Roslin XI
Roslin stood in her chambers, preparing for bed as the evening light faded into shadows. The soft fabric of her nightdress clung to her growing stomach, making her condition unmistakably clear. After Joffrey's brazen announcement, Tyrion had stepped in to clarify her situation with a declaration to all noble houses that, while intended to reassure her, felt like a double-edged sword.
"Lord Robb and Lady Roslin of House Stark are proud to announce that they are expecting their first child. The couple is delighted and cannot wait until the family can reunite in Winterfell."
It was a carefully crafted statement, designed to lend legitimacy to her pregnancy in a sea of uncertainty. Even if the whispers of her alleged dalliance with Joffrey had held a grain of truth, the reality remained clear: this child was Robb's, conceived on their wedding night. Yet, in the treacherous political landscape of King's Landing, such nuances were easily drowned out by the clamor of more salacious tales.
Now, as Roslin prepared for sleep, the shadows danced across the walls, and her thoughts swirled with the weight of the rumors surrounding her. Each time a well-meaning noble approached her to offer congratulations or best wishes, there was always the unspoken undercurrent of derision. She could almost hear the whispers that followed her, laden with scorn and pity: "That's the King's bastard," or "Her poor lord husband." Their eyes, filled with judgment, spoke volumes, and she felt the heat of their disdain wash over her.
She had learned quickly that in King's Landing, truth often mattered less than perception. Each whispered remark cut deeper, reminding her that no matter how much she wanted to celebrate the life growing inside her, there were those who would relish in casting shadows over her happiness.
Roslin brushed a hand over her abdomen, a soothing gesture meant to calm the fluttering emotions within. She felt a surge of warmth and protectiveness for the child, the innocent being who would soon enter a world fraught with complexities. This child was a Stark, she reminded herself.
As Roslin settled into bed, pulling the soft blankets around her, she found herself caught in a cycle of worry. Would they ever reunite? What kind of world would their child be born into? She closed her eyes, willing herself to drift into a peaceful sleep, but the shadows of doubt lingered, relentless and suffocating.
Roslin was jolted awake by a heavy pounding on her chamber door.
"My Lady!" a guard shouted, his voice tinged with urgency. "Lady Stark!"
Heart racing, she scrambled out of bed, her mind racing with confusion. She opened the door just enough to peek outside, ensuring her state of undress was concealed. "What is going on?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"My Lady, you need to come with me," the guard insisted, urgency lacing his words. "The city is under attack."
Panic surged through her veins as the implications of his words sunk in. Roslin quickly turned away from the door, her heart pounding in her chest. "Please, come quickly!" the guard urged, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting an immediate threat.
Roslin took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. Focus. You need to get dressed. She threw on a simple overcoat over her nightdress, grateful for its warmth but frustrated by how cumbersome it felt. With her hands shaking, she struggled to fasten the buttons, her mind racing through thoughts of Robb. Where is he? Is he safe?
"Ready," she declared, opening the door wide enough to step out, her resolve hardening. The guard's eyes widened slightly at her expression—determination mixed with an underlying fear.
He motioned for her to follow him, leading her through the dimly lit corridors of the keep. Roslin's heart raced with every step, the echoes of their hurried footsteps bouncing off the stone walls. The castle was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos she imagined awaited them outside.
As they descended the stairs, she couldn't help but worry about the safety of her family. Robb could be here. He could be fighting. What if this attack was more than just a skirmish? What if it was an all-out assault? The very thought sent a shiver down her spine.
"Stay close to me!" the guard instructed, his voice steady but urgent.
Roslin nodded, her heart racing as they maneuvered through the throngs of soldiers. Her eyes darted around as they moved through corridors, her breath catching at the sight of other women, many in the same state of undress as her. Mothers clutched their daughters tightly, their faces pale with fear, their eyes wide as they followed the guards with hurried steps. The air was thick with whispered prayers and stifled sobs, the tension of the moment pressing heavily on everyone.
"Where are we going?" Roslin asked the guard leading her, her voice laced with a mixture of anxiety and determination. She pressed a hand instinctively to her stomach, as if to shield her unborn child from the fear swirling around them.
"The Queen has granted sanctuary to all the women of the court," the guard replied, his tone brisk but reassuring. "You're to remain in the Tower of the Hand until it is deemed safe to leave."
The guard's words did little to ease the gnawing anxiety building in her chest. "And where is the Lady Sansa?" she pressed, her concern for Robb's sister bubbling to the surface. She and Sansa had grown close in recent months, sharing whispered conversations and moments of solace in a city that always seemed poised on the brink of chaos.
"We're headed to collect the Lady Sansa from her chambers now," the guard answered, his gaze forward as they made their way through the winding halls. "I swear to you, my lady, you and Lady Sansa will both be safe."
Roslin wasn't sure if she believed him, but she had no choice but to follow. As they turned a corner, the sound of distant shouting and the clanging of weapons echoed faintly through the walls, a chilling reminder of the violence unfolding beyond the castle's protective stone.
The guard quickened his pace, leading Roslin past more huddled groups of frightened women and children, some whispering to each other, others standing in numb silence. The weight of uncertainty hung over them all, and Roslin couldn't help but wonder what was happening in the streets of King's Landing. How close were the attackers? Were the city's defenses holding, or had the battle already breached the walls?
They reached Sansa's chambers, and the guard knocked urgently. After a moment, the door creaked open, and Sansa emerged, her face pale but composed. She wore a simple gown, hastily thrown on, her hair unkempt. Her wide blue eyes flickered with worry as she looked from the guard to Roslin.
"Roslin," Sansa breathed, stepping forward and gripping her hands tightly. "What's happening?
Roslin squeezed her hands in return, trying to offer reassurance despite her own trembling nerves. "Sansa dear, come here. We're going to be fine, no matter what happens we're together."
Sansa nodded, though her gaze remained distant, fear clouding her expression. "And Robb?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Roslin's heart clenched at the question, but she forced herself to stay strong. "I don't know. He might be here, he might not. But we'll be safe, Sansa. We have to believe that."
The guard gestured for them to move, and they fell in line with the other women being led to the tower. As they walked, Roslin wrapped an arm around Sansa's shoulders, pulling her close. She had to be strong for her, for Robb, for the child growing inside her.
The flickering torches lining the hallways cast eerie shadows, the cold stone walls offering little comfort as they neared the Tower of the Hand. Roslin's mind raced, torn between worry for Robb and the unsettling reality of their situation.
As they entered the main chamber, a wave of anxious energy washed over Roslin. The room was crowded, filled with women of all ages—some looking as if they were nearing eighty, their faces etched with lines of worry, while others clutched newborn babes tightly against their chests, their bodies swaying gently in a futile attempt to soothe them. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and the low murmur of whispers echoed off the stone walls, punctuated by the occasional soft cry of a child.
At the head of the room, Roslin's gaze was drawn to Cersei Lannister, seated imperiously in a wooden chair that bore an unsettling resemblance to a throne. The queen exuded an air of authority, her golden hair cascading around her shoulders like a halo, but her sharp green eyes betrayed a flicker of unease as she surveyed the scene. A couple of her ladies-in-waiting stood nearby, attending to her, one of them dutifully pouring wine into a goblet, the red liquid glimmering ominously in the torchlight.
Suddenly, a small brown-haired woman darted through the crowd and rushed towards Sansa. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Sansa, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Shae!" Sansa exclaimed, her face lighting up with relief and joy as she returned the hug. "Shae, this is my brother's wife, Lady Roslin Stark."
Shae dropped into a quick curtsey, her movements practiced but slightly rushed. Roslin noticed the warmth in the woman's demeanor and the genuine fondness between her and Sansa. "No, you don't need to curtsey," Sansa corrected her gently, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. "Just bow your head."
Shae looked up at Roslin, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady," she said, her voice friendly and melodic.
"Shae is my new handmaiden," Sansa explained to Roslin, her voice carrying a hint of pride. "Lord Tyrion arranged for her after my last maid fell ill. She is from Essos and she may be a bit unfamiliar with the duties of a handmaiden, but she is incredibly kind and eager to learn." Sansa's eyes sparkled with affection as she spoke, clearly appreciating Shae's willingness to help in these turbulent times.
Roslin offered a small smile in return, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She couldn't shake off the lingering doubts about why Tyrion, ever the strategist, would appoint a new handmaiden for Sansa. It seemed odd that he would concern himself with such a trivial matter while the city was engulfed in chaos. Yet, she decided against pressing Sansa for details; there was enough uncertainty swirling around them without adding suspicion to the mix.
The reality of their surroundings began to sink in for Roslin as she took a moment to observe the scene around her. Women huddled together, exchanging quiet words, their faces lined with worry. Some clutched each other for reassurance, while others cast nervous glances toward the door, as if expecting danger to burst in at any moment. The tension was palpable, and she could feel her heart pounding in rhythm with the rising fear in the chamber.
"Do you think it will be over soon?" Sansa asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as she leaned closer to Roslin, her brow furrowed with concern.
Roslin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I believe so," she replied, though she could not shake her own doubts. "We must stay hopeful. We have to trust that the city's defenders will hold."
As they spoke, Cersei's voice cut through the din, commanding and assertive. "Ladies, please, listen carefully!" she declared, rising from her seat, the air thickening with her presence. All eyes turned to the queen, the atmosphere shifting as everyone awaited her next words. "We must remain calm. The city will not fall tonight. We will not let it."
Roslin exchanged a quick glance with Sansa and Shae, the unspoken worries hanging between them. Whatever was happening outside the walls of the castle was beyond their control, but inside this chamber, they could at least find a semblance of safety in each other's company. They had to hold on to that, to the hope that they would survive this night and whatever lay ahead.
The night seemed endless. Hours stretched into an eternity, with no word from the outside. The distant roars of battle echoed through the thick walls, a constant reminder of the danger lurking beyond. The clashing of steel and the cries of men filled the air, a grim soundtrack that kept everyone on edge.
Roslin glanced at Sansa, who sat stiffly beside her, eyes wide and unblinking. She placed a hand on her sister-in-law's arm, trying to offer comfort. "Sansa, you should try to rest," Roslin urged gently, though she knew how impossible the suggestion was. Sleep would be hard to find in such an atmosphere, and even harder to keep.
Around them, the chamber was filled with the quiet misery of waiting. Some of the women wept softly, their faces buried in their hands, while others whispered hurried prayers, their voices trembling. Many just sat in silence, staring into nothing, their expressions frozen in fear. Every now and then, a loud crash or shout from the outside made the room collectively flinch, their nerves raw from anticipation.
Yet above them all, Cersei remained unmoved. She sat like a queen on her makeshift throne, her lips red from the wine that filled her goblet again and again. She hadn't spoken in hours, her face a mask of cold indifference as she watched the room, draining cup after cup.
The oppressive silence within the room deepened as the night dragged on, punctuated only by the occasional sob or whispered prayer. Roslin's heart pounded in her chest with every muffled crash or distant scream, her mind racing with thoughts of Robb and the fate of the city outside these walls.
Roslin forced herself to stand, her swollen belly making it impossible to remain still for long. Restless, she made her way to one of the windows despite the guards' warnings to keep their heads down and avoid looking outside. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she couldn't help herself. The bay below was filled with ships, all bearing the burning heart sigil of Stannis Baratheon. Beyond, on land, soldiers hoisting the same banner pressed against the gates of the city, while the Crown's men braced for battle just behind the walls.
Her eyes followed the soldiers patrolling the battlements of the Red Keep when suddenly a bright green flash erupted across the bay. It exploded with such ferocity that Roslin instinctively ducked, her heart pounding as she heard the women behind her scream. The chaotic roar from the bay echoed through the air. Trembling, she forced herself to look again, her fingers gripping the window ledge. The bay was ablaze, most of Stannis' fleet consumed by fire, the eerie green flames of wildfire reflecting in the churning waters. Wildfire - Roslin thought, but it wasn't enough—Stannis' soldiers were already at the city gates, undeterred by the destruction unfolding behind them.
A sudden crash from outside made the room erupt once again in screams.. The loud sound of metal against stone reverberated through the walls, followed by the unmistakable roar of a large crowd. Fear rippled through the chamber like a gust of icy wind. Some women began to cry openly now, while others whispered desperate prayers under their breath.
"Is this it?" one woman whispered, her voice quivering with panic. "Are they inside?"
The fear in the room was palpable, thickening the already stifling air. Roslin's eyes darted to the door, her heart skipping a beat with every noise. She wished for Robb's presence more than anything—his calming voice, his steady hand, his strength.
Suddenly, Cersei spoke, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "If they get inside, none of us will be spared." Her words were slow, deliberate, each one heavy with meaning. She took another long sip of wine, her eyes never leaving the room. "Best to remember that."
A ripple of horror spread through the chamber at the Queen's words. Roslin could feel the fear intensifying, but what chilled her more was the cool detachment in Cersei's tone. There was no fear in her voice, only cold calculation. Cersei lifted her goblet, swirling the wine within, and gave a bitter smile to Roslin. Roslin exchanged a glance with Sansa, who had gone pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the arm of her chair. Shae stood protectively behind her, her face set in a grim line.
"I don't think they'll get in," Sansa murmured, almost to herself, though her voice wavered with uncertainty. "Lord Tyrion... he'll stop them."
Cersei let out a mirthless laugh, a sound devoid of hope. "My brother? The half-man?" She shook her head, her gaze icy. "You're putting your faith in the wrong person, little dove."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, filling the room with a new sense of dread. Roslin's stomach twisted, but she forced herself to stay composed. Panic wouldn't help anyone here.
Suddenly, the heavy doors at the far end of the chamber creaked open, a sound that cut through the thick tension like a blade. A guard stumbled in, his face flushed and eyes wide with panic, breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Every woman in the room turned toward him, the atmosphere electrifying with anticipation.
"Your Grace," he exclaimed, voice cracking under the weight of his news. "Lord Tyrion has destroyed most of the fleet, but their land army is at the gates of the city. We won't hold much longer. It's time, Your Grace."
A collective gasp swept through the room, quickly morphing into cries of alarm and despair. Cersei sprang to her feet, her expression a mix of fury and determination, and she swiftly grabbed Tommen, who had been sleeping peacefully at her side until now. The boy rubbed his eyes sleepily, struggling to comprehend the chaos erupting around him as his mother yanked him up.
"Where are you going?" Roslin called out, her voice cutting through the commotion as she stepped forward, confronting the queen with a fierce resolve.
"I won't die in here with you!" Cersei spat, her tone laced with contempt and fear. "When the time comes, Ser Ilyn will ensure it's quick for all of you. Unless you'd rather face Stannis's men."
With that, Cersei swept out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her with a resounding thud that echoed off the stone walls. In an instant, further chaos erupted, the noise in the chamber rising to a fever pitch as the women began to shout and cry, their panic spilling over into wild gestures and frantic whispers.
Roslin's heart sank, her stomach churning with dread. She turned to Sansa, whose face had gone pale, the color draining from her cheeks as she struggled to grasp the gravity of their situation. Shae moved closer to Sansa, wrapping her arms protectively around the young woman, a fierce look in her eyes that spoke of loyalty amidst chaos.
"We can't stay here!" someone cried out, voice trembling with fear. "What if they come for us?"
"What if they breach the walls?" Sansa's voice trembled, her gaze darting toward the door as if she expected it to burst open any moment. "What then?"
Roslin took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of panic inside her. "We'll find a way out," she promised, though the words felt hollow.
Roslin rushed to the front of the chamber, standing tall in front of Cersei's abandoned chair as she faced the room full of terrified women. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to remain calm, drawing on whatever strength she had left. The scene was chaos—mothers clutching their children, noblewomen whispering frantically to one another, and the ever-present sound of battle creeping closer. Roslin knew that if they did nothing, they would be sitting ducks, waiting for death or worse.
She took a deep breath and addressed them, her voice clear and unwavering despite the dread tightening her throat. "There are men at those gates," she began, her words slicing through the panicked murmurs. "And make no mistake—they want you dead or worse. I'm sorry, I know it's hard to hear, but it's the truth."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room, some women gasping, others shaking their heads as if denying reality would change it. Roslin pressed on, her voice growing louder, more urgent. "I will not sit here and wait for them to slaughter us," she declared, her tone fierce and determined. "If anyone wants to come with me, I'm leaving now."
Her words hung in the air, echoing off the stone walls as the room fell into a stunned silence. Roslin could feel the weight of their gazes—eyes filled with fear, hesitation, and a flicker of hope. She knew the risks; they all did. But she refused to let fear keep her here, huddled in a corner waiting for the inevitable. There had to be a way out, a way to survive.
One of the older women, her hands trembling as she clutched a rosary to her chest, spoke up. "Where will we go? The city's on fire. They'll catch us outside the walls."
Roslin met her gaze, her jaw clenched with determination. "We'll find another way. We don't need to leave the city—there are hidden tunnels beneath the Red Keep. Lord Tyrion has mentioned them before. If we can reach them, we might have a chance. But staying here…" She glanced around the room, her eyes hardening as the reality of their situation settled over her. "If we stay, we're already dead."
Sansa, who had remained by Roslin's side, stepped forward, her voice soft but resolute. "I'll come with you." Her hand shook slightly, but there was a fire in her eyes, a willingness to fight for survival.
Roslin nodded, placing a comforting hand on Sansa's shoulder. "Good," she said, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "We'll protect each other."
Only a handful of women stood up, their faces pale and uncertain. Among them, Roslin recognized Desmera Redwyne, her gaze fierce yet haunted. Next to her was a mother clutching her infant tightly, determination mingled with fear in her eyes. Shae, Sansa's handmaid, stood resolutely beside them, her expression a mix of concern and defiance. The rest of the women remained rooted in place, too terrified to move. They were paralyzed by the unknown; at least in this room, they understood the fate that awaited them if they chose to stay.
"We leave now," Roslin declared, her voice resolute despite the tremor of fear coiling in her stomach. "Stay close, and don't look back." With that, she took a deep breath and led the group toward the door, her heart racing as she stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The distant sounds of battle roared like thunder outside, growing louder and more ominous with each passing moment, but Roslin forced herself to keep moving, her mind solely focused on survival.
As she navigated the corridor, the remnants of chaos were evident. Cups lay scattered across the floor, remnants of hastily abandoned gatherings; ornate vases lay shattered, their delicate pieces glistening like fallen stars in the fading light, victims of the panic that had swept through the palace. Propped against one window was a sword, clearly left behind by a soldier in a desperate hurry. Roslin picked it up, the cold steel feeling heavy and foreign in her hands. She gripped the hilt tightly, struggling against its weight, but she knew she had no choice; it was better to be armed than defenseless.
Her breaths quickened as she forged ahead, adrenaline surging through her veins. There were no immediate signs that Stannis' men had breached the walls yet, but the unsettling sounds of conflict echoed ever closer, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just beyond their sanctuary. Each step was a mix of determination and dread, and Roslin silently urged herself forward, unwilling to take any chances. She could not afford to falter now.
As they reached the end of the hallway, the door to the main stairwell stood ajar, a sliver of darkness yawning before them. Roslin hesitated for a moment, the sounds of battle still rumbling like distant thunder. She glanced back at the women. "We'll take the stairs down to the courtyard," she said, her voice steady. "It might be our best chance to escape."
The air felt thick with anxiety, but the mother nodded, determination etched into her features. Shae, the handmaiden, clutched Sansa's arm tightly, her eyes darting nervously from the door to Roslin. "What if we're caught?" Shae asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Roslin glanced at the door, then back at the women. "If we stay here, we're trapped. I won't let that happen. If we move now, we might find a way out." She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, revealing the narrow staircase that spiraled down into darkness.
The women hesitated but followed closely behind as Roslin descended cautiously, feeling each step beneath her. The stone felt cold against her bare feet, a stark contrast to the rising heat of fear in her chest.
Halfway down, the sound of clashing steel and distant screams became clearer, cutting through the air like a knife. Roslin paused, her heart pounding. "We must hurry," she urged, picking up the pace. "They're getting closer."
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Roslin peered around the corner into the dimly lit courtyard. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning wood, and she could see flickering shadows as the chaos unfolded outside.
"Stay close," she instructed, her grip tightening on the sword. She scanned the area, her heart sinking at the sight of a few guards hastily organizing themselves, shouting commands, their faces grim. The sound of footsteps echoed from the main gate, and she knew they didn't have much time.
Roslin turned to the women behind her, urgency in her eyes. "We can slip out through the back entrance," she said, pointing toward a narrow path leading away from the chaos. "If we stay low and move quickly, we might make it to the stables."
With one last look at the chaos unfolding before them, Roslin led the group toward the path. As they hurried along, the weight of the sword felt heavier with each step, a constant reminder of the danger they faced. They moved in silence, the only sounds their hurried breaths and the distant clamor of battle.
Suddenly, a loud crash resonated from the courtyard, and Roslin glanced back to see a group of soldiers break through the gates, their armor gleaming ominously in the firelight. "Run!" she shouted, adrenaline surging through her.
The women rushed forward, following Roslin's lead as she navigated the narrow passage. She could hear shouts behind them, and her heart raced. They were running out of time. As they rounded a corner, Roslin spotted the stables up ahead, the large doors slightly ajar, a sliver of hope shining through the chaos.
"Almost there!" Roslin urged, her voice barely above a whisper. Each step felt like a promise, hope flickering within her like a fragile flame. If they could just reach the horses, they could escape. If they escaped, they could survive.
But as they neared the stables, her heart sank. A soldier emerged from the shadows, blade in hand and spattered in blood. His armor bore the stag of Baratheon, but there was no comfort in that. His eyes gleamed with a wicked hunger.
"What do we have here then?" he sneered, his voice thick with malice. "All this fighting, and I could do with a woman's company. I think I'll start with you, my lady." He pointed directly at Roslin, a twisted grin spreading across his face.
Roslin's pulse quickened as she sized him up, her mind racing. She could see the cruelty in his eyes, and she knew what he intended. Slowly, she raised her sword, her voice steady despite the tremor in her limbs. "I'd like to see you try."
The soldier laughed, a cold, harsh sound, and stepped toward her. Roslin acted on instinct, spitting in his face. The man recoiled, wiping the spittle from his eyes, his expression darkening with rage. Without a word, he lunged at her, knocking the sword from her hands with ease.
Roslin gasped, stumbling back as the blade clattered to the ground. Behind her, she could see Shae ushering the other women into the safety of the stables, but Roslin had no time to think about them. The soldier grabbed her by the arm, his grip like iron.
This is it, she thought, her breath catching in her throat. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable, but just as his hand tightened, an arrow whistled past her ear and embedded itself in the soldier's eye.
The man let out a guttural cry before collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap. Roslin's eyes flew open, her chest heaving with shock. She turned, searching for the archer, her heart racing with uncertainty. Had it been a friend or a foe?
From the battlements of the keep, she saw the archer who walked away as quickly as he had come to her aid, clearly seeking his next mark. A handful of men moved toward her on the ground, and at the forefront of the group was a soldier who stood out, his presence commanding. He was still some distance away, his helmet obscuring his face, but there was something familiar about the way he moved.
"Roslin Stark," a voice called out from the courtyard, and for the first time, Roslin noticed the scale of the battle beyond the gates. The fighting raged in the bay, but it was not just Stannis's men she saw now. Soldiers wearing the sigils of the Baratheon stag, the Lannister lion, the Tyrell rose, and the Stark direwolf fought side by side, cutting down their enemies with ferocity.
The man in front of her approached with long strides, his voice heavy with authority and an edge of familiarity. "What did I tell you about staying out of trouble?"
Roslin's breath hitched as the man removed his helmet. Her heart leapt in her chest. It was Robb. Her Robb. Tears welled in her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she ran to him, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste. He caught her effortlessly, lifting her off the ground and pulling her against him.
His kiss was fierce, filled with desperation and relief, as if every moment they'd been apart had been leading to this. He held her tight, his arms unyielding as if he never wanted to let her go again. Roslin's hands tangled in his hair, her tears mixing with his as they clung to each other.
"Robb," she whispered breathlessly, her voice breaking with emotion.
"I'm here," he murmured against her lips, his forehead resting against hers. "I'm here, and I'm never leaving you again."
For a moment, everything else faded away—the chaos, the battle, the fear. It was just them. But the sounds of war were still all around them, and Roslin knew their reunion was fleeting.
"I thought I'd lost you," she said, her voice trembling.
"You'll never lose me," Robb promised, his voice low and fierce. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "But we need to get you out of here. It's not safe."
Roslin nodded, her heart still pounding. She glanced back at the women behind her, huddled together in fear. "There are others," she said softly. "We can't leave them."
Robb scanned the group, his expression stern but determined. "We won't leave anyone behind," he said, signaling to the men at his side. They moved swiftly, gathering Sansa, Shae, and the others, guiding them toward the safety of the castle.
"We'll get you to a secure room. Two of my men will stay with you," Robb told Roslin, his voice filled with urgency. "I have to go now, but I will come back."
"Please, don't go," Roslin begged, her voice trembling.
Robb pulled her close, kissing her deeply, the touch filled with both love and a sense of finality. "I love you," he whispered against her lips. "More than anything. But I have to fight."
Before she could respond, he stepped back, placing his helmet firmly on his head. With one last glance at her, he turned and sprinted back into the chaos, four men following at his heels. The guards left behind tried to usher the women deeper into the keep, but Roslin's gaze remained fixed on Robb until he disappeared into the swirling mass of battle outside.
She stood frozen, the weight of fear and love pulling at her as she watched the doorway where he'd vanished.