Chapter 35

When Everra finally managed to untangle herself from Jon's sleeping form, it was half way through the next day, the sun shining brightly through he windows. She winced at the pain between her thighs, of the sticky feeling of blood coating her legs but still managed to rise from the bed. Maester Liwin had visited during the night, leaving a bucket of water for her to clean herself.

Jon had carried her off the bed so that they could take off the blood stained furs and replace them with clean ones and alls he had done was sit there limply in his arms and bury her head against his chest. She cast a glance at his sleeping form, taking in his messy curls and peaceful face and nearly smiled at the sight.

Her brother.

She let out a quiet sigh, before walking towards her wardrobe and picking out a plain nightgown. She walked behind the screen, dragging the bucket of water with her and began to undress. Her hands felt cold against her skin, as if they would break due to their sudden fragility. She dipped a cloth in the water and began to drag it up her legs. She scrubbed at the tender flesh between her thighs, wincing at the feeling of the cold water against her skin yet she continued to scrub until the stain on her skin had faded away. She quickly dumped the blood cloth in the water and dried her legs before slipping on the dry nightgown. Everra picked up the bloodied gown that she had worn when—

A flash of an unfamiliar feeling burned her insides at the thought, before she quickly steeled herself against it. The lump in Everra's throat had not faded and it was only when she had thrown the bloody nightgown into the fire that she was finally hit with the full force of the pain. Her thighs and stomach ached but not more so than the broken thing she called her heart. She tossed the bloodied gown into the hearth and watched as the flames engulfed it.

For the first time in a long time, Everra felt cold.

"Ill?" Robb questioned the Maester, his voice echoing throughout the hall, "How so?"

Master Liwin old eyes stared at him intently, the lines on his face becoming all the more evident.

"I am not quite sure, your grace, but I regret to say that she will not be able to join on today's councils or meetings. I suspect that she will be able to leave her chambers in a few days."

"Days?" Lord Bolton asked incredulously, his blue eyes slightly widened as he and Robb shared a glance, "We need Lady Everra—"

"Lady Everra is very ill, my lord," the Maester repeated firmly, clasping his old, bony hands together, "In case you have forgotten this castle was under siege a little over a month ago, my lord and Lady Everra fought in a well-won battle and was severely injured. I fear she may have not gotten the appropriate amount of rest at the time, that has most likely lead to us having this discussion today. If she does not rest now, she will have to rest longer, my lord, your grace. However, Jon Snow has taken to helping Lady Everrra with her affairs for the next few days, I am sure that if anything is truly urgent," his eyes seemed to bore into Robb's, as if he was staring into his mind, "He will be happy to let her know."

"Thank you for your council," Robb said, frowning slightly, "We will make sure to heed it."

Maester Liwin nodded respectfully at him, and knowing when he had been dismissed, left. Robb twirled his forks in between his fingers, worry uncoiling in his stomach. She had seemed fine yesterday, he wondered, more than fine. They had not heard from the Martells since Robb had decided to stay at RedRun, and he worried that they never would. They needed that alliance if they were to win the war, Robb knew this. Without it, Robb feared they would be at war for far much longer than they should be. He wanted to go home, wanted to sit near the hearths at Winterfell and endure the snow's of the upcoming winters. He wanted his banner men to go home and see their wives and children, to be safer. We still have a war to win, he reminded himself and refused to think about what was inevitably coming after that.

The thought made his stomach clench uncomfortably, and made his heart to wither in his chest.

"Your grace?" Lord Glover asked, and it suddenly occurred to Robb that he had not been paying attention to what he had been saying.

"Apologies Lord Glover," Robb said, as he knew a King should, "Continue."

Jon had just woken and he was immediately aware of the lack of warmth beside him, of the lack of person in his arms. He jumped up, startled before his eyes landed on her by the fire, where she was sitting in her dark wooden chair.

"Your awake," she commented, though she never dragged her eyes away from the flames.

Jon stiffened uncomfortably as he remembered what had happened, and the guilt that developed inside him was so strong he nearly slid off the bed. He glanced at her warily and tightened his fists around the furs beneath him for support. He felt dirty as though there was this giant stain on his skin that he could not see, could not get rid of. Jon briefly wondered whether or not this was how his father had felt, bringing home a bastard to his wife. The thought made his heart clench and the anger that had formed in his chest began to creep back.

"How are you?" he asked, concerned, though he made no move to leave the bed.

She did not flinch at his words, nor did she blink away from the flames.

"Well," she replied shortly and Jon knew in his heart of hearts that was all she would say on the matter, too him at least.

I'm her brother, he reminded himself. The words sounded strange; felt strange even, as though mentioning the two words in the same sentence was wrong somehow. It made him feel guilty for a different reason then and he gulped loudly, looking down.

"I had a hard time getting used to it as well," she told him and it was only then Jon realised that she had looked away from the fire, "I still am," she admitted ruefully, her green eyes shining with a glint of something.

"How long have you known?" Jon asked quietly.

There was a moment of silence before she replied, "Shortly after my father died."

Jon took a deep breath, "And when was that?"

"When I was seven."

Hurt burned through him as he bit hardly on his lower lip and anger made his guilt wash away like a cold bucket of water.

"That's ten years," he whispered, his darkened brown eyes meeting her green ones, "Ten."

"I was seven when I discovered that my mother had birthed another child," she told him, her voice sounding as though she was annoyed with him, which only served to infuriate Jon more, "She had been dead for three years and my father had been dead for a few days, maybe a week. What was I supposed to do?" she taunted, "Ride up to Winterfell and demand that the Warden of the North admit to bedding my mother and ruin what was left of her name and get my bastard older brother back, whose name I learnt from a journal? Is that what I should have done?"

Jon gritted his teeth together as he snapped, "I don't know what you should have done! But I know you should have done something!"

She regarded him carefully but let him continue.

"You don't know what it it's like, being a bastard, not having a mother," he burst out, his cheeks flaming, "Not knowing where you came from. . ."

"There are many bastards who have no fathers and no name, or brothers to call their own, true born or not. Most bastards are not trained by knights and do not live in castle's, or if they do it's for working. I'm not saying you had the time of your life at Winterfell, Jon. I know you didn't. And perhaps I should have done something to get you back, but I didn't. My father had just died and I wanted to—" She stopped then, clasping her hands together, a distant look forming in her eyes.

"Do something that would take me far, far away," she finished, her tone bland yet somehow wistful.

The lump in Jon's throat grew larger at her words, which undeniably, had truth to them. But that did not change the truth, did not change how he felt.

"And now?" he asked, his voice as strong as steel, "Why did you not tell me anything now? You've known me for over a year. I've spent one name day with you, I've fought for you and with you. I wanted to marry the woman I love," he saw her stiffen slightly at his use of the present tense, "In this castle. In our home. You didn't have any time in that year to tell me the truth?"

Her eyes flickered away from his for a moment, and instead of answering his question she stated, "I thought Winterfell was your home."

Jon thought about this for a moment, and replied, "It is my home. It is where I grew up and. . . and it will always be my first home. I am a North man and bastard or not that does not change the truth. But this is where I fell in love, where I learned to be something a little bit more than Ned Stark's bastard. I've shed blood for this castle, and I would again. So yes, the North is my home, but so is here."

They stared at each other intently for a few moments, before there was a loud knock on the door.

"My lady?"

Jon's grew cold once more, the guilt that had formed in his stomach began to rise up his throat. His eyes widened and his heart grew still. She had frozen to as well for a moment, before any sign of vulnerability vanished.

"Come in, your grace," she called out, though she made no move to stand.

The door swung open and Jon's heart began to pound loudly in his ears. His mouth grew dry at the sight of Robb walking into the room and all he could think was—

"Jon?" Robb asked, confused as to what his brother was doing on her bed. His blue eyes flashed to Lady Everra, who was looking at him as though nothing were amiss, though Jon could see her skin was slightly paler than usual, the only sign of nervousness or guilt.

"He knows," she spoke softly.

Jon watched his elder brother stiffen at that, and his cheeks coloured with shame. It hadn't occurred to Jon that Robb knew, and though he knew he had the right to be angry somewhat the shame that pounded through his body prevented him from doing so. His heart clenched at the guilty expression on Robb's face, and he felt so tempted to blurt out the truth.

"I'm sorry Jon," Robb told him, breaking his thoughts, "I wanted to tell you but. . . I didn't think it was my place."

Jon smiled at him weakly, bile rising in his throat, "It's alright Robb."

His brother didn't look convinced at that and opened his mouth to speak more before Jon cut him off, unable to bear his brother's apologies when he knew.

"Really, it's alright," he told him and he could feel her gaze on him. He remembered how she had been so silent, how she had gripped tightly onto his doublet as though she thought he would leave and that somehow made it slightly better.

Thank you.

Robb cleared his throat before shooting him a soft smile, and then turned his attentions to Everra.

"The Maester said you were ill my lady," Robb said awkwardly, unsure of how to act.

"I was," she told him softly.

Jon watched as his brother's eyes widened indiscreetly at the use of his first name in front of him and before Jon could say anything she added, "He know's about that too."

It took Jon a moment to realise what she was talking about and it only occurred to him later that Robb had already known what she was saying. Robb shot him a glance of gratitude and something very akin to embarrassment, as though he had something too say too him, something too prove.

Yet at the same time, his body visibly relaxed and the slightly unsure expression on his face vanished, to reveal only pure relief.

"I thought—" Robb started hesitantly, "I thought you were dying."

Jon observed his new sister closely and was surprised at how. . . gentler her eyes looked when she looked at his brother and she stood from the chair and winced slightly. Robb rushed over towards her, his hand reaching for her elbow to steady her, concern evident on his face.

"Everra are you alright?" Robb asked her. She nodded slightly before leaning forward and leaned into him, burying her head into his chest.

Jon was shocked for a long while, as was Robb been though his back was too him, Jon saw him stiffen in surprise before quickly wrapping his arms around her. All the while Jon observed them quietly, and all he could think of was how. . . right they looked. He scowled inwardly at how girlish it sounded, yet it was true. Together they looked as though they could move mountains and burn countries to the ground together at the same time.

That only made the pit in Jon's stomach grow.

The look in Robb's eyes was what worried Jon though. They had somehow moved slightly in his direction so Jon could now see his brothers face. He had noticed his brother's dependence on her before, had known that he felt something for her but now Jon knew just how strong that something was.

Anna's face flashed in his mind and the sadness he now felt was not for them but for what he did. It was tender sadness, a deep sense of sorrow rather than a shudder of grief and though the guilt Jon felt was strong, it was balanced out by a small flicker of hope in his heart from the realisation that maybe he could love again.

It is a little over a week after that when Maester Liwin tells her that she has fully healed and is free to resume any 'activities' she was once doing. She thanks him quietly, meeting his gaze and refusing to look away—to be shamed— and watches as he leaves a small wooden jar of ingredients to make moon tea. Everra has Vera bring a cup and steaming pot of water every day in her chambers for the foreseeable future.

Everra did not think she had it in her to do something like that again.

It haunted her in a way she had not expected. Sometimes the area inside her thighs would twinge in pain and Everra would wake the next morning from a night terror of blood staining the place in between her thighs, sticky and wet. Jon visited her everyday, informing her of what went on in war councils and writing down any notes or suggestions she had. The Martell's still had not answered the raven sent, and they were beginning to face the reality that maybe they never will. He told her of the improvements of the reparations and how much coin would be needed, if they had it. Maester Liwin and Lord Yullian would come with him at this times and council her and tell her advice. For a few moments in that week she almost forgot they were at war and so when Maester Liwin tells her that she is fully healed she is surprisingly bothered and relieved.

She hasn't seen Robb since he visited that first day, and she is glad for it. But she knows that he will come that night, after she sits at the war council for the first time in a week. She almost prepares herself for it, as though she were preparing for battle and not something she typically enjoyed. Yet when Everra is in her bath late that evening and Robb came into the room— she caught a glimpse of Greywind and Andromache behind the door, keeping watch as they always did— she tilted her head at him in amusement as he immediately begins to strip off his doublet and tunic.

She rolled her eyes at him—making no attempts to hide it— and watched as he shot her a playfully annoyed look, his blue eyes glinting with something. Everra ignored the twist in her stomach, and watched him, careful not to reveal what she was thinking.

"You're desperate," she commented, shifting in the now lukewarm water, the swell of her breasts appearing at the top of the water.

Robb began to undo his breeches but he stopped his hands and looked at her, raising an eyebrow, "It's been over a week."

"Look at that," she marvelled, titling her head to the side as she stared at him, "The Young Wolf desperate for sex like a blushing fourteen year old."

Robb rolled his eyes at her and slid off his breeches, naked and bare in front of her.

"I don't see you complaining," he told her, walking in her direction. She shook her head at him and lay there until he scooped her out of the water as though she were a bride and he laughed, unknowing and ignorant of her inner turmoil.

He traced a pattern of circles against her bare back, and the sensation nearly caused her to shiver. The lower halves of their bodies were covered by sheets and furs, and Robb was propped up on his side by his elbow, though Everra lay flat on her stomach, her head turned to face him.

"What was your favourite part of Essos?" he asked her curiously, his blue eyes light.

Everra's insides stiffened at the question, and her eyebrows quirked slightly, "What?"

"Your favourite place," Robb elaborated, "That you visited."

Everra watched him carefully, his fingers not stopping their movements.

"You've never asked me about Essos before," she commented, studying him.

He shrugged slightly before saying, "I don't know, I just felt like asking. I am your King after all."

Everra arched an eyebrow at him before her features twisted in thought, and she looked as though she were considering her answer quite carefully.

"I spent the longest time in Pentos," she told him, her voice light and almost wistful sounding, "I enjoyed it there. . . I loved Braavos as well, and Volantis was nice—"

"Isn't that where your mother was from?"

Everra's eyes narrowed slightly at him before answering hesitantly, "Yes, she came from there. Even the cities in Slavers bay were beautiful in their own way, every city had their own story, their own. . . culture. In Westeros every culture is the same, except maybe Dorne and the North are slightly different."

"You enjoyed it there," he commented, his blue eyes soft as he stared at her.

Her green eyes flickered to meet his and she answered, "Yes I did. I suppose it was why I stayed there for so long."

There was a moment of silence before Robb started speaking again.

"Teach me some Braavosi," he demanded playfully, retracting his hand from her back.

"You're awfully cheerful," she said suspiciously, eyeing him.

He rolled his eyes at her though a smile formed on his lips, "Am I?"

Everra shifted upwards so that she was now propped up on her elbows, her dark hair cascading down her back.

"What do you want to learn first? Braavosi speaks valyrian as do the rest of the free cities, though they are all different dialects—"

"Just teach me a common phrase," Robb suggested, flipping over to lie on his back.

Everra considered him a moment, before saying, "A common phrase. . . Valar Morghulis."

Robb's eyebrows rose so high on his forehead it looked as though they would fall off.

"Vaur morgu— What?"

Everra shook her head at him before repeating softly, "Valar Mor-ghu-lis."

"Valar Mo-rghu-lis?" Robb tried again, frowning. "Valar Morghulis," he repeated more strongly, glancing at her too make sure he was saying it right. His accent was largely evident in his words and it made Everra smile. "Valar Morghulis," he repeated softly, before glancing up at her.

His blue eyes were tender as he looked at her and he raised a hand to her cheek, her skin soft beneath his calloused hands.

"Your smiling," he commented softly.

The smile slowly drifted off her face as she stared at him intently. She didn't answer.

"What does it mean?" he asked quietly, lowering his hand to her bare shoulder.

Her green eyes never left his face as she replied, "All men must die."

Robb's eyebrows rose high again, "Is that high or low valyrian?"

"High," she replied softly, "The response is Valar Dohaeris."

"What does that mean?"

"All men must serve." The words exited her tongue slowly, causing her lips to curve upwards slightly as she looked at him.

"Strange saying," he commented lightly.

Everra shrugged but said nothing, lying back down on the bed, sleep becoming too hard for her to fight. She turned her back to him and brought the furs up over her and snuggled into her pillow. She could feel his warmth from behind her and she resisted the urge to turn around. He shifted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer towards him and pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

Everra felt as though the pit in her stomach would swallow her whole.

During the council meeting the next day is when they hear the news. They are all studying the map laid on the large table intently, the room hot and suffocating. Greywind and Andromache lie near the hearth in the room, peacefully. Robb is just about to speak when the door swings open to reveal a startled looking servant, his cheeks red and he was panting loudly, as though he had just ran from the top battlements to the room.

"The-the," he struggled to speak, "The Martell sigil has been spotted your grace."

"How many men?" Robb demanded. walking around the table to the servant, his blue eyes wide and flaring.

"A hundred," the servant stuttered, "Maybe more, I didn't stay long enough to see."

The Lords had jumped at that, panic and uneasiness filling the room. They all glanced at each other meaningfully, until Everra stated, "We should wait for him in the front courtyard to greet them."

They all nodded at her words, before her gaze shifted towards the servant, her eyes cold and hard as stone, "Did you see which Martell it was? Was there any sign that indicated anything?"

The servant shook his head, his gaze plastered on the ground. Everra nodded slightly and dismissed him, sharing a glance with Jon before her eyes met his. Robb could not tell what she was thinking, but her eyes were resigned and hazy at the same time. The lower part of her hair trailed down her back, yet two buns had been twisted on top of her head. She was wearing a green silk gown with a thick gold belt around her waist, as though she were wearing armour.

She looked beautiful, that was evident and Robb was suddenly reminded of Sansa all those months ago, when her face had turned red from looking at Joffrey and how she had been so excited and happy at the thought of meeting her future husband. None of that was evident on Everra's face, not that it surprised him.

"Let us go," he commanded and made his way out the door, Greywind immediately bounding after him.

They all stood there in the courtyard, eyeing the open gate with a hint of wariness in all of their eyes. A small breeze shifted through Everra's hair and through her gown. She stood next to Robb silently, Jon standing behind her. Lady Catelyn was on his right, and then the other Lords followed after her. Maester Liwin and Lord Yullian were beside her on her left, silent as stone.

Andromache was curled up by her feet, though she was still on alert, her head snapped up as though she were ready for something to pounce. The only sound in the courtyard was the wind, and the distant sound of horses approaching the castle.

And then suddenly the Martell banner came through the gates, their host pouring into the castle. Everra made eye contact with one of the Unsullied guards and he nodded carefully, ready to strike with his men if need be.

Everra's gaze was piercing as she looked at all the men on horses and knew instantly the man on the black stallion with a tail of fire was Oberyn. He had a lined face with thin eyebrows, and black eyes and a sharp nose. His hair was lustrous and as dark as her own, with few grey streaks despite his elder age. Everra could see why everyone called him the viper. She felt Robb stiffen next to her and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, to find him already looking at her.

She nodded at him slightly, to indicate that she was alright before gazing forward, watching as the host came to a stop. Oberyn swung off his horse elegantly, and stared at the castle with a look of both appraisement and distain. He wore a pale red silk cola and a shirt with overlapping discs of bright copper. He had a lean but muscular build, explaining his reputation for being a quick fighter.

He sauntered up to them, a smirk forming on his face as he scanned the long line, surely looking for her.

"I am Oberyn Martell," he said with a thick Dornish accent. His lips even looked like that of a snake when he spoke.

"It is a pleasure too meet you, Prince Oberyn," Robb stated, taking a step forward towards him and offering him his hand to shake, "Though I must say your arrival was quite the surprise."

Oberyn shot his hand a look before brushing it aside with a flick of his hand. She could feel the animosity and disdain from the Northern Lords grow at his disrespect.

"That is a King you're talking too," Lord Flint stated coldly, "Show him the respect he deserves."

Oberyn merely raised an amused eyebrow at him, before scanning Robb up and down, evaluating him.

"Pleasure to meet you as well, Young Wolf," Oberyn said, though he sounded as though he were mocking him instead of being polite.

Robb nodded in return and took a step back, his back straight and his gaze cool.

"What are you doing here?" Robb commanded cooly, his eyes unreadable.

Everra felt a flush of something very akin to pride bloom in her heart, and a quick sense of satisfaction. The King in the North, she thought.

Oberyn cast a look towards her and Everra saw a spark of interest form in his black eyes.

"I am here too meet my future bride, your grace," he stated flippantly, brushing past him to saunter up to her. Robb turned too look at her, and she saw a flash of anger spark in his eyes. She shot him a look and he nodded at her, though reluctantly from behind Oberyn's back.

"A pleasure too meet you, my lady," Oberyn greeted, eyeing her lustfully and reached down to grasp a hold of her right hand and kissed it. His lips were dry against her skin and Everra resisted the urge to flinch, and manage to prevent her body from stiffening.

"Likewise, Prince Oberyn," she replied, though she did not smile at him. Oberyn rose from that position and eyed her carefully, as though he were trying to figure her out.

"Should we go elsewhere to discuss this more privately," she suggested, shooting Robb a look. Robb nodded at her and said loudly, "A splendid idea, my lady, let us make our way to the council chambers."

He glanced a guard standing near the back of the line and commanded, "Make sure that Prince Oberyn's stuff and his men and horses are provided with comfortably accommodations."

The guard nodded and quickly scrambled to work.

It only occurred to Everra later that Oberyn's eyes had never left her face and that they had narrowed ever -so-slightly at the interaction with Robb.

"Just a moment, your grace," Oberyn stated hastily and moved back to his men.

He muttered something to the guard closest to his horse and he nodded before riding back down the line of men. It was then that Everra noticed the small wheelhouse at the back of the group, and her heart hardened in her chest, her eyes narrowing as she and Robb shared a cautious glance. She could see the door of the wheelhouse open and she caught sight of a woman with black hair stepping down the wheelhouse steps, her red silk gown eye-catching. Another woman followed after her and Everra frowned at the sight of her blood red hair.

"Your grace," she said, alarmed, "That is Stannis's priestess."

Robb immediately frowned and stepped next to her protectively, understanding her underlying message; That is the woman who almost killed me and killed Renly.

Catelyn gasped quietly nearby her and Everra glanced at her, their eyes meeting. Catelyn had met her too, and seen the shadow that killed Renly.

"How did he come across her?" Catelyn asked quietly, the lines on her face taunt and her eyes wide with worry.

Everra shot the Unsullied guard a meaningful glance and he nodded at her, and muttered something to the two guards standing next to him, who gripped their spears tightly and moved closer towards them.

"A token of my good fortunate," Oberyn stated, whirling back to look at them, an arrogant smirk appearing on his face. By that time, the two women and guard had reached them and Oberyn wrapped an arm around the back haired women waist. Everra merely raised an eyebrow at him, but she could feel the immediate outrage of Robb and Catelyn and Jon.

She glanced at Melissandrei, whose face was bruised and hands were tied by a rope. She was the definition of a prisoner; of someone who was defeated, yet she did not look that way. Her eyes were still strong and deadly, and her lips were curled upwards as if she knew something they didn't.

"How did you find her?" Everra asked Oberyn, taking a step towards her, her green eyes unreadable.

"She was trying to fuck one of my guards," he commented carelessly, "I heard that Stannis had a red priestess whispering in his ear, and when I saw her, I thought she might be her. And then when she began preaching about the Lord of Light I knew it was her. Since you killed Stannis—" he said it as though he found it hard to believe and as though he were impressed at the same time, "I thought she maybe a symbol of my good wishes."

Everra did not say anything and instead merely looked at the red woman, her silence deadly. Finally, she commanded to one of the unsullied, "Take her to one of the cells. Not near the Kingslayer's or the Greyjoy and blind her."

Her eyes then flickered towards Oberyn and his paramour and though her insides bristled slightly at his rudeness, she found she did not really care of what she was, or who.

"You must be a guest of Oberyn's," she told the woman, staring at her coldly. The woman could not be called beautiful, but there was something about her exoticness that was attractive, Everra could not deny that. She was a sensual woman, with her long, elegant features and revealing gown. Yet though the women was wrapped in her lover's arms she nearly flinched at the sight of her.

"Yes, my lady, I am Ellaria Sand," she said quietly, though her brown eyes met her green ones unwaveringly.

She is brave, Everra thought before replying, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I expect we will get to know each other better in the future. Lord Yullian—" she gestured to her left, "Will be glad to give you a tour of the castle. I am afraid it may not be as impressive as it usually is due to the recent battle that occurred. It is still in reparations."

Eclair smiled at her kindly, but Everra did not return it and instead looked at Oberyn, whose arms went slack around Ellaria's waist as he stared at her, a glint of surprise evident in his eyes.

"You killed Stannis," he commented, yet it almost sounded as though it were a question.

Everra nodded in acknowledgement and replied bluntly, "Yes."

"Where is he?" he questioned, his accent thick.

Everra turned on her heel slightly, so that she was now facing the castle, and titled her head up to look at the battlements, to where his head was still rotting and pointed.

"There is his head," she told him, "I do not know where the rest of him went."

Andromache growled at that loudly and came next to her, rubbing her head against her thigh.

Everra's eyes glinted dangerously in the sunlight, "Or perhaps I do know after all."

"Why didn't you send word too us of your arrival?" Robb questioned, staring at Oberyn cooly.

Only Robb, Everra, Catelyn and Jon were meeting with him, after Robb had told the other Lords to go. They were in Everra's study, and Oberyn sat in the chair across the table where they sat, his left leg propped up on the table as he looked around the study carelessly. He looked at his nails for a moment, looking bored before saying, "The Lannister's and the Eunuch have spies everywhere. I was interested in your proposal, and so I came."

Everra frowned at that slightly, but otherwise her face was unreadable.

"And you decided to come half way across the country on a mere whim? We are fighting a war," she told him blandly, unimpressed by his careless and arrogant attitude, "Not playing a game."

"You asked for my help—"

"We asked for Dorne's help," Robb interrupted, his blue eyes cold, "And as far as we are aware your brother Doran is it's leader, not you. While we are glad that you are interested in the proposal, if you have not formally accepted it we did not see the reason as to why exactly you are here."

Oberyn observed them all with an amused glint in his eye, though it slowly vanished so that his black eyes were now cold and empty, yet held a fierceness to them that not many people had.

"I'm not interested in fighting for the North," he told them, his voice now dangerously hard, anger making his fists clench in his lap, "I am interested in vengeance. For my sister and her children."

Everra and Robb shared a small glance before Everra dragged her eyes away to observe Oberyn intently, knowing that he wasn't finished.

"Yet I must admit that I am wary to help the family that was the main reason for why my sister and her children were in the position to be butchered like pigs," he added, his features relaxing somewhat, though the steel in his eyes did not fade.

"You can not blame them," Everra gestured towards Robb, Catelyn and Jon, "For something that happened when they were not even born or there. Lyanna Stark did not ask for Rhaegar to place those winter roses in her lap, she did not ask for him to kidnap or rape her a year later either, but he did anyway. Lord Stark fought to get back his sister and avenge his father and brother who died a slow and painful death by the Mad King's orders."

"Lord Stark supported the man that allowed for my sister to be raped until she split in two and for her children to be slaughtered—"

"Lord Stark was the only one who objected to their vile and cruel deaths, Prince Oberyn," Everra interjected, noticing how Catelyn flinched at the mention of her husband, and Robb and Jon looking rather sad as well.

"He fought with Robert over it," she continued, her eyes never leaving Oberyn's, "And if he had the choice it never would have happened. Lord Stark would have never allowed the murder of innocent children, or the rape of a beloved woman. You know that as well as I do, Prince Oberyn."

He leaned back in his chair, and drummed his fingers against the handle, "That I do, my lady."

Silence followed for a long time after that, before Robb finally said, "Will you join our cause?"

"My men are a few leagues away," Oberyn admitted, "Though it is not Dorne's full force, I am afraid."

"How many men, Prince Oberyn?" Jon asked quietly.

Oberyn's black eyes shifted towards Jon, "Nearly ten thousand."

"Dorne can raise up to twenty or more thousand," Everra stated harshly, her green eyes narrowing.

"I am well aware of that fact, my lady, but my brother does not share my eagerness for joining the war and so I escaped Dorne with the few soldiers I could gather in such short time."

"Well," Robb stated, his blue eyes slightly less cold now, "That is better than nothing, Prince Oberyn. We thank you for your. . . co-operation."

"Thank me after we win," Oberyn said, rising from his chair and stretching, "I think that is all we have to discuss for today, your grace, I fear must now rest."

He sauntered out of the room before Robb could reply, and the only sound in the room was the door slamming shut.

"He is not someone you want to cross," Catelyn warned him quietly.

It was the first thing she had said since the meeting had begun.

"No," Robb agreed, his voice heavy, "He's not."

Robb could not admit to knowing exactly why he was going down the stairs that led to the prison cells, nor could he admit why he wanted to visit her. Anger, perhaps, or maybe a thirst for vengeance. The thought of Everra dying by a shadow with his face caused by her hands made his blood boil and his heart race, and yet, Robb somehow knew that wasn't why he went. It was though something compelled him to go down those steps into the darkness.

The jailor was a man with a large belly and stinking breath, and was eager to show Robb into the long, cold dark hallway, which was only lit by a few torches littered down the long path. Robb knew of the secret passage down the hall, by the stone walls, and had heard the dungeons mentioned and described several times in preparation for the battle, and yet it did not prepare him for the actual thing.

It smelt of death and blood, the only sounds lingering in the dark hall were that of the prisoner's groans and moans. Piss and shit stunk the air as well, and Robb resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust. They passed by a few doors until they reached one near the end.

"She's on her own," the jailor informed him greedily, "We managed to fit the other prisoners in this cell in another, they maybe a bit cramped now." He sounded as though the thought delighted him and Robb decided that he disliked this man almost as much as he disliked Oberyn.

He juggled the keys around until he found the right one, and then plunged it into the keyhole and unlocked the door. It swung open and Robb hesitated only for a moment before stepping in, and shot the jailor a cold look as to prevent any ideas of him staying about.

"Close the door," Robb commanded harshly, "I'll call you back when I am done."

The jailor nodded, though he looked a little bit dismayed but quickly closed the door. Robb waited until his footsteps echoed down the hall away from the cell before stepping closer to the women. She sat against the wall on the far side of the small cell, her legs crossed and her face twisted into a serene smile. Robb frowned at her but did not speak for a few long moments.

Long chains attached to the wall were encased around her wrists, allowing her to move very little and very painfully if she did. She was not gagged or blinded, and for someone who was a prisoner she looked very peaceful, eerily peaceful.

"The young wolf," she said, her voice strong and surprisingly deep, "I have been expecting you."

Robb's insides churned slightly, before he spoke, "Have you, my lady? Sorry to have kept you waiting."

Her eyes opened then, and Robb was careful to hide his alarm at the malicious glint in her alarming red eyes.

"You came to ask me something," she commented, goading him, "The Lord of Light compelled you to come and seek me out, Robb Stark."

Robb raised an eyebrow at her and questioned, "Did he now? And why is that?"

"Because you are surrounded by traitors and liars, Robb Stark," she told him, "Because the girl whom you take into your bed every night is a liar."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he snapped, though his insides had frozen slightly, and his heart had begun to beat faster.

"Yes you do, Robb Stark, last night she was teaching you valyrian per your request."

Robb froze slightly, shock robbing him of words.

"She lied to you about the brother you share, she lied to you about her intentions for helping, she allowed your father to die—"

"I already knew this," Robb found himself saying, his blue eyes enlarged, "If there is nothing else for you too say then I will take my leave, my lady."

He turned on his heel and walked to the door but just as his hand reached the knob, her voice burst out loudly, "Wait!" Robb stopped in his tracks, even though his head was telling him to go.

"There's more."

Everra walked down the hall to her chambers, Andromache by her heels. She had just finished talking with Jon and now returned to her chambers to prepare for supper, where Oberyn would be joining them.

The door opened and she stepped in and removed her cloak, tossing it onto a nearby chair. She looked across the room and— "Robb?" she said, startled.

He was standing with his back to her, in front of her desk. Everra felt a sudden coldness sweep over her and she instantly knew something was off. "Robb?" she asked again, walking closer to him, "Robb what is it?"

He was holding something she realised, what—

No.

No.

He placed it back on the table with a large clatter, the ingredients spilling out onto the table.

"Is it true?" he asked her quietly, his voice low.

Everra stopped in her tracks and swallowed uncomfortably, trying to mask her inner panic.

"Is it true?" he asked again, more harshly this time and whirled around too look at her, his blue eyes dark with anger but there was disbelief in his eyes, as though he were willing it not to be true. As though if she told him it wasn't she would believe.

"Please tell me it isn't true," he pleaded, his voice breaking and he let out a small, defeated breath, "Please tell me you didn't—" he closed his eyes tightly, as though the words pained him, "Please tell me you didn't kill my— our child."

Everra couldn't meet his eyes before she forced herself too and she swallowed loudly and clasped her hands together. "I—" she started, her voice drifting off near the end, "I did, Rob."

The air was uncomfortably thick and suffocated her. She heard him inhale sharply and lifted her eyes too meet his and nearly flinched at the look of complete and utter despair and anger in them.

"Why?" he asked her, his voice filled with hurt and grief, "Why would you be so cruel?"

"I knew you would insist on us getting married if you knew," she whispered, her voice uncharacteristically soft, "And I. . . I couldn't—"

"Don't you dare put this on me!" he snapped loudly, his blue eyes now blazing with fury, "Don't you dare!"

"You. . ." he let out a loud breath and wiped at his eyes, "You did this for yourself and you know it. You did it because you are a cruel and manipulative woman who only cares about herself and who never once cared about me. You are someone who is incapable of letting someone care about you and— And I could have made you happy. We could have been happy and you—"

Everra regarded him carefully, her green eyes filled with a rare tenderness that she did not know she possessed.

"Robb I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I never. . . I never wanted you to find out—"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He yelled, throwing his hands up, "Because it doesn't. You didn't have to kill our baby but you did it anyway because you are selfish and cold and—"

"I am not my mother!" she snapped, her green eyes furious.

Robb blinked at her, surprised by her outburst.

"I am not her!" she grounded out, her words fierce in her throat, a fire spreading in her belly, "I will not be called a whore and lose everything I have worked so hard to get—"

"I would have married you—"

"As if that would make a difference!" she cried. "I made it abundantly clear to you that I would not marry you and that I would not bear your children. I have told you this hundreds of times. You knew it was a possibility I could get with child and you continued on bedding me anyway—"

"You seduced me—"

"Seduced?" she asked cruelly, "If I remember correctly Robb it was you who kissed me the first time, it was you who was persistent on getting to know me. On getting to know the great, mysterious, beautiful Lady Everra who saved your life. You say you want to marry me, Robb and you don't even know me. You want to marry the idea of me, the idea that you created, and not the actual person who is Everra Legrath. You think of me as some poor, abused victim of her cruel father who is merely a product of her environment. And maybe that was true in the beginning, maybe it was, I don't know. You see me as this broken thing that you can fix and make into a kind and loving person, someone who you can make whole again."

She stopped for a moment, her chest heaving, "That, is the girl you want to marry. You don't want to marry the girl who killed her father and slept like a babe afterwards. You don't want to marry the girl who has killed more people than she can count. That is who I am. Maybe in the beginning that was true but I chose to stay this way. I chose to be who I am now. You think I joined the game of thrones because I was forced too, and maybe I was, but I stayed because this is the life that I am good at. Surviving, is what I am good at. This is the only life I know," she told him helplessly, her green eyes shining, "This is the only life, I will ever know. I'm not meant for the North, I'm not going to be a good mother and I sure as hell am not ever going to be a good and loving wife, and that is who you need Robb. Perhaps not right now, right now you do need me but there will come a time when you won't."

She gazed at him and tried to urge him with her eyes to understand, to try to understand what she was saying. He didn't look at her and instead murmured, "I could have loved you more than life. I could have made you happy, because I know you. But this," he gestured between them, "I can't forgive this."

Everra's heart froze in her chest and she swallowed the urge to take it back, to back all that she said, but all she can see is him dying. She can hear their screams of The King in the North ringing in her ears and can remember how they sowed Grey winds head onto his body.

"I guess that's it then," she murmured, her voice bland.

"I guess it is."

AN That was intense. . . Remember what I said about not posting until July, well I lied! Sorry! Lol but I don't think any of you mind. As I expected, the response to last chapter was mixed. Well, the end of it got mixed reactions. Some where understanding of Everra's actions and others were well, not. But I guess that was kinda what I was aiming for? Does that make sense? Everra is a very conflicted character and controversial too, so to hear different reactions was great. AND BY THE WAY OMG GUYS! We are close to 300 follows! Wow. I've been busy for the past few weeks studying and stuff so its been hard for me to update. But then I started a new game of thrones fic and I was determined to update for you guys too, so here we are. Anyway, thanks again! Tell me your thoughts in the review section ! :)

Until next time,

Fionakevin073