Elizabeth Furrow, of House Lannister, is forced to betrothed a Stark boy to establish peace to end the war waging and to unite and kill the feud between Houses Stark and Lannister.
But Elizabeth has no feelings for her husband, and Robb has no feel...
"Robb!," he heard her yell. Jaime was already up, grabbing his sword with his remaining hand and dashing towards the only hill behind the tents they had set up.
"ROBB!!!," she screamed at the top of her lungs, croaking at the last moment as her head was bashed adjacent the floor one more time.
Robb and Jaime ran as fast as they could, just the two of them, and at top speed. Her screaming was getting higher and higher, her lungs unable to contain anymore of her sharp intakes of breath as they were about to have their way with her.
As Robb and Jaime turned a corner, it took them less than a second to register what was happening. After that, everything froze for him, and all he heard was the low breathing pattern emitted from his lungs and the way his sword was out the next second. The only thing he remembered was his beautiful lover on the floor, being touched by Lannister men.
He felt irreproachable about painfully hurting four of the six men holding her down, letting Jaime brutally maul the other two. If it were any other situation, he would have let the men have a clean death, but not tonight. Tonight, these men would feel the most painful death they could ever experience.
Other soldiers had quickly taken the men away, guided by Jaime, and put into cells to be slowly killed in the morning as they bled profusely without proper medical treatment, food, or water.
Robb sunk down at Elizabeth's side, taking his cloak off and covering her body with it. Tears flowed from her eyes as she clutched onto him, pulling him close to her. His body radiated heat onto her, warming her up, then wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
"I'm going to kill them," he says in an angry shaky breath, gripping her tighter.
"I-I-I was so scared," she sobbed, admitting her one and only fear. She hoped he would take her to Winterfell, away from everyone, away from them.
"I know," he was speechless as he looked down at her, his heart pumping out of his chest. Anger flooded his mind, taking over his whole body, but something inside of him pushed his hands to just gently hold her.
Although his anger was evident yet discretely subtle, everyone around him knew that the young wolf was fuming on the inside. His mood had dropped about eleven stages, but that wasn't nearly as bad as how she felt.
She felt disgusting, and the light crimson marks on her arms were to bruise badly to remind her of how disgusting she felt. There was no coming back from this, no normality, nothing. Everything about that night had pained her, everything from asking Robb to leave to the inevitable assault.
Granted, they hadn't raped her, but they were close to. They did other things, very nasty things, in the short span of time they had left with her. The trauma she was in was unthinkable, indescribable, but she had to move forwards.
After all, Casterly Rock was all she really had left.
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