," Hermia whispered fiercely, her eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and relief. "The North might be my home, but it would be an empty one without you."
Arya's presence was little to deter her, and with her sharply spoken words Hermia lent forward to press her lips against Robb's. They were still colder than hers but she could feel his heart. It was enough.
"I think I might return to my own chambers," Arya quickly interjected before she was faced to bear witness to something she didn't want to see. "Glad to see you again brother." Arya whispered softly against Robb's ear before she placed a chaste kiss against his cheek and slipped from the bed.
Gripping his young wife firmly between his arms Robb looked Hermia in the eye. "You shouldn't have come looking for me."
"Should I have left it to Ser Tomas?" Hermia replied archly.
"There are things that walk the woods, it isn't safe." Robb countered, his blue eyes narrowed with determination.
"Like it wasn't safe for you?"
Robb sighed grudgingly, his shoulders sagging. "Wanting you safe isn't the same as keeping you locked up."
"I know," Hermia conceded. "But come hell or high water, I will always come looking for you if you're ever lost to me again."
"Aren't these the words the gallant knight is supposed to whisper to his fair maiden?" Robb voice was light and teasing, his eyes twinkling with a mirth Mia only saw behind closed doors.
"Today you were the one that needed rescuing, it is only fair." Hermia gave a wide smile before it quickly fell from her face. "What happened?"
"Wights," Robb's voice was colder, his jaw clenched. "They'll be more of them this night."
"We must ask King's Landing for help."
"The Queen has her hands full dealing with dissatisfied lords." Robb's tone suggested he was resigned to his fate. Winterfell would be the last bastion.
"The Queen has dragons," Hermia shot back. "She has won herself a kingdom, now she must protect it."
The night was dark and full of terrors, but there were those that spoke of the light and dragon fire.
A/N: Sorry its taken me a while to update! A great number of things have ended up distracting me. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter and please let me know what you think!