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He is half my soul, as the poets say.
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THE TIGHTNESS WASN'T JUST INSIDE her chest but inside her very muscles. Holding her down at the screams of people echoed inside her ears. There were so many of them crying in pain. Yelling, shouting, begging for their lives. Innocent people, men in armour, children and Hermione wanted to silence them all. She wanted to reach out and stop all their pain, but the most she could do was breathe, ruggedly.
She woke up in damp sheets with sweat dripping down her skin. Her shortened curls matted to her forehead and linens clinging to her skin. "You alrigh 'Mione?" Robb said sluggishly his hands reaching to her hold her, as she came to.
The air seemed clearer and as quickly as it had come, the memory of her nightmare had vanished. "Yes," she breathed gathering her wits as Robb released her. "Just a bad dream is all." His soft eyes didn't leave her conflicting features for a second though as she struggled to remember what had caused her so much turmoil. "I don't suppose fresh air is an option you'll allow me to have."
"Frey's men are on duty tonight," Robb sighed.
Hermione understood the predicament Robb and herself were in. After much debate on his part, they had come to the conclusion that the smartest choice would be to keep their marriage a secret for now. To deal with the consequences of their actions after safely getting his sisters back to the North. Still, Hermione found herself once again trapped, though in smaller quarters then that of Winterfell and with more restrictions. She wasn't allowed to take a step out of Robb's tent, her only companions being her husband, Mary, and an occasional sceptical Lady Catelyn. And though there were many times when Hermione knew Robb and Catelyn wanted to ask her of how she'd gotten here, none of them did.
