Howdy guys! :D Ya, I know, long time but my friggin computer has been acting up and I lost my will to write :/
Disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever been, GRRM, and so I don't own didly
Chapter 10
The night had grown cold and though she worried for what attention the light of a fire could bring her, she did not care and built one anyway, but not without difficulty. Up against the wall, a ways away from the half dead tree she sat, feeling her body warm as she slowly ate a nearly rotted apple.
Maeve had been right, there had been a grove of apple trees as well as berry bushes, but the season was coming to an end and so most of the fruit was on the ground and rotting or was ready to fall. Despite the softness of the flesh and the worm holes in some of them, Maeve gladly ate the apples, her stomach no longer growling at her in hunger.
It was strange, to have the world open up to you and yet close at the same time.
Her life had been the sept. Her family had been the septon and septa's. The only proof she had ever needed was the gods. There was a whisper of doubt inside her heart as she thought of her old home. It had given her so much; it had protected her from the unspeakable horrors that befall homeless children in the outside world. The sept had given her a home, clean water, good food, a bed to sleep in, a roof over her head, an education…no one else save for little lords and ladies could ever make such a claim! And all they had asked for her in return was her faithfulness as a septa, and she could not give it to them.
Why had they sent him to her then? What could they have possibly wanted of her and Jon, if not for them to love each other? The gods worked mysteriously, they said, the gods are always right, they said, always follow their law, they said. But she had followed them, had faith in them, they gave her Jon, but punished her for loving him. What was just and good in that?
Bowing her head in disgrace, Maeve closed her eyes. She knew she should go back to the sept, to face her punishment as bravely and honorably as she could, but she could not bring herself to want to. If she did, her child would be caught in the crossfire and it made her ill to think of it. It was so wonderfully amazing how she could care about something so much when she barely knew it was there, when she hadn't seen it or felt it; it was beautiful how she wanted it…loved it so much already.
She was free from giving up her child, the little piece of Jon that was growing right inside her, and was free to have it and raise it. But now because she was alone, life had become much harder.
A child without a father was a pariah among other children, one to be avoided, mocked and even beaten for it. A mother without a husband was a whore to be taunted and shunned, to be given no other job than how they assumed her child came to be. At least, that was what Maeve had always been taught. The world was rightfully cruel to the wicked, taught the sept.
The future was uncertain, but Maeve knew that life would always seem bleak if she chose to see it as such.
Her child would be judged for the lack of father in their life, and she would probably be seen as a whore…but if there were people that could view others so hatefully, there had to be people who could look through the past and see the people beneath. Maeve had seen Jon Snow as something much more than a bastard: she had seen a good man, gentle and sweet to her, capable of great things with a kind but firm heart. She had seen his flaws, his ambition, his anger, his quick and sometimes violent temper, and how he could be a stupid fool. All of these things did not make him an illegitimate son, it made him Jon, the man she knew and loved.
Maeve gave a little smile, poking the fire with a stick.
"What's his name again?" Jon asked Robb as they walked through the bustling crowd of soldiers, past the writhing bodies of the injured and the healers who tended to them. The battle was won; they had taken Wayfarer's Rest, the first holdfast on the way to Casterly Rock. Next was Golden Tooth, after that, Sarsfield.
"Ronald Ryger, a River Lord." Robb replied shortly. The air was thick with silent contempt and unease between them. Things had not improved between the brothers, many things were left unsaid and so the tension had not ceased. This irked Jon to no end, but he did not speak up, nor did Robb. What were they supposed to say?
"Where the hell has he been?" Jon asked skeptically. When Robb had taken Riverrun, every House under the Tully's had sworn their swords to Robb, save for the Ryger family. Their little holdfast held no noble with the name Ryger, only their knights and squires. Readily, the abandoned knights swore to Robb, but the Ryger house had simply disappeared, Lord, Lady and their only child. There were whispers they had fled to the Lannister's, but so far, there had been no proof. Jon didn't want any or need any. They had fled like cowards, they were oath breakers. So are you, his heart whispered.
"He said somewhere helpful. To us or the enemy, I don't know." Robb replied stiffly.
"Did he bring men with him?"
"Three knights, a steward and his son. The knight's don't even have House sigils on their armour." Jon stopped a moment amidst the hustle around him in surprise, but started moving again a moment later. Robb was a little ways ahead of him now, but Jon made no move to catch up.
Robb's war tent, where the battle preparations were made, was half crowded as Jon entered. Robb sat behind his desk watching the men before him with a stern glare.
"Lord Ryger," Robb began, staring directly at the short, stout man wearing green robes that were caked with dirt and mud. He was old, his hands crooked and his hair wispy and white, but it was clear, with the way he stood, that he had been strong in his youth, a sword fighter perhaps. Now it was clear he was too old to carry even a dirk, his hands would not let him. Stitched onto his chest, was the symbol of his house, the weeping willow of the Ryger's. The knights behind him were silent, the two men—one who must've been the steward and the other his son—were quiet as well.
"You swore loyalty to my grandfather, Hoster Tully. Yet when he called his men to war, you were nowhere to be found. Give me a reason why I shouldn't condemn you a traitor."
One of the young men next to Ryger, his son, quickly rested his hand on his sword, but made no other move. The other young man a boy of twenty-three, shifted closer to his lord, staring at Robb in a way that dared him to make good on his threat. Jon didn't like this, and clearly, neither did Robb.
"I am your King, boy." Robb glared at the steward. "Back down." The boy, a steward by the name of Garrett, glared back, but slowly stepped away, clenching his fists until they shook and averting his eyes from Robb's.
A long moment passed before Lord Ryger spoke. "Forgive him, your grace. Garrett's been a part of my household since he was a little lad. " His voice was old and soothing, but Robb did not look impressed. "Your grace, when word of war broke out, I thought it the perfect time to rally supporters in the West."
"In the west? The western houses are Lannister men, old man." Said Robb incredulously.
"Yes, yes, my King, but, I've found in my life, that when you have more gold than your worth, you attract as many friends as you do enemies." The old lord replied slowly. Robb waited for the old man to continue, wanting him to get to the point without the useless words beforehand.
Lord Ryger either didn't notice Robb's impatience or didn't care. "You know of the Reyne's, your grace? The family that tried to raise against the Lannister's...my sister, was the husband of Lord Eli Reyne and when she and her husband, as well as one of their children, were murdered during the storm of Castamere, it was a blow to my heart as well as my pride.
"It was no small secret what they were fighting for: the Lannister's were no longer fit to hold to titles they were given and, following the rape of another lord's wife, my brother-in-law saw fit to relieve the Lannister's of their seat." Reyne ended sadly. The steward next to him shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
"Answer: why did you run when you were called to war?" Jon grumbled impatiently from the tent opening. The men looked over to Eddard Stark's bastard with surprised eyes. No one had expected the silent man in the corner to speak up so loudly.
"He didn't run, you s—" Lord Reyne waved a hand and silenced whatever insult that steward of his was going to throw at Jon. Jon shifted his eyes to the boy, intent on making the prick learn his place, only to have the strange feeling of nostalgia come over him at seeing his eyes, his surprisingly familiar grey eyes.
"Garrett, shut up." Ryger scolded. Jon looked away from the steward. Fool, he thought, she's gone a few months and now you see her eyes everywhere. It disturbed him a little that it was in the eyes of another man.
"Your Grace," he continued. "The Reyne's actions were justified, even if you don't think so. Tytos Lannister ignored the crimes his own kin committed, let him walk free and unpunished simply because they shared the same blood. Many Houses, not just the Reyne's or the Tarbeck's, were angry by the Lannister's actions. And when their Houses were destroyed, every house in the West was wounded."
Robb watched the old Lord, looking for lies and deceit. Finally, he spoke. "What you claim is that the houses sworn to the Lannister's are willing to betray their liege lord to avenge a band of rebels." Robb summarised.
"Yes and no, your Grace. The Queen Cersei is not a good Queen; the small folk are losing love for her as well as her son. These, accusations of incest, make every House in the West, want the Lannister's gone." Ryger nodded. Jon glared. This was a trap, it had to be.
"I'm not a fool, Lord Ryger. I won't believe you and send my men into an ambush." Robb growled. Grey Wind, who had been sitting beside Robb all this time, stood up, his massive chest rumbling as he let out a menacing snarl.
The men backed away, the knights reaching for their swords but they did not draw them...not yet.
"No, your grace, I swear on my wife's life it is no trick." Lord Ryger swore. Suddenly, the other man, Lord Ryger's son, reached into the pack around his shoulder, and brought forth a bundle of scrolls, holding them out for Robb to take.
Carefully, Robb took the scrolls, unrolling one and quickly reading over the yellowish parchment. Jon watched his brother's face. A long moment later, Robb looked up and motioned to the guards standing nearby.
"Take them to their tent, keep them there until I say otherwise." He ordered.
"Y-your Grace," Lord Ryger stuttered, shocked at being dismissed so abruptly. "I have more to tell you."
"Until I know you are what you say, I will hear no more from you." Robb grunted as he looked back at the paper in his hands. With that, the guards all but pushed Lord Ryger and his men from the tent, leaving Robb and Jon alone. Grey Wind sat back down at Robb's side and Jon moved forward a step.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Letters from Westland lords swearing their swords to me." Robb replied hollowly.
Three weeks later...
The little bump between her hips had seemed to appear overnight, a gentle swell that frightened her and fascinated her to no end. Maeve's eyes softened at she slowly ran her hand over the little, almost unnoticeable, distortion. There was a baby in there...it was so odd and she couldn't stop touching the curve.
Her dress was tight over her midsection, it was uncomfortable, the binds stretched completely and on the verge of tearing. She had mended the ties as best she could, but she would need a new dress soon.
Idly, Maeve ran her fingers on the bark of the old tree by the last remaining wall, one hand still feeling the new bump on her belly.
The last few weeks had been long, a dull sequence of sunrise to sunset, each day filled with nothing but walking amongst the ruins and ghosts of this dead holdfast, sitting by the river and eating the apples from the orchard and mulling over the uncertain future and the past she wanted to forget.
It was odd though, how...at home she felt here, ruined as it was. At night, she would lie against the last remaining wall, and look up toward the sky, feeling as if she had done so a hundred times before. In the day, she'd walk amongst the ruins and stream, a strange familiarity and sadness coming over her as she looked out at the remainders of the castle.
The others had never come for her, she never saw them again. Maeve cried tears at that loss, feeling both pleased and distressed. The final tie to her old life had been cut, leaving her floating in an abyss without meaning or purpose, another life that was devoid of any type of glory or honour there was.
It was time to leave, but the thought was troubling. What if she left and came into trouble along the way? What would she do for food? What if she never found refuge and was forever lost in the sea of tall trees and thick shrubs? What if she found some place to go, but found that she was not wanted?
She wanted to leave but she was afraid. In this place, there was no one to judge her, no one to whisper, no one to look. It was a novelty, a freedom never before experienced by Maeve, but it was also lonely. Each day made her feel more and more alone, and the feeling of isolation was a feeling she had no wish to prolong any further.
She would leave, soon. Maeve could only hope that this next step would be one in the right direction.
This—she ran her finger over her belly—would be worth it. This was her new purpose, taking care of the life inside her, making sure it grew up to be a good person, loved and cherished, with more honour than either of its parent's had.
I am sooo sorry, if this chapter seemed sucky!
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