Lannister Blood

16 - The Lord of Light

*this chapter includes Lysandra's POV as well as 3rd person encounters regarding the actions of other characters*

Winterfell

Robb Stark stands alone, looking beyond the walls of Winterfell to the icy landscape of Northern Westeros. It feels strange to him, being reunited with his home after years of turmoil and bloodshed since he parted from it. He can still remember shooting arrows alongside his brothers Rickon and Bran; helping them learn alongside his bastard brother Jon Snow. He can still feel the joy in his heart when Arya surprised them all, hitting the center of the target while Bran struggled in vain to hit even a piece of it. It was the most prideful he had ever felt of his little sister, though he had only laughed in delight at the time.

Now Rickon is dead, killed by Roose Bolton's bastard son. He got his rightful end, as did his father before him. Though, if it were up to Robb, Roose would have died a far worse death than a mere dagger to the heart. Walder Frey and his family have been wiped from existence by an unknown face. Another light to be shed upon the dreary world.

"The Red Wedding has been avenged!" People cheered to him when they finally decided Robb wasn't some demonic entity conjured from the dark.

Avenged, indeed. But it changes nothing, at least that's what he told himself. If Lysandra were here with him now and heard his thoughts, she would chastise him. She would say that the Starks took the North from the Boltons, not just for their family, but for the people of the North; that the North has been freed from tyranny and that in itself changes everything.

And, naturally, she'd be right.

It's strange how easily she seemed to understand him. He never could quite figure out what she was thinking, but she always read him so easily. Part of her training, he supposed, but deep down he knew it was more than that. They're connected somehow, now and always.

He sighs, closing his eyes and taking in the familiar scents and sounds of Winterfell.

"Are you pining for her already, brother?"

Robb looks to see Sansa approaching him unaccompanied, a teasing smile on her face.

She raises her eyebrows. "You know it's only been a few days."

"I do not pine," he says proudly. Then he says, "And it's been six." He returns the playful grin on her face. He looks back to the view ahead.

Sansa stands beside her brother and gingerly winds her arm through his.

"She'll be alright," she says, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "You needn't be so worried."

"I appreciate the comfort, sister." Robb pats her hand. "But I believe I'm the one who's supposed to be worrying about you." He shoots her a quick smirk.

Her smile fades just slightly, and she says, "I've survived much since we last saw one another."

Robb squeezes her hand before releasing it. He turns his gaze to the snowy hills and sighs. "I know."

Jon and Sansa told Robb all they could when he first settled into Winterfell. It was a lot to take in at once, though they told it to him as gently as they could. He wept at the loss of Rickon. He wept even moreso when he realized he could barely remember his little brother. Simply flashes of his smile, of his laugh. Nothing much beyond that. And Sansa... if only he had gotten to her sooner. If only he hadn't given up on fighting for his sisters. He believed them dead. Truly. And for that, he will never forgive himself. Everything that has happened to them is because he failed. He failed as their brother.