Chapter 29
When Robb finishes, he rolls off of her, panting, sweat dribbling down his face. The floor beneath him is uncomfortable and for a moment Robb briefly wonders as to how they managed to end up on the floor. He can hear her breathing beside him, and though he is tempted to turn on his side and look at her, he does not.
The rage has not fully left him yet, the hurt still lingering in his heart and a part of him is still in shock.
For what he is not sure.
Her betrayal, his actions. . . or this.
He wondered what this was, was it a brief moment of lust? A mistake— that it was surely, but somehow Robb can't— Can't what? He asks himself, she has been playing you this whole time.
He can feel her shift beside him, can feel her bare flesh brush against his and pretends not to feel goosebumps rise in their wake. He can not resist the temptation and glances at her.
She is staring at the ceiling, her green eyes calm and unreadable, her chest rising up and down, her hair tumbling down her shoulders, in a slight mess from where he had—
Shame trickles through Robb as he glances down her body and takes note of the small bruises littered across her chest, the fading marks of his hands on her hips, her lips slightly swollen. But that is when he glances down his body and notices the scratches down his chest and the slight sting on his back, can practically feel the loopsididness of his curls from where she had tugged at them.
Robb gulped.
It had been angry and rough, lacking any elegance or remote sign of affection if not for the kisses they had shared.
It had been a demonstration of lust.
And anger.
And hurt.
He had dishonoured her.
Robb can not help but glance at her thighs and frowns at the sight of her smooth, pale skin, free of blood.
He then glances around the room, feeling as though a boulder had just been thrown at his shoulders, and nearly shudders at the sight of Lord Edwin's corpse laying only a few feet by.
How had they not noticed?
He glances around the room, taking note of his clothes disregarded in random places throughout the tent, the sight of her dress and undergarments lying in a pool by the table and snorts.
He can feel her glance at him, can practically hear her mind wheeling and he feels the anger return beneath his skin, but this time not only for her but at himselfas well.
You just couldn't control yourself, could you? He asks himself bitterly.
But he is not only to blame for this. . . and right now it seems awfully easier to blame someone other than himself.
He lays back down on his back, closing his eyes tightly and sighing, raising a hand to lay itself in his curls.
He feels her shift against him once more, but before he can muster the courage to speak he feels her sit up and watches her raven hair tumble down her shoulders, covering her back.
Robb absentmindedly raised his hand onto her lower back, appreciating the smoothness of her skin under his.
He can feel the fire stirring within him once more and he hates himself for it.
She stands abruptly, leaving Robb by his self on the floor, watching her.
She moves normally, as though she is not standing naked as the day she was born in front of her, and bends down to reach for her underdress and slips it on, covering the bare skin that Robb was trying very hard not to stare at.
"This never happened," she says, breaking the silence. Her voice is cold— though this is no longer new too Robb, it sparks something inside of him.
"Hmm?" Robb replies, standing as well, and walked over to her, so close that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he spoke.
She shook her head and took another step forward as to reach for her dress, and tugged it over her shoulders, and smoothed the creases with her hands. Robb was still watching, bare and naked, making no move to dress himself.
What are you doing? He yells at himself internally.
He knows what he is doing.
He is distracting himself, because the distraction is better than facing the truth.
The truth is something that could— that would change everything and he wished he could say that he hated her, but he doesn't.
And a part of him hates himself because of it.
"Stop," she snaps softly, about to move away from him before Robb quickly wraps an arm around her stomach, bringing her against his back.
They are both silent for a moment, only their breaths filling the air, before Everra breaks it, "We need to get rid of the body."
At the mention of Lord Edwin, Robb stiffens and lets go of her, walking around to reach his breeches. He tugs them on, his eyes scanning the room for his belt.
"Here," Everra says, passing him his belt.
He doesn't thank her.
He dresses himself quickly, snapping himself out of the reverie he was in.
When he finishes he turns around to find her staring at the corpse intently, a small crease appearing in between her eyebrows.
"What is it?" he snaps at her, his voice harsher than he thought capable.
She does not seem to notice— or care and merely glances in his direction.
"I am wondering as to how we are to get rid of the body— or better yet what excuse we will have."
Robb nods slightly, a wave of guilt coming over him as he glances towards the corpse, and he feels anger rise within him and this time there is none directed towards himself but at her. For turning him into this person. Someone whose father would not be able to look in the eye. A person who protects someone who— who lied to him.
"We tell them that I found some letters of him conversing with Stannis, that proved he was in league with him and planned to betray you," he hears her comment, taking a few steps closer towards the body, "he reacted angrily, and you feared for your life, and so you killed him. They won't think your lying—"
"But I am," he cuts her off bitterly, his eyes flashing at her, "I am lying for you. My brothers sister."
Whom he. . . .
He see's her stiffen at his words, her sharp green eyes narrowing at him, "Half sibling, same as you."
There is silence between them for a moment, a brief moment of tension before a look seemingly akin to vulnerability appears in her eyes, "Robb," she says softly, "Don't tell him."
His head snaps towards her, his blue eyes widening, "It would—" for the first time since he's met her she's stumbling over her words, "Change everything. He's not ready."
Robb scoffs at her words, unable to believe how he had once trusted before he hears her plead, "Robb please if you love your brother as much as I know you love your other siblings you won't tell him, if you want any chance of him forgiving you, you won't. No matter how angry you are with me."
Robb is shocked at her words, at her desperation, it is something he has never seen from her before, yet it is still guarded, still contained inside of her, all of this emotion that he was once so sure she felt as well.
It's funny how things change.
Yet, he still nods at her and watches as she closes her eyes —in relief?— and reopens them, the usual blank look in her eyes reappearing.
"We should summon the other lords," Robb says, his voice gruff and he turns away from her, his shoulders tense.
"Your grace—" she starts and then stops at the sound of Robb's snort of disbelief.
"I was inside you not only an hour ago and you want to go back to such formalities?' he asks her, his voice laced with bitterness.
He knows he is being childish and rude but by all the gods he is angry and hurt and though he hates to admit it he is jealous that she could never show that kind of desperation for him.
He feels her tense behind him but other than that, there is no reaction only her coldness radiating off her in waves.
"I know your angry—"
"Angry does not quite cover it," Robb snaps, running a hand over his face.
She sighs and it sounds as though she is growing impatient, like she is dealing with a child, "I did what I had to do."
"You know," Robb says, turning on his heel to glare at her, "You always say that, as if it makes everything better, as if it excuses every single horrible thing that you do, but it doesn't! It only makes it worse, that your hiding under a sentence to excuse the person you are. I bet that you don't even think that what you did— letting my brother become a cripple, sentencing my father a good and honourable man to die and thousands upon thousands of others, simply because you wanted a little more power! But hey, you did what you had to do right?"
Robb does not look at her after he finishes his ranting, letting out a breath.
"Are you even sorry?" he asks her after a while.
He can hear her shift on her feet, a small breath leaving her mouth an then the word slips out, the word that ruins everything "No."
He laughs.
He can not prevent it from escaping his mouth, filling the room.
"You would die," she says, her voice somehow different from how it usually sounded, more raw, "You would have fallen in love and then you married her and it cost you the war, though you didn't live long enough to see that. You went to the wedding of your uncle Edmure, to a Frey girl whom was surprisingly quite beautiful and then you, your mother, your pregnant wife whom you loved and your army were slaughtered by the Frey's and a knife was shoved in your heart by Lord Bolton. They then tossed your mothers body into the river and sowed Greywind's head onto your body and yelled, 'The King in the North, the King in the North'. But then again, everything that happened in that life is quite different from what has happened in this one because I made sure of it. So no, I'm not sorry for preventing all of that from happening. I do what is best for my people regardless of others people pain. You should have known that by now."
Robb froze for a moment, the rage in his veins cooling but not vanishing and he could not fathom a reply.
"Lord Bolton?' he asks, mistrust flaring.
Her eyes meet his and somehow he knows that she is not lying.
"He didn't believe you would win," she answers, "And no one wants to be on the losing side."
He couldn't breathe because of the weight that had suddenly been thrust onto his chest, as though something was dragging him down under the ground and he can imagine it now— can feel the pain strike near his heart as he hears, 'the Lannister's send their regards'.
"Robb?" he hears her ask, and then he can feel her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm okay," he breathes.
She lets her hand linger on his shoulder for a moment— a moment too long— and then removes it, letting it hang at her side.
His eyes lock in a gaze with hers and though he doesn't forgive her— he can't— he does know that she is not lying.
"Let me call the guards," he says, but before he can move she stops him.
"Everra—"
She bends down on the ground, clutching the bloody knife in her hands and gestures to his hand, "We need to make it look as though there were a fight."
He nods at her, giving her his palm and watches as she cuts him, blood pouring out of the wound.
She then dips a finger in it, and smears it down the side of her dress and then a little bit on the sleeves of his shirt.
She hands him the knife and Robb takes it, watching as she kneels down beside the corpse, pressing her hands against the wound on his neck as if to try to stop the bleeding.
"Everra?" Robb asks, confused.
She ignores him for a few moments, and then rises, wiping some of the blood on the bottom of her chin. Everra tilts her head as she looks at the corpse once more, frowning, and Robb wonders for the thousandth time what she is thinking.
"We need to make the death look instantaneous," she says.
Robb frowned at her and replied, "It was instantaneous."
She rolls her eyes at him and snatches the knife back out of his hands, kneeling on the ground once more. Without hesitating she continues to slit the mans throat, watching calmly as more blood pours out onto the floor.
She shoves the knife in his hands, gives him a searching look, and then punches him in the gut and throws herself onto the floor yelling, "Guards!"
They run in as if on cue, and Robb must look as though he does not understand what happened from where he had fallen onto the floor.
"Your grace!" They exclaimed loudly, rushing to him, "Your palm."
Robb shoots them a look but thanks them, standing shakily, feeling as though he is can not properly stand on his legs. By this point the guards were helping Lady Everra up, whom played the shocked witness of a murder quite well.
Why was he surprised? She played him.
By this point other people had rushed into the tent and he was unnerved at the sight of Roose Bolton at the entrance of the tent, rushing towards him, "Your grace what happened?"
But before he can answer Everra cuts in her voice slightly breathless, "I was recently informed that Lord Edwin had been feeding Stannis Baratheon information so I ran to tell his grace. Lord Edwin was already there however, and a fight ensued after my arrival. His grace had no choice but do defend me and himself from our attacker."
"The guards did not hear a thing?" Lord Bolton asks, his blue eyes flickering in between them both.
"I had allowed them to take a break from their posts after Lord Edwin entered my tent," Robb cuts in smoothly, maintaining eye contact with Lord Bolton, "I had not thought that I needed to be protected from Lord Edwin. I was wrong."
Lord Bolton nods at his words, his suspicion carefully masked.
Robb feels something tug at his gut as he realised that he didn't have anyone he trusted.
Not anymore, anyway.
"Robb!" he hears his mother yell and feels so completely and utterly relieved at the reminder that there is at least one person in this whole mess that he can trust. Even if he forgets sometimes.
Catelyn stops in front of him, her blue eyes wide— both with panic and fear. Her hair is disheveled and the sleeves of her dress rolled up to her elbows, before she tugs them down, her eyes scanning all over his body.
She frowns at the sight of his blood stained clothes, and his bleeding hand. She must see something in his eyes, in his expression that tells her— no matter how hard he tries to mask it— that something is wrong. Horribly wrong.
"My son needs to be treated," she calls out, everyone in the room growing silent at the sound of her voice, "Bring someone to treat him."
A guard nods at her words, bowing respectfully, and mutters, "Immediately, my lady."
Her eyes then drift towards Everra, her eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of blood on her as well. Robb feels a pang in his chest as he realises that his mother was right all along— he couldn't trust Everra. He never could have, but he still believes her, somehow. Her words.
"Everyone leave please," his mother commands, her back straightening.
Lord Bolton and Everra send her a look, one of which he is not sure of, before they all nod and slowly walk out, a guard escorting Everra back to her tent.
The moment the last person is out of the tent, leaving just the two them, she rushes up to him and hugs him tightly, her arms tightening around the back of his neck. He buries his head against her shoulder and murmurs, "Mother."
She rubs his back comfortingly but does not respond to his plea, simply choosing to stay quiet.
She draws away from him at the sound of the guard returning with the healer, and simply walks towards them, gesturing for the healer to give her the needle and cloth she had come with.
"Thank you," Catelyn says before adding, "You are both dismissed."
Robb can hear them walk out of the room, but his eyes drifted across the floor to the large red stain on the floor and he almost cringes at the feeling of his victims blood on him, and he feels so disgusted disgusted with himself he feels like sinking into the floor.
How could he look his mother in the eye after what he had done? He is no longer the son she had raised, with honour and dignity and integrity. He is none of that anymore.
By the old gods and the new what I have done?
He feels his mothers hand tilt his chin upwards to dab at the blood, wiping it off his skin. She stops for a moment, and guides him towards a chair, pushing down on his shoulders gently to get him to sit down.
He glances down at his lap, lacing his fingers together and dwindling them, the emotion in his throat overwhelming.
"What happened?' she asks after a while, continuing to wipe the cloth against Robb's skin. Robb stiffens at her question, not in the mood to talk about it.
"You heard what happened mother," he replies softly, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"I heard what happened from her perspective," his mother replies, dropping the cloth from his face and gently grabbing a hold of his hand, wringing the wet cloth before gently wrapping it around his palm. The blood began to soak into it almost immediately.
"Did Lord Edwin really betray you?" she asks gently.
"He betrayed someone," Robb answers shortly, "And he would have thrown our whole camp into chaos, mother. I couldn't— let that— I did what I—"
"Shh," she whispers gently, "I know Robb, you are a King now. That is a responsibility that will never be put on my shoulders. But I know in my heart that you will be a great king, whom will do the most he can for his people. Who will set an example for all the other leaders in Westeros. Show them that not all honourable men are gone."
She smiles at him, her blue eyes fierce, and she squeezes his other uninjured hand and speaks, "I am so proud of you."
Robb's heart sinks in his chest.
He now was forever truly fallen.
A/N ok guys so nothing big happens in this chapter but I feel as though this was necessary for the development of Robbs character in this story. I am well aware that 'my' Robb and the show/book Robb are quite different, I mean at least i think they are. Blood must have blood Robb is darker, more conflicted about which road is the right one, and is right now, lost. He feels as though he has lost himself, his families trust, and no longer trusts his closest advisor and learns that she had the power to stop most of his families struggle. That changes people and I hope that I managed to portray that effectively. I didn't want him to be 'whiny' and I hoped that he did not come off that way, but I feel as though he is struggling with the kind of man he wants/ has to be. He is a King now, a king fighting a war and on one side he has Everra telling him to be darker, less attached, how to survive in a world, which to be honest, has no place for men such as his father. Which is what got Ned killed. Robb has a hard time accepting that as it is what he grew up knowing. What he was told as a child was right and now he has lost all of that. Ok now I've written a whole essay. Perfect :). Thanks for the response to last chapter guys, it means so much to be! Remember to Review :)