A/N: Holy shit guys it's been so long. I really don't know what to say. The world is in pieces right now and I hope everybody is okay and staying at home, and healthy. I don't know if anyone is still interested in this story (though I was glad to see after I deleted the post about my long absence that some people seemed interested still). I resolved long ago to finish this up in 3 parts but I realized recently that each part would have been around 50,000 words with how I wanted to split everything up. So I'm not doing that anymore, and have resolved to continue on with regular chapters that have more events put in each? I know it might feel rushed, but I really want to finish this story and do it justice, so hopefully it works out. Let me know what you guys think. Stay safe everyone!
Until next time,
FionaKevin 073
Chapter 9
It turns out, after all, that even while the Queen continued to try and prove that she was in fact, a Queen, everyone had already made up her mind about her. While the tent was crowded and overwhelming, Avariella noticed how no one approached the Queen unless necessary, and even when they did their manner was cool, polite yet distant.
They adored their King though, much to Avariella's dismay. She could tell by the looks they gave him, the way they all tried to vie for his attention. They chose him, a part of her whispered. They didn't have to, and yet they did. She stared at the King for a moment and was comforted by the familiar lurch in her gut.
For the most part, Avariella lingered in the background, casting awkward glances towards Olyvar who sat a few seats down from her. Does he know that Roslin is with child? She wondered, the thought making her stomach churn. Yet, despite her wariness, she was happy that Roslin was happy. There was also a level of satisfaction there that Avariella felt; her gamble had paid off.
Time moved forth and before Avariella knew it, she was observing all the drunken lords with cool eyes, her hand wrapped around a cup of wine. They laughed without restraint, as though they were animals; they drank heavily and greedily with all the joy in the world. Their beards varied between long and unruly and short and well-kept. But they all had the same presence; the same Northerness that Avariella could not find the words to describe.
"You'll have to marry one of them," Olyvar said, having sat next to her the moment the seat next to her was no longer occupied.
"I know," she acknowledged, her heart heavy in her chest. "I know." She felt him sigh next to her and then his hand was placed gently on her shoulder, gently squeezing it reassuringly.
And, as simply as that, they forgave each other.
"Roslin is with child," she murmured, turning to look at him.
He didn't look surprised.
"Shirei is already at her betrothed's castle," he countered, taking a sip out of his own cup.
"It's only us now."
She placed her hand on top of his.
Olyvar did not have to say anything to tell her that he understood what she meant.
Avariella wrote back to Roslin that very night and for a long hour, she knows not what to say. She watched with quill in hand as the candle began to dwindle, but the words just didn't seem to come. She imagined Roslin at Riverrun, surrounded by the water like she'd described; She pictured her elder sister growing round with child as she waddled about, the perfect Lady of Riverrun.
She suddenly missed her so greatly a small sound of heartache nearly escaped her lips. Her pain propelled her forward, and soon enough Avariella had written a letter that rivalled her sister's in length.
I'm glad you have found happiness, she wrote, and she surprised herself by how much she meant it, despite who she had found happiness with.
Over the next few weeks, Avariella developed a routine.
Not one that she particularly liked or enjoyed, but one that she grew familiar with. The stories she heard as a child weren't wrong; The North was drastically different to the South. The skies were perpetually grey, and the clouds hung heavy over her head on a daily basis. There were no flowers or colour in any of the plants. Everything was either a dull green, brown or some other dark colour that Avariella slowly grew used to.
Yet, there was a strange beauty to it. It was something that didn't appear beautiful to the eye at first glance, but she grew to appreciate it. She woke at first light every day, broke her fast with Olyvar and Max before going to the Queen. Every morning, she dressed the Queen in the same grey dress every day, brushed her hair and put it into a simple, long braid that tumbled down her shoulder. She then accompanied her to the med bay, the smell of death and suffering lingering under nose.
That was the part of her day she hated the most.
Every day, she watched the men around her die. She watched the light and hope leave their eyes. Avariella heard their screams and moans and all she could think of was Avos. Did he suffer? Did he cry in pain? She tried her hardest to stomach her discomfort and longing to be dismissed.
The Queen dismissed her about an hour after they arrived each day with a swift nod of her head and a murmur of words that Avariella was too relieved to truly hear. Then after that, she helped with the reconstruction of Winterfell. She did not do the manual labour — or most of it anyway — but she certainly helped with the planning and redistribution of resources. Lilly hovered around her, bringing her the odd flower that she found on the castle grounds. Her and Lady Catelyn spend hours upon hours of the day boring over drawings of the Guards hall and assigning workers and stonemasons there. Avariella also helped with distributing food resources to the workers as well as water and wine.
She ate her mid-day meal with Olyvar as well, when they were all allowed to take a little break in between working. Olyvar was helping the King with the reconstruction of the great hall and was always covered in ash whenever she saw him. After that meal, she returned to Lady Catelyn and sat there with all the workers near them, eating their lukewarm soup and pieces of bread. Then when the sky began to darken, she returned to the med bay and the Queen, where she stood in the background and tried not to look at —
At them.
She then returned with the Queen to her tent, helped her bathe and dress for the evening, before returning to her own tent by nightfall where she sat, alone, with Max. And then it started all over again. It was a rather quiet life; she rarely conversed with either Lady Catelyn or the Queen except for the rudimentariness and only conversed with Olyvar or Lilly regularly.
She was, in fact, alone.
Avariella was not quite sure what to make of this.
Avariella had been alone before.
She had isolated herself from those around her while she still lived at the Twins. Grief had made her alone. But this was a different kind of loneliness. It was difficult to describe.
She was noticed but disregarded.
People stared at her but did not speak to her.
At the Twins, Avariella could simply disappear into the background. But here, she stuck out like a sore thumb. It was unnerving.
In truth, Avariella was not really sure that she was helping anyone really. All she did was follow what Lady Catelyn told her to do. She simply went through the motions. Not that Lady Catelyn gave her any indication that she was not of some use, the elder woman seemed perfectly polite to her, if slightly stern.
So, it was a surprise to Avariella when Lady Catelyn allowed her one day of rest.
"Pardon?" Avariella questioned, blinking in surprise.
A small hint of a smile appeared on the elder woman's lips.
"Take a day to roam Winterfell and familiarize yourself with your surroundings," Lady Catelyn instructed, observing her intently.
"But the workers—"
"Will survive without you," she interrupted, not impolitely. "My daughter will accompany me for the day."
Avariella had rarely seen the Stark girl since she arrived. It seemed that the soldiers were not the only wounded ones from the war. Whenever she emerged, she seemed tired, her eyes red from what Avariella assumed to be lack of sleep. But she was still a breathtaking beauty, the eldest Stark daughter, even if she did seem a little broken.
Aren't we all? Avariella thought, as she watched the mother and daughter from afar.
But Avariella had no interest in spending her free day preoccupying herself with Starks. No. She had had enough of them to last her a lifetime. As she walked, she felt a momentary yet consuming desire to finally meet her husband to be and flee from Winterfell, but it faded as soon as it developed. She did not trust these Northmen and their claims of honor.
She had once, and it resulted in the death of her brother and a broken promise of a crown.
Avariella had no intention of doing so again.
What's the saying? she pondered, as she walked aimlessly through the ruins of Winterfell, fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.
As far as Avariella knew, most of the main buildings of Winterfell were under construction, and the few that remained were either med bays or not accessible to her. The only other place was—
Avariella halted at the sight of the Godswood, which was right beside the Guards Hall, one of the few structures they had managed to finish since they had begun Winterfell's reconstruction. The sight of the forest sent a chill down Avariella's spine. There were tall, menacing oaks, sentinels with great needles, pine trees — and she could see this simply from standing by the gate. It was quite unlike the verdant forests of her childhood. And yet, something called to her. Perhaps because it seemed like a place of quiet in this madhouse of workers and masons and soldiers.
Avariella took a deep breath, glanced at Max, her ever loyal companion, and entered the Godswood with as straight a face as she could muster. Avariella suddenly missed the Twins with an ache that astounded her. She had known every tree in that forest — every path, every stone, where the sun was brightest, and the shade was largest. She knew nothing of this barren forest, with its grey leaves and dull features.
Max stayed closer to her as they walked on the path. Avariella wondered fleetingly who made it— most likely the hundreds of previous occupants of Winterfell. It sent a shiver down her spine, thinking of the previous Kings and Queens of the North walking the very path she was. And yet, she continued on, till the path ceased and she came into sight of —
Avariella gasped at the sight of the weirwood heart tree. Its bark was as white as bone, its dark leaves reached towards the sky like arms. But what unnerved her the most was the long and melancholy face carved into the stump, with its eyes dried with red sap.
"Why do you look so frightened?" Rickon Stark asked.
Avariella jumped at the sound of his voice; she had not even realized anyone else besides her and Max were there.
"I've never seen a weirwood tree before, my lord," she replied shakily.
Rickon Stark shot her a confused look.
"The Twins has a Godswood, my lord," she amended. "Like any other Southern House. But I fear they do not all have a weirwood tree or are anywhere near as impressive as this Godswood."
Avariella startled at the sight of a woman approaching from behind Rickon. Her apprehension faded once she realized she had seen her earlier.
"I am Osha, my lady," the woman said clumsily. Avariella frowned slightly, unable to place her accent.
"I am Lady Avariella," she replied. "Forgive me, but are you from Winterfell —"
"I am from beyond the Wall," Osha interrupted.
Avariella was too surprised to hide it.
"I've never met someone from beyond the wall before," she heard herself say. It was a surprise that the Starks let someone from that origin reside in their home and allow one of their heirs to grow so attached.
"Neither had I!" Rickon said enthusiastically and boldly reached for her hand. "Neither had Sansa or Robb or Arya or Bran!"
Avariella was too stunned by his action to say anything, and simply followed him when he pulled her towards the Weirwood tree with Osha close behind. It seemed more frightening to her up close, but she supposed there was a queer beauty to it, even if she couldn't truly appreciate it just yet. Though the face still terrified her down to her core.
"But Osha has been here through everything," Rickon rambled. "Even now, with Arya away and Sansa going to the Reach—"
"The Lady Sansa is leaving Winterfell?" Avariella asked, surprised. She wondered what Tyrion Lannister; Sansa's "husband" was doing here if she planned to leave.
Rickon nodded, looking rather perplexed.
"I think she might marry someone there," he told her. "But I'm not sure."
He frowned adorably, and Avariella could not help but smile. Questions whirled in her mind along with confusion, but the longer she stared at his face, the more they faded away. The resemblance to Avos was striking — overwhelmingly so.
"Oh," is all she said on the matter. It made little difference to her whether the Stark girl stayed or left.
She watched Rickon Stark with an intensity she was surprised he did not notice or show that he noticed. It was like her brother had risen from the grave. The knot in her stomach tightened as she listened to him ramble on about his father and Maester Luwin, and Avariella felt something in her jolt when she heard him mention that the old Maester died a few steps in front of them.
"I'm sorry," she heard herself say, the first time she had ever apologized - genuinely, anyway - to a Stark. "For your loss."
Rickon blinked at her and Avariella felt a fierceness arise in her chest, something warm and lingering that she had only felt towards Shirei or Roslin.
He shook his head as though he were in a daze, his wild curls falling in disarray. There was something unkept about this young prince, a sense of wildness that a large part of Avariella ached to ease. There was another part of her that hostile and cold, the reminder of Avos this young made his loss almost feel sharper, a keen reminder that he would never have children. But this is a child, she thought, absentmindedly bending down to pet Max when he rubbed against her legs. A child cannot be blamed for his brother's sins, surely?
It was a question that part of her did not want to answer.
Max let out a whine at her feet and she looked down in concern, following his gaze to find —
"Come here Shaggy!" Rickon called out from beside her.
The dark beast obeyed his master instantly, lumbering over to them and wrapping himself around the little boy's legs. My god, Avariella thought, the beast almost reaches his chest. She wanted to shrink away and hide, run away from this direwolf, but she imagined the sheer ridiculousness of it. A child was comfortable with such a beast, a child so small it almost looked like she could snap him in two if she wanted. Avariella was a woman now. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath quietly. She was unnerved to find the beast's - Shaggydog - eyes on her, staring up at her with green eyes so vivid she could swear they were almost human. This one did not have the calm of the King's beast - who terrified her still. She remembered how large the King's dire wolf had felt as it nudged her stomach at the Twins all those weeks ago. It had scared her, but she'd found the beast then to be calm. This one may have been happy at Rickon's feet, but there was something in its eyes, of rage and fear that made her stomach clench.
She wondered again at what they all had endured, and found herself glancing at Osha, who was watching her with unreserved eyes. Avariella thought of Lady Catelyn and the subtle warning she had given her a few days before.
Rickon glanced at her, smiling slightly, and she pictured the scared boy who hugged his mother's skirts, who had looked at all the rest of the Lords not with nervousness, but with fear. The way he had relaxed when he caught side of Max, the distinct favour he had so blindly given her simply because she owned a dog. But -
Avos.
It hurt to look at the youngest Stark, hurt in a way Avariella knew not how to express. I want my brother, she thought, knowing it was not the child's fault he was no longer there, but incapable of separating the two boys, of seeing anything else in Rickon Stark's eyes. He was her brother and yet he was not and Avariella did not wish to hurt him, but to grow close to the boy was a thought that pained her extremely.
I would try to mold you, she suddenly wished to say. To try and turn you into the brother I loved most. I don't know how to not wish you weren't a ghost.
Life continued on normally after her encounter with Rickon Stark. It turned out that the boy spoke true; Lady Sansa and Tyrion Lannister were to leave Winterfell by the end of the week. Lady Sansa would go to the Reach, to the Tyrells and Lord Tyrion to Gods knew where. No doubt the announcement of the dissolution of their marriage would come when he was settled somewhere safe, Avariella thought. No doubt people would leap on the sole surviving Lannister – at least the only one of import – the instance the Starks lifted their protection.
The news bustled around the camp and the workers also spoke of it when Avariella was near them. Even Lady Stark seemed more stressed than usual, her blue eyes often unseeing off into the distance, as though something were on her mind.
As the end of the week approached, Avariella found herself alone the night before the Stark girl was meant to leave. There was no grand feast before the couple was meant to leave Winterfell and so the camp was quiet as Avariella left her small tent to go for a short walk with Max inside the camp. The night air was cool and crisp, and she shivered into her furs when she stopped, to allow Max some distance as he went to relieve himself a few meters ahead near the edge of the camp.
As she stood there, she pondered how life would be like once they had all managed to live inside the Great Keep of Winterfell. She'd heard that some of the rooms were habitable, but most were still not; she assumed that the Starks did not want to decide amongst themselves which would get the shelter of a warm home and which would not, especially if it meant the Lords helping them would be left outside – except for Rickon Stark, of course.
"My, Lady Frey," a voice called out from beside her. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."
Avariella turned to stare at Tyrion Lannister, her eyes flickering across his small form. He was wrapped in a large bundle of furs as well, holding onto a wine cup with gloved hands. Avariella had seen little of Tyrion Lannister since her arrival at Winterfell – in fact, now that she thought of it, she had not seen him at all. No doubt he wished to make himself scarce in the North, since he was hated so. Not even his status as Lady Sansa's husband could protect him from everyone if he showed himself about constantly.
"My lord," she returned curtly, returning her gaze to Max's distance form.
"An intimidating beast," Tyrion Lannister said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Avariella remained quiet.
"You don't like me much, do you?" he asked.
Avariella glanced at him, felt her stomach clench.
"No matter," he said, before she could respond. "Gods know you're not the only one! The only reason I am alive with my lands and titles is because of my pretty wife. And because I was the only one who treated Lady Sansa with a modicum of decency during her stay at King's Landing."
A pause.
"Wondrous what being decent in a time of war does for you," Lord Tyrion commented, eyeing her closely. The sight of the little man's gaze on her set her blood afire, but Avariella gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to snap at him. Her outspokenness had gotten her nowhere before; she did not wish to give this man the satisfaction of breaking her cool.
"A trait most of my family seemed to lack," he continued.
That surprised Avariella, and by the look on his face she knew he did not hide it well.
"Is it wise to speak ill of the dead, my lord?" she asked him. Even if they are Lannisters.
"You hate my family," he told her. "Not that I blame you – most in Westeros do. My father was a cruel man, my sister a cruel woman, my brother—" he stopped a moment and Avariella could see traces of grief in his mismatched eyes under the torchlight.
"Why are you telling me this, my lord?" she asked.
He titled his head slightly, his reddish-blonde curls falling over his eyes.
"A Lannister and a Frey," he commented lightly. "Two of the hated families in Westeros, though be rest assured, mine is far more hated than yours."
"I did not know it was a contest," she replied, her insides bristling, though she knew well enough that his statement was true.
"I think the one thing we have in common, my lady, is that we both want to be different than our fathers, though it would harder for you to accomplish your father's level of debauchery and reputation for lusting."
"And yet it would be much easier for you to become similar to yours," she retorted carelessly, unable to help herself.
She paused a moment, cursing herself for her lack of self-control.
Tyrion Lannister only laughed and took a swing from his cup.
"My oh my," he said, an amused smile gracing his lips. "Who knew the Frey's had a bit of bite to them." He paused a moment. "I'd heard of your outspokenness before, my lady, what a pleasure it is to see it in person."
Avariella bit down on her lip hard. She had not expected her outburst to the King at their first meeting to have spread so far.
"Don't worry," he said, having caught sight of the flash of panic in her eyes. "I don't believe most people know of it – or care, truth be told. You are only a Frey girl, possibly the future mother of the Queen in the North, though no doubt your husband's name shall be most important."
"Aren't they always?" she asked.
"Fair enough, my lady."
He laughed then, a deep chuckle that would have made her smile if it came from anyone else.
"My lord?"
"Nevermind me," he said. "I'm merely thinking that under my beloved nephew, I would most likely be dead by now, and your lack of ability to hold your tongue would have gotten you killed."
"Gods be good your nephew is no longer King," is all she had to reply.
He lifted his cup in her direction.
"Thank the Gods he is no longer alive, the cruel creature."
Silence erupted between them, and Avariella was relieved to find Max had running to her side once more.
"I shan't say I believe we shall ever meet again, my lady," Lord Tyrion said, "After my wife and I leave on the morrow."
"I shan't say if I know either, my lord," she replied. I would die happy knowing I would never have to see you again.
"I wonder where we both will end up, providing I don't get butchered in my sleep."
He stumbled away drunkenly and Avariella watched his small figure go.
Lady Catelyn was the one who held onto Sansa Stark the longest as they said their formal farewells. Avariella had no doubt they had all said their goodbyes earlier than now, as all the inhabitants of Winterfell watched the Stark family say goodbye to their eldest daughter. The girl's head was buried in her mother's neck, and Avariella felt a queer pinch in her stomach at the sight. The ghost of her mother hung over her neck, and she wondered for a moment what it would be like to receive a mother's comfort, to feel that maternal love every time you were in their embrace.
She'd never had it, and she never would.
Avariella watched as the two women disentangled from their embrace, saw Sansa Stark curtsy at the Queen, before moving towards the King in the North, having already said her farewells to Rickon Stark, who stood there shyly. Avariella's gaze lingered on the small boy so intently she nearly missed the King reaching forward and planting a gentle kiss on his sister's cheek. They spoke to each other softly so none in the courtyard could hear, and Avariella could have sworn when they parted that the King's eyes seemed softened with sadness and fondness before the emotion in his eyes disappeared, and his Kingly mask resumed once more.
The Lady Sansa offered the rest of them small nods, which they all returned, and Avariella observed as Tyrion Lannister led his wife into the carriage they would share in their travels South.
He hadn't spared her a glance as he'd said his goodbyes to the Starks, and Avariella had wondered for a moment if he even recalled their conversation from the night before.
"Avariella," Olyvar murmured, snapping her out of her reverie.
She noticed the carriage rolling out of the gates of Winterfell surrounded by its party of soldiers, the Stark banner whipping wildly in the wind. She glanced at her brother, noticed the dark circles around his eyes, how tired he seemed.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently, lifted her hand to his arm.
Before he could answer, Avariella was distracted by a hair of red curls making its way over towards her.
"Lady Ava," Rickon Stark said excitedly, Osha following behind him closely. His Lady mother and the King had not noticed that he had moved towards her, were now talking quietly amongst themselves as the rest of the people dispersed and returned to their tasks.
"Hello, Lord Rickon," she returned, allowing a small smile to grace her lips as she stared at the child. It was eerie how much he looked like Avos. She glanced at Olyvar, frowned to find her brother refusing to look at the youngest Stark, his hands curled into fists at his side. What is the matter with you? She wanted to snap at him.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he looked in the other direction from her too.
"Mother says I am to start training as soon as we can all move back into the castle," she heard the boy say, snapping her attention back to him.
"My brother started to try and fight with a sword around the same age as you," she told him. Rickon Stark was near six, if Avariella's memory was correct. She felt Olyvar jump at her words. It was one of the first times she had mentioned Avos casually in a conversation – if not the first.
"He wanted to be like Ser Barristan Selmy or Ser Duncan the Tall," Avariella continued, feeling her heart pound.
"I love the tales of Ser Duncan," Rickon Stark beamed.
Avariella laughed gently.
"So did he," she said. "He wanted to be a knight."
"I want to too!"
"I'm sure you do," she smiled. "I'm sure you will." She could not find it within herself to act cool and turn him away when he was so open.
The young prince talked to her some more, and Avariella deigned to peak a glance at Olyvar, and was disturbed to find his face pale and eyes wide, as though he were reliving some great horror in his mind.
Avariella had left from the First Keep when she saw Olyvar. He was near a small corner near the Keep, his form mostly sheltered by the rubble to his side. She frowned at the sight of him in such a place, noting his seclusion.
She went towards him and moved around some of the stones, so she was by his side. He made no indication that he noticed her appearance, though she was sure he had been waiting for her.
"The Queen is still doing Gods know what," she said conversationally, recalling how the woman had practically told her to bugger off. "No doubt trying to save enough to get enough of the Northerners to like her because none of the Lords do." The comment was petty she knew, but Avariella was mildly annoyed with the woman, who had continued to shut herself away in a tower that was full of other nurses and physicians while they struggled to continue the work outside.
She was surprised by Olyvar's loud exhale, as though he were trying to control his temper.
"What is the matter with you?" she snapped. She recalled his behavior with the younger Stark earlier on in the day. "I thought you would be bouncing around with joy, now that I've found a Stark to be mildly tolerable amongst the family you worship so much."
Olyvar rarely lost his temper, but when he did it was a fearsome thing, so Avariella was shocked to see the anger in his eyes and the fear that lingered there too.
"Must you always be filled with hate?" Olyvar questioned ruthlessly, his nostrils flaring. "By the Gods, Avariella! Is this how you mean to go to your grave one day? Has your grief rendered you incapable of sympathizing with a woman who has lost her child and made you content to mock her for the rest of your days? Burning over an insult that never—"
He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as he lifted a hand to his mouth.
Avariella's eyes narrowed.
"Pardon?"
Her voice was calm, like a snake before it leapt out at its enemies.
Olyvar began to shake his head, his dark curls landing in his eyes.
"What do you mean there was no insult?" She continued, approaching him like he was her prey. "Our brother died fighting for his cause, and he died—"
"Avariella—"
She continued despite his repeated interruptions —
"He died for a man who shat on his promises and rendered his death meaningless because he acted like a green boy who had never seen a woman naked before," she hissed, careful to keep her voice low because of how public their argument was, despite their relative seclusion.
Avariella felt her hands shake at her sides as she continued her tirade.
"Avos died for nothing! Nothing at all! Have you no shame? Our brother died in battle, broken and bleeding, alone for a cause that wasn't even ours!"
Olyvar flinched and shut his eyes tightly.
"Avariella, stop—"
"Did you truly love Avos so little—"
"For the love of the seven Avos did not die in battle!" Olyvar exploded.
Avariella felt her heartbeat stammer and eventually begin slowing to a deadening pulse. He eyed her furiously, his eyes black as coal, overcome with rage.
"What?" she asked, uncomprehending.
The sound of her voice relaxed him a little, made him seem a little more fragile and less consumed.
Olyvar's eyes were glassy as they met hers briefly before he looked away. He exhaled loudly, almost as if he were trying to collect himself.
"He didn't die in battle," he repeated.
Avariella frowned and felt her stomach drop.
"You—" she stopped, took a deep breath. "You said—"
"I know what I said," Olyvar interrupted. "I lied."
Silence fell between them, a silence so great Avariella thought she would die. She could not comprehend what he was attempting to say — she tried, and her confusion and grief grew so strong she felt ill.
"Is he—" she stammered helplessly, forced herself to take a deep breath. "Is he alive?"
Olyvar's eyes were sad when they eventually met hers.
"No," he told her. "He died in my arms."
Avariella tried her hardest not to let her knees buckle.
"Avariella. . ." Olyvar murmured, reaching for her.
"No," she said, with as much force as she could muster. "Finish. Tell me the truth."
Her eyes were plastered to the ground — she could not look at him. Not then, not ever.
"Avariella, you have to understand. . . war changed Avos in a manner I had not seen. I don't quite know what happened to him — I was with the King so often. Too often. I left him alone for most of the time and I — I should have known! I should have been a better brother to him, taken better care of him. But I didn't. Avos changed, was drunk more often than not - by the time I realised how hard his soul his grown - I don't know why—"
"How did he die?" she interrupted, her eyes piercing with tears.
There was a pause as Olyvar wrestled with the truth — as he tried to summon the strength to break his sister's heart yet again.
"He died on the eve of battle wrestling another soldier for a whore," Olyvar told her bluntly. "The other man had already bled out by the time I found him on the edge of the camp — Avos had been lying there bleeding for Gods know how long. He made me promise not to say anything to you, he didn't want you to know—"
"No," Avariella said. "No! You're lying, just admit it—"
"I'm not," he gently refuted, tears leaking out of his own eyes. "I wish to the Gods I were, but I'm not."
"So, everything has been for naught?" she questioned, as her lips quivered. "All my anger over a dishonorable death, when he — "
She could not believe it. Avariella thought of her brother, of his kind smile and happy eyes, and the thought of him —
"No," she repeated. She moved forward from the wall, stared at Olyvar with wide, unseeing eyes.
"Avariella, I'm sorry—"
She shoved him with all her might, did not even comprehend that he stumbled to the ground, was unable to feel any pain or remorse at her actions.
"Stay away from me," Avariella spat. "Far away!"
She hurried away from him before he could call her name.
No no no, she thought. It isn't possible.
She looked around the courtyard wildly, was glad that none seemed to take notice of her desperation.
She could not go to her tent, no doubt Olyvar would be there and she could not bear to be around him; would not be around him. Her eyes scanned the area, and when they landed on the entrance of the Godswood. Avariella sighed with relief and moved as fast as she dared towards it.
By the time she reached the Heart Tree, all the world around her was a blur. Her tears streamed down her face in silence, and Avariella stumbled towards the tree and fell defeatedly in front of it. She crawled so that her back was leaning against it. She did not feel the coldness of the earth beneath her, seeping through her gown and undergarments. She no longer thought herself capable of it.
Avos.
Avos.
The knowledge settled down deep in her stomach, poisoned her blood, weakened her bones. No, she thought, shaking her head. It can't be true. It can't. She could picture his smile so clearly; sweet and innocent. The way his blue eyes used to dance when he'd made her laugh. He was so kind, so gentle. He died wrestling a man over a whore. Avariella thought of her father, of Black Walder. Avos had been different from them all. He'd never even touched a whore before he'd left the Twins - at least not often.
He'd been her rock, had known her better than anyone else in her life - more than anyone ever would. She had thought the same for him. She had relied on that knowledge, believed in it more than anything else in the world; more than the Gods, more than the knowledge found in her books. She felt as though the very foundation of her being had been ripped away because it had, and a part of her hated Olyvar for it, hated him more than anything in the world.
Her tears dried sooner than she expected and Avariella was suddenly struck by a fury, a fury that made her grit her teeth as she struggled not to cry out. I will never cry over this again, she vowed to herself. I can't anymore. The sudden burst of anger died as quickly as it formed, and in its place left a steady numbness that made Avariella feel hollow.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured Avos in her mind. She thought of the last time she saw him. I'll come back; he had told her. I promise. Before you even know it. She'd missed him in her bones; had never been separated from him for a prolonged period of time ever. Not that she remembered. He was her constant.
She inhaled and exhaled repeatedly, trying to steady her heartbeat.
Snap.
Her head snapped up at the sound and she rose quickly to her feet - so quickly her head spun - when she caught sight of the King approaching the heart tree with Greywind at his side. His eyes were already on her when she noticed him, and Avariella felt her cheeks warm as she realized he saw her so vulnerable.
Her breath caught in her chest as she stared at him, unable to form words.
"Lady Frey," he said gently, stopping a few meters in front of her.
His voice startled her, almost made her flinch.
"Your grace," she replied, as evenly as she could given the circumstances.
Her stomach churned violently as the silence lingered. I know not what to say, she thought. I know not how to act around you.
Dear Gods, do you know?
Avariella felt her back straighten immediately after the thought. By the gods, she thought horrifiedly at the notion.
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
She knew not what to feel - anger grew in her stomach, but it felt misplaced. The familiar lurch in her gut when she saw him now felt foreign and limp. The hatred had seemingly vanished in mere seconds and in its place left a void Avariella knew not how to fill.
"Are you well, my lady?" He asked, perfectly polite.
Greywind approached her slowly, eyed her with some interest, as though he could sense the storm inside her.
"Quite well, your grace," she responded, dusting her skirts. "I apologize for infringing upon your time, I shall leave you to pray in peace."
"You need not go on my account, Lady Frey," he inserted.
Avariella met his eyes for a moment, was unable to tell if he was being genuine. Even if he were, the mere thought of lingering next to him made her want to die.
"I thank you for the offer your grace, but I think it best I return to the castle now."
He nodded and she took that as her cue to curtsy and left.
Later that night, Avariella lay in her makeshift cot, trying her very best not to shiver as she stared at the top of the tent. Her mind was inundated with questions - questions she was not sure she wanted answered. She thought of her brother, of the person she loved most in the world, and her heart broke. She could not fathom the radical transformation in his character, thought only of the moments where he'd criticized their father, where he'd shied away from the drinking and the lusting and the groping. He had been good. So good.
Olyvar's revelation did not seem true, it could not be true. She spent a few hours blaming what he said on jealousy and frustration, even tiredness, perhaps, from the reconstruction of Winterfell. But then she remembered the look in his eyes – the amount of fear and guilt that had lingered there, that looked near identical to when he had returned home from the war and told her that Avos was dead.
She recalled that moment so vividly now she could almost taste the tears on her tongue, the bile that had risen in her throat from crying so hard. Avariella had almost fainted, had needed to be carried back to her rooms by Olyvar she was so weak.
The memory wrapped itself around her like a vice. Forgive me, Olyvar had told her, tears piercing his own eyes. Forgive me. There had been moments in the year afterward that she wished she had told him that there was nothing to forgive, that Avos' death was not his fault.
Now she knew not what to think, what to believe. The questions burned through her mind, made her incapable of sleeping – did Roslin know? Did Shirei? Who else knew? How did he manage to keep Avos' transformation such a secret if he was corrupted by the rest of their brothers?
Avariella had no answers, and though the thought nearly killed her, she resolved to find the strength to ask him.
Avariella found Olyvar's tent just as first light began to appear. She was glad that the man he was sharing his tent with had already left, was even less surprised to find Olyvar awake. From where she stood at the entrance of the tent, she could see the hollowness in his eyes, the black circles that surrounded them.
She felt nothing at the sight of her brother's torment.
"Olyvar," she said, his name echoing across the small space.
He jumped at the sight of her and when he made to rise Avariella stopped with him a look, before walking over towards the chair they had near a small stool, which they no doubt used to write letters. She sat on it quietly, watched remotely as Olyvar shifted on his cot so he was closer to her.
"Avariella—"
"No," she said, lifting a hand. "I ask the questions."
There was a moment before she could summon the strength to continue.
Avos, she thought, closing her eyes tightly. Seven hells, I don't know if I can do this. Mayhaps I don't wish to know.
But Avariella somehow that if she did not ask now, bitterness would consume her – and regret. She would always wonder about the truth, always.
"When did he change?" she asked quietly, her fingers playing with each other.
She directed her gaze toward the ground. Olyvar sighed loudly.
"I don't know for certain, around the time we stopped sending you all letters a few weeks after the Battle of Whispering Wood."
Olyvar pressed on. "The battle changed him Avariella; we both killed men and that changes you. He was young," he said, his voice laced with a regret so strong Avariella felt tears pierce her eyes. "By Gods, he'd only just turned ten and five when we left the Twins; he'd never even see a man be executed before."
The pain in her chest blossomed, made her throat constrict painfully.
"He still loved you," Olyvar told her. "He loved you all very much, even if he became someone I didn't recognize anymore."
"Stop," she whispered. She could not imagine a world where Avos no longer loved her – or Shirei or Olyvar or Roslin. It was not possible, not something she could ever fathom.
"How'd you keep it a secret?"
"He died on the eve of battle," he said. Avariella managed to glance at him briefly, found him also deflating with the words, as though he were unburdening himself of some great weight. He was, Avariella realized. Her brother – her other half, had forced her other brother to thrust a weight so heavy on his soul it almost crushed him.
"I hid his body," he continued. Avariella saw him close his eyes tightly, as though he were reliving the memory. "And put on his armor. He had no squire so no one would know if he were missing. And after the battle was over, it was easy enough to put some blood on him, create a few scratches, make it seem like that was where he died. That he died fighting for the King in the North."
Instead of a whore.
"And our brothers? Would they not have told me of this change in character?"
She thought of Black Walder, how he had struck her, how he had threatened her. No doubt he would have dangled this information over her; most men she knew would, for all of them were dishonorable and slimy.
"Forgive me, Ava, but I don't think they cared too much for his change," Olyvar said, his voice lacking any emotion. "I dare say most do not even remember his name, maybe not even Father."
"I see," she replied stiffly. She smoothed the skirts of her dress, noticed that her hands were trembling.
"I know you hate me," Olyvar said. "I don't blame you for it. I wish I had managed to keep my promise, I wish I had told him to stay at the Twins, protected him better. When I saw you with Rickon Stark, when I heard what you said, I panicked. I froze and I was scared that—"
He would turn into Avos.
Avariella felt her insides bristle at the thought, still incapable of believing this truth. She let Olyvar collect himself, and returned her gaze to her brother, watching as he straightened his shoulders.
"Does Roslin know?"
Olyvar shook his head, and Avariella could not help but feel relieved. That would have been one betrayal too many. The silence lingered as Avariella struggled to form another question.
"Does the King know?"
Olyvar froze and something inside Avariella broke even more.
"Dear Gods," she murmured, shaking her head as she lifted a hand to her face.
"I was in my cups," Olyvar told her, desperation laced in his voice. "It was on our way to Winterfell, after I had discovered the truth about Ser Trent—"
"Enough."
Olyvar looked at her brokenly.
"I don't hate you," she told him truthfully. "I'm tired, Olyvar, more than anything. Tired of hatred, of anger. Tired of it all."
He relaxed a bit, the stiffness in his body softening.
"You've suffered more than I can ever know," she continued. And it was true; she could not bear what he had, maintaining such a secret, watching one of her siblings die in her arms. She could not. And her heart yearned to touch him, to hold him close and forgive him. She could taste the remnants of her former rage, of the overwhelming grief that had ruined her for over a year. The hatred and bitterness that had plagued her.
She didn't know what to do with it all. She was forever changed by Avos' death, could never go back to that girl who had never experienced what it was like to have her soul ripped in two. There were moments where she'd managed to put herself together - for Shirei to go north, for Roslin to marry Edmure Tully, but the shards she'd been able to jam together had fallen apart, and now she was holding them in her hands, unsure of what to do, what to feel.
"But I can't forgive you."
The words left her lips before she could fully process them, but she discovered they were true.
She lifted her gaze to meet his, watched remotely as he nodded.
"Olyvar, Avos may have died a dishonorable death before Robb Stark even wed the Queen, but that doesn't change the fact that he went back on his promise in the first place. Avos could have died in battle—" her breath hitched dangerously, a lump of emotion making the words lodge in her throat. She took a deep breath, waited for it to settle. "And he didn't. I know that now, though I can't understand it. A part of me will never believe it, truthfully."
There was a moment before she continued.
"And a part of me wishes to all the Gods that you hadn't told me - or that you'd just told me the truth in the first place."
She thought of Avos then, dying in Olyvar's arms as blood protruded from the wound in his stomach, unrecognizable to her — Promise me, Olyvar. Promise me. Avariella decided then it was rather unfair of the dying to ask promises that would wreck the lives of the living.
Avariella rose from the chair, her gaze narrowed as her hands began to fiddle with each other.
"You need to leave me be," she told him gently. "I need time to process - to grieve."
"Avariella—"
"Olyvar, this is not me asking," she cut in. "This is me telling you. Leave me be."
Olyvar met her gaze tentatively, a nervous expression swirling in his dark orbs. He nodded quickly and swallowed loud enough for her to hear it. She offered him a thin smile that she was sure did not reach her eyes and left.
As Avariella walked back towards her tent, since it was too early still for the work to begin, she allowed the cold fresh air to wash over her, to help lessen the inescapable burden that had suddenly been thrust upon her – a new weight for her to carry now.
The ground beneath her felt unsteady as she waded her way through the cold air.
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and the major revelation that occurred. I struggled a lot with writing this and deciding whether or not to include it now or later, but it seemed like an appropriate time. I hope I managed to write the characters faithfully – it's been a while, and I've grown and changed, so I hope how I write and approach Avariella is still faithful to what it was 2 years ago. Thanks guys. I hope you enjoyed this. I should update soon. Stay safe and healthy guys!
Until next time,
Fionakevin073