A/N Small warning, there is some triggering material mentioned in this chapter! I am so sorry this took so long guys, I planned on finishing this chapter in December but it was christmas and I was on holiday and then I went back to school and i have exams and stuff so I was swarmed with studying (heck, I still have one more exam but I just needed to finish this) and I am so sorry! I hope I can finish the next chapter in a shorter amount of time. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and thank you all for your support and understanding, it really means a lot to me! Please remember to review! Feedback is an authors greatest motivation. if any of you have any questions, feel free to PM me or ask them in the review section. Thanks again!
Until next time,
Fionakevin073
Chapter 7
The struggle to bite down her hatred caused her heart to burn in her chest as she stared down at her hands, linking them together. The awkwardness that lingered in the tight space was enough to make all three of them clam up, but the Queen and Lady Catelyn were far too dignified to let their inner turmoil show. Avariella merely observed everything with a quiet aura, too tired and defeated to form words.
They had only been travelling for a few hours, but she felt as though it had been centuries. Her legs were crying out in agony; eager to be stretched. Her bladder felt as though it were about to burst, and yet her lips were chapped and her throat was dry. It had continued to rain consistently since they had left the Twins, and it showed no sign of stopping. She wondered for a brief moment what that meant, before quickly deciding she had no patience to decipher the Gods signs; she had long given up on their existence. The curtain was drawn over the window, and Avariella made no attempt to slide them away. The talk had died down between the two women sitting across from her, and Avariella glanced up at them quickly. The Queens' body was slanted slightly, her head leaning against the side of the carriage. Her eyes were firmly shut, her mouth a thin line, and yet she still managed to look beautiful. It made Avariella want to scowl, but for what reason she did not know.
You have a beautiful bridge.
She had not thought about the Queen's words for a long time, but for some unidentifiable reason they returned to her, like a quote she had memorised from a book she had not read for many years. She repeated the phrase in her head slowly, as though it were in some strange language she did not know, and found that perhaps the Queen was simply complimenting her home— her old home. The reminder made her flinch, and she saw the elder Stark frown at her, yet she did nothing to assure her of her peace of mind.
"Your sister seemed quite sad to see you go," Lady Catelyn commented, and it was then that Avariella noticed that she had begun stitching. The cloth in the elder woman's hand was of fine silk and the thread a brilliant grey, and Avariella could instantly tell that the Stark matriarch was skilled in the art of stitching.
"I was sad to leave her," she replied quietly, her voice dispassionate and withdrawn. Their eyes met for a moment, and the expression of understanding in the older female's eyes made her want to claw out her own.
"I left my home too," Lady Catelyn told her, almost as if she were trying to comfort her, "Under very similar circumstances. I know it is not easy, the North is a very difficult place to adjust to but you will find your way Lady Avariella."
Avariella stiffened at her words, her spine straightening almost instantaneously. Her blood grew hotter, and her gaze colder, and her words were stiff and a hint of her bitterness shined through. "I wish things would have been different, that's all my lady. Thank you for your kind words." She almost slapped herself after the words had left her mouth, her mind growing wild with the possible repercussions. She did not wish for Catelyn Stark to believe she was bitter over having been unable to marry her son— or that she still had any desire to do so. Avariella's desire to become Robb Starks bride had died a very long time ago, and she cast a panicked look in the Queen's direction, thankful that her words had fallen on dead ears.
"Be glad that you have at least one of your brothers with you on this journey," is all the elder woman had to say in reply, and the words were both a warning and a reprimand. Hazel eyes met blue, one with a spark of unmistakable anger and the other with a sternness that demanded respect. Their gaze held for a while, before the widow sighed and returned to her stitching.
There was no more talking after that.
When they stopped— Avariella thanked the seven— she waited for the Queen and Lady Catelyn to be escorted out of the carriage before she practically ran out of the opened door, heedless of the hand a guard had held out to her in an offer of assistance. She called out a small apology over her shoulder, but walked straight ahead quickly, her mind a blur. Her legs felt weak, and ached badly, to the point she feared she would collapse. The air was cool, and she shivered instinctively, grabbing onto her elbows. She watched the soldiers begin to set up camp with a blank expression, eager to crawl into a tent and curl up into a ball.
She jumped when she felt a warm presence by her legs, but quickly relaxed once she realised it was Max burying his head into her legs. "Hey boy," she whispered, bending over to pet him gently. Relief flooded through her chest, making Avariella close her eyes tightly as her grip on his fur tightened. He panted loudly— and happily at the attention she was giving him, and she soon realised how chapped her lips were, and how dry her throat was. "Come Max," she commanded, rising to her full height, "Let's go find some water."
They wondered through the camp for a short while, ducking poles and skipping over muddy puddles. She eventually managed to grab ahold of some water, and thanked the woman who gave her a small wooden bowl for Max. The sun had begun to set, turning the sky into a mixture of blue, orange and purple hues. She admired it quietly, a soft expression of wonder in her eyes. Avariella wondered if sunsets would be like this in Winterfell. She had been told stories of the North, about willings and creatures of night, and the Wall that separated the seven kingdoms from the horrors behind it. Everything was a rumour. Avos and Olyvar had talked little about the Northerners in their letters, except for mentioning that the Northerners tended to stay together or be alone. Solemn folk, her Septa had once stated, always serious and stern, honour driving their every decision. The late Eddard Stark was said to have been the most honourable man to ever live in the seven kingdoms. Avariella pondered how it was possible for one man to be honourable and not make his eldest son— his heir— follow in his footsteps.
She stood there, wondering, unaware of the Frey knight approaching her.
"Ser Trent said you were beautiful but I dared not believe him," the man said, his voice husky as he slid next to her, standing alarmingly close for a man whose name she did not know. "I suggest you leave," she told him stonily, and Max instantly looked up from his bowl at her words, and began to growl. "Too bad that they're going to waste such fine Southern cunt on a Northman," he mused, stepping away from her. "You overstep your boundaries," she warned, her voice curt and her aura authoritative. Most of her father's men were like this; rude, arrogant, crass. She had long since learned to ignore them as best she could, and if it had not been for the. . .incident with Ser Trent her attempts at ignoring them would have been successful.
"What will you do to stop me?" he taunted, and she could smell his foul breath from where she stood.
"She may not do anything," Olyvar warned from behind her, his voice as cold as a Northern winter, "But if you do not leave my sister alone this second I will run you through without a second thought, my father's soldier be damned." The lecherous man quickly nodded and hurried away, his bravado quickly forgotten. Coward, her mind hissed, and Max curled himself around her legs, his warmth comforting her.
"What in the seven hells was that?" Olyvar questioned harshly, his eyes wide with fury. Avariella observed her brother with a carefully closed off exp ression, her jaw tightened. Olyvar somehow— thank the gods— did not know about what happened with Ser Trent, and she intended to keep it that way. "Nothing," she replied curtly, gently nudging Max to move so she could move herself, "Just one of father's men acting like father."
Olyvar eyed her suspiciously, his jaw tightening as he gripped the handle of his sword. "I should kill him right now I swear—"
"Olyvar if you were to kill every one of father's men— or any man at all who was as disgusting as him, there would be no men left in Westeros, or Essos for that matter." Except your beloved Starks, she thinks darkly, but she doesn't say it. Her heart is still pounding in her chest so hard that she almost feels as though her chest is rattling. "You are no Saint either," she says lightly, in a poor attempt to brighten his mood. He almost found out, her mind whispers, and the fear that comes with that realisation rocks her to her core. Avariella isn't sure why him finding out scares her, but she vows in that moment to never try and find out.
There is a moment or two of silence before she can sense the anger in him begin to drain, and the tension in his broad shoulders slack away. "Come on," she says gently, mindful of Max below her, "You needed me for something?" Olyvar eyed her for a moment, as though he were trying to figure out something. "Yes," he said absently, "We have been invited to dine with Lady Catelyn this evening. The King and Queen may attend as well." Avariella halted in her steps, her expression incredulous. "Oh dear gods," she murmured, "We must attend now?" Olyvar rolled his eyes at her tone, though a small smile appeared on his lips.
"You are their ward you know," Olyvar murmured as he steered them in the direction of the tent, "You will be expected to be in their presence daily." Avariella forced herself not to shudder at the grim reality, and instead made herself reply. "I know," she muttered, "So do you." She felt rather petulant saying it, as though she were a mere child and not a woman about to be sent off to choose a husband- or be assessed by greedy lustful men like a lamb heading to be slaughtered. "Avariella," his voice was soft, "You know that I wouldn't let them. . ." he didn't have to say it for her to understand his meaning. She stared up into his eyes and could feel herself withdraw from his comfort, from his love. It still felt wrong to accept it. Unnatural. So instead of speaking she simply nodded, and stayed quiet for the rest of the walk, mindful not to allow Max to wonder off too far.
They reached the tent far too soon for Avariella's liking, and they waited patiently for the guards to finish announcing their arrival inside the tent. The guards had offered to keep an eye on Max before they had entered the tent, and so Avariella commanded him to keep close the tent, fearful that he would run off into the woods and be eaten by some wild beast. Once the guards returned, they both entered the tent, their posture straight. Avariella always felt the need to be more proper in the eldest Starks presence, despite her constant claims of not caring what the Starks thought about her. She genuinely does not care for the Stark's, or what they think of her, but there is this almost instant reaction that Lady Catelyn has not only on her, but on everyone around her that makes them act more proper, more formal. Avariella is not immune to the effect, and it bothers her more than she wishes to admit as she stands in front of the person in question.
"Welcome," the red headed woman uttered cooly, her blue eyes stern. "Thank you for having us," Avariella replied evenly, taking in the table set in front of her. "Please sit," Lady Catelyn advised from where she sat at the head of the table. Avariella sat a close distance away from the elder woman, close enough to not be considered rude for sitting too far away, but far enough that she wasn't sitting directly next to the woman. The silence was thick and awkward, and she could feel it fastening around her throat like a rope. Her and Olyvar caught each others gaze from where they sat across from each other, and they both waited awkwardly for the matriarch to speak. She felt like a deer caught by a hunting party. "I hope you both enjoy Winterfell," Lady Catelyn eventually said, and she lifted up her utensils, prompting Olyvar and Avariella to do the same. "I'm sure we will, my lady," Olyvar replied formally—genuinely. Not with Avariella's forced sincerity. It made her want to cry to the heavens and ask why her elder half-brother was such a forgiving person for a man.
Avariella was suddenly aware of the three vacant chairs, and before she could voice her thoughts Lady Catelyn seemingly read her mind, "My uncle shall be joining us shortly, and the Queen is expected to do so. His grace may not be attending unfortunately, and has instructed me to carry on with our dinner without him." It struck Avariella as odd to begin eating without the Queen or the Blackfish present but just as she thought it the flap opened, revealing the Blackfish. Avariella watched with an attentive expression as he clumsily apologised for his lateness and sat down in the seat beside Olyvar, his eyes meeting hers. She glanced away after a beat, to look at Lady Catelyn, whose face had tightened with disapproval. "Don't look at me like that Cat," the Blackfish stated, grabbing his utensils, "Use that expression on your son." The Lady didn't reply except for a small sound at the back of her throat, and instead began to eat the food in front of her on her plate, prompting the rest of them to do the same.
"Olyvar," the Blackfish barked, after he had finished swallowing his first mouthful ( Ser Brynden Tully may possess many qualities, but bad table manners was not one of them) "You fought in the war, correct? And wish to be knighted?" Avariella watched her elder half brother carefully, and was mindful to keep her pleased expression at bay when Olyvar showed no sign of being startled at the sudden questioning from the intimidating man. "Yes," he replied evenly, "When the appropriate time arises and the King is willing to do so."
"Ahh," the Blackfish uttered, as though he had just remembered something, and his face darkened considerably at the reminder, "We will be spending some months rebuilding Winterfell since the Greyjoy's destroyed it." Avariella may not have been looking at Lady Catelyn, but she could feel her stiffen from where she sat. The word Greyjoy was said with such disdain that Shirei would have winced had she been here. Avariella could not recall what exactly had occurred to the Greyjoys during the war, after the Dragon Queen had arrived in Westeros. She had heard various tales from drunken mouths sitting in the dining room, but the gist she got was that the Greyjoy house had been destroyed, the island burnt to a crisp. Granted, she knew it was well deserved. Avariella recalled the venomous words Avos had written down in his letters when the topic of the Greyjoys arose, and even Olyvar had seemed to despise them. It was at that moment that she realised that the conversation had continued, and that they were all now waiting for her to a respond to a question she had not heard.
"Pardon?" she questioned gently, forcing a small apologetic smile onto her face, "I was caught up in my thoughts." There was a moment before Lady Catelyn spoke, "I merely commented that my daughter Sansa will be excited to have a girl close to her age to talk to once we arrive at Winterfell." Avariella struggled to hide her surprise and instead commented, "I was not aware that Lady Sansa was at Winterfell, my lady." She heard the two men resume their conversation again, and tried not to be distracted by it. "Sansa and Lord Tyrion have been keeping a careful eye on the reconstruction of Winterfell, but progress has been slow as his grace wishes to help with the construction. My daughter Arya travelled to the Wall a moon ago, I assume she will be returning a few weeks after we return, my lady. My son Rickon remained at Winterfell as well." She made no mention of her son Bran, and Avariella didn't pursue the topic, though she noticed how the lines on Lady Catelyn's face had deepened, and knew in that moment that she was thinking of her second youngest son. An emotion very akin to sympathy grew within her breast as she gazed at the blue eyed woman, and she let it nestle in her chest for a few very short moments before banishing it away.
"How long would the construction take?" she asked, for the first time sincerely wanting to engage in a conversation with the two Tully's. The Blackfish must have heard her question because he answered, "About two moons. Depending on when that blasted Northern winter arrives, which the Maester's say should be soon." Avariella nearly shivered at the thought. She had heard mere rumours and stories about true Northern Winters, and from what she gathered, they were far from a pleasant experience. Avos had used to fabricate dark, intricate tales of the coldest Winters featuring fictional heroes that he created in his mind to tell Shirei at night. But they had all gathered ( they meaning her, Olyvar, Shirei and Roslin) in one of their chambers and listened to his voice enchant them, terrify them. Her heart tugged at the thought of her twin, and she could feel the darkness that had clouded her for so long wrap her in it's arms.
The Blackfish eyed her for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing as he did so. She looked back at him unflinchingly, determined to not seem weak. Avariella nearly smiled with satisfaction when he looked away first, and the conversation continued from there. She kept quiet for the most part, only contributing to the talk when someone asked her a question, which was rare. They all seemed to sense her withdrawal from the conversation and made no attempt to include her once more, much to her relief. The evening continued as such until their plates eventually emptied and the other people in the room had a cup or two of wine, while Avariella merely took rare sips from her goblet. Avariella was just about to excuse herself when the flap of the tent was pushed aside, revealing a bloody Queen behind it. It wasn't her blood, Avariella was sure of that, but the sleeves of her dressed were stained and there were smudges of blood on the side of her cheeks, as though she had wiped her hands on them. So she is still a healer, Avariella noted, carefully glancing towards Lady Catelyn, whose eyes had narrowed with disapproval. It struck her then that Lady Catelyn hated her daughter in law, or at the very least strongly disapproved of her.
"Forgive me," the Queen said, looking somewhat flustered under their gaze, "I lost of track of time. The med bay is still rather swarmed." It took a moment of thought for her to gather a response and before she could stop herself the words flew out of her mouth, "There is nothing to forgive you for, your grace. Thank you for the splendid meal." The words felt forced and bizarre exiting her mouth, but she stomached the discomfort, eager to disappear to wherever she was sleeping. The tension in the room had begun to build to an uncomfortable level, one which she had not come across since she had first voiced her hatred to the Stark on his first day at the Twins. She caught Olyvar's eye, and he nodded indirectly, seemingly sharing her willingness to leave. She turned to Lady Catelyn with a forced smile and issued a thank you and a farewell to both her and the Blackfish, with Olyvar quickly adding his own. Avariella was unable to read Lady Catelyn, and found herself unaccustomed to the feeling of having no clue as to what another was thinking. She prided herself on being an observant person, always having the ability to guess what a person was thinking or feeling based on their actions, their postures, their small little ticks. But Lady Catelyn was unbreakable; not letting anything in, and not letting anything out.
Avariella curtsied in front of the Queen on her way out and uttered some words that her brain deemed adequate enough to excuse her for the night. The motion struck her as rather odd; Avariella may have dealt with filthy and crude people for most of her life, especially her father, but they had always been people that had come from her home. Whenever she had encountered someone from another part of Westeros that had not come from the Twins —and was of considerable noble standing— they had always looked proper and clean, worthy of the title of a noble. She had always been taught that a Queen— and a Lady— was always supposed to be well kept, and pretty at all times. Not that she was a model of that herself, but it nearly amused her when she came to the realisation that the first Queen she had ever met lacked the very image that a Queen was supposed to have. She had to purse her lips to stop herself from laughing aloud, and the moment she exited the tent with Olyvar at her heels a laugh escaped her lips.
It was hollow and rather empty sounding, but it was a laugh nonetheless. Olyvar gaped at her in confusion — she was sure the guards were too— eyeing her as though she were mad. "What amuses you so?" he questioned suspiciously, as though he had missed some noteworthy event. That only served to make her laugh harder, and she nearly fell over when Max ran up to her to stand on his own two feet and fall on top of her, eager for her attention. The night was dark and the air was crisp where they stood, and they waited until her laughter had finally died down before they attempted to move. They had only taken two steps forward when Avariella heard the undeniable sound of voices beginning to raise inside of the tent. It sent a jolt of satisfaction thrumming her through her, but she almost instantly felt petty after she had realised what it was. It was childish, she knew, but it felt like a strange, twisted form of justice.
And as Olyvar (and Max) walked her to her tent — which was considerably smaller (not that she expected anything different) than that of Lady Catelyn's— she thought to herself, Perhaps there are gods after all.
Avariella expressionlessly observed the soldiers begin to take down the camp the next morning, the suns rays illuminating the morning sky, casting a soft pink with gentle hues of yellow to colour the sky. A small pang of sadness hit her as she realised that this was one of her last Southern sunrises. The likelihood of her ever returning to the South, especially once she was wed— Gods knew when that would be— were particularly slim. Her promise to Shirei echoed in her mind softly, like a prayer of some sorts, and she clung to it for a moment, letting her heart rise. Olyvar was standing next to her, with Max nearby. He offered her a piece of the apple he was peeling with a small knife, and she accepted it silently, giving him a small nod of thanks. She was mentally preparing herself for another day of awkward silence with the two Lady Stark's. She could feel her boredom surface even now, and wished for a brief moment that she could have something to do, such as knitting like Lady Stark.
"Olyvar!" she exclaimed out of the blue, catching him by surprise, "Do you believe that I could sneak a book out from one of my chests without much disruption?" There was a moment before she added, "And before we are supposed to leave?" Olyvar looked at her with an amused expression before sighing loudly, as though she had burdened with an undoable task before murmuring, "I'll go get you one." He left before she could make any request as to which book she wished to read, but Avariella quickly figured that she did not care; one book, regardless of which one, was better than no book at all. There was a small smile on her face that quickly died after Olyvar had disappeared from her sight, and so she gradually went back to observing her surroundings. She spotted Brienne of Tarth from a distance away, her almost white blonde hair standing out in a sea of browns and greys. She did not notice Lady Catelyn anywhere near her however, and had to force down the urge to sigh with relief. It was too early in the morning for her to put on a front for anybody. It occurred to her that she had not seen the King since they had left the day before, which she was not sure to think of as odd or as a relief. She let out a small sound at the back of her throat at the thought. It was most definitely a relief.
Avariella continued to look around the camp with a passive expression, before her features tightened as she caught eye of the grey beast that belonged to the King. It was a great distance away from her, but she could still notice it's enormous size and presence from where she stood. The beast unnerved her. Greywind, Olyvar's voice supplied in her mind. She scowled darkly, the lines on her forehead appearing as she did so. "Max!" she called out, eager to have him within her line of sight. Avariella was not keen to trust anyone's claims that the beast— Greywind— was not a danger to her or to Max, even Olyvar's. Hells, she could picture it now; she would be standing there, unassuming while the beast bounded towards her furiously before leaping on top of her and ripping out her throat with it's teeth, before promptly eating Max afterwards. It sent a shiver down her spine, and Avariellas mouth suddenly felt dry. Max came to sit by her side, licking his paws to entertain himself, and completely oblivious to her disturbing thoughts. She wasn't aware that the beast was staring at her until her thoughts— the ones of her throat getting ripped out— gradually faded away as she reassured herself of her safety. A chill shot up her spine as she noticed it staring at her intently, as though it could tell that she was thinking of it. Avariella was not quite sure why the beast unsettled her so; maybe it was because of it's large size or the sound it made. She wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was because she knew that if it came down to it, despite Max being a ferocious and loyal dog, he would ultimately die if he ever had to protect her against that thing. Not that a man couldn't kill Max if he set his mind to it, but Avariella remembered the incident with Ser Trent vividly, and the feeling of safety that she had felt in Max's presence ever since then had never wavered. It was almost like she felt whenever she was with Avos.
Not that her twin had been particularly large or muscular, but he had always made her feel as though nothing could ever harm her when he was around. Those people, Avariella decided, who could make you feel at home simply by being near you, were rare to find and when—if you found them, you should hold on and never let go. She had let go of her person and now he was dead. The fear inside of her melted away as she stared at the beast, hollowness replacing the hole where her heart was supposed to be. Avariella was tempted to lie down on the damp ground and curl into a ball to protect herself from the outside world.
"You have an intense look in your eye," Olyvar jested, standing next to her. Avariella jumped at the sound of his voice, her eyes widening as she pressed a hand to her chest. How much time had passed? she wondered, glancing around her to find that they had nearly finished taking down the tents and getting everyone into formation. "I am sure I appeared very bothered," she murmured, her eyes fixated on the ground beneath her as she found her bearings. Max whimpered from nearby as soldiers began to walk past him, and so she quickly extended her hand. "Thank you," she says hurriedly, as though someone were waiting for her. "Avariella what's wrong?" Olyvar asked, taking in her form, "I swear if that man returned—"
"He didn't!" Avariella snapped, snatching the book out of his hands. She didn't bother to check the title as she thanked him once more, her cheeks flushing a bright red. She brushed past Olyvar and followed the soldiers, eager to be alone. Olyvar would take care of Max she knew that, and so she refused the urge to look back. To her surprise, she felt a small amount of relief flood through her when she noticed the Queen and Lady Catelyn climbing into the carriage. She hurried over to the opened door and allowed herself to be helped in by a nearby guard, careful to not let the book fall onto the ground.
The door shut behind her immediately as she sat across from the Queen and Lady Catelyn, gripping the book tightly in her palms. Her eyes flicker up to glance between the two women, and it was then that her suspicions were instantly confirmed. The Queen and Lady Catelyn were sitting as far away from each other as they could on the seats, and weren't even glancing in the others direction. Perfect, she thought, this is will make everything better. Her throat felt oddly dry as she stared at them, before she awkwardly uttered, "Good morning." They both uttered half hearted replies in return, but made no further effort to have a conversation. Thank the seven.
Avariella resisted the urge to smile in relief as she flipped the book in her hands so she could see the title. She had always enjoyed all kinds of novels, having no preference despite reading most of the books in the Twins library. She had only packed two dozen or so, and for a brief moment she wished the Winterfell library was somewhat well preserved. The excitement she felt blooming in her stomach instantly vanished the moment she read the title. A History of the North and its' Houses by Maester Limon. Avariella could not help the scowl appearing on her face. Olyvar, the voice in her mind growled. Avariella remembered packing the book on a whim (she had started to read it after her father first announced that one of them was going to marry Robb Stark, but she had abandoned it once her duties began to grow) but she had never truly planned on reading it. She sighed softly, but nevertheless opened the book and began to read.
They began to move gradually, the carriage bouncing every time they went down a small hill and shuttering every time they went over some rocks. It was an uncomfortable experience, Avariella noted as she turned the page, she did not look forward to future travels such as these. She frowned as the suns light blinded her eyes and she shied away from the window, lifting a hand to cover her eyes. She carefully folded the edge of the page she was on and placed the book beside her, moving to the window so that she could close the curtain. However, as she lifted her hand to do so, she stopped. She was suddenly awestruck by the green outside, by the number of hills and mountains that she had never seen before.
"Lady Catelyn," she called gently, dragging her eyes away from the view, "Where are we?" Lady Catelyn eyed her with something very akin to amusement, a soft smile gracing her lips, "We are still in the Riverlands, Lady Avariella." Avariella nodded gently, a smile gracing her own lips as she stared out the window. She wondered whether or not Avos had seen these same trees or breathed the air she was inhaling. I didn't even know there was this much green in the world, she wondered, not wanting to miss a detail. She had never left the Twins before— she had never really expected to, despite wishing that she someday would— and when Olyvar and Avos had left for War she had begged them to include every detail of their surroundings. She sat there for gods know how long, simply watching, observing, wishing that she could touch every tree, count every grain of grass that was out there.
"You've never left the Twins before have you?" The Queen asked her, making Avariella jump slightly. Avariella shifted so that her head was turned to face the Queen, the warm sensation in her chest slowly dying as she met her brown eyes. "This is my first time, your grace," she replied evenly, her gaze unwavering. There was a small look of surprise on the Queens face at her answer. "You never left the Twins at all my lady?" the Queen questioned, a small hint of horror in her voice. Avariella could see Lady Catelyn shoot her a warning look out of the corner of her eye. "I never had a reason too," Avariella replied cooly, tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ears.
"You must be excited to live some place new, I assume," The Queen added, clasping her hands together in her lap. It took considerable effort for her not to raise her eyebrows. I called your husband an oathbreaker for all to see and you believe that I am looking forward to living in his home?
"Very much so," Avariella agreed, the words creating a bitter taste in her mouth. She turned to stare out the window once more, taking in the green landscape. Neither of them questioned her any further, and silence returned to them once more, for which Avariella was grateful. She lifted a hand to the glass, a tenderness overwhelming her heart as she did so. Avos her mind whispered, why aren't you here? She wasn't sure how much time passed with her sitting there and taking in the view, but she began to notice the sun rising further and further into the sky. It made her heart ache. This was most likely all of Westeros she would ever see. She would see the North undoubtedly, but the North was grey, lifeless land that held no true wonders for her to explore. Avariella would never have the chance to visit the sands of Dorne or the Eyrie. It had been foolish of her to ever believe she would, Avariella knew that—she had known that for a long time— but to finally have that reality thrusted upon her disturbed her in ways that she could not begin to describe. How unfair it is, she suddenly thought, that a healer from a foreign land has seen more of my country than I ever have— or ever will.
Avariella removed her hand from the window and shifted so that she was back to her original spot, and picked up her book once more, resisting the temptation to stare out the window one last time. She was in the middle of reading about the history of House Dustin when Lady Catelyn spoke up, "My lady, may I interrupt you as to question what you are reading?" Avariella froze slightly, her eyes glued to the words in front of her. It took her a moment to pull together a response, and as she did so she flushed a light shade of red. "A History of the North and its' Houses by Maester Limon," she recited, meeting her gaze defiantly. The elder woman revealed nothing as she observed Avariella. "And how do you find the Norths history?" she questioned politely. Overwhelmingly dull. "Quite enthralling," Avariella responded, "The North is an interesting Kingdom, my lady."
"Indeed," Lady Catelyn agreed, something very similar to approval flashing in her blue eyes, "I admire your desire to learn more about the culture you are marrying into. I wish I had done the same before travelling to the North myself. It was quite the change at the beginning." Avariella blinked rapidly at the red haired woman, and resisted the urge to laugh at how obviously she had insulted her daughter in law. She could see the Queen react to the insult out of the corner of her eye, but she made no further attempt to observe her. "I was merely interested my lady, but thank you for the compliment." I was not the one who even chose the book for the light of the seven.
"I assume you were taught by a Septa until you were. . ."
It took Avariella a moment to answer, "Ten and five, my lady." Lady Catelyn looked slightly taken aback at her answer. "That is a rather young age for a girl to finish her studies," she commented, "My lessons ended when I was ten and six."
"My lady my lessons ended when my family joined the war," she pointed out, "My duties to my father and to my household grew to twice to what they used to be. Someone needed to keep the castle in order, organise the supplies, ration the grain we harvested, count the coppers and write it all down in ledgers."
"You have numerous brothers and sisters," Lady Catelyn said, as though that was supposed to mean something. Avariella resisted the urge to snort at her comment and instead replied, "Majority of my brothers had left and my remaining sisters. . .None of them wished to do it. Shirei was too young and Roslin helped as best she could." As best as any one of us knew how. You don't know what it was like, she wanted to scream, I was a mere child. We were all children. We tried and did the best we could have done. Our father did not care that we had gone to bed starving for weeks until I began to work with the farmers to ration the grains properly; the best I knew how. You do not get to pass judgement on me Lady Stark, she thought furiously, you have no idea who I am. Besides, most of my elder half siblings stopped their lessons when they were only ten and two, or somewhere along those lines.
"My mother passed when I was very young," Lady Stark informed her, "I was Lady of Riverrun in her stead. I understand the level of responsibility that was thrust onto your shoulders. You did an admirable job." Avariella was speechless. Words escaped her. She stared at the woman in front of her with a well-concealed expression that somehow managed to hide her inner turmoil. Did she just— how? It was then that she was suddenly aware of the Queen staring at her intently. She turned to look back at her, and was slightly taken aback at the whirl of emotions in the Queens eyes. It was a mixture of sadness, anger, hurt and a slight hint of jealousy that left her confused. You have no right to be angry with me, Avariella wanted to hiss, you made your choices, and now you must accept the consequences of them. I am a consequence of your actions.
It was almost as if she had said it aloud. The Queen flushed under her gaze and pointedly looked in the other direction, as though she were too ashamed to hold her gaze. The carriage came to a sudden halt, and it was with wide eyed surprise that Avariella noticed that the sun was beginning to set. The door opened a few moments afterwards and the Queen immediately stood and climbed out quickly, almost as if she could no longer handle being in their vicinity. Not that Avariella blamed her, she was not particularly enthralled at the notion of being close to her for several hours for the next few weeks. Avariella glanced at Lady Catelyn from the corner of her eye, and quickly took notice of how her blue eyes had hardened considerably, with numerous emotions lingering just underneath the surface.
"My lady's?" The guard called, jolting the both of them back to reality. She let Lady Catelyn exit ahead of her before climbing out the carriage herself, quickly letting go of the guards' gloved hand. She felt tired and drained, as though all of her strength had been emptied. She walked forward with slow, heavy steps, eager to find a place to sit down. I'm not sure I can do this, she thought, trying to reassemble herself, though as to what she couldn't do Avariella wasn't quite sure.
The next two weeks passed by with few incidences. She rose with the camp at first light, and entered the carriage after she had broken her fast with Olyvar and Max (occasionally she was invited to join Lady Catelyn and the Queen, but whenever she did so the Queen was never there) with a book in her hand. She then spent several hours reading or staring out of the window, taking in what little of the world around her she could see. It was strange and monotonous routine she had developed, and even though it pained her to admit it she was eager to arrive at Winterfell; though this desire was caused by her disdain of the time it was taking to reach Winterfell. They were getting closer and closer Avariella knew. The once evergreen hills and grass covered with this forestation was slowly beginning to turn greyer and greyer. The trees appearing sparser and sparser and the sky turning from a sky blue on most days to a dull, endless grey that hung over her head. The air grew colder and colder, until she was now wearing a warm cloak that looked similar to the one Lady Catelyn had also taken to wearing. She never saw the King. Avariella had seen the beast—Greywind— from a distance, more times than she was comfortable with, but she was slowly beginning to not become frozen with fear and apprehension whenever she saw the dire wolf.
The peace however, would come to an end on the first night of the third week of their journey to Winterfell.
It was the beginning of sunset when Avariella exited her small tent, fastening the clasp of her cloak as she did so. Max was at her heels, panting happily, eager for her attention. She cast a small smile at him as she walked forward, carefully stepping out of the way of a soldier so that they did not collide. The air was colder than that she had ever experienced, and it bit at her cheeks, causing them to turn a bright shade of red. Olyvar and her had been invited to join the Starks for dinner that night, and she was meant to meet Olyvar before they left. She frowned once she realised Olyvar was not waiting outside her tent as he said he would, and with a fearful emotion growing in the pit of her stomach she began to walk in search of him with Max at her side.
It took her a short while of walking around the camp to notice the large gathering of men in a circle. She had been oblivious to them as she walked in the direction of Olyvars' tent but the sound of Max growling darkly made her notice them. She moved in their direction, her heart beginning to pound faster and faster as she came closer and closer. Please let Olyvar not be involved, please please please
It was when she was a mere body length away from the circle of men that she began to hear the sounds. The men were cheering loudly in her ears but she could not make sense of the words. The sounds she was beginning to hear made a lump form in her throat. There were moans of pain and groans of exertion that were mixed with the sound of someone pounding their fist onto another's face. Oh gods no, she thought, fear spreading ice through her body, please no. She began to shove her way through the crowd of men, their surprise at the sudden movement allowed her to move forward quicker than she expected. Max began to snarl at anyone who complained as she shoved her way through the front of the crowd, her hands beginning to ache due to the sheer strength she was using.
"Olyvar!" she yelled, once she had reached the front of the crowd. There was a man pinning down another man onto the ground below, striking his face relentlessly. Desperation clawed at her insides once she realised that her brother was the one pummelling his fists onto the face of another. She could not see who he was fighting, but that was because of the amount of blood that was staining his face and pouring out of his nose and mouth. Olyvars' fists were bloody and bruised but they never once stopped their movements. "Olyvar!" she yelled once more and though she knew better she moved to stop him but the moment she had taken a step or two in his direction an arm latched itself around her waist and she was pressed against an unfamiliar body. "You'll get yourself killed," Lady Brienne hissed, holding her back as she tried to thrash her way out of her grip.
Max was barking at Olyvar furiously, but it was as though Olyvar couldn't hear. His fists continued to come down with an unrelenting fury. "Olyvar stop it!" she yelled, finally slumping against Lady Brienne's body. It was then that he froze at the sound of her voice, blood dribbling down his chin. Lady Brienne let her go and the moment she did so Avariella staggered forward, her hazel eyes wide with an indescribable emotion. "Olyvar," she said forcefully, trying to call him back to reality. He sat there on top of the man, staring down at the bloodied man with a vacant expression. "Olyvar," she said softly, moving next to him before lowering herself to his level, so that she was now on her knees. She then became aware of the sudden quietness that had taken over. Olyvar began to slump forward, as though he were about to collapse on top of the man. She gazed down at the mans' bloody face and with a sudden horrific jolt she recognised him as the knight he had threatened not too long ago. The knight that had taunted her about Ser Trent. Gods, she thought, slowly raising one of her hands to rest on Olyvars' shoulder. Olyvar jumped at the sudden contact, startling her, before turning his head to look her in the eye.
Her heart constricted as she took note of the complete and utter hurt and wounded expression in his eyes as he looked at her. Words escaped her as they continued to stare at one another. "Olyvar," she whispered gently, but all it made him do was shake his shoulder as to rid himself of her touch.
"Olyvar."
Avariella snapped her head up to look at the King, shock forcing her to rise to her full height. Olyvar rose at the sight of him, though the movement was slow and limp. Avariella stared at the King with a wary expression, unable to decipher the thoughts behind those blue eyes that were currently staring at her brother with an unreadable expression. His eyes flickered down to look at the bloody body right beside Olyvar, and it was with a hard voice that he asked, "Is he dead?"
Olyvar shook his head after a moment but didn't say anything. It was in that moment that Avariella understood why people feared Robb Stark during the war. He was of average height in normal circumstances, but in that moment he seemed to tower above both of them. His eyes were cold and unmoved as he stared at Olyvar with an aloof expression that she knew had caused thousands of people to feel a chill run down their spine. Avariella was not afraid as she stood before him, but she could understand why one would fear him. It was at that moment that his gaze moved to look at her, and an emotion flickered in his eyes so quickly that she barely saw it happen.
"I'll talk to you both after Olyvar gets his hands bandaged," is all he said, before turning on his heel and walking through the parted crowd, Greywind at his heels. She felt the familiar presence of Max at her side but all she did was stand there and stare at his retreating figure. What do I do? she thought, her hands hanging limp at her side, what do I do?
She sat next to Olyvar as his hands were bandaged and cleaned by a healer. No words were exchanged between the two of them as they waited for the healer to finish with her work. Avariella dragged her eyes upward so that she could take in his form. He's angry. His shoulders were taunt and his jaw was locked as he stared at some spot in front of him, not even looking in her direction. The healer seemed to take notice of his anger as she moved with such quickness that her hands visibly trembled as she finished wrapping the final bandage around his hand. "Try your best not to strain them for the next week or so," she instructed shakily, taking a step away from him, "I'll change the bandages after two days or so in order to prevent an infection from the cuts. The cut on your lip should also heal within a week." She stood there awkwardly as she waited for Olyvar to respond.
"Thank you," Avariella spoke up, her voice breaking. It was the first time she had spoken since she had entered the healers tent, and the sound of her voice made the muscle in Olyvars' cheek spasm. The healer nodded and sent a nervous smile in her direction, and when neither of them made an effort to move she hurriedly said, "I will let you two have a moment or two alone." She left before either of them could reply.
Her heart was what she imagined a war dram was like; big, ominous bum dum bum dum's that echoed in her ears and made her hands tremble in her lap. "What did he tell you?" she asked hesitantly, her voice quiet yet surprisingly firm. Olyvar didn't look at her. "Olyvar if we are going to talk about—about what happened then you are going to have to look at me."
He still didn't look at her.
She rose from where she sat and moved herself so that she was standing directly in front of him, the candles casting a small shadow on his face. His eyes were blank as he stared at her, and it unnerved her to see them so empty. "You know," she stated, rubbing a hand across her throat. His eyes visibly darkened but he still said nothing. "About Ser Trent." At the mention of his name Olyvars' lips parted as he breathed in and out loudly, as though he were trying to calm himself. "I'm sorry you found out that way," is all she could bring herself to say.
That made Olyvar snap.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked her, anger laced in his tone. "Why?"
Avariella blinked before answering, "I didn't see the point."
Olyvar shook his head at her reply, the bitterness on his features made him look as though he had aged ten years. "Didn't see the point," he muttered, scrapping a hand over his face. She stood there, waiting for him to speak. "Were you ever planning on telling me that he tried to— that he tried to—" his voice broke off as his face crumpled with disgust and anger. His hands had begun to tremble, with rage or helplessness Avariella did not know.
"Yes," she replied evenly, never missing a beat, "I had planned on telling you and Avos when you came back from the war but—but after you came back and Avos had died I just. . . getting revenge didn't matter to me anymore. Nothing really did."
Avariella snapped her head up with surprise once Olyvar began to laugh. It was a cruel and bitter laugh, without any warmth or kindness and it unnerved her to see her brother so emotionless. It was the kind of laugh she had never thought him capable of. His laughter made her feel annoyed with him, her features darkening. "What in the seven hells is amusing to you at a time like this?" she questioned angrily, her cheeks flushing.
The anger in his eyes made her want to take a step back. They glared at each other for a long time once he stopped. "That's what it always comes down to isn't it?" he asked, standing. Avariella frowned at him, not quite sure what he meant. "What do you mean—"
"Avos," he interrupted, "It always comes back to him. Every little thing." Avariella felt her body stiffen at his tone— at the bitterness in his voice when he mentioned her brothers name. Their brother, her mind whispered, he was both of ours. "What are you talking about?" she retorted, taking a step away from him. "Avariella the reason why you never told me about Ser Trent was not because it didn't matter to you anymore it was because the person you wanted— that you needed to protect you from him was Avos. Never me. That's why you didn't tell me. I was not the brother you wanted to play your knight in shining armour. I was not the one you wanted to come back from the war in the first place—"
"How dare you?" Avariella snapped, her voice rising with her fury. "How dare you even say that—"
"How dare you deny it?" he snapped back, his eyes dark. "Admit it Avariella, you wished it had been me all this time. You wish that I had been the one who died and that Avos had lived in my stead! Admit it!" Avariella slapped his bruised cheek with all her might, her eyes burning as she glared at him with anger. Her jaw was locked so tightly she thought her teeth would break. "That is not true," she ground out, "I never once wished that you had died in Avos's place. Not once. But there is some truth to your claims Olyvar, I did feel safer with Avos. But that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the relationship I had with him. I shared a womb with him, a mother with him. We breathed the same air, dreamt the same dreams, feared the same fears. He was a part of me. We were two sides of the same coin Olyvar and then he died and I lost a part of myself that I do not think I will ever get back. You are the brother I chose to have, Avos was the brother that was given to me. So for you to even suggest that I ever wished you were dead makes me almost wish I had!"
She froze as the words exited her mouth, the anger inside of her suddenly disappearing. "Olyvar," she said gently, rubbing her eyes, "I didn't—I did not mean—"
"Yes you did," is all he said, swallowing loudly. It was then that someone cleared their voice from behind her. She turned to the source and her heart grew limp in her chest as she stared at the King, who was staring straight at her. "Olyvar," he called out, his eyes never leaving her own, "I'll speak with you tomorrow. You may go now." Olyvar instantly brushed past her as he moved towards the Kings direction. He didn't look at her on his way out. "Sleep well your grace," he said, pausing in front of the King, "Good night." The King nodded and as soon as he did Olyvar left.
The tension in the tent was overwhelming. It was as though a noose had been wrapped around her neck she felt so suffocated. "I would like for you to tell me the full story, Lady Avariella," the King dictated, with a surprisingly gentle tone. Avariella snapped her head up to look at him, gazing at him with a withdrawn expression. She couldn't feel anything. She only felt drained.
"During the first year of the war, when my brothers left, a knight that serves my house tried to rape me." She was staring at her feet now, unable to look at him. Unable to handle telling her darkest secret to one of the people she hated most in this world. "It was dark out but I needed to put Max back in the kennels, Lord Frey did not like it when I kept Max in the castle. On my way there I stumbled upon—" her voice broke as she began to retell the tale. She remembered it so vividly. The shoes she was wearing, the colour of her dress, the smell of his breath, the mole on under his chin, the scar on the side of his neck. "On my way there I stumbled upon the knight. I tried to move past him but he wouldn't let me. Max had run ahead of me before so I was alone. I asked him to move but he didn't. When I tried to move around him he grabbed a hold of me and forced me to the ground, pinning my hands above my head with one hand and covering my mouth with his—" she remembered him forcing his tongue down her throat. "Max must have heard my screams because he ran back and stopped him. Bit off many of his fingers on his sword hand. Stopped him." It was then that she garnered what was left of her dignity to look him in the eye. If he was surprised at what she had told him, he couldn't tell. "One of the men my father sent with us knew him and taunted me with that knowledge. He then proceeded to tell Olyvar earlier on this evening. How he did so I am not quite sure your grace, but it clearly provoked my brother into a violent rage."
She let out a shaky breath, feeling unnervingly vulnerable under his gaze. He still did not say anything, but merely stood there looking at her. "Your grace may I return to my chambers?" she asked numbly, "I feel rather tired." He nodded silently, and she nearly collapsed with relief as she made her way to the flap of the tent, his voice stopped her from leaving however.
"Lady Avariella," he said, making her turn back to look at him, "What happened that night. . .it was not your fault. The blame is only his."
"Thank you for saying so, your grace," she said, swallowing down the lump in her throat, "I apologise for any inconvenience my brother and I may have caused you and your family this evening. Please accept my apologies. Good night your grace." And then she hurried away, unable to bear being in his presence any longer.
It took another week and a half before they arrived at Winterfell, and during that time she never saw Olyvar. If the King had told his mother or the Queen what she had been forced to tell him she could not tell, but she knew that they had heard of the incident with Olyvar by the expression on their faces when she had entered the carriage the next day. It was cold when they arrived at Winterfell. The green fields of the Riverlands had long since turned into the grey landscape the North was known for. She sat there in the carriage, a single grey fur draped over her chest. Lady Catelyn was dressed similar to she and Avariella was slightly taken aback by the glint of happiness and excitement in the elder woman's eyes. She did not look at the Queen.
The carriage came to a sudden stop. She heard the distant voices of the men outside and all of a sudden she felt nauseous. I want to go home, she thought, if I go out there this will become real. I do not want this to be real. The door opened, and once again Avariella was reminded that there were no gods. The Queen was escorted out first, her frame covered by the numerous furs wrapped around her. Lady Catelyn was next and then she. It felt like a dream, climbing out of the carriage. The wind was howling furiously, making the icy air feel even colder against her fair skin. The light was blinding once she had fully exited the tent, and it took her a few moments for her eyes to adjust, and once she did, she took in her surroundings.
Avariella looked around the ruins of Winterfell. She had heard whispers of it during the war, when her family was involved and during her lessons. Avariella and been told that it was thousands of years old, with hot springs underneath the castle and that it was made of dark stone. It had sounded so lovely to her back then; it had sounded like a home. A proper, true home. Now, all it was were ruins. Most structures were semi-collapsed, stones were lying at random on the barren ground. Someone had made a poor attempt of trying to get rid of all the ash that had somehow managed to cling to the ruined structure despite the fires being over a year ago. All of the people that remained— or that returned to Winterfell, looked haunted and hollow, broken. But nothing was compared to the look of utter despair etched across Lady Catelyn and the King's face. It was as though someone had caused them incurable pain, and the look in their eyes, of complete and utter grief. . .
Avariella felt something begin to blossom in her chest as she stared at the two of them, it was small but it was there, and she couldn't make it go away. What it was was sympathy. The larger part of her knew better than to sympathise with the Starks— the larger part of her told her that she shouldn't, not after everything— but she could not help it. The feeling lingered in her chest, spreading through her body like a disease, and she hated it— she wanted it to disappear with every fibre of her being, but it persisted. It sunk into her bones and stained her skin.
Her jaw locked in anger, and she shook her head gently, her curls flying around wildly when the wind blew violently. She was cold, alone, and angry, but whether she liked it or not this was her home for the time being.
And with that realisation— not for the first time— Avariella wished she were anywhere but there.