Roslin XIII

"I'll kill him!" Robb screamed, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber, eyes blazing with a mix of rage and protectiveness. The sight before him—the two girls huddled together on the floor, Sansa's tear-streaked face buried in Roslin's shoulder—shattered any semblance of calm he had managed to maintain. He felt as if the very air had thickened with the weight of his fury.

"Robb, please," Roslin implored, lifting her head to meet his gaze, her expression a mix of fear and pleading. "You can't—"

"No! He can't get away with this!" Robb's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the tempest brewing inside him. The thought of Joffrey laying hands on Sansa sent a wave of heat through him, igniting the instinct to protect those he loved. "He's a monster, and I'm going to tear him apart!"

"Robb!" Roslin shouted, her voice sharp and urgent as she cut through his mounting fury. "Not now!" She gestured toward Sansa, who was shaking in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks like a river of anguish. The sight of his sister's pain snapped Robb back to the reality of the moment.

His expression shifted from rage to concern as he dropped to his knees beside them, his heart aching at the sight of Sansa in such distress. "Oh, Sansa," he said softly, his voice trembling with empathy and sorrow. He reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Sansa looked up at him, her wide eyes filled with fear and confusion. "Robb, I—" she began, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words tangled in her throat as she struggled to express the enormity of what had just happened.

"Shh, it's okay," he soothed, shifting closer to wrap his arms around her, careful not to overwhelm her with his presence. "You're safe now. I promise you're safe." He could feel the tremors of her body against his, the sobs wracking her frame, and it tore at his heart.

Sansa's voice trembled as she whispered, "Robb, you can't do anything. I don't want you to get hurt. You can't fight him. He's the king."

"Kings be damned," he shot back. "I don't care about his title. He's a coward, hiding behind his crown. I'll make him regret ever laying a finger on you."

Roslin moved closer to Sansa, her hand resting protectively on her back. "Robb, listen to me," she said, her voice steadying as she looked into his eyes. "If you confront Joffrey, he'll have your head. We need to think this through."

"Think?" Robb spat, pacing the floor like a caged animal, his frustration boiling over. His fists clenched at his sides, and the fury in his voice was unmistakable. "How can I think when he's done this to her?" His gaze flickered back to Sansa, a deep sorrow filling his eyes. "Sansa, I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I wish I could have protected you from him, from all of this."

Sansa didn't respond, her tears having dried for the moment, but her hollow gaze was enough to send a fresh wave of guilt crashing over Robb. He knelt in front of her, his hand hovering over hers, as if afraid his touch would hurt her more.

"Sansa," Roslin said softly, kneeling beside her, her voice gentle yet firm. "I'm so sorry to even bring this up right now, but there are some things we need to take care of." She glanced at Robb, whose face was contorted with a mixture of rage and helplessness, before turning her attention back to Sansa. "First, let's get you cleaned up. A nice hot bath, fresh clothes—you'll feel better after that, I promise."

Sansa gave a weak nod, her body still trembling, but her eyes told Roslin she was barely holding on. Roslin's hand reached up, brushing a few tangled strands of hair away from Sansa's face. "And then," she continued gently, "you'll need to drink some moon tea."

Sansa blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. "Moon tea?" Her voice was quiet, fragile, as if she couldn't even fathom what that meant right now.

Roslin stroked her hair, trying to comfort her. "It's a kind of medicine," she explained softly. "You'll take some tonight, and then again in a few days. It's just to make sure that he hasn't—" Roslin hesitated, her heart breaking at having to say the words aloud.

Robb winced, he stood and walked away sharply. His jaw clenched so tight it ached, his mind screaming with fury, but he forced himself to stay silent. He couldn't look at Sansa right now, not like this. His hands shook with the rage he was trying to suppress—anger at Joffrey, at himself, at the world for allowing this to happen.

Roslin swallowed hard, trying to remain steady for Sansa's sake. "It'll make sure that he hasn't gotten you with child," she finished, her voice thick with the weight of the truth.

Sansa's face contorted in anguish, her fragile composure shattering with every second that passed. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes squeezed shut as if closing them would block out the horrors she had endured. The mere thought of carrying Joffrey's child—of having that monster's blood in her—was too overwhelming to bear. Silent sobs racked her body, shaking her frail frame, and the tears came harder, streaking down her pale cheeks like rain down a broken window.

Roslin held her tighter, but nothing could stop the storm inside Sansa now.

Through her sobs, Sansa's voice broke, soft and filled with despair. "But Willas… the Tyrells…" Her words were barely audible, tinged with a kind of helpless resignation that tore at Robb's heart. "They won't want me now. He's ruined it. He's ruined me."

The weight of those words hung in the air like a leaden cloud. Roslin felt them too, the devastation in Sansa's admission slicing through her like a knife. She couldn't find words to reassure her, not when the truth of what Joffrey had done was so clear, so painful.

Robb, kneeling before them, clenched his fists tighter. His knuckles were white, his body stiff with the rage he was barely holding back. Hearing Sansa's broken words—the rawness of her shame and fear—was worse than anything he'd imagined. His sister was shattered, stripped of her dignity by the cruelty of that vile boy-king. He had always known Joffrey was a monster, but this… this was beyond unforgivable.

"No, Sansa," Robb said, his voice rough and strained as he tried to steady it. He forced himself to speak, to reach out to her through the thick fog of his own anger. "He hasn't ruined you. He doesn't have the power to do that. No one does." His voice softened as he continued. "You're still you—Sansa Stark, my sister. And no matter what Joffrey has done, or tried to do, you are not ruined."

But Sansa only shook her head, her voice wavering. "How could he? How could anyone see me as anything but… tainted? Joffrey… he said no one would want me now." Her hands trembled as they rested in her lap, her fingers twisting the torn fabric of her dress, as if she could still feel the phantom touch of Joffrey's violence.

Roslin's heart broke for her. "Sansa, listen to me," she said firmly, her voice filled with compassion and urgency. "Joffrey is wrong. So wrong. You're still strong, still noble, still the beautiful girl who has survived so much. You're not tainted. Don't let his poison take that away from you."

Robb's jaw clenched again, his throat tightening with unshed tears. "Sansa, I swear to you, we'll make this right. You'll have the life you deserve, with or without Willas Tyrell. And Joffrey… he'll pay for what he's done. That, I promise."

Sansa's watery gaze flickered toward Robb, her lips parting as if she wanted to believe him, but the hurt ran too deep. Still, she nodded slowly, though it was more out of exhaustion than belief. Her body sagged against Roslin's, as if the weight of the world had finally become too much to carry.

Roslin wiped away Sansa's tears with the hem of her own sleeve, her voice gentle yet firm. "We'll take it one step at a time. Right now, the only thing you need to worry about is resting, healing." She turned to Robb. "We'll get her out of here, Robb. Away from all of this."

Robb nodded, his heart aching for his sister. "Whatever it takes. You won't stay in this nightmare, Sansa. We'll keep you safe. I'll keep you safe."

But as Robb looked down at Sansa, who seemed so small and fragile in that moment, a fresh wave of fury surged through him. He swore to himself—Joffrey Baratheon would pay dearly. Whatever the cost, he would make sure his sister never suffered under that monster's shadow again.

The next morning arrived after a restless night. Roslin had barely slept, lying beside Sansa as the poor girl finally drifted into a fitful slumber, her body still trembling even in sleep. Roslin held her close, whispering gentle reassurances, though her own mind churned with worry. Robb had left earlier, slipping out to find the most discrete yet trustworthy maester he could to procure the moon tea. The silence in the castle that night had felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of what had happened, and both Robb and Roslin knew their every move now had to be carefully measured.

When morning finally broke, casting a pale light through the windows, Robb returned, his expression grim. He sat beside the bed, watching Sansa sleep for a moment, before turning to Roslin. "We need to keep things normal," he murmured quietly, so as not to wake her. "We can't draw attention to ourselves until we've decided what to do next."

Roslin nodded, though she knew maintaining normalcy was going to be harder than either of them wanted to admit. They couldn't simply flee King's Landing as much as the thought tempted them. The political implications of such a move were too great—if they left, they would lose all influence in the court, and worse, they would paint a target on their backs. They needed to move carefully, strategically.

"I need to talk to you," Roslin whispered, her voice strained with the weight of the conversation they couldn't yet have. "But not in front of Sansa. There are… things we need to consider."

Robb nodded, his jaw tight. "I'll make sure she's taken care of. You go do what you need to, and we'll talk later."

Robb made the decision to spend the entire day with Sansa, refusing to leave her side. As Roslin watched them leave their chambers together, she couldn't shake the deep worry that gnawed at her. Robb looked pale, his face drawn and haunted by everything that had happened. The weight of his emotions was clear in his every step, and Roslin's heart ached as she feared for both of them—not just for Sansa, but for Robb, too.

For Roslin, keeping up her normal routine meant breaking her fast with Tyrion Lannister. It was something she did once a week—a quiet, private meal where they discussed the happenings of the realm, shared news, and, on occasion, simply sat in silence together. Tyrion, despite his family name, had become something of an unlikely friend. He was sharp, honest in a way few in court were, and more than anything, he seemed to genuinely appreciate the rare company of someone who treated him as more than just "the Imp."

Robb hadn't always been fond of her friendship with Tyrion, however Roslin knew this connection could be valuable, especially now. Tyrion was close to power—close to the Lannisters who held the kingdom in their grip—and more than that, he was smart. If anyone could help navigate the dangerous waters they found themselves in, it was him.

Roslin slipped out of the room, her thoughts racing as she made her way through the halls. The morning air was crisp, but it did little to soothe the tension that knotted in her stomach. She would have to act like everything was fine, that nothing had changed, when in reality, their entire world had been tipped on its axis. As she approached the small dining chamber where she and Tyrion typically met, she steeled herself.

Tyrion was already there, sipping from a goblet of wine, his sharp eyes glinting in the early morning light. He looked up as Roslin entered, his mouth twitching into a faint smile.

"Ah, Lady Roslin," he greeted, his tone light but his gaze ever-observant. "You look as though the weight of the world rests on your shoulders this morning. Bad dreams, or something more tangible?"

Roslin forced a small smile, though the strain of the last night tugged at her features. "Something more tangible, I'm afraid," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "But we all have our burdens, don't we?"

Tyrion leaned forward, his tone unusually somber. "I fear today will be no easier for you, my lady. My nephew has already started his tirades this morning."

Roslin's stomach twisted. No matter what cruelty Joffrey had unleashed today, she knew it would pale in comparison to what he had done the previous evening.

"Is that so?" Roslin asked, trying her best to maintain her composure, though her heart pounded in her chest.

"Unfortunately, yes," Tyrion replied with a sigh. "He was overheard telling one of his Kingsguard that after the wedding, Lady Sansa would need new chambers because she would be taking on a new... position—as his official mistress."

Roslin's breath hitched, the sick feeling deepening as Tyrion spoke. Joffrey's vile nature seemed to know no bounds, and hearing it out loud from someone else felt like another dagger in her chest.

Tyrion continued, his sharp eyes studying her closely. "Ridiculous, of course. But this kind of talk is dangerous, and we should act swiftly to squash it before the rumours grow legs of their own."

Roslin shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her posture betraying the calm mask she was struggling to keep in place. Tyrion's gaze narrowed slightly, catching the change in her demeanor.

"Unless..." Tyrion hesitated, his expression darkening as a newfound seriousness crept into his voice. "My lady, is there some truth to what he says? Has something happened?"

Roslin's face drained of colour. She averted her gaze, unable to hold Tyrion's penetrating stare. Her hands, which usually sat composed in her lap, now trembled slightly, betraying the storm brewing inside her. Speaking the unspeakable—revealing the horror that had befallen Sansa—felt like solidifying it, like letting the nightmare become more real, more dangerous. But Tyrion was sharp, and he wouldn't let this go unnoticed. Still, admitting it out loud was no small thing.

"I..." Roslin's voice faltered, her breath hitching. She looked back at Tyrion, whose sharp eyes softened, betraying an unexpected compassion. That flicker of understanding eased her fears, though it did little to quiet the pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she continued. "My lord, I've come to see you as a friend... a true friend, and what I'm about to tell you, I say only because I trust you with all my heart. If I have misplaced that trust, if you betray me or Sansa—" Her voice caught, the weight of her words overwhelming her. "She's just a girl, Tyrion. Please, before you do anything... think of her future. We need help, but we cannot afford rash decisions."

Tyrion's brows knitted together, his expression one of sincere concern. He slowly reached across the table, his hand hovering for a moment before resting gently atop hers. "My lady," he said softly, his voice taking on a rare tone of warmth, "you have nothing to fear from me. I have no love for my nephew, and whatever that wretched boy has done, I swear to you, I may be able to help."

Roslin looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception. She found none. The intensity of the moment forced her to speak the truth she had kept buried since last night. She swallowed hard, bracing herself.

"Last night," Roslin whispered, the words coming out painfully, "Joffrey... he..."

Roslin returned to her chambers, her mind spinning with doubt and worry. Had she misplaced her trust in Tyrion? It was a dangerous gamble. But what choice did they have? They were alone in a city filled with enemies, and Robb—stubborn, proud Robb—refused to ask for help. He believed they could handle everything themselves, that they could protect Sansa without involving anyone else. But the truth was clear now: doing things Robb's way had left Sansa vulnerable, hurt in the most devastating way, and trapped in King's Landing with her attacker lurking around every corner.

As Roslin entered the dimly lit room, she paused in the doorway. Robb was already inside, seated on the edge of their bed, his head bent low as he methodically sharpened his sword. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone filled the silence. His auburn hair, usually wild and free, was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. He was so lost in the reflection of the blade that he hadn't noticed her enter.

Roslin stood there for a moment, watching him. There was something raw in his posture—his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched in silent fury. The sword in his hands was not just a weapon to him now; it was an outlet for the rage simmering beneath his calm exterior. He hadn't been able to protect Sansa, and that failure was gnawing at him, eating him alive.

"Robb," Roslin called softly, stepping further into the room. He didn't look up, the scraping sound continuing as he dragged the whetstone down the length of his blade again. It was as if the sword was the only thing grounding him to the moment, the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling.

She moved closer, the wooden floor creaking beneath her feet. "Robb," she said again, more firmly this time, and reached out to touch his arm.

He flinched slightly, blinking as if suddenly waking from a trance. His eyes, a stormy blue, lifted to meet hers, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. The unspoken tension in the room hung heavy between them. His face, usually so strong and sure, was etched with exhaustion and grief.

"I didn't hear you come in," he muttered, setting the sword aside on the bed. His voice was rough, like he hadn't spoken in hours.

Roslin sat down beside him, close enough that their knees touched. "You were lost in your thoughts," she said gently, her hand still resting on his arm. "Where's Sansa?"

"I left her in her chambers," Robb said quietly. "She asked to be alone. I've posted two guards at her door, and she won't be leaving without someone at her side." He paused, his voice faltering as he looked down at his hands, flexing them like he was still gripping his sword. "I can't stop thinking," he continued, his tone heavy with guilt. "About Sansa... about what Joffrey did to her. I should have protected her. I failed her, Roslin. I failed as her brother."

"No," Roslin said quickly, turning toward him. "You didn't fail her. Joffrey is a monster, and none of us expected him to go this far. Sansa is strong, Robb. But she needs us now more than ever."

He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his damp hair. "I should've kept her safe. I should've gotten her out of here with Arya and Father. I should've insisted. Now she's trapped. We're all trapped in this damn city."

Roslin bit her lip, hesitant to tell him about her meeting with Tyrion. She knew how much Robb distrusted the Lannisters, even Tyrion, despite the imp's reputation for being different from the rest of his family. But she couldn't keep it from him—he needed to know. They had to make a plan, and for that, they needed every ally they could find.

"I spoke to Tyrion," she finally said, watching Robb's reaction carefully.

His expression darkened immediately, his jaw tightening. "Tyrion? You went to him?" He straightened, a flare of anger flashing in his eyes. "Roslin, how could you—"

"We need help, Robb," she interrupted before he could fully launch into a tirade. "You said it yourself, we're trapped here. We can't do this alone, not anymore."

Robb stood abruptly, pacing the room, his hands clenched into fists. "And you think Tyrion Lannister is the one to help us?" he snapped, his voice rising. "He's still one of them, Roslin. He's still a Lannister, no matter how clever or charming he pretends to be."

Roslin stood too, her patience wearing thin. "He's our only option! You think I like this? You think I want to rely on him? No, Robb, I don't. But what choice do we have? Joffrey is the king, and he has already started to speak about her - about what happened. If we don't act carefully, Sansa will be ruined. Worse, she'll be trapped with Joffrey forever."

Robb's shoulders slumped, the fire in his eyes dimming as the weight of the situation pressed heavily on him. He turned to face Roslin, running a hand over his face in frustration. "I just... I can't stand the thought of that bastard getting away with this," he said, his voice low, raw with emotion. "I want to kill him, Roslin. I want to drive my sword through his heart."

Roslin stepped closer, placing her hands gently on his chest, feeling the tension in his body beneath her touch. "I know," she whispered, her voice steady but soft, "I feel the same way. But we need to think carefully about this. If Joffrey tells anyone what happened, it won't be the truth. He'll twist everything, make it sound like Sansa wanted him. And once that story spreads, the Tyrells will be forced to pull out of the engagement, disgracing Sansa even more. We should end it before that happens."

Robb's brow furrowed, confusion darkening his expression. "But why?" he asked, his frustration evident.

Roslin took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words. "Because Willas Tyrell is no longer a safe option for Sansa. Joffrey will keep them both here, and he will make Sansa his mistress. He's already made his intentions clear." Her voice faltered slightly, but she forced herself to continue. "And this time… this time we won't be here to stop him."

The confusion on Robb's face shifted to anger, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. "Then let's take her home," he said with fierce determination. "To Winterfell. She'll be safe there."

"Robb," Roslin said softly, stepping closer to him, her eyes filled with regret, "I want nothing more than to hide her away in Winterfell forever. But we have to be honest with ourselves. Sansa needs a husband now, more than ever. Joffrey won't just let her go. You know that. She needs a husband who can protect her when we can't. And there's something else we have to face..."

Robb's jaw tightened. "What is it?" he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.

Roslin hesitated, not wanting to wound him further, but knowing she had to be realistic. "Robb... she's no longer a maid," she said gently, walking over to him and placing her hand on his arm. "She needs someone who is willing to overlook what's happened, someone who will stand beside her—and most importantly, an ally against Joffrey when the time comes."

"An ally against Joffrey?" Robb's voice was laced with doubt and a touch of anger. He didn't want to accept that Sansa's situation had become so dire.

"Yes," Roslin said firmly, her resolve growing. "I've been thinking about it all day. We'll have to be patient, we'll need to weigh every possibility, but... Joffrey needs to die, Robb."

Robb's breath hitched, taken aback by her bluntness. "You're serious," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Deadly serious," Roslin replied, her tone unwavering. "He has already crossed lines we can never forgive. He is a threat to everyone we care about—Sansa, the North, even you. As long as he's alive, he'll always find a way to torment us, to tear us apart. We can't let that happen. But we need to be smart about this. We need a plan, allies, and timing. And Sansa needs a husband strong enough to protect her in the meantime."

Robb turned away, running a hand through his hair, torn between fury and helplessness. "I hate this," he muttered. "I hate that we can't just act. That we have to play this twisted game."

Roslin moved closer, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. "I know. But we can't fight this battle alone. Joffrey's days are numbered, but we have to make sure we win when the time comes. Sansa's safety comes first, and if we can find her a husband who's willing to stand against Joffrey and protect her... it might be our best chance."

Robb's fists clenched again, his knuckles white, but this time it wasn't just out of anger—it was determination. "Then we find her someone who will stand with us. Someone who will help us bring Joffrey down."

Roslin nodded, relief washing over her that Robb was starting to see the necessity of their situation. "We will," she said, her voice steady. "But for now, we wait. We plan. And when the time is right... we strike."

Robb took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he looked into her eyes. "Then we'll do it together. For Sansa. For the North."

"For all of us," Roslin whispered.