A/N : Hey guys! thanks so much for all of your support on this story, I appreciate it. Let me know what you guys think! Reviews are always appreciated. I struggled a lot with where I wanted to place the events of this chapter in terms of the story, and now felt the most appropriate. There is a small time jump between the last chapter and this one - where we left Avariella off in the last parts of Chapter 15 is important to understanding how she is now. Next chapter will do a better job of fleshing out that development, but it was important to me to focus on these events for this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think!
Until next time,
Fionakevin073
Chapter 16
Two Moons Later
"Rickon," Avariella called out gently, snapping the little boy out of his reverie. "Pay attention to your writing, please."
He blinked up at her owlishly with his wide blue eyes.
"But I've been practicing for ages!" he pleaded. Shaggydog whined from where he was lounging beside his master. "Can I run with Shaggydog for a while?"
Avariella could not help but chuckle.
"Come now, Rickon," she said. "You will disturb the Queen."
The other woman set down her quill when she heard Avariella.
"Hmm?"
Avariella chuckled again and shook her head.
"Never mind, your grace," Avariella said. "Have you finished your paragraph?"
The Queen bit down on her lip. "I believe so," she replied, a tad uncertain. She handed her piece of parchment over to Avariella. "These were the Houses who supported the Targaryen's during Robert's Rebellion."
Avariella looked over the list, straining to remember all of her own lessons from years ago.
"Hmm," she murmured. "I believe this is correct."
The Queen beamed at her, and Avariella could not help but smile back. She had been true to her word, these past two moons. She had never missed a lesson with Avariella or Rickon; she had read the books Avariella had managed to get from Maester Bryal and the ones she already had in her position. Of course, she did not remember everything, but she was trying. Avariella could admire that and did.
It had been easy to fall into a routine these past two moons. She was with Rickon and the Queen for certain hours of the day, before he was returned to his mother and she was allowed to go and work on the Glass Gardens. She had found a steady rhythm in her life at Winterfell at last.
Her letters from Lady Barbrey reminded her of the temporariness of her situation, but it was a fact she often allowed herself to forget, for few made mention of it anyhow.
"Do you think Arya would play with me?" Rickon asked her.
Avariella resisted the urge to frown at the mention of his sister. Arya Stark had returned to Winterfell at long last a little over a fortnight ago, and she had made no secret of her disdain for Avariella. She shunned both her and the Queen, and the only time Avariella caught sight of her was when she was with her mother – the rare times Lady Catelyn managed to make her eat with them – and when Rickon mentioned her in passing.
Rickon seemed a bit happier now that she was around, less prone to the melancholy moods that still plagued him. But Arya Stark seemed to enjoy running about the grounds even more than Rickon did; at least Lady Catelyn seemed comforted that they weren't out of fits of emotion and was more of a sign of her character than any duress.
"I do not know," she replied carefully. "Besides, you still have to recite some more of your writing."
He pouted at that and made a show of picking up his quill once more.
Avariella was by no means a suitable replacement for a Maester. She knew that; they all did. But she did possess an education suitable for a Lady of her station, no matter how dysfunctional her home had been. This situation would not last for long; merely until Rickon's heartache over Osha had abated long enough for him to stand being in Maester Bryal's presence. As for the Queen…
Avariella glanced at the woman, whom had retaken the piece of parchment and was still smiling at her good work. If she had begun to take lessons with the Maester, many would mock her for it. But with Avariella, since she was her lady in waiting – her only one, for now at least – no one would suspect. Her hours with Rickon were seen by everyone else as a sign of her welcome to the family.
Lady Dacey poked her head in through the drapes of the tent.
"Your grace," she said. "My lord, my lady. Lady Catelyn has sent word that Prince Rickon should be sent to her."
Rickon placed his quill down excitedly, jumping up from his chair.
"Very well," she said, shaking her head at his antics. "Thank you for telling me, Lady Dacey."
The elder woman nodded, before retreating outside to wait for Rickon.
"Come now, my lord," Avariella said. "Grab your books, your lady mother awaits you."
He huffed a bit but grabbed his books and quill regardless.
"Until the morrow," she said.
"Can you tell a story tomorrow, Lady Ava?" he asked, right by the exit of the tent.
Avariella chuckled lightly. "Perhaps," she teased. "Go on now."
He smiled at her, Shaggydog by his side, and she felt a small wince of pain at the reminder of her brother, of how similar they looked.
She bit down on her lip to muffle her sigh, grateful that he had already left.
"Are you alright, Lady Avariella?" the Queen asked, her expression gentle.
"Yes, your grace," Avariella said, forcing a smile. She moved to put away Rickon's ink. "Thank you for inquiring."
The Queen watched her closely, before she began to cough.
"Your grace?" Avariella questioned.
The woman lifted her hand as a gesture of appeasement, but soon started to cough even more violently, lifting a hand to her mouth as though she were about to be ill.
"Your grace, are you alright?"
The Queen had moved her head in between her knees, was breathing in and out loudly and forcefully.
"Yes," the Queen said, voice strained. "I am quite alright, I do assure you."
Avariella was mildly concerned. The Queen had seemed a bit paler these past few days, but Avariella had simply assumed it was due to the cold.
"I've been feeling a bit tired recently," the Queen told her. "That is all. I am still growing used to the cold."
Avariella merely observed her. In truth, she could not tell if the woman was lying; even if she was, Avariella could not confront her. She was the Queen after all.
"You may go," the Queen said. "Truly, I do not wish to keep you. I will simply get some rest." She smiled at Avariella fleetingly.
"If that is what you desire, your grace," she settled on finally.
It was a few moments afterwards that she left, still feeling troubled by the incident. She walked to the grounds of Winterfell. There would still be sufficient enough light for a few hours at least, thankfully.
Over the past two moons, the construction of Winterfell had progressed smoothly. In fact, the process of settling into the castle had already begun. The Lords of the King's Council were soon expected to return and reside at Winterfell, and life under King Robb Stark was expected to truly begin, now that the war was over and the King's home was finally restored.
Avariella tried her best not to think on that. It was another topic Lady Barbrey liked to mention of in her letters recently. These men, those that are eligible, will be looking to you, as I am sure you well know, the older woman had written. Remember, guard your heart close and choose wisely.
It was moments such as those that perplexed Avariella. On the one hand, she was grateful for the Lady's support, but comments such as those reminded her that Lady Barbrey too had her own son, that she was not opposed to the match. Avariella liked Lady Barbrey it was true; she even trusted her, to a degree, felt a kinship with her. But she did not know her son, though he was still the most desirable of the bunch.
The King and Lady Catelyn had been working closely together on the reconstruction of the Great Keep and the Great Hall. On Avariella's end, the Glass Gardens was near completion. In truth, Avariella had merely followed the old architectural designs of the Glass Castle provided to her by Lady Catelyn, lest she do something to ruin it or cause some massive disruption. There had still been trouble in terms of recreating a channel of water from the hot springs, but with the help from the workmen they had prevailed.
Now, they were finishing some of the paneling. It was Avariella's job to oversee this and overlook the seeds that were to be planted and cultivated over the next few months.
She worked there for a few hours, made a careful catalogue of everything in her ledgers to turn over to Lady Catelyn at the end of the day. She was surprised to find the Lady Catelyn waiting for her outside once she had finished.
"My lady," she greeted. "Is all well?"
"Oh yes," the elder woman replied, gesturing for Avariella to walk with her. She balanced the ledgers close to her chest as she followed.
"I would just like to inform you that Rickon, Arya and I will be leaving Winterfell for a few days in two days' time."
"Oh," Avariella said, undeniably surprised. "I see. May I inquire as to why?"
The Lady Catelyn let out a small laugh, though she did not sound entirely amused.
"Lady Arya has apparently had a dream that certain companions of hers from her time travelling across the North are now at an inn nearby and has had it planted in her mind to go and fetch them."
Avariella had to try very hard not to gape.
Lady Catelyn sighed tiredly. "My daughter is nothing if not determined, and so she managed to convince me to allow her to go to this inn, accompanied by myself, of course. She enlisted Rickon to assist her in her persuasion, so I saw fit to bring him with us."
"Of course," Avariella murmured. Was this what mothers do for their children? She thought. Or is this just simply because of everything those children have been through?
"If you would like to ride with us for a short duration of the journey, please do."
Lady Catelyn continued before she could respond.
"It might be good for you to leave the grounds for a while, escape from the building and workmen before we all settle into the castle."
Lady Catelyn had this skillful way of demanding something and guising it as a suggestion.
"I- of course, my lady," she said, forcing a smile on her lips.
In truth, she was not entirely opposed to the notion, but she was slightly bothered by the elder woman's subtle order-suggestion. It had been occurring more and more often nowadays, as though she were a child.
They were walking nearby the front of the castle when Lady Catelyn frowned.
"Is that Lord Bolton?" she asked Avariella.
Avariella turned her head in her direction, stiffened at the sight of aforementioned Lord.
"Yes," she heard herself say faintly. "I daresay it is."
"He is early," Lady Catelyn murmured. "Was not expected until a few days later."
Does the King plan on placing that wretched man on his council? She wished to ask. The thought of being near Roose Bolton made her skin crawl. There was something so cold in his eyes, so untoward.
"Mother," the King called out. "Lady Frey."
Roose Bolton turned to them, stared at her long enough to make her shiver.
"My lord," she greeted, after Lady Catelyn had said her piece.
"Lady Frey," he returned, nodding coolly.
"How is my niece?" she prompted.
"Well."
Somehow, Avariella doubted it. She had not even met this relation of hers he had wed, but that did not stop pity from forming in her heart for the woman, being married to such a cold-hearted man.
"I see you are carrying a great deal of books, my lady," he commented.
"Yes," Lady Catelyn cut in. "Lady Frey has proven most helpful in maintaining the books and assisting in the reconstruction of Winterfell."
"Really?" Lord Bolton inquired.
"Oh yes, she has in fact been solely in charge of the Glass Gardens."
Lord Bolton tilted his head slightly.
"Hmm," he murmured. "Your father would no doubt be gladdened to hear you've settled so well in the North, my lady."
My father wanted me to become the King's mistress, she thought. I daresay I've disappointed him.
"I'm sure he would," she agreed politely.
They cared on with small talk for a short while, but Avariella could not shake the feeling that Lord Bolton was evaluating her for something, though for what she was not quite sure.
The next two days passed relatively quickly. Slowly, slowly, everyone was being made to move into their rooms at the castle. A great deal of the workmen were being sent home, as well as the soldiers who had remained. The series of tents that remained had begun to dwindle, signaling a new era at Winterfell.
By the time Lady Catelyn, Rickon and Lady Arya were expected to return, their rooms were meant to have been finalized, with Rickon returning to his chambers he had before the war. Lady Catelyn had left a long list of instructions for the servants who would be doing the carrying of the furniture.
She would only be joining them for a short duration, before some guards would escort her back. The day they left, she met with Lilly first, allowing Max to stay with her for the day. Typically, she would like for him to be with her outside the grounds, but she knew not how long they would be gone, and since they had no litter, there was nowhere he could rest. Besides, she did not entirely trust Shaggydog not to eat him. When she met with the Lady Catelyn, Rickon and Lady Arya, she was surprised to find the King, the Blackfish and Lord Bolton standing with them, horses at the ready.
"Your grace," she greeted. "My lords."
They set forth quickly after that, Rickon and Lady Arya chatting amongst themselves while their elder brother, his uncle, and Lord Bolton talked behind them. Lady Catelyn had slowed her horse to a trot so they were in sync.
"The Queen has been quite tired, lately," Lady Catelyn commented.
Avariella thought of the scene a few days prior.
"Has she?" she asked. "Is she feeling alright, my lady?"
Lady Catelyn hummed.
"I have heard nothing to the contrary," the elder woman replied. "Though I did hear mention that one of the kitchen girls caught fever the night before last. It might be a small cold passing around, it is the season after all."
"Yes, I suppose it is."
It was nice to escape the walls of Winterfell and the sight of Wintertown. The North was by no means a pretty or picturesque land, but it was beautiful in a cold, brutal sort of way. I wish you could have seen this, Avos, a voice inside her whispered. Seen the land we made stories about when we were children.
There was a soft pang at the thought, but she was distracted from it by the sight of Greywind and Shaggydog running together.
"Go Shaggy!" Rickon cheered, making his sister laugh.
Avariella had never seen the Stark girl laugh before; she always appeared to Avariella as a sullen, quiet thing, who liked to disappear more often than not. But then again, who was she to judge? The girl had seen her father executed, had travelled across Westeros disguised as a boy, if the rumors were true. Who knew what she had seen?
It didn't appear like she wanted anyone's pity, least of all Avariella's.
They parted after a short ride. The King and his mother conversed together quietly, and she watched as the King waved goodbye to his siblings, a rare smile on his lips. It felt awkward, to witness such a family scene, and she was eager to get back to Winterfell. She caught Lord Bolton staring at her, having noticed her discomfort. She resisted the urge to squirm.
A party of guards had joined them, with slightly more than half accompanying the Lady Catelyn and her two children. It was a good thing this supposed inn was not far, Avariella thought, for Rickon will sure grow tired.
She made sure to maintain an appropriate distance as they returned to Winterfell. Lord Bolton appeared to be doing most of the talking, with the King intent to listen, while the Blackfish made a rare comment here and there. It seemed as though they were intentionally trying to keep their voices low because she was there.
She hoped, for whatever reason, that it did not concern her in anyway. There was only a single reason why it would concern her: her marriage. Not to Lord Bolton's baseborn son, she thought. Horror made her heart shrivel up as she realized a possibility. Mayhaps Lord Bolton had come to ask for his son's legitimization – they were close in age, after all. If her niece did not provide her husband with any children, and there had been no sign of marriage so far, it was not an improbable request.
It made her want to scream.
Avariella was so revolted by the thought that she did not realize that the gates of Winterfell had been closed, that the Maester was standing in front of them, waving a red cloth in his hands to grab their attention.
Oh gods, she thought, following the others as they climbed off their horses. What has happened?
Lady Catelyn had been gone for nigh on an hour and disaster had already struck.
"Your grace, stay back!" the Maester exclaimed.
"What is the meaning of this, Maester?" the King questioned.
"There is an illness, sire," Maester Bryal told them gravely. "A sickness that has been identified."
"Sickness?" Avariella asked, feeling horror creep up her spine. "What sickness?"
The Maester's eyes flew to her. She cared not for protocol or deference, cared only for the people behind those walls that were now closed to her.
"We think it may be a case of the sweat," he told them. "So far, only one kitchen servant has caught seriously ill; the rest have only indicated mild symptoms so far."
Olyvar, her mind whispered. Where is he?
"The Queen," the King said. "Where is she?"
It was then the Maester faltered. Avariella's mind suddenly rushed with various memories; the Queen vomiting, feeling nauseous or tired. Oh Gods, she thought. No no no.
"The Queen has shown indications of the illness and has been put in confinement. She will receive nothing less than the best of care."
Avariella could not see the King's expression from where she stood, but it must have been dark enough for the Blackfish clapped him on the shoulder.
"She'll be alright, Robb," the old man said. "She's a strong lass, that one."
The King shook his head, as if he were in a daze.
"I expect you to take care of her," he told the Maester, voice hard.
"Of course, your grace," Bryal replied, looking only a tad nervous, but mostly appeared cool and calm. "I suggest you remain away from the Castle until the illness has passed to ensure your safety—"
"I cannot simply leave my people, my wife—"
"Robb," the Blackfish interjected. "You are the King; you have no son, no other heir besides your brother, who is much too young to rule. Your country is in need of your guidance and leadership; there is nothing you can do for your wife but pray for her recovery."
"Your uncle is correct, your grace," Roose Bolton interjected. "It would be best for all of us if you stay healthy- there is a small keep nearby, is there not?"
The King took several long moments to respond.
"Yes," he said grudgingly. "There is."
He turned his head towards the Maester.
"Provide everyone with the best care," he told him. "Give them all the food, blankets and liquids that they need. I thank you for your service, Maester."
"I will do all that I can, your grace," Maester Bryal said, bowing his head.
Avariella watched as the King and his men moved off to the horses to discuss their retreat.
"Maester," she called out quietly, moving forward, but still careful to keep her distance.
"Lady Frey," he replied.
Avariella felt oddly lightheaded as she stared at him. For a second, she could hear only her heartbeat.
"My brother," she said, finally conjuring up the words. "My brother Olyvar – is he well?"
His gaze softened.
"He has shown some symptoms, my lady," he told her gently. "But he is faring well."
Oh Gods, she thought, fighting off tears.
"Thank you Maester," she said. "Will you tell him that—" she stopped, tried to find the words. "Will you tell him that I'm thinking of him and that I wish he will get better soon?"
"I will, my lady."
"Thank you." She turned to walk away. "Maester," she said. "Take care of yourself."
"And you, my lady," he said. "And you."
When Avariella returned to the King and his Lords, she noticed that the King had turned to stare at her. His gaze was unreadable when she met it.
"It is an hour or two ride to the Keep, my lady," he told her.
She managed to find the strength to nod.
"Thank you for informing me, your grace," she murmured, feeling ill.
Avariella felt something very akin to bile claw its way up her throat. No no no, she thought, placing a hand on her stomach.
"I am sure Olyvar will prevail," the King said.
There were people they loved behind those castle walls. He, the Queen, his people. Her, Olyvar – her heart froze. Lilly, she thought. Max. Max. Lyra. Jeyna. The Maester had said a serving girl had grown ill.
No, she thought, turning to stare at the gate. She felt in that moment as though she could tear down the walls with her bare hands, stone by stone. Desperation filled her insides, made her muscles quiver.
She jumped at the sound of Greywind's howling. She looked at the great beast, whose head was tilted up towards the sky as he shared his sorrow with the world, as if he had sensed his master's turmoil. All of their turmoil.
"My lady," Roose Bolton said, suddenly at her elbow. "We must go."
Avariella stared back at Winterfell. It broke her heart to leave it; as though as long she kept it in her sights all those she loved and cared for would be well.
"Very well," she said, clearing her throat. "Very well."
A guard assisted her as she climbed atop of her horse. She was glad for it, fearing she would have fallen over otherwise.
"We ride on," the King called out. "We shall survive this, my lords. My lady."
There was an echo of agreement, but Avariella stayed silent. She followed a little behind the King, Lord Bolton and the Blackfish, backed by a few guards.
She felt as though she were leaving her heart behind.
As they travelled on the Kingsroad, the world around them dissolved into endless woods. Greens, browns, greys were all over. Perhaps if it had been a different time, she would enjoyed looking at her surroundings. Now, all she could think of was Olyvar. Olyvar, who she had not yet forgiven. Olyvar, who she could now lose.
It struck her as strange that she had never contemplated such a notion, all things considered. He had always seemed like such a constant in her life, something solid and permanent. Despite everything. All the arguments and grief and lies and loss. To think of Olyvar being gone, of her losing yet another brother she loved. . .
Avariella was not sure she could survive it. Now, she was plagued with regret for her continuing anger with him. For their quarrel about Ser Trent, about the true nature of Avos' death. For how he treated her during her depression. It all seemed meaningless now. He could die, she thought. All of her rage and hurt seemed to dissolve the more she thought it. It didn't even seem important now.
"Are you concerned for your brother, my lady?" Roose Bolton asked.
Avariella's grip on the reigns of her horse tightened considerably. She had not even realized that he had held back his horse so he would be beside her.
"Yes," she told him. "I am."
"As any sister would be," he replied, offering her a cool smile.
Avariella hated it. It looked false and unnatural on his lips, and did nothing to soothe the coldness in his eyes.
She made a small sound of acknowledgement, but otherwise kept quiet. He moved to grab something inside his breast pocket, stopped his horse so he could do so. Avariella pulled at her reigns to do the same, watching him with wary eyes. The guards trickled past them, sure that they would follow.
"For you, Madame," he said, handing her a handkerchief.
Avariella plucked the white cloth from his hands, tried to force a smile on her lips.
"Thank you, my lord," she said, though in truth she could not care less.
She fisted the cloth in her hands tightly and made to start her horse when a sudden barrel of men came running in from the trees, heading towards the front end of the party. Avariella's horse reeled back, startled, and she tried to soothe it as a myriad of sounds suddenly bombarded her ears. Swords were clanging together, along with battle cries and sounds of pain, Greywind's growls, as well as horses neighing.
"Stay away, my lady!" Lord Bolton cried, before unsheathing his sword. The sight of it made her horse reel back once again, and this time Avariella could not soothe it, was tossed from her horse onto the ground.
The sheer force of her fall knocked the breath out of her lungs. Her vision blurred as she tried to place her surroundings, as her head began to throb with pain. By the seven, she thought, using her one arm to push herself backwards, farther away from the fray. She could not tell who was winning, or if any of the King's men had been killed. All she knew was that she needed to get away, lest she be found by some man—
She gasped with pain as someone fisted her hair and tugged at it.
"Kissed by fire," a man purred, the feel of his blade cold against her neck.
Avariella bit down on her lip to muffle her cry.
"Come on," another voice whispered. "Before any of those madmen notice. Take her!"
Her captor shoved his hand over her mouth and began to pull her off the road. She tried to scream and bite at him, but his grip on her jaw was so tight she could scarcely open her mouth.
She did not know how long he pulled her, only that when he finally stopped the sounds of the skirmish were slightly distant. He pulled away from her, but not before slapping her so viciously she could feel her cheek instantly bruise.
"Look at what we have here," the man sneered. "I told you we would be lucky this day, with those men hanging about in the woods looking for prey. There'd be something left o'er."
Her captor was accompanied by another man and a woman. They were all dressed in clothing that appeared to be made solely of fur. Their hair was unkept, except for a few wild braids in the woman's hair. She was reminded strangely of Osha.
"Wildlings," she whispered, lifting a hand to her cheek.
The other man snorted. "Clever lass, this one."
How on Earth did you manage to get so far beyond the wall? She wondered, before fear seized her heart.
She looked around, made notice of their encampment; the small fire they had just put out, remnants of bones from their last meal.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
Avariella thought then of Ser Trent, of his hands, his look, his sneer, and paled.
Not that, she thought, trying not to shake. Anything but that, I beg of you, Gods, if you do exist. Please heed this prayer.
Death would be a mercy compared to that. And it seemed like that was the more likely case, seeming as all the men were concerned with the bandits, that none would have noticed her being taken away—
"What was that?" her captor said sharply, looking around. "Someone's coming."
He picked up his ill-made sword and hid behind a tree. "You lot stay there."
The other two seemed a bit uneasy but heeded his words.
"Gag her," the woman said. "And tie her up."
"No," Avariella said, before projecting her voice. "No! Help—"
The other man shoved something harsh and rough into her mouth so suddenly she almost choked, tears piercing her eyes.
"Lady Frey!" a voice called, as the sound of footsteps grew louder and louder. "Men, follow me—"
There was a sound of a thump just as the King had come into view. Her captor appeared behind him, having whacked him over the head with a sword. Oh Gods, she thought, yanking the gag out of her mouth before the other wildling man could notice.
The two men met in the middle, began to converse among themselves as to what to do with them.
"Money would be good," the woman chimed in. "Pretend we found them, collect the money and then leave them for dead."
Avariella grew cold. Her eyes flickered over to the King, who was still lying on the ground. How on earth did he notice? She thought to herself. And why in the seven's name would he do something so stupid? The honourable fool?
He must have noticed her missing in the heat of battle and run off to find her. But that was good too. If he was missing, others would notice and come looking. All she needed to do was bide time.
"We should kill the man, keep the girl," the woman said, drawing out her own knife. The other men nodded in agreement.
"No, stop!" Avariella cried desperately, causing the man to stop in his tracks.
Avariella seized the moment to rush to the King's side, placing herself so she was shielding him from the blade.
"Please," she begged, glancing at the three individuals wildly. "Do not kill him, I beg of you."
The woman looked at her shrewdly, tapping the blunt side of her knife against her side.
"Why should we listen to you?" she questioned, eyeing Avariella carefully.
She resisted the urge to flush under her stare and tried to make herself seem as collected as possible.
"Please!" she repeated. "Do not kill him — there is no need to do so!"
They remained unconvinced, Avariella could tell.
"He's my husband!" she burst out, reaching wildly for the King's hand and gripping it tightly.
What in the seven hells are you saying? her mind yelled. Avariella ignored herself — or tried to, anyway.
"Husband?" the man with the rock asked skeptically. "I doubt it."
"Why?" she cried, sheer desperation making her eyes pierce with tears. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest, she felt as though it were about to explode from her ribcage. "Please, I love him!"
The woman looked at her and smirked.
"Prove it," she said, gesturing between the two of them with here knife. "Give us a good show — let us see how you fine and proper Southerners mate."
Avariella looked at her blankly for a moment, uncomprehending.
"Oh, come on now!" the third man cried from behind the woman. "Get on with it!"
Avariella saw him reach for his own knife, and before she could question the wisdom of her judgement or acknowledge how base or regretful this action would appear to her later, she turned around and, without looking, surged forward and pressed her lips to the King's. The force was so great their teeth clashed but it was no matter, since Robb Stark was conscious enough only to keep his eyes open, the wound on his head still trickling with blood.
She kept her eyes open during the exchange and was too hurried and desperate to feel any horror at the growing realization in his eyes. Avariella pulled back gently, their lips parting with a soft sound, and pressed her forehead against his head, gently stroking his cheeks.
"My love," she murmured, trying to ignore how preposterous the situation was, how she barely knew the man — the King! — who she was acting so intimately with.
Reluctantly, she turned to look at them, praying with all her might that they'd believe her and that if they did, it would be enough to spare their lives.
The man with the sword parted his lips to speak, but only blood trickled from his mouth, a sudden arrow stuck out from his throat. He fell to the ground unceremoniously, his sword falling by her feet. The woman behind him let out a loud cry and surged towards them, her dagger raised in the air. Avariella reached for the sword and just as the wildling woman was about to bring her dagger down, she thrust the sword into her stomach.
What did I just do? She thought, seeing the blood form in the woman's stomach. Avariella let go of the sword's handle as if it had suddenly burned her. The wildling woman moved as if to remove the object lodged in her stomach, but fell to her knees instead.
Oh Gods, she thought, scrambling backwards. Oh Gods oh Gods –
Her hand landed on top of the King's, and she grasped onto it so tightly she thought she could have broken it. He was her anchor, in this moment. Oh dear Gods, she kept thinking. What have I done?
"The King!" she heard the men cry, much to her relief. "Lady Frey!"
Avariella let go of the King's hand as though she had been burned and slowly rose to her feet, her head throbbing.
"The King is injured," she called out, watching as the Blackfish swung off his horse and called for the guards to help lift the King.
"My lady," Roose Bolton said, suddenly appearing at her side. "Are you well?"
Avariella almost flinched at the look in his eye; the same coldness as usual, as though they had not just been ambushed and their King almost killed. Their. The word brandished itself in her mind, made a shiver run up her spine. Gods, she thought, shaking her head slightly.
"Yes, thank you my lord," she heard herself say faintly.
The man tilted his head and eyed her carefully, as though he were trying to guess something.
"You protected the King," he stated, almost as if he were surprised.
They had all seen her shielding the King from the Wildlings and — much to Avariella's fervent hope — they had not seen anything else.
"Of course," Avariella replied and wrapped her arms around herself. She watched as the guards helped the King up from the forest floor, and she marveled for a moment that they were both alive, and that, in all probability, only a short time had passed since they were separated from the rest of the King's party.
Avariella smiled thinly, still too shaken to truly comprehend the severity of her actions. Almost as if on cue, she felt something large nudge into her side, and nearly jumped with shock when she realised that it was Greywind. His muzzle was stained with blood and yet, for the first time, Avariella felt safe around the animal and lifted her hand to pet him.
Greywind leaned into her touch, let out a grunt and then ran off to follow his master.
"How much farther to the castle my lords?" she asked finally, suddenly feeling so cold she began to shake.
Roose Bolton chuckled darkly.
"Not far," he told her, offering her his arm. "Not far at all, my lady."
—
When they arrived at their temporary haven, there was a flurry of activity as the King was carried off his horse. There were a few guards swarming the courtyard, helping bring the horses to the stables and settle in their party.
Avariella climbed off her horse, feeling weak. She felt a strain in her legs, tried her best not to tremble.
"My lady," the Blackfish said, appearing before her. "Do you have talent with sewing wounds?"
Avariella struggled to breathe.
"Yes," she said, trying not to stumble over her words.
"Good," the old man said, gesturing for her to follow as he began to stalk away. "The King is in need of your assistance."
"I am not a physician, my lord," she called out, quickening her steps so they were walking side by side.
"I'm aware of that, my lady," the Blackfish drawled, leading her up the stairs and into the small keep where the King had disappeared. "But there is no trained physician at this place, and the King suffers from a bloody headwound, nothing more. I assume you do know how to dress wounds."
"I'm not very well practiced in the act," Avariella said, wishing that the Queen were here to do it.
As if he had read her mind, the Blackfish murmured. "Now of all times it would be a blessing if the Queen were here. As she is not, you will have to do the task. I'm afraid the others accompanying us do not have such nimble hands."
Avariella's mind flashed to Roose Bolton.
"Yes," she agreed. "I suppose that is true."
The Blackfish opened a door, revealing the King laid down on a couch, with a fire roaring in the fireplace. Roose Bolton was standing in the corner of the room, conversing with an elderly man who she assumed to be the keeper of the Keep.
"Here you are, Lady Frey," the Blackfish said, gesturing to a tray placed near the King. "Your tools."
Avariella cast him a wary look.
"Very well," she breathed, moving toward the King. As she reached for the needle, she realized her hands were bloody. I killed someone, she thought, as though she had not yet realized it.
Avariella flinched suddenly, took a deep breath to calm herself. Later, she thought. You can deal with it later.
She managed to wipe her hands on a spare cloth placed on the tray. There was a bowl of water to clean the wound, and she dipped the clean cloth in it, wrung it with trembling fingers.
The King was stirring on the couch when she knelt beside him, feeling the warmth of the fire against her back. How young he looks, she thought, her eyes flickering over his features. How unburdened.
She shook her head suddenly, some of her hair falling in front of her eyes.
"Okay," she whispered, lifting the cloth to his head. The sooner you do this, the better.
She cleaned the blood that stained his head, his hair, was careful not to be too harsh, especially due to their audience. Avariella was still in a state of disbelief over what had occurred these past few hours. The stone beneath her knees was the only thing grounding her to reality.
Once she had cleaned the wound sufficiently, she prepared the needle and thread.
"Are you quite sure you know what you're doing?" Roose Bolton asked from across the room.
"I've mended minor scrapes before, my lord, and have practiced often with a needle, though I claim to be no expert," she replied after a moment.
She glanced at him, was startled by the scrutiny in his gaze. Yet she did not think it was due to his apprehension of her ability. Instead, he seemed to glance from her, to the King and then back again, as if trying to decipher something.
There is nothing to decipher, she wished to snap. Nothing.
Her traitorous mind flashed to her actions earlier. Avariella's mouth twisted into a scowl. That meant nothing, she thought, scooting closer to the King. That was survival.
The King opened his eyes as she began her stitching.
"I'm sorry, your grace," she murmured, biting down on her lip. His gaze was foggy and unclear as he stared at her. Avariella was not even sure he truly comprehended that she was there. It did appear to be only a surface wound, but she did not blame him for being disoriented and confused. There was a lot of blood.
She tried not to appear too unnerved as he stared at her, tried to focus instead on her work.
"There," she said finally, scooting backwards. "It is done."
The King closed his eyes as she rose to her full height.
"Thank you, Lady Frey," the Blackfish stated quietly, standing nearby his nephew. "You have done well."
Avariella followed his gaze down to the King, who seemed peacefully oblivious of the world.
He came after me, she thought. The honorable fool, he tried to save me on his own.
"Are you well, my lady?" the Blackfish asked.
Avariella looked at him, startled by his voice, by the look of concern on his face.
"I am not injured, my lord," she said. Which was true enough, despite the bruises she's sure appeared on her face. I killed someone and kissed a King in the same afternoon, she thought.
She was struck by a sudden impulse to laugh, had to force a cough to stop herself, lest they think she had suddenly grown hysterical.
I killed a woman and kissed a King! I pretended to be his wife!
"I think I need rest, my lords," she said, shifting to look at Lord Bolton as well.
"Of course," Roose Bolton said smoothly. "After today's events, who could blame you?"
She tried to smile, found that she couldn't, and curtsied instead.
"A room has been arranged for you," the Blackfish told her, following Avariella to the door. "The servants should have drawn you a bath."
"Thank you, my lord," she said. "I shall ask where my rooms are lodged to the first servant I find."
He nodded and let her go without another word.
Avariella was relieved and all too pleased to find that the servants had indeed drawn her a bath. She dismissed the serving girl that had led her to her rooms with a nod, and then began to undress herself slowly. Now that she was alone, she began to feel the bruises on her sides, how her legs burned with exertion. I killed someone, she thought again, suddenly feeling nauseous.
She sunk into the warm water with a soft sigh, felt her muscles instantly untighten. But she did not relax or feel at ease. Her physical pain did little distract her from her thoughts - her mind lingered on Olyvar and Talisa, potentially sick and near death, and her heart broke at the thought of losing another brother. Not for the first time, Avariella wished she had stayed at Winterfell, wished for none of this to have happened.
Gods, she thought. The Old and the New, please keep Olyvar alive. Please keep the Queen alive. Let no one suffer. Everyone has endured so much. Too much. Lilly. Lyra. Jeyna. Even Willa, Callin and Old Nan. Keep them all safe, I beg of you.
Avariella willed their good health with everything she had. With every fiber of her being, she wished they were all well. The only thing she was glad for was that Rickon, his mother and sister were all gone from Winterfell.
Avariella stared down at her hands, noticed how they had grown wrinkly from her time in the water. These hands have killed, she thought, clenching them into fists. It still did not feel entirely real.
When she slept that night, she dreamt of rivers of crimson.
Avariella awoke that morn feeling nauseous, but not from the sweat. No, her ill health was due to stress, not disease. When opened the shutters of her windows, she took note of the sun higher in the sky than normal when she woke and was glad that the Lords had seen fit to let her rest.
There was no reason they would have need for her, after all. She felt lonely, as she stared around the room. She had no friends here, nothing to do at all. The mere thought of eating made her stomach clench uncomfortably.
Roslin. Shirei.
Should she tell them of the sudden illness? She had not thought to do so earlier, but now she was suddenly bursting with the desire to write to them, even though they had not yet responded to her last one.
Avariella cleaned herself up and set out to find some parchment from one of the servants.
By the time she had procured the parchment, she returned to her rooms to find a tray of ham, cheese and bread placed on her desk. The sight of it made her feel lightheaded, but her desire to write to her sisters far outweighed anything else.
Shirei, she wrote.
I want you to know that there has been a small case of the sweat here at Winterfell. It appears to be under control and there have been no casualties. Myself, the King and a few other nobles have sought refuge at a keep nearby. I thought it best that you find out from me that Olyvar has shown signs of the illness. Fear not, however, for our brother is strong and will prevail. I love you dearly and beseech you not to worry. I will write once more when I have news.
With all my love,
Avariella
She could not bring herself to mention the attack on their way to the Keep. At least not to Shirei. Avariella sighed and set the letter to her right and began to work on Roslin's. She could trust her sister, she knew that. Her sister would not reveal the contents of these letters. And yet she still hesitated. She was with child, so close to her due date. But had she not heard murmurs from the men yesterday that they'd already sent out news about the illness to keep others from arriving? Surely Edmure Tully would be informed, seeing as he was the King's uncle.
Dear Roslin,
I do not know if you have yet been informed by your husband, but a minor case of the sweat has arrived at Winterfell. It does not seem to be too terrible, but the King and a small party of others – myself included – have taken refuge at a small keep nearby, where we will wait out the illness. Olyvar is one of those who caught the illness. The Maester says he is still well and will recover.
At this point, she had to stop because her hand was trembling.
I wanted you to hear it from me, before anyone. I hope you and the babe are well, and that you do not stress too much. . .
She continued on writing for a few more sentences, before she paused, searching for the right words.
On our way to the keep, we were attacked by bandits, and I was abducted by Wildlings. Rest assured, I am safe and was rescued. But the King did come after me, though eventually he was rendered near unconscious due to an ambush. I—
She could not bring herself to write of that particular moment.
I ended up killing someone, Roslin, to protect him. To protect myself. She would have killed me, and yet I still feel guilty. Still feel a stain on my soul. I dreamt of rivers of crimson all last night. It is a feeling I know not how to describe.
I wish you nothing but the best, my dear sister. I hope to hear from you soon, and I will write if I have news.
With all my love,
Avariella
Once she had finished, Avariella finally managed to stomach some of the food set out for her.
—
Avariella lived with no news regarding the situation for nigh on a week. She interacted with the Lords enough to be polite, for them to know she was alive, but otherwise spent her time in her rooms, thinking of Olyvar, of what she would say to him if she ever saw him again.
She saw little of the King, who appeared to be busy somehow even here with matters of the realm.
That was, at least, until the seventh night.
Avariella was startled by the sound of a knock on her door, and it took her a few clumsy moments until she opened it.
"His grace, my lady, summons you."
Avariella was stunned.
"Very well," she said, glad that she had not yet changed into her bedclothes.
She followed the servant closely, her mind wondering with possibilities. Oh dear Gods he is not going to call me a whore, is he? Condemn me before everyone?
Avariella's heart was beating rapidly.
Surely he could not possibly think that I harbor some sort of romantic feelings for him, some kind of agenda to become Queen.
But Avariella was not sure, and the anxiety almost killed her.
The room the servant led her to was the same in which she had dressed his wound. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, casting the room in a warmish glow, accompanied by several candles. The king was sitting on a chair behind the large table, various correspondences spread out in front of him.
"Your grace," she said, moving to stand in front of him. She curtsied deeply, made sure to keep her gaze focused to the ground.
"Lady Frey," he greeted. "My apologies for not summoning you sooner, it has been a stressful period."
"Indeed, your grace," she replied. "I can barely begin to imagine."
The King made a small sound which caused her to finally look at him. He looked well rested, if still a little stressed. She wondered briefly if he'd had his stitches removed yet, if he would need them to be removed.
"Somehow," he said lowly. "Somehow I do believe you are one of the few here who does understand stress. Your brother Olyvar is a good friend of mine, I am certain he shall recover quickly."
Avariella nearly despaired at the thought of that not happening.
"I do hope so, your grace." And then, before she could forget: "I am sure the Queen will do the same."
"Thank you, my lady," the King said, nodding his head.
Silence followed for a few uncomfortable moments.
"My lady I summoned you here to thank you, for what you did. I am in your debt."
"I—thank you, your grace. That is not necessary."
"You saved my life, Lady Frey, that is not something I can simply forget."
The King must have known she had no response, for he continued on.
"I also wanted to enquire as to your wellbeing, Lady Frey."
"My wellbeing?"
"Your health, and mental constitution. I was wondering if you felt differently from before, because of—because of what occurred that day."
"I don't know, your grace," she retorted. "I do not believe I have reacted too strangely; I have not killed someone before."
He did not look with her with pity or disapproval; merely concern. She both hated it and was unnerved by it.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Of course you haven't."
Avariella felt her breath catch in her throat, tried not to think of the blood, of the sound of the body falling to the ground.
"It was necessary," the King said, looking her right in the eye. "It was. You saved my life."
Avariella stiffened; she did not want to think of what else she had done to spare some time. She redirected her gaze, stared instead a little to the side of his head. Avariella heard him sigh.
"Necessary thought it may have been, I understand if you feel conflicted."
Avariella could not help but feel relieved. He would not speak of that forced moment of intimacy, of falsehood. It would be forgotten, and for that she was grateful. If he never spoke of it, neither would she – though she had no desire to anyhow.
"I don't know what I feel, your grace," she admitted, before she could quite stop herself.
"That's understandable too," he replied, his tone gentler than before. "I remember when I killed my first man, all that time ago at the Battle of Whispering Wood. It took me a long time to forgive myself."
Forgive yourself? Avariella wanted to ask but did not.
"It was war," he continued. "A just one, but still I felt guilty, until—" It was then he paused, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face so quickly she could not comprehend them. "Until someone told me that if I needed forgiveness, they would grant that to me."
"Pardon me, your grace," Avariella said, scarcely believing that she was having this conversation with him of all people. "But I am not certain that is how forgiveness works."
He smiled ruefully.
"Perhaps," he allowed. "But it did ease the burden."
A heavy silence fell between them.
"Lady Frey," he said. "Lady Avariella. You saved my life. If you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you."
"You saved mine first," she replied, unable to keep the shakiness out of her voice.
A small sound escaped his lips.
"Then I suppose we can forgive each other, can we not?" he asked.
Avariella felt something snap inside her, some cord that caused her to bleed inwardly.
She opened her mouth.
"I. . ." her eyes fluttered rapidly. "I suppose we can," she said finally, unsure if she believed it, but feeling that it had to be said, nonetheless.
She looked at the King then, noticed that he did not look entirely convinced, but somehow knew that he would not press her on the matter either. He was not a cruel man, not demanding and lecherous like her father. Despite Olyvar and Avos, Avariella had never known a man to have such temperament.
"You must be tired," the King said, the flames from the fire casting shadows on his face.
"Yes, your grace," she agreed, suddenly feeling sluggish. "Have a good night, your grace."
"And you," he replied, just when she was at the door. "And you, Lady Frey."
It took Avariella a long time to fall asleep that night. If you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you. Mayhaps she should have been angered for his presumption, but she was not. In fact, the only thing she felt was bewilderment. He had summoned her for a sole purpose: to comfort her.
Avariella felt her stomach clench at that. She wasn't sure what to do with his comfort. It felt unfamiliar and heavy, and yet his words continued to echo in her mind. If you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you.
It didn't make the thought of what happened sicken her any less, but she did feel lighter somehow, calmer. She exhaled loudly. Gods be good, she thought, tugging her furs to cover her shoulders. I must be losing my mind.
Avariella missed Max as though she were missing a limb. Whenever she caught sight of the King's direwolf, her heart would wring so tightly, like it was a towel. It was a quiet Keep, a small stronghold for the villagers and a knight who was travelling down South anyhow. She explored the grounds by herself, walking and daydreaming.
She thought of Olyvar constantly, of Max and Lilly.
Lady Catelyn, Rickon and her daughter had decided to stay where they were, lest they risk somehow catching the infection in their troubles. No one knew how it had started or come to Winterfell, but from the reports she had overheard, the castle was the only place affected. At least there's that, she thought limply. It did little to make her feel better, but at least there was not a national calamity on their hands.
The days trickled by like centuries. It got harder and harder to get out of bed every morning, to go yet another day without news. Roslin and Shirei had not yet responded to her letters, which was to be expected. But her mind lingered on Olyvar, on the brother who she had pushed away so greatly ever since she had come to Winterfell, ever since he had revealed that terrible truth.
It really was strange to her, how quickly every hurt, lie and confrontation between them ceased to matter. There was now only her brother, only her desire to hug him and hold him close and have peace between them once more. Bitterness and regret clung to her like a second skin. She struggled with the constant urge to track down the King or the Blackfish and ask them for news every hour; one night she dreamt that she snuck into the stables and stole a horse, galloping for Winterfell all through the night.
It was a nice thought, but an impossible one. That knowledge did little to soothe her.
They had a small library – truly, it was rather a pathetic spectacle, only a few shelves filled sparingly, but there were comfortable chairs and a fireplace for her to sit by. By that point, she had grown sick at the sight of her room; felt unbearable trapped within its stone walls.
She could not get her mind to focus on the book at hand, and instead stared at the small fire. She would have to stoke it in a moment or so, lest it die.
"My lady?"
Avariella turned her head to the doorway where the Blackfish stood.
"My lord," she said, putting her book on the nearby table. "Is all well?"
"It is indeed; the King requires your services."
Avariella almost blanched.
"I see," she commented, trying to hide her unease. "I shall not keep his grace waiting."
He nodded curtly, waited for her to join him before walking in the direction of the King's study.
The Blackfish did not leave the room when he led her in. Instead, he stood nearby the King's desk, hovering in the background.
"Your grace," she said, curtsying.
Greywind was lounging by the fireplace, stretching pleasurably. He took up such a sizeable amount of the room it was almost comical.
"Lady Frey," the King said, almost as if her were surprised by her presence.
"It was said that you have need of me."
"Ah, yes, indeed. If you could just check the wound you dressed and stitched, I would be grateful."
"Of course, your grace," she said instantly.
She watched as he settled himself on the couch. It took her a moment before she followed. The equipment was already set up for her, thankfully. By the Gods, she thought, staring at him. This felt strangely intimate in a way it did not before; before, she could pretend he was not there since he was unconscious, that he was somebody else. Now, she could see the depth of his blue eyes that were returning her gaze. It made her shiver.
She cleared her throat suddenly, stepped forward to study the wound. It had healed nicely. Avariella was glad that at least she did not have to worry about having scarred the King in the North, the Young Wolf.
"It has healed well, your grace," she said. "At least, to my eyes."
Her eyes caught on the Blackfish's figure. She was grateful that he was there, suddenly, that there was a witness who could dispute any rumors of impropriety or intimacy.
"Do the stitches need to be removed?"
"Perhaps, your grace, though I am no physician or healer—"
She was interrupted by the door swinging open.
"Your grace," Lord Bolton said, stalking into the room. "Forgive me for the intrusion, but we have word from Winterfell."
Avariella had already stepped back before he had fully entered the room. Now, her entire body had stiffened with anticipation, dread and hope. The King stood up and walked towards Lord Bolton, took the letter from his hand.
Please don't make me leave, she willed him. Please don't.
The King did not spare her a glance before he ripped open the envelope, tossing the ripped pieces of paper absent mindedly into the fire. Avariella barely noticed; was too enraptured by the paper in his hands.
Olyvar Olyvar Olyvar—
"We can go home," the King said, to no one in particular. "The illness has abided; no new cases have been recorded, with very little dead, who have already been buried."
"How is the Queen?" asked the Blackfish.
"She is well," the King replied, relief evident in his voice. Avariella thought his hands were shaking. "Resting, but the illness seems to have gone."
"That is good to hear," Lord Bolton murmured, with the Blackfish quickly echoing a similar sentiment.
Avariella felt a vague feeling of relief, but it was mostly blocked out by—
"My brother, your grace," she said, unable to hide the desperation in her voice. "Is my brother well?"
The King turned to look at her and walked over slowly.
"Here you are," he said, extending the letter out to her.
Avariella took it gingerly. Please do not be dead, she thought, begged, prayed. Please.
Her eyes scanned over the letter – all the words blurred together, meaningless and unnecessary—Olyvar Olyvar Olyvar—
You may also see fit to tell the Lady Avariella that her brother, Olyvar Frey, has made a full and complete recovery—
"Oh dear Gods," she gasped, sinking down onto the couch. Her entire body shook with relief. "Oh thank the seven—thank the Old Gods and the New."
She covered her face with her hands, tried to contain some of her emotion, but it was impossible. It was like an uncontrollable river that had suddenly burst free.
"There were only three dead, according to the Maester," the King told all of them. "We were all very lucky indeed."
Avariella did not hear the others reply. Her senses were too overwhelmed. Olyvar, she thought. I will see you again.
When she looked up, the King was already staring at her. He was perhaps the only one in the room who shared her relief, who was at risk at losing someone he loved. He was not merely the man whom she had loathed for months, then tolerated. He was someone who understood her. Who shared in her joy, in her relief.
"Come," he said, looking at the Blackfish. "Let us go home."
They scrambled to prepare for their departure. Avariella did not care for packing or forgetting anything; she merely wanted to leave the wretched place and return to Winterfell, which they soon did.
Avariella was a tad wary as they travelled back; they used guards from the keep to increase their party due to the previous attack.
When Avariella caught sight of Winterfell's high walls, she nearly made her horse burst out into a sprint. Luckily, the King – or someone at the very front of the party—had increased their speed. Soon, they were walking within the walls of Winterfell, with numerous people filling the courtyard and the road. Avariella was glad to see that they were well, that so few had died, but Olyvar was her priority. If she saw him in the flesh, she could then believe it was true.
When she managed to get off her horse, she noticed the King conversing the Maester. The Queen was nowhere to be seen, probably still at bedrest, but recovering, healthy. He would go see her then.
Avariella looked through the crowd, through that endless sea of faces-
"Olyvar," she cried, stalking towards him.
She slammed into him so forcefully the air was knocked out of her lungs. She hugged him to her tightly.
"You're alright," she whispered, tears piercing her eyes. "By the seven, you're alright."
It took him a moment to respond, but soon enough he was wrapping his arms his around her so tightly she could scarcely breathe.
"Hello Ava," he murmured.
"I thought you might have died," she said, choking on a sob. "Olyvar, I thought I would lose you too."
"I'm alright," he told her. "I'm right here, Ava. I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Olyvar, for everything—"
"As am I, sister," he told her, caressing the back of her head. "As am I. It is all alright now; truly, it is."
She forced herself to pull away after a few moments. She drank in the sight of him hungrily, scarcely able to believe that her brother was here, that he was alright, that she had not lost him like she had Avos.
Olyvar lifted his hands to her face, gently swiped at her tears.
"Don't cry, dear sister," he told her.
"I'm happy," she said. "I'm so relieved—I feel like my heart is about to jump out of my throat it is beating so quickly."
"That would be a sight," he commented dryly.
Avariella could not help but cackle, and suddenly he was laughing too. She was startled by the sound of barking, had barely turned before Max was at her heels, standing back on his feet as his front paws landed on her chest. He was barking excitedly.
"Hello, my boy," she said, bending down to kiss his head and pet him. "I missed you so much."
Olyvar was petting Max too, and Avariella looked ahead to see Lilly standing off at a distance with her mother and Old Rosa, smiling and waving. They must have held her back to give Olyvar and I a moment, she thought. She smiled back at them, lifted her hand to wave.
"What's this I hear that you were attacked on the way to your safe haven?" Olyvar asked, a smile still graced his lips, though he appeared mildly concerned.
Avariella could not help but laugh.
"I will tell you all about it," she said, still feeling as though she were floating.
Avariella was so overexcited her gaze kept moving from Olyvar to all around them. To the guards reunited with their own families, those who had simply come to watch their King return home.
Where was the King? She wondered briefly. She looked at where she had last saw him and was startled to find him observing her and Olyvar. She squinted, unsure if she was seeing correctly, before he looked away.