He was back in the never-ending field of snow. Clad in his warmest furs and still the cutting winds of what felt like pure ice stabbed deeply at his face. He was clutching his blade tightly, the winds picking up snow that continued to obstruct his view.

Yet he walked on. He always walked on when he was back here. He didn't know truly what drove him forward in these instances. He didn't know what he was looking for.

Perhaps a better sight than the last time he was here, and the many times before that.

The wind continued to blow, his steps slowed as he forced one foot after another, the crunching sound of snow beneath his boots.

Would he find a better sight this time?

"Robb,"

It would appear not. The voice came from behind him, the voice of someone familiar and young.

Someone too young, and too familiar. The voice of family.

He turned around, like he had done many times before when he was back here. And like many times before, he saw Rickon.

His deceased youngest brother. Rickon stood there, clad in torn furs and shivering all the while. His eyes were bloodshot and-

And Rickon's throat was pierced still by an arrow through the back of his neck, as several others were embedded in his back. The blood still was pouring out near what should be a fatal wound.

Robb shivered, and not because of the cold. This was never an easy sight to see, no matter how many times he had seen it.

"Why did you let me die? You were my big brother, and you let me die."

Rickon's voice became more difficult to hear, the blood in his mouth making it difficult to speak. It always changed like that when Robb turned around.

"Me too."

Another voice is heard, and Robb turns to the source: Bran.

Poor Bran, lain in the cold snow, his body mangled and contorted in a horrible way. Bone is piercing through parts of his skin at several unnatural places. And as usual the raven is there. The raven that is picking at Bran's eyes, all the while Bran speaks still.

"You let me die too Robb. You left me behind in Winterfell, and you let Theon burn it down. I wish he really did kill us that day. At least then I wouldn't have suffered so much. Suffering that you caused."

The dark blood starts to form near his once so active brother's eyes, the raven continuously pecking with more and more vicious fervor.

"I came to look for you at the Twins."

Arya. Robb turns again, and he sees his youngest sister: Rapier in one hand, glimmering dagger in the other…

And several shards of ice embedded in her neck, chest and stomach. And a look of pure hate in her grey eyes.

"I wept for you, I mourned for you. I wish I hadn't. I wish you had stayed dead. I hate you. I hate you for killing us."

Robb manages to exhale, as he dropped his blade into the snow.

"I never meant-" he starts desperately, but as always…

He is cut off.

"For this to happen?"

Robb closes his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth as he drops to his knees. He feels the tears streaming down his cheeks, though it feels as if they freeze solid against his cheeks.

He wishes for this to be over. He wants it all just to be over.

He manages to open his eyes as he looks up, and as always she is there.

Sansa. His sister looked every bit of a lady, like a Queen even: She was dressed in an exquisite dress of greys and whites. Her hair was perfectly brushed and her hands folded neatly into one another. The very image of a proper lady.

Save the abundance of blood that was dripping through her dress at the fabric near her stomach. Her hands unfolded from one another as they moved to clutch herself tightly near her own middle, the blood covering her arms and hands.

He finally was able to meet her eyes. Eyes similar to his own, though they were filled with the purest form of sorrow and pain.

"But it did. Because of you. Because of you-"

She raises an arm and points a bloody finger at him, her body shaking more and more as she attempts to speak.

"I am no longer alive. If you weren't around, then my…"

His sister can't even finish her sentence as the words die in her throat, and that just hurts Robb more. That she can't even express the horror of what happened to her. And to her…

He just wishes for his suffering to be over.

Though that was a kindness he didn't deserve.

"Brother."

This time he looked down. And there was Jon, dying in his arms again.

He was always torn when he was back in this field of snow. He always felt as if his very essence was being ripped apart, bit by painful bit, when seeing his siblings again in these terrible surroundings.

And yet, every time he saw Jon it was as if that pain was happening ten times over. Again. And again. The pain never stopped when he was with his closest brother in this state.

His brother, a myriad of wounds all over his body: Be that his mangled leg from the fall so high, the left arm lost from a slash of a weapon of pure ice or the gaping hole in his right eye-socket where an eye should have been.

Jon chuckled lowly, a chuckle cold and without humor.

"Brother… what a fucking joke. Perhaps that is my only comfort here, that I am the only one of us that does not share a sire with one so disgraceful as you. Lord Eddard's eldest."

A pause, as Jon kept his remaining eye on Robb, pure spite in his eye as his tone of voice matched his glare.

"You should have stayed dead Robb. If you did we'd all still be alive. We'd be okay. We might have even been happy after mourning you." Jon continued, his breaths getting slower and hoarser, as Robb had to endure the pain of having Jon die in his arms all over again.

"Anything for vengeance, that is what you begged for Robb. You promised you would any price for vengeance that night at the Twins." Jon spoke, his tone of malice giving way to utter coldness.

"We were the price you paid, Robb."

The remaining eye of Lyanna Stark's son turns a shade of ice blue.

"Was it worth it?"

Jon's right remaining hand lunges for Robb's throat, and Robb feels the fingers cold as ice take a firm hold. The air is slowly squeezed out of his body, as he is strangled in front of his siblings he failed so terribly.

Robb can't respond to Jon's final question before it all goes black, but his answer is the same as it's always been.

No.

He had paid too much.

His eyes shoot open as he inhales sharply through his nose, and several times after the initial inhale. His eyes dart up, looking around himself as he takes in his surroundings.

He is lain abed, covered under furs in the middle of the night, as his eyes remain locked with the stone ceiling above him. His breathing was rapid, chest heaving up and down, though eventually his breaths slowed.

His eyes averted from the ceiling and moved downwards, as he glanced at the woman lain beside him, her head resting on his chest. She was slightly stirring now, Robb hoped she wouldn't awake because of his bad dream. She was…

She wasn't his wife.

Another insult to Lord Eddard, a sinful relation in the rooms of his late honorable father.

He briefly laid his head back into his pillow, sighing out deeply. Dishonoring the dead with his actions.

That… that was something he was prone to do these last years. Ever since that battle beyond the Wall. Though truthfully…

Robb knew he had been a disgrace ever since his uncle's wedding. Though he knew he was a failure long before that.

Another exhale, this one lower than the ones he had made before, as he slowly and gently started to remove himself from the Tallhart lady's embrace.

Eddara groaned slightly, as she started to awake slowly.

"… what's wrong?" She mummered, her eyes slowly opening to look at him.

"Robb?"

His hand went to one of her shoulders, as he managed a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. Can't sleep, think I'll take a small walk…" he said softly, as he rose to his feet as he retrieved some of his clothes scattered throughout his room, pacing through his room slightly as he started to clothe himself.

Eddara remained silent for a few moments, before softly speaking again.

"That dream again?"

He stopped in his step. Then, he sighed.

And he merely nodded. To that, Eddara nodded in return. She didn't look surprised at his reaction, not at all.

She had seen this too often to be surprised of him having nightly terrors anymore.

"Have a good walk then. I hope it helps." She said earnestly.

I know it won't, but…

What else could he do, really?

"I hope so too," Robb replied, his tone not at all convincing. With that, he put on his boots and walked towards the door. He opened the door, his steps slow, as he slowly closed the door behind him.

He let out a deep sigh.

The years had passed, and he had somehow was still around. He had survived it all: The war he lost, the war that came after and finally the war of survival.

The war of survival, where he had lost every single remaining member of his family.

And it was all his fault.

Too much had changed since all those years ago. The landscape had changed, both literally and politically.

He had changed. And not for the better.

He slowly started to traverse his halls. Some of the guards that were posted in the hall gave him a look, but Robb merely raised a hand at them dismissively. They too didn't look surprised.

After all, how many times had this happened this month alone?

And how many more times would this happen still?

Till the day I die.

He was making his way to the Godswood. Over the years it had slowly been turning to look like a proper Godswood again, and it was one of the few spots in his castle where he felt at least slightly comfortable.

He was halfway there when suddenly another individual showed up near him, turning a corner and noticing Robb. He wasn't Luwin, of course. Luwin was dead, yet another person whose death he was to blame for.

No, this Maester was named Mors. He was Dornish, and he was sent as a replacement for Luwin when that dreaded war against the undead was finally over. He was a good man, but still Robb felt a brief tinge of pain every time he interacted with the man.

But he was a good man. A clever man, with some other uses Robb supposed he ought to be grateful for. And he didn't judge him for his… baser lapses in judgement, Robb knew.

"My Lord, I was just… are you having trouble sleeping again?"

Robb was fairly certain Mors only asked to be polite, as they both knew the answer to his question by now. "I was just going for a walk. Couldn't sleep. I'll be retiring again in a bit," Robb said in a vague tone. If they couldn't properly fix his nightly terrors over the past few years…

They couldn't fix them now.

"What are you doing still up at this hour, Mors? You were just… what?" Robb asked curiously. He looked over the man, and then he noticed it.

His Maester was carrying a small scroll of parchment. A letter.

And even from where Robb was standing he could see the three-headed dragon embedded in the red seal.

Mors extended the letter to him. "A letter from the capital, my Lord. I figured I would check if you were still awake so I might…"

His Maester didn't have to finish his sentence. Robb knew what he meant to say. Wordlessly, he took the scroll and broke the seal, swiftly reading through the letter from King's Landing as he stood still in the hallway.

Once he was done reading, a humorless chuckle left him. If his existence wasn't such a pathetic mess he might have been worried by the vague words in the letter, by the lack of explanation for the command that was given to him.

But he had been suffering for too long to be afraid of these things anymore.

"Get some sleep Mors," Robb said, rolling up the letter as he handed it back. "Come morning I need your assistance with some letters I must write." The Lord of Winterfell said in a calm tone.

Robb sighed neutrally.

"I have been summoned to the capital."