POPPY | A Game Of Thrones

FORTY-THREE

the best kind of people are
the ones who come into your
life and make you see the sun
where you once saw clouds.

THE HUMIDITY HAD NEVER FARED WELL WITH ROBB when he was a child, though now still at the precipice of his adulthood, he still hated it. Robb felt as the linen clothes beneath the thin armour he wore for his grandfather's funeral begin to stick to his skin and small beads of sweat begging to appear at his hairline.

Still, Robb stood in the Red Fork with his Uncle Brynden and pushed the boat which held his grandfather, Hoster Tully. He looked peaceful and calm, two things Robb would never attribute to the old man according to the few times he had laid eyes on him.

Stepping back onto the wooden platform, Robb stood between Jeyne and his mother Lady Catelyn. Biting his tongue, the King noticed how she side eyed the girl before setting her eyes back to her father as he drifted away.

The newly minted Lord Edmure took his position in front of them all. Setting his bow and arrow properly in his arms, he dipped the arrow into the pit of fire, positioned it in the air and waited. With one eye closed, everybody stood in anticipation as Edmure released the arrow and they watched it soar through the air and land gracefully into the water.

Whispers ensued as the wooden boat began to get farther and farther away. Lord Edmure took a deep breath before dipping another arrowing in the fire. Positioning it once more in his arms, he released only for it to once again land in the water. Light, shameful snickers almost escaped Robb's lips earning him a well-deserved glare from his mother.

Edmure, tried twice more before his Lord Brynden took charge, pushing his nephew out of the way and snatching the bow and an arrow from him. Glancing back at the Tully flag blowing in the wind, Brynden positioned the bow and arrow in his hands than without giving it much thought released.

Showing them both into his Edmure's hands, relief was exhaled as the boat caught fire. And watching for moments more as the boat finally disappeared around the bend, Robb settled his hand on Jeyne's back before whispering in her ear. "Let's go."

Taking a short moment to embrace his mourning mother, Robb and Jeyne started the walk back to the Tully castle. "He looked so peaceful," Jeyne remarked. "Odd customs you have, setting him on a river and then on fire."

"Do they not do such customs where you're from?"

The brown-haired beauty shook her head. "No, in Volantis our dead are buried with trees so that their bodies can nourish nature and bring new life."

"That sounds much more poetic than setting a man on fire."

Robb watched as the setting sun illuminated her olive skin, dark hair blowing just slightly in the breeze which washed over them.

"How was he?" she asked. "As a grandfather I mean, did you spend much time with him?"Robb shook his head. "No actually, my parents married just before the war. I was born in Riverrun though and I do remember he was the one to forge me my first training sword when I was a boy."

A broad smile plastered itself onto Jeyne's. "I can see it now, you running around and swinging your toy sword around."

"It wasn't a toy."

"Oh it wasn't?" she asked humour still heavy on her face.

"No," Robb said taking her in his arm and pressing his forehead against her. "It was very much a real sword... in my head."

Her laughter was music e thought he would never get tired of hearing. Robb kissed Jeyne solidly, holding her tightly and feeling her small frame flush against his own. She smelt like poppies, he had noticed this some time ago but had never put his finger on what exactly the scent was. He knew it was from healing the wounded and sick, trying to give them an ounce of sleep, but he couldn't help but be plagued with thoughts of Hermione; if she had been scared. How long she had lasted out there before succumbing to whatever had inevitably taken her away from him.

"Your grace," Robb turned to see Lord Karstark approaching him quickly. "We have a problem. The Frey men are packing up their belongings and headed back north to the Twins."

"Why?" Robb grit. "They swore an oath to me and our cause."

Karstark grey eyes flickered over to Jeyne, before nodding. "I think you broke an oath to them first your grace."

Robb's lips narrowed as his mind raced in and out of solutions. If they were going to take King's Landing, they would need all the men they could get, especially if they were going to be fighting against Tywin's men. Losing Walder Frey's men wouldn't mean the end of their fight, but it would make winning this war and his sisters back that much harder.

"Go back to the castle," Robb said before following Lord Karstark back to were he and his men had set up camp.

Even from a short distance, he could see the tent falling, seeing men dressed in the green and brown garb which the Frey's had taken too gathering their things and begin to head north. "Hey," he called out with only a few men paying him any mind, the others continuing to pack up their things. "Hey! What the seven hells do you think you're doing?"

"We're getting out of here before any of the rest of us get our heads chopped off, your grace," one of the Frey men seethed, grinning wide to flash Robb his rotting teeth.

Karstark bolted forward spewing profanities and Robb had to hold him back. This was not the moment for things to get worse than they already were, he needed to convince these men to stay and fighting wouldn't help.

"You made our lord a promise," another man said and the King in the North recognized him instantly. Rolland wasn't one of the strongest men he had seen in battle, but by the Frey's army standards he was well trained and managed to keep himself alive. "And you went back on your word the moment you married that foreign whore."

In that second, Robb saw only red. Then the next thing he knew Rolland was on the ground, while Robb held him by the cuff of his shirt with one hand and the other continually pummeling his face in. Blood spewing everywhere and hordes of men tried to separate them, though none were successful until Lord Bolton and Umber finally managed it.

"Get out!" Robb roared, as the Frey men picked up a limb and unconscious Rolland. "Go! I hope you all go to the deepest of the seven hells! And if any of you want to go as well be my guests!"

Snatching himself from the hold of the two lords, Robb started back to the castle. "Seven Hells, I thought you were going to kill the man." Umber let go a deep laugh.

Though Robb didn't respond, passing the giant lord, he continued in heated silence. His numbers dwindling lower by the second so were his chances of winning this war.