DYING EMBERS || ROBB STARK

T H I R T Y - T W O

The air in Riverrun was colder then she'd expected, its deep chill running through the thick material of her dark gown and into the marrow of her bones the longer she stood on the dock. Her lips felt dry, pressed together to keep from chattering her teeth. The thought of going inside eased into the forefront of her thoughts. Victoria felt her feet firmly planted, pulling her father's coat tighter as she awaited the last of Lord Tully's funeral proceedings to be over with.

If only his son could be any bloody faster.

The Starks and their new bride stood near the edge, Catelyn's soft sniffles echoed against the ripples of open water and dense trees. Victoria had no desire to comfort the women, not know when the eyes of many looked upon the new queen who seems flustered to decide her next move. It was well established that Catelyn held no admiration for her sons' new bride, and hence had spurned all advances from the women. Victoria knew how cold Catelyn could truly be which made her slightly pleased to know that at least one of the present Starks was acting in the way she would have liked to be.

Her content was short-lived as again she suddenly felt a rush of nausea roll through her, she squeezed her thumbs tightly into the palms of her hand, swallowing whatever threatened to come up. The smell of the river was making her morning sickness ever the more present since their arrival, and as much as her advocate had pushed for her to stay indoors as the sun rose she had refused, and although now she could admit it would have been a flattering idea there was no turning back.

See Trout from her side huffed slightly and their eyes met, he blinked her way, eyebrows knitting together to ask if she was alright. The cerulean swirls of his eyes also said he'd carry her back in that instant if she wished as her feet now ached as well but she could not. Her lips pursed and she turned back, straightening her back to the remainder of the funeral.

The new Lord of Riverrun stepped forward, a flaming arrow in his bow, he waited a few seconds as the corpse of his father's body carried further downstream and pointed an arrow upwards towards the sky. Victoria wondered if he could make it, the sun was glaring into his eyes making accuracy less then desirable and the swoosh of the wind meant fewer chances. His hands shook slightly as he adjusted and her faith diminished the longer it took the new lord to fire.

It missed by a wide margin and the spectators around shuffled, some cracked a smile and the women looked away.

The second also missed, and Ser Trout grimaced from her side, his deep voice spoke low enough so only the two women beside him heard, "fucks sake, we'll be here until dusk."

The third shot missed again and by the time it had now become abundantly clear the body would sooner disappear down the river without a fire to blaze it away. The Blackfish, the uncle of Catelyn and Edmure, seemed exhausted and pushed forward, shoving his nephew away and snatched the bow along with a new arrow. He took a steady stance, taking one look at the sails that blew with the women and drew back his arm in one fluid motion, eyes on the horizon he shot out and turned away before the arrow landed, shoving the bow back. The boat went up in flames instantly, allowing everyone a deep sigh of relief.