Northern lights

32. Death is kinder

Robb Stark - Riverrun

It's painfully obvious the king in the North has changed during the war. Not even Robb has any words to defend himself. 

His mind is warped by dark thoughts and desires for darker deeds, his patience gone which was impossible to ignore after the way he spoke to Edmure after his grandfather's last send off. A weight on his chest constantly constricts his aching heart, yet Robb can't pinpoint what it is that makes him ache so. 

Everyone mentions her now, even his mother spoke her name. Rosalie Tyrell, the woman he was supposedly in love with yet he can't even remember her face now. She must have been exquisite to tempt him to marry her as everyone seemed to believe he would had it not been for the old Frey.

Confused, anger festering inside him, Robb felt like his mind would surely implode if he couldn't understand how this happened. One does not simply wake with no memory of a woman he loved without someone else meddling with dark eastern gods. And while his logic turned him one way, he hoped it isn't the truth.

Could lady Talisa be the cause of his terror? Did she tamper with his mind and heart? After all, she gained most - she became his queen.

Glancing at the rest of his men, he bows his head. Somehow, Robb feels like his heart isn't his anymore. He left it in Rosalie's hands and though he knows so, he has no choice anymore. Talisa is his wife and the woman who holds all power over him, she's a ghost of the past. 

Placing a hand over his heart, he sighs heavily. The golden rose hidden under his clothes is a constant reminder of her, a physical proof of all the tales he hears about the fierce, loyal woman who captured the Kingslayer. She stole so many hearts in camp, Robb figured she carries them in a jar wherever she went. 

Still, he keeps the rose and moves forward for the simple thought of her chases away some of the darkness that has him in it's grip. Distant, impatient, stubborn and maybe even a little hopeful, Robb allows himself to believe once the war ends, he'd go to Highgarden and find her - to at least put a face to the tales. Perhaps he'll bring her the golden rose along with a real one, a beautiful flower for his little flower. 

I will see her again, he thinks to himself, ignoring the lingering gaze of his wife upon him.

Rosalie - Riverlands woods

Bound to Jaime Lannister of all men, back to back atop a single horse? It's precisely how I imagined torture is. 

I'm sure the men wouldn't harm me or Brienne, after all they're Robb's men. Perhaps that's why they allowed me to face forward while Jaime has been suffering the indignity of facing backwards. Or so he keeps muttering under his breath.

I remain upright, trying to keep my distance. Leaning on Jaime is a last resort I hope not to be forced into. Turning to see if she's alright, I catch some of their bickering.

"I hope you're pleased. If you had armed me, they never would have taken us." Jaime grumbles at Brienne who's bound and walking beside the horse, the rope tied to Jaime's feet.

Brienne rolls her eyes at him, reminding him: "You were armed when we were taken."

"I was in chains if you recall. Our little match would have ended quite quick if my hands weren't bound."

Brienne's lips curl as if she would smile, but he's not worthy of it. "All my life I've been hearing, 'Jaime Lannister, what a brilliant swordsman.' You were slower than I expected. And more predictable."

Stifling a laugh, I turn forth, noticing the men who captured us aren't that interested in their little argument.

"I've been sitting in a muddy pen wrapped in chains for the past year." Jaime quips and I sigh.