SEX!
Now that I have your attention ;) please take note that the previous chapters have been edited and lengthened.
"From this time until the end of time, we are a free and independent kingdom."
―Robb Stark
Chapter 7. Sins of the Father.
Marylean
Hatred stemmed from a feud older than her few years and bloomed deep within her heart as the previous night's events raced to the forefront of her mind.
Hatred for her situation, the Lannisters, Baratheons, Darion. And perhaps the most unexplainable of all, hatred for a dead woman. Lyanna Stark had started all of this. Started a war because of her innate desire to become queen. Daena had told her the stories and when she had visited Dorne, the tales had been confirmed.
Now, she had been taken captive by said bitch's nephew, one who had named himself King. It made her fume. How dare he, the son of a lord, declare himself above her? Granted, she had worked as a maid before, but then it was expected to be deemed an invisible commoner, wished even. The gall that Northman had at declaring himself King while he knew full well that Westeros belonged to her made her seethe.
All Stark's must be like that, power hungry she decided. Even his father had the innate need to exercise his authority over them. Eddard Stark had, from the beginning, condemned her to a life lived in fear: on the run. He could've taken her in, had done with his bastard as well as the barbaric Crab that had tied her up, but no. Instead he had left them to fend for themselves, to forge allies in a place where thieves ruled.
Daena had tried to speak well of him, bless her heart, but Marylean could see through the glass eyed look that always accompanied her guardians eyes when she told tales of the late Stark. His hands were drenched in red and, Marylean decided, his son would pay for his sins just as she had to pay for her father's mistakes.
Forgoing the dangerously reckless path her thoughts had dwindled upon, Marylean released a huff of breath and noticed, transfixed, how smoke seemed to escape her mouth. The morning air was bitingly cold she realized, as she sat in Lady Starks tent, still in only her night dress. Shivering she burrowed more under the lonesome fur she had been given to protect her from the Riverland's wrath.
The tent in itself was relatively vast in size and had been more personalized than the Northman's. A warm bed was sat at the right hand side, covered in warm furs, stacked trunks at the foot of it. A table stood next to said bed with a few belongings; needle and thread, books and other essentials that usually accompanied the fairer sex.
Dresses were neatly laid over the back of a chair, both the colour of death, and were lit up with nearly burnt out flames that had never been blown out the night before.
The owner of the surprisingly homely quarters was nowhere to be seen. When Marylean had woken up that morning from her makeshift bed on the left hand side, it was to be greeted with naught but a pounding in her head and an ache in her wrists. Gingerly she unwrapped the bandages that covered her wounds and winced when she saw it. The flesh was an angry red colour with deep blue and purple bruises already forming. It could be worse though, she decided, and gave a sigh of relief.
After she had been brought here, it was to find that Lady Stark had already made the sleeping arrangements. Catelyn had regaled her with whimsical stories of the royal children, before they had both succumbed to the alluring call of sleep.
A sudden gust of cold air swept in, accompanied with an aroma that made Marylean's stomach grumble and for the first time she realized how hungry she was. Unconsciously she wet her lips and watched the tray laden with breads and what looked like dried meat with a hawk's eye. She did not even see the servant that brought it in but, luckily, she managed to steel herself at primal desire to devour the food brought in.
"I have arranged for us to break our fast here. I can't believe I forgot to have food brought to you last night, with the meeting and everything. It had completely slipped my mind," Lady Stark apologized as she gestured for Marylean to join her at the table where food was laid out.
Suddenly she found herself at a fork in the road; stay in the warm sanctity under her fur or leave it and eat. Her hunger won out in the end and reluctantly, she stood and rubbed her arms with her palms, trying and failing to warm herself a little.
When she sat down at the table and looked at the feast that was to be their meal, all thoughts of the cold fled as her mouth began to water. Dried meat, breads and spreads were neatly laid out in two separate plates with a bowl of fruit in the middle. Two cups also stood off to the side, a pitcher with it. Fit for a royal indeed.
Before she could dig in and fill the hole in her stomach, a sudden realization dawned. What if it was poisoned? She had after all told Lady Stark that she would do anything to survive and Lady Stark had declared vehemently that she would do anything to ensure the Northman's survival as well. They were tempting her, dangling food in front of her nose, a cruel way of torture indeed.
"Eat up, child. Do not be frightened. It may not be the cooks in Winterfell but I can assure you that the ones in the camp are adequate enough," Lady Stark said. She noticed that, even while speaking, Catelyn Stark had made no move to help herself and instead opted to regard her with a curious expression.
Glancing at the tray again, Marylean decided that the safest bet would be to go for the fruit. The chances of poison would not be as great and at least she'll have the opportunity to taste if something were off. She reached out to the apple, big and red as it laid on top, and carefully took a small bite, keeping her eye on Lady Stark. It tasted like heaven and she silently moaned as the juices flowed freely. If it were her last meal, she'd die happily Marylean decided, as she took the apple in both hands and tried to control the sounds that escaped her mouth as she began to ate.
"I spoke to my son this morning, and try as I might, that boy is too stubborn for his own good," Catelyn said as she too began to place food on her plate, a silent go ahead to eat. "I'm afraid that for the time being, you cannot leave the tent. I can have them arrange to bring books for you. Do you have any preferences?"
How peculiar, Marylean thought as she held out her cup to be filled with milk, a luxury she was sure, that this woman can be so flippant to what her son was: a power stealing fool. A strange thing indeed, a mother's love, if she were to condone her son's action.
"Anything would be fine, Lady Stark," she answered, not letting her voice reveal anything she thought of the woman. Trusting to food not to be poisoned now, she began to pile some of the dried meats on her plate.
"We'll have to do something about your clothes as well. And a cloak. I'm sure that you are not as accustomed to the cold as we are." Marylean nodded, only listening with half an ear as she sated her hunger and thirst.
"Well then, I'll leave you be," Lady Stark began as she stood, her food barely touched. "The day ahead is busy. I'll have servants bring you another bath as well as some clean clothes. A guard is to be posted outside, please do not do something irresponsible. I'll see you tonight."
"Lady Stark-" Catelyn stopped as she turned around from where she stood in front of the flaps "I- I. Thank you, Lady Stark. For everything."
A small smile graced the woman in mourning's features, yet did not reach her eyes. "You are welcome, Princess."
...
Three days. It took Marylean three days of being confined in a tent, stewing in anger, before it felt like she had lost her mind. Her original plan of reuniting with long lost family had been altered, but she was nothing if not adaptable. Time spent wisely could come in handy, especially when used to rustle the wolf's fur.
Marylean woke alone once again this morn. During the days, Lady Catelyn usually disappeared, probably to see that her son didn't throw a temper tantrum, and left Marylean alone. A few books had been brought in, mostly history, and she had already finished the one detailing all the great houses of Westeros.
However Marylean found that she became frustrated, being restricted. True to Lady Stark's words, servants had brought her clean, warmer clothes that fit better, servants clothes that had no doubt been borrowed, in dark colours. Another bed had also been brought in accompanied by more furs to chase away the cold.
A small commotion was heard outside: clanging of pots and pans, followed by a few squeals and then harsh grunts and skin slapping against skin. More bored than curious, she ventured outside for the first time since being brought here, moving with the shadows, past the sleeping guard to where the Crab was rutting against a maid.
Pity welled inside her for the girl that was being taken like a bitch; probably intent on staying in a possible Lord's good graces. Marylean scoffed at that and found herself thankful that she at least had the intellect and intuition to not need a man- or anyone else to give her a title.
Sighing, she turned away, intent on returning to her safe haven once more, when she accidentally tripped over a branch and fell face down into the dirt. The rutting stopped and she heard the rustling of clothes followed by footsteps approaching.
Intent on at least maintaining some dignity, Marylean stood up and brushed the fallen leaves and dirt off of her dress.
"Ah, if it isn't the little snake. You know, if you wanted me, all you had to do was ask, princess." When the sandy haired barbarian opened his mouth, Marylean was immediately irritated. Must be his gift.
"Over my dead body," she retorted icily as she began walking back to the tent. The sooner she reached her sanctuary, the better, Marylean thought as she hurried her steps along. She didn't get far before arms pulled her in close to a chest, rendering all escape futile.
"And what a nice body it is," he spoke next to her ear, as he began to skim his hands up and down her sides.
"Go fuck yourself Crab," she retorted through clenched teeth as a shiver passed through her. Marylean felt disgusted as unwanted memories of her time in the Red Keep flashed before her eyes.
"Is that an offer?" His hands had never once relented in his exploration and were presently groping her breast. No, she decided. She refused to be another victim to the lust of a man.
"Touch me and I'll scream, let's see how your King deals with you then." She managed to say, glad that her voice at least sounded calm, for inside panic had taken root. He wouldn't stop again she knew, there were no more younger boys present or an older man that had heeded her command the last time.
At the mention of his friend, he stopped and turned her around. His face was pulled into a scowl as he regarded Marylean before an evil grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Chuckling he began to pull her along with him towards the big tent close to where she resided.
When they entered the tent flaps, it was to find the young Crown Thief bent over the large table. So Greyjoy had decided to make himself seem like a noble meek lamb it seemed, not if she had her way.
"Your friend here want-" she began, prompting Robb to look up for the first time.
"Silence, I come first."
"Most men usually do" Marylean replied saucily, her eyebrow arched. Men made it to easy to get them. One mention of their lackluster manhood and they were instantly riled up. Judging by the redness in his neck and ears, Theon Greyjoy was fuming.
"Enough." It was Robb who had spoken as he regarded them with a tired expression.
"I found this one wandering about, causing trouble in camp." Theon gestured as he pushed Marylean in front of him; a present for the Wolf.
A long silence passed before Robb bade the Crab to leave. Marylean's hands became shaky when they were alone and, in a bid to hide them, she folded her arms across her chest. The last time they had been left to themselves, it had not gone as planned.
"Explain yourself." She gave a soft sigh of relief when it seemed as if Robb Stark was calm and, after taking a deep breath she replied in an even voice, void of all emotion.
"I only wanted some fresh air, the tent became suffocating. The guard was sleeping and your mother was not there." He nodded at her reply as he walked and came to a stop in front of her. She had to crane her neck backwards at their height difference, but was determined to keep eye contact.
Robb watched her then, for a long moment just as she watched him, both measuring the other up, until the opening of the tent flaps broke the spell they were under.
"Marylean, there you are. I was wondering where you had gone!" Lady Stark exclaimed slightly breathless.
"Do not let it happen again," Robb replied through clenched teeth as he turned back to his table.
It would seem then, Marylean realized as she followed Catelyn Stark, that if she were to ever escape allies were needed. She knew now that the horses were at the back of the camp.
Robb
The camp was bustling with activity as a few soldiers, stewards, lords and maids alike prepared for the trek that would take them into the claws of the lions. Tents were being taken down and wagons loaded in the early morning light, leaving the land barren of man's destruction once more.
A few leagues further South, passed the blue fork moving towards the trident, hardened warriors could be found, battling against mud and foliage that slowed their journey down. The more esteemed warriors and lords rode at the front on their steeds with the foot soldiers following. At the back the already loaded wagons containing sleeping tents and bedding could be found as well as the carriages in which prisoners rode, watched over by a few guards.
In the midsts of the travelers the young King could be found, on his feet leading his horse, as he braved the mud alongside his men. Sweat glistened on his brow as they continued their trek through the dense forest of the Riverlands and he glanced back at his men, noting their weary faces even though the sun had still not reached its fullest height in the sky. The Northerners had started their journey early in the morn, guided by the light of the moon and stars. It was safer that way, the King had said and easier to go unnoticed in the dark. But the heavy rains that had fallen the previous few days made the forest a nightmare to travel in and a wagon had already gotten stuck earlier, which slowed them down considerably.
Robb gave a heavy sigh as he tugged at his alabaster horse's reigns in order to prompt the animal to move further. The men were agitated, just as he was too, which in turn made the animals skittish. He had noticed that a few lords followed his lead in dismounting. Thankfully the women were not traveling with them as well as the larger carriages. He had already sent a message to inform them that they should hold off on traveling for a few more days. Robb and his men would manage without food supplies somehow. There were towns all around and a few more hunting parties could be dispatched. In the prosperous, fertile country of the Riverland's there was game aplenty, one just had to look.
The Young Wolf would take small victories in the times were the Fates seemed to conspire against them, and he did. He was glad that his mother was not amongst them, nor back at their previous camp. It was decided a week after he had been named King, the day before last, that she would journey to King Renly's camp in order to seek his alliance. It would be for the best that way; he would help Renly in his quest to sit on the blasted Iron Throne as long as the North remained a free and independent Kingdom.
"The storm clouds are gathering, your Grace. I've sent men ahead to scour the lands for a place to set up camp, but the nearest clearing is still leagues off. The Blackfish himself said that it looks like the storm will be upon us sooner rather than later," a gravelly voice spoke.
Robb looked to his left at the stoic lord that had addressed him. The man had a receding hairline. A few gray hairs could be spotted in his stubble, as a few wrinkles lined his face. The wrinkles were not caused by his advanced age, rather served as reminders to the wars he had seen. His stature was still strong and proud as most Northeners' were and he carried himself with a sense of power.
Roose Bolton was, all in all, still as sharp and strong as he had been in his prime,a worthy ally. But for all his virtues, Robb still felt himself to be a bit hesitant around the Lord of the Dreadfort, and not just because his father and grandfather had to suppress uprisings in the past. There was a glint in Roose Bolton's eyes that made Robb feel an unexplainable uneasiness some days.
A rumble was heard in the distance, emphasizing the statement Roose Bolton had made. Robb looked up overhead at the sky, through the leaves and branches of the trees, and notices that clouds had started to gather. It would not be long now until the sky was covered in a grey, dreary blanket that would deliver a downpour.
"Aye, I can see that," Robb said as he ran a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat off his brow. "We need to seek shelter and fast. Any towns nearby that can hold an army?"
"The Blackfish mentioned Fairmarket. Said it was big enough. We'd have to travel a few leagues up north again and then east. Stone Hedge is still too far off and by the time we get to the Red Fork, it will be flooded."
Robb nodded as he contemplated his options; push the men and maybe make it pass the Red Fork, or turn around? He looked back at his men, seeing them muddied, weary and no doubt hungry.
"Aye, we'll go to Fairmarket. Give the order to the Greatjon at the back. We'll turn around at once. Gods be willing that we make it to town before the rains start," Robb spoke, not at all happy about the delay. The more time they spent here, the greater the chances that something would happen to his sisters.
"Aye, your Grace," Roose said as he moved towards the back. With a final sigh of agitation, he pushed through to give the order up front. He was not happy at all, but at least he was not Lord Umber. The man had been tasked with traveling with Marylean Targaryen, the only woman presently at camp, and he did not have the patience with having to hear her complain all the way up North, especially since they had just passed the worst of the muddied path.
...
The heavens had opened upon them just as Fairmarket came into view. Although vast in size there were not enough accommodations to house all the soldiers. Thankfully, as the wagons were in front when they trekked northeast, a couple of tents had already been erected. The town's people had opened their homes for the freedom fighters. A small envoy had been sent ahead to alert the town's people and, when they arrived nearing mid afternoon, food that could be spared had been prepared.
Robb himself along with his council and a certain prisoner, were housed in Fairer's Inn. The owner, a podgy elderly man and his daughter -a gap toothed girl around Bran's age- had immediately insisted that they should stay upon declaring that it was the finest quarter's in town. Never having stayed in a Inn Robb had nothing to compare it to. Most of his journey he had stayed in camp in a tent with his men, nevertheless he believed the man.
Frairer's Inn was situated in the town's main square and was surrounded by many business establishments as well as the farmer's market. Two stories high, the stone building with the pointed roof was neat. Inside on the left a waiting room was situated next to the Innkeeper's booking room. The door on the right hand side led to a parlor, complete with a bar and tables where people could enjoy a meal. It was from there that a staircase could be found, leading to the rooms at the top as well as a hall which lead to the rooms at the bottom.
The quarter's given to Robb was about the size of his tent, he decided as he discarded his now soaked cloak. A large plush, soft bed with a few to many pillowcases stood against the wall on the left and beckoned him. In truth Robb wanted nothing more than to fall down into sleep's waiting arms, yet he knew he could not: decisions still needed to be made about where to go from here. He felt -as he placed his sword belt on the small table stood between two chairs opposite the bed close to the hearth- that, since his ascend to King his days seemed to revolve more around talking rather than doing. And Robb, just as his father and the rest of his kin, save for his mother and delicate elder sister, were people of action rather than flowery words.
Sighing he walked over to the water basin next to the bed and began to wash his face. The most tedious and dreaded task of all, was the request his mother had given. A request that he did not want to grant, but when Catelyn Stark had looked at him with pleading eyes, he could not refuse and had immediately given in. Yet, now as he stood there, he wished his resolve had been stronger. To make sure that the woman who had, in retrospect slammed the nail in his father's coffin was well settled in, had Robb bristling, but he knew his anger was to be kept hidden.
Later, Robb decided as maids brought in a bath. First he wanted to wash himself clean and, maybe, the anger with it.
...
The scent of spicy meat, breads and ale wafted up the stairs and carried with it the sound of music, chatter and laughter of men. Robb felt marginally better after he had taken a long bath, something that was unheard of. He did not see it as a luxury more so than something that was practical, as all things in his life. Luxuries were never needed where he had been raised and he was once again dumbstruck by all the little nonsensical decorations further south.
But once he had sunken into the warm water, it was as if a spell had been cast and Robb's eyes closed of their own accord. He had dreamed again, the same dream that had plagued him since he started his march South; a woman clothed in white, begging to be set free. Usually she disappeared when crimson rivulets gushed from her flesh, but tonight he had to watch on in horror as he impaled her on his sword. Robb shook his head erasing the grotesque image and began to towel off. The words set me free still ever present.
Now, dressed in the clothes he had arrived in, still a bit damp from the downpour, Robb descended the polished wooden stairs to where it seemed a feast was held. True to his suspicions, when the darkness of the staircase gave way to light and the sounds of the merriment increased in volume, Robb was met with a sight he had last seen in Winterfell, when the late King had come to whisk his father away.
Big wooden tables where arranged to form a hoof in front of the counter area from where ale flowed freely. Candles where lit all around the room, fire burning brightly and illuminating the occupants in a light orange tinge, as if the sun had just risen. Chairs stood haphazardly around the area, some occupied, others not. On the table, the cause for his hunger was laid out: roasted meat, bread, vegetables and cups that never dried up.
The Lords sat and spoke merrily amongst one another, laughing as the stress and worries of battle dissipated and gave way to joy. Joy that they now march for the freedom of their land and safety of their families. Robb felt his spirit lifting a bit as hope burned as bright as the sun. Hope that, when the war was done and freedom theirs, that the North could be met with such merriment more often.
"Oi, men. Let us make way and raise our cups for our King!" a boisterous voice called out. A flicker of amusement passed Robb's face as he watched the Greatjon sway unsteadily on his feet. Looking around Robb noticed that most of the men were high into their cups as they rose on wobbly legs and cried out, "King in the North!"
The chorus gave way to chatter once again as Robb made his way to an open seat at the table that formed the middle of the Hoof, flanked by the Greatjon and lord Manderly.
"Forgive us your Grace," the Greatjon said as Robb sat down and began to load his plate with meat. "When the Innkeeper said a feast was readied...your Grace can't deny a starving man food," Greatjon continued, words a bit slurred and thoughts a jumbled mess.
"Aye, my Lord. Apology accepted," Robb said as he took his first bite. The frown on Greatjon's face disappeared then as he filled his King's cup with ale and turned back to his discussion with Lord Karstark on his other side.
Robb had not realized how hungry he was until he took his first bite and, just like in battle when his sword tasted blood, a frenzy started. He ate quickly something his mother would've no doubt scolded him about, but she was not here. There was no woman present, and with them all rules of propriety had gone. The lack of female company would also explain the missing presence of his friend, he decided as he scanned the crowd for Theon. Just as well, he reasoned as he took a swig of the dark bitter pleasant poison that filled his cup. Robb did not think he could sit through another discussion of how the maids were beginning to bore the womanizing Greyjoy.
"The letter to our remaining troops in the whispering wood has been sent as per your request, my King, as well as one informing Lady Catelyn that the weather is not working in our favor," a deep voice spoke next to Robb. He looked to his side to find Roose Bolton had taken a seat where Lord Manderly once was.
"Thank you, Lord Bolton," Robb began as he sat a bit straighter in his chair. Roose did not look to be participating in heavy drinking this night. "A meeting will be called in the morrow. Once this storm has passed we have to continue on south as soon as possible," Robb continued when it seemed as if Lord Bolton had no intention of leaving without at least something.
"Aye, Your Grace, I agree. We should plan carefully what our next move will be, before the Lannister's travel further North," Roose said as he poured himself a cup of ale. "If I may be so bold to say your Grace, the Targaryen in our presence has caused quite the stir amongst the men. Some of the lower foot soldiers believe her to be a witch, saying she is cursed."
"Aye, I've heard it all. Princess of Prophecies, Princess of Death. We all know it's nothing but old wives tales," Robb said carefully as he regarded Roose Bolton with a stern expression. These talks were tiring him and he already had a large enough burden on his shoulders. Robb did not want to have to contend with Lords and soldiers whose imaginations had taken a ride on the queer side.
"I fear my King, that if she were to stay longer in camp, that some men might become a bit skittish and could even abandon our march for freedom."
"What are you saying, Lord Bolton?"
"Give her to the Lannisters, my King. I've heard rumours that they might have use of her."
Robb blanched at the statement the Lord of the Dreadfort had just made. Yes, he might not have held much care for the girl, but giving her to the Lannisters would be a cruel fate indeed. Everyone knew what had happened the night the Targaryen's had fallen. Babies where crushed and her mother was brutally raped, then killed. No, Robb decided vehemently. Delivering Marylean to them was not a thought he cared to entertain.
"Your council has been appreciated Lord Bolton," he said as he rose to his full height. Suddenly what could've been a pleasant night had quickly taken a turn for the worse. "But the only exchange the Lannisters will receive is when they pay their debt in blood. Once my sister is safe they'll know how the North raised her children. I bid you goodnight, my Lord."
The sound of the feast died down considerably as Robb ascended the stairs to his room. Lord Bolton's request had once again reminded him of the burden that came with being King. So many lives hung in the balance and could be ended at the nod of his head. He didn't want that power and he had no idea how diminish the fears that his men's imaginations held.
So lost in thought was he that he did not realize he had walked straight past his quarters, down the hall, past the guard that walked vigilant as he protected the Northern lords' belongings, until he came to a stop in front of the door at the far end. A dim light shone through the opening as the door stood slightly ajar. He did not know why he came here, maybe he subconsciously craved the answer to questions that had arisen since his late father had sent a letter, that letter.
Movement from within caught his eye and he softly pushed the door a bit more wider open so as not to startle the woman inside.
Said woman was once again dressed in white, the garment she had worn when he had been named King by the looks of it. Marylean was sitting in front of the hearth, furiously trying and failing to make a fire it seemed. Pity welled inside as he realized that he could've been more attentive to her needs like his mother had asked.
How many nights had she gone to bed cold? Had she even eaten tonight? Had her possessions been returned? Did she have warmer clothes?
Deciding to bury the hatchet for the night, Robb walked through the door until he came to a stop where she was knelt.
"Need help?" Robb asked softly, hesitantly, afraid of corrupting the tranquility that seemed to be her companion in the absence of other people. No, him, Robb decided. She seemed to have been fine in the presence of his mother from what he could tell.
At once, she snapped her head up in his direction and he was taken aback by the fire that burned within her brown orbs.. The tranquil atmosphere had made way for an eerie coldness by now and for some unexplainable reason Robb felt as if he was still but a boy, trying to prepare for taking over as his father's heir. But, as she gazed at him in denial and hate, he realized that he was not that boy anymore, but a young man, who was raised with manners and -even though he would like nothing more than to throttle the woman who send his father to his death- that he did not want to leave just yet and be haunted by his thoughts.
With that in mind Robb knelt next to his fuming captive and took the rocks she tried to light a fire with as she spoke."I'd rather freeze to death than to-" she sighed, cut off in her protest as Robb resumed her previously failed task.
"The sticks aren't dry enough, you'll never get a fire started," he explained softly when he had replaced her pile with thicker, dryer wood and a bit of grass that was provided to catch the flames.
"Oh, Like you have ever build one," Marylean bit back while raising to her feet. Robb paid no mind to her tone of voice as he was assaulted by a memory from his childhood.
He had been six name days old at that time and on behest of his mother, was not allowed outside. None of the children were as a snow storm beat viciously against the walls of Winterfell. Bored and agitated, he and Jon had taken to helping Eddard Stark in his study with his with some duties, when suddenly, his father rose to his full height and declared that what he really needed to help him was a fire burning in the hearth as the castle was too cold. Eddard had walked his two little helpers to the fireplace where he had watched with amusement how they had soaked up all the information. They had taken their task to heart and had proceeded to light every possible hearth in the castle, until his mother had no other choice but to let them play outside.
"Aye, I have. Learned as a lad," Robb replied as the vivid memory ended in all it's bittersweet glory. The grass caught a spark and with a final blow of motivation towards the heart, the fire breathed life into the room.
For the first time since her and Theon's quarrel in the tent, Robb saw her close up. Still knelt on the floor next to him, he could make out that her bruises had completely faded, restoring her face to its flawless beauty. Her hair was sat ablaze by the flames and was interwoven into a thick golden braid that hung down to the small of her back.
Her skin, a golden brown shade, appeared darker against the white nightgown she wore and a sudden wave of sympathy crashed over Robb as he realized that this woman, young and beautiful, had also lost the only one that had raised her.
"So that's why you've come here, to bore me to death whilst regaling your childhood and all the suffering you had to go through. Imagine that, a lord's son having to fend for himself, it's simply horrifying!" Her biting tone suddenly shattered the vibrant memory of Eddard Stark and with it the sympathy he held.
Yes, she might have endured and suffered a lot, but at the heart of it, she was still a Southern woman, a royal none the less, who had no business behaving as she was now; like a spoiled, haughty little girl with a foolish mouth.
"A king's grown daughter, behaving as a child. Expected," Robb retorted as he rose to his height and took a threatening step forward. A sick sense of pride swelled within him when he noticed that she had taken several steps back, her arms folded in front of her and emphasized her breasts. Her gaze branded him with hate as they stared each other down, enemy against enemy across a battlefield of hate, frustration and opposing views of right and wrong.
Robb swallowed a lump in his throat as yet another memory assaulted him, this one of her, tied in his tent while Theon had taunted her. "Spitfire this one, would be one hell of a ride if you want her.". His friend had said and painted the picture that Robb was nothing short of a barbarian. That memory coupled with the fact that Robb had the power to demand such a thing should he wish, had him releasing the anger that gripped his bones within and leaning into the mahogany wall next to the fire that still burned idly in the hearth.
"I came to see if you are in need of anything," he finally confessed lowly, voice void of all emotion except defeat.
"No." The reply came abruptly and Robb scoffed on the inside at the manner in which she tried to dismiss him. He knew her reply was not true for even from a distance he could see the hairs on her arms stood on alert.
"Then why do I see goosebumps on your arms?" He asked, voice still low, calm and controlled. He had already had requests from two people to take care of the girl, and even though he may be a king, he would listen to them.
"Because you are here," Her reply came slower this time and its delivery was like a punch in the gut to Robb. What had happened? What had this war turned him into? A man that women feared? Is that the look his sisters gave to their captors each day? Is that the look that Sansa and Arya were prone to wearing nowadays?
"Do I make you nervous?" Robb asked as he clung blindly to the hope that she might be intimidated by him..
"You make me scared," Marylean admitted in a small but steady voice.
"I won't touch you," Robb said quickly, willing her to believe him. Ashamed Robb still lingered on the memory a while longer, before banishing it completely. No, he won't touch her nor any other woman without their permission.
"You may not, but you have a whole army full of men. Just one word from you-," Marylean protested vehemently, her voice rising the further she went.
"I'm a Stark, we have honour and show respect even to our enemies. Do you really believe me to bow so low as to give a woman on behest of bloodthirsty Lords?" Robb asked aghast. He wanted to grip her arms and shake her into believing him, but the silent promise he made earlier prevented any such action.
"Your name means nothing to me, nor does your honour, King Robb. You may not deliver me to those that cry for my blood, yet you still hold me captive when all I meant to do was make my way North." The truth of her statement didn't go unnoticed. Yes, from an outsider's perspective Robb did appear to be a villain, yet they did not understand his motives. She had condemned his father to death and he needed someone to bargain with should the exiled Targaryens rise once more, not to mention the last letter his father had sent...
"Why?" Robb finally asked as he refused to dwell on thoughts of his father for the rest of the night.
"Oh so all that time in the tent with your mother, King Robb, and you did not speak of the Targaryen. What in the seven hells did you do then?" Marylean asked mockingly, eyebrow raised. The implication was clear as day and although Robb wanted her to feel as low and common as she seemed to want him to feel, he refused to be reduced to such petty childishness.
"Answer the question," Robb demanded.
"I have family at the wall," Marylean replied after a few seconds of hesitation.
"Why not Dorne?" Robb asked, even though his mother had told him the gist of why she seemed to trek North.
"It would be the most obvious place for the Usurpers to look for me and after what happened at Rosby... There is evil in the world but they, men, are at the root of it and when they find me... They won't stop until...a word of wisdom, pray to your trees, the seven, the lord of light, anything that your sister's won't be harmed," as she spoke, her voice rose higher and higher and seemed to lose its smoky quality; replaced by hysterics of a person who has seen to much.
Once again Robb saw the victim his father must have seen and for the first time understood why Eddard Stark had stayed. No, Robb could not fathom what she must have been through, but he knew fear when he saw it, had felt it at the start of this war and every time he rode into battle, but the fear that had diminished the fire in her eyes spoke of tales that Robb did not wish to know, yet yearned to release her from.
"What happened to you, Princess?" he asked softly, cautious so as not to be another reason for the terrified expression on her face as she no doubt relived a horrific memory, trapped in the labyrinth of her mind's eye.
"Very bad things, your Grace," Marylean answered after a long stretch of silence had surpassed wherein only the crackling of the fire dared to make a sound.
"Nothing will happen to you here, no man will do any harm to you," Robb promised vehemently and swore a solemn oath to himself that from now on, no matter how irritating or angry she made him that he will bide by said promise.
"Do not make promises that you can't keep, Northman." The small smile and defeated look were enough to let Robb know that she didn't call him Northman to rile him up inasmuch as to break the air, stifled with tension, into a lighter atmosphere.
"Do you need anything?" Robb asked, changing topics.
"A few extra furs would be lovely," Marylean said, grateful for the lighter subject.
"Aye, it is done. Do you have a cloak?"
"No, the red one I came with was ruined."
"Then how did you expect to march north, in the snow? You wouldn't make it past the twins before frostbite set in and in the dress you came with none the less!" Robb asked aghast. Surely this woman was mad if she thought to make it through the biting cold North in nothing but the scraps of material she wore, tied up in his tent.
"I did not have you pegged as a man with a fascination for women's clothing, Northman," she smirked as the ghosts of her past seemed to have entirely fled, replaced with a woman who reeked of confidence and haughty mannerisms.
"Tomorrow, we'll walk around town, purchase a few things for you," he told her instead, paying no heed to the little jabs she seemed to be making at him.
"I suspect that there is more to your visit than this... whatever this is," she said, stifling a yawn at the end of the sentence. Not wanting to overstay his welcome or somehow break the fragile understanding they seemed to share at the moment, Robb opted to bid her goodnight. The other matters of discussion could be left for another time, a factor that he had an abundance of since he now had no intention of letting her go. Not when he finally understood what his father meant in the letter, saw what his father saw.
"Aye, but we'll leave it for another time, goodnight Princess," the young King said as he turned and made way for his own quarters.
"There is one more request I have, your grace," she called after him just as Robb came to a stop in front of the door.
"Aye?" he asked as he hovered in the doorway, turned in her direction.
"Set me free." Her words, spoken with a haunting clarity, made the ice in the young wolf's veins run even colder. Without thought of propriety, Robb turned around and slammed the door shut with a deafening boom which reverberated around the walls of the keep before he retreated to the cold enclosure of his room.
That night as the King of Winter slept soundly, the woman that walked in his dreams, had a familiarity about her. Instead of smelling death and decay, the wasted battlegrounds smelled of something sweet and exotic. Mist swirled around the vision in white that stood at the edge of a cliff, the same woman who had eluded him for a while now. Everytime he came close, she disappeared into the thick fog, only to call his name in a breathy voice a few seconds later. "Marylean!" Robb called as she once again eluded his searching grasp. Suddenly he felt the ghost of a cool touch on his hand as her arms encircled him from behind. "Marylean," Robb breathed in relief as he clasped her small, smooth sunkissed hand in his, a stark contrast to the white of his own. He felt her draw back and her sof body disappear once again into the mist. The hand that had held hers against his front was stained blood red and, as he gazed at it in horror, the wind whispered at him once again: set me free...
Once again thank's to each and everyone who have waited patiently. Hope the long chapter makes up for the lenthy delay. A huge thank goes out to Roheline for her constant motivation and MyWeirdWorld for giving her words of wisdom.
That being said, I'm currenttly swamped with other obligations so I do know when the next one will be up. Any and all help will be appreciated, I know where this story needs to go, but how to get it there is the million dollar challenge. So any ideas would be very much appreciated! I have also thought about giving this story up for adoption so if anyone is interested, just let me know!
Thanks once again for all the support. Remember to fave, review or follow!
